a ig tat tate se staat FE PS hati Se ‘ t t et Be ippeniacns A Get University of Virginia Library an 06 .O7 1927 at ordeal of al vard Feverel, ani omya rn As iLIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA PRESENTED BY Fredson T. Bowerset a Re oe Nas ey ae epee a ie ot EE er ene ae = ee : . a nme >to 40k eee ae pageants ene ee J - ne ee ers Seana ee ee a= o a rrmay eer ern) fn) er)Pere re ry Na ee le er eae aie Ses : sapere ebeeerl yrs!a ae Fr = a Sent cell a eg Pa a —~* 4 ee tee aa A ory a. ena mien es 2a OT et aa as nn! ae oer ene wet ee ws —s ot Leon 3 om " a le let te PT Pere oy} fu Te Ane eee tee) ey a ffnn a ST —_— i e- — i a4 = " et al eC alate ten) Coo Le) i if | t 7 t } f | i i, i} ; i | -EE OR DEAL ZOE Ke @E AR D = F EVE RSEpE EE M O.D E Ran, Et B Renee Ol BS WAO 16 OS IRIS 1 IBOOK S The publishers will be pleased to send, upon request, an iNustrated folder setting forth the purpose and scope of THE MODERN LIBRARY, and /isting each volume in the series. Every reader of books will find titles he has been looking for, handsomely printed, in unabridged editions, and at an unusually low price. wy} ed a te _ ot os Tr ae Noe ee - we ee Lae a) eo a ee Aas Ae ‘ “ —— et ee ee —— it A t oy a ; n | i i rf : * ty bi bee A rr eed fe Fr IN in nnn iar alaeie = 0 } fe | I if | | | Ne ee ne a ne See. \leas: (OK DD Epa, OF RICHARD PE VER EI eee ees _ pega or PT ~aalaaeeeepaes ts fr TOT eee clef ON aces Sn A a PEP AT Te ae Pr en ee ‘ ae ee " D 3 re an ee) (ft 4.e Fa ] : i ra eal ’ , ‘ | BY GEORGE MEREDITH EE MODERN LIBRARY NEW YORKCOPYRIGHT, 1927, BY THE MODERN LIBRARY, INC. a c> Be. q a: a: vf v ay a a \ Se eT aon. 66) en © Va ee Sy . v —“s Random House IS THE PUBLISHER OF ipso DYE RN Li'l BREA RY Manufactured in the United States of America Printed by Parkway Printing Company Paper by Richard Bauer & Co. Bound by H. WolffCONTENTS CHAPTER I. THe Pivcrim’s Scrip an abet II. A Gummpse BEHIND THE Mask : III. Mrs. MALeEpDICcTION ae IV. THE INMATES OF RAYNHAM ABBEY V. SHowinc How THE FATES SELECTED THE FOURTEENTH BIRTHDAY TO [RY THE STRENGTH OF THE SYSTEM “VI. THE Mactan ConrFtLict VII. Arson Sate ; VIII. Aprian Pires His Hoox IX. JUVENILE STRATAGEMS X. DAPHNE’s BOWER XI. Tue Birrer Cup XII. A Fine Distinction Melee ae: ee XIII. RicHarp Passes THrRouGH His PReE.LIm- INARY ORDEAL, AND IS THE OCCASION OF AN APHORISM ee Ne ee eras XIV. In Wuicu THE Last Act oF THE BAKE- WELL CoMEDY IS CLOSED IN A LETTER XV. THE BLossoMING SEASON : XVI. Tue Macnetic AcE a WERT XVII. An ATTRACTION oe het en XVIII. FerpiInanp AND MIRANDA gat Sas XIX. UNMasSKING oF Master Ripton THomp- SON v ee NI st ©) (eo) 1) in oo | W 98 104 112 119 132 142 149 160 . = ee 9 ae ae a at) Sn a ais Meee aan eo ts ea 6 Maye oe es 3 eh el Oe SNM Dnt Se rote a4 t it et | +o 4 if 6 Apipeo : ee woe Le ead Cle ed Ret eh os ee ao pa ree eT Pe ae re ene Nae reer ee ryne I j | } i | a | i R i Se eee CN ee ee ee) eee ae ae ee ne neg er ge Dr —- oe a CHAPTER XX. XXII, XXIT. AXITTI. XXIV. XXV. XXVI. XXVII. AXVITI. XXIX. ROOK. XXXII. XXXII. XXXITTI. XXXIV. XXXV. XXXVI. XAXXVIT. XXXVITI. CONTENTS Goop WINE AND Goop BLoop THE SysTEM ENCOUNTERS THE WILD OATS SPECIAL PLEA A SHapowy VIEW oF CazLeBs PATER GOING ABOUT WITH A GLASS-SLIPPER A DIVERSION PLAYED ON A PENNY-WHISTLE CELEBRATES THE [IME-HONOURED ‘TREAT- MENT OF A DRAGON BY THE HERO RICHARD IS SUMMONED TO ITowN TO HEAR A SERMON INDICATES THE APPROACHES OF FEVER Crisis IN THE APPLE-DISEASE Or THE SPRING PRIMROSE AND THE AU- TUMNAL In WHICH THE HERO TakKEs A STEP Recorps THE RaApip DEVELOPMENT OF THE HERO CoNTAINS AN HEROINE INTERCESSION FOR THE RELATES How PREPARATIONS FOR ACTION WeERE CoNDUCTED UNDER THE APRIL OF LOVERS In WHIcH THE Last Act oF A COMEDY TAKES‘ THE PLACE OF THE First CELEBRATES THE BREAKFAST THE PHILOSOPHER APPEARS IN PERSON PROCESSION OF THE CAKE NuRSING THE DEVIL CONQUEST OF AN EPICURE PAGE 170 177 181 192 196 218 229 245 262 268 290 306 310 W Ww pS W - O AY in “I 387 399XXXIX. XLe XLI: XLII. XLII. XLIV. XLV. XLVI. XLVII. XLVIII. XLIX. CONTENTS CLARE'S MARRIAGE A DINNER Party:-AT RICHMOND Mrs. Berry oN MATRIMONY AN ENCHANTRESS THe LitrLeE Bip AND THE FALCON: BERRY TO THE RESCUE! CLARE'S DIARY AUSTIN RETURNS NATURE SPEAKS AGAIN THE MAGIAN CONFLICT THe Last ScENE LADY BLANDISH TO AUSTIN WENTWORTH Vil PAGE 422 439 457 471 ea mek eae aoe ee er A preegyncreetes ~ ee ers TG Td ar a a | t ‘ 2 + i 9 ae a eee ren ea rDNA TEI oes ee re tale ee ke eee a ary ae erent ee Soot fo rd rz S| : | | : a eS oe el e ae em egy ee epi er a io cs ad ; -THE ORDEAL OF RICHARD FEVEREL CHAPTER I THE PILGRIM S SCRIP SOME years ago was printed, and published anonymously, dedicated to the author’s enemies, a small book of original Aphorisms, under the heading, THE Prtcrim’s Scrip. The book was noticeable for its quaint earnestness, and a perver- sity of view regarding ,Women, whom the writer seldom extolled, and appeared with all conscience to rank as creatures still doing service to the Serpent: bound to their instincts, and happily subordinate in public affairs, though but too powerful in their own walk. Modern Aphorists are accus- tomed to make their phrases a play of wit, flashing anti- thetical brilliancies, rather than condensing profound truths. This one, if he did not always say things new, evidently spoke from reflection, feeling, and experience: the Triad which gives a healthy utterance to Wisdom: and omitting one of which, or with the three not in proper equipoise and Junction, admirable sentences may survive as curiosities, and aptly quoted may clinch a debate, but are as Dead Sea Apples to a thirsting mind, and to men at large incomprehensible juggleries usurping dominion of their understandings with- out seal of authority. , His thoughts were sad enough; occa- sionally dark;; here and there comical in their oddness: nevertheless there ran through the volum: a fire of Hope; and they did him injustice who said he lacked Charity. 1 OT eT ee TN oe Se eed ee ee re - 7 a I : ‘ i a. t vt i 4} al Se oe ee sew es a ee 7 a nea oe ancl ae rm et ee ee oi ff aLet + | | | ao a a is LO ee ET koe cee eee Lo 2 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel Thus he wrote: ‘I am happy when I know my neighbour's vice.” And it was set down as the word of a cynic; when rightly weighed, it was a plea for tolerance. He said again: ‘Life is a tedious process of learning we are Fools.’ And this also is open to mild interpretation, if we do not take special umbrage at the epithet. For, as he observes, by way of comment: ‘When we know ourselves Fools, we are already something better.’ He made no pretension to Novelty. ‘Our new thoughts have thrilled dead bosoms,’ he wrote; by which avowal may be seen that Youth had manifestly gone from him, since he had ceased to be jealous of the ancients, his forefathers. There was a half sigh floating through his pages for those days of intellectual coxcombry, when Ideas come to us affect- ing the embraces of Virgins, and swear to us, they are ours alone, and no one else have they ever visited: and we believe them. On the subject of Women, certainly, the Aphorist seemed to lose his main virtue. He was not splenetic: nay, he proved in the offending volume he could be civil, courteous, chival- rous, towards them: yet, by reason of a twist in his mental perceptions, it was clear he looked on them as_domesticated Wild Cats, ready, like the lady in the fable, to resume their natural habits when there was a little mouse to tear, and, after they had done so, not to be allowed to reappear_as the seraphs we thought them when they had a silly male mortal to lure: in fact, to be stamped Wild Cats, to the dissipation of Illusion. He gravely declared, as one whose postulate was ancented universally: ‘I Lexpect that Woman will be the last thing nla by Man.” And from this tremendous impertinence, he stalked on like a Colossus to treat of other matters, worldly and spirit-The Pilgrim’s Scrip 3 ual, witli che calm of a superior being who has avowed a most hopeful opinion: as indeed it was. He conceived that the Wild Cats would some day be actually tamed. At present it was best to know what they were. Singular to say, the one dangerous and objectionable feature in this little volume, preserved it from limbo. Men read, and tossed it aside, amused, or weary. ‘They set the author down as a Sentimentalist jilted; commonly known to be a savagely vindictive wretch, who deserves to be listened to solely when he dresses a gay shaft, and that fo the fun. “They were angry at his ponderous intentness ‘They, let us suppose, were Sentimentalists not yet jilted. By the ladies, however, who took the Dedication to them selves, he was welcomed otherwise. These extraordinary creatures, whose moves it is impossible to predict, and who will, now and_then, love, or affect_to love, their enemies better than their friends, cherished his book, and asked fo him. He had fortunately not put his name to the title-page. In the place of a signature of authorship, stood a Griffin between Iwo Wheatsheaves. It became a question, then, whether this might be symbolic, or a family crest. Several ladies detected symbolism in the aspect of the Griffin, which had a snarling hostile air to them, and seemed to mean_that the author was a double-animal, and could do without them, being well fortified by Life’s Wherewithal to right and left. Other ladies, arguing from the latent vanity in man, would insist upon the Crest. Bodies of ladies made application to the publisher, who maintained the good repute of his craft in keeping his secret, and was not to be seduced, and in- creased the mystery. “Thou that thinkest thyself adored,’ says THE PILGRIM’Ss Scrip, ‘O Fool! it is not Thou she loveth, but the Difficulty.’ To manifest the truth in which, one adventurous fair one betook herself to the Herald’s College, and there, after im- mense labour, ascertained that a Griffin between Two Wheat- sheaves formed the crest of Sir Austin Absworthy Bearne Recstw eo ez Ns ne pan one Sena Seat ee s > en wii OO a eae ao Hes ~ ee et ne ey ES ed a —— ne ee ea ee ee nee eee aes =a bo De ee ON oe a rd as ss= ee Set ene a Ne ot eee) eet ee Serna emia a wie wii ot ale ell 4 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel Feverel, Baronet, of Raynham Abbey, in a certain Western County folding Thames: a man of wealth, and honour, and a somewhat lamentable history. The discovery of a Secret implies no obligation to retain it: and the lady in question treated her capture as a prisoner of war. whom, like Tamerlane, she exhibited in a cage to her fiends: that is.. it was shared with them, and was presumed to belong to her: but they, considering a Secret to be of so rich an essence that it can only be enjoyed diluted, had also their confidences, and the Secret soon broke through its solemn bars and evaporated in soft whispers, by which in the end Sir Austin Feverel, much to his amazement, became famous as The Griffin, and learnt what it was to give Woman a clue. The Baronet became famous, and tasted the fruits of celeb- rity. His breakfast-table grew odoriferous with dainty notes from fair correspondents, deploring their non-intimacy, and begging the favour of a Copy of his Beautiful Book, while remonstrating humbly against the severity of his judgment pronounced on a sex, which, whatever its short- comings, could, and did, reverence a Sage. Showers of the enthusiastic rose-pink descended on Raynham. One lady addressed the Aphorist as /England’s, Christian La Roche- foucauld. One went so far as to propose herself to him as An Uncorrupted Eve:.and there is no knowing what a disinher- ison of Posterity may have sprung from his persistent eva- sion of their pointed flatteries. For he was a soured Adam whom not even an uncorrupted Eve might tempt. “We live and learn,” said the Baronet to young Adrian Harley, his nephew and intimate; “‘but it is odd that, when we whip her, Madam should love us the more.” 7 You have propounded it frequently, Sir,” replied that clever youth, “in the GREAT SHADDOCK DocMa.” (For so, on account of its constant and ungenerous citation of the primal slip in Paradise, Adrian chose to entitle THE PIL- GrRim’s Scrip). ‘You say:The Pilgrim’s Scrip 5 ~ “Woman when she wrestles for supremacy with every one she encounters, is but seeking her Master.’ “She’s a Tyrant till she’s reduced to bondage, and a rebel till she’s well beaten. She worships strength, whether_of t sic_or of the intellect, and likes to feel it. Poet, Philosopher, or Athlete, come not amiss to her; and could she get the three in one—’” “Ay, then,” Sir Austin took him up, “farewell Duty! Women are born Pagans, ever on the look-out for material ods!” ; “Whom, if they can’t discover, they create!’’ added Adrian. “Witness many a gentle joy of an Ass. To be dis- tinguished by Woman is to wear Bully Bottom’s Garland.” ‘Preserve me from that!” exclaimed the Baronet, shudder- ing devoutly. His own written enunciations were adverse to his chances of escape, and Adrian capitulated them: “Man is the speculative animal: Woman the practical.’ “Wherefore: ““Tempt her not to swear to her soul she will have thee —thou art lost!’ ” But he had written a book ; he had made himself_an object: Miss Blewins was in the field; the lean, the long-nosed, the accomplished, the literary: Miss Joy Blewins, sister to the aforesaid, was in the field; the half-man, who cut her hair short, and parted it on the left side: Lady Blandish was in the field; the fairest sweetest sensible widow ever seen, a dead shot with her eyes, when she used them: ‘The Hon. Mrs. Breakyeline was in the field; who had in her time plunged through countless ethical hedges and ditches, without apparent discomfiture to her muslin. A dozen emulous young persons in, or just out of, pinafores, swift-runners, had taken the field. Half the number of habituated old ones were there, formidable with experience and wigs. Poetesses, authoresses, heiresses, were there. In the field, too, was Mrs. M‘Murphy, an Irish Giantess, who made a point of asking ——r- Sulpsytgtewteteacenyssinyy}) 1°”, ce eee nt ~ nl ane a og ti pe i fl i Cs ore Se Ae ee oa oe sro sae ste ne a PY - a ede - ee aa Pape CE or ee La y adA mast 6 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel directly of men whatever she wanted; terrible to deal with! Mrs. Cashentire, a banker’s wife, who behaved as if she had ‘been his relict: Lady Attenbury, who followed the fashion. Lastly, Camilla Duvergey, the fastest young woman of the day. ; All these female harriers were in the field prepared to give chase to the Griffin. Miss Blewins said, he must be converted to a nobler con- ception of the Dignity of Woman, and her Mission. Mrs. M‘Murphy averred, ‘‘she should .be dis’pinted if she didn’t marr’ him,” and, hearing that he was already married, shrieked “Ow;” for which the Hon. Mrs. Break- yeline sneered at her, and scandalously declared he was still to be had: but Lady Blandish, and Lady Attenbury, were neighbours of his, and knew that the game was scarce tract- able. In pursuance of their resolve, the hardiest of these ter- rible persecutors announced their intention of coming down to Raynham to sit at Gamaliel’s feet and drink of wisdom from its source. ‘What am I to do?” cried the unhappy Griffin, when the news reached him. “Hire a Boy and a Mantle, Sir. I see nothing else for it,” said Adrian. The Baronet stroked his brow, as if he already felt Bully Bottom’s Garland. “But when they have read my opinion of them,’’ he ex- claimed fretfully, “what do they want with me?” : | | ! | : “That’s it,’ Adrian remarked. “They want to change it. Sheba once made a far journey!” ee ay) ~ Solomon shook his head. The ladies were true to their threat. Miss Blewins, the long-nosed, the literary, was the first to arrive. Her followed the short-haired Joy, the half-man. Then came Mrs. Cash- entire, succeeded by the bony big Celt, and the swift Camilla, and nameless worshipers, who all introdueed themselves, and een bh ee ial Ce nn i eee ia hia! ants Po Se a ee _ a lid — =eThe Pilgrim’s Scrip 7 claimed admittance on the strength of their admiration of THE PitcRIm’s Scrip. Sir Austin did his best to receive them graciously, and his sister, Mrs. Doria Forey, the female Head of his house, kept her eyes in wakeful watch on them. They came, and did not go. “They formed a Court about him; listening to him eagerly, and sighing at his inveterate conclusions: hoping higher things of Woman, and meekly combating till they fell. A Tournament was held nightly. Miss Blewins, the long-nosed, the literary, elected herself spokeswoman, and held the post in spite of vehement obstruc- tions from Mrs. M‘Murphy. “Oh, Sir Austin,” she ejaculated, “it is surely our Educa- tion which causes us to shine at such a disadvantage! You make dolls of us! puppets! Are we not something—some- thing more ?”’ ‘“‘Aren’t we yer mothers?” shouts the M‘Murphy. “Are we not delegated to a higher office in conjunction with Man?” continued the Maiden, heedless of the vulgar interruption. “Is it only for our beauty you take us?” And she lifted her length of nose pathetically. “You compel us,” stammered Miss Joy, who knew the sequence. “You compel us,’’ Miss Blewins caught her by the skirt, “you compel us to lean on our acquirements utterly, and you wonder that Woman deprived of inner life, is found wanting in moral self-support!”’ This was not going to the root of the matter. ‘The Baronet would smile in pity, and put a case to her. “A woman, Madam, the sole representative of her sex! Suppose her upon an Island peopled by nothing but men.—” “Horrut!” the M‘Murphy howls, and the exclamation was repeated in English by the whole Court. “T ask you,” he calmly resumed, “to accord me your candid opinion how that woman would be treated, even though the men were hinds—all but savages?” me cetn tees \ . Pe hak ' on ee apt Cad > aa ee =. -* oer ASR OTHE ry FT ya et eee a sone 4 i ai a¥ t Pi + tt a ed a ——— a am RS a ™ re ett a eee | , b pene a OO Opener fee oleae a a wtett od ! | ; | | 1 ! | | } ee eee hae a el Eni poesia aaa nad Sa oe ee cae - re 8 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel The Court mutely consulted, and Miss Blewins was approved in observing, that she really did honestly think that the single representative of her sex would—shocking as her situation must be deemed—be treated with due respect, and esteem, if not with reverence, nay, worship! Then the ladies, warming to the notion, cried out with one voice, that it would be delightful! that she would be a Queen, a Priestess among them. Numbers pined for such a fate. The swift Camilla vowed she never should be happy till she reigned in that blissful Island. “Good!” said Sir Austin. “And now reverse the case. Conceive an Island peopled by Women, and but one Man in their Society: tossed there, say, by shipwreck——Hem!” and the Aphorist looked arch. “What course of treatment might that one Man anticipate at their hands?” Silence, and abashed blushes, and smothered silver laughter, received this second Supposition. How indeed would he be treated? “To which of the ladies would he belong? A shipwrecked mariner is not easily made a Priest of; and if they crowned him King, the prime consideration still re- mained at issue—to whom would he belong? He must be- long to-some one of them! ‘The Court was split. A few ladies faintly maintained that he would be prudently im- pounded till such time as they could make suitable use of him, and despatch him in safety, sound of limb, from the Isle. Lady Blandish, too, suggested the present instance of an Aphorist, and a hostile one, alone in their company, and undamaged, she hoped: and Miss Blewins desperately attempted to claim the triumph of the illusion for Woman; inasmuch as it was admitted, that Woman would leaven the male mass by her presence, whereas a feminine community, hitherto smiling and uncorrupt, was, by the inauspicious sea- gift of one of the opposite sex, depraved. It was barely neces- sary that Sir Austin should expose her as a sophist, to stride victorious through the field. A Majority of the ladies, headed by Mrs. M‘Murphy, who was very outspoken aboutThe Pilgrim’s Scrip 9 the claims she should put forth to the Man, let it be seen that in their gentle bosoms they believed that unfortunate male would fare sadly, if he did not ultimately suffer the fate of a celebrated mythic Singer. Torn in pieces! was the all but unanimous Verdict on the Wretch. “There was no Chivalry in Woman. So these ladies confessed. Her spirit of ap- propriation was too strong! a That some great things are done without design, and that certain wonderful victories may be found more costly than a defeat, it were loss of time to insist upon. ‘The ladies who formed the Court at Raynham had doubtless no con- spiracy to succumb to the insult of the SHApDocK Docma, thereby to ensnare and make foolish its pronouncer; and the Baronet assuredly entertained no idea that an uninterrupted career of logical conquest endangered his stability. He thought, naturally, that the more he overthrew her in argu- ment, the safer his position. Nevertheless, he was melting to Woman. Woman appreciated his Aphorisms, and Man did not. That was possibly a reason. When the inferior creature appreciates us, we cease to despise her. When the inferior creature acknowledges her fault, she is already rising in the scale. She exhibits Intelligence; she gives proof of Humility; two excellent bases for the. building of a better hope for her. ‘The change was insensible in Sir Austin; a work of months and years. He was surrounded by an ad- miring circle of sweet women, and against the charm of their society what Shaddock Dogmatist, however soured and re- luctant, can hold out lastingly?; It is an opposite extreme of the peril of entire abstraction from them, which has ruined renowned Saints, who had trusted that way to solve man’s problem. Sir Austin’s state was nearly as precarious as Saint Anthony’s. ‘The vision of a single young woman is said to have overcome the inflammable Monk: twenty of these were now besetting our fire-proof Baronet. The fact of a Shaddock Dogmatist resisting them to any extent, may account for his being so pertinaciously pursued. Be it —_- ar jh a eeistgtgte Ay) {'° ett ee nd ee IO OS er am 7 | a f 4 Ee ee oe Ot ne oe tn ~~. (a DUAN NEEM asores toe eT aa ~ ,tt mal 10 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel said, for the honour of the sex, Women esteem not easy gamne. , Adonis is wished for his beauty, and Lovelace for his naughty character: but Beauty and Wickedness, though desirable, are small deer. It is the rank misogynist, who flees them, whom they hunt down as far as he will go. Him they regard as the noble stag of the forest, and to catch him they_disencumber themselves of many garments retained a common chase. From THE Pitcrim’s Scrip, it was clear that Sir Austin knew them mighty hunters: as thus: ‘The Amazon cut off a breast to battle: How will not Woman disfigure_ and_unsex herself to gain ‘shes end?’ And further, mournfully: “To withstand them, must we first annihilate our Mothers within us: die half!’ The poor gentleman, seriously believing Woman to be a Mistake, had long been trying to do so. Had he succeeded, he would have died his best half, for his mother was strong in him. ‘The very acridity of the Aphorisms, the GREAT SHADDOCK DocMa itself, sprang from wounded softness, not from hardness.. It may be that the unerring scent of the hounds in pursuit told them this. ,One who really despised them had left them in peace. Beyond dispute, Sir Austin must have fallen a prey to them, and they were to have added a Griffin to their Zoolog- ical Garden of tributaries: the greater his esthetic, the more positive their earthy, triumphs: and he might say, ‘If I fall, I fall perforce of spiritual superiority, for they can but tempt my baser nature, and were they to rise to me, there would be no jeopardy.’ He must have been ultimately be- trayed by his softness, but, as often happens, he was fully armed at his weakest point; namely, the heart. -He had a son, and his heart was filled by him. He had a son, and | he was incubating a System. ‘To the Son, and to the System, the stranger ladies of the Court were introduced. In the former, they beheld a hand- | } | : . _ cei eee een aa en eer nen ae eee ee oe a en ae a eae 2 prea ee 7 ——The Pilgrim’s Scrip 11 some, graceful, boy, not unlike other boys, but looking the pick of them. The latter was a puzzle. Sir Austin explained it in his Aphoristic fashion. “Sin is an alien element in our blood. ’Tis the Apple- Disease with which Nature has striven since Adam. To treat Youth as naturally sinful, is, therefore, false, and bad: as it is bad, and false, to esteem it radically pure. We must consider that we have forfeited Paradise, but were yet grown there. “Belonging, then, by birth to Paradise, our tendency should even be towards it: allowing no lower standard than its Perfection. “The Triumph of man’s intellect, the proof of his power, is to make the Serpent who inhabits us fight against himself, till he is destroyed. “Wy son possesses Pride, say. Human Pride is a well- adjusted mixture of Good and Evil. Well; it tempts him to conceive that he is more than his fellows. Let it, as it can, lift him to be more than his fellows, and at once he will cease to conceive it: the fight will have been fought: the Devil will be dead. “For this is our divine consolation: that Evil may be separated from Good: but Good cannot be separated from Evil: the Devil may, the Angel will not, be driven out from us. A truly good man is possible upon Earth: 4 thoroughly bad man is not possible. ‘This you admit ?”” The poor ladies murmured, that they admitted it. Man! Man! Man! they began to feel in their souls a dreadful antagonism to Man. “Well!” and the Baronet sententiously pursued. He did right to preach to women; men would not have listened to him. As it was, Miss Joy Blewins, and Mrs. M'Murphy, were restive. The gist of the System set forth: That a Golden Age, or something near it, might yet be established on our sphere, when fathers accepted their solemn responsibility, and = By aera eR ae a Sete peer Te “syste Td nem oa aie ELIF On PT in ee lt swe — ae ee ee es 7 a es { 1 MS i lee — Pear aaa sore rtyUtte a et pe LE ea ncergn cate Tettay UREA TTA ee eee ee a er Fae ON ie ore Pr a — ioe ee eee er ed ia ; f ( ; ; i | | j ee isshieieesins bch z = 1 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel studied human nature with a Scientific eye, knowing what a high Science it is, to live: and that, by hedging round the Youth from corruptness, and at the same time promoting his animal health, by helping him to grow, as he would, like a Tree of Eden; by advancing him to a certain moral for- titude ere the Apple-Disease was spontaneously developed, there would be seen something approaching to a perfect Man, as the Baronet trusted to make this one Son of his, after a receipt of his own. What he exactly meant by the Apple-Disease, he did not explain: nor did the ladies ask for an explanation. Intuitively they felt hot when it was mentioned. Miss Blewins said the idea was very original. “A gigantic task!’’ said Mrs. Cashentire. “It’s more than ye’ll do though. “Take my word for it,” said the M‘Murphy, and the Hon. Mrs. Breakyeline vowed, “She liked a man to be a man.” She was evidently not the Uncorrupted Eve. But whatever folly there was in the System, it saved its author for awhile, at least, and cleansed his Court of such ladies as had come there for a lower motive than the Adora- tion of Wisdom. ‘The swift Camilla wished she could have waited for the youth. She could not, she declared, and re- tired, followed in her secession by the M’Murphy, who plainly told Sir Austin, that, now young men had got the taste for Apples, they would bite at them. Ohers departed to combat the GreAT SHApDpOocK DocMa in_booke, and justify it by their acts. The System was left with a few occasionally-visiting old Maids, and eccentric wives, and the neighbouring fair Widow Blandish, to work itself out, and then was peace again at Raynham Abbey.A Glimpse Behind the Mask 13 CHAPTER II A GLIMPSE BEHIND THE MASK FaME, the chief retainer of distinguished families, has first sounded the origin of the Feverels where their line of Ancestry blossoms with a Baronet; and Rumour, the profane vagabond, who will not take service in any respectable house- hold, whispers that he was a Villain. At all events, for this proud race, behind his dazzling appearance sits Darkness and democratic Adam, and they cling to him as an ark of pure aristocracy. _Sir Pylcher Feverel,;they will tell you, assum- ing a Norman air to deliver it, spelt his name (or meant to spell it) Fiervarelle; a mame hearing which you seem to hear a trumpet blown remote, from the Conqueror’s ranks, in the morning, in the mists, over Pevensey: youthful Feverels of the latest generation have been known to chal- lenge the Saxon towards the same hour, by announcing them- selves as formidably. This luminous Knight (still to follow the traditions of the family, for the sake of avoiding a challenge), having quarters on the Welsh frontier, mixed his blood with the royal blood ap Gruffudh: from whose fair Princess the Welsh estates were inherited, and who must at the same time have endowed them with that Cymric tinge to their habits and mental cast observable in the for- tunes of the race. At what period they quitted Cheshire and settled upon Thames is a matter of family controversy, anG History, unable to decide, has declined to speak on the point. . They were great on their pedigree, and held that an old Baronetcy is worth any new Dukedom, and that good blood is Heaven’s first-gift. Occasionally in its downward course the blood branched into many channels: and again it shrunk into one. Sir Caradoc Feverel, the predecessor of Sir Austin, was an only son; twice, it was said, on the verge of death before he had a successor, and then they came in vy — = - == e el ON Te eae a ee ed 7 <4 am Tyo Cee caren rer ercrrss ) ee a ee NY ae ee See eT nae ee i rr wea eae oe ene at f iecamel - sy : A ; j 1 | } | t : t | A Y f H es te coe ne nn oe ay ene nore ee ew) —— 14 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel numbers. “There was a Mrs. Malediction in the House (bequeathed by the great Sir Pylcher)., Often had she all hut cut them off from their old friend, Time, and they re- vived again. Whether it was the Apple-Disease, or any other, strong constitutions seemed struggling in them with some peculiar malady. Of course, members of the family were foremost in spilling loyal blood on Marston Moor, that great field of phlebotomy to so many Cavaliers. With | the increase of their wealth, owing to the discovery of mineral treasures on their ap Gruffudh grounds, they sank into quiescent Tories, and spent the better portion of their time in essays at Agriculture and Park-planting at home, while abroad they did battle on behalf of Protection. The house they lived in, called an Abbey from some tradi- tion of its site,, was _a_ heterogeneous architectural jumble, svhich nevertheless presented a generous front to a broad westward valley of green pastures, fruitful tillage, and a_ pure-flowing wave; and seen from the river, on its platform of greensward, backed by lofty pines and flanked with beech- woods midway down a hillocky roll of grass, that ended in flat rich meadows extending to the river-side, deserved some better title than that of Raynham Ramshackle, as the Pap- worths, old political antagonists of the Feverels, delighted to term it. A child, with two perpendicular lines and one horizontal, could have designed the mansion of, Sir Miles Papworth,/shining down the valley, towards Lobourne; and a child, too, might have designed Sir Miles, and accurately sketched him when it drew a round impending upon a round of exaggerated girth, from which two stumpy down-strokes stuck forth to prop the fabric. Sir Miles was a Saxon born and bred, and (though not consequently) a Whig. He was a mature specimen of modern England’s vaunted race: or let us say, the vaunted race of modern England’s novelists. He was the heroic grain they cut types from. In his youth he had amassed good muscle, and sank down on it, in his decline, to drink Port. Prosperous, pig-headed, and just inA Glimpse Behind the Mask 15 proportion: bald and rubicund: corpulent, hearty, and bandy: a domestic despot, a staunch subject, a fair-dealing father, a foe to innovation and ideas, a devoted worshiper of himself against the world, this old hero was the contrast of the Head of the Fiervarelles, and fought the Battle of Hastings with him more than once, and beat him on one field. Sir Austin was unhappy in his Marriage,/and Sir Miles, entrenched in a well-drilled, many-childed, timid little shadow of a wife, vastly enjoyed his social advantage over the lord of Rayn- ham. Not to have mastered a woman, he thought the mean- est confession a man could make, and, apart from political teud, he had no pity for his wretched rival Baronet, though, between his port, he vented much damnable condolence. THE Pitcrim’s Scrip he held in contempt, being an admirer of Woman, whom he said, he never had any difficulty in understanding. His way of reading them was decidedly straightforward. On the field of politics, he had to, lay down his arms to Sir Austin. Feverel.was the richer man, and the County was agricultural and,Tory.. Hence their dissension. The battle was well-fought, and, though beaten, the Saxon did not give in: but he was no match for the Conqueror’s Cook. The strategy of Raynham’s Dining-hall overpowered him. Of that hall, at least, the Papworths ‘could say nothing derogatory without betraying miserable envy. Jolly farmers had sighed in it; influential tradesmen iwith a taste for land, had there been kindled into high en- ithusiasm for the Old Blood. The legs of devoted plumpers thad grown weak under Raynham’s famous mahogany, and itheir heads strong. , Sir Austin’s Cook thrice returned him ito Parliament. The Dining-hall had been closed seven years when THE Pitcrim’s Scrip appeared: )closed seldom to hear revel again. "There at one end drooped two mouldy standards, ‘wrung from the foeman by a Feverel on the battle-field: between them a Golden Torque set in a frame, said to have belonged once to a warrior of the ap Gruffudh. A sense of Coed SP eae ats os oy ra ‘ 4 - ——-a ga Te ae ene ae pee - pare >. Sie ier ee ake ot ees Palo a ae eS song fad S Ba Waseret toe: tt tir Pap eNO ee ainanid oe ~ ee re a a st Sn rerio Pata) a es ory on es —. * te J q } | | t : ) | i I i | ] 5 { | ree a eee as 16 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel cobwebs and the reign of the spider hung about its heavy oak-carvings. [he music of glasses, the laughter of free- men, was dumb there. “The place seemed to have forgotten how once within the jovial four walls Britons had been touched to the quick by the great wines, shrewd dishes! how whiskers had been widened by the grin! In those days Sir Austin Feverel was thought a royal man, and was in a fair way to be beloved. He was frank and warm with his friends; generous to the poor, and above all, delicate with them, who have the keenest instinct for a gentleman, and venerated him accordingly. When his disaster befell him, and his home was suddenly desolate, it was as though his tree of life had shrunk under a blight. He shut himself up as he did his Dining-hall ;, relinquished Parliament, and bade a mute adieu to Ambition., People were astonished at the utter change wrought in so apparently proud and self-reliant a man: but old folks, that knew the family, said, they expected it some day or other. It was in the blood, they said: Sir Caradoc, his father, was a strange hand, and so was his father, Sir Algernon, before him: they were all sure to turn out a little wrong some day or other. And the old folks tapped their foreheads meaningly. Sir Austin also came to their conclusion, that it was in his blood ; a superstition he had aforetime smiled at. , He had regarded his father, Sir Caradoc, as scarce better than a madman when he spoke of a special Ordeal for their races and when, in his last hour (the sails of the knightly bark then loosening to the night wind on the fast-ebbing tide), the old Baronet caught his elder son’s hand, and desired him to be forewarned, Austin had. while bowing respectfully, wondered that Reason was not vouchsafed to his parent at that supreme instant. From the morning hills of existence he beheld a clear horizon. He was no sooner struck hard than Sir Caradoc’s words smote him like a revelation. He believed that a curse was in his blood; a poison of Retribu- tion, which no life of purity could expel; and grew, perhaps, ——A Glimpse Behind the Mask VT more morbidly credulous on the point than his predecessor: speaking of the Ordeal of the Feverels, with sonorous solem- nity, as a thing incontrovertibly foredecreed to them. Vainly Ais friends argued, that men commonly calculated on wounds and bruises, and were not disappointed. Sir Austin, strong in the peculiar sharpness of the sting darted into him, held that there was an entire distinction in their lot: that other men_were tried by puny ailments; were not searched and shaken by one tremendous shock, as of a stroke of Heaven’s lightning. He indicated that the Fates and Furies were quite as partial as Fortune. Stricken Pride, and a feverish blood, made him seek consolation in this way. The outline of the Baronet’s story was by no means new. He had a wife, and he had a friend. His marriage was for love; his wife was a beauty; his friend was a poet. Sir Austin Feverel did nothing by halves. His wife had his whole heart, and his friend all his confidence. When he selected .Denzil Somers from among his College chums, it Was not on account of any similarity of disposition between ‘chem, but, from his intense worship of Genius, which made him overlook the absence of principle in his associate, for the sake of such brilliant promise. .Denzil; had a small patrimony to lead off with, but that he dissipated before he left College, and thenceforth he was dependent upon his ‘admirer, with whom he lived, filling-a nominal post of bailiff to the estates, and launching forth Verse of some ‘satiric and sentimental quality; for being inclined to vice, ‘and occasionally, in a quiet way, practising it, he was, of icourse, a sentimentalist and a satirist, entitled to lash the Age, and complain of human nature. His earlier Poems, published under the pseudonym of Diaper Sandoe, were so |pure and bloodless in their love-passages, and at the same time so biting in their moral tone, that his reputation was great among the virtuous, who form the larger portion of the English book-buy ing public. Election-seasons called him ballad-poetry on behalf of the Tory party, and lines of 1 BEDS g eNO BO TN anus ee MS Catt nce a Pap ee al ayn ee SOTO iy fh Pa i e ae e4| et oe ees oe Os Fa ele Ee S a ad pe Pe en aa eee eet si ac Vint o - ed ae oh Te ei ote oS resp esa i ae en a ee Ss mm — | - | : : \ i | ; 18 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel his on “Sir Miles Paunch,” adapted to the dialect of the: County (wherein two Countrymen meet to discuss the nation’s affairs, and contend, in iambics, one, that all goes} wrong for want of a Head in Parliament—a clear allusion to the Feverel faction—the other, that the country labours lacking Paunch there—grotesquely describing the Papworth | minority—and the arguments of the two end in a fight, when the Head-man finishes by doubling-up the Paunch-man), | appealed triumphantly to popular British humour, and’ shared in routing the Saxon at the hustings. Diaper pos- sessed undoubted fluency, ,but did little, though Sir Austin was ever expecting much of him. A pale, languishing, inexperienced, woman, whose husband, in mental, and in moral, stature is more than the ordinary height above her, and who, now that her first romantic’ admiration of his lofty bearing has worn off, and her little fretful refinements of taste and sentiment are not instinc- tively responded to, is thrown into no wholesome household collision with a fluent man, fluent in prose and rhyme. Lady Feverel, when she first entered on her duties at Raynham, was jealous of her husband’s friend, and moved the very ‘ foundation-stones of the house to get his dismissal; ineffec- tually: Sir Austin reasoned with her,—an insult in such | cases, as a woman knows, and that she does not pardon. Diaper remained, and led his old chrysalis life from which he was some day to emerge a resplendent butterfly. Good cellars, choice company, a house in town, pocket-money at command, one may believe (Sir Austin did) that it was | not he who sought the ruin, and courted temptation. By degrees the lady tolerated him. In time he touched his guitar in her chamber, and they played Rizzio and Mary together. “For I am not the first who found The name of Mary fatal!”A Glimpse Behind the Mask 19 says a subsequent sentimental alliterative love-poem of ‘iaper’s. Such_ was the outline of the story. But the Baronet could ll it_up. He had opened his soul to these two. He had een noble Love to the one, and to the other perfect Friend- hip. He had bid them be brother and sister, whom he sved, and live a Golden Age with him at Raynham. In act, he had been prodigal of the excellencies of his nature, vhich it is not good to be, and, like Timon, he became ankrupt, and fell upon bitterness. “Didn’t he expect his luck?” cried Sir Miles. The old Saxon understood women, he did. And he firmed that the best way to continue their warm admirer twas to keep the bit well in their mouths, and lay on the yhip now and then. They laugh who win. His wite was | faithful woman. eee eee The faithless lady was of no particular family—an orphan laughter of an Admiral who educated her on his half-pay, und her conduct struck but at the man whose name she bore. After five years of Marriage, and twelve of Friendship, sir Austin was left to his loneliness with nothing to ease tis heart of love upon save a little baby-boy in a cradle. He forgave the man: he put him aside as poor for his jwrath. The woman he could not forgive. She had sinned averyway. Simple ingratitude to a benefactor was a pardon- able transgression, for he was not one to recount, and crush the culprit under the heap of his good deeds. But _her_he ihad_ raised to be his equi il, and he judged her as his equal. She had blackened the world’s fair aspect for him. “In the presence of that world, so different to him now, the preserved his wonted demeanour, and made his features a flexible mask, Mrs. Doria Forey, his widowed sister, said: “Austin might have retired from his Parliamentary career for a time, and given up gaieties, and that kind of thing: her opinion, founded on observation of him in public and private, was, that the light thing that had taken flight was he spiwhotemce aeakt rae ar i a re ee a Lee ee oe s OT ld a Da I ne ie f a 7 <1 | I ai i N a a nas “ eee St ant ee ee reer tt et : = ee eee tees er Paps an oO a ee aee nee Deer Coe eS ie eer | ; ) ! } 3 4 i 7 i Y f 1 } ! i ceett ool 20 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel but a feather on her brother’s Feverel-heart,—and his ordi- mary course would be resumed.” ‘There are times when common men cannot bear the weight of just so much. Hip- pias Feverel thought him immensely improved by his mis- fortune, if the loss of such a person could be so designated ; and seeing that Hippias received in consequence free quarters at Raynham, and possession of the wing of the Abbey she had inhabited, it is profitable to know his thoughts. If the Baronet had given two or three blazing dinners in the great ! Hall, he would have deceived people generally, as he did his relations and intimates. He was too sick for that: fit only for passive acting. A stern cold man, it was said: touched in his Pride— nowhere but there. a" “The nursemaid waking in the night, beheld a solitary figure darkening a lamp above her little sleeping charge, and became so used to the sight as never to wake with a start. One night she was strangely aroused by a sound of sobbing. The Baronet stood beside the cot in his long black cloak and travelling-cap. His fingers shaded a lamp, and red- dened against the fitful darkness that ever and anon went leaping up the wall. She could hardly believe her senses to see the austere gentleman, dead silent, dropping tear upon tear before her eyes. She lay stone-still in a trance of terror and mournfulness, mechanically counting the tears as they fell, one by one. ‘The hidden face, the fall and flash of those heavy drops in the light of the lamp he held, the upright, awful figure, agitated at regular intervals, like a_ piece of clockwork, by the low murderous catch of his breath: it was so painfully piteous to her poor human nature that her heart began wildly palpitating. Involuntarily the poor girl cried out to him, “Oh, Sir!” and fell a-weeping. Sir Austin turned the lamp on her pillow, and harshly bade her go to sleep, striding from the room forthwith. To express sympathy for a Feverel during his Ordeal, was a graye misdemeanour: to surprise the Head of the familyMrs. Malediction 21 —_ inmanned was a mortal offence. Dian was not more thastely jealous of her bath, than Sir Austin of the moment when his knightly chainmail was removed, and his heart ‘tood bare. Poor Polly-Actazon was summoned to the Baronet’s study ‘ext morning, and was shortly afterwards deported from the \bbey by his man, like a guilty thing whose touch to the est of the inmates was contagion: her cheeks in a deluge, snd a seal on her mouth. CHAPTER III MRS. MALEDICTION ON one occasion in the year, the old Hall tried to know tself again.) The logs blazed, and the table was laid to elebrate young Richard’s birthday. October, summoned very connection of the Feverels to this festivity. The boy’s incles, Algernon, the guardsman, Cuthbert, the sailor, /ivian, the diplomatist and beau, made a point of coming, or not to be present on that great day of the golden month, was to encounter a cold eye and a colder forefinger when hey at other times required the Baronet’s consideration and tn order on his Bankers. Hippias was always on the spot, repared to drink anybody’s health. ‘The ladies of the family vere likewise assembled. Notwithstanding their goodwill én seconding the gentlemen, it was a frigid feast. Sir Austin pat in the presence of a phantom. He brightened after linner, as the young heir was trotted in to hear himself oasted. Possibly that was his one happy moment of the year. Mr. Justice Harley, the husband of a Feverel, pro- posed the toast; supported by Colonel Wentworth, another tusband of a Feverel. ‘The ladies smiled, nodded, and eg eye ee nee = ee tnt Sees at a tea POT Te ee PM : i et ‘ ae i a] J + asi a ub 7 BI A by Bh , | ut , ri ‘ + Se ae. i | : = - —— ee ae pos enc yANI he. od ~Sa teal armen at ee nee LN ee ete eee eee et tae oY a ene Tee ne eel cpaae eet al er ——— 26 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel robust, he was covered with the caresses of the field, and enjoyed an enraptured hug from Lady Blandish: the lady provoking thereby those reflections in THE PILGRIM’s ScrIP, ‘On the Panilariey of the Forbidden Fruit, and the prefer- ence we have for it, provided an Innocent offer it us.’ Little Ricky returned from his Examination in time to witness the Catastrophe of the day. His Uncle Algernon was still in, batting gloriously: his elegant figure and fine legs deservedly admired by the ladies. A shot from Bursley’s terrible-swift bowler took him on the forward thigh, and he was seen limping towards the tents with considerable lack of grace, and a ruefully animated expression. Dr. Clifford of Lobourne was present, and perused the bruise. He had him conveyed immediately to the house, where, towards night, it was debated whether there was to bea leg less; in the family, as was soon the case. 1 “Said I not, Something would happen?” remarked Sir Austin, not altogether dissatisfied. “Oh, confound, Mrs. Malediction!}’ Algernon groaned to Colonel Wentworth. “You’re as staunch a believer in her now as Austin,’ said the Colonel. ‘It’s true that the boy did see a woman.” “What woman?” asked Algernon. “His mother!” replied the Colonel. “Confound the women, then!”’ cried the poor one-legged Guardsman. Colonel Wentworth did not make this revelation to Sir Austin, and the latter from that day incorporated a little of his superstition with his System. CHAPTER IV THE INMATES OF RAYNHAM ABBEY RicHarp’s Uncles pass out of his history, after_this_sacri- fice of a leg for him. Cuthbert, the sailor, perished in aihe Inmates of Raynham Abbey 27 spirited boat-expedition against a slaving Negro-chief up the Niger. Some of the gallant lieutenant’s trophies of war decorated the little boy’s play-shed at Raynham, and he bequeathed his sword to Richard, whose hero he was. ‘The diplomatist and beau, Vivian, ended his flutterings from flower to flower by making an improper marriage, as is the fate of many a beau, and was struck out of the list of visitors. Algernon generally occupied the Baronet’s disused Town house, a wretched being, dividing his time between horse, and card, exercise: possessed, it was said, of the absurd notion, that a man who has lost his balance by losing his leg, may regain it by sticking to the Bottle. At least, whenever he and Hippias got together, they never failed to try whether one leg, or two, stood the Bottle best, and it was known that the ardour of the contest now and then put them both in a position not to require balance. “They were stout drinkers, and the primogenital cellars were not niggard of their stores. Much of a Puritan as Sir Austin was in his habits, he was too good a host, and too thorough a gentle- man, to impose them upon his guests. The brothers, and other relatives, might do as they would while they did not disgrace the name, and then it was final: they must depart to behold his countenance no more. Algernon Feverel was a simple sort of man, who felt, subsequent to his misfortune, as he had perhaps dimly fancied it before, that his career lay in his legs, and was now irrevocably cut short. He taught the boy boxing, and shooting, and the arts of fence, and superintended the direc- tion of his animal vigour with a melancholy vivacity. The remaining energies of Algernon’s mind were devoted to animadversions on Swift-bowling. He preached it over the County, struggling through laborious literary compositions, addressed to sporting newspapers, on the Decline of Cricket. In Adrian Harley’s words, he bored everybody so that he took off the bales of Forbearance and knocked down the stumps of Patience. It was Algernon who witnessed and Op mone) ek eee eta Ee a pec a eee eee to Fal “+ re ET —_ ae Se 43 nT i 1 eH iu . oe crore ieee ue sont ee re er arene : Pema pany ee Ree aaa > a Ca a ee aaa aie net Da ate Era eh en ee ne eT ED AD Oi nn re jn ae — ie Ne ee — 28 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel chronicled Richard’s first fight, a very plucky combat with young Tom Blaize of Belthorpe Farm, three years the boy’s senior, whom, with the aid of Science, he defeated. Hippias Feverel was once thought to be the genius of the family. It was his ill luck to have strong appetites and a weak stomach; and, as one is not altogether fit for the Battle of Life who is engaged in a perpetual contention with his dinner, Hippias forsook his prospects at the Bar, and, in the embraces of dyspepsia, compiled his ponderous work on the Fairy Mythology of Europe. He had little to do with the Hope of Raynham, beyond what he endured from his juvenile tricks. A venerable lady, known as, Great-Aunt Grantley, who had money to bequeath to the Heir, and whom Adrian called The Eighteenth Century, occupied with Hippias the back ground of the house,; and shared her caudles with him. These two were seldom seen till the dinner-hour, for which they were all day preparing, and probably all night remem- bering: for The Eighteenth Century was an admirable trencherman, and cast age aside while there was a dish on the table. Very much against her will,,Mrs. Doria Forey, though the female head of the house, was not allowed to come _to the fore, while the System was at work, as she would have done in any other establishment but that of the author of THE Piucrim’s Scrip. She was the elder of the three sisters of the Baronet,,a florid affable woman, with fine teeth, ex- ceedingly fine light wavy hair, a Norman nose, and a reputa- tion for understanding men, which, with these practical creatures, always means, the art of managing them. She had married an expectant younger son of a good family, who deceased before fulfilment; and, casting about in her mind the future chances of her little daughter, the sole child, Clare, she marked down a probability; and the far sight, the deep determination, the resolute perseverance, of her sex, where a daughter is to be provided for, and a manLe The Inmates of Raynham Abbey 29 os 'to be overthrown, instigated her to invite herself to Rayn- ham, and, with that daughter, she fixed herself there, to watch the System, and sap it. Not that she did not love her brother, Austin; she thought him an incomparable man, and tenderly pitied him: but_that she deemed the System Non- sense:; its interdict against the espousals of cousins, Non- sense : all experiments in education, Nonsense. ‘Women,’ says THE PILGRIM’s ScrIP, ‘are, by nature, our staunchest Conservatives. We must look on them as the Bulwarks of Society.’ a = a Nn ne ea - = . Se ay et ae en ed pe aed Eee ne Which may, or may not, be true, but is surely in a man- )ner complimentary, and was true in Mrs. Doria’s case! She had never forgiven Cromwell the execution of the Martyr |Charles; and to extenuate the conduct of the great Round- head Captain, was to make Mrs. Doria despise and detest ‘you, if you did not lie direct in her line of tactics for the time being: in which instance she would sigh, and deplore your mistake, and draw melting pictures of the sufferings of her Martyr, and ask you whether. you had_a_heart. Adrian Harley, who sided with the Commonwealth, not from any sympathy, for he abjured politics, as a Wise Youth should, but for the pleasure of taking an adverse ‘view, and to tease her,—him she was, during the first period jof her residence at Raynham, inclined for that sole reason ito hate, till she perceived his influence with the Baronet, and ithen she said, lamenting for him, he had no heart: but . Austin Wentworth, the Colonel’s son, a Republican on prin- jciple, as true a Christian and kindly a spirit as ever walked ithe earth, who had small influence with the Baronet, she (for her sole reason quite hated, and conscientiously damaged thim wherever she could; not shrinking from frequent hints ;and amplifications of an unhappy story of the poor youth’s, (in support of the Cause of her Martyr; and it is certain that Mrs. Doria’s constant insinuations made the Baronet look dubiously on one who was.ever his son’s best friend. Austin’s story was of that wretched character which to y i <* uv oi i eee ees agers eae OT ren me ee ah ecenaaal ee “) ps ae neee pe ee eee > Baie ae atti s a nr ee a o = iets eis a inner ms hed ——s “rsp -se 30 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel be comprehended, that justice should be dealt him, must be told out, and openly; which no one dares now do. For a fault in early youth, redeemed by him nobly, accord- ing to his light, he was condemned to undergo the world’s harsh judgment:_not for the fault—tor its atonement. “Married his mother’s housemaid,” whispered Mrs. Doria, with a ghastly look, and a shudder at Republicans. And women gave the young man a cold shoulder. Marble- cold they can make that lovely feature of their persons, when they please; in a way unknown to men. What right had he, for a whim, for a folly, to destroy for ever his prospects? —and theirs? It was true, he was not rich. Still he had an independence. And he was extremely presentable: fair- haired, with a smile sweet as a woman’s: gentle as a child: a face set with the seal of a courageous calm: so pure a face that looking on it you seemed to see into his soul. You could not misdoubt him. And he had gone and ruined himself: married that creature! The world of women turned from him as from a blighted rose. ‘The compensation for Injustice,’ says THE P1LGRIM’s Scrip, ‘is, that in that dark Ordeal we gather the worthiest around us.’ And Lady Blandish, and some few true men and women held Austin Wentworth high. “He was, I think—I do not know—mistaken,” the fair widow pleaded for him to the Baronet, “but I cannot blame him. It is so rare to meet that nobleness in men.” Her widow’s privilege permitted her to distantly allude to the circumstances of the case. Sir Austin was a man to estimate and welcome nobleness. He ranked it more, and it was more akin to him, than I[ntel- lect. Very different for young Richard would it have been had Austin taken his right place in the Baronet’s favour: but Austin had offended against the Baronet’s main crotchet : who said, in answer to Lady Blandish, that, to ally oneself randomly was to be guilty of a crime before Heaven greaterThe Inmates of Raynham Abbey 31 than the offence it sought to extinguish; and he had heard that his nephew was the one seduced. Wherefore he was doubly foolish; a thing in Sir Austin’s opinion, he said, almost equal to depravity. “Think, Madam,” he argued, “think of the children.’ ‘“’There may be none,” she said. “They live apart: the woman is vicious, true,’”’ the Baronet resumed. ‘Think then, Madam—lI may speak to you,— think that he, a young man of excellent qualities, has madly disinherited his future, and is barren to posterity, while knaves are propagating. _I do not forgive him. The nobler he, the worse his folly.. I do not forgive him.” This it was to look on Life as a Science. Adrian Harley, who had no views of his own on the sub- ject, except that it was absurd when you were in the mud to plunge in deeper instead of jumping out, cleverly inter- preted his Chief’s, and delighted him with swelling periods. “Marriage,” flourished Adrian, “is more than a creation of the Laws. As the solemn deed of Life, the culminating act of our existence, an anticipation of its ordinances is not to be cancelled by seeking their countenance; which en- deavour may expose penitence in the offender, but generates for him Retribution rather than Absolution, in lives unborn, misbegotten, in a callous companion, in an outraged future bearing with it a life-long ill-assortedness.” And so forth. Adrian, the Wise Youth Adrian, would never have made such a mistake. Some people are born green: others yellow. Adrian was born yellow. He was always on the ripe sensi- ble side of a question. ‘In action,’ THE Pitcrim’s Scrip observes, ‘Wisdom goes by majorities.’ Adrian had an instinct for the majorities, and as the world invariably found him enlisted in its ranks, his appellation of Wise Youth was generally acquiesced in. The Wise Youth, then, had the world with him, but no: friends. Nor did Hie wish for those troublesome appendages a“ 7 ON ee ee eee x s nat = Pa an a os I —_ waeST cemmmmmereumem certian thst i iI taal ata eee Taal | } ! 1 | ! 40 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel “T don’t think the schools would harm such a youth,” said the Doctor. “The schools are corrupt!” said the Baronet. Dr. Clifford could not help thinking there were other temptations than that one of Eve. For youths and for men, Sir Austin told him. She was the main bait: the sole to be dreaded for a youth of good pure blood: the main to resist. Dr. Clifford inquired whether it was good for such a youth to be half a girl? Whereat Sir Austin smiled alaugh. “You see him one instant a shamefaced girl, and the next, a headlong boy,” the Doctor explained. “Is that good?” “Yes, yes; I caught your meaning,” said Sir Austin. “You suppose shame to be the property of innocence, and there- fore of womankind. A wonderful double deduction!’ He went into scientific particulars which would reduce the reader to greater confusion than it did the Doctor. ‘They then fell upon the question of Richard’s marrying. “He shall not marry till he is thirty!’ was the Baronet’s Spartan Law. “He need not marry at all,’ said Dr. Clifford. “Birth and death are natural accidents: Marriage we can avoid!” The Doctor had been jilted by a naughty damsel. “On my System he must marry,” said the Baronet, and again dissected the frame of man, and entered into scientific ; partictilars: ending their colloquy: “However! I thank you, Doctor, for speaking as you think, and the proof that I know how to profit by it, is seen in my admission of the boy, Thompson, to my household. Perhaps our only difference, after all, is not a pathologic one. I acknowledge your diag- nosis, but mollify the prescription. I give the poison to my son in small doses; whereas you prescribe large ones. You naturally contend with a homceopathist—Eh ? You are inimical to that heresy?” “With your permission, Sir Austin, I hate that humbug.” | The Doctor nodded grimly, and the Baronet laughed, in his | stiff way, to have turned the tables on his staunch old ad- |The Fourteenth Birthday 41 versary, calling him forth into the air to look after the boy, and inspect the preparations for his day’s pleasure. CHAPTER V SHOWING HOW THE FATES SELECTED THE FOURTEENTH BIRTHDAY TO TRY THE STRENGTH OF THE SYSTEM OcrTosBer shone royally on this day of the completion of the Second Seven years’ march of the Hope of Raynham. The brown beechwoods and golden birches glowed to a bril- liant sun. Banks of moveless cloud hung about the horizon, mounded to the . Zest, where slept the wind. Promise of a great day for Raynham, as it proved to be, though not in the manner Raynham had marked out. Already archery booths and cricketing tents were rising on the lower grounds towards the rive1, whither the lads »f Bursley and Lobourne, in boats and in carts, shouting for a day of ale and honour, jogged merrily to match themselves anew, and pluck at the living laurel from each other’s brows, like manly Britons. The whole park was beginning to be astir and resound with holiday cries. Sir Austin Feverel, a thorough good Tory, was no game-preserver, and could be popular whenever he chose, which Sir Miles Papworth, a fast-handed Whig and terror to poachers, never could be. Half the village of Lobourne was seen trooping through the avenues of the park. Fiddlers and gypsies clamoured at the gates for admission: white smocks, and slate, surmounted by hats of serious brim, and now and then a scarlet cloak, smacking of the old country, dotted the grassy sweeps to the levels. And all the time the star of these festivities was receding further and further, and eclipsing himself with his reluctant serf, Ripton, who kept asking, what they were to do, and Where they were going, and how late it was in the day, and “a= ry Ped \ -_ ST es ois aN enero et) nr -~-“ OE ed nr nn a os f ; ( SI No mmns ee RO) fo ts a TT tad _ i eal Sener eet eee — tied ae eS ee a —tae " Se Na el - i } | } H | q : 5 H r | f t / 1 , ; 4 : t { f 42 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel suggesting that the lads of Lobourne would be calling out for them, and Sir Austin requiring their presence, without getting any attention paid to his misery or remonstrances. For in Richard’s bosom a fate was working, and the shame of * the insult, as he thought it, rankled. Now it happened that, as the two boys wandered kicking the clods disconsolately, they started a pheasant. The bird, with its fellow in the brake, drummed, and whirred, and to. the misfortune of its species made its plumage seem_a_ prize to them. “I know what we’ll do,” cries Richard, his features sud- denly lighting up, “we'll have a day’s shooting!, We'll shoot all day, and we won’t go home till night.” He turned to his friend to see how his proposal was re- ceived. Master Ripton, whose mind was set on Raynham | and the fun there, listened but half cheerfully, and hinted that any other day would do for shooting. “No!” said Richard, “look what a day it is. We shall kill lots of birds, and give everybody the slip. You'll have a gun and I’ll have a gun, and we'll have better fun than any of them at Raynham. Come along!” And he made Ripton moodily retrace his steps. It seemed mad and stupid to Rip- ton’s sense of reason, but he was a bondsman and bound to acquiesce. He mumbled something about not having a ° license, and was putting that in for a plea against the expedi- tion, till Richard assured him positively that every gentle- man had a license, and Ripton, who deeply delighted in the notion of belonging to that privileged class, and walked with tight boots, and underwent daily tortures, to induce the — world to accept him as one, admitted it was the case that | every gentleman had a license, and therefore he must have one So back they ran to the Abbey, dodged the Baronet, armed themselves, got the old pointer Mark’em (named after © his profession and the keeper at a blow) close to their heels, and, by skirting outhouses and slinking under walls, escaped one, SS aeys The Fourteenth Birthday 43 n the security that favours the commencement of adventures yf this sort, and made for the coverts of the park. Rearward of the Abbey lay a lake that took the morning un, and the shadow of a solitary cypress, planted by some ad-minded Ancestress. “The boys had to round the lake an ey ec Ree ATI) | | te efore they could plunge into perfect concealment, and as ih hey did so, Richard cried out, “Look! do you see how that 4 hadow follows me ?—just look.” fH Ripton cast a dissatisfied eye on the phenomenon, not a ie rhit inclined to express any wonder, if he felt it. i “Do you see it, Rip?” Richard moved forward and back a m the brink of the lake, pretending that the reflection of the i ypress pointed after him ‘i RR “What do you think!” he continued. “They say in our HN amily that when we any of us come across it in this way— it ike this, look!—there’s going to be mischief. My father Pt oesn’t believe in that kind of thing: nor more do I. But At -’s strange, isn’t it? Look!’ The boy held to the spot like i ne fascinated. “It’s true my gréat-grandfather, Sir Alger- n on Feverel, noticed it pointing at him as he passed the a 10rning he fought the duel, and was killed. And he went ae ialf round the lake. Of course I don’t believe there’s any- ay hing in it. Do you?” i Ripton said, he did not, because all shadows seemed to do Fi he same, in a modified way: but there, Richard assured him, ir ie Was wrong, as this cypress was the only tree ever known o do it. Peg Though I don’t believe it means anything,” he added. ‘Mind you hold your gun properly and don’t shoot me, and ll take care I don’t shoot you. If we get lots of birds we'll ake some over to Lady Blandish to-morrow, and she'll ask is to dine there, and she has capital wine, and no Benson, ind all sorts of fun, and you may do as you like there.”’ “Any girls?” asked Ripton. “I don’t know.” The young gentleman was violently ‘ontemptuous in his reply. : af * I § ‘8 i ee o> at oh re - a en ore a ae aaa errya Ne et ob eee ee A Se a ee en aa re ma fa ms - — eee eta al 4.4, The Ordeal of Richard Feverel They entered the wood, and from its eastern border could see the people of Lobourne trooping along the main road to Raynham: horsemen and horsewomen; carriages, Carts, cricketers, from whose entertainment the heart was running away. He had a little touch of compunction as he beheld them; but immediately putting the blame on his father, branched off in a contrary direction, and so eulogized the house of Lady Blandish to Ripton, and the reception she would give them and their birds to-morrow, that the un- lucky youth began to get consoled. Richard shouldered his own gun, a light single-barrel, suitable for his years. )-Rip- ton had made free with Captain Feverel’s.. He was rather short-sighted and inexperienced in guns, though it was out of the question he should admit the fact, every gentleman being familiar with guns from his birth. , It was not in bravado that he carried a rifle instead of a fowling-piece. Both boys were warming at the prospect of sport. Old Mark’em joined in the conspiracy nose and tail; a dog’s equivalent for heart and soul; generally one as good. “Are you a prime shot?” said Richard. Ripton nodded knowingly, and answered, “Pretty good.” “Then we'll have a dozen brace apiece to-day,’’ said Richard. On nosed old Mark’em, bent upon work. Out of the | wood into a field of stubble, and onward they went at a trot, and down plumped old Mark’em, true as the needle to the pole. Then the cat-like steps of the juvenile sportsmen were fine to see. Ripton surpassed his comrade in velvety paw and professional attitude, crouching his body in the most hopeful manner. But when this moment of exquisite expectancy was cut short by the birds rising, the hapless youth suddenly remembered he had_ forgotten to load. Earth reeled round his figure of confusion as Richard fired. He fired, but old Mark’em made no blithe bounds in advance. The sagacious old dog looked sulky and disgusted. A dead miss! Richard reproached his friend bitterly. |The Fourteenth Birthday 45 “Why did you bawl out just as I was aiming? Who can s4im with a fellow bawling in his ear? I’ve lost the birds through it. At least I should have had one of the two.” Ripton explained humbly that he had forgotten to load. “Always load at home,” said Richard. ready for anything. time.” “Then you’re And don’t make that noise another His eye fell on the instrument Ripton carried to make war on the feathery creation, and he recognized his Uncle’s tifle. | “Do you know what you’ve got in your hands?” he said. ‘I think it’s not the right gun,”’ stammered Ripton. “You think it’s not! Well! You must be accustomed to /sport.”’ He looked scornfully, and the next minute called his friend, Ripton, a fool. Now Ripton was not in the best of tempers. He was a disappointed boy that morning, and a Briton. in bondage— very dangerous animal at all times. Richard had added the emphasis of conviction to the insulting epithet. A boy Joes not like to be called a fool, and is usually ready to try ithe question with his fists when a doubt is once cast on him; jas of old Valour asserted the spotlessness of fair dames; and if he conquers it is clear that he cannot be a fool. These (Primitive courts of appeal despise casuistries. Feeling that circumstances were making him look wonder- fully like one, Ripton lifted his head and retorted defiantly, ' I’m not!” This angry contradiction, so very uncalled-for, offended Richard, who was still smarting at the loss of his’birds, and ‘was really the injured party. He therefore bestowed the labusive epithet on Ripton anew, and with increase of em- ‘phasis. “You shan’t call me so, then, whether I am or not,” says ‘Ripton, and sucks his lips, looking wicked. This was becoming personal. Richard sent up his brows, a a SN ea tae oot ae paper Se — : Nd tt ee a i J at Pe ae ni ae Oger Bae ee eae Sse nm ne eae ies 7 pa pee ff ope ne Poori ene keer cece een diemeeeretenememmmememrenieet meee alae a Den he enon bial Eel eee ee ee = “~ ee aie sae 46 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel and stared at his defier an instant. He then informed him that he certainly should call him so, and_would not object to call him so twenty times. “Do it. and see!” returns Ripton, rocking on his pins, * and breathing quick. With a gravity of which only boys and other barbarians are capable, Richard went through the entire number stressing the epithet to increase the defiance and avoid | monotony, as he progressed, while Ripton bobbed his head every time in assent, as it were, to his comrade’s accuracy, and as a record for his profaund humiliation. Old Mark’em gazed at the extraordinary performance with interrogating wags of the tail. Twenty times, duly and deliberately, Richard repeated the obnoxious word. | At the twentieth solemn iteration of Ripton’s capital short- | coming, old Mark’em started up to action. Ripton had de- livered a smart backhander on Richard’s mouth, and squared precipitately ; perhaps sorry when the deed was done, for he was a kind-hearted lad, and as Richard simply bowed in acknowledgment of the blow, he thought he had gone too far. He did not know the young gentleman he was dealing with. Richard was extremely cool. “Shall we fight here?” he said. ‘Anywhere you like,” replied Ripton. “A little more into the wood, I think. We may be in-} terrupted.”” And Richard led the way with a courteous re- serve that somewhat chilled Ripton’s ardour for the contest. On the skirts of the wood, Richard threw off his jacket and} waistcoat, and, quite collected, waited for Ripton to do the) same. The latter boy was flushed and restless; older and broader, but not so tight-limbed and well-set. The gods, | sole witnesses of their battle, betted dead against_ him. Richard had mounted the white cockade of the Feverels, and) there was a look in him that asked for tough work to ex-| tinguish. His brows, slightly lined upward at the temples,)The Fourteenth Birthday 47 onverging to a knot about the well-set straight nose; his full ‘Tey eyes, open nostrils, and planted feet, and a gentlemanly c of calm and alertness, formed a spirited picture of a oung combatant. As for Ripton, he was all abroad, and sught in schoolboy style: that is, he rushed at the foe head iremost, and struck like a windmill. He was a lumpy boy. Vhen he did hit, he made himself felt; but he was at the rercy of Science. To see him come dashing in, blinking, ad puffing, and whirling his arms abroad while the felling ow went straight between them, you perceived that he was zhting a fight of desperation, and knew it. For the dreaded jiternative glared him in the face that, if he yielded, e must look like what he had been Twenty Times calumni- asly called; and he would die rather than yield, and swing windmill till he dropped. Poor boy! he dropped pretty sequently. The gallant fellow fought for appearances, and »wn he went. The gods favour one of two parties. Prince jurnus, was a noble youth; but he had not Pallas at his bow. Ripton was a capital boy, but he had no Science, ifinerva turned her back on him. He could not, could not rove he was not a fool! When one comes to think of it, ipton did choose the only possible way, and we should all t us have considerable difficulty in proving the negative by 1y other. Ripton came on the unerring fist again and zain, and if it was true, as he said in short colloquial gasps, fat he required as much beating as an egg to be beaten noroughly, a fortunate interruption alone saved our friend rom resembling that substance. The boys heard summoning dices, and beheld Mr. Morton of Poer Hall and Austin Ventworth stepping towards them. A truce was sounded, jackets were caught-up, guns shoul- ered, and off they trotted in concert through the depths of ne wood, not stopping till that and half-a-dozen fields and \larch plantation were well behind them. When they halted to take breath, there was a mutual judy of faces. Ripton’s was much discoloured and looked Rae A ey ee sBigigtetate tetas yeahs! ' o% ; . es ae Fee Le er a Rd oe Te Pa et BS a H ih sone’ aqeoursertaaw ese | fp a PTO Percent me aw eee =e rT a gaan ars ., ‘ i, 6 eee eeeeee ee ge ae ee ee al oe te oe telly aie sae heat Deere eee eae ae { ! f , 4 i ‘ ' . ea cap . . Ph 48 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel fiercer with its natural war-paint than the boy felt. Never- theless he squared up dauntlessly on the new ground, and Richard, whose wrath was appeased, could not refrain from asking him whether he had not really had enough. ‘“Never!’’ shouts the noble enemy. “Well, look here,’ said Richard, appealing to common sense, “I’m tired of knocking you down. [ll say you re not a fool, if you’ll give me your hand.” Ripton demurred an instant to consult with Honour, who bade him catch at his chance. He held out his hand. ‘There!’ and the boys grasped hands and were fast friends. Ripton had gained his point, and Richard decidedly had the best of it. So they were on equal ground. Both could claim a victory, which was allthe better for their friendship. Ripton washed his face and comforted his nose at a brook, and was now ready to follow his friend wherever he chose to lead. They continued to beat about for birds. , ae birds on the Raynham estates were found singularly cunning, and re- peatedly eluded the aim of these prime shots, so they pushed their expedition into the lands of their neighbours, in search of a stupider race, happily oblivious of the laws and condi- tions of trespass; unconscious too that they were poaching on the demesne of the notorious farmer Blaize, the free- * trade farmer under the shield of the Papworths, parent of Richard’s first defeated foe, and no worshiper of the Griffin © between Two Wheatsheaves: destined to be much allied with Richard’s fortunes from beginning to end. Farmer Blaize ' hated poachers, and especially young chaps poaching, who did it mostly from impudence. Farmer Blaize heard the audacious shots popping right and left, and going forth to have a glimpse at the intruders, and observing their size, swore he would teach my gentlemen a thing, lords or no lords. Richard had brought down a beautiful cock-pheasant, and | was exulting over it, when the farmer’s portentous figure |The Fourteenth Birthday 49 turst upon them, cracking an avenging horsewhip. His ‘afate was ironical. “Havin” good sport, gentlemen, are ye?” “Just bagged a splendid bird!” im. “Oh! y’ave!” bf the whip. radiant Richard informed Farmer Blaize gave an admonitory flick “Jest let me clap eye on ’t, then.” “Say, please,” interposed Ripton, who, not being the pos- sessor of the bird, was not blind to doubtful aspects. Farmer Blaize threw up his chin, and grinned grim. “Please to yew, Sir? Why, my chap, yew looks as if ye in't much mind what come t’ yer nose, I reckon. Yew (cooks an old poacher, yew do. Tall ye what ’tis!” He hanged his banter to business, “Bird’s mine! Now yew jest and ’un over, and sheer off. ye dam young scoundrels! I[ nows ye!’ And he became exceedingly opprobrious and ttered contempt at the name of Feverel. Richard opened his eyes. If ye wants to be horse’upp’d, ye ll stay where y’are!” ‘continued the farmer irate. : “Giles Blaize never stands ne onsense !”’ “Then we'll stay,’’ quoth Richard. “Good! so be’t! If ye wull have’t, have’t, my men! Mave’t, ye young suckin’ poachers!”’ As a preparatory measure, Farmer Blaize seized a wing of fae bird, on which both boys flung themselves md secured it _minus the pinion. “That’s your game,” cried the f if horse’up for ye. desperately, farmer. ‘“Here’s a taste I never stands no nonsense,” and sweetch vent the mighty whip, well swayed. The boys tried to close vith him. He kept his distance, and lashed without mercy. Black blood made Farmer Blaize that day! The boys riggled, in spite of themselves. It was like a relentless rpent coiling, and biting, and stinging their young veins to nadness. Probably the boys felt the disgrace of the contor- (ons they were made to go through, more than the pain, but 1d ar a pe ammemied a See a ee ne ee eh cee . app ae o~ we ea italy PT Te as Se ee ent teat ee ~y Pe i Mi Nae a ae aes cee tei mee ae OPS Riedl eS ven y + s en sete a to PRINi j H i Pe i t | | ] | j ri i i f ; ; { H } 4 f i H i j : { | s f if 56 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel “Why, look here. Where’s the good o’ moping? I sees it all come round right and tight. Now I travels about. I’ve got my beat. ‘Casion calls me t’other day to Newcastle!— Eh?” “Coals!” ejaculated Speed-the-Plough, sonorously. “Coals!” echoed the Tinker. ‘‘Y’ ask what I goes there for, mayhap? Never you mind. One sees a mort o life in my trade. Not for coals it isn’t. And I don’t carry ‘em there. neither. Anyhow, I comes back. Lunnon’s my mark. - Says I, I’ll see a bit o’ the sea, and steps aboard a collier. ‘We were as nigh wracked as the prophet Paul.” ““A__ywho’s him?” the other wished “to know. “Read your Bible,” said the Tinker. ‘We pitched and cossed—’tain’t that game at sea ’tis on land, I can tell ye. I-thinks, down we're a-going—Say your prayers, Bob Tiles! That was a night, to be sure! But God’s above the Devil, and here I am, ye see.” Speed-the-Plough lurched round on his elbow and re- garded him indifferently. “Moighty foin, that be! Dye call that Doctrin’? He bean’t al’ays, or I shoon’t be scrapin’ my heels wi’ nothin’ to do, and what’s warse, nothin’ to eat. Why, look heer. Luck’s luck, and bad luck’s the con-trary. Warmer Bollop, t’other day, has ’s rick burnt down. Next night his gran’ry’s burnt. What do he tak’ and go and do? He takes, and goes, and hangs unsel’, and 4 furns us out 0’ ploy. God warn’t above the Devil then, - I thinks, or I can’t make out the reckonin’.” The Tinker cleared his throat, and said, it was a bad case. “And a darn’d bad case. I’ll tak’ my oath on ’t?” cried Speed-the-Plough. “Wall! look heer. Heer’s another darn’d bad case. I threshed for Varmer Blaize—Blaize o’ Beltharpe—afore I goes to Varmer Bollop. Varmer Blaize? misses pilkins. He swears soam 0’ our chaps steals pilkins. } ’Twarn’t me steals em. What do he tak’ and go and do?) He takes and tarns us off, me and another, neck and crop, to scuff about and starve, for all he keers. God warn’t)The Magian Conflict 57 above the Devil then, I thinks? Not nohow, as I can see!” The Tinker shook his head, and said, that was a bad case also. “And ye can’t mend us,” added Speed-the-Plough. ‘Ut’s bad, and there ut be. But I'll tall ye what, master. Bad wants payin’ for.’ He nodded and winked mysteriously. “Bad has ut’s wages as well’s honest work, I’m thinkin’. Varmer Bollop I don’t owe no grudge to: Varmer Blaize I do. And I shud like to stick a Lucifer in his rick soam dry windy night.” Speed-the-Plough screwed up an eye villainously-~~“‘He wants hittin’ in the wind,—jest where the pocket is, master, do Varmer Blaize, and he’ll cry out ‘Oh, Lor!’ Varmer Blaize wull. Ye won’t get the better o Varmer Blaize by no means, as I makes out, if you doan’t hit into ’un jest there.” The Tinker sent a rapid succession of white clouds from his mouth and said, that would be taking the Devil’s side of a bad case. Speed-the-Plough observed energetically that, if Farmer Blaize was on the other, he should be on that side. ‘There was a young gentleman close by, who thought with um. The Hope of Raynham had lent a careless, half- compelled, attention to the foregoing dialogue, wherein 4 common labourer and a travelling Tinker had propounded and discussed one of the most ancient theories of trans: mundane dominion and influence on mundane affairs. He now started to his feet, and came tearing through the briay hedge, calling out for one of them to direct him the nearest road to Bursley. The Tinker was kindling preparations for fais tea, under the tawny umbrella. A loaf was set forth, on which Ripton’s eyes, stuck in the hedge, fastened ravenously, Speed-the-Plough volunteered information that Bursley was 1 good three mile from where they stood, and a good eight mile from Lobourne. “T’ll give you half-a-crown for that loaf, my good fellow, said Richard to the Tinker. “It’s a bargain,” quoth the Tinker, “eh, Missus?” ae i = om _ : - Nn ri a aaa ery Tain eR es *“ Pa Ca a bes art Le re ee eee ON ne ae ay a¥ 1 ' Ny | eal ey! — SS er nt el al cen to re cere ee eee) rie Loa , per aoe ee res58 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel Missus replied by humping her back at old Mark’em. The half-crown was tossed down, and Ripton, who had just succeeded in freeing his limbs from the briar, prickly | as a hedgehog, collared the loaf. ; “Those young squires be sharp-set and no mistake,” said | the Tinker to his companion. ‘Come! we'll to Bursley | after ’em, and talk it out over a pot 0’ beer.” Speed-the- Plough was nothing loath, and in a short time they were following the two lads on the road to Bursley,, while_a horizontal blaze shot across the Autumn land from_ the | western edge of the rain-cloud. CHAPTER VII ARSON Srarcn for the missing boys had been made everywhere over Raynham, and Sir Austin was in grievous discontent. None had seen them save Austin Wentworth and Mr. Mor- . ton. The Baronet sat construing their account of the flight of the lads when they were hailed, and resolved it into an act of rebellion on the part. of his son. At dinner he drank) the young heir’s health in ominous silence. Lhe Wig of} Mrr"Justice Harley was low, and Adrian stood up in his® place to propose the health. His speech was a fine piece of rhetoric. He warmed in it till, after the Ciceronic model, | inanimate objects were personified, and Richard’s table=} napkin and vacant chair were invoked to follow the steps) of a peerless father, and uphold with his dignity the honour, of the Feverels. Austin Wentworth, whom also a soldier's} death compelled to take his father’s place in support of the? toast, was tame after such magniloquence. But the reply? the thanks which young Richard should have delivered im} nerson were not forthcoming. Adrian’s oratory had civem but a momentary life to napkin and chair. The companys | \ | Oe 4 (7 —= " at — ad — =~ < _ SS re i pee ee eee ene ae TT ta nla eeArson 59 ‘of honoured friends, and Aunts, and Uncles, and remotest Cousins, were glad to disperse and seek amusement in music and tea. Sir Austin did his utmost to be hospitably cheerful, and requested them to dance. If he had desired them to ‘laugh, he would have been obeyed, and in as hearty a man- ner. “How triste!” said Mrs. Doria Forey to Lobourne’s Curate, as that most enamoured automaton went through his (paces beside her with professional stiffness. “One who does not suffer can hardly assent,” the Curate answered, basking in her beams. “Ah, you are good!” exclaimed the lady. “Look at my Clare. She will not dance on her cousin’s birthday with any one but him. What are we to do to enliven these »eople ?” “Alas, Madam! you cannot do for all what you do for me,” the Curate sighed, and wherever she wandered in discourse, drew her back with silken strings to gaze on his ‘enamoured soul. He was the only gratified stranger present. | The others iad designs on the young heir. Lady Attenbury of Long- ‘ord House, had brought her highly polished specimen of market-ware, the lady Juliana Jaye, for a first introduction to him, thinking he had arrived at an age to estimate and pine for her black eyes and pretty pert mouth. ‘The lady Juliana had to pair off with a dapper Papworth, and her (Mama was subjected to the gallantries of Sir Miles, who valked land and Steam-Engines to her till she was sick, and aad to be impertinent in self-defence. Lady Blandish sat apart with Adrian, and enjoyed his sarcasms on the com- doany. By ten at night, the poor show ended, and the rooms were dark, dark as the prognostics multitudinously hinted py the disappointed and chilled guests, concerning the prob- ble future of the Hope of Raynham. Little Clare kissed ner Mama, curtsied to the lingering Curate, and went to ned like a very good girl. Immediately the maid had de- ih a en ne en SCTE penne — tie Te ne at oe ec - ~ a“ wt ar See enna ti , ty ] Rt " od — OXcee: ee - ormetsi ee pee er a= 7 _ < At ee NES ces 6 ; Pepe ae Dae eneSet ae eee ta tee ee NE a eee tae ; ; | \ / 1 A H } q : } f { , J ; e Fi 60 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel parted, little Clare deliberately exchanged night attire for that of day. She was noted as an obedient child. Her light was always allowed to burn in her room for half an hour, to counteract her fears of the dark. She took the light, and stole on tiptoe to Richard’s room. No Richard was there. She peeped in further and further. A trifling agitation of the curtains shot her back through the door and along the passage to her own bed-chamber with extreme expedition. She was not much alarmed, but feeling guilty she was on her guard. In a short time, she was prowling about the © passages again. Richard had slighted and offended the little lady, and was to be asked whether he did not repent such conduct towards his cousin; not to be asked whether he had forgotten to receive his birthday kiss from her; for if he did not choose to remember that, Miss Clare would never remind him of it, and to-night should be his last chance | of a reconciliation. ‘Thus she meditated, sitting on a stair, and presently heard Richard’s voice below in the hall, shout- ing for supper. “Niaster Richard has returned,” old Benson tolled out intelligence to Sir Austin. “Well?” said the Baronet. “He complains of being hungry,” the butler hesitated, with a look of solemn disgust. “Let him eat.” Heavy Benson hesitated still more as he announced that the boy had called for wine, It was an unprecedented thing. Sir Austin’s brows were portending an arch, but Adrian suggested that he wanted possibly to drink his birthday, and Claret was conceded. The boys were in the vortex of a partridge-pie when Adrian strolled in to them. ‘They had now changed char- acters. Richard was uproarious. He drank a health with every glass. His cheeks were flushed, and his eye brilliant. Ripton looked very much like a rogue on the tremble of detection, but his honest hunger and the partridge-pie shielded |Arson 61 ‘him awhile from Adrian’s scrutinizing glance. Adrian saw there was matter for study, if it were only on Master /Ripton’s betraying nose, and sat down to hear and mark. “Good sport, gentlemen, I trust to hear?” he began his ‘quiet banter, and provoked a loud peal of laughter from Richard. aie “Ha, ha! I say, Rip! ‘Havin’ good sport, gentlemen, are you?’ You remember the farmer? Your health, Parson! We haven’t had our sport yet. We're going to have some “first-rate sport. Oh, well! we haven’t much show of birds. fWe shot for pleasure, and returned them to the proprietors. (You’re fond of game, Parson! I wish I’d thought of it. {Rip took uncle’s rifle out on purpose to knock down his birds ‘clean for you. And he didn’t miss, either. He’s a dead shot in what cousin Austin calls the Kingdom.of.‘Would- thave-done,’ and ‘Might-have-been.’ Up went the birds, and, eries Rip, ‘I’ve forgotten to load!’ ,O ho!—Rip! some more claret+—-Do just leave that nose of yours alone.—Your nealth, Ripton Thompson! ‘The birds hadn’t the decency "to wait for him, and so, Parson, it’s their fault, and not ‘Rip’s, you haven’t a dozen brace at your feet. What have you been doing at home, Cousin Rady?” “Playing Hamlet, in the absence of the Prince of Den- tmark. ‘The day without you, my dear boy, must be dull, you know.” “He speaks: can I trust what he says is sincere? There’s an edge to his smile which cuts much like a sneer. ‘Sandoe’s poems! You know the couplet, Mr. Rady. Why ‘shouldn’t I quote Sandoe? You know you like him, Rady. "But if you’ve missed me, I’m sorry. Rip and I have had a ‘beautiful day. We've made new acquaintances. We've seen (the world. ; I’m the monkey that has seen the world, and I’m going to telf you all about it. First, there's a gentleman pobemcncyses liye! Lond nk od vs a get ace eel iu ‘ ee nt o a a ec — ees Ne ee OI Dan om Sees ve a y ee ea es) FI > pI Tm ee eT Oe eee ret, crhsaecy ste " a a - o Yo we e8 a ie) tT ee deere Se eee ee teTape ere 0 re rn ee nn eee on nr a nn nn mg eT ee a ee e \ 62 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel who takes a rifle for a fowling-piece. Next, there’s a farmer who warns everybody, gentleman and beggar, off his premises. Next, there’s a tinker and a ploughman, who think that God is always fighting with the Devil which shall command the kingdoms of the earth. The tinker’s for God, and the ploughman—” “T’ll drink your health, Ricky,” said Adrian, interrupting. “Oh, I forgot, Mr. Parson!—I mean no harm, Adrian. I’m only telling what I’ve heard.” “No harm, my dear boy,” returned Adrian. “I’m per- fectly aware that Zoroaster_is not dead. You have been listening to a common creed. Drink the Fire-worshipers, if you will.” “Here’s to Zoroaster, then!’ cried Richard. “I say, Rippy! we'll drink the Fire-worshipers to-night, won’t we?” A fearful conspiratorial frown, that would not have dis- graced Guido Fawkes, was darted back from the plastic features of Master Ripton. Richard gave his lungs loud play. “Why, what did you say about Blazes, Rippy? Didn't you say it was fun?” Another hideous silencing frown was Ripton’s answer. Adrian watched the innocent youths, and knew that there | was talking under the table. ‘See,’ he thought: “This boy has tasted his first scraggy morsel of life to-day, and already he talks like an old-stager, and has, if I mistake not, been acting too. My respected Chief,’ he apostrophized_ Sir | Austin, ‘combustibles are only the more dangerous for compression. This boy will be ravenous for Earth when he | is let loose, and very soon make his share of it look as foolish as yonder game-pie!’—a prophecy Adrian kept to himself. “Unde Algernon shambled in to see his nephew before | che supper was finished, and his more genial presence brought out a li:tle of the plot. “Took here, Uncle!” said Richard. “Would you let a} : ® } | \ iArson 63 ishurlish old brute of a farmer strike you without making tim suffer for it?” “I fancy I should return the compliment, my lad,” dlied his Uncle. “Of course you would! So would I. And he shall suffer ‘or it.’ The boy looked savage, and his Uncle patted him plown. ““T’ve boxed his son; I’ll box him,” said Richard, shouting vor more wine. “What, boy! Is it old Blaize has been putting you up?” “Never mind, Uncle!” the boy nodded mysteriously. “Look there!” Adrian read on Ripton’s face, ‘never mind,’ and lets it out!” “Did we beat to-day, Uncle?” “Yes, boy; and we'd beat them any day they bowl fair. ld beat them on one leg. There’s only Natkins and Feather- lene among them worth a farthing.” “We beat!” cries Richard. ‘Then we'll have some more wvine, and drink their healths.”’ The bell was rung; wine ordered. Presently comes in deavy Benson to say, supplies are cut off. One bottle, and no more. The Captain whistles: Adrian shrugs. “Don’t you know it’s my birthday, Benson?” Benson knew it, but had positive orders. He withdraws, and to the delight of all present, Adrian, lever provident, puts his hand behind him and leads forth a flask, saying that he had anticipated this possibility. One subject was at Richard’s heart, about which he was sreserved in the midst of his riot. Too proud to inquire how his father had taken his absence, he burned to hear whether he was in disgrace. He led to it repeatedly, and jit was constantly evaded by Algernon and Adrian. At last, pwhen the boy declared a desire to wish his father good night, Adrian had to tell him that he was to go straight to ‘bed from the supper-table. Young Richard’s face fell at that, “he says Neer shh el anes ar aN Meet my Oe sey rat aes i pnt eyo t eee eer. — ee _——_ q i : i + Ht ee) ee eee ene ae iw a pO om ne ey —o =. nee eo ee nat . Ope ae eTol | | | i | : 4 H } ‘ t | | : ! t \ . . ei et i ee Vr ee a - i v4 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel and his gaiety forsook him. He marched to his room with- vut another word, Adrian gave Sir Austin an able version of his son’s be- haviour and adventures; dwelling upon this sudden taciturnity when he heard of his father’s resolution not to see him. ‘The Wise Youth saw that his Chief was mollified behind his moveless mask, and went to bed and Horace, leaving Sir Austin in his study. Long hours the Baronet sat alone. ‘he house had not its usual influx of Feverels that day. Austin Wentworth was staying at Poer Hall, and had only come over for the day. At midnight the house breathed sleep. Sir Austin put on his cloak and cap, and took the lamp to make his rounds. He apprehended noth- ing special, but with a mind never at rest, he constituted himself the sentinel of Raynham. He passed the chamber where the Great-Aunt Grantley lay, who was to swell Richard’s fortune, and so perform her chief business on earth. By her door he murmured, “Good creature! you sleep with a sense of duty done,’ and paced on, reflecting, “She has not made Money a demon of discord,” and blessed her. He had his thoughts at Hippias’s somnolent door, and to them the world might have subscribed. Algernon chal- lenged him, and was quieted by two knocks which he knew. Algernon’s voice was thick. Sir Austin excused the cause. “He saved my son that day!” the Baronet murmured, and devoutly believed it. “A monomaniac at large, watching over sane people in slumber!” thinks Adrian Harley; as he hears Sir Austin’s footfall, and truly that was a strange object to see, but one not so ‘range in his service. Where is the fortress that has not one weak gate? where the man who is sound at each particular angle? “Ay,” meditates the recumbent cynic, “more or less mad is not every mother’s son? Favourable circumstances; good air, good company, two or three good rules rigidly adhered to; keep the world out of Bedlam. But let the world fly into a passion, and is not Bedlam itsArson 65 safest abode? What seemed inviolable barriers are burst asunder in a trice::men, God’s likeness, are at one another’s throats, and the Angels may well be weeping” In youth, 'tis love, or lust, makes the world mad: in age, ‘tis preju- dice. Superstition holds a province; Pride an empire. Tinker’s right! There’s a battle raging above us. One » can't wonder at Ploughman’s contrary opinion, as to which is getting the upper hand. If we were not mad, we should ‘fight it for ourselves, and endit. We are; and we make Life the disease, and Death the cure. Good night, my *worthy Uncle! Can I deem the man mad who holdeth ime much?” And Adrian buried a sleepy smile in his pillow, ;and slept, knowing himself wise in a mad world. Sir Austin ascended the stairs, and bent his steps leisurely ‘towards the chamber where his son was lying in the left jwing of the Abbey. At the end of the gallery which led to it, he discovered a dim light. Doubting it an illusion, Sir Austin accelerated his pace. This wing had aforetime a bad character. Notwithstanding what years had done to polish it into fair repute, the Raynham kitchen stuck to tradition still, and preserved certain stories of ghosts seen there, and thought to have been seen, that effectually blackened it in the ‘susceptible minds of new housemaids and under-cooks, whose fears would not allow the sinner to wash his sins. Sir Austin had heard of the tales circulated by his domestics under- ¢ground. He cherished his own belief, but discouraged theirs, fand it was treason at Raynham to be caught traducing the left wing. As the Baronet advanced, the fact of a light sburning was clear to him. A slight descent brought him linto the passage, and he beheld a poor human candle stand- ting outside his son’s chamber. At the same moment a door ‘closed hastily. He entered Richard’s room. ‘The boy was absent. The bed was unpressed: no clothes about: nothing ito show that he had been there that night. Sir Austin felt vaguely apprehensive. “‘Has he gone to my room to await me?” thought the father’s heart. Something like a_ tear ) oo Of Of Ot 2) wiewmce et 2 hy > Es Soret) ae, mia es . ee ou eo Pe Pera Speed at eos PoP er) es a OD nn 2 vt \ ey ay a Fy} q 5 ct 3 . it rt 9 ert SU RSVTE BEL 3 en ner res Af BOY ee Pee Pn alae at ee oeaR ee eet ol : 5 , | te | | ‘ i } : r } i i 66 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel quivered in his arid eyes as he meditated and hoped this might be so. His own sleeping-room faced that of his son. He strode-to it with a quick heart. It was empty. “My son! my son! what is this?” he murmured. Alarm dis- lodged anger from ‘his jealous heart, and dread of evil put a thousand questions..to him that were answered in air. Aftér pacing up and down his room, he determined to go and ask the boy Thompson, as he called Ripton, what was known to him. The chamber assigned to Master Ripton “Thompson was at the northern extremity of the passage, and overlooked Lobourne and the valley to the west. ‘The bed stood be- tween the window and the door. Sir Austin found the door ajar, and the interior dark. ‘To his surprise, the boy ‘Thomp- son’s couch, as revealed by the rays of his lamp, was likewise vacant. He was turning back, when he fancied he heard the sibilation of a whispering in the room. Sir Austin cloaked the lamp and trod silently towards the window. The heads of his son Richard and the boy Thompson were seen crouched against the glass, holding excited converse together. Sir Austin listened, but he listened to a language of which he possessed not the key. Their talk was of Fire, and of delay: of expected agrarian astonishment: of a farmer’s huge wrath: of violence exercised towards gentle- men, and of vengeance: talk that the boys jerked out by fits, and that came as broken links of a chain impossible to connect. But they awoke curiosity. The Baronet con- descended to play the spy upon his son. Over Lobourne and the valley lay black night and in- numerable stars. “How jolly I feel!’ exclaimed Ripton, inspired by Claret ; and then, after a luxurious pause, “I think that fellow has pocketed his guinea, and cut his lucky.” Richard allowed a long minute to pass, during which the Baronet waited anxiously for his voice: hardly recognizing it, when he heard its altered tones.Arson 67 “If he has, I'll go, and I’ll do it myself.” “You would?” returned Master Ripton. “Well, I’m hanged!—I say, if you went to school, wouldn’t you get into rows! Perhaps he hasn’t found the place where the box was stuck in. I think he funks it. I almost wish you hadn’t done it, upon my honour—eh? Look there! what was that? That looked like something. think we shall ever be found out?” I say! do you Master Ripton intoned this abrupt interrogation very seriously. “T don’t think about it,” said Richard, all his faculties benf-on signs from Lobourne. “Well, but,’ Ripton persisted, “suppose we are found out?” “If we are, I must pay for it.’ Sir Austin breathed the better for this reply. He was beginning to gather a clue to the dialogue. His son was engaged in a plot, and was moreover the leader of the plot He listened for further enlightenment. “What was the fellow’s name?” inquired Ripton. His companion answered, ““Tom Bakewell.” “Tl tell you what,” continued Ripton. “You let it all clean out to your cousin and Uncle at supper.—How capital Claret is with Partridge Pie! What a lot I ate!—Didn’t you see me frown?” The young sensualist was in an ecstasy of gratitude to his late refection, and the slightest word recalled him to it. Richard answered him: “Yes. And felt your kick. It doesn’t matter. Rady’s safe, and Uncle never blabs.”’ “Well, my plan is to keep it close. You're never safe it you don’t.—I never drank much Claret before,” Ripton was off again. ‘‘Won’t I now, though! Claret’s my wine. You know, it may come out any day, and then we're done for,” he rather incongruously appended. LF ek) Siete rien ae se ee ee ee et ee Mg eee cee eas aio: teed al net Oe et me ee ee Se i » ! Amd a eg Pm err a ee PP Oe - i ae ee re en ra are Popa “tod seodiel ee Tl oe toe Sore ane tee ores aee ea ne eta ee ei te ee Oe eee ne ete bee et oe — ct ee —— Se ew" — A a : : | : ? : ) | Oe 68 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel Richard only took up the business-threads of his friend’s rambling chatter, and answered: You've got nothing to do with it, if we are.’ “Haven’t I, though! I didn’t stick in the box, but I’m an accomplice, that’s clear. Besides,’ added Ripton, “do you think I should leave you to bear it all on your shoulders ? I ain't that sort of chap, Ricky, I can tell you.” Sir Austin thought more highly of the boy Thompson. Still it looked a detestable conspiracy, and the altered man- ner of his son impressed him strangely. , He was not the boy | of yesterday. To Sir Austin is seemed as if a gulf had _sud- denly Opened between them. The boy had embarked, and was on the waters of life in his own vessel. It was as vain to-call him back as to attempt to erase what Time has written with the Judgment Blood! This child for whom he had prayed nightly in such a fervour and humbleness to God, the dangers were about him, the temptations thick on him, and the Devil on board piloting. If a day had done so much, what would years do? Were prayers and all the watchfulness he had expended, of no avail? A sensation of infinite melancholy overcame the poor gentleman; a thought that he was fighting with a fate in this beloved boy. He was half disposed to arrest the two conspirators on the spot, and make them confess, and absolve themselves: but it seemed_to_him better to keep an unseen eye over his son: Sir Sir Austin’s old system prevailed. ~ Adrian characterized this system well, in saying that Sir Austin _w ished to be Providence to his son. Wis immeasurable Love were perfect Wisdom, one human being might almost impersonate Providence to another. Alas! Love, divine as it is, can do no more than lighten the house it inhabits: must take its shape, sometimes intensify its nar- rowness: can spiritualize, but not expel, the old life-long lodgers above-stairs and below. Sir Austin decided to continue quiescent.Arson 69 The valley still lay black beneath the large Autumnal Stars, and the exclamations of the boys were becoming fevered and impatient. By-and-by one insisted that he had seen a twinkle. The direction he gave was out of their anticipations. Again the twinkle was announced. Both boys started to their feet. It was a twinkle in the right direction now. “He's done it!” cried Richard in great heat. “Now you may say old Blaize’ll soon be old Blazes, Rip. I hope he’s 9) asleep. enough. He’s dry. He'll burn.—I say,” Ripton reassumed the serious intonation, ‘“‘do you think they’ll ever suspect us?” “What if they do? We must brunt it.” “Of course we will. But I say! I _wish you hadn't given them the scent, though. [like to look innocent. I can’t, when I know people suspect me. Lord! look there! Isn’t it just beginning to flare up!” The farmer’s grounds were indeed gradually standing out in sombre shadows. “Tl fetch my telescope,” said Richard. Ripton, some- how not liking to be left alone, caught hold of him. “No, don’t go and lose the best of it. Here, I'll throw open the window, and we can see.” “I’m sure he’s snoring!—Look there! He’s alight fast The window was flung open, and the boys instantly stretched half their bodies out of it: Ripton appearing to devour the rising flames with his mouth: Richard with his eyes. Opaque and statuesque stood the figure of the Baronet behind them. "The wind was low. Dense masses of smoke hung amid the darting snakes of fire, and a red malign light was on the neighbouring leafage. No figures could be seen. Apparently the flames had nothing to contend against, for they were making terrible strides into the dark- ness. 4 “Oh!” shouted Richard, overcome by excitement, “if I poe OP eee hed _— AM ram em a Sg ee I ante —_ 9 Ln pom - 2p orn ete ~ a a Ne ee i { a i i FY Be rg ee Ae ee ee een tot bie eee! Cr ole toe = a ld sca A NN a ee es| \ | i | } H H | ‘ f j 1 } j { : \. ' 70 The Ordeal of Richard Feverel had my telescope! We must have it! Let me go and fetch me 2 will!” The boys struggled together, and Sir Austin stepped back. As he did so, a cry was heard in the passage. He hurried out, closed the chamber, and came upon little Clare lying senseless along the floor. CHAPTER VIII ADRIAN PLIES HIS HOOK In the morning that followed this night, great gossip was interchanged between Raynham and Lobourne. ‘The village told how farmer Blaize, of Belthorpe farm, had had his rick feloniously set fire to; his stables had caught fire, himself been all but roasted alive in the attempt to rescue his cattle, of which numbers had perished in the flames. Raynham counterbalanced Arson with an authentic Ghost seen by Miss Clare in the left wing of the 1e Abbey; the Ghost of a Lady, dressed in deep mourning, a scar on her fore- head, and a bloody handkerchief at her breast, frightful to behold! and no wonder the child was frightened out of her wits and lay in a desperate state awaiting the arrival of the London Doctors. It was added that the servants had all threatened to leave in a body, and that Sir Austin to appease them had promised to pull down the entire left wing, like a gentleman ; for no decent creature, said Lobourne, could consent to live in a haunted house. Rumour for the nonce had a stronger spice of truth than usual. Poor little Clare lay ill, and the calamity that had befallen farmer Blaize, as regards his rick and his cattle, was not much exaggerated. Sir Austin caused an account of it to be given him at breakfast, and appeared so scrupulously anxious to hear the exact extent of injury sustained by the farmer, that Heavy Benson went down to inspect the scene.Adrian Plies His Hook V1 Mr. Benson returned, and, acting under Adrian’s malicious advice, framed a formal Report of the Catastrophe, in which the~farmer’s breeches figured, and certain cooling applica- tions to a part of the farmer’s person. Sir Austin perused it without a smile. He took occasion to have it read out before the two boys, who listened very demurely, as to an ordinary newspaper incident: only when the Report par- ticularized the peculiar garments damaged, and the unwonted distressing position farmer Blaize was reduced to in his bed, an_indecorous fit of sneezing laid hold of Master Ripton Thompson, and Richard bit his lip and burst into loud laughter, Ripton joining him, lost to consequences. “Trust you feel for this poor man,” said Sir Austin to his son, somewhat sternly. “I’m sorry about the poor horses, Sir,’’ Richard replied, looking anything but sorry about the poor man. It was a difficult task for Sir Austin to keep his old countenance towards the Hope of Raynham, knowing him the accomplice-incendiary, and believing the deed to have 'been_unprovoked and wanton. But he must de so, he knew, fo let the boy have a fair trial against himself. Be it said, moreover, that the Baronet’s possession of his son’s secret flattered him. It allowed him to act, and in a measure to feel, like Providence; enabled him to observe and provide ‘for the movements of creatures in the dark. He therefore }treated the boy as he commonly did, and young Richard saw ino change in his father to make him think he was suspected. The game was not so easy against Adrian. Adrian did fnot shoot or fish. Voluntarily he did nothing to work off ithe destructive nervous fluid, or whatever it may be, which jis in man’s nature; so that two culprit boys once in his power iwere not likely to taste the gentle hand of Mercy, and [Richard and Ripton paid for many a trout and partridge ‘spared. At every minute of the day Ripton was thrown into) ‘sweats of suspicion that discovery was imminent, by some stray remark or message of Adrian. He was as a fish with weer wce et 2 ks ——