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 OF HIGH DEGREE
 
 NEW NOVELS AT EVERY LIBRARY, 
 
 Each in Three Vohimes. 
 
 THE CAPTAINS' ROOM. By Walter Besant. 
 
 KIT : a Memory. By James Payn. 
 
 VAL STRANGE. By David Christie Murray. 
 
 THE GOLDEN SHAFT. By Charles Gibbon. 
 
 GIDEON FLEYCE. By Henry W. Lucy. 
 
 REGIMENTAL LEGENDS. By J. S. Winter. 
 
 DUST. By Julian Hawthorne. 
 
 WOMEN ARE STRANGE. By F. W. Robinson. 
 
 CHATTO & WINDUS, Piccadilly, W.
 
 OF HIGH DEGREE 
 
 3 Siorg 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES GH^BON 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'robin GRAY* 'THE GOLDEN SHAFT' 'a HEAKt'S PROBLEM' 
 
 'queen of the meadow' 'the braes of yarrow' etc. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 
 
 1883 
 
 [ T/tc y^S^U of tramlatiOH n rcscrxcd ]
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 
 AND PARLIAMENT STREET
 
 Inscribed to 
 
 My Friend 
 THOMAS EDWARD WEBB, M.D. 
 
 In grateful recognition 
 
 of much IV ell-timed Idndness and advice 
 and in 'pleasant memory of 
 •^ many genial hours 
 
 % 
 
 4
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OP 
 
 THE FIKST VOLUMP: 
 
 CHAPTER PACK 
 
 I. The Past is Dead. The Future — ? . . 1 
 
 II. 'Thou sh.\lt not Love or Hate' . . .17 
 
 III. KiGHT OR Wrong -VI 
 
 IV. The Whole State of the Case . .47 
 V. On Board the 'Eucalyptus' . . . (32 
 
 VI. The Hand of Destiny I^ Kid Gloves . 70 
 
 VII. At Derewood Grange 94 
 
 VIII. With the De.st Intentions .... 105 
 
 IX. Ilis Iloi'E 114 
 
 X. Her Despair 130 
 
 XL Again on Board the 'Eucaltpjus ' . . . 148 
 
 XII. The Duckpond by Moonlight. . .104 
 
 XIII. A Problem to Solve 175
 
 viii CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XIV. Ruth Writes again 189 
 
 XV. The Man who Speculates is Lost . . . 197 
 
 XVI. Ruth's Last Notes 206 
 
 XVII. Love's Requiem 224 
 
 XVIU. Does she Love him ? 241 
 
 XIX. The News brought Home . . . . . 257 
 
 XX. Mr. Rapier is puzzled 271 
 
 XXI. A Young Toxicologist 286 
 
 XXII. Only One Objection 305 
 
 XXIII. Spoken at last 322
 
 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 THE PAST IS DEAD. THE FUTURE 
 
 A MAX and a woman out at the end of the lon^ 
 pier of Soutbend-on-Sea. Their names were 
 Stephen Meredith and Euth Clark. 
 
 To be out at the end of this pier is as good 
 as being at sea. Some people would think it 
 better than being at sea ; there is no unpleasant 
 motion to disturb digestion or upset the equili- 
 brium of the body ; and that stomach must be 
 of the diseasedly squeamish kind which, under 
 these conditions, prevents the enjoyment of the 
 fresh breeze and the murmur and plash of the 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 water. The air was sharp, but not unpleasantly 
 so ; the long black line of the pier melted 
 in the distance as it reached tov/ard the land, 
 where the few lights of the town were only 
 dimly visible. The tide was out, and the large 
 space which was left uncovered looked like 
 a huge fantastic chessboard, with its beds of 
 mussels mingling with pools which were turned 
 into silver shields by the moonlight ; the 
 stranded boats of many sizes were the men of 
 the game, waiting to be moved. 
 
 In the offing w^ere sundry black masses 
 huddled together ; the initiated knew them to 
 be Dutch craft, laden with eels for Billingsgate. 
 
 The man and woman were gazing along the 
 silver roadway, and watching the distant Noiit 
 light appearing and disappearing. The sea, to 
 some lookers on, is only ' a great extent of 
 water,' subject to winds and tides and a vast 
 source of profit and loss ; to others it is always 
 full of strange suggestions of hope and despair,
 
 THE PAST IS DEAD. THE FUTURE ? 3 
 
 fascination and terror. Stephen Meredith and 
 Kuth Clark belonged to the latter class of sea- 
 gazers. 
 
 They were in absolute solitude. The cabin, 
 which serves as a refreshment room in the 
 season, and the residence of some one having 
 duties in connection with the })ier, was closed. 
 A man had suddenly appeared, like a panto- 
 mime goblin, from the deptlis of the lower 
 platform ; but he was nothing more terrible 
 than a sailor who had come from one c»f the 
 outlying vessels with a small boat to take his 
 skipper home when that wortliy had finished 
 his evening's amusement ashore. 
 
 ' Good evening,' said this kindly goblin, 
 vaguely, seeing the two occupants of the pier, 
 and good-natiuredly sauntered landward, his 
 heavy boots making a dull hollow soimd on 
 the wooden road. 
 
 Then they were alone. The light shimmered 
 along the silver roadway — glittering laughter.
 
 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 fancy might have called it — and the water was 
 lapping round the feet of the pier with a low, 
 crooning sound. 
 
 They were painfully conscious of being 
 alone, for their hearts, which had been so close 
 that they seemed one, had come to an abrupt 
 halt, when they started and drew back from 
 each other — dumb, bewildered, quivering — not 
 knowing or able to think about what was to 
 happen next. 
 
 The woman was perfectly calm ; the man 
 was trying to appear so. He was resting over 
 the rails. She was standing erect and dark as 
 
 Fate except her face, which was clear in the 
 
 moonlight ; his face was shadowed by his hat, 
 and both were looking out upon the same 
 silvery roadway, whicli came laughing to their 
 feet. 
 
 He, an ordinary enough mortal, in a dark 
 Chesterfield overcoat and low-crowned felt hat, 
 no muffler and no gloves ; thick, short, black
 
 THE PAST IS DEAD. THE FUTURE f 5 
 
 whiskers, beard, and moustache. She, a tall, 
 graceful figure, dressed in perfect fashion — that 
 is, the fashion which impresses you with the 
 feeling that the woman is beautifully dressed 
 without suggesting one thought of colour, 
 material, or shape. Man or woman, you can 
 never describe the dress of such a person 
 in a milliner's sense ^wq minutes after you 
 have been privileged to look upon him or 
 her. 
 
 Euth Clark always dressed plainly because 
 she liked it; and she was unaffectedly plain 
 because she had no sense of a desire to attract 
 attention by her simplicity of attire. The face 
 on which the moon was shining was pale 
 as with much anxious thought ; irregular in 
 feature, but in form and expression it displayed 
 a beauty whose light outshone the moon's — that 
 of good heart and intellect. It was an honest 
 face. 
 
 When he hfted his head to look at her, his
 
 6 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 seemed to be an honest face too ; and altlioiigh 
 there was an inflection of impatience in his 
 voice as he spoke, there was sincerity in the 
 tone. The very irritation in it would have told 
 a sympathetic ear that he loved her. 
 
 ' There's a droll question, Euth ; why is it 
 that mere flirtation is always sweet and that 
 love is bitter ? ' 
 
 The question was flung at her in a reckless, 
 devil-may-care way, as if he would not be 
 altogether sorry if it did hurt her, although he 
 did not really want to do so. She answered it 
 quite gravely, but with a shade of mocking 
 severity on her lip — 
 
 ' I suppose it is because one is froth and 
 the other is the body, which, like all substantial 
 things, you know, is charged with a certain 
 percentage of acid.' 
 
 She was so placid and so precise in that 
 answer. 
 
 ^ Oh ! '
 
 THE PAST IS DEAD. THE FUTURE ? 7 
 
 The man stopped himself, got up, walked 
 as far as the lifeboat, and came back. 
 
 ' Do you know what I was going to say ? ' 
 he asked, with forced calmness. ' I was going 
 to say that this sort of thing cannot go on — I 
 was going to say — damn it, do you wish to 
 part ? ' 
 
 The moon was shining through the white 
 mist on the faces of both. The water was 
 murmuring a hushaby to the feet of the pier ; 
 the silver, path across the water still lay before 
 them, and the distant light of the Nore was 
 appearing and disappearing. 
 
 She answered very deliberately , but evidently 
 with a great effort to conceal her emotion — 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' Don't be ridiculous — if you can help it,' 
 was his sharp rejoinder ; * you know that we 
 cannot part.' 
 
 ' I know that we do not wish to part, but it 
 must be.'
 
 8 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 'Why?' 
 
 She did not answer. He took another turn 
 to the lifeboat and back. It was not merely 
 that he was fond of her — that she was the kind 
 of woman to attract attention and probably serve 
 very well as the mistress of a household, but 
 he believed that she loved him. He knew that 
 he loved her, and his conviction was that his 
 life would be a truer and a better one if she 
 were by his side than it could be if she were 
 elsewhere. 
 
 He planted himself before her. 
 ' You have not told me why ? You say I 
 am not a fool, Paith. Yeiy well ; few people 
 are able to make sure in their own minds on 
 that point. But of this I am sure — that mad, 
 stupid, and unreasonable as my love for you 
 may be, it is the spring from which I draw 
 strength, hope, and hfe. Do you believe 
 me?' 
 
 She did not answer.
 
 THE PAST IS DEAD. THE FUTURE ? 9 
 
 ' At least you owe me some fuller explana- 
 tion,' he went on, speaking rapidly, ' than you 
 have given me in simply stating that it is your 
 wish that we sliould part. I cannot believe 
 that you are afraid of what difficulties we may 
 have to meet ; and until you tell me with your 
 own lips tiiat it is so, I will not beheve that you 
 do not care for me.' 
 
 ' If I were to tell you that I did not care 
 for you,' she said in a low distressed tone, 
 ' would that satisfy you ? Would you be con- 
 tent then to go your way through the world 
 and forget me ? ' 
 
 ' If I believed you, I should hate you,' he 
 replied, with a short laugh, which assured her 
 by the very bitterness of its sincerity that he 
 had no notion of believing her, and therefore 
 was not likely to hate her. He drew her arm 
 through his own and pressed it close to him. 
 ' Xow, this is some nonsense, l\uth, kindly 
 meant, I have no doubt ; but we must get rid
 
 lo OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 of it. Come, take a turn, and then see if you 
 can tell me what it all means.' 
 
 She walked with him, clinging to his arm, 
 and yet there was an occasional startled look 
 in her eyes as if she wanted to fly away from 
 him. 
 
 ' I wish you would not insist. I have told 
 you that circumstances have arisen which 
 render it necessary for me to break off our 
 engagement. I have thought it over — you 
 cannot understand with what cruel pain ! — and 
 I can find no alternative in order to be just to 
 you and myself. I can find no other way of 
 proving how much I care for you. I am de- 
 cided, and have no more to say.' 
 
 ' But this is not fair to me. I have a right 
 to know your reasons for deciding to act in this 
 strange way.' 
 
 'You would not think my reasons were 
 sufficient — you would feel bound to repudiate 
 them.'
 
 THE PAST IS DEAD. THE FUTURE ? ii 
 
 ' That is the strongest argument of all 
 why you should not be permitted to act upon 
 them without giving me a chance of convincing 
 you that you are doing wrong, or of being con- 
 vinced myself that you are doing right. I know 
 that my position is an embarrassing one ; that 
 at present my income is small and is heavily 
 taxed by my mother and sisters ; but we con- 
 sidered all these things before, and they are no 
 more in our way now than they were a month 
 af?o.' 
 
 There was a movement on her part as if the 
 breeze had given her a sudden chill. He drew 
 her under the shelter of the lifeboat, and she 
 tightened her scarf. 
 
 ' It is getting cold ; we must go back. I 
 know that you are vexed with me, and I am 
 sorry ; but it cannot be helped. I know that 
 my conduct is strange ; some day you will 
 perhaps understand it and forgive it — when you 
 are quite calm and have overcome the feeling
 
 12 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 of disappointment with which you must regard 
 me at present. You think, of course, that you 
 cannot get over it, but you will soon do that, 
 and you will be grateful to me. And you 
 will be happy. Now let us go.' 
 
 ' No, not yet. If you are determined to 
 pursue this stubborn and mysterious way of 
 yours, you must first answer — have you found 
 another lover ? ' 
 
 ' You know I have not.' 
 
 That was her only reproach ; but the sus- 
 picion had more efiect in disturbing the calm- 
 ness she had succeeded in preserving up to 
 this point than anything he had previously 
 said. 
 
 ' Forgive the question ; but think of what 
 you are doing, and you will own that it is not 
 unnatural. You cast aside all that has passed 
 between us. You bid me return your letters. 
 You tell me that mine are lying ready for me 
 at Kemerton. And you give me no better
 
 THE PAST IS DEAD. THE FUTURE ? 13 
 
 reason for this change than that you think it 
 should be made for my sake. I say that there 
 can be nothing to account for such a change, 
 except the discovery on your part that you 
 never have really cared for me, and that you 
 are simply anxious to be free. What other 
 reason can there be ? You would not hesitate 
 to explain it if there were any other.' 
 
 'Think what you will, Stephen, I believe I 
 am acting the truest and kindest part in leaving 
 you. I wish we could liave spoken quietly 
 about it. I would have liked to remember the 
 last evening we spent alone together, as one on 
 wdiich I proved my love for you in doing this 
 thing ; and you proved your love for me by 
 trusting the tenderness of my motives. That 
 cannot be, it seems, and we need not talk more 
 about it.' 
 
 ' I will not regard this as final. There is 
 only one way in which you can make me alter, 
 and you are not able to adopt it. Until you
 
 14 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 do SO I shall persist in my belief that you are 
 acting under the influence of some foolish 
 whim, and that you will come back to yourself 
 and to me.' 
 
 ' You are mistaken. My resolution cannot 
 be altered. The past is dead.' 
 
 ' And the future ? ' 
 
 ' And in the future our ways must be very 
 different from what we once expected them 
 to be.' 
 
 He could not comprehend the situation. ^ 
 Had there been passion of any kind in her 
 words or manner; had he committed some 
 error of which she had a right to complain, 
 then it would have been easy to understand it. 
 But here was no complaint, no anger, only 
 deep sorrow, and yet no visible reason for the 
 suffering she was inflicting on herself and on 
 him. This was no petty quarrel ; she was 
 acting from the calm conviction that what she 
 was doing was right and unavoidable. He
 
 THE PAST IS DEAD. THE FUTURE / 15 
 
 knew the strong, earnest nature of tlie woman, 
 and after the first outburst of mipatience 
 and indignation he, too, became pale and 
 cahn. 
 
 ' So be it, Eutli ; I shall dispute the matter 
 no more witli you to-night. But in virtue of 
 our love, and of the hopes which it still inspires 
 in me at least, I claim the riglit to seek the 
 motives which have moved you to tliis cruel 
 resolve, and then to act for you and for myself 
 as 1 may think best.' 
 
 ' As you will.' 
 
 She did not tell him tliat long before he 
 could discover her motives she would be far 
 beyond the reach of his influence. She had 
 barely hinted at tlie long, bitter struggle with 
 herself through which she had arrived at the 
 conclusion that they must part ; and that she 
 must not give him another opportunity to tempt 
 her to change her mind. She could not answer 
 for herself, she loved him so ! The trial had
 
 i6 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 been already almost too* much for her. And 
 there was the terrible lonely future before her. 
 
 Then they turned their backs upon that 
 silver roadway which seemed to have been 
 inviting them to follow its pleasant course, and 
 in silence they traversed the long black line of 
 the pier through the white mist to the land. 
 
 ' You will be at Kemerton to-morrow 
 night ? ' she said, as they were parting. 
 
 ' Yes, unless there is a message from Mr. 
 Dottridge telling me that I am not wanted. 
 You know we can never be sure of his 
 humour.'
 
 17 
 
 CHAPTEE IJ. 
 
 'THOU SHALT NOT LOVE OH HATE.' 
 
 Entering the room from the well-lighted hall 
 was like passing suddenly into a fog where a 
 single torch is illuminating one small circle. 
 The upper part of the room was in darkness, 
 and only the writing table was lit by the large, 
 thickly-shaded lamp. 
 
 Euth Clark was seated at this table, and 
 the upper part of her face was in shadow, 
 whilst the mouth and chin were fully displayed. 
 That mouth was one which could be stern as 
 well as tender. She had raised the pen to her 
 lips signifying to the man who had just entered 
 that he was to be silent. The man had already 
 closed the door, and he waited. 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 1 8 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 A low voice was heard dictating; Euth's 
 pen travelled rapidly over the paper. Her 
 knowledge of the speaker's ways enabled her 
 without apparent difficulty to separate all the 
 parenthetical observations from the matter she 
 was required to write. 
 
 * These things I wish to have carefully noted 
 now (was that Stephen ? He is to wait) lest 
 anything should prevent me from prepanng the 
 fuller statement which has been (take a seat) 
 unfortunately already too long delayed. I have 
 several times attempted to prepare this statement., 
 hut have been unable to overcome my reluctance 
 or repugnance to approach the subject. But as 
 my faithful friend ' 
 
 The voice stopped for a moment as if the 
 speaker were debating something with himself. 
 Then— 
 
 ' I think that is the simplest way of putting 
 it. . . . But as my faithful friend^ Ruth Clark., 
 is about to leave me on a long voyage., and as I
 
 ' THOU SHALT NOT LOVE OR HATE: 19 
 
 feel that there is no one else to whom I am so 
 likely to confide these matters^ I make this effort 
 now. Is that correctly put ? ' 
 
 ' I think yoiu' meaning is quite clear.' 
 There was something eerie in that dark 
 room, with its one circle of hght, and tlie voice 
 of the invisible speaker dictating his last wishes. 
 During the pauses he made, there was perfect 
 stillness in the place. There w^ere none of the 
 customary signs of its being a sick chamber, 
 for as soon as one's eyes became accustomed to 
 the kind of fog, they discovered that everything 
 was orderly. The furniture was plain but rich 
 in material, and constructed chiefly for the 
 comfort of the body. The prevailing colour 
 was a sombre brown, scarcely relieved by the 
 few pictures, and the lighter shades of the 
 curtains and other hangings. A closed stove 
 regulated the temperature, but concealed the 
 cheerful glow of the fire. 
 c2
 
 20 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 The speaker was Humphrey Dottridge ; the 
 place was Kemerton Park, Dunthorpe. 
 
 He was seated behind a krge screen, in 
 order to shield his eyes from the light, as 
 he liked to dispense, as much as possible, 
 with the green shade which usually guarded 
 them. 
 
 The pause was long. Euth sat motionless, 
 ready to catch the first words that were uttered ; 
 Stephen Meredith was resting on the back of a 
 chair, watching her with curious, inquiring eyes, 
 and apparently taking little interest in the words 
 of his cousin from the moment he had heard 
 that Euth was about to leave Kemerton on a 
 long voyage. 
 
 She had not told liim that when they were 
 on the pier at Southend, and yet it must have 
 been in her mind all the time she had been 
 speaking. Why ? What was there to conceal 
 from him ? 
 
 Again the voice, and this time there was
 
 ' THOU SHALT NOT LOVE OR HATE? 21 
 
 something pathetically self-reproachful in its 
 tone — 
 
 'I am afraid 1 shall have to stop again, 
 Piuth. I thought it possible to go on in 
 Stephen's presence, and have been trying, but 
 it is no use.' 
 
 ' Would you like Mr. Meredith to leave us 
 for a httle ? ' 
 
 'That would not make any difference now. 
 Besides, 1 would rather he heard me, for you 
 know he has more to do with the matter than 
 lie at present suspects.' 
 
 ' But if my presence interferes with you, 
 what is the use of my staying ? ' said Meredith, 
 coldly. 
 
 ' Stay, please ; this is only a ridiculous 
 sentiment which has no particular association 
 with you, and I wish to overcome it. ... / 
 am desirous that Dahlia Whiicomhe should he 
 treated in every respect as my daughter (Euth's 
 pen went on again) ; and have made such
 
 22 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 provision for her as that relationship might 
 require of me. 1 do this on account of her 
 mother, for the unhappiness of whose life 1 
 hold myself greatly to blame. That will 
 do.' 
 
 The latter words were spoken in an ex- 
 hausted tone, and silence ensued. 
 
 By-and-by the screen was gently thrust 
 aside and Mr. Dottridge showed himself. 
 
 A man of average height, wearing a thick, 
 grey dressing-gown. So far as the iron-grey 
 whiskers, beard, and moustache, and the eye- 
 shade he had now put on, permitted them to 
 be seen, the features were regular but pinched 
 from the effects of illness. 
 
 He went slowly to the writing-table, and 
 signed his name. 
 
 ' The rest must be done another time. Will 
 you witness the signature, Stephen. . . . Thank 
 you. Now we can sit down and talk over our 
 affairs.'
 
 'THOU SHALT XOT LOVE OR HATE: 23 
 
 Mr, Bottridge resumed his seat beliind the 
 screen, and Meredith took a chair close by him. 
 Ruth proceeded methodically to fold the papers 
 and place them in a deed box which lay beside 
 her, and a sense of stillness for a few minutes 
 pervaded the [)lace again. 
 
 ' I had two objects in asking you to come 
 to me tliis evening, Steplien,' said Mr. Dottridge, 
 * and the first can be easily disposed of, as it 
 was to speak about myself.' 
 
 ^ I thought that was always the most im- 
 ix>rtaut subject a man could have to speak 
 about,' commented Meredith, carelessly, for his 
 thoughts were full of Euth and the long 
 voyage. 
 
 ' Undoubtedly, and I do not pretend that it 
 is of less importance to me than it is to other 
 men ; but I can control the length of the debate 
 upon it. So I can promise it shall be a short 
 one.' 
 
 ' I am quite at your service ; and first, I
 
 24 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 should like to know what was the result of the 
 consultation of your physicians to-day.' 
 
 ' And that was the first thing I was going 
 to tell you. The doctors have decided that I 
 may live for years ' 
 
 ' That is good news ! ' exclaimed Meredith, 
 warmly. 
 
 ' You have not heard the " but." But the 
 condition is that I am not to be subjected to 
 any sudden excitement, and that I must not 
 even lose my temper ! I smile at the difficult 
 nature of the condition even to a man as 
 phlegmatic as a Dutchman ; to me — a nervous, 
 irritable creature, as you know — the idea of 
 fulfilling it for any length of time is absurd.' 
 
 ' But your doctors may be mistaken as to 
 the extreme precariousness of your case.' 
 
 ' I wish to hope that they are mistaken ; 
 but they have assured me that the symptoms 
 cannot be misconstrued. Therefore, knowing 
 that any trifling incident which may quicken
 
 'THOU SHALT NOT LOVE OR HATE: 25 
 
 the licart's action is almost certain to prove 
 instantly fatal, I have arranged my afiairs. I 
 shall do what can be done to preserve myself; 
 but it is a droll fate to know that one exists 
 only on condition of remaining insensible equally 
 to joy and sorrow.' 
 
 Mr. Dottridge repeated all this calmly, 
 and as if he were talking of some acquaintance 
 whose case interested him, rather than of 
 himself. 
 
 Meredith was silent. It is always difficult 
 to reply to a friend who tells you that he has 
 settled his worldly affairs and has now nothing 
 to do but await his summons ; it is most difficult 
 when you know that there is a probability of 
 yoiu: deriving some advantage from his departure. 
 To be cheery and hopefid of days yet in store 
 is apt to be taken for hypocrisy ; and to refer 
 to the ' Higher Hope ' is decidedly suggestive of 
 speeding the parting guest. 
 
 Meredith knew that he had somethini? to
 
 26 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 expect on the death of his cousin ; and their 
 relationship, although not unfriendly, had not 
 been cordial. Therefore he found it particularly 
 awkward to speak at this moment. 
 
 Mr. Dottridge was either too much ab- 
 sorbed in speculations on his own position to 
 heed the silence, or he understood it and 
 passed on. Certainly considerations of others' 
 conduct can have small importance in the eyes 
 of a man living under that most terrible form 
 of the sword of Damocles — the knowledge that 
 any emotion of pain or joy can only be in- 
 dulged in under the penalty of death. That 
 was the position of Humphrey Dottridge, and 
 so far he had accepted it calmly enough. 
 Eeckoned by years he was only in middle life, 
 at the period when healthy men are said to be 
 in their prime ; he had money, and he had a 
 fair share of the capacities requisite for enjoy- 
 ing it wisely. But this doom had been pro- 
 nounced : — ' You must neither love nor hate.
 
 ' THOU SHALT NOT LOVE OR HATE: 27 
 
 The moment j^ou swerve from the dull straight 
 course of physical routine and mental equani- 
 mity, you die I ' It was doubtful whether or 
 not the conscious necessity of avoiding agitation 
 might not provoke it. 
 
 'You see I must maintain perfect indiffer- 
 ence about everything,' he went on, ' and it is 
 not an agreeable life to look forward to ; but 
 this will enable you to understand why I do 
 not attempt to discuss any of my arrangements 
 with you. Tlie papers already prepared will 
 explain everything, and Mr. Bassnett will com- 
 municate with you. So much for my first 
 object in sending for you ; now for the second 
 — yourself.' 
 
 Meredith felt more sympathy for his rich 
 cousin than he had ever done before. Their 
 natures were in many respects dissimilar — that 
 fact and accident had kept them much apart ; 
 their meetings on pleasure had been of the 
 formal kind, and their meetinprs on business
 
 28 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 had been always painful to Meredith on ac- 
 count of the state in which his father's mis- 
 fortunes had left the affairs of the family. But 
 he was conscious that whatever was unpleasant 
 in these interviews had been due rather to his 
 own sensitive way of looking at things than to 
 intentional unkindness on the part of his cousin. 
 
 ' I have nothing satisfactory to tell you 
 about myself, and it seems to me that it would 
 be the best course to leave everything to Mr. 
 Bassnett.' 
 
 ' You need not be afraid of disturbing me 
 by anything you may have to say on that 
 score ; I think the worst is known to me. 
 Your speculations in Australian wool have 
 turned out badly, and the land improvements 
 have not yet yielded any result. That is the 
 worst.' 
 
 ' That is the worst at present.' 
 
 ' Then things will mend if you can wait 
 long enough.'
 
 'THOU SHALT NOT LOVE OR HATE: 29 
 
 ' Yes, but the waiting is the difficulty. 
 There are your ' 
 
 Mr. Dottridge raised his hand, checking 
 the reference to the obstacle which he knew 
 was in Meredith's mind.- 
 
 ' You ought to know that 3'ou need have 
 no uneasiness about that. It is more your 
 father's affair than yours, and I have devised 
 a plan which will enable you to arrange every- 
 thing satisfactorily. On that head see Bass- 
 nett, and understand that we are not to speak 
 of it again. Now, let us turn to wliat I hope 
 is a more agreeable subject. You know Dahlia 
 Whitcombe returns to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Yes ; my mother told me.' 
 
 ' Then she has also told you that, as I wish 
 the girl to have the pleasures which are suitable 
 to her years, and which she cannot have here 
 owing to my pecuhar condition, I have asked 
 Mrs. Meredith to act as her guardian, and to 
 give her a home at Derewood.'
 
 30 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 ' The people at home are all delighted with 
 the idea,' observed Meredith, in a tone which 
 suggested that the prospect did not inspire him 
 with any special dehght. 
 
 ' You have no objection, I hope ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no ! not an objection exactly. I should 
 be glad to have her as a guest, but I catmot 
 profess any relish for taking her in as a lodger.' 
 
 ' I trust you will regard her as a friend and 
 relative,' said Mr. Dottridge very deliberately, 
 ' after what you heard me dictating this even- 
 ing.' 
 
 That brought Stephen straight to the sub- 
 ject which had been uppermost in his thoughts 
 all the time. Euth's place at the writing table 
 was now vacant. 
 
 ' Be it as you please. I understand the 
 necessity for the arrangement, and Miss Whit- 
 combe shall be made welcome.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Stephen. I know she will be 
 happy with you.'
 
 'THOU SHALT NOT LOVE OR HATE: 31 
 
 ' I sliall do my best not to get in her way. 
 Now will you explain one thing which has 
 puzzled me very much to night ? As you 
 spoke of it so quietly, I conclude there can be 
 no danger of disturbing you by referring to it 
 again. Why is Euth Clark going away, and 
 where is she going to ? ' 
 
 There was a long pause, but there was not 
 the slightest movement to indicate that Llr. 
 Dottridge was distressed by the question, but 
 his voice was somewhat colder than it had 
 been as he rephed : — 
 
 ' I am unable to explain her reasons for 
 going away, but I am satisfied that they are 
 good ones. I believe her destination is Aus- 
 tralia, and you can understand that her deter- 
 mination is a grievous trial to me.' 
 
 That was all Mr. Dottridge had to say on 
 the subject, and Stephen's impatience made 
 him glad to be able to leave the room almost 
 immediately.
 
 j2 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 CHAPTER TIL 
 
 RIGHT OR WRONG? 
 
 Stephen's purpose was to inquire at once for 
 Euth ; but he was spared that trouble. Brassey 
 was waiting for him. 
 
 Brassey was Mr. Dottridge's butler and 
 confidential servant, and in his plain black suit, 
 with his thin white hair, trim whiskers, and 
 sedate manner would have been mistaken for a 
 guest by any stranger, but for the art he had 
 acquired by long training of letting you under- 
 stand at once without servility that he was 
 your respectful servant. 
 
 ' This is a note for you, sir, and Miss Clark 
 desired me to give it to you myself.'
 
 RIGHT OR WRONG? 33 
 
 Here in the wide old-fashioned hall there 
 was plenty of light from the big lamp swinging 
 in the centre of the ceihng, and the smaller 
 lamps in sconces on the inner walls. It was 
 one of the master's hobbies that, although he 
 was obliged to remain in darkness, there should 
 be light enough for everybody else outside his 
 rooms. 
 
 Stephen read the lines — 
 
 ' Grant me this favour — do not ask to see 
 me to-night ; I am not able to stand another 
 interview. 
 
 ' Believe me, yours truly, 
 
 'E. C 
 
 He noted that the * yours truly,' w^ilh the 
 ' truly ' twice underlined, had been inserted as 
 an afterthought ; the position of the words and 
 the colour of the ink told him that. Also he 
 noted that she signed her initials instead of 
 * Euth ' as had been her custom. He became 
 
 VuL. I. D
 
 34 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 slightly pale, and his brows drew together 
 forming two upright wrinkles. 
 
 ' Is there anyone in the parlour ? ' he asked, 
 and his voice was quite steady. 
 
 ' No, sir ; but Mr. Eapier and Mr. Bassnett 
 are in the billiard room. There will only be 
 your three selves at dinner, I understand, as 
 Miss Clark is not coming down.' 
 
 ' Come here, Brassey ; I want j^ou to take a 
 message to her,' said Stephen, as he passed into 
 the parlour. 
 
 On a side table he found writing materials. 
 
 ' I shall wait here for half an hour. Tell 
 me when this ridiculous mystery is to end, if 
 not to-night. The absurdity of it makes me 
 impatient. 
 
 ' Yours, always the same, 
 
 'Stephen.' 
 
 Brassey observed the young man with a 
 kindly paternal interest, but he took the note
 
 RIGHT OR WRONG? 35 
 
 from him and retired without any sign of a de- 
 sire to intrude upon his confidence. Accord- 
 ing to his own way of thinking he had no need 
 to seek confidence, for the whole thing was as 
 plain as a stain on silver to him. He knew that 
 they were lovers. 
 
 ' They've been having a tiflf somehow — how 
 is a puzzle to me,' was the old man's reflection, 
 ' for it beats all my skill to make out how any- 
 body could contrive to quarrel with Miss Clark 
 — bar a sweetheart. Glad they took me to help 
 them make it up instead of one of the maids. 
 I can hold my tongue, I hope.* 
 
 Stephen knew that he was made of irritable 
 stuff, and when left alone his inclination was 
 to take a quick march iq) and down the room 
 to keep himself calm ; but on second thoughts 
 he concluded that he would succeed best by 
 remaining fixed in one position ; so he put one 
 hand in his pocket, a foot on the fender, rested 
 his elbow on tlie high, massive mantelpiece.
 
 36 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 and glared into the fire, on which a huge log 
 was burning with many-coloured flames. Here, 
 too, there were brightness and cheeriness, in 
 marked contrast with the sombre arrangements 
 of the master's room. 
 
 Looking into the bright fire, Stephen made 
 a brave effort to grasp the whole position of 
 affairs, and those playful flames seemed to help 
 him to see faces and events. 
 
 There was he, the inheritor of a small 
 property and large encumbrances, his mother 
 and a band of girls to support, and a younger 
 brother to set up in a profession. He was the 
 descendant of a yeoman family having traditions 
 of which he was proud, and he desired to main- 
 tain his place in the county. He could work 
 and had worked. He was a fairly good farmer, 
 and would have been successful if it had not 
 been for his passion for scientific experiments 
 in everything pertaining to agriculture. And 
 he had a secret hankering after bold speculation.
 
 RIGHT OR WRONG? yj 
 
 although generally in matters about which he 
 knew something, as wool and foreign cattle. 
 The gambling spirit of the father, which had 
 been a source of much trouble, had appeared 
 in the son, but happily in the direction of busi- 
 ness speculation. 
 
 Knowing the position of his affairs he had 
 avoided matrimony — the fact of his being con- 
 stantly surrounded by girls helped him to do 
 that, no doubt — until he had seen Euth Clark. 
 Then after a good trial of what his own feelings 
 meant, and after he had tested hers as he 
 thought, he said to himself simply, * I have 
 found my mate,' and set himself to discuss ways 
 and means with her : She calmly considering 
 how everything might be best arranged for 
 everybody, and almost leaving herself out of 
 her proper place in the count : He impetuously 
 urging that they should take the future bravely 
 in their hands, and trust to honest endeavour 
 on both sides to bring all things right.
 
 38 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 But she was so unlike other women ; strong, 
 self-rehant, without that affectation of mannish - 
 ness which makes the ' advanced ' woman only 
 coarse ; tender without gush, and wise without 
 beino- too conscious of it. She could do un- 
 pleasant things in the kindliest way, and 
 Stephen owned that she was more frequently 
 right than he. But she had not been right in 
 delaying the announcement of their engagement, 
 he beheved, and he was sure of it now that she 
 wished to break it off altogether without giving 
 any definite reason — for he did not even think 
 that his recent losses could have anything to do 
 Avith it. That was a reason for postponing the 
 marriage perhaps ; but nothing more. 
 
 He knew that she had nothing, and he pre- 
 ferred that it should be so. She was a protegee 
 of Mr. Dottridge, but he did not expect her to 
 receive much from him ; that had always been 
 well understood. She had received an excep- 
 tionally good education, which she had improved
 
 RIGHT OR V/RONG? 39 
 
 upon by ardent study. Her parents were dead ; 
 she had no relatives with whom she corre- 
 sponded ; she was free to choose her own 
 course in life, and she had chosen. 
 
 Stephen was content. She was Euth and 
 that was all he cared about. With or without 
 fortune he was confident that there was a happy 
 future before them. 
 
 He knew that his mother and sisters dis- 
 approved of his attachment ; but on a subject 
 of this kind he had no intention of consulting 
 them. They would have preferred Dottridge's 
 adopted daughter (some said his real daughter), 
 Dahha Whitcombe, who would have a consider- 
 able fortune. And Dahlia was a nice enough 
 creature, in spite of being ' a perfect beauty,' as 
 some people called her, and certainly perfectly 
 aware of her attractions. But although he 
 liked her, she had never touched his thoughts 
 as a probable wife except to produce a smile at 
 the ideas women had of making matches any-
 
 40 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 how. Euth was on another plane in his 
 thought and altogether in his heart. 
 
 But Euth sometimes vexed and bewildered 
 him ; then she had only to be what he called 
 herself for a few minutes and he forgot the 
 vexation and bewilderment. This time she 
 was passing all bounds as he thought, and he 
 was resolved to brins; matters to a crisis. 
 
 At first, when she had spoken of breaking 
 off their secret engagement, he regarded it as a 
 jest ; the next time, as most unkind, but still a 
 jest. The third time, when they met at Southend 
 — whither she had been despatched on some 
 mission by Mr. Dottridge — there could no 
 longer be any doubt that she was in earnest. 
 The announcement of the voyage she was 
 about to take showed that she intended to put 
 space between them to complete the separa- 
 tion. 
 
 For what purpose was this done? The 
 thing must be made clear to him ; upon that
 
 RIGHT OR WRONG? 41 
 
 he was resolved. To-morrow he would pro- 
 claim their secret engagement and declare 
 himself ready to fulfil it. If she chose then 
 to say that she did not now care enough for 
 him to risk her happiness in his keeping, there 
 would be nothing for him to do but to retire 
 and master his disappointment as quickly as 
 possible. But as long as she continued to say 
 that she cared for him — only for him, and 
 could never care for another — he would be a 
 dishonourable scoundrel to release her until he 
 knew that there was another reason for separa- 
 tion than the only one he could conceive, and 
 which he had been assured did not exist. 
 
 Separation ! Good Lord ! — and she had 
 said it so quietly ! Could it be possible that 
 she had any sense of the meaning of what she 
 was doing to him — wrecking his whole life ? It 
 was impossible. There was some contemptible 
 secret at the bottom of it, or, as he believed, 
 some whimsical notion of duty, or — and this he
 
 42 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 could not believe — she did not and never had 
 really cared for him. 
 
 He had held himself fixed in his place all 
 the time, glaring at the fire, seeing the faces of 
 those he v^as thinking about ; but his brain 
 was wrought to a wild state of excitement, 
 although his body remained still. 
 
 ' Mister Meredith ! ' 
 
 That was the third time Brassey had 
 spoken. Stephen started at the sound when it 
 at last penetrated his ears. It seemed to him 
 as if hours had elapsed since Brassey had left 
 him. He snatched the note from the salver, 
 and as the man retired, he read — 
 
 ' There really is no mystery. I wish to go 
 away. I have decided it is best for me to go 
 away. What I said to you at Southend is final. 
 That is all. I am sorry you are grieved ; I 
 cannot see you to-night. It depends upon 
 yourself whether or not I ever see you again.' 
 
 ' That is all.' Yes, that was all ! It was
 
 RIGHT OR WRONG? 43 
 
 heartlessly cruel to herself, or to him — which? 
 Was it in nature that any human being could 
 so inspire another with hfe, and joy, and hope, 
 and love, and then so calmly take it all away ? 
 Blow it out, so to say, as we blow out the light, 
 when it has served our purpose ? 
 
 He was quiet now and cold ; standing 
 quite still, holding that paper in his hand in a 
 dazed way, wondering about it all. The 
 greatest calamity that he had thought could 
 happen to him had befallen him, and he did not 
 seem to feel anything at the moment except a 
 sort of dull aching about his head and stomach. 
 
 Then what did all those joyful hours and 
 days that they had lived together mean ? The 
 sunshine that her presence always made ; the 
 glorious pictures they had painted of the bright 
 future together ; the strange thrill of unspeak- 
 able happiness which the touch of her hand 
 communicated to him, which the touch of no 
 other hand had ever done before, or could ever
 
 44 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 do again ; what did it all mean since at a 
 breath she could destroy it all ? Surely there 
 was something terribly wrong here in himself or 
 in her. What was it ? 
 
 In a chamber almost directly over his head 
 was Euth Clark. She was looking sallow and 
 ill, and she sat rigidly in a chair, one arm rest- 
 ing on the table, the other lying listlessly on 
 her lap, Stephen's note under her hand. 
 
 Her eyes were heavy and swollen, but 
 showed no sign of tears. They seemed to be 
 looking at some roughly tied packet of letters 
 — ^his letters, but the vision was entirely turned 
 inward. 
 
 Was this thing that she was doing right ? 
 Was it best for him that they should separate ? 
 So it had seemed to be when she had been 
 wrestling with herself over it, and had finally 
 determined- upon it. He would soon recover 
 from the loss of her. Soon cease to miss her ;
 
 RIGHT OR WRONG? 45 
 
 forget their love (ah, that was hard to think 
 about !), and be happy. Perhaps he would 
 remember her kindly when he knew how much 
 he had gained through her sacrifice. Perhaps 
 he would even think that she had suffered 
 something in turning away from that bright 
 course which they had hoped to walk together. 
 May be then, too, he would remember that 
 silvery roadway which the moonlight made on 
 the waters at Southend, and faintly guess how 
 it had seemed to her distracted thought to be 
 taunting her, and tempting her to take the 
 bright way with him, no matter what quick- 
 sands lay beyond. And she had resisted it 
 for his sake, and thought that she was right ! 
 
 But now, when she had struck the blow 
 which must make him turn from her in con- 
 tempt, she was filled with doubt. The spectre 
 which had hovered over the bright path and 
 helped her to remain fii'm — the spectre of the 
 possible change in him if, wedding her now^, he
 
 46 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 should learn hereafter how much he had lost by 
 doing so — forsook her. She saw him faithful 
 and brave to the last. She, only, faithless in 
 her doubt. 
 
 That spectre was more terrible than the 
 other. Then was this thing that she was doing 
 right .^ 
 
 The dull sound of the muffled gong 
 announced dinner. Stephen was roused from 
 his trance. 
 
 Dinner ! — of course, and Bassnett — Bass- 
 nett, the lawyer, who knew everything, was to 
 be there ! Why, what an utter ass he had 
 been, wasting precious time when he had only 
 to step across the hall and shake hands with 
 the very man who was commissioned to explain 
 the whole business to him ! What a fool he 
 was ! 
 
 The dull boom of the muffled gong sounded 
 a second time, and to Euth Clark's ears it was 
 like a funeral knell.
 
 47 
 
 CHAPTEE lY. 
 
 THE WHOLE STATE OF THE CASE. 
 
 There was really no necessity for constraint in 
 the dining-room, for it was at some distance 
 from Mr. Dottridge's rooms, and the doors 
 were padded so that when closed sounds were 
 kept well within the walls of the apartment in 
 which they were made. Although aware of 
 this fact, the peculiar circumstances under 
 which they met caused tlie tliree gentlemen to 
 speak at first in subdued tones. There was no 
 host, but in some mysterious way Brassey 
 placed Stephen at the head of the table, as if it 
 were quite a matter of course that he should 
 be there; and Mr. Bassnett and Mr. Eapier,
 
 48 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 also as if it were a matter of course, took the 
 chairs arranged for them on each side of him. 
 
 Everything was at first said and done in 
 the same subdued manner as that observed in 
 a house where the prehminaries of a funeral 
 are being arranged ; the servants moved about 
 with noiseless steps, changing dishes without 
 clatter, and Brassey even succeeded in uncorking 
 the champagne without noise. The conversa- 
 tion was fitful, and no one seemed to be able 
 to start a subject of the slightest interest to the 
 others. The reason was simple — because they 
 avoided the subject which was of interest to 
 them all, and uppermost in their thoughts, 
 namely, the afiairs of Humphrey Dottridge. 
 
 Percival Bassnett, of Bassnett, Hawley, and 
 Smart, Serjeant's Inn, solicitors, was about 
 fifty-five in years, but, being a well-knit, active 
 man, of sandyish complexion, always neatly 
 dressed, and generally in shooting coat or 
 reefer, no- one would have supposed that he
 
 THE WHOLE STATE OF THE CASE. 49 
 
 was more than forty. In Serjeant's Inn he 
 liked to be regarded as a shrewd, and rather 
 sharp man of business, and such he really was. 
 Outside Serjeant's Inn he liked to be regarded 
 as a prosperous country gentleman, and so he 
 was. He had a handsome place in the country ; 
 he went annually to the north to shoot, and 
 sometimes as far as Norway to shoot. He was 
 a man of strong constitution and clear head ; 
 one to be trusted implicitly with the most 
 private family affairs, and admired for his 
 success in his profession. He seldom failed to 
 carry to a successful issue any case which he 
 took in hand ; but then he was very careful 
 about the nature of the cases he under- 
 took. 
 
 He ate his dinner and took his wine with 
 relish ; leisurely, as if he recognised the duty 
 he owed to his digestion, the respect he owed 
 to good victuals, and the importance of the 
 meal in the economy of Hfe. 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 Lewis Eapier was a tall, handsome man, 
 with short, thick, glossy black hair and mous- 
 tache. Soft oval face, bright blue eyes, and 
 an expression of thorough content with himself 
 and everything else. He looked as if he had 
 never known care, and had somewhat of a 
 mihtary bearing — frank, firm, and stalwart. 
 Little was known about him, except that he 
 was a particular friend of the proprietor of 
 Kemerton. It was vaguely understood that he 
 had been formerly in the army, that he had at 
 one time held a high command under the 
 Sultan, and that he was a sleeping partner in 
 some city firm. He had chambers in Albe- 
 marle Street, and his permanent address was 
 the Cosmos Club, St. James's Street. He had 
 been for some time such a frequent guest at 
 Kemerton that he was quite at home there, 
 and the apartment he occupied during his visits 
 was spoken of by the domestics as Mr. Eapier's 
 room.
 
 THE WHOLE STATE OF THE CASE, 51 
 
 He, too, ate and drank with relish, but in 
 the easy fashion of a man who, blessed with a 
 good digestion, could afford to dispense with 
 any nice discrimination as to the quality or 
 cooking of his food. In the matter of wine and 
 cigars, however, he was fastidious, and would 
 rather go without them than touch an inferior 
 brand of either of these luxuries. This idiosyn- 
 crasy was known to his friends ; it made some 
 uncomfortable and amused others. He was 
 apparently quite unconscious of disturbing or 
 amusing them in this respect. 
 
 Stephen scarcely spoke at all during 
 dinner. 
 
 ' You seem dull, Meredith,' said Eapier, 
 good-naturedly, trying to rouse him. 
 
 ' You know how things are here — you 
 cannot expect me to be merry.' 
 
 There was an unconscious satire in the 
 words and manner, and Rapier was sur- 
 prised. 
 
 e2
 
 52 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 * I did not mean that I expected you to be 
 merry, for of course one is always sad when a 
 relative's Hfe is in danger.' 
 
 The sneer was as Stephen thought very 
 marked. He answered it in the right way, by 
 a frank acknowledgment of his own lack of 
 courtesy. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, Eapier. I know that 
 I am churlish just now, but the cause of it has 
 nothing to do with my cousin. I intended to 
 speak to Bassnett alone after dinner ; but there 
 is no reason why you should not hear me, and 
 you shall. Then you will understand why I 
 am so much out of humour.' 
 
 ' You are in earnest about it, whatever it 
 is,' rejoined the other, sorry for having dis- 
 turbed him ; ' and I wish you had not taken 
 my chaff so seriously.' 
 
 ' All right. Wait a little and don't mind 
 me.' 
 
 When the servants had retired Stephen
 
 THE WHOLE STATE OF THE CASE. 53 
 
 began at once, scarcely waiting for his friends 
 to fill their glasses. 
 
 ' I know your sensible objection, Bassnett, 
 to speak of business out of business hours ; 
 but the information I am about to ask for is 
 not exactly of a business nature, although I 
 expect you to be able to give it to me be- 
 cause of your professional connection with my 
 cousin.' 
 
 Bassnett was sipping his Pomard very 
 deliberately, and eying Stephen with an ex- 
 pression of friendly curiosity. 
 
 ' My dear Meredith,' he said, with a kind of 
 dry cordiality, ' you ought to know that you 
 should never ask a lawyer to give you informa- 
 tion he has acquired in his professional capacity. 
 If he is an honest man he will tell you at once 
 that he cannot do it ; if he is a hypocrite he 
 will pretend that he has not got it ; and if he 
 is a rogue he will make a bargain with you 
 for it.'
 
 54 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' No breach of confidence can be involved 
 in an answer to my question. Besides, so far 
 as business is concerned, my cousin has told me 
 that you have instructions to explain every- 
 thing.' 
 
 ' Certainly — everything that it is necessary 
 for you to know — and you can have the ex- 
 planation as soon as you please. But you will 
 have to come to Sergeant's Inn.' 
 
 This was said with a smile at Stephen's 
 evident impatience, and the latter did not 
 observe the quahfication as to the extent of 
 what he was to be told. 
 
 'I did not expect you to enter into my 
 affairs to-night. All I want to know is — Why 
 is Miss Clark not only leaving Kemerton but 
 England ? ' 
 
 ' Bless my soul ! how should I know ?' ex- 
 claimed Mr. Bassnett, astounded by the nature 
 of the question, and the importance which 
 Stephen attached to it.
 
 THE WHOLE STATE OF THE CASE. 55 
 
 ' I thought that in discussing affairs you 
 miglit have learned the reasons for this sudden 
 determination on her part,' urged Stephen, 
 disappointed to find the lawyer ignorant as 
 himself. 
 
 ' It never occurred to me to suppose that 
 there was any other reason than that she wished 
 to go. She has an uncle out in Australia ; and 
 she wants to join him, and Mr. Dottridge thinks 
 that the change would be good for her health 
 — you know she has not been in the best 
 possible physical condition for some time past. 
 There is nothing singular in all that ; and no 
 reason why you sliould not have the fullest 
 information I can afford. On my word, from 
 the way you introduced the subject, I thought 
 you were going to demand nothing less than a 
 fidl statement of the contents of my client's 
 private will and trust deeds.' 
 
 Mr. Bassnett laughed heartily but not 
 loudly. He was greatly reheved to find that
 
 56 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 the important information required from him 
 was of such a commonplace character. 
 
 Stephen saw how Hghtly he regarded the 
 subject, and if it had not been that he felt how 
 foolish he would look in the eyes of a practical 
 man like Bassnett, he would have told him there, 
 and in the presence of Eapier, why the matter 
 was of so much importance to him. 
 
 Eapier had remained perfectly quiet through- 
 out this short passage between the lawyer and 
 Stephen ; there had been a momentary smile 
 on his face as he watched the latter's growing 
 expression of dismay. He understood perfectly 
 well why Stephen was so anxious. 
 
 ' You have bewildered Bassnett, and as you 
 don't mind me hstening, Meredith, perhaps you 
 will not mind me putting in a word. I think I 
 can help you.' 
 
 Stephen turned to him with eager eyes, in 
 which there was no hope. 
 • ^ How? '(this huskily.)
 
 THE WHOLE STATE OF THE CASE, $7 
 
 * By being impudent to you if you will 
 permit me,' answered Eapier, with a kindly 
 laugh. 
 
 ' Be as impudent as you like, if you can 
 
 help me/ 
 
 'Look here, Bassnett, earn six-and-eight 
 at once — tell me how to tell a man he is an 
 
 egotistical fool without hurting his feelings, and 
 
 laying myself open to an action for libel ? ' 
 
 ' Good ; hand over the six-and-eight — my 
 terms are cash,' answered the lawyer, taking 
 a cigar. 
 
 ' Very well, give me the tip.' 
 
 ' With pleasure. The way to avoid doing 
 the things you refer to is — to hold your 
 tongue. Kow I shall take a light in heu of 
 the fee/ 
 
 *Here you are,' and Eapier passed the 
 vestas to him. 
 
 ' I am waiting for you, Eapier,' said Stephen 
 He knew that all this by-play was meant kindly,
 
 58 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 not offensively, but at that moment he could not 
 appreciate it. 
 
 ' You don't mind Bassnett hearing ? * 
 
 ' Of course not ; go on.' 
 
 ' Well — ' Eapier paused on the word and 
 smoked meditatively. * Well, the whole state 
 of the case is this : You have got a particular — 
 I must give it the real word, Meredith, for you 
 are in earnest — you have got a particular affec- 
 tion for the lady, and you cannot understand 
 why she should wish to leave England when 
 you want her to remain. I can.' 
 
 ' What is it .^ That is what I want to make 
 out,' cried Stephen eagerly. 
 
 ' To an outsider the thing is very simple, if 
 only a few of the facts of the case are known. 
 She is a woman of considerable acuteness, very 
 resolute in doing what she believes to be the 
 right thing, and very quick to see what the 
 right thing is. In the present case, she likes 
 you well enough to wish to get out of your way,
 
 THE WHOLE STATE OF THE CASE. 59 
 
 as she feels that she does not hke you well 
 enough to risk the self-reproach that she had 
 interfered with your prospects.' 
 
 Stephen's eyes dropped contemptuously to 
 the table, and his fingers tapped the glass 
 w4iich he had forgotten to fill when he passed 
 the wine. 
 
 ' Well, w^hat do you think of my reading of 
 the riddle which seems to have perplexed you 
 so much ? ' inquired Eapier, calmly. 
 
 ' I think it is excellent,' was the sarcastic 
 reply ; ' you have got quicker eyes than Bassnett 
 to understand me, but you do not understand 
 her.' 
 
 ' I am nearer the mark than you wall 
 believe at present. By-and-by you will tell me 
 that I was right.' 
 
 ' I w^ish I could make out what you two 
 fellows are wrangling about ? I see Meredith 
 is in a temper, and you are trying to persuade 
 him that Miss Clark is not in love with him,'
 
 6o . OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 said the lawyer, helping himself to wine, and 
 making an effort to change the subject of con- 
 versation. ' I must say that I should take it 
 for granted that the lady knew her own mind 
 best, and that she shows very plainly what it is 
 when she decides upon going to the other end 
 of the world — that is to say, I think she can 
 have no very strong attachment to this end of 
 it. Now, who says billiards ? ' 
 
 ' I am going home to-night, so you will 
 excuse me,' said Stephen, rising gladly. 
 ' Thanks to you both, although you have not 
 been able to give me the information I wanted/ 
 
 ' I shall do my best to satisfy you when you 
 come to Sergeant's Inn,' said Bassnett, * but on 
 this subject I have told you all I know.' 
 
 Eapier accompanied Stephen to the door 
 where a groom was waiting with the latter 's 
 horse. As they passed along the hall he took 
 liis arm familiarly, and whispered confidently in 
 his ear —
 
 THE WHOLE STATE OF THE CASE. 6i 
 
 ' I am going to make you my enemy for 
 life, Meredith — at any rate I shall run the risk 
 of doing so.' 
 
 ' Don't do it then.' 
 
 ' I must. I know your feelings for Miss 
 Clark, and respect them. I respect her and 
 admire her. I beheve she is doing you a real 
 kindness — she means it so I am certain. She 
 has learned that Dottridge leaves you nothing, 
 and she does not want to encumber you with a 
 penniless wife. That is why she is going 
 away.' 
 
 ' Nonsense,' returned Stephen as he mounted. 
 
 Was that a friend or an enemy ? — was the 
 question which occupied him as he rode home.
 
 62 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ON BOARD THE 'EUCALYPTUS.' 
 
 The first week in December is not a pleasant 
 season in wtiicli to sail for the antipodes : so at 
 least think those who are unaccustomed to the 
 sea. But good or bad season ships go and 
 come, and stout-hearted seamen tell you that 
 they must take the weather as they find it, just 
 as landsmen have to do : moreover, they prefer 
 the sea at any time to London in a fog. 
 
 The EucalypUis, first-class chpper, for Sydney 
 bound, was lying off* Greenhithe, her cargo 
 complete, her compasses adjusted, and ready 
 for sea. She carried few passengers — twenty in 
 the steerage and four in the cabin. They were
 
 ON BOARD THE 'EUCALYPTUS.' 63 
 
 all on board except one — a lady who was to 
 occupy the chief cabin next to the captain's. 
 The lady was Euth Clark. 
 
 ' I hope she has not missed the train,' said 
 the Captain, looking shoreward. ' The tug is 
 ready, and our time is up.' 
 
 ' I suppose as she is the particular friend of 
 the owner she fancies she can do as she likes 
 with us,' said Captain Mackay's wife ; and there 
 was an indication in her tone that if the lady 
 had any such fancy she would speedily discover 
 her mistake. 
 
 The Captain was a burly Scot, with a round, 
 ruddy, jovial face, and merry, twinkling little 
 eyes. He had spent all his life at sea, begin- 
 ning his career in his father's fishing smack at 
 Arbroath, and chanonnc^ into a sea-o^oinc; vessel 
 when he was fourteen. He had rapidly risen 
 to be master, and had been for ten years 
 commander of the Eucalyptus. 
 
 His wife was a little stout woman, who
 
 64 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 insisted upon accompanying him on every 
 voyage, in spite of the fact that she was a bad 
 sailor, and had to spend in her cabin the 
 greater part of the time she was at sea. But 
 she had no children, she was fond of her ' guid- 
 man,' and would not be persuaded to remain 
 on shore. She was not an ill-natured woman. 
 but she did not like lady passengers. They 
 always made such a fuss, she said, and the 
 Captain was far too attentive to them. They 
 could make him do anything they hked if they 
 pretended to be ever so little out of sorts. In 
 fact it would never do to leave him to their 
 mercy. 
 
 ' There she comes,* said the Captain, with a 
 satisfied smile, as he put down his glass. 
 ' You'll find her a real nice quiet lady, Betsy ; 
 and, mind, her principal reason for coming 
 with us is because you are on board. So be 
 guid till her.' 
 
 A small boat came alongside. Euth as-
 
 ON BOARD THE 'EUCALYPTUS-' 65 
 
 ceiidecl the ladder, followed by Stephen 
 Meredith. 
 
 She was received by the captain and his 
 wife — the latter taking a fancy to her at once, 
 and conducting her to her cabin with many 
 expressions of goodwill and pleasure in having 
 such a companion for the voyage. 
 
 Stephen interchanged a few words with the 
 Captain, who told him that they were to weigh 
 anchor immediately, and that, as he had 
 directed, arrangements had been made for his 
 return with the tug when she parted with the 
 ship. Then the Captain turned to his many 
 duties, and Stephen stood on the deck near the 
 cabin staircase waiting for Euth. The other 
 passengers were busy taking final leave of the 
 friends who had delayed going on shore till the 
 last moment, for the privilege of returning with 
 the tug had not been taken advantage of by 
 anyone except Stephen. 
 
 He was pale and tired- looking, as if he had 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 65 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 not slept for several nights, but he was calm. 
 It was the calmness, however, of one who 
 submits to a fate he cannot control although he 
 believes it to be a cruel one, and would alter it 
 if he could. 
 
 When Euth, in her warm grey travelling 
 dress, rejoined him, they walked in silence to 
 the stern of the ship. 
 
 There was great bustle going on, a loud 
 mingling of many tones of voices, a creaking of 
 windlasses, the panting of the tug, the shouts 
 and cheers of those in the small boats, answered 
 by those on board, as the huge vessel began 
 slowly to move away from her mooring-place. 
 There was an effort on both sides to inspire the 
 cheers with the gladness of hope, but the effort 
 was damped by the consciousness of the many 
 probabilities that they would never see each 
 other's face again. 
 
 Euth heard these sounds and felt their full 
 meaning. She saw the faces and knew how
 
 ON BOARD THE 'EUCALYPTUS: 67 
 
 forced the smiles were, and excused those 
 whose maudhn grief showed that they had 
 been seeking comfort from the wrong quarter. 
 
 ' Do you hear that ? ' said Stephen, bitterly. 
 ' A very little while, and it will be our 
 turn.' 
 
 * Yes,' she replied in a low voice, looking 
 dreamily at the boats which were dropping 
 away from the ship ; handkerchiefs waving and 
 oars lingering, that the last look might be as 
 long as possible. 
 
 She, too, was pale, but the features were 
 fixed in such a mould of determination that the 
 expression seemed hard. The thing was to be 
 done ; it w^as her own doing, and she, at any 
 rate, must not add to his distress by showing 
 any signs of the regret, the misery, and the 
 loneliness that filled her heart. No ; she was 
 going to be brisk and resolute. He shoidd 
 depart with the conviction that she was a 
 callous, unfeeling creature, rather than that he 
 
 F 2
 
 68 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 should think of her as one who had been forced 
 into exile. 
 
 ' The whole thing is so sudden that I cannot 
 realise it,' he muttered, looking down into the 
 water. ' I suppose it was kindly meant on 
 your part to conceal all your arrangements 
 • until almost the eve of your sailing ; but at 
 present I cannot be grateful.' 
 
 ' Why .^ Do you still think that if you had 
 known sooner you would have been able to 
 dissuade me ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; I think it is possible, for I do not 
 yet see the necessity for this voyage.' 
 
 He called it a voyage although she regarded 
 it as exile. He had only become partially re- 
 conciled to the movement by the belief that the 
 separation was to be temporary. 
 
 She did not answer immediately ; those 
 boats and figures in them were like shadows in 
 the river mist now. Then — 
 
 ' Yes — I believed you might have made me
 
 ON BOARD THE 'EUCALYPTUS: 69 
 
 do wrong and give up this voyage,' she said 
 softly ; ' that was why my resokition was con- 
 cealed from you till the last moment. I wished 
 to spare you pain.' 
 
 ' I am satisfied of that.' 
 
 ' And you are content now, Stephen ? ' 
 
 She placed her hand on his arm, and pre- 
 sently he took the hand between both his own. 
 
 ' I don't want to make this parting more 
 unhappy for you than it need be,' he said. 
 making a strong effort to speak cheerfully. ' I 
 am content so far that this journey, which at 
 first appeared to me such mad folly on your 
 part, or a proof that your love had been all 
 along a mistake, if not a falsehood — I am con- 
 tent to think that it is only the doorway to our 
 happiness. You have promised that in a year 
 you will come back to me, or I may go to 
 you.' 
 
 ' That is our bargain, and I go all the 
 happier that we have made it.'
 
 70 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' So be it, then ; in a year, you will be with 
 me, and that prospect will help me to make 
 good use of the time. When we next join 
 hands you shall own that this test of our love 
 was not needed.' 
 
 ' Do not let us talk of that any more,' she 
 said hastily, for she feared the effect his earnest 
 voice might have upon her ; clearly she found 
 it difficult to speak calmly ; there was such a 
 lump in her throat. 
 
 ' No, we have said our say, and I ought to 
 be trying to comfort you. But I cannot, Euth ; 
 for the idea is always coming back to me that 
 if you had only told me a couple of months 
 sooner, or if you had waited a few months 
 longer, I could have gone with you.' 
 
 ' Stephen, you promised that if I consented 
 to your coming so far with me you would not 
 attempt to go over those things again,' she said 
 in a subdued voice, and with much agitation. 
 
 ' There — ^forgive me,' he rejoined, resign-
 
 ON BOARD THE 'EUCALYPTUS: 71 
 
 edly. ' I have done. You are having your 
 own way in this : you have told me that it is a 
 test of yourself and of me, without which you 
 could not be assured of our future happiness. 
 I say it is a cruel test, but I submit. At the 
 same time I cannot help asking myself, would 
 you have required this test if your heart had 
 been all mine, as you once made me believe it 
 was ' 
 
 'Oh, Stephen!' 
 
 ^ There, again, forgive me. What an un- 
 gracious brute I am, and I wanted to make our 
 parting hour as cheery as may be. This is a 
 fine way to carry out my intention. And yet 
 I don't see what I can do. To pretend to be 
 merr}^ is worse than being openly miserable.' 
 
 ' I do not expect you to be merry. I 
 should very likely be more unhappy in remem- 
 bering that you were glad to part with me 
 than I shall be in remembering even your 
 reproaches.'
 
 72 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' No more reproaches, then, my darUng. I 
 part with you beheving that your heart is all 
 mine, that this separation is only a painful, 
 brief necessity, and comforted by my faith in 
 you and in the bright future when you will 
 come back to me, and we shall live happy ever 
 after, as the story books say.' 
 
 There was a kind of mingled playfulness 
 and bitterness in all this, which relieved and 
 yet distressed her. 
 
 ' It is difficult to be cheery under the cir- 
 cumstances. I wonder how it will be when 
 you are really away from me, and I am left 
 alone with these strangers.' 
 
 ' Oh, you will soon make friends of them, 
 and you will have pleasant enough times if the 
 weather is good ; and if it is bad you will have 
 no time to think of me.' 
 
 As he made out that picture he emitted 
 something that was nearer to a laugh than any 
 sound he had made during the day.
 
 ON BOARD THE 'EUCALYPTUS: 73 
 
 ' And you ? ' she said, smiling and raising 
 her eyes to his face. 
 
 * As for me, I shall be eating a hearty 
 dinner this evening, taking some furious 
 exercise to-morrow, and flirting with somebody 
 in a week ! ' 
 
 Euth thought, ' With Dahlia Whitcombe,' 
 and she said — 
 
 ' I will not mind what you do if you are 
 well and happy.' 
 
 ' You are most liberal, and I shall do my 
 best to profit by yoiu* generosity ; only, do not 
 measure my license to you in the same free 
 spirit.' 
 
 ' If you mean to substitute sarcasm for 
 reproach I shall begin to lament that we did 
 not part at Dunthorpe Station.' 
 
 ' Or perhaps to wish that we had never met.' 
 
 She looked at him and saw that he was 
 smiling fondly ; evidently he did not think that, 
 but she answered him seriously.
 
 74 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' It is possible that it might have been 
 better for us both.' 
 
 He squeezed her arm tightly, and would 
 have stopped her mouth with a kiss if some of 
 the passengers had not come aft at that 
 moment. 
 
 They were miserable, and yet happy in 
 being together in spite of the ever-present con- 
 sciousness of the rapidity with which their hour 
 of parting was drawing near. 
 
 He had done all he could to prevent her 
 going away ; but the arrangements had been 
 completed before he had heard anything about 
 it, and Euth was not to be moved from her 
 purpose. When it had been suggested to him 
 that her chief reason for going was her anxiety 
 to prevent him from being encumbered with a 
 penniless wife, he had asked her if that were so. 
 She had told him — certainly, that had much to 
 do with her determination. He protested 
 against the idea, and she answered, quietly —
 
 ON BOARD THE 'EUCALYPTUS: 75 
 
 ' Very well ; if you are so sure that you will 
 never regret your union with me, you can 
 prove it to me by letting me go for one 
 year.' 
 
 ' For two if you like — no, that's nonsense,' 
 he cried, checking himself. But he agreed to 
 the test, and he was left little time for reflection 
 or renewed persuasion. He seemed to have 
 scarcely drawn breath between the time when 
 he first heard of her proposed journey, and the 
 day on which he found himself with her on 
 board the Eucalyptus. 
 
 The Captain came up to them with a 
 friendly warning that Mr. Meredith would soon 
 have to go on board the tug, unless he 
 intended to keep them company as far as 
 Sydney. 
 
 ' I have a great mind to do so,' said Stephen, 
 asking himself why should he not? He was 
 there with all that he cared for most in the 
 world. Why should he not go with her ?
 
 76 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 She helped him out of that folly : there 
 were duties to others which could not be cast 
 aside. 
 
 ' I had almost forgotten — here is a note 
 which Mr. Eapier asked me to give you.' 
 
 ' I do not hke him,' she said, ' and do not 
 know why he should write to me.' 
 
 ' It is only to say good-bye, I suppose. I 
 know you are prejudiced against him ; but he 
 is a good fellow and your friend.' 
 
 The signal came : the tug was about to cast 
 off. They kissed there on the deck — a sad 
 kiss, and it did not matter who saw. Then 
 in a moment it seemed that he was on board 
 the tug, steaming back landward, and the 
 ship with sails spread was gliding away to 
 sea. 
 
 How soon the little steamer became a 
 speck to her watching it from the big ship ! 
 How soon the big ship became a speck to him ! 
 He waved a handkerchief as long as she was
 
 ON BOARD THE 'EUCALYPTUS: 77 
 
 in sight, and she waved the letter he had placed 
 in her hand. 
 
 He clenched his teeth and frowned as the 
 vessel melted into the clouds, crying bitterly to 
 himself, ' Why should this parting be ? Thank 
 God, it will soon end. A year is a short time 
 in a busy life, and our happiness will be the 
 greater for this trial of our faith.' 
 
 Her eyes were dim very soon, and slie 
 pressed her feverish brow against the bulwark. 
 Then she heard footsteps near, and with a 
 mechanical effort to hide her emotion she 
 carelessly opened the note that was in her 
 hand. This was what she read : — 
 
 ' You will see me sooner than you expect. 
 It will be a surprise for you, and a pleasant 
 one, I hope. 
 
 ' Lewis Eapier.' 
 
 This was puzzhng, but she was too full of 
 other thoughts to attempt to make out the 
 meaning of the words.
 
 78 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 'Miss Clark,' said somebody behind her, 
 and she seemed to know the voice. 
 
 She turned slowly, and saw Lewis Eapier 
 smiling at her.
 
 79 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 THE HAND OF DESTINY IN KID GLOVES 
 
 The surprise was so great that she could only 
 stare at him for a few moments without a 
 thought of speech. 
 
 A round fur cap, a tight-fitting overcoat 
 with fur collar and facings, the tall, gracefully 
 muscular figure, the handsome face, lit by the 
 bright blue eyes and adorned by the thick, 
 well-trimmed black moustache, and the whole 
 circumstance of the man's unexpected appear- 
 ance combined to make it impressive, as well 
 as startling. 
 
 ' You are astonished and not pleased,' he 
 said, evidently enjoying her amazement ; and 
 yet there was a note of sadness in his voice.
 
 8o OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 She continued to look at him, but made no 
 reply. There was nothing like fear in .her ex- 
 pression ; it was simply that of amazement 
 slowly developing into one of curiosity. 
 
 ' What are you thinking about ? ' he in- 
 quired, still smiling. 
 
 ' Yanderdecken.' was the droll response. 
 
 ' The Flying Dutchman ! Well, he is not a 
 bad prototype for me. If I remember the 
 legend at all correctly, he was a man doomed 
 for his sins to the weird fate of having to make 
 a constant but futile attempt to weather a 
 storm, but permitted at long intervals to visit 
 the earth in search of the one thing that would 
 break the spell which was upon him — that was 
 the love of a true woman. . . . There are 
 many Vanderdeckens in the world, many poor 
 wretches condemned to be perpetually fighting 
 with the storms of life, and few have the good 
 fortune to find the charm which breaks the 
 spell. Shall I be amongst the lucky ones.^ '
 
 THE HAND OF DESTINY IN KID GLOVES. 8i 
 
 ' Do you deserve to be ? ' she asked coldly, 
 the while her fingers were dehberately tearing 
 his note into fragments. 
 
 ' Who can answer such a problem as that 
 for himself? Of course I think I do. You 
 and others may not agree with me ; and even 
 if I succeeded in obtaining the treasure, you 
 might still deny that I deserved it. There 
 would be very little love in the world if it were 
 to be meted out according to desert.' 
 
 She held the fragments of paper on tlie 
 palm of her hand over the bulwark and the 
 wind swept them away — all except one piece 
 which fell upon the deck. She carefully picked 
 it up and cast it overboard. 
 
 He watched her closely as she did this, and 
 although he could divine nothing from her 
 calm and thoughtful face, the action told him a 
 great deal. 
 
 ' You are annoyed that you should have 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 been waving your adieu to Stephen Meredith 
 with my note in your hand ? ' 
 
 ' I am.' 
 
 ' There is a kind of satire in it ; but he will 
 never know anything about it, and so will 
 suiSer nothing in consequence of the sign of my 
 coming being the signal of his farewell.' 
 
 'It was unfortunate that he should have 
 been the bearer of it,' she said, looking in 
 the direction in which the tug had dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 ' I did not mean any petty cruelty to him 
 in asking him to be my messenger ; I wanted 
 you to feel that he and I are friends.' 
 
 ' Friends ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, and good ones, I believe. Are you 
 superstitious ? ' 
 
 ' I think not.' 
 
 ' I am ; and in your own act of using that 
 paper to signal farewell to him I can see my 
 own future.'
 
 THE HAND OF DESTINY IN KID GLOVES. S3 
 
 ' Most people who see their own future only 
 see what they wish it to be.' 
 
 This so quietly that the undercurrent of 
 contempt was scarcely perceptible, even to 
 Lewis Eapier, who was gifted with special 
 sensitiveness to every change of tone. An 
 ^olian harp could not answer the modulations 
 of the breeze more quickly than he detected 
 the variations of feeling in others toward him. 
 What he did notice he did not heed. 
 
 ' True, and I do not profess to see anything 
 but what I wish. I know that things will 
 happen which will not be agreeable, but while^t 
 it is in our power we need not dwell upon 
 them further than to take such precautions 
 against them as common sense may suggest. 
 When I said that I could see my future I 
 meant my future in relation to you.' 
 
 ' To me ! ' she exclaimed, turning upon 
 him with open contempt and something like 
 anger. Then, checking herself, she added
 
 84 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 coldly ; ' There can be no possible relationship 
 between your future and mine.' 
 
 There was no passion, no ill-temper on his 
 face or in his voice ; there was rather a sugges- 
 tion of regret that what he prophesied must be 
 as he said — 
 
 ' You are my fate, my destiny, or what- 
 ever we may call that which w^e can't help, 
 don't like, and yet must submit to ; and I am 
 yours. Dreadful nonsense this — is it not? 
 And you would be glad to get away from me ? 
 Well, you shall — for a time ; but meanwhile, 
 suppose we take a turn along the deck, and 
 when you are more reconciled to my presence 
 we can try to understand each other.' 
 
 She drew back. 
 
 ' Mr. Eapier, I am not well, and I am 
 much distressed. You know that I do not like 
 you, and you are aware that your appearance 
 here is as unpleasant as it is surprising. I 
 certaioly would not have come by this ship if I
 
 THE HAND OF DESTINY IN KID GLOVES. 83 
 
 had known that you also were to be a 
 passenger. That is frank enough.' 
 
 ' You always were frank, and I hope you 
 have found me the same. You msh me to 
 leave you. I shall do so, because I know that 
 by-and-by you will call me to your aid.' 
 
 ' Eidiculous ! ' 
 
 ' May-be — as it seems at present. Come 
 and, as we walk, I shall explain.' 
 
 He offered his arm, and she thrust her 
 hands into the pockets of her ulster. But she 
 walked beside him. 
 
 The wind was moderate, and the vessel was 
 making its way lazily. 
 
 ' I am not a passenger,' he proceeded. 
 
 ' I am glad of that. But ! ' 
 
 ' But how am I to be disposed of ? ' he said, 
 with a shght laugh, completing her exclamation. 
 ' Easily enough. I came on board desiring to 
 be the last friend who should speak to you on 
 this side of the world, and with a very feeble
 
 86 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 hope that, after we had talked together, your 
 course might be changed. I waited in the 
 mate's cabin, and came out when you were 
 alone. Now, as to getting away — look.' 
 
 He pointed to a speck on the water. 
 
 ' That thing is a yacht : one of the fastest 
 sailers afloat. It is waiting your commands.' 
 
 ' What nonsense is this, Mr. Eapier .^ ' 
 
 ' No nonsense at all. It is simply this : I 
 have made very complete arrangements, as you 
 must perceive, to ' 
 
 ' To annoy me, apparently.' 
 
 'No, — to do whatever you please. That 
 yacht will take me back to London alone ; or 
 will take us both wherever your fancy pleases 
 to rove.' 
 
 She looked at the speck on the water ; she 
 looked at him. She put out her hand and 
 touched him on the shoulder ; then she looked 
 1)ack again along the track of the vessel. 
 There was no land in sight ; only sea and sky.
 
 THE HAND OF DESTINY IN KID GLOVES. 87 
 
 and that faint line which marked dimly for a 
 little way the course they had steered 
 
 ' I am not dreaming. It is real — I am on 
 board the Eucalyptus ; Stephen has gone home, 
 and you are with me. What does it all 
 mean ? ' 
 
 She spoke in the self-questioning way of one 
 waking from a dream so vivid that it cannot be 
 immediately distinguished from reality, and she 
 passed her hand over her eyes to clear her 
 vision. 
 
 ' It is not intended to mean anything that 
 should be disagreeable to you.' 
 
 ' You can easily prove that ! ' 
 
 ' You mean of course by leaving you. Very 
 well, I am prepared to do even that ; but first 
 I want you to listen to me for, say, ten 
 minutes.' 
 
 'I am at your mercy, and I suppose you 
 may speak for twenty minutes if you are so 
 disposed.'
 
 88 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 He took out his watch and held it with the 
 face towards her. 
 
 ' You can stop me when I pass my 
 time.' 
 
 ' Go on.' 
 
 ' Very well. Take my arm so that your 
 fellow-passengers may not think we are quar- 
 relling.' 
 
 She obeyed without thinking, and instantly 
 became conscious that she had made a mistake 
 in yielding even in this trifling matter to his 
 command ; for it was a command, and the 
 reference to the passengers a mere pretext. 
 He acted on the principle of the mesmerist, and 
 obtained submission to his will by the firm 
 assertion of it. 
 
 ' I wish you to feel in the first place that I 
 have divined the real meaning of your self- 
 banishment. You are going away in order 
 that Stephen Meredith may marry Dahlia Whit- 
 combe, and so obtain the fortune which Mr.
 
 THE HAND OF DESTINY IN KID GLOVES. 89 
 
 Dottridge designs for them in that event. 
 That is correct ? ' 
 
 ' I cannot see what you have to do with the 
 motives of my conduct ? ' 
 
 ' I have everything to do with them, for by 
 
 ho wing you that I understand them I expect you 
 
 to learn to understand me, and in time — if not 
 
 at once — be content with your fate ; that is me.' 
 
 She withdrew her arm from his and looked 
 straight in his face. 
 
 ' In many ways I have had reason to admire 
 your judgment and discretion. I do not dis- 
 cover either in your present conduct. Suppos- 
 ing I could care for you — and you know that is 
 impossible — why should you desire to marry a 
 poor woman when you have so many opportu- 
 nities to secure one who has a fortune ? ' 
 
 ' Because I prefer you, and think you have 
 a fortune — in yourself. I am aware it is foolish, 
 and it is the one foolish thing I have done in 
 the course of my life which cannot be mended.
 
 90 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 But, you see, there is no accounting for these 
 eccentricities of nature. My time is getting 
 short, and you will excuse tne if I am a little 
 rough in the way I put things. Although you 
 are going away with what is really a kind, 
 generous motive, you are sustained by the hope 
 — by the belief that Meredith will remain true ; 
 and that when he learns what Dottridge's 
 arrangement is he will refuse Dahlia and wait 
 for you. That is what you expect. Own it, to 
 yourself if not to me.' 
 
 ' J have no answer,' she said weariedly, and 
 again she glanced backward. 
 
 ' I do not require any ; but I wish you 
 could get rid of the thought or hope. He will 
 marry Dahlia Whitcombe ; he will cherish 
 kindly memories of you — probably he will 
 name one of their children after you — and he 
 will have an easy, comfortable life. You know 
 he could not have that with you, for he is too 
 feeble to withstand the stings of poverty,
 
 THE HAND OF DESTINY IN KID GLOVES. 91 
 
 knowing that he might have been rich but for 
 you. You know all that and you cannot trust 
 him.' 
 
 ' Are you nearly done ? ' she asked with 
 clenched teeth. 
 
 'Yes, but I have two minutes yet, and I 
 wish to tell you that Meredith is absolutely 
 ruined, and that, unless by the help of Dahlia 
 Whitcombe, he cannot remain at Derewood 
 Grange for six months longer. He does not 
 himself yet know how complete is his ruin. 
 His mother does, and she is Dahlia's friend. 
 With these circumstances combined the result 
 is inevitable.' 
 
 She bowed her head, and he did not see 
 how her lips trembled ; he could not hear the 
 cry which passed through her brain. He was 
 surprised by the quietness of her response and 
 the nature of it. 
 
 ' Thank you, Mr. Eapier ; you have done 
 me the greatest kindness that one friend could
 
 92 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 do to another in setting these matters clearly 
 before me. I am glad that the parting is over, 
 and now I shall look back without regret since 
 I know the importance of the service I have 
 rendered him. Thank you again.' 
 
 ' I thought it would do you good to have 
 matters plainly stated; and you see my httle 
 surprise has not been altogether unpleasant.' 
 
 * I am obliged to you ; that is all I can say.' 
 
 ' I wish you could speak a little less coldly 
 to me. However, I can wait, for I know that 
 your feelings will change towards me when you 
 have learnt to think a little less about him. 
 One thing more ; although Dottridge has not 
 done for you what he ought to have done, and 
 what I believe at one time he intended to 
 do ' 
 
 ' Stop, sir. You must not speak one word 
 about Mr. Dottridge. You know him well — 
 in some respects, better perhaps than I do ; but 
 in this instance you do not understand him or
 
 THE HAND OF DESTINY IN KID GLOVES. 93 
 
 me. He has been kind and generous, and has 
 done everything I could wish or permit. Let 
 that suffice.' 
 
 ' It is enough. Now for the question which 
 all this leads to. There is the yacht : Do yoi 
 come with me, or do you remain on board the 
 Eucalyptus ? ' 
 
 ' I remain here. Farewell ^ ' 
 
 ' No, not farewell in the sense in which you 
 are using the word. This is only a brief good- 
 bye.' 
 
 He pressed her hand fervently. She could 
 not speak any more, but hurried down to her 
 cabin. 
 
 An hour later, when she returned to the 
 deck, Lewis Eapier was no longer on board the 
 vessel.
 
 94 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 CHAPTEE VIL 
 
 AT DEEEWOOT) GRANGE. 
 
 A PLAIN white house with a roof of red tiles 
 — the red toned down by age into a warm 
 sober hue and varied by patches of hchen. A 
 squat, substantial building which in sunshine or 
 rain, in summer or winter, filled the eye with a 
 sense of ' home.' That was Derewood Grange. 
 In front there was a considerable lawn sur- 
 rounded by orchard ground ; at the back there 
 were more orchard, a large kitchen garden, 
 forcing-houses, and vineries. The stable, cow- 
 house, barn, pigstyes, and other farm buildings, 
 formed a square at one corner of the kitchen 
 garden, and within two hundred yards of the
 
 AT DEREWOOD GRANGE. 95 
 
 house ; for Derewood Grange had been erected 
 at a time when the proprietors were proud of 
 their cattle and their occupation as farmers. 
 The nearness of the duck-pond had no suggestive 
 terror of damp, for the Merediths of past gene- 
 rations believed and the present generation had 
 grown up in the faith that there was no finer 
 specimen of an English country house to be 
 found anywhere. The difficulties of which 
 they all had had some experience only rendered 
 the place more dear to them. There was 
 nothing new-fangled about the appearance 
 of house or grounds outside, although Mrs. 
 Meredith and her daughters had contrived to 
 introduce a few modern improvements to the 
 interior. There was, however, a vast difference 
 in the system of cultivating the land, and the 
 number of new machines Stephen had about 
 the place, either on trial or in permanent use, 
 bewildered the old labourers and made Dick 
 Smalley, who had been born here and begun
 
 96 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 service under the grandfather of the present 
 master, a melancholy prophet of certain ruin. 
 
 ' Hands don't count for aught nowadays,' 
 was his constant growl, ' and I s'pose afore long 
 there won't be no work for man or woman to 
 do. I've seen as many as fifty folk in the fields 
 at harvest, where now there ain't more'n ten, or 
 maybe a dozen. What are we going to do if 
 all the work is to be done by them machines ? ' 
 
 Dick shook his head and pottered about, 
 finding that there was plenty for him to do, 
 whatever he might think of the work done by 
 others. 
 
 It was night when Stephen reached Dun- 
 thorpe Station, and as he had not been certain 
 of the time of his return, he had told Dick that 
 he would walk home — the distance was under 
 three miles. He was, therefore, somewhat 
 surprised to see the Grange dog-cart waiting at 
 the door. 
 
 An explanation was immediately provided
 
 AT DEREWOOD GRANGE, 97 
 
 by his brother ' Jim ' — a sturdy little fellow of 
 sixteen, fiill of fun and vanity. Everybody 
 called him ' Jim,' and his figure seemed to be 
 made for the name : he called himself — James 
 Austin Meredith, and insisted upon being so 
 described by everyone over wliom he had any 
 authority. 
 
 ' Hallo ! you have turned up Steve ! DahUa 
 said you would. She'd a parcel coming from 
 London — new bonnet I suppose — and she got 
 me to drive her over for it. Then as this was 
 the last train, we thought we'd wait a minute 
 and see if you came by it. She said you 
 would ; I bet tuppence you wouldn't, and I've 
 lost. Lend us a bob, like a good chap, so that 
 I may pay my debt of honour. Thanks — you 
 can score it up against me. Here she is.' 
 
 Dahlia came forward from the parcel 
 office. 
 
 ' It has not come, and it is so vexing to 
 have brought you all this way for nothing, Jim.' 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' What a whopper ! ' was Jim's mental 
 exclamation as he saw her blushing greeting of 
 Stephen. He said aloud : ' You've won tup- 
 oence, that's something, isn't it ? ' 
 
 ' And we have met Stephen, which is much 
 nore satisfactory,' she said, laughing. 
 
 ' To you, I daresay,' cried Jim, unsym- 
 pathetically, as he pocketed his shilhng without 
 having paid the ' tuppence,' as he had no 
 change. ' I want my supper, so let us start. 
 I drive, and you two can spoon as much as you 
 like ; I won't hear or see. For another bob, 
 Steve, I'd walk home, and leave you the trap 
 to yourselves.' 
 
 He made a malicious pretence of whisper- 
 ing the last sentence, and so gave it greater 
 emphasis. 
 
 ' I am in no joking humour, Jim, and you 
 may have to walk home without a bribe if you 
 don't take care.' 
 
 ' Temper ! ' said the lad, with a sliort
 
 AT DEREWOOD GRANGE. 99 
 
 whistle, as he took his seat and the reins. He 
 continued to mutter to himself, whilst his 
 brother was assisting Miss Whitcombe, and 
 arranging the rugs. ' Don't believe there was 
 any bonnet at all. Only a dodge to catch 
 Steve, and to look as if it was quite by accident. 
 Eeady, you people ? Then off we go.' 
 
 He made the whip play about the horse's 
 ears, and they passed out of the dim lights of 
 the station into the white, misty atmosphere of 
 a December night. 
 
 Dahlia Whitcombe was a handsome girl, of 
 average height, plump and well-developed. 
 She had a fair, round face, soft sympathetic 
 mouth and big eyes, which seemed to be in 
 a perpetual state of surprise. She would have 
 been taken by any painter as a model for 
 wondering innocence. But the one fact upon 
 which she particularly prided herself was that 
 she could say with truth ' I am not a fool' 
 
 She was one of those creatures who seem
 
 ICO OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 to be always gushing forward to ' a first love.' 
 This is really the first and only one ! But she 
 had written and said the same thing a dozen 
 times before. To some extent she believed in 
 the theory herself; all that had previously 
 happened had been mere fancies. This one 
 was the real love : there was no necessity to 
 speak about by-gone odd kisses and embraces 
 and protestations. 
 
 'I am glad we met you,' she said to 
 Stephen when they had got comfortably 
 seated ; and there was a kindliness in her voice 
 for which the man was grateful. 'You must 
 be tired after such a long journey.' 
 
 ' I have not thought about the journey,' he 
 said softly ; ' but I do feel tired and depressed. 
 I think seeing a friend off to Australia is very 
 hke attending a funeral.' 
 
 Dahlia had many pretty ways : she could 
 shudder very prettily, and she did so now. It 
 was not a marked movement ; it was just
 
 AT D ERE WOOD GRANGE. loi 
 
 enough to show the gentle tremor that was 
 passing over her, and it suggested a deal of 
 feehng. 
 
 ' Poor Euth,' she sighed, as if speaking to 
 herself rather than to him. ' I wish she could 
 have been persuaded to remain with us.' 
 
 ' I wish so too,' he ejaculated earnestly. 
 
 ' It is strange how determined she was,' 
 continued Dahlia, looking dreamily into his 
 face, and dim as the Ught was he could catch 
 the expression of yearning sympathy that was in 
 her eyes. ' Did she remain quite firm to the 
 last ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; nothing could move her.' 
 
 His voice was husky, and he turned his face 
 away from his companion. 
 
 ' I never knew anybody who had such a 
 determined way as Euth, and yet I cannot 
 think of her as what people call a strong- 
 minded woman — she was so gentle in all her 
 ways.'
 
 I02 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' She was indeed. Do you notice how we 
 are talking about her — as if she were dead ! ' 
 
 Dahlia again shuddered very prettily. 
 
 ' It is so like that,' she replied in an under- 
 tone. ' When I said to her — " But you will 
 come back soon," she only kissed me, and then 
 after a little while whispered to me, " I do not 
 think I shall ever come back, Dahlia," and 
 although we were standing in the drawing- 
 room, with the fire burning very brightly, I felt 
 as if I had been kneeling by the death bed of 
 somebody I was very fond of. I told her so, 
 and she laughed at me, and told me I was a 
 sentimental, foolish creature. But you feel it 
 is Hke that, do you not ? ' 
 
 ' At times, I do ; but then I know it is not 
 quite so bad as that. I know that she will 
 come back, and I hope and beheve that we 
 shall all have many merry days together in 
 spite of the unpleasant appearance of things at 
 present.'
 
 AT D ERE WOOD GRANGE. 103 
 
 ' Do you think it will be so ? ' she cried 
 eagerly. ' I am glad you are able to think 
 that, and I hope it may be, with all my heart.' 
 
 She put out her dainty httle hand, and 
 Stephen took it in his, clasping it gratefully. 
 These were the first words of real sympathy he 
 had heard in regard to Euth, and they made 
 a deep impression upon Iiim. The first kind 
 hand . wdiich touches us in the moments of 
 acutest pain seems always the gentlest. His 
 mother had not concealed the fact that she was 
 glad Euth was going away, although she had 
 said nothing harsh about her. His eldest sisteF 
 Harriet; — the bright sympathetic ' Hat,' as she 
 was called, the friend, confidante, and counsellor 
 of the whole family — was away from home. 
 The other girls were not in his confidence, and 
 although they knew quite well how much he 
 was disturbed by Euth's departure, they were 
 sufficiently under the control of their mother 
 to think it wise to offer him no consolation.
 
 I04 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 So it came about that Dahlia was his first 
 comforter in his sorrow, and he, who had 
 always hitherto regarded her as a somewhat 
 selfish and decidedly frivolous girl, was able to 
 say to his mother when he entered the Grange 
 that night — 
 
 'Dahha is wonderfully improved. I am 
 glad she met me at the station, though I didn't 
 like the sight of her at first. She has done me 
 a great deal of good.' 
 
 ' I always told you that she was a good 
 girl,' said the mother calmly, thinking of the 
 heiress and gratified by Stephen's appreciation 
 of her.
 
 lo: 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WITH THE BEST INTENTIONS! 
 
 There was not the slightest doubt in Mrs. 
 Meredith's mind that Dahha was a suitable and 
 even a desirable partner for her son ; she had 
 never had the slightest doubt of it from the 
 moment she heard that the lady was to be 
 regarded in every way as the daughter of 
 Humphrey Dottridge, and was to inherit ^ con- 
 siderable fortune. He had told her so him- 
 self, and had laid much emphasis on his 
 desire that she should become Stephen's wife. 
 
 Notwithstanding their relationship, Mrs. 
 Meredith knew very little about her late 
 husband's nephew. His ways had been always^
 
 io6 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 if not mysterious, at any rate reticent about his 
 private affairs. She knew vaguely that in 
 various gigantic financial speculations he had 
 amassed much wealth ; but what' the amount 
 might be she had no idea ; and the vagueness 
 of the rumours regarding it tended to magnify 
 its extent in her eyes. She saw enough and 
 heard enough, however, to be awed by a sense 
 of its vastness, and she had good reasons for 
 wishing that as much as possible of it might 
 find its way to Derewood Grange. Eestricted 
 means and ^nq girls to provide for are condi- 
 tions which would set any judicious mother 
 thinking about her rich relations. 
 
 But in addition to the fact that she was an 
 heiress, Mrs. Meredith was moved by the con- 
 viction that Dahlia was fond of her son, and the 
 girls were all fond of her. She had been dis- 
 pleased when she became aware of Stephen's infa- 
 tuation for Euth Clark — a ' penniless dependent,' 
 as she called her — but was careful not to irri-
 
 WITH THE BEST INTENTIONS! 107 
 
 tate him by saying too much on the subject. 
 She was now in high glee at the course events 
 had taken, and was confident that her 
 y wishes and Mr. Dottridge's would be fulfilled. 
 And here was the proof of it ; on the very 
 first night after Euth had been definitely dis- 
 posed of, Stephen had uttered the first kind 
 words which had passed his lips about Dahha 
 for some time. 
 
 Mrs. Meredith was not exactly a schemer, 
 but she would do a good deal to serve her 
 own purposes, especially when convinced that 
 in serving them she was really advancing 
 the interests of others. She was a little, stout, 
 bright-eyed woman of active brain and habits, 
 always doing something for somebody's good ; 
 and even when she did make mistakes, as 
 would sometimes happen, she could console her- 
 self with that most agreeable of all reflections, 
 that she had done everything with the best 
 intentions.
 
 io8 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 So when Dahlia came to say good-night — 
 
 ' You are looking very well, child,' she said, 
 smiling cheerfully ; ' and I have something to 
 tell you — Stephen was very pleased that you 
 met him at the station to-night.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' and the exclamation of pleasure 
 was expressed in the eyes as well as by the 
 mouth. 
 
 ' I told you he would be, and, you little 
 goose, you very nearly missed the opportunity 
 of pleasing him ! — if I had not remembered 
 about that bonnet coming from town!' 
 
 At this reference to the bonnet, a comical 
 smile overspread the faces of both — an inno- 
 cent kind of smile, although — if the comparison 
 were not somewhat coarse when applied to two 
 ladies who really meant no harm — it might be 
 described as the kind of smile which two con- 
 federates engaged in the confidence trick inter- 
 change when they see their dupe is success- 
 fully hoaxed.
 
 WITH THE BEST INTENTIONS! 109 
 
 ' I am very glad I went— he was very nice 
 and kind, but I wish it could have been done 
 without the bonnet. Jim said it was all a 
 pretence, and if he should find it out ! You 
 know how angry he gets about anything of that 
 sort.' 
 
 ' But, my dear, you are • going to get a 
 bonnet, and Stephen shall drive you to the 
 station himself, so that he may see you receive 
 it, if you like. You need not trouble yourself 
 all the same ; Stephen will not give the matter 
 a thought. Jim is only a boy, and likes to say 
 things which tantalize you girls.' 
 
 Dahlia smoothed her plump soft hands one 
 upon the other, and looked thoughtfully into 
 the fire. Her thoughts were pleasant ones, for 
 the happy light was still upon her face. Then 
 very deliberately she said — 
 
 ' I think it would have been better to have 
 told him frankly that I went to the station 
 because I hoped to meet him, and because
 
 no ■ OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 I hoped to see how he looked after the 
 parting.' 
 
 She said this not as one who was regretting 
 having performed cleverly a piece of petty de- 
 ception — she was, indeed, a little proud of her 
 skill in this respect — but as one who begins 
 to think that the plain simple truth might 
 have been more profitable. 
 
 'I have no doubt he would have said 
 "Thank you, you are very kind," and not 
 spoken another word to you all the way 
 home.' 
 
 ' Do you think he would have done 
 that?' she asked, still thinking, and a shade 
 of seriousness coming over her pretty face 
 now. 
 
 'I am sure of it.' 
 
 ' Then you believe he cared for her a great 
 deal, and he can never care for me in the same 
 way ? ... I am sorry for that. I wanted to 
 think that he could care for nobody in the
 
 WITH THE BEST INTENTIONS / in 
 
 world like me. I wish he had gone with her 
 — it is cruel to be obliged to marry him or 
 become a beggar. I don't think I can do it 
 unless he pretends to care for me. ... I 
 might be content with even that, but he won't 
 do it. I wish I was dead.' 
 
 She covered her face with one hand to hide 
 the tears which sprang to her eyes — tears of 
 vexation and wounded vanity. 
 
 In her manner there was a curious mingling 
 of childish anxiety to possess a coveted toy 
 which at present belonged to another, of 
 woman's jealousy, and of affection for the man ; 
 whilst there was a strong undercurrent of irri- 
 tation at the thought of the consequences to 
 herself if she failed to win him. She was 
 clever enough to know that, although she was 
 very showy in her appearance and accomplish- 
 ments, she was not very useful, and would find 
 the world hard indeed to deal with if she should 
 ever be compelled to attempt to earn her own
 
 112 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 living by real work of any kind. She had a great 
 dread of poverty, although she never had had 
 any personal experience of it. She had never 
 known what it was to have to consider the 
 value of a shilling — or a sovereign for that 
 matter — and she did not want to be obliged to 
 begin the experiment now. 
 
 Mrs. Meredith w^as sometimes puzzled to 
 make out the real feelings of this girl, and she 
 was a little puzzled in that way just now. 
 But she placed her hand in a motherly way 
 on her shoulder, and said good-naturedly — 
 
 ' You are talking very foolislily, Dahha, and 
 I think you must have got too much excited 
 over your drive with Stephen. I do not know 
 how much he cared for Euth Clark, but ^he will 
 be at the other end of the world in a few weeks, 
 and you are here. I never heard of a man 
 who kept on loving a person at that distance 
 when he had a kind and faithful sweetheart 
 beside him. Take my word for it — be kind to
 
 WITH THE BEST INTENTIONS' 113 
 
 him, and he will soon care more for you than 
 he ever did for her.' 
 
 ' You know I will be kind to him — I can't 
 help it. But how are we to know how soon 
 she may return ? ' 
 
 ' Mr. Eapier will be here in a day or two and 
 tell us all about it. Stephen thought he was 
 to be the last to see Euth ; but Mr. Eapier said 
 that was a mistake, as he was to be the last. 
 You know what a droll creature that man is — 
 he always does what he says, and that is why 
 he puzzles people so much. Now take a good 
 sleep, and you will be better in the morning. 
 Good-night.' 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 114 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 HIS HOPE. 
 
 But Mrs. Meredith did not understand what 
 substantial food hope is for lovers. They can 
 exist upon it alone for periods ranging from 
 five minutes to five years. The length of the 
 period is regulated by the graduation of the 
 degrees of imaginary and real liking of which 
 the love is compounded. Only true love 
 attains the longer period, and then other 
 considerations must be taken into account ; 
 chief amongst these is the one that the hope 
 nourishment must be used by both sides. 
 When that is the case, then the more opposi- 
 tion is brought to bear against the love the 
 more sustaining does the food prove.
 
 HIS HOPE, 115 
 
 Stephen was well supplied with the nourish- 
 ing food called hope ; he had snch a stock that 
 he could stand a siege of twelve years instead 
 of twelve months. But there was just that 
 one small mouse in the granary — she had 
 said she would come back if he proved true ! 
 That implied a doubt of him, and so he knew 
 in a vague way that she could not be sustained 
 by the boundless hope which kept him up. 
 
 If he proved ti'ue ! 
 
 What a foohsh suggestion for her to make 
 — what an unworthy doubt — this came with 
 a touch of pain — what a cruel thing for her to 
 say ! 
 
 But she had been much troubled in her 
 mind during the last few months, poor girl ! 
 She loved him, he was sure of that. She had 
 said she would come back, ard Euth never 
 broke a promise. 
 
 That was enough for him — it ought to be 
 enough, and he had his part to do in order to 
 I 2
 
 ii6 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 make her glad to come. He had to buckle to 
 his work manfully, and clear his feet of all the 
 difficulties which hampered them. That could 
 be done ; no man who is really willing to work 
 can be overcome by fortune. He boldly 
 accepts her worst buffets and then cries — 
 
 ' You have done your worst for that bout. 
 Now I am ready to begin again.' 
 
 And he begins again and conquers. 
 That w^as Stephen's theory of life. He had 
 need of the hardihood which such a theory 
 implie:^, for when he went into his affairs and 
 the legacy of debt which had been left him, he 
 found things more involved than he, in his 
 worst fits of depression, had thought they 
 were. In some of these fits, indeed, the faith 
 in his own theory was severely tested ; for it 
 seemed to require a greater power of endurance 
 than he possessed to keep matters straight at 
 Derewood Grange. 
 
 At such times he was grateful for the
 
 HIS HOPE. iiy 
 
 soothing presence of Dahlia. She did not in 
 any way obtrude her sympathy upon him ; but, 
 somehow, she seemed to be always suggesting 
 the cheery words — 
 
 ' Courage ! You will overcome all these 
 worries. You will do it for Euth's sake.' 
 
 That was really helpful to the man ; and 
 he found himself taking more interest in the 
 future of this girl than at one time he thought 
 possible. The fact was that his sense of relief 
 in finding that she was aware of his feelings for 
 Ruth, and appreciated them, gave him much 
 delight. His mother and sisters might specu- 
 late as much as they pleased about uniting 
 him to Dahlia against his will, as long as Dahlia 
 herself had no idea of that kind and was his 
 true friend and Euth's. 
 
 So much he expressed to Mr. Bassnett 
 when he saw him about his afiairs in accord- 
 ance with the last instructions of his cousin. Mr. 
 Bassnett, of course, had made a formal appoint-
 
 ii8 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ment in a note signed in the name of the firm, 
 because in all business transactions Mr. Bassnett 
 was most particular to observe the strictest 
 formality even with his private friends — it 
 saved so many misunderstandings, and at once 
 removed any impression a client might have 
 that friendly feelings could affect his judgment 
 of the case in hand. 
 
 He could not prevent a friend from refer- 
 ring to matters which were not directly con- 
 nected with business, but he seldom pro- 
 nounced an opinion on such subjects : and yet 
 he always left the impression of having given 
 you the best possible advice which a man of 
 experience and your friend could offer under 
 the circumstances. 
 
 In the present instance he examined 
 Stephen's face carefully, and there was a pecu- 
 liar smile on his own as he did so. 
 
 ' Yes ; I always thought Miss Whitcombe a 
 bright, clever sort of girl,' he said as he
 
 HIS HOPE. 119 
 
 watched Stephen ; ' and if all goes well she will 
 have a comfortable little fortune to bring to the 
 man who marries her. At present I think all 
 will go well.' 
 
 There was a significance in the intonation of 
 the last sentence which Stephen did not observe. 
 
 ' I sincerely hope it will,' was his earnest 
 observation. ' I think she deserves that all 
 should go well with her.' 
 
 ' I am sure it will if you like to help her,' 
 said the lawyer laughingly. 
 
 ' And I am sure that I shall be ready to do 
 anything in my power to help her,' was 
 Stephen's innocent response. ' From the way 
 you speak, Bassnett, it seems as if you knew 
 some way in which I could help her. Should 
 that be the case, tell me, for there cannot be 
 any one more willing to do it.' 
 
 ' Oh, I have no doubt you will find out the 
 way when the occasion arises. Meanwhile, we 
 must go to your own business.'
 
 I20 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 ' I beg your pardon. Bassnett ; I ought to 
 know your ways by this time, and here have I 
 been chattering about things which we ought 
 to have discussed at home. Well, the affairs 
 are bad : Dottridge said he had made arrange- 
 ments to tide me over the present mess, and 
 you would explain, as he is forbidden to enter 
 into details himself.' 
 
 'Well, luckily, there is at this moment 
 nothing very harassing for you to hear or me 
 explain. Your last speculations involved a 
 clear loss of three thousand. That is not a big 
 sum to look at in figures, but it is not easy to 
 find when you want it. I have known men of 
 much more considerable property than you 
 possess — men of ancient title and family, who 
 have had to go through the court for a sum 
 like that. Of course, it only represents the last 
 straw.' 
 
 ' And the last straw would break me, but 
 for Dottridge.'
 
 niS HOPE. 121 
 
 ' Exactly ; his instructions are that all your 
 present engagements are to be met, and that for 
 one year you are to be allowed to act as freely 
 as if Derewood did not owe any man a penny.' 
 
 ' Ah, he knows that one year will suffice to 
 set me on my feet.' 
 
 'I did not ask him what he knew,' said the 
 lawyer, complacently, ' or why he acted as he 
 is doing. He is a strange man, placed in a very 
 peculiar position, and I must say between our- 
 selves that he is acting very well for all parties. 
 But he means to be a little hard on you.' 
 
 ' In what way ? ' 
 
 ' At the end of the year he says you must 
 be prepared to meet your engagements your- 
 self. Of course, if he is alive that will not be 
 of much consequence, but you know his condi- 
 tion and ' 
 
 ' Why, in this Dottridge gives me the 
 strongest proof of friendship,' cried Stephen 
 warmly. ' He knows what a bitter pill it is for
 
 122 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 me to swallow the necessity to make these 
 arrangements, and he understands that at the 
 end of the year I should sell up everything 
 rather than have to renew them — or seek the 
 renewal of them — I ought to say. Dottridge 
 is a strange fellow, but he never showed 
 kindlier feeling to me than in making that 
 condition.' 
 
 Mr. Bassnett pulled the end of his long, 
 thin moustache, and for once in his life was 
 really embarrassed. 
 
 ' I am glad you think so. I feel convinced 
 that he means to act in the most kindly spirit 
 towards you, and that in the final arrangements 
 he has made he has almost thrust a fortune 
 upon you.' 
 
 ' What is it you mean ? ' exclaimed Stephen 
 in much amazement. 
 
 ' Now, there you put me in an awkward 
 position.' 
 
 ' Then do not answer.'
 
 HIS HOPE. 123 
 
 ' Exactly ; I was not goitis^ I0 answer ; but 
 at the same time it is awkward when one thinks 
 that a simple reply would be useful, to be 
 obliged to say you cannot give it. Of all the 
 things I dislike, it is to have to deal with two 
 people who really mean to be kindly to each 
 other, and who are yet playing a game at hide 
 and seek.' 
 
 ' I do not understand.' 
 
 ' There is no need you should. I forgot 
 for a moment that we were in Sergeant's Inn. 
 Give me a breath — there, that will do, and here 
 we are again. Now, attention.' 
 
 Stephen was amused as well as interested 
 by the momentary confusion of a man he had 
 never seen in the slis^htest state of mental 
 bewilderment before. 
 
 ' Go ahead, Bassnett, and please do not be 
 afraid of offending me.' 
 
 ' There is no probabihty of that, I hope,' 
 said the lawyer, now laughing at himself;
 
 124 • OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' there is nothing for me to do but to tell you 
 
 plainly there are some conditions in Mr. 
 
 Dottridge's settlements which I am not at 
 liberty to explain to you ; but as they are 
 known to another person, and suspected by 
 others, I have no doubt you will discover them 
 before the time arrives when I am permitted to 
 state them to you.' 
 
 ' I have no wish to pry into my cousin's 
 arrangements, and so I can only inquire when 
 you will be at liberty to reveal the nature of 
 the reserved conditions.' 
 
 ' On the death of Mr. Dottridge, or on the 
 return of Miss Clark to England, and the 
 announcement that the date of your marriage 
 with her is fixed.' 
 
 ' I can understand the first part of the con- 
 dition under which my cousin's wishes are to be 
 revealed to me in their full extent,' said Stephen 
 thoughtfully ; ' but what on earth my marriage 
 with Miss Clark can have to do with any inten-
 
 HIS HOPE. 
 
 125 
 
 tions he has in regard to our family is beyond 
 my comprehension.' 
 
 'And on that subject my mouth is closed 
 whether you speak to me as client or friend. 
 Truth to tell, I do not understand it quite 
 myself; but I do in part and suspect the rest. 
 To you my suspicion would appear simply 
 suggestive that I was showing marked sym- 
 ptoms of softening of the brain. To a man of 
 law like myself, accustomed to all sorts of 
 mental and moral vagaries on the part of 
 clients, my suspicion would appear feasible and 
 reasonable enough to make him act cautiously 
 in saying or doing anything which might 
 prejudice the interests of hiscHent or his friend. 
 Dottridge stands in both positions towards me 
 and so do you. May I offer you advice apart 
 from business ? ' 
 
 ' To be sure you may, and I shall thank you 
 for it.' 
 
 ' On the whole I beheve you would thank
 
 126 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 me more -if you understood matters as well as I 
 do. However, this is the counsel I offer ; go 
 on as you would do if you had no expectations 
 for yourself or your family from any rich 
 relations. That is all.' 
 
 ' I mean to do so, and thank you as I said I 
 would for the counsel. T know you mean 
 more than you can say. I have the more 
 reason to be grateful that you have gone so far 
 out of your usual course as to confirm me in my 
 own decision as to what I am to do and ought 
 to do.' 
 
 ' Spoken like a true man, ar.d I do believe 
 you will have a good time of it yet whichever 
 way things go. In any case I shall always be 
 ready to act for you in any matter of business, 
 and still more ready to do what it is permitted 
 me to do as your friend.' 
 
 'I believe you, Bassnett, although ' 
 
 He paused. Bassnett, smiling, finished the 
 sentence for him —
 
 niS HOPE. 127 
 
 ' Although I am a lawyer is what you 
 would have said.' 
 
 ' No ; you are wrong, for once : although 
 you are Dottridge's and Eapier's friend, is what 
 I would have said.* 
 
 ' They are both clever men, and Eapier is 
 first-rate company. I do not see why my 
 friendhuess with them should interfere with 
 any regard I may have for you.' 
 
 * Forget that speech — it was the result of 
 some passing sense of spleen, carelessly spoken. 
 I could not give myself a reason for it. On the 
 other hand, I have every reason to be grateful 
 to my cousin, and I have no reason to think ill 
 of Eapier.' 
 
 ' Ah, if we could all forget the careless 
 words we speak what a happy world it would 
 l)e ! But it is not difficult to forget what does 
 not concern ourselves, so you have my promise 
 not to remember your slip.' 
 
 ' One question more, and I shall be off. Will
 
 128 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 Dottridge be able to see any of us again before 
 he leaves Kemerton ? ' 
 
 ' As soon as the doctors have decided when 
 he may move, you shall be informed. Cannes 
 or Nice v^ill be the place he goes to, but 
 nothing on that head is definitely fixed yet. 
 The one thing that is fixed, is his desire that 
 you should all cease to think of him as a living 
 person. You know that this is not entirely the 
 result of eccentricity, although none of us can 
 know all the motives which actuate hira.' 
 
 ' This living death seems to me more unfor- 
 tunate for himself than for others. However, if 
 we cannot forget our own careless words, there 
 is one thing we can forget — our friends.' 
 
 ' But not our enemies, you might have 
 added.' 
 
 ' We can forget them, too, I suppose, some- 
 times ; but we do sometimes recollect a wrong 
 more keenly than a benefit. This is a nice 
 way to waste your time, Bassnett,' Stephen
 
 HIS HOPE. 129 
 
 went on, his face brightening as lie roused 
 himself from the abstracted manner in which he 
 had been speaking during the last few moments. 
 ' I have only half an hour to catch up an un- 
 protected female who has been placed under 
 my care for the journey to town and back.' 
 
 ' Miss Whitcombe, I presume.' 
 
 'Yes; she had something to do in town, 
 and my mother said as I was coming she could 
 dispense with her escort.' 
 
 'I daresay the lady thought so too. Mrs. 
 Meredith is a very sensible woman. Give her 
 my regards. I shall see you all next week.' 
 
 When Stephen went away, Mr. Bassnett 
 leaned back in his chair, smiling thoughtfully 
 and paring his nails. 
 
 ' Dottridge will have his wish,' was his re- 
 flection. ' Meredith will marry Dahlia Wliit- 
 combe.' 
 
 VOL. I. £
 
 I30 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 HER DESPAIR. 
 
 The election of Stephen as Dahlia's special 
 escort had been arranged simply enough. Mrs. 
 Meredith and her ward had some millinery and 
 dressmaking business of importance to transact 
 in town, and as Stephen happened to be going 
 to London about the time, his mother fixed that 
 they should all go together. On the morning 
 of the appointed day Mrs. Meredith found that 
 she could not go without much inconvenience, 
 but there was no reason why Dahha should 
 postpone the journey, as Stephen could take 
 care of her. 
 
 It would not enter into the head of any
 
 HER DESPAIR. 131 
 
 ordinary being that there could be any objec- 
 tion to such an arrangement as that, and it cer- 
 tainly did not enter into Stephen's. Nothing 
 could be simpler: they would travel together, 
 and, whilst he was at Sergeant's Inn, she could 
 attend to her dressmaking business, and then 
 they could return together. That would be so 
 nice !— always provided, as Dahlia suggested, 
 that Stephen had no other engagement besides 
 that with Mr. Bassnett. He had none, and so it 
 came about that they travelled alone together. 
 There had been a white mist over the 
 marshy parts of Essex as they came along in 
 the morning. There was a fog in London, but 
 it was not so bad in the early part of the day 
 as to impede traffic to any considerable extent. 
 By the time Stephen went to find his com- 
 panion at the dressmaker's in Lamb's Conduit 
 Street, the fog had become so dense that cabs 
 and all other vehicles moved slowly and with 
 difficulty.
 
 132 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' I was half afraid you would never find me 
 in this darkness,' she said, laughing, ' and was 
 almost sorry I had not arranged to go for you.' 
 
 'Why, what difference could that have 
 made ? Can you find your way through a 
 London fog better than I under the guardian- 
 ship of an experienced cabby ? ' 
 
 She was a little confused ; then, with 
 brightening face — 
 
 ' It might have saved time, you know, as 
 we should have been so much nearer the 
 station.' 
 
 ' Of course. I did not think of that. But 
 we'll manage to get along somehow.' 
 
 ' I hope we may,' she replied, with 
 unnecessary glee, as she took her seat in the 
 cab. 
 
 The horse could only move at a walking 
 pace, and long before they reached Liverpool 
 Street, Stephen began to fear that they would 
 be too late for the last train. But they were
 
 HER DESPAIR. 133 
 
 in time enough — the train before the last had 
 not yet started. After much trouble, they, 
 found the right platform and the right train, 
 under the guidance of a good-natured porter, 
 who took them for a young couple hkely to 
 prefer their own company, and accordingly 
 secured an empty compartment for them. 
 
 Then they tried to draw breath ; but that 
 was almost impossible in the thick atmosphere. 
 Then they tried to look at each other, and they 
 found it almost impossible to see one another's 
 faces without drawing very close together; 
 and that might have resulted in something like 
 explosions of small fog signals, but for the 
 brotherly relationship which existed between 
 the two. 
 
 He muffled her up very carefully, and 
 insisted upon her keeping her mouth well 
 covered with a soft woollen shawl. 
 
 He was rather annoyed by the delay and 
 the discomfort of their position.
 
 134 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 She enjoyed it all intensely as if it were a 
 huge joke which somebody had played upon 
 them ; and his little attentions and anxieties on 
 her account made her almost exclaim aloud, ' I 
 wish there was a fog every day and we were 
 travelling in it ! ' But she modified the 
 expression to — 
 
 ' I rather enjoy the fun of all this — only I 
 hope you will not get cross, Stephen.' 
 
 ' I am afraid I am cross already. There is 
 no saying when we shall get away from here 
 or when we may reach Dunthorpe, and I am 
 hungry ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, dear ! that is dreadful. So am I ! ' 
 
 ' That makes it all the worse, for I should 
 be afraid to adventure into that Egyptian dark- 
 ness, lest I should never find you again.' 
 
 ' And would you be sorry ? ' 
 
 ' Well, I should not like to have it said that 
 I had lost you in a fog — it would be so absurd. 
 However, I shall try.'
 
 HER DESPAIR. 135 
 
 ' No, no, don't leave me — get one of the 
 porters to bring us something.' 
 
 ' But the difficulty is to see a porter.' 
 
 ' Shout ! ' 
 
 ' Happy thought — woman^s wit for ever.' 
 
 Stephen shouted, and about the tenth 
 repetition brought their good-natured friend to 
 the window. He procured sandwiches and 
 coffee for them. 
 
 Dahlia was in ecstasies. 
 
 ' This is real fun — I am so glad I came out 
 to-day ! — a pic-nic in a fog is a splendid idea.' 
 
 ' It will not be such good fun if we have to 
 remain here all night. How long will it be 
 before we start ? ' 
 
 ' Don't know, sir.' 
 
 ' Has there been an accident on the line ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, sir ; goods train broke down and the 
 hne is being cleared.' 
 
 ' Can't you find out how long we shall have 
 to wait .? '
 
 136 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 Whilst speaking Stephen had given the 
 cups and saucers and a tip to the man, and he 
 had disappeared. No doubt the rigorous 
 silence imposed upon railway servants as to 
 causes of delay and their probable duration, 
 made him glad to escape the necessity of in- 
 venting further evasive answers. 
 
 As usual this irritating reserve increased 
 the impatience of the passengers, elicited loud 
 exclamations of indignation all along the 
 train, and the confusion of voices sounding 
 through the darkness might have suggested 
 that this was the actual scene of the accident. 
 
 At last the train started, after much clatter 
 of feet along the platform, with brief flashes of 
 something which the passengers understood to 
 be lanterns of the guards and porters. But 
 dark as it had been inside the station, as soon 
 as the train had crawled out of it, the feeble 
 lamps in the carriages seemed to be almost
 
 HER DESPAIR. 137 
 
 extinguished. A single glowworm on a dark 
 marsh would have given as much light. 
 
 Crawl — whistle — stop — much puffing and 
 groaning of the engine and another crawl for 
 what seemed to those anxious to get home only 
 a few yards at a time : — that represented the 
 progress of the train ; and it stopped so much 
 more frequently between stations than at them 
 that people were utterly at a loss to know 
 where they were, and on that head, too, they 
 had difficulty in obtaining information. 
 
 Stephen had fastened the rugs round 
 Dahlia's knees and his own, for they had not 
 provided themselves with wraps enough to enable 
 them to be independent of each other on such a 
 night as this, and she complained of feeling very 
 cold. They were obliged to sit close together. 
 
 'I suppose you are wishing that you had 
 not gone up to town to-day ? ' said Stephen 
 after a long silence. 
 
 ' Not at all ; I am enjoying it ; but I have
 
 138 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 felt a little frightened once or twice. I was 
 thinking of that accident the other day, where 
 the two trains smashed into each other in the 
 tunnel, and the people were crushed together, 
 
 and oh! it was dreadful, and we seem to 
 
 be in a tunnel all the way/ 
 
 She crept closer to him, shivering with cold 
 and fear. 
 
 ' This does not seem very like enjoyment,' 
 he replied, putting his arm round her to draw a 
 shawd more tightly across her shoulders. 
 
 Then, as she continued to shiver, he held the 
 shawl in its place. 
 
 ' ISTo ; but that shivering is only the cold and 
 the fog having their effect upon me.' 
 
 ' They are certainly most depressing influ- 
 ences, and I wish we were safe at Dunthorpe 
 with a cheery fire before us.' 
 
 ' You are feeling it worse than I do ; you 
 have not spoken a word for half an hour until 
 now.'
 
 HER DESPAIR. 139 
 
 ' I am not the blithest companion you might 
 have had and ought to have had, Dahha ; but 
 that cannot be helped.' 
 
 ' Who said that anybody wanted to help it ? ' 
 she cried, with an air of coquettishness in spite 
 of the fog and cold. 
 
 'Not you — you are too good-natured to 
 complain. But I cannot help feeling how much 
 more bearable the journey might have been 
 made by anyone who was in a better mood 
 than myself.' 
 
 ' But I know that you have many things to 
 disturb your mind just now, and indeed I do 
 feel your taking so much trouble with me as 
 the greatest proof of your kindness. I know 
 that you are sad, but you have not been un- 
 gracious to me in consequence.' 
 
 ' I should be sorry if I had been so ; you 
 may be sure that I would like to do everything 
 m my power to make you happy.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Stephen,' she said, in a low
 
 I40 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 voice, and eyes beaming with pleasure as she 
 touched his- hand in token of her gratitude, 
 because he could not see how it was expressed 
 on her face. 
 
 ' I am glad you are content,' he proceeded, 
 laughing amusedly, ' for during the last half 
 hour or so I have been conscious of passing 
 through a particularly bad fit of the blues ; and 
 when wakened from it was afraid that, instead 
 of helping you to bear up, or bear through, this 
 disagreeable journey, I had been making you 
 miserable as well as myself.' 
 
 ' I did not think so. But ' (this with sym- 
 pathetic hesitation) 'can you not talk to me 
 about your vexations ? Talking even to people 
 who can't quite understand you often affords 
 relief.' 
 
 ' There is nothing particular to talk about,' 
 he rejoined somewhat weariedly, but evidently 
 pleased by her sympathy. ' My conversation 
 with Bassneit to-day was satisfactory so far, but
 
 HER DESPAIR. 141 
 
 It revealed a deplorable state of affairs. Even 
 at the last my father did not tell me everything 
 about our position. I suppose he did not hke 
 to let me know the worst, and no doubt he 
 hoped to live long enough to make things better 
 before they came into my hands.' 
 
 ' But you will set everything right, Stephen ; 
 you are young and strong, and — so clever ! ' 
 
 ' Well, I'm not old, and have a good deal of 
 strength, but as to the cleverness I'm not quite 
 so sure. However, I mean to make a big try for 
 .... for the sake of others as well as myself.' 
 
 There was a long pause, and he could feel 
 the girl shivering still beside him ; and then 
 through the darkness came the low voice — 
 decidedly a sweet voice, and there was some- 
 thing plaintive in the tone — 
 
 ' You mean for Euth's sake.' 
 
 'Yes, for hers most of all. I have been 
 thinking of her a good deal in this horrible night, 
 thinking of her out at sea, in fog, in storm —
 
 142 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 may be shipwrecked, who knows ? — and feeling 
 some bitterness that she should have been able 
 to go away, and feehng at the same time how 
 glad I would have been to have been with her 
 in the fiercest storm that ever blew.' 
 
 There was another long pause — a pause 
 which made both conscious that somehow a note 
 of discord had been struck between them. 
 
 Presently he felt her head resting on his 
 breast, and he knew that she was crying. 
 
 ' Why, what is the matter. Dahlia ? ' he 
 exclaimed in alarm. 
 
 There was no answer ; but now she was 
 quivering in the effort to suppress convulsive sobs. 
 The train was groping its way slowly along 
 through the darkness of the fog. 
 
 ' In heaven's name, what is it ? Tell me 
 — can I help you ? ' 
 
 With a short cry she flung herself from him. 
 Her emotion had passed beyond her control, 
 and she knelt with her face buried in the
 
 HER DESPAIR. 143 
 
 cushions of the opposite seat, trying to smother 
 her sobs of despair. 
 
 He was for a few moments so bewildered 
 that he did not know exactly what to do. 
 Then he stooped to lift her up. At first she 
 seemed to shrink from his touch, but, yielding, 
 he with his arm round her waist raised her, and 
 again her head rested on his shoulder. She 
 did not speak, and he did not disturb her by 
 immediately repeating his wondering inquiry, 
 but endeavoured to soothe her by gently 
 clasping her hand whilst he looked down 
 gravely at her. 
 
 And the train slowly groped its way through 
 the darkness. 
 
 At length she disengaged herself and said 
 petulantly, as she wiped the tears from her 
 cheeks — 
 
 ' I am sorry to have made such a fool of 
 myself .... Yes, I wish I had not come to- 
 day .... No, I don't. I'm glad I came, for
 
 144 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 it shows me that it is hopeless to — to .... 
 Please, Stephen, forgive this nonsense. I don't 
 think I am well, and what you were saying 
 made me think of something that put me out, 
 and so — and so I have behaved in this silly 
 way. Do please forgive me.' 
 
 There were such curious variations of 
 manner and tone in these exclamations — 
 petulance, anger with him and with herself, 
 graduating into shame for having allowed her 
 emotions to get so much the better of her — 
 that Stephen was utterly perplexed. His 
 mother had been a little puzzled by a some- 
 what similar outburst, but he was helplessly so. 
 
 'I wish you would sit down. Dahlia,' he 
 said, kindly, ' and try to explain it all to me. 
 You yourself said a little while ago that talking 
 often gave relief, and surely you can talk 
 to me.' 
 
 ' I don't know that I can,' she began 
 fiercely, and, instantly checking herself, went on
 
 HER DESPAIR. 145 
 
 in a subdued, agitated voice: 'If I were to 
 speak, Stephen, I should vex you, and I 
 don't want to do that more than I have done 
 already.' 
 
 ' How should it vex me ? I shall be sorry, 
 no doubt, to learn that there is something 
 troubling you which I cannot help to relieve, 
 but not vexed.' 
 
 'You will be — for what you have been 
 saying has made me angry with Euth.' 
 
 She uttered the last three words defiantly, 
 like a child who says something very bold, and 
 is prepared for a scolding. 
 
 'Angry with her — why.^' he queried in 
 simple astonishment. 
 
 She was surprised by his calmness, and 
 spoke next with more gentleness and a kind of 
 timid hesitation, as if fearful of the pain she was 
 about to give. 
 
 ' Because — because she has gone away from 
 you.' 
 
 VOL. I L
 
 146 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 There she did hit him very hard indeed ; 
 but he answered quietly — 
 
 ' She had some good reasons for going ; and 
 in any case we could not be married at 
 once/ 
 
 ' There could be no reason to justify her for 
 leaving you at such a time as this/ she cried, 
 passionately. 'There can be no reasons to 
 separate two people who are really in love 
 unless there is doubt in one of them. You 
 know it — you are forced to own it to yourself 
 — she ought to have been here with you now, 
 helping you to fight through these botherations, 
 instead of deserting you at the time when you 
 most needed her help. There ! — I have said it 
 and you are vexed with me, and I am miser- 
 able, and wish my tongue had been cut out 
 before I did say it ! ' 
 
 Then she sobbed hysterically, and wanted to 
 draw^ away from him. He held her in his arms, 
 and patted her on the head, as a father might
 
 HER DESPAIR. 147 
 
 have done with a child who was in a fit of 
 passion. 
 
 ' There, there, you have got excited, Dahlia ; 
 but I know that all you have said has been out 
 of kindness for me. Our sister Hat might have 
 said the same had she known as much of my 
 feelings for Euth as you do. We won't talk 
 any more about this, and I shall forget that you 
 are angry with her, as you will yourself as soon 
 as you are better.' 
 
 So with kindly words he soothed her, and all 
 symptoms of hysteria gradually disappeared. 
 
 And the train groped its way slowly through 
 the darkness, and at last into Dunthorp« Station. 
 
 l2
 
 [48 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 AGAIN ON BOARD THE 'EUCALYPTUS.' 
 
 ' My poor Stephen, you do not know your- 
 self, I think, and I am sure you do not know 
 me, Kuth Clark. 
 
 ' Tins is only our third day out at sea, and 
 I am writing more for the satisfaction of my 
 own mind than with any expectation that you 
 will ever see this note-book. Therefore you 
 may be sure that I shall speak with as much 
 honesty as one is capable of showing even to 
 one's self the moment a pen is taken in hand. 
 As soon as one begins to set down thoughts in 
 writing, in spite of every effort to the contrary, 
 there is a consciousness of dressing for company.
 
 AGAIN ON BOARD THE 'EUCALYPTUS: 149 
 
 I believe that I am speaking my mind with 
 absolute truth, but I am aware of this effect of 
 penmanship, and will do my best to avoid its 
 influence. 
 
 ' First, then, let me tell you the reasons for 
 my leaving England. 
 
 ' My chief reason for doing so w^as because 
 I knew that by this act I could confer a fortime 
 on you. I also knew that you would not 
 accept that reason, and therefore refused to tell 
 you imtil the time had elapsed when you 
 would either possess the fortune or have proved 
 that I had made a mistake. Then, in the 
 latter event, it was and is my intention to re- 
 turn and try to make you happy. 
 
 ' The fortune is Dahha Whitcombe. 
 
 ' The way in wdiich that comes about is 
 simple. It is one of Mr. Dottridge's strange 
 clauses in his strange settlements. I w^as per- 
 mitted to know the contents of most of them, 
 but not of all. This clause was one of those I
 
 I50 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 was permitted to know, for a reason which you 
 will learn presently. 
 
 ' He gives to Dahha twenty thousand 
 pounds on condition that she becomes your 
 wife within one year from the date of my sailing 
 from England. Unless you marry her you 
 receive nothing from him ; and what provision 
 he may have made for her if you should not 
 do so was one of the things I was not per- 
 mitted to know. 
 
 ' She is aware of the arrangement ; but she, 
 like the few others who know it, is strictly for- 
 bidden to make you acquainted with it. 
 
 'You are only to know that she is an 
 heiress, and free to make her choice amongst 
 the suitors who may offer. Every exertion is 
 to be made to prevent you from having any 
 suspicion that her fortune is dependent upon 
 winning you from me within a year. 
 
 ' He beheves, and I think, she will succeed. 
 
 ' I did object to the test because I knew you
 
 AGAIN ON BOARD THE 'EUCALYPTUS: 151 
 
 SO well. I know you to be kind, affectionate, 
 and good to all who show you kindness. I 
 know she will do that, and you may be won by 
 her sympathy. You will have a beautiful, 
 sympathetic woman beside you. You will 
 think of me as the woman who went away from 
 you because you were in difficulties, and who 
 told you that you could do better without than 
 with her. Of course you did not understand 
 the full meaning of her words, and, therefore, 
 would accept them literally. In doing so you 
 would think that she considered your position 
 as it affected herself She was thinking of you 
 apart from herself The bitter struggle she 
 went through before she made this sacrifice — 
 for it was a great sacrifice to her — you will 
 never know. 
 
 'You will only remember me as the -one 
 who refused to give you a full explanation of 
 my conduct ; as one who is silent to you, who 
 has gone to the other side of the world for no
 
 152 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ostensible reason that could justify her desertion 
 of you when you pressed her so hard to stay ; 
 and the tender woman by your side will re- 
 place me (for though it is great heresy, I be- 
 lieve love does change if circumstances seem to 
 give it warrant). 
 
 ' During the later weeks of my stay at home, 
 especially during that night on the pier at 
 Southend and the night following at Kemerton, 
 you gave me a deeper impression of the strength 
 of your character than you had ever done 
 before. 
 
 ' I believed it possible that Dahlia would 
 fail, and I dared not speak. 
 
 ' " Why was that ? " you will ask, when you 
 cried to me again and again to tell all, to ex- 
 plain all. The answer is : — 
 
 ' " Because of my relationship to Mr. Dot- 
 tridge ! " 
 
 ' What that relationship is I shall now set 
 down as plainly as I can.
 
 AGAIN ON BOARD THE 'EUCALYPTUS: 153 
 
 ' You know that my father, although only 
 a captain in the navy, had saved a little money. 
 He had been a friend almost from boyhood of 
 Mr. Dottridge, who induced him to adventure 
 all he possessed in some speculation. He lost 
 it all ; and he died a few months after be- 
 coming aware of his ruin. 
 
 ' Mr. Dottridge at once pledged himself to 
 take care of me, and to provide for my future. 
 His first act was to take me into his house, and 
 all the care and all the attendance which were 
 given to Dahha during her brief residences at 
 Kemerton in her school vacations were given to 
 me. 
 
 ']\Ir. Dottridge became ill. I helped to 
 nurse him ; he liked me best of all the nurses. 
 He soon found that I made an excellent assis- 
 tant in his correspondence ; and he sometimes 
 even consulted me in business matters. 
 
 ' At length he declared that I must be his 
 confidential secretary ; and gradually he trusted
 
 154 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 me more and more, not only in regard to the 
 following out of his instructions correctly, but 
 in my judgment as to the particular direction 
 of some afiairs. I became in short his friend 
 and confidante. 
 
 ' I was glad to be useful to him, for I liked 
 him much. He had taken the place of my 
 father, and showed me all the kindness — I 
 ought to say even the tenderness — which I re- 
 membered to have received from liim. 
 
 ' He was early made aware of your attach- 
 ment to me, and he discovered mine to you. 
 At first he entirely approved of our at- 
 tachment, and once or twice spoke of helping 
 us on in the world. Gradually there appeared 
 a change in this approval, although his kind- 
 ness to me increased rather than dimin- 
 ished. 
 
 ' About this time his health began to fail 
 more and more, the blindness came upon him, 
 and he was confined entirely to his room. He
 
 AGAIN ON BOARD THE 'EUCALYPTUS: 155 
 
 found himself more and more dependent upon 
 my assistance. 
 
 ' One day, whilst reading to him, he suddenly 
 called to me in a voice which, at the moment, 
 seemed strange to me — 
 
 ' " Stop, Euth, I want to speak to you upon 
 some business of more importance than usual. 
 That is to say, of more importance to me than 
 any you have yet had to do with." 
 
 ' " Yes," I said, wondering what it could be, 
 for I had thought myself so entirely in his con- 
 fidence that there seemed to be nothing for him 
 to tell me. 
 
 ' After a few minutes' silence he began : 
 
 ' " Dahlia is now twenty, and I wish to 
 settle her in life. Stephen Meredith is very 
 hard up, and I wish to help him for his own 
 sake and his father's. Can you suggest any 
 means by which the two things can be com- 
 bined ? "
 
 156 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' I was somewhat agitated, and could not 
 understand why. My reply was made as 
 deliberately as I could make it : "I think you 
 can have no difficulty in making some settle- 
 ment upon Dahlia, which will enable her to 
 face the world as an independent woman. As 
 regards Stephen Meredith, I can say nothing, 
 for you know my " 
 
 ' He interrupted me. 
 
 ' " Your love for him you would say, but 
 of course you will not. On that head you will 
 only say that I know your particular interest 
 in him. I do. But I have noted Stephen's 
 conduct for some little time past ; and I think 
 that I know of some one who has more interest 
 in you than he can possibly have." 
 
 ' I was so much puzzled by this statement 
 that I remained silent. He had spoken in such 
 a tone that I could not doubt he meant by 
 " some one," himself. But what it could have 
 to do with you I could not understand. I laid
 
 AGAIN ON BOARD THE 'EUCALYPTUS: 157 
 
 down the book I had been reading, and 
 waited. 
 
 ' " You make no answer. Well, then, I 
 must speak more plainly. Euth, come here." 
 
 ' I went to him behind the screen, and he 
 took my hand. 
 
 ' Still, I did not speak, for a very wild idea 
 was dawning upon me. He went on — 
 
 ' " You beheve that he loves you. So do 
 I. But his is a love that may change ; he is 
 yoang, and although an admirable, good 
 hearted, honest fellow, another woman than 
 you might attract his attention if you were only 
 absent for a time." 
 
 ' '' I do not believe it," I said warmly, and 
 I took my hand away from him angrily. 
 
 ' He did not resent my anger in the slight- 
 est degree. He spoke quite quietly. 
 
 ' " I did not think you would believe it — at 
 first. But when you come to think of it calmly 
 you may believe it possible."
 
 158 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 '"Impossible," I said, still warmly (and 
 please do not think that in telling you all this I 
 am trying to magnify my own faith). 
 
 * " Just so, but take time, for what I have 
 got to tell you is of much importance to 
 Stephen. I suppose you will tell me that your 
 — love, we must call it — for him cannot change. 
 But suppose also I were to tell you that 
 Stephen — who you know is in difficulties out of 
 which. I cannot see his way, unless he has help 
 from some quarter — could obtain a fortune at 
 once if you were not in his way, would you tell 
 me that your liking for him was of such a kind 
 as to permit you to stand in his way ? *' 
 
 ' " J do not understand." 
 
 ' " You are a sensible woman ; you have 
 proved yourself so again and again. You 
 know that worldly affairs have a great deal to 
 do with worldly happiness. Love is an admir- 
 able adjunct to life, but is not its food. You 
 can understand that to a young man love is
 
 AGAIN ON BOARD THE 'EUCALYPTUS.' 159 
 
 more a passion than a faith. Passions are 
 brief-hved, and are got over again and again by 
 both men and women. Stephen is a young 
 man, and if you were not here he would give 
 his love to another. I do not say this in any 
 disparagement of him ; I am only speaking from 
 my experience of human nature. You do not 
 understand me yet." 
 
 ' " No." But I fear that in saying this I 
 was not telhng the whole truth, for I did begin 
 to comprehend. 
 
 ' " Then I must be more explicit. In the 
 settlements which are about to be prepared I 
 have giv6n twenty thousand to Dahlia if 
 Stephen marries her, and I give nothing to him 
 if he does not. I do not wish to disguise my 
 selfish motives in thus trying to force the two 
 together, but I do not think there is anything 
 wrong in them. She is pretty and smart, and 
 will make exactly the sort of mistress for 
 Derewood Grange who will please him. But
 
 i6o OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 slie is selfish, and therefore I mean to leave the 
 money so that she does not get it unless she 
 gets him. A wicked thing to do, is it not ? I 
 do not think it is, for it is bringing two people 
 together who, I believe, will suit each other, 
 and providing them with the means of living 
 fairly well. By the same deed I relieve 
 Stephen of all the mortgages on his place. 
 Now, why do you think I do that, and do it in 
 that way?" 
 
 ' " I do not know," I said, coldly, as he 
 told me, but I was trembling and scarcely 
 conscious of how I spoke or what I said, 
 " unless it is because you wish to separate me 
 from him." 
 
 ' " That is precisely what I wish to do. 
 And why I wish to do it is because — now do 
 not be startled, Euth, or get into a passion — I 
 am speaking and acting after long deliberation ; 
 the reason why I do it is because I want you 
 for myself."
 
 AGAIN ON BOARD THE 'EUCALYPTUS: i6i 
 
 * I did not start, or turn pale, or shrink 
 from him. I stood quite cold, my head aching 
 with the bewilderment of the proposition now 
 made to me. I could not speak. 
 
 ' I know you will blame me, Stephen, and 
 think me cruel ; but you. will not think so long 
 if you remember the nature of the problem set 
 to me. I w^as to give up you and leave you a 
 fortune, or keep you at the cost of the 
 fortune. 
 
 * " Well, what do you think of the pro- 
 posal ? " he inquired, after a little time. 
 
 ' " I think it is very cruel to us all," I 
 answered. 
 
 ' " It is not so in my estimation, for it is 
 kindly meant." 
 
 ' *' It may be and yet be cruel." 
 
 ' " Do not answer me just now positively. 
 Wait for a week or a month if you like — but 
 not longer than that — and then answer me." 
 
 ' I waited for a month, and the agony of it 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 i62 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 I shall never forget. Then I told him that even 
 for your sake I could not accept his hand, 
 giatefiil as I was to him, or that of any man 
 except yours ; but I would consent to break off 
 my engagement with you for your sake. 
 When I did so I would leave the country, and 
 as I had an uncle in Australia, I would go 
 there and find some work to occupy me, which 
 would enable me to overcome the pain — 
 nothing can ever make me forget it — of the 
 loss of happiness which I sustained for your 
 gain. 
 
 ' '' Gt) then," he said, " and within a year 
 from the date of your leaving England Stephen 
 will be married to Dahha." 
 
 ' He spoke bitterly, and I do not wonder, 
 for I know that he felt deeply. 
 
 ' So it came about that he made the settle- 
 ment in the strange way that I have described 
 to you. Then came your pleading and my 
 love pleaded with you. My love also enabled
 
 AGAIN ON BOARD THE 'EUCALYPTUS: 163 
 
 me to hold to my engagement to go away ; 
 but I was under no bond not to return, and, 
 therefore, I consented to be with you again at 
 the end of a year, if you were still faithful. 
 
 ' I know you will say all this was only a 
 proof of my doubt of you ; if you knew what I 
 have suffered and am suffering, you would own 
 that it is a proof of my love. 
 
 ' Now, you understand why I left you, and 
 why my conduct has been so strange. When 
 I said that I wished to go, I spoke truly. I 
 did and do wish to go for your sake. But, oh, 
 how gladly shall I return ! — for if I do, it will 
 be to you, and you and I will know that neither 
 fortune nor time can alter our feelings to each 
 other.' 
 
 M 2
 
 i64 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 THE DUCKPOND BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 Dahlia's conduct struck everyone in the house 
 as peculiar on the day after her journey to 
 London with Stephen — she was so shy and 
 modest. She, who was something of a romp 
 in her gaiety, whose merry voice — and it was 
 a musical voice — sounded above the voices 
 of all the others, was now silent and subdued. 
 She moved about with downcast looks, and 
 was strangely timid whenever Stephen was 
 near. 
 
 She seemed almost afraid to lift her eyes 
 when he was by ; but when he turned away 
 they followed him with a pathetic, longing 
 gaze.
 
 THE DUCKPOND BY MOONLIGHT. 165 
 
 The mother and the girls noted all this, and 
 were very curious to know the meaning of it. 
 To Mrs, Meredith she was singularly gentle and 
 affectionate ; but when that lady inquired what 
 had happened to account for this sudden 
 change, she implored her not to ask at present. 
 Mrs. Meredith was a clever woman, as Mr. 
 Bassnett said, and discreetly held her tongue. 
 
 To the girls Dahlia was unusually tender ; 
 but when amongst them she spoke little, and 
 that only by fits and starts. She was very 
 much abstracted, sighing often, as it seemed 
 unconsciously, but occasionally detecting her- 
 self she would look vexed, as if ashamed of her 
 folly. Then she would make an effort to be 
 gay as usual. But it was quite evident that 
 the effort was a great strain, and gradually she 
 would subside again into silence and sighs. 
 
 The sentimental young ladies, aware of her 
 attachment to their brother, sympathised with 
 her and whispered amongst themselves —
 
 ^66 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' Stephen has been unkind to her yesterday. 
 How nasty of him ! ' 
 
 Jim, having asked her to join him in several 
 amusements, and received a very sweet ' No ' 
 to all his proposals, summed the whole thing 
 up to his own satisfaction. With the sage 
 experience of his years, inspired by his con- 
 tempt for womankind in general, and for 
 sentimental ones in particular, he thus declared 
 - — to himself, for he knew that his sisters would 
 only scold him if he said it to them — 
 
 ' She's trying it on. What an ass Stephen is 
 not to see it ! I can see it with half an eye. 
 She won't come to skate, won't she ! Oh, we'll 
 see when he asks her ! ' 
 
 And he went off to skate by himself. 
 
 In the evening Stephen went into the 
 library before the lamps were lit. He heard 
 the rustle of a woman's dress, and he knew 
 that it was Dahlia by the perfume — for it 
 was one of her weaknesses to use the most
 
 THE DUCKPOND BY MOONLIGHT. 167 
 
 sickly-sweet scents — and he spoke in some 
 surprise — 
 
 ' Why are you here in the dark, Dahlia ? ' 
 
 She did not answer, and she was evidently 
 trying to make her escape without speaking, 
 but was stopped by the entrance of a servant 
 who had followed his master with lights. Then 
 she drew back, turning her face away from 
 Stephen. 
 
 ' What is the matter ? ' he asked when they 
 were alone. 
 
 ' I am so sorry, Stephen — I am so ashamed 
 about last night,' she said timidly. 
 
 Then she hurried away, but not before he 
 saw the tears in her eyes, and he knew she had 
 gone to shut herself up in her room to have 
 what women call ' a good cry.' 
 
 He was distressed about her as day by 
 day went by and there was no return to her 
 usual bright, coquettish manner. She seemed 
 to be always pleased when he spoke to her,
 
 i68 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 but she carefully avoided being alone with 
 him. 
 
 When this subdued, melancholy state had 
 continued for a week, his mother spoke to 
 him. 
 
 ' That girl will fall into a sickness if she 
 goes on much longer in this way. She does 
 not eat, and keeps herself shut up in the 
 house — it would make anybody ill. I wish we 
 could do something for her, Stephen, for I am 
 getting most anxious about her. But she will 
 do nothing for us, although I believe she 
 would go out if you were to ask her. I wish 
 you would, to please me.' 
 
 He had not thought of that ; and, as he had 
 a feeling that her present state was partly due 
 to her notion that she had offended him, he 
 was ready to take this means of satisfying her 
 that she had not. So he did ask her that 
 evening at dinner, and on the spot a skating 
 party was arranged for the following day.
 
 THE DUCK POND BY MOONLIGHT. 169 
 
 They went out — three of the girls and Jim 
 with them. 
 
 They were all very merry on the ice, and 
 on the way home ; the colour returned to 
 DahUa's cheeks, and from that day she rapidly 
 recovered her former bhthe ways. 
 
 ' I am glad to see you yourself again,' said 
 Mrs. Meredith cheerily, and with a significant 
 smile, ' I think there is some one else who is 
 pleased too.' 
 
 ' Do you think so ? ' exclaimed Dahlia, 
 eagerly. 
 
 ' I am sure of it. Now, I want you to 
 look your best to-night, because Mr. Eapier is 
 coming, and as he is the only one who is per- 
 mitted to see Mr. Dottridge, I want him to take 
 back as good a report of you as possible.' 
 
 ' I'll try,' was the response. ' But not for 
 Mr. Eapier's sake,' she mentally added. 
 
 The evening was clear, dry, and bright.
 
 I70 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 The full moon made the orchard a picture in 
 black and white, and the trees cast fantastic 
 shadows on the ground. The duckpond be- 
 came a brilHant little lake, in which there were 
 curious silhouettes of surrounding objects. 
 
 Two of the figures reflected in the pond 
 were those of a tall man and a lady. They 
 had halted as if to look at the other shadows, 
 as well as their own perhaps. But they were 
 not lovers, for the lady was saying somewhat 
 petulantly — 
 
 ' Why did you ask me to come out here, 
 Mr. Eapier, and ask me, too, in such a way 
 that I could not refuse ? ' 
 
 ' Because it was such a beautiful night. 
 Miss Whitcombe,' answered Lewis Eapier, 
 laughing. 
 
 ' If there was no other reason, let us return 
 to the house at once.' 
 
 ' Ah, you are angry because you are afraid 
 that Meredith may be displeased. Is that so ? *
 
 THE DUCKPOND BY MOONLIGHT. 171 
 
 ' I do not care for moonlight walks,' she 
 answered evasively. 
 
 He was studying her face as well as he 
 could by the light of the moon. The face was 
 very pretty but pale in the moonlight. He 
 could learn nothing from it, however, except 
 that she was frowning. 
 
 ' There, I shall not keep you long,' he said, 
 ' but I thought you would be pleased to see an 
 old friend, and would like to have a few 
 moments' conversation alone with him. I have 
 another reason for asking you to come, but 
 before telling you I want to remove that 
 frown.' 
 
 ' I don't think you can.* 
 
 ' Wrong. I am quite sure it will go when 
 I tell you that by appearing to coquet with me, 
 Meredith may be piqued into saj^ng something 
 that will please you.' 
 
 The frown disappeared. 
 
 ' I thought so,' continued Kapier, sarcasti-
 
 172 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 cally. ' Now I can tell you what I really 
 wished you to come out for. Mr. Dottridge 
 is going away shortly for an indefinite period, 
 very likely to die. You know his wishes re- 
 garding yourself? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; too well,' she responded, bitterly. 
 
 ' Then — will you answer frankly — have you 
 hope now of obtaining your fortune ? ' 
 
 ' I cannot say.' 
 
 She was much agitated, and her head was 
 bowed. He spoke earnestly, and in a low 
 voice. 
 
 ' You know how anxious I am for your 
 welfare ; you know that I am your true friend 
 still, although you have so lightly turned away 
 from one you once ' 
 
 ' Stop ; do not speak of that,' she said, as 
 if she were half-frightened. ' It was folly, and 
 you know the conditions under which I am 
 here.' 
 
 ' You call it folly ; you did not do so then.'
 
 THE DUCKPOND BY MOONLIGHT. 173 
 
 'Oh, be silent ! ' she pleaded piteously ; 
 * there is some one coming. Let us walk on.' 
 
 ' Very well,' he said calmly, ' we shall say 
 no more of that for the present. I do not 
 excuse the strange conditions Dottridge has 
 made ; but I am anxious to know that in obey- 
 ing them you are happy and have some pros- 
 pect of winning your fortune.' 
 
 ' I am happy,' was the hurried answer, 
 ' and I believe there is every prospect .... 
 Oh, it is cruel to force me to say this ! ' 
 
 ' I would not like to think that I was cruel 
 — I who am doing my best to serve you.' 
 
 ' I was afraid you would get cold, Dahlia,' 
 said the quiet voice of Stephen as he came 
 up to them, ' and I have brought a shawl for 
 you.' 
 
 Dahha bit her lips with chagrin. She was 
 not taken by surprise, for the sound of the 
 footsteps on the hard, crisp ground had warned 
 her of his approach. Her chagrin was due to
 
 174 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 disappointment, for she had been impressed at 
 once by the probabihty that her strange 
 friend's manoeuvre would prove successful, and 
 that Stephen would be piqued — perhaps even a 
 little jealous — on account of her moonhght 
 ramble with Mr. Eapier. She would have 
 been pleased if he had spoken coldly; she 
 would have been delighted had he displayed 
 passion, or anything else, to indicate that his 
 feelings for her differed from those he had 
 towards other women. 
 
 But no! he came to her for the plain^ 
 commonplace reason that he was ' afraid she 
 would get cold ! ' A grandmother would have 
 done as much. 
 
 ' You are so very kind, Stephen,' she said 
 with sarcastic politeness and suppressed passion, 
 as she allowed him to place the shawl round 
 her.
 
 175 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A PROBLEM TO SOLVE. 
 
 There was a smile on Rapier's face and this 
 question in his mind — 
 
 ' Is he acting ? if so, it is very well done. 
 Or, is he indifferent as to whether she flirts or 
 loves ? if so, my little arrangement with Mrs. 
 Meredith has only succeeded in bringing him 
 after us to prove to her that his regard is only 
 that of a brother. . . . But no, a brother 
 would not put on her shawl so carefully. 
 She must feel that and be satisfied for the 
 present.' 
 
 Both DahHa and Rapier were somewhat 
 out in their estimate of Stephen's motives. He
 
 176 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 was not indifferent as to her conduct, and when 
 his mother had suggested that he should take 
 a shawl to her, as she had gone out with Mr. 
 Eapier too thinly cloaked for the season, 
 and the time she was staying, he was not 
 pleased. 
 
 But there was not a shade of jealousy in his 
 displeasure. 
 
 ' I do not like her or any of the girls receiv- 
 ing attention from Mr. Eapier,' he had said 
 hastily, and went out immediately. 
 
 That was misinterpreted by his mother, 
 of course, and she was glad that this strange 
 friend of the family had come to speed the 
 wooing. 
 
 But what he meant was this : with every 
 disposition to like Eapier, he had always ex- 
 perienced a feeling of repulsion when near him, 
 although the man had in every way endea- 
 voured to prove himself a friend. He remem- 
 bered the strong doubt of him which crossed
 
 A PROBLEM TO SOLVE. 177 
 
 his mind that night when, as he was leavincr 
 Kemerton, Eapier suggested that it was pure 
 selfishness which induced Euth to go away. 
 
 As if she could be selfish! He would 
 trust her on that score at any rate ; whatever 
 her motive for this cruel separation might be 
 selfishness had nothing to do with it. He 
 would have felt contempt for his nearest friend 
 if he had suggested such a thing. It will be 
 noted that, Hke all true lovers, as time and 
 space increased between them, his ideal Euth 
 became nobler and more beautiful than ever. 
 
 Then he remembered Euth's warning to 
 beware of this man, and he had profound faith 
 in her keen insight into character. To crown 
 all, DahHa was, as he understood, an heiress, 
 and Eapier was a man professedly poor, and of 
 whom nothing more was known than that he 
 was a friend of Mr. Dottridge, to whom he had 
 been useful in various confidential and impor- 
 tant matters of business. 
 
 VOL. T. N
 
 178 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 All these things made Stephen feel dis- 
 pleased that she should be showing this man 
 anything more than ordinary courtesy. 
 
 ' You read poetry, Meredith ? ' said Eapier, 
 
 gaily. 
 
 'Yes, sometimes,' was the dry response, 
 ' when I find it in an agricultural almanac' 
 
 Eapier laughed so heartily that it was 
 almost infectious ; and it certainly had the 
 effect of dispelUng the cloud of awkwardness 
 which for a moment overhung the party. 
 
 ' Ah, if that is all, I am afraid you will not 
 be able to understand the — what shall I call 
 it ? — sentimental nonsense of Miss Whitcombe 
 and myself. We came out to enjoy the effects 
 of the moonlight, and we have been trying to 
 exaggerate the duckpond into a lake. You 
 come with your confounded common sense in 
 the shape of a shawl and — whew ! away goes 
 poetry, and we immediately begin to think of 
 influenzas and rheumatism.'
 
 A PROBLEM TO SOLVE. 179 
 
 * And a very good thing for yourself if you 
 happen to think of them before they arrive. 
 But we seldom do that. What a pity it is that 
 we are so proud when we overcome an illness, 
 and have not the slightest regard for the ill we 
 escape.' 
 
 ' Natural ingratitude of mankind,' said 
 Eapier, with mock solemnity. ' A friend lends 
 you five shillings, and you think nothing of it : 
 he refuses to lend it, and you think a great deal 
 of it.' 
 
 ' Well, I think a good deal about colds and 
 rheumatics,' said Dahlia, with one of her pretty 
 shudders, ' and, if you please, I should like to 
 go indoors.' 
 
 ' Can you not be tempted to walk down as 
 far as the river ? The willows at the foot of 
 the meadow must present a charming effect in 
 this light,' said Eapier. 
 
 But she knew that he was trying to bait 
 
 N 2
 
 i8o OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 Stephen, and had no real desire for her to go 
 She certainly had none herself. 
 
 ' I don't like willows even by moonliglit, 
 and beside a river,' she replied coldly ; ' they 
 always suggest misfortune of some kind to me. 
 Besides, you think I should go in, Stephen, do 
 you not ? ' 
 
 ' Decidedly, unless you prepare yourself for 
 a good swinging walk. Dawdling about her^ 
 in the orchard may be pretty and poetical, but 
 it is not healthy.' 
 
 ' What a prosaic beggar you are ! ' exclaimed 
 Eapier, laughing. 
 
 They escorted DahUa to the house. At the 
 door Eapier, who had been chattering merrily 
 all the way, turned to Stephen. 
 
 'Suppose we take a turn and a cigar to- 
 gether ? I have no notion of sleep yet, and I 
 suppose the ladies will be pleased to dispense 
 with our attendance as it is so late.' 
 
 ' All right, come along,' said Stephen some-
 
 A PROBLEM TO SOLVE. i8i 
 
 what irritably, for he felt that Eapier was not 
 being treated as a guest ought to be, and yet 
 he could not help himself; so he made an 
 effort to show that he wished to make him 
 comfortable. 
 
 ' Try one of these Partagas. I got them as 
 a special favour from a man who professes to 
 have special knowledge of tobaccos, and he 
 assured me they are the best things of the 
 kind that can be procured.' 
 
 They passed round the orchard and down 
 the meadow towards the river. It was cer- 
 tainly a good cigar Eapier had given him, and 
 Stephen enjoyed* it. At the same time he 
 wished that it had come from the hand of any- 
 one else. His dislike for the man increased 
 rapidly from the moment they had been stand- 
 ing together beside Dahlia at the duckpond ; 
 and the curious fancy crossed his mind that 
 if Eapier wanted to administer poison to any- 
 body, it would be done with the same flourish
 
 i82 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 and ^assurances as those with which he had 
 given him the cigar. He smoked viciously, 
 not enjoying the tobacco at all now, but 
 wondering how he should deal with this man. 
 
 ' I wanted to have a little chat with you 
 alone, Meredith,' said Eapier, after they had 
 been walking and smoking some time in 
 silence. 
 
 ' Well, here we are. You cannot be 
 more alone with me than you are at present.' 
 
 Eapier smoked meditatively, and looked at 
 the moon as if he were seeking from it some 
 inspiration as to the right course to pursue. 
 Then emitting a great whiff and holding his 
 cigar daintily between his fingers, poised in the 
 air — 
 
 ' Will you pardon me what is really a most, 
 impertinent question ? * 
 
 ' If I can answer the question I shall do so,' 
 rephed Stephen, cautiously. He did not like 
 the opening of his companion's address.
 
 A PROBLEM TO SOLVE, 183 
 
 * I am going to be quite frank with you, 
 and I hope you will be the same with me. 
 The question is about Miss Whitcombe.' 
 
 Eapier paused, took another whiff, and 
 looked at his companion with tlie air of one 
 who has said something profound, and expects 
 respectful acknowledgment of it. 
 
 ' The subject is agreeable enough,' was all 
 Stephen said, 
 
 *• Undoubtedly, and under ordinary circum- 
 stances I should have no difficulty in speaking 
 of her — under any circumstances I can have no 
 difficulty in praising her. Pretty, witty, and 
 good-tempered, I believe, she deserves a good 
 husband.' 
 
 ' I quite agree with you on that subject,' 
 said Stephen coldly, as he glanced sideways at 
 the man, wondering what he was, driving at. 
 
 ' Very well, now comes the question for 
 which I have apologised in advance — I never 
 like to poach on a friend's ground or I would
 
 1 84 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 not trouble you with it. Miss Whitcombe must 
 have many wooers, and I ask you frankly, is 
 there any probability of you becoming one of 
 them ? ' 
 
 Stephen threw away his cigar, halted and 
 turned to his companion. 
 
 ' Frankness begets frankness,' he said, 
 sharply, ' and therefore I will answer you. I 
 believe you know enough of my affairs to 
 understand that there is not the slightest pro- 
 babihty of my seeking Dahha's hand. But 
 this you do not know — that whatever influence 
 I have with the girl I shall use against your 
 suit if you think of entering the lists.' 
 
 Here is what Eapier thought — 
 
 * Good ; he is in a temper, and claims the 
 position of protector. He has warmer feeling 
 for her than he thinks himself.' 
 
 This is what he said — 
 
 ' Thank you, Meredith, but I did not mean 
 to offend you, and I did not say that I intended
 
 A PROBLEM TO SOLVE. 185 
 
 to enter the lists for her hand, although I think 
 it is well worth winning. However, if I should 
 be tempted to try my fortune in that direction, 
 I shall know what to expect from you. In the 
 meanwhile we need not quarrel about impos- 
 sibilities.' 
 
 ' I hope there may be no need to quarrel 
 at all.' 
 
 ' I am glad to hear you say so, for just now 
 I had an uncomfortable feeling that we were 
 approaching something of the kind. What 
 o'clock is it with you ? I make it twenty to 
 twelve.' 
 
 ' You are a little fast ; it is only half-past 
 eleven.' 
 
 ' Well, by the time we reach the house I 
 dare say it will be midnight, and then I shall 
 be at liberty to give you some news which will 
 surprise you.' 
 
 When they entered the library it was still 
 ten minutes from the hour, according to the
 
 i86 OF HIGH degree: 
 
 clock on the mantelpiece. Stephen was sur- 
 prised to find that his mother had not yet gone 
 to bed, and he was still more surprised to find 
 that she was waiting for them by arrangement 
 with Eapier. The latter chatted with the lady 
 about trifles, and did not by word or look in- 
 dicate that he had anything important to com- 
 municate. Even whilst the clock was striking 
 he continued to talk about the prospects of the 
 weather. But when the last stroke sounded, 
 he stopped, and his manner changed. 
 
 ' I am free to speak now, although I am 
 certainly making use of my liberty at the very 
 earhest moment. There is nothing very serious 
 in what I have to tell you ; it is only to make 
 you acquainted with another of Mr. Dottridge's 
 freaks.' 
 
 ' What has he been doing now ? ' inquired 
 Stephen carelessly ; but his mother looked 
 anxious. 
 
 ' Making away with himself.*
 
 A PROBLEM TO SOLVE. 187 
 
 ' What ? ' exclaimed mother and son, 
 startled. 
 
 ' You need not be alarmed ; I only mean 
 that he has secretly left Kemerton, and even I 
 was not permitted to know whither he was 
 bound.' 
 
 ' When did he go ? ' inquu'ed Mrs. Mere- 
 dith. 
 
 ' In the beginning of December, imme- 
 diately after he had completed his business 
 arrangements with Bassnett.' 
 
 ' He is a most singular man. I can scarcely 
 realise that all these weeks, whilst we have 
 been thinking of him shut up in his room at 
 Kemerton, he has been away,' continued the 
 lady, quite as much amazed as if she had heard 
 that her mysterious relative had committed 
 suicide. 
 
 ' Yes ; he wished to have no leave-takings, 
 he said, and he made me promise not to make 
 known his absence before to-day. He wants
 
 1 88 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 to disappear from the world and to be regarded 
 as one dead.' 
 
 ' It is a strange wish,' said Stephen, thought- 
 fully, ' for a man so wealthy and successful.* 
 
 They did not know that he lacked the 
 crown of wealth and success — Love.
 
 J 89 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 RUTH WRITES AGAIN. 
 
 ' I DID not know how much I should feel this 
 separation from you, Stephen, and from my 
 home until the second week after we sailed. 
 The pain seemed to be bad enough at the time, 
 but the excitement of it all helped me to bear 
 it. When the excitement and bustle were over, 
 the pain became agony. If you could have 
 found me during that second week you would 
 not have required to speak more than one 
 persuading word to make me stay at home. 
 When I say home I do not mean Kemerton ; 
 to the exile the word means England. 
 
 ' Day and night my thoughts were with
 
 I90 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 you, but I could not write although I tried it 
 several times. I always saw you standing on 
 the shore, looking after the ship and frowning 
 at me for my desertion. 
 
 ' That was very hard to bear, and it was 
 the more hard to bear knowing that a few 
 words would have removed the cloud, and 
 caused you to pity me and not be angry with 
 me. But I could not speak these words and 
 for a whole year you must continue to think 
 
 of me as cruel, capricious, and faithless 
 
 That is wrong. I am sure you were not think- 
 ing of me so unkindly. You are hoping, as I 
 am hoping, and at the end of the year we shall 
 meet, and you will have proved to me, to Mr. 
 Dottridge, and everyone, that neither time nor 
 space can take your heart from me. 
 
 'Thinking that way made me feel better. 
 I seemed to grow stronger as soon as I had 
 cast out from my mind all doubt of you. I 
 know that the test is a severe one ; but I am
 
 RUTH WRITES AGAIN. 191 
 
 sure now that you will stand it nobly. The 
 only thing that disturbs me is the conviction 
 that I am unworthy of such a love as yours. 
 But I will try with all my might to make you 
 happy when we join hands again. 
 
 ' I must try to get away from myself a little 
 and tell you about what is going on around 
 me. The Captain has been very kind, and 
 does everything to make me comfortable. His 
 wife is very anxious to do what she can for 
 me, but she is seldom able to be out of her 
 cabin. She tells me that it is the same with 
 her on every voyage, and yet she persists in 
 accompanjdng her husband. He says it is an 
 unfortunate mania, and not to be cured. I like 
 her all the more for it, because she must be 
 very fond of him to endure this discomfort for 
 the simple purpose of being with him. 
 
 ' I am sure Captain Mackay admires her for 
 it himself, for he is very good-natured, and 
 although he pretends to make fun of her for
 
 J92 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 insisting upon going through what he calls 
 '' this needless tribulation," year after year, 
 tliere is something in the way — a very quiet 
 way — in which he attends to her wants that 
 proves to me he is very fond of her and proud 
 of her devotion. 
 
 'For myself, I have found, much to my 
 relief, that I am an excellent sailor. The sea 
 has been like a friend and companion to me. 
 I delight in watching the huge waves come 
 sweeping towards me ; they are like great 
 giants against whom this big ship — looking like 
 a dwarf in comparison with them — is doing 
 battle. Every time one of these giants comes 
 rolling towards her I feel my heart and breath 
 stop, and then, as the good ship lifts her head 
 and glides over it, I experience a wild sensation 
 of joy as if I myself had done something noble. 
 
 ' I have seen little of my fellow-passengers 
 in the cabin. There are only three : two 
 gentlemen in consumption ordered to make the
 
 RUTH WRITES AGAIN. 193 
 
 voyage to Australia as a last chance of restora- 
 tion. I wonder why they could not have been 
 sent out before it became a last resort. The 
 third gentleman would have interested you 
 very much. He is a sheep farmer, and has 
 been to England making arrangements about 
 the transport of tinned mutton. He is remark- 
 ably intelhgent about sheep, but has little to 
 say on any other subject ; and indeed I am not 
 in the mood to find out the best qualities of any- 
 one with whom I may come in contact. 
 
 * There is one of the steerage passengers 
 who interests me very much, because I have 
 seen so little of him ! He is always on deck 
 Avhen I come up and always disappears below 
 the moment he sees me. I do not think this is 
 on account of anything dreadful in my appear- 
 ance, but it is a ciu"ious circumstance that 
 whenever I come up he goes down. 
 
 ' I have made friends with all the other 
 steerage passengers, and especially with a 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 J94 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 woman, who, with three children, is going out 
 to her husband, a baker, in Sydney. She tells 
 me that the man who has interested me by his 
 droll conduct has a private berth in the steer- 
 age, and that he seems to be a particular friend 
 of the Captain, who often visits him. He 
 sleeps all day and is up all night, so that the 
 other passengers see very little of him. No 
 doubt that is why his ways have seemed to me 
 so peculiar. 
 
 ' I do not yet feel quite sure that I am in 
 my right senses ; the event is so utterly be- 
 wildering, and — painful is the only word I can 
 find to express my meaning without exaggera- 
 tion. But the embarrassment to me cannot be 
 exaggerated. And yet he pledges himself not 
 to come near me, not even to show himself on 
 deck during the remainder of the passage if 
 that is my will. 
 
 'I do lot know what to say, but perhaj^s I
 
 RUTH WRITES AGAIN. 
 
 195 
 
 may gain steadiness by setting down here the 
 particulars of the whole occurrence. 
 
 ' We have been passing through a series of 
 heavy gales. On Monday evening a great wave 
 swept over the vessel, it stove in what they call 
 the booby hatch, broke down part of the bul- 
 Avark at one side, caught me in its terrible 
 embrace, and slung me along with irresistible 
 strength. I would certainly have been carried 
 overboard, but I got jammed against the cabin 
 railing, and someone caught me by the arm and 
 held me securely, so that the next wave passed 
 without doing me any more harm than in- 
 creasing the wetness of my clothes. 
 
 ' I lost consciousness, however, and when I 
 came to myself, I asked the captain where my 
 preserver was. I remember now how awkward 
 he looked, but I did not think of it at the 
 time. 
 
 ' " It w^as just one of the steerage folk 
 that happened to be at hand. He does not 
 o 2
 
 196 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 expect any reward, so you need not trouble 
 yourself about him." 
 
 ' " I had no thought of giving him any 
 other reward than my thanks." 
 
 ' " Ah, weel, they'll keep till he gets better ; 
 at this minute he is clean knocked up wi' the 
 wprry and excitement o' the thing. Be patient, 
 and he'll come to you. He's a stout and honest 
 chappie, but he has got an awful dookin'." 
 
 ' I became feverish and was for a couple of 
 days unable to rise. The good Captain had 
 occupied much of his time in seeking informa- 
 tion about the man who had saved me. At 
 least so he said, and I concluded that, as he had 
 to seek information about him, tlie man could 
 not be such an intimate friend as the baker's 
 Avife had led me to believe. 
 
 ' At last I was able to be on deck again, and 
 the Captain, after some hesitation, led forward 
 my preserver. 
 
 * The man was Mr. Dottridge ! '
 
 197 
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 THE MAN WHO SPECULATES IS LOST. 
 
 Mrs. Meredith had a few words in private 
 with Mr. Eapier before he left Derewood 
 Grange. It was in the morning after breakfast 
 when Stephen had gone with the veterinary 
 surgeon to examine a valuable bullock which 
 was threatened with the plague. This had 
 been a source of great anxiety to him, for if the 
 plague should seize upon his unusually large 
 stock of cattle, the loss would involve almost 
 immediate ruin. 
 
 Mrs. Meredith was able to speak freely to 
 Mr. Eapier : first, because she regarded him as 
 a sort of agent of Mr. Dottridge, and beUeved he
 
 198 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 knew more about that gentleman's arrange- 
 ments than anyone else : secondly, because he 
 thoroughly understood the real state of 
 Stephen's affairs ; and lastly, because — without 
 any distinct conspiracy between them — he had 
 become her firm ally in her endeavour to bring 
 about a marriage between her son and Dahlia 
 Whitcombe. 
 
 They were in the library. Eapier was 
 speaking with that air of perfect frankness 
 which usually disposed people in his favour. 
 
 ' I do not think you need disturb yourself in 
 the least, Mrs. Meredith, and if you will leave 
 things to run their own course I am satisfied 
 you will have your wish.' 
 
 ' I am glad you think so ; but it is now 
 more than two months since Euth went away, 
 and although he does not speak of her I know 
 that he is constantly thinking of her.' 
 
 ' Very likely, and I admire him for it ; but 
 he is also thinking about Miss Whitcombe.
 
 THE MAN WHO SPECULATES IS LOST. 199 
 
 She has decidedly a very tender regard for him 
 — anybody can see that.' 
 
 'But he does not see it, and I am really 
 most anxious about the poor girl ; for his in- 
 difference has hurt her a great deal, and I am 
 sure that a final disappointment would cause her 
 serious injury.' 
 
 ' Oh, she would survive ! ' said Eapier reas- 
 suringly, and smiling as he thought of Dahlia's 
 character as he understood it ; ' that is, she 
 would survive the loss of him ; the loss of the 
 fortune is another affair.' 
 
 ' You do her injustice, Mr. Eapier ; for I am 
 greatly deceived if she is thinking of the fortune 
 at all now.' 
 
 ' She will make the better wife, then ; and 
 she is the more worthy of your son. But what 
 is of importance to you in the meanwhile is that 
 she cares so much for him, and that he is inte- 
 rested in her. He is concerned about her 
 future, as he gave me very plainly to understand
 
 2do OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 when we were in the meadow last night ; he is 
 even speculating about the sort of person who 
 would make a suitable husband for her, and, 
 you know, once the thoughts are turned in that 
 direction the man who speculates is lost. Be 
 patient, do not interfere, and I prophesy that 
 all will go well.' 
 
 'I hope you may prove a true prophet/ 
 said Mrs. Meredith, a little doubtfully ; ' but I 
 wish matters could be hastened.' 
 
 ' His embarrassments may help to do that. 
 I don't like to be a bearer of ill tidings, but 
 I may tell you in confidence that I know 
 he has some very serious difficulties before 
 him.' 
 
 ' I am aware of that,' said the mother 
 sighing ; ' and now that Mr. Dottridge is away 
 I do not see what we are to do. I hope you 
 will be with us soon again.' 
 
 ' You must invite me, and of course 
 you can always summon me by note or by
 
 THE MAN WHO SPECULATES IS LOST 201 
 
 telegram addressed to the Cosmos, if you 
 should happen to require my assistance in 
 any way. You know how glad I always am 
 to serve you.* 
 
 When the prophet Eapier was taking leave 
 of Dahlia he whispered — 
 
 ' I wish you would tell me what you would 
 like for a wedding present.' 
 
 ' Certainly — your card with P.P.C. on it,' 
 she answered coldly. 
 
 ' Cruel,' he exclaimed, smiling reproachfully, 
 and he went away. 
 
 There was no doubt that so far as friend- 
 ship was concerned, Eapier w^as correct in 
 saying that Stephen was interested in Dahlia. 
 He had apparently quite forgotten what had oc- 
 curred that foggy night in the train, and she did 
 nothing to remind him of it ; but there was 
 something subdued in her manner now which 
 pleased him. 
 
 Without giving him the slightest sense of
 
 204 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 obtrusiveness she was always near him when- 
 ever he wanted anything, and, without his being 
 conscious of any special change in their rela- 
 tionship, she gradually obtained the place of 
 intimate companion and friend, to whom he 
 spoke freely of whatever gave him pleasure or 
 worried him. 
 
 He found her sympathy and hopefulness 
 more and more helpful to him as day by day 
 his embarrassments increased. What he had 
 dreaded took place; the plague broke out 
 amongst the cattle, and the whole stock had to 
 be destroyed. Then foot-and-mouth disease 
 attacked the sheep, and about the middle of 
 spring Stephen Meredith found himself face to 
 face with absolute ruin. 
 
 But the worst blow of all came in a telegram 
 from Mr. Bassnett. It was short but terrible in 
 its brevity.
 
 THE MAN WHO SPECULATES IS LOST. 203 
 
 From P. Bassnett^ To Stephen Meredithj 
 
 Sergeanfs Inn. Derewood Grange, 
 
 Dunthorpe. 
 
 News just received. The ' Eucalyptus ' a 
 complete wreck. Only the first mate with two 
 of the crew and three steerage passengers saved. 
 Shall telegraph the moment any further news 
 arrives, 
 
 Stephen stood quite still with the paper in 
 his hand. His face became sickly white ; but he 
 felt nothing for the first few moments — he was 
 stunned. 
 
 'For heaven's sake, Stephen, what is the 
 matter ? ' cried the mother. 
 
 He made no, reply, but a curious, mocking, 
 bitter smile gradually overspread his face, and 
 distorted the features as with acute pain. 
 
 ' Can you not speak ? ' almost shrieked 
 the mother, frightened by his look and his 
 silence. 
 
 Dahlia stepped softly up to him and took
 
 264 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 the paper from his nerveless hand. The blood 
 left her cheeks, and her eyes started wildly 
 when she read it. 
 
 'The ship is wrecked — Euth is drowned,' 
 she said in a low voice that was full of terror, 
 for she felt as if in some mysterious way she 
 were guilty of murder. 
 
 She had wished that Euth might never come 
 back to England ; she had thought of the 
 dangers of the sea, and she had sometimes 
 vaguely tried to imagine what would happen if 
 the Eucalyptus should be wrecked. These 
 thoughts came back to her now with bitter 
 reproach ; she trembled with shame and 
 remorse. The sight of his dumb agony fright- 
 ened her, and yet she could not take her eyes 
 away from him. 
 
 ' The ship wrecked — Euth drowned,' echoed 
 Mrs. Meredith bewilderedly. ' What does it all 
 mean? I don't understand. Who says that 
 she is drowned.'
 
 THE MAN WHO SPECULATES IS LOST. 205 
 
 Still sileDce, but that hideous smile gradu- 
 ally disappeared. 
 
 * Poor Stephen ! ' moaned Dahlia at last, and 
 at that moment with the vision in her mind's 
 eye of Euth's dead form floating upon the great 
 sea, and with Stephen so cold and motionless 
 before her, she would have been willing to 
 change places with the woman who had hitherto 
 seemed to be the only barrier between her and 
 happiness.
 
 2o6 OF HIGH DEGREE 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. ^ 
 ruth's last notes. 
 
 * It is three weeks since I have been able to 
 write anything, and during nearly all that time 
 it seemed as if I should never be able to use 
 the pen again. The storms through which we 
 have passed have been to me terrible, and the 
 captain tells me that he has not experienced 
 such severe weather for nearly twenty years. 
 The ship is greatly disabled, and it is im- 
 possible that it could pass safely through such 
 another series of gales. 
 
 'There is a lull to-day, and although the 
 sea is still rolling high and angrily, I can 
 manage to jot down a sentence at intervals. I 
 make the effort to write even in this fragment-
 
 RUTH'S LAST NOTES, 207 
 
 ary way, because I am most anxious to record 
 what has occurred. Death has been and is 
 still so near to us all that I cannot shut my 
 eyes to the possibility of never reaching land. 
 There is another possibility, however — that the 
 box in which I shall place this book may be 
 washed ashore or picked up by some ship more 
 fortunate than ours ; and with this faint hope I 
 strive to write. 
 
 ' It comforts and strengthens me to imagine 
 that if the worst happens, you may learn, 
 Stephen, at some remote time how abiding my 
 love has been to you. 
 
 ' The captain was smiling as if he had only 
 taken part in some good-natured joke when he 
 brought Mr. Dottridge forward to me. 
 
 ' " You see you have more friends on board 
 than you kenned," he said, and turned away, 
 leaving us alone together. 
 
 My amazement was so great that I could
 
 268 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 not speak, althougli it seemed to me in my 
 bewilderment as if I had called his name aloud 
 many times. The mere fact of his presence 
 there was so extraordinary that I did not at 
 first pay any attention to the change in his 
 appearance 
 
 *When I had last seen him at Kemerton 
 he was an invalid, scarcely able to venture 
 unaided from one part of the house to another ; 
 surrounded by every luxury and carefully 
 guarded against the least disturbance. Here 
 he was now in plain, homely garments, stand- 
 ing firmly on the deck, and apparently well 
 able to take care of himself. His face had 
 lost much of its sallowness ; his eyes were clear 
 and unaffected by the light, which used to 
 cause them so much pain. Had not the 
 serious nature of his long illness been known 
 to me I never would have suspected that this 
 man had walked out from the gateway of the 
 grave.
 
 RUTH'S LAST NOTES. ao9 
 
 ' He looked ten — nay, twenty years — 
 younger than when I said good-bye to him in 
 his own room. Of course, the surroundings 
 and the darkness there might easily have 
 deceived anyone as to his real condition ; but 
 it could not have deceived me, as I was so 
 much with him. I knew that during the last 
 few months he had seemed to be gaining 
 strength rapidly in spite of the dreadful verdict 
 which the physicians finally pronounced. But 
 certainly the improvement was not so rapid as 
 to account for the change I saw in him 
 now. 
 
 ' If the time since I saw him last had been 
 in reality as long as my suffering m.ade it seem 
 to me, there could not have been a greater 
 difference between the man as he was then and 
 as he appeared now. The two consumptive 
 passengers were in comparison only subjects 
 for the undertaker ; he was a hale man, likely 
 to live many years. 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 2IO OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ^ He relieved me from my confusion and 
 amazement by speaking first. 
 
 ' I will do my best to set down accurately 
 all that occurred. I know you will resent 
 some of it, Stephen ; that you will tell me I 
 ought never to have placed myself in a position 
 where such passages were possible, and I know 
 that you are right. I ought not to have left 
 you, I ought not to have left England. But it 
 was done, and I would have been more than 
 human — certainly more than woman — if I had 
 not sympathised ^vith him. 
 
 ' " Try not to be angry with me, Euth," he 
 said, in such a low voice that with the wild 
 rushing sound of the waves, and the wind 
 whistling around us I could scarcely hear his 
 words. " I did not mean you to know that I 
 was on board. These gales, your accident and 
 repeated request to see the man who had 
 helped you, overcame my resolution. I could 
 not help coming when you sent for me so often,
 
 RUTH'S LAST NOTES. 211 
 
 although aware that you would be annoyed 
 and perhaps angry." 
 
 *"Why did you not tell me that you were 
 to sail in the Eucalyptus ? '* I asked, much 
 distressed by the position in which his presence 
 placed me. " I understood that you were 
 going to the South of France." 
 
 * He looked at me reproachfully, and it was 
 impossible to avoid feeling that, somehow, I 
 deserved a rebuke for my ingratitude. 
 
 * " You know that you would not have 
 sailed in the same ship with me," he answered 
 very quietly ; " and I did not think it necessary 
 that you should know I was here. My whole 
 object was to be near you, ready to help you if 
 any peril should arise ; to see you safely 
 landed, or — yes, I must speak it — or to go 
 down with you if ill befell the ship. . . . 
 You do not know ^vhat a fool I am about 
 you." 
 
 * He spoke the last words bitterly, as if he 
 
 p 2
 
 212 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 would almost have been glad to have had other 
 feelings regarding me. 
 
 ' " When you knew that I would not sail 
 in the same ship," I said, trying to speak 
 resolutely, but without unkindness, " was it not 
 cruelly unjust to me to come on board by 
 stealth?" 
 
 ' " I can see nothing unjust in it, and 
 although you have used the word, I know you 
 cannot feel that there is anything cruel in it." 
 
 ' '* I wish it had not happened," was all 
 that I could say. 
 
 ' At that there came over his face an ex- 
 pression which I had never seen before ; it 
 passed so quickly now that I cannot well 
 describe it, but there were in it feehngs of pity 
 and vexation. 
 
 ' " My presence cannot interfere with any of 
 your prospects or hopes," he said, earnestly. 
 " In any case you ought to be travelling undpr 
 my care, and you need not be afraid of anyone
 
 RUTH'S LAST NOTES. 213 
 
 being disturbed on that account, because what 
 has passed between us is still our secret ; and 
 besides there is absolutely nobody at home who 
 is acquainted with my whereabouts." 
 
 * " Mr. Eapier ? " I suggested. 
 
 ' " Not even he, although he is aware that I 
 am not shut up at Kemerton as other people 
 suppose, and after a certain time he will be at 
 liberty to tell anyone who inquires that I am 
 away from home. My cabin was prepared as 
 for an intimate friend of mine who desired great 
 privacy. The people in the office were directed 
 to hold me responsible for all expenses, and 
 that of course satisfied them. As for Captain 
 Mackay, we were several days out at sea before 
 he was made aware that his eccentric passenger 
 was the owner of the ship." 
 
 ' " But how were you able to venture to do 
 this without having somebody with you ? " I 
 asked, bewildered by the account of all the 
 trouble he had taken.
 
 214 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' "I cannot answer that, Euth, without toucli- 
 ing upon the subject which I know you wish to 
 avoid. I am afraid it cannot be avoided alto- 
 gether. Shall I speak ? " ' 
 
 ' I knew quite well what he meant, Stephen, 
 but I do not know exactly what impulse it was 
 that made me say " yes " to his question. This 
 is one of the things which you will be vexed 
 with me for ; but if you had seen his pitiful 
 look and remembered the great kindness he had 
 shown me — remembered, too, that all he was 
 doing now was because he cared so much for 
 me — I think you w^ould not blame me for wish- 
 ing to show him that I was not so ungrateful as 
 to be unable to trust him to speak freely. 
 
 ' I can trust him and myself too, for your 
 place in my thoughts can never be affected 
 except by one thing, and that is the impossible 
 event of your proving false to me. 
 
 ' " You gave me strength to act as I have 
 done," he said ; " but do not alarm yourself, I
 
 RUTH'S LAST NOTES. 215 
 
 shall not take advantage of your permission to 
 speak by saying more than is necessary to 
 enable you to understand why I am here. 
 When the doctors told me on what a feeble 
 thread my life depended I made, as you are 
 aware, such arrangemeo^-^ as a man on his 
 deathbed ought to make ; but I had no inten- 
 tion of continuing mere existence under such 
 terrible conditions as those imposed on me. 
 No creature could shut out emotion of every 
 kind even with all the safeguards money and 
 will could provide. I had the money but not 
 the will — that was taken from me by you." 
 
 ' " I do not like to hear that," I said, turn- 
 ing my face away, for it seemed as if he were 
 accusing me of doing something wrong. '' No 
 man needs to surrender his will to anyone." 
 
 ' *' You may as well say no man needs to 
 love. I was quite able to follow out my in- 
 structions as far as to Hve without hating any- 
 body ; but without love I could not, for that
 
 2i6 • OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 had full possession of me when the doom was 
 pronounced. Once before — long ago — I had 
 thought myself so possessed ; with the passion- 
 ate imagination of youth I endowed a woman 
 with all the attributes of my ideal of what a 
 woman should be, and found myself bitterly 
 mistaken. There was a great blank after that, 
 and at length you came to teach me that love 
 is not a passion but a faith." 
 
 ' " How can you be sure that you are not 
 mistaken in me also ? " 
 
 ' " I cannot be sure — I have faith, and that 
 is all ; but such faith is everything. Men 
 moved by its spirit have toiled on through 
 hardships that would have been misery without 
 it ; and when the need came they have died 
 calmly for it. That is what I am prepared to 
 do now.'' 
 
 ' " What can you mean ? " 
 
 ' I ought not to have asked that ; I ought 
 to have stopped him at once ; but the idea had
 
 RUTH'S LAST NOTES, 217 
 
 come into my head that I should allow him to 
 speak on now, so that I might have the more 
 authority for insisting upon his pledge that he 
 would never again approach this subject. 
 
 ' " To live for you, if I can ; to die for you 
 if it must be," he replied simply. " Do not 
 think there is any ridiculous rhodomontade in 
 what I am saying, Euth ; it may sound far- 
 fetched, but the meaning is plain. After our 
 first conversation about this matter you decided 
 to go to Australia. I determined not to inter- 
 fere beyond giving Stephen some inducement 
 to accept the happiness which was at his door 
 so that I might find my happiness too." 
 
 ' " I have already told you that you acted 
 cruelly to us all in the course you adopted," I 
 interrupted, feeling angry again, 
 
 ' " And I have already answered that I do 
 not think so, and did not mean to be so. If he 
 stands the test " 
 
 ' " He will stand the test, and if he can for-
 
 218 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 give my unworthy doubt of him, I shall give 
 my whole life to the endeavour to make up for 
 the pain T have caused him." 
 
 * He spoke so sadly in reply that I instantly 
 repented being so harsh with him. 
 
 ' " If he stands the test," was what he said, 
 " I cannot say, and you would not have me say 
 that it will be a pleasant thing for me. But I 
 will step aside and do what may be in my 
 power to help to secure your happiness. As for 
 Dahlia, I shall make other arrangements for her ; 
 but they cannot be so satisfactory as the one I 
 have made for her now." 
 
 ' " Why, then, when you are prepared to be 
 so generous, Mr. Dottridge, why have you 
 risked compelling me to say that after we reach 
 land we must never meet again ? " 
 
 ' " What have I done to make you even 
 think of coming to such a cruel resolution .^ " 
 
 * " You are here, on board this vessel with 
 me, and that fact, taken into account with my
 
 RUTH'S LAST NOTES. 219 
 
 having left Stephen without giving him full ex- 
 planation, may be and will be interpreted to 
 my disadvantage." 
 
 "'I will take care that no mistake of that 
 kind is made. Meanwhile I am here because 
 of my longing to be near you. What I said to 
 myself was that if the doctors were right, and 
 that the penalty for any sudden emotion on my 
 part was death, I would rather die near you, 
 watching over you, than in fretting anxiety 
 about you in my solitude at Kemerton. I 
 spoke to one of the doctors, and he said that if I 
 could stand the voyage it would be an excellent 
 thing for me, and he thought it possible that I 
 might entirely recover. He had known cases 
 in which a bold step, such as I proposed, had 
 proved completely successful. I think my case 
 is one of them ; for you see me now and you 
 remember what I seemed to be only a few 
 weeks ago.'* 
 
 ' " I shall be glad if the voyage does you
 
 220 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 good," I said, whilst trying to make up my mind 
 how to act under the circumstances. 
 
 * " I beheve it will restore me to sound 
 health, and at any rate I am near you, and for 
 that I would risk anything." 
 
 ' " Then let this be the last word between 
 us on that subject." 
 
 ' " Until the year is out, yes. Should you 
 wish it I will not come aft again until you send 
 for me, unless some danger compels me to seek 
 you." 
 
 ' To this I did not reply at the moment ; 
 but after thinking it out I told him that it was 
 nonsense to behave like two children sulking 
 with one another. It was a great pity he was 
 there, but beins^ there I should not be the cause 
 of making him a prisoner in his cabin. There 
 was no reason why we should not meet as 
 freely as we had done at Kemerton. 
 
 ' The look of joy which came into his face 
 when I told him this made me hasten to re-
 
 RUTH'S LAST NOTES. 221 
 
 mind him that the One subject was definitely 
 closed between us, and that any reference to it 
 again would send me at once to my cabin, from 
 which nothing would induce me to stir until we 
 reached land. 
 
 ' " I'll do exactly as you wish, Euth. I am 
 well content with this arrangement, for it is 
 much more than I expected when I came on 
 board, and it makes me quite happy for the time 
 being." 
 
 ' He said this so meekly that it was almost 
 amusing ; he was hke a youth promising obedi- 
 ence to the stern commands of his guardian. 
 Certainly no one would have recognised in him 
 the master of Kemerton, the cool, clear-headed 
 speculator, and the leader in so many daring 
 commercial enterprises. 
 
 ' I sympathise deeply with him, and wish to 
 be kindly to him. There seems to be some- 
 thing very hard in his fate — that in all the 
 affairs of the world he should have achieved
 
 222 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 such great success — that the biggest prizes for 
 which men struggle and wear out their lives 
 should have been so early won by him, and he 
 denied the power to enjoy them. First his 
 health robbed him of the ordinary pleasures at 
 his command ; and now this hopeless affection 
 for me threatens to destroy his last chance of 
 deriving any benefit at all from his wonderful 
 prosperity. 
 
 ' I know that I may be kind to him ; for 
 he will neither misunderstand me nor attempt 
 to take the least advantage of my feelings for 
 him. Since our conversation he has been con- 
 siderate in every way ; gentle and simple in his 
 conduct towards me, ready to come and go at 
 the slightest sign. 
 
 • • • • » 
 
 * I am glad now that he is with me ; I feel 
 less of an exile ; and it needed the reassuring 
 voice of an old friend to sustain me through 
 the terrors of these storms.
 
 RUTH'S LAST NOTES, 223 
 
 * There is some great commotion going on 
 overhead now. There seems to be great rush- 
 ing about the deck and I hear loud voices. 
 The Captain warned me that I was to be pre- 
 pared for '
 
 224 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVII. 
 love's requiem. 
 
 Dahlia's piteous moan roused Stephen. He 
 turned slowly, and very quietly took the tele- 
 gram from her. He touched the fair head 
 softly with his hand, as if he would thank her 
 for her sympathy and say, ' Be of good cheer.' 
 
 Then he was moving silently from the room 
 when his mother clasped both her hands on his 
 arm. 
 
 ' Stephen, for God's sake, speak ! You look 
 so strange that you frighten me. This news 
 may not be true — it cannot be true, it is 
 too terrible ! It is only some wild rumour. 
 You know how often ships are reported lost 
 when they are only delayed at sea by some
 
 LOVE'S REQUIEM. 225 
 
 accident, or contrary winds. Speak — say 
 something. You must not leave me like this ; 
 tell me what you think.' 
 
 This appeal compelled him to make an 
 effort to regain the power of speech, and he 
 said huskily — 
 
 ' I think it is true. . . . Don't be frightened, 
 mother, I want to be alone for a little while. 
 I'll be all right by-and-by.' 
 
 He went into the library and closed the 
 door. 
 
 ' Oh, how he loves her ! ' sobbed Dahlia, as 
 she sat down, crossed her pretty arms on the 
 table and hid her face on them. ' How he 
 loves her ! I'll never forget the look on his face 
 after he read the telegram.' 
 
 It was not a time at which Mrs. Meredith 
 could offer any consolation. She was too much 
 awe-stricken by the tidings of the calamity and 
 the effect it had on Stephen. She had been 
 glad indeed to get Euth out of the way, but 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 she had never once thought of her being re- 
 moved by death. Although this unexpected 
 event at once rendered the fulfihuent of her 
 wishes almost certain, she could not congratu- 
 late herself or feel any satisfaction in it. 
 
 She was a good-natured woman and a fond 
 mother, notwithstanding the arts she practised 
 to make Stephen accept the wife she had chosen 
 for him rather than the one he had chosen for 
 himself, and she was at that moment really 
 grieved for Euth's sad fate. 
 
 The consternation amongst the girls was 
 for a little as great as if a member of the family 
 had been lost, and it showed how much Euth's 
 calm, firm, wise nature had made itself felt 
 even here, where the disposition was to dislike 
 her because she had won away the big brother 
 from them and fi'om their favourite friend. 
 When Jim heard the news — his mother told 
 him in the afternoon when he returned from 
 some sporting excursion — he looked angry and
 
 LOVE'S REQUIEM. 227 
 
 was inclined to cry. Then he made one of the 
 most biting speeches Mrs. Meredith and the 
 girls had ever been doomed to hear. 
 
 ' I believe it's all your fault. She would 
 never have gone away if every one of you 
 hadn't been so spiteful to her about Stephen.' 
 
 And he banged out of the room, leaving 
 that sting in the minds of his mother and 
 sisters. They were all miserably conscious of 
 how they had shown their opposition to Euth, 
 as much by what they had not done as by 
 what they had done. The eldest sister, Hat, 
 was still absent, or she would have been ex- 
 cepted from Jim's sweeping condemnation. 
 
 Dahlia did not hear it, for she was in her 
 room. Her door was locked and bolted as if 
 she dreaded an invasion, or needed the help 
 of bolts and bars to hide her own disturbed 
 thoughts and remorse. 
 
 After the first shock of horror and conster- 
 nation had passed, Stephen experienced nothing 
 
 q2
 
 228 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 more than a dull sensation of utter stupidity 
 sucli as one feels when regaining consciousness 
 after a heavy fall. He found it impossible to 
 realise the position. 
 
 Euth had gone away ; Kuth was lost at sea ; 
 Euth would never come back ; Euth was 
 dead ; he would never see her again ! 
 
 These phrases were being sung in his brain 
 with monotonous iteration, and yet they pro- 
 duced no wild agony, and did not seem to help 
 him to understand how it could be that Euth, 
 with whom he had parted only the other day ; 
 Euth, whose kiss was still warm upon his lips, 
 would never come back to him ! Yet she had 
 promised to come in a year, or whenever he 
 was in trouble, and she had never broken her 
 promise. This time she could n6t keep it ; 
 Death barred the way. 
 
 There was an instant of impatience as he 
 remembered how hard he had striven to 
 dissuade her from making this fatal voyage,
 
 LOVE'S REQUIEM. 229 
 
 and how obstinately she had persisted in it. 
 But the impatience passed and then came the 
 recollection of her grave, sweet face, of the 
 tender eyes, the soft soothing voice, the gentle 
 touch of her hand, her earnest eagerness to be 
 helpful and useful to others — all the qualities 
 which had made him love her were recalled ; 
 everything that had made him at times irri- 
 table or downright angry with her was for- 
 gotten. 
 
 The longing — the wild yearning for her 
 which rose within him produced actual phy- 
 sical pain. And it was all so simple. She had 
 gone away in this vessel in spite of him — with- 
 out any necessity for doing so, without any 
 object of importance to serve for herself or 
 anyone else ; and here was the end of it : 
 Death ! 
 
 Why could he not have held her back ? 
 Why had he had no strength of will or love to 
 make her stay ? If she had only waited for a
 
 230 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 few weeks ! If she had only gone by another . 
 ship ! If he had only set her wishes at defiance 
 and openly claimed the right to control her 
 which she gave in professing to love him, all 
 might have been well now. If — 
 
 But what was the use of all this specula- 
 tion ? She was gone ; the Eucalyptus was a 
 wreck, and Euth was drowned. There was no 
 more to be said. 
 
 But he could not thrust aside his vain 
 regrets. Countless arguments which he might 
 have used to stop her, and had not, crowded 
 upon his brain, torturing him. How difierently 
 he would have acted, too, if he had not been at 
 the time worried and distressed by his cursed 
 financial difficulties ! How much bolder, how 
 much more determined he would have been ! 
 Then he would have said — 
 
 ' No, you shall not go ; you are pledged to 
 me ; you are mine. We shall be married to- 
 morrow/
 
 LOVE'S REQUIEM. 231 
 
 And she would have yielded — he felt sure 
 of that ; but this cursed want of money had 
 tied his tongue and hands, and she was lost in 
 consequence. 
 
 It was horrible to sit brooding this way. 
 If there had been anything for him to do — if 
 he could be actively moving about something 
 on her account he would have felt better. The 
 grim thought flitted across his mind that he 
 would have found some reUef if he might even 
 have had the poor satisfaction of seeing after 
 the arrangements for her funeral. But there 
 was absolutely nothing to do except sit 
 down and wait for confirmation of the cruel 
 tidings. 
 
 He started to his feet. Yes, there was one 
 thing he could do which might distract his atten- 
 tion for a httle. He could go to Bassnett and 
 see if by any chance further news had arrived. 
 He knew it was only a pretence to get into 
 action of some sort, for Bassnett was well
 
 232 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 aware of his interest in Euth, and would not 
 delay a moment in forwarding information as it 
 arrived. 
 
 . But lie took the next train to London, all 
 the same ; and with the result he expected. 
 Bassnett knew nothing more than had been 
 stated in his telegram. This bit of comfort was 
 offered him, however — 
 
 'The ship carried a valuable cargo,' said 
 the lawyer, in his dry but kindly way ; ' and 
 was heavily insured. The underwriters are as 
 anxious about her fate as you can be, and will 
 have the earhest information that can be pro- 
 cured. They have promised to keep me 
 advised of whatever they learn, and you shall 
 have it as fast as the telegraph can take it to 
 you. Meanwhile a message has been sent to 
 Mr. Dottridge's agents in Sydney, and every- 
 thing is being done in our power to obtain 
 early details of the wreck.' 
 
 Stephen thanked him. Of course he had
 
 LOVE'S REQUIEM, 233 
 
 been aware that he could not learn anything 
 more that day, and he was annoyed with him- 
 self for the feehng of disappointment with 
 which he left Sergeant's Inn. The journey did 
 not relieve his depression in the least : the 
 bustle and noise of the London streets seemed 
 to make him the more acutely conscious of the 
 silence of the grave within his breast. He 
 would be glad to get into the country again — 
 the quietude there was more in harmony with 
 his mood, and so more likely to prove soothing. 
 Consolation he did not think of; there can be 
 no consolation to a man who feels that all he 
 prized in the world, all he lived for, has been 
 taken from him. 
 
 One sensible resolution he made as he sat 
 in the train, that so far as it was in his power 
 he would go through the ordinary routine of 
 every-day life, showing as little as possible of 
 his anguish to the others. He knew that mere 
 mechanical submission to common-place duties
 
 234 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 would help liim more than anything else to 
 overcome his gloom. 
 
 So, much to the relief of Mrs. Meredith, he 
 was in his place at dinner. Dahlia was absent, 
 feeling too ill to leave her room. All were 
 very quiet. The shadow was upon them, but 
 no reference was made to the calamity which 
 caused it. Stephen did not think it was the 
 time to make an effort to pretend to be at ease, 
 and he could not have done so even if he 
 would. 
 
 After dinner he went into the library. By 
 instinctive recognition of the propriety of it, he 
 was allowed to go alone and to remain undis- 
 turbed. 
 
 ' I don't like to see Steve so down in the 
 mouth,' observed Jim to the family ; ' and I 
 had half a mind to propose a game at chess ; 
 but I don't believe he would know a king from 
 a pawn to-night. What can any fellow of 
 sense see in a woman to get into such a state
 
 LOVE'S REQUIEM. 235 
 
 about her? Why if he had lost the Derby he 
 could not be worse. You won't catch me 
 mooning that way at any rate.' 
 
 ' Wait till your time comes, sir,' said Miss 
 Juliet (aged eighteen), severely. 
 
 ' Oh, I suppose you expect to have some- 
 body in fits some day, Jue. Well, he'll be a 
 fellow who has no sisters.' 
 
 ' I wish you would be quiet, James,' said 
 his mother gravely. She never called him Jim. 
 ' Stephen is very much upset, and I think you 
 ought to sympathise with him so far as not to 
 make any noise to-night.' 
 
 ' I don't suppose Steve wants me to be in 
 the dumps as well as himself, mammy. I 
 should say he will think you and Dahha enough 
 to bear him company in mourning ; but I 
 won't make any row. I have the whole of my 
 notes of the last anatomy lecture to write out, 
 and that will keep me quiet enough. What a 
 rum go? — the subject was the heart, and you
 
 236 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 girls ought to have seen what a pretty sight 
 it was under the knife as it was shced this way 
 and ' 
 
 ' Do be quiet, Jim,' cried the girls, in chorus. 
 
 Being in his first course of training for the 
 medical profession, Jim was proud of his 
 newly-acquired knowledge, and it was one of 
 his wicked joys to make his sisters' flesh creep 
 with highly coloured descriptions of the work 
 in the dissecting room, or with ghastly jokes 
 about drugs and how he could dispose of the 
 whole family without anybody being a bit the 
 wiser. They scarcely ever dared to venture 
 into his ' laboratory ' as he called his little 
 room at the top of the house, for it contained 
 several skeletons of animals, ranged on brackets 
 and shelves round the walls, and a human 
 skeleton shut up in a tall box something like a 
 small-sized old-fashioned sentry-box. Jim 
 called this his sentinel, declaring that it would 
 walk out and hug the first girl who entered to
 
 LOVE'S REQUIEM. lyj 
 
 disturb his things. But they had no desire to 
 intrude into his chamber of horrors as they 
 called his laboratory. 
 
 ' The smell is enough/ Juliet used to say, 
 ' from all those nasty chemicals you are for ever 
 messing with when you are not teasing us. I 
 wonder mamma does not stop you.' 
 
 ' Mind your own business,' Jim would reply, 
 and some wranglings, more or less good-natured, 
 would follow. 
 
 On the present occasion a look from his 
 mother, and some kindly remembrance of Ruth 
 and his brother stopped him. 
 
 Stephen had first tried to read, but amongst 
 all his favourite books he could not find one 
 which had the power of commanding his atten- 
 tion for a couple of sentences. Then he took 
 his desk, resolved to seek comfort from Ruth 
 herself. Her letters were all in it. There 
 were not many of them, for they had been so
 
 238 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 near each other that there had been few occa- 
 sions for correspondence. 
 
 He handled them almost reverently now, 
 and wished that there had been some truth in 
 modern spirituahsm ; for if love could give a 
 title to hold communion with the dead, surely 
 he had the power to summon the spirit of Euth 
 to come to him then, that he might see her and 
 hear her voice again. 
 
 If that could only be ! There was no need 
 to concentrate his thoughts upon her in order 
 to work the charm, for she occupied them all. 
 There was no need to pray for it. His longing, 
 his yearning for any sign from her, formed the 
 most devout prayer that ever came from a 
 man's soul. 
 
 He was sitting with one of the letters open 
 before him, his back towards the door. There 
 was that strange quietude in the place which 
 comes when sorrow too deep for words has 
 fallen upon the heart.
 
 LOVE'S REQUIEM. 239 
 
 Thinking about this spiritualism, wishing 
 that it had been true, and smihng sadly at its 
 vanity, he experienced a nervous thrill over 
 his whole frame, when a soft, cold hand was 
 laid tenderly on his. He did not look up im- 
 mediately ; in spite of himself there rose a 
 vision of Euth standing beside him. 
 
 He turned slowly, and saw a white, fair 
 face with two wondering, sympathising, tearful 
 eyes, gazing earnestly upon him. 
 
 ' Why, Dahlia,' he said gently and smiling, 
 ' do you know you gave me a sort of start. I 
 w^as thinking about ghosts, and as I did not 
 hear you coming in, the foolish fancy crossed 
 my mind that perhaps you were one.' 
 
 ' I hope you are not vexed with me for 
 coming, Stephen,' she said, nervously and 
 tenderly ; ' but I could not rest. I could not 
 go to bed until I came to speak to you. I 
 know you are in sorrow and — oh, Stephen, I 
 wish I could comfort you even a very httle ! '
 
 240 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 She dropped on her knees beside his chair, 
 and hid her face on the arm of it, sobbing. 
 
 ' Poor Dahlia ! ' he said softly, resting his 
 hand on her head. ' You too are suffering. 
 Tell me what is the matter.'
 
 241 
 
 CHAPTEE XYIII. 
 
 DOES SHE LOVE HIM? 
 
 Tell him wliat was the matter ! How quietly 
 he said it, and how kindly — just hke one who 
 being in trouble himself is the quicker in his 
 sympathies with those of others, and the readier 
 to give an attentive ear to the outpourings of 
 their affliction. 
 
 He had no suspicion, then. He did . not 
 know what it was he requested her to do. 
 Otherwise he could never have asked her to 
 make confession of her love for himself What 
 dull stuff he must be made of, or how cruel he 
 must be ! No — she would not do him in- 
 justice. It was his absorbing passion for Euth 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 which made him bhnd to the feeUngs of 
 others. 
 
 His loyalty irritated her to a degree that 
 she felt was very near the thin hne which 
 divides sanity and insanity. And yet it filled 
 her with a fierce and unreasonable desire to 
 win for herself the devotion he had given to 
 another. But she was acutely sensible that 
 such devotion was not easily won or often 
 found ; and she was stung by the thought that 
 when he spoke just now he showed that so 
 far she had only obtained his pity. 
 
 Was it love which actuated her, or selfish 
 interest ? A combination of the two, pro- 
 bably ; she did not know, but it was what she 
 believed to be love now. She had no fixed 
 principles to guide her. She told fibs when 
 occasion seemed to require them, and told 
 them to herself more frequently than to others. 
 She meant no harm. She was swayed by the 
 impulse or passion of the moment to do what
 
 DOES SHE LOVE HIM? 243 
 
 might be right or wrong, and when it cooled 
 she was willing to direct its effect to her own 
 profit. 
 
 She had been told that unless she married 
 Stephen Meredith she would be left penniless. 
 That drove her forward into the action she had 
 taken. She had always liked him and was 
 therefore very wiUing to think of him as a 
 husband. Euth stood between them. But it 
 was only a joke to a born coquette to try to 
 oust another woman from a man's breast. 
 
 Stephen was unconscious of all her arts, but 
 her insidious flattery had its effect. He liked 
 to have her near him ; liked to talk to her 
 about his own troubles and especially about 
 Euth. Then tne spirit of rivalry, the appear- 
 ance of which is the sign for the noble nature 
 to stand aside, goaded her forward until now, 
 what love she was capable of feeling was given 
 to him. 
 
 So, when Stephen spoke to her in that calm,
 
 244 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 kindly way, which indicated how unconscious 
 he was of anything but close friendship between 
 them, she swallowed her sobs with a gulping 
 efibrt, which was more painful to the listener 
 than the sobs themselves. But she did not rise 
 or speak. 
 
 ' Tell me what is the matter. Dahlia,' he 
 repeated. ' You wish to comfort me : then 
 you could not find a better or surer way of 
 doing it than by showing me something I may 
 do to make you happy.' 
 
 How easily she could have answered him — 
 ' Love me ; that will make me happy all the 
 days of my life,' and she fervently believed it 
 would. But she could not say that yet. Her 
 heart thrilled with pleasure at his words, and 
 her thoughts darted into the future when she 
 might tell him in some way how he could 
 make her happy. 
 
 Stephen had no idea that he had already 
 done her so much good. He saw her suffering
 
 DOES SHE LOVE HlMf •iJi.x^ 
 
 and oifered instant help. To his mind real 
 kindliness is shown by the helpful act done 
 promptly in the moment of need, not by the 
 act done in philosophical calmness after due 
 and methodical consideration of the rights and 
 wrongs of the case, and mathematical calcula- 
 tion as to the proper time to step in. Those 
 moved by sympathetic impulse may often err 
 and suffer much personal discomfort in conse- 
 quence, but they are more frequently successful 
 in speaking the helpful word, or giving the 
 needed penny at the right moment, than those 
 who ' do good ' on studied principles. 
 
 Stephen had at any rate spoken the 
 most helpful words that could be found for 
 Dahlia. 
 
 When she had quite subdued her sobs she 
 lifted those innocent, inquiring eyes to his face, 
 as she said earnestly, and yet with a spice of 
 pretty timidity, as if half afraid the answer 
 might dispel her cherished hope —
 
 246 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 ' Do you really wish very much to make me 
 — to make me happy, Stephen ? ' 
 
 ' I do indeed, and only want to know how 
 to set about it. There will be a comfort to me 
 in feehng able to do something for somebody. 
 This sense of utter helplessness and uselessness 
 is the hardest part of what I have to bear at 
 present.' 
 
 ' Ah, I am afraid you cannot do what is 
 needed to make me happy.' 
 
 ' I can try, at any rate, and am willing to 
 try, for your sake.' 
 
 ' For my sake ! ' she echoed with dreamy, 
 wondering joy, hngering on the words. Then, 
 more brightly, ' Will you try to overcome this 
 great sorrow which has befallen you ? Will 
 you try yoiurself to be happy ? ' 
 
 A pause ; he rested his head back on the 
 chair and closed his eyes. 
 
 'How can I answer that.^ I know that 
 other people have suffered what was as great a
 
 DOES SHE LOVE HIM? 247 
 
 loss to them as mine is to me, and have sur- 
 vived to enjoy the world and its ways. Very 
 likely I shall do the same ' 
 
 ' Oh, yes ! ' she cried eagerly as he paused ; 
 * time cures everything, and you will get over 
 this and look well and be happy again.' 
 
 ' I suppose so,' he replied slowly, meditat- 
 ing ; ' but I cannot tell how that may be brought 
 about. I do not know that I have yet suffered 
 the worst of my pain ; that will come as day 
 after day the fact is forced upon me that I can 
 never see her again. There is not a book or a 
 trifle in this room that she has touched that 
 will not remind me of it and renew my vain 
 regrets; there is not a pathway between this 
 and Kemerton every step in which will not 
 sadden me with memories of — but this is not 
 trying to comfort you, Dahlia ; this is selfish 
 indulgence of my own grief. Let us talk of 
 something else.' 
 
 ' We cannot talk of anything eke when
 
 248 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 your mind is so full of one subject. I have 
 been very miserable all day too thinking of it. 
 I know it is no use ; I know we can do her no 
 good by being wretched ; but when I think of 
 
 you I am . Oh, I don't know what to 
 
 say, Stephen ; but I want to find some way of 
 cheering you \ ' 
 
 ' You must give up trying for the present,' 
 he said, with a sad attempt to smile at her 
 childlike eagerness to comfort him. ' If you 
 cannot bear the sight of me I will try to keep 
 out of the way.' 
 
 ' You know that would be worst of all for 
 — everybody to bear.' 
 
 ' Well, we must wait. I will do my best 
 not to distress you by my gloom ; but that is 
 all I can promise. There, Dahlia, will you be 
 content with that for the present .^ I shall re- 
 member that you will be happy when you see 
 me better, and maybe that will help me.' 
 
 Her head was bowed again : she did not
 
 DOES SHE LOVE HIMf 249 
 
 understand this man ; but she knew that she 
 was being drawn closer to him by this new 
 proof of the depth of his affections. And 
 what could she do to obtain the first place in 
 his thoughts now? What sacrifice could she 
 make that would compel him to feel how 
 entirely devoted she was to him no matter 
 what happened ? She was thoroughly in 
 earnest. She beheved that she would do any- 
 thing for him, and at that moment the pro- 
 spects of Suttee would have had no terrors for 
 her. 
 
 There was one thing she could do, and 
 she knew it was what would please him — 
 besides it might be a protection to herself here- 
 after. She could be honest to him ; she could 
 tell him the whole truth about how she first 
 came to wish him to be her husband ; and if 
 she told him now he would believe in the 
 reality of the change which had come over her ; 
 he would believe, what was true, that she was
 
 2SO OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ready to throw away the fortune if he would 
 only love her a little. 
 
 Afterwards — what could she say or do that 
 would convince him that all her tokens of love 
 were not mere pretences, practised upon him 
 because she feared to lose the money ? Above 
 all the conflicting thoughts and emotions which 
 disturbed her there was the constant cry — 
 
 ' Will he ever care for me ? Can he ever 
 care for me, or is his heart drowned with 
 Euth?' 
 
 His voice roused her from the long waking 
 dream. 
 
 'What are you brooding about .^ Some- 
 thing unpleasant or you would look up. Can 
 you not trust me with whatever it is ? ' 
 
 That decided her ; if she should obtain his 
 affection it should be honestly, and not because 
 she wanted the fortune. 
 
 She raised her head again, and rose to her 
 feet, resting her arm on the back of his chair so
 
 DOES SHE LOVE HIM? 251 
 
 that she coiild see his face, although he could 
 not see her. 
 
 ' You are right, Stephen, my thoughts were 
 not agreeable ones. I was trying to answer 
 this question. Suppose a person is obliged to 
 pledge herself to keep a secret the result of 
 which will be greatly to her advantage, and 
 suppose after keeping her pledge for some time 
 she thinks that it is wrong to keep it any 
 longer, and that it would be more to her ad- 
 vantage to betray it — what should she do ? ' 
 
 ' A casuist would settle that for you easily ; 
 he would say, calculate the proportions of the 
 relative advantage, and decide in favour of the 
 biggest.' 
 
 ' But what would you say ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, my opinion is not worth much. But 
 I would say that, liaving accepted the trust 
 of a secret, you should regard it in the same 
 way as you would the trust of money, and 
 not part with it on any consideration, unless
 
 252 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 authorised to do so by those who entrusted it 
 to you.' 
 
 ' But suppose that my fidehty to this awk- 
 ward trust should present the possibility of my 
 whole conduct being misunderstood by one of 
 the people most concerned and one for whom I 
 have a — a very great regard ? ' 
 
 Stephen looked up at her curiously, and 
 sought aid from her face in understanding the 
 proposition. 
 
 ' You puzzle me. I am not clever in find- 
 ing out riddles — especially to-night. But I 
 should still say be true to your trust, and have 
 confidence in 'the person you allude to — be 
 sure that he or she vdll respect you more for 
 your fidelity than for your treachery, even if 
 that should be to his benefit.' ' 
 
 That was a point of view from which she 
 had not regarded the question. She must be 
 silent then ; but if ever any misunderstanding 
 on this subject should arise between them in
 
 DOES SHE LOVE HIM? 253 
 
 the future, she could remind him that she had 
 been wilhng to sacrifice the fortune in order to 
 be perfectly honest with him. At the same 
 time it was perfectly clear to her that it was 
 better for his sake that she should not throw 
 away twenty thousand to gratify what was, 
 after all, only the vanity of showing that her 
 love was genuine. 
 
 It was one of her ways of proving to her 
 own satisfaction that she was * not a fool ' to 
 provide some ready explanation in the future 
 for present equivocation, as : — ' I would have 
 told you all about it if you would have 
 hstened ; ' or 'I told you plainly enough but 
 you chose to put your own construction on my 
 words, and I was afraid to set you right, be- 
 cause you would be so much annoyed.' 
 
 In doing this she had no deliberate plan 
 of deception in her mind, it was simply that she 
 had a genius of prevarication within her, and 
 could not help herself.
 
 254 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 On this occasion, however, the better part of 
 her nature was in full power, and struggling with 
 the prevarication genius, and she made one last 
 attempt to obtain leave to speak. 
 
 ' I wish you could understand me, Stephen. 
 I want to tell you the secret that was entrusted 
 to me, because I want you to — I don't know 
 what to say. Maybe it will be best to say that 
 I want you to trust me, and that I do not care 
 about breaking my promise if I can only be 
 sure of that.' 
 
 He took both her hands in his, and, looking 
 earnestly in her eyes which now met his 
 frankly— 
 
 ' Then if you wish me to trust you, show me 
 that others may do so. Show me that others 
 may not, and how can you ask me to do it ? ' 
 
 He spoke so earnestly that she knew he 
 had at least for that moment forgotten Euth- 
 It is not in ordinary human nature to feel 
 proud of a triumph over the dead ; but neither
 
 DOES SHE LOVE HIM? 255 
 
 is it possible for ordinary human nature not to 
 feel gratified when it has succeeded in achieving 
 an object much desired Avhatever may be the 
 circumstances. She certainly did wish to 
 make Stephen forget the disaster, and she 
 had succeeded. 
 
 ' Very well, Stephen, I will be silent ; I will 
 do exactly as you say I ought to do, for 
 now ' 
 
 She paused, and looked at him with those 
 big, innocent eyes, as if her whole soul were 
 flashing throuo^h them to him. 
 
 ' Well ? ' he asked kindly, helping her over 
 the pause. 
 
 ' I want to do everything just as you would 
 have me do it. Will you let me tell you when 
 I am in a difficulty, so that you may direct me ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly my poor girl, if it will comfort 
 you — for you know I should be glad to do that.' 
 
 'And we may speak together about any- 
 thing that happens,' she went on, meditatively,
 
 256 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 'just as if — just as if we were brother and 
 sister ? ' 
 
 ' Of course, Dahlia, but you give me the im- 
 pression that just now you are not speaking to 
 me as a sister, or rather, I should say, that you 
 are not speaking to me quite frankly.' 
 
 ' That is true, Stephen,' she answered 
 dreamily ; ' I have not yet told you what is the 
 matter. I cannot now, but some day I will.'- 
 
 And she flitted from the room, leaving him 
 alone.
 
 257 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 THE NEWS BROUGHT HOME. 
 
 The first few days seemed long in their 
 weariness : but Stephen was not permitted to 
 indulge his grief. The affairs of daily life 
 pressed heavily upon him, and many business 
 transactions demanded his constant and serious 
 attention. 
 
 His mother watched him with sad anxiety ; 
 he was so pale and worn that he appeared to 
 have grown ten years older in as many days. 
 
 ' You are killing yourself, Stephen,' she said, 
 as she watched him take a bundle of letters and 
 papers which had just been delivered and begin 
 mechanically to open them. ' Can you not 
 obtain even one day's rest ? ' 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' Not at present, mother ; and it would be a 
 pity if I could. The worries which are crowd- 
 ing upon me just now are my safeguard. I 
 don't think I could have kept my balance at all 
 if things had been all right at home.' 
 
 The enforced activity was undoubtedly 
 beneficial, and day by day he was conscious 
 that he was waiting with increasing resignation 
 for the details of the wreck. He had a morbid 
 craving to hear everything that could be told 
 of the unfortunate vessel and her passengers, 
 although he knew that the account would renew 
 his pain. 
 
 At last there came a brief message from Mr 
 Eassnett. 
 
 ' The first mate of the Eucalyptus arrived in 
 Liverpool to-day and will be here to-morrow. 
 Have fixed twelve noon as the hour of meeting 
 and will expect you. Eapier has just' called 
 and he says he knows the man, and we may 
 depend on a full and clear account from Mm.'
 
 THE NEWS BROUGHT HOME. 239 
 
 So, then, a few hours more and he would 
 see one who had been near her during the last 
 moments of that fatal voyage ; possibly this 
 man might have seen her when the cruel waves 
 carried her away. 
 
 He was impatient for the afternoon and 
 night to pass ; but he was not doomed to have 
 to wait so long. Lewis Eapier again proved 
 himself an active friend. 
 
 'Send trap to meet last train. Have 
 got McNeil, the mate, to come straight on, 
 and am bringing him down with me to- 
 night.' 
 
 ' He is an extraordinary fellow, Eapier,' said 
 Stephen, handing the message to his mother 
 and Dahlia ; ' I don't care about him, and yet 
 he takes every opportunity of doing me a 
 good turn.' 
 
 ' I think a great deal of Mr. Eapier,' said 
 Mrs. Meredith, pleased that her favourite should 
 have done something to give her son satis- 
 
 s 2
 
 26o OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 faction ; ' and I never could understand why 
 you were so indifferent to him.' 
 
 ' I don't know myself exactly ; but he has 
 certainly done me a real service this time. Do 
 you not think so, Dahlia .^ ' 
 
 ' I suppose it will relieve you to know the 
 worst as quickly as possible,' she replied, but 
 without looking at him, for she had a strong 
 impression that it was not so much Eapier's 
 anxiety to serve Stephen which had moved him 
 in the matter, as his desire to remove at once 
 whatever lingering hope there might be of Euth 
 having escaped. 
 
 Stephen himself drove to the station. He 
 was there before the train was due ; and those 
 few minutes of delay seemed the longest he had 
 yet known. At last the hghts of the train 
 Hashed in the deep cutting between the green 
 banks a mile off. On it came, puffing and 
 panting ; the hghts of the station were turned 
 up : the porters moved slowly about, as if they
 
 THE NEWS BROUGHT HOME. 261 
 
 had just been roused from sleep ; the few pas- 
 sengers looked indifferently along the line, and 
 no one seemed to be in a hurry. The train 
 came slowly into the station, bearing its message 
 of fiite for Stephen. 
 
 Eapier alighted before the train stopped 
 and grasped the eagerly extended hand of his 
 friend. 
 
 ' I thought you would be here yourself, 
 Meredith,' he said, in a quiet, low voice. ' I 
 hope you don't think me meddlesome ; but I 
 know from your mother how anxious you have 
 been for the first definite tidings that could be 
 obtained. So, as soon as I learned that it was 
 McNeil who had arrived, I wired to him to 
 come along by the first train, and here we are.' 
 
 ' You have placed me under a heavier debt 
 than I am ever likely to wipe out. Thank you, 
 Eapier .... Is there any hope ? ' 
 
 ' None. But here is McNeil ; he will tell 
 you himself He is very wilhng to do anything
 
 262 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 for me, as I was able to give him a lift at a time 
 when he was in a corner. You will find him 
 an intelligent Scotchman, and you may depend 
 on getting from him a clear account of all that 
 happened.' 
 
 A smart, muscular young fellow, of about 
 twenty-five years, stepped forward. 
 
 ' I hope you are well, sir, but I'm doubting 
 that you'll no be muckle the better for seeing 
 me.' 
 
 ' Jump into the trap ; at any rate I can con- 
 gratulate you on having got safely back to land. 
 Will you drive, Eapier.^ That will leave me 
 free to talk to our friend.' 
 
 They got into the trap, the mate and Stephen 
 on the hind seat. It was strange that with 
 all his eagerness to hear this man's story, now 
 that he had him by his side, Stephen felt reluc- 
 tant to bid him speak. Eesigned as he was, and 
 foolish as he knew it to be to give one thought 
 to the possibility of Euth having survived the
 
 THE NEWS BROUGHT HOME. 263 
 
 wreck, he shrank from the subject as if so long 
 as he delayed the mate's report he still retained 
 something of the living Euth. 
 
 With a sense of great fear upon him, he put 
 his first question — 
 
 ' I suppose Mr. Eapier has told you to some 
 extent why I have such a special and painful 
 interest in the loss of your ship ? ' 
 
 ' Ay, he mentioned that you were particular 
 about ]\iiss Clark. She was a fine lady and a 
 brave one. There are no mony like her ; for 
 when she kenned that it was a' by wi' us unless 
 we could get the boats launched and manage to 
 keep them afloat, she was as quiet as if she had 
 been gaun to the kirk. Ay, sir, she was a 
 brave woman.' 
 
 Stephen noted the gentle emphasis that was 
 laid upon the ' was,' and bowed his head 
 After a little he spoke again very quietly — 
 
 ' Did you see her — at the end ? ' 
 
 ' I was one of them that helped her into the
 
 264 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 life-boat, and when it was stove in against the 
 side of the ship I saw her and the others in 
 the water.' 
 
 No use to ask more on that point : the 
 mate's few words brought the whole scene 
 vividly before him — the ship tossing about 
 amidst the great waves ; the attempt to launch 
 the boats as a last resort ; the calm, resolute face 
 of Euth as she obeyed orders, and helped others 
 to obey them ; then the crash of the boat and 
 the disappearance of those who had been 
 clutching at this straw of hope. 
 
 'You see, sir, it wasna just one storm we 
 had had to do wi', but twenty of them, one hard 
 after the other,' McNeil proceeded, 'and the 
 ship stood out against them grandly. Now and 
 again we had a sort of quiet day, and we did 
 what we could to patch up ; but it was nae use, 
 for we had hardly got time to draw breath 
 when another gale caught us, and we were waur 
 than ever. Three days before that last storm
 
 THE NEWS BROUGHT HOME. 265 
 
 the skipper called us together, and a better 
 skipper never stood on deck. 
 
 ' " Now, lads and friends, you maun keep up 
 your hearts," he said, " for if you lose heart 
 there is little chance for any o' us. But it 
 would be wrong for me not to tell you that we 
 are in a bad way, and another storm like the 
 last will be a bad job for us." 
 
 ' There were twa puir cr'atures in consump- 
 tion that didna look as if they could have 
 lived many days at any rate, and they were the 
 only ones that made an outcry. Miss Clark 
 looked after them and got them quieted, and 
 there was a gentleman wi' her that helped her 
 in everything she did. She had been nearly 
 washed overboard a while before this, only he 
 grippet her in time, and they became great 
 friends after that.' 
 
 ' Who was he ? ' inquired Stephen. 
 
 ' Harrison, I think, was the name. He was 
 a droll bilhe, and had got a special cabin made
 
 266 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 for himself in the steerage, and for a week or 
 twa never came out ahnost except at night ; but 
 after Miss Clark's accident he was aye about as 
 if he feared something might happen to her 
 again.' 
 
 ' And is he lost, too ? ' 
 
 ' Ay, they gaed down thegither so far as I 
 could see.' 
 
 ' That was what should have been my fate,' 
 was Stephen's thought, and he envied the 
 stranger who had taken his place by her side at 
 the time of direst need. 
 
 ' Three of our boats were carried away in 
 the second storm,' the mate went on ; ' but we 
 mighi have won through the worst of it if we 
 had not sprung a leak, and the last storm came 
 upon us before we could get it stopped. Then 
 the mainmast went and our rudder was broken, 
 so that there was no more chance of managing 
 the ship at all. The skipper told us to get the 
 boats ready. He was very particular about Miss
 
 THE NEWS BROUGHT HOME, 267 
 
 Clark and Mr. Harrison. They were to go with 
 the two consumptive gentlemen, two of the 
 steerage passengers and six of the crew in the 
 first boat launched. Everything was going right 
 with them when just as the lady had got in 
 there was a wave sent her against the side of 
 the ship, and the ship lurched over it, and it 
 was a' by wi' them. 
 
 ' We had no time for anything but to get 
 out the other boats, and everything was done 
 in good order. The skipper kept his place on 
 deck, telhng us what to do as steadily as if he 
 was not thinking that his own hour had come. 
 He had a sore trial when his guid wife crawled 
 up beside him, and lay at his feet haudin' on to 
 a raihn', and reftising to come awa' in the boat. 
 
 ' " No," she said, " if you bide here I bide 
 wi' you," and she wouldna move. 
 
 ' " Aweel, lads," he said, " you maun look 
 to yoursels and no heed us. We are twa folk 
 that hae nae bairns, and we maun let the guid-
 
 268 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 wife hae her ain way. . . . Puir Katie, you're 
 taking your last trip wi' me noo." 
 
 ' I saw them thegither on the deck as we 
 put off, and it was against a' my notions of 
 what ought to be to leave them there, but we 
 couldna help oursels. We were a week in the 
 boat afore we were picked up, and I got back 
 to England as fast as I could.' 
 
 That was the whole story of the wreck, and 
 it seemed so very simple that it was difficult for 
 Stephen to realise that he was listening to the 
 last account he should ever hear of Euth. 
 
 Eapier had instinctive perceptions of the 
 right thing to do under the most trying circum- 
 stances, which constituted a kind of genius. 
 Even when it was his own immediate profit 
 which was uppermost in the motive directing 
 his actions, he displayed so much consideration 
 for the feelings of others that it would not 
 have been easy to show in what way he had 
 taken any unfair advantage of them.
 
 THE NEWS BROUGHT HOME. 269 
 
 On the present occasion he knew that 
 silence on his part was the greatest kindness 
 he could show to Stephen, and from the 
 moment when he took the reins in hand he did 
 not open his lips until he pulled up at Dere- 
 wood Grange. Then he pressed Stephen's arm 
 as they entered the house, and whispered — 
 
 ' The worst is over, I hope, and you must 
 have been prepared for it. I wish I could 
 have brought you better cheer.' 
 
 ' You have done all that a friend could do 
 for me. Of course I was prepared as much as 
 a man can be for the confirmation of his worst 
 fears.' 
 
 The arrival of the mate caused much sensa- 
 tion amongst the girls, and although his homely 
 appearance somewhat disappointed their expec- 
 tations of what this hero of the wreck would be 
 like, still he was the hero ; he had come out of 
 the storm, bearing its grim message of death for 
 their home and for the homes of his comrades.
 
 270 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 As for Jim, his interest in all that McNeil had 
 seen and passed through rendered him ob- 
 livious of his brother's sorrow for the time 
 being. 
 
 Mrs. Meredith, with the practical fore- 
 thought of a hospitable housewife, had supper 
 ready for the guests, and when it was over 
 Stephen left the mate to repeat his story to the 
 family. 
 
 Dahlia was the first to leave the drawing- 
 room ; she was filled with strange terror by the 
 narrative of the wreck and Euth's fate, and as 
 she was slowly ascending the dimly lighted 
 staircase, she was startled by a quiet voice 
 suddenly speaking in her ear — 
 
 ' Your time has come now. Miss Whitcombe. 
 It will be your own fault if you are not mistress 
 of Derewood within three months.' 
 
 Before she had recovered from her fright 
 Eapier bowed and, smiling, passed swiftly down 
 the staircase.
 
 271 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 MR. RAPIER IS PUZZLED. 
 
 Next clay Mr. Eapier and the mate of the lost 
 Eucalyptus had to proceed to town by an early 
 train in order to keep the appointment with Mr. 
 Bassnett at noon. Stephen did not think it 
 necessary to accompany them, as he could learn 
 nothing fmther now. 
 
 He, however, drove them to the station. 
 
 * I wish I could have stayed at Derewood 
 for a few days,' said Eapier, ' even my presence 
 might have been useful ; but the business I have 
 in hand cannot wait. You may expect me down 
 soon, though, unless you tell me not to come.' 
 
 He said this with the confident smile of 
 one who knew the answer he would receive.
 
 272 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' You shall be always welcome, and perhaps 
 some day the Grange will be less gloomy than 
 it is at present.' 
 
 As the train was moving out of the station, 
 McNeil, who had been closely observing 
 Stephen, turned to his companion with an un- 
 comfortable expression of countenance. 
 
 'I'm mair than half sorry you garred me 
 promise no to tell him that I didna actually see 
 the boat go down.' 
 
 ' What on earth good would that have 
 been ? ' exclaimed Eapier in profound astonish- 
 ment at this sudden exclamation of his friend. 
 
 ' I dinna ken,' replied McNeil, dryly, ' and 
 I dinna ken precisely what for you were so 
 pressing that I shouldna mention it. Wha 
 kens how he might hae been cheered up by a 
 wee bit hope.' 
 
 ' A hope that would only have kept him the 
 longer in the misery of suspense. You know 
 tiaat the boat must have gone down, and that no
 
 MR. RAPIER IS PUZZLED. 273 
 
 human creature could live two minutes m a sea 
 which destroyed such a vessel as the Euca- 
 lyptus! 
 
 'We helieve she gaed down,' rephed the 
 mate cautiously and thoughtfully, ' but it was 
 amaist ower dark for us to be sure in the con- 
 fusion what cam' o' her. It's just possible that 
 the wave might hae hfted her astern and clear 
 of the ship. There hae been greater wonders 
 nor that at sea, and ony way the puir sowl 
 might hae had sic comfort as the hope could 
 hae gi'en him.' 
 
 ' Have a smoke, McNeil , your nerves seem 
 to be a little unstrung by the wreck.' 
 
 ' It was a tussle, but it's yon puir chiel that 
 I'm wae for.' 
 
 Eapier regarded him with admiration, as 
 they lit cigars and smoked vigorously. 
 
 'You are a good-natured fellow, McNeil, 
 and I would hke you to understand why I did 
 not wish to hold oui any vague hopes to 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 him. You know that I am his friend, and you 
 could see that his family look upon me as their 
 friend too ? ' 
 
 ' Ou ay, I could see that you were chief 
 wi' everybody ; but you were aye that wher- 
 ever I hae seen you.' 
 
 ' Well, then, these good friends of mine 
 are in some difficulty, and in order to put 
 things straight it is necessary that Meredith 
 should as quickly as possible give up thinking 
 about the poor lady you saw drowned. His 
 mother urged me to help them, and I know 
 that I am doing them the greatest service by 
 putting an end to his suspense at once. 
 Now put yourself in his place and tell me 
 frankly, would you not prefer to know the 
 worst at once rather than be kept on hoping 
 and hoping for weeks — months it would be 
 with him — only to find in the end that your 
 hopes were vain ? ' 
 
 ' 1 daursay I would like best to hear the
 
 MR. RAPIER IS PUZZLED. 275 
 
 worst at once, if I was sure that it was the 
 worst.' 
 
 Eapier took the cigar from his mouth, and 
 looked curiously into the mate's puzzled face. 
 
 ' Do you mean to tell me that you believe 
 the boat can have escaped ? ' 
 ' I couldna just say that.' 
 ' If you feel in your conscience that you 
 may say it, we will telegraph to Meredith from 
 the first station we stop at ; but if you cannot 
 say you believe it, 1 say you would be doing a 
 cruel thing to keep the whole family in useless 
 suspense.' 
 
 The gravity and earnestness of Eapier 's 
 manner satisfied the man that it would be 
 wrong to mention such faint hope as he himself 
 felt, as, of course, it would be exaggerated by 
 those who wished to believe in the possibihty 
 of their friends being saved, and so do more 
 harm than good. 
 
 'Aweel, I daursay it'll be best to say nae- 
 i3
 
 276 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 tiling about it, but the notion is in my head 
 that, considering we managed to warstle through 
 till we were picked up, the other boat might 
 have done the same if it just got clear o' the 
 ship.' 
 
 ' Yes, but the " if " makes all the difference 
 to us. By the way, do you think that man 
 Harrison, who was so much with Miss Clark, 
 knew anything about the management of a 
 boat ? ' 
 
 ' I canna tell ; I scarcely spoke enough 
 wdth him to be sure that he had ever been far 
 at sea or no ; but Harry Smith, our second 
 mate, was there, and he was a clever lad, 
 though he was a Cockney and cam' frae 
 Wapping.' 
 
 ' Oh ! he was there, and Smith was clever 
 enough to make you admire him in spite of his 
 being a Cockney ! ' exclaimed Mr. Eapier, 
 smiling at the man's prejudice, and evidently 
 for some reason of his own pleased by the in-
 
 MR. RAPIER IS PUZZLED. 277 
 
 formation that an experienced sailor had been 
 in charge of the lifeboat. 
 
 ' Ay, he was clever ; he was wrecked three 
 times afore.' 
 
 ' That ought to provide him with valuable 
 experience. I wish you could have told me 
 more about that passenger Harrison. Perhaps 
 they can enlighten me at the office.' 
 
 ' Maybe — I canna. But let me say noo, 
 Maister Eapier, there's a thing I want to be 
 perfectly clear atween you and me.' 
 
 ' Certainly — wdiat is it ? ' 
 
 ' Just this : I'm no gaun to tell that lee 
 again about seeing the lady in the water. 
 Everything else I said was true enough, 
 although I didna tell a' the truth as it seems to 
 me noo I was bound to do.' 
 
 This was spoken with an air of dogged 
 resolution, and the listener was aware that he 
 had an obstinate character to deal with. He 
 used the manner which is most persuasive
 
 278 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 under any circumstances — that of frankness 
 and sincere belief in his own argument. 
 
 ' Surely your conscience may be at ease on 
 that score since you did see them in the water 
 when the wave went over them, and you lost 
 sight of the boat and all who were in it. That 
 was the case, as I understand your account 
 of it.' 
 
 ' Well, of course I did in a manner see 
 them in the water, but you garr'd me say it in 
 a way that put a different meanin' on it.' 
 
 McNeil spoke slowly as one who feels that 
 the argument he is compelled to yield to is 
 wrong, although he is unable to put it quite 
 ri^ht. The truth was that the cannie Scot had 
 an uneasy feehng that somehow Eapier was 
 leading him blindfold into a false position. 
 
 ' Nonsense, what other meaning could he 
 put upon your words than that the boat went 
 down, as you own you believe it did ? What 
 are you so nice about ? You have done my
 
 MR. RAPIER IS PUZZLED. 279 
 
 friend a greater service than you can guess, 
 and you have obliged me. I fancy that should 
 be worth taking into account. If our friends 
 should turn up again, then we shall all rejoice ; 
 if they don't, then our mourning will be the 
 sooner over.' 
 
 'That's true,' responded the man, still 
 bamboozled, but now half convinced that, all 
 things considered, he had done right in carry- 
 ing out the instructions of his benefactor ; ' and 
 I'm not forgetting that I'm owing you some- 
 thing, sir.' 
 
 ' I had no particular intention to remind 
 you of that fact, but I'm pleased that you 
 remember it. Upon my word, McNeil, I 
 cannot understand your qualms of conscience, 
 for I cannot see where the "lee," as you call it, 
 comes in.' 
 
 ' Aweel, aweel, sir, least said soonest 
 mended, and we'd better, may-be, say nae mair 
 about it.*
 
 28o OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' That is my opinion.' 
 
 In Mr. Bassnett's office the mate gave his 
 report of the wreck in the presence of the 
 lawyer, who had full authority to act in every 
 matter for Mr. Dottridge during his absence, 
 and of Mr. Molyneux, the manager of the 
 shipping business of Dottridge & Co. Eapier 
 was present in the capacity of one of the 
 confidential agents of the absent chief. 
 
 The account given was substantially the 
 same as that to which Stephen Meredith had 
 listened on the previous evening, with the 
 addition of some particulars about the cargo 
 and nautical details of the winds and weather 
 which the ship had encountered. He had to 
 speak entirely from memory, as no log or 
 documents of any kind had been saved. 
 
 When the mate had retired to await further 
 orders, Eapier inquired — 
 
 ' Is any message about this affair to be 
 conveyed to Mr. Dottridge ? '
 
 MR. RAPIER IS PUZZLED. 281 
 
 ' I thought you were aware that no 
 message of any kind is to be sent to him until 
 he himself communicates with me,' answered 
 the lawyer. 
 
 Eapier bowed in a deprecating way, as if 
 regretting that he had suggested anything that 
 was contrary to instructions. 
 
 ' I only thought that as our friend was so 
 deeply interested in Miss Clark, you might have 
 considered it advisable to inform him of her 
 fate.' 
 
 ' I might have thought so, too ; but his 
 injunction is positive and admits of no excep- 
 tions. For that matter I could not make an 
 exception even if I desired, for unless you can 
 tell me where he is it would be impossible for 
 me to send a message.' 
 . 'Then he has not yet written even to 
 
 you? 
 
 ' Ko : he has made no sign that he is alive.' 
 ' Nor to you, Mi*. Molyneux ? '
 
 282 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' I do not expect to hear from liim. My 
 instructions are simply to accept Mr. Bassnett's 
 decision in all matters involving doubt or 
 dispute, as if it were his own,' was the shipping 
 manager's reply. 
 
 Mr. Molyneux was not disturbed either by 
 the strange conduct of Mr. Dottridge or the 
 loss of the Eucalyptus. The business under his 
 control was flourishing, and the ship had been 
 insured. Mr. Bassnett was interested on 
 account of Euth and Stephen ; for the rest, his 
 course had been clearly marked out for him, 
 and he had no thought of deviating from it. 
 
 But Eapier looked puzzled. As con- 
 fidential agent it was awkward to have no 
 means of communicating with his chief, for 
 although he also had been directed to apply to 
 Mr. Bassnett when he found counsel or further 
 instruction necessary, he could not subject him- 
 self so absolutely to the letter of his commands 
 as the others were able to do.
 
 MR. RAPIER IS PUZZLED, 283 
 
 After a pause — 
 
 ' Can you give me any information, Mr. 
 Molyneux, as to the passenger Harrison who 
 had the special state cabin prepared for him in 
 the steerage. Who was he? Where did he 
 come from .^ ' 
 
 ' We know nothing about him, further than 
 that he was a very intimate friend of Mr. 
 Dottridge, and that everything he required was 
 to be done, no matter how much out of the 
 ordinary way of business his requests might be. 
 Our owner made himself directly responsible 
 for all expenses.' 
 
 ' Oh ! Mr. Dottridge gave him carte blanche., 
 as it were, to do as he] pleased with the 
 vessel ? ' 
 
 ' It was pretty much like that, and, of 
 course, his directions rendered it unnecessary 
 for us to make any inquiries.' 
 
 ' Do you know when this Mr. Harrison 
 went on board ? '
 
 284 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' I believe some time during tlie night before 
 the vessel left Greenhithe.' 
 
 There was a flash of intelligence in Eapier's 
 eyes as if he were beginning to see light 
 through the darkness which had bothered 
 him. 
 
 ' Why are you so anxious about Mr. Har- 
 rison ? ' queried Bassnett. 
 
 ' An idea has occurred to me, but it is so 
 extravagant that I would rather say nothing 
 about it until I have obtained some better 
 assurance of its probable correctness than my 
 own vague surmises can give. We shall have 
 the other men here to-day or to-morrow, I 
 suppose, and they will help me.' 
 
 He abruptly took his leave, and as he was 
 driving to the Cosmos his chief thoughts took 
 this direction — 
 
 ' If that should be Dottridge he can never 
 survive the excitement of a shipwreck. Thus 
 I can count upon his legacy. ... If Euth
 
 MR. RAPIER IS PUZZLED. 285 
 
 should have been saved — the sooner that 
 marriage comes ofi the better. ... If she 
 comes back and finds him married — humph ! 
 her fortune is a good one, although she knows 
 nothing of it.'
 
 286 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXI. 
 
 A YOUNG TOXICOLOGIST. 
 
 The only change observable in Stephen was 
 that he appeared to work with even more 
 savage earnestness than he had been doing during 
 the previous weeks. Up early and down late, 
 finding a grim satisfaction in undertaking the 
 most disagreeable tasks : he even tried his hand 
 as an amateur butcher, and slaughtered some 
 of his condemned cattle. They were the 
 favourites of his stock that he chose should fall 
 under his own hand. 
 
 Brain and hands were incessantly at work. 
 The man was seeking distraction in thus des- 
 perately overtaxing liis mental and physical 
 strength. He had always felt extreme repug- 
 nance to a thorough investigation of the dis-
 
 A YOUNG TOXICOLOGIST. 287 
 
 ordered accounts which had been left by his 
 father ; he went into the matters now with 
 fierce energy. 
 
 He felt no sickness now, as he discovered 
 day by day how very deep in the mire of debt 
 and difficulty the family was plunged. For 
 himself he was utterly indifferent, for he had 
 done with all care for fortune ; but he was still 
 conscious of severe pain on account of his 
 mother, his sisters, and brother. Well, he 
 would do his best for them : he must hve for 
 that, and by-and-by, perhaps, he would find 
 some gratification in it. 
 
 'How is it to end?' inquired the mother 
 anxiously and- often. 
 
 One day she was startled by the answer, 
 given quietly and very gravely — 
 
 ' In a sale about the end of the year, unless 
 our harvest proves the most extraordinary one 
 that was ever known, and we reap gold instead 
 of wheat and corn.'
 
 288 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 That was a terrible blow to the poor lady. 
 
 ' A sale ? — Oh, Stephen, it cannot be so bad 
 as that ! ' she exclaimed. 
 
 ' If I can avert it, I will,' he said, ' but the 
 prospect of my being able to do so is not 
 brilliant.' 
 
 There was a way in which he could easily 
 avert it if he would, thought Mrs. Meredith, 
 but she only said very gently — 
 
 ' I am sure you will, my poor boy, and I 
 beheve you will succeed.' 
 
 ' I'll try, but do not be sanguine.' 
 
 ' At any rate I need not tell the girls yet.' 
 
 ' No, there is no need to darken their lives 
 sooner than we can help. A few months of 
 blissful ignorance may still be given to them. 
 They know enough already to prepare them in 
 some measure for the crash if it must come. 
 Let them be happy while they may.' 
 
 She was tempted to speak out at once and 
 remind him of what she had long wished, and
 
 A YOUNG TOXICOLOGIST. 289 
 
 what she was able to assure him Dahlia wished 
 — that he should accept the fortune which was 
 ready to drop into his hand if he would only- 
 hold it out. But she was afraid of exciting 
 him, for she had received a word of warning 
 on that subject from old Dr. Humphreys, of 
 Dunthorpe, who had been the medical attendant 
 and friend of the family since her first baby 
 was born. 
 
 ' He will work himself into a fever of some 
 sort if he doesn't take care. He looks quiet 
 enough, but he shows as plain symptoms of a 
 high state of nervous excitement as ever I saw. 
 You must try to keep his mind as tranquil as 
 you can.' 
 
 So she did not speak yet, but an opportunity 
 to speak to some purpose was provided for her 
 sooner than she could have anticipated. 
 
 Except that Dahlia was growing pale again 
 there was no outside change in her. She 
 exercised admirable self-control, and no one 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 guessed how she was ' being wrought, per- 
 plexed in the extreme,' so that she was con- 
 stantly on the verge of hysteria. Whenever she 
 felt that the nerves were getting too strong for 
 her, she hid in her own room until she had over- 
 come them. 
 
 The girls had quite made up their minds 
 that now Stephen would, of course, marry 
 Dahlia. 
 
 She did not see the certainty of it at all, 
 and even Mrs. Meredith's assurances that it 
 must come to pass had lost the power to com- 
 fort her. Eapier's words were constantly ring- 
 ing in her ears — 
 
 ' Your time has come ; it will be your own 
 fault if you are not mistress of Derewood within 
 three months.' 
 
 She with keener instinct knew that Stephen 
 was thinking less about her now than he had 
 been doing for a little while before the news of 
 the wreck had been confirmed by the mate.
 
 A YOUNG TOXICOLOGIST. 291 
 
 Formerly her only question had been ' Can 
 I win him ? ' But she had been touched una- 
 wares by a nobler sentiment, and now her 
 question was — ' Will he ever care for me ? Can 
 I ever make him care for me ? ' 
 
 As she w^atched him day by day the dismal 
 answer thrust itself upon her — 
 
 ' No. he can never care for me — his heart 
 has gone down into the sea witli her.' 
 
 She went into the library one day and saw 
 him with Euth's portrait in his hand, and some 
 of her letters open before him. 
 
 She went out again without speaking, and 
 he had been so much absorbed that he had not 
 observed her entrance or exit. 
 
 He had not spoken of Euth to anyone since 
 the visit of the mate, McNeil. 
 
 Dahlia's face became cold and hard for a 
 
 moment as she stood in the hall, her hand still 
 
 resting on the handle of the door. Then she 
 
 went quietly upstairs, but not to her own room. 
 
 Tj 2
 
 292 OF HIGH DEGREE 
 
 She climbed to the top floor and knocked at 
 one of the doors. 
 
 ' Come in,' shouted Jim. 
 
 She entered the laboratory of the future 
 M.D., F.RC.S., &c., &c. Dust and confusion 
 were the distinguishing characteristics of this 
 sanctum. Books, papers, bottles of chemicals, 
 apparatus for experiments, skeletons of cats, 
 puppies, mice, and one weazel, botanical and 
 geological specimens, littered the shelves which 
 occupied one side of the room and the deal 
 tables which were arranged in the best position 
 for the light. 
 
 Jim himself in an old coat, which Stephen 
 had called the coat of many colours — it was so 
 covered with stains and singes of various hues 
 — was busy watching something he was heating 
 in a retort. 
 
 ' Hullo ! ' he exclaimed, ungraciously, when 
 he saw who was his visitor ; ' I thought it was
 
 A YOUNG TOXICOLOGIST. 293 
 
 young Humphreys. He promised to come up 
 this afternoon. Ain't you afraid ? ' 
 
 ' No, Doctor Jim,' she rephed with a 
 pleasant smile. ' If you please, I want to con- 
 sult you.' 
 
 ' Gammon — you want me to do something 
 for you.' 
 
 ' I suppose people always do when they 
 consult a doctor ! ' 
 
 ' There, you've made me spoil it again.' 
 
 Notwithstanding his contempt for the sex, 
 he was not beyond the reach of flattery, and it 
 was agreeable to anticipate his future dignity 
 and to hear himself called ' doctor.' 
 
 ' Spoil what ? ' 
 
 Thereupon he became important and desirous 
 of displaying his knowledge, but was still unable 
 to avoid his sin of exaggeration or to overcome 
 his habit of talking nonsense when addressing any 
 of the girls — for Dahha was in his regard only 
 one of the sisterhood.'
 
 294 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' You have made me spoil a beautiful ex- 
 periment for testing vegetable poisons,' he began 
 bombastically. ' You must understand that 
 the vegetable poisons are most difficult to 
 detect once they have passed into the animal 
 system and been absorbed by it. Now, I am 
 on the highway to a discovery which will be 
 just as good as the philosopher's stone to me, 
 for it will make my fortune, and your coming 
 in has upset my whole day's work.' 
 ' Oh, what a pity — I am so sorry ! ' 
 ' Of course you are. That's what a woman 
 always says when she has put a fellow out, 
 and thinks it enough to make all square 
 again.' 
 
 ' But you can do it over again, I hope.' 
 ' I should think so, or I would open the 
 sentry box and order my sentinel to come out 
 and take possession of you.' 
 
 ' You might let me see you doing it.' 
 
 She spoke very sweetly and persuasively ;
 
 A YOUNG TOXICOLOGIST. 295 
 
 but he only looked at her with an expression 
 of mock horror and amazement, as he ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 ' \Vhat ! do serious work with a petticoat 
 beside me. . . . Well, I always thought you 
 had a little sense. Dahlia, but I give you up, 
 too, after that. Haven't you wondered why 
 we fellows don't want women to come potter- 
 ing into our learned profession ? ' 
 
 ' I am sure I don't want to enter any 
 learned profession,' she said, demurely. 
 
 ' That counts one for you, and I am sure 
 you will understand me when I say that our 
 reason is because if they were to get in amongst 
 us it would be all larking and no learning — for, 
 you know, it is only a few fellows who are 
 proof against woman's wiles ' 
 
 He looked as if he were convinced that he 
 was one of the select few. 
 
 ' I believe you would be proof against — 
 against the greatest beauty that ever lived.
 
 296 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 But tell me about your experiments, Jim. 
 What is in tliese bottles — poisons ? * 
 
 She had come close to him, and pointed to 
 a row of bottles on the table. 
 
 'Some of them; but they are mostly 
 metallic poisons.' 
 
 ' And what is that one in the big bottle ? * 
 
 She pointed to a large bottle, on the label 
 of which was written in large letters, POISON. 
 
 ' Ah, that's the most deadly one of all, 
 only you have to take a considerable quantity 
 of it. They say thousands are killed by it 
 every year, and nobody is the wiser.' 
 
 ' Dear me ! And is it a vegetable one ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' And — I am quite interested. Doctor, by all 
 the knowledge you are giving me — do people 
 who take it suffer much ? ' 
 
 'That depends,' he answered, grinning. 
 ' Some people rather like it.' 
 
 'There is strychnine, I see, and aconite.
 
 A YOUNG TOXICOLOGIST. 297 
 
 There has been a great deal in the papers 
 about them. Do they cause much pain ? ' 
 
 * Horrible — most of them do. But what 
 was it you came to consult me about ? I am 
 going over to Calthorpe, and want to start 
 soon.' 
 
 ' I had forgotten/ she said, hfting her hand 
 to her cheek ; ' you have made me forget it, 
 with your talk and experiments.' 
 
 ' Forget what ? ' 
 
 ' The toothache. Can you give me any- 
 thing to relieve the pain ? ' 
 
 ' Have it out,' was the unfeeling counsel. 
 
 ' I can't do that ; at any rate, I don't want 
 to do it if I can help it. Have you nothing 
 that will stop the pain ? Although it is not 
 troubhng now as it was when I made up my 
 mind to break the rule and come up to your 
 den, I am afraid of it coming on again.' 
 
 ' You might try a little laudanum, or you 
 might rub some aconite on your cheek.'
 
 298 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' Can you spare me some ? ' 
 
 ' I can give you some of the laudanum ; 
 but mind you don't swallow it,' he added, 
 laughing, ' or you will get me into a scrape 
 may-be.' 
 
 ' Don't be afraid ; I shall be very careful. 
 Thank you so much. Dr. Jim. You shall be 
 my physician-in- chief after this day. I wish 
 you would let me come up and see some of 
 your experiments.' 
 
 ' I mean to put my sentinel on double duty 
 in future. Do you want him to come out 
 now P ' 
 
 ' What a wicked creature you are, Jim ! ' 
 she said, as she departed from the dusty 
 laboratory. 
 
 Jim shut up his books and started for Cal- 
 thorpe. 
 
 One of the things which Mrs. Meredith 
 strongly reprehended was spoiling a good
 
 A YOUNG TOXICOLOGIST. 299 
 
 dinner by keeping it waiting, and this was so 
 well known that her own people were pretty 
 punctual. Yet here they had been all waiting 
 for more than ten minutes, and Dahlia had 
 neither come down nor sent a message that she 
 was not coming. 
 
 ' Go up and tell Miss W'liitcombe that we 
 are waiting for her,' the good lady said at 
 length to a domestic. 
 
 Presently the latter returned and there was 
 a scared look on her face. 
 
 'I knocked four times, mum, and Miss 
 Whitcombe didn't answer, and the door is 
 locked on the inside.' 
 
 She did not say that she had peeped through 
 the keyhole as well as tried the door. 
 
 ' That is most extraordinary,' exclaimed 
 Mrs. Meredith ; ' she must be ill — perhaps 
 fainted. I will go myself.' 
 
 She went upstairs. In a few minutes a 
 bell rang violently. A servant ran up and
 
 300 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 down again breathless with this message for 
 
 Stephen. 
 
 'You are wanted upstairs, sir, and the 
 ladies are to stay here until the missus comes 
 down.' 
 
 Stephen found his mother standing at 
 Dahha's door, clutching the handle to support 
 herself, her face pallid with fright. 
 
 ' For God's sake, Stephen, burst open the 
 door at once. Something has happened to her! ' 
 
 He knew that the door was too strong to 
 be burst open by one man's strength. He pro- 
 cured a hatchet, broke through the panel above 
 the lock, and was then able to turn the key. 
 
 When mother and son entered the room 
 they halted a moment, horror-stricken and dis- 
 mayed. 
 
 Dahlia lay on the bed, breathing heavily, 
 at brief intervals moving slightly as if in pain, 
 and gasping. Her face was distorted and dis- 
 coloured, as if she were being suffocated.
 
 A YOUNG TOXICOLOGIST. 301 
 
 Stephen unfastened her collar, and opened 
 her dress at the neck. Then he sponged her 
 face and head with cold water. 
 
 ' It is a fit of some kind. Tell Smalley to 
 saddle the mare. You take ofi' her thincrs 
 and get her into bed, whilst I go for the 
 doctor.' 
 
 The mother uttered a short cry of alarm. 
 
 ' Stephen ! Stephen ! she has poisoned her- 
 self ! ' 
 
 ' Good Lord ! what new trouble is this 
 come upon us ? ' he muttered, as he took the 
 bottle on which was a label with the word 
 ' POISON.' 
 
 ' What is it ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Meredith was trembUng, and her voice 
 shook as she put the question. 
 
 He smelt the bottle and drained a few 
 drops of the hquid it still contained on to his 
 tongue. Then he answered — 
 
 ' I cannot tell : it is some spirit ; but her
 
 302 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 breatli smells of laudanum. If Jim had been 
 at home he could have told us. Give her 
 plenty of milk — that can do no harm and may- 
 do good. I shall not be more than half an 
 hour gone. Get two of the girls up to help 
 you, and don't let the servants know more than 
 is necessary.' 
 
 He placed the bottle in a drawer and 
 started for Dunthorpe. Never had the mare 
 been ridden so hard before, but it bowed its 
 head with good will to the work. The dusty 
 road was becoming rapidly more and more 
 dark, but the rider had no time to spare for 
 any thoughts of danger. 
 
 Fortunately he found Dr. Humphreys at 
 home, and that good man, although he liked 
 his dinner and his placid siesta after it, in order 
 to save time mounted Stephen's mare and rode 
 off on it, whilst its owner followed fast in the 
 Doctor's gig. 
 
 When Stephen entered Dahha's room again
 
 A YOUNG TOXICOLOGIST. 303 
 
 he was relieved by the report which Dr. 
 Humphreys had to give him. 
 
 ' You need not alarm yourself, as she is 
 coming round. Leave her to your mother and 
 me in the meanwhile. I will come down 
 shortly and report progress.' 
 
 ' Take this with you, Stephen,' said Mrs. 
 Meredith, handing him a sheet of note-paper 
 which had been folded, but not enclosed in an 
 envelope. ' We found it under the pillow 
 when we were putting her to bed. I know it 
 is intended for you.' 
 
 There was something almost stern in the 
 utterance of the last words as if she were 
 accusing him of being the cause of this mis- 
 fortune. 
 
 He was for a moment perplexed when 
 alone in the hbrary he read the contents of the 
 paper ; then astounded when he associated 
 them with his mother's words and manner. 
 
 The writing was in pencil.
 
 304 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' / can only live for you. As that may not 
 be, I wish to die. 
 
 ' Do not try to stop me or to save me. Be 
 kind to me in this at least, and grant my prayer. 
 
 ' / love you^ and I die because you can never 
 care for me.' 
 
 What madness was this that was coming 
 upon him ? Euth dead ; Eiith who had gone 
 away, in spite of his prayers to stay with him 
 when he most needed the sustaining power of 
 her love ! 
 
 And now, here under his own roof, Dahha 
 dying because he could not return her love ! 
 
 Oh ! there was something monstrous in this 
 complication. It was too much for one poor 
 wretch to bear.
 
 305 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 OIs^LY ONE OBJECTION. 
 
 It was rather late — eleven o'clock — when Jim 
 got home, and he was surprised to see so 
 many of the windows lighted. The whole 
 household was still afoot, and the youth entered 
 wondering what could have happened. 
 
 Juhet explained the cause — that Dahlia had 
 attempted to poison herself: and Jim grew 
 pale with fright as he cried — 
 
 ' Is she better ? Why didn't you send for 
 me ? ' 
 
 'The Doctor says she is better and believes 
 she is safe ; but he is stiU with her. I suppose 
 Steve thought it was better to bring the Doctor 
 than his brother, who, however clever he may 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 3o6 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 be, can scarcely have so much experience as a 
 physician of Dr. Humphrey's years.' 
 
 'Oh, I didn't mean that, Jue,' and, indeed, 
 there was not a gleam of vanity in his look or 
 voice. 'I only meant that perhaps I could 
 have told them what she had taken, and that 
 would have helped the doctor.' 
 
 ' And how could you have told ? ' exclaimed 
 the girl, opening her eyes wide in amazement 
 at his anxiety rather than at his professing 
 power to give assistance. 
 
 Jim groaned. 
 
 ' Because I believe she got it from me.' 
 
 ' From you ! Oh, Jim ! ' cried Juliet and 
 Constance together — Mary and Lavinia, being 
 the elders, were still with their mother in 
 attendance on the invalid. 
 
 ' Yes, and I'll be hanged if she dies. She 
 came to me this afternoon, wanting something 
 for the toothache, and I gave her, a httle 
 laudanum — not enough to kill her, though ; but
 
 ONLY ONE OBJECTION 307 
 
 if she took it all at once it might make her 
 sick.' 
 
 ' Eun and tell the Doctor now,' advised 
 Juliet. 
 
 A sudden thought struck the youth with 
 new fear. 
 
 ' Was she very bad ? ' 
 
 ' Dreadful.' 
 
 'Then she must have gone to my room 
 and taken something else. She kept on ask- 
 ing me about poisons all the time she was with 
 me. Won't I catch it from Steve ! — he has so 
 often scolded me for not locking the door. 
 Give me a candle.' 
 
 But he did not wait for his sister to get it. 
 He ran to the hall table, snatched up one and 
 mounted the stairs, bounding over three steps at 
 a time, followed by his two much- alarmed sisters. 
 
 On the top landing, with trembling hands 
 he struck a match and ht the candle. Burstin<^ 
 into his laboratory he went straight to the table 
 x2
 
 3o8 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 on which stood the bottles Dahha had been so 
 curious about. He Hfted them one by one and 
 laid down each with a gulp of relief that was 
 like a stifled sob. 
 
 By the time he came to the place where 
 the large bottle had stood his sisters were be- 
 hind him. The bottle was gone ; he stared at 
 its vacant place and the expression of terror 
 which had been on his countenance rapidly 
 developed like the transformation scene in a 
 pantomime from gloom to bright sunshine. 
 
 He laughed — instantly clapped his hand on 
 his mouth to suppress the sound. Then he 
 snapped his fingers and danced round the room 
 with joy. 
 
 ' Have you gone mad ? ' queried Juliet, 
 not knowing whether to be indignant with him 
 for keeping the joke whatever it was all to 
 himself, or to rejoice with him. 
 
 'Mad — mad as a March hare with joy. 
 Slie has been here, but she has taken the '
 
 ONLY ONE OBJECTION. 309 
 
 ' What are you stopping for ? ' 
 ' Well, it will be best not to let the thing 
 go any farther. Besides professional etiquette 
 compels me to carry any information in the 
 first instance to the Doctor. But it's all right 
 — Dahha wont die and I won't be handed. 
 Hooray ! May-be the scare she has got will do 
 her good. She has been looking considerably 
 blue for weeks past. Now, then, clear out. I 
 don't want you to be trying on any larks of 
 this kind ; but I'll take care not to leave the 
 door unlocked again. Eun, and tell mother 
 it's all right.' 
 
 ' She is still in Dahha's room.' 
 ' Oh, then the Doctor will tell her.' 
 After carefully locking the door, he gave the 
 light to his sisters and bounded down the stairs. 
 ' I want to see the Doctor immediately,' he 
 said, when his sister Lavinia opened the door of 
 the bedroom, ' and ask him to bring the bottle 
 that is labelled poison with him.'
 
 3IO OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 Presently Dr. Humphreys came out and 
 Jim led him into an adjoining room. 
 
 'What is it, and why do you want this 
 bottle ? ' 
 
 Jim's eyes brightened at sight of his lost 
 property. 
 
 ' I wanted to tell you that it's all right, sir. 
 She took that bottle from my room and ' 
 
 ' Well, what did it contain .^ ' 
 
 Jim lowered his voice. 
 
 ' I thought you would not wish anyone 
 besides ourselves to know? I have not said 
 anything to my sisters.' 
 
 ' That was right.' 
 
 ' There was nothing in it but a portion of 
 some spirit in which I had been preserving a 
 still-born puppy because it was so small. I 
 marked poison on it for a lark, because that's 
 what all good T.T.'s call spirits, and because I 
 have heard of tippling servants making free 
 with doctor's spirits.'
 
 ONLY ONE OBJECTION. 311 
 
 ' This is a great relief to my mind ; thank 
 you. What quantity do you think remained in 
 the bottle?' 
 
 ' About two gills.' 
 
 ' But she had opium besides.' 
 
 Jim repeated the story of the afternoon, and 
 the load of anxiety was entirely hfted from the 
 Doctor's shoulders, 
 
 ' This is a narrow escape,' he said, at last, 
 ' and it should be a warning to you throughout 
 your hfe, and I hope it will be one to the 
 foolish girl herself. Hum ! we had better say 
 nothing about the puppy ; she will be upset 
 enough when she comes round, and that would 
 only make her worse. Indeed, we had better 
 keep the secret between ourselves. I will 
 simply assure them that she is safe.' 
 
 'But Stephen will insist upon knowing.' 
 
 ' Of course you will tell him, but no one else.' 
 
 ' You can trust me, I won't. I suppose she 
 will be all right in a few hours.'
 
 312 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' She will be out of immediate danger ; but 
 she will not be well for some time. I suspect 
 the poison she is suffering from is in the mind 
 and has little to do with the stuff which she took 
 from your den. However, we must pull her 
 through as quickly as we can.' 
 
 The Doctor now knew how to act ; and hap- 
 pily the measures he had adopted were precisely 
 those which he would have used had he been 
 aware from the first of all the facts of the case. 
 Now he had only to prescribe profound tran- 
 quillity, tonics, nourishing diet, and as soon as 
 convenient, a change of air. 
 
 He saw Stephen before leaving, and was 
 able to assure him of the patient's perfect 
 safety. 
 
 ' I should advise that the incident be kept 
 as quiet as possible,' said the good-natured old 
 Doctor, ' for every reference to it will be of ne- 
 cessity painful to Miss Whitcombe, and retard 
 her recovery. It might even tempt her to
 
 ONLY ONE OBJECTION. 313 
 
 repeat the rash act, when the consequences 
 might be more serious than they are in this case, 
 thanks to the mistake she made as to the nature 
 of the stuff she was taking. I know it is diffi- 
 cult to hide these things. Servants will talk, 
 and gossips do get hold of our private affairs 
 with most bewildering rapidity. However, you 
 must do your best to keep it from her ears.' 
 
 ' You may depend on that.' 
 
 The gig was waiting, but the Doctor 
 lingered as if he had something more to say, 
 and yet hesitated about doing so. 
 
 ' I am afraid you must give me the privilege 
 of an old friend to touch on a dehcate subject, 
 Meredith.' 
 
 ' Go on.' 
 
 ' Then the counsel I would offer is that you 
 should not see her for a few days, when her 
 nerves will have recovered a little tone. Her 
 first utterance was your name ; and now that 
 she has come to herself she seems to be most
 
 314 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 disturbed on account of what you may think of 
 her. Send some kind message, but don't go 
 to her unless she asks you to go. In that case 
 go at once. Now, good-night.' 
 
 Dahha's recovery seemed to be slow, more 
 because of her reluctance to quit her room than 
 because of actual weakness. She was afraid 
 almost of the daylight, and could not endure 
 anyone to be near her except the faithful nurses 
 Mrs. Meredith, Mary and Lavinia. 
 
 Stephen's messages were brought to her 
 regularly, and were her best medicine. By and 
 by as the spring days grew in brightness, and 
 buds, and leaves, and blossoms gladdened the 
 eyes and filled the heart with a sense of new 
 life, the Doctor suggested that Stephen should 
 ask to see the invalid. 
 
 From this Dahlia shrank, terrified. It was 
 Mrs. Meredith who brought the message, and 
 she would not have taken ' No ' for answer, even
 
 ONLY ONE OBJECTION. 315 
 
 if it had been spoken. But Dahlia, dressed in 
 a loose wrapper, and seated in a large chair by 
 the open window overlooking the garden, and, 
 with a long stretch of rich undulating landscape 
 beyond, only looked afraid of the ordeal. 
 
 ' But it must come sooner or later, child,' 
 said Mrs. Meredith, ' and you must feel that he 
 is anxious to see you after all that has passed. 
 Upon my word, I used to think he was unkind 
 to you, but the positions are reversed now.' 
 
 ' You know it is not that,' said Dahlia feebly, 
 her cheeks flushing.; ' you know how glad I 
 would be, but ' 
 
 ' There, now, no more buts. The Doctor 
 says it would do you good to have a talk with 
 him now ; or with anyone who would aflford a 
 change of conversation and so rouse you up.' 
 
 'Then, let me see anybody else first,' pleaded 
 the girl, and yet not meaning it. 
 
 ' What is the use of saying that ? You won't 
 see anybody else — you won't see Mr. Rapier,
 
 31 6 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 who has been constant in his inquiries about 
 you.' 
 
 ' Does he know what happened ? ' 
 
 ' No ; be at ease about that. No one but 
 ourselves is aware of anything more than that you 
 had a fit whilst dressing, and have had a fever.' 
 
 ' You have been very kind, all of you.' 
 
 ' Very well ; there is Stephen in the garden. 
 I am going to bring him in at once.' 
 
 ' Not yet, not yet ; give me a little time to 
 prepare myself.' 
 
 ' You will have time enough for I have a few 
 words to say to him before he comes in. I 
 wish he could see you just now ; you are 
 looking prettier than ever. Now you must not 
 deny me to-day, or I shall conclude that you no 
 longer wish to see him. There he is ; accustom 
 your eyes to the sight of him as we walk up and 
 down. Mary will stay till we come back.' 
 
 She looked from the window, and saw that 
 he was making up a bouquet of spring flowers.
 
 ONLY ONE OBJECTION. 317 
 
 She knew that they were for her. No longer 
 wish to see him ! How little they could under- 
 stand the wild craving there was within her to 
 touch his hand again and to hear his voice ! 
 
 Presently she saw the mother and son to- 
 gether. She knew that they were talking of 
 her, but she could not catch even the sound of 
 their voices. 
 
 This was what they were saying — 
 
 ' You are to come in to see Dahlia to-day, 
 Stephen,' were the mother's first words to him ; 
 ' but before you go in I want to have a few 
 plain words with you about her and yourself. 
 Let us walk up and down here.' 
 
 ' As you please, mother. What tyranny are 
 you going to practise now .^ for I know by your 
 face that you meditate something dreadful.' 
 
 ' Yes ; I am going to call to my aid the 
 tyrant common-sense ; but you know he is only 
 a tjrant to fools, he is the friend of sensible folk.' 
 
 ' I see, he is my tyrant and your friend.'
 
 3i8 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 The mother knew that he, as well as Dahlia, 
 was recovering by his return to his old playful 
 way of speaking, which she had so long 
 missed. 
 
 ' It w^ill depend upon how you act now 
 whether he is your friend or tyrant.' 
 
 ' I would like to have him as a friend, for 
 we have much need of his help.' 
 
 ' I am glad to hear that, for it is just what 
 I think. Now, I am going to speak my mind 
 plainly, and once for all. The subject is your 
 marriage.' 
 
 He bowed his head on his chest. 
 
 ' We must have it out now, my poor boy, 
 and if I pain you I suffer myself with you,' 
 proceeded the mother affectionately. 'You 
 wanted to have Euth, and I did not like it ; 
 but I did not make much fuss about it. You 
 know that ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' I wanted you to have Dahlia Whitcombe,
 
 ONLY ONE OBJECTION. 319 
 
 and you did not care about that arrangement ; 
 but I did not worry you by urging my plan 
 upon you, although I knew how devoted the 
 girl was to you.' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 Ee pronounced the monosyllable mechani- 
 cally, as if his mother's dehcate pause forced it 
 from him without his reflecting faculties having 
 anything to do with it. 
 
 ' I have none but kindly words to speak 
 of Euth, if we speak of her at all. I do not 
 tliink we should.' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' She is gone — you cannot mourn for her 
 always, and you owe something to Dahlia 
 Whitcombe for all she has suffered on your 
 account. I have not asked you how you were 
 affected by those lines she wrote when under 
 the belief that she was dying, but you cannot 
 be my son, Stephen, if your heart was not 
 wrung with pity and remorse.'
 
 320 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' It was indeed.' 
 
 ' Then go to her now — make her happy — 
 make us all happy. It is in your power.' 
 
 Stephen lifted his head; he had returned 
 from dreamland to the practical world. His 
 eyes were clear ; his manner calm and delibe- 
 rate. 
 
 'I have thought over the whole position 
 long and earnestly,' he said. ' I should be 
 glad to do anything in my power to make 
 Dahlia happy, and feel myself free to do it 
 now in the way you wish but for one objection.' 
 
 ' What is that ? ' she asked, eagerly, delighted 
 by his words, and satisfied beforehand that 
 whatever the objection might be she could 
 remove it. 
 
 ' Her money.' 
 
 ' Don't be a fool, Stephen ; who ever heard 
 of that being an objection to a pretty and good- 
 hearte J girl ? Eidiculous ! ' 
 
 ' No — not ridiculous. Everyone will say it
 
 ONLY ONE OBJECTION. 321 
 
 was for that I married her,' was his bitter ex- 
 clamation. 
 
 The mother laid her hand gently on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 ' I understand you, so will all who know 
 you. Not one of them will say that or think 
 it ; and for those who do not know you will you 
 sacrifice her ? She at any rate does not think 
 it, and she has given you a terrible proof of it.' 
 
 Stephen took his mother's hand, and the 
 cloud which had for a moment darkened his 
 face cleared away as he looked at her. 
 
 ' You are right, mother, and I see common- 
 sense is to be my friend through your influence. 
 She has given me proof that her happiness is in 
 my hands. I will go to her and tell her I 
 accept the trust.' 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 322 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 SPOKEN AT LAST. 
 
 She had seen them coming towards the house, 
 and knew that he would be in the room in a 
 moment. 
 
 Yet he was there beside her before she 
 thought he could have had had time to reach 
 the hall door. His hand was on her shoulder — 
 the blood was tingling in her cheeks, and throb- 
 bing in her brain making her giddy. She was 
 trembling and yet she was warm ; she was 
 delirious and yet his touch soothed her. 
 
 He was going to speak ; instinct told her 
 what he was going to say, and she was half 
 afraid to hear it now that it was on his tongue. 
 
 ' I have been very bhnd, DahUa. . . . You
 
 SPOKEN AT LAST. 323 
 
 have been with me through this time of 
 bitterest trial, and have been my best com- 
 forter. That makes you dear to me as no 
 other woman ever can be now.' 
 
 She clasped his hand, and her head rested 
 on his arm. She could not speak. 
 
 ' We are fellow- sufferers, and I have been 
 unawares the cause of much pain to you. Do 
 you think you can forgive that in looking 
 forward to the years I shall devote to the 
 endeavour to make you happy ? ' 
 
 A long, sweet pause, and then she with her 
 eyes closed, as if fearful tliat the ecstasy which 
 was thrilling through her would suddenly 
 change to pain if she dared to look up, or move, 
 or breathe, said softly — 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 Then he stooped and kissed her. 
 
 That was all. No need of explanation 
 between them. Everything was understood, 
 and she lay in his arms, his betrothed wife. 
 T 2
 
 324 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 Neither quite realised the position yet ; but 
 both felt happy ; he because he experienced 
 that most delicious of all sensations — the know- 
 ledge that he had been able to bring sunshine 
 into one sad life ; she because she loved him 
 passionately, and knew that he was now all her 
 own — her own more completely than he could 
 have been in her jealous eyes if she had won 
 him whilst Euth lived. 
 
 Suddenly she opened her eyes, and with a 
 scared look cried — 
 
 ' Oh, Stephen, I have been so wicked ! ' 
 ' Hush,' he said, gently ; ' we have forgotten 
 all that. We shut our eyes upon the past, and 
 we two join hands to go out into the great 
 future in quest of the treasure happiness.' 
 ' Shall we find it, do you think ? ' 
 ' Some say that it is never found in this 
 world ; others that we can only get glimpses of 
 it. Some again cry out that they possess it ; 
 others that they have never known it and never
 
 SPOKEN AT LAST. 325 
 
 hope to know it. The wiser people say that 
 happiness, hke Avater, has one level, and every- 
 body has an equal share.' 
 
 ' I am very happy,' she said, closing her eyes 
 again as if to reahse it the better. 
 
 ' I too am happy since you are so.' 
 
 Another pause, once more broken suddenly 
 by her — 
 
 ' And now you know what was tlie matter 
 with me that time you asked me, and you know 
 why I could not answer. I loved you, and was 
 miserable because I could not comfort you 
 enough.' 
 
 ' But, indeed, you did comfort me, Dahlia ; 
 and I have been always grateful to you.' 
 
 ' Ay, grateful, but .... there, I mustn't 
 speak of that. But we are to forget the pa^it 
 — all the past, and some day you will perhaps 
 — there again,' she cried, laughing at her own 
 joyous forgetfulness, ' how greedy I am ! You 
 will be angry with me, and be wearied with me,
 
 326 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 because I will be so eager to have all your 
 life as part of mine. 
 
 ' And it shall be all yours now.' 
 
 The news went through the household as if 
 there had been a telephone at everybody's ear ; 
 and it sped almost as fast throughout the dis- 
 trict : Stephen Meredith and Dahlia Whitcombe 
 were to be married in June. 
 
 ' A good catch for him,' said the gossips, 
 ' and she has a tidy fortune, too. He is a lucky 
 fellow, young Meredith. I always knew it 
 would be a match.' 
 
 The Derewood girls were in ecstasies, and 
 immediately over head and ears in the agreeable 
 troubles of dressmaking and millinery. 
 
 Jim shrugged his shoulders and would have 
 nothing to say in the matter further than — 
 
 'I thought Steve was in for it, poor chap ! 
 Well, she's a good sort.' 
 
 And that was a great admission for him 
 to make.
 
 SPOKEN AT LAST. yrj 
 
 Both Stephen and Dahha agreed that the 
 wedding should be entirely private, and, much 
 to the chagrin of Juliet and Constance espe- 
 cially, it was settled that there should be no guests 
 except Mr. Bassnett and Mr. Eapier, who were 
 both in a manner representatives of Dahlia's 
 adopted father, the still absent Mr. Dottiidge. 
 The latter had left full directions regarding 
 settlements so that Stephen was spared the 
 necessity of having to interfere in regard to 
 them. One-half the lady's fortune was secured 
 to herself and children — if any ; the other 
 half was left free for joint use of husband and 
 wife. 
 
 Dahlia was very busy, but what appeared 
 remarkable to everyone w^as that she showed 
 scarcely any interest in that most important 
 item of a woman's career, the bridal dress. 
 She insisted that it should be quite plain, and 
 that was all she cared about it. 
 
 Her private thought was that she would like 
 Stephen to feel from the beginning that al-
 
 328 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 tliougli she had been fond of dress she had, in 
 that respect as in others, greatly changed. 
 
 He was pleased ; for he did like simple and 
 plain attire for women as well as men. Enth 
 was the model always in his mind's eye for dress 
 and everything else. Perhaps Dahlia remem- 
 bered that, for she was most anxious to please 
 him. 
 
 A bright sunny day in June, and the little 
 party drove quietly to the church. The old 
 vicar, Mr. Arnold, officiated. But, quiet as they 
 wished to be, there was a crowd of people from 
 the town and the surrounding hamlets to watch 
 the bridal party, and the children of the la- 
 bourers on the Derewood farms strewed flowers 
 along the bride's path. 
 
 At last the words which made them one 
 were spoken — nothing could part them now. 
 
 The crowd cheered as they passed from the 
 church to the carriages and as they drove 
 away.
 
 SPOKEN AT LAST. 329 
 
 On reaching Derewood Grange Mr. Bassnett, 
 wliG was quite juvenile in his festive attire and 
 in the sunshine, offered formal congratulations 
 to the bride and bridegroom in the name of Mr. 
 Dottridge. 
 
 ' Although we know nothing about where- 
 he is,' said Bassnett, ' his arrangements are so 
 marvellously complete that he had even pre- 
 pared for this event. I have the greatest 
 pleasure in handing you this bit of good news, 
 Meredith, on this joyful occasion.' 
 
 Stephen opened the letter which was handed 
 to him and found that it was a formal intima- 
 tion from Bassnett that all the mortgages held 
 by Mr. Dottridge over the estates of Der(nvood 
 Grange were cancelled. 
 
 This was good news indeed. By one stroke 
 of the pen his cousin had made him an inde- 
 pendent man. 
 
 ' But how can I accept this from him ? ' he 
 exclaimed, in amazement.
 
 330 OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 ' By remembering that he is your relative, 
 and that you have married the lady he adopted 
 as his daughter,' answered the lawyer, cheer- 
 fully. 'It ought to help you to be all the 
 merrier on your marriage day.' 
 
 ' I told you that Dahha would bring good 
 fortune,' whispered Mrs. Meredith, with tears of 
 pride and joy in her eyes. ' No more thought 
 of a sale now, Stephen ! ' 
 
 ' No, mother, but this seems almost too good 
 to be true.' 
 
 ' You must remember that Mr. Lottridge 
 owed something of his start in hfe to your 
 father.' 
 
 ' Then he has amply repaid it to the son. 
 But it is a strange business.' 
 
 Strange it might be, but it was only part of 
 the strange conduct of an eccentric man, and it 
 certainly made Stephen's heart lighter on this 
 bright day. 
 
 The usual ceremonials which are irksome
 
 SPOKEN AT LAST. 331 
 
 to everybody, except mothers-in-law and young 
 ladies, were observed with all due formality at 
 the luncheon. Mr. Bassnett proposed ' the 
 happy pair,' and wandered into such flowery 
 language as would have cost him every chent 
 he had if he had been overheard. 
 
 Mr. Eapier was charming about the ladies 
 and the whole duty of man to marry. Juliet 
 declared she never had heard anyone speak ' so 
 beautiful ! ' 
 
 To that Jim said ' Bosh ! Why don't he 
 marry himself when he thinks it such a fine 
 thing ? ' 
 
 The yoimg misogynist was not to be re- 
 formed even by the spectacle of a wedding. 
 
 When they had run the gauntlet of all the 
 old shoes in the house, and got fairly away, 
 Stephen placed his arm round Dahlia's waist, 
 whispering — 
 
 ' My wife.' 
 
 She was quite startled by this brief but
 
 332 OF HIGH DEGREE, 
 
 eloquent address — the most eloquent to which 
 she had ever hstened. 
 
 ' We have begun our journey,' he went on, 
 'under very favourable conditions. We have 
 fortune in our hands and at our feet, and it 
 depends upon ourselves whether the journey is 
 a pleasant one or not. I cannot conjure up the 
 ghost of any shadow that might cross our 
 way.' 
 
 ' Nor can I,' was the gleeful, smiling re- 
 sponse ; ' and we will try not to make one. 
 There cannot be one ; so long as we are true 
 to each other, nothing can hurt us.' 
 
 ' And we shall be true.' 
 
 That was a little second service ; and both 
 remembered it afterwards. 
 
 The shadow was closer to them than they 
 would have believed had a prophet told them. 
 
 They were going North, and their first halt 
 was made at York. In the hotel, whilst 
 Stephen was waiting for Dahlia to complete her
 
 SPOKEN AT LAST. 333 
 
 toilet for dinner, he picked up a newspaper, 
 with no intention to read, but merely from 
 habit. His eyes rested on this ])aragraph — 
 
 ' A melancholy relic of the ill-fated Euca- 
 lyptus^ which foundered at sea some six months 
 ago, has been washed ashore. It is a wooden 
 box bearing this inscription : '' Euth Clark, 
 passenger to Sydney per Eucalyptus.'' The 
 box has been forwarded to the accents of 
 Dottridge and Co. at Sydney, and will doubtless 
 be transmitted by thenr to England, to be 
 delivered to the friends of the unfortunate 
 lady.' 
 
 Stephen laid down the paper as his wife 
 entered the room. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 I.ONUON : PEIKTEI) BT 
 
 BPOTTISWOODE AMD CO., NEW-eTREBT SQUAfiX 
 
 AN1> PAItLlAilKAT BTBKET
 
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