m 
 
 II E> RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 UN IVERSITY 
 OF ILLINOIS 
 
 £33 P
 
 PERCY LOCKHART.
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY E. J. FRANCIS, TOOK's COURT, CHANCERY LANE.
 
 PERCY LOCKHART; 
 
 <£r, tf)e pjtfctrcn SRtfl 
 
 By FRANCIS WILLOUGHBY BAXTER. 
 
 TN TWO VOLUMES. — VOL I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 SAMUEL TINSLEY, 34, SOUTHAMPTON ST., STRAND. 
 1872. 
 [All Rights of Translation and Reproduotio
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 If a man would live well, let him fetch his last day to 
 him, and make it always his company keeper. 
 
 John Bunyan. 
 
 That we must all die we always know ; I wish I had 
 sooner remembered it. — Dr. Johnson. 
 
 There are few things so appalling as the 
 approach of death to one who has great 
 possessions, and to whom thojse have been 
 the sole or chief consideration of life. It 
 seems something like an impossibility that 
 he should be bereft of them : that his manor- 
 house and his grounds, his well-stocked 
 
 VOL. I. b
 
 2 IvHAET. 
 
 is wine-eel. raea :ind his 
 
 hounds, should actnally beeome the pro] 
 of o ._-"--' 5j which he 
 
 had planted and trained w mueh care, 
 
 shoul t forth fruit and flower, 
 
 and rock ~ : miner bre 
 
 _ tten, — and that 
 ~ »n the meanest domestic who ha< 
 • cry and trembled at hi s J 
 should, in temporal authority and worldly 
 pose 1 richer than he. 
 
 . with equal pace, travel 
 : the rich and the poor, and 
 knock with as little ceremony at both : but 
 his dread summons falls on the ears of his 
 victims with very different effects. From 
 one he takes away a life which has been 
 embittered by all that rer 
 from another, not only life, but all that is 
 supposed to make 
 
 In a richly -fun, apartment lay 8
 
 ?H2CY LOCKHABT- 
 
 David Lockhart, of Roseniount and Glen- 
 thorn, smitten by a lingering bnt mortal 
 disease. Xo great pain attended his malady. 
 Pain, in his state, would almost have been a 
 blessing ; it might have distracted his mind 
 from contemplations of unspeakable horror — 
 the body bearing part of that agony which 
 Lill-concentrated in his thoughts. It was 
 broad and brilliant day, but the window- 
 curtains were carefully drawn, so as to 
 exclude the grand outward picture of hill 
 and dale and sparkling stream which lay 
 before the mansion. Eosemount was situated 
 in one of the most picturesque counties 
 in Scotland, its possessor being classed 
 among the most fortunate of the com ~ - 
 great men; but the daily labourer who 
 looked with admiration and envy on oriel, 
 arch, and turret, if he had known what was 
 passing within, would scarcely 1. 
 changed his rough straw pallet and " smoky
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 biggin," his coarse fare and never-ceasing- 
 toil, for the soft couch and luxurious chamber 
 of the distracted Baronet. The dying man 
 could not bear to look upon the fair posses- 
 sions so rapidly gliding from his grasp. He 
 had two sons, and both had been forbidden 
 to come near him. The only person allowed 
 to approach the sick bed was an old servant,, 
 who had grown grey in his servitude. The 
 Baronet had led a bad life. His ample 
 means and appliances had been used chiefly 
 to minister to his own gratifications. He had 
 been princely in his hospitality, for the 
 l^leasures of the table were his principal 
 occupations in life ; liberal to his tenants, for 
 liberality purchased their worship ; generous 
 in subscribing to public charities and insti- 
 tutions, for it made his name respectable in 
 the county. But he had been an undutiful 
 son, a faithless husband, a careless father. 
 Yet even with all that he was generally
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 'liked by the county, both by the landed 
 gentlemen and his own tenants. 
 
 " Robert," at last said the Baronet to his 
 attendant, in a low voice of horror, "it is 
 coming!" 
 
 " What is comin'?" said the matter-of-fact 
 Robert, looking a little uneasy. 
 
 " Death!" gasped the terrified sinner. 
 
 " Hoot, Sir," said the man, in his rough 
 way, "I've seen you face death afore noo, 
 and look at him bauld enough too." 
 
 " Ay, Robert, that was when my blood 
 was up; that's easily done. I could do that 
 yet if I was up and mounted, and had some- 
 thing to fight for and win ; but it's ill fighting 
 on a death-bed;" and the old man paused to 
 give way to his despair. 
 
 " Weel," said Robert, "there's naething 
 for it but to send for the minister. If he can 
 do nae guid, he can do as little ill. Shall 
 I send for the minister, Sir David ? "
 
 PEECY LOCKHAET. 
 
 The Baronet was sorely perplexed. The 
 minister had been the object of his vulgar 
 and petty persecution. Never was the power 
 of Nemesis more bitterly felt than at the 
 thought of humbling himself before the man 
 he had so unworthily treated. But shame 
 was no match for terror. Robert was com- 
 manded to lose no time in sending for the 
 minister. 
 
 " Deil, but I'm glad I'm no' to go mysel'," 
 said Robert to himself, for he had taken no 
 small part in Sir David's coarse persecution. 
 "Eh, sirs! Eh, sirs! To think of the 
 Laird ever seekin' favour frae the man he 
 insulted before his ain congregation. God I 
 it's a lang lane that has nae turnin'."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Pray you undo this button. — King Lear. 
 
 The minister of the parish was one of the 
 few on whom injuries left little impression, 
 or, if they did, the impression was what he 
 who gave the injury might have envied. At 
 one time, William Russel — such was the 
 clergyman's name — had lost influence and 
 popularity through the wanton malice of 
 Sir David Lockhart ; but he had more than 
 regained it by an act which, although to 
 himself it was nothing, yet told on the rude 
 feelings and hearts of his parishioners more 
 powerfully than though he had spoken to 
 them with the tongue of an angel. Cholera 
 was raging in the parish, appalling to the
 
 8 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 rich and poor by the daily ravages which it 
 made, for it spared neither mansion-house 
 nor hovel. Sir David gave money liberally 
 — so did every man who was able, — but few 
 ventured to visit the victims of the terrible 
 jDestilence save the minister and the doctor. 
 Each did his work according to his calling, 
 and did it well and manfully — the minister 
 ever ready and willing and able to give 
 consolation to the afflicted, the doctor 
 always equally ready, and doing almost as 
 much good by his invincible gaiety and 
 cheerfulness as the minister by his grave and 
 intelligent admonition. Both were equally 
 intrepid in the valley of the shadow of death. 
 The doctor always approved of every word 
 and act of his spiritual coadjutor. The 
 minister had some doubts about the light 
 ways of his friend in the house of suffering ; 
 but the latter assured him that cheerfulness 
 had been the best cure he had ever dealt
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. y 
 
 in; and the minister thought it might be 
 true. 
 
 A poor widow had died of the pestilence, 
 and Sunday had been appointed as the day 
 of the funeral. After the forenoon service, 
 some rumours had reached the minister's ears 
 which immediately caused him to set off in 
 the direction of the poor woman's house. 
 About a dozen of the parishioners had assem- 
 bled outside of the house, where an empty 
 coffin was standing at the door ; but the men 
 who had brought it were panic-stricken ; the}' 
 flatly refused to enter the infected tenement 
 to perform their customary duties. The 
 minister said a few words to them with no 
 effect, one of them remarking that their lives 
 were as good as his, and he might do the work 
 himself if he liked. He took the coffin in his 
 arms, and entered the house of death. He 
 placed the body in its last earthly dwelling, 
 and was heard making the necessary fasten-
 
 10 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 ings. In a short time, he re-appeared with 
 the coffin in his arms, and placed it in a cart 
 which had been brought to carry it to the 
 grave. He again entered the -wretched 
 cottage to bring out with him a little child, 
 the daughter of the deceased. Leading the 
 poor thing by the hand, he followed the 
 body to the grave, accompanied by his 
 parishioners, now a little ashamed of them- 
 selves. After the interment, he took the child 
 home to his family, though all exclaimed 
 against the danger of carrying the infection 
 into his own household ; but no one belonging 
 to his family was smitten, and he was after- 
 wards looked up to by all the country round 
 with more respect than the great man who 
 had tried to injure him. 
 
 Such was the man who now entered the 
 mansion of Sir David Lockhart. On being 
 shown into the sick chamber, Robert was 
 dismissed, much against his will, for he had
 
 PEECY LOCKHAET. 11 
 
 some curiosity to witness the interview ; but 
 nothing was ever known of what passed 
 between the clergyman and the Baronet. 
 About an hour afterwards, Eussel left the 
 mansion, and he never afterwards willingly 
 spoke of his interview with the dying man. 
 
 The Baronet himself hardly spoke again 
 when Robert was recalled to attend him. He 
 attempted to say something about "Walker 
 the writer," his law agent in the neighbour- 
 ing town of Thriveport, but his meaning 
 could not be made out by Robert. Some 
 thought afterwards that he wished to make 
 his will, but it was too late for that. As it 
 happened, Walker himself was lying danger- 
 ously ill of fever, of which he died. The 
 landed proprietor and his agent were carried 
 during the same week to the same myste- 
 rious kingdom, to stand their trial in that 
 Court where the distinction of agent and 
 client is unknown.
 
 12 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 After the funeral, a search was made for 
 the will, but none was found. The elder 
 son, Sir George Lockhart, succeeded to both 
 estates. The personal or movable property 
 was small, and Percy Lockhart, the younger 
 son, after everything was wound up and 
 settled, found himself worth something less 
 than a thousand pounds. 
 
 The brothers were as unlike one another 
 as their father and mother had been. Percy 
 had vehemently taken Lady Lockhart' s part 
 when she had been neglected, and more than 
 neglected, by her worthless husband. He 
 had thereby incurred the Baronet's undis- 
 guised displeasure. The more cautious 
 George never interfered by word or act ; 
 and his prudent conduct had its reward in 
 the broad lands of Rosemount and Glen- 
 thorn. He had been bred to the Bar, like 
 many of the landed proprietors' sons in 
 Scotland — no bad training for the duties of a
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 13- 
 
 country gentleman. He was a man of more 
 than average abilities, and of some literary 
 taste ; but selfishness and avarice were the 
 commanding elements of his cold and un- 
 social spirit. His great idea of happiness 
 was the possession of money ; even when a 
 child he used to hoard up his pocket-money. 
 Whitsunday and Martinmas were the grand 
 festivals of his youthful years. On these 
 great days, he sat with Sir David, assisting 
 him in receiving and counting the tenants' 
 rents, and in handing them their receipts. 
 Sometimes, when by himself, he had tried 
 how his own name would look at the foot of 
 the important documents. Men thought that, 
 out of his ample means, he would make a 
 handsome provision for his brother ; but this 
 did not seem to enter into his thoughts, or, 
 if it did, it had no outward expression — nay, 
 it very soon became apparent that Percy's 
 residence at Rosemount was not agreeable
 
 14 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 to the young Laird. The former soon 
 learned what was meant by the steep stairs 
 and the bitter bread of the great poet. A 
 month had hardly elapsed after the death of 
 Sir David, when he discovered that, if he 
 wished not to be turned out of the house, he 
 must leave it of his own accord. On making 
 the discovery, he hesitated not a moment how 
 to act. The few necessaries which he could 
 call his own were easily packed and con- 
 veyed to the inn, where the stage-coach 
 passed on its way to Thriveport. He left 
 the house on foot, and walked down the 
 long avenue to the high-road without trust- 
 ing himself to look back to the house of his 
 boyhood. He had enough to do to keep 
 down something like the hysterica passio of 
 poor Lear ; but, once beyond the gates, he 
 felt the necessity of self-possession, in so far, 
 at least, as outward composure was concerned. 
 A trial awaited him, too, which he had not
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 15 
 
 calculated upon. At a turn of the road, lie 
 all at once beheld his brother approaching 
 him rapidly on horseback, on the very grey 
 horse which he had been accustomed to ride 
 himself. He had recognized the horse 
 Ibefore he knew the rider. There was no 
 w r ay of avoiding a meeting; he hoped his 
 brother would pass on without speaking; 
 but Sir George pulled up, and Percy stood 
 still, feeling, to his own surprise, as calm 
 -and composed as if they had dwelt in unity. 
 Sir George's exj^ression of countenance was 
 never pleasant, not even in his happiest 
 moods ; and these were when he was re- 
 ceiving money. Even then the happiness 
 was imperfect. He had always the idea that 
 people wanted to take advantage of him, 
 though in what way he could hardly say. 
 It was a general suspicion of human nature, 
 which he carried with him into every situa- 
 tion in life.
 
 16 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 Sir George was the first to speak ; his tone 
 was as ungracious as his manner. 
 
 " May I ask where you are going in such 
 haste?" was his commonplace question. 
 
 " To do you a service — a great service," 
 was the ready answer. 
 
 " Indeed ! I should hardly have thought 
 of that," replied Sir George, with a sneer. 
 
 " It is true, however," resumed Percy; 
 " and you must have thought of it. I 
 wonder you have not mentioned it before 
 now." 
 
 " I am no reader of riddles," said Sir 
 George, very coldly; " and, though I were, 
 I have at present no inclination for the task. 
 Pray what is this great service? Let me 
 know at once the extent of my obligation." 
 
 " To relieve you of my presence at once 
 and for ever. I have left your house, and 
 have no intention of ever entering it again," 
 said Percy, a little more theatrically than
 
 PERCY LOCKHAET. 17 
 
 was consistent with good taste ; but he was 
 very young, and, as we have said, he was 
 trying to play the part of a man, — he was 
 as yet far from perfect in it. 
 
 " Well," said his brother, " you cannot 
 say that I turned you from my door." 
 
 " I thought it was as well not to wait for 
 that," returned Percy, turning away, and 
 pursuing his journey. 
 
 He thought he had done his part well, 
 poor lad : it was a wretched piece of acting, 
 but the thought of it kept his spirits up. 
 
 Sir George felt relieved, but he felt 
 troubled at the same time. He would not 
 like his neighbours to think that he had 
 acted so as to cause his brother to leave his 
 roof. Next to money, he valued reputation, 
 especially where it cost nothing. It was his 
 turn to act his part. He was not more suc- 
 cessful than Percy had been. 
 
 Shortly after arriving at the house, he 
 vol. i. c
 
 18 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 took occasion to speak on the subject to 
 old Robert, with whom Percy had been a 
 favourite. 
 
 " So, Robert," said Sir George, " my 
 brother Percy has made a very sudden step. 
 He has taken it into his head to leave the 
 old house. I am very much surprised." 
 
 "I am no' a bit surprised," said Robert, 
 bluntly. ' ' I wonder he didna gang awa 1 
 lang syne." 
 
 It would not do. The Baronet threw up 
 his part. He felt he had made a mistake 
 in trying to excuse himself to his servant. 
 So he left his household to talk as they chose, 
 suspecting, however, that their surprise at 
 what had taken juace would not be greater 
 than Robert's.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A light heart and a thin pair of breeches go thro' the 
 svorld, brave boys. — Vulgar Proverb. 
 
 Yes, Percy's heart was light, lighter than 
 it had been for many days. The pain of 
 parting from home was over, and the 
 reaction had taken place. His situation of 
 late had been inexpressibly disagreeable. He 
 had seen himself pitied by the very servants. 
 It was high time to be off. But where to 
 go? " The world was all before him where 
 to choose." But big as the world is, its 
 pleasant places are pretty well occupied, and 
 that, too, by people not very willing to make 
 room for new-comers. Every " coin of 
 vantage" is kept with military vigilance.
 
 20 PERCY LOCKHAPT. 
 
 Pshaw ! no man-at-arms ever maintained his 
 post with half the obstinacy with which a 
 thriving man of the world keeps his snug, 
 profitable position. Percy had some vague 
 notion of this in trying to make up his mind 
 where and how to begin life. Ay! look 
 round about you, mile after mile ; you 
 may travel ten thousand miles without 
 being a yard nearer the object of your 
 journey. But in looking around him. 
 Percy caught sight of the minister's manse, 
 and thither, without a moment's hesitation, 
 he directed his footsteps. He was kindly 
 received by the minister, who was very 
 soon put in possession of his simple history. 
 
 Xo man ever applied to William Russel in 
 vain, or asked his advice without receiving it 
 in all sincerity and kindness. He heard with 
 sorrow from the young man, how he had felt 
 himself obliged to leave the house of his fathers, 
 but he made no comment on the conduct of
 
 PERCY LOCKHAET. 21 
 
 Sir George. He contented himself with ask- 
 ing if he had formed any plan for his future 
 career, and, if so, of what nature. But Percy 
 had formed none. He had hardly expected 
 ever to be obliged to work for his daily bread; 
 and now that this necessity was forced upon 
 him, he felt, young as he still was, how reck- 
 lessly he had thrown away the last two or 
 three years of his life, in not having 
 devoted himself to those studies without 
 a certain proficiency in which honour and 
 respectability in any profession are not to 
 be obtained. 
 
 " You must have thought of some scheme 
 for the future. Speak frankly, and let me 
 know your mind."' 
 
 "Why, then, to speak frankly," said Percy, 
 ^Iama fair draughtsman. I may say, better 
 than the generality of amateurs — at least, so 
 an artist told me; and he advised me strongly 
 to follow painting as a profession. I think it
 
 22 PERCY L0CKHART. 
 
 is the only kind of work which I could follow 
 out with heart and soul." 
 
 The minister looked grave and kept silence 
 till Percy again spoke. " You think I have 
 not sufficient abilities for the art. As you 
 said to me, speak frankly." 
 
 " I do not question your abilities, for I am 
 no judge ; but I understand that this walk of 
 art is crowded with able men — with men of 
 genius. It will be difficult to make your way 
 among them. Even with great abilities, it 
 must take many years of hard study and 
 disappointments. Are you prepared for 
 this?" 
 
 " I think so. I have endeavoured with 
 all my power to estimate the difficulties in 
 the way; but they are difficulties which I 
 am willing to encounter, and I cannot say so 
 of those of any other profession." 
 
 1 i Of course you would not think of remain- 
 ing here to study?"
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 23 
 
 " Certainly not; I should go at once to 
 London, and put myself under a master. I 
 have as much as, with economy, will suffice 
 for my subsistence for some years, and I 
 must trust to fortune for the rest. I thought 
 of the army for some time, that genteel re- 
 source for younger brothers ; but I am quite 
 sure that if I happened to fall under the 
 command of such superior officers as I have 
 seen and heard of, I could not remain a day 
 in the service." 
 
 "I suspect," said Eussel, " there are in 
 many callings drawbacks as unpleasant as 
 what you dread in the army. I am not 
 sure that the tyranny you speak of is 
 not of some service to many young men 
 who choose a military life ; but I say not 
 this in order to recommend such a life to 
 you." 
 
 The subject was long and anxiously dis- 
 cussed. Of course the result was that the
 
 24 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 young man followed the bent of his own 
 inclination, as most people do who ask advice. 
 After all, Russel thought it was the best 
 thing he could do. And so it was deter- 
 mined that Percy Lockhart, instead of being 
 proprietor of Grlenthorn, should go to London 
 and work, as many a better man was doing 
 at that moment. He made up his mind to 
 sail in a week to London ; but lie resolved 
 before leaving to indulge in a last stroll 
 through the wild Highlands, among which 
 some of the happiest days of his life had been 
 passed. 
 
 So Percy bade the kind minister farewell, 
 and set out on his stroll through the High- 
 lands. He set off in the direction of the 
 hills, the once wild ramparts of a wild race. 
 Even by the road-side there are pleasant 
 objects to be seen at every step. The old 
 ash tree wrestling with the wind, or sunning 
 itself in rustling happiness to the subdued
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 25 
 
 and sober merriment of a stream ; the 
 whaup or the whimbrel raising his shrill ciy 
 overhead, as if challenging your incursion 
 into his solitary domain ; the golden plover 
 whistles and wheels at wary distance, and 
 the lapwing startles you with the thud of his 
 heavy wing beating the air. Hedges and 
 dykes are fast disappearing, and you enter 
 the solitary glens. There is nothing here for 
 pride, nothing for human passion. It is so 
 still, you can hear your heart beat, and 
 speak in that language which requires not 
 words. How deep the repose of the old 
 <den ! You feel that it would be treason 
 against Nature to waken the echoes with an 
 irreverent sound. How glorious the walk 
 over Nature's gorgeous carpet, whose texture 
 no loom can weave, and whose fashion no 
 artist can copy ! There is Schehalion shoot- 
 ing his pointed peak among the clouds, and 
 there is Ben Lawers and Ben More. They
 
 26 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 seem banded together to bid defiance to the 
 relentless hand of Time. The heather blooms 
 all around ; the air is scented with the match- 
 less aroma of a thousand wild flowers, every 
 wind shaking fragrance from an inexhaustible 
 treasury ; streams, heather hills, and glorious 
 forests, with their rich solitary glades and 
 rustling whispers. There are some spots far 
 up from "the road," bits of water, small 
 lochs, with the moss growing down to the 
 water-side, with all manner of weeds and 
 wild flowers entangled in endless variety, 
 where the wild duck rears in peace and soli- 
 tude her wild brood, and keeps her old house 
 undisturbed by rival claimants. Surely, there 
 is more than common gloom over the waste! 
 The red heather has lost its gloss, and the 
 scarlet berries of the mountain ash have 
 become dim. It is only a cloud passing over 
 the sun ; but you may mark other clouds 
 mustering on the summits of the surrounding
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 27 
 
 hills, mounting up piece by jueee, and crowd- 
 ing on for the zenith, like a host taking- 
 vantage ground on the eve of battle. Some 
 of them are like burnished plates of steel, 
 some have the reflected glow of a furnace, 
 some are dark and vapouring, cold and 
 leaden; but altogether there is a gathering 
 for war which it is impossible to mistake, and 
 Lockhart is to be in the very heart of the 
 strife. There is no possibility of escape. He 
 is caught. Courage, man ! you will need it. 
 The silence is broken by a low, cold, 
 moaning wind, which seems to chill every- 
 thing it touches ; the very rustling of the 
 grass and leaves has changed character — 
 they are shivering now. The trees make a 
 feeble wave with their tiny branches, as if to 
 feel for the coming storm — like the fingers 
 of a blind man groping in danger. The 
 glen is lighted up with a blaze of fire ; and 
 for a moment, tree and shrub, and rock and
 
 28 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 stream, flash out in dazzling brightness, and 
 as suddenly fall back into their grey 
 and sombre tints. Then comes the crash 
 overhead. The hills are smitten and rent 
 asunder ? Not they : they have witnessed ten 
 thousand such storms, and they bear no mark 
 of the thunderbolt. They will witness ten 
 thousand more, when you and I, and all our 
 petty anxieties, are at rest for ever. Again 
 the messenger of fire, and again the 
 deafening crash, taken up by valley after 
 valley, fondled by the mad old hills, as if 
 unwilling to part with the only voice which 
 is mighty enough to shake them into life. 
 There is another sound increasing with the 
 increasing darkness — a dull, solemn pattering 
 above and around, like the movements of a 
 muffled troop, until at last the almost solid 
 rain breaks over you, and you cannot see half- 
 a-dozen yards in any direction. Never mind, 
 keep under the rock and look at the battle.
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 29 
 
 The rain and the fire are making brave 
 work now. It requires a man to enjoy this 
 gear. The rain lashes the hill-side, and 
 passes in angry torrents from its naked ribs. 
 How the thirsty fire licks the wet ground, 
 and darts up the dark ravines, till each 
 appears in a jagged blaze, quivering like 
 a doomed capital in the hour of doom, robed 
 in the burning livery of hell ! You envy the 
 badger now in his snug dry chamber. You 
 wonder how every living thing has contrived 
 to find shelter except yourself. Nature 
 provides for her subjects. The hare and 
 the hill-fox, the linnet and the hawk, are all 
 safe under cover. The eagle alone looks 
 from her rock, proud and unappalled, as if 
 in the splendour of a summer's sun. Be of 
 good cheer. The storm is passing away ; 
 the sharp, sudden crack of the thunder has 
 been succeeded by a long distant roll. 
 
 Yonder dark wall of rain is fast leaving
 
 430 PERCY LOCKHAKT. 
 
 you, the dripping rain from the rocks is soft 
 and musical, the retreat has begun, and the 
 shadowy legions of the firmament are again 
 on the march. 
 
 Among such scenes had the spirit of Percy 
 Lockhart been tempered, and few things are 
 better calculated to set up a man than 
 familiarity with nature in her rough moods. 
 We have known few who have wrestled with 
 the elements who have not acquired fortitude 
 and readiness not often to be found among 
 the mere dwellers in cities. 
 
 On setting out for London, a singular 
 whim seized Lockhart. He had, in a manner, 
 been banished from his father's house. He 
 would renounce his father's name, and per- 
 haps make one for himself. In the mean 
 time he assumed that of Warren, which was 
 that of a distant relation of his house by the 
 mothers side. By this name we shall in 
 future designate him.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Oh ! London is a fine town, a very famous city. — Song. 
 
 To a mind of any sensitiveness, few incidents 
 are more trying than that of being suddenly 
 thrown for the first time among strangers in 
 a strange place ; totally cast off from those 
 supports and counsels which have hitherto 
 been only second to personal energy and 
 decision. The feeling soon wears off, how- 
 ever : the raw, awkward lad from the country 
 enters London with something like terror. 
 Its thieves and swindlers, and murderers 
 and garotters, are all represented as adepts 
 in their several walks of infamy, and as all 
 lying in wait for such valuable prizes as he. 
 By and by Rusticus becomes more knowing.
 
 32 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 He walks the Haymarket at night or goes 
 to the Casino with as much confidence as if 
 he were going to his own parish church. 
 There is a great deal of nonsense in your 
 quasi -decent men, who denounce the im- 
 moralities of the times. How do they know 
 about them so well? They prowl about 
 Regent Street and Great Portland Street, 
 for no purpose of course, but simply to see 
 what everybody sees, and to study human 
 nature in all its phases ; but you do not often 
 find them studying human nature in the dens 
 of the poor and the destitute, or giving them 
 that money which in their other studies they 
 give for lobster salads and champagne. If 
 all the gay streets and saloons were filled 
 with poor, ugly old women in dirt and rags, 
 instead of — their present inhabitants, we 
 have no doubt the study in this way would 
 soon be discontinued. 
 
 " Dick," says a respectable City man, with
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 33 
 
 a wife and half a dozen pledges, "I have 
 never seen what is called life in the West 
 End. You know all about it, so does every- 
 body except me. It looks foolish not to 
 know what all the world knows ; will you 
 show me the lions some night?" 
 
 " Or the lionesses?" inquires Dick. 
 
 a Oh! ah! anything that is to be seen; 
 but of course no immorality." 
 
 " Show you what is called life in the West 
 End, and no immorality ! I am afraid that 
 will be difficult," said Dick, dryly; "but 
 just as you like ; I shall be very happy to 
 show you the lions, as you call them, and if 
 they scratch you it will be your own fault." 
 
 And so Paterfamilias goes with his fast 
 
 friend, Dick Perkins, and sees the saloons and 
 
 other places of entertainment, merely for the 
 
 sake of instruction in the ways of the world, 
 
 and he glowers and " thinks his very e'en 
 
 enriched," and imagines that he commits no 
 VOL. I. d
 
 34 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 sin, — not he ; but I '11 bet he '11 not tell his wife 
 about his studies. Perhaps he '11 subscribe to 
 the Social Evil movement to-morrow. But, if 
 the dangers and seductions of London be 
 exaggerated, its difficulties are real and sub- 
 stantial, as every poor man knows ; and yet 
 it is the great resource of poor men. Many 
 seem to believe, with the old saying, ' ' All the 
 streets are paved with gold, and all the ladies 
 pretty." The streets are paved with very 
 hard stones, as many a weary foot has 
 experienced.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A friend in need is a friend indeed. — Proverb. 
 
 In London Warren discovered he was not 
 doing much good. Two years passed away ; 
 and, in spite of diligent study, he was 
 obliged to confess to himself that his progress 
 was slow. He had heard much of the neces- 
 sity of studying the great masters abroad ; 
 he resolved to go to Italy, to draw inspira- 
 tion from the works of the great apostles of 
 the art. And so he went to Rome and 
 studied, or fancied he did so, and copied, as 
 he saw others copying ; but after six months' 
 work, and hard work too, to do him justice, 
 he found he was not much farther on the 
 road to Fame and Fortune than when he
 
 36 PERCY L0CKHAET. 
 
 left the clingy metropolis. The masters had 
 drawn their inspiration from Nature, and he 
 would try the experiment. So one fine day 
 he bade adieu to the Eternal City, and set 
 off for the Apennines. He took up his abode 
 in a pleasant little inn in a village at the 
 foot of a range of mountains, making daily 
 excursions in the neighbourhood, filling his- 
 portfolio with all kinds of sketches — no doubt 
 thinking he was doing wonders. It was a 
 pleasant life though, sketching during the 
 day and reading in the evening ; whatever 
 might be the progress he was making in Art, 
 there is no doubt he was fast making up for 
 lost time in other branches of knowledge. 
 
 One evening, on his return from the hills, 
 he observed some little commotion in the 
 place of his abode. On inquiring the cause^ 
 he found that a traveller had arrived and 
 asked for an apartment. He appeared to be 
 very unwell; and after two or three hours
 
 PERCY L0CKHART. 37 
 
 liad passed, he became rapidly worse. He 
 had been smitten with one of the bad fevers 
 of the country, which was raging at that 
 time. The landlady, terrified for infection, 
 was insisting that her husband should take 
 measures to have the stranger removed. 
 The landlord was a good -hearted fellow, 
 and Warren arrived while he was endea- 
 vouring to allay his wife's fears, being 
 unwilling to turn any one from his door who 
 was evidently suffering so much. Warren 
 learned that the stranger was an Englishman. 
 He immediately asked to be shown to his 
 room, on entering which he found himself in 
 presence of a tall, handsome man, beyond the 
 middle age of life, half-sitting, half-reclining 
 on a sofa, evidently suffering under severe 
 bodily distress. Warren briefly explained what 
 had caused his intrusion, offering his services 
 in any way in which they could be available. 
 The stranger endeavoured to raise himself
 
 38 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 to thank him. He stated that he felt so ill 
 that to remove him to any distance would 
 be death ; and that if Warren could prevail 
 on the people of the house to let him have 
 a bed-room, it would be the greatest favour 
 that could be conferred on a human being. 
 Warren found that gold could buy up fear, 
 and in a short time the stranger was accom- 
 modated with the best room and bed in the 
 house, which Warren at once gave up to 
 him. He set off himself on horseback to 
 the nearest town for a doctor, and succeeded 
 in two hours in returning with one who 
 appeared to be both intelligent and humane. 
 On seeing the patient, the doctor understood 
 at once what was the matter, and wrote a 
 prescription, giving orders for treatment,, 
 which Warren promised to see properly 
 carried out. When they left the sick man's 
 chamber, he inquired of the doctor if he 
 apprehended any serious danger.
 
 PERCY L0CKHART. 39 
 
 " There can scarcely be greater danger," 
 was the answer. " Fever of any kind after 
 forty years of age is always dangerous, and 
 this gentleman has been very suddenly and 
 very violently attacked. The chances are 
 much against him." 
 
 It indeed appeared so. For many days 
 the stranger was delirious and in imminent 
 danger of his life ; but a strong constitution 
 ultimately triumphed over the disease, though 
 it left him so weak as to be hardly able to 
 think. Warren had watched and tended him 
 like a brother. He recovered rapidly, how- 
 ever, and when he understood from the 
 attendants his obligations to Warren, his 
 gratitude was as great as it was embarrassing. 
 He was still weak and confined to bed, and 
 was not allowed to talk much ; but by and 
 by, as he gathered strength, he and Warren 
 held long conversations. Warren soon dis- 
 covered that the stranger's original good
 
 40 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 abilities had been highly cultivated, and 
 that his reading had been varied and ex- 
 tensive. 
 
 One day Warren had brought his port- 
 folio to the stranger's room, and was amusing 
 himself by looking over its contents. 
 
 11 Do you paint?" said the invalid, with 
 some appearance of interest. 
 
 Warren told him that he was studying 
 painting as a profession. 
 
 " Indeed!" said the stranger. " May I 
 see some of your sketches?" 
 
 Warren brought the collection to the bed- 
 side. The stranger looked at it with great 
 attention. He went over the whole collection, 
 again and again, without saying a word, 
 till Warren became impatient, and made 
 some remark about the sketches not being 
 worth so much attention. 
 
 The stranger spoke with alarming frank- 
 ness. " They are not good," said he ; " at
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 41 
 
 least, the faults in them are fatal to what is 
 good; and I am heartily glad of it. You 
 stare, but I am a painter, and one you have 
 
 probably heard of. My name is B ," 
 
 mentioning a celebrated name of the day. 
 " And now I know how to show a gratitude 
 which was actually oppressive to me. I 
 believe you have saved my life, and I believe 
 I can make you a painter. Shall we begin ? 
 You are at this moment labouring under as 
 dangerous a disease in painting as I was 
 some time ago in bodily constitution. But I 
 undertake your cure. What say you to my 
 being your physician ?" 
 
 It was a chance which Warren could not 
 have expected; but he felt that the high 
 favour offered to him was far beyond what 
 his kindness deserved, and he said so. 
 
 " You must ask my daughter that when 
 you get home; but as we cannot be there 
 for some time, I shall answer for Florence, —
 
 42 PERCY L0CKHART. 
 
 and she says that nothing I can do in this 
 world will ever repay the service you have 
 done her and me. Well, let me begin 
 the task of repayment;" and he went 
 over the sketches one by one, pointing 
 out such errors and absurdities — these 
 appearing so evident when they were ex- 
 posed — that Warren knew not very well 
 whether to congratulate himself in meeting 
 with his new acquaintance, or to regret 
 having exposed himself to such merciless 
 criticism. 
 
 The painter saw what was passing in his 
 mind. " Come, come," said he ; " you have 
 far more sense than to be offended at what 
 is meant for your good. I must cut deep — 
 the disease is deep; but I have said I can 
 cure you, and I will." 
 
 Warren in an instant recovered his good 
 humour. "I should be a fool, indeed," said 
 he, " to quarrel with such invaluable assist-
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 4$ 
 
 ance;" and from that day a course of study 
 was prescribed to him, and unsparingly 
 enforced, which showed him how he had 
 lost his time in London with one who knew 
 hardly a single step of the ladder to the 
 regions of Art. 
 
 In a week, B was out of bed, and 
 
 amusing himself by astonishing Warren with 
 what he could do with pen and ink, with a 
 bit of chalk, with almost anything that 
 could make a mark. He began himself to 
 feel that he was making very different work 
 from what he had been wont to do. Bold- 
 ness, freedom, delicacy, he was acquiring 
 them all under the bold and delicate hand 
 which now watched over him — mere manipu- 
 lation was the least of what he now learned. 
 
 B was intimately acquainted with all 
 
 the famous schools of painting, with their 
 
 beauties and defects, with their histories and 
 
 progress. These were all explained and made
 
 44 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 evident to Warren, both by words and by 
 hasty but masterly drawings. But the best 
 
 instruction of all was seeing B paint in 
 
 the open air. 
 
 "I must make a little money," said he, 
 " to make up for lost time, and I shall wrest 
 it from the Apennines ; " and he was very 
 deeply engaged in making a series of paint- 
 ings which were afterwards well known in 
 England. He made Warren watch him 
 working from his first sketch to his last 
 finishing touch, induced him to sketch the 
 same subjects from nature, and compare 
 them with his own, until he had no reason 
 to dread that criticism which at first had so 
 galled him. His enthusiasm increased with 
 his hopes. 
 
 It is not our intention to trouble the 
 reader with the laborious details of an 
 artist's career. With the assistance of his 
 experienced friend, Warren got through
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 45- 
 
 these with more ease than most of his com- 
 petitors. In a few years, he was earning a 
 comfortable independence ; but he never 
 attained the eminence of his able friend, 
 though he continued long to benefit by his 
 advice. Some years after their return from 
 Italy, he had, with the entire consent of 
 
 B , married his daughter, and for three 
 
 years he was as happy as a man can expect 
 to be in this world. But his wife was 
 suddenly snatched from him, leaving an 
 only and infant daughter; and though he 
 recovered the blow sufficiently to be able to 
 follow out his calling and to attend to his 
 daughter's education, yet he no longer felt 
 the same enthusiasm for his art, though for 
 his daughter's sake he strove to recover, and 
 he did recover, the cheerfulness of a well- 
 balanced and healthy mind. A few years 
 
 afterwards, B followed his daughter to 
 
 the grave. It was then that Warren thought
 
 46 PEKCY LOCKHART. 
 
 of revisiting his long-lost country ; for though 
 far from rich, yet, with what his father-in- 
 law had left him, he was independent, and 
 could afford to rest for a time from his 
 labours. His daughter, Florence, grew up 
 even lovelier than her mother, who had 
 almost come up to her father's ideal of 
 female beauty. Warren found that his life 
 was bound up with her, and that life daily 
 grew dearer to him as she continued to 
 bloom before his eyes. But about the age of 
 seventeen some delicacy of health manifested 
 itself, and Warren became alarmed. He 
 consulted an eminent physician, who recom- 
 mended a total change of air, saying, at the 
 same time, that there was no ground for 
 the slightest apprehension. After various 
 inquiries, a cottage was procured in Scotland 
 whose position in every way met the views 
 of the medical adviser. One thing troubled 
 Warren a little — the cottage was within
 
 PEECY LOCKHART. 47 
 
 thirty miles of Rosemount, and the estuary 
 of the same river that formed the southern 
 boundary of his brother's estate ebbed and 
 flowed within two hundred yards of his new 
 habitation. But there was small chance of 
 his being recognized after so long an 
 absence, and it was not of much consequence 
 if he were. He had long blamed him- 
 self for the whim which had made him 
 change his name, but, having done so, he 
 shrunk from the awkwardness of changing 
 it again. 
 
 Warren's cottage was beautifully situated 
 within five miles of the town of Thriveport — 
 a grand arm of the sea, about three miles in 
 breadth, spread out before it, with those 
 ever-varying aspects which the changing 
 element alone can exhibit. The shore was 
 of the purest sand, except where, here and 
 there, some large black rocks broke the 
 regularity of the expanse. About two
 
 48 PERCY L0CKHART. 
 
 miles farther up the estuary was the little 
 fishing village of Elletweem, and nothing 
 could be more lively and picturesque than 
 the big-sailed boats of the fishermen on their 
 way to the ocean, or returning with the 
 flood-tide with the fruits of their dangerous 
 toil. The mouth of the estuary, or river, as 
 it was called, was guarded by sand-banks, 
 which rendered access to it difficult without 
 a successful pilot. Seldom a year passed 
 without some melancholy shipwreck and 
 I 38 of life, for seldom was one of a 
 crew saved whose ship struck on one of 
 these barriers ; but the fishermen were bold 
 and experienced seamen, and long periods of 
 time passed over without their meeting with 
 any serious accident. To the eastward of 
 the cottage, and in the direction of the 
 ocean, there was a large piece of wild moor- 
 land wholly uncultivated. Not many days 
 after Warren and his daughter took up their
 
 PERCY LOCKHAKT. 49 
 
 abode in their new domicile, they might be 
 seen galloping across the waste, the horses 
 wild with joy at the touch of the springy 
 turf. The change of air and exercise soon 
 brought back the roses to Florence's cheeks. 
 A few weeks after their arrival, Warren 
 thought he had never seen his daughter look 
 so lovely. It was like a new world to her, 
 not only in so far as mere physical objects 
 were concerned — though those were both 
 striking and delightful — but everything, 
 even very common tilings, had received a 
 zest and assumed an interest of which she 
 had no previous conception. The walk on 
 the wild moor by the still wilder sea, the 
 flowers which sprung up in lonely, deserted 
 spots, the cry of the wild curlew overhead, 
 even the sudden dart of the rabbit or the 
 hare, as her light footstep intruded on their 
 solitude, — all these were new to her, and 
 as delightful as new. Fresh trains of thought 
 
 VOL. I. e
 
 50 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 also began to be developed ; she was at the 
 age when the mind begins to inquire into 
 Nature's mysteries and to reason upon 
 Nature's works — to catch glimpses of the 
 grand design of that hand which is recog- 
 nized on earth by the beauty and the delicacy 
 and the magnificence of its works. The 
 sunshine and the storm, the still small voice 
 of the gentle rain, the living orrery of 
 Heaven, all seemed endowed with new 
 emphasis and expression, speaking in one 
 tongue of one power. And in watching 
 Nature's beauty and Nature's might, she 
 found that her own perceptions and powers 
 were refined and strengthened. Warren 
 was ever ready to simplify and explain, and 
 the knowledge which he displayed in such 
 explanations exhibited him in a new light. 
 She had had little idea of the variety of 
 information which he possessed, for he had 
 waited patiently until his assistance was
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 51 
 
 asked before he offered it, well knowing 
 that the time would come. He was now as 
 much delighted as his daughter in their new 
 communings, and he spared no pains in 
 storing her mind with that knowledge which 
 both fits it for the duties of this world and 
 prepares it for the next. 
 
 LIBRARY
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Blow winds and crack your cheeks. — Leae. 
 
 The cottage had been built at the extremity 
 of the cultivated ground. Immediately be- 
 yond the garden-wall was the beginning of 
 the wild piece of moorland, nearly twelve 
 miles in length, and varying from one to four 
 miles in breadth — one side being bounded by 
 the grand estuary or firth, the other by low, 
 irregularly shaped hills, covered, or mostly 
 covered, by dark pine-trees. Though wild, 
 the moor was, in many places, of exquisite 
 beauty. There were miles of turf of a rich 
 dark-green, which, we suppose, had never 
 been disturbed by cultivation since the 
 Creation; and there were thick patches, or
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 53 
 
 rather plantations, of whins or gorse through 
 -which it was no easy matter to pass, and in 
 which rabbits had multiplied without number. 
 In summer the place was particularly sweet 
 and solitary. A celebrated writer, Sheridan 
 Knowles, declared that he wrote great 
 part of his best productions in one of 
 the sandy hunkers in the links, as it 
 was called. Wild-flowers of many kinds 
 bloomed around the hillocks by which the 
 ground was broken, the golden bloom of the 
 whins in spring lighted up the dark-green 
 sward, and the sandy shore by which the 
 waste was bounded was like one vast yellow 
 floor, continually washed and polished by 
 the restless action of the tides and waves. 
 In winter the moor was desolate indeed. 
 Many lakes or pieces of water were formed 
 in the hollows, some of considerable extent, 
 to which wild-fowl, especially of the duck 
 kind, constantly resorted ; and a sportsman
 
 54 PERCY L0CKHART. 
 
 accustomed to the ground and to the pre- 
 cautions necessary to be observed, could find 
 few places in Scotland where he could make 
 a bag of such variety and beauty. 
 
 It was on this moor, on a cold, frosty 
 November day, that Warren had strayed 
 with his gun in search of what might 
 turn up. He had first gone along shore, 
 and, after careful stalking, had succeeded in 
 half filling his bag with golden plover. 
 Those birds are here in flocks of thousands,, 
 but they are difficult of approach, and there 
 is little chance of a shot unless the sports- 
 man get within range without being seen. 
 Warren, however, had been more than 
 usually successful; and he turned inland, to 
 see if he could fall in with teal or other 
 ducks, with which the place was said to 
 abound. His search was not successful, 
 however. After a long walk he found 
 himself in a spot which was quite new to
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 00 
 
 him. Not a living thing was visible ex- 
 cept a " string" of wild geese overhead, 
 "clanging" with their peculiar wild music, 
 " ranged in figure," wedging their way and 
 directing their " airy caravan" to some well- 
 known land of promise. It was beginning 
 to get dusk — large flakes of snow were fall- 
 ing, at first in small quantity, but gradually 
 increasing, until there was every appearance 
 of a snow-storm. Warren for the first time 
 felt that he had been guilty of an indis- 
 cretion in venturing so far from the land- 
 marks which he knew in so wild and deso- 
 late a spot. In the course of ten minutes 
 the change had been wonderful. From being 
 bright and clear, it had become almost dark; 
 the snow was every minute rendering vision 
 more circumscribed. It was fast closing in 
 all round, and he knew well that his chance 
 of finding his way home in any reasonable 
 time was extremely small. Of actual danger
 
 06 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 he would not allow himself to admit the 
 possibility; but he felt he might have a 
 struggle to find his way, and he knew he 
 had no time to lose. But what to do ? He 
 was on the margin of a pretty large lake, 
 in the midst of which there rose five or six 
 fir-trees and some brushwood on a bit of 
 hillock which rose out of the water, but they 
 had already become very obscure. He had 
 never seen the place before, and had already 
 lost all idea of jDosition and direction, and 
 was as completely at sea as if he had been 
 dropped from the clouds. It was far from 
 pleasant. Though a bold and a strong man, 
 yet neither strength nor spirit could cope 
 with the soft, treacherous enemy which 
 was about to invest him. The ground was 
 rough, and even dangerous in some places; 
 but he thought the snow would afford suffi- 
 cient light to enable him to choose his 
 footstejDs with safety. He resolved uj)on
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 57 
 
 discharging his gun, in the hopes of obtain- 
 ing assistance, and, having done so, a large 
 covey of ducks rose at some distance in the 
 lake, and whistled over his head; but he 
 was too much occupied with his situation 
 to give them his remaining barrel. By 
 and by he imagined he heard something 
 splashing through the water, evidently 
 approaching in his direction, as if from the 
 little island which he had observed in the 
 centre of the lake. It was no illusion. 
 Nearer and nearer, and quite distinct, the 
 sounds became; until, looking with great 
 attention and curiosity, he at last made out 
 the figure of a man, wading very deliberately 
 to the bank where he stood. In a minute 
 more the figure was beside him, with gun- 
 and game-bag like himself. A single glance 
 dispelled any anxiety which he might have 
 had at meeting with so singular and unex- 
 pected an apparition.
 
 58 PERCY L0CKHART. 
 
 " That shot of yours has spoiled my sport,"" 
 said a clear, frank, ringing voice. u I have 
 been watching half an hour for those ducks ; 
 they were just drifting within range when 
 your shot took away my chance. I hope 
 you have been more successful." The speaker 
 was a young man and a gentleman. Warren 
 briefly informed him that he was a stranger, 
 and had lost his way, and that he had dis- 
 charged his fowling-piece as a signal of 
 distress; and," continued he, " though I 
 regret having spoiled your sport, I must say 
 I cannot but think myself most fortunate in 
 meeting with one who I am sure will be 
 charitable enough to direct me how to get 
 out of this wilderness." 
 
 " Why," said the young man, " of course 
 any knowledge I have is entirely at your 
 service ; but I am somewhat at a loss how to 
 proceed myself." 
 
 " You know the country ? " asked Warren*
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 59 
 
 " Every foot of it, from Mussel Bay to 
 Bankhead Cottage ; but I question if any one 
 could find his way in this blinding snow." 
 
 " I reside at Bankhead Cottage at present," 
 said Warren ; and he gave his name. 
 
 61 And my name is Charteris," said the 
 young man, " and I live in the same direction, 
 or nearly so ; but we dare not take anything 
 like the direct road, we should lose ourselves- 
 to a certainty. If we could make the sea-shore, 
 our road would then be easy enough, for we 
 could keep the water-mark till we came to- 
 your house ; but the shore is at a considerable 
 distance from this spot, and — and — upon my 
 word, we are in a kind of a scrape, and not a 
 very pleasant one. In the year 18 — , five 
 smugglers were lost in a snow-storm not 
 many miles from this — found dead months 
 after, and they generally knew the country 
 well. I beg your pardon for this sorry kind 
 of encouragement."
 
 60 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 " Oh, no," said Warren; " it is much better 
 to have a fair view of our difficulties or danger 
 as it may happen. I know the bewildering 
 nature of a snow-storm well. I was caught 
 in one in a wilder place than this many 
 years ago, and escaped by following the 
 course of a stream which led to an old corn- 
 mill." 
 
 "And that reminds me of the stream that 
 runs through this moor — the Heronburn, as 
 it is called; you must have observed it. I 
 shot a teal-drake there to-day ; but it is two 
 miles from this spot, and there is not a single 
 landmark that I know. We are still further 
 from the shore, but the ground is more 
 marked, and I think I may find the way. 
 At all events, we cannot stand here. We 
 must try it, and keep rather to the right, if 
 we can manage it, so that, if we fail in making 
 the shore, we may come ujDon the Heronburn. 
 If the wind were steady, we could guide
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 61 
 
 ourselves by it ; but I think it is blowing 
 from all directions." 
 
 " You are quite sure at present where the 
 shore lies?" 
 
 " Quite; that ? s the direction," pointing out 
 the way, " if we can keep it ; and the stream 
 is to our right. Well, let us march for it ; 
 and allow me to lead the way. If you 
 observe me diverge from the line, tell me 
 immediately." 
 
 But who knows when he diverges in a 
 snow-storm ? There are few things more 
 bewildering, and especially at night and in 
 a wild, uncultivated country. The snow falls 
 around you like a sj)otted veil, and folds 
 every object in one unvaried hue. A stumble 
 over a stone — a detour to avoid a bush — is 
 sufficient to make you go off at right angles 
 to your proper line of march ; even without 
 those you go wrong inch by inch, until you 
 are actually travelling in the opposite direc-
 
 62 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 tion from what you wish to pursue. But 
 Warren and his companion strode on stoutly, 
 exchanging few words, for both felt it was 
 no time to trifle. The storm was increasing, 
 and the blinding flakes whirled around them 
 as if in sport of their troubles. For more 
 than half an hour they continued to walk at 
 as brisk a pace as the broken nature of the 
 ground would admit of. Then the young 
 man stood still and listened. "I can hear 
 nothing," said he ; " can you ? " 
 
 " What do you expect to hear ?" 
 
 " The sound of the sea. If we had kept 
 the right path, I think we should have heard 
 it by this time." 
 
 " I hear nothing," said Warren, " and my 
 hearing is singularly acute." 
 
 "Push on, for Heaven's sake!" was the 
 answer. " It is more serious than I thought ; 
 but the worst of it is a night's fatigue and 
 exposure. A long night though. It cannot
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 63 
 
 Ibe six o'clock yet. I cannot tell you how 
 glad I am you fired that lucky shot, for I 
 did not see you. It would be miserable, 
 indeed, to be by oneself in this place, and in 
 such a night." 
 
 Warren heartily agreed with him, and 
 again they strode stoutly on, each gaining 
 confidence from the steady, untiring tread of 
 the other. Another half hour — an hour — and 
 yet no sign of the sea-shore. The wind was 
 rising, till by and by it blew half a gale. 
 Already pretty large wreaths had been 
 formed, and more than onee they had to toil 
 through those heavy embankments with a 
 good deal of fatigue and loss of time. It was 
 not very dark, but nothing was distinguishable 
 except one dull white expanse all around — 
 one apparently boundless and unvaried sea 
 of snow. Again they stopped and listened, 
 but nothing save the howling of the wind 
 reached their ears. They had missed their
 
 64 PEECY LOCKHAET. 
 
 way, that was certain. Though both were 
 well aware of this, neither made the remark. 
 They both knew they had nothing for it but 
 to continue to walk and keep themselves in 
 heat. Warren, as the elder, thought it was 
 his part to encourage his companion, but he 
 had an instinctive knowledge that the bold, 
 frank spirit beside him required no encourage- 
 ment. Both were men of iron frame, but 
 both began to feel the effects of their violent 
 exertion and of a day's hard work. They 
 agreed to make the walking as easy as 
 possible, and to go before the wind, wherever 
 that might lead to. Their situation was 
 dangerous enough, and they knew it. 
 
 Warren suddenly stopped. " What \s that 
 to the right?" said he, directing his com- 
 panion's attention to an object which stood 
 out distinctly. " That must be a landmark 
 at last." 
 
 " It is the AVitches' Eock," said the young
 
 PERCY LOCKHAET. 65 
 
 man, " and we are rather farther from the 
 sea than when we started ; but we shall 
 get rest and shelter on the lee side, and 
 there we shall hold a council of war." 
 
 It was a large stone or granite rock, 
 standing on the bleak moor, about twelve 
 feet in length, and nearly as high : they both 
 eagerly made for the side which gave them 
 shelter from the wind. There was light 
 enough to see that some bulky object was 
 already lying on the ground close under lee. 
 
 " It is a beast," said Warren, in some sur- 
 prise, for the figure moved at their approach. 
 
 " r> a, na, it's no' a beast," said a rough, 
 hearty voice; "though what but a beast 
 should be here in sic a nicht. You've lost 
 your way, nae doot — so did I, for as weel as 
 I ken the place ; but I fell in wi' the witches' 
 stane here, and just rowed mysel' in my 
 plaid till it clear. There 's mony waur 
 places on the muir than this the nicht. Sit 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 PERCY L0CKHART. 
 
 ye doon, sit ye doon, and I '11 share the plaid 
 wi' you; it's a bra' big ane, by guid luck." 
 
 " You are a good-hearted fellow, Sam," 
 said the younger of the two. 
 
 " Lordsake, Mr. Philip, an' is that you 
 here in a nicht like this! What in a' the 
 earth temptit you here ? But I needna ask ; 
 you've been after the deuks, like mysel'. 
 But come here in the hollow, an' sit doon, 
 you an' your freend, an' you can hae the 
 plaid between you. I can do weel eneuch 
 withoot it." And he made them sit down in 
 a dry place which had been occupied by him- 
 self; but they both refused to do so until 
 he had agreed to take his share of the plaid. 
 
 " Aweel," said he, " we '11 be a' the warmer 
 sittin' thegether. But what will the folk be 
 thinkin' at hame ? Sir Robert will gae wud 
 wi' fear for you." 
 
 " Indeed, Sam, that's now my chief 
 uneasiness; and no doubt this gentleman has
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 67 
 
 also friends at home who will be alarmed at 
 liis absence." 
 
 Warren groaned a sorrowful assent, and 
 Philip explained to Sam how they had met 
 by chance at the small lake, inquiring, at the 
 same time, if it was possible to get home that 
 night. 
 
 " Hoot ay, I'se warrant it's possible, and 
 likely too. It 's gettin' clearer and clearer, 
 an' I dare say we '11 do weel eneuch, 
 lout ye '11 be baith starvin' o' hunger, an' 
 it's ill striving' wi' hanger an' cauld." 
 Both admitted that they were ravenously 
 hungry, and Sam immediately unbuckled a 
 kind of pouch which he had fastened in 
 some way to his game-bag, and produced a 
 goodly piece of cold beef and bread, saying 
 that he had had his dinner at hanie, and 
 that they should eat it up between them. 
 
 " You have not had your dinner, Sam, and 
 we'll divide the food, like brother-sportsmen;
 
 68 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 and if you don't take your share, I shall take 
 
 none." 
 
 " Nor I," said Warren. 
 
 Sam was obliged to acquiesce, and in a very 
 short time the victuals disappeared. " I've 
 seen sumptuous repasts in my day," said 
 Warren, ' ' but that was the sweetest morsel 
 I ever tasted." 
 
 "Hoot na, hoot na," said Sam, highly de- 
 lighted, "that canna be; but I maun say 
 that the air o' the muir this nicht would 
 mak' mony a man no' sae nice as usual. 
 And now," continued he, "here is something- 
 else that will no' be amiss in this cauld 
 nicht," and he produced a flask containing 
 about four glasses of whisky. Each took a 
 share without ceremony; " And noo," said 
 Sam, " rest yoursels for ten minutes, and 
 then we maun tak the road, for fear the 
 storm may begin again." 
 
 " And how shall we go, Sam ? "
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 69 
 
 " Weel, that's a question," said he, delibe- 
 rately ; " if it wid keep fair there wid be no 
 doubt aboot it; but," after a pause, " we 
 niust mak for the sea-side." 
 
 " Why, the Heron is much nearer from 
 this point," said Charteris; "and if it snow 
 when we come there, we can get easily to 
 the shore by following its course." 
 
 " Very true ; but if it should snaw before 
 we come there, deil a landmark is there — 
 it's as flat 's my loof. Noo I think I can mak 
 my way to the sands lat it snaw as it likes, 
 that is, after we 're a mile or so on beyont 
 Ailie's thorn; but let's lose nae time, gentle- 
 men," continued he, "for I'm mistaen if it 
 be lang fair." 
 
 All sprang quickly to their feet, and Sam, 
 after a keen gaze around him, led the way 
 at a pace which showed his anxiety to get to 
 the landmark he had mentioned, and which 
 kept both Charteris and Warren, though
 
 70 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 good pedestrians, at their mettle. " Let me 
 carry one of your guns, gentlemen," said 
 Sam, though the poor fellow had his own 
 to carry. 
 
 "Certainly Sam," said Warren, "on con- 
 dition that I carry yours." 
 
 Charteris laughed, and Sam gave a dis- 
 satisfied grunt, and continued to lead the 
 way at a good pace. About twenty minutes 7 
 walk brought them to a stunted tree or shrub 
 which Sam called Ailie's thorn. " And now," 
 said he, "it may snaw cats and dogs if it 
 like; I could travel the road blindlins." 
 It did snow heavier than ever; and when 
 neither Warren nor Charteris could see a 
 couple of yards before them, Sam continued 
 to pilot the way with little hesitation. 
 Well did he justify the boast he had made by 
 bringing them to the sands which bounded 
 the estuary. " We can afford to draw our 
 breath noo," said he.
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 71 
 
 " And how on earth did you contrive to 
 keep the right direction?" said Philip, and 
 Warren echoed the question. 
 
 " Weel, it was na that difficult. You see, 
 after we cam to the thorn tree, there 's a 
 hollow in the ground, aboot twenty or thirty 
 feet broad till within aboot a hundred yards 
 o' high-water mark, and when you are ance 
 in the hollow you have only to tak care 
 you dinna get on the high ground ; it needs 
 some care on a nicht like this though, and 
 that's the way I couldna come so fast as 
 you micht hae liket. We '11 finish this drap 
 o' stuff then," said Sam, " for we have 
 some lang Scotch miles between us and 
 Bankhead yet; but a bairn couldna tyne 
 the road noo; we have just to keep the 
 water mark." 
 
 They had nearly two hours of a toilsome 
 walk, however, for the wind was right a-head, 
 and the sands were soft. All three were
 
 72 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 right glad when they came within sight of 
 the light of Warren's dwelling. 
 
 He opened the door himself, and showed 
 his companions into a small room, where 
 there was a blazing fire, while he hastily 
 passed on to another door, which he entered, 
 looking much disappointed when he found 
 no one there. 
 
 " Why, where is Florence ?" said he aloud. 
 
 " 'Deed, sir, she wadna stay within when 
 you were sae lang o' comin' ; she 's aff to hae 
 a look out on the muir for you," said an old 
 Scotch servant, whom they had engaged to 
 assist the English damsel who attended upon 
 them. 
 
 < < Good God !" exclaimed Warren, < ' she '11—" 
 
 "Hoot, sir; she's just at the head o' the 
 road frae the back door." 
 
 Warren was at the door in a moment. 
 " Florence, Florence !" he called out. 
 
 A little soft shriek was heard, and then a
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 73 
 
 flutter like a bird, and a figure flew rather 
 than walked over the snow, and in a minute 
 Florence was hanging on her father's neck, 
 and loading him with caresses and reproaches, 
 now scolding and now kissing him, till "Warren 
 drew her quietly into the room where he 
 had exj)ected to find her at first, when she 
 immediately made him sit down by the fire 
 in his easy chair, and kneeling before him 
 with an elbow on each of his knees, and 
 resting her chin on her hands and looking up 
 in his face, she re-commenced her scolding. 
 
 " You wicked, wicked papa ! you must 
 promise me, before you rise from that seat, 
 that you will never trust yourself in winter 
 on the moor without me to protect you." 
 
 " I met in with a very good protector, 
 Floy, — and there he is waiting to be intro- 
 duced to you," answered Warren, looking 
 towards the door. 
 
 Another little shriek and a spring to her
 
 74 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 feet, and a blush, and a little confusion, 
 Philip could not determine whether the- 
 shriek, or the spring, or the blush, or the 
 confusion was the prettiest. 
 
 " I have been guilty of great impropriety 
 in coming here," said he, " but I thought 
 something had happened. I heard your 
 voice," speaking to Warren, " as I thought,, 
 in some agitation, and I — " 
 
 " Say no more of it. Allow me to 
 introduce you to my daughter. This is the 
 gentleman," continued he to Florence, "to 
 whom I probably owe my life this day ; you 
 must thank him for me." 
 
 The confusion was gone, and with a bright, 
 confiding look of gratitude, but without say- 
 ing a word, she held out her hand to Philip. 
 
 " Nay," said Charteris, detaining the 
 hand for a minute, "Mr. Warren does me 
 more than justice; but there is one in the 
 other room who deserves all our thanks, for
 
 PERCY LOCKHAET. 75 
 
 without him I believe it would have gone 
 hard with us." He briefly told how they had 
 met Sam, and Sam heard sounds approach- 
 ing his way. 
 
 " What 's to be dune, noo, I wonder?" said 
 the unfortunate Sam, bolting up from his 
 chair; "I would face twenty snaw-storms 
 rather than one leddy." But Sam felt himself 
 at home in a moment, when Florence came 
 in to him and took him by the hand, and 
 thanked him so sweetly and so tenderly; but 
 her feelings had been over- wrought ; and 
 throwing herself in her father's arms, she 
 burst into tears of joy. Warren had her 
 carried to her own apartment, and she dis- 
 appeared for the night. 
 
 Warren insisted on his guests putting on 
 dry clothes; but Sam on this point was 
 obstinate. " Dry claes afore this roarin' fire, 
 sic nonsense ! Beggin' your pardon, I 'm as 
 dry as a bane already."
 
 76 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 Philip, however, gladly availed himself of 
 Warren's offer, and having hastily partaken 
 of some refreshment, in which Sam had been 
 compelled to join, he intimated his anxiety 
 to be home, where he knew his father would 
 be in great fears for his safety. 
 
 " I would have offered to send my servant 
 at once," said Warren; " but he is at the 
 village of Elletwcene. Will you have my 
 horse ? " 
 
 "A thousand thanks; I cannot refuse so 
 good an offer." And Sam having insisted on 
 acting groom in Warren's servant's absence, 
 the horse was brought to the door. 
 
 Again thanking Warren heartily, and 
 promising to send over the horse next 
 morning, he sprang into the saddle, and in 
 a few minutes was out of sight. 
 
 Sam resisted all entreaties to take Florence's 
 pony, setting off sturdily for home on his feet. 
 There was a rude road which led close to his
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 77 
 
 cottage, which "naebody could miss wi' a 
 pair o' een in his head, even on a snawy 
 nicht." 
 
 Philip's road was much more distant ; so 
 "Warren saw them both depart without any 
 misgiving. 
 
 And who was Sam ? His ostensible em- 
 ployment had been that of a miller. His 
 father had left him and his brother a small 
 flour-mill. But Sam, though bom and bred 
 to the business, never took kindly to it ; 
 indeed, he seemed to entertain a Rip Van 
 Winkleish distaste to all sorts of regular 
 business and profitable industry. From his 
 youth upwards he had entertained a strong 
 and unfortunate taste for all kinds of field 
 sports, and in their pursuit he exercised an 
 unwearied diligence and activity, which, had 
 they been devoted to any profitable calling, 
 would have made him a prosperous man. 
 His brother told him, one day when Sam was
 
 78 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 setting out with xod and basket in hand, 
 that he must either make up his mind to give 
 up such amusements, and work as he did, or 
 be content with a much smaller share of the 
 business. Sam at once admitted the justice 
 of the proposed arrangement, and he agreed 
 to take such a share of the profits as his 
 interest in the mill might appear to be worth. 
 His brother was a kind-hearted man, and 
 the agreement was easily made. So Sam 
 retired altogether, nothing loath, from the 
 concern, with a very small income, but which 
 was sufficient for his wants, eked out by the 
 assistance of rod and line. He was known 
 to all the country round as the best fisher 
 who ever threw a fly, and many gentlemen 
 in the neighbourhood took pleasure in having 
 Sam with them in their fishing excursions, 
 his knowledge of the water and the ways 
 of fishing being invaluable. But Sam was 
 no servile attendant on the great. He main-
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 79 
 
 tained his perfect independence, peremptorily 
 refusing all remuneration for his assistance 
 and advice; and though always civil and 
 respectful to his superiors in rank, he held 
 his position as a brother-sportsman. And 
 thus Sam had imbibed a taste for better 
 society than that more befitting his degree. 
 He had hardly ever known what disease was. 
 Wet and cold made no impression on him. 
 He was like a bit of oak, hardened by the 
 very exposure which destroys inferior plants. 
 His personal appearance was as singular 
 as his character. At the first glance you 
 would have thought him remarkably plain; 
 and at the second you would not have 
 thought him good-looking ; but there was a 
 bold, honest, intelligent expression in the 
 whole cast of the features, which surprised 
 the more by the contrast with so rough an 
 exterior. He was a short, thick-set, merry- 
 looking fellow ; his face had been burnt and
 
 80 PERCY LOCKHAET. 
 
 battered by sun and rain, until it shone in 
 open contempt of all kinds of weather which 
 it might chance to encounter. What the 
 colour of his clothes had originally been, it 
 was impossible to conjecture. They had, by 
 long service and constant exposure to the 
 elements, acquired a kind of neutral tint, 
 hovering between grass, and mud, and straw,, 
 and hare-skins, and plovers' feathers, which 
 their constant acquaintance with those various 
 things had, no doubt, produced. His bit of 
 a nose was a ridiculous pretence to that noble 
 feature, having been curled up by frosts and 
 cold winds to a thing of most absurd dimen- 
 sions and rather suspicious colour. When 
 not speaking, his mouth seemed in constant 
 preparation for whistling ; but the expected 
 melody never got utterance. He only 
 laughed with one half of his mouth ; the other 
 half retained its musical expression. The 
 eye was as sharp as a hawk's, and the whole
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 81 
 
 figure was that of a bold, hardy, good-tem- 
 pered gamekeeper, had he been better dressed. 
 He was not far removed in kind from that 
 functionary, for he was the most notorious 
 poacher in the county. He was scarcely 
 ever out of scrapes, occasioned by his un- 
 principled attacks on the game of the magnates 
 of the land. Oh, Sam, Sam ! prince of Tarn 
 Samsons ! we wish we were with you at the 
 water-side again ! 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 In joyous youth what Being has not known 
 Thought, feeling, taste, harmonious to its own. 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 Sir Robert Charteris was descended from 
 one of the oldest families in the country. He 
 had married a lady nearly his equal in point of 
 descent. Both were intelligent and liberal- 
 minded — liberal in thought and in deed. If 
 a consciousness of high aristocratic birth 
 appeared, it was more in jealously keeping 
 an unsullied name than in any assumption 
 of superiority over their less nobly-descended 
 neighbours. There was no name more re- 
 spected in the whole country side, or more 
 deservedly so. In politics, Sir Robert was 
 much too moderate for the taste of many of
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 83 
 
 liis neighbours, believing that under the 
 British constitution the general intelligence 
 of the country would compel the adoption 
 of such measures as could be proved to be 
 beneficial irrespective of party ; and he could 
 ])atiently listen to men of the most opposite 
 views, knowing that the truth lay between 
 ihem, and that between them they would 
 force it out. When politics "ran high," as 
 it is called, those views gave offence to the 
 magnates of the land ; and when a formidable 
 band of half-starved weavers and mill-workers 
 walked in procession to obtain some great 
 political object, and it was jDroposed to read the 
 Eiot Act and call out the military to fire upon 
 the mob, Sir Robert expressed his opinion that 
 they should be attacked by bread and beer ; 
 and he pledged himself to pay the whole 
 expense if the rioters did not afterwards 
 retire peaceably to their dwellings. The 
 time gradually came round when the mode-
 
 84 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 ration he had practised through life became 
 the fashion of the day; and when men of 
 opposite parties could actually dine together 
 and separate without the fear of a single 
 cartel being sent for a difference in political 
 opinion. 
 
 One son was the only heir to the family 
 name and honours, and the heads of the 
 house were quite satisfied with their sole repre- 
 sentative. We met Philip Charteris in a snow- 
 storm, when there was no time to introduce 
 him to the reader, and our introduction now 
 shall be as short as possible. 
 
 He was as distinguished in appearance as 
 his parents, but he had even less of aristo- 
 cratic assumption ; gifted by nature with 
 good abilities, those had received the best 
 cultivation which the country could afford. 
 At the age of twenty-five, though with no 
 pretensions to what is called scholarship, his 
 acquaintance with general literature was
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 85 
 
 extensive and intimate. Possessed of great 
 bodily strength and animal spirits, he was 
 more than ordinarily fond of field sports, but 
 he cared little for the society of sportsmen 
 in general; and though of a most cheerful 
 and happy disposition, did not show much 
 .anxiety to mix with the society of the county. 
 On the night he left Warren's cottage, 
 Sir Robert and Lady Charteris were alone 
 together in the drawing-room, speculating 
 with some uneasiness on the cause of their 
 son being so late ; it was nearly ten o'clock, 
 and he had intimated his intention of being 
 home to dinner at seven. Sir Robert would 
 hardly admit that there was any cause for 
 apprehension; but his frequent applications 
 io his watch, and an occasional glance at 
 the night outside, showed that he was far 
 from being at ease. Lady Charteris became 
 seriously alarmed as the time advanced; 
 knowing that her son had gone to the moor,
 
 86 PERCY LOCKHAET. 
 
 she was quite sure that some accident was 
 the cause of his detention. 
 
 " I should not like to be foolishly anxious,' 7 
 she said at last, "but do you not think you 
 might send out some of the men to the 
 moor?" 
 
 " Why, yes ; and if he has missed his way, 
 — which, by the by, I hardly think likely, — 
 they might disperse and fire guns as signals ; 
 but if he be all safe, he will not like the 
 story of the fond parents raising the country 
 on his behalf. However, if he do not appear 
 by ten o'clock, I shall go myself, and take 
 the gamekeeper and his assistants with me." 
 
 Lady Charteris felt that it would be doubly 
 dreary to be left by herself in uncertainty, 
 but she made no objections ; and Sir Robert 
 was just on the point of giving the necessary 
 orders for the expedition, when the object 
 of it appeared. He had ridden hard, and, 
 having given orders for Warren's horse being
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 87 
 
 carefully attended to, he hastened to relieve 
 the anxiety of his parents. He briefly re- 
 lated how he had been detained, and how 
 Warren had lent him his horse. 
 
 " And who is this Mr. Warren?" inquired 
 Sir Robert ; "I don't know the name. 
 
 "He is evidently a gentleman," answered 
 his son, "and of very prepossessing appear- 
 ance ; but I saw very little of him. I must 
 send over his horse to-morrow morning, and 
 call to thank him afterwards. He saved you 
 some hours of anxiety, my dear father." 
 
 " And some trouble," answered Sir Robert ; 
 and he mentioned the proposed expedition 
 of himself and his gamekeeper. 
 
 Philip reddened a little at the idea of the 
 signal guns. "Why, sir, we should have 
 been the laughing-stock of the whole district." 
 
 c ' Very likely, Philip ; and what then ? Do 
 you think I was to risk your losing your 
 life for fear of being that terrible thing — a
 
 88 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 laughing-stock? Your mother and I were 
 getting very anxious about our precious 
 son." 
 
 " Risk of life ! Oh, not much risk of 
 that, though I confess I should have liked 
 very well at one time to have heard your 
 signals ; but it is quite as well as it is. 
 By the by, what a capital pedestrian Warren 
 is, and he must be twice my age." 
 
 " Has he any family, Philip ?" inquired 
 Lady Charteris. 
 
 "Family? Oh, yes; that is, I only saw 
 one young lady — a daughter, I believe. Yes, 
 I am sure it was a daughter ; he intro- 
 duced me, I recollect." 
 
 There were few things which had hap- 
 pened that evening which he recollected 
 better. 
 
 " You said the father was a gentleman. 
 Was the daughter a lady?" 
 
 " I should say so, most undoubtedly ; but
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 89 
 
 I saw them both for so very short a period, 
 that I can say very little about them. And 
 now I must retire, and get into my own 
 clothes again/' said he, glad of an excuse 
 for retreating from an examination which 
 he felt was beginning to become a little 
 awkward. After his departure, both Sir 
 Robert and his lady seemed to be turning 
 over in their minds the narrative of their 
 son, but neither made any remark upon it, 
 save on the extreme peril in which he had 
 been. 
 
 Philip sent over the horse next morning, 
 with a note expressing his thanks, and 
 stating that he would have the pleasure of 
 calling in a few days. In the mean time 
 he could hardly help wondering at being 
 so much engrossed by his recent adventure. 
 He found himself continually going over the 
 whole day's occurrences. The meeting with 
 Warren, the walk in the snow, the appa-
 
 90 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 rition of Sam, and last, that figure before 
 Warren, looking up in his face, and then 
 the start and the surprise and the intro- 
 duction. He was almost annoyed at the 
 pertinacity with which the scene kept hold 
 of his thoughts. He tried various schemes of 
 deliverance. He set himself down to read, 
 but he found he was just about as wise at 
 the foot of the page as he had been at the 
 top, so far as the author's subject was con- 
 cerned. He was a good draughtsman, and 
 he had recourse to his pencil for amusement ; 
 but he found himself tracing the outline of 
 one particular figure, only he was so ill 
 pleased with his work, that it was imme- 
 diately committed to the flames. He was 
 so distressed with himself, that he snatched 
 up his hat and made for the open air, 
 without any other object than what accident 
 might furnish. 
 
 Accident furnished Eobert Hay, youngest
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 91 
 
 son of a country gentleman, whose estate 
 marched with that of Sir Robert Charteris. 
 The young man carried a gun, and was 
 attended by a water-spaniel. He called to 
 ask Philip to accompany him to the moor. 
 But Philip was not in the vein, and excused 
 himself on the plea of an engagement. 
 
 u Well," said Hay, U I am disapj>ointed ; 
 it is just the day you like, and I thought 
 I was quite sure of your company; besides, 
 I had a bit of news with which I intended 
 to interest you. I have made a discovery 
 worth all your collection of natural curiosities 
 and fossils, and what not ; but I think I shall 
 preserve it for myself, — that is, I would, 
 but I want some information, which perhaps 
 you may furnish me with. Do you know, 
 Philip, who lives at Bankhead Cottage — the 
 cottage near the beach, you know ?" 
 
 Philip was rather alarmed at the effect 
 the question, so very simple a one, produced
 
 92 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 upon him. It was with some effort that he 
 answered, in what he meant to he an indif- 
 ferent tone, " that it was a gentleman of the 
 name of Warren." 
 
 " Ay, Philip, but there is a lady as well as 
 a gentleman ! By heavens, Charteris, the 
 loveliest girl I ever saw ! I caught a glimpse 
 of her on horseback some days ago, along 
 with the gentleman who, I smppose, is her 
 father. I never saw anything so beautiful. 
 Pshaw ! beautiful is not the word, — it is 
 impossible to describe her ; and she rides so 
 well : they took the rail at the Low Milton 
 as well as you or I could do, — only, Philip, 
 neither you nor I will ever do it so grace- 
 fully as this unknown enchantress ; she flew 
 over it like some glorious wild bird, and her 
 horse seemed to be actually mad with pride 
 of his burden. I say, Charteris, do you 
 know anything about them? I am dying 
 to know."
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 93 
 
 " You have been dying several times of 
 similar curiosity," answered Philip, not 
 caring to come to particulars; "but your 
 recovery has never been very doubtful, even 
 in the worst cases, and I shall answer for it 
 in this." 
 
 " Oh, Philip, do tell me, if you know. I 
 want an introduction. They would be great 
 acquisitions to our dull society here — 
 begging your pardon, and Sir Robert's and 
 Lady Charteris's. I did not mean anything 
 that way, you know." 
 
 Philip did not at all relish the conver- 
 sation, and especially did he altogether 
 disapprove of the undisguised enthusiasm 
 of young Hay, whom, for the first time, he 
 looked upon with feelings of no great favour. 
 But he informed him of his adventure, and 
 that he had seen and spoken with the 
 inhabitants of the cottage. 
 
 " Could anything be more fortunate?"
 
 94: PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 exclaimed Hay. "Philip, you must intro- 
 duce me. When, Philip ? When and how will 
 3^ou manage it ? " 
 
 But nothing was farther from Philip's 
 intention, and he said so at once. He 
 observed, that he himself was next to a total 
 stranger, and that to introduce any one was 
 quite out of the question. 
 
 " Very well," cried the enthusiastic young 
 man, " I shall manage it some way or 
 other. In the mean time, I'm off for the 
 ducks, and the wild-goose chase afterwards, 
 Philip. Here, Splash, come in to heel," 
 cried he to the spaniel ; and he and the dog 
 disappeared. 
 
 " I never thought that young fellow was 
 such a puppy," muttered Philip to himself, 
 feeling very much annoyed at the undis- 
 guised admiration which the young man 
 exhibited for Florence Warren. The con- 
 versation quickened the design which he
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 95 
 
 liad entertained for a day or two of calling 
 at the cottage. He re-entered the house to 
 make some alterations in his attire, which he 
 seemed to judge necessary for the occasion, 
 ordering his groom to have his horse in 
 readiness in half an hour. 
 
 The snow had almost disappeared, and he 
 struck across the country on a fiery chestnut, 
 which no one else cared for riding, except 
 Tom, the groom. By the time he arrived 
 at the cottage, however, the fire was pretty 
 well subdued. When Tom took the bridle 
 from his master's hand, the horse was quite 
 resigned to be led quietly about for a time. 
 
 Warren was at home, and in a few minutes 
 joined Philip Charteris in a small library, 
 into which he had been shown. After the 
 usual commonplaces and salutations had 
 passed, their recent adventure became the 
 subject of conversation. That being ex- 
 hausted, Philip began to wonder if he was
 
 96 PERCY LOCKHAET. 
 
 to see the enchantress whom young Hay 
 was so disagreeably enthusiastic about. At 
 last he summoned up courage to ask if he 
 might pay his respects to Miss Warren. 
 Warren at once, though with no great 
 appearance of cordiality, assented. He led 
 the way to the drawing-room in front of the 
 house, which commanded a fine view of the 
 river and distant ocean. It was a good- 
 sized apartment, elegantly furnished, and 
 Florence appeared very naturally as the 
 presiding genius of the place. She received 
 her visitor with perfect ease and composure- 
 Philip could not help drawing comparison 
 between the elegant, but evidently unstudied 
 manners and conversation of the lovely being- 
 before him and those of some of his fair 
 country neighbours, not at all in favour of 
 the latter. Florence Warren was above the 
 common size of women. She had that wavy, 
 undulating kind of movement, which gives
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 97 
 
 such an idea of elasticity and spirit. The 
 very dark brown hair was the richest Philip 
 had ever beheld, rolling down in clusters over 
 her shoulders, independent of all rules of 
 fashion ; a mouth of pearls, and the slightest 
 possible dimple in the chin ; a colour, which we 
 will not insult by comparing to that of any 
 flower in the field, or garden either ; a form of 
 perfect symmetry, rounded in the choicest 
 mould of beauty, — these Philip looked upon, 
 and at once confessed that he had never in his 
 life seen anything so fascinating, and at the 
 same time, so natural and unstudied. An 
 hour flew on wings which must have 
 belonged to that wild bird which Hay 
 raved about — at least, so it flew with 
 Philip — but Tom, the groom, thought it 
 about the longest in his life, for his master's 
 calls of this kind were wont to be of 
 the very shortest duration. At last, Philip 
 was obliged to take his departure. After 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 expressing a hope that he might have 
 the pleasure of introducing Sir Robert 
 and his mother to their acquaintance, he 
 joined the impatient Tom, and rode slowly 
 home. 
 
 "Warren did not like it, and he rather 
 thought Florence did. He saw how matters 
 were likely to turn out. Charteris's admira- 
 tion of Florence was hardly disguised, though 
 she seemed wholly unconscious of it; but 
 this would not continue long, and then the 
 question was, what her feelings might be, 
 and the consequences thereof. He was 
 aware of the high position of Sir Robert 
 Charteris. He had not the least doubt that 
 a great alliance for his son must be the chief 
 wish of his heart. As long as he remained 
 unknown, he could not think that his 
 daughter would be looked upon as a suitable 
 match for the best blood in the country, and 
 to reveal himself was contrary to the deter-
 
 PERCY L0CKHART. 99 
 
 ruination of a whole life. But was he not 
 raising up bugbears which never might 
 happen ? No ; he felt they were too likely 
 to happen, and he began to wish he had 
 chosen some other spot than Bankhead 
 Cottage. It was not too late to retreat, 
 however, and he felt that safety would be 
 best attained by flight. He would sound 
 Florence on the subject before determining 
 how to act. 
 
 Their departed visitor was the theme of a 
 few common remarks, and then Florence 
 dropped the subject, and did not recur to it, 
 or seem in the least to retain any recollection 
 of the visit. 
 
 A few days afterwards they were sitting 
 alone, when Warren thought he would try 
 the ground again. 
 
 " Do you not feel dull in this solitary 
 place?" he began. 
 
 " Never, sir," was the ready response. " I
 
 100 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 never liked any place so well — it is not at 
 all solitary." 
 
 " Well, in summer it is beautiful, certainly; 
 but would you not prefer being in London 
 at this season?" 
 
 " Oh, papa! would you conrpare a London 
 winter to this? — the smoky atmosphere, 
 the dreadful streets, the more dreadful fogs, 
 to the pure air and brilliant snow, and grand 
 river? It makes me shudder to think of 
 London. And would you really prefer the 
 dull manage nonsense of the parks to a gallop 
 across the moor or along the sands ? Besides, 
 I am waiting to see the opening of spring in 
 the country. I have never seen it, you 
 know, and I am convinced it must be the 
 finest of all Nature's displays. I have all 
 my flower triumphs arranged already; you 
 could not think of depriving me of them? 
 You cruel, tyrannical father ! " 
 
 " Nay, I was only putting a case," said
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 101 
 
 Warren, very quietly; "it was merely on 
 your own account I was solicitous. The air 
 is very keen here, and your health — " 
 
 1 l Was never so good as at present." And she 
 certainly looked the truth of what she said. 
 
 " Well," persisted Warren, " there are 
 very few young ladies who would like this 
 extreme solitude." 
 
 " Because there are not many young ladies 
 who have so charming a papa, to make soli- 
 tude charming." 
 
 "Ah! I forgot that." 
 
 " And, besides, is there not that tall, distin- 
 guished-looking Mr. Charteris, who threatens 
 to break in upon our solitude ?" 
 
 Warren thought the charming papa ran 
 some risk of being supplanted by the tall, 
 distinguished-looking Mr. Charteris ; but it 
 was evident that the thought had not entered 
 into Florence's head, or she would not have 
 spoken so freely.
 
 102 PERCY LOCKHAET. 
 
 " By the by," continued Florence, " I am 
 not sure that we should allow this gentleman 
 to disturb our solitude. We have been so 
 happy that I doubt if we should risk any 
 change." 
 
 Warren cordially joined in the doubt; 
 but he only said, "We can hardly shut the 
 door in his face after the service he rendered 
 to me." 
 
 " Very true," said Florence, resignedly, 
 and the conversation dropped. Warren 
 resolved to allow things to take their course, 
 at least for a short time. He was perhaps 
 rearing up dangers which might never exist ; 
 but it is no wonder that, left in the world 
 with only one pearl of surpassing price, he 
 should make it the business of his life to 
 watch over and preserve it. 
 
 Philip, though it struck him that Warren's 
 reception of him was not very cordial, con- 
 tinued to call at the Cottage from time to time.
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 103 
 
 He could not resist the temptation of 
 seeing the bright vision which had so unex- 
 pectedly crossed his path. He was not what 
 is called in love. He had not yet got beyond 
 admiration — the eye had been at once subdued, 
 and the judgment had followed in captivity; 
 for after two or three visits Philip had been 
 at no loss to discover that the mind was 
 worthy of the casket which contained it. 
 She seemed so very unconscious of her 
 superiority in every way, and was so 
 devotedly fond of her father, that she never 
 appeared to be thinking of herself. His 
 admiration was great, and love could not 
 fail to follow ; but love, properly so called, 
 is a plant of slow growth, and depends on 
 many attributes and qualities which do not 
 appear on first acquaintance. Many a man 
 has mistaken admiration for love, and married, 
 and found out his mistake when it was too 
 late. And no more fatal mistake can be
 
 104 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 committed ; but Philip was not quite so far 
 advanced yet, though he was travelling on 
 the road, and he knew it. There was nothing 
 like display in Florence ; but more than once, 
 when Warren and Philip had become engaged 
 on some literary tojDic, the former had ap- 
 pealed to Florence for some information or 
 quotation, and she had shown an acquaint- 
 ance with general literature which Philip 
 had never seen possessed by any lady except 
 his mother. But not a stitch of the blue- 
 stocking was allowed to appear. She rarely 
 joined in such subjects, except when appealed 
 to, and that was not of very frequent occurrence. 
 By and b\ Warren began to like the society 
 of the young man, whose character and tastes 
 were so congenial to his own. There was 
 no mistaking the nobility of his nature or 
 the strong mind which tenanted that powerful 
 frame. His visits to the Cottage had a good 
 deal changed the previous economy of its
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 105 
 
 inhabitants. Philip joined them in their 
 rides, and in many a wild gallop across the 
 moors he experienced sensations of excite- 
 ment and delight of which hitherto he had 
 not thought he was susceptible. Even when 
 the excitement was over, and he appealed to 
 Philip sober; he felt almost alarmed at finding 
 liimself so wholly engrossed by one dominant 
 idea. And how did Florence feel ? She 
 was heart free. It would be idle to say that 
 she felt no pleasure in Philip's society. She 
 did not attempt to conceal it ; but her father 
 had hitherto so completely engrossed every 
 affection of her nature, and he appeared so 
 worthy of the monopoly, that the idea of 
 dividing it never entered into her mind as 
 even a possibility. It was a delicious life to 
 those three. The spring was opening with 
 more than usual beauty; the wild heath 
 gave forth its aromatic treasures, and the 
 whins were one sea of golden bloom. The
 
 106 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 sea in the distance was dotted with the 
 fishermen's boats, and the wild curlew over- 
 head, keeping his wary distance from all 
 earthly dangers, screamed down to the reck- 
 less riding party, as if sympathizing with 
 beings who so evidently enjoyed, as he did, 
 the grand freedom of the wilderness. As the 
 spring advanced, Philip accompanied Warren 
 to all the fishing streams in the neighbour- 
 hood. The handsome Englishman, as he- 
 was thought, was soon as well known by the 
 miller, and the blacksmith, and the turnpike 
 keeper, and the owner of the ferry-boat, as 
 Philip himself. And so a friendship was 
 struck up between them which seemed to 
 promise a rapid ripening ; and the ripening 
 of friendship is the most pleasant stage 
 of it.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Young Hay exhausted his ingenuity in en- 
 deavouring- to obtain an introduction to the 
 inmates of the cottage, but in vain. They 
 visited nowhere. Philip Charteris was the 
 only visitor who was received. This, of 
 course, did not escape observation, even in 
 so solitary a spot, for Philip was one of the 
 first young men in the county both in point 
 of rank and abilities, and Robert Hay had 
 stimulated curiosity by the description which 
 he had given both of "Warren and his 
 daughter. He made no scruple of avowing 
 his own enthusiastic admiration of the latter 
 — an avowal not very pleasant to his female 
 acquaintances ; but Bob was known to be a 
 very general and not a very constant admirer,
 
 108 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 and his devotion was regarded as no great 
 proof of the beauty or merit of its object. 
 But Philip Charteris had never been known 
 to bestow any particular attention upon any 
 of his fair neighbours ; nay, it was rather 
 thought that he shunned female society. 
 When it was heard that he was a frequent 
 visitor at the Cottage, and when it was also 
 reported that he had been seen more than 
 once riding with the father and daughter, it 
 is not to be wondered at that both he and 
 the Warrens became the subject of many 
 curious speculations. Xo one who had seen 
 Warren doubted that he was a gentleman. 
 Still no one knew the fact, and idle and evil 
 tongues indulged as usual in all manner of 
 conjectures : Sir Robert Charteris and his 
 lady could not avoid hearing them, and they 
 might be forgiven if they became a little 
 solicitous about their son's intimacy with the 
 strangers. It is true he never concealed
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 109 
 
 from them a single visit which he made ; on 
 the contrary, he generally contrived to make 
 them aware of those visits ; but when ques- 
 tioned on the point, he could give no in- 
 formation either as to Warren's worldly 
 circumstances or rank in society. He had 
 not the slightest excuse for inquiring into 
 particulars, and Warren had never indicated 
 the least inclination to communicate them. 
 Philip had intimated to him his father's wish 
 to be introduced to him and to make his 
 acquaintance; but Warren had with every 
 mark of respect declined this, explaining that 
 the chief object of his daughter and himself 
 in coming to that part of the country was to 
 live in perfect seclusion for a time. ' c There 's 
 no one in the country," he said, "more worthy 
 of respect than Sir Robert Charteris, or whose 
 acquaintance is more desirable. I hope you 
 will convey to him my high estimation of 
 his kindness ; but at present I really cannot
 
 110 PEECY LOCKHART. 
 
 avail myself of it." It was a matter which 
 Philip of course could not press, and he 
 dropped it at once. Sir Kobert was a little 
 surprised, but far too high-minded to be hurt 
 at his overtures being rejected. " Well, 
 Philip," was his only remark, "you are the 
 only person fortunate enough to obtain access 
 to this Prosper o and Miranda. It is a pity 
 your name was not Ferdinand." Philip felt a 
 little confused at the allusion, but Sir Robert 
 showed no inclination to push it any farther, 
 and no curiosity to ascertain his sentiments 
 about the strangers. He resolved to show 
 no solicitude on the subject, and the son 
 felt the delicacy of his father's conduct, and 
 resolved that he should be worthy of it. But 
 as yet he had nothing to communicate. It 
 is true that the more he saw of Florence, and 
 the more he understood that frank, noble 
 nature, — so devoid of artifice, so open and 
 true in act and expression, — the more did
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. Ill 
 
 his admiration increase ; in fact, lie was 
 fast passing the boundaries of admiration. 
 He felt that he was no longer an independent 
 being, who could rely on his own resources 
 for the happiness of life ; he was captive in 
 the hands of the stranger, bound hand and 
 foot by the most powerful enchantment which 
 rules over human feeling. He had no wish 
 to break the spell. He was not one of those 
 love -sick youths who think that such a 
 spell could not be broken, but he felt that 
 the fracture would destroy the freshest and 
 strongest shoots in the tree of life, or at least 
 he thought so. Such shoots are often de- 
 stroyed, and in some natures grow again 
 vigorously as ever; but Philip had never 
 before experienced the feeling which now 
 agitated him, and he could not conceive 
 the possibility of it being experienced more 
 than once. If Florence was lost, love was 
 lost. Ay! it was love now, strong and
 
 112 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 passionate, but so respectful that the more- 
 he became entangled the more reserved did 
 he appear. He felt that he had not been 
 rash in fixing his affections upon a stranger 
 of whom he knew nothing. There are some 
 natures so frank and transparent that you 
 cannot be deceived in them. They are 
 like the diamond whose lustre cannot be 
 simulated. Such a jewel was Florence. 
 
 And the more he knew of Warren the 
 more did his misgivings disappear. It was 
 impossible that such a man could be other 
 than a gentleman and a man of honour ; and 
 in after days both Sir Kobert and his mother 
 agreed with him. So, in the mean time, all 
 solicitude about the rank and birth of the 
 strangers disappeared. 
 
 We must take leave of the Cottage for a 
 while, to introduce other and very different 
 characters.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Thriveport, at the beginning of our story, 
 was, and it continues to be, a large, pros- 
 perous manufacturing town, in which all the 
 good and evil of a manufacturing population 
 are exhibited in busy and constant exercise. 
 In the course of thirty or forty years, wealth 
 had accomplished one of its wonderful trans- 
 formations. Men and manners, streets and 
 houses, customs and observances, all were 
 so changed that a new town seemed to have 
 been built for a new race of beings; the 
 grand objects of this race being, as is 
 usually the case, to forget and to cause 
 others to forget the degrees by which they 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 had arrived at their present prosperity, and 
 to acquire as rapidly as possible those habits 
 and characteristics which are supposed to 
 belong to what are respectfully termed the 
 upper classes. Wealth can do much, but it 
 cannot, in the homely language of the 
 proverb, very quickly make " a silk purse 
 out of a sow's ear," though the inhabitants 
 of Thriveport seemed determined to give the 
 lie to the well-known adage ; and certainly, 
 if zeal and ambition could have succeeded, 
 they would have attained their object. The 
 slow, sober, grave-looking, and homely-clad 
 merchant or trader of the not very olden 
 time had disappeared, and in his place was 
 seen the rather well-got-up though not very 
 tastefully-dressed speculator of the modern 
 time. There were as many carriages 
 rattling along the streets, bearing merchants 
 and manufacturers and their honest-looking 
 silken wives and daughters, as there had in
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 115 
 
 former times been carts transporting the 
 goods of their thrifty ancestors. The maid- 
 servants, instead of tramping along in their 
 "short gowns" and blue flannel petticoats, 
 with bare arms, and, sooth to say, bare legs 
 and feet, tripped along in the smartest of 
 caps and whitest of stockings. The older 
 burghers appeared hardly at home in frock- 
 coats, boots, and strapped-down trowsers ; 
 the younger inhabitants, with coarse shoot- 
 ing-jackets and small ivory -headed canes, 
 were bold without being easy, and confident 
 without being self-possessed. The ladies 
 followed the newest fashions ; but amidst all 
 this bravery there seemed to exist an uneasy 
 consciousness of some cardinal deficiency, 
 especially if some well-born county dame 
 appeared in street, or church, or theatre. 
 Roast beef and pudding, sherry and port, 
 were wont to be the luxuries and extra- 
 vagancies of a feast. The son of a weaver
 
 7ii ;-; i : "~-~ r 

 
 
 I X, 
 
 1: -I.--. 
 
 Lvi-r"? ;•:
 
 118 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 believe that the less they enjoy themselves 
 in this world the greater is their chance of 
 happiness in the next. If this was the case, 
 her chance of celestial beatitude was great. 
 But Davidson himself was a man of grave, if 
 not gloomy, disposition. His wife's austerity, 
 if not absolutely pleasant, was not disagree- 
 able. They had no family, and the want 
 did not seem to be regretted by either of 
 them. The only thing like strong affection 
 which Davidson had ever experienced was 
 his attachment to a brother, as unlike himself 
 as two of the great family of mankind could be 
 to one another. The brother, James Davidson, 
 was as open and kind-hearted a being as ever 
 breathed, but, at the same time, as reckless 
 and thoughtless as his brother was provident 
 and considerate. But his talents were more 
 than respectable ; in a provincial town they 
 were thought wonderful. He had a tolerable 
 knowledge of many subjects which the most
 
 PERCY L0CKHART. 119 
 
 of Ids townsmen were entirely ignorant of, and 
 lie got credit for more than twice the amount 
 he possessed. Such as he was, Walter liked 
 and was proud of him, and James returned 
 his affection. If he did not admire his 
 brother for his tastes or information, he 
 respected him for his position, and for the 
 respect in which he was held by others. 
 Shortly after Walter's promotion to the 
 managership, or cashiership, as it is termed in 
 Scotland, of the Bank, James entered into a 
 line of business which appeared more than 
 usually promising. Walter was induced, 
 partly by his affection for his brother and 
 partly by the expectation of large profits, to 
 help him ; or, in other words, he became a 
 partner. This was, however, a matter of 
 secret agreement, for it was a rule of the 
 Bank that none of its functionaries should 
 carry on any kind of business or enter into 
 speculations on their own account. The
 
 120 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 thing went on for two or three years ap- 
 parently well enough. Walter received 
 annually a fair allowance in name of profits, 
 taking it for granted that the business was 
 in a favourable state. Rumours, however, 
 reached him now and then that James was 
 not very attentive to his business ; nay, that 
 he was idle and dissipated. By and by, 
 instead of receiving any sum in the shape of 
 profit, he was applied to for loans on one 
 ground or another, which were never repaid, 
 and he became thoroughly alarmed when, 
 instead of receiving back a thousand pounds 
 which James had solemnly promised to 
 repay in eight days, he was applied to for a 
 larger loan, without any promise of repay- 
 ment at all. He refused, on the true ground 
 that he had not the money; nay, he told 
 James that, if he did not receive back what 
 he had already advanced, he was a ruined 
 man; and he demanded a true statement
 
 PERCY L0CKHART. 121 
 
 of the affairs. Upon an investigation, it 
 appeared that James was "far below the 
 world" — at least twenty thousand pounds. 
 Walter saw himself on the brink of a 
 precipice from which there was no retreat. 
 Behind him was a debt which could not be 
 met ; before him was certain ruin. Justly 
 enraged at the position in which he had been 
 so cruelly placed, he reproached his brother 
 bitterly for his deceit and his cruelty, 
 knowing, as he well did, the fearful conse- 
 quences of an exposure. James attempted 
 no excuse; he admitted, to the fullest extent, 
 his culpability, and told his brother that 
 nothing he could say was equal to the tortures 
 inflicted by his own heart. 
 
 " But what can I do ? " he exclaimed. " I 
 cannot go on for many days without a large 
 sum. Bankruptcy to myself would be a 
 relief and a blessing ; but to you I know it is 
 worse than ruin — it is dishonour."
 
 122 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 " It is death !" exclaimed Walter ; " and 
 it shall he death before dishonour." 
 
 " You do not mean — ?" 
 
 " I mean what I say ; but there is no use 
 talking. Although the partnership could be 
 concealed, I cannot repay the sum which I 
 have bor — stolen from the bank, and sooner 
 or later that sum must be accounted for. 
 Ay," said he, " Thriveport will have some- 
 thing to talk about : James Davidson, the 
 bankrupt, and Walter Davidson, the bank- 
 rupt and felon. God ! can it be true ?" And 
 he uttered a roar like a caged lion. 
 
 James wept like a child. 
 
 " Come, come, sir, this is no time for 
 child's play; tears cannot wash out shame. 
 I suppose the partnership cannot be con- 
 cealed?" 
 
 " The books will show it," was the answer. 
 
 " They must not show it, James Davidson ; 
 you understand me ?"
 
 PERCY L0CKHART. 123 
 
 James was silent ; he did "understand 
 him. 
 
 " Yes, James Davidson, if you had merely 
 ruined me, merely taken from me every 
 farthing I possessed, you would have been 
 welcome to it, and you know it. I have 
 been a hard man to the world; I have 
 refused to all men both my money and 
 my heart, and I gave you both. I shall be 
 repaid by being declared a felon. There 
 is only one chance left — your books must be 
 destroyed." 
 
 "And how shall I appear before my 
 creditors?" 
 
 " And how shall I appear before a criminal 
 court ? — and who has brought me to this ? 
 Hark ye, James Davidson ; you must leave 
 the country, /cannot do it, — a single day's 
 absence might reveal my deficit to the Bank, 
 — or I would flee this night ; but there is no 
 time for a start."
 
 124 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 " And not much time for me," answered 
 James; " there is fifteen hundred pounds 
 due in two days. I cannot get off in that 
 time. I have thought of flight before." 
 
 " And when is the next payment due ?" 
 
 " In ten days after." 
 
 It was dreadful ; every step became more 
 difficult and more dangerous ; but the possi- 
 bility of saving himself from exposure and 
 ruin having entered into Walter Davidson's 
 head, he determined to risk all to accom- 
 plish it. He thought nothing of the sacrifice 
 of his brother ; he would willingly have fled 
 himself to the uttermost ends of the earth, 
 and taken up his staff as a beggar for life ; 
 but he could not flee. Flight was imme- 
 diate exposure, and escape was impossible. 
 The sweat dropped from his head in his 
 agony. " James," he at last said, "you 
 must give me this last chance. I shall give 
 you money to meet the first payment and
 
 PEKCY LOCKHART. 125 
 
 for the expenses of your journey, and — you 
 will give me these books." 
 
 James then rose slowly up. " Meet me 
 here to-morrow at this hour. If no other 
 way can be devised, I will do this thing. 
 You need not mistrust me — I shall be here 
 at the appointed time. But leave me now, 
 leave me now, sir," he said, fiercely, 
 and Walter gave way before raising the 
 storm. 
 
 He strode into the street, wondering at 
 the difference of its appearance since he had 
 left it to enter his brother's door, or rather 
 wondering at the new light in which he saw 
 things now — things of the smallest interest 
 and importance. The humble apothecary 
 behind his counter, whom he had before 
 hardly thought worth his notice, how he 
 envied that quiet, composed, mean-looking 
 man now ! The apothecary ? Pshaw ! there 
 was not a shivering wretch on the street
 
 126 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 who was not an object of envy to him. It 
 was now that he felt the drawback of having 
 a good character — he had so much to lose. 
 He envied the broken-down, disreputable 
 blackguards of the town, as a man who has 
 a terrible ordeal to go through envies those 
 who have passed through it. They had 
 undergone the operation, and the torture 
 was over. They had recovered, however 
 damaged, but he had yet to undergo it, and 
 he knew not the result. 
 
 With a man going on from good to good, 
 or from good to better, his past conduct is the 
 becoming background of his improving posi- 
 tion. With one suddenly convicted of crime, 
 the past " beauty of his life" only makes a 
 contrast with the present hideous aspect. 
 And the world is indignant at having been 
 taken in with false appearances, at having 
 been cheated out of its respect and appro- 
 bation, and revenges itself by visiting the
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 127 
 
 cheat with a double portion of persecution 
 and contempt. Walter Davidson wondered 
 if there were any other man in his own rank 
 of life bearing such a load of care as he did, 
 and staggering with such suffering beneath 
 it. How he longed for some great common 
 calamity, to make all men equal, and bring 
 them within the orbit of his own misery ; 
 for some unheard-of convulsion, to reduce 
 civilized habits and usages to confusion and 
 ruin ! When the body is afflicted with more 
 pain than it can bear, it takes refuge in 
 insensibility; when the mind is overcharged, 
 it finds relief in madness ; but Davidson felt 
 that he could not afford to go mad. He 
 must act, and act prudently. He had a 
 difficult and dangerous game to play, and 
 he had to play it with that fevered pulse 
 and that throbbing brain. Though feeling as 
 if stunned by his misery, he knew it would 
 not do to indulge in vain grief; he must put
 
 128 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 off remorse for a time, and meet it at a more 
 convenient season. 
 
 His plans were laid and his resolution 
 taken, but he felt the greatest difficulty he 
 would have to contend with was himself — 
 to walk as if he bore no burden, to look as 
 if he knew no fear, to act and speak as if not 
 spell-bound by that crime to conceal which 
 demanded the very opposite conduct from 
 what it caused. Crime was new to him ; he 
 was a novice in the trade. ■ He and his 
 brother had entered into a new partnership, 
 and their stock in trade was pillage and lies. 
 He might have said, with Macbeth — 
 
 My strange and self-abuse 
 Is the initiate fear that wants hard use : 
 We are yet but young in deed. 
 
 His mind was made up, though he never 
 hesitated an instant as to what he would do. 
 His great anxiety was the chance of some- 
 thing interfering with the execution of his-
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 129 
 
 project. He might be taken ill and be confined 
 to the house, for he felt that his present 
 sufferings must affect his bodily health, then 
 his deficit would be discovered, and ruin and 
 shame would be the speedy and certain 
 consequences. How often had he appeared 
 at meetings of creditors, and taunted the 
 bankrupt with extravagance and dishonesty, 
 with tampering with honest men's property ! 
 He had been the dread of every insolvent 
 debtor connected with the Thriveport Bank. 
 How gladly would he now have exchanged 
 positions with any bankrupt that had ap- 
 peared in the borough! — how gladly disappear 
 for ever from the scenes of his past influence 
 and respectability ! But such thoughts were 
 of no use. He must make a great effort to 
 regain his self-possession. Necessity com- 
 pelled him to assume outward calmness, 
 when lie could have gnashed his teeth and 
 torn his hair with the rage of a wild beast. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 Hours passed, and Walter Davidson might 
 have been seen walking home, suffering, 
 indeed, what only a strong and a naturally 
 honest mind can suffer, but apparently calm 
 and composed. The fire still raged within, 
 but not a spark appeared to show the confla- 
 gration. We shall not attempt to describe how 
 he passed the night, — the sudden wakening 
 and the momentary struggle to recollect 
 what was the cause of the oppression on 
 his soul, the choking guljD of agony which 
 recollection extorted, — the morning sun ap- 
 peared, that pitiless light which summons 
 the guilty before the world, and blazes in all 
 the fierceness of an accuser. He rose up to 
 meet it as he best might. He would fight 
 it out to the last. He went to the bank as 
 usual, going through his duties with a 
 calmness which astonished himself; but he 
 felt that in any question of the least intricacy 
 he had to call upon himself to raise his
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 131 
 
 'energies — he had to awaken himself from 
 his misery to the business of the hour. That 
 over, he sank back again, to go over, for 
 ihe thousandth time, the whole history which 
 pressed upon his brain. What was the last 
 ■chapter to be ? He must meet his brother 
 at night ; and again he put forth his hand to 
 take what did not belong to him. He felt 
 that it would be better to have it severed 
 from his body ; but it was far too late to 
 make the sacrifice for any useful purpose. 
 He was already compromised to an extent 
 which rendered honesty and safety incom- 
 patible. There was no choice. Night came 
 slowly on, and with the darkness he again 
 took the way to James Davidson's counting- 
 house. James was there. Walter placed 
 the money before him, which his brother 
 betrayed no eagerness to receive. It was 
 the price of his character for life. 
 
 A knock at the door ! What a start, what
 
 132 PERCY L0CKHART. 
 
 a throb of tlie heart of both ! Yet it was 
 nothing : a boy passing had idly given the 
 blow with a stick, but the idle sound had 
 the tongue of a witness. Guilt is a ready 
 interpreter. 
 
 James was the first to assume outward 
 composure. Danger had strengthened the 
 weaker man while it almost unnerved the 
 other. But disease tells most on the iron 
 frame and the iron mind, — there is so much 
 to take hold of; and crime, while it shakes 
 the once stern and upright man like a reed, 
 merely makes a little more flexible what was 
 never difficult to bend. 
 
 " Sit down, Walter, and let us have our 
 last conference out. I have ruined you — not 
 willingly, but recklessly. You are ruining me 
 wilfully, to save yourself. It appears to me our 
 accounts are nearly balanced. What say you ?" 
 
 Walter replied by a bitter laugh. 
 
 James looked very grave. Walter could
 
 PERCY L0CKHART. 133 
 
 hardly have conceived that countenance 
 capable of such deep expression. It had 
 the command of him. 
 
 James continued: — " I wish to place 
 matters in their true light before parting for 
 ever, and the truth is, we are both equally 
 guilty. If there is any difference, you are 
 the greater criminal of the two. I borrowed 
 and lost your money ; you stole that of the 
 bank. Men would decide against you there 
 in comparing our deeds ; you now again 
 steal from the bank, and I, knowing of the 
 theft, take what you have stolen. The law 
 in this case, I believe, holds us equally 
 guilty. I can yet save myself by declining 
 to take the money, and by declaring myself 
 bankrupt. In a few months I would be a 
 free man. But I know that to you the 
 consequences would be terrible ; and I have 
 made up my mind to sacrifice myself for 
 3^our sake. Only I must have matters square
 
 134 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 between us before I go. Acknowledge that 
 I have stated the thing fairly, and then wo 
 proceed to business." 
 < i I acknowledge it," said Walter ; ' ' proceed." 
 
 " Then," said James, pointing to a large 
 parcel, " there are my books, containing a 
 true record of all my transactions. By fleeing 
 the country, and leaving those books in 
 your power, I destroy all chance of ever 
 again holding up my head in society. So 
 again, and for the last time, I say, it appears 
 to me that our accounts are nearly balanced. 
 I shall retire the bill due to-morrow, and 
 then you must play your game by yourself 
 as you best may." 
 
 James rose slowly from his seat, and,, 
 approaching Walter, held out his hand. 
 
 " Brother, farewell," said he. 
 
 " Brother, farewell," was the answer. 
 
 And they parted for ever.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopped, 
 Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 When Walter heard the receding footsteps 
 of the only being he had ever loved, he felt 
 he was more lovable than ever. He had 
 been his destroyer, and the thought har- 
 dened his heart to play his desperate game. 
 It must be played quickly though, — there was 
 little time to lose. He required another 
 victim. Well ; if he had sacrificed his own 
 brother, would he hesitate where a stranger 
 was concerned ? He must go on, or he had 
 destroyed his brother in vain. He must at 
 once put aside all considerations of the crime 
 he was committing — as a crime, and look
 
 136 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 upon it as a simple act of self-preservation. 
 The crime had already been committed. If 
 he paused now, he had sinned in vain, 
 suffered the torments of hell in vain. He 
 was acting under compulsion. His crimes 
 were the consequences of others' crimes. 
 He felt that if he could have foreseen his 
 brother's delinquencies, he would not have 
 hesitated a moment in keeping the honest 
 course, that it would have been the greatest 
 of human blessings to have done so; but 
 now it was idle to speculate upon impossi- 
 bilities. The victim — the other victim whom 
 he required ! Well ; was he not himself the 
 greatest victim ? The next would be an inno- 
 cent man, and have the reward of innocence 
 in his own heart. What would he not give 
 to have the weight removed from his ! Let 
 the world perish, he would play out the 
 game ! 
 
 The thing was easily done. He frequently,
 
 PERCY LOCKHAET. 137 
 
 in the course of business, visited the counter 
 of his money-clerk or teller, Richard Chal- 
 mers, looking at the various operations of 
 the day. The clerk had sometimes occa- 
 sion to "write at another desk behind him, 
 in which case his back was turned to the 
 money-drawer. On one of these occasions 
 he found no difficulty in possessing himself 
 of a bundle of notes which he knew to be 
 valuable, and in quietly walking off with 
 them to his own room. He lost no time 
 in taking down the bundle and distributing 
 the notes in his safe so as to form a correct 
 balance of his cash. It was the only moment 
 of happiness he had experienced for a long 
 time. He could now look at those piles of 
 treasure with tranquillity and pride. There 
 was no flaw now for some suspicious director 
 to discover and to expose and ruin him. He 
 was safe beyond detection. The deed was 
 done, " the initiate fear" had fled. For
 
 138 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 an instant he felt something like the calm- 
 ness of innocence. He at least possessed its 
 counterfeit, and none but himself could tell 
 the deceit. 
 
 His composure was shortlived ; he felt that 
 it would be unnatural that it should live. 
 Still there was a flattering exultation making 
 successful war against his own conscience. 
 There was one great fact which stoutly held 
 him up against remorse. He was safe — safe 
 by the only act which could have made 
 him so. 
 
 The victims ! One was provided for should 
 he ever re-appear: he had parted with the 
 only proofs which could make him formid- 
 able ; the other had still to be disposed of. 
 The second act of the tragedy had to be 
 played within a few hours. 
 
 Walter Davidson sat in his own room y 
 waiting until the clerk, Richard Chalmers, 
 should discover the deficiency in his cash.
 
 PERCY L0CKHART. 139" 
 
 The discovery was as certain as that the 
 next hour should strike. He stole a glance 
 through a small window in his room at his 
 still unconscious victim. The business of the 
 day was nearly at a close, and Chalmers was 
 taking a quiet look at the newspaper, prepa- 
 ratory to balancing his cash at the usual 
 hour, — perhaps reading the trial of some un- 
 fortunate man for embezzlement and breach 
 of trust, and inwardly congratulating himself 
 on his own respectable position — perhaps 
 speculating upon the time when he himself 
 might be manager of the bank, and still 
 more respectable. Had he known the present 
 manager's feelings he could hardly have 
 wished to change with him. But he knew 
 not those more than he knew what his own 
 position was to be in half an hour. 
 
 Clang ! One — two — three ! and the hour 
 had struck, and the bank was closed to cus- 
 tomers for the day. There was business-
 
 140 PEECY LOCKHART. 
 
 though for those within — for two of them, at 
 at least. The manager had to play out his 
 hazardous game. It was the last hand, and 
 he held winning cards. 
 
 The bank was very quiet, the noise of the 
 street was shut out, and what on ordinary 
 occasions was felt as a relief, appeared now 
 as an unnatural cessation of the day's labour 
 — a pause before a panic. To Davidson the 
 petty management of a bank had assumed 
 the importance of the world's direction. 
 Chalmers's evident unconsciousness of danger, 
 compared with his own comj)lete enlighten- 
 ment, almost irritated him. But this would not 
 last long. For Chalmers was busy at his cash- 
 book. He had not discovered his loss yet. He 
 was calmly counting his notes, and arranging 
 them into bundles of twenties, and hundreds, 
 and thousands, — jotting down the contents 
 of large parcels containing many of those 
 bundles tied up together. At last the arrange-
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 141 
 
 ment was complete, and he compared his 
 jottings with the balance in his book, and 
 appeared a little surprised — only a little. 
 He had made a mistake. The sum deficient 
 was so large, it must be a mistake. He 
 examined his jottings carefully, and the 
 surprise did not diminish. He had hastily 
 recourse to his parcels of notes again, taking 
 them all down again and examining them 
 carefully. Ay! Davidson knew it was work- 
 ing now. The second victim was beginning 
 to know his danger. He would know it 
 better by and by : the jottings were all 
 right ; the notes had been correctly 
 counted; there was a deficiency of five 
 thousand pounds ! Chalmers could hear 
 his heart beat. We shall not describe the 
 agony of the next half hour ; how he racked 
 his brain, endeavouring to discover how the 
 money had disappeared. He knew he had 
 not given away such a sum to any one
 
 142 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 customer, and he could not account for such 
 an exact deficiency. Davidson felt as much 
 as his victim. He could not bear to look at 
 the latter in his evident distress, and he set 
 himself down to write, or pretend to write, 
 for his hand shook, and the blood tingled in 
 his face and ears. Writing was out of the 
 question : he could not go away, for it was 
 the custom of Chalmers to come to him before 
 four o'clock with his cash-book, and deliver 
 over the money on hand, to be locked up in 
 the bank's safe. It was upon the stroke of four. 
 The hour struck, and he could sit no longer 
 quiet. 
 
 " Chalmers, be so good as to bring your 
 books and cash," said he, as quietly as he 
 could; " I am going home." 
 
 Chalmers walked quickly to the room, and 
 stood before him with a face so ghastly and 
 full of despair, that Davidson had some excuse 
 for appearing startled.
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 143 
 
 " Good heavens ! Chalmers, what has 
 Tiappened ? You are very pale ! Are you 
 unwell?" Davidson was as sick at heart 
 as poor Chalmers. 
 
 " There is a dreadful error in the cash, 
 sir !" answered Chalmers. "I 'm five thousand 
 pounds short!" 
 
 " Nonsense," exclaimed the manager; 
 "there is some mistake. You must have 
 made an error in your additions, or counted 
 your money wrong." 
 
 "No, sir; I have gone over everything 
 again and again, and there is just the exact 
 deficiency I have told you." 
 
 " Give me your book," said the manager; 
 and he pretended to examine it very 
 anxiously. He was anxious enough. Of 
 course he found that Chalmers had stated 
 the truth. 
 
 " Chalmers," said he, after a long pause, 
 " I have no doubt of your honesty."
 
 144 PERCY LOCKHAKT. 
 
 " God bless you, sir!" burst from the- 
 miserable lad. The blessing went through 
 the manager's heart like a curse. But he- 
 compelled himself to go on. 
 
 " You must have paid away the money to 
 some one and omitted to enter it. I have 
 made such a mistake myself." The manager 
 was beginning to collect himself and play his 
 game with skill. The first shock was over. 
 He would go through it now. 
 
 " No, sir ! " answered Chalmers. " I paid 
 away no such sum to-day, and I have ex- 
 amined all my vouchers." 
 
 " Then you must have paid it away with 
 some other sum. If an honest man has got 
 the money he will return it." He could 
 hardly get out the words ; but Chalmers 
 attributed his agitation, naturally enough, to 
 the loss itself. 
 
 " That's the only hope, sir. Pray God 
 an honest man has got it ! " Another dagger
 
 PERCY LOCKHAET. 145 
 
 through the manager's heart; but he con- 
 tinued to play his game very well — he would 
 not suffer all this torture for nothing." 
 
 " I have told you," continued he, " I have 
 every confidence in your honesty. Should 
 this sum never turn up, I give you my word 
 to report favourably, most favourably, to the 
 Directors. And I hope they will take the 
 same view of the matter as I do." 
 
 " And if they do not?" 
 
 " Let us hope the best ! " And the manager 
 actually managed to glide before and hide his 
 guilty self, and believe for a moment that he 
 was acting kindly to the poor boy whose 
 destruction he had so successfully planned. 
 At last they parted, and each was left to his 
 own thoughts. We know not whose was the 
 more bitter. But the manager was safe. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Beware the first false step. — Bulwer. 
 
 Richard Chalmers was descended of very 
 humble parents ; but it was early observed 
 that his intelligence and abilities were much 
 superior to those of his companions of his 
 own age. His abilities gained him a bursary 
 at the Grammar School of Thriveport, where 
 he received the rudiments of a good educa- 
 tion. The rector of the school was of 
 opinion that he was well calculated to make 
 more than a common figure in life ; he accord- 
 ingly interested himself in procuring for Dick 
 a situation in an attorney's office, where he 
 would have an opportunity of learning the 
 law and of making his way in the world. Old
 
 PERCY L0CKHART. 147 
 
 Samuel Walker took him as an apprentice, 
 and was much pleased with the way in 
 which he performed his duties. He had not 
 been with him above a couple of years, 
 when he could draw any deed required in 
 Scotch conveyancing, and his handwriting 
 was a very model of ease and legal elegance. 
 But the law was uphill work with a lad 
 without interest or connexion. Walker, 
 who was agent for the Thriveport Bank, 
 got Chalmers into a situation there, which 
 enabled him at once to support himself and 
 his widowed mother, with the almost certain 
 chance of rapid promotion. The promo- 
 tion was rapid. The old teller died, and 
 Chalmers, after some hesitation about his 
 youth, was chosen to fill his place, which 
 he did with ease and credit to himself, and 
 to the entire satisfaction of the manager of 
 the bank, Walter Davidson. But Dick, un- 
 fortunately, was fond of company, and com.
 
 148 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 pany was fond of him, and he was oftener at 
 the tavern than his employers would have 
 approved of had they known it. There 
 were no public amusements, and young men 
 — ay, and old men, too — liked the leisure 
 which Falstaff liked better than home and 
 instructive reading. But the tavern-door is 
 too often the road to ruin. " Per me si 
 va tra la perduta gente." 
 
 It was the ill fortune of Dick Chalmers 
 to fall in with bad and pleasant company at 
 the tavern which he generally patronized. 
 Two good-looking, middle-aged men took up 
 their abode at the " Cross Keys." They 
 drank freely, and conversed on many sub- 
 jects with ease and ability. They were 
 especially fond of what they called a quiet 
 game at cards. They seemed to prefer this 
 even to good drink and pleasant conversa- 
 tion. In an evil hour Chalmers was induced 
 to join in the game, and though he had
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 149 
 
 never played before, lie made a little money. 
 Both strangers insisted that he must either 
 have known the game, or that he was the 
 sharpest hand they had ever met with. As 
 Dick had never played, he was compelled to 
 believe himself the gifted individual they 
 said he was. But the gift was not per- 
 manent. Instead of improving with practice, 
 he seemed rather to fall off in his play; 
 certain it is, he lost his money, until he was 
 minus a considerable sum, — all, in fact, that 
 he had been able to save from his salary. 
 Dick was no fool, and he began to think he was 
 not quite so sharp as his new friends thought 
 him. By and by he was convinced that he 
 had been the victim of sharpers ; for after 
 having cleared him and others out of all 
 they were likely to get, and having heard 
 sundry rumours not at all complimentary to 
 their mode of play, they quietly took leave 
 one day. It seemed to be a rule with these
 
 150 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 gentlemen to do everything quietly : a quiet 
 game, a quiet dinner, a quiet bottle of wine,, 
 and a quiet talk. 
 
 Chalmers had been foolish, but he also- 
 had been honest. He had ceased to play the 
 moment he had lost his all. The sharpers- 
 had offered him unlimited credit, but Dick 
 saw the hook, and would not take the bait. 
 He abjured cards for ever. 
 
 It was much about this time that the loss 
 in the Bank's cash took place. Of course no 
 trace of it could be discovered, and it behoved 
 the directors of the bank should be made 
 acquainted with the circumstance. Davidson 
 did what he could, with safety to himself r 
 to save his victim ; but the directors took a 
 bad view of the case, and they were irritated 
 at the loss in a year when their losses had 
 already been considerable. Some of them 
 had heard that Chalmers was a young man 
 of habits inconsistent with the position which
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 151 
 
 he held, and insisted upon a criminal in- 
 formation. Old Walker, the agent for the 
 Bank, refused to lay it, and, after angry 
 words with the directors, threw up the 
 agency. It was even the worse for poor 
 Dick. The directors nominated as their 
 agent a person who had no scruples about 
 doing the dirtiest work of his profession. 
 Indeed, Mr. Luke Sharp seemed born for 
 dirty work : the dirtier it was, he appeared 
 to like it the better. He was the son of a 
 greedy old farmer in the neighbourhood, 
 who, it was understood, had grown rich by 
 the necessities of his landlord — advancing 
 him sums of money in loan, and receiving 
 for these both security and cheap farms. 
 Two of his sons were already provided com- 
 fortably with the best farms on the estate, 
 and the third son, Luke, he destined to be 
 educated in the law of his country, and 
 devoted to the practice thereof. Luke took
 
 15*2 PEECY LOCKHART. 
 
 kindly to the law. His chief delight was in 
 those parts of it where cunning and unscru- 
 pulous practices unfortunately sometimes got 
 the better of high principles and honourable 
 aofencv. It was in his nature to grovel m the 
 dirt, like those searchers in the great metro- 
 politan sewers, who wade among the filth 
 of a city for lost trinkets and silver spoons. 
 He prospered, however, when other and 
 better men went to the wall : and worldly 
 prosperity in Thriveport. as in other places, 
 is among prosperous men the great and 
 general test of respectability. So Luke 
 Sharp was employed to get up the case 
 against poor Chalmers. Luke pointed out 
 the whole history of Dick's tavern-goings, 
 his imfortunate quiet games with the London 
 gentlemen, his having been heard to say he 
 was a ruined man, &c. In a word, he made 
 it appear that the thoughtless young man 
 was a drunkard and a gambler. An in-
 
 PERCY L0CKHAET. 153 
 
 formation was laid before the Lord Advocate, 
 and Richard Chalmers was committed for 
 trial. 
 
 The day arrived when James Davidson's 
 bill fell due. Of corns e it was dishonoured^ 
 and James was not to be found. The drawer 
 of the bill naturally applied to Walter for 
 information ; he had none to give. He 
 seemed a little surprised and a little troubled, 
 but recovered himself immediately, and 
 quietly stated that his brother had told him 
 he was to be from home for a few days : he 
 must have been detained from some unavoid- 
 able cause, or he might have mistaken the 
 day the bill was due. He. Walter Davidson, 
 had no reason whatever for suspecting that 
 his brother could not meet his just debts ; on 
 the contrary, he believed him to be in good, 
 if not in affluent circumstances. He regretted 
 much the irregularity with regard to the 
 bill, but had no doubt his brother would
 
 154 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 appear in a day or two, perhaps in an hour 
 or two, and put everything in order. 
 
 "Then," said the holder of the bill, "if 
 you are so satisfied of your brother's circum- 
 stances, have you any objection to give me 
 your guarantee that it will be paid ? In that 
 case I shall be perfectly satisfied, and shall 
 let the bill lie over for a few days, — as long* 
 as you like." 
 
 Walter paused for a little. " I don't know 
 that I would have any objection to what you 
 ask, but my engagements with the bank 
 prevent me from entering into any transaction 
 of the kind. I am bound to incur no such 
 responsibilities." 
 
 " Your word will satisfy me ; say that you 
 will see me paid, and I shall let the bill lie 
 over just as if I had your guarantee." 
 
 " I consider giving my word just the same 
 as signing my name," replied the manager; 
 1 ' and of course I should be breaking my pledge
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 155 
 
 to the bank, — that I shall not do while I 
 pretend to be an honest man. Yon may take 
 what steps yon please. I have already stated 
 my conviction — at least my opinion — that my 
 brother has been detained by some accident, 
 and that he will appear, probably, in the 
 course of the day : that his affairs are all 
 right, I have no cause to doubt ; but for the 
 reason I have mentioned, I must decline all 
 responsibility." 
 
 This was all plausible enough, if not quite 
 satisfactory to the anxious creditor ; and so 
 he waited a day or two for James Davidson's 
 appearance, but waited in vain. 
 
 Walter had entered the troubled waters- 
 He now felt himself fully committed to carry 
 out his frightful and difficult game. He had 
 to wade through lies at every step. He 
 himself was a living lie in appearing and 
 acting to the world as an honest man. He 
 had to sjDeak lies, and look lies, and make
 
 156 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 lies consistent with one another. It was 
 dangerous and difficult, but he did it well. 
 It was not when acting that he felt any 
 difficulty, it was in studying his part ; and 
 that was day and night, sleeping and waking. 
 It was very soon known that James Davidson 
 was bankrupt, and that he had destroyed or 
 carried off his books. Walter was glad that 
 the thing was known at last. He had not 
 now to wait and watch for the news, not 
 knowing how or when it would reach him. 
 It was a relief to him to have a substantial 
 cause for appearing dejected. It was one 
 task, and a harassing one, off his mind, 
 not to be obliged to appear cheerful and 
 composed. The disgrace of his brother's 
 flight was sufficient to account for the 
 depression to which he now gave way, and 
 it was almost a luxury to be able to give way 
 to it without exciting suspicion. With the 
 great majority of the directors of the bank
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 157 
 
 lie was still in as high favour as ever, but 
 there was one man among them who had for 
 some time borne him no goodwill , on account 
 of Davidson's having withstood some applica- 
 tion for a money accommodation inconsistent 
 with the regulations of the bank. This man 
 thought he had now a chance of " feeding 
 fat his ancient grudge," and, at the same 
 time, appearing to be doing no more than his 
 duty. At one of the ordinary meetings of 
 the directors, he took occasion to make some 
 remarks on James Davidson's bankruptcy, 
 and to advert strongly to the great amount of 
 bad paper which was lying in the bank. He 
 also alluded to the recent defalcation of 
 Chalmers, remarking that they, the directors, 
 were there in a most responsible position, 
 and that it was impossible for them to be too 
 careful in their supervision of those in their 
 employ. He went on to state that he, along 
 with his brother directors, had every conn-
 
 158 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 dence in their manager's honour and integrity 
 — no man doubted these ; but they were, in 
 their position, bound to take nothing for 
 granted from any one in their service, 
 especially in cases where they had an oppor- 
 tunity of examining for themselves. He 
 would come at once to the point. During all 
 the time Mr. Davidson had been manager of 
 the bank, — and he, for one, would say that he 
 had managed it well, — his cash had never 
 been examined. God forbid that he should, 
 for a moment, doubt its being correct ! but, 
 in looking at the statement before him that 
 day, he saw the large sum of forty thou- 
 sand pounds said to be on hand in the safe 
 of the bank. That it was there he had no doubt, 
 but he thought it was incumbent on them, 
 as directors for others, to make sure of the fact; 
 and he moved that the money in the manager's 
 possession should be examined, and the result 
 stated in their minute of the day's proceedings.
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 159 
 
 Few things could have pleased Davidson 
 more. How narrowly had he escaped 
 destruction ! If this had come upon him a 
 few weeks before, he would have been 
 exposed and ruined. But he appeared deeply 
 hurt. He made a manly and affecting 
 speech, — alluded to the grief and humiliation 
 caused by his brother's unfortunate mis- 
 conduct, he would not hesitate to term it — 
 misconduct worthy of the highest repro- 
 bation, and for which he would not attempt 
 to frame an excuse, but with which he felt 
 it was needless to assure the directors that 
 he had no concern, further than the mis- 
 fortune of being related by blood to a 
 dishonest man. What grieved him next to 
 that was, to see, by the motion now made, 
 that the taint had reached him, — that his 
 brother's misconduct had been the cause of 
 his losing their confidence. Of course, he 
 was in their hands, and must submit to any
 
 160 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 examination they chose, however unpre- 
 cedented. 
 
 The malignant director thought he had 
 him on the hip. Davidson appeared pro- 
 foundly dejected. It was, to him, the 
 happiest moment he had experienced for 
 months. 
 
 One of the directors, an old friend of 
 Davidson's, indignantly opposed the motion ; 
 but another, who was no enemy, justly 
 observed, that the thing having now been 
 brought forward, he thought it was for the 
 manager's own honour that the proposed 
 investigation should be made, and with that 
 view, and that alone, he would second the 
 motion, which was then unanimously agreed 
 to ; for more than one had observed David- 
 son's aj)parent discomfiture, and had taken 
 alarm. It does not take much, at times, to 
 make the best man in the world to be 
 sus]3ected as a knave, and Davidson was
 
 PERCY L0CKHART. 161 
 
 not among the best. He deliberately pro- 
 duced the keys of the safe, and two of the 
 directors were appointed to examine the 
 cash. They found it all right, to a penny, 
 and the manager's character stood higher 
 than ever. He followed up his advantage 
 by proposing, that since this investigation 
 had been deemed necessary, the necessity 
 would continue to exist; he would, therefore, 
 in future, at every weekly meeting, hand over 
 the cash to be counted by the directors. 
 The directors did not think this was re- 
 quired; but the manager was peremptory, 
 and declared that if it was not done, he 
 must cease to have the honour of serving 
 them. He would not lie under the suspicion 
 of any one for any consideration the world 
 could offer; "and," concluded he, more 
 cheerfully, " where suspicion can be so easily 
 avoided, it would be absurd in me to run the 
 risk of incurring it. I must confess I did 
 
 VOL. I. m
 
 162 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 feel hurt at the motion at first, but I now 
 think it was a most proper and necessary- 
 one. It is a great improvement in the 
 discipline of the bank, and I beg to tender 
 the mover my sincere thanks." 
 
 He was playing it well. He almost 
 deceived himself at the moment. He felt 
 something like the glow of an honest mind. 
 Not one there, not even he who made the 
 motion, retained the slightest suspicion of 
 Walter Davidson being other than what he 
 had always appeared to be — a sternly upright, 
 honest man. 
 
 The proceedings of the meeting, of course, 
 " got wind," and were soon known by the 
 mercantile community of Thriveport. The 
 opinion of the manager as a man of business 
 and a man of honour, was, if possible, higher 
 than ever. 
 
 And thus is the game of life played. There 
 are not many men like Davidson, who rob a
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 163 
 
 Lank and retain an honest name, but there 
 are many whose feelings and secret actions 
 are as much at variance with their outward 
 professions and ostensible character as his. 
 Is there a man alive, who, if his whole secret 
 thoughts and wishes were known to the 
 world, would not die for shame ? 
 
 " Let a man examine himself" when he is 
 passing judgment upon some detected sinner, 
 — take a fair view of what he knows himself 
 io be, and what he appears to the world to 
 be — and then, if he is satisfied with the 
 scrutiny, let him cast that stone which the 
 accusers of one of the guiltiest in their tribe 
 dared not raise from the ground.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Sir, I will pronounce your sentence. 
 
 Love's Labour's Lost; 
 
 God and our innocency defend and guard us. 
 
 King Richard III. 
 
 The blow had fallen heavily on Chalmers's 
 widowed mother. Her son and her son's 
 character were her fortune in this world, and 
 she was contented with it. On his appre- 
 hension, she had immediately applied for 
 permission to visit him, which was readily 
 granted. She was one of the few remaining 
 stern Covenanters of the olden time, little 
 given to display of feeling or affection, and,, 
 fond and proud as she was of her son y 
 repressing the justifiable expression of ma- 
 ternal pride and affection which most mothers
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 165 
 
 indulge in. " Richard was well enough," 
 she said, on hearing him well spoken of; 
 " but, in the common course of nature, he 
 had a long course to travel yet : it was time 
 •enough to commend any poor mortal when 
 he had finished the work given him to do in 
 this world." But while the stern old woman 
 spoke in this way, the last thing that would 
 have occurred to her would have been the 
 disgrace or ruin of her son. When the news 
 of the calamity was communicated to her, it 
 was for an instant only that the possibility 
 of his guilt entered into her mind. She dis- 
 missed it at once and for ever. She walked 
 to the jail with her usual stately step, as firm 
 •and assured as though the evil tidings had 
 never reached her, — hiding her face from 
 none, and choosing the most public path to 
 her destination. But when she was ushered 
 into the presence of poor Dick, in his 
 wretched cell, and saw the way in which
 
 166 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 the law treats those whom it presumes to be 
 innocent until they are found guilty, her 
 firmness forsook her, and the paroxysm of 
 grief which shook her frame showed the 
 nature of those feelings whose expression 
 she had hitherto restrained. Dick thought 
 it was her belief in his guilt which had over- 
 come her, and he sat quiet and sullen. At 
 last he said, somewhat reproachfully, — 
 
 " Mother, I did not think you would have 
 believed me guilty of being a thief!" 
 
 " Believe it," she exclaimed, "I would 
 hardly believe it, though you said it your- 
 self! " And she embraced her son with a 
 sudden burst of affection, which her long 
 habits of self-restraint could not prevent her 
 giving way to. 
 
 " It is God's will," she said ; " and it must 
 be borne, if it be His will. I trust you shall be 
 cleared in the eyes of man as you are in His. 
 If not, we must bear our burden as He thinks
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 167 
 
 fit to impose it on us. It will be good for 
 us in the end. But I 'm glad your father is 
 dead, Dick; and that is a word I never 
 thought to say in this world." 
 
 " Thank you, mother; as long as you 
 believe I am innocent — and I am as innocent as 
 yourself — I can stand up against the opinion 
 of the world ; but as to the villain who has 
 done this thing, may God — " 
 
 ' ' Hush, my bairn ! leave him in the hands 
 of Grod, who knows how to deal with him 
 without your sinful telling. But tell me all 
 about this dreadful business, and what we 
 are to do to get justice, if it is to be got in 
 this world." 
 
 So Dick told his mother the whole circum- 
 stances, so far as he knew : he also told the 
 gambling story, and how it was likely to 
 weigh against him. This was the sorest 
 trial of all to the old woman; but she knew that 
 this was not a time for indulging in resent-
 
 168 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 merit against what she knew had been so 
 fearfully punished, and she made no remark. 
 
 "I know what you think, mother," said 
 Dick, as she kept silence. " I know it was 
 wrong of me to gamble for any sum, however 
 small ; but the punishment is like to be equal 
 to the offence." 
 
 "It is done, my son, and cannot be un- 
 done, and if it \s repented of, I have nothing 
 to say; but it will give a fearful handle to 
 your persecutors." 
 
 "Ay, trust Luke Sharp for that!" said 
 Dick, bitterly; "but Mr. Walker has been 
 here, God bless him ! and he believes me 
 innocent, and has sent to retain one of the 
 best advocates at the Bar in my defence, 
 and young Mr. Percy Lockhart has offered 
 to pay the expense ; but Mr. Walker would 
 not hear of that. So you see my case is not 
 desperate. The best of it is that both Mr. 
 Walker and Mr. Lockhart believe me inno-
 
 PERCY L0CKHART. 169 
 
 ■cent, and that 's the only comfort I have had 
 in all my trouble," said the poor lad, with 
 a ray of something like cheerfulness in his 
 eyes. 
 
 And a great Scotch advocate defended 
 Dick, with an eloquence which in such cases 
 was never surpassed in human pleading. He 
 contended that the very largeness of the 
 sum proved the impossibility of the money 
 having been lost at play. The previous 
 habit of gambling had been alleged against 
 Chalmers. "Was it likely, was it possible 
 that any one in a respectable position in 
 life would, without many previous gradations 
 of vice, all at once play for such enormous 
 .stakes as would account for the deficit ? Had 
 the sum been ten or twenty, or even fifty 
 pounds, the thing might have been believed ; 
 but he dared to say there never was an 
 instance where a young man in the position of 
 his client had all at once, without some long
 
 170 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 previous hardening process, risked such sums 
 as those alleged to have been lost by him at 
 play." He concluded a brilliant pleading 
 by the following words : — " There is a felon 
 somewhere, perhaps not far off, though veiled 
 in the mean time from your eyes and mine, — 
 safe for the present from human pursuit and 
 human justice, but more wretched in his 
 successful villainy than my client in that 
 ignominious place. It has long been my 
 vocation to appear, as I do at present, to 
 defend those whom the law accuses of crime, 
 and I have often been puzzled to know 
 whether I have been defending the guilty 
 or the innocent, the knave or the honest 
 man. In such cases I have ever confined 
 myself to my strict duty as an advocate,, 
 and dealt only with the evidence before the 
 Court ; but in the case before you, I have 
 never felt the slightest doubt in my own 
 mind as to my client's innocence. For that
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 171 
 
 client I have raised my voice as an advo- 
 cate, for that man I shall raise it as a brother ; 
 and I declare it to be my conviction that he 
 is as innocent of the crime laid to his charge 
 as any of the gentlemen I have the honour 
 to address." He sat down and stole a 
 glance at Davidson. His face expressed 
 deep interest, — nay, it wore a kind of exult- 
 ing smile, as if rejoicing in the power of the 
 argument he had heard. " If that be act- 
 ing," said the counsel to himself, "it is the 
 best I have ever seen !" It was partly act- 
 ing, partly real anxiety that his victim 
 should escape. But this was not to be. 
 
 Davidson had spoken highly in Dick's 
 favour, — so highly and earnestly, that Dick's 
 counsel had a suspicion of the truth ; but he 
 did not feel himself justified in trying to cast 
 suspicion where it would be so difficult to fix 
 guilt, and the attempt might injure his case. 
 
 Poor Dick's eye had glistened at the
 
 170 PEECT LOCKHAET. 
 
 unexpected declaration of his counsel, and 
 
 he bowed to him in deep and grateful 
 acknowledgment of the generous testimony 
 
 he had borne in his favour: hut it was I 
 little ua The Judge had taken up an 
 unfavourable new of the case, and chai _ 
 decidedly against Dick. He concluded a 
 charge of great ingenuity with a few wards, 
 which destroyed the impression the speech 
 I counsel had made in Dick's favour. 
 " Had the unfortunate young man at the 
 bar.' 3 he said. " brought into Court an un- 
 stained name. — had he been able to bring 
 forward his past character and conduct in 
 proud and honest denial of the present 
 charge. — why. I might have been shaken in 
 the view which is forced upon me by the 
 evidence before the Court : but he comes 
 here, and it is most painful for me to say 
 Lt, a a dissipated man and a gambler, as a 
 ^rambler with cheats and ruffians who have
 
 PERCY LOCKHAKT. 173 
 
 absconded, and hidden themselves with their 
 spoil in their secret dens of infamy — whose 
 very touch waa pollution, whose - aety was* 
 ruin and disgrace. I had no wish to press 
 this : _ ten, — I did not intend 
 
 to do so : but it has pleased the learned 
 counsel who so eloquently addressed y a 
 to speak of his client in terms which I 
 hardly think consistent with the vidence 
 before you : and I have thought it my duty 
 to mention to you what h: d proved to 
 
 be fact. It is facts you are to be guided 
 bv. and not by the conviction of the most 
 eloquent man that ever hi 
 
 And so neither Davidson's testimony nor 
 counsel's eloquence saved poor Chalmers. 
 He was found guilty, and - ntenced to 
 fourteen years' transportation. 
 
 The poor widow had wished to accompa 
 her son to Edinburgh, and sit by him at this 
 trial : but Dick had objected.
 
 174 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 " I must bear it like a man, mother, if 
 it come to the worst, and I know I could not 
 do that if you were beside me ; you must go 
 home, and pray to Him who can send me 
 home to comfort you ! " 
 
 But he never saw her again. Percy Lock- 
 hart, who had heard of the case from Walker, 
 had taken a deep interest in it. After the 
 trial, he called on the old woman, and insisted 
 on sujDplying her with the means of comfort, 
 so far as her bodily wants were concerned. 
 The conviction which he expressed of her 
 son's innocence was far dearer to the poor 
 widow than the riches of the Indies would 
 have been ; and it was this which made her 
 pride stoop to accept that assistance which 
 otherwise she would have refused. But the 
 stern old woman was smitten to the dust by 
 the loss of the only treasure she had possessed 
 in this world after her husband's death. 
 Eefusing all sympathy, she pined in her
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 175 
 
 solitude till her old heart was broken, and 
 wdthin three weeks of her son's trial she 
 was carried to that narrow house where all 
 sorrows in this world are at an end. 
 
 Davidson heard of her death, and was glad 
 that her grief was over. But he felt he could 
 not look forward to such a termination of 
 his sufferings, with that hope and assurance 
 which had brightened the last hours of the 
 widow's life. She had mercy and forgive- 
 ness to look for. He had justice and judg- 
 ment. " God help him!" He, too, had 
 proffered assistance to Dick's mother after 
 the trial, but it had been sharply refused, 
 without even thanks. " Ay," said he to 
 himself, " she suspects the truth ! " — and he 
 was glad she was dead. 
 
 The temptation to steal, to cheat, for the 
 mere purpose of acquiring wealth, is not 
 very great. It requires no grand amount 
 of principle to abstain from taking what is
 
 176 PERCY L0CKHART. 
 
 not a man's own. Many men of no very 
 high character could be safely trusted with 
 untold gold. They are the coarsest of the 
 human family who could violate such a 
 trust, unless previously vitiated by crime, 
 or stimulated by some strong passion. It 
 is otherwise when character, and rank, and 
 position are involved. Many a man can 
 endure poverty manfully, and disdain all dis- 
 honest ways of improving his condition, who 
 would shrink from the censure of the world, 
 and who, to avoid that censure, would con- 
 descend to do those very acts which, if known 
 to the world, would by it be most censured. 
 Walter Davidson could have lost every 
 farthing he had in the world without ex- 
 periencing the slightest wish to retrieve his- 
 fortunes by unworthy means. He would 
 have died rather than employ them. It is 
 no great praise ; but his character was dearer 
 than life to him. Money can be lost and
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 177 
 
 regained ; character once lost is lost for 
 ever — a broken mirror. Poverty leaves no 
 lasting stain ; the brand of dishonour is 
 ineffaceable. And, to save his character in 
 the eyes of the world, Davidson had sacrificed 
 an innocent man and a brother, and polluted 
 his hands with filth which cannot be washed 
 away ! He was a branded felon before God, 
 but the world saw not the ignominious mark. 
 It had scared his inmost soul, but no visible 
 sign betrayed its existence ; and thus do many 
 men walk through the world — self-branded 
 and self-tortured, with the outward semblance 
 of happiness and contentment. Life is hardly 
 worth so much. But Davidson had yet to 
 learn its value. Like most men, he had fear- 
 fully overrated it. 
 
 Walter was unsuspected and James was 
 condemned as a fraudulent bankrupt and a 
 felon. He had agreed to bear his brother's 
 burden, and the agreement had doubled it, 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 for Walter was not lightened by James 
 bearing an equal weight. Thus both men 
 staggered through the world; the one self- 
 punished for the crime the world knew not 
 of, the other denounced by the world for the 
 crime he had not committed. After a time 
 James Davidson felt that he had done far more 
 for a brother than brotherhood requires. It 
 had been done under strong excitement, and 
 now the revulsion took place. He had 
 assumed Cain's mark, not for killing, but for 
 saving his brother. He might return and 
 tell all, — but who would believe him? He 
 had wilfully given away his own honest 
 name, and destroyed all the evidence which 
 might restore it. His books were gone — who 
 would believe the cause of their disappear- 
 ance ? Ay ! he had made a fatal, an unheard- 
 of sacrifice, and for whom ? — for one who was 
 living in honour by his dishonour. Had 
 there ever been such a fool as he ? — fool and
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 179 
 
 Imave, for he had enabled his brother to 
 play his guilty game. He had read the 
 irial of poor Chalmers, and was at no loss 
 -to guess the truth. It was bitterness all. 
 Himself sacrificed — Chalmers sacrificed : 
 two innocent men reprobated by the world 
 as thieves, to save the real thief from repro- 
 bation ; nay, to erect the thief into an honest 
 man. It was like to drive him mad, the 
 terrific injustice of the whole thing ; and all 
 caused by his own inconceivable folly — so 
 inconceivable that no fool would believe it. 
 
 He escaped all pursuit. There was not 
 much search made. But he continued through 
 life to be his own detective. He was in the 
 cruel custody of his own pitiless reflections.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 An evil soul producing holy witness 
 Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, 
 A goodly apple rotten at the heart : 
 Oh, what a goodly outside falsehood hath ! 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 A very great loss is the loss of hope, but I struggle on 
 as I can. — Johnson. 
 
 And so Walter Davidson was safe — safe from 
 the wrath and contempt of the great world 
 of Thriveport. He had paid dear for his 
 safety though, and so had others. Theodore 
 Hook held that " wrong never comes right." 
 Walter Davidson felt that it could not. 
 u Farewell the tranquil mind !" — ay, farewell 
 for ever! Two were already drinking the 
 bitter cup which he had filled for them. 
 His own draught would be deeper still and
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 181 
 
 more bitter. He knew that. He had never 
 deceived himself for a moment with the hope 
 that with safety he was to acquire peace and 
 comfort, but his crime had brought graver 
 consequences than he had anticipated. 
 Having entertained little doubt of Chalmers 
 being acquitted, his condemnation, and the 
 despair and agony of his old mother, came 
 upon him with the stunning force of a new 
 and unexpected blow. It shook him to his 
 inmost soul, and he almost gave in. The 
 man knew in his heart of hearts that, even 
 at this late hour, he would be happier for 
 life if he confessed all and did justice to 
 him he had so foully wronged ; he knew that 
 •every word of his confession would carry its 
 balm with it, and purge his bosom " of that 
 perilous stuff" which was a burden "too heavy 
 for a man that hopes for heaven." He knew 
 well that by concealment he was doubling 
 his crime and his sufferings ; that Chalmers's
 
 182 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 punishment was his damnation. But he had 
 not the strength to tell the truth. He wished 
 to do it, but he felt he could not. Were the 
 thing to do again indeed, and with his pre- 
 sent experience! — But this was idle. Few 
 men would sin if they knew the punish- 
 ment beforehand of sin even in this world. 
 Davidson had sacrificed his brother — borne 
 false witness against Chalmers, and destroyed 
 him ; he had stolen his employers' treasure. 
 Fratricide — homicide — perjurer — thief ! — he- 
 felt he was no less. The brother's, tho 
 widow's, and the orphan's curses were upon 
 him. A heavy burden, and he knew it would 
 never be less ; he must work under it — think 
 under it — sleep under it — die under it. It 
 was one burning spot — unquenchable. He 
 knew that he must face God with his guilt, 
 but he could not make up his mind to face 
 the directors of the bank, and acknowledge- 
 the evil he had done.
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 183 
 
 His wife died. It was a relief. She had 
 suspected that something was wrong. She 
 knew there was, and she had guessed pretty 
 near the truth. How did she know? He 
 had perhaps spoken in his sleep, if sleep it 
 could be called. Be that as it might, she 
 had one day introduced the subject of 
 Chalmers's trial and banishment, and re- 
 marked that she thought it possible the 
 wrong man had been banished. 
 
 " I think so too," was Davidson's calm 
 reply ; and his wife was puzzled.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A storm at sea, and an Elletweem fishing-boat lost. 
 
 It blew a strong gale of westerly wind, 
 which increased with the making of the tide. 
 Fourteen fishing-boats had left Elletweem 
 early in the morning, for the deep-sea fishing, 
 and their return was anxiously looked for by 
 the inhabitants of the village. The sea was 
 the fate of their crews, for weal or for woe. 
 They could almost all read the signs of the 
 weather, and calculate upon them with some- 
 thing almost like certainty, and act accord- 
 ingly, but no one had foreseen the present 
 gale. It was within an hour and a half of 
 high water. The storm had not yet burst. 
 The elements are pausing on the eve of
 
 PERCY L0CKHART. 185 
 
 an engagement; but they pause not long. 
 There is a rustle on the water ; the wind is 
 whispering mischief to its great ally, which 
 trembles with pleasure at the well-known 
 voice. The whisper is rising into loud and 
 angry parley. The tempest charges like a 
 squadron in battle ; the waves are tossing 
 about their white heads like madmen in 
 delirium, reeling and staggering like 
 drunkards wrestling with despair. The 
 mirror of the waters is broken into millions 
 of fragments, gleaming occasionally in a 
 hurried ray of the sun, as the clouds for an 
 instant are torn before his face, and he looks 
 through the rent at the battle. The dance 
 goes on with increasing fury. Those old 
 madmen never tire while the music lasts, 
 and the wind is still piping with unabated 
 vigour, now beating down for a moment 
 with a sudden blast the wild billows, now 
 shooting them up and around the old cliffs,
 
 186 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 as if to hurl them from their seats. It takes; 
 a grasp like an armed man, and roars in the- 
 premature exultation of victory ; but it will 
 not do. The breakers hurl at their founda- 
 tions, and the blast tears their bare scalps; but 
 the old guard will not give way. The storm 
 has spent its fury ; the attacks on the ramparts- 
 are becoming feebler and less frequent. 
 What a hissing as the waves are dashed back 
 from the impregnable adamant into the boil- 
 ing cauldron ! But the surge is lowering its 
 crest, the blast is subdued to sulky and fitful 
 growls. He who gave it liberty has chained 
 it up, and bid " the waters and the winds 
 be still." The unfortunate fishermen were 
 caught in this storm, and many a heart 
 quailed at the increasing blast. About a 
 mile below the village there stand the ruins 
 of an old castle, or irregular fortification. 
 Under lee of those ruins were collected the 
 friends and relations of those who were at
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 187 
 
 sea in the boats. Many others were also 
 there, attracted by curiosity or sympathy. 
 Every eye was turned towards the bar of the 
 river, which was about four or five miles to 
 the eastward. 
 
 11 A sail on the bar ! " exclaimed a preventive 
 service man, who had been anxiously watch- 
 ing with his telescope, and who had been 
 often appealed to by the anxious crowd. " I 
 can scarcely make her out for the spray ; " 
 but he continued to look, while all present 
 waited for his words with indescribable 
 anxiety. "I see her now; it's David 
 Nome's boat ; I know her by the new cloth 
 in her foresail. It is the only sail set, and 
 it is close reefed. I 've lost her again, — she 's 
 in stays ; mind your eyes now, my lads ! " 
 exclaimed the excited old tar. " There ! she 's 
 about ; she hoists sail again, and is on the 
 starboard tack. Damn those lug sails! I 
 think they were invented by the devil to-
 
 188 PERCY L0CKHART. 
 
 .send him customers." He continued to 
 describe the movements of the boat until 
 .she was visible to the naked eye, across the 
 bar, and in comparative safety. Another 
 and another boat appeared, and was re- 
 cognized, and crossed the bar in safety. 
 Thirteen boats had followed one another, the 
 first being now abreast of the ruins. They 
 were all under close-reefed foresails. A more 
 gallant sight could not have been witnessed 
 than the way in which the crews did their 
 work, and in which the steersmen watched 
 every squall, meeting with the helm every 
 sea which threatened to swamp them. They 
 all weathered the ruins successively, cheered 
 by the excited crowd as they passed, though 
 those on board heard not the encouraging 
 sounds in the roar of the tempest and the boil- 
 ing of the surge ; but they saw handkerchiefs 
 waved, and they knew that wives and sweet- 
 hearts were looking on, and they held on their
 
 PEECY LOCKHAKT. 189 
 
 way without one quaking heart among them. 
 Yes ! ye men of Elletweem, on board your 
 boats and in the storm, ye are heroes whom 
 any country would be proud of. 
 
 But the fourteenth boat was missing. The 
 friends of those in the boats which had 
 passed had hastened to the landing-place to 
 welcome those belonging to them, but one 
 group had remained in hopeless grief, still 
 watching the boiling surf on the bar, which 
 made a clean break from bank to bank. 
 They were the wives and children of the 
 missing boat's crew, with two or three others 
 who had remained, endeavouring to keep up 
 their hopes after they knew that hope had fled. 
 
 " She may have run for Fluker's Bay," 
 suggested one of those bystanders, " instead 
 of beating to windward." 
 
 " When did Ramsay Sime's boat run when 
 the other boats took the river ?" said a young- 
 wife, her eye lighting up for an instant, and
 
 190 PEKCY LOCKHART. 
 
 the comforter was silenced. Hours passed 
 away, and the boat did not appear. She 
 never appeared ; but one of the crew came 
 home next day by land, having been picked 
 up by a coal-brig while clinging to a mast. 
 He was landed at a neighbouring port. He 
 told the story of the lost boat, which was 
 as follows : — 
 
 She was one of the largest boats belong- 
 ing to the village, having been built for the 
 herring-fishery in the north. There were 
 seven of a crew, the crack crew of Elletweem. 
 They had been far out at sea, for the fish 
 had left the coast, and were returning, deeply 
 laden, when they were caught by the gale. 
 There were those on board who knew their 
 danger ; but the young men, elated by their 
 successful capture, laughed at fear, saying 
 that the i Gannet ' — such was the boat's name 
 — would " stand up to any gale that ever the 
 devil piped."
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 191 
 
 "Ay," said the old steersman, "that she 
 will, but not with such a cargo. Throw the 
 fish overboard if you wish to see your fire- 
 sides again." 
 
 " Down with the mainmast and close reef 
 your foresail, and then let the devil pipe, 
 and he '11 see what the ' Gannet' is made of." 
 
 The last directions were instantly complied 
 with, but the crew refused to sacrifice their 
 l^recious cargo. The fishing had been unsuc- 
 cessful of late, and all had been reduced to 
 poverty. The steersman's son was especially 
 averse to part with the cargo. He was 
 stoutly backed by his brother and cousin. 
 They said they had no mind to work day 
 andjrright, and to lose their labour for 
 nothing. 
 
 "Better lose labour than life," said the 
 oldjrnan. " Once more, throw the fish over- 
 board. I am skipper of this boat, and I will 
 either be obeyed or leave the helm."
 
 192 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 " Leave it, father," said his son, " and I'll 
 be skipper. You're getting ower auld for 
 this wark." 
 
 The old man gave the tiller to his son, 
 and took his seat on the main thwart of the 
 boat. " May God make you a better steers- 
 man than your father this day ! " said he. 
 " I wash my hands frae the sin of losing- 
 seven lives." 
 
 The son was an able seaman, but he had 
 neither the eye nor the hand of his father, 
 old as he was. He soon became aware of 
 the dangerous task he had so rashly under- 
 taken. Once or twice, as a squall came 
 down upon them, and after he had put up 
 the boat's head to the wind, she had been 
 nearly swamped before fetching way again. 
 At last, when, before fetching way, a second 
 squall struck them, and the lee gunwale 
 went under water, his pride gave way, and ho 
 cried out, "For God's sake, out with the fish ! "
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 193 
 
 "It is too late," said the old man, and in 
 an instant the boat was full of water. Her 
 heavy iron ballast sunk her at once, and 
 six of the crew perished. One of them 
 clung to the mainmast, and was picked up 
 by the coal-brig we have mentioned. He was 
 brother of the unfortunate steersman, and had 
 backed him up against his father ; but he told 
 his tale honestly, taking his full share of the 
 blame, and he said he was "maist sorry that 
 he had not gone down with the crew." 
 
 The young man never entered a boat 
 again; he said " he never could forget the 
 sight of his poor auld father's grey head in 
 the weltering sea." He earned his living 
 by gathering shell-fish and selling them. 
 
 Many families were rendered almost desti- 
 tute by the calamity which we have men- 
 tioned, and the clergyman thought it his duty 
 to call upon the gentlemen in the neighbour- 
 hood to ask contributions for the sufferers. 
 
 vol. i. o
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 We have naturally a curiosity to be prying and search- 
 ing into forbidden secrets. — L'Estrange. 
 
 Among these, and in the district where 
 Warren now resided, another stranger had 
 taken up his abode, about whom there had 
 been many rumours and many inquiries, but 
 nobody could make anything of the tenant of 
 Kelly Lodge, a large old tumble-down and 
 rather indescribable building, a cross between 
 various styles of architecture. The most 
 modern parts of the building, consisting of four 
 good rooms and kitchen, were in pretty habit- 
 able condition, and the present tenant confined 
 himself almost entirely to them. Wild as 
 the place was at the time we speak of, it had
 
 PERCY LOCKHAET. 195 
 
 at one time been a residence of no ordinary 
 beauty. The garden and orchard especially 
 had been very fine. The clear stream which 
 rushed past the neglected lawn, to join the 
 ocean at no great distance, showed nooks and 
 brawling rapids, where the greedy pike, and 
 his no less greedy prey, " the trout bedropped 
 with crimson hail," had multiplied almost 
 undisturbed, except by their natural enemy 
 and robber of the streams, the fierce, unsatiable 
 otter. All was wilderness now. The heron 
 was the only fisher visible in the stream, and 
 the weasel frisked about the broken dial, his 
 sharp eye almost out of practice in the absence 
 of danger. The crows had stuck by the 
 old place for generations; they were the 
 lineal descendants of those who had seen it 
 in its glory. Domestic cats had become 
 wild; the woods behind the house were 
 plentifully stocked by them and their wild 
 progeny, who seemed to thrive wonderfully
 
 196 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 amidst the general desolation. The view 
 from the lodge was fine as heart could wish. 
 Ketiring for about a hundred yards from the 
 steep brow of what was called the Knock-hill, 
 it commanded a majestic view of the German 
 Ocean in its ever-changing aspects — a view 
 which is never tame and which never tires. 
 Wood and lodge and garden were now 
 nearly all in the same state of neglect and 
 disrepair. 
 
 But the present tenant seemed quite 
 contented with the place as it was. His habits 
 were as solitary as his dwelling. He was 
 rather cheerful looking than otherwise, with 
 not the slightest appearance of singularity. 
 Had you met him in Pall Mall, you might 
 have taken him for a fashionable clubman ; 
 there were both breeding and intelligence in 
 his appearance, but he declined mixing with 
 the society of the neighbourhood, and society 
 was left to imagine the nature of the occupa-
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 197 
 
 tions or studies with which he contrived to 
 fill up his time in his solitary abode. 
 
 The clergyman of the district was the first 
 to break in upon his solitude. He was shown 
 into the library, a large square room, com- 
 fortably, if not elegantly, furnished. A 
 glance at the books intimated that they had 
 been selected by a man who knew some- 
 thing about them. There were three fine 
 microscopes, and glass jars and vessels 
 containing great varieties of entomological 
 horrors, which indicated the nature of the 
 proprietor's tastes and studies. Theology 
 was also respectably represented. Indeed, 
 the minister was surprised to see a collection 
 far surpassing what he himself possessed, and 
 which he had imagined was the best and 
 most extensive in the county. But the honest 
 clergyman had little time for further scrutiny, 
 for the door opened, and Mr. Savile entered 
 the library. He greeted the reverend gentle-
 
 198 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 man with perfect ease and good breeding. 
 Without asking him the object of his visit, he 
 appeared to wait for the information. 
 
 The Doctor retailed the calamity which had 
 befallen the fishers at Elletweem, bv which 
 many families had been rendered destitute. 
 He said his own limited means prevented 
 him from being able to give much assistance, 
 and he had taken the liberty of calling upon 
 some of the neighbouring gentlemen, who 
 had liberally enough seconded his endeavours 
 in relieving the destitution in the little village. 
 " I have called upon you, sir," he continued, 
 " upon this begging errand, and though I 
 cannot urge much in favour of the habits or 
 characters of those in whose behalf I appear, 
 yet, in a case of the kind, I think charity not 
 ill-bestowed; ifwe gave only to the deserving, 
 our liberality would not be much tested." 
 
 " Hardly at all," answered Savile; " the 
 deserving or their dependants seldom require
 
 PEECY LOCKHAET. 199 
 
 charity or assistance. I think the more 
 undeserving the wretch, the more imperative 
 is the charity, provided it be judiciously 
 bestowed ; there are vices and bad habits to 
 be dealt with as well as starvation." 
 
 The minister had hardly expected his 
 sentiment to be carried so far, and he was not 
 sure that Savile was in earnest ; he hinted as 
 much. 
 
 "I am quite serious" was the rejoinder. 
 ' ' I am no anxious philanthropist. I have no 
 reason for being so, if I take into account my 
 own experience of the world; but I think it 
 is more unpleasant to see or hear of a man 
 starving than to relieve the starvation. In 
 such a state it is no time to inquire into 
 character ; I would give in charity to my own 
 feelings, without laying claim to extraordinary 
 benevolence." 
 
 "I hope," said Stevenson, such was the 
 minister's name, " your motives are higher."
 
 200 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 " They are not, I assure you ; I think few 
 men deserve to be pitied. The over-driven 
 animal is more to be pitied than the unmer- 
 ciful blackguard whose vice and necessity 
 have forced him to cruelty; but forced he is, 
 as much as the brute he abuses ; so, in the 
 present case, I am quite willing to give my 
 mite without inquiring too curiously into the 
 deserts of the recipients. Is this enough?" 
 he continued, handing a bank-note of some 
 value to the minister. 
 
 " It is too much," was the answer. " The 
 fourth part in the mean time will be liberal, 
 and if more be required I shall not scruple 
 to beg again from you." 
 
 " As youjolease," was the indifferent reply; 
 "but pray keep the note, and if any other 
 case occur, apply it as you like. It will save 
 you the trouble of coming so far out of your 
 way." 
 
 " And you the annoyance of being intruded
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 201 
 
 upon, and perhaps subjected to the obser- 
 vation of a spy in the shaj)e of a country 
 minister," hazarded Stevenson, somewhat 
 hardily. " And you are not far wrong," 
 he continued, seeing Savile expressed not 
 the slightest displeasure at his freedom. " I 
 must confess that curiosity had as much to 
 do with my visit as charity." 
 
 "Curiosity to know who and what I am," 
 said Savile, a little contemptuously. ' 1 1 should 
 have thought your profession had been able 
 to raise you above so common a feeling." 
 
 "I suspect there is no profession which 
 can raise us above the common feelings of 
 our nature," said the minister; "at least I 
 cannot claim such an altitude for myself; 
 and to confess at once, I was curious to 
 know why a person in your position so 
 sedulously shunned society, and since I came 
 here I must confess again that my curiosity 
 has been increased."
 
 202 PERCY LOCKHAET. 
 
 "And yet," was the answer, " I tell you 
 the simple truth when I assure you that 
 your curiosity is quite at fault if it suggest 
 to you anything in the least extraordinary 
 connected with my life and experience." 
 
 " I am afraid I have been very rude," 
 said the minister, humbly enough. "I had 
 no right to pry either into your house or 
 your history. I hid my curiosity under the 
 veil of charity. It was mean and dishonour- 
 able, and I ask your pardon." He rose to 
 depart. 
 
 " Pray be seated," said Savile, quietly, a 
 little amused with the minister's simplicity, 
 and a little touched by his genuine honesty ; 
 ; ' and," continued he, " tell me openly what 
 excited your curiosity. I am sure I live 
 quietly enough." 
 
 " It was that very quietness," said Steven- 
 son ; 1 1 there must be some strong reason 
 for a man of fashion and intellect and," —
 
 PERCY LOCKHAET. 203 
 
 glancing at the books and philosophical 
 instruments, — " and information, secluding 
 himself from that society which would 
 welcome him so heartily." 
 
 " Then, my dear sir, you are mistaken. 
 There is no strong reason ; there was a dis- 
 appointment, not a very deadly one, and 
 there was an experience of mankind, not a 
 very uncommon one. I am merely a little 
 disgusted at present with my fellow-men, on 
 account of some little matters, and have 
 retired for a while to think about them, and 
 perhaps a few other things." 
 
 "Which I must not inquire into," said 
 the minister, simply ; but with the very 
 question inquiring with all the cunning he 
 was master of. 
 
 "It is not worth inquiry, honestly it is 
 not. I met with the treatment that ninety- 
 nine out of a hundred meet with in 
 misfortune. Upon my word, I was more
 
 204 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 amused than hurt. Now I am thankful for 
 the experience. But after years of poverty 
 and privation, I became suddenly rich by an 
 accident. Then it was that I became both 
 hurt and disgusted by the conduct of rela- 
 tions and friends whose former desertion 
 had merely amused me. But a man might 
 as well complain of being denied the society 
 of the learned and wise because he is a fool 
 as of being neglected by the rich because he 
 is poor. When society shuns him, he 
 may rest assured that he wants what it 
 considers a proper ticket of admission. Let 
 him procure it, and the door is open to 
 him. If he do procure it, and choose to 
 remain sulky without, he will punish nobody 
 but himself. There must be different ranks 
 and stations — the commander-in-chief to the 
 private. The officers will keep their own 
 position, and the privates must be con- 
 tent to keep theirs. I had suffered much
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 205 
 
 without complaining, but I sickened at the 
 way I was now approached by friends and 
 brothers, once so called. Yes, I was dis- 
 gusted with mankind for acting," continued 
 he, more lightly, " as mankind has always 
 acted, and will always act, and I came here 
 to endeavour to learn to be philosophical 
 enough to laugh at it all. I may perhaps 
 go amongst them again, and laugh while I 
 act in the comedy myself." 
 
 " And so from the study of man you have 
 turned to that of the animal kingdom," said 
 Stevenson, looking at the microscope and 
 jars. 
 
 " Hardly turned. I have been fond of the 
 subject all my life. But I cannot call myself 
 a student. I have until lately merely read. 
 I almost wish I had confined myself to more 
 desultory reading ; but I have begun the 
 study, and shall continue to try if I can get 
 any light."
 
 206 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 '•You appear to have all the means and 
 appliances for obtaining the light." 
 
 "They increase the darkness; the more 
 perfect the microscope, the more profound 
 the horrible mystery of animal life." 
 
 " I am fond of the study myself," said the 
 minister, " and I think I can partly under- 
 stand you, but I am trespassing on your time ; 
 I came to beg for money, I am now robbing 
 you of your time." 
 
 ••Not at all. If you are an experienced 
 naturalist, you may be able to explain what 
 appears to me a horrible mystery. I have 
 been endeavouring to ascertain if there be 
 any reason or necessity for the cruelty, 
 torture, and continual destruction with which 
 the whole system of animal life is carried on. 
 The law seems to be, that one animal's 
 pleasure should consist in another's pain — 
 the strong preying upon the weak, and some- 
 times the weakest upon the strongest ; all of
 
 PERCY L0CKHART. 207 
 
 them bountifully furnished with the means 
 
 and instruments for exercising their par- 
 ticular cruelties/' He rose and walked to the 
 window. "Look at that swift cleaving the 
 air. Is he not beautiful in his enjoyment of 
 the free expanse of heaven ? Can anything 
 be more graceful than those sweeps and 
 curves and darts and sudden pauses ? What 
 command of the subtle element he floats in ; 
 what power of wing ; what exquisite adapta- 
 tion of form and muscle ! And yet all his 
 power and instinct are devoted to the task 
 of capturing and devouring the insects he 
 lives upon. Every dart of his elegant form 
 is a movement in the path of destruction; 
 every snap of his bill announces a sudden 
 death ; he is torturing and being tortured at 
 the same time. Even smaller than the insects 
 he devours are the living things which prey 
 upon him, lurk among his feathers, bury 
 themselves in his flesh, torture him beyond
 
 208 PERCY LOCKHAET. 
 
 the power of sufferance, till he has been 
 known to dash himself to death against the- 
 first object which promised to put an end 
 to his despair." 
 
 " And is this all you can draw from the 
 study of Nature ?" 
 
 "No, only a general conclusion. I know 
 not a nobler promise of enlightenment than 
 that held out to the student of animal life 
 and animal organization; the surpassing- 
 wisdom exhibited in the structure of bone 
 and muscle, nerve and artery; the mar- 
 vellous arrangement of the ten thousand 
 different atoms for the purposes of supporting 
 life ; the amazing differences in the con- 
 struction of different classes and orders ; in a 
 word, the infinite number of forms in which 
 life can exist, and the equally infinite variety 
 of conditions attached to its tenure." 
 
 "It is, indeed, a noble study," said the 
 minister. "At another time I should like
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 209 
 
 much to resume this conversation, if you will 
 allow me ; but I have already trespassed too 
 long on your time ;" and he rose and took his 
 leave, thanking Savile again for so readily 
 giving help to the poor fishermen's families. 
 
 Savile thanked the minister for giving 
 him the ojDportunity of helping them, and 
 said he would enjoy a visit from him at his 
 leisure time. 
 
 VOL. I,
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 It is a golden chain let down from heaven, 
 
 Whose links are bright and even, 
 
 That falls like sleep on lovers, and combines 
 
 The soft and sweetest minds 
 
 In equal knots. — Ben Jonson. 
 
 Both Warren and Savile, in a short time, 
 began to mix freely with the families in the 
 neighbourhood. They were acknowledged 
 by all to be valuable additions to the rather 
 limited society of the district. Florence 
 Warren especially became the object of much 
 attention. Young Hay speedily achieved 
 his ardently wished for introduction. He 
 tried to make the most of it by taking every 
 opportunity to endeavour to render himself 
 particularly agreeable ; but the good-natured
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 21 1 
 
 lad made very little progress. Florence 
 listened to him, and laughed with him and, 
 he suspected, at him ; but he was quite willing 
 to submit to this, provided he could only 
 keep near her. Nay, his admiration and 
 devotion seemed to become more intense as 
 his chance of creating any interest in their 
 object visibly diminished. His worship was 
 indeed deep and sincere. He had never 
 imagined any human being so lovely, and 
 the only aim in life worth attaining seemed 
 to him to be to call such a treasure his own. 
 Alas ! we have all, or at least most of us, 
 bowed before our idols, and many of us 
 have humbled ourselves in vain ; but it is 
 a glorious delusion, the early dream, the 
 ecstatic devotion of youth. Concealment of 
 his feelings was out of the question ; in fact, 
 he cared not for concealment; but by and 
 by his admiration was so openly manifested 
 that it became unpleasant both to Warren
 
 212 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 and Florence. It was especially disagree- 
 able to Philip Charteris, who resolved to 
 speak to the young man on the subject. 
 He very soon had an opportunity. They 
 had embarked one fine morning in August 
 on board a boat of Philip's for a day's 
 mackerel -fishing. They were both good 
 boatmen, besides being perfectly acquainted 
 with the rather difficult navigation of the 
 river. It happened that on this day Philip's 
 usual boatman, Tom Gaul, had disappeared 
 somewhere, but the young men thought it 
 no hardship to get underweigh themselves. 
 They were soon floating down the river with 
 a breeze all too gentle for their sport, for 
 mackerel -fishing requires a speed of about 
 three knots an hour ; and by and by it fell 
 dead calm, not an air of wind was stirring, 
 and as the tide turned they had just to 
 submit to be carried back again to their 
 starting-point. Hay was very dull, not even
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 213 
 
 attempting to shoot the mallards which were 
 floating around them. Charteris, although 
 at the helm, had nothing to do, as the boat 
 had not even steerage way through the 
 water. He resolved to take this opportunity 
 of sj>eaking to Hay on the Warren question, 
 though he felt it to be delicate ground, 
 considering his own interest in the matter. 
 
 " Robert," said he at last, " will you allow 
 me as a friend, and a sincere one, to take a 
 liberty with you? The subject is a delicate 
 one, and I would not willingly annoy you." 
 
 " Certainly, Philip, and perhaps I may be 
 tempted to take a liberty in my turn," 
 answered Hay, guessing pretty near what 
 the subject would be. 
 
 "Well," continued Charteris, "you told 
 me yourself some time ago that you admired 
 Miss Warren very much. I can see that 
 your admiration has not decreased since you 
 became acquainted with her."
 
 214 PEECY LOCKHART. 
 
 "And I can see that other people look 
 upon Miss Warren with something like my 
 feelings, and that their admiration has not 
 decreased more than mine. Have you seen 
 that, Philip — you who are so quick-sighted?"" 
 said Hay, making a pretty good rally, for the 
 young man's intelligence and address had 
 actually been improved by the action of the 
 high feeling which had taken possession of 
 him. He wondered himself at the sudden 
 change which had come over him within a 
 few short weeks. The change was from boy 
 to man — a change in which strong feeling 
 will do more in an hour sometimes than the 
 action of years. 
 
 Philip paused a moment after the home- 
 thrust contained in Hay's answer and ques- 
 tion, and then said, as quietly as he could, 
 " It would be idle to pretend not to under- 
 stand you. I do admire Miss Warren very 
 much, much more than I thought I could
 
 PERCY L0CKHART. 215 
 
 admire any one ; but I do not show my feelings 
 in public so much as you, and it was on this 
 point I wished to sjDeak to you. Everybody 
 knows your sentiments as well as I do." 
 
 11 My dear Philip, do you really imagine 
 that no one knows yours?" again retorted 
 Hay, with some success. 
 
 "Well," answered his friend, "I was not 
 aware that my conduct in that respect had 
 given rise to any remark ; but granting that 
 it has, I am quite sure I have done nothing 
 to annoy Miss Warren by any demonstration 
 on my part." 
 
 " And you mean to say that I have given 
 her annoyance?" asked his companion, very 
 quickly, and with some appearance of dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 " Frankly, I suspect so. Forgive me 
 when I say that I think I can see both Miss 
 Warren and her father are a little annoyed 
 at your very pointed attention."
 
 216 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 " Upon my word, Philip, you are jealous!" 
 cried the young man, not at all displeased 
 at the idea. 
 
 "You are entirely mistaken," was the 
 answer ; ( { for I do not think you have the 
 slightest chance of success, — if indeed you 
 are serious, which is another question I was 
 to ask you." 
 
 " As serious as yourself, Philip, and as 
 determined. So now you know all, and we 
 are declared rivals. Let us do our best, and 
 let not the loser complain." 
 
 "No," said Philip; "I shall play at no 
 such game with you or with any one. I 
 shall, on the contrary, leave the field entirely 
 to yourself until you are quite satisfied one 
 way or another." 
 
 " Then you have reason for believing 
 that you will succeed, and that I have 
 no chance," said the impetuous young 
 man. " Philip, I have been quite open
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 217 
 
 with you; is it fair to keep me in the 
 dark?" 
 
 " I shall be as open as you have been. 
 I have not the slightest reason for presuming 
 that Miss Warren regards me in any light 
 beyond that of the most common acquaint- 
 ance. I have never said a word to her 
 beyond the limits of common courtesy ; and 
 to be as open as you could wish, I suspect 
 very much that the sooner you and I learn 
 to subdue our feelings the better will it be 
 for us both." 
 
 " Why, is there anyone else in the field?" 
 
 "You cannot surely have been blind to 
 the marked attention and respoct which Mr. 
 Savile pays her, nor to the attention and 
 pleasure with which she listens to him." 
 
 " Pshaw! he is an old fellow — might be 
 her father." 
 
 "He may be an old fellow as compared 
 with you and me, but he is not old — nor too
 
 218 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 old to captivate a young and accomplished 
 woman. He is one of the most pleasant and 
 best-informed men that I have ever met,, 
 and his manners are beyond question ; and 
 putting myself entirely out of the question,, 
 as I believe I am, I would advise you, as a 
 friend, to desist from your pursuit — you will 
 not succeed." 
 
 " Would it be too much to inquire," said 
 the young man, a good deal piqued, " on 
 what you found your very decided opinion? 
 for, to do you justice, you seldom express 
 one without good grounds." 
 
 " I can scarcely say — on many things- 
 so trifling that you may laugh at them. 
 Well, for instance, when I have heard her 
 speaking of you, it was in a tone so devoid 
 of interest — for I was watching — that I 
 cannot think her feelings are engaged in 
 any way ; and when you go up to her 
 on any occasion — for I watched that too —
 
 PEKCY L0CKHART. 219" 
 
 she always retains the same complete self- 
 possession." 
 
 " And when Savile appears, does the self- 
 possession disappear ?" 
 
 "I cannot say that; and I have watched 
 that more narrowly than anything. No, I 
 cannot say that ; but she evidently likes 
 his conversation. I once liked it myself; 
 and, allow me to say, his tastes and accom- 
 plishments are more likely to tell in his 
 favour than yours." 
 
 " That 's because I shoot and fish and 
 hunt, I suppose ? Why, so do you." 
 
 " I have put myself out of the question." 
 
 " Well, so does her father." 
 
 "Yes; but his tastes and acquirements 
 are very far beyond fishing and hunting; 
 and besides, you know," continued Philip, 
 laughing, " he is not to marry her." 
 
 " Oh, I see now," cried Hay, a good deal 
 mortified. " I am not a literary man — I
 
 220 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 cannot talk about Dante and Milton and 
 Spenser, and all that ; but I am reading hard, 
 Philip, and I suppose I can learn as well as 
 you or Savile. I can read Marmontel's tales 
 with the dictionary," said the very simple 
 young fellow. 
 
 Philip xould hardly refrain from laughing 
 in his face, but he did. " Hay," said he, 
 gravely, "this is not fair — I will not pursue 
 the subject. I cannot go the length of 
 saying that I wish you all success ; but if I 
 could assist your views, I think I would. 
 Let us not quarrel. I have spoken my mind 
 to you. Act as you like." 
 
 11 Pardon me, Philip. You began this 
 conversation, and it is fair that I should 
 know your reason why I should not presume 
 to aspire to the hand of Miss Warren. In 
 point of rank, I presume, I am her equal?" 
 
 " Probably her superior. I know nothing 
 of Warren's rank farther than that he is a
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 221 
 
 gentleman, and Miss Warren lias been highly 
 educated, and you hav3 yourself admitted 
 that you did not lay claim to your being 
 so." 
 
 "Yes, Philip," he said, with an honest 
 burst of confession, " I have told myself 
 that a hundred times ; but I cannot help it. 
 I must go on until I have proof that there is 
 no hope. Hallo!" cried he, suddenly, "keep 
 your luff, Charteris, but there is no wind. 
 Take an oar, man," he continued, taking* 
 one himself, and beginning to row vigor- 
 ously. They were fast drifting on a shoal. 
 A few minutes' rowing placed them again in 
 deep water. 
 
 " I was shamefully careless," cried Philip ; 
 "but the false keel is a great assistance 
 beating to windward." 
 
 " A narrow escape from shipwreck ! " cried 
 Hay. " We should have been swamped but 
 for that false keel ! "
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Savile had latterly accepted freely the hos- 
 pitality of his neighbours. What a difference 
 a few pleasant individuals make in the society 
 of a quiet neighbourhood ! Warren and his 
 daughter and Savile — three certainly not 
 ostentatious individuals — had so changed 
 the social atmosphere of the place, that even 
 the quiet Sir Robert Charteris and his lady, 
 who had lived rather reserved, now felt more 
 pleasure in mixing with the surrounding in- 
 habitants than they had ever done before. 
 h Lady Charteris. Florence was so great 
 a favourite that few days passed without 
 their meeting. To Florence the friendship 
 was invaluable. Long deprived of the care
 
 pel :khabt. Z2d 
 
 and guidance of a mother. — indeed, she had 
 scarcely known what it was. — there were 
 many small matters in which the advice and 
 assistance of the high-born lady were of great 
 service to her. Gradually their relati nship 
 almost appeared like mother and daughter. 
 No one was better pleased to see the inti- 
 macy than Warren, who knew well what 
 inestimable advantage the society of one so 
 highbred was : ^experienced girl, how- 
 
 Lrood :L n:s or excellent the disnosi- 
 
 tion. Florence's rides were often exchanged 
 for Ions: drives with Ladv Charteris. — Warren, 
 Sir Robert, and Philip frequently accompany- 
 ing them on horseback : though oft 
 than Philip liked. Sir Robert and Warren 
 would leave the beaten path for the green- 
 sward and the srorse, for neither would have 
 ridden a mile upon a hard road if he could 
 help it. It was on one of these excursions 
 that Savile had accidentally met them. He
 
 224 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 was mounted on a magnificent gray horse,, 
 three-parts bred, with bone to carry a man 
 half as heavy again as Savile, and spirit 
 proportioned to his strength. It was the- 
 first time that the other gentlemen had seen 
 Savile on horseback ; he was quite at home 
 in the saddle. It was no slight addition ta 
 Savile's reputation that he was an accom- 
 l^lished horseman, riding the strong, fiery 
 animal under him with the perfect ease and 
 self-possession which perfect mastery and 
 good temper give to the man over the 
 brute. Even a rude and ignorant jockey 
 looks a hero when starting on his race, so 
 high is our opinion of skill and courage. 
 When to these qualities are joined refined 
 tastes and high intellect, there are few who 
 can refuse their enthusiastic admiration. 
 This Philip did not refuse. He saw that 
 his opponent was a man, and he did not 
 hesitate to confess that, in point of manly
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 225 
 
 accomplishments, lie was one of the highest 
 he had met with. He carried these with 
 the ease of a gentleman. In all his bearing 
 there was that unaffected simplicity which 
 cannot be acquired by itself, but which is 
 the result of high cultivation in refined 
 society. The ride was delightful. The 
 weather was breezy and crisp, and the party 
 rushed along, carried away by surround- 
 ing influences, from whatever cares any of 
 them might be burdened with. Perhaps 
 the older members of the group were the 
 happiest ; often, as people get older, they 
 become more alive to the charms of the 
 passing landscape, the blue mountains, the 
 majestic trees, the dancing streams, which 
 leave a finer photograph on the tempered 
 organ than even upon the more keen and 
 sensitive eye of youth. 
 
 The party at last separated. Sir Robert 
 and Lady Charteris, Warren and Florence, 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 pursuing their way homeward ; while Savile 
 and Philip agreed to have a scamper over 
 the moor. The scamper was a very wild 
 one, over ground very broken and irregular. 
 More than once it required good horseman- 
 ship to avoid holes and declivities, where a 
 sudden plunge might have been followed by 
 severe consequences ; but both knew what 
 they were about, and the dangers of the 
 road, if they might be called so, only added 
 to the pleasant excitement of the ride. After 
 an hour's sharp work, both horses and riders 
 were willing to slacken the pace, until they 
 came to a walk, and then they naturally fell 
 into that easy conversation which the circum- 
 stances of their companionship suggested. 
 
 The first time Philip had seen Savile 
 enthusiastically delighted was at a repre- 
 sentation of c Don Giovanni, ' when even in 
 Thriveport some of the first artists of the 
 day had condescended to exhibit their tran-
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 227 
 
 scendent talents. Philip had observed the 
 keen delight with which he had heard "II 
 rnio tesoro," and his air of disappointment 
 when there was an encore. Philip asked if 
 he had been right in his supposition. 
 
 " Quite right," Savile answered; " the 
 audience ought never to encore any piece. 
 The more delightful, the less ought they to 
 do it. They should be contented to remain 
 in the full enjoyment of the first impression. 
 The surprise is over, and it is great part of 
 the charm. If the artiste were wise, he would 
 never comply with the riotous demand for 
 an encore. Mozart's great work is what an 
 enthusiastic writer has called c an unbroken 
 procession of purple thought,' the melody, 
 the harmony, the exquisite instrumental 
 murmur. I think music is the only science 
 or art in which man can attain perfection, 
 in which he can produce a work where 
 no defect can be seen. In writing and
 
 228 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 painting and sculpture men deal with known 
 things, to which all have a key, but an original 
 melody is the composer's own, which God 
 planted in his mind alone, and for which 
 even he is not answerable, for he knows* 
 not how it came there more than the prin- 
 ciple of life. I speak, of course, of pure 
 melody ; harmony can, so far, be learned by 
 any one." 
 
 " You have studied music, then ?" inquired 
 Philip. 
 
 " Yes, and from an early age; and this 
 study, and other things, have cost me, what 
 is generally supposed to be the grand object 
 of life, success in the ivorld. Because, if a 
 man be really devoted to the study of music, 
 it is by far too engrossing to permit of his 
 following out any other important pursuit." 
 
 " But you made progress in studies which 
 you liked?" 
 
 " Oh, yes — pretty fair progress; but I
 
 PERCY L0CKHART. 229 
 
 never composed a piece of music which was 
 equal to a third or fourth rate author. I 
 have sold pictures, but at such prices as 
 convinced me that they were very inferior 
 productions. I have been rather more 
 successful in literature, and I dare say, if 
 I had persevered, I might have gained a 
 shabby livelihood by it ; but nothing I have 
 •ever published has been very favourably 
 received, and some things have been rather 
 roughly handled. I think, if I had devoted 
 my whole time to literature, I might have 
 succeeded, but I frittered my mind into 
 three ; and the third part of a mind will 
 not do now-a-days. By the sudden death of 
 a relation, I became rich, much richer than 
 ever I expected to be, and I have dreamed 
 away my life for some years, partly with one 
 thing, partly with another. But I am 
 prosing about myself, and you must be sadly 
 tired of it."
 
 230 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 " On the contrary, I should like more of 
 wliat you call prosing. I am sorry to say 
 that I am rather ignorant of the arts which 
 you have talked of, but I have read a good 
 deal — my father indulged me in that." 
 
 " Few things can be better than a know- 
 ledge of good literature; it is food for 
 thought in all time," said Savile. 
 
 They parted, well pleased with their day's 
 exercise.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 There are some happy moments in this lone 
 And desolate world of ours that will repay 
 The toil of struggling through it, and atone 
 For many a long sad night and weary day. 
 
 Ay ! and Savile had been lured from his den, 
 and fascinated, as younger men had been, 
 by such grace and beauty and intelligence 
 as he had never before seen combined in a 
 female form. ^Curiosity had been his first 
 stimulant. He wondered if personal charms, 
 so rare and dazzling, were supported by the 
 still rarer charms of modesty and intellect. 
 He found, to his utter astonishment, that 
 mere face and form were the least of Florence 
 Warren's attractions. He was much struck, 
 and he meditated deeply. He had long
 
 232 PERCY LOCKHAET. 
 
 before arrived at a conclusion by which he 
 intended his life should be guided. He 
 believed that in this life immunity from 
 misfortune and suffering was all that a man 
 could expect in the shape of happiness, — 
 that positive pleasures were always neces- 
 sarily attended with antagonistic inflictions. — 
 and that the best way to pass through life 
 3 to avoid its deceitful excitements, and 
 sternly order feeling and passion out of 
 doors. He had long "hung loose upon 
 society," in the belief that there was nothing 
 worth trvincr to attach himself to. He was 
 by nature honourable, liberal, and humane ; 
 but his actions had been guided by feeling 
 merely. He had rarely thought them worth 
 reasoning about. But after seeing Florence, 
 a new idea seemed to take possession of 
 him. He began to think how good it might 
 be to have a deep interest in life, and such 
 an interest ! It would be pleasant to find
 
 PERCY LOCKHAET. 233 
 
 that he had been mistaken, and that there 
 were loyal hearts and liberal minds among 
 the throng he had despised. One loyal heart 
 he knew sufficient to redeem the sins of ten 
 thousand. He had given the order, but his 
 subjects, or rather his rulers, had refused to 
 obey. At the age of forty, man acquires not 
 such command. Let him wait until age has 
 weakened those turbulent elements which 
 war against his peace — then, when there is 
 nothing left to conquer, he can boast of 
 victory. Savile found that Ins assumed con- 
 quest was slipping away from him. Day 
 after day his pococurante philosophy was 
 deserting him. As we have said, he inedi- 
 tated deeply on again committing himself to 
 the chance which he had already experienced. 
 He had been shipwrecked once, when in the 
 vigoiu- of sentiment — was it wise to risk 
 another calamity '? Was it likelv that a beine; 
 50 captivating would listen to him, who. when
 
 231 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 endowed with the graces and spirit of youth,, 
 had failed and been rejected with something 
 more than indifference. There were other 
 circumstances which dissuaded him from the 
 attempt. He could not help seeing that 
 younger men had started for the prize. He 
 gave himself very little trouble about poor 
 Robert Hay : he saw from the first that he 
 could not be the winning man, but Philip 
 Chart eris was a dangerous rival. He had 
 been distanced before by one far inferior to 
 Philip in those accomplishments which are 
 supposed to find favour in the eyes of beauty. 
 Why attempt an encounter where defeat 
 seemed almost certain ? Why, indeed ! It 
 was too late to put the question. He could 
 not help himself. He discovered, to his 
 no small alarm, that he was no longer master 
 of his own thoughts — hardly of his own 
 actions. He made a magnanimous resolve : 
 he would leave the field of folly to the fools
 
 PERCY LOCKHAET. 235 
 
 who chose to risk their happiness in it ; he- 
 only regretted he had been lured from his 
 seclusion to mingle in so idle a chase. 
 Pshaw ! he had been merely dreaming. He 
 was now wide awake ; he was a stoic 
 again. 
 
 He behaved manfully for a whole fort- 
 night ; he took to his books with an industry 
 which promised great results. He sat dog- 
 gedly at his tasks, and turned over the pages, 
 and made notes, and shadowed out systems ; 
 and generally found at the end of a day's 
 hard application, that he might just as well 
 have been turning over a ream of white 
 paper: all the wisdom he had been endea- 
 vouring to amass had melted into air, leaving 
 neither fact nor principle behind. 
 
 So he surrendered ; the studies were, like 
 many other good things, deferred for a more 
 convenient season. Savile was not a vain 
 man, though quite conscious of being far
 
 236 PERCY L0CKHART. 
 
 superior, in point of information and accom- 
 plishments, to most men he had met in 
 general society. 
 
 Philip Charteris was the rock ahead, and 
 he measured himself coolly against him. He 
 was quick in discerning character; and, 
 with regret, he acknowledged that he had 
 seldom met with any one more likely to 
 succeed, even with the best and most beau- 
 tiful of womankind. Savile knew he was 
 far from being a bad man ; nay, he was, 
 barring the sourness which certain expe- 
 riences in life had caused, a very good one; 
 but he knew he was not so good a man as 
 Philip, in all that best becomes a man, and 
 that at his best he had never been so. That 
 tall, powerful, and jDerfect form contained 
 almost as powerful and perfect a soul ; which, 
 indeed, appeared in every glance and action 
 and speech. All was truth : the truth of a 
 noble heart, which would have deemed false-
 
 PERCY L0CKHAET. 237 
 
 hood or deceit a kind of mental suicide. 
 Honour was as naturally implanted in his 
 mind as strength in his sinewy limbs. 
 There was unmistakable loyalty in the 
 whole expression and bearing, supported by 
 an unmistakable intellect. 
 
 What chance had he against such a man ? 
 He was far from being an old man ; nay, he 
 was in the full vigour of his faculties, both 
 bodily and mental. But he would not 
 deceive himself. He knew well that there 
 is an affinity between the fresh opening 
 springs of pure youthful natures, which can- 
 not exist after those have been chilled by 
 the ungenial experiences of life. Still, hope 
 would fight his battle for him, and tell her 
 nattering tale in his ear. There was truth 
 in it, too, or he would not have listened. 
 He was rich, handsome, elegant in manners 
 and refined in tastes, well born, and qualified 
 in every respect to be what is thought
 
 238 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 "worth a lady's eye." With these attri- 
 butes and advantages, he knew success was, 
 with ninety-nine girls out of a hundred, 
 almost certain, but he had a quivering mis- 
 giving that Florence was the hundredth. 
 He felt he was becoming a better man under 
 the influence of the one particular star which 
 now shone in his horoscope. If he was 
 unsuccessful again, he would retire for ever 
 from a struggle in which there was nothing 
 but disappointment and sorrow.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Look here, upon this picture, and on this. — Hamlet. 
 
 A dull, dark cloud had passed over the 
 days of his youth, whose shade continued 
 to darken his existence. He and an elder 
 brother were the sons of a man of rank but 
 of small fortune, whose great aim was to 
 make his sons educated men. With the 
 younger he succeeded; the other had had 
 good talents, but could not apply them to 
 the cultivation of knowledge further than it 
 behoved a gentleman to acquire. He and 
 his brother had few tastes in common, but 
 it turned out that they had one. It would 
 have been better that even that had not 
 existed.
 
 240 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 Francis Savile was about twenty years 
 old, and his brother Clement twenty-two, 
 when, for the first time in their lives, their 
 ideas and inclinations took the same course. 
 Both fell deeply, we may say desperately, in 
 love with a young girl who came from a 
 distant part of the country to visit their 
 mother. She was a being for a boy to love. 
 She was beautiful; her spirit and glee gave 
 brightness and delight to all who approached 
 her ; but all excitement has its reaction, and, 
 at times, she would be almost as unnaturally 
 quiet and subdued as she generally was- 
 animated and impetuous. Clement rejoiced 
 with her spirit when on its wildest wing;, 
 the more studious brother waited for the 
 quiet hour ; and the change was frequently 
 as rapid as that from sunshine to shade. 
 She was not long in discovering the double 
 conquest which she had made : with a girl's 
 vanity, she played off the one brother against
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 241 
 
 the other, keeping a hold of both. It was 
 dangerous work playing with brothers in this 
 way, and such brothers; but she knew not the 
 elements she was tampering with. She was 
 enjoying her first taste of power, and she was 
 intoxicated to find how absolute it was over 
 the two strong men, whose strongest resolves 
 were now subject to her slightest whim. 
 She soon began to perceive, however, that it 
 was no girl's work she was at. She had 
 stirred two fierce natures to a rivalry which 
 she began to tremble at, though she felt her 
 power. Things could not continue long- 
 thus. She herself was caught in the net she 
 had so thoughtlessly worked ; it was one of 
 the games of life on which happiness and 
 honour are staked. Fate held the bank 
 against the three. More than once there 
 had been fierce words between those with 
 whom there had been little sympathy ; they 
 now looked on each other with a jealous 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 PERCY L0CKHART. 
 
 passion, which kindred only rendered more 
 intense. Both would have rejoiced to have 
 had an alien in blood for a rival, for blood 
 forbade more than simple enmity. All at 
 once the rivalry ceased. Julia Beverly loved 
 the elder brother, and Francis Savile saw 
 his chance was gone for ever. He was 
 smitten to the core, but he was enraged as 
 well as smitten, for he felt he had been 
 trifled with, and that his noblest feelings 
 had been made the plaything of a woman's 
 vanity. 
 
 Clement was aware that the truth was 
 known, but he showed no sign of triumph. 
 The rivalry had ceased, and his dislike to 
 his brother ceased with it. But Francis 
 would hold no communication with him, nor 
 with her who had deceived him. Some 
 change was going on already, for Julia 
 Beverly was no longer the bright, bird-like 
 being she had been. She was pale, depressed;
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 243 
 
 but at times there was a flash in her eye, 
 and a quiver on the proud lip, which told 
 Francis Savile he was not the only loser in 
 the game which the three had been playing. 
 Who was to win ? 
 
 At last, one morning, he learned that Julia 
 had gone home to her father — a solitary old 
 man, who lived in great seclusion on a small 
 estate more than thirty miles off: an old 
 serving-man and his wife were their only 
 attendants ; and the wonder was, how one 
 brought up in so lonely a way as Julia had 
 been could be possessed of the life and spirit 
 and gladness which animated her and all 
 around her; but so it was. The wild bird 
 had learned her wild song in the wilderness, 
 unchecked by the artificial trammels of 
 civilized society. The song was sad enough 
 now ; and the flight — alas ! poor Julia ! 
 
 All three were changed, and Clement 
 Savile as much as any of them. That spirit
 
 244 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 was laid for a time. Who will say now that 
 fear did not knock at that bold heart. He 
 cowered at what has quelled the bravest — 
 his own deeds. 
 
 He expected something or other, and he 
 got it — a letter — a simple letter, directed in 
 a shaky old hand. How that little bit of 
 paper shook the strong man ! The writing 
 was feeble, but the words were not : — " Come 
 here to-morrow, or you will rue the day in 
 which you were born." That was all. 
 
 He must obey. He never hesitated about 
 that; but he would as soon have faced the 
 fiend himself as the old man with the shaky 
 handwriting. His gig was ordered, and his 
 strong horse was harnessed, and away he 
 went by himself. The day was dull and 
 lowering, but he was rather thankful that the 
 sun did not shine and mock him. His brother 
 was at the gate as he drove out ; there was 
 no exchange of word or sign, but Francis
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 245 
 
 looked after his brother long and fixedly 
 until he was out of sight. He, too, was glad 
 the sun did not shine. 
 
 Clement drove on — ten, twenty miles — at 
 top speed. This would not do. He stopped 
 at the last inn on the road, and, having pro- 
 cured another horse, he left his own till his 
 return. It was beginning to get dusk, for it 
 was winter, and the roads were bad. But 
 the horse must go, and go at speed ; and 
 Clement did not spare him. It was an old 
 •screw, but he had blood in him ; and now that 
 he had got warmed to his work, he stepped 
 out in gallant style, spurning the loose stones 
 from his feet, and plashing through the mire 
 with a rush and a noise which seemed to give 
 him fresh mettle for his reckless pace. 
 
 Not a soul on that dreary road ! No need 
 of the whip now : the horse had entered into 
 the spirit of the thing, — he would run till he 
 dropped down dead. 
 
 Clement pulled up, — he is in no hurry now.
 
 046 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 A rude gate was by the roadside ; he knew 
 where that led to. 
 
 He waited till the horse was quiet, after 
 his mad race, and then tied him to the gate- 
 post, threw a rug over his reeking hide, and 
 slowly took his way on foot to the house. 
 The avenue was thickly planted with trees 
 on both sides; they showered down their 
 withered leaves, as if despising their protec- 
 tion from the storm. 
 
 Clement heeded neither trees, nor leaves, 
 nor darkness, nor storm ; he rather liked the 
 11 rocking of the battlements." He approached 
 the hou- 
 
 He was expected. The door stood open, 
 and a light was in the hall ; the old serving- 
 man was by it, who, as soon as he saw 
 Clement, retired through a side door, and 
 another old man appeared — the man with 
 the shaky handwriting. There was no 
 shaking now. His hair was white, and his 
 features were as if cut in marble. There was
 
 PEECY LOCKHAET. -J 4 7 
 
 expression in them, but no one could say 
 what it was. His hand was firm as he took 
 
 light] nd signed to Savile to follow 
 him. Clement followed. 
 
 led the way to a chamber 
 
 which idy lit up. There was a table 
 
 in the middle of the room, and on it was a 
 dead child. The old man pointed to it, and 
 spoke for the first time: — " That is yours; 
 take it away, and take my curse with it." 
 He walked out of the room. 
 
 Clement Savile was a bold man, but the 
 old man's look shook him. It was for a 
 moment only. He took off his cloak, and 
 
 I Hie child in it, and walked through 
 the hall. On his way he heard a heavy fall 
 and a shriek. Th-; :hk wa- hi: that of a 
 body: he knew :h shriek; he had heard 
 
 :? in its mirth ; it was different now. 
 
 •• On. on. man!" — this is not a night to 
 
 loiter in. and with such a burden! The tree - 
 
 groaning as he | asses, and the wind wails
 
 248 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 around him in rude harmony. Anon it 
 rises, and tries to tear the cloak from his 
 burden, but he wraps it tenderly and firmly 
 round, and walks on. He seems to have 
 made up his mind to something which gives 
 him relief, for he walks firmly, and with all 
 the elasticity of his powerful frame. 
 
 He is again driving homewards, with his 
 burden carefully placed between his feet ; the 
 horse again warms to his work, and pushes 
 bravely on. He reaches the inn where he 
 left his own horse, and, without delay, gets 
 him again in harness. Without alighting, he 
 calls for wine, drinks it off, and drives on 
 again. Twenty miles to go ! 
 
 The storm increased in fury, but he drove 
 carefully. Not a soul on the road, — surely not, 
 on such a night as this ; and yet he thought 
 he sometimes heard the sound of horses' feet 
 behind him. He looked, but he could see 
 nothing in the darkness. He pulled up once, 
 when he was almost sure he heard the sound
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 249 
 
 close behind him, but it ceased as he came 
 to a halt. He drove on again. He heard the 
 sound again, — at least, he thought so. He 
 drove faster. The horse was fresh and will- 
 ing, but, fast as he drove, he still thought 
 he heard the sound of horses' hoofs. There 
 was no mistake, — he heard the clank against 
 the stone. Was he pursued ? He pulled up 
 again, and the sounds ceased. But this time 
 he saw his pursuer. He had just topped a 
 hill, and descended on the other side about 
 fifty yards ; looking back, he saw on the 
 very top of the hill a dark figure, faintly 
 relieved against the dull sky. It was stand- 
 ing quite still. He again drove on, as fast 
 as his powerful animal could go. The sounds 
 still continued. Ten miles to go yet! 
 
 It was a fearful drive. " The gods are 
 just, and of our pleasant vices make instru- 
 ments to scourge us." Fancy began to play 
 her tricks too. Once or twice he imagined 
 he felt the thing at his feet move, and once
 
 250 PERCY LOCKHAET. 
 
 lie was so convinced of it, that, in spite of 
 his pursuer, he pulled up and unwrapped the 
 child. It was cold and stiff: it had never 
 moved in this world. He almost wished 
 that his fate had been the same. It was the 
 first time he had felt real remorse ; but that 
 stricken white-haired old man, and the dull 
 fall he had heard, and the shriek, and the 
 avenger behind him — for such he could not 
 help picturing him to be, — God ! he heard 
 the iron hoofs thundering in the rear ! — all 
 these would have unnerved even a man of 
 no ordinary strength, and they unnerved him. 
 There was danger before as well as behind ; 
 there was a ford to pass : in the morning it 
 had been deep enough, and he had had some 
 difficulty in crossing; it would now be so 
 swollen with the rain, that there was small 
 probability that he would be able to take the 
 gig through the water. He descended the 
 hill which sloped down to the ford. The 
 water was over bank and brae for two
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 251 
 
 hundred yards. He pulled up and listened. 
 Not a sound. There was only one way for 
 it. He took the horse out of the gig, 
 divested him of his harness, all except the 
 bearing-rein, carefully placed his burden be- 
 fore him, and took the water. The current 
 was deep and strong, and carried liim some 
 way down the stream. Instinctively he held 
 his burden above water, for fear of wetting 
 it, while he directed the horse with as skilful 
 an arm as ever ruled that noble animal. He 
 landed at the other side, halted a moment, 
 as well to give his horse breath as to look 
 behind and listen. He saw nothing, for 
 in the hollow it was almost quite dark ; but 
 he heard a plunge on the opposite side of 
 the stream, and he gave his beast the rein. 
 He had the start now, and would keep it. 
 In three miles he paused not nor looked 
 behind, but he knew as well as if he had 
 seen him that he was there, and at last the 
 thundering of horses' hoofs was close behind
 
 '2-l2 PERCY LOCKHAET. 
 
 hiin. Ere lie could determine what to do, 
 the horseman came up at full speed. With 
 a wild shout of derision, lie passed liim like 
 an embodied hurricane. 
 
 Clement pulled up, and walked the horse 
 quietly. He knew now who the horseman 
 was — his brother ! 
 
 He continued at a walk. He had much 
 to think about, but hitherto he had been 
 too much occupied with his pursuer to be 
 able to think. His work must be finished 
 to-night ; the child must be concealed some 
 way or other. He was tired and jaded. 
 Such tear and wear of body and mind as he 
 had undergone that day told even on his 
 iron frame ; but there was no rest for him 
 yet, — no rest while that in the cloak was 
 above ground. Well, it would soon be over 
 now. He arranged his plans. 
 
 Home again. He opened the gate, but 
 before riding up to the stable, he deposited 
 the burden among some thick bushes. He
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 253 
 
 then gave his horse to the stable-hoy. and 
 walked to his awn chamber till all was quiet. 
 To work asmn. The cloak and contents 
 were where he left them, but it struck him 
 that they had been disturbed. Was he 
 watched ? Where was his brother ? 
 
 Well, he could not help himself. He took 
 the way to an old outhouse which had not 
 been used for years ; it was paved with 
 coarse flagstones, one of which he removed 
 with a pickaxe, loosened the earth, and 
 threw it out with his hands. When the hole 
 was deep enough, he placed the little body 
 in it, covered it with the earth, and replaced 
 the stone. He had brought a dark lantern 
 with him, which was shaded so as to give 
 no more light than what was necessary to 
 let him see what he was doing. His work 
 finished, he stood up, and he saw in the 
 obscurity a dim figure with folded arms 
 watching him ! His brother ! 
 
 Clement did not even start. He had
 
 254 PERCY L0CKHART. 
 
 almost expected him. He, too, folded his 
 arms, and looked firmly across the rude 
 grave at him. They had been brought up from 
 childhood together. It was no child's play 
 now. Francis was the first to break silence. 
 
 "So! murder, too!" a fitting end to the 
 play. 
 
 " You are mistaken," answered Clement, 
 so calmly that Francis was astonished. He 
 expected a burst of passion : Clement was 
 much more composed than he. 
 
 " What means this dreadful work, then ? 
 Explain it, or, by heaven, brother as you are, 
 I will denounce you to the law ! " 
 
 " Do it!" was the cold, contemptuous 
 answer. " You have attempted revenge 
 before now, but your vengeance will not fall 
 upon me. It will fall somewhere though, if 
 you choose. Why do you hesitate ?" 
 
 "Where will it fall?" 
 
 "As if you did not know! On her and 
 the old man !" Clement was mistaken there.
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. 255 
 
 The old man was dead. That dull fall 
 was the last of him. 
 
 " I. am tired of this," said Clement ; "let us 
 make an end of it, and then work your will." 
 And so he told him how he had been sent 
 for ; that he believed the child to have been 
 stillborn ; and that he had brought it away 
 and concealed it, to conceal the shame of her 
 Avhom he had ruined. "And now," said he, 
 " you have all the information I can give 
 you : if you wish it said before a magistrate, 
 I am ready. Take your choice ; I do not ask 
 you to think of the consequences — you know 
 them, and you dare not fulfil your threat! 
 Boy, I defy you !" And he strode firmly out 
 of the building, and left Francis by himself. 
 
 "I dare not!" said Francis to himself; 
 u but this is no longer a place for me." 
 
 Next day he fled from his home, leaving a 
 few lines for his mother, so incoherent that 
 she could make little of them. He had been 
 her favourite son, and she pined for his loss.
 
 256 PERCY LOCKHART. 
 
 She saw the cloud on Clement's brow, and 
 she knew he was the cause of her loss. Grief 
 brought her to the bed of death, and Clement 
 stood alone by her at the last hour. 
 
 Clement followed his mother to the grave. 
 He had other things to think about now. 
 He felt that he had murdered the old man, 
 and nipped in the bud his glorious flower. 
 His remorse was great. He made the only 
 reparation now in his power. He married 
 Julia. The white robe of the bride — the 
 bridal ring — the maidens she stood amongst 
 in her assumed purity — the wreaths and the 
 flowers — fallen, how fallen was the pride 
 of Julia! But Clement went through his 
 part manfully, — behaved to Julia with the 
 respect and attention befitting the occasion. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 PRINTED BY E. J. FRANCIS, TOOK S COURT, CHANCERY LANE, B.C.
 
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