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 LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 
 AT URBANA-CHAMPAICN 
 
 823 
 
 B317g 
 v.l
 
 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 VOL.. I.
 
 NEW AND POPULAR NOVELS 
 
 AT ALL THE LIBRAEIES. 
 
 A HAPPY WOOING. By H. Cliffe Halliday. 
 
 2 vols. 
 
 A HARDY NORSEMAN. By Edna Lyall, author 
 
 of 'Donovan,' 'We Two,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 MY LORD OTHELLO. By Henry Cresswell, 
 
 author of 'A Modern Greek Heroine,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 GEOFF. By Gertrude Forde, author of L In the Old 
 
 Palazzo,' ' Driven before the Storm,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 THE FREAKS OF LADY FORTUNE. By May 
 
 Crommklin, author of 'Queenie,' 'Oi'ange Lily,' &c. 2 vols. 
 
 HURST & BLACKETT, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
 
 GEORGE VYVIAN 
 
 BY 
 
 E. KATHARINE BATES 
 
 1 1 want to tell you something, gentlemen. Eternity is 
 very long. Opportunity is a very little portion of it, but 
 worth the whole of it.' — Emerson's Journal for 1852. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED, 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1890. 
 All Rights Reserved.
 
 B.23 
 v, i cr 
 
 TO ALL THOSE 
 
 WHO HAVE SUFFERED 
 
 IN THE SEARCH FOR TRUTH 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED 
 
 WITH DEEP SYMPATHY.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 OHAPTBB 
 
 
 PART I. 
 
 I. 
 
 Opportunity 
 
 LL 
 
 A Midnight Discussion 
 
 III. 
 
 A Devonshire Daisy . 
 
 IV. 
 
 A Night Journey 
 
 V. 
 
 Temptation 
 
 VI. 
 
 A County Dinner 
 
 VII 
 
 Paradise Lost . 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A Fatal Step 
 
 IX. 
 
 Nemesis 
 
 X. 
 
 Despair 
 
 XI. 
 
 One more Chance 
 
 XII. 
 
 The Calm before a Storm 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Reaping the Whirlwind 
 
 3 
 
 23 
 46 
 71 
 103 
 121 
 148 
 168 
 188 
 210 
 235 
 254 
 270
 
 PART I 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 GEORGE VYVIAN 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OPPORTUNITY. 
 
 Anno Domini — eighteen hundred. 
 
 The young century ' lay like a new-born 
 babe upon the lap of time.' 
 
 America had been lost to us. Wash- 
 ington was already dead. The ' glorious 
 union ' between Great Britain and Ireland 
 had just taken place, thanks to much in- 
 glorious bribery. The terror of French 
 invasion had resulted in a volunteer 
 movement, which, dating so far back as 
 the French Revolution of '93, had just 
 
 b2
 
 4 GEOKGE VYVIAX. 
 
 culminated in the grand Hyde Park Review 
 of June, 1800. 
 
 The late war with France had raised 
 the price of provisions and the necessaries 
 of life. Meat had risen from four-pence to 
 nine-pence a pound; sugar from eight- 
 pence to one shilling and four-pence a 
 pound ; window lights from two shillings 
 and six-pence to ten shillings for a single 
 window ; whilst sacks of corn were being 
 sold for twenty-five shillings by the farmers 
 whose luxurious habits of life were encour- 
 aged by these famine prices. Moreover, 
 the quartern loaf had risen to one shilling 
 and nine-pence ! 
 
 Such was the state of affairs in England 
 when the nineteenth century dawned — upon 
 rich landowners, upon prosperous farmers 
 and millionaire manufacturers, revelling in 
 the comparatively recent discoveries of 
 Watt, Arkwright, and Hargreaves. 
 
 It dawned likewise upon masses of the 
 wretched, impoverished working-classes ; 
 for the increase of population had pre- 
 vented, through greater competition, any
 
 OPPORTUNITY. 
 
 increase of wages to meet the high price 
 of living. 
 
 The poor-rate had risen, it is true, some 
 fifty per cent, but seemed powerless to deal 
 with this seething mass of misery, aggra- 
 vated past all endurance by the selfish 
 legislation of parliamentary landowners 
 whose interest lay in keeping up a fictiti- 
 ous agricultural prosperity, resting solely 
 on the prohibitive price of corn. 
 
 Small wonder that the poor, starving, 
 suffering thousands rose at last in their 
 despair, and that the national disgrace cul- 
 minated in the Bread Riots of eighteen 
 hundred ! 
 
 It was a chilly autumn evening in the 
 September of that year. 
 
 Handbills had been posted upon the 
 Monument, the Guildhall, and upon other 
 public edifices, imploring the populace to 
 rise against the iniquity and injustice they 
 were enduring, against the mercenary 
 monopolies of government hirelings, and 
 so compel the authorities to listen to the 
 voice of their righteous indignation and
 
 6 GEORGE VYVIAX. 
 
 reduce the quartern loaf once more to 
 sixpence. 
 
 A crowd had accordingly collected in 
 Mark Lane, numbering at first some few 
 hundreds — then a thousand — then two 
 thousand, and so on, with ever increasing 
 followers. 
 
 Windows were smashed by the hundred. 
 Even the person of the Lord Mayor was 
 not held sacred from hissings and peltings 
 when he turned out at length to read the 
 Riot Act. which might as well have been 
 written in Sanscrit or read in Chines . 
 
 Special constables had been enrolled, 
 had charged the mob. and had been routed 
 with much confusion. 
 
 All this had happened in the earlier 
 part of the afternoon: but when night fell, 
 matters became still more serious. 
 
 The windows of all the bakers' shops in 
 the neighbourhood had been broken. 
 ts were collected to set fire to the 
 shops also, whilst mud, rotten eggs, brick- 
 bats and stones were hurled indiscriminately 
 by the shouting, hustling, infuriated mob.
 
 OPPORTUNITY. \ 
 
 At length the military were called out. 
 and two companies of regulars and three 
 of volunteers appeared upon the scene, the 
 latter representing respectively, the Tower 
 Ward, the East India House, and West- 
 minster. 
 
 Bravely they acquitted themselves, 
 earning and well deserving the respect of 
 their comrades in arms by the firm front 
 they presented to the infuriated mob and 
 the prompt obedience with which they 
 charged the latter, the moment the word 
 of command was given. 
 
 Those were days of much 'forestalling.' 
 or. as we should now call it, 'cornering:' 
 and the populace, on this special night, had 
 taken into its head that an unfortunate 
 shoemaker who had given house-room in 
 his cellars for some barrels of pork (be- 
 longing to a friend in that line) was in 
 reality storing up reserves of butter. 
 cheese, meat, and bread in order to extort 
 the last farthing from these starving. 
 desperate men and women whilst the food 
 putrefied in the hands of unfeeling malice.
 
 8 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 The word had been passed to blow up 
 the place, and the faggots, which had 
 hitherto done little damage, were once 
 more collected with renewed vigour, hav- 
 ing this daring object in view. 
 
 Messengers had been despatched to the 
 Mansion House in hot haste for reinforce- 
 ments as the ever-increasing and desperate 
 mob surged up Bishopsgate Street, b} r Sun 
 Street towards Finsbury Square, over- 
 throwing the constables, evading the pur- 
 suit of the military, and bringing conster- 
 nation and despair all along their terrible 
 route. Back from Cheapside to Newgate, 
 from Newgate to the Barbican, and thence 
 to Old Street, by which time scarcely a 
 window glass was left whole, whilst from 
 Ludgate Hill to the Barbican a single dim 
 oil-lamp alone remained to light up the 
 scene of desolation ! 
 
 The military were always on the track 
 but seemed unable to cope with the furious 
 mob, and the reinforcements had either not 
 been sent or had mistaken the route they 
 should have taken.
 
 OPPOET UNITY. 
 
 At last even the terrible fury of these 
 half- maddened human beings seemed sati- 
 ated for the time, or else from sheer ex- 
 haustion and the absence of fresh material 
 for destruction they began by degrees to 
 disperse for the night. 
 
 As the mob slowly melted away, and the 
 sorely-tried constables rode off to their 
 well-earned rest, a pale, interesting-looking 
 young man in the plain dress of a minister 
 of those days might have been seen re- 
 tracing his steps with some of the stragglers 
 towards Finsbury Square. As Ik- walked 
 along, he seemed to be uttering words of 
 sympathy and encouragement, calculated 
 to soothe the discontented and miserable 
 men around him. 
 
 They had almost forgotten their very 
 wretchedness in the wild excitement of the 
 past few hours, but the tiger within them 
 was exhausted now and the dim lamp-light 
 fell on many a pale, emaciated, miserable 
 face as they hurried along by the side of 
 one who was evidently an old and tried 
 friend to man}' there.
 
 10 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 ' Let's hear the parson!' said one man, 
 and the others soon took up the cry and 
 followed him to the square which looked 
 now most melancholy and deserted, for the 
 frightened inhabitants had retired to their 
 beds and the smashed and dismal lamps, 
 flaring unprotected in the wind, alone re- 
 mained as evidence of the terrible scenes 
 which had just taken place. 
 
 Here Edward Clifford paused, and, mount- 
 ing some half-dozen steps before one of the 
 larger houses in the square, endeavoured 
 to gain a hearing and to calm down the 
 unfortunate men and women whose late 
 fury was now turning to a dogged despair. 
 
 'My friends — if I have earned any 
 right to call you so, in the past — I beg 
 you to listen to me now. I know all 
 your troubles and all the cruel injustice 
 from which you have suffered in the 
 past and are suffering in the present. I 
 can appreciate, none better, the abuses 
 and oppression which have turned many 
 steady, honest, hard-working men and 
 women this night into wild beasts, by the
 
 OPPORTUNITY. 1 1 
 
 terrible touch of the demon of want and 
 starvation. 
 
 1 1 know the riches of the farmers, their 
 lives of sinful, selfish luxury — the iniqui- 
 tous price of the corn — the fact that one 
 man's extremity has been made his fellow- 
 man's opportunity — the opportunity for 
 wicked greed and cruel oppression. 
 
 ' Such are the cherished maxims of this 
 world and they are rotten, even as maxims 
 of political economy, let alone Christianity. 
 
 1 My friends, Christ also suffered ; suffer- 
 ed as you are doing, from hunger, oppres- 
 sion, and contumely ; from the contempt of 
 the rich, and the injustice, ignorance, and 
 self-seeking of those around Him. 
 
 1 But Christ Himself — our great example 
 — who was tempted, ay, and suffered 
 through the bodily necessities which are 
 now tempting you and making you suffer 
 so terribly, — Christ enjoined patience and 
 charity towards our oppressors. 
 
 ; He preaches nothing to others that He 
 did not practise Himself, leaving us an 
 example that we might follow in His steps.
 
 1:2 GEOKGE VYVIAN. 
 
 c You envy these rich farmers and land- 
 owners with their abundance of food and 
 drink, their soft linen and fine clothes, and 
 their stony, cruel hearts ? 
 
 ' My friends, it were wiser to pity them. 
 Some day they will need all your pity, all 
 your forgiveness. For every famishing 
 cry of hunger and distress that has gone 
 up from all the seething masses who have 
 worked their maddened wills through 
 this night's scene of destruction, these 
 people must assuredly answer some day ! 
 Ma} r you then be able to pray for them 
 as the Blessed Christ did for His enemies : 
 a Father, forgive them for they bieiv not 
 what they did" 
 
 1 It is hard to speak thus to starving men ; 
 but, believe me, patience is the best, the 
 only course for you now. You have 
 shown plainly enough where the burden 
 lies. Now be quiet, and let others work 
 for you in the matter. If these de- 
 monstrations are continued, only greater 
 misery will ensue. The producers will 
 fear to enter the public markets and
 
 OPPORTUNITY. 13 
 
 prices will go up still higher, instead of 
 falling. 
 
 ' Do not think that I would make light 
 of your desperate need — I who now speak 
 to you, I also have known the pangs 
 of hunger, and have seen those I loved, 
 perish for lack of the comforts and 
 even the necessaries of life in days past. 
 It is not for yourselves ; not for you 
 men, but for your wives and children — I 
 understand all that, my friends, and my 
 heart bleeds for you and them as it has 
 bled in the past for some of those dearest 
 to me on earth. 
 
 c I speak from no pinnacle, but as one of 
 yourselves — as one who has also suffered 
 and been tempted often to despair. But 
 I implore you to be patient for a while 
 longer. 
 
 4 Agitation is lawful where abuses exist, 
 but lawlessness never yet gained a true 
 victory nor redressed a grievance. You 
 will only put yourselves in the wrong, and 
 so play into the hands of those whose 
 interest it is to hush your voices.
 
 14 GEORGE VYVIAX. 
 
 ' Quit you like men — be strong — not 
 everyone for himself but each for all ! The 
 battle you are fighting is no selfish one. 
 It is for the whole mass of suffering, starv- 
 ing men. 
 
 ' Strive also to feel kindly towards 
 3^our enemies — towards those who are 
 now wronging you. I know how hard 
 and bitter this is — I have fought such 
 battles often, and thank God ! sometimes 
 with success ; and I can tell you from 
 experience that such success brought a 
 peace with it passing understanding, 
 and a happiness as far beyond the fierce 
 pleasures of revenge as the stars are high 
 above your heads. 
 
 ' Remember, too, that many who have 
 wronged you, have done so through 
 ignorance — culpable ignorance, I allow, but 
 not absolute malice in many cases, I would 
 fain hope. They are suffering from that 
 terrible curse — want of imagination. 
 
 c Imagination is often spoken of lightly 
 and sneeringly; but believe me, my friends, 
 most of the crime and wickedness and
 
 OPPORTUNITY. 15 
 
 wretchedness of life springs in one way or 
 another from the absence of it. 
 
 4 In this case, for example, many have 
 wronged you simply because they are un- 
 able to put themselves in your place or to 
 imagine your sufferings and their own in- 
 justice towards you. 
 
 ' Again they cannot believe, because they 
 cannot imagine that, by losing their life, 
 they gain it ; that by relaxing their greed} r 
 hold on the food, and drink, and luxury of 
 this life of the wretched, grovelling body, 
 they may gain the fuller, freer life of the 
 spirit. 
 
 1 Think of the glories and compensations 
 of that higher life to which we are all 
 called ; to which, thank God, we are many 
 of us hastening. The sufferings of this 
 passing world are not worthy to be 
 compared with the glory that shall be 
 revealed. 
 
 'My poor suffering brothers and sisters, 
 believe that I feel for you in this strug- 
 gle to the very bottom of my heart. I 
 will stand by you through the fight,
 
 16 GEORGE VrVIAN. 
 
 and do all that an honest and loyal man 
 may, to stir up those who should make 
 your troubles their own. But I implore, I 
 beseech 3-011, think not only of the meat 
 and drink of the body. Bodily hunger is 
 hard to bear, but, believe me, a starving 
 spirit is fifty times more terrible, a thousand 
 times more dangerous. A loaf of bread 
 will cure the one. Xot all the wealth of 
 the Indies can restore the other. That lies 
 with God and the Infinite Wisdom and In- 
 h'nite Power alone. 
 
 ' I will work day and night. I will 
 represent, write, agitate for you. So will 
 all other men with human hearts and know- 
 ledge and sympathy in these sad times. 
 But, my friends, let me leave this last 
 thought with you as the truest and simplest 
 I can give you. When all has been done ; 
 when relief comes ; when wheat falls, as 
 pray God it will fall, from fifteen shillings 
 the quarter to eight or ten ; do not for one 
 moment think that you are feeding more 
 than half, and that the lower half, of each 
 individual "life."
 
 OPPORTUNITY. 17 
 
 1 Man does not live by bread alone. 
 Not the " spirit " of man, for that does not 
 live by bread at all. Christ said, " Man 
 does not live by bread alone" admitting the 
 necessity for feeding the body, but limiting 
 the power of corn or any other grain to 
 sustain man, as man, entirely. We do 
 not know, we cannot tell, how far even 
 physical life may be prolonged, and physical 
 pain (be it hunger or disease) alleviated by 
 a literal belief in Christ's words. 
 
 1 (What is that, my friend ? " Fine 
 words butter no parsnips "? Ah, but have 
 you ever tried my receipt ?) The envelope 
 of the flesh is so gross, our faith so weak. 
 Christ meant something when He said those 
 words. Trust Him for once now, in your 
 great strait, if never in your lives before: 
 Put those lives simply into His keeping 
 whilst we work for you. Seek first the 
 kingdom of God and His righteousness 
 (man's higher food as man), and then see, 
 literally and in very truth, wmether these 
 other things, the staff of the earthly and 
 lower life, shall not be added unto you.' 
 
 VOL. i. c
 
 18 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 The preacher ceased speaking, pale and 
 exhausted. There were murmurs amongst 
 the crowd. Some were impressed, others 
 jeered; and one man said, contemptuously, 
 ' He would rather have had a quartern loaf 
 or a bit of butcher's meat than all the par- 
 son's fine words ;' but he was soon silenced 
 by his companions. 
 
 6 For shame, Joe ! How dare you speak 
 that way of Master Clifford ? Time and 
 again, he has taken his own bit of dinner 
 to your wife and children, and you know 
 it ! He is often as sore put to it for a meal 
 as we are, for he gives away his own, and 
 looks that wan and ill sometimes it fairly 
 makes my heart ache to see him.' 
 
 Some constables, returning through the 
 square, on their way home, rode up now 
 and dispersed the remnants of the crowd. 
 
 One of the volunteer officers, whose 
 curiosity had tempted him to stroll back 
 after returning to his quarters earlier in 
 the evening, had been pushed by the crowd 
 close up against the preacher, and had 
 listened to the latter's discourse with an
 
 OPPORTUNITY. 19 
 
 earnestness that seemed at variance with 
 his smart, soldierly bearing and blithe 
 young face. He was a tall young fellow, 
 with a bright colour, keen dark eyes and 
 hair that showed an obstinate wave in spite 
 of the military precision with which it had 
 been cut. He still bore the uniform of 
 the Westminster Volunteers, having turned 
 out again for a stroll through the deserted 
 streets when the rabble had melted ' like 
 the snows of yester year.' 
 
 Coming upon this little knot of stragglers 
 in Finsbury Square, he had been tempted 
 to see what was going on, and, having once 
 plunged into the crowd round the preacher, 
 found it impossible to get out again until 
 his attention was so firmly fixed that he no 
 longer wished to do so. 
 
 The handsome young man was a certain 
 Captain George Yyvian, the son of a 
 Devonshire squire of that name, living on 
 a fine but much encumbered property 
 near Ivy Bridge in the Plymouth neigh- 
 bourhood. 
 
 George Yyvian had some French blood 
 
 c2
 
 20 GEOKGE VYVIAN. 
 
 in his veins on the mother's side, for his 
 maternal grandmother, a Miss Yillebois, 
 had been the daughter of one of the many 
 French refugees who came over to this 
 country for an asylum during the religious 
 persecutions which followed the revocation 
 of the edict of Nantes. 
 
 George's own mother had died when he 
 was a little fellow, barely nine years old, 
 and he had spent his holidays and vacations 
 at Wyverne Court with his father ever 
 since, happy enough with his horses and 
 dogs for a few weeks at a time, but with 
 no real predilections for a country life. 
 
 In due course he was sent to Oxford 
 and took a very creditable degree there, so 
 that the proud father made no demur when 
 the son announced his wish to seesomething 
 of London life and the world in general 
 before choosing any special calling or 
 making the c suitable marriage ' which the 
 old squire trusted would enable them to 
 free the property from some of the heavier 
 mort^a^es. 
 
 Unfortunately George Vyvian, although
 
 OPPORTUNITY. 21 
 
 free from the grosser vices of the day, was 
 too handsome and debonnair, too much 
 sought after in society, too much made of 
 by a host of admiring friends and compan- 
 ions to escape the temptations of a London 
 life ; but the old Devonshire squire had no 
 idea that his son ever touched a card or 
 put a pound upon a race, and was wont 
 to regale his country friends with marvel- 
 lous accounts of George's preternatural 
 steadiness. 
 
 The friends listened with some incredulity, 
 but no one had the heart to try to un- 
 deceive the old man ; and indeed George 
 would have compared very favourably with 
 most of the gilded London youth of the 
 times. 
 
 The mistake lay in not making due 
 allowance for his surroundings and for 
 the facile, yielding temperament, inherited 
 from the young mother whose greatest 
 charm this had been in her husband's eyes. 
 The very qualities which had made the 
 squire's short married life in his beautiful 
 country home such a dream of bliss, acted
 
 22 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 in more disastrous fashion when a hand- 
 some young man and a life amidst all the 
 pleasures and gaieties of a London Court 
 were in question.
 
 23 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A MIDNIGHT DISCUSSION. 
 
 This was the young fellow who had just 
 listened with such eager attention to the 
 preacher's words, for George Vyvian had 
 inherited something else from his young 
 mother, namely, a curiously keen spiritual 
 nature and apprehension. 
 
 The spiritual and the material worked in 
 him with almost equal force, swinging now 
 to one extreme and then to the other as 
 either influence became paramount for the 
 moment. It seemed, indeed, ajsimple ques- 
 tion of circumstances as to which should 
 finally conquer. 
 
 There was no question, however, about 
 the fact that George could never thoroughly
 
 24 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 enjoy the thoughtless, reckless life of many 
 of his most familiar companions without 
 feeling the constant prick of this yearning 
 for the higher life, a yearning which was 
 as much an inheritance to him as his bright 
 eyes and curling hair. 
 
 Just now the spiritual influence was 
 uppermost, so he pushed forward as 
 Edward Clifford turned to leave the crowd 
 and begged to be allowed to accompany 
 him whichever way he was going, in order 
 to have some more talk on the subject of 
 the late discourse. 
 
 Clifford paused at once, looking kindly 
 on the bright sunny face. The preacher 
 was not much older in years than George 
 Vyvian, but spiritual experience had 
 marked and deepened the lines and expres- 
 sion of his countenance in such a way that 
 no casual observer would have believed 
 that only four or five years lay between 
 them. 
 
 ' My home lies far from here, but I shall 
 be pleased to walk with you in your direc- 
 tion/ Clifford answered, with gentle court-
 
 A MIDNIGHT DISCUSSION. 25 
 
 esy. 'I am in no hurry to return, and should 
 probably have spent the remaining hours 
 of the night pacing up and down the 
 streets, revolving plans for redeeming my 
 promise to these poor sheep in the wilder- 
 ness. Their temporal wants as well as their 
 spiritual necessities lie hard upon my con- 
 science and my heart.' 
 
 ' Come with me, then, and let us talk 
 matters over together. I would fain hear 
 more of your views, sir, and of your mean- 
 ing in this evening's discourse. Surely it 
 was above the heads of those whom you 
 addressed, or else I myself am far below 
 the general level of intelligence.' 
 
 The preacher looked at him with a 
 dreamy expression of interest, and then 
 answered, humbly, 
 
 ' I fear at times my interest in the 
 subject of which I am speaking is apt to 
 run away with me. I should remember 
 that the train of thought which lies so clear 
 and open before me needs a clear and 
 simple exposition to those whom I address. 
 I doubt me, I am less ^'gifted than many
 
 26 GEOKGE VYVIAN. 
 
 in making my meaning clear. The 
 thoughts rush in so quickly at times. It 
 needs patience and method to reduce them 
 to order. I have much yet to learn in 
 many ways.' 
 
 The gentle tone and humble admission 
 of inferiority touched George Vyvian's 
 generous and emotional nature, and he 
 hastened to assure Clifford that his 
 remarks had not been intended as a criti- 
 cism, but rather as an explanation of his 
 own eagerness to pursue the subjects which 
 had been mooted. 
 
 A solitary hackney coach, returning 
 from some", northern suburb of the city, 
 passed the pedestrians at this moment, 
 and, being hailed by Vyvian, he and his 
 companion were shortly put down in King 
 Street, St. James', where the former had 
 his luxurious bachelor abode. 
 
 The sitting-room was on the first-floor, 
 divided in two by rich silk curtains of 
 Eastern colour and fashion. From the 
 inner and smaller room, a man as tall and 
 straight as George himself, but with brown
 
 A MIDNIGHT DISCUSSION. 27 
 
 hair and dark-blue eyes, came forward as 
 the two entered the front room, showing 
 no surprise at the appearance of the stranger, 
 but asking in quiet and respectful man- 
 ner whether his master required anything 
 before retiring. 
 
 6 Require anything? Yes, Joseph, of course 
 we do ! Bring some hot water and the 
 whisky and lemons and sugar. This gen- 
 tleman lias come in to have a talk with me, 
 and talking is dry work at any time. Give 
 me those " Havanas " from the corner 
 cupboard too — you smoke, of course?' 
 turning to Clifford. 
 
 The latter shook his head with a smile. 
 
 c Xo, I gave up smoking some years ago. 
 Neither do I drink whisky, but a glass of 
 cold water is all I require, so pray do not 
 trouble about my entertainment.' 
 
 c Cold water ! no, that you shall not 
 have in my rooms at this time of night. 
 Look here, sir ! what say you to a cup of 
 hot coffee ? It will not disturb your rest 
 if you contemplate strolling homewards 
 after our talk, and Joseph is a rare hand
 
 28 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 at making coffee, the best I ever knew.' 
 The hospitable offer was accepted, and 
 Penruth, half valet and more than half 
 friend and companion to George Vyvian, 
 left the room to get the necessary ingredients. 
 As he went out, Clifford remarked upon 
 his unusual appearance for an ordinary 
 serving-man. 
 
 c Ah, well — he is scarcely that,' answered 
 George ; ' though I doubt if anyone else 
 would serve me half as well. Joseph Pen- 
 ruth comes from Devonshire, where I was 
 born, and his mother brought me up when 
 my own mother was too ill to nurse me as 
 a baby. The dear old lady still lives in 
 our village, and loves me almost as much 
 as her own son, I verily believe. Joseph 
 and I are foster-brothers, and he has always 
 had the same life and almost the same ad- 
 vantages as myself. He lived at Oxford 
 in my college days by way of "looking 
 after me," and had the run of my books 
 and made better use of them than I did, 
 no doubt. How Joe manages to read all 
 he gets through and to do his work so
 
 A MIDNIGHT DISCUSSION. 29 
 
 well is a wonder to me. He never wastes 
 a moment — that is the secret, I suppose. 
 What has he been reading to-night ?' 
 George continued, taking up a book which 
 the valet had put down when they entered. 
 'Smith's "Wealth of Nations."— Ah, I 
 thought so ! That is about the standard 
 of Joe's light literature, whilst I am wast- 
 ing my time over some stupid novel of the 
 day. Dear old fellow ! he is worth his 
 weight in gold, and as modest and retiring 
 as he is good and clever.' 
 
 Any further eulogy was stopped by the 
 re-appearance of the man in question 
 bringing in a cup of steaming coffee and 
 the spirits and hot water ordered by 
 George. 
 
 1 Thanks, Joseph — now be off with you 
 to bed. You look as sleepy as an owl — I 
 will let this gentleman out.' 
 
 The two men were soon deep in a meta- 
 physical discussion over Clifford's sermon. 
 
 "What had he meant by the literal inter- 
 pretation of the text? by his remarks on 
 the power of Faith ?
 
 30 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 ' You spoke of Faith as though it were 
 an absolute lever — almost a physical force. 
 I have always heard it spoken of as an 
 emotion, and as acting solely upon the 
 spiritual nature, and having nothing to do 
 with mundane and material things.' 
 
 ' That, I think, is the mistake we are all 
 so apt to make. We draw such hard and 
 fast lines, whereas a more simple and literal 
 acceptance of the Bible teachings seems to 
 hint at an overlapping of the material 
 and spiritual kingdoms. As some of our 
 learned men have shown, or at least tried 
 to show, that the mineral and vegetable, 
 the vegetable and animal kingdoms also 
 overlap, so that it seems often impossible 
 to say u Here the one ends and the other 
 begins." May it not be the same with 
 this further development of the spiritual 
 from the purely animal ?' 
 
 ' There is doubtless a distinct spirit-germ 
 as there is a distinct life-germ which must 
 exist, although it be latent, for hundreds 
 of years ; but the material eye cannot see 
 where, when, or whence either one or the
 
 A MIDNIGHT DISCUSSION. 3L 
 
 other has its source. I have read, in some 
 old books of travel, of an Egyptian mummy 
 being found which had been buried, with 
 seeds of wheat in the grave, thousands of 
 years ago. The wheat had lain useless all 
 these centuries, but the life-germ was still 
 there, and, being planted in the ground, it 
 has sprouted and sent forth shoots and 
 grown up as the apostle has described : 
 "first the blade, then the ear; after that, 
 the full corn in the ear." 
 
 1 So also the germ of spiritual life may 
 be latent during a whole lifetime, but some 
 day God's truth will rush in and open the 
 coffin-lid to the light and sunshine of His 
 glorious day, and then the germ will 
 spring up from the ground of the heart 
 and that man becomes a " living soul." 
 The germ was there all the time, waiting 
 only for the spiritual sunshine and light to 
 develop it. 
 
 1 So also, as some developments of 
 vegetable life seem amenable to animal 
 law, may not some developments of animal 
 life be amenable to spiritual law as the
 
 32 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 result of the overlapping of which I have 
 spoken? The higher animal — man — pos- 
 sesses, as we believe, this germ of spirit- 
 life. Is it visionary to conceive and expect 
 that it should act in what may appear to 
 us almost miraculous manner upon the 
 purely animal nature and the animal law 
 by which it is enclosed ? 
 
 1 Such action must of necessity be fitful 
 and uncertain, for it will differ in degree 
 according to the strength and exercise of 
 the spiritual life-power within. Is not 
 the conscious exercise of such power 
 the quality we call Faith ? Why should 
 it not have as great and unerring a 
 result as the exercise of the intellectual 
 force called Will ? We are only now 
 beginning to understand, in blind, fee- 
 ble fashion, something of the marvel- 
 lous power of will force. I should expect 
 infinitely greater results from the exer- 
 cise of the more purely spiritual force of 
 Faith. 
 
 c As the spirit transcends the body which 
 is here its envelope and manifestation, so
 
 A MIDNIGHT DISCUSSION. 33 
 
 surely must the spiritual powers transcend 
 the physical powers liberated by the lower 
 and merely mental action of a man. 
 
 ' And is it unreasonable to anticipate that 
 the higher power should influence and 
 even dominate the lower? Surely not. 
 On the contrary, this seems to me orderly 
 and reasonable. The idea of superstition 
 and confusion as connected with it is only 
 the result of our own ignorance of the 
 working of the Divine economy. 
 
 c But that is our failing, and should be 
 remedied by patience, not hugged and 
 cherished by a mulish obstinacy and de- 
 termination to read our Bibles only by the 
 dim lights of the past. People are so 
 quick to say, "You cannot go beyond the 
 Bible." They think this sounds pious and 
 final, but it is often only an excuse for 
 laziness of thought and a slipshod, untidy 
 mental attitude of acquiescence in what 
 some one else has thought out for them. 
 We cannot go beyond the Bible, truly ; 
 but it is incumbent upon each one of us 
 to recognise that, if God gave us the Bible, 
 
 VOL. I. d -
 
 34 GEORGE VYVIxVN. 
 
 man has given us the interpretation thereof, 
 and man is a fallible creature at best.' 
 
 George looked up with interest. 
 
 ' Then do you mean that you would 
 even take that text literally about the 
 faith that can remove a mountain ? I 
 always thought, as others do, that this was 
 merely an extravagant metaphor.' 
 
 1 Well,' said Clifford, smiling, c I do not 
 expect you to go with me so far as that, 
 but once allow the power of spirit over 
 matter, and it is difficult to limit its action. 
 I called Faith a lever, but I know not 
 ivhat amount of leverage might be required 
 for such a task. The mountains are pretty 
 safe for many a long year, I fear !' he 
 added, with a grave smile. ' I would only 
 denounce the spirit of absolute denial of 
 possibilities in cases icliere we have never 
 supplied the necessary conditions. I conceive 
 the power of Faith to be enormous, and, 
 so far as we know, limitless, but the pos- 
 session of Faith is a different matter. 
 Some day I trust and believe that it 
 will be found in far greater extent, and
 
 A MIDNIGHT DISCUSSION. 35 
 
 that it will expand and develop with the 
 expansion and development of spiritual 
 life ; but at present both are comparatively 
 in embryo. 
 
 ' When our Lord Himself was upon 
 earth, He spoke of the precious power 
 existing merely as a grain of mustard seed. 
 When the necessary agent is thus either 
 entirely absent or existing in such feeble, 
 fitful fashion, is it a matter of surprise 
 that so few great works are done amongst 
 us nowadays, " because of our unbelief" ? 
 Please God it will not be so always. The 
 blessed days are coming when the life of 
 the spirit will thrive and flourish as the life 
 of the body has done through the past ages. 
 
 1 Man is now at the top of creation. 
 He can do many things impossible to the 
 other animals, because his organization is 
 more complete and better adapted to such 
 employments. He has a thinking brain to 
 plan and organize. He can produce exqui- 
 site sounds and glorious pictures,- because, 
 with the informing brain, he possesses also 
 arms and hands and vocal chords. 
 
 d2
 
 36 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 'Why may not the spirit, in God's 
 good time, develop fresh powers and 
 strength and an amount of faith as its 
 normal condition which is now most 
 rare, exceptional, and abnormal ? If so, 
 such faith may prove capable of affect- 
 ing material substances in the future as 
 Christ said and proved that it could in 
 the past. The text you mention may then 
 be seen to have been, not a metaphor, but 
 a prophecy ; no reversing or upsetting of 
 the Divine order, but a prophetic insight 
 of the days when spirit-progress and 
 development should have enabled us to 
 understand more of the laws and condi- 
 tions of that which has been from the 
 bednnino;. 
 
 1 Newton did not create the law of 
 gravity, nor did the Almighty create it at 
 the moment of its discovery by the great 
 philosopher who has enabled us to profit 
 by it in a thousand hitherto unknown ways. 
 
 ' 1 do not anticipate fresh powers and 
 new laws as future creations ; for the Al- 
 mighty, so far as we know, does not act in
 
 A MIDNIGHT DISCUSSION. 37 
 
 this spasmodic fashion. His laws have 
 existed from the beginning, so far as we 
 know of them in the past. It is our ig- 
 norance which requires enlightening, and 
 our gross, earth-bound spirits which will 
 need stirring and quickening that we 
 may present the necessary conditions of 
 active or receptive faith. Most men, 
 Captain Vyvian, look upon me as a vision- 
 ary lunatic when I speak to them of these 
 things. I must thank you for your kindly 
 courtesy in giving me so patient a hear- 
 ing, and would fain hope that I have not 
 wearied you ?' 
 
 ' Wearied me ? Certainly not. Far from 
 it. When you speak thus, a new vista 
 seems to open out before me of grand pos- 
 sibilities. But such faith must be very 
 hard to compass ? How can one gain it ?' 
 
 c Ah, my friend, it is hard for most of 
 us. Some gentle souls seem to grasp it 
 without an effort. Such have never known 
 the conflict of unbelief. I used to envy 
 them, and rebel against my own less happy 
 experience, but I have learned to bless
 
 38 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 experience in almost any form. It is the 
 first condition of a helpful sympathy, and 
 as such I would not have been without it. 
 The soldier who has fought in the heat of 
 the battle, ay, and bears the scars to the 
 end of his life, is the one to encourage 
 others in the conflict ; not he whose sword 
 has never left the scabbard, whose uniform 
 has never been soiled nor torn in the 
 fight.' 
 
 ' But tell me, how can one hope to attain 
 to a faith so marvellous in its power, so 
 wonderful in its possibilities ?' 
 
 Clifford smiled indulgently on the 
 younger man's impatience. 
 
 ' Ah, my friend, that is hard in cases 
 like yours, for it comes only through the 
 growth of the spirit, and such growth 
 is usually slow. There is no forcing- 
 house save that of a meek and contrite 
 heart weaned from the things of earth 
 and fixed upon the realities of Heaven. 
 In proportion as the things of this life 
 lose their hold upon us, in proportion as
 
 A MIDNIGHT DISCUSSION. 39 
 
 they grow dim in our eyes, so the glories 
 of the next life reveal themselves, as the 
 stars come out for us only when the sky 
 around is dark. 
 
 ' But it is hard for those who are young 
 and prosperous, and courted by the world 
 and drinking deep of its cup of pleasure, 
 to realize this. To them the next life seems 
 shadow and this one is the only substance 
 Whereas in truth it is just the reverse. 
 Earth is the type and shadow and passing 
 manifestation of the realities which belong to 
 the spirit-life alone. 
 
 ' Earth-life seems to me as a telescope of 
 which we hold the smaller end at first to- 
 wards the sky. As life goes on, as the world 
 disappoints, as our earthly powers fade, and 
 the earth-experience is coming to an end, 
 he telescope is reversed in our hands. 
 The sky now looms large and near to our 
 extended vision, and it is this world of 
 matter which fades and dwindles into a 
 mere speck on the glass. But you are so 
 young yet, you cannot expect to feel
 
 40 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 this for many a year to come. Therefore 
 you must be patient, and believe that 
 God will teach you His higher truths in 
 His own good time. Only take heed that 
 when He calls you, you are at hand to 
 learn the lesson ; that vour ears have not 
 grown deaf nor your eyes dim to the 
 spiritual reality by dwelling too much and 
 too entirely upon the material illusion. 
 Life at present seems to you so fair, 
 so full. Like the young man in the Scrip- 
 tares, who thought he would fain follow 
 Jesus whithersoever He went, you also 
 have "great possessions" — possessions of 
 youth and strength and desire and the 
 longing to live and to know. 
 
 C I am not one of those who would unduly 
 force experience for which the spirit may 
 not be ripe. I would only urge you to 
 watch as well as wait, that the Lord, when 
 He comes to you with the spiritual gifts of 
 experience and perception, may find you 
 ready to receive Him. 
 
 ' And now I must leave you, my friend ;
 
 A MIDNIGHT DISCUSSION. 41 
 
 for the night is in truth past and the dawn is 
 upon us. God bless you and hold you in His 
 safe keeping ! Remember one thing : if you 
 ever need sympathy ; if life ever seem to 
 you less joyous than it does now ; when 
 trial and trouble and temptation come to 
 you, as they must come in time to all ; let 
 me know, if I am at hand and can help 
 you in any way. I have written rny ad- 
 dress upon this card. You have only to 
 send for me, and I will be with you at any 
 time if it lies in my power to come. And 
 so — farewell.' 
 
 With a hearty grasp of the hand, the 
 two men parted, Clifford refusing the 
 hospitable offer of Vyvian's bed for the 
 remainder of the short night. 
 
 Long after he had left, George sat on in 
 the depths of his comfortable arm-chair, 
 watching the last glowing embers of the 
 fire and thinking over all that had passed 
 since he had left home that evening. 
 
 He was much impressed by the vivid 
 faith and earnestness of his late companion.
 
 42 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 How real it had all seemed to him ! 
 How unlike he was to the conventional 
 type of parson in those days, when such 
 men were generally divided into two 
 distinct classes— those who were cold and 
 indifferent, and performed their sacred 
 duties in a perfunctory manner, and the 
 ranting, puritanical school which had 
 arisen as a reaction from the dreary, chill 
 atmosphere in which most of the spiritual 
 life of the day was sunk. 
 
 This man was in earnest ; in deep, 
 intense earnest, yet he did not rant. 
 Neither had he offended George's taste by 
 any of the familiar and blasphemous 
 assumptions of superior piety — of being 
 one of a special, chosen clique — which 
 were just budding forth then, to bear such 
 deadly and repulsive fruit in the future. 
 
 Clifford, however visionary, was at any 
 rate sincere, and, above all things, humble. 
 He arrogated to himself no special gifts, 
 no special Divine favour. He was content 
 to be one amongst many ; only a unit in 
 the great human family belonging to the
 
 A MIDNIGHT DISCUSSION. 43 
 
 one Father. He seemed to live only to 
 ease the sorrows and help carry the bur- 
 dens of his brothers and sisters in Christ, 
 and this with no idea of patronage or 
 superiority over them, only with a deep 
 sense of their need and a divine glow of 
 loving sympathy with it. 
 
 As George thought over these things, 
 the candles burnt low in their sockets and 
 the room grew dim with shadows. AVas 
 it some such shadow that seemed to bend 
 over him as he sat there in the intense 
 silence of that hour of dawn ? He started 
 and turned round, but no one was there. 
 It was but the shadow of the curtain 
 against the wall at his side. And yet he 
 was not alone, but his eyes ' were holden,' 
 as the good old Scripture phrase expresses 
 it. Otherwise, he might have seen two 
 forms hovering over him ; the one, dark 
 and forbidding ; the other, bright and 
 shining. They were his life's ' dark guide ' 
 and the mother and guardian spirit who 
 was ever near him, although he knew it 
 not.
 
 44 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 She was there now, counselling, im- 
 pressing, whispering words of encourage- 
 ment and hope, and by her bright presence 
 and tender faith keeping away from him 
 the darker form that would fain have 
 drawn closer to him. It seemed so sad 
 and strange to her that she could not 
 make him hear her loving words. Yet a 
 curious feeling of peace and rest came 
 over him. 
 
 'Getting sleepy, by Jove ! I shall be 
 off in another minute if I sit here much 
 longer !' 
 
 Such was poor George's materialistic 
 view of the spiritual experience, as he 
 raked out the dying embers in the grate, 
 lighted a fresh candle, and stumbled up- 
 stairs to bed, throwing himself down upon 
 it half-undressed, and sinking into a some- 
 what troubled slumber. 
 
 Yet sweet dreams came to him. He was 
 wandering in the lovely Devonshire lanes 
 with a form familiar to him since early 
 childhood, with one who had loved him 
 and whom he had loved for many a long
 
 A MIDNIGHT DISCUSSION. 45 
 
 year. It was Daisy Butler, a foundling 
 baby left at the door of Wy verne Court and 
 adopted by his mother in his own far away 
 childish days. Daisy had been brought 
 up as still-room-maid by their old house- 
 keeper, but her dainty ways and sweet 
 c flower ' face often led strangers to the con- 
 viction that some secret history connected 
 with the child must point to gentle blood. 
 
 As George Vyvian slept, his mother 
 seemed to come to him in his dreams, lead- 
 ing Daisy by the hand, and whispering in 
 his ear, 
 
 ' Take her, my son, and cherish her as 
 God's gift to you — -a pure and lovely soul. 
 Her lineage, though buried in obscurity, is 
 as untarnished as your own.' 
 
 Too soon, alas ! he woke up to life and 
 its manifold perplexities, and remembered, 
 with a pang of self-reproach, that Daisy 
 Butler was after all an unknown protegee, 
 and that prudence and honour alike point- 
 ed to the path of renunciation of the stolen 
 kisses and hurried meetings which had 
 been hitherto so precious to them both.
 
 4G 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A DEVONSHIRE DAISY. 
 
 The union between England and Ireland 
 — a necessit}^ as the wisdom of Pitt fore- 
 saw — had just been accomplished by means 
 which must make every honourable man 
 blush when he looks back on that blotted 
 page of English history. 
 
 The assent of the Irish parliament had 
 been bought with a million of money and 
 the distribution of pensions and peerages. 
 Such may have been the only possible means 
 of bringing it about, truly, but they were 
 none the less shameful on that account. 
 We have small reason to be proud of the 
 disgraceful treatment the Irish had re- 
 ceived since the conquest of their country 
 by William III.
 
 A DEVONSHIRE DAISY. 47 
 
 The terms of the union were perhaps a 
 fit ending- to the whole disgraceful episode 
 that marks our connection with Ireland. 
 On the one hand, severity, jealousy, and 
 fear of their rivalry with us in commerce ; 
 on the other side, disaffection, passionate 
 resentment, and undying hatred of ' the 
 Saxon.' Small wonder ! 
 
 The Houses of Parliament; the right of 
 voting ; all corporate offices ; all ranks in 
 army, bench, or bar were closed against 
 the Catholics, although they formed four- 
 fifths of the Irish population— even the 
 remaining fifth fared little better, for the 
 Presbyterians also were excluded from all 
 civil, military, and municipal offices. The 
 administration of justice was kept rigidly 
 in the hands of the Established Church — 
 that is to say, of a body representing about 
 one-twelfth of the whole population. 
 
 The government was monopolized by a 
 few Protestant landowners, at the time of 
 the union more than sixty seats being in 
 the hands of three families ! The advisers 
 of every lord-lieutenant were glutted with
 
 48 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 bribes, pensions, and preferments. The 
 jealous English landowners passed statutes 
 forbidding the export of Irish cattle and 
 sheep to English ports. The export of 
 wool and linen was also forbidden, and 
 thus poverty was added to the miseries of 
 misgovernment. 
 
 What wonder that Irish Catholics rose 
 in revolt against their Protestant rulers, 
 and that revolts on the one side and 
 Orange societies on the other kept the un- 
 happy country in a constant state of terror 
 and bloodshed? 
 
 It may be well for us, who talk so much 
 of the wickedness and depravity of the 
 Irish in these modern days, to cast a 
 glance over her history, and see how 
 much our actions in the past have brought 
 retribution on our shoulders in the 
 present ! 
 
 The union was now un fait accompli — 
 one of the brightest jewels in Pitt's crown 
 — and no one paused to ask how much 
 dirt might stick to it. Diamonds them- 
 selves are dashed with coal-black as we all
 
 A DEVONSHIRE DAISY. 49 
 
 know, and the loveliest flowers have their 
 roots in the mud. 
 
 If we cannot altogether admire the 
 means by which this union was effected, 
 we can at least cast our laurels on the 
 grave of one who fought so noblv, almost 
 single-handed, in the cause of religious 
 liberty against the bigotry of his sovereign 
 and the prejudice and unworthy jealousies 
 of his fellow-countrymen. 
 
 Meanwhile England, in spite of her 
 starving thousands, had never been in a 
 state of greater general prosperity. The 
 1 spinning jenny' had turned Lancashire 
 into a very hive of prosperity. The 
 great Wedgwood potteries gave occu- 
 pation to thousands of potters in Stafford- 
 shire. Canals had opened up the coun- 
 try to export trade and the development 
 of the collieries ; and steam, though still 
 in its infancy, Avas whispering in broken 
 language somewhat of the glorious secrets 
 hidden within its breast. 
 
 The farmers, as we have seen, had grown 
 rich on the famine prices still obtaining in 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 GEOKGE VYVIAN. 
 
 the land. They did not even need to 
 cultivate more than two-thirds of their 
 property. The remaining third might lie 
 neglected and over-grown with weeds. Had 
 they not enough, as it was, for their waste- 
 ful and luxurious lives ? 
 
 But all these little blots on the fair face 
 of England were forgotten now in the ex- 
 citement of the moment. 
 
 This day, the union flags had floated from 
 St. Martin's steeple, from the Horse-Guards 
 and the Guildhall, and salutes had been fired 
 from the Park and Tower to signalize the 
 momentous fact that the King and Privy 
 Council had concluded the official recog- 
 nition of the union. Ladies of fashion 
 had invested in the new prayer-books with 
 their necessary changes and additions, and 
 now the night had arrived when solemn 
 service was to be superseded by twinkling 
 feet and gay lights and bright music and 
 the perfume of flowers ; and everybody who 
 was anybody was turning out to do honour 
 to the grand State Ball to be given at St. 
 James' Palace.
 
 A DEVONSHIRE DAISY. 51 
 
 Ladies were going through the tortures 
 of an elaborate coiffure. Some had sat up 
 all night in order not to disarrange their 
 head-gear, or had taken merely such hasty 
 snatches of sleep as were compatible with 
 the misery of a high-backed chair and the 
 restraining influence of a piece of net care- 
 fully bound round their tresses to keep 
 them in immaculate order. 
 
 In twelve hours these ladies would have re- 
 turned to their respective homes with many 
 a pang of mortified pride and ambition, and 
 would possibly regret the sleepless night 
 and the hours of torture that had brought 
 so little result. Happy for those who 
 escaped heartache and could compound for 
 it by a little heart-burning and the natural 
 jealousies of youth and society, which 
 flamed as fiercely then, we may be sure, 
 as in these later days. 
 
 But we have little to do with these 
 ladies or their hopes and fears, their 
 costumes and braveries. 
 
 Let us go into an upper room of the 
 
 e 2 
 
 ERSfTY 01- 
 
 ILLINOIS LIBRARY 
 AT URBAM-CHAMPAIG
 
 52 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 house where we last saw Captain Yyvian 
 and the enthusiastic preacher. 
 
 The scene is changed now. The luxur- 
 ious living room is empty, but he and his 
 valet are deeply engaged in the mysteries 
 of the toilet in an equally luxurious bed- 
 room. Every toilet necessary is at hand 
 — brushes cunningly carved in ivory with 
 silver mountings bearing the family arms 
 and motto ' Fais ce que dois — advienne que 
 pourra,' witness to the old Norman blood 
 that had at some time mingled with that 
 of his west-country forbears. A dainty 
 pin-cushion, more fit for a lady's boudoir, 
 lay on the table in front of the mirror. 
 The chairs were stiff indeed, as became the 
 age, but more roomy and comfortable than 
 was usual in those days, and the soft 
 cushions were worked in coloured silks and 
 elaborate patterns. It needed not the sight 
 of his slippers designed in various coloured 
 crewels, nor the elegant embroidery of 
 George's white satin waistcoat lying ready 
 for wear on the old oak carved bed, to 
 show that fair hands had been enofaofed in
 
 A DEVONSHIRE DAISY. 53 
 
 his service, and that Captain Vyvian's 
 bright eyes and powdered locks had worked 
 woe in more than one gentle bosom. 
 
 How could he help being handsome and 
 finding life a good and pleasant thing? 
 
 O O X o 
 
 It was so easy for him to please ; so easy 
 to put people on good terms with them- 
 selves ; to bring a blush to beauty's cheek 
 as he leaned over some fair girl, whispering 
 soft words in the perfect little shell-like 
 ears. It meant so little to him. How 
 should he know how fondly many treasured 
 up those deep glances of his, that tender 
 pressure of the hand when the last figure 
 of the stately minuette allowed him to 
 hold' it somewhat longer and more firmly 
 than was absolutely required by the 
 exigencies of the dance ? 
 
 But just now all his mind was turning 
 on the set of his cravat and the ruffles of 
 lace round the black velvet coat which set 
 off his figure so well. 
 
 Hair-powdering was still in vogue 
 amongst men for dress occasions, and 
 George was possibly glad to have his face
 
 5 4 GEOEGE VYVIAX. 
 
 hidden by the operation, as he said, with 
 affected carelessness to his companion, 
 
 ' By the way, Joseph, you have often 
 asked me for a few days' holiday, but 1 
 could not spare you before. I am going 
 out of town now for a week or two, and 
 shall not need you.' 
 
 'Going out of town, Mr. George!' ex- 
 claimed the valet, omitting in his astonish- 
 ment, the more formal ' sir.' L Going out 
 of town, with my Lady Blessington's rout 
 coming on, and the races so shortly too?' 
 
 Joseph knew that his master was very 
 keen about the latter, having, if reports 
 were true, a good deal more money on the 
 ' St. Leger ' than lie could afford to lose. 
 Penrnth was too much devoted to George 
 to gossip about his affairs, but it was im- 
 possible not to hear some reports occasion- 
 ally, and he was too fond of his master to 
 escape being saddened by rumours of the 
 latter's extravagance. When the first 
 surprise was over, he brightened up and 
 began to hope that ' Master George ' might 
 have sown the last of his wild oat crop.
 
 A DEVONSHIRE DAISY. 55 
 
 Meantime a shade passed over George 
 Vyvian's bright face. He looked worried 
 and undecided, giving a vicious toss 
 of the head which threatened to shake the 
 powder over the velvet ' small clothes' just 
 peeping from beneath the white wrapper. 
 
 1 Xo, I have not forgotten, Penruth, but 
 I am tired to death of this mill-wheel of 
 society. I have more money than I care 
 to lose on Pioneer, but my being at hand 
 won't make any difference. I must get out 
 of it all for a bit ;' and he passed a nervous 
 hand over his hot brow, then said irritably, 
 ' There, that will do ! What is the use of 
 all this trouble ? I am sick to death of the 
 whole thino- !' and a weary look came into 
 the dark eyes. 
 
 The faithful valet went off, murmuring 
 to himself, 
 
 c Poor Mr. George ! I knew how it 
 would be. He has taken up all those 
 bets I saw entered in his book, and if 
 Eedway is correct, he stands to lose five 
 figures at least,' and he went sadly to the 
 door to call a hackney coach.
 
 56 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 George, left to his own society, indulged 
 in some very dreary reflections. Cm bono ? 
 Cut bono ? It was all vanity and vexation 
 of spirit ! If any one were the better and 
 happier for this treadmill of fashion ! But 
 no one was — no, not even he himself. It 
 had been so alluring at first, ' when all the 
 world was young,' and each sensation new 
 — the cup just poured out; frothing and 
 sparkling to the brim ! But the fizz was 
 off it now and the drink was getting flat. 
 Some higher part of his nature seemed un- 
 satisfied, although there was so much to 
 allure and charm in his surroundings. 
 Then his thoughts reverted to Daisy Butler, 
 and that uncomfortable conscience of his 
 stirred at once. He knew he had raised 
 hopes and love in that heart. His own 
 had responded, it is true. He had not 
 been deceitful to himself nor to her. His 
 pulse had quickened at her approach, his 
 heart beat happily with the thought of 
 her presence, but was he prepared for the 
 sacrifice that marriage with her would 
 mean ?
 
 A DEVONSHIRE DAISY, 57 
 
 It was a sacrifice in an ambitious and 
 worldly sense alone; for George had an 
 inward conviction that, could the veil con- 
 cealing the mystery of Daisy's birth be 
 lifted, it would display a lineage as true 
 and pure as his own. 
 
 But the world — his little world — that 
 world for which we all plan and scheme, 
 and to which we sacrifice our dearest hopes 
 and wishes — those which we would hardly 
 lay at the feet of our best beloved — our 
 most sacred feelings and aspirations ! Do 
 we not cast all these incontinently before 
 the altar of ' the world,' that spurns the 
 offering with a careless foot and a con- 
 temjDtuous smile — the world that exacts 
 tribute and yet scorns the one who renders 
 it — the world which is never so crino-ins: 
 and servile as to those who defy its dictums 
 and show themselves superior to its piti- 
 fully narrowed rules and laws! 
 
 And yet for this grim and relentless 
 Juggernaut, George was ready, as most of 
 us are, to sacrifice what was dearest to him 
 — to see the cruel wheels of the chariot
 
 58 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 roll over his tender thoughts and budding 
 hopes, and chance of salvation from all 
 that drags a man down to earth. 
 
 Tradition was so strong upon him that 
 he could barely resist its pressure. It was 
 not all his fault. Had not generations 
 gone to producing this servile abasement 
 before a fancied necessity — a sacrifice to 
 ' his order ' — to society — to a number of 
 men and women of whom he knew little 
 and for whom he cared less ? 
 
 The image of Daisy rose more clearly 
 before him as he sat and mused. He 
 thought of the bright, sparkling humour 
 that fitted in so well with his own, which, 
 whilst revealing her affection for him, 
 never palled nor wearied him, but was ever 
 piquante, bright, and fresh. He remem- 
 bered the depths of unrevealed love in the 
 dark-brown eyes that would never really 
 soften towards him (so he thought) until he 
 had placed his life and fortune in her small 
 hands. Poor George ! He thought and 
 thought, and then, as usual, procrastinated. 
 
 He must make up his mind, but not to-
 
 A DEVONSHIRE DAISY. 59 
 
 night ! It would never do to let the poor 
 child be made unhappy unless he could 
 promise her that which alone could com- 
 pensate for these weeks and months of 
 absence. 
 
 He smiled softly as a vision arose of a 
 life spent by themselves, all in all to each 
 other, in the perfect accord and sympathy 
 and congeniality which transcend all lovers' 
 ravings or the bright fierce passion that 
 flames up for a moment, leaving greater 
 darkness behind. 
 
 With them it would be the pure, strong, 
 steady light of mutual affection and fitness 
 that burns on as the sacred fire in some 
 ancient temple, once lighted to be never- 
 more extinguished. 
 
 As each day is renewed in the light of 
 the sun, so such love, rare indeed but not 
 wholly unknown upon earth, is rekindled 
 day by day from the source of all love and 
 all light. 
 
 The words of the preacher came back 
 to George, c Quench not the Sjnril' Was 
 this perhaps his chance of redemption?
 
 60 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 What mattered the world ? What real 
 happiness had it ever given him that 
 he should be so heedful of its smiles 
 and frowns, and dictums and ideas ? 
 Did not eaeli man live to himself as 
 surely as he must die to himself ? Die? 
 yes. Supposing he should die to-night ! 
 What difference would it make to this 
 giddy, cold, and careless throng? Would 
 one heart ache or beat less strongly than 
 before ? 
 
 Why care so much for those who would 
 care so little? His father loved him too 
 truly to thwart him when once convinced 
 that his son's happiness was involved. It 
 might be a sore point for a time, but his 
 father would give in. George knew this, 
 and was too honest to himself to shelter 
 behind his father. No ! he must fight out 
 the battle by himself ! Love was on the 
 one side with her pure white garments 
 and soft holy eyes looking into his own — 
 on the other stood the darker guides of 
 tradition and worldly ambition. 
 
 He might marry a woman, less congenial
 
 A DEVONSHIRE DAISY. 61 
 
 but who would help him more in the 
 dreary social race, who would be content 
 to run even when he himself flagged and 
 grew weary — to bind up the wounds of 
 disappointed effort — to brush the dust off 
 his toil-worn garments, and urge him anew 
 to the struggle ! 
 
 Whereas Daisy, poor little Daisy ! His 
 eyes grew soft and tender as he thought 
 how more than content she would be to let 
 all social prizes slip by if only he remained, 
 that she might find her world and all its 
 joys in his love ! 
 
 Penruth had knocked at the door several 
 times in vain before George finally woke 
 up out of his 'brown study' and went off 
 to the gay scene awaiting him at the 
 Court. 
 
 All dull thoughts and serious ideas were 
 speedily forgotten in the whirl and pleasure 
 of the dance ; in the intoxication of the 
 rhythmic motion, the bright eyes, the 
 brilliant lights and exquisite flowers which 
 completed the fairy-like scene. 
 
 Moreover the King singled him out, and
 
 62 GEORGE VYVIAX. 
 
 was most gracious in commenting upon 
 the late riots and the way in which George 
 had commanded his company upon that 
 occasion. 
 
 In the delight of praise from such lips, a 
 wave of doubt again surged over Vyvian's 
 soul. Could he give up all this and settle 
 down to a quiet country life ? Daisy had 
 no dower beyond her own sweet self to 
 bestow upon him. 
 
 George had spent so much of late on 
 faro and racing, that lie must in anv case 
 live very quietly for some years to come 
 unless it had been his luck to find that 
 vara avis, an amiable heiress, content to 
 give up all her thousands to redeem the 
 mortgages on his land and to see her 
 money swamped in this way with never a 
 reproachful word or look. 
 
 Few women of this kind exist, for gen- 
 erosity in money matters is hardly the 
 strong point in the female breast, and 
 George knew that men who married for 
 money were wont to pay high interest on
 
 A DEVONSHIRE DAISY. 63 
 
 the transaction. Was not his friend 
 Colmore a case in point ? He had been so 
 bright and cheery and insouciant until the 
 melancholy day when he found an heiress, 
 a cold, supercilious woman, reminding the 
 poor fellow at every turn of his obligations 
 to her ! George Vyvian had only dined 
 with them once, for Mrs. Colmore did not 
 smile upon her husband's bachelor friends ; 
 but once was quite sufficient to explain 
 and account for the cloudy brow and 
 wretched look of the unhappy bride- 
 groom. 
 
 As George thought upon this experi- 
 ence, a tall, handsome, but rather haughty- 
 looking girl passed by him. He recognized 
 in her a Miss Treherne whom he had once 
 met at a large evening-party and with 
 whom he had had some passing talk, being 
 rather nattered by the way in which she 
 had listened to and appeared amused by 
 his bright, careless words. 
 
 She bowed as she passed, then stopped 
 with a little haughty gesture, intimating
 
 64 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 to her partner that he must attend to her 
 wishes and wait for a moment. 
 
 ' Captain Vyvian ! You here ! I thought 
 you were moralizing in your beloved 
 Devonshire lanes of which you spoke to 
 me with so much enthusiasm when we last 
 met. We are indeed honoured that you 
 can find any distraction here to compete 
 with rural charms and rural beauties.' 
 
 The words came out with a half- 
 coquettish, half-bitter intonation, as though 
 the young lady had heard some rumours 
 of Devonshire attractions and resented the 
 fact. 
 
 1 Ah, fair lady, you do }~ourself scant 
 justice,' answered George, in the stilted 
 language then in vogue. ' Were all else 
 a howling desert, there is one here to-night 
 whose bright eyes would make all rural 
 charms pale and grow dim.' 
 
 L You are pleased to flatter,' she an- 
 swered, coldly. ' One has enough and to 
 spare of such talk on an occasion like this. 
 I suppose you young gallants con over 
 such speeches as school-boys do their
 
 A DEVONSHIRE DAISY. 65 
 
 lessons ; but the schoolmaster alone is 
 troubled with the latter, whilst we poor 
 women must smile and seem jpl eased with 
 the most halting repetitions of stale phrases 
 from the former. We cannot turn you 
 back and bid you learn to speak more 
 glibly that the torment may at least be 
 short!' and she raised two flashing blue 
 eyes to his own with a glance which some- 
 how disarmed the apparent ungraciousness 
 of her words. 
 
 c Madam, I cannot presume to cross 
 swords with you. You are strong, there- 
 fore be merciful. Grant me at least the 
 favour of a dance to soothe my wounded 
 spirit, and pour some balm of healing into 
 the wounds so ruthlessly made by the 
 stinging lash of your fair but cruel 
 tongue.' 
 
 The words were spoken in seeming 
 jest, but a little of earnestness lurked in 
 them. 
 
 Adelaide Treherne hesitated for a mo- 
 ment ; then said, brightly, and with no 
 trace of her former bitterness, 
 
 VOL. I. f
 
 66 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 c Well, then, you may come for me 
 when the next minuet is danced. You 
 know my aunt, Lacty Darner ? I shall be 
 with her, in the green withdrawing-room. 
 The card-tables are set there, and she will 
 not I0112: be absent from them.' 
 
 She passed quickly on, and was soon 
 lost in the crowd. 
 
 Yyvian gazed after her with a curious 
 mixture of attraction and repulsion. He 
 had only seen her and talked with her 
 once before. He did not respect, he 
 did not even admire her, and yet she 
 had power to touch some part of his 
 nature, — the higher or the lower nature? 
 Certain it was that his pulses beat more 
 quickly, his eye looked brighter for that 
 short interview, and when, having secured 
 his partner for the minuet, they found no 
 places left for them in the dancing-room, 
 he was conscious of a subtle, yet sweet 
 danger in strolling underneath the bright 
 canopy into the brilliantly-lighted gardens, 
 amidst the intoxicating sweetness of the 
 night air.
 
 A DEVONSHIRE DAISY. 67 
 
 Adelaide swayed towards him. Her 
 cold, pale profile looked strangely moved 
 in the moonlight. Their words became 
 fewer, then ceased altogether. The silence 
 was becoming too weird, too dangerous. 
 With a sudden thrill, George recovered 
 himself. It was as though an opium-eater 
 had just shaken off the deadly drowsiness ; 
 as though some belated traveller, lost in 
 the snow, had recovered the use of his 
 limbs at the last critical moment. With a 
 sigh he came back to the commonplace, 
 e very-clay world, with its conventionalities, 
 and for the moment he was saved. 
 
 ' When do you leave London, Miss 
 Treherne ?' 
 
 The matter-of-fact question seemed to 
 lift her also out of a dream. She signed, 
 a little, half-suppressed sigh. Was there 
 some sign of disappointment on the per- 
 fectly-trained features, or was it merely a 
 shadow from the moonlight ? She looked 
 up and answered, indifferently, 
 
 c Some time next month, I believe. My 
 movements depend, of course, upon Lady 
 
 f2
 
 68 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 Darner. She is going to stay with her 
 brother-in-law, Sir Lionel, at Shales, and 
 I am to accompany her.' 
 
 ' At Shales V he asked, with bright inter- 
 est. ' That is surely quite close to us — at 
 least onhy twenty miles away, and we think 
 nothing of twenty miles in what you would 
 call our bucolic reckoning, Miss Treherne. 
 I do trust you will honour Wyverne Court 
 with a visit. Please introduce me to Lady 
 Darner, that I may ask her also to give us 
 the pleasure of her company some day. 
 My father will be so pleased and proud to 
 receive you under the dear old roof. No- 
 thing pleases him better than to show off 
 the treasures of Wyverne to appreciative 
 guests.' 
 
 'That I am sure we should be,' answered 
 Adelaide, politely. ' Lady Darner loves old 
 books, old pictures, and old men. I can- 
 not say her affections extend to old women. 
 Perhaps she is too prophetic for that. I 
 think my aunt is a most remarkable woman 
 for her age, nearly seventy ! Really to- 
 night, in a dim light, you would scarcely
 
 A DEVONSHIRE DAISY. 69 
 
 give her more than fifty-five. The hair 
 and teeth are wonderful, quite works of 
 art ! Perouilier improves each year, I think ; 
 but yet, after all, mint sauce and mutton 
 scarcely make lamb, do they ?' and she 
 looked with ill-concealed dislike towards 
 the door, on the other side of which sat 
 the bewigged, befrizzled image of her dead 
 mother's sister. 
 
 Vyvian experienced a moment's shock 
 of disgust ; comparing this cold, cynical 
 woman, so strong in her youth and beauty, 
 so hard to human weakness, with his own 
 little Daisy, whose tender eyes and over- 
 flowing heart took in everybody, from the 
 kitten whose paw had been run over in the 
 park to the querulous old women with 
 their rheumatics. 
 
 For a moment his good resolves re- 
 turned with renewed force, and, although 
 he sought out Lady Darner and the intro- 
 duction was effected, he gave her but a 
 civil invitation, and, when he handed the 
 two ladies into their coach, there was no 
 pressure of the slim hand that rested for a
 
 70 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 moment in his own ere lie gave the neces- 
 sary instructions to the coachman and 
 watched the carriage roll off into the dark- 
 ness, a splash of yellow against a dark and 
 threatening sky.
 
 71 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY. 
 
 Two days later, at nine p.m., Captain 
 Yyvian started from the c Bell and Crown ' 
 (now better known as Ridler's Hotel) for 
 Exeter. Penruth was there to see him off. 
 The sharp autumnal air blew cold, for the 
 ni^ht was now setting in. 
 
 ' Surely, sir, you will go inside,' pleaded 
 the faithful Joseph, as George prepared to 
 swing himself up into the box-seat. 
 
 1 Inside ! what are you thinking of, man ? 
 To be cooped up all night with two old 
 women, a pug dog, and a bird-cage !' he 
 answered, lightly, with a cautious glance 
 towards the inside of the coach where the 
 party mentioned had already taken their
 
 72 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 places amidst much feminine fuss and 
 excitement. 
 
 c Guard! guard! Just wait one moment! 
 Where is my waiting- woman ? She was to 
 tie some flannel round my darling little 
 Fury's neck and to bring him to me at 
 once, precious pet ! Where can she be ?' 
 and the old woman looked round in de- 
 spair, peering into the darkness, out of 
 which emerged at that moment the figure 
 of the poor overburdened Abigail with 
 arms full of cushions and pillows, giving 
 rather a vicious grasp to the collar of an 
 ill-tempered looking little pug dog, which 
 was almost suffocated in scarlet flannel. 
 
 c Here you are, ma'am,' called out the 
 obliging guard, helping the woman in and 
 giving a bang to the door, just as Vyvian, 
 having settled himself comfortably, turned 
 up the fur collar of his heavy military coat 
 and bent down to give some last instruc- 
 tions to Penruth. 
 
 ' If Captain St. Aubyn should call, tell 
 him I shall be back in a fortnight, and open 
 the best port for him, that with the yellow
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY. 73 
 
 seal. He will find the best brand of Span- 
 ish cigars on the left hand side-drawer, 
 near the fire-place. Tell him to take all 
 he wants — and, Penruth ! ask Colonel 
 Styleraan, if he calls, to run down to the 
 paddocks and have a look at Pioneer 
 and see that he is sent off to Doncaster 
 in good time. My groom is a jewel, it 
 is true, but all jewels are the better for 
 a little rubbing up now and then ;' and 
 with a light laugh, and a kindly wave of 
 the hand to dismiss his valet, George 
 leaned back in his seat. 
 
 The last parcels having been thrown 
 into the front boot, the mail-bags hastily 
 pushed into the back one, and a fish-basket, 
 delivered at the last moment by a gasping 
 tradesman, having found its place in the 
 4 pig net,' the lumbering old coach rolled 
 out of the courtyard to the great delight 
 of helpers and stable-men, and a few waifs 
 and strays attracted to the spot by the 
 sounds of bustle and the cheery note of the 
 guard's horn. 
 
 On they went, clattering down the whole
 
 74 GEORGE VYVIAX. 
 
 length of Oxford Street, to pull up at the 
 Gloucester coffee-house for more passengers 
 and more parcels. 
 
 The wind blew bitterly cold over Bagshot 
 Heath, and as the coachman was taciturn 
 and seemed more taken up with his pipe 
 and his miserable team of horses than the 
 passengers, Captain Vyvian had little to 
 distract his attention, and grew more and 
 more drowsy by slow degrees. He must 
 have fallen asleep at length, but was woke 
 up with a terrific jolt, and being thoroughly 
 roused called out to the coachman, 
 
 ' Where are we ? "What has happened ? 
 Is the coach over?' 
 
 ' Coach overturned ?' muttered the sulky 
 Jehu. c Xo, man — what are you dreaming 
 of? You must be half-asleep. But we 
 are in a precious mess, and if you want to 
 do a bit of good work, and wake yourself 
 up into the bargain, you can just jump 
 down and help us out of it.' 
 
 No sooner said than done. In a trice 
 the active young captain was on his feet.
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY. 75 
 
 He found the coach in a deep rut on one 
 side, above the axle of the wheel. 
 
 The miserable, broken-kneed screws who 
 were drawing it seemed utterly unable to 
 make any fresh effort. Up came the guard. 
 He and Vyvian between them coaxed, 
 pushed, tugged, and dragged in turn, 
 whilst the coachman from time to time 
 gave a hearty good lash of the whip over 
 their wretched hides and straining, quiver- 
 ing muscles. 
 
 By this time, the inside passengers were 
 awake, the windows were let down, and at 
 one of them appeared a head wrapped in a 
 shawl and bristling with curl-papers, whilst 
 a mumbling voice (suggestive of the absence 
 of teeth during evening slumbers) called 
 out, 
 
 ' Guard ! Coachman ! Guard ! I say. 
 Why does not some one attend to me ? 
 Wake up, Marshall ! You lazy, snoring 
 wretch ! You have half-crushed my sweet 
 Fury to death by leaning your head against 
 the door. Get out at once and see what
 
 76 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 is the matter. I have taken our places to 
 Cricklade. What means this delay? I 
 insist upon being taken on at once. That 
 sweet pet won't get his milk till seven 
 o'clock if we are late, and you know Dr. 
 Quack said he could not answer for the 
 consequences. Get out at once and speak 
 to these rude wretches who seem to have 
 no time nor attention for a gentlewoman's 
 reasonable demands.' 
 
 ' My ; dear madam. Pray keep quiet 
 and do not add to the confusion,' said 
 Vyvian, suddenly presenting himself at 
 the door, to the great confusion of the 
 ancient virgin, who tried in vain to conceal 
 the head-gear under a hastily arranged 
 yellow scarf, and the absence of teeth by 
 an inane grin of affectation. 
 
 ' So very embarrassing ! to be found in 
 such a position by a gentleman ! Only 
 my devoted affection for my darling pet 
 would have induced me to brave the night 
 wind and this terrible exposure ; but I 
 am so sadly over-sensitive, and my waiting- 
 woman is absolutely useless. Marshall,
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY. 77 
 
 you wicked wretch, how dare you teaze 
 my darling ?' 
 
 The last remark was occasioned by a 
 vicious snap given by the ' darling,' who 
 had hitherto contented himself by snarling 
 and giving vent to short, irritating barks 
 from the poor maid's lap, where he had 
 been put to sleep as being softer than the 
 seat of the coach. 
 
 Vyvian was too much disgusted with the 
 woman's selfishness to care to offer much 
 consolation ; so he said, rather abruptly, 
 
 ' You had better keep that ill-tempered 
 little brute quiet if possible, for if he means 
 to bark until we move on, your head, 
 madam, is likely to suffer ; not to mention 
 that of your tirewoman. Here we are, and 
 here we seem likely to remain for the 
 present, and if Fury, or whatever the dog's 
 name is, gets his milk by noon to-morrow 
 you may be thankful. A good kick now 
 would be the best thing for him, and might 
 stop that miserable yelping perchance.' 
 
 A grateful look from the poor, oppressed 
 Marshall fully endorsed the motion, and
 
 78 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 showed how thoroughly she agreed with 
 the last speaker. 
 
 The old lady was too indignant for 
 words, and subsided into her corner, whilst 
 Vyvian returned for a last long tug at the 
 coach, which by this time had been some- 
 what loosened from the heavy cart-track 
 into which it had fallen. 
 
 ' Blow the horn, Bill. Blow the horn !' 
 called out the coachman to the guard, in a 
 moment of inspiration. ' They'll think 
 they've come to the change, and will 
 struggle on, maybe.' 
 
 The ruse succeeded admirably. The 
 tired horses pricked up their ears, and with 
 one supreme effort, backed up by guard 
 and outside passengers, the heavy coach 
 righted itself and got back once more to 
 level ground, where the poor brutes stood 
 trembling with excitement and fatigue. 
 
 'All right, Bill! Let 'em go. Give 
 'em their heads ! I've got hold of them !' 
 and, with a good slashing blow from his 
 long whip, the coachman got his team well 
 in hand, and, in a quarter of an hour, had
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY. 79 
 
 drawn up at the good, old-fashioned An- 
 dover inn where the horses were to be 
 changed, and a plentiful supply of cold 
 meat, bread, home-cured bacon, tea, coffee, 
 rum, gin, milk, and beer awaited the hun- 
 gry travellers and satisfied their various 
 wants. 
 
 Vyvian noticed that poor Marshall had 
 to content herself with a cup of weak tea, 
 but her mistress (still in the yellow turban, 
 and with teeth hastily clapped in for pur- 
 poses of mastication), was boldly sending 
 for gin to rub on her sweet Fury's nose to 
 prevent his taking a chill from the late 
 exposure. As the gin came with boiling 
 water and lump sugar on the tray, it was 
 very evident that Fury's mistress intended 
 to take similar precautions; but, in her 
 case, the throat and not the nose appeared 
 the weak spot ! 
 
 It is to be hoped that Fury got his 
 matutinal milk in due course, for some 
 amount of time was made up on the way 
 thanks to a better team of horses for the 
 next stage, and, soon after six a.m., the
 
 80 GEORGE VTVIAN. 
 
 coach rolled into the little Cricklacle inn 
 and deposited the old lady, the parrot, the 
 pug, and the patient Marshall, and by 
 noon Honiton had been left behind, and 
 the stately cathedral towers of Exeter 
 were looming in the distance. 
 
 Vyvian, by this time, was getting so im- 
 patient for home and to see Daisy that the 
 delay for the mid-da)* meal at the time- 
 honoured ' George' inn was very irksome to 
 him. Only a few commercial travellers were 
 left by this time, and they were discussing 
 with fierce interest the rise and fall in 
 wheat, Arc. 
 
 'I tell you, sir. we shall have the quar- 
 tern loaf down to six-pence again, or the 
 English people will know the reason why ! 
 I declare that it is perfectly shameful — one 
 shilling and nine-pence for a quartern loaf 
 of bread, and your farmers growing fat in 
 the land ; with madam and her silk gowns 
 if you please, and young miss and master 
 with their pranked-out pelisses and their 
 airs and graces — I have no patience with 
 it all. It is bad enough to be under the
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY. 81 
 
 thumb of the real aristocracy and forced 
 to eat humble pie before them, but when it 
 comes to your upstart gentry and your 
 farmers,'' (with a stress of contempt on the 
 word and a glance to the head of the table 
 where an undoubted local specimen of the 
 class was helping himself to beans and 
 bacon, in no way abashed by such com- 
 ments upon his calling.) 
 
 c Go on, my man ; go on !' he said, with 
 a large smile of superiority. ' We farmers 
 have broad enough backs, thanks to the 
 price of wheat. We can stand a good deal 
 more than you can say about us. Fair 
 field and no favour, say I. Let them take 
 who can and let them keep who may. If 
 the price of wheat don't suit such as you, 
 you can leave it alone. No one forces you 
 to buy.' 
 
 An indignant reply rose to the lips of 
 the ' bagman,' but by this time Vyvian, 
 weary of the discussion, and having fin- 
 ished his dinner, had sauntered outside, 
 and was dreaming, over one of his best 
 Spanish cigars, of his first meeting with 
 
 VOL. i. G
 
 82 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 Daisy; wondering how she would look, 
 where they would first see each other, his 
 heart beating, and a joyous little melody 
 harmonising to the thought of her sweet 
 eyes and merry looks. 
 
 By the time the coach had rattled 
 through the one street of the little village 
 of Cornwood and was on its way to Ivy 
 Bridge, Vyvian could no longer restrain his 
 impatience to be off it and free to make his 
 way up to the beautiful old court where 
 his father had lived in scholarly ease and 
 leisure since the death of a lovely young 
 wife had left him with no interest in life 
 save his books and the youn^ son who 
 could only remember his mother as a kind 
 of delightful grown-up playfellow. 
 
 ' Guard, just look after my trunk and 
 bag, and see they are left at the lodge gates 
 for Wyverne Court. Captain Vyvian — 
 they'll know.' 
 
 With these hasty instructions, a smile 
 and a crown-piece bestowed on the de- 
 lighted ' Bill,' he swung himself off the 
 box-seat and stood in the middle of the
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY. 83 
 
 road, shaking off some' of the travel stains 
 and waiting for the coach to get on far 
 enough to leave him free from the whirl- 
 wind of dust that followed in its wake. 
 The chilly autumn night and threatening 
 rain had given place to one of those glori- 
 ous late autumnal days, a real ' Indian 
 summer,' and by this time (five p.m.) the 
 sun's rays were growing uncomfortably 
 hot as the shafts of gold were thrown in 
 George Vyvian's eyes from the gates of the 
 west. 
 
 Seeking some shade, he turned aside 
 through a small rustic gate leading by 
 wooded glades to the south lodge of 
 "Wyverne Court. A vision of beauty lay 
 before him. It was always beautiful, this 
 home of his, but just now, straight from 
 the noise and racket and ceaseless din of 
 the great capital, the peace and calm 
 seemed doubly intense, and his eyes rested 
 with an almost passionate sense of delight 
 on the lovely moss-grown ground where 
 fairy toad-stools rose up in every glowing 
 shade of deep crimson and brightest gold, 
 
 g2
 
 84 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 and the soft, moist earth was covered with 
 the first carpet of leaves from the beech- 
 trees overhead. 
 
 Autumn had touched these latter with 
 her fiery finger, painting them in all the 
 glowing colours Nature keeps in her studio, 
 hidden awa) T somewhere in the clouds. The 
 birds, like tired children, were hushed to 
 early rest, but a bright little squirrel here 
 and there looked from an old gnarled trunk 
 straight into Vyvian's eyes, and then 
 scampered off in saucy glee to be so swift 
 and so safe from these terrible giants who 
 came through its domain from time to 
 time. A little white ' tip ' flashed through 
 the undergrowth as a baby rabbit hurried 
 past to regain the open shelter of the 
 warren outside the dangerous wood where 
 it had strayed. 
 
 All seemed peace and harmony and 
 blessed rest. What a contrast to the hurry 
 and worry and heat and turmoil of London 
 — London with its fierce pleasures and its 
 fiercer pains — the constant struggles — 
 the • nine months' imprisonment with
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY. 85 
 
 hard labour,' as Vyvian cynically termed 
 his London life from the contrast of these 
 lovely hills and peaceful scenes. 
 
 And jet, at the bottom of his heart, he 
 knew full well that he hugged his chains ! 
 Ay ! even the ' hard labour' of constantly 
 amusing himself, and that he would feel as 
 much ' lost ' if suddenly confronted by a 
 rural life, as the poor prisoner brought 
 from his gloomy dungeon into the open 
 light of day. 
 
 Just as this idea passed through his 
 mind, he saw a sight which, for the moment 
 at least, reconciled him to his 'liberty/ 
 He had reached an open part of the 
 woods where a clear stream ran along and 
 fairy mosses grew on all sides in tiny cush- 
 ions of brown and green and gold — the 
 first autumn berries mingling their shades 
 of crimson and blue-black. 
 
 An old trunk long fallen to the ground 
 and covered with moss and ivy was 
 disclosed by a sudden bend of the wood. 
 The trunk had been rolled from its ori- 
 ginal position on to a stump deep down
 
 86 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 in the ground, in order to form a rustic 
 see-saw. 
 
 On this were two figures, a young girl 
 and a small village urchin of six or seven 
 years old. The slight, girlish figure was 
 turned away from Vyvian, but the boy's 
 face puckered up into a comical expression 
 of terror and curiosity seeing a strange face 
 looking at him as George advanced slowly 
 along the path. 
 
 1 Look out, Teddy !' cried a bright young 
 voice. ' What is the matter? Take care ! 
 You are letting your end go far too high. 
 You will have me in the brook in a 
 minute !' 
 
 A moment's pause — Vyvian trod on some 
 crackling leaves — Teddy, divided between 
 his fears and instinctive obedience to the 
 divinity he worshipped in his childish soul T 
 made an heroic effort to weigh down the 
 trunk on his side. The girl, hearing the 
 approaching footsteps behind her, jumped 
 up and turned a laughing, heated face 
 towards Vyvian, as poor Teddy, released 
 from his position in mid air, came down to
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY. 87 
 
 mother earth rather too suddenly for com- 
 fort, and rolled over and over on the soft, 
 mossy ground. 
 
 c George !' ' Daisy !' burst simultane- 
 ously from the lips of the other two, and 
 Daisy's eyes grew soft and shy and the hot 
 cheeks took on a yet brighter glow as she 
 lifted both hands towards Vyvian with a 
 pretty, eager gesture of welcome. 
 
 Poor George ! As usual, the emotion of the 
 moment was everything. Conscience — self- 
 reproaches — wordly wisdom, all vanished 
 in the ecstacy of the present as he threw 
 his arm fondly round her, turning up her 
 shy, small face to his own. 
 
 'Why, Daisy ! Sweetheart ! Have you no 
 better Greeting for me than that ?' 
 
 He looked full into the girl's face with 
 eager eyes and a world of longing expressed 
 therein. 
 
 She hid her happy smile, leaning against 
 his shoulder for a minute ; then said, rather 
 nervously, 
 
 k But I should not call you " George" any 
 longer. What would the squire say ? I
 
 GEORGE VYVIAX. 
 
 cannot bear to feel that we must needs be 
 different when he is present. He has been 
 B .rood and kind to me — a second father. 
 It seems such ill return — such deceit, to 
 listen to your loving words and suffer your 
 tender looks — when maybe he has such 
 different views for you. dear — Oh ! George ! 
 George! what shall we do? How can I 
 
 it to give you up, and yet. how can I do 
 this wrong to one who rescued and cared 
 for me when I was a desolate, unprotected 
 little child without home or friends or 
 mon< 
 
 The little face took on a look of sad and 
 wistful self-reproach ; the bright eves gr 
 dim. and the full lower lip of the sweet 
 mouth drooped in a sad curve, like that 
 : - me tired, weary child. 
 
 T Idy meanwhile had been looking on 
 with open mouth and eyes growing rounder 
 and rounder with astonishment at seeing 
 his • Dai-Dai ' so taken up with anyone 
 apart from his small self. A sense of 
 
 sertion and resentment had been slowly 
 filling his tiny breast, and now that he saw
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY. <S9 
 
 tears in her eyes, brought there by this 
 strange man - i to spoil all their 
 
 fun. matters came to a crisis. Possibly the 
 remembrance of his ignominious roll down 
 the bank , deled fuel ::• the he.: 
 
 Doubling up his little fists and 
 
 his whole body trembling with childish 
 passion, he rushed to I ;. throwing 
 
 himself against Yvvian's lesrs in 1 beating 
 
 _ _ 
 
 them violently with his tin; 3 which 
 
 reached s.-areely higher than the hitter's 
 knees. 
 
 • Go away ! _ i away ! you hod man ! How 
 you make my Dai-Dai ay? Ill tell 
 -quite of you. reel he will have you turn- 
 ed out of his woods. These are his woods. 
 Dai-Dai told me so. You sha'n't come here 
 and spell our play and make her cry !' 
 
 The gust of passion spent itself in angry 
 - as the over-tired, excited child threw 
 himself down on the discarded see-saw and 
 swayed to and fro in a very agony of im- 
 potent de-pair. 
 
 One of Vyvian's most lov.- "h traits 
 was his fondne-s for children rid animals
 
 90 GEORGE VYVIAK 
 
 and all creatures who were weak and needed 
 protection. 
 
 He put his arms round the little angry 
 boy and tossed him upon his shoulders 
 with a quick, sudden movement, whence 
 the indignant little face looked down 
 with a queer mixture of struggling 
 dignity and intense satisfaction with his 
 exalted position. 
 
 4 All right, my boy ! you are quite right 
 to be such a trusty little knight to u Dai-Dai," 
 — but who are you, I wonder? I don't re- 
 member your little black eyes. Do you 
 come from Wyverne ?' 
 
 ' It is Teddy Shearman,' answered Daisy. 
 ' His father is one of the new under-garden- 
 ers at the Court since you went from home, 
 Mr. George. Teddy and I are great friends ; 
 he often comes for a game of play in the 
 woods when I have finished my laces and 
 read as many pages of history and embroi- 
 dered as much linen as dear old Bonny 
 thinks good for me.' 
 
 1 Bonny ' was Daisy's pet name for stiff, 
 starchy Mrs. Boniface, the Court house-
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY. 91 
 
 keeper, impervious to everyone but Daisy, 
 who had been put under her charge as a 
 baby-girl of three years old by the late 
 young ' Madam Vyvian.' 
 
 c I cannot be fashed to look after her. 
 The maids are enough for me with their 
 gallivantings and trapesings. What would 
 /do with the child?' 
 
 Such had been the housekeeper's early 
 protest; but the stern face had relaxed 
 when the child in a vain effort to pro- 
 nounce the hard new name had turned a 
 confiding little face from the safe shelter 
 of madam's stiff, silk gown, and in 
 answer to some whispered prompting had 
 said, ' Pease, Mrs. Bonny, madam says I 
 may have some heed and zam and coiesip 
 wine with you in the still-room,' boldly 
 thrusting a tiny hand into the house- 
 keeper's hard palm, as a practical hint that 
 the suggestion should be acted upon at 
 once. 
 
 Ever since, Daisy had reigned supreme 
 in Bonny 's heart. The old childish pet 
 name had remained long after the baby
 
 92 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 lips had learned to form their words cor- 
 rectly ; for Daisy was a bright, quick child, 
 and when poor young madam's early death 
 had left her entirely to Bonny 's tender 
 mercies, the latter had conscientiously 
 undertaken to teach the little one all she 
 knew herself. 
 
 George, as a boy, had often amused him- 
 self in the housekeeper's room by putting 
 the tiny witch on to a high stool to hear 
 her stumble manfully through some terri- 
 ble chapter of biblical genealogy with 
 which he delighted to puzzle her childish 
 brain. 
 
 At the age of five, Daisy could triumph- 
 antly make her way through the first 
 chapter of St. Matthew, with puckered 
 brow, one tiny finger l marking the place,' 
 but never hesitating for a moment even 
 over the most outlandish names. 
 
 1 She takes her fences pretty straight, 
 doesn't she, Mrs. Bonny ?' the young boy 
 would say at such times, rather proud of 
 the sporting phrase ; and the elder woman, 
 puzzled by it, but detecting some praise of
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY. 93 
 
 her darling, would smooth out the eager 
 little face with a kindly hand, and say, 
 with affected indifference, 
 
 c Yes, yes, Master George, the child is 
 well enough ; but }^ou must not spoil her, 
 nor teach her your rude, rough ways. A 
 little gentlewoman must learn to behave, 
 and speak prettily, and be quiet and 
 modest.' 
 
 George could remember no time in his 
 life when he had not petted and spoiled 
 the little one. She was as much part of 
 his life as his father or the Court itself, or 
 the horses and dogs that beguiled his days 
 there. It was only of late that Daisy's 
 bright, happy, sunshiny face had taken on 
 a grave look when he was near. By de- 
 grees the romps and games had given place 
 to more sedate walks and rides, for ma- 
 dam's pony had been made over to Daisy 
 when the young mother died, and, though 
 now getting on in years, was still able to 
 carry her gently about through the lanes 
 and woods, where she went generally as 
 almoner to Bonny in the village.
 
 94 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 The change in Daisy — so subtle yet so 
 sure — the change from child to maiden, 
 had come and passed without remark from 
 George. But it had influenced him, and 
 was at the bottom of his late reproaches 
 and self-accusations. He could no longer 
 blind his eyes to the fact that she was not 
 a child but a woman, that the old terms of 
 almost brotherly and sisterly affection had 
 passed away for ever, that his kisses were 
 no longer the caresses given to a favourite 
 playfellow, and that in place of all this a 
 deep, true, and lasting affection had sprung 
 up between them with the strength and 
 tenacity only to be found in those rare 
 cases where childish association and child- 
 ish love are replaced by the passionate 
 devotion of later years. 
 
 He must make up his mind one way or 
 the other. That was only fair to Daisy. 
 Her future was yet before her. He re- 
 membered even yet with a pang of jealous 
 suffering how indignant he had felt when 
 he was last down at the Court, and Bonny
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY. 95 
 
 had told him of the serious attentions of a 
 well-to-do fanner in the neighbourhood. 
 It was positive sacrilege to think of it ! 
 
 ' Dais} T — his Daisy — to be mated with 
 such a clown,' as he had expressed it with 
 unconscious prophetic plagiarism. c What 
 absurd nonsense, Bonn} 7 ! How can you 
 talk of such an impossibility ? As if 
 Daisy would look at such a fellow !' 
 
 Mrs. Boniface seemed surprised and 
 rather indignant at this reception of her 
 surmise. 
 
 c Absurd, indeed, Master George ! — Cap- 
 tain Vyvian, I should say, begging your 
 pardon — I don't know about that. Daisy 
 is as true a little lady as ever stepped. As 
 my poor mistress used to say, " Mark my 
 words, Boniface, that child has gentle 
 blood in her veins;" but Ave must remember 
 there is nothing to prove it. What gen- 
 tleman would care to marry her, poor 
 lamb, not knowing who she is nor how she 
 came ? It would be the best day's work 
 she could do to marry Farmer Buckmill, I
 
 96 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 should say — an honest man with a good 
 roof to put over her head, and a best par- 
 lour and all. There's that man of yours, 
 Penruth, Master George. He is always 
 sighing and making sheep's-eyes and talk- 
 ing of princesses in disguise, and such-like 
 — I have no patience with the fellow !' 
 
 This was true enough, for Mrs. Boniface 
 hated with an undying hatred this body- 
 servant of her young master, who, as foster- 
 brother, was treated with such special fav- 
 our, and was, as was popularly supposed, 
 so deep in George's secrets. 
 
 ' If the likes of him can be thinking of 
 Daisy, I should like to know why Farmer 
 Buckinill may not raise his eyes to her 
 indeed ?' and Mrs. Boniface had turned 
 impatiently away to flick some imaginary 
 dust off the mantelpiece. 
 
 1 Nonsense, Bonny,' repeated careless 
 George. ' Of course Penruth is not such 
 a fool as to think of such a thing for a 
 moment. He admires her, no doubt, as he 
 would admire the stars in Heaven — she is 
 quite as far beyond his reach, or Buck-
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY. 97 
 
 mill's either, for that matter ;' and he had 
 changed the subject with an impatient 
 feeling of disgust and irritation. 
 
 All this was passing through George's 
 mind now as he walked by Daisy's side, 
 carrying his small charge, who had by this 
 time forgiven the ' wicked man ' and was 
 shrieking with delight as Vyvian tossed 
 him higher and higher amongst the waving 
 branches of the trees as they emerged 
 slowly from the wood to the open grass- 
 land. 
 
 Here the deep-red roofs and chimneys 
 of Wyverne Court came suddenly in view. 
 ' There is the dear old place once more ! 
 How well it looks, Daisy, now that the 
 belt of firs has grown up in the back- 
 ground. I am so glad the squire let me 
 have my way about that dark oak gabling 
 for the new stables. That and the deep 
 crimson and dark shades of green are so 
 harmonious with this perfect blue sky 
 above them all.' 
 
 His artistic temperament drank in the 
 colouring with perfect satisfaction. A 
 
 VOL. i. n
 
 98 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 new emotion, this time the emotion of art, 
 had full possession of his soul for the time. 
 Art and love harmonize as well as the 
 dark oak and the deep red bricks. 
 
 Daisy was near him. His whole nature 
 went out towards her and was satisfied. 
 He turned with a tender look towards her 
 blushing face, and put Teddy down with a 
 friendly nod. 
 
 ' Run away, my boy ! Here is a silver 
 piece for you to spend at Mother Good- 
 man's. No, " Dai-Dai" does not want you 
 any more ! You are ruining her pretty 
 laces and making her so hot with your 
 grubby little face ;' for the child had 
 thrown both arms tightly round the neck 
 of his beloved ' Dai,' and nearly pulled her 
 down with the force and strength of his 
 affection. 
 
 1 There, there, Teddy, that will do. Go 
 home to mother, darling, and tell her 
 you have been a very good boy, and 
 a Dai-Dai" will have you out again very 
 soon.' 
 
 The boy ran off, almost tumbling over
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY. 99 
 
 his own little legs in vain attempts to look 
 back at Daisy and yet steer a straight path 
 to his mother's cottage, which lay close at 
 hand. 
 
 Meanwhile, George and Daisy walked 
 quietly round to the garden-gate and 
 entered the Court by the side-door gener- 
 ally used by them in their goings out or 
 comings in. 
 
 A shade had fallen upon them both. 
 Was it the remembrance of the squire and 
 his hopes and ambitions that cast a sha- 
 dow over the old house as they entered it 
 together ? 
 
 A stiff, elderly figure in black silk was 
 crossing the hall. 
 
 ' Bonny ! Bonny ! Here is George — 
 Captain Vyvian, I mean,' cried Daisy, in a 
 cheery voice. ' Come straight down from 
 London and his gay ladies and their powder 
 and patches, to see you and me, and drink 
 syllabubs and home-made wines, and forget 
 his grand friends and their fetes and their 
 routs for one whole fortnight ! Is it not 
 delightful ?' 
 
 h2
 
 100 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 The girl's voice had a cheery ring, but 
 there was a wistful glance in the eyes 
 which no tones could belie. 
 
 The setting sun's last bright gleams fell 
 on the chained armour and the old tapestry 
 and the dark oak carvings of the hall. 
 Bonny hastened forward with low curtsey 
 and respectful smile. A shaggy collie dog 
 looked up from his afternoon nap to bark 
 a short, sharp, delightful bark of rapturous 
 welcome. All the brightness of the rays 
 fell on George's head as he stood in the 
 midst of the grand old hall. 
 
 Daisy had turned aside for a moment, 
 the only one in shadow in the group. 
 George took her hand with a quick ges- 
 ture. ' Daisy, child! you look tired. Don't 
 stand there in the shadow, come here into 
 the sun. He will be gone directly. Make 
 the most of him whilst he shines upon 
 us.' 
 
 The last words struck a chill into poor 
 little Daisy's loving heart. ' Was her sun 
 also about to set ? the sun of her love and 
 hope ? Must she also "make the most " of
 
 A NIGHT JOURNEY. 101 
 
 the few moments — or weeks — or months 
 that might remain ?' 
 
 L Thank you, dear George, but it hurts 
 my eyes ;' and she slipped her cold little 
 hand from his detaining grasp and ran up 
 the broad oak staircase, saying in tones of 
 suspicious cheerfulness, ' I am going to 
 look after the captain's room, Bonny. My 
 legs are younger than yours, dear. You 
 give him some of your ginger cordial. I 
 know you want to hear all about London, 
 you gay old lady ! I will see that Hannah 
 has everything in comfort in Mr. George's 
 room.' 
 
 ' Bless her dear little thoughtful heart !' 
 said the old housekeeper, as she led George 
 into her own particular sanctum. l She 
 always does think of my poor rheumatic 
 knee. These sharp winds bring out the 
 aches and pains of us old women, Mr. 
 George. It is well to be young and bonny, 
 to be sure. So it is !' 
 
 c Well, you are Bonny, if you are not 
 young, you ungrateful old lady,' George 
 answered, with a bright laugh.
 
 102 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 The time-honoured joke did duty once 
 more, and smoothed the old lady's brow as 
 she bustled off to get glasses and sweet 
 cake to make ' her boy ' taste the excellen- 
 cies of her celebrated ginger cordial.
 
 103 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 TEMPTATION. 
 
 In a few days, Vyvian felt quite at home 
 again amongst his horses and dogs ; tak- 
 ing long strolls in the woods with Daisy, 
 dreaming time away, and forgetting all 
 good resolutions of prudence or ambition. 
 
 One day as he was strolling along with 
 a gun in his hand and a couple of dogs at 
 his heels, more for occupation and amuse- 
 ment than with any definite idea of shoot- 
 ing, he came suddenly upon his father. 
 His face lighted up with pleasure, for there 
 was a strong bond of affection between the 
 two. 
 
 The squire had handsome dark eyes, 
 much like George's in colour, but there
 
 104 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 was a more determined look about the 
 mouth. The old man was kindly but some- 
 what stern and very reserved in manner 
 to all except his son. He had never been 
 quite the same since the light of his life 
 went out with his young wife's death. 
 He was walking rather wearily along, and 
 it struck George for the first time with a 
 sudden pang that his father was becoming 
 an old man. He had note-book and pencil 
 in hand, and was marking down some trees 
 for the woodman's axe. 
 
 ' Why, sir, are you thinning out the 
 trees still ? I should have thought that 
 work was over for the present ! There is 
 plenty of daylight here surely ?' and George 
 pointed to a gap made by the cutting down 
 of two noble oak-trees, which had hidden 
 the turnpike road from that portion of the 
 Wyverne estate. 
 
 A sigh came from the elder man as he 
 answered, sadly, 
 
 4 Thinning? ay, George, my lad, there is 
 daylight enough and to spare, as you say. 
 I wish I could see as much in my affairs
 
 TEMPTATION. 105 
 
 just now. The times are bad for us land- 
 owners, my boy, unless we are working 
 our own land. The last war has run up 
 provisions to famine prices. I have too 
 much land let out to the farmers, and they 
 are the only ones to profit. It is all very 
 well to be the " old squire," and owner of 
 Wyverne Court, but, if your estate is en- 
 cumbered and mortgaged, the advantages 
 of proprietorship are doubtful. I often 
 think Farmer Buckmill over yonder has a 
 better time of it than your poor old father, 
 George. He can lie down at night with no 
 cares beyond his cattle-grazing and settling 
 how to grow the " ten acre " next year so 
 as to make a little higher percentage on 
 his labour. That man is just coining 
 money, they say ! By the way, Boniface 
 tells me he has shown some interest in our 
 little Daisy. It would be a capital match 
 for the child ! Sometimes I wonder what 
 her future will be — your poor mother was 
 so sei upon the child. She always wanted 
 a little daughter herself before you came, 
 George, and Daisy seemed to come in place
 
 106 GEOEGE VYVIAN. 
 
 of one. But of course things are altered 
 now, and the poor child is in an awkward 
 position : with us, but not one of us. She 
 would be happier far, the little puss, with 
 her own chimney-corner and best parlour 
 and a good honest yeoman to fi^ht her 
 battles for her and give her a good roof 
 over her head.' 
 
 George turned aside impatiently, and 
 stooped down to pick up a twig from the 
 path ere he answered. Even then he 
 made no remark on the last part of his 
 father's speech, but contented himself with 
 answering the first sentences. 
 
 1 Can't you get back some of the land 
 into your hands, father, if farming pays so 
 well now ? Why not farm it yourself for 
 a bit? Shall I turn rustic? Give up my 
 London life and come down here and learn 
 the mysteries of sowing and reaping and 
 rearing stock for you?' 
 
 'No, no, my boy!' and the father's 
 hand rested lightly on the young man's 
 shoulder as he gazed proudly at him. \ You 
 would make little of that business, I doubt
 
 TEMPTATION. 107 
 
 me, and we should have fair eyes weep- 
 ing for you up there. Learn life — enjoy 
 your youth, my lad, and leave your old 
 father to arrange as best he may for you 
 here. It would be impossible any way ; 
 for the best fields are let on long lease. I 
 was glad enough to get rid of them a 
 dozen years back when agriculture prospects 
 looked so poor ! I misdoubt the lasting 
 of the present prosperity. It is too great 
 and too sudden. The late bad harvests 
 have run up the price of corn, but it cannot 
 remain like this. We should have a revolu- 
 tion here as the French " mounseers " have 
 had — why, that riot you told me about 
 the other day is a proof of this. Let the 
 farmers make their profits whilst they can. 
 It won't last, mark my words. No, no, 
 George ! your plan won't do, but I know 
 a better one. Why not bring home some 
 fair lady who has a little dower of her 
 own ? I would not have you marry for 
 money, my boy, — that brings misery — but 
 why not go where money is ? There must 
 be many a pretty girl in London who would
 
 108 GEOHGE VYVIAN. 
 
 listen to your wooing, and who would 
 bring something with her to line the nest, 
 eh, my boy? What ! have you found one 
 already ?' for the tell-tale blood was rising 
 to George's cheek. ' Come, tell your old 
 father all about it. What care have I left 
 in the world but for you, my boy? If I 
 could see you happily married, with a good 
 wife and your children about you and the 
 estate unencumbered ; well then, George, I 
 could go and join your mother with all my 
 heart whenever and wherever the Almighty 
 wills it. I've never known happiness since 
 she left me, and I cannot believe but that 
 He who knows it will let us be together 
 again some day. I go to my church regu- 
 larly Sunday mornings wet or shine, but I 
 don't hold much with the parsons — only 
 I do believe I shall find her again some 
 day.' 
 
 As the old man uttered the last words 
 in a dreamy tone, and more to himself than 
 to his son, a noise of wheels was heard in 
 the road beneath their feet. A cloud of 
 dust arose, coming nearer and nearer as the
 
 TEMPTATION. 109 
 
 horses clattered along, and a handsome 
 yellow chariot whirled past. Two ladies 
 were seated in it facing the horses, whilst 
 an elderly man occupied the back seat. 
 
 The smaller lady, a bright handsome 
 woman with fair hair and blue eyes, looked 
 up at the father and son standing on the 
 bank above her, bowed slightly and smiled, 
 showing a double row of pearls and a mouth 
 whose perfect curve was just spoilt by a 
 thin upper lip. 
 
 George took off his hat with a profound 
 bow and his best grace, and the colour did 
 not grow less in his face. 
 
 c Who are your friends, George ?' said the 
 kindly squire. ' Some of your grand 
 London ladies, I suppose ? How have 
 they made their way to these quiet parts ? 
 T thought I recognized the man — surely 
 that was Damer of Shales ?' 
 
 c Yes, sir. The ladies are his sister-in- 
 law, Lady Damer, and her niece, Miss Tre- 
 herne. They told me they were coming 
 down here like myself for a breath of 
 country air before settling into their town-
 
 110 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 house for the winter. I promised to call 
 upon them here, by the way.' 
 
 ; That is right, my boy ! Keep up with 
 your London friends. Always cultivate 
 the society of gentlewomen. It is the 
 best safeguard for any young fellow in the 
 temptations of a great city. It keeps you 
 from club-life and gambling and card-play- 
 ing, which they tell me is enormously on 
 the increase now, even in the best circles. 
 I am glad you have no such tastes, George ! 
 You would not get them from me, for I 
 never knew a spade from a club myself, 
 and your poor dear mother, who played a 
 pretty hand at cribbage, always said it was 
 useless trying to teach me.' 
 
 The old man chuckled softly at the re- 
 membrance of those Darby and Joan even- 
 ings at the old Court, when the happy 
 young wife would take the cards out of his 
 hands with a pretty affectation of impa- 
 tience with his incorrigible stupidity, and 
 then give him the daintiest of kisses, sweet- 
 heart ! lest he should feel hurt by her little 
 pouting, spoilt child-ways.
 
 TEMPTATION. Ill 
 
 George winced a little under his father's 
 words. He remembered various £ames of 
 faro and piquet and sundry slips of paper 
 that had exchanged hands upon those 
 occasions. These debts of honour had been 
 discharged, of course, but he was pretty 
 well crippled by the process. Ah well ! 
 Pioneer would put all that straight. 
 Pioneer must win. He simply could not 
 and would not contemplate the possibility 
 of failure. It meant too much. 
 
 ' You must not build any castles in the 
 air for me as regards Miss Treherne, sir. 
 She is a charming woman and handsome, 
 as you see. They say she has fifty thousand 
 golden charms as well, but she cares naught 
 for me, nor should I respond if she were 
 more graciously inclined towards me. I 
 never cared much for fair beauties, as you 
 know. Somehow, I don't trust fair women, 
 as a rule.' 
 
 Possibly the remembrance of Daisy's 
 dark eyes and olive skin, with the faint 
 rose-pink shining through, may have had
 
 112 GEOKGE VYVTAN. 
 
 something to do with this sweeping de- 
 nunciation of the fairer sex. 
 
 'What! fair and false? Eh, George? 
 That is rather hard, my boy. I always 
 thought that expression referred to the 
 charms, not to the complexion of a woman.' 
 
 'Well, sir, I have often heard you say 
 that my mother was dark, and that I have 
 inherited somewhat of her looks as well as 
 your own.' 
 
 4 That is right enough. And she was 
 the truest woman I ever knew- but I have 
 known some fair women in my life whom I 
 could trust ; not many, but one or two. 
 Anyway, it is unwise to generalise too 
 much about anything, my dear boy. There 
 are always exceptions to every rule. Now 
 that girl looked as honest and open as one 
 could wish, judging by the hasty glance I 
 had. We will go over there and pay our 
 respects to-morrow, George. It will only 
 be polite, since you say you promised to 
 wait upon them. Ask them here when 
 you will. Your friends are always wel- 
 come to Wyverne, as you know full well.
 
 TEMPTATION. 113 
 
 It will all be yours soon, my boy. I like 
 to see you play the host in the old rooms, 
 and to think how they will look when I 
 am gone and you reign here in my place.' 
 
 And the old man put his arm within 
 that of his son with a loving gesture that 
 showed how far he was from feeling any 
 twinge of the jealousy of his successor 
 that sometimes mars the harmony between 
 father and son. 
 
 Next day the formal call was made. The 
 lumbering old yellow chariot, so seldom 
 disturbed, was had out; the coachman, 
 who had known George since his babyhood, 
 had put on his best clothes for the aus- 
 picious occasion, for somehow it seemed to 
 be ' in the air ' that the young master was 
 1 going courting,' or at any rate going to 
 see one of his grand London ladies whose 
 dower might be very grateful in the eyes 
 of the old squire, and work wonders of 
 reform in the Wyverne property. A pos- 
 tilion (the second stable-helper, off duty 
 for the afternoon), resplendent in scarlet 
 
 VOL. I. i
 
 114 GEORGE VYVIAtt. 
 
 coat and white corduroy breeches, rode 
 one of the grey c leaders,' and so, in solemn 
 state, father and son started off that fine 
 autumnal afternoon to pay the promised 
 visit to Shales. 
 
 Upstairs, from the safe recesses of her 
 own little room, Daisy watched the start 
 with mingled feelings of admiration and a 
 sort of undefined dread, she knew not of 
 what. George seemed so far away from 
 her this afternoon. So he did when the 
 rare dinner-parties at Wyverne brought 
 forth Bonny's store of goodly china and 
 finest n apery ; when the stiff, fashionable 
 county dames and their lords came to dine 
 at the old Court at Christmastide or on the 
 Feast of St. John, the bi-annual occasions 
 for such solemn festivities in that part of 
 the world. 
 
 Daisy never envied these fine dames — 
 not for all their jewels and stiff brocades 
 would she have exchanged her happy, free, 
 woodland life. What if some favoured 
 maiden crossed the spacious hall with timid 
 fingers resting on George's fine velvet coat
 
 TEMPTATION. 115 
 
 after the quaint fashion of the day ? Daisy 
 knew full well that, though his company 
 smiles and fine compliments were for her 
 that evening, his heart beat ever true to 
 his childish love. 
 
 But to-day an unwonted pain laid its 
 hard grasp upon her poor little quivering 
 heart. And she was so unused to pain ! 
 It seemed so hard to bear, this new, strange 
 thrill of alarm and dim foreboding of some 
 greater pain to come. With eager, strain- 
 ing eyes, she watched the old chariot as, 
 with a whirl of dust, it turned through the 
 open lodge gates into the road beyond, and 
 then, with a little shiver of consciousness, 
 she jumped down from her exalted seat in 
 the old-fashioned window, and, clasping 
 two small hands together with a pretty 
 gesture of determination, said aloud, 
 
 * I wont think about it any more ! I 
 will go and help Bonny with her quince 
 conserves. What does Mary know about 
 him or his affairs ? Bonny always scolds 
 me for listening to her gossip. Why did 
 she tell me " the young master looked fine 
 
 i2
 
 116 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 and grand this afternoon, dressed out to 
 go and see his fine lady-love, come all the 
 way from London after him"?' 
 
 And with a little indignant pout, too 
 near to tears to be thoroughly successful 
 Daisy scampered down the broad stair- 
 case, almost knocking poor Bonny over at 
 the bottom, as the latter came cautiously 
 along, bearing a tray in her hands with 
 the various condiments required for her 
 labours in the still-room. 
 
 ' Bless the child ! What a start you 
 did give me, to be sure ! One would 
 think you were set on springs, child ! I 
 don't believe you ever use your feet for 
 walking like any other Christian woman ! 
 Run, run, run, from morning till night ! 
 How they ever keep still at night without 
 being tied down to your bed-foot is a 
 miracle to me, and that's the solemn truth/ 
 
 Daisy picked up the sugar-tongs which 
 had fallen from Bonny's hands in her 
 fright, put the latter's starched white cap 
 straight on her head, looking at it to make 
 sure of the exact line, and then bestowed a
 
 TEMPTATION. 117 
 
 hearty kiss on the old woman as she said, 
 gaily enough, 
 
 1 Dear old Bonny ! don't be cross. You 
 know I always do mean to walk, only I 
 always forget. Some day I shall be old 
 and staid like you, Bonny, and then we 
 will live together, and I'll look after all 
 your little comforts ; because you know, 
 dear, if your poor dear rheumatic knees go 
 on getting worse and worse, you won't be 
 able even to walk then. Never mind. 
 She shall have her own little tiresome, 
 naughty, disobedient Daisy to fetch and 
 carry and do everything for her, that she 
 shall !' and the girl smoothed down Bonny's 
 prim little black China crape shawl, and 
 played nervously with the fringe that the 
 old lady might not notice the gathering 
 tears in her eyes, spite of the cheery words. 
 
 But love is quick, and has other eyes 
 than our physical ones. Bonny put down 
 her tray on a little table underneath the 
 stairs and turned quickly round. 
 
 ' What is it, my lamb ? Who has vexed 
 you ? Bless your sweet eyes ! You did
 
 118 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 not think I really meant to scold you ? 
 There, there, my pretty one, come and tell 
 Bonny all about it ;' for by this time the 
 kind words had quite upset poor Daisy's 
 remnant of self-control, and in another 
 minute she was sobbing her heart out 
 against the kindly bosom that had been 
 the receptacle of so many childish sorrows 
 since the first day when the baby fingers 
 had closed round the kind, hard, bony 
 hand, and they two had started on the 
 famous quest for ''hived and zam" 
 
 1 It's nothing, Bonny darling —nothing 
 at all ! Only I was silly, and Mary has 
 been chattering about Mr. George, and 
 saying he was going to see a fine London 
 lady, and would not care for us any more 
 now that his grand friends have come from 
 town to see him.' 
 
 Bonny's lips looked grave and stern. 
 Chattering and gossiping were cardinal 
 sins to her prim, conscientious soul. To 
 dare to discuss the master's affairs with 
 anyone — even with Daisy ! and Bonny 
 knew full well that such idle talk had
 
 TEMPTATION. 119 
 
 probably worked its way up from the 
 lower strata of stable-helpers and gardeners' 
 boys. 
 
 * It is ill clone of Mary, to be mixing 
 herself up in the affairs of her betters, 
 and you should not encourage her by even 
 listening to such talk, my dear. But, 
 Daisy, my lamb, you are too much set on 
 the young master and his goings and 
 comings. It makes me sad at heart some- 
 times. It was all very well as children ; 
 but the childish days are over, and Mr. 
 George is out in the world now, my darling. 
 We must not expect him to be tied to our 
 strings all his life. 
 
 4 Mary had no call to be speaking of any 
 lady in connection with the master, but 
 some clay he will bring a wife home to the 
 old house. It is only right and natural 
 that he should, and then things wilt be 
 changed for us all, my darling. Men are 
 queer cattle to deal with, as my poor hus- 
 band used to say. Run away from them, 
 and they run after you. A fox or a woman, 
 it's all the same ! What man ever cared
 
 120 GEOKGE VYVIAN. 
 
 to hook a salmon that gave him no play ? 
 No, no, Miss Daisy — it isn't the fish or the 
 fox — its the trouble of getting at them the 
 men like, and if this fine London lady has 
 come down after Mr. George, as they say, 
 she will have had her journey for nothing, 
 or I'm much mistaken !' with which bit of 
 philosophy Mrs. Boniface picked up the 
 tray once more and hurried off, saying, 
 4 Now, Miss Daisy darling, dry your pretty 
 eyes ! The man isn't born who is worth a 
 single tear from them. Come and help me 
 with the preserves, for I cannot trust that 
 girl an inch beyond my nose, and, if we 
 are to have grand company at the Court, 
 we must have everything ready for the 
 fine folks when they come.'
 
 121 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A COUNTY DINNER. 
 
 A few evenings later, the old Hall was 
 lighted up with many wax candles. The 
 reps covers had been taken off the best 
 furniture in the state withclrawing-room, 
 revealing exquisite faded tapestry and 
 velvet below them. 
 
 The squire came down resplendent in 
 his mulberry velvet suit, black velvet 
 small-clothes, and white silk stockings ; 
 the diamond buckles on the dapper even- 
 ing shoes revealing a foot still finely 
 shaped. 
 
 All the county had assembled to meet 
 Lady Darner and her beautiful niece, Miss 
 Treherne. Neighbours had driven over
 
 122 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 from twenty miles to attend the grand 
 dinner at the Court. All day long Bonny, 
 with Daisy in attendance, had overlooked 
 and directed ; dusted the fine china that 
 she would trust to no other hands but her 
 own, and put out innumerable stores and 
 preserves and fine napery for table and 
 side-board. The grey-headed butler with 
 his minions in the pantry had been equally 
 busy. 
 
 At length the evening arrived. The 
 table, laden with handsome, heavy silver ; 
 great pots of the stiff, white and deep pur- 
 ple chrysanthemums, (so different from the 
 lovely, untidy blossoms and exquisite 
 colouring of this Japanese marvel in our 
 day,) flowering pelargoniums from the con- 
 servatory, and a few foreign palms ; had 
 been arranged with all Bonny 's rather 
 severe taste. 
 
 In vain had Daisy begged to be allowed 
 to decorate the table in her own simple 
 fashion with trails of wild purple convol- 
 vulus and exquisite deep red-brown and 
 golden ferns from the autumnal woods.
 
 A COUNTY DINNER. 123 
 
 c No, no, my darling, that is all very well 
 for the master when he is alone or only 
 with the captain here. And pretty enough 
 it is, I will say that, though I don't hold 
 with wet moss and those dying ferns 
 dragged away from their proper place in 
 the woods, to be trailed over the best 
 table-linen as a rule. But I know what is 
 right and reasonable, my dear. Pots and 
 palms ; that is what always has been seen 
 at a dinner-party since the young squire 
 was born, and that is what we must have 
 to-night, Miss Daisy dear; so just put all 
 that rubbish away, that is a dear child, 
 and come and help me to get out the best 
 finger-bowls and the frosted silver claret- 
 jug. I don't hold with these new-fangled 
 French wines myself, but Master George 
 says they are getting to be quite the rage 
 in London. Those poor heathen — God for- 
 give me for calling them so ! — the French 
 prisoners, have brought these notions over 
 with them, I suppose. It is like the fox 
 who lost his tail, in the fable-book you 
 used to read, my dear. They cannot afford
 
 124 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 to drink anything but that sour stuff them- 
 selves, and so forsooth other people must 
 do the same, and a good English stomach 
 be set on edge to match the French one ! 
 Ah, well! fashion, fashion! Some of us 
 would put on a bird-cage under our petti- 
 coats like the poor queen you told me 
 about (who was no better than she need 
 be, if those books are true), if it were only 
 the fashion again !' And Mrs. Boniface 
 hurried away, little dreaming that another 
 fifty years would see her satire justified by 
 events. 
 
 The auspicious evening had set in. Car- 
 riage after carriage had rolled up, deposited 
 its freight of heavy county magnate, comely 
 motherhood and blooming daughters, and 
 now at length the whole twenty guests 
 were assembled in the state drawing-room. 
 The mystic sign had been given by the old 
 butler ; the lull of conversation consequent 
 on finding and appropriating each one his 
 chosen lady had set in ; another minute, 
 and the squire was crossing the grand old 
 hall with Lady Darner by his side, re-
 
 A COUNTY DINNER. 125 
 
 splendent in satin turban, rouge, and 
 diamonds. 
 
 Daisy had crept up the broad stair of 
 the old oak staircase where an angle hid 
 her from view, but whence she could see 
 all that passed. In the absence of any 
 lady to do the honours of the Court, it was 
 the squire's wish and George's invariable 
 custom to see all his guests comfortably 
 paired off before he brought up the rear 
 with the lady to whom special honour was 
 due. On this occasion it was fully under- 
 stood by the dowagers of the party that 
 Captain Vyvian would take in Miss Tre- 
 herne as the only stranger (with the 
 exception of her aunt) in their midst. 
 
 Daisy had not thought of this, but there 
 was no need to tell her who was the hand- 
 some woman with the cold blue eyes and 
 lovely golden hair who looked up at her 
 cavalier so graciously as they moved slowly 
 across the polished parquet flooring from 
 one room to the other. She knew all the 
 county people well enough who were wont 
 to grace these rare festivities with their
 
 126 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 presence. Who should it be but the grand 
 London lady towards whom, in her poor 
 little loving, innocent heart, a throb of 
 jealousy was already rising ? 
 
 Meanwhile, George felt again the strange, 
 subtle influence that had so nearly over- 
 come his cooler judgment at the state ball 
 a few weeks previously. Wherein lay the 
 fascination of this woman? Was it that, 
 cold to all others, her eye softened, the 
 hard thin lines of the handsome mouth 
 relaxed when she spoke to him ? Not that 
 alone, surely; for George, though no cox- 
 comb, could not but be conscious that 
 many another haughty beauty did the 
 same. She ivas beautiful — yes, he felt 
 quite sure of this as he looked with a 
 furtive, critical glance at the proud, cold 
 features, so faultless and so sphynx-like, 
 ■until a passing gleam of interest in some- 
 thing he was saying lightened up the face 
 and he became dimly aware that this 
 woman, so cold outside, might be stirred 
 to fire, but to fire that would blaze up and 
 electrify, not warm and soothe.
 
 A COUNTY DINNER. 127 
 
 Somehow lie had never thought about 
 Daisy s looks, and had felt quite a thrill of 
 pleased surprise when his father had talked 
 of the little lass ' growing up quite a 
 beauty.' She was Daisy! That was enough. 
 He had never stopped to catalogue her 
 charms ; but with Miss Treherne it was 
 different. Nothing touched his soul or 
 paralysed his judgment here. The charm 
 was absolutely external and yet inexplic- 
 able, as potent and as evanescent as the 
 fumes of the excellent wines for which the 
 Wyverne Court cellars were so justly 
 famous. 
 
 The usual heavy country talk went 
 on. These good people rarely went so 
 far as London, except for one brief 
 season when a daughter was to be pre- 
 sented to their most gracious majesties. 
 All had therefore looked forward to see- 
 ing the young squire again, fresh from the 
 delights of town with its fashion and its 
 late excitements. 
 
 1 Dear Captain Vyvian ! I have been 
 longing to ask you about those terrible
 
 128 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 riots. How brave you were ! Oh, yes ! I 
 read all about it in the Morning Chronicle. 
 And how shamefully that wicked mob be- 
 haved ! And how the military were called 
 out, and the volunteers and the constables 
 and everybody ! And how splendidly you 
 dispersed the low wretches ! Clamouring 
 for cheap bread indeed ! As if the farmers 
 did not know best what to charge for their 
 own wheat ! AYhy don't the people grow 
 it themselves if they are so dissatisfied ? 
 ungrateful creatures ! Yes, and I read all 
 about that grand state ball ; and how the 
 King singled you out; and spoke most 
 graciously of your bravery and the way in 
 which you headed your company. You 
 see we do get a few whispers from the 
 great world now and then, even in these 
 wilds ;' and the speaker, a middle-aged 
 matron who seventy years later would 
 have been dubbed ' a gusher,' tried to look 
 coquettish under her light-blue satin tur- 
 ban, and watched the eifect of her words 
 upon the handsome young man at her 
 side.
 
 A COUNTY DINNER. 129 
 
 All labour lost! Vyvian seemed to 
 have eyes and ears for no one but bis law- 
 ful companion just then. True, he turned 
 politely towards the last speaker, and in a 
 few well-chosen words acknowledged the 
 complimentary speech without seeming at 
 all elated by it ; but, as soon as the barest 
 courtesy allowed, he returned to Miss 
 Treherne, and continued their fascinating- 
 conversation over late triumphs and gaieties 
 in town. 
 
 For the old glamour of the city was begin- 
 ning to re-assert its sway after a few days of 
 absolute quiet in the solitudes of Wy verne. 
 Moreover, his companion brought with 
 her a subtle aroma of worldly suggestion, 
 and certainly her bright tact, and lively if 
 somewhat acid tongue, compared very 
 favourably with the heavy, halting sen- 
 tences that did duty for conversation 
 amongst the rest of the good, worthy, 
 undeniably blue-blooded members of ' the 
 county.' 
 
 How well George knew all the old thread- 
 bare topics — the trite and heavy compli- 
 
 VOL. i. K
 
 130 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 ments — the talk of the harvest gathering 
 just past — the chances of frost and snow 
 in the coming winter — the ' latest Paris 
 fashions,' exhausted months ago in London, 
 but just permeating for the first time the 
 heavy country soil ! 
 
 Presently the ladies would leave them. 
 Then the men would close up round the 
 shining mahogany. Fresh wine would 
 come out ; rare old vintages kept under 
 Sandford's most sacred charge. Then the 
 conversation would move a trifle quicker, 
 but would be scarcely less dull. 
 
 Society was just beginning to emerge 
 from the coarse, wine-bibbing blasphemies 
 and indecencies of an earlier decade. More- 
 over, the squire, a true gentleman of clean 
 and wholesome life himself, had never 
 encouraged nor permitted licence of speech 
 or conduct at his table, and this was 
 well-known by his guests. But oh ! 
 the dreary old round of discussion ! The 
 chances of the coming peace with France — 
 Napoleon's last sayings and doings — the dis- 
 affection of the masses — the prosperity of
 
 A COUNTY DINNER. 131 
 
 the manufacturers — Pitt's last move and 
 the new-born union, and so on, and so on. 
 Lucky if George escaped an avalanche of 
 subjects of still narrower and more local 
 interest ! 
 
 It was bad enough to have these old 
 stalking horses of conversation produced 
 in London, where there was always an off- 
 chance that some bright epigram or happy 
 turn of phrase might come like a flash of 
 summer lightning over the dreary winter 
 of his discontent. 
 
 But to listen to such talk in the good, 
 commonplace, flat, and uninteresting coun- 
 ty, where he knew to a nicety beforehand 
 what each man and woman would say — 
 yes, almost the words in which they would 
 say it, and where the pretty, blushing 
 daughters, who might have lent a fresh 
 charm to the talk, were dutifully silent, as 
 became the ideas of the age, or answered 
 only in the measured monosyllables sup- 
 posed to be a c pretty manner ' for a young 
 woman upon her promotion, waiting for 
 the sultan-like nod of matrimonial ap- 
 
 k2
 
 132 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 proval from some well-dowered young 
 squire ! 
 
 All this was passing through George's 
 mind as he turned from the flattering 
 matron to the Circe-like tones of the girl at 
 his side. Every nerve thrilled with a 
 sensation of physical excitement whilst he 
 sat near her. The blue eyes seemed to 
 draw some part of him (not, alas ! his soul) 
 nearer and yet nearer to her. The blood 
 danced in his veins — surged to his head. 
 He found himself talking brilliantly and 
 well, with a power of repartee and easy 
 persiflage that surprised himself. 
 
 Adelaide took up the challenge, nothing 
 loth, and a bright war of words went on 
 between them — no hard hitting, but an 
 easy skirmish all round that gave fresh 
 zest to the excellent wine and perfectly 
 cooked food before them. 
 
 Wit, wine, and woman. What more 
 could he want ? What more ? Nothing — 
 everything. A little sad, pale face and two 
 beseeching dark eyes haunted him all 
 through the meal. He had never seen
 
 A COUNTY DINNER. 133 
 
 Daisy look like that ! Her smile was ever 
 bright and tender. Her eyes were wont to 
 look more saucy than beseeching. Was it 
 some prophecy of coming evil? Or did 
 the spirit of his dead mother look through 
 the eyes of his little love, warning, be- 
 seeching, hoping, despairing ? 
 
 With a shiver, he came to himself, or, 
 rather, to the worser part of himself — the 
 superficial man of fashion, with thrilling 
 nerves, and tingling blood, and beating- 
 heart — the victim of a woman's wiles, 
 yet not altogether a bad woman, either. 
 She acted but according to her nature and 
 her lights — a woman of strong passions 
 and strong magnetic attraction, which later 
 she exercised as instinctively as a lark 
 pours forth its heavenly song. The one 
 was as much part of her nature and 
 physical being as those clear, liquid, 
 heaven-inspiring notes are of his. 
 
 Was the bird to be exalted and the 
 woman condemned, each for acting as 
 instinct led ? The woman had a soul, you 
 say, and therein lay the difference. Yes,
 
 134 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 truly a soul in embryo, but the spiritual 
 part of it had not yet quickened. She had 
 been bred and brought up in an atmosphere 
 of adulation and worldliness ; taught, as 
 others were, that her charms and her gold 
 combined would win her a fine position 
 some day in the world for which she and 
 they lived. That she worked more harm 
 than they did ; that she appealed to a 
 man's lower nature where they perchance 
 failed to appeal at all — all this lay rather 
 in her greater power than in their greater 
 virtue. And surely it was at least in this 
 woman's favour to have conceived a strong 
 interest in and admiration for this bright 
 young fellow by her side, when her good 
 looks and large fortune might have com- 
 manded a far higher price in the matri- 
 monial market ? 
 
 The ladies had withdrawn ; the long 
 wine orgie was at length over, and George, 
 with a sigh of relief, followed his male 
 guests into the drawing-room, where his 
 duties as host forbade of his approaching
 
 A COUNTY DINNER. 135 
 
 Miss Treherne until the evening was 
 already far spent. 
 
 A timid young girl, the last on the list 
 to be solicited for a song, had just trilled 
 forth in trembling, half suppressed notes 
 an old-fashioned love-ditty with the utter 
 absence of expression that still marks the 
 British sense of propriety where a young 
 lady and a love-song are in question. 
 
 George suddenly found himself addressed 
 by the fair beauty from the depths of a wide 
 curtained recess. She touched him gently 
 with her fan. 
 
 ' Come and sit here for a few minutes, 
 Captain Vyvian,' she said, with the queen- 
 ly air about her that would have forced 
 the most conceited coxcomb to consider 
 the honour entirely on his side. c Do talk 
 to me and take the taste of that poor girl's 
 miserable attempt at singing away ! Why 
 do all English country girls sing like that ? 
 As if they had pebbles in their mouth and 
 the whole performance were slightly im- 
 proper ; something to be slurred uver as
 
 136 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 quickly as possible ! That girl would not 
 have a bad voice if one could hear it, but 
 she sings down her throat instead of 
 out of it ; as though each note must be 
 choked and suppressed in the interests of 
 decency and good breeding. How very 
 funnv it sounds, to be sure !' 
 
 ./ 7 
 
 Adelaide herself had contributed a pas- 
 sionate soul-stirring Spanish love-song to 
 the evening's entertainment, and therefore 
 had some justification for her critical 
 remarks. 
 
 George sank down by her side with a 
 sigh of relief and played with her pretty 
 jewelled fan, but he did not answer her. 
 He seemed quite content to be there and 
 to be silent. 
 
 ' Well — why don't you talk ? I asked 
 you here to amuse me ; not to sit staring 
 at me in that rude way, Captain Vyvian ! 
 I am sure you found plenty to say at 
 dinner-time. Has that charming singing 
 struck you dumb with admiration V 
 
 She spoke lightly, but her voice — 
 usually so well trained and perfectly
 
 A COUNTY DINNER. 137 
 
 under control, — quivered a little as she 
 concluded. 
 
 ' No — not the singing, George answered, 
 in a low voice ; and his meaning was clear 
 enough as he looked once more into her 
 eyes. 
 
 The blue eyes drooped beneath that 
 ardent, fiery glance of fierce admiration. 
 Even Adelaide thought it was time to get 
 back to terra Jirma. 
 
 " When do you return to London, Captain 
 Vyvian ? or do you mean to turn rustic 
 altogether ?' 
 
 ' That is just what I was proposing to 
 my father, Miss Treherne, only yesterday, 
 but he will not hear of it. I think he is 
 really ageing at last. The place seems a 
 trouble to him now, with so many to look 
 after and so much to arrange and plan. 
 We have a capital bailiff, but there is no 
 eye like the eye of the master.' 
 
 George's tones were quite steady and 
 measured now. He had himself well in 
 hand again. 
 
 ' I do think my father is the most un-
 
 138 GEOKGE VYVIAN. 
 
 selfish man in the world. He simply won't 
 listen to my giving up London life at pre- 
 sent — says he shall manage quite well. In 
 fact, he won't have me clown here, he 
 declares, except for a visit now and then, 
 until I bring him a daughter-in-law to 
 brighten up the old house. Dear old 
 father ! I do believe he would die quite 
 happy if he could only see me happily 
 married.' 
 
 c And why should it be so difficult to please 
 your father V 
 
 The words were very faint and low — so 
 low that George almost doubted for a mo- 
 ment whether he really heard them ; yet, 
 low as they were, they repeated themselves 
 in his ear for many a long day ; now low ; 
 now loud ; till it seemed as if the very air 
 were filled with gibing, jeering voices, all 
 saying the same thing, 
 
 1 Why not please your father ? Why not 
 please your father V 
 
 At the time, no answer was necessary ; 
 for, at the very instant that the thrilling 
 words were breathed out, a stir amongst
 
 A COUNTY DINNER. 139 
 
 the dowagers proclaimed that the evening 
 had come to its orthodox close. 
 
 Lady Darner's carriage was announced. 
 Lad) 7 Darner, as the guest of the evening, 
 made the first move, and her departure 
 was the signal for a general break-up. 
 
 As George handed her and Miss Treherne 
 into their carriage, the latter bent forward 
 for a moment. 
 
 1 Then we shall meet again in London 
 next week, Captain Vyvian ? I shall not 
 say good-bye, but an revoir' 
 
 There was no doubt of the warmth of 
 the answering hand-pressure as George 
 slowly released Adelaide's from his clasp, 
 and walked up the stone steps of the 
 Court, twisting in his fingers a half 
 withered rose, dropped by the fair heiress 
 as she hastily descended the carpeted 
 steps. 
 
 George felt in no mood for bed at present. 
 He went through to the billiard-room, 
 knocked the balls about for a bit, and then, 
 finding his nerves too highly strung for 
 steady practice, pulled out a cigar, and
 
 140 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 was soon deep in the adventures of ' Tom 
 Jones.' 
 
 An hour later, he went upstairs, cross- 
 ing the long picture-gallery which ran 
 the length of the house and from which 
 all the principal guest-chambers opened. 
 
 Suddenly his eye lighted on a wide 
 old-fashioned couch just beneath a window 
 of stained glass at the further end. 
 The bright moonlight poured through 
 the coloured glass, giving a pale, soft light 
 to the gorgeous reds, and blues, and green, 
 and purple shades. Seen thus, they looked 
 like the pale ghosts of the colours them- 
 selves. 
 
 George's artistic soul was stirred at once 
 by an effect which he had never noticed 
 so strikingly before. As he went closer, 
 to watch the gradual darkening and 
 deepening of the colour symphony, he 
 found a little white, curled-up figure lying 
 on the couch, fast asleep. 
 
 A bright moon-ray lighted it up, and 
 revealed a tear-stained face. Daisy lay 
 like one of her own little white, crushed
 
 A COUNTY DINNER. 141 
 
 name-sakes. She seemed just an unhappy, 
 weary little child who had cried itself to 
 sleep. 
 
 The tears still glistened on the long 
 lashes. From the full, red, parted lips 
 came from time to time a little catch of 
 sobbing breath as though even her dreams 
 were sad. Her hair lay in dark masses 
 over the small white shoulders, and one 
 small hand had carelessly pushed it away, 
 where the hot cheek was pressed against 
 the soft old tapestry cushion. 
 
 Mrs. Boniface must have been busy in- 
 deed not to have missed her pet to-night. 
 And how had she come to wander here 
 and cry herself to sleep instead of being 
 tucked up snugly in her own little bed, 
 hours and hours ago. 
 
 As George looked down upon the sleep- 
 ing child (for she was little more) a great 
 wave of tenderness surged over his heart. 
 "What was Miss Treherne to him now 
 with all her charms and seductive grace ? 
 What were ambition and worldly prospects? 
 What was anything of value or beauty in
 
 142 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 his eyes ? How could aught else satisfy 
 his heart but his one little love ; the clear- 
 est, purest, best part of his life as he knew 
 full well as he bent over the tiny white 
 figure, and softly touched her cheek. 
 
 She did not wake. The sorrow, what- 
 ever it was, had sobbed itself out in too 
 heavy a sleep for that ; but the sad little 
 mouth relaxed, a smile hovered over the 
 lips, and he heard his own name whispered 
 in a yearning, loving tone. 
 
 Poor George ! He remembered his odd, 
 visionary impression at dinner of Daisy, 
 with sacl eyes and a wistful look. Was the 
 bond between them so strong that some 
 mysterious sympathy had led him to see 
 her thus at the very time that her poor 
 little eyes had been really wet with tears ? 
 He took her up gently and reverently in 
 his arms, and was carrying her to Bonny's 
 room, when a sudden thought struck him. 
 Poor little girl ! She might be scolded for 
 going to sleep there in the cold. It was a 
 pity to wake the tired housekeeper, and 
 any way Daisy would not like to think that
 
 A COUNTY DINNER. 143 
 
 even dear kind Bonny knew of her tears. 
 He would make her tell him all about it 
 to-morrow. 
 
 Meanwhile, he carried her tenderly into 
 her own little room next door to that of 
 Mrs. Boniface, and laid her gently on the 
 bed with a woman's tenderness and care. 
 He looked in vain for anything light and 
 warm, so ran downstairs and presently re- 
 turned with, a soft Scotch 'hap' and wrapped 
 Daisy in it from head to foot. Then he 
 bent down and kissed the little cold hands. 
 
 ' Bless you, my darling — my own little 
 Daisy. God bless you — and help me !' 
 
 Once more his mother stood by his side 
 as he bent over the sleeping girl. 
 
 ' Take her, my son, she is yours. You 
 belong to each other. That which God has 
 joined together, let no man put asunder.' 
 
 Only the last words sounded in his ears, 
 and he little guessed how they came there. 
 But in the solitude of his own room, with 
 bent head and quivering lips, he said them 
 to himself again and again till a dim, new 
 light came upon the well-known sentence.
 
 144 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 ' Let no man put asunder.' No, not even 
 he himself. The warning was surely for 
 him as much as for anyone, for it would be 
 his doing. His spirit and Daisy's were al- 
 ready one. It only remained to ratify the 
 fact, to emphasise the spiritual by the 
 physical union, that they might become 
 one in body, mind, and earthly life, as he 
 felt assured they were already one in their 
 highest and holiest being. 
 
 ' Let no man put asunder.' Was he, as 
 a man, with his worldly wisdom and world- 
 ly schemes and expensive pleasures and 
 imaginary wants, about to crush down and 
 murder his spiritual man ? the divine part 
 in him of which he was merely the janitor 
 and guardian ? for which the affinity of a 
 true union had been graciously bestowed ? 
 
 Thoughts like these came between him 
 and his uneasy slumbers. Then, on the 
 other hand, he saw his father growing old 
 and feeble, rejoiced by his worldly success 
 if only he could be happy in such success ; 
 the dear old father who had never dreamed 
 of Daisy as an}^thing but a pretty child
 
 A COUNTY DINNER. 145 
 
 waif and stray, to be provided for by 
 marrying some well-to-do farmer in the 
 future. How would he bear the shattering 
 of all his hopes ? 
 
 To and fro, to and fro, like a pendulum, 
 swung his weary thoughts as he lay tossing 
 on an uneasy bed. Again and again the 
 angel form bent over him, whispering 
 words of hope, and encouragement, and 
 faith. 
 
 Fais ce que dois; advienne que pourra. 
 Why did the words of their old French 
 motto keep ringing in his ears ? Fais ce 
 que dois. Yes — but where lay duty? Could 
 it be for once that duty and inclination 
 lay together ? 
 
 And yet was it wholly inclination ? 
 One part of him inclined truly enough, 
 and that the higher, better part of him- 
 self. But the man — the man of the world 
 — the future squire of Wyverne ? There 
 lay the sting. He had passed the limit 
 of young hot-headed, blind impulse of 
 passion in the choice of a partner for life. 
 He knew what the world was and what 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 GEOKGE VYVIAX. 
 
 social advantages meant ! If he gave it 
 all up for the sake of a true love, it would 
 be no blind sacrifice that he would make. 
 Could he do it ? Could he do it ? Turn 
 his back on tradition and the world's 
 standards and the world's opinions? 
 
 Adelaide's cold, pale beaut)' rose before 
 his eyes ; the intoxication of his senses 
 when she was near returned to his memory. 
 On the one hand she seemed to stand, 
 and his father. On the other, lay some 
 dim, mysterious memory of his dead 
 mother and Daisy herself, with her true, 
 loving eyes and warm, clasping hands, and 
 a feeling, not indeed of intoxicated senses 
 and thrilling nerves, but of absolute rest 
 and satisfaction and completeness which 
 only her presence had ever brought to 
 him. 
 
 At length the weary eyes closed— not 
 on victory but from sheer mental strain. 
 Tired nature asserted her sway, and George 
 fell into a deep but troubled slumber, 
 with the words still sounding persistently 
 in his ears : ' Those whom God — whom
 
 A COUNTY DINNER. 147 
 
 God hath joined — let no man — no man ' 
 
 The end of the sentence was lost in a heavy 
 sigh as he turned once more on the hot, 
 crumpled sheet, and for a time lost con- 
 sciousness of life and all its perplexities. 
 
 l 2
 
 148 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PARADISE LOST. 
 
 A week later, our hero went back to 
 London, having written beforehand to tell 
 Penruth to have everything in readiness 
 for his return. 
 
 The evenings were drawing in now, and 
 it was getting chill and dusk by seven 
 o'clock, when the stage-coach clattered into 
 the ' Bell and Crown ' once more, and de- 
 posited George and his belongings at that 
 old-fashioned hostelry. 
 
 1 Call a coach for me, Joseph, at once,' 
 he cried, impatiently, c let us get out of 
 this din ;' for the usual bustle and stir 
 amongst stablemen and helpers incident on 
 the start and arrival of a stage-coach in
 
 PARADISE LOST. 149 
 
 those days had set in. ' Any letters for 
 me at home?' 
 
 ' Yes, sir. I left them there, thinking 
 that you would not want to be staying 
 here to read them,' answered the valet, 
 respectfully, and with a wistful glance at 
 his master's face. 
 
 It was usually so bright and joyous ; 
 even fatigue and travel-stains could barely 
 account for his present pale and worried 
 look. And poor Joseph knew full well 
 that the missives at present lying harm- 
 lessly upon the ' knee-hole table ' were by 
 no means of a nature to calm and soothe 
 George's perturbed spirit. Some of them 
 had the unmistakeable appearance of re- 
 spectful l duns,' whilst one from his master's 
 head-groom was truly the avant coureur of 
 still greater disaster. 
 
 In those days news did not travel with 
 the lightning speed of our own, but Joseph 
 knew that the St. Leger had been run the 
 previous day, and a special messenger had 
 arrived in hot haste at ' Lloyd's ' that after- 
 noon, and, if his news were true, Pioneer
 
 150 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 was not the name of the winning horse. 
 The head-groom's letter had come by 
 private hand just as he was starting to 
 meet his master, and he had gone round 
 by ' Lloyd's ' on purpose, only to hear of 
 this fresh disaster. Fortunately, George 
 was too much taken up with his own 
 thoughts to ask any further questions, and 
 the valet gladly mounted the box on plea 
 of looking after the luggage, but in reality 
 to escape any risk of further cross- 
 exaTnhiation. 
 
 Meanwhile, George's thoughts were any- 
 thing but enviable. He knew full well 
 that he would probably find news at home 
 of his latest racing venture and the result ; 
 for his groom had had strict orders to for- 
 ward the same, straight from the ground, 
 by the very first trusty channel. Simply 
 he could not contemplate the failure that 
 meant ruin — ruin for himself, for his 
 father — last, not least, for Daisy, — Daisy, 
 who in giving him the jewels of her love, 
 her faith, her very being, had not withheld
 
 PARADISE LOST. 151 
 
 from his rash hand the casket which 
 contained them. 
 
 Dear little loving, trusting Daisy ! — 
 Daisy who had never in all her short life 
 doubted George and George's superior 
 wisdom. His thoughts went back to child- 
 ish days, and he remembered how, one hot 
 summer's day, Daisy, having scrambled up 
 into a tall elm-tree, sat there in trembling 
 terror, calling upon George to deliver her. 
 
 c Jump, Dai ! jump ! I will catch you,' 
 cried the boy, proud of his strength and 
 anxious to test the obedience of his 
 admiring slave. 
 
 ' Oh, I daren't, George. I am so fright- 
 ened ! Please climb up for me.' 
 
 ' Frightened, you little goose ! Did I 
 ever get you into trouble in my life, or let 
 you hurt yourself? You don't love me, 
 Daisy, if you don't trust me.' 
 
 He remembered, ah ! so well, how the 
 dark eves had grown so big with tears 
 that they seemed to overshadow all the 
 little white face. But Daisy must have
 
 152 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 had some brave blood in her veins. She 
 said never a word more of doubt or dis- 
 trust, but clenched her tiny hands together 
 in an agony of terrified valour and then 
 jumped — straight into George's arms, and 
 lay there panting with pent-up emotion 
 like a little frightened bird. 
 
 He had always been her friend and pro- 
 tector ; her hero, and her guiding star. He 
 could not tell her to do wrong — he who 
 had never done wrong himself in all his 
 life, as the poor little foolish, trusting girl 
 imagined ! How beautifully he had spoken 
 to her of their belonging to each other — 
 being one in thought and love and sym- 
 pathy — c two bodies with one soul — two 
 hearts with one beat.' He had quoted 
 those lines from some old German author. 
 How beautiful they had seemed ! He 
 who wrote them must surely have loved 
 some one as she and George loved each 
 other ! 
 
 Bonny was so good and kind, but some- 
 how the poor little motherless girl had 
 never spoken to Bonny of such matters.
 
 PARADISE LOST. 153 
 
 Bonny herself had no experience or sym- 
 pathy to give her in any heart-troubles or 
 emotions. She was always severe upon 
 4 gallivantings and such nonsense ' in the 
 case of the Court maids, and Daisy had an 
 instinctive knowledge that Bonny's de- 
 parted lord had never stirred any deeper 
 feeling than an irritated toleration in his 
 wife's breast. 
 
 'A poor feckless creature,' as the old 
 housekeeper would describe him sometimes 
 in moments of unusual confidence. ' The 
 men are sad fools, most of them, Miss 
 Daisy dear. But the Almighty knows 
 best, and I suppose He could have made a 
 better job of them if He had willed it so. 
 We must just take them and make the 
 best of them with our other crosses,' she 
 would end up piously, with what Daisy 
 irreverently called her ' Sunday morning 
 face.' 
 
 No, Bonny certainly did not encourage 
 any tender confidences, and so the mother- 
 less girl had grown up in the absolute 
 ignorance that is called innocence, and
 
 154 GEORGE VYVIABT. 
 
 that is, alas ! so infinitely more dangerous 
 than any knowledge could be. 
 
 How George cursed his culpable careless- 
 ness, the selfishness hidden under grand- 
 sounding names ! 
 
 It was all true enough. He had not 
 sinned against his nature, nor hers. He 
 knew now, if never before, that this child 
 with the dark trusting eyes belonged to 
 him as no one else ever did or could, and 
 that no money nor position nor any earth- 
 ly circumstance whatever, ought to be 
 strong enough to divide them. 
 
 Of course they would be all in all to 
 each other some day. Psha ! she was such 
 a child — no harm could come to her — he 
 would win his money in this one race and 
 then abjure racing and cards and every 
 other folly and wind uj) matters in town ; 
 then persuade his father to let him have 
 something of the management of the estate, 
 and so by degrees accustom the dear old 
 squire to the thought of Daisy as a little 
 daughter, in place of the' cold grand 
 London lady who had seemed to win his
 
 PARADISE LOST. 155 
 
 admiration, but could surely never touch 
 his heart. 
 
 As George arrived at these somewhat 
 comforting reflections, the hackney coach 
 drew up before his well-known door in 
 King Street ; he jumped out, leaving 
 Joseph to settle matters and bring up the 
 portmanteau, and running lightly upstairs, 
 had soon turned over the correspondence 
 on the table and pounced upon the most 
 important letter of all. 
 
 Three minutes later, Penruth, coming 
 into the room with the silver snuffers and 
 an extra pair of candlesticks of heavy 
 chased design, found his master lying quite 
 unconscious in the heavy arm-chair, still 
 wrapped in his travelling coat and furs, 
 and with the groom's open letter in his 
 hand. 
 
 Penruth had no need to read it, to see 
 what had happened. Pioneer had failed 
 — beaten by half a length at the finish ! 
 What matter to George? Half a length, 
 or fifty thousand miles? It meant the 
 same thing — ruin.
 
 156 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 c Mr. George, sir, don't take on so. 1 
 knew it all. I went to Lloyd's before I 
 met the coach this evening. Don't trouble 
 to tell me. Just lie quiet and let me take 
 off your heavy cloak, and take a sip of 
 brandy, sir, — it will put fresh heart into 
 you. Surely the master won't be hard 
 upon you for it. You told me you had 
 ten thousand on the race, and it's a big 
 sum to lose, but the squire has only you to 
 look to. He won't be grudging you the 
 like of that. Besides, worst come to the 
 worst, it will only be marrying and settling 
 down a little sooner than you thought for. 
 It's common talk at the clubs here that 
 there is more than one fine lady with 
 money and to spare who would think 
 herself a lucky woman to get a fine hand- 
 some husband like you, Master George.' 
 
 Honest Joseph from his peculiar position, 
 had always been allowed more license of 
 speech than an ordinary servant, and this, 
 no doubt, accounted for Mrs. Boniface's 
 jealousy of him. But on this occasion he 
 had gone too far. George drank the
 
 PARADISE LOST. 157 
 
 brandy off in one gulp, and then with 
 newly-restored vigour, turned upon his 
 benefactor. 
 
 c For Heaven's sake, stop that chattering 
 tongue of yours, Penruth. Ten thousand 
 pounds, indeed ! Who told you that, I 
 should like to know ? Some of your club 
 gossips, I suppose. It's not often they are 
 so wide of the mark, I will say that for 
 them. If they had said twenty thousand, 
 it would have been nearer. I tell you it's 
 ruin — that's what it means. Do you think 
 I would sell myself to any woman for a 
 a high enough figure ? Perhaps I would 
 — God knows ! It would be easier than 
 telling the squire that I have ruined him, 
 and that is what I have before me. Be off, 
 Joseph. Don't stand staring at me in that 
 way. If you stood gaping there with 
 your mouth open from now till Christmas, 
 it won't coin a silver penny for me, worse 
 luck. Be off to your gossips, and tell them 
 I'm a ruined man, and that you will be 
 looking out for a new master now.' 
 
 4 Mr. George !' Only these two words.
 
 158 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 but there was a world of reproach and 
 wounded feeling in the man's eyes as he 
 turned sadly round to obey his master's 
 order and leave the room. 
 
 But Captain Vyvian's better nature 
 came to the surface again when the mo- 
 ment of intolerable pain and irritation had 
 passed. He sprang forward and seized 
 Penruth's hand. 
 
 4 Forgive me, Joseph, I don't know what 
 I am saying. I know you are as true a 
 friend as I have in the wide world. But 
 this means more to me than you think. I 
 am better alone for a bit. Don't sit up, 
 there's a good fellow. Come to me in the 
 morning, and we will see how the world 
 looks then, and what had best be done.' 
 
 It was these moments of generous feel- 
 ing that accounted for the valet's passionate 
 devotion to his master. George was often 
 impatient, often even unjust, but he had 
 never in his life been too proud to acknow- 
 ledge his faults even to those beneath him 
 in the social scale. Sometimes friends 
 would question his prudence in so doing,
 
 PARADISE LOST. 159 
 
 asking whether he did not find that de- 
 pendants took advantage of it. But George 
 had laughed the idea to scorn. 
 
 ' My servants do what I tell them. If 
 they don't, they go. As long as they stay 
 with me, they earn their money honour- 
 ably, and deserve as much respect, surely, 
 as the man who, from accident of birth, 
 lounges about and does nothing, like my- 
 self. If I wrong a friend, I tell him so like 
 a man. If I wrong a servant, he deserves 
 at least as much consideration, more, in 
 fact, for I put myself more in the wrong 
 than I should by saying hard words to an 
 equal who could retaliate.' 
 
 Right or wrong, the plan certainly seemed 
 to answer ; Captain Vyvian's orders were 
 obeyed with quite as much alacrity as 
 those of the squire himself, and there was 
 not a man or boy about the Wyverne estate 
 or the London lodgings who would not 
 have put himself out of the way to oblige 
 Master George or ' the captain,' as the case 
 might be. 
 
 The long weary night brought but little
 
 160 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 counsel with it. Things looked as black 
 as ever next morning, when, after a late 
 cup of tea, George dressed himself carefully 
 for his usual saunter in the park. 
 
 ' If I am shipwrecked, I may as well go 
 down with a brave front. They shan't 
 think I mean to shirk anyway. How on 
 earth I am to pay up between this and 
 Saturday, Heaven only knows ; but I will 
 go off now and see how the land lies, any- 
 way. Styleinan and Fielding and one or 
 two others will wait a bit and give me 
 time, I know, but the rest must be paid 
 up. It will take ten thousand, at least. 
 My dear old father simply cannot raise it if 
 he would. Levy might do the job for 
 me, but he is such an unconscionable rob- 
 ber — it's just throwing good money after 
 bad. Besides, however extravagant I may 
 have been, I've never raised a penny yet 
 on the old man's death and my future 
 prospects. I can't begin now — anything 
 is better than that. I would rather marry 
 fifty heiresses and be miserable for life than 
 have him think I was reckoning on his
 
 PARADISE LOST. 161 
 
 death, and those things are bound to come 
 out. How could I look him in the face 
 again ?' 
 
 And so, perplexed and miserable, and 
 full of dark thoughts and weary hopeless 
 plans, he wandered off with bent head and 
 listless step, a contrast indeed to the usually 
 bright, handsome young captain whose 
 figure was so well known in the London 
 clubs and parks. 
 
 Hyde Park was looking brave and gay 
 that morning ; not, indeed, quite in summer 
 array, but the trees looked none the worse 
 for their autumn dress ; the air was sharp 
 and exhilarating ; many of the gay world 
 were riding and driving, and, as Vyvian 
 passed gloomily along with eyes scarcely 
 lifted from the ground, he was aware of a 
 friendly greeting close at hand, and ' Tommy 
 Onslow' dashed past in his phaeton and four 
 in all the glory of a good team and a dapper 
 costume. 
 
 A light drab cloth single-breasted coat, 
 with a series of capes coming down almost 
 to the heels ; enormous mother-of-pearl 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 buttons : a waistcoat of wide blue and 
 yellow stripes ; small clothes lined with 
 silk plush buttoning over the calf of the 
 leg, with large rosettes at the knee ; all 
 these were plainly visible as ' Tommy * sat 
 well forward, keeping his team together 
 with a masterly hand. Short boots with 
 long tops and a bouquet at his breast, com- 
 pleted the turn-out. He looked the acme 
 of happy and careless enjoyment as he 
 nodded familiarly to Vyvian. and in another 
 moment had flashed past, to the admiration 
 of all beholder-. 
 
 ' Lucky fellow." thought poor George, 
 • plenty of cash in hand and a title in 
 prospect, and no money on Pioneer.' 
 
 Plunged in his own srlooinv thoughts, he 
 was only just in time to return the greet- 
 ing of two ladies in a passing carriage, and 
 bowing low in answer, to raise his eves to 
 the glowing beauty of Miss Treherne. 
 
 ' Why, Captain Vvyian, I do believe 
 you were trying not to see us. Is that the 
 way you treat old friends V 
 
 Miss Treherne's words were light and
 
 PARADISE LOST. 163 
 
 jesting, but a sympathetic look in her eves 
 and an extra warm pressure of the hand 
 showed that his troubles were already public 
 property. It needed not the extra chill of 
 Lady Darner's manner to convince him 
 that his bankrupt condition was an open 
 secret by this time, and he felt a throb of 
 hearty gratitude to the girl who was brave 
 enough to" stand by him in his trouble. 
 when, no doubt, others besides Lady Damer 
 would pass him by with scant courtesy. 
 
 'Don't look so downcast, Captain Vyvian. 
 I know all about Pioneer. It's too bad — 
 but 'darkest before dawn." you know. For- 
 tune is sure to favour the brave. \Yho 
 knows what the capricious old dame may 
 have in store for you even now, after deal- 
 in g you this one ungracious blow ? Aunt 
 Caroline, have you nothing pleasant to say 
 to Captain Vyvian ? We were glad enough 
 to make merry with him last week in 
 Devonshire. Don't let him think we are less 
 glad to see him now that he is in trouble. 
 Captain Vyvian, come and see us to-night. 
 My aunt will be delighted to receive you.' 
 
 m2
 
 164 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 ' A painful society smile of conventional 
 assent and real irritability distorted the 
 old lady's would-be juvenile face, as her 
 niece went recklessly on, making this dis- 
 reputable spendthrift (as she mentally 
 dubbed him) welcome to her house and 
 household gods ! 
 
 ' We have a dinner and a reception 
 afterwards ; the dinner would be dull any 
 way — only some of Aunt Caroline's old 
 friends who flourished years before our 
 time.' (How Aunt Caroline gnashed her 
 teeth at the allusion and the possessive 
 pronoun !) ' But we have a reception 
 afterwards, and some pleasant people are 
 coming. You will find something to dis- 
 tract your mind, anyway— far better than 
 moping in your own rooms and crying 
 over spilt milk ;' and with another kindly 
 pressure of his hand, and a stiff bow from 
 Lady Darner, the carriage passe,d on, 
 leaving George somewhat less cynical and 
 miserable for the gleam of sunshine brought 
 through this one woman's sympathy. 
 How much he had wronged her after
 
 PARADISE LOST. 165 
 
 all ! Perhaps a more thoroughly refined 
 nature would have hesitated to mention 
 the subject at all, especially in the pres- 
 ence of a third person. But the words 
 had been kindly and well-intentioned, and 
 came with a brisk, stirring effect, very 
 wholesome and bracing to George's moral 
 nature just now, when suffering under the 
 terrible depression brought on by the 
 utter collapse of all his hopes. 
 
 He would go that evening to Portland 
 Place, if only to show his gratitude to the 
 girl for her championship. He knew that 
 it required a dauntless spirit to with- 
 stand the worldly maxims that Lady Darner 
 must be instilling hour by hour into her 
 ears. There was doubtless, too, a feeling 
 of pleased surprise that just when his own 
 self-esteem was at its lowest ebb, and no 
 doubt in the next few days would receive 
 countless stabs from the outside world, this 
 girl, so much esteemed for her beauty and 
 money, such a power in the fashionable 
 world, should hold out her hand to him 
 and be ready to testify to all the world
 
 166 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 that in her eyes at least he had not sunk 
 an inch, merely because his horse had failed 
 and his money was lost. 
 
 There was subtle flattery and soothing 
 balm in the short interview, and, when 
 George returned home, his eye looked 
 brighter and his whole expression was less 
 desponding when he told Penruth to 
 arrange his evening-suit and be in readi- 
 ness to assist at his toilet, as he was going 
 out that evening and should require a 
 coach at eight o'clock without fail. 
 
 ' That is right, Mr. George. I felt sure 
 you would pull yourself together and be 
 ready to look the world in the face again. 
 Things are never so bad but they might be 
 worse, and, if we are hard hit, it's no good 
 taking the world into one's confidence ; 
 there was never a trouble yet that a brave 
 face and a fair tongue didn't go far to 
 mend.' 
 
 c Why, Penruth, when did you turn 
 philosopher?' but the words showed more 
 amusement than irritation, and Joseph 
 was only too glad to see a smile upon his
 
 PARADISE LOST. 167 
 
 young master's face, and by no means 
 resented the end of his speech. 'Now, 
 be off, Joe, there's a good fellow, and 
 leave me to smoke my cigar in peace. 
 Copy-book sentences are all very well, but 
 I don't feel up to them just now — I have 
 a great deal to think over. I shall have 
 to give up my rooms and sell off every- 
 thing, of course, but you had better keep 
 your own counsel about it for a day or 
 two, or the tradesmen will be about our 
 ears like a hive of bees.'
 
 16S 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A FATAL STEP. 
 
 The evening had come. The dinner may 
 have been dull, but it had certainly done 
 credit to Lady Darner's man-cook, and the 
 wines in that house were always beyond 
 reproach. 
 
 Interesting and even eminent people had 
 collected in the rooms later, for Lady 
 Darner had some literary ambition, and 
 although so weak as regarded her own 
 charms, had good judgment in other ways, 
 and always managed to collect distinguished 
 people around her. This evening was no 
 exception to the rule. When Yyvian 
 arrived, he found conversation in full
 
 A FATAL STEP. 169 
 
 swing, and under cover of it, was able to 
 say a few words of heartfelt gratitude to 
 his young hostess, after doing his duty by 
 the elder lady in the way of a few expected 
 but meaningless compliments. 
 
 Adelaide certainly looked very charm- 
 ing in her tight clinging skirts and short - 
 waisted gown of simple embroidered muslin. 
 As a rule, she affected more gorgeous 
 costumes, and would generally appear in 
 stiff brocade and handsome lute-string 
 robes in spite of her youth, but to-night 
 she had dressed herself in a simple girlish 
 manner, which gave quite a new character 
 to her beauty and enhanced its effect very 
 much in Vyvian's eyes. 
 
 Moreover, he had never seen her so 
 gentle and yielding before, nor noticed the 
 softened lio-ht in her usually rather scorn- 
 ful blue eyes. She presented him in turn 
 to all the most charming and desirable 
 women in the room, taking especial pains to 
 make his evening pleasant, but talked little 
 to him herself until at a late hour he 
 found himself seated near her whilst the
 
 1 70 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 buzz of conversation still going on was as 
 effectual a shield from Lady Darner's acute 
 ears, as any mountain fastness could have 
 been. 
 
 1 You look tired, Miss Treherne. You 
 have been exerting yourself too much to 
 amuse these people — you should be more 
 careful of yourself 
 
 There was an unwonted tenderness in 
 his tone, born of a real esteem and a vague 
 feeling of self-reproach that he had never 
 before done justice to this woman's real 
 nobility of heart. For he was conscious 
 that much of her exertion to-night had 
 been in his cause, and that her frequent 
 introductions had had a deeper motive 
 than the mere pleasure of the moment for 
 him. 
 
 The fact was, she had wished to show all 
 the world that this man, in the moment of 
 his reverses, was the one she delighted to 
 honour. There was a chivalry about her 
 which touched him deeply, and his voice 
 involuntarily became more gentle as he 
 addressed her.
 
 A FATAL STEP. 171 
 
 The effect upon her was magical. She 
 — the cool, calm, self-possessed Miss Tre- 
 herne — actually blushed, and, without meet- 
 ing his look, said hurriedly, 
 
 ' I want to speak to you for a moment, 
 Captain Vyvian. Can you come into the 
 conservatory now to look at the flowers. 
 "We have some fine new specimens. In a 
 few minutes these people will begin to dis- 
 perse and then the chance will be gone, 
 and I have something to say — a great 
 favour to ask — that is to say, it is the 
 merest trifle — but I have set my heart 
 upon it.' 
 
 What did the halting sentences mean ? 
 It was so unlike Adelaide to be hasty and 
 flurried in speech, blushing, and tripping 
 up her sentences in this way like any 
 school-girl. 
 
 George bowed slightly and followed her 
 into the cool little conservatory at the end 
 of the second and smaller drawing-room. 
 It had been handsomely draped with 
 Turkey carpets and some beautiful old 
 silks brought from the East in the clays
 
 17 '2 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 when a journey there meant a real pil- 
 grimage. 
 
 Miss Treherne. however, seemed to have 
 nothing to say now when they were at last 
 free from observation and out of hearing. 
 She bent over some plants at the remotest 
 corner of the conservatory, picked a few 
 leaves from a rare fern, and then draw- 
 ing an envelope from the folds of her 
 white gown thrust it hurriedly into 
 George's hands, saying with painful em- 
 barrassment. 
 
 : Please don't be angry. Captain Vyvian. 
 It is only what any man-friend would do. 
 Why should I be more helpless because I 
 am a woman? I am my own mistr 98 
 now. you know, since last June ; and of 
 course it matters to no one what I do Avith 
 what is my own. Don't say anything 
 to Lady Darner or anybody, and please 
 don't be angrv.' 
 
 The envelope was open — it contained 
 no written word, but as George, puzzled by 
 her words, and still more by her manner, 
 drew out the single paper inside, he found
 
 A FATAL STEP. 173 
 
 that it contained a draft on tl ok of 
 
 EngL If t th as nd pour. is 
 
 ■ Angry ! Miss Treherne, bow can I 
 ever thank you for your princely gener- 
 osity ? Believe me. I shall never for- 
 get it. It it had - ■;■■::. : "ssible ; :■ take 
 such a loan from anyone. I should have 
 felt the obligation less in your ::>. than 
 any other. I cannot say more than that. 
 It is only honest to confess that I n 
 thought I could have said sc much. Bur 
 your genei isl ".is morning. 
 
 since I cam- into y;y. ; k;us: tk> . v ning. 
 have indeed opened my eyes to the nobility 
 of your nature. It did not need this prince- 
 ly act to make me see what scant justice 
 I have done you in the past. Of course 
 you will understand that it is totally out 
 of mv power to accept such a gift even as 
 a 1 o a n . but v o u h a v e p 1 a c e d m e u 1 1 d : 
 obligation quite as deep as if I could have 
 done so. I can only repeat that I do not 
 feel the burden of it in your case." 
 
 Adelaide looked at him with earnest 
 searching eyes.
 
 174 GEOKGE VYVIAN. 
 
 'You cannot accept it? — then what do 
 you propose to do ?' 
 
 ' I don't know. Miss Treherne. Heaven 
 help me, for I am past all help of man.' 
 
 1 But not of woman ?' 
 
 c Ah ! that is more hopeless still — it can- 
 not be.' 
 
 c But why, Captain Vyvian ? I don't 
 want the money — I have more than enough 
 as it is. Why should you refuse me this 
 one petition — the greatest happiness — 
 almost — that you could give me?' 
 
 ' It is impossible, Miss Treherne. Men 
 don't accept money from women. Surely 
 you must know and feel that it is absolutely 
 impossible. It would be a strange way of 
 paying debts of honour by degrading my 
 manhood and doing an action for which I 
 should be cut by every man of honour in 
 London if he knew of it. Do you think — 
 even admitting that the thing is nothing 
 to you — that I could look any honest man 
 in the face after such an action on my 
 part?'
 
 A FATAL STEP. 175 
 
 Miss Treherne was silent for a moment, 
 silent — but not convinced. 
 
 4 What a strange thing honour is — man's 
 honour, at least. He may take from a woman 
 everything she possesses that is of any value 
 to her, her love, her thoughts, her heart, her 
 very soul — but he must not touch her 
 money, those sacred sovereigns that you 
 men seem to think so far above all other 
 possessions.' 
 
 There was a tinge of scorn in her tone 
 as she went on hurriedly, 
 
 'What am I suggesting that any man 
 might not do !' 
 
 4 But, Miss Treherne, you are not a man. 
 Therein lies all the difference. It may be 
 as you say that the world's code puts 
 money beyond far higher and nobler things, 
 but it is the world's code, and we are 
 bound to obey it. Believe me, Miss 
 Treherne, no man on earth could act 
 otherwise.' 
 
 1 But, Captain Vyvian, think for one 
 moment what folly it is ! You are to be
 
 176 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 ruined for life, for you tell me your father 
 cannot help you, and I am to have all this 
 money which is only a care and responsi- 
 bility, and I may not stretch out a finger 
 to help you. If that is the world's code, 
 it is an unjust, cruel code that deserves no 
 consideration at our hands. Let us be 
 strong enough, you and I, to set it at de- 
 nance. What does it matter what others 
 think ? It is our affair — yours and mine. 
 What right have they to know anything 
 about it? You .choose and I choose to be 
 sensible. What is that to others ? 1 have 
 never asked a favour before from you, nor 
 from any other man' on earth. It is not 
 my way to crave for favours from man, 
 woman or child, but since I have learnt 
 to do so, clo not you be the first to refuse 
 me.' 
 
 She looked up with pleading eyes to 
 which a dash of obstinate pride gave a 
 power stronger than any she had yet 
 wielded over George in former days. 
 
 He had never seen her so intensely in 
 earnest before, so absolutely free from all
 
 A FATAL STEP. 177 
 
 self-consciousness. She was no longer the 
 fascinating Circe, luring him to his de- 
 struction, but, for the moment, a simple, 
 loving woman, supplicating for her woman's 
 right of self-sacrifice and self-effacement at 
 the altar of her love. 
 
 Her love — yes, in that one moment of 
 illumination, George saw it all; this was 
 no mere whim or caprice, no passing 
 fancy, but a real love — passionate and 
 determined as befitted the character of 
 the woman, but the best and truest she 
 could give. 
 
 As George looked down upon her burn- 
 ing cheeks and glowing eyes, he realised 
 in some dim way that he was witnessing a 
 great tragedy — the birth of a human soul. 
 Instinctively he turned away from those 
 eager eyes as he answered in a low, 
 humble voice, 
 
 c Do be merciful, Miss Treherne. I can- 
 not tell you what it costs me to refuse any 
 request of yours, but believe me, once for 
 all, I have no other choice.' 
 
 1 No other choice ' — the words rang in 
 
 vol. I. n
 
 178 GEORGE VYVIAX. 
 
 her ear with subtle suggestion — was there 
 indeed no other choice, no other possi- 
 bility ? Must she see this man, the only 
 creature except herself whom she had ever 
 loved, go down shipwrecked in the great 
 sea of life before her very eyes ? Could 
 nothing be done to save him — to force him 
 to save himself? 
 
 She turned to him once more with firm 
 voice and lips that no longer trembled. A 
 great resolve was in her tones. She was 
 not only rich, she was also beautiful — 
 beautiful and seductive and charming — she 
 knew her power over men. Surely she 
 might dare where other women must per- 
 force be still. He could never speak as 
 things now were ; was she also to be 
 silent ? to see her happiness go down in 
 the general disaster without one effort to 
 save it ? Was this the world's code of 
 honour — for women ? 
 
 Then let the world and its code go to 
 the wall. She, for one, would make a 
 fight against it — to save him first and then
 
 A FATAL STEP. 179 
 
 herself; for she knew now that this strange 
 new emotion, born as she thought of 
 friendship and sympathy, was the love she 
 had scorned and condemned as a foolish, 
 sentimental idea. 
 
 She had known what passion meant — 
 she was folly aware of the kind of feeling 
 that made men's heads reel and their blood 
 surge when they were brought in contact 
 with women like herself For the most 
 part she had a sense of amused contempt 
 when she realized her power over the 
 * nobler part of creation,' for Miss Treherne 
 was somewhat of a philosopher. 
 
 How strange that a certain atmosphere. 
 some trick of expression, the glance of an 
 eye. should have power to make such fools 
 of men. even of men who were wise enough 
 and self-controlled enough under other 
 influences — men who could face death un- 
 flinchinglv. and who yet would tremble as 
 any timid girl under a glance from her 
 eyes or the touch of her hand! It amused 
 her cvnical humour whilst it gratified her 
 vanity. 
 
 8 2
 
 180 GEOKGE VYVIAN. 
 
 She knew also that such feelings might be 
 infectious even with her cold nature, but 
 she had herself thoroughly under control, 
 and pride was ready at any moment to 
 come to the rescue. The dim outline of 
 passion, with his fiery eyes and glowing 
 garments, had passed near enough for her 
 to feel his presence, but this was a very 
 different figure — the angel of love, with 
 
 o CD 
 
 soft white drapery, and innocent holy eyes 
 looking into her own, and teaching her 
 this strange new language. True, she 
 might be no apt scholar ; might never 
 learn to do more than lisp a few indistinct 
 syllables where others so quickly mastered a 
 whole noble phrase, but the teacher had 
 come — even to her — she could but strive 
 to catch those thrilling words that dropped 
 from his lips — to listen with ears half- 
 deafened hitherto by the clamouring voices 
 of the world. 
 
 Her face was lit up by strange, un- 
 wonted beauty ; the outward shining for 
 a moment of the inner light, as she spoke 
 once more.
 
 A FATAL STEP. 181 
 
 , ' Supposing it had been some other 
 woman — say, your mother — or — your ivife, 
 who had asked this favour, Captain Vyvian 
 — would you still have refused ?' 
 
 ' My wife ? Ah ! that is quite a different 
 matter. Perhaps in that case it might be 
 right. A man perhaps would scarcely be 
 justified in refusing such an appeal. A 
 woman who had given the far greater 
 gift of herself might feel, and make her 
 husband feel, that the mere mone} 7 could 
 be thrown into the scale or not, as fate 
 ordained. It could make no real difference 
 between them. But it is useless to discuss 
 a practical question on an impossible 
 supposition.' 
 
 1 Impossible ? Why impossible ? You 
 told me once your father wished you to 
 marry. Why cannot you please your 
 father?' 
 
 The old words ! How they had rung in 
 his ears from time to time ever since, only 
 chased away for the moment by Daisy's 
 happy smile ! The old words — the old tone ?
 
 182 GEOKGE VYVIAN. 
 
 No ! for a subtle coquetry had lurked be- 
 neath them then. 
 
 For a moment, the present seemed to 
 swim before his eyes and disappear; the 
 bright lights and flowers, and the bevy of 
 distinguished men and women ; the hand- 
 some London house, and even the perfume 
 of the hot-house flowers. Once more he 
 was sitting in the embrasure of the deep 
 window-seat, behind the heavy curtains, 
 in the old home, toying with a jewelled 
 fan. 
 
 The vision passed. He recovered him- 
 self with a start, and returned to his 
 present surroundings. This was no mis- 
 chievous coquette, but a woman in deep, 
 strong earnest, who pleaded with him for 
 himself as well as for her. What was money 
 to her compared with her love ? It might 
 not be very noble in quantity — it would 
 weigh lightly enough against the scale of 
 Daisy's overwhelming affection, but it was 
 true enough so far as it went. It was all she 
 had to give. Was it her fault that the gift
 
 A FATAL STEP. 183 
 
 might be somewhat meagre? Was it for him 
 to reproach her with this — to be over- 
 critical ? Was it not far more than he 
 deserved at her hands, he who had never 
 until to-day given her one really tender 
 thought, although her influence over him 
 had been strong enough at times ? 
 
 With rapid glance his thoughts took in 
 the future. In any case it meant separa- 
 tion from Daisy. He could not stay in 
 England now; he must go far away and 
 strive to make a living somewhere, enough 
 at least to render him independent of his 
 father, who w r as already so heavily weighted 
 with the cares of a large and deeply-em- 
 barrassed estate. He could not take Daisy 
 into that exile ; it would be hard enough 
 to win the battle of sheer existence alone, 
 impossible with a delicately-nurtured child 
 like that. 
 
 On the one hand, therefore, exile, pos- 
 sible dishonour, and certain loneliness, cut 
 adrift from his better self; on the other 
 hand, honour satisfied, his debts paid, his
 
 184 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 father made radiantly happy, his future 
 assured, and this woman, whose one weak 
 point had been her generosity and love for 
 him, rendered surely at any rate content. 
 
 All this passed through his mind with 
 lightning speed. One moment he hesi- 
 tated, the next he bent down and took 
 Adelaide's hand with a respectful, almost 
 reverent gesture, and raised it to his lips. 
 
 ' I am not worthy of so much regard, 
 Miss Treherne, but I feel the honour you 
 have done me more than any poor words 
 of mine can express. Believe me, that I 
 will do my best to prevent your ever re- 
 gretting that you have placed yourself 
 and your future in my hands. As for the 
 money, that is a trifling consideration. 
 What I am most anxious to be assured of 
 is, that you will never regret words that 
 may have been wrung from you in a 
 moment of kindly sympathy with my 
 misfortunes.' 
 
 Adelaide was once more mistress of her- 
 self; the momentary weakness had passed 
 with the momentary suspense. She had
 
 A FATAL STEP. 185 
 
 never yet failed to gain her will, she was 
 not to fail now. 
 
 Flushed with conquest, in spite of this 
 new-born timidity, she turned to her 'lover.' 
 
 ' No, George, I shall never change. You 
 are the only man I have ever yet loved. 
 Believe me, I had no thought of this when 
 I begged you to accept that tiresome 
 money. I thought I could lend it to you 
 in your need as one friend might help 
 another. But why should I not be happy 
 also, especially if in that way alone you 
 will let me save you ? And you will be 
 happy, George, with me ? You do love 
 me ? I knew you could never tell me so, 
 now that you have been so unfortunate 
 about that horrid horse ! Captain Style- 
 man told me how heavily you had suffered. 
 I don't think I knew till then how much 
 you were to me, George. You do think I 
 shall make you happy ?' 
 
 The pleading look and tone were too 
 much for George's kindliness of heart. 
 When a proud, cold woman does unbend, 
 the process is a very fascinating one for
 
 186 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 the favoured individual who has been the 
 cause of it. Never in her short, tri- 
 umphant life had Adelaide more nearly 
 touched a man's heart than now, when 
 George bent over her, and, pressing a kiss 
 of almost lover-like warmth upon her lips, 
 behind the shelter of a kindly palm, said, 
 hurriedly, 
 
 ' Dearest, I am sure you will be all to 
 me that any man could wish. I had better 
 go now, but let me know by messenger to- 
 morrow when I may wait upon you again, 
 and tell Lady Darner of our plans.' 
 
 Adelaide made a little moue of vexation. 
 
 4 Yes, I suppose you must go now, 
 George. The people are beginning to take 
 leave of my aunt. Poor Aunt Caroline ! 
 how very angry she will be ; but I am my 
 own mistress, and I have chosen my lord.' 
 
 Love works miracles, in truth. No more 
 bitter allusions to false hair or false teeth ! 
 Only c poor Aunt Caroline ' who had out- 
 lived, or worse still, had never known, the 
 keen, pure joy which to-night lighted up 
 the beautiful Miss Treherne's charms to
 
 A FATAL STEP. 187 
 
 such a pitch that she received many an old- 
 fashioned compliment from the elder men, 
 and many an admiring glance from the 
 younger ones, as she stood through the 
 ordeal of all the farewells.
 
 188 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 NEMESIS. 
 
 The excitement of the next few days left 
 George little time to consider the wisdom 
 of his decision. 
 
 Events had forced him into hurried 
 action. He had no choice left him but to 
 break his father's heart, bringing down his 
 grey hairs with sorrow to the tomb, or to 
 bring home Miss Treherne as a daughter to 
 the old Court. 
 
 This was how he put matters to his own 
 iudgmient. for. after the first excitement 
 produced by the girl's generous action, 
 there was little heart in the matter so far 
 George was concerned.
 
 NEMESIS. 1 fj 9 
 
 Fortunately, or unfortunately rather, for 
 him. there was little time for thought or re- 
 flection. Lady Darner, re- 
 determine! »pj k -ition, had given in with 
 the best grace she conld, reflecting that -he 
 had no ::::!•; :f a ;:L::ity over the "wilful 
 heiress, and that she might as well enjoy 
 the delights of superintending the clothes 
 in which the ' victim,' as she dubbed 
 Adelaide, was :: be :aken t: :'.: .>;.:\ 
 
 For man : : :.s, delay was irksome 
 and unnec ;ssary. Adelaide did not relish 
 being look-d upon as a "foolish v:r_in ' 
 who had sold her birthright :: a splendid 
 marriag; :; :he - ike : a handsome fa 
 George's necessities made it advisable that 
 he should command his wife's money as 
 soon as possible. In any case his old 
 father wool nite unequal to 
 
 the fatigues of the long journey from 
 Devonshire t nt af his - n's mar- 
 
 riage. So matters were hastened on by 
 everyone eon i erned. 
 
 Lady Damv was ntemplating . ~ : .~ : . : I 
 Bath as soon as she was freed fi >m the
 
 190 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 chaperonage of her handsome niece. The 
 marriage was none oilier making, but if it 
 were to be, let it be quickly, for the Bath 
 season was coming on apace, and her world- 
 ly old soul yearned for the delights of the 
 card-tables, and the gossip and scandal of 
 the favourite resort of fashion. 
 
 Lawyers and dressmakers were therefore 
 set to work at once. George insisted upon 
 the greater part of his wife's money being 
 settled on herself and her children, but the 
 fatal ten thousand pounds, that had played 
 such an important part in their two lives, 
 was left out of the settlement by her special 
 request, and this was to be employed at 
 once in paying the debts of honour con- 
 tracted during his bachelor days. 
 
 George had written a short note to his 
 father, announcing his speedy marriage, 
 and adding, after expressing regret that 
 the latter could not be present, ' but I 
 know, my dear father, that your own in- 
 clinations have already pointed to Miss 
 Treherne as your daughter-in-law, and 
 that I could not have pleased you more
 
 NEMESIS. 191 
 
 than by giving you one so much to 
 your mind. She begs me to send her 
 affectionate remembrances, and to say that 
 her future duty as well as pleasure will lie 
 in consulting your wishes on all points, 
 and in proving to you that you have by no 
 means lost your son but rather gained a 
 daughter through this alliance of mine. 
 1 Yours, my dear father, 
 ' With all possible duty and affection, 
 
 ' George.' 
 
 Not a word of love or rapture from first 
 to last ; but in those days language was 
 more formal and stilted than it is now, 
 and the old squire of Wyverne was too 
 much rejoiced by the contents of the 
 letter to be over-critical as to its mode of 
 expression. 
 
 A week later, the London papers, 
 Chronicle, Post, etc., described a fashion- 
 able marriage in the church of St. Martins- 
 in-the-Fields, 'when the handsome and 
 elegant Captain George Vyvian had led to 
 the hymeneal altar the beauty of the late
 
 192 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 season, Miss Adelaide Treherne, famous 
 alike for her beauty and her dower, two 
 advantages by no means inseparable as a 
 rule. The gallant captain is a striking 
 example of the old adage, or, rather, the 
 reverse of it, "lucky in cards, unlucky in 
 love," for if Fortune has frowned upon him 
 in some racing speculations, as a little 
 bird has whispered to us, the ancient dame 
 has more than made amends now by be- 
 stowing upon him so rich a matrimonial 
 prize.' 
 
 So ran the papers which George himself 
 read with a rather cynical smile. 
 
 The happy pair were to spend their 
 honeymoon in Paris, now open to the 
 British public after many years, by the 
 lately ratified Peace of Amiens. 
 
 In those days a visit to Paris was a matter 
 of no small amount of preparation of 
 anxiety. George had to choose and buy a 
 travelling-coach for himself and his bride, 
 and to secure the services of a dependable 
 courier. Adelaide, of course, was to take 
 her own waiting-woman, and, if Penruth
 
 NEMESIS. 193 
 
 had accompanied George, they would have 
 had quite a cortege, with three people to 
 look after the two. But George was only 
 too glad of the excuse of having to engage 
 a courier, to dispense with Penruth's ser- 
 vices for a time. He could return to them 
 when they settled into their London house 
 in St. James's Square, of course, but mean- 
 while it was absurd to add to their num- 
 bers, and he could manage quite well, as 
 the courier was expressly recommended as 
 a good ' body-servant ' in addition to his 
 other accomplishments. 
 
 The faithful Joseph was loth to allow 
 any stranger to perform for his beloved 
 Master George all the little services which 
 had been his delight and pride, but he was 
 a reasonable man, and could quite under- 
 stand that it was above all necessary for 
 George to have a trustworthy major-domo 
 behind him, to hurry up the dilatory work- 
 people, and see that the newly-engaged 
 servants did their work honestly, and had 
 everything in readiness for the return of 
 the travellers. 
 
 vol. I. o
 
 194 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 Evening was closing in on the night of 
 George's wedding-day. All necessary ar- 
 rangements had been made, but Adelaide 
 preferred a quiet clay in London after the 
 fatigues and excitements of the previous 
 fortnight and the ceremony that morning. 
 So it had been arranged that the start 
 should be made next morning in the 
 brand-new travelling-carriage for Dover, 
 where they would spend a few days before 
 braving the ocean, which was more formid- 
 able in those days when a channel crossing 
 occupied several hours ; not a bare sixty 
 minutes in a large and luxurious steamer 
 as at present. 
 
 They had dined in the stiff, handsomely 
 furnished room of their hotel, and, dinner 
 over, George had seized upon the excuse of 
 having to give last orders to Penruth, who 
 was winding up affairs in King Street, to 
 have a turn by himself and review calmly 
 the events of the day. 
 
 He had seen Joseph and given all final 
 instructions for his moving next day into
 
 NEMESIS. 195 
 
 the house in St. James's Square. All was 
 finally arranged, and George had nothing 
 now to do but to stroll slowly homewards 
 to his Piccadilly hotel and his beautiful 
 bride. 
 
 It is only a stone's throw, as all the 
 world knows, from King Street to Picca- 
 dilly, but George's step was slow and 
 lingering, hardly loverlike in its impati- 
 ence. Moreover, having gone a few steps 
 in the right direction, he turned hastily 
 round and walked off at a brisk pace 
 towards Westminster. 
 
 1 I must have a last look at the old 
 places to-night,' he muttered. 
 
 He knew every street and corner of that 
 part of town, and somehow felt that he 
 was saying good-bye to a great deal that 
 night : to the old streets which he knew so 
 well, the river sleeping beneath the moon- 
 light, the heavy plash of the sculls striking 
 the water as some late traveller crossed 
 the Thames from the Westminster Bridge 
 at his feet. He would see and hear it all 
 
 o2
 
 196 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 again, but never as now, for he had buried 
 the old self, and had a curious conscious- 
 ness of bein£ chief mourner at his own 
 funeral. 
 
 His body was living still, as vigorous 
 and full of strength as ever, but something 
 had gone from his life. He had turned 
 his back upon the past, the past with all 
 its worries and anxieties and joys and 
 thrilling happiness. He had taken upon 
 himself the responsibility of the happiness 
 of another human being, and he meant — 
 God might bear him witness that he meant 
 — to be true to her in thought and word 
 and deed. 
 
 But a cold, chill feeling seemed gnawing 
 at his heartstrings. He knew that the 
 woman he had married that morning 
 would have power to chase this numb in- 
 difference away • it needed only a touch 
 from her hand, a look into those glorious 
 blue eyes. There would be fire enough 
 then where all now seemed cool, blank 
 indifference — the reaction surely from his 
 late excitement and despair. Fire enough
 
 NEMESIS. 197 
 
 — ah ! yes — but where would be the peace ? 
 He also had sold his birthright for a mess 
 of pottage. Peace — for passion — and ease 
 and safety and the power of looking his 
 little world in the face ; owing no man a 
 penny, in place of the humiliating necessit}^ 
 for confessing that he had incurred obliga- 
 tions with no shadow of a chance of meet- 
 ing them. 
 
 We are all clever advocates when we 
 have ourselves as clients. George was 
 like the rest of us. He had almost suc- 
 ceeded in crushing the still, small voice 
 that was so irritating just on account of 
 its smallness and quiet persistence. He 
 persuaded himself that love of his father, 
 a wish to please him, and an unselfish 
 desire to procure the happiness of a woman 
 who had shown such noble disregard of 
 self and fortune for his sake, had actuated 
 him in the step just taken. 
 
 The cool night air and the bright moon- 
 beams had a softening, soothing influence, 
 and yet with a sudden dart of pain his 
 thoughts went back with the maddening
 
 198 GEOEGE VYVIAN. 
 
 persistence of association to another moon- 
 light night in the picture-gallery at home, 
 and a little white figure which had sobbed 
 itself to sleep in the old corner in the deep 
 window recess. 
 
 At that moment the air was rent by the 
 wild clamour of boatmen touting for a 
 fare. A slender figure, closely veiled, was 
 flitting quietly by, apparently with the 
 hope of escaping notice, and making quiet 
 choice of a boat at the foot of the stairs. 
 But the watermen were unusually idle just 
 then. No other ' fare ' was at hand, and 
 the competition waxed fast and furious, as 
 they gathered roughly round her, bawling 
 at the top of their voices : 
 
 1 Sculls, sculls ! oars, oars ! Here's a boat 
 for you, my pretty one — I'll see you across 
 all right — Don't you go off with him — He'll 
 have you at the bottom in no time — Here's 
 your place, my dear, and you had better 
 come and take it whilst you can.' 
 
 The poor child, for she seemed little
 
 NEMESIS. 199 
 
 more, turned distractedly from one to the 
 other as each in turn sang the praises of 
 his special boat. 
 
 George sprang down the steps to the res- 
 cue. He would have done as much for any 
 woman, but one so young and childish 
 appealed to every sentiment of pity and 
 protection. 
 
 4 What a wicked shame to let her go 
 about thus unprotected, and evidently 
 a stranger to London, or she would have 
 known better than to trust herself at that 
 hour to these rough watermen.' 
 
 He had seized one man and thrown his 
 hand off the frightened girl, and waved the 
 others away with a gesture of impatience. 
 
 1 What do you mean by annoying this 
 young lady, you scoundrels ? Be off with 
 you at once. She does not want any of 
 your boats. — Excuse me, madam,' he 
 continued, in a gentle voice, fearing to 
 alarm the poor little shivering creature at 
 his side, ' this is no fit place for you at 
 this time of night. Tell me where you
 
 200 GEORGE VYVIAX. 
 
 would go, and I will do myself the honour 
 of escorting you by coach, which will be 
 far safer for you than crossing the river by 
 yourself.' 
 
 As he spoke they had retraced their 
 steps from the water's edge up the c stairs ' 
 to the level ground above. Something in 
 the absolute silence of the o;irl struck 
 George with a sudden sense of surprise. 
 She had not spoken a word, and the veil 
 was too thick to distinguish any features, 
 but there was something strangely familiar 
 in the figure itself. 
 
 AVas he dreaming ? Was it — could it 
 be— Daisy ? 
 
 As the astounding idea flashed through 
 his brain to be dismissed at once by com- 
 mon sense, he felt the little hand trembling 
 on his arm. It seemed as though she were 
 answering his thought. 
 
 'Yes, George. It is Daisy — I had to 
 come to you. I must talk to you at once. 
 Oh, George, I have been so very, very 
 miserable. Xobody knows where I came 
 to, but I left a little note to tell dear
 
 NEMESIS. 201 
 
 Bonn)' not to be frightened, and that 
 everything would be explained when I 
 came back. I had the gold piece your 
 father gave me last harvesting, and that 
 was just enough to pay my fare by the 
 stage-wagon. But it has been weary 
 work, George, and so many days on the 
 road, and I could not find out where you 
 were, and I have wandered about all day. 
 not having enough money to engage a 
 coach to take me to you. And besides, 
 George, I thought your grand friends 
 might be with you. and then you would 
 not like me to come without warning. 
 But I had to come, George. I must talk 
 to you.' 
 
 Great heavens ! how the child prattled 
 on. Did she not know? Had they not 
 told her ? Then he remembered that she 
 had spoken of having just money enough 
 for the stage-wagon — the lumbering old 
 wagon — so much cheaper and so much 
 slower than the ordinary stage-coach. 
 Why, she might have been a fortnight on 
 the road. If so, it was just possible that
 
 202 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 she had heard nothing of this hastily- 
 arranged marriage of his. 
 
 How could he wound that tender heart 
 and stab his poor little lamb so cruelly ? 
 It was bad enough to bear the misery 
 himself, and he had trusted that Daisy 
 would hear in due course through his 
 father and Bonny, and have learnt some 
 sort of resignation before they met again. 
 But here she was with no idea of the 
 truth. All had to be told, and all to be 
 told by him ! 
 
 And yet, in the wild happiness of being 
 once more together, all else vanished for 
 the moment. He tucked the little hand 
 more firmly under his arm, and wrapped 
 her light shawl round her with loving 
 care. 
 
 1 Daisy, child ! What possessed you to 
 do such a mad thing ? And how cold you 
 are ! You are not half warmly dressed for 
 such a chill night as this.' 
 
 Daisy seemed scarcely to heed his tender 
 care and thought. The words came 
 strangely from her lips, ' I must talk to
 
 NEMESIS. 203 
 
 you, George. I had to come.' It seemed 
 as if she had learnt that one formula, and 
 eould not trust herself to go beyond it. 
 
 ' Not to-night, Daisy darling — another 
 time, when you are warm and rested. Let 
 me see, where can you sleep to-night ? 
 Where were you going when I met 
 you?' 
 
 ' I was crossing over to the other side of 
 the river to try to find the people at this 
 address ;' and Daisy took a crumpled piece 
 of paper from her glove. ' They are friends 
 of Bonny 's. I have often heard her speak 
 of them, and I copied down the address 
 from a book they had given to her. I 
 thought, if I did not find you at once, I 
 might want friends, and they would surely 
 give me a night's rest and lodging for 
 Bonny 's sake.' 
 
 In the feeble light of a flickering lamp 
 George read the address. Four miles and 
 more from where they stood, on the Surrey 
 side of the river. Quite impossible to 
 take Daisy so far to-night. No — he must 
 think of some other plan. Then he remern-
 
 204 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 bered his own rooms in King Street, his 
 till the morrow. The old woman who had 
 cooked and done for him in his bachelor 
 days was still in possession. She would 
 look after the child and take charge of her, 
 and to-morrow he must tell her all and 
 persuade her to return to Wyverne by the 
 first coach which would leave for Exeter 
 next evening. 
 
 1 Come, Daisy darling, I have thought 
 of a place for you ;' and he hailed a hack- 
 ney coach and gave the address in King 
 Street. 
 
 ' But, George, I would not go there to 
 be a burden to you — and besides — I don't 
 like — it doesn't seem — oh, what shall I 
 do ?' as the real meaning of the step she 
 had taken burst upon the poor child in all 
 its hideous conventional light ' I never 
 thought of what I would do, or about 
 coming to your rooms. I forgot about 
 having to sleep somewhere ; I only thought 
 about coming to you to help me, George, 
 and that then it would all be right :' and 
 she burst into a fit of wild weeping.
 
 NEMESIS. 205 
 
 1 Hush, Daisy child,' said George, per- 
 plexed by this new and strange develop- 
 ment ; for Daisy rarely cried, and did not 
 know what the fashionable complaint of 
 c nerves ' meant, in her healthy country 
 life. ' Don't cry, dear. My landlady will 
 look after you and make you comfortable, 
 and to-morrow I will come and see you, 
 and arrange about your going home com- 
 fortably. Penruth shall take you back. 
 He would like a few clays at the old place, 
 and his mother will be longing to see him. 
 I can spare him quite well till we return.' 
 
 In the hurry of the moment George had 
 let slip the pronoun, and nearly betrayed 
 the secret which must be kept from Daisy 
 till she was restored somewhat by a good 
 night's rest and food. 
 
 He must make some excuse for delaying 
 their journey next day. Tt would be easy 
 to plead some last commissions, or the 
 necessity of giving fresh orders about the 
 new house. Then he could see Daisy off 
 and no one would know about this little 
 childish freak of hers, except good honest
 
 206 GEOKGE VYVIAN. 
 
 Joseph who worshipped the ground she 
 walked on, and would ask no questions 
 but treat her like a young queen, and see 
 her safely back in Bonny's arms. 
 
 Daisy seemed strangely silent and pre- 
 occupied. 
 
 Arrived in King Street, George led her 
 upstairs to his old sitting-room, and 
 lighted a pair of candles on the mantel- 
 shelf, then ran downstairs to tell Mrs. 
 Goodheart that a young lady from Wyverne 
 Court would sleep there that night, in 
 order to be escorted home to his father's 
 house by Penruth next day. 
 
 Joseph was out, but he could leave a 
 message or note for him with Daisy, and 
 he went hastily back to her, wishing to 
 get over the ' good-night ' as quickly as 
 possible. 
 
 1 Daisy darling, I have spoken to Mrs. 
 Goodheart, and she will come and help 
 you to bed. You had better go before 
 Joseph returns, or he may wonder how 
 you came here. I have left a message to 
 say I shall have to make some arrange-
 
 NEMESIS. 207 
 
 merits with, him to-morrow. Good-night, 
 dear. Sleep well — and be bright and 
 cheery to-morrow when I come to see 
 you !' 
 
 Poor George ! he felt anything but 
 bright and cheery himself. If only he 
 could act his part five minutes longer and 
 get away; anywhere — away from those 
 wistful eyes and that pale little tired 
 face. 
 
 Daisy put her face up to be kissed like a 
 child ; George bent down mechanically, 
 then hesitated for a moment as a vision of 
 his beautiful wife — the wife of barely 
 twelve hours yet — came before him. 
 
 Daisy noticed the momentary pause, 
 and a bright colour flushed her small white 
 cheeks. 
 
 'Oh, George, have I done wrong? Are 
 you angry and ashamed of me? I had to 
 come — I had to talk to you.' 
 
 The old words dropped mechanically 
 from her lips once more, stirring George 
 with a faint sense of wonder, but he was 
 too much absorbed in thinking how he
 
 208 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 should break the news of his marriage to 
 her next day, to pay much heed to any- 
 thing else. 
 
 c Good-night once more, dear. Don't 
 trouble yourself. I will come and talk to 
 you to-morrow,' and he bent down and 
 gently touched her forehead with his lips. 
 It was more of a brother's than a lover's 
 kiss, but poor little Daisy felt almost con- 
 tent to think that George ' was not angry 
 with her after all,' and that all must go well 
 now that she had found him once more, and 
 could tell him all her troubles next morning. 
 
 She knew there would be no returning 
 by next day's coach, no need of Joseph's 
 escort. Xo faintest shadow of a doubt of 
 her lover's power and ability to shield her 
 came to trouble her dreams that night. 
 It was only very very sad and lonely to 
 be in this great city all by herself, and to 
 have to talk to George, as she must do 
 next day. 
 
 For the first time in her short life, Daisy 
 felt what it meant to be motherless. 
 But Georoe was at hand — George, who
 
 NEMESIS. 209 
 
 was father and mother, brother, sister and 
 lover, in one. That made all the differ- 
 ence, and, when Mrs. Goodheart had left 
 her for the night, the tired little head 
 dropped on the pillow — George's pillow — 
 and she fell asleep with a happier smile on 
 her face than it had worn for many anxious 
 weeks. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 210 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 DESPAIR. 
 
 George had little difficulty in persuading 
 his wife to postpone their start for twenty- 
 four hours. 
 
 He kept to the truth of the letter by 
 telling her that he had business to settle 
 with Penruth which would keep him in 
 town another dav, and that he must leave 
 Adelaide after breakfast and might not be 
 able to return until dinner-time, which in 
 those days was seldom later than four p.m. 
 
 He started off with a conventional smile 
 of seeming happiness on his lips ; but once 
 turned into King Street, his steps faltered, 
 his brow grew sad with care, and there was
 
 DESPAIR. 211 
 
 little to denote the ' happy bridegroom ' in 
 the air of the melancholy-looking man who 
 walked slowly up the stairs he had been 
 wont to clear in a few careless bounds. 
 
 Mrs. Goodheart met him on the thres- 
 hold of the sitting-room with mysterious 
 look and hushed voice. 
 
 1 She slept well last night, the pretty 
 lamb ; and she is in there waiting for you 
 now, sir,' she said. c I took her her bit of 
 breakfast, and made her eat it before she 
 got up. She looked so pale and peaky this 
 morning, but she has been asking for you, 
 and wondering how soon you would come. 
 I gave your message to Joseph, sir, and 
 he bade me say, with his duty, that he was 
 obliged to see after the unloading of some 
 of the furniture in St. James's Square, but 
 he will be back by noon, and he thought 
 you would hardly be here earlier.' 
 
 George looked at his watch. It was 
 barely eleven o'clock. All the better to 
 have the interview over before Penruth 
 returned, and to give Daisy time to recover 
 the shock of hearing of his marriage before 
 
 p2
 
 212 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 the respectfully adoring, and possibly sym- 
 pathetic glances of the valet could add to 
 her trouble. 
 
 George little guessed that what he had 
 to break to her could bring anything worse 
 than a feeling of keen disappointment and 
 mortified affection. He had yet to learn 
 that in the next few minutes the poor child 
 would know the terrors of despair. 
 
 He sent Mrs. Goodheart off on some 
 lengthy errand in Daisy's service, and then 
 entered the sitting-room. The girl was 
 sitting in a listless attitude and seemed 
 both tired and depressed, but she sprang 
 up on hearing George's step. The colour 
 surged into her cheeks, and she held out 
 both hands to him in the pretty, impulsive, 
 childish way he remembered so well. 
 
 ' Oh ! George, you are here at last. I 
 thought you would never come. It has 
 been such a weary, long time ; but Mrs. 
 Goodheart was very kind — almost as kind 
 as Bonny to me.' 
 
 Poor little grateful soul ! In the midst 
 of all her own anxiety and trouble, she
 
 DESPAIR. 213 
 
 could not forget nor seem to make light of 
 any kindness shown to her. 
 
 George looked at the eas;er face into 
 which his coming had brought the wild- 
 rose tint, and felt like a cruel butcher about 
 to thrust the cold steel into some poor 
 little trembling lamb. Nay, rather, he 
 thought, as some surgeon whose knife must 
 cut sharp and clean, with no uu certain 
 aim or pressure, for the sake of the patient 
 herself. Delay was only cruelty and 
 cowardice in such a case. 
 
 1 Daisy — my darling ! Listen to me. 
 You always trusted me and knew that I 
 never meant to harm you or make you un- 
 happy. You must trust me now, even 
 though I have to make you very unhappy 
 for a time. I know how much you have 
 loved me, as I — God forgive me — have 
 loved and still love you. But we must 
 part, darling. Circumstances have been 
 too strong for me. You know — I told you 
 — how much money I had staked upon 
 Pioneer and his winning the St. Leger for 
 me. Well, dear, he lost me the race, and
 
 214 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 I am a ruined man. There was nothing 
 for me to do but to leave the country and 
 never see you or my father or Wyverne 
 again. To leave the country and you — or 
 to give you up ! My own little Daisy, be 
 brave and help me, and may God help us 
 both P 
 
 The last words were faltered out beneath 
 his breath ; but Daisy heeded them not. 
 She had not heard one sentence of all he 
 had said since those first words which 
 spoke of their parting. 
 
 ' Part, George ! We must part ? I do 
 not understand. How can we part when 
 I belong to you ? I am your own Daisy. 
 You told me so at Wyverne. Don't you 
 remember? You said we belonged to 
 each other — that nothing on earth could 
 separate us, for we were already one. It 
 sounded so beautiful and so true. We 
 cannot part, darling. You think I should 
 mind going to the ends of the earth with 
 you, and working for you? You are poor 
 — ruined — what is that to me ? I am no 
 useless, fine lady, George. I can do all
 
 DESPAIR, 215 
 
 household work, thanks to clear Bonny 's 
 teaching. How glacl and thankful I am 
 now to have learned so much. Dear, dear 
 George ! I know how sad and terrible it 
 is for you. Don't think I would under- 
 rate your trouble or make light of it ; but 
 it is so sweet to feel that I can help you, 
 and work for you. I cannot be unhappy 
 for myself, though I would fain it had 
 been otherwise for you. Let us go to 
 some new world — to America, perhaps — 
 the new country we have read about so 
 often together. It will not be altogether 
 strange, for at least we shall hear our own 
 language. We shall make friends amongst 
 those grand old Puritans who strove so 
 bravely for their country's independence. 
 We shall learn to love the country where 
 the great General Washington fought so 
 gloriously even although it was against 
 ourselves. You always sympathised with 
 his love for his country and his hatred of 
 oppression. Don't you remember wishing 
 you had been in Chatham's place when he 
 said so boldly before all the Parliament,
 
 216 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 "If I were an American, as I am an 
 Englishman, whilst a foreign troop was 
 landed in my country, I would never lay 
 down my arms — never — never — never I" 
 Oh ! George, they must be brave and loyal 
 and generous, these people. Let us go 
 and live amongst them for a time, and 
 then when you come back, rich and pros- 
 perous, the squire will forgive you for 
 losing the race and for loving your poor 
 little Daisy !' 
 
 What a child she was ! What an inno- 
 cent, ignorant child, mixing up her love 
 and romance and the smattering of history, 
 implanted by faithful Bonny, all in one 
 eager speech, intended, as he well knew, to 
 deaden his own remorse at the idea of 
 leaving country and home to seek fortune 
 in a distant land. 
 
 George knew that Daisy only chattered 
 on in the hope of winning him from his 
 gloomy thoughts. The task he had set 
 himself was even worse than he had 
 expected it would be. 
 
 1 But, Daisy dear — wait one minute —
 
 DESPAIR. 217 
 
 you don't understand yet. I told you I 
 was ruined, and it is true enough. It 
 would have broken my father's heart to 
 know it, for he could not help me in my 
 troubles. His hands are tied. He could 
 not have raised the money for me, hut — 
 there were others — others who could and 
 
 did; 
 
 Daisy looked up, her face glowing with 
 excitement and happiness. 
 
 ' Oh, George, why did you not tell me 
 sooner? May I know who it was? But 
 don't tell me if I should not have asked. 
 Do I know him ? Have I ever heard you 
 speak of him ?' 
 
 4 It is not a man, dear — it is a lady. Yes, 
 you have heard of her — you have even seen 
 her. You remember Miss Treherne ?' 
 
 Daisy's face fell for a moment. With her 
 whole soul rejoicing over George's deliver- 
 ance, her whole heart going out in gener- 
 ous appreciation of his deliverer, she could 
 not help feeling a moment's dismay. If 
 only it could have been anybody else ! 
 Then the somewhat rare womanly virtue
 
 218 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 of generosity re-asserted its wonted sway, 
 and the girl spoke with enthusiastic ad- 
 miration in her tones. 
 
 ' Miss Treherne ? How very, very good 
 and noble of her. Oh, George, how I have 
 wronged her ! I thought she was so cold 
 and proud, and all the time she was capable 
 of this ! I should like to see her again — to 
 thank and bless her — only she would not 
 care for the thanks of a foolish, country 
 maiden.' 
 
 4 Do you think I could accept money 
 from Miss Treherne, Daisy? You know 
 nothing of the world and its laws and 
 conditions, dear. A man cannot take 
 money from a woman without shame un- 
 less that woman be — Ids wife' 
 
 Daisy looked up puzzled. 
 
 ' I don't understand, George. I thought 
 you said she had helped you and had come to 
 the rescue when you needed it most. Per- 
 haps I am very stupid, dear George, but 
 would you explain what you mean ?' 
 
 Explain ! Good Heavens ! would the child 
 never understand ? If only she would turn
 
 DESPAIR. 219 
 
 away those dark, loving eyes from bis ! 
 They seemed to hold him with an un- 
 flinching gaze, all the more terrible that it 
 was so child-like and so absolutely trustful. 
 
 George groaned aloud. 
 
 4 Daisy child, can't you see ? Cannot 
 you understand ? I could not accept such 
 help from any other woman but my wife 
 — and I have accepted it.' 
 
 1 Then Miss Treherne ?' a look of 
 
 wild terror and despair came into the wide- 
 open eyes, but no further word from the 
 quivering lips, and it was George who 
 finished the sentence : 
 
 ' Was married to me yesterday morning. 
 She is my wife.' 
 
 He turned away one moment from the 
 anguish of those eyes ; the next he heard 
 a dull, heavy fall, and Daisy lay lifeless at 
 his feet. 
 
 Only a faint ! Only the death of hope and 
 happiness, of all save the miserable, suffering 
 little body ! George placed her in his easiest 
 chair, chafed the cold hands tenderly in his 
 own, and, opening the well-known cupboard,
 
 220 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 found some brandy ; left there after his 
 last bachelor entertainment in those rooms. 
 He poured a little down her throat, open- 
 ing the tightly-clenched teeth, and, in a 
 few moments, saw the colour returning to 
 the cheeks. 
 
 ' Daisy — darling — speak to me ! It is 
 only George. No one else shall come near 
 you !' 
 
 The girl lifted herself up with a look of 
 dazed perplexity; then by degrees the 
 terrible truth came back to her. 
 
 ' You are married — married, George ? 
 And you told me we were one ! How can 
 you marry anyone else ? I cannot under- 
 stand.' 
 
 4 Daisy, do you wish to drive me mad ? 
 Cannot you understand ? It was for my 
 father and the honour of the old name. If 
 a man cannot pay his honour debts he is 
 disgraced for life. And that would have 
 happened to me ! How could I face my 
 father and tell him his son was cut off 
 from the society of honourable men ; that 
 I dared not aj)pear at my club nor speak
 
 DESPAIR. 221 
 
 to any of my old associates ? What could 
 I do, child ? Ah, do not be so hard upon 
 me, Daisy. Be merciful to me. Now that 
 we must leave each other, let me have one 
 loving look, one glance of forgiveness. The 
 trial is as bitter to me as to you, dear! 
 Don't make it still more terrible by hating 
 me for spoiling the happiness of your life.' 
 
 c Hard upon you, George ? I, hate you ? 
 I? But I did not know; I did not under- 
 stand. Debts of honour. I thought hon- 
 our meant truth. It means truth in 
 Devonshire, George ! but I don't know 
 about London life and London ways. I 
 had better go back to Bonny.' 
 
 ' Yes, darling, that is j ust what I want 
 you to do. Nothing can undo the past. 
 But you will be safe and happy with 
 Bonny, and in time you will forget poor 
 George, and perhaps even give your heart 
 to some one else. I never wish to see him, 
 Daisy, but he may be worthier of you than 
 I. He cannot love you more dearly.' 
 
 Daisy was quite calm now and her 
 voice unnaturally steady as she answered,
 
 222 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 c No, George. I shall never forget you. 
 You are a part of myself. When you first 
 told me you were married and must leave 
 me, I wanted to die. I wanted you to kill 
 me, George — but that must not be. I see 
 it now. Money is not the only honour 
 debt. I also — we have contracted a debt. 
 I, at least, must live and meet it when the 
 time for payment comes. But do not fear 
 for your name. I shall be far, far away 
 from you and Bonny and everyone by that 
 time. Only I must go back to her now.' 
 
 Was this Daisy ? This cold still woman 
 with the measured tones ! This thought 
 flashed first through George's brain, and 
 then the full horror of the real meaning of 
 her words came over him. Good Heavens ! 
 he had never thought of this ! never 
 dreamed that anything more precious 
 than Daisy's happiness was at stake — her 
 honour ! 
 
 And now by his own rash act he had 
 deprived himself of any possibility of help- 
 ing her! Nothing could untie the knot 
 which only twenty-four hours ago had
 
 DESPAIR. 223 
 
 bound him in its iron grasp ; the fetters 
 which in some cases seem like flower gar- 
 lands, but in others resemble the clank- 
 ing iron that binds a prisoner to the stake. 
 Was there no help? no chance ? Must this 
 child, so innocent of all save loving him too 
 much, suffer so terribly for that one crime ? 
 Morals were lax enough in those days — for 
 men and for women too in some ranks of 
 life, but poor little Daisy would find no 
 quarter. She had no background of hus- 
 band and social position to teach charity to 
 a cynical world, nor on the other hand was 
 she low enough down in the scale to pass 
 unnoticed in the crowd. 
 
 George trembled even to think what 
 Bonny's position towards the poor girl 
 might be, were the truth known. Bonn}^ 
 had always been so proud of Daisy's inno- 
 cent ways and ignorance of even the rough, 
 rude speeches common enough amongst 
 the country lads and lasses from whom 
 she had been so carefully guarded. What 
 would Bonny think if she knew he had 
 been the one to gather for Daisy fruit from
 
 224 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 the Tree of Knowledge ? That his hand 
 had changed the loving, trusting child into 
 this pale, cold, despairing woman ? Could 
 she conceal the change from Bonny's loving 
 watchful eyes ? And the future ? How 
 to arrange for that ? 
 
 As all these miseries and complications 
 arose, George cursed himself — his fate — his 
 newly-made wife — everything and every- 
 body except Daisy herself who sat [ there 
 in such speechless misery ! If ,only she 
 would speak. If only she would re- 
 proach him — say something — do any- 
 thing but sit there so still and quiet ! 
 Suddenly a light sprang into his face ! 
 Could he propose it ? Would she listen ? 
 Could he save his darling even by treachery 
 and blacken her soul by the shadow of it ? 
 Could he make her see with his eyes ? 
 reason with his specious arguments ? It 
 was worth trying. There was no other 
 means at hand, and time was all important. 
 
 Heaven alone knows by what means he 
 gained his point, and at length wrung a
 
 DESPAIR. 225 
 
 wretched assent from Daisy to do what he 
 thought best for her. 
 
 In his despair for her future, foreseeing 
 all the dangers and difficulties that must 
 beset her lonely path, any means seemed 
 justifiable to his distorted and distracted 
 vision. His one idea was Daisy — to save 
 Daisy ! 
 
 He reasoned, argued, besought ; assured 
 her that she would be making another life 
 happy and three lives tolerable, instead of 
 brinorins: a curse to him and to herself and 
 the one for whom they must both feel re- 
 sponsible — that this could only be accom- 
 plished by what looked like deceit but was 
 really the truer kindness. That it was a 
 case where truth — the whole truth — would 
 be absolutely impossible if she consented 
 to sacrifice what remained of a life that 
 had lost all meaning to her, in order to 
 make the happiness of another life — of one 
 who had loved her through years of patient 
 service and devotion. 
 
 Over and over again he retraced his 
 arguments with a desperate determination 
 
 VOL. i. Q
 
 2'2 6 GEORGE VYVIAX. 
 
 to see the matter onlv in one lifidit him- 
 self and to force Daisy to see it with his 
 eyes. 
 
 To use her own safety and interest as an 
 argument would have been fatal, as he 
 well knew, so he carefully abstained from 
 this. Penruth's happiness and his, George's, 
 peace of mind and the chance of using her 
 shattered life in the service of another, 
 since love for George had now become a 
 crime — this was the threefold cord of per- 
 suasion by which at length he bound her. 
 
 Another hour had passed before the 
 victory was won — a victory that looked 
 more like defeat, as George at length came 
 out of his room, pale and distraught, with 
 ruffled brow and wretched eyes. Hearing 
 of Penruth's return, he said he must speak 
 to him at once. 
 
 • Poor gentleman ! He does look bad, to 
 be sure !' said the sympathetic Mrs. Good- 
 heart to herself. • Xot much like a bride- 
 groom ! If poor Goodheart — God rest him 
 — had looked like that the day after we 
 were married, it would have given me a
 
 DESPAIR. 227 
 
 sore heart, I know that ! but there, gentle- 
 men are different from poor folks ! Maybe 
 they think it better not to show their 
 feelings too much! Maybe too he felt 
 parting with that little lamb in there — a 
 sweet, pretty child to be sure ! Play- 
 fellows they have always been down in the 
 country, Mr. Penruth says. I wonder who 
 she has been staying with in these parts ? 
 And Mr. Penruth ordered off to take her 
 back home too ! "Well, they make a fine 
 fuss with her to be sure, and no wonder, 
 for she is that taking in her little wavs. 
 bless her heart ! "When she put up her 
 face to kiss me last night and thank me, 
 ; 'for looking after her so nicely," I felt 
 quite a lump in my throat, that I did ! I 
 haven't felt like that since my poor little 
 Mary died and said, "Kiss me, mother," 
 before she went to sleep the last night she 
 was spared to me, poor little dear.' 
 
 The kind woman bustled off to see what 
 she could do about preparing some mid-day 
 meal for her little visitor, whilst George, 
 having found Penruth, told him they would 
 
 a 2
 
 22S GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 stroll to the new house together and then 
 take a turn in St. James's Park, as he 
 wished to speak about some matters of 
 importance and to give instructions about 
 Daisy's return to Devonshire that night. 
 
 Daisy's sudden appearance upon the 
 scene had completely puzzled Penruth, 
 for he had not as yet seen her and knew 
 nothing of the reasons that might have 
 brought her so far. 
 
 At first George had thought of telling 
 him also the tale of a ' visit to friends in 
 London,' but Penruth knew Daisy's few 
 acquaintances too well to be misled by 
 such a story. Moreover, George had an 
 instinctive desire to be truthful and to 
 confide in Penruth as far as was possible. 
 He had made up his mind to deceive him 
 on the one vital point, but only for his 
 ultimate happiness, as George argued to him- 
 self. There should be no other deception 
 than this one inevitable holding-back of 
 the truth. He would give his foster- 
 brother the fullest confidence on every 
 other point.
 
 DESPAIR. 229 
 
 Daisy had agreed to this — in fact, having 
 once given in as to the chief point at issue, 
 she had seemed absolutely indifferent as 
 to the means by which it should be brought 
 about. 
 
 Penruth's Ions; association with George, 
 more in the capacity of confidential friend 
 than servant, had had a very refining 
 influence upon him, and this, combined 
 with real refinement of nature, made 
 George's task comparatively easy. 
 
 Moreover, Joseph had no need to be 
 told that Daisy and George had loved each 
 other. For many months, almost years, 
 he had felt sure of this, and the only balm 
 to his own wounded heart had been the 
 fact that it was no stranger, not Farmer 
 Buckmill, nor anyone else, but his own 
 beloved master, whose image rose up 
 between Daisy and the possibility of any 
 other love. He had fully appreciated and 
 understood the meaning of George's mar- 
 riage and the circumstances that had forced 
 him into it, and his heart had bled to think 
 of the time when Daisv mast hear the
 
 230 GEOKGE VYVIAN. 
 
 news and be made miserable by it. His 
 loyal heart had never dreamed of the possi- 
 bility of her ever thinking of him. Some 
 more fortunate man might some day win 
 her calm affection, for he knew it could 
 never again be a question of love w r ith her. 
 
 But now, when George Vyvian spoke in 
 a few quiet words of their love for each 
 other as a fact, of the necessities that had 
 led him into his present marriage, of poor 
 Daisy's wounded feelings and broken heart, 
 of his having sounded her and found that 
 she would rather break at once and for 
 ever all ties that could remind her of their 
 lost happiness, small wonder that Penruth's 
 heart should beat high with hope ! 
 
 Why should George speak thus to him ? 
 Was it — could it be — that he should be 
 allowed by a life-time of devotion to re- 
 move one stone from the path of those 
 dainty little feet ? 
 
 Daisy could never love again truly ; but 
 if she could only be taken away from the 
 misery of constant association with the 
 rooms and trees and gardens and woods
 
 DESPAIR. 231 
 
 which spoke to her, one and all, of his 
 master? It should be the joy and pride 
 of his life to guard and protect her — to 
 keep the very wind from blowing too 
 roughly upon her. He would be her ser- 
 vant if she so willed it — her slave — any- 
 thing to be allowed to be near her and 
 serve her — his queen ! 
 
 George's next words disturbed his raptur- 
 ous reverie, but more than confirmed his 
 wildest hopes. 
 
 ' And so, Penruth, Daisy thinks she 
 would rather marry you than anyone who 
 would have to live near the old home. 
 She has always had a very affectionate 
 regard for you, as you know. She has 
 asked me to speak to you, for I knew full 
 well you would never dream of speaking 
 to her yourself. You will take her down 
 to Devonshire to-night, for she must be 
 married from Wyverne ; the sooner the 
 better. This will prevent any painful talk 
 upon the subject, which you will under- 
 stand would be intensely trying to her 
 under the circumstances. I shall write to
 
 232 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 Mrs. Boniface myself and tell her of this 
 change in Daisy's life, and my father, I 
 know, will be glad that she should marry 
 an honest, respectable, and superior man 
 like yourself. I shall pay you a thousand 
 pounds down for your faithful services and 
 in lieu of any notice, for you will, of 
 course, leave my service. In any case I 
 should have given you at least this sum 
 some day, so it is only anticipating events. 
 I think you would do well to stock a 
 small farm with the money. You know a 
 good deal of farm management, and the 
 good country air will be the best possible 
 thing for Daisy — only let it be a farm in 
 some other county than Devonshire. What 
 should you say to the midland counties ? 
 Worcestershire, for instance ? The soil 
 there is very good, I believe, and the 
 pasturage as fine as any in England.' 
 
 If George had suggested a farm in 
 Siberia as having fine pasturage, it would 
 have been all one to Penruth in his state 
 of mind at the moment. Seraphic visions 
 of Daisy, calm and tranquil and grateful,
 
 DESPAIR. 233 
 
 perhaps even on some blissful day in the 
 future loving, rose before his dazzled eyes. 
 The real unselfishness and chivalry of the 
 man came uppermost at this crisis in his 
 life. 
 
 ' God bless you, Master George,' he said, 
 with tears in his eyes. ' I am not worthy 
 of her — not worthy of all your goodness ; 
 but I will remember it to my dying day. 
 And may God in Heaven treat me as I 
 treat her ! Neither you nor she shall ever 
 rue the day you trusted me with her 
 happiness and peace.' 
 
 George winced a little as he returned 
 the eager, respectful grasp of the man who 
 had been to him as a brother. 
 
 'All right, Penruth; I know all that. 
 Good-bye, dear old fellow. We shall meet 
 again some day. I will make all the 
 arrangements and send you the money 
 shortly. You must do the best you can 
 about finding a substitute for me, to look 
 after my house and affairs whilst we are 
 away. Only don't stop here now. Take 
 Daisy down at once, and, when you are
 
 234 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 married, you can bring her up to London 
 on your way to Worcestershire, and see 
 how things are going on here. We shall 
 be away for six weeks at least.' 
 
 Another moment, and the two had 
 separated, each going his own way. 
 
 George little thought that they would 
 meet but once again in this world, and 
 that the blessings just showered on his 
 head would then have turned to the bit- 
 terest curses upon him and all belonging 
 to him !
 
 235 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 ONE MORE CHANCE. 
 
 A few days later all England was rejoic- 
 ing over the newly-made peace with France. 
 At Lloyd's coffee-house in Lombard Street 
 notices of the joyful news were posted up, 
 coaches and cabriolets were driven by men 
 ornamented with sprigs of laurel, and stage- 
 coaches went out from all the chief centres, 
 spreading the news throughout the coun- 
 try by placards bearing the legend in large 
 letters, c Peace with France.' 
 
 At night the streets of London were 
 illuminated in rather primitive fashion by 
 wooden triangles, placed in the windows, 
 stuck all over with tallow candles which
 
 236 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 guttered in the wind and required much 
 snuffing, whilst sundry black-painted 
 boards, bearing oil-lamps in the form of 
 a crown, and with ' G. R.' on either side, 
 testified to the loyalty of the people. The 
 church-bells rang out with joyful peals. 
 The Hay market, Strand, Pall Mall, and 
 Fleet Street, all joined in the general re- 
 joicings by showing coloured lamps or 
 guttering candles at the windows. 
 
 General Lauriston had come over with 
 the good news, preceded by a gorgeous 
 courier in scarlet and gold, and had put 
 up at 'Reddish's Hotel' in Bond Street, 
 whence golden guineas were thrown out to 
 the cheering mob. Transparencies of vari- 
 ous devices were to be seen in the principal 
 thoroughfares, one of which showed the 
 temper of the times and the reaction of 
 public opinion by depicting Buonaparte 
 with the legend under his figure, ' Saviour 
 of the Universe.' 
 
 Meanwhile, our bride and bridegroom 
 had taken advantage of the peace to cross 
 the Channel, and, after a rather dreary
 
 ONE MORE CHANCE. 237 
 
 journey in their own carriage to Paris, had 
 established themselves there in one of the 
 most fashionable hotels in the Rue de 
 Rivoli. All Paris was en fete, and Mrs. 
 Vyvian's beauty and her husband's bright 
 looks and charm of manner had soon 
 established them as favourites in the so- 
 ciety to which they had brought various 
 introductions. They had attended various 
 routs and balls at the Luxembourg and 
 Tuileries Palaces, and had been presented 
 to Napoleon, now firmly established as 
 First Consul for life. 
 
 On this latter occasion, Mr. Fox had 
 been present, having crossed the Channel 
 to do homage to the hero of the times. 
 Fox and Captain Vyvian had had some 
 slight acquaintance before, which was 
 now cemented by the fact of their being 
 fellow-countrymen in a foreign land — so 
 recently a hostile one. The First Consul, 
 always an admirer of the fair sex, had been 
 heard to make various complimentary 
 remarks with regard to the beauty of the 
 handsome young English bride, and the
 
 238 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 news of this spread like wild-fire amongst 
 his sycophants and followers. 
 
 Invitations flowed in, to the charming 
 appartement in the ' Hotel Mirabeau,' 
 and Captain Vyvian was only too glad to 
 stifle conscience and drown vain regrets 
 by plunging into the whirlpool of foreign 
 social life, which was sufficiently novel to 
 lend still greater attraction to the charm 
 of going into society with a young and 
 beautiful woman by his side. For Ade- 
 laide had not ceased to exercise the strange 
 magnetic influence which she had always 
 possessed in greater or less degree over her 
 husband. But the influence was absolutely 
 conditioned by her presence with or absence 
 from him. Once away from the spell, he 
 seemed to breathe another atmosphere, sad- 
 der but purer. Then his thoughts would 
 revert to his lost love and his vanished 
 peace, for in Adelaide's presence he knew 
 nothing of the meaning of the last word. 
 She had power to excite ; to quicken his 
 blood ; but none to soothe and calm. There
 
 ONE MORE CHANCE. 239 
 
 was 110 restful influence about her ; none 
 of that subtle atmosphere of repose which 
 seems to cling to some people, and to make 
 one rejoice in the very fact of their presence 
 in a room even when they speak no word 
 and take no heed of one. 
 
 Adelaide was like a fine, handsome 
 tiger-lily ; very effective for decoration and 
 on special occasions ; but Daisy had been 
 to him as a little bit of sweet brier found 
 in some country hedge full of trailing 
 sweetness and subtle charm. 
 
 To drown such thoughts, George went 
 out morning, noon, and night ; to drive in 
 the Bois ; to dine at some grand house, 
 and then perhaps to a still grander recep- 
 tion where wit and beauty would assemble, 
 until the small hours of the morning would 
 find him cooling his fevered brow by 
 walking through the deserted streets, I0112; 
 after his handsome wife had been seen 
 safely home to their luxurious quarters. 
 
 But a night came when this late wan- 
 dering was amongst far from deserted streets.
 
 240 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 A grand fete for the people had been 
 planned and arranged by the counsellors of 
 Napoleon, chiefly with a view of keeping 
 the populace in good temper by showing 
 that the First Consul could find time in the 
 midst of his many cares and distractions 
 to take a fatherly interest in the joys and 
 amusements of his c children ' in Paris. 
 
 The streets were illuminated with charm- 
 ing and varied designs, putting the coarser 
 home-made English decorations completely 
 in the shade. The crowds had turned out to 
 see the illuminations after a holiday amidst 
 the various shows and amusements planned 
 for them since early morning in the Champs 
 Elys^es. It was, on the whole, a happy, 
 good-tempered crowd. The neat trim wives 
 with short skirts, crossed "kerchiefs and 
 snowy caps ; the good-natured bourgeois 
 husbands carrying their children high up 
 in their arms to catch sight of the brilliant 
 lights ! 
 
 George Vyvian gave a heavy sigh as he 
 looked on from a corner of one of the 
 streets running out from the Avenue des
 
 ONE MORE CHANCE. 241 
 
 Champs Elysees where he found himself in a 
 block for a few minutes as he was crossing 
 towards the Rue de Rivoli. 
 
 ' Pardon, monsieur ! Ah, que monsieur 
 est bon !' said a blushing young girl, 
 whom at that moment he had rescued 
 from the pressure of the crowd by help- 
 ing her to firmer foothold on some 
 stone steps, leading to a church behind 
 them. 
 
 Something in the girl's child-like face, 
 as the light flashed full upon it, remind- 
 ed him of Daisy. She held his hand 
 with the same simple, confiding pressure 
 as he grasped hers firmly for a moment, 
 to enable her to make way through the 
 crowd to the place of safety by his side. 
 She had also dark eyes and dark wavy hair 
 just peeping out from her modest linen cap. 
 If Daisy had been a French girl, George 
 thought she would have been like this 
 little maid, and he felt quite a thrill of 
 tender protection for her as she stood 
 quietly by his side, waiting until the waves 
 of the surging crowd should have restored 
 
 vol. I. R
 
 242 GEORGE A^YVIAN. 
 
 her to her good, comfortable bourgeois 
 father and mother. 
 
 They appeared at last, overwhelming 
 George with grateful thanks, but what a 
 contrast to the refined little daughter whom 
 he had befriended ! Would she also one 
 day develop into that comfortable roly- 
 poly figure, like her worthy mother, with 
 a troop of noisy children at her knee? 
 Some chord of association took his thoughts 
 off to Daisy. 
 
 If he had only been brave enough to face 
 all and be true to her and to his own heart, 
 how differently lie would now be contem- 
 plating his future; a future with Daisy — 
 and Daisy's children ! 
 
 In the intolerable anguish of that last 
 idea, striking blindly upon him with all its 
 hideous strength and terrible surest! on, 
 he turned impatiently round, to find him- 
 self addressed in an English accent and to 
 recognise the well-remembered features of 
 Edward Clifford, the enthusiastic young 
 minister, whose address in Finsbury Square 
 had held him with such strange force.
 
 ONE MORE CHANCE. 243 
 
 'Mr. Clifford! You here?' 
 
 w Why, Captain Vyvian ! I had no 
 thought to meet you in this gay capital.' 
 
 The exclamations were uttered at the 
 same moment, and the pleasure of the 
 meeting seemed mutual. 
 
 ' Come away and let us walk home to- 
 gether, if only we can get clear from this 
 corner,' said George, making a last desperate 
 effort to clear a way through the fast 
 increasing crowd. 
 
 A little determination and a good deal 
 of patience were at length crowned by 
 success, and in a few minutes Clifford and 
 Vyvian were walking side by side in the 
 direction of the ' Mirabeau.' 
 
 c And now tell me, Clifford, how you come 
 to be here ? On some errand of mercy, I 
 will be bound. It is well enough for 
 butterflies like me to be flitting from flower 
 to flower, but you are one of the good 
 hard-working bees, and must surely be here 
 for some good purpose '?' 
 
 ' I came over here with the French 
 prisoners,' Clifford answered, simply ; ' you 
 
 r2
 
 244 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 know they have been returned to their 
 country since the peace was signed. I had 
 worked amongst them a good deal in 
 England, and many felt quite lonely at the 
 idea of leaving the country where they had 
 lived so long. Moreover, the temptations 
 of this great city are many and varied. I 
 could watch over my little flock in England, 
 but I fain would see them quietly settled 
 down in these French pastures before say- 
 ing a real farewell, and so I promised to 
 come with them for a time. But tell me 
 of yourself, my friend. I do not like to 
 hear you speak ofleading a butterfly exist- 
 ence. You are fitted for higher things ; 
 nor will such as you ever find peace and 
 content in the lower life ; is it not so ? 
 Have you forgotten our long talk in King 
 Street?' 
 
 Clifford turned his searching eyes upon 
 his companion, but George did not meet 
 his gaze, and they were now in a darker 
 portion of the streets. 
 
 c Forgotten ? No. God knows I wish 
 I could forget ! To see the heights and
 
 ONE MORE CHANCE. 245 
 
 have no strength to climb — to watch the 
 heavenly vision and turn from its dazz- 
 ling purity in sad despair — that is my 
 fate !' 
 
 'That is no man's fate, my friend. The 
 weary feet and dim eyes will be strength- 
 ened if we ask. That is the only con- 
 dition — surely not so hard a one for any 
 of us?' 
 
 1 No, not hard — only, under some cir- 
 cumstances, impossible. How if there be 
 no will, no yearning after the higher? 
 How if one has learnt at length to be con- 
 tent with the lower ; with that which at 
 least calls for no effort, though it promise 
 no reward? What use to straggle and 
 strive for a time ? It is only a question of 
 time for such as I. Sooner or later, one 
 floats down the stream and becomes en- 
 gulfed. What matter whether you have 
 struggled and beaten against the cruel 
 rocks of circumstance a little longer or a 
 little less ? Only a few more bruises, torn 
 hands, and bleeding limbs, and the same 
 end to it all. You are different — you are
 
 246 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 made of sterner stuff. That also is part of 
 fate. Temperament, character, are as much 
 stern facts, as relentless and unerring in 
 action for good or bad, as any outward 
 circumstance can be.' 
 
 ' But character can be formed — tempera- 
 ment may be modified, thank God,' an- 
 swered Clifford, quietly. ' You know not 
 the struggles and failures of other men. 
 You know your own ; but you may have 
 strong points where they are weak. That 
 which to you is no temptation, may be the 
 occasion of a fatal fall to your fellow- 
 creature who seems to you far better 
 equipped for the warfare of life. Only One 
 knows the secrets of all hearts, and their 
 strength as well as their weakness ; and 
 believe me, my friend, He gives no human 
 being a hopeless task. Let me tell you a 
 very simple story of what happened once 
 in my own family. My favourite sister, a 
 widow, had one little daughter — a bright, 
 winsome lassie, the pride and joy of her 
 heart. Her home was bright and happy,
 
 ONE MORE CHANCE. 247 
 
 but it was also very poor; she had little 
 to waste on luxury or unnecessary service, 
 and ten years ago, as you know, wages 
 were very high and good servants scarce. 
 
 ' My sister undertook all the needlework 
 of the house in addition to many other 
 domestic tasks, and, with two big school- 
 boys, there was always plenty of this to be 
 done. One day, little Effie saw her mother 
 sighing over a large basket-full of socks to 
 be darned before they could be put away 
 " for the boys," and she begged to be 
 allowed "to do something to help mother, 
 and might she try to darn a stocking?" 
 Not liking to disappoint the child, my 
 sister gave her a sock with needle and 
 yarn, and the little maiden set to work. 
 Poor little child ! It was so very badly 
 done ; such long stitches and cobbles in 
 spite of all her pains ! but she looked so 
 pleased when her mother kissed and 
 thanked her for " trying to help." I don't 
 think the most exquisite darning in the 
 world could have brought so much happi-
 
 243 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 ness to the mother's heart as that poor 
 little cobbled- up sock ! She knew the 
 child had done it for love and had clone her 
 best. Years afterwards, when both mother 
 and child had gone to their Father in 
 Heaven, I found the sock, faded and dis- 
 coloured, but carefully wrapped up in 
 paper, with these words, written in pencil, 
 outside : " Little Erne's work — September 
 5th, 1792." 
 
 4 Well, dear friend, we work equally 
 for Him whether it be in helping His 
 other children, or in curbing our own 
 natural dispositions and modifying our 
 temperaments so far as in us lies. The 
 work may be very badly done as others 
 think ; cobbled and drawn, and very, very 
 imperfect ; but, if Love and Faith have 
 guided the needle, He will treasure it up 
 and mark it with His own seal of appro- 
 bation : "Well done, good and faithful 
 servant — enter thou into the jo}^ of thy 
 Lord." ' 
 
 George was silent for a few moments, 
 and no word was spoken by either. At
 
 ONE MORE CHANCE. 249 
 
 ength they paused before the heavy, closed 
 gates of the hotel. 
 
 ' It is too late to ask you in now, Clifford. 
 By the way, I have not yet told you of my 
 marriage. Will you come and dine with 
 Mrs. Vyvian and myself to-morrow even- 
 ing, or on Friday, at six o'clock? Late 
 hours are fashionable in Paris, and Ave 
 have fallen in with them, but I am sure 
 my wife would name an earlier hour should 
 that suit you better.' 
 
 ' Married ! My dear fellow, why did not 
 you let me sooner congratulate you ? I am 
 rejoiced indeed to hear of your happiness, 
 and shall make the acquaintance of Mrs. 
 Vyvian with very sincere pleasure. May I 
 ask if the lady is an old acquaintance of 
 yours ?' 
 
 'Xo — we had not known each other 
 Ions: before our marriage. She was a 
 Miss Treherne, and visits connexions in 
 Devonshire sometimes, not far from my 
 old home. Twenty miles is nothing 
 between country neighbours down there. 
 We were married last month and are
 
 250 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 now upon our wedding-tour. My wife 
 will be delighted to make you wel- 
 come. Shall we say Friday then, at six 
 o'clock ?' 
 
 George seemed hurried and anxious, 
 almost eager to say good-bye to Clifford 
 and put a stop to further congratulations. 
 The latter pressed his hand warmly, and 
 then sauntered quietly down the now 
 deserted streets. 
 
 A keen, yet undefined sense of dis- 
 appointment weighed upon his spirits. He 
 had taken a strange fancy to the bright, 
 boyish face and open manner of George 
 Vyvian the first time they had met in 
 London, and the latter's state of mind 
 had interested him deeply then. It had 
 seemed to be the struggle towards the 
 light of an undeveloped, yet yearning 
 spirit. 
 
 Now, all was changed. The rounded 
 lines of the face had deepened into 
 furrows of care — the handsome mouth 
 showed one or two sharp curves which
 
 ONE MORE CHANCE. 251 
 
 had no right to be there ; the eye had lost 
 its brilliancy — the step had surely less of 
 buoyancy and determination in its tread. 
 The high-spirited, chivalrous youth had 
 developed in a few short months into a sad, 
 half cynical man. His very mood was 
 changed. The earnest, eager searcher 
 after truth had become the saddened, 
 despondent, yet apparently contented 
 votary of the world and the world's Dead- 
 Sea apples of empty fame and still more 
 empty pleasure. 
 
 Clifford mused long and deeply over 
 this problem. How had it come about ? 
 At a time, too, when surely all that was 
 best and highest and noblest in a man 
 must be brought forth in the sunshine of 
 wedded happiness ! 
 
 Clifford had never been married himself, 
 and perhaps idealized the holy estate in con- 
 sequence of this absence of experience. It 
 was impossible for him to imagine a honey- 
 moon without the mao-ic touch of love's 
 enchanter's wand.
 
 252 GEOKGE VYVIAN. 
 
 When Friday evening arrived, and he 
 went to Vyvian's hotel and was presented 
 to the latter's handsome and accomplished 
 wife, the riddle was solved. The enchant- 
 ment was there truly, but it seemed to 
 Clifford, in his mournful retrospect of that 
 evening, as the enchantment of a Cleopatra. 
 This woman, with every charm to allure 
 and attract the eye ; pre-eminently fitted to 
 shine in social life and climb to the high- 
 est peak of social ambition, was alas ! no 
 beacon light to show the path to happi- 
 ness and heaven, but rather a will-o'-the- 
 wisp to lure a man to his spiritual un- 
 doing. 
 
 Then Clifford reproached himself for want 
 of charity. Who was he, to judge so harshly 
 of another? But he knew there was no 
 harshness in his thoughts towards the 
 woman, only a dread and sorrowful shrink- 
 ing from the fact that, within the present 
 limitations of her nature, her influence 
 upon George must be as that of a hot, 
 desert wind, drying up and parching all
 
 ONE MORE CHANCE. 253 
 
 spiritual growth rather than the cooling 
 stream which refreshes and makes fertile 
 all that comes within its reach.
 
 254 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE CALM BEFORE A STORM. 
 
 Several months have elapsed since the 
 events recorded in the last chapter. Cap- 
 tain and Mrs. Vyvian have quite settled 
 down into their new house, and are 
 becoming ' old inhabitants ' in St. James's 
 Square. George has had the satisfaction 
 of seeing his wife equipped in all her glory 
 for Court presentation. The King and 
 Queen have 'requested the pleasure of 
 Captain and Mrs. Vyvian's company ' at 
 various entertainments, including more 
 than one state dinner. 
 
 Adelaide's beauty, ambition, and energy 
 have stood him in good stead so far
 
 THE CALM BEFORE A STORM. 255 
 
 as social ambition is concerned, and as 
 George drove with his beautiful wife 
 in the park on one hot June day in 
 the summer succeeding their marriage, 
 many an envious eye followed the young 
 couple ; many a passee woman envied 
 Adelaide her stately beauty; many an 
 old beau heaved a sigh as he passed her, 
 and muttered 'Lucky young dog!' as his 
 eye fell on the handsome young captain, 
 liege lord and owner of so much charm 
 and grace. 
 
 The marriage had been a successful one 
 so far as the world's verdict goes. Adelaide 
 had gone down to Wyverne Court in the 
 first flush of her bridal happiness soon 
 after their return from Paris, and the 
 added softness of her manner lent a new 
 charm to her beauty, and had quite capti- 
 vated her father-in-law, who was never 
 tired of expressing his delight and satis- 
 faction at his son's choice. 
 
 At such times, George felt almost 
 happy. Surely it must be a good thing to 
 have made his father's declining years so
 
 2 * GEOKGE VTVIASr. 
 
 free from care, so full of gratified affection. 
 
 Daisy's name was rarely mentioned. 
 _ 3 shrank from anv allusion to her, 
 and studiously avoided the old haunts 
 where they had -pent so much time to- 
 _ . 'nee only he forced himself to 
 make some remark abo to Bonny, 
 
 asking if the La d news from her 
 
 constantly. The old lady's lace clouded : 
 th^n she said, rather coldly. 
 
 X . Mr. George. The child does not 
 write much. I had one or two letters at 
 
 : to tell me of L borne; but it 
 
 - :is all very strange: I mistrust tb 9 
 hasty marriages ; they seldom come to 
 good: bu~ she - determined, poor 
 
 lamb ! I could do naught with her the 
 
 .en the banns 
 
 re read out. She had never given 
 
 -iph a thought in that way befo: 
 sure, but she might have worshipped the 
 ground he trod u is - being sel 
 
 upon the marriage went. But she looked 
 so pale and miserable when the day can 
 and went through it all, like a marble
 
 tzz cal:: 217;:,:; i ;~ 
 
 statue more than a Christian woman. Yon 
 were in Paris, then, Mr. George, and better 
 so. The child thought too much of you 
 for her own happiness, as I have told her 
 time out of mind.* 
 
 never reverted to the subject. He seemed 
 relieved when the home visit came to an 
 end, and feverishly anxious to settle into 
 his new house. Yet there was no lack of 
 filial love and affection in the hearty grasp 
 he gave his father when they parted in the 
 hall of the old Court. 
 
 * God bless you, my dear son and daugh- 
 ter,' the old man had said, solemnly, as 
 they stood together for the last time. ' I 
 could not have wished a brighter lot for 
 you, George — a good wife is a gift from 
 God. Remember that, my boy;" and he 
 had bent forward with a pretty air of 
 old-fashioned gallantry to kiss the fair 
 brow of his stately daughter-in-law. 
 
 Alas ! how little even our nearest and 
 dearest know of our real lives and their 
 necessities ! How often the l stranger with- 
 
 vol. i. s
 
 258 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 in our o<ates ' is far more clear-sighted in 
 these matters than the parents who have 
 brought us into the world, and cherished 
 and loved us all their days ! 
 
 But all this time, we have left our young 
 couple driving amidst the beauty and 
 fashion of Hyde Park. 
 
 Adelaide looked up rather wearily. She 
 had married the man of her choice, and 
 yet she did not give the impression of a 
 thoroughly satisfied woman. Her aunt, 
 Lady Darner, confided to her old Bath 
 dowagers that ' dear Adelaide was foolishly 
 fanciful, and was actually beginning to 
 fret ' because, as yet, there seemed no 
 prospect of any little footstep fluttering 
 over the threshold of the house in St. 
 James's Square. 
 
 ' Such nonsense ! Xot married a year 
 yet. Why, she ought to be devoutly 
 thankful ; but she has taken up some whim 
 about a curse in the family — her family, I 
 mean — and declares that she will never 
 hold a child of her own in her arms. And 
 a good thing too, T say. Most people have
 
 THE CALM BEFORE A STORM. 259 
 
 too many to hold, in my opinion ;' and the 
 childless old woman would shake her 
 juvenile locks with an air of superiority. 
 She had never given in to any such 
 weakness ! 
 
 Whatever the cause might he, Adelaide 
 had certainly a less joyous look than one 
 would have expected in so young and 
 apparently fortunate a woman. 
 
 1 Do you care for another turn, George ? 
 It is rather hot and dusty, I think. And 
 I must speak to Dacres about my gown for 
 this evening. If you don't mind, I would 
 rather go home and rest.' 
 
 George pulled the check-string at once 
 and gave the necessary order. He was 
 always attentive and polite to his wife, and 
 apparently eager to study her wishes in 
 the smallest details of life. She had sacri- 
 ficed much for him. The least he could 
 do was to be kindly and careful for her ; 
 all the more so, probably, from knowing 
 that the bargain between them was scarcely 
 an even one. She had, at any rate, given 
 him all she had to give, from a shallow 
 
 s2
 
 260 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 nature, whereas he knew there were secret 
 chambers, inner recesses in his life where 
 she could never penetrate. 
 
 Arrived at the door of their house, 
 George lifted his hat and turned off in the 
 direction of his club. 
 
 c Are you going out again ?' Adelaide 
 asked, carelessly. 
 
 c Only to the club to see the papers — I 
 want to catch Lord Hemes too. I hear 
 that he wishes to see me about putting up 
 ray name for this new constituency. Should 
 you like me to be in parliament, Adelaide? 
 It might be a good thing, and my father 
 would be pleased.' 
 
 Adelaide's eye flashed with grateful 
 ambitioD. 
 
 ' Of course I should, George. It is the 
 very thing of all others I should wish. 
 Why did you not tell me about it before ? 
 Remember there is plenty of money to 
 back you up. Don't lose a good thing for 
 fear of expenses at the last.' 
 
 Adelaide was certainly a generous wo- 
 man so far as money matters went, and
 
 THE CALM BEFORE A STORM. 261 
 
 Iiacl never by word or look reminded 
 George that there was any inequality 
 between them in this way. 
 
 He nodded to her gratefully, saying, 
 
 ' All right, dear. I won't ruin you, 
 f hough. Besides, what would Ladv Darner 
 say?' 
 
 1 She can say what she likes, but she 
 cannot prevent my doing what I choose 
 with my own,' was Adelaide's proud answer. 
 
 It was true enough, or the old lady and 
 her brother-in-law would not have gnashed 
 their teeth so helplessly when Adelaide's 
 first step upon her marriage had been to 
 draw a cheque on l Coutts' ' for ten thou- 
 sand pounds. 
 
 Mr. Darner had never quite understood 
 what became of the money, but had a 
 shrewd suspicion that George Vyvian might 
 have enlightened him. 
 
 'Well — if women would make such fools 
 of themselves ! And what a double-dyed 
 idiot the girl's father must have been to 
 leave such a fortune entirely within her 
 own control after she came of ao'e !'
 
 262 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 George walked quickly off to his club, 
 and found that Lord Hemes had called to 
 see him and was at that moment engaged 
 in a game of billiards, pending his arrival. 
 The porter who gave these items of infor- 
 mation handed several letters to George at 
 the same time. 
 
 He looked at them carelessly, recogniz- 
 ing the hands of one or two bachelor 
 friends who had not seen him since he had 
 turned Benedict — a couple of circulars, 
 from tradesmen no doubt — and then, at 
 the bottom, an envelope in deep black 
 edge with the Redditch postmark and 
 in Penruth's well-known hand-writing. 
 George's heart contracted with a spasm of 
 sudden dread as he tore open the carefully 
 sealed letter and read : 
 
 ' Sir,' 
 
 (How unlike Joseph's usual style of 
 affectionate respect !) 
 
 ' I write these few lines to tell you that 
 my wife died in childbed yesterday morning, 
 leaving her daughter to my charge.'
 
 THE CALM BEFOEE A STORM. 263 
 
 (What an extraordinary way for a man 
 to make the announcement of his child's 
 birth! Had Daisy's loss turned his 
 head?) 
 
 ' You know better than any one else 
 could do, what my feelings must be at 
 this time. 
 
 6 1 am giving up the farm ; and the 
 thousand pounds advanced to me in my 
 wife's lifetime will be placed to your credit 
 in London within fourteen days of this 
 date ; by which time I hope to have 
 realized the money spent on stock and 
 farming implements, &c, and to have made 
 arrangements for release from my tenancy 
 of Hillingdon Farm. 
 
 I am, sir. 
 
 c Your obedient servant, 
 
 ' Joseph Penruth.' 
 
 That was all ! Not one word of sorrow. 
 Not even one word of gratitude for the 
 money which had enabled him to take and 
 stock the farm in question. He wrote as 
 if there were no possible obligation on his
 
 264 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 side. The money was to be repaid — the 
 farm to be given up — that was all. And 
 
 b J 
 
 up 
 
 ' her daughter.' What did that mean ? 
 Why not ' our child '? 
 
 In the first anguish of reading the news 
 of Daisy's death, George did not pause to 
 ask himself these questions ; but when he 
 read and re-read the letter, they forced 
 themselves upon his consciousness. 
 
 ' What did it mean ? What could it 
 mean ? Was not the secret buried now in 
 Daisy's grave — had she, in some moment 
 of wild delirium, revealed aught of the 
 past ? Xo — it seemed impossible ; besides, 
 Penrnth would surely attribute any such 
 words to a fevered brain? The letter 
 meant nothing more than appeared upon 
 the surface. Penruth was always reserved 
 to all but George, and this terrible sorrow 
 and crushing blow had numbed and para- 
 lysed him. This must be the real meaning 
 of it all. 
 
 George folded up his letter, and subduing 
 all traces of his past emotion, walked quiet- 
 ly out of the club ; leaving a message for
 
 THE CALM BEFORE A STORM. 265 
 
 LordHerries to say he had received letters 
 which obliged him to leave without the 
 appointed interview, but that he would 
 communicate with his lordship and make 
 some other arrangement for another day. 
 
 4 Pretty hard hit, the captain is!' mur- 
 mured the porter to a chosen friend loung- 
 ing outside the club door — 'looks just as 
 he did the day after the ' Leger ' news came 
 last autumn. Been at it again, I expect, 
 only there are no races on just now, and 
 folks do say he promised his wife not to 
 back a horse or touch a card after he 
 married. Well, what would you have, 
 Jack? a fine young fellow like that. It 
 isn't to be looked for that he should not 
 want his fling, like the rest of the young 
 blades. She has got her whistle and she 
 has got to pay for it, has madam — no mis- 
 take about that ! If you wants a good, 
 steady-going cart-horse, it ain't no good 
 bidding for a park hack.' 
 
 Meanwhile George had wandered off in 
 a state of miserable excitement. He could 
 not go home just yet — home to Adelaide
 
 266 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 and dinners and routs, with this torture 
 fresh upon him. A world without Daisy in 
 it ! It seemed incredible. It was bad 
 enough to be separated from her for all 
 these weary weeks and months, but still 
 she was living in the world. A hundred 
 things might happen to bring them within 
 sight and touch of one another in the 
 future. But now ! To think of the Daisy 
 he had loved — the little maiden with the 
 sweet dark eyes and winning ways — dead — 
 gone right out of the world, where his love 
 and regret and remorse could never reach 
 her ! To think of her as something strange 
 and awful and impalpable — a pure spirit ! 
 The very idea was terrible to him. Some 
 mocking fiend seemed to whisper in his ear, 
 4 Pure spirit, indeed. Xo thanks to you if 
 she is ! Is she ? Where is she V 
 
 What weight of anguish and cloud of 
 despair had crushed the little tender flower, 
 so rashly gathered and then cast aside by 
 him ? Had she confessed all to her hus- 
 band and died in the light of his forgive- 
 ness? Had she confessed all and faded
 
 THE CALM BEFORE A STORM. 267 
 
 from- life, blighted by the curse of his 
 anger and despair ? If he only knew ! If 
 he only knew ! 
 
 So George thought as he paced in speech- 
 less misery among the green alleys and 
 shaded walks of St. James's Park. And 
 yet he must go home ; must take up the 
 broken thread of his life ; must dissemble 
 his real feelings, this burning, weary agony 
 from the keen eyes of his wife and all the 
 world. He must seem happy and content, 
 throw himself with energy into the new 
 groove of parliamentary life opening out 
 for him, read up reports, attend meetings, 
 receive addresses, and make speeches, whilst 
 all the time the dead face of his buried 
 love, the indignant menace of her betrayed 
 husband, the innocent, helpless babe, c her 
 daughter ' — yes, God help him ! and 4 his 
 daughter' also — rose up before his miserable 
 eyes and dogged his wretched footsteps. 
 For all his sins of weakness and vacillation, 
 for all the follies of youth and vanity, 
 George was paying now in full measure, 
 he thought, little dreaming of the still
 
 268 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 more terrible Nemesis that stalked so close 
 behind him. 
 
 That night, George and his wife went to 
 a large dinner-party, and afterwards to a 
 crowded reception, where Captain Vyvian 
 received compliments on all hands upon 
 his projected parliamentary career. For 
 it was an open secret now that Addington, 
 the newly-appointed Prime Minister, had 
 personally suggested that Captain Vyvian 
 should stand for one of the south-west 
 constituencies where the Vyvian influence 
 would be apt to tell, and that Lord Hemes 
 and other influential noblemen were pre- 
 pared to support his candidature in the 
 Tory interest. 
 
 George bowed and smiled his thanks, 
 and Adelaide looked unusually brilliant 
 and animated. No one in all that gay 
 assembly could see the dark shadow of 
 remorse and misery brooding over the un- 
 happy man, and, if he seemed somewhat 
 silent and distrait on the drive home, even 
 Adelaide failed to notice it, enveloped as 
 she was in her own beautiful visions. She
 
 THE CALM BEFORE A STORM. 269 
 
 foresaw a future where George should hold 
 the House in rapt attention through his 
 convincing arguments and charm of man- 
 ner, and where she, Adelaide Vyvian, would 
 attain to the height of her ambition, hold- 
 ing such a salon as those she had attended 
 in Paris last autumn, and becoming as 
 famous for her political tact and aplomb as 
 she was already for her beauty and other 
 social qualities.
 
 270 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 
 
 Nearly two years have elapsed. Summer 
 has merged into autumn, autumn has crept 
 into winter. 
 
 Adelaide Vyvian had gone alone to 
 Shales and Wyverne Court the last Christ- 
 mastide, George excusing himself from the 
 annual visit on the plea of extra work in 
 view of the coming session, for he was now 
 a full-blown M.P. ; member for a borough 
 within thirty miles of his old home. He 
 had been forced to go down there at the 
 time of the election to address his con- 
 stituents, but had managed to escape going 
 on to Wyverne afterwards, and at Christ- 
 mas some fresh excuse had been found.
 
 HEAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 271 
 
 The squire would have felt hurt save 
 for his delight in George's new honours 
 and sudden energy for work. When his 
 handsome daughter-in-law appeared at 
 the Court alone, and told him how stu- 
 dious George had become ; how he would 
 spend hours poring over Blue-books and 
 parliamentary reports, and reading up 
 past history in his London study, the old 
 man was quite delighted to think that a 
 son of his should be so conscientiously 
 anxious to work for the good of his 
 country. The memory of ' the boy's ' 
 youthful extravagances in the past lent a 
 fresh glory to the reformation in the 
 present. 
 
 The squire was more than content to 
 hear of George as busy and happy in his 
 London life amid the fresh interests spring- 
 ing up for him on every hand. He con- 
 gratulated himself more than ever now 
 that he had not for a moment allowed his 
 son to think of carrying out that mad 
 scheme of settling down to farm the Devon- 
 shire land. It would have been like har-
 
 272 GEORGE VYVIAX. 
 
 nessing a racer to a country cart to cany 
 hay through the Devonshire lanes ! 
 
 So thought the proud and happy father, 
 little dreaming how -willingly George 
 would have exchanged lots with the poor- 
 est labourer on the estate if he could have 
 taken thelatter's honest, bucolic conscience 
 with the coarse bacon and hard day's work. 
 Sometimes George felt that he would never 
 be able to look upon the well-known scenes 
 of his boyhood again, and yet, some day, 
 he must force himself back to the old 
 haunts if only for the sake of his father, 
 who was growing feebler year b} r year. 
 Why should he suffer for the faults of 
 others ? Let George alone bear the burden 
 as he had borne the sin that led to it. 
 
 So he would argue to himself in the 
 lonely hours spent in his study, surrounded 
 indeed by deep and abstruse volumes, but 
 with thoughts far away in that lonely 
 Worcestershire grave. 
 
 He had heard nothing of Penruth for 
 many months. The thousand pounds had 
 been duly paid to his credit, and he had
 
 REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 273 
 
 been advised of the same by his bankers, 
 but never a line further had come from 
 the bereaved husband, although George, in 
 answering his letter, had begged for some 
 further details about Daisy's death. He 
 had not dared to write again, and so 
 silence had fallen between him and the 
 man who had been to him almost as a 
 brother. 
 
 He had made inquiries and had heard 
 that the farm had been given up within a 
 few weeks of Penruth's letter, and that the 
 latter had left that part of the country, 
 taking with him the little daughter who 
 had cost him so dear. Much sympathy 
 had been felt for the lonely man, and the 
 neighbours were kind and helpful and 
 anxious to do what they could for him in 
 his sore strait. But the vicar of the parish, 
 to whom George had written, said that 
 Pen ruth, although quiet and grateful in 
 manner, had refused all such assistance. 
 He seemed like one crushed and para- 
 lysed by his great sorrow, and had shortly 
 left the country, taking with him the 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 M4 VYVIAH. 
 
 elderly woman who had nursed poor Dr.: 
 to I fter and * do for * the child. 
 
 More than thi- rge had been unable 
 
 to gather. He had never spoken to Ade- 
 laide on this subject, nor even mentioned 
 Daisy's death to her. She had never a 
 Penruth. and was not likely to remember 
 the pretty young girl who had but once 
 flitted across her path in the old days at 
 Wyverne. 
 
 dreaded any word that might 
 jar upon his sensitive, miserable heart: and 
 Adelaide, gifted in so many ways. ? 
 
 - Cutely devoid of the heaven-born tact 
 which springs from sympathy illuminated 
 by imagination. It was easier to i 
 nothing, and to account for his fits of de- 
 pression by pleading business ca: 
 
 ' Of course. George, anyone would be 
 de^ ress sitting all day long as you do 
 in that horrible study, and never joiner 
 anywhere ! You were too busy to go with 
 me to Devonshire last December, too busy 
 to spend a few days in the country at
 
 REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 275 
 
 Easter when every ft London ; and. 
 
 now that May is fully in, I suppose it is 
 quite hopeless to get you to move at all. 
 and. when August is upon us. you will 
 have some equally good excuse for not 
 raking me to Scotland as you promised to 
 do this year when Parliament rises. 1 
 
 George looked up wearily, but spoke 
 with the studied politeness he always 
 observed towards his wife. 
 
 • I am very sorry, Adelaide. I fear I am 
 but a stupid inion for you. my dear, 
 
 but it was your own wish that I should 
 enter public life, and that entails - 
 sacrifices, you know, upon those who would 
 do their duty and be something more than 
 nonentities in the House. I have no doubt 
 that when August comes I shall be able to 
 leave London. If not, you must accept 
 Lady Palmer's pressing invitation and 
 spend a week or two with her in Yorkshire, 
 and I will join you there in time for the 
 partridge-shooting. Perhaps we might 
 get as far as Edinburgh after that. Octo- 
 
 t 2
 
 276 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 ber is one of the pleasantest months in 
 Scotland.' 
 
 1 Oh, I am not complaining, George. No 
 doubt you know your own affairs best, and 
 I would far rather you made a name for 
 yourself than have you hanging about 
 the house, betting and card-playing as 
 so many young men do nowadays. You 
 have certainly kept your word to me about 
 cards and horse-racing ; I don't believe you 
 have ever had a live-pound note upon a 
 race since Pioneer lost the St. Leger, 
 the year Ave were married.' 
 
 George winced under this allusion. 
 That fatal race ! It had been the begin- 
 ning of all his misfortunes ; his money 
 troubles and his marriage. 
 
 Adelaide fortunately did not notice the 
 cloud, and never dreamed that the allu- 
 sion could bring any painful memory to 
 her handsome young husband. What if 
 he had lost a good deal of money ? Had 
 he not gained her (as well as her 
 thousands) through the loss? 
 
 c Well, good-bye, my dear, I must be off
 
 REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 277 
 
 now. I shall be at the House all the 
 afternoon. There is a division on upon 
 the Catholic Emancipation question again. 
 I thought all that was quashed when Pitt 
 resigned, but there are always agitators at 
 work. I must be in my place at all costs ; 
 but I hope it will be over before six o'clock, 
 or at least in time for me to accompany 
 you to the Countess of Hamilton's recep- 
 tion this evening. Do not delay the din- 
 ner for me. You might tell Bateman to 
 have something kept hot in case I am very 
 late.' 
 
 George bent down and kissed his wife 
 lightly on the forehead, and in another 
 minute she heard the hall-door close upon 
 him, and, with a good deal of wifely pride 
 in her eyes, watched him crossing the 
 square. 
 
 Few women could boast of so good- 
 looking a husband, and to a nature like 
 Adelaide's, the appreciation and envy of 
 the world were a necessary condition of 
 her own domestic happiness. The old 
 grievance indeed remained. She had
 
 278 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 no prospect of becoming a mother. It 
 seemed one of nature's freaks that this 
 cold and rather haughty woman should 
 have the motherly instinct so strongly de- 
 veloped, but Adelaide had always possessed 
 a curious impatience for all possible ex- 
 periences of life. 
 
 It seemed her right that she should taste 
 the very fulness of life in all its many 
 sides. She had her husband, her house, 
 her diamonds, her money, her fascination, 
 her beauty, a flock of admirers and flatter- 
 ers. She must also have her children, as 
 other less gifted women had ! She resented 
 the idea that her life, so rich in outward 
 blessings, should fail in any one point or 
 have any earthly limitation. 
 
 At present, the poorest woman in the 
 crowded streets of London had an experi- 
 ence, a responsibility, possibly a happiness, 
 denied as yet to her, the beautiful and 
 envied woman of society, and Adelaide 
 grew impatient under a lot she was power- 
 less to alter, and which no strength of will
 
 HEAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 279 
 
 nor- balance at Coutts' bank were able to 
 affect. 
 
 That evening Mrs. Yyvian sat in her 
 beautiful drawing-room awaiting her hus- 
 band's return to accompany her to Lady 
 Hamilton's reception. She had eaten a 
 solitary dinner, but George had warned 
 her that he might probably be detained, so 
 she had felt no anxiety, and, having dressed 
 leisurely, was now sitting at her ease, her 
 dainty little white satin shoes resting on a 
 velvet cushion in front of the small tire 
 which felt very grateful to her in her thin 
 gown, on this chilly spring evening. 
 
 She scarcely heeded a ring at the hall- 
 door, though the idea passed lazily through 
 her brain that it could not be George, as 
 he would certainly let himself in by his 
 private key. Then she heard a soft step 
 over the carpet outside, and the door 
 opened to let in a magnificent footman. 
 
 c Some one asking for the master, ma'am. 
 
 I said he was from home, but the 
 
 person ' (James was evidently a little un-
 
 280 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 certain of the visitor's social status) ' will 
 take no denial, and says he must see you 
 if the captain is away. What answer shall 
 I give him, ma'am ?' 
 
 Adelaide's pretty white brow knitted 
 with a momentary vexation. She had been 
 feeling extremely comfortable, and was 
 glad of the rest before having to turn out 
 once more upon the social treadmill. Who 
 was this importunate visitor, coining at so 
 late an hour and saying he must see one or 
 other of them? By what right did anyone 
 intrude upon her privacy so late at night ? 
 She was framing a haughty denial when 
 something in the servant's face induced 
 her to ask if he knew anything of the man 
 in question. James was evidently burst- 
 ing with information, only kept in check 
 by awe of his mistress. 
 
 w Xo, ma'am — leastways, I have never 
 seen him myself, but he gives the name of 
 Penruth, and Mr. Bateman he says as he 
 believes he saw him once years ago, and 
 that he must be the one who was " own
 
 REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 281 
 
 man " to the master before his mar- 
 riage.' 
 
 Penruth? Yes, Adelaide had heard the 
 name of her husband's foster-brother, 
 though she had paid little heed to it at the 
 time. Still it would not do to turn the 
 man away. He might have some particular 
 message for George. In any case her hus- 
 band might be annoyed if he heard that 
 his visitor had been dismissed in such 
 cavalier fashion. 
 
 * Bring the man up, James. I will see 
 him here ; but tell him he must be brief if 
 he has any message for Captain Vyvian. 
 Say that I am going out this evening, and 
 can only spare five minutes for his business 
 whatever it may be.' 
 
 Adelaide had risen from her chair and 
 remained standing until James returned 
 with Penruth behind him. She was dressed 
 in a handsome stiff brocade of grey silk 
 and pink rosebuds ; soft French lace fell 
 upon her bosom, forming a sort of fichu 
 over the short gathered bodice of the gown.
 
 282 GEORGE VYVIAX. 
 
 Her bright golden hair was dressed high 
 upon her head with a pretty arrangement 
 of soft lace and rosebuds to match her 
 gown, and worn in defiance of the usual 
 fashion for married women — viz.. a dis- 
 figuring turban. 
 
 Adelaide had the courage of her opinions 
 about dress as well as most other things, 
 and had no idea of hiding her beautiful 
 hair in such a way. Another peculiarity 
 was that she never wore bracelets. She 
 declared they worried her, and spoilt the 
 look of the arm. Her long, tan gloves lav 
 ready to put on. but the beautiful arms 
 were bare from above the elbow, shaded 
 only by the falling lace, whilst round her 
 throat gleamed an exquisite diamond neck- 
 lace of single stones. She seemed the very 
 embodiment of youth and stately beauty 
 as she turned towards the door, through 
 which Penruth entered, carrying a little 
 child in his arms. He started for a mo- 
 ment as if dazzled by the vision of beauty 
 before him. James meanwhile had dis-
 
 REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. L ; So 
 
 erectly retired. He bad not spoken to 
 Adelaide of any child. What did the man 
 mean by bringing it at this hour and to 
 her? 
 
 As Bhe thought this, the child — a deli- 
 cate little creature with large dark eves — 
 turned towards her, attracted by the glit- 
 ter of the lovely stones. The sad little 
 face lighted up into a seraphic smile, and 
 the little one stretched out its arms to 
 Adelaide. 
 
 "Pith lady. Fifty lady ! Let baby st 
 it lisped out. making desperate but futile 
 efforts to get away from the detaining arms 
 to the beautiful lady with the flashing 
 stones. 
 
 Adelaide felt a strange throb of pleasure 
 as the child turned to her: but she thrust 
 it down, and asked Penruth in cold and 
 measured accents what he wished to say to 
 her. Had she been in the habit of noticing; 
 her inferiors, she might have been struck 
 by the haggard, wretched, desperate look 
 on the man's face.
 
 284 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 1 What do I wish to say to you, my lady ? 
 Only a few words, easily said. I have 
 come to tell your husband that he is a 
 scoundrel — a base, deceiving scoundrel ! I 
 have come to bring him his child !' 
 
 Adelaide looked up, quite unmoved by 
 the man's desperate effort at self-control 
 whilst the terrible words passed his white 
 and quivering lips. Some village tragedy, 
 she supposed ! Such things were common 
 enough in those days ; but a mint flicker of 
 curiosity made her wonder how Penruth 
 came to be mixed up in the matter. Pos- 
 sibly the girl betrayed had been a sister or 
 relation of his own. 
 
 It was very bad taste to come and rake 
 up the subject before her ! Of course it 
 was only a case of wanting a little hush- 
 money. George should really have man- 
 aged these things more prudently, and 
 have settled all such claims before his 
 marriage, as other men did. She felt quite 
 annoyed with him, and all the more so 
 that he had left her to bear the brunt of
 
 REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 285 
 
 this .most disagreeable interview, and the 
 anger and abuse of this absurdly indignant 
 man. 
 
 1 My good fellow ! I have absolutely no 
 concern in the matter. If you think you 
 have any claim to urge upon Captain 
 Vyvian, no doubt it will be attended to. 
 But I should advise you to drop this very 
 — objectionable manner. It is foolish to 
 begin by abusing a gentleman when you 
 want him to untie his purse-strings for you. 
 No doubt all you want will be given to 
 you or to the woman you represent — the 
 mother of that child, I suppose ? AVhere 
 is she?' and she looked carelessly at the 
 little one, who had sunk back in the man's 
 arms, quite tired out by her aimless efforts 
 to reach the ' pitty lady,' and was now 
 peacefully sleeping there. 
 
 Penruth's anger blazed out upon her ! 
 The contemptuous tone; the absolute in- 
 difference where in his mad revenge he 
 had hoped to bring agony and life-long 
 separation ; the offer of money ; the final
 
 - - " GEORGE VTVIAN. 
 
 question, all beat against the feeble barriers 
 of his self-eontroL bearing them down : and 
 bis pas- long restrained, now poured 
 
 Through the flood _ in a perfect whirl- 
 
 pool of anger, reproach, and denunciation. 
 • Wher? u At ?' almost shrieked the 
 miserable man. * Ask your fine husband 
 that. He knows best. In Hell! and he 
 -orrtt her there. You wonder who I am ? and 
 how I dare to come here and disturb you 
 in your grandeur and finery ill tell 
 
 who I am. The man who loved him 
 truly and served him faithfully — the man 
 he betrayed and deceived and made into 
 a miserable cat's-pa - -rrve his own 
 
 >olical ends. He has destroyed my 
 soul as he desfl Our crime 
 
 was the same iu either c< loved him 
 
 too welL That was all He took my 
 
 r and my service and ruined my life 
 for it. He took Tier love, curse him ! and 
 ruined her. bodv and soul — body and 
 soul ! Here is the proof of his villainy. 
 Let him take it. it is no child of mine.
 
 :.ia:::~> rzz ~z:li~z". : ; 7 
 
 SA«? told me so. She could not die with a 
 lie on her lips after all, though she tried 
 hard, for his sake. She could not leave 
 me his bastard child and let me believe it 
 was mj own. She died with a prayer for 
 him on her lips ; but he sent her to hell — 
 she will soon learn to curse him there ; and 
 a look of cruel, almost savage exultation 
 lit up the man's burning eyes, which 
 srfr.'.r :1 : : -:::.! L^: :hr : 'iz'z. :.:: 1 :*-: : 'iz~. 
 
 On he went — the words falling from him 
 like leaves swept by an autumn sale. 
 
 ■ I:'- "".._ : : ii:: - :: :: :v : : his .:-; — ::• 
 be feted and made much of in the world — 
 to have his beautiful wife at his side and 
 his carriages and horses and fine food and 
 soft linen. They are the price of blood, I 
 tell you — the price of a soul — her *&ull 
 
 4 He thought he had stopped my mouth 
 with his miserable money. I have paid it 
 V;..k v"- ; :y - .:.__-.- ::':: — I :..y -t.-J:-.": m .; 
 bided my time till the child was old enough 
 to come to her father and curse htm. 
 Dorc .ke up,* and he shook the child
 
 288 GEORGE VTVIAN. 
 
 roughly by the arm. ' Wake up and tell 
 the pretty lady what I taught you to say. 
 Quick ! say it at once or I'll whip you 
 again — say it when the fine gentleman 
 comes in too — ah ! there he is !' for at this 
 moment, George, having previously come 
 in and dressed, entered the room in his 
 handsome red and gold uniform with 
 powdered hair and lace ruffles on shirt 
 and sleeves. 
 
 He looked very bright and handsome, 
 and more cheerful than he had done 
 for months past ; but as his eye fell on 
 Penruth's face, with its expression of 
 baffled fury and malignant revenge — on his 
 wife (so unlike her usual calm self) shiver- 
 ing in terror beneath the tempest of passion 
 — and on the little child, sitting up in fear 
 of the promised whipping to frame the 
 required sentence, the full meaning of the 
 scene flashed through his miserable brain. 
 
 Before he could speak, Dorothy's broken 
 words came forth under the stress of 
 another rough shake from the furious 
 man who still held her in his arms.
 
 REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 289 
 
 1 Curse % 'oo — curse 'oo — father /' came from 
 the baby lips as Penruth dashed the poor 
 little innocent cause of all this woe violent- 
 ly from him. 
 
 1 Take her! she is yours — much good 
 may she do you ! I have taught her to 
 curse you, and you see she knows her 
 lesson — God grant she may never forget 
 it ! May He curse you too as that baby 
 has done — ay, curse you and yours — your 
 fine wife and your house and your lands. 
 May you never have children of your own, 
 or may they be born only to be your 
 misery and torment. As I have loved you 
 in the past, so do I now hate you ! As 
 you have repaid my devotion by treachery 
 and base deception, so may the Almighty 
 deal with you, sending your soul at last 
 to the hell where you have sent her 
 already.' 
 
 As Penruth threw the frightened child 
 from him, Adelaide had rushed forward 
 just in time to save its tiny head from a 
 blow against the polished marble chimney- 
 piece which would probably have sent it 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 out of a world where it had received so 
 harsh a welcome. 
 
 As the wretched man said the last ter- 
 rible words, he rushed towards the door, 
 and, before either George or Adelaide could 
 stop him, he was downstairs, and they 
 heard the heavy vibration of the hall-door 
 as he dashed onwards into the darkness. 
 
 Baffled at all points, robbed even of his 
 revenge, heart-sick and wretched, having 
 lost master, friend, and wife, with no hope 
 and no love in his dark soul, with the 
 curses he had heaped upon the man he had 
 loved most in the world still ringing in 
 his ears, with Daisy in the grave and her 
 sweet soul in hell (as some dark fiend kept 
 whispering in his ear), what remained for 
 him but to follow her ? Life had become 
 intolerable. It seemed to his excited brain 
 that death could hold no greater curse 
 than this. 
 
 Little heeding where he went, he had fled 
 forth in his misery, unconscious of driving 
 rain. Some instinct led him towards the
 
 HEAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 291 
 
 river, and when he stood on Westminster 
 Bridge, looking down on the ships waiting 
 to discharge or take up cargo, on the barges 
 and lighters pl} 7 ing to and fro, just visible 
 through the darkness by their dim lights 
 (the heavy thud of the distant oars coming 
 over the water), it seemed that here at last 
 Avas his one chance of escape. 
 
 The night was dark, the heavy skies and 
 drenching rain had caused the bridge to 
 be almost deserted. Only a few passers- 
 by were dimly visible as a light shot up 
 from time to time from the barges plying 
 to and from the ships. Xo one noticed the 
 solitary figure leaning against the bridge. 
 The friendly darkness surrounded him, fit 
 emblem of the darkened miserable soul 
 that went forth that night in its despair to 
 solve the great mystery of human life and 
 human suffering beneath the cold, dark 
 waters of the river. 
 
 And the curse that he had left behind 
 
 u 2
 
 292 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 him? his own terrible words and the little 
 child whose baby lips had been first put to 
 so sad a use? 
 
 Little Dorothy grew up in the grand 
 house where she had come so strangely on 
 that fatal spring evening. But she grew 
 up as a blessing, and no curse, to the father 
 who sheltered her and loved her with an 
 exceeding love. That she remained with 
 them was owing to Adelaide's own most 
 earnest request. When the little uncon- 
 scious child had stretched out its tiny arms 
 1 to come to her,' the seed of motherly 
 instinct towards it had first been sown. 
 Then she had saved its life, and that fact 
 gave it fresh value in her eyes. 
 
 Moreover, George, who had witnessed 
 the scene, never forgot that it was Adelaide 
 — his wife — who had rescued Daisy's child 
 for him. Husband and wife were drawn 
 irresistibly together by the slight thread 
 of mutual love and care for the little child 
 whose life had begun under so dark a cloud, 
 but was destined to shine forth as a very
 
 REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 293 
 
 light to their feet and lamp to their path. 
 For little Dorothy — born in sin as the 
 world calls it, but conceived under far 
 more favourable circumstances than the 
 children of many a loveless marriage — 
 brought only bright and beautiful influ- 
 ences with her. Her loving little heart 
 made no distinction between father and 
 * mother,' as she learned to call the cold, 
 stately woman who never looked upon that 
 little face with harshness. 
 
 In time George could bear to hold the little 
 one in his arms and listen to her childish 
 prattle even when the woman he had loved 
 and wronged seemed daily to look out 
 more clearly at him from the dark eyes 
 that reminded him so strangely of Daisy. 
 Sometimes he would sigh deeply and put 
 the child from him almost roughly when 
 the pain of memory became too keen. 
 
 Adelaide had learned to respect these 
 dark moments, and never, by word or look, 
 let George perceive that they were noticed. 
 She knew now that it had been no ' young- 
 man's fancy ' such as she had imagined,
 
 294 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 but Daisy's name was never mentioned by 
 either the husband or wife. Only when 
 George, at such moments of intolerable 
 pain, would put the child from him and 
 the little one came sheltering to Adelaide's 
 knee with a quivering little mouth for 
 ' mother ' to kiss, the latter would some- 
 times strain her to her bosom with a pas- 
 sion of devotion, consoling the little sen- 
 sitive heart that feared it had done some 
 childish wrong and that ' father would not 
 love it any more.' 
 
 As the years passed on, Adelaide received 
 at length her heart's desire, and two 
 children — both fine, handsome boys — came 
 to fill the mind and thoughts of the child- 
 less woman with loving care and to con- 
 sole her for Time's light touches by their 
 bright looks and rather tempestuous devo- 
 tion. For the boys were very fond of their 
 beautiful mother, and apt to show their 
 affection in a way which Adelaide would 
 never have tolerated, had they come upon 
 the scene earlier in her married life. But
 
 REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 295 
 
 the proud heart and self-absorbed nature 
 had learned to be motherly and patient 
 through Dorothy's baby teaching, long 
 before the boys appeared, and so they also 
 owed the happiness of their lives to her 
 without knowing it. 
 
 The old squire had passed away a few 
 years before, and Mrs. Boniface, trans- 
 planted from the Devonshire home (which 
 George had let on long lease) to the 
 honours of being housekeeper in London, 
 bid fair to become as great a slave to 
 Dorothy as she had been to her mother in 
 the old, old days. Whether Bonny ever 
 guessed the secret of the child's presence 
 in the home is doubtful. She was far too 
 discreet to make any remarks upon it, but 
 it seemed impossible to George that she 
 should not trace the mother's eyes and 
 expression in the mignonne face, and she 
 certainly ' took to the child ' from the very 
 first as he had never seen her take to 
 any one but the child's mother. And 
 so the little one grew to be the delight
 
 ge bgs ; : 
 
 and comfort of poor old Bonny "s declining 
 
 - were in trouble, they aT 
 - Dolly " to plead for them. If 
 _ >rried by business cares or 
 
 by the social demands which 
 most be fulnlled. but had long ceased to 
 delight her. Dorothy could alwa - sine oth 
 troubled brow or check the petulant 
 voice by her lovin g - The child seemed 
 to live only in the sunshine of other liv 
 and to have no care nor thought for her 
 own affairs. 
 
 And yet. spite of all the blessings 
 Dorothy had brought into his home. George 
 coidd never forge* .he terrible scene on 
 the night when she first came to him. 
 Those wh - only the outside of 
 
 things envied him as a prosperous man. 
 
 :h a handsome wife and two fine b 
 what more could mortal man wish who 
 had a grand London house, plenty of ready 
 money. and a good old property * nursing 
 up " for his son when he was gon
 
 EEAPIXG THE WHIRLWIND. 1 7 
 
 George himself could have told a different 
 
 tale. In all the interludes of a busy life ; in 
 
 the watches of the night, with his beautiful 
 
 wife sleeping by his side, he would seem 
 
 to see the faces of Daisy and Penruth, and 
 
 to hear the latter s terrible curse: 'Gone 
 
 ill! gone to hell! and you sent her 
 
 there.' The words would go on ringing in 
 
 his ears with maddening re-iteration. And 
 
 Penruth himself — where was he? for 
 
 ^re had heard of his miserable death : 
 
 Waa he with /*ei\ or condemned to live 
 
 out his natural term of years in some 
 
 place of special torment set apart for those 
 
 who took the law of life into their own 
 
 . sh ban b - 
 
 Poor George! The theology of those 
 
 - held out little to help or cheer him 
 
 in thinking over t: - rrible problems. 
 
 Penruth enged, after all, though his 
 
 se might seem to have fallen upon 
 
 en soil ! 
 
 rment exceed the torment of 
 remorse? And this dark fisri
 
 298 GEORGE VYVIAN. 
 
 by George. Vyvian's side through all the 
 remaining years of his life. But God in 
 His infinite pity lightened the heavy load 
 when it bade fair to crush him entirely, 
 and at such times he would fancy that 
 Daisy's eyes looked out upon him with 
 love and forgiveness from Dorothy's little 
 face when she turned it up towards him, 
 night and morning, for ' father's kiss.' 
 
 And so these men and women lived and 
 sinned and suffered and repented. 
 
 Ring down the curtain ! Put out the 
 lights! the old guttering, feeble lights just 
 turning into gas ! 
 
 When the curtain rises again, it will be 
 on a very different scene. Fifty years will 
 have passed away. Modern attire, and 
 modern ways, and electric light will dress 
 our stage, but the actors will be men and 
 women of like passions as these were. It
 
 REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 299 
 
 remains to be seen whether they will be 
 more successful ; whether the experiences 
 of the Past will have thrown any light 
 over the next performance of the great 
 drama of humanity of which our earth is 
 the stage, and where these few characters 
 (with certain additions to them) will still 
 form the dramatis personal of my tale. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 London : Printed by Duncan Macdoncdd, Blenheim House.