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 *<One of Miss Muloch*s admired fictions, marked by pleasant contrasts of light 
 and shade — scenes of stirring interest and pathetic incidents. The theme is one 
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 ^W J ^ ■s^ 
 
 isi i jj mm i ^i 
 
 t>«*ja 
 
 d
 
 (J 
 
 a I B R.AR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 UN IVER.S1TY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 v.t
 
 GEEALD EASTINGS 
 
 OF BARTON.
 
 By the Same Author ^ 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. j 
 
 No Appeal is a very clever and very readable book, and so we ; 
 
 hoi^e it may find many readers. — The Times. \ 
 
 There is a cui'ious natm-alism and freshness all through No 
 Appeal. It is a good story. — Pall Mall Gazette, 
 
 The story is weU conceived, and told with a fair amount of skill. — 
 decidedly superior to the average. — Saturday Review. i 
 
 A bright, readable, story. — Midland Illustrated News. . 
 
 Instinct from beginning to end with a high and thoughtful spirit- ; 
 
 — The Guardian. \ 
 
 So good a book that we shall not be surprised to find the author 
 writing a much better one. — Athenceum.
 
 GERALD HASTINGS 
 
 OF BARTON. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOK OF "NO APPEAL.' 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 TINSLEY BEOTHEES, 18, CATHEETNE STEEET, STEAND. 
 1870. 
 
 {All rights of Translation and JReproduction are re8ervied.'\
 
 LONDON: 
 
 SATILL, EDWAEDS AND CO., PBIHTEE8, CHANDOS STBEET 
 
 COVENT GAEDEN.
 
 4 
 
 
 TO 
 
 HER 
 
 WHOSE UNCHANGING LOVE HAS CHEKRED AND STILL CJIEERS ME 
 ALL THROUGH THE TOIL OP LIFE. 
 
 August SO, 1870. 
 
 ^O
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAP. '^^^ 
 
 1. BARTON GREEN 1 
 
 II. BARTON VILLA 24 
 
 III. MASTER AND SERVANT ^1 
 
 IV. NO. 26, BELTON STREET 55 
 
 V. INSPECTOR POLTER OF THE K DIVISION . . 64 
 
 VI. WHO HAS DONE IT? 81 
 
 VII. MIKY SULLIVAN IS WANTED 103 
 
 VIII. THE TWO BROTHERS 119 
 
 IX. THE WILL 149 
 
 X. TWO YEARS AFTER 159 
 
 XI. BY NIGHT 202 
 
 XII. WAKING UP 219 
 
 XIII. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 
 
 240 
 
 XIV. THE MINERVA CLUB 256
 
 GERALD HASTINGS 
 
 OF 
 
 BARTON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BARTON GREEN. 
 
 Methinks the mansion hath a mouldy air ; 
 
 The ivy round the walls, the bars and bolts. 
 
 Are perishing of age." 
 
 Haepee's Quest. 
 
 OME few trees were left about 
 
 the old place, tall and straight 
 
 and goodly trees, such as 
 
 manor houses so near to the 
 
 smoke and grime of the great city will 
 
 never grow again. But they, in truth, 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 52 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 belonged to a former generation; to days 
 when all round Barton were green fields 
 and gardens, and the huge, dingy, over- 
 grown city was still far away, buried in its 
 usual hazy pall of murky fog and smoke. 
 Still they had been planted where they now 
 stood by old Samuel Hastings' great grand- 
 father, and held fast resolutely to their own 
 native ground. 
 
 As to the Manor House itself, it was 
 square and ugly enough, built of coarse 
 red brick — brick stained and soddened and 
 discoloured by the storms of two hundred 
 winters, and now turning white in its old 
 age in a garb of grey and white lichen, 
 against which a rough coat of dark green 
 rustling ivy shone in dismal contrast. The 
 green ivy and the hoary brickwork w^ere 
 fighting hard for the mastery; and though 
 the green leaves had the best of it all 
 through the golden flush of summer, autumn
 
 BARTON GREEN. 3 
 
 was now nearly over, and winter creeping 
 on apace, and the Manor House, where a 
 Hastings, father and son, had lived for some 
 two hundred years, looked dismal and drear 
 enough. It stood in the midst of what had 
 once been a gay and pleasant garden, planted 
 with choice shrubs and sunny flowers ; but 
 the hand of ruin and quiet decay appeared 
 to have been busy there for many a year, 
 and all along the winding paths, and ragged 
 grass-plots, and deserted flower beds, seemed 
 written the words neglect and decay. 
 Plants and shrubs had straggled into coarse 
 and abundant blossom, bloomed, faded, and 
 died without a kindly hand to touch them, 
 or a heart to rejoice in their beauty. The 
 grass was growing up in rank profusion 
 everywhere ; in the beds, among the bushes, 
 and even in the gravel-paths. Daisies and 
 plantain had, inch after inch, swallowed up 
 the grass- plots, along the edges of which 
 
 1—3
 
 4 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 narrow strips of hard, slimy moss ran in 
 bars, which neither rain nor sun seemed 
 able to loosen. 
 
 Eight and left of the garden, on either 
 side of the Manor House which fronted the 
 high road, spread pleasant meadows Avhere 
 cattle fed, and were driven home for shelter 
 at sunset across the lea ; and where, too, 
 still might now and then be heard the song 
 of the lark rising on glad, wings to heaven. 
 
 The house had a score of small, square, 
 mullioned windows in front, and below 
 them a heavy, dark portico, with a flight 
 of steps leading down to a sort of rude ter- 
 race once, long, long, ago ornamented with 
 stone vases and baskets of flowers. And 
 over all — ^^vindows, doorway, terrace, and 
 flowers — now hung an air of desolation and 
 silence, as if unfit to be inhabited, and 
 only telling of the past. So much for the 
 outside appearance of the house, to which
 
 BARTON GREEN. 
 
 the inside grimly responded, in large 
 dimly lighted rooms, scantly adorned with 
 old and dusky furniture, moth-eaten cur- 
 tains, stairs without carpet, walls blackened 
 with cobwebs, and mantled with dust; and 
 everywhere the one same story of sordid 
 neglect and decay. 
 
 Yet Barton Manor House was inhabited; 
 and though its tenants were but two in 
 number, it is there that our story begins ; 
 and with Sam Hastings, the lord of the 
 manor, who dwelt on the ground floor, and 
 Sally Hill, the charwoman, who mouldered 
 away in an underground kitchen which 
 served for culinary purposes as well as for 
 a dormitory, we must now make acquain- 
 tance. 
 
 The time is nine in the morning; and 
 as a neighbouring clock strikes, a little, 
 short, old-fashioned man clad in a dingy 
 suit of black, makes his way out of the
 
 6 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 high road through the rusty iron gates, 
 and up the weedy gravel path to the front 
 door. Bell-handles and wires have long 
 since disappeared from the outer surface of 
 the entrance ; ever since, in fact, the bells 
 answering thereto in the servants' hall 
 were pulled down by the master of the 
 house a score of years ago, and sold for old 
 metal to Jem Danks at the corner of Green 
 Arbour Lane. But a ponderous iron knocker, 
 in spite of age and of rust, still holds its 
 place on the door; and having sounded 
 this twice heavily with a dull clang, the 
 old man pushes open the door and enters, 
 as if a well-known and welcome visitor. 
 We must follow him. 
 
 He walks briskly down the broad passage, 
 and opens a door at the further end, 
 leading into a lofty, large, square room, 
 round three sides of which bookshelves rise 
 from the floor to the ceiling; and as you
 
 BARTON GREEN. 
 
 brush by them, you may see that dust lies 
 thickly on every volume, and on an old 
 chest of drawers of black oak, with " S. H." 
 cut deeply into the Avood. A very small 
 fire occupies one side of the room ; so small, 
 indeed, that it might be easily packed into 
 a breakfast-cup. A small tent-bed fills a 
 corner of the room ; and a round table in 
 the centre seems to be laid for breakfast, 
 having on it a small loaf of bread, a tiny 
 milk -jug, a tin teapot, about an ounce of 
 butter, and a plate of watercress. 
 
 By the fire, in an old tattered armchair 
 of dingy leather, sat a little withered chip 
 of an old man, very neatly and trimly 
 dressed, though in clothes that had gone out 
 of fashion forty years before, with his hat 
 on, and a short black stick in his right 
 hand. 
 
 This was Samuel Hastings, the owner of 
 the Manor House and many a fair acre of
 
 8 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 land round about it, and the possessor — so 
 said the good people of Barton Green — of 
 untold thousands in the Three per Cents; 
 to say nothing of sundry scattered houses, 
 and even whole groups of squalid tenements 
 behind the main street, on the way into 
 Babylon. He had just breakfasted, and 
 as he pulled on his Hessian boots, was 
 busily computing the exact cost of his 
 breakfast, which he calculated at about 
 three halfpence, having indulged in the 
 unusual luxury of watercress. At that 
 moment the door opened, and in walked 
 Bob Winnecot the barber. 
 
 " Five minutes late, Bob !" said the old 
 man ; " I was just giving you up, and going 
 out on one of my rounds. Where have 
 you been dawdling?" 
 
 " You won't catch me a-dawdling, Mister 
 Hastings — not if I knows it. But you 
 see, customers come in uncommon thick
 
 BARTON GREEN. 9 
 
 this mornin', and I says to my old gal, I 
 says, 'Beards is beards now, and I can't 
 afford to lose sich a chin as Mister Slodger's 
 and this 'ere other gent's, which he come 
 in quite permiscous, he did; so I'll just 
 polish 'em off afore the clock strikes nine, 
 and then cut round to the manner 'ouse 
 in time for the master, and for my bit 
 of '" 
 
 "And that's just what you won't have. 
 Bob. Breakfast was ready ten minutes ago, 
 and yours too, if you had been in time. 
 But Sally is coming to clear away now, and 
 I must be shaved at once. I can't waste 
 time as well as good victuals. A penny 
 saved, you know, is a penny got. Break- 
 fast can't be kept waiting here all 
 day." 
 
 Then the old man laid aside hat and stick, 
 and Bob Winnecot began to operate on his 
 patient's chin; during which operation a
 
 10 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 broken fire of small talk went on between 
 master and servant. 
 
 Barbers have been given to gossip from 
 time immemorial, and Bob Winnecot Avas 
 no exception to the general rule. He had a 
 queer habit of pouring out little, short, 
 disjointed sentences to his listener, some- 
 times leaving them altogether unfinished, 
 and at others taking up the thread of his 
 story again after an interval of silence,, 
 during which, perhaps, his razor required 
 more than usual care in the handling. 
 
 His present customer was apparently a 
 good listener, though he now and then 
 snappishly contradicted the man of soap- 
 suds, or openly laughed at the news he 
 brought. 
 
 The talk began, as such talk usually does, 
 with the weather, and then wandered away 
 in a desultory fashion to the last local 
 news, and especially to the subject of the
 
 BARTON GREEN. 11 
 
 cholera, which was just then ravaging some 
 of the nearer back-slums of the great city 
 with great virulence. Win::?cot, it must 
 be remembered, was an old and tried . 
 attendant at the Manor House, having 
 shaved the master every day regularly for 
 the previous twenty years. He spoke, 
 therefore, with a sort of deference for 
 the old man, and yet with a quiet fami- 
 liarity which helped him to touch on all 
 subjects, and to endure snubbing with 
 great calmness. 
 
 " How are the crops, Winnecot ?" 
 
 " Well, sir, they do say, that down 
 Torrington Lane way, where I come from 
 when I was a boy, thirty years agone " 
 
 "Thirty, Bob? more like fifty — you're 
 eighty. Bob, if you are a day." 
 
 " Where I come from thirty year agone, 
 sir, — that things was looking pretty well 
 till that terrible storm bust out last Sun-
 
 12 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 day mornin' while the people was at Di- 
 vine service, sir. Something fell outside, 
 sir, they suppose something of a bolt, 
 sir." 
 
 ^' No doubt, Bob, the bolt of the church- 
 door ; it's a rickety old place, as well as I 
 remember. And did they pick it up ?" 
 
 '' Bless you, no, sir. That 'ere bolt 
 went right through a tombstone, so they 
 say, sir, of a poor widow-man, that was 
 only a buried there a fortnight agone, and 
 his wife took with twins, she was, that 
 same night, one on 'em with a black 
 mark all down his left leg. So they says, 
 sir. 
 
 Then came a silence. 
 
 " The cholera's uncommon bad, sir, 
 down our way. Up Green Arbour Court, 
 just behind our shop, there was 
 five took yesterday, and one on 'em 
 tended to the fire hisself."
 
 BARTON GREEN. IS 
 
 '^ AVhat on earth do you mean, Winnecot, 
 by tended on the fire — what fire ?" 
 
 " They had tar-barrels a-blazing all down 
 High Street last week, all night long a'most, 
 and camphor bags round their necks, 
 — what the parish give out — and Master 
 Gorsett he wore a bag, he did — and 'twas 
 but last Saturday he was in my shop to get 
 a clean face ; he was took, he was, 
 and now he's no more ; and he 
 was blind, so I'm told, sir, and his legs 
 swelled afore he went off. And a lady, so 
 they say, sir, she fell doAvn in the street 
 a Thursday, and went off — she did — in 
 the dropsy — line — something — so — I'm — 
 told, sir." 
 
 " Pack of lies, Winnecot — pack of lies. 
 I wonder how you ever get together such a 
 string of rubbish; but you must talk I 
 know — it's oil to your old bones — meat 
 and drink. By the way, what a price those
 
 14 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 rascally butchers are charging for meat. 
 It's enough to make a famine. Ninepence 
 a pound for neck of mutton, as I'm a 
 living man, and it won't last us three 
 days- here ; that old woman downstairs 
 has such an awful appetite. We shall 
 have bread up to ^evenpence halfpenny 
 before long, I suppose. I believe those 
 villains, the butchers and bakers, are in 
 league together to ruin all of us poor 
 people " 
 
 "No doubt you feels it, sir— no doubt," 
 interruptsWinnecot ; ''but if you wants to 
 know what pinching is and dear bread is, 
 just you come down into Green Arbour 
 Lane for a week." 
 
 '' Me, Bob, not know what dear bread 
 is ? me ! with this great house to keep 
 going, rates and taxes to pay, and a man 
 to look after that place of mine at Shep- 
 herd's Bush, and two great hulking sons at
 
 BARTON GREEN. 15 
 
 school, not earning a sixpence towards their 
 living, but costing me a hundred a year ! 
 Oood God, Winnecot ! what are you dream- 
 ing of ? If I was not to look after things a 
 little, and contrive here and contrive there, 
 I should be eaten out of house and home in 
 less than a month. It's bad enough in 
 Green Arbour Court, I dare say, but you 
 see, Bob, I have to keep up appearances, 
 and they have not. I must have a joint 
 once a week, and sometimes twice. They 
 needn't. And potatoes are cheap, I'm 
 told, and one can live very well on po- 
 tatoes." 
 
 Another silence. Then the barber broke 
 out again. 
 
 " I know a man, sir, keeps a potato shop 
 in our street, and he bought a pig " 
 
 *' Bought a whole pig, Winnecot? What 
 business had he to buy a whole pig in these 
 times ?''
 
 10 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 " He bought a pig a Saturday night, and 
 a Sunday he had two fits " 
 
 " Two fits ? I wonder that he hadn't 
 a dozen. What right has a^iyman in these 
 days, when mutton is up to ninepence, to 
 buy more than a pound of pork ? The ex- 
 travagance of poor people just now is some- 
 thing fearful." 
 
 " Well, sir, he kep a shop, he did, and 
 sold sossidges, and I'm told, sir, that one 
 pig lasted for six months, what with the 
 seasonin', and the allspice, and the beet- 
 root, and the sawdust. Why, you see, sir, 
 he kep sossidges o' all kinds, he did, beef 
 and pork, and Germans, and polonies, and 
 fresh country sossidges up twice a week 
 from Devoncheere, and real Cambridge, and 
 Hamburg, and all come out of that there 
 one pig. Ah 1 he's an uncommon clever 
 chap, he is." 
 
 " Well, Bob, I must say he's not a
 
 BARTON GREEN. 17 
 
 bad hand if he makes that pig last six 
 months." 
 
 " Yes, sir, he is a tidy hand, and so 
 -was his father a tidy hand, and most reg'lar 
 ^t Divine service a Sundays — in the 
 ^ quire' — mostly on the fiddle ; you see, 
 his father was mostly on the fiddle, before 
 him." 
 
 By this time the whole shaving operation 
 was over, and Winnecot began to pack up 
 his apparatus ; while Hastings went to the 
 old chest of drawers close by and hunted for 
 some stray papers which he wanted in his 
 day's march. 
 
 " Bob," he suddenly called out, " while 
 I'm getting my papers ready, you can easily 
 take your breakfast ; but be careful with 
 the butter, and with the milk, things are at 
 such . a price now. And keep an eye on 
 the flies; it's astonishing what those flies 
 manage to devour in half an hour while 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 IB GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 one is busy. Keep an eye on the- 
 iiies." 
 
 The old man was not slow to obey orders^ 
 for he knew that in the course of a very 
 few minutes he might expect to see oldi 
 Sally enter the room to clear away the 
 breakfast things, and the " master" off on his- 
 day's round. 
 
 He therefore set to work vigorously on 
 the scrap of bread and butter that remained ;. 
 every now and then making little sudden 
 stabs at the few half-starved creatures that 
 buzzed over the empty jug and butter-dish, 
 and exclaiming, as he missed a nimble 
 bluebottle, " A speedy thing, sir, is they 
 flies." 
 
 "That's right. Bob," answers the master,, 
 "that's right; every one you kill is as good 
 as killing a thief and a robber — out of a 
 poor man's pocket too. And now Bob,, 
 we will have the things cleared away. A
 
 BARTON GREEN. 19 
 
 heavy breakfast is always bad, especially 
 when the cholera's about." 
 
 Whereupon the barber once more caught 
 up his bag, and wishing the master good 
 morning, made his way down the long pas- 
 sage to the front door, just as old Sally Hill 
 made her appearance in the breakfast 
 room. 
 
 " Clear away, Sally,'* said Hastings. " I 
 am going out for a day's work in Barton's 
 Kents, and may not be home to-night. 
 Don't wait up for me after eight o'clock, it 
 will save candles and firing ; and these 
 times one must be careful. Do you hear, 
 old woman ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, I hears fast enough; and I 
 ought to know by this time that we've got 
 to be careful, as I've heard it every night 
 for pretty nigh thirty year. Yes, yes, I 
 knows." 
 
 " Then don't be content with knowhigr 
 
 2—2,
 
 20 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 but practise what you know, SslWj. Don't 
 forget the hymn book says, 
 
 " * But always practise what j'-ou know.' 
 
 "It's the best line in the book. Butter 
 at one and two ; bread, sevenpence half- 
 penny, and meat an awful price. I shall 
 be at home to-morrow early. The cold 
 mutton for dinner; don't hash it, it wastes 
 meat to hash it, terribly. So be careful, 
 Sally, be careful." 
 
 With these words the master of Barton 
 Manor House, having lodged his roll of 
 papers in an inner pocket, and taken from 
 a corner a favourite short, thick malacca 
 cane, at last set out on his day's tramp ; 
 and left his old and faithful domestic to her 
 meditations. 
 
 Barton's Rents was the name given to a 
 little group of squalid houses in a back 
 street that branched off the main thorough-
 
 BARTON GREEN. 21 
 
 fare just where the smoke and dirt of Lon- 
 don proper began to hold supreme sway — 
 some two miles from the Manor House. 
 House by house, and court after court, the 
 old man had bought up these wretched 
 abodes of dirt, poverty, and vice; letting 
 them out by rooms, or even half rooms, at 
 low rents, which however he exacted with 
 the utmost rigour; collecting them with his 
 own hands every month, and carrying the 
 proceeds home to be stored up in an iron 
 safe at Barton. It often took him a whole 
 long day to go through a district of this 
 kind ; but when thus benighted, he would 
 often beg for a night's lodging where there 
 happened to be a spare bed, or hunt up 
 some empty tenement of his own in a 
 neighbouring street — generally in charge of 
 some poor charwoman — and there get a 
 resting-place for the time. 
 
 '^Victuals I must have," he would say,
 
 22 GEKALD HASTINGS. 
 
 ^' wherever I am, and here I get my bed 
 and bit of fire gratis, and into the 
 bargain." 
 
 This he had done for many years; never, 
 as he often boasted, having been robbed of a 
 penny, or in any way molested. 
 
 In most of these wretched tenements 
 and streets he was well-known as Sam 
 Hastings, the old miser of Barton ; and on 
 the whole regarded with some fear and 
 respect. One secret of his safety was that he 
 had a stout arm and carried a heavy stick ; 
 and showed not a grain of fear as he went in 
 and out of the worst courts and alleys to be 
 met with. But besides this, he was known to 
 too many neighbours to be plundered without 
 risk. It was said also, that he always carried 
 a loaded pistol with him when he lodged for 
 a night away from his own home. And 
 though this was not true, the report served 
 him almost as Avell as if it had been.
 
 BARTON GREEN. 33 
 
 With these few words of introduction, we 
 must leave him to wend on his way towards 
 London, and glance for a while at other 
 scenes and characters in our story.
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 BARTON VILLA. 
 
 *' 'Tis not a lip or eye, we beauty call, 
 But the full force and joint effect of all." 
 
 Pope. 
 
 MILE nearer to London proper^ 
 and yet tolerably free from tlie 
 grimy smoke of tlie great city^ 
 partly shaded by a couple of 
 horse-chestnut trees, and facing the high- 
 road, was a small detached villa, the abode 
 of Mr. John Thorn, Solicitor, as a brass 
 plate told every one who passed the gate. 
 He was a shrewd, kindly old man with a 
 round bullet-head beginning to grow bald;, 
 a square firm chin and smooth face, and a 
 pair of grey eyes under heavy brows. He
 
 BARTON VILLA. 25 
 
 had a quiet but old-established business in 
 Lincoln's Inn, to which he went every day 
 into London, and was known among most 
 of his neighbours as old ''Jack Thorn." 
 None were familiar enough to call him Jack 
 to his face; but all who really knew him 
 liked his pleasant, genial talk, and were 
 amused with his caustic tongue as long as 
 it did not touch themselves. 
 
 He and his wife and daughter are sitting 
 at dinner — a quiet, homely dinner, but well 
 served, and crowned with good wine, when 
 some little gossip took place, which will help 
 to introduce our heroine; at whom, how- 
 ever, we must glance for a moment before 
 she answers her father's question. 
 
 " Well, Amy, child, what news have you 
 got for your father, after his long day's 
 work in that atrocious fog that filled Lin- 
 coln's Inn all the morning?" 
 
 The young girl, who looked up brightly
 
 26 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 at him as she spoke, was small and slightly 
 made, but of perfect grace in the outline 
 both of face and figure. Her hair, of so 
 <ieep a brown as to appear quite black 
 but when the sunshine touched it with a 
 golden ripple, hung about her face in a 
 cluster of natural curls, and in wonderful 
 profusion; while in her eyes, which were 
 of the same hue, there lurked an infinite 
 amount of passion and tenderness, fall of 
 quiet grace, and yet every now and then 
 telling of an inner depth, and of fire that 
 might easily be roused into flashes of scorn- 
 ful pride or keener indignation. They were 
 eyes to be loved, and yet to be dreaded, 
 though always gleaming with a tender 
 liquid light, that soon won the attention of 
 all whom the owner cared to win. She was 
 dressed plainly and simply, in a dark grey 
 silk trimmed with old-fashioned black lace, 
 and wore a small spray of crimson geranium
 
 BARTON VILLA. 27 
 
 in her hair. Altogether she looked pleasant 
 and piquant, especially for a weary man to 
 * chat with after a long day's work. 
 
 At the other end of the table, opposite to 
 her husband, sat Mrs. Thorn, paler and even 
 slighter than her daughter, but with the 
 same grace of figure, and much of the same 
 beauty of face, save that it was less full of 
 intellect. Mrs. Thorn v/as just forty, and 
 her life was devoted to crochet, at which 
 she worked at all hours with indefatigable* 
 diligence. 
 
 Twenty years before Jane Umber's charm- 
 ing face and ladylike manner had won for 
 her a very eligible husband, then a junior 
 partner in the house of Dalton and Thorn. 
 She had borne him three sons, who had all 
 died in childhood; but as the years went 
 by she never relaxed in quiet amiability of 
 temper or devotion to her husband, of 
 whose genius and intellect, as well as of her
 
 28 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 only daughters beauty, slie was justly 
 proud. She played a little on the piano, 
 and sang in a sweet faint voice some few of 
 the now old-fashioned ballads which had 
 long ago won her husband's praise, as she 
 said, "in their younger days; but now 
 you see, my dear, he comes home tired to 
 his dinner, and likes a bit of classical music 
 from Amy, if he has time for any ; and then 
 I have got my crochet to look after, so 
 we're all three pleased." 
 
 Her daughter inherited all her beauty of 
 expression, but while she had her mother's 
 good looks, the strength, passion and life of 
 her face sprang from the wiry, vigorous 
 '' old man" — as he persisted in calling him- 
 self — who now waited for an answer to his 
 question. 
 
 ^' News !" she gaily replied, "what news 
 can you expect from me who haven't stirred 
 beyond the garden gate since you left home
 
 BARTON VILLA. 29 
 
 this morning ? You are the person, papa, 
 who should supply us with news, coming 
 straight from the centre of life, bustle, 
 pleasure, and business — is he not, mamma?" 
 
 " I think that your father is tired, and 
 wants his dinner, my child; so we will just 
 let him rest until '* 
 
 ^'No, no ! he has brought it on himself. 
 He began to catechize me for news the very 
 moment we sat down, and I shall give him 
 no rest now until he has opened his budget; 
 for I know by his face that he has a 
 budget which he is itching to unfold at this 
 very moment." 
 
 " Well, well," said the lawyer, "let me 
 finish this slice of mutton, and you shall 
 hear what I have to tell." 
 
 " There, mamma, I told you so ! I knew 
 it ! Talk of us women, indeed, being 
 unable to keep anything secret! Commend 
 me to your grave, elderly gentleman with
 
 30 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 a bald head and white whiskers, and a pair 
 of terrible eyebrows frowning at you, like 
 a judge at the witness-box, for not being- 
 able to keep a scrap of news for five minutes 
 after sitting down to dinner. If the fish 
 doesn't unlock his tongue, a glass of sherry 
 is sure to do it." 
 
 " You are a very saucy, impertinent 
 young woman, and I wonder that your 
 mother can sit there and encourage you in 
 such slander on a defenceless old man. 
 But I have got a scrap of news for you, 
 Amy. Now guess what it's about." 
 
 " No, papa, I shall not guess ; but I insist 
 on being told at once. Guessing is all 
 very well for little boys, or people who live 
 on riddles, but not for a young lady of 
 eighteen." 
 
 " Boys, Amy ! Well, oddly enough, my 
 news is about boys. This morning, as I 
 went into town, whom should I overtake
 
 BARTON VILLA. 31 
 
 but old Sam Hastings plodding along, a& 
 usual, with his thick stick in one hand and his 
 blue bag in the other, going off on his day's 
 march, collecting money in Barton's Eents. 
 We soon got into talk, and the end of it 
 was that he went on with me to Lincoln's 
 Inn, and after a great deal of idle gossip of 
 one sort and another — the cholera and the 
 awful price of provisions — began to tell me 
 about his two sons, Avho for the last seven 
 or eight years have been away at thart 
 school in Lincolnshire. They must have 
 been there ever since their mother died, 
 1 think. The old man has kept them 
 there, tight at work, holidays and all, for 
 these eight years ; but now they won't 
 stand it any longer." 
 
 '' Well, papa, suppose that they won't 
 stand it any longer; how can their running 
 aAvay at all concern me?" 
 
 ''What can it concern you, miss? A
 
 32 GPlllALD HASTINGS. 
 
 great deal; inasmuch as they threaten to 
 run away from school at once if their 
 father does not have them home, where, he 
 says, 'he cannot afford to keep them; and 
 to which they say they will return, whether 
 he likes it or not. And they are old friends 
 of yours, Amy. Tony, the eldest always 
 said that if he was ever rich enough to have 
 a wife at all, he would have you; and as 
 for Gerald — that determined young dog 
 with an eye like a hawk — he fell in love 
 with you long before he went into Lincoln- 
 shire ; his mother has told me so a score of 
 times, and how he used to watch to catch a 
 glimpse of your face as he went by the gate, 
 every morning on his way to the day-school 
 on the green. You must remember Gerald, 
 poor boy, with his bright, laughing eyes, 
 and a blush on his cheek?" 
 
 " ^ly dear papa, he is a mere boy, and " 
 
 " He was a mere boy once, but he is only
 
 BARTON VILLA. 33 
 
 a year younger than Miss Amy Thorn now; 
 mind that, my dear. And his brother 
 Tony is a year older; a little, fat, stodgy 
 fellow, with a low forehead, and his angry 
 hair like so much grass along the upper 
 border of it, I have no doubt still.'' 
 
 '• yes ; I remember the little creature, 
 and his conceit about his reading at the 
 dame's school. He was always telling us 
 what he had learned to repeat by heart, and 
 boasting of it to somebody or other, the 
 little monkey." 
 
 '' Yes, yes," replied her father ; '' I think 
 I hear him now beginning with his verses 
 from Milton — 
 
 " * Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweat .'* 
 
 He hadn't the faintest notion of what the 
 words meant, or the music of the line." 
 
 "My dear,'' said kindly Mrs. Thorn, 
 " don't be too hard upon the young man. I 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 S4 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 dare say he has learned how to read long 
 before this." 
 
 " I hope so," replied Miss Amy ; '' I hope 
 so, if only for his friends' sake. But is that 
 all your budget, papa ? You look now as 
 if you still had a long tale to unfold." 
 
 ^'Only this,, that old Hastings has for-^ 
 mally appointed me guardian of the boys, if 
 he should die before Tony is of age, and 
 this morning signed all the necessary papers. 
 The stingy old fellow wouldn't let me make 
 his will for him, as I suggested ; but coolly 
 told me that he made it himself ten years 
 ago, when his wife died — made it him- 
 self, purely to save money. ' It is all,' he 
 says, * duly signed and sealed, without a 
 farthing to the lawyers.' All I can say is, 
 I never knew a layman yet who tried to 
 make his own will and did not write him- 
 self down an ass in some shape or other. 
 He was puzzled how to appoint a guardian,.
 
 BARTON VILLA. 35 
 
 or he -would have tried that too. But, 
 mind you, Amy, when they come back you 
 must look out for the eldest son, Tony. He 
 must have all the land, for it's entailed ; and 
 I have no doubt that he will have the best 
 part of the money; for he is just as great 
 a screw, I hear, as his father, and delights 
 him by saying that he has saved up all his 
 pocket-money for the last year and a half, 
 and intends to put it into the savings* bank 
 when he comes home. This has won old 
 Sam's heart." 
 
 " And is the old miser going to allow his 
 sons to come home?" 
 
 " He can't prevent them. That's the 
 beauty of it. They swear they will run 
 away, if he does not fetch them." 
 
 ''My dear John," says Mrs. Thorn, 
 " they can't run all the way from Boston." 
 
 " yes, my dear, they can. Don't you 
 remember Tom Hood's words to his old 
 
 3—3
 
 36 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 friend in Lincolnshire ? ' It's only ninety 
 mile or so to York •, |)ut on corduroys, 
 and don't mind the cut-behinds.' No doubt 
 they will come fast enough. Old Hastings 
 forgets that they are no longer children. 
 How they will get on at the Manor House, is 
 another question altogether. He grumbles 
 at spending sixty or seventy pounds a year 
 on himself and old Sally Hill, his house- 
 keeper ; and when these ravenous young 
 giants come home from school, after years 
 of hard work and scanty food, half-cooked 
 meat all the week and ^ Resurrection Pie' 
 on Saturdays, they will fairly eat him out 
 of house and home ; tho' his real income, 
 I have no doubt, is five thousand a year at 
 least. His savings, too, must be enormous ; 
 though I'm told by old Winnecot, his facto- 
 tum, that not a sixpence finds its way into 
 any bank. The Manor House is full of holes 
 and corners, and there Dives has been
 
 BARTON VILLA. 37 
 
 hoarding for these forty years, just like his 
 father before him, and his father before him, 
 hoarding up bags of gold, and saying. Don't 
 let us eat, don't let us drink, and don't let 
 us be merry." 
 
 " My dear John," interrupts Mrs. Thorn 
 again, "I wish you would not quote Scripture 
 in that way ; it sounds quite profane, though 
 you don't mean it so." 
 
 '' Mean to be profane, my dear Jane ! 
 certainly not, for a moment. It's only the" 
 way that the New York Plymouth Brethren 
 talk, and all the people in the ' Good Gas- 
 lighter,' and ' Squeaky,' or the ' Narrow, 
 Narrow World,' and all the goody people 
 do." 
 
 " What a dreadful old wretch he must 
 be !" interrupts Miss Amy. " But he inherits 
 his stinginess from his father and his grand- 
 father you say, papa ; were they all as bad 
 as he?"
 
 3S GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 " Not quite so bad, my dear ; they have 
 gone through the three degrees of com- 
 parison, I think, miser^ miserior^ miserrimus, 
 and old Sam is the superlative. That 
 hankering after money, for money's sake, 
 runs in the family, just like a particular 
 Nose, from father to son ; getting more and 
 more scrubby and mean and abominable, 
 till it ends in a mere abortion of a snub, 
 like that little rascally apothecary's in the 
 High Street, who charged me for fifteen 
 visits in a fortnight, when I had that bad 
 throat last winter. But, skinflint or not, 
 my dear, these two young men will be 
 home before long beyond a doubt, if they 
 can get away from ' Do-the-Boys Hall,' 
 settle down here at the Manor House, 
 plague their wretched old father's life out of 
 him by the fierceness of their appetites, and 
 sooner or later find their way here to 
 Barton Villa. But don't forget. Miss
 
 BARTON VILLA. 39 
 
 Thorn, that Tony is the Lord of the 
 Manor." 
 
 " I hate him already !" cries the indignant 
 young girl, with flashing eyes. " I hate 
 him, with his selfish, cringing ways ; and I 
 hope he will never come here !" 
 
 "But he is much altered for the better, 
 so I hear, both in mind and body. The 
 master of the school writes to sav that both 
 have made excellent progress during the 
 last few years, and are fine handsome 
 young fellows. All I wonder at is that the 
 old Pmnks up yonder ever spared money 
 enough to educate them at all." 
 
 " Perhaps that runs in the family too." 
 
 " There you are right, Amy, 1 believe. 
 Old Sam's father and grandfather were both 
 educated men; both were at Westminster; 
 and both dressed well to the very last; 
 though both grudged every farthing that 
 was spent, and added thousands to the
 
 40 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 income from Barton Manor before they died. 
 But joking apart, my child, it will never da 
 for you to marry a poor man, brought up 
 as you have been. Besides, with such a 
 face and such a head-piece as yours, my 
 dear, you deserve to be Lady Bountiful at 
 the Manor House. But come, Amy, I want 
 a morsel of music, to drive all these musty 
 miserly hungry things out of my brain. 
 So take my arm, wife, crochet and all, and 
 let us go upstairs for a cup of coffee and a 
 page of Beethoven."
 
 ^^§ 
 
 ^^ 
 
 
 ^^^^a 
 
 ^s^^^^^ 
 
 ^^^sS 
 
 
 ^^^^^gg^ji^^ 
 
 CHAPTER TIT. 
 
 MASTER AND SERVANT. 
 
 The wretched being starves amidst his store, 
 Broods o'er his gold, and grasping still at more, 
 Sits sadly pining, and believes he's poor." 
 
 Deyden. 
 
 HE old charwoman, Sally HiH, 
 sat up late for her master on the 
 nio-ht folio wins: his visit to Bar- 
 ton's Kents, but, as he had sur- 
 mised, she sat up in vain ; for Sam Hastings 
 did not return until late the following morn- 
 ing, and then out of humour; many of 
 his tenants had been behindhand with their 
 rents, and he had brought back but a scanty 
 store of guineas. That day he dined early, 
 and even more sparingly than usual, lock-
 
 42 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 inpj himself into his own room as soon as it 
 was dusk, and spending several happy hours 
 in hunting through various drawers, pigeon- 
 holes, and other secret hiding-places — pour- 
 ing the various hoards out on an old 
 library table, a^d surveying with infinite 
 satisfaction all the piles of silver, copper, 
 and gold. This done, and all having 
 been put back into their usual hiding- 
 places, he retired early to bed, made his 
 supper on a scanty basin of gruel, so as 
 to save the expense of fire in his sitting- 
 room, and slept so late as to be scarcely 
 ready for Winnecot on the following morn- 
 ing. But he roused himself at last, and 
 got up and dressed ; and then ensued a 
 short dialogue, which, though unconnected 
 and desultory enough, helps to carry our 
 story onwards one little stage further. 
 
 " Winnecot," said the old man, " I had a 
 bad day yesterday."
 
 MASTER AND SERVANT. 43 
 
 '' So I see, sir." 
 
 " You see, sir ? How on earth can that 
 be ? Has Sally been gossiping as usual, the 
 old cat?" 
 
 " I haven't seen nothing of Sally, cat or 
 no cat, master; or kitten neither, this 
 morning. But I knows well enough that 
 if so be you had had a good day yesterday, 
 with a tidy purse, you wouldn't a laid a 
 bed this mornin'. It ain't hard to guess 
 that much." 
 
 " Well, Bob, you are not far wrong 
 there. They were most of them behind- 
 hand with their rents ; and besides that, 
 the lawyers got hold of me." 
 
 " What lawyers, master ?" 
 
 " Old Jack Thorn, of course — though, for 
 that matter, they are all sharks, every one 
 of 'em. However, he got hold of me, 
 and made me sign some papers appoint- 
 ing him the Boys' guardian if they come
 
 44 CxERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 home — and they swear they will come, 
 Bob !" 
 
 " Well, sir, eighteen is a tidyish age for 
 a boy to be kep at school, I must say ; and 
 Mr. Tony must be that if he's a day. sir, 
 to say nothing of Mr. Gerald. I wonder 
 they stops there, that I do, all these years." 
 
 " They must stop there. It will ruin me 
 to have them home here now, Winnecot, 
 with bread, meat, beer, and everything at 
 such awful prices, and they Avith appetites 
 like plough-boys !" 
 
 '' But they costs something where they 
 be, master, and must cost, unless they lives 
 upon hair." 
 
 " Yes, but it's cheax^er there, Bob — 
 cheaper; because you see, whatever they 
 eat or drink I only pay so much a half 
 year, and I know the worst of it. But 
 once at home here, I shall never know the 
 worst of it. Their stomachs will be always
 
 MASTER AND SERVANT. 45 
 
 craving. And then they'll want new 
 clothes, and there will be doctors' bills, and 
 all sorts of luxuries. It will never, never 
 do, Bob — I shall be ruined, I know I 
 shall/' 
 
 Then followed a silence, during which a 
 stiff island of beard just below the chin 
 was being mowed, and Bob, holding his 
 patient by the nose, was severely intent 
 on his professional duties. 
 
 '' I tell you what I shall do, WinnecoT; ; 
 I shall sell some of the furniture that's 
 lying about the place." 
 
 " But there's none to sell, master. As 
 to the old beds and bedding upstairs, who'll 
 buy 'em? The downstairs rooms is all 
 stripped pretty well bare, 'cept of a parcel 
 of dusty stuff that nobody would look at. 
 Twenty years agone you might 'a sold 
 some of it, but now them brokers wouldn't 
 give you five shillings for the lot.*'
 
 46 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 " But there is this room, Bob ; you for- 
 get this room. There are hundreds of 
 books here, in good bindings too ; and 
 half a dozen library chairs, and that old 
 chest of drawers ; and the bookshelves 
 can't be of any use when the books are 
 gone. You can call and tell Danks to 
 come up to me, on your way home, and 
 he shall come and take away the lot 
 to-morrow." 
 
 But to this latter arrangement the faith- 
 ful old serving man had a grand objection. 
 He knew that this one room now held all 
 that remained of the old family furniture, 
 and there was still left in him a spark of 
 pride which rebelled against the house 
 being stripped utterly bare before the 
 young masters came home. 
 
 "Well, master," he answered, "I don't 
 know how much a pound Jem Danks may 
 give for them books, but I'm pretty certain
 
 MASTER AND SERVANT. 47 
 
 he wouldn't take the cheres at no price. 
 Besides, you must have somethink to sit 
 on, I 'spose, when the young masters come 
 home, unless you're all a going to be like 
 the deaf and dumb gentleman bornd down 
 in Southwark, that hadn't got no legs and 
 arms, and was tied on to his board. And 
 as for the Chest o' drawers, I don't mind 
 taking that myself, if you must get rid of 
 it, just to kip my papers in for the Club 
 nights and the Parish shavin' account." 
 
 This proposal, of striking a bargain, at 
 once roused up the old Lord of the Manor 
 into sudden life, and forced him to begin 
 haggling with his customer as to the 
 price. 
 
 '^Well, well, Bob," he answered, '^what 
 you say is true enough ; and you shall 
 have the old chest of drawers a bargain, 
 though it is as good as new ; I cleared it 
 out last night, and you may as well pay for
 
 48 GEUALD HASTINGS. 
 
 it and take it away at once. It lias been 
 here these forty years to my knowledge ; 
 but it is a good sound article now, Bob, 
 and with care will last forty years more — 
 longer than you will, any how. There's 
 my father's initials. S. H., cut in the old 
 oak, as fresh as ever." 
 
 The price — only a few shillings — w^as at 
 last agreed upon ; and that same day a 
 man with a truck came to the Manor 
 House and carried away the bargain home 
 to Bob Winnecot's own shop, No. 26, Belton 
 Street, Green Arbour Court; the new owner 
 himself attending in person to superintend 
 the removal. 
 
 "Bob," said the old miser, '^you have 
 cheated me, I verily believe ; but I won't 
 draw back from my bargain now, of 
 course.'' 
 
 But no sooner was the purchaser fairly 
 out of the Manor House grounds, than
 
 MASTER AND SERVANT. 49 
 
 Hastings, smiling grimly to himself, sat 
 down in his old leathern chair and besran 
 to survey the matter from another point of 
 view. 
 
 " It's not worth half a crown, '^ he 
 chuckled to himself; "the hinges are off 
 nearly every pigeon-hole inside; the 
 drawer handles are loose, and all the 
 keys are gone. They were in bad order 
 enough when Anne kept her odds and ends 
 and receipts there, and that's a matter of 
 fifteen or sixteen years ago. Bravo, Sam 
 Hastings !" 
 
 Then he opened a small cupboard in 
 a recess behind his bed, and added ten 
 shillings to a hoard of silver in a canvas 
 bag, dropping them in one by one, with in- 
 tense satisfaction. 
 
 The thought of this little transaction 
 seemed to administer great comfort to him 
 throughout the rest of the day. He smiled 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 and chuckled to himself again and again, 
 with an air of quiet comfort that attracted 
 the notice even of old Sally Hill when 
 she came upstairs to remove the tea- 
 things. 
 
 " Sally, I will have a pigeon for dinner 
 to-morrow — a whole one. Do you hear, 
 Sally?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, I hear. Not that you'll be 
 able to eat a whole one. You won't have 
 the heart to do it, you know, when the time 
 comes." 
 
 Then the old man went out into a smaller 
 garden at the back of the old house, 
 drearier even than the front one, in 
 the corner of which stood an old shed 
 that he and Bob together had turned 
 into a sort of rough cot for pigeons. 
 And here, to his intense joy, he found that 
 one of the young birds, not half fledged, 
 had tumbled out of the nest, and fallen
 
 MASTER AND SERVANT, 51 
 
 heavily to the ground. There it lay dead 
 a-t his feet, hardly cold, but still dead. 
 Here was good fortune indeed. In another 
 five minutes the cat would have had it. 
 
 And he hurried in with his prize, chuck- 
 ling once more with intense satisfaction at 
 being able to sup, if not dine, free of 
 cost. 
 
 " He's been a counting of his money 
 again, that's it," said the old woman to 
 herself as she reached her own sanctum 
 in the kitchen, "and a found a four- 
 penny bit, maybe, as he didn't know of 
 before; and now flop down comes this 
 poor half growed pigeon. Well, well, 
 the young masters is comin', that's one 
 good job. They'll spend it for 'un, if it 
 was a hundred fourpenny-bits. .And to 
 think, too, of their never bein' once home 
 ever since their poor mother died. Poor 
 lambs ! And the cholera, too, a ragin' all 
 
 4 — % 
 
 UNIVERSITY Of 
 rUINOlS UBRAJff
 
 52 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 down High Street. Well, people says eatin' 
 and drinkin' too much is a bad thing for it. 
 They won't catch it here that way, any 
 how." 
 
 And then poor old Sally Hill bolted the 
 kitchen door, said her prayers and a special 
 one against the pestilence, put a little bag 
 of camphor round her neck, and lay down 
 to sleep soundly until morning. 
 
 Meanwhile, upstairs, the Lord of the 
 Manor, who was thinking only of his 
 guineas, and the two hungry wolves of sons 
 who were coming to eat him out of house 
 and home, lay tossing on his bed, and 
 vainly trying to sleep. Everything seemed 
 against him that night. The wind rattled 
 in the chimneys ; the old doors and panels 
 creaked on their hinges ; and gaunt 
 ghastly rats scampered across the floor 
 where not even a crumb fell from the rich 
 man's table. More than once he started
 
 MASTER AND SERVANT. 53 
 
 up in his bed and listened ; and once lie 
 actually rose, and, quickly huddling on a 
 few clothes, struck a light, and examined 
 one or two of his chief hoards to see if all 
 was right. Not a thing was out of its 
 place, and not a sound was in the old 
 house that had not been there for scores of 
 previous years. * 
 
 But at last utter weariness quietly over- 
 came him, and he fell into a heavy sleep 
 — dreaming still, however, of his darling 
 treasures; then that meat had gone up to a 
 shilling a pound, and that Mike Sullivan, 
 his chief tenant in Barton's Rents, had 
 levanted without paying him a farthing. 
 The agony of this last horror woke him 
 from his broken slumber, just as daylight 
 appeared; and he started up, to dress 
 hastily and at once set off to town in quest 
 of the defaulter. 
 
 '^ Sally," said the old man, "tell Winne-
 
 54 
 
 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 cot when he comes, that I have had to go 
 off early to Barton's Rents, and shall not 
 want him to-day. That will save his break- 
 fast, anyhow."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 NO. 26, BELTON STREET. 
 
 " Aspice tonsoris limen, succede viator ! 
 Mappa subest, ardet culter, et unda tepet." 
 
 Musji: Eton. 
 
 HE life described in the previous 
 chapters as going on at Barton 
 Manor House, went on, with 
 little variety, all the year round ; 
 as, indeed, it had done for twenty previous 
 years. Hastings saw no visitors at his own 
 house, and, except for purposes of business, 
 never paid visits to any of his neighbours. 
 Now and then he spoke a familiar word or 
 two to his old servant, Sally, and every day 
 he endured, either gladly or impatiently, 
 the idle gossip of his old-fashioned barber.
 
 56 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 But with these exceptions, no other event 
 broke the monotony of his existence — for 
 life it could scarcely be called — but when, 
 at the close of the day, he sometimes un- 
 locked all his treasures, and having care- 
 fully barred up door and window, spent 
 some golden hours in handling the bags of 
 coin which he loved too well to put to the 
 profane use of spending. Gradually, ever 
 since his wife's death and the banishment of 
 his sons to the school in Lincolnshire, he 
 had grown more and more morbidly fond of 
 a lonely life, more eaten up with the passion 
 of hoarding, and more dead to all other 
 feelings. Thus more and more he had 
 grown to dread the idea of their return 
 home, which he imagined would at last, in 
 some way or other, open the door to new 
 and lavish expenditure : and thus touch the 
 golden store for which he was now spending 
 his life and strength.
 
 NO. 26, BELTON STREET. 57 
 
 That some day or other he must die, and 
 leave all the treasure behind him to be 
 squandered by those two very sons, he 
 knew well enough. The grand thing now 
 was, to stave off the evil time as long as 
 possible ; and while life was in him to keep 
 them from breaking into his treasures. At 
 last, after much perplexing thought, a new 
 idea had come into his mind. If they in- 
 sisted on leaving school, and did actually 
 make their way home, they should not 
 come to the Manor House at all, but to one 
 of his empty tenements beyond Barton's 
 Rents, in which he would at once fit up 
 a room or two for them. There he would 
 allow them so much a Aveek to board them- 
 selves ; and not one farthing a week more 
 than the fixed sum should be paid to or for 
 them. In this way he thought he should 
 be as safe as if they were at school. The 
 idea perfectly charmed him, and he set
 
 58 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 about putting it into execution without 
 delay. 
 
 Bob Winnecot had naturally, in due 
 course, heard of the proposed plan, said 
 what he dared by way of objection, but 
 finding all his words useless, had at last 
 given in; and having wished the master 
 good morning, as usual, set out for Green 
 Arbour Court in rather a grumbling frame 
 of mind. 
 
 No. 26, Belton Street, was not an attrac- 
 tive residence at any time, — and just then 
 it was dull November weather ; mud of the 
 blackest and slimiest covered road and 
 pavement, the gutters reeked with filth, 
 and a grimy fog brooded over the whole of 
 the narrow street — as it had brooded there 
 for days before. All this was against the 
 little man ; and it was no small addition to 
 his troubles when he found his wife, Sarah 
 — a tall, scraggy woman, with slightly red
 
 NO. 26, BELTON STREET. 59 
 
 hair, and a thin, unhappy voice — ready to 
 pounce on him the moment he entered the 
 shop; which he did with slow and weary steps. 
 
 " Why, you're enough to drive a woman 
 crazy, Winnecot, a-coming rampaging over 
 my clean floors with that heap o' muck on 
 your shoes; that's what you are. Can't 
 you see I'm cleaning up ?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear, I see you're cleaning up ; 
 but the old master's off on his travels 
 to Barton's Rents again, without even' a 
 clean face, so what could I do but come 
 home? I knows all about the muck, 
 Sarah, and as soon as I've got my bag I'm 
 off again to Titcomb Square. It's my old 
 gent's day for havin' his hair curled and 
 got up for Sunday, at No. 15; and maybe 
 I shan't be home till latish in the afternoon, 
 as there's a tidy lot of 'em at the Workus' 
 for to-morrow, and me not so speedy as I 
 was thirty year ago."
 
 60 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 And with these words the little old man, 
 having taken the bag which contained his 
 white apron and full shaving apparatus, 
 kissed his youngest child, and set out for 
 Titcomb Square. 
 
 And a queer figure he certainly looked, 
 as he slowly made his way down that 
 grimy, crowded street. He was very short 
 and bandylegged; his black coat was far 
 too large and too long for him; the wind 
 was blowing hard from the east against his 
 face, and it was as much as he could pos- 
 sibly do to make any progress against these 
 various enemies. Altogether, he reminded 
 one of nothing so much as those inimitable 
 lines : 
 
 " As when a dabchick waddles through the copse, 
 On feet and wings, and flies and wades and hops. 
 So, labouring on with shoulders, hands, and head, 
 Wide as a windmill, all his figure spread." 
 
 Pope. 
 
 But although he made his way safely
 
 NO. 20, BELTON STREET. 61 
 
 enough to Titcomb Square, and to the 
 Barton Workhouse at a later hour, finish- 
 ing his work at both places with all due 
 completeness — he did not return to the 
 bosom of his wife and family that night 
 until long after his usual time ; and even 
 then with a pale and terrified face, a hat 
 much damaged and stained with mud, and 
 a wobegone look about his face which 
 utterly disarmed Sarah — that austere 
 woman — and turned her words of intended 
 reprobation into severe pity. 
 
 "Why, Winnecot! why, what 'ave you 
 bin a-doin' with yourself all this blessed 
 day? I haven't set eyes upon you ever 
 since ten o'clock this morning, and me a 
 poor lone woman with three blessed chil- 
 dren. Why, I might as well be a grass- 
 widow at once ! And you — you look dread- 
 ful!" 
 
 '•Well, Sarah, the fact is I ain't wery
 
 62 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 well in myself, and I think that I'll go up 
 and lie down a bit — upstairs — if you'll 
 bring me up a drop o' tea." This was all 
 he said. 
 
 '^ And, my dear," as Sarah told her neigh- 
 bour, Mrs. Flobby, the next morning, — 
 '^ with that he went upstairs all in a shiver 
 like, and I put a good half-quartern of Old 
 Tom into the pot along with the tea, and 
 after he'd had two cups he went off like a 
 lamb, an' he slep like a haystack he did, 
 till the bells was goin' for hearly service at 
 St. Patrick's here close by. But not a 
 word could I get out of Bob when he come 
 to hisself, my dear — if you b'lieve me — as 
 to where he'd a bin, or what he'd bin up to 
 the night before. He was as close as wax, 
 he was. ^ Sarah,' he says, ' don't you be 
 worriting yourself about me. I'm all right 
 now, but I 'opes and prays,' he says, 'I 
 shan't have such another turn as yesterday
 
 NO. 26, BELTON STREET. 63 
 
 again for one while. For when I come 
 home last night,' he says, ' I felt like a 
 hempty bladder blowed out with wind,' he 
 says, ' you might a knocked me down with a 
 shaving brush.' ' You was empty enough,' 
 says I; 'but you had something I s'pose 
 while you was out ; where did you get your 
 victuals, Winnecot?' For I wanted to 
 know, you see, where he had bin to all 
 them seven hours. ^ I didn't 'ave no vic- 
 tuals,' he says quite short, ' but don't you 
 worrit yourself about me.' And if you 
 believe me, Mrs. Flobby, that's all I could 
 get out of that man, little as he is." 
 
 And, indeed, that was all that the little 
 man could then be got to say about his 
 mysterious absence, and his return in such 
 an abject and miserable condition. And 
 so they were obliged to let the matter 
 rest.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 INSPECTOR POLTER OF THE K DIVISION. 
 
 " What is my offence ? 
 Where is the evidence that doth accuse me ?" 
 
 Shakspeabe. 
 
 HE station-house of the K 
 Division of the Police was in 
 High Street, Barton Green ; 
 and the Inspector's office was a 
 small box cut oiFfrom an angle of the first 
 room on the right, as you go down the pas- 
 sage. A poorly dressed but tidy woman had 
 just asked to see the Inspector, made a short 
 statement to him, and thereupon asked what 
 she was to do. 
 
 " What are you to do, my good woman ? 
 Your master, you say, left home the day
 
 INSPECTOR POLTER OF THE K DIVISION. 65 
 
 before yesterday morning, as usual, and has 
 never turned up since ? Well, well, that's 
 likely enough; it's getting quite common 
 aiow for gents to disappear like, and frighten 
 all their families into fits, and then in a 
 week or two they turn up all safe and 
 :Sound. You go straight home to Barton 
 Manor House — I know it wxll — and most 
 likely you'll find him taking his tea as quiet 
 and natural as if he had never been outside 
 the door." 
 
 " Oh ! no he won't, sir," replied Sally Hill. 
 "No, he w^on't be there; he ain't that kind 
 ■of party, out for a spree. Nothing but 
 business ever kep' 'im out all night, and 
 then never more than till next mornin'. 
 There's something wrong up." 
 
 She said this so earnestly, and w^ith such 
 a conviction of its being true, that Mr. 
 Inspector Polter, of the K division, High 
 Street, Barton Green, once more opened 
 
 VOL. 1. 5
 
 ^6) GERALD HA&TINGS. 
 
 the folio^ note-book on his desk, which he- 
 had just before shut, dipped his pen in the 
 ink, and condescended to aslc a question. 
 
 " Where was your master going when he 
 left home?"- 
 
 " To Barton's Rents." 
 
 " JBavtou's Bents! Why didn't you say 
 so before ; it's one of the worst places in our 
 beat. What was he going there for ?" 
 
 " Getting in his rents." 
 
 " How often did he go for his rents ? every 
 week ?'' 
 
 ''Most times he did. But this week 
 he've been twice, because you see some 
 was behindhand ; he said he would have the 
 money this time, or out they should go." 
 
 " You don't know any of these behind- 
 hands by name, I suppose,, missis ? 
 
 '' Well, he did say somethin' to old Win- 
 necot about one on 'em — Miky. Sullivan'' 
 
 " Sure of the name, missis ?'
 
 INSPECTOR POLTER OF THE K DIVISION. 07 
 
 *' Quite; and I heerd master say to 
 Bob " 
 
 " Bob — who is Bob ? You said Winne- 
 cot just now. Do be careful.'' 
 
 " Well, so it is Winnecot ; ain't his first 
 name Bob ?'' 
 
 " What ! the little barber in Green Arbour 
 Court here?" 
 
 " That's him ; he's come to the house a 
 sliavin' these twenty years and more, every 
 morning." 
 
 '' Does Bob know anything of Mr. Hast- 
 ings being missing ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but he didn't see anything of 
 master that morning, for he went away early 
 without being shaved. Bob come the next 
 morning as usual." 
 
 '* And what is your own name, my good 
 woman ?" 
 
 " Sally Hill." 
 
 '- Well, you go home, Sally, and be. 
 
 5 — 2
 
 68 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 ready in case you should be wanted ; and 
 keep up your spirits. No doubt we shall 
 hear somethinpj of your master before night ; 
 and you'll see him safe and sound to-mor- 
 row. He hadn t got any money with him, 
 I suppose ?" 
 
 " He never carried no money when he 
 went out; but perhaps he might a got some 
 after his day's work was over." 
 
 " Good mornhig, Mrs. Hill, that will do for 
 the present. We'll find him if he's above 
 ground, depend upon it, and soon too." 
 
 And with this feeble comfort the old 
 woman wended her way mournfully back to 
 the dreary Manor House. 
 
 The Inspector then called into his office 
 a couple of his sharpest sergeants, set the 
 whole case briefly before them, and charged 
 them to set to work at once. 
 
 "Do you know anything of Miky Sul- 
 livan ?''
 
 INSPECTOR POLTER 0¥ THE K DIVISION. 69 
 
 " Yes, sir, one o' the Avorst of the whole ' 
 lot in Barton's Itcnts; most of 'em Irish, 
 and most of 'em bricklayers. It took four 
 men to get Mike to the station-house last 
 week; he'd bin' drunk two days, after 
 whackin' his wife, and was all for fio-htino;." 
 
 " Well, then, go quietly to work, and see 
 what Miky was about the day before yes- 
 terday; what he has been doing since, and 
 where he is now. Divide the work between 
 you. Keep apart, and yet work together. 
 One of you take the day before yesterday, 
 and one to-day. I shall expect to hear 
 where Hastings is before night. You can 
 have more men, of course, if you want them. 
 This ought to be a good job." 
 
 After this, the two sergeants set out pre- 
 sently on their day's work ; the one devot- 
 ing himself to Mr. Michael Sullivan's sayings 
 and doings during the previous days, and 
 the other to the present whereabouts of
 
 70 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 Mr. Samuel Hastings. They both worked 
 hard; as there seemed to be a fair chance of 
 its being a good job, they both worked with 
 a will. On comparing notes at 6 p.m. that 
 evening, they had a long report to make 
 to the Inspector, though not a satisfactory 
 one. The substance of it was as follows. 
 
 Miky Sullivan and Jem Danks, the 
 marine-store keeper, had both been seen 
 much together on the day of old Hastings's 
 visit. He had had many angry words with 
 both (so said the other lodgers), and after an 
 infinite amount of wrangling, and many 
 sharp threats of the law being brought to 
 bear on them if the rent was not forth- 
 coming, he at last extracted from Miky a 
 portion of the rent, and a promise to have 
 the rest ready on the Saturday. Then the 
 master of Barton Manor had gone on his 
 way towards town, for the purpose, as it 
 was thought, of getting in some more
 
 INSPECTOR POLTER 01' THE K DIVISION. 71 
 
 ^behindhand rents from one or other of his 
 back settlements; having set out in a storm 
 of wind and rain, with his bag under his 
 arm. Acting upon this information, the Ser- 
 geants had traced the old fellow a mile or 
 two into London, as far as Ponders Gardens, 
 then with difficulty to a well known tramps' 
 lodging-house there, and still later to an 
 empty house in Turnstile Street, of which, 
 and three adjoining houses, all empty, and 
 ;all under the care of an old charwoman, 
 Hastings was the landlord. He had gone 
 there, after his usual fashion, to get a cheap 
 night's lodging, and to be ready for work 
 the next day. 
 
 Several witnesses, so said the sergeants, 
 were ready to swear to this, and they knew 
 the old man well. 
 
 " They swore this so plain and hard," said 
 Sergeant Dawson, " that I fetched my mate, 
 .and we both of us went to No. 15-, Turnstile
 
 72 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 Street, and a pretty old ramshackle place it 
 was. A good sized, biggish, house, all black 
 with dirt and grime these twenty years ; the 
 winders most of 'em broke ; not a stroke o' 
 paint." 
 
 " Never mind the paint," says Inspector 
 Polter. 
 
 *'Well, my mate and me knocked and 
 knocked and knocked for a goodish time, 
 and no answer could Ave get, though we did 
 go at it hammer and tongs. Says I at 
 last, I says, there's some game up here, for 
 there's fresh mud on the doorstep, right up 
 to the door; fresh shice the rain, too, as if 
 somebody had a went in in the wet. If we 
 can't bust the front door — which it seems 
 a padlocked inside — we must get in to the- 
 back, through the gardin.'^ 
 
 " Get on, Dawson," says the Inspector 
 again, '^you're rather slow over it." 
 
 " Yes, sir, we was slow over it ; for the-
 
 INSPECTOR POLTER OE THE K DIVISION. 73 
 
 back door was as tight as the front, along 
 of a couple of bolts and a padlock. But at 
 last me and my mate broke open a closet 
 window, and pops in, up the staircase, and 
 there, just outside the door on the first 
 landing, lays a j)Oor old woman, all a 
 doubled up, like a sack on the door mat ; 
 and pretty vrell done for she was, with her 
 head broke in, and one arm all smashed to 
 ribands. The door was wide open, and in 
 we goes ; there was poor old Sam Hastings 
 a stretched out on the bed, all his clothes 
 on, his pockets turned inside out, and his 
 throat cut to that degree that the bed- 
 clothes Avas steepled in it, and he a holdin' 
 fast to his blue bac^ like a wice with one 
 hand, and a bit of velveteen with the other. 
 All the things a chucked about the room, 
 and a razor on the floor, and a barber's 
 white apron, name a marked in the corner
 
 74 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 '^How do you know it was a barber's 
 apron?" 
 
 "Pockets in front, sir, for combs and scis- 
 sors, and tv/o shaving cloths in the pockets ; 
 and K 75 reports he saAv little Bob Winnecot 
 a coming through Titcomb Square — that's 
 close by — that very afternoon, about 6 p.m." 
 
 "Anything more, Dawson?" 
 
 " No sir, nothin' more, except that the 
 old man had got this 'ere piece o' cloth 
 with a button on it, clenched tight in one 
 hand, and Jem Danks and Miky have both 
 bin on the spree mostly since the day before 
 yesterday, and just now are rather scarce." 
 
 " They must be in hand, Dawson, in time 
 for the magistrate to-morrow morning. 
 Meanwhile, give me the piece of cloth and 
 button; now go down to Winnecot's at 
 Belton Street, get a clean face, and just look 
 about you quietly. We shall want that 
 little old man in the morning, the first
 
 INSPECTOR POLTER OF THE K DIVISION. 75 
 
 thing, that's clear; and tell No. 78 he must 
 look to it, that Winnecot doesn't leave the 
 shop to-night without being seen to. It's 
 78'sbeat, I think. I'll go down and see 
 Mr. Beak myself, and have the warrant 
 ready for the morning." 
 
 Then Mr. Inspector Polter ordered a 
 Hansom to be called; jumped in, and drove 
 down to Barton Rise, where Mr. Beak, the 
 magistrate, had a private residence. 
 
 Old Bob Winnecot, still a good deal 
 out of sorts, and with his hand rather 
 shaky, duly lathered and shaved Sergeant 
 Dawson late that evening. He was a 
 favourite with most of the Force, was the 
 old man, and enjoyed a chat with them as 
 men in authority. That night, however, 
 he did his work slowly, heavily, and with 
 none of his usual gossip. A few words 
 about the old man missing at the Manor 
 House was all he did say. He w^as not
 
 76 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 himself at all. In fact, he cut the Sergeant's 
 left cheek, and boggled a good deal in get- 
 ting a bit of nap to stick to the sore place. 
 
 " Why, you're down in the mouth, Bob, to- 
 nightjit seems. What's the matter with you ? 
 Is it you or your tools that's out of order?" 
 
 "He ain't hisself," says Sarah, from a 
 corner where she sat stitching a front; 
 " not at all hisself, and he ain't bin, either, 
 this last two days, Mr. Sergeant." 
 
 '' I'm sorry for that, ma'am," says the 
 wdly Dawson. " Now what is it? anything 
 wrong in his insides ? There's a heap o' 
 new cholera cases, I'm told, up the court 
 to-day. He ain't partial to plums, is he?" 
 
 "No, no," replies the lady. "Bless you, 
 he ain't given to that style o' thing ! he 
 ain't a gorgin' man, isn't Winnecot. Thank 
 goodness, it's not the dieria I 'opes; but 
 he ain't hisself, this two days past ; and so 
 I says to Mrs. Flobby, No. 27 ; away for
 
 INSPECTOR POLTEll OF THE K DIVISION. 77 
 
 hours upon hours, too, and he a married 
 man, I says !" 
 
 "Oh, Bob," says the Sergeant quietly, 
 turning his eye upon the married man as 
 he stood strapping his razor on a leather 
 strap fastened to the wall. "Oh! Bob, 
 you're getting a sly bird, I'm afraid. Out 
 for hours upon hours, eh?" 
 
 But to this Bob made no audible reply 
 at first, and then rather slowly and sulkily, 
 *' Well, yes, I was out for hours, and I s'pose 
 a man must go out and attend to his biz- 
 ness, if his wife 'ave got a longish tongue." 
 
 " Not to kip his poor wife a sitting up 
 for 'im, late o' nights, though, Winnecot; 
 and wonderin' what*s become of her poor 
 dear husband ! I didn't know, for my part, 
 there was much shaving went on after 
 dark." 
 
 " Well," replies the barber, "it's a goodish 
 bit after dark now, Sergeant, and shaving
 
 78 GERALD HASTINGS, 
 
 ain't done yet, you see ; and there's so many 
 out of the Force that come in after their 
 beat's over, and the Work'us job is allays- 
 arter supper." 
 
 '' You've hit me there, Bob," answered 
 Dawson, laughing heartily, and putting on 
 his hat; " keep yourself quiet, man, and go 
 to bed early. Good night; that's my ad- 
 vice." 
 
 At the corner of the street the Sergeant 
 met K 78. "He's there all right," he 
 whispered; ''but there's something queer 
 about the old barber, though I don't think 
 he had any hand in the job. But keep it 
 all dark, and look after your man." 
 
 " Well, Sarah," said the hapless Winne- 
 cot, as he put up the last shutter that 
 night, before retiring to rest, " I 'ope 
 you've got your mind a little more easier, 
 now as you've told all your sorrows to the 
 Force. I shall be the talk of the neigh-
 
 INSPECTOR POLTER OF THE K DIVISION. 79 
 
 bourhood to-morrow, I shall. What a 
 blessed thing it would be if females was a 
 born without tongues!" 
 
 The only reply to this mild reproof was 
 a torrent of tears, shed mainly over the 
 person of Master Dick Winnecot (their 
 youngest), who at that moment was trying 
 to extract some little nourishment out of 
 a blue-bag, which in his mother's distrac- 
 tion, he had caught up from a corner of 
 the room. 
 
 ''To think o' that, now," she added 
 after a pause, ''me that never opens my 
 mouth for hours together — me !" 
 
 For the last two hours she had been 
 pouring forth a continuous series of little 
 nagging remarks at the culprit, as often 
 as the shop was cleared of customers for 
 a moment; but the torrent was all in 
 vain. " It were as if he was made o' stone," 
 said Sarah. Provoke him to answer she
 
 80 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 could not. All lie said was — once — after 
 a long silence, " My dear, you'd make 
 your fortin at frighten in' away birds, you 
 w^ould ; a clackin' stick is notliin' to you, 
 nothin'." 
 
 Soon after this the trio retired to bed, 
 but two of them not, I fear, to rest; and 
 for a long hour and more Winnecot had 
 a bad time of it. The clacking stick was 
 close at his ear now, and sharper than 
 ever; and when broken sleep at last over- 
 took him, it was troubled with visions of 
 the Force, all waiting to be shaved, and of 
 razors that would not cut.
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 WHO HAS DONE IT? 
 
 " Look in his face and say if «,'uilt be there, 
 Or but the shadow of some sudden fear." 
 
 Passmoke. 
 
 VeR against No. 26, Beltoh 
 Street, on the other side of 
 the way, was the establishment 
 of Mr. Oliah Slodger. He was 
 a soft, pulpy, man, with a white flice; a little 
 Independent Baptist, and an undertaker in a 
 small way. In his shop windoAV, in front 
 of some planks of elm, was exhibited a 
 small coffin, about six inches long, lined 
 with dingy Avhite satin, and adorned with 
 gilt nails, typifying what Oliah could, if 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 called upon, do for the final comfort and 
 repose of the aristocracy who would go as 
 high as Twelve- fifteen^ for a sumptuous 
 and gorgeous entombment. Mr. Slodger 
 went over to Winnecot's every day, mostly 
 before work began, " to get a tidy face, as 
 was wanted in his profession, where looks 
 was everything." 
 
 Breakfast was hardly over the next 
 morning at 26, Belton Street, before eight 
 o'clock, and little Bob Winnecot rather 
 more like himself again, was called on to 
 operate on the expansive chin of friendly 
 Mr. Slodger; chatting meanwhile in his 
 usual fashion with two other customers, 
 who had also just dropped in. Sarah had 
 been merciful to him at breakfast, after his 
 black draught of the previous night, and 
 with her youngest child in her arms was 
 now busily superintending a small green- 
 grocery department of the shop which ex-
 
 WHO HAS DONE IT? 83 
 
 tended through an open window, and over 
 a section of the pavement. On a slanting 
 board were arranged a dozen or two cada- 
 verous looking bloaters, a few bunches of 
 scrubby watercress, and a sieve or two of 
 -dingy potatoes; and at the foot of the 
 ^lope a row of three shallow deal boxes 
 thus labelled : — 
 
 Eggs, 
 16 
 
 Fresh Eggs, 
 12 
 
 Other Eggs, 
 24 
 
 The idea of this ingenious division and 
 labelling was due to their excellent friend 
 Slodger, who argued very fairly as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 " If they wants fresh eggs, there they 
 are 12 a shilling; if they like to take their 
 chance we don't say nothing against eggs at 
 16 ; and if they ain't particular at all, why 
 there they are other eggs at 24. So you 
 can please all parties, Mrs. W." 
 
 6—2
 
 84 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 Slodger, after the manner of his kind, 
 had been dealing out to his few but eager 
 listeners the full details of the sudden de- 
 cease of a neighbouring pork-butcher, from 
 an attack of cholera on the previous 
 evening; ''and a werry handsome corpse 
 he'll make, I'm told." 
 
 "You see," said Slodger, "he was- 
 werry fond of his own country made 
 sossidires, which he made 'em himself 
 on the premises ; and his mother 
 was uncommonly hearty at her meals, 
 she sot long, she did — and hi& 
 father " 
 
 "In the pork line, too, sir — wasn't he?'^ 
 inquires Winnecot. 
 
 " Yes, both of 'cm the same perfession ; 
 and his father, you see, he was werry quick 
 over his meals, — and poor Dick, you see, he 
 took after both his parients. Threepounds,I've 
 heerd, he took for his regular allowance the
 
 WHO HAS DONE IT ? 85 
 
 night before — he did — of them werry 
 sossidges." 
 
 "Did he now?" said customer number 
 two, whose turn came next — very slowly — 
 *'did he now?" 
 
 " A heavy man to go off his perch so 
 suddint, Mr. Slodger?" 
 
 " Ah, you may say that — one minute 
 here, and the next — " 
 
 At this moment a strange silence sud- 
 denly crept over the shop, and the busy 
 gossip died out in a trice, as K 78, with a 
 slip of paper in his hand, walked very 
 quietly in, stepped up to the barber, tapped 
 him on the shoulder, and whispered half-a- 
 dozen words into his ear. 
 
 Whatever the w^ords were, AVinnecot, 
 when he heard them, turned^ pale, but 
 replied cheerily enough : 
 
 " All right, guv'nor, let me just finish off 
 tliis bit o' whisker, and Pm your man."
 
 86 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 Meanwhile, Sarah stood silent, in utter 
 and speechless astonishment, at the shop- 
 door. She was speechless, in fact, till her 
 husband, having slowly wiped and put 
 away his razor, took his hat down from the 
 peg and prepared to set out in obedience to 
 78's commands, then, at last,, she could no 
 longer keep quiet. 
 
 "0, good Lord, gentlemen," she cried out, 
 ^"what is he took for, and where to? 
 0, gentlemen, li you please!" 
 
 All the old man himself said, very quietly, 
 was — " Don't you worrit, Sarah ; you look 
 after the shop, and keep all straight till 
 dinner-time. I shall be back afore then." 
 
 " You needn't hold me," he added to 
 the officer: '^ I'll go quiet." 
 
 And accordingly away the two went 
 down Belton Street;: some of the neigh- 
 bours just coming: out to the doors as they 
 passed, to see who had been wanted at
 
 WHO HAS DONE IT ? 87 
 
 No. 26; but seeming to feel little surprise 
 or further care about the matter. 
 
 In ten minutes they were at the police- 
 court; and as the clock struck eleven, 
 Bob Winnecot stood in the dock in front of 
 Mr. Beak, to hear and answer the charge 
 brouo:ht ao^ainst him. 
 
 Of what the charge really was, he had 
 as yet heard nothing. All that K 78 
 replied to his inquiry had been, "You'll 
 hear all about it before long." Nor, when 
 they reached the police-court, was Mr. 
 Inspector Polter inclined to be much more 
 communicative. All he said was, *' All 
 right, my man ; you had better say nothing 
 now, Mr. Beak will be here before long and 
 then will be your time to speak, and to ask 
 any questions you like." 
 
 There were but few idlers in the court, 
 for the list of night charges was a short 
 one, and these being disposed of, Winnecot
 
 88 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 was at once brought in, and the statement 
 of the two sergeants (omitting all mention 
 of the razor and apron) was substantially 
 read over to him. 
 
 As the facts of the terrible murder 
 Avere one by one recounted by the wit- 
 nesses, the old man turned pale, and 
 plainly trembled with emotion. But he 
 made no comment until the dreary recital 
 was finished, and then fixing his eyes on 
 the presiding Magistrate, he called out in a 
 low, troubled voice : — 
 
 " good Lord ! good Lord ! I allays said 
 it would happen some day or other." 
 
 "What would happen?" inquired Mr. 
 Beak, in a calm clear voice, as if he were 
 merely asking the prisoner if the streets 
 were muddy, or if the wind had changed to 
 east. " What would happen ?" 
 
 " Why that they'd be down upon him 
 in one of his rounds."
 
 WHO HAS DONE IT ? SO 
 
 " Who would be downi upon liiin, and 
 w^hat for?" 
 
 " Some of that roughish lot in Barton's 
 Rents, sir." 
 
 " Did you ever know them threaten 
 him ?" 
 
 " Xever." 
 
 " AVhy did you think then, that this 
 would haj^pen some day ?" 
 
 " Because of his money.'^ 
 
 " Did he carry much money about wifli 
 him?" 
 
 " He never carried no money out with 
 him; but I've know'd him bring fifteen or 
 twenty pound home of a night." 
 
 " And how did he carry it ?" 
 
 '* In a canvas bag, in his trousers 
 pocket." 
 
 " You have seen this yourself, my man, 
 I suppose?'' 
 
 "No, I never seen it myself, but I
 
 90 
 
 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 knows it ; he's a told me of it many 
 a time, this twenty year an' more, the 
 next morniniT, when I come to shave 
 
 'CJ 
 
 Then there Was a pause for a few 
 minutes. Mr. Beak leaned back in his 
 comfortable, cushioned, seat of office, and 
 looked steadily at the barber's face, as the 
 buzzing whisper of the audience died out 
 into deep silence, and one could easily hear 
 the soft, measured tick of the clock above 
 the Magistrate's head. 
 
 '' Usher," said the calm voice, " let this 
 man be sworn." 
 
 Bob was accordingly sworn, ''to tell the 
 truth, the whole truth, and nothing but 
 the truth, so help him God." 
 
 " May I ask one question afore it goes 
 any further?" inquires the prisoner. 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " I should like to know why I was took
 
 WHO HAS DONE IT ? 91 
 
 this morniii'; and what all this 'ave got 
 to do witii me." 
 
 ^' Quite right, my man, and you shall 
 know directly. But before I tell you, 
 look up this way and listen to what I 
 have got to say to you. I hear from the 
 inspector, Winnecot, that you are well 
 known all round this neighbourhood, and 
 bear a good character. Now, before I tell 
 you why you are brought here, I am going 
 to ask you a few questions ; listen carefully, 
 remember your oath, and answer me care- 
 fully. A great deal depends on 3''our 
 answers to these questions. 
 
 "Now, Winnecot, when did you last see 
 Mr. HastingsJ^" 
 
 '^Last Friday, sir." 
 
 " Sure that you have not seen him 
 since ?" 
 
 " Quite.'' 
 
 "Where did you see him?"
 
 92 
 
 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 '^ When I went to shave 'im, at the 
 Manor 'ouse, at the regular tmie." 
 
 '' You went every clay — why did you not 
 go on Saturday?" 
 
 "I did go." 
 
 " Why did you not see him then?" 
 
 "He was gone before I come, and left 
 word with Sally that he could not wait for 
 me. It was them Sullivan s that he was 
 after." 
 
 " You know he was after them ; how did 
 you know this?" 
 
 " He told me so hisself, the day before ; 
 and that Mike was pounds behindhand." 
 
 "You thought then, it was likely he 
 would have money that night?" 
 
 " If he could got it out o' Mike, I know'd 
 he would." 
 
 " Well, my man, you seem to be speak- 
 ing fairly enough ; now listen to my next 
 question and speak out as truly — Where
 
 WHO HAS DO^'E IT ? 93 
 
 did you go after leaving the Manor 
 House on Saturday?" 
 
 " Straight home, sir, after a gossip with 
 Sally." 
 
 ''Sally! who is she?" 
 
 " Why, shelve a bin servant there, man 
 and boy, this forty year and more." 
 
 "Where next?" 
 
 "To Titcomb Square, No. 15; that's a 
 reglar o' mine." 
 
 " A regular customer, you mean,. I 
 suppose. WMl, where next?" 
 
 "To the Workus, which I always takes 
 a Saturday hevening." 
 
 " And after the Workhouse ?" 
 
 Up to this point the old man had an- 
 swered every question most readily ; with- 
 out a moment's hesitation ; but now he sud- 
 denly turned pale, and for a moment was 
 silent. 
 
 Once more came the question, in the
 
 94 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 same calm, clear voice : " Well, my man, 
 after the Workhouse, where next ?" 
 
 " That was my day's work, that was ; 
 home then, o' course." 
 
 " But you didn't get home till nearly ten 
 at night : you left the Workhouse, I find, at 
 seven, that's three hours. Where were you 
 all those three hours?" 
 
 " I'd rather not say, sir." 
 
 " But you must say, my man, or we shall 
 have to find some way of making you. I 
 warn you now, once more, that you had 
 better speak out at once." 
 
 This, however, was advice to which the old 
 man seemed to turn a deaf ear. He was still 
 silent, and apparently unwilling to speak. 
 
 " Once more, Winnecot, only once — 
 Where were you for those three hours?" 
 
 The old man rubbed his hands nervously 
 together, looked very hard at Sergeant 
 Dawson, but still made no reply whatever.
 
 WHO HAS DONE IT? 95 
 
 " Very well," said Mr. Beak. " Officer, 
 bring forward those tilings that were found 
 last night.'* 
 
 Whereupon, Dawson at once laid on the 
 table before the bench a barber's apron, 
 soiled with the marks of dh^ty feet, and a 
 few spots of blood, and a razor case, con- 
 taining two razors, one of which was still 
 deeply crusted with blackish stains both on 
 blade and handle. 
 
 The razor and the apron were presently, 
 by the Magistrate's order, handed to the 
 prisoner. 
 
 ''Do you know that apron, Winnecot?" 
 
 " I could swear to that and the razors, 
 anj^where, I'd take my 'solomon david.' " 
 
 " Never mind your solemn affidavit, my 
 man; you are on your oath, already. They 
 are yours, are they ? and 3^011 own them ?" 
 
 " Yes, I do own 'em, the whole lot." 
 
 "They were picked up last night, prisoner,
 
 96 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 on the floor of the room at 15, Turnstile 
 Street, where the murdered man was found 
 with his throat cut. How did they get 
 there?" 
 
 '' That's more than I can tell, sir, if I 
 talks on till Christmas-day." 
 
 "0 Lord!" he cried out, in amaze 
 ment, after a moment's pause, — "I 
 never took 'em there, that I'll swear to, 
 anyhow." 
 
 '' But who is to tell if you cannot ?" 
 inquires the stern voice of Mr. Beak. 
 " They are your property, and are found 
 close to the bed of the murdered man. 
 Did you give them to him, or how did 
 they get there ? '' 
 
 To this inquiry, as before, the pri- 
 soner's only answer was a stubborn 
 silence. 
 
 "A^ery well," said Mr. Beak, ''remove 
 the prisoner. I remand him till eleven to-
 
 WHO HAS DONE IT? 97 
 
 morrow morning. By that time, perhaps, 
 lie will have come to his senses." 
 
 But these terrible words brought the 
 wretched little man to his senses at 
 once. 
 
 " Sir/' he cried out in a sudden panic, 
 ^' let me speak now. I'll tell all I knows." 
 
 Mr. Beak resumed his seat; and then 
 slowdy, bit by bit, the following string of 
 facts was elicited from the still reluctant 
 prisoner. 
 
 He had gone to Titcomb Square, as be- 
 fore stated, thence to the Workhouse ; and 
 after that was on his way home through 
 one of the back streets, when a man walking 
 in front of him suddenly stooped and 
 picked up a purse from the pavement, and 
 immediately asked him — Winnecot — to go 
 halves. This Winnecot at first declined; 
 but at last was persuaded to go into a 
 public-house with his unknown friend, and 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 drink to his health in a glass of rum-and- 
 water. Glass the first was followed by- 
 glass the second, and that by another ; after 
 which the miserable old man owned, with 
 tears in his eyes, that he had no notion at 
 all of what took place. '^ He had eat 
 no wictuals all day," he said, " and the rum 
 was too many for him. He got somehow 
 into a crowd of chaps in a back slum, his 
 bag, razors and all, was snatched away, his 
 hat knocked all to bits, his pockets turned 
 inside out, and his clothes covered with 
 muck;" and all he knew further was that 
 St. Patrick's was a striking nine-thirty 
 just as he at last got to the corner of 
 Belton Street. 
 
 Mr. Beak looked very grave and rather 
 incredulous, as he heard this story. 
 
 " Did you know any of the fellows who 
 robbed you ? Could you swear to any one 
 of them,, if you saw him again ?"
 
 WHO HAS DONE IT? 99 
 
 " I could swear to Miky Sullivan's face ; 
 least ways, I thinks so." 
 
 " Thinking so is not of much use ; but, did 
 you tell this to the first policeman you met ?" 
 
 ^'Tell a Bobby?" said the prisoner, 
 " where could ever the likes o' me find a 
 Bobby, sir? Bless your honour, Bobbies 
 always kips out of sich rows as this, till 
 they're all over, and somebody's wanted. 
 I never see one Bobby all the blessed way 
 home, as I knows of." 
 
 " Did you tell your wife, then, when you 
 got home ?" 
 
 "Well, nc, I can't say I did; you see, sir, 
 she is a werry orkard female to deal with, 
 is my Sarah. If I'd a let her know that I 
 'ad bin bamboozled into a public 'ouse, and 
 arter that bin bonneted, 'ad my pockets 
 turned out, and my bag tore out o' my 
 'ands, I shouldn't 'ave 'ad a day's peace for 
 weeks to come." 
 
 7—2
 
 100 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 *' You never mentioned this affair to a 
 policeman, or told your wife when you got 
 home," said patient Mr. Beak, willing to 
 give him another chance. " Did you tell any 
 one else, any friend, or neighbour, since 
 that Saturday night? Think now." 
 
 But in reply to this inquiry, the little 
 Barber, now thoroughly alarmed, could do 
 nothing but repeat his former statement. 
 He had seen no policeman, he had told 
 no one at home, and not one among his 
 neighbours. " Sarah," he added, " could 
 swear that he come home covered with 
 mud, and his pockets hempty." 
 
 " It is very unfortunate for you, Robert 
 Winnecot, that you did not tell what had 
 happened to some one or other of your ac- 
 quaintance. Your story of being robbed 
 and ill treated may be all true, or all false. 
 At any rate, I cannot undertake to be- 
 lieve it as now laid before me ; and until
 
 WHO HAS DONE IT? 101 
 
 I know something more as to how your 
 bag and razors got into that room we 
 cannot part with you. Prisoner, you 
 are remanded until to-morrow, at eleven." 
 
 " Remove him. He may see his 
 friends." 
 
 " Polter," said the Magistrate, *'you had 
 better telegraph at once to all the London 
 Stations, that a velveteen coat is wanted for 
 that button." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 That night there was deep lamentation 
 at ^6, Belton Street; but about seven in 
 the evening, having shut up the shop, with 
 Master Dick in her arms unhappy Sarah 
 presented herself at the station-house, and 
 had a short and very watery interview with 
 the prisoner. 
 
 But Bob bore it bravely, and it was over 
 at last. He still charged his wife, *^ not to 
 worrit, as it would all come right" — kissed
 
 102 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 his little son Dick, but broke down in 
 saying good-night, into a flood of childish 
 tears. 
 
 The next morning the solemn lamenta- 
 tions in Belton Street were deeper than 
 ever. In The Daily Tearer the " orkard 
 female to deal with," read a full and 
 graphic account of what had taken place 
 before Mr. Beak on the previous day. The 
 paragraph was intended to be highly sen- 
 sational, and was headed " The Adventures 
 of a Barber." 
 
 As she rocked herself to and fro in her 
 paroxysms of grief, she murmured to her- 
 self — " I'm an orkard female, am I ! 
 dear, dear !"
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 MIKY SULLIVAN IS WANTED. 
 
 " Wanted is he ? 
 Then, let them seek and search, 
 If he be worth the findmg." 
 
 Fenton. 
 
 HE inquest followed quickly 
 upon the Magistrate's exami- 
 nation; and without much 
 difficulty a verdict was soon 
 returned, of " Wilful murder against some 
 person or persons unknown^ Then after one 
 or two more remands from day to day, and 
 the production of a few more elaborate trifles 
 of evidence by the police, the poor little 
 barber was released; having found good
 
 104 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 and substantial bail for his appearance if 
 again wanted. He had stuck manfully 
 to his first story of having been half- 
 garotted and robbed of his money and 
 shaving bag; and no less closely and truth- 
 fully to his first statement that he knew 
 nothing whatever of the murder, nor how 
 his apron and razors ever got into the room 
 of the murdered man. 
 
 The police still looked at him with 
 hungry eyes; but could say nothing 
 against him. They frequented his shop 
 much as usual, at nights, though they paid 
 pretty dearly for their audacity; Bob's 
 hand having taken up an odd trick of 
 getting shaky as it passed over the delicate 
 corners of chin and cheek, and inflicting a 
 sharp touch of cold steel. 
 
 "I don't know how it is, sergeant," he 
 would say, "but whenever one of the force 
 comes in, Pm all of a quandary like, and
 
 MIKY SULLIVAN IS WANTED. 105 
 
 as sure as fate I gives 'em a nick, just 
 where there's a pimple, or a scrubly place. 
 'Tis queer, ain't it, sergeant? my 'and 'as 
 never bin right ever since them two nights 
 in the station." 
 
 But when the sergeant was gone, he 
 would say to his w^ife with a quiet twinkle 
 in his eye, — 
 
 '^ Sarah, I don't think I shall ever give 
 one o' them chaps a clean face again, with- 
 out my razor somehow making a mess of 
 it." 
 
 To which came the invariable reply — 
 
 "0, Bob, whatever you do, don't have 
 no secrets agin, tho' 'tis from a horkard 
 female, and me a lone woman with three 
 blessed children." 
 
 After which little passage of arms there 
 would come a short interval of peaceful 
 calm, until the arrival of the next cus- 
 tomer.
 
 106 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 The old man's state of rapture, when he 
 had at last make his escape from Mr, Beak's 
 tender mercies, and once more returned to 
 Belton Street, had been almost too much 
 for him. For his final examination had 
 been a very brief one, and his release 
 sudden, so that he took his disconsolate wife 
 and children altogether unawares. As he en- 
 tered the welhknown little shop (still avail- 
 able during his absence for hair-cutting), he 
 had caught up little Dick from his usual 
 crawling voyage on the floor, and before 
 she was fairly aware of his presence had 
 inflicted a hearty kiss on the lips of Sarah, 
 who with very watery eyes and shaky 
 fingers, was trying to stitch a front, in her 
 usual corner. 
 
 Then the other two children had rushed 
 out upon him from the little parlour behind 
 the shop, and after being nearly smothered 
 with kisses from them, and driven crazy
 
 MIKY SULLIVAN IS WANTED. 107 
 
 with questions from their mother; the old 
 man was glad to sit down in the regular 
 shaving arm-chair, and try to look uncon- 
 cerned before the arrival of the next cus- 
 tomer. But, it was very hard to keep still, 
 and in another moment he was at his 
 usual place by the fireside, strapping a 
 razor with all his might, as if he had never 
 left the old shop for a day. Then by de- 
 grees his mind grew calmer; he got once 
 more inured to the sound of Sarah's voice, 
 to the cries of children in the neighbour- 
 ing gutter, and the wiry song of two cana- 
 ries in the dingy window of his old friend 
 Slodger across the road. And so he glided 
 slowly back into his old life, and then began 
 to wake up not only to the sense of his OAvn 
 safety, but to the miserable and bloody 
 death of his old master at Barton Manor 
 House. For many a long month this 
 haunted him, night and day. Meanwhile,
 
 108 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 Miky Sullivan and Jem Danks were 
 both wanted, but neither was to be found. 
 
 The full details of the coroner's inquest 
 had appeared in all the daily papers, the 
 verdict was known far and wide through 
 London, and the police, sanguine of profes- 
 sion as usual, loudly declared that the real 
 criminals would be in the hands of justice 
 forthwith. 
 
 The Daily Tearer was Mr. Thorn s paper, 
 so that the terrible news was at once known 
 at Barton Villa, and there formed the sub- 
 ject of many a discussion and dialogue, of 
 which there is no need to notice more than 
 a few words that befell on tlie first 
 morning. 
 
 " One thing is quite clear," said the 
 lawyer, " as he finished reading the 
 column in The Daily Tearer to his wife and 
 daughter. '' One thing is quite clear — I 
 must write to those two unhappy boys at
 
 MIKY SULLIVAN IS WANTED. 109 
 
 school. Luckily I have their address; and 
 whatever the Will is, they must leave 
 school now and come up at all events to 
 their father's funeral. "^ 
 
 Then he added to his wife, after a mo- 
 ment's pause, " As soon as my letters are 
 despatched, I must be off to the Manor 
 House, so that I shall not be at home till 
 late. Dinner at Seven." 
 
 Then Mr. Thorn went down into his 
 study, and worked steadily with pen ami 
 ink for an hour; one of his letters being 
 addressed to "Antony Hastings, Esq., 
 Cogsford House, Cogsford, Lincolnshire." 
 Having put them into the hall letter-box, 
 he set oif at once to the Manor House; 
 and there found poor old Sally Hill sit- 
 ting by the kitchen fire in a state of utter 
 and uncontrollable lamentation. The old 
 woman was alone in the house, and 
 doubly alone in the dingy kitchen. But
 
 110 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 at tlie sound of the lawyer's steps as he 
 entered the door, she suddenly started up, 
 and cried out — 
 
 ^' (j sir, is there any news of the 
 ruffians that done it?" 
 
 " None, Sally, that I know of, but the 
 police are hard at work, and say they are 
 sure of them before the week's out. So 
 make your mind easy.'' 
 
 •' I only wish I 'ad the hangin' of 'em, 
 sir. 
 
 " I wish you had, Sally ; though hanging 
 is much too good for them — much too 
 good. But, Sally, this bitter weather you 
 ought to allow yourself a morsel more fire 
 in the grate than this wretched scrap. 
 You are dying of cold, here. Come along 
 upstairs with me, and bring some wood 
 with you to light up a good fire in the 
 master's room. I bave to look round, 
 and just seal up all the drawers and cup-
 
 MIKY SULLIVAN IS WANTED. Ill 
 
 boards till the young masters come 
 home.'' 
 
 ''''Fire upstairs ?^^ inquired the old woman. 
 " He never allowed two fires a goin' at the 
 same time. 1 only kep mine a burnin*^ 
 such times as the master was out on his 
 day's tramp. I couldn't do it, sir, that I 
 couldn't. The sticks wouldn't light." 
 
 " Oh yes they would, Sally. Hand 
 them over to me now, while you go and 
 get a shovelful of coals ; and we will havt 
 a good fire in a twinkle. I have a deal to 
 talk about, and you will have your hands 
 full enough of work to-night, getting ready 
 for Mr. Antony and Gerald." 
 
 There was no standing against such an 
 appeal as this. So in a few minutes a 
 good fire was blazing in the old miser'& 
 desolate grate; such a fire as had not 
 burned in it for many a long year. 
 
 Mr. Thorn had a shrewd brain, and a
 
 112 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 keen eye. By looking carefully about, he 
 soon found that not a single scrap of 
 paper, or any other like property, had been 
 left out by the master on his last fatal 
 exit from the house ; and a question or 
 two to the old woman convinced him that 
 everything of value was under lock and 
 key. 
 
 " He never left nothin' about, he didn't, 
 no, not so much as a ha'porth o' paper, nor 
 a farden o' money. He paid all the bills 
 hisself every week, and knowed to a stiver 
 w^hat everythink cost. Coals was the on'y 
 thing he didn't keep under lock and key. 
 ' They can't eat the coals,' he says, ' and I 
 know 3'ou w^on't burn, 'em Sally;' and as 
 for wood, one bundle a week was the werry 
 outside of it." 
 
 " Well, well, Sally,'' replies the Lawyer, 
 "now come here and look at me while I seal 
 up all these drawers and cupboards. In a
 
 MIKY SULLIVAN IS WANTED. 113 
 
 couple of days, no doubt, both the young 
 men will be here ; and till they come with 
 me, nobody must touch anything in this 
 room or house. I can trust you, I 
 know. Meanwhile, get a charwoman in to 
 help you, and you two set to work and 
 clear out this room ; bring down a chair 
 or two from upstairs, and get ready a 
 couple of bedrooms. If you w^ant more 
 money for anything, come to me; mean- 
 while there's a couple of pounds for you. So 
 set to work at once. Open the windows, 
 air the beds, and make up good fires every- 
 where. I shall look in again to-morrow." 
 
 Having thus roused the old woman into 
 new life again with the idea of work — and 
 work for a Hastings — Mr. Thorn, having 
 warmed his hands cheerily at the crackling 
 fire, put on his hat, and made his way into 
 Lincoln's Inn as fast as a cab would take 
 him. 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 All this time, I regret to say, my hero is 
 waiting to make his appearance on the 
 stage, as my readers no doubt think that 
 he ought long ago to have done ; and, I 
 confess, not without good reason. But I 
 must still beg their indulgence for a little 
 while longer, and try to clear the stage a 
 little more for him, before he and his 
 brother come up from Lincolnshire where 
 they still are, little knowing of the letter 
 already on its way to greet them on the 
 coming morrow. 
 
 I began this chapter by saying that 
 Miky Sullivan was wanted; and he and his 
 companion were still wanted for many an 
 ensuing day, until the murder of Sam 
 Hastings, the miser of Barton Manor, was 
 entirely blotted out by a fresh and more 
 horrible tragedy in Shoreditch. All there- 
 fore that has to be told of this matter, had 
 better be told at once, and as briefly as
 
 MIKY SULLIVAN IS WANTED, 115 
 
 may be. At last, then, as all interest in 
 the murder had begun to die away, a short 
 paragraph appeared in the Evening papers, 
 saying that the two notorious criminals for 
 whom the police had been so long on the 
 look out, had been both captured at a 
 Thieves' Kitchen in Whitechapel; that 
 Danks wore a velveteen coat, which had 
 been recently mended at the back, and 
 both would be brought before the Magis- 
 trate the next morning. But the next 
 morning, alas ! only proved that the news- 
 paper report was little better than pure 
 fiction. The velveteen coat was of the 
 wrong colour ; and not a tittle of evidence 
 could be brought against either man that 
 he had any hand in the murder, or in the 
 assault upon the barber. Winnecot, when 
 brought into court, was unable to swear 
 positively to either of them. All he could 
 say was that he thought they were among 
 
 8-2
 
 116 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 the mob of ruffians who set on him, but he 
 was not able to identify them. After some 
 further examination, Mr. Sullivan coolly 
 admitted that he was among the crowd^ 
 but had nothing to do with the assault. 
 No money was found upon him or his com- 
 panion, nor any of the dead man's pro- 
 pert}^, and both prisoners wound up by 
 also freely admitting that they had got out 
 of the way when they heard that the police 
 were after them. 
 
 Mr. Beak, therefore, had no alternative 
 but to release both the accused ; much to 
 the chagrin of the police, and the indigna- 
 tion of The Daily Tearer^ which asserted 
 fiercely the next morning that "The 
 fountain of justice in England was no 
 longer clear and untarnished as it had once 
 been ; that the strong arm of the law had 
 become weak, and its officers a mockery 
 and a sham."
 
 MIKY SULLIVAN IS WANTED. 117 
 
 A month later, a notorious East-end 
 burglar, well-known as " Tom the Dust- 
 man," was triumphantly brought before 
 Mr. Beak, and charged with having a hand 
 in the double murder which had so long 
 defied the K division to unravel. Both 
 buttons were now found to be wanting at 
 the back of his velveteen coat, but alas! 
 beyond all doubt that coat had never been 
 cut or torn, and therefore not mended. 
 The Dustman was proved to have been 
 professionally and profitably engaged in 
 several neat burglaries in the immediate 
 neighbourhood of Barton Green during 
 previous years; and more than suspected 
 of having had something to do with a still 
 neater case of recent garotting; and, be- 
 sides, he was a friend of Jem Danks and 
 Sullivan. But beyond this, not a grain 
 of available evidence was to be had ; and 
 the Dustman was released, as his "pals" had
 
 118 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 been, with a strong caution from Mr. Beak^ 
 and many black looks from Mr. Inspector 
 Polter. 
 
 The detective police were once more at 
 fault; the K division at Barton Green had 
 exhausted all their resources; Inspector 
 Polter, who always came to 26, Belton 
 Street for a clean face on Saturday evenings, 
 maintained a stony silence when the sub- 
 ject of Miky Sullivan turned up; and 
 the murder of old Sam Hastings the miser 
 drifted slowly away into the great cloud of 
 undetected crime in Babylon. Year after 
 year that mighty cloud increases in magni- 
 tude and in horror, one more iota to the 
 the huge darkness could matter little,
 
 CHAPTER YIIL 
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 " Bound fast by name and blow, yet wide apart 
 The two appeared ; and yet were brothers." 
 
 Haepee's Quest. 
 
 UR scene changes abruptly, 
 from the smoky domains of 
 London, to the quiet, green 
 fields of Lincolnshire. Everyone, 
 in these fast days, knows the quiet village 
 of Cogsford, so there is no need to describe 
 its exact situation. A hundred years ago it 
 was in the midst of a dreary waste of fen 
 country. Now it is in the heart of fair 
 green meadows, meadows dotted and 
 fringed with goodly trees ; rather flat, yet
 
 120 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 still broken into pleasant outlines by two 
 or three winding streams, and abundance 
 of leafy hedgerows. The village itself, 
 mostly of small cottages, is scattered in ir- 
 regular patches on either side of a long 
 winding main street, and crowned by the 
 grey tower of the church. Here and there, 
 half a mile off, lie some half-dozen snug 
 farm-houses, shut in by rich pasture lands, 
 and showing many quiet signs of wealth 
 and comfort. Altogether, Cogsford num- 
 bers some twelve hundred inhabitants, and 
 can boast of a Mechanics' Institute, a 
 resident engineer, Mr. Tom Driver, a great 
 friend and ally of one Gerald Hastings ; a 
 Doctor, and a Lawyer, who by the way does 
 most of his work at Boston, the noble 
 tower of which thriving town you can with 
 a good glass make out above the trees on 
 the furthest edge of the horizon. But law 
 is looked upon as an expensive luxury,
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 121 
 
 and the professor has an idle time of it so 
 far as Cogsford is concerned. 
 
 Cogsford House, the residence of Mr. 
 Limber the schoolmaster, is situated at the 
 extreme end of the village, just where the 
 sluggish waters of the canal take a curve 
 away to the right among the green hedge- 
 rows, and not far from Digby Wood and 
 its famous covert for foxes. There is a 
 path along by the side of the river, and 
 thousrh the mornino: air is cold and unin- 
 viting as yet, two young men are just now 
 sauntering idly along that path, and talk- 
 ing as if they really had something to say. 
 The shorter of the two is Antony Hastings, 
 a sturdy, thickset, well-made youth, with a 
 broad manly face, and white well-formed 
 teeth, a kindly and yet hard expression, yet 
 perhaps with more of the skin of the bear 
 than Bruin's temper. Gerald, the younger 
 brother walking by his side, is clearly more
 
 122 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 refined and delicate in look, with thin 
 sensitive nostrils, bright brown eyes, and a 
 curly wave in his rather reddish hair ; shy 
 and diffident at first, yet with strong 
 tenacity of purpose stamped on every 
 feature. Pliant, yet self-willed, easily led, 
 but not to be driven. Terribly resolute 
 when once he has made up his mind ; and 
 yet to be touched by a single kindly word 
 or look of love. 
 
 Brothers, as a rule, rarely waste much 
 love on each other; and until cast head- 
 long out into the battle of life, where their 
 lines of thought and interest diverge, are 
 often little more than friends, unless God 
 has gifted both Avith the blessing of pure 
 unselfishness. But years of isolation had 
 done much for these two young men, and 
 common suffering had drawn them closer 
 together than they would otherwise have 
 been ; and though the channels of thought,
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 123 
 
 action, and interest, were taboth, as yet, 
 much alike and often identical, they really 
 had a true regard for each other. 
 
 '' Where is your letter from, Tony ? 
 Don't rush on at such an awful pace. 
 There's an hour before the dinner bell 
 rings yet, and plenty of time for a good 
 stretch." 
 
 " By Jove, I had forgotten I had a letter 
 all this time. I saw old Limber's eyes on 
 the watch, the moment I took it up at 
 breakfast, and so I slipped it into my 
 pocket at once. Here it is — Post-mark, 
 Barton Green — strange handwriting, and 
 black seal. It's not the Lord of the Manor's 
 hand, unless he has been taking lessons in 
 his old age, and there is no one else to write." 
 
 "Open it, man, open it," said Gerald; 
 ** any news is good in this wilderness of a 
 place." 
 
 "Gerald my young friend," replies the
 
 124 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 elder of the two, mimicking old Limber's 
 voice and manner — '^ my young friend, do 
 not be impatient ; as soon as my pipe is 
 fairly alight, I will open and expound to 
 thee." 
 
 The pipe was soon lighted, the letter 
 torn hastily open, and as they sauntered on 
 by the river side, Tony began to read to 
 himself. Suddenly he cried out — 
 
 '' Good God, Jerry, the old man is dead!'* 
 And then, in breathless silence, the two 
 read as follows ; 
 
 '^My dear Sir, 
 
 " You will be surprised and 
 shocked to receive this letter from one 
 who can scarcely be known to you more 
 than by name; but not more surprised or 
 shocked than I am grieved to have such 
 sad tidings to communicate. As far as I am 
 iiware, you have no relations whose special
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 125 
 
 duty it would have been to discharge the 
 office which now devolves upon me ; and I 
 — having been but recently appointed guar- 
 dian to yourself and your brother, Mr. 
 Gerald Hastings, in case of your father's 
 death — suddenly find myself called upon to 
 act. The full particulars of his death I 
 hope to communicate to you in person very 
 shortly ; but I must add that it was both 
 sudden and terrible. 
 
 "I enclose notes to the value of £10, 
 (ten pounds), to defray the expenses of 
 your journey, and beg that you will lose 
 no time in explaining to the gentleman 
 under whose care you now are, the cause of 
 your sudden summons to London, and for 
 coming direct to my house before proceed- 
 ing to Barton Manor. 
 
 " Faithfully yours, 
 
 '' J. Thorn. 
 
 " To Antony Hastings, Esq., &c."
 
 126 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 For a moment or two after they had 
 finished, not a word was said. Tony still 
 held the letter in his hand, and was look- 
 ing steadily and firmly down at the river as 
 it flowed slowly past, with unmoved face. 
 Gerald had turned away from his brother, 
 and gazing dreamily at the horizon, was 
 calling up dim visions of home at the old 
 Manor House, and of the last time he had 
 seen his father. Insensibly his eyes filled 
 with tears ; and though he spoke not a single 
 word, he was deeply moved. The meaning 
 of the words Father and Home they had 
 scarcely ever known. Both had been ruled 
 over for years by a hard ruler, by his express 
 will banished from home, and placed in the 
 hands of a rough country schoolmaster, 
 who, though he taught the Eton grammar 
 well, had little else to recommend him. 
 Both had longed earnestly for freedom, and 
 had determined to have it at any cost.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 127 
 
 Now it w^as theirs without a struggle. 
 They would be in London the next day, 
 absolutely free. So suddenly had it be- 
 fallen them, that for a moment the chains 
 seemed tighter than before. 
 
 " We had better turn back, Gerald, and 
 tell Limber at once. He will be in an awful 
 state of mind, of course ; but I shall start 
 by the first train in the morning, if not to- 
 night." 
 
 " How many years is it, Tony, since we* 
 saw the old man ?'* 
 
 '* Oh ! more than I can count, a whole 
 age ; and I believe he thought he was never 
 going to die, at least, old Sally told me so, 
 many and many a time. Do you remember 
 her ? and the barber, the little old fashioned 
 beggar in the shiny black coat ?" 
 
 But Gerald made no answer, and again 
 they w^alked on in silence. 
 
 "I say, Gerald," continued the same
 
 128 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 hard, clear voice, " whatever the Will is, I 
 promise you you shall have a fair share ; 
 and he must have made a will, I suppose. 
 If not, there wdll be a pretty kettle of fish ; 
 though I never heard of a single living rela- 
 tion. Uncle Jack's son was the last of 
 them, and he enlisted and died of the yel- 
 low fever, years and years ago, before we 
 got sent down into this lonely hole of a 
 place." And then, after a pause — " Never 
 mind, Gerald, never mind; it's all over now. 
 We shall both be well oiF, that's one bless- 
 ing." 
 
 " Yes, yes, Tony — but, for mercy's sake 
 don't let us begin about the question of 
 money — at least till the old man is quietly 
 in his grave." 
 
 '^ What will your friend Tom Driver 
 say, Gerald, when he hears this news? 
 Shall you tell him ?" 
 
 " No, I shall write from town, I think.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 120 
 
 There is no time to call now, and bad 
 news is sure to fly fast enough." 
 
 *' Anyhow, there's an end to all your 
 notions of being an engineer's clerk, in this 
 miserable wilderness. By Jove, we shall 
 be in London by this time to-morrow." 
 
 There was little more said after this, and 
 in ten minutes they had reached Cogsford 
 House, where, to Mr. Limber's utter amaze- 
 ment, they laid before him the lawyer's 
 letter. This opened the schoolmaster'^ 
 eyes in a trice, and he saw at a glance that 
 his reign ^vas at an end; that the two 
 brothers had ceased to be school-boys and 
 become men. He acted accordingly. Every 
 facility was offered for their immediate 
 departure. A fly was hired to catch the 
 express train, and in less than two hours 
 they were on their way to town. 
 
 " As soon as afikirs are settled, Mr. Lim- 
 ber," said Antony, "I will write to you 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 from Barton Manor. Now, Gerald, come 
 along." 
 
 With these words the pupils and their 
 schoolmaster parted. Bondage was over, 
 freedom was to begin. 
 
 As the train speeds on swift wings to 
 London we must outstrip it, and see what 
 is going on at Barton Villa, where the 
 arrival of the young travellers was hourly 
 expected. 
 
 Mrs. and Miss Thorn sat at work in a 
 small inner drawing-room, from the window 
 of which one could get a glance over the 
 neighbouring meadows behind the house. 
 But it was now quite dusk, and the crimson 
 curtains were drawn; the fire crackled 
 pleasantly and brightly in the grate, and 
 cast little glowing touches of light on the 
 book-cases which lined the room, along the 
 floor, as well as on some bright and pretty 
 nick-nacks on the tables. It was a quiet
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 131 
 
 and dainty room, everywhere showing trace 
 of womanly care and taste. The two ladies 
 were dressed for dinner, and in all respects 
 ready to entertain the two stranger guests 
 as soon as they arrived. The elder lady 
 was devoting herself, heart and soul, to 
 crochet ; the younger, with far less ardour, 
 to the mysteries of tatting. 
 
 " I hope they will not come before papa 
 arrives." 
 
 " That wont matter much, mamma ; but 
 it is uncertain whether they will come to- 
 day at all. All papa knew was, that 
 they would get his letter this morning — 
 telling them what had happened, and 
 begging them to come here, if possible, for 
 to-night. They may not come till to- 
 morrow, after all. And it doesn't matter 
 much, as I said." 
 
 " Yes, my dear, I think it matters a great 
 deal, when you remember that they are
 
 132 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 both strangers to us, and both here not 
 under the pleasantest of circumstances. 
 Your father is the proper person to intro- 
 duce them to us." 
 
 " Oh ! I remember them both pretty 
 well.'' 
 
 " My dear Amy, how can you ! — they 
 were boys then — mere boys. They are 
 young men now." 
 
 "Barely, mamma, barely. And boys 
 just turned young men are more easily 
 amused and managed than mere youngsters 
 fresh from school. They will be as sober, 
 well-behaved, and demure as a couple of 
 parlour-boarders on leave-day." 
 
 "But, my dear child, I tell you that 
 they are young men, not boys." 
 
 "So much the better; one young lady 
 is quite able to entertain two young 
 men. I can talk to one about the 
 beauties of Milton, and the other I must
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 133 
 
 flirt a little with, and make his brother 
 jealous." 
 
 At this moment came a ring at the gate, 
 then a well known step in the hall, and 
 then a well known face at the door, just as 
 Mrs. Thorn was exclaiming — 
 
 " Don't forget, Amy, I beg, the mournful 
 occasion that has called them to London — 
 when you talk of flirting." 
 
 "The very best thing she can do, my 
 dear," says the master of the house; "hi 
 moderation, of course — in moderation. I 
 hardly know what the youngsters will be 
 like, but it's sad news I have to tell them — 
 and there's the funeral only two days ofi*; 
 so that a cheery word or two, and a pair 
 of bright eyes to shine on them, will be 
 welcome enough. The news I shall not 
 tell them until after dinner." 
 
 " Papa always takes your part, Amy ; 
 but, John my dear, do go and dress at
 
 134 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 once, or they will surely be here before you 
 are ready." 
 
 So Mr. Thorn went to dress, and crochet 
 and tattmg once more reigned supreme. 
 
 He had scarcely returned to the drawing- 
 room, when a cab drew up at the gate, and 
 the travellers were announced. Strange 
 to say, both seemed quite at home, and 
 perfectly at ease ; chatting freely till 
 the first bell rang, and then going up to 
 their room as naturally as if their habit for 
 years. 
 
 " I have put you both into one room," 
 said their host, going before them; ''you 
 don't fight much, I suppose." 
 
 "Not by night," replied Tony: "and 
 after a good dinner we are the best of 
 friends — are we not, Gerald?" 
 
 " Well, you shall have a slice of mutton 
 and a glass of good sherry ; more I cannot 
 promise you. The second bell sounds in
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 135 
 
 ten minutes; inean while, ring for Avhat you 
 want." 
 
 " My dear Amy," said the little lawyer, 
 when he got back to the drawing-room, 
 "there is no shyness in this case. The 
 country schoolmaster, whoever he is, has 
 taught them something more than the Eton 
 Grammar: which, by the way, tells us that 
 to have learned the liberal arts softens men^s 
 manners. They are both as calm and self- 
 possessed as if they had been staying in thfe 
 house for months. But then — the old 
 father himself was a gentleman by birth 
 and education. What's bred in the bone 
 will show itself in the flesh." 
 
 " And in the spirit, too, papa. The 
 short-set, little, one looks as if he would 
 rather pay tenpence than tenpence-half- 
 penny, a hundred times over." 
 
 " Why, you extravagant child, so would 
 I; a penny saved "
 
 136 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 "Hush, papa! here they come.'* 
 
 Presently, the second bell rang : but be- 
 fore Mrs. Thorn could settle the order of 
 going downstairs, her daughter had taken 
 the matter out of her hands entirely. 
 
 "You cannot both take me down to 
 dinner," she said brightly to Gerald, " as I 
 see you are both intent on doing ; so I must 
 take you — and please to remember that 
 the stairs are narrow, and my dress is not 
 to be trodden on." Then she quietly took 
 the arm of either gentleman, and looking 
 demurely at her father, said — " Now, papa. 
 Darby and Joan first; we children will 
 follow." 
 
 "You see, Mr. Hastings," said the lawyer, 
 as they took their places at a round table, 
 " what a wicked, impudent, little puss this 
 daughter of mine is. I shall have to send 
 her to school again." 
 
 "Not into Lincolnshire, then, I hope,"
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 137 
 
 gallantly replies Antony. " A wilderness 
 like that is not the place for such a flower 
 
 " to blush unseen, 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert air." 
 
 Amy was sitting opposite to the two 
 young men, but at this she looked up and 
 glanced demurely across the table at the 
 speaker. 
 
 " No young lady ever blushes now : but 
 I see you are as fond of poetry as ever, Mr. 
 Antony. Is that a bit of your favourite 
 Milton?" 
 
 "Milton a favourite of mine? — you are 
 altogether out of your reckoning there. 
 Old Limber used to give us his Im- 
 positions out of Milton and the Book 
 of Proverbs — and both are my abomina- 
 tion to this very hour. But," he added, 
 "you know Gray from Milton as well as 
 I do."
 
 138 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 "Pray don't tax me with knowing any> 
 thing, especially of such high art as Mil- 
 tonic poetry. I don't attend one of the 
 ladies' colleges, you know, and at my school 
 we were only taught our ABC, the Battle 
 of Prague, Mangnall's Questions, the 
 Catechism, and to keep our nails clean. 
 The only scrap of Milton I remember is one 
 beginning — 
 
 * Sweet is the breath of morn ' 
 
 But is it Milton after all?" she added. 
 
 This allusion, however, to his boyish 
 mistake passed utterly unnoticed by 
 Antony, who quietly replied, " I never 
 heard the line before in my life that I know 
 of You must ask Gerald here, if you want 
 chapter and verse." 
 
 But Gerald was far too busy in watching 
 the merry play of the bright and pleasant 
 face opposite to him, to be prepared with
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 139 
 
 any such chapter or any such verse, and 
 answered rather at random — 
 
 " The morn is up again, the dewy morn ?" 
 
 " Surely that is Byron's?" 
 
 '' Now, Amy," interrupted the host, 
 '' pray let our friends eat their morsel of 
 fish in peace, without a word more sauce 
 from Milton or Byron. Nothing is so bad 
 for digestion as blank verse ; let us have a 
 good riddle if you like, but no more 
 Milton." 
 
 Then followed an interlude of Conun- 
 drums; a scrap or two from Punch, and a 
 good legal story from Mr. Thorn's ample 
 budget, by which time dessert was on the 
 table, and the whole party seemed to be on 
 the best possible terms with each other. 
 After ten minutes more of pleasant chat, 
 the ladies withdrew, and Mr. Thorn had 
 to break to his young guests the terrible
 
 140 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 news of their father's death, which, in 
 spite of their entreaties he had reso- 
 lutely declined to tell until after dinner. 
 He told the sad story as briefly and simply 
 as he could, and they listened in almost 
 silent amazement. 
 
 " It was useless," he added, "to pain you 
 with all this in a letter, and make what is 
 horrible enough even more terrible in black 
 and white; and so, my young friends, I 
 thought it better to bring you up to 
 my house, that after a glass of wine and 
 a rest you might hear it from a friend, 
 who could get nearer to you than pens and 
 ink." 
 
 And, then, he shook hands heartily with 
 both. 
 
 '' I am not much of a wine-drinker, but 
 you two youngsters must now make your- 
 selves quite at home, and sit here and chat 
 over the fire by yourselves, or go up-stairs.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 141 
 
 just as you like best. There will be coffee 
 in half-anhour." And with these words, he 
 left them to their own devices. 
 
 The news had indeed fallen on them like 
 a thunderbolt, for newspapers were luxuries 
 in which Mr. Limber alone indulged at 
 Cogsford House, and it so chanced that The 
 Daily Tearer which they had bought at the 
 station on their way to town, contained no 
 allusion to the murder. But it affected 
 them both very differently. Antony was 
 at first all agog to offer fresh rewards 
 for tlie discovery of the murderers. " Could 
 nothing more be done? The old man had 
 money with him, could not that be traced ? 
 Would it be of any use to see the Inspector 
 or to call on Mr. Beak ?" These, and a dozen 
 other such questions, he urged afterwards on 
 the lawyer, and now on his brother, with great 
 vehemence ; but being answered in the nega- 
 tive on every point, he gradually grew more
 
 142 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 composed, and praised the coffee. Gerald, 
 on the other hand, expressed a strong wish 
 to see his father's face again, if possible, 
 before the funeral, and was for setting out 
 at once. 
 
 "I can't bear the idea," he said to Tony, 
 ^^ of the old man's being buried without hav- 
 ing a glimpse of him once more. He was 
 our father, after all." 
 
 "Yes, he was, Jerry; but he might just 
 as well have been no relation at all. I 
 don't remember a kind word from him for 
 these dozen years past, if he ever said one 
 before. He gave me a penny once, that I 
 recollect; just before he sent us off into 
 Lincolnshire, and charged me to take good 
 care of it." 
 
 " ^ There,' he said, ' Tony, that's for 
 taking such care of your books at school. 
 Books are very expensive things ; be careful, 
 my boy, of all your books and clothes.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 143 
 
 Clothes are horribly expensive. I only 
 wish your brother Gerald was as careful as 
 you are of them.' Thorn is far more like a 
 father than ever he was." 
 
 " Yes, Tony ; but after all he was our 
 father, and if he pinched us, he pinched 
 himself." 
 
 " And thank God the pinching is come to 
 an end now. I shall be glad when the funeral 
 is over too. Old Thorn knows all about 
 the will, I dare say. By J ove ! I shouldn't 
 mind spending even 100/. to find out who 
 the blackguards were. Suppose we go up 
 and have some coffee." 
 
 And so up they went to the little 
 drawing-room, where Antony at once began 
 to discuss the question of further rewards 
 with the lawyer. 
 
 " If you ask my advice," said the old 
 man, "I should say, enough has been 
 ofi*ered. I named a hundred, as your
 
 144 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 Guardian, and the government added 
 another hundred, and they have been 
 working as hard as they will ever work, 
 I imagine. There will be expenses enough, 
 I dare say, about the trial and old Winnecot 
 in which you must help ; and then, there is 
 the funeral." 
 
 " You are quite right, Mr. Thorn, no 
 doubt. Pray don't think that I want to 
 waste money; no, no, I think they ought 
 to find the scoundrels without any reward 
 at all ; especially as there are other 
 expenses. The funeral, I suppose, will not 
 cost much? He would not have cared 
 to spend much on such things, and one 
 would like to do what would have pleased 
 him best, you know. I should say — quite 
 plain, the plainer and quieter the better." 
 
 Then Gerald spoke to Mr. Thorn of his 
 desire to see the old man's face again, if 
 practicable.
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 145 
 
 " Quite practicable, if you decide on doing 
 so. But on the whole, I should strongly 
 advise you not to indulge your wish, though 
 it is a most natural one. The whole affair 
 is so terrible and so full of sad associa- 
 tions, that the sight will be to you more 
 of pain than pleasure, I am convinced. 
 The inquest is over now, and the body 
 lies at the Manor House. But you will 
 do well, I think, not to go there till the 
 funeral.'^ 
 
 And, so, it was settled. 
 
 Then they had a little music from Amy, 
 who played with considerable skill and 
 execution ; but with no great amount of 
 passion. Her heart was not really in it, 
 and so the musician never went beyond 
 decided clearness and correctness of style, 
 and faultless time. It was good of its 
 kind, but the kind was not that which 
 touches the heart both of player and 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 ]!46 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 listener, and turns the notes inta 
 living words of joy, or sorrow, or tender 
 pathos. 
 
 It was impossible to help praising it, 
 though the performer seemed utterly 
 unconscious of any merit on her own 
 part, beyond that of having learnt to 
 master so many pages of Mendelssohn or 
 Mozart. 
 
 " Music of this kind," she would say, 
 " calms me^ and turns away my thoughts 
 from trifling worries of life, and I am 
 glad to see that you are patient — or at all 
 events,, polite — enough to endure my 
 performance." 
 
 But after chatting awhile with Gerald, 
 she found out that he could play chess, 
 and play well. In a few minutes they were 
 deep in a game that called up a gleam of 
 bright intelligence in every feature of her 
 face; and a single glance showed the spec-
 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 147 
 
 tator that heart and mind were now fully 
 roused, and at work which she understood 
 and loved. It was a tough battle, but 
 the victory was hers at last, though 
 she declared her antagonist well de- 
 served it for the skill and patience of his 
 defence. 
 
 " You see, papa, Mr. Gerald in reality 
 beat me many moves back; but at the 
 very crisis of the game he made one 
 trifling oversight, which gave me the 
 chance. I really am proud to have beaten 
 him." 
 
 And her eyes flashed as she spoke, with 
 a sparkle of genuine enthusiasm. As for 
 Gerald himself, the grace and beauty of the 
 girl's face, and her w^ords\)f hearty praise, 
 completely charmed him. It w^ould be 
 delightful, he thought, to be beaten by such 
 an opponent every night. 
 
 So passed the first evening in town, 
 
 10— :?
 
 148 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 which we have glanced at thus fully, be- 
 cause it was the type of many such even- 
 ings during the succeeding months ; 
 months which sowed many of the seeds 
 in our hero's career, and bore lasting and 
 abundant fruit.
 
 ^^iM 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE WILL. 
 
 " Of all who flocked to swell or see the show, 
 Who cared about the corpse ? The funeral 
 Made the attraction, and the black the woe ; 
 There throbbed not there one heart that pierced the pall^' 
 
 Byeon. 
 
 ES, there was one heart at the 
 funeral of Samuel Hastings of 
 Barton Manor that really felt 
 deep grief for the murdered man, 
 and that was the heart of old Sally Hill. She 
 had been forty years in the service of the 
 family, and loved the old man, miser as he 
 was, with that loving affection now so 
 rarely found between master and servant.
 
 150 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 Mr. Thorn had taken her in the mourning 
 carriage with himself, the other sable 
 vehicle being occupied by the two sons ; 
 and as the last handful of earth dropped 
 with grating rattle on the coffin, the tears 
 that fell from her eyes were those of deep, 
 passionate, sorrow. Antony played his part 
 as in a mournful ceremony to which mere 
 duty called him — Gerald, as if touched 
 with a wild and weary sadness, not like 
 that of a son mourning for a father, yet 
 not to be measured by depth of crape, or 
 represented by sable trappings. 
 
 The funeral, of the plainest, simplest 
 kind, took place in the cemetery at Barton 
 Green, and, the cause of death being so 
 notorious, was attended by a large crowd of 
 idle spectators — not a few of them coming 
 from Barton's Rents. To Gerald, indeed, 
 it seemed more like a holiday show than a 
 funeral, and he was most thankful when
 
 THE WILL. 151 
 
 the final solemn words were said, the 
 crowd slowly broke up, and the heavy 
 carriage at last set them down at the door 
 of the Manor House. Desolate and for- 
 lorn as the idea of the place had always 
 remained in the thoughts of the young men, 
 the reality was even more desolate than 
 they had pictured it. The neglected, weed- 
 grown paths : the gloomy ivied walls, the 
 whole look of the entire place ; all told the 
 one same story of cold pinching avarice, 
 ■and decay. 
 
 They were glad enough, therefore, to 
 find a cheerful fire burning in the old 
 library, the room wdth a look of life about 
 it, and a good luncheon on the table : for 
 all which good things they had only Mr. 
 Thorn to thank. Before any business was 
 •done, he insisted that they should eat 
 some cold chicken, and have a glass of 
 good wine.
 
 152 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 " Our business to-day is dreary and sad 
 enough, my friends," he said; ''but you 
 must now look it in the face like men of 
 the world — as that which is inevitable. 
 You have a dreary past to start from, but 
 the future is more or less in your own 
 hands. But now for some cold chicken ; 
 by-and-bye we shall have work." 
 
 Luncheon was soon over, and the next 
 thing was to find the will. Cupboards, 
 drawers, book-shelves, and recesses were 
 ransacked, but ransacked in vain. Na 
 document of any kind could be found, and 
 every known hiding-place had been ex- 
 hausted. 
 
 Then the lawyer rang for old Sally Hill^ 
 and stated the case to her. 
 
 "Is there no other corner or cranny 
 you can think of, which the master may 
 have used ?" 
 
 " Yes, there is one, sir ; only one as I
 
 THE WILL. 153 
 
 knows of, and that's the big deal box 
 there in the corner, full of peas what he 
 used to feed the pigeons on. I've knowed 
 the master hide papers in there afore now.'^ 
 
 And there, sure enough, some six inches 
 below the surface, was the missing document 
 found. 
 
 " Stay, Sally, you may be mentioned in 
 this paper, stay and hear it read." 
 
 Then in a strong, clear voice, Mr. Thorn 
 read as follows : 
 
 ''I, Samuel Hastings of Barton Manor, 
 being of sound mind, and in the sixtieth 
 year of my life, bequeath to Sally Hill my 
 old and faithful servant the sum of five 
 hundred pounds ; and all my other monies, 
 possessions, goods and chattels of all and 
 every kind, and all my lands, wheresoever 
 and whatsoever, I leave and bequeath to 
 my two children for their sole use. This 
 1 declare to be my last will and testament,
 
 154 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 to be put in force as soon after my death 
 as possible." 
 
 This paper, duly dated, signed, and wit- 
 nessed, the lawyer declared to be a perfectly 
 legal document, all the provisions of which 
 could be carried out forthwith, or as soon 
 as Antony was of age — as the Court of 
 Chancery should decide. 
 
 "Meanwhile," he added, "it only re- 
 mains for you two young men to fix upon 
 some united plan of action, and agree as to 
 the exact division of the estates ; or leave 
 it to the Court to settle for you. If you 
 ask my advice, I should say, agree upon 
 a. plan yourselves, have it sanctioned by 
 the Court and recorded, and then you 
 will have no further trouble. I will under- 
 take to put all matters in train for you, and 
 in a month or six weeks, no doubt, Mr. 
 Antony Hastings, will be Lord of the 
 Manor of Barton."
 
 THE WILL. 155 
 
 A plan of action was soon agreed upon, 
 and it was Antony himself who proposed 
 an equal division of all monies and pos- 
 sessions ; the land being by successive wills 
 strictly entailed, as the lawyer had pre- 
 viously told them. To this, of course, 
 Oerald could but readily agree. And then 
 Mr. Thorn took his leave, and left the two 
 brothers to talk over plans as to their 
 future life. 
 
 When he got back to his office ifi 
 Lincoln's Inn he sent for Simmons his 
 head clerk ; and then ensued a short 
 dialogue. 
 
 " Simmons," said the lawyer, " you have 
 had some experience in queer wills, at 
 Ferret's ; have you looked at the will of 
 old Sam Hastings of Barton Manor ?" 
 
 ''I just saw it, sir, when it came to the 
 office, but as you said nothing to me about 
 it, I merely locked it up."
 
 156 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 "There it is, then; read it over again, 
 and tell me what it looks like." 
 
 It was read in two minutes, and then 
 Simmons replied — 
 
 " It seems all right, sir, though it's an 
 odd sort of a document. There are no other 
 children, I suppose ?'' 
 
 "Oh, no; and no other relation but a 
 sister's son, a fellow called Lorrimore, I 
 fancy, that ran away to sea, or enlisted, and 
 died of yellow fever, so I have heard, 
 years ago. The old man seems to have 
 been the very last of the family. The sister 
 and her husband both died before he did ; 
 and he always said that he had no other 
 relations." 
 
 " Then all must be right, sir, so far as 
 your clients are concerned." 
 
 " Very good, Simmons ; see that all the 
 necessary papers are ready for the Court 
 when wanted.*'
 
 THE WILL. 3 57 
 
 All that need be said further here is, that in 
 the course of the next few months, the mat- 
 ter came duly before the Court of Chancery, 
 and was duly settled. The old Manor House 
 was, as far as possible, put to rights, 
 cleaned, and made habitable ; the gardens 
 restored to something like garden beauty ; 
 Sally was pensioned oif, to her great 
 regret, and in spite of many protests ; 
 while the two brothers were established in 
 different sets of rooms, though they met 
 at dinner and were good friends. How this 
 amount of difference gradually arose be- 
 tween them, how Antony in due time came 
 of age — to which time the Court had de- 
 ferred his entering into full possession — 
 and the lawyer formally surrendered his 
 office of guardian, are all matters that need 
 not be told in detail. 
 
 *' Whatever you do,'* was old Thorn's 
 parting word of advice to the brothers,
 
 158 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 " don't go to law. If you must quarrel^ 
 come to me, and for six-and-eight-pence 
 you may get what may save you from years 
 of misery."
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 TWO YEARS AFTER. 
 
 " Nay, 'tis time enough, 
 For fools to waste, while wise men gather fruit." 
 
 STArroED. 
 
 N due time Mr. Antony Hastings 
 became of age, the Court of 
 Chancery approved of what their 
 guardian proposed for carrying 
 into effect the will of the late Lord of 
 the Manor, and the two young men had by 
 degrees settled down into their new mode 
 of life. There was a clear income of about a 
 thousand a year from funded property and 
 land, besides the ready money found in the
 
 160 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 house; all of which they had agreed to 
 share equally, the elder brother only re- 
 serving to himself the rent of some few 
 fields called the Manor Farm, which Gerald 
 readily gave up. Then came the question 
 of household expenses and joint payments, 
 about which there arose some considerable 
 difference of opinion ; Antony inclining to 
 spend as little as possible, Gerald to deal 
 with matters with a far more lavish hand. 
 
 " Good heavens, Jerry, you will soon 
 make ducks and drakes of your money if 
 you go to work in this fashion. Why, a 
 gardener will cost a hundred a year, at tlie 
 very least; just for the sake of a few 
 flowers, too, that you may get from Lon- 
 don for half the money. / can't afford 
 it. That's all I know." 
 
 " But it isn't for the sake of a few 
 flowers only; but because I do not care to 
 see the old place in such utter desolation.
 
 TWO YEARS AFTER. 161 
 
 It looks like the castle of Giant Despair 
 now; weeds and straggle and dirt wher- 
 ever one turns. If you can't afford it I 
 must; and it need not cost so much as 
 you say, though I dare say the old man 
 will get his living out of it, somehow or 
 other." 
 
 " I have no doubt he will. But if you 
 are going to do it out of your owm pocket, 
 iill well and good, though I can't say I like 
 these old retainers hanging about a place.* 
 If old Banks looked after Barton Gardens, 
 as he says, in our grandfather's time, he 
 must be pretty close upon eighty now, 
 and not worth a penny a day as far as 
 work is concerned." 
 
 And so the matter ended for a time. 
 But this scrap of dialogue was only a type 
 of what went on about a score of other 
 matters, until at last the brothers w^ere 
 driven to consult Thorn ; and he, after 
 
 VOL. I. II
 
 162 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 hearing both sides of the story, decided 
 that the best plan would be for them to 
 divide the old Manor House between them, 
 each living as he pleased, and with one 
 staff of servants answering for both. To 
 this last clause, however, Tony only agreed 
 after a very long and troublesome battle, 
 in which he was beaten inch by inch, and 
 finally driven to give way by the fact 
 being made clear to him that he would 
 save money by adopting it. This was an 
 argument to which he never turned a deaf 
 ear. 
 
 Thus it fell out that, though living in 
 the same house^ the brothers by degrees 
 chose their own habits and ways of life ; 
 their own companions and amusements, 
 and thus, though still good friends, as the 
 character of each developed, the line which 
 divided them grew slowly wider and more 
 marked. Antony gave himself up greatly
 
 TWO YEARS AFTER. 163 
 
 to pigeon shooting, and to such companions 
 as that elegant and innocent pastime at- 
 tracts and delights. Gerald hated it, and 
 in his passionate way remarked that it was 
 a low, brutal, business, fit only for butcher 
 boys and blacklegs. 
 
 ' " If you want sport," he would say, " go 
 down to Barton Rise, and get some savage 
 partridges among the turnips; or spend 
 5/. on a railway ticket, and kill grouse 
 where they have got a chance of escape, 
 out on the open moor. But for God's sake, 
 Tony, don't go in for slaughtering these 
 poor tame things out of a trap. Why I 
 would as soon shoot the canaries in Miss 
 Thorn's aviary." 
 
 But Tony was not much given to argue, 
 and merely said in reply, " Well, well, if 
 you like to shoot canaries you can. I 
 don't." 
 
 This was but the beginning of differences 
 
 11-3
 
 164 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 between the two brothers, but the breach 
 gradually widened more and more, and at 
 last imperceptibly touched all the main 
 features in their daily life. Antony not 
 only persisted in his pigeon matches, but 
 even had recourse to his father's old dove- 
 cot to supply him with birds, which he 
 sometimes sold at a cheap rate to such of 
 his brother sportsmen as needed them. 
 And this of course made Gerald even 
 more indignant than ever, and he brought 
 to bear on the whole scheme his sharpest 
 words of irony and contemptuous sarcasm. 
 He quizzed many of the men who came to 
 shoot, and made savage remarks as to 
 their dress and personal appearance; such 
 as, " It was lucky the Lord of the Manor 
 let them have their birds cheap, 'as higher 
 terms might put the noble sport beyond 
 their reach ; and still luckier that they never 
 made bets on any but safe professionals."
 
 TWO YEARS AFTER. 165 
 
 All this, and much more sunilar banter 
 the object of it seemed to bear with a 
 quiet sort of indifference; but none the 
 less was it felt, and none the less did he 
 lay it up in store for some day of future 
 reckoning. 
 
 "Fire away, Jerry," he would answer 
 sometimes; "it doesn't hurt me, and seems 
 to amuse you. Tom Punter and Captain 
 Straw are coming up this afternoon, and 
 if you don't like them you can get out (rf 
 their way. Ta, ta ! my boy." 
 
 Beyond this degree of notice, Antony 
 rarely went; for, for several reasons he 
 did not wish to come to an open rupture 
 with his brother, and especially as it might 
 lead to Gerald's leaving the Manor House 
 altogether. Tom Punter and Captain 
 Straw were both, as he well knew, men of 
 doubtful repute, but they were crack shots, 
 and kept alive the eclat of the matches,
 
 166 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 as well as a spirit of betting, by which, 
 under their guidance, combined with a 
 little horse-racing, he could often make a 
 profitable book ; so he was content to be 
 patient, as he said, '' under his virtuous 
 brother's admonitions." 
 
 So by degrees it came to pass that Gerald 
 spent more and more lonely hours among 
 his books; sometimes in town at a junior 
 club, to which Thorn's kindly word had 
 helped to introduce him, and far more at 
 the lawyer's own house, where a game 
 of chess with that bright and lively anta- 
 gonist who had greeted him on his first re- 
 turn to London, had become to him one 
 of his choicest pleasures. Her ready in- 
 telligence and genial sympathy had 
 gained on him more and more; and even 
 the little touches of womanly vanity and 
 love of praise which now and then peeped 
 out, had a sort of charm for him. Freely
 
 TWO YEARS AFTER. 167 
 
 but delicately he now and then paid the 
 little compliments which pleased her, but 
 he did it with true daintiness of touch ; and 
 so, as he thought, what was her vanity but 
 a quiet appreciation of his skill? Her wit 
 and beauty, in his eyes, deserved all and 
 every praise; and he had not even yet 
 forgotten the days when a glimpse of her 
 face at the window was to his boyish eyes 
 like sunshine on a day of November clouds. 
 Not that he breathed even to himself the 
 thought of love; much less cared to ex- 
 press his admiration in words. But silently 
 and steadily her society, the sound of her 
 voice, the glance of her eyes, was becoming 
 to him more and more a part of his daily 
 life; and though Antony often accom- 
 panied him in these visits, he had not yet 
 found out how much he preferred those 
 visits in which his brother took no part. 
 This was the state of affairs when one
 
 16S GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 day, after some hours in town, Gerald on 
 his way home found himself in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Barton's Rents, and then try- 
 ing to make a short cut through Turnstile 
 Street into the main road. This street 
 consisted of a long straggling row of irre- 
 gular and badly built houses, with small 
 patches of dusty grass in front of each^ 
 that had once been called gardens. At 
 the doors of most of these houses lounged 
 dirty, slatternly women, or half dressed 
 men, with short pipes in their mouths, and 
 many evil words even fouler than the 
 grimy pipes. Squalling, ragged children 
 played about inside the railings which 
 separated the patches of grass from the 
 pavement, at times getting in the way of 
 the foot-passengers. As Gerald passed one 
 of the groups, a boy of ten or twelve 
 pushed roughly up against him as he did 
 so, holding a miserable half-starved kitten
 
 TWO YEARS AFTER. 16^ 
 
 by its tail, and swinging it round and 
 round in the air. 
 
 The cries and shrieks of the wretched 
 animal at once arrested him. 
 
 " I say, my boy, you are hurting 
 that kitten. Put it down! Do you 
 hear?" 
 
 The only answer to this was a fresh 
 whirl in the air, fresh screaming of agony 
 from the kitten, and a grin of impudent de* 
 light on the face of the torturer. 
 
 Whereupon Gerald quietly seized the 
 boy by the ear. 
 
 " Now," said he, "I shall hold on here 
 (giving him a sharp pinch by way of 
 emphasis), until you drop that kitten. Do 
 you hear?" 
 
 " Yes, I hears ; and you let go now, 
 will you? or youll catch it." 
 
 Here the pinch on the ear became much 
 tighter, and the boy roared out with pain ;
 
 170 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 "but still refused to let go the kitten, which 
 jelled louder than ever. 
 
 The contest continued for half a minute, 
 when his own sufferings became so intense 
 that he flung the half maddened creature to 
 the ground — and then finding his own ear 
 released, fled howling to his mother at the 
 door of No. 6, where a crowd soon collected 
 to hear his tale of wrongful sufl*ering. 
 
 Meanwhile, Gerald went calmly on his 
 way towards the main road, not sorry 
 to have won the day, even in such a 
 trifle as the life of a kitten; but at first 
 unconscious that an angry crowd was 
 gradually forming at the door of the 
 house, and that a perfect shower of foul 
 words was following him down the street. 
 Presently, however, some of these impreca- 
 tions reached his ears, and on turning 
 round he became aware that some half 
 dozen hulking ruflians, with two or three
 
 TWO YEARS AFTER. 171 
 
 slatternly women at their head, were actu- 
 ally in full pursuit of him. The men were 
 showering the wildest curses on his head, 
 and shouting to him to stop ; while one 
 with a large bludgeon in his hand swore he 
 would break every bone in his body, as "a 
 
 d d swell." 
 
 For a moment Gerald paused, as if un- 
 certain what to do; but after looking 
 carefully round and ascertaining that there 
 was not a policeman in sight, nor any othei* 
 decent man to whom he could appeal for 
 help, he decided that his only chance of 
 escape from a very rough handling was in 
 immediate flight. It was a dangerous ex- 
 pedient. But he took to his heels, and 
 ran as hard as he could in the direction of 
 the main road, with the whole body of 
 his pursuers in full cry after him. In two 
 minutes he had fairly distanced his enemies, 
 with the exception of three of the roughest
 
 172 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 and biggest scoundrels, who seemed deter- 
 mined to overtake him, and now began to 
 raise fresh shouts of vengeance. Gerald 
 was a light and swift runner, but finding 
 that they gained on him, he determined 
 to put on a sudden spurt and get clear 
 away from them; and just then he re- 
 gained the main road which ran at right 
 angles to Turnstile Street, and found him- 
 self in a crowded thorouo^hfare. Followinor 
 this for about a hundred yards to the right, 
 and his pursuers not yet in sight, he turned 
 suddenly into a shop, so as to completely 
 elude them. It was the shop of a stranger, 
 kept by one Martin Glenny, a Bookseller, 
 into which he chanced to enter; with a 
 board outside the windoAv on which was 
 set forth a row or tw^o of books and pam- 
 phlets, under the guardianship of a small 
 sharp boy. 
 
 There were two men in the shop, one the
 
 TWO YEARS AFTER. 173 
 
 foreman; but the master, a briglit-eyed, 
 intelligent looking man, stood at a side- 
 table, near the end of the counter, appa- 
 rently examining the binding of some new 
 books; while behind him, at the back of 
 the shop, Gerald caught a glimpse of a plea- 
 sant parlour, where sat a young and pretty 
 woman at work, talking now and then to 
 a boy of three or four at play on the floor. 
 Gerald's entry was somewhat noisy and 
 abrupt, and rather startled Glenny, though' 
 he only said, very quietly — 
 
 " What might you please to want, 
 Sir? 
 
 " Five minutes, shelter, if you can give it 
 to me." 
 
 ''Ten, if you please, sir; besides, one 
 good turn deserves another." 
 
 '' But what good turn have I ever done 
 you," said Gerald, "to deserve a return 
 now?"
 
 174 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 " Don't you remember helping a blind 
 man and his wife across Holborn one night, 
 in the midst of pouring rain ? I have often 
 wondered whether I should ever see you 
 again. And now here you are; I thought 
 that you would come some day, and I knew 
 your voice in a moment." 
 
 " It's an odd coincidence," replied 
 Gerald; "for I had utterly forgotten all 
 about the crossing on Holborn Hill, as 
 you may easily imagine." 
 
 And then he told the blind man the 
 story of the kitten. 
 
 " Six to one is rather long odds," he added, 
 when his story was done, " and so I thought 
 that discretion was the better part of valour, 
 and fairly ran for it. Otherwise I think 
 there would have been a case for Mr. Beak 
 to-morrow morning. It is odd enough that 
 I should have stumbled on your shop." 
 
 And then they fell into a long and
 
 TWO YEARS AFTER. 175 
 
 pleasant chat about coincidences, which 
 according to Glenny's theory were the 
 commonest things going. 
 
 ''I don't know much about their being 
 common," said Gerald at last; ''but I will 
 tell you of a singular one that happened 
 just before I left school. Old Limber the 
 master wanted to make a present to a 
 big fellow who was leaving, and wrote 
 to town for a volume of sermons. The 
 bookseller wrote back to say that the book 
 was out of print, but that he had met 
 Avith a second-hand copy which, if he 
 (Limber) approved should be forwarded. 
 Accordingly it was sent, and turned out 
 to be an old copy which had been given 
 many years before by Limber himself to 
 a previous pupil who had gone to London, 
 and showed how highly he valued sermons 
 by selling them at a bookstall." 
 
 " Yes,'' replied Glenny, " it's not a bad
 
 176 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 case ; but I can give you a far better one 
 that happened here to myself. One day 
 a stranger came into the shop and asked 
 for a copy of Blair's Sermons, a well-known 
 common book, altogether out of fashion 
 now. He looked at the only copy I had, 
 bought it, and paid for it ; and then was 
 about to leave the shop, when he suddenly 
 stopped and said — 
 
 '' ' If you have no objection, I will leave 
 the book with you till I happen to be 
 passing again.' 
 
 '^ ' By all means,' said I, ' as long as you 
 please.' 
 
 " Well, sir, I kept the book stored away 
 in a corner, ready for the owner, when he 
 should call ; but month after month passed 
 away, and I saw nothing of him. Then, 
 so it fell out, I gave up my old premises 
 at No. 190, and took these at No. 70, 
 where you now see me; and so three
 
 TWO YEARS AFTER. 177 
 
 months more passed away, but not a 
 word of my friend the purchaser of Blair. 
 At last, one morning, an old lady came 
 into the shop, and asked for a copy of 
 Blair's Sermons. ' I have but one copy,' I 
 answered, 'and I fear that I cannot part 
 with that one, for it was bought and 
 paid for six months ago, though the owner 
 has never called for it.' 
 
 " But the old lady was very urgent with 
 me, and my wife of course took her part, 
 and said I could easily get another copy ; 
 and so at last I gave way. My new cus- 
 tomer handed me a sovereign to pay for 
 her book, and I turned round to my desk 
 there, to get change, when some one else 
 suddenly entered the shop, and I heard a 
 sharp voice say — 
 
 " ' A pretty dance you have led me, Mr. 
 Glenny. Here have I been hunting up and 
 down the street for half an hour, in search 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 of my old friend Blair. I could have sworn 
 that it was at No. 190 that I bought it. 
 I hope that the book is all safe.' 
 
 " ' You are quite right,' said I, ' as to 
 No. 190; it was at my old house that you 
 bought it, and there is your copy of Blair 
 tied up in paper as you left it, six months 
 ago. This lady had just persuaded me to 
 let her have it, and I was just turning to 
 give her change when you walked in and 
 claimed your own property.' 
 
 " ' And I mean to have it, too,' said the 
 old man, in rather a peppery tone. 
 
 " Of course, sir," added Glenny, '' he did 
 have it; and I had to get another copy for 
 the lady." 
 
 After some further chat, Gerald found 
 that he was already late, and must be off 
 if he wished to be at Mr. Thorn's in time 
 for dinner ; and so, thanking his new friend 
 for shelter, and much pleased with his clever-
 
 TWO YEARS AFTER. 179 
 
 ness in managing the business of a large shop, 
 he made the best of his way home. This 
 was only the first of many visits paid to the 
 blind bookseller, and at last led to their 
 becoming great friends. At every visit he 
 was more and more struck with the blind 
 man s keen intelligence and good sense, 
 especially in all that related to books. There 
 were many hundreds on his shelves, and 
 there was scarcely one that he could not 
 lay his hand on at a minute's notice ; or * 
 concerning which he could not tell a cus- 
 tomer the price and binding, with a shrewd 
 word or two as to its general contents, if 
 asked to do so. 
 
 *' I know their faces," he had said to 
 Gerald, ^' as well as if I could see them. 
 And directly a new book comes into stock, 
 I feel him all over, and take his bearings, 
 then settle him down into his own exact 
 place. Now and then, my wife, or the 
 
 12--^
 
 180 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 shopman, or that monkey of a boy at the 
 door, happens to meddle with a shelf, and 
 then, of course, for a thue, I am all: 
 at sea." 
 
 ''As to their outsides, it is all plain 
 enough, Glenny; but what puzzles me is 
 how you contrive to know so much of the 
 inside." 
 
 " Ah, there you see, my other pair of 
 eyes work for me. My wife Mary, who 
 loved me well enough to marry a blind 
 man (and that's saying a good deal), is a 
 first-rate reader ; and we work steadily on 
 so many hours every night, at all the best 
 books; and as I can't read a tenth part of 
 what Paternoster Row sends out, I get a 
 good notion of some hundreds of them 
 from the Saturday and the Spectator^ and 
 now and then a Quarterly. Without her, 
 you see, my life would be a blank ; but 
 with her love, and her eyes, and my own
 
 TWO YEARS AFTER. 181 
 
 memory, what more can I want? What 
 she once reads, I never forget." 
 
 When Gerald got near to Barton Villa, 
 where he was to dine that night, he found 
 that he was very late, too late in fact to go 
 home and dress; and as he was puzzling 
 liis head as to what was to be done, a cab 
 driving rapidly past pulled up close to the 
 pavement, and a jolly voice said to 
 him — 
 
 '^What, Gerald Hastings! Where are" 
 you drifting to at this time of night ? Do 
 you know that you are a mile from Bar- 
 ton Villa, and that dinner will be on the 
 table in twenty minutes? Jump in, man, 
 jump in." 
 
 Gerald accordingly jumped in, explained 
 his troubles to Mr. Thorn, and was ordered 
 not to dream for a moment of going on 
 to the Manor House. 
 
 " Come home Avith me, sir," said his
 
 182 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 kindly host; '^and we will furbish you 
 up in some way. I will make all excuses 
 to the ladies, and the only two other 
 guests are your own brother and the 
 Curate of St. Patrick^s, a clever crack- 
 brained Irishman, who has gone crazy 
 over some new book about civilization, 
 but works like a horse in his parish. 
 There, now it's settled; so not a word 
 more." 
 
 When Gerald reached the drawing-room 
 he found all the party assembled, and 
 everybody on the qui vive to hear his 
 adventures. So there was nothing for it 
 but to make his peace by telling the 
 whole story. 
 
 " Just like you, Gerald," said his brother, 
 " always putting your finger into some- 
 body else^s pie. What on earth had you 
 to do with the kitten?" 
 
 ^^But it was as much my pie as any-
 
 TWO YEARS AFTER. 183 
 
 body else's, and I could not see the poor 
 brute tortured in that style." 
 
 "The worst of it is," said the lawyer, 
 "that the miserable little creature had a 
 worse time of it than ever as soon as you 
 were gone. Is it nine or seven lives that a 
 cat has ? What does Tickler say, Mr. Dun- 
 ster, about the feline race? How many 
 kittens per cent, die in infancy, or by tail- 
 twisting?" 
 
 " Papa, you are very rude. Don't mind 
 him, Mr. Dunster." 
 
 '' My dear Amy, St. Patrick knows me 
 too well to think me rude. And besides, 
 the question of mortality among cats is a 
 very interesting one, and statistics are the 
 very essence of the great work." 
 
 At this moment dinner was announced, 
 and the host signalled to the curate to 
 convoy his wife. 
 
 '^ No, no, papa," said the younger lady,
 
 184 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 *'that will not do at all; I am dying to 
 hear who Tichler is, and so I shall take 
 down Mr. Dunster myself; Mr. Antony 
 will take mamma, and you can bring up 
 the rear with the defender of distressed 
 kittens." 
 
 And so, amidst much laughter, in this 
 order they went down to dinner, spread as 
 of old on a round table. 
 
 Amy, as usual, was the life of the whole 
 party, and the conversation wandered 
 readily on from cruelty to animals, especially 
 cats (who, according to Mr. Thorn, could 
 safely undergo any amount of ill-treatment 
 short of skinning), to Martin Glenny and 
 blind people generally, and the inevitable 
 comparison between them and the deaf 
 and dumb ; and so on by a sudden freak to 
 Guaxara, a Mexican silver-mine, and the 
 new company just started to work it, of 
 which Mr. Thorn was a director.
 
 TWO TEAKS AFTER. 185 
 
 Amy was sitting between the curate and 
 Gerald, and while a fierce debate on ex- 
 penses, profits and losses, went on at the 
 opposite side of the table, there fell out at 
 intervals the following dialogue. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Dunster, papa has got fairly 
 into Tom Tidler's ground in Mexico, and is 
 safe for twenty minutes good, my chance 
 comes. I want to know who Tickler is ?" 
 
 " Not know Tickler's History of Civiliza- 
 tion ? Is it possible, me dear Madam ? It^'s 
 the Book of the age; he has been at work 
 on the first ten volumes for the last twenty 
 years, and one is now just out. The pre- 
 face contains a list of four thousand 
 volumes, all of which he thoroughly di- 
 gested before he began to write." 
 
 "He has a good digestion, then?" inter- 
 rupted Gerald. 
 
 " Yes, sir, he has something like a diges- 
 tion. His father came of a Danish family.
 
 186 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 a Norseman, I think; and his mother was 
 one of the Easts of Donegal — and " 
 
 '^ And the North-east is a mighty strong 
 wind," suggested Gerald. 
 
 *^Just so, me dear sir. Well you see. 
 Tickler just lays down fixed laws and eter- 
 nal principles for everything that has 
 happened from the Creation to this very 
 hour. It's all a matter of calculation, num- 
 ber, measurement, ratio and average. Now 
 there's that old gentleman at the other side 
 of the table talking about the price of geese 
 this Michaelmas, as if he belonged to the 
 very same genus." 
 
 '^He's my father, at all events, and Pm 
 his only gosling," said Miss Thorn. 
 
 " Well, then, we'll take the other gentle- 
 man ; he seems just as wise a bird." 
 
 " Thank you," said Gerald, " that bird is 
 my brother, but you are welcome to him." 
 
 " Just for mere argument, me dear sir^
 
 TWO YEAKS AFTER. 187 
 
 I'll take him — -just for mere argument. Ah! 
 now, they've left the question of geese and 
 have got to murders and sudden deaths, 
 and suicides, and the question of morals. 
 Pardon me for saying that they don't seem 
 to understand this matter one hit more 
 than the other. As for death, you see, 
 there's only one thing to be said about 
 death, and that is, it's a mercy that it al- 
 w^ays comes at the end of life and not in 
 the middle. But as for suicides, read 
 Tickler^ me dear Miss Amy; it's not a 
 question of morals or no morals at all, and 
 has nothing to do with sickly seasons or 
 healthy ones. It's all a question of cause 
 and effect. Every event, great or small, 
 has some cause, some motive or other that 
 set that cause afloat, just as some preceding 
 cause raised up that motive, and so things 
 have been jogging on for the last ten 
 thousand years or so, rather a longisk
 
 188 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 chain, but in TicMer as clear as ABC. 
 One man in two thousand and three 
 quarters makes away with himself every 
 year. Sometimes it's one of those obstinate 
 sick paupers, after a month's generous diet 
 of thin slices of cheese from the Union, 
 sometimes a stockbroker who has been 
 making free with other people's money; but 
 the fixed law is always the same, either of 
 the two is but a link in the endless chain." 
 
 *' And am I only a link, Mr. Dunster, 
 in the endless chain? And you, and Mr. 
 Tickler, and mamma — are we all links ?" 
 
 " My dear," interrupts mamma, across 
 the table, " the Lynx is a very elegant 
 creature indeed ; your father and I saw it 
 on Sunday last in the ' Zoo.' " 
 
 ''Nothing m.ore or less, me dear Miss 
 Amy," replies St. Patrick, ''nothing but 
 mere links in the chain of cause and elFect. 
 But you must read TicMer for yourself,
 
 TWO YEARS AFTER. 189 
 
 and see what he says about the connexion 
 between rice and earthquakes, sugar and 
 volcanoes, woolly hair and predestination, 
 brass buttons and population ; the laws of 
 free-will and sea-breezes, the census, mad- 
 dogs and red hair. It's an amazing book.'' 
 
 " It must be," said Gerald. "But you're 
 getting rather personal when you come to 
 red hair ; and I must say it's rather hard 
 that I should be picked out as the special 
 link to have fiery locks, though, I see now, 
 it's by no fault of my OAvn, more than it 
 was Tickler's to have to write the history of 
 cause and effect from Adam down to Joey 
 Hume." 
 
 " Or Mr. Dunster's to have to preach 
 Tickler?" replied Amy, looking innocently 
 up into his face. " But what a memory 
 you must have, Mr. Dunster, to remember 
 all the little links in Tickler's ten volumes; 
 how can you ever manage it?"
 
 190 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 '^ How? — nothing can be easier to a 
 memory like mine. You see one Irish 
 curate in eleven thousand eight hundred 
 and two has a powerful memory, and I 
 just happen to be that one. I can repeat 
 whole chapters of TicUer. ' A dinner- 
 party like this,' says one of his authors,* 
 ' made up of true elements, is the last 
 triumph of civilization over barbarism. 
 Nature and art combine to charm the 
 senses; the equatorial zone of the 
 system is soothed by well-studied artifices ; 
 the faculties are off duty, and fall into their 
 natural attitudes; you see wisdom in 
 slippers, and science in a short jacket.'" 
 
 "Not all the faculties, Mr. Dunster; for I 
 heard you say just now, as if you were re- 
 flecting to yourself, soup good; fish rather 
 tough ; champagne sweet — though you ate 
 
 * 0. W. Holmes.
 
 TWO YEARS AFTER. 191 
 
 and drank of all three," said Amy, hardly- 
 knowing how to conclude, " as if you 
 relished them, at all events." 
 
 " Heartily^ you mean," replied St. 
 Patrick, smiling a grim smile — "quite so; 
 and that I take to be the main object in 
 view at a dinner-party, in bringing people 
 together who don't know each other, with 
 diiFerent tastes, appetites, and digestions, 
 and expecting them to fraternize in an 
 atmosphere rarely below 75°." 
 
 " Well," replied Amy, " I did mean 
 heartily^ 
 
 "Then, why not say so ? The fact is," he 
 added in a lower voice, " only two ladies in 
 two hundred and fifteen and a quarter ever 
 do say what they mean at first. But, it's 
 entirely owing to the way young ladies 
 are brought up now, that's it." 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Dunster, no doubt, but I 
 must insist nevertheless on being one of
 
 192 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 the two who do say what they mean. As 
 for Tickler^ 1 begin to fear that it is a very 
 terrible book." 
 
 " Not at all, me dear madam, not at all. 
 If only people would but look a little into 
 ' cause and effect ' before they begin to talk. 
 Now, there was our dear friend Mrs. 
 Thorn opposite, just now on her pet sub- 
 ject of missions to Boolawaddy, arguing 
 about sending out flannel jackets to a set 
 of savages who will sell every scrap of 
 them for rum and tobacco; and the best 
 way of initiating Sambo into the mysteries 
 of grace and free will, while he insists on 
 keeping a seraglio, smearing himself with 
 train oil and red ochre, and would rejoice 
 to have a cut of cold clergyman on the 
 sideboard. If she had but read Tickler 
 twenty years ago, she would see all this 
 in " 
 
 "But, they must make a beginning some-
 
 TWO TEAKS AFTER. 193 
 
 how," said Gerald, who ei)joyed drawing 
 out the amusing Irishman, " and the truth 
 
 " The truth, me dear sir ? that's just it. 
 No two of the people who go out to preach 
 it are agreed as to what the truth is, or the 
 meaning of their own favourite texts. 
 Every man of them adds to the plain letter 
 a watery gloss of his own, without which 
 the truth in his eyes is no truth at all. 
 No, no, me friend ; first make the nigger 
 wash himself and wear pantaloons, give up 
 rum and red ochre, and then you may make 
 a Christian of him as soon as you like." 
 
 " And are those particular garments indis- 
 pensable ?" gravely asked Amy ; ''if so, 
 Mr. Dunster, it's rather awkward for us poor 
 females, even in this enlightened country." 
 
 "And our first parents " said Mrs. 
 
 Thorn, across the table. 
 
 But this was more than St. Patrick 
 VOL I. 13
 
 194 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 could possibly stand. ^' Me dear Madam," 
 he rather fiercely broke out, " Bloomerism 
 is making its way at last in our benighted 
 country ; Dr. Elizabeth Bunting has taken 
 her degree, and the age of sense and reason 
 and science is beginning to dawn at last ; 
 and when Tlchler is more understood a very 
 different state of things will commence. The 
 world, just now, is mentally blind ; crammed 
 with old women's fables, and the rhapsodies 
 of fatuous parsons. As to our first parents, 
 as Hixley says, ' How do we know we ever 
 had any first parents ? or when the gorilla 
 first began to wear aprons ' " 
 
 But luckily, at this crisis the host's 
 cheery voice called out, " Mr. Dunster, will 
 you say Grace for us ?" 
 
 And say it he did, in one swift, rapid 
 jerk, the shortest and hardest form of thanks 
 ever printed. It consisted of three words 
 —'' Thank God, Amen."
 
 TWO YEARS AFTER. 195 
 
 Not that St: Patrick had the least inten- 
 tion of being irreverent, or unthankful, 
 after a good dinner. He believed in the 
 Giver of daily bread, as well as in a cook ; 
 but the whole tone and bias of his mind 
 were saturated with Tickler^ and every 
 thing must be square, precise, and hard, 
 accordingly. The old lawyer knew his 
 man, and understood him. Antony had 
 been regarding him as he would have looked 
 at a strange fossil ; Mrs. Thorn was simply 
 amazed. But after a moment's lull, the 
 whole tide of conversation was soon in full 
 swing again ; the Boolawaddy Mission re- 
 vived between Tony and Mrs. Thorn ; then 
 the East wind and rain, that the Lord of the 
 Manorwanted for his turnips; crochet, and the 
 gorilla question. Concerning this last ques- 
 tion, indeed, Dunster was eager for the fra}^ 
 
 *^ Now," said he, looking keenly round 
 as he spoke, " what about first parents ?" 
 
 13—2
 
 196 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 " Well/' said Gerald, " I don't know ex- 
 actly what your family may be, but we 
 Hastings people belong to the Hastings' of 
 Battle, and we haven't a taste of the gorilla 
 among us." 
 
 At which there was a good laugh, in 
 which none joined more heartily than St. 
 Patrick himself; and the host and Antony 
 quietly got back again to the old topic of 
 crops, and a special Collect at church on 
 the previous Sunday. 
 
 " Me dear Mr. Thorn," cries out the 
 curate, " what is the use of worrying your- 
 self about Collects for rain ? You can't 
 have any rain till you get a change of 
 wind." 
 
 "Then we'll pray for change of wind," 
 replies Gerald. 
 
 " But that all depends on atmospheric 
 changes, and the laws of natural pheno- 
 mena."
 
 TWO YEARS AFTER. 197 
 
 " Quite so," interposed Thorn ; " but who 
 regulates the changes of atmosphere and 
 controls the laws ? It's quite clear that we 
 can't and don't, or I should have had rain 
 for my turnips months ago. We must go to 
 the fountain-head, Dunster, after all, and as 
 I take it. He that made the laws must be 
 greater than his own handiwork, and '' 
 
 " But the question," replies St. Patrick, 
 ^' is whether He will interfere with the 
 working of His own law^s? ' 
 
 At this point, however, again came in the 
 voice of the cheery host, who thought that 
 affairs were now getting too hot ; " The fact 
 is," said he, " you are all in the wrong box. 
 The laws control themselves entirely. They 
 made themselves at the first, just manage 
 their own affairs of wet and dry at their 
 own sweet will, and as it suits their own 
 crops." 
 
 St. Patrick had too much good sense
 
 198 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 not to see how this was intended to be 
 taken, and so answered cheerily enough, 
 
 " All right, me dear sir, the rain will 
 come all in good time, no doubt. The 
 worst thing ye can do is to be always think- 
 ing it's East wind that's coming ; it's sure 
 to come if ye do. I thought the East wind 
 was coming all day last night, but it 
 didn't." 
 
 At which characteristic speech shouts of 
 laughter followed, and the talk fell into 
 quieter channels, though the Irishman 
 couldn't for the life of him understand the 
 cause of their merriment. 
 
 " You English people," he said, '^ are 
 always laughing at us Irish for making 
 Bulls, though for the life of me I can't 
 make out what I have said to set you all 
 off; but other people would do the same 
 if they had life enough in them. If a 
 Frenchman does it, you call it, espieglerie^
 
 TWO YEARS AFTER, 199 
 
 but poor Paddy is simply a fool. Here's 
 Talleyrand's wife, now, — she says, ^ I'm so 
 glad I don't like spinach.' ' Why?' says her 
 husband. ^ Why ? because, don't you see, 
 if I did like it, I should eat so much of it, 
 and I hate it !' Now, no Irishman would 
 have said that to his husband — that is, 
 to her wife " 
 
 At which there were fresh shouts of 
 laughter ; and then, at a signal from Mrs. 
 Thorn, the ladies retired. 
 
 When they were gone, Antony Hastings 
 led the talk back at once to " Guaxara," 
 the silver mine, and 10 per cent, for his 
 money. 
 
 " I want to hear," said he, " and I want 
 Gerald to hear more of this affair, Mr. Thorn, 
 if Dunster will give him up for five minutes 
 from the ^'spirit-rapping" question over 
 which he has gone crazy. Three per cent, 
 is all very well, no doubt, but in these days
 
 200 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 of progress, it seems to me very 
 slow work, and our income is small 
 enough for a great place like the Manor 
 House." 
 
 So Gerald and the parson gave up the 
 question of Mediums and Mr. D. Home 
 for a time, and the lawyer began to unfold 
 the glowing fortunes of the Guaxara mines, 
 and the new Company. 
 
 The upshot of a long talk was the 
 following remark from the Director : 
 
 "Well, young men, there, as far as I 
 know, is the exact position of the new 
 Company. If you ask my advice, I should 
 say, be content with your 3 per Cent. 
 Consols. But if you will not be content 
 with three, and demand ten, shares are 
 now to be had in the Guaxara mine. 
 Think well of it ; and don't be in 
 a hurry to decide the question at once. 
 They will be in the market for some days
 
 TWO YEARS AFTER. 201 
 
 yet, no doubt. And now let us go upstairs 
 and have some coffee." 
 
 This was a wise speech, and well adapted to 
 stimulate the keen appetite of Antony Hast- 
 ings for the 7 per cent, additional ; and he 
 went upstairs in a serenely good humour. 
 
 Once there, the lawyer and his wife, 
 the parson and Antony, set to work at a 
 cosy game of whist, while Gerald met his 
 old antagonist at chess. 
 
 So diligently did both parties pursue 
 their game, that it was really late when 
 at last the Curate started up and declared 
 that he must go. 
 
 '^But you two," said the lawyer, turning 
 to Gerald, "had better stay here to-night. 
 Your old room is quite ready ; and you can 
 decide about the ^^Guaxaras'' to-morrow 
 morning. It is always well to sleep on such 
 matters." 
 
 And, to this they readily agreed.
 
 1 " ' Iir Tt rrxX-rilZC —n — -X X «t _rv- — -ri- rr 
 
 :^mm. 
 
 n — m -To z 
 
 * i » r II I m 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 BY NIGHT. 
 
 " I have no words to thank you, sir, 
 But I shall live your debtor all my life." 
 
 Otway. 
 
 HERE was a small garden at 
 the back of Barton Villa, and 
 tliere for half an hour, in the 
 quiet moonlight, the two bro- 
 thers walked up and down and chatted as 
 they smoked, before bed-time. 
 
 " I say, Gerald, it strikes me that this 
 oiFer of Thorn's is a very good one that 
 we ought not to let slip — what say 
 you?" 
 
 " Well, I dare say it's all right, but I am 
 content with the 3 per Cents ; and don't
 
 BY T^IGHT. 203 
 
 much care to risk what little I have in 
 silver mines." 
 
 " There can be no risk, if it's all right ; 
 and old Thorn is not at all the man to be 
 mixed up with shaky things.'^ 
 
 To this, at first, there was no reply ; but 
 the end of a rambling talk between the 
 brothers was an agreement that they 
 should, if possible, jointly mortgage the 
 estate for two thousand pounds, to be 
 invested in Guaxara shares, provided 
 Thorn could get as many, and at the 
 same time guarantee that there would be 
 no liability beyond the amount invested. 
 
 " But I see how it is, Gerald," added his 
 brother, " at present, with you ; and I might 
 as well reason with the man in the moon. 
 You're crazy about that little girl upstairs. 
 Well, well, my boy, take care that she 
 doesn't throw you over, that's all. That's 
 her room, up there, over the kitchen, where
 
 204 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 the light burns ; ' brighter than the moon 
 a thousand-fold 1' — there's the first line of 
 a sonnet for you, which I know you have 
 been working at for the last half-hour. What 
 a pity it is that I am here ; if you and the 
 moon only had it between you, now, you 
 might have serenaded her. But, by 
 Jove," he added, '' there goes the light, — 
 out ; it's time for us too to be off — 
 unless you are going to mount guard till 
 dawn." 
 
 '^ Many thanks, Tony, for your opening 
 stanza; if I'm hard up for a rhyme I shall 
 know at all events where to come for one ; 
 but meanwhile don't be too lavish in your 
 gifts, though after a second pipe your 
 imagination is apt to run riot I know. 
 A Sonnet is not in my line at all ; besides, 
 it's getting cold, and I am tired." 
 
 Half an hour after this, Antony, like 
 the rest of the household, was sound
 
 BY NIGHT. 205 
 
 asleep, while Gerald's keen and busy brain 
 still reviewed the events of the day. In 
 spite of all he could do to rid himself of 
 them, Martin Glenny and tortured kittens, 
 the law of sea-breezes and red hair, Tickler 
 and the East wind, and, above all, a pair of 
 laughing black eyes glancing at him across 
 a chess-board, all mingled in odd confusion, 
 and kept him awake and perplexed with 
 idle thoughts which he would have gladly 
 cast aside. But the most troubled thinke? 
 falls asleep at last, and so at length it 
 happened with '' the defender of kittens." 
 
 How long he slept, he never rightly 
 knew, but when he awoke again it was 
 with a start and a cry. It was pitch 
 dark, and the room was filled with 
 dense smoke. Luckily his bed was 
 near the door, of which he at once 
 found the handle, and then begun to hunt 
 for a box of matches. These at last he
 
 206 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 found, struck a light, and having put on a 
 few clothes, proceeded cautiously to wake 
 his brother. 
 
 " Confound it, Gerald, what on earth 
 are you waking a fellow up for at this 
 time of night?" 
 
 " Tony," he said, after giving him 
 another shake, " there's something all wrong 
 here ; the house is full of smoke and on 
 fire, I believe, downstairs. Get up; be 
 quick, man ; and let us go and see what is 
 to be done. Dip your towel in the water- 
 jug, and hang it across your face." 
 
 In another second the sleeper was out of 
 bed, and hurrying on his clothes, calling 
 out, however, to his brother not to carry 
 away the light. 
 
 Meanwhile, Gerald stepped out into the 
 passage ; up which rolled a volume of 
 thick smoke that nearly choked him, and 
 almost extinguished the candle. He knew
 
 BY NIGHT. 207 
 
 nothing of the situation of the bedrooms, 
 but he felt that not a minute was to be lost, 
 if the sleepers were to be saved. The first 
 rooms he came to were those of servants, 
 who on being suddenly roused from sleep 
 by a loud knocking, after the. fashion of 
 their kind, simply screamed and threatened 
 to go into hysterics. 
 
 " For God's sake," said Gerald, '^ go 
 and call your master and mistress, instead 
 of screaming there like a pack of fool». 
 You know where their rooms are; I 
 don't. Go at once." 
 
 The smoke grew thicker ; and to add to 
 his perplexity the candle suddenly went 
 out, from a chance blow against the 
 balusters. But having once reached the 
 stairs, Gerald determined to make his way 
 down, and if possible see where the fire 
 was, and raise an alarm. Groping his way 
 slowly and carefully on, he at last reached
 
 208 gp:rald bastings. 
 
 the underground kitchen, where he found 
 the volumes of smoke fiercer and denser 
 than ever. All he could make out in a 
 hurried glance was that a large horse 
 covered with clothes, had fallen forward on 
 the kitchen fire in a great heap which lay 
 smouldering and half-burnt. Gradually the 
 flames had set fire to the woodwork and a 
 large wooden press close by, and were now 
 slowly creeping up the sides of the room. 
 
 Half-choked and blinded with the heat and 
 smoke, he saw in a moment that he could 
 do nothing to check the fire single-handed, 
 but must at once give the alarm. Closing 
 the door, therefore, he crawled upstairs 
 again, and guided by the balusters reached 
 the first-floor, where he found two half- 
 dressed servants rushing about under 
 Thorn's directions, and with lights search- 
 ing for some papers of value and the plate- 
 basket ; the front door wide open, and
 
 BY NIGHT. 209 
 
 another group tending some one near the 
 
 door, in the dingy moonlight. 
 
 " Are you all mad," cried Gerald, " that 
 
 you open the door ? In two minutes that 
 
 draught will have the whole story in 
 
 ^ blaze! Has any one gone for the 
 
 engines ?" 
 *^ No one." 
 
 Then, snatching up a hat from the hall 
 table, and closing the door with a loud 
 crash, he set oiF at the top of his speed to* 
 the nearest station, which was luckily close 
 
 at hand. In less than two minutes he was 
 back again at the house, just in time to find 
 a policeman at the door in charge of sundry 
 bundles of papers and other valuables, a 
 crowd of idlers who seemed to have started 
 up out of the earth, shouting Fire ! and the 
 bewildered household huddled together 
 round Mrs. Thorn who had fainted in a 
 sort of panic of excitement and terror, 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210- GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 but was noAv slowly coming to her 
 senses. 
 
 As the old lawyer seized upon the young 
 man, shook him mightily by the hand, and 
 said, "Thank God! All safe! all safe!'^ 
 Gerald looked nervously at the assembled 
 group, and then suddenly called out — 
 
 " Are all there ? Where is Miss Thorn ?" 
 
 " Oh !" replied a servant, " she's all right, 
 sir; I called her myself five minutes ago^ 
 and got her a cloak, and " 
 
 " Cloak or no cloak, she is not here !" 
 
 " Stay !" he cried to Antony and to the 
 old man, who both started forward at his 
 words. '^Neither of you could bear the 
 smoke for one minute. Where is her 
 room ?" 
 
 " Second door on the right," screamed a 
 chorus of voices, "at the top of the first 
 landing ! " 
 
 Snatching the amazed policeman's Ian-
 
 BY NIGHT. 211 
 
 tern from his hand, Gerald hastily dashed 
 up the stairs, and in a trice was at Amy's 
 door. It was wide open, and the room 
 empty. He searched every corner of it, 
 but in vain. Then he rushed frantically 
 down the passage to the next room, and in 
 doing so tripped his foot against some 
 unseen object, and almost fell. It was a 
 heavy deal box, in the very centre of the 
 passage, and close to it lay the prostrate 
 body of her whom he sought. In another 
 moment he had her in his arms, and was 
 bearing her cautiously down the stairs, just 
 after the engine had thundered up the 
 street, and the firemen with their hatchets 
 were smashing in the kitchen windows, and 
 sending a deluge of water on the blazing 
 woodwork. 
 
 Hurrying eagerly through the passage, 
 in another moment Gerald had safely borne 
 the poor girl out into the open air, and 
 
 14^2
 
 212 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 there was a loud cry of " Saved ! saved !" 
 mingled with many a hearty " God bless 
 himP'' from the mob. But for several 
 minutes she showed no sign of life ; and it 
 was not until water had been freely dashed 
 into her face, and some brandy forced down 
 her throat, that she began to revive. But 
 in five minutes from that time all danger 
 in the kitchen was over, the fire thoroughly 
 quenched, and the reluctant mob had dis- 
 persed. 
 
 Doors and windows were now freely 
 opened, a good fire was lighted in the 
 dining-room, and as the smoke and steam 
 by degrees cleared away, the assembled 
 people began to find out that they were 
 but half dressed. Hasty toilets were soon 
 made, cold meat and bread were hunted 
 out, and as terror died away, hunger and 
 curiosity revived. Both having been has- 
 tily appeased, Gerald became the hero for
 
 BY NIGHT. 213 
 
 the night, and then Amy Thorn told her 
 story. 
 
 "I was sound asleep," she said, "and 
 dreaming, I believe, some dreadful things 
 about Tickler and the Boolawaddy savages, 
 when one rushed at me, seized me by the 
 throat, and screamed into my ear, 'The 
 place is all afire, Miss, and if you please 
 'm, the smoke's a comin' up the stairs like 
 mad.' Then I woke up, and found Eliza 
 shaking me to pieces by the arm, and try- 
 ing to drag me out of bed. But she 
 gave me a thick shawl to wrap over my 
 head, and then rushed off down the passage 
 screaming. I stayed but a minute or two 
 to huddle on a few clothes, and then ran as 
 fast as I could along the corridor to papa's 
 room, to make sure that they were safe, 
 when I tripped against something and fell 
 to the ground. After this I remember 
 nothing more till I found myself, to my
 
 214 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 amazement, on a chair in the street, with a 
 policeman's lantern staring me in the face, 
 and a crowd of people all about me." 
 
 Then she got up, and, with tears in her 
 eyes, kissed her father and mother ; and, as 
 she shook Gerald by the hand, said very 
 gravely— 
 
 "If it was proper, sir, for young ladies 
 to kiss young gentlemen, you also would 
 certainly have to undergo the operation; 
 but as it is altogether contrary to the 
 usages of polite society, you will escape, 
 and I must be content with offering my 
 heartiest and best thanks to the strong 
 arm and stout heart that have saved my 
 life." 
 
 And then, with a very demure face, she 
 made him a bewitching little curtsey, and 
 turned briskly to the old lawyer. 
 
 '* As for you, papa," she said, "I am utterly 
 ashamed of you ; only think of your quietly
 
 BY NIGHT. 215 
 
 creeping out of your own room, getting 
 safely downstairs, dragging out the plate- 
 basket and some bundles of old trumpery 
 papers, and leaving your poor unfortunate 
 little child to be burnt to a cinder ! I 
 believe you intended to get rid of me alto- 
 gether. But if you are insured, I hope 
 that the office people won^t pay a farthing !" 
 
 "My dear saucebox, you are better, I 
 see; I am insured, and I hope they will 
 pay a good many farthings, though one 
 thing I should like to know, and that is, 
 who set that infernal box in the middle of 
 the passage upstairs?" 
 
 Then he rang the bell, and inquired of 
 the servants ; but not a word of intelligence 
 could he gain. No one knew anything of 
 it, and Eliza the housemaid, to whom it 
 belonged, only muttered something about 
 ^' Thieves, she supposed, a making their way 
 unbeknown upstairs."
 
 216 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 She might have added that, having 
 thoroughly roused her young mistress, she 
 suddenly called to mind a certain new dress^ 
 of her own in a certain deal box, not far 
 oif, and, having rusljed oiF to her bedroom y. 
 she had with infinite toil dragged it half- 
 way down the passage — there become 
 suddenly half-choked with smoke, and there 
 been forced to leave her treasure in the 
 darkness, where it nearly broke the necks of 
 the hero and heroine of the night. But all 
 this she prudently kept to herself, for there 
 are times when even a maid servant's tongue 
 knows how to be silent. 
 
 Mrs. Thorn was very enthusiastic over the 
 whole matter, when all danger was over^ 
 and extolled Gerald's heroism to the very 
 skies. 
 
 "My dear," she said, "I consider that 
 you have saved all our lives, and though 
 Amy could not, of course, kiss a young:
 
 BY NIGHT. 217 
 
 gentleman, her mother can," — and so she 
 did, very heartily. 
 
 Then the two young men took a cab, 
 and went off to Barton Manor; while Mr. 
 Thorn set out for town, calling on his way 
 at the Insurance office, and handing in a 
 rough estimate of the damage done by 
 the fire. 
 
 " Well, Gerald ?" said the elder brother, 
 as they rattled off, " you have done a good 
 night's work, anyhow. That girl is yours 
 now, as safe as the bank !" 
 
 "Perhaps: but the bank is not mine yet; 
 and what I did for Amy Thorn, I would 
 have done — as any fellow would — for any 
 woman in peril of her life. But where 
 were you, Tony, all the time?" 
 
 '' Yes, yes, my dear boy, for any 
 woman if she is young and pretty, and you 
 are desperately spooney over her! — don't 
 be savage now; it's a true bill. As for
 
 218 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 nie, Pm too old and ugly for young ladies 
 to dream of, and so I had to look after my 
 carpet-bag in the bedroom, and a new 
 umbrella in the passage. But of course 
 some of those rascally cads had got into the 
 passage, somehow or other, and nothing 
 could be seen of my new umbrella. Of 
 course Thorn will pay for it." 
 
 They reached the manor house just in 
 time to meet Mr. Punter and Captain 
 Straw at the gate, it being the day of a 
 match for slaughtering sparrows, in which 
 noble sport Antony Hastings was fast 
 becoming a proficient. ,
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WAKING UP. 
 
 " Love is the cross and passion of the heart, 
 
 Its end, its errand." 
 
 J. P. Bailey. 
 
 .5i^^ HE tramc incident of the fire 
 produced very different effects 
 in the two persons chiefly con- 
 cerned in it; though both 
 were at first unconscious how deep those 
 effects were. 
 
 Amy's first and main thought was one of 
 simple gratitude to the man who had saved 
 her life, but she would have felt just the 
 same gratitude to Antony Hastings if he 
 had rescued her from sudden death ; and
 
 220 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 though she liked Gerald rather the best of 
 the two, it was in vain that she searched 
 her heart for traces of any tender feeling 
 towards him. 
 
 She almost regretted that it should be 
 so, and yet was forced to own to herself that 
 so it was. In the first rapture of finding 
 herself saved from a terrible fate, she had, 
 indeed, half in earnest, and half in jest, 
 talked of thanking him in a way altogether 
 impossible to young ladies even in these 
 fast days ; but when the fire was but a few 
 days old, and things had settled down into 
 their old track, she felt that no deeper 
 feeling than regard and gratitude had 
 been roused. 
 
 But with Gerald it was very diff*erent. 
 
 His eyes were opened at once, and he 
 knew now that the girl whom he had 
 saved that night was dearer to him than 
 life itself; that to rescue her he would
 
 WAKING UP. 221 
 
 most gladly undergo a hundred such 
 perils. And while the thought filled him 
 with a great joy, it saddened him to find 
 that on her part there seemed to be not a 
 single spark of the deeper passion which 
 filled his heart. 
 
 True, she had, half in jest, in her be- 
 witching way, talked of kissing him there 
 and then before the whole party ; but no 
 woman who really loved a man would have 
 dreamed of uttering such words — and of 
 this he felt convinced, though he hated and 
 resisted the conviction. 
 
 " Safe as the bank !" It was all very 
 well for Tony to banter him in this foolish 
 style, but Amy Thorn seemed to him now 
 to be further off than ever — more entirely 
 beyond his reach. But though he thus 
 found out the truth of the old line — 
 
 " Who says he loves, and is not wretched, lies," * 
 
 * J. P. Bailey,
 
 222 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 yet his passion roused him to a new and 
 intense life that he had never before known, 
 and filled him at times with a flush of joy 
 that blotted out every trace of sorrow. After 
 all she was so bright and beautiful 
 and charming in his eyes, that she must, 
 he thought, at last see the depth and tender- 
 ness of his passion, and give him if but a 
 grain of love in return. 
 
 Altogether it made a new man of him. 
 
 This was the state of affairs when he 
 chanced one day to call at Barton Yilla, 
 and to his surprise and great joy found 
 Amy alone in the drawing-room. His visits 
 had of late become more numerous than 
 ever ; but it had so happened that since the 
 night of the fire they had never met but in 
 the presence of others ; and though the 
 whole matter of the fire had often been 
 talked of, she had never specially alluded to 
 her perilous escape.
 
 WAKING UP. 22S 
 
 She rose and shook hands with him, as 
 he entered, very warmly, but without a 
 shadow of nervousness or hesitation; and 
 at once began to talk freely of the weather, 
 of a purse she was knitting, and of a recent 
 game of chess. But, at last, these topics 
 were all worn out; there came a sudden 
 silence ; after which the talk touched upon 
 more delicate ground. 
 
 " I am afraid, Mr. Gerald, you must have 
 thought me a very heartless sort of person, 
 that night of the fire ; for though I tried 
 to thank you, I know that I failed. It is so 
 hard to say all one feels at such a time." 
 
 " No, no," he answered eagerly, " I 
 deserved no thanks ; and heartless I never 
 could imagine you to be. The thought 
 that I had helped to save you was reward 
 enough for me." 
 
 '' Helped?" she repeated- '' Don't be so 
 dreadfully humble. It was your doings
 
 224 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 and yours only; in fact, the whole house- 
 hold have you to thank for not being 
 smoked or burnt to death. For the chances 
 are ten to one that no one else would have 
 wakened till it was too late ; and you saw 
 Avhat servants are worth at sucli a time. 
 And papa's life is a valuable one." 
 
 " No doubt it is," replies Gerald ; " but 
 I consider his daughter's life of yet greater 
 value, and would gladly risk all to save it 
 again, were the peril a hundred times as 
 great." And this he said passionately, with 
 flashing eyes. 
 
 She glanced up from her knitting, as he 
 spoke, and met the gaze with eyes that 
 kindled at his looks; and yet very quietly. 
 She saw, in fact, that he meant what he 
 said; and, with a woman's shrewdness, 
 guessing that much lay hidden under these 
 glowing words, hesitated for a moment; but 
 only said, still very quietly —
 
 WAKING UP. 225 
 
 '^ You do not place a high value on 3^our 
 own life then?'' 
 
 " Pardon me/' he answered, " it is quite 
 possible for a man to value his life most 
 highly, and yet hold another's far more 
 dear; to love life, as I do mine, and never 
 so dearly as when it rescues that other from 
 peril, for in saving that, he saves himself, 
 .und all that makes life worth having:." 
 
 " You are drawing the picture of a true 
 knight, indeed," she said; "but is such 
 heroism to be found in these prosy days of 
 hungry money-making?''' 
 
 " I hope so," he replied. " Money- making, 
 in some shape or other, ruled men in other 
 times pretty much, it seems to me, as it 
 •does in these; but good men and true were 
 ahvays to be found, as they still are, with 
 hearts as alive to the passion of beauty and 
 the grace of womanhood as in the brightest 
 of King Arthur's days. ' 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 At this she looked up at him again with 
 a winning smile that lighted up her whole 
 face, as she answered — 
 
 " You are getting quite poetical, Mr.. 
 Gerald; but perhaps you are a poet? and 
 here am I talking the very soberest 
 prose." 
 
 " No poet," he answered, "not a grain of 
 poetry in me, unless it be poetry to feel 
 deeply, and to say out what one feels. 
 There are times when the heart must speak ; 
 and I know that '' 
 
 " Do you know," she eagerly interrupted 
 — " do you know that we are, I fancy, get- 
 ting dreadfully philosophical all at once. 
 And it's growing so desperately hot here in 
 this room ; would you mind opening the 
 window a little way ?" 
 
 Gerald, smiling, opened the window, and 
 let in a breath of air from the garden ; but 
 he had made up his mind to speak, and
 
 WAKING UP. * 227 
 
 SO went resolutely back to the forbidden 
 ground. 
 
 '^Miss Thorn," he said eagerly, "call 
 it poetry or philosophy, or what you will, 
 but my heart speaks out now, because 
 it is full and must speak; and I am simply 
 in earnest, as a man only is when the whole 
 passion of his being is bound up with the life 
 and welfare of another. For many a long 
 day you must have seen and known and 
 felt that but one thought, that of yolir 
 happiness, was all in all to me; that the 
 sound of your voice was music to my ear; 
 your eyes brought me light, your presence 
 sunshine, and the hope of your love new" 
 life itself. All this you must have seen 
 and felt long, long, ago ; and yet I tell you 
 of it again, because the words are a joy to 
 me as I utter them !" 
 
 He rose up as he spoke, as if about to 
 come near her, and his burning, swift 
 
 15 — 2
 
 228 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 words, poured out with such intense eager- 
 ness, touched the heart of the young girl, 
 and made it thrill, though but for an 
 instant, with wild and strange emotion. 
 A faint tinge of colour dawned on her 
 cheek for a moment as she rose gracefully 
 and proudly to meet him. 
 
 " I believe that the words you have 
 spoken," she said, " come from your heart, 
 and they are such as any woman might be 
 proud to hear. But yet I am sorry that 
 you have spoken them, for I cannot give 
 you the answer which you seek. My heart 
 does not answer with that passion which 
 such words as yours demand — which 
 alone deserves the name of love. But 
 I thank you heartily for your kindly 
 words, as I once tried to thank you 
 for saving my life: and 1 regard and 
 esteem you as a true friend. More I can- 
 not say."
 
 WAKING UP. 229 
 
 And then she shook hands with hhn 
 heartily, as before. 
 
 "Ah!" he answered, "bare regard and 
 esteem such as yours are dear enough to 
 me only; give me one grain of hope to sow 
 in the desert with them, and they may yet 
 grow, and I am content." 
 
 " Not figs on thistles," she answered 
 laughingly ; " so said St. Patrick, on 
 Sunday last." 
 
 " There is no knowing," answered Gerald, 
 " what may spring and grow from but one 
 single seed of true hope, planted by loving 
 ^ hands. But don't give me St. Patrick's 
 sermons; no stones for bread; a word of 
 hope from your own lips. Miss Amy — this 
 is what I need." 
 
 And then he went on to plead his own 
 cause again, even more ardently and more 
 humbly than before ; but at the end of a 
 long debate he had not progressed a single
 
 280 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 inch. She listened, indeed, to all he had to 
 say, and answered his fervent words with a 
 kindly earnestness and sincerity that only 
 served to touch him more deeply than ever ; 
 but that was all. 
 
 If she did not utterly reject him, she was 
 equally far from accepting his offer. He had 
 resumed his chair once more, and she her 
 knitting, when at length they seemed to 
 have reached a quiet and safe table-land 
 among the mountains, hitherto overlooked 
 and forgotten. 
 
 "Even if it were so," she said at last, 
 "just as you argue, and even if I could 
 give you, in answer to your avowal, such a 
 return as it deserves, don't forget the plain 
 common-sense view of the question. I am 
 older than you are, quite an old woman, in 
 fact -" 
 
 "I only wish," said Gerald, "that all 
 London was peopled with such old women."
 
 WAKING UP. 251 
 
 " And old men to match them ?" she gaily 
 xidded ; " of course you do, and so do I. 
 But it is not so, unhappily ; and you must not 
 forget the sober common-sense view of the 
 whole case. I must talk to you very gravely. 
 Here you are just beginning life, with a 
 younger brother's fortune, just enough for 
 club expenses and cigars, and bread and 
 cheese and a gardener at the Manor House ; 
 and you propose to saddle yourself with a 
 young lady, who has no money to speak gf, 
 and no expectations ; who will eat you out 
 of house and home in a week. M}^ dear 
 Mr. Gerald (she was actually laughing 
 now), you don't know me; I am the most 
 mercenary being under the sun, most 
 extravagant and selfish. I require no end 
 of small luxuries, comforts, and indulgences, 
 for I have been used to them all my life, 
 and can't do without them now. But this 
 is not the kind of wife you are wanting,
 
 232 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 and that you deserve to have inflicted on 
 you. She would ruin you in a month." 
 
 " I'd gladly run all risks of such ruin," 
 he answered; " all risks, and every risk; 
 though I cannot and will not for a moment 
 believe that you are really in earnest in 
 what you say. But if I am not worthy of 
 you now, or fit to have such a hope as I 
 aspire to, tell me what can I do to be more 
 worthy to make you listen to my suit ? 
 Give it up I never will. Set me any task 
 or penance you like; but bid me look onwards 
 to some future day." 
 
 " Make yourself, then," she said slowly,, 
 at last, — " make yourself a name and a place- 
 of your own, and then, if you can find some 
 one worthy of such love as yours, she will be 
 no burden to you, but be able to rejoice iin 
 your success, and share in your " 
 
 But at this critical moment other visitors- 
 were suddenly announced. Presently Mrs.
 
 WAKING UP. 2S'd 
 
 Thorn returned from an hour's shopping, 
 and the secret conference between the young 
 people was rudely broken to pieces by the 
 entrance of Miss Satchell and the Curate, 
 w^ho happened to meet at the gate of the 
 garden, and sailed upstairs in company, 
 
 Gerald hastily shook hands with all the 
 party, and at once took his leave ; inwardly 
 cursing his evil fate in being thus miserably 
 interrupted, and heartily wishing all the old 
 maids and curates in the parish were at 
 Jericho. He knew that he should get little 
 comfort at Barton Manor, and less at his 
 club ; yet he walked away hastily towards 
 London, going on at a mighty pace, and 
 musing as he went on all that had happened. 
 In this frame of mind, he got as far as the 
 shop of his friend Martin Glenny, and there 
 naturally turned in for a chat. 
 
 Him he found as busy as usual, and as 
 full of news from the world of books, but
 
 234 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 rather out of sorts in the absence of his 
 wife. 
 
 " She wanted a change, I am sure," 
 said Glenny, "and a breath of fresh air; 
 and so I insisted on her going down 
 into Plampshire for a week, and getting 
 a glimpse of home and home faces. But 
 now she is fairly gone, I feel as if she had 
 carried away all the light out of the house 
 with her. You can have no notion of what 
 such a woman's love is to me." 
 
 " Pardon me," said Gerald, " I know 
 what light is to a house, and have often 
 thought what a lucky fellow you were to 
 ^et such a Avife." 
 
 " No doubt ; and wondered, I dare say, 
 how she ever came to marry a Blind man 
 at all. So do I myself, again and again, I 
 can assure you. But patience and perse- 
 verance will do a great deal, even after a 
 man has been three times refused. ' Well,'
 
 WAKING UP. 235 
 
 said I, after the third time, ' I don't intend 
 to give you up yet. I shall ask the same 
 question, if I live as long, once a year 
 for seven years; and then perhaps begin 
 again.' " 
 
 " Patience and perseverance," replied 
 Gerald, "will do a great deal, no doubt, 
 but not make a woman love you. There 
 must be a spark of real love to start with 
 — however small; then perseverance may 
 fight the battle and win, but no*t 
 else." 
 
 "Yes; that I grant. And in my case, 
 you see, it was all right. There was a 
 grain of real love at the root of the matter 
 — if I could only manage to get a breath 
 of new life into it — ready to spring up, and 
 face all difficulties." 
 
 " But, in my case," interrupted Gerald 
 
 and here he suddenly came to a full 
 
 stop.
 
 236 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 The silence was sudden and strange ; but 
 the Blind man, though puzzled for a mo- 
 ment, seemed to understand the matter in a 
 trice, though he could gather nothing from 
 the troubled look on the face of his 
 friend. 
 
 " In your case," he boldly and brightly 
 replied, " all will end, I hope, as happily 
 as mine, some day. Seven years seems a 
 longish time to wait, but it will be no more 
 than a day if it win the love of a true 
 woman's heart. Only, be sure she is true, 
 and be sure that she loves you ; a mere 
 barren ' Yes ' from the lips with no heart in 
 it, is worse a thousand times than the 
 bitterest ' No ' that woman ever uttered." 
 
 " But marriage, they say, will bring 
 love?" 
 
 " Once in a thousand cases, perhaps, and 
 doubtful even then. Don't forget the other 
 nine hundred and odd who never know
 
 WAKING UP. 237 
 
 what true love is; who are coupled but 
 never made one ; chained together for life, 
 and yet as wide apart in heart and feeling 
 and life, as if miles asunder.'^ 
 
 " You speak sharply, my friend, as if 
 you knew, what you never can have known, 
 — the misery of such bondage as you tell 
 of." 
 
 "Know it?" repeated Glenny, ''I know 
 it well enough; as a man must get his 
 surest knowledge — by bitter experience*. 
 Five years ago I was a widower. I had 
 married a woman who loved my money and 
 position, when I believed that she loved 
 me^ and who thought she could win and 
 rule all for herself and her relations, know- 
 ing that my father was a man of wealth, 
 and fancying she could wheedle him, in his 
 lonely old age, into being her slave as 
 cleverly as she imagined she had wheedled 
 his son. But she was too clever by half,
 
 238 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 and too eager for us to put on our fetters ; 
 she showed her cards when she should have 
 kept them beyond suspicion. What would 
 have become of me, if she had lived, God 
 only knows. But death, that does many 
 hard things, was merciful in this case, and 
 divided two people who had never been 
 really one. This, you see, made me speak 
 out so fiercely just now, and I think I was 
 right. So, patience and perseverance is my 
 creed. It's very common-place philosophy, 
 I dare say, to say nil desperandum^ for it 
 has got down to be the motto of a Music 
 Hall song, and so can't get much lower, and 
 yet it is true." 
 
 Then Gerald Avished him good morning, 
 and went on his way, if not rejoicing, at 
 least in better spirits with himself, and 
 looking less gloomily on the future which 
 lay hidden before him. His musings and 
 meditations on his way home would fill
 
 WAKING UP. 
 
 2S9 
 
 many pages ; but while they were pleasant 
 enough to my hero, they would perhaps- 
 weary the reader, and so I forbear to write 
 them at the close of this chapter.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 MOTHER AND DAUCxHTER. 
 
 " Friends ? a}^ more than friends, indeed, 
 
 They knew each other's hearts." 
 
 Anon. 
 
 Y dear Amy," said Mrs. Thorn, 
 as soon as the visitors were 
 gone ; " my dear Amy, you and 
 Mr. Gerald seemed to be tre- 
 mendously busy just now when we came in. 
 He looked quite annoyed at being inter- 
 rupted?" 
 
 " I dare say he Avas, mamma ; visitors 
 7mll come in at such awkward times, you 
 see, just when they are not wanted. And 
 of all people in the world, those two old 
 gossips the Curate and his wife !"
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 241 
 
 " My dear, you must not call her his 
 wife when you know she is nothing of the 
 kind. It's the mere tittle tattle of the 
 parish, you may depend on it. Sarah 
 Satchell is far too respectable a young 
 woman." 
 
 " Old^ mamma, old woman if you like ; she 
 recollects the Battle of the Boyne, I know." 
 
 " Well, old woman then, but far too re- 
 spectable to encourage any such idle talk." 
 
 " But she made him an offer, mamma, thafr 
 is well known — on the night of the Jack- 
 sons' party — and he only got out of it by 
 saying that he already had a mother-in-law 
 and four small children, who would have to 
 come and live with him if he took a house 
 and got married." 
 
 "Nonsense, Amy, he is not a widower; 
 only a little while ago, and the parish were 
 all saying that she was in love with Mr. 
 Gerald, and that he really liked her." 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 " That I don't believe for a moment." 
 
 "Why not, my dear? She has a very 
 good house and a capital income, and would 
 make him a capital wife. I should think it 
 very likely, indeed." 
 
 '' Not in the least likely as far as he is 
 concerned." 
 
 ''How can you possibly tell that, Amy? 
 He has been looking melancholy enough 
 for months past, poor young man.'' 
 
 " Because he happens to like somebody 
 else, mamma, that's all," 
 
 " My dear Amy, you really must be care- 
 ful what you are saying. How can a young 
 lady tell whether a young gentleman likes 
 somebody else or not ?" 
 
 " Well, in this case, mamma, I happen 
 to know it you see, because he told me so.'* 
 
 " My dear child, you are more puzzling 
 than ever. Why should he tell you of all 
 people in the world?"
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 248 
 
 *' Simply because I was that somebody 
 €lse, I suppose. He said tbat he loved me 
 better than his own life, and 1 really felt 
 inclined to believe him, and told him so. 
 But then " 
 
 " You told him to speak to your father^ 
 I hope, Amy ?" 
 
 '' No, mamma, I certainly did nothing of 
 the kind. I told him that I was a great 
 deal older than he, and had seen more of 
 the world, and that he had no notion what 
 a selfish, extravagant, thing a wife was ; and 
 so I advised him to wait for a few years, 
 and make his fortune, and then if he found 
 a charming damsel ready to love him, by 
 all means to marry, if she would have him. 
 Wasn't that good advice ?" ' 
 
 " My dear child, what a clever girl you 
 are ! the very best advice you could possibly 
 have given him." 
 
 ** I am afraid that he did not think so, 
 
 16—2
 
 244 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 mamma. Young men don't like young 
 ladies' advice unless it just happens to 
 agree with their own wishes, however 
 clever it may be." 
 
 " And you don't care a grain for him 
 then, Amy?" 
 
 " Well, mamma, a grain is a very small 
 quantity. I like him, you see, well enough^ 
 and I owe him ray life, and I think he is a 
 good-hearted generous fellow; but I don't 
 want to marry just now, and a few years' 
 knocking about in the w^orld w^ill improve 
 him very much, though he cannot see that 
 just at present." 
 
 For the next few minutes crochet and 
 netting progressed in silence, and then a& 
 the first bell rang the two ladies went to 
 dress for dinner. 
 
 Alone in her own room. Amy began to 
 think over matters a little more seriously 
 than she had yet done, or might be supposed
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 245 
 
 to do if judged only by the lively talk 
 between mother and daughter. But it was 
 her nature to speak lightly and fluently 
 €ven of matters that she felt deeply; and 
 the channel into which her thoughts now 
 fell was of a far graver cast. 
 
 Thus they ran. She was pleased, as 
 €very woman is, when a man worthy of 
 love pays her the highest compliment in his 
 power by offering to make her his wife; 
 and doubly so because she felt the compli- 
 ment, and really liked the man who made 
 it. He was very pleasant, she knew, as an 
 acquaintance, as a friend to play chess with, 
 or to dispute with — for argument was her 
 favourite amusement — but scarcely as a 
 husband. She had never really thought of 
 him in that light. She was quite content 
 with her present condition. Possibly she 
 might have, during the past year, rather 
 encouraged his devotion to herself, and led
 
 2'4'6 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 liiin a little way on towards the avowal 
 which he had just made; and in this pos- 
 sibly she was not without blame, as she 
 even allowed to herself ; but still, if young 
 men were so easily ensnared the fault 
 no doubt was mainly their own. She had 
 never really meant to make a conquest of 
 him with malice prepense ; and after all he 
 would soon get over it; — of this there was 
 not a doubt. 
 
 At this moment the second bell rang; 
 she put a rose in her hair and went down 
 to dinner with rather a flushed cheek, 
 and a brighter sparkle in her eyes than 
 usual. 
 
 Mr. Thorn was in unusually good spirits 
 when he came home to dinner that day, 
 and showed it, as he always did, to every 
 body in the house. The fact is that the 
 Guaxara shares had gone up to " par " that 
 morning, and at a meeting of the committee-
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 247 
 
 the secretary had foretold a glorious future 
 for that famous silver mine, increased fees 
 to the directors, and dividends to the fortu- 
 nate shareholders. 
 
 " I only wish," he said to his wife as they 
 were dressing, "that those two young 
 fellows had laid out a thousand or so more." 
 
 Then he heard the news of what Amy 
 had said and done that morning in the 
 matter of Mr. Gerald Hastings, and this 
 pleased him all the more. 
 
 He was full of fun and anecdote, and 
 joking all through dinner ; insomuch 
 that Binks, a most staid and respectable 
 old man-servant who waited at table, was 
 hardly able to keep his countenance. Din- 
 ner however was over at last, and when 
 the servants had retired he at once began to 
 quiz his daughter. 
 
 "I am afraid, Amy, that you are fast 
 becoming a very wicked young woman 1"
 
 248 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 *^Me, papa! what in the world do you 
 mean?'' (though she knew as w^ell as he did 
 what was coming). 
 
 *^ My dear child, you are simply turning 
 the heads of half the young men in the 
 parish. And to-day, as I understand, you 
 have hooked and landed another victim, 
 poor Gerald Hastings !" 
 
 " No, no, papa; you have misunderstood 
 the whole affair. He, very foolishly I must 
 own, hooked himself, but I declined 
 altogether to land him, though he strongly 
 insisted on being landed; on the contrary, 
 I gave him some good advice, and told him 
 he had much better sail away down the 
 stream, rise to something above the level of 
 Barton Manor, and having made himself 
 famous, look out for a young lady who 
 loved him, and was indeed worthy of his 
 love." 
 
 " Just the very advice I should have given
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 249 
 
 myself if he had come to me. By Jove, 
 Amy " 
 
 "My dear papa, pray don't invoke the 
 heathen deities on me." 
 
 " Never mind, child, you would have 
 made a firstrate lawyer; not one young 
 lady in a hundred could have given such 
 capital advice. What did he say to it?'' 
 
 " Well, he couldn't say much, it was so 
 disagreeable; of course he won't take it, 
 whatever he said." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that, Amy. He is 
 a keen, sensitive fellow, is young Gerald, 
 and the sharp word of a woman would prick 
 him like a needle. He will be flying off 
 somewhere to make his fortune before long, 
 depend on it. Don't be too hard on him. 
 Amy; though I must say that Antony is 
 the better man of the two, and his position, 
 you see, is secure." 
 
 " Yes, yes, papa, I have no doubt. But
 
 250 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 I am quite content where I am, at Barton 
 Villa, for the present. And as to Mr. 
 Antony, he may have views of his own, 
 and another lady of the manor in his eye ; 
 but at all events I am not in that envied 
 position." 
 
 " My dear, you have but to hold up your 
 little finger." 
 
 " And that is just what I certainly will 
 not do for all the lords of the manor on 
 this side of " 
 
 ^' Jordan," interrupted the lawyer, seeing 
 that she had taken his words more seriously 
 than he meant. '' I must have both those 
 young men here to dinner some day soon, for 
 if these Guaxaras once begin to go up there 
 is no knowing where they may stop, and 
 Antony Hastings, if I know the man, will 
 be crazy to have another fifty." 
 
 And then he turned the conversation to 
 other things, told them amusing stories
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 251 
 
 about the Law Courts, and a squabble be- 
 tween the Deputy Judge and two barristers, 
 who began by quarrelling between them- 
 selves on some point of legal etiquette, and 
 ended, when called to order, by abusing His 
 Honour on the bench. 
 
 The shrewd old lawyer knew all tlie 
 three men well, and mimicked their voices 
 and manner with great readiness ; so that 
 his two listeners soon forgot all about the 
 Guaxaras and young Hastings, as he fully 
 intended that they should ; and were laugh- 
 ing heartily at the unfortunate Deputy 
 Judge — better known as a fluent and 
 amusing speaker on the platform of Ragged 
 Schools and Dorcas Societies than as an 
 expounder of the law in the Court over 
 which he presided. 
 
 An hour's music and some more amusing 
 gossip brought the evening to a close, just 
 in the manner Thorn desired. He had
 
 252 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 made up his mind that his daughter 
 should some day become Antony's wife, 
 but he was wisely content with having just 
 sowed the seed in a light and casual 
 manner that gave no room for the suspi- 
 cion of his having any such object in view. 
 Gerald's offer of that morning had quietly 
 effected what he had been vainly trying to 
 do for months past. 
 
 '^ The very best thing," he said to his 
 wife that night when alone in their own 
 room — "the very best thing that young 
 man can do is to follow Amy's advice, both 
 for her and for himself — and above all for 
 me. He is now just mooning away his life 
 in pursuit of ' nothings '; getting deeper and 
 deeper in this crazy idea of being in love, 
 and preventing her from making a really 
 good match. But, for mercy's sake, Jane, 
 whatever you do, don't oppose her in any- 
 thing she likes to do or say about him —
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 253 
 
 and never, even remotely, allude to Antony 
 Hastings as a husband or lover." 
 
 " Me, John ? — as if I were at all likely 
 to be mentioning such a thing!" 
 
 " Not in the least likely, Jane, but cer- 
 tain to do it. You women can no more 
 help gossiping and fidgeting over the idea 
 of a new match, or a bit of love-making, 
 than kittens can avoid drinking milk. It's 
 meat and drink to you all ; and with your 
 tender heart, no two young people are safe 
 for a week, if you once take to prophesy- 
 ing. But this time you must be careful." 
 
 "What shameful things you do say, 
 John ! Not one wife in a hundred would 
 ever allow herself to be talked to in this 
 way ! " 
 
 "And you, my dear, are that very one; 
 add but a grain or two of discretion in this 
 particular case, by simply seeming to 
 throw cold water on the whole idea, and
 
 254 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 especially on Antony Hastings as at all a 
 marrying man, and you will be one in a 
 thousand. A touch of seeming opposition 
 is all that Amy needs to do what I wish." 
 
 Then Mr. Thorn said good night to the 
 partner of his bosom, and calmly resigned 
 himself to the arms of Morpheus. In two 
 minutes, he was ostensibly sound asleep; 
 but in reality carefully thinking over the 
 events of the day, and mapping out his 
 plan of action for many days to come. 
 
 He was a man of infinite dexterity in 
 little things ; and wisely thought that 
 nothing was too unimportant or trifling 
 for him to do well. ' Aut bene, aut niU 
 was a motto in which he thoroughly be- 
 lieved. 
 
 This was the maxim which he carried 
 out to the very letter, wherever he went, 
 and whatever he did. There was not a 
 scrap of slovenly work in his entire round
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 255 
 
 of business. Not that he always suc- 
 ceeded ; for no man but a fool ever does 
 always succeed. 
 
 But Jack Thorn's failures, in their way 
 were successes. If utterly beaten and 
 routed — bag and baggage — he still con- 
 trived that his retreat should be a triumph 
 in its neatness and utter defiance of the 
 enemy.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE MINERVA CLUB. 
 
 *' Here witlings, sages, would-be bards, and sparks 
 Of first-rate water, meet and talk." 
 
 Haerisois". 
 
 HE Minerva Club was, as every- 
 body knows, the offspring of the 
 great Megatherium. But, unlike 
 its famous and fashionable 
 parent in St. James's Street, it had been 
 founded almost beyond the borders of civi- 
 lized life, in a strip of debateable land that 
 lies between the strict world of Babylon 
 and the outlying suburb of Barton Manor. 
 It was meant for younger sons — for those 
 who knew that a guinea was a guinea—
 
 THE MINERVA CLUB. 257 
 
 who knew it had to be worked for and 
 spent with care. 
 
 But none the less was it a very genial 
 and pleasant assemblage of young, active, 
 and '' clubable " men. Among its mem- 
 bers were to be found a goodly sprinkle of 
 rising, young barristers and of clever 
 artists ; literary men just beginning to 
 make their mark, and prophesying great 
 things of what ought to be done and what 
 must be done in the next ten years ; with 
 "just a dash of idlers to relieve — as Grassy 
 the rich sugar-baker's son said — a dash of 
 idlers to relieve the monotony of genius 
 and the glory of work." 
 
 Old Thorn was an honorary member of 
 this club, and it was through his influence 
 that Gerald had been introduced into it. 
 And thus far the atmosphere of the 
 Minerva had agreed with him well. If 
 he had found no friends there, he had 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 formed several pleasant acquaintances^ and 
 often enjoyed the cool, self-assured, talk 
 that went on with unbroken freshness at 
 dinner and in the billiard room, among 
 young men mostly of his own age, but 
 who had seen far more of life : and though 
 they had learned many things by reading 
 mankind, yet were not above learning wis- 
 dom from books. 
 
 It was this fact which had gradually led to 
 the formation of a good library and made 
 Gerald a frequent visitor to the Minerva; 
 for in the comfortable reading room at- 
 tached to it he spent many happy hours, 
 which became more frequent than ever 
 after the events of the last chapter. The 
 society of Barton Manor grew more and 
 more distasteful to him, and Captain 
 Punter positively offensive, as the Minerva 
 became more and more agreeable. 
 
 The Secretary of the Club was an old
 
 THE MINERVA CLTJB. 259 
 
 half-pay Major of the Indian army, with 
 whom Gerald had become great friends, 
 and thus came about the following short 
 dialogue, which the thread of my story 
 obliges me to introduce, as it bore lasting 
 and important fruit : — 
 
 " I have been thinking," said the Major, 
 one morning, 'Hhat our books are in a 
 most lamentable state of confusion. Many 
 of them are, I believe, trash, but a 
 far larger number are good ; though 
 we hardly know what we really have, and 
 how many are no better than waste paper. 
 Do you chance to know, Hastings, of an}^ 
 fellow that understands such work, and 
 would come here and put the whole thing 
 square, catalogue the books, and tell us 
 what to do, for a reasonable sum of 
 money ?" 
 
 " Well, Major, I think I know the very 
 mam But he is blind." 
 
 17-2
 
 260 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 '^ No, no, my dear fellow, I don't mean 
 to come the charitable dodge : no, no, con- 
 found it, not a blind man." 
 
 " But there is no charity in this case, 
 I assure you. The man I mean is not a 
 cad, but the son of a man of family and 
 position. He would not touch a penny 
 from Minerva herself if he hadn't well 
 earned it, but he chooses to be a book- 
 seller and work for his bread. Of course, 
 he would employ a proper man under him, 
 use his fingers, and supply the necessary 
 brains himself. If you want your cata- 
 logue well done and wish to have it 
 weeded of trash, you had better employ 
 Glenny. That is, if he will take the 
 post." 
 
 '•^ By all means, then," said the Major^ 
 " see your Phoenix, and let me know what 
 the cost of the work will be, when you 
 have told him the state of affairs."
 
 THE MINERVA CLUB. 261 
 
 The issue of this talk was that Martin 
 Olenny undertook the work ; coming to 
 the Minerva for an hour or two three or 
 four times a week, and superintending the 
 whole business of cataloguing and valua- 
 tion ; seeing a little of (jrerald at almost 
 every visit, and amusing the members that 
 he met there by the shrewdness of his 
 talk and by his keen knowledge of men as 
 well as books. 
 
 His usual place of work was in a small 
 :ante-room adjoining the librarj^, devoted to 
 books of the past centur}^ — where his 
 assistant brought to him page by page of 
 the catalogue, and read it aloud for revi- 
 sion. 
 
 Now and then a stray man came into 
 the room, in search of some odd volume 
 of plays or essays, but for the most part it 
 was deserted and quiet, and far better 
 suited for Glenny's work than the bustle of
 
 262 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 the larger room. Now and then, toOy. 
 some one member chose to hang up his 
 coat and hat in the ante-room as he passed 
 into the library ; but with these exceptions 
 he was rarely interrupted. His work was 
 to last for some months, as he had ex- 
 pressly bargained to take his own time 
 over it, only promising that it should be 
 done well and completely at the last. 
 
 One dreary, rainy night, however, long 
 before it was completed, Glenny left his 
 work rather earlier than usual and went 
 home to dinner. That over, after a good 
 game of romps with his children and a 
 gossip with his wife, he suddenly slapped 
 his hand on his thigh — which was his 
 peculiar way of noting that he had almost 
 forgotten what he was specially bound to 
 remember. 
 
 " Mary," said he, " where is to-day's 
 paper? There is a trial in it, I'm told, of one
 
 THE MINERVA CLUB. 263 
 
 of these 'Spiritual' humbugs who has just 
 now got hold of some rich widow and 
 gulled her into the belief that he had a 
 message for her from her deceased husband, 
 in which she was charged to spend all her 
 soul's love on the dear medium. The rascal's 
 real name is Nebuchadnezzar Meldrum, 
 the same scoundrel who once tried to gull 
 me. His pet name to the old woman (the old 
 goose) being Nebbie, 'her darling Nebbie.' 
 She has spent many thousands on him, alid 
 put some thirty or forty thousand more 
 in the Funds in his name, and as long as she 
 was content with this sort of folly all went 
 well enough; but the old goose (forgive 
 me, my dear, old single ladies will be such 
 fools) at last wanted to marry him, and he 
 refused to have her. Her money he could 
 endure, but her very actual self was too 
 great a blessing. Do see if you can find 
 anything about it in the evening paper."
 
 264 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 "Martin, you are very hard on old single 
 ladies and on poor ' Nebbie,' I must say; 
 especially after your patronizing him as 
 you once did." 
 
 " Yes, my dear, I did patronize him, 
 but my eyes have been opened since then. 
 As long as he confined himself to table- 
 turning, raps, accordions playing in the air, 
 and bells ringing without hands, he fairly 
 puzzled me I confess ; but when he had the 
 impudence to tell me that the spirit of my 
 own father (who was a scholar and a gen- 
 tleman) had sent a message some ten lines 
 long, in which, after charging me to love 
 ' Nebbie' the dear medium as my best 
 friend, he made two mistakes in grammar 
 and three in spelling, I knew it to be an 
 imposture. ^ It's a gross and infamous lie,' 
 I said, ^ whoever brought you that message, 
 or wherever he came from ;' for my father 
 would rather have died than have spelt
 
 THE MINERVA CLUB. 265 
 
 sperittual with two f^^ or frendshi^) with 
 only one i — as if Almighty God didn't 
 know how to send a message to a man's 
 soul as correctly as a telegraph clerk !" 
 
 " My dear Martin, don't get savage with 
 me, and don't get profane, please." 
 
 " That is exactly what ' dear Nebby ' said, 
 and his ''jidus Achates' with the bald head, 
 who shows him off. 
 
 " ^ Dear friend,' says Nebbie Meldrmn, 
 ' if you would believe, the sperits say th*ey 
 could restore 3^ our sight by a speritual 
 power of cleansing and renewing, as surely 
 as you now hear the voice of their dear 
 brother, the medium.' 
 
 " ' Thank you,' said I, ' they have opened 
 my eyes already ; and I see clearly now, 
 that if this lying message has anything 
 whatever to do with spirits it is with the 
 father of lies himself So no more of ' dear 
 brothering' for me.'
 
 266 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 " ' Oh !' says Brother Badger (that's the 
 chap with the oily tongue, who does the 
 religious dodge ), 'do not let us have any 
 strife ; Strife is offensive to Gaud^ as one of 
 the dear spirits by my little mahogany table 
 told us the other night. Pray be at peace, 
 Strife is offensive to Gaud. It is a beautiful 
 sentiment, Mr. Grlenny.' 
 
 " ' Yes,' said I ; ' and it has the advantage 
 of being so charmingly new as well as 
 beautiful. It is almost as good as one of 
 the boys' copy-slips at school. Strife is 
 offensive to God. Is it? Yes; and so is 
 lying and swindling and humbug of every 
 kind. And if you want a text for that direct 
 from ' Gaud,' I'll give you one out of His 
 own word ; without spelling His name the 
 wrong way, and without asking the leg of 
 a mahogany table to kick it out for 
 me.' 
 
 "And so, ever since then, between the
 
 THE MINERVA CLUB. 267 
 
 house of Glenny and the house of Badger 
 there has been strife to this very day. But 
 now, Mary, let me have the last scrap of 
 news about ' Nebbie.' " 
 
 She accordingly set to work forthwith, 
 and read aloud to her husband the headings 
 of various paragraphs in " This Day's Intelli- 
 gence'— sxxoh as "Awful Suicide," "As- 
 toundmg Conduct of a Radical M.P.," " A 
 Man may not Marry his own Aunt," 
 " Strange Aifair at the Minerva " 
 
 ''At the what?" Mary. 
 
 " The Minerva. Shall I read it?" 
 
 " Well — yes ; you may as well read it." 
 
 Then she read as follows : — 
 
 " This morning a strange affair took 'place 
 at the well-hnown club the ' Minerva^' in Oban 
 Street. For some time past a system of petty 
 robbery has been carried on in that establish- 
 meni, which has completely baffled all the
 
 268 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 autliorities in the house, as well as that icell- 
 known officer Inspector Polter, who has had 
 the case in hand for some weeks. This 
 morning, however, a clue having been oh- 
 tained, the culprit turned out to he one of 
 the memhers of the club. He was at once 
 given in charge this afternoon, and brought 
 before Mr. Beak, at the Barton police court, 
 his being the district in which the offence was 
 committed. The prisoner, who stoutly denied 
 the charge, was, after a preliminary exami- 
 nation, remanded until Monday morning. 
 He was said to be well connected, and his 
 name to be Hastings. He was afterwards 
 liberated on heavy bail.'' 
 
 At this last word, the Blhid man leaped 
 suddenly from his chair, and struck 
 the table violently with his open 
 hand. 
 
 " Good Heavens !" he cried, " it's Gerald
 
 THE MINERVA CLUB. 269 
 
 Hastings. There must be some lie at 
 the bottom of this. Send for a cab at 
 once, Mary. I will be off and see 
 Polter." 
 
 " My dear Martin, who in the world is 
 Polter ? Why should you go off to him at 
 this time of night ?" 
 
 " You are the best of little women, Mary 
 (and all little women are good), but Why 
 and Because is a game that ladies do not 
 rightly understand : so^ best of little women, 
 send for my cab." 
 
 A cab was soon found, and in it the 
 blind man went off to the station-house of 
 the K division. Mr. Inspector Polter was 
 visible, and as urbane and gracious as 
 ever; but half an hour later Glenny 
 came back to the wife of his bosom in a 
 state of quiet and subdued wrath which 
 showed that his mission was, so far, a 
 failure.
 
 270 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 "Well, Martin," said she, " wliat news? 
 Is it Gerald Hastings, and what can you 
 do?" 
 
 "0 irrepressible young woman," he 
 answered, " I have no news. Mr. Polter is 
 simply a pig, and declines to enter into the 
 subject of a prisoner on remand, unless I 
 come to say something not in his favour, 
 in which case, as I can well see, he will 
 gladly hear me. Meanwhile, the inspector 
 graciously permits me to attend to-morrow 
 morning at eleven in the regular open court, 
 and hear what they have trumped up against 
 him. A pack of infernal lies, I say, beyond 
 all doubt." 
 
 " Lies, without a question, Martin, 
 if they accuse Mr. Gerald Hastings of 
 being a thief, whether infernal or 
 not " 
 
 " My dear Mary, all lies are infernal, 
 especially about bhnd men, booksellers.
 
 THE MINERVA CLUB. 271 
 
 and their friends — remember that. Gerald 
 Hastings is no more guilty of picking 
 pockets than I am of enlisting in the 
 dragoons. But tace is the Latin for candle, 
 so do not add to our troubles by ' why and 
 because,' to which I can supply no more 
 answers. Jane, too, has just brought the 
 bedroom candle, I think as a hint to us, 
 which I for one shall not find it hard to 
 take." 
 
 His wife saw how matters were at a 
 glance. It was seldom indeed that her 
 husband felt and spoke so strongly as he 
 had done that night; and every little cour- 
 tesy of manner to herself which was now 
 wanting she knew how to attribute to its 
 right cause, and was too wise and too good 
 to make the subject of a moment's irritation. 
 She saw that he was infinitely put out by 
 the whole occurrence, being far more 
 ready than able to help the friend whose
 
 272 GERALD HASTINGS. 
 
 trouble had so disquieted him, and still 
 more anxious to prove for his own satisfac- 
 tion that he had done all that could and 
 ought to be done. 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
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