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 MY DUCATS ASTD MY 
 DAUGHTEE
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 FRANK MURRAY, 9 & 11 YOUNG STRKET, 
 
 EDINBURGH.
 
 MY DUOATS AND MY 
 DAUGHTER 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. T. 
 
 LONDON 
 KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH & CO., 1 PATERNOSTER SQUARE 
 
 1884
 
 {The rights oftmndoMon and of reproduction ore reserved.)
 
 
 COITTENTS OF YOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. The Factory of the Future 
 
 II. Ax Idler in the Market-Place 
 
 III. The Pursuit of Knowledge 
 
 IV. A Coincidence . 
 V. Sunday at Sprayton 
 
 VI. By the Sea 
 
 VII. The Happy Valley 
 
 VIII. A Grateful Friend 
 
 IX. The Views of Mr, Mallory 
 
 X. Father and Daughter 
 
 XI. At Hartington Gardens 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 30 
 
 66 
 104 
 120 
 139 
 166 
 193 
 218 
 231 
 274 
 
 i
 
 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 THE FACTORY OF THE FUTURE. 
 
 Some twenty years ago, Mr. William Lynn of 
 Lynnfield was one of the chief manufacturers 
 of Shawkirk, a thriving town in the Scottish 
 Border district. Mr. Lynn was a kindly, open- 
 handed man, neither very clever nor very in- 
 dustrious. His career, had he been born poor, 
 would never have furnished a theme to preach- 
 ers of the gospel of getting-on. But on his 
 father's death he had been left at the head 
 of a solidly- established business ; and this, 
 favoured by good times, had continued to 
 prosper, somehow, under his own rather lax 
 
 .supervision. His fellow-capitalists, indeed, 
 ' yoL. I. A
 
 2 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 failed to understand why success should attend 
 one who wore the shackles of business so 
 lightly, who dreamed away half his hours in 
 a library, and whose head teemed with crot- 
 chets for the benefit of the Working-Man. 
 However that might be, it was the fact that 
 the Lynnfield works did a good and safe trade, 
 and were as flourishing a concern as any in 
 Shawkirk. 
 
 Then a report went forth that Mr. Lynn had 
 decided to carry one of his fanciful schemes 
 into practice. Shawkirk society was stirred to 
 its deeps. No one knew what the Scheme 
 was ; but everyone knew that it was bad, mad, 
 and fated to fail. With the Shawkirk manu- 
 facturers it was an article of faith that Trade 
 should in no wise be alloyed with Philan- 
 thropy. There was a prevalent feeling among 
 them that Mr. Lynn, in making any such at- 
 tempt, was acting as a traitor to his class. 
 They viewed his proceedings with extreme 
 disfavour. " If he goes on like this," observed 
 Mr. Macritchie of the Bridgend Mills, *' he 
 will do any amount of harm." — " If he goes
 
 THE FACTORY OF THE FUTURE. 3 
 
 on like this, lie will very soon come to grief," 
 said Mr. Turpie of the Townhead Tannery. 
 
 No one deplored Mr. Lynn's perversity more 
 bitterly than his brother-in-law, Mr. Peter 
 Ingleby. This gentleman was the proprietor 
 of a dye -work, which daily empurpled the 
 stream on whose banks Shawkirk is situated. 
 Mr. Ingleby was not by comparison rich. He 
 had, moreover, a growing family ; whereas 
 Mr. Lynn had but one child, and was a 
 widower. 
 
 Mr. Ingleby had done his best to show his 
 brother-in-law the error of his ways, but in 
 vain. Mr. Lynn was enamoured of his Scheme 
 of Co-operation. He was bent upon making 
 Lynnfield a model factory — a factory which 
 should be as a beacon-light to other employers 
 of labour — in short, the Factory of the Future. 
 Already he had taken certain preliminary steps 
 in the working out of the Scheme, by provid- 
 ing his hands with a library and a gymna- 
 sium, a bowling-green and a swimming-bath. 
 The hands had not been particularly grate- 
 ful for these boons. They had refused tg
 
 4 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 enter the library or gymnasium ; they had 
 wanted to play quoits on the bowling-green, 
 and had traced the origin of all their maladies 
 to the use of the swimming-bath. They dis- 
 liked the idea of being petted and patronised. 
 If their employer really wished them well, why 
 did he not take the much simpler plan of rais- 
 ing their wages ? Some of them regarded the 
 whole thing as a kind of joke on a big scale. 
 Others looked askance on the innovations, as 
 foreshadowing a possible design on Mr. Lynn's 
 part to take some fresh advantage of the sons 
 of toil. 
 
 Mr. Lynn's next proceeding was to build a 
 Hall in connection with his factory. This 
 erection cost him a good deal of money. It 
 contained a committee-room, recreation-room, 
 music-room, reading-room, smoking-room, and 
 a bar for the sale of unintoxicating drinks. 
 The Hall itself was a spacious, high-ceiled 
 apartment, with a platform, benches, and all 
 things requisite for the holding of meetings. 
 Here, in imagination, Mr. Lynn beheld his 
 bands assembling nightly for the discussion
 
 THE FACTORY OF THE FUTURE. 5 
 
 of politics and economics, and for conference 
 with himself and with each other on the ques- 
 tion of the common good. He had as yet 
 made no public statement as to his intentions. 
 But he had looked forward to the opening of 
 the ncAV Hall as his opportunity for doing so ; 
 and on the completion of the building, a pla- 
 card affixed to the great gate of the Lynnfield 
 Works announced this purpose to the hands. 
 They were invited to gather themselves to- 
 gether on a certain evening, that they might 
 hear from their employer himself an exposi- 
 tion of those co-operative principles which 
 were henceforth to regulate their mutual rela- 
 tions. The work-people stared at the placard 
 in stupid amaze ; but the Shawkirk manufac- 
 turers, when they heard of it, were filled with 
 anger and disgust. 
 
 These doings were terrible to Mr. Ingleby 
 as an employer of labour. And it did seem, 
 moreover, a hard thing that a rich widower, 
 with interesting nephews and nieces, and an 
 only son, in delicate health, should indulge in 
 those costly eccentricities, and show himself
 
 6 MY DITCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 thus dead to the feelings which do honour to 
 an uncle. Mr. Ingleby resolved on a last at- 
 tempt by way of recalling his erring brother- 
 in-law to a sense of duty ; and walked up to 
 Lynnfield, framing cogent appeals and simmer- 
 ing with indignation. 
 
 It was a sultry forenoon in July. As Mr. 
 Ingleby drew near the Factory of the Future, 
 he found the hands pouring out at the gates, 
 and was told that Mr. Lynn had given his 
 people a half-holiday on account of the cere- 
 mony of the morrow — the openiDg of the new 
 Hall. This fresh extravagance embittered Mr. 
 Ingleby 's mood. Here were some three hun- 
 dred work-people let loose — the men to drink, 
 and the girls to parade the streets — doing 
 nothing but harm to themselves, and making 
 other employers' hands more discontented, if 
 possible, than they were already. The Union 
 Jack flying from the turret of the new Hall 
 was, in Mr. Ingleby's eyes, a flaunting symbol 
 of frivolity. The placard on the factory gate 
 seemed an insult to the ties of kinship. 
 
 In the counting-house the indignant gentle-
 
 THE FACTORY OF THE FUTURE. 7 
 
 man found only the chief-clerk, who was 
 seated at his desk, with a heap of letters and 
 invoices before him. 
 
 '' Good day, Arden," said Mr. Ingleby. '' I 
 did not expect to find anybody here. How 
 comes it that you are not taking an idle day, 
 like the rest of them ?" 
 
 " Somebody must look after the correspond- 
 ence, you know," said Mr. Arden pleasantly. 
 — "Wait a minute" — he added, as Mr. Ingleby 
 was making for a door marked " Private" — 
 " Mr. Lynn is engaged just now — he has 
 some one with him, and they are not to be 
 disturbed. Won't you take the newspaper, 
 Mr. Ingleby?" 
 
 Mr. Ingleby took the newspaper, but 
 apparently found nothing to interest him in 
 its columns. 
 
 " Who did you say was with Mr. Lynn ?" — 
 he asked, after an interval of silence. 
 
 " Hume — one of our travellers. But they 
 won't be long now, I should think." 
 
 Mr. Ingleby responded by a significant 
 "Ah!" Then, after a pause — "I greatly
 
 8 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 fear," he said, " that this Hume is a young 
 man who is going wrong." 
 
 " Indeed ! what makes you think so ?" 
 
 "He belongs, like myself," said Mr. Ingleby, 
 " to Mr. M'Candlish's congregation — that is, I 
 should say, nominally. But for some months 
 past, I have not once seen him in chapel. I 
 know that he frequents most dangerous 
 society. And I myself met him by chance 
 only a few nights ago, when, I do not hesitate 
 to say, he was under the influence of intoxi- 
 cating drinks. I shall consider it my Duty " 
 — Mr. Ingleby always spelt the word Duty 
 with a capital letter, and pronounced it with 
 the effect of one — "to warn my brother-in-law 
 against that young man. I suppose his — 
 ahem — irregularities have not escaped your 
 observation, Arden ? " 
 
 " So long as he does his work," replied Mr. 
 Arden, " I have nothing further to do with 
 him. Mr. Lynn, I know, has a high opinion 
 of Hume. They have been together for 
 nearly half an hour now " — he added. 
 
 Mr. Ingleby waited, with growing impa-
 
 THE FACTORY OF THE FUTURE. 9 
 
 tience, for about fifteen minutes more. Then, 
 remarking sarcastically on the value of some 
 people's time, he rose, knocked at the door of 
 the private room, and opened it without 
 waiting for a " Come in." He could not 
 suppress an exclamation of surprise at the 
 scene which met his gaze. 
 
 Mr. Lynn was seated at a table, on 
 which, amid a litter of papers, stood an 
 allegorical group in bronze. Behind him was 
 a life-size female figure in stucco, representing 
 " Industry"; while round the walls were hung 
 flags, floral devices, and festoons of evergreens. 
 Opposite Mr. Lynn stood a very pale, very 
 agitated young man, who broke off" in the 
 midst of an excited speech as Mr. Ingleby 
 appeared. Mr. Lynn himself — a mild-looking 
 man of about fifty years of age, with blue eyes 
 and a light flaxen beard sprinkled with grey 
 — seemed hardly less perturbed than his 
 companion. 
 
 " Oh ! — Ingleby," he said nervously — " I'll 
 see you immediately — I'm engaged just now 
 with Mr. Hume. It is a private matter — that
 
 10 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTEK. 
 
 is, some private business we have to talk over. 
 Will you excuse me in the meantime ? — I 
 shall not detain you very long." 
 
 "Flowers, statues, and a profligate in tears!' 
 said Mr. Ingleby to himself, as he closed the 
 door. " What does it mean ? But it's of a 
 piece with the rest of his doings. Only this 
 much is certain — it can't go on. No, it can't 
 go on." 
 
 Mr. Ingleby came back to his chair in the 
 counting-house. He exchanged a meaning 
 glance with the head-clerk, but neither spoke. 
 The ticking of the office clock, the occasional 
 rustle of Mr. Ingleby's newspaper, and the 
 scratching of Mr. Arden's pen, were the only 
 sounds heard. They seemed to accentuate the 
 silence which hung over the w^hole idle factory. 
 
 There was a sharp contrast in appearance 
 between the two men who were now con- 
 sciously awaiting the result of the interview 
 in the private room. Mr. Ingleby was in his 
 fortieth year, and looked considerably older. 
 His hair was in colour iron-grey, and had 
 apparently the stiffness of iron. He had the
 
 THE FACTORY OF THE FUTURE. 11 
 
 hard features and high cheek-bones of the 
 North Country. Looking at that stern, almost 
 granitic face, you could scarcely believe it 
 capable of a smile save at the cost of severe 
 muscular exertion. When Mr. Ingleby 
 frowned — which was, in truth, not seldom — 
 two ridges of bushy grey eyebrow ran into 
 one, two cold keen eyes shot their glance from 
 beneath, and certain wrinkles on the brow 
 became furrows. Mr. Ingleby was what the 
 Germans call geradlinig — a rectilinear man. 
 His manners were formal, even to rigidity. 
 If he ever unbent, in any moment of rare 
 geniality, you listened instinctively to hear 
 the crack. No colours save black and white 
 entered into the master-dyer's costume. His 
 garments were actually loud in their protest 
 against Fashion. His stiff upright collar and 
 large black tie seemed almost parts of the 
 man. No eye save his wife's had ever beheld 
 him divested of these symbols of respect- 
 ability. Mr. Ingleby was, as it were, a living 
 incarnation of Duty — a term which in his 
 mouth commonly meant something disagree-
 
 12 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 able to others, and consequently not unpleas- 
 ing to himself. 
 
 Mr. Arclen was about ten years younger 
 than Mr. Tngleby. His features were good, 
 though there were strong indications of 
 sensuousness, not to say animalism, about the 
 lips and eyes. His hair was dark, his face 
 well-coloured ; its prevalent expression sug- 
 gesting at once affability, shrewdness, and 
 self-possession. Mr. Arden had a singularly 
 musical voice, and spoke with an accent that 
 was not Scottish. He was undeniably a hand- 
 some man, who dressed well, and had what 
 the Shawkirk ladies called "a fine manner." 
 Mr. Ingleby, who held fine manners and fine 
 dress in equal contempt, entertained a feeling 
 of respect for Mr. Arden, based on his capacity 
 for business and his attention to it. He had 
 been heard to say that " Lynn had never done 
 such a sensible thing in his life as when he 
 brought Arden from the South, and took him 
 into his counting-house" — and to jji'ophesy 
 that "that young man would get on." 
 
 Another quarter of an hour .had passed
 
 THE FACTORY OF THE FUTURE. 13 
 
 away. Then Mr. Ingleby was aroused from 
 the gloomy reverie into which he had fallen 
 by a sudden cry from Arden — 
 
 " Good God, Hume! what's the matter with 
 
 you?" 
 
 Mr. Ingleby looked up from his news- 
 paper, and saw the young man who had been 
 closeted with his brother-in-law hurrying to- 
 wards the head-clerk's desk. Arden's surprise 
 was natural. Hume had left the counting- 
 house an hour before, outwardly spruce, jaunty, 
 and at his ease. Now, he was haggard and 
 dishevelled, his eyes were moist, and the hand 
 which he held out to Arden trembled visibly. 
 
 " Good-bye, Arden," he said. " I'm going 
 — going for good. I shan't see you again — 
 good-bye !" 
 
 *' Where are you going?" — said the head- 
 clerk, staring at him ; " what does all this 
 mean, Hume ? " 
 
 " It means — well, you'll find out soon 
 enough what it means. It means " — he went 
 on excitedly — "that I've been speaking just 
 now to the best and kindest man I'm ever
 
 14 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 likely to meet in this world ! And now, I'm 
 off — this is no place for me !" 
 
 "Hold on!" — said Arden. ''What makes 
 you in such a hurry, man ? Are we not to see 
 you again?" 
 
 " No. I'm going right away. I'm leaving 
 this for good, I tell you — for ever. Good-bye, 
 Mr. Ingleby" — and he held out his hand to 
 that gentleman also. 
 
 But Mr. Ingleby deliberately put his hands 
 behind his back, and regarded the young man 
 with a glance of most austere displeasure. 
 
 "Sir," he said, "you must allow me to 
 draw my own conclusions from the painful 
 scene of which I have been the unwilling spec- 
 tator. I shall certainly not give my hand to a 
 man from whose words and demeanour I can 
 only infer that he has just been dismissed from 
 his situation for neglect of duty — or worse." 
 
 Hume, in his half-dazed state, seemed not 
 to heed, indeed, scarcely to hear, what Mr. 
 Ingleby was saying. "Without another word 
 he passed out of the counting-house ; and 
 from that day Shawkirk knew him no more.
 
 THE FACTORY OF THE FUTURE. 15 
 
 " I suppose he has been discharged for 
 being drunk," said Mr. Ingleby. ''It is only 
 what I should have expected. I am glad, 
 sincerely glad, that my brother-in-law has 
 had the strength of mind to get rid of him. 
 If he had been in my employment, that young 
 man would have been dismissed long before 
 this." And he began to cherish the hope 
 that Mr. Lynn might even yet be recalled 
 to a sense of his duties as an uncle and an 
 employer of labour. 
 
 "You are surprised at these statues and 
 wreaths and things, I daresay?" — said Mr. 
 Lynn, when his brother-in-law joined him in 
 his private room. " They are to be placed in 
 the new Hall this evening. I explain my 
 Scheme there to the men to-morrow, you 
 know." 
 
 " I have heard that such is your intention," 
 said Mr. Ingleby. "And I have come to beg of 
 you once more, Lynn, not to do this thing. 
 You may resent my interference — that I can- 
 not help ; I must do what I consider my Duty. 
 My conscience will not allow me to stand by
 
 16 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 without seeking once more to show you the 
 error — the wickedness, I might almost say — 
 of the course you are taking. Sooner or later, 
 this thing means Euin. If you have no care 
 for yourself, think on your son — think on your 
 — on your — " 
 
 "On my nephew, you would say?" — sug- 
 gested Mr. Lynn, quietly. 
 
 " And if I did say that your relatives have 
 a claim upon you before your workmen, I 
 should only be saying what is right and 
 just in the sight of God and man," said 
 Mr. Ingleby, looking almost sternly in the 
 other's face. 
 
 "You spoke of your conscience, Ingleby, a 
 minute ago," said Mr. Lynn, mildly ; " and I 
 don't doubt that you are acting as your con- 
 science bids 3^ou. But I, too, have a con- 
 science. And my conscience will not allow 
 me to go on any longer making money 
 through the working of a cruel and iniqui- 
 tous system — a system created solely in the 
 interests of Capital — which grinds down wages 
 to the starvation point, and must lead — "
 
 THE FACTORY OF THE FUTURE. l7 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Mr. Ingleby ; " I have 
 heard all that before. Talk about it, lecture 
 about it, write about it, if you will — but 
 don't, Lynn, don't for Heaven's sake try to 
 carry it out at Lynnfield. Is it not the case 
 that the firm that fidgets does no good ? And 
 this ! — this is not fidgetting — it's rank com- 
 munism, anarchy, revolution — it's unsettling 
 everything, upsetting everything, and break- 
 ing down a business which it took your father 
 a life-time to build up !" 
 
 "Now, would you just listen to this?" — 
 interposed Mr. Lynn blandly ; and he pro- 
 duced some loose sheets from a drawer in his 
 writing-table. " I have here worked out what 
 I take to be a thorough refutation of the old 
 fallacy that wages are paid out of capital. 
 You may have noticed that, not unseldom, 
 when wages are low, interest is low ?" 
 
 Mr. Ingleby responded by a gesture of im- 
 patience. 
 
 " Now, notice how this fact bears on my 
 theory that wages are not paid out of 
 capital, but out of the product of the work- 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 18 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 man's labour. This fact about interest 
 shows — " 
 
 " Oh, we don't need to go into that now," 
 said Mr. Ingleby. '' The fact is, Lynn, you live 
 far too much in that library of yours. What 
 you say may be reason in a library, but it is 
 arrant nonsense in a counting-house. — By-the- 
 bye, I suppose you have dismissed that man 
 Hume ?" 
 
 '' Well, yes. I have." 
 
 " There you did right — quite right. I am 
 glad that you have found him out, before he 
 has done any more harm in the place. I 
 suppose you did detect him in his evil courses 
 — getting drunk, and so on ?" 
 
 '' No — not exactly. It's a painful thing to 
 speak of, and I'm not sure that I have acted 
 rightly, after all. But I may as well tell you, 
 Ingleby. The fact is, he made a mistake about 
 money." 
 
 *' Embezzled, you mean ?" 
 
 " Well, you might put it so* The poor soul 
 was tempted by associating with men richer 
 than himself — the old story. He was an able
 
 THE FACTORY OF THE FUTURE. 19 
 
 fellow, too, and good at heart ; and he worked 
 well for me for many a long year — since he 
 was a boy, almost. When I think of it all, 
 I fear that I have been harsh. And yet, it 
 would not have been fair to others — " 
 
 " What would not have been fair ? What, 
 may I ask, have you done with this — this 
 criminal?" 
 
 " I was afraid that if I kept him on here he 
 might fall again under the same temptations, 
 and perhaps — who knows ? — have led others 
 astray. I thought it my duty to Society to 
 send him away from this — abroad, where he 
 can make a fresh start. Indeed, that was his 
 own wish. So he sails for Australia before the 
 week is out. But I don't feel comfortable in 
 my own mind about it. Perhaps I have not 
 made sufficient allowance for his youth — for 
 his circumstances. Perhaps I should not have 
 done this, after all." 
 
 '' Of course you should not," said Mr. 
 Ingleby ; " there cannot be the shadow of a 
 doubt as to that." 
 
 " I liked to see him at my house, too,"
 
 20 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Lynn went on ; " and he was always such a 
 special friend of little Arthur's. The whole 
 thing has pained me more than I can say. 
 It is most unfortunate — I feel thoroughly 
 upset — and there is that Address hanging over 
 me which I am to deliver to-morrow." 
 
 " I suppose you have paid his passage 
 out?" 
 
 " Oh, that is all arranged." 
 
 " And given him money besides ?" 
 
 *' You may be sure I did not send him away 
 quite destitute. He will have sufficient for 
 his outfit, and something over and above to 
 make a fresh start, out there — away from his 
 old temptations." 
 
 " I thought so. How much, may I ask, 
 have you been robbed of by this — this felon ?" 
 
 "A mere trifle — not £100. By the way, 
 Ingleby, I had rather you did not call him a 
 ' felon,' and so on. Technically, you may be 
 right — but it jars on me, you know. Yes, he 
 confessed all, poor lad. The sum is nothing 
 in itself; you see, it is the principle." 
 
 " I wonder you did not take him into part-
 
 THE FACTOEY OF THE FUTURE. 21 
 
 nersliip !" — cried Mr. Ingleby with withering 
 irony. '' That would at least have been bet- 
 ter than taking all the men in ! And you call 
 this acting on principle — doing your duty to 
 Society ! Your duty, Lynn, let me tell you, 
 was plain. You say that you want to make 
 Society better, and you begin by allowing a 
 thief to escape ! Not content with that, you 
 give him the means of starting on a fresh 
 career of crime, where his true character is not 
 known ! It is simply deplorable. — I am glad 
 of one thing," he added, after a pause — " I 
 am glad I did not shake hands with him !" 
 
 From the subject of Hume's delinquency, 
 they returned to the subject of Mr. Lynn's 
 Scheme. They discussed it long and hotly, 
 and with the old result. Mr. Ingleby, the 
 practical man, departed victor in the argu- 
 ment ; leaving Lynn, the theorist, unshaken 
 in his belief that he had worked out the Mil- 
 lennium from statistics. 
 
 Next evening Mr. Lynn set forth his Scheme 
 to a mystified audience of weavers, tenters, 
 porters, engineers, and mill-girls, whom he
 
 22 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 declared to be the pioneers in a great Move- 
 ment, by which the claims of Capital and 
 Labour were to be brousjht into everlastinsc 
 harmony. His hearers did not understand 
 what he meant, but they felt that if there was 
 to be much speech-making of this kind under 
 the new order of things, they would require a 
 compensation for listening more solid than 
 floral decorations. There was a general agree- 
 ment among the hands that such compen- 
 sation should take the shape of an immediate 
 rise in wages. 
 
 From that night Mr. Lynn completely al- 
 tered the tenor of his life. Instead of trust- 
 ing the management of his works, as he had 
 hitherto done in great measure, to an excellent 
 staff, he was himself constantly present in the 
 factory. He insisted upon altering the lines 
 on which the business had been conducted ; 
 and his alterations were not improvements. 
 He seemed to have become possessed by the 
 spirit of teasing meddlesomeness. He directed 
 the engineers how to economise their steam-coal, 
 and the clerks their blotting-paper. He spared
 
 THE FACTORY OF THE FUTURE. 23 
 
 neither time nor money to make his cherished 
 Scheme a success, and his efforts were not long 
 in leading to striking results. 
 
 Before three months had passed, Mr. Lynn 
 had contrived to quarrel with his manager, 
 who had served both himself and his father 
 well. He replaced him by the head-clerk, 
 Arden, who studied his master's character to 
 the neglect of his interests. Mr. Arden's pro- 
 motion brought with it a share in the business. 
 The new manager soon made himself neces- 
 sary to Mr. Lynn, and showed a zeal in the 
 cause of co-operation apparently not less fer- 
 vid than his master's. 
 
 Then came a period of dulness in trade. 
 The hands had never understood Lynn's 
 Scheme ; but they understood what was meant 
 by working half-time at reduced wages. They 
 did not mind sharing in the good, but they 
 strongly objected to sharing in the evil. And 
 so they began to look on their Employer — as 
 they persisted in regarding Mr. Lynn, despite 
 all his protestations — with suspicious or con- 
 temptuous dislike,
 
 24 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 The business began to go down-hill. Neither 
 Mr. Lynn nor his manager had the technical 
 knowledge required to conduct it with success ; 
 and though the latter strove to atone for this 
 want by a high spirit of commercial daring, 
 his ventures did not bring profit — at anyrate, 
 to the copartnership. 
 
 The more obstinately Mr. Lynn strove to 
 work out his theory, the more complicated 
 became the state of his affairs. He soon 
 found that he must make great sacrifices, if he 
 would keep the promises he had held out to 
 his partners — the men. He made the sacri- 
 fices, and kej)t the promises. He reduced his 
 personal expenditure to a minimum, and 
 adopted a style of living which was, by com- 
 parison, mean. The consequence of this was 
 that nearly all his old friends dropped away 
 from him ; while the drain on his purse con- 
 tinued. 
 
 Then occurred an event which seemed to 
 the Shawkirk capitalists, who had been watch- 
 ing the lapse of Lynnfield with undissembled 
 glee, as the beginning of the end. Mr. Arden,
 
 THE FACTORY OF THE FUTURE. 25 
 
 after two years of managersliip, resigned his 
 connection with the Factory of the Future, 
 and departed for London. Evidently, the ship 
 must be going down. 
 
 This defection was a heavy blow to Mr. 
 Lynn. The whole burden of the Scheme now 
 pressed upon his own shoulders, and he felt 
 the business slipping through his hands. There 
 was none to assist him. Indeed, the other 
 manufacturers, who looked on him as the 
 common enemy, had formed a kind of ' ring ' 
 against him, and cut him out of the market 
 so far as they could. His balance at the bank 
 dwindled away, and at last he had to draw on 
 his credit. As things grew darker and darker, 
 the incessant planning and brooding began to 
 tell upon his brain. The once mild and even- 
 tempered Lynn became fretful, moody, even 
 morose. There was, indeed, no small degree 
 of truth in what the Shawkirk capitalists said 
 of him — that " Lynn of Lynnfield had be- 
 come a monomaniac." 
 
 At length the end came. Three years after 
 the opening of the new Hall, Mr. Lynn died
 
 26 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 a broken-hearted man. The subsequent in- 
 vestigation into the state of his affairs occa- 
 sioned general surprise. That he should have 
 lost, and lost heavily, was what everyone ex- 
 pected. But that in three years Mr. Lynn of 
 Lynnfield, who had been reputed a man of 
 great wealth, should have brought himself to 
 the verge of bankruptcy, surpassed the gloom- 
 iest anticipations of even Mr. Ingleby. Yet 
 such was the case. The fortune which fell to 
 Mr. Lynn's only child, after all liabilities had 
 been met, amounted to rather less than =£1000. 
 A few months more, the capitalists said, and 
 he would have died insolvent. 
 
 There were those in Shawkirk who connected 
 the name of Mr. Arden, ex-manager, with the 
 disaster which had overtaken Mr. Lynn. He, 
 it was said, had made a good thing of Co- 
 operation, if nobody else had ; and had gone 
 out of the concern just at the right moment 
 for himself. Others, again, held that there 
 was no valid reason for ascribing Mr. Lynn's 
 failure to anyone but himself. He had simply 
 " muddled away his money," and '' torn up a
 
 THE FACTORY OF THE FUTURE. 27 
 
 fine business by the roots;" and though the 
 time taken up by that operation was certainly 
 short, the Scheme had been mad enough to 
 account for anything. Mr. Arden was a clever 
 man, who had tried to keep Lynn right, until 
 obliged by the latter's obstinacy to give up the 
 task in despair. So said Mr. Arden's friends, 
 of whom he had quite a number. For success 
 never failed to make friends at Shawkirk ; 
 and Mr. Arden had been a successful man. 
 Eeturning to London not quite empty-handed, 
 and being backed up by a stock-broker 
 named Chevenix, whose daughter he had 
 married — he himself went upon 'Change, and 
 in the course of a few years gained credit and 
 renown as a successful speculator. The fame 
 of his financial operations extended even to 
 Shawkirk, where his old associates magnified 
 his wealth into something fabulous, and spoke 
 of him as an honour to the borough. 
 
 Mr. Ingleby found himself appointed, under 
 his brother-in-law's will, sole guardian and 
 trustee of Lynn's only child. Mr. Ingleby 
 discharged his trust faithfully and not un-
 
 28 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 kindly. The money left by Mr. Lynn was 
 prudently invested. The boy was brought up 
 in his uncle's house, where he was much be- 
 loved and petted by his aunt and girl-cousins. 
 In due time he was sent to a good boarding- 
 school in the city ; and afterwards, in accord- 
 ance with his own desire, became a student at 
 a Scottish university. Mr. Ingleby agreed to 
 this latter step — which he would never have 
 thought of in the case of his own offspring — less 
 out of regard for his nephew's wishes, than 
 from a conviction, amounting to certainty, that 
 the elder Lynn's business incapacity had de- 
 scended at least in equal measure to his son. 
 
 Arthur Lynn's patrimony might have been 
 considerably increased had it been found pos- 
 sible to dispose of the Lynnfield works. But 
 the period of depression in trade, which had 
 set in before Mr. Lynn's death, lasted for some 
 years afterwards, and no purchaser came for- 
 ward. Before trade revived, the factory had 
 fallen out of repair, and modern improvements 
 had left it behind in the race. Capitalists 
 came, looked at Lynnfield, shook their heads.
 
 THE FACTORY OF THE FUTUEE. 29 
 
 and built them new mills elsewhere. In 
 course of time the Factory of the Future be- 
 came a dismal ruin — towards whose smoke- 
 less chimney-stalk Mr. Ingleby was accus- 
 tomed to point when perorating on the follies 
 of philanthropy.
 
 30 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 AN IDLER IN THE MARKET-PLACE. 
 
 " I AM almost beginning to wish I were on 
 board the steamer now. The last hour before 
 saying good-bye is always the worst part of 
 it." 
 
 " You won't forget your promise about 
 writing, Arthur ? We 'are to have long 
 letters from you — how often ? Once a week, 
 is it not ? " 
 
 " I am not likely to forget any of my 
 promises to you, Gertrude. Of course I shall 
 write long, very long letters. I daresay that 
 will be the surest way to make you wish I 
 were back again." 
 
 " That will be in October ? " 
 
 "Without fail. I must be home in good 
 time for the Exam, you know."
 
 AN IDLER IN THE MARKET-PLACE. 31 
 
 "Oh, Arthur, I do so hope that you will 
 pass ! " 
 
 The speakers were a girl of twenty-one and 
 a young man of twenty- three ; the scene being 
 the parlour in Mr. Ingleby's house at Shaw- 
 kirk. The young man was Mr. Ingleby's 
 nephew, Arthur Lynn ; and the girl was his 
 elder daughter, Gertrude. 
 
 Mr. Ingleby's parlour was one of those 
 rooms which seem to be specially prepared for 
 the delivery therein of funeral sermons. The 
 windows, which were partially shrouded with 
 dusky curtains, commanded an uninterrupted 
 view of a high, blank walk, some dozen yards 
 distant. The carpet, hearth-rug, and table- 
 cover were worn and sad of hue. The chairs, 
 arranged symmetrically round the walls, were 
 covered with black, slippery haircloth. The 
 sofa, which suggested anything rather than 
 repose, was protected against visitors by 
 specimens of crochet-work, and faded heir- 
 looms wrought in wools. The furniture was 
 all of black mahogany ; and would have been 
 described in an auctioneer's catalogue as
 
 32 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 * substantial.' The walls were panelled in 
 dark oak ; and covered, above the panelling, 
 with a dingy brick-red paper. They were 
 further adorned with illuminated Scripture 
 texts, and with a number of portraits of 
 Dissenting Church Fathers. Mr. Ingleby's 
 parlour was not a beautiful room, nor a cheer- 
 ful room, nor even a comfortable room ; but 
 at least it was — what more modern apart- 
 ments seldom are — a room with a character of 
 its own. 
 
 Gertrude Ingleby was a rather tall girl, 
 with fine features and a graceful form. Her 
 hair was dark brown ; her eyes were grey 
 and limpid, and full of a soft seriousness. 
 Her complexion was clear and pale, relieved 
 by the bright red of the lips. Miss Ingleby, 
 without being a beauty, was beautiful. Her 
 loveliness was of the winning rather than the 
 dazzling type. Half her charm lay in her 
 pure unconsciousness of self. 
 
 Arthur Lynn was tall ; good-looking ; ra- 
 ther dark than fair, with bright frank eyes, 
 and a peculiarly pleasant smile. An Ob-
 
 AN IDLER IN THE MARKET-PLACE. 33 
 
 server once classified his fellow-beings into 
 men who think, men who feel, men who do 
 neither, and men who do both. Lynn, to 
 judge from his face, belonged to the last of 
 these categories. Both his expression and 
 manner had a kind of surface carelessness 
 about them, which was apt to mislead those 
 who do not look below the surface. They 
 would most likely have said of Lynn that he 
 was a young man who did not think very 
 deeply, nor feel very acutely. In this, how- 
 ever, they would have been wrong. There 
 were others — his guardian, Mr. Ingleby, 
 among them — who said of Arthur Lynn that 
 he showed a lamentable want of steadiness. 
 " He seems as incapable of thinking seriously 
 on any topic," Mr. Ingleby had said of his 
 nephew, "as he is incapable of standing still." 
 At present, however, Lynn was standing quite 
 still ; and his face, as he gazed at the blank 
 wall which shut off the view from Mr. 
 Ingleby's parlour -window, betokened thought 
 — deep, and not altogether pleasant. 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 34 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Arthur Lynn was at this moment in the 
 position of one who has carried his point, and 
 now half regrets it. He had lately completed 
 his third session as an Arts student at a Scot- 
 tish University. His course had been a dis- 
 tinguished one, ending in a fiasco. After 
 gaining high honours in other subjects, he had 
 failed to pass in the last of his examinations 
 — that in mathematics — and had consequently 
 been unable to take his degree. Now it was 
 a matter of great importance to Arthur Lynn 
 that he should take his degree within the 
 next twelve months ; and having failed in 
 spring, he must make another attempt in 
 winter. It had occurred to him that the 
 intervening time might be filled up by taking 
 a summer Semester at a German University. 
 He had, accordingly, come to Shawkirk, and 
 represented this view of the matter to Mr. 
 Ingleby. 
 
 Mr. Ingleby's ideas on the subject of German 
 Universities were limited, but definite. One 
 of these institutions he believed to be at a 
 place called Heidelberg, where they drank
 
 AN IDLER IN THE MARKET-PLACE. 35 
 
 beer and fought with swords ; the other, at a 
 place called Tubingen, where they drank beer 
 and did not believe in the Devil. Mr. Ingleby 
 declined to see that any advantage could be 
 gained from a sojourn at either of these seats 
 of learning. There might be others — he would 
 not deny it ; but if so, he knew nothing of 
 them, and had no doubt they would be equally 
 objectionable. To go abroad in this way 
 would cost money, of which his nephew had 
 none to spare — much less to waste. Then Mr. 
 Ingleby suggested a tutorship, by way of fill- 
 ing up the vacation usefully. But Lynn 
 would have none of the tutorship. For the 
 present he stayed on in his uncle's house — 
 which he had been taught to regard as his 
 home — as it was supposed, reading mathe- 
 matics. He had at first been inclined to 
 resent having his plans thus thwarted. But 
 before many weeks had passed, he seemed 
 quite reconciled to the prospect of spending 
 the vacation in his native town. 
 
 Then, all at once, Mr. Ingleby executed a 
 change of front. He took up the German
 
 36 MY DUCATS AT^D MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 University idea, which had been allowed to 
 lapse, and pressed it with what, for him, 
 amounted to ardour. It had come to Mr. 
 Ingleby's knowledge that there was another 
 University town, called Leipsic, where dis- 
 belief and the duello, if not altogether extinct, 
 were less rampant than elsewhere. He would 
 consent to his nephew going there ; that would 
 be better, at all events, than spending the 
 summer months in absolute idleness. So, 
 after much discussion, the matter was settled ; 
 and now that the day of Lynn's departure had 
 come, he found himself awaiting the hour of 
 his going with a lack of hilarity which he 
 would not have deemed possible a few weeks 
 before. 
 
 " I could never have believed," he said, 
 " that I should be so sorry to leave this town 
 — any more than I could have imagined that 
 my uncle would have agreed so readily to 
 my leaving it. His opinions on the Ger- 
 man Question have matured with wonderful 
 rapidity!" 
 
 '' He knows," said Gertrude, with a quick
 
 AN IDLER IN THE MARKET-PLACE. 37 
 
 blush, '' that it is better for you to study 
 abroad than to waste your time in Shawkirk. 
 Even I find it tiresome, at times. And it 
 must be far worse for you. You have no 
 companions here — at least, you had none be- 
 fore Mr. Morton came." 
 
 " I did not find it tiresome at all, I assure 
 you — even before Morton came. I know I 
 shall often wish I were back again, before 
 October. How I shall miss you, Gertrude ! — 
 you all, I mean. I shall picture you sitting 
 in this dull old room, while I am seeing all 
 those foreign towns, with their castles and 
 cathedrals and galleries. Perhaps, Gertrude, 
 some day — who knows ? — we shall see all those 
 things — together. " 
 
 " We shall all miss you a great deal, Arthur," 
 said Gertrude, hurriedly. " But I am glad 
 you are going, for your sake. You will work 
 hard at mathematics, will you not, even though 
 you don't like them ? I know you will do 
 that!" 
 
 " Of course I shall work hard, at mathe- 
 matics, — and other things. I intend above all
 
 38 MY DUCATS AKD MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 to get a good hold of the language. There's 
 what they call an English colony at Leipsic, 
 you know, but I intend to avoid all the Eng- 
 lish peoj)le over there. I shall associate with 
 Germans, and Germans only. Then, perhaps, 
 when I come back, we shall read Schiller 
 together. If so, I shall feel that I have not 
 studied in vain ! " 
 
 '' You will make me believe that father is 
 right when he says you have no ' earnestness', 
 Arthur." 
 
 " I won't have you believe anything bad of 
 me, Gertrude ! I can't afford to do without 
 your good opinion. And, seriously — I do in- 
 tend to work up German in a most ' earnest ' 
 spirit." 
 
 " You know how anxious father always has 
 been about you — how much he wishes you 
 to succeed." 
 
 " Oh, yes. Unfortunately, his idea of suc- 
 cess is almost the same as my idea of failure. 
 I am afraid, Gertrude, that but for you he 
 would have given me up as hojDcless, long 
 ago."
 
 AN IDLER IN THE MARKET-PLACE. 39 
 
 " You know, Arthur, you believe notliing 
 of the kind." 
 
 " Well, I know this, that many a time when 
 I have ruffled him, you have smoothed him 
 down. But for you, I might have been sitting 
 on a three-legged stool at this moment, mak- 
 ing a mess of somebody's ledger — you know 
 who it was that brought him to see my pecu- 
 liar fitness for a college course. And I believe, 
 Gertrude, that you've been playing the good 
 angel again — though perhaps I am not so 
 grateful to you as I ought to be. I believe 
 that had it not been for you he would never 
 have agreed to my going to Germany." 
 
 Lynn said this with a smile, and looked 
 down at his cousin, who was standing by his 
 side at the window. But Gertrude had turned 
 away her face. 
 
 " Gertrude " — said Lynn at last, as she still 
 kept silent— "have I offended you, just be- 
 fore we must say Good-bye V 
 
 " No" — the girl said, her face still averted 
 — " oh, no — how could you have done that ? 
 ... I wonder why father and Dick have not
 
 40 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 come from the works ! They should have been 
 here before this time." 
 
 '' Do you know," said Lynn, " I have been 
 thinking — since it was decided that I should 
 go — thinking that I have never lived for more 
 than a few weeks at a time without seeing you, 
 and now I shall be for months away. I never 
 felt till now how much you were to me — how 
 much you have done for me. Gertrude — " 
 
 Here the door opened, and Lynn dropped 
 his cousin's hand, which he had taken in his. 
 Mrs. Ingleby sailed into the room, and with 
 her Caroline, her younger daughter. 
 
 " Why, Arthur !" said the latter, " have you 
 and Gertrude not finished admiring the view 
 yet?" — and she glanced at her sister's face, 
 then at Lynn. " Oh, I see — you have been 
 rehearsing your adieux in private, you 
 two !" 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Ingleby, sinking back 
 upon the parlour sofa as she spoke, " we have 
 finished your packing, Arthur, and I do hope 
 you will find everything right. If anything 
 has been forgotten, you must just write for it.
 
 AN IDLER IN THE MARKET-PLACE. 41 
 
 But oh, dear ! — oh, dear ! — how I wish you 
 were not going away at all !" 
 
 Mrs. Ingleby was a mild, placid-looking lady 
 of middle age. In her youth she had been a 
 handsome blonde, of a somewhat exuberant 
 type. Time had dealt gently with Mrs. Ingle- 
 by, save indeed as to her figure, which no 
 artifice or effort on the part of her dressmaker 
 could make other than portly. But there 
 were no wrinkles on the white brow, no grey 
 hairs in the flaxen-brown ' front,' no crows'- 
 feet round the light blue eyes. It may have 
 been that in her early days Mrs. Ingleby had 
 possessed the faculty of thinking for herself. 
 If so, it had not survived her union with Mr. 
 Ingleby. That gentleman on all occasions 
 relieved his wife of the necessity of forming 
 an opinion — which was one reason, probably, 
 why she was so much the better-preserved of 
 the two ; in her case there had been no wear 
 and tear of the tissues. 
 
 Caroline was now eighteen years of age. 
 She had small, regular, well-cut features, 
 laughing blue eyes, and an abundance of wavy
 
 42 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 chestnut hair. It was commonly said of Mr. 
 Ingleby's two younger children, Caroline and 
 Dick — and not without truth — that they were 
 'spoiled.' In the 'spoiling' of Caroline Mr. 
 Ingleby had collaborated with his wife. He 
 had always found it difficult to withstand his 
 pretty daughter's coaxing ways. Under her 
 influence many things undreamt of in Mr. 
 Ingleby's philosophy had come to pass — the 
 introduction of works of fiction into that 
 serious household — sundry concessions to 
 fashion in the matter of female attire — a sea- 
 side villa at Sprayton. Caroline was quite 
 conscious of her power, and claimed the pri- 
 vilege of doing and saying, mthin certain 
 limits, what she pleased. She had a sort of 
 notion that, being pretty, she was somehow 
 absolved from the trouble of being good in 
 many of the ways wherein plain people must 
 seek to expiate facial defects. And thus she 
 twittered gaily through life — like a charming 
 piece of porcelain, animated by the spirit of a 
 magpie. 
 
 " Oh dear ! " — cried Mrs. Ingleby, continu-
 
 AN IDLEE IN THE MARKET-PLACE. 43 
 
 ing her wail — " liow I wish, Arthur, your 
 uncle had never changed his mind about your 
 going abroad 1 I'm sure I don't know why 
 he did. I can't help thinking that it is safer 
 for a young man to stay at home, among his 
 friends, than to go and live among strangers, 
 and foreigners, on the Continent." 
 
 To Mrs. Ingleby's inward eye, it should be 
 said, the Continent presented itself as a 
 great Plain, studded with crucifixes and card- 
 tables, where men with black moustachios and 
 false titles existed by the j)lunder of Cook's 
 tourists. 
 
 *' I'm sure, mamma," said Caroline, " I don't 
 know what there is to be so melancholy about. 
 I think Arthur is to be envied, getting away 
 from this stale old place. I wish / had the 
 chance of going abroad — I mean to, some 
 day." 
 
 " Caroline !" — feebly expostulated Mrs. 
 Ingleby. 
 
 "Here's Papa at last!" — cried Caroline, 
 who had gone to the window. " And, I de- 
 clare, Mr. Morton with him !"
 
 44 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 ^^Mr. Morton!"— said Mrs. Ingleby. ^' He 
 must have come to bid you good-bye, Arthur. 
 I am glad of it — he will help to cheer me up, 
 and the girls, after you are gone." 
 
 Hereupon there entered Mr. Ingleby, his 
 son Eichard, and a dark, sunburnt young man, 
 a few years older than Lynn, dressed as a 
 mate in the mercantile marine. 
 
 On the outward man of Mr. Ingleby, the 
 years had not wrought much change. His 
 face was a trifle harder and thinner ; the 
 furrows on his brow were deeper, and the 
 bushy eyebrows and iron-grey hair were 
 sprinkled more plentifully with white. But 
 there had been no dimming of Mr. Ingleby's 
 eye, nor abatement of his natural force. He 
 was one of those men who begin by looking 
 old at forty, and then scarcely seem to age at 
 all in the next score of years. 
 
 Between Mr. Ingleby and his son it would 
 have been difiicult to detect the faintest trace 
 of a resemblance, in countenance or in char- 
 acter. Dick — he was ' Eichard ' only to his 
 father — was short, stout and rubicund. As
 
 AN IDLER IN THE MARKET-PLACE. 45 
 
 the Shawkirk people said, lie " featured his 
 mother"; but there was on Dick's face an 
 expression of latent cunning, of which Mrs. 
 Ingleby's countenance was guiltless. Dick's 
 cunning was exercised for the most part in 
 shirking his duties at the Victoria Dye-Works, 
 in wheedling stray sovereigns from his mother, 
 and in concealing his peccadillos from his 
 father. He was, in truth, a determined plea- 
 sure-seeker. In vain had Mr. Ingleby striven 
 to subdue this eager spirit to the routine of 
 a drab-coloured domesticity. Dick turned to 
 dissipation as naturally as a sun-flower turns 
 to the sun, or a duck to the water. He 
 garnered up in secret rich stores of forbidden 
 knowledge. The birds of the air seemed to 
 whisper to him the lyrics of the music-hall. 
 Under grave disadvantages, he kept well 
 abreast of the latest developments of slang. 
 And Dick was not without ambition. In his 
 higher imaginative moods he had visions of 
 a London billiard-room, thronged with gilded 
 youth, in which — after tantalising an opponent 
 with hopes of easy victory — he should sud-
 
 46 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 denly put on an inimitable, dazzling 'break/ 
 and witcli the world as a ball-compeller. This 
 budding reprobate was now in his twentieth 
 year ; and already Mr. Ingleby's old friends 
 were shaking their heads and asking men to 
 mark their w^ords, while they foretold wdth 
 grim glee how " that lad would vex his father 
 yet." 
 
 ' ' So you're away at last, Arthur ! " — 
 said Morton. "Do you know" — turning to 
 Mrs. Ingleby and her daughters — " you are 
 all sitting there and looking as sad as if 
 Arthur were ' bound for the Eio Grande ' at 
 least, instead of merely going off to have a 
 good time on the Continent ?" 
 
 This speech jarred on Mr. Ingleby. He 
 had wished to give his nephew an earnest 
 valedictory address. Indeed, it had been a 
 question with him whether a service of prayer 
 ought not to precede the young man's de- 
 parture. Clearly, that was now impossible. 
 He resented Morton's presence deeply. It 
 tended to lessen the solemnity befitting the 
 occasion.
 
 AN IDLER IN THE MARKET-PLACE. 47 
 
 ''Arthur," he said, ignoring Morton's re- 
 mark, " I suppose it is not necessary that I 
 should endeavour to impress on you further 
 the seriousness of the step you are taking. 
 I trust that you will be industrious and 
 economical — you yourself must see the ab- 
 solute necessity of that — and that you will 
 hold yourself entirely aloof from the frivolities 
 of foreign life. I do not know that I have 
 acted altogether rightly in giving my consent 
 to your going abroad. I can only hope that 
 you will never give me reason to regret 
 having done so." 
 
 " Oh, I wish you would give up going even 
 yet, Arthur ! " — cried Mrs. Ingleby, almost in 
 tears — '* it is not too late. I am so frightened 
 when I think of your being all alone among 
 foreigners. I'm sure " — she added, turning to 
 her husband — '' I don't know why you agreed, 
 after all you said about that dreadful Con- 
 tinent ! The things you told us were enough 
 to make one's flesh creep — and, after all, to 
 think that you should let Arthur go ! " 
 
 Mr. Ingleby bestowed on his wife an angry
 
 48 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 frown ; but apparently did not think it ex- 
 pedient to defend himself further. 
 
 ''Not go!" — said the sailor. "Oh, that 
 would never do. Look here, Arthur ! — that 
 boat of yours doesn't clear for a couple of 
 days yet, does she ? " 
 
 '• No, but I have some arrangements to 
 make in town." 
 
 " All right. Now, I've an idea. I shall 
 make the run over to Hamburg with you — " 
 
 '' Why, may I ask, should you do that ? " — 
 inquired Mr. Ingleby sharply. 
 
 " Well, you see, I know the ropes there. 
 I was there once or twice before I shipped 
 in the Salamanca. I'll show you round the 
 Sanct Pauli quarter on a Saturday night, 
 Arthur. Yes, I've plenty of time — the old 
 boat won't be out of the graving-dock for a 
 fortnight yet. I'll go ! " 
 
 Mr. Ingleby's brow became clothed in 
 thunder. 
 
 " You seem to forget, Mr. Morton," he said, 
 " that my nephew is not going from home on 
 a pleasure excursion,"
 
 AN IDLER IN THE MARKET-PLACE. 49 
 
 " Of course, I know that — but isn't that 
 just one reason the more why he should have 
 a little—" 
 
 *' Innocent recreation " — suggested Lynn. 
 
 *'Yes. A little — well, a little fun, you 
 know, before he settles down to a steady 
 pull at his work ? " 
 
 "It is not a reason to my mind," said Mr. 
 Ingleby. " My nephew, sir, is not circum- 
 stanced like you — he has his way to make 
 and his bread to earn in the world. I have — 
 partly against my own judgment — consented 
 to his studying in Germany. He believes 
 that it will do him good to see foreign towns. 
 I do not believe that. I believe that a man 
 can see all that is needful — all that is good 
 and useful for him, here'' — and Mr. Ingleby 
 indicated the blank wall confronting his win- 
 dows. — " But, as I said, I have consented. 
 I do not know, nor do I desire to know, 
 how you employ yourself when you land at 
 foreign ports — " 
 
 "Oh, I know!" — interrupted Caroline. 
 " You hire donkeys, and horses, and tumble 
 
 VOL. L D
 
 50 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 oflf them — and you fly kites over steeples, 
 and climb up them — and the people all cry 
 * Jack ashore !'" 
 
 "Silence, Caroline!" — said Mr. Ingleby, 
 severely. " These things are not a fit subject 
 of conversation for a girl of your years. As 
 regards your proposal, Mr. Morton, I can only 
 reiterate my opinion that enjoyment — in any 
 form — would simply throw Arthur into a 
 wrong frame of mind, at a most serious junc- 
 ture in his life." 
 
 " I should be sorry if it did that, of course," 
 said Mr. Morton. 
 
 " My nephew," continued Mr. Ingleby, "has 
 not yet entered on the work of bread-winning. 
 Until he is at least self-supporting, he should 
 think nothing of the so-called pleasures of life." 
 
 " I think you are too hard on Arthur," 
 interposed Mrs. Ingleby. "You forget how he 
 worked last winter, and the prizes he took. 
 And even since he came here he has not been 
 idle — he has read German every day with the 
 girls." 
 
 "Oh, that reminds me, Arthur," said
 
 AN IDLER m THE MARKET-PLACE. 51 
 
 Caroline — while Mr Ingleby acknowledged 
 his wife's remark by another angry glare 
 — " when you write, don't forget to send 
 us more songs. And remember — I want 
 the whole of the Herring that loved an 
 Oyster!" 
 
 "You want the whole of whatf" — asked 
 Mr. Ingleby. 
 
 " It's a song, papa — such a funny one ! — ' A 
 Herring loved an Oyster.' I mean to learn it. 
 Arthur has been translating German songs for 
 us, you know." 
 
 " I did 7iot know," said Mr. Ingleby ; " and 
 I trust" — he added, turning to his nephew — 
 "that when you reach the scene of your 
 labours, you will redeem the time of your 
 visitation to some better purpose than in try- 
 ing to make one word rhyme with another. 
 Kemember, Arthur, I beg of you, what is your 
 life — it is even a vapour, that appeareth for a 
 little time, and then vanisheth away. Use 
 each day as if it were to be your last — and 
 you will not waste the precious hours in 
 making poetry. It was for that, I believe, 
 
 LIBRARY
 
 52 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 that you gained the prize which your aunt has 
 spoken of?" 
 
 '' It was. There is no denying it. But it 
 will never occur again. And, really and 
 truly, the Professor was more to blame than 
 I was." 
 
 "I do not understand what you mean. 
 But it appears to me, judging from the 
 results, that your time would have been much 
 better spent in the study of mathematics. I 
 cannot see that this prize will be of any 
 service to you, in your future walk in life. 
 What, can you tell me, is a prize for poetry 
 worth ? And what is poetry ?" 
 
 And Mr. Ingleby shook his head, and 
 looked round as if challenging his household 
 to furnish him with a sufficiently contempt- 
 uous definition. 
 
 '' Tm afraid we have hardly time to go into 
 that now," said Lynn — "here is the waggon- 
 ette at the door. Well, then, Morton — are 
 we, or are we not, to meet on board the 
 Breslau f " 
 
 "Arthur," said Mr. Ingleby, "it is my
 
 AN IDLER IN THE MARKET-PLACE. 53 
 
 earnest desire that you should not meet Mr. 
 Morton there. If you do, I can only say — 
 though I fear that my saying so is not likely 
 to influence your decision — that I shall regard 
 your conduct with the deepest sorrow and — 
 displeasure. And this I say from no pre- 
 judice against Mr. Morton." 
 
 Lynn said nothing, but his face showed 
 the annoyance he felt. Involuntarily, he 
 looked across the room towards Gertrude, 
 expecting that answering glance of sympathy 
 to which he was accustomed in his little 
 difierences with his uncle and guardian. 
 But Gertrude was not looking his way. 
 She had caught Mr. Morton's eye ; and her 
 lips were rounded into an unmistakable ' No.' 
 
 " Oh, I shan't insist on going," said the 
 sailor ; "I don't want to raise up any dis- 
 turbance on my account, I'm sure. But I 
 really don't understand you, Mr. Ingleby — 
 that I must say." 
 
 "It is not necessary that you should," 
 said Mr. Ingleby. " I thank you, however, 
 for having yielded to my view of my
 
 54 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUCxHTER. 
 
 nephew's interests. I shall now be able to 
 part from him in a truly friendly spirit." 
 
 Lynn made no further remonstrance. 
 Again he looked at his cousin ; and saw 
 that the anxious expression which her face 
 had worn during the foregoing discussion 
 was changed into one of relief, almost of 
 gladness, as Mr. Morton renounced his pur- 
 pose of leaving Shawkirk. " I suppose she 
 does care for him," he thought within him- 
 self; "perhaps, after all, it was as well I 
 had not the chance of saying what — I might 
 have said." 
 
 Here Lynn's attention was called away to 
 his cousin Dick, who was jogging his elbow 
 and twitching his sleeve in a furtive but 
 determined manner. Dick's face, during that 
 farewell hour, had been a picture of anxiety 
 and distress. Indeed, Mrs. Ingieby after- 
 wards remarked that she would not have 
 expected such a display of fine feeling, even 
 from Dick. And Dick's anxiety was genuine. 
 During the bustle attending the conveyance of 
 Lynn's luggage to the waggonette, he at last
 
 AN IDLER IN THE MARKET-PLACE. 55 
 
 succeeded in withdrawing his cousin upstairs, 
 to have just three words with him in private. 
 
 " I say, Arthur, old man," he began, 
 " you're an awful good sort, you know — 
 and—" 
 
 " How much is it this time, Dick ?" 
 
 " Well, I would not ask you, Arthur, if I 
 could possibly help it — you know that — but 
 the fact is, if you can t give me a hand, I'm 
 — well, I'm burst. I got the tip to back 
 the Canister colt for the Biennial, and he'd 
 have pulled it off all right — but the infernal 
 jockey was caught napping, you know — didn't 
 come till it was too late — and — and could you 
 let me have a fiver ? I'll send it over to 
 Leipsic in a fortnight — see if I don't." 
 
 " No, I can't — it's no good, Dick. Besides, 
 I have barely enough to carry me through till 
 I get to Leipsic." 
 
 " But what am I to do, then ? Oh, this is 
 dreadful I The fellow that put it on for me 
 has cut up rusty — says he'll go and get it 
 from the governor, if I don't cash up to- 
 morrow. It's a debt of honour, you know!
 
 56 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 I thought you would have helped a fellow — 
 when you're going off to have a rare time 
 abroad too." 
 
 *'Eichard!" — called Mr. Ingleby from 
 below. 
 
 " I say, Arthur, for God's sake, see me 
 through this time — it will be the last, I swear 
 to you I My mother's cleaned out, and I'll 
 have to go to Gerty if you don't — though 
 I'm afraid she's in low water — got next to 
 nothing herself, just now." 
 
 *' I can't afford it, Dick, as you know very 
 well. But look here — rather than have you 
 plundering Gertrude, I'll send you what I can 
 from town." 
 
 " How much, do you think ?" 
 
 " Three pounds. I can't do more — and 
 even that will run me very tight." 
 
 " Couldn't you make it three ten ?" 
 
 " Certainly not. Now, ivill you let me go ? 
 — you'll make me miss the train. No, no — 
 you needn't mind thanking me. I understand 
 aU that." 
 
 " I am grateful, of course — you know that
 
 AN IDLER IN THE MARKET-PLACE. 57 
 
 — though I hate making a fuss about a thing" 
 — mumbled Dick, as they went down-stairs. 
 " Well, Arthur is a soft fellow !" — he said 
 within himself. " How is his sending on 
 the cash to keep me from borrowing from 
 Gerty ? I suppose he's soft on Gerty — con- 
 found his impudence ! A fellow without a six- 
 pence ! It's a sin that he should be let travel 
 about and enjoy himself, and a man like me 
 made to stay and grind on here !" 
 
 Five minutes more, and Lynn was being 
 driven off in hot haste to the station. One 
 glance backward at the group on his uncle's 
 door-step showed him Mrs. Ingleby dissolved 
 in tears, Caroline kissing her hand, and Mr. 
 Ingleby looking texts. Dick had disappeared, 
 presumably to indulge his emotion in secret. 
 Gertrude was waving her handkerchief, and 
 Morton stood close by her side. This was the 
 last thing Lynn saw, before the waggonette 
 turned the street-corner, and his relatives 
 were lost to view. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Ingleby that evening, 
 when she was alone with her husband, " I
 
 58 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 hope it may all turn out for the best. But I 
 do not think it can be a good thing for 
 Arthur to go so far away among foreign 
 people, with no one to look after him. He 
 has never been used to that." 
 
 " It is not a good thing," said Mr. Ingleby ; 
 ^' of that I am as well aware as you can be." 
 
 " Then why did you send the poor boy 
 away ? He was quite content to remain here 
 with us, I'm sure." 
 
 " No doubt," answered Mr. Ingleby drily. 
 " It is not, I say, a good thing for one such 
 as he to go where he is going, among Sabbath- 
 breakers and profane persons. But it was my 
 Duty to permit, nay, even to urge his going. 
 It would have been a still worse thing for 
 others had he remained here." 
 
 " How could that be ? I declare I do not 
 understand you in the least !" 
 
 "No — but I shall explain. Had you, 
 Matilda, been less blind to the interests of 
 your family, you would have needed no such 
 explanation." 
 
 " What ! — blind to the interests of my
 
 AN IDLER IN THE MARKET-PLACE. 59 
 
 family ! " — cried Mrs. Ingleby, with the nearest 
 approach to indignation of which she was 
 capable. " What have I done that you should 
 say such a thing V 
 
 " I refer more particularly," said Mr. 
 Ingleby, '' to the interests of your elder 
 daughter." 
 
 ''Of Gertrude?" 
 
 " Yes. I do not wish to hurt your feelings, 
 but there are certain things which my Duty 
 constrains me to say. Had Arthur remained 
 here, as you begged him to do, he would have 
 spent the summer months in — ' making love ' 
 — such is, I believe, the customary phrase — 
 to your elder daughter. That has been clear 
 to me for some time back, though apparently 
 you have failed to perceive it." 
 
 " Well, you are quite wrong there," said 
 Mrs. Ingleby, mildly triumphant ; " why, I 
 saw it all the time ! " 
 
 " You — you saw it all the time ? " — re- 
 peated Mr. Ingleby ; and there was written 
 on his face the lusting of the natural man 
 after strong language, doing battle with the
 
 60 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 exigencies of creed. " You saw it all the 
 time, and did not raise a finger to prevent 
 it?" 
 
 '' No — why should I ? Especially as I think 
 dear Gerty is fond of him. Any one might 
 have seen how pale she has been all day, and 
 going about as quiet as a mouse. Poor girl ! 
 — I am so sorry for her ! " 
 
 Mr. Ingleby's brow became black as night. 
 He opened his mouth to speak, but apparently 
 words failed him for the moment. Then he 
 took two turns round the room, and came to 
 a halt in front of his wife's arm-chair. 
 
 " You speak," he said sternly, " as one of the 
 foolish women speaketh. Do you not see that 
 such a thing must not be thought of? Do 
 you not see that it would bring down misery 
 on your daughter ? Do you not see that f " 
 
 " N-no," quavered Mrs. Ingleby ; " I do 
 not see it. I am very fond of Arthur. He 
 is my poor brother's only son. Why should 
 he not—" 
 
 " Why ? "—exclaimed Mr. Ingleby. " Why ? 
 Because he is, I tell you, no fitting mate for a
 
 AN IDLER IN THE MARKET-PLACE. 61 
 
 daughter of mine. Because lie is an Idler in 
 the Market-place ! " 
 
 " You have no right to say such dreadful 
 things of Arthur," said Mrs. Ingleby, now in 
 tears. " He is not — what you call him." 
 
 " I also," said Mr. Ingleby, " have an affec- 
 tion for Arthur Lynn. How could it be 
 otherwise ? He is near of kin to you — he 
 has been under my charge since his boyhood. 
 He is of a generous nature, and never told 
 me a lie. But all that does not blind me to 
 his defects. I have warned him against 
 these, but he has turned a deaf ear to my 
 warnings. The way of a fool is right in his 
 own eyes ! " 
 
 " I'm sure Arthur is not a fool. He is very 
 clever — everybody says so." 
 
 " Everybody does not say so — though it 
 would not influence my opinion if everybody 
 did. And as regards the possibility of his — 
 marrying Gertrude, his cleverness is not the 
 point at issue. He has no money, and is 
 never likely to have any. He has the same 
 flightiness which ruined your unfortunate
 
 62 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 brother. He will be a Thorn to all with 
 whom he is connected. AVhat is to become of 
 him when the money left him by his father is 
 expended, I cannot say. I groan when I 
 think of it. Already there are not two hun- 
 dred pounds remaining, and yet he fails to 
 realise the uncertainty of his position. He 
 shows no anxiety to become self-support- 
 ing." 
 
 " There is the scholarship," said Mrs. 
 Ingleby. 
 
 *' To be competed for a year hence ! And 
 if he gained it — a result which his failure to 
 pass in that last examination makes, I should 
 say, problematical — what then ? A scholar- 
 ship is not an annuity for life — it is only a 
 means to an end. What is to come after ? " 
 
 ''He talks of the English Bar," said Mrs. 
 Ingleby. 
 
 " He talks of many things," rejoined her 
 husband, " and does few. The English Bar ! 
 — you do not know what that is ; neither do 
 I. But I know that it means starvation." 
 
 " I always thought that Arthur should be-
 
 AN IDLER IN THE MARKET-PLACE. 63 
 
 come a minister. He likes to speak, and he 
 would look well in a gown." 
 
 " That is absurd. He is absolutely unfitted 
 for the work of evangelisation. There was a 
 time when I thought otherwise — when I sug- 
 gested to him that he might become one of 
 our own pastors. On that occasion, I remem- 
 ber, he answered me that he was an Erastian. 
 That was what he said — an Erastian ! " 
 
 '' He did not mean that seriously, I am 
 sure," said Mrs. Ingleby, shaken by the awful 
 word, — " he must have been joking." 
 
 " Such was not the impression he left on 
 my mind — though he is, I am well aware, 
 capable of jest upon such subjects. When 
 I asked him to what he would turn, if not 
 the work of the ministry, he said he had 
 some thoughts of becoming a Wine Merchant. 
 Such were his words." 
 
 "It is such a pity, as Gertrude always 
 says, that Arthur has no money ! " — said Mrs. 
 Ingleby. 
 
 " I do not agree with Gertrude, nor with 
 you. Had his father died a rich man, your
 
 64 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 nephew's disposition would still have been 
 the same. If he had a fortune to-day, he 
 would squander it to-morrow. He has no 
 business capacity at all ; I doubt if he could 
 even add up a column of figures correctly. 
 He is his father's son, all over. — You re- 
 member what he did last year, when the 
 hands were out on strike, and we were try- 
 ing to break the Union ? — how he gave money 
 to the wife of a Union man ? It was very 
 painful for me, I can assure you, to meet 
 the other employers after that. For, of 
 course, that man Turpie came to hear of it, 
 and accused me behind my back of being 
 concerned in the matter too." 
 
 *' I remember it quite well. Gertrude said 
 the man had been ill and out of work before 
 the strike began — and had a lot of little 
 children." 
 
 " That has nothing whatever to do with 
 the principle involved. Women cannot be 
 expected to understand such things, but a 
 young man of your nephew's years might 
 have shown more common prudence. But
 
 AN IDLER IN THE MARKET PLACE. 65 
 
 of that lie has none. He will, I fear, do 
 little good in life. He has no earnestness 
 of purpose. It grieves me to say so — and 
 to know that I cannot, in justice to my 
 own flesh and blood, have him to sojourn 
 again under this roof." 
 
 "I think you are very cruel," whimpered 
 Mrs. Ingleby. 
 
 " Not so," said her lord, in tones of un- 
 shaken resolve ; ''it is you who are foolish 
 and blind. I am only doing my Duty — 
 at some cost to myself, but it shall be 
 done. You, Matilda, have also a duty to 
 discharge. And remember — not a word of 
 this to Gertrude. I believe that you are 
 altogether wrong in your surmise, but in 
 any case there is no occasion for disturb- 
 ing her peace of mind. Anxious as I am 
 on Arthur's account — desirous that he should 
 walk uprightly and stumble not in the way 
 — -yet I am relieved this night, to think 
 that he is gone ! " 
 
 VOL. L
 
 (jG my ducats and my daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 All the world of Leipsic was on Scliimmers 
 Teicli. The Teich is a great, square, shallow 
 basin, fed from the sluggish river that flows 
 near by. There is an artificial island in the 
 middle, with a restaurant called Buen Eetiro. 
 Thither people resort, during summer, in boats, 
 during winter, on skates — for the purpose of 
 drinking beer. 
 
 It was a Skating Fete that had brought all 
 the world of Leipsic, that January evening, 
 to Schimmel's Teich. Chinese lanterns swung 
 from the trees around the lake, torches darted 
 hither and thither across its frozen surface ; 
 the restaurant buildings were a blaze of 
 light. A confused, mirthful noise rose from 
 the ceaselessly-moving throng, and vibrated
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 67 
 
 through the keen, tingling air — the ring of 
 a thousand skate-irons, voices loud and low, 
 shout and laughter, with a chorus of Saxon 
 gutturals to it all. A regimental band on the 
 island was playing Strauss' s waltzes. In the 
 intervals of the music, cries of " Kellner !" 
 and answering cries of " Gleich" — accom- 
 panied by the clanking of beer- jugs on the 
 table — came thick and fast from the Buen 
 Eetiro. 
 
 On the verge of the lighted space round the 
 island, two young men were standing, motion- 
 less among the ever-moving figures. They 
 had no skates on their feet ; they were not, 
 apparently, listening to the " Wellen und 
 Wogen " waltz ; their backs were turned to 
 the restaurant and its allurements. It would 
 not have taken a very acute observer to pro- 
 nounce these young men certainly British, 
 and probably Scotch. 
 
 They stood without speaking and watched 
 the crowd of skaters that swept by — soldiers, 
 students, and ' Philistines ' of every calling, 
 with their sweethearts, wives, and daughters.
 
 68 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Now a tall ojficer glides solemnly past, his 
 hand raised in salute every other minute to 
 the peak of his forage-cap. Then comes a 
 stout ' house-father,' puffing and blowing 
 behind the sleigh-chair in which he pushes 
 along his still stouter wife. Then a group 
 of students, capped in white, red and blue, 
 rush aimlessly by, uttering strange cries. 
 Next comes a popular actress with her suite 
 — one sub -lieutenant bearing her muff, another 
 her scarf, a third her shawl. Near at hand, 
 some half-dozen couples are endeavouring to 
 waltz on skates, amidst shouts of merriment. 
 Then there is an accident, followed by the 
 Teutonic equivalent for an altercation. One 
 student, skating along with his demoiselle, 
 has cannoned against another, skating along 
 with his ; and both are overthrown. They 
 pick themselves up, salute each other with 
 extreme courtesy, exchange cards, and pass 
 on. Blood will be spilt on the morrow — not 
 in any very serious quantity — as a conse- 
 quence of this misadventure. 
 
 "It is a lively scene," said the younger
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 69 
 
 of the young men, who had been observ- 
 ing the shifting throng with a wistful gaze. 
 
 '' It is lively, certainly," answered his com- 
 panion, in a tone that did not imply ap- 
 proval ; "it is lively — but it seems to me 
 that is the best you can say for it." 
 
 " I think it's too bad of you, Stronach," 
 said the other ; " even though you won't put 
 on skates yourself, you might have helped 
 me to hire a pair. I'm sure / can't see any 
 possible harm in making a round or two of 
 the Teich, or whatever they call it. / am 
 not licensed yet — though you are. And this 
 is not Shawkirk ! " 
 
 "Ah, Eobson, that ought to make no 
 difference. The things that are wrong after 
 taking licence must have been wrong before. 
 And what you would not do in your native 
 town, my dear Eobson, you should not do 
 here." 
 
 "Don't preach, Stronach — I'm not worth 
 your while. Of course what you say is all 
 right enough ; but still, you know, one must 
 do at—"
 
 70 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 " If you begin with that maxim two days 
 after you land in the country, I wonder 
 where you will be at the end of six months ! 
 I brought you here, Kobson, to show you 
 how these people prepare themselves for 
 their Sabbath duties. To-morrow, I shall 
 show you how they perform them. I cer- 
 tainly did not expect that you would wish 
 to join in this scene. I am glad your ig- 
 norance of the language has kept you from 
 thaC 
 
 " Well, there are ever so many Scotch and 
 English fellows on the pond, I'm sure — " 
 
 " The more shame to them," said Mr. 
 Stronach decisively. 
 
 Just then a sleigh-chair dashed across the 
 space of light in front of the restaurant, 
 passing the two young men so closely that 
 they had to draw back to avoid it. There 
 was a young lady in it, dressed all in furs. 
 She was lying back in the chair, so as to hear 
 more easily. The young man behind it was 
 bending forward, so as to speak more easily 
 in her ear. He, also, was capped, caped, and
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 71 
 
 gloved in furs, after the German fashion ; 
 but his speech was English. 
 
 " Shall we stop, to hear the music ? " he 
 said, slightly checking the speed of their 
 progress. 
 
 " Oh, no ! I am sick of Strauss, and this 
 is too delightful ! Please go on — but do take 
 care of the natives ! Have some respect for 
 their feet ! " 
 
 This was said as they passed in front of 
 Mr. Stronach and his companion. The young 
 man looked up, and greeted his countrymen 
 with a slight nod of recognition. 
 
 " Those are not Germans," — they heard him 
 say, as the sleigh-chair shot out again into 
 the darkness. 
 
 "Well !" — remarked the youth 
 
 Eobson, after a pause of astonishment. " I 
 say, was. that really Arthur Lynn ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Stronach curtly; "that 
 was Lynn." 
 
 "1 hardly knew him again — he's not like 
 the same fellow. And I say, Stronach, who 
 was that with him ? What a lovely girl !
 
 72 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 "What a perfect face ! Do you know her, 
 Stronach ? " 
 
 " I cannot say that I know the young 
 lady, but I know who she is. She is a Miss 
 Arden — an English girl, studying music here." 
 
 " At the Conservatoire ? " 
 
 "No — she's only studpng for pleasure, I 
 understand. She's one of E — 's pupils — 
 seven thalers an hour. They say her father 
 is fabulously rich. He would need to be." 
 
 "And how has Lynn managed to pick 
 her up ? " 
 
 "I don't know what you mean by 'pick- 
 ing up' a young lady, Eobson. But she 
 is seen everywhere with Lynn. They are 
 always walking together or skating together, 
 or — I am told — dancing together and going 
 to the theatre together. Everyone here talks 
 of Miss Arden — her beauty, her dresses and 
 her cleverness — and her constant companion." 
 
 " Lynn's a lucky beggar, it seems to me." 
 
 " Does it ? I should hardly think, how- 
 ever, that he can be quite satisfied in his 
 own mind."
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 73 
 
 "How do you mean? He seemed to be 
 enjoying himself pretty well just now." 
 
 " He seems to do nothing else but enjoy 
 himself — that is what I mean." 
 
 There was a short pause, during which Mr. 
 Stronach's companion appeared to be digest- 
 ing this last remark. Then, 
 
 " I say," he began, " what would old 
 Ingleby think if he were to see his nephew 
 here to-night ? He's even more strict about 
 these things than you are." 
 
 "Mr. Ingleby, I happen to know, is in 
 great anxiety on his nephew's account. Be- 
 fore I left Shawkirk, he made me promise 
 to see Lynn as soon as I reached Leipsic, 
 and to write him from time to time as to 
 how he was getting on." 
 
 " Then have you seen much of Lynn since 
 you came ?" 
 
 "As much as Lynn could not help. We 
 were never great friends at college, you 
 know ; and here our paths are different. 
 But I have heard plenty about him."
 
 74 MY DUCATS AND ^lY DAUGHTEll. 
 
 " And will you write to his uncle about 
 — about Miss Arclen ? " 
 
 " I have written," said Mr. Stronach, " in 
 a general way. His uncle, I know, wishes 
 him to leave Leipsic ; but so long as this 
 girl remains, he will too." 
 
 They were now making their way off the 
 lake, and were too much occupied in avoid- 
 ing collisions with the skaters to continue 
 their talk. But when they had reached the 
 bank, Kobson took up the conversation again. 
 
 "They used to say at Shawkirk," he be- 
 gan, " that Lynn was very fond of his 
 cousin Miss Ingleby, and that they would 
 make a match of it. Do you think there 
 was ever anything in it ? " 
 
 " I know there is nothing in it now," said 
 Mr. Stronach. ''From what I have heard, 
 I should think that Mr. Ingleby would be 
 altogether opposed to such a thing." 
 
 "Well, you ought to know, being so in- 
 timate with them — but everyone said it, I 
 remember, when Lynn was last there."
 
 THE PUKSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 75 
 
 " I tell you it is not the case," said Mr. 
 Stronacli ; and then turned the conversation 
 to the subject of the Continental Saturday 
 Night. 
 
 Meantime the sleigh-chair was threading 
 its way through the crowd, but more slowly 
 now than before. 
 
 "You are very silent, Mr. Lynn," said 
 the young lady, turning her head a little, 
 so that Lynn could see the contour of the 
 delicate cheek against the dark furs she 
 wore. "And you are not taking my breath 
 away, as you did." 
 
 "Am I not? Well, hold hard, and I shall 
 ' rush you along,' as Mrs. Overend would 
 say." 
 
 "No, don't. Kather let us talk. Who 
 were those men you nearly ran down in 
 front of the Restauration ? Friends of 
 
 " No — not friends. One of them was the 
 young parson who preached in the American 
 chapel, that Sunday evening we went there 
 — Stronach,"
 
 76 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 '' I remember him. He is a horrid man. 
 Don't you think so ? " 
 
 " Well, I'm not sure that I have any pro- 
 found affection for Stronach. He is a per- 
 fect specimen of the prig ecclesiastic — one 
 of those fellows, you know, whose very soul 
 seems to be in a clerical stock." 
 
 *' And the other?" 
 
 "A man of my year at college. He and 
 Stronach, as it happens, both come from Shaw- 
 kirk — my native town, you know." 
 
 *' So that was what made you so silent all 
 at once ! They reminded you of your native 
 town — which, by the way, I think you told 
 me you detested ? " 
 
 " So I do, cordially." 
 
 " But not all the people in it ? " 
 
 " Oh, no— not all." 
 
 '' There are some, perhaps, you rather like 
 than otherwise ? " 
 
 " Yes, that is so." 
 
 *'And there is perhaps one, Mr. Lynn — 
 though you have never told me that — whom 
 you—"
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 11 
 
 Here the sleigh- chair ran into the middle 
 of a group of students, who, seeing the young 
 lady, began to apologise profusely for being 
 in the way. '' Ach Gott ! Sehen Sie mat! 
 Die schone Engldnderinn ! " — these exclama- 
 tions reached the ears of Lynn and his com- 
 panion as they passed on, and made both 
 of them laugh. 
 
 "I told you that was the name they had 
 for you," said Lynn. 
 
 "And now, of course, I am bound to be- 
 lieve you ! " 
 
 Here a voice was heard behind them, 
 shouting " Herr Lynn ! Herr Lynn I" 
 
 " It's that tiresome fellow Von Bernstein," 
 said Lynn, bringing himself to a stop ; " what 
 can he be wanting now ? " 
 
 Here a tall young German, in the blue and 
 silver uniform of a cavalry officer, skated up, 
 and did elaborate obeisance. 
 
 " Fraulein Arden — Herr Lynn " — he said — 
 " a thousand pardons ! But I have been 
 sent in search of you by Madame. It is 
 Madame's desire that you should join in a
 
 78 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 quadrille, which we are going to dance on the 
 ice." 
 
 " But that is ridiculous, Herr Baron ! " — 
 said Miss Arden. '' How can one dance on 
 skates ? " 
 
 " But it is Madame's desire," repeated the 
 young officer. 
 
 " Then of course we can but obey. Come, 
 Mr. Lynn — be good enough to conduct me to 
 my chaperon ! " 
 
 Guided by the Herr Baron, they proceeded 
 to another part of the pond. On the way, 
 Lynn heard Von Bernstein, who was skating 
 by Miss Arden's chair, request the honour of 
 the young lady's hand in the dance. 
 
 "Oh, yes," Miss Arden said; "I shall be 
 very pleased to dance with you, Herr Baron, 
 or skate with you — whichever it is." 
 
 Here Lynn became keenly alive to the 
 absurdity of German titles, and to the ludi- 
 crous want of room in a German cavalry 
 uniform. 
 
 Presently they reached a group of people — 
 all young, and nearly all English or American
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 79 
 
 — the dominant spirit in which appeared to be 
 a small lady with a pale smiling face, and 
 very dark, bright eyes. She was dressed in 
 mitigated mourning, and looked a little, but 
 not much, older than the rest of the party. 
 This was Mrs. Overend — known, and deferred 
 to, among her set as 'Madame' — the rich 
 American widow who queened it over the 
 colony for the time — who gave little supper- 
 parties, arranged dances and excursions, and 
 chaperoned any number of young ladies all 
 at once. 
 
 " So, Herr Baron," she said, " you have 
 captured the runaways ! Camilla, I shall 
 scold you in private. But I must ask you, 
 ^ir. Lynn — do you think it right to run off 
 in this way with one of the young ladies who 
 are under my care ? You must plead guilty at 
 once, sir, and promise never to do so again ! " 
 
 *' I plead guilty," said Lynn, '' and promise 
 not to do it again — without permission. But 
 Miss Arden has been quite safe, I assure you. 
 "We made the tour of the pond, and had only 
 three collisions."
 
 80 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 " You might have made the torn- thrice in 
 the time, it seems to me. Now, Mr. Lynn, 
 you must be punished. You shall be my 
 partner in this quadrille ! " 
 
 " I shall be breaking my promise, and 
 doing it again, if you punish me that way. 
 But where is your music to come from, Mrs. 
 Overend ? " 
 
 " Oh, that will be all right, I guess. Herr 
 von Bernstein knows the bandmaster, and they 
 are going to play a set of quadrilles. Now, 
 all of you take your places — I can see the 
 great man raising his baton, and looking our 
 way !" 
 
 Mrs. Overend's quadrille was not bril- 
 liantly successful. To catch your skate in a 
 crack of the ice, and fall prone in the act of 
 bowing to your partner, is not a pleasant 
 experience for any gentleman. This mis- 
 adventure befell one of the party ; and his 
 was not the only casualty of the kind. Then 
 other skaters, singly or in couples, rushed 
 from time to time among the dancers, and 
 threw the figure into confusion. Long before
 
 THE PUESUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 81 
 
 the Finale was reached, dancing on skates had 
 been voted a failure and a bore. 
 
 " You must set us something else to do, 
 Mrs. Overend !" — " Do let us stop before there 
 is a fatal accident ! " — " My arm is wrenched 
 quite out of joint ! " — " I have lost a skate ! " 
 — expostulated the dancers. 
 
 " I shall never try this again," said Miss 
 Arden aside to Lynn — " at any rate, not with 
 Herr von Bernstein for a partner. He has 
 sprained my wrist, and torn my dress with 
 his horrid spurs. Fancy skating in spurs ! " 
 
 " I have an idea," said Mrs. Overend. " We 
 have had enough of crowding and coloured 
 lamps. Let us leave the fete, and go up 
 the Pleisse instead ! That will be so much 
 more romantic." 
 
 " Capital ! " — said some of the party ; " yes. 
 let us go up the river ! " 
 
 "But will it be safe?" — asked one young 
 lady, rather nervously. 
 
 " Safe ? Why, it is frozen right away 
 up, and the ice is at least a foot thick, I 
 know." 
 
 VOL. I, F
 
 82 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 "But it will be so dark among those tall 
 trees ! And there is no moon." 
 
 " That is a pity, of course ; but there will 
 be as much light as we are likely to want. 
 Don't you think so, Mr. Lynn ? " 
 
 " I think whatever you think, Mrs. 
 Overend." 
 
 " And you, Herr von Bernstein ? " 
 
 " As Madame wishes it." 
 
 " So, then, it is settled ; we shall go — or 
 rather, you gentlemen will take us, in chairs." 
 
 It seemed a matter of course that Lynn 
 should find himself again behind Miss Arden's 
 chair. Mrs. Overend, in marshalling and 
 arranging her party, had not needed to ar- 
 range that. 
 
 At first they passed between houses and 
 under bridges ; the Pleisse, in this part of its 
 course, being exactly like a canal. The party 
 kept as close together as the breadth of the 
 river would allow, and there was plenty of 
 talk and laughter, at any rate among the 
 ladies. A stiffish breeze was blowing down 
 the river, and the men needed all their breath
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 83 
 
 to drive the chairs against it. There was 
 some talk of a race home, with the wind 
 behind ; and some jesting about the prize to 
 be given to the v/inner. 
 
 By-and-bye the houses of the suburb be- 
 came more sparse, and at last were left in the 
 rear. The river wound between low banks, on 
 which the brushwood and sedges stood white 
 and stiff with frost. Looking back, they 
 could see in the dim hazy light that overhung 
 the city the spires of the churches, and the 
 dome of the citadel. Then they entered on 
 that long straight reach of the Pleisse, where 
 it doubles its breadth, and crawls more slug- 
 gishly than ever between banks densely 
 wooded. Now its current was bound with 
 firm, black ice ; the trees, rising gaunt and 
 bare, threw the sides of the river into dark 
 shadow ; the topmost branches were duskily 
 outlined against the sky, and the starlight, 
 quivering through them, rested only on the 
 centre of the stream. Up the reach of 
 the river the darkness was broken here and 
 there by splashes of ruddy light which tra-
 
 84 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 veiled downwards — the torches of skaters 
 who had been up to Connewitz, and were 
 now returning. These, as they passed the 
 Anglo-American party, exchanged a friendly 
 * Guten Abend/ which the banks re-echoed 
 strangely. Then the sounds of singing were 
 heard, far up the river. Presently a cluster 
 of torch-lights appeared at the bend, and the 
 voices became more distinct. It was a party 
 of students, singing to the immortal air of 
 ' Prinz Eugen ' a patriotic Lied of their own 
 — how once Konig Wilhelm sat at Ems, 
 quietly drinking the waters, and meditating 
 only of peace, and 
 
 " Da trat in sein Cahinette 
 Eines Morgeris Benedette^ 
 
 Den gesandt Napoleon. 
 Der fiiig zornig an zu kollern, 
 Weil ein Prinz von Hohenzollern 
 
 Sollf auf Spaniens Konigsthron." 
 
 They had got to the verse about the " grrrande 
 nation'' — sung with immense sarcastic effect 
 — as they met and passed the sleigh-chairs. 
 The flare of the torches lit up the river
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 85 
 
 from bank to bank, and the voices rang clear 
 through the frosty air. Then light and sound 
 swept on together, and died away far down 
 the stream. 
 
 " Let us go on to Connewitz," said Yon 
 Bernstein at last ; " it is but an English mile 
 further." 
 
 " That you may get Lager Bier, Herr Baron ? " 
 
 " Truly," replied the Baron gravely ; " and 
 that you may get coffee, Madame. They 
 have all things very -^good at the Drei Lilien,- 
 I assure you." 
 
 Then the point was debated, and carried 
 against Herr von Bernstein and the other 
 gentlemen of the party. The ladies, protected 
 by furs and veils as they were, felt the wind too 
 nipping and eager to be faced longer. And 
 they professed themselves impatient for the 
 proposed race and its excitement. 
 
 " A pair of gloves, Camilla — twelve button — 
 on the Herr Baron ! " — cried Mrs. Overend, be- 
 hind whose chair Von Bernstein was on duty. 
 The wager was promptly taken up. The tall 
 young German loosened his belt, tightened
 
 86 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 his skate-straps, drew himself up proudly, and 
 prejDared for victory. A minute after, the 
 chairs were turned, and the race began. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Lynn," said Miss Arden, " I 
 expect you to bring me in an easy winner ! 
 I know how fast you can go." 
 
 Scarcely had she spoken, when one of 
 Lynn's acmes slipped from off his foot, and 
 went spinning towards the bank. 
 
 " Confound it !" — said the gentleman. 
 
 " How provoking !" — said the lady. 
 
 There was nothing for it but to go in search 
 of the lost skate. Several minutes were spent 
 by Lynn in groping about in the darkness ; at 
 last he found it, and came back with it in his 
 hand. By this time the rest of the party 
 were out of hearing. 
 
 " You cannot overtake them now," said the 
 young lady ; " w^e are out of the race, Mr. 
 Lynn." 
 
 " And you have lost your gloves." 
 
 " Oh, that does not matter. I shall win 
 them back at Vielliebchen. Mrs. Overend 
 always loses at that game."
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 87 
 
 "So I should imagine. But do you know 
 what Mrs. Over end will say about this little 
 accident V 
 
 " No. What will she say ? " 
 
 " She will say it was a ' put up thing.' " 
 
 "Meaning, of course, that you were afraid 
 to race against Herr von Bernstein ? " 
 
 " Of course. But I was not really, you 
 know. It all comes of skating without heel- 
 straps to one's acmes." 
 
 " Next time you take me up the river you 
 must have heel-straps, Mr. Lynn." 
 
 " Next time — but when will that be ?" 
 
 "Why, it is not going to thaw, do you 
 think?" 
 
 "I hope not," said Lynn; "this is much 
 more pleasant." 
 
 They went down the river by no means 
 at racing speed. The wind carried them 
 smoothly on, almost without need of exer- 
 tion on Lynn's part. For some time neither 
 spoke ; and nothing broke the deep silence 
 that hung over the river and the woods 
 save the slight noise made by Lynn's
 
 88 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 skates, and by the runners of the sleigh- 
 chair. 
 
 ^' This is the luxury of motion," said Miss 
 Arden at length. ''One feels, sitting here 
 and seeing nothing but the darkness ahead, 
 as if one might glide on for ever 1 They 
 may say what they like of the Pleisse — that 
 it is muddy, stagnant, and a ditch. But I 
 shall always love it ! " 
 
 "And I, too. It was here I met you first." 
 
 "But the Pleisse looked very different 
 then, did it not V 
 
 ''Yes; it was in May. The trees had 
 their fresh leaves on then, and the woods 
 were full of flowers. You remember that 
 picnic party ? How we rowed down by 
 moonlight, and heard the nightingales call- 
 ing to each other across the river ?" 
 
 "Yes, I remember it. Mrs. Overend told 
 me that I should meet a young Scotchman 
 named Lynn, who had newly come to 
 Leipsic." 
 
 " And me, that I should meet a young 
 English lady, a Miss Arden — do you know,
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 89 
 
 it seems to me as if a life-time had passed 
 since then ?" 
 
 ''And yet, it is only seven months, after 
 all !" 
 
 " But such months ! They have been a 
 succession of fair days, as your favourite 
 poet says." 
 
 *' Yes — and we have contrived to bear 
 them, in spite of Goethe. I shall always look 
 back on them — you, no doubt, will forget." 
 
 " I shall not forget, and you know it. 
 Camilla, I must say a word to you, now, if 
 I am ever to say it. Those days have been 
 the most beautiful thing in my life to me. 
 But how I am to look back on them, rests 
 with you." 
 
 " Why should you speak of that just now ?" 
 
 " I must speak of it just now. I must 
 say to you what I have often said before, 
 though not perhaps in so many words. If 
 we are to part, I shall think my life worth- 
 less without you." 
 
 " Surely you need not talk of parting, 
 now ? You are not going away ?"
 
 90 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Lynn could not see the girl's face, which 
 was turned away from him. But he thought 
 he knew what its expression must be — half- 
 playful, half-tender ; a look he had often seen 
 on it before. And the voice in which she 
 asked her question was very low and soft. 
 
 " No, I am not going away — at least, not 
 yet. But you may be going from me. Tell 
 me, Camilla — those days of ours have been 
 too short to you ? — as they have to me ?" 
 
 " Yes," murmured Camilla. Lynn was now 
 bending over her as she sat, so that his breath 
 stirred in the loosened tresses of her hair. 
 
 "And must they come to an end?" — he 
 whispered in her ear. 
 
 " I — I do not understand you. You are 
 very mysterious to-night, I think. Why do 
 you vex yourself with such thoughts, now — 
 and — and me, too ? Why not let us go on, 
 as we have always done ?" 
 
 " You know that cannot be," said the 
 young man, drawing back. '' You are trifling 
 with me, I think, Camilla ! " 
 
 " Now I have made you angry, without
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 91 
 
 meaning it. I know you are reproaching me 
 in your thoughts, and I cannot in the least 
 think why. What is it ? — tell me now, 
 this moment, or I shall think you want to 
 quarrel ! " 
 
 " God knows that is not what I want, but 
 it is what I begin to fear. Is this true, what 
 Mrs. Overend told me yesterday — and what 
 you have never told me — that your father 
 is coming here ?" 
 
 " Certainly it is true. I — I was going to 
 tell you. Why should I not ?" 
 
 " That I do not know. But I know this, 
 Camilla, that things have not been between 
 us, these last days, as they were before. I 
 have seen the shadow of a change." 
 
 "That is pure fancy. I am not changed 
 to you — " 
 
 " And never will be ?" 
 
 " No — that is, I do not think so. Who 
 can answer for the future?" — she went on, 
 almost as if pleading by anticipation for 
 herself. ''Who can tell what things may 
 happen?"
 
 92 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 " That is why I have resolved to speak to 
 you to-night. When your father comes — " 
 
 ** Why will you always speak of that ? His 
 coming need make no difference. I don't 
 suppose he will be more than twelve hours 
 in Leipsic altogether, on his way back from 
 Berlin. He only wants to make sure that I 
 am still alive. I know so well how it will 
 be ! — ' So, here I am,' he will say ; ' glad to 
 find you looking so well.' Then he will take 
 me out and buy me something, and go off 
 by the next train. That is his style." 
 
 Lynn thought it was a curious style, but 
 made some allowance for the play of fancy in 
 the description. 
 
 ''It is the merest chance his coming here 
 just now," Miss Arden went on, after a slight 
 pause. " It need make no difference." 
 
 " But it must make a difference — that is 
 what I want you to see as I see it. Camilla, 
 I must meet your father while he is here." 
 
 '' Of course you will meet him — that is, if 
 you wish it." 
 
 " That is not what I mean. There is some-
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 93 
 
 thing that I must say to him — if you give 
 me leave. Without that, I can do nothing 
 — except to go, and never see you again. 
 Camilla, you know what I must say." 
 
 *' Yes, I know it," the girl said, in a voice 
 that scarcely rose above a whisper. 
 
 ^' Think well before you answer me. Ee- 
 member that the happiness of your life, per- 
 haps, and certainly of mine, are in your hands 
 just now. Camilla, our days here have been 
 like a happy dream — you can make them a 
 reality by one word. I think I know your 
 heart — I think that you love me, as I love 
 you. I have kept back nothing from you. 
 I have told you that I am poor." 
 
 "Yes, yes — you have told me that." 
 
 " And you think you understand what that 
 means ? — what it is for a man to be poor ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I understand it." 
 
 " And your father, I know, is rich. But I 
 shall go to him without fear or shame, if you 
 speak that one word. Camilla, tell me — am I 
 to go ?" 
 
 There was a minute's silence, during which
 
 94 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Lynn bent over the back of the sleigh-chair, 
 now gliding with the wind very slowly down 
 the river. At last the answer came — " Yes." 
 
 " And I may tell him that you have given 
 me your love ?" 
 
 *' Yes . . . you may tell him that, too." 
 
 *'And that you will never change — that 
 you will never take back your word to me ?" 
 
 " I shall tell him that myself, Arthur" — 
 and she turned her face towards him for a 
 moment, so that he could see the shining of 
 her eyes, lit up as he thought they had never 
 been before. 
 
 ''My love!" he said, "you have made 
 me more happy than I can tell you. Now we 
 are sure of each other !" — Then Lynn sent on 
 the sleigh-chair with such an impetus, that 
 Mrs. Overend and her party were not kept 
 waiting above ten minutes for the lingerers. 
 
 Mrs. Overend lived in a pension in the 
 Konigstrasse, of which Miss Arden was also 
 an inmate. On the way thither, Lynn walked 
 by the American lady's side, carrying her 
 skates. She had, he thought, less to say
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 95 
 
 for herself than usual. She looked almost 
 serious. 
 
 *'Mr. Lynn," she said abruptly, "I wonder 
 if I may use the privilege of a friend with 
 
 you?" 
 
 *' Yes, indeed, Mrs. Overend ; I am sure 
 you may do that." 
 
 *'Mr. Lynn, I like you very much — there, 
 that's what I call being frank. Next to 
 Americans, I like Scotchmen ; and of all 
 Scotchmen I have ever known, I like you 
 the best." 
 
 Lynn smiled, and thanked the lady for 
 her good opinion. 
 
 "And so, because I like you, I am going 
 to speak a word of warning. Of course you 
 know now what is coming ?" 
 
 "Yes, I think I do." 
 
 " When one sees a man paying such atten- 
 tions to a young lady, you know, one draws 
 certain conclusions. I may tell you, Mr. 
 Lynn, that had Miss Arden been entrusted 
 to my care by her friends, I should have 
 interfered long ago. But that is none of my
 
 96 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 business — it is of you, not of her, that I am 
 thinking. It is for your sake that I want 
 to speak a word. I hope you won't mis- 
 understand me ? " 
 
 " No, no ; I shall not do that. You are 
 very good." 
 
 "Well, I have lived for the last ten years 
 in Europe, a summer here and a wdnter there. 
 And I know what goes on in the ' colonies ' 
 — two people meet every other day for six 
 months, and they get to like each other 
 very much, and then they go off when the 
 hot season begins or the cold season begins, 
 according to climate, and don't ever inter- 
 sect one another again. It doesn't do for 
 birds of passage to think of nest-building, 
 Mr. Lynn." 
 
 " Not as a general rule." 
 
 " Well, to take the particular case — I don't 
 want to say anything against Camilla, and I 
 don't suppose you would listen to me if I 
 did. She's a dear, charming girl, and I've 
 got to like her so much. But, you know, 
 Mr. Lynn — men trust men ; w^omen never
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 97 
 
 trust women. That is why I am saying 
 this, at the risk of offending you." 
 
 ''You will not offend me, even if I can't 
 agree with what you say." 
 
 " Very good. You have told me, oftener 
 than once, Mr. Lynn, that you have your 
 way to make in the world yet." 
 
 " That is certainly true." 
 
 " And I believe that, with your powers, 
 you have a career before you — at least, you 
 would have in the States, where we ain't 
 so crowded. But you have not begun yet. 
 Now — a failure in love is a bad thing to 
 start upon." 
 
 *' Why do you speak of failure, Mrs. Over- 
 end?" 
 
 " I shall tell you — and I do admire your 
 patience with me, Mr. Lynn ; I do indeed ! 
 — Of course you have told Camilla that you 
 are — well, not rich ? — Yes ! I knew you 
 would. And she of course said that that 
 was nothing to her ? — Yes ! Well — reflect, 
 Mr. Lynn, that a girl like her does not know 
 what poverty is. She does not think you 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 98 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 really poor. You have lived here — where a 
 thaler seems to go almost as far as a sovereign 
 in London — just like everyone else. Poverty! 
 — ^why, she does not realise that drives, and 
 bouquets, and stalls at the opera, are beyond 
 the dreams of a poor man — in England. Here, 
 they need not be ; but there, they are." 
 
 " Of course I know that," said Lynn. 
 
 ''That is why I told you that Mr. Arden 
 is coming here. I knew that Camilla had 
 not said anything about it. She shrank 
 from it, and I do not wonder." 
 
 " Why do you not wonder, Mrs. Overend ? " 
 
 "She knows, of course, what sort of man 
 her father is — what his views are, and what 
 he would say about — about — well, you know 
 what." 
 
 "Then you are yourself acquainted with 
 Mr. Arden?" 
 
 "Not intimately, but I do know him — 
 well enough to know him. He was mixed 
 up in business, somehow, with my late 
 husband. And he was most civil to me, 
 while I was in London."
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 99 
 
 " Then, what sort of man is he ? I wish 
 you would tell me that." 
 
 " I will tell you, Mr. Lynn — I am glad 
 that you have asked me. Mr. Arden, so far 
 as I understand him, isn't the man to let 
 his daughter marry on a primrose ring and 
 a love-rhyme. I don't think I need say any 
 more than that — and now, tell me that you 
 aren't angry with me, for having said so 
 much?" 
 
 "No, no — how could I be that? I know 
 that you have spoken out of kindness, and 
 nothing else." 
 
 "That is so," said the American lady. 
 Not a word more passed between them, 
 until they came to the Konigstrasse, and 
 said Good-night. 
 
 Mrs. Overend's warning had given Lynn 
 food for serious reflection, and made him 
 feel for the moment somewhat low-spirited. 
 But Camilla's way of bidding him Good- 
 night went far to restore his confidence. 
 There was a quick pressure of the hand, 
 and a whispered word : — " Papa comes on
 
 100 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Sunday night. He will stay at the Hotel 
 de Prusse." It needed no more than this 
 to send Lynn home in a mood of joyous 
 excitement. 
 
 His rooms were in the Sternwartenstrasse, 
 three stairs up ; so that their rental did not 
 make a large hole in his income. He found 
 his stove lighted, and all his books and papers 
 laid out on the table, ready for work. But 
 Lynn did not feel disposed for work, just 
 then. He lowered his lamp, lit a cigar, 
 and threw himself on the sofa ; and then, 
 in the dusk and quiet, began to think it 
 all over. 
 
 All the details of that scene on the frozen 
 river came back to him with vivid clearness, 
 and wrought in him a kind of ecstasy. The 
 tone of the girl's voice, as she murmured 
 "Yes" — the droop of her head — the subtle 
 fragrance of her hair — all were as distinct 
 in his memory as the word itself. No, he 
 would not doubt her, let the msdom of this 
 world say what it pleased. " AVomen never 
 trust women " — that might be true ; but he
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 101 
 
 would trust Camilla. That he might not 
 appear an eligible suitor to Camilla's father 
 was probable enough ; but had she not pro- 
 mised — or as good as promised — that she 
 would never change ? — would never take 
 back the word she had spoken ? Then he 
 began to picture to himself his coming inter- 
 view with Mr. Arden ; and to outline the 
 manner in which he would state his case 
 and urge his suit. He must be prepared 
 to meet objections — that was certain. But 
 then, he was sure of Camilla. How little 
 did Mrs. Overend understand her — and how 
 thoroughly did he ! 
 
 There was a knock at the door ; and the 
 servant brought him a letter. 
 
 He recognised the hand-writing of the 
 address ; it was Mr. Ingleby's. There were 
 two circular notes in the envelope, and 
 nothing else — not a line, not a word. Lynn 
 knew what this meant. It meant that his 
 uncle was very angry. 
 
 Mr. Ingleby had some reason to be angry ; 
 Lynn acknowledged that to himself with a
 
 102 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 twinge of self-reproach. He had not returned 
 to Scotland in October, thus breaking through 
 the arrangement that had been made, and 
 putting off the evil day of the examination 
 for another six months. Of late also he 
 had been remiss in writing to his friends ; 
 and to each of his letters there had 
 been a postscript, requesting a remittance. 
 He had been spending a good deal of 
 money in these last months — at least, a 
 good deal comparatively. Those drives and 
 opera-stalls and bouquets to which Mrs. 
 Overend had alluded had cost something, 
 no doubt ; his uncle, of course, would say too 
 much. Well, the scholarship would make 
 that all right. Then Lynn cast a glance at 
 a packet of books which lay on the top of 
 his secretaire, with the dust of months upon 
 it. They were works treating of such sub- 
 jects as geometry, algebra, and conic sections ; 
 and he had never opened one of them. A 
 young man in love does not fly to equations ; 
 he finds German poetry, as a rule, a more 
 congenial branch of study. Lynn had been
 
 THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. 103 
 
 reading a good deal of poetry lately ; more 
 than that, he felt that he had been living it. 
 He could scarcely expect his uncle to enter 
 into his feelings. Perhaps Mr. Arden would 
 prove more sympathetic. Well, forty-eight 
 hours would show that — Mr. Arden would 
 be in Leipsic to-morrow night, and he would 
 go to him on Monday.
 
 104 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTEE lY. 
 
 A COINCIDENCE. 
 
 "My dear Lynn, what's the good of looking 
 so broken-hearted over it ? Aren't there lots 
 more of scholarships, and such things, that 
 you can go in for?" 
 
 " My dear Morton, you know nothing about 
 it. It happens that there are no more 
 scholarships that I can go in for. And if 
 there were, I would not go in. I mean to 
 cut the whole thing." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense. Why, I was plucked the 
 first time for my mate's certificate — three 
 seconds wrong in my chronometer time did 
 it — but /went in again, and passed aU right." 
 
 " The cases are hardly parallel, I fancy." 
 
 These remarks were made on board the 
 Chloe, a small cutter yacht owned by Mr.
 
 A COINCIDENCE. 105 
 
 Morton, in which the two friends were run- 
 ning up the frith towards Sprayton. It 
 was a fine afternoon, early in May. A stiff 
 westerly breeze was blowing, and the cutter 
 slipped fast through the water. The ropes 
 and wire-stays sang in the wind, and the 
 foam ran humming and bubbling astern. 
 Ever and anon a dark shadow would race 
 over the water from windward, and then 
 the boom creaked and the mast dipped, as 
 the yacht swerved from her course, luffed 
 into the wind until the passing of the 
 summer squall. 
 
 Some three months had passed since 
 Arthur Lynn's return from Leipsic. The 
 result of his German studies had more than 
 realised Mr. Ingleby's gloomiest forecast. He 
 had been plucked in mathematics, without 
 even going through the formality of giving 
 in a paper. He had consequently been de- 
 barred from so much as competing for the 
 Paxton Scholarship, which — had he gained 
 it — would have yielded him a revenue 
 of £150 per annum for three years —
 
 106 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 but which, unfortunately for Lynn, was 
 open only to graduates in Arts. This result 
 had grievously disappointed his college friends, 
 who believed, and not without reason, that 
 he would have carried off the Paxton — 
 the Blue Eibbon of Academe — had he only 
 been able to satisfy the demands of the 
 examiners in mathematics. 
 
 "Yes," said Lynn ; "whom the gods 
 chasten, to them they grant the desires of 
 their hearts." 
 
 " What on earth do you mean by that f " — 
 asked the sailor. 
 
 " You remember how eager I was, just a 
 year ago, to get to Germany ? Well, if I 
 had never gone there, I might this day 
 have been the proud holder of the Paxton. 
 I never told you, Morton, what happened 
 to me at Leipsic, but I don't mind telling 
 you now." 
 
 " Well, what happened to you there ?" 
 
 "Various adventures. One of them was 
 with a rich stockbroker, who had a daughter. 
 I fell in love with the daughter, and stated
 
 A COINCIDENCE. 107 
 
 the case to tlie stockbroker. I suppose I 
 must have been mad ; he evidently thought 
 so. The situation in itself was not novel, but 
 he made it so by his excessive candour." 
 
 " What did he say to you ?" 
 
 " He paid me the compliment of saying 
 that I was the most remarkable young man 
 he had ever met, and that I would yet go far. 
 The thing I spoke of was of course impossible, 
 and did not need to be discussed. But he 
 would be very pleased to regard my visit as a 
 friendly call, and to learn my views on the 
 state administration of railways. Being un- 
 able to enlighten him on this question, I took 
 my leave." 
 
 " Well !"— ejaculated Mr. Morton. 
 
 "The curious thing is — I learned it only 
 the other week, when I was at Shawkirk — 
 that this man Arden was once a clerk, or 
 something, in my father's employment." 
 
 " Arden ? Oh, I have heard of him before. 
 They say he means to stand for the Boroughs, 
 as soon as Fletcher retires." 
 
 " So I heard/'
 
 108 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 " And wliat did the girl herself say to all 
 this?" 
 
 " I never had the chance of speaking to her 
 again. Two days after my interview with 
 the stockbroker, they left the place together." 
 
 *^ Well, you seem to have got over it now, 
 anyhow. When a fellow can joke about a 
 thing, as you do, it shows he can't be very 
 far gone." 
 
 " You think so ? I suppose that people do 
 get over those things. All the same, it cost 
 me the scholarship." 
 
 ''How?" 
 
 '' How ? Because for a month after I didn't 
 open a book — because I could think of nothing 
 else than that girl — because I can think of 
 nothing else still. Do you suppose it is the 
 loss of the scholarship that has made me such 
 a cheerful companion ?" 
 
 " Well, I did think it would be a serious 
 thing for you." 
 
 '' It is a serious thing — but I tell you, 
 Morton, at this moment I seem past caring 
 for that or for anything else. Why, only the
 
 A COINCIDENCE. 109 
 
 other day my uncle told me things that would 
 have made me as dismal as himself, a year ago. 
 But I didn't seem to mind them a bit. I be- 
 lieve my calmness disappointed him horribly." 
 
 " What things did he tell you ?" 
 
 " That, as you would put it, I haven't a red 
 cent in the w^orld. All the money my poor 
 father left me, it appears, is now gone." 
 
 '' What ? Do you mean to say that you 
 had no notion of that before ? Did your 
 uncle never tell you how your affairs stood ?" 
 
 " Not a word, till I came back from Ger- 
 many." 
 
 " There, it seems to me, he did very wrong." 
 
 " I'm not sure of that. I don't believe I 
 should have lived my life a bit differently, 
 even if I had known. As for my uncle, it is 
 his opinion that my present lack of means is a 
 Blessing. So long as I have any money to 
 fall back on, he pointed out, I shall do nothing 
 to become 'self-supporting.'" 
 
 *' How does he mean you to support your- 
 self, now ? — What else did he say to you ?" 
 
 " First of all, he gave me what he called an
 
 110 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 account of his stewardship. He brought out 
 a lot of papers with figures on them, and told 
 me to look over them, and add them up. But 
 I said it was no use — I could do nothing with 
 figures. Then he gave me a lecture — an un- 
 commonly mild one, by the way — about the 
 responsibilities of life." 
 
 " That wouldn't do you much good, I 
 reckon." 
 
 " No. Then he became very mysterious. In 
 fact, he displayed a power of imagination for 
 which I would never have given him credit. 
 He said I had many things to learn. Even 
 supposing I had a fortune, what would I do 
 with it? It didn't seem a very practical sort of 
 question, but I gave it serious consideration. 
 I said I should go to the Val d'Arno, where 
 the Etrurian shades are. My uncle does not 
 known where the Val d'Arno is, but he con- 
 cluded it must be a place where men do no 
 work, and he did not like the suggestion. It 
 was afterwards arranged between us that I 
 should take up my abode for the present not 
 at Florence, but — at Shawkirk."
 
 A COINCIDENCE. Ill 
 
 " What on earth will you do there ?" 
 
 "Well, you see, I must do something. 
 You know Macritchie of Bridgend ? It seems 
 he is in want of a tutor for his sons, and 
 failing a better, would take me. My uncle 
 has arranged it all." 
 
 " You don't mean to say, Lynn, you're 
 going to take a berth of that kind, after — " 
 
 *' After what ? After failing to take my 
 degree ? A fellow in my position can't pick 
 and choose — he has just to take whatever 
 offers. It won't last long, you know ; and it 
 will do as well as anything else in the mean- 
 time." 
 
 " It seems to me, Lynn, you are throwing 
 yourself away. I know the young cubs you'll 
 have to teach. You won't like it, I can tell 
 you." 
 
 " That can't be helped. — But hadn't I better 
 keep her away a bit ? We'll fetch Sprayton 
 easy, on the next board." 
 
 " Yes, — give her a bit more of the sheet, 
 and let her go through the water." 
 
 Meanwhile, from the end of the Sprayton
 
 112 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 pier, a group of people had been watching 
 the progress of Mr. Morton's cutter. These 
 were Miss Ingleby, her sister Caroline, and a 
 third young lady, who were seated on the 
 low parapet-wall ; while Dick Ingleby, with 
 his hands in his pockets and a briar-root pipe 
 in his mouth, straddled across one of the 
 ' pollards.' 
 
 " Mr. Morton will come to the good hold- 
 ing-ground in less than a quarter of an hour, 
 see if I'm not right !" — said Caroline, who 
 plumed herself on her knowledge of things 
 nautical. 
 
 '' How she is bending over ! Don't you 
 think it is very dangerous ?" 
 
 " What nonsense, Camilla ! I only wish I 
 were on board !" 
 
 " Mr. Morton knows how to manage a 
 boat," said Gertrude. " He's a professional 
 sailor, you know. He gave up the sea only 
 a few months ago." 
 
 " Why did he do that ?" — asked the young 
 lady called Camilla. 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know," said Gertrude.
 
 / 
 
 A COIN(^IDENCE. 113 
 
 " I'm sure you do," said Caroline ; at which 
 pleasantry Dick began to laugh. 
 
 " Eeally, Camilla, you don't need to be 
 frightened," said Caroline ; and indeed the 
 girl's face, as she watched the approach of 
 the yacht, wore an expression that might 
 have been taken for one of intense anxiety. 
 
 Gertrude Ingleby had by this time reached 
 what may be called the waist-encircling stage 
 of a young lady's friendship with Camilla 
 Arden. They had met in London, whither 
 Mr. Ingleby, going on business, had taken 
 his daughter on pleasure. Mr. Ingleby had 
 met Mr. Arden there. At that particular 
 time, Mr. Arden had his own reasons for 
 ' doing the civil,' as he called it, to his 
 former fellow-townsmen. He had done the 
 civil to Mr. Ingleby ; and Miss Arden had 
 shown the sights of London to Mr. Ingleby's 
 daughter. The friendship between the two 
 girls, thus begun in London, had led to the 
 invitation which accounted for Miss Arden's 
 presence on the Sprayton pier. 
 
 " How curious, Camilla," said Caroline, 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 114 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 " that you should meet Arthur here, after 
 meeting him at Leipsic! It shows, as some- 
 body says, how small the world is." 
 
 *' The world of Leipsic was certainly very 
 small. I don't see that there is anything 
 specially curious in it." 
 
 " Still, it's a coincidence, you know. Any- 
 how, I'm glad Arthur is coming at last. I 
 wonder why he would not come sooner." 
 
 '' Humph," said Dick. " If I'd done what 
 he's done, I'd have been jolly shy of showing 
 up before the Governor, I can tell you." 
 
 Camilla looked at the young gentleman on 
 the mooring-post with some interest. Thus 
 encouraged, Dick went on in his character of 
 Censor : — 
 
 " I always told the Governor that a fellow 
 like him should never have been let go abroad. 
 No good could come of it ; I said so at the 
 time. And now that he's gone and got him- 
 self plucked, and wasted all his money, what's 
 he going to do with himself ? — that's what I'd 
 like to know !" 
 
 "Dick!" — said Gertrude indignantly — "if
 
 A COINCIDENCE. 115 
 
 you are capable of thinking sucli things, you 
 should at least have the grace not to say 
 them. You would not, if you had any self- 
 respect !" 
 
 " I don't see there's anything to make you 
 flare up like that, Gerty," said Dick, sulkily. 
 " You're always taking Arthur's part, whether 
 he's right or wrong." 
 
 "Look!" — cried Caroline — ^Hhere is Mr. 
 Morton taking in his staysail ! They'll let 
 go the anchor directly." 
 
 They saw Mr. Morton let go his anchor 
 and stow his mainsail ; after which the two 
 young men got into the dinghy, and rowed 
 leisurely towards the pier. 
 
 " That was rather smartly done, wasn't 
 it?" — said Caroline, turning to Miss Arden. 
 But Camilla did not answer. She did not 
 seem even to have heard the question. Her 
 face had lost its colour, and the hand that 
 held her sunshade trembled. She seemed for 
 the moment unconscious of her surround- 
 ings. First she drew back from the edge 
 of the pier, where the others had taken their
 
 116 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 stand. Then, as if by an effort, she came 
 forward again, and stood a few steps behind 
 them. The boat was now at the foot of the 
 stairs. 
 
 *'Well, I've brought him back to you at 
 last!" — said Morton, as he preceded his 
 companion up the steps. — "Arthur, make fast 
 the painter to that ring, will you? The 
 tide's falling still." Then there were greet- 
 ings between Morton, and Gertrude and 
 Caroline Ingleby. 
 
 "Mr. Morton," said Gertrude, "let me 
 introduce you to a friend of ours — Miss 
 Arden." 
 
 Morton almost forgot to bow. He turned 
 towards Lynn, who had now reached the 
 top of the steps. Gertrude watched him in 
 surprise, his embarrassment was so obvious. 
 Then she looked at her cousin, as if seeking 
 an explanation. Lynn stood without speak- 
 ing or moving, as if rooted to the ground. 
 
 "Arthur," she said, "you are forgetting 
 to shake hands with me." 
 
 "How are you, Gertrude? — How are you.
 
 A COmclDENCE. 117 
 
 Caroline ?" — said Lynn ; and he shook hands 
 with them, almost mechanically. 
 
 Camilla came forward. Her face was very 
 pale, and she had not been able to banish 
 from it every trace of discomposure. 
 
 "Arthur," said Gertrude, "you have met 
 Miss Arden before, I believe. I don't need 
 to introduce you." 
 
 "No," said Lynn; "no, you do not" — and 
 he took Camilla's proffered hand. 
 
 The tone in which he uttered these com- 
 monplace words was such that they brought 
 a constraint upon the whole party. Even 
 Caroline was silent, and opened her blue 
 eyes very wide. Gertrude looked at her 
 cousin's face, then at her friend's. She saw 
 on both an expression that puzzled her with 
 its vague suggestiveness. It seemed to con- 
 jure up a past in which there had been more 
 than a chance acquaintanceship between these 
 two. Lynn was not an adept at concealing 
 his emotions ; and now his agitation was 
 almost painfully apparent. Women gener- 
 ally come through these social crises more
 
 118 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 successfully than men ; but though Miss 
 Arden had her feelings under better control, 
 even she for the moment found nothing to 
 say. 
 
 "Hallo, you fellows!" said Dick — whose 
 interposition was, for once, generally wel- 
 comed — " so you're not drowned yet, eh ? 
 Now, if you'll take a piece of advice from 
 me, you'll not stand loafing about this pier, 
 and staring at one another without a word 
 to say. You've riled the Governor already, 
 I can tell you, by being behind time. I 
 think you had better toddle up to the house, 
 right away," 
 
 Again Miss Arden turned a look of interest 
 on the speaker. Dick noted the glance, and 
 set it down as an involuntary tribute to his 
 powers of fascination. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Morton," said Caroline, "I'm 
 dying for a sail ! Do you think there will 
 be a wind to-night ?" 
 
 " I'm afraid not," said Morton ; "it looks 
 like going down with the ebb." 
 
 Lynn, still silent, was walking at Gertrude's
 
 A COINCIDENCE. 119 
 
 side ; Dick had attached himself to Miss 
 Arden. 
 
 "Are you going out to sail to-night?" — 
 he said ; "/'m not. I don't care about sail- 
 ing in the Chloe—\hQ ' Old Clo',' I call her" 
 — he added, with a glance at his companion 
 which seemed to say : — '' And you, you 
 London girl, do you see that f — or is it too 
 fine for the Southern intellect ?" 
 
 In this order the party walked through 
 the village to Laurel Bank, Mr. Ingleby's 
 cottage by the sea.
 
 120 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 SUNDAY AT SPRAYTON. 
 
 The next day was Sunday, but no one at 
 Laurel Bank went to church, Mr. Ingleby's 
 sect not having a place of worship in the 
 vicinity of Sprayton. And there was no 
 sailing ; for Mr. Ingleby neither wished his 
 daughters to be drowned, nor his faith in 
 Providence to be shaken by their safe 
 return from a marine excursion on the 
 Sabbath. 
 
 During the day Miss Arden tried his 
 temper sorely. She spoke of " seeing a 
 Scotch Sunday " as if it had been a local 
 curiosity. She contrasted the Scottish with 
 the Continental manner of spending the Day 
 of Kest, as if they had been different methods 
 of cooking eggs. And she related blood-
 
 SUNDAY AT SPEAYTON. 121 
 
 curdling tales of Sunday opera-going with 
 a serenity that almost maddened Mr. Ingleby. 
 He was perplexed, even alarmed, by Cam- 
 illa Arden. He had met the young lady 
 but once, before her visit to Sprayton, when 
 he had dined at Mr. Arden's house in London. 
 On that occasion he had failed to detect 
 the lack of earnestness now so painfully 
 obvious in her character. But his daughter 
 had seen Miss Arden frequently, and had 
 talked with enthusiasm of her new friend's 
 goodness, cleverness, and beauty. How Ger- 
 trude could have been so deceived was a 
 cause of astonishment to Mr. Ingleby. He 
 now regretted the imprudent invitation that 
 had brought Mr. Arden's daughter under his 
 roof. She must, of course, be treated with 
 the consideration due to a guest ; but Mr. 
 Ingleby felt strongly tempted at times to 
 break through all canons of hospitality, and 
 put on record his disapproval of her ways. 
 He could not understand her ; and Mr. Ingleby 
 always disliked what he did not understand. 
 The girl said the reverse of what she believed.
 
 122 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 That was her wit. She touched mockingly on 
 serious topics. That was her originality. She 
 was the slave of whim. And that was her 
 pretty playfulness. He had a dim idea that 
 she was somehow an incarnation of the forces 
 that make against dissenting chapels. There 
 was, he felt, something dangerous and * un- 
 canny' in her peculiar type of loveliness. 
 Mr. Peter Ingleby was not imaginative ; but 
 he half-believed that hers was the kind of 
 beauty possessed by satanic temptresses of 
 whom he had heard or read — women mth 
 the flash of the Pit in their dark eyes, who 
 lure men's souls to perdition by their silken 
 phrases and baleful charms. He said to 
 himself that she was ' a Moabitish woman ; ' 
 and the phrase pleased him so much that 
 it became to him a new proof of the sound- 
 ness of his suspicions. 
 
 During those days at his uncle's house, 
 Lynn felt for the first time the advantage 
 of losing a scholarship. But for the fact 
 that his pre-occupation and unwonted serious- 
 ness were set down by his friends to the
 
 SUNDAY AT SPllAYTON. 123 
 
 score of the Paxton episode, they would 
 certainly have asked questions which he 
 would have found difficult to answer. So 
 keenly did he realise the falseness of his 
 position, that he might perhaps have left 
 Sprayton at once, but for the curious in- 
 quiries which such a step would have called 
 forth. So, at least, he told himself; and 
 there was in truth no hour of the day that 
 he did not feel the awkwardness of living 
 in the same house with Camilla Arden, after 
 all that had come and gone. But it may 
 be questioned whether, in deciding to re- 
 main, he was not as much swayed by the 
 lurking hope that this unexpected meeting 
 with his former sweetheart might lead to 
 something — what, he did not seek to define. 
 
 It was the hand of Destiny, he told him- 
 self, that had brought them together again, and 
 of all places at Sprayton, in his uncle's house. 
 He forgot that Destiny is not a dramatist, 
 and cares nothing for effective situations. 
 
 As for Miss Arden, she neither avoided 
 Lynn nor sought his society. Her demean-
 
 124 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 our puzzled him greatly. At times he was 
 fain to ask himself whether he had not first 
 met her yesterday — whether this was really 
 the same Camilla from whom he had been 
 parted a few months before. Gertrude also, 
 he thought, was changed to him. There 
 seemed an end of the cousinly confidence 
 which had almost passed into a tenderer 
 feeling. This was the way in which Lynn 
 now represented to himself his previous re- 
 lations with his cousin. 
 
 The Sunday dinner at Sprayton was not 
 a lively meal. AVhen it was over, Mr. Ingleby 
 stated that it was his invariable habit, at the 
 sea-side, to read one of Mr. Spurgeon's ser- 
 mons to his household on the Sabbath after- 
 noon. Thereon Mr. Morton declared that, on 
 account of 'the young flood,' he must go 
 at once aboard the Chloe, to * give the 
 cutter more chain ' ; and that Lynn must 
 accompany him, as this could not be done 
 single-handed. Mr. Ingleby did not under- 
 stand what he meant, and would not have 
 believed him if he had. As the young men
 
 SUNDAY AT SPRAYTON. 125 
 
 made their escape from the room, he mut- 
 tered something about Sabbath desecration, 
 took down his Spurgeon, and began to read. 
 
 *' Thank you," said Miss Arden, as Mr. 
 Ingleby concluded with a passage on the 
 subject of penal fire. " Thank you very 
 much, Mr. Ingleby. The reading has been 
 very nice. It has made the afternoon pass 
 quite pleasantly." 
 
 Mr. Ingleby was inexpressibly shocked, and 
 looked so ; but refrained himself, and made 
 no remark. 
 
 " Have I said anything very wicked, dear ?" 
 asked Miss Arden afterwards, as she was 
 walking with Gertrude outside. " I thought 
 Mr. Ingleby looked terribly displeased just 
 now." 
 
 " Oh, no — but you see, father is so strict in 
 some of his views. You can't understand us — ■ 
 I'm afraid you must find it all very tiresome." 
 *' No, not at all. It is quite a change from 
 my own home, you know. — I don't think," 
 she added, " that Mr. Morton is ' giving the 
 cutter chain,' or whatever it was — indeed,
 
 126 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 they both seem to be sitting on board, doing 
 nothing." 
 
 " I suppose he merely wished to escape 
 father's reading. Mr. Morton has a very 
 lively imagination." 
 
 " You don't seem to like Mr. Morton. Now, 
 I think that is odd — in you." 
 
 " Why should you think so, Camilla ?" 
 
 "Well — perhaps it is because I like him 
 myself. I like his frankness, and I like his 
 sailor stories. And I think he has a good 
 heart. How fond he is — of your cousin ! " 
 
 " Most people are, I believe." 
 
 "Yes. At Leipsic, I remember, Mr. Lynn 
 was a favourite with everyone. Mrs. Overend 
 used to say he was ^ magnetic.'" 
 
 "Who was Mrs. Overend, dear?" 
 
 Camilla betrayed just the slightest trace of 
 embarrassment. 
 
 " Mrs. Overend," she said, " was an Ame- 
 rican lady, a widow, whom I knew at 
 Leipsic." 
 
 " I suppose you saw a great deal of my 
 cousin there ? "
 
 SUNDAY AT SPRAYTON. 127 
 
 " My dear Gertrude, everybody in the Eng- 
 lish colony there saw a great deal of every- 
 body else — that is, if they happened to be 
 in the same set. There was always some- 
 thing going on — pic-nics up the river, parties 
 at Bonorand's to hear the music, and in winter 
 we had the English dances once a month. It 
 was a very pleasant time. Mrs. Overend 
 chaperoned us — she was delightful. Oh, yes ! 
 I met Mr. Lynn quite a number of times." 
 
 Gertrude said nothing, but she drew her 
 own conclusions. She remembered that in 
 London Camilla had never mentioned Arthur 
 Lynns name, nor alluded to her having 
 known him. She remembered also various 
 reports, set afloat through the agency of Mr. 
 Stronach, about a young lady with whom 
 Lynn was said to have * carried on at a 
 great rate ' abroad. As she thought of these 
 things — and of the scene at the end of the 
 pier — she felt that Camilla had treated her 
 with a certain want of frankness. Up to this 
 time she had been eager in Camilla's praise ; 
 but the latter's admission that she had seen
 
 128 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Lynn * quite a number of times,' taken in 
 connection with her previous reticence on the 
 subject, worked a change in their relations. 
 It was the opening of the little rift, destined 
 to grow rapidly wider. 
 
 In the evening Mr. Ingleby was left alone 
 with his wife, the others, despite his tacit 
 protest, setting out for a walk along the shore. 
 Dick again managed to inflict himself on 
 Miss Arden, who showed less reluctance to 
 accept his escort than might have been ex- 
 pected. Lynn found himself walking by his 
 cousin's side, a little way behind Caroline and 
 Morton. 
 
 "You seem to have been avoiding me, 
 Gertrude," he said ; "I have scarcely had a 
 word with you all day." 
 
 " Oh, no, Arthur — I have not been avoiding 
 you. On the contrary, there is something I 
 wish to say to you." 
 
 *' What is it, Gertrude?" 
 
 *' It is about the tutorship," said Gertrude. 
 Lynn was conscious of a certain relief. There 
 were other topics on which he would have
 
 SUNDAY AT SPRAYTOK. 129 
 
 found it less easy to conYerse with his 
 cousin. 
 
 " You know how you have always disliked 
 Shawkirk, Arthur. Do you think you will 
 like it any better now ? " 
 
 " I don't care about these things, now," 
 said Lynn. " Any place will do for me." 
 
 '' That is not the way you used to speak. 
 You know very well that this kind of work is 
 far below your powers. Don't you remember 
 what you said before, wdien father wished you 
 to become a tutor ? " 
 
 " Is that the tutorship you people are 
 discussing ?" — said Caroline, whose sense of 
 hearing was acute. " Of course, Arthur, you 
 aren't going to take it ?" 
 
 " I have taken it already." 
 
 " You have ! Oh, dear, I hope it won't 
 make me too proud to have my cousin tutor 
 to the Macritchies' ! What a life you will 
 have, Arthur ! Old Macritchie will introduce 
 you to his friends as 'My tutor, sir' — and 
 perhaps you will be allowed to turn over 
 Fanny Macritchie's music for her — and, who 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 130 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTEK. 
 
 kiioNAS, if you are very good, tlieyll give you 
 thick bread and butter to tea ? Isn't that 
 ^Yhat they always give tutors, in the story- 
 books?" 
 
 "Such," said Lynn, "is, I believe, the 
 invariable diet of the hardy tutor." 
 
 " Seriously, Arthur," said Gertrude, " I can 
 understand your being downcast just now, 
 about the scholarship, and — and about other 
 things, for what I know. But if I were you, 
 I would not give up my ambition. Can 
 it be that you no longer wish to go to 
 London ?" 
 
 " Of course I wish it, but you must know 
 very well that it is impossible. I have not 
 the means." 
 
 "You have friends, Arthur." 
 
 "My uncle? — but it was he who decided 
 that I must become — a tutor." 
 
 " Well, go to him and tell him that he has 
 made a mistake. The work is quite unsuited 
 to you ; it leads to nothing ; it is an utter 
 waste of time. Go to father, and tell him all 
 that."
 
 SUNDAY AT SPEAYTON. 131 
 
 *' This is strange advice to come from you, 
 Gertrude/' 
 
 '' You know I never counselled you to go 
 against him before, but I do now. I cannot 
 bear to think of your throwing away your 
 chances like this, Arthur. And besides — there 
 is another thing I want to say to you. If you 
 go to father, and tell him plainly what you 
 want, I believe he will give you what help he 
 can. 
 
 " Why should he do that ?" 
 
 *' I don't know, but I am certain that he 
 has been much — well, much milder of late 
 when speaking about you. You know, Ar- 
 thur, that with all his strictness, he always 
 wished you well. He was quite unhappy on 
 your account, when you did not come back 
 from Leipsic in October, and he was not 
 hearing from you regularly." 
 
 " Did he not say savage things of me when 
 I lost the scholarship ? " 
 
 "No, he did not. He did not say a harsh 
 word of you to me, nor to any one, I believe. 
 He was sorry about it, of course, as we all were."
 
 132 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 '' You certainly surprise me, Gertrude. Do 
 you mean to say you think he would listen to 
 me, if I spoke to him about going to London, 
 and reading for the bar ? " 
 
 " I do not know, but you ought to try. I 
 don't know anything about the bar, nor does 
 father. But I hope, at all events, that you will 
 give up this idea of the tutorship. Shawkirk 
 is no place for you. Go to father, and tell 
 him plainly and firmly what you want. I 
 believe he would see reason in it." 
 
 " Gertrude," said Lynn, "it is just like you 
 to take thought for me and my afi'airs. Yes, 
 I will do what you say. I am glad to find 
 that you still believe in me, after all." 
 
 "I do believe in your abilities, Arthur," 
 said the girl gravely. " You have had no fair 
 chance as yet, but I hope you will soon." 
 
 Meantime, in the parlour at Laurel Bank, 
 while Mrs. Ingleby slumbered over a ' good 
 book,' Mr. Ingleby stood at the window ab- 
 sorbed in thought. Mr. Ingleby was very 
 angry. The immediate occasion of his wrath 
 was the Sabbath profanation involved in an
 
 SUNDAY AT SPRAYTON. 133 
 
 evening walk. But besides, he had the feel- 
 ing that all things were going against him ; 
 and he resented that. 
 
 One glance he took at the placid face of his 
 sleeping spouse. The perfect repose, the utter 
 oblivion to all trouble which Mrs. Ingleby's 
 features expressed filled her husband with a 
 kind of envious indignation. It seemed to 
 him a positive injustice that she should thus 
 * entice the dewy-feathered sleep,' while he 
 was groaning under the heavy load of care. 
 Mr. Ingleby regarded his wife not in the light 
 of a sympathiser, but of an audience. He 
 felt that he must have an audience now. 
 
 ** Matilda!" — he said ; whereat Mrs. Ingleby 
 awoke with a start. 
 
 ''Matilda," went on Mr. Ingleby, "the 
 book you have on your lap is, I see, Bax- 
 ter s ' Saints' Eest.' If you will sleep after 
 dinner on the Sabbath-day, I think you 
 might do so without having that volume be- 
 fore you. It is an insult to the good man 
 who wrote it." 
 
 "I — I was not sleeping ! " — said Mrs.
 
 134 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Ingleby, letting Baxter fall to the ground in 
 her confusion. 
 
 *' You are, at any rate, awake now, and in a 
 condition to attend to what I shall say. Per- 
 haps you can tell me, Matilda, when that man 
 whom you invited here intends to go away ?" 
 
 " Wh — what man ? " — asked Mrs. Ingleby. 
 
 " What man ? That man Morton, of course. 
 He has been here, it seems to me, too long 
 already." 
 
 *'Why, he only came yesterday!" — expos- 
 tulated Mrs. Ingleby. 
 
 " That is not to the point. I do not care 
 when he came. I asked you when he was 
 going away. He is not a fit companion for 
 my nephew, as I have told you all along." 
 
 Arthur Lynn, it may be noted, was always 
 ' my nephew ' to Mr. Ingleby now. He had 
 always been ' your nephew ' before. 
 
 " Why, what harm do we know of Mr. 
 Morton ? " — asked Mrs. Ingleby. " You re- 
 member you told me, when I told you I 
 thought he was getting fond of dear Gerty, 
 that your objection to him was that he went
 
 SUNDAY AT SPRAYTON. 135 
 
 to sea. And yoii know how lie left it, just 
 because he thought that would please you, 
 and is never going to sea any more." 
 
 "Please me!" — exclaimed Mr. Ingleby. 
 " How, I put it to you — how can such con- 
 duct as his please any right-thinking man ? 
 No sooner had he ^ left the sea,' as you call it, 
 than he gave up all work of any description. 
 He has wasted his money on the purchase 
 of this vessel, in which he insists on sleeping 
 every night, like a — like a smuggler !" 
 
 This climax left Mrs. Ingleby prostrate, and 
 her lord resumed. 
 
 " And there is that girl, whom you have 
 chosen as an associate for your daughters — " 
 
 " Miss Arden ? — Why, what is there wrong 
 with her ? " 
 
 " I do not wish to judge her with undue 
 severity. But she is, I fear, a dangerous 
 young woman. She seems to me to be with- 
 out Eeligion ; and to be given over to Friv- 
 olity and Vanity. She is extravagant in her 
 dress. And she has picked up a way of 
 speaking on serious things of which I cannot
 
 136 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 approve. I was strongly inclined to rebuke 
 her for it at the dinner-table to-day. It is 
 most unseemly." 
 
 *'Do you know" — said Mrs. Ingleby — "I 
 think that Arthur may possibly be fond of 
 Miss Arden ? " 
 
 " That is madness," said Mr. Ingleby, with 
 curt indifference. 
 
 " Why should it be madness ? She is very 
 clever, and I'm sure she has the most lovely 
 dark eyes ! " 
 
 " How can my nephew possibly be in love 
 with a woman whom he never saw in his life 
 until yesterday ? You have been dreaming, 
 Matilda. You are continually making dis- 
 coveries of this kind — mares' -nests I might 
 caU them." 
 
 " I am not dreaming," said Mrs. Ingleby. 
 "And he has met her before. He knew her at 
 Leipsic — Caroline told me so." 
 
 ''What!"— gasped Mr. Ingleby. ''Knew 
 her at LeijDsic ! Think what you are saying ! " 
 — and he stood as if deprived for the mo- 
 ment of further power of speech.
 
 SUNDAY AT 8PRAYT0N. 137 
 
 " Oh yes," went on Mrs. Ingleby, pursuing 
 her advantage — " and do you know, I think 
 Miss Arden must be the very same young 
 lady that Mr. Stronach used to write about — 
 she that was seen with Arthur everywhere, 
 you know. Would not that be such a strange 
 coincidence ? Caroline thinks so. She told 
 me that, too." 
 
 " I tell you it is impossible !" — cried Mr. 
 Ingleby, in a frenzy of emotion that would 
 have brought apoplexy on a stouter man. — " I 
 tell you it cannot be ! " 
 
 " You don't need to shout at me, I'm 
 sure," said Mrs. Ingleby. " I thought you 
 would have been glad to hear it. She will 
 have lots of money, being an only child ; and 
 poor Arthur, you know, has none." 
 
 " That is not the point !" — vociferated Mr. 
 Ingleby, while his wife looked on in mild 
 alarm. ^' Such a thing would be my nephew's 
 ruin. I tell you it is not to be thought of, 
 and I trust you will never refer to it again." 
 
 " Why, you said the very same thing about 
 .(Arthur and Gertrude — when you sent him
 
 138 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 away to Germany. Oh dear, how I wish you 
 had never done that ! The poor boy is looking 
 so pale and thin ! I am quite sorry for him. 
 And if he had not gone there, I'm sure he 
 would have taken the scholarship." 
 
 "The scholarship!" — repeated Mr. Ingleby 
 — "that is nothing! — nothing at all!" — and 
 the expression of his face was such that Mrs. 
 Ingleby durst not ask him the meaning of 
 this extraordinary statement. 
 
 For some time Mr. Ingleby paced up and 
 down the room, muttering to himself at in- 
 tervals. 
 
 "That would be terrible!" — he said at 
 length, pursuing the train of his reflections — 
 " terrible ! He must leave this at once. I 
 will write to Macritchie to-night — that is," 
 he added, correcting himself — " the first thing 
 to-morrow morning."
 
 BY THE 8EA. 139 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BY THE SEA. 
 
 The following days passed very pleasantly 
 for all at Laurel Bank — for all but Mr. 
 Ingleby. Mr. Ingleby had come to Spray- 
 ton for the purpose of taking a holiday. 
 A holiday was a painful thing to him at the 
 best of times. It seemed an insult to his 
 intelligence that he should be expected to 
 moon about the woods, and loaf along the 
 shore. His heart was in Shawkirk, at the 
 Works ; the daily bulletins from which lent, 
 as a rule, the one feature of interest to his 
 villeggiatura. 
 
 But on the occasion of this present holiday, 
 Mr. Ingleby had a subject of interest more 
 engrossing, and at the same time less agree- 
 able, than the daily bulletins. This was the
 
 140 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 conduct of the guests now under his roof. 
 The result of his wife's revelations had been 
 to make him watchful of things to which he 
 had never given the smallest heed before. 
 He watched Miss Arden and his nephew ; but 
 could see nothing in their manner towards 
 each other to show that they had ever been 
 more than friends. He watched Morton and 
 his daughter, and perceived — or thought he 
 did, for Mr. Ingleby admitted to himself his 
 fallibility in such matters — that Morton was 
 paying those attentions to Gertrude which a 
 young man pays to the girl with whom he 
 is in love. He was aware that his wife had 
 given Morton a certain degree of encourage- 
 ment. What his daughter's feelings were he 
 did not know ; but he wished very much 
 that Morton would go away, and that Miss 
 Arden had never come. 
 
 Morton, however, showed no signs of going. 
 His movements, it appeared, depended on 
 those of Arthur Lynn. He talked of making 
 a cruise on the West Coast of Scotland in 
 his yacht, with Lynn for a companion. Mr.
 
 BY THE SEA. 141 
 
 Ingleby did not intend that his nephew 
 should go on any such voyage. According 
 to his ideas, the sooner Lynn took up his 
 new w^ork at Shawkirk, the better it would 
 be for all concerned. That would withdraw 
 the young man from the dangerous influence 
 of Miss Arden. It would deprive Morton of 
 a pretext for prolonging his stay at Laurel 
 Bank. 
 
 Mr. Ingleby, in those days, laboured under 
 a strong sense of personal ill-usage. The 
 time for his ' English journey' was rapidly 
 drawing near. He had set out on this 
 journey on the same day of the same month 
 for the last twenty years. Must the sacred 
 routine be broken through because of mere 
 matters of sentiment? Must he choose 
 between neglecting his business, and leaving 
 those dangerously-assorted guests under a 
 supervision no wiser than his wife's ? It 
 was not a pleasant holiday for Mr. Ingleby. 
 
 One day followed another, and still Lynn 
 put off going to his uncle, as Gertrude had 
 advised him to do. Her counsel had at first
 
 142 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 seemed to him good. But as he considered 
 it, one objection started up after another, 
 and inclined him to delay. Then, on a 
 certain morning after breakfast, Mr. Ingleby 
 took him aside, and showed him a letter from 
 Mr. Macritchie. The letter stated that Mr. 
 Lynn might come to Shawkirk as soon as 
 he pleased ; that his pupils were ready for 
 him ; and that every arrangement would be 
 made to suit his comfort. Mr. Ingleby 
 certainly gave Lynn to understand that, in 
 his opinion, there should be no delay in 
 taking up his new duties. But he did so 
 without the stern insistence to which his 
 nephew was accustomed. Lynn could not 
 but think his uncle changed, and for the 
 better. He had dropped his use of the 
 imperative. He seemed to shrink from say- 
 ing anything that might wound Lynn's feel- 
 ings, by making him suppose that his presence 
 at Laurel Bank was no longer desired. 
 And this encouraged Lynn to postpone the 
 day of his departure. 
 
 "I shall go, of course," he said. "This
 
 BY THE SEA. 143 
 
 tutorship, uncle, is not what I had looked 
 forward to. But beggars have no choice 
 in these matters. Only, I think I'll put 
 off going for a day or two, if you don't 
 mind." 
 
 " Life cannot be one long holiday, Arthur," 
 said Mr. Ingleby. 
 
 "I have found out that already. But I 
 think one is the better of a short holiday, 
 now and then. And I have really been 
 working hard — though my work has not 
 been successful." 
 
 " I do not question that," said Mr. Ingleby ; 
 and this way of alluding to the lost scholar- 
 ship took Lynn by surprise. Now was the 
 time, he thought, to act on Gertrude's ad- 
 vice. His uncle seemed to be in what was 
 for him a melting mood ; and the opportun- 
 ity was too good to be lost. But the first 
 mention of London worked a total change 
 in Mr. Ingleby's manner. He stiffened al- 
 most visibly, and his face became stern and 
 resolved. His remarks on metropolitan life 
 and manners were such that Lynn felt it
 
 144 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 would be quite useless to argue the matter 
 further. So he abandoned the project ; and 
 with only a modified disappointment. He 
 had never relished the idea of asking pecu- 
 niary help from his uncle. And by this 
 time he was becoming reconciled to Laurel 
 Bank, with Camilla Arden as an inmate. 
 He had for the present no wish to go away, 
 either to Shawkirk or anywhere else. 
 
 Camilla's manner towards him had changed, 
 yet it still perplexed him. There was a re- 
 serve in its frankness, and a shy gracious- 
 ness in its reserve. The ' society' air with 
 which she had at first received him, passed 
 gradually away, during days spent in sailing 
 on the frith or gypsying in the woods. She 
 no longer seemed to ignore the past, by treat- 
 ing him as an acquaintance of yesterday. But 
 neither did she make the faintest allusion to 
 what there had been between them. 
 
 Why was it that he never, by any chance, 
 found himself alone with her ? It seemed 
 a matter of course that, in their walks, 
 Morton should go off with Gertrude, and
 
 BY THE SEA. 145 
 
 leave him between Caroline and Camilla. 
 He could not make out whether this was 
 by accident or design. 
 
 Of one thing he was certain, that his feel- 
 ings towards Camilla had undergone no change. 
 He had never blamed her in his thoughts for 
 the unfortunate issue of their Leipsic romance. 
 No choice had been left her ; she had only 
 done her father's bidding ; she had been the 
 victim of his sordid, selfish views of life. 
 Nor would Lynn's indignation against Mr. 
 Arden have been so keen as it was, if only 
 that gentleman had treated his proposal in 
 a serious spirit. He freely owned that he 
 himself, from the social and pecuniary point 
 of view, was not such a suitor as Mr, Arden 
 had a right to expect for his daughter. But 
 Mr. Arden might have said so without mak- 
 ing his answer an insult. He might at least 
 have listened, even if, after listening, he had re- 
 fused. Had he done so, Lynn would have 
 felt himself bound in honour to give up his 
 suit there and then. Mr. Arden might with- 
 
 VOL. L K
 
 146 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 out much difficulty have drawn such a pro- 
 mise from him; he would have asked but 
 one last interview with Camilla, and bidden 
 her farewell for ever. So he told him- 
 self. But Mr. Arden had not thought it 
 worth his while to demand any such pro- 
 mise. And since he had not done so — since 
 he had chosen to take up an attitude of 
 contemptuous indifference — Lynn did not 
 feel himself at all obliged to consult his 
 wishes in the matter. He looked on Mr. 
 Arden as an enemy, to be treated as an 
 enemy. The decision would lie with Cam- 
 illa. If she bade him go, then he would 
 go, and not return. If she encouraged him 
 to hope, he would never abandon the effort 
 to win her. He would say that to her, now 
 that they had been thus strangely brought 
 together. He would seize the first oyjpor- 
 tunity of telling her that he loved her still ; 
 and by her answer — given freely, as from 
 herself — he would abide. Day by day, as 
 he watched Camilla, he became more confi- 
 dent that all would, somehow, go well. Day
 
 BY THE SEA. 147 
 
 by day he awaited his opportunity. At last 
 it came. 
 
 They had gone, on a certain evening — 
 Camilla and Gertrude, Morton and himself 
 — to visit the ruins of an old castle, which 
 stand on the shore about two miles above 
 Sprayton. On the way homeward, Lynn 
 found himself by Camilla's side. Gertrude 
 and Morton had gone on in advance of 
 them. It was the first time since his com- 
 ing to Sprayton that he had had Camilla 
 to himself — that he had been able to speak 
 with her save in the presence of others. 
 Now, at least, she had not avoided him. 
 She had seemed to acquiesce in the tacit 
 arrangement which left her with him, alone. 
 
 It was a still, beautiful evening. Not a 
 leaf stirred in the windless air. Down the 
 frith, the smoke of the steamers trailed be- 
 hind them for miles in motionless, dingy 
 wreaths. Eastwards, sea and sky were veiled 
 in a heat-haze of silver-grey, through which 
 the sun-light flashed momently on the white 
 topsail of a becalmed ship, lying like a thing
 
 148 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTKR. 
 
 of phantasy amid the misty shimmer. The 
 steep cliffs which rose at the extremity of 
 the bay were duplicated with all their rich 
 tints — russet, orange and golden-brown — in 
 the sea that pulsed languidly beneath. The 
 clear, emerald water rose and sank with 
 scarcely a foam-bell along the side of the 
 sheer, rocky wall. The path was screened 
 with foliage ; and through the green lattice- 
 work the sun, now nearing the horizon, shot 
 shafts of light that reddened the tree-trunks. 
 No sound broke the stillness, save the creak 
 of oars from a fishing-boat, slowly moving 
 from the shadow of the western headland. 
 
 The calm beauty of the evening affected 
 Lynn more, perhaps, than he was aware. It 
 evoked a longing for emotion in keeping 
 with the magic of the scene and hour. In 
 his uncle's house, Camilla might seem oblivi- 
 ous of the past. But out in the summer 
 evening, in the hushed woods and beside 
 the sleeping sea, surely he would find her 
 what he had found her before their parting. 
 And yet, he scarcely ventured to speak, It
 
 BV THE SEA. 149 
 
 was to him sufficient hajDpiness to be walk- 
 ing once more by Camilla's side, amid sur- 
 roundings which recalled to him their meet- 
 ings in former days. A single luckless word, 
 he felt, might break the spell. 
 
 " Don't you think Mr. Morton almost pain- 
 fully prosaic?" said Miss Arden at last, a 
 little abruptly. 
 
 " I don't know that poetry is his strong 
 point," said Lynn ; " but he is a thoroughly 
 good fellow, for all that." 
 
 These were the first words they had ex- 
 changed since leaving the ruins of the castle ; 
 and the reference was to certain deprecia- 
 tory remarks of Morton's, in connection 
 with ancient strongholds and modern gun- 
 nery. 
 
 "Who is Mr. Morton?" said Camilla, after 
 a pause. *' He has never been properly ex- 
 plained to me. How comes it that he is a 
 sailor, and yet does not go to sea — except in a 
 yacht?" 
 
 *' You seem to take quite an interest in 
 Morton."
 
 150 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 " That is no answer to my question, Mr. 
 Lynn." 
 
 " He is a Shawkirk man. His brothers 
 have a factory there, and Morton has a share 
 in the concern. He took to a sea-faring 
 life because he liked it, not because he 
 needed to. That is his history, so far as I 
 am aware." 
 
 " Then you don't know why he has given 
 up his profession, and taken to living on 
 shore?" 
 
 " I fancy because he is tired of the sea. 
 He never gave me any other reason." 
 
 " And yet, you are such fast friends !" 
 
 "Oh, yes, we are very good friends. We 
 were at school together, and have known each 
 other ever since." Lynn was growing some- 
 what impatient of Morton as a subject of 
 conversation ; and, perhaps, let his impatience 
 appear. But Miss Arden either did not ob- 
 serve this, or chose to disregard it. 
 
 " Your cousin and he are also friends — very 
 good friends," she said. 
 
 Lynn started ever so slightly ; and, at the
 
 BY THE SEA. 151 
 
 same moment, became conscious that Camilla 
 was observing him. 
 
 "Have you — why do you think so?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " Look at them," said Camilla, " and you 
 will see." 
 
 Lynn looked at the two figures on the foot- 
 path in front. Gertrude and Morton seemed 
 engaged in very earnest conversation. Lynn 
 saw his cousin lay her hand for an instant 
 on her companion's arm ; then withdraw it. 
 The gesture made him wince. He was not 
 in love with his cousin — could not be ; and 
 therefore was, of course, incapable of jealousy. 
 But Camilla's suggestion pained him, he could 
 scarce tell why. During those last days at 
 Sprayton, he had been too deeply absorbed in 
 his own affairs to bestow much attention on 
 the affairs of other people. But he had pre- 
 viously thought it not unlikely that there 
 might be ' something ' between his cousin 
 and his friend. If the same idea had occurred 
 to Camilla, it was most probably true. 
 
 " I should not have thought they would
 
 152 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 have had much in common," said Camilla, 
 with a glance at Lynn s face which showed her 
 that she had interpreted his thoughts aright. 
 " But I suppose there is no accounting for 
 such things." 
 
 " I suppose not," said Lynn. 
 
 " Mr. Morton is no favourite with your 
 uncle," Camilla went on, — " any more than I 
 am." 
 
 " Surely you are mistaken in that ! " 
 
 " Oh, no. I don't generally make mistakes 
 in such matters. Mr. Ingleby does not like 
 Mr. Morton at all — nor does he like me. I 
 am quite sure of that. And your cousin will 
 have to know her own mind, Mr. Lynn, if 
 she means to be made happy at last." 
 
 " Gertrude generally does know her own 
 mind, I think," said Lynn. 
 
 " Then she is to be envied," said Camilla. 
 
 For some minutes there was a silence be- 
 tween them. Lynn seemed lost in thought. 
 Camilla glanced at him from time to time. 
 Of whom was he thinking ? — of Gertrude, or 
 of her ?
 
 BY THE SEA. 153 
 
 They were now crossing the sands, which 
 lay wet and gleaming from the ebb-tide, and 
 still flushed with the crimson of the after- 
 glow, for the sun had gone do^oi. Gertrude 
 and Morton had already regained the path, 
 and were lost to sight among the trees. 
 
 At last Lynn raised his head, and looked 
 Camilla in the face. 
 
 " You are very skilful," he said, " in read- 
 ing the hearts of others. Are you sure that 
 you understand your own ? " 
 
 Camilla did not answer. She had turned 
 away her head, and seemed to be gazing out 
 to sea. 
 
 " Camilla," said Lynn — and his voice soft- 
 ened as he named her name — " does it seem 
 real to you, that we should be walking to- 
 gether here, at this moment, you and I ? — 
 does it not seem to you too strange, almost, 
 to be real, as it seems to me ?" 
 
 " It does — seem strange," the girl answered. 
 
 " I feel that more to-night," continued Lynn, 
 " than I have felt it since — since meeting you 
 again. I could almost fancy myself, now.
 
 154 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 walking with you in the Eosenthal or the 
 Scheibenholz — as I used to do." 
 
 " But for the sea," said Camilla. 
 
 " But for that, of course — and other things. 
 Camilla, do you remember the last time I 
 saw you, before seeing you here ?" 
 
 " Yes. It was in the foyer of the theatre. 
 You should not have come there. It was 
 cruel to me. You should have known — " 
 
 " Cruel to you ! — I did not mean that, 
 Camilla. I wanted to see you — only to see 
 you again. That was why I went there. 
 And I did see you — with your father. But 
 you did not seem to feel my cruelty much. 
 At all events, you did not show it." 
 
 "It is unjust of you to say that, or to 
 think it. You should remember how things 
 were with me, then. What could I do, 
 but—" 
 
 " Bow and pass on. I know. That was, 
 however, at least as cruel to me as it could 
 have been to you." 
 
 " I can see how you have blamed me ! 
 You have not been generous enough to make
 
 BY THE SEA. 155 
 
 allowance. You have thought me unfeeling 
 and — and false." 
 
 " No, Camilla. I have tried to think of 
 you, as well as of myself, and I have made 
 allowance. But can you wonder if I doubt- 
 ed you ? Did not you promise me, that 
 night on the river, that you would never 
 change ?" 
 
 '' Yes. I said that." 
 
 " And you promised also that you would 
 say to your father what you had said to 
 me?" 
 
 "And I kept my promise. But he would 
 not listen. He made light of all I said, until 
 he saw that I was in earnest. Then he 
 reasoned with me." 
 
 ** And converted you to his views ? — you 
 don't answer, Camilla. Whatever you say, I 
 shall not seek to blame you. But at least 
 let there be truth between us, if there be 
 nothing else ! Did you agree with your 
 father when he said I had no right to speak 
 to you of love, because — because I was 
 poor i
 
 156 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 " One may have to obey, without agreeing." 
 " Camilla," said Lynn, " let me say this 
 to you. If you loved me then, no one — not 
 even your own father — had a right to come 
 between us. If you love me now, no one has 
 that right. I shall take my answer only from 
 you. By a word you can bind me to you, or 
 by a word you can send me away. ... I had 
 made up my mind to say this to you, if ever 
 I met you again. Now that we have met, 
 by this strange chance, you will give me 
 an answer — will you not ?" 
 
 They had now left the sands, and were 
 following the path which skirted the bay. 
 The tide had turned, and a chill wind, bring- 
 ing the mist with it, had set in from the east 
 with the beginning of the flow. A red light 
 still burned low in the west ; but the soft 
 flush had changed to an angry glow. The 
 red light rested for a moment on Camilla's 
 face, and the wind played freely with her 
 dark hair. It seemed to Lynn as if her 
 beauty changed, in some subtle way, with the 
 changes of nature. He thought there was a
 
 BY THE SEA. 157 
 
 spiritual, ' sky-commercing' look in her eyes, 
 such as he had never seen there before. 
 
 "Yes," she said — and her voice was very 
 low — " yes. Since you have asked me, I will 
 answer." 
 
 "Then, tell me, Camilla — I know you 
 loved me then. Do you love me now ?" 
 
 " I have always loved you," said Camilla ; 
 " I have not changed." She looked him 
 bravely in the face ; and he caught her to his 
 heart. For a moment she allowed her head 
 to rest on his shoulder, 
 
 "My darling!" he cried. "Had I been 
 rich, I could never have known you loved me 
 as I do now. Now I know that you love 
 me for myself — as I love you for yourself, 
 alone!" 
 
 The girl shivered, and shrank back from 
 him as he spoke. 
 
 "Camilla!" he cried in quick alarm — "had 
 you forgotten that I was poor ? Has this 
 horrible poverty thrown its shadow over us 
 again ? The very word frightens you. I can 
 see it I"
 
 158 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 " How can you think so of me, and yet 
 say you love me ? Will you not believe me 
 when I tell you that I care for you — only for 
 you ? It is not that ! — If only papa had not 
 spoken as he did ! All would have been so 
 different ! — Arthur," she cried passionately, 
 " will you believe this — now, always, what- 
 ever happens — that I loved you for yourself? 
 — that whatever I did I did for the best — the 
 best for you as well as for me ? Arthur, will 
 you promise me to believe this ?" 
 
 " Promise to believe that you loved me 
 for myself? Why, what else could you love 
 me for? I don't understand you, Camilla." 
 
 " Why do you speak in that way about 
 your poverty ? — as if you were certain to be 
 always poor ? I know — that is, I don't see 
 why you should. Besides, you are no poorer 
 now than you were at Leipsic — and you never 
 spoke of poverty then !" 
 
 " Your father had not spoken of money 
 then. Besides, as it happens, I am poorer 
 
 now\'^ 
 
 You seem to have lost confidence in your-
 
 BY THE SEA. 159 
 
 self. I remember liow hopeful you used to 
 be ! — what ambitions you used to tell me of ! 
 And there was none of them beyond you, 
 Arthur!" 
 
 "Alas!" said Lynn; "you don't know the 
 end of all my ambitions !" 
 
 "Yes, I do. Gertrude told me all about 
 it. About Shawkirk, and your uncle's plans." 
 
 " That is out of the question now, of 
 course," said Lynn. " After this night I am 
 not going to Shawkirk. , . . Yes, Gertrude was 
 right. I must go to London. ... I have still 
 to win you, Camilla, I know that. I must be 
 near you, and I must make my way." 
 
 " Did Gertrude advise you against going to 
 Shawkirk?" 
 
 " She did. And now I shall follow her 
 advice." 
 
 " Not if you want to please me, Arthur. . . . 
 If you care to make me happy, you will go to 
 Shawkirk — you will do as your uncle wishes. 
 It need not be for long. Say that you will 
 go!" 
 
 " You know I would do anything to please
 
 IGO MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 you — but why would you have me go 
 there?" 
 
 Camilla did not answer for a moment. 
 Then she said : — 
 
 "You will meet papa at Shawkirk, Arthur." 
 
 "AtShawkirk?" 
 
 " Yes. He is going there, soon, to give an 
 address, about politics. ... I know he regrets 
 what he said to you. If he asks you to 
 forget it, you won't be — revengeful, Arthur ? 
 You will meet him half-way, for my sake ?" 
 
 '* But why should your father wish me to 
 forget what he said at Leipsic ? Why should 
 he want to meet me half-way? What has 
 happened since then to make any difference 
 in him — or in me ? " 
 
 There was a pause ; then Camilla said, in 
 a low voice, and speaking as if with an 
 effort : — 
 
 " I can't explain it to you, Arthur ; but 
 papa can. Won't you trust me so far ? — 
 won't you do this little thing for me ? — Be- 
 lieve me, Arthur, he does regret the things he 
 said ; I know he does. He wishes you to
 
 BY THE SEA. 161 
 
 become his friend — and you will, Arthur, 
 won't you, for my sake ?" 
 
 " Whatever I can do, without being untrue 
 to myself, I shall do to win you, Camilla. I 
 don't say that I understand you, but since 
 you wish it, I shall go to Shawkirk. I won- 
 der where I would not go, if you bade me !" 
 
 " And by-and-bye you will come to London, 
 and all will be well ! Then you will under- 
 stand why I wanted you to go to Shawkirk ! 
 — And now, Arthur, there must be no more 
 talk of money between us. After all, you are 
 not the Squire of low degree, and I am not 
 the King's Daughter of Hungarie ! " 
 
 She looked up at him with a smile ; but 
 Lynn saw how pale her face was and that 
 there were tears in her eyes. 
 
 " My own love !" he said. " Think no more 
 about those last days at Leipsic. I see how 
 the remembrance of them pains you. I shall 
 never speak of them again. Why do you 
 allow the thought of them to vex you so ? " 
 
 The hand she had laid on his arm was 
 trembling ; and she held down her head. 
 
 VOL. I, L
 
 162 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTEK. 
 
 " Arthur," she said, " you will not speak to 
 — to anyone here of what has passed between 
 us ? Until you have been to Shawkirk, and 
 seen papa, that will be best, will it not ? — and 
 you will do as your uncle wishes, and go from 
 here at once ? " 
 
 " But not while you remain !" said Lynn. 
 
 " I am going — almost immediately. I had 
 a letter from papa this morning ; he wishes to 
 have me at home. So, you see, w^e shall very 
 soon be separated." 
 
 ''But not for long!" said Lynn. "Ah, 
 Camilla, who shall say it was Chance that 
 brought us together again ? " 
 
 To this, however, Camilla made no reply ; 
 nor did she speak many words in answer to 
 her lover, as they made their way back to 
 Sprayton through the now fast-thickening 
 mist. Had Lynn thought of it at all, he 
 would have told himself that happiness made 
 her silent. But he did not think of it. 
 
 His own happiness was complete. Even 
 under the spell of those Leipsic days, he had 
 been vaguely conscious of a certain touch of
 
 BY THE SEA. 163 
 
 the fantastic in his relations with Camilla. He 
 had known that he loved her ; he had thought 
 that she returned his love. But he had 
 been unable to divest himself of the idea 
 that there was something illusory in the 
 course of their love-making. It had been all 
 too romantic, their intercourse in the foreign 
 town, under the easy conditions of a holiday 
 life. It had been a fair day-dream, to be 
 followed, perhaps, by some rude awaking. 
 But now, after what had passed between 
 them on the Sprayton shore, he thought 
 diflferently. There had been an earnestness 
 in Camilla's words, still more in her manner, 
 which made him, somehow, feel surer of her than 
 he had ever done before. Looking back over 
 that Leipsic chapter of romance, he fancied 
 that they had been, in a manner, only playing 
 at love. But now and henceforth, their love 
 was and would be a serious thing. The story 
 had become real, now that it had been broken 
 off and taken up again. 
 
 Yes. He would go to Shawkirk, and at 
 once. It would not do to idle away his time.
 
 164 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 while Camilla was yet to be won. He must 
 certainly be up and doing. . . . Shawkirk, it was 
 true, did not promise much in the way of a 
 future. But it would be a first step to Lon- 
 don. Even if nothing came of that meeting 
 with Mr. Arden, on which Camilla had seemed 
 to lay so much stress — and Lynn did not see 
 that much could come of it — still there was 
 his uncle to fall back on. And Mr. Ingleby 
 would no doubt be more willing to lend him 
 a helping hand afterwards, if he yielded to his 
 wishes now. 
 
 Mr. Ingleby was equally surprised and 
 gratified when, next morning, his nephew 
 announced his intention of leaving for Shaw- 
 kirk that very day, and at once taking up his 
 new duties. His surprise and gratification, 
 however, were sensibly lessened when his 
 wife informed him that Miss Arden had re- 
 ceived a letter calling her home, and would 
 take leave of them on the morrow. 
 
 This was the letter which Miss Arden had 
 received : — " My dear Camilla, Don't you think 
 you have been with these people long enough
 
 BY THE SEA. 165 
 
 uo\Y ? I want to see you, before going down 
 to Scotland. Mallory tells me the seat may 
 be vacant any day, and of course I should 
 have to be on the spot at once. Find out if 
 you can how Ingleby is disposed. I hope you 
 have made yourself agreeable to him, as he 
 has a lot of influence in Shawkirk. So young 
 Lynn has been there 1 I suppose there is no 
 need to tell you to make yourself agreeable to 
 him. Wire to me by what train you travel, 
 and I shall send the brougham. — Yours, Eobt. 
 Arden." 
 
 This letter was the means of breaking up 
 the party at Laurel Bank. Lynn and Morton 
 took their departure on the same day ; and 
 when Mr. Ingleby set forth on his English 
 journey, he left his house clear of embar- 
 rassing guests. But Mr. Ingleby had never- 
 theless his own causes of anxiety.
 
 166 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 THE HAPPY VALLEY. 
 
 The sorrows of the rustic whom Fate leads 
 from the country to the town have often 
 been the theme of pensive comment. We 
 all know how he pines in the city for the 
 daisied fields and willowy brooks from which 
 he can no longer escape to the village ale- 
 house. But the sorrows of the city-bred 
 youth, forced to exchange urban for rural 
 surroundings, remain without the meed of 
 a melodious tear. Yet his lot — though one 
 which might well move the compassionate 
 — is Elysian compared with life in most 
 country-towns. And when a country-town 
 happens to be a seat of manufacture, then life 
 there becomes to some men well-nigh not 
 worth living. It certainly seemed so to Arthur
 
 THE HAPPY VALLEY. 167 
 
 Lynn, that summer evening when he re- 
 turned to his birth-place. 
 
 Shawkirk is situated in a circular valley, 
 which once resembled a deep emerald cup, 
 veined with the silver of many rills. Now- 
 a-days it rather resembles a witches' cauldron ; 
 for the hills, no longer green but drab, pre- 
 vent the smoke from the town's many stalks 
 from readily dispersing ; and through the 
 dun cloud that generally overhangs the place 
 sound the rumbling and groaning of machinery, 
 the clang of the factory-bell, and the sustained 
 screech of the steam-whistle. 
 
 Smoke-blackened, many-windowed factories 
 line the banks and pollute the waters of 
 the Fala, a shallow stream which rushes 
 turbulently down the valley. The inhabit- 
 ants, for the most part, dwell in two-storied, 
 white-washed houses, all seemingly constructed 
 from the same design. These houses have no 
 gardens. No green thing relieves the eye, 
 as you walk in the fierce summer glare past 
 the blinding white walls which line the yellow, 
 dusty roadway. Shawkirk is a place from
 
 168 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 which the beautiful has been carefully elim- 
 inated. There all is modern, prosaic, ugly; 
 a symphony in soot and whitewash. The 
 churches have no architectural dignity. The 
 chief building in the town is the castellated 
 tannery of Mr. Turpie, which appeals most 
 powerfully to the pilgrim's sense of smell. 
 The only signs of the presence of art in 
 Shawkirk are the portraits of the Prime 
 Minister, which gaze at you from the shop- 
 windows as if they would stare the Toryism 
 from your heart. 
 
 The inhabitants are all Liberals, or nearly 
 all. In their youth they become members 
 of Good Templar Lodges, and parade the 
 streets wearing mystic insignia, flaunting 
 flags, and preceded by brass bands. Hav- 
 ing thus shown how needless it is for men 
 to drink beer in order to make themselves 
 ridiculous, they generally drift into other 
 courses. Instead of waving s3niibolic bunt- 
 ing on the Saturday afternoons, they gather 
 in the many bars of Shawkirk, and wax 
 sarcastic over their successors in the I. 0. G. T.
 
 THE HAPPY VALLEY. 169 
 
 The banner-bearer of yesterday outgrows his 
 love of the spectacular, and passes into the 
 scoffer and bar-haunter of to-day by a re- 
 cognised process of evolution. 
 
 In Shawkirk, the monotony of the country 
 is combined with the dirt and din of a large 
 manufacturing town. Without gaining the 
 sharpness of the city workman, the factory 
 hands have lost the grand bovine manner of 
 the uncorrupted rustic. They are quite as 
 dull as he; but their dulness is apt to bubble 
 muddily into vulgarity. When freed from toil, 
 they lounge at the street-corners, exchanging 
 badinage with one another, or sneering at the 
 wandering alien. Except the street-corner, 
 there is no place of amusement in Shawkirk. 
 
 It was evening when Arthur Lynn arrived 
 at this Happy Valley. It had been arranged 
 that he should spend his first night in Shaw- 
 kirk at Deloraine House — for such was the 
 name of Mr. Macritchie's abode — and thither 
 accordingly he was borne in Mr. Macritchie's 
 claret-coloured dog-cart, drawn by Mr. Mac- 
 ritchie's showy black mare.
 
 170 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Deloraine House was a glaring brand-new 
 mansion, built in the style known as the 
 Scottish Baronial. It stood some way out 
 of Shawkirk, in a treeless space covered 
 with ruddy gravel and blazing flower-beds, 
 and enclosed by massive iron railings, gor- 
 geous with red paint and lavish gilding. 
 
 Mr. Macritchie greeted Lynn with almost 
 oppressive geniality. His welcome conveyed 
 a suggestion of the feudal lord, receiving at 
 his castle-gates some trusted retainer ; it was 
 so grandly seignorial, so condescending in its 
 cordiality. An ample white waistcoat and 
 checked trousers seemed positive anachronisms 
 in such a man. His demeanour, his attitude 
 on the door-step at once carried Lynn's fancy 
 back to the historic past ; and he half-ex- 
 pected to hear Mr. Macritchie, with a ''Ho, 
 there. Warder ! " — command his vassals to 
 let fall the portcullis. 
 
 Mr. Macritchie was a wealthy mill-owner, 
 whose favourite rdle in life was that of the 
 Fine Old Border Baron. He was stout and 
 rubicund in appearance ; gave good dinners ;
 
 THE HAPPY VALLEY. l7l 
 
 and had an idea that he should at all times 
 ply his guests with champagne. He was one 
 of those political oracles whose chosen tripod 
 is the domestic hearth-rug. The joy and 
 pride of his life was to stand with his back 
 to the fire and a glass of wine in his hand, 
 and tell you with exultant emphasis that 
 " The Eadicals, sir, have ruined the country." 
 He became very angry indeed with anyone 
 who sought to maintain a less gloomy con- 
 clusion. 
 
 Of all the Shawkirk magnates, it was 
 allowed that Mr. Macritchie lived in greatest 
 * style.' His wife and daughter took the air 
 in a barouche as resplendent as paint, varnish, 
 heraldry, and a blue-liveried coachman could 
 make it. His hall was hung with auction- 
 bought armour, and the antlers of * stags of 
 ten' which had not fallen to Mr. Macritchie's 
 rifle. The Lord of Deloraine House was an 
 ardent worshipper of the Past. To him, the 
 most sacred of names was that of one 
 'Eichie o' the Hags Muir,' who — according 
 to the Macritchie Legend — had stolen cattle
 
 172 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 extensively about the middle of the fifteenth 
 century, and whom Mr. Macritchie claimed 
 as an ancestor. Mrs. Macritchie had a 
 faith in the family Legend as implicit as her 
 husband's ; but she went beyond him in 
 claiming kinship with the neighbouring noble 
 house of Leaderdale, which traced its descent 
 from the same mythical reiver. 
 
 At dinner Lynn met only Mr. and Mrs. 
 Macritchie and their daughter Fanny. Mrs. 
 Macritchie was a formidable person, who 
 regarded herself as the great lady of Shaw- 
 kirk ; a position to which, as she believed, 
 the length of her husband's purse and pedi- 
 gree alike entitled her. Miss Macritchie was 
 a duplicate of her mother, allowance being 
 made for the difi'erence in their years. She 
 had the same red hair, sharp shoulder-blades, 
 and cold eyes of no particular colour ; but 
 while Mrs. Macritchie's bearing was rigid to 
 all alike, Miss Fanny would at times assume a 
 languid hauteur, which she believed to be 
 peculiarly characteristic of the titled ones of 
 earth.
 
 THE HAPPY VALLEY. 173 
 
 " I am glad," said Mr. Macritchie, as Lynn 
 allowed himself to be helped to sherry, " to 
 see that you have not taken up your uncle's 
 teetotal views, Mr. Lynn — ' look not upon the 
 wine when it is red,' and that kind of thing, 
 you know." 
 
 " That would not apply to sherry," said 
 Lynn. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! very good — very good, my dear 
 sir!" — said Mr. Macritchie; while Mrs. Mac- 
 ritchie looked at Lynn with an expression 
 which he could not at first understand. He 
 afterwards, however, observed that this look 
 crossed the lady's face whenever he attempted 
 a pleasantry ; and came to the conclusion that 
 she must regard joking as a liberty not to be 
 taken by tutors. 
 
 '' Yes," continued Mr. Macritchie, '' I look 
 with grave apprehension on the progress 
 which Good Templarism is making in this 
 borough. Eadicalism and Teetotalism always 
 go hand in hand. I am relieved to think, 
 Mr. Lynn, that my sons will imbibe no anti- 
 conservative ideas from you."
 
 174 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I don't profess to teach politics — only 
 syntax," said Lynn. 
 
 " That is quite right," said Mr. Macritchie ; 
 *' I have the fullest confidence in your discre- 
 tion." 
 
 Then the conversation centred itself on the 
 subject of local politics, as it did in those 
 days at every dinner-table in Shawkirk. 
 
 "Poor old Fletcher !"— said Mr. Macritchie. 
 " He will have to resign the seat before long, 
 I fear. The doctors give him no hope that he 
 will be able to winter again in this climate. 
 And I regret it, sir, — old Fletcher was at 
 bottom a Whig. If he did no good, at least 
 he did not do much harm." 
 
 " Is there likely to be a contest for the 
 seat ?" — asked Lynn. 
 
 " I fear not," answered his host ; *' I fear 
 there is no hope for us. I believe that 
 in twenty years, sir, it will be as impos- 
 sible to find a good Tory as it will be to get 
 a good claret. (Try that, Mr. Lynn, by the 
 way. It's as old as yourself, I daresay — I got 
 it, sir, when your father's cellar was sold.)
 
 THE HAPPY VALLEY. 175 
 
 That man Arden, I suppose, will go in with- 
 out opposition." 
 
 ''You think so?" 
 
 " Yes ; he has been working for it this 
 many a day. He made some money down 
 here — in your father's time, Mr. Lynn — and 
 of late he has been paying it back. Grati- 
 tude, no doubt!" — and Mr. Macritchie 
 chuckled. 
 
 "You don't mean to say there has been 
 anything underhand, or — or unfair?" 
 
 "I simply say this, sir, that he has been 
 cooking the borough !" 
 
 "James !" — said Mrs. Macritchie warningly. 
 
 " I don't care who hears me ! I say Arden 
 has been warming this place for the last three 
 years. When he came down here first, after 
 making his pile, he was too grand to know 
 his old friends. But, bless you ! — that is all 
 changed now. I knew he must be after no 
 good, when he came off his high horse. That 
 kind of man is never affable for nothing. 
 Does your uncle mean to support him, Mr. 
 Lvnn?"
 
 176 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 "I don't know," said Lynn ; "he's not in 
 the habit of asking my advice on such 
 matters." 
 
 '' It won't look well — excuse me, Mr. Lynn, 
 but I like to be frank — it won't look well for 
 your uncle to stand by Arden. People here 
 will think it strange." 
 
 "Why should they?"— said Lynn. "I 
 don't understand." 
 
 " Well, you know, there was more than a 
 suspicion that Arden hadn't done the clean 
 thing by your father, when he was manager 
 at the Lynnfield Works." 
 
 " I never heard a whisper of that." 
 
 " No, you were too young. Your father's 
 views were not my views, Mr. Lynn, but he 
 at all events was an honest man — he really 
 did mean well. Everyone respected him, and 
 was sorry when he came to grief — at least, 
 almost everyone. But it's all nonsense, of 
 course, trying to raise the working-classes, as 
 your father did. What you have to do is 
 to give them coals and blankets. They will 
 probably pawn the blankets, and they won't
 
 THE HAPPY VALLEY. 177 
 
 be grateful for the coals. Never mind — give 
 them more. It may cool their Eadicalism, 
 and at any rate it shows you can forgive 
 them." 
 
 " You would be a wet blanket to them 
 politically, and you would heap coals of fire 
 on them morally ? " 
 
 " Ha, ha ! — very good, sir, very good ! But 
 what, I put it to you, can this London 
 speculator care for the borough ? Why, sir, 
 at any moment any foreign state may be of 
 far more consequence to him than his own 
 country. It all depends on the markets, sir." 
 
 " There is no doubt, I suppose, that Mr. 
 Arden is a very rich man ?" 
 
 " You never can tell whether or not that 
 kind of man is rich. He is merely a gambler 
 on a big scale. It is one satisfaction, of 
 course, that these men generally burst, in 
 the long-run. He has no Birth, sir" — said 
 the descendant of Eichie o' the Hag s Muir. 
 
 "I have heard, James," said Mrs. Mac- 
 ritchie, " that his grandfather was in the 
 retail line." 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 178 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 "Very likely," said Mr. Macritchie. "It 
 is terrible to think that a man of that stamp 
 should represent the Boroughs, when we might 
 have as our member such an one as Lord 
 Elvan — a young man of singular abilities, 
 an eloquent speaker, and the scion of a noble 
 house." 
 
 " And a kinsman of our own," added Mrs. 
 Macritchie. Now Lord Elvan was the eldest 
 son of the Earl of Leaderdale, the great pillar 
 of Conservatism in these parts. 
 
 " I shall regret it exceedingly," said Mr. 
 Macritchie, " if my friend Ingleby lends the 
 weight of his support to such a man. And 
 yet, it would almost seem as if such were 
 to be the case. I know he visited Arden in 
 London ; and I believe I am correct in sapng, 
 Mr. Lynn, that he has Miss Arden staying 
 with him now ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Lynn ; " Miss Arden was still 
 at Spray ton when I left." 
 
 Both Mrs. Macritchie and her daughter 
 looked at him somewhat curiously as he spoke. 
 
 "I am told," remarked Mrs. Macritchie,
 
 THE HAPPY VALLEY. 179 
 
 " that the girl has the manners of a play- 
 actress." 
 
 *' And that she is dark as a Creole," said 
 Miss Macritchie ; "Mr. Stronach told us so." 
 
 Lynn stared involuntarily at the speaker ; 
 and the contrast between Camilla's rich, dusky 
 beauty and Miss Fanny Macritchie's red hair 
 and freckles made him violently inclined to 
 laugh. 
 
 "Now, my dear sir," said Mr. Macritchie, 
 " I have a meeting to attend^a Council 
 meeting. I am the only Conservative in the 
 Council, you know, and it won't do for me 
 to be away. Make yourself at home until I 
 come back. Fanny will give you some music, 
 and I expect your old acquaintance Stronach 
 will be calling this evening at Deloraine 
 House. But first — come with me to the 
 smoking-room, and have a cigar before you go 
 upstairs." 
 
 " He's in lo'?e with that girl, jnamma," said 
 Miss Macritchie ; " I am sure of it. Did you 
 see how he looked, when we were speaking 
 about her ? "
 
 180 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 " He must be a very foolish young man," 
 said Mrs. Macritchie, " to think that he has 
 any chance in that quarter." 
 
 "He is really very good-looking," said the 
 daughter. 
 
 " He is as poor as Job," said the mother. 
 " And much too independent," she added. 
 " I told your papa that it would never do. 
 He has no true sense of his position in this 
 house. He seems quite to forget that he is 
 a Tutor." 
 
 " He must be quite off with Gertrude 
 Ingleby now, I should fancy," said Miss Mac- 
 ritchie. 
 
 " Quite," assented her mother. " Indeed, I 
 don't know that there was ever very much 
 in it. Mrs. Ingleby, poor creature, used to 
 hint at such a thing, but of course the girl's 
 father would not have allowed it — even if 
 Gertrude had wanted to make a fool of 
 herself." 
 
 " She is quite capable of it, I believe," said 
 the young lady. 
 
 " She has not your good sense, my dear,"
 
 THE HAPPY VALLEY. 181 
 
 said Mrs. Macritchie. ''And indeed, I never 
 saw what there was in her to make people 
 think her good-looking. She has no style. 
 A stuck-up thing ! " 
 
 At this point Lynn joined the ladies. 
 His appearance at once checked the flow of 
 conversation. Mrs. Macritchie had no in- 
 tention of falling into her husband's mistake, 
 and being too afiable and communicative with 
 * the tutor.' Whatever topic Lynn touched 
 upon, she was frigidly irresponsive ; and so 
 there were great gaps of silence, during which 
 the ticking of the large gilt clock became 
 painfully audible. Miss Macritchie, busied 
 over some fancy-work, seemed with difficulty 
 to restrain a tendency to giggle. Lynn 
 vowed that he would never again accept an 
 invitation to ' make himself at home ' in 
 Deloraine House. And he never did. 
 
 At last the Eev. Mr. Stronach was an- 
 nounced. Lynn had not met this divine 
 since their Leipsic days, and was somewhat 
 surprised to find him on such friendly terms 
 with the Macritchies, For Mr, Stronach was
 
 182 MY DUCATS AND xMY DAUGHTER. 
 
 a Free Churcli minister ; and Mr. Macritchie 
 professed to hold all Dissenters in abhorrence. 
 But Mr. Stronach had various points in his 
 favour. He was young, and unmarried ; 
 whereas the parish minister was a snuffy old 
 man, duly provided with a wife and family, 
 and having nothing to recommend him in 
 feminine eyes. Then Mr. Stronach, when not 
 among Dissenters, made no parade of his 
 Dissent. He resembled the great Apostle in 
 being all things to all men. He visited at 
 Mr. Ingleby's, who esteemed him highly for 
 his Sabbatarian views. He visited at Mr. 
 Macritchie's, who was accustomed to say that 
 " Stronach, sir, is at bottom a Tory." 
 
 Lynn had never liked Mr. Stronach ; but 
 now, in his conversational straits, the appear- 
 ance of the young clergyman was as welcome 
 as the flowers in May. Mr. Stronach was a 
 long, flaccid young man, with black hair, a 
 dull eye, and a damp hand. He smiled on 
 the company with seraphic superciliousness ; 
 and at that smile the ladies awoke into ani- 
 mation as the birds break into song on the
 
 THE HAPPY VALLEY. 183 
 
 advent of rosy-fingered morn. Where all liad 
 been ice and indifference, there was now 
 sweetness and sunshine. 
 
 Mr. Stronach spoke in a low, measured 
 voice, as if conscious that his words were 
 pearls of too great price to be carelessly 
 dropped on an unregarding world. He let 
 them slip from him with a tender solicitude, 
 as if himself awed by a sense of their exceed- 
 ing preciousness. 
 
 *'Ah, yes," he said; ''I fear, Mr. Lynn, 
 you will find this place very quiet, very dull, 
 after the gaieties of Leipsic. We are a staid, 
 sober people here — not like those giddy Con- 
 tinentals. It will take some little time, I 
 doubt not, before you are reconciled to the 
 change." 
 
 Lynn reminded Mr. Stronach that he had 
 been born and bred in Shawkirk, and knew 
 the manners of the place as well as Mr. 
 Stronach himself. 
 
 ''Ah, yes," said that gentleman; ''yes, it 
 is true. I had forgotten. But still, Mr. Lynn, 
 you will feel it a change. We moved in very
 
 184 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 different spheres at Leipsic" — to this state- 
 ment Lynn assented with a smile — " very 
 different spheres. But I know you had dis- 
 tractions there which you can scarcely expect 
 to meet with in Shawkirk." 
 
 Here Miss Macritchie lifted her eyes from 
 her fancy-work, and took an observation of 
 Lynn's face. 
 
 " Yet methinks," continued Mr. Stronach 
 blandly, " our Shawkirk ladies need not fear a 
 comparison with the bright butterflies of any 
 foreign city. My own experience is, Mr. 
 Lynn, that the finest and truest type of 
 female beauty is ever to be found at home !" 
 
 Here Miss Macritchie drooped her eyes, and 
 plied her needle busily. 
 
 Mr. Stronach then alluded patronisingly to 
 Lynn's duties as a tutor, predicting that he 
 would find * the dear boys' all that an in- 
 structor of youth could desire. A cushion 
 which Miss Macritchie was making for a forth- 
 coming bazaar in connection with Mr. Stronach's 
 church — and the sight of which might have 
 driven the Kyrle Society to despair — formed
 
 THE HAPPY VALLEY. 185 
 
 the staple of conversation until the return of 
 Mr. Macritchie. Thereafter the night was 
 beguiled by Mr. Macritchie's account of cer- 
 tain stirring scenes in the local senate — in 
 which, to judge from his own narrative, he 
 had himself borne the foremost part. 
 
 Next day Lynn took lodgings in the house 
 of one David Messer, who had formerly 
 been a hand in his father's employment at 
 Lynnfield. There was no need to exercise 
 choice as to locality, for the streets in Shaw- 
 kirk are all alike. And in all such houses as 
 Mr. Messer's — the houses, that is to say, of the 
 smaller shop-keepers and better-class artisans 
 — there is an apartment which is swept and 
 garnished solely to honour and delight the 
 visitor, and which is spoken of as ' the room' 
 par excellence. As ' the room' in all such 
 houses is furnished almost exactly as Lynn's 
 was, a description of that chamber comes to 
 have a kind of historic value. 
 
 There was a carpet, glowing with red and 
 yellow birds and flowers, all woven out of the 
 weaver's brain ; and a wall-paper to match
 
 18G MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 the carpet. The mantel-piece was adorned 
 with two peacock's feathers, several glossily 
 pink shells, and a few nondescript objects of 
 vertii, which made the beholder indulge in 
 strange longings for an invasion of the Van- 
 dals. The fire-place was filled with a crisp, 
 glittering material, relieved by arabesques in 
 pink and green paper. Opposite the fire-place 
 stood a ponderous chest of drawers, which had 
 such a sombre, old-world aspect, that Lynn 
 fancied it must have been hewn out of gopher- 
 wood. Atop of this relic were set a cracked 
 mirror with a tarnished gilt frame, a Family 
 Bible, and an album whose hideousness, as 
 one quickly discovered on opening it, was not 
 confined to its binding. In one corner was a 
 small book-stand with ' good books,' among 
 which were conspicuous Boston's " Fourfold 
 State," Pollok's " Course of Time," and Bo- 
 gatsky's " Golden Treasury." Art was repre- 
 sented on the walls by three German prints, 
 and by two engravings — one of Burns sparing 
 the national emblem, and the other of John 
 Knox by no means sparing Queen Mary. It
 
 THE HAPPY VALLEY. 187 
 
 may be added that there was a strong odour 
 of peppermint in the apartment, when Lynn 
 became its inmate. 
 
 The Messers, who seldom entered 'the 
 room/ associated it in a vague w^ay with 
 Church and the Sunday — partly on account 
 of the ' good books/ partly on account of the 
 peppermint — the Presbyterian incense. It 
 was a rude shock to Mrs. Messer when her 
 lodger began to re-arrange the domestic 
 shrine, stuck pipes where ornaments had been, 
 and filled the sacred chamber with tobacco- 
 smoke. Lynn used to say that he would 
 have died of this room, if he had not con- 
 trived to make a joke of it. 
 
 Sometimes L3mn was glad, in the dearth 
 of other companionship, to join his landlord's 
 family circle. Old Mr. Messer was disposed 
 at first to stand rather in awe of his former 
 master's son ; but the feeling soon wore off, 
 when he found that the young man had, as 
 he expressed it, " nae pride aboot him ava'." 
 From Mr. Messer Lynn learned more than he 
 had known before of his father's schemes, and
 
 188 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 the ruin in which they had resulted. Mr. 
 Lynn, it appeared, had, like other reformers, 
 become popular after his death. His memory 
 was honoured among the workmen of Shaw- 
 kirk. Writhing, as they pictured themselves, 
 beneath the iron heel of Capital, they looked 
 fondly back to Mr. Lynn of Lynnfield, and 
 wished that there were more like him. 
 
 To Lynn, living in the Messer household, 
 there was presented a side of Shawkirk life 
 which he had never had the chance of 
 observing before. He derived some amuse- 
 ment from studying its humours. He found, 
 for instance, that in a certain stratum of 
 Shawkirk society, poaching gives to existence 
 its sole zest, its fillip of romance. Mr. Messer 
 had two sons, Tam and Wattie, who worked 
 in Mr. Macritchie's factory by day, and went 
 to 'the water' by night. They were not 
 shy of informing Lynn that they indulged in 
 the illicit capture of fish. In their eyes, 
 no stigma attached to poaching, provided it 
 was not followed as a profession. When 
 Lynn once ventured to demur to Mr. Messer's
 
 THE HAPPY VALLEY. 189 
 
 advanced views on this question, the old 
 man mildly but firmly observed that "the 
 auld ridin' bluid maun oot." He further ex- 
 plained that the salmon was the best fish in 
 the sea; and that this, conjoined with the fact 
 of its being sent by Providence up the rivers, 
 clearly showed that man was intended to take 
 it and eat thereof. Both Tam and Wattie 
 belonged to a ^ gang,' or fraternity which 
 collected funds for the purchase of nets, 
 ' cleeks,' and tridents ; and also for an insur- 
 ance against fines, in the case of members 
 who might chance to fall into the hands of 
 the water-bailiffs. The latter were about as 
 popular in Shawkirk as care-takers in the 
 County Kerry. They were regarded as 
 pariahs by the respectable, fish-consuming 
 class ; and were generally believed to spend 
 many hours a prey to the darkest remorse. 
 
 Another object of interest to Lynn in those 
 days was an individual known as ^ the 
 Infidel.' Next to the water-bailifis, this was 
 the most unpopular person in Shawkirk. His 
 other name, if he had one, was never men-
 
 190 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 tioned ; and his precise phase of unbelief 
 must remain unknown. The Messers pointed 
 him out to Lynn with a kind of shuddering 
 awe. *' See, Mester Lynn !" — they would cry 
 — ''there he gangs! Yon's the Infidel!" — 
 and they gazed after the lonely man as if 
 they expected to see tongues of fire spurt 
 from the heels of his boots. The Infidel's 
 appearance was against him. He was a tall, 
 dark, spare man, who wore a black cloak, and 
 walked always with a swift step. As he sped 
 through the town, Lynn thought of the poet 
 in"Alastor" — the wild-eyed wanderer whose 
 coming struck awe to the hearts of the cot- 
 tagers, and from whose face infants turned 
 trembling to their mothers' bosoms. The 
 Infidel lived in a brick house outside of the 
 town. Lynn afterwards discovered that this* 
 victim of popular prejudice was a retired Post- 
 Office clerk, who had no children and did not 
 go to church — two facts which were quite 
 sufficient to give him the character he bore in 
 the estimation of orthodox Shawkirk. 
 
 Even these traits, however, failed to enliven
 
 THE HAPPY VALLEY. 191 
 
 the tedium of Lynn's life in Shawkirk. He 
 found it even drearier tlian he had antici- 
 pated. Morton, he heard, was away yachting 
 on the West Coast. Mr. Ingleby was absent 
 on his English journey. Mr. Macritchie had 
 signified that the portals of Deloraine House 
 were ever open to him ; but he felt no wish 
 again to enter there as a guest. He was abso- 
 lutely without companionship. Neither was 
 he able to find the slightest pleasure in his 
 work. His pupils, whom he endeavoured to 
 teach for five hours daily, scarcely bore out 
 Mr. Stronach's encomiums. They proved to 
 be incorrigibly lazy and irredeemably dull. 
 When Lynn, in his present surroundings, 
 thought of Sprayton, of Camilla — they almost 
 seemed parts of some beautiful, tantalising 
 dream, dreamt in an irrecoverable past. 
 
 He found himself looking forward to Mr. 
 Arden's appearance in Shawkirk, as to a 
 pleasurable interlude in this hum-drum life. 
 A meeting with Mr. Arden might lead to 
 nothing ; indeed, might never come to pass 
 at all, for the first step to it would not be
 
 192 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 taken by himself — on that he was determined. 
 But even to see Camilla's father would be a 
 kind of excitement — a welcome break in the 
 monotony of his present existence. So, as 
 the weeks passed on, he began to wonder 
 more and more when this visit was to be — 
 whether it was to be at all. 
 
 One morning, on his way to Deloraine 
 House, Lynn's doubts were set at rest. The 
 blank walls and hoardings of Shawkirk were 
 blazoned with large yellow posters ; which 
 announced that "Eobert Arden, Esquire, of 
 Copthall Court and Hartington Gardens, 
 London," on the invitation of the Liberal 
 Committee of Shawkirk, would deliver at an 
 early date an Address on ^' Tories and Turks." 
 
 Camilla's words had taught him to expect 
 great things from the visit thus publicly 
 proclaimed. He would soon know, now, what 
 the result of it was to be — if, indeed, it could 
 have any result at all.
 
 A GRATEFUL FHIEND. 193 
 
 CHAPTEK VIIL 
 
 A GRATEFUL FRIEND. 
 
 One evening — it was the evening before that 
 fixed for the delivery of Mr. Arden's Address 
 — Lynn walked up the valley towards what 
 had once been his father's works, and was 
 now his sole patrimonial possession. 
 
 As he drew near the Factory of the Future, 
 the moon rose — a red, humid disk — from 
 behind a shoulder of the hills ; and in her 
 light the shadows of the tall chimneys ran 
 out, black and definite, towards him. He 
 crossed the stream by a ricketty bridge, and 
 entered a grass-grown courtyard, strewn with 
 heaps of brick and stone and rusty iron. In 
 one corner there was a green, slimy pool; 
 and in another an old crane, with an end 
 
 VOL. I, N
 
 194 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 of chain dangling from it, rose spectral and 
 gibbet-like in the vague light. The metals 
 of the branch line of railway which had run 
 into the Lynnfield works were now red with 
 rust ; and the weeds had pushed rank and 
 thick round the rotting sleepers. The brick 
 walls of the disused factory were cracked 
 in places, and there was not an unbroken 
 pane of glass in its whole frontage. The 
 doors and windows of the Hall had been 
 boarded up, and of the flag-staff on its turret- 
 top only the stump remained. Above the 
 entrance of the Hall Lynn could read the 
 motto placed there by his father : — Labor 
 omnia vincit. 
 
 In these surroundings, Lynn's thoughts 
 at once took a fancifully saturnine colour. 
 These ruins were his heritage ; the ground 
 he stood on was his own. There was some- 
 thing romantic in the idea, but it was doubt- 
 ful whether anyone would see the romance 
 but himself. When the dispossessed heir 
 revisits the crumbling castle of his fathers, 
 he swears to win it back, and to re-gild the
 
 A GRATEFUL FRIEND. 195 
 
 old escutcheon of his line. But allusions to 
 Poictiers and Palestine would be out of all 
 keeping with a factory ; the Dispossessed 
 would have to swear, if he swore at all, by 
 his ancestral boilers and the shuttles of his 
 sires. To revive the glories of Lynnfield 
 might be a worthy ambition ; but a know- 
 ledge of elementary book-keeping would be 
 requisite in making the attempt ; and Lynn 
 knew his own deficiencies. " Had the factory, 
 now, been a tower," he thought — " the dam 
 there a moat, this girder a bit of old armour 
 — I should have been looked on with re- 
 spect. But as these walls are only tokens 
 of an attempt to do good to the people, 
 I am despised as the son of the man 
 who built them ! "Who thinks the better 
 of my poor father for all his benevolent 
 scheming ? The people here regard him as 
 having been at best a kind of gentle lunatic 
 — a man w^ho threw away his fortune for a 
 fad ! " Lynn rather enjoyed such reflections 
 as these. He thought of Eastignac in Bal- 
 zac's great novel, looking down upon Paris
 
 196 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 from the cemetery in which a martyr to 
 kindliness had been laid, and swearing that 
 thenceforth there should be war between the 
 city and him. It is true that Lynn registered 
 no such vow, as he looked down on Shawkirk 
 from the Factory of the Future. But he 
 thought to himself that it was a most ob- 
 jectionable place, especially for a poor man ; 
 and that the sooner he could get out of it 
 the better. It must be said of Lynn that 
 no reproachful feeling ever mingled with 
 his thoughts about his dead father. He had 
 heard a good deal said of Mr. Lynn of Lynn- 
 field from first to last, and little that was 
 not depreciatory. But he had never spoken 
 his mind on this subject save to one person 
 — his cousin, Gertrude Ingleby. And to her 
 he had always spoken of his scarce-remem- 
 bered father with a pity and regret that 
 were quite unselfish. 
 
 Lynn's meditations were interrupted by 
 the sound of footsteps. Turning his eyes 
 to the entrance of the court-yard, he saw 
 ^ gentleman advancing towards him, He
 
 A GRATEFUL FRIEND. 197 
 
 recognised the gentleman at once. It was 
 Mr. Arden. 
 
 Mr. Arden came forward with an easy 
 and confident step. The associations con- 
 nected with the ruined factory had evidently 
 no such effect on his mind as they had on 
 Arthur Lynn's. He did not even look around 
 him, but came forward with a pleasant smile 
 on his face. 
 
 Mr. Arden held out his hand to Lynn, 
 who feigned not to see it. Then he said, 
 in the most affable way : — 
 
 " Mr. Lynn ! I am so glad to have found 
 you. I called at your rooms, and learned 
 that you had walked out in this direc- 
 tion. So I took the liberty of following you 
 here, as I wish to have a few words with 
 you." 
 
 Mr. Arden smiled again as he said this. 
 There was something in the smile, and in 
 the tones of the musical voice, that reminded 
 Lynn of Camilla, and softened him towards 
 Camilla s father. 
 
 " You surprise me very much," he said ;
 
 198 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 '' I should not have supposed that you could 
 have anything to say to me — anything more, 
 I mean." 
 
 "You allude to our last interview, Mr. 
 Lynn, and I do not wonder at it. I am 
 aware that I showed myself then in a very 
 ungracious light. It is a painful subject for 
 both of us — more especially, perhaps, for 
 me." 
 
 " For you ? " — said Lynn. " Pardon me, 
 but I don't quite understand." 
 
 " I know that I must have seemed to you 
 then — well, let us say, curt." 
 
 '' That word will do as well as another." 
 
 "Not rude?"— said Mr. Arden ; "I hope 
 I was not rude ? That would indeed add 
 to the poignancy of my regret. But I know 
 that at our last unfortunate interview, Mr. 
 Lynn, I did show a want of consideration 
 for your — feelings. I freely own it. A man 
 at my time of life is so aj)t to be wanting 
 in sympathy with a younger man. No 
 sooner had you left me than I began to 
 regret my words. But how was my self-
 
 A GRATEFUL FRIEND. 199 
 
 reproacli increased, when I found out the 
 fact about you which is the cause of my com- 
 ing here to-night ! " 
 
 "What fact?"— said Lynn. "The last 
 time we met, Mr. Arden, I had no difficulty 
 in understanding you. But I confess I have 
 now." 
 
 " When we met in Leipsic, Mr. Lynn, I did 
 not know in the least who you were. I did 
 not find out until afterwards that you were 
 the son of one to whom I owe a great debt of 
 gratitude — Mr. Lynn of Lynnfield. You may 
 perhaps have heard that I was once manager 
 here ? " — and Mr. Arden indicated by a wave 
 of his hand the ruins around him. 
 
 " I have heard it," said Lynn, " since my 
 return from Germany. I am glad to think 
 you did not know before whose son I was." 
 
 " I did not," said Mr. Arden earnestly. " To 
 me your father was a benefactor. I owe my 
 success in life, such as it has been, in great 
 measure to his kindness and liberality. Your 
 father was a man, Mr. Lynn, whom no one 
 could know without loving."
 
 200 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I believe that is true." 
 
 '* Yes — and so it grieves me more than I 
 can say to think that I should have given 
 pain, even unwittingly, to the son of one 
 whose memory I shall always reverence. I 
 should like you to forget what has passed 
 between us. It was, believe me, the result 
 of a mistake." 
 
 " It is not easy to forget such things," said 
 Lynn. 
 
 *' You must make allowance for the feel- 
 ings of a father. I put it to you now, as a 
 man of sense and — honour, how could I have 
 acted otherwise than as I did ? I trust that 
 you will not allow the recollection of that un- 
 fortunate — episode, to prevent my numbering 
 the son of Mr. Lynn of Lynnfield among my 
 friends ?" 
 
 Mr. Arden spoke with apparent feeling. 
 Lynn had no reason to doubt his sincerity. 
 He was conciliated almost in spite of himself. 
 
 *' If I am ever to be a friend of yours, Mr. 
 Arden," he said, " you must first understand 
 that I hope your daughter may one day be
 
 A GRATEFUL FRIEND. 201 
 
 something more than a friend to me. I wish, 
 you see, to be straightforward with you, as 
 you have been with me." 
 
 Mr. Arden looked very grave. He was 
 silent for a moment ; then he said, as if with 
 difiiculty concealing his annoyance : — 
 
 " That is very right — very right, Mr. Lynn. 
 But I could have wished, I must say, that 
 you had not introduced my daughter s name 
 into our talk — at least, not now. Believe 
 me, it distresses me deeply to have to say 
 anything which might pain the son of my 
 old friend. But I must not allow my feelings 
 of gratitude to blind me to my daughter's 
 interests." 
 
 " I trust I should never ask you to do any- 
 thing of the kind." 
 
 " I know you would not ; but you and I 
 very naturally look at this matter from dif- 
 ferent points of view. I hope I am neither 
 ambitious nor mercenary in my views for 
 my daughter. I may tell you that there is 
 no one to whom I should confide her future 
 more willingly than to the son of my old
 
 202 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 master — that is, if I found he had inherited 
 his father's heart and brain." 
 
 Lynn bowed and looked gratified. He be- 
 gan to think that he had been judging Mr. 
 Arden harshly. 
 
 " But there is one thing I must ask you, 
 Mr. Lynn — which perhaps I should have asked 
 you when we met at Leipsic — What career 
 in life have you marked out for yourself? 
 What profession do you intend to follow?" 
 
 Lynn set forth his views in regard to the 
 English Bar ; and as he could not on this 
 occasion envelop the theme in the usual 
 glowing vagueness, he realised, perhaps for 
 the first time, how disagreeably indefinite his 
 prospects were. 
 
 " I think I have some power of writing," 
 he added modestly ; *' and I believe that if I 
 were once in London, I might be able to do 
 something with my pen." 
 
 " It is, of course, impossible," said Mr. 
 Arden, " that you can go on as you are doing 
 here. My daughter tells me that it was your 
 uncle who persuaded you to take this tutor-
 
 A GRATEFUL FRIEND. 203 
 
 ship. I cannot imagine what could be his 
 motive. Have you yourself any notion of it, 
 Mr. Lynn?" 
 
 " Oh yes — he really thought it would be 
 the best thing I could do, in the meantime." 
 
 " That, of course, is nonsense," said Mr. 
 Arden. '' As for the English Bar, it is sheer 
 insanity to think of that, unless one has an 
 independence." 
 
 Lynn smiled. " In that case," he said, " I 
 am afraid the Bar will have to do without 
 me." 
 
 " But you tell me you can write," went 
 on Mr. Arden. *' Well, there is journalism ; 
 and if you have your father's instinct for 
 politics, I think that would suit you. It 
 was your father who first turned my at- 
 tention to politics. There can be no doubt 
 that newspaper men at the top of the tree 
 have a position such as mere money cannot 
 command. And if you really thought of 
 journalism as a profession, I might be able to 
 give you a helping hand. You are, no doubt, 
 familiar with the name of Mr. Mallory ?"
 
 204 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Now Mr. Mallory was an author who had 
 been one of Lynn's favourite luminaries. He 
 answered that he had studied Mr. Mallory 's 
 writings, and, in particular, his Martyred 
 Humanity with peculiar interest and admir- 
 ation. 
 
 "I know Mallory well," said Mr. Arden; 
 *' we belong to the same club. He edits the 
 Forum now. It occurs to me that he may 
 be able to give you a start somehow. At 
 least, I could, if you wish, speak to him about 
 you." 
 
 " I should be only too grateful," said Lynn. 
 
 '' You will find him a fine fellow" — said Mr. 
 Arden, who liked to speak of the great Editor 
 as a ' fine fellow' — " a very fine fellow in- 
 deed. I suppose you could come to town on 
 a few days' notice ?" 
 
 '' Certainly. There would be no difficulty 
 about that." 
 
 " Very good," said Mr. Arden. " I leave 
 this place at the end of the week — I am to 
 deliver a political address to-morrow night, as 
 you may have noticed. After I see Mallory,
 
 A GRATEFUL FRIEND. 205 
 
 if he seems able to do anything for you, I 
 shall write you, and shall arrange for your 
 meeting him at Hartington Gardens — at my 
 house. You can do no good by remaining a 
 day longer than is necessary in this horrible 
 place" — and Mr. Arden looked with a face of 
 disgust on the dingy piles, the blackened 
 stalks and murky canopy of smoke that made 
 up the view of Shawkirk. 
 
 As they walked towards the town, Mr. 
 Arden conversed pleasantly, touching lightly 
 on the leading questions and statesmen of the 
 day. His tacit assumption that his companion 
 must be quite familiar with these topics had 
 the effect of putting Lynn in a good humour 
 with himself; and his opinion of Mr. Arden 
 continued to rise. 
 
 " Good-bye, my dear sir," said Mr. Arden, 
 when they had come to Mr. Messer's house — 
 " Good-bye. I hope we shall see you in Lon- 
 don before long. And as for that other mat- 
 ter of which you spoke to me — let it lie for 
 the present in abeyance. That is all I shall 
 ask of you."
 
 206 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Lynn promised to do so, and they parted 
 the best of friends. 
 
 " He talks a good deal about what he 
 doesn't understand," said Mr. Arden to him- 
 self; as he strolled leisurely in the direction 
 of his hotel ; " how few of those young men 
 know when to hold their tongues ! He has a 
 dash of his father's craziness, that is very 
 evident ; but he is, on the whole, saner. And 
 yet, I don't know — I don't know ! The idea 
 of marrying on what he can earn by his 
 pen ! — the impertinence of his innocence is 
 appalling. He has some cleverness, I can 
 see ; though he's not quite the genius that 
 Camilla makes him out. However, I might 
 have expected that. But it will do — yes, on 
 the whole, it will do. The main thing is to 
 get him up to London, and at once." 
 
 Lynn's reflections were of a somewhat 
 difi'erent cast. He felt grateful to Mr. Ar- 
 den, and more hopeful about the future than 
 he had been. The disagreeable incident at 
 Leipsic might be forgotten, now that it had 
 been explained. Mr. Arden, he thought, was
 
 A GEATEFUL FRIEND. 207 
 
 charming. There had seemed to come with 
 him a breath from the great world, in which 
 such celebrities as the author of Martyred 
 Humanity lived and moved ; and this, to 
 one who had been living in the stifling atmos- 
 phere of a narrow provincialism, was grateful 
 as perfumed gales of Araby. Lynn could not 
 but respect the man to whom the great 
 Mallory appeared in the light of a ' fine 
 fellow.' He was flattered by the interest 
 shown in him, quite as much as he was 
 surprised. And he was pleased by the way 
 in which Mr. Arden had spoken of his father. 
 The words of gratitude and respect had 
 seemed to come from the man's heart ; and 
 they quite dissipated in Lynn's mind any 
 disagreeable impression that had been left 
 by Mr. Macritchie's innuendos. 
 
 Only one unpleasant thought mingled with 
 his reflections. Had he been quite fair — he 
 asked himself — quite open and above-board 
 with Mr. Arden, as Mr. Arden had been 
 with him? He had certainly not informed 
 Camilla's father as to what had happened at
 
 208 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Sprayton ; he had found it, somehow, difficult 
 to speak to Mr. Arden on this subject as he 
 would have liked to speak. He must strive 
 to make what reparation he could for having 
 thus far been forced to act unfrankly towards 
 the generous and grateful gentleman. One 
 thing he might do in the meantime. It was 
 an open secret that Mr. Arden's address on 
 " Tories and Turks " was merely a ' feeler,' 
 preparatory to his standing for the Shawkirk 
 Boroughs, as soon as the seat became vacant. 
 He might therefore do a little amateur can- 
 vassing on Mr. Arden's behalf, among the 
 Messers and their friends. He knew that they 
 liked him, and would be disposed to listen 
 to anything he might say. With this idea, 
 he knocked at the kitchen-door, and was 
 received by old Mr. Messer with sad civility. 
 There were several strangers in the kitchen, 
 but neither Tam nor Wattie was present. 
 A serious misfortune, as Lynn knew, had 
 befallen the latter, and made a temporary 
 blank in the domestic circle. Wattie, having 
 been captured on the previous night in
 
 A GRATEFUL FRIEND. 20 9 
 
 possession of all his gear, as also of a large 
 salmon gaslied in a frightful manner with 
 the ' cleek ' — was now the tenant of a prison 
 cell. 
 
 " This is a nephew o' mine, Jimmie Laicl- 
 law frae Yetholm ways," said Mr. Messer to 
 Lynn, indicating one of the strangers ; *' an' 
 this is Calder, a frien' o' the hoose, an' yon's 
 Carr. We were jist crackin' ower the ill turn 
 things hae ta'en." 
 
 Lynn nodded, to express his sympathy and 
 condolence. 
 
 " Ye see, Mester Lynn," continued the old 
 man, ** I'm no' mysel' the nicht ava'. Ye 
 can easy understan' that it's a sair thing for 
 ane at ma time o' life tae see ane o' his sons 
 gaun sae far astray. I never thocht he'd 
 hae come to this. I think I could hae bore 
 it better gin he'd 'listed, or ta'en tae trampin' 
 wi' the tinklers — but noo, I dinna ken hoo 
 I'll ever look his auld mates i' the face 
 again !" 
 
 " I think you're taking it too much to 
 
 heart, Mr. Messer," said Lynn. " There will 
 vol. I. o
 
 210 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 be no difticulty about the fine, I suppose. 
 The whole thing will blow over in a day or 
 two, and no one will think a bit the worse 
 of Wattie for it." 
 
 "Wattie?" — said the old man, who, with 
 Laidlaw and Calder, had listened as if doubt- 
 ing whether he heard aright — " Wha was 
 speakin' o' Wattie, Mester Lynn?" 
 
 ''Why, is it not Wattie that's to be tried 
 for poaching ? I was told so." 
 
 " Wattie ? Tried for poachin' ? Aye, that's 
 richt eneuch," said Mr. Messer ; while Jimmie 
 Laidlaw and the others stared at Lynn in 
 breathless amazement. " But, Lord, that's 
 naethin'! It's little Wattie's case wad hae 
 fashed me. It's Tam — he's gane avb turned 
 a water-rat !" 
 
 '' Turned a what f " 
 
 " A water-rat, sir — a water-baillie — we ca' 
 them water-rats here, ye ken — them that 
 watches the water o' nichts, an' claps their 
 ban's on an honest lad that's takin' oot a bit 
 fish at an orra time. Hech me ! — tae think 
 that ever a bairn o' mine should turn agin'
 
 A GRATEFUL FRIEND. 211 
 
 his aiild mates, and tak tae trappin' liis ain 
 flesh and bluid !" 
 
 The matter was plain enough to Lynn now. 
 Mr. Messer and his friends looked upon one 
 of their class who became a water-bailiff much 
 as the Crusaders would have regarded a Eed- 
 Cross Knight, who had deserted to the Soldan 
 and become a Paynim Emir. Lynn sought to 
 soften down their wrath against the renegade, 
 but in vain. The mistake under which he 
 had laboured, however, in supposing that 
 Wattle's misadventure could be to them a 
 cause of shame or sorrow, restored their self- 
 complacency, and even diffused a quiet mirth- 
 ful feeling through the group. 
 
 Lynn began to speak of Mr. Arden, de- 
 livering a warm eulogy upon that gentleman, 
 and urging his hearers to be present at the 
 delivery of the address on "Tories and 
 Turks." 
 
 " Wasna' you aince near killed wi' a Turk, 
 Calder?" — said Mrs. Messer to one of her 
 guests. 
 
 *'Ay," said Calder, an engineer who in
 
 212 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 early life had made a voyage up the Mediter- 
 ranean on board a steamer — ''ay, but that 
 wasna' in Turkey, Mrs. Messer. That was at 
 a place ca'd Awthens." 
 
 " Called what f^—a^ked Lynn. 
 
 " Awthens, sir," repeated the engineer. 
 '' It's a place we touched at afore we ran 
 up the Marmora. I mind," he added, " there 
 w^as a guid shant there. That's a kind o' 
 sailors' public-hoose, ye ken." 
 
 " Awthens — ay, that's whaur Paul 
 preached," said Mrs. Messer, by way of 
 elevating the conversation in deference to 
 her lodger. But Lynn reverted to the ex- 
 cellences of Mr. Arden. 
 
 '' I'm thinkin'," observed Mr. Messer, " he'll 
 be gaun tae stan' for the Boroughs, whan auld 
 Fletcher va-cates the seat. Sandy Tennant — 
 he's jist a slater, Mester Lynn, but he's a 
 gran' han' at the politics — was sayin' sae, 
 but Sandy's no' jist a'thegither suir if he's 
 soond. I'm jalousin' it'll no' be lang or we 
 hae an election, noo." 
 
 " I'll be ower then," said Mr. Laidlaw with
 
 A GRATEFUL FRIEND. 213 
 
 animation ; " I'll be ower then, an' auld 
 Turnbull's comin' wi' me." 
 
 " He's no' gotten a vote, the spitefu' body, 
 has he ?" — asked the matron. 
 
 *' That's what I said til' him," answered Mr. 
 Laidlaw. " An' says he tae me, * No' yet, 
 the mair's the pity,' says he — ^ hut it's 
 no' ilka day ive can get tae hiss a gentle- 
 man!' I thocht it was gey an guid o' the 
 auld man." 
 
 "I'm thinkin'," said Mr. Messer, "that 
 what Tammas Turnbull disna' ken aboot the 
 politics is no' warth kennin'. Ay — we maun 
 hae him ower, to help us wi' the hecklin'." 
 
 " Sandy Tennant was sayin'," observed 
 Mr. Calder, " that Coal Eob had been wantin' 
 tae bring in Bailie Trotter for the Boroughs, 
 if Arden hadna' been comin' forrat. There's 
 some thinks, ye see, that the Bailie has mair 
 claim on us, like." 
 
 "Ay, ay! — Bailie Trotter !" — said Mr. 
 Messer. " I've heard tell he's turned a gran' 
 han' at the politics, in toun. I mind fine 
 whan he was a young man here — an' that'3
 
 214 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 mair nor five-an'-twenty years syne — he was 
 a gran ban' at the fish o' nichts. There was 
 ne'er a baillie amang them a' could get a grup 
 o' him. Mony's the braw saumon him an' 
 me's ta'en oot o' the yearl's water ! An he 
 was the cleidliest shot at the paitricks for- 
 bye." 
 
 These reminiscences seemed to create a 
 strong feeling in Bailie Trotter's favour. It 
 was as if they had shed a new light on the 
 political situation. 
 
 " I've heard tell the Bailie was a fair de'il, 
 baith at the fish an' the birds," said Mr. 
 Laidlaw. " I daursa' Sandy Tennant was 
 richt — he has mair claim on us than the likes 
 o' Arden." 
 
 ''Maybe he has," said Mr. Messer; ''but 
 we maun wait an' hear what Coal Eob an' the 
 ' Saumon lads' hae to say aboot it. I doot, 
 though, that the Bailie's turned teetotal. He 
 wasna' that aince — faur frae't ; but I've heard 
 tell that he's come to that, i' the toun." 
 
 " If," said Mr. Calder with sudden vehem- 
 ence, "if he comes here preachin' teetotalism,
 
 A GRATEFUL FRIEND. 215 
 
 I'll gang deid agin' him. I'd simer see a Tory 
 in for the Boroughs than a Teetotaler, ony 
 day!" 
 
 " Wheesht, man, Calder!" — said Mr. Messer 
 reproachfully; ''that's no' a richt way to 
 speak ava'. I ken ye dinna' mean what ye 
 say, but I canna' thole tae hear ye. I'm no 
 sayin' I'm fond o' Teetotalism mysel', but 
 there's mair nor that in the politics. Wad 
 ye see the Boroughs disgracin' theirsel's i' 
 the een o' William Ewart Gladstone for the 
 sake o' the drink?" 
 
 "Whan William Ewart Gladstone was 
 here," said Mr. Calder, " I got a shake o' his 
 han'." 
 
 " An yet ye could speak o' votin' for a 
 Tory!" — exclaimed Mr. Messer. "I got a 
 shake o' his han' mysel'," he added, and there 
 was a proud ring in his voice — " An' I micht 
 hae gotten to shake ban's wi' Mistress Glad- 
 stone tae, gin I'd been a wee thing quicker 
 forrat." 
 
 At this point the clock struck, and the 
 third stranger, who had been sleeping peace-
 
 216 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 fully during the political discussion, awoke 
 with a start. 
 
 *' I thocht that was 'shunt for fast!'" — he 
 cried, as he stared wildly around him. 
 
 *' Carr's a signalman on the railway-line, 
 Mester Lynn," Mrs. Messer explained, seeing 
 her guest's look of astonishment. " Ye'd be 
 thinkin' the clock was the bell i' your box, 
 na', Carr? — Man, ye're jist 'killin' yoursel' 
 for the want o' sleep !" 
 
 *' He'll kill mair nor himsel' yet, the way 
 he's daein'" — said Mr. Calder portentously. 
 "Ye're ower aften at the water at nicht, 
 Carr" — he added, sternly — "whan ye're on 
 the day-shift. It's no' richt — there'll be a 
 fine smash for't, some o' thae days !" 
 
 "It's no' richt," Mr. Messer concurred; 
 " man, Carr, ye're jist defraudin' the Company 
 o' your sleep." 
 
 " I can aye wauken whan the bell rings," 
 said Mr. Carr with a touch of indignant 
 pride. " I'm a licht sleeper. Nae fear o' me, 
 nor o' the trains neither !" 
 
 The Signalman and the Engineer then
 
 A GRATEFUL FRIEND. 217 
 
 entered into a technical discussion on the 
 subject of 'flying shunts;' and as Lynn did 
 not see that he could materially advance Mr. 
 Arden's cause that night, he soon after betook 
 himself to his own room.
 
 218 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE VIEWS OF MR. MALLORY. 
 
 " The fact is, Mallory, I sometimes think I 
 shall never be able to go through with it. I 
 don't understand the kind of thing they want. 
 If I did, of course I should be only too pleased 
 to say it." 
 
 " The canker of hedonism must be burned 
 out of you, Arden," said Mr. Mallory, who 
 was seated with Mr. Arden in his room at the 
 Forum office, discussing the coming election 
 at Shawkirk. " You will warm to the work 
 by-and-bye, when once you have tasted the 
 delights of successful oratory — 'wielding at 
 will that fierce democraty.' " 
 
 " I had to taste a great deal too much bad 
 wine when I was last down there," said Mr, 
 Arden,
 
 THE VIEWS OF MR. MALLORY. 219 
 
 "Ah — the port and sherry of the British 
 Philistine — I know ;" and Mr. Mallory shook 
 his head S5niipathisingly. 
 
 " I don't know how I am to hit it off with 
 those people in Shawkirk," said Mr. Arden ; 
 and he seemed lost in a rueful retrospect. 
 " It is hard on a man who only wants to 
 please them. But they ask the most singular 
 questions. They've got a slater down there " 
 — he went on plaintively — " who knows a 
 great deal more about the incidence of taxa- 
 tion, and perpetual pensions, and friendly 
 societies — and that kind of thing, than is good 
 for him — or for me." 
 
 " Wisdom crieth aloud upon the house- 
 tops," said Mr. Mallory. 
 
 "It is no matter for joking, I can assure 
 you. I wish you had to harangue them 
 yourself. I tried them with some of your pet 
 notions, you know." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " Yes — and I had invariably to mention 
 Mr. Gladstone's name afterwards to stop the 
 hissing."
 
 220 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 " The admiration for Mr. Gladstone is, I 
 know, a cult in those regions," said the Editor, 
 apparently unmoved. " It is a thing I do not 
 quite understand. I cannot reconcile it with 
 the national worship of Burns." 
 
 "Neither can I," said Mr. Ardem "But 
 look at this. When I was down there, I 
 learned that a number of these people were 
 sent to prison for poaching — " 
 
 " The neighbouring proprietors, as usual, 
 demoralising the townsmen by their pre- 
 serves?" 
 
 " That is what I said. I said there should 
 neither be preserves nor game-laws. Well, 
 somehow that did not seem to satisfy them. 
 I fancy, you know, they want the game 
 without the laws. I believe they would be 
 satisfied by the mere abolition of game- 
 keepers." 
 
 " Excuse me, Arden," said Mr. Mallory 
 with a touch of asperity, " but you don't go 
 into this election in the proper spirit. You 
 really must eschew flippancy in politics. The 
 flippant politician — as I have remarked in my
 
 THE VIEWS OF MR. MALLORY. 221 
 
 Martyred Humanity — is the gnat that stings 
 the slumbering lion of Democracy. Now, why 
 do you want this seat ? Not that you may 
 have the entry to the House's smoking-room ? 
 Nor because the letters 'M.P.' after one's 
 name are a thing to conjure with on mining 
 prospectuses ? Of course not." 
 
 Mr. Arden, hearing his motives for desiring 
 the seat thus accurately defined, said, " Of 
 course not " — with almost angry emphasis. 
 
 " That is obvious," continued the Editor. 
 " And when a man embraces politics — unless 
 he is a nobleman, or an adventurer — he must 
 be actuated by a desire to benefit his fellow- 
 citizens." 
 
 " That is perfectly true, no doubt," said 
 Mr. Arden. " It reminds me that there is 
 one of our fellow-citizens whom I should like 
 you to help me to benefit. Indeed, that was 
 my chief reason for calling on you to-day." 
 
 Mr. Mallory's countenance darkened. For 
 the first time, he did not respond promptly. 
 
 " He is a young man " — Arden went on — 
 *' rather clever, I should say. I knew his
 
 222 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 father well. He ruined himself, through phil- 
 anthropy." 
 
 " In spite of your warnings, I presume ?" — 
 said Mr. Mallory. 
 
 "Well — yes," said Mr. Arden. "He was 
 an enthusiast — one of those people, you 
 know, who are said to be too good for this 
 world." 
 
 ''It is the people who are too good for 
 this world who fill me with terror of the 
 next!"— said Mr. Mallory; "at least," he 
 added, correcting himself, " they did so, be- 
 fore I had outgrown the theological phase 
 of thought." 
 
 " Well, this young fellow wishes to get 
 money by writing, and I thought — " 
 
 " Number Forty-Nine ! " — said the Editor, 
 and he sighed deeply. 
 
 " What do you mean by Number Foi-ty- 
 Nine, Mallory ? " 
 
 " I ? — Oh, nothing — nothing at al] ! I 
 knew it was coming. Only this. Since I 
 took up this paper, a year ago, I have had 
 forty-eight Young Men of Genius introduced
 
 THE VIEWS OF MR. MALLORY. 223 
 
 to me — to provide for them. Every week 
 my dear friends bring up relays of budding 
 Fonblanques. They guide them into my 
 room — forcing the consign — and make speeches 
 about them. Generally these youths carry 
 samples of their wares with them, which 
 they lay in piles upon that table. It is 
 in vain I indicate by a glance that the 
 waste-basket is at their disposal. .It is hard 
 on the porter — but it is killing me. Does 
 your young friend happen to be Scotch ? " 
 
 " He does," said Mr Arden. 
 
 *' Ah — a large number of these youths are 
 so — fearfully and wonderfully Scotch. These 
 are a haughty race, and esteem themselves 
 so many Admirable Crichtons. Look at 
 that ! " — cried the Editor, producing a volu- 
 minous MS. from his desk — " look at that ! 
 That, sir, is the work of Number Forty- 
 Eight — a Young Man of Genius. Genius, I 
 may remark, I now define as an infinite 
 capacity for giving pains. The writing, you 
 observe, is ghastly. Parts of it are illegible. 
 These are by far the best parts. I have no
 
 224 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 doubt that the writer of this has been led 
 into his evil courses by some novel, in 
 which an impossible idler scribbles himself 
 into affluence. Such stories are as wild as 
 a fairy tale, or a missionary tract. They 
 are generally the work of women, who ought 
 to be forbidden by law to perpetrate such 
 pestilent trash." 
 
 ^'Why, Mallory," said Mr. Arden, "I 
 thought you were a staunch upholder of 
 Woman's Eights ? " 
 
 " Of course I am. I believe that, were 
 the other professions thrown open to women, 
 they would scribble less — and that is in itself 
 a sufficient reason for their emancipation. 
 There are certain characters in fiction on 
 which a duty should be levied. And I should 
 allow no female fictionist to introduce the 
 young successful author, without paying the 
 heaviest of all such imposts." 
 
 " So the long and the short of it is, that 
 you can't give young Lynn a trial ?" 
 
 *' Not as a writer. He would not suit me 
 at first, unless he were the verv blue dahlia of
 
 THE VIEWS OF MR. MALLORY. 225 
 
 journalists. And, of course, I have no time to 
 form him. But I might do this for him — 
 your young friend, I think you said, is from 
 the North?" 
 
 ^'Yes. From Shawkirk." 
 
 '' Ah ! — The promising son of a prospective 
 constituent ?" 
 
 Mr. Arden did not seek to improve on this 
 theory of his motives. 
 
 "Is the young man ambitious?" — the 
 Editor went on. 
 
 " I don't know. I suppose he is. At any 
 rate, he wants very much to come to London." 
 
 "Not an uncommon trait," said Mr. Mal- 
 lory. "Well, I can do this for him — solely 
 on your account, Arden. One of my sub- 
 editors has broken down — night- work, you 
 know ; eyes and lungs, and that kind of 
 thing. Of course, if this were known, I 
 should be at once deluged with applications. 
 Now, I don't mind giving this young man 
 a trial at poor Wicks's desk, if that will be 
 of any service to you in your candidature. 
 And as for the young man himself — if we suit 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 226 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 each other, and he can do the work, and 
 stand it out for a few years, and is adaptable 
 — he may rise eventually to a fair position." 
 
 " I suppose that will be the best thing 
 for him," said Mr. Arden, a little doubtfully. 
 
 '' Certainly," said the Editor ; " certainly. 
 It is much better, indeed, than he has any 
 right to expect." 
 
 " Well — you might dine with me on Thurs- 
 day of next week, and I shall ask Lynn to 
 meet you. You won't object to that, I sup- 
 pose ?" 
 
 The apostle of social equality looked as if 
 he objected to it very strongly. He did not 
 wish to dine with his sub-editor about to be. 
 He would sooner have dined with a bishop — 
 much sooner, indeed. Before, however, he 
 could impart an air of realism to the fiction 
 of a prior engagement, Mr. Arden had added 
 that he would also meet at his table an 
 Anglo-Indian millionaire, who had an intimate 
 knowledge of Indian affairs. 
 
 " I shall be very glad to meet your — ah — 
 young friend," said Mr. Mallory. " And your
 
 THE VIEWS OF MR. MALLORY. 227 
 
 Anglo-Indian," he added, "may, perhaps, be 
 able to augment the facts on which I base 
 my contention that we ought to abandon 
 India, at once and for ever." 
 
 " Very likely he may," said Mr. Arden. 
 " Then we shall see you on Thursday" — and 
 the Editor took up his pen as his visitor 
 departed. 
 
 The gentleman whom Mr. Arden had thus 
 approached in Lynn's interests held a high 
 place in the world of letters. He was the 
 most eloquent and thorough-going of icono- 
 clasts. He maintained that England was at 
 present an Inferno, in which a few men clad in 
 purple and fine linen surveyed from a safe 
 height the suffering myriads beneath. By 
 repeating that this country was a very bad 
 place, he had made it a very pleasant place 
 for himself to live in. He was regarded as a 
 singularly earnest reformer ; and it is ques- 
 tionable whether he would have been led to 
 give up his political projects even by per- 
 mission to carry them into effect. His love 
 of the working-classes was apparently dis-
 
 228 i\lY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 interested, for none of tliem ever read any 
 of his books, which were studied only by the 
 classes he denounced and despised. He 
 prided himself, and with justice, on being 
 a practical man. Had he met the father of 
 Hamlet on the moon-lit terraces of Elsinore, 
 he would at once have begun mentally to 
 draft a bill for extending the franchise to 
 ghosts, and the hours of polling to cock- 
 crow. He wrote vigorously, often brilliantly; 
 his words being at times tipped with a 
 peculiar, grave, exasperating irony ; and if 
 ever the shadow of a doubt flitted across his 
 mind, it was never reflected in the clear 
 mirror of his style. He had shown high 
 editorial ability ; and by dint of sheer, deft 
 crotchetiness had made his paper both an 
 influential political organ and a financial 
 success. 
 
 Mr. Mallory was a tall, handsome man, of 
 about forty-five years of age. He had sharply- 
 cut features, which suggested the face of 
 Voltaire ; dark hair, keen bright eyes, and a 
 silvery voice. Unfortunately, he spoke in an
 
 THE VIEWS OF MR. MALLOEY. 229 
 
 affectedly indijQferent manner ; and this, com- 
 bined with his habit of pausing and arching 
 his eyebrows before answering a question, 
 provoked in many otherwise staid and meek 
 men a violent desire to strangle him. 
 
 Mr. Mallory went a great deal into society, 
 where he was regarded as a kind of Apollyon 
 become viveur, and was much courted and 
 admired. He never refused an invitation from 
 Dives or My Lord — if Dives were sufficiently 
 rich, and My Lord sufficiently exclusive. At 
 these entertainments, Mr. Mallory contrived 
 to put a strong curb on his ethico-political 
 feelings, and surveyed the silver, the liveries 
 and the flowers without so much as murmur- 
 ing a ^a ira. He professed to hold the 
 Philistines and their vulgar pomp in equal 
 horror and contempt ; but, when it suited 
 him, could be ' eyeless in Gaza.' He had, 
 indeed, a wonderful gift of modulating his 
 manners and conversation to the society in 
 which he found himself for the time being. 
 His favourite style, however, was that of a 
 Tribune of the People, in whom roughness had
 
 230 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 become brusquerie, and who let a certain dis- 
 regard for the conventional appear in the 
 plainness of his language and the dictatorial 
 expression of his opinions. 
 
 At Mr. Arden's table Mr. Mallory was a 
 frequent guest. Mr. Arden gave good dinners, 
 and passed for being rich. His banquets, 
 however, were not so Lucullan, nor was his 
 fortune so colossal, that these things alone 
 would have brought the Editor of the Forum 
 at such frequent intervals to Hartington 
 Gardens.
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 231 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 A FEW days after the delivery of the address 
 upon '' Tories and Turks," and the departure 
 of Mr. Arden for London, Arthur Lynn re- 
 ceived a letter from that gentleman, stating 
 the result of his interview with the great 
 Editor. '^ A chance such as this," Mr. Arden 
 wrote, " may not occur twice in a lifetime. 
 An opening on the staff of the Forum is 
 quickly and easily filled up. I should recom- 
 mend you, therefore, to leave Shawkirk at 
 once, and make sure of an appointment which 
 to many men would seem so desirable." 
 
 The receipt of this letter filled Lynn with 
 an almost ecstatic joy. He wished to shake 
 the dust of Shawkirk there and then from the 
 soles of his feet, No mode of conveyance
 
 232 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 hitherto invented would have been sufficiently 
 rapid to meet . his desires. He pictured to 
 himself the office of the Forum besieged by 
 swarms of hungry applicants, and the great 
 Mallory holding them at bay, waiting for him, 
 Arthur Lynn — yes, positively, for him ! Had 
 he been free to consult his own wishes, he 
 would have started for London by the next 
 express. That, however, was scarcely pos- 
 sible. 
 
 Mr. Macritchie offered no objection to his 
 going ; was sorry to lose the services of so 
 able a tutor for his sons, but would not stand 
 in the young man's light. He looked very 
 grave, however, on hearing the name of Mr. 
 Mallory's paper, which he described as " a vile 
 organ, sir ; a vile Eadical organ, — the sworn 
 foe of our most cherished institutions." Per- 
 sonally, he wished Lynn well ; but could 
 not congratulate him on such a start in 
 life. He concluded by filling up a cheque ; 
 which was of more consequence to Lynn at 
 the moment than Mr. Macritchie's advice or 
 opinions.
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 233 
 
 Lynn next went to the Victoria Dye- 
 Works. He learned, at the counting-house 
 there, that his uncle was still in the North of 
 England, but was expected to return to 
 Sprayton at the end of the week. " I shall 
 write to him there," thought Lynn, "from 
 London — that will do just as well." Dick 
 Ingleby, for whom he inquired, was out ; 
 he was nearly always out, the cashier said. 
 Lynn was thus denied the satisfaction of 
 bidding his cousin good-bye. For this, how- 
 ever, he felt no very poignant regret. 
 
 On his last day at Shawkirk, Lynn became 
 almost reconciled to the grimy monotony of 
 the place. There was something characteristic, 
 he felt, in its utter want of the beautiful. He 
 would not have had the chimneys belch out a 
 less dense and murky cloud, nor the stream 
 run a less purple and malodorous course. 
 Shawkirk would be unique, impressive, 
 Dantesque — to look back upon. 
 
 He had no farewell visits to make, before 
 taking his departure. Mr. Lynn of Lynn- 
 field had once been a great man in. the
 
 234 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 borough ; but the Shawkirk capitalists had 
 consistently turned the cold shoulder to- 
 wards Arthur Lynn, the heir of his father's 
 misfortunes. In the absence of his uncle's 
 family, he had not a friend in the place — with 
 the single exception of the Messers. 
 
 The Messers, indeed, were sincerely grieved 
 by the departure of their lodger. They felt 
 that he was going far away, very far — farther, 
 in a sense, than even New Zealand or Mani- 
 toba. Neighbours of their own who had 
 removed to those regions had sent home let- 
 ters and newspapers to their friends, which 
 proved them to be at any rate still alive. 
 But London ! — when once a man went thither 
 he was lost, swallowed up for ever ; he became 
 a memory and nothing more. On Lynn's 
 last night in Shawkirk, old Mr. Messer cast a 
 gloom over the whole circle by relating how a 
 cousin of his own had betaken himself in quest 
 of fortune to the metropolis, and had there 
 mysteriously vanished from mortal ken. 
 
 Mr. Messer and his son Wattie, now re- 
 leased from durance, accompanied Lynn to
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 235 
 
 the station next morning, bearing his port- 
 manteau between them. Their manner to- 
 wards him was mournfully affectionate ; and 
 they bade him a farewell as sad and solemn as 
 though they never thought to look upon his 
 face again. 
 
 " Ye see, Wattie," observed Mr. Messer 
 sententiously, as they left the station, '' what 
 it is tae hae siller i' your pooch, an' what it is 
 tae hae nane. I've seen the day whan auld 
 Mester Lynn had frien's by the dizen ; an' 
 noo, whan the lad's settin' aff the Lord kens 
 whaur, there's no ane to see the last o' him 
 but the likes o' you an' me !" 
 
 So little comment had Arthur Lynn's de- 
 parture from Shawkirk excited, that no hint 
 of it reached the Inglebys at Sprayton, until 
 there came a letter from Lynn himself. The 
 letter was addressed to Mr. Ingleby, and bore 
 the postmark of London. 
 
 The letter and its postmark threw Mrs. 
 Ingleby and her daughters into a flutter of 
 excitement. During the weeks that had 
 passed since Arthur Lynn left Sprayton, they
 
 236 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 had been speaking of him every day, pictur- 
 ing to themselves the dreary routine of his 
 life in Shawkirk, and hoping that it might 
 soon come to an end. Now, as it appeared, 
 it had come to an end ; but in a way that 
 seemed to them inexplicable, and made them 
 feel anxious. They knew that Lynn's hopes 
 had always pointed to London ; but he 
 had said no word to indicate a purpose of 
 going there immediately. That he should 
 have left Shawkirk thus suddenly, in his 
 uncle's absence, and without seeking assistance 
 or advice, was a thing they could not under- 
 stand. Then, he had no money, or next to 
 none — they all knew that by this time ; and 
 the thought of her nephew cast adrift almost 
 penniless in London — '* where everything, 
 you know, is so dear, and all the people cheat 
 you" — filled Mrs. Ingleby's bosom with af- 
 fright. Within half-an-hour after the receipt 
 of Lynn s letter, his aunt had seen him starv- 
 ing in a cheerless attic, and had gone with 
 him, in spirit, to the pawnbroker's, with a 
 view to pledging his watch.
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 237 
 
 Whatever Gertrude^s thouglits may have 
 been, she did not utter them. But Caroline 
 spoke out freely. Mrs. Ingleby had been 
 remarking, for about the hundredth time, 
 that she could not think what it all meant, 
 and, Oh dear! — she hoped there might not 
 be anything wrong. 
 
 " Mamma," said Caroline, " you don't need 
 to put yourself in a state. 711 tell you what 
 it means. It means that Arthur has gone off 
 after that girl — that is all." 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. Ingleby, looking 
 fearfully round the room, " you must not say 
 such things, when — " 
 
 " Oh, Gerty isn't here. I would not have 
 said it if she had been. She always did 
 keep herself to herself, but I can see that 
 she is very — anxious, about Arthur. I don't 
 think Arthur has behaved weU to Gerty, 
 mamma." 
 
 " You must not say such things, Caroline — 
 you must not indeed !" 
 
 " Why not ? Gerty has always been his 
 best friend — and all the time that English
 
 238 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 girl was here, lie had neither a word nor a 
 look for anyone else." 
 
 " She is so pretty I " — said Mrs. Ingleby ; 
 " and so clever ! " 
 
 *' Pretty ! " — said Caroline ; " she is per- 
 fectly lovely, I know that. But I don't think 
 she is true, mamma. I daresay she is in love 
 with Arthur — " 
 
 " Do you really think so, Caroline ? " 
 
 '* Yes, I do. I believe, now, that she came 
 down here just on purpose to meet him." 
 
 "How you run on, child ! The things you 
 say quite take away my breath ! " 
 
 " I can't help that, mamma. But I feel 
 sure that she has told Arthur to come to 
 London, and that Arthur has just gone. 
 That's the whole mystery." 
 
 "Oh dear !"— wailed Mrs. Ingleby— " oh 
 dear ! What will your father say ? He was 
 so pleased with Arthur for taking the tutor- 
 ship, and now this will only set him against 
 him ! " 
 
 The question. What would Mr. Ingleby 
 say ? — agitated the minds of his wife and
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTEE. 239 
 
 daughters during the next three days. Arthur 
 Lynn's letter had come on the Thursday morn- 
 ing, and Mr. Ingleby was expected home from 
 his English journey on the Saturday night. 
 They laid the letter with the London post- 
 mark uppermost on the writing-table in Mr. 
 Ingleby's room, among the rest of his cor- 
 respondence — and waited. 
 
 " Say nothing to your father about it, 
 girls " — so Mrs. Ingleby counselled her daugh- 
 ters, as the hour of her husband's arrival drew 
 near — '* say nothing to him about it, until 
 he has had his tea. It would only vex him, 
 and make him unfit to take his food." 
 
 Mr. Ingleby came by the evening boat, 
 and was met by his daughters on the quay. 
 Mr. Ingleby was, for him, in excellent spirits. 
 He had had a good journey ; trade had 
 been active ; bad debts and bills wanting 
 renewal unwontedly few. At the tea-table, 
 he entertained his family with details of an 
 enormity which had come under his own 
 notice, and which seemed to afford him the 
 liveliest satisfaction. A Bishop, somewhere
 
 240 MY DUCATS AKD MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 in the Midlands, had preached a sermon in 
 a theatre — " Yes, positively in a theatre, a 
 common play-house ! " — a scandal from which 
 Mr. Ingleby argued that the Anglican Estab- 
 lishment must be tottering to its fall. His 
 wife and daughters appeared to be hanging 
 on his words with rapt interest. In reality, 
 they were thinking of the letter which lay 
 on the writing-table upstairs. Not a word 
 had yet been said regarding Arthur Lynn 
 and his affairs. 
 
 "Have any letters come for me during 
 my absence ? " — at length asked Mr. Ingleby. 
 
 '' They are in your own room, papa," said 
 Caroline. Then Mr. Ingleby went upstairs. 
 
 Mrs. Ingleby and her daughters sat in the 
 parlour, hushed into that silence which means 
 that an explosion is expected. The minutes 
 passed ; still no sound came from the room 
 above. Then Mr. Ingleby's footsteps were 
 heard. Mr. Ingleby's manner of pacing a 
 room was an infallible index to his mood. 
 A slow step meant cogitation ; a medium 
 step, uneasiness ; a swift step, anger, or some
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 241 
 
 other strong emotion. Now, his tread began 
 by expressing fury ; gradually slowing down 
 into the heavy, measured tramp that denoted 
 extreme anxiety of mind. Then the sound 
 of his footfalls ceased. An hour had passed ; 
 and the suspense, to Mrs. Ingleby and her 
 girls, was becoming almost more than they 
 could bear. The news about Arthur must 
 surely be very bad, since it had thus so 
 completely ' upset ' Mr. Ingleby. 
 
 " I think I shall go up to him," said Ger- 
 trude at last, " and see what it is that is 
 wrong." 
 
 " Yes, do " — said Mrs. Ingleby and Caroline 
 together. " And be sure to come back again 
 immediately " — added the latter. 
 
 Gertrude opened the door very softly, and 
 looked in. Mr. Ingleby was sitting at the 
 table, with his head bowed down, and his 
 face resting on his hands. The attitude 
 filled his daughter with alarm, it was so 
 unlike Mr. Ingleby. Her first instinctive 
 fear was that he had been taken suddenly 
 
 m. 
 
 VOL. L Q
 
 242 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Father ! " — she said, laying lier hand upon 
 his shoulder — "you are not unwell? What 
 is it ?— tell me, father ! " 
 
 Then Mr. Ingleby lifted up his head, and 
 looked at his daughter. She had never seen 
 such a look upon his face before. The 
 combativeness, the self-assertion, the lofty 
 sense of being always in the right which 
 Mr. Ingleby's features commonly expressed 
 were, for the moment, gone. He seemed 
 so cast down, so absolutely crushed with 
 anxiety, that his daughter pitied him. Mr. 
 Ingleby, in the whole course of his life, had 
 probably never been an object of pity 
 before. 
 
 "Tell me, father dear" — the girl repeated 
 — " tell me what is wrong ! " 
 
 "Everything," replied Mr. Ingleby suc- 
 cinctly. "My dear, everything is wrong." 
 
 The accent of despair in which Mr. 
 Ingleby uttered the word "everything" — 
 the extreme gentleness with which he said 
 " my dear " — heightened his daughter's 
 anxiety.
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 243 
 
 " Is it — is it about Arthur ? " — she asked, 
 almost in a whisper. 
 
 Mr. Ingleby responded by a groan. 
 Then— 
 
 "There is his letter," he said. "Sit down 
 and read it for yourself." 
 
 Gertrude sat down, and read her cousin's 
 letter. It was a good letter, which Lynn 
 had taken some pains to compose. It 
 told of the opening which had suddenly 
 presented itself on the staff of the Forum 
 newspaper, through Mr. Arden's influence 
 with Mr. Mallory. Had it been possible, 
 Lynn said, he would have taken counsel 
 with his uncle before throwing up the tutor- 
 ship, and leaving Shawkirk for London. 
 But it had not been possible. Vacancies 
 of that sort were too easily filled up to 
 admit of his waiting ; he had felt that it 
 would be unwise to throw such a chance 
 away ; and he could only trust that his 
 uncle would approve of the step which he had 
 taken. 
 
 Mr. Ingleby watched his daughter as she
 
 244 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 read, and saw that her face brightened as she 
 went on. 
 
 " Why ! " — she exclaimed at last — " this is 
 not bad news at all 1 You made me expect 
 something terrible, but this — this is really- 
 good ! " 
 
 ''Not had news?'' — repeated Mr. Ingleby 
 very slowly; ''really good? Do you know, 
 Gertrude, what you are saying ? " 
 
 *' Yes," said Gertrude. '^It is good news 
 to me that Arthur has at last got the chance 
 of showing what he is, and what he can do. 
 I have wished for that so long, and now I 
 am glad that it has come. You know, father, 
 you said to Arthur yourself that the tutor- 
 ship was to be only for a time, till something 
 better offered. And surely this is something 
 better?" 
 
 *' Better?" — said Mr. Ingleby — "you are 
 speaking in ignorance, Gertrude — you are 
 pronouncing a judgment on things which 
 you do not, and indeed cannot understand." 
 
 Mr. Ingleby's voice and manner as he said 
 this were all his own. Contradiction had the
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 245 
 
 invariable effect of a tonic on Mr. Ingleby. 
 It braced him up, even when prostrated by 
 the shrewdest blow of Fate, or Providence. 
 
 "Better!" — he went on — "do you know 
 anything, may I ask, of this man Mallory, 
 whose hireling Arthur has become ?" 
 
 "No — nothing beyond his name." 
 
 " Or of this newspaper, and the doctrines 
 it disseminates ?" 
 
 "I have never even seen it." 
 
 " Then, until you know these things, 
 you had better keep silence about them. 
 Your cousin, I tell you, is standing now on 
 the brink of perdition — in saying that, I 
 am not putting the case by one jot or one 
 tittle too strongly. I certainly fail to see 
 what there is in that to make you feel 
 * glad.' You should rather mourn and 
 lament, and pray that he be not utterly 
 undone !" 
 
 Mr. Ingleby, in saying this, was not con- 
 sciously exaggerating. He was familiar with 
 the name of Mr. Mallory. Though he had 
 not seen the Forum newspaper more than
 
 246 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 once or twice in his life, he had heard of it, 
 and heard no good. Though he had never 
 read a page of any of Mr. Mallory's books, 
 he was thoroughly acquainted with their 
 tendencies ; at least, he thought and said 
 so. Mr. Mallory himself he regarded as a 
 soul-destroying Terror, the worst of all the 
 Belials of Unbelief. Hitherto, however, Mr. 
 Mallory had been to him a kind of abstrac- 
 tion, a far-off Ahriman, an incomprehensible 
 agent of evil ; whose existence in this world 
 was simply inexplicable, like the origin of 
 Evil itself. Now, it seemed as if he were 
 suddenly brought into contact with this 
 mystery of iniquity. There was contamination 
 in the thought. His nephew, as it seemed 
 to him, could never be wholly purged of the 
 taint of this association. Mr. Ingleby had 
 received no such shock since Arthur Lynn's 
 father had started the Factory of the Future. 
 
 Gertrude said nothing by way of answer 
 to her father's rebuke. No one understood 
 Mr. Ingleby and his ' ways' so well as his 
 elder daughter. She was quite aware that
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 247 
 
 his evident emotion had not yet been fully 
 accounted for — that there was something 
 more to tell. She knew also that to ask a 
 question at that moment might have the 
 effect of checking a revelation. 
 
 Mr. Ingleby looked at his daughter, as she 
 sat thus quietly waiting until he should 
 choose to speak. Then he began again to 
 pace the room, with a slow, deliberate step. 
 Gertrude knew what was passing in his mind, 
 just as well as he did himself. She knew that 
 he was inly debating the question, '' Shall I 
 tell her, or shall I not ? " 
 
 For nearly five silent minutes Mr. Ingleby 
 discussed this question within himself. His 
 nephew's letter had been a heavy blow to 
 him — how heavy, none knew but himself. 
 That Arthur Lynn should now be writing 
 articles for the paper of the impious Mallory 
 was bad, very bad; but this other thing, of 
 which his daughter as yet knew nothing, was 
 infinitely worse. And the hardest thing Mr. 
 Ingleby had to bear was the reflection that. 
 all this had been the outcome of his own
 
 248 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTEB. 
 
 diplomacy. If he had not induced Arthur 
 to go to Shawkirk as a tutor — for his own 
 good — he would not thus have fallen into 
 the toils. Mr. Ingleby could not but groan 
 in spirit over this instance of the irony 
 of Providence. In the case of any of his 
 friends, such a thing would have been a 
 Judgment. In his own case, it was a Trial — 
 for Mr. Ingleby could discriminate. 
 
 Should he tell his daughter, or should he 
 not ? — it was a question not easy to deter- 
 mine. He had a high opinion of Gertrude s 
 good-sense, and of her firmness of character. 
 On the rare occasions when Mr. Ingleby 
 wanted advice, it was from Gertrude he 
 asked it. Now, he did not want advice — 
 did not see that it could do any good, in face 
 of such a catastrophe. Neither did he want 
 approbation ; the applause of his own con- 
 science was quite enough for him. And it 
 was also present to Mr. Ingleby's mind in a 
 vague shadowy way, that if anyone were to 
 be told this thing, it should be Arthur Lynn 
 himself; and not, in any case, his own
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 249 
 
 daughter. But Mr. Ingleby, at that moment, 
 sorely felt the need of being contradicted. 
 Up to this point he had done his Duty, 
 sustained by the mere conviction that it was 
 his Duty. But Duty had led him into a 
 very quagmire of difficulties, from which he 
 could see no way of getting out. It might 
 be that the stimulus of a little contradiction 
 would clear his faculties and invigorate his 
 will ; and that Gertrude would supply the 
 stimulus. Mr. Ingleby did not shape his 
 conclusions so definitely as this. He was 
 not given to analysing the feelings either of 
 himself, or of other people. But he wanted 
 very much to feel quite sure that he had been 
 in the right ; and nothing could make him so 
 sure of that as to be told by someone else 
 that he had clearly been in the wrong. So he 
 decided that the great secret might now, with 
 propriety and advantage, be disclosed to his 
 daughter. 
 
 " Gertrude," he said at last, " this step 
 which Arthur has taken is to me a terrible 
 blow. You cannot realise it, because you do
 
 250 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 not know all. If you did, you would share 
 the feelings of cruel anxiety — I had almost 
 said, despair — with which I regard your 
 cousin's future." 
 
 '' How, father ?" — asked Gertrude, in a voice 
 which she strove to make as steady as possible, 
 but which, in spite of her, shook. Her father's 
 look and manner, more even than his words, 
 made her fear what he might have to say. 
 What dreadful thing could Arthur be accused 
 of, that her father should wear an expression 
 of such utter hopelessness and gloom ? She 
 felt herself trembling all over ; and even Mr. 
 Ingleby, wrapt in his own troubles as he was, 
 noticed how the blood had rushed from her 
 cheeks, and left them ashen pale. 
 
 " My dear," he said, " you need not be 
 frightened. Arthur has done nothing morally 
 wrong. Indeed, he is to be pitied, rather than 
 blamed. In the conduct of others there has 
 been — or at any rate there may have been — a 
 want of principle which I can only describe as 
 iniquitous and — and dastardly in the extreme. 
 But Arthur, whatever his failings, is candour
 
 PATHEl? AND DAUGHTER. 251 
 
 itself. On that score, I have never had the 
 slightest reason to reproach him." 
 
 Gertrude gave a little sigh of relief. She 
 had not misdoubted her cousin for a moment ; 
 but she had feared that her father might have 
 heard some story to his disadvantage, and 
 believed it. That, at all events, was not the 
 case. 
 
 " Gertrude," Mr. Ingleby went on, speaking 
 very slowly and solemnly, " you have always 
 been accustomed to look on your cousin 
 Arthur Lynn as a poor man — a man who 
 must earn by his own labour the wherewithal 
 to support himself in the world ? " 
 
 Gertrude signified that it was so. 
 
 " Well," continued Mr. Ingleby, *' now and 
 henceforth that is — changed. Arthur is no 
 longer poor — on the contrary , he is a rich 
 man. I cannot give you the exact figures, 
 but I know — " 
 
 '' Arthur a rich wan!'' — exclaimed Ger- 
 trude ; and looked at her father in amaze- 
 ment, as if unsure whether this might not 
 be a ponderous attempt at pleasantry on the
 
 252 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTilR. 
 
 part of Mr. Ingleby. But one glance at her 
 father's face reassured her on this point. 
 
 " I repeat it, Gertrude, your cousin is now 
 rich— richer than ever his father was — richer, 
 by far, than I am." 
 
 '' But — but are you sure of it ? I can't 
 take it in — it bewilders me — it seems all 
 like a dream, what yon say ! Is there no 
 doubt about it ? — is it really true ?" 
 
 " So far as I am aware — and the circum- 
 stances are probably better known to me than 
 to anyone — there is not a shadow of a doubt 
 about it. Yes — it is certainly true." 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad ! I do not understand 
 it — but if Arthur is no longer poor, I am so 
 glad ! I have always thought that was what 
 Arthur ought to be — a man with — with in- 
 dependent means. Tell me all about it ! — 
 how did it happen, and when, and why have 
 you not told us before ?" 
 
 *' I cannot answer in one word such a 
 multitude of questions, Gertrude," said Mr. 
 Ingleby, who had never before seen his elder 
 daughter betray such excitement. " Nor do
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 253 
 
 I think that anything connected with mere 
 money — the treasure that perisheth ! — need 
 have thrown your mind off its balance, as it 
 appears to have done." 
 
 Gertrude felt this reproof to be a little 
 unreasonable, in view of the emotion pre- 
 viously shown by Mr. Ingleby himself; but 
 she did not say so. She kept silent for some 
 moments, thinking ; then gave her thoughts 
 expression. 
 
 " Father, did you know of this when you 
 made Arthur go to Shawkirk ?" 
 
 ^' Certainly I knew of it," said Mr. Ingleby. 
 
 *'And did Arthur know of it then? — but 
 I need not ask that. Does he know of it 
 now ?" 
 
 ''He does not," said Mr. Ingleby. "At 
 least," he added, "not from me." 
 
 " Tell me about it, father. Now that you 
 have said so much, you must let me know the 
 whole." 
 
 " It is a long story," said Mr. Ingleby. " It 
 begins at a time when Arthur and you were 
 both children — more than twenty years ago.
 
 254 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 You have heard me speak of your uncle, what 
 kind of man he was — weakly generous, as I 
 have always thought and said. There was 
 a man in his employment to whom he did 
 a great kindness — a foolish kindness — at least," 
 added Mr. Ingleby, " it seemed so at the time. 
 This man's name was Hume — Gilbert Hume." 
 
 ^'Yes?" 
 
 " This Hume went away from Shawkirk, 
 and for twenty years nothing more was heard 
 of him. Then he came back — a man of good 
 character, and great wealth. His wealth was 
 destined, every penny of it — ^for Arthur Lynn. 
 He came to me one day at my office, and told 
 me so." 
 
 " "What else did he say to you ?" 
 
 ^' He said," replied Mr. Ingleby abstractedly 
 — " he said, among other things, that he was 
 glad I had now shaken hands with him — " 
 
 " What did he mean by that ?" 
 
 " He referred, I apprehend, to an — episode 
 in our previous intercourse, which has nothing 
 whatever to do with the matter we are talking 
 of. The main fact is, that he had made a
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 255 
 
 large fortune out in Australia, and that your 
 cousin was to be his heir." 
 
 " When was all this ? — and why did he not 
 go to Arthur, instead of coming to you ?" 
 
 " It was in January of this year, while 
 Arthur was still on the Continent. And he 
 very properly came to me, assuming that I, 
 as Arthur's guardian since his boyhood, must 
 be able to inform him better than anyone else 
 as to the young man's character and prospects 
 — as to the probable effect on him of so 
 sudden and total a change in his circum- 
 stances." 
 
 " And what did you say to him ? Surely 
 you did not speak against Arthur to this 
 man who wished him well ? " 
 
 " Gertrude ! " — cried Mr. Ingleby very 
 angrily — " I did not expect to hear such 
 words spoken by you to me ! You have 
 always been given to taking your cousin's 
 part, even against your father, to whom, as I 
 should imagine, your highest obligation is 
 due." 
 
 " Father ! — I will take no one's part against
 
 256 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 you ! I know you would do nothing and say 
 nothing that you did not think to be right. 
 But you make me afraid — I cannot help 
 it. What did you say to this man about 
 Arthur?" 
 
 " I told him the truth. I said what my 
 Conscience dictated, and nothing more. Had 
 Arthur come back from Leipsic in October, 
 as he promised to do, and busied himself 
 with his studies, as he ought to have done 
 — he would himself have met Mr. Hume, and 
 all might have been different. But instead of 
 that, he seemed to have given up all thought 
 of serious work in life. There he was, 
 loitering about the Continent, misspending 
 his time and wasting his money — ^letting the 
 future take care of itself, whilst he enjoyed 
 the present — dangling at the skirts of that 
 girl, who — " 
 
 " Father ! — you should not say such things 
 without being sure that they are true." 
 
 " True ? — of course they are true ! Did 
 not Mr. Stronach tell us that Arthur had 
 never opened a book — at least, none that
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 257 
 
 could do him any good — and that he went 
 about with that girl ever5rwhere ? " 
 
 "Mr. Stronach is an ill-natured, malicious 
 man. He dislikes Arthur, because he is 
 cleverer than himself, a hundred times. He 
 has simply tried to blacken Arthur's char- 
 acter." 
 
 " I am surprised to hear such an opinion 
 from you, Gertrude. It is not mine — and 
 remember. Judge not, that ye be not judged. 
 But, apart from that altogether, the result 
 spoke for itself. You cannot deny that 
 he failed to pass an examination which I 
 understand is childishly easy, to anyone who 
 has worked for it in a reasonable way." 
 
 "I do not know about that — we do not 
 understand these things, you and I. But 
 the point is — did you tell all this to Mr. 
 Hume?" 
 
 "I did," said Mr. Ingieby. ''1 felt it 
 my duty to say so, and I said it. I ex- 
 pressed my strong opinion that Arthur was 
 not yet fitted to have the absolute control 
 of great sums of money in his own hands. 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 258 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 I had no apprehension that he would waste 
 his substance in riotous living — God be 
 thanked, he has never given me cause to 
 fear that. But I did fear that he would 
 live idly and spend foolishly — that he would 
 give up all earnestness of purpose, and think 
 only of adorning the tent of this earthly 
 pilgrimage — that money would be a curse 
 to him, and not a blessing. I did fear that, 
 and I said it." 
 
 '' And Mr. Hume believed you ? " 
 
 "He did. He knew what the father had 
 been, and understood what the son might 
 become. He acted on my advice, and in 
 that I think he did well." 
 
 "Then he has not seen Arthur? Where 
 is he now ? " 
 
 "I do not know where he is," said Mr. 
 Ingleby, sinking his voice, and speaking very 
 slowly ; "I do not know where he is now. 
 He is dead." 
 
 "Dead!" 
 
 "Yes. He died suddenly in London, 
 whither he went, after seeing me, in order
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTEE. 259 
 
 to arrange his affairs. That was in March 
 • — a month before Arthur came back from 
 Leipsic. He was a mere wreck when he 
 came to me in Shawkirk. Indeed, I did 
 not think he had many days or weeks to 
 live, then." 
 
 " And Arthur does not know ?" 
 
 "He does not. When he shall know de- 
 pends on me. Mr. Hume, by the will he 
 executed after seeing me, left that entirely 
 to my discretion — with a proviso. It is a 
 heavy responsibility, and I feel it so. But 
 I trust I shall find strength to bear the 
 burden." 
 
 *'And you let Arthur go to Shawkirk, 
 knowing all this ! You sent him to earn 
 his bread as a tutor, without saying a word 
 to him about this fortune that is his own !" 
 
 " Gertrude," said Mr. Ingleby more in 
 sorrow than in anger, ''it does not, I think, 
 become you to bring this railing accusation 
 against me. What I did was done, in part at 
 least, for your sake — that is," he went on hur- 
 riedly, " for Arthur's true and highest interests.
 
 260 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 I let him go to Shawkirk — nay, if you will 
 have it so, I sent him there — to undergo 
 the discipline of the poor man working for 
 his daily bread. I told him that the money 
 left him by his father was expended, all of 
 it, which was strictly and literally true. I 
 did not tell him of the money that had been 
 left him by this stranger — the terms of 
 Hume's will authorised, I will even say con- 
 strained me to keep silent. But I did seek 
 to ascertain what was his frame of mind — 
 what prospect there might be of his using 
 his wealth to any good and wise purpose. 
 And I was grievously disappointed in the 
 result.'' 
 
 '^ What did he say to you, father ? How 
 was it that he disappointed you ?" 
 
 '' I spoke to him of Self Help. He in- 
 formed me that Self Help, he had found, 
 commonly meant helping yourself. I said that 
 we knew not what a day might bring forth 
 —that we sailed under sealed orders in this 
 world. He said that was so ; and when we 
 opened them, we found as a rule nothing
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 261 
 
 inside. I asked him — by way of sounding 
 him — what he would do in the event of his 
 coming into money. He mentioned the name 
 of some foreign place — some haunt of the 
 idle and luxurious — and said that he should 
 probably take up his dwelling there. That 
 was all the satisfaction I got from him. It 
 was not, I repeat, encouraging." 
 
 " You do not understand Arthur, father — 
 you have never understood him." 
 
 " I not understand him !" — cried Mr. Ingle- 
 by — " when he has grown up from childhood 
 under my own eyes — when he was entrusted 
 to my guardianship by his father — when he 
 has never wanted money without coming to 
 me to get it ! Gertrude, what do you 
 mean?" 
 
 *' Father, you have made a great mistake. 
 I tremble to think of it. Arthur is a man, 
 and you are treating him as a child. You 
 have meant to do what is best, but believe 
 me, only harm will come of it. You may 
 wreck his happiness and ruin his life, before 
 all is done 1"
 
 262 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Mr. Ingleby stared at his daughter, as if 
 he thought she had taken leave of her senses. 
 He remained for some moments speechless ; 
 then he found breath to say : — 
 
 " What — what do you mean ? What would 
 you have me do ?" 
 
 " Do ! — I would have you go to Arthur 
 now, this minute, if it were possible, and 
 tell him the truth ! He ought to have 
 known it at once, and the longer you leave 
 him in ignorance, the worse it will be. 
 Father, you know what has come of it 
 already — you have been the means of send- 
 ing him to London, and throwing him into 
 a kind of work which you say is bad. And 
 if you do not tell him, you mil end in setting 
 him against you — against us all ! Oh, father, 
 listen to me — tell him, tell him now ! " 
 
 Mr. Ingleby looked at his daughter again. 
 She had risen from her chair, and come 
 forward to where he was standing. Her 
 cheeks were flushed now, and her eyes 
 sparkled, as she made this appeal ; she had 
 stretched out her hands, as if to enforce it.
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 263 
 
 The earnestness of her conviction, the eager- 
 ness of her words, impressed Mr. Ingleby 
 in spite of himself A chill came over him, 
 as he thought what this almost impassioned 
 advocacy might mean — for Mr. Ingleby had 
 a heart, hidden away somewhere in the re- 
 cesses of his being. 
 
 "Gertrude," he said, gravely and kindly, 
 "you do not think what you are asking 
 me to do. I had a motive in keeping the 
 knowledge of all this from Arthur while he 
 was still in Germany — and, again, during 
 the days he spent with us here. The same 
 motive is stronger with me now. If Arthur 
 had this money at his disposal, now, what 
 do you think he would do with it, and with 
 himself?" 
 
 " I — I do not know," said Gertrude faintly. 
 
 " But I know," said Mr. Ingleby — " at least, 
 I can guess too well. He would go straight- 
 way and cast himself at the feet of that 
 vain and worldly girl — that — that Moabitish 
 woman, who — " 
 
 " Oh, stop, father, stop — I cannot bear it ! "
 
 264 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 — The girl's voice was sharp with pain, she 
 trembled from head to foot, and her eyes 
 had a look of wildness in them which her 
 father had never seen there, nor thought to 
 see. Then Mr. Ingleby knew it all ; and 
 a pang of self-reproach, terrible to such a 
 man, pierced him like a knife. This, then, 
 was the fruit of his scheming ! This was 
 the penalty he must pay for Duty done — 
 not, as he now recognised, with the pure 
 unselfishness he had made his boast. Mr. 
 Ingleby had been accustomed to talk slight- 
 ingly of the love of young men and maidens ; 
 seeing his daughter, pale and suffering, before 
 him, he did not think that he would ever talk 
 so again. 
 
 " Gertrude !" — he said, in a kind of awe- 
 stricken whisper — "' what is it, my dear ? 
 What is it you cannot bear ? " 
 
 " Oh, father, I love him so ! — I love him 
 so !" — Then there was a rush of tears ; and 
 Mr. Ingleby, his own eyes wet and his hand 
 shaking, had folded his daughter in his arms. 
 The Man of Duty was lost in the Father.
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 265 
 
 He clasped her slender form closely to him ; 
 he stroked her dark, silky hair ; he called her 
 his dear Gertrude, his own girl, his best- 
 beloved child — exhausting the resources of a 
 vocabulary for which no one would have given 
 Mr. Ingleby credit. Sore-stricken at heart 
 as the girl was, it was a consolation to her 
 even then to find how dear she really was to 
 this undemonstrative father. 
 
 " I have been to blame !" — said Mr. Ingleby. 
 " I have been to blame !" 
 
 " No, no, father — do not say that ! What 
 you have done has been for the best. Do 
 not accuse yourself — I will never accuse 
 
 you." 
 
 " Still I have been to blame," repeated Mr. 
 Ingleby. " Not as regards my standing be- 
 tween Arthur and his immediate possession of 
 this money — for therein I did well, and would 
 do it again. But as regards other things — 
 yes, I have been to blame." 
 
 His daughter knew to what he referred, and 
 said nothing. Had her father not come be- 
 twixt Arthur Lynn and herself, they might
 
 266 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 have been affianced lovers at that hour. But 
 she would not reproach him. 
 
 " Gertrude — my dear girl " — said Mr. 
 Ingleby — " calm yourself, I beseech you. 
 Sit down, and let us think what it is most 
 fitting that we should do. You shall be judge 
 in the matter. I shall do whatever you think 
 right." 
 
 " Then go to Arthur, father, and tell him 
 all. I still think — I know that that is what 
 you ought to do." 
 
 " Never !" — cried Mr. Ingleby, starting up 
 from his chair, and resuming his march 
 through the room, this time with swift, de- 
 cided step. " Never ! — I will not do it ! 
 Gertrude, how can you suggest such a thing, 
 knowing what the result would be ?" 
 
 " It is because I know it that I ask you — 
 nay, beg of you to do this ! Arthur's whole 
 happiness in life may be in your hands just 
 now. He will hold you answerable, if — " 
 
 " I cannot help that," said Mr. Ingleby. 
 "It is not to him that I must answer finally 
 for what I do. I am not of those who love
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 267 
 
 the praise of men, or who care for their dis- 
 approval, so long as I have done what the 
 voice within nie declares to be right. I am 
 not thinking of your interests at this moment, 
 Gertrude — no, as the Lord liveth, I am not 
 thinking of myself or you ! I am thinking 
 of the young man himself, and of the fright- 
 ful peril in which he stands ! " 
 
 '* I think you speak too strongly, father. 
 I think — I know you are wrong." 
 
 *' Not so," said Mr. Ingleby ; ''not so. 
 Wedded with such an one as this girl, I should 
 regard my nephew as a lost and fallen man !" 
 
 " Father ! — do not say such things. You 
 have judged her harshly, I am sure of it." 
 
 " How ? Harshly ! — It is true that her 
 ways are not our ways ; that her views of 
 life, her tone in conversation, even her dress, 
 in fact, everything about her, are to me un- 
 familiar and displeasing — I might almost say 
 repugnant. But not for these things would I 
 blame her ; she is, I doubt not, what her cir- 
 cumstances and training have made her — a 
 slave to the lust of the eyes and the pride of
 
 268 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 life. It is her conduct towards Arthur that I 
 cannot forgive — that is, I shall be unable to 
 forgive it, if it has been as I think, and fear." 
 
 " Her conduct towards Arthur ? Why, it 
 is for that I think well of her — even admire 
 her. I believe that she — that she loves him, 
 father. I saw that — I could not but see it, 
 while they were together here. She came to 
 us, I feel certain, on his account — on the bare 
 chance of meeting him. What there may 
 have been between them I do not know, but 
 of that I am almost quite convinced." 
 
 " And you think such conduct to be ad- 
 mired ?" 
 
 " I do. It shows that she is disinterested 
 — that she loves him only for himself If 
 that is so, she would not ruin his life, father. 
 He would be happy with her." 
 
 " Gertrude," said Mr. Ingleby, " you are 
 very guileless — God forbid that you should 
 ever be less so, or that I should teach you to 
 distrust your fellow-men. But I am, I con- 
 fess, less disposed to believe in such disin- 
 terestedness than you. If that young lady
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 269 
 
 came here for tlie purpose of meeting Arthur 
 under my roof — and that she may have done 
 so is, I apprehend, by no means improbable — 
 I should be inclined to draw another inference 
 from her proceedings. I should look elsewhere 
 for her motives either in coming here, or in 
 drawing Arthur after her to London." 
 
 " Surely, father, you do not think — " 
 
 '' I think nothing !" — exclaimed Mr. Ingleby 
 with vehemence ; " I know nothing ! But I 
 have my suspicions, and I fear they may not 
 prove altogether groundless. Why did this 
 man Arden — a man who is mercenary to the 
 core, whose one thought in life is to get 
 money, and whose way in the world has been 
 made by pitting his own craft against other 
 people's simplicity — why, I say, did he seek 
 out Arthur in Shawkirk, and do the things 
 for him that he has done ? How, I say, 
 are yoa to account for such behaviour?" 
 
 " Arthur says in his letter, does he not, 
 that it was out of gratitude to my uncle 
 Lynn?" 
 
 " That explanation may satisfy Arthur, but
 
 270 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 it does not satisfy me. I never was of those 
 who blamed this Arden for your uncle's ruin 
 — his own mad projects, taken up in spite of 
 all my w^arnings, were quite sufficient to 
 account for that. But nothing that I know 
 of the man — and my acquaintance with him 
 did not begin yesterday — would lead me to 
 believe strongly in his gratitude. He is not, 
 I am afraid, one of those who do good and 
 lend, hoping for nothing again. If he makes 
 himself useful to Arthur — if he encourages 
 him as a suitor for his daughter — it will be 
 for a jDurpose of his own. He will expect to 
 be repaid — and not in gratitude." 
 
 "I see what you mean. But I will not 
 believe it." 
 
 " And why, may I ask ? — Why should you 
 not believe it?" 
 
 '' Because that would be to make Camilla 
 Arden a heartless schemer — the partner in a 
 plot to get Arthur's money ; and I will not 
 believe that of her. And besides, how can 
 these people know, when Arthur does not 
 know himself as yet ?"
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 271 
 
 "As to that I can say nothing," replied Mr. 
 Ingleby ; " but if it indeed be as I am almost 
 induced to suppose, then — " 
 
 What Mr. Ingleby would do in that event 
 he did not say aloud ; but the tone of sombre 
 menace in which he spoke, the frown which 
 furrowed his brow and drew his thick bushy 
 eye-brows together, pointed to the conclusion 
 that it would be something terrible. Mr. 
 Ingleby's melting mood had passed quite 
 away at the bare thought of this possible 
 conspiracy to get possession of Hume's heir 
 and his inheritance ; and the galling sense of 
 his own powerlessness in the matter made 
 him, for the moment, oblivious to his 
 daughter's suffering, 
 
 " I can do nothing !" — he said at last, after 
 some minutes of gloomy thought — " nothing ! 
 If I say to Arthur, ' All this money is yours ' 
 — his first step would be to ally himself with 
 that pernicious young woman. If I say to 
 him, ' This man is selfish and cunning, and 
 his daughter is as bad as he ; they have 
 known all along what you know now, and
 
 272 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 they have used their knowledge to defraud 
 and befool you' — he will ask me to prove my 
 words, and that I cannot do — yet. They 
 would deny it, and he w^ould take their asser- 
 tion against mine. I can do nothing — no- 
 thing!" 
 
 " But you may be quite wrong in this idea, 
 father. It may not be as you say. I will 
 not think it of Camilla !" 
 
 " Think of her what you please," said Mr. 
 Ingleby ; " but for the present say not a w^ord 
 to any one about what I have told you. To 
 let Arthur know the truth at this moment 
 would be folly, sheer folly ; a little calm 
 reflection will, I think, show you that. Were 
 I to do so, indeed, I should be running 
 counter to the purpose of the man who left 
 his riches to my nephew. His desire was — 
 it is expressly stated in his will — that a life 
 of happiness and usefulness might be opened 
 to the son of his benefactor ; that he might 
 have the opportunity of doing some good 
 work in his day and generation, freed from 
 the restraints of poverty, and alive to the
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 273 
 
 responsibilities of wealth. That object — and 
 a most praiseworthy one it is — that object 
 would be defeated, were Arthur to fall under 
 the influence of such as this man Arden and 
 his daughter. I will not do it, Gertrude — no, 
 my Duty forbids me, and I will not do it ; on 
 that I am resolved. I shall wait, and keep 
 silence ; and I must request, even command, 
 that you do the same. The time may come" 
 — added Mr. Ingleby, with another minatory 
 scowl — " when I shall have the opportunity of 
 interposing with efl'ect — when I shall be able 
 to lay bare this iniquitous conspiracy — if such 
 it be — and to come forward with the evidence 
 of what I only suspect just now. When that 
 time comes, I shall know what to do. And 
 now, Gertrude, let us go downstairs." 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 274 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 AT HARTINGTON GARDENS. 
 
 The morning after his arrival in London, 
 Lynn found himself wandering about the 
 South Kensington district, in a mood that 
 was half-joyous, half-despondent. He was in 
 London, and Camilla also was there — that 
 accounted for the joy. But he had come 
 from a modest, not to say mean, hotel in 
 the neighbourhood of the Strand, to find 
 his sweetheart somewhere in this region of 
 rich men's houses — and that accounted for 
 the despondency. This latter feeling gained 
 upon him, as he drew nearer to Hartington 
 Gardens. 
 
 The houses in Hartington Gardens are 
 very large and grand. Lynn had hoped to 
 find Mr. Arden's house one of the smallest ;
 
 AT HARTINGTON GARDENS. 275 
 
 but it proved to be among the most imposing. 
 It stood some way back from the street, with 
 a garden in front of it — or rather, a crescent- 
 shaped plot of well-trimmed turf, bordered 
 with flowers and shrubs, and skirted by the 
 carriage-drive. The house itself was built in 
 the style of an Italian villa, with a loggia 
 running round it, and a pillared portico, 
 approached by a flight of low, broad steps. 
 Lynn went up those steps in some trepida- 
 tion, now that he had seen Camilla's home. 
 
 The door was opened to him by an 
 impassive-looking man in black, who took 
 his card, cast one swift glance at it, and 
 asked Lynn to follow him upstairs. This 
 gave Lynn the idea that his visit had not 
 been unexpected. 
 
 He passed through a hall lined with blue 
 tiles and black marble, where the sunshine 
 rested duskily on the tesselated pavement. 
 The light streamed softly through the painted 
 windows ; his feet sank noiselessly into the 
 thick-piled carpets ; the servant glided before 
 him like a shade.
 
 276 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 The signs of wealth and luxury around him 
 made Lynn feel uncomfortable. He was 
 ashamed of the feeling, but he could not help 
 it. It has been said that it is best to make 
 love in a palace. That is a point which it is 
 difficult to decide from experience. At that 
 moment, Lynn felt that he would have much 
 preferred to meet his sweetheart in a log- 
 hut. 
 
 His silent guide paused at a door whence 
 came the sound of music, announced his 
 name, and retired. A girl who was seated 
 at a piano at the further end of the great 
 room arose with a little cry of surprise, and 
 came fluttering towards him, in a dress that 
 seemed all ripple and shimmer. 
 
 '' Oh, Arthur ! At last !" — she said ; and in 
 a moment she was in his arms. Lynn forgot 
 all his misgivings at the sight of the beautiful 
 girl before him. She drooped her head at 
 his ardent gaze. "How he loves me!" — she 
 thought ; "I might tell him all now — it 
 would not matter." 
 
 A minute after, L3rQn found himself sitting
 
 AT HARTINGTON GARDENS. 277 
 
 on a couch by Camilla's side, answering a fire 
 of questions. 
 
 " You cannot think," she said, '' how I 
 have longed for your coming ! I have 
 counted the days. And I am so glad that 
 you have made it up with Papa. He has 
 told me all about it." 
 
 *' Your father has been more than kind to 
 me, Camilla," said Lynn. " Indeed, when I 
 think of what he has done, I almost doubt 
 whether I ought to be here." 
 
 ''Why ? — what can you mean by that, 
 Arthur?" 
 
 Lynn did not answer directly, but his eye 
 wandered over Mr. Arden's drawing-room, 
 and back to Camilla's dress, which spoke 
 of Paris in every ruche and fold. 
 
 " I see what you are thinking of," said 
 Camilla. " Do not, if you want to please me, 
 do not say — what you were going to say !" 
 
 " How can I help feeling so, Camilla ? 
 And if I feel it, is it not better to say it ? 
 Should we have any thoughts that we cannot 
 tell to each other ?"
 
 278 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I know what is vexing you, Arthur" — 
 the girl said, a little hurriedly. "It is your 
 old fear of being always poor. Why should 
 you think such things of yourself? I know 
 that it will not always be so ; that — that you 
 will yet make your way in the world. You 
 are in London — you are friends with Papa 
 — oh, Arthur, in the meantime let us be 
 happy together !" 
 
 " I am happy," said Lynn ; " perfectly 
 happy, just now." 
 
 '' And but a few months ago, how far from 
 being happy we were ! — at least, I was. You 
 should think of that, Arthur." 
 
 " I do think of it, dearest. I shall never 
 forget the dark days I passed, after you left 
 Leipsic — how I wandered round all the old 
 familiar places, thinking how strange they 
 looked without you." 
 
 " But all that is over now." 
 
 " Yes — it is over. But even after that 
 night on the sea-shore— even now, Camilla — 
 I torment myself with the thought that my 
 love for you has made me selfish. I seem to
 
 AT HARTINGTON GARDENS. 279 
 
 be taking all, and giving nothing. How 
 different it is with you !" 
 
 "Arthur!" cried the girl, with an agitation 
 that was manifest — " I will not have you say 
 such things. You are all the world to me. 
 I only care to have you beside me — I keep 
 myself from thinking of what may be after- 
 wards." 
 
 " My love !" — said Lynn. "I have a perfect 
 faith in you. I have never misdoubted you — 
 even when you left me, I did not blame you 
 in my thoughts. But I cannot forget what 
 I am, and what you are. I know what the 
 world would say of such a suit as mine. And 
 now that your father has treated me with 
 such kindness, I feel almost as if I were 
 guilty of ingratitude in seeking you for my 
 own." 
 
 "Don't talk of ingratitude. What he has 
 done for you is a mere trifle. Perhaps — if you 
 knew all — you would not think so much of it." 
 
 "Knew all, Camilla? How? What can 
 you mean?" 
 
 "I mean — that my visit to Sprayton was
 
 280 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 not carried through so easily as you may 
 have thought." 
 
 "Then it ivas to see me again that you 
 went there?" 
 
 Camilla blushed. "Yes, Arthur," she said 
 — " I did hope that I might meet you again. 
 I don't see why I should not tell you that. 
 I was always thinking of you — Papa knew 
 that quite well." 
 
 Lynn rose from the couch, and began to 
 pace restlessly up and down the room. 
 
 " Camilla," he said, " after this, I must not 
 lose you a second time ! I could not bear it. 
 I think I could face anything, sooner than 
 that!" 
 
 "Arthur!" — cried Camilla — "do sit down 
 — anywhere ! Here is my — " 
 
 Just then the door opened, and there 
 appeared a sallow, sharp -featured, elderly 
 lady, clad in the weeds of widowhood. This 
 was Mrs. Chevenix, Camilla's aunt, who 
 regulated Mr. Arden's household affairs, and 
 exercised a shadowy duennaship over his 
 daughter.
 
 AT HARTINGTON GARDENS. 281 
 
 " I did not know you had a visitor, 
 Camilla," remarked this lady, with a glance 
 at Lynn which said unmistakably : — "So you 
 are the young man !" 
 
 "Arthur— Mr. Lynn"— said Camilla, "let 
 me introduce you to my aunt, Mrs. Chevenix. 
 Did French not tell you, Aunt Elizabeth, 
 that Mr. Lynn was here ? " 
 
 "He did not," replied Mrs. Chevenix. 
 Then she sat down, and said no more. 
 
 Lynn marvelled at the swiftness and ease 
 with which Camilla, on the advent of Mrs. 
 Chevenix, had assumed the mask of society. 
 Her voice and manner had changed in an 
 instant. Instead of the blushing, impulsive 
 girl, he saw now the bright-witted woman of 
 the world. He resented the intrusion which 
 had brought about this transformation. Mrs. 
 Chevenix, he could see, was not likely to 
 favour his suit. 
 
 Camilla at once began to talk to him about 
 his prospects in connection with the Forum 
 newspaper. At the first mention of the name 
 of Mallory, he observed Mrs. Chevenix shake
 
 282 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 her head mournfully, till every bugle in her 
 coiffure trembled. 
 
 " Aunt Elizabeth does not like Mr. Mallory," 
 explained Miss Arden. 
 
 " I look upon him as an Iconoclast," said 
 Mrs. Chevenix, pronouncing the word as 
 though it were a summary of all evil. 
 
 " Indeed ? And what is your opinion of 
 him, Miss Arden ? You know I take a special 
 interest in him now." 
 
 " I believe there are more Mr. Mallorys 
 than one," said Miss Arden. " The Mr. Mal- 
 lory who dines here has two styles in con- 
 versation. He talks to-morrow's paper at 
 those whom he despises, and he talks yester- 
 day's paper at those whom he despises still 
 more." 
 
 " Then you dislike him ?" 
 
 " Oh, he is too great a man to be disliked. 
 But I detest him. He talks of nothing but 
 Humanity, you know. I don't quite under- 
 stand it, but I think Humanity is so good that 
 we are to fall down and worship it — no, it's 
 so bad that it must be pitied, and taken down
 
 AT HAETINGTON GARDENS. 283 
 
 and made up again — I forget which it is. 
 But I wish they'd do something for it, or with 
 it, for I know it gives me a headache every 
 time Mr. Mallory comes." 
 
 " This is discouraging," said Lynn. 
 
 " Oh, I must not poison your mind against 
 the Editor ! He is a friend of PajDa s, and we 
 all hope he's going to do great things for you, 
 Mr. Lynn. — Besides, perhaps your Mr. Mal- 
 lory won't talk Humanity 1" 
 
 " Camilla," said Mrs. Chevenix, " do you 
 know that the gong will sound for lunch in 
 less than half-an-hour ? And do you remem- 
 ber that Mr. Dulcimer is coming?" 
 
 " Oh, yes. Aunt Elizabeth, and I'm not 
 going to dress for Mr. Dulcimer, if that is 
 what you mean. Of course, Mr. Lynn, you 
 will stay lunch ? Papa will expect to see 
 you." 
 
 Lynn did not see that Mrs. Chevenix's 
 gloomy silence need prevent his accepting 
 this invitation. 
 
 "You will meet one of our living poets," 
 said Camilla — " a poet who publishes."
 
 284 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 "Mr. Dulcimer," said Mrs. Chevenix, "is a 
 young man of great talent, who has already 
 made his mark in literature." 
 
 Lynn began to speculate whether, when 
 the living poet appeared, he would not devote 
 himself to Mrs. Chevenix, who seemed to be 
 one of his admirers. That would be the next 
 best thing to Mrs. Chevenix taking herself off 
 altogether, and allowing him to resume his 
 tete-a-tete with Camilla. 
 
 A few minutes later Mr. Dulcimer was 
 shown into the room. Mr. Dulcimer was a 
 tall young man, dark and pale-faced, a year 
 or two older than Lynn. He walked with 
 a slight stoop, peering the while through 
 his pince-nez as if he were exceedingly short- 
 sighted. There was nothing dishevelled about 
 Mr. Dulcimer. The fit of his surtout was 
 perfect; he wore a camellia at his button-hole; 
 and a faint odour of stephanotis accompanied 
 him whithersoever he moved. Lynn re- 
 membered having read somewhere that you 
 can always judge of a man from his hands 
 and his feet. He looked at the poet's pearl-
 
 AT HARTINGTON GARDENS. 285 
 
 grey gloves and small shiny boots, and 
 thought that he had 'taken the measure' of 
 Mr. Dulcimer. He had, however, reason to 
 think afterwards that this generalization had 
 been somewhat rash. 
 
 Mr. Dulcimer shot one glance at Lynn, 
 which was not that of a short-sighted man ; 
 then dropped with elaborated languor into a 
 chair. 
 
 " You seem exhausted, Mr. Dulcimer," said 
 Mrs. Chevenix. " The heat to-day is certainly 
 oppressive." 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Dulcimer — "oh, yes. But 
 it is not the heat. The truth is, I have just 
 passed through an Ordeal — an Ordeal, Mrs. 
 Chevenix." 
 
 Every one looked at Mr. Dulcimer — Mrs. 
 Chevenix sympathetic. Miss Arden amused, 
 Lynn amazed. 
 
 "I think you have met Floyd, the sea- 
 scape painter. Miss Arden?" — the poet went 
 on — " Yes ? — I have been with him this morn- 
 ino;. He drew me into his studio. And it 
 haunts me."
 
 286 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 "Were Mr. Floyd's pictures so overpower- 
 ingly beautiful ? " — asked Miss Arden. 
 
 " I am sorry for poor Floyd," Mr. Dulcimer 
 continued. " His life is one long, hopeless 
 struggle with pigments. And his friends 
 suffer for it. But I have myself to blame. 
 I should not have allowed myself to be drawn 
 in thither. I ought to have known what I 
 should behold in that Chamber of Horrors." 
 
 "But what did you see, Mr. Dulcimer?" 
 — asked Mrs. Chevenix. " Was it wax-works ? 
 They do make them very horrible, sometimes." 
 
 " There was a sea," said Mr. Dulcimer, 
 sj)eaking even more slowly and sadly than 
 before — " a green sea, with a red sun. I 
 thought the picture represented a billiard- 
 table, with a billiard-ball on it. But no ; it 
 was a sea. It had once been liquid, no doubt. 
 But it had become solid, when I saw it." 
 
 He sank back in his chair, as if exhausted 
 by the delivery of this epigram. Lynn looked 
 at Miss Arden and Mrs. Chevenix, to see how 
 this style of monologue affected them. Neither 
 showed any sign of surprise ; and he concluded
 
 AT HARTINGTON GARDENS. 287 
 
 that this must merely be Mr. Dulcimer's 
 way. 
 
 "Yes," continued the poet musingly, "it 
 was an Ordeal — a cruel Ordeal. There was 
 poor Floyd, gazing now at me, now at that 
 green horror — yearning for praise, and I could 
 not utter a word. I stood as one petrified. 
 ' What do you think of it ? ' — said poor Floyd. 
 'Think of it?' I said, 'I shall dream of it ! ' 
 ' What do you mean ? ' — said poor Floyd. 
 ' Floyd,' I said, ' words are weak. Keds and 
 greens are strong. Let me go now.' And I 
 passed from that place. But it haunts me." 
 
 " You move us to pity, Mr. Dulcimer," said 
 Miss Arden with veiled satire. Then she 
 turned the conversation to the subject of 
 Lynn's first impressions of London. This 
 theme reduced Mr. Dulcimer to silence for 
 the time. He seemed overwhelmed by the 
 thought that a man, not outwardly a savage, 
 should have reached Lynn's years without 
 once beholding the metropolis. 
 
 " By the way, Miss Arden," he said at last, 
 in an interval of the talk, " I did not see you
 
 288 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 at that garden-party at Chiswick, yesterday ? 
 I was glad — yes, glad, that you were not 
 there." 
 
 " Thanks," said Miss Arden. 
 
 "For your sake, I mean," went on the 
 poet. "It was a dread gathering" — here 
 he smiled faintly. " These people have 
 absolutely no idea of EejDose. Can you 
 guess, Miss Arden, what was the original 
 feature of this entertainment ? They went 
 out into a meadow, with rakes, and made 
 hay. They did, I assure you." 
 
 " I should think that must have been very 
 nice," said Miss Arden. 
 
 " Oh, no, no — you cannot think so — you 
 cannot indeed ! — Now, I have an idea for 
 a little gathering, of quite another kind, 
 at that place of mine up the river. I call 
 it a Sylvan Eeunion. There will be no hay- 
 making there." 
 
 " But won't it have an original feature, 
 Mr. Dulcimer ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes — yes. There all will be Repose. 
 My guests shall be a chosen few — among
 
 AT HARTINGTON GARDENS. 289 
 
 whom, Miss Arden, I trust you will let 
 yourself be numbered — and my idea was 
 that we might take among us the parts of 
 those story-tellers in the Roses of Syharis — " 
 
 "You must know, Mr. Lynn," said Miss 
 Arden, " that that is the name of Mr Dulci- 
 mer's book." 
 
 *^ It is a dream of the South," Mr. Dulcimer 
 explained — " the dream of one to whom the 
 North is eternally uncongenial. Have you, 
 Mr. Lynn, never felt this longing for the 
 South ? " 
 
 "Well, yes. But then, you see, London 
 is the South to me." 
 
 " Ah, yes. True. I forgot. Of course, it 
 must be so to Scotchmen. To me, Mr. Lynn, 
 Italy is the South. In that little book of 
 mine, I take my readers thither. I have 
 sought to bathe my verses in the glow and 
 languor of the South. And I have striven 
 to chisel every line after the manner of my 
 Master." 
 
 " How ? Your master, Mr. Dulcimer ? I 
 don't understand — " said Mrs. Chevenix. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 290 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 '' I call Tlieopliile Gautier Master," said 
 Mr. Dulcimer. " But the setting of my story- 
 resembles tliat of tlie Decamerone. The scene 
 is laid in a garden — the garden of Theon, 
 Theon is the lover of Autonoe, the tyrannic 
 Archon's daughter. The Archon permits the 
 youth to wed Autonoe, on condition that he 
 dies ten days after the nujDtials. The youth 
 accepts these terms, and with Autonoe and 
 his friends whiles away the allotted interval 
 in story-telling, among the myrtles and roses 
 of Sybaris. My idea was, Miss Arden, that 
 we — my friends, that is, and myself — might 
 take among us the parts of those story- 
 tellers, reading in turns from my little 
 book." 
 
 " Yes, I see," said Miss Arden. '' But 
 what is the end of it all, Mr. Dulcimer ? 
 Does the cruel Archon relent, or is the poor 
 young man really killed ? " 
 
 Mr. Dulcimers face became rueful. For 
 a moment or two he did not answer ; and 
 when he spoke, his voice had completely 
 lost its supercilious suavity.
 
 AT HARTINGTON GARDENS. 291 
 
 *' I — I tlioiiglit," lie stammered, '' that — 
 that you would have read the book. I sent 
 you the volume, I remember — indeed, I see 
 it there" — and he turned his gaze towards 
 ;a table where lay a copy of the Hoses of 
 Syharis, splendid in purple plush and 
 ivory. 
 
 Miss Arden had evidently forgotten having 
 •ever received the volume. Lynn was glad 
 :at that. Yet he could not help compassion- 
 ating the poet, he looked so crestfallen. 
 Miss Arden, however, showed herself equal 
 to the emergency. 
 
 " Did not you yourself tell me, Mr. Dulci- 
 mer," she answered with a sweet smile, " that 
 poetry — and especially such poetry as yours 
 — must be read with a ' lingering slowness ' ? 
 On second thoughts — don't tell me the end 
 just now. That would spoil the interest. — 
 You yourself, I suppose, will take the part 
 of Theon ? " 
 
 " That," said Mr. Dulcimer, " depends upon 
 the Autonoe. I had hoped. Miss Arden, 
 that — "
 
 292 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 The confession of Mr. Dulcimer's hopes^ 
 however, was frustrated by the simultaneous, 
 sounding of the gong and entrance of Mr. 
 Arden. 
 
 Mr. Arden greeted Lynn with much cordi- 
 ality. 
 
 " So, Mr. Lynn," he said, as he shook 
 hands, "you have escaped from the house 
 of bondage ! I am so pleased to see you 
 here ! " 
 
 Mr. Dulcimer noted the empressement of 
 Mr. Arden's manner, and drew his own con- 
 clusions from it. 
 
 " Next time I go do^Ti to Shawkirk," Mr. 
 Arden went on, " and see your friends there,, 
 I shall be able to tell them that you are on 
 the high road to fame and fortune ! " 
 
 Mr. Dulcimer was completely puzzled. 
 This young Scotchman, then, had his for- 
 tune still to make ! Mr. Dulcimer had never 
 met a poor young man in that house before. 
 
 After lunch, host and guests went out to 
 smoke a cigar in the loggia. The drawing- 
 room windows opened into the loggia ; and
 
 AT HARTINGTON GARDENS. 293 
 
 Lynn, hearing the sound of a piano, was 
 not long in making his way within. Mrs. 
 Chevenix was off duty, and the tete-a-tete 
 was resumed. 
 
 " What do you think of Mr. Dulcimer, 
 Arthur ? " — asked Camilla at length. 
 
 "Well," said Lynn, "at first, you know, 
 I thought he was a foolish man pretending 
 to be clever ; but now I'm not sure that he is 
 not a clever man affecting to be a fool." 
 
 Just then Mr. Arden and the poet came 
 into the room through the open window. 
 Lynn's ear distinctly caught the words ' carry- 
 over' and 'contango.' The voice was Mr. 
 Dulcimer's ; and Lynn, though he did not 
 know the precise meaning of those terms, 
 was quite sure that they could have nothing 
 to do with dithyrambs. 
 
 " I hope you are free on Thursday, Mr. 
 Lynn?"— said Mr. Arden. "That is the 
 day when Mallory dines here, and I want 
 you very much to meet him. Will you 
 join us. Dulcimer ? — It is a small party, quite 
 sans f agon, you know."
 
 294 MY DUCATS AND MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Mr. Dulcimer was altogether of Legouve's 
 opinion, that " le diner sans fagon n'est qu une 
 perfidie." But he knew the capabilities of 
 Mr. Arden's chef, and accepted, as did Lynn. 
 
 "You will enjoy Mallory's society," said 
 Mr. Arden. " He has a wonderful flow of 
 conversation." 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 Printed by Frank Murray, 9 and xx Young Street., Edinlmrgh.
 
 nJl'S' ^ °^ "-LINOIS-URbTS? 
 
 3 0112 0795631 A1