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 JUN 1 8 1993 
 
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 L161— O-I096

 
 SIR JASPER'S TENANT
 
 LONDON : 
 
 EOBSON AND SON, GREAT NORTHERN PRINTING WORKS, 
 
 PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.
 
 / 
 
 SIR JASPER'S TENANT 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 "LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET" 
 
 ETC. ETC. ETC. 
 
 IN THREE YOLOIES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 JOHN MAXWELL AND COMPANY 
 
 122 FLEET STREET 
 
 M DCCC LXV 
 
 [_AIL rights reserved]
 
 U5 
 
 V. I 
 
 CO 
 CO 
 
 CO 
 
 CJ5 
 
 THIS STOEY IS DEDICATED 
 
 =2: TO MY DEAR FEIEND 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF '' WHITEFRIARS" 
 
 "7 
 
 -^
 
 COXTEXTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAP 
 I. 
 
 How HE CAilE TO SCAESDAT<F, 
 
 FAGS 
 1 
 
 II. 
 
 Up at the Geeat House . 
 
 23 
 
 III. 
 
 Was he wise ? 
 
 CI 
 
 lY. 
 
 Dorothy's liiPEESsioxs 
 
 90 
 
 Y. 
 
 "At first her I:mage was a dreamy 
 
 
 
 Thixg" 
 
 119 
 
 YL 
 
 " All WITHIX is DARK AS XlGHT" . 
 
 146 
 
 YII. 
 
 Dorothy's Conquest .... 
 
 158 
 
 YIII. 
 
 Ax L-xwELCOiiE Letter 
 
 183 
 
 IX. 
 
 A FLORID "Widow 
 
 202 
 
 X. 
 
 Mrs. Hardixg sees a familiar Face . 
 
 223 
 
 XL 
 
 Why did she do it ? . 
 
 235 
 
 XII. 
 
 Driven away 
 
 254 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Awkward for Sir Jasper . 
 
 275 
 
 XIY. 
 
 The Widow makes herself at Home . 
 
 296
 
 SIR JASPERS TEXAXT 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HOW HE CA3IE TO SCAESDALE. 
 
 Sevex o'clock on a fine diy October evening 
 and a red sunset behind the gaunt walls and 
 bare windows of Eoxborough Castle ; red splashes 
 of hght upon the broad waters of the !MercMd 
 river ; lurid patches upon all the windows facmg 
 westward in the quaint old town of Roxborough ; 
 and in Sir Jasper Denison's park, and all the 
 woods surroundino; that orand old domain, lono; 
 trails of crimson gloiy slanting between the browii 
 boles of the trees, and creeping to darkness far 
 away amongst the fern. 
 
 Seven o'clock, and the London express, due 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 2 SIR JASPER'S TENANT. 
 
 in Roxborougli at twenty minutes after seven, was 
 to bring witli it Sir Jasper's Tenant, the unlmown 
 personage wlio had hired a certain modest tene- 
 ment, or shooting-box, hidden deep in the heart 
 of Scarsdale wood, and let furnished by tlie 
 Baronet to any respectable occupant who cared 
 to give a decent price for a secluded habitation 
 in a picturesque locality. 
 
 The secluded habitation was known as the 
 Hermitage, wdiich romantic title had been given 
 to it by some sentimental occupant in days gone 
 by. There was a story connected with it, a tra- 
 gical story, such as generally belongs to a place 
 of this kind : the story of a faithless wife, a mid- 
 night meeting, a servant's treachery, and a sur- 
 prise — a shrieking woman locked in an inner 
 chamber, and watching through a keyhole — a 
 duel to the death, and then a flight on horseback 
 througli the black woods away to the open coun- 
 try, and the miry roads leading London-wards — 
 an inquest at the Hermitage — a suicide fomid 
 stark and stiff in a London lodging-house — and, 
 last of all, a mad woman, living her dreary life
 
 HOW HE CA3IE TO SCAESDALE. 6 
 
 for five-and-twentv miserable years in tlie great 
 mansion yonder in tlie Park, and never ntter- 
 ing one coherent sentence in all those years, 
 but in the parox^'sms of her madness always 
 doing the same things and saving the same words ; 
 always watching through a keyhole, and beating 
 T^"ith frantic hands against a door, and screammg 
 out that there was miu'der being done T^-ithin. 
 
 There were many versions of this story, 
 which mav have been somewhat lecrendaiw in 
 its character. It related to a noble race which 
 was extinct, and to a time in which men wore- 
 fantastically fiizzed periwigs upon their heads,, 
 and carried slim rapiers at their sides, always 
 conveniently ready for any little impromptu in 
 the way of an assassination in the badly lighted 
 streets, or a duel to the death in some lonely 
 chamber ^^-ith locked doors. 
 
 K you had been an amateur artist on the 
 look-out for a subject for a water-colom' rh'awing, 
 scarcely any thuig could have been better for 
 you than the Heraiitage, h"ing low in a deep 
 hollow of Scarsdale wood, with tracldess depths
 
 4 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 of fern stretching away to the left of its grim 
 wallsj and a still black pool lying to the right 
 of the old ivy-grown gate surmounted by a stone 
 escutcheon, and marking the boundary of a gar- 
 den that was no more. 
 
 In a water-colour drawinoj nothing could have 
 been more delightful than the queer 'gable-ends 
 and heavy stack of chimneys, the small diamond- 
 paned windows, the narrow deeply - set door 
 studded with knobs of rusty iron, the mossy 
 stains and creeping parasites upon the wall, the 
 rotting wood-work of the porch, and the general 
 aspect -of decay and desolation which pervaded 
 the house and all that environed it. The black 
 pool, with a solitary heron drinking — and how 
 thirsty the herons are in water-colours! — would 
 have been the very thing for Suffolk Street, Pall 
 Mall. A member of the pre-Raphaelite brother- 
 hood might have made a good deal of those 
 trackless depths of fern, and would most likely 
 have been tempted to devote his chief strength 
 to the broad fan-like leaves, the delicious grada- 
 tions from tawny yellow to deep russet brown,
 
 HOW HE CAME TO SCAESDALE. 
 
 from tender emerald tints to sombre depths of 
 darkest green and pm*ple. 
 
 Artistically regarded, the Hermitage was per- 
 fection ; but when considered as a residence for 
 a gentleman and his servant, there might be some 
 difference of opinion as to its merits. Of com'se 
 Sh' Jasj^er Denison's agent, a West-end auc- 
 tioneer, who had never seen the place, described 
 it in his advertisements as a small paradise, emi- 
 nently suited to the requirements of the most 
 fastidious bachelor livino;. The Hemiitac^e had 
 been for a long time vacant, and the auctioneer s 
 advertisement had figured in the Times Supple- 
 ment at intervals during the last twelve months, 
 agreeably varied by some little artistic touch of 
 coloiu' in the description, so that its staleness 
 should escape the detection of house-hunters. 
 Bachelors with a taste, for field-sports and retire- 
 ment came to look at the Hemiitao^e, and o-ene- 
 rally went away despondent. Half-pay officers 
 in search of a cheap habitation, and prejDared 
 to endure a good deal in the way of damp and 
 dulness, came to Roxborough puffed-up with
 
 b SIR JASPER S TENANT. 
 
 hope, and. returned to London stricken down 
 by despair. The damp and loneliness were some- 
 thing too much ; the stone escutcheon on the 
 gate was too suggestive of sweet Thomas Hood's 
 Haunted House ; the black pool and the splash- 
 ing water-rats hinted too plainly at murders that 
 had been done in the olden time ; and the des- 
 pondent house-hunterj stop]3ing to refresh him- 
 self with a bottle of pale ale at the Scarsdale 
 Arms, just outside the Park gates, was apt to 
 hear one of the goriest versions of the story about 
 the shrieking maniac and the duel to the 
 death. 
 
 Thus it was that the Hermitage had been 
 untenanted for nearly a year; except, indeed, 
 by a deaf old woman, who lived on friendly tenns 
 with the rats and mice, and was supposed to 
 keep the house in order. The last tenants had 
 been some riotous young sportsmen, who had 
 laughed damp and dulness, ghastly associations 
 and shadowy suggestions, to scorn, and who had 
 committed terrible havoc among Sir Jasper Deni- 
 son's preserves; who had consumed half a dozen
 
 HOW HE CAilE TO SCAKSDALE. 7 
 
 bottles of French brandy in tlie space of a week, 
 and had been more than once upon the very pomt 
 of settmg fire to the desirable shooting-box plea- 
 santly situated m a gentleman's grounds. The 
 riotous young sportsmen had clubbed together 
 for the hire of a moor in Scotland this year, and 
 for a long time it had seemed as if the Hermitage 
 would stand empty all the winter. But one 
 morning in October Sh' Jasper's housekeeper 
 had received a letter from the Baronet, then tra- 
 velling in Italy vdih his only daughter and heiress 
 Marcia Denison, to the effect that a tenant had 
 been found for the Hermitage ; a tenant who 
 was to be expected by the afternoon express from 
 London on the loth of October; a very metho- 
 dical kind of tenant, it would seem, smce he had 
 answered the auctioneer's advertisement from 
 Marseilles, and had rephed to the auctioneer's 
 letter of particulars by definitely hmiig the house, 
 and announcing his aiTival at Roxborough by 
 a certain train upon a certain day. He had 
 lately returned fr'om Central Africa; liis name 
 was George Pauncefort ; and the reference he
 
 8 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 ga,ve was to a highly respectable solicitor in Aus- 
 tin Friars. 
 
 Now the expected arrival of any tenant what- 
 ever at the Hermitage wonld have made subject- 
 matter for discourse amongst Sir Jasper Denison's 
 household, who found the long summer days and 
 the long winter evenings hang very heavily on 
 their hands during that weary period of board- 
 wages and individual half-pounds of butter and 
 isolated half-shoulders of mutton, and that general 
 scragginess which distinguishes the arrangements 
 of a gentleman's servants when they are cast upon 
 their own resources, as compared with the noble 
 liberality with which they dispense the goods 
 provided by their master. Sir Jasper's servants, 
 finding their lives very flat, stale, and unprofitable 
 during the lengthened absence of the Baronet and 
 his daug' ., were glad to pounce upon any little 
 conversational bone, and were not likely to drop 
 it until the last shred of intellectual sustenance 
 had been picked therefrom. 
 
 Any tenant at the Hermitage would have been 
 a god-send; but a tenant who came direct from
 
 HOW HE CAME TO SCARSDALE. 9 
 
 the centre of Africa was an inestimable blessing 
 in a conversational point of view. The ques- 
 tions that opened up out of such a circumstance 
 could scarcely ever grow stale, for they were 
 never likely to be answered. It was like the 
 proverbial Peter Piper over again. A tenant 
 come from Central Africa to take Sh' Jasper's 
 shooting-box ; but did the tenant really come 
 from Central Africa; and if the tenant did 
 actually come from Central xVfrica, T\hat was 
 the all-powerful motive which had brought him 
 from one side of the globe to the other to take 
 Sir Jasper's shooting-box ? 
 
 There were warm discussions everv evenincr 
 in the housekeeper's room as to the tenant, and 
 the tenant's possible habits and probable motives. 
 What he was Hkely to do, what he was sm'e 
 not to do; what he was hkely to be like, and 
 what he was certain not to be like; were so 
 many phases of the grand question freelv de- 
 bated in that Httle coterie : and by the time the 
 week had worn its slow lenoth alono;, and the 
 day indicated by Sir Jasper had arrived, eveiy
 
 10 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 man and woman in the lionseliold at Scarsdale 
 had created a separate ideal of the tenant who 
 was to come to Eoxborough by the 7.20 express. 
 
 Only one privileged creature was to enjoy 
 the happiness of an early view of the voyager 
 from Central Africa. This fortunate being was 
 a groom, who, in accordance vath Sir Jasper's 
 wish that his new tenant should be treated with 
 all possible courtesy, had been directed by the 
 housekeeper to drive a certain four-wheel pony- 
 carriage to the Eoxborough station for the accom- 
 modation of the expected traveller. Unluckily, 
 by that peculiar destiny which is perpetually 
 planting the square men in the round holes, and 
 vice versa, the groom in question happened to be 
 a person of a stolid temperament, quite unable to 
 appreciate the privilege afforded him. lie drove 
 into Eoxborough to meet the new tenant as coolly 
 as he v/ould have ridden to Eoxborough to meet 
 a draught-horse for the flirm. 
 
 How was he to recognise the tenant? This 
 question had been duly discussed. The town 
 of Eoxborough, and the military depot of Castle-
 
 HOW HE CA3IE TO SCAESDALE. 11 
 
 ford adjoining, were busy places, and there were 
 likely to be many travellers by the 7.20 express. 
 In this case it was decided that the groom must 
 trust to his instincts, and be governed by circum- 
 stances. Besides, he would most probably be guided 
 by the brownness of aspect which must ine\itably 
 distinguish a traveller newly arrived from Central 
 Africa. The housekeeper's last instructions to 
 the young man enjoined him to look out for a 
 bro'v\^i gentleman, attended by his servant, and 
 provided Avith an unusual amount of luggage. 
 
 The young man checked off his instructions 
 upon the stumpy ends of his fingers, and then 
 drove stolidly away through that delicious forest- 
 land which to the chance traveller seems one deep 
 mystery of fern and miderwood. He drove 
 throuD-h the dark avenues of oak and elm towards 
 the winding road by the Merdi'id, across whose 
 broad waters the walls of Eoxborough Castle 
 loomed gTand and dusky in the sunset. 
 
 At twenty minutes past seven the shrill shriek 
 of the enmne cut the still evenmo; air about the 
 station. Of course the station at Eoxborough
 
 12 sm jasper's tenant. 
 
 stood inconveniently away from the town, and 
 seemed cast down haphazard amid a dreary stretch 
 of waste and swamp. If it had been otherwise 
 situated, it would scarcely have seemed a station. 
 
 The privileged groom, standing at his horse's 
 head outside the door from which the passengers 
 by the down-train must emerge, waited very 
 patiently for his private view. 
 
 He was not such a very stupid young man, 
 after all ; and it may be he was rather wanting 
 in the higher attributes of ideality and the re- 
 flective powers than in the perceptive faculty: 
 for he made no mistake in the business intrusted 
 to him. He waited for the brown gentleman, and 
 the brown gentleman came — a tall muscular-look- 
 ing man, with a railway-rug over his shoulder, 
 and a small portmanteau in his hand ; but entirely 
 unattended. 
 
 The brown gentleman was walking off at a 
 brisk pace, when the groom plunged a little way 
 forward, touching his hat spasmodically in the 
 endeavour to attract the stranger's attention. 
 
 " Sir Jasper Denison, sir," he said ; '' trap.
 
 HOW HE CA3IE TO SCARSDALE. 13 
 
 sir — ^horse and shay ; drive you to the Hermitage 
 if you please, sir ; master's orders was every at- 
 tention ; and ^Irs. Brownmg, she thought as 
 how—" 
 
 " Oh, you've come to meet me/' answered 
 the stranger ; " that's very kind and cuil of your 
 people. It's a long way then, I suppose, from 
 here to the Hermitage ?" 
 
 "A good four mile and a half, sir. Shall I 
 take your portmanteau, sir?" 
 
 The small portmanteau was stowed mto the 
 phaeton, and the stranger took his place beside 
 the groom. 
 
 The groom bemg constitutionally stoHd — the 
 stranger bemg habitually silent, very Httle was 
 said during that four mile and a half drive. The 
 traveller asked thi'ee questions : " Was Sir Jasper 
 Denison at home ?"' " Would he be likely to come 
 home yet awhile?" ^'Were there many countiy 
 houses in the neighbourhood of Scarsdale ?" T^^ien 
 he spoke the tenant spoke very pleasantly, but 
 ver\- briefly. Having spoken, he relapsed into 
 silence ; and the gi'oom obser\'ing him, as in
 
 14 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 duty bonndj saw tliat lie was very brown^ that he 
 wore a thick moustache, a closely-cropped square 
 beard; and that he made good use of a pair of 
 dark eyes, which looked here, there, and every 
 where through the dusk, observant of every 
 changing feature in the rustic landscape. 
 
 The Hermitage looked absolutely cheerful to- 
 night, for the deaf old woman had received orders 
 from the great house, and had kindled big wood 
 fires in the two most habitable rooms. The light 
 of these fires gleamed redly through the diamond- 
 paned casements, in pleasant contrast with the 
 black October night. 
 
 " You'll want some one to wait upon you 
 perhaps, sir, as your own man hasn't come yet," 
 the groom said, as he alighted at the gate. " Shall 
 I come back when I've put up the horse f ' 
 
 The African traveller laughed pleasantly at 
 this offer. 
 
 " My good fellow, you are very kind ; but I 
 have roughed it too long out yonder to be de- 
 pendent on the services of a valet. My man 
 comes down to-morrow with my luggage ; till
 
 HOW HE CAilE TO SCAESDALE. 15 
 
 then I want nothing but a fire and a light, a 
 loaf of bread, and a cup of tea. There seeing 
 to be some one in the house by the look of it." 
 
 ^'Yes, sir; there's an old woman, Jim Turs- 
 good the fann-baihflTs mother, Ter\' respectable, 
 sir, but uncommon deaf." 
 
 " She'll be able to get me all I'm likely to 
 ask for. Tell Sh^ Jasper Denison's housekeeper 
 that I thank her for her ci^ihty in sending the 
 phaeton. Good-night." 
 
 " Good-night, sir, and thank you, sh\" 
 The stoKd groom touched his hat and di'ove 
 away; the richer for a halfcrown piece which 
 the tenant had dropped mto his hand, and very 
 well content with the result of his errand. The 
 tenant went into the Hermitage, upon whose 
 fire-ht threshold the deaf old housekeeper bobbed 
 perpetual curtsies. 
 
 The Afiican traveller seated himself in a big 
 old-fashioned aiin-chah' by the fire, and took off 
 his hat, reveahng a handsome, or perhaps rather 
 a noble-looking head, cro^iied by a forest of short 
 dark hah\ He glanced round the low cak-paneled
 
 16 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 room with a grave contemplative gaze, in which 
 there was httle of either curiosity or interest; 
 and yet the place looked cheery and pleasant 
 enough to-night, as such places will when seen 
 in the luminous glow of blazing logs burning 
 redly on a wide open hearth. The dark oaken 
 wainscot, the queer old bureaus, with brazen 
 locks and handles twinkling in the uncertain 
 light; the eight-day clock ticldng hoarsely in a 
 shadowy corner ; the old japan china jars, cracked 
 so much and mended so often as to be reduced 
 to a perfect patchwork of porcelain ; the peacock's 
 plumes and tiny Indian tea -cups on the high 
 mantle-shelf; the grim arm-chairs and faded Tur- 
 key carpet ; all these had a certain element of the 
 picturesque even in their ugliness ; and a traveller 
 who had slept under canvas, upon the stony 
 plateau of the Hammada, might consider him- 
 self very well off in the common sitting-room of 
 the Hermitage. 
 
 After that long contemplative stare Mr. 
 Pauncefort took a bunch of keys from his waist- 
 coat-pocket, and opened the small portmanteau,
 
 HOW HE CAME TO SCARSDALE. 17 
 
 whicli he had flung on the table near him. It 
 was a shabby httle portmanteau ; scratched, and 
 grazed, and torn, and battered, and was adorned 
 more or less with the labels of almost every rail- 
 way company in Europe. From this portman- 
 teau Mr. Pauncefort produced a tin-canister, a 
 meerschaum -pipe, and a packet of tea. Tlie 
 old woman asked if there was any thing she 
 could get for the gentleman. Nothing but a 
 tea-pot, some boihng water, and a cup and 
 saucer, ^h\ Pauncefort told her briefly. 
 
 She departed to remote regions at the back 
 of the Hermitage, and returned presently with 
 the stereotA-ped tea-tray, a big loaf, a pound or 
 so of butter, and a tea-kettle, which she set upon 
 the red logs, — a sputtering, hissmg, blustering 
 kettle, the voice whereof sounded pleasant in the 
 fire-ht chamber. Then the old dame demanded 
 with many curtsies if there was any thing more 
 she could do? She was very anxious to be re- 
 tamed by the strange gentleman. Her ser\4ces 
 generally went along with the cottage ; and she 
 had an agreeable recollection of the ^^'ild young 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 18 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 bachelors of the last year, who had left their 
 branclj-bottles in cupboards undefended by locks, 
 and had never been quite certain whether their 
 housekeeper was in a state of chronic intoxication 
 during the entire period of their residence, or whe- 
 ther it was the old woman's normal condition to 
 be very hazy in her intellect and rather unsteady 
 on her le^^s. 
 
 Sir Jasper's tenant, being left to himself, made 
 his tea, after a manner that smacked rather of 
 foreign travel than of domestic habits. He took 
 a great handful of the raw material and dropped 
 it into the teapot, which he filled with boiling 
 water, and then set down among the feathery 
 ashes on the broad stone hearth. Then he filled 
 and lighted his black-muzzled friend the meer- 
 schaum, and sat for a long time blowing big- 
 clouds of smoke, and staring dreamily at the red 
 logs, which changed to a deeper glow^, and then 
 grew dim, only spitting out little jets of blue-and- 
 yellow flame now and then as they broke and 
 smouldered into a mass of frail gray ash. 
 
 What is he like, the Tenant ? seen now vividly.
 
 HOW HE CAME TO SCARSDALE. 19 
 
 now xery dimly bj tliat fitful liglit. ^'^liat is lie 
 like? and is tliere any special cliami about him 
 whereby we can be expected to be interested in 
 him as he sits moodily smoking the big black 
 meerschaum, and staring at the fading fire ? 
 
 He is not handsome, not in the common ac- 
 ceptation of the word, which I suppose involves 
 somethuig hke perfection of form and colour. He 
 has strong features, boldly cut; deep thoughtful 
 eyes, darkly brown or darldy gray ; it is not easy 
 to discover then' precise hue in this uncertain 
 Hght. There is some touch of melancholy in the 
 exceeduig gravity of the face, a sombre settled 
 shadow, which makes the man seem older than 
 he is. You guess his age to be something be- 
 tween thhly-five and forty; but you know in- 
 stinctively that he looks older than he should look, 
 and that any hues lurking here and there about 
 his face have been sharply and suddenly cut by 
 the cruel hand of care, and not gently pencilled 
 by the gradual touch of time. 
 
 He laid aside his pipe by and by, and pom'ed 
 out his tea; strong black stuff, such as HazUtt
 
 20 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 the critical was wont to brew for himself. ISlr. 
 Pamicefort poured the black fluid into a basin, 
 and drank it without any alien accompaniment 
 of milk or sugar. 
 
 It was late by the time he had finished the 
 black decoction, and the old woman came in to 
 ask if he wanted any thing more. No, nothing 
 more. 
 
 "My bedroom is overhead, I suppose?" Mr. 
 Pauncefort inquired. 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Then you can go to bed when you please." 
 Mrs. Tm^sgood curtsied and retired to the un- 
 known regions appropriated to her. The tenant 
 filled and lighted his meerschaum for the second 
 time, stirred the pallid logs into a faint blaze w^th 
 the toe of his boot, and threw a heap of fresh 
 wood on the hearth. The hands of the hoarse 
 clock in the corner j^ointed to half-past ten ; but 
 Mr. Pauncefort had evidently no intention of 
 going to bed yet awhile. You cannot expect an 
 African explorer to be tired by a journey from 
 London to Roxborough.
 
 HOW HE CA3IE TO SCAESDALE. 21 
 
 He opened the casement-wandow and looked 
 out into the quiet Tvoods. The moon had risen, 
 a young pale moon as yet, but old enough to 
 give a faint silvery light, beneath which the silent 
 woods, the still black pool, the glorious depths of 
 tangled fern, appeared mysteriously beautiful. Sir 
 Jasper's tenant dropped into a chau* that was set 
 against the \\indow, rested his folded arms upon 
 the sill, and sat thus for a long time motionless, 
 absorbed, looking straight before him, with a solenm 
 melancholy in his face. 
 
 " An English wood," he murmured at last, 
 " English ferns and Enghsh foliage. How beau- 
 tiful, how unutterably beautiful it all seems to 
 me after the rank luxm-iance of the tropics, the 
 burnmg barrenness of the desert, the gigantic 
 horror of African mountams under an Afi'ican 
 sky! Fifteen years — fifteen wearisome useless 
 years since I last set my foot upon this Enghsh 
 land, and I have the com'age to come back at 
 last. I sometimes think it was a presentiment 
 that must have prompted my coming. Mourir au 
 gite, says the old proverb. I have seen the bones
 
 22 
 
 of travellers bleaching amongst the yellow sand, 
 and I should scarcely have cared to die in Africa. 
 I should like best to lie under a wooden cross in 
 a rustic churcliyardj with the shadow of a solemn 
 old yew for ever on my breast, and the sonorous 
 peal of village-bells for my Sabbath lullaby."
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 rP AT THE GKEAT HOUSE. 
 
 The tenant's servant arrived at the Hermitage 
 early the next day in a Roxborough fly, that 
 Tvas heavily laden with luggage. Other luggage 
 was to come in the coui'se of the day ; cases of 
 books, and a bath, and trmiks, and portmanteaus 
 of all kinds. Mr. Pauncefort e^ddently intended 
 to establish himself for some time at the Hermit- 
 age. The servant was brown like his master, and 
 grave like his master, and about the same age 
 as his master; but there ended all resemblance 
 between the two. The servant, though orduiarily 
 reserved in speech and manner, could relax upon 
 occasion, and reveal a cheerful, not to say jovial 
 temperament; and this the master never did. If 
 ^Ir. Pauncefort smiled, his smile was evidently 
 the smile of courtesy, and took no radiance from
 
 . 24 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 any light mthin the man. A very superficial 
 observer might have discovered that some one 
 great sorrow had given a gloomy colom^ to the 
 character of the ffrave and silent gentleman who 
 had newly taken possession of Sir Jasper's shoot- 
 ing-box; but George Pauncefort was the very 
 last amongst creation to parade his feelings or 
 sentiments before the eyes of his fellow men. He 
 affected none of the stereotyped gruff ness and 
 brutality of the misanthrope. He gave himself 
 none of those disagreeable airs, familiar to the 
 playgoing public, in the person of Mrs. Haller's 
 ill-used and weak-minded husband. He was only 
 very quiet, very anxious to avoid all notice, and 
 to live his own life unobserved and solitary. The 
 dreariness of the Hermitage, before which so many 
 would-be tenants had fled despairing, was an at- 
 traction for this man. Established in the low 
 old-fashioned parlour, with his cases of books un- 
 packed, and the dusky brown-backed volumes 
 ranged on neat shelves fitted and fixed by a Rox- 
 borough carpenter; provided with a perpetual 
 supply of pale Turkish tobacco, and that friend
 
 UP AT THE GREAT HOUSE. 25 
 
 and flimiliar the black-muzzled meerschaum, Sir 
 Jasper's tenant seemed perfectly comfortable. 
 " The heart may break, yet brokenly liye on," ex- 
 claims that poet who so dearly loyed to make the 
 most of all woes, real and imaginary; and who 
 never so thoroughly enjoyed himself as when he 
 was tearing the bandages off his freshest heart- 
 womids for the edification of the reading world. 
 " The heart may break,'' and yet a man may eat 
 his dinner, and smoke his pipe, and sleep soundly 
 o' nights, only distui'bed now and then by some 
 broken di-eam in which he feels the touch of the 
 yanished hand, and hears the voice that is still. 
 The heart may break, and the man may hold 
 his o-^^ii in the world. Those are not the least 
 useful, or the least agreeable members of society 
 whose hearts are broken. The great main-spmig 
 is shivered for ever, but all the little wheels go on. 
 The one pure joy, which made life worth living 
 for, has vanished into outer darkness; but there 
 are low sensuous pleasm'es, fine houses, and deh- 
 cate ^Wnes, and Chelsea china; and if the man 
 with the broken heart has only a sufficient balance
 
 26 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 at his banker's, he may turn collector, and give 
 his mind to Dutch pictures or Queen-Anne tea- 
 pots, as the case may be. Henry I. of England 
 never was seen to smile after the wreck which 
 lost him his son and heir; but the faithful his- 
 torian who tells us this, tells us also that the 
 bereaved king died of a surfeit of lampreys. 
 
 Mr. George Pauncefort, always grave and 
 quiet, was yet sufficiently genial in his manner 
 towards those few people whom he encountered 
 in his simple and solitary existence. The gossips 
 who speculated about him were unanimous in de- 
 claring that he was " quite the gentleman," " one 
 of y'r regular thorough-bred uns," according to 
 the horsey members of Sir Jasper Denison's esta- 
 blishment. 
 
 Mr. Pauncefort had been for many months a 
 tenant of the rustic little habitation in the wood, 
 before he crossed the threshold of that splendid 
 mansion whose Tudor chimneys glimmered redly 
 across the park. He had carefully avoided the 
 neighbourhood of the great house, preferring to 
 take his solitary rambles deep in the heart of
 
 UP AT THE GREAT HOUSE. 27 
 
 the wooclj where few but poachers or keepers 
 ever strayed; or far awaj in the pleasant open 
 country. But when he had been some eight 
 months in possession of the Hermitage, a certain 
 matter of business took him to Scarsdale Abbey. 
 It was the simplest matter, and one that his ser- 
 vant could have easily transacted for him. But 
 George Pauncefort was one of those men who 
 have a habit of waiting uj^on themselves, while 
 their pampered retainers enjoy an elegant idle- 
 ness. He had gone far afield upon this day, and 
 in stiikino; out his own road homewards across 
 the park, wliich was always open to him, he came 
 very close to the front of the Abbey. 
 
 It was then that he remembered that he had 
 been for the last day or two hindered from ^\Titing 
 to Sir Jasper Denison, to demand permission to 
 make some tiifling alterations in the stabling be- 
 hmd the Hermitage, by the want of that gentle- 
 man's address. 
 
 The grand portico entrance of the house was 
 some distance from him, but there was an old- 
 fashioned little door in a tm-ret at one end of the
 
 28 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 building, very near the spot where Mr. Paunce- 
 fort stopped to contemplate the mansion. This 
 door was open, and a portly, rosy-cheeked gray- 
 haired woman, who wore a silk gown and a 
 prim white muslin cap and apron, was standing 
 in the doorway, talking to a groom and caress- 
 ino; an enormous doo; of the Mount St. Ber- 
 nard breed. This woman was no less a person 
 than ]\irs. Browning, Sir Jasper Denison's house- 
 keeper. 
 
 ISIr. Pauncefort walked straight to the little 
 doorway, and speedily obtained all necessary in- 
 formation about the Baronet's probable address; 
 but he did not find it very easy to escape from 
 Mi's. Browning's society. She had never before 
 had a good view of Sir Jasper's tenant; and she 
 was determined to make the most of her oppor- 
 tunity. Would he not like to see the Abbey, 
 she asked. People came hundreds of miles to 
 see the Abbey. There wasn't a creatm'e in the 
 county who had not seen it; and this being a 
 nice bright day, \^dth a good light for the pic- 
 tures, how could the gentleman better employ
 
 UP AT THE GREAT HOUSE. 29 
 
 himself than by inspecting the Yandvke galleiy, 
 and the Ee^molds dining-room ? 
 
 This, or something very much to tliis effect, 
 !Mrs. Browning demanded with considerable ear- 
 nestness and animation. 
 
 "Lor, now, to think of your beino; the best 
 half of a year lining at Scarsdale, next door to 
 us as one may say, and neyer comincr to see the 
 Abbey; and it one of the show-places of the 
 county too ! I suppose it's through having been 
 so long abroad, sir, that you don't seem to take 
 any interest, I daresay, in English sceneiy, and 
 English houses, and such like." 
 
 The housekeeper said this in quite a s\Tnpa- 
 thetic tone, as if she were able to imagine a cer- 
 tain state of feeUng m which show-houses and 
 show -pictures might become mdifferent to the 
 mind satiated T\ith foreign splendours and foreign 
 art. 
 
 Mr. Pauncefort sighed as he answered 
 her. 
 
 " No," he said ; " I am yeiy fond of England. 
 Nothing that I haye eyer seen elsewhere, nor any
 
 30 
 
 length of absence, liave weakened my love for 
 my native country." 
 
 He spoke slowly; rather like a person wlio 
 is thinking aloud, than like one who answers 
 an ordinary question. His thoughts seemed to 
 wander away as he spoke ; and for some moments 
 he looked absently across the sunlit park, mth 
 the same sombre shadow on his face that had 
 darkened it when he looked out on the moonlit, 
 woodland on the night of his first coming to 
 Scarsdale. 
 
 The housekeeper watched him inquisitively. 
 There was so much about him to afford material 
 for speculation, and she was so anxious to make 
 the most of her opportunity. 
 
 "Then you ivill step in and look at the 
 pictures?" she said presently. 
 
 ]\ii'. Pauncefort hesitated a moment, and 
 then replied with a half-indifferent shrug of his 
 shoulders: "Yes, if you are really so good as 
 to wish to show them to me. I have no doubt 
 they are very well worth seeing." 
 
 That indifferent consent was enough. Llrs.
 
 UP AT THE GREAT HOUSE. 31 
 
 Brownincr curtsied: and Georo'e Paiincefort 
 crossed tlie threshold of a house which he had 
 hitherto scrupulously avoided, and which he had 
 intended to avoid to the end of his tenancy of 
 the Hermitao;e. 
 
 ]Mr. Pauncefort submitted very patiently to 
 the usual ordeal to be undergone by the inquir- 
 ing indi^-idual who inspects a show mansion. 
 Mrs. Browning pelted him T^^[th that little hail- 
 storm of hard facts which the cicerone lets down 
 upon his or her ^-ictims. The Vandykes, m a 
 long gallery at one end of the Abbey, were no 
 doubt very fine; the Florentine mosaics, the 
 huge Indian vases, were of course worthv of 
 jSIrs. Browning's encomiums ; but the only 
 thing George Pauncefort lingered long to look 
 at in any of the gi'and apartments was a little 
 Dutch interior, hanging in a badly-Hghted cor- 
 ner of the paneled drawing-room. 
 
 They came out of this drawing-room into 
 the great marble-paved hall — a splendid but 
 veiy chilly-looking apartment, Avith a domed 
 ceiling painted by Lely; and T^-ith gigantic
 
 32 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 equestrian portraits of dead-and-gone warriors 
 looming forth gloomily from the walls. Swing- 
 ing doors of massive plate-glass opened from 
 this hall into the portico; and by one of these 
 doors Mr. Pauncefort would fain have made his 
 exit, after presenting a very handsome fee to the 
 housekeeper; but that lady was bent upon de- 
 taining him still longer. 
 
 "You haven't seen half the house yet, sir," 
 she said ; " or not more than half of it, anyhow. 
 You've only seen what Miss Denison calls the 
 historical end of the Abbey. Some of the best 
 of the pictures are in the private apartments, 
 which are never shown to strangers ; but I shall 
 be happy to show them to you, sir, not being a 
 stranger, as one may say." 
 
 Again George Pauncefort hesitated; and 
 again gave way. A man's will in regard to 
 the trifles of life generally bends beneath a 
 woman's, be she whom she may. It matters so 
 little, he fancies, which way so small a matter 
 is decided; and it is by granting her sovereignty 
 over these little matters that we allow woman
 
 UP AT THE GREAT HOUSE. 33 
 
 to rule the universe. Only let Jeanne du Bam 
 sit upon the arm of King Louis's chair, and 
 pull his wig a^Yrv, and presently you Avill have 
 Choiseul sent away into exile, and all France 
 disorganised for the pleasui'e of a plebeian 
 favoui'ite. 
 
 Again ^L\ Pauncefort shrugged his shoulders, 
 and followed Sir Jaspers housekeeper whither- 
 soever she chose to lead him. She opened a 
 pair of baize doors, and led the way into a long 
 and spacious corridor, where the light from a 
 broad tudor ™idow at the extreme end was 
 made dimly splendid by the gorgeous colouring 
 of the arms emblazoned on every alternate 
 pane of glass. The A^-indow was built in a deep 
 recess, on each side of which there were quaint 
 old cabinets filled vnth oriental cliina, and sur- 
 mormted by hugh mandaiin jars. A pair of 
 old-fashioned ann-chairs with slim legs and 
 stiff straight backs, and a chess-table vrith. a set 
 of carved ivory pieces ranged under a glass 
 shade, stood in the window; and it was very 
 easy to fancv a cavalier with love-locks fallino; 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 
 
 loosely on a point-lace collar and velvet jerkin, 
 and a lady of the E. M. Ward school, bending 
 over the chessboard in the rainbow-tinted splen- 
 dour of smnmer sunshine streaming through 
 the old window. It was a charming spot, the 
 very scene of all others for a quiet flirtation on 
 a summer's morning, or for more earnest con- 
 verse in the mysterious glimmer of moonlight, 
 shining with fantastic glory on the polished 
 oaken floors and wainscots. It was a spot in 
 which a lover's Aoice would sink instinctively to 
 a whisper ; a spot in which a sublime uncon- 
 sciousness of all the past and a perfect reckless- 
 ness as to all the future were apt to creep into 
 a man's mind, leaving only a delicious sense of 
 present enjoyment ; a delightful resting-place 
 upon the weary highway of life; a sunny oasis 
 where it seemed " always afternoon," and sum- 
 mer afternoon, perfumed with the mingled 
 odour of ripe apricots and clematis floating 
 through an open casement. 
 
 The tudor window overlooked a walled 
 flower-garden. Miss Denison's garden it was
 
 UP AT THE GREAT HOUSE. 35 
 
 called ; an old-fasliioned unpretending pleasaunce, 
 with prim parterres bounded by overgrown box 
 borders; a garden that was rich in roses and 
 honeysuckle, and all simple flowers ; in rare old 
 fruit-trees that stretched then' gnarled hmbs 
 wide and far upon such a wall as builders rarely 
 fashion nowadays; a wall propped up by solid 
 bastions of brickwork, but which seemed not- 
 withstanchng to have been slipping down into 
 the earth for the last century; a lop-sided top- 
 hea^y old wall, about which gray mosses and 
 creeping things clung tenderly, while foxgloves 
 and stonecrop crowned it with flauntmg crests 
 of red and yellow. 
 
 ■ Looking through a small opening in the 
 tudor ^^-indow, ]Mi\ Pauncefort seemed more 
 attracted by the quaint old flower-garden, 
 where the yellow butterflies were wheeling above 
 the roses, and where a bio* lazv bee made a 
 monotonous booming in the cup of a tall white 
 lily, than he had been by any of the catalogued 
 grandeurs on the other side of the Abbey. 
 
 "It's a queer old-fashioned place," ^Irs.
 
 36 
 
 Browning said, almost contemptuouslj, "but 
 Miss Marcia won't allow any alteration; not so 
 much as the transplanting of a rose-bush ; it 
 was her ma's favourite garden, and Miss Marcia 
 seems to cling to every thing that was in any 
 way connected with her ma." 
 
 " You spoke of Miss Denison just now/' ob- 
 served Mr. Pauncefort, still looking out into the 
 sunlit garden; "and now you speak of Miss 
 Marcia. Are there two Miss Denisons?" 
 
 " Not now, sir. There was another Miss 
 Denison, but she died. She was a very beautiful 
 young person ; not so clever perhaps as Miss 
 Marcia, but much handsomer, and more aristo- 
 cratic like, quite a queen she looked; but you'll 
 see her picture in Sir Jasper's study, so I needn't 
 say any thing about that. She was engaged to 
 be married to ^ir. Percival Mannering, of Stoke 
 Mannering, one of the wealthiest gentlemen in 
 the county ; but her horse took fright one day 
 on the Roxborough Road and ran away mth her. 
 She wasn't as good a horsewoman as Miss Marcia, 
 but she had a fancy for spirited horses, and I've
 
 UP AT THE GREAT HOUSE. 37 
 
 heard the grooms say this one was a regular brute. 
 He threw her on a heap of stones that were Ipng 
 on the side of the road. She was brought home 
 to the Abbey, and before midnight there were 
 five doctors standuig round her bed. But she 
 never spoke again, nor knew any one, and she 
 died the next evening just as it was gl'o^^ing 
 dark." 
 
 " A teiTible cahimity for her father.*' 
 "It was indeed a cahimity, sir. He was just 
 hke a madman. I was stancUno; in the room 
 when ]vliss Denison died. Sh* Jasper was kneel- 
 inff by the bed holdino- both her hands, as if he 
 was trpng to hokl her back from death, somehow, 
 by the force of his own wilL I never, in all my 
 life before, heard anv thino; like the shriek he 
 gave when the poor girl, who had been wrestKng 
 and strugghng hke in her agony, fell back upon 
 the pillows dead. It was one of those sort of 
 things vou can never get out of vour head. Sir 
 Jasper is rather a stern, proud gentleman, not 
 given to express his feehngs much about any 
 thing ; but he was \^Tapt up in his eldest daughter."
 
 38 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 " And how loiiff lias Miss Denison been 
 dead?" 
 
 " Nearly five years. Sir Jasper left the Abbey 
 directly after the funeral, and he has never been 
 back since. I sometimes think he never will 
 come back again. I never saw any one so 
 changed as he was in that one week after his 
 daughter's death. She was just coming of age, 
 and her birthday would have fallen about a month 
 after the accident. There were going to be all 
 manner of fine doings at the Abbey; for it had 
 been settled that she should be married on her 
 bu'thday, and both events were to be celebrated 
 at once. There was nothing too grand or too 
 good for Miss Denison ; and Sir Jasper spent as 
 much money and took as much trouble about all 
 the arrangements, as if he'd been going to receive 
 a visit from the Queen of England. If any thing 
 could make the poor dear's death seem more sad, 
 it was the fact of its haj)j)ening amidst all the 
 bustle of these grand preparations. Sir Jasper 
 sent for me into his study the night Miss Denison 
 died, and gave me his orders about her rooms.
 
 UP AT THE GREAT HOUSE. 39 
 
 They were to be kept just as she had left them. 
 Nothmg was to be moved — not a book, nor a 
 scrap of needlework, nor any thing that her hand 
 had ever touched ; the flowers in the vases on 
 the tables and mantelpieces were to be left to 
 wither away ; the music was to remain as she had 
 left it, scattered about the piano. He took me 
 ^^'ith him, and went into her sitting-room and 
 dressinff-room. I never shall forget his face as 
 he looked round the rooms. Tm sm'e I don't 
 know ichj it should be so ; but I knoAv that the 
 sight of an open book T^dtll a cambnc handker- 
 chief Mng across it, just as it had been dropped 
 there carelessly before she went out, did make 
 it seem hai'der to believe that she was dead and 
 gone from us for ever. Sir Jasper shut and 
 barred all the shutters ^Wth his own hands, and 
 then he locked the doors of both the rooms, and 
 gave me the keys. The doors were never to be 
 opened unless there was a necessity for the open- 
 inc^ of them. There was to be no dustincf, or 
 cleaning, or meddling \\\\\\ them in any way ; and 
 there never has been. Xo one has ever been 
 
 i
 
 40 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 Into those rooms but me ; and I'm sni'e wlien 
 I do go there I always feel as if I was in a grave, 
 and expect to see Miss Denison's white face look- 
 ing at me out of the dusk at every turn." 
 
 "But the other young lady, — Miss Marcia 
 I think you called her, — she must have been a 
 great comfort to her father in his affliction," 
 observed Mr. Pauncefort. He was in an idle 
 humour this hot summer afternoon, and inclined 
 to be interested in the history of Sir Jasper's 
 family. That listener must have a very hard 
 nature who does not feel some touch of sadly 
 tender interest in a story of youth and beauty 
 suddenly blighted by the relentless hand of death 
 The housekeeper raised her eyebrows Avith a du- 
 bious expression. Whatever Mrs. Browning might 
 have been in the days when the Abbey was fully 
 tenanted, and her own time fully occupied by 
 domestic duties, she was now an incorrigible 
 gossip, and would have been content to stand for 
 an hour together in the sunlit corridor, discoursing 
 about the absent family. 
 
 " As for Miss Marcia being a comfort to oiu'
 
 UP AT THE GREAT HOUSE. 41 
 
 master," slie said, sinking lier voice to a confiden- 
 tial tone, "I don't know about tliat. I can't 
 take upon myself to say whether she would, or 
 whether she wouldn't. You see the truth of 
 the matter is, Su' Jasper did not seem to take 
 to ^liss Marcia. He marned t^^'ice, as I daresay 
 you may have heard ; and those that know him 
 best do say that he mamed the first time for 
 love, and the second time for money. The second 
 Lady Denison was a Miss Jones, a very rich yomig 
 lady ; but her father was sometlnng in the City, 
 and the county famihes wondered at Sir Jasper's 
 maldng such a match. The first Lady Denison 
 was one of the Hethemigtons of Castle Hether- 
 ington, a veiy high family. She was a beautiful 
 young creatm'e, but she was the youngest of nine, 
 and she hadn't a sixpence to bless herself with. 
 She ched a fortnight after her first baby was born ; 
 and from the horn' of the child's bhth — or I should 
 sa}- from the horn' of the mother's death — Sir 
 Jasper seemed to act as if his daughter Evehii 
 was the only creature he cared for on this earth. 
 He married Miss Jones two years after his first
 
 42 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 wife's death. She was a gentle, pleasant-spoken 
 lady, not one of your regular beauties, but very 
 sweet-looldng, with mild timid ways, just as if 
 she felt herself out of place in this great house. 
 I don't say that Sir Jasper was unkind to her ; 
 for my master is quite the gentleman, and I don't 
 think he'd be unldnd to any one. It seemed 
 more as if he overlooked her like, almost as if 
 he couldnt bring himself to think of her, or pay 
 much attention to her, he w^as so wrapped-up in 
 his little daughter. Anyhow the poor lady wasn't 
 happy. She didn't cry, or fret, or complain, or 
 any thing of that kind ; and I've heard the men- 
 servants say that she always smiled and seemed 
 to light up like when Sir Jasper talked to her ; 
 but she faded away very, very slowly ; so slowly 
 that no one was frightened about the change in 
 her looks, or the feebleness that grew upon her 
 as the time went by. Her baby was born a year 
 and a half after her marriage ; and oh, dear, 
 how she did cling to that baby ! But I think 
 her greatest grief came upon her at the birth 
 of that child, for she couldn't help seeing that 
 
 m-
 
 UP AT THE GREAT HOUSE. 43 
 
 Sir Jasper clidn't care for it. It Avas nearly 
 three years afterwards ^Yllen she was Mng on 
 her deathbed, very ill and very feeble, but mild 
 and patient and gentle to the last. It Avas just 
 a few days before she died, that I heard her say 
 to my master as he sat by her side, ^I should 
 hke to see you kiss my little girl, Sir Jasper, 
 if it was only once in all your life; let me see 
 my darlmg in her father's arms this once before 
 I die.' Sir Jasper gave a little start like, and 
 took his yomigest daughter on his knee. I do 
 believe it was the first time he had ever held 
 her in his arms from the houi' of her birth." 
 
 "But I suppose Sir Jasper was sorry when 
 this poor neglected wife died !" 
 
 ^Ii's. BroAAiiing shook her head thoughtfully. 
 
 "He seemed more stunned and dazed like, 
 than sorry," she said. " Lady Denison's death 
 came upon him very sudden, for he never seemed 
 to have seen that she was seriously ailing. It 
 was only common for the family- doctor to be 
 hanging about the house, first to see one of the 
 children, and then to see the other; and though
 
 44 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 he'd been attending Lady Denison for the three 
 years after her baby's birth off and on, she was 
 so quiet and made so Uttle complaint, that scarcely 
 any one knew that there was any thing amiss 
 with her. / knew ; for my lady w^as very friendly 
 with me, and would ask me to sit down some- 
 times when I went to her room to consult her 
 about any thing, and would keep me talking 
 for an hour at a stretch. ^Dr. Daniel tells me 
 there is nothing really the matter,' she would 
 say to me ; ^ he says there is only want of tone.' 
 I couldn't help thinking that Sir Jasper would 
 take more to Miss Marcia after her poor mother's 
 death : but he didn't ; he only seemed to ^et 
 more and more wrapped up in Miss Evelyn. 
 I'd been many years in his service, and I'd 
 served his father before him, so he used to speak 
 very freely to me. ^ I'm a most unfortunate 
 wretch, Browning,' he said to me one day after 
 the second Lady Denison's death ; ^ and every 
 thing that I love seems to come to an evil end.' 
 His daughter Evelyn was standing by his side 
 as he spoke, and he put his hand upon her
 
 UP AT THE GREAT HOUSE. 45 
 
 lieacl and lifted up her face. I never shall for- 
 get the look he gave her. He dichi't speak 
 another word ; but I know as well as if I'd been 
 able to read his thoughts, that from that time 
 there was always a fear in his mind that his 
 eldest daughter would die. He kept her vdth 
 him for one-and-twenty years, and he seemed to ■ 
 grow fonder of her every year: and just when 
 she was dearest to him he lost her. There are 
 some of our folks wicked enough to say that 
 her death was a judgment upon him for his 
 treatment of ^iiss Marcia." 
 
 "Did he treat his younger daughter badly, 
 then ?" 
 
 "Oh, dear no, sir. He only seemed to over- 
 look her somehow, just as he'd overlooked her 
 poor mother. He never spoke unkindly to her, 
 but she might be in the room TN-ith him for an 
 hour together without his speaking to her at 
 all. I had a good deal to do ^^-ith the manage- 
 ment of the two chikb'en, and then' nurses and 
 governesses and masters, and suchlike, and in 
 all the time I can't remember any one act of
 
 46 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 Sir Jasper's that you could call unkind. If lie 
 was ordering any thing particular for Miss Evelyn, 
 he seemed to forget her sister ; but if I said to 
 him, ^And Miss Marcia, sir?' he would answer 
 directly, ' Yes, of course ; let Marcia have every 
 thing that is proper : that is understood.' " 
 
 " And did the little girl feel her father's want 
 of affection?" 
 
 "I think she did, sir. She was very quiet, 
 but not timid, like her mother ; rather proud and 
 independent like in her ways; fond of waiting 
 upon herself, and not caring to take a favour 
 from any body. She was very fond of her sister, 
 and would always give way to her in every thing, 
 and had a kind of protecting manner with her, 
 as if she'd been the elder sister instead of Miss 
 Evelyn. Poor Miss Evelyn was a regular spoilt 
 child to the very last, and it seemed sometimes 
 as if she couldn't move hand or foot without 
 her sister's help. Marcia was not more than 
 seventeen when Miss Denison died, but she was 
 more a woman than her sister for all that; and 
 when the accident came, and Sir Jasj)er was
 
 •* 
 
 UP AT THE GREAT HOUSE. 47 
 
 like a madman, and there was scarcely any one 
 in the house fit to do any thing, the doctors 
 said that if ]\liss Marcia had been a hospital- 
 nurse of fifty years old, she could hardly have 
 done better than she did. But goodness gra- 
 cious me, sir, I might keep you here all day 
 talking like this, and I'm sm-e I beg yom- par- 
 don for runnino^ on so : onlv when an old woman 
 becnns to talk of a family that she's lived with 
 for nearly forty years of her life, you can't 
 wonder if she finds plenty to say." 
 
 The grave dark face of Sir Jasper's tenant 
 betrayed no weariness. He was interested in 
 this every -day storv' of a slighted childhood, 
 and a noble womanly natm-e poorly appreciated 
 by those who should have held it the dearest 
 of all earthly treasm'es. 
 
 . It seemed as if in every comer of the world, 
 for ever and for ever, quiet sufferers were bear- 
 ing their burdens meekly and silently. " Ah, 
 what a sorrowful universe it is I" thouo-ht Sir 
 Jasper's tenant ; " forgotten wretches starving 
 silently in loathsome garrets and cellars; beau-
 
 48 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 tiful women stricken by sudden death in splen- 
 did mansions, and all the power of wealth and 
 science too w^eak to save them ; passionate love 
 unable to shelter the object of its devotion ; and 
 even a child, an innocent unoffending child, born 
 with the stamp of a sorrowful destiny upon her, 
 and called upon from the cradle to bear her 
 small part in the universal drama of suffering !" 
 
 " I should like very much to see Miss Marcia 
 Denison's picture," Mr. Pauncefort said pre- 
 sently. 
 
 The housekeeper looked at him doitbtfuUy. 
 
 " It was Miss Evelyn's picture I spoke of, 
 sir," she replied ; " Miss Evelyn was the beauty, 
 and her portrait hangs in Sir Jasper's study. It 
 was painted by a very celebrated artist, I believe, 
 though the name has slipped my memory." 
 
 "But there is a portrait of Miss Marcia 
 somewhere, I suppose?" 
 
 "Well, I don't know, sir; and yet, when I 
 come to think of it, there is a portrait painted 
 by Miss Marcia herself. It hangs in the room 
 that used to be the young ladies' school-room.
 
 UP AT THE GREAT HOUSE. 49 
 
 and that was afterwards ^liss ^Nlarcia's own 
 sitting-room. She was always very clever with 
 her pencil, and used to spend the best part of 
 her time in drawing, and writing, and reading. 
 Her sister used to call her a blue-stocking ; for, 
 you see, the two young ladies were so different, 
 Mss Denison being all for gaiety and pleasui'e, 
 and !Miss Marcia all for study and lonehness." 
 
 "I should like to see ^liss Marcia's picture." 
 
 ^'Yes, su'; but youll see !Miss Denison's 
 portrait first, won't you"? It's considered a very 
 fine painting, let alone being such a good like- 
 ness." 
 
 lsh\ Pauncefort assented: and the house- 
 keeper conducted him to Su' Jasper's study, — 
 a noble room, hned with books from floor to 
 ceihng, and fi'agrant with the odour of Russia 
 leather ; rather a severe-looking apartment alto- 
 gether, with two white-marble busts on massive 
 black-marble pedestals keeping guard over the 
 door, and a bronze Xeptune sitting gi-im and 
 stern above a group of fierce sea-horses on the 
 top of the solemn-faced clock, which fonned 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 the sole ornament on the broad marble chimney- 
 piece. 
 
 Above this bronze Neptune hung the only 
 picture in the room, — a portrait, in kit-cat size, 
 of a very beautiful young woman, with a per- 
 fect profile and large dark eyes, but with some- 
 thing of the gorgeous colouring and classic 
 regularity of feature which have become vul- 
 garised by a hundred different examples of the 
 same young woman ; now caressing a dove, 
 and labelled Amanda; now smirking above a 
 sleeping baby, and entitled Maternal Affection; 
 anon simpering under the shadow of oriental 
 head-gear, and dubbed Zuleika: but always 
 equally adorned with all the splendour of dark 
 eyes, glowing cheeks, pouting lips, and a straight 
 nose. 
 
 Evelyn Denison's portrait was the picture of 
 a beavitiful woman; but not an exceptional 
 woman. Beatrice Cenci looks at us out of a 
 square of painted canvas across half-a-dozen cen- 
 turies, and we believe in her and pity her, and 
 her rare beauty makes an image in our minds
 
 UP AT THE GREAT HOUSE. 51 
 
 that never melts or mingles ^vitll any other 
 image ; but there are pictm'es of lovelier vromen 
 than Beatrice, which fade away from om' memo- 
 ries five minutes after we turn from the wall on 
 which they hang. 
 
 " Miss Denison must have been a very 
 beautiful girl," said George Pauncefort ; " but 
 I fancy she was one of those people who are 
 born to have love wasted on them by higher 
 natures than their own. I should like to see 
 [Miss Marcia's portrait." 
 
 This was the thu'd time IMr. Pauncefort had 
 expressed the same desire. He was interested 
 in the story of the daughter who had not been 
 loved. Perhaps the dull monotony of his o^ti 
 life rendered liim peculiarly liable to feel such 
 an interest. Those who try to reverse the 
 natural order of things must be content to pay 
 some penalty for their presumption. If Canute 
 had been in earnest when he asked the tides of 
 ocean to retu'e from that Southampton shore, 
 and the waves liad obeyed him, they would 
 most likely have recoiled only to return with a 
 
 UBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF flUNOfS
 
 52 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 mightier rush and drown him. The hermit who 
 withdraws his sympathy from his fellow-men 
 very frequently ends hy devoting himself to the 
 study of spiders and caterpillars. Mi'. Paunce- 
 fort, who had for eight months studiously 
 avoided all communication with his neighbom's, 
 found himself all at once wastins^ a midsummer 
 day in listening to the rambling talk of an old 
 woman. 
 
 He was not to see Marcia Denison's portrait 
 yet awhile, ^ii's. Browning insisted upon taking 
 him through the blue drawing-room and the 
 amber drawing-room, the billiard-room and my 
 lady's boudoir, still called by my lady's name, 
 though the Baronet had been nearly twenty 
 years a widower; and it was some time before 
 she brought him to a room on the upper story, 
 a large sunny room opening out of a wide gallery, 
 and simply furnished with maple-wood chairs 
 and tables, and chintz-hangings. 
 
 This was Miss Marcia's room. It looked 
 like the apartment of a woman of thirty, rather 
 than a girl of seventeen. Two capacious book-
 
 UP AT THE GREAT HOUSE. 53 
 
 cases were filled ^^•itll books of no common or 
 fiivolous character. There were an easel and 
 a pile of folio volumes in one corner of the 
 room, and a little old-fashioned rosewood piano 
 in another. The walls on three sides of the 
 room were hung with maps, which had formed 
 a part of the schoolroom furniture ; but the 
 wall above the mantelpiece was adorned by a 
 great many water-coloured sketches, all evidently 
 the work of the same hand. 
 
 The hand was not perhaps that of a genius ; 
 but it was that of a person gifted with a strong 
 natural talent, Avhicli had been ver\' fairly culti- 
 vated. There were vigom' and grace in the 
 drawing of the sketches ; and, if the colouring 
 was a little tame and cold, a shade conventional, 
 it was at least free from the glaring hideous- 
 ness which pervades the work of some amateur 
 artists who aspire to follow in the footsteps of 
 Etty. 
 
 The sketches were chiefly portraits. There 
 was the picture of a man of about five-and-forty, 
 with an aquiline nose and dark hair, just a little
 
 54 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 sprinkled with gray, whom Mr. Pauncefort set 
 down as Sir Jasper Denison. There were several 
 sketches of the Baronet's elder daughter: now a 
 three-quarter face, radiant and smiling, crowned 
 with a wreath of flowers ; now a profile with the 
 large dark eye glancing coquettishly upwards 
 from under the shadow of an elegant bonnet; 
 now a full face beaming under a broad Spanish 
 riding-hat and a plume of cock's-feathers. No 
 one looking at these girlish pictures could well 
 fail to understand that Marcia Denison had been 
 very fond of her sister. It seemed as if she 
 had never lost any opportunity of glorifying the 
 dead girl's beauty ; and every one of the sketches 
 bore in its careful manipulation and finished 
 colouring the evidence that the work had been 
 a labour of love. 
 
 There was one profile very differently handled : 
 the merest sketch, with only a little colom' to 
 light it up here and there ; but, like most care- 
 less sketches, instinct with a life and vigour 
 which had been lost in the more finished pictures. 
 This little sketch was Marcia Denison's portrait.
 
 UP AT THE GEEAT HOUSE. 55 
 
 clraT\ai by her owii hand. George Pauiicefort 
 looked at the simple little picture with a pen- 
 sive interest. It was not the portrait of a beau- 
 tiful gii'l; but Sir Jasper Denison's younger 
 daughter possessed that which was wanting in 
 the face of her handsome sister — a special cha- 
 racter, by which it might be distinguished from 
 the faces of all other women. It was a pale 
 face, with a delicate Kttle aquiline nose ; a 
 small l)ut rather prominent chin ; a broad fore- 
 head, ^^dth the hair grooving rather low upon it ; 
 and dark gray eyes. The hair was a warm 
 brown, rippling at the temple, and pushed away 
 from the small ear. The outline of the cheek 
 was very perfect, but its colouring cold and pale. 
 One of the gi'eatest chaniis of the sketch was 
 the bend of the long slender throat, like the 
 di'ooping curve of a wild hyacinth. In the atti- 
 tude of the small head, and the expression of 
 the thin lower lip, there lurked a quiet melan- 
 choly, which would have revealed itself to ]Mi\ 
 Pauncefort even if he had not kno^^^i so much 
 of Marcia Denison's history.
 
 56 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 " I like her face better than her sister's/' he 
 said, as he turned away from the chimney-piece. 
 
 " Dear me, sir," cried Mrs. Browning ; " you're 
 the first person I ever heard say such a thing. 
 We none of us ever thought Miss Marcia a 
 beauty." 
 
 Mr. Pauncefort smiled. 
 
 "I didn't say I thought her a beauty," he 
 said; "I only said I like her face. One doesn't 
 always like the beautiful faces best. Miss Deni- 
 son is the sort of woman a man marries on the 
 same principle as that on which he buys a pair 
 of carriage-horses, or the l.ease of a big house 
 in Tyburnia — simply because the wife, or the 
 horseflesh, or the house, may be the very best 
 and most splendid of its kind. Miss Marcia 
 Denison is a woman who may go down to her 
 grave unwooed and unwedded, or she may meet 
 the one man on all the earth destined to love 
 her to distraction. You may take my word for 
 it, Mrs. Browning, if any man ever does fall in 
 love with that girl, her influence will hold him 
 to the last hour of his life."
 
 UP AT THE GREAT HOUSE. 57 
 
 ^Ir. Pauncefort lauo-lied at his own earnest- 
 ness as he finished this speech. 
 
 "I did not think it was in me to be 
 so much interested in any thing as I have 
 been in yom- family history," he said; "I 
 really have to thank you for a very pleasant 
 morning." 
 
 The housekeeper cm'tsied and simpered : 
 
 " I'm sm'e I'm very glad you've been amused, 
 sir ; and I hope we shall see you often at the 
 Abbey when the family comes home," she said, 
 glancing rather doubtfully at Mr. Pauncefort's 
 shabby shooting-jacket, and wondering whether 
 he possessed a dress-coat in which to appear be- 
 fore the macmates of the land. 
 
 " O I the family is coming home, then f said 
 George Pamicefort, evidently surprised. 
 
 "Well, sir, Sir Jasper did say in his last 
 letter that he should be back at the Abbey before 
 Christmas; but he said the same thing the year 
 before last, and he didn't come. He spent last 
 mnter and the spring in Rome; and now he's 
 in Germany, drinking the waters somewhere;
 
 58 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 but there, I always forget the names of these 
 foreign places." 
 
 "And he is likely to return before Christ- 
 mas f 
 
 "Well, you see, he says so, sir, in his last 
 letter." 
 
 Sir Jasper's tenant was very thoughtful as 
 he walked slowly homeward across the sunlit 
 greensward of the park, and through the dusky 
 gloom of the thick woods. He had loitered for 
 nearly three houi's in the rooms and corridors of 
 the Abbey, looking at the pictures and listening 
 to the housekeeper's rambling talk. 
 
 " Humph !" he muttered ; " if these people 
 come back, I must find another hiding-place. I 
 don't want to be patronised by Sir Jasper Deni- 
 son, or stared at by Miss Marcia's young-lady 
 visitors. She would neither stare at me, nor 
 pry into my business. She is a self-contained 
 young lady, who asks sympathy from no one, 
 and will sjTupathise with very few. Between 
 the story of her life and the little sketch of her
 
 UP AT THE GREAT HOUSE. 59 
 
 profile I fancy I can make out a pretty clear 
 idea of that young lady's character." 
 
 The daily papers were lying on a table when 
 he entered his sitting-room at the Hermitage. 
 He had been fifteen years a wanderer in the 
 wildest and loneliest regions of this earth ; but in 
 all those years he had never lost the English- 
 man's imperishable love of his daily newspaper. 
 Even to-day, when his mind was occupied by 
 forebodings of possible annoyance from the retiu'n 
 of his landlord's family, he took up one of the 
 papers with a greater show of eagerness than he 
 was wont to exhibit. 
 
 The first paper which his hand fell upon 
 was the Supplement to the Times. His eye ran 
 along the hst of buths, marriages, and deaths, 
 as if, hermit though he was, some slight interest 
 in the affaii's of his fellow- men still lingered in 
 his breast. At the sight of a name amonor the 
 record of deaths, a dark change came over his 
 face, and a sudden shivering shook him from 
 head to heel. 
 
 " On the 4th inst., at Naples, Leonora Fane,
 
 60 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 relict of the late Major Weldon Paget Fane, 
 H.E.LC.S., aged 41." 
 
 George Pauncefort crushed the newspaper 
 in his strong hand, as if in that iron grasp he 
 would fain have crushed out the record on the 
 printed sheet. ^' If it had been the other," he 
 cried, — " if it had been the other ! O my God, 
 will the wicked wish never be granted ?"
 
 CHAPTER m. 
 
 AVAS HE A\^SE f 
 
 The summer waned slowly, veiy slowly for that 
 quiet dweller in Scarsdale Hermitage, whose 
 monotonous days were unbroken by any event, 
 almost imvaried by so much as a communication 
 from the outer world. 
 
 Those who took care to keep themselves well 
 acquamted vdtli George Pauncefort's habits were 
 aware that he received scarcely any letters. The 
 man who carried letters and papers to the big 
 house rarely went out of his way to penetrate 
 the thickets amongst which ^Ii'. Pamicefort's 
 retreat lay hidden. The newspapers were duly 
 sent from Eoxborough station every afternoon, 
 and by their means alone was Sir Jasper's tenant 
 made acquainted with the great political tempests 
 and the small social ripples on the tide of human
 
 62 
 
 life. He was not a talking man. His servant 
 had travelled with him for fifteen years, sleeping 
 in the same tent with him in the desert, resting 
 with him by lonely wells under the shadow of 
 African mountains, sharing dangers from man 
 and beast; and vet there was little confidence 
 or familiarity between the master and man. The 
 servant kept his place as well as if he and his 
 employer had never quitted Belgravia. He was 
 a model retainer, a Protean domestic, entirely 
 free from the pretentious cleverness, the bustling 
 activity, common to your Jack of all trades. He 
 could cook a dinner, or groom a horse, or lay-out 
 the paraphernalia of his master's toilet, with equal 
 despatch and completeness : but his service at 
 the Hermitage was a very easy one, for Mr. 
 Pauncefort's habits were almost as simple as 
 those of an anchorite, and he had an absolute 
 aversion to any thing in the way of obsequious 
 attention. Indeed, to sit late into the solemn 
 quiet of the chill hours that follow midnight, 
 reading in heavy brown-backed folios or quaint 
 black-letter volumes ; to smoke bowl after bowl of
 
 WAS HE WISE ? 63 
 
 Turkish tobacco in the black-muzzled meerschaum, 
 — seemed ^Ir. Pauncefort's only idea of domestic 
 enjojTnent. His days he spent in rambling far 
 and wide about the fair pastoral countiy, utterly 
 reckless of, and indifferent to, the changes in the 
 weather, seeking out hidden nooks and world-for- 
 gotten -sdllages, dotted on broad masses of common 
 land, or lying deep under a cluster of towering 
 hills. Sometimes, after wandering very far afield, 
 he would take a night's shelter in some remote 
 'S'illage inn, httle better than a beershop as to its 
 capacity for accommodating travellers. Unlike most 
 resented men, George Pauncefort was able to make 
 himself at home any where, and would smoke his 
 black -muzzled companion in a chimney- comer, 
 amidst a little cluster of tillage bumpkins, ^-ith 
 as much apparent satisfaction as in the soHtude 
 of liis own chamber. Perhaps he was rather self- 
 contained than reserved in disposition. He was 
 entirely independent of his fellow-men — or as en- 
 tirely so as any human creature can be : but he in 
 no way resembled the conventional misantlu'ope; 
 and if circumstances called upon him to do so, he
 
 64 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 could let himself clown to the level of the com- 
 monest and most ignorant of his kind without 
 any awkward creaking of his intellectual ma- 
 chinery by which the letting-down process might 
 be betrayed. He never attempted to patronise; 
 he never made the faintest effort to assert his 
 superiority; he wore a threadbare shooting-coat, 
 and riding-boots that were rusty with long wear ; 
 but he never yet had found the rustic boor so 
 slow of perception as to fail to recognise his po- 
 sition as a gentleman. 
 
 I have said that George Pauncefort carried 
 upon him, so deeply branded as to be visible even 
 to the most ignorant eyes, the stamp of some great 
 sorrow ; a sorrow of the remote past, it seemed to 
 be; a sorrow that had been conquered and lived 
 down, leaving the conqueror enfeebled by the an- 
 guish of the struggle, scarred by the bitter blows 
 dealt against him in the long fight, but not utterly 
 shattered. Time had passed, and he had buried 
 his gi'eat trouble, and had trampled on its grave ; 
 but the ghosts of such bitter agonies will haunt us 
 long after the woe itself is past and dead ; and the
 
 WAS HE WISE ? 65 
 
 man callincj himself Georfce Pamicefort had his 
 phantom. In dreams, in the di-ead wakeful hom's 
 of the quiet night, the spectre arose before him, 
 the old pangs rent him, the cicatrised wounds 
 opened again to pour forth new toiTents of blood 
 — that impalpable heart's-blood which we shed in 
 such an agony. 
 
 Do you remember that story — a madman's 
 story, as I think — of a man who mm'dered his 
 enemy, and ever after, so long as he lived, on 
 the anniversary of that hideous day, found the 
 corpse of his \ictim, and had to get rid of it ? 
 Once he found the loathsome tliino^ Ivino; in his 
 berth at sea, and was fain to summon up unna- 
 tural strength, and hurl it into the ocean ; on an- 
 other anniversary he came upon it in the desert, 
 and bm'ied it deep beneath the burning sands. 
 But, let him bury it or hide it wheresoever or 
 howsoever he would, when the dreaded day came 
 round, the thing was there, and his work had to 
 be done again. Does not this story seem some- 
 thing like an allegory? Sm-ely there are some 
 amongst us who have slain a sorrow and l^uried 
 
 YOL. I. 5
 
 Q{) SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 it, — not once, but many times, — only to find tlie 
 dreadful thing lying in wait for us in tlie quiet 
 of our chambers ? 
 
 But it is possible to smile and talk pleasantly 
 enough with our fellow-men despite some lurking 
 dread of that possible corpse lying upstairs, and 
 not polite enough to confine its horrible intru- 
 sions to any given day in the year. The broken- 
 hearted people manage somehow to hold their 
 own in the vforld. All through the bright 
 autumn weather Mr. Pauncefort found life as 
 agreeable as life can well be to a man who has 
 neither wife nor child, father nor mother, nor 
 even the ^' bosom friend, dearer than all." What- 
 ever pleasure can be derived from the solitary 
 contemplation of English landscape, amidst the 
 copses and valleys, the hills and streamlets, of 
 one of the fairest of English shires, was his. 
 "Whatever delight a man can derive from his 
 favourite authors and his favourite tobacco was 
 also his. The days were rather monotonous, per- 
 haps ; veiy slow in their progress, very brief to 
 look back upon, for they melted imperceptibly
 
 WAS HE WISE ? 67 
 
 one into another, like the hours that pass in a 
 cb-eamless slumber, leading no mark behind them. 
 It was only when he saw the fern redden imder 
 the sombre shadow of the spreading oaks that 
 he could well bring himself to believe he had 
 been for twelve months a dweller in the Her- 
 mitage. 
 
 Yes, October had come again, and the first 
 year of George Pauncefort's tenancy had expired; 
 a veiy quiet and peacefid year, leading no more 
 interesting record behind it than the bill of the 
 T\^est-end tobacconist, who supplied Sii' Jasper's 
 tenant with mild Turkish. October had come 
 again ; and early in the month George Paunce- 
 fort found liimself once more on the long teiTace 
 in front of Scarsdale Abbey. 
 
 An insignificant accident had led him thither 
 in the bright midsummer sunshine; an insignifi- 
 cant accident brought him there now in the still 
 October afternoon. One of the clumsy old chim- 
 neys at the Hermitage had given signs of immi- 
 nent decay, and Mr. Pauncefort came to make 
 some common inquiry of Sir Jasper's house-
 
 6S SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 keeper respecting the proper people to set about 
 the necessary repau's. He had been away on 
 one of his rustic expeditions for the last two 
 days and nights, and had returned to find the 
 thatched roof of the Hermitage in jeopardy, and 
 the deaf old woman tormented by vague fears 
 as to the chances of being buried alive at any 
 moment under the ruins of a fallino- habitation. 
 
 It was only in search of a bricklayer that 
 Sir Jasper's tenant came to the Abbey in the 
 low yellow light of an autumn sunset ; only in 
 search of a bricklayer, and he found — what ? 
 The opening chapter of life's romance is gene- 
 rally very commonplace. Even on the stage, 
 where the beautiful and the ideal are supposed 
 to be paramount over stern reality, the gi'andest 
 tragedies are apt to begin with the conventional 
 greetings of two gentlemen meeting in a street, 
 or the vulgar talk of a first and second citizen. 
 
 George Pauncefort was in rather a dreamy 
 mood this afternoon. He had exhausted a good 
 deal of physical energy dm^ing his rambles of the 
 last eight-and-forty hours, and a pleasant languor
 
 WAS HE WISE ? 69 
 
 had succeeded the active frame of mind that is 
 generally engendered by mountain -air and pe- 
 destrianism. It was pleasant to him in this 
 dreamy state of feehng to hnger a little on the 
 terrace, watchincr the red smiho;ht fade behmd 
 the western woods ; and he lingered. The best 
 pleasures of his Hfe were only such pleasures as 
 these — a ch-eamy sense of raptm'e in the still 
 beauty of a twilit landscape, a gentle happiness 
 in the contemplation of a glorious sunset. He 
 lounged with his arms folded on the broad stone 
 balustrade, watching the fachng hght, and quite 
 imaware that there was any thing but a long 
 row of blank windows behmd him, when the 
 creaking of a hinge roused him from that most 
 deUcious state of mind popularly kno^vn as " think- 
 ing of nothmg." He turned quickly, and fomid 
 himself face-to-face with a lady who was stand- 
 ing on the tlu'eshold of an open French window. 
 One glance at the pale face upon which the low 
 light was shining was quite enough to reveal 
 the lady's identity. The little aquiline nose, 
 the broad forehead, the ripphng brown hair
 
 70 
 
 pushed away beliiiid a delicate rosy-tinted ear, 
 were very familiar to him, though he had only 
 seen them once in a schoolgirl's careless sketch 
 of her own profile. Marcia Denison had one of 
 the faces that are always remembered by those 
 who look upon them — not for their beauty, but 
 because of their individuality. Amongst all the 
 faces in a crowded ball-room, Sir Jasper's tenant 
 would have been able to select the face of the 
 girl whose sorrowful story had beguiled him in 
 the idle hom-s of a summer's day. 
 
 She was a woman now, with a well-bred 
 woman's perfect self-possession ; and her look 
 and attitude, as she stood with her hand on the 
 fastening of the open window, were sufficient to 
 tell Mr. Pauncefort that she had opened it on 
 purpose to speak to him. He took off his hat 
 as he approached her. 
 
 " Miss Denison, I believe," he said ; and then, 
 as the graceful head was slightly bowed in assent, 
 he added, "I really have to apologise for giving 
 myself up to the contemplation of nature from 
 a stand-point exactly in front of your window;
 
 WAS HE WISE? 71 
 
 but I had no idea that the fiiniily had retiu'iied. 
 I came to make some inqiiii'ies of Sh* Jasper's 
 housekeeper." 
 
 " Papa has heard of the fallen chimney, and 
 will be very Mad to talk to vou about it, if you 
 will be good enough to come into his room. He 
 is an invalidj and cannot ventm'e out in this 
 autumn weather." 
 
 ^Ir. Pauncefort passed through the window 
 at which ^liss Denison had been standing, and 
 found hunself in Sh' Jasper's study. The bronze 
 Neptune was looming darkly upon a gray-haired 
 weary-looking man, who reclined in a low easy- 
 chair, with his head Ijing back upon the cushions, 
 and his worn but handsome featm-es lighted up 
 by the glow of a gi'eat coal-fire, upon the top 
 of which bui'ned a huo-e loo- of wood. The room 
 was oppressively warm ; but Sir Jasper gave a 
 pee\'ish httle shiver as he turned his head to- 
 wards the open window by which his tenant had 
 entered the room. 
 
 "My dear !Marcia, how much longer are you 
 going to keep that window open ? — I beg your
 
 72 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 pardon, Mr. Pauncefort. Yeiy happy to see you, 
 and make your acquaintance ; but sorry to do so 
 under the disadvantage of an east-wind. Pray 
 sit down. You don't care to come nearer the 
 fire? Ah, I thought as much. You are a hardy 
 pedestrian, I hear ; a traveller, with all manner 
 of terrific adventures to boast of. You please 
 yom'selves, you others ! For my own part, I 
 never outstep the limits of civilisation. Civilisa- 
 tion has been three or four thousand years com- 
 ing to me ; and I really don't see the justification 
 for running away from it. — ^^iarcia, more coals." 
 
 Miss Denison laid her hand upon the bell. 
 She was standing at the corner of the mantel- 
 piece, with her elbow resting on the broad slab 
 of marble ; and in the dim glimmer of the fire- 
 light the tall slim figure, so statuesque in its 
 perfect repose, looked almost like the image of 
 a mediaeval saint keeping guard over a tomb. 
 Sitting on the further side of the room, and at 
 some distance from her, George Pauncefort had 
 ample time to contemplate Marcia Denison ; 
 while the chilly Baronet discussed the condition
 
 WAS HE WISE ? 73 
 
 of his tenant's retreat, and debated tlie advisa- 
 bility of calling in an architect to siu'^'ey the 
 premises. 
 
 "The place has been lapsing into decay for 
 the last fifty years/' said Sir Jasper. "There 
 has been piecing and patching going on, more 
 or less, ever since I can remember. The comitiy 
 people rejoice in the fallhig of a chimney or the 
 crumbhng of a wall ; and put down all chlapi- 
 dations to the account of a certam gentleman, 
 in a silken jerkin and golden lovelocks, slaugh- 
 tered in a duel under that ivy-mantled roof. Do 
 you ever see any ghosts at the Hennitage, ^Ii\ 
 Pauncefort ?" 
 
 " A good many ; but not the ghost of the faii- 
 haired cavalier." 
 
 "Ah, you brought yom' phantoms with you, ^ 
 
 I suppose. Well, my dear sir, we must do our 
 best to make the place comfortable with a Httle 
 more patching and piecmg; in the mean time, 
 if there is the slightest apprehension of danger, 
 I beg that you will take up your quarters in 
 this house until the bricklayers have set things
 
 74 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 right. I sliouldn't mind spending a little money 
 upon the decent restoration of the old place ; its 
 traditions are worth something; and there are 
 dark stains on the flooring of the lower room, 
 which stand very well for blood. I shouldn't 
 mind spending money, if I thought you would 
 care to retain your present abode for any length 
 of time. A respectable tenant — a single gentle- 
 man of quiet habits — is always the highest desire 
 of a landlord's heart. Seriously, then, Mr. Paunce- 
 fort, how long do you purpose inhabiting the Her- 
 mitage f 
 
 "To tell the truth. Sir Jasper, the question 
 is rather perplexing to me. I have been think- 
 ing of — " 
 
 He stopped abruptly, with his dark eyes bent 
 on the ground. For fifteen years before this 
 autumn evening, he had not once been a gaest 
 in a decent English home. The atmosphere of 
 Sir Jaspers study was new to him ; the quiet 
 presence of a well-bred woman stuTed him with 
 a faint thrill of pleasure, engendered out of the 
 very novelty of the sensation. For fifteen years
 
 WAS HE WISE ? 75 
 
 lie liad been a wanderer in the wildest and lone- 
 liest regions of the earth ; and the glimmer of 
 firehght in a handsome chamber, the rustle of a 
 woman's silken gown, the fitful shimmer of dia- 
 monds on a slim white hand, were almost as 
 strange to him as they might have been to the 
 rudest peasant-lad weeduig turnip-fields for six- 
 pence a day upon Sir Jasper's estate. 
 
 "You were thinking of leading us," said the 
 Baronet, taking up George Pamicefort's unfinished 
 sentence. " I'm not sm-prised to hear it. The 
 Heraiitage is an unlucky place ; and I don't sup- 
 pose any respectable tenant will endm'e a long 
 lease of its gloom and ruui. I'm sorry to tliink 
 we are likely to lose you; for I had looked for- 
 ward to some social ™iter evenings, in which 
 you might have mdulged us now and then ^A^ith 
 a graphic sketch of African adventm^e. I should 
 really have enjoyed a httle ^-icarious pei'il and 
 privation. What can be more dehcious than to 
 exist for three days and nights without food or 
 water? — to feel the ponderous paw of a lion on 
 yom' chest, and his hot breath on Aom' face,
 
 76 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 while a dull numbness stagnates your blood, and 
 holds you as powerless as some heavy sleeper 
 under the thrall of a nightmare ? — to spend half- 
 a-dozen hours, holding on for dear life, at the 
 top of a palm-tree, with a tropical sun blazing 
 above your uncovered head, and a hungry tiger 
 prowling below your dangling heels? — in short, 
 to have all the sensation of dangers whose actual 
 risk and anguish have been endured by other 
 people? To be fi'ank with you, Mr. Pauncefort, 
 I have a fancy that there ought to be some 
 little sympathy between you and me. I have 
 turned my back upon the world for the last few 
 years of my life, and have lived as much apart 
 from my race as a man can live who is too 
 much a Sybarite to dispense with the comforts 
 of civilisation, and too much an invalid to exist 
 without medical science. I think there must be 
 a little of the misanthrope in your nature, or you 
 would scarcely have held out for a twelvemonth 
 against the dreariness of Scarsdale Wood. How- 
 ever, you can hold out no longer, and you are about 
 to leave us. I ought to have anticipated as much."
 
 WAS HE WISE ? 77 
 
 Miss Denison had seated herself in a low chair 
 opposite her father. A Kttle table stood near her, 
 with a heap of new books and magazines; and 
 she was cutting open the leaves of a periodical 
 with a paper-knife, whose jewelled handle glim- 
 mered fitfully in the firehght. Sir Jasper's tenant 
 found himself absently follomng the motions of 
 the white hand and the o-litterinsj knife. It was 
 so very lono; since he had seen an elegant woman 
 sitting at a comfortable fireside, while the autumn 
 wind was moaning dismally in the outer gloom 
 beyond the curtained \\^ndows, like some banished 
 "VNTetch exiled for ever from the sacred shelter of 
 home. He looked at the quiet figure, Avhose 
 harmonious lines melted one into another and 
 blended imperceptibly with the warm shadows 
 of the background, almost as he might have 
 looked at a picture. He looked at the quiet 
 figure, and remembered the story of Marcia De- 
 nison's childhood. The neo-lected mrl had rn'own 
 
 o o o 
 
 into an elegant woman, with a certain calm 
 beauty of her own, — a beauty of form rather 
 than colour or expression. There are plants which
 
 78 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 mil flourish without sunshine ; but they are gene- 
 rally pale fragile blossoms at the best. I^Iarcia 
 Denison had grown to womanhood V^dthout the 
 warm light of love ; and George Pauncefort was 
 beguiled by the fancy that a stranger might have 
 read something of her story from her face and 
 manner. The perfect self-possession, the grace- 
 ful repose, seemed to be the natural attributes 
 of a woman from whose life all passionate emo- 
 tions had been banished. No fierce throbs of 
 jealousy had ever rent her bosom ; the hopes 
 and fears, the painful uncertainties, the agonis- 
 ing doubts, which wait upon the happiest of 
 earth's affections, had never shaken her nature 
 from its placid repose. An elegant woman, a 
 lady in the highest sense of the word, Marcia 
 Denison looked calmly out upon a world which 
 had given her little joy, and could scarcely bring 
 her any very terrible sorrow. 
 
 Mr. Pauncefort hesitated a little before he 
 answered Sir Jasper's very friendly speech. The 
 paper-knife travelled steadily on : the A^hite hand 
 appeared and disappeared as the light of the
 
 WAS HE WISE ? 79 
 
 burning log leapt up into sudden life, or died 
 away into darkness; fitful and shadow;\- as those 
 spirit-hands of which we hear so much nowadays. 
 
 " I certainly have been thmking of leaving 
 this part of the countiy,*' George Pauncefort 
 said at last ; " but I really have neither decided 
 upon when I should go, nor where I should go. 
 I have been so lons^ a traveller that Entrlish 
 life is apt to seem a little tame and flat. As 
 for the ch'eariness of my present quarters, that 
 has never been disaoreeable to me. I am fonder 
 of a book and a pipe, or an early ramble on a 
 great waste of common-land, than of all the 
 gaieties of the universe. There are veiy few 
 reasons why I should leave the Hermitage — per- 
 haps scarcely one substantial reason — and there 
 are many inducements for me to remain. Sir 
 Jasper, will you peraiit me to ask you a ques- 
 tion, and vnH you believe me when I assure vou 
 that it is not an impertinent one ?" 
 
 "With all my heart." 
 
 "You said just now that you had tm'ned 
 your back upon the world. Am I to attiibute
 
 80 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 any real significance to that expression; or, in 
 other words, am I to understand that you are 
 not hkely to fill the Abbey Avith visitors? I 
 know that I have no possible right to ask such 
 a question; but one of the chief delights of the 
 Hermitage has been that it really is a hermi- 
 tage. I am so much a misanthrope as to dread 
 the invasion of jovial young sportsmen among 
 the fern and underwood that surround my den." 
 
 " Then you may banish all fear of any such 
 infliction," answered the Baronet decisively. 
 "You may have heard, perhaps, that a great 
 affliction fell upon me some years since. From 
 that time to this I have lived a solitary life, now 
 in one place, now in another. My daughter 
 Marcia has been good enough to endure all my 
 fancies, and to resign the associations and amuse- 
 ments which are supposed to be necessary to a 
 young lady's happiness. She has relations who 
 would be ver}^ glad to find a brighter and more 
 fitting home for her; but she is so kind as to 
 prefer remaining with me. You need fear no 
 sporting youth amongst the fern, Mr. Paunce-
 
 WAS HE WISE ? 81 
 
 fort. I have no intention of filling my house 
 with people I don't care ahout, or ruining mv 
 health in a futile attempt to sustain the popular 
 notion of a good old English sqmi'e. I came 
 back to Scarsdale because — because I was utterly 
 weary of all the rest of the world, I think ; and 
 I mean to live my own life in defiance of the 
 frowns of all the county. I don't beheve in the 
 common talk about a rich man's duty to society ; 
 and I don't feel myself called upon to tm'n my 
 house out of windows in order that there may 
 be waste and riot in the servants'-hall, and ex- 
 tortionate profits for the Roxborough tradesmen. 
 I fancy that a man has a right to his own life 
 and to bear his bm'den after his own fashion. 
 It is only your hired jester who is bound to 
 swallow his tears, and be merry at the pleasure 
 of his audience. Xo, ^Ir. Pauncefort, there ^^'ill 
 be no high-jinks at the Abbey because Marcia 
 and I have returned. It will be only a big 
 empty house, vdth two very quiet occupants, 
 who will always be glad to see you when the 
 natural sociability of the frrecrarious animal is 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 SIR JASPER'S TENANT. 
 
 strong upon yoii, and who will not be offended 
 witli you for stopping away at other times. And 
 now I suppose it's a settled thing! You will 
 stop ; and I may send the bricklayers to patch 
 up the Hermitage to-morrow." 
 
 ^^You are very good. Yes, I shall consider 
 myself settled for some time to come. If you 
 would wish me to take the place for a term of 
 years — " 
 
 " Not at all. A willing tenant and an agree- 
 able acquaintance I shall be delighted to retain ; 
 but an unwilling tenant may shake the dust of 
 Scarsdale from his shoes whenever he pleases to 
 do so. You will dine with us to-day? The 
 second bell will ring in five minutes. Bah !" 
 exclaimed Sir Jasper, answering a doubtful look 
 with which George Pauncefort regarded the rusty 
 sleeve of his shooting-coat, "never mind your 
 dress. Do you think we cannot take any plea- 
 sure in your society because you don't happen 
 to wear the regulation swallow-tail and cambric 
 cravat? For my own part, I dine in my dress- 
 ing-gown, and am limited to wretched slops,
 
 WAS HE WISE ? 83 
 
 prescribed by my medical man. There vnW be 
 fish and a chicken, I daresav, for mv daus^hter ; 
 and if you appreciate the lighter Rhine ^^nes, 
 you vnll have no cause to find fault ^N^th my 
 cellar." 
 
 A great bell, clanging high in a A\indy cupola, 
 pealed out upon the night ; and an elderly and 
 stately-looking butler announced dinner almost 
 at the same moment. 
 
 " Come, Mr. Pauncefoi-tj Ave are of the Diogenes 
 family. Pray let there be no ceremony between 
 us. Give your arm to my daughter, and for- 
 f^et all about vour shootinor-coat." 
 
 The Baronet lifted himself out of his easy- 
 chair, and stood erect upon the hearth, — a tall 
 weird-looking figure, in a long ruby-vehet dress- 
 ing-go^^-n, which rather resembled the robe of 
 some alchemist or astrologer of the darker acres 
 than the costume of one of Burke's landed gentiy . 
 Mr. Pauncefort offered his arm to Marcia Deni- 
 son almost involmitarily, for he was more inclined 
 to refuse than to accept his landlord's invitation ; 
 and the next minute he found himself follo\YiDg
 
 84 
 
 Sir Jasper to the dining-room with Sir Jasper's 
 daughter on his arm. 
 
 " I assure you that it is a real act of benevo- 
 lence to stay with papa," she said, during the 
 short progress from the study to the dining- 
 room; "he is always so much better when he 
 has pleasant society." 
 
 They dined in a snug little oaken wainscoted 
 chamber at one end of the corridor ; and before 
 the fish was removed George Pauncefort found 
 himself entirely at his ease in the society so un- 
 expectedly thrust upon him. Sir Jasper ex- 
 panded under the influence of a boiled sole and 
 a glass of hock. He was a man who liked to 
 hear himself talk, and who could talk pretty 
 well, in rather a superficial manner, about any 
 thing and every thing. He had your true 
 talker's instinctive faculty of discovering a good 
 listener ; and he had found one in George Paunce- 
 fort. Not your stupid listener, who gazes at 
 you Avith the fixed stare of rapt admiration, and 
 flounders dismally in the endeavour to reply to 
 you, thereby too clearly revealing that he has
 
 WAS HE WISE ? 85 
 
 not understood a word you have been saying; 
 nor yet your self-absorbed listener, who abandons 
 himself to his own reflections Avhile you talk to 
 him, and strikes in with a vacant grin and a "God 
 bless my soul I" whenever you come to a full 
 stop. ]Mi-. Pauncefort was of the sterling metal, 
 — the thoughtful listener, who weighs eveiy word 
 you say to him, and comes smashing against your 
 pet theories Avith all the force of a A^igorous in- 
 tellect and the spirit of a born debater. Sir Jas- 
 per's face lighted up as the simple little dinner 
 proceeded, for he fancied he had found the crea- 
 ture he had been long looking for : a companion — 
 a man whose solitary habits resembled his own, 
 and who could afford to fall into the ways of his 
 host without going out of liis own way to do it. 
 
 " We suit each other — or I venture to believe 
 that we shall suit each other, ^h\ Pauncefort," 
 said Sir Jasper, when the stately butler and his sub- 
 ordinate had departed, leaving a veiy unpretend- 
 ing dessert of big round pears and ruddy-cheeked 
 peaches. "Marcia, I verily believe that I have 
 discovered an acquaintance who will understand
 
 SG SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 me, and whom I shall be able to understand. 
 You may smile ; but I assm-e yon, my dear sir, 
 the experience of a very di-eary exile has taught 
 me how rare a creature is a congenial acquaint- 
 ance. I won't say a friend, for the word has a 
 tainted flavom' to my taste. It seems such a 
 thoroughly understood thing that your bosom 
 friend is a man who falls in love with the woman 
 you want to marry, wins all your money at ecarte, 
 and shoots you through the lungs some chilly 
 morning before sunrise in a swampy field on the 
 Essex coast. Yes, a congenial acquaintance is 
 the real vara avis, the impossible bird seldom 
 found in any earthly nest. So long as I lived 
 in the world, I was content to take my fellow- 
 men for what they were w^orth. At the head 
 of a long dinner-table it matters little to a man 
 what his guests are w^orth en detail. He only 
 wants them to be decent fellows e7i gros ; and if 
 they are but sufficiently noisy, if one man tells 
 a little hunting-story against the master of a 
 rival pack, and if another man recites the last 
 canard current in Belgravia, and there are none
 
 WAS HE WISE ? 87 
 
 of those dismal pauses In which a kind of mental 
 paralysis seems to mark every creature for its 
 own, — he has no right to complain. But when a 
 man washes his hands of the world and its follies^ 
 when he retires to his kennel, and yearns for an 
 occasional visit from some kindred cynic, then 
 comes the difficulty. He finds only dismal crea- 
 tures, absorbed in the one delight of their lives 
 — intellectual Paganinis, for ever performing on 
 one strino; — artists who will talk of nothing but 
 art — literary men who can talk of nothing but 
 literature — political economists who are perambu- 
 latincr editions of Mill and M^Culloch — acrricul- 
 tuiists who talk you to death about steam-farm- 
 ing and the utilisation of sewage; as if a man 
 who has done A^-ith the world could possibly care 
 what the world does ^yith. its sewage ! There was 
 only one Diogenes; and until to-night I have 
 never been able to meet an acquaintance whose 
 tastes even in seeming bore any resemblance to 
 my OAm." 
 
 It was a long time since Marcia Denison had 
 seen her father so entirely expansive in his man-
 
 88 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 ner as he was to-niglit. Her dark-gray eyes 
 briglitened as she looked at him ; and George 
 Pauncefort, sitting opposite to her, and looking 
 at her thoughtfully from time to time, saw that 
 she was pleased with her father's pleasure. They 
 went back to the study after dinner; and by 
 and by Miss Denison made tea for her father 
 and his guest. Sitting in a low luxurious chair 
 by the great wood-fire, within a few paces of 
 that feminine figure, the pale thoughtful face, 
 the busy hands employed in the occupation which 
 makes a woman seem more womanly and charm- 
 ing, it seemed to Sir Jasper's tenant as if the 
 last twenty years of his life melted away, and 
 he was a young man once more, with all a 
 young man's freshness of spirit and happy confi- 
 dence in the worth of lovely things. 
 
 Yes, all manner of fresh and gentle feelings 
 came back upon this bruised and battered wan- 
 derer in African wildernesses. They came back, 
 — the long-absent, the well-nigh forgotten spirits 
 of peace and love, — and chased the dark and 
 evil dwellers from the mansion they had so long
 
 WAS HE WISE ? 89 
 
 usurped. The man's face seemed to soften; in- 
 deed it was a face wliicli always softened wlien 
 he smiled or spoke to women and chikU'en. ffis 
 voice, at all times sonorous and musical, sank 
 to a lower and sweeter music as he sat in Sir 
 Jasper's study, talking gi'ave speculative talk 
 about the sites of perished empires, whose fan- 
 tastic splendours have left no better record than 
 a ruined temple or a few quaint hierogh-phics on 
 a broken stone. 
 
 The great clock in the Scarsdale stables 
 struck eleven as George Pamicefort left the 
 Abbey. He walked slowly home in the moon- 
 light, thinking of his quiet evening ^^dth a sen- 
 sation in which wonder was strano;elv intermino;led 
 ^A-ith a vague fear. 
 
 "I had so firmly set my face to the dark- 
 ness," he thought presently, "and I had learnt 
 to endure its worst horrors, — is it wise to let in 
 so much as an accidental ray of light ?"
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 Dorothy's impressions. 
 
 Even your self-contained woman cannot exist 
 entirely without some natural outlet for all that 
 is brightest and most womanly in her nature. 
 Marcia Denison's accomplishments stood her in 
 good stead, and went a great way towards a 
 placid kind of happiness, a tranquil pleasui'e, 
 undisturbed by any fear that it is too lovely a 
 thing to endure. But however accomplished a 
 woman may be, there are times when the mind 
 grows weary, when the tired intellect recoils 
 reluctantly from its accustomed labour, when the 
 empty heart yearns for some pleasant thing to 
 nestle in its dreary void. The human mind, 
 however skilled in the scientific combination of 
 sweet sounds, cannot be altogether satisfied with 
 harmonious sequences, quaint fugues, contrary
 
 Dorothy's impressions. i'l 
 
 motions, and plaintive diminished sevenths. The 
 human eye, however artistic, must have some- 
 thing more to look upon than the cool shadows 
 and bright gleams of colom- in a water-colour 
 sketch. And a woman's soul, ever s^Tupathetic, 
 must have some nearer object for its warm sym- 
 pathies than the dead-and-gone creatm'es whose 
 stately phantoms stalk through the pages of his- 
 tory. 
 
 Marcia Denison, though she has some little 
 right to rank herself among the dreaded lists of 
 strong-minded women, was not entii'ely ^^-ithout 
 a woman's fancies. She had her favomntes 
 amongst the people she had known from her 
 earhest childhood, and the chief of them all was 
 Dorothy. 
 
 Dorothy was the daughter of James Turs- 
 good the bailiff, and by consequence the gi'and- 
 daughter of that elderly female who acted as 
 Mr. Pauncefort's housekeeper. Dorothy had been 
 a toddling baby of three when !Marcia Denison 
 was seven years old, and had been taken under 
 the special protection of Sir Jasper's younger
 
 92 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 danghter at a very early age. The cliikl of seven 
 had taken it into her wise head to patronise the 
 rosy-cheeked toddler; and from that time nntil 
 Evelyn Denison's death and the Baronet's de- 
 j)arture for the Continent, Dorothy Tursgood had 
 been Marcia's pet and pupil. Of course, under 
 these circumstances, Dorothy received an educa- 
 tion which made her infinitely charming, and 
 entirely unfit for the rough-and-ready style of 
 existence in her father's household. She had 
 felt this during Marcia's long absence from Scars- 
 dale; but it was all over now, for Dorothy Avas 
 to be Miss Denison's own maid, and was to live 
 entirely at the Abbey. 
 
 It was a pretty sight to see the two women 
 grouped together in the autumn sunlight, in one 
 of the deep window-seats of that chamber which 
 had once been the schoolroom of Sir Jaspei's 
 two daughters, but which was now Marcia's 
 own sitting-room, sacred from the footsteps of 
 strangers. 
 
 Miss Denison sat on the cushioned window- 
 seat, with the sunlight behind her head, while
 
 Dorothy's dipressioxs. 93 
 
 Dorothy crouched on a low stool at her feet, 
 and looked lo\ingly and reverently upward to 
 the thoughtful face of her mistress. 
 
 That pale face, with its sharply-defined and 
 delicate features, was pleasantly contrasted by 
 the rosy cheeks and sunny auhui'n hair that 
 iL'Ould break away into curls, confine it with 
 whatever fetters you could choose, the arch hazel 
 eyes, the ripe red lips, always ready to cui've 
 themselves into bewitching smiles, the saucy 
 double-chin, the liu'king dimple at each corner 
 of the mouth, which formed the manifold charms 
 of the baihfTs daughter. She was a round dump- 
 ling of prettiness and sweet temper, created to be 
 the queen of a rustic Ma}'-day, the idol of bump- 
 kin worshippers ; and the best of it was, that she 
 was quite unconscious of her ovni prettmess. 
 
 And }'et she was by no means a high-minded 
 woman. She was veiy fond of fine di'ess, and would 
 lie awake all night thinking of a new bonnet, 
 or a coloured print that she had seen in one of the 
 grand emporiums of Roxborough. She was vain 
 and frivolous, and would have very much hked
 
 94 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 to have been pretty; but she had no idea that 
 there could be any prettiness in a dumpling figure, 
 round red cheeks, and an impertinent little nose, 
 which was always pointing skywards, without any 
 pretension to sublimity. Contemplating her own 
 reflection in a looking-glass, poor Dorothy sighed 
 as she thought how nice it would have been to 
 be tall and slender, like Miss Denison, mth a 
 proud pale face, and dark arched brows above 
 deeply-clear gray eyes. Dorothy worshipped her 
 patroness and mistress, and founded all her ideas 
 of perfection upon this one model of womanhood. 
 To wear corded black-silk, thick and lustreless 
 as the rector's gown, a narrow linen collar clasped 
 tightly round a slim swan-like throat; to have 
 long thin white hands, all aglitter with diamond- 
 rings, and to sit all day in beautiful rooms, 
 seemed to Dorothy Tursgood the very perfection 
 of human happiness, whose even course could 
 only be disturbed by sudden death. 
 
 Dorothy, with these ideas deeply rooted in her 
 mind, contemplated her mistress with some feeling 
 of wonder ; for Marcia Denison accepted the de-
 
 Dorothy's impressions. 95 
 
 lights of her life witli a manner that was a great 
 deal more like calm resignation than complete 
 happiness. Could it be possible that such pos- 
 sessions as diamond -rings and unlimited silk- 
 dresses mio-ht become flat and indifferent bv loner 
 familiarity? Oh, if it was so, what a barren 
 universe this world must be I and out of icJiat 
 material could the youthful mind shape its ideal 
 of perfect bliss ? Dorothy's heart had been un- 
 moved by so much as one flutter engendered of 
 love's restless fever, and as yet her trancjuil slum- 
 bers were only disturbed by the vision of a new 
 bonnet-ribbon, or a coral necklace purchased at 
 Roxborough fair. 
 
 It was the third day after ^liss Denison's 
 retm'n, — the day succeeding that quiet little 
 duiner at which George Pauncefort had found 
 himself an almost involuntarv miest, — and Doro- 
 thy Tursgood was enjopng what she called a 
 " lovely long talk" with her mistress. It happened 
 somehow that ^Ir. Pauncefort formed the prin- 
 cipal subject of discussion in this lovely long talk ; 
 and as the talk was almost absorbed by the ^^iva-
 
 96 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 cious Dorothy, this fact was by no means sin- 
 gular. Marcia, returned from Continental wan- 
 derings, might have a great deal to tell her 
 enthusiastic little attendant; but Dorothy, who 
 had spent all her life at Scarsdale, must neces- 
 sarily be rather restricted in her choice of topics. 
 
 "And oh, Miss Marcia, I am sure that he is 
 very poor," she said presently, at the end of a 
 long disquisition upon the habits and manners of 
 Sir Jasper's tenant. 
 
 "But why, my pet?" asked Miss Denison 
 with a smile. 
 
 She was in a lazy humour this morning, and 
 had thrown aside a musical composition in which 
 consecutive fifths ivoulcl crop up in the bass in 
 spite of her. She had thrown aside her sheet 
 of music-paper and shut the piano, and now she 
 felt a drowsy pleasure in the balmy air, the mellow 
 sunlight, and the gentle hum of pretty Dorothy's 
 voice. 
 
 "Why do you think he is poor, my darling?" 
 Dorothy gave a little gasp. She had the fe- 
 minine habit of jumping at conclusions, and the
 
 doeothy's impressions. 97 
 
 equally feminine liabit of not being verv clear as 
 to why she had so jumped. 
 
 "Well," she murmured thoughtfully, "first 
 and foremost because he wears, oh, such a shabby 
 coat !" 
 
 " He may wear that from choice, my Dorothy 
 An old s;arment is sometimes so comfortable to 
 a lazy man, — and yet I should hardly think ^Ir. 
 Pauncefort was lazy. Or his shabby costume 
 may be an affectation of eccentricity, — and yet, 
 fi'om what I saw of him last night, I should 
 scarcely imagine he would be guilty of affectation. 
 However, my dear little Dorothy, there may be 
 a dozen reasons why he should wear a worn-out 
 shooting-coat, and not one of them need be the 
 want of money." 
 
 " Oh, but then I think he is poor because of 
 so many things. It isn't only the coat. There 
 is one reason why I think he is 'S'ery, very, ver}' 
 poor !" said Dorothy, shaking her head, and screw- 
 ing up her lips mth extraordinary solemnity. 
 
 "And what is that reason, dear?" 
 
 "He never gives any thing to poor people. 
 
 YOL. I. 7
 
 98 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 Never, never ! And yet I am sure lie is chari- 
 table ; for lie will go and see poor people, and sit 
 with them, and listen to all their troubles, and 
 ask, oh, such lots of questions, until they begin 
 to think he's going to do ever so much for them, 
 and then he goes away and does nothing. Now, 
 of course, that would be very unkind if he were 
 rich. I haven't forgotten my grammar. Miss 
 Marcia, — subjunctive mood, if he were. So I 
 feel sure he must be dreadfully poor. I mean 
 dreadful, because it is dreadful for rich people to 
 be poor." 
 
 "Dorothy!" 
 
 " I mean it's dreadful for people that ought 
 to be rich to be poor. Do you know. Miss Marcia, 
 I think sometimes the gentleman at the Hermit- 
 age is what's that where we always j)ut the 
 
 th in the wrong place?" 
 
 " Misanthropic." 
 
 " Yes, that's it — mis-an-thropic !" cried Doro- 
 thy with a triumphant snap at the last two sylla- 
 bles ; " and oh, what a pity they can't invent 
 some shorter w ord to mean grumpy, without being
 
 Dorothy's impressions. 99 
 
 vulgar ! I think he is misanthropic, miss, because 
 he'll shut himself up with his books for days 
 together, grandmother says; and in all the time 
 he*s been at the Hermitao;e he hasn't made a 
 single acquaintance m Roxborough; and some- 
 how, do you know, !Miss Marcia, I think he must 
 have turned grump — misan-thingamy — from not 
 being happy in his mind; for oh, he does give 
 such a sio;h sometimes as he sits over his books !" 
 
 " Why, Dorothy, you are a Fouche in petti- 
 coats." 
 
 " I remember all about him, !Miss Marcia. 
 Joseph Fouche, minister of police under Napoleon 
 Bonaparte, bom at La Martiniere, near Nantes, 
 1763; created Duke of Otranto 1809; died 1820," 
 said Dorothy, folding her hands meekly, with a 
 lively recollection of her lessons. " Do you know, 
 Miss Marcia, when I'm in chapel on a Sunday, 
 I sometimes wonder whether I look different from 
 tlie other girls, — whether I look as if I knew his- 
 tory and grammar and geography, and such like ? 
 but lor, miss, I do think a bonnet-ribbon makes 
 more difference than all the education that ever
 
 100 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 was," Dorothy murmured with a thoughtful 
 sigh. 
 
 Miss Denison caressed the pretty auburn 
 cm'ls with her shm white fingers, and considered 
 whether she had been very wise in cramming that 
 simple head with a second echtion of all the hard 
 fiicts that had been filtered through her own brain. 
 
 " I'm afraid your education may not be much 
 use to you in what people call a practical way, 
 my darhng," she said presently ; " but education 
 must always have a refining influence, and refine- 
 ment is a kind of goodness. Besides, who knows 
 what my Dorothy's fate may be in afterlife? 
 There may come a day when it will be very use- 
 ful to you to speak tolerably good English, iind 
 write a nice legible hand. And as for Pinnock's 
 Goldsmith and Mangnall's Questions, this world 
 must always have some pleasanter associations for 
 those who know all about the dead-and-gone peo- 
 ple who have inhabited it. In the mean while 
 }'ou and I can be companions now and then, 
 Dorothy ; which we could scarcely be, if you were 
 exactly like the other girls you sit with at chapel."
 
 doeothy's impressions. 101 
 
 "Oh, no, incleecl, !NEss ]^.Ia^cia, tliey are so 
 dreadlul, and drop tlieir A's always; and their 
 hands are so red, and then' boots are so clnmpy ; 
 and they do breathe so hard, that it's quite unplea- 
 sant to sit next them. But oh, miss, I'm not good 
 enough to be yom* companion ever ; only you're 
 so kind to me." 
 
 "Am I, Dorothy? I'm afraid my kindness 
 is not without some alloy of selfishness, and maybe, 
 after all, rather ill-advised kindness." 
 
 " Selfish, dear Mss Marcia ! You, who are 
 so good to every one, and so kind to me ; for, oh, 
 it is so land of you not to want me to wear caps !" 
 cried Dorothy, shaking her bright auburn hair 
 into all manner of crispy undulations and stray 
 tendrils that Avere infinitely bewitching. "But 
 what was I saying just now, Miss Marcia?" re- 
 sumed the bailiff^s daughter ; " oh, about liis 
 being so gloomy." 
 
 " About whom, darling ?" asked Miss Denisou 
 m a dreamy voice. 
 
 She had been thinking of her dead sister. It 
 was only natm-al that this return to the Abbey
 
 102 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 should bring the lost girl's image very vividly 
 before her. The place was so dull, so utterly- 
 empty and dreary without that dashing impulsive 
 Evelyn, who had been wont to burst into Marcia's 
 sitting-room half-a-dozen times in the course of a 
 morning — a beautiful, spontaneous, vivacious crea- 
 ture, whose presence filled the dullest room with 
 life and brightness. 
 
 " And I'm sure she loved me a little," Marcia 
 thought very sadly ; " and now there is on one — 
 no one." 
 
 There was little Dorothy looking up at her 
 mistress's pensive face all the time; but though 
 Dorothy's affection was a very pleasant thing, 
 it was not exactly the thing to fill the great 
 void in such a heart as Marcia Denison's ; it 
 was a little too much like the grateful chirping 
 of a bird who flutters his wings and perches 
 lovingly on a finger of the hand that tends him ; 
 or the frisking of a petted lap-dog, nestling at 
 the feet of his mistress. This return to Scars- 
 dale seemed to Marcia Denison like the reopen- 
 ing of a wound that time had almost healed;
 
 Dorothy's impressions. 103 
 
 and lier thoughts wandered far away from the 
 subject of Dorothy Turscrood's simple prattle, 
 wliich was all about that one sohtaiy event of 
 the last twelvemonth — the advent of George 
 Pauncefort to the Hermitaore. 
 
 " And as I said before, Mss Marcia," Dorothy 
 rattled on, in a breathless way peculiar to the 
 genus vulgarly kno^^^l as chatterbox, "I'm sure 
 he's very poor, dreadfully poor, and I sometimes 
 think it's that wliich makes him unhappy. Be- 
 cause, you see, he's so clever; he must be ven', 
 veiy clever, yon know; always reading, reading, 
 reading, as he is all day, and all night too some- 
 times; and it does seem hard for such a clever 
 person to be cut off from the rest of the world, 
 and to live in the middle of a wood and see no- 
 body, on account of his poverty." 
 
 "But you said just now that he was misan- 
 tliropic, Dorothy," said Miss Denison, arousmg 
 herself by an effort from that long reverie about 
 the dead ; " misanthropic people think it no mis- 
 fortune to be cut off from the rest of the 
 world."
 
 104 SIR jasper's TENAl^T. 
 
 " Don't tliey, miss ? I fancied people were 
 misanthropists only when they couldn't afford to 
 be any thing else. It must be so much cheaper 
 to despise the human race than to wear nice 
 clothes and give dinner-parties." 
 
 " But there is such a thing as an honest love 
 of solitude, Dorothy, and a natm-al distaste for 
 the clamour and contention of the world. Do 
 you remember that French proverb I taught you, 
 Le jeu ne vaut pas la cliandelle ? People gene- 
 rally say that when they have burnt out the 
 candle and lost the game ; but I suppose there 
 are a few exceptionally wise people who keep 
 their candle, and turn their backs upon the 
 gaming-table. Mi\ Pauncefort may be one of 
 those people." 
 
 "I don't think that, miss," answered Dorothy, 
 with a wise shake of her curly head ; " / think 
 he is a person who has had a great fortune and 
 spent it ; and, though he carries his head very 
 high, and seems to take his troubles in an off- 
 hand kind of way, he can't helj) sighing some- 
 times when he remembers how rich he once was.
 
 Dorothy's impressions. 105 
 
 That's Avliat / tliiiik, miss, and that's what grand- 
 mother thinks. She has tried to fj-et the truth 
 out of ]\Ii'. Pauncefort's servant ; but she says 
 you might as well question a tombstone as him, 
 or better, for that icould tell you sometJdng, even 
 if it wasn't true." 
 
 And here George Pamicefort's name drifted 
 out of Dorothy's chatter, and the girl's talk 
 rambled on into other channels ; Miss Deni- 
 son's hand l}ing tenderly on the pretty head 
 wliich rested on her knee, while !Miss Denison's 
 mind wandered far away into the vanished re- 
 gions of the past. Every now and then she 
 brought herself back for a moment from that 
 shado^vy w^orld to say something kind to her 
 enthusiastic little maid ; and even when her 
 thoughts were furthest away, that ruder second 
 sense — that superficial intellect which mil sers'e 
 us for common use, while the soul soars upward 
 into cloudland — took cognisance of all that Do- 
 rothy was saying. 
 
 Thus it was that Marcia Denison received 
 her first impressions about George Pauncefort.
 
 106 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 Dorothy's estimate of that gentleman's worldly 
 drcumstances was accepted by her mistress — 
 chiefly perhaps because the subject was too in- 
 different to be worth any serious discussion — 
 and, once carelessly accepted, became a rooted 
 conviction. 
 
 When Mr. Pauncefort paid his second \'isit 
 to the Abbey, he had exchanged his velveteen 
 shooting -jacket for a frock-coat ; but the cloth 
 was tolerably well worn, and the cut of the coat 
 fixed the date of its confection at some years 
 before the strangers advent at Scarsdale. The 
 coat might have looked outre and old-fashioned 
 upon a meaner-looking man ; but Sir Jasper's 
 tenant had that indefinable something, that ut- 
 terly indescribable air of distinction, which makes 
 a man independent of his tailor. What an un- 
 speakable distance between gentleman Brummel, 
 created by the happy inspiration of sartorial 
 genius, and the quiet English gentleman of the 
 blue blood, whose haughty grace is a heritage 
 bequeathed to him by Crusaders who fought at 
 Acre, and Knights who saw the earth black with
 
 Dorothy's impressions. 107 
 
 tlie slaughtered chivalry of France on Crecy's 
 fotal field! 
 
 Sir Jasper Denison, not easily pleased upon 
 ordinary occasions, had been pleased to take very 
 kmdiy to the solitaiy occupant of the Hermitage, 
 and was uicHned to go into raptures about his 
 new acquaintance. The Baronet was very im- 
 pulsive, and not a little fnvolous. The bitter 
 stroke which Fate had dealt at him had fallen 
 on a nature too weak and selfish to be elevated 
 or subhmated by affhction. He was a man who 
 took the decrees of Heaven in pretty much the 
 same spirit as that in which he might have taken 
 the undeserved cruelty of an earthly assailant. 
 When his daughter died, he could not bow his 
 liead and resign himself to the behef that she 
 had only floated away from him into a fciirer 
 region, whither he might some day follow her, 
 if he so pleased. He was a student of those 
 brilliant philosophers wdiose genius illummed 
 with flashes of Imid grandeur the eve of the 
 French revolution. He could not make a temple 
 of worship out of the tomb of liis dead cliild.
 
 108 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 The sepulchre of the beloved was a horrible thing 
 from which he fled away to beguile his grief by 
 n cynical contemplation of frivolous humanity 
 amusing itself at German watering-places, or 
 hiuTying through Italian picture-galleries. It 
 may be that Sir Jasper's sudden predilection 
 for the society of George Pauncefort arose chiefly 
 from the fact that the stranger was the only 
 person at Scarsdale whose presence did not re- 
 mind him of the dead. With the tenant of the 
 Hermitage the bereaved father felt himself safe; 
 no chance allusion to the lost, no half-retracted 
 mention of her name, was likely to drop from 
 the lips of the man who had never seen her. It 
 is diflicult for any human creatm-e linked to an 
 eternal future by the feeblest shred of Christian 
 faitli, to understand the unutterable horror which 
 Death wears when he crosses the threshold of 
 the Atheist. To Sir Jasper Denison consolation 
 was an impossibility. The only anodyne by which 
 his grief might at intervals be lulled to rest was 
 occupation. He had amused himself somehow or 
 other by those restless and fitful Continental wan-
 
 Dorothy's niPRESsioys. 10^^ 
 
 (lerings, until lie had used up all those regions 
 where the Sybarite may travel ^dthout finding 
 too many crumpled leaves among the roses, and 
 he came back now ^Nith a vague intention of 
 occuppng himself by some desultory dabbhng in 
 building, philanthropy, and steam-farming. 
 
 In this humour the Baronet was rather pleased 
 to hear of the fxllen chimney at the Hermitage. 
 He sent a messenger post-haste to summon the 
 Koxboroucfh architect on the mornino; after ^Ir. 
 Pauncefort's visit to the Abbey ; and after a 
 very^ long consultation with that gentleman — to 
 which solemn conference Sir Jasper's tenant was 
 specially invited — certain improvements were ar- 
 ranged which would in no way destroy the j)ic- 
 turesque medievalism of the Hermitage, but which 
 were sufficiently important to render that tene- 
 ment mifit for occupation dimng the space of 
 some weeks. 
 
 "In which period you vdW do me the honoui' 
 to take up your quarters here," said Sii' Jasper; 
 "I intend making myself as famiHar with the 
 Niger as I am Tv-ith the Thames; and I shall
 
 110 
 
 look to you, Mr. Pauncefort, to give me the de- 
 lightful sensation of playing hide-and-seek with 
 a family-party of lions every evening." 
 
 " You are very good, Sir Jasper ; I was think- 
 ing of making a little pedestrian tour — ^" 
 
 "And depriving me of my African explo- 
 rations ! But a pedestrian tour in October ! 
 Wet days and foggy evenings, rheumatism and 
 sciatica ! Have you looked at your glass this 
 morning? No, I'm sure you have not. I am 
 an idle man, Mr. Pauncefort, and, like all idle 
 men, learned in the signs of the times. We are 
 going to have abominable weather for a month 
 to come. Look at that low gray sky ; and 
 then decline the shelter of my blue bedroom in 
 favour of the slippery moors and damp woodlands, 
 if you dare." 
 
 Sir Jasper's tenant hesitated, looked out of 
 the window, and then looked back into the room. 
 It was past five in the afternoon, and the day 
 was darkening already. The dull gray sky and 
 shadowy landscape without contrasted dismally 
 v/ith the warm glow of the firelight within. There
 
 Dorothy's impressions. Ill 
 
 is such a "svondrous magic in the red light of a 
 fire. Sui'ely it must be the magic of association 
 — dating from the far-away day when month-old 
 babies He upon their mothers knees and laugh 
 for the first time to see the ruddy flames dancing 
 up the chimney. George Pauncefort looked back 
 into the room, and in that one moment of hesi- 
 tation his resolution spread its ^ings and floated 
 away into chaos. The conference had been held 
 in the Hbrary, the chamber in which George 
 Pauncefort had watched Marcia Denison's white 
 hands hovering over the teacups the night before. 
 The firelight ghmmering on the morocco bind- 
 ings of books that Imed the wainscot from the 
 ceiling to the floor made the room racHant with 
 the tender glory of home, and even the grim 
 bronze sea-god seemed to melt under that plea- 
 sant influence and modulate his monotonous voice 
 to a gentler tone. 
 
 Some invisible spirit, permeating the very 
 atmosphere ^dth its subtle presence, seemed to 
 whisper, 
 
 "This is home — home — the mystic remon
 
 112 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 wliicli you have not inhabited for fifteen years. 
 Welcome, poor wanderer from the desert; wel- 
 come, lost bird from a ruined nest ; welcome, 
 from your lonely tent under the cold unpitying 
 sky, poor friendless creature; welcome — home — 
 home!" 
 
 And then another spmt of an argumentative 
 and rebellious order arose in the man's breast, 
 and cried, 
 
 "What have you done that you should turn 
 away from this pleasant shelter to tramp the 
 country side, with houseless vagabonds for your 
 fellow-travellers? Are you a pariah, that you 
 must shrink away from friendly hands, and go 
 and hide yourself among village boors and wan- 
 dering outcasts f 
 
 There was a brief pause, dmnng which Sir 
 Jasper amused himself by stirring the logs piled 
 on the coal-fire, and then George Pauncefort 
 replied : 
 
 "I will accept your invitation. Sir Jasper, as 
 frankly as it is given. There is no reason why 
 I should decline your hospitahty, or recoil from
 
 Dorothy's impeessioxs. 113 
 
 your kindliness." He said this with some touch 
 of pride in his manner, and a faint glow upon his 
 dark face. 
 
 "Good!" exclaimed the Baronet, lading his 
 hand upon the bell. "Then I may tell ^Irs. 
 Browning to ah' the bkie room. You ^^'ill come 
 to us to-moiTow, and the builders may begin their 
 work as soon afterwards as they please. You will 
 bring your ser^^ant, by the by. Imaguie Diogenes 
 with a body-sers'ant ! Eemember that you are 
 exchanging one Hermitage for another. Xo din- 
 ner-parties ; no pretty girls ; no empty-headed 
 young men to play billiards in the rainy mormngs. 
 Only a big rambHng house, tolerably weU fiUed 
 with objects of art, and a fretful old man and 
 his daughter. Do you think you can make your- 
 self happy with us ?" 
 
 " I am only afi*aid of being too happy." 
 
 " How do you mean ?" 
 
 A deep flush kindled in George Pauncefort's 
 face as the Baronet asked this question. For a 
 moment he seemed just a little confused, and 
 scarcely able to answer that shnple inqiuiy; 
 
 TOL. I. 8
 
 114 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 but in the next minute he replied very 
 quietly : 
 
 " Do you remember what Dante and Tenny- 
 son have said about ^ a sorrow's crown of sorrow' ? 
 There are circumstances in the history of my life 
 A^•hich make it impossible that I should ever have 
 a home. Do you suppose Diogenes w^as free to 
 choose any thing better when he took to his tub ? 
 I cannot imagine the cynical mood innate in man. 
 To my mind it seems only the reactionary phase 
 of soiTow. I have been very comfortable yonder 
 with the ghost of the fair-haired cavalier, who 
 has not yet been pleased to reveal himself in any 
 palpable shape. Will it be wise to exchange my 
 loneliness for genial companionship, and the at- 
 mosphere of a home, since there must be the 
 going back afterwards 1" 
 
 Sir Jasper shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " You'll be tired of us before the builders have 
 finished their work, and will be very glad to re- 
 turn to yoiu' solitude. Men were created to bore one 
 another. If you are not tired, you will be free to 
 come back to us whenever you j)lease. You will
 
 Dorothy's impressions. 115 
 
 not be disturbed here by the sight of any unap- 
 proachable domestic happiness; you will be the 
 guest of a lonely old man, who has been robbed 
 of all that made hfe bright for him, and who does 
 his best to take existence in the frivolous spirit of 
 a persifleuvj because he has for ever lost all chance 
 of any deeper dehght than the temporary enjoy- 
 ment to be derived from the aroma of a choice 
 wine, or the pleasant talk of an intellectual ac- 
 quaintance. Do you remember what Yoltaire 
 says, ^li\ Pauncefort: ^Life is a child, which 
 must be rocked in a cradle till it falls asleep.' 
 You and I have both had our troubles ; why 
 shouldn't we help each other to rock the cradle f 
 
 Of course this discussion ended in George 
 Pamicefort's acceptance of his landlord's invitation. 
 He went back to the Hermitage pondering the 
 matter in much the same moody spirit that he had 
 pondered the night before, as he walked homeward 
 under the stars. 
 
 Was it wise ? 
 
 " Bah ! What harm can come of it ?" thought 
 !Mr. Pauncefort, impatiently; "have I gro^vn a
 
 116 SIR jasper's TENAl^T. 
 
 dotard, that I weigh so small a business as 
 solemnly as if it were the turning-point of my 
 destiny? What can it matter whether I go or 
 stay? And yet, after fifteen years' voluntary 
 exile from civilised companionship, it seems almost 
 like the violation of a vow. Shall I pack up my 
 goods and go back yonder? Shall I start for 
 Tripoli to-morrow, instead of taking up my 
 quarters at the Abbey ? No ; I have come 
 home to make my grave in England; and so 
 long as this man preserves his solitary habits, 
 I could have no safer shelter than Scarsdale 
 wood." 
 
 So having let his mind slip away from a cer- 
 tain settled resolution which had regulated his 
 actions for fifteen years, Mr. Pauncefort became- 
 all at once the most undecided of mankind. 
 Throughout the evening after his interview with 
 Sir Jasper, he seemed the prey to a perpetual 
 restlessness of spirit, not even to be lulled into 
 peace by man's great consoler — the pipe. He 
 paced up and down his room, took half-a-dozen 
 volumes from their shelves, only to stare at then*
 
 Dorothy's impressions. 117 
 
 pages in abstracted mood and then to fling them 
 impatiently aside : he put do^ii his meerschamii, 
 with its contents only half consumed : and it was 
 not until after eleven o'clock that he rang for his 
 servant, and told him to prepare for the visit to 
 Scarsdale. 
 
 The necessary preparations could iuA^olve very 
 little trouble, as ^li\ Pamicefort's wardrobe — ex- 
 cept in the matter of linen — was of the most li- 
 mited order. Sir Jasper's tenant seemed a great 
 deal more at ease after he had given these decisive 
 orders to his servant. He seated himself in the 
 ponderous old-fashioned arm-chah' by the low 
 wood-fire — the murdered cavalier may have sat in 
 that chair, perhaps — and refilled his meerschaum. 
 Then as he watched the blue clouds of smoke 
 floating upward and melting slowly away, he let 
 his mind wander freely whithersoever it woidd. 
 He thought of Sh' Jasper, ^\itli all the better 
 attributes of his nature bui'ied in the grave of 
 the dead : and of Su" Jasper's pensive daughter, 
 doomed never to know a father's love, bearing 
 her burden of sorrow with a quiet resignation
 
 118 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 which was more beautiful than the gaiety of hap- 
 pier women. 
 
 "The housekeeper was quite right," thought 
 George Pauncefort ; " Sir Jasper is not unkind to 
 his^aughter ; he only overlooks her."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " AT FIRST HER IMAGE WAS A DREAIMY THING." 
 
 Marcia Denisox was pleased to find that her 
 father had at last lighted on an acquaintance 
 whose companionship seemed to afford him un- 
 alloyed satisftiction. During the Baronet's absence 
 from Scarsdale his daughter had not found her 
 position by any means a sinecm'e. Ambitious 
 Madame de Maintenon found it a hard thing 
 to amuse the unamusable. The burden of her 
 father's ennui had fallen more heavily on Marcia 
 than on the sufferer himself. When an invalid 
 is of the discontented and fretful temperament, 
 that invalid's nurse has a bad time of it. For 
 five years Marcia Denison had bonie the wear\' 
 load of her father's sorrows, and had received only 
 courteous little speeches and polite smiles in pay- 
 ment of her devotion. If he could have takeii
 
 120 
 
 lier to liis heart, what a tender and loving crea- 
 ture would have nestled there! But he could 
 not do this. His daughter Evelyn had been 
 the beautiful embodiment of his first love. For 
 his daughter Marcia he could only feel the same 
 cold toleration which he had felt for his second 
 wife. 
 
 The girl knew this. She knew that her mo- 
 ther's heart had withered for lack of the warm 
 sunshine of love. She knew this, and it was only 
 the wise tolerance which generally belongs to a 
 noble intellect that enabled her to forgive the 
 man who had crushed her mother's gentle spirit. 
 Happily she could forgive, for she could under- 
 stand and pity. 
 
 "It was all a mistake," she thought, — "an 
 unhappy mistake. My father gave a grand old 
 name in exchange for a trader's fortune, and 
 fancied that polite speeches and set smiles would 
 make a very tolerable substitute for love." 
 
 Marcia possessed, among her few treasures, a 
 small packet of letters, addressed by her father to 
 her mother before their marriage. These should
 
 " HER DL^GE WAS A DREA^IY THEsG." 121 
 
 have been love-letters, for they had been ^^Titten 
 during the period in which Ahcia Jones had been 
 betrothed to Sir Jasper Denison ; but the cold and 
 stately tone of the epistles was nnreheyed by one 
 gush of real feeling. They were yerv gentlemanly 
 letters, such as a Sir Charles Grandison might 
 haye composed; but they were the letters of a 
 man whose heart had never beat ^vith one throb 
 of affection for the woman to ^yhom they were 
 addressed. 
 
 In these coldly-worded letters Marcia Denison 
 saw her father's justification. At the least, he 
 had not deceived that dead mother, whose pale 
 face looked out at her from an old-fashioned 
 miniature. ^larcia forgave her father, but she 
 could not forget her mother's son^ow, and she re- 
 signed herself to the idea that she too was to 
 descend unloved and but Httle lamented to the 
 grave. The first germ of tliis idea had been 
 planted in her mind long ago in her earhest child- 
 hood, when she had seen so many e\'idences of a 
 love that was given to her sister, and ^^-ithheld 
 from her. But now the vague fancy had grown
 
 122 sm jasper's tenant. 
 
 into a deeply-rooted conviction, not easily to be 
 plucked out of her breast. She fancied that no 
 one would ever love her. She had no special 
 Ground for this belief, for she had been consi- 
 derably admired whenever she had appeared in 
 society, and she had received more than one 
 eligible offer of marriage. But she was an heiress, 
 — the actual possessor of a very large fortune, in- 
 herited from her plebeian mother, and having the 
 prospect of a second fortune from her father. 
 She therefore took it for granted that her wooers 
 were actuated by purely mercenary considerations, 
 and dismissed them with freezing coldness. They 
 only insulted her by a pretence of love which they 
 could not feel, and she was wounded and made 
 angry by their affected preference. 
 
 Eemember that her claim to be considered a 
 strong-minded woman was based only on her 
 studious habits, her superior education. In actual 
 experience of the world she was no better skilled 
 than a schoolmrl. Before her sister's death she 
 
 o 
 
 had been too yoimg to appear very often in so- 
 ciety; and since that melancholy event she had
 
 ^^ HER IMAGE WAS A DREA^IY THING." 123 
 
 seen only the few people whom from time to time 
 her father had '' taken up," generally to let them 
 drop again with ill-concealed disgust and disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 And now he had been pleased to take up the 
 tenant at the Hermitage ; and but for a di'ead of 
 some sudden and scarcely pohte re^^ulsion of feel- 
 ing, poor Marcia would have been entirely pleased 
 that her father should have a new acquaintance, 
 likely to beguile him in those long di'eary winter 
 evenings rapidly approacliing. Miss Denison felt 
 more hopeful of this new finendship than of many 
 which her father had chosen to make during his 
 Continental travels, for she saw that 'Mr, Pamice- 
 fort was a gentleman, and many of her father's 
 acquaintance had not been quite gentlemen, — 
 only that excellent electro-plated imitation of the 
 real article which looks so brilliant, until the edges 
 begui to be worn away by familiar use. No one 
 could possibly have mistaken ^Ir. Pauncefort for 
 any thing but a gentleman. No certificate of 
 character was needed before you admitted him into 
 your house ; poor and out-at-elbows perhaps ; ruined
 
 124 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 by extravagant habits, it might be ; for these things 
 may happen to a gentleman of the blood-royal ; 
 but branded by no dishonour, degraded by no low 
 vices, debased by no meanness of thought or deed. 
 
 Marcia accepted her father's guest as frankly 
 as if she had known him from her childhood. 
 His grave demeanour, his probable poverty, re- 
 commended him to her. Her pensive spirit would 
 have shrunk from a brilliant favomite of fortune, 
 but it advanced to greet this toil-worn wayfarer 
 with kindness and pity. 
 
 Ah, then indeed George Pauncefort felt what 
 it was to breathe the atmosphere of home after 
 long years of banishment; home, created by the 
 presence of a good and pure-minded woman. 
 Shall I describe how a quiet sympathy, a tacit 
 friendship, first arose between this man and 
 Marcia Denison? It is so difficult to describe 
 the beginning of friendship. No doubt it dated 
 from the first happy coincidence of thought or 
 fancy, in which two minds miite in sudden har- 
 mony, like notes struck at random on an instru- 
 ment that yet compose a perfect chord.
 
 " HER DL\GE WAS A DREAMY THIXG." 125 
 
 Amongst all the chance acquaintance whom 
 it had pleased Sir Jasper to patronise, this bronzed 
 African traveller was the only creatm'e m whose 
 society Marcia had been able to take any pleasm-e. 
 And then she pitied him because he was poor, and 
 friendless, and lonely ; she trusted him implicitly, 
 inspired by an instinctive confidence in the nobil- 
 ity of his nature. He was very much her senior, 
 highly educated, refined, poetical; and all the 
 chivalrous sentiments of this daughter of Joneses 
 and traders were aroused by the contemplation of 
 his loneliness and ruin. She had quite accepted 
 Dorothy Tursgood's theory about this solitary 
 stranger. He had been rich, and had squandered 
 or lost a great fortune. His friends, — bah! they 
 were gone with the friends of Timon ; vanished, 
 like all followers of the general who is beaten in 
 the great battle of life. He was very poor, and 
 had come to Scarsdale Wood to hide himself and 
 his fallen fortmies from the world which had 
 smiled on his prosperity. It was a very plausible 
 theor}' ; and any chance word that George Paunce- 
 fort did let drop upon his own afiairs tended to its
 
 126 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 confirmation. If lie talked of pictures, he talked 
 like a man wlio had possessed such things, and 
 had lost them. He brought Marcia some books 
 one day from the Hermitage, and the volumes 
 looked somehow like jetsam and flotsam from the 
 wreck of a splendid library. The coat he wore 
 was almost threadbare; but even Marcia' s inex- 
 perienced eye could recognise the genius of a 
 crack West-end tailor in the harmonious outlines 
 of the shabby garment. The old-fashioned watch 
 which he carried at the end of a plain black 
 ribbon was an exquisite toy of gold and enamel, 
 Avhich had belonged to Louis the Sixteenth, and 
 looked like the last cherished remnant of a col- 
 lector's treasm'es. 
 
 He was standing in the mullioned window at 
 the end of the corridor one morning with Marcia 
 Denison, looking into the old-fashioned garden 
 which she called her o\n\\. He was standing 
 where he had stood to hear the history of Sir 
 Jasper's two daughters from the lips of the gar- 
 rulous old housekeeper. 
 
 For some minutes he had been standino; in the
 
 ^' HER BIAGE WAS A DREAMY THING.'' 127 
 
 same attitude, looking at tlie old garden ^.vitli a 
 fixed dreamy gaze. He lia/l been a guest at the 
 Abbey for nearly three Aveeks, and a pleasant 
 friendliness had arisen already between him and 
 Marcia. She was sitting at the little table, mov- 
 ing the ivory chessmen stealtliily to and fro upon 
 the board, and looking up ^A-ith a half-smile at his 
 dreamy face. 
 
 "You know some other garden Hke this, ^Ir. 
 Pauncefort ?" she said, presently. 
 
 He started, and looked at her fixedly: ^Aith 
 something like alarm in his glance. 
 
 " How did you know that, ^liss Denison ?" 
 
 " I could see it in your face. Do you think 
 I could live so long almost alone -s^-ith papa, and 
 not learn to read people's faces? I can read liis 
 thoughts — I sometimes AA-ish I couldn't — even 
 when they he deepest ; and yom's were very easy 
 to read just now. You would never have looked 
 so tenderly at my garden if there had not been 
 the memory of some other garden in your mind." 
 
 " Yes, you are right. I fancied myself thirty 
 years youuger than I am ; and I was a little boy
 
 128 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 feeding ducks in a pond sometliing like that one 
 yonder under the shadow of the old wall. I almost 
 felt my mother's hand in mine — I almost heard 
 the rustling of her dress as the autumn wind 
 swept by us just now, and stirred those fallen 
 leaves. Yes, I was thinking of another garden 
 far away in the heart of Yorkshire. I daresay 
 the weeds are growing thickly enough there 
 now." 
 
 He sighed like a man who remembers and 
 regrets a lost heritage; then turning away from 
 the window suddenly, he said, 
 
 " Miss Denison, I never told a lie in my life, 
 and yet I have not the courage to show myself in 
 the place where I was born." 
 
 "All," thought Marcia, "Dorothy was right. 
 He must be very poor, for poverty is the only sin 
 which a man can bear nobly, knowing all the 
 while that he can never be forgiven by the world." 
 
 And then the gray eyes, marvellously soft 
 when pity glanced from their clear depths, were 
 gently raised to the traveller's bronzed face. Poor 
 ruined wanderer! Miss Denison began to think
 
 " HEE IMAGE WAS A DREAMY THING."' 129 
 
 of some plan for liis fiitm-e comfort. Her father 
 had influence : miMit not that influence be exerted 
 in favom- of this friendless stranger ? Some small 
 appointment; some foreign mission; some civi- 
 lian's position m Lidia, — so many men with 
 blighted fortunes had been kno^ii to flourish 
 anew under the shadow of the Himalayas. The 
 woman whose pity is unmixed with any practical 
 spirit is no true woman. To pity a person was, 
 with Marcia, to help them. 
 
 ^Ii\ Pauncefort seated himself before the chess- 
 table. He was by no means apt to make a pai'ade 
 of any gloomy secrets that might lie hidden in his 
 breast; but when a man carries a fox under his 
 waistcoat a stray paw of the animal will now and 
 then peep out from its hiding-place. 
 
 " Shall we play, ^liss Denison ?" asked Sir Jas- 
 per's tenant, laying his hand upon the ivory pieces. 
 
 " If you please." 
 
 They were both good players : but to-day 
 Marcia's tactics were of the most erratic order. 
 Her knights dropped unresistingly into the hun- 
 gry jaws of her opponent's bishops : her poor 
 
 YOL. I. 9
 
 130 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 little pawns were swept off tlie board by swoop- 
 ing castles : and even her queen fell a victim to 
 the stealthy sidelong advances of a knight. 
 
 " Check-mate ; and a doubtful victory. Miss 
 Denison," cried George Pauncefort. " Your 
 thoughts have been far away from the pieces 
 under your hand. I am afraid the game has 
 bored you." 
 
 Miss Denison blushed. Her father's guest 
 was offended : and yet she had been weaving 
 little schemes for his advancement all the time. 
 That Indian appointment : if it could only be 
 procured, this man might achieve a new opening 
 in life, new prospects, new hopes, almost a renewal 
 of youth. And while Marcia was scheming for 
 his benefit, the ungrateful creature was angiy 
 with her for being inattentive to a game at chess. 
 Some women would have been indignant at Mr. 
 Pamicefort's offended tone ; but not Marcia Deni- 
 son. She was quite a woman, in the highest and 
 purest sense of the word ; no frivolous girl, greedy 
 of admiration, eager for conquest ; but a woman, 
 long-suffering, tender, unselfish, with the simple
 
 HER IMAGE WAS A DREAMY THDsG. 
 
 131 
 
 candour of a 
 mart}T. 
 
 cliild, the patient heroism of a 
 
 ix 
 
 !Mr. Pauncefort had been nearly three weeks ••^■^ / 
 an inmate of Scarsdale Abbey, and in that time /.• 
 he and Marcia had been very much together ; in 
 spite of those feminine employments which kept 
 the young lady in her ovm apartment for several y/{j\ \J 
 hours during the day. That quiet house was 
 the very place of all others for the growth of 
 Mendliness and intimacy between two people who 
 were inclined to like each other. And these two 
 people were peculiarly disposed to be friendly, for 
 the gentle spirit of compassion had taken up her 
 abode in the breast of each. George Pauncefort 
 cherished the memory of that simple family his- 
 tory related to him by the old housekeeper — that 
 story of a soiTOwful chikUiood, a poor little mother- 
 less girl forgotten and neglected. He remem- 
 bered this, and it was bv the hcrht of this know- 
 ledge that he regarded Marcia Denison when first 
 he became acquainted with her. He cHd not re- 
 cognise the heiress of Scarsdale in that stately 
 young lady with the pale still face : he only saw
 
 132 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 the luckless little girl who had never been so 
 happy as to win a father's love, — the neglected 
 daughter whose lonely childhood had developed 
 into a lonelier womanhood. 
 
 From a happy frivolous-minded girl, radiant 
 with the consciousness of her own fascinations, 
 eager to assert and establish the royalty of her 
 beauty, Sir Jasper's tenant would have shrunk 
 away terror-stricken; but in pale Marcia's quiet 
 presence he felt a sense of peace and security 
 that wrapped him round like the balmy breath 
 of southern breezes on a sunless autumn day. 
 They pitied each other, and involuntarily their 
 voices took a softer music when they talked toge- 
 ther. She was so sorry for his poverty and friend- 
 lessness : he was so sony for her loveless child- 
 hood, and joyless, wasted youth. 
 
 And in the mean while capricious Sir Jasper 
 seemed to have become suddenly constant. Mr. 
 Pauncefort had been three Iweeks at the Abbey, £ f Jt/W 
 and as yet there were no chilling tokens of dis- 
 enchantment. Every morning at nine there was 
 the same cosy little breakfast in the oak-paneled
 
 " HER IMAGE WAS A DREAMY THING." 133 
 
 dining-room; every evening at seven the same 
 comfortable little dinner and delicate Rhenish 
 wines. And then between breakfast and dinner 
 there were chance meetings in the corridor or on 
 the teiTace; and then after dinner there was the 
 long quiet evening — the dehcious home-like even- 
 ing, with endless talk and strong tea, brewed in a 
 chef-cC oeuvre in the way of tea-pots, and poured 
 into Dresden tea -cups by a woman's graceful 
 hands. 
 
 Is it \dse, George Pauncefort, — is it wise to 
 linger and be happy, when there must be, sooner 
 or later, the going back? He had excuses for 
 Imgering. Sui-ely never, in a commercial and 
 business-like point of ^-iew, were workmen so slow 
 as those masons and carpenters and bricklayers 
 who were intrusted Avith the restoration of the 
 Hermitage. And on the other hand, looking at 
 the edifice with the eyes of Sir Jasper's visitor, 
 surely no fairy palace ever hurried more s\^'iftly 
 towards completion than the quaint old building 
 in the wood. 
 
 " Akeady !" That mystic word which the
 
 134 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 pensive voyager wlio journeys vdth Sir Edward 
 Lytton's Boatman lias need to repeat so often, 
 sounded like a death-knell in the ears of George 
 Pauncefort. He had stayed five weeks at the 
 Abbey, and the w^orkmen had been busy a week 
 beyond the time appointed for their task ; and 
 now he had nothing to do but to render polite 
 thanks for the Baronet's hospitality, and then go 
 back to his old quarters. 
 
 His old quarters ! Would they ever seem as 
 they had seemed to him? would there ever be 
 the dull quiet, the same gray, joyless calm, which 
 was at least peace? The perfect comfort to be 
 had out of a book and a pipe ; the contentment 
 which arises in the mind that has fully resigned 
 itself to abjure all hope of happiness, — should he 
 ever know these again ? Ah, fool I he could 
 scarcely close his eyes now without seeing a wo- 
 man's figure, a delicate face bending over a tea- 
 table, the drooping curve of a slender throat, the 
 fitful shimmer of a silken dress in a firelit cham- 
 ber. And it was late in November now^, and the 
 nights would be so long. Ah, weary wayfarer, if
 
 " HER IMAGE "WAS A DREAMY THIXG." 135 
 
 the angels who guard the gates of Paradise should 
 lower their flaming swords, and ask you to step 
 in and rest, beware of their kindness, reject their 
 offered bounty; for after the joy of the garden 
 comes the anguish of going hach ; and the dusty 
 highway T^'ill seem a thousandfold more barren by 
 contrast T\'ith that glimpse of the lost Eden. 
 
 Some such thoughts as these may liaYe been 
 in George Pamicefort's mind upon the last CYcn- 
 ing of his stay at the Abbey^ for he was Yery 
 silent. He had been wont to talk a great deal, 
 and to talk well dm-ing these peaceful eYenings, 
 so untrammeled by ceremonious restraints, so 
 secure from the mtrusion of any incongruous ele- 
 ment from the outer world. TraYellers snow- 
 bound T^dthin the hospitable walls of an Alpine 
 monastery could scarcely haYC been more enth-ely 
 alone than these three people were in the big 
 library at Scarsdale. Eycu Sii' Jasper, who prided 
 himself on a serene indifference to the coming 
 and going of those acquaintance whom he took 
 it into his head to admire and patronise — CYcn 
 Sir Jasper's sallow face wore an expression of
 
 136 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 genuine regret as lie spoke of his guest's de-' 
 parture. 
 
 " To-morrow morning ! and you say you must 
 go? You want to fall back into your old liabits 
 — study, and so on. Well, Mi'. Pauncefort, I 
 have no right to put in any selfish pleas against 
 what seems a very settled determination. If you 
 must go, you must ; and I must resign myself to 
 turn my back upon Africa, and forego my after- 
 dinner hand at ^carte. Marcia has been good 
 enough to learn the game; but no woman ever 
 played ecarte ; their only notion of the game is, 
 that the king must be somewhere in the pack, and 
 that if they only go on proposing long enough, 
 they're sure to get him. I shall miss you very 
 much, JSir. Pauncefort; we disagreed so dehght- 
 fully about Bolingbroke and Voltaire. There is 
 nothing so agreeable as the society of a man whose 
 opinions are totally opposed to one's own. I shall 
 miss you most — confoundedly!" exclaimed Sir 
 Jasper, almost testily. " I wish I were some de- 
 spotic Oriental potentate, with the power of sub- 
 mitting to you the option of remaining my guest.
 
 or going out into the coiirtvard to be bowstrmig ; 
 but our western civilisation is against that sort of 
 thing, and I can only ask vou to come and dine 
 vn.th. us as often as you can.*' 
 
 ^•'I shall be \erv glad to come back acrain. 
 You cannot suppose that I am churl enough to 
 unden'alue the dehght of congenial society ; but I 
 have already told you, Sir Jasper, there are cir- 
 cumstances in my life which preclude my ever 
 havincT a home of mv own ; and I am afraid of 
 growing too dependent on pleasant companionship. 
 I have spent twelve months very comfortably 
 with no comrades but my pipe and my book, and 
 I want to go back to my Hermitage before sybar- 
 ite habits have been engendered by youi' hospi- 
 tality." 
 
 Sir Jasper's tenant had laid some little stress 
 upon the words, " there ai'e circumstances in my 
 life which preclude my ever having a home of my 
 own ;'' and he had stolen one little look at Marcia 
 as he spoke them. 
 
 IMiss Denison's face was turned towards In'm 
 with an undisguised expression of infinite com-
 
 138 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 passion. He thought the clear gray eyes, so won- 
 drously serene, so calm in their tender thought- 
 fulness, might have shone out of the face of a 
 pitying angel pensively contemplative of earthly 
 sorrow. 
 
 And then Sir Jasper's tenant seemed to put ^ 
 aside whatever sad thoughts had kept him silent ~ 
 that evening, and talked as it was his habit to 
 talk, with a quiet earnestness that sometimes 
 almost warmed into enthusiasm. He was nearly 
 forty years of age, and was therefore un afflicted 
 with that terrible incapacity for any emotion which 
 seems common to the youth of this generation. 
 To him life seemed a battle-field in which it was a 
 noble thing to be victor : and if he had retired to 
 hide himself in his tent, it was that he had fought 
 the fight and had been beaten, and not because he 
 considered the battle a pitiful fray, scarcely worth 
 the winning. To-night he talked more eloquently 
 than was his wont ; and Sir Jasper, who was no- 
 thing if not a persifleur, was fain to let the con- 
 versation lapse almost into a duologue between his 
 daughter and his guest, for it soared into regions
 
 " HER DIAGE WAS A DREA3IY THIXG." 139 
 
 which he coiild only enter when earned aloft by 
 stronger pinions than his own. Ah, how short the 
 houi's seemed to George Pauncefort that night; 
 and what a giim tyrant that bronze sea-king, scow- 
 ling grimly above the dial on which the minute- 
 hand revolved so swiftly I It was after midnight, 
 when a poHtely smothered yawn from Su' Jasper 
 gave the first hint at any thmg like weariness in 
 that nan'ovr cu'cle, and recalled !Mr. Pamicefort 
 from those far-away realms of thought in which it 
 had been so pleasant to roam ^^^ith gentle, womanly 
 Marcia Denison. Perhaps that was her highest 
 chann. She was a woman! — not a deliciously 
 gushing creature, whose lovely eyes would fix 
 themselves upon you in tender compassion for 
 your sad cough one minute, and who in the next 
 would bounce out of the room and expose you to 
 the horrors of an east ^ind by lea^dng a door 
 open. She was a woman — a ministering angel in 
 the horn- of afiliction, and not ^'uncertam" or 
 " hard to please" at any time ; nor yet conscious of 
 any divine right to be pleased at the cost of other 
 people's pleasure. George Pauncefort gave one
 
 140 
 
 regretful look round the room, as lie said good- 
 night. 
 
 " I think I will say good -night and good- 
 bye too," he said. ^' I have planned one of my 
 pedestrian excui'sions for the next few days, 
 and shall take my departui'e at daybreak to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 '^ But we shall see you soon again 1" 
 
 "I hope so. I — if you are good enough to 
 wish it, I shall be very glad to come back — now 
 and then." 
 
 '^ Good enough to wish it !" cried Sir Jasper 
 testily. "When I have found the rai^a avis I 
 haA^e been hunting for the last five years — a con- 
 genial companion ! We suit each other, Mr. 
 Pauncefort, all the better, maybe, because there 
 is a great deal in me that you don't approve, and 
 a great deal in you that I can't understand. We 
 are as far as the poles asunder, perhaps, in charac- 
 ter ; but w^e are just the sort of people who can 
 get on admirably together. What can you do 
 with a man whose ideas are the same as your 
 own? Black is white, say you; of course it is,
 
 '^ HER lilAGE WAS A DREAMY THING." 141 
 
 answers lie ; and you're at a deadlock for the rest 
 of the evening. Give me the man who says, ' Xo, 
 it isn't.' I can o^et on delio-htfullv -vN-ith him. Bv 
 the by, you ^^'ill spend Christmas with us, I trust, 
 !Mr. Pauncefort ? Xo comity families, no would- 
 be medievalism, — boars' heads with lemons in 
 their mouths, rejoicing retainers, fiddlers in the 
 music-gallery, and so on : none of youi' Christmas- 
 in-the-olden-time absurdities ; master and mistress 
 leading off Sii' Roger de Coverley, with a i-uck of 
 servants and farm-labourers streaming behind, and 
 the odour of the stables permeating the atmos- 
 phere ; no roasted oxen, scorched outside and raw 
 inside ; no bales of blanketing, distributed amongst 
 grateful peasantry, who will turn up their noses at 
 the quality of your beef, and slander you because 
 of the coarseness of your flannel. I suppose we 
 do something benevolent in deference to the pre- 
 judices of our acre. Mv dauo^hter ^larcia has 
 carte hlanchey and women seem to find that sort of 
 tiling rather amusing. For the rest, we shall be 
 quite alone. I suppose the cook -^-ill insist upon 
 sending up that conventional cannon-ball, in the
 
 142 
 
 way of confectionaryj wliich she calls a plum-pud- 
 ding ; but I promise you there shall be no further 
 indication of what grocers and illustrated -news- 
 paper proprietors entitle the ' festive season.' " 
 
 ISlr. Pauncefort smiled: his smile was very 
 beautiful, ^ — all the more beautiful, perhaps, be- 
 cause it savoiu^ed rather of thouo-ht and sadness 
 than of mirth. 
 
 " I have no wish to forget the festive season," 
 he said, " though it has found me very lonely for 
 the last fifteen years. But I am weak enough to 
 entertain a lingering affection for the traditionary 
 Christmas ; and I shall be very sorry when its last 
 vestiges have melted into the darkness of a for- 
 gotten and unregretted past. I like to hear ^ the 
 clear church-bells ring-in the Christmas morn,' 
 and to remember A Wanderer who was more 
 homeless than I am, and who was the first great 
 Teacher of the dignity of sorrow." 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed Sir Jasper, shrugging his 
 shoulders; "j^as connu, mon ami. You remember 
 what Yoltaire says ; or }^ou don't, perhaps, and 
 you'll be angry with me if I quote him. Let us
 
 143 
 
 part good friendsj and meet to quarrel again at 
 Christmas." 
 
 jNIr. Pauncefort hesitated. 
 
 "You are very kind, but I — " 
 
 "You are heartily tired of our society, and 
 don't want a second infliction of it." 
 
 " My dear Sh* Jasper, I — ^" 
 
 " Oh, of course you vd\l deny the fact. Dio- 
 genes is an impossibility in an age in which every 
 man sends his boys to Eton. If you are not 
 heartily sick of us^ and have no better engage- 
 ment, come to us at Christmas. You promise ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir Jasper ; if my coming can please 
 you." 
 
 He spoke to the Baronet, but he looked at the 
 Baronet's daughter. The pale still face betrayed 
 neither interest nor emotion this time. It was the 
 face of a woman who listened, from mere poHte- 
 ness, to a discussion whose result was entirely in- 
 different to her. 
 
 " Good-night and good-bye, Sir Jasper. Good- 
 night, Miss Denison." 
 
 He gave his hand to each, and was gone. He
 
 144 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 stopped for a moment outside the door, — the pon- 
 derous uncompromising door which closed upon 
 him with such a sonorous reverberation. 
 
 "I wonder if Adam felt as I do, when the 
 angel shut the gates of Paradise?" he thought; 
 "but then Adam was banished for his own sin, 
 and I—" 
 
 Half an hoiu- afterwards, in his own room, — 
 the pretty blue-draperied chamber, where every 
 thing smelt of a delicately perfumed pot-pourri 
 which seemed peculiar to the Abbey ; the home- 
 like room, with a snug little writing-table and a 
 capacious easy-chair wheeled close to a noble fire 
 burning in a quaint old-fashioned grate, — alone in 
 this room, George Pauncef ort flung himself on his 
 knees by the bed, and with his face hidden in his 
 clasped hands, prayed long and fervently. 
 
 Sir Jasper Denison would have laughed aloud 
 in amused amazement at the sight of that big 
 broad-shouldered man kneeling in the reverent 
 attitude of a little child. Sir Jasper would have 
 been even more surprised if any one had told him 
 the burden of the man's prayer :
 
 " HER DIAGE WAS A DREAMY THIXG/' 145 
 
 " Oh, keep me from lo^"ing her ! Paralyse all 
 tenderness of feeling in this T\-ithered heart ! Give 
 me strength to accept my destiny, and to be pa- 
 tient imto the end !" 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 CHAPTER yi. 
 
 Me. Pauncefokt adliered to the resolution lie 
 had declared at night, and left Scarsdale Abbey 
 when there was only the faintest glimmer of light 
 in a chill gray sky. 
 
 He let himself quietly out of the little side- 
 door by which he had first entered the Abbey, and 
 went away under the fading stars, while the great 
 clock in the stables was striking six. About a 
 hundred yards from the house he stopped short, 
 and looked back at the long range of windows, the 
 closed shutters, the lowered blinds, — all blank, all 
 dark. No eye to watch his departure; no pale 
 regretful face shining out upon him, like one of 
 those fading stars up yonder ! Nothing ! 
 
 He looked from the dark house up to the wide 
 heaven. Ah, tliere the light was dawning, pale as
 
 " ALL WITHIN IS DARK AS NIGHT." 147 
 
 yet, but briglitening just a little ^^itll every pass- 
 ing moment. 
 
 " Shall I accept it as an omen ?" he thought ; 
 "here only darkness, but the hght there. Is my 
 fate so hard that I should revolt against the hand 
 that laid my burden upon me ? There have been 
 men who, of their oa^^i free vdW, for love of God 
 and of their fellow-men, have cheerfully resigned 
 as much as I have lost. Let me remember that, 
 when the rebellious spirit rises in my breast and 
 asks, ^^¥hy should I sujffer?' " 
 
 For three days and nights jMr. Pauncefort 
 vanished from the neighbourhood of Scarsdale. 
 He was away tramping on solitary country roads, 
 under a dull November sky; tramping steadily, 
 with his face to the chilly autumn Arind, wdth his 
 face to the rain, the sleet, the darkness ; now talk- 
 ing to some tired outcast, lagging wearily on his 
 beat ; now exchanging a few cheery words with a 
 passing rustic; sometimes quite alone for hours 
 together; but always tramping steadily on, like a 
 man who has backed himself lieaAoly to walk a 
 hundred miles in a hundred consecutive half-hours.
 
 148 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 It was very late upon the fourth day after his 
 departure from the Abbey, when Sir Jasper's 
 tenant returned to the Hermitage. He walked 
 back to his simple domain travel-stained and tired. 
 All was prepared for him: pine-logs burning redly 
 on a cheerful fire ; a reading-lamp on a little table, . 
 trimmed and ready ; an old worm-eaten arm-chair 
 wheeled close to the wide hearth. The moonlight 
 streamed in at the low lattice-window, and fell in 
 a slanting line across that polished oaken floor, 
 which might or might not be stained with the 
 life-blood of the traditionary cavalier. The room 
 looked very comfortable, half in the solemn light 
 of the moon, half in the ruddy glow of the fire. 
 It was as good a welcome as a lonely wanderer 
 had any right to expect; and yet, ah me ! how sad 
 and cold it seemed to Sir Jasper's tenant ! The 
 titled backs of his favourite books, winking and 
 blinking in the fire-light, seemed to smile at him : 
 as who should say, "In us behold the harmless 
 friends who know not weariness, the silent com- 
 forters in whose companionship there lurks no 
 hidden danger."
 
 " ALL WITHIN IS DARK AS N'lGHT.'' 149 
 
 ^Ii'. Pamicefort's quiet servant came into the 
 room, at the sound of the opening and shutting 
 of the door. He found his master standing by 
 the hearth, his elbow resting on an angle of the 
 chimuej-piece, his eves bent moochly on the fire. 
 
 "You are tired, sir," the man said respect- 
 fullv, as he lighted the lamp. It was a reading- 
 lamp, TN-ith a deep gi-een shade, and it only hghted 
 the room with a subdued glimmer; but even in 
 that doubtful light Andrew ^lilward, the valet, 
 saw that his master's face was paler than usual, 
 and that there was a worn look about the eyes 
 and mouth that had not been there smce the 
 first month or so after the travellers retm-n to 
 England. 
 
 " Yes, I am veiy tired ; I have walked greater 
 distances and longer houi's this time.'' 
 
 " Shall I get you any thing, sir ?" 
 
 " Yes, you may get me a cup of tea, the 
 never-faiUng consolation of old women and — old 
 bachelors. You have no occasion to look so 
 anxiously at me, my dear ^Nlilward; you must 
 expect a man to seem a httle knocked up after
 
 150 
 
 doing ninety miles of a billy country in foiu' days 
 of very uncertain weather. Get me that tea as 
 quickly as you can. How do you find this place 
 after the builders' work? They have not done 
 away with its medievalism, I am very glad to see. 
 There are no radical changes f 
 
 "Not at all, sir. New flooring, new bannis- 
 ters on the staircase, new woodwork about the 
 windows, a new stack of chimneys, and a few 
 beams here and there, where the house seemed 
 shaky; but every thing quite in the old style, 
 sir." 
 
 ]\ir. George Pauncefort retired to his room 
 on the upper story and made his toilet, which 
 involved a great deal of cold water, a change of 
 linen, and the substitution of a loose morning- 
 coat for the velveteen shooting-jacket, which he 
 was wont to wear in his pedestrian rambles. It 
 was only nine o'clock, and Sir Jasper's tenant had 
 a long lonely evening before him — the first lonely 
 evening after many pleasant hours of bright and 
 genial companionship. He went back to his sit- 
 ting-room. The queer old teapot was in its wonted
 
 '' ALL WITHDs' IS DAEK AS NIGHT." 151 
 
 place among the ashes ; a faded red cloth curtain 
 was drawn across the moonlit T\'indow, and the 
 oaken panelling only reflected the cheerv glow of 
 the fire. 'Mi\ Pauncefort filled and hghted his 
 pipe, took a book at random from the shelf 
 nearest to him, and began to read. 
 
 How many lines did he read ? About twenty 
 perhaps; then the hand holding the book slowly 
 dropped by his side, the proud head sank forward 
 on the broad breast, the dai'k eyes fixed them- 
 selves cbeamily on the burning logs. 
 
 " And I have known such peace in this place !'' 
 mused Sir Jasper's tenant. " T\Tiat have I lost, 
 what have I lost, since I last sat alone beside this 
 hearth?" 
 
 He could find no answer to that question. 
 He had chosen to break a resolution that had 
 been almost a vow, and he was papng the penalty 
 of his folly. 
 
 " Oh, fool, fool, fool !" he muttered presently ; 
 "fool not to have better estimated the peril of 
 . such association — the horror of such a contrast !" 
 
 He went back to his book with a wean- si^h.
 
 152 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 It was a delicate little masterpiece of the typo- 
 graphical artj a tiny volume of classic literature, 
 published by Firmin Didot, — an expensive fancy 
 for so poor a man as Sir Jasper's tenant — a 
 volume to set a book-hunter's mouth watering 
 with epicurean longing ; but ^Mr. Pauncefort's 
 hand drojoped by his side a second time — his 
 moody glances went back to the fire, not to be 
 beguiled by delicate line-engravings, or pearly 
 type, or quaint initial letters in scarlet printing- 
 ink. 
 
 He restored the book to its place on the shelf 
 presently, and began to walk slowly up and down 
 the room with his arms folded and his head bent. 
 The dark brows contracted over those thoughtful 
 eyes, full of gloomy thoughts to-night, as it 
 seemed. The hard lines about the mouth grew 
 harder as the lonely tenant paced backwards and 
 forwards in the dimly-lighted chamber. 
 
 "I have seen the room in which Martin 
 Luther threw his ink-bottle at Satan," muttered 
 Mr. Pauncefort by and by ; " but nobody tells 
 us whether the diabolical intruder took the hint
 
 " ALL WITHIN IS DARK AS NIGHT." 153 
 
 and departed. There are de^'ils that are not to 
 be driven away by ink-bottles, or Avalked down 
 by ninety-miles' ramble in a hilly conntiy." 
 
 He paced the room for nearly an hour ^^-ith 
 the same slow steady step, his head still bent, 
 his brows still fixed in the same dark frown. 
 Then with a suddenly impatient gesture he moved 
 the lamp to a side-table, on wliich there stood 
 an old-fashioned mahogany desk, brass-bound at 
 the corners, and provided -s^-ith a formidable lock. 
 He unlocked this desk, took a quire of paper 
 from the lowest partition, chpped his pen into 
 the ink, and began to ^Tite : 
 
 " Tlie Hermitage, Scarsdale, near Boxlorougli^ 
 November 30th, 1855. 
 
 Dear Willia^is, — AYill you take immediate 
 steps to ascertain the exact whereabouts of ' that 
 person^ present mode of life, suri'oundings, and 
 so on. I have a reason for — ^" 
 
 And here Sir Jasper's tenant came abruptly 
 to a standstill, and began to bite the feathered 
 end of his pen with that abstracted manner
 
 154 SIR jasper's TENi^T. 
 
 peculiar to a writer who finds some difficulty 
 in the composition of his epistle. Mr. Paunce- 
 fort's difficulty appeared of an unsurmountable 
 nature, or was at any rate beyond his patience, 
 for he tore the half-written page in fragments 
 and flung them into the fire. Then leaning 
 over his desk with the same moody expression of 
 countenance that had distinguished him through- 
 out that evening, he opened first one partition, 
 then the other, with the idle abstracted manner of 
 a man who has no motive for what he is doing. 
 
 There vv-ere the usual contents of an old- 
 fashioned writing-desk lurking in those two dry 
 wells of epistolary rubbish. There were the 
 usual packets of faded letters, which it is so 
 difficult to look at without a vague sense of pain — 
 it is so much more than likely that some of the 
 writers are dead ; so terribly probable that most 
 of them are changed, and would blush to see 
 the pale protestations and promises of the past, 
 remembering how bitterly they have been belied. 
 And hidden under those packets of letters there 
 w^as something from which the wanderine: hand
 
 '^ ALL WITHIN IS DARK AS XIGHT." 155 
 
 of Sir Jasper's tenant recoiled \\'itli a terrified 
 start, as it might have done if, groping idly among 
 withered leaves, it had lighted unawares upon 
 a snake. The hand recoiled, and the dark face 
 grew Kvid : but after just one moment's indecision, 
 the hand brought the reptile to light. 
 
 It was a very innocent-looking serpent. Only 
 a crimson morocco case, flat and square, and a 
 little old-fashioned. Evidently a miniature case 
 belonging to a period prior to the days in which 
 scientific photographers arose to anniliilate the 
 simple artists who painted pretty simpering faces, 
 verv' pink in the hghts, and very blue in the 
 shadows, smu'ldng out of a backgi'ound of burnt- 
 sienna dots. 
 
 ^Ir. Pamicefort opened the case, and looked 
 at the miniatm'e. The snake was a veiy beautiful 
 reptile. Keats's Lamia could scarcely have been 
 lovelier of aspect than were the two faces which 
 smiled the same smile on that piece of painted 
 ivoiy. 
 
 Yes, two faces, and yet only one face. The 
 duplicate resemblances of twin sisters smiled on
 
 156 
 
 the moody tenant of the Hermitage. The minia- 
 tm'e was very exquisitely painted ; and never had 
 two more beautiful faces beamed upon cold and 
 lifeless ivory. 
 
 The sisters were in the earliest bloom of youth, 
 the freshest splendour of beauty. Eyes darkly 
 lustrous, dangerously lovely, as those with which 
 Judith may have watched the slumbers of Holo- 
 fernes — from which Cleopatra might have looked 
 destruction on Marc Antony; noses of an aqui- 
 line type, whose bold character gave a queen-like 
 grandeur to those youthful faces ; lips whose 
 crimson fulness reminded you of beautiful velvety 
 fruits ripened mider a southern sun, but in whose 
 expression there lurked something which the phy- 
 siognomist would have shrunk from, distrustful 
 and abhorrent ; dark waving hair falling loose 
 on snowy shoulders ; rounded arms intertwined 
 in sisterly embraces. 
 
 Sisters are always sisterly — in a picture. 
 These were the things that George Pauncefort 
 contemplated with that fixed frown upon his face, 
 that ominous light in his eyes.
 
 "all within is dark as xight." 157 
 
 Suddenly he set liis teeth together fiercely, 
 and with his eyes still fixed upon the two faces, 
 cried aloud : 
 
 "Twin vipers, hatched in your foul nests 
 for the destruction of honest men : created to 
 stinop and torture the breasts that shelter you. 
 Wherever you may be — you, the li^-ing — you, 
 the dead — may God have that mercy upon your 
 sins which I cannot feel! Xo, I have ^Testled 
 with the devil : but he is too strong for me, and 
 I cannot forgive. O Thou who didst plead upon 
 the Cross for Thy enemies. Thou couldst not di- 
 vorce Thyself from Thy godhead. I am only 
 man, and I can love, admire, worship ; but I can- 
 not imitate Thee." 
 
 He rose, took the miniature out of the case, 
 and dropped it upon the bare stone hearth. The 
 faces on the painted ivory smiled up at him 
 as he looked at them just for one moment before 
 he set his heel upon the pictui'e and gromid it 
 into atoms.
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 Dorothy's conquest. 
 
 Dorothy Tursgood was a Roman Catholic. 
 If she had been a fire-worshipper or a Moham- 
 medan, a Thug or an adorer of Ashtoreth, and 
 an impHcit believer in the necessity of human 
 sacrifices, she could have scarcely been regarded, 
 in a spiritual point of view, with greater horror 
 than she now was by the Protestant members 
 of Sir Jasper's household. Temporarily regarded, 
 Dorothy w^as a very nice girl, with simple win- 
 ning manners, and a face that was almost as 
 bright as a sunbeam; but in a theological sense 
 she was an obstinate heretic, resolutely bent upon 
 marching straight to destruction ; getting up early 
 in the morning to attend idolatrous ceremonials, 
 and treasuring pagan idols in the shape of little 
 gilt-edged and lace-paper-bordered engravings of
 
 159 
 
 ■unknown saints and mart}Ts. I don't suppose 
 poor little Dorothy could have explained very 
 distinctly the difFerei-tces between her ovm. faith 
 and that of her fellow-sen^ants. The Tursgoods 
 were of Hibernian extraction, and Dorothy be- 
 lieved in the Pope, as her parents and ancestiy 
 had believed before her, as some splendid ab- 
 straction who, in supreme humility, condescended 
 now and then to receive tribute in the way of 
 halfpence even from so small a personage as 
 Dorothy herself. Dorothy had the organ of ve- 
 neration very fully developed under the ruddy 
 brow^i hah' that would not come straight, and 
 was ready to believe pretty implicitly in every 
 thing that seemed good and beautiful and very 
 liigh above her. If any thing could liaA'e shaken 
 the faith that had been taught her m her cliild- 
 hood, it would have been the influence of her 
 vomio; mistress; but Marcia Denison had no de- 
 sne to make a proselyte of her simple-minded 
 little maid. 
 
 " I had rather you should be a o^ood Cathohc 
 than a bad Protestant, my darling," she said;
 
 160 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 "and I think you and I can read St. Thomas 
 a Kempis together without entering into any 
 abstract arguments about our different creeds. 
 If we can only be Christians, Dorothy, I fancy 
 we may hope to be forgiven any error in our 
 choice between Paul and Apollos." 
 
 Dorothy had to go a very long way to per- 
 form her Sabbath devotions. The nearest Ca- 
 tholic chapel was an unpretending edifice, in a 
 back district of the naval and military depot be- 
 yond Eoxborough; and to this chapel Mr. Turs- 
 good and his family had been wont to repair in 
 a tax-cart every Sunday morning, ever since 
 Dorothy could remember. Miss Denison was no 
 exacting mistress, and Dorothy was still free to 
 accompany her family to chapel on a Sunday 
 morning, while Marcia walked alone to a little 
 village church close to the gates of Scarsdale 
 Park. 
 
 It is the morning after George Pauncefort's 
 return to the Hermitage — a bright morning for 
 November — and Dorothy has run across the park 
 to the home-farm, in time to take her accustomed
 
 Dorothy's conquest. 161 
 
 place in the bailiffs tax-cart. She is welcomed 
 clamorously by younger sisters and brothers, who 
 look upon her as a prodigy of learning and ele- 
 gance; but she only receives a nod from her 
 father, who is by no means a demonstrative man, 
 and who condemns the teaching his daughter 
 has received from ^liss Denison as "a pack of 
 Frenchified nonsense, like to tm-n the wench's 
 head and make her too fine for sen'ice." 
 
 To-day Dorothy was not to return to Scars- 
 dale in her father's cart. Her mistress had given 
 her a holiday, in order that she might spend the 
 day with a cousin, who was rather a styhsh per- 
 son, having served her time at a milliner's in 
 Eoxborough, and having lately miited her for- 
 tunes to those of a dashing young clerk in the 
 service of a brewer. With these distinguished 
 relations Dorothy was to dine, and they had un- 
 dertaken to see her safely home before dusk, or, 
 at any rate, as far as the gates of Scarsdale Park. 
 
 To Dorothy's mind this gomg out to dinner 
 was a very great event ; more especially as she 
 had a new bonnet — a real black-velvet bonnet, 
 
 vol. I. 11
 
 162 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 silk velvet, with sky-blue bows inside — wliere- 
 witli to dazzle tlie experienced eyes of Selina 
 Dobb. The clerk's name was Dobb ; but he was 
 a very stylish person in spite of that plebeian 
 and monosyllabic appellation. A man cannot 
 help his name ; and Mr. Henry Adolphus Dobb's 
 appearance on Sundays w^ould have been dash- 
 ing even if displayed by a scion of the house of 
 Montmorency. 
 
 I am afraid Dorothy's mind was prone to 
 wander that day in chapel, and that the new 
 bonnet had a sadly distracting effect upon the 
 pretty little head inside it. She tried very hard 
 to keep her eyes fixed upon her book as she 
 knelt meekly by her father's side; but the fri- 
 volous fancies would go vagabondising away from 
 the Aves and Paters which the rosy lips me- 
 chanically whispered. 
 
 Castleford is a military depot ; and the con- 
 gregation at that little Roman-Catholic chapel 
 was generally pretty liberally sprinkled with the 
 martial element. On this particular Sunday there 
 were a good many red-coats dotted about the
 
 Dorothy's conquest. 163 
 
 place, and there were two near the altar to 
 which Dorothy's eyes wandered now and then 
 in spite of herself. These two special red-coats 
 were worn by a couple of officers, one of whom 
 seemed completely absorbed by the service in 
 which he was assisting ; while the other, on the 
 contrary, sat in a lounging attitude and stared 
 about him, except when, in some especially so- 
 lemn portion of the ceremonial, he dropped on 
 his knees and mechanically assumed a reveren- 
 tial air. 
 
 It happened somehow that this inattentive 
 officer's glances, wandering here, there, and eveiy 
 where, seemed to wander oftenest of all towards 
 Dorothy's new bonnet. It was not the first 
 tune that Dorothy had seen this officer in chapel ; 
 and last Sunday, and the Sunday before that, 
 when she had only worn a very old shabby bon- 
 net, she had observed the same phenomenon. 
 The officer's eyes, ro^"ing here and there, fixed 
 themselves very often upon herself. They were 
 dark restless eyes, with a very vi^dd light in 
 them ; an unhealthy -looldng brightness, which
 
 164 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 we are apt to associate with tlie idea of incipient 
 consumption; and they shone out of a face that 
 must once have been very handsome, but which 
 now had a worn-out tired look upon it that con- 
 siderably impaired its beauty. It was a face 
 which a shrewd observer would have called 
 " scampish ;" an insolent, defiant face, which 
 might belong to a man accustomed to be at 
 war with the world. No physiognomist could 
 have pronounced it a pleasant countenance ; but 
 to Dorothy Tursgood it seemed the very ideal 
 of heroic splendour. 
 
 Away from the realms of agriculture Sir Jas- 
 per's bailiff was by no means a keen or minute 
 observer. The eyes of all the officers in Castle- 
 ford barracks might have been roving towards 
 Dorothy's pretty face, and Mr. James Tursgood 
 none the wiser. He packed his two younger 
 daughters and an ungainly boy into the cart, 
 which had been standing during the service in 
 an adjacent yard, and nodded a good-bye to Do- 
 rothy as he clambered into the vehicle. 
 
 "No gadding after dark, Doll," he said in a
 
 Dorothy's conquest. 165 
 
 warning voice ; " Selina Dobb's got a bouse of 
 her own, and a husband to keep her ; but you've 
 got to earn your lining in service. Don't let 
 me hear no complaints of you when I goes to 
 the Abbey." 
 
 Dorothy pouted, and then mimnured some- 
 thing dutiful. The farm-bailiif was her father, 
 and she was bound to obey him, though his 
 manners were rather rouo-h; but the society of 
 Alderney cows and squealing young pigs, how- 
 ever lively, can scarcely be expected to have a 
 refining influence. The cart drove away, and 
 Dorothy was left alone in all the grandem- of 
 her velvet bonnet to find her way to that damp 
 little terrace of newly-built houses in which Se- 
 hna and her husband had taken up their abode. 
 
 Dorothy had heard high mass in that little 
 chapel every Sunday morning from her childhood 
 upwards, and there was a good deal of hand- 
 shakino; to be s^one tlu'ouo;h ^^dth vounor women 
 of her own age, to say nothing of hobbledehoy 
 brothers and sheepish swains "keeping company" 
 w^th the young women. There was considerable
 
 166 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 discussion about the new bonnet; and when at 
 last Dorotbj disengaged herself from her friends, 
 it was ever so much past one. One o'clock was 
 Mr. and Mrs. Dobb's dinner-hour, not of their 
 own free choice, but to suit the habits of an 
 arbitrary baker, who cleared out his oven at that 
 hour, and flung back the joints intrusted to him 
 upon the hands of their owners wdth a stony 
 indifference as to whether the cloth might be laid, 
 or the beer fetched from the newly-opened tavern. 
 Dorothy hurried breathlessly across a patch 
 of waste ground, and past the unfinished streets 
 which straggled here and there upon the dusty 
 outskirts of Castleford. The red coats had filed 
 away from the chapel while her father delivered 
 his brief lecture, the two officers walking by the 
 side of the men ; and Dorothy had almost for- 
 gotten the roving eyes that had seemed so often 
 attracted by her new bonnet. She was close to 
 the new^ terrace, — it was called Amanda Terrace, 
 — when she became conscious of a footstep behind 
 her, a footstep that loitered when she loitered, 
 and hurried when she hurried. Her breath came
 
 DOROTHY'S CONQUEST. 167 
 
 quicker, and her heart began to bump up and 
 down as fast as if she had been runnino; a race. 
 Could any bodj be folio ^^'ing her? The heart 
 that as vet had only panted for new bonnet- 
 ribbons and coral necldaces began all at once to 
 beat T^-ith a strange emotion, which seemed a 
 pleasure so intense that it almost merged into 
 jDain. Perhaps a poet might belicA-e in this as 
 the earliest tlnill of a maiden's first love; but, 
 alas, maidenly vanity had a good deal more to 
 do with it. Dorothy caught a glimpse of her 
 pursuer as she turned a sharp corner; and brief 
 though that ghmpse, it was quite long enough 
 to show her a red coat and a pair of brilhant 
 black eyes. Then it was that the baiHfPs daughter 
 felt her heart swell with a delicious triumph. She 
 began to think that she had made a conquest. 
 A conquest ! and she was going to Selina Dobb, 
 who had inflicted upon her the minutest details 
 of so many conquests of a military character, 
 and who had ended by manwing a brewers- 
 clerk. Oh, how delicious it would be to retire 
 to Selina's bedroom after dinner, on some pretence
 
 168 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 of examining the new bonnet, and then and there 
 communicate to her the history of this wonderful 
 triumph ! 
 
 She was going through a httle mental re- 
 hearsal of the delightful disclosure, when she 
 came to Amanda Villas, and perceived the loung- 
 ing figure of Henry Adol2:)hus Dobb, in an in- 
 tensely cut-away coat, lolling against the little 
 iron gate, and provided with a short clay-pipe, 
 the bowl of which presented the head of a fero- 
 ciously-disposed bull-dog displaying two rows of 
 enamelled teeth, whose whiteness agreeably con- 
 trasted with the blackened clay. 
 
 " Holloa !" exclaimed Mr. Dobb, taking his 
 pipe out of his mouth, and addressing himself to 
 Dorothy's pursuer. (Good gracious ! thought the 
 bailiff's daughter, could it be possible that her 
 cousin's husband was on familiar terms with a 
 magnificent creature in a scarlet coat ?) " How 
 do, Dorothy ?" said ^ii'. Dobb ; " sorry to see 
 you looking so sharp set ; for the butcher forgot 
 to send the mutton last night. We might have 
 dined upon the turnips, but unluckily the green-
 
 dokothy's conquest. 169 
 
 grocer's boy lias got the measles, so they didn't 
 come; but if the kindly welcome of two honest 
 hearts, and the smell of the dinners from the 
 bakehouse at the corner, content ye, they are 
 yours." 
 
 Dorothy was not alarmed by this exordium. 
 She was very well acquainted with the habits 
 of her cousin's husband, who was that social 
 nuisance, a facetious young man; a young man 
 who would have made a bad pun at a fune- 
 ral, or struck a serio-comic attitude beside the 
 bed of an expiring friend. He was a constant 
 frequenter of music-halls and theatres ; believed 
 in himself impHcitly as an accomphshed mimic 
 and an amateur Charles Mathews. He was a 
 man who considered agreeable conversation utterly 
 incompatible with the smallest admixture of com- 
 mon-sense. He was a perambulatory edition of 
 !Mi\ Hotten's Slang Dictionary and IMi'. Maddison 
 Morton's farces; and there was no discussion 
 however solemn, no question however serious, 
 for which he could find any language but slang. 
 
 " Pass on, fau' damsel, to our modest man-
 
 170 
 
 sion," lie said to Dorotliy ; " I did but jest with 
 thee: the banquet waits within. Ho, my heu- 
 tenant, Michael Cassio ! what news'? Has the 
 royal daughter of the second James departed 
 this life ? or have the phlegmatic citizens of Am- 
 sterdam possessed themselves of Holland ?" 
 
 These playful inquhies were addressed to the 
 officer who had followed Dorothy : but that gen- 
 tleman only replied by a suppressed yawn, and 
 a careless " How d'ye do, Dobb f He had a 
 lazy indifference, that was for from compli- 
 mentary to the society in which he happened 
 to find himself; and he had a lounging, loiter- 
 ing gait, which was the very opposite of the 
 attitude-strildng and cellar-flap-break- down danc- 
 ing of the vivacious Dobb, who considered his 
 reputation as a " delightful rattle" in imminent 
 danger whenever adverse circumstances oblicred 
 him to hold his tongue and restrain the comic 
 activity of his muscles for five consecutive 
 minutes. The lounging officer was a certain 
 Gervoise Catheron, sub-lieutenant of marines, an 
 acquaintance of the playful Dobb, and an inve-
 
 Dorothy's conquest. 171 
 
 terate billiard-plaver. The neutral ground of a 
 billiard-room over a tobacconist's shop in Castle- 
 ford market-place had brought the brewer' s-clerk 
 and the lieutenant together; and some little in- 
 dulgence displayed by ^h\ Dobb Ts^ith regard 
 to small debts of honour had brouo;ht about a 
 kind of intimacy between the two men. 
 
 Poor little Dorothy felt quite crestfallen as 
 she entered her cousin Selina's prim best parlour. 
 She had not made a conquest, after all. The 
 dark-eyed officer had not been tracking her foot- 
 steps from the chapel to Amanda Villas, but 
 had come that way to see liis friend ^h\ Dobb. 
 Under the depressing influence of this disappoint- 
 ment, Dorothy was quite indifferent to her cou- 
 sin's critical remarks upon her new bonnet. 
 
 " ^ly goodness I" exclaimed Selina, looking 
 out of the window, " there's Henry Adolphus 
 talking to one of his military friends. He is 
 such a favomite A^ith the officers I but they don't 
 often come down tJiis way ; Amanda Villas are 
 so veiy retired." 
 
 Dorothy's heart, dull and sluggish of beat
 
 172 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 for the last five minutes, began to flutter with 
 revived hope. " Have you ever seen that gentle- 
 man before f she asked shyly. 
 
 " Well, I can't call to mind that I have. But 
 Henry Adolphus is so intimate with the officers. 
 He is so very lively, you know, and his society 
 is so much sought after." 
 
 The two women stood at the window, screened 
 by a little stand of geraniums and the voluminous 
 festoons of a pair of stiffly-starched white curtains, 
 knitted by Selina's industrious hands. They 
 watched Mr. Dobb and his companion with ad- 
 miring interest ; Selina impressed by her hus- 
 band's distinguished talents, and rejoicing in the 
 idea of those envious feelings that were likely 
 to be aroused in the breasts of her neighbours 
 by this exhibition of Mr. Dobb's intimate relations 
 with a sub-lieutenant of marines. 
 
 The officer lounged away presently; but his 
 departing speech must have been as a dagger 
 in the breast of any listening neighbour : 
 
 "Good day to you, Dobb. I'll look round 
 again in the afternoon for a smoke."
 
 Dorothy's conquest. 173 
 
 He nodded, and departed veiy slowly, ^^'itll 
 a listless step and many a fui-tive glance towards 
 the leafy screen beliind whicli Dorothy was watch- 
 ing. She saw the glances, and sat down to her 
 cousin's dinner-table with cheeks that bloomed 
 like peonies, to be rallied upon her blushes by the 
 brewer's-clerk. 
 
 " ' My love is like the red, red rose,' which 
 is frequently sung out of tune. I know all about 
 it, Dorothv ; and the gentleman micrht be con- 
 sidered emuiently handsome if it wasn't for his 
 red hair and the popular prejudice against a de- 
 cided goggle, /consider a hump rather an advan- 
 tage than otherwise, as a man's coat-collar sits all 
 the better for it," exclaimed ]Mi\ Dobb as he flour- 
 ished his carving-knife and fork above a baked 
 shoulder of mutton. " You know your otvli de- 
 grees : sit down ; ^ the funeral baked meats,' &c. 
 <§:c. How's the governor, Dorothy"? all serene? 
 And our estimable friend, the Baronet ? I hope 
 he didn't take my refusal of his last in^-itation 
 to dinner too much to heart. I appreciate his 
 friendly intentions, but the society of the aged
 
 174 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 bloke is apt to pall upon the youthful intellect; 
 and at his last feed I had occasion to complain 
 of the viands. The tripe and onions were over- 
 done; the fricasseed beef-sausages were not up 
 to the mark ; the iced pudding was sloppy ; and 
 the champagne the ham was stewed in was not Cli- 
 quot. I forgive him. ' Cassio, I love thee ; but 
 never more be officer of mine !' " 
 
 Dorothy ate her dinner almost in silence, and 
 ate very little. The agreeable Dobb only required 
 an occasional admiring giggle to keep him going 
 for a whole afternoon; so the bailiff's daughter 
 was not called upon to talk much. After dinner 
 she sat on the hard little horsehair sofa by her 
 cousin Selina, and discussed a heavenly sleeve 
 and an enchanting trimming on the cross, which, 
 according to Mrs. Dobb, had only just "come 
 up ;" while the facetious Henry Adolphus brewed 
 a small jug full of a certain rum-and-gin punch, 
 known among his intimates as "Dobb's mix- 
 ture," being a cunning admixture of liquors 
 originally devised by that gentleman, and the 
 compounding of which was such a soul-absorb-
 
 Dorothy's conquest. 175 
 
 ing occupation as to keep him comparativelv 
 quiet. 
 
 It was half-past tlu'ee o'clock when Gervoise 
 Catheron lounged past the -window, in mufti this 
 time. Dorothy's cheeks grew red as she recog- 
 nised him. The sofa was opposite the window, 
 and Dorothv had heen stealino; little furtive 
 glances athwart Selina's geraniums ever since 
 dinner. Perhaps he would not come, after all ; 
 or he might come very late, and Dorothy was to 
 go back to the Abbey before dusk, and it would 
 be dark so very, very soon this November after- 
 noon. 
 
 " ^ Open, locks, whoever knocks !' " bawled 
 ^Ii\ Dobb, as the lieutenant went bv the raihngs ; 
 " the footman has been abruptly dismissed on ac- 
 count of intemperant procli^nties, and the family 
 plate is at our banker's, so the door is only on 
 the latch. ' Turn, gentle hermit,' turn the han- 
 dle, and shove the lower panels of our portal ; for 
 the paint, 
 
 • Infected by the dampness of the air, 
 Is sticky, and doth cling, like woman's lips
 
 176 SIR jasper's tenakt. 
 
 That meet the false lips of deceitful man, 
 And drink the poison of a traitor's kiss.' 
 
 Lines from an nnfinislied epic by H. A. L'obb, 
 Esq., poet-lanreate to her Majesty the Queen of 
 tlie Cannibal Islands." 
 
 While Mr. Dobb had been thus giving free 
 indulgence to a humorous fancy, his sensible 
 better-half had opened the door and admitted 
 the distinguished guest, who looked as much out 
 of his element in the prim little parlour as he had 
 looked in the chapel. He dropped listlessly into 
 the chair offered him by Mrs. Dobb, and lan- 
 guidly accepted the glass of punch presented 
 to him by Henry Adolphus, who had contrived 
 to make the room fragrant with the odours of 
 lemon-peel and rum. 
 
 Mr. Dobb introduced his wife and his wife's 
 cousin to his friend Gervoise Catheron with divers 
 facetious flourishes of the music-hall order. Poor 
 little Dorothy could only sit with her eyelids cast 
 down under the glances of the officer. He made 
 a languid attempt to talk to her, but she onl}^ an- 
 swered him by monosyllables ; and as the lively
 
 Dorothy's conquest. 177 
 
 Dobb very rarely held his tongue for two mmutes 
 together, the conversation was a veiy brief one. 
 Gervoise Catheron asked her a few questions. 
 Did she object to the smell of cigar-smoke ? did 
 she Hve near Roxborough ? was she going home 
 that evening ? 
 
 ^Irs. Dobb's maid-of -all-work brought in a tea- 
 tray while the two men were smoking and diink- 
 ing, and Selina explained that they were going to 
 drink tea much earlier than usual, in order to 
 escort their cousin as far as Scarsdale Park before 
 night. 
 
 "Dorothy is li\'ing as — as companion with 
 ^liss Denison," said ^Lrs. Dobb, who could not 
 bring herself to pronounce that humiliating word 
 * lady's maid' before her aristocratic guest ; " and 
 it's a long walk from here to Scarsdale — three 
 miles to the Park, and quite a mile from the park- 
 gates to the Abbey ; but Henry Adolphus hkes a 
 nice long walk, so we promised to see Dorothy as 
 far as the gates." 
 
 ^h\ Catheron replied that he resembled Mr. 
 Dobb in that respect, inasmuch as there was no- 
 
 YOL. I. 12
 
 178 
 
 thing he hked better than a long walk on a fine 
 "winter evening ; and he volunteered to accompany 
 the Dobbs and their cousin as far as Scarsdale. 
 Dorothy's heart set up an actual tumult after this. 
 Ah, it certainly was a conquest; and surely her 
 triumph must be perceived by Sehna, who had 
 been so very quick to discern any of her own vic- 
 tories over the susceptible military lounging in 
 the High Street, in which the fair young milliner 
 served her apprenticeship. 
 
 The two women talked of Mr. Catheron as 
 they put on their bonnets in an upper chamber; 
 but Selina evidently considered the charms of her 
 husband's society quite sufficient attraction to lure 
 all the officers in the Army List to Amanda Villas ; 
 so Dorothy's gratified vanity swelled her breast 
 to bursting, and had no chance of an outlet in 
 friendly sympathy. She went downstairs, bloom- 
 ing radiantly in her new bonnet, and found that 
 Mr. Dobb and his friend had finished the punch 
 and were smoking their cigars on the doorstep. 
 The two men made way for Mrs. Dobb and her 
 cousin, and they all left the house in rather strag-
 
 Dorothy's conquest. 17i« 
 
 gling order ; but 'Sir. Catlieron someliow happened 
 to be next Dorothy, and he was not slow to seize 
 upon his advantage. 
 
 " Give your wife your arm, Dobb," he said ; 
 
 " I'll take care of Mss I beg youi' pardon, I 
 
 didn't quite hear your name just now." 
 " Tursgood," murmured Dorothy. 
 " Tursgood — that's not such a pretty name as 
 Dorothy. Do you Iviiow you're the first Dorothy 
 I ever met with, except one, and she's a historical 
 personage f 
 
 " I know history ; ^liss ^larcia taught me. 
 Was it Sophia Dorothea, ^^'ho was mamed to 
 George the First, and very imhappy ? — poor thing I 
 and, oh, how I hate that wicked Countess of Platen 
 who trampled on Count Konigsmark's face I Was 
 it Sophia Dorothea you meant ?" 
 
 " No, I mean Dorothy Yarden, the blacksmith's 
 daui^hter. Do you know I think vou're sometliino- 
 hke her, IMiss Tursgood ?" 
 
 " You are fond of novels, sh-," cried Dorothy. 
 " No, I am not ; I find 'em confomidedly slow 
 nowadays : used to read 'em when I was a bov ;
 
 180 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 read notliing now but Holt's betting-lists and the 
 Sundaif TimesP 
 
 It was a long way from Castleford to Scarsdale 
 Park, but it seemed very short to Dorothy; and 
 yet Mi\ Catheron was far from the most amiable 
 or intellectual companion a young woman could 
 have. He had very little to say for himself ; and 
 what he did say was chiefly expressive of hatred 
 and contempt for every body and every thing in 
 the world, and a profound sense of the ill-usage 
 he had suffered at the hands of people who had 
 injured and insulted him by getting on better 
 than himself. He was not an agreeable com- 
 panion ; he was only a good-looking scamp, with 
 a handsome face, worn and faded by late hours 
 and hard drinking; but he was just the sort of 
 man who can generally find any number of wo- 
 men ready to lend him money and adore him. 
 Poor little Dorothy had never walked arm-in-arm 
 with an officer before, and the happiness engen- 
 dered out of gratified vanity imparted a factitious 
 charm to the society of her companion. She was 
 very happy — as happy as a child who wears a
 
 Dorothy's conquest. 181 
 
 woman's dress for the first time, with all a child's 
 iojnorance of the heritaore of care and sorrow which 
 may go along TN-ith that apparel of womanhood. 
 
 The orreat bare trees in Scarsdale Park looked 
 black against a moonhght sky when Dorothy bade 
 good-bye to her friends at the gates. A son of 
 the lodge-keeper was to escort her thence to the 
 Abbey, so the Dobbs had no need of any further 
 anxiety about her. 
 
 " Good night, Selina ; good night, 'Sir. Dobb ; 
 I am so much obho;ed to vou for comino; this lonf; 
 way." 
 
 ^* A long way I" cried ^h\ Catheron ; " by 
 Jove I it's been the shortest walk I ever took in 
 my hfe." 
 
 He could see Dorothy's blushes in the moon- 
 light as she cbopped him a little cm'tsey and mm- 
 mured good-night before she tripped away upon 
 the silver-shming sward T^'ith the lodge-keeper's 
 boy by her side. 
 
 She was scarcely out of sight of the urates 
 when she broke into a skipping step that was 
 almost a dance, and then a httle thrilling sono-
 
 182 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 came gushing from lier lips like the joyous war- 
 bling of some haj^py bird. 
 
 And it was all because she had made a con- 
 quest. Conceited little Doroth}', foolish little 
 Dorothy, to think so much of a few stereotyped 
 compliments from a good-looking scamp. 
 
 Mr. Dobb was not so well pleased with the 
 employment of his Sabbath evening. 
 
 " It may be very jolly to have swell acquaint- 
 ances," he remarked to his wife, as he ate his 
 supper; "but my friend in the spurs has consumed 
 my last cabana, and imbibed by far the larger 
 modicum of the ambrosian beverage brewed for 
 the general joy of the whole table ; to say nothing 
 of his borrowing; half-a-sovereio;n from me when 
 we parted company in the High Street just now."
 
 CHLIPTER YUl. 
 
 AX un^^t:lco3ie lettek. 
 
 Marcia Dexisox sat in a comfortable little nook 
 by the fire-place in the amber draT\-iiig-room, 
 whose shrouded grandem^"s had something of a 
 ghastly look in the chill wintrj- light. Christmas 
 Avas close at hand, and Marcia was employed in 
 carrying out certain arrangements for the comfort 
 of her poor, in conjunction with the ciu'ate of 
 Scarsdale, a very simple-minded young man, and 
 a devoted admirer of ^Ess Denison, whose serene 
 presence was apt to affect him with a tem2:)oraiy 
 paralysis of his intellectual faculties. 
 
 Yes, he was a veiy meek young man ; with 
 smooth flaxen hau*, wliich no amomit of manipu- 
 lation from the hot tonors of the ^-illan-e bai'ber 
 could have tortured into curl ; and mild blue eyes, 
 whose gentleness of expression almost melted into
 
 184 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 a watery weakness, suggestive of cold in the head. 
 He was not a happy young man, for he despised 
 himself, and he adored Miss Denison ; but he 
 would have died any manner of death — from 
 being hurled headlong from the topmost pinnacle 
 of Roxborough Cathedral, to being torn piecemeal 
 by half-a-dozen of the big draught-horses on Sir 
 Jasper's home-farm — rather than have rendered 
 up the secret of his idolatry; for Miss Denison 
 was an heiress, and it was possible that his devoted 
 love might have been confomided with the mer- 
 cenary yearning of the fortune-hunter. So Mr. 
 Winstanley Silbrook allowed concealment to feed 
 upon his damask cheek, and only regretted that 
 the agonies of his hidden passion did not consume 
 the peachy and unromantic bloom of his beardless 
 visage. He would like to have carried his suffer- 
 ings on his brow, inscribed in unmistakable cha- 
 racters, which Marcia must have read every time 
 she saw him, and which might in the end have 
 inspired the placid love that grows out of pity — a 
 sentiment which is as the weakest skim-milk when 
 compared with the fire-water of a genuine un-
 
 AN UNWELCOME LETTER. 185 
 
 reasoning affection. There is no social law wliich 
 forbids a man to cany what characters he pleases 
 upon his brow ; and the delicacy which prevented 
 ^Ii\ Silbrook reveahng his passion in any fonn of 
 words could not have hindered him from avowing 
 it in every featui'e of his face. But unluckily he 
 was not gifted with what is generally called a 
 speaking face. He might have carried the secrets 
 of an emph'e under that mild and meaningless 
 mask, more inscrutable than the marble brow of a 
 Napoleon, looming massively above unfathomable 
 eyes. His heart had been slowly breaking for 
 the last three months, and there were no outward 
 totens of the ruin within; unless, indeed, occa- 
 sional pimples — with an obstinate tendency to 
 gailier on a forehead which, but for pimples, 
 mi^ht have been Shakespearian, and apt to muster 
 stedthily in the dead of the night, like a rising 
 of (fhartists on Kennington Common — might be 
 takai as evidence of the inward struggle for ever 
 going on behind that brow. 
 
 Kr. Silbrook was the most modest of men ; 
 but (f he had a strong point, he felt tliat strong
 
 186 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 point was his brow. To-day lie had brushed his 
 smooth flaxen hair away from the bony promi- 
 nences which phrenologists had mapped-out for 
 him in the most flattering manner, and he pre- 
 sented a shiny expanse of forehead to Miss 
 Denison's contemplative eyes. He was painfully 
 nervous in the presence of his divinity, and it was 
 a considerable relief to him this morning to find 
 that Marcia was not alone. Dorothy Tursgood 
 vras seated before a little table at some distance 
 from her mistress, ready to act as secretary, and 
 swelling with the importance of her duty. The 
 business was rather a long one ; but the curate 
 was miutterably happy, deliciously ill at ease, in 
 a tumult of love and sheepishness, as he sat oppo- 
 site to Miss Denison, with a list of names in his 
 hand, and suggested the people who Avere to 
 receive help, and the kind of help most requxed 
 by them. If the list could have gone on and on, 
 like the endless web in a paper-mill, — if he could 
 have sat upon that hearth-rug for ever, wit! his 
 shining forehead reflecting the glow of the fire, 
 and incipient pimples basking in the ruddy Haze,
 
 AX UNWELCOME LETTER. 187 
 
 — how happy he might have been ! But the clocks 
 never stop, except in faiiy-tales, where the prin- 
 cesses go to sleep for a centuiy at a stretch, to 
 wake, beautiful and smiling, when Prince Charm- 
 ing comes to claim them. The gray old boatman 
 never lays down his oars : the " phsh-plash" goes 
 on for ever, — even when our ears are beguiled by 
 sweeter sounds into a fatal unconsciousness of that 
 solemn measure. Winstanley Silbrook, sittuig in 
 the amber ch'a^\ing-rooni at Scarsdale, forgot that 
 he had any other duty than that of assisting Miss 
 Denison in her benevolent arrangements ; and 
 even when the busmess was finished, he loitered 
 still, veiy loath to dissolve the spell which bound 
 liim to that comfortable hearth. 
 
 " I have ordered luncheon for you in the 
 dining-room, Mr. Silbrook," Marcia said, during 
 the pause that succeeded the completion of the 
 morning's business. " You know papa's habits ; 
 he takes nothing but a biscuit and a little wine- 
 and- water between breakfast and dinner ; so you 
 wall excuse his joining you. I am quite an old 
 maid myself, and take a cup of tea at this time."
 
 188 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 The curate blushed violently, and underwent a 
 sharp attack of that mental paralysis to which he 
 was subject in Miss Denison's society. He was 
 thinking how some bold adventurer, some penni- 
 less Irishman in the military line, might have 
 struck in here with a florid protestation against 
 the epithet ^old maid,' as applied to the loveliest 
 and most bewitching of womankind. The very 
 thought of what the audacious adventurer might 
 have said was too much for Mr. Silbrook, who felt 
 his bashfulness blazing in his cheeks, and burning 
 in every incipient pimple on his brow. 
 
 " No, thank you. Miss Denison," he said, shift- 
 ing his hat nervously from one hand to the other ; 
 "I very rarely take luncheon, or, indeed, any 
 thing at this time, unless perhaps dinner; three 
 o'clock being, in point of fact, my usual dinner- 
 hour — or would-be usual — except that my duties 
 render me so very uncertain. No, thank you; 
 really, I would rather not; and, in fact, I — '' 
 dropping his hat and looking at his watch; and 
 then picking up his hat before returning his watch 
 to his waistcoat-pocket — "thank you, no; must
 
 AN UX^VELCOME LETTER. 189 
 
 really be going, for my duties at this time are 
 so — " decides in favour of the watch — "multi — 
 numer — mult — " strikes upon a verbal rock, and 
 goes to pieces — " numer-farious." 
 
 But in spite of the solemn call of duty, the 
 cm-ate seemed inclined to hnger, standing on the 
 hearth-rug, with his hat m his hand, and some 
 demoniac impulse ^dthin his breast prompting him 
 ever}' moment to put his elbow on the broad mar- 
 ble chimney-piece, and sweep away a small for- 
 tune in the shape of old Dresden and Chelsea 
 ware. He looked with a despairing gaze at a 
 little tea-tray which was brought in presently for 
 !Miss Denison, as an unhappy ^^Tetch who had just 
 swallowed poison might look towards the vessel 
 containing its only antidote. 
 
 " If you will not take any Imicheon, you will 
 perhaps take a cup of tea and a biscuit," Marcia 
 said kindly. "Fetch another cup and saucer, 
 Dorothy." 
 
 The curate stammered something unintelligibly 
 expressive of rapture, and seated himself placidly, 
 after putting his hat in the coal-scuttle. Those
 
 190 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 large watery blue eyes were of very little use to 
 him unassisted by spectacles; and the admiring 
 gaze which dwelt so fondly upon JSiarcia Denison 
 only saw an indistinct white shadow, with features 
 that flickered in and out like gas burning in a 
 high wind. 
 
 Dorothy waited on Miss Denison and her 
 guest, and handed Mr. Silbrook his cup of tea and 
 the sugar-basin, at which he made little pecks 
 with the tongs like a short-sighted bird. He sat 
 with his cup sliding backwards and forwards in 
 his saucer, conversing in nervous jerks; and he 
 stirred his tea more persistently than is compatible 
 with easy manners. 
 
 "Yes, Miss Denison," he began. The "yes" 
 bore no relation to any thing that preceded it, but 
 was only a kind of conversational header, by which 
 the curate plunged desperately into the trackless 
 ocean of small-talk. "Yes, Miss Denison, I was 
 about to observe that — thank you ; not any more." 
 This to Dorothy, who hovered over the afflicted 
 young man with the sugar-basin and a plate of 
 biscuits, to his torment and distraction ; for he had
 
 .VX UXWELCOAIE LETTER. 191 
 
 already found that a biscuit was the incarnation of 
 a hard drv couorh ; and he had been for the last 
 five minutes struggling under a perfect shower- 
 bath of crumbs. " Yes, ^Ess — CrackneUs — I was 
 about to sav that the poor have every reason to 
 congratulate themselves upon theii- good fortmie 
 this winter — last year — the biscuits — er — cold — 
 being peculiarly severe.'' Here ^h\ Silbrook 
 weakly \-ielded to the tempter, and took another 
 instrument of torture, obtrusively branded with 
 the names of its makers, which glared at him as 
 he conversed. " Tlie weather, as I have observed, 
 was really ver\- severe ; and the Abbey being un- 
 tenanted — though your housekeeper, I am sure, 
 was a great assistance to us in the way of soup 
 and coals ; but this year we are much better off, 
 as, beyond yoiu' most valuable cooperation, we 
 have an anon^TQOus benefactor." 
 
 "An anon^Tnous benefactor?" 
 
 "Yes, Miss Denison," responded the curate, 
 who had been imprudent enough to bite his bis- 
 cuit, in the expectation of a much longer pause in 
 the conversation, and found himself sputtering in
 
 192 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 a floury manner that redoubled liis confusion. 
 "Yes, Miss Denison; we have an anonymous 
 benefactor. Upon the first Sunday of every 
 month, for the last six or seven months, a sum of 
 money, — gold wrapped in a bank-note, sometimes 
 to the amount of ten pounds, sometimes more, — 
 has been dropped into our poor-box — no one has 
 been able to discover by whom. There has been 
 no direction as to how the money was to be appro- 
 priated — no scrap of writing, not even the initials 
 of the donor ; only the money. I need not tell 
 you that we have done our best to dispose of it 
 wisely." 
 
 "And you have never made any guess as to 
 the identity of the person who gives this money ?" 
 
 " Never. Our congregation is small, and, with 
 the exception of two or three families, by no means 
 rich. I have heard," said the curate, forgetting 
 his bashfulness in the gusto with which he dis- 
 cussed what was evidently a favourite subject, — 
 " I have heard. Miss Denison, of people commit- 
 ting DREADFUL CRIMES, and giving large sums of 
 money to the poor ever afterwards; though it is
 
 AX rXTTELCO^IE LETTER. 193 
 
 difficult to imacrine bv what mode of reasonino; 
 these unhappy heathens can amve at the concki- 
 sion, that gi^'ing money which you don't want to 
 people you hayen't injured, can atone for the 
 wTong done to the people you haye injiu'ed. But 
 the human mind is — the er — human mind," re- 
 peated ^Ir. Silbrook hopelessly; finding himself 
 suddenly inyolyed in a philosophical argimient, 
 from whose appalling entanglements he saw no 
 chance of extrication : ^' the human mind is — no, 
 thank you." This to Dorothy, who assails him 
 with a second cup of tea. " Eeally, Miss Denison, 
 I haye intruded upon you so long, that — er — nood- 
 moming." 
 
 Marcia shook hands -vN^th him, and dismissed 
 him with a cordial smile. She had no idea that 
 the hopeless gaze of those mild blue eyes meant 
 idolatry ; she ascribed their pensiyely imploring 
 expression to constitutional weakness. 
 
 At twenty-two Marcia was quite a woman, and 
 felt old enough to look serenely down upon bash- 
 ful curates ^yith almost a motherly kindness. She 
 sat for some time looking idly at the fire af^er 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 SIR jasper's tenakt. 
 
 Mr. Silbrook had left lier, while Dorothy sewed 
 meekly in her retired corner, and mused wonder- 
 ingly upon the mysterious patron of the Scarsdale 
 poor. But by and by Mss Denison aroused her- 
 self suddenly from her reverie, and took an open 
 letter from a table near her, — a letter written on 
 foreign paper, in a feminine hand ; a hand which 
 was bold and dashing, and masculine in charac- 
 ter, but still very obviously a woman's hand; for 
 surely the man never yet lived who underlined 
 every other word and adorned every y and g with 
 a loop an inch long. Marcia read the letter, 
 which was a very long one, with a thoughtful 
 expression on her foce, and then rose from her 
 low chair and left the room, with the flimsy sheets 
 of paper still in her hand. Dorothy looked after 
 her mistress with a wondering expression. Marcia 
 Denison, so calm and placid, had been obviously 
 disturbed and moodily thoughtful to-day since the 
 arrival of the morning-post and that flimsy foreign 
 letter. 
 
 Miss Denison went straight to the library, 
 where her father was sittinoj before an enormous
 
 AN UNWELCOME LETTER. 195 
 
 fire, with a pile of re^-iews and newspapers on a 
 table by his side. He tossed a paper away from 
 him -v^dth an impatient gestm-e as ^larcia entered 
 the room. 
 
 "If people would only find somethhig to write 
 about before they take up their pens I" he mut- 
 tered; "but then I suppose there are times in 
 which the literature of the world would come to 
 a dead stop, universal bankruptcy. And to think 
 that we should read any trash just because it 
 happens to have been written yesterday, while 
 the dust gathers upon volumes that hold the gar- 
 nered wisdom of departed Titans ! A man poisons 
 his wife in Seven Dials to-day, and we are ready 
 to wade through half-a-dozen pages of e\ddence 
 in small t^-pe to-moiTow, while perhaps not one 
 amongst ten of us would care to lift the moulder- 
 ing folios that contain the trials of a Strafford and 
 a Stuart, a Russell and a Sidney, from their for- 
 gotten places on our bookshelves. Heigho I" ex- 
 claimed the Baronet, breakmg do^^ii into a long 
 dreary yawn ; " what do you want, Marcia ? The 
 curate has gone, I suppose, and the benevolent
 
 196 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 business is over? What letter is that in your 
 hand, Marciaf 
 
 "A letter from Mrs. Harding, the handsome 
 ■v\ddow whom we saw so much of at Homburg. 
 Do you remember giving her a kind of general 
 invitation to visit us here f 
 
 Sir Jasper yawned and reflected. 
 
 "Did I invite her? Yes, it's very likely I did ; a 
 charming woman, vivacious, spirituelle, plays ecarte 
 as well as any gandin who has served his appren- 
 ticeship at a crack club in the Rue Royale ; sings 
 a little, doesn't she, Spanish and German ballads, 
 with an accompaniment on the guitar ? Ah, yes, 
 I remember her perfectly, and remember being 
 very much pleased wdth her, — a florid style of 
 woman, but amazingly agreeable. Let her come, 
 by all means. Wlien does she talk of coming?" 
 
 " Almost immediately ; that is to say, between 
 this and Christmas. I'll read you the passage in 
 her letter." 
 
 Marcia turned over the flimsy leaves, and se- 
 lected a paragraph in one of them. 
 
 " ' And now, dearest Miss Denison, I am going
 
 AN UNWELCOME LETTER. 197 
 
 to ask Youl' permission to avail myself of yom.' 
 accomplished papa's more than cordial invita- 
 tion—'" 
 
 "More than cordial," muttered the Baronet; 
 " what a pity that cordiality is a kind of intel- 
 lectual effervescence, wliicli expires as it effer- 
 vesces ! I had forgotten the existence of the 
 woman. Go on, Marcia." 
 
 '' ' Your papa's more than corchal in^dtation, 
 so often repeated dm-ing that delightful stay at 
 Homburg, in which I so enjoyed youi' congenial 
 society. May I come, dear Miss Denison ? I am 
 such a frank spontaneous creatm-e myself, that I 
 accept your dear papa's kind speeches at then' 
 fullest value — as I am siu'e I may — may I not, 
 dear Mss Denison T " 
 
 " You may as well omit the dear ]Miss Deni- 
 sons and the dear papas," exclaimed Sir Jasper, 
 testily. " How I execrate a woman's letter ! Is 
 she coming, or is she not ?" 
 
 " ^ So,' " continued Marcia, " ^ if yom* house is 
 not already full of visitors, I shall be veiy glad 
 to spend Christmas with you. I have been stay-
 
 198 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 ing in Paris since I left Homburg, and my friends 
 here are kindly anxious to keep me still longer; 
 but my heart yearns for an English Christmas,- 
 and for long pleasant talks with you and your 
 dear papa. Therefore, dear Miss Denison, I shall 
 await one word from you to say yes or no ; and if 
 the answer be ^ yes/ I shall cross immediately, 
 spend a day or two in London, and then make my 
 way to Scarsdale Abbey.' What is the answer to 
 be, papaf 
 
 " Yes, by all means. The woman has been 
 invited, and tlie woman must come. She was very 
 agreeable at Homburg ; but I'm afraid she'll be a 
 little too florid for England. However, at the 
 worst, she'll amuse us." 
 
 " But, papa," said ]\iarcia, thoughtfully, " have 
 you ever considered how little we know of her? 
 Our acquaintance was such an accidental one; 
 and — she was not in the best set at Homburg." 
 
 Sir Jasper shrugged his shoulders impatiently. 
 
 " What do I know about best or worst sets ?" 
 he exclaimed. " The woman amused me. She 
 seemed to know plenty of people ; and she is a
 
 AN UNWELCOME LETTER. 199 
 
 lady — of the florid order, certainly. She cui-tsies 
 gracefully, knows how to o;et in and out of a car- 
 riage without plunging, has hands which have 
 never done any work, and can eat asparagus or 
 artichokes without making herself disagreeable; 
 and then she is remarkably handsome, and dresses 
 divinely. I should give five or six hundred pounds 
 for a good example of Etty, A>'ithout the ckess. 
 ^Irs. Harding's flesh-tints are finer than Etty's, 
 and her ch'aperies are as good as Stothard's ; so 
 why should we not have her to light up oiu- rooms 
 in this di'eary winter weather ?" 
 
 " But I thought you had set your face against 
 society, papa." 
 
 "Yes, against county society, — the orduiary 
 jog-trot sort of thing which goes on for ever; 
 but I have no objection to an occasional visitor. 
 A passing pilgrim newly arrived from Vanity 
 Fair ^^'ill be welcome ; and he shall rest himself 
 at our hearth, and bring us tidings of the danc- 
 ing-booths and the circuses and the merr}'-go- 
 romids, the newest delusions of the popular poli- 
 tical prestigiator, the- mountebanks who are in
 
 200 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 luck, and the mountebanks wlio are out of luck ; 
 the births and deaths and marriages, the bank- 
 ruptcies and divorces, the family quarrels and 
 fashionable scandals, and all the fun of the fair. 
 Don't look at me so despondently, Marcia; but 
 write a civil letter to LIrs. Harding, telling her 
 to come." 
 
 " I don't think she will care to stay very long 
 in an empty house, papa. She seemed to me a 
 person who could scarcely exist without gaiety 
 and excitement." 
 
 " In that case let her go away and exist some- 
 where else. Besides, we shall not be quite alone ; 
 Mr. Pauncefort will spend Christmas with us, and 
 he can help to amuse her." 
 
 " Oh, papa, Mr. Pauncefort is the very last 
 person in all the world to suit Mrs. Harding." 
 
 " Good gracious me, Marcia !" cried Sir Jas- 
 per, peevishly, "how many more objections are 
 you going to make ? I tell you again the woman 
 has been asked to come, and the woman must be 
 allowed to come. If she doesn't like us, she can 
 leave us ; if we don't like her, we needn't ask her
 
 AN UNWELCOME LETTER. 201 
 
 a second time. Go and vriite your letter, and 
 don't be persistent, Marcia." 
 
 " Yevy Avell, papa ; it must be as you please." 
 The letter was TNTitten. It was not a ver^- 
 cordial letter ; for Miss Denison did not like ISIrs. 
 Harding, and was quite unable to feign a liking 
 which she did not feel. But the epistle was cour- 
 teous and concihator}', and the answer came by 
 return of post. >Irs. Harding acknowledged her 
 dearest Miss Denison's affectionate letter, and an- 
 nounced her intended arrival at the Abbey on the 
 twenty-second of December.
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 A FLORID WIDOW. 
 
 The shrill winter winds shrieked among the rock- 
 ing branches in Scarsdale Wood, and howled dis- 
 mally all through the long moonless nights in 
 which Sir Jasper's tenant lay awake in the dark- 
 ness, thinking of all the eight -and -thirty years 
 that lay behind him, and of the near horizon that 
 bounded his present life. 
 
 Little as we know of him, w^e may take it for 
 granted that there has been failure and disap- 
 pointment of some kind within the compass of 
 those eight -and -thirty years. A man does not 
 voluntarily spend the prime of his manhood in 
 desultory wanderings amid the wildest regions of 
 the earth, and return to his native country only 
 to bury himself in the dusky recesses of a wood, 
 without some very strong reason for his conduct.
 
 A FLORID WIDOW. 203 
 
 If George Pamicefort was a poor man, the 
 world was all before liim; and lie was no listless 
 idler likelj to hold himself aloof from the battle- 
 field of life because the contest was hot and fierce, 
 and the crown of victory uncertain. The smoul- 
 dering fires of an energetic and passionate nature 
 were hidden under the quiet of his breast, now so 
 seldom stuTed by any violent emotion; a look, a 
 word, a sudden outburst of the man's actual self 
 predominating for a moment over the calm pre- 
 sentment of himself which he offered to the world 
 betrayed the slumbering force, the hidden fire. 
 A lion reconciled to his narrow cage, and feeding 
 meekly from the hands of his keeper, -s^-ill show 
 himself king of the forest now and then, despite 
 the excellence of his taming; and there were mo- 
 ments in which Sir Jasper's tenant rebelled against 
 the chains he had imposed upon himself. These 
 were the times in which he was wont to tm'n his 
 back upon the calm quiet of his hermitage and 
 the grave companionship of his beloved books, to 
 tramp over gi'ay moorlands and climb bleak hill- 
 tops under a sunless Avinter sky. These were the
 
 204 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 times in which he was wont to start upon that 
 walking-match with Satan, at whose weary close 
 he was sometimes fain to confess himself beaten, 
 and to bring the fiend home with him to his quiet 
 retreat, to occupy the empty chair at his hearth, 
 and to glare hideously at him athwart the fumes 
 of his flxithful meerschaum. Sometimes he was 
 victorious, and out -walked the demon, parting- 
 company with him amongst the shrill winds upon 
 a heathy ridge of moorland, to tramp homew^ard 
 cheerily, with his face towards the sky, and all 
 the angry fires vanished out of his eyes. 
 
 Mr. Pauncefort had spent a great deal of his 
 time under the bleak winter sky since his visit to 
 the Abbey ; but he had returned to the Hermit- 
 age a few days before Christmas to find a note 
 from Sir Jasper lying amongst the newspapers on 
 his table; a note which reminded him in very 
 cordial terms of his promise to spend Christmas 
 at the Abbey, and claimed the fulfilment of that 
 promise. 
 
 George Pauncefort twisted the little missive 
 round and round his strong fingers, as he stood
 
 A FLOEID WIDOW. 205 
 
 bv the window lookiiiir out at the A^-ithered fern 
 and the leafless underwood swavinor and creakino; 
 drearily in the ^^^nd. 
 
 " Shall I go r he thought. " AYhy not ? Is 
 there any danger to he?' in my presence ? Not a 
 jot! Have I not seen her clear gray eyes fixed 
 upon me -^^th such a tender calmness as may 
 shine in them when she looks at her father? 
 What if I am a passionate fool, who has learnt 
 no lesson from a blighted youth and a wasted 
 m.anhood ? what if I am a fool in mv dotao;e, and 
 long to lay my heart and soul at the feet of an 
 angel, as I laid them once before the hidden foot 
 of a fiend? Will she be the worse for my folly? 
 What can I seem to her but an elderly misan- 
 thrope, whom she tolerates out of the pitiful ten- 
 derness of her nature, as she tolerates tiresome 
 old women in Scarsdale ^'illage, and noisy chil- 
 dren at the Sunday school ? It is one of the 
 Christian duties of her life to be kind to such a 
 man as I ; and if there is danger in her kindness, 
 it is a danger that threatens me, and me alone. 
 Yes, I will go."
 
 206 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 It was on the twenty-second of December that 
 Mr. Panncefort arrived at this decision. He or- 
 dered his servant to prepare for the visit to the 
 Abbey, and to be ready to accompany him there 
 on the twenty-fonrtli ; and in the mean while he 
 buried himself amongst his books, and lay awake 
 in the moonless nights thinking of his past life. 
 It is strange how perpetually the dreaded ghosts 
 of that remote past had haunted him of late, and 
 how often in his dreams the voices of the dead 
 sounded in his ears, while youthful faces, whose 
 bloom and freshness had lono- vanished from this 
 
 o 
 
 earth, smiled upon him, and mocked him with 
 their vivid semblance of reality. 
 
 Mrs. Harding, the handsome widow whose ac- 
 quaintance Sir Jasj)er and his daughter had made 
 in the Kursaal at Homburg, arrived at Scarsdale 
 on the day mentioned in her letter, with a para- 
 phernalia that augured a long visit. One of the 
 Abbey carriages attended the lady's coming, and 
 conveyed her from the station. Sir Jasper met 
 her at the great entrance, and conducted her to
 
 A FLORID WIDOW. 207 
 
 the amber drawing-room, where Marcia was sit- 
 ting before the piano playing softly to herself in 
 the dusk. 
 
 "My dear ^liss Denison, — dear Sir Jasper, 
 — this is so kind of you I" exclaimed the lady, 
 though the kinchiess of her host and hostess had 
 been somewhat of a negative order, and had con- 
 sisted chiefly in their allo™ig her to take advan- 
 tage of a half-forgotten mvitation ; " and what an 
 exquisite place you have here ! I am charmed 
 with every thing. Those dear stately oaks, even 
 in ^^nter, how grand and noble they look I I 
 had imagined Scarsdale Abbey almost a royal re- 
 sidence, but not such a palace as it really is. 
 Your pictui'es, even in this firelight, I see are 
 delicious. That's an Etty in the corner, there, 
 — ^yes, I'm sure it is ; and there's my old friend 
 Mulready above that ebony cabinet. But, dear 
 Sir Jasper, dear ^liss Denison, how well you are 
 both looking! I can see that even m this un- 
 certain light," exclaimed the ^^-idow, suddenly 
 remembering that her friends, who were both 
 standing with their backs to the low fire, might
 
 208 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 have been galvanised corpses, and she none the 
 wiser. 
 
 "You must be tired, after travelling in this 
 abominable weather," said Sir Jasper, suppressing 
 a yawn. " Shall Marcia show you your rooms ? 
 I suppose they have told yom* maid where she 
 is to carry all those fragile bonnet -boxes and 
 precious morocco bags, which a well-trained Abi- 
 gail never intrusts to the rough grasp of the ruder 
 sex." 
 
 "Dear Sir Jasper," exclaimed Mrs. Harding, 
 revealing a set of teeth that glittered in the dim 
 firelight, " I have no maid. I am quite a woman 
 of the world, and have dispensed with that per- 
 petual encumbrance, a confidential maid, ever 
 since I have been old enough to travel without 
 the protection of a female companion. I am one 
 of the most self-reliant creatures that ever lived ; 
 and my habits could be scarcely more simple if 
 I were compelled to exist upon the pension of a 
 captain's widow, instead of enjoying the very com- 
 fortable fortune left me by my dear husband. 
 But you will not be surprised at this, Miss Deni-
 
 A FLORID WIDOW. 209 
 
 son ; for I know liow independent you are in 
 your habits." 
 
 " Mv daughter has a little maid who has been 
 \\QV jyrotegee ever since she was old enough to pa- 
 tronise any thing, and whom she treats very much 
 as other young ladies treat their lap-dogs. How- 
 ever, I am siu'e you are tired/' exclaimed Sir Jas- 
 per, strugghng politely ^^'ith another yawn, " and 
 Marcia shall show you your rooms." 
 
 The A^-idow protested against her dear Miss 
 Denison's takinir so much trouble ; but Marcia 
 was politely decided, and led the way to a hand- 
 some suite of rooms at the head of the gi'and 
 staircase; spacious chambers, "v\ith dark ciimson 
 draperies, and massive furniture that loomed 
 duskily in the warm glow of noble fires. The 
 wax- candles bui'ninfr on a cbessing- table made 
 only a spot of brightness in the large bedchamber. 
 
 " What dehcious rooms I" cried the ^^^idow, 
 
 peering about her in the firelight; "and how 
 
 happy I mean to be in them ! Dear ^liss Deni- 
 
 son, I can scarcely express to you how pleased I 
 
 am to see you once more. We were so happy 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 
 
 Sm JASPER S TENANT. 
 
 together at Homburg, were we not, clear ? And 
 to spend a real old English Christmas with you 
 in this noble old Abbey; which seems positively 
 brimful of romance and mystery! Oh, how de- 
 lightful it will be ! And you really have chosen 
 these rooms for me, — these bright glowing rooms, 
 which look like perfect temples of comfort and 
 luxury. I must kiss you once more, you dear, 
 kind, thoughtful darling." 
 
 Mrs. Harding pounced upon Marcia, and em- 
 braced her with effusion. Miss Denison received 
 the embrace with a quiet gentleness. She did 
 not like Mrs. Harding, but she felt that she had 
 no justification for dislildng her, and she was veiy 
 anxious to conquer that unjustifiable sentiment. 
 That poet was only a benighted heathen from 
 whose verses we derive our familiar rhyme about 
 Dr. Fell ; and our Christian creed cannot tolerate 
 any such thing as an imreasoning antipathy to a 
 fellow-creature. 
 
 " And your rooms are near here, I hope ? No ? 
 I am so sorry for that; I w^anted to feel myself 
 always close to you. We must play and sing all
 
 A FLORID WIDOW. 211 
 
 om- old duets again, dear Miss Denison — and, oh ! 
 mil jou allow me to call you Marcia ?" cried the 
 widow, with one of those sudden gushes of emo- 
 tion which were so frequent in her discourse. 
 
 How could jMiss Denison reply except in the 
 affirmative ? 
 
 " Call me whatever you please, I shall be very 
 happy," she murmured, looking down. 
 
 The thoughts which tli(e flattering request 
 called up in Marcia Denison's mind were not 
 very pleasant ones. She was thinking how few 
 people had ever called her b}^ her Christian name ; 
 and how, since her sister's death, no lips had ever 
 spoken it mtli any tenderness of expression. ^Irs. 
 Harding's gushing friendliness chilled her to the 
 very heart, for it reminded her that there was 
 such a thing as affection, though it never came 
 to her. She felt like a child who, far away from 
 home, responds faintly to the mechanical caresses 
 of her noisy schoolfellows, remembering the mo- 
 ther's soft bosom, the mother's tender voice mur- 
 muring low words of love. 
 
 " And you will call me Blanche, won't you,
 
 212 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 Marcia ? Marcia ! what a beautiful name it is ! to 
 me there always seems something regal in the sound 
 of it. And Blanche is a pretty name, pas vrai, 
 ma Men clierieT demanded Mrs. Harding, who, 
 amongst her gushing ways, had the habit of gush- 
 ing every now and then into a foreign language. 
 
 " Yes, it is a very pretty name," replied Miss 
 Denison, wondering how she should ever bring 
 herself to address this gorgeous widow by so girl- 
 ish and sentimental an appellation; and then, as 
 Mrs. Harding threw up the lid of a gigantic 
 leather trunk, in which bright-coloured silk dresses 
 and festal decorations of an alarming character 
 were visible, Marcia added, " I fear you will find 
 our house a very dull one. You know that papa 
 has quite secluded himself from general society 
 since my poor sister's death. It is an understood 
 thing in the county that we neither \asit nor re- 
 ceive visits ; and with the exception of one neigh- 
 bour and friend who comes to us in the most un- 
 ceremonious manner, I doubt if you will see any 
 one but ourselves." 
 
 " Then, my darling Marcia, how delightful to
 
 A FLORID WIDOW. 213 
 
 me to feel that / am received where others, doubt- 
 less infinitely more desen^ing, are excluded I At 
 Homburg, where you and your dear papa lived so 
 very quietly, I was inexpressibly flattered by the 
 manner in which he admitted me to his confidence. 
 I shall always love Galignani ; for, if you remem- 
 ber, dear Marcia, our acquaintance arose out of 
 the absurdly trivial accident of yom' papa offering 
 me that joiu'nal in the reading-room; and then 
 he made some little remark about the place and 
 the people, and then in the next few minutes we 
 seemed quite old friends. And on the following 
 day he introduced me to you, darling ; and I felt 
 at once that I had found a congenial spiiit. Oh, 
 in this weary waste of life," cried ^Irs. Harding 
 \\'ith another gush, " what is there so precious as a 
 congenial spirit ?" 
 
 This was one of those questions which the 
 heroine in a melodrama generally addresses to the 
 chandelier, and which are not supposed to requii'e 
 any special answer. 
 
 " Can my little Dorothy be of any use to 
 you ?" inquired Marcia. " She is by no means an
 
 214 
 
 accomplished maiclj but she is very neat and quick 
 in all she does, and I think you would find her 
 intelligent. Shall I send her?" 
 
 "No, darling, — thanks. I am so extremely 
 independent, and I really have been so long ac- 
 customed to do every thing for myself, that I 
 should be a little bored by the assistance of a 
 maid." 
 
 This was quite true. In these days, in which 
 Israelitish practitioners undertake to render beauty 
 eternal, — while ci-devcmt Abigails advertise their 
 readiness to impart the last method of " making- 
 up the face and eyes" for the small consideration 
 of a few postage-stamps, — there are secrets in 
 some toilettes which will not bear the searching 
 
 o 
 
 eye of an attendant. 
 
 Mrs. Harding was a very handsome woman of 
 the florid order ; but she was of an age which the 
 tongue of detraction alluded to vaguely as the 
 wrong side of forty ; while even friendship un- 
 willingly confessed that her eight -and- thirtieth 
 birthday was a stage upon the highway of life 
 which lay behind this gorgeous widow. How
 
 A FLORID WIDOW. 215 
 
 much of that massive coil of raven tresses which 
 adorned the back of her well-shaped head was an 
 integral part of the head it decorated, — how much 
 of that delicate bloom upon her plump oval cheek 
 owed its rosy freshness to the pencil of Xatm'e, — 
 how far the fruity crimson of the pouting hps 
 took its colom- from the warm hfe-blood beneath 
 the dewy sm'face, were so many mysteries which 
 ^Ii's. Harchng, in her most gushmg moments, had 
 contrived to keep safely locked in her own breast. 
 
 " ^"hat do I care how the woman obtains her 
 beauty, pro\4ded she is beautiful?" said Sir Jasper, 
 discussing this subject, after an evening spent in 
 the widow's society. " Shall I bother myself, when 
 I look at one of Etty's npiiphs, about the colom's 
 the artist has employed in creating her ? AYhat do 
 I care how much vermilion or what artful glaze of 
 jaune de Mars has been necessaiy to warm those 
 glo^\•ing limbs into life and loveliness ? — or whe- 
 ther the loose rain of rippling hair that veils my 
 goddess owes its golden gloiy to yellow ochre or 
 to Naples yellow? What do I want to know, 
 except that she is there, and it is my business to
 
 216 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 admire her? My daughter, who kisses me when 
 she bids me good-night, must have no paint upon 
 her Hps, for she is a part of myself, and I should 
 hold myself dishonoured by any falsehood of hers. 
 But let my lovely visitor resort to what arts she 
 pleases in the manufactm^e of her loveliness. I 
 applaud her ingenuity, and I thank her for taking 
 so much trouble in order to present a beautiful 
 object for my contemplation." 
 
 When the second dinner-bell rang, Mrs. Hard- 
 ing presented herself in the drawing-room, gor- 
 geous in dark-green moire-antique, old point-lace, 
 and ornaments of caboclion emeralds set in filigree 
 gold. Very handsome white shoulders glimmered 
 under the pelerine of old point ; a throat that a 
 sculptor would have been glad to model was en- 
 circled by the necklet of filigree gold. No one 
 could have denied the widow's claim to be con- 
 sidered a very magnificent woman, even though 
 a few subtle artifices might have been employed 
 to enhance her splendour. She was like one of 
 those fatal lies which are so difficult of disproof — 
 a falsehood with some foundation of truth. An
 
 A FLORID WIDO^V. 217 
 
 Ugly woman, who patches up her ugliness with 
 simulated roses and lilies, and luxuriant tresses 
 imported from Germany, draws do^^^l upon her- 
 self shame and confusion. But a beautiful wo- 
 man, whose artistic fingers do stuixlv battle with 
 the hand of Time, is o;enerallv foroiven bv that 
 nobler half of the creation for whose pleasm'e she 
 clings so desperately to her waning charms. The 
 rigid simplicity of Marcia Denison's bro^Aii-silk 
 dress and smoothly-banded hair seiwed as a kind 
 of foil for the TN-idow's gorgeous demi-toilette and 
 elaborate chevelure. But ^Irs. Harding seemed 
 to have no idea that she had taken unnecessary 
 trouble to make herself beautiful; and yet she 
 was not a woman likely to TN-illuigly waste any 
 efiPort. To-night she seemed only bent upon 
 making herself agreeable ; and yet she was not a 
 woman to make herself agreeable without a 
 motive. 
 
 Sir Jasper Denison, looking at this splendid 
 creature lazily through half-closed eyelids, while 
 she gave him a \dvacious account of her journey 
 from Paris to Roxborough, with delightful touches
 
 218 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 of local colouring, and an almost epigrammatic 
 piquancy of expression, — Sir Jasj)er, looking at 
 her as he might have contemplated one of his 
 Ettys, or a pretty actress at the Bouffes Pari- 
 siennesy wondered Avhether she had any motive for 
 coming to Scarsdale. " I hope she hasn't/' he 
 thought ; " any thing of that kind would be such 
 a terrible waste of trouble. These florid widows 
 are generally supposed to be so many Macchia- 
 vellis in moire-antique ; but I think this one has 
 a perceptive ridge which will save her from any 
 absurd mistake about me. From what I see in 
 the newspapers, I imagine that the honourable 
 method by which the women of the present day 
 endeavour to lay up a provision for their old age 
 is by beguiling some infatuated bachelor into the 
 utterance of sentiments which are as false as the 
 charms that insj^ire them, and then bringing an 
 action for breach of promise against the recusant 
 admirer. But I think a man must say something, 
 or write something, or commit some small overt 
 act of idiotcy before the action can lie, however 
 ready the lady's mtnesses may be to do so ; and
 
 A FLORID WIDO^V. 219 
 
 in that case I am quite safe, and may admire our 
 charming \^ddow at m} ease. She is certainly 
 yery handsome ; one of Giorgione's Madonnas who 
 has' seen the world, and is just a tri^e passeeJ' 
 
 Sir Jasper had put on a dress-coat in honour 
 of his -s^sitor, and the holland draperies had chs- 
 appeared from the amber ch'aTNing-room. The 
 dinner was simple, but in perfect taste ; and ^li's. 
 Harding, who was essentially epicm-ean, enjoyed 
 herself prodigiously, and brightened more and 
 more under the influence of white Hermitage, 
 sparkling Burgmidy, and Cura9oa. The dark eyes 
 flashed with bewitchino; ^dyacity as the -s^-idow 
 entertained her quiet companions mth anecdotes 
 about the people she had met in Paris, and deli- 
 ciously- spiteful epigrams which had obtained 
 reputation for the wits of the Faubourg St. 
 Honore. Sir Jasper was delighted; and Marcia 
 was amused by a style of conyersation wliich was 
 so entirely foreign to her own idea of what con- 
 versation should be, and wliich was }'et so skil- 
 fully managed as neyer to offend eyen the refined 
 taste of a well-bred English woman. ]Mrs. Hard-
 
 220 
 
 ing's first evening at Scarsdale passed very plea- 
 santly. She played ecarte with the Baronet, and 
 sang half-a-dozen dnets with Marcia, whose rich 
 contralto harmonised delightfully with the widow's 
 mezzo-soprano ; and it was nearly midnight wdien 
 she wished the Baronet good-night, and went np 
 the broad staircase with her arm affectionately 
 encircling Marcia's waist. 
 
 She stopped on the threshold of her door to 
 indulge in a final gush. '' In the whole course of 
 my life, dear, which has been a very varied one, 
 I never enjoyed an evening as I have enjoyed to- 
 night. How is it, and why is it, Marcia darling ? 
 Need I ask such a question? What delight in 
 all this world is as pure as that which we derive 
 from the society of friends — friends whose sin- 
 cerity we instinctively trust in; whose friendship 
 is Qiot a name, and does not follow wealth or fame, 
 or leave the wretch to — My sweet Marcia, what 
 a lovely cameo! I think I never saw a more ex- 
 quisite head — the gift of your dear papa, I know 
 — ^I recognise his artistic taste, his warm appre- 
 ciation of the beautiful ! Oh, what a papa
 
 A FLORID WIDOW. 221 
 
 he is I" exclaimed !Mrs. Harding, enthusiastically 
 squeezing Marcia's hand, and steermg that young 
 lady's candle a little further from her ovni eye- 
 brows, which were very artistic, but not produced 
 with a A-iew to the immediate proximity of a strong 
 hght. " What a papa ! so versatile, so deeply 
 read, so fascinating ! Oh, what a happy gud you 
 ought to be, dear love, yrith such a papa !" 
 
 Marcia's eyelids ch'ooped under her smiling 
 friend's ^aze. These charming: women of the 
 fehne tribe are so apt to forget that the gentlest 
 touch of a velvet paw may be unpleasant when it 
 lights upon a gaping wound. 
 
 "My father has not even yet recovered the 
 shock of my sister's death," Marcia said gravely ; 
 ^^ and I can never be to him what she was. I love 
 him very dearh', but — ^" 
 
 The Avords died away upon her lips. No ; not 
 so this smiling widow, vdih the rosy mouth, which 
 it was so difficult to believe in, morally or phy- 
 sically — not to Blanche Harding could ]Marcia 
 Denison reveal the one great son-ow of her life. 
 But she received her guest's final embrace and a
 
 222 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 little shower of pouncing kisses very submissively, 
 and found herself involuntarily rubbing her fore- 
 head, as she went along the corridor leading to 
 her own room, with a vague notion that the rosy 
 lips had stained it.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MRS. HARDIXG SEES A FA^IILIAR FACE. 
 
 The next day was bright and pleasant — a real 
 winter's day, witli a cold frosty wind blpwdng 
 amongst the blackening fern, and crisping the 
 waters of all the ponds in Scarsdale Wood, whereby 
 hope was kindled in the bosoms of enthnsiastic 
 skaters; while a sullen despaii' came down upon 
 hard-riding gentlemen and their retainers; and 
 in half-a-dozen stable-yards in the county mlo^ht 
 haye been seen the liying representation of Sir 
 Edwdn Landseer's delicious picture. 
 
 " There will be a thaw to-morrow," said Sir 
 Jasper, as he cut open the last number of the 
 Revue des Deux Mondes by the gi'eat fire in his 
 librar}' . " There inevitably is muddy sloppiness 
 and drizzling rain on Christmas-day; as if the 
 rational laws of a rational universe set themselyes
 
 224 
 
 against the illustrated-newspapei' proprietor's and 
 popular linmorist's scorbutic ideal of jolly King 
 Christmas, with a crown of holly, and an impos- 
 sibly-gigantic punch-bowl emitting incredible blue- 
 and- yellow blazes. Where are the people who 
 keep the ideal Christmas ? Has any one ever seen 
 them, or dined with them, or sat in their family- 
 circle after dinner, listening to their ghost-stories, 
 or skirmished with their pretty girls under their 
 mistletoe, or w^orshipped in their highly-varnished 
 village-church, or shivered in their incredibly 
 snoAvy streets ? Has any one ever met the lawyer 
 who can relate three pages and a half about a 
 singular client, who once came to him on a foggy 
 night, when the boys were playing hide-and-seek 
 in the dusky corners of the inns-of-court ; or the 
 elderly maiden lady who, at five minutes' notice, 
 will give you a concise but sentimental account of 
 her dead sister, whose plighted lover was lost on 
 a moor one Christmas-day just seven-and-thirty 
 years ago, and who never smiled again, poor dar- 
 ling, till the very smile she wore, as she stood in 
 the old oriel-window waiting for him that Christ-
 
 MRS. HARDING SEES A FAMILLiR FACE. 225 
 
 mas-day, came back to her face as she lav in her 
 coffin, never to leave it more : or the young medi- 
 cal student, who can't tell you any story of his 
 own, but fortunately happens to carr}^ about him 
 the manuscript of a diary kept by a fellow-student, 
 who died of delirium tremens? I suppose there 
 are such people; and very agreeable they must 
 be : but one doesn't meet them. I should think 
 now, if there ever was any one sufficiently 
 eloquent to give a s;yTiopsis of a three-volume 
 novel in three pages and a half of very good 
 Enghsh at a minute's warning, you, ^Irs. Harding, 
 might be that accomplished improvisator e, I dare- 
 say that you will be able to tell us some myste- 
 rious and romantic story about a dead sister to- 
 morrow evening, as we sit by the fire, or as we 
 should sit by the fire, if Christmas-day were not 
 inevitably warm and muggy." 
 
 Have you ever seen the deadly pallor of the 
 natural complexion revealmg itself under an arti- 
 ficial bloom ? It is not a pleasant sight ; and Sir 
 Jasper almost shuddered as he saw the sudden 
 change upon Mrs. Harding's face. 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 "Pray forgive me!" he said gently. "I see 
 that I have touched upon a sensitive chord. You 
 have lost a sister very dear to you?" 
 
 " Yes," Mrs. Harding replied, quite calmly. 
 '^ My sister died only last year. I was in mourn- 
 ing for her when I first met you." 
 
 The natural warmth had come back to her 
 face. Wliatever shock Sir Jasper's random words 
 had inflicted upon her had passed, and left her 
 as self-possessed as usual. 
 
 Marcia took her guest for a drive after an early 
 luncheon. It was dusk when the carriage drove 
 into Castleford, after a long round in the eountry- 
 lanes and byroads. The lamps were lighted in 
 the shops, but there was still a cold yellow glimmer 
 in the west, and a gray light in the wintry sky. 
 By this light Mrs. Harding saw the faces of a 
 couple of young men who were lounging in the 
 doorway of a tobacconist's shop, over which the 
 illuminated windows of a billiard-room looked pale 
 in the expiring daylight. One of the men was Ger- 
 voise Catheron, and the other was an ensign in an 
 infantry regiment quartered in Castleford barracks.
 
 MRS. HARDING SEES A FAMILIAR FACE. 227 
 
 The widow turned her head to look at these 
 men, and turned again, and lifted her veil on the 
 second occasion, as if anxious to see them more 
 distinctly, as Miss Denison's barouche drove slowly 
 along the High Street. 
 
 Marcia had some shopping to do in Castleford ; 
 and the coachman ch'ew up his horses presently 
 before a haberdasher's shop some two or three 
 hundred yards from the billiard-room. 
 
 " I Avill be as quick as possible in making my 
 purchases," Miss Denison said, as she prepared to 
 ahght. "Will you come into the shop, or sit in 
 the carriage ? Godwin can drive up and do^vii the 
 street, if you find it cold standing still." 
 
 " Thanks, dear ; no," answered Mrs. Harding 
 rather hm-riedly. " I will get out and go back 
 to a stationer's I saw a few doors from here. I 
 forgot all about stationery when I was maldng my 
 pui'chases in to^\^l. You'll wait for me, won't you, 
 love, if I should be a little longer than you? " 
 
 She alighted immediately after Marcia, and 
 hurried away in the dusk. But the splendid 
 widow did not enter the shop of the chief stationer
 
 228 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 of Castleford. She passed his door, and went 
 straight to the tobacconist's, on whose threshold 
 the young ensign and the sub-Heutenant of ma- 
 rines were still lounging in listless attitudes, 
 smoking the tobacconist's finest Cabanas, and 
 drawling drowsy abuse of some " fellow " who 
 had appointed to meet them there, and who was 
 behind his time. 
 
 As Mrs. Harding approached this door, she 
 slackened her footsteps all at once, and walked 
 slowly by, with her veil thrown back and her face 
 turned towards the gas-lighted window. She was 
 scarcely half-a-dozen yards from the shop, when 
 Gervoise Catheron muttered some hurried excuse 
 to his companion, and darted after her. 
 
 "Good Ged!" murmured the ensign, lifting 
 his pale eyebrows and yawning dismally, " I really 
 think every body has gone mad this afternoon." 
 He prepared himself a fresh cigar, in a dreadfully 
 boa-constrictor-like manner, and then disappeared 
 in the passage over whose threshold shone the 
 mystic word " Billiards." 
 
 Gervoise Catheron overtook the widow just as
 
 MRS. HARDIXG SEES A FAMILIAR FACE. 229 
 
 she turned into a dingy little lane of gloomy houses, 
 leading towards the swampy shores of the ^lerdrid. 
 
 "Beauty!" he exclaimed, in a tone that was 
 very subdued, and yet very energetic, "what on 
 earth is the meaning of your turning up in this 
 unexpected manner in High Street, Castleford? 
 I should as soon have thouo-ht of meetinc]^ the 
 pontiff Pio Nono parading past Hodgson's shop 
 as you. I thought it was an understood thing 
 that you did not come to England, Beauty?" 
 
 Mrs. Harding had lowered her veil by this 
 time. She tui'ned upon the sub-heutenant ^yiih 
 a frown whose darkness he did not see. 
 
 " Wliy do you call me by that absurd name?" 
 she asked angrily. " Do you want to remind me 
 that I was a child once, and had a fooHsh mother 
 and father, whose affection proved itself by gi^'ing 
 their chikh'en sentimental pet-names, and letting 
 them grow up as they pleased, or as the}' could ? 
 for it would have been difficult to grow into any 
 thing good in our house. Call me Blanche. I 
 have used my second name lately, for I hate ever)' 
 other by wliich I was ever called."
 
 280 
 
 Gervoise Catheron did not answer for some 
 moments ; and then it seemed as if he had not 
 heard, or at any rate had not heeded, Mrs. Har- 
 ding's last words. 
 
 " Beauty," he said, after a pause, " you ha^'e 
 grown as hard as your sister." 
 
 " Was I ever different from her?" 
 
 " Yes," he answered sadly, " I think you were, 
 once." 
 
 There was another pause, and then the sub- 
 lieutenant said, in an altered tone, " But, for 
 goodness-sake. Beau — well, Blanche, if you hke, — 
 God knows there's not so much childishness about 
 us now, that we must needs call ourselves by 
 childish names! — ^liow is it that you drop out of 
 the skies into High Street, Castleford ? I thought 
 you had promised to live out of England." 
 
 " What does that matter to you?" 
 
 " Very little, certainly. Only when you pro- 
 mise a fellow to do such and such a thing, and 
 a fellow, on that consideration, acts very liberally, 
 — and there's no denying that he has acted very 
 liberally. Beau — oh, hang it all ! Blanche, if you
 
 MRS. HARDING SEES A FAMILIAR FACE. 231 
 
 like it better, — thougli I can't say that / have 
 benefited much by his liberaHty, — I think the 
 least you can do is to keep your promise. How- 
 ever, as you remark, or as you were about to 
 remark, I can see, by that jerk of your bonnet, 
 that's no affair of mine. I was sorry to hear of 
 your sisters death, Blanche; though I can't say 
 she was ever particularly good to me — ah, I see by 
 that other jerk of your bonnet, you think that's 
 unfeeHng ; but a fellow's mind is hkely to be de- 
 graded when the best thing a fellow's friends can 
 do for him is to put him into a service in which 
 a man calls himself a soldier, but takes his orders 
 from the Admiralty, and hves amongst sailors 
 without claiming fellowship with them. You've 
 left off your mourning, I perceive. I haven't. I 
 gave a shilling for a hatband the day I heai'd of 
 her death; and I've worn it ever since! and 
 deuced shabby both the band and the hat are by 
 this time." 
 
 "Are you in difficulties, Gervoise?" asked the 
 widow, when they had walked to the end of the 
 lane, and had turned to go back again.
 
 232 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 " Of course I am in difficulties. Was I ever 
 out of them?" cried the sub-lieutenant with easy- 
 frankness; " diffictdty is my normal state, and 
 has been ever since I had threepence a week for 
 pocket-money at a preparatory school, and spent 
 sixpence. I did my first bill — on the cover of my 
 copybook — before my eleventh bu'thday, and have 
 been doing bills, and occasionally the bill-dis- 
 counters, ever since. And I really think, Beauty, 
 — now don't jerk your bonnet, though I acknow- 
 ledge that it does sound rather as if you were a 
 King-Charles spaniel with apoplectic eyeballs and 
 a crumpled nose, — ^I really think, Blanche, that 
 after a separation of ten years — and, upon my 
 honoui*, you don't look as if it had been more 
 than five — the least you could do would be to offer 
 me a modest tener, or, putting it more clearly, 
 a- ten-pound note." 
 
 "Gervoise!" exclaimed the widow reproach- 
 fully, " who would believe that you belong to one 
 of the oldest families in Buckinghamshu'e?" 
 
 " Ah, who indeed ? And in the marines ! 
 But I really shall be very grateful for that tener.
 
 MRS. HAEDDsG SEES A FAMILIAR FACE. 235 
 
 Suppose you give me your purse offhand, as they 
 do on the stage," said Mr. Catheron, as the widow 
 produced her portemonnaie. 
 
 But ^Ii's. Hai'ding was not a benefactress of 
 the order so common in melodrama ; she opened 
 the portemonnaie, and dehberately counted four 
 sovereigns, which she handed to the lieutenant. 
 
 "That's all I can do for you to-night, Ger- 
 voise," she said ; " and now I must wdsli you good 
 night, and hurr)' back to a fiiend whom I left 
 waiting for me in the High Street.'' 
 
 She was walking very fast as she spoke. 
 
 " But tell me where you are staying." 
 
 " I can't stop to do that now. Give me your 
 address, and I will write to you. But be quick ; 
 I must get back to my Mend." 
 
 " But who is your friend? " asked Mr. Catheron, 
 fumbling in his waistcoat-pocket, and producing 
 a crumpled envelope. 
 
 The ^^'idow snatched it from him impatiently. 
 They were at the comer of the lane by this 
 time. 
 
 "Don't follow me a step farther; and don't
 
 234 
 
 on any account recognise me if you meet me 
 with any one. I'll write to you in a day or two." 
 
 She turned into the High Street, and hurried 
 away before her companion could attempt to de- 
 tain her. The heutenant stood for a few minutes 
 staring absently after her, and then strolled slowly 
 towards the tobacconist's, with his hands in his 
 pockets, and the sovereigns jingling as he walked. 
 It was to be observed that in the whole course 
 of this conversation the widow had not indulged 
 in any of those little outbursts of emotion so 
 common in her conversation. There were evi- 
 dently occasions upon which the enthusiastic 
 Mrs. Harding did not gush.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 WHY DID SHE DO IT ? 
 
 Mr. Pauncefort's servant made his appearance 
 at the Abbey early in the afternoon of the 24th, 
 and joined a social tea-diinking party in the 
 housekeeper's room, after arranging his master's 
 things in the pretty blue bedchamber. But 
 George Pauncefort himself strolled across the 
 park in the early dusk, and was ushered into 
 Sir Jasper's den just as that gentleman had com- 
 posed himself for his before-dinner nap. 
 
 The Baronet roused himself with an exclama- 
 tion of pleasure, and shook hands very heartily 
 with his visitor. 
 
 "I am flattered by this fulfilment of your 
 promise, my dear Pauncefort," he said; " as I 
 began to think you were revenging yoiu-self upon 
 us for the dulness of our house, and had cut us
 
 236 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 dead. You will be rewarded by finding some im- 
 provement in the state of affairs, in the shape of 
 a handsome widow, who has come all the way 
 from Hombm'g — no, her last location was a villa 
 at Passy, by the way — to enliven us with her 
 vivacity. Such inexliaustible animation ! — the 
 sort of woman one remembers in half-a-dozen 
 comedies of the hoop-and-powder school. The 
 woman who taps you playfully with her fan, and 
 vows you're vastly agreeable. A charming crea- 
 ture to flirt with, if you know how to keep yourself 
 on the safe side ; but a creature who would have 
 an offer of marriage and a princely settlement out 
 of a weak-minded man before he knew where he 
 was. However, after enjoying the society of the 
 lions on the banks of the Niger, and stalking 
 crocodiles on the rushy shores of the Nile, I 
 should think you must be a match for a widow." 
 
 " I am not afraid of any peril from the lady's 
 fascinations, however charmmg she may be," an- 
 swered Mr. Pauncef ort, with a grave smile. " But 
 I have such a misanthropical aversion to the faces 
 of strangers, that I am really inclined to throw
 
 WHY DID SHE DO IT ? 237 
 
 myself upon your mercy, Sir Jasper, and entreat 
 your permission to defer my visit until after your 
 fascinating guest has departed. I was so happy 
 here in the autumn ; happier than I can possibly 
 be Avhen the quiet spell that hangs about this 
 heart is broken by the presence of a stranger." 
 
 He spoke almost sadly, and he looked round 
 the dusky room with a pensive tenderness in his 
 dark eyes. 
 
 "I was so very hapjDy here," he repeated, in 
 an undertone, — " so entirely happy." 
 
 Sir Jasper turned upon his tenant with an 
 impatient gesture. 
 
 " Histoire de hetise I my dear Mr. Pauncefort," 
 he cried, " do you mean to tell me that you intend 
 to run away from my house because I happen to 
 be encumbered by a futile Avidow, picked up at 
 Homburg? If there is such a thing in this world 
 as friendship, I really think the sentiment which I 
 entertain for you must be that thing. Don't fling 
 me back upon the frivolous society of an over- 
 dressed widow. Your companionship has done 
 more towards exorcising the dismal phantoms of
 
 238 
 
 the past than I thought was within the power of 
 mortal man to do. Spend to-morrow with ns; 
 and if, when to-morrow night comes, you find you 
 have been bored intolerably, turn your back upon 
 us the following morning." 
 
 " You are very good, Sir Jasper. Your friend- 
 ship flatters as much as it pleases me. I should 
 like to stop. The very atmosphere of this room 
 has almost a magical effect upon me, for in this 
 room I beheld the first glimpse of a home after 
 fifteen years of homelessness ; it has been to me 
 what the first dim blue line of an English shore 
 must be to the wanderer who has spent half a 
 life-time at the antipodes. Yes, I should so much 
 like to stop. But, to be frank with you, I have 
 not only a dislike to meeting strangers, — I have 
 something more than that : I have something that 
 amounts to an actual terror of meeting any one in 
 the remotest degree associated with my past life. 
 Fifteen years ago I lived in London, and knew a 
 great many people; and one of my reasons for 
 avoiding all society is my hoiTor of meeting any 
 of those old acquaintances."
 
 WHY DID SHE DO IT ? 239 
 
 Such a speech as this, from a man whose past 
 was entirely unknown to his host, might have 
 awakened vague fears in the breast of a suspicious 
 person. But Sir Jasper was neither suspicious 
 nor inquisitive; he had none of those low ^-ices 
 which inflict infinite trouble upon their victims: 
 his vices and his virtues were alike of a negative 
 order. Dr. Johnson declared the beHef in a 
 future existence to be the only thing which 
 hinders a man from cutting liis neighbour's 
 throat, for the sake of filling liis ovra pocket. 
 But there are many reasons which would have 
 hindered Sir Jasper Denison from impro"s-ing his 
 own fortunes by the assassination of his fellow- 
 men, over and above acid Beauclerk's sensible 
 argument, that the man who has no faith in the 
 immortality of the soul may have a \ery implicit 
 beHef in the existence of the hangman. Murder, 
 however neatly it may be executed, is a ciime 
 attended with unutterable inconvenience. A com- 
 bination of circumstances might have arisen under 
 which it would have been possible for Sir Jasper 
 to look on and see a murder committed ; but under
 
 240 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 no possible phase of events could the Baronet have 
 done the deed. He had been a disciple of Vol- 
 taire ever since his boyhood ; he had looked up at 
 the stars, and admired them with the sensuous 
 admiration of a Sardanapalus, and had rarely lost 
 an opportunity of insulting their mighty Creator 
 by some covert sneer ; but he had never in all his 
 life done any thing particularly wicked, chiefly 
 because he knew very well that every kind of sin 
 is so apt to entail trouble and vexation upon the 
 sinner. 
 
 "I can understand your desire to turn your 
 back upon the past," he said ; " but, unless you 
 know this Mrs. Harding, I don't see how her pre- 
 sence here can affect you." 
 
 "Harding?" repeated George Pauncef ort ; 
 " no. It's a common name enough ; but I don't 
 think I ever knew any one of the name of 
 Harding." 
 
 " Very vs^ell, then ; of com'se in that case you 
 will stop?" 
 
 " Do you really wish me to do so ?" 
 
 "With all my heart."
 
 WHY DID SHE DO IT ? 241 
 
 "And I too, Mr. Pauncefort," said a low 
 gentle voice; and, looking np witli a start, Sir 
 Jasper's tenant saw Marcia Denison standing on 
 the threshold of the door. He hurried across the 
 room to meet her as she advanced towards him. 
 She gave him her hand, and, looking at her in the 
 firelight, he thought that her pale beauty was 
 something akin to the white loveliness of the lilies 
 he had seen in that wondrous region between the 
 Tigris and the Euphrates, which travellers fondly 
 believe in as the original Eden. 
 
 " I hope you are not going to run away from 
 us, Mr. Pauncefort," said Marcia. "I am sure 
 you would not wish to do so if you knew how 
 much papa and I have looked forward to your 
 promised visit." 
 
 " All," thought Sir Jasper's tenant, " she 
 would scarcely say that if she did not think me 
 old enough to be her grandfather." 
 
 " You will find Mrs. Harding a very agreeable 
 person," continued Miss Denison ; " and if you 
 are fond of music, as I have no doubt you are, we 
 shall be able to entertain you — " 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 "Oh," said Mr. Pauncefort, "Mrs. Harding 
 is musical, then?" 
 
 "Yes; she is an accomplished musician, and 
 has a very fine voice. Why, you look almost as 
 if that were an objection ! Did Diogenes object 
 to music f 
 
 "Perhaps Diogenes had no unpleasant asso- 
 ciations connected with it, Miss Denison. For 
 mvself, I am very fond of music ; but there is a 
 certain kind of pianoforte music whose sound 
 brings back to me the dreariest part of my life. 
 I once knew a lady who wore a blue dress on the 
 night her husband was brought home to her killed 
 by a fall from his horse. She could never endure 
 the sight of that colour afterwards, though she 
 married again, and was the happy mother of 
 beautiful chikben. However, I am not quite so 
 sensitive as that lady, and I shall be very glad to 
 hear as much music as ever you and your guest 
 will give me." 
 
 "Will you come and be introduced to her? 
 I have just left her and I must return imme- 
 diately. We have both of us been busy in our
 
 WHY DID SHE DO IT ? 243 
 
 rooms all clay, and I really have scarcely seen her 
 since breakfast." 
 
 " I shall be very happy to come with you." 
 "And you will take a nap, I suppose, papa, 
 before you dress V 
 
 " Dress for dinner !" cried Sir Jasper. " How 
 inscrutable are the formulas of civilisation ! ]My 
 velvet dressing-gown is really a handsome and not 
 altogether unpicturesque garment, with easy flow- 
 ing lines, and an agreeable variety of light and 
 shadow ; while my swallow-tailed coat, on the 
 other hand, is shabby, old-fashioned, and ungi-ace- 
 ful : and yet, if I were to dine in my dressing- 
 gown, the widow would consider herself an in- 
 jured woman. Au revoir, my dear Pauncefort ! 
 Go and be fascmated, while I take my restorative 
 nap, and refit my exhausted intellect for an argu- 
 mentative evening." 
 
 The lamps had not yet been canied into 
 the amber drawing-room when Marcia and ^Ir. 
 Pauncefort entered the apartment. No one but 
 a barbarian is ever in any Inuiry to put an end to
 
 244 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 a winter twilight and the flickering glow of a fire 
 in a brightly-furnished room. Mrs. Harding was 
 standing in one of the windows, with her elbow 
 resting on the elaborate scroll-work of a high- 
 backed chair, and her face towards the dusky 
 landscape. 
 
 She turned her head as Marcia and her com- 
 panion entered, but still stood in the deep embra- 
 sure of the window, half -hidden by the shadow of 
 voluminous curtains. 
 
 Sir Jasper's tenant saw only the outline of a 
 very perfect figure, and the warm reddish hue of 
 a violet-silk dress, touched here and there by the 
 firelight. 
 
 " Blanche," said Marcia, " I have brought you 
 Mr. Pauncefort, the owner of that romantic little 
 Hermitage which you so much admired yesterday, 
 as we drove through the wood." 
 
 " Then I am sure I shall be delighted to see 
 him !" cried the widow ; " for no one but a man 
 Avith the eye of a painter and the soul of a poet 
 would be likely to select such a sweet spot. I 
 must claim a kindred spirit, and shake hands with
 
 WHY DID SHE DO IT ? 245 
 
 your friend on tlie strengtli of our s^onpatliy, 
 Marcia." 
 
 That had been a dark broodmg face ^vhich 
 had looked out at the bhickening ^^inter sky : but 
 Blanche Harding spoke in her sprighthest man- 
 ner, as she came smihng out of the shadows, and 
 advanced with outstretched hand towards ^liss 
 Denison's companion. There was a faint flavom* 
 of patronage in the sweetness of her tone. The 
 widow was a woman of the world, and had con- 
 cluded that a man who would consent to buiy 
 himself in the sombre recesses of Scarsdale Wood 
 must have not only the soul of a poet and the eye 
 of a painter, but the limited income of a man who 
 finds himself miable to hve any where else. 
 
 She came smihng out of the darkness, her 
 silken di'aperies trailing after her, deeply pui'ple 
 in the shadow, brightly red in the hght, like the 
 convolutions of some beautiful serpent ; but as 
 she stood a httle way from Sir Jasper's tenant, 
 Avith her hand outstretched, waiting for Imn to 
 take it, and her handsome head uphfted with a 
 kind of regal graciousness, the capricious firehght
 
 246 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 — which played all manner of practical jokes with 
 the pictures on the walls, making Etty's drawing 
 absurd, and Turner's colouring ridiculous — leapt 
 into sudden brightness, and flickered on George 
 Pauncefort's face. 
 
 Blanche Harding's extended hand dropped 
 heavily upon a little table, a tiny gilded table, 
 loaded with fragile toys, which fell crashing down 
 beneath the weight of that falling hand. Sir 
 Jasper's tenant stood unmoved as a statue, looking 
 the widow full in the face. Marcia Denison 
 glanced amazedly from one to the other. Was 
 this a recognition — a surprise — or what ? 
 
 "There never was any thing so preposterous 
 as the delusions created by the light of a wood- 
 fire," cried Mrs. Harding, turning to Marcia. 
 ^' Mr. Pauncefort's face just this moment looked 
 like the face of a man who died ten years ago ; 
 and yet I daresay, when tlie lamps are brought in, 
 I shall find no resemblance between your papa's 
 friend and the person of whom he so terribly 
 reminded me." 
 
 The widow shuddered — a coquettish little
 
 ^YB.Y DTD SHE DO IT ? 247 
 
 shudder, whicli brought her sloping shoulders into 
 play — and then breathed a faint languishing sigh, 
 exj^ressive of intense rehef. 
 
 " Oh, here are the lamps ; and I see that I 
 was quite right — Mr. Pauncefort is not an atom 
 like the poor dead person. Oh, my dear Marcia, 
 I really fear I have broken some of youi* pretty 
 Dresden — ^that darling little cup ^ith the cover — 
 is the cover all right ? — jes, it really has escaped, 
 love ! I am so glad, it's such a sweet colour* — 
 Augustus Rex, I know, and not the trmnpery 
 crossed-dacrorer-mai'ked modern stuff that one can 
 
 Co 
 
 buy wholesale any where. I am such a silly, 
 sensitive creatm-e," exclaimed the ^-idow, who was 
 kneeling on the gromid, examining one of the 
 fallen cups and saucers. " And there are memo- 
 ries wliicli — no, I A^ill not be sentimental ; and I 
 will go and dress for dinner." 
 
 She rose from her Imees, placed the little cup 
 and saucer gently amongst its kindred cups and 
 saucers, made a graceful little curtsey, half to 
 Miss Denison, half to Mr. Pauncefort, and left 
 the room with a noiseless gliding step, and the
 
 248 siK jasper's tenant. 
 
 violet silken drapery winding after her, always 
 more or less serpentine in its trailing splendour. 
 
 " Are you very intimate witli Mrs. Harding ?" 
 George Pamicefort asked presently, as Marcia 
 seated herself by a table, on which the servant had 
 placed a shaded reading-lamp. 
 
 " Oh no ; I can scarcely say I am intimate 
 with her. I never saw her until last year, at 
 Homburg. Papa likes her very much." 
 
 " And do you like her. Miss Denison f 
 
 " I think her very clever — and very agreeable." 
 
 " Exactly. And that reply means that you do 
 not like her?" 
 
 " Eeally, Mr. Pamicefort, I don't think you 
 have any right to ask me such a question, or to 
 jump at any conclusion upon such a point ! I am 
 not a person to make sudden friendships, and I 
 have known Mrs. Harding a very short time ; but 
 she is my guest, and I should think that fact in 
 itself should preclude the possibility of any ques- 
 tion as to my liking for her." 
 
 " Forgive me, if I have violated the sanctity of 
 the bread and salt."
 
 WHY DID SHE DO IT ? 249 
 
 There was a long pause, during which Mr. 
 Pauncefort walked up and do^Ti the room, while 
 Marcia stnmg some beads upon a piece of silk ; 
 and then he made some commonplace remark, 
 from which they drifted into conversation : but 
 there was a tone of restraint in their conversation ; 
 it was not quite the old easy talk ^viih which they 
 had beguiled so many hours in the autiunn that 
 was past. 
 
 Marcia wondered why this was ; and found 
 herself wondering whether ^Ii's. Harding's ex- 
 planation of her sudden emotion was quite a 
 truthful one ; or whether these two people might 
 not have kno^\ii and quarrelled ^^'itll each other 
 in some remote period of theii' existences, and 
 parted in anger years ago, to meet accidentally 
 to-night, with conventional smiles on theu' faces, 
 and a stranger looking on at the meeting. 
 
 Sir Jasper appeared presently, looking mi- 
 utterably patrician, in very shabby evening-dress ; 
 and shortly aftervvai'ds Mrs. Harding came rust- 
 ling into the room in the green moire-antique and 
 the cabochon emeralds.
 
 250 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 Her shoulders were shrouded by the point-lace 
 pelerine ; but her plump arms were bare from the 
 elbows downwards^ and midway between the elbow 
 and the wrist of the left arm she wore a broad 
 band of black velvet, clasped so tightly as almost 
 to cut the soft white flesh. 
 
 Sir Jasper s tenant only looked at her once as 
 she stood before him in the full light of the lamps, 
 and then his glance w^ent straight to the velvet 
 bracelet on her left arm. 
 
 It was not a pleasant evening. The dinner 
 and the wines were perfection ; but there is a 
 heaviness of spirit which all the vintages of the 
 Cote-dWr are powerless to dispel. To-night a 
 leaden dulness oppressed somebody in that small 
 circle, and communicated itself by some subtle 
 magnetism to every body else. Mrs. Harding 
 played ^carte with the Baronet, and twice forgot 
 to mark the king. She sang with Marcia; but 
 she made a piteous fiasco of the time in the quick 
 movement of a duet from Norma. There was 
 something wrong. Sir Jasper yawned in his 
 tenant's face, and then apologised profusely for 
 his own dulness.
 
 WHY DID SHE DO IT ? 251 
 
 " We are four very intellectual people, but we 
 are not proof against the influence of the festive 
 season," said the Baronet. " The twenty-fourth 
 of December is too much for us. Tlie people, the 
 representative meny-makers, are hard at it by this 
 time, — slapping one another upon the back, and 
 boisterously patching-up old quarrels and forget- 
 ting old grievances, and putting themselves into 
 unpleasant perspirations with hot spiced di-inks, 
 and lettiag bygones be bygones in the most ^-ulgar 
 and ungrammatical maimer. Peace on earth and 
 goodwill to men, says the h;ymn which the charity- 
 chilch'en ^^ill siag — ^lamentably flat, by the by — 
 to-moiTow ; well, it's a pretty idea, and why should 
 we quarrel mth it ? Peace upon earth, and good- 
 will amongst men, say I. Marcia, we seem all of 
 us a cup too low to-night. Rhig the bell, my 
 dear, and order Old OHver's tankard to be filled 
 with mulled claret, — the Lafitte -s^-ith the black 
 seal. It's close upon twelve o'clock ; and, by all 
 that is jovial, we'll keep Cliristmas hke the people 
 in the illustrated newspapers, and our toast shall 
 be, Peace and goodwill."
 
 252 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 " Dear Sir Jasper, what a cliarmmg idea ! and 
 liow delighted I should be to help yon in carrying 
 it out !" exclaimed ]Mrs. Harding, rising from 
 before the piano with an air of fatigue ; " but I 
 have such a terrible headache that I must really 
 say good-night immediately, or I shall be quite 
 unable to go to church to-morrow morning." 
 
 For the second time that night, and only tlie 
 second time, Mr. Pauncefort looked straight at the 
 widow. His bearded lip stirred a little, as if he 
 would have spoken ; but he turned suddenly away, 
 and looked down at the fire, into whose hollow 
 depth he had been staring absently for some time 
 before. 
 
 Somehow or other the black-sealed claret was 
 not uncorked that evening; and Sir Jasper lost 
 the opportunity of patronising Christianity. 
 
 Wliile the great stable-clock was striking 
 twelve, with a ponderous cliime that mingled mth 
 the voices of some village lads singing a Clirist- 
 mas-carol on the Abbey-terrace, Blanche Harding 
 stood before the fire in her room, loosely wrapped
 
 WHY DID SHE DO IT ? 253 
 
 in a cli'essmg-gowTi, one sleeve of whicli was rolled 
 up to lier shoulder, and securely pinned there. It 
 was the left aiTQ which was thus bared — a plmnp 
 white arm, "VN-ithout spot or blemish. The T^'ido^^''s 
 face bore a strange expression, almost an expres- 
 sion of pain ; and yet she was only staring at the 
 fire, mto the verv' heart of wliich she had thrust 
 the point of the poker. 
 
 Presently, shuddering from head to foot, she 
 knelt upon the hearth-rug, and drew the poker 
 from the burning coals. Her face was hon'ibly 
 distorted as she grasped the centre of this poker, 
 and laid the red-hot point of it across her ann, 
 midway between the wrist and the elbow, exactly 
 where she had clasped the velvet bracelet when 
 she dressed for dmner that evening.
 
 CHAPTER Xn. 
 
 DRIVEN AWAY. 
 
 Sir Jasper's tenant did not appear in the break- 
 fast-room on Christmas morning. His man 
 brought a message of apology to the Baronet — 
 a vague message, alleging no particular reason for 
 his master s absence ; but the languid chieftain of 
 Scarsdale allowed perfect liberty to his guests, and 
 was not given to be curious as to their motives 
 for doing this or that. 
 
 The sparkling widow was not quite so brilliant 
 as usual this morning. A delicate pallor, just 
 a little chalky in a strong east light, had super- 
 seded the rich bloom which was wont to glow 
 upon her plimip cheeks. The brightness of her 
 eyes was a trifle feverish, and the red lips had 
 a dry look, and quivered nervously every now 
 and then.
 
 DRIVEN AWAY. 255 
 
 Sir Jasper, looking at lier as lie might have 
 looked at one of his pictures whose colour showed 
 s^Tnptoms of decay, could not refrain from a 
 languid speculation regarding his guest's altered 
 looks. 
 
 "Those abominable carol-singers kept you 
 awake half the night, I daresay," he mimnured 
 compassionately. "Imagine the utter idiocy of 
 half-a-dozen clodhoppers, who howl, ^ God rest 
 you, meiTy gentlemen, let nothing you dismay,' 
 when their own hideous minstrelsy is horrible 
 enough to break the rest of the seven sleepers, 
 and dismay the uncultivated ears of an Ojibbeway 
 Lidian. You look as if you had been haunted 
 all night by the memory of their howluig." 
 ]Mrs. Harding smiled a veiy wan smile. 
 " You are quite right, Sir Jasper," she said, 
 " as to my sleeplessness, but wrong as regards 
 the cause of it. I would have forgiven the carol- 
 sinorers ; indeed I love to hear those dear old 
 verses sung imder the Tv-indows of such a house 
 as this ; I am carried back to the days of the ca- 
 valiers, by the soimd of that quauit invocation and
 
 256 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 almost expect to awake in one of Mr. Horsley's 
 interiors. No, I would have forgiven the villagers 
 on the terrace for being a little undecided as to 
 what key they should sing in, and should have 
 gone to sleep to dream about some phantom lady 
 in a brocaded sacque, I daresay, if it had not been 
 for a very severe attack of my old enemy tic, 
 which kept me tossing about in agony all the 
 night ; and I really feel so miserably languid and 
 drowsy this morning, that I must excuse myself 
 from attending your darling little village church, 
 whose steeple I saw from my window peeping 
 out of a break in the leafless woodland, just like 
 some delicious little ' bit' by Mr. Creswick. So, 
 with your permission, dear Marcia, I shall read 
 the Christmas service in my own room, or in one 
 of yom' easy-chairs by the dramng-room fire." 
 
 The Baronet and his daughter were politely 
 concerned about their guest's neuralgic affection. 
 
 " I hope the woman is not going to inflict her 
 illnesses upon us," thought Sir Jasper, after mur- 
 muring something that was indistinctly compas- 
 sionate and befitting the occasion ; " a lively
 
 DRIVEN AWAY. 237 
 
 widow is one thing, bnt a neuralgic widow is 
 another. There's a want of tone about her left 
 cheek this morning, and the right eyebrow is 
 decidedly out of drawing. Her toilet has been by 
 no means conscientious, and I hold myself ag- 
 grieved by her careless manipulation. If she 
 wants to make as lono^ a \'isit as her trunks and 
 bandboxes predicate, she must suppress her neur- 
 algic symptoms, and improve her flesh -tints. I 
 haven't any thing on my walls so crude or cold 
 as my visitor's face this morning." 
 
 "If you were to take a little chlorodpie," 
 murmiu'ed Marcia. 
 
 " With a warm glaze over the left cheek," 
 muttered Sir Jasper, absently. 
 
 " I A\'ill try any thing you recommend me, 
 dearest Marcia," answered the widow ; " for I 
 really suffered very terribly last night. However, 
 I feel a little better this morning ; and I daresay 
 after a few hom-s' complete repose, I shall be 
 quite myself, and thoroughly able to enjoy a 
 social evening." 
 
 Marcia retu'ed to ch'ess for church, and Mrs. 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 Harding left Sir Jasper to liis papers b}' the fire 
 in the l3reakfast-room. Slie Avent to lier OAvn 
 room ; but instead of lying down, as she had 
 talked of doing, she paced the spacious chamber 
 slowly from end to end, stopping now and then 
 to look at her face in the glass. 
 
 It was an anxious brooding face that looked 
 back at her; very haggard in spite of the artifi- 
 cial aid which had been brought to bear to make 
 it beautiful ; and the widow looked at it angrily, 
 with a scowl that darkened it, and made it even 
 more hao-o-ard. 
 
 *' What a wretch I look!" she muttered, "and 
 when so much depends on my looking well. 
 What have I in the world but my beauty; and 
 if that fades, what hope is there that I shall ever 
 regain a footing in the only world that is worth 
 living in ? Oh, how I hate that other world, 
 that hot-bed of lies and baseness, in which all 
 the women are vulgar parodies of myself, in which 
 all the men are selfish and false and cruel and 
 cowardly ! It all seemed so bright once, and 
 I thought it something to be a queen in it ; but
 
 DRIYEX AAV AY. 259 
 
 now I know it, and I know what its liigliest 
 prizes are worth." 
 
 Tliere was a gentle httle tap at the door while 
 the widow stood broodino; thus before the fjlass ; 
 and ^^'hen she opened it, pretty Dorothy stood 
 before her, rachant in the velvet bonnet and blue 
 ribbons, and holding a tiny bottle in her hand. 
 
 " Please, ma'am, Mss Marcia told me to bring 
 you this. The chlorid-of-lime, ma'am, she said. 
 I mean the chorl — oh, dear, I am so stupid! — 
 and would you be so kind as to try it, ^liss 
 Marcia said." 
 
 Dorothy was quite breathless with hmTv, for 
 she was speeduig off to the lodge, where ^Ii\ 
 Tursgood the bailiff was to pick her up in the 
 chaise-cart which conveyed that gentleman and 
 his young family to the little Eoman-Catholic 
 chapel at Castleford. As Dorothy handed the 
 chlorod\Tie to Sir Jasper's guest, sometlung in 
 the dark eyes of the widow moved her ^^ith a 
 strange tremor. VHiy it was so, she was far too 
 hun-ied to consider just now. But the image of 
 one person which had haunted her very much of
 
 260 
 
 late, and had floated liazily in lier mind all that 
 morning, assumed in that one moment a more 
 vivid life, and shone before her distinct and pal- 
 pable as reality. 
 
 " If this stuff can do any thing for my shat- 
 tered nerves, I shall thank the man who invented 
 it," muttered the widow, as she pom-ed a few 
 drops from Marcia's bottle. 
 
 She w^ent to one of the windows presently, 
 and stood there until she saw Miss Denison walk 
 briskly along one of the winding paths leading 
 towards the church. Then she went back to the 
 glass, and looked at herself again, scrutinising the 
 reflected face with a long and thoughtful gaze. 
 After that leisurely scrutiny, Mrs. Harding took 
 a handsomely-bound church-service from amongst 
 the numberless elegant possessions she had scat- 
 tered about her apartment, and descended the 
 grand staircase. She met no one on her way to 
 the hall, though she lingered here and there upon 
 the staircase to look out of a window, or to 
 examine a picture, and she walked down the 
 long corridor leading to the drawing-room with
 
 DRIVEN A^AY. 
 
 261 
 
 a slow languid step. The pretty amber-curtained 
 room was quite empty Avlien she entered it ; but 
 a superb fire, a real Clmstmas fii'e, bm-ned in the 
 low m-ate, and reflected itself in the many-coloured 
 gotliic tiles and the fantastic spikiness of the steel 
 fender. 
 
 'Mis. Harding sank into a low chair, a perfect 
 nest of downy puffiness and amber-satin damask ; 
 a chair in wliich to lounge away a lifetime, read- 
 ing dreamy idyls in the mteryals of a long chain 
 of naps ; a chair whose eneryating influence stifled 
 the yoice of ambition, and deadened the reproying 
 nmrmm-s of conscience ; a chair which might haye 
 transformed a Napoleon into an idle cbeamer, and 
 reduced a John Howard into a selfish Sybarite. 
 Perhaps there neyer was a richer little study of 
 colom', a more exquisite cabinet-picture, than the 
 splencUd widow seated m this chair, and loosely 
 robed in a dressing-gown of quilted pui'ple silk, 
 from whose yoluminous folds peeped two slim 
 feet, ^^dth arched insteps, that might haye be- 
 longed to one of Alfred de Musset's Audalusian 
 countesses; feet that were set off" by gray-silk
 
 262 SIR jasper's tenakt. 
 
 stockings and liigli-lieelecl slippers of glimmering 
 bronze, adorned with coquettishly careless scarlet 
 bows, from one of which a painter might have 
 built up the image of a lovely debardeuse trip- 
 ping away from a carnival ball; just as easily 
 as a naturalist constructs his antedilu\dan mam- 
 moth out of a stray bone dug by hazard from 
 the bowels of the earth. But beautiful as the 
 accessories of the picture might be, there was 
 something wanting to its completeness, and that 
 was the very soul of the subject. The attitude 
 was perfect, the backgrou.nd faultless; but the 
 expression of repose was not there. IVIi's. Har- 
 ding's head lay back upon the puffy amber 
 cushion, in the abandonment of feminine lazi- 
 ness ; but Mrs. Harding's eyes wandered restlesslj^ 
 from the door to the fire, and from the fire back 
 to the door. It was only when there was the 
 sound of a footstep in the corridor, that the sweep- 
 ing lashes di'ooped drowsily over the dark splen- 
 dour of the widow's eyes, and the red lips parted 
 jike the lips of a sleeping child. 
 
 Nothing could be better in the way of his-
 
 DRIVEN AWAY. 263 
 
 trioiiic art than the httle movement of bewikler- 
 ment and sm'prise ^vith Avliich ^Irs. Hanling started 
 from that mock sleep on the entrance of the 
 person whose footstep she had jnst heard in the 
 con-idor. The person was George Pauncefort. 
 He shnt tlie door behind liim, bent his head to 
 the widow with a stately gi'avity of gestm-e, and 
 walked straight to the angle of the fireplace op- 
 posite that by whicli she was sitting. His manner 
 conld not have been more ceremonions had he 
 been approaching a stranger, en*, I slionld rather 
 say, his manner conld not have been so ceremo- 
 nious towards a stranger. There is a certain 
 ceremony which a gentleman only assumes when 
 he encounters an enemy. A French nobleman 
 of the vieille roche, meeting his antagonist some 
 dewy summer morning in the wood beyond the 
 harriere de CJEtoUe, might carry himself as Sir 
 Jasper s tenant did to-day. 
 
 ^* Good morning, Mrs. Harding," he said, al- 
 ways preserving the same frigid manner ; ''' I 
 believe it is by that name you desire to be 
 known."
 
 264 
 
 ^' If you please. It is a very unpretending 
 name." 
 
 Tlie widow retained lier attitude of complete 
 rej)ose, and there was an exquisitely- simulated 
 languor in the expression of lier countenancej which 
 might have deceived any one who had not seen 
 her five minutes before. 
 
 " I thought it best that I should see }^ou be- 
 fore leaving this house; and I am glad to find 
 this opportunity of speaking to you," said Mr. 
 Pauncefort, very gravely. 
 
 " You are going to leave the Abbey, then?" 
 
 "You cannot imagine that I should remain. 
 I wish to leave without esclandrey if possible. I 
 need scarcely say how entirely surprised I was 
 by the meeting of last night." 
 
 "Unpleasantly surprised, I suppose?" asked 
 the widow. 
 
 There was a tightness about her handsome 
 lips, a lurid glitter in her handsome eyes dm'ing 
 this interview with Sir Jasper's tenant, that im- 
 parted rather a chabolical character to her dark 
 beautv. There was a flimsy little sketch of a
 
 DRR'EN AWAY. 265 
 
 Judith, painted b}- Etty, in a comer of the cbaw- 
 ing-room ; and the dark intensity of the face in 
 the picture was less terrible than the expression 
 that revealed itself under Blanche Harding's 
 pearl-powder. 
 
 " Veiy unpleasantly," answered George 
 Pauncefort. '' The tlu'eshold of tliis house is the 
 first I have crossed for fifteen years in the charac- 
 ter of friend and fniest. I had weio-hed well the 
 probabiHties for and against my meeting any one 
 who knows me or my miserable story ; and mider 
 the peculiar circumstances of this household I 
 beKcA'ed myself safe. Of all creatui'es that ever 
 lived upon this earth, you are the person whom 
 I could least ha\ e expected to meet under this 
 roof." 
 
 "Indeed! And why?" 
 
 No words can do justice to the amomit of 
 quiet aggravation which ^Irs. Harchng contrived 
 to infuse into the enimciation of these four com- 
 monplace syllables. Only a woman, and a woman 
 who had been accustomed to the feminine luxury 
 of having some creatm'e of the genus husband to
 
 26G sm jasper's tenant. 
 
 torment could have obtained such a mastery over 
 t]ie elocution of malice. 
 
 "For many reasons. First, because you 
 were bound l^y a promise never to return to this 
 country." 
 
 " I have kept that promise faithfully for 
 fifteen years. When I heard of you, it was 
 always as a traveller ; now in the interior of 
 South America — now in the wilds of Africa. My 
 sister's death left me very lonely." 
 
 " Your sister's death !" cried Sir Jasper s 
 tenant with something that was almost a groan. 
 " God help you, Caroline ! ^^ou might have been 
 a different woman if that sister had died in her 
 cradle." 
 
 Mrs. Harding lifted her head suddenly from 
 its attitude of assumed languor, and looked at 
 George Pauncefort with a fiercer light in her eyes 
 than had shone in them yet. 
 
 " M}^ sister had nothing to do with my sins," 
 she said. " I can bear the weight of them my- 
 self." 
 
 "But for your sister's influence I do believe
 
 DrtlYEX AWAY. 267 
 
 you miglit never have sinned. I think yoiu's and 
 your brother's nature were of that plastic kind, 
 too weak to walk unaided in the path of virtue, not 
 strong enough to stand alone in vice. You went 
 the way that you were led, and there ^\ere two 
 people who plotted together to lead you to per- 
 dition. Your sister, Leonora Fane, was one of 
 them." 
 
 '' You had better leave my sister's name out 
 of the question. I have no wish to hear it." 
 
 "God knows how little ^^ish I have to utter 
 it. The past is past. I have vrasted fifteen years 
 in tr}dng to bmy the coi-pse of my perished youth, 
 and I have not yet found the gi'ave deep enough 
 to hold the loathsome thing. Its ghost rises and 
 follows me where\'er I go. And now, ^Ii's. Hard- 
 ing, I have some right to know when }'ou mean 
 to leave this house." 
 
 " Why should I leave it ?" 
 
 "Simply because you should ne\'er have en- 
 tered it. You have no right to sleep under the 
 same roof with Marcia Denison; you have no 
 riirht to sit at the same table. O God of heaven !"
 
 2(38 
 
 cried the tenant of the Hermitage with a sudden 
 burst of passion which was all the more terrible 
 for the frigidity of his previous manner, " I saw 
 you kiss her last night ; and my mind went back 
 to a summer's evening fifteen years ago when I 
 watched you kiss your child as you gave him into 
 his nui'se's arms. I do not think you can have 
 forgotten that evening, Caroline. I prayed once 
 that the memoiy of it might haunt you on yom' 
 deathbed." 
 
 The widow watched Sir Jasper's tenant with 
 keenly scrutinising eyes as he spoke, and there 
 Avas something like a scintillation of triumph in 
 those big black orbs. 
 
 " You seem very anxious that no tainted thing 
 should approach Miss Denison's purity," she said, 
 with a sneer ; " and yet I do not see how you 
 come to be so deeply interested in the young 
 lady's welfare." 
 
 " I am interested in the cause of truth against 
 falsehood," sternly answered George Pauncefort* 
 " Tell these people who and what you are. Let 
 them know your antecedents ; throw yourself
 
 DRIVEN AWAY. 2(39 
 
 upon their mercy ; and then if tliev please to 
 receive you, I will stand aloof and say nothing. 
 If in all this world you can find a creatui'e gene- 
 rous enouorh to take you h\ the hand, knowino; 
 what you are, HeaYen forbid that I should stand 
 between you and that outstretched hand I But 
 I ^\\]\. not help you in a lie; I will not look 
 placidly on while you creep into a gentleman's 
 hospitable household ^^ith a mask upon your 
 face." 
 
 "In that case you had better tell Sir Jasper 
 Denison my stoiy. Of coui'se he will repeat the 
 substance of your revelation to his daughter, and 
 I shall receive a polite notice to quit. Ah, !Mi'. 
 Pauncefort, I don't think you will care to tell 
 Miss Marcia Denison who and what I am." 
 
 "Why should I not?" 
 
 " I cannot mve vou a reason. Do vou remem- 
 ber how Maitre Jacques replies to Harpagon ? Je 
 le crois parceqiie je le crois. I can only offer you 
 the same kind of answer — you vdW not because 
 you will not." 
 
 The widow was beginning to recover a little of
 
 270 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 lier haljitual liveliness. She took Marcia's paper- 
 knife from a table by lier side, and began to 
 cut open an illustrated newspaper — a Christmas 
 number with the bright Christmas pictures, which 
 It pleased the Voltairean Baronet to ridicule. 
 Looking at her as she sat opposite him, George 
 Pauncefort's mind travelled back to the autumn 
 evening upon which he had first entered that 
 house; the evening on wdiich he had watched 
 Marcia Denison sitting in the dim glow of the 
 fire, witli that veiy paper-knife in her hand. 
 
 "It is only three months since that night," 
 mused Sir Jasper's tenant, "and yet the larger 
 half of my lifetime seems the period in which I 
 have known her." 
 
 He was silent for some few minutes, and then 
 he said gi'avely : 
 
 " I had a right to expect that you would keep 
 your promise. I have wished you to be rich, 
 in order that you might be at least beyond the 
 reach of any sordid temptation. I do not threaten 
 you now with a reduction or withdrawal of your 
 income. But I tell you frankly that I will not
 
 DRIVEX AWAY. 271 
 
 suffer you to remain a visitor in this house, and 
 the companion of Miss Denison." 
 
 "Then you mil tell them — every tlnng f 
 A faint flush dyed ^Ir. Pauncefort's face and 
 passed away before he answered this question. 
 
 " I shall take my own time to think of that/' 
 he said ; " I only tell you that unless you lea^'e 
 this house with your own free will, and A-er\- 
 speedily, I will do all I can to render your depar- 
 ture inevitable." 
 
 "'\i\Tien the ine^-itable moment anives, I will 
 go. In the mean time I am an invited guest ; and 
 I mean to remain."' 
 
 " Caroline," exclaimed Sh' Jasper's tenant, 
 looking at the widow with an expression which 
 was half stern, half pitiful, "I did not think it 
 was in you to become so bold in wickedness." 
 
 "Fifteen years is a long time," answered ^L's. 
 Harding. " You shut a woman out of the world 
 in which good people live, and then you wonder 
 at her if she becomes worse than she was at the 
 hour of her exclusion." 
 
 " Fifteen years might have done much towards
 
 272 
 
 tlie redemption of the past, if you had spent them 
 as you might have done. But I tell you again, 
 Caroline, it was your misfortune to be guided 
 }yj the worst counsellor who ever whispered evil 
 suggestions into a woman's ear. She is dead, and 
 I have tried to think less bitterly of her, or not 
 to think of her at all. May a merciful God have 
 that compassion for her sins which I cannot feel ! 
 I have heard of you and Mi's. Fane during my 
 dreary exile, and I have heard something of the 
 kind of life you led, and the people whom you 
 chose for your associates. But I will say no 
 more. I have no wish to interfere with your life, 
 except in the defence of friends whom I respect. 
 I claim the right to call the people who inhabit 
 this house my friends; and all that a gentleman 
 may do in the service of his friends, I will do for 
 them." 
 
 A shadow came between George Pauncefort 
 and the light, as he said this, and looking up he 
 saw Marcia Denison passing the window opposite 
 to him. He bent his head gravely to Mrs. Hard- 
 ing, exactly as he had done before, and left the room.
 
 DRIVEN AWAY. Z i 6 
 
 He Avalked very rapidly along the comdor, 
 but at tlie end of it he met Marcia Denison, 
 bright and girlish-looking in her simple winter- 
 bonnet, and AA-ith the frosty freshness of the out- 
 of-door atmosphere hanging about her garments. 
 Sir Jasper's tenant passed her AA-ith a smile and 
 a boAA", and Avent straight to his oaaii apartment, 
 where he spent some time in the concoction of a 
 letter addressed to his host. 
 
 Wlien he had folded and sealed the letter, he 
 rang for liis seiwant. 
 
 "I leaA'e the Abbey this morning, IMilward," 
 he said; ^'I find myself quite unequal to the 
 excitement of society. You A^'ill pack mA' port- 
 manteau and folloAA^ me. But before you do so, 
 you Avill giA'e this letter to Sir Jasper Denison." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 The AA^ell-bred serA-ant expressed no astonish- 
 ment AvhatcAxr at this sudden change in his 
 master's j)lans. He had serAcd the man aaIio 
 called himself George Pauncefort for some six or 
 scA-en years, and he had almost parted Avith the 
 faculty of astonishment in that long experience 
 
 A'OL. I. 18
 
 274 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 of a moody traveller's caprices. This abrupt 
 departure from Scarsdale Abbey was only one 
 evidence the more of that iri'itable nature which 
 vainly sought for relief in change and action. 
 
 The valet assisted Mr. Pauncefort to put on 
 his greatcoat, followed him to the hall, and opened 
 the door for him, and then went quietly back to 
 the blue becboom to pack the things which he had 
 arranged in lavender-perfumed drawers the day 
 before. And thus, on the day which in happy 
 households is so bright a festival. Sir Jasper's 
 tenant left Scarsdale Abbey to return to a cold 
 hearth and an empty shelter, and to make his 
 Christmas dinner off an ill-cooked mutton-chop 
 eaten beside a smouldering fire of sputtering gi-een 
 logs. 
 
 "Driven out by her!" thought the hennit 
 as he filled his meerschaum ; " I think to-day's 
 work is the moral of my OA^ai life. Driven away 
 by her !"
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 AWKWARD FOR SIR JASPER. 
 
 While George Pauncefort was walking home- 
 ward beneath the frosty December skv, Sh* Jas- 
 per Denison sat in his fiivomite chaii* under the 
 sliadow of tlie grim bronze sea-god, and slept 
 the Sybarite's peaceful slmnber, soothed by the 
 monotonous ticking of the clock and the sough- 
 ins^ of the \^^ntry wind anions; the oaks, faintly 
 heard through double ^rindows of plate-glass. 
 
 The Baronet stirred himself slicrhtly in his 
 chair vnth. a peevish moyement when a servant 
 entered the room and laid a letter on the table ; 
 but he did not open liis eyes until the same 
 man brought a reading-lamp and placed it in 
 the centre of the chaos of papers and periodicals 
 within reach of Sir Jasper s hand. 
 
 "What letter is that on the table yonder?
 
 276 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 Be so good as to give it to me, Jarvis ; tliougli 
 I've no doubt it's something unpleasant," mut- 
 tered the Baronet ; " letters almost always are 
 unpleasant. Wliat a portentous seal ! Why, in 
 the name of all that is absurd, do people try to 
 make their letters look like death-warrants ? Who 
 brought this ?" asked Sir Jasper, languidly 
 stretchino' out his hand to receive the missive. 
 
 "It was not brought, sir: Mr. Pauncefort's 
 servant gave it to me when he left the Abbey." 
 
 "When he left the Abbey! What do you 
 mean f 
 
 " The letter will explain, sir, I believe, from 
 what Mr. Pauncefort's man said. He left at 
 three o'clock, sir, and Milward went a. little be- 
 fore four." 
 
 " Oh, very well," murmured Sir Jasper with 
 a dreary yawn, as the man left the room. " Mr. 
 Pauncefort was free to go when he pleased: 
 Diogenes has found our society unendurable, 
 and gone back to his tub. The misfortune is 
 that this Diogenes is really a very pleasant fel- 
 low, and I shall miss him. However, there is
 
 AWKWARD FOR SIR JASPER. 277 
 
 the lively widow. I wash my hands of Diogenes, 
 and fall back upon the widow. Let us see what 
 the fellow has to say for himself." 
 
 He tore open the envelope and read the fol- 
 lo™ig epistle : 
 
 '* My dear Sir Jasper, — It seems peculiarly 
 ungracious to tui'n my hack upon yoiu' hospi- 
 tality on such a day as this, when the sanctity 
 which always pervades a peacefid home is mul- 
 tiplied a hundredfold by the memories wliich 
 this day brings along Avith it. I leave yoiu' 
 house very reluctantly, and I leave it only be- 
 cause there is a visitor beneath your roof whose 
 presence renders it impossible that I should remain. 
 
 *-AYlien you mentioned ^Irs. Harding's name 
 before my introduction to her, I was not aware 
 that I had ever met her in my life ; but when I 
 saw her, I recognised in her a woman whose 
 career was very intimately knoAvn to me many 
 years ago — a woman who is no fitting companion 
 for your daughter, ^liss Denison, since she is a 
 wife who ran away from her husband, a mother 
 who abandoned her child.
 
 278 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 '' It is on Miss Denison's account that I write 
 tins letter. Did yon stand alone in the world, 
 I "might hold my peace, and suffer this woman 
 to await the hour in which you would yourself 
 discover the secret of her antecedents ; but you 
 would haA^e the right to call me to a strict ac- 
 count of my conduct, were I to allow Mrs. 
 Harding to remain under the roof that shelters 
 your daughter. I do not stab your guest in the 
 dark. You are at liberty to show this letter to 
 JMrs. Harding, and to call upon her either to 
 admit or disprove my accusations. If she should 
 Avisli to see me in your presence, I shall be close 
 at hand to support what I have said ; but I have 
 no more to say, and shall refuse to give any 
 closer particulars of the broad facts which I have 
 stated. I may add also, that I have no proofs 
 to offer in confirmation of my charges against 
 this lady. I can only ask you to believe in me 
 as a gentleman ; and I think }'ou know me well 
 enough to believe that I should not write this 
 letter if I did not consider myself compelled to- 
 do so.
 
 AWKWAPvD FOR SIR JASPER. 271) 
 
 " I leave your house, my dear Sir Jasper, "svitli 
 deep regret. The circumstances of my life have 
 shut me out of a home of my own ; and the 
 only hearth at Avhicli I have accepted a place 
 has been darkened by the shadow of r Avoman 
 about whom I cannot teach myself to think cha- 
 ritably, even on this day. I thank you most 
 heartily for the friendship you have so gener- 
 ously given to a stranger; and I trust that my 
 abrupt departure ^^-ill in no way deprive me of 
 vour confidence and reojard. 
 
 " I shall ask peiToission to complete my broken 
 visit on some future occasion ; and I shall be 
 oblio-ed if vou aa411 mxe whatever exi^lanation of 
 my conduct you may think best to Miss Denison. 
 " I remam, my dear Sir Jasper, 
 " Always truly }-om*s, 
 
 '* George Pauxcefort." 
 
 '^ Hmnph !" muttered the Baronet ; '* this is 
 pleasant. A lively Avidow billeted upon one, with 
 bandboxes that precUcate a six-weeks* visit at the 
 least; and, lo and behold, an unexjjected denun- 
 ciation of her as an improper person. And on
 
 280 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 the traditionary festive occasion too ! What am 
 I to do ? Give her a pohte quietus ? There is no 
 possibihty of getting rid of her without esclandrc. 
 A runaway wife ! Is it true, I wonder ? Surely 
 yes ; my tenant is a gentleman, and would not 
 be so base as to slander a woman. This comes 
 of picking up agreeable widows at such a j^lace 
 as Homburg. However, I must temporise mat- 
 ters, and get rid of her quietly as soon as I can ; 
 the woman's antecedents are not infectious, and 
 the woman is a lady, though very florid. IMarcia 
 is far too strong-minded to be influenced in the 
 smallest degree by any companionship ; so there 
 need be no feverish hurry about the matter." 
 
 While Sir Jasper mused thus with Mr. 
 Pauncefort's letter in his hand, the door was 
 opened very softly, and a silken rustling betrayed 
 the sex of the person who opened it. Then a 
 head peeped into the room, and then the door 
 was thrown quite open, and Mrs. Harding ap- 
 peared, splendid in rnby velvet, with white shoul- 
 ders glimmering under a black-lace shawl, and 
 diamond stars in her hair.
 
 AAVKWAKD FOR SIR JASPER. 281 
 
 " T peeped in to see if you were taking your 
 afternoon nap/' she said; "but I am so glad to 
 find you awake. Oh, dear Sir Jasper, 1 have 
 something so very serious, so extremely unplea- 
 sant to say to you." 
 
 " Indeed," thought the Baronet ; " and I have 
 something veiy unpleasant to say to you when- 
 ever I can bring my coui'age to the sticking- 
 placef but he only bowed, mth a Httle unin- 
 telligible miu'mm- expressive of every thing that 
 was unmeaningly polite. 
 
 He looked at her even more critically than 
 usual. He had never seen her beauty more bril- 
 liant than it was to-night. Her cheeks seemed 
 to be flushed with a natural crimson, her eyes 
 sparkled with the effect of excitement, and not 
 the diastlv bricrhtness induced bv belladonna; 
 and beyond this the Baronet looked at her ^vith 
 a new interest, inspii'ed by the contents of his 
 tenant's letter, just as he woidd have looked all 
 the more eagerly at a handsome Frenchwoman 
 in the Bois de Boulogne, had he been told that 
 she was Marie LafFai'ge.
 
 282 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 "Dear Sir Jasper," said tlie widow, sinking 
 gracefully into the cliair opposite to the Baronet, 
 " I am going to ask you all sorts of abrupt ques- 
 tions — impertinent questions you may perhaps 
 think; but I trust you will believe that I am 
 justified in asking them." 
 
 The Baronet bowed, with another polite little 
 murmur. "What, in mercy's name, is the woman 
 going to say ?" he thought. 
 
 He had not observed Mrs. Harding's eyes fix- 
 ing themselves for a moment on the letter in his 
 hand, or the tightening of the lips that accom- 
 panied the glance. 
 
 "How long' have you known Mr. Pauncefort?" 
 
 Sir Jasper was not very often surprised ; but 
 this question, asked by the widow with a certain 
 business-like earnestness of tone, startled him out 
 of his languid equanimity. 
 
 " I have not known him very long. But why 
 do you ask the question 1" 
 
 "I will tell you presently, when you have 
 answered another. Was Mr. Pauncefort pre- 
 sented to you by any of yoiu' friends V
 
 AWKWAED FOR SIR JASPER. 26o 
 
 "No." 
 
 " I thought not I" exclaimed the widow. 
 
 "]\Ii\ Pauncefort is my tenant, and he is a 
 gentleman. EQs manners please me. I respect 
 his intellect, and I like his societ}'. Am I to wait 
 till some Smith or Brown of my acquaintance 
 comes to me and says, ^ My dear Sh' Jasper, ni}' 
 friend Pauncefort is d^-ing to know }ou. Will 
 you allow me to present him to you ? Su' Jasper 
 Denison, Mr. Pamicefort, — ^Mi*. Pauncefort, Sir 
 Jasper Denison ; eminently adapted for each other, 
 I'm shaw !' and so on. No, ^Ii's. Harchng, I 
 choose my friends for myself, and on my own 
 responsibility. And I veiy rarely make a mis- 
 take." 
 
 The Baronet's eyes fixed themselves ^ery ear- 
 nestly upon the widow as he said this. Her face 
 darkened just a httle under the sciiitiny, and her 
 glance, very steady until now, wandered restless!}' 
 to the letter in Sh' Jasper's hand. 
 
 " I am very soriy that you ha^ e chosen jMi\ 
 Pauncefort for your friend," !Mrs. Harding said 
 Aery gravely.
 
 284 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 "Why so r 
 
 "Because lie is unworthy of your friendship, 
 unfit to be the associate of vour clauo^hter." 
 
 "Indeed! how unworthy? why unfit ?" 
 
 " Because those who know him know him to 
 be a bad man. A gentleman does not exile him- 
 self from his fellow-men without a sufficient rea- 
 son. I knew George Pauncefort before he left 
 England ; and I have been given to understand, 
 by those who know the mysteries of such matters, 
 that when he tui'ned his back upon his country 
 he left a tainted name behind him." 
 
 "But what, in Heaven's name, had he donef 
 cried the Baronet, sitting erect in his chair, in the 
 extremity of his bewilderment. 
 
 " How can I tell you ? A woman never hears 
 the real particulars of these stories. My husband 
 was a man of the world. He knew the truth, 
 I have no doubt ; but I heard only hints and in- 
 sinuations. I can tell you no more. I daresay 
 the story was a common story enough ; but it had 
 the effect of driving the chief actor in it out of 
 England ; and even now, when he has returned
 
 AWKWARD FOR SIR JASPER. 285 
 
 to this country, he seems to have retiu'ued only 
 to seek a safer hicling-phice.'' 
 
 Sir Jasper di'ew a long breath, and stared 
 hopelessly, first at the lady opposite to liim, and 
 then at the letter in his hand. Here were sepa- 
 rate denunciations, almost equally vague in their 
 character, brought against each other by two 
 people who were both unable or unwilhng to 
 substantiate their accusations by any means what- 
 ever. Which of the two was to be believed ? that 
 was the question. 
 
 " Egad I I'm afraid Pamicef ort must be the 
 sinner," thought Sir Jasper, despondently, " since 
 he has been the man to leave the field, and fire 
 his bier fran from a masked batterv. I am sorrv 
 for it. I would rather have let this frivolous 
 "wadow dovm. the A^dnd, to prey at fortune, than 
 lose my argumentative evenings Avith the man 
 Avho doesn't believe in the Encyclopedists. T\Tiat 
 a misfortune it is to be the father of an unmarried 
 daughter! If I were alone in the Avorld, the 
 man's antecedents would not be of the smallest 
 importance. He would scarcely break into my
 
 286 • SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 plate-room to steal my Cellini cup, or my Crom- 
 wellian tankards ; and if he forged my acceptance, 
 the man who discounted the bill would be the 
 principal victim. But society reminds me that 
 I have a daughter, and that it is for her, and not 
 for myself, that I must choose my acquaint- 
 ance." 
 
 Mrs. Harding watched her host with sharp 
 scrutinising eyes during the 1)rief pause in which 
 he abandoned himself to these reflections. There 
 had been many critical moments in the life of the 
 woman who called herself Blanche Harding, but 
 not one more critical than this. 
 
 At last that brief delay, which seemed so long, 
 came to an end. 
 
 " I should be very glad if you would be a little 
 more explicit, my dear madam," exclaimed Sir 
 Jasper rather testily. "Of all things I dislike 
 these vague accusations, which can neither be 
 proved nor disproved. However, you need give 
 youi'self no fm^ther uneasiness upon the subject 
 of Mr. Pauncefort, for that gentleman left my 
 house two hours ago, and is not likely to reenter
 
 AWKWARD FOn SIR JASPER. 287 
 
 it while you do me the lionoiu' to remain under 
 my roof;' 
 
 " Now if she is the culprit," thought the Ba- 
 ronet, '' that will hit her rather hard." 
 
 " I thouojlit as much I" answered the ^Aidow 
 triumphantly. '" I could see that ^Ir. Pauncefort 
 recognised me yesterday evening, though his affec- 
 tation of unconsciousness was veiw cleverlv man- 
 acled. You mav have observed that he was not 
 cjuite himself, either at the chnner-table or in the 
 drawing-room." 
 
 " You are right, madam. My friend was 
 gloomy," retiu'ned Sir Jasper, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Oh, there's no doubt about it," he continued 
 mentally ; " Pauncefort is the guilty paity. This 
 woman, could never carry the position so boldly 
 unless indeed she vrere a past mistress in the art 
 of cool impudence." 
 
 "And now, dear Sir Jasper, I must ask a 
 thousand pardons for ha'sdng bored you ^^'ith this 
 most unpleasant topic ; but my respect, my affec- 
 tion for your sweet Marcia — " 
 
 " You are very good I" exclaimed the Baronet,
 
 288 
 
 cutting in suddenly upon Mrs. Harding's gushing 
 apology. "Yes, I begin to feel tlie embarrass- 
 ment wliich a man labours under who tries to 
 choose his friends for himself, forgetting that he 
 is encumbered with an unmarried dauc^hter. Let 
 us say no more about it, my dear Mrs. Harding. 
 I see you are dressed for dinner, and as my own 
 toilet is still unmade — " 
 
 " My dear Sir Jasper, I am going to leave you 
 this moment. Pray tell me that you do not think 
 my intrusion impertinent — " 
 
 " Not at all," murmured the Baronet, looking 
 thoughtfully at his tenant's letter. 
 
 Mrs. Harding rose, and with one of those 
 gliding curtsies which her admirers considered 
 infinitely bewitching, swept her ruby-velvet splen- 
 dom' out of Sir Jasper s den. She went straight 
 to the drawing-room, where she found Marcia 
 sitting in a very thoughtful attitude, with an open 
 book lying on the leopard-skin rug at her feet, just 
 where it had slipped from her knee. She looked 
 up as her visitor entered the room; and there 
 was just a shade of disappointment in her ex-
 
 AWKWAKD FOR SIR JASPER. 289 
 
 pression as she recognised tlie lady in ruby vel- 
 vet. 
 
 "My dear IMrs. Harding, how superbly you 
 are dressed !" she exclaimed ; " and we shall have 
 no one here to admire your elaborate toilet, except 
 ourselves — and Mr. Pauncefort." 
 
 "Not even ]\Ir. Pauncef^t," answered the 
 widow gaily. " ^Ir. Pauncefort has left the Ab- 
 bey." 
 
 "Left us! Impossible! Papa told me he 
 was to spend some weeks with us." 
 
 ^Irs. Hardincr shinicrored her shoulders. 
 
 " That is quite possible, dearest Marcia. But, 
 for some sufficient reason of his own, ^h\ Paunce- 
 fort has left the Abbey this afternoon." 
 
 "For good?" 
 
 " I believe so. Yes, 1 may venture to say that 
 I am sure he will not return — while I am here." 
 
 Marcia Denison turned in her chair to look 
 more intently at her visitor, who was standing 
 near a table at a Httle distance from her, trifling 
 listlessly -with the Laureate's last volume, gorgeous 
 in white morocco and gold. 
 
 VOL. I. 19
 
 290 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 "Mrs. Harding," said Marcia earnestly, "do 
 you knoio Mr. Pauncef ort ?" 
 
 " I do know something of liim. My husband 
 was acquainted with him fifteen years ago. I 
 used to hear a great deal about him." 
 
 " Nothing to his disadvantage, I suppose." 
 
 " I regret to say that I heard a great deal to 
 his disadvantage." 
 
 " Have you any objection to speak more defi- 
 nitely, Mrs. Harding? I am really interested 
 in Mr. Pauncefort, and it will be very difficult 
 for me to think hardly of him. What is it that 
 you know to his discredit ?" 
 
 " Nothing that I can tell you, dearest Marcia. 
 I have just seen your papa, and I have spoken 
 very frankly to him. I was very young fifteen 
 years ago, and my husband was not one of those 
 sort of men who think they are privileged to sully 
 a wife's ears with a scandal they would not dare 
 to repeat in the presence of any other woman. 
 I have heard Mr. Pauncefort condemned; but 
 his delinquencies were only hinted at. I thought 
 it my duty to put your papa in possession of what
 
 AWKWARD FOR SIR JASPER. 291 
 
 I kno^^'; and I can say no more. Pray let us 
 change the suliject, dear. It is such a very un- 
 pleasant one." 
 
 ^'Too luipleasant to be dismissed so lightly, 
 I think," Marcia answered gravely. "I should 
 be sorry to think ill of ^Ir. Pauncefort. I have 
 pitied him so much for his loneliness — for his 
 poverty, which seems like the poverty of a man 
 who has once been rich ; and you remember what 
 a modern French plawright has said, 'on s habitue 
 quelque fois a 7ie 2?as avoir cT argent, jamais a non 
 2?h(s avcir.' The poverty of a ruined gentleman 
 must be veiy bitter ; and I have thought that IMr. 
 Pauncefort supports his position so nobly." 
 
 The volume in ^Irs. Harding's hand was open 
 as Marcia said this, and she was looking do^\ii 
 at its pages, with her head shghtly averted from 
 Miss Denison. There was somethino; verv much 
 like a smile upon her face during this little disrpii- 
 sition on ^Ir. Pauncefort's circumstances. 
 
 " It would be so chfficult for me to think badly 
 of him," said Marcia verv' thoughtfully. " Surely, 
 ^Irs. Harding, you would scarcely consider it just
 
 292 
 
 to condemn him upon the strength of some scan- 
 dal of the past, of whose details yon are absolntel}- 
 ignorant." 
 
 " My dear Marcia/' exclaimed the ^vidow with 
 delightful insouciance, "for my own part, I am 
 positively lax in my opinions. I have lived so 
 long on the Continent, you know, and have asso- 
 ciated so much with charming artistic Bohemians. 
 But on your account I considered it incumbent 
 upon me to tell your papa all I had ever heard 
 against Mr. Pauncefort. And I must say that 
 his abrupt departure is rather calculated to con- 
 firm my bad opinion of him." 
 
 Miss Denison did not make any reply to this 
 speech. That undefined dislike, that vague an- 
 tipathy to the magnificent woman whom her 
 father had chosen to patronise, was very much 
 in the ascendant just now over the Christian-like 
 feelino: with which she had tried to combat it. 
 There must be some reason for our unconquerable 
 aversion to Doctor Fell, however guilty we may 
 feel with regard to a prejudice that is apparently 
 so groundless; but when the unpleasant Doctor
 
 AWKWARD FOR SIR JASPER. 293 
 
 attacks the friend we like, oiu' hatred of him is 
 midtiplied a hunch'edfold all at once. Marcia 
 tried to he very polite to ]Mrs. Harding when the 
 conversation drifted into general topics ; but there 
 w^as something palpably constrained in her civility, 
 which the widow was cpiite clever enough to 
 miderstand. 
 
 Nor did [Marcia recover her accustomed cheer- 
 fulness throuo-hout that Christmas evenino:. She 
 sat in her low chair by the hre, ^Wth her face 
 half hidden by a screen of many-coloured Lidian 
 pliunage, and abandoned herself to thoughtful 
 silence, while the widow amused Sir Jasper. 
 Never had that lady taken more trouble to make 
 herself acrreeable, and never had she better 
 succeeded. Her -sdvacity was inexhaustible, her 
 gaiety almost irresistible; and the Baronet, mth 
 whom the pleasure of the moment was all-impor- 
 tant, gave liimself up to enjo}Tnent, and deter- 
 mined to believe !Mrs. Harding's statement rather 
 than the denmiciatory letter in his pocket. No- 
 thing could be more complete than the widow's 
 triumph over her enemy.
 
 294 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 It was very late tliat night when Marcia stood 
 by the window of lier cbessing-room, looking out 
 at the wide expanse of spreading lawn, the stately 
 avenue, the distant woodland, all wan and ghostly 
 of aspect in the pale wintry moonlight. Far away 
 in the recesses of that wood a man Avatched per- 
 haps, solitary, friendless, hopeless, sitting alone by 
 a dreary hearth, — a modern Marius amongst the 
 ruins of his shattered life. 
 
 Had baseness of any kind ever stained that 
 life; and was it from disgrace as well as from 
 poverty that Sir Jasper's tenant had come to 
 hide himself in the quiet depths of Scarsdale 
 Wood? 
 
 " I cannot think him any thing but what he 
 seems," thought Marcia, musing pensively, with 
 her forehead leaning against the broad woodwork 
 of the window, and her eyes fixed on the moonlit 
 distance. "I cannot think him any thing less 
 than a high-minded gentleman, mth a proud 
 humility of noble blood, the calm philosophy of 
 a scholar and a Christian. I will not accept a 
 slander against him on the word of a woman I
 
 AWKWARD FOR SIR JASPER. 295 
 
 distrust. I do not think I could belie^-e my best 
 friend if he spoke against George Pauncefoii:. 
 Only from his o^^ii lips would I receive the evi- 
 dence of liis baseness."
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE WIDOW MAKES HERSELF AT HOME. 
 
 After that Christmas evening ^Ii's. Harding 
 made herself entirely at home at Scarsdale Abbey. 
 Perhaps she was aware of Marcia's distaste for 
 her society; but if it was so, she endm'ed that 
 young lady's injustice quite uncomplainingly. 
 She knew that she pleased Sir Jasper, and that 
 the Baronet was sovereign lord and ruler in his 
 cw^i house, not to be influenced in the smallest 
 degree by a daughter for whom he had very little 
 affection. The widow knew this, and she played 
 her cards accordingly. She took care to intrude 
 herself upon Marcia's society as little as possible, 
 and, except for an occasional drive, the two ladies 
 very rarely met between breakfast and dinner. 
 Marcia had her own occupations, her pet Dorothy, 
 and her Scarsdale poor. Marcia painted, and
 
 THE WIDOW MAKES HERSELF AT HOME. 297 
 
 composed music, and read her favourite books 
 in her o^vn apartments, and veiy often rode or 
 walked in the park and Avoods alone ; while 
 Blanche Hardinor lounsred in the downiest and 
 puffiest chaii' by the fire in her spacious bedroom, 
 reading a novel, or recruiting her good looks by 
 means of a prolonged nap. The utmost intel- 
 lectual labour -which she ever achieved was the 
 composition of two or three lengthy epistles, 
 written in violet ink on pale-green paper that was 
 overpoweringly perfumed with patchouli or otto 
 ■of roses. 
 
 The ^^-idow managed to chspose of two or tliree 
 hours out of every day in the elaborate process 
 of a studied toilet. She exhibited the contents 
 of her big trunks and the treasures of her jewel- 
 case, as persistently as she could have done if the 
 Abbey had been filled with ^-isitors; and she 
 presented some variety of personal embellishment 
 every evening for Su' Jasper^s edification. Had 
 she any deep-laid scheme to carr}- out in that dull 
 countr}-house ? Had she any motive over and 
 above the desire to while awav two or three winter
 
 298 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 months in a luxurious mansion? She seemed 
 rich, and was scarcely likely to play the part of 
 a sponge who ekes-out a limited income by long 
 visits to country friends. Sir Jasper Denison 
 fancied that he could read the secret of the 
 charming widow's tactics, and gave her very great 
 credit for her ingenuity. 
 
 "Mrs. Harding with possibly doubtful ante- 
 cedents is less than nobody," mused the Baronet ; 
 "for she is a somebody whom people are apt to 
 suspect. But Lady Denison would be a person 
 of importance, with a platform for the exhibition 
 of handsome dresses, and all the best dinner- 
 tables in the county open to the display of cahoclion 
 emeralds and old point. But to imagine for a 
 moment that I am so weak as that ! A frivolous 
 widow — -for life! As a visitor she is charming, 
 and she shall play ecarte with me, and sing those 
 fiery little Spanish ballads, those dreamy little 
 German love-songs, as long as she likes; but if 
 ever she entraps me into saying any thing — ^before 
 a witness — or writing any thing that the most 
 pig-headed of English juries can construe into
 
 THE WIDOW MAKES HERSELF AT HOME. 299 
 
 a promise to marry, I will forfeit, why — any 
 damages those twelve pig-headed British jui'piien 
 may please to exact. No, no, my dear Mi's. 
 Harding^ I ^vill j^lay cards with you ; I ^^•ill 
 admu'e you; I will devote my evenings to your 
 delightful society; I will accept the pretty flat- 
 teries which you so subtly administer to me; I 
 will give you the best rooms in my house and the 
 best wines in my cellar — to say nothing of that 
 choice Maraschino for which you have such a 
 predilection ; but I will not marry you." 
 
 Amongst the letters which Sir Jasper's post- 
 hacr brouo^ht to !Mrs. Hardino- there was one 
 which evidently gave the receiver of it some an- 
 noyance. It was rather a long letter, written 
 in a dashing masculme hand, and sealed with 
 a big coat-of-anns ferociously supj)orted by ch'a- 
 gons rampant, and smiuomited by a couple of 
 crests and a bellicose motto, "I strike home." 
 Any one versed in hmnan nature might have 
 made a Aery shrewd guess at the unpleasant 
 character of that distinguished-looking missive, 
 for the widow thrust it hurriedly into her pocket
 
 300 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 after glancing at the first few lines, as if it was 
 a letter which she could not trust herself to read 
 in public. And after having done this, it was 
 with considerable difficulty that she again be- 
 came the gushingly spontaneous trifler she was 
 wont to be in Sir Jasper Denison's so- 
 ciety. 
 
 An hour after breakfast she sat alone in her 
 own room, reading that unwelcome letter, and 
 pondering its contents with a very moody brow. 
 
 " Half -Moon Street, Thursday. 
 
 "My dear Aspasia, Belcolore, Delilah, 
 — By what name, among all the names by which 
 dangerous beauty has been known to men and 
 poets since the world began, am I to call you, 
 since you do not choose to be addressed by that 
 appellation which you received at the baptismal 
 font? Shall it be Aspasia? You are beautiful 
 and wise, and a modern Socrates might learn 
 new wisdom from those rosy lips. Let it be 
 Aspasia. I have breakfasted with some young 
 diplomatists at the St. James's, and I am in an
 
 THE WIDOW MAKES HERSELF AT HOME. 301 
 
 expansive humour ; a mood in which I think 
 kinclly of all the world, and regret, almost to 
 tears, that eveiy body cannot have thirty thou- 
 sand a-year — beginning ^^-ith myself. And now, 
 my dear Aspasia, let us be serious. 'Wliy did 
 you leave Homburg without informing me of 
 your intention, -vN^ithout placing me au courant 
 with regard to your plans? You did not ima- 
 gine that there was any corner of the civilised 
 earth where you could conceal yourself from 
 that subtle instinct of your whereabouts which 
 is one of the nu?merous evidences of the sincere 
 and brotherly attachment I entertain towards 
 you. My o^^ni Aspasia, the step was silly, not 
 to say childish. When I called at your hotel 
 and found that you were gone, I was not in« 
 dignant; I was only annoyed by the discoveiy 
 that a woman whom I respected as infinitely 
 superior to the rest of her sex had, in this one 
 affair, sunk into the lowest depth of feminine 
 short-sightedness. Your abrupt departm-e was 
 ungenerous — I pass over that ; but it was also 
 absurd. In the words of the Prince of detective
 
 302 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 policemen : ^ It was worse than a crime, — it was 
 a blunder !' 
 
 "Need I say that I traced you with perfect 
 ease as far as Paris ? Need I say that I knew 
 where to look you up in Paris? Unluckily I 
 looked you up a day or two too late — you had 
 left for England. Here I was at fault. I had 
 not imagined that you were likely to cross the 
 Channel, and, having crossed it, I was quite at 
 a loss to surmise where you would take up your 
 abode. 
 
 "What a wonderful institution is a provincial 
 newspaper! Waiting for my attorney yesterday 
 in a stuffy office in the Fields, I took up a paper 
 from the dusty heap of journals on his dusty 
 table, and read half-a-dozen vapid paragraphs in 
 which stale scraps from the London press, local 
 wife-beatings, and prize mangel-wurzel were ar- 
 ranged in an agreeable mosaic. No one but a 
 man waiting for his lawyer in a back-office in 
 Lincoln's Lm with a \aew to raising money on 
 very shaky security could have read such a paper 
 as that. But vour Latude or your Pobinson
 
 THE WIDOW MAKES HERSELF AT HOME. 303 
 
 Selkirk — no, Crusoe, will associate A\'itli rats or 
 Xegroes, as the case may be. For the time 
 being I was Kobinson what's-his-name, and the 
 newspaper was my man Friday. 
 
 " The journal in question was the Roxhorough 
 Conservative and Castleforcl Chronicley and the 
 paragi*aph which startled me from my drowsi- 
 ness ran as follows, — I copy verbatim from the 
 notice which I cut out of the paper : 
 
 " ' The Christmas festivities will be of a veiy 
 quiet natm'e at Scarsdale Abbey, as the family 
 affliction which shed a crloom over the neish- 
 bourhood some few years since, and has caused 
 the lengthened absence of the Baronet and his 
 daughter from this countrs^, still keeps Sir Jas- 
 per Denison secluded from the society he is so 
 eminently calculated to adorn. Beef, coals, and 
 flannel have been, and Avill continue to be, 
 liberally distributed amongst the poor of Scars- 
 dale and its vicinity, under the auspices of !Miss 
 Denison. 
 
 "^Mrs. Harding arrived at the Abbey on 
 Tuesday evening from the Continent,' &c. &c.
 
 304 SIR jasper's tekant. 
 
 "So you see, my clear Aspasia, the profes- 
 sional twaddle of a provincial newspaper sup- 
 plies me the information of your whereahouts; 
 and I seize the opportunity of appealing to your 
 generosity to rescue me from a very unpleasant 
 dilemma." 
 
 And then followed one of those appeals for 
 pecuniaiy assistance which are always so painful 
 in their sordid details, — one of those appeals 
 which are peculiarly horrible when they come 
 from a man to a woman. There was a covert 
 something in the tone of this man who wrote 
 to Blanche Harding which hinted at a hidden 
 influence more powerful than womanly tender- 
 ness or generosity. He wrote very politely; but 
 he wi'ote like a man who makes a demand which 
 cannot be refused, and Mrs. Harding's face grew 
 darker as she read. 
 
 Wlien she had finished the letter she sat 
 for a long time with her head resting on her 
 hand, thinldng deeply. 
 
 " If I could only escape from it all, if I could 
 escape !" she muttered. ^' But to find myself
 
 THE WIDOW JD^KES HERSELF AT HOME. 305 
 
 penniless ! No, I can bear any thing better 
 than that.'" 
 
 Sir Jasper Denison had taken care to leave 
 his daughter entirely in the dark as to George 
 Pamicefort's letter and ^Irs. Harding's commu- 
 nication. In the first place, there would have 
 been some trouble involved m anj exj^lanation 
 made to Marcia, and of all things the Baronet 
 hated trouble. In the second place, Sir Jasper 
 felt that if either the tenant of the Hermitage 
 or the dashing \^ddow were not quite the sort 
 of person he should ha^'e received under his 
 roof, there might be some blame attaching to 
 himself for having selected these acquaintance 
 in defiance of all social laws, which demand that 
 a man should know whom he admits to the com- 
 panionship of his daughter. Under these cir- 
 cumstances the Baronet determined upon hold- 
 ing his peace, and allowing matters to take their 
 own com'se. 
 
 " If the widow's notions of a friendly ^^sit ai'e 
 unreasonable," he thought, "I have only to be 
 
 VOL. L • 20
 
 306 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 capricious, and be seized all at once witli a desire 
 to spend the chilly spring months on the borders 
 of the Mediterranean, and we get rid of her with- 
 out esclandre. And, oh, what a blessing to avoid 
 thatP' 
 
 Miss Denison resumed the quiet current of 
 her life — only deferring now and then to the 
 pleasure of her visitor in the matter of a long 
 drive, or a day's shopping in Roxborough or Cas- 
 tleford. She had so many occupations, so many 
 little cares, so many duties which, small in them- 
 selves and performed as quietly as the movements 
 of some delicate piece of clock-work, made in the 
 aggTegate a considerable sum of usefulness. Mar- 
 cia spent a good deal of time among the poor of 
 Scarsdale; and as Scarsdale v/as a little village 
 on the farthest edge of that wood in which Mr. 
 Pauncefort's habitation was buried, hidden and 
 lonely as the covert of a stag, her duty often took 
 her along a pathway winding through the wood. 
 On most of these occasions Dorothy Tursgood 
 accompanied her mistress, carrying a basket ; 
 silent when her mistress was silent, listening
 
 THE WIDOW MAKES HERSELF AT HOME. 307 
 
 deferentially if ^liss Marcia talked, chattering 
 gaily if ]Miss Marcia was pleased to encourage 
 her chatter, and altoo^ether beha^-incr like a little 
 maid whom no amount of indulgence could spoil. 
 Sometimes, but very rarely, Marcia went upon 
 her charitable errands alone; and it happened 
 very often in this bleak January weather that the 
 tenant of the Hermitacre was stroUincr in the same 
 pathway, attended by a mongi'el dog, which he 
 had adopted lately for his companion, and as 
 indifferent to the blasts that howled among the 
 leafless trees and scattered the ■v\-ithered fern, as 
 if he had been some Norseman accustomed to 
 spend the ^vinter months in regioris wliere the 
 sun was never seen. 
 
 Meeting thus, Sir Jasper's tenant and Sir 
 Jasper's daughter were wont to walk side by side 
 in the cliill afternoon sunlicrht, talkinc: of almost 
 all things in heaven and on earth, -vvith wondering 
 Dorothy in attendance, and the mongrel dog trot - 
 ting meekly at his master's heels. How much 
 two highly-educated people, who lead a very 
 quiet existence, and hve chiefly amongst the books
 
 308 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 tliey love, have to talk about when they are suffi- 
 ciently familiar to converse without restraint, 
 and are in no way fettered by the presence of 
 other people ! How many different worlds open 
 before them ! what mystic regions stretch far and 
 wide beyond this common earth, tempting their 
 exploring feet ! Marcia delighted in those after- 
 noon walks with the grave traveller, who was old 
 enough to be her father, and in wdiose presence 
 her mind and soul expanded themselves as freely 
 as they might have done had she been indeed his 
 daughter. 
 
 Sometimes Mi\ Pauncefort accompanied the 
 fair young chdtelaine on her charitable errands ; 
 and Marcia found to her surprise that this bronzed 
 African traveller, this bearded recluse, was almost 
 as welcome as herself in labourers' cottages and 
 by the beds of sick children ; although, as Doro- 
 thy very often repeated, he never gave any thing. 
 "And yet he seems so kind, doesn't he, ]Miss 
 Marcia? and I'm sure if he was rich he'd be gene- 
 rous, and his not being generous must be his 
 poverty. And oh, Miss Marcia, no one that
 
 THE WIDOW MAKES HERSELF AT HOME. 309 
 
 wasn't dreadfully poor would wear that shabby 
 coat!" exclaimed the little maid, who thought 
 the produce of the silkwoiTii and the feathers of 
 the ostrich the noblest objects ever created by 
 Beneficent Power. 
 
 All through January and February ^Irs. 
 Hardinsc remained at the Abbev, succeechnff so 
 well in amusing Sir Jasper that whenever she 
 did make some little protest about the length of 
 her visit, and threaten an early departm-e, the 
 Baronet himself irndted her to remain; always 
 taking care that his invitations, however cordial, 
 should be so worded as to defy the most subtle 
 of the Buzfuz tribe to tortm-e them into the pro- 
 mise of mamao^e bv inference. 
 
 " I know my Pielacicl'y^ thought Sir Jasper ; 
 " and I know the Scylla and Charybdis between 
 wliich I have to steer mv fraoile bark. Scylla 
 is pen, mk, and paper, and Chary-^bdis is Aptnesses. 
 It was Winkle who brought down ruin upon his 
 excellent friend — ^^Vinkle, and that foolish poulet 
 about the chops and tomato-sauce." 
 
 Marcia had told her father of Mrs. Harding's
 
 310 SIR jasper's tenant. 
 
 vague hints affecting George Pauncefort's repu- 
 tation, and the Baronet had pooh-poohed them, 
 glad to escape a subject which was apt to make 
 him feel rather uncomfortable. Truth will always 
 seem more or less like itself, even when falsehood 
 contrives to seize the best position, and place poor 
 Truth at a disadvantage; and Sir Jasper, in 
 despite of the widow's plausibility, was rather 
 inclined to attach some credit to his tenant's ear- 
 nest letter. He had answered that letter after 
 his own fashion, — for he was too well-bred to 
 leave it unanswered, — evading any definite reply, 
 and shuffling away from the subject with polite 
 lamentations about Mr. Pauncefort's departure. 
 
 And did Marcia believe Mrs. Harding's insinu- 
 ations against the man whom she met so often, 
 and whose society was so very pleasant to her? 
 No ; human nature is not given to belief in the 
 person it does not like, when that person belies 
 the friend it does like. Marcia had very little 
 confidence in the widow's truth ; and she had an 
 instinctive trust in the man whom the widow slan- 
 dered. Every time she met him ; every time she
 
 THE WIDOW MAKES HERSELF AT HOME. 311 
 
 heard his voice, or looked in his face, or saw him 
 sitting amongst the sordid squalor of some labour- 
 er's cottage, listening gravely to a woman's story 
 of her woes and wants ; every time that she saw 
 the dark eyes soften as they fixed themselves upon 
 some peasant's child, — that confidence in George 
 Pauncefort's truth and honesty grew stronger. 
 She told her father sometimes of those chance 
 meetings with his tenant, and the Baronet uttered 
 no word of objection to the continuance of that 
 intimacy which had begun during Mr. Paunce- 
 fort's autumn ^dsit to the Abbey. 
 
 "I will have an explanation with Pamicefort 
 as soon as I get rid of the widow," he thought, 
 "and ascertain who and what the man is. In 
 the mean time I know he is a gentleman, and, if 
 need were, I could rely on Marcia's good sense 
 aojainst a lemon of bearded travellers. If the 
 man is anv thincr that he ouorht not to be, she 
 T^ill be the first to find him out ; for her instincts 
 are keener than mine, and she has not my habitual 
 laziness to contend against." 
 
 With this amiable sophistr}', Sir Jasper
 
 312 
 
 Denison left his daughter to take care of herself, 
 while he lounged away his days in the retirement 
 of his library, and allowed his evenings to be 
 beguiled by the fascinating widow. To poor 
 Marcia those evenings were very long and tire- 
 some, and she was very glad when her father's 
 favourite ecarte suffered her to absorb herself in 
 a book. Little by little the brightest time in her 
 life £:rew to be those hours in which she walked 
 with George Pauncefort in Scarsdale Wood ; and 
 when her home seemed dreariest, her existence 
 most barren, she found herself looking forward 
 to the next accidental meeting with her father's 
 tenant as a bright oasis, the very contemplation 
 of which rendered the surrounding desert endm- 
 able. 
 
 One day, sitting before the glass, in her 
 dressing-room, with pretty Dorothy busily em- 
 ployed in brushing her mistress's dark-brown hair, 
 Marcia's thoughts wandered, as they w^ere very 
 apt to wander in the dreary emptiness of her life, 
 to that genial companionship which she had learnt 
 to deliirht in.
 
 THE WIDOW :^L\KES HERSELF AT HOME. 313 
 
 " If I had only had such a man for my father," 
 she thought, "how happy I might have been I" 
 
 And then all at once a crimson flush spread 
 itself over Marcia Denison's pale face as she 
 remembered that there was one other relationship, 
 dearer and nearer even than the tie which binds 
 a father to the child of his love, which George 
 Pamicefort micrht bear to her. 
 
 "And I am so rich," she thought, "and so 
 lonely, while he is poor and friendless. Would 
 it be verv' strano;e if such a thino; were to come 
 to pass ?" 
 
 But after a pause she thought regi'etfully — 
 
 " Oh, why does he not trust me ? ^^^ly does 
 he not tell me the story of his past life — the secret 
 of it, if there is a secret f 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 liOBSON AND SON, GREAT NORTHEKN PRINTING TTORKS, 
 
 TANCEAS ROAD, N.AV.
 
 /i\