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DESPERATE REMEDIES, 
 
DESPERATE EEMEDIES. 
 
 I. Jtobtl, 
 
 " Though a course of adventures which are only connected with each other by 
 having happened to the same individual is what most frequently occurs in 
 nature, yet the province of the romance-writer being artificial, there is more 
 required from him than a mere compliance with the simplicity of reality." 
 
 Sir W. Scott. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LO^'DOX: 
 
 TINSLEY BEOTHEES, 18, CATHEEIXE ST., STEAND. 
 
 1871. 
 
 [The Rifjlit of Tramlation is Reserved.} 
 
londcn: 
 bradbury, kvans, akd co., pr.lnllr.5, wuitefriars. 
 
xS'23 
 V 1 
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT 24 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS 65 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY 107 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY 120 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS 164 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS 210 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS 244 
 
DESPEKATE REMEDIES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS. 
 
 § 1. December and January, i 835-36. 
 
 In the long and intricately inwrought chain 
 of circumstance which renders worthy of record 
 some experiences of Cytherea Graye, Edward 
 Springrove, and others, the first event directly 
 influencing the issue was a Christmas visit. 
 
 In the above-mentioned year eighteen hun- 
 dred and thirty-five, Ambrose Graye, a young 
 architect who had just commenced the practice 
 of his profession in the midland town of Hoc- 
 bridge, went to London to spend the Christmas 
 hohdays with a friend who lived in Bloomsbury. 
 -^ They had gone up to Cambridge in the same 
 
2 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 year, and, after graduating together, Huntway, 
 the friend, had entered orders. 
 
 Graye was handsome, frank, and gentle. He 
 had a volatiHty of thought which, exercised on 
 homehness, was humour ; on nature, j^ictures- 
 queness ; on abstractions, poetry. Being, as a 
 rule, broadcast, it was all three. 
 
 Of the wickedness of the world he was too 
 forgetful. To discover evil in a new friend is 
 to most people only an additional experience : 
 to him it was ever a surprise. 
 
 While in London he became acquainted with 
 a retired officer in the navy named Bradleigh, 
 who, with his wife and their daughter, lived in 
 a small street not far from Russell Square. 
 Though they were in no more than comfortable 
 circumstances the, captain's wife came of an 
 ancient family whose genealogical tree was 
 interlaced with some of the most illustrious and 
 well-known in the kingdom. 
 
 The young lady, their daughter, seemed to 
 Graye by far the most, beautiful and queenly 
 being he had ever beheld. She was about 
 
THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS. 3 
 
 nineteen or twenty, and her name was Cytherea. 
 In truth she was not so very unHke country 
 girls of that type of beauty, except in one 
 respect. She was perfect in her manner and 
 bearing, and they were not. A mere distin- 
 guishing pecuharity, by catching the eye, is 
 often read as the pervading characteristic, and 
 she appeared to him no less than perfection 
 throuo'hout — transcendins: her rural rivals in 
 very nature. Graye did a thing the blissfulness 
 of which was only eclipsed by its hazardous- 
 ness. He loved her at first sidit. 
 
 His introductions had led him into contact 
 with Cytherea and her parents two or three 
 times on the first week of his arrival in London, 
 and accident and a lover's contrivance brought 
 them together as frequently the week following. 
 The parents liked young Graye, and having 
 few friends (for their equals in blood were their 
 superiors in position), he was received on very 
 generous terms. His passion for Cytherea 
 grew not only strong, but ineffably strong : 
 she, without positively encouraging him, tacitly 
 
 E 2 
 
4 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 assented to his schemes for being near her. 
 Her father Jind mother seemed to have lost all 
 confidence in nobihty of birth, without money 
 to give effect to its presence, and looked upon 
 the budding consequence of the young people's 
 reciprocal glances with placidity, if not actual 
 favour. 
 
 Graye's whole delicious dream terminated in 
 a sad and unaccountable episode. After pass- 
 ing through three weeks of sweet experience, 
 he had arrived at the last stage — a kind of 
 moral Gaza — before plunging into an emotional 
 desert. The second week in Januar}^ had come 
 round, and it was necessary for the young 
 architect to leave town. 
 
 Throughout his acquaintanceship with the 
 lady of his heart there had been this marked 
 peculiarity in her love : she had delighted in 
 his presence as a sweetheart should, yet from 
 first to last she had repressed all recognition of 
 the true nature of the thread which drew them 
 together, blinding herself to its meaning and 
 only natural tendency, and appearing to dread 
 
THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS. 5 
 
 his announcement of them. The present seemed 
 enough for her without cumulative hope : usually, 
 even if love is in itself an end, it must be re- 
 garded as a beginning to be enjoyed. 
 
 In spite of evasions as an obstacle, and in 
 consequence of them as a spur, he would put 
 the matter off no longer. It was evening. He 
 took her into a little conservatory on the land- 
 ing, and there among the evergreens, by the 
 light of a few tiny lamps, infinitely enhancing 
 the freshness and beauty of the leaves, he made 
 the declaration of a love as fresh and beautiful 
 as they. 
 
 " My love — my darling, be my wife ! " 
 
 " We must part now," said she, in a voice of 
 agony. "I will write to you." She loosened 
 her hand and rushed away. 
 
 In a wild fever Graye went home and 
 watched for the next morning. Who shall 
 express his misery and wonder when a note 
 containing these words was put into his hand ? 
 
 " Good-bye ; good-bye for ever. As recog- 
 nised lovers something divides us eternally. 
 
6 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 Forgive me — I should liave told 3'ou before ; but 
 your love was sweet ! Never mention me." 
 
 That very day, and as it seemed, to put an 
 end to a painful condition of things, daughter 
 and parents left London to pay off a promised 
 visit to a relative in a western county. No 
 message or letter of entreaty could wring from 
 her any explanation. She begged him not to 
 follow her, and the most bewildering point w^as 
 that her father and mother appeared, from the 
 tone of a letter Graye received from them, as 
 vexed and sad as he at this sudden renunciation. 
 One thing was plain : without admitting her 
 reason as valid, they knew what that reason 
 was, and did not intend to reveal it. 
 
 A week from that day Ambrose Graye left 
 his friend Huntway's house and saw no more 
 of the Love he mourned. From time to time 
 his friend answered any inquiry Graye made 
 by letter respecting her. But very poor food 
 to a lover is intelligence of a mistress filtered 
 through a friend. Hunt way could tell nothing 
 definitely. He said he believed there had been 
 
THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS. 7 
 
 some prior flirtation between Cjtlierea and her 
 cousin, an oflScer of the Hne, two or three years 
 before Graye met her, which had suddenly 
 been terminated by the cousin's departure for 
 India, and the young lady's travelling on the 
 continent with her parents the whole of the 
 ensuing summer, on account of delicate health. 
 Eventually Huntway said that circumstances 
 had rendered Graye's attachment more hope- 
 less still. Cytherea's mother had unexpectedly 
 inherited a laroe fortune and estates in the 
 w'est of England by the rapid fall of some 
 intervening lives. This had caused their re- 
 moval from the small house by Gower Street, 
 and, as it ajDpeared, a renunciation of their old 
 friends in that quarter. 
 
 Young Graye concluded that his Cytherea 
 had forgotten him and his love. But he could 
 not forget her. 
 
DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 § 2. From i843 to i861. 
 
 Eight years later, feeling lonely and depressed 
 —-a man without relatives, with many acquaint- 
 ances but no friends, — Ambrose Graye met a 
 young lady of a different kind, fairly endowed 
 with money and good gifts. As to caring very 
 deeply for another woman after the loss of 
 Cytherea, it w^as an absolute impossibility with 
 him. With all, the beautiful things of the 
 earth become more dear as they elude pursuit ; 
 but with some natures utter elusion is the one 
 special event which will make a passing love 
 permanent for ever. 
 
 This second young lady and Graye were 
 married. That he did not, first or last, love his 
 wife as he should have done, was known to all ; 
 but few knew that his unmanageable heart could 
 never be weaned from useless repining at the 
 loss of its first idol. 
 
 His character to some extent deteriorated, as 
 emotional constitutions will under the Ions; sense 
 
THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS. 9 
 
 of disappointment at having missed their ima- 
 gined destiny. And thus, though naturally of 
 a gentle and pleasant disposition, he grew to be 
 not so tenderly regarded by his acquaintances 
 as it is the lot of some of those persons to be. 
 The winning and sanguine impressibility of his 
 early life developed by degrees a moody 
 nervousness, and when not picturing prospects 
 drawn from baseless hope he was the victim of 
 indescribable depression. The practical issue of 
 such a condition was improvidence, originally 
 almost an unconscious improvidence, for every 
 debt incurred had been mentally paid off with 
 a religious exactness from the treasures of ex- 
 pectation before mentioned. But as years 
 revolved, the same course was continued, from 
 the lack of spirit sufficient for shifting out of an 
 old groove wdien it has been found to lead to 
 disaster. 
 
 In the year eighteen hundred and sixty-one 
 his wife died, leaving him a widower with two 
 children. The elder, a son named Owen, now 
 just turned seventeen, was taken from school. 
 
10 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 and initiated as pupil to the profession of archi- 
 tect in his father's office. The remaining child 
 was a daughter, and Owen's junior by a year. 
 
 Her christian name was Cytherea, and it is 
 easy to guess why. 
 
 § 3. October the twelfth, J 863. 
 
 We pass over two ^^ears in order to reach the 
 next cardinal event of the story. The scene is 
 still the Grayes' native town of Hocbridge, but 
 as it ajDpeared on a Monday afternoon in the 
 month of October. 
 
 The weather was sunny and dry, but the 
 ancient borough was to be seen wearing one of 
 its least attractive aspects. First on account 
 of tlie time. It was that stagnant hour of 
 the twenty-four when the practical garisli- 
 ness of Day, having escaped from the fresh 
 long shadows and enlivening newness of the 
 morning, has not yet made any perceptible 
 advance towards acquiring those mellow and 
 soothing tones which grace its decline. Next, 
 
THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS. 11 
 
 it was that stage in the progress of the week 
 when business — which, carried on under the 
 gables of an old country place, is not devoid of 
 a romantic sparkle — was well-nigh extinguished. 
 Lastly, the town w\as intentionally bent upon 
 being attractive by exhibiting to a,n influx of 
 visitors the local talent for dramatic recitation, 
 and provincial tow^ns trying to be lively are 
 the dullest of dull things. 
 
 Provincial towns are like little children in 
 this respect, that they interest most when they 
 are enacting native peculiarities unconscious 
 of beholders. Discovering themselves to be 
 watched they attempt to be entertaining by 
 putting on an antic, and produce disagreeable 
 caricatures which spoil them. 
 
 The weather-stained clock face in the low 
 church tower standing at the intersection of 
 the three chief streets was expressing half-past 
 two to the Town -Hall oiDposite, where the much 
 talked-of reading from Shakespeare was about 
 to be commenced. The doors were open, and 
 those persons who had already assembled 
 
12 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 "within the building were noticing the entrance 
 of the new-comers — silently criticising their 
 dresses — questioning the genuineness of their 
 teeth and hair — estimating their private means. 
 Among these later ones came an exceptional 
 young maiden who glowed amid the dulness 
 like a single bright-red poppy in a field of 
 brown stubble. She wore an elegant dark 
 jacket, lavender dress, hat with grey strings 
 and trimmings, and gloves of a colour to har- 
 monize. She lightly walked up the side 
 passage of the room, cast a slight glance 
 around, and entered the seat pointed out to her. 
 
 The 3'oung girl was Cytherea Graye, her 
 age was now about eighteen. During her 
 entry, and at various times whilst sitting in 
 her seat and listening to the reader on the 
 platform, her personal appearance formed an 
 interesting subject of study for several neigh- 
 bouring eyes. 
 
 Her face was exceedingly attractive, though 
 artistically less perfect than her figure, which 
 approached unusually near to the standard 
 
THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS. 13 
 
 of faultlessness. But even this feature of hers 
 yielded the palm to the gracefulness of her 
 movement, which was fascinating and delightful 
 to an extreme degree. 
 
 Indeed, motion was her speciality, wdiether 
 shown on its most extended scale of bodily 
 progression, or minutely, as in the uplifting of 
 her eyelids, the bending of her fingers, the 
 pouting of her lip. The carriage of her head 
 — motion within motion — a glide upon a glide 
 — ^was as delicate as that of a magnetic needle. 
 And this flexibiUty and elasticity had never 
 been taught her by rule, nor even been 
 acquired by observation, but, nidlo cidtu, had 
 naturally developed itself with her years. In 
 childhood, a stone or stalk in the way, which 
 had been the inevitable occasion of a fall to 
 her playmates, had usually left her safe and 
 upright on her feet after the narrowest escape 
 by oscillations and whirls for the preservation 
 of her balance. At mixed Christmas parties, 
 when she numbered but twelve or thirteen 
 years, and was heartily despised on that 
 
14 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 account by lads who deemed themselves men, 
 her apt lightness in the dance covered this 
 incompleteness in her womanhood, and com- 
 pelled the self-same ^^ouths in spite of resolu- 
 tions to seize upon her childish figure as a 
 partner whom they could not afford to con- 
 temn. And in later years, when the instincts 
 of her sex had shown her this point as the 
 best and rarest feature in her external self, 
 she was not found wanting in attention to 
 the cultivation of finish in its details. 
 
 Her hair rested gaily upon her shoulders in 
 curls, and was of a shining corn yellow in the 
 high lights, deepening to a definite nut brown 
 as each curl wound round into the shade. She 
 had eyes of a sapphire hue, though rather 
 darker than the gem ordinarily appears ; they 
 possessed the affectionate and liquid sparkle of 
 loyalty and good faith as distinguishable from 
 that harder brightness which seems to express 
 faithfulness only to the object confronting them. 
 
 But to attempt to gain a view of her — or 
 indeed of any fascinating woman — from a 
 
THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS. 15 
 
 measured category, is as difficult as to ap- 
 preciate the effect of a landscape by exploring 
 it at night with a lantern — or of a full chord 
 of music by piping the notes in succession. 
 Nevertheless it may readily be beheved from 
 the description here ventured, that among the 
 many ^Yinning phases of her aspect, these ^Yere 
 particularly striking : — 
 
 1. During pleasant doubt, when her eyes 
 brightened stealthily and smiled (as eyes will 
 smile) as distinctly as her lips, and in the 
 space of a single instant expressed clearly the 
 whole round of degrees of expectancy which 
 lie over the wide expanse between Yea and 
 Nay. 
 
 2. During the telling of a secret, which was 
 involuntarily accompanied by a sudden minute 
 start, and ecstatic pressure of the listener's arm, 
 side, or neck, as the position and degree of 
 intimacy dictated. 
 
 3. AVlien anxiously regarding one who pos- 
 sessed her affections. 
 
 She suddenly assumed the last-mentioned 
 
16 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 bearing during tlie progress of the present 
 entertainment. Her glance was directed out 
 of the window. 
 
 Why the particulars of a young lady's 
 presence at a very mediocre performance were 
 prevented from dropping into the oblivion 
 which their intrinsic insignificance would 
 naturally have involved — why they were re- 
 membered and individualised by herself and 
 others through after years — was simply that 
 she unknowingly stood, as it were, upon the 
 extreme posterior edge of a tract in her life, 
 in which the real meaning of Taking Thought 
 had never been known. It was the last hour 
 of experience she ever enjoyed with a mind 
 entirely free from a knowledge of that laby- 
 rinth into which she stepped immediately after- 
 wards — to continue a perplexed course along 
 its mazes for the greater portion of twenty-nine 
 subsequent months. 
 
 The Town Hall, in which Cytherea sat, was 
 an Elizabethan building of brown stone, and 
 the windows were divided into an upper and a 
 
THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS. 17 
 
 lower half by a transom of masonr}-. Through 
 one opening of the upper half could be seen 
 from the interior of the room the housetops 
 and chimneys of the adjacent street, and also 
 the upper part of a neighbouring church spire, 
 now in course of completion under the superin- 
 tendence of Miss Graye's father, the architect 
 to the work. 
 
 That the top of this spire should be visible 
 from her position in the room was a fact which 
 Cytherea's idling eyes had discovered with 
 some interest, and she was now engaged in 
 Avatching the scene that was being enacted 
 about its airy summit. Round the conical 
 stonework rose a cage of scaffolding against 
 the w^hite sky ; and upon this stood five men 
 — four in clothes as white as the new erection 
 close beneath their hands, the fifth in the ordi- 
 nary dark suit of a gentleman. 
 
 The four w^orking-men in white were three 
 masons and a mason's labourer. The fifth 
 man was the architect, ]Mr. Graye. He had 
 been giving directions as it seemed, and now, 
 
 VOL. I. C 
 
18 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 retiring as far as tlie narrow footway allowed, 
 stood perfectly still. 
 
 The picture thus presented to a spectator 
 in the Town Hall was curious and striking. 
 It was an illuminated miniature, framed in by 
 the dark margin of the window, the keen- 
 edged shadiness of which emphasised by con- 
 trast the softness of the objects enclosed. 
 
 The height of the spire was about one hun- 
 dred and twenty feet, and the five men engaged 
 thereon seemed entirely removed from the 
 sphere and experiences of ordinary human 
 beings. They appeared Httle larger than 
 pigeons, and made their tiny movements 
 with a soft, spirit-like silentness. One idea 
 above all others was conveyed to the mind 
 of a person on the ground by their aspect, 
 namely, concentration of purpose : that they 
 were indifferent to — even unconscious of — the 
 distracted world beneath them, and all that 
 moved upon it. They never looked off the 
 scaffolding. 
 
 Then one of them turned ; it was Mr. Graye. 
 
THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS. 19 
 
 Again he stood motionless, with attention to 
 the operations of the others. He appeared to 
 be lost in reflection, and had directed his face 
 towards a new stone thej were hfting. 
 
 " Why does he stand like that ? " the young 
 lady thought at length — up to that moment 
 as listless and careless as one of the ancient 
 Tarentines, who, on such an afternoon as this, 
 watched from the Theatre the entry into 
 their Harbour of a power that overturned the 
 State. 
 
 She moved herself uneasilv. '' I wish he 
 
 t/ 
 
 would come down,'' she whispered, still gazing 
 at the sky-backed picture. " It is so dangerous 
 to be absent-minded up there." 
 
 When she had done murmuring the words 
 her father indecisively laid hold of one of the 
 scaffold-poles, as if to test its strength, then 
 let it go and stepped back. In stepping, his 
 foot slipped. An instant of doubling forward 
 and sideways, and he reeled off into the air, 
 immediately disappearing downwards. 
 
 His agonised daughter rose to her feet by a 
 
20 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 convulsive movement. Her lips parted, and 
 she gasped for breath. She could utter no 
 sound. One by one the people about her, un- 
 conscious of what had happened, turned their 
 heads, and inquiry and alarm became visible 
 upon their faces at the sight of the poor 
 child. A moment longer, and she fell to the 
 floor. 
 
 The next impression of which Cytherea had 
 any consciousness was of being carried from a 
 strange vehicle across the pavement to the 
 steps of her own house by her brother and 
 an older man. Eecollection of what had 
 passed evolved itself an instant later, and just 
 as they entered the door — through which 
 another and sadder burden had been carried 
 but a few instants before — her eyes caught 
 sight of the south-western sky, and, without 
 heeding, saw white sunhght shining in shaft- 
 like lines from a rift in a slaty cloud. 
 Emotions will attach themselves to scenes 
 that are simultaneous — however foreign in 
 essence these scenes may be — as chemical 
 
THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS. 21 
 
 waters will crj'stallise on twigs and wires. 
 Ever after that time any mental agony 
 brought less vivielly to Cytlierea's mind the 
 scene from the Town Hall windows than sun- 
 b'ght streaming in shaft-like lines. 
 
 § 4. October the nineteenth. 
 
 When death enters a house, an element of 
 sadness and an element of horror accompany it. 
 Sadness, from the death itself ; horror, from 
 the clouds of blackness we designedly labour 
 to introduce. 
 
 The funeral had taken place. Depressed, 
 yet resolved in his demeanour, Owen Graye 
 sat before his father's private escritoire, 
 engaged in turning out and unfolding a 
 heterogeneous collection of papers — forbidding 
 and inharmonious to the eye at all times — most 
 of all to one under the influence of a great 
 grief. Laminae of white paper tied with twine 
 were indiscriminately intermixed with other 
 white papers bounded by black edges — these 
 
22 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 with blue foolscap wrapped round with crude 
 red tape. 
 
 The bulk of these letters, bills, and other 
 documents were submitted to a careful exami- 
 nation, by which the appended particulars were 
 ascertained : — 
 
 First, that their fathers income from pro- 
 fessional sources had been very small, amount- 
 ing to not more than half their expenditure ; 
 and that his own and his wife's property, upon 
 which he had relied for the balance, had been 
 sunk and lost in unwise loans to unscrupulous 
 men, who had traded upon their father's too 
 open-hearted trustfulness. 
 
 Second, that finding his mistake, he had 
 endeavoured to regain his standing by the 
 illusory path of speculation. The most notable 
 instance of this was the following. He had 
 been induced, when at Plymouth in the autumn 
 of the previous year, to venture all his spare 
 capital on the bottomry security of an Italian 
 brig which had put into the harbour in distress. 
 The profit was to be considerable, so was the 
 
THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YExVRS. 23 
 
 risk. There turned out to be no security what- 
 ever. The circumstances of the case rendered 
 it the most unfortunate speculation that a man 
 Hke himself — ignorant of all such matters — 
 could possibly engage in. The vessel went 
 down, and all Mr. Graye's money with it. 
 
 Third, that these failures had left him 
 burdened with debts he knew not how to meet ; 
 so that at the time of his death even the few 
 pounds lying to his account at the bank were 
 his only in name. 
 
 Fourth, that the loss of his wife two years 
 earlier had awakened him to a keen sense of his 
 blindness, and of his duty by his children. He 
 had then resolved to reinstate by unflagging 
 zeal in the pursuit of his profession, and by no 
 speculation, at least a portion of the little fortune 
 he had let go. 
 
 Cytherea was frequently at her brother's 
 elbow during these examinations. She often 
 remarked sadly, 
 
 " Poor papa failed to fulfil his good intention 
 for want of time, didn't he, Owen 1 And there 
 
24 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 was an excuse for his past, though he never 
 would claim it. I never forget that original 
 disheartening blow, and how that from it sprang 
 all the ills of his life — everything connected 
 with his gloom, and the lassitude in business we 
 used so often to see about him." 
 
 "I remember what he said once," returned 
 the brother, " when I sat up late with him. He 
 said, * Owen, don't love too blindly : blindly 
 you will love if you love at all, but a little care 
 is still possible to a well-disciplined heart. 
 May that heart be yours as it was not mine,' 
 father said. ' Cultivate the art of renunciation.' 
 And 1 am going to, Cytherea." 
 
 "And once mamma said that an excellent 
 woman was papa's ruin, because he did not know 
 the way to give her up when he had lost her. I 
 wonder where she is now, Owen ? We were 
 told not to try to find out anything about her. 
 Papa never told us her name, did he 1 " 
 
 " That was by her own request, I beheve. 
 But never mind her ; she was not our mother." 
 
 The love affair which had been Ambrose 
 
THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS. 25 
 
 Graye's clislieartening blow was precisely of that 
 nature wliicli lads take little account of, but 
 girls ponder in their hearts. 
 
 § 5. From October the nineteenth to July the 
 ninth. 
 
 Thus Ambrose Graye's good intentions with 
 regard to the reintegration of his property had 
 scarcely taken tangible form when his sudden 
 death put them for ever out of his power. 
 
 Heavy bills, showing the extent of his obliga- 
 tions, tumbled in immediately upon the heels of 
 the funeral from quarters previously unheard 
 and unthought of Thus pressed, a bill was 
 filed in Chancery to have the assets, such as 
 they were, administered by the Court. 
 
 " What will become of us now % " thought 
 Owen continually. 
 
 There is in us an unquenchable expectation, 
 which at the gloomiest time persists in inferring 
 that because we are ourselves, there must be a 
 special future in store for us, though our nature 
 
26 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 and antecedents to the remotest particular have 
 been common to thousands. 
 
 Thus to Cjtherea and Owen Graye the 
 question how their lives w^ould end seemed the 
 deepest of possible enigmas. To others who 
 knew their position equally well with themselves 
 the question was the easiest that could be asked. 
 — " Like those of other people similarly circum- 
 stanced." 
 
 Then Owen held a consultation with his 
 sister to come to some decision on their future 
 course, and a month w^as passed in waiting for 
 answers to letters, and in the examination of 
 schemes more or less futile. Sudden hopes that 
 were rainbows to the sight proved but mists 
 to the touch. In the meantime, unpleasant 
 remarks, disguise them as some well-meaning 
 people might, were floating around them every 
 day. The undoubted truth, that they w^ere the 
 children of a dreamer who let slip away every 
 farthing of his money and ran into debt with 
 his neighbours — that the daughter had been 
 brought up to no profession — that the son who 
 
THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS. 27 
 
 had, had made no progress in it, and might 
 come to the dogs — could not from the nature of 
 things be wrapped up in silence in order that it 
 might not hurt their feelings ; and as a matter 
 of fact, it greeted their ears in some form or 
 other wherever they went. Their few acquaint- 
 ances passed them hurriedly. Ancient pot- 
 wallopers, and thriving shopkeepers, in their 
 intervals of leisure, stood at their shop doors — 
 their toes hanging over the edge of the step, and 
 their obese waists hanging over their toes — 
 and in discourses with friends on the pavement, 
 formulated the course of the improvident, and 
 reduced the children's prospects to a shadow- 
 like attenuation. The sons of these men (who 
 wore breastpins of a sarcastic kind, and smoked 
 humorous pipes) stared at Cytherea with a stare 
 unmitigated by any of the respect that had 
 formerly softened it. 
 
 Now it is a noticeable fact that we do not 
 much mind what men think of us, or what 
 humiliating secret they discover of our means, 
 parentage, or object, provided that each thinks 
 
2S DESPERATE EEMEDIES. 
 
 and acts thereupon in isolation. It is the 
 exchange of ideas about us that we dread most; 
 and the possession bj a hundred acquaintances, 
 severally insulated, of the knowledge of our 
 skeleton-closet's whereabouts, is not so distress- 
 ing to the nerves as a chat over it by a party of 
 half a dozen — exclusive depositaries though these 
 may be. 
 
 Perhaps, though Hocbridge watched and 
 whispered, its animus would have been little 
 more than a trifle to persons in thriving circum- 
 stances. But unfortunately, poverty, whilst it is 
 new, and before the skin has had time to thicken, 
 makes people susceptible inversely to their 
 opportunities for shielding themselves. In Owen 
 was found, in place of his father's impressibility, 
 a larger share of his father's pride, and a 
 squareness of idea which, if coupled wdth a little 
 more blindness, would have amounted to posi- 
 tive prejudice. To him humanity, so far as he 
 had thought of it at all, was rather divided into 
 distinct classes than blended from extreme to 
 extreme. Hence by a sequence of ideas which 
 
THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS. 29 
 
 miglit be traced if it were worth while, he either 
 detested or respected opinion, and instinctively 
 sought to escape a cold shade that mere sensi- 
 tiveness would have endured. He could have 
 submitted to separation, sickness, exile, drudgery, 
 hunger and thirst, with stoical indifference, but 
 superciliousness was too incisive. 
 
 After living on for nine months in attempts to 
 make an income as his father's successor in the 
 profession — attempts w^hich were utterly fruit- 
 less by reason of his inexperience — Gra^^e came 
 to a simple and sweeping resolution. They 
 w^ould privately leave that part of England, drop 
 from the sight of acquaintances, gossips, harsh 
 critics, and bitter creditors of whose misfortune 
 he was not the cause, and escape the position 
 which galled him by the only road their great 
 poverty left open to them — that of his obtaining 
 some employment in a distant place by follow- 
 ing his profession as a liumble under-clerk. 
 
 He thought over his capabiHties with the 
 sensations of a soldier grinding his sword at the 
 opening of a campaign. What with lack of 
 
80 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 employment, owing to the decrease of his late 
 father's practice, and the absence of direct and 
 uncompromising pressure towards monetary re- 
 sults from a pupil's labour (which seems to be 
 always the case when a professional man's pupil 
 is also his son), Owen's progress in the art and 
 science of architecture had been very insignifi- 
 cant indeed. Though anything but an idle 
 young man, he had hardly reached the age at 
 which industrious men who lack an external 
 whip to send them on in the world, are induced 
 by their own common sense to whip on them- 
 selves. Hence his knowledge of plans, eleva- 
 tions, sections, and specifications, was not 
 greater at the end of two years of probation 
 than might easily have been acquired in six 
 months by a youth of average ability — himself, 
 for instance, — amid a bustling London practice. 
 But at any rate he could make himself 
 handy to one of the profession — some man in 
 a remote town — and there fulfil his indentures. 
 A tangible inducement lay in this direction of 
 survey. He had a slight conception of such a 
 
THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS. 31 
 
 man — a Mr. Gradfield — wlio was in practice in 
 Creston, a seaport town and watering-place in 
 the west of England. 
 
 After some doubts, Graye ventured to write 
 to this gentleman, asking the necessary ques- 
 tion, shortly alluding to his father's death, 
 and stating that his term of apprenticeship 
 had only half expired. He would be glad 
 to complete his articles at a very low^ salary 
 for the whole remaining two years, provided 
 payment could begin at once. 
 
 The answer from Mr. Gradfield stated that 
 he was not in want of a pupil who w^ould serve 
 the remainder of his time on the terms Mr. 
 Graye mentioned. But he would just add one 
 remark. He chanced to be in want of some 
 young man in his office — for a short time only, 
 probably about two months — to trace drawings, 
 and attend to other subsidiary work of the 
 kind. If Mr. Graye did not object to occupy 
 such an inferior position as these duties would 
 entail, and to accept weekly wages which to 
 one with his expectations would be considered 
 
32 DESPERATE EEMEDIES. 
 
 merely nominal, the post would give liim an 
 opportunity for learning a few more details of 
 the profession. 
 
 " It is a beginning, and above all, an abiding 
 place, away from the shadow of the cloud which 
 hangs over us here — I will go," said Owen. 
 
 Cytherea's plan for her future, an intensely 
 simple one, owing to the even greater narrow- 
 ness of her resources, was already marked out. 
 One advantage had accrued to her through her 
 mother's possession of a fair share of personal 
 property, and perhaps only one. She had been 
 carefully educated. Upon this consideration 
 her plan was based. She was to take up her 
 abode in her brother's lodging at Creston, when 
 she would immediately advertise for a situation 
 as governess, having obtained the consent of a 
 lawyer at Reading who was winding up her 
 father's affairs, and who knew the history of 
 her position, to allow himself to be referred 
 to in the matter of her past life and respecta- 
 bility. 
 
 Early one morning they departed from their 
 
THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS. 33 
 
 native town, leaving behind them scarcely a 
 trace of their footsteps. 
 
 Then the town pitied their want of wisdom 
 in taking such a step. " Rashness ; they Avould 
 have done better in Hocbridge.'' 
 
 But what is Wisdom really ? A steady 
 handling of any means to bring about any end 
 necessary to happiness. 
 
 Yet whether one's end be the usual end — a 
 wealthy position in life — or no, the name of 
 wisdom is never applied but to the means to 
 that usual end. 
 
 VOL. I, 
 
CHAPTER 11. 
 
 THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT. 
 
 § 1. The ninth of July. 
 
 The day of their departure was one of the 
 most glowmg that the dimax of a long series 
 of summer heats could evolve. The wide 
 expanse of landscape quivered up and down 
 like the flame of a taper, as they steamed 
 along through the midst of it. Placid flocks 
 of sheep rechning under trees a little way ofl* 
 appeared of a pale blue colour. Clover fields 
 w^ere livid with the brightness of the sun upon 
 their deep red flowers. All waggons and carts 
 were moved to the shade by their careful 
 owners ; rain-water butts fell to pieces ; well- 
 buckets were lowered inside the covers of the 
 well- hole, to preserve them from the fate of 
 
THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT. 35 
 
 the butts, and generall}', water seemed scarcer 
 in the country than the beer and cider of the 
 peasantry who toiled or idled there. 
 
 To see persons looking with children's eyes 
 at any ordinary scenery, is a proof that they 
 possess the charming faculty of drawing new 
 sensations from an old experience — a healthy 
 sign, rare in these feverish daj^s — the mark of 
 an imperishable brightness of nature. 
 
 Both brother and sister could do this ; 
 Cytherea more noticeably. They watched the 
 undulating corn-lands, monotonous to all their 
 companions ; the stony and clayey prospect 
 succeeding those, with its angular and abrupt 
 hills. Boggy moors came next, now withered 
 and dry — the spots upon which pools usually 
 spread their waters, showing themselves as 
 circles of smooth bare soil, over-run by a 
 net-work of innumerable little fissures. Then 
 arose plantations of firs, abruptly terminating 
 beside meadows cleanly mown, in which high- 
 hipped, rich-coloured cows, with backs horizon- 
 tal and straight as the ridge of a house, stood 
 
 D 2 
 
86 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 motionless or lazily fed. Glimpses of the sea 
 now interested them, which became more and 
 more frequent till the train finally drew up 
 beside the platform at Crest on. 
 
 " The whole town is looking out for us," 
 had been Graye's impression throughout the 
 day. He called upon Mr. Gradfield — the 
 only man who had been directly informed of 
 his coming — and found that Mr. Gradfield 
 had forgotten it. 
 
 However, arrangements were made with this 
 gentleman — a stout, active, grey -bearded 
 burgher of sixty — by which Owen was to 
 commence work in his office the following 
 week. 
 
 The same day Cytherea drew up and sent off 
 the advertisement appended : — 
 
 " A YOUNG LADY is dcsirous of meeting with 
 
 an ENGAGEISIENT aS GOVERNESS Or COMPANION. 
 
 She is competent to teach English, French, 
 and Music. Satisfactory references. 
 
 " Address, C. G, Post Office, Creston." 
 
THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT. 37 
 
 It seemed a more material existence than her 
 own that she saw thus clehneated on the paper. 
 " That can't be myself ; how odd I look/' she 
 said, and smiled. 
 
 § 2. July the eleventh. 
 
 On the Monday subsequent to their arrival 
 in Creston, Owen Graye attended at Mr. Grad- 
 field's office to enter upon his duties, and his 
 sister was left in their loddno-s alone for the 
 first time. 
 
 Despite the sad occurrences of the preceding 
 autumn, an unw^onted cheerfulness pervaded her 
 spirit throughout the day. Change of scene — 
 and that to untravelled eyes — conjoined with 
 the sensation of freedom from supervision, 
 revived the sparkle of a warm young nature 
 ready enough to take advantage of any adven- 
 titious restoratives. Point-blank grief tends 
 rather to seal up happiness for a time than 
 to produce that attrition which results from 
 
38 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 griefs of anticipation that move onward with 
 the days : these may be said to furrow away 
 the capacity for pleasure. 
 
 Her expectations from the advertisement 
 began to be extravagant. A thriving family, 
 who had always sadly needed her, was already 
 definitely pictured in her fanc}^ which, in its 
 exuberance, led her on to picturing its indi- 
 vidual members, their possible peculiarities, 
 virtues, and vices, and obliterated for a time 
 the recollection that she would be separated 
 from her brother. 
 
 Thus musing, as she waited for his return in 
 the evening, her eyes fell on her left hand. 
 The contemplation of her own left fourth finger 
 by symbol-loving girlhood of this age is, it 
 seems, very frequently, if not always, followed 
 by a pecuhar train of romantic ideas. Cythe- 
 rea's thoughts, still playing about her future, 
 became directed into this romantic groove. 
 She leant back in her chair, and taking hold 
 of the fourth finger, which had attracted her 
 attention, she lifted it with the tips of the 
 
THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT. 39 
 
 others, and looked at the smooth and tapering 
 member for a long time, 
 
 She whispered idly, " I wonder, who and 
 what He will be ? '' 
 
 " If he's a gentleman of fashion, he will take 
 my finger so, just with the tips of his own, and 
 with some fluttering of the heart, and the least 
 trembling of his lip, slip the ring so lightly on 
 that I shall hardly know it is there — looking 
 delightfully into my eyes all the time. 
 
 " If he's a bold, dashing soldier, I expect he 
 will proudly turn round, take the ring as if it 
 equalled Her Majesty's crown in value, and 
 desperately set it on my finger thus. He will 
 fix his eyes unflinchingly upon what he is doing 
 — just as if he stood in battle before the enemy 
 (though, in reality, very fond of me, of course), 
 and blush as much as I shall. 
 
 " If he's a sailor, he will take my finger and 
 the ring in this way, and deck it out with a 
 housewifely touch and a tenderness of expres- 
 sion about his mouth, as sailors do : kiss it, 
 perhaps, with a simple air, as if we were 
 
40 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 children playing an idle game, and not at the 
 very height of observation and envy by a great 
 crowd saying ^ Ah ! they are happy now ! ' 
 
 " If he should be rather a poor man — noble- 
 minded and affectionate, but still poor " 
 
 Owen's footsteps rapidly ascending the stairs, 
 interrupted this fancy-free meditation. Ke- 
 proaching herself, even angry with herself for 
 allowing her mind to stray upon such subjects 
 in the face of their present desperate condition, 
 she rose to meet him, and make tea. 
 
 Cytherea's interest to know how her brother 
 had been received at Mr. Gradfield's broke forth 
 into words at once. Almost before they had 
 sat down to table, she beoan cross-examinins: 
 him in the regular sisterly w^ay. 
 
 " Well, Owen, how has it been w4th you to- 
 day 1 What is the place like — do you think 
 you will like Mr. Gradfield ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes. But he has not been there to- 
 day ; I have only had the head clerk with me." 
 
 Young women have a habit, not noticeable 
 in men, of putting on at a moment's notice 
 
THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT. 41 
 
 the drama of wliomsoever's life they choose. 
 Cytherea's interest was transferred from Mr. 
 Gradfield to his representative. 
 
 " What sort of a man is he 1 " 
 
 " He seems a very nice fellow indeed; though 
 of course I can hardly tell to a certainty as yet. 
 But I think he's a very worthy fellow ; there's 
 no nonsense in him, and though he is not a 
 public school man he has read widely, and has 
 a sharp appreciation of what's good in books 
 and art. In fact, his knowledge isn't nearly so 
 exclusive as most professional men's." 
 
 " That's a great deal to say of an architect, 
 for of all professional men they are, as a rule, 
 the most professional." 
 
 " Yes ; perhaps they are. This man is rather 
 of a melancholy turn of mind, I think." 
 
 " Has the managing clerk any family ? " she 
 mildly asked, after a while, pouring out some 
 more tea. 
 
 "Family; no!" 
 
 " Well, dear Owen, how should I know ? " 
 
 " Why, of course he isn't married. But there 
 
42 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 happened to be a conversation about women going 
 on in the office, and I heard him say what he 
 should wish his wife to be hke." 
 
 " What woukl he wish his wife to be Hke ? " 
 she said, with great apparent lack of interest. 
 
 " Oh, he says she must be girlish and artless : 
 yet lie would be loth to do without a dash of 
 womanly subtlety, ^tis so piquant. Yes, he said, 
 that must be in her ; she must have w^omanly 
 cleverness. ' And yet I should like her to blush 
 if only a cock-sparrow were to look at her hard,' 
 he said, 'which brings me back to the girl again: 
 and so I flit backwards and forwards. I must 
 have what comes, I suppose,^ he said, 'and what- 
 ever she may be, thank God she's no worse. 
 However, if he might give a final hint to Provi- 
 dence,' he said, ' a child among pleasures, and a 
 woman among pains was the rough outline of 
 his requirement.' " 
 
 " Did he say that '? What a musing creature 
 he must be." 
 
 " He did, indeed." 
 
THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT. 43 
 
 § 3. From the twelfth to the fifteenth of 
 July. 
 
 As is well known, ideas are so elastic in a 
 human brain, that they have no constant measure 
 which may be called their actual bulk. Any 
 important idea may be compressed to a molecule 
 by an unwonted crowding of others ; and any 
 small idea will expand to whatever length and 
 breadth of vacuum the mind may be able to 
 make over to it. Cytherea's world was toler- 
 ably vacant at this time', and the head clerk 
 became factitiously pervasive. The very next 
 evening this subject was again renewed. 
 
 "His name is Springrove," said Owen, in 
 reply to her. " He is a man of very humble 
 origin, it seems, who has made himself so far. 
 I think he is the son of a farmer, or something 
 of the kind.^^ 
 
 " Well, he's none the worse for that, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 "None the worse. As we come down the 
 hill, we shall be continually meeting people 
 
44 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 going up." But Owen had felt that Springrove 
 was a little the worse, nevertheless. 
 
 " Of course he's rather old by this time." 
 
 " Oh, no. He's about six-and-twenty — not 
 more." 
 
 "Ah, I see What is he like, Owen? 
 
 " I can't exactly tell you his appearance : 
 'tis always such a difficult thing to do." 
 
 " A man 3^ou would describe as short. Most 
 men are those w^e should describe as short, 
 I fancy." 
 
 "I should call him, I think, of the middle 
 height ; but as I only see him sitting in the 
 office, of course 1 am not certain about his 
 form and figure." 
 
 "I wish you were, then." 
 
 "Perhaps you do. But I am not, you 
 see." 
 
 "Of course not, you are always so provoking. 
 Owen, I saw a man in the street to-day whom 
 I fancied was he — and yet, I don't see how 
 it could be, either. He had light brown hair, 
 a snub nose, very round face, and a peculiar 
 
THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT. 45 
 
 habit of reducing his eyes to straight hues 
 "when he looked narrowly at anything." 
 
 " Oh no. That was not he, Cytherea." 
 
 "Not a bit like him in all probabihty." 
 
 "Not a bit. He has dark hair — almost a 
 Grecian nose, regular teeth, and an intellectual 
 face, as nearly as I can recall to mind." 
 
 "Ah, there now, Owen, you have described 
 him. But I suppose he's not generally called 
 pleasing, or — " 
 
 "Handsomer' 
 
 "I scarcely meant that. But since you 
 have said it, is he handsome 1 " 
 
 "Rather." 
 
 " His tout ensemble is striking % " 
 
 " Yes — Oh no, no — I forgot : it is not. He 
 is rather untidy in his waistcoat, and neck-ties, 
 and hair." 
 
 " How vexing I .... it must be to himself, 
 poor thing.'' 
 
 " He's a thorough bookworm — despises the 
 pap - and - daisy school of verse — knows 
 Shakespeare to the very dregs of the foot- 
 
46 DESPEKATE REMEDIES. 
 
 notes. Indeed he's a poet himself in a small 
 way." 
 
 " How delicious ! '^ she said, " I have never 
 known a poet.^' 
 
 " And you don't know him," said Owen, drily. 
 
 She reddened. " Of course I don't. I know 
 that." 
 
 "Have you received any answer to your 
 advertisement 1 " he inquired. 
 
 " Ah — no ! " she said, and the forgotten 
 disappointment which had showed itself in 
 her face at different times during the day, 
 became visible again. 
 
 Another day passed away. On Thursday, 
 without inquiry, she learnt more of the head 
 clerk. He and Graye had become very friendly, 
 and he had been tempted to show her brother 
 a copy of some poems of his — some serious and 
 sad — some humorous — which had appeared in 
 the poets' corner of a magazine from time to 
 time. Owen showed them now to Cytherea, 
 who instantly began to read them carefully and 
 to think them very beautiful. 
 
THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT. 47 
 
 "Yes — Springrove's no fool," said Owen 
 didactically. 
 
 " No fool ! — I should think he isn't, indeed," 
 said Cytherea, looking up from the paper in 
 quite an excitement : " To write such verses 
 as these ! " 
 
 "What logic are you chopping, Cytherea. 
 Well, I don't mean on account of the verses, 
 because I haven't read them ; but for ^vhat he 
 said Avhen the fellows were talking about 
 falhng in love." 
 
 " Which you will tell me ?' ' 
 
 "He says that your true lover breathlessly 
 finds himself engaged to a sweetheart, like a 
 man who has caught something in the dark. 
 He doesn't know^ whether it is a bat or a bird, 
 and takes it to the li2:ht when he is cool to 
 
 o 
 
 learn what it is. He looks to see if she is 
 the right age, but right age or wrong age, he 
 must consider her a prize. Sometime later he 
 ponders whether she is the right kind of prize 
 for him. llight kind or wrong kind — he has 
 called her his, and must abide by it. After a 
 
48 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 time he asks liimself, * Has she the temper, 
 hair, and eyes I meant to have, and was 
 firmly resolved not to do without 1 ' He 
 finds it is all wrong, and then comes the 
 tussle — '' 
 
 " Do they marry and live happily 1 " 
 
 " Who '? Oh, the supposed pair. I think he 
 said — well, I really forget what he said." 
 
 " That is stupid of you [ " said the young 
 lady with dismay. 
 
 -Yes." 
 
 "But he's a satirist — I don't think I care 
 about him now." 
 
 "There you are just wrong. He is not. 
 He is, as I beheve, an impulsive fellow who 
 has been made to pay the penalty of his 
 rashness in some love affair.'^ 
 
 Thus ended the dialogue of Thursday, but 
 Cytherea read the verses again in private. 
 On Friday her brother remarked that Spring- 
 grove had informed him he was going to leave 
 Mr. Gradfield's in a fortnight to push his 
 fortunes in London. 
 
THE EVENTS OF A FOr.TXIGIIT. 49 
 
 An indescribable feeling of sadness sliot 
 through Cytherea's heart. Why should she 
 be sad at such an announcement as that, she 
 thought, concerning a man she had never seen, 
 Avhen her spirits were elastic enough to re- 
 bound after hard blows from deep and real 
 troubles as if she had scarcely known them "? 
 Though she could not answer this question 
 she knew one thing, she was saddened by 
 Owen's news. 
 
 Ideal conception, necessitated by ignorance 
 of the person so imagined, often results in an 
 incipient love, which otherwise would never 
 have existed. 
 
 § 4. July the twenty -first. 
 
 A very homely and rustic excursion by 
 steamboat to Lewborne Bay, forms the frame- 
 work of the next incident in the chain. The 
 trip was announced through tlie streets on 
 Thursday morning by the weak- voiced town 
 crier, to be at six o'clock the same evening. 
 
 VOL. r. E 
 
50 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 The weather was lovely, and the opportunity 
 being the first of the kind offered to them, 
 Owen and Cytherea went with the rest. 
 
 They had reached the bay, and had lingered 
 together for nearly an hour on the shore and 
 up the hill which rose beside the cove, when 
 Graye recollected that a mile or two inland 
 from this spot was an interesting mediaeval 
 ruin. He was already familiar with its cha- 
 racteristics through the medium of an archaeo- 
 logical work, and now finding himself so close 
 to the reality, felt inclined to verify some 
 theory he had formed respecting it. Con- 
 cluding that there would be just sufficient time 
 for him to go there and return before the boat 
 had left the cove, he parted from Cytherea on 
 the hill, struck downwards, and then up a 
 heathery valley. 
 
 She remained where he had left her till the 
 time of his expected return, scanning the 
 details of the prospect around. Placidly 
 spread out before her on the south was the 
 open Channel, reflecting a blue intenser by 
 
THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT. 51 
 
 many shades than that of the sky overhead, 
 and dotted in the foreground by half-a-dozen 
 small craft of contrasting rig, their sails gra- 
 duating in hue from extreme whiteness to 
 reddish brown, tLe varying actual colours 
 varied again in a double degree by the rays 
 of the declining sun. 
 
 Presently the first bell from the boat was 
 heard, warning the j^assengers to embark. 
 This was followed by a lively air from the 
 harps and violins on board, their tones, as 
 they arose, becoming intermingled with, though 
 not marred by, the brush of the waves when 
 their crests rolled over — at the point where the 
 check of the shore shallows was first felt — and 
 then thinned away up the slope of pebbles and 
 sand. 
 
 She turned her face landward, and strained 
 her eyes to discern, if possible, some sign of 
 Owen's return. Xothing was visible save the 
 strikingly brilliant, still landscape. The wide 
 concave which lay at the back of the chfF in 
 this direction was blazing with the western 
 
52 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 light, adding an orange tint to the yivid 
 pui'plc of the heather, now at the very cHmax 
 of bloom, and free from the slightest touch of 
 the invidious brown that so soon creeps into 
 its shades. The light so intensified the 
 colours that they seemed to stand above 
 the surface of the earth and float in mid-air 
 hke an exhalation of red. In the minor 
 valleys, between the hillocks and ridges which 
 diversified the contour of the basin, but did 
 not disturb its general sweep, she marked 
 brakes of tall, heavy-stemmed ferns, five or 
 six feet high, in a brilliant light-green dress — 
 a broad riband of them with the path in 
 their midst winding like a stream along the 
 little ravine that reached to the foot of the 
 hill, and delivered up the path to its grassy 
 area. Among the ferns grew holly bushes 
 deeper in tint than any shadow about them, 
 whilst the whole surface of the scene ^vas 
 dimpled with small conical pits, and here and 
 there were round ponds, now dry, and half 
 overgrown with rushes. 
 
THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT. 53 
 
 The last bell of the steamer rang. Cytherea 
 had forgotten herself, and what she was looking 
 for. In a fever of distress lest Owen should 
 be left behind, she gathered up in her hand 
 the corners of her handkerchief, containing 
 specimens of the shells, seaweed and fossils 
 with which the locality abounded, descended 
 to the beach, and mingled with the knots of 
 visitors there congregated from other interest- 
 ing points around ; from the inn, the cottages, 
 and hired conveyances that had returned from 
 short drives inland. They all went aboard by 
 the primitive plan of a narrow plank on two 
 wheels — the women being assisted by a rope. 
 Cytherea lingered till the very last, reluctant 
 to follow, and looking alternately at the boat 
 and the valley behind. Her delay provoked 
 a remark from Captain Jacobs, a thickset 
 man of hybrid stains, resulting from the 
 mixed effects of fire and water, peculiar to 
 sailors where engines are the propelling 
 power. 
 
 " Kow then, missie, if you please. I am 
 
54 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 sorry to tell 'ee our time's up. Who are you 
 looking for, miss '? " 
 
 *'My brother — he has walked a short distance 
 inland ; he must be here directly. Could you 
 wait for him — just a minute 1 " 
 
 " Really, I am afraid not, m'm." Cytherea 
 looked at the stout, round-faced man, and at 
 the vessel, with a light in her eyes so ex- 
 pressive of her own opinion being the same 
 on reflection, and with such resignation, too, 
 that, from an instinctive feeling of pride at 
 being able to prove himself more humane than 
 he was thought to be — works of superero- 
 gation are the only sacrifices that entice in 
 this way — and that at a very small cost, he 
 delayed the boat till some elderly unmarried 
 girls among the passengers began to murmur. 
 
 " There, never mind," said Cytherea, de- 
 cisively. " Go on without me — I shall wait 
 for him." 
 
 " "Well, 'tis a very awkward thing to leave 
 you here all alone," said the captain. *' I cer- 
 tainly advise 3^ou not to wait." 
 
THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT. 55 
 
 "He's gone across to tlic railway station, 
 for certain," said another passenger. 
 
 " No — here he is ! " Cjtherea said, regard- 
 ing, as she spoke, the half-hidden figure of a 
 man ^Yho was seen advancing at a headlong 
 pace down the ravine which lay between the 
 heath and the shore. 
 
 " He can't get here in less than five minutes," 
 the passenger said. " People should know 
 what they are about, and keep time. Really, 
 if " 
 
 " You see, sir," said the captain, in an apolo- 
 getic undertone, " since 'tis her brother, and 
 she's all alone, 'tis only nater to wait a minute 
 now he's in sight. Suppose now you were a 
 young woman, as might be, and had a brother, 
 like this one, and you stood of an evening 
 upon this here wild lonely shore, like her, why 
 you'd w^ant us to wait, too, wouldn't you, sir "? 
 I think you Avould." 
 
 The person so hastily approaching had been 
 lost to view^ during this remark by reason of 
 a hollow in the ground, and the projecting 
 
56 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 clifif immediately at hand covered the path in 
 its rise. His footsteps were now heard striking 
 sharply upon the stony road at a distance of 
 about twenty or thirty yards, but still behind 
 the escarpment. To save time, Cytherea pre- 
 pared to ascend the plank. 
 
 " Let me give you my hand, miss," said Cap- 
 tain Jacobs. 
 
 " No — please don't touch me," said she, 
 ascending cautiously by sliding one foot forward 
 two or three inches, bringing up the other 
 behind it, and so on alternately — her lips 
 compressed by concentration on the feat, her 
 e3^es glued to the plank, her hand to the rope, 
 and her immediate thought to the fact of 
 the distressing narrowness of her footing. 
 Footsteps now shook the lower end of the 
 board, and in an instant were up to her 
 heels with a bound. 
 
 '' Owen, I am so glad you are come ! " 
 she said, without turning. " Don't, don't shake 
 
 the plank or touch me, whatever you do 
 
 There, I am up. Where have you been so 
 
THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT. 57 
 
 long 1 "' she continued, in a lower tone, turn- 
 ing round to him as she reached the top. 
 
 Raising her eyes from her feet, which, stand- 
 ing on the firm deck, demanded her attention 
 no longer, she acquired perceptions of the 
 new-comer in the following order : — unknown 
 trousers ; unknown waistcoat ; unknown face. 
 The man was not her brother, but a total 
 stranger. 
 
 Off went the plank ; the paddles started, 
 stopped, backed, pattered in confusion, then 
 revolved decisivel}^ and the boat passed out 
 into deep water. 
 
 One or two persons had said, " How d'ye do, 
 Mr. Springrove '? " and looked at Cytherea, to 
 see how she bore her disappointment. Her 
 ears had but just caught the name of the head 
 clerk, when she saw him advancing directly to 
 address her. 
 
 " Miss Graye, I believe 1 " he said, lifting his 
 hat. 
 
 "Yes," said Cytherea, colouring, and trying not 
 to look guilty of a surreptitious knowledge of him. 
 
58 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 " I am Mr. Sj)ringrove. I passed Humdon 
 Castle about half an hour ago, and soon after- 
 wards met jour brother going that way. He 
 had been deceived in the distance, and was 
 about to turn without seeing the ruin, on ac- 
 count of a lameness that had come on in his leg 
 or foot. I proposed that he should go on, since 
 he had got so near ; and afterwards, instead of 
 walking back to the boat, get across to Galworth 
 Station — a shorter walk for him — where he 
 could catch the late train, and go directly home. 
 I could let you know what he had done, and 
 allay any uneasiness." 
 
 " Is the lameness serious, do you know '? " 
 
 " Oh, no ; simply from over-walking himself. 
 Still, it was just as well to ride home.'' 
 
 Relieved from her apprehensions on Owen's 
 score, she was able slightly to examine the ap-. 
 pearance of her informant — Edward Springrove 
 — who now removed his hat for a while, to cool 
 himself He was rather above her brothers 
 height. Although the upper part of his face 
 and head was handsomely formed, and bounded 
 
THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT. 59 
 
 by lines of sufficiently masculine regularity, bis 
 brows were somewhat too softly arched, and 
 finely pencilled for one of his sex ; without pre- 
 judice, however, to the belief which the sum 
 total of his features inspired — that though they 
 did not prove that the man who thought inside 
 them would do much in the world, men who 
 had done most of all had had no better ones. 
 Across his forehead, otherwise perfectly smooth, 
 ran one thin line, the healthy freshness of his 
 remaining features expressing that it had come 
 there prematurely. 
 
 Though some years short of the age at which 
 the clear spirit bids good-bye to the last infir- 
 mity of noble mind, and takes to house-hunting 
 and consols, he had reached the period in a 
 young man's life when episodic pasts, with a 
 hopeful birth and a disappointing death, have 
 begun to accumulate, and to bear a fruit of 
 generalities ; his glance sometimes seeming to 
 state, " I have already thought out the issue of 
 such conditions as these we are experiencing/' 
 At other times he wore an abstracted look : 
 
60 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 " I seem to have lived through this moment 
 before." 
 
 He ^vas carelessly dressed in dark grey, wear- 
 ing a narrow bit of black ribbon as a neck-tie ; 
 the bow of which w^as disarranged, and stood 
 obliquely — a deposit of white dust having lodged 
 in the creases. 
 
 " I am sorry for your disappointment,'^ he 
 continued, keeping at her side. As he spoke 
 the words, he glanced into her face — then fixed 
 his eyes firmly, though but for a moment, in 
 hers, wdiich, at the same instant, were regard- 
 ing him. Their eyes having met, became, as it 
 were, mutually locked together, and the single 
 instant only which good breeding allows as the 
 length of such a glance, became trebled : a clear 
 penetrating ray of intelligence had shot from 
 each into each, giving birth to one of those 
 unaccountable sensations which carry home to 
 the heart before the hand has been touched or 
 the merest compliment passed, by something 
 stronger than mathematical proof, the convic- 
 tion, " A tie has begun to unite us." 
 
THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT. Gl 
 
 Both faces also unconsciously stated that their 
 owners had been much in each other's thoughts 
 of late. Owen had talked to the head clerk of 
 his sister as freely as to Cytherea of the head 
 clerk. 
 
 A conversation began, which was none the 
 less interesting to the parties engaged because it 
 consisted only of the most trivial and common- 
 place remarks. Then the band of harps and 
 violins struck up a lively melody, and the deck 
 was cleared for dancing ; the sun dipping be- 
 neath the horizon during the proceeding, and 
 the moon showins: herself at their stern. The 
 sea was so calm, that the soft hiss produced by 
 the bursting of the innumerable bubbles of foam 
 behind the paddles could be distinctly heard. 
 The passengers w^ho did not dance, including 
 Cytherea and Springrove, lapsed into silence, 
 leaning against the paddle-boxes, or standing 
 aloof — noticing the trembling of the deck to the 
 steps of the dance — watching the waves from 
 the paddles as they slid thinly and easily under 
 each other's bosom. 
 
C2 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 Night had quite closed in by the time they 
 reached Creston harbour, sparlding with its 
 white, red, and green hghts in opposition to the 
 shimmering path of the moon's reflection on the 
 other side, which reached away to the horizon 
 till the flecked ripples reduced themselves to 
 sparkles as fine to the eye as gold dust. 
 
 " I will walk to the station and find out the 
 exact time the train arrives,'' said Springrove, 
 rather eagerly, when they had landed. 
 
 She thanked him much. 
 
 " Perhaps we might walk together,'' he sug- 
 gested, hesitatingly. She looked as if she did 
 not quite know, and he settled the question by 
 showing the way. 
 
 They found, on arriving there, that on the 
 first day of that month the particular train 
 selected for Graye's return had ceased to stop 
 at Galworth station. 
 
 " I am very sorry I misled him," said Sprin- 
 grove. 
 
 '•' Oh, I am not alarmed at all,'' replied Cy- 
 therea. 
 
THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT. 63 
 
 " Well, it's sure to be all right — lie will sleep 
 there, and come by the first in the morning. 
 But what will you do, alone 1 " 
 
 " I am quite easy on that point ; the landlady 
 is very friendly. I must go indoors now. Good- 
 night, Mr. Sprin grove.'' 
 
 " Let me go round to your door with you 1 " 
 he pleaded. 
 
 " No, thank you ; we live close by." 
 
 He looked at her as a waiter looks at the 
 change he brings back. But she was inexorable. 
 
 " Don't — forget me," he murmured. She did 
 not answer. 
 
 " Let me see you sometimes," he said. 
 
 " Perhaps you never will again — I am going 
 away," she rejolied, in lingering tones ; and 
 turning into Cross Street, ran indoors and up- 
 stairs. 
 
 The sudden withdrawal of what was super- 
 fluous when first given, is often felt as an essen- 
 tial loss. It was felt now with regard to the 
 maiden. More, too, after a first meeting, so 
 pleasant and so enkindling, she had seemed to 
 
64 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 imply that they would never come together 
 again. The young man softly followed her, 
 stood opposite the house and watched her come 
 into the upper room with the light. Presently 
 his gaze was cut short by her approaching the 
 window and pulling down the blind — Edward 
 dwelling upon her vanishing figure with a hope- 
 less sense of loss akin to that which Adam is 
 said by logicians to have felt when he first saw 
 the sun set, and thought, in his inexperience, 
 that it would return no more. 
 
 He waited till her shadow had twice crossed 
 the window, when, finding the charming outline 
 was not to be expected again, he left the street, 
 crossed the harbour-bridge, and entered his 
 own solitary chamber on the other side, vaguely 
 thinking as he went (for unnamed reasons), 
 
 " One hope is too like despair 
 For prudence to smother." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS. 
 
 ^ 1. Froifi the tivenii/'Second to the ticenty- 
 seventh of July. 
 
 But things are not what they seem. A re- 
 sponsive love for Edward Springrove had made 
 its appearance in Cjtherea's bosom with all the 
 fascinating attributes of a first experience — not 
 succeeding to or displacing other emotions, as 
 in older hearts, but taking up entirely new 
 ground; as when gazing just after sunset at the 
 pale blue sky we see a star come into existence 
 where nothing was before. 
 
 His parting words, " Don't forget me,"' she 
 repeated to herself a hundred times, and though 
 she thought their import was probably common- 
 place, she could not help toying with them,— 
 looking at them from all points, and investing 
 
66 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 them with meanings of love and faithfulness, — 
 ostensibly entertaining such meanings only as 
 fables wherewith to joass the time, yet in her 
 heart admitting, for detached instants, a possi- 
 bility of their deeper truth. And thus, for 
 hours after he had left her, her reason flirted 
 with her fancy as a kitten will sport with a 
 dove, pleasantly and smoothly through easy 
 attitudes, but disclosing its cruel and unyielding- 
 nature at crises. 
 
 To turn now to the more material media 
 through which this story moves, it so happened 
 that the very next morning brought round a 
 circumstance which, slight in itself, took up a 
 relevant and important position between the 
 past and the future of the persons herein con- 
 cerned. 
 
 At breakfast time, just as C3^therea had again 
 seen the postman pass without bringing her an 
 answer to the advertisement, as she had fully 
 expected he would, Owen entered the room. 
 
 " Well," he said, kissing her, " you have not 
 been alarmed of course. Springrove told you 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS. 67 
 
 what I had done, and jou found tliere was no 
 train I " 
 
 "Yes, it was all clear. But what is the 
 lameness owing to 1 " 
 
 " I don't know — nothing. It has quite gone 
 off now .... Cytherea, I hope you like 
 Springrove. — Springrove's a nice fellow, you 
 know/' 
 
 '•' Yes. I think he is, except that " 
 
 '•' It happened just to the purpose that I 
 should meet him there, didn't it ? And when I 
 reached the station and learnt that I could not 
 get on by train my foot seemed better. I 
 started off to walk home, and went about five 
 miles along a path beside the railway. It then 
 struck me that I might not be fit for an^^thing 
 to day if I walked and aggravated the bothering 
 foot, so I looked for a place to sleep at. There 
 was no available village or inn, and I eventually 
 got the keeper of a gate-house, where a lane 
 crossed the line, to take me in." 
 
 They proceeded with their breakfast. Owen 
 yawned. 
 
68 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 " You didn't get much sleep at the gate-house 
 last night, I'm afraid, Owen," said his sister. 
 
 "To tell the truth, I didn't. I was in such 
 very close and narrow quarters. Those gate- 
 houses are such small places, and the man had 
 only his own bed to offer me. Ah, by-the-bye, 
 Cythie, I have such an extraordinary thing to 
 tell you in connection with this man ! — by Jove, 
 I had nearly forgotten it ! But I'll go straight 
 on. As I was saying, he had only his own bed 
 to offer me, but I could not afford to be 
 fastidious, and as he had a hearty manner, 
 though a very queer one, I agreed to accept it, 
 and he made a rough pallet for himself on the 
 floor close beside me. Well, I could not sleep 
 for my life, and I wished I had not stayed there, 
 though I was so tired. For one thing, there 
 were the luggage trains rattling by at my elbow 
 the early part of the niglit. But worse than 
 this, he talked continually in his sleep, and 
 occasionally struck out with his limbs at some- 
 thing or another, knocking against the post of 
 the bed.stcad and making it tremble. My con- 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS. 69 
 
 ditioii was altogether so unsatisfactory that at 
 last I awoke him, and asked him what he had 
 been dreaming about for the previous hour, for 
 I could get no sleep at all. He begged my 
 pardon for disturbing me, but a name I had 
 casually let fall that evening had led him to 
 think of another stranger he had once had visit 
 him, who had also accidentally mentioned the 
 same name, and some very strange incidents 
 connected with that meeting. The affair had 
 occurred years and years ago ; but what I had 
 said had made him think and dream about it as 
 if it were but yesterday. What was the word ? 
 I said. * Cytherea,' he said. What was the 
 story 1 I asked then. He then told me that 
 when he was a young man in London he 
 borrowed a few pounds to add to a few he had 
 saved up, and opened a little inn at Hammer- 
 smith. One evening, after the inn had been 
 open about a couple of months, every idler in 
 the neighbourhood ran off to Westminster. The 
 Houses of Parhament were on fire. 
 
 " Not a soul remained in his parlour besides 
 
70 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 himself, and he began picking up the pipes and 
 glasses his customers had hastily relinquished. 
 At length a young lady about seventeen or 
 eighteen came in. She asked if a woman was 
 there waiting for herself — Miss Jane Taylor. 
 He said no ; asked the young woman if she 
 would wait, and showed her into the small inner 
 room. There was a glass pane in the partition 
 dividing this room from the bar to enable the 
 landlord to see if his visitors, who sat there, 
 wanted anything. A curious awkwardness and 
 melancholy about the behaviour of the girl who 
 called, caused my informant to look frequently 
 at her through the partition. She seemed weary 
 of her life, and sat with her face buried in her 
 hands, evidently quite out of her element in 
 such a house. Then a woman much older came 
 in and greeted Miss Taylor by name. The man 
 distinctly heard the following words pass between 
 them. 
 
 " ' "Why have you not brought him ? ' 
 " ' He is ill : he is not likely to live through 
 the night.' 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS. 71 
 
 "At this announcement from the elderly 
 woman, the younger one fell to the floor in a 
 swoon, api^arently overcome by the news. The 
 landlord ran in and lifted her up. ^Yell, do 
 what they would they could not for a long time 
 bring her back to consciousness, and began to be 
 much alarmed. ' Who is she ? ' the innkeeper 
 said to the other woman. ' I know her,' the 
 other said, with deep meaning in her tone. The 
 elderly and young women seemed aUied, and 
 yet strangers. 
 
 '•' She now showed signs of life, and it struck 
 him (he was plainly of an inquisitive turn,) that 
 in her half-bewildered state he might get some 
 information from her. He stooped over her, 
 put his mouth to her ear, and said sharply, 
 ' What's your name 1 ' ' Catch a woman napping 
 if you can, even when she's asleep or half dead,' 
 says the gatekeeper. When he asked her her 
 name, she said immediately, — 
 
 " ' Cytherea ' — and stopped suddenly." 
 
 " My own name ! " said Cytherea. 
 
 " Yes — your name. Well, the gateman 
 
72 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 thought at the time it might be equally with 
 Jane a name she had invented for the occasion, 
 that they might not trace her ; but I think it 
 was truth unconsciously uttered, for she added 
 directly afterwards. ' what have I said !' and 
 was quite overcome again — this time with fright. 
 Her vexation that the woman now doubted the 
 genuineness of her other name, was ver}^ much 
 greater than that the innkeeper did, and it is 
 evident that to blind the woman was her main 
 object. He also learnt, from words this other 
 woman casually dropped, that meetings of the 
 same kind had been held before, and that the 
 falseness of the soi-disant Miss Jane Taylor's 
 name had never been suspected by this com- 
 panion or confederate till then. 
 
 " She recovered, rested there for an hour, 
 and first sending off her companion peremptoril}^ 
 (which was another odd thing), she left the 
 house, offering the landlord all the money she 
 had to say nothing about the circumstance. 
 He has never seen her since, according to his 
 own account. I said to him again and again, 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS. 73 
 
 ' Did you find out any more particulars after- 
 wards 1 ' *Kot a syllable/ he said. he 
 should never hear any more of that — too many 
 years had passed since it happened. * At any 
 rate you found out her surname ? ' I said. 
 * Well, well, that's my secret,' he went on. 
 ' Perhaps I should never have been in this part 
 of the world if it hadn't been for that. I failed 
 as a publican, you know.' I imagine the situa- 
 tion of gateman was given him and his debts 
 paid off as a bribe to silence ; but I can't say. 
 ' Ah, yes,' he said, with a long breath. ' I 
 have never heard that name mentioned since 
 that time till to night, and then there instantly 
 rose to my eyes the vision of that young lady 
 lying in a fainting fit.' He then stopped talk- 
 ing and fell asleep. Telling the story must 
 have relieved him as it did the Ancient Marines 
 for he did not move a muscle or make another 
 sound for the remainder of the night. Kow, 
 isn't that an odd stoiy ! " 
 
 " It is, indeed," Cytherea murmured. "Very, 
 very strange." 
 
74 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 " Why should she have said your most un- 
 common name 1 " continued Owen. " The man 
 ■was evidentlj truthful, for there was not motive 
 sufficient for his invention of such a tale, and he 
 could not have done it either." 
 
 Cjtherea looked long at her brother. " Don't 
 you recognise anything else in connection with 
 the story 1 '' she said. 
 
 " What ^ " he asked. 
 
 " Do you remember what poor papa once let 
 drop — that Cytherea was the name of his first 
 sweetheart in Bloomsbury, w^ho so mysteriously 
 renounced him *? A sort of intuition tells me 
 that this was the same woman." 
 
 " no — not likely," said her brother scep- 
 tically. 
 
 " How^ not likely, Owen 1 There's not 
 another w^oman of the name in England. In 
 what year used papa to say the event took 
 place ? " 
 
 " Eighteen hundred and thirty-five." 
 
 '• And when were the Houses of Parliament 
 burnt '? — stop, I can tell you. She searched 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS. 75 
 
 their little stock of books for a list of elates, and 
 found one in an old school history. 
 
 " The Houses of Parliament were burnt down 
 in the evening of the sixteenth of October, 
 eighteen hundred and thirty-four. 
 
 " Nearly a year and a quarter before she met 
 father," remarked Owen. 
 
 They were silent. " If papa had been alive, 
 what a wonderful absorbing interest this story 
 would have had for him," said Cytherea by-and- 
 by. " And how strangely knowledge comes to 
 us. We might have searched for a clue to her 
 secret half the world over, and never found one. 
 If we had really had any motive for trying to 
 discover more of the sad history than papa told 
 us, we should have gone to Bloomsbury ; but 
 not caring to do so, we go two hundred miles in 
 the opposite direction, and there find informa- 
 tion waiting to be told us. What could have 
 been the secret, Owen ? '' 
 
 "Heaven knows. But our having heard a 
 little more of her in this way (if she is the same 
 woman) is a mere coincidence after all — a 
 
76^ DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 family story to tell our friends if we ever have 
 any. But we shall never know any more of the 
 episode now — trust our fates for that." 
 
 Cytherea sat silently thinking. 
 
 " There was no answer this morning to your 
 advertisement, Cytherea/' he continued. 
 
 " None." 
 
 " I could see that by your looks when I came 
 in." 
 
 " Fancy not getting a single one/' she said, 
 sadly. " Surely there must be people some- 
 where who want governesses 'i " 
 
 " Yes ; but those who want them, and can 
 afford to have them, get them mostly by friends' 
 recommendations ; whilst those who want them, 
 and can't afford to have them, do without 
 them." 
 
 "What shall I dor' 
 
 "Kever mind it. Go on living with me. 
 Don't let the difl&culty trouble your mind so ; 
 you think about it all day. I can keep you 
 Cythie, in a plain way of living. Twenty- 
 five shillings a week do not amount to much, 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS. 77 
 
 truly ; but then many mechanics have no more, 
 and we live quite as sparingly as journeymen 
 
 mechanics 'Tis a meagre narrow life we 
 
 are drifting into," he added, gloomil}^, " but it 
 is a degree more tolerable than the worrying 
 sensation of all the world being ashamed of you, 
 which we experienced at Hocbridge." 
 
 " I couldn't go back there again," she said. 
 
 " Xor I. 0, I don't regret oui course for a 
 moment. We did quite right in dropping out 
 of the world." The sneering tones of the remark 
 were almost too laboured to be real. " Besides," 
 he continued, " something better for me is sure 
 to turn up soon. I wish my engagement 
 here was a permanent one instead of for only 
 two months. It may, certainly, be for a longer 
 time, but all is uncertain." 
 
 " I wish I could get something to do, and I 
 must too," she said firmly. " Suppose, as is 
 very probable, you are not wanted after the 
 beginning of October — the time Mr. Gradfield 
 mentioned — what should we do if I were de- 
 pendent on you only throughout the winter 1 " 
 
78 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 They pondered on numerous schemes by 
 which a young lady might be supposed to earn 
 a decent livelihood — more or less convenient 
 and feasible in imagination, but relinquished 
 them all until advertising had been once more 
 tried, this time taking lower ground. Cytherea 
 was vexed at her temerity in having represented 
 to the world that so inexperienced a being as 
 herself was a qualified governess ; and had a 
 fancy that this presumption of hers might be 
 one reason why no ladies applied. 
 
 The new and humbler attempt appeared in 
 the following form : — 
 
 " Nursery Governess or UsEruL Companion. 
 A young person wishes to hear of a situation in 
 either of the above capacities. Salary very 
 moderate. She is a good needlewoman. 
 Address C, 3, Cross Street, Creston." 
 
 In the evening they went to post the letter, 
 and then walked up and down the esplanade 
 for a while. Soon they met Springrove, said 
 a few words to him, and, passed on. Owen 
 noticed that his sister's face had become 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS. 79 
 
 crimson. Rather oddly they met Springrove 
 again in a few minutes. 
 
 This time the three walked a little way 
 together, Edward ostensibly talking to Owen, 
 though with a single thought to the reception 
 of his words by the maiden at the forther side, 
 upon whom his gaze was mostly resting, and 
 who was attentively listening — looking fixedly 
 upon the pavement the while. It has been 
 said that men love with their eyes ; women 
 with their ears. 
 
 As Owen and himself were little more than 
 acquaintances as yet, and as Springrove was 
 wanting in the assurance of many men of his 
 cge, it now became necessary to wish his 
 friends good evening, or to find a reason for 
 continuing near Cytherea by saying some 
 nice new thing. He thought of a new thing ; 
 he proposed a pull across the bay. This was 
 assented to. They went to the pier ; stepped 
 into one of the gaily painted boats moored 
 alongside, and sheered off. Cytherea sat in 
 the stern steerino;. 
 
80 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 They rowed that eveinng ; the next came, 
 and with it the necessity of rowing again. 
 Then the next, and the next, Cytherea always 
 sitting in the stern with the tiller ropes in her 
 hand. The curves of her figure welded with 
 those of the fragile boat in perfect continua- 
 tion, as she girlishly yielded herself to its 
 heaving and sinking, seeming to form with it 
 an organic whole. 
 
 Then Owen was inclined to test his skill 
 in paddling a canoe. Edward did not like 
 canoes, and the issue was, that, having seen 
 Owen on board, Springrove proposed to pull 
 off after him wath a pair of sculls; but not 
 considering himself sufficiently accomplished 
 to do finished rowing before an esplanade full 
 of promenaders when there was a little swell 
 on, and with the rudder unshipped in addition, 
 he begged that Cytherea might come with 
 him and steer as before. She stepped in, 
 and they floated along in the wake of her 
 brother. Thus passed the fifth evening on 
 the water. 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS. 81 
 
 But the consonant pair were tliro^vn into still 
 closer companionship, and much more exclusive 
 connexion. 
 
 ^ 2. July the twenty -ninth. 
 
 It was a sad time for Cytherea — the last 
 day of Springrove's management at Gradfield's, 
 and the last evening before his return from 
 Creston to his father's house, previous to his 
 departure for London. 
 
 Graye had been requested by the architect 
 to survey a plot of land nearly twenty miles 
 off, which, with the journey to and fro, would 
 occupy him the wdiole day, and prevent his 
 returning till late in the evening. Cytherea 
 made a companion of her landlady to the 
 extent of sharing meals and sitting with her 
 during the morning of her brothers absence. 
 Mid-day found her restless and miserable under 
 this arrangement. All the afternoon she sat 
 alone, looking out of the window for she 
 scarcely knew wdiom, and hoping she scarcely 
 
 VOL, I. O 
 
S'Z DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 knew what. Half past five o'clock came — the 
 end of Springrove's official day. Two minutes 
 later Springrove walked by. 
 
 She endured her solitude for another half-hour, 
 and then could endure no longer. She had 
 hoped — under the title of feared — that Edward 
 would have found some reason or other for call- 
 ing, but it seemed that he had nol. Hastily 
 dressing herself she went out, when the farce of 
 an accidental meeting was repeated. Edward 
 came upon her in the street at the first turning. 
 
 • He looked at her as a lover can ; 
 She looked at him as one who awakes — 
 The past was a sleep, and her life began." 
 
 "Shall we have a boaf?" he said, impulsively. 
 
 How exquisite a sweetheart is at first ! Per- 
 haps, indeed, the only bhss in the course of love 
 which can truly be called Eden-like is that 
 which prevails immediately after doubt has 
 ended and before reflection has set in — at the 
 dawn of the emotion, when it is not recognised 
 Ity name, and before the consideration of what 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS. 83 
 
 this love is, has given birth to the consieleration 
 of what difficulties it tends to create ; when 
 on the man's part, the mistress appears to 
 the mind's eye in picturesque, hazy, and fresh 
 morning lights, and soft morning shadows ; 
 when, as yet, she is known only as the 
 wearer of one dress, which shares her own 
 personality ; as the stander in one special 
 position, the giver of one bright particular 
 glance, and the speaker of one tender sen- 
 tence; when, on her part, she is timidly care- 
 ful over wdiat she says and does, lest she 
 should be misconstrued or under-rated to the 
 breadth of a shadow of a hair. 
 
 " Shall we have a boat V he said again, 
 more softly, seeing that at his first question 
 she had not answered, but looked uncertainly 
 at the ground, then almost, but not quite, in 
 his face, blushed a series of minute blushes, 
 left off in the midst of them, and showed 
 the usual signs of perplexity in a matter of 
 the emotions. 
 
 Owen had always been with her before, but 
 
 G 2 
 
84 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 there was now a force of habit in the pro- 
 ceeding, and with Arcadian innocence she 
 assumed that a row on the water was, under 
 any circumstances, a natural thing. Without 
 another word being spoken on either side, 
 they went down the steps. He carefully 
 handed her in, took his seat, slid noiselessly 
 off the sand, and away from the shore. 
 
 They thus sat facing each other in the grace- 
 ful yellow cockle-shell, and his eyes frequently 
 found a resting place in the depths of hers. 
 The boat w^as so small that at each return 
 of the sculls, when his hands came forward 
 to begin the pull, they approached so near 
 to her bosom that her vivid imagination 
 began to thrill her with a fancy that he 
 was going to clasp his arms round her. The 
 sensation grew so strong that she could not 
 run the risk of again meeting his eyes at 
 those critical moments, and turned aside to 
 inspect the distant horizon ; then she grew 
 weary of looking sideways and was driven to 
 return to her natural position again. At this 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS. 85 
 
 instant he again lent forward to begin, and 
 met her glance by an ardent fixed gaze. An 
 involuntary impulse of girlish embarrassment 
 caused her to give a vehement pull at the 
 tiller-rope, Avhich brought the boat's head 
 round till they stood directly for shore. 
 
 His eyes, which had dwelt upon her form 
 during the Avhole time of her look askance, 
 now left her ; he perceived the direction in 
 which they w^ere going. 
 
 " Why you have completely turned the boat. 
 Miss Graye'?" he said, looking over his shoulder. 
 "Look at our track on the water— a great 
 semicircle, preceded by a series of zigzags as 
 far as we can see." 
 
 She looked attentively. " Is it my fault 
 or yours 1 " she inquired. " Mine, I sup- 
 pose 1 " 
 
 " I can't help saying that it is yours." 
 
 She dropped the ropes decisively, feehng the 
 slightest twinge of vexation at the ans\ver. 
 
 " Why do you let go 1 " 
 
 " I do it so badly." 
 
86 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 " no ; you turned about for shore in a 
 masterly way. Do 3^ou wish to return "? '^ 
 
 *' Yes, if you please." 
 
 " Of course, then, I will at once." 
 
 " I fear what the people will think of us — 
 going in such absurd directions, and all through 
 my wretched steering." 
 
 "Never mind what the people think." A 
 pause. " You surely are not so weak as to 
 mind what the people think on such a matter 
 as that '? " 
 
 That answer might almost be called too 
 firm and hard to be given by him to her, 
 but never mind. For almost the first time 
 in her life she felt the delicious sensation, 
 although on such an insignificant subject, of 
 being compelled into an opinion by a man 
 she loved. Owen, though less yielding physi- 
 cally, and more practical, would not have had 
 the intellectual independence to answer a 
 woman thus. She replied quietly and honestly 
 — as honestly as when she had stated the con- 
 trary fact a minute earlier — 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS. 87 
 
 '* I don't mind." 
 
 "I'll unship the tiller that you may have 
 nothing to do going back but to hold your 
 parasol," he continued, and arose to perform 
 the operation, necessarily leaning closely 
 against her, to guard against the risk of 
 capsizing the boat as he reached his hands 
 astern. His warm breath touched and crept 
 round her face like a caress ; but he was 
 apparently ODly concerned with his task. She 
 looked guilty of something when he seated 
 himself He read in her face what that some- 
 thing was — she had experienced a pleasure 
 from his touch. But he flung a practical 
 glance over his shoulder, seized the oars, and 
 they sped in a straight line towards the shore. 
 
 Cytherea saw that he read in her face what 
 had passed in her heart, and that reading it, 
 he continued as decided as before. She was 
 inwardly distressed. She had not meant him 
 to translate her words about returning home 
 so Hterally at the first ; she had not intended 
 him to learn her secret ; but more than all she 
 
88 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 was not able to endure the perception of his 
 learning it and continuing unmoved. 
 
 There was nothing but misery to come now. 
 They would step ashore ; he would say good- 
 night, go to London to-morrow, and the miser- 
 able she would lose him for ever. She did 
 not quite suppose, what was the fact, that a 
 parallel thought was simultaneously passing 
 through his mind. 
 
 They were now within ten yards, now within 
 five ; he was only now waiting for a " smooth " 
 to bring the boat in. Sweet, sweet Love must 
 not be slain thus, was the fair maid's reasoning. 
 She was equal to the occasion — ladies are — and 
 delivered the god : — 
 
 " Do you want very much to land, Mr. 
 Springrove 1 " she said, letting her young- 
 violet eyes pine at him a very, very little. 
 
 "II Not at all," said he, looking an 
 astonishment at her enquiry which a slight 
 twinkle of his eye half behed. " But you do 1 " 
 
 " I think that now we have come out, and it 
 is such a pleasant evening, '' she said, gently and 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS. 89 
 
 sweetly, " I should like a little longer row if 
 you don't mind 1 I'll try to steer better than 
 before if it makes it easier for you. I'll try 
 very hard.'' 
 
 It was the turn of his face to tell a tale now. 
 He looked, " AVe understand each other — Ah, 
 we do, darhng ! " turned the boat, and pulled 
 back into the Bay once more. 
 
 " Kow steer me wherever you will," he said, 
 in a low voice. " Never mind the directness 
 of the course — wherever you will." 
 
 " Shall it be Laystead shore 1 " she said, 
 pointing in that direction. 
 
 "Laystead shore," he said, grasping the 
 sculls. She took the strings daintily, and they 
 wended away to the left. 
 
 For a long time nothing was audible in the 
 boat but the regular dip of the oars, and their 
 movement in the rowlocks. Springrove at 
 length spoke : — 
 
 '* I must go away to-morrow," he said, 
 tentatively. 
 
 " Yes," she replied, faintly. 
 
90 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 " To endeavour to advance a little in my 
 profession in London." 
 
 "Yes," she said again, with the same pre- 
 occupied softness. 
 
 " But I shan't advance." 
 
 " Why not 1 Architecture is a bewitching 
 profession. They say that an architect's work 
 is another man's play." 
 
 " Yes. But worldly advantage from an art 
 doesn't depend upon mastering it. I used to 
 think it did ; but it doesn't. Those who get 
 rich need have no skill at all as artists." 
 
 " What need they have '? " 
 
 " A certain kind of energy which men with 
 any fondness for art possess very seldom indeed 
 — an earnestness in making acquaintances, and 
 a love for using them. They give their whole 
 attention to the art of dining out, after master- 
 ing a few rudimentary facts to serve up in 
 conversation. Now after saying that, do I 
 seem a man likely to make a name '? " 
 
 " You seem a man likely to make a mistake." 
 
 " What's that ? " 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS. 91 
 
 " To give too mucli room to the latent feeling 
 which is rather common in these days among 
 the unappreciated, that because some markedly 
 successful men are fools, all markedly unsuc- 
 cessful men are geniuses." 
 
 "Pretty subtle for a young lady," he said, 
 slowly. " From that remark I should fancy 
 you had bought experience." 
 
 She passed over the idea. "Do try to 
 succeed," she said, with wistful thoughtfulness, 
 leaving her eyes on him. 
 
 Springrove flushed a little at the earnestness 
 of her words, and mused. " Then, like Oato the 
 Censor, I shall do what I despise to be in the 
 fashion," he said at last .... "Well, when 
 I found all this out that I w\as speaking of, 
 whatever do you think I did ? From having 
 already loved verse passionately, I went on to 
 read it continually ; then I w^nt rhyming 
 myself. If anything on earth ruins a man 
 for useful occupation, and for content with 
 reasonable success in a profession or trade, 
 it is the habit of writing verses on emotional 
 
92 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 subjects, which had much better be left to die 
 from want of nourishment." 
 
 " Do you write poems now ? " she said. 
 
 " None. Poetical da3^s are getting past with 
 me, according to the usual rule. "Writing 
 rhymes is a stage people of my sort pass 
 through, as they pass through the stage of 
 shaving for a beard, or thinking they are ill- 
 used, or saying there's nothing in the world 
 worth living for." 
 
 " Then the difference between a common 
 man and a recognised poet is, that one has 
 been deluded, and cured of his delusion, and 
 the other continues deluded all his days." 
 
 " "Well, there's just enough truth in what 
 you say, to make the remark unbearable. 
 However, it doesn't matter to me now that 
 I ' meditate the thankless Muse ' no longer, 
 but . . . ." He paused as if endeavouring 
 to think what better thing he did. 
 
 Cytherea's mind ran on to the succeeding 
 lines of the poem, and their startling harmony 
 with the present situation suggested the fancy 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS. 93 
 
 that he was " sportuig " with her, and brought 
 an awkward contemplativeness to her face. 
 
 Springrove guessed her thoughts, and in 
 answer to them simply said, " Yes." Then they 
 were silent again. 
 
 " If I had known an Amaryllis was coming 
 here, I should not have made arrangements for 
 leaving," he resumed. 
 
 Such levity, superimposed on the notion of 
 sport, was intolerable to Cytherea ; for a 
 woman seems never to see any but the serious 
 side of her attachment, though the most 
 devoted lover has all the time a vague and 
 dim perception that he is losing his old dignity 
 and frittering away his time. 
 
 " But will you not try again to get on in 
 your profession ? Tr}^ once more ; do trv 
 once more," she murmured. "I am going to 
 try again. I have advertised for something 
 to do." 
 
 " Of course I will," he said, with an eaoer 
 gesture and smile. "But we must remember 
 that the fame of Christopher Wren himself 
 
94 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 depended upon the accident of a fire in 
 Pudding Lane. My successes seem to come 
 very slowly. I often think, that before I am 
 ready to live, it will be time for me to die. 
 However, I am trying — not for fame now, 
 but for an easy life of reasonable comfort.'^ 
 
 It is a melancholy truth for the middle 
 classes, that in proportion as they develope, by 
 the study of poetry and art, their capacity for 
 conjugal love of the highest and purest kind, 
 they limit the possibility of their being able to 
 exercise it — the very act putting out of their 
 power the attainment of means sufficient for 
 marriage. The man who works up a good 
 income has had no time to learn love to its 
 exquisite extreme ; the man who has learnt 
 that has had no time to get rich. 
 
 " And if you should fail — utterly fail to get 
 that reasonable wealth,'' she said, earnestly, 
 "don't be perturbed. The truly great stand 
 upon no middle ledge ; they are either famous 
 or unknown." 
 
 " Unknown," he said, '^ if their ideas have 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS. 95 
 
 been allowed to flow with a sympathetic 
 breadth. Famous only if they have been 
 convergent and exclusive. '^ 
 
 " Yes ; and I am afraid from that, that my 
 remark was but discouragement, wearing the 
 dress of comfort. Perhaps I was not quite 
 right in " 
 
 " It depends entirely upon what is meant by 
 being truly great. But the long and the short 
 of the matter is, that men must stick to a thing 
 if they want to succeed in it — not giving way 
 to over-much admiration for the flowers they 
 see growing in other people's borders ; which 
 I am afraid has been my case." He looked 
 into the far distance and paused. 
 
 Adherence to a course with persistence 
 sufficient to ensure success is possible to widely 
 appreciative minds only when there is also 
 found in them a power — commonplace in its 
 nature, but rare in such combination — the 
 power of assuming to conviction that in the 
 outlying paths which appear so much more 
 brilliant than their own, there are bitternesses 
 
96 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 equally great — unperceived simply on account 
 of their remoteness. 
 
 They were opposite Laystead shore. The 
 cliffs here were formed of strata completely 
 contrasting with those of the farther side of the 
 Bay, whilst in and beneath the water hard 
 boulders had taken the place of sand and 
 shingle, between which, however, the sea glided 
 noiselessly, without breaking the crest of a 
 single wave, so strikingly calm was the air. 
 The breeze had entirely died away, leaving the 
 water of that rare glassy smoothness which is 
 unmarked even by the small dimples of the 
 least aerial movement. Purples and blues of 
 divers shades were reflected from this mirror 
 accordingly as each undulation sloped east or 
 west. They could see the rocky bottom some 
 twenty feet beneath them, luxuriant with weeds 
 of various growths, and dotted with pulpy 
 creatures reflecting a silvery and spangled 
 radiance upwards to their eyes. 
 
 At leno;th she looked at him to learn the 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS. 97 
 
 effect of her ^Yorcls of encouragement. He had 
 let the oars drift alongside, and the boat had 
 come to a standstill. Everything on earth 
 seemed taking a contemplative rest, as if 
 waiting to hear the avowal of something from 
 his lips. At that instant he appeared to break 
 a resolution hitherto zealously kept. Leaving 
 his seat amidships he came and gently edged 
 himself down beside her upon the narrow seat 
 at the stern. 
 
 She breathed quicker, and warmer : he took 
 her right hand in his own right : it was not 
 withdrawn. He put his left hand behind her 
 neck till it came round upon her left cheek : it 
 was not thrust away. Lightly pressing her, he 
 brought her face and mouth towards his own ; 
 when, at this the very brink, some unaccount- 
 able thought or spell within him suddenly made 
 him halt — even now, and as it seemed as much 
 to himself as to her, he timidly whispered, 
 " May I ? " 
 
 Her endeavour was to say Ko so denuded of 
 its flesh and sinews that its nature would hardly 
 
 VOL. I, H 
 
98 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 be recognised, or in other words a No from so 
 near the positive frontier as to be affected with 
 the Yes accent. It was thus a whispered No, 
 drawn out to nearly a quarter of a minute's 
 length, the making itself audible as a sound 
 like the spring coo of a pigeon on unusually 
 friendly terms with his mate. Though con- 
 scious of her success in producing the kind of 
 word she had wished to produce, she at the 
 same time trembled in suspense as to how it 
 would be taken. But the time available for 
 doubt was so short as to admit of scarcely more 
 than half-a-dozen vibrations : pressing closer he 
 kissed her. Then he kissed her again with a 
 longer kiss. 
 
 It was the supremely happy moment of their 
 experience. The bloom and the purple light 
 were strong on the lineaments of both. Their 
 hearts could hardly believe the evidence of their 
 lips. 
 
 '' I love you, and 3^ou love me, Cytherea ! '' 
 he whispered. 
 
 She did not deny it ; and all seemed well. 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS. 99 
 
 The gentle sounds around them from the hills, 
 the plains, the distant town, the adjacent shore, 
 the water heaving at their side, the kiss, and 
 the long kiss, were all "many a voice of one 
 delight,'^ and in unison with each other. 
 
 But his mind flew back to the same un- 
 pleasant thought which had been connected 
 with the resolution he had broken a minute or 
 two earlier. "I could be a slave at my pro- 
 fession to w^in you, Cytherea ; I would work at 
 the meanest honest trade to be near you — 
 much less claim 3^ou as mine ; I would — any- 
 thing. But I have not told you all ; it is not 
 this ; you don't know what there is yet to tell. 
 Could you forgive as you can love 1 " She w^as 
 alarmed to see that he had become pale with 
 the question. 
 
 ''No — do not speak," he said. "I have 
 kept something from you, w^hich has now 
 become the cause of a great uneasiness. I had 
 no right — to love you ; but I did it. Some- 
 thing forbade — " 
 
 " What ? " she exclaimed. 
 
 II 2 
 
100 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 "Something forbade me — till the kiss — yes, 
 till the kiss came ; and now nothing shall forbid 
 it ! We'll hope in spite of all .... I must 
 however, speak of this love of ours to your 
 brother. Dearest, you had better go indoors 
 whilst I meet him at the station, and explain 
 everything.'^ 
 
 Cytherea's short-lived bliss was dead and 
 gone. 0, if she had known of this sequel would 
 she have allowed him to break down the barrier 
 of mere acquaintanceship — never, never! 
 
 "Will you not explain to meV she faintly 
 urged. Doubt — indefinite, carking doubt had 
 taken possession of her. 
 
 "Not now. You alarm yourself unneces- 
 sarily," he said, tenderly. "My only reason 
 for keeping silence is that with my present 
 knowledge I may tell an untrue story. It may 
 be that there is nothing to tell. I am to blame 
 for haste in alluding to any such thing. For- 
 give me, sweet — forgive me." Her heart was 
 ready to burst, and she could not answer him. 
 He returned to his place and took to the oars. 
 
THE EVENTS OF EICxHT DAYS. 101 
 
 The J again made for the distant Esplanade, 
 now, with its line of houses, lying like a dark 
 grey band against the light western sky. The 
 sun had set, and a star or two began to 
 peep out. They drew nearer their destination, 
 Edward as he pulled tracing listlessly with 
 his eyes the red stripes upon her scarf, which 
 grew to appear as black ones in the increasing- 
 dusk of evening. She surveyed the long line 
 of lamps on the sea wall of the town, now 
 looking small and yellow, and seeming to send 
 long taper roots of fire quivering down deep 
 into the sea. By-and-by they reached the 
 landing steps. He took her hand as before, 
 and found it as cold as the water about them. 
 It was not relinquished till he reached her 
 door. His assurance had not removed the 
 constraint of her manner: he saw that she 
 blamed him mutely and with her eyes, like a 
 captured sparrow. Left alone, he went and 
 seated himself in a chair on the Esplanade. 
 
 Neither could she go indoors to her solitary 
 room, feeling as she did in such a state of despe- 
 
102 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 rate heaviness. When Springrove was out of 
 sight she turned back, and arrived at the corner 
 just in time to see him sit down. Then she 
 glided pensively along the pavement behind 
 him, forgetting herself to marble like Melan- 
 choly herself, and mused in his company unseen. 
 She heard, without heeding, the notes of pianos 
 and singing voices from the fashionable houses 
 at her back, from the open windows of which 
 the lamp-light streamed to meet that of the 
 orange-hued full moon, newly risen over the 
 Bay in front. Then Edward began to pace up 
 and down, and Cytherea, fearing that he would 
 notice her, doubled behind and across the road, 
 flinging him a last wistful look as she passed 
 out of sight. No promise from him to write: 
 no request that she herself would do so — 
 nothing but an indefinite expression of hope 
 in the face of some fear unknown to her. Alas, 
 alas ! 
 
 When Owen returned he found she was not 
 in the small sitting-room, and creeping up-stairs 
 into her bed-room with a light, he discovered 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHT DAYS. 103 
 
 her there lying asleep upon the coverlet of the 
 bed, still with her hat and jacket on. She had 
 flung herself down on entering, and succumbed 
 to the unwonted oppressiveness that ever attends 
 full-blown love. The wet traces of tears were 
 yet visible upon her long drooping lashes. 
 
 " Love is a sowre delig-ht, and sugred grief e, 
 A living" death, and ever-dying life." 
 
 "Cytherea," he whispered, kissing her. She 
 awoke with a start and vented an exclamation 
 before recovering her judgment. "He's gone!" 
 she said. 
 
 "He has told me all," said Graye, soothingly. 
 "He is going off early to-morrow morning. 
 'Twas a shame of him to win 3^ou av/ay from 
 me, and cruel of you to keep the growth of this 
 attachment a secret." 
 
 "We couldn't help it," she said, and then 
 
 jumping up — "Owen, has he told you allf " 
 "All of your love from beginning to end," he 
 
 said simply. 
 
 Edward then had not told more — as he 
 
104 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 ought to have done : yet she could not convict 
 him. But she would struggle against his 
 fetters. She tingled to the very soles of her 
 feet at the very possibility that he might be 
 deluding her. 
 
 " Owen/' she continued, with dignity, " what 
 is he to me 1 Nothing. I must dismiss such 
 weakness as this — believe me, I will. Some- 
 thing far more pressing must drive it away. I 
 have been looking my position steadily in the 
 face, and I must get a living somehow. I mean 
 to advertise once more.'' 
 
 "Advertising is no use." 
 
 " This one will be." He looked surprised at 
 the sanguine tone of her answer, till she took a 
 piece of paper from the table and showed it 
 him. " See what I am going to do," she said, 
 sadly, almost bitterly. This was her third effort. 
 
 " Lady's maid. Inexperienced. Age eighteen. 
 G., 3, Cross Street, Creston." 
 
 Owen — Owen the respectable — looked blank 
 astonishment. He repeated in a nameless, vary- 
 ing tone, the two words, 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGUT DAYS. 105 
 
 " Lady's maid ! " 
 
 "Yes; lady's maid. 'Tis an honest profes- 
 sion," said Cytherea, bravely. 
 
 " But you, Cytherea 1 " 
 
 " Yes, I— who am I ? '' 
 
 " You will never be a lady's maid — never, I 
 am quite sure." 
 
 " I shall try to be, at any rate." 
 
 " Such a disgrace — " 
 
 "Nonsense! I maintain that it is no dis- 
 grace ! " she said, rather Avarmly. '•' You know 
 very well — " 
 
 " Well, since you will, you must," he inter- 
 rupted. " Why do you put 'inexperienced ' 1 " 
 
 " Because I am." 
 
 " Never mind that — scratch out ' inexperi- 
 enced.' We are poor, Cytherea, aren't w^e *? " 
 he murmured, after a silence, " and it seems 
 that the two months will close my engagement 
 here." 
 
 " We can put up with being poor," she said, 
 
 " if they only give us work to do Yes, 
 
 we desire as a blessing what was given us as a 
 
106 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 curse, and even that is denied. However, be 
 cheerful, Owen, and never mind ! " 
 
 In justice to desponding men, it is as well to 
 remember that the brighter endurance of women 
 at these epochs — invaluable, sweet, angelic, as it 
 is — owes more of its origin to a narrower vision 
 that shuts out many of the leaden-eyed despairs 
 in the van, than to a hopefulness intense enough 
 to quell them. 
 
CHAPTER ly. 
 
 THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 
 
 § 1. Aiigiist the fourth. Till four o'clock. 
 
 The early part of the next week brought an 
 answer to Cytherea's last note of hope in the 
 way of advertisement — not from a distance of 
 hundreds of miles, London, Scotland, Ireland, 
 the Continent — as Cytherea seemed to think it 
 must, to be in keeping with the means adopted 
 for obtaining it, but from a place in the neigh- 
 bourhood of that in which she w^as living — a 
 country mansion about fifteen miles off. The 
 reply ran thus : — 
 
 " KxAPWATER House, 
 
 " August Zrd, 1864. 
 
 " Miss Aldclyffe is in want of a young person 
 as lady's maid. The duties of the place are 
 
108 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 light. j\Iiss AldcljfFe will be in Creston on 
 Thursday, when (should G. still not have 
 heard of a situation) she would like to see 
 her at the Belvedere Hotel, Esplanade, at four 
 o'clock. No answer need be returned to this 
 note." 
 
 A little earlier than the time named, Cytherea, 
 clothed in a modest bonnet, and a black silk 
 jacket, turned down to the hotel. Expectation, 
 the fresh air from the water, the bright, far-ex- 
 tending outlook, raised the most delicate of pink 
 colours to her cheeks, and restored to her tread 
 a portion of that elasticity which her past 
 troubles, and thoughts of Edward, had well-nigh 
 taken away. 
 
 She entered the vestibule, and w^ent to the 
 window of the bar. 
 
 " Is Miss Aldclyife here "? " she said, to a 
 nicely-dressed barmaid in the foreground, who 
 was talking to a landlady covered with chains, 
 knobs, and clamps of gold, in the background. 
 
 *' No, she isn't," said the barmaid, not very 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 109 
 
 civilly. Cytherea looked a shade too pretty for 
 a plain dresser. 
 
 " Miss Aldcly fie is expected here,*' the land- 
 lady said to a third person, out of sight, in the 
 tone of one who had known for several days the 
 fact newly -discovered from Cytherea. ''Get 
 ready her room — be quick." From the alacrity 
 with which the order was given and taken, it 
 seemed to Cytherea that Miss Aldclyfie must 
 be a woman of considerable importance. 
 
 '•'You are to have an interview^ with Miss 
 Aldcly 5*0 here '? " the landlady enquired. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " The young person had better wait," con- 
 tinued the landlady, didactically. With a 
 money-taker's intuition, she had rightly divined 
 that Cytherea w^ould bring no profit to the 
 house. 
 
 Cytherea was shown into a nondescript 
 chamber, on the shady side of the building, 
 which appeared to be either bedroom or day 
 room, as occasion necessitated, and was one of 
 a suite at the end of the first-floor corridor. 
 
110 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 The prevailing colour of the walls, curtains, 
 carpet, and coverings of furniture, was more 
 or less blue, to which the cold light coming 
 from the north-easterly sky, and falling on a 
 wide roof of new slates — the only object the 
 small window commanded — imparted a more 
 striking paleness. But underneath the door, 
 communicating with the next room of the suite, 
 gleamed an infinitesimally small, yet very 
 powerful, fraction of contrast — a very thin line 
 of ruddy light, showing that the sun beamed 
 strongl}'' into this room adjoining. The line of 
 radiance was the only cheering thing visible in 
 the place. 
 
 People give way to very infantine thoughts 
 and actions when they wait ; the battle-field of 
 life is temporarily fenced off by a hard and fast 
 line — the interview. Cytherea fixed her eyes 
 idly upon the streak, and began picturing a 
 wonderful paradise on the other side as the 
 source of such a beam — reminding her of the 
 well-known good deed in a naughty world. 
 
 Whilst she watched the particles of dust 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. Ill 
 
 floating before the brilliant chink she heard 
 a carriage and horses stop opposite the front 
 of the house. Afterwards came the rustle of 
 a lady's dress down the corridor, and into the 
 room communicating with the one Cytherea 
 occupied. 
 
 The golden line vanished in parts like the 
 phosphorescent streak caused by the striking 
 of a match ; there was the fall of a light foot- 
 step on the floor just behind it ; then a pause. 
 Then the foot tapped impatiently, and " There's 
 no one here ! " was spoken imperiously by a 
 lady's tongue. 
 
 " No, madam : in the next room. I am 
 going to fetch her," said the attendant. 
 
 " That will do, or you needn't go in : I will 
 call her." 
 
 Cytherea had risen, and she advanced to the 
 middle door with the chink under it as the 
 servant retired. She had just laid her hand 
 on the knob, when it slipped round within her 
 fingers, and the door was pulled open from 
 the other side. 
 
112 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 § 2. Four o'clock. 
 
 The direct blaze of the afternoon sun, partly 
 refracted through the crimson curtains of the 
 ^Yindow, and heightened by reflection from the 
 crimson-flock paper which covered the walls, 
 and a carpet on the floor of the same tint, 
 shone with a burning glow round the form 
 of a lady standing close to Cytherea's front 
 with the door in her hand. The stranger 
 appeared to the maiden's eyes — fresh from 
 the blue gloom, and assisted by an imagination 
 fresh from nature — like a tall black figure 
 standing in the midst of fire. It was the 
 figure of a finely-built woman, of spare though 
 not angular proportions. 
 
 Cytherea involuntarily shaded her eyes with 
 her hand, retreated a step or two, and then 
 she could for the first time see Miss Aldclyfie's 
 face in addition to her outline, lit up by the 
 secondary and softer light that was reflected 
 from the varnished panels of the door. She 
 was not a very 3^0 ung woman, but could boast 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 113 
 
 of much beauty of the majestic autumnal 
 phase. 
 
 "Oh," said the lady, ''come this ^vay." 
 Cytherea followed her to the embrasure of 
 the window. 
 
 Both the women showed off themselves to 
 advantage as they walked forward in the 
 orange light ; and each showed too in her 
 face that she had been struck with her com- 
 panion's appearance. The warm tint added to 
 Cytherea's face a voluptuousness which ^^outh 
 and a simple life had not yet allowed to 
 express itself there ordinarily; whilst in the 
 elder lady's face it reduced the customary ex- 
 pression, wdiich might have been called stern- 
 ness, if not harshness, to grandeur, and warmed 
 her decaying complexion with much of the 
 youthful richness it plainly had once possessed. 
 
 She appeared now no more than five and 
 thirty, though she might easily have been ten 
 or a dozen years older. She had clear steady 
 eyes, a Roman nose in its purest form, and 
 also the round prominent chin with which the 
 
ll-i DESPEEATE REMEDIES. 
 
 Caesars are represented in ancient marbles ; 
 a mouth expressing a capability for and ten- 
 dency to strong emotion, habitually con- 
 trolled by pride. There was a severity about 
 the lower outlines of the face which gave a 
 masculine cast to this portion of her coun- 
 tenance. "Womanly weakness was nowhere 
 visible save in one part — the curve of her 
 forehead and brows — there it was clear and 
 emphatic. She wore a lace shawl over a brown 
 silk dress, and a net bonnet set with a few blue 
 cornflowers. 
 
 " You inserted the advertisement for a situa- 
 tion as lady's-maid giving the address, G.., Cross 
 Street ? '' 
 
 " Yes, madam. Graye.'^ 
 
 " Yes. I have heard your name — Mrs. 
 Morris, my housekeeper, mentioned you, and 
 pointed out your advertisement." 
 
 This was puzzhng intelhgence, but there was 
 not time enough to consider it. 
 
 " Where did you live last ? " continued Miss 
 Aldclyffe. 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 115 
 
 "I have never been a servant before. I 
 lived at home." 
 
 "Never been out 1 I thought too at sight 
 of you that you were too girhsh-looking to have 
 done much. But why did you advertise with 
 such assurance 1 It misleads people.'' 
 
 " I am very sorry : I put ' inexperienced ' 
 at first, but my brother said it is absurd to 
 trumpet your own weakness to the world, and 
 would not let it remain." 
 
 "But your mother knew what w^as right, 
 I suppose ? " 
 
 " I have no mother, madam." 
 
 " Your father, then 1 " 
 
 " I have no father." 
 
 " Well," she said, more softly, " Your sisters, 
 aunts, or cousins." 
 
 " They didn't think anything about it." 
 
 " You didn't ask them, I suppose." 
 
 "No." 
 
 " You should have, then. Why didn't you ? " 
 
 " Because I haven't any of them, either." 
 
 Miss Aldclyffe showed her surprise. " You 
 
116 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 deserve forgiveness then at any rate, cliild," 
 slic said, in a sort of dryly-kind tone. " How- 
 ever, I am afraid you do not suit me, as I 
 am looking for an elderly person. You see, I 
 want an experienced maid who knows all the 
 usual duties of the office." She was going 
 to add, " Though I hke your appearance," 
 but the words seemed offensive to apply to 
 the lady-like girl before her, and she modified 
 them to, " though I like you much. " 
 
 "I am sorry I misled you, madam,'' said 
 Cytherea. 
 
 Miss Aldclyffe stood in a reverie, without 
 replying. 
 
 "Good afternoon," continued Cytherea. 
 
 " Good-bye, Miss Graye — I hope you will 
 succeed." 
 
 Cytherea turned aw^ay towards the door. 
 The movement chanced to be one of her master- 
 pieces. It was precise : it had as much beauty 
 as was compatible with precision, and as little 
 coquettishness as was compatible with beauty. 
 
 And she had in turning looked over her 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 117 
 
 shoulder at the other lady with a faint accent of 
 reproach in her face. Those who remember 
 Greuze's " Head of a Girl " in one of the public 
 picture-galleries, have an idea of Cytherea s look 
 askance at the turning. It is not for a man to 
 tell fishers of men how to set out their fascina- 
 tions so as to bring about the highest possible 
 average of takes within the year ; but the 
 action that tugs the hardest of all at an emo- 
 tional beholder is this sweet method of turning 
 which steals the bosom away and leaves the 
 eyes behind. 
 
 Now Miss AldclyfFe herself was no tyro at 
 wheeling. When Cytherea had closed the door 
 upon her, she remained for some time in her 
 motionless attitude, listening to the gradually 
 dying sound of the maiden's retreating foot- 
 steps. She murmured to herself, " It is almost 
 worth while to be bored with instructing her 
 in order to have a creature who could glide 
 round my luxurious indolent body in that man- 
 ner, and look at me in that way — I warrant 
 how light her fingers ai'e upon one's head and 
 
118 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 neck What a silly modest young thing 
 
 she is, to go away so suddenly as that ! " She 
 rang the bell. 
 
 ''Ask the young lady -^ho has just left me 
 to step back again," she said to the attendant. 
 " Quick ! or she will be gone." 
 
 Cytherea was now in the vestibule, thinking 
 that if she had told her history. Miss Aldclyffe 
 might perhaps have taken her into the house- 
 hold ; yet her history she particularly wished to 
 conceal from a stranger. When she was re- 
 called she turned back without feeling much 
 surprise. Something, she knew not what, told 
 her she had not seen the last of Miss Aldclyffe. 
 
 " You have somebody to refer me to, of 
 course," the lady said when Cytherea had 
 re-entered the room. 
 
 " Yes : Mr. Thorn, a solicitor at Eeading." 
 
 " And are you a clever needlewoman 1 " 
 
 *' I am considered to be." 
 
 " Then I think that at any rate I will write 
 to Mr. Thorn," said Miss Aldclyffe, with a little 
 smile. " It is true, the whole proceeding is very 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 119 
 
 irregular ; but mj present maid leaves next 
 Monday, and neither of the five I have already 
 
 seen seem to do for me "Well, I will 
 
 write to Mr. Thorn, and if his reply is satis- 
 factory, you shall hear from me. It will be as 
 well to set yourself in readiness to come on 
 Monday.'' 
 
 When Cytherea had again been watched out 
 of the room, Miss AldclyfFe asked for writing 
 materials that she might at once communicate 
 with Mr. Thorn. She indecisively played with 
 the pen. " Suppose Mr. Thorn's reply to be in 
 any way disheartening — and even if so from his 
 own imperfect acquaintance with the young crea- 
 ture more than from circumstantial knowledge — 
 I shall feel obliged to give her up. Then I shall 
 regret that I did not give her one trial in spite 
 of other people's prejudices. All her account of 
 herself is reliable enough — yes, I can see that 
 by her face. I like that face of hers." 
 
 Miss Aldclyffe put down the pen and left the 
 hotel without writing to Mr. Thorn. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 
 
 § 1. August the eighth. Morning and 
 afternoon. 
 
 At post time on that following Monday 
 morning, Cytherea watched so anxiously for the 
 postman, that as the time wdiich must bring 
 him narrowed less and less her vivid expecta- 
 tion had only a degree less tangibihty than his 
 presence itself. In another second his form 
 came into view. He broudit t^yo letters for 
 Cytherea. 
 
 One from Miss Aldclyffe, simply stating that 
 she wished Cytherea to come on trial : that she 
 would require her to be at Knapwater House by 
 Monday evening. 
 
 The other was from Edward Springrove. 
 He told her that she was the bright spot of his 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 1:^1 
 
 life : that her existence was far dearer to him 
 than his own : that he had never known what 
 it was to love till he had met her. True, he 
 had felt passing attachments to other faces from 
 time to time ; but they all had been weak 
 inchnations towards those faces as they then 
 appeared. He loved her past and future, as 
 well as her present. He pictured her as a 
 child : he loved her. He pictured her of sage 
 3^ears : he loved her. He pictured her in 
 trouble : he loved her. Homely friendship 
 entered into his love for her, without which all 
 love was evanescent. 
 
 He would make one depressing statement. 
 Uncontrollable circumstances (a long history, 
 with which it was impossible to acquaint her at 
 present) operated to a certain extent as a drag 
 upon his wishes. He had felt this more strongly 
 at the time of their parting than he did now — 
 and it was the cause of his abrupt behaviour, 
 for which he begged her to forgive him. He 
 saw now an honourable way of freeing himself, 
 and the perception had prompted him to write. 
 
12:2 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 In the meantime might lie indulge in the hope 
 of possessing her on some bright future day, 
 when by hard labour generated from her own 
 encouraging words, he had placed himself in a 
 position she would think worthy to be shared 
 with him ? 
 
 Dear little letter : she huddled it up. How 
 much more important a love-letter seems to a 
 girl than to a man ! Springrove was uncon- 
 sciously clever in his letters, and a man with 
 a talent of that kind may write himself up 
 to a hero in the mind of a young woman 
 who loves him without knowing much about 
 him. Springrove already stood a cubit higher 
 in her imagination than he did in his shoes. 
 
 During the day she flitted about the room in 
 an ecstasy of pleasure, packing the things and 
 thinking of an answer which should be worthy 
 of the tender tone of the question, her love 
 bubbling from her involuntarily, like prophesy- 
 ings from a prophet. 
 
 In the afternoon Owen went with her to the 
 railway station, and put her in the train for 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 123 
 
 Carriford Road, the station nearest to Knap- 
 water House. 
 
 Half an hour later she stepped out upon the 
 platform, and found nobody there to receive her 
 — though a pony-carriage was waiting outside. 
 In two minutes she saw a melancholy man in 
 cheerful livery running towards her from a 
 public-house close adjoining, who proved to be 
 the servant sent to fetch her. There are two 
 ways of getting rid of sorrows : one by living 
 them down, the other by drowning them. The 
 coachman drowned his. 
 
 He informed her that her luggage would be 
 fetched by a spring-waggon in about half-an- 
 hour ; then helped her into the chaise and 
 drove off. 
 
 Her lover's letter lying close against her 
 neck, fortified her against the restless timidity 
 she had previously felt concerning this new 
 undertaking, and completely furnished her with 
 the confident ease of mind which is required for 
 the critical observation of surrounding objects. 
 It was just that stage in the slow decline of the 
 
124? DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 summer days, Tvhen the deep, dark, and vacuous 
 hot- weather-shadows are beginning to be re- 
 placed by blue ones that have a surface and 
 substance to the eye. They trotted along the 
 turnpike road for a distance of about a mile, 
 which brought them just outside the village of 
 Carriford, and then turned through large lodge- 
 gates, on the heavy stone piers of which stood a 
 pair of bitterns cast in bronze. They then 
 entered the park and wound along a drive 
 shaded by old and drooping lime-trees, not 
 arranged in the form of an avenue, but standing 
 irregularly, sometimes leaving the track com- 
 pletely exposed to the sky, at other times cast- 
 ing a shade over it, which almost approached 
 gloom — the under surface of * the lowest boughs 
 hanging at a uniform level of six feet above the 
 grass — the extreme height to which the nibbling 
 mouths of the cattle €Ould reach. 
 
 " Is that the house 1 " said Cytherea, ex- 
 pectantly, catching sight of a grey gable between 
 the trees, and losing it again. 
 
 " No ; that's the old manor house — or rather 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 125 
 
 all that's left of it. The Aldcljffes useel to let 
 it sometimes, but it was oftener empty. 'Tis 
 now divided into three cottages. Respectable 
 people didn't care to live there." 
 
 " Why didn't they 1 " 
 
 "Well 'tis so awkward and unhandy. You 
 see so much of it has been pulled down, and the 
 rooms that are left won't do very well for a 
 small residence. 'Tis so dismal, too, and like 
 most old houses stands too low down in the 
 hollow to be healthy.'"' 
 
 " Do they tell any horrid stories about it '? ' 
 
 " No, not a single one." 
 
 " Ah, that's a pity." 
 
 " Yes, that's what I say. 'Tis just the house 
 for a nice ghastly hair-on-end story, that would 
 make the parish religious. Perhaps it will have 
 one some day to make it complete ; but there's 
 not a word of the kind now. There, I wouldn't 
 live there for all that. In fact I couldn't. Oh, 
 no, I couldn't." 
 
 " Why couldn't you '? " 
 
 " The sounds." 
 
126 DESPEEATE EEMEDIES. 
 
 " What are they 1 '' 
 
 " One is the waterfall, which stands so close 
 by that 3^ou can hear that there waterfall in 
 every room of the house, night or day, ill or 
 well. Tis enough to drive anybody mad : now 
 listen/' 
 
 He stopped the horse. Above the slight 
 common sounds in the air came the unvarying 
 steady rush of falling water from some spot un- 
 seen on account of the thick fohage of the 
 grove. 
 
 '' There's something awful in the regularity of 
 that sound, is there not, ]\Iiss '? " 
 
 " When you say there is, there really seems to 
 be. You said there were two — what is the 
 other horrid sound 1 " 
 
 " The pumping engine. That's close by the 
 Old House, and sends water up the hill and all 
 over the Great House. We shall hear that 
 directly .... There, now listen." 
 
 From the same direction down the dell they 
 could now hear the whistling creak of cranks, 
 repeated at intervals of half a minute, with a 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. U7 
 
 sousing noise between each : a creak, a souse, 
 then another creak, and so on continually. 
 
 " Now if anybody could make shift to live 
 through the other sounds, these would finish 
 him off", don't you think so. Miss "? That 
 machine goes on night and day, summer and 
 winter, and is hardly ever greased or visited. 
 Ah, it tries the nerves at night, especially if you 
 are not very well ; though we don't often hear 
 it at the Great House." 
 
 " That sound is certainly very dismal. They 
 might have the wheel greased. Does Miss 
 Aldclyffe take any interest in these things 1 " 
 
 " Well, scarcely ; you see her father doesn't 
 attend to that sort of thing as he used to. The 
 engine was once quite his hobby. But now he^s 
 getten old and very seldom goes there." 
 
 " How many are there in family ? " 
 
 " Only her father and herself He's an old 
 man of seventy.'' 
 
 " I had thought that Miss Aldclyff'e was sole 
 mistress of the property, and lived here alone." 
 
 " No, M — ." The coachman was continually 
 
128 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 checking himself thus, being about to style her 
 Miss involuntarily, and then recollecting that he 
 was only speaking to the new lady^s maid. 
 
 " She will soon be mistress, however, I am 
 afraid," he continued, as if speaking by a spirit 
 of prophecy denied to ordinary humanity. 
 " The poor old gentleman has decayed very 
 fast lately." The man then drew a long 
 breath. 
 
 " Why did you breathe sadly like that V said 
 Cytherea. 
 
 " Ah ! . . . . When he's dead peace will be 
 all over with us old servants. I expect to see 
 the whole house turned inside out." 
 
 " She will marry, do you mean ? " 
 
 " Marry — not she ! I w^ish she would. No, 
 in her soul she's as solitary as Robinson 
 Crusoe, though she has acquaintances in 
 plenty, if not relations. There's the rector, 
 Mr. Raunham — he's a relation by marriage, — 
 yet she's quite distant towards him. And 
 people say that if she keeps single there will 
 be hardly a life between Mr. Raunhara and the 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 129 
 
 heirship of the estate. Dang it, she don't care. 
 She's an extraordinary picture of womankind — 
 very extraordinary .'' 
 
 " In Tvhat way besides '? '" 
 
 " You'll know soon enough, Miss. She has 
 had seven lady's-maids this last twelvemonth. 
 I assure 3'ou 'tis one body's work to fetch 'em 
 from the station and take 'em back again. 
 The Lord must be a Tory at heart, or he'd 
 never permit such overbearen goings on." 
 
 " Does she dismiss them directly they 
 come 1 " 
 
 "Not at all — she never dismisses them — 
 they go themselves. You see 'tis like this. 
 She's got a very quick temper ; she flies in 
 a passion with them for nothing at all ; next 
 mornen they come up and say they are 
 going; she's sorry for it and washes they'd 
 stay, but she's as proud as a lucifer, and her 
 pride won't let her say 'Stay,' and away 
 they go. 'Tis like tliis in fact. If you say 
 to her about anybody, ' Ah, poor thing 1 ' she 
 says, 'Pish! indeed!' If you say, Tish, indeed!' 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
130 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 ' Ah, poor thing ! ' she says directly. She hangs 
 the chief baker, and restores the chief butler, 
 though the devil but Pharaoh herself can see 
 the difference between 'em." 
 
 Cytherea was silent. She feared she might 
 be again a burden to her brother. 
 
 " However, you stand a very good chance," 
 the man went on ; " for I think she hkes you 
 more than common. I have never known her 
 send the pony-carriage to meet one before ; 'tis 
 always the trap, but this time she said, in a very 
 particular ladylike tone, 'Roobert, gaow with 
 the pony-kerriage.' . . . There, 'tis true, pony 
 and carriage too are gotten rather shabby now," 
 he added, looking round upon the vehicle as 
 if to keep Cytherea's pride within reasonable 
 limits. 
 
 " 'Tis to be hoped you'll please in dressen 
 her to-night." 
 
 " Why to-night ? " 
 
 " There's a dinner-party of seventeen ; 'tis 
 her father's birthday, and she's very particular 
 about her appearance at such times. Now 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DxVY. 131 
 
 look ; this is the liouse. LiveKcr up liere, 
 isn't it, Miss ? " 
 
 They were now on rising ground, and had 
 just emerged from a clump of trees. Still a 
 little higher than where they stood was situated 
 the mansion, called Knap water House, the 
 oflfices gradually losing themselves among the 
 trees behind. 
 
 § 2. Evening. 
 
 The house was regularly and substantially 
 built of clean grey freestone throughout, in 
 that plainer fashion of Greek classicism that 
 prevailed at the latter end of the last century, 
 when the copyists called designers had grown 
 weary of fantastic variations in the Roman 
 orders. The main block approximated to a 
 square on the ground plan, having a projec- 
 tion in the centre of each side, surmounted by 
 a pediment. From each angle of the east side 
 ran a line of buildings lower than the rest, 
 turning inwards again at their farther end and 
 
132 DESPERATE KEMEDIES. 
 
 forming Tvithin them a spacious open court, 
 within which resounded an echo of astonishing 
 clearness. These erections were in their turn 
 backed by ivy-covered ice-houses, laundries, 
 and stables, the whole mass of subsidiary 
 buildings being half buried beneath close- 
 set shrubs and trees. 
 
 There was opening sufficient through the 
 foliage on the right hand to enable her on 
 nearer approach to form an idea of the 
 arrangement of the remoter or south front 
 also. The natural features and contour of 
 this quarter of the site had evidently dictated 
 the position of the house primarily, and were 
 of the ordinary, and upon the whole, most 
 satisfactory kind, namely, a broad, grace- 
 ful slope running from the terrace beneath 
 the walls to the margin of a placid lake lying 
 below, upon the surface of which a dozen 
 swans and a green punt floated at leisure. 
 An irregular wooded island stood in the 
 midst of the lake ; beyond this and the 
 further margin of the water were plantations 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 133 
 
 and greensward of varied outlines, the trees, 
 heightening, by half veiling, the softness of the 
 exquisite landscape stretching behind. 
 
 The glimpses she had obtained of this por- 
 tion "were now checked by the angle of the 
 building. In a minute or two they reached 
 the side door, at which Cytherca alighted. 
 She was welcomed by an elderly woman of 
 lengthy smiles and general pleasantness, who 
 announced herself to be Mrs. Morris, the house- 
 keeper. 
 
 " Mrs. Graye, I beUeve ? " she said. 
 
 "I am not— yes, yes, we are all mis- 
 tresses,'"' said Cytherea, smiling, but forcedly. 
 The title accorded her seemed disagreeably 
 like the first slight scar of a brand, and she 
 thought of Owen's prophecy. 
 
 Mrs. Morris led her into a comfortable 
 parlour called The Room. Here tea was 
 made ready, and Cytherea sat down, looking 
 whenever occasion allowed, at Mrs. Morris 
 with great interest and curiosity to discover 
 if possible, something in her which should 
 
134 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 give a clue to the secret of her knowledge of 
 herself, and the recommendation based upon 
 it. But nothing was to be learnt, at any 
 rate just then. Mrs. Morris was perpetually 
 getting u]), feeling in her pockets, going to 
 cupboards, leaving the room for two or three 
 minutes, and trotting back again. 
 
 " You'll excuse me, Mrs. Graye," she said. 
 "But ^tis the old gentleman's birthday, and 
 they always have a lot of people to dinner 
 on that day, though he's getting up in years 
 now. However, none of them are sleepers — 
 she generally keeps the house pretty clear 
 of lodgers (being a lady with no intimate 
 friends, though many acquaintances), which, 
 though it gives us less to do, makes it all 
 the duller for the younger maids in the 
 house." Mrs. Morris then proceeded to give 
 in fragmentary speeches an outline of the 
 constitution and government of the estate. 
 
 " Now are jon sure you have quite done 
 tea ? Not a bit or drop more ? Why j^ou've 
 eaten nothing, I'm sure. . . . "Well, now, it 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 135 
 
 is rather inconvenient that the other maid is 
 not here to show you the ways of the house 
 a Httle, but she left last Saturday, and Miss 
 Aldclyffe has been making shift with poor old 
 clumsy me for a maid all yesterday and this 
 morning. She is not come in yet. I expect 
 she will ask for you, Mrs. Graye, the first 
 
 thing I was going to say that if you 
 
 have really done tea, I will take you up-stairs, 
 and show you through the wardrobes — Miss 
 Aldclyife's things are not laid out for to-night 
 
 yet." 
 
 She preceded Cytherea up-stairs, pointed out 
 her own room, and then took her into Miss 
 Aldclyffe's dressing-room, on the first floor ; 
 where, after explaining the whereabouts of 
 various articles of apparel, the housekeeper left 
 her, telling her that she had an hour yet upon 
 her hands before dressing time. Cytherea laid 
 out upon the bed in the next room all that she 
 had been told would be required that evening, 
 and then went again to the little room which 
 had been appropriated to herself 
 
136 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 Here she sat down by the open window, leant 
 out upon the sill like another Blessed Damozel, 
 and listlessly looked dovrn upon the brilliant 
 pattern of colours formed by the flower-beds on 
 the lawn — now richly crowded with late summer 
 blossom. But the vivacity of spirit which had 
 hitherto enlivened her, was fast ebbing under 
 the pressure of prosaic realities, and the warm 
 scarlet of the geraniums, glowing most con- 
 spicuously, and mingling with the vivid cold red 
 and green of the verbenas, the rich depth of the 
 dahha, and the ripe mellowness of the calceo- 
 laria, backed by the pale hue of a flock of meek 
 sheep, feeding in the open park, close to the 
 other side of the fence, were, to a great extent, 
 lost upon her eyes. She was thinking that 
 nothing seemed worth while ; that it was pos- 
 sible she might die in a workhouse ; and what 
 did it matter? The petty, vulgar, details of 
 servitude that she had just passed through, her 
 dependence upon the whims of a strange woman, 
 the necessity of quenching all individuality of 
 character in herself, and relinquishing her own 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 137 
 
 peculiar tastes to help on the Avheel of this aHcn 
 estabhshment, made her sick and sad, and she 
 almost longed to pursue some free, out-of-doors 
 employment, sleep under trees or a hut, ami 
 know no enemy but winter and cold weather, 
 like shepherds and cowkeepers, and birds and 
 animals — ay, like the sheep she saw there under 
 her window. She looked sympathizingly at 
 them for several minutes, imagining their enjoy- 
 ment of the rich grass. 
 
 " Yes — like those sheep," she said, aloud ; 
 and her face reddened with surprise at a dis- 
 covery she made that very instant. 
 
 The flock consisted of some ninety or a hun- 
 dred young stock ewes : the surface of their 
 fleece was as rounded and even as a cushion, 
 and white as milk. Now she had just observed 
 that on the left buttock of every one of them 
 were marked in distinct red letters the initials 
 "E. S." 
 
 " E. S.," could bring to Cytherea's mind only 
 one thought ; but that immediately and for ever 
 — the name of her lover, Edward Springrove. 
 
13S DESPERATE EEMEDIES. 
 
 "Oh, if it should be .... !" She inter- 
 rupted her words by a resolve. Miss Aldcl^^fFe's 
 carriage at the same moment made its appear- 
 ance in the drive ; but Miss Aldclyflfe was not 
 her object now. It was to ascertain to whom 
 the sheep belonged, and to set her surmise at 
 rest one way or the other. She flew down-stairs 
 to Mrs. Morris. 
 
 " Whose sheep are those in the park, Mrs. 
 Morris 1 " 
 
 " Farmer Springrove's." 
 
 " What farmer Springrove is that 1 '' she said, 
 quickly. 
 
 " Why, surely you know 1 Your friend 
 Farmer Springrove, the cider maker, and who 
 keeps the Three Tranters Inn ; who recom- 
 mended you to me when he came in to see me 
 the other day ? " 
 
 Cytherea's mother-wit suddenly warned her 
 in the midst of her excitement that it was 
 necessary not to betray the secret of her love. 
 " Oh, yes," she said, " of course." Her thoughts 
 had run as follows in that short interval : — 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 139 
 
 " Farmer Springrove is EdwarcVs father, and 
 his name is Edward, too. 
 
 " Edward knew I was going to advertise for 
 a situation of some kind. 
 
 " He watched the Times, and saw it, mj 
 address being attached. 
 
 '' He thought it would be excellent for me 
 to be here that we might meet whenever he 
 came home. 
 
 " He told his father that I might be recom- 
 mended as a lady's maid ; that he knew my 
 brother and myself 
 
 " His father told Mrs. ]\Iorris ; Mrs. Morris 
 told Miss Aldclyflfe.^' 
 
 The whole chain of incidents that drew her 
 there was plain, and there was no such thing as 
 chance in the matter. It was all Edward's doing. 
 
 The sound of a bell was heard. Cvtherea did 
 not heed it, and still continued in her reverie. 
 
 "That's ]\Iiss Aldclyffe's bell;"' said Mrs. 
 Morris. 
 
 " I suppose it is," said the young woman, 
 placidly. 
 
140 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 " Well, it means that you must go up to her," 
 the matron continued, in a tone of surprise. 
 
 C3^therea felt a burning heat come over 
 her, mingled with a sudden irritation at Mrs. 
 Morris's hint. But the good sense which had 
 recognised stern necessity prevailed over re- 
 bellious independence ; the flush passed, and 
 she said, hastily, 
 
 " Yes, yes ; of course, I must go to her when 
 she pulls the bell — whether I want to or no." 
 
 However, in spite of this painful reminder of 
 her new position in life, Cytherea left the apart- 
 ment in a mood far different from the gloomy 
 sadness of ten minutes previous. The place 
 felt hke home to her now ; she did not mind 
 the pettiness of her occupation, because Ed- 
 ward evidently did not mind it ; and this was 
 Edward's own spot. She found time on her 
 way to Miss Aldclyffe's dressing-room to 
 hurriedly glide out by a side door, and look 
 for a moment at the unconscious sheep bearing 
 the friendly initials. She went up to them to 
 try to touch one of the flock, and felt vexed 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. Ill 
 
 that they all stared sceptically at her kind 
 advances and then ran pell-mell down the hill. 
 Then, fearing anyone should discover her 
 childish movements, she slipped indoors again, 
 and ascended the staircase, catching glimpses, 
 as she passed, of silver-buttoned footmen, who 
 flashed about the passages like lightning. 
 
 Miss Aldclyfie's dressing-room was an apart- 
 ment which, on a casual survey, conveyed an 
 impression that it w^as available for almost any 
 purpose save the adornment of the feminine 
 person. In its hours of perfect order nothing 
 pertaining to the toilet was visible ; even the 
 inevitable mirrors with their accessories were 
 arranged in a roomy recess not noticeable from 
 the door, lighted by a window of its own, called 
 the dressing window. 
 
 The washing-stand figured as a vast oak 
 chest, carved with grotesque Renaissance orna- 
 ment. The dressing-table was in appearance 
 something between a high altar and a cabinet 
 piano, the surface being richly worked in the 
 same style of semi-classic decoration, but the 
 
142 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 extraordinary outline having been arrived at 
 by Mr. James Sparkman, an ingenious joiner 
 and decorator from the neighbouring town, 
 after months of painful toil in cutting and 
 fitting, under ]\riss Aldclyffe's immediate eye, 
 the materials being the remains of two or 
 three old cabinets the lady had found in the 
 lumber room. About two-thirds of the floor 
 was carpeted, the remaining portion being laid 
 with parquetry of light and dark woods. 
 
 Miss Aldclyffe was standing at the larger 
 w^indow, away from the dressing-niche. She 
 bowed and said pleasantly, "I am glad you 
 have come. We shall get on capitally, I dare 
 say." 
 
 Her bonnet was off. Cytherea did not 
 think her so handsome as on the earlier day ; 
 the queenliness of her beauty was harder and 
 less warm. But a worse discovery than this 
 w\is that Miss Aldclyffe, with the usual obli- 
 viousness of rich people to their dependents' 
 specialities, seemed to have quite forgotten 
 Cytherea's inexperience, and mechanically 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 143 
 
 delivered up her body to her handmaid \\'ith- 
 out a thought of details, and with a mild yawn. 
 
 Everything went w^ell at first. The dress 
 was removed, stockings and black boots were 
 taken off, and silk stockings and white shoes 
 were put on. Miss Aldclyffe then retired to 
 bathe her hands and flice, and Cytherea drew 
 breath. If she could get through this first 
 evening, all would be right. She felt that it 
 was unfortunate that such a crucial test for her 
 powers as a birthday dinner should have been 
 applied on the threshold of her arrival, but 
 nimporte. 
 
 Miss Aldclyffe was now arrayed in a white 
 dressing-gown, and dropped languidly into an 
 easy chair, pushed up before the glass. The 
 instincts of her sex and her own practice told 
 Cytherea the next movement. She let Miss 
 Aldclyffe's hair fall down about her shoulders, 
 and began to arrange it. It proved to be all 
 real ; a satisfaction. 
 
 Miss Aldclyffe was musingly looking on the 
 floor, and the operation went on for some 
 
144 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 minutes in silence. At length lier thoughts 
 seemed to return to the present, and she lifted 
 her eyes to the glass. 
 
 *' Why, ^\'hat on earth are you doing with my 
 head ? " she exclaimed, with widely opened 
 eyes. At the words she felt the back of 
 Cytherea's little hand tremble against her neck. 
 
 "Perhaps you prefer it done the other 
 fashion, madam ? " said the maiden. 
 
 " No, no ; that's the fashion right enough, 
 but you must make more show of my hair than 
 that, or I shall have to buy some, which God 
 forbid I " 
 
 '' It is how I do my own," said Cytherea, 
 naively, and with a sweetness of tone that 
 would have pleased the most acrimonious under 
 favourable circumstances ; but tyranny was in 
 the ascendant with Miss Aldclyffe at this 
 moment, and she was assured of palatable food 
 for her vice by having felt the trembhng of 
 Cytherea's hand. 
 
 " Yours, indeed 1 Your hair ! come, go on." 
 Considering that Cytherea possessed at least 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 145 
 
 five times as much of that valuable auxiliary 
 to woman's beauty as the lady before lier, there 
 was at the same time some excuse for ^liss 
 Aldclyffe's outburst. She remembered herself, 
 however, and said more quietly, "Now then, 
 Graye .... By the bye, what do they call 
 you downstairs 1 '' 
 
 " Mrs. Graye," said the handmaid. 
 
 " Then, tell them not to do any such absurd 
 thing — not but that it is quite according to 
 usage ; but you are too young yet." 
 
 This dialogue tided Cytherea safely onward 
 through the hairdressing till the flowers and 
 diamonds were to be placed upon the lady's 
 brow. Cytherea began arranging them taste- 
 fully, and to the very best of her judgment. 
 
 "That won't do," said Miss Aldclyfife, 
 harshly. 
 
 " Why 1 " 
 
 " I look too young — an old dressed doll." 
 
 " Will that, madam ^ " 
 
 " No. I look a fright— a perfect fright ! " 
 
 " This way, perhaps 1 " 
 
 VOL. r. L 
 
146 DESPERATE EEMEDIES. 
 
 " Heavens ! Don't worry me so/'' She shut 
 her Hps hke a trap. 
 
 Having once -worked herself up to the behef 
 that her head-dress was to be a failure that 
 evening, no cleverness of Cytherea s in arrang- 
 ing it could please her. She continued in a 
 smouldering passion during the remainder of 
 the performance, keeping her lips firmly closed, 
 and the muscles of her body rigid. Finally^ 
 snatching up her gloves, and taking her hand- 
 kerchief and fan in her hand, she silently sailed 
 out of the room, without betraying the least 
 consciousness of another woman's presence 
 behind her. 
 
 Cytherea's fears that at the undressing this 
 suppressed anger would find a vent, kept her 
 on thorns throughout the evening. She tried 
 to read ; she could not. She tried to sew ; 
 she could not. She tried to muse ; she could 
 not do that connectedly. " If this is the begin- 
 ning, what will the end be!'' she said in a 
 whisper, and felt many misgivings as to the 
 pohcy • of being overhasty in establishing an 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 147 
 
 independence at the expense of congruity with 
 a cherished past. 
 
 § 3. MidnujJtt, 
 
 The sole object of this narration being to 
 present in a regular series the several episodes 
 and incidents ^Thich directly helped forward 
 the end, and only these, every contiguous scene 
 without this qualification is necessarily passed 
 over, and as one, the Aldclyffe state dinner. 
 
 The clock struck twelve. The company had 
 all gone, and Miss Aldclyffe's bell rang loudly 
 and jerkingly. 
 
 Cytherea started to her feet at the sound, 
 which broke in upon a fitful sleep that had 
 overtaken her. She had been sitting drearily 
 in her chair waiting minute after minute for 
 the signal, her brain in that state of intentness 
 which takes cognizance of the passage of Time 
 as a real motion — motion without matter — the 
 instants throbbing past in the company of a 
 feverish pulse. She hastened to the room, to 
 
 L 2 
 
148 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 find the lady sitting before the dressing shrine, 
 ilhiminated on both sides, and looking so 
 queenly in her attitude of absolute repose, 
 that the younger woman felt the awfullest 
 sense of responsibility at her Vandalism in 
 having undertaken to demolish so imposing a 
 pile. 
 
 The lady's jewelled ornaments were taken off 
 in silence — some by her own listless hands, 
 some by Cytherea's. Then followed the outer 
 stratum of clothing. The dress being removed, 
 Cytherea took it in her hand and went with it 
 into the bedroom adjoining, intending to hang 
 it in the wardrobe. But on second thoughts, 
 in order that she might not keep Miss AldclyfFe 
 waiting a moment longer than necessary, she 
 flung it down on the first resting-place that 
 came to hand, which happened to be the bed, 
 and re-entered the dressing-room with the 
 noiseless footfall of a kitten. She paused in 
 the middle of the room. 
 
 She was unnoticed, and her sudden return 
 had plainly not been expected. During the 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 149 
 
 short time of Cytlierea's absence, Miss AlJclyffe 
 had pulled off a kind of chemisette of Brussels 
 net, drawn high above the throat, which she 
 had worn with her evening dress as a semi- 
 opaque covering to her shoulders, and in its 
 place had put her night-dress round her. Her 
 right hand was lifted to her neck, as if engaged 
 in fastening her night-dress. 
 
 But on a second glance Miss Aldclyffe's 
 proceeding Tvas clearer to Cytherea. She was 
 not fastening her night-dress ; it had been care- 
 lessly thrown round her, and Miss Aldclyffe was 
 really occupied in holding up to her eyes some 
 small object that she was keenly scrutinising. 
 And now on suddenly discovering the presence 
 of Cytherea at the back of the apartment, 
 instead of naturally continuing or concluding 
 her inspection, she desisted hurriedly ; the 
 tiny snap of a spring was heard, her hand 
 was removed, and she began adjusting her 
 robes. 
 
 Modesty might have directed her hasty 
 action of enwrapping her shoulders, but it was 
 
150 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 scarcely likely, considering Miss AldclyfFe's 
 temperament, that she had all her life been 
 used to a maid, Cytherea's youth, and the 
 elder lady's marked treatment of her as if she 
 were a mere child or plaything. The matter 
 was too slight to reason about, and yet upon 
 the whole it seemed that Miss Aldclyfife must 
 have a practical reason for concealing her 
 neck. 
 
 With a timid sense of being an intruder 
 Cytherea was about to step back and out of 
 the room; but at the same moment Miss 
 Aldclyfife turned, saw the impulse, and told 
 her companion to stay, looking into her eyes 
 as if she had half an intention to explain some- 
 thing. Cytherea felt certain it was the little 
 mystery of her late movements. The lady 
 withdrew her eyes ; Cytherea went to fetch 
 the dressing-gown, and wheeled round again 
 to bring it up to Miss Aldclyfife, who had now 
 partly removed her night-dress to put it on the 
 proper way, and still sat with her back towards 
 Cytherea. 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 151 
 
 Her neck was again quite open and un- 
 covered, and though hidden from the direct 
 hne of Cytherea's vision, she saw it reflected 
 in the glass — the fair white surface and the 
 inimitable combination of curves between throat 
 and bosom which artists adore being brightly 
 lit up by the light burning on either side. 
 
 And the lady's prior proceedings were now 
 explained in the simplest manner. In the 
 midst of her breast, like an island in a sea of 
 pearl, rechned an exquisite little gold locket, 
 'embellished with arabesque work of blue, red, 
 and white enamel. That was undoubtedly 
 what Miss Aldclyffe had been contemplating 
 and, moreover, not having been put off with her 
 other ornaments, it was to be retained during 
 the night — a shght departure from the custom 
 of ladies which Miss Aldclyffe had at first not 
 cared to exhibit to her new assistant, though 
 now, on further thought, she seemed to have 
 become indifferent on the matter. 
 
 *' My dressing-gown," she said, quietly fasten- 
 ing her night-dress as she spoke. 
 
152 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 Cytherea came forward with it. Miss. Ald- 
 clyfFe did not turn her head, but looked enquir- 
 ingly at her maid in the glass. 
 
 "You saw what I w^ear on my neck, I 
 suppose '? '' she said to Cytherea's reflected 
 face. 
 
 " Yes, madam, I did," said Cytherea to Miss 
 Aldclyffe's reflected face. 
 
 Miss Aldclyfi'e again looked at Cytherea's 
 reflection as if she were on the point of ex- 
 plaining. Again she checked her resolve and 
 said lightly. 
 
 "Few of my maids discover that I wear it 
 always. I generally keep it a secret — not that 
 it matters much. But I was careless with you, 
 and seemed to want to tell you. You win me 
 to make confidences that " 
 
 She ceased, took Cytherea's hand in her own, 
 lifted the locket with the other, touched the 
 spring and disclosed a miniature. 
 
 " It is a handsome face, is it not 1 " she 
 whispered, mournfully, and even timidly. 
 
 " It is.'' 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 153 
 
 But the sight had gone through Cytherea hke 
 an electric shock, and there was an instantaneous 
 awakening of perception in her, so thrilHng in 
 its presence as to be well-nigh insupportable. 
 The face in the miniature was the face of her 
 own father — younger and fresher than she had 
 ever known him — but her father ! 
 
 Was this the woman of his wild and un- 
 quenchable early love 1 And was this the 
 woman who had figured in the gate-man's story 
 as answering the name of Cytherea before her 
 judgment was awake 1 Surely it was. And if 
 so, here was the tangible outcrop of a romantic 
 and hidden stratum of the past hitherto seen 
 only in her imagination ; but as far as her scope 
 allowed, clearly defined therein by reason of its 
 strangeness. 
 
 Miss Aldclyfife's eyes and thoughts were so 
 intent upon the miniature that she had not been 
 conscious of Cytherea's start of surprise. She 
 went on speaking in a low and abstracted tone. 
 
 " Yes, I lost him." She interrupted her 
 words by a short meditation, and went on 
 
154 DESPEKATE REMEDIES. 
 
 again. " I lost him by excess of honesty as 
 regarded my past. But it was best that it 
 
 should be so I was led to think rather 
 
 more than usual of the circumstances to-night 
 because of your name. It is pronounced the 
 same way, though differently spelt." 
 
 The only means by which Cytherea's surname 
 could have been spelt to Miss Aldclyffe must 
 have been by Mrs. Morris or Farmer Springrove. 
 She fancied Farmer Springrove would have 
 spelt it properly if Edward was his informant, 
 which made Miss Aldclyffe's remark obscure. 
 
 Women make confidences and then regret 
 them. 
 
 The impulsive rush of feeling which had led 
 Miss Aldclyffe to indulge in this revelation, 
 trifling as it was, died out immediately her 
 words were beyond recall ; and the turmoil, 
 occasioned in her by dwelhng upon that chapter 
 of her life, found vent in another kind of emotion 
 — the result of a trivial accident. 
 
 Cytherea, after letting down Miss Aldclyffe's 
 hair, adopted some plan witli it to which the 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 155 
 
 lady had not been accustomed. A rapid revul- 
 sion to irritation ensued. The maiden's mere 
 touch seemed to discharge the pent-up regret of 
 the lady as if she had been a jar of electricity. 
 
 " How strangely you treat my hair ! " she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 A silence. 
 
 '' I have told you ^Yhat I never tell my maids 
 as a rule ; of course nothing that I say in this 
 room is to be mentioned outside it." She spoke 
 crossly no less than emphatically. 
 
 " It shall not be, madam/'' said Cytherea, 
 agitated and vexed that the woman of her 
 romantic vronderings should be so disagreeable 
 to her. 
 
 " Why on earth did I tell you of my love 1 '' 
 she went on. 
 
 Cytherea made no answer. 
 
 '•' The lady's vexation with herself, and the 
 accident which had led to the disclosure swelled 
 little by little till it knew no bounds. But 
 what was done could not be undone, and though 
 Cytherea had shown a most winning responsive- 
 
156 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 ness, quarrel Miss Aldclyffe must. She recurred 
 to the subject of Cytherea's want of expertness, 
 like a bitter reviewer, who finding the senti- 
 ments of a poet unimpeachable, quarrels with 
 his rhymes. 
 
 " Never, never before did I serve myself such 
 a trick as this in engaging a maid." She waited 
 for an expostulation ; none came. Miss Ald- 
 clyffe tried again. 
 
 " The idea of my taking a girl without asking 
 her more than three questions, or having a 
 
 single reference, all because of her good 1 , 
 
 the shape of her face and body ! It was a fooFs 
 trick. There, I am served right — quite right, 
 by being deceived in such a way." 
 
 " I didn't deceive you," said Cytherea. The 
 speech was an unfortunate one, and was the very 
 " fuel to maintain its fires " that the other's 
 petulance desired. 
 
 " You did," she said, hotly. 
 
 "I told you I couldn't promise to be ac- 
 quainted with every detail of routine just at 
 first." 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 157 
 
 " Will you contradict me in this way ! You 
 are telling untruths, I say." 
 
 Cytherea s lip quivered. " I would answer 
 that remark if — if — ." 
 
 "If what?" 
 
 " If it were a lady's ! " 
 
 " You girl of impudence — w^hat do you say ? 
 Leave the room this instant, I tell you." 
 
 " And I tell you that a person who speaks to 
 a lady as you do to me, is no lady herself ! " 
 
 " To a lady '? A lady's maid speaks in this 
 way. The idea ! " 
 
 "Don't 'lady's maid' me: nobody is my 
 mistress. I w^on't have it ! " 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " 
 
 " I wouldn't have come — No — I wouldn't ! if 
 I had known ! " 
 
 "Whatr' 
 
 " That you were such an ill tempered unjust 
 woman ! " 
 
 Possest beyond the Muse's painting, Miss 
 Aldclyfife exclaimed, — 
 
 " A Woman, am I ! Til teach you if I am a 
 
158 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 Woman!" and lifted her hand as if she would 
 have liked to strike her companion. This stung 
 the maiden into absolute defiance. 
 
 " I dare you to touch me ! '^ she cried. 
 " Strike me if you dare, madam ! I am not 
 afraid of you — what do you mean by such an 
 action as that 1 " 
 
 Miss AldclyfFe was disconcerted at this 
 unexpected show of spirit, and ashamed of her 
 unladylike impulse now it was put into words. 
 She sank back in the chair. " I was not going 
 to strike you — go to your room — I beg you to 
 go to your room," she repeated in a husky 
 whisper. 
 
 Cytherea, red and panting, took up her 
 candlestick and advanced to the table to get a 
 light. Standing close to them the rays from 
 the candles struck sharply on her face. She 
 usually bore a much stronger likeness to her 
 mother than to her father, but now, looking 
 with a grave, reckless, and angered expression 
 of countenance at the kindling wick as she held 
 it slanting into the other flame, her father's 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 159 
 
 features were distinct in her. It was the first 
 time Miss AldclyfFe had seen her in a pas- 
 sionate mood, and wearing that expression 
 which was invariably its concomitant. It was 
 Miss Aldcljffe's turn to start now ; and the 
 remark she made was an instance of that 
 sudden change of tone from high-flown invec- 
 tive to the pettiness of- curiosity which so often 
 makes women's quarrels ridiculous. Even Miss 
 Aldclyffe's dignity had not sufficient power to 
 postpone the absorbing desire she now felt to 
 settle the strange suspicion that had entered 
 her head. 
 
 "You spell your name the common way, 
 G, R, E, Y, don't you 1 " she said with assumed 
 indifierence. 
 
 "No," said Cytherea, poised on the side of 
 her foot, and still looking into the flame. 
 
 " Yes, surely 1 The name was spelt that 
 way on your boxes : I looked and saw it 
 myself 
 
 The enigma of Miss Aldclyfi'e's mistake was 
 solved. "0 was if?" said Cytherea. "Ah I 
 
160 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 remember Mrs. Jackson, the lodging-house 
 keeper at Creston, labelled them. We spell our 
 name G, R, A, Y, E." 
 
 " What was your father's trade ? " 
 
 Cytherea thought it ^YOuld be useless to 
 
 attempt to conceal facts any longer. " He was 
 
 not a trade," she said. " He was an architect." 
 
 "The idea of your being an architect's 
 
 daughter ! " 
 
 "There's nothing to offend you in that I 
 hope 1 " 
 " no.'' 
 
 "Why did 3^ou say ' the idea'?" 
 "Leave that alone. Bid he ever visit in 
 Gower Street one Christmas, many years ago? — 
 but you would not know that." 
 
 "I have heard him say that Mr. Huntwa}^ 
 a curate somewhere in that part of London, and 
 who died there, was an old college friend of his." 
 ''What is your Christian name'?" 
 "Cytherea." 
 
 "No! And is it really "? And you knew 
 that face I showed you'? Yes, I see you did." 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 161 
 
 Miss AldclyfFe stopped, and closed her lips 
 irapassibly. She was a little agitated. 
 
 " Do you want me any longer ? " said 
 Cytherea, standing candle in hand and looking 
 quietly in Miss AldclyfFe's face. 
 
 "Well — no: no longer," said the lady, linger- 
 
 " With your permission, I will leave the house 
 to morrow morning, madam.'^ 
 
 "Ah." Miss Aldclyffe had no notion of 
 what she was saying. 
 
 "And I know you will be so good as not to 
 intrude upon me during the short remainder of 
 my stay?" 
 
 Saying this Cytherea left the room before her 
 companion had answered. Miss AldclyfTe, then, 
 had recognised her at last, and had been 
 curious about her name from the beginning. 
 
 The other members of the household had 
 retired to rest. As Cytherea went along the 
 passage leading to her room her dress rustled 
 against the partition. A door on her left 
 opened, and Mrs. Morris looked out. 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
162 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 " I waited out of bed till you came up/' she 
 said, " it being your first night, in case you 
 should be at a loss for anything. How have 
 you got on with Miss Aldclyffe 1 '' 
 
 " Pretty well — though not so well as I could 
 have wished." 
 
 " Has she been scolding '? " 
 
 "A little." 
 
 "She's a yery odd lady — 'tis all one way or 
 the other with her. She's not bad at heart, but 
 unbearable in close quarters. Those of us who 
 don't have much to do with her personally, stay 
 on for years and years." 
 
 " Has Miss Aldclyffe's family always been 
 rich ? " said Cytherea. 
 
 " no. The property, with the name, came 
 from her mother's uncle. Her family is a 
 branch of the old Aldclyffe family on the 
 maternal side. Her mother married a Brad- 
 leigh — a mere nobody at that time — and was 
 on that account cut by her relations. But very 
 singularly the other branch of the family died 
 out one by one — three of them, and Miss 
 
THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY. 1G3 
 
 Aldclyffe's great uncle then left all bis property, 
 including this estate, to Captain Bradleigh and 
 his wife — Miss AldclyfFe's father and mother — 
 on condition that they took the old family name 
 as well. There's all about it in the Landed 
 Gentry, 'Tis a thing very often done." 
 
 "0, I see. Thank you. Well, now I am 
 going. Good night.'' 
 
 M 2 
 
CHAPTER YI. 
 
 THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 
 
 5 1. August the ninth. One to two d clock, a.m, 
 
 Cytherea entered lier bedroom, and flung 
 herself on tlie bed, bewildered by a whirl of 
 thought. Only one subject was clear in her 
 mind, and it was that in spite of family dis- 
 coveries, that day was to be the first and last of 
 her experience as a lady's maid. Starvation 
 itself should not compel her to hold such a 
 humiliating post for another instant. " Ah," 
 she thought, with a sigh, at the martyrdom of 
 her last little fragment of self-conceit, "Owen 
 knows everything better than I." 
 
 She jumped up and began making ready 
 for her departure in the morning, the tears 
 streaming down when she grieved and won- 
 dered what practical matter on earth she could 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 1G& 
 
 turn her hand to next. All these preparations 
 completed, she began to undress, her mind 
 unconsciously drifting away to the contempla- 
 tion of her late surprises. To look in the glass 
 for an instant at the reflection of her own 
 magnificent resources in face and bosom, and 
 to mark their attractiveness unadorned, was 
 perhaps but the natural action of a young 
 woman who had so lately been chidden whilst 
 passing through the harassing experience of 
 decorating an older beauty of Miss Aldclyfi'e's 
 temper. 
 
 But she directly checked her weakness by 
 sympathising reflections on the hidden troubles 
 which must have thronged the past years of 
 the soHtary lady, to keep her, though so rich 
 and courted, in a mood so repellent and gloomy 
 as that in which Cytherea found her ; and then 
 the young girl marvelled again and again, as she 
 had marvelled before, at the strange confluence 
 of circumstances which had brought herself into 
 contact with the one woman in the world whose 
 history was so romantically intertwined with 
 
166 DESPEKATE EEMEDIES. 
 
 lier own. She almost began to wish she were 
 not obUged to go away and leave the lonely 
 being to loneliness still. 
 
 In bed and in the dark, Miss Aldclyffe 
 haunted her mind more persistently than ever. 
 Instead of sleeping, she called up staring visions 
 of the possible past of this queenly lady, her 
 mother's rival. Up the long vista of bygone 
 years she saw, behind all, the young girl's 
 flirtation, little or much, wdth the cousin, that 
 seemed to have been nipped in the bud, or to 
 have terminated hastily in some way. Then 
 the secret meetings between Miss Aldclyffe 
 and the other woman at the little inn at 
 Hammersmith and other places : the common- 
 place sobriquet she adopted : her swoon at 
 some painful news, and the very slight know- 
 ledge the elder female had of her partner in 
 mystery. Then, more than a year afterwards, 
 the acquaintanceship of her own father with 
 this his first love ; the awakening of the 
 passion, his acts of devotion, the unreasoning 
 heat of his rapture, her tacit acceptance of it, 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 167 
 
 and yet her uneasiness under the dehght. 
 Then his declaration amid the evergreens : the 
 utter change produced in her manner thereby, 
 seemingly the result of a rigid determination : 
 and the total concealment of her reason by 
 herself and her parents, whatever it was. 
 Then the lady's course dropped into darkness, 
 and nothing more was visible till she was dis- 
 covered here at Knapwater, nearly fifty years 
 old, still unmarried and still beautiful, but 
 lonely, embittered, and haughty. Cytherea 
 imagined that her father's image was still 
 warmly cherished in Miss Aldclyfife's heart, 
 and was thankful that she herself had not 
 been betrayed into announcing that she knew 
 many particulars of this page of her father's 
 history, and the chief one, the lady's un- 
 accountable renunciation of him. It would 
 have made her bearing towards the mistress 
 of the mansion more awkward, and would have 
 •been no benefit to either. 
 
 Thus conjuring up the past, and theorising 
 on the present, she lay restless, changing her 
 
168 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 posture from one side to the other and back 
 again. Finally, when courting sleep with all 
 her art, she heard a clock strike two. A 
 minute later, and she fancied she could dis- 
 tinguish a soft rustle in the passage outside 
 her room. 
 
 To bury her head in the sheets was her first 
 impulse ; then to uncover it, raise herself on her 
 elbow, and stretch her eyes wide open in the 
 darkness ; her lips being parted with the in- 
 tentness of her Hstening. Whateyer the noise 
 was, it had ceased for the time. 
 
 It began again and came close to her door, 
 lightly touching the panels. Then there was 
 another stillness ; Cytherea made a movement 
 which caused a faint rustling of the bedclothes. 
 
 Before she had time to think another 
 thought a light tap was given. Cytherea 
 breathed : the person outside was evidently 
 bent upon finding her awake, and the rustle 
 she had made had encouraged the hope. The 
 maiden's physical condition shifted from one 
 pole to its opposite. The cold sweat of terror 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 1G9 
 
 forsook her, and modesty took the alarm. She 
 became hot and red ; her door was not locked. 
 
 A distinct woman's whisper came to her 
 through the keyhole : *' Cytherea ! " 
 
 Only one being in the house knew her 
 Christian name, and that was Miss AldclyfFe. 
 Cytherea stepped out of bed, went to the door, 
 and whispered back, " Yes ? " 
 
 " Let me come in, darling." 
 
 The young woman paused in a conflict 
 between judgment and emotion. It was now 
 mistress and maid no longer ; woman and 
 woman only. Yes, she must let her come in, 
 poor thing. 
 
 She got a light in an instant, opened the 
 door, and raising her eyes and the candle, saw 
 Miss Aldclyflfe standing outside in her dressing- 
 gown. 
 
 " Now you see that it is really myself, put 
 out the light," said the visitor. "I want to 
 stay here with you, Cythie. I came to ask 
 you to come down into my bed, but it is 
 snugger here. But remember that you are 
 
170 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 mistress in this room, and that I have no 
 business here, and that you may send me away 
 if you choose. Shall I goV 
 
 " no ; you shan't indeed if you don't want 
 to," said Cythie, generously. 
 
 The instant they were in bed Miss Aldclyffe 
 freed herself from the last remnant of restraint. 
 She flung her arms round the young girl, and 
 pressed her gently to her heart. 
 
 " Now kiss me," she said. 
 
 Cytherea upon the whole, w^as rather dis- 
 composed at this change of treatment ; and, 
 discomposed or no, her passions were not so 
 impetuous as Miss AldclyfFe's. She could not 
 bring her soul to her lips for a moment, try 
 how she would. 
 
 " Come kiss me," repeated Miss Aldclyffe. 
 
 Cytherea gave her a very small one, as soft in 
 touch and in sound as the bursting of a bubble. 
 
 " More earnestly than that — come." 
 
 She gave another, a little but not much 
 more expressively. 
 
 " I don't deserve a more feeling one, I sup- 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 171 
 
 pose,'' said Miss AldcljfTe, with an emphasis of 
 sad bitterness in her tone. *' I am an ill- 
 tempered woman, 3^011 think ; half out of 
 my mind. Well, perhaps I am ; but I have 
 had grief more than you can think or dream 
 of. But I can't help loving you — your name 
 is the same as mine — isn't it strange '? " 
 
 Cytherea was inclined to say no, but re- 
 mained silent. / 
 
 " Now, don't you think I must love you 1 " 
 continued the other. 
 
 "Yes," said Cytherea, absently. She was still 
 thinking whether duty to Owen and her father, 
 which asked for silence on her knowledge of her 
 father's unfortunate love, or duty to the woman 
 embracing her, which seemed to ask for con- 
 fidence, ought to predominate. Here was a 
 solution. She would wait till Miss Aldclyffe 
 referred to her acquaintanceship and attach- 
 ment to Cytherea's father in past times : then 
 she would tell her all she knew : that would be 
 honour. 
 
 " Why can't you kiss me as I can kiss you ? 
 
172 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 Why can't you ! " She impressed upon 
 Cytherea's hps a ^Yarm motherly salute, given 
 as if in the outburst of strong feeling, long 
 checked, and yearning for something to love 
 and be loved by in return. 
 
 " Do you think badly of me for my behaviour 
 this evening, child *? I don't know why I am 
 so foolish as to speak to you in this way. I 
 am a very fool, I believe. Yes. How old are 
 your' 
 
 " Eighteen." 
 
 " Eighteen .... Well, why don't you ask 
 me how old I am 1 " 
 
 " Because I don't want to know." 
 
 " Never mind if you don't. I am forty-six ; 
 and it gives me greater pleasure to tell you 
 this than it does to you to listen. I have not 
 told my age truly for the last twenty years 
 till now." 
 
 " Why haven't you 1 " 
 
 " I have met deceit by deceit, till I am weary 
 of it — weary, weary — and I long to be what 
 I shall never be again — artless and innocent, 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 173 
 
 like you. But I suppose that you, too, will 
 prove to be not worth a thought, as every 
 new friend does on more intimate knowledge. 
 Come, why don't you talk to me, child '? 
 Have 3'ou said your prayers *? " 
 
 " Yes — no ! I forgot them to-night." 
 
 "I suppose you say them every night as a 
 rule ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Why do you do that '? ' 
 
 " Because I always have, and it would seem 
 strange if I were not to. Do you 1 " 
 
 "II A wicked old sinner like me ! No, I 
 never do. I have thought all such matters 
 humbug for years — thought so so long that I 
 should be glad to think otherwise from very 
 weariness ; and yet, such is the code of the 
 polite world that I subscribe regularly to 
 Missionary Societies and others of the sort . . . 
 Well, say your prayers, dear, — ^you won't omit 
 them now you recollect it. I should like to 
 hear you very much. Will you ? " 
 
 " It seems hardly — " 
 
174? DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 " It would seem so like old times to me — 
 when I was young, and nearer — far nearer 
 Heaven than I am now. Do, sweet one." 
 
 Cytherea was embarrassed ; and her em- 
 barrassment arose from the following conjunc- 
 ture of affairs. Since she had loved Edward 
 Springrove, she had linked his name with her 
 brother Owen's in her nightly supphcations to 
 the Almighty. She wished to keep her love 
 for him a secret, and above all a secret from a 
 woman like Miss Aldclyffe ; yet her conscience 
 and the honesty of her love would not for an 
 instant allow her to think of omitting his dear 
 name, and so endanger the efficacy of all her 
 previous prayers for his success by an un- 
 worthy shame now : it would be wicked of 
 her, she thought, and a grievous wrong to him. 
 Under any worldly circumstances she might 
 have thought the position justified a little 
 finesse, and have skipped him for once ; but 
 prayer was too solemn a thing for such 
 trifling. 
 
 *'I would rather not say them," she mur- 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 175 
 
 mured first. It struck her then that this 
 dechning altogether was the same cowardice 
 in another dress, and was dehvering her poor 
 Edward over to Satan just as unceremoniously 
 as before. " Yes ; I will say my prayers, and 
 you shall hear me," she added, firmly. 
 
 She turned her face to the pillow and re- 
 peated in low soft tones the simple words she 
 had used from childhood on such occasions. 
 Owen's name was mentioned without faltering, 
 but in the other case, maidenly shyness was 
 too strong even for religion, and that when 
 supported by excellent intentions. At the 
 name of Edward she stammered, and her 
 voice sank to the faintest whisper in spite of 
 her. 
 
 " Thank you, dearest," said Miss Aldclyfi'e. 
 " I have prayed too, I verily believe. You are 
 a good girl, I think." Then the expected 
 question came. 
 
 " 'Bless Owen,' and who, did you say 1 '' 
 
 There was no help for it now, and out it 
 came. " Owen and Edward," said Cytherea. 
 
176 DESPERATE KEMEDIES. 
 
 " Who are Owen and Edward \ " 
 
 " Owen is my brother, madam," faltered the 
 maid. 
 
 " Ah, I remember. Who is Edward 'i " 
 
 A silence. 
 
 '' Your brother, too '? " continued Miss Ald- 
 clyffe. 
 
 "No." 
 
 Miss AldclyfFe reflected a moment. " Don't 
 you want to tell me who Edward is '? " she said 
 at last, in a tone of meaning. 
 
 " I don't mind telHng ; only ....'' 
 
 " You would rather not, I suppose 1 " 
 
 "Yes.'' 
 
 Miss AldclyfFe shifted her ground. " Were 
 you ever in love "? " she inquired, suddenly. 
 
 Cytherea was surprised to hear how quickly 
 the voice had altered from tenderness to harsh- 
 ness, vexation, and disappointment. 
 
 " Yes — I think I was — once," she murmured. 
 
 " Aha : and were you ever kissed by a 
 man 1 " 
 
 A pause. 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 177 
 
 " Well, Avere you '^ " said Miss Aldclyffe, 
 rather sharply. 
 
 " Don't press me to tell — I can't — indeed, I 
 won't, madam." 
 
 Miss Aldcl^^ffe removed her arms from 
 Cytherea's neck. " 'Tis now with you as it is 
 always with all girls," she said, in jealous 
 and gloomy accents. " You are not, after all, 
 the innocent I took you for. Ko, no." She 
 then changed her tone with fitful rapidity.. 
 " Cytherea, try to love me more than you 
 love him — do. I love you better than any 
 man can. Do, Cythie ; don't let any man 
 stand between us. Oh, I can't bear that ! " 
 She clasped Cytherea's neck again. 
 
 " I must love him now I have begun," 
 repUed the other. 
 
 "Must — yes — must," said the elder lady, 
 reproachfully. " Yes, women are all alike. I 
 thought I had at last found an artless woman 
 who had not been sullied by a man's lips, and 
 who had not practised or been practised upon 
 by the arts which ruin all the truth and sweet-- 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 ness and goodness in us. Find a girl, if you can, 
 whose mouth and ears have not been made a 
 regular highway of by some man or another ! 
 Leave the admittedly notorious spots — the 
 drawing-rooms of society — and look in the 
 villages — leave the villages and search in the 
 schools — and you can hardly find a girl whose 
 heart has not been had — is not an old thing 
 half worn out by some He or another. If men 
 only knew the staleness of the freshest of us ! 
 that nine times out of ten the ' first love ' they 
 think they are winning from a woman is but 
 the hulk of an old wrecked affection, fitted with 
 new sails and re-used. 0, Cytherea, can it be 
 that you, too, are hke the rest ? '' 
 
 " No, no, no," urged Cytherea, awed by the 
 storm she had raised in the impetuous woman's 
 mind. ''He only kissed me once — twice, I 
 mean." 
 
 " He midit have a thousand times if he had 
 cared to, there's no doubt about that, whoever 
 his lordship is. You are as bad as I — we are 
 all alike : and I — an old fool— have been 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 179 
 
 sipping at your mouth as if it were honey, 
 because I fancied no wasting lover knew the 
 spot. But a minute ago, and you seemed to 
 me hke a fresh spring meadow — now you seem 
 a dusty highway." 
 
 " no, no ! " Cy therea was not weak enough 
 to shed tears except on extraordinary occasions, 
 but she was fain to begin sobbing now. She 
 wished ]\Iiss Aldclyffe would go to her own 
 room, and leave her and her treasured dreams 
 alone. This vehement imperious affection was 
 in one sense soothing, but yet it was not of the 
 kind that Cytherea's instincts desired. Though 
 it was generous, it seemed somewhat too rank, 
 sensuous, and capricious for endurance. 
 
 "Well," said the lady in continuation, "who 
 is he?" 
 
 Her companion was desperately determined 
 not to tell his name: she too much feared a 
 taunt when Miss Aldclyffe's fiery mood again 
 ruled her tongue. 
 
 "AYon't you tell me? not tell me after all 
 the affection I have shown?" 
 
 N 2 
 
180 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 "I will perhaps, another day." 
 
 "Did you wear a hat and white feather in 
 Creston for the week or two previous to your 
 coming hereV 
 
 "Yes/' 
 
 " Then I have seen you and your sweetheart 
 at a distance! He rowed you round the bay 
 with your brother/' 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And without your brother — fie ! There, 
 there, don't let that Uttle heart beat itself to 
 death: throb, throb: it shakes the bed, you 
 silly thing. I didn't mean that there was any 
 harm in going alone with hira. I only saw 
 you from the esplanade, in common with the 
 rest of the people. I often run down to 
 Creston. He was a very good figure: now 
 who was he?" 
 
 "1 — I won't tell, madam — I cannot in- 
 deed!" 
 
 "Won't tell — very well, don't. You are very 
 foolish to treasure up his name and image as 
 you do. Why he has had Loves before you. 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 181 
 
 trust him for that, ^Yhoever he is, and you arc 
 but a temporary link in a long chain of others 
 like you; who only have your little day as they 
 have had theirs." 
 
 "'Tisn't true! 'tisn't true, 'tisn't true !'' cried 
 Cytherea in an agony of torture. " He has 
 never loved anybody else, I know — I am sure 
 he hasn't ! " 
 
 Miss Aldclyffe was as jealous as any man 
 could have been. She continued — 
 
 " He sees a beautiful face and thinks he 
 will never forget it, but in a few weeks the 
 feeling passes off and he wonders how he could 
 have cared for anybody so absurdly much." 
 
 " No, no, he doesn't — What does he do when 
 he has thought that — come, tell me — tell 
 me!" 
 
 " You are as iiot as fire, and the throbbing 
 of your heart makes me nervous. I can't tell 
 you if you get in that flustered state." 
 
 "Do, do tell — 0, it makes me so miserable! 
 but tell — come tell me!" 
 
 "Ah — the tables are turned now, dear!" she 
 
182 DESPEEATE REMEDIES. 
 
 continued, in a tone which mingled pity with 
 derision : — 
 
 " Love's passions shall rock thee 
 As the storms rock the ravens on high, 
 Bright reason will mock thee 
 Like the sun from a wintry sky." 
 
 "What does he do next? — Why this is what 
 he does next : ruminate on what he has heard 
 of women's romantic impulses, and how easily 
 men torture them w^hen they have given way 
 to those feelings, and have resigned everything 
 for their hero. It may be that though he 
 loves you heartily now — that is, as heartily as 
 a man can — and you love him in return, your 
 loves may be impracticable and hopeless and 
 you may be separated for ever. You, as the 
 weary weary years pass by Avill fade and fade 
 — bright eyes will fade — and 3^ou wdll perhaps 
 then die early — true to him to your latest 
 breath and believing him to be true to the 
 latest breath also ; whilst he, in some gay and 
 busy spot far away from your last quiet nook, 
 will have married some dashing lady, and not 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 18S 
 
 purely oblivious of you, will long liave ceased to 
 regret you — will chat about you, as you were 
 ill long past years — will say, ' Ah, little 
 Cytherea used to tie her hair like that — poor 
 innocent trusting thing ! it was a pleasant 
 useless idle dream — that dream of mine for the 
 maid with the bright eyes and simple, silly, 
 heart; but I was a foolish lad at that time/ 
 Then he will tell the tale of all your little Wills 
 and Won'ts, and particular ways, and as he 
 speaks, turn to his wife with a placid smile." 
 
 "It is not true ! He can't, he c — can't be 
 s — so cruel — and you are cruel to me — you 
 are, you are ! *' She was at last driven to 
 desperation : her natural common sense and 
 shrewdness had seen all through the piece 
 how imaginary her emotions were — she felt 
 herself to be weak and foolish in permitting 
 them to rise; but even then she could not 
 control them : be agonised she must. She was 
 only eighteen, and the long day's labour, her 
 weariness, her excitement, had completely un- 
 nerved her, and worn her out; she was bent 
 
184 DESPEEATE REMEDIES. 
 
 hither and thither by this t^^'aniiical working 
 upon her imagination, as a young rush in the 
 wind. She ^Yept bitterly. 
 
 "And now think how much I Hke you/' 
 resumed Miss Aldclyffe, when Cytherea grew 
 calmer. ''/ shall never forget you for anybody 
 else, as men do — never. I will be exactly as 
 a mother to you. Now wall you promise to 
 live w^ith me always, and always be taken care 
 of, and never deserted'?" 
 
 "I cannot. I will not be anybody's maid for 
 another day on any consideration." 
 
 "No, no, no. You shan't be a lady's maid, 
 You shall be my companion. I will get 
 another maid.'^ 
 
 Companion — that was a new idea. Cytherea 
 could not resist the evidently heartfelt desire of 
 the strange- tempered woman for her presence. 
 But she could not trust to the moment's im- 
 pulse. 
 
 " I will stay, I think. But do not ask for a 
 final answer to night." 
 
 "Never mind now, then. Put your hair 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 185 
 
 round your mamma's neck and give me one 
 good long kiss, and I won't talk any more in 
 that way about your lover. After all, some 
 young men are not so fickle as others; but 
 even if he's the ficklest, there is consolation. 
 The love of an inconstant man is ten times 
 more ardent than that of a faithful man — that 
 is, while it lasts." 
 
 Cytherea did as she was told, to escape the 
 punishment of further talk ; flung the twining 
 tresses of her long, rich hair over Miss Ald- 
 clyffe's shoulders as directed, and the two 
 ceased conversing, making themselves up for 
 sleep. Miss Aldclyffe seemed to give herself 
 over to a luxurious sense of content and quiet, 
 as if the maiden at her side afforded her a 
 protection against dangers which had menaced 
 her for years ; she was soon sleeping calmly. 
 
 § 2. Two to five, a.m. 
 
 With Cytherea it was otherwise. Unused 
 to the place and circumstances, she continued 
 
1S6 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 wakeful, ill at ease, and mentally distressed. 
 She withdrew herself from her companion's 
 embrace, tm-ned to the other side, and endea- 
 Toured to relieve her busy brain by looking at 
 the window-blind, and noticing the light of the 
 rising moon — now in her last quarter — creep 
 round upon it : it was the light of an old waning 
 moon which had but a few days longer to live. 
 
 The sight led her to think again of what had 
 happened under the rays of the same month's 
 moon, a little before its full, the delicious even- 
 ing scene with Edward ; the kiss, and the 
 shortness of those happy moments — maiden 
 imagination bringing about the apotheosis of a 
 status quo which had had several unpleasant- 
 nesses in its earthly reality. 
 
 But sounds were in the ascendant that night. 
 Her ears became aware of a strange and gloomy 
 murmur. 
 
 She recognised it : it was the gushing of the 
 waterfall, faint and low, brought from its source 
 to the unwonted distance of the House by a 
 faint breeze which made it distinct and recos:- 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 1S7 
 
 nisable by reason of the utter absence of all 
 disturbing sounds. The groom's melancholy 
 representation lent to the sound a more dismal 
 effect than it would have had of its o^Yn nature. 
 She began to fancy what the waterfall must be 
 like at that hour, under the trees in the ghostly 
 moonlight. Black at the head, and over the 
 surface of the deep cold hole into which it fell ; 
 white and frothy at the fall ; black and white, 
 like a pall and its border; sad everywhere. 
 
 She was in the mood for sounds of every 
 kind now, and strained her ears to catch the 
 faintest, in wayward enmity to her quiet of 
 mind. Another soon came. 
 
 The second was quite different from the first 
 — a kind of intermittent whistle it seemed pri- 
 marily : no, a creak, a metallic creak, ever and 
 anon, like a plough, or a rusty wheelbarrow, or 
 at least a wheel of some kind. Yes, it was a 
 wheel — the water-wheel in the shrubbery by 
 the old manor-house, which the coachman had 
 said would drive him mad. 
 
 She determined not to think any more of 
 
188 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 these gloomy things ; but now that she had 
 once noticed the sound there was no seaUng 
 her ears to it. She could not help timing its 
 creaks, and putting on a dread expectancy just 
 before the end of each half minute that 
 brought them. To imagine the inside of the 
 engine-house, whence these noises proceeded, 
 was now a necessity. No window, but crevices 
 in the door, through which, probably, the moon- 
 beams streamed in the most attenuated and ske- 
 leton-like rays, striking sharply upon portions of 
 wet rusty cranks and chains; a gh stoning wheel, 
 turning incessantly, labouring in the dark like 
 a captive starving in a dungeon ; and instead 
 of a floor below, gurgling water, which on 
 account of the darkness could only be heard ; 
 water which laboured up dark pipes almost to 
 where she lay. 
 
 She shivered. Now she was determined to 
 go to sleep; there could be nothing else left to 
 be heard or to imagine — it was horrid that her 
 imagination should be so restless. Yet just 
 for an instant before going to sleep she would 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. ISO 
 
 think this — suppose another sound should come 
 — just suppose it shouhi ! Before the thought 
 had well passed through her brain, a third 
 sound came. 
 
 The third was a very soft gurgle or rattle — 
 of a strange and abnormal kind — yet a sound 
 she had heard before at some past period of her 
 life — ^Yhen, she could not recollect. To make it 
 the more disturbing, it seemed to be almost 
 close to her — either close outside the window, 
 close under the floor, or close above the ceiling. 
 The accidental fact of its coming so immediately 
 upon the heels of her supposition, told so power- 
 fully upon her excited nerves, that she jumped 
 up in the bed. The same instant, a little dog- 
 in some room near, having probably heard the 
 same noise, set up a low whine. The watchdog 
 in the yard, hearing the moan of his associate, 
 began to howl loudly and distinctly. His melan- 
 choly notes were taken up directl}^ afterwards 
 by the dogs in the kennel a long way off, in 
 every variety of wail. 
 
 One logical thoudit alone was able to enter 
 
190 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 her flurried brain. The httle dog that began 
 the ^vhining must have heard the other two 
 sounds even better than herself. He had taken 
 no notice of them, but he had taken notice of 
 the third. The third, then, was an unusual 
 sound. 
 
 It was not Hke water, it was not hke wind, it 
 was not the night-jar, it was not a clock, nor a 
 rat, nor a person snoring. 
 
 She crept under the clothes, and flung her 
 arms tightly round Miss Aldclyfi'e, as if for pro- 
 tection. Cjtherea perceived that the lady's 
 late peaceful warmth had given place to a 
 sweat. At the maiden's touch, j\Iiss Aldclyfi'e 
 awoke with a low scream. 
 
 She remembered her position instantly. " Oh 
 such a terrible dream ! " she cried, in a hurried 
 w^hisper, holding to Cytherea in her turn; "and 
 your touch was the end of it. It was dreadful. 
 Time, with his wings, hour-glass, and scythe, 
 coming nearer and nearer to me — grinning and 
 mocking : then he seized me, took a piece of 
 me only. . . . But I can't tell you. I can't bear 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 191 
 
 to tliink of it. How those dogs howl ! People 
 say it means death." 
 
 The return of Miss AldclyfFe to consciousness 
 was sufficient to dispel the wild fancies which 
 the loneliness of the night had woven in Cythe- 
 rea's mind. She dismissed the third noise as 
 something which in all likelihood could easily 
 be explained, if trouble were taken to inquire 
 into it : large houses had all kinds of strange 
 sounds floating about them. She was ashamed 
 to tell Miss Aldclyffe^her terrors. 
 
 A silence of five minutes. 
 
 " Are you asleep *? " said ^liss AldclyfFe. 
 
 " No," said Cytherea, in a long-drawn 
 whisper. 
 
 '•' How those dogs howl, don't they 1 " 
 
 " Yes. A Httle dos: in the house beo-an 
 
 O O 
 
 it.. 
 
 "Ah, yes : that was Totsy. He sleeps on 
 the mat outside my father's bedroom door. A 
 nervous creature." 
 
 There was a silent interval of nearly half-an- 
 hour. A clock on the landino; struck threC; 
 
193 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 " Are you asleep, Miss Aldclyffe "? '^ ^Ybispered 
 Cytlierea. 
 
 " No," said Miss Aldclyffe. " How wretched 
 it is not to be able to sleep, isn't it '? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Cytherea, like a docile child. 
 
 Another hour passed, and the clock struck 
 four. ]\liss Aldclyffe was still awake. 
 
 " Cytherea," she said, very softly. 
 
 Cytherea made no answer. She was sleeping 
 soundly. 
 
 The first glimmer of cfeiwn was now visible. 
 Miss Aldclyffe arose, put on her dressing-robe, 
 and went softly downstairs to her own room. 
 
 " I have not told her who I am after all, or 
 found out the particulars of Ambrose's history," 
 she murmured. " But her being in love alters 
 everything." 
 
 § 3. Half-past seven to ten d clock, a.m. 
 
 Cytherea awoke, quiet in mind and refreshed. 
 A conclusion to remain at Knapwater was 
 already in possession of her. 
 
Tin-: EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 193 
 
 Finding Miss AldclyfFe gone, she dressed her- 
 self and sat down at tlie window to write an 
 answer to Edward's letter, and an account of 
 her arrival at Knapwater to Owen. The dismal 
 and heart-breaking pictures that ^liss Aldclyffe 
 had placed before her the preceding evening, 
 the later terrors of the night, were now but as 
 shadows of shadows, and she smiled in derision 
 at her own excitabihty. 
 
 But writino; Edward's letter was the great 
 consoler, the effect of each word upon him 
 being enacted in her own face as she wrote it. 
 She felt how much she would like to share his 
 trouble — how well she could endure poverty 
 with him — and wondered what his trouble was. 
 But all would be explained at last, she knew. 
 
 At the appointed time she went to Miss 
 Aldclyffe's room, intending, with the contra- 
 dictoriness common in people, to peiform with 
 pleasure, as a work of supererogation, what as 
 a duty was simply intolerable. 
 
 Miss Aldclyffe was already out of bed. The 
 bright penetrating light of morning made a vast 
 
 VOL. T. O 
 
194 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 difference in the elder lady's behaviour to her 
 dependent ; the day, which had restored 
 Cytherea's judgment, had effected the same 
 for Miss Aldclyffe. Though practical reasons 
 forbade her regretting that she had secured such 
 a companionable creature to read, talk, or play 
 to her ^\'heneYer her whim required, she was 
 inwardly vexed at the extent to which she had 
 indulged in the womanly luxury of making con- 
 fidences and giving way to emotions. Few 
 would have supposed that the calm lady sitting 
 aristocratically at the toilet table, seeming 
 scarcely conscious of Cytherea's presence in 
 the room, even when greeting her, was the pas- 
 sionate creature who had asked for kisses a few 
 hours before. 
 
 It is both painful and satisfactory to think 
 how often these antitheses are to be observed in 
 the individual most open to our observation — 
 ourselves. "We pass the evening with faces lit 
 up by some flaring illumination or other : we 
 get up the next morning — the fiery jets have all 
 gone out, and nothing confronts us but a few 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 195 
 
 crinkled pipes and sooty firework, hardly even 
 recalling the outline of the blazing picture that 
 arrested our eyes before bedtime. 
 
 Emotions would be half starved if there were 
 no candlelight. Probably nine-tenths of the 
 gushing letters of indiscreet confidences are 
 written after nine or ten o'clock in the evening, 
 and sent off before day returns to leer in- 
 vidiously upon them. Few that remain open 
 to catch our glance as we rise in the morning, 
 survive the frigid criticism of dressing time. 
 
 The subjects uppermost in the minds of the 
 two women who had thus cooled from their 
 fires, were not the visionary ones of the later 
 hours, but the hard facts of their earlier con- 
 versation. After a remark that Cytherea need 
 not assist her in dressing unless she wished to. 
 Miss Aldcl3'fFe said, abruptly, — 
 
 " I can tell that young man's name.'"' She 
 looked keenly at Cytherea. "It is Edward 
 Springrove, my tenant's son." 
 
 The inundation of colour upon the younger 
 lady at hearing a name, ^vlJich to her was a 
 
196 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 world, liandled as if it were only an atom, told 
 Miss Aldclj^ffe that she had divined the truth 
 at last. 
 
 " Ah — it is he, is if? " she continued. '• Well, 
 I w^anted to know for practical reasons. His 
 example shows that I was not so far wrong in 
 my estimate of men after all, though I only 
 generalised, and had no thought of him." This 
 was perfectly true. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said Cytherea, visibly 
 alarmed. 
 
 " Mean '? AVhy that all the world knows him 
 to be engaged to be married, and that the 
 wedding is soon to take place." She made the 
 remark bluntly and superciliously, as if to obtain 
 absolution at the hands of her family pride for 
 the weak confidences of the night. 
 
 But even the frigidity of Miss Aldclyffe's 
 morning mood was overcome by the look of 
 sick and blank despair which the carelessly 
 uttered words had produced upon Cytherea's 
 face. She sank back into a chair, and buried 
 her face in her hands. 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE IIOUK.S. 197 
 
 "Don't be so foolish," said Miss AldclyfFe. 
 " Come, make the best of it. I cannot upset 
 the fact I have told you of, unfortunately. But 
 I believe the match can be broken off.'' 
 
 "0 no, no." 
 
 "Nonsense. I liked him much as a youth, 
 and I like him now. I'll help you to captivate 
 and chain him down. I have got over my 
 absurd feehng of last night in not wanting you 
 ever to go away from me — of course I could 
 not expect such a thing as that. There, now I 
 have said I'll help you, and that's enough. 
 He's tired of his first sweetheart now that he's 
 been away from home for a while. The love 
 which no outer attack can frighten away quails 
 before its idol's own homely ways ; 'tis always 
 
 so Come, finish what you are doing if 
 
 you are going to, and don't be a little goose 
 about such a trumpery affair as that." 
 
 "Who — is he engaged to?" Cytherea en- 
 quired by a movement of her lips but no sound 
 of her voice. But Miss Aldclyffe did not 
 answer. It mattered not, Cytherea thouglit. 
 
198 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 Another woman — -that was enough for her : 
 curiosity was stunned. 
 
 She apphecl herself to the work of dressing, 
 scarcely knowing how. Miss Aldclyflfe went 
 on: — 
 
 *'You were too easily won. I'd have made 
 him or anybody else speak out before he should 
 have kissed my face for his pleasure. But you 
 are one of those precipitantly fond things who 
 are 3^earning to throw away their hearts upon 
 the first worthless fellow who says Good morn- 
 ing. In the first place, you shouldn't have 
 loved him so quickly : in the next, if you must 
 have loved him off-hand, you should have 
 concealed it. It tickled his vanity : ' By Jove, 
 that girl's in love with me already ! ' he 
 thought.'' 
 
 To hasten away at the end of the toilet, to 
 tell Mrs. Morris — who stood waiting in a little 
 room prepared for her, with tea poured out, 
 bread-and-butter cut into diaphanous slices, and 
 eggs arranged — that she wanted no breakfast : 
 then to shut herself alone in her bedroom, was 
 
THE EVENTS OF TAVELVE HOURS. 199 
 
 her only thought. She was followed thither by 
 the well-intentioned matron with a cup of tea 
 and one piece of bread-and-butter on a tray, 
 cheerfully insisting that she should eat it. 
 
 To those who grieve, innocent cheerfulness 
 seems heartless levity. "No, thank you, Mrs 
 Morris,*' she said, keeping the door closed. 
 Despite the incivility of the action, Cytherea 
 could not bear to let a pleasant person see her 
 face then. 
 
 Immediate revocation — even if revocation 
 would be more effective by postponement — is 
 the impulse of young wounded natures. Cy- 
 therea went to her blotting-book, took out the 
 long letter so carefully written, so full of 
 gushing remarks and tender hints, and sealed 
 up so neatly with a little seal bearing " Good 
 Faith " as its motto, tore the missive into fifty 
 pieces, and threw them into the grate. It was 
 then the bitterest of anguishes to look upon 
 some of the words she had so lovingly written, 
 and see them existing only in mutilated forms 
 without meaning — to feel that his eye would 
 
200 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 never read tliem, nobody ever know how 
 ardently she had penned them. 
 
 Pity for one's self for being wasted is mostly 
 present in these moods of abnegation. 
 
 The meaning of all his allusions, his abrupt- 
 ness in telling her of his love ; his constraint at 
 first, then his desperate manner of speaking, 
 was clear. They must have been the last 
 flickering of a conscience not quite dead to all 
 sense of perfidiousness and fickleness. Now he 
 had gone to London : she would be dismissed 
 from his memory, in the same way as Miss 
 Aldclyff'e had said. And here she was in 
 Edward's own parish, reminded continually of 
 him by what she saw and heard. The land- 
 scape, yesterday so much and so bright to her, 
 was now but as the banquet-hall deserted — all 
 gone but herself. 
 
 Miss Aldclyflfe had wormed her secret out of 
 her, and would now be continually mocking her 
 for her trusting simphcity in behoving him. It 
 was altogether unbearable : she would not stay 
 there. 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 201 
 
 She went downstairs and found that Miss 
 Aldclyffe had gone into the breakfast -room, 
 but that Captain Aldclyffe, who rose later with 
 increasing infirmities, had not yet made his 
 appearance. Cytherea entered. ]\Iiss Ald- 
 clyffe was looking out of the window, watch- 
 ing a trail of white smoke along the distant 
 landscape — signifying a passing train. At 
 Cytherea's entry she turned and looked 
 enquiry. 
 
 " I must tell you now," began Cytherea, in a 
 tremulous voice. 
 
 " Well, what 1 " Miss Aldclyffe said. 
 
 "I am not going to stay with you. I must 
 go away — a very long way. I am very sorry, 
 but indeed I can't remain ! " 
 
 " Pooh — what shall we hear next '? "' Miss 
 Aldclyffe surveyed Cytherea's fiice with 
 leisurely criticism. " You are breaking your 
 heart again about that worthless young Sprin- 
 grove. I knew how it would be. It is as 
 Hallam says of Juliet — what little reason you 
 may have possessed originally has all been 
 
202 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 whirled away by this love. I shan't take 
 this notice, mind." 
 
 "Do let me go?" 
 
 Miss Aldclyffe took her new pet's hand, 
 and said with severity, " As to hindering you, 
 if you are determined to go, of course that's 
 absurd. But you are not now in a state of 
 mind fib for deciding upon any such proceeding, 
 and I shall not listen to what you have to 
 say. Now, Cythie, come with me ; we'll let 
 this volcano burst and spend itself, and after 
 that we'll see what had better be done." She 
 took Cytherea into her workroom, opened a 
 drawer, and drew forth a roll of linen. 
 
 " This is some embroidery I began one day, 
 and now I should like it finished." 
 
 She then preceded the maiden upstairs to 
 Cytherea's own room. "There," she said, 
 " now sit down here, go on with this work, 
 and remember one thing — that you are not 
 to leave the room on any pretext whatever 
 for two hours unless I send for you — I insist 
 kindly, dear. Whilst you stitch — you are to 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 203 
 
 stitch, recollect, and not go mooning out of 
 the window — think over the whole matter, 
 and get cooled; don't let the foolish love- 
 affair prevent your thinking as a woman of 
 the world. If at the end of that time you 
 still say you must leave me, you may. I 
 will have no more to say in the matter. 
 Come, sit down, and promise to sit here the 
 time I name." 
 
 To hearts in a despairing mood, compulsion 
 seems a rehef; and docility was at all times 
 natural to Cytherea. She promised, and sat 
 down. Miss Aldclyflfe shut the door upon 
 her and retreated. 
 
 She sewed, stopped to think, shed a tear or two, 
 recollected the articles of the treaty, and sewed 
 ao'ain ; and at leno;th fell into a reverie which 
 took no account whatever of the lapse of time. 
 
 § 4. Ten to twelve o'clock, a.m. 
 
 A quarter of an hour might have passed 
 when her thoudits became attracted from the 
 
204 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 past to the present by unwonted movements 
 downstairs. She opened the door and Hstened. 
 
 There was hurrying along passages, opening 
 and shutting of doors, tramphng in the stable- 
 yard. She went across into another bed-room 
 from which a view of the stable-yard could be 
 obtained, and arrived there just in time to 
 see the figure of the man who had driven her 
 from the station vanishing down the coach- 
 road on a black horse — galloping at the top 
 of the animal's speed. 
 
 Another man went off in the direction of 
 the village. 
 
 Whatever had occurred, it did not seem to 
 be her duty to inquire or meddle with it, 
 stranger and dependent as she was, unless 
 she were requested to, especially after Miss 
 Aldclyffe's strict charge to her. She sat down 
 again, determined to let no idle curiosity in- 
 fluence her movements. 
 
 Her window commanded the front of the 
 house ; and the next thing she saw was a 
 clergyman walk up and enter the door. 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 205 
 
 All was silent again till, a long time after 
 the first man had left, he returned again on the 
 same horse, now matted with sweat and trotting 
 behind a carriage in which sat an elderly 
 gentleman driven by a lad in livery. These 
 came to the house, entered, and all was again 
 the same as before. 
 
 The whole household — master, mistress, and 
 servants — appeared to have forgotten the very 
 existence of such a being as Cytherea. She 
 almost wished she had not vowed to have no 
 idle curiosity. 
 
 Half an hour later, the carriage drove off 
 with the elderly gentleman, and two or three 
 messengers left the house, speeding in various 
 directions. Rustics in smock-frocks beo-an to 
 hang about the road opposite the house, or 
 lean against trees, looking idly at the windows 
 and chimnevs. 
 
 A tap came to Cytherea's door. She opened 
 it to a young maid-servant. 
 
 "Miss Aldclyffe wishes to see you, ma'am." 
 Cytherea hastened down. 
 
206 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 Miss AldcljfFe was standing on the hearth- 
 rug, her elbow on the mantel, her hand to her 
 temples, her eyes on the ground ; perfectly 
 calm, but very pale. 
 
 " Cytherea,'' she said, in a whisper, " come 
 here.'' 
 
 Cytherea went close. 
 
 "Something very serious has taken place," 
 she said again, and then paused, with a tremu- 
 lous movement of her mouth. 
 
 " Yes," said Cytherea. 
 
 " My father. He was found dead in his bed 
 this morning.'' 
 
 " Dead ! '' echoed the younger woman. It 
 seemed impossible that the announcement could 
 be true : that knowledge of so great a fact could 
 be contained in a statement so small. 
 
 " Yes, dead,'' murmured Miss Aldclyffe, 
 solemnly. " He died alone, though within a 
 few feet of me. The room we slept in is 
 exactly over his own." 
 
 Cytherea said, hurriedly, " Do they know at 
 what hour"'? " 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 207 
 
 *' The doctor says it must have been between 
 two and three o'clock this morning." 
 
 *' Then I heard him ! " 
 
 ^' Heard him?" 
 
 " Heard him die ! " 
 
 " You heard him die '? What did you 
 hear 1 "' 
 
 " A sound I had heard once before in my Hfe 
 — at the death-bed of my mother. I could not 
 identify it — though I recognised it. Then the 
 dog howled : you remarked it. I did not think 
 it worth while to tell you what I had heard a 
 little earher." She looked agonised. 
 
 " It would have been useless," said Miss 
 AldclyfFe. " All was over by that time." She 
 addressed herself as much as Cytherea when 
 she continued, '•' Is it a Providence who sent you 
 here at this juncture that I might not be left 
 entirely alone '? " 
 
 Till this instant Miss Aldclyffe had forgotten 
 the reason of Cytherea's seclusion in her own 
 room. So had Cytherea herself. The fact now 
 recurred to both in one moment. 
 
2 OS DESPEEATE REMEDIES. 
 
 "Do you still wish to go '? " said Miss Ald- 
 clyfFe, anxiously. 
 
 " I don't want to go now," Cytlierea had 
 remarked simultaneously with the other's 
 question. She was pondering on the strange 
 likeness which Miss Aldclyffe's bereavement 
 bore to her own : it had the appearance of 
 being still another call to her not to forsake this 
 woman so linked to her life, for the sake of any 
 trivial vexation. 
 
 Miss Aldclyffe held her almost as a lover 
 would have held her, and said musingly, — 
 
 " We get more and more into one groove. I 
 now am left fatherless and motherless as you 
 were." Other ties lay behind in her thoughts, 
 but she did not mention them. 
 
 " You loved your father, Cytherea, and wept 
 for him "? " 
 
 " Yes : I did. Poor papa! " 
 
 "I was always at variance with mine, and 
 can't weep for him now ! But you must stay 
 here always and make a better woman of me." 
 
 The compact was thus sealed, and Cytherea, 
 
THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS. 209 
 
 in spite of the failure of her advertisements was 
 installed as a veritable Companion. And, once 
 more in the history of human endeavour, a 
 position which it was impossible to reach by 
 any direct attempt, was come to by the seeker's 
 swerving from the path, and regarding the 
 original object as one of secondary importance. 
 
 A-or. T, 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE EYEXTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 
 
 § 1. August the seventeenth. 
 
 The time of clay was four o'clock in the 
 afternoon. The place was the lady's study or 
 boudoir, Knap water House. The person was 
 Miss Aldclyffe sitting there alone, clothed in 
 deep mourning. 
 
 The funeral of the old Captain had taken 
 place, and his will had been read. It was very 
 concise, and had been executed about five years 
 previous to his death. It Y^as attested by his 
 solicitors, Messrs. Nyttleton and Tayling, of 
 Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. The Ydiole of his estate 
 real and personal, was bequeathed to his 
 daughter Cytherea, for her sole and absolute 
 use, subject only to the payment of a legacy to 
 the rector, their relative, and a few small 
 amounts to the servants. 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 211 
 
 Miss AldcljfFe had not chosen the easiest 
 chair of her houdoir to sit in, or even a chair of 
 ordinary comfort ; but an uncomfortable, high, 
 narrow-backed, oak-framed and seated chair, 
 which was allowed to remain in the room only 
 on the ground of being a companion in artistic 
 quaintness to an old coffer beside it, and was 
 never used except to stand in to reach for a 
 book from the highest row of shelves. But she 
 had sat erect in this chair for more than an 
 hour, for the reason that she was utterly un-' 
 conscious of what her actions and bodily feelings 
 Avere. The chair had stood nearest her path on 
 entering the room, and she had gone to it in a 
 dream. 
 
 She sat in the attitude which denotes un- 
 flagging, intense, concentrated thought — as if 
 she were cast in bronze. Her feet were together, 
 her body bent a little forward, and quite un- 
 supported by the back of the chair ; her hands 
 on her knees, her eyes fixed intently on the 
 corner of a footstool. 
 
 At last she moved and tapped her fingers 
 
 p 2 
 
212 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 upon the table at her side. Her pent-up ideas 
 had finally found some channel to advance in. 
 Motions became more and more frequent as she 
 laboured to carry farther and farther the 
 problem which occupied her brain. She sat 
 back and drew a long breath : she sat sideways 
 and leant her forehead upon her hand. Later 
 still she arose, walked up and down the room — 
 at first abstractedly, with her features as firmly 
 set as ever ; but by degrees her brow relaxed, 
 her footsteps became lighter and more leisurely; 
 her head rode gracefully and was no longer 
 bowed. She plumed herself like a swan after 
 exertion. 
 
 " Yes," she said aloud. " To get Jiim here 
 without letting him know that I have any other 
 object than that of getting a useful man — 
 that's the difficulty — and that I think I can 
 master." 
 
 She rang for the new maid, a placid woman 
 of forty, with a few grey hairs. 
 
 "Ask Miss Graye if she can come to 
 me." 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 213 
 
 Cytherea was not far off, and came in. 
 
 "Do you know anything about architects and 
 surveyors 1 '' said Miss Aldclyffe, abruptly. 
 
 " Know anything ? " replied Cytherea poising 
 herself on her toe to consider the compass of the 
 question. 
 
 "Yes — know anything," said Miss Ald- 
 clyffe. 
 
 "Owen is an architect and survevor's clerk/' 
 the maiden said, and tliought of somebody else 
 who was likewise. 
 
 " Yes : that's why I asked you. What are 
 the different kinds of work comprised in an 
 architect's practice "? They lay out estates, and 
 superintend the various works done upon them, 
 I should think, among other things 1 " 
 
 " Those are, more properly, a land or build- 
 ing steward's duties — at least I have always 
 imagined so. Country architects include 
 those things, in their practice : city architects 
 don't." 
 
 "I know that. But a steward's is an in- 
 definite fast*and-loose profession, it seems to me. 
 
214 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 Shouldn't you think that a man who had been 
 brought up as an architect would do for a 
 steward ? '^ 
 
 Cytherea had doubts whether an architect 
 pure would do. 
 
 The chief pleasure connected with asking an 
 opinion lies in not adopting it. Miss Aldclyffe 
 replied decisively : 
 
 " Nonsense ; of course he would. Your 
 brother Owen makes plans for country build- 
 ings — such as cottages, stables, homesteads, and 
 so on '? " 
 
 " Yes ; he does." 
 
 "And superintends the building of them "? " 
 
 " Yes ; he will soon." 
 
 '^ And he surveys land '? ^^ 
 
 " yes." 
 
 " And he knows about hedges and ditches — 
 how wide they ought to be, boundaries, levelhng, 
 planting trees to keep away the winds, measur- 
 ing timber, houses for ninety-nine years, and 
 such things ? " 
 
 " I have never heard him say that ; but I 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 215 
 
 think Mr. Gradfield does those things. Owen, 
 I am afraid, is inexperienced as yet." 
 
 " Yes ; your brother is not old enough foi- 
 such a post yet, of course. And then there 
 are rent days, the audit and winding-up of 
 tradesmen's accounts. I am afraid, Cytherea, 
 you don't know much more about the matter 
 than I do myself. .... I am going out just 
 now,'' she continued. " I shall not want you to 
 walk with me to-day. Run away till dinner- 
 time.'' 
 
 Miss Aldclyffe went out of doors, and down 
 the steps to the lawn ; then turning to the 
 right, through a shrubbery, she opened a wicket 
 and passed into a neglected and leafy carriage- 
 drive, leading down the hill. This she followed 
 till she reached the point of its greatest depres- 
 sion, which was also the lowest ground in the 
 whole grove. 
 
 The trees here w^ere so interlaced, and hung 
 their branches so near the ground, that a whole 
 summer's day was scarcely long enough to change 
 the air pervading the spot from its normal state 
 
216. DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 of coolness to even a temporary warmth. The 
 unvarying freshness was helped by the nearness 
 of the ground to the level of the springs, and by 
 the presence of a deep, sluggish stream close by, 
 equally well shaded by bushes and a high wall. 
 Following the road, which now ran along at the 
 margin of the stream, she came to an opening 
 in the wall, on the other side of the water, re- 
 vealing a large rectangular nook from which 
 the stream proceeded, covered with froth, and 
 accompanied by a dull roar. Two more steps, 
 and she was opposite the nook, in full view of 
 the cascade forming its further boundary. Over 
 the top could be seen the bright outer sky in 
 the form of a crescent, caused by the curve of a 
 bridge across the rapids, and the trees above. 
 
 Beautiful as was the scene she did not look 
 in that direction. The same standing ground 
 afforded another prospect, straight in the front, 
 less sombre than the water on the right or the 
 trees on the left. The avenue and grove which 
 flanked it abruptly terminated a few yards 
 ahead, where the ground began to rise, and on 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGIITELN DAYS. 217 
 
 the remote edge of the greensward thus laid 
 open, stood all that remained of the original 
 manor-house, to which the dark marginal line 
 of the trees in the avenue formed an adequate 
 and well-fitting frame. It was the picture thus 
 presented that was now interesting Miss Ald- 
 cljffe — not artistically or historically, but prac- 
 tically — as regarded its fitness for adaptation to 
 modern requirements. 
 
 In front, detached from everything else, rose 
 the most ancient portion of the structure — an 
 old arched gateway, flanked b}^ the bases of two 
 small towers, and nearly covered with creepers, 
 which had clambered over the eaves of the sink- 
 ing roof, and up the gable to the crest of the 
 Aldclyffe family perched on the apex. Behind 
 this, at a distance of ten or twenty yards, came 
 the only portion of the main building that still 
 existed — an Elizabethan fragment, consisting of 
 as much as could be contained under three 
 gables and a cross roof behind. Against the 
 wall could be seen ra2:o;ed lines indicatino; the 
 form of other destroyed gables which had once 
 
218 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 joined it there. The mulhoned and transomed 
 windows, containing five or six lights, were 
 mostly bricked up to the extent of two or three, 
 and the remaining portion fitted with cottage 
 window frames carelessly inserted, to suit the 
 purpose to which the old place was now applied, 
 it being partitioned out into small rooms down- 
 stairs to form cottao'es for two labourers and 
 their families ; the upper portion was arranged 
 as a storehouse for divers kinds of roots and 
 fruit. 
 
 The owner of the picturesque spot, after her 
 survey from this point, went up to the walls and 
 walked into the old court, where the paving 
 stones were pushed sideways and upwards by 
 the thrust of the grasses between them. Two 
 or three little children, with their fingers in 
 their mouths, came out to look at her, and then 
 ran in to tell their mothers in loud tones of 
 secrecy that Miss AldclyfFe was coming. Miss 
 Aldclyffe, however, did not come in. She con- 
 cluded her survey of the exterior by making a 
 complete circuit of the building ; then turned 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 219 
 
 into a nook a short distance off, where round 
 and square timber, a saw-pit, planks, grind- 
 stones, heaps of building stone and brick, ex- 
 plained that this spot was the centre of opera- 
 tions for the building work done on the estate. 
 
 She paused, and looked around. A man who 
 had seen her from the window of the workshops 
 behind, came out and respectfully hfted his hat 
 to her. It was the first time she had been seen 
 walking outside the house since her father's 
 death. 
 
 " Burden, could the Old House be made a 
 decent residence of, without much trouble '? " 
 she inquired. 
 
 The tradesman considered, and spoke as each 
 consideration completed itself 
 
 " You don't forget, madam, that two-thirds of 
 the place is already pulled down, or gone to 
 ruin 1 '' 
 
 " Yes ; I know." 
 
 " And that what's left may almost as well be, 
 madam.^^ 
 
 " Why may it ? " 
 
220 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 ** 'Twas SO cut up inside when they made it 
 into cottages, that the whole carcase is full of 
 cracks." 
 
 " Still by pulling down the inserted partitions, 
 and adding a little outside, it could be made to 
 answer the purpose of an ordinary six or eight- 
 roomed house 1 " 
 
 " Yes, madam." 
 
 " About what would it cost '? " was the 
 question which had invariably come next in 
 every communication of this kind, to which the 
 clerk of works had been a party during his 
 whole experience. To his surprise, Miss Ald- 
 clyffe did not put it. The man thought her 
 object in altering an old house must have been 
 an unusually absorbing one not to prompt what 
 was so instinctive in owners as hardly to require 
 any prompting at all. 
 
 " Thank you : that's sufficient. Burden," she 
 said. "You will understand that it is not 
 unlikely some alteration may be made here in a 
 short time, with reference to the management of 
 affairs." 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 221 
 
 Burden said " Yes," in a complex voice, and 
 looked uneasy. 
 
 " During the life of Captain Aldclyffe, with 
 you as the foreman of works, and he himself as 
 his own steward, everything worked well. But 
 now it may be necessary to have a steward, 
 whose management will encroach further upon 
 things which have hitherto been left in your 
 hands than did your late master's. What I 
 mean is, that he w^ill directly and in detail 
 superintend all.'' 
 
 " Then — I shall not be wanted, madam V he 
 faltered. 
 
 " yes ; if you like to stay on as foreman in 
 the yard and workshops only. I should be 
 sorry to lose you. However, you had better 
 consider. I will send for you in a few 
 days." 
 
 Leaving him to suspense, and all the ills that 
 came in its train, distracted application to his 
 duties, and an undefined number of sleepless 
 nights, and un tasted dinners. Miss Aldclyffe 
 looked at her watch and returned to the House. 
 
222 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 She was about to keep an appointment with her 
 soHcitor, Mr. Nyttleton, who had been to 
 Creston, and was coming to Knapwater on his 
 way back to London. 
 
 § 2. Aiirjust the twentieth. 
 
 On the Saturday subsequent to Mr. Nyttle- 
 ton's visit to Knapwater House, the subjoined 
 advertisement appeared in the Field and tlie 
 Builder newspapers : — 
 
 "Laxd Steward. 
 
 " A gentleman of integrity and professional 
 skill is required immediately for the manage- 
 MEis^T of an ESTATE, Containing about 800 acres, 
 upon which agricultural improvements and the 
 erection of buildings are contemplated. He 
 must be a man of superior education, unmarried, 
 and not more than thirty years of age. Con- 
 siderable preference wdll be shown for one who 
 possesses an artistic as well as a practical 
 knowledge of planning and laying out. The 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 223 
 
 remuneration Avill consist of a salary of £220, 
 with the okl manor - house as a residence. 
 Address Messrs. Nyttleton and Tayhng, so- 
 Hcitors, Lincohi's-Inn-Fields." 
 
 A copy of each paper ^Yas sent to 3Iiss 
 Aldclyfie on the day of pubHcation. The same 
 evening she tokl Cytherea that she was adver- 
 tising for a steward, who v/ould hve at the old 
 manor-house, showing her the papers containing 
 the announcement. 
 
 What was the drift of that remark 1 thought 
 the maiden : or was it merely made to her in 
 confidential intercourse, as other arrangements 
 were told her daily. Yet it seemed to have 
 more meaning than common. She remembered 
 the conversation about architects and surveyors, 
 and her brother Owen. Miss Aldclyffe knew 
 that his situation was precarious, that he was 
 well educated and practical, and was applying 
 himself heart and soul to the details of the pro- 
 fession and all connected with it. ]^Iiss Ald- 
 clyffe might be ready to take him if he could 
 
224 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 compete successfully with others who would 
 reply. She hazarded a question : — 
 
 "Would it be desirable for Owen to answer 
 
 itr' 
 
 " Not at all," said Miss Aldclyffe, peremp- 
 torily. 
 
 A flat answer of this kind had ceased to alarm 
 Cytherea. Miss Aldclyffe's blunt mood was not 
 her worst. Cytherea thought of another man, 
 whose name, in spite of resolves, tears, renun- 
 ciations and injured pride, lingered in her ears 
 like an old familiar strain. That man was 
 qualified for a stewardship under a king. 
 
 " Would it be of any use if Edward 
 Springrove w^ere to answer it '? " she said, 
 resolutely enunciating the name. 
 
 " None whatever," replied Miss Aldclyffe, 
 ao-ain in the same decided tone. 
 
 " You are very unkind to speak in that wa}^'' 
 
 " Now don't pout like a goosie, as you are. 
 I don't w^ant men like either of them, for, of 
 course, I must look to the good of the estate 
 rather than to that of any individual. The man 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 225 
 
 I want must have been more specially educated. 
 I have told you that vre are going to London 
 next week ; it is mostly on this account." 
 
 Cytherea thus found that she had mistaken 
 the drift of Miss Aldclyffe's peculiar explicitness 
 on the subject of advertising, and wrote to tell 
 her brother that if he saw the notice it would 
 be useless to reply. 
 
 § 3. August the tiventy-fiftlu 
 
 Five davs after the above-mentioned dialoc^ue 
 took place they went to London, and, with 
 scarcely a minute's pause, to the solicitor's 
 oflBces in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. 
 
 They alighted opposite one of the character- 
 istic entrances about the place — a gate which 
 was never, and could never be, closed, flanked 
 by lamp-standards carrying no lamp. Eust was 
 the only active agent to be seen there at this 
 time of the day and year. The palings along 
 the front were rusted away at their base to the 
 thinness of wire??, and the successive coats of 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
•226 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 paint, with which they were overlaid in bygone 
 days, had been completely undermined by the 
 same insidious canker, which lifted off the paint 
 in flakes, leaving the raw surface of the iron on 
 palings, standards, and gate hinges, of a staring 
 blood red. 
 
 But once inside the railings the picture 
 changed. The court and offices were a com- 
 plete contrast to the grand ruin of the outwork 
 which enclosed them. Well-painted respecta- 
 bility extended over, within, and around the 
 doorstep ; and in the carefully swept yard not 
 a particle of dust was visible. 
 
 Mr. Nyttleton, who had just come up from 
 Margate, where he was staying with his family, 
 was standing at the top of his own staircase as 
 the pair ascended. He pohtely took them 
 inside. 
 
 " Is there a comfortable room in which this 
 young lady can sit during our interview ? " said 
 Miss Aldclyffe. 
 
 It was rather a favourite habit of hers to 
 make much of Cytherea when they were out, 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 227 
 
 and snub her for it afterwards ^Yllen they got 
 home. 
 
 " Certainly — ^Er. Tayhng's." Cytherea Avas 
 shown into an inner room. 
 
 Social definitions are all made relatively : an 
 absolute datum is only imagined. The small 
 gentry about Knapwater seemed unpractised to 
 Miss AldclyfFe, Miss Aldclyffe herself seemed 
 unpractised to Mr. Nyttleton's experienced old 
 eyes. 
 
 " Now then," the lady said, wdien she was 
 alone with the lawyer ; " what is the result of 
 our advertisement 1 " 
 
 It ^vas late summer : the estate -agency, 
 building, engineering, and surveying worlds 
 were dull. There were forty-five replies to the 
 advertisement. 
 
 Mr. Nyttleton spread them one by one before 
 Miss AldclyfFe. "You will probably like to 
 read some of them yourself, madam ? " he said. 
 
 " Yes, certainly," said she. 
 
 " I will not trouble you with those which arc 
 from persons manifestly unfit at first sight," he 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 continued ; and began selecting from the heap 
 twos and threes which he had marked, collecting 
 others into his hand. " The man we want lies 
 among these, if my judgment doesn't deceive 
 me, and from them it would be advisable to 
 select a certain number to be communicated 
 with/' 
 
 " I should like to see every one — only just to 
 glance them over — exactly as they came," she 
 said, suasively. 
 
 He looked as if he thought this a waste of 
 his time, but dismissing his sentiment unfolded 
 each singly and laid it before her. As he laid 
 them out, it struck him that she studied them 
 quite as rapidly as he could spread them. He 
 slyly glanced up from the outer corner of his eye 
 to hers, and noticed that all she did was look at 
 the name at the bottom of the letter, and then 
 put the enclosure aside without further cere- 
 mony. He thought this an odd way of enquir- 
 ing into the merits of forty-five men who at 
 considerable trouble gave in detail reasons why 
 they behoved themselves well qualified for a 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 229 
 
 certain post. She came to the final one, and 
 put it down with the rest. 
 
 Then the lady said that in her opinion it 
 would be best to get as many replies as they 
 possibly could before selecting — " to give us 
 a wider choice. What do you think, Mr. 
 Nyttleton ? " 
 
 It seemed to him, he said, that a greater 
 number than those they already had would 
 scarcely be necessary, and if they w^aited for 
 more, there w^ould be this disadvantage attend- 
 ing it, that some of those they now could 
 command would possibly not be available. 
 
 " Never mind, w^e will run that risk," said 
 Miss Aldclyffe. "Let the advertisement be 
 inserted once more, and then we will certainly 
 settle the matter." 
 
 Mr. Nyttleton bowled, and seemed to think 
 Miss Aldclyffe, for a single woman, and one who 
 till so very recently had never concerned herself 
 ■with business of any kind, a very meddlesome 
 client. But she was rich, and handsome still. 
 " She's a new broom in estate-mana2:ement as 
 
230 DESPERATE EEMEDIES. 
 
 yet," he thought. " She will soon get tired of 
 this," and he parted from her without a senti- 
 ment which could mar his habitual blandness. 
 
 The two ladies then proceeded westward. 
 Dismissing the cab in Waterloo Place, they went 
 along Pall Mall on foot, where in place of the 
 usual well-dressed clubbists — rubicund wdth 
 alcohol — were to be seen in linen pinafores, 
 flocks of house-painters pallid from white lead. 
 When they had reached the Green Park, 
 Cytherea proposed that they should sit down 
 awhile under the young elms at the brow of the 
 hill. This they did — the growl of Piccadilly on 
 their left hand — the monastic seclusion of the 
 Palace on their right : before them, the clock 
 tower of the Houses of Parliament, standing 
 forth with a metalHc lustre against a livid 
 Lambeth sky. 
 
 ]\Iiss Aldclyffe still carried in her hand a 
 copy of the newspaper, and while Cytherea had 
 been interesting herself in the picture around, 
 glanced again at the advertisement. 
 
 She heaved a shght sigh, and began to fold it 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 231 
 
 lip again. In the action her eye caught sight 
 of two consecutive advertisements on the cover, 
 one relating to some lecture on Art, and ad- 
 dressed to members of the Society of Architects. 
 The other emanated from the same source, but 
 was addressed to the public, and stated that the 
 exhibition of drawings at the Society's rooms 
 would close at the end of that week. 
 
 Her eye lighted up. She sent Cytherea back 
 to the hotel in a cab, then turned round by 
 Piccadilly into Bond Street, and proceeded to 
 the rooms of the Society. The secretary was 
 sitting in the lobby. After making her pay- 
 ment, and looking at a few of the drawings on 
 the walls, in the company of three gentlemen, 
 the only other visitors to the exhibition, she 
 turned back and asked if she might be allowed 
 to see a list of the members. She was a little 
 connected with the architectural world, she 
 said, with a smile, and was interested in some 
 of the names. 
 
 " Here it is, madam,'' he replied, politely 
 handing her a pamphlet containing the names. 
 
232 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 Miss AldclyfFe turned the leaves till she came 
 to the letter M. The name she hoped to find 
 there was there, with the address appended, as 
 was the case with all the rest. 
 
 The address was at some chambers in a street 
 not for from Charing Cross. " Chambers " as a 
 residence, had always been assumed by the lady 
 to imply the condition of a bachelor. She 
 murmured two words, " There still." 
 
 Another request had yet to be made, but it 
 was of a more noticeable kind than the first, 
 and might compromise the secresy with whicli 
 she wished to act throughout this episode. Her 
 object was to get one of the envelopes lying on 
 the secretary's table, stamped with the die of the 
 Society ; and in order to get it she was about to 
 ask if she might write a note. 
 
 But the secretary's back chanced to be 
 turned, and he now went towards one of the 
 men at the other end of the room, who had 
 called him to ask some question relating to an 
 etching on the wall. Quick as thought. Miss 
 Aldclyff'e stood before the table, slipped her 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 2.23 
 
 hand behind her, took one of the envelopes and 
 put it in her pocket. 
 
 She sauntered round the rooms for two or 
 three minutes longer, then withdrew and re- 
 turned to her hotel. 
 
 Here she cut the Knapwater advertisement 
 from the paper, put it into the envelope she had 
 stolen, embossed with the society's stamp, and 
 directed it in a round clerkly hand to the 
 address she had seen in the list of members' 
 names submitted to her : — 
 
 iENEAS MAKSTON, Esq, 
 
 Wykeham Chambers, 
 
 Spring Gardens. 
 
 This ended her first day's w^ork in London. 
 
 § 4. From August the twenty -siwih to Sei)temher 
 the first. 
 
 The two Cythereas continued at the Westmin- 
 ster Hotel, Miss AldclyfFe informing her compa- 
 nion that business would detain them in London 
 
234 DESPEEATE REMEDIES. 
 
 another week. The days passed as slowly and 
 drearily as days can pass in a city at that time 
 of the year, the shuttered windows about the 
 squares and terraces confronting their eyes like 
 the white and sightless orbs of a blind man. 
 On Thursday Mr. Nyttleton called, bringing 
 the whole number of replies to the advertise- 
 ment. Cytherea was present at the interview, 
 by Miss Aldclyffe's request — either from whim 
 or design. 
 
 Ten additional letters were the result of the 
 second week's insertion, making fifty -five in all. 
 Miss Aldclyffe looked them over as before. 
 One was signed — 
 
 ^NEAS MAXSTON, 
 
 133, DuRNGATE Street, 
 
 Liverpool. 
 
 "Now then, Mr. Nyttleton, will you make a 
 selection, and I will add one or two," Miss Ald- 
 clyffe said. 
 
 Mr. Nyttleton scanned the whole heap of 
 letters, testimonials, and references, sorting 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 235 
 
 them into two heaps. Manstoii's missive, after 
 a mere glance, was thrown amongst the sum- 
 marily rejected ones. 
 
 Miss AklcljfFe read, or pretended to read 
 after the lawyer. When he had finished, five 
 lay in the group he had selected. " Would you 
 like to add to the number 1 " he said, turning to 
 the lady. 
 
 "No,'' she said, carelessly. "Well, two or 
 three additional ones rather took my fancy,^ 
 she added, searching for some in the larger 
 collection. 
 
 She drew out three. One was Manston s. 
 
 " These eight, then, shall be communicated 
 with," said the law^yer, taking up the eight 
 letters and placing them by themselves. 
 
 They stood up. "If I m^^self, madam, were 
 only concerned personally,'' he said, in an off- 
 hand way, and holding up a letter singly ; " I 
 should choose this man unhesitatingly. He 
 "writes honestly, is not afraid to name what he 
 does not consider himself well acquainted with 
 — a rare thing to find in answers to advertise- 
 
236 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 merits ; he is well recommended, and possesses 
 some qualities rarely found in combination. 
 Oddly enough, he is not really a steward. He 
 was bred a farmer, studied building affairs, 
 served on an estate for some time, then went 
 with an architect, and is now well quahfied as 
 architect, estate agent, and surveyor. That 
 man is sure to have a fine head for a manor 
 like yours." He tapped the letter as he spoke. 
 * Yes, I should choose him without hesitation — 
 speaking personally." 
 
 " And I think," she said, artificially, " I should 
 choose this one as a matter of mere personal 
 whim, which, of course, can't be given way to 
 when practical questions have to be considered." 
 
 Cytherea, after looking out of the window, 
 and then at the newspapers, had become 
 interested in the proceedings between the 
 clever Miss Aldclyffe and the keen old law- 
 yer, which reminded her of a game at cards. 
 She looked inquiringly at the two letters — 
 one in Miss Aldclyffe's hand, the other in 
 Mr. Nyttleton's. 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 237 
 
 " What is the name of your man ? " said Miss 
 Aldclyffe. 
 
 " His name — ' said the lawyer, looking down 
 the page ; " What is his name — it is Edward 
 Springrove." 
 
 Miss Aldclyfife glanced towards Cytherea, 
 who was getting red and pale by turns. She 
 looked imploringly at Miss Aldclyffe. 
 
 " The name of my man," said Miss Aldclyffe, 
 looking at her letter in turn ; '' is, I think — yes 
 — ^neas Manston." 
 
 § 5. September the third. 
 
 The next morning but one was appointed for 
 the interviews, which were to be at the lawyer's 
 offices. Mr. Nyttleton and Mr. Tayling were 
 both in town for the day, and the candidates 
 were admitted one by one into a private room. 
 In the window recess was seated Miss Aldclyffe, 
 wearing her veil down. 
 
 The lawyer had, in his letters to the selected 
 number, timed each candidate at an interval of 
 
238 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 ten or fifteen minutes from those preceding and 
 following. They were shown in as they arrived, 
 and had short conversations with Mr. Nyttleton 
 — terse, and to the point. Miss Aldclyffe neither 
 moved nor spoke during this proceeding ; it 
 might have been supposed that she was quite 
 unmindful of it, had it not been for what was 
 revealed by a keen penetration of the veil cover- 
 ing her countenance — the rays from two bright 
 black eyes, directed towards the lawyer and his 
 interlocutor. 
 
 Springrove came fifth ; Manston seventh. 
 When the examination of all was ended, and 
 the last man had retired, Nyttleton, again as 
 at the former time, blandly asked his chent 
 which of the eight she personally preferred. 
 " I still think the fifth we spoke to, Springrove, 
 the man whose letter I pounced upon at first, 
 to be by far the best qualified, in short, most 
 suitable generally." 
 
 " I am sorry to say that I differ from you ; 
 I lean to my first notion still — that Mr. — Mr. 
 Manston is most desirable in tone and bearing. 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 239 
 
 and even specifically, I think he would suit me 
 best in the long run." 
 
 Mr. Nyttleton looked out of the window at 
 the whitened wall of the court. 
 
 " Of course, madam, your opinion may be 
 perfectly sound and reliable ; a sort of instinct, 
 I know, often leads ladies by a short cut to 
 conclusions truer than those come to by men 
 after laborious round-about calculations, based 
 on long experience. I must say I shouldn't 
 recommend him." 
 
 " Why, pray ? " 
 
 " Well, let us look first at his letter of answer 
 to the advertisement. He didn't reply till the 
 last insertion ; that's one thing. His letter is 
 bold and frank in tone, so bold and frank that 
 the second thought after reading it is that not 
 honesty, but unscrupulousness of conscience 
 dictated it. It is written in an indifferent 
 mood, as if he felt that he was humbugging us 
 in his statement that he was tlie right man for 
 such an office, that he tried hard to get it only 
 as a matter of form wdiich required that he 
 
240 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 should neglect no opportunity that came in his 
 way." 
 
 " You may be right, Mr. Nyttleton, but I 
 don't quite see the grounds of your reasoning." 
 
 "He has been, as you perceive, almost entirely 
 used to the office duties of a city architect, the 
 experience we don't want. You want a man 
 whose acquaintance with rural landed properties 
 is more practical and closer — somebody who, if 
 he has not filled exactly such an office before, 
 has lived a country life, knows the ins and outs 
 of country tenancies, building, farming, and so 
 on.'' 
 
 " He's by far the most intellectual looking of 
 them all." 
 
 " Yes ; he may be — your opinion, madam, is 
 worth more than mine in that matter. And 
 more than you say, he is a man of parts — his 
 brain-power would soon enable him to master 
 details and fit him for the post, I don't much 
 doubt that. But to speak clearly " (here his 
 words started off at a jog-trot) " I wouldn't 
 run the risk of placing the management of an 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 241 
 
 estate of mine in his hands on any account 
 whatever. There, that's flat and plain, madam." 
 
 '•' But, definitely," she said, with a show of 
 impatience ; " what is your reason ? " 
 
 "He is a voluptuary witli activity; which is 
 a very bad form of man — as bad as it is rare." 
 
 " Oh. Thank you for your explicit statement, 
 Mr. Nyttlcton," said Miss Aldclyffe, starting a 
 little and flushing with displeasure. 
 
 Mr. Nyttleton nodded slightly, as a sort of 
 neutral motion, simply signifying a receipt of 
 the information, good or bad. 
 
 " And I really think it is hardly w^orth while 
 to trouble you further in this," continued the 
 lady. "He's quite good enough for a Httle 
 insignificant place like mine at Knapwater ; and 
 I know that I could not get on with one of the 
 others for a single month. We'll try him.'' 
 
 " Certainl}^ madam," said the law^^er. And 
 Mr. Manston was written to, to the eflfect that 
 he was the successful competitor. 
 
 " Did you see how unmistakeably her temper 
 was getting the better of her, that minute you 
 
24)2 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 were in the rooml" said Nyttleton to Tayling, 
 Avlien their dient had left the house. Nyttleton 
 was a man who surveyed everybody's character 
 in a sunless and shadowless northern light. A 
 culpable slyness, which marked him as a boy, 
 had been moulded by Time, the Improver, into 
 honourable circumspection. 
 
 We frequently find that the quality which, 
 conjoined with the simplicity of the child, is 
 vice, is virtue when it pervades the knowledge 
 of the man. 
 
 " She was as near as damn-it to boiling over 
 when I added up her man,'' continued Nyttle- 
 ton. '"His handsome face is his qualification in 
 her eyes. They have met before; I saw that." 
 
 " He didn't seem conscious of it," said the 
 junior. 
 
 " He didn't. That was rather puzzhng to 
 me. But still, if ever a woman's face spoke out 
 plainly that she was in love with a man, hers 
 did that she was with him. Poor old maid, 
 she's almost old enough to be his mother. If 
 that Manston's a schemer he'll marry her, as 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 243 
 
 sure as I am Nyttleton. Let's hope he's 
 honest, however/'' 
 
 " I don't think she's in love with him," said 
 Tayhng. He had seen but Httle of the pair, 
 and yet he could not reconcile what he had 
 noticed in Miss Aldclyffe's behaviour with the 
 idea that it was the bearing of a woman to- 
 wards her lover. 
 
 "Well, your experience of the fiery pheno- 
 menon is more recent than mine," rejoined 
 Nyttleton carelessly. "And you may re- 
 member the nature of it best."' 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 
 
 § 1. From the third to the nineteenth of 
 September, 
 
 Miss Aldclyffe's tenderness towards Cythe- 
 rea, between the hours of her irascibihty, in- 
 creased till it became no less than doting fond- 
 ness. Like Nature in the tropics, with her hur- 
 ricanes and the subsequent luxuriant vegetation 
 effacing their ravages, Miss Aldclyffe compen- 
 sated for her outbursts by excess of generosity 
 afterwards. She seemed to be completely won 
 out of herself by close contact with a young 
 woman whose modesty was absolutely unim- 
 paired, and whose artlessness was as perfect as 
 was compatible with the complexity necessary to 
 produce the due charm of womanhood. Cythe- 
 rea, on her part, perceived with honest satisfac- 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 245 
 
 tion that her influence for good over Miss AIJ- 
 clyffe was considerable. Ideas and habits pecu- 
 liar to the younger, which the elder lady had 
 originally imitated in a mere \Yhim, she grew in 
 course of time to take a positive delight in. 
 Among others were evening and morning 
 prayers, dreaming over out-door scenes, learning 
 a verse from some poem whilst dressing. 
 
 Yet try to force her sympathies as much as 
 she would, Cytherea could feel no more than 
 thankful for this, even if she always felt as 
 much as that. The mysterious cloud hanging 
 over the past life of her companion, of which 
 the uncertain light already thrown upon it only 
 seemed to render still darker the unpenetrated 
 remainder, nourished in her a feeling which was 
 scarcely too slight to be called dread. She 
 would have infinitely preferred to be treated 
 distantly", as the mere dependent, by such a 
 changeable nature — like a fountain, always her- 
 self, yet always another. That a crime of any 
 deep dye had ever been perpetrated or partici- 
 pated in by her namesake, she would not be- 
 
246 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 lieve ; but the reckless adventuring of the lad^^'s 
 youth seemed connected with deeds of darkness 
 rather than Hght. 
 
 Sometimes Miss AldclyfFe appeared to be on 
 the point of making some absorbing confidence, 
 but reflection invariably restrained her. Cy- 
 therea hoped that such a confidence would 
 come with time, and that she might thus be 
 a means of soothing a mind which had obvi- 
 ously known extreme sufi"ering. 
 
 But Miss Aldclyffe's reticence concerning her 
 past was not imitated by Cytherea. Though 
 she never disclosed the one fact of her know- 
 ledge that the love-suit between Miss AldclyfFe 
 and her father terminated abnormally, the 
 maiden's natural ingenuousness on subjects not 
 set down for special guard had enabled Miss 
 AldclyfFe to worm from her, fragment by frag- 
 ment, every detail of her father's history. 
 Cytherea saw how deeply Miss Aldclyffe sympa- 
 thised — and it compensated her, to some extent, 
 for the hasty resentments of other times. , 
 
 Thus uncertainly she lived on. It was per- 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 247 
 
 ceived by the servants of the House, that some 
 secret bond of connexion existed between Miss 
 Aldcljffe and her companion. But they were 
 woman and woman, not woman and man, the 
 facts were ethereal and refined, and so they 
 could not be worked up into a taking story. 
 Whether, as critics dispute, a supernatural ma- 
 chinery be necessary to an epic or no, a carnal 
 plot is decidedly necessary to a scandal. 
 
 Another letter had come to her from Edward 
 — very short, but full of entreaty, asking why 
 she would not write just one line — ^just one hue 
 of cold friendship at least '? She then allowed 
 herself to think, little by little, whether she had 
 not perhaps been too harsh with him ; and at 
 last wondered if he were really much to blame 
 for being engaged to another woman. "Ah, 
 Brain, there is one in me stronger than you ! '' 
 she said. The young maid now continually 
 pulled out his letter, read it and re-read it, almost 
 crying with pity the while, to think what 
 wretched suspense he must be enduring at her 
 silence, till her heart chid her for her cruelty. 
 
£48 DESrERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 She felt that she must send him a Hue — one 
 little line — just a wee line to keep him alive, 
 poor thing ; sighing like Donna Clara : — 
 
 "Ah, were he now before me, 
 In spite of injured pride, 
 I fear my eyes would pardon 
 Before my tongue could chide." 
 
 § 2. September the twentieth. Three to 
 four, p.m. 
 
 It was the third week in September, about 
 five weeks after Cytherea's arrival, when Miss 
 Aldclyffe requested her one da}^ to go through 
 the village of Carriford and assist herself in col- 
 lecting the subscriptions made by some of the 
 inhabitants of the parish to a religious socio t}^ 
 she patronised. Miss Aldclyffe formed one of 
 what was called a Ladies' Association, each 
 member of which collected tributary streams of 
 shiUings from her inferiors, to add to her own 
 pound at the end. 
 
 Miss Aldclyffe took particular interest in 
 Cytherea's appearance that afternoon, and the 
 object of her attention was, indeed, gratifying to 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 249 
 
 look at. Tlie sight of the hthe girl, set off by an 
 airy dress, coquettish jacket, flexible hat, a ray 
 of starlight in each eye and a war of lilies and 
 roses in each cheek, was a palpable pleasure to 
 the mistress of the mansion, yet a pleasure which 
 appeared to partake less of the nature of aflfec- 
 tionate satisfaction than of mental gratification. 
 
 Eight names were printed in the report as 
 belonging to Miss AldclyfFe's list, with the 
 amount of subscription-money attached to each. 
 
 " I will collect the first four, whilst you do 
 the same with the last four,'"' said Miss Ald- 
 clyfFe. 
 
 The names of two tradespeople stood first in 
 Cytherea's share : then came a Miss Hinton : 
 last of all in the printed list was Mr. Springrove 
 the elder. Underneath his name was pencilled, 
 in Miss Aldclyff'e's handwriting, " Mr. Manston." 
 
 Manston had arrived on the estate, in the 
 capacity of steward, three or four days pre- 
 viously, and occupied the old manor - house, 
 which had been altered and repaired for his 
 reception. 
 
250 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 " Call on JMr. Mansion/' said the lady, impres- 
 sively, looking at the name written under 
 Cytherea's portion of the list. 
 
 " But he does not subscribe yet 1 " 
 
 '' I know it ; but call and leave him a report. 
 Don't forget it." 
 
 "Say you would be pleased if he would 
 subscribe ? '' 
 
 " Yes — say I should be pleased if he would," 
 repeated Miss Aldclyffe, smihng. " Good-bye. 
 Don't hurr}^ in your walk. If you can't get 
 easily through your task to-day put off some of 
 it till to-morrow." 
 
 Each then started on her rounds : Cytherea 
 going in the first place to the old manor-house. 
 Mr. JManston was not indoors, which was a 
 relief to her. She called then on the two 
 gentleman-farmers' wives, who soon transacted 
 their business with her, frigidly indifferent to 
 her personalit}^ A person who socially is 
 nothing is thought less of by people who are not 
 much than by those who are a great deal. 
 
 She then turned towards Peakhill Cottage, 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 251 
 
 the residence of ]\Iiss Hinton, ^vllo lived there 
 happily enough, with an elderly servant and a 
 house-dog as companions. Her father, and last 
 remaining parent, had retired thither four years 
 before this time, after having filled the post of 
 editor to the Froominster Chronicle for eighteen 
 or twenty years. There he died soon after, and 
 though comparatively a poor man, he left his 
 daughter sufficiently well provided for as a 
 modest fundholder and claimant of sundry small 
 sums in dividends to maintain herself as mistress 
 at Peakhill. 
 
 At Cytherea's knock an inner door was heard 
 to open and close, and footsteps crossed the 
 passage hesitatingly. The next minute Cytherea 
 stood face to face with the lady herself. 
 
 Adelaide Hinton was about nine-and-twenty 
 years of age. Her hair was plentiful, like 
 Cytherea's own ; her teeth equalled Cj^therea's 
 in regularit.y and whiteness. But she was much 
 paler, and had features too transparent to be 
 in place among household surroundings. Her 
 mouth expressed love less forcibly than Cythc- 
 
^o2 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 rea's, and, as a natural result of her greater 
 maturity, her tread ^Yas less elastic, and she 
 Avas more self-possessed. 
 
 She had been a girl of that kind which 
 mothers praise as not forward, by way of 
 contrast, when disparaging those nobler ones 
 with whom lovino; is an end and not a means. 
 Men of forty, too, said of her, " a good sensible 
 wife for any man, if she cares to marry," 
 the caring to marry being thrown in as the 
 vaguest hypothesis, because she was so prac- 
 tical. Yet it would be singular if, in such 
 cases, the important subject of marriage should 
 be excluded from manipulation by hands that 
 are ready for practical performance in every 
 domestic concern besides. 
 
 Cytherea was an acquisition, and the greeting- 
 was hearty. 
 
 " Good afternoon ! yes — Miss Graye, from 
 Miss AldclyfFe's. I have seen you at church, 
 and I am so glad you have called ! Come in. 
 I wonder if I have change enough to pay my 
 subscription." She spoke girlishly. 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 253 
 
 Adelaide, ^vllen in the company of a younger 
 woman, always levelled herself down to that 
 younger woman's age from a sense of justice to 
 herself — as if, though not her own age at 
 common law, it was in equity. 
 
 " It doesn't matter. I'll come again." 
 " Yes, do at any time ; not only on this 
 errand. But you must step in for a minute. 
 Do." 
 
 " I have been wanting to, for several weeks." 
 " That's right. Now you must see my house 
 — lonely, isn't it, for a single lady 1 People 
 said it was odd for a young w^oman like me to 
 keep on a house ; but what did I care ? If you 
 knew the pleasure of locking up your own door, 
 with the sensation that you reigned supreme 
 inside it, you would say it was worth the risk of 
 being called odd. Mr. Springrove attends to 
 my gardening, the dog attends to robbers, and 
 whenever there is a snake or toad to kill, Jane 
 does it." 
 
 " How nice. It is better than living in a 
 town." 
 
254? DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 " Far better. A to^vn makes a cynic of 
 me." 
 
 The remark recalled, somewhat startlingly, 
 to Cytherea's mind, that Ed^Yard had used 
 those very words to herself one evening at 
 Creston. 
 
 Miss Hinton opened an interior door and led 
 her visitor into a small drawing-room command- 
 ing a view of the country for miles. 
 
 The missionary business was soon settled ; 
 but the chat continued. 
 
 " How lonely it must be here at night/"' said 
 Cytherea. " Aren't you afraid '? " 
 
 " At first, I was slightly. But I got used to 
 the soHtude. And you know a sort of common- 
 sense will creep even into timidity. I say to 
 myself sometimes at night, ' If I were anybody 
 but a harmless woman, not worth the trouble of 
 a worm's ghost to appear to me, I should think 
 that every sound I hear was a spirit.' But you 
 must see all over my house." 
 
 Cytherea was very interested in seeing. 
 
 " 1 say you must do this, and you must do 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 255 
 
 that, as if you were a child," remarked Adelaide. 
 " A privileged friend of mine tells me this use 
 of the imperative comes of being so constantly 
 in nobody's society but my own." 
 
 " Ah, yes. I suppose she is right.'' 
 
 Cytherea called the friend " she "' by a rule 
 of lady-like practice ; for a woman's " friend " 
 is delicately assumed by another friend to be of 
 their own sex in the absence of knowledo'e to 
 the contrary ; just as cats are called shes until 
 they prove themselves hes. 
 
 Miss Hinton laughed* mysteriously. 
 
 "I get a humorous reproof for it now and 
 then, I assure you/"' she continued. 
 
 " ' Humorous reproof : ' that's not from a 
 woman : who can reprove humorously but a 
 man 1 " was the groove of Cytherea's thought at 
 the remark. " Your brother reproves you, I 
 expect," said that innocent young lady. 
 
 "No," said Miss Hinton, with a candid air. 
 " 'Tis only a gentleman I am acquainted with." 
 She looked out of the window. 
 
 Women are persistently imitative. No sooner 
 
25 G DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 did a thoiigiit flash through Cjtherea's mind 
 that the gentleman was a lover than she became 
 a Miss Aldclyffe in a mild form. 
 
 " I imagine he's a sweetheart/' she said. 
 
 Miss Hinton smiled a smile of experience in 
 that Hne. 
 
 Few women, if taxed with having an admirer, 
 are so free from vanity as to deny the impeach- 
 ment, even if it is utterly untrue. When it 
 does happen to be true, they look pityingly 
 away from the person who is so benighted as 
 to have got no farther than suspecting it. 
 
 "There now — Miss Hinton; you are engaged 
 to be married ! " said Cytherea, accusingly. 
 
 Adelaide nodded her head practically. 
 *• Well yes, I am," she said. 
 
 The word " engaged " had no sooner passed 
 Cytherea's lips than the sound of it — the mere 
 sound by her own lips — carried her mind to 
 the time and circumstances under w^hich Miss 
 Aldclyffe had used it towards herself A 
 sickening thought followed — based but on a 
 mere surmise ; yet its presence took every 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 257 
 
 other idea away from Cjtherea's mind. Miss 
 Hinton had used Edward's words about towns ; 
 she mentioned Mr. Springrove as attending to 
 her garden. It could not be that Edward was 
 the man ! that Miss Aldclyffe had planned 
 to reveal her rival thus ! 
 
 " Are you going to be married soon 1 " she 
 inquired, with a steadiness the result of a sort 
 of fascination, but apparently of indifference. 
 
 " Not very soon — still, soon." 
 
 " Ah — ha. In less than three months "? " 
 said Cytherea. 
 
 " Two." 
 
 Now tliat the subject was well in hand, 
 Adelaide wanted no more prompting. " You 
 won't tell anybody if I show you something 1 " 
 she said with eager mystery. 
 
 " no, nobody. But does he live in this 
 parish 1 " 
 
 "No." 
 
 Nothing proved yet. 
 
 " Whaf s his name 1 " said Cytherea, flatly. 
 Her breath and heart had begun their old 
 
 VOL. I. 8 
 
258 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 tricks, and came and went liotl}'. Miss Hintou 
 could not see her face. 
 
 " What do you think 1 " said Miss Hinton. 
 
 " George '? " said Cytherea, with deceitful 
 agony. 
 
 "No," said Adelaide. "But now, ^^ou shall 
 see him first ; come here ; " and she led the 
 way upstairs into her bed -room. There, 
 standing on the dressing-table in a little 
 frame, was the unconscious portrait of Edward 
 Springrove. 
 
 " There he is," j\Iiss Hinton said, and a 
 silence ensued. 
 
 "Are you very fond of him '? " continued the 
 miserable Cytherea at length. 
 
 "Yes, of course I am," her companion 
 rephed, but in the tone of one who lived in 
 Abraham's bosom all the year, and was there- 
 fore untouched by solemn thought at the fact. 
 "He's my cousin — a native of this village. 
 We were engaged before my father's death left 
 me so lonely. I was only twenty, and a much 
 greater belle than I am now. AVe know each 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 259 
 
 other thoroughly as you may imagine. I give 
 him a httle sermonising now and then. 
 
 " Why 1 " 
 
 " it's only in fun. He's very naughty 
 sometimes — not really you know — but he will 
 look at any pretty face when he sees it." 
 
 Storing up this statement of his susceptibility 
 as another item to be miserable upon w^hen 
 she had time, " How do you know that 1 " 
 Cytherea asked, with a swelling heart. 
 
 " Well, vou know how thino;s do come to 
 women's ears. He used to live at Creston as 
 an assistant-architect, and I found out that a 
 young giddy thing of a girl, who lives there 
 somewhere, took his fancy for a day or two. 
 But I don't feel jealous at all — our engagement 
 is so matter-of-fact that neither of us can be 
 jealous. And it was a mere flirtation — she was 
 too silly for him. He's fond of rowing, and 
 kindly gave her an airing for an evening or 
 two. I'll warrant they talked the most un- 
 mitigated rubbish under the sun — all shallow- 
 ness and pastime, just as everything is at 
 
 s 2 
 
260 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 watering-places — neither of them caring a bit 
 for the other — she giggling like a goose all the 
 time " 
 
 Concentrated essence of Avoman pervaded 
 the room rather than air. " She didn't ! and 
 't wasn't shallowness ! " Cytherea burst out with 
 brimming eyes. " 'Twas deep deceit on one 
 side, and entire confidence on the other — yes, 
 it was ! " The pent-up emotion had swollen 
 and swollen inside the young thing till the dam 
 could no longer embay it. The instant the 
 words were out she would have given worlds 
 to have been able to recall them. 
 
 *' Do you know her — or him '? " said Miss 
 Hinton, starting with suspicion at the warmth 
 shown. 
 
 The two women had now lost their per- 
 sonality quite. There was the same keen 
 brightness of eye, the same movement of the 
 mouth, the same mind in both, as they looked 
 doubtingly and excitedly at each other. As is 
 invariably the case with women where a man 
 they care for is the subject of an excitement 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 261 
 
 among them, tlie situation abstracted the dif- 
 ferences which distinguished them as indi- 
 viduals, and left only the properties common 
 to them as atoms of a sex. 
 
 Cytherea caught at the chance afforded her 
 of not betraying herself. " Yes, I know her," 
 she said. 
 
 "Well," said Miss Hinton, "I am really 
 vexed if my speaking so lightly of any friend 
 of yours has hurt your feelings, but " 
 
 '' never mind," Cytherea returned ; " It 
 doesn't matter, Miss Hinton. I think I must 
 leave you now. I have to call at other places. 
 Yes — I must go." 
 
 Miss Hinton, in a perplexed state of mind, 
 showed her visitor politelydown stairs to the 
 door. Here Cytherea bade her a hurried adieu, 
 and flitted down the garden into the lane. 
 
 She persevered in her duties with a wayward 
 pleasure in giving herself misery, as was her 
 wont. Mr. Springrove's name was next on the 
 list, and she turned towards his dwelling, the 
 Three Tranters Inn. 
 
2G?v DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 § 3. Fo2ir to five, ii.m. 
 
 The cottages along Camford village street 
 were not so close but that on one side or other 
 of the road ^vas always a hedge of hawthorn 
 or privet, over or through which could be seen 
 gardens or orchards rich with produce. It was 
 about the middle of the early apple-harvest, 
 and the laden trees were shaken at intervals by 
 the gatherers; the soft pattering of the falling 
 crop upon the grassy ground being diversified 
 by the loud rattle of vagrant ones upon a rail, 
 hencoop, basket, or lean-to roof, or upon the 
 rounded and stooping backs of the collectors — 
 mostly children, who would have cried bitterly 
 at receiving such a smart blow from any other 
 quarter, but smilingly assumed it to be but fun 
 in apples. 
 
 The Three Tranters Inn, a many-gabled, 
 mediaeval building, constructed almost entirel}^ 
 of timber, plaster, and thatch, stood close to the 
 line of the roadside, almost opposite the church- 
 3^ard, and was connected with a row of cottages 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 263 
 
 on the left by thatched outbuildings. It was an 
 uncommonly characteristic and handsome speci- 
 men of the genuine roadside inn of bygone times; 
 and standing on the great highway to the South- 
 west of England, (which ran through Carriford,) 
 had in its time been the scene of as much of 
 what is now looked upon as the romantic and 
 genial experience of stage-coach trayelling as 
 any halting-place in the country. The railway 
 had absorbed the whole stream of traffic which 
 formerly flowed through the Tillage and along 
 by the ancient door of the inn, reducing the 
 empty-handed landlord, who used only to farm 
 a few fields at the back of the house, to the 
 necessity of eking out his attenuated income by 
 increasing the extent of his agricultural business 
 if he would still maintain his social standing. 
 Next to the general stillness pervading the spot, 
 the long line of outbuildings adjoining the 
 house was the most striking and saddening 
 witness to the passed-away fortunes of the 
 Three Tranters Inn. It was the bulk of the 
 original stabling, and where once the hoofs of 
 
264 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 two-score horses had daily rattled over the 
 stony yard, to and from the stalls within, thick 
 grass now grew, wliilst the line of roofs — once 
 so straight — over the decayed stalls, had sunk 
 into vast hollows till they seemed Hke the 
 cheeks of toothless age. 
 
 On a green plot at the other end of the build- 
 ing grew^ two or three large, wide spreading 
 elm trees, from which the sign was suspended — 
 representing the three men called tranters (irre- 
 gular carriers), standing side by side, and ex- 
 actly ahke to a hair's breadth, the grain of the 
 wood and joints of the boards being visible 
 through the thin paint depicting their forms, 
 which were still further disfigured by red stains 
 running downwards from the rusty nails above. 
 
 Under the trees now stood a cider-mill and 
 press, and upon the spot sheltered by the 
 boughs were gathered Mr. Sprin grove himself, 
 his men, the parish clerk, two or three other 
 men, grinders and supernumeraries, a woman 
 with an infant in her arms, a flock of pigeons, 
 and some little boys with straws in their mouths, 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 2G5 
 
 endeavouring, whenever the men's backs were 
 turned, to get a sip of the sweet juice issuing 
 from the vat. 
 
 Edward Springrove the elder, the landlord, 
 now more particularly a farmer, and for two 
 months in the year a cider-maker, w\is an em- 
 ployer of labour of the old school, who worked 
 himself among his men. He was now engaged 
 in packing the pomace into horsehair bags with 
 a rammer, and Gad AVeedy, his man, was oc- 
 cupied in shovelKng up more from a tub at his 
 side. The shovel shone like silver from the 
 action of the juice, and ever and anon, in its 
 motion to and fro, caught the rays of the de- 
 clining sun and reflected them in bristling stars 
 of light. 
 
 Mr. Springrove had been too young a man 
 when the pristine days of the Three Tranters 
 had departed for ever to have much of the host 
 left in him now. He w^as a poet with a rough 
 skin : one whose sturdiness was more the result 
 of external circumstances than of intrinsic 
 nature. Too kindly constitutioned to be very 
 
266 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 provident, he was yet not imprudent. He had 
 a quiet humorousness of disposition, not out of 
 keeping with a frequent melancholy, the general 
 expression of his countenance being one of 
 abstraction. Like Walt Whitman he felt as 
 his years increased, 
 
 " I foresee too much ; it means more than I thought." 
 
 On the present occasion he wore gaiters and 
 a leathern apron, and worked with his shirt 
 sleeves rolled up beyond his elbows, disclosing 
 solid and fleshy rather than muscular arms. 
 They were stained by the cider, and two or 
 three brown apple-pips from the pomace he 
 was handling were to be seen sticking on them 
 hei-e and there among the hairs. 
 
 The other prominent figure was that of 
 Hichard Crickett, the parish clerk, a kind of 
 Bowdlerized rake, who ate only the quantity of 
 a woman, and had the rheumatism in his left 
 hand. The remainder of the group, brown- 
 faced peasants, wore smock-frocks embroidered 
 on the shoulders with hearts and diamonds, and 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 267 
 
 were girt round their middle witli a strap, 
 another being worn round the right wrist. 
 
 " And have you seen the steward, Mr. Sprin- 
 grovel" said the clerk. 
 
 "Just a glimpse of him; hut 'twas just 
 enough to show me that he's not here for 
 long." 
 
 "Why m't that be?" 
 
 " He'll never stand the vagaries of the female 
 figure holden the reins — not he." 
 
 "She d' pay en well," said a grinder; "and 
 money 's money." 
 
 "Ah — 'tis : very much so," the clerk rephed. 
 
 " Yes, yes, naibour Crickett," said Springrove, 
 " but she'll flee in a passion — all the fat will be 
 
 in the fire — and there's an end Yes, 
 
 she is a one," continued the farmer, resting, 
 raising his eyes, and reading the features of a 
 distant apple. 
 
 " She is/' said Gad, resting too (it is wonder- 
 ful how prompt a journeyman is in following his 
 master's initiative to rest) and reflectively re- 
 garding the ground in front of him. 
 
2G8 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 " True : a one is she," the clerk chimed in, 
 shaking his head ominously. 
 
 " She has such a temper," said the farmer, 
 " and is so wilful too. You ma^^ as well try to 
 stop a footpath as stop her when she has taken 
 anything into her head. I'd as soon grind little 
 green crabs all day as live wi' her." 
 
 " Tis a temper she hev, 'tis," the clerk 
 replied, " though I be a servant of the church 
 that say it. But she isn't goen to flee in a 
 passion this time." 
 
 The company waited for the continuation of 
 the speech, as if they knew from experience the 
 exact distance off it lay in the future. 
 
 The clerk swallowed nothing as if it were a 
 great deal, and then w^ent on, " There's some'at 
 between them : mark my words, naibours — 
 there's some'at between 'em." 
 
 " D'ye mean it ? " 
 
 " I d' know it. He came last Saturday, didn't 
 he." 
 
 " 'A did, truly," said Gad Weedy, at the same 
 time taking an apple from the hopper of the 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 209 
 
 mill, eating a piece, and flinging back the 
 remainder to be ground up for cider. 
 
 " He ^Yent to church a-Sunday," said the 
 clerk again. 
 
 " 'A did." 
 
 ^' And she kept her eye upon en all the 
 service, her face flickeren bet^yeen red and 
 white, but never stoppen at either." 
 
 Mr. Springrove nodded, and went to the 
 press. 
 
 " Well," said the clerk, you don't call her the 
 kind o' woman to make mistakes in just trotten 
 through the weekly service o' God 1 Why, as a 
 rule she's as right as I be myself.'^ 
 
 Mr. Springrove nodded again, and gave a 
 twist to the screw of the press, followed in the 
 movement by Gad at the other side ; the two 
 grinders expressing by looks of the greatest 
 concern that, if Miss Aldclyflfe were as right at 
 church as the clerk, she must be right indeed. 
 
 " Yes, as right in the service o' God as I be 
 myself," repeated the clerk, adding length to 
 such a solemn sound, like St. Cecilia. " But last 
 
270 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 Sunday, when we were in the tenth command- 
 ment, says she, ' In dine our hearts to keep this 
 law,' sa}^s she, when twas ' Laws in our hearts 
 we beseech thee,' all the church through. Her 
 eye was upon hiin — she was quite lost — ' Hearts 
 to keep this law^,' says she ; she was no more 
 than a mere shadder at that tenth time — a mere 
 shadder. You mi't ha' mouthed across to her 
 ' Laws in our hearts we beseech thee,' fifty times 
 over — she'd never ha' noticed ye. She's in love 
 wi' the man, that's what she is." 
 
 " Then she's a bigger stunpoll than I took 
 her for," said Mr. Springrove. " Why she's old 
 enoudi to be his mother." 
 
 " The row 'ill be between her and that young 
 Curly-wig, you'll see. She won't run the risk of 
 that pretty face been near." 
 
 " Clerk Crickett, I d' fancy you d' know every- 
 thing about everybody," said Gad. 
 
 " Well so's," said the clerk modestly. " I do 
 know a little. It comes to me." 
 
 "And I d' know w^here from." 
 
 " Ah." 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 271 
 
 " That Avife o' thine. She's an entertaineii 
 woman, not to speak disrespectfully." 
 
 " She is : and a winnen one. Look at the 
 husbands sheVe had — God bless her ! " 
 
 " I wonder you could stand third in that list. 
 Clerk Crickett/' said Mr. Springrove. 
 
 " Well, 't has been a power o' marvel to 
 myself oftentimes. Yes, matrimony d' begin 
 ' Dearly beloved,' and ends wi' ' Amazement,' as 
 the prayer book says. But what could I do, 
 naibour Springrove '? 'Twas ordained to be. 
 Well do I remember what your poor lady said to 
 me when I had just married. ' Ah, Mr. 
 Crickett,' says she, 'your wife will soon settle 
 you as she did her other two : here's a glass o' 
 rum, for I shan't see your poor face this time 
 next year.' I swallered the rum, called again 
 next year, and said, ' Mrs. Springrove, you gave 
 me a glass o' rum last year because I was going 
 to die — here I be alive still, you see.' ' Well 
 said, Clerk ! Here's two glasses for you now 
 then,' says she. ' Thank you mem,' 1 said, and 
 swallered the rum. Well, dang my old sides, 
 
272 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 next year I thouglit I'd call again and get three. 
 And call I did. But she wouldn't give me a 
 drop o' the commonest. ' No, clerk/ sa3^s she, 
 *you are too tough for a woman's pity.' . . . . 
 Ah, poor soul, 'twas true enough. Here be I 
 that was expected to die alive and hard as a nail, 
 you see, and there's she moulderen in her grave." 
 
 "I used to think 'twas your wife's fate not to 
 have a liven husband when I sid 'em die off so," 
 said Gad. 
 
 " Fate ? Bless thy simplicity, so 'twas her 
 fate ; but she struggled to have one, and would, 
 and did. Fate's nothen beside a woman's 
 schemen ! " 
 
 " I suppose, then, that Fate is a He, like us, 
 and the Lord, and the rest o' em up above 
 there," said Gad, lifting his eyes to the sky. 
 
 " Hullo ! Here's the young woman comen 
 that we were a-talken. about by-now," said a 
 grinder, suddenly interrupting. " She's comen 
 up here, as I be alive ! " 
 
 The two grinders stood and regarded 
 Cytherea as if she had been a ship tacking into 
 
 I 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 273 
 
 a harbour, nearly stopping the mill in their new 
 interest. 
 
 "Stylish accoutrements about the head and 
 shoulders, to my thinken," said the clerk. 
 " Sheenen curls, and plenty o' em." 
 
 " If there's one kind of pride more excusable 
 than another in a young woman, 'tis been proud 
 of her hair," said Mr. Springrove. 
 
 " Dear man ! — the pride there is only a small 
 piece o' the whole. I warrant now, though she 
 can show such a figure, she ha'n't a stick o' 
 furniture to call her own." 
 
 " Come, clerk Crickett, let the maid be a maid 
 w^hile she is a maid," said Farmer Springrove, 
 chivalrouslv. 
 
 " 0," replied the servant of the church ; " I've 
 nothen to say against it — 0, no : — 
 
 " * The chimney-sweeper's daughter Sue, 
 
 As I have heard declare, 0, 
 Although she's neither sock nor shoe 
 
 Will curl and deck her hair, 0.' " 
 
 Cytherea was rather disconcerted at finding 
 that the gradual cessation of the chopping of the 
 
 VOL. I. T 
 
274 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 mill was on her account, and still more when 
 she saw all the cidermakers' eyes fixed upon her 
 except Mr. Springrove's, whose natural dehcacj 
 restrained him. She neared the plot of grass, 
 but instead of advancing farther, hesitated on 
 its border. 
 
 Mr. Springrove perceived her embarrassment, 
 which was relieved when she saw his old-estab- 
 lished figure coming across to her, wiping his 
 hands in his apron. 
 
 " I know your errand, Missie,'' he said, " and 
 am glad to see you and attend to it. I'll step 
 indoors." 
 
 " If you are busy I am in no hurry for a 
 minute or two," said Cytherea. 
 
 " Then if so be you really wouldn't mind, we'll 
 wring down this last filling to let it drain all 
 night 1 " 
 
 " Not at all. I like to see 3'ou.'' 
 " We are only just grinden down the earh^ 
 pickthongs and griflSns," continued the farmer, 
 in a half-apologetic tone for being caught cider- 
 making by any well-dressed lady. " They rot 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 275 
 
 as black as a cliimnej-crook if -^^e keep 'em till 
 the regulars turn in." As he spoke he ^^ent 
 back to the press, Cytherea keeping at his 
 elbow. '' Tm later than I should have been by 
 rights," he continued, taking up a lever for 
 propelling the screw, and beckoning to the 
 men to come forward. " The truth is, my 
 son Edward had promised to come to-day, and 
 I made preparations ; but instead of him comes 
 a letter : ' London, September the eighteenth, 
 Dear Father,' says he, and went on to tell me he 
 couldn't. It threw me out a bit." 
 
 " Of course," said Cytherea. 
 
 " He's got a place a b'lieve 1 " said the clerk, 
 drawing near. 
 
 "No, poor mortal fellow, no. He tried for 
 this one here, you know, but couldn't manage to 
 get it. I don't know the rights o' the matter, 
 but willy-nilly they wouldn't have him for 
 steward. Now mates, form in line." 
 
 Springrove, the clerk, the grinders, and Gad, 
 all ranged themselves behind the lever of the 
 screw, and walked round like soldiers wheeling. 
 
270 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 " The man that the old quean hev got is a man 
 you can hardly get upon your tongue to gainsay, 
 by the look o' en/' rejoined Clerk Criokett. 
 
 " One o' them people that can continue to be 
 thought no worse o' for stealen a horse than 
 another man for looken over hedge at en," said 
 a grinder. 
 
 " Well, he's all there as steward, and is quite 
 the gentleman — no doubt about that/' 
 
 " So would my Ted ha been, for the matter 
 o' that," the farmer said. 
 
 " That's true : 'a would, sir/' 
 
 " I said, I'll give Ted a good education if it 
 do cost me my eyes, and I would have/' 
 
 " Ay, that you would so," said the chorus of 
 assistants, solemnly. 
 
 "But he took to books naturally, and cost 
 very Httle ; and as a wind-up the women-folk 
 hatched up a match between en and his 
 cousin." 
 
 " When's the wedden to be, Mr. Springrove 1 " 
 
 "Uncertain — but soon I suppose. Edward, 
 you see, can do anything pretty nearly, and yet 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 277 
 
 can't get a straiglitforNvard liven. I ^vish some- 
 times I had kept en here, and let professions go. 
 But he was such a one for the prent." 
 
 He dropped the lever in the hedge, and 
 turned to his visitor. 
 
 " Now then, Missie, if you'll come indoors, 
 please." 
 
 Gad Weedy looked with a placid criticism at 
 Cytherea as she withdrew with the farmer. 
 
 " I could tell by the tongue o' her that she 
 didn't take her degrees in our country," he said, 
 in an undertone. 
 
 " The railways have left you lonely here," she 
 observed, when they were indoors. 
 
 Save the withered old flies, which were quite 
 tame from the solitude, not a being was in the 
 house. Nobody seemed to have entered it 
 since the last passenger had been called out to 
 mount the last stage coach that had run by. 
 
 " Yes, the Inn and I seem almost a pair of 
 fossils," the farmer replied, looking at the room 
 and then at himself. 
 
278 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 " Mr. Spriiigrove/^ said Cytherea, suddenly 
 recollecting herself; "I am much obliged to 
 you for recommending me to Miss Aldclyffe." 
 She began to warm towards the old man ; there 
 was in him a gentleness of disposition which 
 reminded her of her own father. 
 
 " Recommending ? Not at all, Miss. Ted — - 
 that's my son, — Ted said a fellow clerk of his 
 had a sister who wanted to be doing something 
 in the world, and I mentioned it to the house- 
 keeper, that's all. Ay, I miss my son very 
 much." 
 
 She kept her back to the window that he 
 might not see her rising colour. 
 
 " Yes," he continued, " sometimes I can't help 
 feelen uneasy about en. You know, he seems 
 not made for a town life exactly : he gets very 
 queer over it sometimes, I think. Perhaps he'll 
 be better when he's married to Adelaide." 
 
 A half-impatient feeling arose in her, like that 
 which possesses a sick person when he hearr. a 
 recently -struck hour struck again • by a slow 
 clock. She had lived further on. 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 279 
 
 " Everything depends upon whether he loves 
 her," she said, tremulously. 
 
 " He used to — he doesn't show it so much 
 now : but that's because he's older. You see, 
 it was several years ago they first walked 
 together as young man and young woman. 
 She's altered too from what she was when he 
 first coorted her." 
 "How, sir r' 
 
 " 0, she's more sensible by half. When he 
 used to write to her she'd creep up the lane, and 
 look back over her shoulder, and slide out 
 the letter, and kiss it, and look over one 
 shoulder and t'other again, and read a word 
 and stand in thought looken at the hills and 
 seen none. Then the cuckoo would cry — 
 away the letter would slip, and she'd start 
 a span wi' fright at the mere bird, and have 
 a red skin before the quickest man among you 
 could say, * Blood, rush up.' " 
 
 He came forward with the money and 
 dropped it into her hand. His thoughts were 
 still with Edward, and he absently took her 
 
280 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 little lingers in his as he said, earnestly and 
 ingenuously, — 
 
 "'Tis so seldom I get a gentlewoman to 
 speak to that I can't help speaken to you, 
 Miss Graye, on my fears for Edward ; I some- 
 times am afraid that he'll never get on — that 
 he'll die poor and despised under the worst 
 mental conditions, a keen sense of haven been 
 passed in the race by men whose brains are 
 nothen to his own, all through his seen too 
 far into things — been discontented with make- 
 shifts — thinken o' perfection in things, and 
 then sickened that there's no such thing as 
 perfection. I shan't be sorry to see him 
 marry, since it may settle him down and do 
 him good . . . Ay, we'll hope for the best." 
 
 He let go her hand and accompanied her 
 to the door, saying, "If you should care to 
 w^alk this way and talk to an old man once 
 now and then, it will be a great dehght to 
 him. Miss Graye. Good-evenen to ye . . . 
 Ah look ! a thunderstorm is brewing — be quick 
 home. Or shall I step up with you 1 " 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 28] 
 
 ^'No, thank you, i\Ir. Springrove. Good 
 evening," she said in a low voice and hurried 
 away. One thought still possessed her: Ed- 
 ward had trifled with her love. 
 
 • § 4. Five to sioV, p.m. 
 
 She followed the road into a bower of trees, 
 overhanging it so densely that the pass ap- 
 peared like a rabbit's burrow, and presently 
 reached a side entrance to the park. The 
 clouds rose more rapidly than the farmer had 
 anticipated : the sheep moved in a trail, and 
 complained incoherently. Livid grey shades, 
 like those of the modern French artists, made 
 a mystery of the remote and dark parts of the 
 vista, and seemed to insist upon a suspension 
 of breath. Before she was half-way across the 
 park the thunder rumbled distinctly. 
 
 The direction in which she had to go would 
 take her close by the old manor-house. The 
 air was perfectly still, and between each low 
 rumble of the thunder behind she could hear 
 
282 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 the roar of the waterfall before her, and the 
 creak of the engine among the bushes hard by 
 it. Hurrying on, with a growing dread of the 
 gloom and of the approaching storm, she drew 
 near the Old House, now rising before her 
 against the dark foliage and sky in tones of 
 strange whiteness. 
 
 On the flight of steps, which descended from 
 a terrace in front to the level of the park, stood 
 a man. He appeared, partly from the rehef 
 the position gave to his figure, and partly from 
 fact, to be of towering height. He was dark in 
 outline, and was looking at the sky, with his 
 hands behind him. 
 
 It was necessary for Cytherea to pass directly 
 across the line of his front. She felt so re- 
 luctant to do this, that she was about to turn 
 under the trees out of the path and enter it 
 again at a point beyond the Old House : but 
 he had seen her, and she came on mechanically, 
 unconsciously averting her face a little, and 
 dropping her glance to the ground. 
 
 Her eyes unswervingly lingered along the 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 283 
 
 path until they fell upon another path branch- 
 ing in a right hne from the path she was 
 pursuing. It came from the steps of the Old 
 House. " I am exactly opposite him now/' she 
 thought, "and his eyes are going through 
 me." 
 
 A clear, masculine voice said, at the same 
 instant, 
 
 " Are you afraid 1 " 
 
 She, interpreting his question by her feelings 
 at the moment, assumed himself to be the 
 object of fear, if any. " I don't think I am," 
 she stammered. 
 
 He seemed to know that she thought in that 
 sense. 
 
 "Of the thunder, I mean," he said; "not of 
 myself." 
 
 She must turn to him now. " I think it is 
 going to rain,"' she remarked for the sake of 
 saying something, 
 
 He could not conceal his surprise and ad- 
 miration of her face and bearing. He said 
 courteously. " It may possibly not rain before 
 
284 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 you reach the House, if you are going 
 there ? " 
 
 " Yes I am." 
 
 " May I walk up with you 1 It is lonely 
 under the trees." 
 
 "No.'' Fearing his courtesy arose from a 
 belief that he was addressing a woman of 
 higher station than was hers, she added, " I am 
 Miss Aldclyffe's comi^anion. I don't mind the 
 lonehness." 
 
 '' Oh, Miss AldclyfTe's companion. Then will 
 you be kind enough to take a subscription to 
 her ? She sent to me this afternoon to ask me 
 to become a subscriber to her Society, and I 
 was out. Of course Til subscribe if she wishes 
 it. I take a great interest in the Society." 
 
 " Miss Aldclyffe will be glad to hear that, I 
 know." 
 
 " Yes : let me see — what Society did she say 
 it was ? I am afraid I haven't enough money 
 in my pocket, and yet it would be a satisfaction 
 to her to have practical proof of my willingness. 
 I'll get it, and be out in one minute." 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 2S5 
 
 He entered the house and was at her side 
 again within the time he had named. " This 
 is it/'' he said pleasantly. 
 
 She held up her hand. The soft tips of his 
 fingers brushed the palm of her glove as he 
 placed the money within it. She wondered 
 why his fingers should have touched her. 
 
 " I think after all,"' he continued, " that the 
 rain is upon us, and will drench you before you 
 reach the House. Yes : see there."' 
 
 He pointed to a round wet spot as large as 
 a nasturtium leaf, which had suddenly appeared 
 upon the white surface of the step. 
 
 " You had better come into the porch. It 
 is not nearly night yet. The clouds make it 
 seem later than it really is." 
 
 Heavy drops of rain, followed immediately 
 by a forked flash of lightning and sharp ratthng 
 thunder, compelled her, willingly or no, to accept 
 his invitation. She ascended the steps, stood 
 beside him just within the porch, and for the 
 first time obtained a series of short views of his 
 person, as they waited there in silence. 
 
286 DESPERATE REMEDIE;^. 
 
 He was an extremely handsome man, well- 
 formed, and well-dressed, of an age which 
 seemed to be two or three years less than thirty. 
 
 The most striking j^oint in his appearance 
 was the wonderful, almost preternatural, clear- 
 ness of his complexion. There was not a blemish 
 or speck of any kind to mar the smoothness of 
 its surface or the beauty of its hue. Next, his 
 forehead was square and broad, his brows 
 straight and firm, his eyes penetrating and 
 clear. By collecting the round of expressions 
 they gave forth, a person who theorised on such 
 matters would have imbibed the notion that 
 their owner was of a nature to kick against the 
 pricks ; the last man in the world to put up 
 with a position because it seemed to be his 
 destiny to do so ; one who took upon himself to 
 resist fate with the vindictive determination of a 
 Theomachist. Eyes and forehead both would 
 have expressed keenness of intellect too 
 severely to be pleasing, had their force not 
 been counteracted by the lines and tone of the 
 lips. These were full and luscious to a sur- 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DiYS. 287 
 
 prising degree, possessing a AYoman-likc softness 
 of curve, and a ruby redness so intense, as to 
 testify strongly to much susceptibility of heart 
 where feminine beauty was concerned — a 
 susceptibility that might require all the bal- 
 last of brain with which he had previously 
 been credited to confine within reasonable 
 channels. 
 
 His manner was elegant : his speecli well- 
 finished and unconstrained. 
 
 The break in their discourse, which had been 
 caused by the peal of thunder, was unbroken by 
 either for a minute, or two, during which the 
 ears of both seemed to be absently following the 
 low roar of the waterfall as it became gradually 
 rivalled by the increasing rush of rain upon the 
 trees and herbage of the grove. After her 
 short looks at him, Cytherea had turned her 
 head towards the avenue for a while, and now, 
 glancing back again for an instant, she dis- 
 covered that his eyes were engaged in a 
 steady, though delicate, regard of her face and 
 form. 
 
2S8 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 At this moment, by reason of the naiTO\yness 
 of the porch, their dresses touched, and remained 
 in contact. 
 
 His clothes are something exterior to every 
 man ; but to a woman her dress is part of her 
 body. Its motions are all present to her 
 intelligence if not to her eyes ; no man knows 
 how his coat-tails swing. By the slightest 
 hyperbole it may be said that her dress has 
 sensation. Crease but the very Ultima Thule 
 of fringe or flounce, and it hurts her as much 
 as pinching her. Delicate antennae, or feelers, 
 bristle on every outlying frill. Go to the upper- 
 most : she is there ; tread on the lowest : the fair 
 creature is there almost before you. 
 
 Thus the touch of clothes, which was nothing 
 to Manston, sent a thrill through Cytherea, 
 seeing, moreover, that he was of the nature of 
 a mysterious stranger. She looked out again at 
 the storm, but still felt him. At last to escape 
 the sensation she moved away, though by so 
 doing it was necessary to advance a little into 
 the rain. 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 289 
 
 "Look, the rain is coming into the porch npon 
 you," lie said. " Step inside the door." 
 
 Cytherea hesitated. 
 
 " Perfectly safe, I assure you," he added 
 laughing, and holding the door open. " You 
 shall see what a state of disorganisation I am in 
 ■ — boxes on boxes, furniture, straw, crocker}-, 
 in every form of transposition. An old woman 
 is in the back quarters somewhere, beginning to 
 put things to rights . . . You know the inside 
 of the house, I dare say 1 '*' 
 
 " I have never been in." 
 
 " Oh well, come along. Here, you see, they 
 have made a door through ; here they have 
 put a partition dividing the old hall into two, 
 one part is now my parlour ; there they have 
 put a plaster ceiling, hiding the old chestnut 
 carved roof because it was too high and would 
 have been chilly for me ; you see, being the 
 original hall, it was open right up to the top, 
 and here the lord of the manor and his 
 retainers used to meet and be merry by the 
 light fi-om the monstrous fire which shone 
 
 VtjL. I. U 
 
290 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 out from that monstrous fire-place, now nar- 
 rowed to a mere nothing for my grate, though 
 you can see the old outline still. I almost 
 wish I could have had it in its original state." 
 
 " With more romance and less comfort." 
 
 "Yes, exactly. Well, perhaps the wish is 
 not deep-seated. You will see how the things 
 are tumbled in anyhow, packing-cases and all. 
 The only piece of ornamental furniture yet un- 
 packed is this one." 
 
 " An organ 1 " 
 
 '' Yes, an organ. I made it myself, except 
 the pipes. I opened the case this afternoon to 
 commence soothing myself at once. It is not a 
 very large one, but quite big enough for a 
 private house. You play, I dare say 1 " 
 
 " The piano. I am not at all used to an organ." 
 
 " You would soon acquire the touch for an 
 organ, though it would spoil your touch for 
 the piano. Xot that that matters a great deal. 
 A piano isn't much as an instrument." 
 
 " It is the fashion to say so now. I think it 
 is quite good enough." 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 291 
 
 " That isn't altogether a right sentiment 
 about things being good enough." 
 
 "No — no. AYhat I mean is, that the men 
 ^vho despise pianos do it as a rule from their 
 teeth, merely for fashion's sake, because 
 cleverer men have said it before them — not 
 from the experience of their ears." 
 
 Now Cytherea all at once broke into a blush 
 at the consciousness of a great snub she had 
 been guilty of in her eagerness to explain her- 
 self. He charitably expressed by a look that 
 he did not in the least mind her blunder, if it 
 were one ; and this attitude forced him into a 
 position of mental superiority which vexed her. 
 
 " I play for my private amusement only," he 
 said. '' I have never learnt scientifically. All 
 I know is what I taught myself" 
 
 The thunder, lightning, and rain had now 
 increased to a terrific force. The clouds, from 
 which darts, forks, zigzags, and balls of fire 
 continually sprang, did not appear to be more 
 than a hundred yards above their heads, and 
 every now and then a flash and a peal made 
 
 u 2 
 
292 DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 gaps in the steward's descriptions. He went 
 towards the organ, in the midst of a volley 
 which seemed to shake the aged house from 
 foundations to chimney. 
 
 " You are not going to play now, are you "? " 
 said Cytherea, uneasily. 
 
 " yes. Why not now '? " he said. " You 
 can't go home, and therefore we may as well 
 be amused, if you don't mind sitting on this 
 box. The few chairs I have unpacked are in 
 the other room.'' 
 
 Without waiting to see whether she sat down 
 or not, he turned to the oro-an and beo^an 
 extemporising a harmony which meandered 
 through every variety of expression of which the 
 instrument was capable. Presently he ceased, 
 and began searching for some music-book. 
 
 " What a splendid flash ! " he said, as the 
 liditnino; ao-ain shone in throuo;h the mullioned 
 window, which, of a proportion to suit the 
 whole extent of the original hall, was much 
 too large for the present room. The thunder 
 pealed again. Cytherea, in spite of herself. 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 293 
 
 was frightened, not only at the weather, but at 
 the general unearthly ^Yeirdness which seraed 
 to surround her there. 
 
 " I wish I — the hghtnino; wasn't so bridit. 
 Do you think it will last long '? " she said, 
 timidly. 
 
 ''It can't last much longer,'" he murmured, 
 without turning, running his fingers again over 
 the keys. " But this is nothing," he continued, 
 suddenly stopping and regarding her. "It 
 seems brighter because of the deep shadow 
 under those trees yonder. Don t mind it ; now 
 look at me — look in my face — now." 
 
 He had faced the window, looking fixedly at 
 the sky with his dark strong eyes. She seemed 
 compelled to do as she was bidden, and looked 
 in the too-delicately beautiful face. 
 
 The flash came ; but he did not turn or 
 blink, keeping his eyes fixed as firmly as 
 before. " There,'' he said, turning to her, 
 " that's the way to look at lightning." 
 
 "0, it might have blinded you ! " she ex- 
 claimed. 
 
29 i DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 " Nonsense — not lightning of this sort — I 
 shouldn't have stared at it if there had been 
 danger. It is only sheet-lightning now. Now, 
 will you have another piece 1 Something from 
 an oratorio this time 1 " 
 
 " No, thank you — I don^t want to hear it 
 whilst it thunders so.'' But he had commenced 
 without heeding her answer, and she stood 
 motionless again, marvelling at the wonderful 
 indifference to all external circumstance which 
 was now evinced by his complete absorption in 
 the music before him. 
 
 " Why do you play such saddening chords 1 " 
 she said, when he next paused. 
 
 " H'm — because I like them, I suppose,'' he 
 said lightly. " Don't you like sad impressions 
 sometimes ? " 
 
 " Yes, sometimes, perhaps." 
 
 " AVhen you are full of trouble." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Well, why shouldn't I when I am full of 
 trouble 1 " 
 
 " Are you troubled 1 " 
 
" I am troubled." He said this thoughtfully 
 and abruptly — so abruptly that she did not 
 push the dialogue further. 
 
 He now played more powerfully. Cytherea 
 had never heard music in the completeness of 
 full orchestral power, and the tones of the 
 organ, which reverberated with considerable 
 effect in the comparatively small space of the 
 room, heightened by the elemental strife of 
 light and sound outside, moved her to a degree 
 out of proportion to the actual power of the 
 mere notes, practised as was the hand that 
 produced them. The varying strains — now 
 loud, now soft ; simple, complicated, weird, 
 touching, grand, boisterous, subdued ; each 
 phase distinct, yet modulating into the next 
 with a graceful and easy flow — shook and bent 
 her to themselves, as a gushing brook shakes 
 and bends a shadow cast across its surface. 
 The power of the music did not show itself so 
 much by attracting her attention to the subject 
 of the piece, as by taking up and developing as 
 its libretto the poem of her own life and soul, 
 
2'JO DESri^KATK liEMEDIES. 
 
 shifting her deeds and intentions from the 
 hands of her judgment, and holding them in 
 its own. 
 
 She was swayed into emotional opinions 
 concerning the strange man before her ; new 
 impulses of thought came with new harmonies, 
 and entered into her with a gnawing thrill. 
 A dreadful flash of lightning then, and the 
 thunder close upon it. She found herself 
 involuntarily shrinking up beside him, and 
 looking with parted lips at his face. 
 
 He turned his eyes and saw her emotion, 
 which greatly increased the ideal element in 
 her expressive face. She was in the state in 
 which woman's instinct to conceal has lost its 
 power over her impulse to tell ; and he saw it. 
 Bending his handsome face over her till his lips 
 almost touched her ear, he murmured without 
 breakino' the harmonies : — 
 
 ''' Do you very much like this piece "? " 
 
 " Very much indeed,'' she said. 
 
 " I could see you were affected by it. I will 
 copy it for you." 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. 297 
 
 " Thank you much/' 
 
 '•'I will bring it to the House to you to- 
 morrow. Who shall I ask for "? " 
 
 " 0, not for me. Don't bring it," she said, 
 hastily. " I shouldn't like you to." 
 
 " Let me see — to-morrow evening at seven or 
 a few minutes past I shall be passing the water- 
 fall on my way home. I could conveniently 
 give it you there, and I should like you to 
 have it." 
 
 He modulated into the Pastoral Symphony, 
 still looking in her eyes. 
 
 " Very well," she said, to get rid of the look. 
 
 The storm had by this time considerably 
 decreased in violence, and in seven or ten 
 minutes the sky partially cleared, the clouds 
 around the western horizon becoming lighted up 
 with the rays of the sinking sun. 
 
 Cytherea drew a long breath of relief and 
 prepared to go away. She was full of a dis- 
 tressing sense that her detention in the old 
 manor-house, and the acquaintanceship it had 
 set on foot, was not a thing she wished. It was 
 
293 DESrERATE EEMEDlEr>. 
 
 such a foolish thing to have been excited and 
 dragged into frankness by the wiles of a 
 
 stranger. 
 
 " AUoAv me to come with you," he said, 
 accompanying her to the door, and again show- 
 ing by his behaviour how powerfully he was 
 impressed with her. His influence over her had 
 vanished with the musical chords, and she 
 turned her back upon him. " ]\Iay I come 1 " 
 he repeated. 
 
 " jSi 0, no. The distance is not three hundred 
 yards — it is really not necessary, thank you," 
 she said, quietly. And wishing him good 
 evening, without meeting his eyes, she went 
 down the steps, leaving him standing at the 
 door. 
 
 " 0, how is it that man has so fascinated 
 me ! " was all she could think. Her own self, as 
 she had sat spell-bound before him, was all she 
 could see. Her gait was constrained, from the 
 knowledge that his eyes were upon her until 
 she had passed the hollow by the waterfall, and 
 by ascending the rise had become hidden from 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. -20^ 
 
 his view by the boughs of the overhanging 
 trees. 
 
 § 5. Si.v to seven, p.m. 
 
 The wet shining road threw the western glare 
 into her eyes with an invidious lustre which 
 rendered the restlessness of her mood more 
 wearying. Her thoughts flew from idea to idea 
 without asking for the slightest link of connec- 
 tion between one and another. One moment 
 she was full of the wild music and stirring 
 scene with Manston — the next, Edwards image 
 rose before her like a shadowy ghost. Then 
 Manston's black eyes seemed piercing her 
 again, and the reckless voluptuous mouth ap- 
 peared bending to the curves of his special 
 words. What could be those troubles to which 
 he had alluded 'I Perhaps Miss x\ldclyffe w^as 
 at the bottom of them. Sad at heart she paced 
 on : her life was bewildering her. 
 
 On coming into Miss Aldcly fife's presence, 
 Cytherea told her of the incident, not without 
 
oOO DESPERATE REMEDIES. 
 
 a fear that she would burst into one of her un- 
 governable fits of temper at learning Cytherea's 
 slight departure from the programme. But, 
 strangely to Cytherea, iMiss AldclyfFe looked 
 delighted. The usual cross-examination fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 " And so you were with him all that time 1 " 
 said the lady, with assumed severity. 
 
 " Yes, I was." 
 
 " I did not tell you to call at the Old House 
 twice." 
 
 " I didn't call, as I have said. He made me 
 come into the porch." 
 
 " "What remarks did he make, do you say 1 " 
 
 " That the lightning was not so bad as I 
 thought." 
 
 " A very important remark, that. Did he — " 
 she turned her glance full upon the girl, and 
 eyeing her searchingly, said, — 
 
 " Did he say anything about me? " 
 
 " jSTothing," said Cytherea, returning her gaze 
 calmly, " except that I was to give you the 
 subscription." 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEExNT DAYS. .30 1 
 
 *' You are quite sure 1 " 
 
 " Quite/' 
 
 " I believe you. Did he say anything striking 
 or strange about himself '? '' 
 
 " Only one thing — that he was troubled." 
 
 *' Troubled ! " 
 
 After saying the word, Miss Aldclyffe re- 
 lapsed into silence. Such behaviour as this had 
 ended, on most previous occasions, by her 
 making a confession, and Cytherea expected 
 one now. But for once she was mistaken, 
 nothing more was said. 
 
 When she had returned to her room she sat 
 down and penned a farewell letter to Edward 
 Springrove, as little able as any other excitable 
 and brimming young woman of nineteen, to feel 
 that the wisest and only dignified course at that 
 juncture was to do nothing at all. She told him 
 that, to her painful surprise, she had learnt that 
 his eno^ao;ement to another woman was a matter 
 of notoriety. She insisted that all honour bade 
 him marry his early love — a woman far better 
 tlian her unworthy self, who only deserved to be 
 
o02 DESPERATE KEMEDIES. 
 
 forgotten, and begged him to remember that he 
 was not to see her face again. She upbraided 
 him for levity and cruelty in meeting her so 
 frequently at Creston, and above all in steaHng 
 the kiss from her lips on the last evening of the 
 water excursions. " I never, never can forget 
 it I " she said, and then felt a sensation of having 
 done her duty, ostensibly persuading herself that 
 her reproaches and commands were of such a 
 force that no man to whom they were uttered 
 could ever approach her more. 
 
 Yet it was all unconsciously said in words 
 which betrayed a lingering tenderness of love at 
 every unguarded turn. Like Beatrice accusing 
 Dante from the chariot, try as she might to 
 play the superior being who contemned such 
 mere eye-sensuousness, she betrayed at every 
 point a pretty woman's jealousy of a rival, and 
 covertly gave her old lover hints for excusing 
 himself at each fresh indictment. 
 
 This done, Cytherea, still in a practical mood, 
 upbraided herself ^vith weakness in allowing a 
 stranger like Mr. Manston to influence her as 
 
THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS. o03 
 
 he had that evening. What right on earth had 
 he to suggest so suddenly that she might meet 
 him at the waterfall to receive his music '? She 
 would have given much to be able to annihilate 
 the ascendency he had obtained over her during 
 that extraordinary interval of melodious sound. 
 JSTot being able to endure the notion of his 
 living a minute longer in the belief he was then 
 liolding, she took her pen and wrote to him 
 also : — 
 
 " KxAp-WATER House, 
 
 '^ Seijteniher 20th. 
 
 " I find I cannot meet you at seven 
 o'clock by the waterfall as I promised. The 
 emotion I felt made me forgetful of realities. 
 
 " C. Grate." 
 
 A great statesman thinks several times, and 
 acts ; a young lady acts, and thinks several 
 times. When, a few minutes later, she saw 
 tlie postman carry off the bag containing 
 one of tlie letters, and a messenger with the 
 
301' DESPERATE RExMEDIES. 
 
 other, she, for the first time, asked herself the 
 question whether she had acted very wisely in 
 writing to either of the two men who had so in- 
 fluenced her. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 KRADBURY, EVANP, AND CO., PRINTERS, WH1T£FRIARS. 
 
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rift 
 
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