BIRDS OF PREY

BY

M. E. BRADDON

[Illustration: "Be good enough to take me straight to her, "said the Captain, "I am her father. "]

CONTENTS:

Book the First. 

FATAL FRIENDSHIP. 

I. THE HOUSE IN BLOOMSBURYII. PHILIP SHELDON READS THE "LANCET"III. MR. AND MRS. HALLIDAYIV. A PERPLEXING ILLNESSV. THE LETTER FROM THE "ALLIANCE" OFFICEVI. MR. BURKHAM'S UNCERTAINTIES

Book the Second. 

THE TWO MACAIRES. 

 I. A GOLDEN TEMPLE II. THE EASY DESCENT III. "HEART BARE, HEART HUNGRY, VERY POOR"

Book the Third. 

HEAPING UP RICHES. 

 I. A FORTUNATE MARRIAGE II. CHARLOTTE III. GEORGE SHELDON'S PROSPECTS IV. DIANA FINDS A NEW HOME V. AT THE LAWN VI. THE COMPACT OF GRAY'S INN VII. AUNT SARAHVIII. CHARLOTTE PROPHESIES RAIN IX. MR. SHELDON ON THE WATCH

Book the Fourth. 

VALENTINE HAWKEHURST'S RECORD. 

 I. THE OLDEST INHABITANT II. MATTHEW HAYGARTH'S RESTING-PLACE III. MR. GOODGE'S WISDOM

Book the Fifth. 

RELICS OF THE DEAD. 

 I. BETRAYED BY A BLOTTING-PAD II. VALENTINE INVOKES THE PHANTOMS OF THE PAST III. HUNTING THE JUDSONS IV. GLIMPSES OF A BYGONE LIFE

Book the Sixth. 

THE HEIRESS OF THE HAYGARTHS. 

 I. DISAPPOINTMENT II. VALENTINE'S RECORD CONTINUED III. ARCADIA IV. IN PARADISE V. TOO FAIR TO LAST VI. FOUND IN THE BIBLE

Book the Seventh. 

CHARLOTTE'S ENGAGEMENT. 

 I. "IN YOUR PATIENCE YE ARE STRONG" II. MRS. SHELDON ACCEPTS HER DESTINY III. MR. HAWKEHURST AND MR. GEORGE SHELDON COME TO AN UNDERSTANDING IV. MR. SHELDON IS PROPITIOUS V. MR. SHELDON IS BENEVOLENT VI. RIDING THE HIGH HORSE VII. MR. SHELDON IS PRUDENTVIII. CHRISTMAS PEACE

BIRDS OF PREY

BOOK THE FIRST. 

FATAL FRIENDSHIP. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE HOUSE IN BLOOMSBURY. 

"What about?" There are some houses whereof the outward aspect issealed with the seal of respectability--houses which inspire confidencein the minds of the most sceptical of butchers and bakers--houses atwhose area-gates the tradesman delivers his goods undoubtingly, andfrom whose spotless door-steps the vagabond children of theneighbourhood recoil as from a shrine too sacred for their gambols. 

Such a house made its presence obvious, some years ago, in one ofthe smaller streets of that west-central region which lies betweenHolborn and St. Pancras Church. It is perhaps the nature ofultra-respectability to be disagreeably conspicuous. The unsulliedbrightness of No. 14 Fitzgeorge-street was a standing reproach to everyother house in the dingy thorough-fare. That one spot of cleanlinessmade the surrounding dirt cruelly palpable. The muslin curtains in theparlour windows of No. 15 would not have appeared of such a smoky yellowif the curtains of No. 14 had not been of such a pharisaical whiteness. Mrs. Magson, at No. 13, was a humble letter of lodgings, always more orless in arrear with the demands of quarter-day; and it seemed a hardthing that her door-steps, whereon were expended much labour andhearthstone--not to mention house-flannel, which was in itself nounimportant item in the annual expenses--should be always thrown in theshade by the surpassing purity of the steps before No. 14. 

Not satisfied with being the very pink and pattern of respectability, the objectionable house even aspired to a kind of prettiness. It was asbright, and pleasant, and rural of aspect as any house within earshotof the roar and rattle of Holborn can be. There were flowers in thewindows; gaudy scarlet geraniums, which seemed to enjoy an immunityfrom all the ills to which geraniums are subject, so impossible was itto discover a faded leaf amongst their greenness, or the presence ofblight amidst their wealth of blossom. There were birdcages within theshadow of the muslin curtains, and the colouring of the newly-pointedbrickwork was agreeably relieved by the vivid green of Venetian blinds. The freshly-varnished street-door bore a brass-plate, on which to lookwas to be dazzled; and the effect produced by this combination of whitedoor-step, scarlet geranium, green blind, and brass-plate wasobtrusively brilliant. 

Those who had been so privileged as to behold the interior of the housein Fitzgeorge-street brought away with them a sense of admiration thatwas the next thing to envy. The pink and pattern of propriety within, as it was the pink and pattern of propriety without, it excited inevery breast alike a wondering awe, as of a habitation tenanted by somemysterious being, infinitely superior to the common order ofhouseholders. 

The inscription on the brass-plate informed the neighbourhood that No. 14 was occupied by Mr. Sheldon, surgeon-dentist; and the dwellers inFitzgeorge-street amused themselves in their leisure hours byspeculative discussions upon the character and pursuits, belongings andsurroundings, of this gentleman. 

Of course he was eminently respectable. On that question noFitzgeorgian had ever hazarded a doubt. A householder with such adoor-step and such muslin curtains could not be other than the mostcorrect of mankind; for, if there is any external evidence by which adissolute life or an ill-regulated mind will infallibly betray itself, that evidence is to be found in the yellowness and limpness of muslinwindow-curtains. The eyes are the windows of the soul, says the poet;but if a man's eyes are not open to your inspection, the windows of hishouse will help you to discover his character as an individual, and hissolidity as a citizen. At least such was the opinion cherished inFitzgeorge-street, Russell-square. 

The person and habits of Mr. Sheldon were in perfect harmony with theaspect of the house. The unsullied snow of the door-step reproduceditself in the unsullied snow of his shirt-front; the brilliancy of thebrass-plate was reflected in the glittering brightness of his gold-studs;the varnish on the door was equalled by the lustrous surface of hisblack-satin waistcoat; the careful pointing of the brickwork was in amanner imitated by the perfect order of his polished finger-nails andthe irreproachable neatness of his hair and whiskers. No dentist ormedical practitioner of any denomination had inhabited the house inFitzgeorge-street before the coming of Philip Sheldon. The house hadbeen unoccupied for upwards of a year, and was in the last stage ofshabbiness and decay, when the bills disappeared all at once from thewindows, and busy painters and bricklayers set their ladders againstthe dingy brickwork. Mr. Sheldon took the house on a long lease, andspent two or three hundred pounds in the embellishment of it. Upon thecompletion of all repairs and decorations, two great waggon-loads offurniture, distinguished by that old fashioned clumsiness which iseminently suggestive of respectability, arrived from the Euston-squareterminus, while a young man of meditative aspect might have been seenon his knees, now in one empty chamber, anon in another, performingsome species of indoor surveying, with a three-foot rule, a loose littleoblong memorandum-book, and the merest stump of a square lead-pencil. This was an emissary from the carpet warehouse; and before nightfall itwas known to more than on inhabitant in Fitzgeorge-street that thestranger was going to lay down new carpets. The new-comer was evidentlyof an active and energetic temperament, for within three days of hisarrival the brass-plate on his street-door announced his profession, while a neat little glass-case, on a level with the eye of the passingpedestrian, exhibited specimens of his skill in mechanical dentistry, and afforded instruction and amusement to the boys of the neighbourhood, who criticised the glistening white teeth and impossibly red gums, displayed behind the plate-glass, with a like vigour and freedom oflanguage. Nor did Mr. Sheldon's announcement of his profession confineitself to the brass-plate and the glass-case. A shabby-genteel youngman pervaded the neighbourhood for some days after the surgeon-dentist'sadvent, knocking a postman's knock, which only lacked the galvanicsharpness of the professional touch, and delivering neatly-printedcirculars to the effect that Mr. Sheldon, surgeon-dentist, of 14Fitzgeorge-street, had invented some novel method of adjusting falseteeth, incomparably superior to any existing method, and that he had, further, patented an improvement on nature in the way of coral gums, the name whereof was an unpronounceable compound of Greek and Latin, calculated to awaken an awful reverence in the unprofessional andunclassical mind. 

The Fitzgeorgians shook their heads with prophetic solemnity as theyread these circulars. Struggling householders, who find it a hard taskto keep the two ends which never have met and never will meet fromgrowing farther and farther asunder every year, are apt to derive adreary kind of satisfaction from the contemplation of another man'simpending ruin. Fitzgeorge-street and its neighbourhood had existedwithout the services of a dentist, but it was very doubtful that adentist would be able to exist on the custom to be obtained inFitzgeorge-street. Mr. Sheldon may, perhaps, have pitched his tentunder the impression that wherever there was mankind there was likelyto be toothache, and that the healer of an ill so common to frailhumanity could scarcely fail to earn his bread, let him establish hisabode of horror where he might. For some time after his arrival peoplewatched him and wondered about him, and regarded him a littlesuspiciously, in spite of the substantial clumsiness of his furnitureand the unwinking brightness of his windows. His neighbours asked oneanother how long all that outward semblance of prosperity would last;and there was sinister meaning in the question. 

The Fitzgeorgians were not a little surprised, and were perhaps just alittle disappointed, on finding that the newly-established dentist didmanage to hold his ground somehow or other, and that the muslincurtains were renewed again and again in all their spotless purity;that the supplies of rotten-stone and oil, hearthstone and house-flannel, were unfailing as a perennial spring; and that the unsullied snow of Mr. Sheldon's shirt-fronts retained its primeval whiteness. Wonderlandsuspicion gave place to a half-envious respect. Whether much customcame to the dentist no one could decide. There is no trade orprofession in which the struggling man will not receive some faint showof encouragement. Pedestrians of agonised aspect, with handkerchiefsheld convulsively before their mouths, were seen to rush wildly towardsthe dentist's door, then pause for a moment, stricken by a suddenterror, and anon feebly pull the handle of an inflexible bell. Cabs hadbeen heard to approach that fatal door--generally on wet days; forthere seems to be a kind of fitness in the choice of damp and dismalweather for the extraction of teeth. Elderly ladies and gentlemen hadbeen known to come many times to the Fitzgeorgian mansion. There was alegend of an old lady who had been seen to arrive in a brougham, especially weird and nut-crackery of aspect, and to depart half an hourafterwards a beautified and renovated creature. One half of theFitzgeorgians declared that Mr. Sheldon had established a very nicelittle practice, and was saving money; while the other half were stilldespondent, and opined that the dentist had private property, and waseating up his little capital. It transpired in course of time that Mr. Sheldon had left his native town of Little Barlingford, in Yorkshire, where his father and grandfather had been surgeon-dentists before him, to establish himself in London. He had disposed advantageously of anexcellent practice, and had transferred his household goods--theponderous chairs and tables, the wood whereof had deepened and mellowedin tint under the indefatigable hand of his grandmother--to themetropolis, speculating on the chance that his talents and appearance, address and industry, could scarcely fail to achieve a position. Itwas further known that he had a brother, an attorney in Gray's Inn, who visited him very frequently; that he had few other friends oracquaintance; that he was a shining example of steadiness and sobriety;that he was on the sunnier side of thirty, a bachelor, and verygood-looking; and that his household was comprised of a grim-visagedactive old woman imported from Barlingford, a girl who ran errands, anda boy who opened the door, attended to the consulting-room, and did somemysterious work at odd times with a file and sundry queer lumps ofplaster-of-paris, beeswax, and bone, in a dark little shed abutting onthe yard at the back of the house. This much had the inhabitants ofFitzgeorge-street discovered respecting Mr. Sheldon when he had beenamongst them four years; but they had discovered no more. He had madeno local acquaintances, nor had he sought to make any. Those of hisneighbours who had seen the interior of his house had entered it aspatients. They left it as much pleased with Mr. Sheldon as one can bewith a man at whose hands one has just undergone martyrdom, andcirculated a very flattering report of the dentist's agreeablemanners and delicate white handkerchief, fragrant with the odour ofeau-de-Cologne. For the rest, Philip Sheldon lived his own life, anddreamed his own dreams. His opposite neighbours, who watched him onsultry summer evenings as he lounged near an open window smoking hiscigar, had no more knowledge of his thoughts and fancies than theymight have had if he had been a Calmuck Tartar or an Abyssinian chief. 

CHAPTER II. 

PHILIP SHELDON READS THE "LANCET. "

Fitzgeorge-street was chill and dreary of aspect, under a gray Marchsky, when Mr. Sheldon returned to it after a week's absence fromLondon. He had been to Little Barlingford, and had spent his briefholiday among old friends and acquaintance. The weather had not been infavour of that driving hither and thither in dog-carts, or ridingrakish horses long distances to beat up old companions, which isaccounted pleasure on such occasions. The blustrous winds of anunusually bitter March had buffeted Mr. Sheldon in the streets of hisnative town, and had almost blown him off the door-steps of hiskindred. So it is scarcely strange if he returned to town looking nonethe better for his excursion. He looked considerably the worse for hisweek's absence, the old Yorkshire-woman said, as she waited upon himwhile he ate a chop and drank two large cups of very strong tea. 

Mr. Sheldon made short work of his impromptu meal. He seemed anxious toput an end to his housekeeper's affectionate interest in himself andhis health, and to get her out of the room. She had nursed him nearlythirty years before, and the recollection that she had been veryfamiliar with him when he was a handsome black-eyed baby, with atendency to become suddenly stiff of body and crimson of visage withoutany obvious provocation, inclined her to take occasional liberties now. She watched him furtively as he sat in a big high-backed arm-chairstaring moodily at the struggling fire, and would fain have questionedhim a little about Barlingford and Barlingford people. 

But Philip Sheldon was not a man with whom even a superannuated nursecan venture to take many liberties. He was a good master, paid hisservants their wages with unfailing punctuality, and gave very littletrouble. But he was the last person in the world upon whom a garrulouswoman could venture to inflict her rambling discourse; as NancyWoolper--by courtesy, Mrs. Woolper--was fain to confess to hernext-door neighbour, Mrs. Magson, when her master was the subject of anafternoon gossip. The heads of a household may inhabit a neighbourhoodfor years without becoming acquainted even with the outward aspect oftheir neighbours; but in the lordly servants' halls of the West, or themodest kitchens of Bloomsbury, there will be interchange of civilitiesand friendly "droppings in" to tea or supper, let the master of thehouse be never so ungregarious a creature. 

"You can take the tea-things, Nancy, " Mr. Sheldon said presently, arousing himself suddenly from that sombre reverie in which he had beenabsorbed for the last ten minutes; "I am going to be very busy to-night, and I expect Mr. George in the course of the evening. Mind, I am not athome to anybody but him. "

The old woman arranged the tea-things on her tray, but still kept afurtive watch on her master, who sat with his head a little bent, andhis bright black eyes fixed on the fire with that intensity of gazepeculiar to eyes which see something far away from the object they seemto contemplate. She was in the habit of watching Mr. Sheldon rathercuriously at all times, for she had never quite got over a difficultyin realising the fact that the black-eyed baby with whom she had beenso intimate _could_ have developed into this self-contained inflexibleyoung man, whose thoughts were so very far away from her. To-night shewatched him more intently than she was accustomed to do, for to-nightthere was some change in his face which she was trying in a dim way toaccount for. 

He looked up from the fire suddenly, and found her eyes fixed upon him. It may be that he had been disturbed by a semi-consciousness of thatcurious gaze, for he looked at her angrily, --"What are you staring at, Nancy?"

It was not the first time he had encountered her watchful eyes andasked the same impatient question. But Mrs. Woolper possessed thatnorth-country quickness of intellect which is generally equal to anemergency, and was always ready with some question or suggestion whichwent to prove that she had just fixed her eyes on her master, inspiredby some anxiety about his interests. 

"I was just a-thinking, sir, " she said, meeting his stern glanceunflinchingly with her little sharp gray eyes, "I was just a-thinking--you said not at home to _any one_, except Mr. George. If it should be aperson in a cab wanting their teeth out sudden--and if anything couldmake toothache more general in this neighbourhood it would be theseMarch winds--if it should be a patient, sir, in a cab----"

The dentist interrupted her with a short bitter laugh. 

"Neither March winds nor April showers are likely to bring me patients, Nancy, on foot or in cabs, and you ought to know it. If it's a patient, ask him in, by all means, and give him last Saturday week's _Times_ toread, while I rub the rust off my forceps. There, that will do; takeyour tray--or, stop; I've some news to tell you. " He rose, and stoodwith his back to the fire and his eyes bent upon the hearthrug, whileMrs. Woolper waited by the table, with the tray packed ready forremoval. Her master kept her waiting so for some minutes, and thenturned his face half away from her, and contemplated himself absentlyin the glass while he spoke. 

"You remember Mrs. Halliday?" he asked. 

"I should think I did, sir; Miss Georgina Cradock that was--Miss Georgythey called her; your first sweetheart. And how she could ever marrythat big awkward Halliday is more than I can make out. Poor fondy! Isuppose she was took with those great round blue eyes and red whiskersof his. "

"Her mother and father were 'took' by his comfortable farmhouse andwell-stocked farm, Nancy, " answered Mr. Sheldon, still contemplatinghimself in the glass. "Georgy had very little to do with it. She is oneof those women who let other people think for them. However, Tom is anexcellent fellow, and Georgy was a lucky girl to catch such a husbandAny little flirtation there may have been between her and me was overand done with long before she married Tom. It never was more than aflirtation; and I've flirted with a good many Barlingford girls in mytime, as you know, Nancy. "

It was not often that Mr. Sheldon condescended to be so communicative tohis housekeeper. The old woman nodded and chuckled, delighted by hermaster's unwonted friendliness. 

"I drove over to Hyley while I was at home, Nancy, " continued thedentist--he called Barlingford home still, though he had broken most ofthe links that had bound him to it--"and dined with the Hallidays. Georgy is as pretty as ever, and she and Tom get on capitally. "

"Any children, sir?"

"One girl, " answered Mr. Sheldon carelessly. "She's at school inScarborough, and I didn't see her; but I hear she's a fine bouncinglass. I had a very pleasant day with the Hallidays. Tom has sold hisfarm; that part of the world doesn't suit him, it seems--too cold andbleak for him. He's one of those big burly-looking men who seem as ifthey could knock you down with a little finger, and who shiver at everypuff of wind. I don't think he'll make old bones, Nancy. But that'sneither here nor there. I daresay he's good for another ten years; orI'm sure I hope so, on Georgy's account. "

"It was right down soft of him to sell Hyley Farm, though, " said Nancyreflectively; "I've heard tell as it's the best land for forty mileround Barlingford. But he got a rare good price for it, I'll lay. "

"O, yes; he sold the property uncommonly well, he tells me. You know ifa north-countryman gets the chance of making a profit, he never letsit slip through his fingers. "

Mrs. Woolper received this compliment to her countrymen with agratified grin, and Mr. Sheldon went on talking, still looking at thereflection of his handsome face in the glass, and pulling his whiskersmeditatively. 

"Now as Tom was made for a farmer and nothing but a farmer, he mustfind land somewhere in a climate that does suit him; so his friendshave advised him to try a place in Devonshire or Cornwall, where he maytrain his myrtles and roses over his roof, and grow green peas for theLondon markets as late as November. There are such places to be had ifhe bides his time, and he's coming to town next week to look about him. So, as Georgy and he would be about as capable of taking care ofthemselves in London as a couple of children, I have recommended themto take up their quarters here. They'll have their lodgings fornothing, and we shall chum together on the Yorkshire system; for ofcourse I can't afford to keep a couple of visitors for a month at astretch. Do you think you shall be able to manage for us, Nancy?"

"O, yes, I'll manage well enough. I'm not one of your lazy Londonlasses that take half an hour to wipe a teacup. I'll manage easyenough. Mr. And Mrs. Halliday will be having your room, I'll lay. "

"Yes; give them the best room, by all means. I can sleep anywhere. Andnow go downstairs and think it over, Nancy. I must get to my work. I'vesome letters that must be written to-night. "

Mrs. Woolper departed with her tray, gratified by her master's unwontedfamiliarity, and not ill pleased by the thought of visitors. They wouldcause a great deal of trouble, certainly; but the monotony of Nancy'seasy life had grown so oppressive to her as to render the idea of anyvariety pleasing. And then there would be the pleasure of making thatiniquitous creature the London lass bestir herself, and there would befurthermore the advantage of certain little perquisites which a clevermanager always secures to herself in a house where there is much eatingand drinking. Mr. Sheldon himself had lived like a modern anchorite forthe last four years; and Mrs. Woolper, who was pretty well acquaintedwith the state of his finances, had pinched and contrived for hisbenefit, or rather for the benefit of the black-eyed baby she hadnursed nine-and-twenty years before. For his sake she had been carefuland honest, willing to forego all the small profits to which she heldherself entitled; but if well-to-do people were going to share hermaster's expenses, there would be no longer need for such scrupulousintegrity; and if things were rightly managed, Thomas Halliday might bemade to bear the entire cost of the household during his month's visiton the Yorkshire system. 

While Mrs. Woolper meditated upon her domestic duties, the master ofthe domicile abandoned himself to reflections which were apparently ofa very serious character. He brought a leathern desk from a side-table, unlocked it, and took out a quire of paper; but he made no furtheradvance towards the writing of those letters on account of which he haddismissed his housekeeper. He sat, with his elbows on the table, nibbling the end of a wooden penholder, and staring at the oppositewall. His face looked pale and haggard in the light of the gas, and theeyes, fixed in that vacant stare, had a feverish brightness. 

Mr. Sheldon was a handsome man--eminently handsome, according to thepopular notion of masculine beauty; and if the popular ideal has been alittle vulgarised by the waxen gentlemen on whose finely-mouldedforeheads the wig-maker is wont to display the specimens of his art, that is no discredit to Mr. Sheldon. His features were regular; thenose a handsome aquiline; the mouth firm and well modelled; the chinand jaw rather heavier than in the waxen ideal of the hair-dresser; theforehead very prominent in the region of the perceptives, but obviouslywanting in the higher faculties. The eye of the phrenologist, unaidedby his fingers, must have failed to discover the secrets of Mr. Sheldon's organisation; for one of the dentist's strong points was hishair, which was very luxuriant, and which he wore in artfully-arrangedmasses that passed for curls, but which owed their undulating gracerather to a skilful manipulation than to any natural tendency. It hasbeen said that the rulers of the world are straight-haired men; and Mr. Sheldon might have been a Napoleon III. So far as regards this specialattribute. His hair was of a dense black, and his whiskers of the samesombre hue. These carefully-arranged whiskers were another of thedentist's strong points; and the third strong point was his teeth, theperfection whereof was a fine advertisement when considered in aprofessional light. The teeth were rather too large and square for apainter's or a poet's notion of beauty, and were apt to suggest anunpleasant image of some sleek brindled creature crunching human bonesin an Indian jungle. But they were handsome teeth notwithstanding, andtheir flashing whiteness made an effective contrast to the clear sallowtint of the dentist's complexion. 

Mr. Sheldon was a man of industrious habits, --fond indeed of work, anddistinguished by a persistent activity in the carrying out of anylabour he had planned for himself. He was not prone to the indulgenceof idle reveries or agreeable day-dreams. Thought with him was labour;it was the "thinking out" of future work to be done, and it was anoperation as precise and mathematical as the actual labour thatresulted therefrom. The contents of his brain were as well kept as acareful trader's ledger. He had his thoughts docketed and indexed, andrarely wasted the smallest portion of his time in searching for anidea. Tonight he sat thinking until he was interrupted by a loud doubleknock, which was evidently familiar to him, for he muttered "George!"pushed aside his desk, and took up his stand upon the hearthrug, readyto receive the expected visitor. 

There was the sound of a man's voice below, --very like Philip Sheldon'sown voice; then a quick firm tread on the stairs; and then the door wasopened, and a man, who himself was very like Philip Sheldon, came intothe room. This was the dentist's brother George, two years his junior. The likeness between the two men was in no way marvellous, but it wasnevertheless very obvious. You could scarcely have mistaken one man forthe other, but you could hardly have failed to perceive that the twomen were brothers. They resembled each other more closely in form thanin face. They were of the same height--both tall and strongly built. Both had black eyes with a hard brightness in them, black whiskers, black hair, sinewy hands with prominent knuckles, square finger-tops, and bony wrists. Each man seemed the personification of savage healthand vigour, smoothed and shapened in accordance with the prejudices ofcivilised life. Looking at these two men for the first time, you mightapprove or disapprove their appearance; they might impress youfavourably or unfavourably; but you could scarcely fail to be remindedvaguely of strong, bright-eyed, savage creatures, beautiful andgraceful after their kind, but dangerous and fatal to man. 

The brothers greeted each other with a friendly nod. They were a greatdeal too practical to indulge in any sentimental display of fraternalaffection. They liked each other very well, and were useful to eachother, and took their pleasure together on those rare occasions whenthey were weak enough to waste time upon unprofitable pleasure; butneither of them would have comprehended the possibility of anythingbeyond this. 

"Well, old fellow, " said George, "I'm glad you're back again. You'relooking rather seedy, though. I suppose you knocked about a good dealdown there?"

"I had a night or two of it with Halliday and the old set. He's goingit rather fast. "

"Humph!" muttered Mr. Sheldon the younger; "it's a pity he doesn't goit a little faster, and go off the hooks altogether, so that you mightmarry Georgy. "

"How do I know that Georgy would have me, if he did leave her a widow?"asked Philip dubiously. 

"O, she'd have you fast enough. She used to be very sweet upon youbefore she married Tom; and even if she has forgotten all that, she'dhave you if you asked her. She'd be afraid to say no. She was alwaysmore or less afraid of you, you know, Phil. "

"I don't know about that. She was a nice little thing enough; but sheknew how to drop a poor sweetheart and take up with a rich one, inspite of her simplicity. "

"O, that was the old parties' doing. Georgy would have jumped into acauldron of boiling oil if her mother and father had told her she mustdo it. Don't you remember when we were children together how afraid sheused to be of spoiling her frocks? I don't believe she married TomHalliday of her own free will, any more than she stood in the corner ofher own free will after she'd torn her frock, as I've seen her standtwenty times. She stood in the corner because they told her she must;and she married Tom for the same reason, and I don't suppose she's beenparticularly happy with him. "

"Well, that's her look-out, " answered Philip gloomily; "I know I want arich wife badly enough. Things are about as bad with me as they canbe. "

"I suppose they _are_ rather piscatorial. The elderly dowagers don'tcome up to time, eh? Very few orders for the complete set atten-pound-ten?"

"I took about seventy pounds last year, " said the dentist, "and myexpenses are something like five pounds a week. I've been making up thedeficiency out of the money I got for the Barlingford business, thinking I should be able to stand out and make a connection; but theconnection gets more disconnected every year. I suppose people came tome at first for the novelty of the thing, for I had a sprinkling ofdecent patients for the first twelve months or so. But now I might aswell throw my money into the gutter as spend it on circulars oradvertisements. "

"And a young woman with twenty thousand pounds and something amiss withher jaw hasn't turned up yet!"

"No, nor an old woman either. I wouldn't stick at the age, if the moneywas all right, " answered Mr. Sheldon bitterly. 

The younger brother shrugged his shoulders and plunged his hands intohis trousers-pockets with a gesture of seriocomic despair. He was thelivelier of the two, and affected a slanginess of dress and talk andmanner, a certain "horsey" style, very different from his elderbrother's studied respectability of costume and bearing. His clotheswere of a loose sporting cut, and always odorous with stale tobacco. Hewore a good deal of finery in the shape of studs and pins and danglinglockets and fusee-boxes; his whiskers were more obtrusive than hisbrother's, and he wore a moustache in addition--a thick ragged blackmoustache, which would have become a guerilla chieftain rather than adweller amidst the quiet courts and squares of Gray's Inn. His positionas a lawyer was not much better than that of Philip as a dentist; buthe had his own plans for making a fortune, and hoped to win for himselfa larger fortune than is, often made in the law. He was a hunter ofgenealogies, a grubber-up of forgotten facts, a joiner of broken links, a kind of legal resurrectionist, a digger in the dust and ashes of thepast; and he expected in due time to dig up a treasure rich enough toreward the labour and patience of half a lifetime. 

"I can afford to wait till I'm forty for my good luck, " he said to hisbrother sometimes in moments of expansion; "and then I shall have tenyears in which to enjoy myself, and twenty more in which I shall havelife enough left to eat good dinners and drink good wine, and grumbleabout the degeneracy of things in general, after the manner of elderlyhuman nature. "

The men stood one on each side of the hearth; George looking at hisbrother, Philip looking down at the fire, with his eyes shaded by theirthick black lashes. The fire had become dull and hollow. George bentdown presently and stirred the coals impatiently. 

"If there's one thing I hate more than, another--and I hate a good manythings--it's a bad fire, " he said. "How's Barlingford--lively as ever, I suppose?"

"Not much livelier than it was when we left it. Things have gone amisswith me in London, and I've been more than once sorely tempted to makean end of my difficulties with a razor or a few drops of prussic acid;but when I saw the dull gray streets and the square gray houses, andthe empty market-place, and the Baptist chapel, and the Unitarianchapel, and the big stony church, and heard the dreary bellsding-donging for evening service, I wondered how I could ever haveexisted a week in such a place. I had rather sweep a crossing inLondon than occupy the best house in Barlingford, and I told TomHalliday so. "

"And Tom is coming to London I understand by your letter. "

"Yes, he has sold Hyley, and wants to find a place in the west ofEngland. The north doesn't suit his chest. He and Georgy are coming upto town for a few weeks, so I've asked them to stay here. I may as wellmake some use of the house, for it's very little good in a professionalsense. "

"Humph!" muttered George; "I don't see your motive. "

"I have no particular motive. Tom's a good fellow, and his company willbe better than an empty house. The visit won't cost me anything--Halliday is to go shares in the housekeeping. "

"Well, you may find it answer that way, " replied Mr. Sheldon theyounger, who considered that every action of a man's life ought to bemade to "answer" in some way. "But I should think you would be ratherbored by the arrangement: Tom's a very good fellow in his way, and agreat friend of mine, but he's rather an empty-headed animal. "

The subject dropped here, and the brothers went on talking ofBarlingford and Barlingford people--the few remaining kindred whoseexistence made a kind of link between the two men and their nativetown, and the boon companions of their early manhood. The dentistproduced the remnant of a bottle of whisky from the sideboard, and rangfor hot water and sugar, Wherewith to brew grog, for his own and hisbrother's refreshment; but the conversation flagged nevertheless. Philip Sheldon was dull and absent, answering his companion at randomevery now and then, much to that gentleman's aggravation; and he ownedat last to being thoroughly tired and worn out. 

"The journey from Barlingford in a slow train is no joke, you know, George, and I couldn't afford the express, " he said apologetically, when his brother upbraided him for his distraction of manner. 

"Then I should think you'd better go to bed, " answered Mr. Sheldon theyounger, who had smoked a couple of cigars, and consumed the contentsof the whisky-bottle; "so I'll take myself off. I told you howuncommonly seedy you were looking when I first came in. When do youexpect Tom and his wife?"

"At the beginning of next week. "

"So soon! Well, good-night, old fellow; I shall see you before theycome, I daresay. You might as well drop in upon me at my placeto-morrow night. I'm hard at work on a job. "

"Your old kind of work?"

"O, yes. I don't get much work of any other kind. "

"And I'm afraid you'll never get much good out of that. "

"I don't know. A man who sits down to whist may have a run of ill-luckbefore he gets a decent hand; but the good cards are sure to come if heonly sits long enough. Every man has his chance, depend upon it, Phil, if he knows how to watch for it; but there are so many men who gettired and go to sleep before their chances come to them. I've wasted agood deal of time, and a good deal of labour; but the ace of trumps isin the pack, and it must turn up sooner or later. Ta-ta. "

George Sheldon nodded and departed, whistling gaily as he walked awayfrom his brother's door. Philip heard him, and turned his chair to thefire with a movement of impatience. 

"You may be uncommonly clever, my dear George, " soliloquised thedentist, "but you'll never make a fortune by reading wills and huntingin parish-registers for heirs-at-law. A big lump of money is not verylikely to go a-begging while any one who can fudge up the faintestpretence of a claim to it is above ground. No, no, my lad, you mustfind a better way than that before you'll make your fortune. "

The fire had burnt low again, and Mr. Sheldon sat staring gloomily atthe blackening coals. Things were very bad with him--he had not caredto confess how bad they were, when he had discussed his affairs withhis brother. Those neighbours and passers-by who admired the trimbrightness of the dentist's abode had no suspicion that the master ofthat respectable house was in the hands of the Jews, and that thehearthstone which whitened his door-step was paid for out ofIsraelitish coffers. The dentist's philosophy was all of this world, and he knew that the soldier of fortune, who would fain be a conquerorin the great battle, must needs keep his plumage undrabbled and thegolden facings of his uniform untarnished, let his wounds be never sodesperate. 

Having found his attempt to establish a practice in Fitzgeorge-streeta failure, the only course open to Mr. Sheldon, as a man of the world, was to transfer his failure to somebody else, with more or less profitto himself. To this end he preserved the spotless purity of his muslincurtains, though the starch that stiffened them and the bleaching-powderthat whitened them were bought with money for which he was to pay sixtyper cent. To this end he nursed that wan shadow of a practice, andsustained that appearance of respectability which, in a world whereappearance stands for so much, is in itself a kind of capital. Itcertainly was dull dreary work to hold the citadel of No. 14Fitzgeorge-street, against the besieger Poverty; but the dentiststood his ground pertinaciously, knowing that if he only waited longenough, the dupe who was to be his victim would come, and knowing alsothat there might arrive a day when it would be very useful for him tobe able to refer to four years' unblemished respectability as aBloomsbury householder. He had his lines set in several shady placesfor that unhappy fish with a small capital, and he had been tantalisedby more than one nibble; but he made no open show of his desire to sellhis business--since a business that is obviously in the market seemsscarcely worth any man's purchase. 

Things had of late grown worse with him every day; for every intervalof twenty-four hours sinks a man so much the deeper in the mire whenrenewed accommodation-bills with his name upon them are ripening in theiron safes of Judah. Philip Sheldon found himself sinking gradually andalmost imperceptibly into that bottomless pit of difficulty in whoseblack depths the demon Insolvency holds his dreary court. While hislittle capital lasted he had kept himself clear of debt, but that beingexhausted, and his practice growing worse day by day, he had been fainto seek assistance from money-lenders; and now even the money-lenderswere tired of him. The chair in which he sat, the poker which he swungslowly to and fro as he bent over his hearth, were not his own. One ofhis Jewish creditors had a bill of sale on his furniture, and he mightcome home any day to find the auctioneer's bills plastered against thewall of his house, and the auctioneer's clerk busy with the catalogueof his possessions. If the expected victim came now to buy hispractice, the sacrifice would be made too late to serve his interest. The men who had lent him the money would be the sole gainers by thebargain. 

Seldom does a man find himself face to face with a blacker prospectthan that which lay before Philip Sheldon; and yet his manner to-nightwas not the dull blank apathy of despair. It was the manner of a manwhose brain is occupied by busy thoughts; who has some elaborate schemeto map out and arrange before he is called upon to carry his plans intoaction. 

"It would be a good business for me, " he muttered, "if I had pluckenough to carry it through. "

The fire went out as he sat swinging the poker backwards and forwards. The clocks of Bloomsbury and St. Pancras struck twelve, and stillPhilip Sheldon pondered and plotted by that dreary hearth. The servantshad retired at eleven, after a good deal of blundering with bars andshutters, and unnecessary banging of doors. That unearthly silencepeculiar to houses after midnight reigned in Mr. Sheldon's domicile, and he could hear the voices of distant roisterers, and the miauling ofneighbouring cats, with a painful distinctness as he sat brooding inhis silent room. The fact that a mahogany chiffonier in a corner gaveutterance to a faint groan occasionally, as of some feeble creature inpain, afforded him no annoyance. He was superior to superstitiousfancies, and all the rappings and scratchings of spirit-land would havefailed to disturb his equanimity. He was a strictly practical man--oneof those men who are always ready, with a stump of lead-pencil and theback of a letter, to reduce everything in creation to figures. 

"I had better read up that business before they come, " he said, when hehad to all appearance "thought out" the subject of his reverie. "Notime so good as this for doing it quietly. One never knows who isspying about in the daytime. " He looked at his watch, and then went toa cupboard, where there were bundles of wood and matches and oldnewspapers, --for it was his habit to light his own fire occasionallywhen he worked unusually late at night or early in the morning. Herelighted his fire now as cleverly as any housemaid in Bloomsbury, andstood watching it till it burned briskly. Then he lit a taper, and wentdownstairs to the professional torture-chamber. The tall horsehairchair looked unutterably awful in the dim glimmer of the taper, and anervous person could almost have fancied it occupied by the ghost ofsome patient who had expired under the agony of the forceps. Mr. Sheldon lighted the gas in a movable branch which he was in the habitof turning almost into the mouths of the patients who consulted him atnight. There was a cupboard on each side of the mantelpiece, and it wasin these two cupboards that the dentist kept his professional library. His books did not form a very valuable collection, but he kept thecupboards constantly locked nevertheless. 

He took the key from his waistcoat-pocket, opened one of the cupboards, and selected a book from a row of dingy-looking volumes. He carried thebook to the room above, where he seated himself under the gas, andopened the volume at a place in which there was a scrap of paper, evidently left there as a mark. The book was a volume of the _Lancet_, and in this book lie read with close attention until the Bloomsburyclocks struck three. 

CHAPTER III. 

MR. AND MRS. HALLIDAY. 

Mr. Sheldon's visitors arrived in due course. They were provincialpeople of the middle class, accounted monstrously genteel in their ownneighbourhood, but in nowise resembling Londoners of the same rank. 

Mr. Thomas Halliday was a big, loud-spoken, good-tempered Yorkshireman, who had inherited a comfortable little estate from a plodding, money-making father, and for whom life had been very easy. He was afarmer, and nothing but a farmer; a man for whom the supremest pleasureof existence was a cattle-show or a country horse-fair. The farm uponwhich he had been born and brought up was situated about six miles fromBarlingford, and all the delights of his boyhood and youth wereassociated with that small market town. He and the two Sheldons hadbeen schoolfellows, and afterwards boon companions, taking suchpleasure as was obtainable in Barlingford together; flirting with thesame provincial beauties at prim tea-parties in the winter, and gettingup friendly picnics in the summer--picnics at which eating and drinkingwere the leading features of the day's entertainment. Mr. Halliday hadalways regarded George and Philip Sheldon with that reverentialadmiration which a stupid man, who is conscious of his own mentalinferiority, generally feels for a clever friend and companion. But hewas also fully aware of the advantage which a rich man possesses over apoor one, and would not have exchanged the fertile acres of Hyley forthe intellectual gifts of his schoolfellows. He had found thesubstantial value of his comfortably furnished house and well-stockedfarm when he and his friend Philip Sheldon became suitors for the handof Georgina Cradock, youngest daughter of a Barlingford attorney, wholived next door to the Barlingford dentist, Philip Sheldon's father. Philip and the girl had been playfellows in the long-walled gardensbehind the two houses, and there had been a brotherly and sisterlyintimacy between the juvenile members of the two families. But whenPhilip and Georgina met at the Barlingford tea-parties in later years, the parental powers frowned upon any renewal of that childishfriendship. Miss Cradock had no portion, and the worthy solicitor herfather was a prudent man, who was apt to look for the promise ofdomestic happiness in the plate-basket and the linen-press, rather thanfor such superficial qualifications as black whiskers and white teeth. So poor Philip was "thrown over the bridge, " as he said himself, andGeorgy Cradock married Mr. Halliday, with all attendant ceremony andsplendour, according to the "lights" of Barlingford gentry. 

But this provincial bride's story was no passionate record of anguishand tears. The Barlingford Juliet had liked Romeo as much as she wascapable of liking any one; but when Papa Capulet insisted on her unionwith Paris, she accepted her destiny with decent resignation, and, inthe absence of any sympathetic father confessor, was fain to seekconsolation from a more mundane individual in the person of theBarlingford milliner. Nor did Philip Sheldon give evidence of anyextravagant despair. His father was something of a doctor as well as adentist; and there were plenty of dark little phials lurking on theshelves of his surgery in which the young man could have found "mortaldrugs" without the aid of the apothecary, had he been so minded. Happily no such desperate idea ever occurred to him in connection withhis grief. He held himself sulkily aloof from Mr. And Mrs. Halliday forsome time after their marriage, and allowed people to see that heconsidered himself very hardly used; but Prudence, which had alwaysbeen Philip Sheldon's counsellor, proved herself also his consoler inthis crisis of his life. A careful consideration of his own interestsled him to perceive that the successful result of his love-suit wouldhave been about the worst thing that could have happened to him. 

Georgina had no money. All was said in that. As the young dentist'sworldly wisdom ripened with experience, he discovered that the worldlyease of the best man in Barlingford was something like that of acanary-bird who inhabits a clean cage and is supplied with abundantseed and water. The cage is eminently comfortable, and the sleepy, respectable, elderly bird sighs for no better abiding-place, no widerprospect than that patch of the universe which he sees between thebars. But now and then there is hatched a wild young fledgeling, whichbeats its wings against the inexorable wires, and would fain soar awayinto that wide outer world, to prosper or perish in its freedom. 

Before Georgy had been married a year, her sometime lover had fullyresigned himself to the existing state of things, and was on the bestpossible terms with his friend Tom. He could eat his dinner in thecomfortable house at Hyley with an excellent appetite; for there was agulf between him and his old love far wider than any that had been dugby that ceremonial in the parish church of Barlingford. Philip Sheldonhad awakened to the consciousness that life in his native town waslittle more than a kind of animal vegetation--the life of some pulpyinvertebrate creature, which sprawls helplessly upon the sands whereonthe wave has deposited it, and may be cloven in half without feelingitself noticeably worse for the operation. He had awakened to theknowledge that there was a wider and more agreeable world beyond thatlittle provincial borough, and that a handsome face and figure and avigorous intellect were commodities for which there must be some kindof market. 

Once convinced of the utter worthlessness of his prospects inBarlingford, Mr. Sheldon turned his eyes Londonwards; and his fatherhappening at the same time very conveniently to depart this life, Philip, the son and heir, disposed of the business to an aspiring youngpractitioner, and came to the metropolis, where he made that futileattempt to establish himself which has been described. 

The dentist had wasted four years in London, and ten years had gone bysince Georgy's wedding; and now for the first time he had anopportunity of witnessing the domestic happiness or the domestic miseryof the woman who had jilted him, and the man who had been hissuccessful rival. He set himself to watch them with the cooldeliberation of a social anatomist, and he experienced very littledifficulty in the performance of this moral dissection. They wereestablished under his roof, his companions at every meal; and they werea kind of people who discuss their grievances and indulge in their"little differences" with perfect freedom in the presence of a third, or a fourth, or even a fifth party. 

Mr. Sheldon was wise enough to preserve a strict neutrality. He wouldtake up a newspaper at the beginning of a little difference, and lay itdown when the little difference was finished, with the most perfectassumption of unconsciousness; but it is doubtful whether thematrimonial disputants were sufficiently appreciative of this goodbreeding. They would have liked to have had Mr. Sheldon for a court ofappeal; and a little interference from him would have given zest totheir quarrels. Meanwhile Philip watched them slyly from the covert ofhis newspaper, and formed his own conclusions about them. If he waspleased to see that his false love's path was not entirely rose-bestrewn, or if he rejoiced at beholding the occasional annoyance of his rival, heallowed no evidence of his pleasure to appear in his face or manner. 

Georgina Cradock's rather insipid prettiness had developed intomatronly comeliness. Her fair complexion and pink cheeks had lost noneof their freshness. Her smooth auburn hair was as soft and bright as ithad been when she had braided it preparatory to a Barlingford tea-partyin the days of her spinsterhood. She was a pretty, weak little woman, whose education had never gone beyond the routine of a provincialboarding-school, and who believed that she had attained all necessarywisdom in having mastered Pinnock's abridgments of Goldsmith'shistories and the rudiments of the French language. She was a woman whothought that the perfection of feminine costume was a moire-antiquedress and a conspicuous gold chain. She was a woman who considered awell-furnished house and a horse and gig the highest form of earthlysplendour or prosperity. 

This was the shallow commonplace creature whom Philip Sheldon had onceadmired and wooed. He looked at her now, and wondered how he could everhave felt even as much as he had felt on her account. But he had littleleisure to devote to any such abstract and useless consideration. Hehad his own affairs to think about, and they were very desperate. 

In the meantime Mr. And Mrs. Halliday occupied themselves in thepursuit of pleasure or business, as the case might be. They were eagerfor amusement: went to exhibitions in the day and to theatres at night, and came home to cozy little suppers in Fitzgeorge-street, after whichMr. Halliday was wont to waste the small hours in friendly conversationwith his quondam companion, and in the consumption of muchbrandy-and-water. 

Unhappily for Georgy, these halcyon days were broken by intervals ofstorm and cloud. The weak little woman was afflicted with thatintermittent fever called jealousy; and the stalwart Thomas was one ofthose men who can scarcely give the time of day to a feminineacquaintance without some ornate and loud-spoken gallantry. Having nointellectual resources wherewith to beguile the tedium of his idleprosperous life, he was fain to seek pleasure in the companionship ofother men; and had thus become a haunter of tavern parlours and smallracecourses, being always ready for any amusement his friends proposedto him. It followed, therefore, that he was very often absent from hiscommonplace substantial home, and his pretty weak-minded wife. And poorGeorgy had ample food for her jealous fears and suspicions; for wheremight a man not be who was so seldom at home? She had never beenparticularly fond of her husband, but that was no reason why she shouldnot be particularly jealous about him; and her jealousy betrayed itselfin a peevish worrying fashion, which was harder to bear than thevengeful ferocity of a Clytemnestra. It was in vain that ThomasHalliday and those jolly good fellows his friends and companionsattested the Arcadian innocence of racecourses, and the perfect purityof that smoky atmosphere peculiar to tavern parlours. Georgy'ssuspicions were too vague for refutation; but they were neverthelesssufficient ground for all the alternations of temper--from stolidsulkiness to peevish whining, from murmured lamentations to loudhysterics--to which the female temperament is liable. 

In the meantime poor honest, loud-spoken Tom did all in his power todemonstrate his truth and devotion. He bought his wife as many stiffsilk gowns and gaudy Barlingford bonnets as she chose to sigh for. Hemade a will, in which she was sole legatee, and insured his life indifferent offices to the amount of five thousand pounds. 

"I'm the sort of fellow that's likely to go off the hooks suddenly, youknow, Georgy, " he said, "and your poor dad was always anxious I shouldmake things square for you. I don't suppose you're likely to marryagain, my lass, so I've no need to tie up Lottie's little fortune. Imust trust some one, and I'd better confide in my little wife than insome canting methodistical fellow of a trustee, who would speculate mydaughter's money upon some Stock-Exchange hazard, and levant toAustralia when it was all swamped. If you can't trust me, Georgy, I'lllet you see that I can trust you", added Tom reproachfully. 

Whereupon poor weak little Mrs. Halliday murmured plaintively that shedid not want fortunes or life insurances, but that she wanted herhusband to stay at home, content with the calm and rather sleepydelights of his own fireside. Poor Tom was wont to promise amendment, and would keep his promise faithfully so long as no supreme temptation, in the shape of a visit from some friend of the jolly-good-fellowspecies, arose to vanquish his good resolutions. But a good-tempered, generous-hearted young man who farms his own land, has three or fourgood horses in his stable, a decent cellar of honest port and sherry--"none of your wishy-washy sour stuff in the way of hock or claret, "cried Tom Halliday--and a very comfortable balance at his banker's, finds it no easy matter to shake off friends of the jolly-good-fellowfraternity. 

In London Mr. Halliday found the spirit of jolly-dog-ism rampant. George Sheldon had always been his favourite of these two brothers; andit was George who lured him from the safe shelter of Fitzgeorge-streetand took him to mysterious haunts, whence he returned long aftermidnight, boisterous of manner and unsteady of gait, and with garmentsreeking of stale tobacco-smoke. 

He was always good-tempered, even after these diabolical orgies on someunknown Brocken, and protested indistinctly that there was no harm, --"'pon m' wor', ye know, ol' gur'! Geor' an' me--half-doz' oyst'r--c'gar--botl' p'l ale--str't home, " and much more to the same effect. When did any married man ever take more than half a dozen oysters--ortake any undomestic pleasure for his own satisfaction? It is alwaysthose incorrigible bachelors, Thomas, Richard, or Henry, who hinder theunwilling Benedick from returning to his sacred Lares and Penates. 

Poor Georgy was not to be pacified by protestations about oysters andcigars from the lips of a husband who was thick of utterance, and whobetrayed a general imbecility of mind and unsteadiness of body. ThisLondon excursion, which had begun in sunshine, threatened to end instorm and darkness. Georgy Sheldon and his set had taken possession ofthe young farmer; and Georgy had no better amusement in the longblustrous March evenings than to sit at her work under the flaming gasin Mr. Sheldon's drawing-room, while that gentleman--who rarely joinedin the dissipations of his friend and his brother--occupied himselfwith mechanical dentistry in the chamber of torture below. 

Fitzgeorge-street in general, always on the watch to discover evidencesof impecuniosity or doubtful morality on the part of any one citizen inparticular, could find no food for scandal in the visit of Mr. And Mrs. Halliday to their friend and countryman. It had been noised abroad, through the agency of Mrs. Woolper, that Mr. Sheldon had been a suitorfor the lady' hand, and had been jilted by her. The Fitzgeorgians hadbeen, therefore, especially on the alert to detect any sign ofbacksliding in the dentist. There would have been much pleasantdiscussion in kitchens and back-parlours if Mr. Sheldon had beenparticularly attentive to his fair guest; but it speedily became known, always by the agency of Mrs. Woolper and that phenomenon of idlenessand iniquity, the London "girl, " that Mr. Sheldon was not by any meansattentive to the pretty young woman from Yorkshire; but that hesuffered her to sit alone hour after hour in her husband's absence, with no amusement but her needlework wherewith to "pass the time, "while he scraped and filed and polished those fragments of bone whichwere to assist in the renovation of decayed beauty. 

The third week of Mr. And Mrs. Halliday's visit was near its close, andas yet the young farmer had arrived at no decision as to the subjectwhich had brought him to London. The sale of Hyley Farm was anaccomplished fact, and the purchase-money duly bestowed at Tom'sbanker's; but very little had been done towards finding the newproperty which was to be a substitute for the estate his father andgrandfather had farmed before him. He had seen auctioneers, and hadbrought home plans of estates in Herefordshire and Devonshire, Cornwalland Somersetshire, all of which seemed to be, in their way, the mostperfect things imaginable--land of such fertility as one would scarcelyexpect to find out of Arcadia--live stock which seemed beyond allprice, to be taken at a valuation. --roads and surroundingneighbourhood unparalleled in beauty and convenience--outbuildingsthat must have been the very archetypes of barns and stables--a housewhich to inhabit would be to adore. But as yet he had seen none ofthese peerless domains. He was waiting for decent weather in which torun down to the West and "look about him, " as he said to himself. Inthe meantime the blustrous March weather, which was so unsuited to longrailroad journeys, and all that waiting about at junctions and atlittle windy stations on branch lines, incidental to the inspection ofestates scattered over a large area of country, served very well for"jolly-dog-ism;" and what with a hand at cards in George Sheldon'schambers, and another hand at cards in somebody else's chambers, and arun down to an early meeting at Newmarket, and an evening at somerooms where there was something to be seen which was as nearprize-fighting as the law allowed, and other evenings in unknownregions, Mr. Halliday found time slipping by him, and his domesticpeace vanishing away. 

It was on an evening at the end of this third week that Mr. Sheldonabandoned his mechanical dentistry for once in a way, and ascended tothe drawing-room where poor Georgy sat busy with that eternalneedlework, but for which melancholy madness would surely overtake manydesolate matrons in houses whose common place comfort and respectabledulness are more dismal than the picturesque dreariness of a moatedgrange amid the Lincolnshire fens. To the masculine mind thisneedlework seems nothing more than a purposeless stabbing and sewing ofstrips of calico; but to lonely womanhood it is the prison-flower ofthe captive, it is the spider of Latude. 

Mr. Sheldon brought his guest an evening newspaper. 

"There's an account of the opening of Parliament, " he said, "which youmay perhaps like to see. I wish I had a piano, or some femaleacquaintances to drop in upon you. I am afraid you must be dull inthese long evenings when Tom is out of the way. "

"I am indeed dull, " Mrs. Halliday answered peevishly; "and if Tom caredfor me, he wouldn't leave me like this evening after evening. But hedoesn't care for me. "

Mr Sheldon laid down the newspaper, and seated himself opposite hisguest. He sat for a few minutes in silence, beating time to someimaginary air with the tips of his fingers on the old-fashionedmahogany table. Then he said, with a half-smile upon his face, --

"But surely Tom is the best of husbands! He has been a little wildsince his coming to London, I know; but then you see he doesn't oftencome to town. "

"He's just as bad in Yorkshire, " Georgy answered gloomily; "he's alwaysgoing to Barlingford with somebody or other, or to meet some of his oldfriends. I'm sure, if I had known what he was, I would never havemarried him. "

"Why, I thought he was such a good husband. He was telling me only afew days ago how he had made a will leaving you every sixpence hepossesses, without reservation, and how he has insured his life forfive thousand pounds. "

"O yes, I know that; but I don't call _that_ being a good husband. Idon't want him to leave me his money. I don't want him to die. I wanthim to stay at home. "

"Poor Tom! I'm afraid he's not the sort of man for that kind of thing. He likes change and amusement. You married a rich man, Mrs. Halliday;you made your choice, you know, without regard to the feelings of anyone else. You sacrificed truth and honour to your own inclination, oryour own interest, I do not know, and do not ask which. If the bargainhas turned out a bad one, that's your look-out. "

Philip Sheldon sat with his folded arms resting on the little table andhis eyes fixed on Georgy's face. They could be very stern and hard andcruel, those bright black eyes, and Mrs. Halliday grew first red andthen pale under their searching gaze. She had seen Mr. Sheldon veryoften during the years of her married life, but this was the first timehe had ever said anything to her that sounded like a reproach. Thedentist's eyes softened a little as he watched her, not with anyspecial tenderness, but with an expression of half-disdainfulcompassion--such as a strong stern man might feel for a foolish child. He could see that this woman was afraid of him, and it served hisinterests that she should fear him. He had a purpose in everything hedid, and his purpose to-night was to test the strength of his influenceover Georgina Halliday. In the old time before her marriage thatinfluence had been very strong. It was for him, to discover now whetherit still endured. 

"You made your choice, Mrs. Halliday, " he went on presently, "and itwas a choice which all prudent people must have approved. What chancehad a man, who was only heir to a practice worth four or five hundredpounds, against the inheritor of Hyley Farm with its two hundred andfifty acres, and three thousand pounds' worth of live stock, plant, andworking capital? When do the prudent people ever stop to consider truthand honour, or old promises, or an affection that dates from childhood?They calculate everything by pounds, shillings, and pence; andaccording to their mode of reckoning you were in the right when youjilted me to marry Tom Halliday. "

Georgy laid down her work and took out her handkerchief. She was one ofthose women who take refuge in tears when they find themselves at adisadvantage. Tears had always melted honest Tom, was his wrath neverso dire, and tears would no doubt subdue Philip Sheldon. 

But Georgy had to discover that the dentist was made of a stuff verydifferent from that softer clay which composed the rollickinggood-tempered farmer. Mr. Sheldon watched her tears with thecold-blooded deliberation of a scientific experimentalist. He was gladto find that he could make her cry. She was a necessary instrument inthe working out of certain plans that he had made for himself, and hewas anxious to discover whether she was likely to be a plasticinstrument. He knew that her love for him had never been worth much atits best, and that the poor little flickering flame had been utterlyextinguished by nine years of commonplace domesticity and pettyjealousy. But his purpose was one that would be served as well by herfear as by her love, and he had set himself to-night to gauge hispower in relation to this poor weak creature. 

"It's very unkind of you to say such dreadful things, Mr. Sheldon, " shewhimpered presently; "you know very well that my marriage with Tom waspa's doing, and not mine. I'm sure if I'd known how he would stay outnight after night, and come home in such dreadful states time aftertime, I never would have consented to marry him. "

"Wouldn't you?--O yes, you would. If you were a widow to-morrow, andfree to marry again, you would choose just such another man as Tom--aman who laughs loud, and pays flourishing compliments, and drives a gigwith a high-stepping horse. That's the sort of man women like, andthat's the sort of man you'd marry. "

"I'm sure I shouldn't marry at all, " answered Mrs. Halliday, in avoice that was broken by little gasping sobs. "I have seen enough ofthe misery of married life. But I don't want Tom to die, unkind as heis to me. People are always saying that he won't make old bones--howhorrid it is to talk of a person's bones!--and I'm sure I sometimesmake myself wretched about him, as he knows, though he doesn't thank mefor it. "

And here Mrs Halliday's sobs got the better of her utterance, and Mr. Sheldon was fain to say something of a consolatory nature. 

"Come, come, " he said, "I won't tease you any more. That's against thelaws of hospitality, isn't it?--only there are some things which youcan't expect a man to forget, you know. However, let bygones bebygones. As for poor old Tom, I daresay he'll live to be a hale, heartyold man, in spite of the croakers. People always will croak aboutsomething; and it's a kind of fashion to say that a big, hearty, six-foot man is a fragile blossom likely to be nipped by any wintryblast. Come, come, Mrs. Halliday, your husband mustn't discover thatI've been making you cry when he comes home. He may be home early thisevening, perhaps; and if he is, we'll have an oyster supper, and achat about old times. "

Mrs. Halliday shook her head dolefully. 

"It's past ten o'clock already, " she said, "and I don't suppose Tomwill be home till after twelve. He doesn't like my sitting up for him;but I wonder _what_ time he would come home if I didn't sit up forhim?"

"Let's hope for the best, " exclaimed Mr. Sheldon cheerfully. "I'll goand see about the oysters. "

"Don't get them for me, or for Tom, " protested Mrs. Halliday; "he willhave had his supper when he comes home, you may be sure, and I couldn'teat a morsel of anything. "

To this resolution Mrs. Halliday adhered; so the dentist was fain toabandon all jovial ideas in relation to oysters and pale ale. But hedid not go back to his mechanical dentistry. He sat opposite hisvisitor, and watched her, silently and thoughtfully, for some time asshe worked. She had brushed away her tears, but she looked very peevishand miserable, and took out her watch several times in an hour. Mr. Sheldon made two or three feeble attempts at conversation, but the talklanguished and expired on each occasion, and they sat on in silence. 

Little by little the dentist's attention seemed to wander away from hisguest. He wheeled his chair round, and sat looking at the fire with thesame fixed gloom upon his face which had darkened it on the night ofhis return from Yorkshire. Things had been so desperate with him oflate, that he had lost his old orderly habit of thinking out a businessat one sitting, and making an end of all deliberation and hesitationabout it. There were subjects that forced themselves upon his thoughts, and certain ideas which repeated themselves with a stupid persistence. He was such an eminently practical man, that this disorder of his braintroubled him more even than the thoughts that made the disorder. He satin the same attitude for a long while, scarcely conscious of Mrs. Halliday's presence, not at all conscious of the progress of time. Georgy had been right in her gloomy forebodings of bad behaviour on thepart of Mr. Halliday. It was nearly one o'clock when a loud doubleknock announced that gentleman's return. The wind had been howlingdrearily, and a sharp, slanting rain had been pattering against thewindows for the last half-hour, while Mrs. Halliday's breast had beenracked by the contending emotions of anxiety and indignation. 

"I suppose he couldn't get a cab, " she exclaimed, as the knock startledher from her listening attitude--for however intently a midnightwatcher may be listening for the returning wanderer's knock, it is notthe less startling when it comes?--"and he has walked home through thewet, and now he'll have a violent cold, I daresay, " added Georgypeevishly. 

"Then it's lucky for him he's in a doctor's house, " answered Mr. Sheldon, with a smile. He was a handsome man, no doubt, according tothe popular idea of masculine perfection, but he had not a pleasantsmile. "I went through the regular routine, you know, and am as wellable to see a patient safely through a cold or fever as I am to makehim a set of teeth. "

Mr. Halliday burst into the room at this moment, singing a fragment ofthe "Chough and Crow" chorus, very much out of tune. He was inboisterously high spirits, and very little the worse for liquor. He hadonly walked from Covent Garden, he said, and had taken nothing but atankard of stout and a Welsh rarebit. He had been hearing the divinestsinging--boys with the voices of angels--and had been taking his supperin a place which duchesses themselves did not disdain to peep at fromthe sacred recesses of a loge grillee, George Sheldon had told him. Butpoor country-bred Georgina Halliday would not believe in the duchesses, or the angelic singing boys, or the primitive simplicity of Welshrarebits. She had a vision of beautiful women, and halls of dazzlinglight, where there was the mad music of perpetual Post-horn Galops, with a riotous accompaniment of huzzas and the popping of champagnecorks--where the sheen of satin and the glitter of gems bewildered theeye of the beholder. She had seen such a picture once on the stage, andhad vaguely associated it with all Tom's midnight roisterings everafterwards. 

The roisterer's garments were very wet, and it was in vain that hiswife and Philip Sheldon entreated him to change them for dry ones, orto go to bed immediately. He stood before the fire relating hisinnocent adventures, and trying to dispel the cloud from Georgy's fairyoung brow; and, when he did at last consent to go to his room, thedentist shook his head ominously. 

"You'll have a severe cold to-morrow, depend upon it, Tom, and you'llhave yourself to thank for it, " he said, as he bade the good-temperedreprobate good night. "Never mind, old fellow, " answered Tom; "if I amill, you shall nurse me. If one is doomed to die by doctors' stuff, it's better to have a doctor one does know than a doctor one doesn'tknow for one's executioner. "

After which graceful piece of humour Mr. Halliday went blundering upthe staircase, followed by his aggrieved wife. 

Philip Sheldon stood on the landing looking after his visitors for someminutes. Then he went slowly back to the sitting-room, where hereplenished the fire, and seated himself before it with a newspaper inhis hand. 

"What's the use of going to bed, if I can't sleep?" he muttered, in adiscontented tone. 

CHAPTER IV. 

A PERPLEXING ILLNESS. 

Mr. Sheldon's prophecy was fully realised. Tom Halliday awoke the nextday with a violent cold in his head. Like most big boisterous men ofherculean build, he was the veriest craven in the hour of physicalailment; so he succumbed at once to the malady which a man obliged toface the world and fight for his daily bread must needs have made lightof. 

The dentist rallied his invalid friend. 

"Keep your bed, if you like, Tom, " he said, "but there's no necessityfor any such coddling. As your hands are hot, and your tongue ratherqueer, I may as well give you a saline draught. You'll be all right bydinner-time, and I'll get George to look round in the evening for ahand at cards. "

Tom obeyed his professional friend--took his medicine, read the paper, and slept away the best part of the dull March day. At half-past fivehe got up and dressed for dinner, and the evening passed verypleasantly--so pleasantly, indeed, that Georgy was half inclined towish that her husband might be afflicted with chronic influenza, whereby he would be compelled to stop at home. She sighed when PhilipSheldon slapped his friend's broad shoulder, and told him cheerily thathe would be "all right to-morrow. " He would be well again, and therewould be more midnight roistering, and she would be again tormented bythat vision of lighted halls and beautiful diabolical creaturesrevolving madly to the music of the Post-horn Galop. 

It seemed, however, that poor jealous Mrs. Halliday was to be sparedher nightly agony for some time to come. Tom's cold lasted longer thanhe had expected, and the cold was succeeded by a low fever--a biliousfever, Mr. Sheldon said. There was not the least occasion for alarm, ofcourse. The invalid and the invalid's wife trusted implicitly in thefriendly doctor who assured them both that Tom's attack was the mostordinary kind of thing; a little wearing, no doubt, but entirelywithout danger. He had to repeat this assurance very often to Georgy, whose angry feelings had given place to extreme tenderness andaffection now that Tom was an invalid, quite unfitted for the societyof jolly good fellows, and willing to receive basins of beef-tea andarrow-root meekly from his wife's hands, instead of those edibles ofiniquity, oysters and toasted cheese. 

Mr. Halliday's illness was very tiresome. It was one of thoseperplexing complaints which keep the patient himself, and the patient'sfriends and attendants, in perpetual uncertainty. A little worse oneday and a shade better the next; now gaining a little strength, nowlosing a trifle more than he had gained. The patient declined in soimperceptible a manner that he had been ill three weeks, and was nolonger able to leave his bed, and had lost alike his appetite and hisspirits, before Georgy awoke to the fact that this illness, hithertoconsidered so lightly, must be very serious. 

"I think if--if you have no objection, I should like to see anotherdoctor, Mr. Sheldon, " she said one day, with considerable embarrassmentof manner. She feared to offend her host by any doubt of his skill. "You see--you--you are so much employed with teeth--and--of course youknow I am quite assured of your talent--but don't you think that adoctor who had more experience in fever cases might bring Tom roundquicker? He has been ill so long now; and really he doesn't seem to getany better. "

Philip Sheldon shrugged his shoulders. 

"As you please, my dear Mrs. Halliday, " he said carelessly; "I don'twish to press my services upon you. It is quite a matter of friendship, you know, and I shall not profit sixpence by my attendance on poor oldTom. Call in another doctor, by all means, if you think fit to do so;but, of course, in that event, I must withdraw from the case. The manyou call in may be clever, or he may be stupid and ignorant. It's all achance, when one doesn't know one's man; and I really can't advise youupon that point, for I know nothing of the London profession. "

Georgy looked alarmed. This was a new view of the subject. She hadfancied that all regular practitioners were clever, and had onlydoubted Mr. Sheldon because he was not a regular practitioner. But howif she were to withdraw her husband from the hands of a clever man todeliver him into the care of an ignorant pretender, simply because shewas over-anxious for his recovery?

"I always am foolishly anxious about things, " she thought. 

And then she looked piteously at Mr. Sheldon, and said, "What do youthink I ought to do? Pray tell me. He has eaten no breakfast again thismorning; and even the cup of tea which I persuaded him to take seemedto disagree with him. And then there is that dreadful sore throat whichtorments him so. What ought I to do, Mr. Sheldon?"

"Whatever seems best to yourself, Mrs. Halliday, " answered the dentistearnestly. "It is a subject upon, which I cannot pretend to advise you. It is a matter of feeling rather than of reason, and it is a matterwhich you yourself must determine. If I knew any man whom I couldhonestly recommend to you, it would be another affair; but I don't. Tom's illness is the simplest thing in the world, and I feel myselfquite competent to pull him through it, without fuss or bother; but ifyou think otherwise, pray put me out of the question. There's one fact, however, of which I'm bound to remind you. Like many fine big stalwartfellows of his stamp, your husband is as nervous as a hysterical woman;and if you call in a strange doctor, who will pull long faces, and puton the professional solemnity, the chances are that he'll take alarm, and do himself more mischief in a few hours than your new adviser canundo in as many weeks. "

There was a little pause after this. Georgy's opinions, and suspicions, and anxieties were alike vague; and this last suggestion of Mr. Sheldon's put things in a new and alarming light. She was reallyanxious about her husband, but she had been accustomed all her life toaccept the opinion of other people in preference to her own. 

"Do you really think that Tom will soon be well and strong again?" sheasked presently. 

"If I thought otherwise, I should be the first to advise othermeasures. However, my dear Mrs. Halliday, call in some one else, foryour own satisfaction. "

"No, " said Georgy, sighing plaintively, "it might frighten Tom. You arequite right, Mr. Sheldon; he is very nervous, and the idea that I wasalarmed might alarm him. I'll trust in you. Pray try to bring him roundagain. You will try, won't you?" she asked, in the childish pleadingway which was peculiar to her. 

The dentist was searching for something in the drawer of a table, andhis back was turned on the anxious questioner. 

"You may depend upon it, I'll do my best, Mrs. Halliday, " he answered, still busy at the drawer. Mr. Sheldon the younger had paid many visitsto Fitzgeorge-street during Tom Halliday's illness. George and Tom hadbeen the Damon and Pythias of Barlingford; and George seemed reallydistressed when he found his friend changed for the worse. The changesin the invalid were so puzzling, the alternations from better to worseand from worse to better so frequent, that fear could take no hold uponthe minds of the patient's friends. It seemed such a very slight affairthis low fever, though sufficiently inconvenient to the patienthimself, who suffered a good deal from thirst and sickness, and showedan extreme disinclination for food, all which symptoms Mr. Sheldon saidwere the commonest and simplest features of a very mild attack ofbilious fever, which would leave Tom a better man than it had foundhim. 

There had been several pleasant little card-parties during the earlierstages of Mr. Halliday's illness; but within the last week the patienthad been too low and weak for cards--too weak to read the newspaper, oreven to bear having it read to him. When George came to look at his oldfriend--"to cheer you up a little, old fellow, you know, " and so on--hefound Tom, for the time being, past all capability of being cheered, even by the genial society of his favourite jolly good fellow, or bytidings of a steeplechase in Yorkshire, in which a neighbour had goneto grief over a double fence. 

"That chap upstairs seems rather queerish, " George had said to hisbrother, after finding Tom lower and weaker than usual. "He's in a badway, isn't he, Phil?"

"No; there's nothing serious the matter with him. He's rather lowto-night, that's all. "

"Rather low!" echoed George Sheldon. "He seems to me so very low, thathe can't sink much lower without going to the bottom of his grave. I'dcall some one in, if I were you. "

The dentist shrugged his shoulders, and made a little contemptuousnoise with his lips. 

"If you knew as much of doctors as I do, you wouldn't be in any hurryto trust a friend to the mercy of one, " he said carelessly. "Don't youalarm yourself about Tom. He's right enough. He's been in a state ofchronic over-eating and over-drinking for the last ten years, and thisbilious fever will be the making of him. "

"Will it?" said George doubtfully; and then there followed a littlepause, during which the brothers happened to look at each otherfurtively, and happened to surprise each other in the act. 

"I don't know about over-eating or drinking, " said George presently;"but something has disagreed with Tom Halliday, that's very evident. "

CHAPTER V. 

THE LETTER FROM THE "ALLIANCE" OFFICE. 

Upon the evening of the day on which Mrs. Halliday and the dentist haddiscussed the propriety of calling in a strange doctor, George Sheldoncame again to see his sick friend. He was quicker to perceive thechanges in the invalid than the members of the household, who saw himdaily and hourly, and he perceived a striking change for the worseto-night. 

He took care, however, to suffer no evidence of alarm or surprise toappear in the sick chamber. He talked to his friend in the usual cheeryway; sat by the bedside for half an hour; did his best to arouse Tomfrom a kind of stupid lethargy, and to encourage Mrs. Halliday, whoshared the task of nursing her husband with brisk Nancy Woolper, aninvaluable creature in a sick-room. But he failed in both attempts; thedull apathy of the invalid was not to be dispelled by the most genialcompanionship, and Georgy's spirits had been sinking lower and lowerall day as her fears increased. 

She would fain have called in a strange doctor--she would fain havesought for comfort and consolation from some new quarter. But she wasafraid of offending Philip Sheldon; and she was afraid of alarming herhusband. So she waited, and watched, and struggled against thatever-increasing anxiety. Had not Mr. Sheldon made light of hisfriend's malady, and what motive could he have for deceiving her?

A breakfast-cup full of beef-tea stood on the little table by thebedside, and had been standing there for hours untouched. 

"I did take such pains to make it strong and clear, " said Mrs. Woolperregretfully, as she came to the little table during a tidying process, "and poor dear Mr. Halliday hasn't taken so much as a spoonful. Itwon't be fit for him to-morrow, so as I haven't eaten a morsel ofdinner, what with the hurry and anxiety and one thing and another, I'llwarm up the beef-tea for my supper. There's not a blessed thing in thehouse; for you don't eat nothing, Mrs. Halliday; and as to cooking adinner for Mr. Sheldon, you'd a deal better go and throw your victualsout into the gutter, for then there'd be a chance of stray dogsprofiting by 'em, at any rate. "

"Phil is off his feed, then; eh, Nancy?" said George. 

"I should rather think he is, Mr. George. I roasted a chicken yesterdayfor him and Mrs. Halliday, and I don't think they eat an ounce between, them; and such a lovely tender young thing as it was too--done to aturn--with bread sauce and a little bit of sea-kale. One invalid makesanother, that's certain. I never saw your brother so upset as he isnow, Mr, George, in all his life. 

"No?" answered George Sheldon thoughtfully; "Phil isn't generally oneof your sensitive sort. "

The invalid was sleeping heavily during this conversation. George stoodby the bed for some minutes looking down at the altered face, and thenturned to leave the room. 

"Good night, Mrs. Halliday, " he said; "I hope I shall find poor old Toma shade better when I look round to-morrow. "

"I am sure I hope so, " Georgy answered mournfully. 

She was sitting by the window looking out at the darkening western sky, in which the last lurid glimmer of a stormy sunset was fading against abackground of iron gray. 

This quiet figure by the window, the stormy sky, and ragged hurryingclouds without, the dusky chamber with all its dismally significantlitter of medicine-bottles, made a gloomy picture--a picture which theman who looked upon it carried in his mind for many years after thatnight. 

George Sheldon and Nancy Woolper left the room together, theYorkshirewoman carrying a tray of empty phials and glasses, and amongstthem the cup of beef-tea. 

"He seems in a bad way to-night, Nancy, " said George, with a backwardjerk of his head towards the sick-chamber. 

"He is in a bad way, Mr. George, " answered the woman gravely, "let Mr. Philip think what he will. I don't want to say a word against yourbrother's knowledge, for such a steady studious gentleman as he is hadneed be clever; and if I was ill myself, I'd trust my life to himfreely; for I have heard Barlingford folks say that my master's adviceis as good as any regular doctor's, and that there's very little yourregular doctors know that he doesn't know as well or better. But forall that, Mr. George, I don't think he understands Mr. Halliday's casequite as clear as he might. "

"Do you think Tom's in any danger?"

"I won't say that, Mr. George; but I think he gets worse instead ofgetting better. "

"Humph!" muttered George; "if Halliday were to go off the hooks, Philwould have a good chance of getting a rich wife. "

"Don't say that, Mr. George, " exclaimed the Yorkshirewomanreproachfully; "don't even think of such a thing while that poor manlies at death's door. I'm sure Mr. Sheldon hasn't any thoughts of thatkind. He told me before Mr. And Mrs. Halliday came to town that he andMiss Georgy had forgotten all about past times. "

"O, if Phil said so, that alters the case. Phil is one of your bluntoutspoken fellows, and always says what he means, " said George Sheldon. And then he went downstairs, leaving Nancy to follow him at her leisurewith the tray of jingling cups and glasses. He went down through thedusk, smiling to himself, as if he had just given utterance to somepiece of intense humour. He went to look for his brother, whom he foundin the torture-chamber, busied with some mysterious process inconnection with a lump of plaster-of-pans, which seemed to be the modelof ruined battlements in the Gothic style. The dentist looked up asGeorge entered the room, and did not appear particularly delighted bythe appearance of that gentleman. 

"Well, " said Mr. Sheldon the younger, "busy as usual? Patients seem tobe looking up. "

"Patients be----toothless to the end of time!" cried Philip, with asavage laugh. "No, I'm not working to order; I'm only experimentalising. "

"You're rather fond of experiments, I think, Phil, " said George, seating himself near the table at which his brother was working underthe glare of the gas. The dentist looked very pale and haggard in thegas-light, and his eyes had the dull sunken appearance induced byprolonged sleeplessness. George sat watching his brother thoughtfullyfor some time, and then produced his cigar-case. "You don't mind mysmoke here?" he asked, as he lighted a cigar. 

"Not at all. You are very welcome to sit here, if it amuses you to seeme working at the cast of a lower jaw. "

"O, that's a lower jaw, is it? It looks like the fragment of somecastle-keep. No, Phil, I don't care about watching you work. I want totalk to you seriously. "

"About that fellow upstairs--poor old Tom. He and I were greatcronies, you know, at home. He's in a very bad way, "Is he? You seem to be turning physician all at once, George. Ishouldn't have thought your grubbing among county histories, andtattered old pedigrees, and parish registers had given you so deep aninsight into the science of medicine!" said the dentist in a sneeringtone. 

"I don't know anything of medicine; but I know enough to be sure thatTom Halliday is about as bad as he can be. What mystifies me is, thathe doesn't seem to have had anything particular the matter with him. There he lies, getting worse and worse every day, without any specificailment. It's a strange illness, Philip. "

"I don't see anything strange in it. "

"Don't you? Don't you think the surrounding circumstances are strange?Here is this man comes to your house hale and hearty; and all of asudden he falls ill, and gets lower and lower every day, withoutanybody being able to say why or wherefore. "

"That's not true, George. Everybody in this house knows the cause ofTom Halliday's illness. He came home in wet clothes, and insisted onkeeping them on. He caught a cold; which resulted in low fever. Thereis the whole history and mystery of the affair. "

"That's simple enough, certainly. But if I were you, Phil I'd call inanother doctor. "

"That is Mrs. Halliday's business, " answered the dentist coolly; "ifshe doubts my skill, she is free to call in whom she pleases. And nowyou may as well drop the subject, George. I've had enough anxiety aboutthis man's illness, and I don't want to be worried by you. "

After this there was a little conversation upon general matters, butthe talk dragged and languished drearily, and George Sheldon rose todepart directly he had finished his cigar. 

"Good night, Philip!" he said; "if ever you get a stroke of good luck, I hope you'll stand something handsome to me. "

This remark had no particular relevance to anything that had been saidthat night by the two men; yet Philip Sheldon seemed in nowiseastonished by it. 

"If things ever _do_ take a turn for the better with me, you'll find mea good friend, George, " he said gravely; and then Mr. Sheldon theyounger bade him good night, and went out into Fitzgeorge-street. 

He paused for a moment at the corner of the street to look back at hisbrother's house. He could see the lighted windows of the invalid'schamber, and it was at those he looked. 

"Poor Tom, " he said to himself, "poor Tom! We were great cronies in theold times, and have had many a pleasant evening together!"

Mr. Sheldon the dentist sat up till the small hours that night, ashe had done for many nights lately. He finished his work in thetorture-chamber, and went up to the common sitting-room, ordrawing-room as it was called by courtesy, a little before midnight. The servants had gone to bed, for there was no regular nightly watchin the apartment of the invalid. Mrs. Halliday lay on a sofa in herhusband's room, and Nancy Woolper slept in an adjoining apartment, always wakeful and ready if help of any kind should be wanted. 

The house was very quiet just now. Philip Sheldon walked up and downthe room, thinking; and the creaking of his boots sounded unpleasantlyloud to his ears. He stopped before the fireplace, after having walkedto and fro some time, and began to examine some letters that lay uponthe mantelpiece. They were addressed to Mr. Halliday, and had beenforwarded from Yorkshire. The dentist took them up, one by one, anddeliberately examined them. They were all business letters, and most ofthem bore country post-marks. But there was one which had been, in thefirst instance, posted from London and this letter Mr. Sheldon examinedwith especial attention. 

It was a big, official-looking document, and embossed upon the adhesiveenvelope appeared the crest and motto of the Alliance Insurance Office. 

"I wonder whether that's all square, " thought Mr. Sheldon, as he turnedthe envelope about in his hands, staring at it absently. "I ought tomake sure of that. The London postmark is nearly three weeks old. " Hepondered for some moments, and then went to the cupboard in which hekept the materials wherewith to replenish or to make a fire. Here hefound a little tin tea-kettle, in which he was in the habit of boilingwater for occasional friendly glasses of grog. He poured some waterfrom a bottle on the sideboard into this kettle, set fire to a bundleof wood, and put the kettle on the blazing sticks. After having donethis he searched for a tea-cup, succeeded in finding one, and thenstood watching for the boiling of the water. He had not long to wait;the water boiled furiously before the wood was burned out, and Mr. Sheldon filled the tea-cup standing on the table. Then he put theinsurance-letter over the cup, with the seal downwards, and left it sowhile he resumed his walk. After walking up and down for about tenminutes he went back to the table and took up the letter. The adhesiveenvelope opened easily, and Mr. Sheldon, by this ingenious stratagem, made himself master of his friend's business. 

The "Alliance" letter was nothing more than a notice to the effect thatthe half-yearly premium for insuring the sum of three thousand poundson the life of Thomas Halliday would be due on such a day, after whichthere would be twenty-one days' grace, at the end of which time thepolicy would become void, unless the premium had been duly paid. 

Mr. Halliday's letters had been suffered to accumulate during the lastfortnight. The letters forwarded from Yorkshire had been detained sometime, as they had been sent first to Hyley Farm, now in the possessionof the new owner, and then to Barlingford, to the house of Georgy'smother, who had kept them upwards of a week, in daily expectation ofher son-in-law's return. It was only on the receipt of a letter fromGeorgy, containing the tidings of her husband's illness, that Mr. Halliday's letters had been sent to London. Thus it came about that thetwenty-one days of grace were within four-and-twenty hours of expiringwhen Philip Sheldon opened his friend's letter. 

"This is serious, " muttered the dentist, as he stood deliberating withthe open letter in his hand; "there are three thousand pounds dependingon that man's power to write a check!"

After a few minutes' reflection, he folded the letter and resealed itvery carefully. 

"It wouldn't do to press the matter upon him to-night, " he thought; "Imust wait till to-morrow morning, come what may. "

CHAPTER VI. 

MR. BURKHAM'S UNCERTAINTIES. 

The next morning dawned gray and pale and chill, after the manner ofearly spring mornings, let them ripen into never such balmy days; andwith the dawn Nancy Woolper came into the invalid's chamber, more wanand sickly of aspect than the morning itself. 

Mrs. Halliday started from an uneasy slumber. 

"What's the matter, Nancy?" she asked with considerable alarm. She hadknown the woman ever since her childhood, and she was startled thismorning by some indefinable change in her manner and appearance. Thehearty old woman, whose face had been like a hard rosy apple shrivelledand wrinkled by long keeping, had now a white and ghastly look whichstruck terror to Georgy's breast. She who was usually so brisk ofmanner and sharp of speech, had this morning a strange subdued tone andan unnatural calmness of demeanour. "What is the matter, Nancy?" Mrs. Halliday repeated, getting up from her sofa. 

"Don't be frightened, Miss Georgy, " answered the old woman, who was aptto forget that Tom Halliday's wife had ever ceased to be GeorgyCradock; "don't be frightened, my dear. I haven't been very well allnight, --and--and--I've been, worrying myself about Mr. Halliday. If Iwere you, I'd call in another doctor. Never mind what Mr. Philip says. He may be mistaken, you know, clever as he is. There's no telling. Takemy advice, Miss Georgy, and call in another doctor--directly--directly, " repeated the old woman, seizing Mrs. Halliday's wrist with apassionate energy, as if to give emphasis to her words. Poor timidGeorgy shrank from her with terror. 

"You frighten me, Nancy, " she whispered; "do you think that Tom is somuch worse? You have not been with him all night; and he has beensleeping very quietly. What makes you so anxious this morning?"

"Never mind that, Miss Georgy. You get another doctor, that's all; getanother doctor at once. Mr. Sheldon is a light sleeper. I'll go to hisroom and tell him you've set your heart upon having fresh advice; ifyou'll only bear me out afterwards. "

"Yes, yes; go by all means, " exclaimed Mrs. Halliday, only too ready totake alarm under the influence of a stronger mind, and eager to actwhen supported by another person. 

Nancy Woolper went to her master's room. He must have been sleepingvery lightly, if he was sleeping at all; for he was broad awake thenext minute after his housekeeper's light knock had sounded on thedoor. In less than five minutes he came out of his room half-dressed. Nancy had told him that Mrs. Halliday had taken fresh alarm about herhusband, and wished for further advice. 

"She sent you to tell me that?" asked Philip. 

"Yes. "

"And when does she want this new doctor called in?"

"Immediately, if possible. "

It was seven o'clock by this time, and the morning was brightening alittle. 

"Very well, " said Mr. Sheldon; "her wishes shall be attended todirectly. Heaven forbid that I should stand between my old friend andany chance of his speedy recovery! If a stranger can bring him roundquicker than I can, let the stranger come. "

 * * * * *

Mr. Sheldon was not slow to obey Mrs. Halliday's behest. He wasdeparting on his quest breakfastless, when Nancy Woolper met him in thehall with a cup of tea. He accepted the cup almost mechanically fromher hand, and took it into the parlour, whither Nancy followed him. Then for the first time he perceived that change in his housekeeper'sface which had so startled Georgina Halliday. The change was somewhatmodified now; but still the Nancy Woolper of to-day was not the NancyWoolper of yesterday. 

"You're looking very queer, Nancy, " said the dentist, gravelyscrutinising the woman's face with his bright penetrating eyes. "Areyou ill"

"Well, Mr. Philip, I have been rather queer all night, --sickish andfaintish-like. "

"Ah, you've been over-fatiguing yourself in the sick-room, I daresay. Take care you don't knock yourself up. " "No; it's not that, Mr. Philip. There's not many can stand hard work better than I can. It's not _that_as made me ill. I took something last night that disagreed with me. "

"More fool you, " said Mr. Sheldon curtly; "you ought to know betterthan to ill-use your digestive powers at your age. What was it? Hardcold meat and preternaturally green pickles, I suppose; or something ofthat kind. "

"No, sir; it was only a drop of beef-tea that I made for poor Mr. Halliday. And that oughtn't to have disagreed with a baby, you know, sir. "

"Oughtn't it?" cried the dentist disdainfully. "That's a little bit ofvulgar ignorance, Mrs. Woolper. I suppose it was stuff that had beentaken up to Mr. Halliday. "

"Yes, Mr. Philip; you took it up with your own hands. "

"Ah, to be sure; so I did. Very well, then, Mrs. Woolper, if you knewas much about atmospheric influences as I do, you'd know that foodwhich has been standing for hours in the pestilential air of afever-patient's room isn't fit for anybody to eat. The stuff made yousick, I suppose. "

"Yes, sir; sick to my very heart, " answered the Yorkshirewoman, with astrange mournfulness in her voice. 

"Let that be a warning to you, then. Don't take anything more thatcomes down from the sick-room. "

"I don't think there'll be any chance of my doing that long, sir. "

"What do you mean?"

"I don't fancy Mr. Halliday is long for this world. "

"Ah, you women are always ravens. "

"Unless the strange doctor can do something to cure him. O, pray bringa clever man who will be able to cure that poor helpless creatureupstairs. Think, Mr. Philip, how you and him used to be friends andplayfellows, --brothers almost, --when you was both bits of boys. Thinkhow bad it might seem to evil-minded folks if he died under your roof. "

The dentist had been standing near the door drinking his tea duringthis conversation; and now for the first time he looked at hishousekeeper with an expression of unmitigated astonishment. 

"What, in the name of all that's ridiculous, do you mean, Nancy?" heasked impatiently. "What has my roof to do with Tom Halliday's illness--or his death, if it came to that? And what on earth can people have tosay about it if he should die here instead of anywhere else?"

"Why, you see, sir, you being his friend, and Miss Georgy's sweetheartthat was, and him having no other doctor, folks might take it intotheir heads he wasn't attended properly. "

"Because I'm his friend? That's very good logic! I'll tell you what itis, Mrs. Woolper; if any woman upon earth, except the woman who nursedme when I was a baby, had presumed to talk to me as you have beentalking to me just this minute, I should open the door yonder and tellher to walk out of my house. Let that serve as a hint for you, Nancy;and don't you go out of your way a second time to advise me how Ishould treat my friend and my patient. "

He handed her the empty cup, and walked out of the house. There hadbeen no passion in his tone. His accent had been only that of a man whohas occasion to reprove an old and trusted servant for an unwarrantableimpertinence. Nancy Woolper stood at the street-door watching him as hewalked away, and then went slowly back to her duties in the lowerregions of the house. 

"It can't be true, " she muttered to herself; "it can't be true. "

 * * * * *

The dentist returned to Fitzgeorge-street in less than an hour, bringing with him a surgeon from the neighbourhood, who saw thepatient, discussed the treatment, spoke hopefully to Mrs. Halliday, anddeparted, after promising to send a saline draught. Poor Georgy'sspirits, which had revived a little under the influence of thestranger's hopeful words, sank again when she discovered that theutmost the new doctor could do was to order a saline draught. Herhusband had taken so many saline draughts, and had been getting dailyworse under their influence. 

She watched the stranger wistfully as he lingered on the threshold tosay a few words to Mr. Sheldon. He was a very young man, with a frankboyish face and a rosy colour in his cheeks. He looked like some freshyoung neophyte in the awful mysteries of medical science, and by nomeans the sort of man to whom one would have imagined Philip Sheldonappealing for help, when he found his own skill at fault. But then itmust be remembered that Mr. Sheldon had only summoned the stranger incompliance with what he considered a womanish whim. 

"He looks very young, " Georgina said regretfully, after the doctor'sdeparture. 

"So much the better, my dear Mrs. Halliday, " answered the dentistcheerfully; "medical science is eminently progressive, and the youngestmen are the best-educated men. "

Poor Georgy did not understand this; but it sounded convincing, and shewas in the habit of believing what people told her; so she accepted Mr. Sheldon's opinion. How could she doubt that he was wiser than herselfin all matters connected with the medical profession?

"Tom seems a little better this morning, " she said presently. 

The invalid was asleep, shrouded by the curtain of the heavyold-fashioned four-post bedstead. 

"He is better, " answered the dentist; "so much better, that I shallventure to give him a few business letters that have been waiting forhim some time, as soon as he wakes. "

He seated himself by the head of the bed, and waited quietly for theawakening of the patient. 

"Your breakfast is ready for you downstairs, Mrs. Halliday, " he saidpresently; "hadn't you better go down and take it, while I keep watchhere? It's nearly ten o'clock. "

"I don't care about any breakfast, " Georgina answered piteously. 

"Ah, but you'd better eat something. You'll make yourself an invalid, if you are not careful; and then you won't be able to attend upon Tom. "

This argument prevailed immediately. Georgy went downstairs to thedrawing-room, and tried bravely to eat and drink, in order that shemight be sustained in her attendance upon her husband. She hadforgotten all the throes and tortures of jealousy which she had enduredon his account. She had forgotten his late hours and unholyroisterings. She had forgotten everything except that he had been verytender and kind throughout the prosperous years of their married life, and that he was lying in the darkened room upstairs sick to death. 

 * * * * *

Mr. Sheldon waited with all outward show of patience for the awakeningof the invalid. But he looked at his watch twice during that half-hourof waiting; and once he rose and moved softly about the room, searchingfor writing materials. He found a little portfolio of Georgina's, and afrivolous-minded inkstand, after the semblance of an apple, with a giltstalk and leaflet. The dentist took the trouble to ascertain that therewas a decent supply of ink in the green-glass apple, and that the penswere in working order. Then he went quietly back to his seat by thebedside and waited. 

The invalid opened his eyes presently, and recognised his friend with afeeble smile. 

"Well, Tom, old fellow, how do you feel to-day--a little better I hearfrom Mrs. H. , " said the dentist cheerily. 

"Yes, I think I am a shade better. But, you see, the deuce of it is Inever get more than a shade better. It always stops at that. The littlewoman can't complain of me now, can she, Sheldon? No more late hours, or oyster suppers, eh?"

"No, no, not just yet. You'll have to take care of yourself for a weekor two when you get about again. " Mr. Halliday smiled faintly as hisfriend said this. 

"I shall be very careful of myself if I ever do get about again, youmay depend upon it, old fellow. But do you know I sometimes fancy Ihave spent my last jolly evening, and eaten my last oyster supper, onthis earth? I'm afraid it's time for me to begin to think seriously ofa good many things. The little woman is all right, thank God. I made mywill upwards of a year ago, and insured my life pretty heavily soonafter my marriage. Old Cradock never let me rest till that was done. SoGeorgy will be all safe. But when a man has led a careless, godlesskind of a life, --doing very little harm, perhaps, but doing noparticular good, --he ought to set about making up his account somehowfor a better world, when he feels himself slipping out of this. I askedGeorgy for her Bible yesterday, and the poor dear loving little thingwas frightened out of her wits. 'O, don't talk like that, Tom, ' shecried; 'Mr. Sheldon says you are getting better every hour, '--by whichyou may guess what a rare thing it is for me to read my Bible. No, Phil, old fellow, you've done your best for me, I know; but I'm notmade of a very tough material, and all the physic you can pour downthis poor sore throat of mine won't put any strength into me. "

"Nonsense, dear boy; that's just what a man who has not been accustomedto illness is sure to think directly he is laid up for a day or two. "

"I've been laid up for three weeks, " murmured Mr. Halliday ratherfretfully. 

"Well, well, perhaps this Mr. Burkham will bring you round in threedays, and then you'll say that your friend Sheldon was an ignoramus. "

"No, no, I shan't, old fellow; I'm not such a fool as that. I'm notgoing to blame you when it's my own constitution that's in fault. As tothat young man you brought here just now, to please Georgy, I don'tsuppose he'll be able to do any more for me than you have done. "

"We'll contrive to bring you round between us, never fear, Tom, "answered Philip Sheldon in his most hopeful tone. "Why, you are lookingalmost your old self this morning. You are so much improved that I mayventure to talk to you about business. There have been some letterslying about for the last few days. I didn't like to bore you while youwere so very low. But they look like business letters; and perhaps itwould be as well for you to open them. "

The sick man contemplated the little packet which the dentist had takenfrom his breast-pocket; and then shook his head wearily. 

"I'm not up to the mark, Sheldon, " he said; "the letters must keep. ""O, come, come, old fellow! That's giving way, you know. The lettersmay be important; and it will do you good if you make an effort torouse yourself. "

"I tell you it isn't in me to do it, Philip Sheldon. I'm past makingefforts. Can't you see that, man? Open the letters yourself, if youlike. "

"No, no, Halliday, I won't do that. Here's one with the seal of theAlliance Insurance Office. I suppose your premium is all right. "

Tom Halliday lifted himself on his elbow for a moment, startled intonew life; but he sank back on the pillows again immediately, with afeeble groan. 

"I don't know about that, " he said anxiously; "you'd better look tothat, Phil, for the little woman's sake. A man is apt to think that hisinsurance is settled and done with, when he has been pommelled about bythe doctors and approved by the board. He forgets there's that littlematter of the premium. You'd better open the letter, Phil. I never wasa good hand at remembering dates, and this illness has thrown mealtogether out of gear. "

Mr. Sheldon tore open that official document, which, in his benevolentregard for his friend's interest, he had manipulated so cleverly on theprevious evening, and read the letter with all show of deliberation. 

"You're right, Tom, " he exclaimed presently. "The twenty-one days'grace expire to-day. You'd better write me a check at once, and I'llsend it on to the office by hand. Where's your check-book?"

"In the pocket of that coat hanging up there. "

Philip Sheldon found the check-book, and brought it to his friend, withGeorgy's portfolio, and the frivolous little green-glass inkstand inthe shape of an apple. He adjusted the writing materials for the sickman's use with womanly gentleness. His arm supported the wasted frame, as Tom Halliday slowly and laboriously filled in the check; and whenthe signature was duly appended to that document, he drew a longbreath, which seemed to express infinite relief of mind. 

"You'll be sure it goes on to the Alliance Office, eh, old fellow?"asked Tom, as he tore out the oblong slip of paper and handed it to hisfriend. "It was kind of you to jog my memory about this business. I'msuch a fellow for procrastinating matters. And I'm afraid I've been alittle off my load during the last week. "

"Nonsense, Tom; not you. "

"O yes, I have. I've had all sorts of queer fancies. Did you come intothis room the night before last, when Georgy was asleep?" Mr. Sheldonreflected for a moment before answering. 

"No, " he said, "not the night before last. "

"Ah, I thought as much, " murmured the invalid. "I was off my head thatnight then, Phil, for I fancied I saw you; and I fancied I heard thebottles and glasses jingling on the little table behind the curtain. "

"You were dreaming, perhaps. "

"O no, I wasn't dreaming. I was very restless and wakeful that night. However, that's neither here nor there. I lie in a stupid statesometimes for hours and hours, and I feel as weak as a rat, bodily andmentally; so while I have my wits about me, I'd better say what I'vebeen wanting to say ever so long. You've been a good and kind friend tome all through this illness, Phil, and I'm not ungrateful for yourkindness. If it does come to the worst with me--as I believe it will--Georgy shall give you a handsome mourning ring, or fifty pounds to buyone, if you like it better. And now let me shake hands with you, PhilipSheldon, and say thank you heartily, old fellow, for once and forever. "

The invalid stretched out a poor feeble attenuated hand, and, after amoment's pause, Philip Sheldon clasped it in his own muscular fingers. He did hesitate for just one instant before taking that hand. 

He was no student of the gospel; but when he had left the sick-chamberthere arose before him suddenly, as if written in letters of fire onthe wall opposite to him, one sentence which had been familiar to himin his school-days at Barlingford:

_And as soon as he was come, he goeth straightway to him, and saith, Master, master; and kissed him. _

 * * * * *

The new doctor came twice a day to see his patient. He seemed ratheranxious about the case, and just a little puzzled by the symptoms. Georgy had sufficient penetration to perceive that this new adviser wasin some manner at fault; and she began to think that Philip Sheldon wasright, and that regular practitioners were very stupid creatures. Shecommunicated her doubts to Mr. Sheldon, and suggested the expediency ofcalling in some grave elderly doctor, to supersede Mr. Burkham. Butagainst this the dentist protested very strongly. 

"You asked me to call in a stranger, Mrs. Halliday, and I have doneso, " he said, with the dignity of an offended man. "You must now abideby his treatment, and content yourself with his advice, unless hechooses to summon further assistance. "

Georgy was fain to submit. She gave a little plaintive sigh, and wentback to her husband's room, where she sat and wept silently behind thebed-curtains. There was a double watch kept in the sick-chamber now;for Nancy Woolper rarely left it, and rarely closed her eyes. It wasaltogether a sad time in the dentist's house; and Tom Hallidayapologised to his friend more than once for the trouble he had broughtupon him. If he had been familiar with the details of modern history, he would have quoted Charles Stuart, and begged pardon for being solong a-dying. 

But anon there came a gleam of hope. The patient seemed decidedlybetter; and Georgy was prepared to revere Mr. Burkham, the Bloomsburysurgeon, as the greatest and ablest of men. Those shadows of doubt andperplexity which had at first obscured Mr. Burkham's brow cleared away, and he spoke very cheerfully of the invalid. 

Unhappily this state of things did not last long. The young surgeoncame one morning, and was obviously alarmed by the appearance of hispatient. He told Philip Sheldon as much; but that gentleman made verylight of his fears. As the two men discussed the case, it was veryevident that the irregular practitioner was quite a match for theregular one. Mr. Burkham listened deferentially, but departed only halfconvinced. He walked briskly away from the house, but came to a deadstop directly after turning out of Fitzgeorge-street. 

"What ought I to do?" he asked himself. "What course ought I to take?If I am right, I should be a villain to let things go on. If I amwrong, anything like interference would ruin me for life. "

He had finished his morning round, but he did not go straight home. Helingered at the corners of quiet streets, and walked up and down theunfrequented side of a gloomy square. Once he turned and retraced hissteps in the direction of Fitzgeorge-street. But after all thishesitation he walked home, and ate his dinner very thoughtfully, answering his young wife at random when she talked to him. He was astruggling man, who had invested his small fortune in the purchase of apractice which had turned out a very poor one, and he had the battle oflife before him. 

"There's something on your mind to-day, I'm sure, Harry, " his wife saidbefore the meal was ended. 

"Well, yes, dear, " he answered; "I've rather a difficult case inFitzgeorge-street, and I'm anxious about it. "

The industrious little wife disappeared after dinner, and the youngsurgeon walked up and down the room alone, brooding over that difficultcase in Fitzgeorge-street. After spending nearly an hour thus, hesnatched his hat suddenly from the table on which he had set it down, and hurried from the house. 

"I'll have advice and assistance, come what may, " he said to himself, as he walked rapidly in the direction of Mr. Sheldon's house. "The casemay be straight enough--I certainly can't see that the man has anymotive--but I'll have advice. "

He looked up at the dentist's spotless dwelling as he crossed thestreet. The blinds were all down, and the fact that they were so sent asudden chill to his heart. But the April sunshine was full upon thatside of the street, and there might lie no significance in thoseclosely-drawn blinds. The door was opened by a sleepy-looking boy, andin the passage Mr. Burkham met Philip Sheldon. 

"I have been rather anxious about my patient since this morning, Mr. Sheldon, " said the surgeon; "and I have come to the conclusion that Iought to confer with a man of higher standing than myself. Do you thinkMrs. Halliday will object to such a course?"

"I am sure she would not have objected to it, " the dentist answeredvery gravely, "if you had suggested it sooner. I am sorry to say thesuggestion comes too late. My poor friend breathed his last half anhour ago. "

BOOK THE SECOND. 

THE TWO MACAIRES. 

CHAPTER I. 

A GOLDEN TEMPLE. 

In the very midst of the Belgian iron country, under the shadow oftall sheltering ridges of pine-clad mountain-land, nestles thefashionable little watering-place called Forêtdechêne. Two or threehandsome hotels; a bright white new pile of building, with vast windowsof shining plate-glass, and a stately quadrangular courtyard; a tinystreet, which looks as if a fragment of English Brighton had beendropped into this Belgian valley; a stunted semi-classic temple, whichis at once a post-office and a shrine whereat invalids perform theirworship of Hygeia by the consumption of unspeakably disagreeablemineral waters; a few tall white villas scattered here and thereupon the slopes of pine-clad hills; and a very uncomfortablerailway-station--constitute the chief features Forêtdechêne. But rightand left of that little cluster of shops and hotels there stretch deepsombre avenues of oak, that look like sheltered ways to Paradise--andthe deep, deep blue of the August sky, and the pure breath of the warmsoft air, and the tender green of the young pine-woods that clothe thesandy hills, and the delicious tranquillity that pervades the sleepylittle town and bathes the hot landscape in a languorous mist, arecharms that render Forêtdechêne a pleasant oasis amid the lurid woodsand mountains of the iron country. 

Only at stated intervals the quiet of this sleepy hollow is broken bythe rolling of wheels, the jingling of bells, the cracking of whips, the ejaculations of drivers, and supplications of touters: only whenthe railroad carries away departing visitors, or brings fresh ones, isthere anything like riot or confusion in the little town under thepine-clad hills--and even then the riot and confusion are of a verymild order, and create but a transient discord amongst the harmonies ofnature. 

And yet, despite the Arcadian tranquillity of the landscape, the drowsyquiet of the pine-groves, the deep and solemn shade of those darkavenues, where one might fondly hope to find some Druidess lingeringbeneath the shelter of the oaks, there is excitement of no common orderto be found in the miniature watering-place of Forêtdechêne; and thereflective and observant traveller, on a modern sentimental journey, has only to enter the stately white building with the glitteringplate-glass windows in order to behold the master-passions or the humanbreast unveiled for his pleasure and edification. 

The ignorant traveller, impelled by curiosity, finds no bar to hisentrance. The doors are as wide open as if the mansion were an hotel;and yet it is not an hotel, though a placard which he passes informsthe traveller that he may have ices and sorbets, if he will; nor is thebright fresh-looking building a theatre, for another placard informsthe visitor that there are dramatic performances to be witnessed everyevening in a building on one side of the quadrangle, which is a meresubsidiary attachment to the vast white mansion. The traveller, passingon his way unhindered, save by a man in livery, who deprives him of hiscane, ascends a splendid staircase and traverses a handsomeantechamber, from which a pair of plate-glass doors open into aspacious saloon, where, in the warm August sunlight, a circle of menand women are gathered round a great green table, gambling. 

The ignorant traveller, unaccustomed to the amusements of a Continentalwatering-place, may perhaps feel a little sense of surprise--asomething almost akin to shame--as he contemplates that silent crowd, whose occupation seems so much the more strange to him because of theirsilence. There is no lively bustle, none of that animation whichgenerally attends every kind of amusement, none of the clamour of thebetting-ring or the exchange. The gamblers at Forêtdechêne are terriblyin earnest: and the ignorant visitor unconsciously adapts himself tothe solemn hush of the place, and steps softly as he approaches thetable round which they are clustered--as many sitting as can find roomround the green-cloth-covered board; while behind the sitters there arepeople standing two or three rows deep, the hindermost watching thetable over the shoulders of their neighbours. A placard upon the wallinforms visitors that only constant players are permitted to remainseated at that sacred table. Perhaps a third of the players and a thirdof the lookers-on are women. And if there are lips more tightlycontracted than other lips, and eyes with a harder, greedier light inthem than other eyes, those lips and those eyes belong to the women. The ungloved feminine hands have a claw-like aspect as they scrape theglittering pieces of silver over the green cloth; the feminine throatslook weird and scraggy as they crane themselves over masculineshoulders; the feminine eyes have something demoniac in their steelyglare as they keep watch upon the rapid progress of the game. 

Half a dozen moderate fortunes seem to be lost and won while thetraveller looks on from the background, unnoticed and unseen; for ifthose plate-glass doors swung suddenly open to admit the seven angelsof the Apocalypse, carrying the seven golden vials filled with thewrath of God, it is doubtful whether the splendour of their awfulglory, or the trumpet-notes that heralded their coming, would havepower to arouse the players from their profound abstraction. 

Half a dozen comfortable little patrimonies seem to have changed handswhile the traveller has been looking on; and yet he has only watchedthe table for about ten minutes; and this splendid _salon_ is but anouter chamber, where one may stake as shabby a sum as two francs, ifone is shabby enough to wish to do so, and where playing for half anhour or so on a pleasant summer morning one could scarcely lose morethan fifty or sixty pounds. Another pair of plate-glass doors open intoan inner chamber, where the silence is still more profound, and wherearound a larger table sit one row of players; while only here and therea little group of outsiders stand behind their chairs. There is moregilding on the walls and ceiling of this chamber; the frescoes are moredelicate; the crystal chandeliers are adorned with rich clusters ofsparkling drops, that twinkle like diamonds in the sun. This is thetemple of gold; and in this splendid chamber one may hazard no smallerstake than half a napoleon. There are women here; but not so many womenas in the outer saloon; and the women here are younger and prettier andmore carefully dressed than those who stake only silver. 

The prettiest and the youngest woman in this golden chamber on oneparticular August afternoon, nine years after the death of TomHalliday, was a girl who stood behind the chair of a military-lookingEnglishman, an old man whose handsome face was a little disfigured bythose traces which late hours and dissipated habits are supposed toleave behind them. 

The girl held a card in one hand and a pin in the other, and wasoccupied in some mysterious process, by which she kept note of theEnglishman's play. She was very young, with a delicate face, in whosesofter lines there was a refined likeness to the features of the manwhose play she watched. But while his eyes were hard and cold and gray, hers were of that dense black in which there seems such an unfathomableand mysterious depth. As she was the handsomest, so she was also theworst-dressed woman in the room. Her flimsy silk mantle had faded fromblack to rusty brown; the straw hat which shaded her face was sunburnt;the ribbons had lost their brightness; but there was an air ofattempted fashion in the puffings and trimmings of her alpaca skirt;and there was evidence of a struggle with poverty in the tight-fittinglavender gloves, whose streaky lines bore witness to the imperfectionof the cleaner's art. Elegant Parisians and the select of Brusselsglanced at the military Englishman and his handsome daughter with someslight touch of supercilious surprise--one has no right to findshabbily-dressed young women in the golden temple--and it is scarcelynecessary to state that it was from her own countrywomen the youngperson in alpaca received the most chilling glances. But those Parthianarrows shot from feminine eyes had little power to wound their objectjust now. The girl looked up from her perforated card very seldom; andwhen she raised her eyes, it was always to look in one direction--towards the great glass doors opening from the outer saloon. Loungerscame and went; the doors swung open and closed again as noiselessly asit is possible for well-regulated doors to open and shut; footstepssounded on the polished floors; and sometimes when the young person inalpaca lifted her eyes, a passing shadow of disappointment darkened herface. A modern Laurence Sterne, on a new Sentimental Journey, mighthave derived some interest from the study of the girl's countenance;but the reflective and observant traveller is not to be encounteredvery often in this age of excursionists; and Maria and her goat mayroam the highways and byways for a long time before she will find anydreamy loiterer with a mind attuned to sympathy. 

The shabbily-dressed girl was looking for some one. She watched herfather's play carefully--she marked her card with unfailing precision;but she performed these duties with a mechanical air; and it was onlywhen she lifted her eyes to the great shining plate-glass doors whichopened into this dangerous Paradise, that any ray of feeling animatedher countenance. She was looking for some one, and the person watchedfor was so long coming. Ah, how difficult for the arithmetician tonumber the crushing disappointments, the bitter agonies that one womancan endure in a single half-hour! This girl was so young--so young; andalready she had learnt to suffer. 

The man played with the concentrated attention and the impassiblecountenance of an experienced gamester, rarely lifting his eyes fromthe green cloth, never looking back at the girl who stood behind him. He was winning to-day, and he accepted his good fortune as quietly ashe had often accepted evil fortune at the same table. He seemed to beplaying on some system of his own; and neighbouring players looked athim with envious eyes, as they saw the pile of gold grow larger underhis thin nervous hands. Ignorant gamesters, who stood aloof afterhaving lost two or three napoleons, contemplated the lucky Englishmanand wondered about him, while some touch of pity leavened the envyexcited by his wonderful fortune. He looked like a decayed gentleman--aman who had been a military dandy in the days that were gone, and whohad all the old pretensions still, without the power to support them--aBrummel languishing at Caen; a Nash wasting slowly at Bath. 

At last the girl's face brightened suddenly as she glanced upwards; andit would have been very easy for the observant traveller--if any suchperson had existed--to construe aright that bright change in hercountenance. The some one she had been watching for had arrived. 

The doors swung open to admit a man of about five-and-twenty, whosedarkly-handsome face and careless costume had something of that airwhich was once wont to be associated with the person and the poetry ofGeorge Gordon Lord Byron. The new-comer was just one of those men whomvery young women are apt to admire, and whom worldly-minded people areprone to distrust. There was a perfume of Bohemianism, a flavour of theQuartier Latin, about the loosely-tied cravat, the wide trousers, andblack-velvet morning coat, with which the young man outraged theopinions of respectable visitors at Forêtdechêne. There was asemi-poetic vagabondism in the half-indifferent, half-contemptuousexpression of his face, with its fierce moustache, and strongly-markedeyebrows overshadowing sleepy gray eyes--eyes that were half hidden, bytheir long dark lashes; as still pools of blue water lie sometimeshidden among the rushes that nourish round them. 

He was handsome, and he knew that he was handsome; but he affected todespise the beauty of his proud dark face, as he affected to despiseall the brightest and most beautiful things upon earth: and yet therewas a vagabondish kind of foppery in his costume that contrastedsharply with the gentlemanly dandyism of the shabby gamester sitting atthe table. There was a distance of nearly half a century between thestyle of the Regency dandy and the Quartier-Latin lion. 

The girl watched the new-comer with sad earnest eyes as he walkedslowly towards the table, and a faint blush kindled in her cheeks as hecame nearer to the spot where she stood. He went by her presently, carrying an atmosphere of stale tobacco with him as he went; and hegave her a friendly nod as he passed, and a "Good morning, Diana;" butthat was all. The faint blush faded and left her very pale: but sheresumed her weary task with the card and the pin; and if she hadendured any disappointment within those few moments, it seemed to be akind of disappointment that she was accustomed to suffer. 

The young man walked round the table till he came to the only vacantchair, in which he seated himself, and after watching the game for afew minutes, began to play. From the moment in which he dropped intothat vacant seat to the moment in which he rose to leave the table, three hours afterwards, he never lifted his eyes from the green cloth, or seemed to be conscious of anything that was going on around or abouthim. The girl watched him furtively for some little time after he hadtaken his place at the table; but the stony mask of the professedgambler is a profitless object for a woman's earnest scrutiny. 

She sighed presently, and laid her hand heavily on the chair behindwhich she was standing. The action aroused the man who sat in it, andhe turned and looked at her for the first time. 

"You are tired, Diana?"

"Yes, papa, I am very tired. "

"Give me your card, then, and go away, " the gamester answeredpeevishly; "girls are always tired. "

She gave him the mysteriously-perforated card, and left her post behindhis chair; and then, after roaming about the great saloon with a wearylistless air, and wandering from one open window to another to lookinto the sunny quadrangle, where well-dressed people were sitting atlittle tables eating ices or drinking lemonade, she went awayaltogether, and roamed into another chamber where some children weredancing to the sound of a feeble violin. She sat upon a velvet-coveredbench, and watched the children's lesson for some minutes, and thenrose and wandered to another open window that overlooked the samequadrangle, where the well-dressed people were enjoying themselves inthe hot August sunshine. 

"How extravagantly everybody dresses!" she thought, "and what a shabbypoverty-stricken creature one feels amongst them! And yet if I ask papato give me a couple of napoleons out of the money he won to-day, hewill only look at me from head to foot, and tell me I have a gown and acloak and a bonnet, and ask me what more I can want, in the name of allthat is unreasonable? And I see girls here whose fathers are so fond ofthem and so proud of them--ugly girls, decked out in silks and muslinsand ribbons that have cost a small fortune--clumsy awkward girls, wholook at _me_ as if I were some new kind of wild animal. "

The saloons at Forêtdechêne were rich in monster sheets of looking-glass;and in wandering discontentedly about the room Diana Paget saw herselfreflected many times in all her shabbiness. It was only very lately shehad discovered that she had some pretension to good looks; for herfather, who could not or would not educate her decently or clothe hercreditably, took a very high tone of morality in his paternal teaching, and, in the fear that she might one day grow vain of her beauty, hadtaken care to impress upon her at an early age that she was the veryincarnation of all that is lean and sallow and awkward. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE EASY DESCENT

Amongst the many imprudences of which Horatio Paget--once a cornet ina crack cavalry regiment, always a captain in his intercourse with theworld--had been guilty during the course of a long career, there wasnone for which he so bitterly reproached himself as for a certainfoolish marriage which he had made late in his life. It was when hehad thrown away the last chance that an indulgent destiny had givenhim, that the ruined fop of the Regency, the sometime member of theBeef-steak Club, the man who in his earliest youth had worn a silvergridiron at his button-hole, and played piquet in the gilded saloons ofGeorgina of Devonshire, found himself laid on a bed of sickness indingy London lodgings, and nearer death than he bad ever been in thecourse of his brief military career; so nearly gliding from life'sswift-flowing river into eternity's trackless ocean, that the warmestthrill of gratitude which ever stirred the slow pulses of his coldheart quickened its beating as he clasped the hand that had held himback from the unknown region whose icy breath had chilled him with anawful fear. Such men as Horatio Paget are apt to feel a strange terrorwhen the black night drops suddenly down upon them, and the "GrayBoatman's" voice sounds hollow and mysterious in the darkness, announcing that the ocean is near. The hand that held the ruinedspendthrift back when the current swept so swiftly oceanward was awoman's tender hand; and Heaven only knows what patient watchfulness, what careful administration of medicines and unwearying preparation ofbroths and jellies and sagos and gruels, what untiring and devotedslavery, had been necessary to save the faded rake who looked out uponthe world once more, a ghastly shadow of his former self, a pennilesshelpless burden for any one who might choose to support him. 

"Don't thank _me_, " said the doctor, when his feeble patient whimperedflourishing protestations of his gratitude, unabashed by theconsciousness that such grateful protestations were the sole coin withwhich the medical man would be paid for his services; "thank that youngwoman, if you want to thank anybody; for if it had not been for her youwouldn't be here to talk about gratitude. And if ever you get suchanother attack of inflammation on the lungs, you had better pray forsuch another nurse, though I don't think you're likely to find one. "

And with this exordium, the rough-and-ready surgeon took his departure, leaving Horatio Paget alone with the woman who had saved his life. 

She was only his landlady's daughter; and his landlady was noprosperous householder in Mayfair, thriving on the extravagance ofwealthy bachelors, but an honest widow, living in an obscurelittle street leading out of the Old Kent-road, and letting ameagrely-furnished little parlour and a still more meagrely-furnishedlittle bedroom to any single gentleman whom reverse of fortune mightlead into such a locality. Captain Paget had sunk very low in theworld when he took possession of that wretched parlour and laidhimself down to rest on the widow's flock-bed. 

There is apt to be a dreary interval in the life of such a man--ablank dismal interregnum, which divides the day in which he spends hislast shilling from the hour in which he begins to prey deliberatelyupon the purses of other people. It was in that hopeless interval thatHoratio Paget established himself in the widow's parlour. But though heslept in the Old Kent-road, he had not yet brought himself to endureexistence on that Surrey side of the water. He emerged from his lodgingevery morning to hasten westward, resplendent in clean linen andexquisitely-fitting gloves, and unquestionable overcoat, and varnishedboots. 

The wardrobe has its Indian summer; and the glory of a first-ratetailor's coat is like the splendour of a tropical sun--it is gloriousto the last, and sinks in a moment. Captain Paget's wardrobe was in itsIndian summer in these days; and when he felt how fatally near theBond-street pavement was to the soles of his feet, he could not refrainfrom a fond admiration of the boots that were so beautiful in decay. 

He walked the West-end for many weary hours every day during thisperiod of his decadence. He tried to live in an honest gentlemanly way, by borrowing money of his friends, or discounting an accommodation-billobtained from some innocent acquaintance who was deluded by hisbrilliant appearance and specious tongue into a belief in the transientnature of his difficulties. He spent his days in hanging about thehalls and waiting-rooms of clubs--of some of which he had once been amember; he walked weary miles between St James's and Mayfair, Kensington Gore and Notting Hill, leaving little notes for men who werenot at home, or writing a little note in one room while the man to whomhe was writing hushed his breath in an adjoining chamber. People whohad once been Captain Paget's fast friends seemed to havesimultaneously decided upon spending their existence out of doors, asit appeared to the impecunious Captain. The servants of his friendswere afflicted with a strange uncertainty as to their masters'movements. At whatever hall-door Horatio Paget presented himself, itseemed equally doubtful whether the proprietor of the mansion would behome to dinner that day, or whether he would be at home any time nextday, or the day after that, or at the end of the week, or indeedwhether he would ever come home again. Sometimes the Captain, callingin the evening dusk, in the faint hope of gaining admittance to somefriendly dwelling, saw the glimmer of light under a dining-room door, and heard the clooping of corks and the pleasant jingling of glass andsilver in the innermost recesses of a butler's pantry; but still theanswer was--not at home, and not likely to be home. All the respectableworld was to be out henceforth for Horatio Paget. But now and then atthe clubs he met some young man, who had no wife at home to keep watchupon his purse and to wail piteously over a five-pound noteill-bestowed, and who took compassion on the fallen spendthrift, andbelieved, or pretended to believe, his story of temporary embarrassment;and then the Captain dined sumptuously at a little French restaurantin Castle-street, Leicester-square, and took a half-bottle of chabliswith his oysters, and warmed himself with chambertin that was broughtto him in a dusty cobweb-shrouded bottle reposing in a wicker-basket. 

But in these latter days such glimpses of sunshine very rarelyillumined the dull stream of the Captain's life. Failure anddisappointment had become the rule of his existence--success the rareexception. Crossing the river now on his way westward, he was wont toloiter a little on Waterloo Bridge, and to look dreamily down at thewater, wondering whether the time was near at hand when, under cover ofthe evening dusk, he would pay his last halfpenny to the toll-keeper, and never again know the need of an earthly coin. 

"I saw a fellow in the Morgue one day, --a poor wretch who had drownedhimself a week or two before. Great God, how horrible he looked! Ifthere was any certainty they would find one immediately, and bury onedecently, there'd be no particular horror in that kind of death. But tobe found _like that_, and to lie in some riverside deadhouse down byWapping, with a ghastly placard rotting on the rotting door, andnothing but ooze and slime and rottenness round about one--waiting tobe identified! And who knows, after all, whether a dead man doesn't_feel_ that sort of thing?"

It was after such musings as these had begun to be very common withHoratio Paget that he caught the chill which resulted in a verydangerous illness of many weeks. The late autumn was wet and cold anddreary; but Captain Paget, although remarkably clever after a certainfashion, had never been a lover of intellectual pursuits, andimprisonment in Mrs. Kepp's shabby parlour was odious to him. When hehad read every page of the borrowed newspaper, and pished and pshawedover the leaders, and groaned aloud at the announcement of some wealthymarriage made by one of his quondam friends, or chuckled at the recordof another quondam friend's insolvency--when he had poked the firesavagely half a dozen times in an hour, cursing the pinched grate andthe bad coals during every repetition of the operation--when he hadsmoked his last cigar, and varnished his favourite boots, and lookedout of the window, and contemplated himself gloomily in the wretchedlittle glass over the narrow chimney-piece, --Captain Paget'sintellectual resources were exhausted, and an angry impatience tookpossession of him. Then, in defiance of the pelting rain or thelowering sky, he flung his slippers into the farthest corner--and thefarthest corner of Mrs. Kepp's parlour was not very remote from theCaptain's arm-chair--he drew on the stoutest of his varnished boots--and there were none of them very stout now--buttoned his perfectovercoat, adjusted his hat before the looking-glass, and sallied forth, umbrella in hand, to make his way westward. Westward always, throughstorm and shower, back to the haunts of his youth, went the wandererand outcast, to see the red glow of cheery fires reflected on theplate-glass windows of his favourite clubs; to see the lamps inspacious reading-rooms lit early in the autumn dusk, and to watch thesoft light glimmering on the rich bindings of the books, and losingitself in the sombre depths of crimson draperies. To this poor worldlycreature the agony of banishment from those palaces of Pall Mall or St. James's-street was as bitter as the pain of a fallen angel. It was thedullest, deadest time of the year, and there were not many loungers inthose sumptuous reading-rooms, where the shaded lamps shed theirsubdued light on the chaste splendour of the sanctuary; so CaptainPaget could haunt the scene of his departed youth without much fear ofrecognition: but his wanderings in the West grew more hopeless andpurposeless every day. He began to understand how it was that peoplewere never at home when he assailed their doors with his fashionableknock. He could no longer endure the humiliation of such repulses, forhe began to understand that the servants knew his errand as well astheir masters, and had their answers ready, let him present himselfbefore them when he would: so he besieged the doors of St. James's andMayfair, Kensington Gore and Netting Hill, no longer. He knew that thebubble of his poor foolish life had burst, and that there was nothingleft for him but to die. 

It seemed about this time as if the end of all was very near. CaptainPaget caught a chill one miserable evening on which he returned to hislodging with his garments dripping, and his beautiful varnished bootsreduced to a kind of pulp; and the chill resulted in a violentinflammation of the lungs. Then it was that a woman's hand was held outto save him, and a woman's divine tenderness cared for him in his direextremity. 

The ministering angel who comforted this helpless and broken-downwayfarer was only a low-born ignorant girl called Mary Anne Kepp--agirl who had waited upon the Captain during his residence in hermother's house, but of whom he had taken about as much notice as he hadbeen wont to take of the coloured servants who tended him when he waswith his regiment in India. Horatio Paget had been a night-brawler anda gamester, a duellist and a reprobate, in the glorious days that weregone; but he had never been a profligate; and he did not know that thegirl who brought him his breakfast and staggered under the weight ofhis coal-scuttle was one of the most beautiful women he had ever lookedupon. 

The Captain was so essentially a creature of the West-end, that Beautywithout her glitter of diamonds and splendour of apparel was scarcelyBeauty for him. He waited for the groom of the chambers to announce hername, and the low hum of well-bred approval to accompany her entrance, before he bowed the knee and acknowledged her perfection. The Beautieswhom he remembered had received their patent from the Prince Regent, and had graduated in the houses of Devonshire and Hertford. How shouldthe faded bachelor know that this girl, in a shabby cotton gown, withunkempt hair dragged off her pale face, and with grimy smears from thehandles of saucepans and fire-irons imprinted upon her cheeks--howshould he know that she was beautiful? It was only during the slowmonotonous hours of his convalescence, when he lay upon the poor fadedlittle sofa in Mrs. Kepp's parlour--the sofa that was scarcely lessfaded and feeble than himself--it was then, and then only, that hediscovered the loveliness of the face which had been so often bent overhim during his delirious wanderings. 

"I have mistaken you for all manner of people, my dear, " he said to hislandlady's daughter, who sat by the little Pembroke-table working, while her mother dozed in a corner with a worsted stocking drawn overher arm and a pair of spectacles resting upon her elderly nose. Mrs. Kepp and her daughter were wont to spend their evenings in the lodger'sapartment now; for the invalid complained bitterly of "the horrors"when they left him. 

"I have taken you for all sorts of people, Mary Anne, " pursued theCaptain dreamily. "Sometimes I have fancied you were the Countess ofJersey, and I could see her smile as she looked at me when I was firstpresented to her. I was very young in the beautiful Jersey's time; andthen there was the other one--whom I used to drink tea with atBrighton. Ah me! what a dull world it seems nowadays! The King gone, and everything changed--everything--everything! I am a very old man, Mary Anne. "

He was fifty-two years of age; he felt quite an old man. He had spentall his money, he had outlived the best friends of his youth; for ithad been his fate to adorn a declining era, and he had been a youngsteramong elderly patrons and associates. His patrons were dead and gone, and the men he had patronised shut their doors upon him in the day ofhis poverty. As for his relations, he had turned his back upon themlong ago, when first he followed in the shining wake of that gorgeousvessel, the Royal George. In this hour of his penniless decline therewas none to help him. To have outlived every affection and everypleasure is the chief bitterness of old age; and this bitternessHoratio Paget suffered in all its fulness, though his years were butfifty-two. 

"I am a very old man, Mary Anne, " he repeated plaintively. But MaryAnne Kepp could not think him old. To her eyes he must for ever appearthe incarnation of all that is elegant and distinguished. He was thefirst gentleman she had ever seen. Mrs. Kepp had given shelter to otherlodgers who had called themselves gentlemen, and who had been pompousand grandiose of manner in their intercourse with the widow and herdaughter; but O, what pitiful lacquered counterfeits, what Brummagempaste they had been, compared to the real gem! Mary Anne Kepp had seenvarnished boots before the humble flooring of her mother's dwelling washonoured by the tread of Horatio Paget, but what clumsy vulgar boots, and what awkward plebeian feet had worn them! The lodger's slim whitehands and arched instep, the patrician curve of his aquiline nose, theperfect grace of his apparel, the high-bred modulation of his courteousaccents, --all these had impressed Mary Anne's tender little heart somuch the more because of his poverty and loneliness. That such a manshould be forgotten and deserted--that such a man should be poor andlonely, seemed so cruel a chance to the simple maiden: and then whenillness overtook him, and invested him with a supreme claim upon hertenderness and pity, --then the innocent girl lavished all the treasuresof a compassionate heart upon the ruined gentleman. She had no thoughtof fee or reward; she knew that her mother's lodger was miserably poor, and that his payments had become more and more irregular week by weekand month by month. She had no consciousness of the depth of feelingthat rendered her so gentle a nurse; for her life was a busy one, andshe had neither time nor inclination for any morbid brooding upon herown feelings. 

She protested warmly against the Captain's lamentation respecting hisage. 

"The idear of any gentleman calling hisself old at fifty!" she said--and Horatio shuddered at the supererogatory "r" and the "hisself, "though they proceeded from the lips of his consoler;--"you've gotmany, many years before you yet, sir, please God, " she added piously;"and there's good friends will come forward yet to help you, I make nodoubt. "

Captain Paget shook his head peevishly. 

"You talk as if you were telling my fortune with a pack of cards, " hesaid. "No, my girl, I shall have only one friend to rely upon, if everI am well enough to go outside this house; and that friend is myself. Ihave spent the fortune my father left me; I have spent the price of mycommission; and I have parted with every object of any value that Iever possessed--in vulgar parlance, I am cleaned out, Mary Anne. Butother men have spent every sixpence belonging to them, and havecontrived to live pleasantly enough for half a century afterwards; andI daresay I can do as they have done. If the wind is tempered to theshorn lamb, I suppose the hawks and vultures take care of themselves. Ihave tried my luck as a shorn lamb, and the tempest has been verybitter for me; so I have no alternative but to join the vultures. "

Mary Anne Kepp stared wonderingly at her mother's lodger. She had somenotion that he had been saying something wicked and blasphemous; butshe was too ignorant and too innocent to follow his meaning. 

"O, pray don't talk in that wild way, sir, " she entreated. "It makes meso unhappy to hear you go on like that. "

"And why should anything that I say make you unhappy, Mary Anne?" askedthe lodger earnestly. 

There was something in his tone that set her pale face on fire withunwonted crimson, and she bent very low over her work to hide thosepainful blushes. She did not know that the Captain's tone presaged aserious address; she did not know that the grand crisis of her life wasclose upon her. 

Horatio Paget had determined upon making a sacrifice. The doctor hadtold him that he owed his life to this devoted girl; and he would havebeen something less than man if he had not been moved with somegrateful emotion. He was grateful; and in the dreary hours of his slowrecovery he had ample leisure for the contemplation of the woman towhom he owed so much, if his poor worthless life could indeed be much. He saw that she was devoted to him; that she loved him more truly thanhe had ever been conscious of being loved before. He saw too that shewas beautiful. To an ugly woman Captain Paget might have felt extremelygrateful; but he could never have thought of an ugly woman as hethought of Mary Anne Kepp. The end of his contemplation and hisdeliberation came to this: She was beautiful, and she loved him, andhis life was utterly wretched and lonely; so he determined on provinghis gratitude by a sublime sacrifice. Before the girl had lifted herface from the needlework over which she had bent to hide her blushes, Horatio Paget had asked her to be his wife. Her emotion almostoverpowered her as she tried to answer him; but she struggled againstit bravely, and came to the sofa on which he lay and dropped upon herknees by his side. The beggar-maid who was wooed by a king could havefelt no deeper sense of her lover's condescension than that whichfilled the heart of this poor simple girl as she knelt by her mother'sgentleman lodger. 

"I--to be your wife!" she exclaimed. "O, surely, sir, you cannot meanit?"

"But I do mean it, with all my heart and soul, my dear, " answered theCaptain. "I'm not offering you any grand chance, Mary Anne; for I'mabout as low down in the world as a man can be. But I don't mean to bepoor all my life. Come, my dear, don't cry, " he exclaimed, just alittle impatiently--for the girl had covered her face with her hands, and tears were dropping between the poor hard-working fingers--"butlift up your head and tell me whether you will take a faded oldbachelor for your husband or not. "

Horatio Paget had admired many women in the bright years of his youth, and had fancied himself desperately in love more than once in his life;but it is doubtful whether the mighty passion had ever really possessedthe Captain's heart, which was naturally cold and sluggish, rarelyfluttered by any emotion that was not engendered of selfishness. Horatio had set up an idol and had invented a religion for himself veryearly in life; and that idol was fashioned after his own image, andthat religion had its beginning and end in his own pleasure. He mighthave been flattered and pleased by Miss Kepp's agitation; but he wasill and peevish; and having all his life been subject to a profoundantipathy to feminine tearfulness, the girl's display of emotionannoyed him. 

"Is it to be yes, or no, my dear?" he asked, with, some vexation in histone. 

Mary Anne looked up at him with tearful, frightened eyes. 

"O, yes, sir, if I can be of any use to you, and nurse you when you areill, and work for you till I work my fingers to the bone. "

She clenched her hands spasmodically as she spoke. In imagination shewas already toiling and striving for the god of her idolatry--theGENTLEMAN whose varnished boots had been to her as a glimpse of anotherand a fairer world than that represented by Tulliver's-terrace, OldKent-road. But Captain Paget checked her enthusiasm by a gentle gestureof his attenuated hands. 

"That will do, my dear, " he murmured languidly; "I'm not very strongyet, and anything in the way of fuss is inexpressibly painful to me. Ah, my poor child, " he exclaimed, pityingly, "if you could have seen adinner at the Marquis of Hertford's, you would have understood how muchcan be achieved without fuss. But I am talking of things you don'tunderstand. You will be my wife; and a very good, kind, obedient littlewife, I have no doubt. That is all settled. As for working for me, mylove, it would be about as much as these poor little hands could do toearn me a cigar a day--and I seldom smoke less than half a dozencigars; so, you see, that is all so much affectionate nonsense. And nowyou may wake your mother, my dear; for I want to take a little nap, andI can't close my eyes while that good soul is snoring so intolerably;but not a word about our little arrangement, Mary Anne, till you andyour mother are alone. "

And hereupon the Captain spread a handkerchief over his face andsubsided into a gentle slumber. The little scene had fatigued him;though it had been so quietly enacted, that Mrs. Kepp had slept onundisturbed by the brief fragment of domestic drama performed within afew yards of her uneasy arm-chair. Her daughter awoke her presently, and she resumed her needlework, while Mary Anne made some tea for thebeloved sleeper. The cups and saucers made more noise to-night thanthey were wont to make in the girl's careful hands. The fluttering ofher heart seemed to communicate itself to the tips of her fingers, andthe jingling of the crockery-ware betrayed the intensity of heremotion. He was to be her husband! She was to have a gentleman for ahusband; and such a gentleman! Out of such base trifles as a West-endtailor's coat and a West-end workman's boots may be engendered thepurest blossom of womanly love and devotion. Wisely may the modernphilosopher cry that the history of the world is only a story of oldclothes. Mary Anne had begun by admiring the graces of Stultz and Hoby, and now she was ready to lay down her life for the man who wore theperishing garments. 

 * * * * *

Miss Kepp obeyed her lover's behest; and it was only on the followingday, when she and her mother were alone together in the dingy littlekitchen below Captain Paget's apartments, that she informed that worthywoman of the honour which had been vouchsafed to her. And thereuponMary Anne endured the first of the long series of disappointments whichwere to arise out of her affection for the penniless Captain. The widowwas a woman of the world, and was obstinately blind to the advantagesof a union with a ruined gentleman of fifty. "How's he to keep you, Ishould like to know, " Mrs. Kepp exclaimed, as the girl stood blushingbefore her after having told her story; "if he can't pay me regular?--and you know the difficulty I have had to get his money, Mary Anne. Ifhe can't keep hisself, how's he to keep you?"

"Don't talk like that, mother, " cried the girl, wincing under herparent's practical arguments; "you go on as if all I cared for wasbeing fed and clothed. Besides, Captain Paget is not going to be pooralways. He told me so last night, when he----"

"_He_ told you so!" echoed the honest widow with unmitigated scorn;"hasn't he told me times and often that I should have my rent regularafter this week, and regular after that week, and have I _ever_ had itregular? And ain't I keeping him out of charity now?--a poorwidow-woman like me--which I may be wanting charity myself before long:and if it wasn't for your whimpering and going on he'd have been out ofthe house three weeks ago, when the doctor said he was well enough tobe moved; for I ast him. "

"And you'd have turned him out to die in the streets, mother!" criedMary; "I didn't think you was so 'artless. "

From this time there was ill-feeling between Mrs. Kepp and herdaughter, who had been hitherto one of the most patient and obedient ofchildren. The fanatic can never forgive the wretch who disbelieves inthe divinity of his god; and women who love as blindly and foolishly asMary Anne Kepp are the most bigoted of worshippers. The girl could notforgive her mother's disparagement of her idol, --the mother had nomercy upon her daughter's folly; and after much wearisome contentionand domestic misery--carefully hidden from the penniless sybarite inthe parlour--after many tears and heart-burnings, and wakeful nightsand prayerful watches, Mary Anne Kepp consented to leave the housequietly one morning with the gentleman lodger while the widow had goneto market. Miss Kepp left a piteous little note for her mother, ratherungrammatical, but very womanly and tender, imploring pardon for herwant of duty; and, "O, mother, if you knew how good and nobel he is, you coudent be angery with me for luving him has I do, and we shallcome back to you after oure marige, wich you will be pade up honourabelto the last farthin'. "

After writing this epistle in the kitchen, with more deliberation andmore smudging than Captain Paget would have cared to behold in thebride of his choice, Mary Anne attired herself in her Sabbath-dayraiment, and left Tulliver's-terrace with the Captain in a cab. Shewould fain have taken a little lavender paper-covered box thatcontained the remainder of her wardrobe, but after surveying it with ashudder, Captain Paget told her that such a box would condemn them_anywhere_. 

"You may get on sometimes without luggage, my dear, " he saidsententiously; "but with such luggage as _that_, never!"

The girl obeyed without comprehending. It was not often that sheunderstood her lover's meaning, nor did he particularly care that sheshould understand him. He talked to her rather in the same spirit inwhich one talks to a faithful canine companion--as Napoleon III. Maytalk to his favourite Nero; "I have great plans yet unfulfilled, myhonest Nero, though you may not be wise enough to guess their nature. And we must have another Boulevard, old fellow; and we must settle thatlittle dispute about Venetia; and we must do something for thoseunfortunate Poles, eh--good dog?" and so on. 

Captain Paget drove straight to a registrar's office, where the newMarriage Act enabled him to unite himself to Miss Kepp _sans façon_, inpresence of the cabman and a woman who had been cleaning the door-step. The Captain went through the brief ceremonial as coolly as if it hadbeen the settlement of a water-rate, and was angered by the tears thatpoor Mary Anne shed under her cheap black veil. He had forgotten thepoetic superstition in favour of a wedding-ring, but he slipped alittle onyx ring off his own finger, and put it on the clumsier fingerof his bride. It was the last of his jewels--the rejected of thepawnbrokers, who, not being learned in antique intaglios, had condemnedthe ring as trumpery. There is always something a little ominous in thebridegroom's forgetfulness of that simple golden circle which typifiesan eternal union; and a superstitious person might have drawn asinister augury from the subject of Captain Paget's intaglio, which wasa head of Nero--an emperor whose wife was by no means the happiest ofwomen. But as neither Mary Anne nor the registrar, neither the cabmannor the charwoman who had been cleaning the door-step, had ever heardof Nero, and as Horatio Paget was much too indifferent to besuperstitious, there was no one to draw evil inferences: and Mary Annewent away with her gentleman husband, proud and happy, with a happinessthat was only disturbed now and then by the image of an infuriatedmother. 

Captain Paget took his bride to some charming apartments inHalfmoon-street, Mayfair; and she was surprised to hear him tell thelandlady that he and his wife had just arrived from Devonshire, andthat they meant to stay a week or so in London, _en passant_, beforestarting for the Continent. 

"My wife has spent the best part of her life in the country, " said theCaptain, "so I suppose I must show her some of the sights of London inspite of the abominable weather. But the deuce of it is, that myservant has misunderstood my directions, and gone on to Paris with theluggage. However, we can set that all straight to-morrow. "

Nothing could be more courteously acquiescent than the manner of thelandlady; for Captain Paget had offered her references, and the peopleto whom he referred were among the magnates of the land. The Captainknew enough of human nature to know that if references are onlysufficiently imposing, they are very unlikely to be verified. Theswindler who refers his dupe to the Duke of Sutherland and BaringBrothers has a very good chance of getting his respectability acceptedwithout inquiry, on the mere strength of those sacred names. 

 * * * * *

From this time until the day of her death Mary Anne Paget very seldomheard her husband make any statement which she did not know to befalse. He had joined the ranks of the vultures. He had lain down uponhis bed of sickness a gentlemanly beggar; he arose from that couch ofpain and weariness a swindler. 

Now began those petty shifts and miserable falsifications whereby thebirds of prey thrive on the flesh and blood of hapless pigeons. Now thedovecotes were fluttered by a new destroyer--a gentlemanly vulture, whose suave accents and perfect manners were fatal to the unwary. Henceforth Horatio Cromie Nugent Paget flourished and fattened upon thefolly of his fellow-men. As promoter of joint-stock companies thatnever saw the light; as treasurer of loan-offices where money was neverlent; as a gentleman with capital about to introduce a novel article ofmanufacture from the sale of which a profit of five thousand a yearwould infallibly be realized, and desirous to meet with anothergentleman of equal capital; as the mysterious X. Y. Z. Who will--for sosmall a recompense as thirty postage-stamps--impart the secret of anelegant and pleasing employment, whereby seven-pound-ten a-week may bemade by any individual, male or female;--under every flimsy disguisewith which the swindler hides his execrable form, Captain Paget pliedhis cruel trade, and still contrived to find fresh dupes. Of coursethere were occasions when the pigeons were slow to flutter into thefascinating snare, and when the vulture had a bad time of it; and itwas a common thing for the Captain to sink from the splendour ofMayfair or St. James's-street into some dingy transpontinehiding-place. But he never went back to Tulliver's-terrace, thoughMary Anne pleaded piteously for the payment of her poor mother's debt. When her husband was in funds, he patted her head affectionately, andtold her that he would see about it--i. E. The payment of Mrs. Kepp'sbill; while, if she ventured to mention the subject to him when hispurse was scantily furnished, he would ask her fiercely how he was tosatisfy her mother's extortionate claims when he had not so much as asixpence for his own use. 

Mrs. Kepp's bill was never paid, and Mary Anne never saw her mother'sface again. Mrs. Paget was one of those meek loving creatures who areessentially cowardly. She could not bring herself to encounter hermother without the money owed by the Captain; she could not bringherself to endure the widow's reproaches, the questioning that would beso horribly painful to answer, the taunts that would torture her poorsorrowful heart. 

Alas for her brief dream of love and happiness! Alas for her foolishworship of the gentleman lodger! She knew now that her mother had beenwiser than herself, and that it would have been better for her if shehad renounced the shadowy glory of an alliance with Horatio CromieNugent Paget, whose string of high-sounding names, written on the coverof an old wine-book, had not been without its influence on the ignorantgirl. The widow's daughter knew very little happiness during the fewyears of her wedded life. To be hurried from place to place; to dine inMayfair to-day, and to eat your dinner at a shilling ordinary inWhitecross-street to-morrow; to wear fine clothes that have not beenpaid for, and to take them off your back at a moment's notice when theyare required for the security of the friendly pawnbroker; to know thatyour life is a falsehood and a snare, and that to leave a place is toleave contempt and execration behind you, --these things constitute theburden of a woman whose husband lives by his wits. And over and abovethese miseries, Mrs. Paget had to endure all the variations of temperto which the schemer is subject. If the pigeons dropped readily intothe snare, and if their plumage proved well worth the picking, theCaptain was very kind to his wife, after his own fashion; that is tosay, he took her out with him, and after lecturing her angrily becauseof the shabbiness of her bonnet, bought her a new one, and gave her adinner that made her ill, and then sent her home in a cab, while hefinished the evening in more congenial society. But if the times werebad for the vulture tribe--O, then, what a gloomy companion for thedomestic hearth was the elegant Horatio! After smiling his false smileall day, while rage and disappointment were gnawing at his heart, itwas a kind of relief to the Captain to be moody and savage by his ownfireside. The human vulture has something of the ferocity of hisfeathered prototype. The man who lives upon his fellow-men has need toharden his heart; for one sentiment of compassion, one touch of humanpity, would shatter his finest scheme in the hour of its fruition. Horatio Paget and compassion parted fellowship very early in the courseof his unscrupulous career. What if the pigeon has a widowed motherdependent on his prosperity, or half a dozen children who will beinvolved in his ruin? Is the hawk to forego his natural prey for anysuch paltry consideration as a vulgar old woman or a brood of squallingbrats?

Captain Paget was not guilty of any persistent unkindness towards thewoman whose fate he had deigned to link with his own. The consciousnessthat he had conferred a supreme honour oh Mary Anne Kepp by offeringher his hand, and a share of his difficulties, never deserted him. Hemade no attempt to elevate the ignorant girl into companionship withhimself. He shuddered when she misplaced her h's and turned from herpeevishly, with a muttered oath, when she was more than usuallyungrammatical: but though he found it disagreeable to hear her, hewould have found it troublesome to set her right; and trouble was athing which Horatio Paget held in gentlemanly aversion. The idea thatthe mode of his existence could be repulsive to his wife--that thislow-born and low-bred girl could have scruples that he never felt, andmight suffer agonies of remorse and shame of which his coarser naturewas incapable--never entered the Captain's mind. It would have been toogreat an absurdity for the daughter of plebeian Kepps to affect atenderness of conscience unknown to the scion of Pagets and Cromies andNugents. Mary Anne was afraid of her elegant husband; and sheworshipped and waited upon him in meek silence, keeping the secret ofher own sorrows, and keeping it so well that he never guessed themanifold sources of that pallor of countenance and hollow brightness ofeye which had of late annoyed him when he looked at his wife. She hadborne him a child--a sweet girl baby, with those great black eyes thatalways have rather a weird look in the face of infancy; and she wouldfain have clung to the infant as the hope and consolation of herjoyless life. But the vulture is not a domestic bird, and a baby wouldhave been an impediment in the rapid hegiras which Captain Paget andhis wife were wont to make. The Captain put an advertisement in a dailypaper before the child was a week old; and in less than a fortnightafter Mary Anne had looked at the baby face for the first time, she wascalled upon to surrender her treasure to an elderly woman of fat andgreasy aspect, who had agreed to bring the infant up "by hand" in amiserable little street in a remote and dreary district lying betweenVauxhall and Battersea. 

Mary Anne gave up the child uncomplainingly, as meekly as she wouldhave surrendered herself if the Captain had brought a maskedexecutioner to her bedside, and had told her a block was prepared forher in the adjoining chamber. She had no idea of resistance to the willof her husband. She endured her existence for nearly five years afterthe birth of her child, and during those miserable years the one effortof her life was to secure the miserable stipend paid for the littlegirl's maintenance; but before the child's fifth birthday the motherfaded off the face of the earth. She died in a miserable lodging notvery far from Tulliver's-terrace, expiring in the arms of a landladywho had comforted her in her hour of need, as she had comforted theruined gentleman. Captain Paget was a prisoner in Whitecross-street atthe time of his wife's death, and was much surprised when he missed hermorning visits, and the little luxuries she had been wont to bring him. 

He had missed her for more than a week, and had written to her twice--rather angrily on the second occasion--when a rough unkempt boy incorduroy waited upon him in the dreary ward, where he and half a dozenother depressed and melancholy men sat at little tables writingletters, or pretending to read newspapers, and looking at one anotherfurtively every now and then. There is no prisoner so distracted by hisown cares that he will not find time to wonder what his neighbour is"in for. "

The boy had received instructions to be careful how he imparted hisdismal tidings to the "poor dear gentleman;" but the lad grew nervousand bewildered at sight of the Captain's fierce hook-nose andscrutinising gray eyes, and blurted out his news without any dismalnote of warning. 

"The lady died at two o'clock this morning, please, sir; and mothersaid I was to come and tell you, please, sir. "

Captain Paget staggered under the blow. 

"Good God!" he cried, as he dropped upon a rickety Windsor chair, thatcreaked under his weight; "and I did not even know that she was ill!"

Still less did he know that all her married life had been one longheart-sickness--one monotonous agony of remorse and shame. 

CHAPTER III. 

"HEART BARE, HEART HUNGRY, VERY POOR. "

Diana Paget left the Kursaal, and walked slowly along the prettyrustic street; now dawdling before a little print-shop, whose contentsshe knew by heart, now looking back at the great windows of that templeof pleasure which she had just quitted. 

"What do they care what becomes of me?" she thought, as she looked upat the blank vacant windows for the last time before she left the mainstreet of Forêtdechêne, and turned into a straggling side-street, whoserugged pavement sloped upward towards the pine-clad hills. The house inwhich Captain Paget had taken up his abode was a tall white habitation, situated in the narrowest of the narrow by-ways that intersect the mainstreet of the pretty Belgian watering-place; a lane in which theinhabitants of opposite houses may shake hands with one another out ofthe window, and where the odour of the cabbages and onions so liberallyemployed in the _cuisine_ of the native offends the nose of theforeigner from sunrise to sunset. 

Diana paused for a moment at the entrance to this lane, but, after abrief deliberation, walked onwards. 

"What is the use of my going home?" she thought; "_they_ won't be homefor hours to come. "

She walked slowly along the hilly street, and from the street into anarrow pathway winding upward through the pine-wood. Here she was quitealone, and the stillness of the place soothed her. She took off herhat, and slung the faded ribbons across her arm; and the warm breezelifted the loose hair from her forehead as she wandered upwards. It wasa very beautiful face from which that loose dark hair was lifted by thesummer wind. Diana Paget inherited something of the soft loveliness ofMary Anne Kepp, and a little of the patrician beauty of the Pagets. Theeyes were like those which had watched Horatio Paget on his bed ofsickness in Tulliver's-terrace. The resolute curve of the thin flexiblelips, and the fine modelling of the chin, were hereditary attributes ofthe Nugent Pagets; and a resemblance to the lower part of Miss Paget'sface might have been traced in many a sombre portrait of dame andcavalier at Thorpehaven Manor, where a Nugent Paget, who acknowledgedno kindred with the disreputable Captain, was now master. 

The girl's reflections as she slowly climbed the hill were notpleasant. The thoughts of youth should be very beautiful; but youththat has been spent in the companionship of reprobates and trickstersis something worse than age; for experience has taught it to be bitter, while time has not taught it to be patient. For Diana Paget, childhoodhad been joyless, and girlhood lonely. That blank and desolate region, that dreary flat of fenny waste ground between Vauxhall and Battersea, on which the child's eyes had first looked, had been typical of herloveless childhood. With her mother's death faded the one ray of lightthat had illumined her desolation. She was shifted from one nurse toanother; and bar nurses were not allowed to love her, for she remainedwith them as an encumbrance and a burden. It was so difficult for theCaptain to pay the pitiful sum demanded for his daughter's support--orrather it was so much easier for him not to pay it. So there alwayscame a time when Diana was delivered at her father's lodgings like aparcel, by an indignant nurse, who proclaimed the story of her wrongsin shrill feminine treble, and who was politely informed by the Captainthat her claim was a common debt, and that she had the remedy in herown hands, but that the same code of laws which provided her with thatremedy, forbade any obnoxious demonstration of her anger in agentleman's apartment. And then Miss Paget, after hearing all thetumult and discussion, would be left alone with her father, and wouldspeedily perceive that her presence was disagreeable to him. 

When she outgrew the age of humble foster-mothers and cottages in thedreariest of the outlying suburbs, the Captain sent his daughter toschool: and on this occasion he determined on patronising a person whomhe had once been too proud to remember among the list of his kindred. There are poor and straggling branches upon every family tree; and thePagets of Thorpehaven had needy cousins who, in the mighty battle oflife, were compelled to fight amongst the rank and file. One of thesepoor cousins was a Miss Priscilla Paget, who at an early age hadexhibited that affection for intellectual pursuits and thatcarelessness as to the duties of the toilet which are supposed todistinguish the predestined blue-stocking. Left quite alone in theworld, Priscilla put her educational capital to good use; and afterholding the position of principal governess for nearly twenty years ina prosperous boarding-school at Brompton, she followed her lateemployer to her grave with unaffected sorrow, and within a month of thefuneral invested her savings in the purchase of the business, andestablished herself as mistress of the mansion. To this lady CaptainPaget confided his daughter's education; and in Priscilla Paget's houseDiana found a shelter that was almost like a home, until her kinswomanbecame weary of promises that were never kept, and pitiful sums paid onaccount of a debt that grew bigger every day--very weary likewise ofconciliatory hampers of game and barrels of oysters, and all the flimsydevices of a debtor who is practised in the varied arts of thegentlemanly swindler. 

The day came when Miss Paget resolved to be rid of her profitlesscharge; and once more Diana found herself delivered like a parcel ofunordered goods at the door of her father's lodging. Those areprecocious children who learn their first lessons in the school ofpoverty; and the girl had been vaguely conscious of the degradationinvolved in this process at the age of five. How much more keenly didshe feel the shame at the age of fifteen! Priscilla did her best tolessen the pain of her pupil's departure. 

"It isn't that I've any fault to find with you, Diana, though you mustremember that I have heard some complaints of your temper, " she said, with gentle gravity; "but your father is too trying. If he didn't makeme any promises, I should think better of him. If he told me franklythat he couldn't pay me, and asked me to keep you out of charity, "--Diana drew herself up with a little shiver at this word, --"why, I mightturn it over in my mind, and see if it could be done. But to bedeceived time after time, as I've been deceived--you know the solemnlanguage your father has used, Diana, for you have heard him--and torely on a sum of money on a certain date, as I have relied again andagain, after Horatio's assurance that I might depend upon him--it's toobad, Diana; it's more than any one can endure. If you were two or threeyears older, and further advanced in your education, I might manage todo something for you by making you useful with the little ones; but Ican't afford to keep you and clothe you during the next three years fornothing, and so I have no alternative but to send you home. "

The "home" to which Diana Paget was taken upon this occasion was alodging over a toyshop in the Westminster-road, where the Captain livedin considerable comfort on the proceeds of a Friendly and PhilanthropicLoan Society. 

But no very cordial welcome awaited Diana in the gaudily-furnisheddrawing-room over the toyshop. She found her father sleeping placidlyin his easy-chair, while a young man, who was a stranger to her, sat ata table near the window writing letters. It was a dull November day--avery dreary day on which to find one's self thrown suddenly on a stilldrearier world; and in the Westminster-bridge-road the lamps werealready making yellow patches of sickly light amidst the afternoon fog. 

The Captain twitched his silk handkerchief off his face with animpatient gesture as Diana entered the room. 

"Now, then, what is it?" he asked peevishly, without looking at theintruder. 

He recognised her in the next moment; but that first impatientsalutation was about as warm a welcome as any which Miss Paget receivedfrom her father. In sad and bitter truth, he did not care for her. Hismarriage with Mary Anne Kepp had been the one grateful impulse of hislife; and even the sentiment which had prompted that marriage had beenby no means free from the taint of selfishness. But he had been quiteunprepared to find that this grand sacrifice of his life should involveanother sacrifice in the maintenance of a daughter he did not want; andhe was very much inclined to quarrel with the destiny that had givenhim this burden. 

"If you had been a boy, I might have made you useful to me sooner orlater, " the Captain said to his daughter when he found himself alonewith her late on the night of her return; "but what on earth am I to dowith a daughter, in the unsettled life I lead? However, since that oldharridan has sent you back, you must manage in the best way you can, "concluded Captain Paget with a discontented sigh. 

From this time Diana Paget had inhabited the nest of the vultures, andevery day had brought its new lesson of trickery and falsehood. Thereare men--and bad men too--who would have tried to keep the secret oftheir shifts and meannesses hidden from an only child; but HoratioPaget believed himself the victim of man's ingratitude, and hismisdoings the necessity of an evil destiny. It is not easy for theunsophisticated intellect to gauge those moral depths to which the manwho lives by his wits must sink before his career is finished, or tounderstand how, with every step in the swindler's downward road, the conscience grows tougher, the perception of shame blunter, thesavage selfishness of the animal nature stronger. Diana Paget haddiscovered some of her father's weaknesses during her miserable childhood;and in the days of her unpaid-for schooling she had known that his mostsolemn promises were no more to be relied on than the capricious breathof a summer breeze. So the revelations which awaited her under thepaternal roof were not utterly strange or entirely unexpected. Day by day she grew more accustomed to that atmosphere of fraud andfalsehood. The sense of shame never left her; for there is a pridethat thrives amidst poverty and degradation, and of such pride DianaPaget possessed no small share. She writhed under the consciousnessthat she was the daughter of a man who had forfeited all right to theesteem of his fellowmen. She valued the good opinion of others, andwould fain have been beloved and admired, trusted and respected; forshe was ambitious: and the though that she might one day do somethingwhich should lift her above the vulgar level was the day-dream thathad consoled her in many an hour of humiliation and discomfort. Diana Paget felt the Captain's shame as keenly as her mother had felt it;but the remorse which had agonised gentle Mary Anne, the tendercompassion for others which had wrung that fond and faithful heart, had no place in the breast of the Captain's daughter. 

Diana felt so much compassion for herself, that she had none left tobestow upon other people. Her father's victims might be miserable, butwas not she infinitely more wretched? The landlady who found herapartments suddenly tenantless and her rent unpaid might complain ofthe hardness of her fortune; but was it not harder for Diana, with thesensitive feelings and keen pride of the Pagets, to endure all thedegradation involved in the stealthy carrying away of luggage and asecret departure under cover of night?

At first Miss Paget had been inclined to feel aggrieved by the presenceof the young man whom she had seen writing letters in the gloomy duskof the November afternoon; but in due time she came to accept him as acompanion, and to feel that her joyless life would have been drearierwithout him. He was the secretary of the Friendly and PhilanthropicLoan Society, and of any other society organised by the Captain. He wasCaptain Paget's amanuensis and representative--Captain Paget's tool, but not Captain Paget's dupe; for Valentine Hawkehurst was not of thatstuff of which dupes are made. 

The man who lives by his wits has need of a faithful friend andfollower. The chief of the vultures must not be approached too easily. There must be a preparatory ordeal, an outer chamber to be passed, before the victim is introduced to the sanctuary which is irradiated bythe silver veil of the prophet. Captain Paget found an able coadjutorin Valentine Hawkehurst, who answered one of those temptingadvertisements in which A. B. C. Or X. Y. Z. Was wont to offer a salaryof three hundred a year to any gentlemanly person capable of performingthe duties of secretary to a newly-established company. It was onlyafter responding to this promising offer that the applicant wasinformed that he must possess one indispensable qualification in theshape of a capital of five hundred pounds. Mr Hawkehurst laughed aloudwhen the Captain imparted this condition with that suave and yetdignified manner which was peculiar to him. 

"I ought to have known it was a dodge of that kind, " said the young mancoolly. "Those very good things--duties light and easy, hours fromtwelve till four, speedy advancement certain for a conscientious andgentlemanly person, and so on--are always of the genus _do_. Youradvertisement is very cleverly worded, my dear sir; only it's like therest of them, rather _too_ clever. It is so difficult for a clever mannot to be too clever. The prevailing weakness of the human intellectseems to me to be exaggeration. However, as I haven't a five-pound notein the world, or the chance of getting one, I'll wish you good morning, Captain Paget. "

There are people whose blood would have been turned to ice by the stonyglare of indignation with which Horatio Paget regarded the man who haddared to question his probity. But Mr. Hawkehurst had done with strongimpressions long before he met the Captain; and he listened to thatgentleman's freezing reproof with an admiring smile. Out of this veryunpromising beginning there arose a kind of friendship between the twomen. Horatio Paget had for some time been in need of a clever tool; andin the young man whose cool insolence rose superior to his own dignityhe perceived the very individual whom he had long been seeking. Theyoung man who was unabashed by the indignation of a scion of Nugentsand Cromies and Pagets must be utterly impervious to the sense of awe;and it was just such an impervious young man that the Captain wanted ashis coadjutor. Thus arose the alliance, which grew stronger every day, until Valentine took up his abode under the roof of his employer andpatron, and made himself more thoroughly at home there than theunwelcome daughter of the house. 

The history of Valentine Hawkehurst's past existence was tolerably wellknown to the Captain; but the only history of the young man's earlylife ever heard by Diana was rather vague and fragmentary. Shediscovered, little by little, that he was the son of a spendthrift_littérateur_, who had passed the greater part of his career within therules of the King's Bench; that he had run away from home at the age offifteen, and had tried his fortune in all those professions whichrequire no educational ordeal, and which seem to offer themselvesinvitingly to the scapegrace and adventurer. At fifteen ValentineHawkehurst had been errand-boy in a newspaper office; at seventeen apenny-a-liner, whose flimsy was pretty sure of admission in thelower class of Sunday papers. In the course of a very brief careerhe had been a provincial actor, a _manège_ rider in a circus, abilliard-marker, and a betting agent. It was after having exhaustedthese liberal professions that he encountered Captain Paget. 

Such was the man whom Horatio Paget admitted to companionship with hisonly daughter. It can scarcely be pleaded in excuse for the Captainthat he might have admitted a worse man than Valentine Hawkehurst tohis family circle, for the Captain had never taken the trouble to soundthe depths of his coadjutor's nature. There is nothing so short-sightedas selfishness; and beyond the narrow circle immediately surroundinghimself, there was no man more blind than Horatio Paget. 

 * * * * *

It was dusk when Diana grew tired of the lonely pathways among thehills, where the harmonies of a band stationed in the valley werewafted in gusts of music by the fitful summer breeze. The loneliness ofthe place soothed the girl's feverish spirits; and, seated in a littleclassic temple upon the summit of a hill, she looked pensively downwardthrough the purple mists at the newly-lighted lamps twinkling faintlyin the valley. 

"One does not feel the sting of one's shabbiness here, " thought MissPaget: "the trees are all dressed alike. Nature makes no distinction. It is only Fortune who treats her children unfairly. "

The Captain's daughter walked slowly back to the little town in thedeepening dusk. The lodging occupied by Horatio Paget and his householdconsisted of four roomy chambers on the second story of a big ramblinghouse. The rooms were meanly furnished, and decorated with the tawdryornamentation dear to the continental mind; but there were long widewindows and an iron balcony, on which Diana Paget was often pleased tosit. 

She found the sitting-room dark and empty. No dinner had been prepared;for on lucky days the Captain and his _protégé_ were wont to dine atthe _table d'hôte_ of one of the hotels, or to feast sumptuously _à lacarte_, while on unlucky days they did not dine at all. Diana found aroll and some cream cheese in a roomy old cupboard that was flavouredwith mice; and after making a very indifferent meal in the duskychamber, she went out upon the balcony, and sat there looking down uponthe lighted town. 

She had been sitting there for nearly an hour in the same attitude, when the door of the sitting-room was opened, and a footstep soundedbehind her. She knew the step; and although she did not lift her head, her eyes took a new brightness in the summer dusk, and the listlessgrace of her attitude changed to a statuesque rigidity, though therewas no change in the attitude itself. 

She did not stir till a hand was laid softly on her shoulder, and avoice said, --"Diana!"

The speaker was Valentine Hawkehurst, the young man whose entrance tothe golden temple had been so closely watched by Captain Paget'sdaughter. 

She rose as he spoke, and turned to him. "You have been losing, Isuppose, Mr. Hawkehurst, " she said, "or you would not have come home?"

"I am compelled to admit that you are right in your premise, MissPaget, and your deduction is scarcely worth discussion. I _have_ beenlosing--confoundedly; and as they don't give credit at the board ofgreen cloth yonder, there was no excuse for my staying. Your father hasnot been holding his own within the last hour or two; but when I leftthe rooms he was going to the Hotel d'Orange with some French fellowsfor a quiet game of _écarté_. Our friend the Captain is a great card, Miss Paget, and has a delightful talent for picking up distinguishedacquaintance. "

There are few daughters who would have cared to hear a father spoken ofin this free-and-easy manner; but Diana Paget was quite unmoved. Shehad resumed her old attitude, and sat looking towards the lightedwindows of the Kursaal, while Mr. Hawkehurst lounged against the angleof the window with his hands in his pockets and a cigar in his mouth. 

For three years Valentine Hawkehurst had lived in constantcompanionship with the Captain's daughter; and in that time his mannerto her had undergone considerable variation. Of late it had beensomething in the manner of an elder brother, whose fraternal breast isimpervious to the influence of a sister's loveliness or a sister'sfascination. If Diana Paget had been a snub-nosed young person with redhair and white eyelashes, Mr. Hawkehurst could scarcely have treatedher with a more friendly indifference, a more brotherly familiarity. 

Unhappily this line of conduct, which is perhaps the wisest and mosthonourable plan that a man can pursue when he finds himself thrown intoa dangerously familiar association with a beautiful and unprotectedwoman, is the very line of proceeding which a beautiful woman can neverbring herself to forgive. A chivalrous stiffness, a melancholy dignity, a frozen frigidity, which suggest the fiery bubbling of the lava floodbeneath the icy surface, --these are delightful to the female mind. Butfriendly indifference and fraternal cordiality constitute the worstinsult that can be offered to her beauty, the most bitter outrage uponthe majesty of her sex. 

"I suppose it will be midnight before papa comes home, Mr. Hawkehurst, "Diana said abruptly, when her companion had finished his cigar, and hadthrown the end of it over the balcony. 

"Past midnight more likely, Miss Paget. May I ask how I have become Mr. Hawkehurst all of a sudden, when for the last three years I have beenusually known as Valentine--or Val?"

The girl turned her head with a gesture in which the carelessness ofhis own manner was imitated. She stole a rapid look at him as sheanswered, "What does it matter whether I call you by one name oranother?"

"What does anything matter? I believe Mr. Toots was an unconsciousphilosopher. There is nothing in the world of any consequence, exceptmoney. Go and look at those poor devils yonder, and you will see whatthat is worth, " he cried, pointing to the lighted Kursaal; "there youbehold the one great truth of the universe in action. There is nothingbut money, and men are the slaves of money, and life is only anothername for the pursuit of money. Go and look at beauty yonder fading inthe light and heat; at youth that changes to age before your eyes; atfriendship which turns to hate when the chances of the game are with myfriend and against me. The Kursaal is the world in little, Diana; andthis great globe of ours is nothing but a gigantic gaming-table--amighty temple for the worship of the golden calf. "

"Why do you imitate those people yonder, if you despise them soheartily?"

"Because I am like them and of them. I tell you that money is thebeginning and end of all things. Why am I here, and why is my life madeup of baseness and lies? Because my father was an improvidentscoundrel, and did not leave me five hundred a year. I wonder what Ishould have been like, by the bye, if I had been blest with fivehundred a year?"

"Honest and happy, " answered the girl earnestly. She forgot hersimulated indifference, and looked at him with sad earnest eyes. He metthe glance, and the expression of his own face changed from its cynicalsmile to a thoughtful sadness. 

"Honest perhaps; and yet I almost doubt if anything under five thousanda year would have kept me honest. Decidedly not happy; the men who canbe happy on five hundred a year are made of a duller stuff than theclay which serves for a Hawkehurst. "

"You talk about not being happy with five hundred a year!" Dianaexclaimed impatiently. "Surely any decent existence would be happinessto you compared to the miserable life you lead, --the shameful, degradedlife which shuts you out of the society of respectable people andreduces you to the level of a thief. If you had any pride, Valentine, you would feel it as bitterly as I do. "

"But I haven't any pride. As for my life, --well, I suppose it isshameful and degraded, and I know that it's often miserable; but itsuits me better than jog-trot respectability, I can dine one day ontruffled turkey and champagne, another day upon bread and cheese andsmall beer; but I couldn't eat beef and mutton always. That's whatkills people of my temperament. There are born scamps in the world, Diana, and I am one of them. My name is Robert Macaire, and I wascreated for the life I lead. Keep clear of me if you have any hankeringafter better things; but don't try to change my nature, for it iswasted labour. "

"Valentine, it is so cruel of you to talk like that. "

"Cruel to whom?"

"To--those--who care for you. "

It was quite dark now; but even in the darkness Diana Paget's headdrooped a little as she said this. Mr. Hawkehurst laughed aloud. 

"Those who care for me!" he cried; "no such people ever lived. Myfather was a drunken scoundrel, who suffered his children to grow upabout him as he would have suffered a litter of puppies to sprawl uponhis hearth, only because there was less trouble in letting them liethere than in kicking them out. My mother was a good woman in thebeginning, I know; but she must have been something more than a mortalwoman if she had not lost some of her goodness in twelve years of sucha life as she led with my father. I believe she was fond of me, poorsoul; but she died six months before I ran away from a lodging in theRules, which it is the bitterest irony to speak of as my home. Sincethen I have been Robert Macaire, and have about as many friends as sucha man usually has. "

"You can scarcely wonder if you have few friends, " said Miss Paget, "since there is no one in the world whom you love. "

She watched him through the darkness after saying this, watched himclosely, though it was too dark for her to see the expression of hisface, and any emotion to which her words might have given rise could bebetrayed only by some gesture or change of attitude. She watched him invain, for he did not stir. But after a pause of some minutes he saidslowly, --

"Such a man as I cannot afford to love any one. What have I to offer tothe woman I might pretend to love? Truth, or honour, or honesty, orconstancy? Those are commodities I have never dealt in. If I know whatthey are, and that I have never possessed them, it is about as much asI do know of them. If I have any redeeming grace, Diana Paget, it liesin the fact that I know what a worthless wretch I am. Your fatherthinks he is a great man, a noble suffering creature, and that theworld has ill-used him. I know that I am a scoundrel, and that let myfellow-men treat me as badly as they please, they can never give meworse usage than I deserve. And am I a man to talk about love, or toask a woman to share my life? Good God, what a noble partner I shouldoffer her! what a happy existence I could assure her!"

"But if the woman loved you, she would only love you better for beingunfortunate. "

"Yes, if she was very young and foolish and romantic. But don't youthink I should be a villain if I traded on her girlish folly? She wouldlove me for a year or two perhaps, and bear all the changes of mytemper; but the day would come when she would awake from her delusion, and know that she had been cheated. She would see other women--lessgifted than herself, probably--and would see the market they had madeof their charms; would see them rich and honoured and happy, and wouldstand aside in the muddy streets to be splashed by the dirt from theircarriage-wheels. And then she would consider the price for which shehad bartered her youth and her beauty, and would hate the man who hadcheated her. No, Diana, I am not such a villain as the world may thinkme. I am down in the dirt myself, and I'm used to it. I won't drag awoman into the gutter just because I may happen to love her. "

There was a long silence after this--a silence during which Diana Pagetsat looking down at the twinkling lights of the Kursaal. Valentinelighted a second cigar and smoked it out, still in silence. The clocksstruck eleven as he threw the end of his cigar away; a tiny, luminousspeck, which shot through the misty atmosphere below the balcony like afalling star. 

"I may as well go and see how your father is getting on yonder, " hesaid, as the spark of light vanished in the darkness below. "Goodnight, Diana. Don't sit too long in the cold night air; and don't situp for your father--there's no knowing when he may be home. "

The girl did not answer him. She listened to the shutting of the dooras it closed behind him, and then folded her arms upon the iron rail ofthe balcony, laid her head upon them, and wept silently. Her life wasvery dreary, and it seemed to her as if the last hope which hadsustained her against an unnatural despair had been taken away from herto-night. 

Twelve o'clock sounded with a feeble little _carillon_ from one of thesteeples, and still she sat with her head resting upon her folded arms. Her eyes were quite dry by this time, for with her tears were veryrare, and the passion which occasioned them must needs be intense. Thenight air grew chill and damp; but although she shivered now and thenbeneath that creeping, penetrating cold which is peculiar to night air, she did not stir from her place in the balcony till she was startled bythe opening of the door in the room behind her. 

All was dark within, but Diana Paget was very familiar with thefootstep that sounded on the carpetless floor. It was ValentineHawkehurst, and not her father, whose step her quick ear distinguished. 

"Diana, " he called; and then he muttered in a tone of surprise, "alldark still. Ah! she has gone to bed, I suppose. That's a pity!" Thefigure in the balcony caught his eye at this moment. 

"What in goodness' name has kept you out there all this time?" heasked; "do you want to catch your death of cold?"

He was standing by the mantelpiece lighting a candle as he asked thisunceremonious question. The light of the candle shone full upon hisface when Diana came into the room, and she could see that he was palerthan usual. 

"Is there anything the matter?" she asked anxiously. 

"Yes; there is a great deal the matter. You will have to leaveForêtdechêne by the earliest train to-morrow morning, on the firststage of your journey to England. Look here, my girl! I can give youjust about the money that will carry you safely to London; and when youare once there, Providence must do the rest. "

"Valentine, what do you mean?"

"I mean, that you cannot get away from this place--you cannot disseveryourself from the people you have been living with, too soon. Come, come, don't shiver, child. Take a few drops of this cognac, and let mesee the colour come back to your face before I say any more. "

He poured the dregs of a bottle of brandy into a glass, and made herdrink the spirit. He was obliged to force the rim of the glass betweenher set teeth before he could succeed in this. 

"Come, Diana, " he said, after she had drunk, "you have been a pupil inthe school of adversity so long, that you ought to be able to takemisfortunes pretty quietly. There's a balance struck, somehow or other, depend upon it, my girl; and the prosperous people who pay their debtshave to suffer, as well as the Macaire family. I'm a scamp and ascoundrel, but I'm your true friend nevertheless, Diana; and you mustpromise to take my advice. Tell me that you will trust me. "

"I have no one else to trust. "

"No one else in this place. But in England you have your old friend, --the woman with whom you were at school. Do you think she would refuseto give you a temporary home if you sued to her _in formâ pauperis?_"

"No, I don't think she would refuse. She was very good to me. But whyam I to go back to London?"

"Because to stay here would be ruin and disgrace to you; because thetie that links you to Horatio Paget must be cut at any hazard. " "Butwhy?"

"For the best or worst of reasons. Your father has been trying a trickto-night which has been hitherto so infallible, that I suppose he hadgrown careless as to his execution of it. Or perhaps he took a falsemeasure of the man he was playing with. In any case, he has been foundout, and has been arrested by the police. "

"Arrested, for cheating at cards!" exclaimed the girl, with a look ofunspeakable disgust and horror. Valentine's arm was ready to supporther, if she had shown any symptom of fainting; but she did not. Shestood erect before him, very pale but firm as a rock. 

"And you want me to go away?" she said. 

"Yes, I want you to disappear from this place before you becomenotorious as your father's daughter. That would be about the worstreputation which you could carry through life. Believe me that I wishyou well, Diana, and be ruled by me. "

"I will, " she answered, with a kind of despairing resignation. "Itseems very dreary to go back to England to face the world all alone. But I will do as you tell me. "

She did not express any sympathy for her father, then languishing underarrest, whereby she proved herself very wicked and unwomanly, no doubt. But neither womanly virtues nor Christian graces are wont to flourishin the school in which Diana Paget had been reared. She obeyedValentine Hawkehurst to the letter, without any sentimentallamentations whatever. Her scanty possessions were collected, andneatly packed, in little more than an hour. At three o'clock she laydown in her tawdry little bed-chamber to take what rest she might inthe space of two hours. At six she stood by Valentine Hawkehurst on theplatform of the railway station, with her face hidden by a brown gauzeveil, waiting till the train was wade ready to start. 

It was after she was seated in the carriage that she spoke for thefirst time of her father. 

"Is it likely to go very hard with him?" she asked. 

"I hope not. We must try to pull him through it as well as we can. Thecharge may break down at the first examination. Good bye. "

"Good bye, Valentine. "

They had just time to shake hands before the train moved off. Anothermoment and Miss Paget and her fellow-passengers were speeding towardsLiége. 

Mr. Hawkehurst drew his hat over his eyes as he walked away from thestation. 

"The world will seem very dull and empty to me without her, " he said tohimself. "I have done an unselfish thing for once in my life. I wonderwhether the recording angel will carry that up to my credit, andwhether the other fellow will blot out any of the old score inconsideration of this one little bit of self-sacrifice. "

BOOK THE THIRD. 

HEAPING UP RICHES. 

CHAPTER I. 

A FORTUNATE MARRIAGE. 

Eleven years had passed lightly enough over the glossy raven locks ofMr. Philip Sheldon. There are some men with whom Time deals gently, andhe was one of them. The hard black eyes had lost none of their fiercebrightness; the white teeth flashed with all their old brilliancy; thecomplexion, which had always been dusky of hue, was perhaps a shade ortwo darker; and the fierce black eyes seemed all the blacker by reasonof the purple tinge beneath them. But the Philip Sheldon of to-day was, taken altogether, a handsomer man than the Philip Sheldon of elevenyears ago. 

Within those eleven years the Bloomsbury dentist had acquired a higherstyle of dress and bearing, and a certain improvement of tone andmanner. He was still an eminently respectable man, and a man whosechief claim to the esteem of his fellows lay in the fact of hisunimpeachable respectability; but his respectability of to-day, ascompared with that of eleven years before, was as the respectability ofTyburnia when contrasted with that of St. Pancras. He was not anaristocratic-looking man, or an elegant man; but you felt, as youcontemplated him, that the bulwarks of the citadel of Englishrespectability are defended by such as he. 

Mr. Sheldon no longer experimentalised with lumps of beeswax andplaster-of-paris. All the appalling paraphernalia of his cruel art hadlong since been handed over to an aspiring young dentist, togetherwith the respectable house in Fitzgeorge-street, the furniture, and--the connexion. And thus had ended Philip Sheldon's career as asurgeon-dentist. Within a year of Tom Halliday's death his disconsolatewidow had given her hand to her first sweetheart, not forgetful of herdead husband or ungrateful for much kindness and affection experiencedat his hands, but yielding rather to Philip's suit because she wasunable to advance any fair show of reason whereby she might reject him. 

"I told you, she'd be afraid to refuse you, " said George Sheldon, whenthe dentist came home from Barlingford, where Tom Halliday's widow wasliving with her mother. 

Philip had answered his brother's questions rather ambiguously atfirst, but in the end had been fain to confess that he had asked Mrs. Halliday to marry him, and that his suit had prospered. 

"That way of putting it is not very complimentary to me, " he said, drawing himself up rather stiffly. "Georgy and I were attached to eachother long ago, and it is scarcely strange if----"

"If you should make a match of it, Tom being gone. Poor old Tom! He andI were such cronies. I've always had an idea that neither you nor theother fellow quite understood that low fever of his. You did your best, no doubt; but I think you ought to have pulled him through somehow. However, that's not a pleasant subject to talk of just now; so I'lldrop it, and wish you joy, Phil. It'll be rather a good match for you, I fancy, " added George, contemplating his brother with a nervoustwitching of his lips, which suggested that his mouth watered as hethought of Philip's good fortune. 

"It's a very nice thing you drop into, old fellow, isn't it?" he askedpresently, seeing that his brother was rather disinclined to discussthe subject. 

"You know the state of my affairs well enough to be sure that Icouldn't afford to marry a poor woman, " answered Philip. 

"And that it has been for a long time a vital necessity with you tomarry a rich one, " interjected his brother. 

"Georgy will have a few hundreds, and----"

"A few thousands, you mean, Phil, " cried Sheldon the younger withagreeable briskness; "shall I tot it up for you?"

He was always eager to "tot" things up, and would scarcely have shrunkfrom setting down the stars of heaven in trim double columns offigures, had it seemed to his profit to do so. 

"Let us put it in figures, Phil, " he said, getting his finger-tips inorder for the fray. "There's the money for Hyley Farm--twelve thousandthree hundred and fifty, I had it from poor Tom's own lips. Thenthere's that little property on Sheepfield Common--say seven-fifty, eh?--well, say seven hundred, if you like to leave a margin; and thenthere are the insurances--three thou' in the Alliance, fifteen hundredin the Phoenix, five hundred in the Suffolk Friendly; the total ofwhich, my dear boy, is eighteen thousand five hundred pounds; and avery nice thing for you to drop into, just as affairs were lookingabout as black as they could look. " "Yes, " answered Mr. Sheldon theelder, who appeared by on means to relish this "totting-up" of hisfuture wife's fortune; "I have no doubt I ought to consider myself avery lucky man. "

"So Barlingford folks will say when they hear of the business. And nowI hope you're not going to forget your promise to me. "

"What promise?"

"That if you ever did get a stroke of luck, I should have a share ofit--eh, Phil?"

Mr. Sheldon caressed his chin, and looked thoughtfully at the fire. 

"If my wife lets me have the handling of any of her money, you maydepend upon it I'll do what I can for you, " he said, after a pause. 

"Don't say that, Phil, " remonstrated George. "When a man says he'll dowhat he can for you, it's a sure sign he means to do nothing. Friendship and brotherly feeling are at an end when it comes to aquestion of 'ifs' and 'cans. ' If your wife lets you have the handlingof any of her money!" cried the lawyer, with unspeakable derision;"that's too good a joke for you to indulge in with me. Do you think Ibelieve you will let that poor little woman keep custody of her money aday after she is your wife, or that you will let her friends tie it upfor her before she marries you?"

No, Phil, you didn't lay your plans for that. "

"What do you mean by my laying plans?" asked the dentist. 

"That's a point we won't discuss, Philip, " answered the lawyer coolly. "You and I understand each other very well without entering intounpleasant details. You promised me a year ago--before Tom Halliday'sdeath--that if you ever came into a good thing, I should share in it. You have come into an uncommonly good thing, and I shall expect you tokeep your promise. "

"Who says I am going to break it?" demanded Philip Sheldon with aninjured air. "You shouldn't be in such a hurry to cry out, George. Youtake the tone of a social Dick Turpin, and might as well hold a pistolto my head while you're about it. Don't alarm yourself. I have told youI will do what I can for you. I cannot, and I shall not, say more. "

The two men looked at each other. They were in the habit of taking themeasure of all creation in their own eminently practical way, and eachtook the other's measure now. After having done which, they parted withall cordial expressions of good-will and brotherly feeling. George wentback to his dusty chambers in Gray's Inn, and Philip prepared for hisreturn to Barlingford and his marriage with Georgina Halliday. 

For ten years Georgy had been Philip Sheldon's wife, and she had foundno reason to complain of her second choice. The current of her life hadflowed smoothly enough since her first lover had become her husband. She still wore moire-antique dresses and gold chains; and if thedresses were of more simple fashion, and the chains were lessobtrusively displayed, she had to thank Mr. Sheldon for the refinementin her taste. Her views of life in general had expanded under Mr. Sheldon's influence. She no longer thought a high-wheeled dog-cart anda skittish mare the acme of earthly splendour; for she had a carriageand pair at her service, and a smart little page-boy to leap off thebox in attendance on her when she paid visits or went shopping. Insteadof the big comfortable old-fashioned farmhouse at Hyley, with itsmysterious passages and impenetrable obscurities in the way ofcupboards, she occupied an intensely new detached villa in Bayswater, in which the eye that might chance to grow weary of sunshine andglitter would have sought in vain for a dark corner wherein to reposeitself. 

Mr. Sheldon's fortunes had prospered since his marriage with hisfriend's widow. For a man of his practical mind and energetictemperament, eighteen thousand pounds was a strong starting-point. Hisfirst step was to clear off all old engagements with Jews and Gentiles, and to turn his back on the respectable house in Fitzgeorge-street. Theearlier months of his married life he devoted to a pleasant tour on theContinent; not wasting time in picturesque by-ways, or dawdling amonginaccessible mountains, or mooning about drowsy old cathedrals, wherethere were pictures with curtains hanging before them, and prowlingvergers who expected money for drawing aside the curtains; but rattlingat the highest continental speed from one big commercial city toanother, and rubbing off the rust of Bloomsbury in the exchanges and onthe quays of the busiest places in Europe. The time which Mr. Sheldonforbore to squander in shadowy gothic aisles and under the shelter ofAlpine heights, he accounted well bestowed in crowded cafés, and at thepublic tables of noted hotels, where commercial men were wont tocongregate; and as Georgy had no aspirings for the sublimity of Vandykeand Raphael, or the gigantic splendours of Alpine scenery, she was verywell pleased to see continental life with the eyes of Philip Sheldon. How could a half-educated little woman, whose worldly experience wasbounded by the suburbs of Barlingford, be otherwise than delighted bythe glare and glitter of foreign cities? Georgy was childishlyenraptured with everything she saw, from the sham diamonds and rubiesof the Palais Royal, to the fantastical bonbons of Berlin. 

Her husband was very kind to her--after his own particular fashion, which was very different from blustering Tom Halliday's weakindulgence. He allotted and regulated her life to suit his ownconvenience, it is true; but he bought her handsome dresses, and tookher with him in hired carriages when he drove about the strange cities. He was apt to leave Georgy and the hired carriage at the corner of somestreet, or before the door of some cafe, for an hour at a time, in thecourse of his peregrinations; but she speedily became accustomed tothis, and provided herself with the Tauchnitz edition of a novel, wherewith to beguile the tedium of these intervals in the day'samusement. If Tom Halliday had left her for an hour at a street-corner, or before the door of a café, she would have tortured herself and himby all manner of jealous suspicions and vague imaginings. But there wasa stern gravity in Mr. Sheldon's character which precluded thepossibility of any such shadowy fancies. Every action of his lifeseemed to involve such serious motives, the whole tenor of hisexistence was so orderly and business-like, that his wife was fain tosubmit to him, as she would have submitted to some ponderous infalliblemachine, some monster of modern ingenuity and steam power, which cutasunder so many bars of iron, or punched holes in so many paving-stonesin a given number of seconds, and was likely to go on dividing iron orpiercing paving-stones for ever and ever. 

She obeyed him, and was content to fashion her life according to hiswill, chiefly because she had a vague consciousness that to argue withhim, or to seek to influence him, would be to attempt the impossible. Perhaps there was something more than this in her mind--somehalf-consciousness that there was a shapeless and invertebrateskeleton lurking in the shadowy background of her new life, a duskyand impalpable creature which it would not be well for her to examineor understand. She was a cowardly little woman, and finding herselftolerably happy in the present, she did not care to pierce the veil ofthe future, or to cast anxious glances backward to the past. Shethought it just possible that there might be people in the world baseenough to hint that Philip Sheldon had married her for love of hereighteen thousand pounds, rather than from pure devotion to herself. She knew that certain prudent friends and kindred in Barlingford hadelevated their hands and eyebrows in speechless horror when theydiscovered that she had married her second husband without asettlement; while one grim and elderly uncle had asked her whether shedid not expect her father to turn in his grave by reason of her folly. 

Georgy had shrugged her shoulders peevishly when her Barlingfordfriends remonstrated with her, and had declared that people were verycruel to her, and that it was a hard thing she could not choose forherself for once in her life. As to the settlements that people talkedof, she protested indignantly that she was not so mean as to fancy herfuture husband a thief, and that to tie up her money in all sorts ofways would be to imply as much. And then, as it was only a year sincepoor dear Tom's death, she had been anxious to marry without fuss orparade. In fact, there were a hundred reasons against legalinterference, and legal tying-up of the money, with all that dreadfuljargon about "whereas, " and "hereinafter, " and "provided always, " and"nothing herein contained, " which seems to hedge round a sum of moneyso closely, that it is doubtful whether the actual owner will ever befree to spend a sixpence of it after the execution of that formidabledocument intended to protect it from possible marauders. 

George Sheldon had said something very near the truth when he had toldPhilip that Mrs. Halliday would be afraid to refuse him. Thefair-haired, fair-faced little woman did in some manner fear the firstlover of her girlhood. She had become his wife, and so far all thingshad gone well with her; but if misery and despair had been the necessaryconsequences of her union with him, she must have married him all thesame, so dominant was the influence by which he ruled her. Of courseGeorgy was not herself aware of her own dependence. She accepted allthings as they were presented to her by a stronger mind than her own. She wore her handsome silk dresses, and was especially particular as tothe adjustment of her bonnet-strings, knowing that the smallestimpropriety of attire was obnoxious to the well-ordered mind of hersecond husband. She obeyed him very much as a child obeys a strict butnot unkind schoolmaster. When he took her to a theatre or a racecourse, she sat by his side meekly, and felt like a child who has been good andis reaping the reward of goodness. And this state of things was innowise disagreeable to her. She was perhaps quite as happy as it was inher nature to be; for she had no exalted capacity for happiness ormisery. She felt that it was pleasant to have a handsome man, whosecostume was always irreproachable, for her husband. Her only notion ofa bad husband was a man who stayed out late, and came home under theinfluence of strong liquors consumed in unknown localities and amongstunknown people. So, as Mr. Sheldon rarely went out after dinner, andwas on all occasions the most temperate of men, she naturallyconsidered her second husband the very model of conjugal perfection. Thus it was that domestic life had passed smoothly enough for Mr. Sheldon and his wife during the ten years which had elapsed since theirmarriage. 

As to the eighteen thousand pounds which she had brought PhilipSheldon, Georgy asked no questions. She knew that she enjoyed luxuriesand splendours which had never been hers in Tom Halliday's lifetime, and she was content to accept the goods which her second husbandprovided. Mr. Sheldon had become a stockbroker, and occupied an officein some dusky court within a few hundred yards of the Stock Exchange. He had, according to his own account, trebled Georgy's thousands sincethey had been in his hands. How the unsuccessful surgeon-dentist hadblossomed all at once into a fortunate speculator was a problem tooprofound for Georgy's consideration. She knew that her husband hadallied himself to a certain established firm of stockbrokers, and thatthe alliance had cost him some thousands of Tom Halliday's money. Shehad heard of preliminary steps to be taken to secure his admission as amember of some mysterious confraternity vaguely spoken of as "theHouse;" and she knew that Tom Halliday's thousands had been the seedfrom which had sprung other thousands, and that her husband had beenaltogether triumphant and successful. 

It may be that it is easier to rig the market than to induce a givennumber of people to resort to a certain dull street in Bloomsbury forthe purpose of having teeth extracted by an unknown practitioner. It ispossible that the stockbroker is like the poet, a creature who is born, and not made; a gifted and inspired being, not to be perfected by anyspecific education; a child of spontaneous instincts and untutoredfaculties. Certain it is that the divine afflatus from the nostrils ofthe god Plutus seemed to have descended upon Philip Sheldon; for he hadentered the Stock Exchange an inexperienced stranger, and he held hisplace there amongst men whose boyhood had been spent in the offices ofCapel-court, and whose youthful strength had been nourished in thechop-houses of Pinch-lane and Thread-needle-street. 

Mrs. Sheldon was satisfied with the general knowledge that Mr. Sheldonhad been fortunate, and had never sought any more precise knowledge ofher husband's affairs. Nor did she seek such knowledge even now, whenher daughter was approaching womanhood, and might ere long need somedower out of her mother's fortune. Poor Tom, trusting implicitly in thewife he loved, and making his will only as a precautionary measure, ata time when he seemed good for fifty years of life and strength, hadnot troubled himself about remote contingencies, and had in no wiseforeseen the probability of a second husband for Georgy and-astepfather for his child. 

Two children had been born to Mr. Sheldon since his marriage, and bothhad died in infancy. The loss of these children had fallen very heavilyon the strong hard man, though he had never shed a tear or uttered alamentation, or wasted an hour of his business-like existence by reasonof his sorrow. Georgy had just sufficient penetration to perceive thather husband was bitterly disappointed when no more baby-strangers cameto replace those poor frail little lives which had withered away andvanished in spite of his anxiety to hold them. 

"It seems as if there was a blight upon _my_ children, " he once saidbitterly; and this was the only occasion on which his wife heard himcomplain of his evil fortune. 

But one day, when he had been particularly lucky in some speculation, when he had succeeded in achieving what his brother George spoke of asthe "biggest line he had ever done, " Philip Sheldon came home to theBayswater villa in a particularly bad humour, and for the first timesince her marriage Georgy heard him quote a line of Scripture. 

"Heaping up riches, " he muttered, as he paced up and down the room;"heaping up riches, and ye cannot tell who shall gather them. "

His wife knew then that he was thinking of his children During thebrief lives of those two fragile boy-babies the stockbroker had beenwont to talk much of future successes in the way of money-making to beachieved by him for the enrichment and exaltation of these children. They were gone now, and no more came to replace them. And though PhilipSheldon still devoted himself to the sublime art of money-making, andstill took delight in successful time-bargains and all the scientificcombinations of the money-market, the salt of life had lost somethingof its savour, and the chink of gold had lost somewhat of its music. 

CHAPTER II. 

CHARLOTTE. 

The little villa at Bayswater was looking its brightest on aresplendent midsummer afternoon, one year after Diana Paget's hurriedhegira from Forêtdechêne. If the poor dentist's house in dingyBloomsbury had been fresh and brilliant of aspect, how much morebrilliant was the western home of the rich stockbroker, whose gate waswithin five minutes' walk of that aristocratic Eden, KensingtonGardens! Mr. Sheldon's small domain was called The Lawn, and consistedof something over half an acre of flower-garden and shrubbery, atwo-stall stable and coach-house, a conservatory and fernery, and amoderate-sized house in the gothic or mediaeval style, with mullionedwindows in the dining-room and oriels in the best bedroom, and with agreat deal of unnecessary stone-work and wooden excrescence in everydirection. 

The interior of Mr. Sheldon's dwelling bore no trace of that solidold-fashioned clumsiness which had distinguished his house inFitzgeorge-street. Having surrendered his ancestral chairs and tablesin liquidation of his liabilities, Philip Sheldon was free to go withthe times, and had furnished his gothic villa in the most approvedmodern style, but without any attempt at artistic grace or adornment. All was bright, and handsome, and neat, and trim; but the brightness andthe neatness savoured just a little of furnished apartments at theseaside, and the eye sought in vain for the graceful disorder of anelegant home. The dining-room was gorgeous with all the splendour of newmahogany and crimson morocco; the drawing-room was glorified by biglooking-glasses, and the virginal freshness of gilt frames on which thefeet of agile house-fly or clumsy blue-bottle had never rested. Thecrimsons, and blues, and greens, and drabs of the Brussels carpetsretained the vivid brightness of the loom. The drops of the chandelierstwinkled like little stars in the sunshine; the brass birdcages wereundimmed by any shadow of dulness. To Georgy's mind the gothic villawas the very perfection of a dwelling-place. The Barlingfordhousekeepers were wont to render their homes intolerable by extremeneatness. Georgy still believed in the infallibility of her nativetown, and the primness of Barlingford reigned supreme in the gothicvilla. There were no books scattered on the polished walnut-wood tablesin the drawing-room, no cabinets crammed with scraps of old china, nopictures, no queer old Indian feather-screens, no marvels of Chinesecarving in discoloured ivory; none of those traces which the footstepsof the "collector" leave behind him. Mr. Sheldon had no leisure forcollecting; and Georgy preferred the gaudy pink-and-blue vases of aRegent-street china-shop to all the dingy _chefs-d'oeuvre_ of aWedgwood, or the quaint shepherds and shepherdesses of Chelsea. As forbooks, were there not four or five resplendent volumes primly disposedon one of the tables; an illustrated edition of Cowper's lively andthrilling poems; a volume of Rambles in Scotland, with copper-plateengravings of "Melrose by night, " and Glasgow Cathedral, and Ben Nevis, and other scenic and architectural glories of North Britain; a coupleof volumes of _Punch_, and an illustrated "Vicar of Wakefield;" andwhat more could elevated taste demand in the way of literature? Nobodyever read the books; but Mrs. Sheldon's visitors were sometimes glad totake refuge in the Scottish scenery and the pictorial Vicar during thatinterval of dulness and indigestion which succeeds a middle-classdinner. Georgy read a great many books; but they were all novels, procured from the Bayswater branch of a fashionable circulatinglibrary, and were condemned unread by Mr. Sheldon, who considered allworks of fiction perfectly equal in demerit, and stigmatised them, in ageneral way, as "senseless trash. " He had tried to read novels in thedreary days of his Bloomsbury probation; but he had found that theheroes of them were impracticable beings, who were always talking ofhonour and chivalry, and always sacrificing their own interests in anutterly preposterous manner; and he had thrown aside story after storyin disgust. 

"Give me a book that is something like life, and I'll read it, " heexclaimed impatiently; "but I can't swallow the high-flown prosings ofimpossibly virtuous inanities. "

One day, indeed, he had been struck by the power of a book, a bookwritten by a certain Frenchman called Balzac. He had been riveted bythe hideous cynicism, the supreme power of penetration into the vilestcorners of wicked hearts; and he flung the book from him at last withan expression of unmitigated admiration. 

"That man knows his fellows, " he cried, "and is not hypocrite enoughto conceal his knowledge, or to trick out his puppets in the tinsel andrags of false sentiment in order that critics and public may cry, 'See, what noble instincts, what generous impulses, what unbounded sympathyfor his fellow-creatures this man has!' This Frenchman is an artist, and is not afraid to face the difficulties of his art. What a scoundrelthis Philippe Bridau is! And after wallowing in the gutter, he lives tobespatter his virtuous brother with the mire from his carriage wheels. That is _real_ life. Tour English novelist would have made his villainhang himself with the string of his waistcoat in a condemned cell, while his amiable hero was declared heir to a dukedom and fortythousand a year. But this fellow Balzac knows better than that. "

The days had passed when Mr. Sheldon had leisure to read Balzac. Heread nothing but the newspapers now, and in the newspapers he read verylittle more than the money articles and such political news as seemedlikely to affect the money-market. There is no such soul-absorbingpursuit as the race which men run whose goal is the glittering Templeof Plutus. The golden apples which tempted Atalanta to slacken her paceare always rolling _before_ the modern runner, and the greed of gainlends the wings of Hermes to his feet. Mr. Sheldon had sighed forpleasures sometimes in the days of his Bloomsbury martyrdom. He had satby his open window on sultry summer evenings, smoking his solitarycigar, and thinking moodily of all the pleasant resting-places fromwhich other men were looking out at that golden western sky, deepeninginto crimson and melting into purples which even the London smoke couldnot obscure. He had sat alone, thinking of jovial parties lounging inthe bow-windows of Greenwich taverns, with cool green hock-glasses andpale amber wine, and a litter of fruit and flowers on the table beforethem, while the broad river flowed past them with all the glory of thesunset on the rippling water, and one black brig standing sharply outagainst the yellow sky. He had thought of Richmond, and the dashingyoung men who drive there every summer in drags, with steel chain andbar clanking and glittering in front of the team, and two solemn groomswith folded arms seated stiff and statue-like behind. He had thought ofEpsom, and the great Derby mob; and all of those golden goblets ofpleasure which prosperous manhood drains to the very dregs. He hadfancied the enjoyments which would be his if ever he were rich enoughto pay for them. And now he was able to afford all such pleasures hecared nothing for them; for the ecstasy of making money seemed betterthan any masculine dissipation or delight. He did sometimes dine atGreenwich. He knew the _menus_ of the different taverns by heart, andhad discovered that they were all alike vanity and indigestion; but henever seated himself at one of those glistening little tables, ordeliberated with an obsequious waiter over the mysteries of the wine_carte_, without a settled purpose to be served by the eating of thedinner, and a definite good to be achieved by the wine he ordered. Hegave many such entertainments at home and abroad; but they were allgiven to men who were likely to be useful to him--to rich men, or thetoadies and hangers-on of rich men, the grand viziers of the sultans ofthe money-market. Such a thing as pleasure or hospitality pure andsimple had no place in the plan of Mr. Sheldon's life. The race inwhich he was running was not to be won by a loiterer. The golden appleswere always rolling on before the runner; and woe be to him who turnedaway from the course to dally with the flowers or loiter by the coolstreams that beautified the wayside. 

Thus it was that Mr. Sheldon's existence grew day by day morecompletely absorbed by business pursuits and business interests. PoorGeorgy complained peevishly of her husband's neglect; but she did notdare to pour her lamentations into the ear of the offender. It was akind of relief to grumble about his busy life to servants and humblefemale friends and confidantes; but what could she say to PhilipSheldon himself? What ground had she for complaint? He very seldomstayed out late; he never came home tipsy. He was quite as cool andclear-headed and business-like, and as well able to "tot up" any givenfigures upon the back of an envelope after one of those diplomaticlittle Greenwich dinners as he was the first thing after breakfast. Ithad been an easy thing to tyrannise over poor Tom Halliday; but thisman was a grave inscrutable creature, a domestic enigma which Georgywas always giving up in despair. But so completely did Mr. Sheldon rulehis wife, that when he informed her inferentially that she was a veryhappy woman, she accepted his view of the subject, and was content tobelieve herself blest. 

In spite of those occasional grumblings to servants and female friends, Mrs. Sheldon did think herself happy. Those occasional complaints werethe minor notes in the harmony of her life, and only served to make theharmony complete. She read her novels, and fed a colony of littlefeeble twittering birds that occupied a big wire cage in thebreakfast-parlour. She executed a good deal of fancy-work with beadsand Berlin-wool; she dusted and arranged the splendours of thedrawing-room with her own hands; and she took occasional walks inKensington Gardens. 

This was the ordinary course of her existence, now and then interruptedby such thrilling events as a dinner given to some importantacquaintance of Mr. Sheldon's, or a visit to the school at whichCharlotte Halliday was completing her education. 

That young lady had been removed from the Scarborough boarding-schoolto a highly respectable establishment at Brompton, within a few monthsof her mother's marriage with Mr. Sheldon. She had been a rosy-cheekedyoung damsel in pinafores at the time of that event, too young toexpress any strong feeling upon the subject of her mother's secondchoice; but not too young to feel the loss of her father very deeply. Tom Halliday had been fondly attached to that bright-eyed, rosy-cheekeddamsel of nine years' growth, and the girl had fully reciprocated hisaffection. How often they had talked together of the future, which wasto be so delightful for them both; the new farm, which was to be such aparadise in comparison to Hyley; the pony that Charlotte was to ridewhen she should be old enough to wear a habit like a lady, and to goabout with her father to market-towns and corn-exchanges! The littlegirl had remembered all this, and had most bitterly lamented the lossof that dear and loving father. 

She remembered it all to this day; she regretted her loss to this day, though she was nearly of age, and on the point of leaving school forever, after having prolonged her school-days considerably beyond theusual period, at the express wish of her stepfather. To say that shedisliked Mr. Sheldon is only to admit that she was subject to thenatural prejudices of humanity. He had usurped the place of a belovedfather, and he was in every way the opposite of that father. He hadcome between Charlotte Halliday and her mother, and had so absorbed theweak little woman into himself, as to leave Charlotte quite alone inthe world. And yet he did his duty as few stepfathers do it. Charlotteadmitted that he was very kind to her, that he was an excellenthusband, and altogether the most conscientious and respectable ofmankind; but she admitted with equal candour that she had never beenable to like him. "I daresay it is very wicked of me not to be fond ofhim, when he is so good and generous to me, " she said to her chosenfriend and companion; "but I never can feel quite at home with him. Itry to think of him as a father sometimes, but I never can get over the'step. ' Do you know I have dreamed of him sometimes? and though he isso kind to me in reality, I always fancy him cruel to me in my dreams. I suppose it is on account of his black eyes and black whiskers, " addedMiss Halliday, in a meditative tone. "It is certainly a misfortune fora person to have blacker eyes and whiskers than the rest of the world;for there seems something stern and hard, and almost murderous, in suchexcessive blackness. "

Charlotte Halliday was a very different creature from the mother whomMr. Sheldon had absorbed into himself. Georgy was one of the women whohave "no characters at all, " but Georgy's daughter was open to thecharge of eccentricity rather than of inanity. She was a creature offancies and impulses She had written wild verses in the secrecy of herown chamber at midnight, and had torn her poetic effusions into athousand fragments the morning after their composition. She played andsang very sweetly, and danced admirably, and did everything in a wildway of her own, which was infinitely more charming than the commonplaceperfection of other women. She was not a beauty according to thoseestablished rules which everybody believes in until they meet a womanwho sins against them all and yet is beautiful. Miss Halliday had thickblack eyebrows, and large gray eyes which people were apt to mistakefor black. She had a composite nose, and one of the sweetest mouthsthat ever smiled upon enraptured mankind. Nature had given her just alittle more chin than a Greek sculptor would have allowed her; but, byway of make-weight, the same careless Nature had bestowed upon her athroat which Phidias himself might have sought in vain to improve upon. And Nature had planted this young lady's head upon her shoulders with agrace so rare that it must needs be a happy accident in the workmanshipof that immortal artist. Indeed it seemed as if Charlotte Halliday owedher charms to a series of happy accidents. The black eyebrows whichmade her face so piquant might have been destruction to another woman. The round column-like throat needed a fine frank face to surmount it, and the fine frank face was rendered gracious and womanly by the wealthof waving dark hair which framed it. The girl was one of those brighthappy creatures whom men worship and women love, and whom envy canscarcely dislike. She was so infinitely superior to both father andmother, that a believer in hereditary attributes was fain to inventsome mythical great-grandmother from whom the girl's graces might havebeen derived. But she had something of her father's easy good-natureand imprudent generosity; and was altogether one of those impulsivecreatures whose lives are perpetual difficulties and dilemmas. Morelectures had been delivered for her edification than for any otheryoung lady in the Brompton boarding-school, and yet she had been thefavourite and delight of everybody in the establishment, from themistress of the mansion down to the iniquitous boy who cleaned theboots, and who was hounded and hunted, and abused and execrated, fromdewy morn to dusky eve. 

"I allus puts plenty of elbow-grease on your boots, Miss 'Allundale, though cook does heave saucepan-lids at my 'ed and call me a lazywiper, " this incorrigible imp protested to Charlotte one morning, whenshe had surprised him in tears and had consoled his woes by a donationof pence. 

"All things love thee, so do I, " says the lover to his mistress; and itis almost impossible not to adore a young lady who is universallybeloved, for the simple reason that this general affection is veryrarely accorded to any but a loving nature. There is an instinct inthese things. From all the ruck of Cheapside a vagrant dog will selectthe man who has most toleration for the canine species, and is mostlikely to give him shelter. A little child coming suddenly into acircle of strangers knows in which lap it may find a haven, on whichbosom it may discover safety and comfort. If mistress andschoolfellows, servants and shoeblack, dogs and cats, were fond ofCharlotte Halliday, their affection had been engendered by her ownsweet smiles and loving words, and helping hands always ready to givesubstantial succour or to aid by active service. 

She had been at the Brompton gynaeceum nearly eleven years--only leavingit for her holidays--and now her education was finished, and Mr. Sheldon could find no excuse for leaving her at school any longer, soher departure had been finally agreed upon. 

To most damsels of twenty-one this would have been a subject forrejoicing; but it was not so with Charlotte. She did not like herstepfather; and her mother, though very affectionate and gentle, was aperson whose society was apt to become wearisome any time after thefirst half-hour of social intercourse. At Hyde Lodge Charlotte had agreat deal more of Lingard and condensed and expurgated Gibbon than wasquite agreeable; she had to get up at a preternatural hour in themorning and to devote herself to "studies of velocity, " whose monotonybecame wearing as the drip, drip, drip of water on the skull of thetortured criminal. She was very tired of all the Hyde-Lodge lessons andaccomplishments, the irregular French verbs--the "braires" and"traires" which were so difficult to remember, and which nobody evercould want to use in polite conversation; the ruined castles anddilapidated windmills, the perpetual stumpy pieces of fallen timber andjagged posts, executed with a BBB pencil; the chalky expanse of sky, with that inevitable flight of crows scudding across it:--why mustthere be always crows scudding across a drawing-master's sky, and whyso many jagged posts in a drawing-master's ideal of rural beauty?Charlotte was inexpressibly weary of all the stereotyped studies; butshe liked Hyde Lodge better than the gothic villa. She liked thefriendly schoolfellows with their loud talk and boisterous manners, the girls who called her "Halliday, " and who were always borrowingher reels of crochet-cotton and her pencils, her collars andpocket-handkerchiefs. She liked the free-and-easy schoolgirl talkbetter than her mother's tame discourse; she preferred the homelylitter of the spacious schoolroom to the prim splendours of Georgy'sstate chambers; and the cool lawn and shrubberies of Hyde Lodge were ahundred-fold more pleasant to her than the stiff little parterre atBayswater, wherein scarlet geraniums and calceolarias flourished withan excruciating luxuriance of growth and an aggravating brilliancy ofcolour. She liked any place better than the hearth by which PhilipSheldon brooded with a dark thoughtful face, and a mind absorbed by themysteries and complications of the Stock Exchange. 

On this bright June afternoon other girls were chattering gaily aboutthe fun of the breaking-up ball and the coming delights of theholidays, but Charlotte sighed when they reminded her that the end ofher last half was close at hand. 

She sat under a group of trees on the lawn, with a crochet antimacassarlying in her lap, and with her friend and favourite, Diana Paget, sitting by her side. 

Hyde Lodge was that very establishment over which Priscilla Paget hadreigned supreme for the last seventeen years of her life, and among allthe pupils in a school of some forty or fifty girls, Diana was the onewhom Charlotte Halliday had chosen for her dearest companion andconfidante, clinging to her with a constancy not to be shaken byill-fortune or absence. The girl knew very well that Diana Paget was apoor relation and dependant; that her bills had never been paid; thatall those incalculable and mysterious "extras, " which are the martyrdomof parents and the delight of schoolmistresses, were a dead letter sofar as Diana was concerned. She knew that "poor Di" had been taken homesuddenly one day, not in compliance with any behest of her father's, but for the simple reason that her kinswoman's patience had been wornout by the Captain's dishonesty. It is doubtful whether Priscilla Pagethad ever communicated these facts in any set phrase, but in aboarding-school such things make themselves known, and the girls haddiscussed the delinquencies of that dreadful creature, Captain Paget, very freely in the security of their dormitories. 

Charlotte knew that her dearest friend was not a person whom it wasadvantageous to know. She had seen Diana depart ignominiously, andreturn mysteriously after an absence of some years, very shabby, verypoor, very sombre and melancholy, and with no inclination to talk ofthose years of absence. Miss Halliday had known all this, and had askedno questions. She took the returned wanderer to her heart, andcherished her with an affection which was far beyond the averagemeasure of sisterly love. 

"I thought I should never see you again, dear, " she cried when she andDiana had retired to a corner of the schoolroom to talk confidentiallyon the morning of Miss Paget's return; "and I missed you so cruelly. Other girls are very nice and very kind to me. There is a new girl, Miss Spencer--that girl with flaxen hair, standing by the bigCanterbury--whom I get on with delightfully; but there is no one in theworld like you, Di. And where have you been all this time? With yourpapa, I suppose. "

"Yes, " answered Miss Paget gloomily; "I have been with my father. Don'task me anything about the last three years, Lotta. I have been utterlywretched and miserable, and I can't bear to talk about my misery. "

"And you shan't talk of it, darling, " cried Charlotte, pursing up hermouth for a kiss in a manner which might have been distraction to amasculine mind of average susceptibility. "You shan't talk of anythingor think of anything the least, least, least bit unpleasant; and youshall have my gold pencil-case, " added Miss Halliday, wrenching thattrinket suddenly from the ribbon by which it hung at her side. Perhapsthere was just the least touch of Georgy's childishness in thisimpulsive habit of giving away all her small possessions, for whichLotta was distinguished. "Yes, you must, dear, " she went on. "Mammagave it me last half; but I don't want it; I don't like it; in point offact, I have had it so long that I positively loathe it. And I knowit's a poor trumpery thing, though mamma gave two guineas for it; butyou know she is always imposed upon in shops. Do, do, do take it, darling, just to oblige me. And now, tell me, dear, --you're going tostop here for ever and ever, now you've come back" asked Charlotte, after having thrust the gold pencil-case into Diana's unwilling hand. 

"I don't know about for ever and ever, dear, " Miss Paget repliedpresently; "but I daresay I shall stay here till I'm tired of the placeand everybody about it. You won't be here very long, you know, Lotta;for you'll be twenty next birthday, and I suppose you'll be leavingschool before you're twenty-one. Most of the girls leave at eighteen ornineteen at latest; and you've been here so long, and are so muchfarther advanced than others are. I am not going to be a pupil again--that's out of the question; for I'm just twenty-two, as you know. ButPriscilla has been good enough to let me stay as a kind of secondteacher for the little ones. It will be dull work going through thestupid abridgments of history and geography, and the scrappy bits ofbotany and conchology, with those incorrigible little ones; but ofcourse I am very grateful to my cousin for giving me a home under anyconditions, after papa's dishonourable conduct. If it were not for her, Lotta, I should have no home. What a happy girl you are, to have arespectable man for your father!"

Charlotte's brow darkened a little as her friend said this. 

"He is not my own father, you know, " she said gravely, "and I should bea great deal happier if mamma and I were alone in the world. We couldlive in some dear little cottage on wide open downs near the sea, and Icould have a linsey habit, and a pony, and ride about all day, and readand play to mamma at night. Of course Mr. Sheldon is very respectable, and I daresay it's very wicked of me; but O, Diana, I think I shouldlike him better if he were not _quite_ so respectable. I saw your papaonce when he came to call, and I thought him nicer than my stepfather. But then I'm such a frivolous creature, Di, and am always thinking whatI ought not to think. "

 * * * * *

Nearly a year had passed since Diana's return, and the girl's life hadbeen very monotonous during that time. She had stuck bravely to theabridgments and the juvenile scraps of --ologies, and had beenaltogether a model of propriety, sewing on such a number of strings andbuttons during the period as can only be compassed by the maternalmind. Her existence had been by no means as joyless or desolate as suchan existence is generally represented by the writer of fiction. Therewas plenty of life and bustle in the big prosperous boarding-school, ifthere was not much variety. There were small scandals and smallintrigues; departures and arrivals; wonderful hampers of cake and wineto be divided among the elect of a fashionable dormitory--for there isas wide a difference between the tone and status of the bedrooms in aladies'-school as between the squares of Berkeley and Bedford. Therewere breaking-up parties, and the free-and-easy idleness of theholidays, when a few dark-complexioned girls from the colonies, ayellow-haired damsel from the remote north of Scotland, and Miss DianaPaget, were wont to cluster round the fire in the smaller of theschoolrooms to tell ghost-stories or talk scandal in the gloaming. 

It was a life which, taken with all its small hardships and pettyannoyances, should have been as the life of Paradise compared to thatwhich Diana had led with her father and Mr. Hawkehurst. Whether thegirl fully appreciated the change from the Bohemianism of her lateexistence to the respectability of Hyde Lodge was a question which noone had asked of her. She had fits of despondency now and then, even inthe midst of her duties, and was apt to fall into a sombre reverie overone of the abridgments, whereby she was neglectful of her pupils'aspirates, and allowed Henry the Second to be made the poorer by theloss of an H, or Heliogabalus to be described by a name which thatindividual himself would have failed to recognise. 

There were times when, in the midst of that shrill Babel, theschoolroom, Diana Paget heard the summer winds sighing in thepine-woods above Forêtdechêne, and fancied herself standing once morein that classic temple on whose plastered wall Valentine had once cuther initials with his penknife in a fantastical monogram, surmounted bya death's-head and encircled by a serpent. She thought of that familiarcompanion very often, in spite of her juvenile pupils and the sewing-onof tapes and buttons. He had seemed to her a perpetual enigma andmystery when she was with him; and now that she was far away from him, he was more than ever an inscrutable creature. Was he altogether vile, she wondered, or was there some redeeming virtue in his nature? He hadtaken trouble to secure her escape from shame and disgrace, and indoing this he surely had performed a good action; but was it not justpossible that he had taken this opportunity of getting rid of herbecause her presence was alike wearisome and inconvenient? She thoughtvery bitterly of her fellow Bohemian when this view of his conductpresented itself to her; how heartlessly he had shuffled her off, --howcruelly he had sent her out into the hard pitiless world, to find ashelter as best she might!

"What would have become of me if Priscilla had refused to take me in?"she asked herself. "I wonder whether Mr. Hawkehurst ever consideredthat. "

 * * * * *

More than one letter had come to Diana from her old companion since herflight from the little Belgian watering-place. The first letter toldher that her father had "tided over _that_ business, and was in betterfeather than before the burst-up at the Hôtel d'Orange. " The letter wasdated from Paris, but gave no information as to the presentarrangements or future plans of the writer and his companion. Anotherletter, dated from the same place, but not from the same address, cameto her six months afterwards, and anon another; and it was such awonderful thing for Captain Paget to inhabit the same city for twelvemonths together, that Diana began to cherish faint hopes of someamendment in the scheme of her father's life and of Valentine's, sinceany improvement in her father's position would involve an improvementin that of his _protégé_. 

Miss Paget's regard for her father was by no means an absorbingaffection. The Captain had never cared to conceal his indifference forhis only child, or pretended to think her anything but a nuisance andan encumbrance--a superfluous piece of luggage more difficult todispose of than any other luggage, and altogether a stumbling-block inthe stony path of a man who has to live by his wits. So perhaps it isscarcely strange that Diana did not think of her absent father with anypassionate tenderness or sad yearning love. She thought of him veryoften; but her thoughts of him were painful and bitter. She thoughtstill more often of his companion; and her thoughts of him were evenmore bitter. 

The experiences of Diana Paget are not the experiences which mate apure or perfect woman. There are trials which chasten the heart andelevate the mind; but it is doubtful whether it can be for the welfareof any helpless, childish creature to be familiar with falsehood andchicanery, with debt and dishonour, from the earliest awakening of theintellect; to feel, from the age of six or seven, all the shame of acreature who is always eating food that will not be paid for, and lyingon a bed out of which she may be turned at any moment with shrillreproaches and upbraidings; to hear her father abused and vilified byvulgar gossips over a tea-table, and to be reminded every day and everyhour that she is an unprofitable encumbrance, a consumer of the breadof other people's children, an intruder in the household of poverty, achild whose heritage is shame and dishonour. These things had hardenedthe heart of Captain Paget's daughter. There had been no counteractinginfluence--no fond, foolish loving creature near at hand to save thegirl from that perdition into which the child or woman who has neverknown what it is to be loved is apt to fall. For thirteen years ofDiana's life all love and tenderness, endearing words, caressingtouches, fond admiring looks, had been utterly unknown to her. To sitin a room with a father who was busy writing letters, and who was wontto knit his brows peevishly if she stirred, or to mutter an oath if shespoke; to be sent to a pawnbroker's in the gloaming with her father'swatch, and to be scolded and sworn at on her return if the money-lenderhad advanced a less sum than was expected on that security--do notcompose the most delightful or improving experiences of a home life. But Diana could remember little of a more pleasant character respectingher existence during those brief periods when she was flung back uponher father's hands, and while that gentleman was casting about for somenew victim on whom to plant her. 

At Hyde Lodge, for the first time, the girl knew what it was to beloved. Bright, impulsive Charlotte Halliday took a fancy to her, as theschoolgirl phrase goes, and clung to her with a fond confidingaffection. It may be that the softening influence came too late, orthat there was some touch of natural hardness and bitterness in Diana'smind; for it is certain that Charlotte's affection did not soften thegirl's heart or lessen her bitter consciousness of the wide differencebetween her own fortunes and those of the happier daughters whosefathers paid their debts. The very contrast between Charlotte'sposition and her own may have counteracted the good influence. It wasvery easy for Charlotte to be generous and amiable. _She_ had neverbeen hounded from pillar to post by shrewish matrons who had no wordstoo bitter for their unprofitable charge. _She_ had never known what itwas to rise up in the morning uncertain where she should lie down atnight, or whether there would be any shelter at all for her haplesshead; for who could tell that her father would be found at the lodgingwhere he had last been heard of, and how should she obtain evenworkhouse hospitality, whose original parish was unknown to herself orher protector? To Charlotte these shameful experiences would have beenas incomprehensible as the most abstruse theories of a metaphysician. Was it any wonder, then, if Charlotte was bright and womanly, and fondand tender--Charlotte, who had never been humiliated by the shabbinessof her clothes, and to whom the daily promenade had never been a shameand a degradation by reason of obvious decay in the heels of her boots?

"If your father would dress you decently, and supply you with properboots, I could almost bring myself to keep you for nothing, " Priscillahad said to her reprobate kinsman's daughter; "but the more one doesfor that man the less he will do himself; so the long and the short ofit is, that you will have to go back to him, for I cannot consent tohave such an expensive establishment as mine degraded by the shabbinessof a relation. "

Diana had been obliged to listen to such speeches as this very oftenduring her first residence at Hyde Lodge, and then, perhaps, within afew minutes after Priscilla's lecture was concluded, Charlotte Hallidaywould bound into the room, looking as fresh and bright as the morning, and dressed in silk that rustled with newness and richness. Keenly asDiana felt the difference between her friend's fortune and her own, shedid nevertheless in some manner return Charlotte's affection. Hercharacter was not to be altered all at once by this new atmosphere oflove and tenderness; but she loved her generous friend and companionafter her own fitful fashion, and defended her with passionateindignation if any other girl dared to hint the faintest disparagementof her graces or her virtues. She envied and loved her at the sametime. She would accept Charlotte's affection one day with unconcealedpleasure, and revolt against it on the next day as a species ofpatronage which stung her proud heart to the Quick. 

"Keep your pity for people who ask you for it, " she had exclaimed onceto poor bewildered Charlotte; "I am tired of being consoled and petted. Go and talk to your prosperous friends, Miss Halliday; I am sick todeath of hearing about your new frocks, and your holidays, and thepresents your mamma is always bringing you. "

And then when Charlotte looked at her friend with a sad perplexed face, Diana relented, and declared that she was a wicked discontentedcreature, unworthy of either pity or affection. 

"I have had so much misery in my life, that I am very often inclined toquarrel with happy people without rhyme or reason, or only because theyare happy, " she said in explanation of her impatient temper. 

"But who knows what happiness may be waiting for you in the future, Di?"exclaimed Miss Halliday. "You will marry some rich man by-and-by, andforget that you ever knew what poverty was. "

"I wonder where the rich man is to come from who will marry CaptainPaget's daughter?" Diana asked contemptuously. "Never mind where hecomes from; he will come, depend upon it. The handsome young princewith the palace by the Lake of Como will come to fall in love with mybeautiful Diana, and then she will go and live at Como; and desert herfaithful Charlotte, and live happy ever afterwards. "

"Don't talk nonsense, Lotta, " cried Miss Paget. "You know what kind offate lies before me as well as I do. I looked at myself this morning, as I was plaiting my hair before the glass--you know how seldom onegets a turn at the glass in the blue room--and I saw a dark, ugly, evil-minded-looking creature, whose face frightened me. I have beengetting wicked and ugly ever since I was a child. An aquiline nose andblack eyes will not make a woman a beauty; she wants happiness, andhope, and love, and all manner of things that I have never known, before she can be pretty. " "I have seen a beautiful woman sweeping acrossing, " said Charlotte doubtfully. 

"Yes, but what sort of beauty was it?--a beauty that made you shudder. Don't talk about these things, Charlotte; you only encourage me to bebitter and discontented. I daresay I ought to be very happy, when Iremember that I have dinner every day, and shoes and stockings, and abed to lie down upon at night; and I am happier, now that I work for myliving, than I was in the old time, when my cousin was always grumblingabout her unpaid bills. But my life is very dreary and empty; and whenI look forward to the future, it seems like looking out upon some levelplain that leads nowhere, but across which I must tramp on for ever andever, until I drop down and die. "

It was something in this fashion that Miss Paget talked, as she sat inthe garden with Charlotte Halliday at the close of the half-year. Shewas going to lose her faithful friend--the girl who, so much richer, and happier, and more amiable than herself, had yet clung to her sofondly; she was going to lose this tender companion, and she was moresorry for the loss than she cared to express. 

"You must come and see us very often, " Charlotte said for the hundredthtime; "mamma will be so glad to have you, for my sake; and mystepfather never interferes with our arrangements. O, Di, how I wishyou would come and live with us altogether! Would you come, if I couldmanage to arrange it?"

"How could I come? What Quixotic nonsense you talk, Lotta!"

"Not at all, dear; you could come as a sort of companion for me, or asort of companion for mamma. What does it matter how you come, if I canonly have you? My life will be so dreary in that dreadful new-lookinghouse, unless I have a companion I love. Will you come, Di?--only tellme you will come! I am sure Mr. Sheldon would not refuse, if I askedhim to let you live with us. Will you come, dear?--yes or no. You wouldbe glad to come, if you loved me. "

"And I do love you, Lotta, with all my heart, " answered Miss Paget, with unusual fervour; "but then the whole of my heart is not much. Asto coming to live with you, of course it would be a hundred thousandtimes pleasanter than the life I lead here; but it is not to besupposed that Mr. Sheldon will consent to have a stranger in his housejust because his impulsive stepdaughter chooses to take a fancy to aschoolfellow who isn't worthy of half her affection. "

"Let me be the judge of that. As to my stepfather, I am almost sure ofhis consent. You don't know how indulgent he is to me; which shows whata wicked creature I must be not to like him. You shall come to us, Diana, and be my sister; and we will play and sing our pet duetstogether, and be as happy as two birds in a cage, or a good dealhappier--for I never could quite understand the ecstatic delight ofperpetual hempseed and an occasional peck at a dirty lump of sugar. "

After this there came all the bustle of packing and preparation fordeparture, and a kind of saturnalia prevailed at Hyde Lodge--asaturnalia which terminated with the breaking-up ball: and who amongthe crowd of fair young dancers so bright as Charlotte Halliday, dressed in the schoolgirl's festal robes of cloud-like muslin, and withher white throat set off by a black ribbon and a gold locket?

Diana sat in a corner of the schoolroom towards the close of theevening, very weary of her share in the festival, and watched herfriend, half in sadness, half in envy. 

"Perhaps if I were like her, _he_ would love me, " she thought. 

CHAPTER III. 

GEORGE SHELDON'S PROSPECTS. 

For George Sheldon the passing years had brought very littleimprovement of fortune. He occupied his old dingy chambers in Gray'sInn, which had grown more dingy under the hand of Time; and he was wontto sit in his second-floor window on sultry summer Sundays, smoking hissolitary cigar, and listening to the cawing of the rooks in the gardensbeneath him, mingled with the voices of rebellious children, and shrillmothers threatening to "do for them, " or to "flay them alive, " inSomebody's Rents below. The lawyer used to be quite meditative on thoseSunday afternoons, and would wonder what sort of a fellow Lord Baconwas, and how he contrived to get into a mess about taking bribes, whenso many other fellows had done it quietly enough before the Lord ofVerulam's day, and even yet more quietly since--agreeably instigatedthereto by the casuistry of Escobar. 

Mr. Sheldon's prospects were by no means promising. From afar off hebeheld his brother's star shining steadily in the commercial firmament;but, except for an occasional dinner, he was very little the better forthe stockbroker's existence. He had reminded his brother very often, and very persistently, of that vague promise which the dentist had madein the hour of his adversity--the promise to help his brother if everhe did "drop into a good thing. " But as it is difficult to prevent aman who is disposed to shuffle from shuffling out of the closestagreement that was ever made between Jones of the one part, and Smithof the other part, duly signed, and witnessed, and stamped with thesixpenny seal of infallibility, so is it still more difficult to obtainthe performance of loosely-worded promises, uttered in the confidentialintercourse of kinsmen. 

In the first year of his married life Philip Sheldon gave his brother ahundred pounds for the carrying out of some grand scheme which thelawyer was then engaged in, and which, if successful, would secure forhim a much larger fortune than Georgy's thousands. Unhappily the grandscheme was a failure; and the hundred pounds being gone, George appliedagain to his brother, reminding him once more of that promise made inBloomsbury. But on this occasion Mr. Sheldon plainly told his kinsmanthat he could do no more for him. 

"You must fight your own battle, George, " he said, "as I have foughtmine. "

"Thank you, Philip, " said the younger brother; "I would rather fight itany other way. "

And then the two men looked at each other, as they were in the habit ofdoing sometimes, with a singularly intent gaze. 

"You're very close-fisted with Tom Halliday's money, " George saidpresently. "If I'd asked poor old Tom himself, I'm sure he wouldn'thave refused to lend me two or three hundred. "

"Then it's a pity you didn't ask him, " Mr. Sheldon answered, withsupreme coolness. 

"I should have done so fast enough, if I had thought he was going todie so suddenly. It was a bad day for me, and for him too, when he cameto Fitzgeorge-street. "

"What do you mean by that?" asked Mr. Sheldon sharply. 

"You can pretty well guess my meaning, I should think, " George answeredin a sulky tone. 

"No, I can't; and what's more, I don't mean to try. I'll tell you whatit is, Master George; you've been treating me to a good many hints andinnuendoes lately; and you must know very little of me if you don't knowthat I'm the last kind of man to stand that sort of thing from you, orfrom any one else. You have tried to take the tone of a man who hassome kind of hold upon another. You had better understand at once thatsuch a tone won't answer with me. If you had any hold upon me, or anypower over me, you'd be quick enough to use it; and you ought to beaware that I know that, and can see to the bottom of such a shallowlittle game as yours. "

Mr. Sheldon the younger looked at his brother with an expression ofsurprise that was not entirely unmingled with admiration. 

"Well, you _are_ a cool hand, Phil!" he said. 

Here the conversation ended. The two brothers were very good friendsafter this, and George presented himself at the gothic villa wheneverhe received an invitation to dine there. The dinners were good, and themen who ate them were men of solidity and standing in the commercialworld; and George was very glad to eat good dinners, and to meet eligiblemen; but he never again asked his brother for the loan of odd hundreds. 

He grubbed on, as best he might, in the dingy Gray's-Inn chambers. Behad a little business--business which lay chiefly amongst men whowanted to borrow money, or whose halting footsteps required guidancethrough the quagmire of the Bankruptcy Court. He just contrived to keephis head above water, and his name in the Law-list, by means of suchbusiness; but the great scheme of his life remained as yet unripened, an undeveloped shadow to which he had in vain attempted to give asubstance. 

The leading idea of George Sheldon's life was the idea that there weregreat fortunes in the world waiting for claimants; and that a share ofsome such fortune was to be obtained by any man who had the talent todig it out of the obscurity in which it was hidden. He was a student ofold county histories, and a searcher of old newspapers; and his studiesin that line had made him familiar with many strange stories--storiesof field-labourers called away from the plough to be told they were therightful owners of forty thousand a year; stories of old white-hairedmen starving to death in miserable garrets about Bethnal-green orSpitalfields, who could have claimed lands and riches immeasurable, hadthey known how to claim them; stories of half-crazy old women, who hadwandered about the world with reticules of discoloured papersclamorously asserting their rights and wrongs unheeded and unbelieved, until they encountered sharp-witted lawyers who took up their claims, and carried them triumphantly into the ownership of illimitable wealth. 

George Sheldon had read of these things until it had seemed to him thatthere must be some such chance for any man who would have patience towatch and wait for it. He had taken up several cases, and had fittedlink after link together with extreme labour, and had hunted in parishregisters until the cold mouldy atmosphere of vestries was as familiarto him as the air of Gray's Inn. But the cases had all broken down atmore or less advanced stages; and after infinite patience and trouble, a good deal of money spent upon travelling and small fees to all mannerof small people, and an incalculable number of hours wasted inlistening to the rambling discourse of parish-clerks and oldestinhabitants, Mr. Sheldon had been compelled to abandon his hopes timeafter time, until a man with less firmly rooted ideas would have givenup the hunting of registers and grubbing up of genealogies as adelusion and a snare. 

George Sheldon's ideas were very firmly rooted, and he stuck to themwith that dogged persistency which so often achieves great ends, thatit seems a kind of genius. He saw his brother's success, andcontemplated the grandeurs of the gothic villa in a cynical rather thanan envious spirit. How long would it all last? How long would thestockbroker float triumphantly onward upon that wonderful tide which isconstituted by the rise and fall of the money-market?

"That sort of thing is all very well while a man keeps his head cooland clear, " thought George; "but somehow or other men always seem tolose their heads on the Stock Exchange before they have done with it, and I daresay my wise brother will drop into a nice mess sooner orlater. Setting aside all other considerations, I think I would ratherhave my chances than his; for I speculate very little more than my timeand trouble, and I stand in to win a bigger sum than he will ever getin his line, let stocks rise and fall as they may. "

During that summer in which Miss Halliday bade farewell to Hyde Lodgeand her school-days, George Sheldon was occupied with the early stepsin a search which he hoped would end in the discovery of a prize richenough to reward him for all his wasted time and labour. 

Very early in the previous year there had appeared the following briefnotice in the _Observer_:--

"The Rev. John Haygarth, late vicar of Tilford Haven, Kent, died lately, without a will, or relation to claim his property, 100. 000 pounds. TheCrown therefore claimed it. And last court-day the Prerogative Court ofCanterbury decreed letters of Administration to Mr. Paul, the nomineeof the Crown. "

Some months after this an advertisement had been inserted in the_Times_ newspaper to the following effect:--

"NEXT OF KIN. --If the relatives or next of kin of the Rev. JohnHaygarth, late vicar of Tilford Haven, in the county of Kent, clerk, deceased, who has left property of the value of one hundred thousandpounds, will apply, either personally or by letter, to Stephen Paul, Esq. , solicitor for the affairs of Her Majesty's Treasury, at theTreasury Chambers, Whitehall, London, they may hear of something totheir advantage. The late Rev. John Haygarth is supposed to have beenthe son of Matthew Haygarth, late of the parish of St. Judith, Ullerton, and Rebecca his wife, formerly Rebecca Caulfield, spinster, late of the same parish; both long since deceased. "

Upon the strength of this advertisement George Sheldon began hissearch. His theory was that there always existed an heir-at-lawsomewhere, if people would only have the patience to hunt him or herout; and he attributed his past failures rather to a want of enduranceon his own part than to the breaking down of his pet theory. 

On this occasion he began his work with more than usual determination. 

"This is the biggest chance I've ever had, " he said to himself, "and Ishould be something worse than a fool if I let it slip through myfingers. "

The work was very dry and dreary, involving interminable hunting ofregisters, and questioning of oldest inhabitants. And the oldestinhabitants were so stupid, and the records of the registers sobewildering. One after another Mr. Sheldon set himself to examine thelines of the intestate's kindred and ancestors; his father's onlysister, his grandfather's brothers and sisters, and even to thebrothers and sisters of his great-grandfather. At that point theHaygarth family melted away into the impenetrable darkness of the past. They were no high and haughty race of soldiers and scholars, churchmenand lawyers, or the tracing of them would have been a much easiermatter. Burke would have told of them. There would have been oldcountry houses filled with portraits, and garrulous old housekeeperslearned in the traditions of the past. There would have been moulderingtombs and tarnished brasses in quiet country churches, with descriptiveepitaphs, and many escutcheons. There would have been crumblingparchments recording the prowess of Sir Reginald, knight, or thelearning of Sir Rupert, counsellor and judge. The Haygarths were a raceof provincial tradesmen, and had left no better record of theirjog-trot journey through this world than the registry of births, marriages, and deaths in obscure churches, or an occasional entry inthe fly-leaf of a family Bible. 

At present Mr. Sheldon was only at the beginning of his work. The father and grandfather and uncle and great-uncles, thegreat-grandfather and great-great-uncles, with all their progenies, lay before him in a maze of entanglement which it would be his businessto unravel. And as he was obliged to keep his limited legal connectiontogether while he devoted himself to this task, the work promised toextend over months, or indeed years; and in the meanwhile there wasalways the fear that some one else, as quick-witted and indefatigableas himself, would take up the same tangled skein and succeed in theunravelment of it. Looking this fact full in the face, Mr. Sheldondecided that he must have an able and reliable coadjutor; but to findsuch a coadjutor, to find a man who would help him, on the chance ofsuccess, and not claim too large a share of the prize if success came, was more than the speculative attorney could hope. In the meantime hiswork progressed very slowly; and he was tormented by perpetual terrorof that other sharp practitioner who might be following up the sameclue, and whose agents might watch him in and out of parish churches, and listen at street-corners when he was hunting an oldest inhabitant. 

CHAPTER IV. 

DIANA FINDS A NEW HOME. 

The holidays at Hyde Lodge brought at least repose for Diana Paget. Thelittle ones had gone home, with the exception of two or three youngcolonists, and even they had perpetual liberty from lessons; so Dianahad nothing to do but sit in the shady garden, reading or thinking, inthe drowsy summer afternoons. Priscilla Paget had departed with thechief of the teachers for a seaside holiday; other governesses had goneto their homes; and but for the presence of an elderly Frenchwoman, whoslept through one half of the day, and wrote letters to her kindredduring the other half, Diana would have been the only responsibleperson in the deserted habitation. 

She did not complain of her loneliness, or envy the delights of thosewho had departed. She was very glad to be quite alone, free to thinkher own thoughts, free to brood over those unforgotten years in whichshe had wandered over the face of the earth with her father andValentine Hawkehurst. The few elder girls remaining at the Lodgethought Miss Paget unsociable because she preferred a lonely corner inthe gardens and some battered old book of namby-pamby stories to thedelights of their society, and criticised her very severely as theywalked listlessly to and fro upon the lawn with big garden-hats, andarms entwined about each other's waists. 

Alas for Diana, the battered book was only an excuse for solitude, andfor a morbid indulgence in her own sad thoughts! She had lived the lifeof unblemished respectability for a year, and looking back now at theBohemian wanderings, she regretted those days of humiliation andmisery, and sighed for the rare delights of that disreputable past!Yes, she had revolted against the degraded existence; and now she wassorry for having lost its uncertain pleasures, its fitful glimpses ofsunshine. Was that true which Valentine had said, that no man can eatbeef and mutton every day of his life; that it is better to beunutterly miserable one day and uproariously happy the next, than totread one level path of dull content? Miss Paget began to think thatthere had been some reason in her old comrade's philosophy; for shefound the level path very dreary. She let her thoughts wander whitherthey would in this quiet holiday idleness, and they went back to theyears which she had spent with her father. She thought of winterevenings in London when Valentine had taken her the round of thetheatres, and they had sat together in stifling upper boxes, --shepleased, he critical, and with so much to say to each other in thepauses of the performance. How kind he had been to her; how good, howbrotherly! And then the pleasant walk home, through crowded noisythoroughfares, and anon by long lines of quiet streets, in which theyused to look up at the lighted windows of houses where parties werebeing given, and sometimes stop to listen to the music and watch thefigures of the dancers flitting across the blinds. She thought of thejourneys she had travelled with her father and Valentine by land andsea; the lonely moonlight watches on the decks of steamers; the longchill nights in railway-carriages under the feeble glimmer of anoil-lamp, and how she and Valentine had beguiled the tedious hours withwild purposeless talk while Captain Paget slept. She remembered thestrange cities which she and her father's _protégé_ had looked at sideby side; he with a calm listlessness of manner, which might either bereal or assumed, but which never varied; she with an inward tremor ofexcitement and surprise. They had been very happy together, this lonelyunprotected girl and the reckless adventurer. If his manner to her hadbeen fitful, it had been sometimes dangerously, fatally kind. Shelooked back now, and remembered the days which she had spent with him, and knew that all the pleasures possible in a prosperous and successfullife could never bring for her such delight as she had known in themidst of her wanderings; though shame and danger lurked at everycorner, and poverty, disguised in that tawdry masquerade habit in whichthe swindler dresses it, accompanied her wherever she went. 

She had been happy with him because she had loved him. That closecompanionship, sisterly and brotherly though it had seemed, had beenfatal for the lonely and friendless daughter of Horatio Paget. In herdesolation she had clung to the one creature who was kind to her, whodid not advertise his disdain for herself and her sex, or openly avowthat she was a nuisance and an encumbrance. Every slight put upon herby her father had strengthened the chain that bound her to ValentineHawkehurst; and as the friendship between them grew closer day by day, until all her thoughts and fancies took their colour from his, itseemed a matter of course that he should love her, and she neverdoubted his feelings or questioned her own. There had been much in hisconduct to justify her belief that she was beloved; so thisinexperienced, untutored girl may surely be forgiven if she rested herfaith in that fancied affection, and looked forward to some shadowyfuture in which she and Valentine would be man and wife, all in all toeach other, free from the trammels of Captain Paget's elaborateschemes, and living honestly, somehow or other, by means of literature, or music, or pen-and-ink caricatures, or some of those liberal artswhich have always been dear to the children of Bohemia. They would havelodgings in some street near the Thames, and go to a theatre or aconcert every evening, and spend long summer days in suburban parks oron suburban commons, he lying on the grass smoking, she talking to himor reading to him, as his fancy might dictate. Before her twentiethbirthday, the proudest woman is apt to regard the man she loves as agrand and superior creature; and there had been a certain amount ofreverential awe mingled with Diana's regard for Mr. Hawkehurst, scapegrace and adventurer though he was. 

Little by little that bright girlish dream had faded away. Fancy'senchanted palace had been shattered into a heap of shapeless ruin bythose accidental scraps of hard worldly wisdom with which Valentine hadpelted the fairy fabric. He a man to love, or to marry for love! Why, he talked like some hardened world-weary sinner who had done with everyhuman emotion. The girl shuddered as she heard him. She had loved him, and believed in his love. She had fancied a tender meaning in the voicewhich softened when it spoke to her, a pensive earnestness in the darkeyes which looked at her; but just when the voice had seemed softestand sweetest, the pensive eyes most eloquently earnest, theadventurer's manner had changed all at once, and for ever. He had grownhard, and cold, and indifferent. He had scarcely tried to conceal thefact that the girl's companionship bored and wearied him. He had yawnedin her face, and had abandoned himself to moody abstraction whenaccident obliged him to be alone with her. Miss Paget's pride had beenequal to the occasion. Mary Anne Kepp would have dissolved into tearsat the first unkind word from the lips of her beloved; but Mary AnneKepp's daughter, with the blood of the Cromie Pagets in her veins, wasquite a different person. She returned Mr. Hawkehurst's indifferencewith corresponding disregard. If his manner was cold as a bleak autumn, hers was icy as a severe winter; only now and then, when she was verytired of her joyless existence, her untutored womanhood asserteditself, and she betrayed the real state of her feelings--betrayedherself as she had done on her last night at Forêtdechêne, when she andValentine had looked down at the lighted windows shining dimly throughthe purple of the summer night. She looked back at the past now in thequiet of the school-garden, and tried to remember how miserableshe had been, what agonies of despair she had suffered, how brief hadbeen her delights, how bitter her disappointments. She tried toremember what tortures she had suffered from that wasted passion, thatuseless devotion. She tried to rejoice in the consciousness of thepeace and respectability of her present life; but she could not. Thatpassionate yearning for the past possessed her so strongly. She couldremember nothing except that she had been with him. She had seen hisface, she had heard his voice; and now how long and weary the timemight be before she could again see that one beloved face or hear thedear familiar voice! The brightest hope she had in these midsummerholidays was the hope of a letter from him; and even that might be theprelude of disappointment. She wrestled with herself, and tried toexorcise those ghosts of memory which haunted her by day and wovethemselves into her dreams by night; but they were not to be laid atrest. She hated her folly; but her folly was stronger than herself. 

For three weeks Diana Paget had no companions but her sorrowfulmemories--her haunting shadows; but at the end of that time thestagnant mill-pond of her life was suddenly ruffled--the dull courseof existence was disturbed by the arrival of two letters. She foundthem lying by her plate upon the breakfast-table one bright Julymorning; and while she was yet far away from the table she could seethat one of the envelopes bore a foreign stamp, and was directed by thehand of Valentine Hawkehurst. She seated herself at the table in adelicious flutter of emotion, and tore open that foreign envelope, while the French governess poured out the tea, and while the littlegroup of schoolgirls nudged one another and watched her eager face withinsolent curiosity. 

The first letter contained only a few lines. 

"MY DEAR DIANA, " wrote the young man, "your father has decided onreturning to London, where I believe he really intends to make arespectable start, if he can only get the opening and the help hewants. I know you will be glad to hear this. I don't exactly say wherewe shall take up our quarters; but the Captain will of course come tosee you; and if I can chasten my outward semblance sufficiently toventure within the sacred precincts of a lady's school, I shall comewith him. Direct to the old address, if you write before the end ofthe month, and believe me, as always, your friend. " "VALENTINE. "

The second letter was in Charlotte Halliday's big bold hand, and wasfrank, impetuous, and loving as the girl herself. 

"MY OWN DEAREST DI, --It is all arranged, " wrote Miss Halliday, dashingat once into the heart of the subject. "I talked mamma over the veryfirst day after my return, and then there was nothing more to be donethan to talk over Mr. Sheldon. Of course there was just a littledifficulty in that, for he is so awfully practical; and he wanted toknow why I wanted a companion, and what _use_ you would be in thehouse; as if the very last thing one required in a companion wascompanionship. I'm almost afraid to tell you the iniquitous fables Iinvented about your extreme usefulness; your genius for millinery, andthe mints of money you would save by making up mamma's flimsy littlecaps; your taste for dress-making, &c. &c. &c. You _are_ the cleverestcreature in the world, you know, Di; for you must remember how youaltered, that green silk dress for me when Miss Person had made me asquare-shouldered fright. So, after a great deal of humming, andhaing, and argufication--_is_ there such a word as 'argufication, ' Iwonder?--my stepfather said that if my heart was set upon having you, and if I thought you would be useful, you might come to us; but that hecould not afford to give you any salary, and that if you wanted a newdress now and then, I must buy it for you out of my own allowance; andI will, darling, if you will only come and be my friend and sister. Mylife is dreadfully dull without you. I walk up and down the stifflittle gravel paths, and stare at the geraniums and calceolarias. Mariana might have been dreary in her moated grange; but I daresay theLincolnshire flowers grew wild and free, and she was spared theabomination of gaudy little patches of red and yellow, and wavingribbons of blue and white, which constitute the glory of moderngardening. Do come to me, dear. I have no one to talk to, and nothingto do. Mamma is a dear good affectionate soul; but she and I don'tunderstand each other. I don't care for her twittering little birds, and she doesn't care for my whims and fancies. I have read novels untilI am tired. I am not allowed to go out by myself, and mamma canscarcely walk to Kensington-gardens without sinking under the exertion. We drive out sometimes; but I am sick to death of crawling slowly upand down by the Serpentine staring at people's bonnets. I might enjoyit, perhaps, if I had you with me to make fun out of some of thebonnets. The house is very comfortable; but it always seems to meunpleasantly like some philanthropic institution in miniature. I longto scratch the walls, or break the windows; and I begin to understandthe feelings of those unhappy paupers who tear up their clothes: theyget utterly tired of their stagnation, you see, and must do somethingwicked and rebellious rather than do nothing at all. You will take pityupon my forlorn state, won't you, Di? I shall come to Hyde Lodgeto-morrow afternoon with mamma, to hear your ulti--what's its name?--and in the meanwhile, and for ever afterwards, believe me to be yourdevoted and unchanging LOTTA. "

Diana Paget's eyes grew dim as she read this letter. 

"I love her very dearly, " she thought, "but not one hundred-fold asmuch as I ought to love her. "

And then she went back to Mr. Hawkehurst's epistle, and read andre-read its half-dozen lines, wondering when he would come to London, and whether she would see him when he came. To see him again! Thethought of that possibility seemed like a spot of vivid light, whichdazzled her eyes and made them blind to anything around or beyond it. Asfor this offer of a strange home in the household of Mr. Sheldon, itseemed to her a matter of so very little importance where she went orwhat became of her, that she was quite willing to let other peopledecide her existence. Anything would be better than the monotony ofHyde Lodge. If Valentine Hawkehurst came to see her at Mr. Sheldon'shouse, he would be permitted to see her alone, most likely, and it wouldbe something like the old times; whereas at the Lodge Priscilla Paget orone of the governesses would undoubtedly be present at any interviewbetween Diana and her old friend, and the real Valentine would behidden under the semblance of a respectable young man, with very littleto say for himself. Perhaps this one thought exercised considerableinfluence over Miss Paget's decision. She wanted so much to seeValentine alone, to know whether he had changed, to see his face at thefirst moment of meeting, and to discover, if possible, the solution ofthat enigma which was the grand mystery of her life--that one perpetualquestion which was always repeating itself in her brain--whether he wasaltogether cold and indifferent, or if there was not some hiddenwarmth, some secret tenderness beneath that repelling outward seeming. 

In the afternoon Miss Halliday called with Mrs. Sheldon, and there wasa long discussion about Diana Paget's future life. Georgy abandonedherself as unhesitatingly to the influence of her daughter as she didto that of her husband, and had been brought to think that it would bethe most delightful thing in the world to have Miss Paget for a usefulcompanion. 

"And will you really make my caps, dear?" she said, when she had grownat her ease with Diana. "Miss Terly in the Bayswater-road charges me somuch for the simplest little lace head-dress; and though Mr. Sheldon isvery good about those sort of things, I know he sometimes thinks mybills rather high. "

Diana was very indifferent about her future, and the heart must havebeen very hard which could have resisted Charlotte's tender pleading;so it was ultimately decided that Miss Paget should write to herkinswoman to describe the offer that had been made to her of a newhome, and to inquire if her services could be conveniently dispensedwith at Hyde Lodge. After which decision Charlotte embraced her friendwith enthusiasm, and departed, bearing off Mrs. Sheldon to the carriagewhich awaited them at the gates of Priscilla Paget's umbrageous domain. 

Diana sighed as she went back to the empty schoolroom. Even Charlotte'saffection could not altogether take the sting out of dependence. To gointo a strange house amongst strange people, and to hold a place in itonly on the condition of being perpetually useful and unfailinglygood-tempered and agreeable, is scarcely the pleasantest prospect whichthis world can offer to a proud and beautiful woman. Diana rememberedher bright vision of Bohemianism in a lodging near the Strand. It wouldbe very delightful to ride on sufferance in Mrs. Sheldon's carriage, nodoubt; but O, how much pleasanter it would have been to sit byValentine Hawkehurst in a hansom cab spinning along the road toGreenwich or Richmond!

She had promised to despatch her letter to Priscilla by thatafternoon's post, and she kept her promise. The reply came by return ofpost, and was very kind. Priscilla advised her by all means to acceptMiss Halliday's offer, which would give her a much better position thanthat which she occupied at Hyde Lodge. She would have time to improveherself, no doubt, Priscilla said, and might be able to hope forsomething still better in the course of two or three years; "for youmust look the world straight in the face, Diana, " wrote theschoolmistress, "as I did before I was your age; and make up your mindto rely upon your own exertions, since you know what your father is, and how little you have to hope for from him. As you are to have nosalary with the Sheldons, and will no doubt be expected to make a goodappearance, I shall do what I can to help you with your wardrobe. "

This letter decided the fate of Captain Paget's daughter. A week afterMiss Halliday's visit to Hyde Lodge a hack cab carried Diana and allher earthly possessions to the Lawn, where Charlotte received her withopen arms, and where she was inducted into a neatly furnishedbedchamber adjoining that of her friend. Mr. Sheldon scrutinised herkeenly from under the shadow of his thick black brows when he came hometo dinner. He treated her with a stiff kind of politeness during theorderly progress of the meal; and once, when he looked at her, he wassurprised to find that she was contemplating him with an expression ofmingled wonder and reverence. 

He was the first eminently respectable man whom Miss Paget had everencountered in familiar intercourse, and she was regarding himattentively, as an individual with scientific tastes might regard somenatural curiosity. 

CHAPTER V. 

AT THE LAWN. 

Life at the Lawn went by very smoothly for Mr. Sheldon's family. Georgywas very happy in the society of a companion who seemed really to havea natural taste for the manufacture of pretty little head-dresses fromthe merest fragments of material in the way of lace and ribbon. Dianahad all that versatile cleverness and capacity for expedients which islikely to be acquired in a wandering and troubled life. She had learnedmore in her three years of discomfort with her father than in all theundeviating course of the Hyde-Lodge studies; she had improved herFrench at one _table d'hôte_, her German at another; she had caughtsome new trick of style in every concert-room, some fresh combinationof costume on every racecourse; and, being really grateful forCharlotte's disinterested affection, she brought all heraccomplishments to bear to please her friend and her friend'shousehold. 

In this she succeeded admirably. Mrs. Sheldon found her daughter'ssociety much more delightful now that the whole pressure of Charlotte'sintellect and vitality no longer fell entirely upon herself. She likedto sit lazily in her arm-chair while the two girls chattered at theirwork, and she could venture an occasional remark, and fancy that shehad a full share in the conversation. When the summer weather renderedwalking a martyrdom and driving an affliction, she could recline on herfavourite sofa reading a novel, soothed by the feeble twittering of herbirds; while Charlotte and Diana went out together, protected by thesmart boy in buttons, who was not altogether without human failings, and was apt to linger behind his fair charges, reading the boardsbefore the doors of newsvendors' shops, or looking at the cartoons in_Punch_ exhibited in the stationers' windows. 

Mr. Sheldon made a point of pleasing his stepdaughter whenever it waspossible for him to do so without palpable inconvenience to himself;and as she was to be gratified by so small a pecuniary sacrifice as thetrifling increase of tradesmen's bills caused by Miss Paget's residencein the gothic villa, he was the last man in the world to refuse herthat indulgence. His own pursuits were of so absorbing a nature as toleave little leisure for concern about other people's business. Heasked no questions about his stepdaughter's companion; but he was notthe less surprised to see this beautiful high-bred woman content to sitat his board as an unsalaried dependent. 

"Your friend Miss Paget looks like a countess, " he said one day toCharlotte. "I thought girls generally pitched upon some plain homelyyoung woman for their pet companion, but you seem to have chosen thehandsomest girl in the school. "

"Yes, she is very handsome, is she not? I wish some of your rich Citymen would marry her, papa. "

Miss Halliday consented to call her mother's husband "papa, " though thecaressing name seemed in a manner to stick in her throat. She had lovedthat blustrous good-tempered Tom Halliday so very dearly, and it wasonly to please poor Georgy that she brought herself to address any otherman by the name that had been his. 

"My City men have something better to do than to marry a young womanwithout a sixpence, " answered Mr. Sheldon. "Why don't you try to catchone of them for yourself?"

"I don't like City men, " said Charlotte quickly; and then she blushed, and added apologetically, "at least not the generality of City men, papa. "

Diana had waited until her destiny was settled before answeringValentine Hawkehurst's letter; but she wrote to him directly she wasestablished at the Lawn, and told him the change in her plans. 

"I think papa had better let me come to see him at his lodgings, " shesaid, "wherever they may be; for I should scarcely care about Mr. Sheldon seeing him. No one here knows anything definite about myhistory; and as it is just possible Mr. Sheldon may have encountered myfather somehow or other, it would be as well for him to keep clear ofthis house. I could not venture to say this to papa myself, but perhapsyou could suggest it without offending him. You see I have grown veryworldly-wise, and am learning to protect my own interests in the spiritwhich you have so instilled into me. I don't know whether that sort ofspirit is likely to secure one's happiness, but I have no doubt it isthe wisest and best for this world. "

Miss Paget could not refrain from an occasional sneer when she wrote toher old companion. He never returned her sneers, or noticed them. Hisletters were always frank, friendly, and brotherly in tone. 

"Neither my good opinion nor my bad opinion is of any consequence tohim, " Diana thought bitterly. It was late in August when Captain Pagetand his _protégé_ came to town. Valentine suggested the wisdom ofleaving Diana in her new home uncompromised by any past associations. But this was a suggestion which Horatio Paget could not accept. Hisbrightest successes in the way of scheming had been matured out ofchance acquaintanceships with eligible men. A man who could afford sucha luxury as a companion for his daughter must needs be eligible, andthe Captain was not inclined to sacrifice his acquaintance from anyextreme delicacy. 

"My daughter seems to have made new friends for herself, and I shouldlike to see what kind of people they are, " he said conclusively. "We'lllook them up this evening, Val. "

Mr. George Sheldon dined at the Lawn on the day on which Horatio Pagetdetermined on "looking up" his daughter's new friends, and he and thetwo girls were strolling in the garden when the Captain and Mr. Hawkehurst were announced. They had been told that Miss Paget was inthe garden. 

"Be good enough to take me straight to her, " said the Captain to theboy in buttons; "I am her father. "

Horatio Paget was too old a tactician not to know that by anunceremonious plunge into the family circle he was more likely tosecure an easy footing in the household than by any direct approach ofthe master. He had seen the little group in the garden, and hadmistaken George for the head of the house. 

Diana turned from pale to red, and from red to pale again, as sherecognised the two men. There had been no announcement of their coming. She did not even know that they were in England. 

"Papa!" she cried, and then held out her hand and greeted him; coldlyenough, as it seemed to Charlotte, who fancied that any kind of _real_father must be very dear. 

But Captain Paget was not to be satisfied by that cold greeting. Itsuited his purpose to be especially paternal on this occasion. He drewhis daughter to his breast, and embraced her affectionately, very muchto that young lady's surprise. 

Then, having abandoned himself entirely for the moment to this tenderimpulse of paternity, he suddenly put his daughter aside, as if he hadall at once remembered his duty to society, drew himself up stiffly, and saluted Miss Halliday and George Sheldon with uncovered head. 

"Mr. Sheldon, I believe?" he murmured. 

"George Sheldon, " answered that gentleman; "my brother Philip is in thedrawing-room yonder, looking at us. "

Philip Sheldon came out into the garden as George said this, It was oneof those sultry evenings on which the most delightful of gothic villasis apt to be too stifling for endurance; and in most of the primsuburban gardens there were people lounging listlessly among theflower-beds. Mr. Sheldon came to look at this patrician stranger whohad just embraced his daughter's companion; whereupon Captain Pagetintroduced himself and his friend Mr. Hawkehurst. After theintroduction Mr. Sheldon and the Captain fell into an easyconversation, while the two girls walked slowly along the gravelpathway with Valentine by their side, and while George loitereddrearily along, chewing the stalk of a geranium, and pondering theobscure reminiscences of the last oldest inhabitant whose shadowymemories he had evoked in his search after new links in the chain ofthe Haygarths. 

The two girls walked in the familiar schoolgirl fashion of Hyde Lodge, Charlotte's arm encircling the waist of her friend. They were bothdressed in white muslin, and looked very shadowy and sylph-like in thesummer dusk. Mr. Hawkehurst found himself in a new atmosphere in thissuburban garden, with these two white-robed damsels by his side; for itseemed to him that Diana with Charlotte's arm round her waist, and acertain shy gentleness of manner which was new to him, was quite adifferent person from that Miss Paget whose wan face had looked at himso anxiously in the saloons of the Belgian. Kursaal. 

At first there was considerable restraint in the tone of theconversation, and some little of that unnecessary discussion as towhether this evening was warmer than the preceding evening, or whetherit was not, indeed, the warmest evening of all that summer. And then, when the ice was broken, Mr. Hawkehurst began to talk at his ease aboutParis, which city Miss Halliday had never seen; about the last book, the last play, the last folly, the last fashionable bonnet; for it wasone of the special attributes of this young Robert Macaire to be ableto talk about anything, and to adapt himself to any society. Charlotteopened her eyes to their widest extent as she listened to this animatedstranger. She had been so wearied by the dry as dust arguments of Citymen who had discussed the schemes of great contractors, "which willnever be carried out, sir, while money is at its present rate, mark mywords, "--or the chances of a company "which is eaten up bydebenture-bonds and preference-shares, sir, and will never pay itsoriginal proprietors one sixpence of interest on their capital, " with agreat deal more of the same character; and it was quite new to her tohear about novels, theatres, and bonnets from masculine lips, and tofind that there were men living who could interest themselves in suchfrivolities. Charlotte was delighted with Diana's friend. It was shewho encouraged Valentine every now and then by some exclamation ofsurprise or expression of interest, while Miss Paget herself wasthoughtful and silent. 

It was not thus that she had hoped to meet Valentine Hawkehurst. Shestole a look at him now and then as he walked by her side. Yes, it wasthe old face--the face which would have been so handsome if there hadbeen warmth and life in it, instead of that cold listlessness whichrepelled all sympathy, and seemed to constitute a kind of mask behindwhich the real man hid himself. 

Diana looked at him, and remembered her parting from him in the chillgray morning on the platform at Forêtdechêne. He had let her go outalone into the dreary world to encounter what fate she might, withoutany more appearance of anxiety than he might have exhibited had shebeen starting for a summer-day's holiday; and now, after a year ofseparation, he met her with the same air of unconcern, and coulddiscourse conventional small talk to another woman while she walked byhis side. 

While Mr. Hawkehurst was talking to Mr. Sheldon's stepdaughter, CaptainPaget had contrived to make himself very agreeable to that gentlemanhimself. Lord Lytton has said that "there is something strange andalmost mesmerical in the _rapport_ between two evil natures. Bring twohonest men together, and it is ten to one if they recognise each otheras honest; differences in temper, manner, even politics, may make eachmisjudge the other. But bring together two men unprincipled andperverted--men who, if born in a cellar, would have been food for thehulks or gallows--and they understand each other by instant sympathy. "However this might be with these two men, they had speedily become uponvery easy terms with each other. Mr. Sheldon's plans for the making ofmoney were very complicated in their nature, and he had frequent needof clever instruments to assist in the carrying out of hisarrangements. Horatio Paget was the exact type of man most likely to beuseful to such a speculator as Philip Sheldon. He was the very ideal ofthe "Promoter, " the well-dressed, well-mannered gentleman, beneathwhose magic wand new companies arise as if by magic; the man who, without a sixpence in his own pocket, can set a small Pactolus flowingfrom the pockets of other people; the man who, content himself to livein a humble second floor at Chelsea, can point to gigantic hotels whichare as the palaces of a new Brobdignag, and say, "Lo, these arose at mybidding!" Mr. Sheldon was always on the alert to discover anything oranybody likely to serve his own interest, either in the present or thefuture; and he came to the conclusion that Miss Paget's father was aperson upon whom an occasional dinner might not be altogether thrownaway. 

"Take a chop with us to-morrow at six, " he said, on parting from theCaptain, "and then you can hear the two girls play and sing. They playremarkably well, I believe, from what other people tell me; but I amnot a musical man myself. "

Horatio Paget accepted the invitation as cordially as it was given. Itis astonishing how genial and friendly these men of the world can be atthe slightest imaginable notice. One can fancy the striped tigers ofBengal shaking paws in the jungle, the vultures hob-nobbing in amountain cleft over the torn carcass of a stag, the kites putting theirbeaks together after dining on a nest of innocent doves. 

"Then we shall expect to see you at sharp six, " said Mr. Sheldon, "andyour friend Mr. Hawkehurst with you, of course. "

After this the two gentlemen departed. Valentine shook hands withDiana, and took a more ceremonious leave of Charlotte. George Sheldonthrew away his chewed geranium-stalk in order to bid good evening tothe visitors; and the little party walked to the garden-gate together. 

"That Sheldon seems a very clever fellow, " said Captain Paget, as heand Valentine walked towards the Park, which they had to cross on theirway to Chelsea, where the Captain had secured a convenient lodging. "Iwonder whether he is any relation to the Sheldon who is in with a lowset of money-lenders?"

"What, the Sheldon of Gray's Inn?" exclaimed Mr. Hawkehurst. "We caneasily find that out. "

 * * * * *

Horatio Paget and Valentine Hawkehurst were frequent visitors at theLawn after that first evening. Mr. Sheldon found the Captain useful tohim in the carrying out of certain business arrangements on more thanone occasion, and the relations between the respectable stockbroker andthe disreputable adventurer assumed a very friendly character. Dianawondered to see so spotless a citizen as Philip Sheldon hand-and-glovewith her father. Mrs. Sheldon and Charlotte were delighted with theCaptain and his _protégé_; these two penniless Bohemians were so muchmore agreeable to the feminine mind than the City men who were wont tosit in the dining-room slowly imbibing Mr. Sheldon's old port in thelong summer evenings, while their wives endured the abomination ofdesolation with Georgy and Charlotte in the drawing-room. Captain Pagetpaid Mrs. Sheldon flowery compliments, and told her delightful storiesof the aristocracy and all that shining West-end world with which hehad once been familiar. Poor simple Georgy regarded him with thatreverential awe which a middle-class country-bred woman is prone tofeel for a man who bears upon him that ineffaceable stamp of high birthand good breeding, not to be destroyed by half a century ofdegradation. Nor could Charlotte withhold her admiration from the manwhose tone was so infinitely superior to that of all the other men shehad encountered. In his darkest hour Captain Paget had found his bestfriends, or his easiest dupes, among women. It had gone hard with himwhen his dear friend had withheld the temporary accommodation of afive-pound note; but it had been much harder when his friend's wife hadrefused the loan of "a little silver. "

Valentine Hawkehurst came very often to the Lawn, sometimes with hisfriend and patron, sometimes alone. He brought the young ladies smallofferings in the way of a popular French novel adapted for feminineperusal, or an occasional box for some theatre which had fallen uponevil days, and was liberal in the circulation of "paper. " He met thetwo girls sometimes in their morning walks in Kensington-gardens, andwalked with them in the leafy avenues, and only left them at the gateby which they departed. So much of his life was a listless waiting forthe arising of new chances, that he had ample time to waste in femininesociety, and he seemed very well inclined to loiter away the leisurehours of existence in the companionship of Diana and her friend. 

And was Miss Paget glad of his coming, and pleased to be in hiscompany? Alas, no! The time had been, and only within a few months, when she had sickened for the sight of his familiar face, and fanciedthat the most exquisite happiness life could afford her would be to seehim once more, anywhere, under any circumstances. She saw him nowalmost daily, and she was miserable. She saw him; but another woman hadcome between her and the man she loved: and now, if his voice took asofter tone, or if his eyes assumed a tender earnestness of expression, it might be Charlotte's influence which wrought the transformation. Whocould say that it was not on Charlotte's account he came so often, andlingered so long? Diana looked at him sometimes with haggard angryeyes, which saw that it was Miss Halliday who absorbed his attention. It was Charlotte--Charlotte, who was so bright and happy a creaturethat the coldest heart must needs have been moved and melted by herfascination. What was the cold patrician beauty of Miss Paget's facewhen compared with the changeful charm of this radiant girl, with theflashing gray eyes and piquant features, and all those artless capricesof manner which made her arch loveliness irresistible? Diana's heartgrew sick and cold as she watched these two day by day, and saw theinnocent school-girl's ascendancy over the adventurer. The attributeswhich made Charlotte charming were just those very attributes whichValentine Hawkehurst had been least accustomed to discover in thewomankind he had hitherto encountered. He had seen beautiful women, elegant and fascinating women, without number; but this frank girlishnature, this happy childlike disposition, was entirely new to him. Howshould he have met bright childlike creatures in the pathways which hehad trodden? For the first time in his life a fresh young heartrevealed its treasures of purity and tenderness before his world-wearyeyes, and his own heart was melted by the new influence. He had admiredDiana; he had been touched by her girlish fancy for him, and had lovedher as well as he had believed himself capable of loving any woman. Butwhen Prudence and Honour counselled him to stifle and crush his growingaffection for the beautiful companion of his wanderings, the strugglehad involved no agony of regret or despair. He had told himself that nogood could ever come of his love for Captain Paget's daughter, and hehad put aside that love before it had taken any vital root in his heart. He had been very strong and resolute in this matter--resisting looks ofsad surprise which would have melted a softer nature. And he had beenproud of his own firmness. "Better for her, and better for me, " he hadsaid to himself: "let her outlive her foolish schoolgirl fancies, andwait patiently till her beauty wins her a rich husband. As for me, Imust marry some prosperous tradesman's widow, if I ever marry at all. "

The influence of the world in which his life had been spent haddegraded Valentine Hawkehurst, and had done much to harden him; and yethe was not altogether hard. He discovered his own weakness very soonafter the beginning of his acquaintance with Mr. Sheldon'sstepdaughter. He knew very well that if he had been no fitting loverfor Diana Paget, he was still less a fitting lover for CharlotteHalliday. He knew that although it might suit Mr. Sheldon's purpose tomake use of the Captain and himself as handy instruments for theaccomplishment of somewhat dirty work, he would be the very last man toaccept one of those useful instruments as a husband for hisstepdaughter. He knew all this; and knew that, apart from all worldlyconsiderations, there was an impassable gulf between himself andCharlotte. What could there be in common between the unprincipledcompanion of Horatio Paget and this innocent girl, whose darkest sinhad been a neglected lesson or an ill-written exercise? If he couldhave given her a home and a position, an untarnished name andrespectable associations, he would even yet have been unworthy of heraffection, unable to assure her happiness. 

"I am a scoundrel and an adventurer, " he said to himself, in his mostcontemptuous spirit. "If some benevolent fairy were to give me thebrightest home that was ever created for man, and Charlotte for mywife, I daresay I should grow tired of my happiness in a week or two, and go out some night to look for a place where I could play billiardsand drink beer. Is there any woman upon this earth who could render myexistence supportable _without_ billiards and beer?"

Knowing himself much better than the Grecian philosopher seemed tothink it possible for human nature to know itself, Mr. Hawkehurstdecided that it was his bounden duty, both for his own sake and that ofthe young lady in question, to keep clear of the house in which MissHalliday lived, and the avenue in which she was wont to walk. He toldhimself this a dozen times a day, and yet he made his appearance at theLawn whenever he had the poorest shadow of an excuse for going there;and it seemed as if the whole business of his life lay at the two endsof Charlotte's favourite avenue, so often did he find himself calledupon to perambulate that especial thoroughfare. He knew that he wasweak and foolish and dishonourable; he knew that he was sowing thedragon's teeth from which were to spring up armed demons that wouldrend and tear him. But Charlotte's eyes were unspeakably bright andbewitching, and Charlotte's voice was very sweet and tender. Athrilling consciousness that he was not altogether an indifferentperson in Charlotte's consideration had possessed him of late when hefound himself in that young lady's society, and a happiness which hadhitherto been strange to him gave a new zest to his purposeless life. 

He still affected the old indifference of manner, the idle listlesstone of a being who has finished with all the joys and sorrows, affections and aspirations, of the world in which he lives. But thepretence had of late become a very shallow one. In Charlotte's presencehe was eager and interested in spite of himself--childishly eager aboutthe veriest trifles which interested her. Love had taken up the glassof Time; and the days and hours were reckoned by a new standard;everything in the world had suffered some wondrous change, whichValentine Hawkehurst tried in vain to understand. The very earth uponwhich he walked had undergone some mystic process of transformation;the very streets of London were new to him. He had knownKensington-gardens from his boyhood; but not those enchanted avenuesof beech and elm in which he walked with Charlotte. In the plainestand most commonplace phraseology, Mr. Hawkehurst had fallen in love. This penniless adventurer, who at eight-and-twenty years of age wassteeped to the lips in the worst experiences of a very indifferentworld, found himself all at once hanging upon the words and livingupon the looks of an ignorant schoolgirl. 

The discovery that he was capable of this tender weakness had an almostoverwhelming effect upon Mr. Hawkehurst. He was ashamed of this touchof humanity, this foolish affection which had awakened all that waspurest and best in a nature that had been so long abandoned todegrading influences. For some time he fought resolutely against thatwhich he considered his folly; but the training which had made him themaster of many a perplexing position had not given him the mastery overhis own inclinations; and when he found that Charlotte's society hadbecome the grand necessity of his life, he abandoned himself to hisfate without further resistance. He let himself drift with the tidethat was so much stronger than himself; and if there were breakersahead, or fatal rocks lurking invisible beneath the blue waters, hemust take his chance. His frail bark must go to pieces when her timecame. In the meanwhile it was so delicious to float upon the summersea, that a man could afford to forget future possibilities in the wayof rocks and quicksands. 

Miss Paget had known very few pleasures in the course of heruncared-for youth; but she hitherto had experienced no such anguish asthat which she had now to endure in her daily intercourse with Valentineand Charlotte. She underwent her martyrdom bravely, and no prying eyediscovered the sufferings which her proud nature supported in silence. "Who takes any heed of my feelings, or cares whether I am glad orsorry?" she thought; "_he_ does not. "

CHAPTER VI. 

THE COMPACT OF GRAY'S INN. 

The sand which ran so swiftly in the glass which that bright youngurchin Love had wrested from the hand of grim old Time ran with analmost equal swiftness in the hour-glasses of lodging-house keepers andtradespeople, and the necessities of every day demanded perpetualexertion on the part of Mr. Hawkehurst, let Charlotte's eyes be neverso bright, and Charlotte's society never so dear. For Captain Paget andhis _protégé_ there was no such thing as rest; and the ingeniousCaptain took care that the greater part of the labour should beperformed by Valentine, while the lion's share of the spoil was pouncedupon by the ready paw of the noble Horatio. Just now he found his pupilunusually plastic, unusually careless of his own interests, and readyto serve his master with agreeable blindness. Since that awkward littleaffair at Forêtdechêne, that tiresome entanglement about a King ofSpades which had put in an appearance at a moment when no such monarchwas to be expected, Captain Paget had obtained the means of existencein a manner which was almost respectable, if not altogether honest; forit is not to be supposed that honesty and respectability are by anymeans synonymous terms. It was only by the exercise of superhumanaddress that the Captain had extricated himself from that perplexingpredicament at the Belgian watering-place; and it may be that theunpleasant experiences of that particular evening were not without asalutary effect upon the adventurer's future plans. 

"It was touch-and-go work, Val, " he said to his companion; "and if Ihadn't carried matters with a high hand, and sprung my position as anofficer in the English service upon those French ruffians, I don't knowwhere it would have ended. "

"It might have come to a metallic ornamentation of the ankle, and someamiable 444, who has murdered his grandmother with a red-hot poker andextenuating circumstances, for your companion, " murmured Valentine. "Iwouldn't try it on with that supererogatory king again on this side ofthe Channel, if I were you. "

The Captain bestowed a freezing look on his flippant _protégé_ and thencommenced a very grave discussion of future ways and means, which endedin an immediate departure for Paris, where the two men entered upon anunpretentious career in the commercial line as agents and travellersfor the patentees of an improved kind of gutta percha, which materialwas supposed to be applicable to every imaginable purpose, from thesole of an infant's boot to the roof of a cathedral. There are timeswhen genius must stoop to pick up its daily pittance; and for twelvemonths the elegant Horatio Paget was content to devote his bestenergies to the perpetual praise of the Incorrodible and Indestructibleand Incombustible India-rubber, in consideration of a very modestpercentage on his commercial transactions in that material. To exertthe persuasive eloquence of a Burke or a Thurlow in order to induce aman to roof his new warehouses with a fabric which you are aware willbe torn into ribbons by the first run of stormy weather, for the sakeof obtaining two-and-a-half per cent on his investment, may not be inaccordance with the honourable notions of a Bayard, and yet in acommercial sense may be strictly correct. It was only when CaptainPaget had made a comfortable little purse out of his percentage uponthe Incorrodible and Incombustible that he discovered the extremedegradation of his position as agent and traveller. He determined onreturning to the land of his birth. Joint-stock companies werebeginning to multiply in the commercial world at this period; andwherever there are many schemes for the investment of public capitalthere is room for such a man as Horatio Paget--a man who, with the aidof a hired brougham, can inspire confidence in the breast of the leastdaring speculator. 

The Captain came, accompanied as usual by that plastic tool andsubaltern, Valentine Hawkehurst, who, being afflicted with a chronicweariness of everything in life, was always eager to abandon anypresent pursuit in favour of the vaguest contingency, and to shake offthe dust of any given locality from his vagabond feet. Captain Pagetand his _protégé_ came to London, where a fortunate combination ofcircumstances threw them in the way of Mr. Sheldon. 

The alliance which arose between that gentleman and the Captain openeda fair prospect for the latter. Mr. Sheldon was interested in theformation of a certain joint-stock company, but had his own reasons fornot wishing to be identified with it. A stalking-horse is by no means adifficult kind of animal to procure in the cattle-fairs of London; buta stalking-horse whose paces are sufficiently showy and imposing--ahigh-stepper, of thoroughbred appearance, and a mouth sensitively aliveto the lightest touch of the curb, easy to ride or drive, warrantedneither a kicker nor a bolter--is a quadruped of rare excellence, notto be met with every day. Just such a stalking-horse was Captain Paget;and Mr. Sheldon lost no time in putting him into action. It is scarcelynecessary to say that the stockbroker trusted his new acquaintance onlyso far as it was absolutely necessary to trust him; or that the Captainand the stockbroker thoroughly understood each other without affectingto do so. For Horatio Paget the sun of prosperity arose in unaccustomedsplendour. He was able to pay for his lodgings, and was an eminentlyrespectable person in the eyes of his landlord. He enjoyed the dailyuse of a neatly-appointed brougham, in which only the most practisedeye could discover the taint of the livery stable. He dined sumptuouslyat fashionable restaurants, and wore the freshest of lavender gloves, the most delicate of waxen heath-blossoms or creamy-tinted exotics inthe button-hole of his faultless coat. 

While the chief flourished, the subaltern was comparatively idle. Thepatrician appearance and manners of the Captain were a perennial sourceof profit to that gentleman; but Valentine Hawkehurst had not apatrician appearance; and the work which Mr. Sheldon found for him wasof a more uncertain and less profitable character than that which fellto the share of the elegant Horatio. But Valentine was content. Heshared the Captain's lodging, though he did not partake of theCaptain's dinners or ride in the smart little brougham. He had a roofto shelter him, and was rarely unprovided with the price of some kindof dinner; and as this was the highest order of prosperity he had everknown, he was content. He was more than content; for the first time inhis existence he knew what it was to be happy. A purer joy than lifehad ever held for him until now made him careless whether his dinnercost eighteenpence or eighteen shillings; whether he rode in the mostperfect of broughams or walked in the mud. He took no heed for thefuture; he forgot the past, and abandoned himself heart and soul to thenew delights of the present. 

Never had Philip Sheldon found so willing a tool, so cheap a drudge. Valentine was ready to do anything or everything for Charlotte'sstepfather, since his relations with that gentleman enabled him tospend so much of his life with Charlotte. 

But even in this sublimated state of mind Mr. Hawkehurst was not exemptfrom the great necessity of Mr. Skimpole and humanity at large. Hewanted pounds. His garments were shabby, and he desired new and elegantraiment in which to appear to advantage before the eyes of the woman heloved. It had been his privilege on several occasions to escort Mrs. Sheldon and the two younger ladies to a theatre; and even thisprivilege had cost him money. He wanted pounds to expend upon those newbooks and music which served so often as the excuse for a visit to theLawn. He wanted pounds for very trivial purposes; but he wanted themdesperately. A lover without pounds is the most helpless andcontemptible of mankind; he is a knight-errant without his armour, a troubadour without his lute. 

In his dilemma Mr. Hawkehurst resorted to that simple method whichcivilisation has devised for the relief of pecuniary difficulties of atemporary nature. He had met George Sheldon several times at the Lawn, and had become tolerably intimate with that gentleman, whom he now knewto be "the Sheldon of Gray's Inn, " and the ally and agent of certainbill-discounters. To George he went one morning; and after requestingthat Captain Paget should know nothing of his application, explainedhis requirements. It was a very small sum which he asked for, modestlyconscious that the security he had to offer was of the weakest. He onlywanted thirty pounds, and was willing to give a bill at two months forfive-and-thirty. 

There was a good deal of hesitation on the part of the lawyer; butValentine had expected to meet with some difficulty, and was notaltogether unprepared for a point-blank refusal. He was agreeablysurprised when George Sheldon told him he would manage that "littlematter; only the bill must be for forty. " But in proof of the liberalspirit in which Mr. Hawkehurst was to be treated, the friendly lawyerinformed him that the two months should be extended to three. 

Valentine did not stop to consider that by this friendly process he wasto pay at the rate of something over a hundred and thirty per cent perannum for the use of the money he wanted. He knew that this was hisonly chance of getting money; so he shut his eyes to the expensivenature of the transaction, and thanked Mr. Sheldon for theaccommodation granted to him. 

"And now we've settled that little business, I should like to have afew minutes' private chat with you, " said George, "on the understandingthat what passes between you and me is strictly confidential. "

"Of course!"

"You seem to have been leading rather an idle life for the last fewmonths; and it strikes me, Mr. Hawkehurst, you're too clever a fellowto care about that sort of thing. "

"Well, I have been in some measure wasting my sweetness on the desertair, " Valentine answered carelessly. "The governor seems to haveslipped into a good berth by your brother's agency; but I am notHoratio Nugent Cromie Paget, and the brougham and lavender kids of thePromoter are not for me. "

"There is money to be picked up by better dodges than promoting, "replied the attorney ambiguously; "but I suppose you wouldn't care foranything that didn't bring immediate cash? You wouldn't care tospeculate the chances, however well the business might promise?"

"_C'est selon!_ That's as may be, " answered Valentine coolly. "You seethose affairs that promise so much are apt to fail when it comes to aquestion of performance. I'm not a capitalist; I can't afford to becomea speculator. I've been living from hand to mouth lately by means ofoccasional contributions to a sporting weekly, and a little bit ofbusiness which your brother threw in my way. I've been able to betolerably useful to him, and he promises to get me something in the wayof a clerkship, foreign correspondence, and that kind of thing. "

"Humph!" muttered George Sheldon; "that means eighty pounds a year andfourteen hours' work a day, letters that must be answered by this mail, and so on. I don't think that kind of drudgery would ever suit you, Hawkehurst. You've not served the right apprenticeship for that sort ofthing; you ought to try for some higher game. What should you say to anaffair that might put two or three thousand pounds in your pocket if itwas successful?"

"I should fed very much inclined to fancy it a bubble--one of thosedazzling rainbow-tinted globes which look so bright dancing about inthe sunshine, and explode into nothing directly they encounter anytangible substance. However, my dear Sheldon, if you really have anyemployment to offer to a versatile young man who is not overburdenedwith vulgar prejudices, you'd better put the business in plain words. "

"I will, " answered George; "but it's not an affair that can bediscussed in five minutes. It's rather a serious matter, and involves agood deal of consideration. I know that you're a man of the world, anda very clever fellow into the bargain; but there's something more thanthat wanted for this business, and that is patience. The hare is a veryfine animal in her way, you know; but a man must have a little of thetortoise in him if he wants to achieve anything out of the common runin the way of good luck. I have been working, and waiting, andspeculating the chances for the last fifteen years, and I think I'vegot a good chance at last. But there's a good deal of work to be donebefore the business is finished; and I find that I must have some oneto help me. "

"What sort of business is it?"

"The search for the heir-at-law of a man who has died intestate withinthe last ten years. "

The two men looked at each other at this juncture; and ValentineHawkehurst smiled significantly. 

"Within the last ten years?" he said. "That's rather a wide margin. "

"Do you think you would be a good hand at hunting up the missing linksin the chain of a family history?" asked Mr. Sheldon. "It's rathertiresome work, you know, and requires no common amount of patience andperseverance. "

"I can persevere, " said Valentine decisively, "if you can show me thatit will be worth my while to do so. You want an heir-at-law, and I'm tolook for him. What am I to get while I'm looking for him? and what isto be my reward if I find him?"

"I'll give you a pound a week and your travelling expenses while you'reemployed in the search; and I'll give you three thousand pounds on theday the heir gets his rights. "

"Humph!" muttered Mr. Hawkehurst, rather doubtfully; "three thousandpounds is a very respectable haul. But then, you see, I may fail todiscover the heir; and even if I do find him the chances are ten to onethat the business would be thrown into Chancery at the last moment; inwhich case I might wait till doomsday for the reward of my labours. "

George Sheldon shrugged his shoulders impatiently. He had expected thispenniless adventurer to catch eagerly at the chance he offered. "Threethousand pounds are not to be picked up in the streets, " he said. "Ifyou don't care to work with me, I can find plenty of clever fellows inLondon who'll jump at the business. "

"And you want me to begin work--?"

"Immediately. "

"And how am I to pay forty pounds in three months out of a pound aweek?"

"Never mind the bill, " said Mr. Sheldon, with lofty generosity. "If youwork heart and soul for me, I'll square that little matter for you;I'll get it renewed for another three months. "

"In that case I'm your man. I don't mind a little hard work just now, and I can live upon a pound a week where another man would starve. Sonow for my instructions. "

There was a brief pause, during which the lawyer refreshed himself bywalking up and down his office two or three times with his hands in hispockets. After which relief he seated himself before his desk, took outa sheet of foolscap, and selected a pen from the inkstand. 

"It's just as well to put things in a thoroughly business-like manner, "he said presently. "I suppose you'd have no objection to signing amemorandum of agreement--nothing that would be of any use in a court oflaw, you know, but a simple understanding between man and man, for ourown satisfaction, as a safeguard against all possibility ofmisunderstanding in the future. I've every reason to consider you themost honourable of men, you know; but honourable men turn round uponeach other sometimes. You might ask me for something more than threethou' if you succeeded in your search. "

"Precisely; or I might make terms with the heir-at-law, and throw youover. Perhaps that was your idea?"

"Not exactly. The first half of the chain is in my hands, and thesecond half will be worth nothing without it. But to prevent allunpleasantness we may as well put our intentions upon record. "

"I've not the least objection, " replied Valentine with supremeindifference. "Draw up whatever memorandum you please, and I'll signit. If you don't mind smoke, I should like to console myself with acigar while you draw the bond. "

The question was a polite formula, the atmosphere of George Sheldon'soffice being redolent of stale tobacco. 

"Smoke away, " said the lawyer; "and if you can drink brandy-and-soda atthis time of day, you'll find the _de quoi_ in that cupboard. Makeyourself at home. "

Mr. Hawkehurst declined the brandy-and-soda, and regaled himself onlywith a cigar, which he took from his own case. He sat in one of thesecond-floor windows smoking, and looking dreamily into the gardens, while George Sheldon drew up the agreement. He was thinking that anyhazard which took him away from London and Charlotte Halliday might bea fortunate one. 

The lawyer finished his document, which he read aloud for the benefitof the gentleman who was to sign it. The agreement was in the followingterms:--

"Memorandum of agreement between George Sheldon on the one part, andValentine Hawkehurst on the other part, whereby it is this day mutuallyagreed by and between the parties hereto as follows:

"1. That, in consideration of a weekly salary of one pound while inpursuit of certain inquiries, and of the sum of three thousand poundsto be paid upon the arising of a certain event, namely, theestablishment of an heir-at-law to the estates of the late JohnHaygarth, the said Valentine Hawkehurst shall act as agent for the saidGeorge Sheldon, and shall not at any time during the continuance ofthis agreement do any act to prejudice the inquiry or the steps nowbeing taken by the said George Sheldon to discover and establish anheir-at-law to the estates of the late John Haygarth. 

"2. That at no time hereafter shall the said Valentine Hawkehurst beentitled to a larger recompense than is herein-before provided; norshall he be liable to the said George Sheldon for the return of anymoneys which the said George Sheldon may advance on account of thesaid inquiries in the event of the same not resulting in theestablishment of an heir to the estates of the late John Haygarth. 

"3. That the said Valentine Hawkehurst shall not alter his character ofagent to the said George Sheldon during the prosecution of the saidinquiry; that he shall deliver over to the said George Sheldon alldocuments and other forms of evidence that may arise from his, the saidValentine Hawkehurst's, inquires; and that he shall week by week, and every week, and as often as may be necessary, report to the saidGeorge Sheldon the result of such inquiries, and that he shall noton any pretence whatever be at liberty to withhold such fruits of hisresearches, nor discover the same to any one else than the said GeorgeSheldon, under a penalty of ten thousand pounds, to be recovered asliquidated damages previously agreed between the parties as the measureof damages payable to the said George Sheldon upon the breach ofthis agreement by the said Valentine Hawkehurst. 

"In witness whereof the parties hereto have this 20th day of September1862 set their hands and affixed their seals. " "That sounds stiffenough to hold water in a court of law, " said Valentine, when GeorgeSheldon had recited the contents of the document. 

"I don't suppose it would be much good in Chancery-lane, " returned thelawyer carelessly; "though I daresay it sounds rather formidable toyou. When one gets the trick of the legal jargon, it's not easy to drawthe simplest form of agreement without a few superfluous words. I mayas well call in my clerk to witness our signatures, I suppose. "

"Call in any one you like. "

The clerk was summoned from a sunless and airless den at the back ofhis principal's office. The two men appended their signatures to thedocument; the clerk added his in witness of the genuine nature of thosesignatures. It was an affair of two minutes. The clerk was dismissed. Mr. Sheldon blotted and folded the memorandum, and laid it aside in oneof the drawers of his desk. 

"Come, " he said cheerily, "that's a business-like beginning at anyrate. And now you'd better have some brandy-and-soda, for what I've gotto say will take some time in the saying of it. "

On this occasion Mr. Hawkehurst accepted the lawyer's hospitality, andthere was some little delay before the conversation proceeded. 

It was a very long conversation. Mr. Sheldon produced a bundle ofpapers, and exhibited some of them to his agent, beginning with thatadvertisement in the _Times_ which had first attracted his notice, buttaking very good care _not_ to show his coadjutor the obituary in the_Observer_, wherein the amount of the intestate's fortune was stated. The ready wits which had been sharpened at so many differentgrindstones proved keen enough for the occasion. Valentine Hawkehursthad had little to do with genealogies or baptismal registers during hispast career; but his experiences were of such a manifold nature that hewas not easily to be baffled or mystified by any new experience. Heshowed himself almost as quick at tracing up the intricacies of afamily tree as Mr. Sheldon, the astute attorney and practisedgenealogist. 

"I have traced these Haygarths back to the intestate's great-grandfather, who was a carpenter and a Puritan in the reign of Charles the First. Heseems to have made money--how I have not been able to discover with anycertainty; but it is more than probable he served in the civil wars, andcame in for some of the plunder those crop-eared, psalm-singing, pierce-the-brain-of-the-tyrant-with-the-nail-of-Jael scoundrels werealways in the way of, at the sack of Royalist mansions. The man mademoney; and his son, the grandfather of the intestate, was a wealthycitizen in the reigns of Anne and the first George. He was a grocer, and lived in the market-place of Ullerton in Leicestershire; anout-of-the-way sleepy place it is now, but was prosperous enough inthose days, I daresay. This man (the grandfather) began the world welloff, and amassed a large fortune before he had done with it. The luckybeggar lived in the days when free trade and competition were unknown, when tea was something like sixty shillings a pound, and when apsalm-singing sleek-haired fellow, with a reputation for wealth andhonesty, might cheat his customers to his heart's content. He had oneson, Matthew, who seems, from what I can gather, to have been a wild sortof fellow in the early part of his career, and not to have been at anytime on the best possible terms with the sanctimonious dad. ThisMatthew married at fifty-three years of age, and died a year after hismarriage, leaving one son, who afterwards became the reverendintestate; with whom, according to the evidence at present before me, ends the direct line of the Haygarths. " The lawyer paused, turned overtwo or three papers, and then resumed his explanation. "Thesanctimonious grocer, Jonathan Haygarth, had one other child besidesthe son--a daughter called Ruth, who married a certain Peter Judson, and became the mother of a string of sons and daughters; and it isamongst the descendants of these Judsons that we may have to look forour heir at law, unless we find him nearer home. Now my idea is that we_shall_ find him nearer home. "

"What reason have you for forming that idea?" asked Valentine. 

"I will tell you. This Matthew Haygarth is known to have been a wildfellow. I obtained a good deal of fragmentary information about himfrom an old man in some almshouses at Ullerton, whose grandfather was aschoolfellow of Matthew's. He was a scapegrace, and was always spendingmoney in London while the respectable psalm-singer was hoarding it inUllerton. There used to be desperate quarrels between the two men, andtowards the end of Jonathan Haygarth's life the old man made half adozen different wills in favour of half a dozen different people, andcutting off scapegrace Matthew with a shilling. Fortunately forscapegrace Matthew, the old man had a habit of quarrelling with hisdearest friends--a fashion not quite exploded in this enlightenednineteenth century--and the wills were burnt one after another, untilthe worthy Jonathan became as helpless and foolish as his greatcontemporary and namesake, the Dean of St. Patrick's; and after havingdied 'first at top, ' did his son the favour to die altogether, _intestate_, whereby the roisterer and spendthrift of Soho andCovent-garden came into a very handsome fortune. The old man died in1766, aged eighty; a very fine specimen of your good old Englishtradesman of the Puritanical school. The roisterer, Matthew, was bythis time forty-six years of age, and, I suppose, had grown tired ofroistering. In any case he appears to have settled down very quietly inthe old family house in the Ullerton market-place, where he married arespectable damsel of the Puritan school, some seven years after, andin which house, or in the neighbourhood whereof, he departed this life, with awful suddenness, one year after his marriage, leaving his son andheir, the reverend intestate. And now, my dear Hawkehurst, you're asharp fellow, and I daresay a good hand at guessing social conundrums;so perhaps you begin to see my idea. "

"I can't say I do. "

"My notion is, that Matthew Haygarth may possibly have married beforehe was fifty-three years of age. Men of his stamp don't often live tothat ripe age without being caught in matrimonial toils somehow orother. It was in the days of Fleet marriages--in the days when youngmen about town were even more reckless and more likely to become theprey of feminine deception than they are now. The fact that MatthewHaygarth revealed no such marriage is no conclusive evidence against myhypothesis. He died very suddenly--intestate, as it seems the habit ofthese Haygarths to die; and he had never made any adjustment of hisaffairs. According to the oldest inhabitant in Ullerton almshouses, this Matthew was a very handsome fellow, generous-hearted, open-handed--a devil-may-care kind of a chap, the type of the rollicking heroes inold comedies; the very man to fall over head and ears in love before hewas twenty, and to go through fire and water for the sake of the womanhe loved: in short, the very last man upon earth to live a bacheloruntil his fifty-fourth year. "

"He may--"

"He may have been a profligate, you were going to say, and have hadbaser ties than those of Church and State. So he may; but if he was ascoundrel, tradition flatters him. Of course all the information onecan gather about a man who died in 1774 must needs be of a veryuncertain and fragmentary character. But if I can trust the rather hazyrecollections of my oldest inhabitant about what his father told him_his_ father had said of wild Mat Haygarth, the young man's wildnesswas very free from vice. There is no legend of innocence betrayed orinfamy fostered by Matthew Haygarth. He appears to have enjoyed whatthe young men of that day called life--attended cock-fights, beat thewatch, gambled a little, and was intimately acquainted with theinterior of the Fleet and Marshalsea prisons. For nearly twenty yearshe seems to have lived in London; and during all those years he waslost sight of by the Ullerton people. My oldest inhabitant'sgrandfather was clerk to a merchant in the city of London, and hadtherefore some opportunity of knowing his old schoolfellow'sproceedings in the metropolis. But the two townsmen don't seem to haveseen much of each other in the big city. Their meetings were rare, and, so far as I can make out, for the most part accidental. But, as I saidbefore, my oldest inhabitant is somewhat hazy, and excruciatinglyprolix; his chaff is in the proportion of some fifty to one of hiswheat. I've given a good deal of time to this case already, you see, Mr. Hawkehurst; and you'll find _your_ work very smooth sailingcompared to what I've gone through. "

"I daresay that sort of investigation is rather tiresome in the earlierstages. "

"You'd say so, with a vengeance, if you had to do it, " answered GeorgeSheldon almost savagely. "You start with the obituary of some old blokewho was so disgustingly old when he consented to die that there is noone living who can tell you when he was born, or who were his fatherand mother; for, of course, the old idiot takes care not to leave ablessed document of any kind which can aid a fellow in his researches. And when you've had the trouble of hunting up half a dozen men of thesame name, and have addled your wretched brains in the attempt to patchthe half dozen men--turning up at different periods and in differentplaces--into one man, they all tumble to pieces like a child's puzzle, and you find yourself as far as ever from the man you want. However, _you_ won't have to do any of that work, " added Mr. Sheldon, who wasalmost in a passion when he remembered the trouble he had gone through. "The ground has been all laid out for you, by Jove, as smooth as abowling-green; and if you look sharp, you'll pick up your, three thou'before you know where you are. "

"I hope I shall, " answered Valentine coolly. He was not the sort ofperson to go into raptures about three thousand pounds, though such asum must needs have seemed to him the wealth of a small Rothschild. "Iknow I want money badly enough, and am ready and willing to work for itconscientiously, if I get the chance. But to return to this MatthewHaygarth. Your idea is that there may have been a marriage previous tothe one at Ullerton?"

"Precisely. Of course there may have been no such previous marriage;but you see it's on the cards; and since it is on the cards, my notionis that we had better hunt up the history of Matthew Haygarth's life inLondon, and try to find our heir-at-law there before we go in for theJudsons. If you knew how the Judsons have married and multiplied, andlost themselves among herds of other people, you wouldn't care abouttracing the ramifications of _their_ family tree, " said Mr. Sheldon, with a weary sigh. "So be it, " exclaimed Mr. Hawkehurst carelessly;"we'll leave the Judsons alone, and go in for Matthew Haygarth. "

He spoke with the air of an archaeological Hercules, to whomdifficulties were nothing. It seemed as if he would have been quiteready to "go in" for some sidereal branch of the Plantagenets, or thefemale descendants of the Hardicanute family, if George Sheldon hadsuggested that the intestate's next of kin was to be found _there_. 

"Mat Haygarth, by all means, " he said. He was on jolly-good-fellow-ishterms with the dead-and-gone grocer's son already, and had the tone ofa man who had been his friend and boon companion. "Mat Haygarth is ourman. But how are we to ferret out his doings in London? A man who wasborn in 1720 is rather a remote kind of animal. "

"The secret of success in these matters is time, " answered the lawyersententiously: "a man must have no end of time, and he must keep hisbrain clear of all other business. Those two conditions are impossiblefor me, and that's why I want a coadjutor: now you're a clever youngfellow, with no profession, with no particular social ties, as I canmake out, and your time is all your own; ergo, you're the very man forthis business. The thing is to be done: accept that for a certainty. It's only a question of time. Indeed, when you look at lifephilosophically, what is there on earth that is _not_ a question oftime? Give the crossing-sweeper between this and Chancery-lane timeenough, and he might develop into a Rothschild. He might want ninehundred years or so to do it in; but there's no doubt he could do it, if you gave him time. "

Mr. Sheldon was becoming expansive under the influence of thebrandy-and-soda; for even that mild beverage is not without its effecton the intellectual man. 

"As to this Haygarth case, " he resumed, after the consumption of alittle more soda and a little more brandy, "it's a sure success, if wework it properly; and you know three thou' is not to be despised, "added George persuasively, "even if a fellow has to wait some time forit. "

"Certainly not. And the bulk of the Haygarthian fortune--I supposethat's something rather stiff?" returned Valentine, in the samepersuasive tone. 

"Well, you may suppose it's a decent figure, " answered Mr. Sheldon, with an air of deprecation, "or how could I afford to give you threethou' out of the share I'm likely to get?"

"No, to be sure. I think I shall take to the work well enough when onceI get my hand in; but I shall be very glad of any hint you can give meat starting. "

"Well, my advice is this: begin at the beginning; go down to Ullerton;see my oldest inhabitant. I pumped him as dry as I could, but Icouldn't give myself enough time for thoroughly exhaustive pumping; onehas to waste a small eternity before one gets anything valuable out ofthose hazy old fellows. Follow up this Matthew from his birth; see theplace where he was born; ferret out every detail of his life, so faras it is to be ferreted; trace his way step by step to London, andwhen you get him there, stick to him like a leech. Don't let him slipthrough your fingers for a day; hunt him from lodging to lodging, from tavern to tavern, into jail and out of jail--tantivy, yoicks, hark-forward! I know it's deuced hard work; but a man must workuncommonly hard in these days before he picks up three thou'. In afew words, the game is all before you; so go in and win, " concludedGeorge Sheldon, as he poured the last amber drops from the slimsmoke-coloured bottle, and swallowed his glass of brandy undilutedby soda. 

CHAPTER VII. 

AUNT SARAH. 

After that interview in Gray's Inn, there were more interviews of alike character. Valentine received further instructions from GeorgeSheldon, and got himself posted up in the Haygarthian history, so faras the lawyer's information furnished the materials for such posting. But the sum total of Mr. Sheldon's information seemed very little tohis coadjutor when the young man looked the Haygarthian business fullin the face and considered what he had to do. He felt very much like ayoung prince in the fairy tale who has been bidden to go forth upon anadventurous journey in a trackless forest, where if he escape allmanner of lurking dangers, and remember innumerable injunctions, suchas not to utter a single syllable during the whole course of histravels, or look over his left shoulder, or pat any strange dog, orgather forest fruit or flower, or look at his own reflection in mirroror water-pool, shining brazen shield or jewelled helm, he willultimately find himself before the gates of an enchanted castle, towhich he may or may not obtain admittance. 

Valentine fancied himself in the position of this favourite youngprince. The trackless forest was the genealogy of the Haygarths; and inthe enchanted castle he was to find the crown of success in the shapeof three thousand pounds. Could he marry Charlotte on the strength ofthose three thousand pounds, if he were so fortunate as to unravel thetangled skein of the Haygarth history? Ah, no; that black-whiskeredstockbroking stepfather would ask for something more than threethousand pounds from the man to whom he gave his wife's daughter. 

"He will try to marry her to some rich City swell, I dare say, "thought Valentine. "I should be no nearer her with three thousandpounds for my fortune than I am without a sixpence. The best thing Ican do for her happiness and my own is to turn my back upon her, anddevote myself to hunting the Haygarths. It's rather hard too, just as Ihave begun to fancy that she likes me a little. "

In the course of those interviews in Gray's Inn which occurred beforeValentine took any active steps in his new pursuit, certain conditionswere agreed upon between him and Mr. Sheldon. The first and mostserious of these conditions was, that Captain Paget should be in nowiseenlightened as to his _protégé's_ plans. This was a strong point withGeorge Sheldon. "I have no doubt Paget's a very good fellow, " he said. (It was his habit to call everybody a good fellow. He would have calledNana Sahib a good fellow, and would have made some good-natured excusefor any peccadilloes on the part of that potentate). "Paget's anuncommonly agreeable man, you know; but he is not the man I should careto trust with this kind of secret. " Mr. Sheldon said this with a tonethat implied his willingness to trust Captain Paget with every otherkind of secret, from the contents of his japanned office-boxes to theinnermost mysteries of his soul. 

"You see Paget is thick with my brother Phil, " he resumed; "andwhenever I find a man thick with my relations, I make it a point tokeep clear of that man myself. Relations never have worked well inharness, and never will work well in harness. It seems to be againstnature. Now Phil has a dim kind of idea of the game I want to play, ina general way, but nothing more than a dim idea. He fancies I'm a fool, and that I'm wasting my time and trouble. I mean him to stick to thatnotion. For, you see, in a thing of this kind there's always a chanceof other people cutting in and spoiling a man's game. Of course, thatadvertisement I read to you was seen by other men besides me, and mayhave been taken up. My hope is that whoever has taken it up has gone infor the female branch, and got himself snowed up under a heap ofdocumentary evidence about the Judsons. That's another reason why weshould put our trust in Matthew Haygarth. The Judson line is theobvious line to follow, and there are very few who would think ofhunting up evidence for a hypothetical first marriage until they hadexhausted the Judsons. Now, I rely upon you to throw dust in Paget'seyes, so that there may be no possibility of my brother getting wind ofour little scheme through him. "

"I'll take care of that, " answered Valentine; "he doesn't want me justnow. He's in very high feather, riding about in broughams and dining atWest-end taverns. He won't be sorry to get rid of me for a short time. ""But what'll be your excuse for leaving town? He'll be sure to want areason, you know. "

"I'll invent an aunt at Ullerton, and tell him I'm going down to stopwith her. "

"You'd better not say Ullerton; Paget might take it into his head tofollow you down there in order to see what sort of person your auntwas, and whether she had any money. Paget's an excellent fellow, butthere's never any knowing what that sort of man will do. You'd betterthrow him off the scent altogether. Plant your aunt in Surrey--sayDorking. "

"But if he should want to write to me?"

"Tell him to address to the post-office, Dorking, as your aunt isinquisitive, and might tamper with your correspondence. I daresay hisletters will keep. "

"He could follow me to Dorking as easily as to Ullerton. "

"Of course he could, " answered George Sheldon; "but then, you see, atDorking the most he could find out would be that he'd been made a foolof; whereas if he followed you to Ullerton, he might ferret out thenature of your business there. "

Mr. Hawkehurst perceived the wisdom of this conclusion, and agreed tomake Dorking the place of his relative's abode. 

"It's very near London, " he suggested thoughtfully; "the Captain mighteasily run down. "

"And for that very reason he's all the less likely to do it, " answeredthe lawyer; "a man who thinks of going to a place within an hour's rideof town knows he can go any day, and is likely to think of going to theend of the chapter without carrying out his intention. A man whoresolves to go to Manchester or Liverpool has to make his arrangementsaccordingly, and is likely to put his idea into practice. The peoplewho live on Tower-hill very seldom see the inside of the Tower. It'sthe good folks who come up for a week's holiday from Yorkshire andCornwall who know all about the Crown jewels and John of Gaunt'sarmour. Take my advice, and stick to Dorking. "

Acting upon this advice, Valentine Hawkehurst lay in wait for thePromoter that very evening. He went home early, and was seated by acheery little bit of fire, such as an Englishman likes to see at theclose of a dull autumn day, when that accomplished personage returnedto his lodgings. 

"Deuced tiresome work, " said the Captain, as he smoothed the nap of hishat with that caressing tenderness of manipulation peculiar to the manwho is not very clear as to the means whereby his next hat is to beobtained, --"deuced slow, brain-belabouring work! How many peopledo you think I've called upon to-day, eh, Val? Seven-and-thirty! Whatdo you say to that? Seven-and-thirty interviews, and some of them verytough ones. I think that's enough to take the steam out of a man. "

"Do the moneyed swells bite?" asked Mr. Hawkehurst, with friendlyinterest. 

"Rather slowly, my dear Val, rather slowly. The mercantile fisherieshave been pretty well whipped of late years, and the fish are artful--they are uncommonly artful, Val. Indeed, I'm not quite clear at thispresent moment as to the kind of fly they'll rise to most readily. I'mhalf inclined to be doubtful whether your gaudy pheasant-feather, yourbrougham and lavender-kid business is the right thing for your angler. It has been overdone, Val, considerably overdone; and I shouldn'twonder if a sober little brown fly--a shabby old chap in a rustygreatcoat, with a cotton umbrella under his arm--wouldn't do the trickbetter. That sort of thing would look rich, you see, Val--rich andeccentric; and I think on occasions--with a _very_ downy bird--I'deven go so far as a halfp'orth of snuff in a screw of paper. I reallythink a pinch of snuff out of a bit of paper, taken at the rightmoment, might turn the tide of a transaction. "

Impressed by the brilliancy of this idea, Captain Paget abandonedhimself for the moment to profound meditation, seated in his favouritechair, and with his legs extended before the cheerful blaze. He alwayshad a favourite chair in every caravanserai wherein he rested in hismanifold wanderings, and he had an unerring instinct which guided himin the selection of the most comfortable chair, and that one corner, tobe found in every room, which is a sanctuary secure from the incursionsof Boreas. 

The day just ended had evidently not been a lucky one, and theCaptain's gaze was darkly meditative as he looked into the ruddy littlefire. 

"I think I'll take a glass of cold water with a dash of brandy in it, Val, " he said presently; and he said it with the air of a man whorarely tasted such a beverage; whereas it was as habitual with him tosit sipping brandy-and-water for an hour or so before he went to bed asit was for him to light his chamber candle. "That fellow Sheldon knowshow to take care of himself, " he remarked thoughtfully, when Valentinehad procured the brandy-and-water. "Try some of that cognac, Val; it'snot bad. To tell you the truth, I'm beginning to get sick of thispromoting business. It pays very little better than the India-rubberagency, and it's harder work. I shall look about me for somethingfresh, if Sheldon doesn't treat me handsomely. And what have you beendoing for the last day or two?" asked the Captain, with a searchingglance at his _protégé's_ face. "You're always hanging about Sheldon'splace; but you don't seem to do much business with him. You and hisbrother George seem uncommonly thick. "

"Yes, George suits me better than the stockbroker. I never could get onvery well with your ultra-respectable men. I'm as ready to 'undertake adirty job' as any man; but I don't like a fellow to offer me dirty workand pretend it's clean. "

"Ah, he's been getting you to do a little of the bear business, Isuppose, " said the Captain. "I don't see that your conscience needtrouble you about that. Amongst a commercial people money must changehands. I can't see that it much matters how the change takes place. "

"No, to be sure; that's a comfortable way of putting it, at any rate. However, I'm tired of going about in the ursine guise, and I'm going tocut it. I've an old aunt settled at Dorking who has got a little bit ofmoney to leave, and I think I'll go and look her up. "

"An aunt at Dorking! I never heard of her before. "

"O yes you have, " answered Mr. Hawkehurst, with supreme nonchalance;"you've heard of her often enough, only you've a happy knack of notlistening to other people's affairs. But you must have been wrapped upin yourself with a vengeance if you don't remember to have heard mespeak of my aunt--Sarah. "

"Well, well, it may be so, " murmured the Captain, almostapologetically. "Your aunt Sarah? Ah, to be sure; I have somerecollection: is she your father's sister?"

"No; she's the sister of my maternal grandmother--a great-aunt, youknow. She has a comfortable little place down at Dorking, and I can getfree quarters there whenever I like; so as you don't particularly wantme just now, I think I'll run down to her for a week or two. "

The Captain had no objection to offer to this very natural desire onthe part of his adopted son; nor did he concern himself as to the youngman's motive for leaving London. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

CHARLOTTE PROPHESIES RAIN. 

Mr. Hawkehurst had no excuse for going to the Lawn before hisdeparture; but the stately avenues between Bayswater and Kensington arefree to any man; and, having nothing better to do, Valentine put ashabby little volume of Balzac in his pocket, and spent his lastmorning in town under the shadow of the mighty elms, reading one of thegreat Honoré's gloomiest romances, while the autumn leaves driftedround him, dancing fairy measures on the grass, and scraping andscuffling on the gravel, and while children with hoops and childrenwith balls scampered and screamed in the avenue by which he sat. He wasnot particularly absorbed by his book. He had taken it haphazard fromthe tattered collection of cheap editions which he carried about withhim in his wanderings, ignominiously stuffed into the bottom of aportmanteau, amongst boots and clothes-brushes and disabled razors. 

"I'm sick of them all, " he thought; "the De Beauseants, and Rastignacs, the German Jews, and the patrician beauties, and the Israelitish Circesof the Rue Taitbout, and the sickly self-sacrificing provincial angels, and the ghastly _vieilles filles_. Had that man ever seen such a womanas Charlotte, I wonder--a bright creature, all smiles and sunshine, and sweet impulsive tenderness; an angel who can be angelic withoutbeing _poitri-naire_, and whose amiability never degenerates intoscrofula? There is an odour of the dissecting-room pervading all myfriend Balzac's novels, and I don't think he was capable of paintinga fresh, healthy nature. What a mass of disease he would have made LucyAshton, and with what dismal relish he would have dilated upon thephysical sufferings of Amy Robsart in the confinement of Cumnor Hall!No, my friend Honoré, you are the greatest and grandest of painters ofthe terrible school; but the time comes when a man sighs for somethingbrighter and better than your highest type of womanhood. "

Mr. Hawkehurst put his book in his pocket, and abandoned himself tomeditation, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his faceburied in his hands, unconscious of the trundling hoops and screamingchildren. 

"She is better and fairer than the fairest heroine of a novel, " hethought. "She is like Heloise. Yes, the quaint old French fits her to anicety:

 'Elle ne fu oscure ne brune, Ains fu clere comme la lune, Envers qui les autres estoiles Ressemblent petites chandoiles. '

Mrs. Browning must have known such a woman:

 'Her air had a meaning, her movements a grace; You turned from the fairest to gaze on her face;'

and yet

 'She was not as pretty as women I know. '

Was she not?" mused the lover. "Is she not? Yes, " he cried suddenly, as he saw a scarlet petticoat gleaming in the distance, and a brightyoung face under a little black turban hat--prettiest and mostbewitching of all feminine headgear, let fashion change as it may. "Yes, " he cried, "she is the loveliest creature in the world, and Ilove her to distraction. " He rose, and went to meet the loveliestcreature in the world, whose earthly name was Charlotte Halliday. Shewas walking with Diana Paget, who, to more sober judges, might haveseemed the handsomer woman of the two. Alas for Diana! the day had beenwhen Valentine Hawkehurst considered her very handsome, and had need tofight a hard battle with himself in order not to fall in love with her. He had been conqueror in that struggle of prudence and honour againstnascent love, only to be vanquished utterly by Charlotte's brightercharms and Charlotte's sunnier nature. 

The two girls shook hands with Mr. Hawkehurst. An indifferent observermight have perceived that the colour faded from the face of one, whilea blush mounted to the cheeks of the other. But Valentine did not seethe sudden pallor of Diana's face--he had eyes only for Charlotte'sblushes. Nor did Charlotte herself perceive the sudden change in herdearest friend's countenance. And that perhaps is the bitterest stingof all. It is not enough that some must weep while others play; themourners must weep unnoticed, unconsoled; happiness is so apt to beselfish. 

Of course the conversation was the general sort of thing under thegiven circumstances--just a little more inane and disjointed than theordinary small talk of people who meet each other in their walksabroad. 

"How do you do, Mr. Hawkehurst?--Very well, thank you. --Mamma is verywell; at least no, not quite well; she has one of her headaches thismorning. She is rather subject to headache, you know; and the canariessing so loud. Don't the canaries sing abominably loud, Diana?--loudlythey would have made me say at Hyde Lodge; but it is only awfullyclever people who know when to use adverbs. "

And Miss Halliday having said all this in a hurried and indeed almostbreathless manner, stopped suddenly, blushing more deeply than atfirst, and painfully aware of her blushes. She looked imploringly atDiana; but Diana would not come to the rescue; and this morning Mr. Hawkehurst seemed as a man struck with sudden dumbness. 

There followed presently a little discussion of the weather. MissHalliday was possessed by the conviction that there would be rain--possibly not immediate rain, but before the afternoon inevitable rain. Valentine thought not; was, indeed, positively certain there would beno rain; had a vague idea that the wind was in the north; and quoted adreary Joe-Millerism to prove the impossibility of rain while the windcame from that quarter. Miss Halliday and Mr. Hawkehurst held veryfirmly to their several opinions, and the argument was almost aquarrel--one of those little playful quarrels which form some of themost delicious phases of a flirtation. "I would not mind wagering afortune--if I had one--on the certainty of rain, " cried Charlotte withkindling eyes. 

"And I would not shrink from staking my existence on the convictionthat there will be no rain, " exclaimed Valentine, looking withundisguised tenderness at the glowing animated face. 

Diana Paget took no part in that foolish talk about the possibilitiesof the weather. She walked silently by the side of her friendCharlotte, as far away from her old comrade, it seemed to her, as ifthe Atlantic's wild waste of waters had stretched between them. Thebarrier that divided them was only Charlotte; but then Miss Paget knewtoo well that Charlotte in this case meant all the world. 

The ice had been broken by that discussion as to rain or no rain, andMiss Halliday and Mr. Hawkehurst talked pleasantly for some time, whileDiana still walked silently by her friend's side, only speaking whencompelled to do so. The strangeness of her manner would have beenobserved by any one not utterly absorbed by that sublime egotism calledlove; but Valentine and Charlotte were so absorbed, and had no ideathat Miss Paget was anything but the most delightful and amusing ofcompanions. 

They had taken more than one turn in the broad avenue, when Charlotteasked Mr. Hawkehurst some question about a piece which was speedily tobe played at one of the theatres. 

"I do so much want to see this new French actress, " she said. "Do youthink there is any possibility of obtaining orders, Mr. Hawkehurst? Youknow what a dislike Mr. Sheldon has to paying for admission to atheatre, and my pocket-money was exhausted three weeks ago, or Iwouldn't think of giving you any trouble about it. "

Philosophers have observed that in the life of the plainest woman thereis one inspired moment in which she becomes beautiful. Perhaps it iswhen she is asking a favour of some masculine victim--for women have aknack of looking their prettiest on such occasions. CharlotteHalliday's pleading glance and insinuating tone were irresistible. Valentine would have given a lien on every shilling of his threethousand pounds rather than disappoint her, if gold could purchase thething she craved. It happened fortunately that his occasionalconnection with the newspapers made it tolerably easy for him to obtainfree admissions to theatres. 

"Do not speak of the trouble; there will be no trouble. The ordersshall be sent you, Miss Halliday. "

"O, thanks--a thousand thanks! Would it be possible to get a box, andfor us all to go together?" asked the fair encroacher; "mamma is sofond of the theatre. She used to go often with poor papa, at York andin London. And you are such an excellent critic, Mr. Hawkehurst, and itwould be so nice to have you with us, --wouldn't it, Di? You know what agood critic Mr. Hawkehurst is?"

"Yes, " answered Diana; "we used to go to theatres together very often. "

This was a cry of anguish wrung from a bleeding heart; but to the twoabsorbed egotists it seemed the simplest of casual observations. 

"Do you think you could manage to get a box, Mr. Hawkehurst?" asked theirresistible enslaver, putting her head on one side, in a manner which, for the protection of weak mankind, should be made penal. 

"I will try my uttermost, " answered Valentine. 

"O, then I'm sure you will succeed. And we shall be amused by yourdeliciously bitter criticisms between the acts. One would think you hadstudied under Douglas Jerrold. "

"You do me too much honour. But before the new piece is produced Ishall have left London, and shall not have the pleasure of accompanyingyou to the theatre. "

"You are going to leave London?"

"Yes, to-morrow. "

"So soon!" cried Charlotte, with undisguised regret; "and for a longtime, I suppose?" she added, very mournfully. 

Miss Paget gave a little start, and a feverish flush lit up her facefor one brief moment. 

"I am glad he is going, " she thought; "I am very glad he is going. "

"Yes, " said Valentine, in reply to Charlotte's inquiry, "I am likely tobe away for a considerable time; indeed my plans are at present sovague, that I cannot tell when I may come back to town. "

He could not resist the temptation to speak of his absence as if itwere likely to be the affair of a lifetime. He could not refrain fromthe delight of sounding the pure depths of that innocent young heart. But when the tender gray eyes looked at him, so sweet in their suddensadness, his heart melted, and he could trifle with her unconsciouslove no longer. 

"I am going away on a matter of business, " he said, "which may or maynot occupy some time; but I don't suppose I shall be many weeks awayfrom London. "

Charlotte gave a little sigh of relief. 

"And are you going very far?" she asked. 

"Some distance; yes--a--hundred and fifty miles or so, " Valentineanswered very lamely. It had been an easy thing to invent an ancientaunt Sarah for the mystification of the astute Horatio; but ValentineHawkehurst could not bring himself to tell Charlotte Halliday adeliberate falsehood. The girl looked at him wonderingly, as he gavethat hesitating answer to her question. She was at a loss to understandwhy he did not tell her the place to which he was going, and the natureof the business that took him away. 

She was very sorry that he was going to disappear out of her life for atime so uncertain, that while on the one hand it might be only a fewweeks, it might on the other hand be for ever. The life of a youngEnglish damsel, in a prim villa at Bayswater, with a very commonplacemother and a practical stockbroking stepfather, is rather a narrow kindof existence; and to such a damsel the stranger whose hand lifts thecurtain that shrouds new and brighter worlds is apt to become a veryimportant personage, especially when the stranger happens to be youngand handsome, and invested with that dash of Bohemianism which toartless and sentimental girlhood has such a flavour of romance. 

Charlotte was very silent as she retraced her steps along the broadgravel walk. As they drew near the Bayswater-gate she looked at herwatch. It was nearly one o'clock, and she had promised Mrs. Sheldon tobe home at one for luncheon, and afterwards shopping. 

"I'm afraid we must hurry home, Di, " she said. 

"I am quite ready to go, " answered Miss Paget promptly. "Good-bye, Valentine. "

"Good-bye, Diana; good-bye, Miss Halliday. "

Mr. Hawkehurst shook hands with both young ladies; but shaking handswith Charlotte was a very slow process compared to the same performancewith Diana. 

"Good-bye, " he repeated, in a lingering tone; and then, after standingfor some moments silent and irresolute, with his hat in his hand, heput it on suddenly and hurried away. 

The two girls had walked a few steps towards the gate when Charlottestopped before a stony-looking alcove, which happened at thisnursery-dinner-hour to be empty. 

"I'm so tired, Di, " she said, and went into the alcove, where she satdown to rest. She had a little veil attached to her turban hat--alittle veil which she now drew over her face. The tears gathered slowlyin her eyes and fell through that flimsy morsel of lace with which shewould fain have hidden her childish sorrow. The tears gathered and fellon her lap as she sat in silence, pretending not to cry. This much rainat least was there to justify her prediction, uttered in such foolishgaiety of heart half an hour before. 

Miss Halliday's eyes were undimmed by tears? when she went back to thegothic villa; but she had a feeling that some great sorrow had comeupon her--a vague idea that the last lingering warmth and brightness ofsummer had faded all in a moment, and that chill gray winter had closedin upon Bayswater without any autumnal interval. What was it that shehad lost? Only the occasional society of a young man with a handsomepale face, a little haggard and wan from the effect of dissipatedhabits and a previous acquaintance with care and difficulty--only thesociety of a penniless Bohemian who had a certain disreputablecleverness and a dash of gloomy sentimentality, which the schoolgirlmistook for genius. But then he was the first man whose eyes had eversoftened with a mysterious tenderness as they looked at her--the firstwhose voice had grown faintly tremulous when it syllabled her name. 

There was some allusion to Mr. Hawkehurst's departure in the course ofdinner, and Philip Sheldon expressed some surprise. 

"Going to leave town?" he said. 

"Yes, papa, " Charlotte answered; "he is going a long way into thecountry, --a hundred and fifty miles, he said. "

"Did he tell you where he was going?"

"No; he seemed unwilling to mention the place. He only said somethingabout a hundred and fifty miles. "

CHAPTER IX. 

MR. SHELDON ON THE WATCH. 

Mr. Sheldon had occasion to see Captain Paget early the following day, and questioned him closely about his _protégé's_ movements. He hadfound Valentine a very useful tool in sundry intricate transactions ofthe commercial kind, and he expected his tools to be ready for hisservice. He was therefore considerably annoyed by Valentine's abruptdeparture. 

"I think young Hawkehurst might have told me he was going out of town, "he said. "What the deuce has taken him off in such a hurry?"

"He is going to see some mysterious old aunt at Dorking, from whom heseems to expect money, " the Captain answered carelessly. "I daresay Ican do what you want, Sheldon. "

"Very likely. But how comes that young fellow to have an aunt atDorking? I fancy I've heard him say he was without a relative or afriend in the world--always excepting yourself. "

"The aunt may he another exception; some poor old soul that he's halfashamed to own, I daresay--the inmate of an almshouse, perhaps. Val'sexpectations may be limited to a few pounds hoarded in a china teapot. "

"I should have thought Hawkehurst the last man in the world to careabout looking after that sort of thing. I could have given him plentyto do if he had stopped in town. He and my brother George areuncommonly intimate, by the bye, " added Mr. Sheldon meditatively. Itwas his habit to be rather distrustful of his brother and of all hisbrother's acquaintance. "I suppose you can give me Hawkehurst'saddress, in case I should want to write to him?" he said. 

"He told me to send my letters to the post-office, Dorking, " answeredthe Captain, "which really looks as if the aunt's residence weresomething in the way of an almshouse. "

No more was said about Valentine's departure. Captain Paget concludedhis business with his patron and departed, leaving the stockbrokerleaning forward upon his desk in a thoughtful attitude and scribblingpurposeless figures upon his blotting-paper. 

"There's something queer in this young man running away from town;there's some mystification somewhere, " he thought. "He has not gone toDorking, or he would scarcely have told Lotta that he was going ahundred and fifty miles from town. He would be likely to be taken offhis guard by her questions, and would tell the truth. I wonder whetherPaget is in the secret. His manner seemed open enough; but that sort ofman can pretend anything. I've noticed that he and George have beenvery confidential lately. I wonder whether there's any underhand gameon the cards between those two. "

The game of which Mr. Sheldon thought as he leant over hisblotting-paper was a very different kind of game from that whichreally occupied the attention of George and his friend. 

"I'll go to his lodgings at once, " he said to himself by-and-by, risingand putting on his hat quickly in his eagerness to act upon hisresolution. "I'll see if he really has left town. "

The stockbroker hailed the first empty hansom to be seen in the crowdedthoroughfare from which his shady court diverged. In less than an hourhe alighted before the door of the house in which Captain Paget lodged. 

"Is Mr. Hawkehurst in?" he asked of the girl who admitted him. 

"No, sir; he's just left to go into the country. He hasn't been goneten minutes. You might a'most have met him. "

"Do you know where he has gone?"

"I heard say it was Dorking, sir. "

"Humph! I should like to have seen him before he went. Did he take muchluggage?"

"One portmanter, sir. "

"I suppose you didn't notice where he told the man to drive?"

"Yes, sir; it was Euston-square. "

"Ah! Euston-square. I'll go there, then, on the chance of catchinghim, " said Mr. Sheldon. 

He bestowed a donation upon the domestic, reentered his hansom, andtold the man to drive to Euston-square "like a shot. "

"So! His destination is Dorking, and he goes from Euston-square!"muttered Mr. Sheldon, in sombre meditation, as the hansom rattled andrushed, and jingled and jolted, over the stones. "There's somethingunder the cards here. "

Arrived at the great terminus, the stockbroker made his way to the downplatform. There was a lull in the day's traffic, and only a fewlistless wretches lounging disconsolately here and there, with eyesever and anon lifted to the clock. Amongst these there was no ValentineHawkehurst. 

Mr. Sheldon peered into all the waiting-rooms, and surveyed therefreshment-counter; but there was still no sign of the man he sought. He went back to the ticket-office; but here again all was desolate, theshutters of the pigeon-holes hermetically closed, and no vestige ofValentine Hawkehurst. 

The stockbroker was disappointed, but not defeated. He returned to theplatform, looked about him for a few moments, and then addressedhimself to a porter of intelligent aspect. 

"What trains have left here within the last half-hour?" he asked. 

"Only one, sir; the 2. 15 down, for Manchester. "

"You didn't happen to notice a dark-eyed, dark-haired young man amongthe passengers--second class?" asked Mr. Sheldon. 

"No, sir. There are always a good many passengers by that train; Ihaven't time to notice their faces. "

The stockbroker asked no further questions. He was a man who did notcare to be obliged to others for information which he could obtain forhimself. He walked straight to a place where the time-tables werepasted on the wall, and ran his finger along the figures till he cameto those he wanted. 

The 2. 15 train was a fast train, which stopped at only four places--Rugby, Ullerton, Murford, and Manchester. 

"I daresay he has gone to Manchester, " thought Mr. Sheldon--"on someracing business most likely, which he wants to keep dark from hispatron the Captain. What a fool I am to trouble myself about him, as ifhe couldn't stir without meaning mischief to me! But I don't understandthe friendship between him and George. My brother George is not likelyto take up any man without some motive. "

After these reflections Mr. Sheldon left the station and went back tohis office in another hansom, still extremely thoughtful and somewhatdisquieted. 

"What does it matter to me where they go or what they do?" he askedhimself, impatient of some lurking weakness of his own; "what does itmatter to me whether those two are friendly or unfriendly? They can dome no harm. "

There happened to be a kind of lull in the stormy regions of the StockExchange at the time of Valentine Hawkehurst's departure. Stagnationhad descended upon that commercial ocean, which is such a dismal wasteof waters for the professional speculator in its hour of calm. All theBulls in the zoological creation would have failed to elevate thedrooping stocks and shares and first-preference bonds and debentures, which hung their feeble heads and declined day by day, the weaker ofthem threatening to fade away and diminish to a vanishing-point, as itseemed to some dejected holders who read the Stock-Exchange lists andthe money article in the Times with a persistent hopefulness whichstruggled against the encroachments of despair. The Bears had beenbusy, but were now idle--having burnt their fingers, commercialgentlemen remarked. So Bulls and Bears alike hung listlessly about amelancholy market, and conversed together dolefully in corners; and theburden of all their lamentations was to the effect that there never hadbeen such times, and things never had been so bad, and it was aquestion whether they would ever right themselves. Philip Sheldonshared in the general depression. His face was gloomy, and his mannerfor the time being lost something of its brisk, business-likecheerfulness. The men who envied his better fortunes watched himfurtively when he showed himself amongst them, and wondered whetherSheldon, of Jull, Girdlestone, and Sheldon, had been hit by these badtimes. 

It was not entirely the pressure of that commercial stagnation whichweighed on the spirits of Philip Sheldon. The stockbroker was tormentedby private doubts and uncertainties which had nothing to do with themoney-market. 

On the day after Valentine's journey to Ullerton, Mr. Sheldon the elderpresented himself at his brother's office in Gray's Inn. It was hishabit to throw waifs and strays of business in the attorney's way, andto make use of him occasionally, though he had steadily refused to lendor give him money; and it was big habit, as it were, to keep an eyeupon his younger brother--rather a jealous eye, which took note of allGeorge's doings, and kept suspicious watch upon all George'sassociates. Going unannounced into his brother's office on thisparticular morning, Philip Sheldon found him bending over an outspreaddocument--a great sheet of cartridge-paper covered with a net-work oflines, dotted about with circles, and with little patches of writing inred and black ink in the neatest possible penmanship. Mr. Sheldon theelder, whose bright black eyes were as the eyes of the hawk, took note ofthis paper, and had caught more than one stray word that stood out inlarger and bolder characters than its neighbours, before his brother couldfold it; for it is not an easy thing for a man to fold an elephantinesheet of cartridge when he is nervously anxious to fold it quickly, andis conscious that the eyes of an observant brother are upon him. 

Before George had mastered the folding of the elephantine sheet, Philiphad seen and taken note of two words. One of these was the wordINTESTATE, and the other the name HAYGARTH. 

"You seem in a great hurry to get that document out of the way, " saidPhilip, as he seated himself in the client's chair. 

"Well, to tell the truth, you rather startled me, " answered George. "Ididn't know who it might be, you know; and I was expecting a fellowwho--" And then Mr. Sheldon the younger broke off abruptly, and asked, with rather a suspicious air, "Why didn't that boy announce you?"

"Because I wouldn't let him. Why should he announce me? One would thinkyou were carrying on some political conspiracy, George, and had amodern Thistlewood gang hidden in that cupboard yonder. How thick youand Hawkehurst are, by the bye!"

In spite of the convenient "by the bye, " this last remark of thestockbroker's sounded rather irrelevant. 

"I don't know about being 'thick. ' Hawkehurst seems a very decent youngfellow, and he and I get on pretty well together. But I'm not as'thick' with him as I was with Tom Halliday. "

It was to be observed that Mr. Sheldon the younger was very apt torefer to that friendship with the dead Yorkshireman in the course ofconversation with Philip. 

"Hawkehurst has just left town, " said Philip indifferently. 

"Yes, I know he has. "

"When did you hear it?"

"I saw him last night, " answered George, taken off his guard by thecarelessness of his brother's manner. 

"Did you?" cried Mr. Sheldon. "You make a mistake there. He left townat two o'clock yesterday. "

"How do you happen to know that?" asked George sharply. 

"Because I happened to be at the station and saw him take his ticket. There's something underhand in that journey of his by the way; forPaget told me he was going to Dorking. I suppose he and Paget have somegame of their own on the cards. I was rather annoyed by the young man'sdeparture, as I had some work for him. However, I can find plenty offellows to do it as well as Hawkehurst could have done. "

George was looking into an open drawer in his desk while his brothersaid this. He had a habit of opening drawers and peering into themabsently during the progress of an interview, as if looking for someparticular paper, that was never to be found. 

After this the conversation became less personal. The brothers talked alittle of the events of the day, the money-article in that morning'sTimes, the probability or improbability of a change in the rate ofdiscount. But this conversation soon flagged, and Mr. Sheldon rose todepart. 

"I suppose that sheet of cartridge-paper which you had so much troubleto fold is one of your genealogical tables, " he said as he was going. "You needn't try to keep things dark from me, George. I'm not likely tosteal a march upon you; my own business gives me more work than I cando. But if you have really got a good thing at last, I shouldn't mindgoing into it with you, and finding the money for the enterprise. "

George Sheldon looked at his elder brother with a malicious flitter inhis eyes. 

"On condition that you got the lion's share of the profits, " he said. "O yes; I know how generous you are, Phil. I have asked you for moneybefore today, and you have refused it. "

Mr. Sheldon's face darkened just a little at this point. "Your mannerof asking it was offensive, " he said. 

"Well, I'm sorry for that, " answered George politely. "However, yourefused me money when I did want it; so you needn't offer it me now Idon't want it. There are some people who think I have sacrificed mylife to a senseless theory; and perhaps you are one of them. But thereis one thing you may be certain of, Philip Sheldon: if ever I _do_ geta good chance, I shall know how to keep it to myself. "

There are men skilled in the concealment of their feelings on allordinary occasions, who will yet betray themselves in a crisis ofimportance. George Sheldon would fain have kept his project hidden fromhis elder brother; but in this one unguarded moment he forgot himself, and allowed the sense of triumph to irradiate his face. 

The stockbroker was a reader of men rather than books; and it is anotable thing what superiority in all worldly wisdom is possessed bymen who eschew books. He was able to translate the meaning of George'ssmile--a smile of mingled triumph and malice. 

"The fellow _has_ got a good thing, " he thought to himself, "andHawkehurst is in it. It must be a deuced good thing too, or he wouldn'trefuse my offer of money. " Mr. Sheldon was the last man in the world toreveal any mortification which he might experience from his brother'sconduct. 

"Well, you're quite right to stick to your chance, George, " he said, with agreeable frankness. "You've waited long enough for it. As for me, I've got my fingers in a good many pies just at present; so perhaps Ihad better keep them out of yours, whatever plums there may be to bepicked out of it by an enterprising Jack Horner. Pick out your plumsfor yourself, old fellow, and I'll be one of the first to call you agood boy for your pains. "

With this Mr. Sheldon slapped his brother's shoulder and departed. 

"I think I've had the best of Master Phil for once, " muttered George;and then he thrust his sinewy hands into the depths of histrousers-pocket, and indulged in a silent laugh, which displayed hisstrong square white teeth to perfection. "I flatter myself I took arise out of Phil to-day, " he muttered. 

The sense of a malicious triumph over a social enemy is a verydelightful kind of thing, --so delightful that a man is apt to ignorethe possible cost of the enjoyment. It is like the pleasure of kickinga man who is down--very delicious in its way; only one never knows howsoon the man may be up again. 

George Sheldon, who was tolerably skilled in the science of humannature, should have known that "taking a rise" out of his brother waslikely to be a rather costly operation. Philip was not the safest manto deal with at any time; but he was most dangerous when he was"jolly. "

BOOK THE FOURTH. 

VALENTINE HAWKEHURST'S RECORD. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE OLDEST INHABITANT. 

Black Swan Inn, Ullerton, October 2nd. 

As the work I am now employed in is quite new to me, and I am to keepSheldon posted up in this business day by day, I have decided onjotting down the results of my inquiries in a kind of diary. Instead ofwriting my principal a formal letter, I shall send a copy of theentries in the diary, revised and amended. This will insure exactitude;and there is just the possibility that the record may be useful to mehereafter. To remember all I hear and pick up about these departedHaygarths without the aid of pen and ink would be out of the question;so I mean to go in for unlimited pen and ink like a hero, not to say amartyr. 

And I am to do all this for twenty shillings a week, and the remotepossibility of three thousand pounds! O genius, genius! in all themarkets of this round world is there no better price for you than that?

How sweetly my Charlotte looked at me yesterday, when I told her I wasgoing away! If I could have dared to kneel at her feet under thosewhispering elms, --unconscious of the children, unconscious of thenursemaids, --if I could have dared to cry aloud to her, "I am apenniless reprobate, but I love you; I am a disreputable pauper, but Iadore you! Have pity upon my love and forget my worthlessness!" If Icould have dared to carry her away from her prim suburban home and thatterrible black-whiskered stockbroking stepfather! But how is a man tocarry off the woman he adores when he has not the _de quoi_ for thefirst stage of the journey?

With three thousand pounds in my pocket, I think I could dare anything. Three thousand pounds! One year of splendour and happiness, and then--the rest is chaos!

I have seen the oldest inhabitant. _Ay de mi_! Sheldon did notexaggerate the prosiness of that intolerable man. I thought of theluckless wedding guest in Coleridge's grim ballad as I sat listening tothis modern-ancient mariner. I had to remind myself of all the brightthings to be bought for three thousand pounds, every now and then, inorder to endure with fortitude, if not serenity. And now the day's workis done, I begin to think it might as well have been left undone. Howam I to disintegrate the mass of prosiness which I have heard this day?For three mortal hours did I listen to my ancient mariner; and how mucham I the wiser for my patience? Clever as you may fancy yourself, myfriend Hawkehurst, you don't seem to be the man for this business. You have not the legal mind. Your genius is not the genius ofScotland-yard, and I begin to fear that in your new line you may proveyourself a failure. 

However, where all is dark to me the astute Sheldon may see daylight, so I'll observe the letter of my bond, and check off the residuum ofthe ancient mariner's prosiness. 

By dint of much pumping I obtained from my ancient, first, his father'srecollections of Matthew Haygarth a few years before his death, andsecondly, his grandfather's recollections of Matthew in his wild youth. It seems that in those last years of his life Matthew was a most soberand estimable citizen; attended the chapel of a nonconforming sect;read the works of Baxter, and followed in the footsteps of his departedfather; was a kind husband to a woman who appears to me to have beenrather a pragmatical and icy personage, but who was esteemed a model ofwomanly virtue, and who had money. Strange that these respectable andwealthy citizens should be so eager to increase their store by alliancewith respectable and wealthy citizenesses. 

In his later years Matthew Haygarth seems to have imitated his fatherin many respects. Like his father, he executed more than one will; and, like his father, he died intestate. The lawyer who drew up his will onmore than one occasion was a man called Brice--like his client, eminently respectable. 

After his marriage, our esteemed Matthew retired to a modest mansion inthe heart of the country, and some ten or fifteen miles from Ullerton. The mansion in question is at a place called Dewsdale, and was theproperty of the wife, and accrued to him through her. 

This house and estate of some thirty acres was afterwards sold by therev. Intestate, John Haygarth, shortly after his coming of age, andwithin a year of his mother's death. 

This much and no more could I extort from the oldest inhabitantrelative to the latter days of our Matthew. 

Respecting his wild youth I obtained the following crumbs ofenlightenment. In the year 1741-2, being then one-and-twenty years ofage, he left Ullerton. It is my ancient mariner's belief that he ranaway from home, after some desperate quarrel with his father; and it isalso the belief of my ancient that he stayed away, withoutintermission, for twenty years, --though on what precise fact thatbelief is founded is much more than I can extract from the venerableproser. 

My ancient suggests--always in the haziest and most impracticablemanner--the possibility that Matthew in his wild days lodged somewhereClerkenwell way. He has a dim idea that he has heard his grandfatherspeak of St. John's-gate, Clerkenwell, in connection with MatthewHaygarth; but, as my ancient's grandfather seems to have been almostimbecile at the time he made such remarks, _this_ is not much. 

He has another idea--also very vague and impracticable--of having heardhis grandfather say something about an adventure of Matthew Haygarth's, which was rather a heroic affair in its way--an adventure in which, insome inexplicable manner, the wild Matthew is mixed up with adancing-girl, or player-girl, of Bartholomew Fair, and a nobleman. 

This is the sum-total of the information to be extracted in threemortal hours from my ancient. Altogether the day has been veryunsatisfactory; and I begin to think I'm not up to the sort of workrequired of me. _Oct. 3rd. _ Another long interview with my ancient. Idropped in directly after my breakfast, and about an hour after hisdinner. I sat up late last night, occupied till nearly ten in copyingmy diary for Sheldon--which was just in time for the London post--andlingering over my cigar till past midnight, thinking of Charlotte. So Iwas late this morning. 

My ancient received me graciously. I took him half a pound of mildbird's-eye tobacco, on diplomatic grounds. He is evidently the sort ofperson who would receive Mephistopheles graciously, if the fiendpresented him with tobacco. 

I returned to the charge--diplomatically, of course; talked aboutUllerton and Ullerton people in general, insinuating occasionalquestions about the Haygarths. I was rewarded by obtaining some littleinformation about Mrs. Matthew. That lady appears to have been adevoted disciple of John Wesley, and was fonder of travelling to diverstowns and villages to hear the discourses of that preacher than herhusband approved. It seems they were wont to disagree upon thissubject. 

For some years before her marriage Mrs. Matthew was a member of aWesleyan confraternity, in those days newly established at Ullerton. They held meetings and heard sermons in the warehouse of a wealthydraper; and shortly before Mrs. Matthew's demise they built a chapel, still extant, in a dingy little thoroughfare known as Waterhouse-lane. 

On these points my ancient mariner is tolerably clear. They belong tothe period remembered by his father. 

And now I believe him to be pumped dry. I gave him my benediction, andleft him smoking some of my tobacco, content with himself and with theworld--always excepting the authorities, or board, of the almshouses, against whom he appears to nourish a grievance. 

After leaving him, I walked about Ullerton for an hour or so beforereturning to my humble hostelry. The streets of Ullerton are sealedwith the seal of desolation--the abomination of desolation reigns inthe market-place, where the grass flourishes greenly in the intersticesof the pavement. The place has known prosperity, and is prosperous nolonger; but although its chief trade has left it, there are still somethree or four factories in full swing. I heard clanging bells, andmet bare-headed women and uncouth-looking men hurrying to and fro. I went to look at the Wesleyan chapel in Waterhouse-lane. It is aqueer little building, and bears some resemblance to a toy Noah's Arkin red brick. Tall warehouses have arisen about it and hemmed it in, and the slim chimney-shaft of a waterworks throws a black shadow aslantits unpretending facade. I inquired the name of the present minister. He is called Jonah Goodge, began life as a carpenter, and is accountedthe pink and pattern of piety. _Oct. 4th_. A letter from Sheldon awaitedme in the coffee-room letter-rack when I went downstairs to breakfast. 

"MY DEAR HAWKEHURST, --Don't be disheartened if the work seems slow atfirst. You'll soon get used to it. 

"I should recommend you to adopt the following tactics:

"1st. Go to the house at Dewsdale, inhabited by M. H. And his wife. Youmay have some difficulty in obtaining admission--and full liberty toexplore and examine--from the present servant or owner; but you are notthe man I take you for if you cannot overcome such a difficulty. Ienclose a few of my cards, which you can use at your discretion. Theyshow professional status. It would be as well to call yourself myarticled clerk, and to state that you are prosecuting an inquiry on thebehalf of a client of mine, who wishes to prove a certain event in thepast connected remotely with the H. Family. If asked whether yourbusiness relates to the property left by the rev. Intestate, you mustreply decisively in the negative. But I must remind you that extremecaution is required in every move you make. Wherever you can do yourwork _without_ any reference to the name of Haygarth, avoid suchreference. Always remember that there may be other people on the samescent. 

"2nd. Examine the house in detail; look for old pictures, oldfurniture, old needlework--if you are lucky enough to find the Haygarthfurniture was sold with the property, which I should think probable. The rev. Intestate must have been at the University when he made thesale; and a young Cantab would in all likelihood pass over hisancestral chairs and tables to the purchaser of his ancestral mansion, as so much useless lumber. It is proverbial that walls have ears. Ihope the Dewsdale walls may have tongues, and favour you with a littleinformation. 

"3rd. When you have done all that is to be done at Dewsdale, your nextwork must be to hunt up any scion of the lawyer Brice, if such scion bein existence at Ullerton. Or if not to be found in Ullerton, ascertainwhere the descendant, or decendants, of Brice is, or are, to be found. Brice, the lawyer, must have known the contents of those wills executedand afterwards destroyed by Haygarth, and may have kept rough draughts, copies, or memoranda of the same. This is most important. --Yours truly, G. S. "

This Sheldon is a wonderful man, and a cautious!--no Signature to hisletter. 

I started for Dewidale immediately after my breakfast. I have madearrangements for boarding in this house, which is a second-ratecommercial inn. They have agreed to give me board and lodging fortwenty shillings a week--the full amount of my stipend: so all that Igain by my researches in the affairs of the departed Matthew is foodand shelter. However, as this food and shelter is perhaps more honestlyobtained than those little dinners which I have so often eaten with thegreat Horatio, I will try to fancy a sweetness in the tough steaks andgreasy legs of mutton. O sheep of Midlandshire! why cultivate suchponderous calves, and why so incline to sinews? O cooks ofMidlandshire! why so superficial in the treatment of your roasts, soimpetuous and inconsiderate when you boil?

A railroad now penetrates the rural district in which the village ofDewsdale is situated. There is a little station, something like awooden Dutch oven, within a mile of the village; and here I alighted. The morning savoured of summer rather than autumn. The air was soft andbalmy, the sunshine steeped the landscape in warm light, and the redand golden tints of the fading foliage took new splendour from thatyellow sunshine. A man whose life is spent in cities must be dull ofsoul indeed if he does not feel a little touched by the beauty ofrustic scenery, when he finds himself suddenly in the heart of thecountry. I had seen nothing so fair as those English fields and copsessince I left the pine-clad hills of Forêtdechêne. An idiotic boydirected me across some fields to Dewsdale. He sent me a mile out ofthe way; but I forgave and blest him, for I think the walk did me good. I felt as if all manner of vicious vapours were being blown out of myhead as the soft wind lifted my hair. 

And so to Dewsdale. Strolling leisurely through those quiet meadows, Ifell to thinking of many things that seldom came into my mind inLondon. I thought of my dead mother--a poor gentle creature--too frailto carry heroically the burden laid upon her, and so a little soured bychronic debt and difficulty. I have reason to remember her tenderly; weshared so much misery together. I believe my father married her in theRules of the Bench; and if I am not sure upon this point, I know for acertainty that I was born within those mystic boundaries. 

And then my mind wandered to those nomadic adventures in which poorDiana Paget and I were so much together. I think we were a little fondof each other in those days; but in that matter I was at least prudent;and now the transient fancy has faded, on Di's part as well as on mine. 

If I could be as prudent where Charlotte H. Is concerned!

But prudence and Charlotte's eyes cannot hold their own in the samebrain. Of two things, one, as our neighbours say: a man must cease tobe prudent, or he must forget those bewitching gray eyes. 

I know she was sorry when she heard of my intended departure. 

This is her birthday. She is twenty-one years of age to-day. I rememberthe two girls talking of it, and Miss Halliday declaring herself "quiteold. " My dear one, I drink your health in this poor tavern liquor, withevery tender wish and holy thought befitting your innocent girlhood!

CHAPTER II. 

MATTHEW HAYGARTH'S RESTING-PLACE. 

I found the house at Dewsdale without difficulty. It is a stiff, square, red-brick dwelling-place, with long narrow windows, a highnarrow door, and carved canopy; a house which savours of the _Tatler_and _Spectator_; a house in which the short-faced gentleman might havespent his summer holidays after Sir Roger's death. It stands behind ahigh iron gate, surmounted by a handsome coat of arms; and before itthere lies a pleasant patch of greensward, with a pond and a colony ofcackling geese, which craned their necks and screamed at me as I passedthem. 

The place is the simplest and smallest of rural villages. There is apublic-house--the Seven Stars; a sprinkling of humble cottages; ageneral shop, which is at once a shoemaker's, a grocer's, alinen draper's, a stationer's, and a post office. These habitations, agray old church with a square tower, half hidden by the sombre foliageof yews and cedars, and the house once inhabited by the Haygarths, comprise the whole of the village. The Haygarthian household is now therectory. I ascertained this fact from the landlord of the Seven Stars, at which house of entertainment I took a bottle of soda-water, in orderto _sonder le terrain_ before commencing business. 

The present rector is an elderly widower with seven children; an easygood-natured soul, who is more prone to bestow his money in charitythan to punctuality in the payment of his debts. 

Having discovered thus much, I rang the bell at the iron gate andboarded the Haygarthian mansion. The rector was at home, and receivedme in a very untidy apartment, _par excellence_ a study. A boy in aholland blouse was smearing his face with his inky fingers, andwrestling with a problem in Euclid, while his father stood on astep-ladder exploring a high shelf of dusty books. 

The rector, whose name is Wendover, descended from the step-ladder andshook the dust from his garments. He is a little withered old man, witha manner so lively as to be on the verge of flightiness. I observedthat he wiped his dusty palms on the skirts of his coat, and arguedtherefrom that he would be an easy person to deal with. I soon foundthat my deduction was correct. 

I presented Sheldon's card and stated my business, of course acting onthat worthy's advice. Could Mr. Wendover give me any informationrelating to the Haygarth family?

Fortune favoured me throughout this Dewsdale expedition. The rector isa simple garrulous old soul, to whom to talk is bliss. He has occupiedthe house five-and-thirty years. He rents it of the lord of the manor, who bought it from John Haygarth. Not a stick of furniture has beenremoved since our friend Matthew's time; and the rev. Intestate mayhave wrestled with the mysteries of Euclid on the same old-fashionedmahogany table at which I saw the boy in brown holland. 

Mr. Wendover left his books and manuscripts scattered on the floor ofthe study, and conducted me to a cool shady drawing-room, veryshabbily furnished with the spindle-legged chairs and tables of thelast century. Here he begged me to be seated, and here we were ever andanon interrupted by intruding juveniles, the banging of doors, and theshrill clamour of young voices in the hall and garden. 

I brought all the diplomacy of which I am master to bear in my longinterview with the rector; and the following is a transcript of ourconversation, after a good deal of polite skirmishing:--

_Myself_. You see, my dear sir, the business I am concerned in isremotely connected with these Haygarths. Any information you willkindly afford me, however apparently trivial, may be of service in theaffair I am prosecuting. 

_The Rector. _ To be sure, to be sure! But, you see, though I've heard agood deal of the Haygarths, it is all gossip--the merest gossip. Peopleare so fond of gossip, you know--especially country people: I have nodoubt you have remarked that. Yes, I have heard a great deal aboutMatthew Haygarth. My late clerk and sexton, --a very remarkable man, ninety-one when he died, and able to perform his duties very creditablywithin a year of his death--very creditably; but the hard winter of '56took him off, poor fellow, and now I have a young man. Old Andrew Hone--that was my late clerk's name--was employed in this house when a lad, and was very fond of talking about Matthew Haygarth and his wife. Shewas a rich woman, you know, a very rich woman--the daughter of a brewerat Ullerton; and this house belonged to her--inherited from herfather. 

_Myself_. And did you gather from your clerk that Matthew Haygarth andhis wife lived happily together?

_The Rector_. Well, yes, yes: I neverheard anything to the contrary. They were not a young couple, you know. Rebecca Caulfield was forty years of age, and Matthew Haygarth wasfifty-three when he married; so, you see, one could hardly call it alove-match. [_Abrupt inroad of bouncing damsel, exclaiming "Pa!"_]Don't you see I'm engaged, Sophia Louisa? Why are you not at yourpractice? [_Sudden retreat of bouncing damsel, followed by thescrambling performance of scale of C major in adjoining chamber, whichperformance abruptly ceases after five minutes_. ] You see Mrs. Haygarth was _not_ young, as I was about to observe when my daughterinterrupted us; and she was perhaps a little more steadfast in heradherence to the newly arisen sect of Wesleyans than was pleasing toher husband, although he consented to become a member of that sect. Butas their married life lasted only a year, they had little time fordomestic unhappiness, even supposing them not to be adapted to eachother. 

_Myself_. Mrs Matthew Haygarth did not marry again?

_The Rector_. No; she devoted herself to the education of her son, andlived and died in this house. The room which is now my study shefurnished with a small reading-desk and a couple of benches, now in mynursery, and made it into a kind of chapel, in which the keeper of thegeneral shop--who was, I believe, considered a shining light amongstthe Wesleyan community--was in the habit of holding forth every Sundaymorning to such few members of that sect as were within reach ofDewsdale. She died when her son was nineteen years of age, and wasburied in the family vault in the churchyard yonder. Her son'sadherence to the Church of England was a very great trouble to her. [_Inroad of boy in holland, very dejected and inky of aspect, alsoexclaiming "Pa!"_] No, John; not till that problem is worked out. Takethat cricket-bat back to the lobby, sir, and return to your studies. [_Sulky withdrawal of boy. _] You see what it is to have a large family, Mr. --Sheldon. I beg pardon, Mr. ------

_Myself_. Hawkehurst, clerk to Mr. Sheldon. 

_The Rector_. To be sure. I have some thoughts of the Law for one of myelder sons; the Church is terribly overcrowded. However, as I was onthe point of saying when my boy John disturbed us, though I have hearda great deal of gossip about the Haygarths, I fear I can give you verylittle substantial information. Their connection with Dewsdale lastedlittle more than twenty years. Matthew Haygarth was married in Dewsdalechurch, his son John was christened in Dewsdale church, and he himselfis buried in the churchyard. That is about as much positive informationas I can give you; and you will perhaps remark that the parish registerwould afford you as much. After questioning the good-natured old rectorrather closely, and obtaining little more than the above information, Iasked permission to see the house. 

"Old furniture and old pictures are apt to be suggestive, " I said; "andperhaps while we are going over the house you may happen to recall somefurther particulars relating to the Haygarth family. "

Mr. Wendover assented. He was evidently anxious to oblige me, andaccepted my explanation of my business in perfect good faith. Heconducted me from room to room, waiting patiently while I scrutinisedthe panelled walls and stared at the attenuated old furniture. I wasdetermined to observe George Sheldon's advice to the very letter, though I had little hope of making any grand melodramatic discovery inthe way of documents hidden in old cabinets, or mouldering behindsliding panels. 

I asked the rector if he had ever found papers of any kind in forgottennooks and corners of the house or the furniture. His reply was adecided negative. He had explored and investigated every inch of theold dwelling-place, and had found nothing. 

So much for Sheldon's idea. 

Mr. Wendover led me from basement to garret, encountering bouncingdaughters and boys in brown holland wherever we went; and from basementto garret I found that all was barren. In the whole of the house therewas but one object which arrested my attention, and the interest whichthat one object aroused in my mind had no relation to the Haygarthianfortune. 

Over a high carved chimney-piece in one of the bedchambers there hung alittle row of miniatures--old-fashioned oval miniatures, pale andfaded--pictures of men and women with the powdered hair of the Georgianperiod, and the flowing full-bottomed wigs familiar to St. James's andTunbridge-wells in the days of inoffensive Anne. There were in allseven miniatures, six of which specimens of antique portraiture wereprim and starched and artificial of aspect. But the seventh wasdifferent in form and style: it was the picture of a girlish facelooking out of a frame of loose unpowdered locks; a bright innocentface, with gray eyes and marked black eyebrows, pouting lips a littleparted, and white teeth gleaming between lips of rosy red; such a faceas one might fancy the inspiration of an old poet. I took the miniaturegently from the little brass hook on which it hung, and stood for sometime looking at the bright frank face. 

It was the picture of Charlotte Halliday. Yes; I suppose there is afatality in these things. It was one of those marvellous accidentalresemblances which every man has met with in the course of his life. Here was this dead-and-gone beauty of the days of George the Secondsmiling upon me with the eyes and lips of Philip Sheldon'sstepdaughter!

Or was it only a delusion of my own? Was my mind so steeped in thethought of that girl--was my heart so impressed by her beauty, that Icould not look upon a fair woman's face without conjuring up herlikeness in the pictured countenance? However this may be, I lookedlong and tenderly at the face which seemed to me to resemble the womanI love. 

Of course I questioned the rector as to the original of this particularminiature. He could tell me nothing about it, except that he thought itwas not one of the Caulfields or Haygarths. The man in thefull-bottomed Queen-Anne wig was Jeremiah Caulfield, brewer, fatherof the pious Rebecca; the woman with the high powdered head was thepious Rebecca herself; the man in the George-the-Second wig wasMatthew Haygarth. The other three were kindred of Rebecca's. But thewild-haired damsel was some unknown creature, for whose presence Mr. Wendover was unable to account. 

I examined the frame of the miniature, and found that it opened at theback. Behind the ivory on which the portrait was painted there was alock of dark hair incased in crystal; and on the inside of the case, which was of some worthless metal gilded, there was scratched the name"Molly. "

How this Molly with the loose dark locks came to be admitted among theprim, and pious Caulfields is certainly more than I can understand. 

My exploration of the house having resulted only in this littleromantic accident of the likeness to Charlotte, I prepared to take mydeparture, no wiser than when I had first crossed the threshold. Therector very politely proposed to show me the church; and as Iconsidered that it would be well to take a copy of the Haygarthianentries in the register, I availed myself of his offer. He despatched amaid-servant to summon his clerk, in order that that functionary mightassist in the investigation of the registers. The girl departed on thiserrand, while her master conducted me across his garden, in which thereis now a gate opening into the churchyard. 

It is the most picturesque of burial-grounds, darkened by the shadow ofthose solemn yews and spreading cedars. We walked very slowly betweenthe crumbling old tombstones, which have almost all grown one-sidedwith time. Mr. Wendover led me through a little labyrinth of lowlygraves to a high and ponderous iron railing surrounding a square space, in the midst of which there is a stately stone monument. In the railingthere is a gate, from which a flight of stone step leads down to thedoor of a vault. It is altogether rather a pretentious affair, whereinone sees the evidence of substantial wealth unelevated by artisticgrace or poetic grandeur. 

This is the family vault of the Caulfields and Haygarths. 

"I've brought you to look at this tomb, " said the rector, resting hishand upon the rusted railing, "because there is rather a romantic storyconnected with it--a story that concerns Matthew Haygarth, by the bye. I did not think of it just now, when we were talking of him; but itflashed on my memory as we came through the garden. It is rather amysterious affair; and though it is not very likely to have any bearingupon the object of your inquiry, I may as well tell you about it, --as aleaf out of family history, you know, Mr. Hawkehurst, and as a newproof of the old adage that truth is stranger than fiction. "

I assured the rector that I should be glad to hear anything he couldtell me. 

"I must premise that I only tell the story as I got it from my oldclerk, and that it may therefore seem rather indistinct; but there isan entry in the register yonder to show that it is not withoutfoundation. However, I will waste no more words in preamble, but giveyou the story, which is simply this:"--

The rector seated himself on a dilapidated old tombstone, while Ileaned against the rails of the Haygarth vault, looking down upon him. 

"Within a month or two of Matthew Haygarth's death a kind of melancholycame over him, " said the rector. "Whether he was unhappy with his wife, or whether he felt his health declining, is more than I can say. Youmust remember that my informant was but a lad at the time of which Ispeak, and that when he talked to me about the subject sixty yearsafterwards he was a very old man, and his impressions were thereforemore or less vague. But upon certain facts he was sufficientlypositive; and amongst the circumstances he remembered most vividly arethose of the story I am going to tell you. 

"It seems that within a very few weeks of Matthew's death, his wife, Rebecca Haygarth, started on an expedition to the north, in the companyof an uncle, to hear John Wesley preach on some very special occasion, and to assist at a love-feast. She was gone more than a fortnight; andduring her absence Matthew Haygarth mounted his horse early one morningand rode away from Dewsdale. 

"His household consisted of three maids, a man, and the lad AndrewHone, afterwards my sexton. Before departing on his journey Mr. Haygarth had said that he would not return till late the next evening, and had requested that only the man (whose name I forget) should sit upfor him. " He was punctiliously obeyed. The household, always of earlyhabits, retired at nine, the accustomed hour; and the man-servantwaited to receive his master, while the lad Andrew, who slept in thestables, sat up to keep his fellow-servant company. 

"At ten o'clock Mr. Haygarth came home, gave his horse into the chargeof the lad, took his candle from the man-servant, and walked straightupstairs, as if going to bed. The man-servant locked the doors, tookhis master the key, and then went to his own quarters. The boy remainedup to feed and groom the horse, which had the appearance of havingperformed a hard day's work. 

"He had nearly concluded this business when he was startled by theslamming of the back door opening into the courtyard, in which were thestables and outhouses. Apprehending thieves, the boy opened the door ofthe stable and looked out, doubtless with considerable caution. 

"It was broad moonlight, and he saw at a glance that the person who hadopened the door was one who had a right to open it. Matthew Haygarthwas crossing the courtyard as the lad peeped out. He wore a long blackcloak, and his head drooped upon his breast as if he had been indejection. The lad--being, I suppose, inquisitive, after the manner ofcountry lads--made no more ado, but left his unfinished work and creptstealthily after his master, who came straight to this churchyard, --indeed to this very spot on which we are now standing. 

"On this spot the boy Andrew Hone became the secret witness of astrange scene. He saw an open grave close against the rails yonder, andhe saw a little coffin lowered silently into that grave by the sextonof that time and a strange man, who afterwards went away in a mourningcoach, which was in waiting at the gate, and in which doubtless thestranger and the little coffin had come. 

"Before the man departed he assisted to fill up the grave; and when itwas filled Matthew Haygarth gave money to both the men--gold it seemedto the lad Andrew, and several pieces to each person. The two men thendeparted, but Mr. Haygarth still lingered. 

"As soon as he fancied himself alone, he knelt down beside the littlegrave, covered his face with his hands, and either wept or prayed, Andrew Hone could not tell which. If he wept, he wept silently. 

"From that night, my sexton said, Matthew Haygarth faded visibly. Mistress Rebecca came home from her love-feast, and nursed and tendedher husband with considerable kindness, though, so far as I can makeout, she was at the best a stern woman. He died three weeks after theevent which I have described, and was buried in that vault close to thelittle grave. " I thanked Mr. Wendover for his succinct narrative, andapologised for the trouble I had occasioned him. 

"Do not speak of the trouble, " he answered kindly; "I am used totelling that story. I have heard it a great many times from poor oldAndrew, and I have told it a great many times. "

"The story has rather a legendary tone, " I said; "I should havescarcely thought such a thing possible. "

The rector shrugged his shoulders with a deprecating gesture. 

"In our own day, " he replied, "such an occurrence would be almostimpossible; but you must remember that we are talking of the lastcentury--a century in which, I regret to say, the clergy of the Churchof England were sadly lax in the performance of their duties. Thefollowers of Wesley and Whitefield could scarcely have multiplied asthey did if the flocks had not been cruelly neglected by their propershepherds. It was a period in which benefices were bestowed constantlyon men obviously unfitted for the holy office--men who were gamblersand drunkards, patrons of cock-pits, and in many cases open andshameless reprobates. In such an age almost anything was possible; andthis midnight and unhallowed interment may very well have taken placeeither with the consent or without the knowledge of the incumbent, who, I am told, bore no high character for piety or morality. "

"And you say there is an entry in the register?"

"Yes, a careless scrawl, dated Sept. 19th, 1774, recording the burialof one Matthew Haygarth, aged four years, removed from theburial-ground attached to the parish church of Spotswold. "

"Then it was a reinterment?"

"Evidently. "

"And is Spotswold in this county?"

"Yes; it is a very small village, about fifty miles from here. "

"And Matthew Haygarth died very soon after this event?"

"He did. He died very suddenly--with an awful suddenness--and diedintestate. His widow was left the possessor of great wealth, whichincreased in the hands of her son John Haygarth, a very prudent andworthy gentleman, and a credit to the Church of which he was a member. He only died very lately, I believe, and must therefore have attained agreat age. "

It is quite evident that Mr. Wendover had not seen the advertisement inthe Times, and was ignorant of the fact that the accumulated wealth ofHaygarths and Caulfields is now waiting a claimant. 

I asked permission to see the register containing the entry of themysterious interment; and after the administration of a shilling to theclerk--a shilling at Dewsdale being equal to half a crown in London--the vestry cupboard was opened by that functionary, and the book Irequired was produced from a goodly pile of such mouldy brownleather-bound volumes. 

The following is a copy of the entry:--

"On Thursday last past, being ye 19 Sep'tr, A. D. 1774, was interr'd yebodie off onne Matthewe Haygarthe, ag'd foure yeres, remoov'd fromm yeChurcheyarde off St. Marie, under ye hil, Spotswolde, in this Co. Padeforr so doeing, sevven shill. "

After having inspected the register, I asked many further questions, but without eliciting much further information. So I expressed mythanks for the courtesy that had been shown me, and took my departure, not wishing to press the matter so closely as to render myself anuisance to the worthy Wendover, and bearing in mind that it would beopen to me to return at any future time. 

And now I ask myself--and I ask the astute Sheldon--what is the meaningof this mysterious burial, and is it likely to have any bearing on theobject of our search? These are questions for the consideration of theastute S. 

I spent my evening in jotting down the events of the day, in the abovefree-and-easy fashion for my own guidance, and in a more precise andbusiness-like style for my employer. I posted my letter before teno'clock, the hour at which the London mail is made up, and then smokedmy cigar in the empty streets, overshadowed by gaunt square stacks ofbuilding and tall black chimneys; and so back to my inn, where I took aglass of ale and another cigar, and then to bed, as the worthy Pepysmight have concluded. 

CHAPTER III. 

MR. GOODGE'S WISDOM. 

_Oct. 5th_. My dreams last night were haunted by the image of gray-eyedMolly, with her wild loose hair. She must needs have been a sweetcreature; and how she came amongst those prim fishy-eyed men and womenwith absurd head-gear is much more than I can understand. That sheshould mix herself up with Diana Paget, and play _rouge-et-noir_ atForêtdechêne in a tucked-up chintz gown and a quilted satin petticoat, in my dreams last night--that I should meet her afterwards in thelittle stucco temple on the Belgian hills, and stab her to the heart, whereon she changed into Charlotte Halliday--is only in the nature ofdreams, and therefore no subject for wonder. 

On referring to Sheldon's letter I found that the next people to belooked up were descendants of Brice the lawyer; so I devoted mybreakfast-hour to the cultivation of an intimacy with the oldest of thewaiters--a very antique specimen of his brotherhood, with a whitestubble upon his chin and a tendency to confusion of mind in the matterof forks and spoons. 

"Do you know, or have you ever known, an attorney of the name of Bricein this town?" I asked him. 

He rubbed the white stubble contemplatively with his hand, and thengave his poor old head a dejected shake. I felt at once that I shouldget very little good out of _him_. 

"No, " he murmured despondently, "not that I can call to mind. "

I should like to know what he _could_ call to mind, piteous oldmeanderer!

"And yet you belong to Ullerton, I suppose?"

"Yes; and have belonged to it these seventy-five years, man and boy;"whereby, no doubt, the dreary confusion of the unhappy being's mind. Figurez donc, mon cher. Qui-que-ce-soit, fifty-five years or so ofcommercial breakfasts and dinners in such a place as Ullerton!Five-and-fifty years of steaks and chops; five-and-fifty years of hamand eggs, indifferently buttered toasts, and perennial sixes ofbrandy-and-water! After rambling to and fro with spoons and forks, andwhile in progress of clearing my table, and dropping the differentitems of my breakfast equipage, the poor soddened faded face of thisdreary wanderer became suddenly illumined with a faint glimmer that wasalmost the light of reason. 

"There were a Brice in Ullerton when I were a lad; I've heard fathertell on him, " he murmured slowly. 

"An attorney?"

"Yes. He were a rare wild one, he were! It was when the Prince of Waleswere Regent for his poor old mad father, as the saying is, and folkswas wilder like in general in those times, and wore spencers--lawyerBrice wore a plum-coloured one. "

Imagine then again, mon cher, an attorney in a plum-coloured spencer!Who, in these enlightened days, would trust his business to such apractitioner? I perked up considerably, believing that my aged imbecilewas going to be of real service to me. 

"Yes, he were a rare wild one, he were, " said my ancient friend withexcitement. "I can remember him as well as if it was yesterday, atTiverford races--there was races at Tiverford in those days, andgentlemen jocks. Lawyer Brice rode his roan mare--Queen Charlotte theycalled her. But after that he went wrong, folks said--speckilated withsome money, you see, that he didn't ought to have touched--and went toAmerica, and died. " "Died in America, did he? Why the deuce couldn't hedie in Ullerton? I should fancy it was a pleasanter place to die inthan it is to live in. And how about his sons?"

"Lawyer Brice's sons?"

"Yes, of course. "

My imbecile's lips expanded into a broad grin. 

"Lawyer Brice never had no sons, " he exclaimed, with a tone whichseemed to express a contemptuous pity for my ignorance; "he nevermarried. "

"Well, well; his brothers. He had brothers, I suppose?"

"Not as _I_ ever heard tell on, " answered my imbecile, relapsing intohopeless inanity. 

It was clear that no further help was to be obtained from him. I wentto the landlord--a brisk business-like individual of Transatlanticgoaheadism. From him I learned that there were no Brices in Ullerton, and never had been within the thirty years of his experience in thattown. He gave me an Ullerton directory in confirmation of that fact--aneat little shilling volume, which I begged leave to keep for a quarterof an hour before returning it. 

Brice was evidently a failure. I turned to the letter G, and looked upthe name of Goodge. Goodge, Jonah, minister of Beulah Chapel, residedat No. 7, Waterhouse-lane--the lane in which I had seen the chapel. 

I determined upon waiting on the worthy Goodge. He may be able toenlighten me as to the name of the pastor who preached to the Wesleyanflock in the time of Rebecca Caulfield; and from the descendants ofsuch pastor I may glean some straws and shreds of information. Thepious Rebecca would have been likely to confide much to her spiritualdirector. The early Wesleyans had all the exaltation of the Quietists, and something of the lunatic fervour of the Convulsionists, who kickedand screamed themselves into epilepsy under the influence of theUnigenitus Bull. The pious Rebecca was no doubt an enthusiast. 

 * * * * *

I found No. 7, Waterhouse-lane. It is a neat little six-roomed house, with preternaturally green palings enclosing about sixty square feet ofbright yellow gravel, adorned by a row of whitewashed shells. Somescarlet geraniums bloomed in pots of still more vivid scarlet; and thesight of those bright red blossoms recalled Philip Sheldon's garden atBayswater, and that sweet girl by whose side I have walked its trimpathways. 

But business is business; and if I am ever to sue for my Charlotte'shand, I must present myself before her as the winner of the threethousand. Remembering this, I lifted Mr. Goodge's knocker, andpresently found myself in conversation with that gentleman. 

Whether unordained piety has a natural tendency to become greasy ofaspect, and whether, among the many miracles vouchsafed to the amiableand really great Wesley, he received for his disciples of all time tocome the gift of a miraculous straightness and lankiness of hair, Iknow not; but I do know that every Methodist parson I have had thehonour to know has been of one pattern, and that Mr. Goodge is noexception to the rule. 

I am bound to record that I found him a very civil person, quitewilling to afford me any help in his power, and far more practical andbusiness-like than the rector of Dewsdale. 

It seems that the gift of tongues descended on the Goodges during thelifetime of John Wesley himself, and during the earlier part of thatteacher's career. It was a Goodge who preached in the draper'swarehouse, and it was the edifying discourse of a Goodge whichdeveloped the piety of Miss Rebecca Caulfield, afterwards Mrs. Haygarth. 

"That Goodge was my great-uncle, " said the courteous Jonah, "and therewas no one in Ullerton better acquainted with Rebecca Caulfield. I'veheard my grandmother talk of her many a time. She used to send himpoultry and garden-stuff from her house at Dewsdale, and at hisinstigation she contributed handsomely to the erection of the chapel inwhich it is my privilege to preach. "

I felt that I had struck upon a vein of gold. Here was a sharp-witted, middle-aged man--not an ancient mariner, or a meandering imbecile--whocould remember the talk of a grandmother who had known MatthewHaygarth's wife. And this visit to Mr. Goodge was my own idea, notprompted by the far-seeing Sheldon. I felt myself advancing in theinsidious arts of a private inquirer. 

"I am employed in the prosecution of a business which has a _remote_relation to the Haygarth family history, " I said; "and if you canafford me any information on that subject I should be extremelyobliged. "

I emphasised the adjective "remote, " and felt myself, in my humble way, a Talleyrand. 

"What kind of information, do you require?" asked Mr. Goodgethoughtfully. 

"Any information respecting Matthew Haygarth or his wife. "

Mr. Goodge became profoundly meditative after this. 

"I am not given to act unadvisedly, " he began--and I felt that I was infor a little professional discourse: "the creatures of impulse are thechildren of Satan, the babes of Lucifer, the infants of Beelzebub. Itake counsel in the silence of the night, and wait the whispers ofwisdom in the waking hours of darkness. You must allow me time toponder this business in my heart and to be still. "

I told Mr. Goodge that I would willingly await his own time foraffording me any information in his power to give. 

"That is pleasant, " said the pastor blandly: "the worldly are apt torush blindly through life, as the roaring lion rushes through theforest. I am not one of those rushing worldlings. I presume, by theway, that such information as I may afford is likely to become a sourceof pecuniary profit to your employer?"

I began to see that my friend Goodge and the rector of Dewsdale werevery different kind of people, and that I must play my cardsaccordingly. 

"That will depend upon the nature of your information, " I replieddiplomatically; "it may be worth something to us, or it may beworthless. "

"And in case it should be worth something?"

"In that case my employer would be glad to remunerate the person fromwhom he obtained it. "

Mr. Goodge again became meditative. 

"It was the habit of the sainted Wesley to take counsel from theScriptures, " he said presently: "if you will call again tomorrow, youngman, I shall have taken counsel, and may be able to entreat with you. "

I did not much relish being addressed as "young man, " even by such ashining light as the Rev. Jonah Goodge. But as I wanted the Rev. Jonah's aid, I submitted with a tolerable grace to his patriarchalfamiliarity, and bade him good morning, after promising to call againon the following day. I returned to my inn and wrote to Sheldon in timefor the afternoon mail, recounting my interview with Mr. Goodge, andasking how far I should be authorised to remunerate that gentleman, orto pledge myself to remunerate him for such information as he mighthave to dispose of. 

_Oct. 6th_. A letter from Sheldon. 

"DEAR HAWKEHURST, --There may be something very important behind thatmysterious burial at Dewsdale. Go without delay to Spotswold; examineregisters, tombstones, &c; hunt up oldest inhabitant or inhabitants, from whom you may be able to discover whether any Haygarth or Haygarthsover lived there, and all that is known respecting such Haygarth orHaygarths. You have got a cine to _something_. Follow it up till itbreaks off short, as such clues often do, or till you find it is onlyleading you on a wild-goose chase. The Dewsdale business is worthinvestigation. 

"Mem. How about descendants of lawyer Brice?--Yours truly, G. S. 

"G. 's Inn, Oct. 5th. "

Before starting for Spotswold it was necessaryfor me to see Mr. Goodge. I found that gentleman in a pious and yetbusiness-like frame of mind. He had taken counsel from the Scriptures, like the founder of his sect; but I fancy with rather less spiritualaspirations. 

"The text upon which the lot fell was the 12th verse of the 9th chapterin the Book of Proverbs, 'If thou be wise, thou shalt be wise forthyself, '" he said solemnly; "whereby I perceive that I shall not bejustified in parting with that which you seek without fittingrecompense. I ask you, therefore, young man, what are you prepared togive?"

The Rev. Jonah's tone could scarcely have been more lofty, or hismanner more patronising, if he had been Saul and I the humble David;but a man who is trying to earn three thousand pounds must put up witha great deal. Finding that the minister was prepared to play thehuckster, I employed no further ceremony. 

"The price must of course depend on the quality of the article you haveto sell, " I said; "I must know that before I can propose terms. "

"Suppose my information took the form of letters?"

"Letters from whom--to whom?"

"From Mrs. Rebecca Haygarth to my great-uncle, Samson Goodge. "

"How many of such letters have you to sell?"

I put it very plainly; but the Rev. Jonah's susceptibilities were notof the keenest order. He did not wince. 

"Say forty odd letters. "

I pricked up my ears; and it needed all my diplomacy to enable me toconceal my sense of triumph. Forty odd letters! There must be anenormous amount of information in forty odd letters; unless the womanwrote the direst twaddle ever penned by a feminine correspondent. 

"Over what period do the dates of these letters extend?" I asked. 

"Over about seven years; from 1769 to 1776. "

Four years prior to the marriage with our friend Matthew; three yearsafter the marriage. 

"Are they tolerably long letters, or mere scrawls?"

"They were written in a period when nobody wrote short letters, "answered Mr. Goodge sententiously, --"the period of Bath post and dearpostage. The greater number of the epistles cover three sides of asheet of letter-paper; and Mrs. Rebecca's caligraphy was small andneat. "

"Good!" I exclaimed. "I suppose it is no use my asking you to let mesee one of these letters before striking a bargain--eh, Mr. Goodge?""Well, I think not, " answered the oily old hypocrite. "I have takencounsel, and I will abide by the light that has been shown me. 'If thoube wise, thou shalt be wise for thyself;' such are the words ofinspiration. No, I think not. "

"And what do you ask for the forty odd letters?"

"Twenty pounds. "

"A stiff sum, Mr. Goodge, for forty sheets of old letter-paper. "

"But if they were not likely to be valuable, you would scarcely happento want them, " answered the minister. "I have taken counsel, youngman. "

"And those are your lowest terms?"

"I cannot accept sixpence less. It is not in me to go from my word. AsJacob served Laban seven years, and again another seven years, havingpromised, so do I abide by my bond. Having said twenty pounds, youngman, Heaven forbid that I should take so much as twenty pence less thanthose twenty pounds!"

The solemn unction with which he pronounced this twaddle is beyonddescription. The pretence of conscientious feeling which he contrivedto infuse into his sordid bargain-driving might have done honour toMolière's Tartuffe. Seeing that he was determined to stick to histerms, I departed. I telegraphed to Sheldon for instructions as towhether I was to give Goodge the money he asked, and then went back tomy inn, where I devoted myself for the next ten minutes to the study ofa railway time-table, with a view to finding the best route toSpotswold. 

After a close perusal of bewildering strings of proper names anddazzling columns of figures, I found a place called Black Harbour, "forWisborough, Spotswold, and Chilton. " A train left Ullerton for BlackHarbour at six o'clock in the afternoon, and was due at the latterplace at 8. 40. 

This gave me an interval of some hours, in which I could do nothing, unless I received a telegram from Sheldon. The chance of a reply fromhim kept me a prisoner in the coffee-room of the Swan Inn, where I readalmost every line in the local and London newspapers pending thearrival of the despatch, which came at last. 

"Tell Goodge he shall have the sum asked, and get the letters at once. Money by to-night's post. "

This was Sheldon's message; sharp and short, and within the eighteenpenny limit. Acting upon this telegram, I returned to the abode of Mr. Goodge, told him his terms were to be complied with, showed him thetelegram, at his request, and asked for the letters. 

I ought to have known my reverend friend better than to imagine hewould part with those ancient documents except for money upon thecounter. 

He smiled a smile which might have illuminated the visage ofMachiavelli. 

"The letters have kept a long time, young man, " he said, after havingstudied the telegram as closely as if it had been written in Punic;"and lo you, they are in nowise the worse for keeping: so they willkeep yet longer. 'If thou be wise, then shalt be wise for thyself. ' Youcan come for the letters tomorrow, and bring the money with you. Say at11 A. M. "

I put on my hat and bade my friend good day. I have often been temptedto throw things at people, and have withheld my hand; but I never feltSatan so strong upon me as at that moment, and I very much fear that ifI had had anything in the way of a kitchen-poker or a carving-knifeabout me, I should have flung that missile at the patriarchal head ofmy saintly Jonah. As it was, I bade him good day and returned to theSwan, where I took a hurried repast and started for the station, carrying a light carpet-bag with me, as I was not likely to return tillthe following night, at the earliest. 

I arrived at the station ten minutes before the starting of the train, and had to endure ten minutes of that weariness called waiting. Iexhausted the interest of all the advertisements on the station walls;found out how I could have my furniture removed with the utmostconvenience--supposing myself to possess furniture; discovered where Iought to buy a dinner-service, and the most agreeable kind of blind toscreen my windows in sunny weather. I was still lingering over thedescription of this new invention in blinds, when a great bell set up asudden clanging, and the down train from London came thundering intothe station. 

This was also the train for Black Harbour. There were a good manypassengers going northwards, a good many alighting at Ullerton; and inthe hurry and confusion I had some difficulty in finding a place in asecond-class carriage, the passengers therein blocking up the windowswith that unamiable exclusiveness peculiar to railway travellers. Ifound a place at last, however; but in hurrying from carriage tocarriage I was startled by an occurrence which I have since ponderedvery seriously. 

I ran bolt against my respected friend and patron Horatio Paget. 

We had only time to recognise each other with exclamations of mutualsurprise when the clanging bell rang again, and I was obliged toscuffle into my seat. A moment's delay would have caused me to be leftbehind. And to have remained behind would have been very awkward forme; as the Captain would undoubtedly have questioned me as to mybusiness in Ullerton. Was I not supposed to be at Dorking, enjoying thehospitality of an aged aunt?

It would have been unlucky to lose that train. 

But what "makes" the gallant Captain in Ullerton? That is a questionwhich I deliberated as the train carried me towards Black Harbour. 

Sheldon warned me of the necessity for secrecy, and I have been assecret as the grave. It is therefore next to an impossibility thatHoratio Paget can have any idea of the business I am engaged in. He isthe very man of all others to try and supersede me if he had an inklingof my plans; but I am convinced he can have no such inkling. 

And yet the advertisement of the Haygarth property in the _Times_ wasas open to the notice of all the world as it was open to the notice ofGeorge Sheldon. What if my patron should have been struck by the sameadvertisement, and should have come to Ullerton on the same business?

It is possible, but it is not likely. When I left town the Captain wasengaged in Philip Sheldon's affairs. He has no doubt come to Ullertonon Philip Sheldon's business. The town, which seems an abomination ofdesolation to a man who is accustomed to London and Paris, isnevertheless a commercial centre; and the stockbroker's schemes mayinvolve the simple Ullertonians, as well as the more experiencedchildren of the metropolis. 

Having thought the business out thus, I gave myself no further troubleabout the unexpected appearance of my friend and benefactor. 

At Black Harbour I found a coach, which carried me to Spotswold, whither I travelled in a cramped and painful position as regards mylegs, and with a pervading sensation which was like a determination ofluggage to the brain, so close to my oppressed head was theheavily-laden roof of the vehicle. It was pitch dark when I and twofellow-passengers of agricultural aspect were turned out of the coachat Spotswold, which in the gloom of night appeared to consist of halfa dozen houses shut in from the road by ghastly white palings, a grimlooming church, and a low-roofed inn with a feeble light glimmeringathwart a red stuff curtain. 

At this inn I was fain to take up my abode for the night, and wasconducted to a little whitewashed bedchamber, draperied with scantydimity and smelling of apples--the humblest, commonest cottage chamber, but clean and decent, and with a certain countrified aspect which waspleasing to me. I fancied myself the host of such an inn, withCharlotte for my wife; and it seemed to me that it would be nice tolive in that remote and unknown village, "the world forgetting, by theworld forgot. " I beguiled myself by such foolish fancies--I, who havebeen reared amidst the clamour and riot of the Strand!

Should I be happy with that dear girl if she were mine? Alas! I doubtit. A man who has led a disreputable life up to the age ofseven-and-twenty is very likely to have lost all capacity for suchpure and perfect happiness as that which good men find in the tranquilhaven of a home. 

Should I not hear the rattle of the billiard-balls, or the voice of the_croupier_ calling the main, as I sat by my quiet fireside? Should Inot yearn for the glitter and confusion of West-end dancing-rooms, orthe mad excitement of the ring, while my innocent young wife wassitting by my side and asking me to look at the blue eyes of myfirst-born?

No; Charlotte is not for me. There must be always the two classes--thesheep and the goats; and my lot has been cast among the goats. 

And yet there are some people who laugh to scorn the doctrines ofCalvin, and say there is no such thing as predestination. 

Is there not predestination? Was not I predestined to be born in a gaoland reared in a gutter, educated among swindlers and scoundrels, fedupon stolen victuals, and clad in garments never to be paid for? Did noEumenides preside over the birth of Richard Savage, so set apart formisery that the laws of nature were reversed, and even his mother hatedhim? Did no dismal fatality follow the footsteps of Chatterton? Has nomysterious ban been laid upon the men who have been called Dukes ofBuckingham?

What foolish lamentations am I scribbling in this diary, which isintended to be only the baldest record of events! It is so natural tomankind to complain, that, having no ear in which to utter hisdiscontent, a man is fain to resort to pen and ink. 

I devoted my evening to conversation with the landlord and his wife, but found that the name of Haygarth was as strange to them as if it hadbeen taken from an inscription in the tomb of the Pharaohs. I inquiredabout the few inhabitants of the village, and ascertained that theoldest man in the place is the sexton, native-born, and supposed bymine host never to have travelled twenty miles from his birthplace. Hisname is Peter Drabbles. What extraordinary names that class of peoplecontrive to have! My first business to-morrow morning will be to findmy friend Drabbles--another ancient mariner, no doubt--and to examinethe parish registers. 

_Oct. 7th_. A misty morning, and a perpetual drizzle--to say nothing ofa damp, penetrating cold, which creeps through the thickest overcoat, and chills one to the bone. I do not think Spotswold can have muchbrightness or prettiness even on the fairest summer morning that everbeautified the earth. I know that, seen as I see it to-day, the placeis the very archetype of all that is darksome, dull, desolate, dismal, and dreary. (How odd, by the way, that all that family of epithetsshould have the same initial!) A wide stretch of moorland lies aroundand about the little village, which crouches in a hollow, like somepoor dejected animal that seeks to shelter itself from the bitterblast. On the edge of the moorland, and above the straggling cottagesand the little inn, rises the massive square tower of an old church, sofar out of proportion to the pitiful cluster of houses, that I imagineit must be the remnant of some monastic settlement. 

Towards this church I made my way, under the dispiriting drip, drip ofthe rain, and accompanied by a feeble old man, who is sexton, clerk, gravedigger, and anything or everything of an official nature. 

We went into the church after my ancient mariner No. 2 had fumbled agood deal with a bunch of ghostly-looking keys. The door opened with adismal scroop, and shut with an appalling bang. Grim and dark as thechurch is without, it is grimmer and darker within, and damp andvault-like, _à faire frémir_. There are all the mysterious cupboardsand corners peculiar to such edifices; an organ-loft, from which weirdnoises issue at every opening or closing of a door; a vaulted roof, which echoes one's footsteps with a moan, as of some outraged spirithovering in empty space, and ejaculating piteously, "Another impiousintruder after the sacramental plate! another plebeian sole tramplingon the brasses of the De Montacutes, lords of the manor!"

The vestry is, if anything, more ghostly than the general run ofvestries; but the business mind is compelled to waive allconsiderations of a supernatural character. For the moment thereflashed across my brain the shadows of all the Christmas stories I hadever read or heard concerning vestries; the phantom bridal, in whichthe bride's beautiful white hand changed to the bony fingers of askeleton as she signed the register; the unearthly christening, inwhich all at once, after the ceremony having been conducted with theutmost respectability, to the edification of the unauthorised intruderhiding behind a pillar, the godfathers and godmothers, nurse and baby, priest and clerk, became in a moment dilapidated corpses; whereon theappalled intruder fell prone at the foot of his pillar, there to bediscovered the next morning by his friends, and the public generally, with his hair blanched to an awful whiteness, or his noble intellectdegraded to idiocy. For a moment, the memory of about a hundredChristmas stories was too much for me--so weird of aspect and earthy ofatmosphere was the vestry at Spotswold. And then "being gone" theshadows of the Christmas stories, I was a man and a lawyer's clerkagain, and set myself assiduously to search the registers andinterrogate my ancient. 

I found that individual a creature of mental fogginess compared withwhom my oldest inhabitant of Ullerton would have been a Pitt, Earl ofChatham. But I questioned and cross-questioned him until I had in amanner turned his poor old wits the seamy side without, and haddiscovered, first, that he had never known any one called Haygarth inthe whole course of those seventy-five years' vegetation whichpoliteness compelled me to speak of as his "life;" secondly, that hehad never known any one who knew a Haygarth; thirdly, that he wasintimately acquainted with every creature in the village, and that heknew that no one of the inhabitants could give me the smallest shred ofsuch information as I required. 

Having extorted so much as this from my ancient with unutterableexpenditure of time and trouble, I next set to work upon the registers. 

If the ink manufactured in the present century is of no more durablenature than that abominable fluid employed in the penmanship of ahundred years ago, I profoundly pity the generations that are to comeafter us. The registers of Spotswold might puzzle a Bunsen. However, bearing in mind the incontrovertible fact that three thousand pounds isa very agreeable sum of money, I stuck to my work for upwards of twohours, and obtained as a result the following entries:--

"1. Matthew Haygarthe, aged foure yeares, berrid in this churcheyarde, over against ye tombe off Mrs. Marttha Stileman, about 10 fete fromm yeolde yue tre. Febevarie 6th, 1753. "

"2. Mary Haygarthe, aged twentie sevene yeers, berrid under ye yuetree, Nov. 21, 1754. "

After copying these two entries, I went out into the churchyard to lookfor Mary Haygarth's grave. 

Under a fine old yew--which had been old a hundred years ago, it seems--I found huddled amongst other headstones one so incrusted with moss, that it was only after scraping the parasite verdure from the stonewith my penknife that I was able to discover the letters that had beencut upon it. I found at last a brief inscription:

"Here lieth ye body of MARY HAYGARTH, aged 27. Born 1727. Died 1754. This stone has been set up by one who sorroweth without hope ofconsolation. " A strange epitaph: no scrap of Latin, no text fromScripture, no conventional testimony to the virtues and accomplishmentsof the departed, no word to tell whether the dead woman had been maid, wife, or widow. It was the most provoking inscription for a lawyer or agenealogist, but such as might have pleased a poet. 

I fancy this Mary Haygarth must have been some quiet creature, withvery few friends to sorrow for her loss; perhaps only that one personwho sorrowed without hope of consolation. 

Such a tombstone might have been set above the grave of that simplemaid who dwelt "beside the banks of Dove. "

This is the uttermost that my patience or ingenuity can do for me atSpotswold. I have exhausted every possibility of obtaining furtherinformation. So, having written and posted my report to Sheldon, I haveno more to do but to return to Ullerton. I take back with me nothingbut the copy of the two entries in the register of burials. Who thisMatthew Haygarth or this Mary Haygarth was, and how related to theMatthew, is an enigma not to be solved at Spotswold. 

Here the story of the Haygarths ends with the grave under the yew-tree. 

BOOK THE FIFTH. 

RELICS OF THE DEAD. 

CHAPTER I. 

BETRAYED BY A BLOTTING-PAD. 

At an early hour upon the day on which Valentine Hawkehurst telegraphedto his employer, Philip Sheldon presented himself again at the dingydoor of the office in Gray's Inn. 

The dingy door was opened by the still more dingy boy; and Mr. Sheldonthe elder--who lived in a state of chronic hurry, and had a hansom cabin attendance upon him at almost every step of his progress throughlife--was aggravated by the discovery that his brother was out. 

"Out!" he repeated, with supreme disgust; "he always _is_ out, I think. Where is he to be found?"

The boy replied that his master would be back in half an hour, if Mr. Sheldon would like to wait. 

"Like to wait!" cried the stockbroker; "when will lawyers' clerks havesense enough to know that nobody on this earth ever _liked_ to wait?Where's your master gone?"

"I think he's just slipped round into Holborn, sir, " the boy replied, with some slight hesitation. He was very well aware that George hadsecrets from his brother, and that it was not judicious to be too freein his communications to the elder gentleman. But the black eyes andwhite teeth of the stockbroker seemed very awful to him; and if Philipchose to question him, he must needs answer the truth, not having beenprovided by his master with any convenient falsehood in case ofinquiry. 

"What part of Holborn?" asked Philip sharply. 

"I did hear tell as it was the telegraph office. "

"Good!" exclaimed Mr. Sheldon; and then he dashed downstairs, leavingthe lad on the threshold of the door staring after him with eyes ofwonder. 

The telegraph office meant business; and any business of his brother'swas a matter of interest to Mr. Sheldon at this particular period. Hehad meditated the meaning of George's triumphant smile in the secludedcalm of his own office; and the longer he had meditated, the moredeeply rooted had become his conviction that his brother was engaged insome very deep and very profitable scheme, the nature of which it washis bounden duty to discover. 

Impressed by this idea, Mr. Sheldon returned to the hansom-cab, whichwas waiting for him at the end of Warwick-court, and made his way tothe telegraph office. The ostensible motive of his call in Gray's Innwas sufficient excuse for this following up of his brother's footsteps. It was one of those waifs and strays of rather disreputable businesswhich the elder man sometimes threw in the way of the younger. 

As the wheel of the hansom ground against the kerbstone in front of thetelegraph office, the figure of George Sheldon vanished in a littlecourt to the left of that establishment. Instead of pursuing thisreceding figure, Philip Sheldon walked straight into the office. 

It was empty. There was no one in any of the shaded compartments, sopainfully suggestive of pecuniary distress and the stealthyhypothecation of portable property. A sound of rattling and bumping inan inner office betrayed the neighbourhood of a clerk; but in theoffice Mr. Sheldon was alone. 

Upon the blotting-pad on the counter of the central partition thestockbroker perceived one great blot of ink, still moist. Ha laid thetip of his square forefinger upon it, to assure himself of that fact, and then set himself deliberately to scrutinise the blotting-paper. Hewas a man who seldom hesitated. His greatest _coups_ on themoney-market had been in a great measure the result of this faculty ofprompt decision. To-day he possessed himself of the blotting-pad, andexamined the half-formed syllables stamped upon it with as much coolnessand self-possession as if he had been seated in his own office readinghis own newspaper. A man given to hesitation would have looked to theright and the left and watched for his opportunity--and lost it. PhilipSheldon knew better than to waste his chances by needless precaution;and he made himself master of all the intelligence the blotting-padcould afford him before the clerk emerged from the inner den where therattling and stamping was going forward. 

"I thought as much, " muttered the stockbroker, as he recognised tracesof his brother's sprawling penmanship upon the pad. The message hadbeen written with a heavy hand and a spongy quill pen, and had left atolerably clear impression of its contents on the blotting-paper. 

Here and there the words stood out bold and clear; here and there, again, there was only one decipherable letter amongst a few brokenhieroglyphics. Mr. Sheldon was accustomed to the examination of veryillegible documents, and he was able to master the substance of thatrandom impression. If he could not decipher the whole, he made outsufficient for his purpose. Money was to be offered to a man calledGoodge for certain letters. He knew his brother's affairs well enoughto know that these letters for which money was to be offered must needsbe letters of importance in some search for an heir-at-law. So far allwas clear and simple; but beyond this point he found himself at fault. Where was this Goodge to be found? and who was the person that was tooffer him money for the letters? The names and address, which had beenwritten first, had left no impression on the blotting-pad, or animpression so faint as to be useless for any practical purpose. 

Mr. Sheldon put down the pad and lingered by the door of the officedeliberating, when the rattling and hammering came to an abrupttermination, and the clerk emerged from the interior den. 

"O, " he exclaimed, "it's all right. Your message shall go directly. "

The stockbroker, whose face was half averted from the clerk, and whostood between that functionary and the light from the open doorway, atonce comprehended the error that had arisen. The clerk had mistaken himfor his brother. 

"I'm not quite clear as to whether I gave the right address, " he saidpromptly, with his face still averted, and his attention apparentlyoccupied by a paper in his hand. "Just see how I wrote it, there's agood fellow. "

The clerk withdrew for a few minutes, and returned with the message inhis hand. 

"From George Sheldon to Valentine Hawkehurst, Black Swan Inn, Ullerton, " he read aloud from the document. 

"All right, and thanks, " cried the stockbroker. 

He gave one momentary glance at the clerk, and had just time to seethat individual's look of bewilderment as some difference in his voiceand person from the voice and person of the black-whiskered man who hadjust left the office dawned upon his troubled senses. After that oneglance Mr. Sheldon darted across the pavement, sprang into his cab, andcalled to the driver, "Literary Institution, Burton-street, as fast asyou can go. "

"I'll try my luck in the second column of the _Times_, " he said tohimself. "If George's scheme is what I take it to be, I shall get someclue to it there. " He took a little oblong memorandum-book from hispocket, and looked at his memoranda of the past week. Among thosecareless jottings he found one memorandum scrawled in pencil, amongstnotes and addresses in ink, "_Haygarth--intestate. G. S. To seeafter. _"

"That's it, " he exclaimed; "Haygarth--intestate; Valentine Hawkehurst_not_ at Dorking, but working for my brother; Goodge--letters to bepaid for. It's all like the bits of mosaic that those antiquarianfellows are always finding in the ruins of Somebody's Baths; a fewhandfuls of coloured chips that look like rubbish, and can yet bepatched into a perfect geometric design. I'll hunt up a file of the_Times_ at the Burton Institution, and find out this Haygarth, if heis to be found there. "

The Burton Institution was a somewhat dingy temple devoted to theinterests of science and literature, and next door to some baths thatwere very popular among the denizens of Bloomsbury. People in quest ofthe baths were apt to ascend the classic flight of steps leading to theInstitution, when they should have descended to a lowlier thresholdlurking modestly by the side of that edifice. The Baths and theInstitution had both been familiar to Mr. Sheldon in that period ofprobation which he had spent in Fitzgeorge-street. He was sufficientlyacquainted with the librarian of the Institution to go in and outuninterrogated, and to make any use he pleased of the reading-room. Hewent in to-day, asked to see the latest bound volumes of the _Times_and the latest files of unbound papers, and began his investigation, working backwards. Rapidly and dexterously as he turned the big leavesof the journals, the investigation occupied nearly three-quarters of anhour; but at the expiration of that time he had alighted on theadvertisement published in the March of the preceding year. 

He gave a very low whistle--a kind of phantom whistle--as he read thisadvertisement. "John Haygarth!--a hundred thousand pounds!"

The fortune for which a claimant was lacking amounted to a hundredthousand pounds! Mr. Sheldon knew commercial despots who counted theirwealth by millions, and whose fiat could sway the exchanges of Europe;but a hundred thousand pounds seemed to him a very nice thingnevertheless, and he was ready to dispute the prize the anticipationwhereof had rendered his brother so triumphant. 

"He has rejected me as a coadjutor, " he thought, as he went back to hiscab after having copied the advertisement; "he shall have me as anantagonist. "

"Omega-street, Chelsea, next call, " he cried to the driver; and wassoon beyond the confines of Bloomsbury, and rattling away towards theborder-land of Belgravia. He had completed his search of the newspapersat ten minutes past twelve, and at twenty minutes to one he presentedhimself at the lodging-house in Omega-street, where he found CaptainPaget, in whose "promoting" business there happened to be a lull justnow. With this gentleman he had a long interview; and the result ofthat interview was the departure of the Captain by the two o'clockexpress for Ullerton. Thus had it happened that Valentine Hawkehurstand his patron encountered each other on the platform of Ullertonstation. 

CHAPTER II. 

VALENTINE INVOKES THE PHANTOMS OF THE PAST. 

_Oct. 7th, Midnight_. I was so fortunate as to get away from Spotswoldthis morning very soon after the completion of my researches in thevestry, and at five o'clock in the afternoon I found myself once morein the streets of Ullerton. Coming home in the train I meditatedseriously upon the unexpected appearance of Horatio Paget at thehead-quarters of this Haygarthian investigation; and the more Iconsidered that fact, the more I felt inclined to doubt my patron'smotives, and to fear his interference. Can his presence in Ullertonhave any relation to the business that has brought me here? That is thequestion which I asked myself a hundred times during my journey fromSpotswold; that is the question which I ask myself still. 

I have no doubt I give myself unnecessary trouble; but I know that oldman's Machiavellian cleverness only too well; and I am inclined to lookwith suspicion upon every action of his. My first business on returningto this house was to ascertain whether any one bearing his name, oranswering to my description of him, had arrived during my absence. Iwas relieved by finding that no stranger whatever had put up at the innsince the previous forenoon. Who may have used the coffee-room isanother question, not so easily set at rest. In the evening a greatmany people come in and go out; and my friend and patron may have takenhis favourite brandy-and-soda, skimmed his newspaper, and picked upwhatever information was to be obtained as to _my_ movements withoutattracting any particular attention. 

In the words of the immortal lessee of the Globe Theatre, "Why I shouldfear I know not . .. And yet I feel I fear!"

I found a registered letter from George Sheldon, enclosing twentypounds in notes, and furnished therewith I went straight to my friendJonah, whom I found engaged in the agreeable occupation of taking tea. I showed him the money; but my estimate of the reverend gentleman'shonour being of a very limited nature, I took care not to give it tohim till he had produced the letters. On finding that I was reallyprepared to give him his price, he went to an old-fashioned bureau, andopened one of those secret recesses which cannot for three minutesremain a secret to any investigator possessed of a tolerably accurateeye or a three-foot rule. From this hiding-place--which he evidentlyconsidered a triumph of mechanical art, worthy the cabinet of aD'Argenson or a Fouché--he produced a packet of faded yellow letters, about which there lurked a faint odour of dried rose-leaves andlavender, which seemed the very perfume of the past. 

When my reverend friend had laid the packet on the table within reachof my hand, and not till then, I gave him the bank-notes. His fat oldfingers closed upon them greedily, and his fishy old eyes wereillumined by a faint glimmer which I believe nothing but bank-notescould have kindled in them. 

After having assured himself that they were genuine acknowledgments ofindebtedness on the part of the old lady in Thread-needle-street, andnot the base simulacra of Birmingham at five-and-twenty shillings adozen--thirteen as twelve--Mr. Goodge obligingly consented to sign asimple form of receipt which I had drawn up for the satisfaction of myprincipal. 

"I think you said there were forty-odd letters, " I remarked, before Iproceeded to count the documents in the presence of Mr. Goodge. 

That gentleman looked at me with an air of astonishment, which, had Inot known him to be the most consummate of hypocrites, would haveseemed to be simplicity itself. 

"I said from thirty to forty, " he exclaimed; "I never said there wereforty-odd letters. "

I looked at him and he looked at me. His face told me plainly enoughthat he was trying to deceive me, and my face told him plainly enoughthat he had no chance of succeeding in that attempt. Whether he waskeeping back some of the letters with a view to extorting more moneyfrom me hereafter, or whether he was keeping them with the idea ofmaking a better bargain with somebody else, I could not tell; but ofthe main fact I was certain--he had cheated me. 

I untied the red tape which held the letters together. Yes, there was apiece of circumstantial evidence which might have helped to convict myfriend had he been on his trial in a criminal court. The red tape borethe mark of the place in which it had been tied for half a century; anda little way within this mark the trace of a very recent tying. Some ofthe letters had been extracted, and the tape had been tied anew. 

I had no doubt that this had been done while my negotiation with Mr. Goodge had been pending. What was I to do? Refuse the letters, anddemand to have my principal's money returned to me? I knew my friendwell enough to know that such a proceeding would be about as useless asit would be to request the ocean to restore a cup of water that hadbeen poured into it. The letters he had given me might or might notafford some slight link in the chain I was trying to put together; andthe letters withheld from me might be more or less valuable than thosegiven to me. In any case the transaction was altogether a speculativeone; and George Sheldon's money was hazarded as completely as if it hadbeen put upon an outsider for the Derby. 

Before bidding him a polite farewell, I was determined to make Mr. Goodge thoroughly aware that he had not taken me in. 

"You said there were more than forty letters, " I told him; "I rememberthe phrase 'forty-odd, ' which is a colloquialism one would scarcelylook for in Tillotson or in John Wesley, who cherished a prejudice infavour of scholarship which does not distinguish all his followers. Yousaid there were forty-odd letters, and you have removed some of themfrom the packet. I am quite aware that I have no legal remedy againstyou, as our contract was a verbal one, made without witnesses; so Imust be content with what I get; but I do not wish you to flatteryourself with the notion that you have hoodwinked a lawyer's clerk. Youare not clever enough to do that, Mr. Goodge, though you are knaveenough to cheat every attorney in the Law List. "

"Young man, are you aware----?"

"As I have suffered by the absence of any witness to our negotiation, Imay as well profit by the absence of any witness to our interview. Youare a cheat and a trickster, Mr. Goodge, and I have the honour to wishyou good afternoon!" "Go forth, young man!" cried the infuriated Jonahwhose fat round face became beet-root colour with rage, and whoinvoluntarily extended his hand to the poker--for the purpose ofdefence and not defiance, I believe. "Go forth, young man! I say untoyou, as Abimelech said unto Jedediah, go forth. "

I am not quite clear as to the two scriptural proper names with whichthe Rev. Jonah embellished his discourse on this occasion; but I knowthat sort of man always has a leaning to the Abimelech and Jedediahs ofbiblical history; solely, I believe, because the names have a sonorousroll with them that is pleasant in the mouth of the charlatan. 

As I was in the act of going forth--quite at my leisure, for I had nofear of the clerical poker--my eye happened to alight on a smallside-table, covered with a chessboard-patterned cloth in gaudy colours, and adorned with some of those sombre volumes which seem like an outwardevidence of the sober piety of their possessor. Among the sombrevolumes lay something which savoured of another hemisphere than that towhich those brown leather-bound books belonged. It was a glove--agentleman's glove, of pale lavender kid--small in size for a masculineglove, and bearing upon it the evidence of the cleaner's art. Suchmight be the glove of an exiled Brummel, but could never have encasedthe squat paw of a Jonah Goodge. It was as if the _point d'Alençon_ruffle of Chesterfield had been dropped in the study of John Wesley. 

In a moment there flashed into my mind an idea which has haunted meever since. That glove had belonged to my respected patron, HoratioPaget, and it was for his benefit the letters had been abstracted fromthe packet. He had been with Jonah Goodge in the course of that day, and had bought him over to cheat me. 

And then I was obliged to go back to the old question, Was it possiblethat the Captain could have any inkling of my business? Who could havetold him?

Who could have betrayed a secret which was known only to George Sheldonand myself?

After all, are there not other people than Horatio Paget who wearcleaned lavender gloves? But it always has been a habit with theCaptain to leave one loose glove behind him; and I daresay it was therecollection of this which suggested the idea of his interference inthe Goodge business. 

I devoted my evening to the perusal of Mrs. Rebecca Haygarth's letters. The pale ink, the quaint cramped hand, the old-fashioned abbreviations, and very doubtful orthography rendered the task laborious; but I stuckto my work bravely, and the old clock in the market-place struck two asI began the last letter. As I get deeper into this business I find myinterest in it growing day by day--an interest _sui generis_, apartfrom all prospect of gain--apart even from the consideration that bymeans of this investigation I am obtaining a living which is earned_almost_ honestly; for if I tell an occasional falsehood or act anoccasional hypocrisy, I am no worse than a secretary of legation of anOld Bailey barrister. 

The pleasure which I now take in the progress of this research is apleasure that is new to me: it is the stimulus which makes a breakneckgallop across dreary fields gridironed with dykes and stone walls sodelicious to the sportsman; it is the stimulus which makes the task ofthe mathematician sweet to him when he devotes laborious days to thesolution of an abstruse problem; it is the stimulus that sustains theIndian trapper against all the miseries of cold and hunger, foulweather, and aching limbs; it is the fever of the chase--thatinextinguishable fire which, once lighted in the human breast, is notto be quenched until the hunt is ended. 

I should like to earn three thousand pounds; but if I were to be nonethe richer for my trouble, I think, now that I am so deeply involved inthis business, I should still go on. I want to fathom the mystery ofthat midnight interment at Dewsdale; I want to know the story of thatMary Haygarth who lies under the old yew-tree at Spotswold, and forwhose loss some one sorrowed without hope of consolation. 

Was that a widower's commonplace, I wonder, and did the unknown mournerconsole himself ultimately with a new wife? Who knows? as my Italianfriends say when they discuss the future of France. Shall I everpenetrate that mystery of the past? My task seems to me almost ashopeless as if George Sheldon had set me to hunt up the descendants ofKing Solomon's ninety-ninth wife. A hundred years ago seems as faraway, for all practical purposes, as if it were on the other side ofthe flood. 

The letters are worth very little. They are prim and measured epistles, and they relate much more to spiritual matters than to temporalbusiness. Mrs. Rebecca seems to have been so much concerned for thehealth of her soul that she had very little leisure to think ofanything so insignificant as the bodies of other people. The lettersare filled with discourses upon her own state of mind; and the tone ofthem reveals not a little of that pride whose character it is tosimulate humility. Mrs. Rebecca is always casting ashes on her head;but she takes care to let her friend and pastor know what a saintlyhead it is notwithstanding. 

I have laid aside three of the most secular letters, which I selectedafter wading through unnumbered pages of bewailings in the strain of aWesleyan Madame Guyon. These throw some little light upon the characterof Matthew Haygarth, but do not afford much information of a tangiblekind. I have transcribed the letters verbatim, adhering even to certaineccentricities of orthography which were by no means unusual in an agewhen the Pretender to the crown of Great Britain wrote of his father as_Gems_. 

The first letter bears the date of August 30th, 1773, one week afterthe marriage of the lady to our friend Matthew. 

"REVERED FRIEND AND PASTOR, --On Monday sennite we arriv'd in London, wich seems to me a mighty bigg citty, but of no more meritt or pietythan Babylon of old. My husband, who knows ye towne better than heknows those things with wich it would more become him to be familiar, was pleas'd to laugh mightily at that pious aversion wherewith Iregarded some of ye most notable sights in this place. We went t'othernight to a great garden called by some Spring Garden, by othersVauxhall, --as having been at one time ye residence or estate of thatArch Fiend and Papistical traitor Vaux, or Faux; but although I feltobligated to my husband for ye desire to entertain me with a finesight, I could not but look with shame upon serious Christiansdisporting themselves like children amongst coloured lamps, andlistening as if enraptured to profane music, when, at so much less costof money or of health, they might have been assembled together toimprove and edify one another. 

"My obliging Mathew would have taken me to other places of the likecharacter; but inspir'd, as I hope and believe, by ye direction of yespirit, I took upon myself to tell him what vain trifling is all suchkind of pleasure. He argu'd with me stoutly, saying that ye King andQueen, who are both shining examples of goodness and piety, do attendVauxhall and Ranelagh, and are to be seen there frequent, to thedelight of their subjects. On which I told him that, much as I esteemedmy sovereign and his respectable consort, I would compleat my existencewithout having seen them rather than I would seek to encounter them ina place of vain and frivolous diversion. He listen'd to my discoorse ina kind and sober temper, but he was not convinc'd; for by and by hefalls of a sudden to sighing and groaning, and cries out, 'O, I went toVauxhall once when ye garden was not many years made, and O, how brightye lamps shone, like ye stars of heaven fallen among bushes! and O, howsweet ye music sounded, like ye hymns of angels in ye dewy evening! butthat was nigh upon twenty years gone by, and all ye world is changedsince then. '

"You will conceive, Reverend Sir, that I was scandalised by such afoolish rapsodie, and in plain words admonish'd my husband of hisfolly. Whereupon he speedily became sober, and asked my pardon; but forall that night continued of a gloomy countenance, ever and anon fallingto sighing and groning as before. Indeed, honour'd Sir, I have goodneed of a patient sperrit in my dealings with him; for altho' at timesI think he is in a fair way to become a Christian, there are othertimes when I doubt Satan has still a hold upon him, and that all myprayers and admonitions have been in vaine. 

"You, who know the wildness and wickedness of his past life--so far asthat life was ever known to any but himself, who was ever of a secretand silent disposition concerning his own doings in this city, tho'free-spoken and frank in all common matters--you, honour'd sir, knowwith how serious an intention I have taken upon myself the burden ofmatrimony, hoping thereby to secure the compleat conversion of thiswaywarde soul. You are aware how it was ye earnest desire of my laterespected father that Mathew Haygarth and I shou'd be man and wife, hisfather and my father haveing bin friends and companions in ye days ofher most gracious majesty Queen Anne. You know how, after being lost toall decent compary for many years, Mathew came back after his father'sdeath, and lived a sober and serious life, attending amongst ourcommunity, and being seen to shed tears on more than one occasion whilelistening to the discourse of our revered and inspired founder. Andyou, my dear and honour'd pastor, will feel for me when I tell you howI am tormented by ye fear of backsliding in this soul which I havepromised to restore to ye fold. It was but yesterday, when walking withhim near St. John's Gate at Clerkenwell, he came to a standstill all ofa sudden, and he cried in that impetuous manner which is even yetnatural to him, 'Look ye now, Becky, wouldst like to see the house inwhich the happiest years of my life was spent?' And I making no answer, as thinking it was but some sudden freak, he points out a blackdirty-looking dwelling-place, with overhanging windows and a widegabled roof. 'Yonder it stands, Becky, ' he cries; 'number sevenJohn-street, Clerkenwell; a queer dingy box of four walls, my wench--atumble-down kennel, with a staircase that 'twould break your neck tomount, being strange to it--and half a day's journey from the court-endof town. But that house was once paradise to me; and to look at it evennow, though 'tis over eighteen years since I saw the inside of it, willbring the tears into these poor old eyes of mine'. And then he walk'd onso fast that I could scarce keep pace with him, till we came toSmithfield; and then he began to tell me about Bartholomew-fair and thebrave sights he had seen; and must needs show me where had stood thebooth of one Fielding--since infamously notorious as the writer of sometrashy novels, the dulness whereof is only surpassed by their profligacy:and then he talks of Fawkes the conjurer, who made a great fortune, andof some humble person called 'Tiddy Doll, ' a dealer in gingerbread andsuch foolish wares. But he could tell me nothing of those earlypreachings of our revered founder in Moorfields, which would have beenmore pleasant to me than all this vain babble about drolls and jesters, gingerbread bakers and showmen. 

"When we had walked the round of the place, and it was time to takecoach for our lodging at Chelsea--he having brought me thus far to seeSt. Paul's and the prison of Newgate, the Mint and Tower--the gloomyfit came on him again, and all that evening he was dull and sorrowful, though I read aloud to him from the printed sermons of a rising memberof our community. So you will see, honour'd sir, how difficult it isfor these children of Satan to withdraw themselves from that masterthey have once served; since at the sober age of fifty-three yeares myhusband's weak heart yet yearns after profligate faires and foolishgardens lighted by color'd lampes. 

"And now no more, reverend friend, my paper being gone and it beingfull time to reflect that y'r patience must be gone also. Service toMrs. Goodge. I have no more room but to assure you that y'r gayeties ofthis foolish and erring citty have no power to withdraw y'r heart ofher whose chief privilege it is to subscribe herself, "Your humble follower and servant. "

"Rebecca Haygarth. "

To my mind there seems just a shadowy hint of some bygone romance inthis letter. Why did the dingy house in John-street bring the tearsinto Matthew's eyes? and why did the memory of Vauxhall and Bartholomewfair seem so sweet to him? And then that sighing and groaning anddolefulness of visage whenever the thought of the past came back tohim?

What did it all mean, I wonder? Was it only his vanished youth, whichpoor, sobered, converted, Wesleyanised Matthew regretted? or were therepensive memories of something even sweeter than youth associated withthe coloured lamps of Vauxhall and the dinginess of Clerkenwell? Whoshall sound the heart of a man who lived a hundred years ago? and whereis the fathom-line which shall plumb its mysteries? I should need astack of old letters before I could arrive at the secret of that man'slife. 

The two other letters, which I have selected after some deliberation, relate to the last few weeks of Matthew's existence; and in these againI fancy I see the trace of some domestic mystery, some sorrowful secretwhich this sober citizen kept hidden from his wife, but which he was onseveral occasions half inclined to reveal to her. 

Perhaps if the lady's piety--which seems to have been thoroughlysincere and praiseworthy, by the bye--had been a little less cold andpragmatical in its mode of expression, poor Matthew might have takenheart of grace and made a clean breast of it. 

That there was a secret in the man's life I feel convinced; but thatconviction goes very little way towards proving any one point of thesmallest value to George Sheldon. 

I transcribe an extract from each of the two important letters; thefirst written a month before Matthew's death, the second a fortnightafter that event. 

"And indeed, honour'd sir, I have of late suffered much uneasinesse ofsperitt concerning my husband. Those fits of ye mopes of w'h I informedyou some time back have again come upon him. For awhile I did hope thatthese melancholic affections were ye fruit put forth by a regeneratesoul; but within this month last past it has been my sorrow to discoverthat these gloomy disorders arise rather from ye promptings of the EvilOne. It has pleased Mr. Haygarthe of late to declare that his life isnigh at an end; and indeed he affects a conviction that his days arenumber'd. This profane and impertinent notion I take to be a directinspiration of Satan, of a like character to ye sudden andunaccountable fitts of laughter which have seized upon many piousChristians in the midst of earnest congregations; whereby much shameand discomfiture has been brought upon our sect. Nor is there anyjustification for this presumptuous certainty entertained by myhusband, inasmuch as his health is much as it has ordinarily been forye last ten years. He does acknowledge this with his own lips, andimmediately after cries out that his race is run, and ye hand of deathis upon him; which I cannot but take as ye voice of ye enemy speakingthrough that weak mouth of ye flesh. 

"On Sunday night last past, ye gloomy fitt being come upon him afterprayers, Mr. Haygarthe began all on a sudden, as it is his habit to do:

"'There is something I would fain tell ye, wench, ' he cries out, 'something about those roistering days in London, which it might bewell for thee to know. '

"But I answered him directly, that I had no desire to hear of profaneroisterings, and that it would be better for him to keep his peace, andlisten reverently to the expounding of the Scriptures, which HumphreyBagot, our worthy pastor and friend, had promised to explain andexemplify after supper. We was seated at ye time in ye blue parlour, the table being spread for supper, and were awaiting our friend fromthe village, a man of humble station, being but a poor chapman andhuckster, but of exalted mind and a most holy temper, and sells me thesame growth of Bohea as that drunk by our gracious queen at Windsor. After I had thus reproved him--in no unkind speritt--" Mr. Haygarthefell to sighing; and then cries out all at once:

"'When I am on my death-bed, wife, I will tell thee something: be surethou askest me for it; or if death come upon me unawares, thou wouldstdo well to search in the old tulip-leaf bureau for a letter, since Imay tell thee that in a letter which I would not tell with these lips. '

"Before there was time to answer him in comes Mr. Bagot, and we tosupper; after which he did read the sixth chapter of Hebrews andexpound it at much length for our edifying; at the end whereof Satanhad obtained fast hold of Mr. Haygarthe, who was fallen asleep andsnoring heavily. "

Here is plain allusion to some secret, which that pragmatical idiot, Mrs. Rebecca, studiously endeavoured not to hear. The next extract isfrom a letter written when the lips that had been fain to speak werestilled for ever. Ah, Mistress Rebecca, you were but mortal woman, although you were also a shining light amongst the followers of JohnWesley; and I wonder what you would have given for poor Matthew'ssecret _then_. 

"Some days being gone after this melancholic event, I bethought me ofthat which my husband had said to me before I left Dewsdale for thatexcursion to the love-feasts at Kemberton and Kesfield, Broppindean andDawnfold, from which I returned but two short weeks before my poorMatthew's demise. I called to remembrance that discourse aboutapproaching death which in my poor human judgment I did esteem apestilent error of mind, but which I do now recognise as a spiritualpremonition; and I set myself earnestly to look for that letter whichMatthew told me he would leave in the tulip-leaf bureau. But though Idid search with great care and pains, my trouble was wasted, inasmuchas there was no letter. Nor did I leave off to search until ev'ry nookand crevvis had been examin'd. But in one of ye secret drawers, hiddenin an old dog's-eared book of prayers, I did find a lock of fair hair, as if cut from the head of a child, entwin'd curiously with a longplait of dark hair, which, by reason of ye length thereof, must needshave been the hair of a woman, and with these the miniature of a girl'sface in a gold frame. I will not stain this paper, which is near cometo an end, by the relation of such suspicions as arose in my mind onfinding these curious treasures; nor will I be of so unchristian atemper as to speak ill of the dead. My husband was in his latter daysexemplarily sober, and a humble acting Xtian. Ye secrets of his earlierlife will not now be showne to me on this side heaven. I have set asideye book, ye picture, and ye plaited hair in my desk for conveniency, where I will show them to you when I am next rejoic'd by y'r improvingconversation. Until then, in grief or in happiness, in health andsickness, I trust I shall ever continue, with y'r same sincerity, "Your humble and obliged Servant and disciple

"REBECCA HAYGARTHE. "

Thus end my excerpts from the correspondence of Mrs. Haygarthe. Theyare very interesting to me, as containing the vague shadow of avanished existence; but whether they will ever be worth setting forthin an affidavit is extremely uncertain. Doubtless that miniature of anunknown girl which caused so much consternation in the mind of soberMrs. Rebecca was no other than the "Molly" whose gray eyes reminded meof Charlotte Halliday. 

As I copied Mrs. Rebecca's quaint epistles, in the midnight stillness, the things of which I was writing arose before me like a picture. Icould see the blue parlour that Sunday evening; the sober couple seatedprimly opposite to each other; the china monsters on the highchimneypiece; the blue-and-white Dutch tiles, with queer squat figuresof Flemish citizens on foot and on horseback; the candles burning dimlyon the spindle-legged table--two poor pale flames reflected ghastly inthe dark polished panels of the wainscot; the big open Bible on anadjacent table; the old silver tankard, and buckhorn-handled knives andforks set out for supper; the solemn eight-day clock, ticking drearilyin the corner; and amid all that sombre old-fashioned comfort, gray-haired Matthew sighing and lamenting for his vanished youth. 

I have grown strangely romantic since I have fallen in love withCharlotte Halliday. The time was when I should have felt nothing but aflippant ignorant contempt for poor Haygarth's feeble sighings andlamentings; but now I think of him with a sorrowful tenderness, and ammore interested in his poor commonplace life, that picture, and thosetwo locks of hair, than in the most powerful romance that ever emanatedfrom mortal genius. It has been truly said, that truth is stranger thanfiction: may it not as justly be said, that truth has a power to touchthe human heart which is lacking in the most sublime flights of aShakespeare, or the grandest imaginings of an Aeschylus? One is sorryfor the fate of Agamemnon; but one is infinitely more sorrowful for thecruel death of that English Richard in the dungeon at Pomfret, who wasa very insignificant person as compared to the king of men and ofships. 

CHAPTER III. 

HUNTING THE JUDSONS. 

_Oct. 10th_. Yesterday and the day before were blank days. On SaturdayI read Mrs. Rebecca's letters a second time after a late breakfast, andspent a lazy morning in the endeavour to pick up any stray crumbs ofinformation which I might have overlooked the previous night. There wasnothing to be found, however; and, estimable as I have alwaysconsidered the founder of the Wesleyan fraternity, I felt just a littleweary of his virtues and his discourses, his journeyings from place toplace, his love-feasts and his prayer-meetings, before I had finishedwith Mrs. Haygarth's correspondence. In the afternoon I strolled aboutthe town; made inquiries at several inns, with a view to discoverwhether Captain Paget was peradventure an inmate thereof; looked in atthe railway-station, and watched the departure of a train; dawdled awayhalf an hour at the best tobacconist's shop in the town on the chanceof encountering my accomplished patron, who indulges in two of thechoicest obtainable cigars per diem, and might possibly repair thitherto make a purchase, if he were in the place. Whether he is still inUllerton or not I cannot tell; but he did not come to thetobacconist's; and I was fain to go back to my inn, having wasted aday. Yet I do not think that George Sheldon will have cause to complainof me, since I have worked very closely for my twenty shillings perweek, and have devoted myself to the business in hand with an amount ofenthusiasm which I did not think it possible for me to experience--except for--

I went to church on Sunday morning, and was more devoutly inclined thanit has been my habit to feel; for although a man who lives by his witsmust not necessarily be a heathen or an atheist, it is very difficultfor him to be anything like a Christian. Even my devotion yesterday wasnot worth much, for my thoughts went vagabondising off to CharlotteHalliday in the midst of a very sensible practical sermon. 

In the afternoon I read the papers, and dozed by the fire in thecoffee-room--two-thirds coke by the way, and alternating from thefierceness of a furnace to the dreary blackness of an exhaustedcoal-mine--still thinking of Charlotte. 

Late in the evening I walked the streets of the town, and thought whata lonely wretch I was. The desert of Sahara is somewhat dismal, Idaresay; but in its dismality there is at least a flavour of romance, asmack of adventure. O, the hopeless dulness, the unutterable blanknessof a provincial town late on a Sunday night, as it presents itself tothe contemplation of a friendless young man without a sixpence in hispocket, or one bright hope to tempt him to forgetfulness of the past inpleasant dreaming of the future!

Complaining again! O pen, which art the voice of my discontent, yourspluttering is like this outburst of unmanly fretfulness and futilerage! O paper, whose flat surface typifies the dull level of my life, your greasy unwillingness to receive the ink is emblematic of thesoul's revolt against destiny!

This afternoon brought me a letter from Sheldon, and opened a newchannel for my explorations in that underground territory, the past. That man has a marvellous aptitude for his work; and has, what is morethan aptitude, the experience of ten years of failure. Such a man mustsucceed sooner or later. I wonder whether his success will come while Iam allied to him. I have been used to consider myself an unluckywretch, a creature of ill-fortune to others as well as to myself. It isa foolish superstition, perhaps, to fancy one's self set apart for anevil destiny; but the Eumenides have been rather hard upon me. Those"amiable" deities, whom they of Colonae tried so patiently to conciliatewith transparent flatteries, have marked me for their prey from thecradle--I don't suppose that cradle was paid for, by the bye. I wonderwhether there is an avenging deity whose special province it is topursue the insolvent--a Nemesis of the Bankruptcy Court. 

My Sheldon's epistle bears the evidence of a very subtle brain, as Ithink. It is longer than his previous letters. I transcribe it here, asI wish this record to be a complete brief of my proceedings in thisHaygarth business. 

"Gray's Inn, Sunday night. 

"DEAR HAWKEHURST, --The copies of the letters came duly to hand, and Ithink you have made your selections with much discretion, alwayssupposing you have overlooked nothing in the remaining mass of writing. I will thank you to send me the rest of the letters, by the way. Youcan take notes of anything likely to be useful to yourself, and it willbe as well for me to possess the originals. 

"I find one very strong point in the first letter of your selection, viz. The allusion to a house in John-street. It is clear that Matthewlived in that house, and in that neighbourhood there may even yetremain some traces of his existence. I shall begin a closeinvestigation to-morrow within a certain radius of that spot; and if Ihave the good luck to fall upon any clear-headed centenarians, I maypick up something. 

"There are some alms-houses hard by Whitecross-street prison, where theinmates live to ages that savour of the Pentateuch. Perhaps there I maylight upon some impoverished citizen fallen from a good estate who canremember some contemporary of Matthew's. London was smaller in thosedays than it is now, and men lived out their lives in one spot, and hadleisure to be concerned about the affairs of their neighbours. As Ihave now something of a clue to Matthew's roistering days, I shall setto work to follow it up closely; and your provincial researches and mymetropolitan investigations proceeding simultaneously, we may hope toadvance matters considerably ere long. For your own part, I shouldadvise you forthwith to hunt up the Judson branch. You will rememberthat Matthew's only sister was a Mrs. Judson of Ullerton. I want tofind an heir-at-law in a direct line from Matthew; and you know mytheory on that point. But if we fail in that direction, we must ofcourse fall back upon the Judsons, who are a disgustingly complicatedset of people, and will take half a lifetime to disentangle, to saynothing of other men who may be working the same business, and who arepretty sure to have pinned their faith on the female branch of theHaygarthian tree. 

"I want you to ferret out some of the Judson descendants with a view topicking up further documentary evidence in the shape of old letters, inscriptions in old books, and so on. That Matthew had a secret iscertain; and that he was very much inclined to reveal that secret inhis later days is also certain. Who shall say that he did not tell itto his only sister, though he was afraid to tell it to his wife?

"You have acted with so much discretion up to this point, that I do notcare to trouble you with any further hints or suggestions. When moneyis wanted, it shall be forthcoming; but I must beg you to manage thingseconomically, as I have to borrow at a considerable sacrifice; andshould this affair prove a failure, my ruin is inevitable. 

"Yours, &c. G. S. "

My friend Sheldon is a man who can never have been more than "yourset-cetera" to any human creature. I suppose what he calls ruin would bea quiet passage through the Bankruptcy Court, and a new set of chambers. I should not suppose that sort of ruin would be very terrible for a manwhose sole possessions are a few weak-backed horsehair chairs, a coupleof battered old desks, half a dozen empty japanned boxes, a file of_Bell's Life_, and a Turkey carpet in which the progress of corruptionis evident to the casual observer. 

The hunting-up of the Judsons is a very easy matter as compared to thetask of groping in the dimness of the past in search of some fainttraces of the footsteps of departed Haygarths. Whereas the Haygarthfamily seem to be an extinct race, the Judsonian branch have bred andmustered in the land; and my chief difficulty in starting has been an_embarras de richesse_, in the shape of half a page of Judsons in theUllerton directory. 

Whether to seek out Theodore Judson, the attorney, in Nile street East, or the Rev. James Judson, curate of St. Gamaliel; whether to appeal inthe first instance to Judson & Co. , haberdashers and silk mercers, ofthe Ferrygate, or to Judson of Judson and Grinder, waddingmanufacturers in Lady-lane--was the grand question. On inquiring of thelandlord as to the antecedents of these Judsons, I found that they wereall supposed to spring from one common stock, and to have the blood ofold Jonathan Haygarth in their veins. The Judsons had been an obscurefamily--people of "no account, " my landlord told me, until JosephJudson, chapman and cloth merchant in a very small way, was sofortunate as to win the heart of Ruth Haygarth, only daughter of thewealthy Nonconformist grocer in the market-place. This marriage hadbeen the starting-point of Joseph Judson's prosperity. Old Haygarth hadhelped his industrious and respectable son-in-law along the stony roadthat leads to fortune, and had no doubt given him many a lift over thestones which bestrew that toilsome highway. My landlord's informationwas as vague as the information of people in general; but it was easilyto be made out, from his scanty shreds and scraps of information, thatthe well-placed Judsons of the present day had almost all profited tosome extent by the hard-earned wealth of Jonathan Haygarth. "They'venearly all of them got the name of Haygarth mixed up with their othernames somehow, " said my landlord. "Judson of Judson and Grinder isThomas Haygarth Judson. He's a member of our tradesman's club, andworth a hundred thousand pounds, if he's worth a sixpence. "

I have observed, by the way, that a wealthy tradesman in a country townis never accredited with less than a hundred thousand; there seems anatural hankering in the human mind for round numbers. 

"There's J. H. Judson of St. Gamaliel, " continued my landlord--"he'sJames Haygarth Judson; and young Judson the attorney's son puts'Haygarth Judson' on his card, and gets people to call him HaygarthJudson when they will--which in a general way they won't, on account ofhis giving himself airs, which you may see him any summer eveningwalking down Ferrygate as if the place belonged to him, and he didn'tset much value on it. They _do_ say his father's heir-at-law to amillion of money left by the last of the Haygarths, and that he and theson are trying to work up a claim to the property against the Crown. But I have heard young Judson deny it in our room when he was spoken toabout it, and I don't suppose there's much ground for people's talk. "

I was sorry to discover there was any ground for such talk; Mr. Judsonthe lawyer would be no insignificant opponent. I felt that I must givea very wide berth to Mr. Theodore Judson the attorney, and his stuck-upson, unless circumstances should so shape themselves as to oblige us towork with him. In the meanwhile any move I made amongst the otherJudsons would be likely, I thought, to come to the knowledge of theseparticular members of the family. 

"Are the Judson family very friendly with one another?" I artfullyinquired. 

"Well, you see, some of 'em are, and some of 'em ain't. They're most of'em third and fourth cousins, you see, and that ain't a very nearrelationship in a town where there's a good deal of competition, andinterests often clash. Young Theodore--Haygarth Judson as he callshimself--is very thick with Judson of St. Gamaliel's, they were atcollege together, you see: and fine airs they give themselves on thestrength of a couple of years or so at Cambridge. Those two get on verywell together. But Judson of the Lady-lane Mills don't speak to eitherof 'em when he meets 'em in the street, and has been known to cut 'emdead in my room. William Judson of Ferrygate is a dissenter, and keepshimself to himself very close. The other Judsons are too fast a lot forhim: though what's the harm of a man taking a glass or two ofbrandy-and-water of an evening with his friends is more than _I_ canfind out, " added mine host, musingly. 

It was to William Judson the dissenter, who kept himself to himself, that I determined to present myself in the first instance. As adissenter, he would be likely to have more respect for the memory ofthe Nonconformist and Wesleyan Haygarths, and to have preserved anytraditions relating to them with more fidelity than the Anglican andfrivolous members of the Judson family. As an individual who kepthimself to himself, he would be unlikely to communicate my business tohis kindred. 

I lost no time in presenting myself at the house of business inFerrygate, and after giving the servant George Sheldon's card, andannouncing myself as concerned in a matter of business relating to theHaygarth family, I was at once ushered into a prim counting-house, where a dapper little old gentleman in spotless broadcloth, and acambric cravat and shirt frill which were soft and snowy as the plumageof the swan, received me with old-fashioned courtesy. I was delightedto find him seventy-five years of age at the most moderate computation, and I should have been all the better pleased if he had been older. Ivery quickly discovered that in Mr. Judson the linen draper I had todeal with a very different person from the Rev. Jonah Goodge. Hequestioned me closely as to my motive in seeking information on thesubject of the departed Haygarth, and I had some compunction indiplomatising with him as I had diplomatised with Mr. Goodge. Tohoodwink the wary Jonah was a triumph--to deceive the confidinglinen draper was a shame. However, as I have before set down, I supposeat the falsest I am not much farther from the truth than a barrister ora diplomatist. Mr. Judson accepted my account of myself in allsimplicity, and seemed quite pleased to have an opportunity of talkingabout the deceased Haygarths. 

"You are not concerned in the endeavour to assert Theodore Judson'sclaim to the late John Haygarth's property, eh?" the old man asked mepresently, as if struck by a sudden misgiving. 

I assured him that Mr. Theodore Judson's interests and mine were in norespect identical. 

"I am glad of that, " answered the draper; "not that I owe TheodoreJudson a grudge, you must understand, though his principles and minediffer very widely. I have been told that he and his son hope toestablish a claim to that Haygarth property; but they will neversucceed, sir--they will never succeed. There was a young man who wentto India in '41; a scamp and a vagabond, sir, who was always trying toborrow money in sums ranging from a hundred pounds, to set him up inbusiness and render him a credit to his family, to a shilling for thepayment of a night's lodging or the purchase of a dinner. But thatyoung man was the great-grandson of Ruth Haygarth--the eldest survivinggrandson of Ruth Haygarth's eldest son; and if that man is alive, he isrightful heir to John Haygarth's money. Whether he is alive or dead atthis present moment is more than I can tell, since he has never beenheard of in Ullerton since he left the town; but until Theodore Judsoncan obtain legal proof of that man's death he has no more chance ofgetting one sixpence of the Haygarth estate than I have of inheritingthe crown of Great Britain. "

The old man had worked himself into a little passion before he finishedthis speech, and I could see that the Theodore Judsons were asunpopular in the draper's counting-house as they were at the Swan Inn. 

"What was this man's Christian name?" I asked. 

"Peter. He was called Peter Judson; and was the great-grandson of mygrandfather, Joseph Judson, who inhabited this very house, sir, morethan a hundred years ago. Let me see: Peter Judson must have been aboutfive-and-twenty years of age when he left Ullerton; so he is amiddle-aged man by this time if he hasn't killed himself, or if theclimate hasn't killed him long ago. He went as supercargo to a merchantvessel: he was a clever fellow, and could work hard when it suited him, in spite of his dissipated life. Theodore Judson is a very good lawyer;but though he may bring all his ingenuity to bear, he will neveradvance a step nearer to the possession of John Haygarth's money tillhe obtains evidence of Peter Judson's death; and he's afraid toadvertise for that evidence for fear he might arouse the attention ofother claimants. "

Much as I was annoyed to find that there were claimants lying in waitfor the rev. Intestate's wealth, I was glad to perceive that TheodoreJudson's unpopularity was calculated to render his kindred agreeablydisposed to any stranger likely to push that gentleman out of the listof competitors for these great stakes, and I took my cue from this inmy interview with the simple old draper. 

"I regret that I am not at liberty to state the nature of my business, "I said, in a tone that was at once insinuating and confidential; "but Ithink I may venture to go so far as to say, without breach of trust tomy employer, that whoever may ultimately succeed to the Rev. JohnHaygarth's money, neither Mr. Judson the lawyer nor his son will everput a finger on a penny of it. "

"I am not sorry to hear it, " answered Mr. Judson, enraptured; "not thatI owe the young man a grudge, you must understand, but because he isparticularly undeserving of good fortune. A young man who passes hisown kindred in the streets of his native town without the commoncourtesy due to age or respectability; a young man who sneers at thefortune acquired in an honest and reputable trade; a young man whocalls his cousins counter-jumpers, and his aunts and uncles'swaddlers'--a vulgar term of contempt applied to the earlier membersof the Wesleyan confraternity--such a young man is not the individualto impart moral lustre to material wealth; and I am free to confessthat I had rather any one else than Theodore Judson should inherit thisvast fortune. Why, are you aware, my dear sir, that he has been seen todrive tandem through this very street, as it is; and I should like toknow how many horses he would harness to that gig of his, or how openlyhe would insult his relatives, if he had a hundred thousand pounds todeal with?"

"A hundred thousand pounds!" exclaimed I; "am I to understand that thefortune left by the Reverend John Haygarth amounts to that sum?"

"To every penny of it, sir; and a nice use Theodore Judson and thatprecious son of his would make of it if it fell into their hands. "

For a second time Mr. Judson the draper had worked himself into alittle passion, and the conversation had to be discontinued for someminutes while he cooled down to his ordinary temperament. 

"O ho!" said I within myself, while awaiting the completion of thiscooling-down process; "so _this_ is the stake for which my friendSheldon is playing!"

"I'll tell you what I will do for you, Mr. --Mr. Hawke-shell, "--Mr. Judson said at last, making a compound of my own and my employer'snames; "I will give you a line of introduction to my sister. If any onecan help you in hunting up intelligence relating to the past she can. She is two years my junior--seventy-one years of age, but as bright andactive as a girl. She has lived all her life in Ullerton, and is awoman who hoards every scrap of paper that comes in her way. If oldletters or old newspapers can assist you, she can show you plentyamongst her stores. "

Upon this the old man wrote a note, which he dried with sand out of aperforated bottle, as Richard Steele may have dried one of those airytender essays which he threw off in tavern parlours for the payment ofa jovial dinner. 

Provided with this antique epistle, written on Bath post and sealedwith a great square seal from a bunch of cornelian monstrosities whichthe draper carried at his watch-chain, I departed to find MissHephzibah Judson, of Lochiel Villa, Lancaster-road. 

CHAPTER IV. 

GLIMPSES OF A BYGONE LIFE. 

_October 10th_. I found the villa inhabited by Miss Hephzibah Judsonvery easily, and found it one of those stiff square dwelling-houseswith brass curtain-rods, prim flower-beds, and vivid green palings, only to be discovered in full perfection in the choicer suburb of acountry town. 

I had heard enough during my brief residence in Ullerton to understandthat to live in the Lancaster-road was to possess a diploma ofrespectability not easily vitiated by individual conduct. Nodisreputable persons had ever yet set up their unholy Lares and Penatesin one of those new slack-baked villas; and that person must have beenvery bold who, conscious of moral unfitness or pecuniary shortcoming, should have ventured to pitch his tent in that sacred locality. 

Miss Hephzibah Judson was one of the individuals whose shining sanctityof life and comfortable income lent a reflected brightness to theirreproachable suburb. I was admitted to her abode by an elderly womanof starched demeanour but agreeable visage, who ushered me into aspotless parlour, whereof the atmosphere was of that vault-likecoldness peculiar to a room which is only inhabited on state occasions. Here the starched domestic left me while she carried my letter ofintroduction to her mistress. In her absence I had leisure to form someidea of Miss Judson's character on the mute evidence of Miss Judson'ssurroundings. From the fact that there were books of a sentimental andpoetical tenor amongst the religious works ranged at mathematicallycorrect distances upon the dark green table-cover--from the presenceof three twittering canaries in a large brass cage--from the evidence ofa stuffed Blenheim spaniel, with intensely brown eyes, reclining on acrimson velvet cushion under a glass shade--I opined that Miss Judson'spiety was pleasantly leavened by sentiment, and that her Wesleyanismwas agreeably tempered by that womanly tenderness which, failing morelegitimate outlets, will waste itself upon twittering canaries andplethoric spaniels. 

I was not mistaken. Miss Judson appeared presently, followed by theservant bearing a tray of cake and wine. This was the first occasion onwhich I had been offered refreshment by any person to whom I hadpresented myself. I argued, therefore, that Miss Judson was the weakestperson with whom I had yet had to deal; and I flattered myself with thehope that from Miss Judson's amiable weakness, sentimentality, andwomanly tenderness, I should obtain better aid than from morebusiness-like and practical people. 

I fancied that with this lady it would be necessary to adopt a certainair of candour. I therefore did not conceal from her the fact that mybusiness had something to do with that Haygarthian fortune awaiting aclaimant. 

"The person for whom you are concerned is not Mr. Theodore Judson?" sheasked, with some asperity. 

I assured her that I had never seen Theodore Judson, and that I was inno manner interested in his success. 

"In that case I shall be happy to assist you as far as lies in mypower; but I can do nothing to advance the interests of Theodore Judsonjunior. I venture to hope that I am a Christian; and if Theodore Judsonjunior were to come here to me and ask my forgiveness, I should accordthat forgiveness as a Christian; but I cannot and will not lend myselfto the furtherance of Theodore Judson's avaricious designs. I cannotlend myself to the suppression of truth or the assertion of falsehood. Theodore Judson senior is not the rightful heir to the late JohnHaygarth's fortune, though I am bound to acknowledge that his claimwould be prior to my brother's. There is a man who stands before theTheodore Judsons, and the Theodore Judsons know it. But were they therightful claimants, I should still consider them most unfitted to enjoysuperior fortune. If that dog could speak, he would be able to testifyto ill-usage received from Theodore Judson junior at his owngarden-gate, which would bespeak the character of the man to everythoughtful mind. A young man who could indulge his spiteful feelingsagainst an elderly kinswoman at the expense of an unoffending animalis not the man to make worthy use of fortune. "

I expressed my acquiescence with this view of the subject; and I wasglad to perceive that with Miss Judson, as with her brother, theobnoxious Theodores would stand me in good stead. The lady was only twoyears younger than her brother, and even more inclined to becommunicative. I made the most of my opportunity, and sat in thevault-like parlour listening respectfully to her discourse, and fromtime to time hazarding a leading question, as long as it pleased herto converse; although it seemed to me as if a perennial spring of coldwater were trickling slowly down my back and pervading my system duringthe entire period. As the reward of my fortitude I obtained MissJudson's promise to send me any letters or papers she might findamongst her store of old documents relating to the personal history ofMatthew Haygarth. 

"I know I have a whole packet of letters in Matthew's own hand amongstmy grandmother's papers, " said Miss Judson. "I was a great favouritewith my grandmother, and used to spend a good deal of my time with herbefore she died--which she did while I was in pinafores; but youngpeople wore pinafores much longer in my time than they do now; and Iwas getting on for fourteen years of age when my grandmother departedthis life. I've often heard her talk of her brother Matthew, who hadbeen dead some years when I was born. She was very fond of him, and heof her, I've heard her say; and she used often to tell me how handsomehe was in his youth; and how well he used to look in a chocolate andgold-laced riding coat, just after the victory of Culloden, when hecame to Ullerton in secret, to pay her a visit--not being on friendlyterms with his father. "

I asked Miss Judson if she had ever read Matthew Haygarth's letters. 

"No, " she said; "I look at them sometimes when I'm tidying the drawerin which I keep them, and I have sometimes stopped to read a word hereand there, but no more. I keep them out of respect to the dead; but Ithink it would make me unhappy to read them. The thoughts and thefeelings in old letters seem so fresh that they bring our poormortality too closely home to us when we remember how little exceptthose faded letters remains of those who wrote them. It is well for usto remember that we are only travellers and wayfarers on this earth;but sometimes it seems just a little hard to think how few traces ofour footsteps we leave behind us when the journey is finished. "

The canaries seemed to answer Miss Judson with a feeble twitter ofassent: and I took my leave, with a feeling of compassion in my heart. I, the scamp--I, Robert Macaire the younger--had pity upon the cagedcanaries, and the lonely old woman whose narrow life was drawing to itsclose, and who began to feel how very poor a thing it had been afterall. 

_Oct. 11th_. I have paid the penalty of my temerity in enduring thevault-like chilliness of Miss Hephzibah Judson's parlour, and amsuffering to-day from a sharp attack of influenza; that complaint whichof all others tends to render a man a burden to himself, and a nuisanceto his fellow-creatures. Under these circumstances I have ordered afire in my own room--a personal indulgence scarcely warranted bySheldon's stipend--and I sit by my own fire pondering over the story ofMatthew Haygarth's life. 

On the table by my side are scattered more than a hundred letters, allin Matthew's bold hand; but even yet, after a most careful study ofthose letters, the story of the man's existence is far from clear tome. The letters are full of hints and indications, but they tell solittle plainly. They deal in enigmas, and disguise names under the maskof initials. 

There is much in these letters which relates to the secret history ofMatthew's life. They were written to the only creature amongst hiskindred in whom he fully confided. This fact transpires more than once, as will be seen anon by the extracts I shall proceed to make; if myinfluenza--which causes me to shed involuntary tears that give me theappearance of a drivelling idiot, and which jerks me nearly out of mychair every now and then with a convulsive sneeze--will permit me to doanything rational or useful. 

I have sorted and classified the letters, first upon one plan, thenupon another, until I have classified and sorted them into chaos. Having done this, my only chance is to abandon all idea ofclassification, and go quietly through them in consecutive orderaccording to their dates, jotting down whatever strikes me assignificant. George Sheldon's acumen must do the rest. 

Thus I begin my notes, with an extract from the fourth letter in theseries. Mem. I preserve Matthew's own orthography, which is the mosteccentric it was ever my lot to contemplate. 

"_December_ 14, '42. Indeed, my dear Ruth, I am ventursom wear you areconcurn'd, and w'd tell you that I w'd taik panes to kepe frommanother. I saw ye same girl w'h it was my good fortun to saive from yemolestashun of raketters and mohoks at Smithfelde in September lastpast. She is ye derest prittiest creture you ever saw, and as elegantand genteel in her speche and maner as a Corte lady, or as ye bestbredd person in Ullerton. I mett her in ye nayborood of ye Marchalseeprison wear her father is at this pressent time a prisener, and hadsom pleassant talke with her. She rememberr'd me at once, and seme'dmitily gladd to see me. Mem. Her pritty blu eys wear fill'd with teareswen she thank'd me for having studd up to be her champyun at ye Fare. So you see, Mrs. Ruth, ye brotherr is more thort off in London thanwith them which hav ye rite to regard him bestt. If you had scen yepore simpel childeish creetur and heeard her tell her arteless tale, Ithink y'r kinde hart w'd have bin sore to considder so much unmirittedmisfortun: ye father is in pore helth, a captiv, ye mother has binndedd thre yeres, and ye pore orfann girl, Mollie, has to mentane yeburden of ye sick father, and a yung helples sister. Think of this, kinde Mrs. Ruth, in y'r welthy home. Mem. Pore Mrs. Mollie is prittierthan ye fineist ladies that wear to be sene at ye opening of ye grandnew roome at Ranellar this spring last past, wear I sor ye too MissGunings and Lady Harvey, wich is alsoe accounted a grate buty. "

I think this extract goes very far to prove that my friend Matthew wasconsiderably smitten by the pretty young woman whose champion he hadbeen in some row at Bartholomew Fair. This fits into one of the scrapsof information afforded by my ancient inhabitant in UllertonAlmshouses, who remembers having heard his grandfather talk of MatHaygarth's part in some fight or disturbance at the great Smithfieldfestival. 

My next extract treats again of Mollie, after an interval of fourmonths. It seems as if Matthew had confided in his sister so far as tobetray his tenderness for the poor player-girl of the London booths;but I can find no such letter amongst those in my hands. Such anepistle may have been considered by Mrs. Ruth too dangerous to be keptwhere the parental eye might in some evil hour discover it. Matthew'ssister was unmarried at this date, and lived within the range of thatstern paternal eye. Matthew's letter appears to me to have been writtenin reply to some solemn warning from Ruth. 

"_April_ 12, 1743. Sure, my dear sister cannot think me so baise aretch as to injoore a pore simpel girl hoo confides in me as ye bestand trooest of mortals, wich for her dere saik I will strive to be. Ifso be my sister cou'd think so ill of me it wou'd amost temt me tothink amiss of her, wich cou'd imagen so vile a thort. You tel me thatMrs. Rebecka Caulfeld is mor than ever estemed by my father; but, Ruth, I am bounde to say, my father's esteme is nott to be ye rule of myackshuns thro' life, for it semes to me their is no worser tyrranniethan ye wich fathers do striv to impose on there children, and I doacount that a kind of barbarity wich wou'd compel ye hart of youth tosute ye proodense of age. I do not dout but Mrs. Rebecka is a miteyproper and well-natur'd person, tho' taken upp with this new sekt ofmethodys, or, as sum do call them in derission, swaddlers and jumpers, set afoot by ye madbrain'd young man, Wesley, and one that is stillmadder, Witfelde. Thear ar I dare sware many men in Ullerton wich wou'dbe gladd to obtane Mrs. Rebecka's hand and fortun; but if ye fortunwear ten times more, I wou'd not preetend to oferr my harte to herrw'h can never be its misteress. Now, my deare sister, having goneas farr towards satisfieing all y'r queerys as my paper wou'd wellepermitt, I will say no more but to begg you to send me all ye knews, and to believe that none can be more affectionately y'r humble servantthan your brother. " "MATHEW HAYGARTH. "

In this extract we have strong ground for supposing that our Matthewtruly loved the player-girl, and meant honestly by his sweetheart. There is a noble indignation in his repudiation of his sister's doubts, and a manly determination not to marry Mrs. Rebecca's comfortablefortune. I begin to think that Sheldon's theory of an early and secretmarriage will turn up a trump card; but Heaven only knows how slow orhow difficult may be the labour of proving such a marriage. And then, even if we can find documentary evidence of such an event, we shallhave but advanced one step in our obscure path, and should have yet todiscover the issue of that union, and to trace the footsteps ofMatthew's unknown descendants during the period of a century. 

I wonder how Sisyphus felt when the stone kept rolling back upon him. Did he ever look up to the top of the mountain and calculate thedistance he must needs traverse before his task should be done?

The next letter in which I find a passage worth transcribing is of muchlater date, and abounds in initials. The postmark is illegible; but Ican just make out the letters PO and L, the two first close together, the third after an interval; and there is internal evidence to showthat the letter was written from some dull country place. Might notthat place have been Spotswold? the PO and the L of the postmark wouldfit very well into the name of that village. Again I leave thisquestion to the astute Sheldon. The date is March, 1749. 

"M. Is but porely. Sumtimes I am pain'd to believe this quiett life isnot well suted to herr disposishun, having bin acustumed to so muchlivlinesse and nois. I hav reproched her with this, but she tolde me, with teres in her eys, to be neare mee and M. And C. Was to be happie, and ye it is il helth onlie wich is ye cawse of ye sadnesse. I prayheaven M. 's helth may be on ye mending hand soone. Little M. Grows morebutiful everry day; and indede, my dear sisterr, if you cou'd steleanother visitt this waye, and oblidge yr affectionat brother, you wou'dconsiderr him ye moste butifull creetur ever scene. So much enteligencewith sich ingaging temper endeares him to all hartes. Mrs. J. Says sheadors him, and is amost afraide to be thort a Paygann for bestoeing somuch affection on a erthly creetur, and this to oure good parson whocou'd find no reproche for her plesant folly. 

"We hav had heavy ranes all ye week last past. Sech wether can butserve to hinderr M. 's recovery. The fysichion at G. , wear I tooke her, saies she shou'd hav much fresh aire everry day--if not afoot, to becarrid in a chaire or cotche; but in this wether, and in a plaice wearneeither chaire nor cotche can be had, she must needs stop in doors. Ihav begg'd her to lett me carry her to G. , but she will not, and saysin ye summerr she will be as strong as everr. I pray God she may be so. Butt theire are times whenn my harte is sore and heavy; and the ranebeeting agenst the winder semes lik dropps of cold worter falling uponnmy pore aking harte. If you cou'd stele a visitt you wou'd see wethershe semes worse than whenn you sor her last ortumm; she is trieing yetansy tea; and beggs her service to you, and greatfull thanks for y'rrememberence of her. I dare to say you here splended acounts of mydoins in London--at cok fites and theaters, dansing at Vorxhall, andbeeting ye wotch in Covin Garden. Does my F. Stil use to speke harshagenst me, or has he ni forgott their is sech a creetur living? If hehas so, I hope you wil kepe him in sech forgetfullnesse, --and obliage, "Yr loving brother and obediant servent. "

"MATHEW HAYGARTH. "

To me this letter is almost conclusive evidence of a marriage. Who canthis little M. Be, of whom he writes so tenderly, except a child? Whocan this woman be, whose ill health causes him such anxiety, unless awife? Of no one _but_ a wife could he write so freely to his sister. The place to which he asks her to "steal a visit" must needs be a hometo which a man could invite his sister. I fancy it is thus made veryclear that at this period Matthew Haygarth was secretly married andliving at Spotswold, where his wife and son were afterwards buried, andwhence the body of the son was ultimately removed to Dewsdale to belaid in that grave which the father felt would soon be his ownresting-place. That allusion to the Ullerton talk of London roisteringsindicates that Matthew's father believed him to be squandering thepaternal substance in the metropolis at the very time when the youngman was leading a simple domestic life within fifty miles of thepaternal abode. No man could do such a thing in these days of rapidlocomotion, when every creature is more or less peripatetic; but inthat benighted century the distance from Ullerton to Spotswoldconstituted a day's journey. That Matthew was living in one place whilehe was supposed to be in another is made sufficiently clear by severalpassages in his letters, all more or less in the strain of thefollowing:--

"I was yesterday--markett-day--at G. , wear I ran suddennly agenst PeterBrowne's eldest ladd. The boy openn'd his eyes wide, stearing like anowle; butt I gaive him bakk his looke with interrest, and tolde him ifhe was curiouse to know my name, I was Simon Lubchick, farmer, at hisservise. The pore simpel ladd arsk'd my pardonn humbly for havingmistook me for a gentelman of Ullerton--a frend of his father; on wichI gaive him a shillin, and we parted, vastly plesed with eche other;and this is nott the fust time the site of Ullerton fokes has putt meinto a swett. "

Amongst later letters are very sad ones. The little M. Is dead. Thefather's poor aching heart proclaims its anguish in very simple words:

"_Nov_. 1751. I thank my dear sister kindly for her friendlinesse andcompashin; butt, ah, he is gone, and their semes to be no plesure orcomforte on this erth without him! onlie a littel childe of 6 yeres, and yett so dere a creetur to this harte that the worlde is emty andlonely without him. M. Droopes sadly, and is more ailing everry day. Indede, my dere Ruth, I see nothing butt sorrow before me, and I wou'dbe right gladd to lay down at peece in my littel M. 's grave. "

I can find no actual announcements of death, only sad allusions hereand there. I fancy the majority of Matthew's letters must have beenlost, for the dates of those confided to my hands are very far apart, and there is evidence in all of them of other correspondence. After theletter alluding to little M. 's death, there is a hiatus of eight years. Then comes a letter with the post-mark London very clear, from which Itranscribe an extract. "_October 4th_, 1759. The toun is very sadd;everry body, high and low, rich and pore, in morning for Gennerel Wolf:wot a nobel deth to die, and how much happier than to live, when oneconsiders the cairs and miseries of this life; and sech has bin theoppinion of wiser fokes than y'r humble servent. Being in companie onThersday sennite with that distingwish'd riter, Dr. Johnson, --whoseadmir'd story of _Raselass_ I sent you new from ye press, but who I ambound to confesse is less admirable as a fine gentlemann than as anorther, his linning siled and his kravatt twisted ary, and his mannerswot in a more obskure personn wou'd be thort ungenteel, --he made aremark wich impress'd me much. Some one present, being almost allgentelmenn of parts and learning, except y'r pore untuter'd brother, observed that it was a saying with the ainchents that ye happiest ofmen was him wich was never born; ye next happy him wich died thesoonest. On wich Dr. Johnson cried out verry loud and angry, 'That wasa Paggann sentyment, sir, and I am asham'd that a Xtian gentelmannshou'd repete it as a subject for admerashun. Betwene these heathen menand ye followers of Christ their is all ye differenc betwene a slaveand a servent of a kind Master. Eche bears the same burden; butt yeservent knows he will recieve just wages for his work, wile ye slavehopes for nothing, and so conkludes that to escape work is to behappy!' I could but aknowlege the wisdomm and pyety of this speche;yett whenn I see ye peopel going bye in their black rayment, I envy theyoung Gennerel his gloreous deth, and I wish I was laying amongst theplane on the hites of Quebeck. I went to look at ye old house in J. St. , but I wou'd not go in to see Mr. F. Or ye old roomes; for I thinkI shou'd see the aparishions of those that once liv'd in them. C. Thrivs at Higate, wear the aire is fresh and pewer. I go to see heroffen. She is nerely as high as you. Give my servis to Mrs. Rebecka, sinse you say it will plese my father to do so, and he is now dispos'dto think more kindly of me. Butt if he thinks I shal everr arske her tobe my wife he is mityly mistaken. You know wear my harte lies--in yegrave with all that made life dere. Thank my father for the Bill, andtell him I pass my time in good companie, and neether drink nor play;and will come to Ullerton to pay him my respeckts when he pleses to bidme. Butt I hav no desire to leeve London, as I am gladd to be neare C. "

Who was C. , whom Matthew visited at Highgate, and who was nearly astall as Ruth Judson? Was she not most likely the same C. Mentioned inconjunction with the little M. In the earlier letters? and if so, canthere be any doubt that she was the daughter of Matthew Haygarth? Ofwhom but of a daughter would he write as in this letter? She was atHighgate, at school most likely, and he goes to see her. She is nearlyas tall as Mrs. Judson. This height must have been a new thing, or hewould scarcely impart it as a piece of news to his sister. And then hehas no desire to leave London, as he is glad to be near C. 

My life upon it, C. Is a daughter. 

Acting upon this conviction, I have transcribed all passages relatingto C. , at whatever distance of time they occur. 

 * * * * *

Thus, in 1763, I find--"C. Has grone very hansome, and Mrs. N. Tells meis much admir'd by a brother of her frend Tabitha. She never stirsabrorde but with Tabitha, and if a dutchess, cou'd be scarce wated onmore cairfully. Mrs. N. Loves her verry tenderly, and considers her thesweetest and most wel bredd of young women. I hav given her the newedishun of Sir Charls Grandisson, wich they read alowde in ye evenings, turn and turn about, to Mrs. N. At her spinning. C. Has given me a woolcomforter of her owne worke, and sum stockings wich are two thick toware, but I hav not told her so. "

Again, in 1764: "Tabitha Meynell's brother goes more than ever toHigate. He is a clark in his father's wearhouse; very sober andestimabel, and if it be for ye hapiness of C. To mary him, I wou'd beye laste of men to sett my orthoritty agenst her enclinashun. She isyett but ayteen yeres of age, wich is young to make a change; so I tellMrs. N. We will waite. Meanwhile ye young peapel see eche other offen. "

Again, in 1765: "Young Meynell is still constant, expressing much loveand admirashun for C. In his discorse with Mrs. N. , butt sattisfide towait my plesure before spekeing oppenly to C. He semes a most exempelryyoung man; his father a cittizen of some repewt in Aldersgait-street, ware I have din'd since last riting to you, and at hoose tabel I waspaid much considerashun. He, Tomas Meynell ye father, will give his sonfive hundred pound, and I prommis a thousand pound with C. And tofurnish a house at Chelsee, a verry plesent and countriefide vilage; soI make no doubt there will soon be a wedding. 

"I am sorrie to here my father is aleing; give him my love and servise, and will come to Ullerton immediate on receiving his commands. I amplesed to think Mrs. Rebecka Caulfeld is so dutifull and kind to him, and has comfortedd him with prairs and discorses. I thank her for thismore than for any frendshipp for my undeserving self. Pray tell herthat I am much at her servise. 

"Our new king is lov'd and admir'd by all. His ministers not so; andwise peopel do entertain themselfs with what I think foollish jokesa-bout a _Skotch boote_. Perhapps I am not cleverr enuff to see the funnin this joke. "

In this letter I detect a certain softening of feeling towards Mrs. Rebecca Caulfield. In the next year--'66--according to my notes, Matthew's father died, and I have no letters bearing the date of thatyear, which our Matthew no doubt spent at home. Nor have I any lettersfrom this time until the year of Matthew's marriage with RebeccaCaulfield. In the one year of his union with Mrs. Rebecca, and the lastyear of his life, there are many letters, a few from London and therest from the manor-house at Dewsdale. But in these epistles, affectionate and confidential as they are, there is little positiveinformation. 

These are the letters of the regenerate and Wesleyanised Matthew; and, like the more elaborate epistles of his wife Rebecca, deal chiefly withmatters spiritual. In these letters I can perceive the workings of aweak mind, which in its decline has become a prey to religious terrors;and though I fully recognise the reforming influence which John Wesleyexercised upon the people of England, I fancy poor Matthew would havebeen better in the hands of a woman whose piety was of a less severetype than that of Wesleyan Rebecca. There is an all-pervading tone offear in these letters--a depression which is almost despair. In thesame breath he laments and regrets the lost happiness of his youth, andregrets and laments his own iniquity in having been so ignorantly andunthinkingly happy. 

Thus in one letter he says, --

"When I think of that inconsideratt foolish time with M. , and how to benere her semed the highest blisse erth cou'd bistowe or Heven prommis, I trimbel to think of my pore unawaken'd sole, and of her dome on wichthe tru light never shown. If I cou'd believe she was happy my ownesorow wou'd be lesse; but I canot, sence all ye worthyest memberrs ofour seck agree that to die thinking onely of erthly frends, andclingeng with a passhunate regrett to them we luv on erth is to belesse than a tru Xtian, and for sech their is but one dome. "

And again, in a still later epistle, he writes, --

"On Toosday sennite an awakning discorse fromm a verry young man, untillately a carppenter, but now imploid piusly in going from toun to tounand vilage to vilage, preching. He says, that a life of cairlessehappyness, finding plesure in ye things of this worlde, is--not beingrepentied of--irretrevable damnation. This is a maloncally thort! Ifell to mewsing on M. , with hoom I injoy'd such compleat happyness, telDeth came like a spekter to bannish all comforte. And now I knowe thatour lives wear vainity. I ashure you, dear sister, I am prodidjuslysadd when I reffleckt upon this truth--ashuredly it is a harde saying. "

Anon comes that strange foreknowledge of death--that instinctive senseof the shadowy hand so soon to lay him at rest; and with that mysticprescience comes a yearning for the little child M. To be laid wherehis father may lay down beside him. There are many passages in thelatter letters which afford a clue to that mysterious midnight burialat Dewsdale. 

"Last nite I drem't of the cherchyarde at S. I satte under the oldeyewe tree, as it semed in my dreme, and hurd a childes voice crying ina very piteous mannerr. The thort of this dreme has oppress'd mysperitts all day, and Rebecka has enquier'd more than wunce wot alesme. If little M. But lay nere at hande, in ye graive to wich I fele Imust soone be carrid, I beleive I shou'd be happyer. Reproove me forthis folley if you plese. I am getting olde, and Sattan temts me withseche fooleish thorts. Wot dose it matter to my sole wear my vile bodieis laid? and yet I have a fonde fooleish desier to be berrid withlittel M. "

And in these latest letters there is ample evidence of that yearning onMatthew's part to reveal a secret which Rebecca's own correspondencebetrays. 

"We tawked of manny things, and she was more than ordinnary kind andgentel. I had a mind to tell her about M, and aske her frendship forC; but she seemed not to cair to here my sekrets, and I think wou'd beoffended if she new the trooth. So I cou'd not finde courrage to tellher. Before I die I shal speek planely for the saik of C. And M. And yelittle one. I shal cum to U. Erly nex weak to make my Wille, and thistime shal chainge my umour no more. I have burnt ye laste, not likeingit. "

This passage occurs in the last letter, amongst the packet confided tome. The letter is dated September 5, 1774. On the fourteenth of thefollowing month Matthew died, and in all probability the will herealluded to was never executed. Certain it is that Matthew, whose endwas awfully sudden at the last, died intestate, whereby his son Johninherited the bulk, and ultimately the whole, of his fortune. There aremany allusions to this infant son in the last few letters; but I do notthink the little creature obtained any great hold on the father'sheart. No doubt he was bound and swaddled out of even such smallsemblance to humanity as one may reasonably expect in a child of six orseven weeks old, and by no means an agreeable being. And poorweak-minded Matthew's heart was with that player-girl wife whom henever acknowledged, and the little M. And thus ends the story ofMatthew Haygarth, so far as I have been able to trace it in theunfathomable gloom of the past. 

It seems to me that what I have next to do will be to hunt upinformation respecting that young man Meynell, whose father lived inAldersgate Street, and was a respectable and solid citizen, of thatilk; able to give a substantial dinner to the father of his son'ssweetheart, and altogether a person considerable enough, I shouldimagine, to have left footprints of some kind or other on the sands ofTime. The inscrutable Sheldon will be able to decide in what manner thehunt of the Meynells must begin. I doubt if there is anything more tobe done in Ullerton. 

I have sent Sheldon a fair copy of my extracts from Matthew'scorrespondence, and have returned the letters to Miss Judson, carefullypacked in accordance with her request. I now await my Sheldon's nextcommunication and the abatement of my influenza before making my nextmove in the great game of chess called Life. 

What is the meaning of Horatio Paget's lengthened abode in this town?He is still here. He went past this house to-day while I was standingat my window in that abject state of mind known only to influenza anddespair. I think I was suffering from a touch of both diseases, by thebye. What is that man doing here? The idea of his presence fills mewith all manner of vague apprehensions. I cannot rid myself of theabsurd notion that the lavender glove I saw lying in Goodge's parlourhad been left there by the Captain. I know the idea _is_ an absurd one, and I tell myself again and again that Paget _cannot_ have any inklingof my business here, and therefore _cannot_ attempt to forestall me orsteal my hard-won information. But often as I reiterate this--in thatsilent argument which a man is always elaborating in his own mind--I amstill tormented by a nervous apprehension of treachery from that man. Isuppose the boundary line between influenza and idiocy is a very narrowone. And then Horatio Paget is such a thorough-paced scoundrel. He is_lié_ with Philip Sheldon too--another thorough-paced scoundrel in aquiet gentlemanly way, unless my instinct deceives me. 

_October 12th_. There is treachery somewhere. Again the Haygarthianepistles have been tampered with. Early this morning comes an indignantnote from Miss Judson, reminding me that I promised the packet ofletters should be restored to her yesterday at noon, and informing methat they were not returned until last night at eleven o'clock, whenthey were left at her back garden-gate by a dirty boy who rang the bellas loudly as if he had been giving the alarm of fire, and who thrustthe packet rudely into the hand of the servant and vanishedimmediately. So much for the messenger. The packet itself, Miss Judsoninformed me, was of a dirty and disgraceful appearance, unworthy thehands of a gentlewoman, and one of the letters was missing. 

Heedless of my influenza, I rushed at once to the lower regions of theinn, saw the waiter into whose hands I had confided my packet athalf-past ten o'clock yesterday morning, and asked what messenger hadbeen charged with it. The waiter could not tell me. He did not remember. I told him plainly that I considered this want of memory veryextraordinary. The waiter laughed me to scorn, with that quietinsolence which a well-fed waiter feels for a customer who pays twentyshillings a week for his board and lodging. The packet had been givento a very respectable messenger, the waiter made no doubt. As towhether it was the ostler, or one of the boys, or the Boots, or a youngwoman in the kitchen who went on errands sometimes, the waiter wouldn'ttake upon himself to swear, being a man who would perish rather thaninadvertently perjure himself. As to my packet having been tamperedwith, that was ridiculous. What on earth was there in a lump ofletter-paper for any one to steal? Was there money in the parcel? I wasfain to confess there was no money; on which the waiter laughed aloud. 

Failing the waiter, I applied myself severally to the ostler, the boys, the Boots, and the young woman in the kitchen; and then transpired thecurious fact that no one had carried my packet. The ostler was sure hehad not; the Boots could take his Bible oath to the same effect; theyoung woman in the kitchen could not call to mind anything respecting apacket, though she was able to give me a painfully circumstantialaccount of the events of the morning--where she went and what she did, down to the purchase of three-pennyworth of pearl-ash and a pound ofGlenfield starch for the head chambermaid, on which she dwelt with apersistent fondness. 

I now felt assured that there had been treachery here, as in the Goodgebusiness; and I asked myself to whom could I impute that treachery?

My instinctive suspicion was of Horatio Paget. And yet, was it not moreprobable that Theodore Judson, senr. And Theodore Judson, junr. Wereinvolved in this business, and were watching and counterchecking myactions with a view to frustrating the plans of my principal? This wasone question which I asked myself as I deliberated upon this mysteriousbusiness. Had the Theodore Judsons some knowledge of a secret marriageon the part of Matthew Haygarth? and did they suspect the existence ofan heir in the descendant of the issue of that marriage? These werefurther questions which I asked myself, and which I found it much moreeasy to ask than to answer. After having considered these questions, Iwent to the Lancaster-road, saw Miss Judson--assured her, on my word asa gentleman, that the packet had been delivered by my hands into thoseof the waiter at eleven o'clock on the previous day, and asked to seethe envelope. There it was--my large blue wire-wove office envelope, addressed in my own writing. But in these days of adhesive envelopesthere is nothing easier than to tamper with the fastening of a letter. I registered a mental vow never again to trust any important documentto the protection of a morsel of gummed paper. I counted the letters, convinced myself that there was a deficiency, and then set to work todiscover which of the letters had been abstracted. Here I failedutterly. For my own convenience in copying my extracts, I had numberedthe letters from which I intended to transcribe passages beforebeginning my work. My pencilled figures in consecutive order werevisible in the corner of the superscription of every document I hadused. Those numbered covers I now found intact, and I could thus assuremyself that the missing document was one from which I had taken noextract. 

This inspired me with a new alarm. Could it be possible that I hadoverlooked some scrap of information more important than all that I hadtranscribed?

I racked my brains in the endeavour to recall the contents of that onemissing letter; but although I sat in that social tomb, Miss Judson'sbest parlour, until I felt my blood becoming of an arctic quality, Icould remember nothing that seemed worth remembering in the letters Ihad laid aside as valueless. 

I asked Miss Judson if she had any suspicion of the person who hadtampered with the packet. She looked at me with an icy smile, andanswered in ironical accents, which were even more chilling than theatmosphere of her parlour, --

"Do not ask if I know who has tampered with those letters, Mr. Hawkehurst. Your affectation of surprise has been remarkably well puton; but I am not to be deceived a second time. When you came to me inthe first instance, I had my suspicions; but you came furnished with anote from my brother, and as a Christian I repressed those suspicions. I know now that I have been the dupe of an impostor, and that inentrusting those letters to you I entrusted them to an emissary andtool of THEODORE JUDSON. "

I protested that I had never to my knowledge set eyes upon either ofthe Theodore Judsons; but the prejudiced kinswoman of those gentlemenshook her head with a smile whose icy blandness was eminentlyexasperating. 

"I am not to be deceived a second time, " she said. "Who else butTheodore Judson should have employed you? Who else but Theodore Judsonis interested in the Haygarth fortune? O, it was like him to employ astranger where he knew his own efforts would be unavailing; it was likehim to hoodwink me by the agency of a hireling tool. "

I had been addressed as a "young man" by the reverend Jonah, and now Iwas spoken of as a "hireling tool" by Miss Judson. I scarcely knewwhich was most disagreeable, and I began to think that board andlodging in the present, and a visionary three thousand pounds in thefuture, would scarcely compensate me for such an amount of ignominy. 

I went back to my inn utterly crestfallen--a creature so abject thateven the degrading influence of influenza could scarcely sink me anylower in the social scale. I wrote a brief and succinct account of myproceedings, and despatched the same to George Sheldon, and then I satdown in my sickness and despair, as deeply humiliated as Ajax when hefound that he had been pitching into sheep instead of Greeks, asmiserable as Job amongst his dust and ashes, but I am happy to sayuntormented by the chorus of one or the friends of the other. In thatrespect at least I had some advantage over both. 

_October 13th_. This morning's post brought me a brief scrawl fromSheldon. 

"Come back to town directly. I have found the registry of MatthewHaygarth's marriage. "

And so I turn my back on Ullerton; with what rejoicing of spirit it isnot in language to express. 

BOOK THE SIXTH. 

THE HEIRESS OF THE HAYGARTHS. 

CHAPTER I. 

DISAPPOINTMENT. 

Of all places upon this earth, perhaps, there is none more obnoxiousto the civilized mind than London in October; and yet to ValentineHawkehurst, newly arrived from Ullerton per North-Western Railway, thatcity seemed as an enchanted and paradisiacal region. Were not thewestern suburbs of that murky metropolis inhabited by CharlotteHalliday, and might he not hope to see her?

He did hope for that enjoyment. He had felt something more than hopewhile speeding Londonwards by that delightful combination of a liberalrailway management, a fast and yet cheap train. He had beguiled himselfwith a delicious certainty. Early the next morning--or at any rate asearly as civilization permitted--he would hie him to Bayswater, andpresent himself at the neat iron gate of Philip Sheldon's gothic villa. _She_ would be there, in the garden most likely, his divine Charlotte, so bright and radiant a creature that the dull October morning would bemade glorious by her presence--she would be there, and she wouldwelcome him with that smile which made her the most enchanting ofwomen. 

Such thoughts as these had engaged him during his homeward journey; andcompared with the delight of such visions, the perusal of daily papersand the consumption of sandwiches, whereby other passengers beguiledtheir transit, seemed a poor amusement. But, arrived in the dingystreets, and walking towards Chelsea under a drizzling rain, the brightpicture began to grow dim. Was it not more than likely that Charlottewould be absent from London at this dismal season? Was it not veryprobable that Philip Sheldon would give him the cold shoulder? Withthese gloomy contingencies before him, Mr. Hawkehurst tried to shutMiss Halliday's image altogether out of his mind, and to contemplatethe more practical aspect of his affairs. 

"I wonder whether that scoundrel Paget has come back to London?" hethought. "What am I to say to him if he has? If I own to having seenhim in Ullerton, I shall lay myself open to being questioned by him asto my own business in that locality. Perhaps my wisest plan would be tosay nothing, and hear his own account of himself. I fully believe hesaw me on the platform that night when we passed each other withoutspeaking. "

Horatio Paget was at home when his _protegé_ arrived. He was seated byhis fireside in all the domestic respectability of a dressing-gown andslippers, with an evening paper on his knee, a slim smoke-colouredbottle at his elbow, and the mildest of cigars between his lips, whenthe traveller, weary and weather-stained, entered the lodging-housedrawing-room. 

Captain Paget received his friend very graciously, only murmuring somefaint deprecation of the young man's reeking overcoat, with just such alook of gentlemanly alarm as the lamented Brummel may have felt whenushered into the presence of a "damp stranger. "

"And so you've come back at last, " said the Captain, "from Dorking?" Hemade a little pause here, and looked at his friend with a malicioussparkle in his eye. "And how was the old aunt? Likely to cut up for anyconsiderable amount, eh? It could only be with a view to thatcutting-up process that you could consent to isolate yourself in sucha place as Dorking. How did you find things?" "O, I don't know, I'msure, " Mr. Hawkehurst answered rather impatiently, for his worstsuspicions were confirmed by his patron's manner; "I only know I foundit tiresome work enough. "

"Ah, to be sure! elderly people always are tiresome, especially whenthey are unacquainted with the world. There is a perennial youth aboutmen and women of the world. The sentimental twaddle people talk of thefreshness and purity of a mind unsullied by communion with the world isthe shallowest nonsense. Your Madame du Deffand at eighty and yourHorace Walpole at sixty are as lively as a girl and boy. Youroctogenarian Voltaire is the most agreeable creature in existence. Buttake Cymon and Daphne from their flocks and herds and pastoral valleysin their old age, and see what senile bores and quavering imbeciles youwould find them. Yes, I have no doubt you found your Dorking aunt anuisance. Take off your wet overcoat and put it out of the room, andthen ring for more hot water. You'll find that cognac very fine. Won'tyou have a cigar?"

The Captain extended his russia-leather case with the blandest smile. It was a very handsome case. Captain Paget was a man who could descendinto some unknown depths of the social ocean in the last stage ofshabbiness, and who, while his acquaintance were congratulatingthemselves upon the fact of his permanent disappearance, would start upsuddenly in an unexpected place, provided with every necessity andluxury of civilized life, from a wardrobe by Poole to the lastfashionable absurdity in the shape of a cigar-case. 

Never had Valentine Hawkehurst found his patron more agreeably disposedthan he seemed to be this evening, and never had he felt more inclinedto suspect him. 

"And what have you been doing while I have been away?" the young manasked presently. "Any more promoting work?"

"Well, yes, a little bit of provincial business; a life-and-fire on anovel principle; a really good thing, if we can only find men withperception enough to see its merits, and pluck enough to hazard theircapital. But promoting in the provinces is very dull work. I've been totwo or three towns in the Midland districts--Beauport, Mudborough, andUllerton--and have found the same stagnation everywhere. "

Nothing could be more perfect than the semblance of unconsciousinnocence with which the Captain gave this account of himself: whetherhe was playing a part, or whether he was telling the entire truth, wasa question which even a cleverer man than Valentine Hawkehurst mighthave found himself unable to answer. 

The two men sat till late, smoking and talking; but to-night Valentinefound the conversation of his "guide, philosopher, and friend"strangely distasteful to him. That cynical manner of looking at life, which not long ago had seemed to him the only manner compatible withwisdom and experience, now grated harshly upon those finer senses whichhad been awakened in the quiet contemplative existence he had of latebeen leading. He had been wont to enjoy Captain Paget's savagebitterness against a world which had not provided him with a house inCarlton-gardens, and a seat in the Cabinet; but to-night he wasrevolted by the noble Horatio's tone and manner. Those malicious sneersagainst respectable people and respectable prejudices, with which theCaptain interlarded all his talk, seemed to have a ghastly grimness intheir mirth. It was like the talk of some devil who had once been anangel, and had lost all hope of ever being restored to his angelicstatus. 

"To believe in nothing, to respect nothing, to hope for nothing, tofear nothing, to consider life as so many years in which to scheme andlie for the sake of good dinners and well-made coats--surely there canbe no state of misery more complete, no degradation more consummate, "thought the young man, as he sat by the fireside smoking and listeningdreamily to his companion. "Better to be Mrs. Rebecca Haygarth, narrow-minded and egotistical, but always looking beyond her narrowlife to some dimly-comprehended future. "

He was glad to escape at last from the Captain's society, and to retireto his own small chamber, where he slept soundly enough after the day'sfatigues, and dreamed of the Haygarths and Charlotte Halliday. 

He was up early the next morning; but, on descending to thesitting-room, he found his patron toasting his _Times_ before a cheerfulfire; while his gold hunting-watch stood open on the breakfast-table, anda couple of new-laid eggs made a pleasant wabbling noise in a smallsaucepan upon the hob. 

"You don't care for eggs, I know, Val, " said the Captain, as he tookthe saucepan from the hob. 

He had heard the young man object to an egg of French extraction toolong severed from its native land; but he knew very well that for ruraldelicacies from a reliable dairyman, at twopence apiece, Mr. Hawkehursthad no particular antipathy. Even in so small a matter as a new-laidegg the Captain knew how to protect his own interest. 

"There's some of that Italian sausage you're so fond of, dear boy, " hesaid politely, pointing to a heel of some grayish horny-lookingcompound. "Thanks; I'll pour out the coffee; there's a knack in thesethings; half the clearness of coffee depends on the way in which it'spoured out, you see. "

And with this assurance Captain Paget filled his own large breakfast-cupwith a careful hand and a tender solemnity of countenance. If he was atrifle less considerate in the pouring out of the second cup, and ifsome "grounds" mingled with the second portion, Valentine Hawkehurstwas unconscious of the fact. 

"Do try that Italian sausage, " said the Captain, as he discussed hissecond egg, after peeling the most attractive crusts from the Frenchrolls, and pushing the crumb to his _protégé_. 

"No, thank you; it looks rather like what your shop-people call an oldhousekeeper; besides, there's a little too much garlic in thosecompositions for my taste. "

"Your taste has grown fastidious, " said the Captain; "one would thinkyou were going to call upon some ladies this morning. "

"There are not many ladies on my visiting-list. O, by the way, how'sDiana? Have you seen her lately?"

"No, " answered the Captain, promptly. "I only returned from myprovincial tour a day or two ago, and have had no time to waste dancingattendance upon her. She's well enough, I've no doubt; and she'suncommonly well off in Sheldon's house, and ought to think herself so. "

Having skimmed his newspaper, Captain Paget rose and invested himselfin his overcoat. He put on his hat before the glass over themantelpiece, adjusting the brim above his brows with the thoughtfulcare that distinguished his performance of all those small duties whichhe owed to himself. 

"And what may _you_ be going to do with yourself to-day, Val?" he askedof the young man, who sat nursing his own knee and staring absently atthe fire. 

"Well, I don't quite know, " Mr. Hawkehurst answered, hypocritically; "Ithink I may go as far as Gray's Inn, and look in upon George Sheldon. "

"You'll dine out of doors, I suppose?"

This was a polite way of telling Mr. Hawkehurst that there would be nodinner for him at home. 

"I suppose I shall. You know I'm not punctilious on the subject ofdinner. Anything you please--from a banquet at the London Tavern to aham-sandwich and a glass of ale at fourpence. "

"Ah, to be sure; youth is reckless of its gastric juices. I shall findyou at home when I come in to-night, I daresay. I think I may dine inthe city. _Au plaisir_. "

"I don't know about the pleasure, " muttered Mr. Hawkehurst. "You're avery delightful person, my friend Horatio; but there comes a crisis ina man's existence when he begins to feel that he has had enough of you. Poor Diana! what a father!"

He did not waste much time on further consideration of his patron, butset off at once on his way to Gray's Inn. It was too early to call atthe Lawn, or he would fain have gone there before seeking GeorgeSheldon's dingy offices. Nor could he very well present himself at thegothic villa without some excuse for so doing. He went to Gray's Inntherefore; but on his way thither called at a tavern near the Strand, which was the head-quarters of a literary association known as theRagamuffins. Here he was fortunate enough to meet with an acquaintancein the person of a Ragamuffin in the dramatic-author line, who wasreading the morning's criticisms on a rival's piece produced the nightbefore, with a keen enjoyment of every condemnatory sentence. From thisgentleman Mr. Hawkehurst obtained a box-ticket for a West-end theatre;and, armed with this mystic document, he felt himself able to present abold countenance at Mr. Sheldon's door. 

"Will she be glad to see me again?" he asked himself. "Pshaw! I daresayshe has forgotten me by this time. A fortnight is an age with somewomen; and I should fancy Charlotte Halliday just one of those brightimpressionable beings who forget easily. I wonder whether she is_really_ like that 'Molly' whose miniature was found by Mrs. Haygarthin the tulip-leaf escritoire; or was the resemblance between those twofaces only a silly fancy of mine?"

Mr. Hawkehurst walked the whole distance from Chelsea to Gray's Inn;and it was midday when he presented himself before George Sheldon, whomhe found seated at his desk with the elephantine pedigree of theHaygarths open before him, and profoundly absorbed in the contents of anote-book. He looked up from this note-book as Valentine entered, butdid not leave off chewing the end of his pencil as he mumbled a welcometo the returning wanderer. It has been seen that neither of the Sheldonbrothers were demonstrative men. 

After that unceremonious greeting, the lawyer continued his perusal ofthe note-book for some minutes, while Valentine seated himself in aclumsy leather-covered arm-chair by the fireplace. 

"Well, young gentleman, " Mr. Sheldon exclaimed, as he closed his bookwith a triumphant snap, "I think _you're_ in for a good thing; and youmay thank your lucky stars for having thrown you into my path. "

"My stars are not remarkable for their luckiness in a general way, "answered Mr. Hawkehurst, coolly, for the man had not yet been born fromwhom he would accept patronage. "I suppose if I'm in for a good thing, you're in for a better thing, my dear George; so you needn't come thebenefactor quite so strong for my edification. How did you ferret outthe certificate of gray-eyed Molly's espousals?"

George Sheldon contemplated his coadjutor with an admiring stare. "Ithas been my privilege to enjoy the society of cool hands, Mr. Hawkehurst; and certainly you are about the coolest of the lot--barone, as they say in the ring. But that is _ni ci ni là_. I have foundthe certificate of Matthew Haygarth's marriage, and to my mind theHaygarth succession is as good as ours. "

"Ah, those birds in the bush have such splendid plumage! but I'd ratherhave the modest sparrow in my hand. However, I'm very glad our affairsare marching. How did you discover the marriage-lines?"

"Not without hard labour, I can tell you. Of course my idea of a secretmarriage was at the best only a plausible hypothesis; and I hardlydared to hug myself with the hope that it might turn up trumps. My ideawas based upon two or three facts, namely, the character of the youngman, his long residence in London away from the ken of respectablerelatives and friends, and the extraordinary state of the marriage lawsat the period in which our man lived. "

"Ah, to be sure! That was a strong point. "

"I should rather think it was. I took the trouble to look up thehistory of Mayfair marriages and Fleet marriages before you started forUllerton, and I examined all the evidence I could get on that subject. I made myself familiar with the Rev. Alexander Keith of Mayfair, whohelped to bring clandestine marriages into vogue amongst the swells, and with Dr. Gaynham--agreeably nicknamed Bishop of Hell--and more ofthe same calibre; and the result of my investigations convinced me thatin those days a hare-brained young reprobate must have found it rathermore difficult to avoid matrimony than to achieve it. He might bemarried when he was tipsy; he might be married when he was comatosefrom the effects of a stand-up fight with Mohawks; his name might beassumed by some sportive Benedick of his acquaintance given topractical joking, and he might find himself saddled with a wife henever saw; or if, on the other hand, of an artful and deceptive turn, he might procure a certificate of a marriage that had never takenplace, --for there were very few friendly offices which the Fleetparsons refused to perform for their clients--for a consideration. "

"But how about the legality of the Fleet marriage?"

"There's the rub. Before the New Marriage Act passed in 1753 a Fleetmarriage was indissoluble. It was an illegal act, and the parties werepunishable; but the Gordian knot was quite as secure as if it had beentied in the most orthodox manner. The great difficulty to my mind wasthe _onus probandi_. The marriage might have taken place; the marriagebe to all intents and purposes a good marriage; but how produceundeniable proof of such a ceremony, when all ceremonies of the kindwere performed with a manifest recklessness and disregard of law? Evenif I found an apparently good certificate, how was I to prove that itwas not one of those lying certificates of marriages that had nevertaken place? Again, what kind of registers could posterity expect fromthese parson-adventurers, very few of whom could spell, and most ofwhom lived in a chronic state of drunkenness? They married peoplesometimes by their Christian names alone--very often under assumednames. What consideration had they for heirs-at-law in the future, whenunder the soothing influence of a gin-bottle in the present? I thoughtof all these circumstances, and I was half inclined to despair ofrealising my idea of an early marriage. I took it for granted that sucha secret business would be more likely to have taken place in theprecincts of the Fleet than anywhere else; and having no particularclue, I set to work, in the first place, to examine all availabledocuments relating to such marriages. "

"It must have been slow work. "

"It _was_ slow work, " answered Mr. Sheldon with a suppressed groan, that was evoked by the memory of a bygone martyrdom. "I needn't enterinto all the details of the business, --the people I had to apply to forpermission to see this set of papers, and the signing andcounter-signing I had to go through before I could see that set ofpapers, and the extent of circumlocution and idiocy I had to encounterin a general way before I could complete my investigation. The resultwas nil; and after working like a galley-slave I found myself no betteroff than before I began my search. Your extracts from Matthew's lettersput me on a new track. I concluded therefrom that there had been amarriage, and that the said marriage had been a deliberate act on thepart of the young man. I therefore set to work to do what I ought tohave done at starting--I hunted in all the parish registers to be foundwithin a certain radius of such and such localities. I began withClerkenwell, in which neighbourhood our friend spent such happy years, according to that pragmatical epistle of Mrs. Rebecca's; but afterhunting in all the mouldy old churches within a mile of St. John's-gate, I was no nearer arriving at any record of Matthew Haygarth's existence. So I turned my back upon Clerkenwell, and went southward to theneighbourhood of the Marshalsea, where Mistress Molly's father was atone time immured, and whence I thought it very probable Mistress Mollyhad started on her career as a matron. This time my guess was a luckyone. After hunting the registers of St. Olave's, St. Saviour's, and St. George's, and after the expenditure of more shillings in donations tosextons than I care to remember, I at last lighted on a document whichI consider worth three thousand pounds to you--and--a very decent sumof money to me. "

"I wonder what colour our hair will be when we touch that money?" saidValentine meditatively. "These sort of cases generally find their wayinto Chancery-lane, don't they?--that lane which, for some unhappytravellers, has no turning except the one dismal _via_ which leads todusty death. You seem in very good spirits; and I suppose I ought to beelated too. Three thousand pounds would give me a start in life, andenable me to set up in the new character of a respectable rate-payingcitizen. But I've a kind of presentiment that this hand of mine willnever touch the prize of the victor; or, in plainer English, that nogood will ever arise to me or mine out of the reverend intestate'shundred thousand pounds. "

"Why, what a dismal-minded croaker you are this morning!" exclaimedGeorge Sheldon with unmitigated disgust; "a regular raven, by Jove! Youcome to a fellow's office just as matters are beginning to look likesuccess--after ten years' plodding and ten years' disappointment--andyou treat him to maudlin howls about the Court of Chancery. This is anew line you've struck out, Hawkehurst, and I can tell you it isn't apleasant one. "

"Well, no, I suppose I oughtn't to say that sort of thing, " answeredValentine in an apologetic tone; "but there are some days in a man'slife when there seems to be a black cloud between him and everything helooks at. I feel like that today. There's a tightening sensation aboutsomething under my waistcoat--my heart, perhaps--a sense of depressionthat may be either physical or mental, that I can't get rid of. If aman had walked by my side from Chelsea to Holborn whisperingforebodings of evil into my ear at every step, I couldn't have feltmore downhearted than I do. "

"What did you eat for breakfast?" asked Mr. Sheldon impatiently. "Atough beefsteak fried by a lodging-house cook, I daresay--they _will_fry their steaks. Don't inflict the consequences of your indigestiblediet upon me. To tell me that there's a black cloud between you andeverything you look at, is only a sentimental way of telling me thatyou're bilious. Pray be practical, and let us look at things from abusiness point of view. Here is Appendix A. --a copy of the registry ofthe marriage of Matthew Haygarth, bachelor, of Clerkenwell, in thecounty of Middlesex, to Mary Murchison, spinster, of Southwark, in thecounty of Surrey. And here is Appendix B. --a copy of the registry ofthe marriage between William Meynell, bachelor, of Smithfield, in thecounty of Middlesex, to Caroline Mary Haygarth, spinster, of Highgate, in the same county. "

"You have found the entry of a second Haygarthian marriage?"

"I have. The C. Of Matthew's letters is the Caroline Mary hereindicated, the daughter and heiress of Matthew Haygarth--doubtlesschristened Caroline after her gracious majesty the consort of GeorgeII. , and Mary after the Molly whose picture was found in the tulip-leafbureau. The Meynell certificate was easy enough to find, since theletters told me that Miss C. 's suitor had a father who lived inAldersgate-street, and a father who approved his son's choice. TheAldersgate citizen had a house of his own, and a more secure socialstatus altogether than that poor, weak, surreptitious Matthew. It wastherefore only natural that the marriage should be celebrated in theMeynell mansion. Having considered this, I had only to ransack theregisters of a certain number of churches round and aboutAldersgate-street in order to find what I wanted; and after about a dayand a half of hard labour, I did find the invaluable document whichplaces me one generation nearer the present, and on the high-road tothe discovery of my heir-at-law. I searched the same registry forchildren of the aforesaid William and Caroline Mary Meynell, but couldfind no record of such children nor any further entry of the name ofMeynell. But we must search other registries within access ofAldersgate-street before we give up the idea of finding such entriesin that neighbourhood. "

"And what is to be the next move?"

"The hunting-up of all descendants of this William and Caroline MaryMeynell, wheresoever such descendants are to be found. We are nowaltogether off the Haygarth and Judson scent, and have to beat a newcovert. "

"Good!" exclaimed Valentine more cheerfully. "How is the new covert tobe beaten?"

"We must start from Aldersgate-street. Meynell of Aldersgate-streetmust have been a responsible man, and it will be hard if there is norecord of him extant in all the old topographical histories of wards, without and within, which cumber the shelves of your dry-as-dustlibraries. We must hunt up all available books; and when we've got allthe information that books can give us, we can go in upon hearsayevidence, which is always the most valuable in these cases. "

"That means another encounter with ancient mariners--I beg your pardon--oldest inhabitants, " said Valentine with a despondent yawn. "Well, Isuppose that sort of individual is a little less obtuse when he liveswithin the roar of the great city's thunder than when he vegetates inthe dismal outskirts of a manufacturing town. Where am I to find myoctogenarian prosers? and when am I to begin my operations upon them?""The sooner you begin the better, " replied Mr. Sheldon. "I've taken allpreliminary steps for you already, and you'll find the businesstolerably smooth sailing. I've made a list of certain people who may beworth seeing. "

Mr. Sheldon selected a paper from the numerous documents upon thetable. 

"Here they are, " he said: "John Grewter, wholesale stationer, Aldersgate-street; Anthony Sparsfield, carver and gilder, in Barbican. These are, so far as I can ascertain, the two oldest men now trading inAldersgate-street; and from these men you ought to be able to find outsomething about old Meynell. I don't anticipate any difficulty aboutthe Meynells, except the possibility that we may find more of them thanwe want, and have some trouble in shaking them into their places. "

"I'll tackle my friend the stationer to-morrow morning, " saidValentine. 

"You'd better drop in upon him in the afternoon, when the day'sbusiness may be pretty well over, " returned the prudent Sheldon. "Andnow all you've got to do, Hawkehurst, is to work with a will, and workon patiently. If you do as well in London as you did at Ullerton, neither you nor I will have any cause to complain. Of course I needn'timpress upon you the importance of secrecy. "

"No, " replied Valentine; "I'm quite alive to that. "

He then proceeded to inform George Sheldon of that encounter withCaptain Paget on the platform at Ullerton, and of the suspicion thathad been awakened in his mind by the sight of the glove in Goodge'sparlour. 

The lawyer shook his head. 

"That idea about the glove was rather far-fetched, " he said, thoughtfully; "but I don't like the look of that meeting at thestation. My brother Philip is capable of anything in the way ofmanoeuvring; and I'm not ashamed to confess that I'm no match for him. He was in here one day when I had the Haygarth pedigree spread out onthe table, and I know he smelt a rat. We must beware of him, Hawkehurst, and we must work against time if we don't want him toanticipate us. "

"I shan't let the grass grow under my feet, " replied Valentine. "I wasreally interested in that Haygarthian history: there was a dash ofromance about it, you see. I don't feel the same gusto in the Meynellchase, but I daresay I shall begin to get up an interest in it as myinvestigation proceeds. Shall I call the day after to-morrow and tellyou my adventures?"

"I think you'd better stick to the old plan, and let me have the resultof your work in the form of a diary, " answered Sheldon. And with thisthe two men parted. 

It was now half-past two o'clock; it would be half-past three beforeValentine could present himself at the Lawn--a very seasonable hour atwhich to call upon Mrs. Sheldon with his offering of a box for the newplay. 

An omnibus conveyed him to Bayswater at a snail's pace, and with morestoppages than ever mortal omnibus was subjected to before, as itseemed to that one eager passenger. At last the fading foliage of thePark appeared between the hats and bonnets of Valentine's oppositeneighbours. Even those orange tawny trees reminded him of Charlotte. Beneath such umbrage had he parted from her. And now he was going tosee the bright young face once more. He had been away from town about afortnight; but taken in relation with Miss Halliday, that fortnightseemed half a century. 

Chrysanthemums and china-asters beautified Mr. Sheldon's neat littlegarden, and the plate-glass windows of his house shone with all theirwonted radiance. It was like the houses one sees framed and glazed inan auctioneer's office--the greenest imaginable grass, the bluestwindows, the reddest bricks, the whitest stone. "It is a house thatwould set my teeth on edge, but for the one sweet creature who lives init, " Valentine thought to himself, as he waited at the florid irongate, which was painted a vivid ultramarine and picked out with gold. 

He tried in vain to catch a glimpse of some feminine figure in thesmall suburban garden. No flutter of scarlet petticoat or flash ofscarlet plume revealed the presence of the divinity. 

The prim maid-servant informed him that Mrs. Sheldon was at home, andasked if he would please to walk into the drawing-room. 

Would he please? Would he not have been pleased to walk into a ragingfurnace if there had been a chance of meeting Charlotte Halliday amidthe flames? He followed the maid-servant into Mrs. Sheldon'sirreproachable apartment, where the show books upon the show table wereranged at the usual mathematically correct distances from one another, and where the speckless looking-glasses and all-pervading French polishimparted a chilly aspect to the chamber. A newly-lighted fire wassmouldering in the shining steel grate, and a solitary female figurewas seated by the broad Tudor window bending over some needlework. 

It was the figure of Diana Paget, and she was quite alone in the room. Valentine's heart sank a little as he saw the solitary figure, andperceived that it was not the woman he loved. 

Diana looked up from her work and recognised the visitor. Her faceflushed, but the flush faded very quickly, and Valentine was notconscious of that flattering indication. 

"How do you do, Diana?" he said. "Here I am again, you see, like theproverbial bad shilling. I have brought Mrs. Sheldon an order for thePrincess's. " "You are very kind; but I don't think she'll care to go. She was complaining of a headache this afternoon. "

"O, she'll forget all about her headache if she wants to go to theplay. She's the sort of little woman who is always ready for a theatreor a concert. Besides, Miss Halliday may like to go, and will easilypersuade her mamma. Whom could she not persuade?" added Mr. Hawkehurstwithin himself. 

"Miss Halliday is out of town, " Diana replied coldly. 

The young man felt as if his heart were suddenly transformed into somuch lead, so heavy did it seem to grow. What a foolish thing it seemedthat he should be the victim of this fair enslaver!--he who untillately had fancied himself incapable of any earnest feeling or deepemotion. 

"Out of town!" he repeated with unconcealed disappointment. 

"Yes; she has gone on a visit to some relations in Yorkshire. Sheactually has relations; doesn't that sound strange to you and me?"

Valentine did not notice this rather cynical remark. 

"She'll be away ever so long, I suppose?" he said. 

"I have no idea how long she may stay there. The people idolise her, Iunderstand. You know it is her privilege to be idolised; and of coursethey will persuade her to stay as long as they can. You seemdisappointed at not seeing her. "

"I am very much disappointed, " Valentine answered frankly; "she is asweet girl. "

There was a silence after this. Miss Paget resumed her work with rapidfingers. She was picking up shining little beads one by one on thepoint of her needle, and transferring them to the canvas stretched uponan embroidery frame before her. It was a kind of work exacting extremecare and precision, and the girl's hand never faltered, though atempest of passionate feeling agitated her as she worked. 

"I am very sorry not to see her, " Valentine said presently, "for thesight of her is very dear to me. Why should I try to hide my feelingsfrom you, Diana? We have endured so much misery together that theremust be some bond of union between us. To me you have always seemedlike a sister, and I have no wish to keep any secret from you, thoughyou receive me so coldly that one would think I had offended you. "

"You have not offended me. I thank you for being so frank with me. Youwould have gained little by an opposite course. I have long known youraffection for Charlotte. "

"You guessed my secret?"

"I saw what any one could have seen who had taken the trouble to watchyou for ten minutes during your visits to this house. "

"Was my unhappy state so very conspicuous?" exclaimed Valentine, laughing. "Was I so obviously spoony? _I_ who have so ridiculedanything in the way of sentiment. You make me blush for my folly, Diana. What is that you are dotting with all those beads?--somethingvery elaborate. "

"It is a prie-dieu chair I am working for Mrs. Sheldon. Of course I ambound to do something for my living. "

"And so you wear out your eyesight in the working of chairs. Poor girl!it seems hard that your beauty and accomplishments should not find abetter market than that. I daresay you will marry some millionairefriend of Mr. Sheldon's one of these days, and I shall hear of yourhouse in Park-lane and three-hundred guinea barouche. "

"You are very kind to promise me* a millionaire. The circumstances of myexistence hitherto have been so peculiarly fortunate that I amjustified in expecting such a suitor. [*My millionaire printer's typo]shall ask you to dinner at my house in Park-lane; and you shall play_écarté_ with him, if you like--papa's kind of _écarté_. "

"Don't talk of those things, Di, " said Mr. Hawkehurst, with somethingthat was almost a shudder; "let us forget that we ever led that kind oflife. "

"Yes, " replied Diana, "let us forget it--if we can. "

The bitterness of her tone struck him painfully. He sat for someminutes watching her silently, and pitying her fate. What a sad fate itseemed, and how hopeless! For him there was always some chance ofredemption. He could go out into the world, and cut his way through theforest of difficulty with the axe of the conqueror. But what could awoman do who found herself in the midst of that dismal forest? Shecould only sit at the door of her lonesome hut, looking out with wearyeyes for the prince who was to come and rescue her. And Valentineremembered how many women there are to whom the prince never comes, andwho must needs die and be buried beneath that gloomy umbrage. 

"O! let us have women doctors, women lawyers, women parsons, womenstone-breakers--anything rather than these dependent creatures who sitin other people's houses working prie-dieu chairs and pining forfreedom, " he thought to himself, as he watched the pale stern face inthe chill afternoon light. 

"Do leave off working for a few minutes, and talk to me, Di, " he saidrather impatiently. "You don't know how painful it is to a man to see awoman absorbed in some piece of needlework at the very moment when hewants all her sympathy. I am afraid you are not quite happy. Do confidein me, dear, as frankly as I confide in you. Are these people kind toyou? Charlotte is, of course. But the elder birds, Mr. And Mrs. Sheldon, are they kind?" "They are very kind. Mr. Sheldon is not ademonstrative man, as you know; but I am not accustomed to have peoplein a rapturous state of mind about me and my affairs. He is kinder tome than my father ever was; and I don't see how I can expect more thanthat. Mrs. Sheldon is extremely kind in her way--which is rather afeeble way, as you know. "

"And Charlotte--?"

"You answered for Charlotte yourself just now. Yes, she is very, very, very good to me; much better than I deserve. I was almost going toquote the collect, and say 'desire or deserve. '"

"Why should you not desire or deserve her goodness?" asked Valentine. 

"Because I am not a loveable kind of person. I am not sympathetic. Iknow that Charlotte is very fascinating, very charming; but sometimesher very fascination repels me. I think the atmosphere of that horribleswampy district between Lambeth and Battersea, where my childhood wasspent, must have soured my disposition. "

"No, Diana; you have only learnt a bitter way of talking. I know yourheart is noble and true. I have seen your suppressed indignation many atime when your father's meannesses have revolted you. Our lives havebeen very hard, dear; but let us hope for brighter days. I think theymust come to us. "

"They will never come to me, " said Diana. 

"You say that with an air of conviction. But why should they not cometo you--brighter and better days?"

"I cannot tell you that. I can only tell you that they will not come. And do you hope that any good will ever come of your love for CharlotteHalliday--you, who know Mr. Sheldon?"

"I am ready to hope anything. "

"You think that Mr. Sheldon would let his stepdaughter marry apenniless man?"

"I may not always be penniless. Besides, Mr. Sheldon has no actualauthority over Charlotte. "

"But he has moral influence over her. She is very easily influenced. "

"I am ready to hope even in spite of Mr. Sheldon's opposing influence. You must not try to crush this one little floweret that has grown up ina barren waste, Diana. It is my prison-flower. "

Mrs. Sheldon came into the room as he said this. She was very cordial, very eloquent upon the subject of her headache, and very much inclinedto go to the theatre, notwithstanding that ailment, when she heard thatMr. Hawkehurst had been kind enough to bring her a box. 

"Diana and I could go, " she said, "if we can manage to be in time afterour six o'clock dinner. Mr. Sheldon does not care about theatres. Allthe pieces tire him. He declares they are all stupid. But then, yousee, if one's mind is continually wandering, the cleverest piece mustseem stupid, " Mrs. Sheldon added thoughtfully; "and my husband is sovery absent-minded. "

After some further discussion about the theatres, Valentine bade theladies good afternoon. 

"Won't you stop to see Mr. Sheldon?" asked Georgina; "he's in thelibrary with Captain Paget. You did not know that your papa was here, did you, Diana, my dear? He came in with Mr. Sheldon an hour ago. "

"I won't disturb Mr. Sheldon, " said Valentine. "I will call again in afew days. "

He took leave of the two ladies, and went out into the hall. As heemerged from the drawing-room, the door of the library was opened, andhe heard Philip Sheldon's voice within, saying, --

"--your accuracy with regard to the name of Meynell. "

It was the close of a sentence; but the name struck immediately uponValentine's ear. Meynell!--the name which had for him so peculiar aninterest. 

"Is it only a coincidence, " he thought to himself, "or is Horatio Pageton our track?"

And then he argued with himself that his ears might have deceived him, and that the name he had heard might not have been Meynell, but only aname of somewhat similar sound. 

It was Captain Paget who had opened the door. He came into the hall andrecognised his _protégé_. They left the house together, and the Captainwas especially gracious. 

"We will dine together somewhere at the West-end, Val, " he said; but, to his surprise, Mr. Hawkehurst declined the proffered entertainment. 

"I'm tired out with a hard day's work, " he said, "and should be verybad company; so, if you'll excuse me, I'll go back to Omega-street andget a chop. "

The Captain stared at him in amazement. He could not comprehend the manwho could refuse to dine luxuriously at the expense of his fellow-man. 

Valentine had of late acquired new prejudices. He no longer cared toenjoy the hospitality of Horatio Paget. In Omega-street the householdexpenses were shared by the two men. It was a kind of club upon a smallscale; and there was no degradation in breaking bread with the elegantHoratio. 

To Omega-street Valentine returned this afternoon, there to eat afrugal meal and spend a meditative evening, uncheered by one glimmer ofthat radiance which more fortunate men know as the light of home. 

CHAPTER II. 

VALENTINE'S RECORD CONTINUED. 

_October 15th_. I left Omega-street for the City before noon, after ahasty breakfast with my friend Horatio, who was somewhat under thedominion of his black dog this morning, and far from pleasant company. I was not to present myself to the worthy John Grewter, wholesalestationer, before the afternoon; but I had no particular reason forstaying at home, and I had a fancy for strolling about the old Cityquarter in which Matthew Haygarth's youth had been spent. I went tolook at John-street, Clerkenwell, and dawdled about the immediateneighbourhood of Smithfield, thinking of the old fair-time, and of allthe rioters and merry-makers, who now were so much or so little dustand ashes in City churchyards, until the great bell of St. Paul'sboomed three, and I felt that it might be a leisure time with Mr. Grewter. 

I found the stationer's shop as darksome and dreary as City shopsusually are, but redolent of that subtle odour of wealth which has amystical charm for the nostrils of the penniless one. Stacks ofledgers, mountains of account-books, filled the dimly-lightedwarehouse. Some clerks were at work behind a glass partition, andalready the gas flared high in the green-shaded lamps above the desk atwhich they worked. I wondered whether it was a pleasant way of lifetheirs, and whether one would come to feel an interest in the barter ofday-books and ledgers if they were one's daily bread. Alas for me! theonly ledger I have ever known is the sainted patron of the northernracecourse. One young man came forward and asked my business, with alook that plainly told me that unless I wanted two or three gross ofaccount-books I had no right to be there. I told him that I wished tosee Mr. Grewter, and asked if that gentleman was to be seen. 

The clerk said he did not know; but his tone implied that, in hisopinion, I could _not_ see Mr. Grewter. 

"Perhaps you could go and ask, " I suggested. 

"Well, yes. Is it old or young Mr. Grewter you want to see?"

"Old Mr. Grewter, " I replied. 

"Very well, I'll go and see. You'd better send in your card, though. "

I produced one of George Sheldon's cards, which the clerk looked at. Hegave a little start as if an adder had stung him. 

"You're not Mr. Sheldon?" he said. 

"No; Mr. Sheldon is my employer. "

"What do you go about giving people Sheldon's card for?" asked theclerk, with quite an aggrieved air. "I know Sheldon of Gray's Inn. "

"Then I'm sure you've found him a very accommodating gentleman, " Ireplied, politely. 

"Deuce take his accommodation! He nearly accommodated me into theBankruptcy Court. And so you're Sheldon's clerk, and you want thegovernor. But you don't mean to say that Grewter and Grewter are--"

This was said in an awe-stricken undertone. I hastened to reassure thestationer's clerk. 

"I don't think Mr. Sheldon ever saw Mr. Grewter in his life, " I said. 

After this the clerk condescended to retire into the unknown antresbehind the shop, to deliver my message. I began to think that GeorgeSheldon's card was not the best possible letter of introduction. 

The clerk returned presently, followed by a tall, white-bearded man, with a bent figure, and a pair of penetrating gray eyes--a verypromising specimen of the octogenarian. 

He asked me my business in a sharp suspicious way, that obliged me tostate the nature of my errand without circumlocution. As I got fartheraway from the Rev. John Haygarth, intestate, I was less fettered by thenecessity of secrecy. I informed my octogenarian that I was prosecutinga legal investigation connected with a late inhabitant of that street, and that I had taken the liberty to apply to him, in the hope that hemight be able to afford me some information. 

He looked at me all the time I spoke as if he thought I was going toentreat pecuniary relief--and I daresay I have something the air of abegging-letter writer. But when he found that I only wantedinformation, his hard gray eyes softened ever so little, and he askedme to walk into his parlour. 

His parlour was scarcely less gruesome than his shop. The furniturelooked as if its manufacture had been coeval with the time of theMeynells, and the ghastly glare of the gas seemed a kind ofanachronism. After a few preliminary observations, which were notencouraged by Mr. Grewter's manner, I inquired whether he had everheard the name of Meynell. 

"Yes, " he said; "there was a Meynell in this street when I was a youngman--Christian Meynell, a carpet-maker by trade. The business is stillcarried on--and a very old business it is, for it was an old businessin Meynell's time; but Meynell died before I married, and his name ispretty well forgotten in Aldersgate-street by this time. "

"Had he no sons?" I asked. 

"Well, yes; he had one son, Samuel, a kind of companion of mine. But hedidn't take to the business, and when his father died he let things goanyhow, as you may say. He was rather wild, and died two or three yearsafter his father. " "Did he die unmarried?"

"Yes. There was some talk of his marrying a Miss Dobberly, whose fatherwas a cabinet-maker in Jewin-street; but Samuel was too wild for theDobberlys, who were steady-going people, and he went abroad, where hewas taken with some kind of fever and died. "

"Was this son the only child?"

"No; there were two daughters. The younger of them married; the elderwent to live with her--and died unmarried, I've heard say. "

"Do you know whom the younger sister married?" I asked. 

"No. She didn't marry in London. She went into the country to visitsome friends, and she married and settled down in those parts--whereverit might be--and I never heard of her coming back to London again. Thecarpet business was sold directly after Samuel Meynell's death. The newpeople kept up the name for a good twenty years--'Taylor, late Meynell, established 1693, ' that's what was painted on the board above thewindow--but they've dropped the name of Meynell now. People forget oldnames, you see, and it's no use keeping to them after they'reforgotten. "

Yes, the old names are forgotten, the old people fade off the face ofthe earth. The romance of Matthew Haygarth seemed to come to a lame andimpotent conclusion in this dull record of dealers in carpeting. 

"You can't remember what part of England it was that ChristianMeynell's daughter went to when she married?"

"No. It wasn't a matter I took much interest in. I don't think I everspoke to the young woman above three times in my life, though she livedin the same street, and though her brother and I often met each otherat the Cat and Salutation, where there used to be a great deal of talkabout the war and Napoleon Bonaparte in those days. "

"Have you any idea of the time at which she was married?" I inquired. 

"Not as to the exact year. I know it was after I was married; for Iremember my wife and I sitting at our window upstairs one summer Sundayevening, and seeing Samuel Meynell's sister go by to church. I canremember it as well as if it was yesterday. She was dressed in a whitegown and a green silk spencer. Yes--and I didn't marry my first wifetill 1814. But as to telling you exactly when Miss Meynell leftAldersgate-street, I can't. "

These reminiscences of the past seemed to exercise rather a mollifyinginfluence upon the old man's mind, commonplace as they were. He ceasedto look at me with sharp, suspicious glances, and he seemed anxious toafford me all the help he could. "Was Christian Meynell's father calledWilliam?" I asked, after having paused to make some notes in mypocket-book. 

"That I can't tell you; though, if Christian Meynell was living to-day, he wouldn't be ten years older than me. His father died when I wasquite a boy; but there must be old books at the warehouse with his namein them, if they haven't been destroyed. "

I determined to make inquiries at the carpet warehouse; but I hadlittle hope of finding the books of nearly a century gone by. I triedanother question. 

"Do you know whether Christian Meynell was an only son, or the only sonwho attained manhood?" I asked. 

My elderly friend shook his head. 

"Christian Meynell never had any brothers that I heard of, " he said;"but the parish register will tell you all about that, supposing thathis father before him lived all his life in Aldersgate-street, as I'veevery reason to believe he did. "

After this I asked a few questions about the neighbouring churches, thanked Mr. Grewter for his civility, and departed. 

I went back to Omega-street, dined upon nothing particular, and devotedthe rest of my evening to the scrawling of this journal, and a tenderreverie, in which Charlotte Halliday was the central figure. 

How bitter poverty and dependence have made Diana Paget! She used to bea nice girl too. 

_Oct. 16th_. To-day's work has been confined to the investigation ofparish registers--a most wearisome business at the best. My labourswere happily not without result. In the fine old church of St. Giles, Cripplegate, I found registries of the baptism of Oliver Meynell, sonof William and Caroline Mary Meynell, 1768; and of the burial of thesame Oliver in the following year. I found the record of the baptism ofa daughter to the same William and Caroline Mary Meynell, and furtheron the burial of the said daughter, at five years of age. I also foundthe records of the baptism of Christian Meynell, son of the sameWilliam and Caroline Mary Meynell, in the year 1772, and of WilliamMeynell's decease in the year 1793. Later appeared the entry of theburial of Sarah, widow of Christian Meynell. Later still, the baptismof Samuel Meynell; then the baptism of Susan Meynell; and finally, thatof Charlotte Meynell. 

These were all the entries respecting the Meynell family to be found inthe registry. There was no record of the burial of Caroline Mary, wifeof William Meynell, nor of Christian Meynell, nor of Samuel Meynell, his son; and I knew that all these entries would be necessary to myastute Sheldon before his case would be complete. After my search ofthe registries, I went out into the churchyard to grope for the familyvault of the Meynells, and found a grim square monument, enclosed by arailing that was almost eaten away by rust, and inscribed with thenames and virtues of that departed house. The burial ground isinteresting by reason of more distinguished company than the Meynells. John Milton, John Fox, author of the Martyrology, and John Speed, thechronologer, rest in this City churchyard. 

In the hope of getting some clue to the missing data, I ventured tomake a second call upon Mr. Grewter, whom I found rather inclined to besnappish, as considering the Meynell business unlikely to result in anyprofit to himself, and objecting on principle to take any trouble notlikely to result in profit. I believe this is the mercantile manner oflooking at things in a general way. 

I asked him if he could tell me where Samuel Meynell was buried. 

"I suppose he was buried in foreign parts, " replied the old gentleman, with considerable grumpiness, "since he died in foreign parts. "

"O, he died abroad, did he? Can you tell me where?"

"No, sir, I can't, " replied Mr. Grewter, with increasing grumpiness; "Ididn't trouble myself about other people's affairs then, and I don'ttrouble myself about them now, and I don't particularly care to betroubled about them by strangers. "

I made the meekest possible apology for my intrusion, but the outragedGrewter was not appeased. 

"Your best apology will be not doing it again, " he replied. "Those thatknow my habits know that I take half an hour's nap after dinner. Myconstitution requires it, or I shouldn't take it. If I didn't happen tohave a strange warehouseman on my premises, you wouldn't have beenallowed to disturb me two afternoons running. "

Finding Mr. Grewter unappeasable, I left him, and went to seek a moreplacable spirit in the shape of Anthony Sparsfield, carver and gilder, of Barbican. 

I found the establishment of Sparsfield and Son, carvers and gilders. It was a low dark shop, in the window of which were exhibited two orthree handsomely carved frames, very much the worse for flies, and oneoil-painting, of a mysterious and Rembrandtish character. Theold-established air that pervaded almost all the shops in thisneighbourhood was peculiarly apparent in the Sparsfield establishment. 

In the shop I found a mild-faced man of about forty engaged inconversation with a customer. I waited patiently while the customerfinished a minute description of the kind of frame he wanted made for aset of proof engravings after Landseer; and when the customer haddeparted, I asked the mild-faced man if I could see Mr. Sparsfield. 

"I am Mr. Sparsfield, " he replied politely. 

"Not Mr. Anthony Sparsfield?"

"Yes, my name is Anthony. "

"I was given to understand that Mr. Anthony Sparsfield was a much olderperson. "

"O, I suppose you mean my father, " replied the mild-faced man. "Myfather is advanced in years, and does very little in the businessnowadays; not but what his head is as clear as ever it was, and thereare some of our old customers like to see him when they give an order. "

This sounded hopeful. I told Mr. Sparsfield the younger that I was nota customer, and then proceeded to state the nature of my business. Ifound him as courteous as Mr. Grewter had been disobliging. 

"Me and father are old-fashioned people, " he said; "and we're not aboveliving over our place of business, which most of the Barbicantradespeople are nowadays. The old gentleman is taking tea in theparlour upstairs at this present moment, and if you don't mind steppingup to him, I'm sure he'll be proud to give you any information he can. He likes talking of old times. "

This was the sort of oldest inhabitant I wanted to meet with--a verydifferent kind of individual from Mr. Grewter, who doled out everyanswer to my questions as grudgingly as if it had been a five-poundnote. 

I was conducted to a snug little sitting-room on the first-floor, wherethere was a cheerful fire and a comfortable odour of tea and toast. Iwas invited to take a cup of tea; and as I perceived that my acceptanceof the invitation would be accounted a kind of favour, I said yes. Thetea was very weak, and very warm, and very sweet; but Mr. Sparsfieldand his son sipped it with as great an air of enjoyment as if it hadbeen the most inspiring of beverages. 

Mr. Sparsfield the elder was more or less rheumatic and asthmatic, buta cheerful old man withal, and quite ready to prate of old times, whenBarbican and Aldersgate-street were pleasanter places than they areto-day, or had seemed so to this elderly citizen. 

"Meynell!" he exclaimed; "I knew Sam Meynell as well as I knew my ownbrother, and I knew old Christian Meynell almost as well as I knew myown father. There was more sociability in those days, you see, sir. Theworld seems to have grown too full to leave any room for friendship. It's all push and struggle, and struggle and push, as you may say; anda man will make you a frame for five-and-twenty shillings that willlook more imposing like than what I could turn out for five pound, Onlythe gold-leaf will all drop off after a twelvemonth's wear; and that'sthe way of the world nowadays. There's a deal of gilding, and thingsare made to look uncommon bright; but the gold all drops off 'em beforelong. "

After allowing the old man to moralise to his heart's content, Ibrought him back politely to the subject in which I was interested. 

"Samuel Meynell was as good a fellow as ever breathed, " he said; "buthe was too fond of the tavern. There were some very nice taverns roundabout Aldersgate-street in those days; and you see, sir, the times werestirring times, and folks liked to get together and talk over the day'snews, with a pipe of tobacco and a glass of their favourite liquor, allin a sociable way. Poor Sam Meynell took a little too much of hisfavourite liquor; and when the young woman that he had been keepingcompany with--Miss Dobberly of Jewin-street--jilted him and married awholesale butcher in Newgate Market, who was old enough to be herfather, Sam took to drinking, and neglected his business. One day hecame to me and said, 'I've sold the business, Tony, '--for it was Samand Tony with us, you see, sir, --'and I'm off to France. ' This was soonafter the battle of Waterloo; and many folks had a fancy for going overto France now that they'd seen the back of Napoleon Bonaparte, who wasgenerally alluded to in those days by the name of monster or tiger, andwas understood to make his chief diet off frogs. Well, sir, we were allof us very much surprised at Sam's going to foreign parts; but as he'dalways been wild, it was only looked upon as a part of his wildness, and we weren't so much surprised to hear a year or two afterwards thathe'd drunk himself to death upon cheap brandy--odyvee as _they_ callit, poor ignorant creatures--at Calais. "

"He died at Calais?"

"Yes, " replied the old man; "I forget who brought the news home, but Iremember hearing it. Poor Sam Meynell died and was buried amongst theMossoos. "

"You are sure he was buried at Calais?"

"Yes, as sure as I can be of anything. Travelling was no easy matter inthose days, and in foreign parts there was nothing but diligences, which I've heard say were the laziest-going vehicles ever invented. There was no one to bring poor Sam's remains back to England, for hismother was dead, and his two sisters were settled somewhere down inYorkshire. "

In Yorkshire! I am afraid I looked rather sheepish when Mr. Sparsfieldsenior mentioned this particular county, for my thoughts took wing andwere with Charlotte Halliday before the word had well escaped his lips. 

"Miss Meynell settled in Yorkshire, did she?" I asked. 

"Yes, she married some one in the farming way down there. Her motherwas a Yorkshirewoman, and she and her sister went visiting among hermother's relations, and never came back to London. One of them married, the other died a spinster. "

"Do you remember the name of the man she married?"

"No, " replied Mr. Sparsfield, "I can't say that I do. "

"Do you remember the name of the place she went to--the town orvillage, or whatever it was?"

"I might remember it if I heard it, " he responded thoughtfully; "and Iought to remember it, for I've heard Sam Meynell talk of his sisterCharlotte's home many a time. She was christened Charlotte, you see, after the Queen. I've a sort of notion that the name of the village wassomething ending in Cross, as it might be Charing Cross, or WalthamCross. "

This was vague, but it was a great deal more than I had been able toextort from Mr. Grewter. I took a second cup of the sweet warm liquidwhich my new friends called tea, in order to have an excuse forloitering, while I tried to obtain more light from the reminiscences ofthe old frame-maker. 

No more light came, however. So I was fain to take my leave, reservingto myself the privilege of calling again on a future occasion. 

_Oct. 18th_. I sent Sheldon a statement of my Aldersgate-streetresearches the day before yesterday morning. He went carefully throughthe information I had collected, and approved my labours. 

"You've done uncommonly well, considering the short time you've been atthe work, " he said; "and you've reason to congratulate yourself uponhaving your ground all laid out for you, as my ground has never beenlaid out for me. The Meynell branch seems to be narrowing itself intothe person of Christian Meynell's daughter and her descendants, and ourmost important business now will be to find out when, where, and whomshe married, and what issue arose from such marriage. This I think youought to be able to do. "

I shook my head rather despondingly. 

"I don't see any hope of finding out the name of the young woman'shusband, " I said, "unless I can come across another oldest inhabitant, gifted with a better memory for names and places than my obligingSparsfield or my surly Grewter. "

"There are the almshouses, " said Sheldon; "you haven't tried them yet. "

"No; I suppose I must go in for the almshouses, " I replied, with thesublime resignation of the pauper, whose poverty must consent toanything; "though I confess that the prosiness of the almshouseintellect is almost more than I can endure. "

"And how do you know that you mayn't get the name of the place out ofyour friend the carver and gilder?" said George Sheldon; "he has givenyou some kind of clue in telling you that the name ends in Cross. Hesaid he should know the name if he heard it; why not try him with it?"

"But in order to do that, I must know the name myself, " replied I, "andin that ease I shouldn't want the aid of my Sparsfield. "

"You are not great in expedients, " said Sheldon, tilting back hischair, and taking a shabby folio from a shelf of other shabby folios. "This is a British gazetteer, " he said, turning to the index of thework before him. "We'll test the ancient Sparsfield's memory with everyCross in the three Ridings, and if the faintest echo of the name wewant still lingers in his feeble old brain, we'll awaken it. " My patronran his finger-nail along one of the columns of the index. 

"Just take your pencil and write down the names as I call them, " hesaid. "Here we are--Aylsey Cross; and here we are again--Bowford Cross, Callindale Cross, Huxter's Cross, Jarnam Cross, Kingborough Cross. "Then, after a careful examination of the column, he exclaimed, "Thoseare all the Crosses in the county of York, and it will go hard with usif you or I can't find the descendants of Christian Meynell's daughterat one of them. The daughter herself may be alive, for anything weknow. "

"And how about the Samuel Meynell who died at Calais? You'll have tofind some record of his death, won't you? I suppose in these cases onemust prove everything. "

"Yes, I must prove the demise of Samuel, " replied the sanguinegenealogist; "that part of the business I'll see to myself, while youhunt out the female branch of the Meynells. I want an outing after along spell of hard work; so I'll run across to Calais and search forthe register of Samuel's interment. I suppose somebody took the troubleto bury him, though he was a stranger in the land. "

"And if I extort the name we want from poor old Sparsfield'srecollection?"

"In that case you can start at once for the place, and begin yoursearch on the spot. It can't be above fifty years since this womanmarried, and there must be some inhabitant of the place old enough toremember her. O, by the bye, I suppose you'll be wanting more cash forexpenses, " added Mr. Sheldon, with a sigh. He took a five-pound notefrom his pocket-book, and gave it to me with a piteous air ofself-sacrifice. I know that he is poor, and that whatever money he doescontrive to earn is extorted from the necessities of his needierbrethren. Some of this money he speculates upon the chances of theHaygarthian succession, as he his speculated his money on worse chancesin the past. "Three thousand pounds!" he said to me, as he handed methe poor little five-pound note; "think what a prize you are workingfor, and work your hardest. The nearer we get to the end, the slowerour progress seems to me; and yet it has been very rapid progress, considering all things. "

So sentimental have I become, that I thought less of that possiblethree thousand pounds than of the fact that I was likely to go toYorkshire, the county of Charlotte's birth, the county where she wasnow staying. I reminded myself that it was the largest shire inEngland, and that of all possible coincidences of time and place, therecould be none more unlikely than the coincidence that would bring abouta meeting between Charlotte Halliday and me. 

"I know that for all practical purposes I shall be no nearer to her inYorkshire than in London, " I said to myself; "but I shall have thepleasure of fancying myself nearer to her. "

Before leaving George Sheldon, I told him of the fragmentary sentencesI had heard uttered by Captain Paget and Philip Sheldon at the Lawn;but he pooh-poohed my suspicions. 

"I'll tell you what it is, Valentine Hawkehurst, " he said, fixing thosehard black eyes of his upon me as if he would fain have pierced thebony covering of my skull to discover the innermost workings of mybrain; "neither Captain Paget nor my brother Phil can know anything ofthis business, unless you have turned traitor and sold them my secrets. And mark me, if you have, you've sold yourself and them into thebargain: my hand holds the documentary evidence, without which all yourknowledge is worthless. "

"I am not a traitor, " I told him quietly, for I despise him far tooheartily to put myself into a passion about anything he might please tosay of me; "and I have never uttered a word about this business eitherto Captain Paget or to your brother. If you begin to distrust me, it ishigh time you should look out for a new coadjutor. "

I had my Sheldon, morally speaking, at my feet in a moment. 

"Don't be melodramatic, Hawkehurst, " he said; "people sell each otherevery day of the week, and no one blames the seller, provided he makesa good bargain. But this is a case in which the bargain would be a verybad one. "

After this I took my leave of Mr. Sheldon. He was to start for Calaisby that night's mail, and return to town directly his investigation wascompleted. If he found me absent on his return, he would conclude thatI had obtained the information I required and started for Yorkshire. Inthis event he would patiently await the receipt of tidings from thatcounty. 

I went straight from Gray's Inn to Jewin-street. I had spent thegreater part of the day in Sheldon's office, and when I presentedmyself before my complacent Sparsfield junior, Sparsfield senior's teaand toast were already in process of preparation; and I was againinvited to step upstairs to the family sitting-room, and again treatedwith that Arcadian simplicity of confidence and friendliness which ithas been my fate to encounter quite as often in the heart of thissophisticated city as in the most pastoral of villages. With people whowere so frank and cordial I could but be equally frank. 

"I am afraid I am making myself a nuisance to you, Mr. Sparsfield, " Isaid; "but I know you'll forgive me when I tell you that the affair I'mengaged in is a matter of vital importance to me, and that your helpmay do a great deal towards bringing matters to a crisis. "

Mr. Sparsfield senior declared himself always ready to assist hisfellow-creatures, and was good enough further to declare that he hadtaken a liking to me. So weak had I of late become upon all matters ofsentiment, I thanked Mr. Sparsfield for his good opinion, and then wenton to tell him that I was about to test his memory. 

"And it ain't a bad un, " he cried, cheerily, clapping his hand upon hisknee by way of emphasis. "It ain't a bad memory, is it, Tony?"

"Few better, father, " answered the dutiful Anthony junior. "Yourmemory's better than mine, a long way. "

"Ah, " said the old man, with a chuckle, "folks lived different in myday. There weren't no gas, and there weren't no railroads, and Londontradespeople was content to live in the same house from year's end toyear's end. But now your tradesman must go on his foreign tours, like aprince of the royal family, and he must go here and go there; and whenhe's been everywhere, he caps it all by going through the Gazette. Folks stayed at home in my day; but they made their fortunes, and theykept their health, and their eyesight, and their memory, and theirhearing, and many of 'em have lived to see the next generation makefools of themselves. "

"Why, father, " cried Anthony junior, aghast at this flood of eloquence, "what an oration!"

"And it ain't often I make an oration, is it, Tony?" said the old man, laughing. "I only mean to say that if my memory's pretty bright, it maybe partly because I haven't frittered it away upon nonsense, as somefolks have. I've stayed at home and minded my own business, and leftother people to mind theirs. And now, sir, if you want the help of mymemory, I'm ready to give it. "

"You told me the other day that you could not recall the name of theplace where Christian Meynell's daughter married, but you said youshould remember it if you heard it, and you also said that the nameended in Cross. "

"I'll stick to that, " replied my ancient friend. "I'll stick to that. ""Very well then. It is a settled thing that the place was inYorkshire?"

"Yes, I'm sure of that too. "

"And that the name ended in Cross?"

"It did, as sure as my name is Sparsfield. "

"Then in that case, as there are only six towns or villages in thecounty of York the names of which end in Cross, it stands to reasonthat the place we want must be one of those six. "

Having thus premised, I took my list from my pocket and read aloud thenames of the six places, very slowly, for Mr. Sparsfield's edification. 

"Aylsey Cross--Bowford Cross--Callindale Cross--Huxter's Cross--JarnamCross--Kingborough Cross. "

"That's him!" cried my old friend suddenly. 

"Which?" I asked eagerly. 

"Huxter's Cross; I remember thinking at the time that it must be aplace where they sold things, because of the name Huxter, you see, pronounced just the same as if it was spelt with a cks instead of an x. And I heard afterwards that there'd once been a market held at theplace, but it had been done away with before our time. Huxter's Cross;yes, that's the name of the place where Christian Meynell's daughtermarried and settled. I've heard it many a time from poor Sam, and itcomes back to me as plain as if I'd never forgotten it. "

There was an air of conviction about the old man which satisfied methat he was not deceived. I thanked him heartily for his aid as I tookmy leave. 

"You may have helped to put a good lump of money in my pocket, Mr. Sparsfield, " I said; "and if you have, I'll get my picture taken, ifit's only for the pleasure of bringing it here to be framed. "

With this valedictory address I left my simple citizens of Barbican. Myheart was very light as I wended my way across those metropolitan wildsthat lay between Barbican and Omega-street. I am ashamed of myself whenI remember the foolish cause of this elation of mind. I was going toYorkshire, the county of which my Charlotte was now an inhabitant. MyCharlotte! It is a pleasure even to write that delicious possessivepronoun--the pleasure of poor Alnascher, the crockery-seller, dreaminghis day-dream in the eastern market-place. 

Can any one know better than I that I shall be no nearer CharlotteHalliday in Yorkshire than I am in London? No one. And yet I am glad mySheldon's business takes me to the woods and wolds of that widenorthern shire. 

Huxter's Cross--some Heaven-forgotten spot, no doubt. I bought arailway time-table on my way home to-night, and have carefully studiedthe bearings of the place amongst whose mouldy records I am to discoverthe history of Christian Meynell's daughter and heiress. 

I find that Huxter's Cross lies off the railroad, and is to beapproached by an obscure little station--as I divine from theignominious type in which its name appears--about sixty miles northwardof Hull. The station is called Hidling; and at Hidling there seems tobe a coach which plies between the station and Huxter's Cross. 

Figure to yourself again, my dear, the heir-at-law to a hundredthousand pounds vegetating in the unknown regions of Huxter's Cross cumHidling, unconscious of his heritage!

Shall I find him at the plough-tail, I wonder, this mute ingloriousheir-at-law? or shall I find an heiress with brawny arms meeklychurning butter? or shall I discover the last of the Meynells takinghis rest in some lonely churchyard, not to be awakened by earthly voiceproclaiming the tidings of earthly good fortune?

I am going to Yorkshire--that is enough for me. I languish for thestarting of the train which shall convey me thither. I begin tounderstand the nostalgia of the mountain herdsman: I pine for thatnorthern air, those fresh pure breezes blowing over moor and wold--though I am not quite clear, by the bye, as to the exact nature of awold. I pant, I yearn for Yorkshire. I, the cockney, the child ofTemple Bar, whose cradle-song was boomed by the bells of St. Dunstan'sand St. Clement's Danes. 

Is not Yorkshire my Charlotte's birthplace? I want to see the landwhose daughters are so lovely. 

CHAPTER III. 

ARCADIA. 

_November 1st_. This is Huxter's Cross, and I live here. I have livedhere a week. I should like to live here for ever. O, let me be rationalfor a few hours, while I write the record of this last blissful week;let me be reasonable, and business-like, and Sheldon-like for this onewet afternoon, and then I may be happy and foolish again. Be still, beating heart! as the heroines of Minerva-press romances wereaccustomed to say to themselves on the smallest provocation. Be still, foolish, fluttering, schoolboy heart, which has taken a new lease ofyouth and folly from a fair landlord called Charlotte Halliday. 

Drip, drip, drip, O rain! "The day is dark and cold and dreary, and thevine still clings to the mouldering wall; and with every gust the deadleaves fall:" but thy sweet sad verse wakes no responsive echo in myheart, O tender Transatlantic Poet, for my heart is light and glad--recklessly glad--heedless of to-morrow--forgetful of yesterday--full tothe very brim with the dear delight of to-day. 

And now to business. I descend from the supernal realms of fancy to thedry record of commonplace fact. This day week I arrived at Hidling, after a tedious journey, which, with stoppages at Derby and Normanton, and small delays at obscurer stations, had occupied the greater part ofthe day. It was dusk when I took my place in the hybrid vehicle, halfcoach, half omnibus, which was to convey me from Hidling to Huxter'sCross. A transient glimpse at Hidling showed me one long stragglingstreet and a square church-tower. Our road branched off from thestraggling street, and in the autumn dusk I could just discover the dimoutlines of distant hills encircling a broad waste of moor. 

I have been so steeped in London that this wild barren scene had acharm for me which it could scarcely possess for others. Even the gloomof that dark waste of common land was pleasant to me. I shared thepublic vehicle with one old woman, who snored peacefully in theremotest corner, while I looked out at the little open window andwatched the darkening landscape. 

Our drive occupied some hours. We passed two or three little clustersof cottages and homesteads, where the geese screamed and the cockscrowed at our approach, and where a few twinkling tapers in upperwindows proclaimed the hour of bed-time. At one of these clusters ofhabitation, a little island of humanity in the waste of wold and moor, we changed horses, with more yo-oh-ing and come-up-ing than would haveattended the operation in a civilised country. At this village I heardthe native tongue for the first time in all its purity; and for anymeaning which it conveyed to my ear I might as well have been listeningto the _patois_ of agricultural Carthage. 

After changing horses, we went up hill, with perpetual groanings, andgrumblings, and grindings, and whip-smacking and come-up-ing, for anindefinite period; and then we came to a cluster of cottages, suspendedhigh up in the sharp autumn atmosphere as it seemed to me; and thedriver of the vehicle came to my little peephole of a window, and toldme with some slight modification of the Carthaginian _patois_ that Iwas "theer. "

I alighted, and found myself at the door of a village inn, with the redlight from within shining out upon me where I stood, and a battered oldsign groaning and creaking above my head. For me, who in all my lifehad been accustomed to find my warmest welcome at an inn, this was tobe at home. I paid my fare, took up my carpet-bag, and entered thehostelry. 

I found a rosy-faced landlady, clean and trim, though a trifle flouryas to the arms and apron. She had emerged from a kitchen, anold-fashioned chamber with a floor of red brick; a chamber which wasall in a rosy glow with the firelight, and looked like a Dutch picture, as I peeped at it through the open doorway. There were the mostpicturesque of cakes and loaves heaped on a wooden bench by the hearth, and the whole aspect of the place was delicious in its homely comfort. 

"O, " I said to myself, "how much better the northern winds blowing overthese untrodden hills, and the odour of home-made loaves, than thebooming bells of St. Dunstan's, and the greasy steam of tavern chopsand steaks!"

My heart warmed to this Yorkshire and these Yorkshire people. Was itfor Charlotte's sake, I wonder, that I was so ready to open my heart toeverybody and everything in this unknown land?

A very brief parley set me quite at ease with my landlady. Even, theCarthaginian _patois_ became intelligible to me after a littleexperience. I found that I could have a cosy, cleanly chamber, and befed and cared for upon terms that seemed absurdly small, even to aperson of my limited means. My cordial hostess brought me a meal whichwas positively luxurious; broiled ham and poached eggs, such as onescarcely hopes to see out of a picture of still life; crisp brown cakesfresh from that wonderful oven whose door I had seen yawning open inthe Flemish interior below; strong tea and cream--the cream that onereads of in pastoral stories. 

I enjoyed my banquet, and then opened my window and looked out at thestill landscape, dimly visible in the faint starlight. 

I was at the top of a hill--the topmost of an ascending range of hills--and to some minds that alone is rapture. To inhale the fresh night airwas to drink deeply of an ethereal beverage. I had never experienced sodelicious a sensation since I had stood on the grassy battlements ofthe Chateau d'Arques, with the orchards and gardens of sunny Normandyspread like a carpet below my feet. 

But this hill was loftier than that on which the feudal castle rearsits crumbling towers, and the landscape below me was wilder thanverdant Normandy. 

No words can tell how I rejoiced in this untrodden region--thisseverance from the Strand and Temple Bar. I felt as if my old life wasfalling away from me--like the scales of the lepers who were cleansedby the Divine Healer. I felt myself worthier to love, or even to beloved by, the bright true-hearted girl whose image fills my heart. Ah, if Heaven gave me that dear angel, I think my old life, my oldrecklessness, my old want of principle, would drop away from mealtogether, and the leper would stand forth cleansed and whole. Could Inot be happy with her here, among these forgotten hills, these widelyscattered homesteads? Could I not be happy dissevered eternally frombilliard-room and kursaal, race-ground and dancing-rooms? Yes, completely and unreservedly happy--happy as a village curate withseventy pounds a year and a cast-off coat, supplied by the charity of aland too poor to pay its pastors the wage of a decent butler--happy asa struggling farmer, though the clay soil of my scanty acres were neverso sour and stubborn, my landlord never so hard about his rent--happyas a pedlar, with my pack of cheap tawdry wares slung behind me, and myCharlotte tramping gaily by my side. 

I breakfasted next morning in a snug little parlour behind the bar, where I overheard two carters conversing in the Carthaginian _patois_, to which I became hourly more accustomed. My brisk cheery landlady camein and out while I took my meal; and whenever I could detain her longenough, I tried to engage her in conversation. 

I asked her if she had ever heard the name of Meynell; and afterprofound consideration she replied in the negative. 

"I don't mind hearing aught of folks called Meynell, " she said withmore or less of the _patois_, which I was beginning to understand; "butI haven't got mooch memory for nee-ams. I might have heard o' suchfolks, and not minded t' nee-am. "

This was rather dispiriting; but I knew that if any record of ChristianMeynell's daughter existed at Huxter's Cross, it was in my power todiscover it. 

I asked if there was any official in the way of a registrar to be foundin the village; and found that there was no one more important than anold man who kept the keys of the church. The registers were kept in thevestry, my landlady believed, and the old man was called Jonas Gorles, and lived half a mile off, at the homestead of his son-in-law. But mylandlady said she would send for him immediately, and pledged herselfto produce him in the course of an hour. I told her that I would findmy way to the churchyard in the mean time, whither Mr. Gorles couldfollow me as soon as convenient. 

The autumnal morning was fresh and bright as spring, and Huxter's Crossseemed the most delightful place on earth to me, though it is only acluster of cottages, relieved by one farmhouse of moderate pretensions, my hostelry of the Magpie, a general shop, which is also thepost-office, and a fine old Norman church, which lies away from thevillage, and bears upon it the traces of better days. Near the churchthere is an old granite cross, around which the wild flowers andgrasses grow rank and high. It marks the spot where there was once aflourishing market-place; but all mortal habitations have vanished, and the Huxter's Cross of the past has now no other memorial than thiscrumbling stone. 

The churchyard was unutterably still and solitary. A robin was perchedon the topmost bar of the old wooden gate, singing his joyous carol. AsI approached, he hopped from the gate to the low moss-grown wall, andwent on singing as I passed him. I was in the humour to apostrophiseskylark or donkey, or to be sentimental about anything in creation, just then; so I told my robin what a pretty creature he was, and that Iwould sooner perish than hurt him by so much as the tip of a feather. 

Being bound to remember my Sheldon even when most sentimental, Iendeavoured to combine the meditative mood of a Hervey with thebusiness-like sharpness of a lawyer's clerk; and while musing on thecommon lot of man in general, I did not omit to search the moulderingtombstones for some record of the Meynells in particular. 

I found none; and yet, if the daughter of Christian Meynell had beenburied in that churchyard, the name of her father would surely havebeen inscribed upon her tombstone. I had read all the epitaphs when thewooden gate creaked on its hinges, and admitted a wizen little old man--one of those ancient meanderers who seem to have been created onpurpose to fill the post of sexton. 

With this elderly individual I entered the church of Huxter's Cross, which had the same mouldy atmosphere as the church at Spotswold. Thevestry was an icy little chamber, which had once been a family vault;but it was not much colder than Miss Judson's best parlour; and Iendured the cold bravely while I searched the registries of the lastsixty years. 

I searched in vain. After groping amongst the names of all thenonentities who had been married at Huxter's Cross since the beginningof the century, I found myself no nearer the secret of CharlotteMeynell's marriage. And then I reflected upon all the uncertaintiessurrounding that marriage. Miss Meynell had gone to Yorkshire, to visither mother's relations, and had married in Yorkshire; and the placewhich Anthony Sparsfield remembered having heard of in connection withthat marriage was Huxter's Cross. But it did not by any means followthat the marriage had taken place at that obscure village. Miss Meynellmight have been married at Hull, or York, or Leeds, or at any of theprincipal places of the county. With that citizen class of peoplemarriage was a grand event, a solemn festivity; and Miss Meynell andher friends would have been likely to prefer that so festive anoccasion should be celebrated anywhere rather than at that forgottenold church among the hills. "I shall have to search every register inYorkshire till I light upon the record I want, " I thought to myself, "unless Sheldon will consent to advertise for the Meynell marriagecertificate. There could scarcely be danger in such an advertisement, as the connection between the name of Meynell and the Haygarth estateis only known to ourselves. "

Acting upon this idea, I wrote to George Sheldon by that afternoon'spost, urging him to advertise for descendants of Miss CharlotteMeynell. 

Charlotte! dear name, which is a kind of music for me. It was almost apleasure to write that letter, because of the repetition of thatdelightful noun. 

The next day I devoted to a drive round the neighbourhood, in a smartlittle dog-cart, hired on very moderate terms from mine host. I hadacquainted myself with the geography of the surrounding country; and Icontrived to visit every village church within a certain radius ofHuxter's Cross. But my inspection of mildewed old books, and my heroicendurance of cold and damp in mouldy old churches, resulted in nothingbut disappointment. 

I returned to my "Magpie" after dark a little disheartened andthoroughly tired, but still very well pleased with my rustic quartersand my adopted county. My landlord's horse had shown himself a verymodel of equine perfection. 

Candles were lighted and curtains drawn in my cosy little chamber, andthe table creaked beneath one of those luxurious Yorkshire teas whichmight wean an alderman from the coarser delights of turtle orconger-eel soup and venison. 

At noon the following day a very primitive kind of postman brought me aletter from Sheldon. That astute individual told me that he declined toadvertise, or to give any kind of publicity to his requirements. 

"If I were not afraid of publicity, I should not be obliged to pay youa pound a week, " he remarked, with pleasing candour, "sinceadvertisements would get me more information in a week than you mayscrape together in a twelvemonth. But I happen to know the danger ofpublicity, and that many a good thing has been snatched out of a man'shands just as he was working it into shape. I don't say that this couldbe done in my case; and you know very well that it could not be done, as I hold papers which are essential to the very first move in thebusiness. "

I perfectly understand the meaning of these remarks, and I am inclinedto doubt the existence of those important papers. Suspicion is afundamental principle in the Sheldon mind. My friend George trusts mebecause he is obliged to trust me--and only so far as he is obliged--and is tormented, more or less, by the idea that I may at any momentattempt to steal a march upon him. 

But to return to his letter:

"I should recommend you to examine the registries of every town orvillage within, say, thirty miles of Huxter's Cross. If you findnothing in such registries, we must fall back upon the larger towns, beginning with Hull, as being nearest to our starting-point. The workwill, I fear, be slow, and very expensive for me. I need scarcely againurge upon you the necessity of confining your outlay to the minimum, asyou know that my affairs are desperate. It couldn't well be lower waterthan it is with me, in a pecuniary sense; and I expect every day tofind myself aground. 

"And now for my news. I have discovered the burial-place of SamuelMeynell, after no end of trouble, the details of which I needn't boreyou with, since you are now pretty well up in that sort of work. I amthankful to say I have secured the evidence that settles for Samuel, and ascertained by tradition that he died unmarried. The _onusprobandi_ would fall upon any one purporting to be descended from thesaid Samuel, and we know how uncommonly difficult said person wouldfind it to prove anything. 

"So, having disposed of Samuel, I came back to London by the next mail;Calais, in the month of November, not being one of those wildly-gaywatering-places which tempt the idler. I arrived just in time to catchthis afternoon's post; and now I look impatiently to your MissCharlotte Meynell, of Huxter's Cross. --Yours, &c. G. S. "

I obeyed my employer to the letter; hired my landlord's dog-cart foranother day's exploration; and went further afield in search of MissCharlotte's marriage-lines. I came home late at night--this timethoroughly worn out--studied a railway guide with a view to mydeparture, and decided on starting for Hull by a train that would leaveHidling station at four o'clock on the following afternoon. 

I went to bed tired in body and depressed in spirit. Why was I so sorryto leave Huxter's Cross? What subtle instinct of the brain or heartmade me aware that the desert region amongst the hills held earth'shighest felicity for me?

The next morning was bright and clear. I heard the guns of sportsmenpopping merrily in the still air as I breakfasted before an openwindow, while a noble sea-coal fire blazed on the hearth opposite me. There is no stint of fuel at the Magpie. Everything in Yorkshire seemsto be done with a lavish hand. I have heard Yorkshiremen called mean. As if meanness could exist in the hearts of my Charlotte's countrymen!My own experience of the county is brief; but I can only say that myfriends of the Magpie are liberality itself, and that a Yorkshire teais the very acme of unsophisticated bliss in the way of eating anddrinking. I have dined at Philippe's; I know every dish in the _menu_of the Maison Dorée; but if I am to make my life a burden beneath thedark sway of the demon dyspepsia, let my destruction arrive in theshape of the ham and eggs, the crisp golden-brown cakes, and undefiledhoney, of this northern Arcadia. 

I told my friendly hostess that I was going to leave her, and she wassorry. She was sorry for me, the wanderer. I can picture to myself thecountenance of a London landlady if informed thus suddenly of herlodger's departure, and her suppressed mutterings about theill-convenience of such a proceeding. 

After breakfast I went out to take my own pleasure. I had done my dutyin the matter of mouldy churches and mildewed registries; and Iconsidered myself entitled to a holiday during the few hours that mustelapse before the starting of the hybrid vehicle for Hidling. 

I sauntered past the little cluster of cottages, admiring theirprimitive aspect, the stone-crop on the red-tiled roofs, that had sunkunder the weight of years. All was unspeakably fresh and bright; thetiny panes of the casement twinkled in the autumn sunlight, birds sang, and hardy red geraniums bloomed in the cottage windows. What pleasureor distraction had the good housewives of Huxter's Cross to lure themfrom the domestic delights of scrubbing and polishing? I saw youngfaces peeping at me from between snow-white muslin curtains, and feltthat I was a personage for once in my life; and it was pleasant to feelone's self of some importance even in the eyes of Huxter's Cross. 

Beyond the cottages and the post-office there were three roadsstretching far away over hill and moorland. With two of those roads Ihad made myself thoroughly familiar; but the third remained to beexplored. 

"So now for 'fresh fields and pastures new, '" I said to myself as Iquickened my pace, and walked briskly along my unknown road. 

Ah, surely there is some meaning in the fluctuations of the mentalbarometer. What but an instinctive consciousness of approachinghappiness could have made me so light-hearted that morning? I sang as Ihastened along that undiscovered road. Fragments of old Italianserenades and barcarolles came back to me as if I had heard themyesterday for the first time. The perfume of the few lingeringwild-flowers, the odour of burning weeds in the distance, the freshautumn breeze, the clear cold blue sky, --all were intensely deliciousto me; and I felt as if this one lonely walk were a kind of renovatingprocess, from which my soul would emerge cleansed of all its stains. 

"I have to thank George Sheldon for a great deal, " I said to myself, "since through him I have been obliged to educate myself in the schoolof man's best teacher, Solitude. I do not think I can ever be athorough Bohemian again. These lonely wanderings have led me todiscover a vein of seriousness in my nature which I was ignorant ofuntil now. How thoroughly some men are the creatures of theirsurroundings! With Paget I have been a Paget. But a few hours_tête-à-tête_ with Nature renders one averse from the society of Pagets, be they never so brilliant. "

From moralising thus, I fell into a delicious day-dream. All my dreamsof late had moved to the same music. How happy I could be if Fate gaveme Charlotte and three hundred a year! In sober moods I asked for thismuch of worldly wealth, just to furnish a nest for my bird. In mywilder moments I asked Fate for nothing but Charlotte. 

"Give me the bird without the nest, " I cried to Fortune; "and we willtake wing to some trackless forest where there are shelter and berriesfor nestless birds. We will imitate that delightful bride andbridegroom of Parisian Bohemia, who married and settled in an attic, and when their stock of fuel was gone fell foul of the staircase thatled to their bower, and so supplied themselves merrily enough till thestaircase was all consumed, and the poor little bride, peeping out ofher door one morning, found herself upon the verge of an abyss. 

"And then came the furious landlord, demanding restitution. But closebehind the landlord came the good fairy of all love-stories, withPactolus in her pocket. Ah, yes, there is always a providence for truelovers. "

I had passed away by this time from the barren moor to the regions ofcultivation. The trimly-cut hedges on each side of the way showed methat my road now lay between farm lands. I was outside the boundary ofsome upland farm. I saw sheep cropping trefoil in a field on the otherside of the brown hedgerow, and at a distance I saw the red-tiled roofof a farm-house. 

I looked at my watch, and found that I had still half an hour to spare;so I went on towards the farm-house, bent upon seeing what sort ofhabitation it was. In a solitary landscape like this, everydwelling-place has a kind of attraction for the wayfarer. 

I went on till I came to a white gate, against which a girlish figurewas leaning. 

It was a graceful figure, dressed in that semi-picturesque costumewhich has been adopted by women of late years. The vivid blue of aboddice was tempered by the sober gray of a skirt, and a bright-huedribbon gleamed among rich tresses of brown hair. 

The damsel's face was turned away from me, but there was something inthe carriage of the head, something in the modelling of the firm fullthroat, which reminded me of--

But then, when a man is over head and ears in love, everything increation reminds him more or less of his idol. Your pious Catholicgives all his goods for the adornment of a church; your true loverdevotes his every thought to the dressing up of one dear image. 

The damsel turned as my steps drew near, loud on the crisp gravel. Sheturned, and showed me the face of Charlotte Halliday. 

I must entreat posterity to forgive me, if I leave a blank at thisstage of my story. "There are chords in the human heart which hadbetter not be wibrated, " said Sim Tappertit. There are emotions whichcan only be described by the pen of a poet. I am not a poet; and if mydiary is so happy as to be of some use to posterity as a picture of themanners of a repentant Bohemian, posterity must not quarrel with myshortcomings in the way of sentimental description. 

CHAPTER IV. 

IN PARADISE. 

We stood at the white gate talking to each other, my Charlotte and I. The old red-tiled roof which I had seen in the distance sheltered thegirl I love. The solitary farm-house which it had been my whim toexamine was the house in which my dear love made her home. It was here, to this untrodden hillside, that my darling had come from the primmodern villa at Bayswater. Ah, what happiness to find her here, faraway from all those stockbroking surroundings--here, where our heartsexpanded beneath the divine influence of Nature!

I fear that I was coxcomb enough to fancy myself beloved that day weparted in Kensington-gardens. A look, a tone--too subtle fordefinition--thrilled me with a sudden hope so bright, that I would nottrust myself to believe it could be realised. 

"She is a coquette, " I said to myself. "Coquetry is one of the graceswhich Nature bestows upon these bewitching creatures. That littleconscious look, which stirred this weak heart so tumultuously, is nodoubt common to her when she knows herself beloved and admired, and hasno meaning that can flatter my foolish hopes. " This is how I hadreasoned with myself again and again during the dreary interval inwhich Miss Halliday and I had been separated. But, O, what a hardyperennial blossom hope must be! The tender buds were not to be crushedby the pelting hailstones of hard common sense. They had survived allmy philosophical reflections, and burst into sudden flower to-day atsight of Charlotte's face. She loved me, and she was delighted to seeme. That was what her radiant face told me; and could I do less thanbelieve the sweet confession? For the first few moments we couldscarcely speak to each other, and then we began to converse in theusual commonplace strain. 

She told me of her astonishment on seeing me in that remote spot. Icould hardly confess to having business at Huxter's Cross, so I wasfain to tell my dear love a falsehood, and declare that I was taking aholiday "up at the hills. "

"And how did you come to choose Huxter's Cross for your holiday?" sheasked _naïvely_. 

I told her that I had heard the place spoken of by a person in thecity--my simple-minded Sparsfield to wit. 

"And you could not have come to a better place, " she cried, "thoughpeople do call it the very dullest spot in the world. This was my dearaunt Mary's house--papa's sister, you know. Grandpapa Halliday had twofarms. This was one, and Hyley the other. Hyley was much larger andbetter than this, you know, and was left to poor papa, who sold it justbefore he died. "

Her face clouded as she spoke of her father's death. "I can't speakabout that without pain even now, " she said softly, "though I was onlynine years old when it happened. But one can suffer a great deal atnine years old. "

And then, after a little pause, she went on to speak of her Yorkshirehome. 

"My aunt and uncle Mercer are so kind to me; and yet they are neitherof them really related to me. My aunt Mary died very young, when herfirst baby was born, and the poor little baby died too: and uncleMercer inherited the property from his wife, you see. He married againafter two years, and his second wife is the dearest, kindest creaturein the world. I always call her aunt, for I don't remember poor papa'ssister at all; and no aunt that ever lived could be kinder to me thanaunt Dorothy. I am always so happy here, " she said; "and it seems sucha treat to get away from the Lawn--of course I am sorry to leave mamma, you know, " she added, parenthetically--"and the stiff breakfasts, andMr. Sheldon's newspapers that crackle, crackle, crackle so shockinglyall breakfast-time; and the stiff dinners, with a prim parlor-maidstaring at one all the time, and bringing one vegetables that onedoesn't want if one only ventures to breathe a little louder thanusual. Here it is Liberty Hall. Uncle Joe--he is aunt Dorothy'shusband--is the kindest creature in the world, just the very reverse ofMr. Sheldon in everything. I don't mean that my stepfather is unkind, you know. O, no, he has always been very good to me--much kinder than Ihave deserved that he should be. But uncle Joe's ways are _so_different. I am sure you will like him; and I am sure he will like you, for he likes everybody, dear thing. And you must come and see us veryoften, please, for Newhall farm is open house, you know, and thestranger within the gates is always welcome. "

Now my duty to my Sheldon demanded that I should scamper back toHuxter's Cross as fast as my legs would carry me, in order to be intime for the hybrid vehicle that was to convey me to Hidling station;and here was this dear girl inviting me to linger, and promising me awelcome to the house which was made a paradise by her presence. 

I looked at my watch. It would have been impossible for me to reachHuxter's Cross in time for the vehicle. Conscience whispered that Icould hire my landlord's dog-cart, and a boy to drive me to Hidling;but the whispers of conscience are very faint; and love cried aloud, "Stay with Charlotte: supreme happiness is offered to you for the firsttime in your life. Fool that would reject so rare a gift!"

It was to this latter counsellor I gave my ear. My Sheldon's interestswent overboard; and I stayed by the white gate, talking to Charlotte, till it was quite too late to heed the reproachful grumblings ofconscience about that dog-cart. 

My Charlotte--yes, I boldly call her mine now--my dear is great inagriculture. She enlightened my cockney mind on the subject of uplandfarms, telling me how uncle and aunt Mercer's land is poor and sandy, requiring very little in the way of draining, but producing by no meansluxuriant crops. It is a very picturesque place, and has a certaingentlemanlike air with it pleasing to my snobbish taste. The house liesin a tract of open grass-land, dotted here and there by trees, andaltogether of a park-like appearance. True that the mild and usefulsheep rather than the stately stag browses on that greensward, and fewcarriages roll along the winding gravel road that leads to the house. 

I felt a rapturous thirst for agricultural knowledge as I listened tomy Charlotte. Was there a vacancy for hind or herdsman on Newhall farm, I wondered. What is the office so humble I would not fill for her dearsake? O, how I sighed for the days of Jacob, that first distinguishedusurer, so that I might serve seven years and again seven years for mydarling!

I stayed by the white gate, abandoning all thought of my employer'sbehests, unconscious of time--unconscious of everything except that Iwas with Charlotte Halliday, and would not have resigned my position tobe made Lord Chancellor of England. 

Anon came uncle Joe, with a pleasant rubicund visage beaming under afelt hat, to tell Lotta that dinner was ready. To him I was immediatelypresented. 

"Mr. Mercer, my dear uncle Joseph--Mr. Hawkehurst, a friend of mystepfather's, " said Charlotte. 

Two or three minutes afterwards we were all three walking across thepark-like sward to the hospitable farm-house; for the idea of mydeparting before dinner seemed utterly preposterous to this friendlyfarmer. 

Considered apart from the glamour that for my eyes must needs shineover any dwelling inhabited by Charlotte Halliday, I will venture tosay that Newhall farm-house is the dearest old place in the world. Suchdelightful old rooms, with the deepest window-seats, the highestmantelpieces, the widest fireplaces possible in domestic architecture;such mysterious closets and uncanny passages; such pitfalls in the wayof unexpected flights of stairs; such antiquated glazedcorner-cupboards for the display of old china!--everything redolentof the past. 

In one corner a spinning-wheel, so old that its spindle might be theidentical weapon that pierced Princess Sleeping Beauty's soft whitehand; in another corner an arm-chair that must have been old-fashionedin the days of Queen Anne; and O, what ancient flowered chintzes, whatcapacious sofas, what darling mahogany secretaries and bureaus, withgleaming brazen adornments in the way of handles!--and about everythingthe odour of rose-leaves and lavender. 

I have grown familiar with every corner of the dear old place withinthe last few days, but on this first day I had only a generalimpression of its antiquated aspect and homely comfort. I stayed todine at the same unpretending board at which my Charlotte had sat yearsago, elevated on a high chair, and as yet new to the use of knives andforks. Uncle Joe and aunt Dorothy told me this in their pleasantfriendly way; while the young lady sat by, blushing and dimpling like asummer sea beneath the rosy flush of sunrise. No words can relate howdelightful it was to me to hear them talk of my dear love's childhood;they dwelt so tenderly upon her sweetness, they dilated with suchenthusiasm upon her "pretty ways. " Her "pretty ways!" ah, how fatal athing it is for mankind when Nature endows woman with those prettyways! From the thrall of Grecian noses and Castilian eyes there may behope of deliverance, but from the spell of that indescribable witcherythere is none. 

I whistled my Sheldon down the wind without remorse, andallowed myself to be as happy as if I had been the squire of valley andhillside, with ten thousand a year to offer my Charlotte with the heartthat loves her so fondly. I have no idea what we had for dinner. I knowonly that the fare was plenteous, and the hospitality of my new friendsunbounded. We were very much at ease with one another, and our laughterrang up to the stalwart beams that sustained the old ceiling. If I hadpossessed the smallest fragment of my heart, I should have delivered itover without hesitation to my aunt Dorothy--pardon!--my Charlotte'saunt Dorothy, who is the cheeriest, brightest, kindest matron I evermet, with a sweet unworldly spirit that beams out of her candid blueeyes. 

Charlotte seems to have been tenderly attached to her father the poorfellow who died in Philip Sheldon's house--uncomfortable for Sheldon, Ishould think. The Mercers talk a good deal of Thomas Halliday, for whomthey appear to have entertained a very warm affection. They also spokewith considerable kindness of the two Sheldons, whom they knew as youngmen in the town of Barlingford; but I should not imagine either uncleJoseph or aunt Dorothy very well able to fathom the still waters of theSheldon intellect. 

After dinner uncle Joe took us round the farm. The last stack of cornhad been thatched, and there was a peaceful lull in the agriculturalworld. We went into a quadrangle lined with poultry sheds, where I sawmore of the feathered race than I had ever in my life beheldcongregated together; thence to the inspection of pigs--and it wasagreeable to inspect even those vulgar querulous grunters, withCharlotte by my side. Her brightness shed a light on all those commonobjects; and O, how I longed to be a farmer, like uncle Mercer, anddevote my life to Charlotte and agriculture!

When uncle Joe had done the honours of his farm-yards andthreshing-machinery, he left us to attend to his afternoon duties; andwe wandered together over the breezy upland at our own sweet wills, orat _her_ sweet will rather, since what could I do but follow where shepleased to lead?

We talked of many things: of the father whom she had loved so dearly, whose memory was still so mournfully dear to her; of her old home atHyley; of her visits to these dear Mercers; of her schooldays, and hernew unloved home in the smart Bayswater villa. She confided in me asshe had never done before; and when we turned in the chill autumngloaming, I had told her of my love, and had won from her the sweetconfession of its return. 

I have never known happiness so perfect as that which I felt as wewalked home together--home--yes; that old farm-house must be my home aswell as hers henceforward; for any habitation which she loved must be akind of home for me. Sober reflection tells me how reckless andimprudent my whole conduct has been in this business; but when did everlove and prudence go hand-in-hand? We were children, Charlotte and I, on that blessed afternoon; and we told each other our love as childrenmight have told it, without thought of the future. We have both grownwiser since that time, and are quite agreed as to our imprudence andfoolishness; but, though we endeavour to contemplate the future in themost serious manner, we are too happy in the present to be able toanalyse the difficulties and dangers that lie in our pathway. 

Surely there must be a providence for imprudent lovers. 

The November dews fell thick, and the November air was chill, as wewalked back to the homestead. I was sorry that there should be thatcreeping dampness in the atmosphere that night. It seemed out ofharmony with the new warmth in my heart. I pressed my darling's littlehand closer to my breast, and had no more consciousness of anyimpediments to my future bliss than of the ground on which I walked--and that seemed air. 

We found our chairs waiting for us at aunt Dorothy's tea-table; and Ienjoyed that aldermanic banquet, a Yorkshire tea, under circumstancesthat elevated it to an Olympian repast. 

I thought of the Comic Latin Grammar:

 "Musa, musae, the gods were at tea; Musae musam, eating raspberry jam. "

I was Jove, and my love was Juno. I looked at her athwart the mistyclouds that issued from the hissing urn, and saw her beautified by aheightened bloom, and with a sweet, shy conscious look in her eyeswhich made her indeed divine. 

After tea we played whist; and I am bound to confess that my divinityplayed execrably, persistently disdaining to return her partner's lead, and putting mean little trumps upon her adversary's tricks, with afatuous economy of resources which is always ruin. 

I stayed till ten o'clock, reckless of the unknown country whichseparated me from the Magpie, and then walked home alone, under thefaint starlight, though my friendly host would fain have lent me adog-cart. The good people here lend one another dog-carts as freely asa cockney offers his umbrella. I went back to Huxter's Cross alone, andthe long solitary walk was very pleasant to me. 

Looking up at the stars as I tramped homeward, I could but remember anold epigram:--

 Were you the earth, dear love, and I the skies, My love should shine on you like to the sun, And look upon you with ten thousand eyes, Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done. 

I had ample leisure for reflection during that long night-walk, andfound myself becoming a perfect Young--Hervey--Sturm--what you will, inthe way of meditation. I could not choose but wonder at myself when Ilooked back to this time last year, and remembered my idle evenings inthird-rate _cafés_, on the _rive gauche_, playing dominoes, talking thefoul slang of Parisian bohemia, and poisoning my system withadulterated absinthe. And now I feast upon sweet cakes and honey, andthink it paradisiac enjoyment to play whist--for love--in a farm-houseparlour. I am younger by ten years than I was twelve months ago. 

Ah, let me thank God, who has sent me my redemption. 

I lifted my hat, and pronounced the thanksgiving softly under thattranquil sky. I was almost ashamed to hear the sound of my own voice. Iwas like some shy child who for the first time speaks his father'sname. 

CHAPTER V. 

TOO FAIR TO LAST. 

In my confidences with my dear girl I had told her neither the natureof my mission in Yorkshire, nor the fact that I was bound to leaveHuxter's Cross immediately upon an exploring expedition to nowhere inparticular, in search of the archives of the Meynells. How could Ibring myself to tell her that I must leave her?--how much less could Ibring myself to do it?

Rendered desperately unmindful of the universe by reason of myall-absorbing happiness, I determined on giving myself a holidayboldly, in defiance of Sheldon and the Sheldonian interests. 

"Am I a bounden slave?" I asked myself, "that I should go here or thereat any man's bidding, for the pitiful stipend of twenty shillings aweek?"

It is to be observed that the rate of hire makes all the difference inthese cases; and while it is ignominious for a lawyer's clerk to hastento and fro in the earning of his weekly wage, it is in no waydishonourable for the minister of state to obey the call of his chief, and hurry hither and thither in abnegation of all his ownpredilections, and to the aggravation of his chronic gout. 

I wrote to my Sheldon, and told him that I had met with friends in theneighbourhood of Huxter's Cross, and that I intended to give myself abrief holiday; after which I would resume my labours, and do myuttermost to make up for wasted time. I had still the remnant of myborrowed thirty pounds, and amongst these northern hills I felt myselfa millionaire. 

Three thousand pounds at five per cent--one hundred and fifty pounds ayear. I felt that with such an income assured to us, and the fruits ofmy industry, Charlotte and I might be secure from all the storms oflife. Ah, what happiness it would be to work for her! And I am not tooold to begin life afresh; not too old for the bar; not too old to makesome mark as a writer on the press; not too old to become a respectablemember of society. 

After having despatched my letter to Sheldon, I made off for Newhallfarm with all speed. I had received a sort of general invitation fromthe kindest of uncles and aunts, but I contrived with becoming modestyto arrive after Mr. Mercer's dinner-hour. I found Charlotte alone inthe dear old-fashioned parlour, aunt Dorothy being engaged in somedomestic operations in the kitchen, and uncle Joseph making his usualafter-dinner rounds amongst the pig-styes and the threshing-machines. Idiscovered afterwards that it was Miss Halliday's wont to accompany herkind kinsman in this afternoon investigation; but to-day she hadcomplained of a headache and preferred to stay at home. Yet there werefew symptoms of the headache when I found her standing in thebow-window, watching the path by which I came, and the face of Auroraherself could scarcely be brighter or fresher than my darling'sinnocent blushes when I greeted her with the privileged kiss ofbetrothal. 

We sat in the bow-window talking till the twilight shadows crept overthe greensward, and the sheep were led away to their fold, withcheerful jingling of bells and barking of watchful dog. My dearest girltold me that our secret had already been discovered by the penetratingeyes of aunt Dorothy and uncle Joseph. They had teased herunmercifully, it seemed, all that day, but were graciously pleased tosmile upon my suit, like a pair of imprudent Arcadians as they are. 

"They like you very much indeed, " my Lotta said joyously; "but Ibelieve they think I have known you much longer than I really have, andthat you are very intimate with my stepfather. It seems almost likedeceiving them to allow them to think so, but I really haven't thecourage to tell the truth. How foolish and bold they would think me ifthey knew how very short a time I have known you!"

"Twenty times longer than Juliet had known Romeo when they met in theFriar's cell to be married, " I urged. 

"Yes, but that was in a play, " replied Charlotte, "where everything isobliged to be hurried; and at Hyde Lodge we all of us thought thatJuliet was a very forward young person. "

"The poets all believe in love at first sight, and I'll wager our dearuncle Joe fell over head and ears in love with aunt Dorothy afterhaving danced with her two or three times at an assize ball, " said I. After this we became intensely serious, and I told my darling girl thatI hoped very soon to be in possession of a small fixed income, and tohave begun a professional career. I told her how dear an incentive towork she had given me, and how little fear I had for the future. 

I reminded her that Mr. Sheldon had no legal power to control heractions, and that, as her father's will had left her entirely to hermother's guardianship, she had only her mother's pleasure to consult. 

"I believe poor mamma would let me marry a crossing-sweeper, if I criedand declared it would make me miserable not to marry him, " saidCharlotte; "but then, you see, mamma's wishes mean Mr. Sheldon'swishes; she is sure to think whatever he tells her to think; and if heis strongly against our marriage--"

"As I am sure he will be, " I interjected. 

"He will work upon poor mamma in that calm, persistent, logical way ofhis till he makes her as much against it as himself. "

"But even your mamma has no legal power to control your actions, mylove. Were you not of age on your last birthday?"

My darling replied in the affirmative. 

"Then of course you are free to marry whom you please; and as I amthankful to say you don't possess a single sixpence in your own right, there need be no fuss about settlements or pin-money. We can marry anyfine morning that my dear girl pleases to name, and defy all the sternstepfathers in creation. "

"How I wish I had a fortune, for your sake!" she said with a sigh. 

"Be glad for my sake that you have none, " I answered. "You cannotimagine the miserable complications and perplexities which arise inthis world from the possession of money. No slave so tightly bound asthe man who has what people call 'a stake in the country' and a balanceat his banker's. The true monarch of all he surveys is the pennilessreprobate who walks down Fleet-street with his whole estate covered bythe seedy hat upon his head. "

Having thus moralized, I proceeded to ask Miss Halliday if she wasprepared to accept a humbler station than that enjoyed by her at theLawn. 

"No useful landau, to be an open carriage at noon and a family coach atnight, " I said; "no nimble page to skip hither and thither at his fairlady's commands, if not belated on the way by the excitement of tossinghalfpence with youthful adventurers of the byways and alleys; no trimparlour-maids, with irreproachable caps, dressed for the day at 11o'clock A. M. --but instead of these, a humble six-roomed bandbox of ahouse, and one poor hardworking slavey, with perennial smudges fromsaucepan-lids upon her honest pug-nose. Consider the prospectseriously, Charlotte, and ask yourself whether you can endure such adescent in the social scale. "

My Charlotte laughed, as if the prospect had been the most delightfulpicture ever presented to mortal vision. 

"Do you think I care for the landau or the page?" she cried. "If itwere not for mamma's sake, I should detest that prim villa and all itsarrangements. You see me so happy here, where there is no pretence ofgrandeur--"

"But I am bound to warn you that I shall not be able to provideYorkshire teas at the commencement of our domestic career, " I remarked, by way of parenthesis. 

"Aunt Dorothy will send us hampers of poultry and cakes, sir, and forthe rest of our time we can live upon bread and water. "

On this I promised my betrothed a house in Cavendish or Portman-square, and a better-built landau than Mr. Sheldon's, in the remote future. With those dear eyes for my pole-stars, I felt myself strong enough toclamber up the slippery ascent to the woolsack. The best and purestambition must surely be that which is only a synonym for love. 

After we had sat talking in the gloaming to our hearts' content, auntDorothy appeared, followed by a sturdy handmaid with lighted candles, and a still sturdier handmaid with a ponderous tea-tray. The two madehaste to spread a snow-white cloth, and to set forth the species ofbanquet which it is the fashion nowadays to call high tea. Anon cameuncle Joseph, bringing with him some slight perfume from the piggeries, and he and aunt Dorothy were pleased to be pleasantly facetious andcongratulatory in their conversation during the social meal whichfollowed their advent. 

After tea we played whist again, aunt Dorothy and I obtaining asuccession of easy victories over Charlotte and uncle Joe. I feltmyself hourly more and more completely at home in that simple domesticcircle, and enjoyed the proud position of an accepted lover. MyArcadian friends troubled themselves in nowise as to the approval ordisapproval of Mr. And Mrs. Sheldon, or with regard either to myprospects or my antecedents. They saw me devoted to my dear girl, theysaw my dearest pleased by my devotion, and they loved her so well thatthey were ready to open their hearts without reserve to the man whoadored her and was loved by her, let him be rich or poor, noble orbase-born. As they would have given her the wax-doll of her desire tenor twelve years ago without question as to price or fitness of things, so they now gave her their kindly smiles and approval for the lover ofher choice. "I know Phil Sheldon is a man who looks to the mainchance, " said uncle Joe, in the course of a discussion about hisniece's future which dyed her cheeks with blushes in the present; "andI'll lay you'll find him rather a difficult customer to deal with, especially as poor Tom's will left all the money in Georgy's hands, which of course is tantamount to saying that Sheldon has got thedisposal of it. "

I assured uncle Joe that money was the very last thing which I desired. 

"Then in that case I don't see why he shouldn't let you haveCharlotte, " replied Mr. Mercer; "and if she's cheated out of her poordad's money, she shan't be cheated out of what her old aunt and unclemay have to leave her by-and-by. "

Here were these worthy people promising me an heiress with no morecompunction than if they had been offering me a cup of tea. 

I walked homeward once more beneath the quiet stars. O, how happy Iwas! Can happiness so perfect, joy so sinless, endure? I, thefriendless wanderer and penniless Bohemian, asked myself this question;and again I paused upon the lonely moorland road to lift my hat as Ithanked God for having given me such bright hopes. 

But George Sheldon's three thousand pounds must be mine before I cansecure the humblest shelter for my sweet one; and although it would bebliss to me to tramp through the world barefoot with Charlotte by myside, the barefooted state of things is scarcely the sort of prospect aman would care to offer to the woman he loves. So once more to thechase. One more day in this delicious island of the lotus-eaters, Newhall farm; and then away!--hark forward!--tantivy!--and hey for themarriage-lines of Charlotte Meynell, great-granddaughter of MatthewHaygarth, and, if still in the flesh, rightful heiress to the onehundred thousand pounds at present likely to be absorbed by theravening jaws of the Crown! One more day, one more delightful idle day, in the land where it is always afternoon, and then away to Hidling inthe hybrid vehicle, and thence to Hull, from Hull to York, from York toLeeds, then Bradford, Huddersfield--_toute la boutique!_

The rain beats against the diamond panes of my casement as I write. Theday has been hopelessly wet, so I have stayed in my snug little chamberand occupied myself in writing this record. Foul wind or weather wouldhave little power to keep me from my darling; but even if it had been afine day, I could not with any grace have presented myself at Newhallfarm for a third afternoon. To-morrow my immediate departure willafford me an excuse for presenting myself once more before my kinduncle and aunt. It will be my farewell visit. I wonder whetherCharlotte will miss me this afternoon. I wonder whether she will besorry when I tell her that I am going to leave this part of thecountry. Ah, shall we ever meet again under such happy auspices? ShallI ever again find such kind friends or such a hospitable dwelling asthose I shall leave amidst these northern hills?

CHAPTER VI. 

FOUND IN THE BIBLE. 

_November_ 3d_. The most wonderful event has befallen--surely themost wonderful that ever came to pass outside the realms of fiction. Let me set down the circumstances of yesterday coolly and quietly if Ican. I invoke the placid spirit of my Sheldon. I invoke all thedivinities of Gray's Inn and "The Fields. " Let me be legal andspecific, perspicacious and logical--if this beating heart, thisfevered brain, will allow me a few hours' respite. 

The autumn sunshine blessed the land again yesterday. Moorland andmeadow, fallow and clover-field, were all the brighter for the steadydownfall of the previous day. I walked to Newhall directly afterbreakfast, and found my dearest standing at the white five-barred gate, dressed in her pretty blue jacket, and with ribbons in her bonny brownhair. 

She was pleased to see me, though at first just a little inclined toplay the _boudeuse_ on account of my absence on the previous day. Ofcourse I assured her that it had been anguish for me to remain awayfrom her, and quoted that divine sonnet of our William's to the likeeffect:

 "How like a winter hath my absence been!"

and again:

 "O, never say that I was false of heart, Though absence seemed my flame to qualify. "

Equally of course my pet pretended not to believe me. After this littlemisunderstanding we forgave each other, and adored each other againwith just a little more than usual devotion; and then we went for along ramble among the fields, and looked at the dear placid sheep, whostared at us wonderingly in return, as if exclaiming to themselves, "And these are a specimen couple of the creatures called lovers!"

We met uncle Joe in the course of our wanderings, and returned with himin time for the vulgar superstition of dinner, which we might haveforgotten had we been left by ourselves. After dinner uncle Joe madeoff to his piggeries; while aunt Dorothy fell asleep in a capacious oldarm-chair by the fire, after making an apologetic remark to the effectthat she was tired, and had been a good deal "tewed" that morning inthe dairy. "Tewed, " I understand, is Yorkshire for "worried. "

Aunt Dorothy having departed into the shadowy realm of dreams, Charlotte and I were left to our own devices. 

There was a backgammon board on a side-table, surmounted by an oldIndian bowl of dried rose-leaves; and, _pour nous distraire_, Iproposed that I should teach my dearest that diverting game. Sheassented, and we set to work in a very business-like manner, MissHalliday all attention, I serious as a professional schoolmaster. 

Unfortunately for my pupil's progress, the game of backgammon provedless entertaining than our own conversation, so, after a very feebleattempt on the one side to learn and on the other to teach, we closedthe board and began to talk;--first of the past, then of the future, the happy future, which we were to share. 

There is no need that I should set down this lovers' talk. Is it notwritten on my heart? The future seemed so fair and unclouded to me, asmy love and I sat talking together yesterday afternoon. Now all ischanged. The strangest, the most surprising complications have arisen;and I doubt, I fear. 

After we had talked for a long time, Miss Halliday suddenly proposedthat I should read to her. 

"Diana once told me that you read very beautifully, " said thisflatterer; "and I should so like to hear you read--poetry of course. You will find plenty of poems in that old bookcase--Cowper, andBloomfield, and Pope. Now I am sure that Pope is just the kind of poetwhose verses you would read magnificently. Shall we explore thebookcase together?"

Now if there is any manner of beguiling an idle afternoon, which seemsto me most delightful, it is by the exploration of old bookcases; andwhen that delight can be shared by the woman one fondly loves, thepleasure thereof must be of course multiplied to an indefinite amount. 

So Charlotte and I set to work immediately to ransack the lower shelvesof the old-fashioned mahogany bookcase, which contained the entirelibrary of the Mercer household. 

I am bound to admit that we did not light upon many volumes ofthrilling interest. The verses of Cowper, like those of Southey, havealways appeared to me to have only one fault--there are too many ofthem. One shrinks appalled from that thick closely-printed volume ofmorality cut into lengths of ten feet; and beyond the few well-wornquotations in daily use, I am fain to confess that I am almost astranger to the bard of Olney. 

Half a dozen odd volumes of the _Gentleman's Magazine_, three or fourof the _Annual Register_, a neatly-bound edition of _Clarissa Harlowe_and _Sir Charles Grandison_ in twelve volumes, Law's _Holy Call to aSerious Life_, _Paradise Lost_, _Joseph Andrews_, _Hervey'sMeditations_, and _Gulliver's Travels_, formed the varied contents ofthe principal shelves. Above, there were shabbily-bound volumes andunbound pamphlets. Below, there were folios, the tops whereof werethickly covered with the dust of ages, having escaped the care of thehandmaidens even in that neatly-appointed household. 

I knelt down to examine these. 

"You'll be covered with dust if you touch them, " cried Charlotte. "Iwas once curious enough to examine them, but the result was verydisappointing. "

"And yet they look so delightfully mysterious, " I said. "This one, forinstance?"

"That is an old history of London, with curious plates and maps; ratherinteresting if one has nothing more amusing to read. But the perennialsupply of novels from Mudie's spoils one for that kind of book. "

"If ever I come to Newhall again, I shall dip into the old history. Oneis never tired of dead and gone London. But after Mr. Knight'sdelightful book any old history must seem very poor. What is my burlyfriend here?"

"O, a dreadful veterinary-surgeon's encyclopaedia--_The Farmer's Friend_I think it is called; all about the ailments of animals. "

"And the next?"

"The next is an odd volume of the _Penny Magazine_. Dear aunt Dorothyis rich in odd volumes. "

"And the next, --my bulky friend number two, --with a cracked leatherback and a general tendency to decay?"

"O, that is the Meynell Bible. "

The MEYNELL BIBLE! A hot perspiration broke out upon my face as I kneltat Charlotte Halliday's feet, with my hand resting lightly on the topof the book. 

"The Meynell Bible!" I repeated; and my voice was faintly tremulous, inspite of the effort I made to control myself. "What do you mean by theMeynell Bible?"

"I mean the old family Bible that belonged to my grand-mamma. It washer father's Bible, you know; and of course he was my great-grandfather--Christian Meynell. Why, how you stare at me, Valentine! Isthere anything so wonderful in my having had a great-grandfather?"

"No, darling; but the fact is that I--"

In another moment I should have told her the entire truth; but Iremembered just in time that I had pledged myself to profound secrecywith regard to the nature and progress of my investigation, and I hadyet to learn whether that pledge did or did not involve the observanceof secrecy even with those most interested in my researches. Pendingfurther communication with Sheldon, I was certainly bound to be silent. 

"I have a kind of interest in the name of Meynell, " I said, "for I wasonce engaged in a business matter with people of that name. "

And having thus hoodwinked my beloved with a bouncer, I proceeded toextract the Bible from its shelf. The book was so tightly wedged intoits place, that to remove it was like drawing a tooth. It was anoble-looking old volume, blue with the mould of ages, and redolent ofa chill dampness like the atmosphere of a tomb. 

"I should so like to examine the old book when the candles come in, " Isaid. 

Fortunately for the maintenance of my secret, the darkness was closingin upon us when I discovered the volume, and the room was only fitfullyilluminated by the flame that brightened and faded every minute. 

I carried the book to a side-table, and Charlotte and I resumed ourtalk until the candles came, and close behind them uncle Joe. I fear Imust have seemed a very inattentive lover during that brief interval, for I could not concentrate my thoughts upon the subject of ourdiscourse. My mind would wander to the strange discovery that I hadjust made, and I could not refrain from asking myself whether by anyextraordinary chance my own dear love should be the rightful claimantto John Haygarth's hoarded wealth. 

I hoped that it might not be so. I hoped that my darling might bepenniless rather than the heir to wealth, which, in all likelihood, would create an obstacle strong enough to sever us eternally. I longedto question her about her family, but could not as yet trust myself tobroach the subject. And while I doubted and hesitated, honestblustering uncle Joe burst into the room, and aunt Dorothy awoke, andwas unutterably surprised to find she had slept so long. 

After this came tea; and as I sat opposite my dearest girl I could notchoose but remember that gray-eyed Molly, whose miniature had beenfound in the tulip-wood bureau, and in whose bright face I had seen thelikeness of Philip Sheldon's beautiful stepdaughter. And Mr. Sheldon'slovely stepdaughter was the lineal descendant of this very Molly. Strange mystery of transmitted resemblances! Here was the sweet facethat had bewitched honest, simple-minded Matthew Haygarth reproducedafter the lapse of a century. 

My Charlotte was descended from a poor little player girl who hadsmiled on the roisterous populace of Bartholomew Fair. Some few dropsof Bohemian blood mingled with the pure life-stream in her veins. Itpleased me to think of this; but I derived no pleasure from the ideathat Charlotte might possibly be the claimant of a great fortune. 

"She may have cousins who would stand before her, " I said to myself;and there was some comfort in the thought. 

After tea I asked permission to inspect the old family Bible, much tothe astonishment of uncle Joe, who had no sympathy with antiquariantastes, and marvelled that I should take any interest in so mouldy avolume. I told him, with perfect truth, that such things had alwaysmore or less interest for me; and then I withdrew to my little table, where I was provided with a special pair of candles. 

"You'll find the births and deaths of all poor Molly's ancestors on thefirst leaf, " said uncle Joe. "Old Christian Meynell was a rare one forjotting down such things; but the ink has gone so pale that it's aboutas much as you'll do to make sense of it, I'll lay. "

Charlotte looked over my shoulder as I examined the fly-leaf of thefamily Bible. Even with this incentive to distraction I contrived to betolerably business-like; and this is the record which I found on thefaded page:

"Samuel Matthew Meynell, son of Christian and Sarah Meynell, b. March9, 1796, baptised at St. Giles's, Cripplegate, in this city. 

"Susan Meynell, daughter of Christian and Sarah Meynell, b. June 29, 1798, also baptised in the same church. 

"Charlotte Meynell, second daughter of the above Christian and Sarah, b. October 3, 1800, baptised at the above-mentioned church of St. Giles, London. "

Below these entries, in blacker ink and in a different hand-writing--abold, business-like, masculine caligraphy--came the following:

"Charlotte Meynell married to James Halliday, in the parish church ofBarngrave, Yorks. April 15, 1819. 

"Thomas Halliday, son of the above James and Charlotte Halliday, b. Jan. 3d, 1821, baptised in the parish church of Barngrave, Feb. 20 inthe same year. 

"Mary Halliday, daughter of the above-named James and CharlotteHalliday, b. May 27th, 1823, baptised at Barngrave, July 1st in thesame year. "

Below this there was an entry in a woman's penmanship:

"Susan, the beloved sister of C. H. , died in London, July 11, 1835. 

"Judge not, that ye be not judged. 

"I came to call sinners, and not the righteous, to repentance. "

This record seemed to hint vaguely at some sad story: "Susan, thebeloved sister;" no precise data of the death--no surname! And thenthose two deprecating sentences, which seemed to plead for the dead. 

I had been led to understand that Christian Meynell's daughters hadboth died in Yorkshire--one married, the other unmarried. 

The last record in the book was the decease of James Halliday, my deargirl's grandfather. 

After pondering long over the strangely-worded entry of Susan Meynell'sdeath, I reflected that, with the aid of those mysterious powers Hookand Crook, I must contrive to possess myself of an exact copy of thisleaf from a family history, if not of the original document. Again myduty to my Sheldon impelled me to be false to all my new-borninstincts, and boldly give utterance to another bouncer. 

"I am very much interested in a county history now preparing for thepress, " I said to my honoured uncle, who was engaged in a hand atcribbage with his wife; "and I really think this old leaf from a familyBible would make a very interesting page in that work. "

I blushed for myself as I felt how shamefully I was imposing upon mynewly-found kinsman's credulity. With scarcely any one but uncle Joecould I have dared to employ so shallow an artifice. 

"Would it really, now?" said that confiding innocent. 

"Well, I suppose old papers, and letters, and such like, are uncommonlyinteresting to some folks. I can't say I care much about 'em myself. "

"Would you have any objection to my taking a copy of these entries?" Iasked. 

"My word, no, lad; not I. Take half a dozen copies, and welcome, ifthey can be of any use to you or other people. That's not much to askfor. "

I thanked my simple host, and determined to write to a stationer atHull for some tracing-paper by the first post next morning. There wassome happiness, at least, in having found this unlooked-for end to myresearches. I had a good excuse for remaining longer near CharlotteHalliday. 

"It's only for my poor Mary's sake I set any value on that old volume, "the farmer said, presently, in a meditative tone. "You see the namesthere are the names of her relations, not mine; and this place and allin it was hers. Dorothy and I are only interlopers, as you may say, atthe best, though I brought my fortune to the old farm, and Dorothybrought her fortune, and between us we've made Newhall a much betterplace than it was in old James Halliday's time. But there's somethingsad in the thought that none of those that were born on the land haveleft chick or child to inherit it. " Uncle Joseph fell for a while intoa pensive reverie, and I thought of that other inheritance, well-nighfifty times the value of Newhall farm, which is now waiting for aclaimant. And again I asked myself, Could it be possible that thissweet girl, whose changeful face had saddened with those old memories, whose innocent heart knew not one sordid desire--could it be indeed shewhose fair hand was to wrest the Haygarthian gold from the grip ofCrown lawyers?

The sight of that old Bible seemed to have revived Mr, Mercer's memoryof his first wife with unwonted freshness. 

"She was a sweet young creature, " he said; "the living picture of ourLottie, and sometimes I fancy it must have been that which made me taketo Lottie when she was a little one. I used to see my first wife's eyeslooking up at me out of Lottie's eyes. I told Tom it was a comfort tome to have the little lass with me, and that's how they let her comeover so often from Hyley. Poor old Tom used to bring her over in hisWhitechapel cart, and leave her behind him for a week or so at astretch. And then, when my Dorothy, yonder, took pity upon a poorlonely widower, she made as much of the little girl as if she'd beenher own, and more, perhaps; for, not having any children of her own, she thought them such out-of-the-way creatures, that you couldn'tcoddle them and pet them too much. There's a little baby lies buried inBarngrave churchyard with Tom Halliday's sister that would have been anoble young man, sitting where you're sitting, Mr. Hawkehurst, andlooking at me as bright as you're looking, perhaps, if the Lord's willhadn't been otherwise. We've all our troubles, you see, and that wasmine; and if it hadn't been for Dorothy, life would not have been worthmuch for me after that time--but my Dorothy is all manner of blessingsrolled up in one. "

The farmer looked fondly at his second wife as he said this, and sheblushed and smiled upon him with responsive tenderness. I fancy awoman's blushes and smiles wear longer in these calm solitudes thanamid the tumult and clamour of a great city. 

Finding my host inclined to dwell upon the past, I ventured to hazardan indirect endeavour to obtain some information respecting that entryin the Bible which had excited my curiosity. 

"Miss Susan Meynell died unmarried, I believe?" I said. "I see herdeath recorded here, but she is described by her Christian name only. "

"Ah, very like, " replied Mr. Mercer, with an air of indifference, whichI perceived to be assumed. "Yes, my poor Molly's aunt Susan diedunmarried. "

"And in London? I had been given to understand that she died inYorkshire. "

I blushed for my own impertinence as I pressed this inquiry. What righthad I to be given to understand anything about these honest Meynells? Isaw poor uncle Joe's disconcerted face, and I felt that the hunter ofan heir-at-law is apt to become a very obnoxious creature. 

"Susan Meynell died in London--the poor lass died in London, " repliedJoseph Mercer, gravely; "and now we'll drop that subject, if youplease, my lad. It isn't a pleasant one. "

After this I could no longer doubt that there was some painful storyinvolved in those two deprecating sentences of the gospel. 

It was some time before uncle Joe was quite his own jovial and rathernoisy self again, and on this evening we had no whist. I bade myfriends good night a little earlier than usual, and departed, afterhaving obtained permission to take a tracing of the fly-leaf as soon aspossible. 

On this night the starlit sky and lonesome moor seemed to have losttheir soothing power. There was a new fever in my mind. The simple planof the future which I had mapped out for myself was suddenly shattered. The Charlotte of to-night--heiress-at-law to an enormous fortune--wardin Chancery--claimant against the Crown--was a very different personfrom the simple maid "whom there were none"--or only a doatingsimpleton in the person of the present writer--"to praise, and very fewto love. "

The night before last I had hoped so much; to-night hope had forsakenme. It seemed as if a Titan's hand had dug a great pit between me andthe woman I loved--a pit as deep as the grave. 

Philip Sheldon might have consented to give me his stepdaughterunpossessed of a sixpence; but would he give me his stepdaughter with ahundred thousand pounds for her fortune? Alas! no; I know theSheldonian intellect too well to be fooled by any hope so wild andbaseless. The one bright dream of my misused life faded from me in thehour in which I discovered my dearest girl's claim to the Haygarthianinheritance. But I am not going to throw up the sponge before the fightis over. Time enough to die when I am lying face downward in theensanguined mire, and feel the hosts of the foemen trampling above myshattered carcass. I will live in the light of my Charlotte's smileswhile I can, and for the rest--"_Il ne faut pas dire, fontaine, je neboirai pas de ton eau_. " There is no cup so bitter that a man dare say, I will not drain it to the very dregs. "What must be, shall be--that'sa certain text;" and in the mean time _carpe diem_. I am all a Bohemianagain. 

_Nov. 5th_. After a day's delay I have obtained my tracing-paper, andmade two tracings of the entries in the Meynell Bible, How intercoursewith the Sheldonian race inclines one to the duplication of documents!I consider the copying-press of modern civilization the supremeincarnation of man's distrust of his fellow-men. 

I spent this afternoon and evening with my dear love--my last eveningin Yorkshire. To-morrow I shall see my Sheldon, and inform him of thevery strange termination which has come to my researches. Will hecommunicate at once with his brother? Will he release me from my oathof secrecy? There is nothing of the masonic secretiveness in myorganisation, and I am very weary of the seal that has been set upon myunwary lips. Will Charlotte be told that she is the reverendintestate's next of kin? These are questions which I ask myself as Isit in the stillness of my room at the Magpie, scribbling this wretcheddiary of mine, while the church clock booms three solemn strokes in thedistance. 

O, why did not the reverend intestate marry his housekeeper, and make awill, like other honest citizens, and leave my Charlotte to walk theobscure byways of honest poverty with me? I do believe that I couldhave been honest; I do believe that I could have been brave and trueand steadfast for her dear sake. But it is the office of man topropose, while the Unseen disposes. Perhaps such a youth as mine admitsof no redemption. I have written circulars for Horatio Paget. I havebeen the willing remorseless tool of a man who never eats his dinnerwithout inflicting a wrong upon his fellow-creatures. Can a few momentsof maudlin sentimentality, a vague yearning for something brighter andbetter, a brief impulse towards honesty, inspired by a woman's innocenteyes--can so little virtue in the present atone for so much guilt inthe past? Alas! I fear not. 

I had one last brief _tête-à-tête_ with my dear girl while I took thetracing from the old Bible. She sat watching me, and distracting memore or less while I worked; and despite the shadow of doubt that hasfallen upon me, I could not be otherwise than happy in her sweetcompany. 

When I came to the record of Susan Meynell's death, my Charlotte'smanner changed all at once from her accustomed joyousness to a pensivegravity. 

"I was very sorry you spoke of Susan Meynell to uncle Joseph, " shesaid, thoughtfully. 

"But why sorry, my dear?"

I had some vague notion as to the cause of this sorrow; but theinstincts of the chase impelled me to press the subject. Was I notbound to know every secret in the lives of Matthew Haygarth'sdescendants?

"There is a very sad story connected with my aunt Susan--she was mygreat-aunt, you know, " said Charlotte, with a grave earnest face. "Shewent away from home, and there was great sorrow. I cannot talk of thestory, even to you, Valentine, for there seems something sacred inthese painful family secrets. My poor aunt Susan left all her friends, and died many years afterwards in London. "

"She was known to have died unmarried?" I asked. This would be animportant question from George Sheldon's point of sight. 

"Yes, " Charlotte replied, blushing crimson. 

That blush told me a great deal. 

"There was some one concerned in this poor lady's sorrow, " I said;"some one to blame for all her unhappiness. "

"There was. "

"One whom she loved and trusted, perhaps?"

"Whom she loved and trusted only too well. O, Valentine, must not thatbe terrible? To confide with all your heart in the person you love, andto find him base and cruel! If my poor aunt had not believed MontaguKingdon to be true and honourable, she would have trusted her friends alittle, instead of trusting so entirely in him. O, Valentine, what am Itelling you? I cannot bear to cast a shadow on the dead. "

"My dear love, do you think I cannot pity this injured lady? Do youthink I am likely to play the Pharisee, and be eager to bespatter thegrave of this poor sufferer? I can almost guess the story which youshrink from telling me--it is one of those sad histories so oftenacted, so often told. Your aunt loved a person called Montagu Kingdon--her superior in station, perhaps?"

I looked at Charlotte as I said this, and her face told me that I hadguessed rightly. 

"This Montagu Kingdon admired and loved her, " I said. "He seemed eagerto make her his wife, but no doubt imposed secrecy as to hisintentions. She accepted his word as that of a true-hearted lover and agentleman, and in the end had bitter reason to repent her confidence. That is an outline of the story, is it not, Charlotte?"

"I am sure that it was so. I am sure that when she left Newhall shewent away to be married, " cried Charlotte, eagerly; "I have seen aletter that proves it--to me, at least. And yet I have heard even mammaspeak harshly of her--so long dead and gone off the face of this earth--as if she had deliberately chosen the sad fate which came to her. "

"Is it not possible that Mr. Kingdon did marry Miss Meynell, afterall?"

"No, " replied Charlotte, very sadly; "there is no hope of that. I haveseen a letter written by my poor aunt years afterwards--a letter thattells much of the cruel truth; and I have heard that Mr. Kingdon cameback to Yorkshire and married a rich lady during my aunt's lifetime. "

"I should like to see that letter, " I said, involuntarily. 

"Why, Valentine?" asked my darling, looking at me with sorrowful, wondering eyes, "To me it seems so painful to talk of these things: itis like reopening an old wound. "

"But if the interests of other people require--" I began, in a veryblundering manner. 

"Whose interest can be served by my showing you my poor aunt's letter?It would seem like an act of dishonour to the dead. "

What could I say after this--bound hand and foot as I am by my promiseto Sheldon?

After a long talk with my sweet one, I borrowed uncle Joe's dog-cart, and spun across to Barngrave, where I found the little church, beneathwhose gray old roof Charlotte Meynell plighted her troth to JamesHalliday. I took a copy of all entries in the register concerning Mrs. Meynell Halliday and her children, and then went back to Newhall torestore the dog-cart, and to take my last Yorkshire tea at thehospitable old farm-house. 

To-morrow I am off to Barlingford, fifteen miles from this village, totake more copies from registries concerning my sweet young heiress--theregistries of her father's marriage, and her own birth. After that Ithink my case will be tolerably complete, and I can present myself toSheldon in the guise of a conqueror. 

Is it not a great conquest to have made? Is it not almost an act ofchivalry for these prosaic days to go forth into the world as a privateinquirer, and win a hundred thousand pounds for the lady of one's love?And yet I wish any one rather than my Charlotte were the linealdescendant of Matthew Haygarth. 

_Nov. 10th_. Here I am in London once more, with my Sheldon inecstatics, and our affairs progressing marvellously well, as he informsme; but with that ponderous slowness peculiar to all mortal affairs inwhich the authorities of the realm are in any way concerned. 

My work is finished. Hawkehurst the genealogist and antiquarian sinksinto Hawkehurst the private individual. I have no more to do but tomind my own business and await the fruition of time in the shape of myreward. 

Can I accept three thousand pounds for giving my dearest herbirthright? Can I take payment for a service done to her? Surely not:and, on the other hand, can I continue to woo my sweet one, consciousthat she is the rightful claimant to a great estate? Can I takeadvantage of her ignorance, and may it not be said that I traded on mysecret knowledge?

Before leaving Yorkshire, I stole one more day from the Sheldonbusiness, in order to loiter just a few hours longer in that northernArcadia called Newhall farm. What assurance have I that I shall everre-enter that pleasant dwelling? What hold have I, a wanderer andvagabond, on the future which respectable people map out for themselveswith such mathematical precision? And even the respectable people aresometimes out in their reckoning. To snatch the joys of to-day mustalways be the policy of the adventurer. So I took one more happyafternoon at Newhall. Nor was the afternoon entirely wasted; for, inthe course of my farewell visit, I heard more of poor Susan Meynell'shistory from honest uncle Joseph. He told me the story during anafter-dinner walk, in which he took me the round of his pig-styes andcattle-sheds for the last time, as if he would fain have had them leavetheir impress on my heart. 

"You may see plenty of cattle in Yorkshire, " he remarked, complacently, "but you won't see many beasts to beat that. "

He pointed to a brown and mountainous mass of inert matter, which hegave me to understand was something in the way of cattle. 

"Would you like to see him standing?" he asked, giving the mass a prodwith the handle of his walking-stick, which to my cockney mind seemedrather cruel, but which, taken from an agricultural point of view, wasno doubt the correct thing. "He _can_ stand. Coom up, Brownie!"

I humbly entreated that the ill-used mass might be allowed to sprawl inundisturbed misery. 

"Thorley!" exclaimed Mr. Mercer, laying his finger significantlyagainst the side of his unpretending nose. 

I had not the faintest comprehension of my revered uncle-in-law'smeaning; but I said, "O, indeed!" with the accents of admiration. 

"Thorley's Condiment, " said my uncle. "You'll see some fine animate atthe Cattle-show; but if you see a two-year-old ox to beat him, my nameis not Joe Mercer. "

After this I had to pay my respects to numerous specimens of the bovinerace, all more or less prostrate under the burden of superabundantflesh, all seeming to cry aloud for the treatment of some Banting ofthe agricultural world. 

After we had "done" the cattle-sheds, with heroic resignation on mypart, and with enthusiasm on the part of Mr. Mercer, we went a long wayto see some rarities in the way of mutton, which commodity was to befound cropping the short grass on a distant upland. 

With very little appreciation of the zoological varieties, and with theconsciousness that my dear one was sitting in the farm-house parlour, wondering at my prolonged absence, this excursion could not beotherwise than a bore to me. But it was a small thing to sacrifice myown pleasure for once in a way, when by so doing I might gratify thekindest of men and of uncles; so I plodded briskly across the fieldswith the friendly farmer. 

I had my reward; for, in the course of this walk, Mr. Mercer gave methe history of poor Susan Meynell. 

"I didn't care to talk about the story the other night before the younglass, " he said, gravely; "for her heart's so full of pity andtenderness, pretty dear, that any tale such as that is like to upsether. But the story's known to almost all the folks in these parts; sothere's no particular reason against my telling it to you. I've heardmy poor mother talk of Susan Meynell many a time. She was a regularbeauty, it seems; prettier than her sister Charlotte, and she was apretty woman, as you may guess by looking at _our_ Charlotte, who isthought the image of her grandmother. But Susan was one of thosebeauties that you don't see very often--more like a picture than fleshand blood. The gentry used to turn round to look at her at Barngravechurch, I've heard my mother say. She was a rare one for dress, too;for she had a few hundreds left her by her father and mother, who hadboth of them been very well-to-do people. The mother was daughter toWilliam Rand, of Barngrave, a man who farmed above a thousand acres ofhis own land; and the father kept a carpet warehouse inAldersgate-street. "

This information I received with respectful deference, and ahypocritical assumption of ignorance respecting Miss Meynell'santecedents. 

Mr. Mercer paused to take breath, and then continued the story afterhis own rambling fashion. 

"Well, my lad, what with her fine dress, and what with her prettylooks, Susan Meynell seems to have thought a little too much ofherself; so that when Montagu Kingdon, of Kingdon-place, youngerbrother to Lord Durnsville, fell in love with her, and courted her--notexactly openly, but with the knowledge of her sister, Mrs. Halliday--she thought it no more than natural that he should intend to make herhis wife. Mr. Kingdon was ten years older than Susan, and had served inSpain, and had not borne too good a character abroad. He had been in ahard-drinking cavalry regiment, and had spent all his money, and soldout directly the war was over. There was very little of all this knowndown hereabouts, where Mr. Kingdon stood very high, on account of hisbeing Lord Durnsville's brother. But it was known that he was poor, andthat the Durnsville estates were heavily encumbered into the bargain. "

"Then this gentleman would have been no grand match for Miss Meynell, if--" "If he had married her? No, my lad; and it might have been theknowledge of his poverty that made Susan and her sister think less ofthe difference between his station and the girl's. The two womenfavoured him, anyhow; and they kept the secret from James Halliday, whowas a regular upstraight-and-downright kind of fellow, as proud as anylord in his own way. The secret was kept safe enough for some time, andMr. Kingdon was always dropping in at Newhall when Jim was out of theway; but folks in these parts are very inquisitive, and, lonesome asour place is, there are plenty of people go by between Monday andSaturday; so by-and-by it got to be noticed that there was very often agentleman's horse standing at Newhall gate, with the bridle tied to oneof the gate-posts; and those that knew anything, knew that the horsebelonged to Montagu Kingdon. A friend of Jim Halliday's told him asmuch one day, and warned him that Mr. Kingdon was a scamp, and was saidto have a Spanish wife somewhere beyond seas. This was quite enough forJames Halliday, who flew into a roaring rage at the notion of any man, most of all Lord Durnsville's brother, going to his house and courtinghis sister-in-law in secret. It was at Barngrave he was told this, onemarket-day, as he was lounging with his friends in the old yard of theBlack Bull inn, where the corn exchange used to be held in those days. He called for his horse the next minute, and left the town at a gallop. When he came to Newhall, he found Montagu Kingdon's chestnut mare tiedto the gate-post, and he found Mr. Kingdon himself, dawdling about thegarden with Miss Meynell. "

"And then I suppose there was a scene?" I suggested, with unfeignedinterest in this domestic story. 

"Well, I believe there was, my lad. I've heard all about it from mypoor Molly, who had the story from her mother. James Halliday didn'tmince matters; he gave Mr. Kingdon a bit of his mind, in his own roughoutspoken way, and told him it would be the worse for him if he evercrossed the threshold of Newhall gate again. 'If you meant well by thatfoolish girl, you wouldn't come sneaking here behind my back, ' he said;'but you don't mean well by her, and you've a Spanish wife hidden awaysomewhere in the Peninsula. ' Mr. Kingdon gave the lie to this; but hesaid he shouldn't stoop to justify himself to an unmannerly yeoman. 'Ifyou were a gentleman, ' he said, 'you should pay dearly for yourinsolence. ' 'I'm ready to pay any price you like, ' answered JamesHalliday, as bold as brass; 'but as you weren't over fond of fightingabroad, where there was plenty to be got for it, I don't suppose youwant to fight at home, where there's nothing to be got for it. '"

"And did Susan Meynell hear this?" I asked. I could fancy thisill-fated girl standing by and looking on aghast while hard thingswere said to the man she loved, while the silver veil of sweet romancewas plucked so roughly from the countenance of her idol by an angryrustic's rude hand. 

"Well, I don't quite know whether she heard all, " answered Mr. Mercer, thoughtfully. "Of course, James Halliday told his wife all about therow afterwards. He was very kind to his sister-in-law, in spite of herhaving deceived him; and he talked to her very seriously, telling herall he had heard in Barngrave against Montagu Kingdon. She listened tohim quietly enough, but it was quite clear that she didn't believe aword he said. 'I know you have heard all that, James, ' she said; 'butthe people who said it knew they were not telling the truth. LordDurnsville and his brother are not popular in the country, and thereare no falsehoods too cruel for the malice of his enemies. ' Sheanswered him with some such fine speech as that, and when the nextmorning came she was gone. "

"She eloped with Mr. Kingdon?"

"Yes. She left a letter for her sister, full of romantic stuff aboutloving him all the better because people spoke ill of him; regularwoman's talk, you know, bless their poor silly hearts!" murmured Mr. Mercer, with tender compassion. "She was going to London to be marriedto Mr. Kingdon, she wrote. They were to be married at the old church inthe city where she had been christened, and she was going to stay withan old friend--a young woman who had once been her brother'ssweetheart, and who was married to a butcher in Newgate-market--tillthe bans were given out, or the license bought. The butcher's wife hada country-house out at Edmonton, and it was there Susan was going tostay. "

"All that seemed straightforward enough, " said I. 

"Yes, " replied uncle Joe; "but if Mr. Kingdon had meant fairly by SusanMeynell, it would have been as easy for him to marry her at Barngraveas in London. He was as poor as a church mouse, but he was his ownmaster, and there was no one to prevent him doing just what he pleased. This is about what James Halliday thought, I suppose; for he tore offto London, as fast as post-horses could carry him, in pursuit of hiswife's sister and Mr. Kingdon. But though he made inquiries all alongthe road he could not hear that they had passed before him, and for thebest of all reasons. He went to the butcher's house at Edmonton; butthere he found no trace of Susan Meynell, except a letter posted inYorkshire, on the day of the row between James and Mr. Kingdon, tellingher intention of visiting her old friend within the next few days, andhinting at an approaching marriage. There was the letter announcing thevisit, but the visitor had not come. " "But the existence of that letterbears witness that Miss Meynell believed in the honesty of her lover'sintentions. "

"To be sure it does, poor lass, " answered Mr. Mercer pensively. "Shebelieved in the word of a scoundrel, and she was made to pay dearly forher simplicity. James Halliday did all he could to find her. Hesearched London through, as far as any man can search such a place asLondon; but it was no use, and for a very good reason, as I saidbefore. The end of it was, he was obliged to go back to Newhall nowiser than when he started. "

"And was nothing further ever discovered?" I asked eagerly, for I feltthat this was just one of those family complications from which allmanner of legal difficulties might arise. 

"Don't be in a hurry, my lad, " answered uncle Joe; "wickedness is sureto come to light sooner or later. Three years after this poor youngwoman ran away there was a drunken groom dismissed from LordDurnsville's stable; and what must he needs do but come straight off toJames Halliday, to vent his spite against his master, and perhaps tocurry favour at Newhall. 'You shouldn't have gone to London to look forthe young lady, Muster Halliday, ' he said; 'you should have gone theother way. I know a man as drove Mr. Kingdon and your wife's sisteracross country to Hull with two of my lord's own horses, stopping tobait on the way. They went aboard ship at Hull, Mr. Kingdon and theyoung lady--a ship that was bound for foreign parts. ' This is what thegroom said; but it was little good knowing it now. There'd beenadvertisements in the papers beseeching her to come back; andeverything had been done that could be done, and all to no end. A fewyears after this back comes Mr. Kingdon as large as life, married tosome dark-faced, frizzy-haired lady, whose father owned half theIndies, according to people's talk: but he fought very shy of JamesHalliday; but when they did meet one day at the covert side, Jim rodeup to the honourable gentleman and asked him what he had done withSusan Meynell. Those that saw the meeting say that Montagu Kingdonturned as white as a ghost when he saw Jim Halliday riding up to himon his big, raw-boned horse; but nothing came of the quarrel. Mr. Kingdon did not live many years to enjoy the money his frizzy-hairedWest-Indian lady brought him. He died before his brother, LordDurnsville, and left neither chick nor child to inherit his money, noryet the Durnsville title, which was extinct on the death of theviscount. "

"And what of the poor girl?"

"Ay, poor lass, what of her? It was fourteen years after she left herhome before her sister got so much as a line to say she was in the landof the living. When a letter did come at last, it was a very melancholyone. The poor creature wrote to her sister to say she was in London, alone and penniless, and, as she thought, dying. "

"And the sister went to her?"

I remembered that deprecating sentence in the family Bible, written ina woman's hand. 

"That she did, good honest soul, as fast as she could travel, carryinga full purse along with her. She found poor Susan at an inn nearAldersgate-street--the old quarter, you see, that she'd known in heryoung days. Mrs. Halliday meant to have brought the poor soul back toYorkshire, and had settled it all with Jim; but it was too late foranything of that kind. She found Susan dying, wandering in her mind offand on, but just able to recognise her sister, and to ask forgivenessfor having trusted to Montagu Kingdon, instead of taking counsel fromthose that wished her well. "

"Was that all?" I asked presently. 

Mr. Mercer made long pauses in the course of his narrative, duringwhich we walked briskly on; he pondering on those past events, Ilanguishing for further information. 

"Well, lad, that was about all. Where Susan had been in all thoseyears, or what she had been doing, was more than Mrs. Halliday couldfind out. Of late she had been living somewhere abroad. The clothes shehad last worn were of foreign make, very poor and threadbare; and therewas one little box in her room at the inn that had been made at Rouen, for the name of a Rouen trunkmaker was on the inside of the lid. Therewere no letters or papers of any kind in the box; so you see there wasno way of finding out what the poor creature's life had been. All hersister could do was to stay with her and comfort her to the last, andto see that she was quietly laid to rest in a decent grave. She wasburied in a quiet little city churchyard, somewhere where there aregreen trees among the smoke of the chimney-pots. Montagu Kingdon hadbeen dead some years when that happened. "

"Is that last letter still in existence?" I asked. 

"Yes; my first wife kept it with the rest of her family letters andpapers. Dorothy takes care of them now. We country folks set store bythose sort of things, you know. "

I would fain have asked Mr. Mercer to let me see this last letterwritten by Susan Meynell; but what excuse could I devise for so doing?I was completely fettered by my promise to George Sheldon, and couldoffer no reasonable pretence for my curiosity. 

There was one point which I was bound to push home in the interests ofmy Sheldon, or, shall I not rather say, of my Charlotte? Thatall-important point was the question of marriage or no marriage. "Youfeel quite clear as to the fact that Montagu Kingdon never did marrythis young woman?" I said. 

"Well, yes, " replied uncle Joe; "that was proved beyond doubt, I'msorry to say. Mr. Kingdon never could have dared to come back here withhis West-Indian wife in poor Susan Meynell's lifetime if he had reallymarried her. "

"And how about the lady he was said to have married in Spain?"

"I can't say anything about that. It may have been only a scandal, or, if there was a marriage, it may have been illegal. The Kingdons wereProtestants, and the Spaniards are all papists, I suppose. A marriagebetween a Protestant and a Roman Catholic wouldn't be binding. "

"Not upon such a man as this Kingdon. "

It seems more than probable that the opinion arrived at by this poorsoul's friends must be correct, and that Montagu Kingdon was ascoundrel. But how about Susan Meynell's after-life?--the fourteenyears in which she was lost sight of? May she not have married some oneelse than Mr. Kingdon? and may she not have left heirs who will arisein the future to dispute my darling's claim?

Is it a good thing to have a great inheritance? The day has been whensuch a question as that could not by any possibility have shaped itselfin my mind. Ah! what is this subtle power called love, which workethsuch wondrous changes in the human heart? Surely the miracle of thecleansed leper is in some manner typical of this transformation. Theemanation of divine purity encircled the leper with its supernalwarmth, and the scales fell away beneath that mysterious influence. Andso from the pure heart of a woman issues a celestial fire which burnsthe plague-spot out of the sinner's breast. Ah, how I languish to be atmy darling's feet, thanking her for the cure she has wrought!

I have given my Sheldon the story of Susan Meynell's life, as I had itfrom uncle Joseph. He agrees with me as to the importance of Susan'slast letter, but even that astute creature does not see a way togetting the document in his hands without letting Mr. Mercer more orless into our secret. 

"I might tell this man Mercer some story about a little bit of moneycoming to his niece, and get at Susan Meynell's letter that way, " hesaid; "but whatever I told him would be sure to get round to Philipsomehow or other, and I don't want to put him on the scent. "

My Sheldon's legal mind more than ever inclines to caution, now that heknows the heiress of the Haygarths is so nearly allied to his brotherPhilip. 

"I'll tell you what it is, Hawkehurst, " he said to me, after we haddiscussed the business in all its bearings, "there are not many peopleI'm afraid of, but I don't mind owning to you that I am afraid of mybrother Phil. He has always walked over my head; partly because he canwear his shirt-front all through business hours without creasing it, which I can't, and partly because he's--well--more unscrupulous than Iam. "

He paused meditatively, and I too was meditative; for I could notchoose but wonder what it was to be more unscrupulous than GeorgeSheldon. 

"If he were to get an inkling of this affair, " my patron resumedpresently, "he'd take it out of our hands before you could say JackRobinson--supposing anybody ever wanted to say Jack Robinson, whichthey don't--and he'd drive a bargain with us, instead of our driving abargain with him. "

My friend of Gray's Inn has a pleasant way of implying that ourinterests are coequal in this affair. I caught him watching mecuriously once or twice during our last interview, when Charlotte'sname was mentioned. Does he suspect the truth, I wonder?

_Nov. 12th_. I had another interview with my patron yesterday, andrather a curious interview, though not altogether unsatisfactory. George Sheldon has been making good use of his time since my returnfrom Yorkshire. 

"I don't think we need have any fear of opposition from children orgrandchildren of Susan Meynell, " he said; "I have found the registry ofher interment in the churchyard of St. Giles's, Cripplegate. She isdescribed in that registry by her maiden name, and there is a plainheadstone in a corner of the ground, inscribed with the name of SusanMeynell, who died July 14th, 1835, much lamented; and then the textabout 'the one sinner that repenteth, ' and so on, " said Mr. Sheldon, asif he did not care to dwell on so hackneyed a truism. 

"But, " I began, "she might have been married, in spite of--"

"Yes, she might, " replied my Sheldon, captiously; "but then, you see, the probability is that she wasn't. If she had been married, she wouldhave told her sister as much in that last letter, or she would havesaid as much when they met. "

"But she was delirious. "

"Not all the time. She was sensible enough to talk about her sorrow forthe past, and so on; and she must have been sensible enough to havespoken of her children, if she had ever had any. Besides, if she hadbeen married, she would scarcely have been wandering about the world inthat miserable manner, unless her husband was an uncommonly bad lot. No, Hawkehurst, depend upon it, we've nothing to fear in that quarter. The person we have to fear is that precious brother of mine. "

"You talked the other day about driving a bargain with him, " I said; "Ididn't quite understand your meaning. The fortune can only be claimedby Char--Miss Halliday, and your brother has no legal authority todispose of her money. "

"Of course not, " answered my employer, with contemptuous impatience ofmy dulness; "but my brother Phil is not the man to wait for legalpower. His ideas will be Miss Halliday's ideas in this business. Whenmy case is ripe for action, I shall make my bargain--half the fortuneto be mine from the day of its recovery. A deed containing theseconditions must be executed by Charlotte Halliday before I hand over asingle document relating to the case. Now, as matters stand atpresent, " he went on, looking very fixedly at me, "her execution ofthat deed would rest with Philip. "

"And when shall you make your overtures to Mr. Sheldon?" I asked, at aloss to understand that intent look. 

"Not until the last links of the chain are put together. Not before I'mready to make my first move on the Chancellor's chessboard. Perhaps notat all. "

"How do you mean?"

"If I can tide over for a little time, I may throw Philip overboardaltogether, and get some one else to manage Miss Halliday for me. "

"What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you, Hawkehurst, " answered my patron, resting his elbows onthe table by which we were sitting, and looking me through with thosepenetrating black eyes of his. "My brother Phil played me a shabbytrick a few years ago, which I have not forgotten or forgiven. So Ishouldn't mind paying him out in some of his own coin. Beyond which, Itell you again, I don't like the idea of his having a finger in thisbusiness. Where that kind of man's finger can go, his whole hand willfollow; and if once that hand fastens on John Haygarth's money, it'llbe bad times for you and me. Miss Halliday counts for exactly nothingin my way of reckoning. If her stepfather told her to sign away half amillion, she'd scribble her name at the bottom of the paper, and pressher pretty little thumb upon the wafer, without asking a singlequestion as to the significance of the document. And, of course, she'dbe still less inclined to make objections if it was her husband whoasked her to execute the deed. Aha! my young friend, how is it you growfirst red and then white when I mention Miss Halliday's husband?"

I have no doubt that I did indeed blanch when that portentous word wasuttered in conjunction with my darling's name. Mr. Sheldon leant alittle further across the table, and his hard black eyes penetrated alittle deeper into the recesses of my foolish heart. 

"Valentine Hawkehurst, " he said, "shall we throw my brother Philoverboard altogether? Shall you and I go shares in this fortune?"

"Upon my word and honour I don't understand you, " I said, in allsincerity. 

"You mean that you won't understand me, " answered George Sheldon, impatiently; "but I'll make myself pretty clear presently; and as yourown interest is at stake, you'll be very unlike the rest of yourspecies if you don't find it easy enough to understand me. When first Ilet you in for the chance of a prize out of this business, neither younor I had the slightest idea that circumstances would throw therightful claimant to the Haygarth estate so completely into our way. Ihad failed so many times with other cases before I took up this case, that it's a wonder I had the courage to work on. But, somehow or other, I had a notion that this particular business would turn up trumps. Theway seemed a little clearer than it usually is; but not clear enough totempt Tom, Dick, and Harry. And then, again, I had learnt a good manysecrets from the experience of my failures. I was well up to my work. Imight have carried it on, and I ought to have carried it on, withouthelp; but I was getting worn out and lazy, so I let you into my secret, having taken it into my head that I could venture to trust you. "

"You didn't trust me further than you could help, my friend, " I repliedwith my usual candour. "You never told me the amount left by thereverend intestate; but I heard that down at Ullerton. A half share ina hundred thousand pounds is worth trying for, Mr. Sheldon. "

"They call it a hundred thousand down there, do they?" asked thelawyer, with charming innocence. "Those country people always deal inhigh figures. However, I don't mind owning that the sum is a handsomeone, and if you and I play our cards wisely, we may push Philip out ofthe game altogether, and share the plunder between us. "

Again I was obliged to confess myself unable to grasp my employer'smeaning. 

"Marry Charlotte Halliday out of hand, " he said, bringing his eyes andhis elbows still nearer to me, until his bushy black whiskers almosttouched my face. "Marry her before Philip gets an inkling of thisaffair, and then, instead of being made a tool of by him, she'll besafe in your hands, and the money will be in your hands into thebargain. Why, how you stare, man! Do you think I haven't seen how theland lies between you two? Haven't I dined at Bayswater when you'vebeen there? and could any man with his wits about him see you twosentimental young simpletons together _without_ seeing how things weregoing on? You are in love with Charlotte, and Charlotte is in love withyou. What more natural than that you two should make a match of it?Charlotte is her own mistress, and hasn't sixpence in the world thatany one but you and I know of; for, of course, my brother Phil willcontinue to stick to every penny of poor old Tom's money. All you haveto do is to follow up the young lady; it's the course that wouldsuggest itself to any man in the same case, even if Miss Halliday werethe ugliest old harridan in Christendom, instead of being a very jollykind of girl, as girls go. "

My employer said this with the tone of a man who had never consideredthe genus girl a very interesting part of creation. I suppose I lookedat him rather indignantly; for he laughed as he resumed, --

"I'll say she's an angel, if you like, " he said; "and if you think herone, so much the better. You may consider it a very lucky thing thatyou came in my way, and a still more lucky thing that Miss Halliday hasbeen silly enough to fall in love with you. I've heard of men beingborn with silver spoons in their mouths; but I should think you musthave come into the world with a whole service of plate. However, thatis neither here nor there. Your policy will be to follow up youradvantages; and if you can persuade the young lady to change her namefor Hawkehurst on the quiet some fine morning, without stopping to askpermission of her stepfather, or any one else, so much the better foryou, and so much the more agreeable to me. I'd rather do business withyou than with my brother Phil; and I shan't be sorry to cry quits withthat gentleman for the shabby trick he played me a few years ago. "

My Sheldon's brow darkened as he said this, and the moody fit returned. That old grudge which my patron entertains against his brother musthave relation to some very disagreeable business, if I may judge byGeorge Sheldon's manner. 

Here was a position for me, Valentine Hawkehurst, soldier of fortune, cosmopolitan adventurer, and child of the nomadic tribes who callBohemia their mother country! Already blest with the sanction of mydear love's simple Yorkshire kindred, I was now assured of GeorgeSheldon's favour; nay, urged onward in my paradisiac path by thatunsentimental Mentor. The situation was almost too much for mybewildered brain. Charlotte an heiress, and George Sheldon eager tobring about my participation in the Haygarthian thousands!

And now I sit in my little room 1a Omega-street, pondering upon thepast, and trying to face the perplexities of the future. 

Is this to be? Am I, so hopeless an outsider in the race of life, tocome in with a rush and win the prize which Fortune's first favouritemight envy? Can I hope or believe it? Can the Fates have been playing apleasant practical joke with me all this time, like those fairies whodecree that the young prince shall pass his childhood and youth in theguise of a wild boar, only to be transformed into an Adonis at last bythe hand of the woman who is disinterested enough to love him despitehis formidable tusks and ungainly figure?

No! a thousand times no! The woman I love, and the fortune I have sooften desired, are not for me. Every man has his own especial Fates;and the three sisters who take care of me are grim, hard-visaged, harder-hearted spinsters, not to be mollified by propitiation, or bythe smooth tongue of the flatterer. The cup is very sweet, and it seemsalmost within my grasp; but between that chalice of delight and thelips that thirst for it, ah, what a gulf!

_Nov. 13th_. The above was written late at night, and under theinfluence of my black dog. What an ill-conditioned cur he is, and howhe mouths and mangles the roses that bestrew his pathway, always bentupon finding the worm at the core!

I kicked the brute out of doors this morning, on finding a letter frommy dear one lying in my plate. "Avaunt, aroint thee, foul fiend!" Icried. "Thou art the veritable poodle in whose skin Mephistopheleshides when bent on direst mischief. I will set the sign of the crossupon my threshold, and thou shalt enter no more. "

This is what I said to myself as I tore open Charlotte's envelope, withits pretty little motto stamped on cream-coloured sealing-wax, "_Pensezà moi. _" Ah, love; "while memory holds a seat in this distractedglobe. " I saw the eyes of my friend Horatio fixed upon me as I openedmy letter, and knew that my innermost sentiments were under inspection. Prudence demands all possible caution where the noble Captain isconcerned. I cannot bring myself to put implicit faith in his accountof his business at Ullerton. He may have been there, as he says, onsome promoting spec; but our meeting in that town was, to say theleast, a strange coincidence, and I am not a believer in coincidences--off the stage, where a gentleman invariably makes his appearancedirectly his friends begin to talk about him. 

I cannot forget my conviction that Jonah Goodge was bought over by arival investigator, and that Rebecca Haygarth's letters were tamperedwith; nor can I refrain from connecting that shapely but well-wornlavender glove with the person of my dandy friend, Horatio Paget. Thedisappearance of a letter from the packet intrusted to me by MissJudson is another mysterious circumstance; nor can I do away with theimpression that I heard the name Meynell distinctly pronounced byPhilip Sheldon the last time I was at the villa. 

George Sheldon tells me the secret cannot by any possibility have beenbetrayed, unless by me; and I have been prudence itself. 

Supposing my suspicions of Mr. Goodge to be correct, the lettersextracted from Mrs. Rebecca's correspondence might tell much, and mighteven put Horatio on the track of the Meynells. But how should he gethis first inkling of the business?

Certainly not from me or from George Sheldon. But might not hisattention have been attracted by that advertisement for heirs-at-law tothe Haygarthian estate which appeared in the _Times_?

These are questions with which the legal intellect of my Sheldon maybest grapple. For myself, I can only drift with the resistless streamcalled life. 

I was so unfortunate as to make my appearance in our commonsitting-room five minutes after my patron. There had been time enoughfor him to examine the superscription and postmark of my letter. Hewas whistling when I went into the room. People who have been lookingat things that don't belong to them always whistle. 

I did not care to read Charlotte's first letter with those hawk's eyesfixed upon me. So I just glanced at the dear handwriting, as if runningover an ordinary letter with the eye of indifference, and then put thedocument into my pocket with the best assumption of carelessness I wascapable of. How I longed for the end of that tedious meal, over whichCaptain Paget lingered in his usual epicurean fashion!

My friend Horatio has shown himself not a little curious about my lateabsence from the joint domicile. I again resorted to the Dorkingfiction, --my aged aunt breaking fast, and requiring much propitiationfrom a dutiful nephew with an eye to her testamentary arrangements. Ihad been compelled to endow my shadowy relative with a comfortablelittle bit of money, in order to account for my devotion; since thepowerful mind of my Horatio would have refused to grasp the idea ofdisinterested affection for an ancient kinswoman. 

There was an ominous twinkle in the Captain's sharp gray eyes when Igave this account of my absence, and I sorely doubt his acceptance ofthis second volume of the Dorking romance. Ah, what a life it is welead in the tents of Ishmael, the cast-away! through what tortuouspathways wander the nomad tribes who call Hagar, the abandoned, theirmother! what lies, what evasions, what prevarications! Horatio Pagetand I watch each other like two cunning fencers, with a stereotypedsmile upon our lips and an eager restlessness in our eyes, and whoshall say that one or other of our rapiers is not poisoned, as in thefamous duel before Claudius, usurper of Denmark? My dear one's letteris all sweetness and love. She is coming home; and much as she prefersYorkshire to Bayswater, she is pleased to return for my sake--for mysake. She leaves the pure atmosphere of that simple country home tobecome the central point in a network of intrigue; and I am bound tokeep the secret so closely interwoven with her fate. I love her moretruly, more purely than I thought myself capable of loving; yet I canonly approach her as the tool of George Sheldon, a rapaciousconspirator, bent on securing the hoarded thousands of old JohnHaygarth. 

Of all men upon this earth I should be the last to underrate theadvantages of wealth, --I who have been reared in the gutter, which isPoverty's cradle. Yet I would fain Charlotte's fortune had come to herin any other fashion than as the result of my work in the character ofa salaried private inquirer. 

BOOK THE SEVENTH. 

CHARLOTTE'S ENGAGEMENT. 

CHAPTER I. 

"IN YOUR PATIENCE YE ARE STRONG. "

Miss Halliday returned to the gothic villa at Bayswater with a bloom onher cheeks, and a brightness in her eyes, which surpassed her wontedbloom and brightness, fair and bright as her beauty had been from thehour in which she was created to charm mankind. She had been a creatureto adore even in the first dawn of infancy, and in her christening-hoodand toga of white satin had been a being to dream of. But now sheseemed invested all at once with a new loveliness--more spiritual, morepensive, than the old. 

Might not Valentine have cried, with the rapturous pride of a lover:"Look at the woman here with the new soul!" and anon: "This new soul ismine!"

It was love that had imparted a new charm to Miss Halliday's beauty. Diana wondered at the subtle change as her friend sat in her favouritewindow on the morning after her return, looking dreamily out into theblossomless garden, where evergreens of the darkest and spikiestcharacter stood up stern and straight against the cold gray sky. Dianahad welcomed her friend in her usual reserved manner, much toCharlotte's discomfiture. The girl so yearned for a confidante. She hadno idea of hiding her happiness from this chosen friend, and waitedeagerly for the moment in which she could put her arms round Diana'sneck and tell her what it was that had made Newhall so sweet to herduring this particular visit. 

She sat in the window this morning thinking of Valentine, andlanguishing to speak of him, but at a loss how to begin. There are somepeople about whose necks the arms of affection can scarce entwinethemselves. Diana Paget sat at her eternal embroidery-frame, picking upbeads on her needle with the precision of some self-feeding machine. The little glass beads made a hard clicking sound as they dropped fromher needle, --a very frosty, unpromising sound, as it seemed toCharlotte's hyper-sensitive ear. 

There had been an unwonted reserve between the girls since Charlotte'sreturn, --a reserve which arose, on Miss Halliday's part, from thecontest between girlish shyness and the eager desire for a confidante;and on the part of Miss Paget, from that gloomy discontent which had oflate possessed her. 

She watched Charlotte furtively as she picked up her beads--watched herwonderingly, unable to comprehend the happiness that gave suchspiritual brightness to her eyes. It was no longer the childlike gaietyof heart which had made Miss Halliday's girlhood so pleasant. It wasthe thoughtful, serene delight of womanhood. 

"She can care very little for Valentine, " Diana thought, "or she couldscarcely seem so happy after such a long separation. I doubt if thesebewitching women who enchant all the world know what it is to feeldeeply. Happiness is a habit with this girl. Valentine's attentionswere very pleasant to her. The pretty little romance was very agreeablewhile it lasted; but at the first interruption of the story she shutsthe book, and thinks of it no more. O, if my Creator had made _me_ likethat! If I could forget the days we spent together, and the dream Idreamt!"

That never-to-be-forgotten vision came back to Diana Paget as she satat her work; and for a few minutes the clicking sound of the beadsceased, while she waited with clasped hands until the shadows shouldhave passed before her eyes. The old dream came back to her like apicture, bright with colour and light. But the airy habitation whichshe had built for herself of old was no "palace lifting to Italianheavens its marble roof. " It was only a commonplace lodging in a streetrunning out of the Strand, with just a peep of the river from a trimlittle balcony. An airy second-floor sitting-room, with engravedportraits of the great writers on the newly-papered walls: on one sidean office-desk, on the other a work-table. The unpretending shelter ofa newspaper hack, who lives _à jour la journée_, and whose wife mustachieve wonders in the way of domestic economy in order to eke out hismodest earnings. 

This was Diana Paget's vision of Paradise, and it seemed only thebrighter now that she felt it was never to be anything more than asupernal picture painted on her brain. 

After sitting silent for some little time, eager to talk, but waitingto be interrogated, Charlotte was fain to break silence. 

"You don't ask me whether I enjoyed myself in Yorkshire, Di, " she said, looking shyly down at the little bunch of charms and lockets whichemployed her restless fingers. 

"Didn't I, really?" replied Diana, languidly; "I thought that was oneof the stereotyped inquiries one always made. "

"I hope you wouldn't make stereotyped inquiries of _me_, Diana. "

"No, I ought not to do so. But I think there are times when one isartificial even with one's best friends. And you are my best friend, Charlotte. I may as well say my only friend, " the girl added, with alaugh. 

"Diana, " cried Charlotte, reproachfully, "why do you speak so bitterly?You know how dearly I love you. I do, indeed, dear. There is scarcelyanything in this world I would not do for you. But I am not your onlyfriend. There is Mr. Hawkehurst, whom you have known so long. "

Miss Halliday's face was in a flame; and although she bent very low toexamine the golden absurdities hanging on her watch-chain, she couldnot conceal her blushes from the eyes that were so sharpened byjealousy. 

"Mr. Hawkehurst!" cried Diana, with unspeakable contempt. "If I weredrowning, do you think _he_ would stretch out his hand to save me whileyou were within his sight? When he comes to this house--he who has seenso much poverty, and misery, and shame, and--happiness with me andmine--do you think he so much as remembers my existence? Do you thinkhe ever stops to consider whether I am that Diana Paget who was oncehis friend and confidante and fellow-wayfarer and companion? or only alay figure dressed up to fill a vacant chair in your drawing-room?"

"Diana!"

"It is all very well to look at me reproachfully, Charlotte. You mustknow that I am speaking the truth. You talk of friendship. What is thatword worth if it does not mean care and thought for another? Do youimagine that Valentine Hawkehurst ever thinks of me, or considers me?"

Charlotte was fain to keep silence. She remembered how very rarely, inthose long afternoons at Newhall farm, the name of Diana Paget had beenmentioned. She remembered how, when she and Valentine were mapping outthe future so pleasantly, she had stopped in the midst of an eloquentbit of word-painting, descriptive of the little suburban cottage theywere to live in, to dispose of Diana's fate in a sentence, --

"And dear Di can stop at the villa to take care of mamma, " she hadsaid; whereupon Mr. Hawkehurst had assented, with a careless nod, andthe description of the ideal cottage had been continued. 

Charlotte remembered this now with extreme contrition. She had been sosupremely happy, and so selfish in her happiness. 

"O, Di, " she cried, "how selfish happy people are!" And then shestopped in confusion, perceiving that the remark had little relevanceto Diana's last observation. 

"Valentine shall be your friend, dear, " she said, after a pause. 

"O, you are beginning to answer for him already!" exclaimed Miss Paget, with increasing bitterness. 

"Diana, why are you so unkind to me?" Charlotte cried, passionately. "Don't you see that I am longing to confide in you? What is it thatmakes you so bitter? You must know how truly I love you. And if Mr. Hawkehurst is not what he once was to you, you must remember how coldand distant you always are in your manner to him. I am sure, to hearyou speak to him, and to see you look at him sometimes, one would thinkhe was positively hateful to you. And I want you to like him a littlefor my sake. "

Miss Halliday left her seat by the window as she said this, and wenttowards the table by which her friend was sitting. She crept close toDiana, and with a half-frightened, half-caressing movement, seatedherself on the low ottoman at her feet, and, seated thus, possessedherself of Miss Paget's cold hand. 

"I want you to like Mr. Hawkehurst a little, Di, " she repeated, "for mysake. "

"Very well, I will try to like him a little--for your sake, " answeredMiss Paget, in a very unsympathetic tone. 

"O, Di! tell me how it was he offended you. "

"Who told you that he offended me?"

"Your own manner, dear. You could never have been so cold and distantwith him--having known him go long, and endured so many troubles in hiscompany--if you had not been deeply offended by him. "

"That is your idea, Charlotte; but, you see, I am very unlike you. I amfitful and capricious. I used to like Mr. Hawkehurst, and now I dislikehim. As to offence, his whole life has offended me, just as my father'slife has offended me, from first to last. I am not good and amiable andloving, like you; but I hate deceptions and lies; above all, the liesthat some men traffic in day after day. "

"Was Valentine's--was your father's life a very bad one?" Charlotteasked, trembling palpably, and looking up at Miss Paget's face withanxious eyes. 

"Yes, it was a mean false life, --a life of trick and artifice. I do notknow the details of the schemes by which my father and Valentine earnedtheir daily bread--and my daily bread; but I know they inflicted lossupon other people. Whether the wrong done was always done deliberatelyand consciously upon Valentine's part, I cannot say. He may have beenonly a tool of my father's. I hope he was, for the most part anunconscious tool. "

She said all this in a dreamy way, as if uttering her own thoughts, rather than seeking to enlighten Charlotte. 

"I am sure he was an unconscious tool, " cried that young lady, with anair of conviction; "it is not in his nature to do anything false ordishonourable. "

"Indeed! you know him very well, it seems, " said Diana. 

Ah, what a tempest was raging in that proud passionate heart! what astrife between the powers of good and evil! Pitying love for Charlotte;tender compassion for her rival's childlike helplessness; andunutterable sense of her own loss. 

She had loved him so dearly, and he was taken from her. There had beena time when he almost loved her--almost! Yes, it was the remembrance ofthat which made the trial so bitter. The cup had approached her lips, only to be dashed away for ever. 

"What did I ask in life except his love?" she said to herself. "Of allthe pleasures and triumphs which girls of my age enjoy, is there onethat I ever envied? No, I only sighed for his love. To live in alodging-house parlour with him, to sit by and watch him at his work, todrudge for him, to bear with him--this was my brightest dream ofearthly bliss; and she has broken it!"

It was thus Diana argued with herself, as she sat looking down at thebright creature who had done her this worst, last wrong which one womancan do to another. This passionate heart, which ached with such cruelpain, was prone to evil, and to-day the scorpion Jealousy was digginghis sharp tooth into its very core. It was not possible for Diana Pagetto feel kindly disposed towards the girl whose unconscious hand hadshattered the airy castle of her dreams. Was it not a hard thing thatthe bright creature, whom every one was ready to adore, must needssteal away this one heart?

"It has always been like this, " thought Diana. "The story of David andNathan is a parable that is perpetually being illustrated. David is sorich--he is lord of incalculable flocks and herds; but he will not becontent till he has stolen the one little ewe lamb, the poor man's petand darling. "

"Diana, " said Miss Halliday very softly, "you are so difficult to talkto this morning, and I have so much to say to you. "

"About your visit, or about Mr. Hawkehurst?"

"About--Yorkshire, " answered Charlotte, with the air of a shy child whohas made her appearance at dessert, and is asked whether she will havea pear or a peach. 

"About Yorkshire!" repeated Miss Paget, with a little sigh of relief. "I shall be very glad to hear about your Yorkshire friends. Was thevisit a pleasant one?"

"Very, very pleasant!" answered Charlotte, dwelling tenderly on thewords. 

"How sentimental you have grown, Lotta! I think you must have found aforgotten shelf of Minerva Press novels in some cupboard at youraunt's. You have lost all your vivacity. "

"Have I?" murmured Charlotte; "and yet I am happier than I was when Iwent away. Whom do you think I met at Newhall, Di?"

"I have not the slightest idea. My notions of Yorkshire are very vague. I fancy the people amiable savages; just a little in advance of theancient Britons whom Julius Caesar came over to conquer. Whom did youmeet there? Some country squire, I suppose, who fell in love with yourbright eyes, and wished you to waste the rest of your existence inthose northern wilds. "

Miss Paget was not a woman to bare her wounds for the scrutiny of thefriendliest eyes. Let the tooth of the serpent bite never so keenly, she could meet her sorrows with a bold front. Was she not accustomed tosuffer--she, the scapegoat of defrauded nurses and indignantlandladies, the dependent and drudge of her kinswoman's gynaeceum, thedespised of her father? The flavour of these waters was very familiarto her lips. The draught was only a little more acrid, a little deeper, and habit had enabled her to drain the cup without complaining, if notin a spirit of resignation. To-day she had been betrayed into a briefoutbreak of passion; but the storm had passed, and a more observantperson than Charlotte might have been deceived by her manner. 

"Now you are my own Di again, " cried Miss Halliday; somewhat cynicalat the best of times, but always candid and true. 

Miss Paget winced ever so little as her friend said this. 

"No, dear, " continued Charlotte, with the faintest spice of coquetry;"it was not a Yorkshire squire. It was a person you know very well; aperson we have been talking of this morning. O, Di, you must surelyhave understood me when I said I wanted you to like him for my sake!"

"Valentine Hawkehurst!" exclaimed Diana. 

"Who else, you dear obtuse Di!"

"He was in Yorkshire?"

"Yes, dear. It was the most wonderful thing that ever happened. Hemarched up to Newhall gate one morning in the course of his rambles, without having the least idea that I was to be found in theneighbourhood. Wasn't it wonderful?"

"What could have taken him to Yorkshire?"

"He came on business. "

"But what business?"

"How do I know? Some business of papa's, or of George Sheldon's, perhaps. And yet that can't be. He is writing a book, I think, aboutgeology or archaeology--yes, that's it, archaeology. "

"Valentine Hawkehurst writing a book on archaeology!" cried Miss Paget. "You must be dreaming, Charlotte. "

"Why so? He does write, does he not?"

"He has been reporter for a newspaper. But he is the last person towrite about archaeology. I think there must be some mistake. "

"Well, dear, it may be so. I didn't pay much attention to what he saidabout business. It seemed so strange for him to be there, just as muchat home as if he had been one of the family. O, Di, you can't imaginehow kind aunt Dorothy and uncle Joe were to him! They like him so much--and they know we are engaged. "

Miss Halliday said these last words almost in a whisper. 

"What!" exclaimed Diana, "do you mean to say that you have promised tomarry this man, of whom you know nothing but what is unfavourable?"

"What do I know in his disfavour? Ah, Diana, how unkind you are! andwhat a dislike you must have for poor Valentine! Of course, I know heis not what people call a good match. A good match means that one is tohave a pair of horses, whose health is so uncertain that I am suretheir lives must be a burden to them, if we may judge by our horses;and a great many servants, who are always conducting themselves in themost awful manner, if poor mamma's experience is any criterion; and abig expensive house, which nobody can be prevailed on to dust. No, Di!that is just the kind of life I hate. What I should like is a dearlittle cottage at Highgate or Wimbledon, and a tiny, tiny garden, inwhich Valentine and I could walk every morning before he began hisday's work, and where we could drink tea together on summer evenings--agarden just large enough to grow a few rose-bushes. O. Di! do you thinkI want to marry a rich man?"

"No, Charlotte; but I should think you would like to marry a good man. "

"Valentine is good. No one but a good man could have been so happy ashe seemed at Newhall farm. That simple country life could not have beenhappiness for a bad man. "

"And was Valentine Hawkehurst really happy at Newhall?"

"Really--really--really! Don't try to shake my faith in him, Diana; itis not to be shaken. He has told me a little about the past, though Ican see that it pains him very much to speak of it. He has told me ofhis friendless youth, spent amongst unprincipled people, and what amere waif and stray he was until he met me. And I am to be hispole-star, dear, to guide him in the right path. Do you know, Di, Icannot picture to myself anything sweeter than that--to be a goodinfluence for the person one loves. Valentine says his whole nature hasundergone a change since he has known me. What am I that I should workso good a change in my dear one? It is very foolish, is it not, Di?"

"Yes, Charlotte, " replied the voice of reason from the lips of MissPaget; "it is all foolishness from beginning to end, and I can foreseenothing but trouble as the result of such folly. What will your mammasay to such an engagement? or what will Mr. Sheldon say?"

"Yes, that is the question, " returned Charlotte, very seriously. "Dearmamma is one of the kindest creatures in the world, and I'm sure shewould consent to anything rather than see me unhappy. And then, youknow, she likes Valentine very much, because he has given her ordersfor the theatres, and all that kind of thing. But, whatever mammathinks, she will be governed by what Mr. Sheldon thinks; and of coursehe will be against our marriage. "

"Our marriage!" It was a settled matter, then--a thing that was to besooner or later; and there remained only the question as to how andwhen it was to be. Diana sat like a statue, enduring her pain. So mayhave suffered the Christian martyrs in their death-agony; so suffers awoman when the one dear hope of her life is reft from her, and she darenot cry aloud. 

"Mr. Sheldon is the last man in the world to permit such a marriage, "she said presently. 

"Perhaps, " replied Charlotte; "but I am not going to sacrificeValentine for Mr. Sheldon's pleasure. Mr. Sheldon has full power overmamma and her fortune, but he has no real authority where I amconcerned. I am as free as air, Diana, and I have not a penny in theworld. Is not that delightful?"

The girl asked this question in all good faith, looking up at herfriend with a radiant countenance. What irony there was in the questionfor Diana Paget, whose whole existence had been poisoned by the lack ofthat sterling coin of the realm which seemed such sordid dross in theeyes of Charlotte!

"What do you mean, Charlotte?"

"I mean, that even his worst enemies cannot accuse Valentine of anymercenary feeling. He does not ask me to marry him for the sake of myfortune. "

"Does he know your real position?"

"Most fully. And now, Diana, tell me that you will try to like him, formy sake, and that you will be kind, and will speak a good word for meto mamma by-and-by, when I have told her all. "

"When do you mean to tell her?"

"Directly--or almost directly. I scarcely know how to set about it. Iam sure it has been hard enough to tell you. "

"My poor Charlotte! What an ungrateful wretch I must be!"

"My dear Diana, you have no reason to be grateful. I love you verydearly, and I could not live in this house without you. It is I whohave reason to be grateful, when I remember how you bear with mamma'sfidgety ways, and with Mr. Sheldon's gloomy temper, and all for love ofme. "

"Yes, Lotta, for love of you, " Miss Paget answered, with a sigh; "and Iwill do more than that for love of you. "

She had her arm round her happy rival's beautiful head, and she waslooking down at the sweet upturned face with supreme tenderness. Shefelt no anger against this fair enslaver, who had robbed her of herlittle lamb. She only felt some touch of anger against the Providencewhich had decreed that the lamb should be so taken. 

No suspicion of her friend's secret entered Charlotte Halliday's mind. In all their intercourse Diana had spoken very little of Valentine; andin the little she had said there had been always the same half-bitter, half-disdainful tone. Charlotte, in her simple candour, accepted thistone as the evidence of Miss Paget's aversion to her father's_protégé_. 

"Poor Di does not like to see her father give so much of his friendshipto a stranger while she is neglected, " thought Miss Halliday; andhaving once jumped at this conclusion, she made no further effort topenetrate the mysteries of Diana's mind. 

She was less than ever inclined to speculation about Diana's feelingsnow that she was in love, and blest with the sweet consciousness thather love was returned. Tender and affectionate as she was, she couldnot quite escape that taint of egotism which is the ruling vice offortunate lovers. Her mind was not wide enough to hold much more thanone image, which demanded so large a space. 

CHAPTER II. 

MRS. SHELDON ACCEPTS HER DESTINY. 

Miss Halliday had an interview with her mother that evening in Mrs. Sheldon's dressing-room, while that lady was preparing for rest, withconsiderable elaboration of detail in the way of hair-brushing, andputting away of neck-ribbons and collars and trinkets in smart littleboxes and handy little drawers, all more or less odorous from thepresence of dainty satin-covered sachets. The sachets, and the drawers, and boxes, and trinkets were Mrs. Sheldon's best anchorage in thisworld. Such things as these were the things that made life worthendurance for this poor weak little woman; and they were more real toher than her daughter, because more easy to realise. The beautifullight-hearted girl was a being whose existence had been alwayssomething of a problem for Georgina Sheldon. She loved her after herown feeble fashion, and would have jealously asserted her superiorityover every other daughter in the universe; but the power to understandher or to sympathise with her had not been given to that narrow mind. The only way in which Mrs. Sheldon's affection showed itself wasunquestioning indulgence and the bestowal of frivolous gifts, chosenwith no special regard to Charlotte's requirements, but rather becausethey happened to catch Mrs. Sheldon's eye as they glittered or sparkledin the windows of Bayswater repositories. 

Mr. Sheldon happened to be dining out on this particular evening. Hewas a guest at a great City feast, to which some of the richest menupon 'Change had been bidden; so Miss Halliday had an excellentopportunity for making her confession. 

Poor Georgy was not a little startled by the avowal. 

"My darling Lotta!" she screamed, "do you think your papa would everconsent to such a thing?"

"I think my dear father would have consented to anything likely tosecure my happiness, mamma, " the girl answered sadly. 

She was thinking how different this crisis in her life would haveseemed if the father she had loved so dearly had been spared to counselher. 

"I was not thinking of my poor dear first husband, " said Georgy. Thisnumbering of her husbands was always unpleasant to Charlotte. It seemedsuch a very business-like mode of description to be applied to thefather she so deeply regretted. I was thinking of your step-papa, "continued Mrs. Sheldon. 

"He would never consent to your marrying Mr. Hawkehurst, who reallyseems to have nothing to recommend him except his good looks and anobliging disposition with regard to orders for the theatres. "

"I am not bound to consult my stepfather's wishes. I only want toplease you, mamma. "

"But, my dear, I cannot possibly consent to anything that Mr. Sheldondisapproves. "

"O, mamma, dear kind mamma, do have an opinion of your own for once ina way! I daresay Mr. Sheldon is the best possible judge of everythingconnected with the Stock Exchange and the money-market; but don't lethim choose a husband for me. Let me have your approval, mamma, and Icare for no one else. I don't want to marry against your will. But I amsure you like Mr. Hawkehurst. "

Mrs. Sheldon shook her head despondingly. 

"It's all very well to like an agreeable young man as an occasionalvisitor, " she said, "especially when most of one's visitors aremiddle-aged City people. But it is a very different thing when one'sonly daughter talks of marrying him. I can't imagine what can have putsuch an idea as marriage into your head. It is only a few months sinceyou came home from school; and I fancied that you would have stoppedwith me for years before you thought of settling. "

Miss Halliday made a wry face. 

"Dear mamma, " she said, "I don't want to 'settle. ' That is what one'shousemaid says, isn't it, when she talks of leaving service andmarrying some young man from the baker's or the grocer's? Valentine andI are not in a hurry to be married. I am sure, for my own part, I don'tcare how long our engagement lasts. I only wish to be quite candid andtruthful with you, mamma; and I thought it a kind of duty to tell youthat he loves me, and that--I love him--very dearly. "

These last words were spoken with extreme shyness. 

Mrs. Sheldon laid down her hair-brushes while she contemplated herdaughter's blushing face. Those blushes had become quite a chronicaffection with Miss Halliday of late. 

"But, good gracious me, Charlotte, " she exclaimed, growing peevish inher sense of helplessness, "who is to tell Mr. Sheldon?"

"There is no necessity for Mr. Sheldon to be enlightened yet awhile, mamma. It is to you I owe duty and obedience--not to him. Pray keep mysecret, kindest and most indulgent of mothers, and--and ask Valentineto come and see you now and then. "

"Ask him to come and see me, Charlotte! You must know very well that Inever invite any one to dinner except at Mr. Sheldon's wish. I am sureI quite tremble at the idea of a dinner. There is such trouble aboutthe waiting, and such dreadful uncertainty about the cooking. And ifone has it all done by Birch's people, one's cook gives warning nextmorning, " added poor Georgy, with a dismal recollection of recentperplexities. "I am sure I often wish myself young again, in the dairyat Hyley farm, making matrimony cakes for a tea-party, with a ring anda fourpenny-piece hidden in the middle. I'm sure the Hyley tea-partieswere pleasanter than Mr. Sheldon's dinners, with those solemn Citypeople, who can't exist without clear turtle and red mullet. "

"Ah, mother dear, our lives were altogether happier in those days. Idelight in the Yorkshire tea-parties, and the matrimony cakes, and allthe talk and laughter about the fourpenny-piece and the ring. Iremember getting the fourpenny-piece at Newhall last year. And thatmeans that one is to die an old maid, you know. And now I am engaged. As to the dinners, mamma, Mr. Sheldon may keep them all for himself andhis City friends. Valentine is the last person in the world to care forclear turtle. If you will let him drop in sometimes of an afternoon--say once a week or so--when you, and I, and Diana are sitting at ourwork in the drawing-room, and if you will let him hand us our cups atour five-o'clock tea, he will be the happiest of men. He adores tea. You'll let him come, won't you, dear? O, mamma, I feel just like aservant who asks to be allowed to see her 'young man. ' Will you let my'young man' come to tea once in a way?"

"Well, Charlotte, I'm sure I don't know, " said Mrs. Sheldon, withincreasing helplessness. "It's really a very dreadful position for meto be placed in. "

"Quite appalling, is it not, mamma? But then I suppose it is a positionthat people afflicted with daughters must come to sooner or later. "

"If it were the mere civility of asking him to tea, " pursued poorGeorgy, heedless of this flippant interruption, "I'm sure I should bethe last to make any objection. Indeed, I am under a kind of obligationto Mr. Hawkehurst, for his polite attention has enabled us to go to thetheatres very often when your papa would not have thought of buyingtickets. But then, you see, Lotta, the question in point is not hiscoming to our five-o'clock tea--which seems really a perfect mockery toany one brought up in Yorkshire--but whether you are to be engaged tohim. "

"Dear mamma, _that_ is not a question at all, for I am already engagedto him. "

"But, Charlotte--"

"I do not think I could bring myself to disobey you, dear mother, "continued the girl tenderly; "and if you tell me, of your own freewill, and acting on your conviction, that I am not to marry him, I mustbow my head to your decision, however hard it may seem. But one thingis quite certain, mamma: I have given my promise to Valentine; and if Ido not marry him, I shall never marry at all; and then the dreadfulaugury of the fourpenny-piece will be verified. "

Miss Halliday pronounced this determination with a decision of mannerthat quite overawed her mother. It had been the habit of Georgy's mindto make a feeble protest against all the mutations of life, but in theend to submit very quietly to the inevitable; and since ValentineHawkehurst's acceptance as Charlotte's future husband seemedinevitable, she was fain to submit in this instance also. 

Valentine was allowed to call at the Lawn, and was received with afeeble, half-plaintive graciousness by the lady of the house. He wasinvited to stop for the five-o'clock tea, and availed himselfrapturously of this delightful privilege. His instinct told him whatgentle hand had made the meal so dainty and home-like, and for whosepleasure the phantasmal pieces of bread-and-butter usually supplied bythe trim parlour-maid had given place to a salver loaded with innocentdelicacies in the way of pound-cake and apricot jam. 

Mr. Hawkehurst did his uttermost to deserve so much indulgence. Hescoured London in search of free admissions for the theatres, hunting"Ragamuffins" and members of the Cibber Club, and other privilegedcreatures, at all their places of resort. He watched for the advent ofnovels adapted to Georgy's capacity--lively records of croquêt anddressing and love-making, from smart young Amazons in the literaryranks, or deeply interesting romances of the sensation school, with atleast nine deaths in the three volumes, and a comic housemaid, or acontumacious "Buttons, " to relieve the gloom by their playfulwaggeries. He read Tennyson or Owen Meredith, or carefully selected"bits" from the works of a younger and wilder bard, while the ladiesworked industriously at their prie-dieu chairs, or Berlin brioches, orShetland couvrepieds, as the case might be. The patroness of a fancyfair would scarcely have smiled approvingly on the novel effects in_crochet à tricoter_ produced by Miss Halliday during these pleasantlectures. 

"The rows will come wrong, " she said piteously, "and Tennyson's poetryis so very absorbing!"

Mr. Hawkehurst showed himself to be possessed of honourable, not to saydelicate, feelings in his new position. The gothic villa was hisparadise, and the gates had been freely opened to admit him whensoeverhe chose to come. Georgy was just the sort of person from whom peopletake ells after having asked for inches; and once having admitted Mr. Hawkehurst as a privileged guest, she would have found it verydifficult to place any restriction upon the number of his visits. Happily for this much-perplexed matron, Charlotte and her lover werestrictly honourable. Mr. Hawkehurst never made his appearance at thevilla more than once in the same week, though the "once a week or so"asked for by Charlotte might have been stretched to a widersignificance. 

When Valentine obtained orders for the theatre, he sent them by post, scrupulously refraining from making them the excuse for a visit. 

"That was all very well when I was a freebooter, " he said to himself, "only admitted on sufferance, and liable to have the door shut in myface any morning. But I am trusted now, and I must prove myself worthyof my future mother-in-law's confidence. Once a week! One seventh dayof unspeakable happiness--bliss without alloy! The six other days arevery long and dreary. But then they are only the lustreless setting inwhich that jewel the seventh shines so gloriously. Now, if I wereWaller, what verses I would sing about my love! Alas, I am only acommonplace young man, and can find no new words in which to tell theold sweet story!"

If the orders for stalls and private boxes were not allowed to serve asan excuse for visits, they at least necessitated the writing ofletters; and no human being, except a lover, would have been able tounderstand why such long letters must needs be written about such avery small business. The letters secured replies; and when the ordersent was for a box, Mr. Hawkehurst was generally invited to occupy aseat in it. Ah, what did it matter on those happy nights how hackneyedthe plot of the play, how bald the dialogue, how indifferent theacting! It was all alike delightful to those two spectators: for alight that shone neither on earth nor sky brightened everything theylooked on when they sat side by side. 

And during all these pleasant afternoons at the villa, or evenings atthe theatre, Diana Paget had to sit by and witness the happiness whichshe had dreamed might some day be hers. It was a part of her duty to bepresent on these occasions, and she performed that duty punctiliously. She might have made excuses for absenting herself, but she was tooproud to make any such excuses. 

"Am I such a coward as to tell a lie in order to avoid a little painmore or less? If I say I have a headache, and stay in my own room whilehe is here, will the afternoon seem any more pleasant or any shorter tome? The utmost difference would be the difference between a dull painand a sharp pain; and I think the sharper agony is easier to bear. "Having argued with herself thus, Miss Paget endured her weeklymartyrdom with Spartan fortitude. 

"What have I lost?" she said to herself, as she stole a furtive glancenow and then at the familiar face of her old companion. "What is thistreasure, the loss of which makes me seem to myself such an abjectwretch? Only the love of a man who at his best is not worthy of thisgirl's pure affection, and at his worst must have been unworthy even ofmine. But then at his worst he is dearer to me than the best man whoever lived upon this earth. "

CHAPTER III. 

MR. HAWKEHURST AND MR. GEORGE SHELDON COME TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 

There was no such thing as idleness for Valentine Hawkehurst duringthese happy days of his courtship. The world was his oyster, and thatoyster was yet unopened. For some years he had been hacking and hewingthe shell thereof with the sword of the freebooter, to very littleadvantageous effect. He now set himself seriously to work with thepickaxe of the steady-going labourer. He was a secessionist from thegreat army of adventurers. He wanted to enrol himself in the ranks ofthe respectable, the plodders, the ratepayers, the simple citizens wholove their wives and children, and go to their parish church onSundays. He had an incentive to steady industry, which had hithertobeen wanting in his life. He was beloved, and any shame that came tohim would be a still more bitter humiliation for the woman who lovedhim. 

He felt that the very first step in the difficult path ofrespectability would be a step that must separate him from CaptainPaget; but just now separation from that gentleman seemed scarcelyadvisable. If there was any mischief in that Ullerton expedition, anycollusion between the Captain and the Reverend Goodge, it wouldassuredly be well for Valentine to continue a mode of life whichenabled him to be tolerably well informed as to the movements of theslippery Horatio. In all the outside positions of life expedience mustever be the governing principle, and expedience forbade any immediatebreak with Captain Paget. 

"Whatever you do, keep your eye upon the Captain, " said George Sheldon, in one of many interviews, all bearing upon the Haygarth succession. "If there is any underhand work going on between him and Philip, youmust be uncommonly slow of perception if you can't ferret it out. I'mvery sorry you met Charlotte Halliday in the north, for of course Philmust have heard of your appearance in Yorkshire, and that will set himwondering at any rate, especially as lie will no doubt have heard theDorking story from Paget. He pretended he saw you leave town the dayyou went to Ullerton, but I am half inclined to believe that was only atrap. "

"I don't think Mr. Sheldon has heard of my appearance in Yorkshireyet. "

"Indeed! Miss Charlotte doesn't care to make a confidant of herstepfather, I suppose. Keep her in that mind, Hawkehurst. If you playyour cards well, you ought to be able to get her to marry you on thequiet. " "I don't think that would be possible. In fact, I am sureCharlotte would not marry without her mother's consent, " answeredValentine, thoughtfully. 

"And of course that means my brother Philip's consent, " exclaimedGeorge Sheldon, with contemptuous impatience. "What a slow, bunglingfellow you are, Hawkehurst! Here is an immense fortune waiting for you, and a pretty girl in love with you, and you dawdle and deliberate as ifyou were going to the dentist's to have a tooth drawn. You've falleninto a position that any man in London might envy, and you don't seemto have the smallest capability of appreciating your good luck. "

"Well, perhaps I am rather slow to realise the idea of my goodfortune, " answered Valentine, still very thoughtfully. "You see, in thefirst place, I can't get over a shadowy kind of feeling with regard tothat Haygarthian fortune. It is too far away from my grasp, too large, too much of the stuff that dreams and novels are made of. And, in thesecond place, I love Miss Halliday so fondly and so truly that I don'tlike the notion of making my marriage with her any part of the bargainbetween you and me. "

Mr. Sheldon contemplated his confederate with unmitigated disdain. "Don't try that sort of thing with me, Hawkehurst, " he said; "thatsentimental dodge may answer very well with some men, but I'm about thelast to be taken in by it. You are playing fast-and-loose with me, andyou want to throw me over--as my brother Phil would throw me over, ifhe got the chance. "

"I am not playing fast-and-loose with you, " replied Valentine, toodisdainful of Mr. Sheldon for indignation. "I have worked for youfaithfully, and kept your secret honourably, when I had everytemptation to reveal it. You drove your bargain with me, and I haveperformed my share of the bargain to the letter. But if you think I amgoing to drive a bargain with you about my marriage with Miss Halliday, you are very much mistaken. That lady will marry me when she pleases, but she shall not be entrapped into a clandestine marriage for yourconvenience. " "O, that's your ultimatum, is it, Mr. Joseph Surface?"said the lawyer, biting his nails fiercely, and looking askant at hisally, with angry eyes. "I wonder you don't wind up by saying that theman who could trade upon a virtuous woman's affection for theadvancement of his fortune, deserves to--get it hot, as our modernslang has it. Then I am to understand that you decline to precipitatematters?"

"I most certainly do. "

"And the Haygarth business is to remain in abeyance while Miss Hallidaygoes through the tedious formula of a sentimental courtship?"

"I suppose so. "

"Humph! that's pleasant for me. "

"Why should you make the advancement of Miss Halliday's claimscontingent on her marriage? Why not assert her rights at once?"

"Because I will not trust my brother Philip. The day that you show methe certificate of your marriage with Charlotte Halliday is the day onwhich I shall make my first move in this business. I told you the otherday that I would rather make a bargain with you than with my brother. "

"And what kind of bargain do you expect to make with me when MissHalliday is my wife?"

"I'll tell you, Valentine Hawkehurst, " replied the lawyer, squaring hiselbows upon his desk in his favourite attitude, and looking across thetable at his coadjutor; "I like to be open and above-board when I can, and I'll be plain with you in this matter. I want a clear half of JohnHaygarth's fortune, and I think that I've a very fair claim to thatamount. The money can only be obtained by means of the documents in mypossession, and but for me that money might have remained till doomsdayunclaimed and unthought of by the descendant of Matthew Haygarth. Lookat it which way you will, I think you'll allow that my demand is a justone. "

"I don't say that it is unjust, though it certainly seems a littleextortionate, " replied Valentine. "However, if Charlotte were my wife, and were willing to cede half the fortune, I'm not the man to disputethe amount of your reward. When the time comes for bargain-driving, you'll not find me a difficult person to deal with. 

"And when may I expect your marriage with Miss Halliday?" asked GeorgeSheldon, rapping his hard finger-nails upon the table with suppressedimpatience. "Since you elect to conduct matters in the grand style, andmust wait for mamma's consent and papa's consent, and goodness knowswhat else in the way of absurdity, I suppose the delay will be for anindefinite space of time. " "I don't know about that. I'm not likely toput off the hour in which I shall call that dear girl my own. I askedher to be my wife before I knew that she had the blood of MatthewHaygarth in her veins, and the knowledge of her claim to this fortunedoes not make her one whit the dearer to me, penniless adventurer as Iam. If poetry were at all in your line, Mr. Sheldon, you might knowthat a man's love for a good woman is generally better than himself. Hemay be a knave and a scoundrel, and yet his love for that one perfectcreature may be almost as pure and perfect as herself. That's apsychological mystery out of the way of Gray's Inn, isn't it?"

"If you'll oblige me by talking common sense for about five minutes, you may devote your powerful intellect to the consideration ofpsychological mysteries for a month at a stretch, " exclaimed theaggravated lawyer. 

"O, don't you see how I struggle to be hard-headed and practical!"cried Valentine; "but a man who is over head and ears in love finds itrather hard to bring all his ideas to the one infallible grindstone. You ask me when I am to marry Charlotte Halliday. To-morrow, if ourFates smile upon us. Mrs. Sheldon knows of our engagement, and consentsto it, but in some manner under protest. I am not to take my dear girlaway from her mother for some time to come. The engagement is to be along one. In the mean time I am working hard to gain some kind ofposition in literature, for I want to be sure of an income before Imarry, without reference to John Haygarth; and I am a privileged guestat the villa. "

"But my brother Phil has been told nothing?"

"As yet nothing. My visits are paid while he is in the City; and as Ioften went to the villa before my engagement, he is not likely tosuspect anything when he happens to hear my name mentioned as avisitor. "

"And do you really think he is in the dark--my brother Philip, who canturn a man's brains inside out in half an hour's conversation? Mark mywords, Valentine Hawkehurst, that man is only playing with you as a catplays with a mouse. He used to see you and Charlotte together beforeyou went to Yorkshire, and he must have seen the state of the casequite as plainly as I saw it. He has heard of your visits to the villasince your return, and has kept a close account of them, and made hisown deductions, depend upon it. And some day, while you and pretty MissCharlotte are enjoying your fool's paradise, he will pounce upon youjust as puss pounces on poor mousy. "

This was rather alarming, and Valentine felt that it was very likely tobe correct. 

"Mr. Sheldon may play the part of puss as he pleases, " he replied aftera brief pause for deliberation; "this is a case in which he dare notshow his claws. He has no authority to control Miss Halliday'sactions. "

"Perhaps not, but he would find means for preventing her marriage if itwas to his interest to do so. He is not _your_ brother, you see, Mr. Hawkehurst; but he is mine, and I know a good deal about him. Hisinterest may not be concerned in hindering his stepdaughter's marriagewith a penniless scapegrace. He may possibly prefer such a bridegroomas less likely to make himself obnoxious by putting awkward questionsabout poor Tom Halliday's money, every sixpence of which he means tokeep, of course. If his cards are packed for that kind of marriage, he'll welcome you to his arms as a son-in-law, and give you hisbenediction as well as his stepdaughter. So I think if you can contriveto inform him of your engagement, without letting him know of yourvisit to Yorkshire, it might be a stroke of diplomacy. He might be gladto get rid of the girl, and might hasten on the marriage of his ownvolition. "

"He might be glad to get rid of the girl. " In the ears of ValentineHawkehurst this sounded rank blasphemy. Could there be any one uponthis earth, even a Sheldon, incapable of appreciating the privilege ofthat divine creature's presence?

CHAPTER IV. 

MR. SHELDON IS PROPITIOUS

It was not very long before Valentine Hawkehurst had reason to respectthe wisdom of his legal patron. Within a few days of his interview withGeorge Sheldon he paid his weekly visit to the villa. Things were goingvery well with him, and life altogether seemed brighter than he hadever hoped to find it. He had set himself steadily to work to win somekind of position in literature. He devoted his days to diligent studyin the reading-room of the British Museum, his nights to writing forthe magazines. His acquaintance with press-men had stood him in goodstead; and already he had secured the prompt acceptance of his work inmore than one direction. The young _littérateur_ of the present day hasnot such a very hard fight for a livelihood, if his pen has only acertain lightness and dash, a rattling vivacity and airy grace. It isonly the marvellous boys who come to London with epic poems, Anglo-Saxontragedies, or metaphysical treatises in their portmanteaus, who mustneeds perish in their prime, or stoop to the drudgery of office orcounting-house. 

Valentine Hawkehurst had no vague yearnings after the fame of a Milton, no inner consciousness that he had been born to stamp out thefootprints of Shakespeare on the sands of time, no unhealthy hungeringafter the gloomy grandeur of Byron. He had been brought up amongstpeople who treated literature as a trade as well as an art;--and whatart is not more or less a trade? He knew the state of the market, andwhat kind of goods were likely to go off briskly, and it was for themarket he worked. When gray shirtings were in active demand, he set hisloom for gray shirtings; and when the buyers clamoured for fancy goods, he made haste to produce that class of fabrics. In this he provedhimself a very low-minded and ignominious creature, no doubt; but wasnot one Oliver Goldsmith glad to take any order which good Mr. Newberrymight give him, only writing the "Traveller" and the story of ParsonPrimrose _pour se distraire_?

Love lent wings to the young essayist's pen. It is to be feared that inroving among those shelves in Great Russell-street he showed himselfsomething of a freebooter, taking his "bien" wherever it was to befound; but did not Molière frankly acknowledge the same practice? Mr. Hawkehurst wrote about anything and everything. His brain must needs bea gigantic storehouse of information, thought the respectful reader. Heskipped from Pericles to Cromwell, from Cleopatra to Mary Stuart, fromSappho to Madame de Sablé; and he wrote of these departed spirits withsuch a charming impertinence, with such a delicious affectation ofintimacy, that one would have thought he had sat by Cleopatra as shemelted her pearls, and stood amongst the audience of Pericles when hepronounced his funeral oration. "With the De Sablé and the Chevreuse, Ninon and Marion, Maintenon and La Vallière, Anne of Austria and thegreat Mademoiselle of France, he seemed to have lived in dailycompanionship, so amply did he expatiate upon the smallest details oftheir existences, so tenderly did he dwell on their vanished beauties, their unforgotten graces. "

The work was light and pleasant; and the monthly cheques from theproprietors of a couple of rival periodicals promised, to amount to theincome which the adventurer had sighed for as he trod the Yorkshiremoorland. He had asked Destiny to give him Charlotte Halliday and threehundred a year, and lo! while yet the wish was new, both theseblessings seemed within his grasp. It could scarcely be a matter forrepining it the Fates should choose to throw in an odd fifty thousandpounds or so. 

But was not all this something too much of happiness for a man whosefeet had trodden in evil ways? Were not the Fates mocking thistravel-stained wayfarer with bright glimpses of a paradise whose gateshe was never to pass?

This was the question which Valentine Hawkehurst was fain to askhimself sometimes; this doubt was the shadow which sometimes made asudden darkness that obscured the sunshine. 

Happily for Charlotte's true lover, the shadow did not often comebetween him and the light of those dear eyes which were his pole-stars. 

The December days were shortening as the year drew to its close, andafternoon tea seemed more than ever delightful to Charlotte and herbetrothed, now that it could be enjoyed in the mysterious half light; aglimmer of chill gray day looking coldly in at the unshrouded windowlike some ghostly watcher envying these mortals their happiness, andthe red glow of the low fire reflected upon every curve and facet ofthe shining steel grate. 

To sit by the fire at five o'clock in the afternoon, watching thechangeful light upon Charlotte's face, the rosy glow that seemed tolinger caressingly on broad low brow and sweet ripe lips, the deepshadows that darkened eyes and hair, was bliss unspeakable for Mr. Hawkehurst. The lovers talked the prettiest nonsense to each other, while Mrs. Sheldon dozed placidly behind the friendly shelter of abanner-screen hooked on to the chimney-piece, or conversed with Dianain a monotonous undertone, solemnly debating the relative wisdom ofdyeing or turning in relation to a faded silk dress. 

Upon one special evening Valentine lingered just a little longer thanusual. Christmas was near at hand, and the young man had brought hisliege lady tribute in the shape of a bundle of Christmas literature. Tennyson had been laid aside in favour of the genial Christmas fare, which had the one fault, that it came a fortnight before the jovialseason, and in a manner fore-stalled the delights of that time-honouredperiod, making the season itself seem flat and dull, and turkey andplum-pudding the stalest commodities in the world when they did come. How, indeed, can a man do full justice to his aunt Tabitha'splum-pudding, or his uncle Joe's renowned rum-punch, if he has quaffedthe steaming-bowl with the "Seven Poor Travellers, " or eaten hisChristmas dinner at the "Kiddleawink" a fortnight beforehand? Are notthe chief pleasures of life joys as perishable as the bloom on a peachor the freshness of a rose?

Valentine had read the ghastliest of ghost-stories, and the mosthumorous of word-pictures, for the benefit of the audience in Mrs. Sheldon's drawing-room; and now, after tea, they sat by the firetalking of the ghost-story, and discussing that unanswerable questionabout the possibility of such spiritual appearances, which seems tohave been debated ever since the world began. 

"Dr. Johnson believed in ghosts, " said Valentine. 

"O, please spare us Dr. Johnson, " cried Charlotte, with seriocomicintensity. "What is it that obliges magazine-writers to be perpetuallytalking about Dr. Johnson? If they must dig up persons from the past, why can't they dig up newer persons than that poor ill-used doctor?"

The door opened with a hoarse groan, and Mr. Sheldon came into the roomwhile Miss Halliday was making her playful protest. She stopped, somewhat confused by that sudden entrance. 

There is a statue of the Commandant in every house, at whose cominghearts grow cold and lips are suddenly silent. It was the first timethat the master of the villa had interrupted one of these friendlyafternoon teas, and Mrs. Sheldon and her daughter felt that a domesticcrisis was at hand. 

"How's this?" cried the stockbroker's strong hard voice; "you seem allin the dark. "

He took a wax-match from a little gilt stand on the mantelpiece andlighted two flaring lamps. He was the sort of man who is always eagerto light the gas when people are sitting in the gloaming, meditativeand poetical. He let the broad glare of common sense in upon theirfoolish musings, and scared away Robin Goodfellow and the fairies bymeans of the Western Gaslight Company's illuminating medium. 

The light of those two flaring jets of gas revealed Charlotte Hallidaylooking shyly at the roses on the carpet, and trifling nervously withone of the show-books on the table. The same light revealed ValentineHawkehurst standing by the young lady's chair, and looking at Mr. Sheldon with a boldness of countenance that was almost defiance. PoorGeorgy's face peered out from behind her favourite banner-screen, looking from one to the other in evident alarm. Diana sat in heraccustomed corner, watchful, expectant, awaiting the domestic storm. 

To the surprise of every one except Mr. Sheldon, there was no storm, not even the lightest breeze that ever blew in domestic hemispheres. The stockbroker saluted his stepdaughter with a friendly nod, andgreeted her lover with a significant grin. 

"How d'ye do, Hawkehurst?" he said, in his pleasantest manner. "It's anage since I've seen you. You're going in for literature, I hear; and avery good thing too, if you can make it pay. I understand there aresome fellows who really do make that sort of thing pay. Seen my brotherGeorge lately? Yes, I suppose you and George are quite a Damon andWhat's-his-name. You're going to dine here to-night, of course? Isuppose we may go in to dinner at once, eh, Georgy?--it's half-pastsix. "

Mr. Hawkehurst made some faint pretence of having a particularengagement elsewhere; for, supposing Sheldon to be unconscious, hescorned to profit by that gentleman's ignorance. And then, havingfaltered his refusal, he looked at Charlotte, and Charlotte's eyescried "Stay, " as plainly as such lovely eyes can speak. So the end ofit was, that he stayed and partook of the Sheldonian crimped skate, andthe Sheldonian roast-beef and tapioca-pudding, and tasted some especialMoselle, which, out of the kindliness of his nature, Mr. Sheldon openedfor his stepdaughter's betrothed. 

After dinner there were oranges and crisp uncompromising biscuits, thatmade an explosive noise like the breaking of windows whenever any oneventured to tamper with them; item, a decanter of sherry in a silverstand; item, a decanter of port, which Mr. Sheldon declared to besomething almost too good to be drunk, and to the merits of whichValentine was supremely indifferent. The young man would fain havefollowed his delight when she accompanied her mamma and Diana to thedrawing-room; but Mr. Sheldon detained him. 

"I want a few words with you, Hawkehurst, " he said; and Charlotte'scheeks flamed red as peonies at sound of this alarming sentence. "Youshall go after the ladies presently, and they shall torture that poorlittle piano to their hearts' delight for your edification. I won'tdetain you many minutes. You had really better try that port. "

Valentine closed the door upon the departing ladies, and went back tohis seat very submissively. If there were any battle to be fought outbetween him and Philip Sheldon, the sooner the trumpet sounded to armsthe better. 

"His remarkable civility almost inclines me to think that he doesreally want to get rid of that dear girl, " Valentine said to himself, as he filled his glass and gravely awaited Mr. Sheldon's pleasure. 

"Now then, my dear Hawkehurst, " began that gentleman, squaring himselfin his comfortable arm-chair, and extending his legs before the cheeryfire, "let us have a little friendly chat. I am not given to beatingabout the bush, you know, and whatever I have to say I shall say invery plain words. In the first place, I hope you have not so poor anopinion of my perceptive faculties as to suppose that I don't see whatis going on between you and Miss Lotta yonder. "

"My dear Mr. Sheldon, I--"

"Hear what I have to say first, and make your protestations afterwards. You needn't be alarmed; you won't find me quite as bad as thestepmother one reads about in the story-books, who puts herstepdaughter into a pie, and all that kind of thing. I supposestepfathers have been a very estimable class, by the way, as it is thestepmother who always drops in for it in the story-books. You'll findmo very easy to deal with, Mr. Hawkehurst, always provided that youdeal in a fair and honourable manner. "

"I have no wish to be underhand in my dealings, " Valentine said boldly. And indeed this was the truth. His inclination prompted him to candour, even with Mr. Sheldon; but that fatal necessity which is the governingprinciple of the adventurer's life obliged him to employ the arts offinesse. 

"Good, " cried Mr. Sheldon, in the cheery, pleasant tone of aneasy-going man of the world, who is not too worldly to perform agenerous action once in a way. "All I ask is frankness. You andCharlotte have fallen in love with one another--why, I can't imagine, except on the hypothesis that a decent-looking young woman and adecent-looking young man can't meet half a dozen times without beginningto think of Gretna-green, or St. George's, Hanover-square. Of course amarriage with you, looked at from a common-sense point of view, would beabout the worst thing that could happen to my wife's daughter. She's avery fine girl" (a man of the Sheldonian type would call Aphroditéherself a fine girl), "and might marry some awfully rich City swell withvineries and pineries and succession-houses at Tulse-hill or Highgate, ifI chose to put her in the way of that sort of thing. But then, you see, the worst of it is, a man seldom comes to vineries and pineries atTulse-hill till he is on the shady side of forty; and as I am not infavour of mercenary marriages, I don't care to force any of my Cityconnection upon poor Lotta. In the neighbourhood of the Stock Exchangethere is no sharper man of business than your humble servant; but Idon't care to bring business habits to Bayswater. Long before Lottaleft school, I had made up my mind never to come between her and herown inclination in the matrimonial line; therefore, if she truly andhonestly loves you, and if you truly and honestly love her, I am notthe man to forbid the bans. "

"My dear Mr. Sheldon, how shall I ever thank you for this!" criedValentine, surprised into a belief in the purity of the stockbroker'sintentions. 

"Don't be in a hurry, " replied that gentleman coolly; "you haven'theard me out yet. Though I may consent to take the very opposite lineof conduct which I might be expected to take as a man of the world, Iam not going to allow you and Charlotte to make fools of yourselves. There must be no love-in-a-cottage business, no marrying on nothing ayear, with the expectation that papa and mamma will make up thedifference between that and a comfortable income. In plain English, ifI consent to receive you as Charlotte's future husband, you and shemust consent to wait until you can, to my entire satisfaction, proveyourself in a position to keep a wife. " Valentine sighed doubtfully. 

"I don't think either Miss Halliday or I are in an unreasonable hurryto begin life together, " he said thoughtfully; "but there must be somefixed limit to our probation. I am afraid the waiting will be a verylong business, if I am to obtain a position that will satisfy youbefore I ask my dear girl to share my fate. "

"Are your prospects so very black?"

"No; to my mind they seem wonderfully bright. But the earnings of amagazine-writer will scarcely come up to your idea of an independence. Just now I am getting about ten pounds a month. With industry, I maystretch that ten to twenty; and with luck I might make the twenty intothirty--forty--fifty. A man has only to achieve something like areputation in order to make a handsome living by his pen. "

"I am very glad to hear that, " said Mr. Sheldon; "and when you canfairly demonstrate to me that you are earning thirty pounds a month, you shall have my consent to your marriage with Charlotte, and I willdo what I can to give you a fair start in life. I suppose you know thatshe hasn't a sixpence in the world, that she can call her own?"

This was a trying question for Valentine Hawkehurst, and Mr. Sheldonlooked at him with a sharp scrutinising glance as he awaited a reply. The young man flushed crimson, and grew pale again before he spoke. 

"Yes, " he said, "I have long been aware that Miss Halliday has no legalclaim on her father's fortune. "

"There you have hit the mark, " cried Mr. Sheldon. "She has no claim toa sixpence in law; but to an honourable man that is not the question. Poor Halliday's money amounted in all to something like eighteenthousand pounds. That sum passed into my possession when I married mypoor friend's widow, who had too much respect for me to hamper myposition as a man of business by any legal restraints that would havehindered my making the wisest use of her money. I have used that money, and I need scarcely tell you that I have employed it with considerableadvantage to myself and Georgy. I therefore can afford to be generous, and I mean to be so; but the manner in which I do things must be of myown choosing. My own children are dead, and there is no one belongingto one that stands in Miss Halliday's way. When I die she will inherita handsome fortune. And if she marries with my approval, I shallpresent her with a very comfortable dowry. I think you will allow thatthis is fair enough. "

"Nothing could be fairer or more generous, " replied Valentine withenthusiasm. 

Mr. Sheldon's agreeable candour had entirely subjugated him. Despite ofall that George had said to his brother's prejudice, he was ready tobelieve implicitly in Philip's fair dealing. 

"And in return for this I ask something on your part, " said Mr. Sheldon. "I want you to give me your promise that you will take noserious step without my knowledge. You won't steal a march upon me. Youwon't walk off with Charlotte some fine morning and marry her at aregistry-office, or anything of that kind, eh?"

"I will not, " answered Valentine resolutely, with a very unpleasantrecollection of his dealings with George Sheldon. 

"Give me your hand upon that, " cried the stockbroker. 

Upon this the two men shook hands, and Valentine's fingers were almostcrushed in the cold hard grip of Mr. Sheldon's muscular hand. And nowthere came upon Valentine's ear the sound of one of Mendelssohn's_Lieder ohne Worte_, tenderly played by the gentle hands he knew sowell. And the lover began to feel that he could no longer sit sippingthe stockbroker's port with a hypocritical pretence of appreciation, and roasting himself before the blazing fire, the heat whereof wasmultiplied to an insufferable degree by grate and fender of reflectingsteel. 

Mr. Sheldon was not slow to perceive his guest's impatience, and havingmade exactly the impression he wanted to make, was quite willing thatthe interview should come to an end. 

"You had better be off to the drawing-room, " he said, good naturedly;"I see you are in that stage of the fever in which masculine society isonly a bore. You can go and hear Charlotte play, while I read theevening papers and write a few letters. You can let her know that youand I understand each other. Of course we shall see you very often. You'll eat your Christmas turkey with us, and so on; and I shall trustto your honour for the safe keeping of that promise you made me justnow, " said Mr. Sheldon. 

"And I shall keep an uncommonly close watch upon you and the younglady, my friend, " added that gentleman, communing with his own thoughtsas he crossed the smart little hall, where two Birmingham iron knightsin chain armour bestrode their gallant chargers, on two small tables ofsham malachite. 

Mr. Sheldon's library was not a very inspiring apartment. His ideas ofa _sanctum sanctorum_ did not soar above the commonplace. A decentsquare room, furnished with plenty of pigeon-holes, a neat brass scalefor the weighing of letters, a copying-press, a waste-paper basket, astout brass-mounted office inkstand capable of holding a quart or so ofink, and a Post-office Directory, were all he asked for his hours ofleisure and meditation. In a handsome glazed bookcase, opposite hiswriting-table, appeared a richly-bound edition of the _Waverley__Novels_, Knight's _Shakespeare_, Hume and Smollett, Fielding, Goldsmith, and Gibbon; but, except when Georgy dusted the sacredvolumes with her own fair hands, the glass doors of the bookcase werenever opened. 

Mr. Sheldon turned on the gas, seated himself at his comfortablewriting-table, and took up his pen. A quire of office note-paper, withhis City address upon it, lay ready beneath his hand; but he did notbegin to write immediately. He sat for some time with his elbows on thetable, and his chin in his hands, meditating with dark fixed brows. 

"Can I trust her?" he asked himself. "Is it safe to have her near me--after---after what she said to me in Fitzgeorge-street? Yes, I think Ican trust her, up to a certain point; but beyond that I must be on myguard. She might be more dangerous than a stranger. One thing is quiteclear--she must be provided for somehow or other. The question is, whether she is to be provided for in this house or out of it; andwhether I can make her serve me as I want to be served?"

This was the gist of Mr. Sheldon's meditations; but they lasted forsome time. The question which he had to settle was an important one, and he was too wise a man not to contemplate a subject from everypossible point of sight before arriving at his decision. He took aletter-clip from one side of his table, and turned over several openletters in search of some particular document. 

He came at last to the letter he wanted. It was written on very commonnote-paper, with brown-looking ink, and the penmanship was evidentlythat of an uneducated person; but Mr. Sheldon studied its contents withthe air of a man who is dealing with no unimportant missive. 

This was the letter which so deeply interested the stockbroker:--

"HONORED SIR--This coms hopping that You and Your Honored ladie arewell has it leevs me tho nott so strong has i coud wish wich his notttoo bee expect at my time off life my pore neffew was tooke with thetyfus last tewsday weak was giv over on thirsday and we hav berried himat kensil grean Honored Mr. Sheldon I hav now no home my pore neecemust go hout into survis. Luckly there har no Childring and the poregurl can gett hur living as housmade wich she were in survis hat higate befor she marrid my pore Joseff Honored sir i ham trewly sorry tootrubbel you butt i think for hold times you will forgiv the liberteyoff this letter i would nott hintrewd on you iff i had enny frend tohelp me in my old aig, "Your obeddient survent. "

"17 Litle Tottles-yarde lambeft. "

AN WOOLPER

"No friend to help her in her old age, " muttered Mr. Sheldon; "thatmeans that she intends to throw herself upon me for the rest of herlife, and to put me to the expense of burying her when she is soobliging as to die. Very pleasant, upon my word! A man has a servantin the days of his poverty, pays her every fraction he owes her in theshape of wages, and wishes her good speed when she goes to settledown among her relations; and one fine morning, when he has got into adecent position, she writes to inform him that her nephew is dead, andthat she expects him to provide for her forthwith. That is the gist ofMrs. Woolper's letter; and if it were not for one or two considerations, I should be very much inclined to take a business-like view of thecase, and refer the lady to her parish. What are poor-rates intendedfor, I should like to know, if a man who pays four-and-twopence in thepound is to be pestered in this sort of way?"

And then Mr. Sheldon, having given vent to his vexation by suchreflections as these, set himself to examine the matter in anotherlight. 

"I must manage to keep sweet with Nancy Woolper somehow or other, that's very clear; for a chattering old woman is about as dangerous anenemy as a man can have. I might provide for her decently enough out ofdoors for something like a pound a week; and that would be a cheapenough way of paying off all old scores. But I'm not quite clear thatit would be a safe way. A life of idleness might develop Mrs. Woolper'slatent propensity for gossip--and gossip is what I want to avoid. No, that plan won't do. "

For some moments Mr. Sheldon meditated silently, with his brows fixedeven more sternly than before. Then he struck his hand suddenly on themorocco-covered table, and uttered his thoughts aloud. 

"I'll risk it, " he said; "she shall come into the house and serve myinterests by keeping a sharp watch upon Charlotte Halliday. There shallbe no secret marriage between those two. No, my friend Valentine, youmay be a very clever fellow, but you are not quite clever enough tosteal a march upon me. "

Having arrived at this conclusion, Mr. Sheldon wrote a few lines toNancy Woolper, telling her to call upon him at the Lawn. 

CHAPTER V. 

MR. SHELDON IS BENEVOLENT. 

Nancy Woolper had lost little of her activity during the ten years thathad gone by since she received her wages from Mr. Sheldon, on hisbreaking up his establishment in Fitzgeorge-street. Her master hadgiven her the opportunity of remaining in his service, had she sopleased; but Mrs. Woolper was a person of independent, not to sayhaughty, spirit, and she had preferred to join her small fortunes withthose of a nephew who was about to begin business as a chandler andgeneral dealer in a very small way, rather than to submit herself tothe sway of that lady whom she insisted on calling Miss Georgy. 

"It's so long since I've been used to a missus, " she said, whenannouncing her decision to Mr. Sheldon, "I doubt if I could do withMiss Georgy's finnickin ways. I should feel tewed like, if she cameinto the kitchen, worritin' and asking questions. I've been used to myown ways, and I don't suppose I could do with hers. "

So Nancy departed, to enter on a career of unpaid drudgery in thehousehold of her kinsman, and to lose the last shilling of her smallsavings in the futile endeavour to sustain the fortunes of the generaldealer. His death, following very speedily upon his insolvency, leftthe poor soul quite adrift; and in this extremity she had been fain tomake her appeal to Mr. Sheldon. His reply came in due course, but notwithout upwards of a week's delay; during which time Nancy Woolper'sspirits sank very low, while a dreary vision of a living grave--calleda workhouse--loomed more and more darkly upon her poor old eyes. Shehad well-nigh given up all hope of succour from her old master when theletter came, and she was the more inclined to be grateful for verysmall help after this interval of suspense. It was not without strongemotion that Mrs. Woolper obeyed her old master's summons. She hadnursed the hard, cold man of the world whom she was going to see oncemore, after ten years of severance; and though it was more difficultfor her to imagine that Philip Sheldon, the stockbroker, was the samePhilip she had carried in her stout arms, and hushed upon her breastforty years ago, than it would have been to fancy the dead who hadlived in those days restored to life and walking by her side, still, she could not forget that such things had been, and could not refrainfrom looking at her master with more loving eyes because of thatmemory. 

A strange dark cloud had arisen between her and her master's imageduring the latter part of her service in Fitzgeorge-street; but, littleby little, the cloud had melted away, leaving the familiar image clearand unshadowed as of old. She had suffered her mind to be filled by asuspicion so monstrous, that for a time it held her as by some fatalspell; but with reflection came the assurance that this thing could notbe. Day by day she saw the man whom she had suspected going about thecommon business of life, coldly serene of aspect, untroubled of manner, confronting fortune with his head erect, living quietly in the housewhere he had been wont to live, haunted by no dismal shadows, subjectto no dark hours of remorse, no sudden access of despair, alwaysequable, business-like, and untroubled; and she told herself that sucha man could not be guilty of the unutterable horror she had imagined. 

For a year things had gone on thus, and then came the marriage withMrs. Halliday. Mr. Sheldon went down to Barlingford for the performanceof that interesting ceremony; and Nancy Woolper bade farewell to thehouse in Fitzgeorge-street, and handed the key to the agent, who was todeliver it in due course to Mr. Sheldon's successor. 

To-day, after a lapse of more than ten years, Mrs. Woolper sat in thestockbroker's study, facing the scrutinising gaze of those bright blackeyes, which had been familiar to her of old, and which had lost none oftheir cold glitter in the wear and tear of life. 

"Then you think you can be of some use in the house, as a kind ofoverlooker of the other servants, eh, Nancy--to prevent waste, andgadding out of doors, and so on?" said Mr. Sheldon, interrogatively. 

"Ay, sure, that I can, Mr. Philip, " answered the old woman promptly;"and if I don't save you more money than I cost you, the sooner youturn me out o' doors the better. I know what London servants are, and Iknow their ways; and if Miss Georgy doesn't take to the housekeeping, Iknow as how things must be hugger-mugger-like below stairs, howeversmart and tidy things may be above. "

"Mrs. Sheldon knows about as much of housekeeping as a baby, " repliedPhilip, with supreme contempt. "She'll not interfere with you; and ifyou serve me faithfully--"

"That I allers did, Mr. Philip. "

"Yes, yes; I daresay you did. But I want faithful service in the futureas well as in the past. Of course you know that I have a stepdaughter?"

"Tom Halliday's little girl, as went to school at Scarborough. "

"The same. But poor Tom's little girl is now a fine young woman, and asource of considerable anxiety to me. I am bound to say she is anexcellent girl--amiable, obedient, and all that kind of thing; but sheis a girl, and I freely confess that I am not learned in the ways ofgirls; and I'm very much inclined to be afraid of them. "

"As how, sir?"

"Well, you see, Nancy, they come home from school with their sillyheads full of romantic stuff, fit for nothing but to read novels andstrum upon the piano; and before you know where you are, they fall overhead and ears in love with the first decent-looking young man who paysthem a compliment. At least, that's my experience. "

"Meaning Miss Halliday, sir?" asked Nancy, simply. "Has she fallen inlove with some young chap?"

"She has, and with a young chap who is not yet in a position to supporta wife. Now, if this girl were my own child, I should decidedly set myface against this marriage; but as she is only my stepdaughter, I washmy hands of all responsibility in the matter. 'Marry the man you havechosen, my dear, ' say I; 'all I ask is, that you don't marry him untilhe can give you a comfortable home. ' 'Very well, papa, ' says my younglady in her most dutiful manner, and 'Very well, sir, ' says my younggentleman; and they both declare themselves agreeable to any amount ofdelay, provided the marriage comes off some time between this anddoomsday. "

"Well, sir?" asked Nancy, rather at a loss to understand why PhilipSheldon, the closest and most reserved of men, should happen to be soconfidential to-day. 

"Well, Nancy, what I want to prevent is any underhand work. I know whatvery limited notions of honour young men are apt to entertain nowadays, and how intensely foolish a boarding-school miss can be on occasion. Idon't want these young people to run off to Gretna-green some finemorning, or to steal a march upon me by getting married on the sly atsome out-of-the-way church, after having invested their united fortunesin the purchase of a special license. In plain words, I distrust MissHalliday's lover, and I distrust Miss Halliday's common sense; and Iwant to have a sensible, sharp-eyed person in the house always on thelook-out for any kind of danger, and able to protect my stepdaughter'sinterests as well as my own. "

"But the young lady's mamma, sir--she would look after her daughter, Isuppose?"

"Her mamma is foolishly indulgent, and about as capable of taking careof her daughter as of sitting in Parliament. You remember pretty GeorgyCradock, and you must know what she was--and what she is. Mrs. Sheldonis the same woman as Georgy Cradock--a little older, and a little moreplump and rosy; but just as pretty, and just as useless. "

The interview was prolonged for some little time after this, and itended in a thorough understanding between Mr. Sheldon and his oldservant. Nancy Woolper was to re-enter that gentleman's service, andover and above all ordinary duties, she was to undertake the duty ofkeeping a close watch upon all the movements of Charlotte Halliday. Inplain words, she was to be a spy, a private detective, so far as thisyoung lady was concerned; but Mr. Sheldon was too wise to put hisrequirements into plain words, knowing that even in the hour of herextremity Nancy Woolper would have refused to fill such an office hadshe clearly understood the measure of its infamy. 

Upon the day that followed his interview with Mrs. Woolper, thestockbroker came home from the City an hour or two earlier than hiscustom, and startled Miss Halliday by appearing in the garden where shewas walking alone, looking her brightest and prettiest in her darkwinter hat and jacket, and pacing briskly to and fro among the barefrost-bound patches of earth that had once been flower-beds. 

"I wan't a few minutes' quiet talk with you, Lotta, " said Mr. Sheldon. "You'd better come into my study, where we're pretty sure not to beinterrupted. "

The girl blushed crimson as she acceded to this request, being assuredthat Mr. Sheldon was going to discuss her matrimonial engagement. Valentine had told her of that very satisfactory interview in thedining-room, and from that time she had been trying to find anopportunity for the acknowledgment of her stepfather's generosity. Asyet the occasion had not arisen. She did not know how to frame herthanksgiving, and she shrank shyly from telling Mr. Sheldon howgrateful she was to him for the liberality of mind which haddistinguished his conduct in this affair. 

"I really ought to thank him, " she said to herself more than once. "Iwas quite prepared for his doing his uttermost to prevent my marriagewith Valentine; and instead of that, he volunteers his consent, andeven promises to give us a fortune. 'I am bound to thank him for suchgenerous kindness. "

Perhaps there is no task more difficult than to offer grateful tributeto a person whom one has been apt to think of with a feeling very nearakin to dislike. Ever since her mother's second marriage Charlotte hadstriven against an instinctive distaste for Mr. Sheldon's society, andan innate distrust of Mr. Sheldon's affectionate regard for herself;but now that he had proved his sincerity in this most important crisisof her life, she awoke all at once to the sense of the wrong she haddone. 

"I am always reading the Sermon on the Mount, and yet in my thoughtsabout Mr. Sheldon I have never been able to remember those words, 'Judge not, that ye be not judged. ' His kindness touches me to the veryheart, and I feel it all the more keenly because of my injustice. "

She followed her stepfather into the prim little study. There was nofire, and the room was colder than a vault on this bleak December day. Charlotte shivered, and drew her jacket more tightly across her chestas she perched herself on one of Mr. Sheldon's shining red moroccochairs. "The room strikes cold, " she said; "very, very cold. "

After this there was a brief pause, during which Mr. Sheldon took somepapers from the pocket of his overcoat, and arranged them on his deskwith an absent manner, as if he were rather deliberating upon what hewas going to say than thinking of what he was doing. While he loiteredthus Charlotte found courage to speak. 

"I wish to thank you, Mr. Sheldon--papa, " she said, pronouncing the"papa" with some slight appearance of effort, in spite of her desire tobe grateful: "I--I have been wishing to thank you for the last day ortwo; only it seems so difficult sometimes to express one's self aboutthese things. "

"I do not deserve or wish for your thanks, my dear. I have only done myduty. "

"But, indeed, you do deserve my thanks, and you have them in allsincerity, papa. You have been very, very good to me--about--aboutValentine. I thought you would be sure to oppose our marriage on theground of imprudence, you know, and----"

"I do oppose your marriage in the present on the ground of imprudence, and I am only consentient to it in the future on the condition that Mr. Hawkehurst shall have secured a comfortable income by his literarylabours. He seems to be clever, and he promises fairly----"

"O yes indeed, dear papa, " cried the girl, pleased by this meed ofpraise for her lover; "he is more than clever. I am sure you would sayso if you had time to read his article on Madame de Sévigné in the_Cheapside_. "

"I daresay it's very good, my dear; but I don't care for Madame deSévigné----"

"Or his sketch of Bossuet's career in the _Charing Cross_. "

"My dear child, I do not even know who Bossuet was. All I require fromMr. Hawkehurst is, that he shall earn a good income before he takes youaway from this house. You have been accustomed to a certain style ofliving, and I cannot allow you to encounter a life of poverty. "

"But, dear papa, I am not in the least afraid of poverty. "

"I daresay not, my dear. You have never been poor, " replied Mr. Sheldon, coolly. "I don't suppose I am as much afraid of a rattlesnakeas the poor wretches who are accustomed to see one swinging by his tailfrom the branch of a tree any day in the course of their travels. Ihave only a vague idea that a cobra de capello is an unpleasantcustomer; but depend upon it, those foreign fellows feel their bloodstagnate and turn to ice at sight of the cold slimy-looking monster. Poverty and I travelled the same road once, and I know what thegentleman is. I don't want to meet him again. " Mr. Sheldon lapsed intosilence after this. His last words had been spoken to himself ratherthan to Charlotte, and the thoughts that accompanied them seemed farfrom pleasant to him. 

Charlotte sat opposite her stepfather, patiently awaiting his pleasure. She looked at the gaudily-bound books behind the glass doors, andwondered whether any one had ever opened any of the volumes. 

"I should like to read dear Sir Walter's stories once more, " shethought; "there never, never was so sweet a romance as the 'Bride ofLammermoor, ' and I cannot imagine that one could ever grow weary ofreading it. But to ask Mr. Sheldon for the key of that bookcase wouldbe quite impossible. I think his books must be copies of specialeditions, not meant to be read. I wonder whether they are real books, or only upholsterer's dummies?"

And then her fancies went vagabondising off to that little archetype ofa cottage on the heights of Wimbledon-common, in which she andValentine were to live when they were married. She was alwaysfurnishing and refurnishing this cottage, building it up and pulling itdown, as the caprice of the moment dictated. Now it had bow-windows andwhite stuccoed walls--now it was Elizabethan--now the simplest, quaintest, rose-embowered cottager's dwelling, with diamond-panedcasements, and deep thatch on the old gray roof. This afternoon sheamused herself by collecting a small library for Valentine, whilewaiting Mr. Sheldon's next observation. He was to have all herfavourite books, of course; and they were to be bound in the prettiest, most girlish bindings. She could see the dainty volumes, primly rangedon the little carved oak bookcase, which Valentine was to "pick up" inWardour-street. She fancied herself walking down that mart ofbric-a-brac arm-in-arm with her lover, intent on "picking up. " Ah, what happiness! what dear delight in the thought! And O, of all thebright dreams we dream, how few are realised upon this earth! Do theyfind their fulfilment in heaven, those visions of perfect bliss?

Mr. Sheldon looked up from his desk at last. Miss Halliday remarked toherself that his face was pale and haggard in the chill wintrysunlight; but she knew how hard and self-denying a life he led in hisstern devotion to business, and she was in no manner surprised to seehim looking ill. 

"I want to say a few words to you on a matter of business, Lotta, " hebegan, "and I must ask you to give me all your attention. "

"I will do so with pleasure, papa, but I am awfully stupid aboutbusiness. "

"I shall do my best to make matters simple. I suppose you know whatmoney your father left, including the sums his life had been insuredfor?"

"Yes, I have heard mamma say it was eighteen thousand pounds. I do sohate the idea of those insurances. It seems like the price of a man'slife, doesn't it? I daresay that is a very unbusiness-like way ofconsidering the question, but I cannot bear to think that we got moneyby dear papa's death. "

These remarks were too trivial for Mr. Sheldon's notice. He went onwith what he had to say in the cold hard voice that was familiar to hisclerks and to the buyers and sellers of shares and stock who haddealings with him. 

"Your father left eighteen thousand pounds; that amount was left toyour mother without reservation. When she married me, without anysettlement, that money became mine, in point of law--mine to squanderor make away with as I pleased. You know that I have made good use ofthat money, and that your mother has had no reason to repent herconfidence in my honour and honesty. The time has now come in whichthat honour will be put to a sharper test. You have no legal claim onso much as a shilling of your father's fortune. "

"I know that, Mr. Sheldon, " cried Charlotte, eagerly, "and Valentineknows also; and, believe me, I do not expect----"

"I have to settle matters with my own conscience as well as with yourexpectations, my dear Lotta, " Mr. Sheldon said, solemnly. "Your fatherleft you unprovided for; but as a man of honour I feel myself bound totake care that you shall not suffer by his want of caution. I havetherefore prepared a deed of gift, by which I transfer to you fivethousand pounds, now invested in Unitas Bank shares. "

"You are going to give me five thousand pounds!" cried Charlotte, astounded. 

"Without reservation. "

"You mean to say that you will give me this fortune when I marry, papa?" said Charlotte, interrogatively. 

"I shall give it to you immediately, " replied Mr. Sheldon. "I wish youto be thoroughly independent of me and my pleasure. You will thenunderstand, that if I insist upon the prudence of delay, I do so inyour interest and not in my own. I wish you to feel that if I am ahindrance to your immediate marriage, it is not because I wish to delaythe disbursement of your dowry. "

"O, Mr. Sheldon, O, papa, you are more than generous--you are noble! Itis not that I care for the money. O, believe me, there is no one in theworld who could care less for that than I do. But your thoughtfulkindness, your generosity, touches me to the very heart. O, please letme kiss you, just as if you were my own dear father come back to lifeto protect and guide me. I have thought you cold and worldly. I havedone you so much wrong. "

She ran to him, and wound her arms about his neck before he could puther off, and lifted up her pretty rosy mouth to his dry hot lips. Herheart was overflowing with generous emotion, her face beamed with ahappy smile. She was so pleased to find her mother's husband betterthan she had thought him. But, to her supreme astonishment, he thrusther from him roughly, almost violently, and looking up at his face shesaw it darkened by a blacker shadow than she had ever seen upon itbefore. Anger, terror, pain, remorse, she knew not what, but anexpression so horrible that she shrunk from him with a sense of alarm, and went back to her chair, bewildered and trembling. 

"You frightened me, Mr. Sheldon, " she said faintly. 

"Not more than you frightened me, " answered the stockbroker, walking tothe window and taking his stand there, with his face hidden fromCharlotte. "I did not know there was so much feeling in me. For God'ssake, let us have no sentiment!"

"Were you angry with me just now?" asked the girl, falteringly, utterlyat a loss to comprehend the change in her stepfather's manner. 

"No, I was not angry. I am not accustomed to these strong emotions, "replied Mr. Sheldon, huskily; "I cannot stand them. Pray let us avoidall sentimental discussion. I am anxious to do my duty in astraightforward, business-like way. I don't want gratitude--or fuss. The five thousand pounds are yours, and I am pleased to find youconsider the amount sufficient. And now I have only one small favour toask of you in return. "

"I should be very ungrateful if I refused to do anything you may ask, "said Charlotte, who could not help feeling a little chilled anddisappointed by Mr. Sheldon's stony rejection of her gratitude. 

"The matter is very simple. You are young, and have, in the usualcourse of things, a long life before you. But--you know there is alwaysa 'but' in these cases--a railway accident--a little carelessness inpassing your drawing-room fire some evening when you are dressed inflimsy gauze or muslin--a fever--a cold--any one of the many dangersthat lie in wait for all of us, and our best calculations arefalsified. If you were to marry and die childless, that money would goto your husband, and neither your mother nor I would ever touch asixpence of it, Now as the money, practically, belongs to your mother, I consider that this contingency should be provided against--in herinterests as well as in mine. In plain words, I want you to make a willleaving that money to me. "

"I am quite ready to do so, " replied Charlotte. 

"Very good, my dear. I felt assured that you would take a sensible viewof the matter. If you marry your dear Mr. Hawkehurst, have a familyby-and-by, we will throw the old will into the fire and make a new one;but in the mean time it's just as well to be on the safe side. Youshall go into the City with me to-morrow morning, and shall execute thewill at my office. It will be the simplest document possible--as simpleas the will made by old Serjeant Crane, in which he disposed of half amillion of money in half a dozen lines--at the rate of five thousandpounds per word. After we've settled that little matter, we can arrangethe transfer of the shares. The whole affair won't occupy an hour. " "Iwill do whatever you wish, " said Charlotte, meekly. She was not at allelated by the idea of coming suddenly into possession of five thousandpounds; but she was very much impressed by the new view of Mr. Sheldon's character afforded her by his conduct of to-day. And then herthoughts, constant to one point as the needle to the pole, reverted toher lover, and she began to think of the effect her fortune might haveupon his prospects. He might go to the bar, he might work and study inpleasant Temple chambers, with wide area windows overlooking the river, and read law-books in the evening at the Wimbledon cottage for a fewdelightful years, at the end of which he would of course become LordChancellor. That he should devote such intellect and consecrate suchgenius as his to the service of his country's law-courts, and _not_ultimately seat himself on the Woolsack, was a contingency not to beimagined by Miss Halliday. Ah, what would not five thousand pounds buyfor him! The cottage expanded into a mansion, the little case of booksdeveloped into a library second only to that of the Duc d'Aumale, anoble steed waited at the glass door of the vestibule to convey Mr. Hawkehurst to the Temple, before the minute-hand of Mr. Sheldon's sternskeleton clock had passed from one figure to another: so great an adeptwas this young lady in the art of castle-building. 

"Am I to tell mamma about this conversation?" asked Charlotte, presently. 

"Well, no, I think not, " replied Mr. Sheldon, thoughtfully. "Thesefamily arrangements cannot be kept too quiet. Your mamma is a talkingperson, you know, Charlotte; and as we don't want every one in thispart of Bayswater to know the precise amount of your fortune, we may aswell let matters rest as they are. Of course you would not wish Mr. Hawkehurst to be enlightened?"

"Why not, papa?"

"For several reasons. First and foremost, it must be pleasant to you tobe sure that he is thoroughly disinterested I have told him that youwill get something as a gift from me; but he may have implied that thesomething would be little more than a couple of hundreds to furnish ahouse. Secondly, it must be remembered, that he has been brought up ina bad school, and the best way to make him self-reliant and industriousis to let him think he has nothing but his own industry to depend upon. I have set him a task. When he has accomplished that, he shall have youand your five thousand pounds to boot. Till then I should stronglyadvise you to keep this business a secret. 

"Yes, " answered Charlotte, meditatively; "I think you are right. Itwould have been very nice to tell him of your kindness; but I want tobe quite sure that he loves me for myself alone--from first to last--without one thought of money. "

"That is wise, " said Mr. Sheldon, decisively; and thus ended theinterview. 

Charlotte accompanied her stepfather to the city early next morning, and filled in the blanks in a lithographed form, prepared for theconvenience of such testators as, being about to dispose of theirproperty, do not care to employ the services of a legal adviser. 

The will seemed to Charlotte the simplest possible affair. Shebequeathed all her property, real and personal, to Philip Sheldon, without reserve. But as her entire fortune consisted of the fivethousand pounds just given her by that gentleman, and as her personalproperty was comprised in a few pretty dresses and trinkets, and desksand workboxes, she could not very well object to such an arrangement. 

"Of course, mamma would have all my books and caskets, and boxes andthings, " she said thoughtfully; "and I should like Diana Paget to havesome of my jewellery, please, Mr. Sheldon. Mamma has plenty, you know. "

"There is no occasion, to talk of that, Charlotte, " replied thestockbroker. "This will is only a matter of form. "

Mr. Sheldon omitted to inform his stepdaughter that the instrument justexecuted would, upon her wedding-day, become so much waste paper, anomission that was not in harmony with the practical and careful habitsof that gentleman. 

"Yes, I know that it is only a form, " replied Charlotte; "but, aftermaking a will, one feels as if one was going to die. At least I do. Itseems a kind of preparation for death. I don't wonder people ratherdislike doing it. 

"It is only foolish people who dislike doing it, " said Mr. Sheldon, whowas in his most practical mood to-day. "And now we will go and arrangea more agreeable business--the transfer of the shares. "

After this, there was a little commercial juggling, in the form ofsigning and countersigning, which, was quite beyond Charlotte'scomprehension: which operation being completed, she was told that shewas owner of five thousand pounds in Unitas Bank shares, and that thedividends accruing from time to time on those shares would be hers todispose of as she pleased. 

"The income arising from your capital will be more than you can spendso long as you remain under my roof, " said Mr. Sheldon. "I shouldtherefore strongly recommend you to invest your dividends as theyarise, and thus increase your capital. "

"You are so kind and thoughtful, " murmured Charlotte; "I shall alwaysbe pleased to take your advice. " She was strongly impressed by thekindness of the man her thoughts had wronged. 

"How difficult it is to understand these reserved, matter-of-factpeople!" she said to herself. Because my stepfather does not talksentiment, I have fancied him hard and worldly; and yet he has provedhimself as capable of doing a noble action as if he were the mostpoetical of mankind. 

Mrs. Sheldon had been told that Charlotte was going into the City tochoose a new watch, wherewith to replace the ill-used little Geneva toythat had been her delight as a schoolgirl; and as Charlotte broughthome a neat little English-made chronometer from a renowned emporium onLudgate-hill, the simple matron accepted this explanation in all goodfaith. 

"I'm sure, Lotta, you must confess your stepfather is kindness itselfin most matters, " said Georgy, after an admiring examination of the newwatch. "When I think how kindly he has taken this business about Mr. Hawkehurst, and how disinterested he has proved himself in his ideasabout your marriage, I really am inclined to think him the best ofmen. "

Georgy said this with an air of triumph. She could not forget thatthere were people in Barlingford who had said hard things about PhilipSheldon, and had prophesied unutterable miseries for herself and herdaughter as the bitter consequence of the imprudence she had beenguilty of in her second marriage. 

"He has indeed been very good, mamma, " Charlotte replied gravely, "and, believe me, I am truly grateful. He does not like fuss or sentiment;but I hope he knows that I appreciate his kindness. "

CHAPTER VI. 

RIDING THE HIGH HORSE. 

Never, in his brightest dreams, had Valentine Hawkehurst imagined thestream of life so fair and sunny a river as it seemed to him now. Fortune had treated him so scurvily for seven-and-twenty years of hislife, only to relent of a sudden and fling all her choicest gifts intohis lap. 

"I must be the prince in the fairy tale who begins life as a revoltinganimal of the rhinoceros family, and ends by marrying the prettiestprincess in Elfindom, " he said to himself gaily, is he paced the broadwalks of Kensington-gardens, where the bare trees swung their big blackbranches in the wintry blast, and the rooks cawed their loudest atclose of the brief day. 

What, indeed, could this young adventurer demand from benignant Fortuneabove and beyond the blessings she had given, him? The favoured suitorof the fairest and brightest woman he had ever looked upon, received byher kindred, admitted to her presence, and only bidden to serve a dueapprenticeship before he claimed her as his own for ever. What morecould he wish? what further boon could he implore from the Fates?

Yes, there was one thing more--one thing for which Mr. Hawkehurstpined, while most thankful for his many blessings. He wanted a decentexcuse for separating himself most completely from Horatio Paget. Hewanted to shake himself free from all the associations of his previousexistence. He wanted to pass through the waters of Jordan, and toemerge purified, regenerate, leaving his garments on the furthermostside of the river; and, with all other things appertaining to the past, he would fain have rid himself of Captain Paget. 

"'Be sure your sin will find you out, '" mused the young man; "andhaving found you, be sure that it will stick to you like a leech, ifyour sin takes the shape of an unprincipled acquaintance, as it does inmy case. I may try my hardest to cut the past, but will Horatio Pagetlet me alone in the future? I doubt it. The bent of that man's geniusshows itself in his faculty for living upon other people. He knows thatI am beginning to earn money regularly, and has begun to borrow of mealready. When I can earn more, he will want to borrow more; andalthough it is very sweet to work for Charlotte Halliday, it would notbe by any means agreeable to slave for my friend Paget. Shall I offerhim a pound a week, and ask him to retire into the depths of Wales orCornwall, amend his ways, and live the life of a repentant hermit? Ithink I could bring myself to sacrifice the weekly sovereign, if therewere any hope that Horatio Paget could cease to be--Horatio Paget, onthis side the grave. No, I have the misfortune to be intimatelyacquainted with the gentleman. When he is in the swim, as he calls it, and is earning money on his own account, he will give himself cosylittle dinners and four-and-sixpenny primrose gloves; and when he isdown on his luck, he will come whining to me. "

This was by no means a pleasant idea to Mr. Hawkehurst. In the old dayshe had been distinguished by all the Bohemian's recklessness, and evenmore than the Bohemian's generosity in his dealings with friend orcompanion. But now all was changed. He was no longer reckless. Acertain result was demanded from him as the price of CharlotteHalliday's hand, and he set himself to accomplish his allotted taskwith all due forethought and earnestness of purpose. He had need evento exercise restraint over himself, lest, in his eagerness, he shoulddo too much, and so lay himself prostrate from the ill effects ofoverwork; so anxious was he to push on upon the road whose goal was sofair a temple, so light seemed that labour of love which was performedfor the sake of Charlotte. 

He communed with himself very often on the subject of that troublesomequestion about Captain Paget. How was he to sever his frail skiff fromthat rakish privateer? What excuse could he find for renouncing hisshare in the Omega-street lodgings, and setting up a new homeelsewhere?

"Policy might prompt me to keep my worthy friend under my eye, " he saidto himself, "in order that I may be sure there is no underhand workgoing on between him and Philip Sheldon. But I can scarcely believethat Philip Sheldon has any inkling about the Haygarthian fortune. Ifhe had, he would surely not receive me as Charlotte's suitor. Whatpossible motive could he have for doing so?"

This was a question which Mr. Hawkehurst had frequently put to himself;for his confidence in Mr. Sheldon was not of that kind which asks noquestions. Even while most anxious to believe in that gentleman'shonesty of purpose, he was troubled by occasional twinges of unbelief. 

During the period which had elapsed since his return from Yorkshire, hehad been able to discover nothing of any sinister import from theproceedings of Captain Paget. That gentleman appeared to be stillengaged upon the promoting business, although by no means so profitablyas heretofore. He went into the City every day, and came home in theevening toilworn and out of spirits. He talked freely of hisoccupation--how he had done much or done nothing, during the day; andValentine was at a loss to perceive any further ground for thesuspicion that had arisen in his mind after the meeting at the Ullertonstation, and the shuffling of the sanctimonious Goodge with regard toMrs. Rebecca Haygarth's letters. 

Mr. Hawkehurst therefore determined upon boldly cutting the knot thattied him to the familiar companion of his wanderings. 

"I am tired of watching and suspecting, " he said to himself. "If mydear love has a right to this fortune, it will surely come to her; orif it should never come, we can live very happily without it. Indeed, for my own part, I am inclined to believe that I should be prouder andhappier as the husband of a dowerless wife, than as prince-consort tothe heiress of the Haygarths. We have built up such a dear, cheery, unpretentious home for ourselves in our talk of the future, that Idoubt if we should care to change it for the stateliest mansion inKensington Palace-gardens or Belgrave-square. My darling could not bemy housekeeper, and make lemon cheese-cakes in her own pretty littlekitchen, if we lived in Belgrave-square; and how could she stand at oneof those great Birmingham ironwork gates in the Palace-gardens to watchme ride away to my work?"

To a man as deeply in love as Mr. Hawkehurst, the sordid dross whichother people prize so highly is apt to become daily more indifferent; akind of colour-blindness comes over the vision of the true lover, andthe glittering yellow ore seems only so much vulgar earth, too mean athing to be regarded by any but the mean of soul. Thus it was that Mr. Hawkehurst relaxed his suspicion of Captain Paget, and neglected hispatron and ally of Gray's Inn, much to the annoyance of that gentleman, who tormented the young man with little notes demanding interviews. 

These interviews had of late been far from agreeable to either of theallies. George Sheldon urged the necessity of an immediate marriage;Valentine declined to act in an underhand manner, after thestockbroker's unexpected generosity. 

"Generosity!" echoed George Sheldon, when Valentine had given him thispoint-blank refusal at the close of a stormy argument. "Generosity! Mybrother Phil's generosity! Egad, that is about the best thing I'veheard for the last ten years. If I pleased, Mr. Valentine Hawkehurst, Icould tell you something about my brother which would enable you toestimate his generosity at its true value. But I don't please; and ifyou choose to run counter to me and my interests, you must pay theprice of your folly. You may think yourself uncommonly lucky if theprice isn't a stiff one. "

"I am prepared to abide by my decision, " answered Valentine. "MissHalliday without a shilling is so dear to me, that I don't care tocommit a dishonourable action in order to secure my share of thefortune she may claim. I turned over a new leaf on the day when I firstknew myself possessed of her affection. I don't want to go back to theold leaves. "

George Sheldon gave himself an impatient shrug. "I have heard of agreat many fools, " he said, "but I never heard of a fool who would playfast-and-loose with a hundred thousand pounds, and until to-day Icouldn't have believed there was such an animal. "

Mr. Hawkehurst did not deign to notice this remark. 

"Do be reasonable, Sheldon, " he said. "You ask me to do what my senseof right will not permit me to do, and you ask me that which I fullybelieve to be impossible. I cannot for a moment imagine that anypersuasion of mine would induce Charlotte to consent to a secretmarriage, after your brother's fair and liberal conduct. "

"Of course not, " cried George, with savage impatience; "that's mybrother Phil all over. He is so honourable, so plain andstraightforward in all his dealings, that he would get the best ofLucifer himself in a bargain. I tell you, Hawkehurst, you don't knowhow deep he is--as deep as the bottomless pit, by Jove! His verygenerosity makes me all the more afraid of him. I don't understand hisgame. If he consented to your marriage in order to get rid ofCharlotte, he would let you marry her off-hand; but instead of doingthat, he makes conditions which must delay your marriage for years. There is the point that bothers me. "

"You had better pursue your own course, without reference to me or mymarriage with Miss Halliday, " said Valentine. 

"That is exactly what I must do. I can't leave the Haygarth estate tothe mercy of Tom, Dick, and Harry, while you try to earn thirty poundsa month by scribbling for the magazines. I must make my bargain withPhilip instead of with you, and I can tell you that you'll be the loserby the transaction. "

"I don't quite see that. "

"Perhaps not. You see, you don't quite understand my brother Phil. Ifthis money gets into his hands, be sure some of it will stick to them. "

"Why should the money get into his hand?"

"Because, so long as Charlotte Halliday is under his roof, she is, to acertain extent, under his authority. And then, I tell you again, thereis no calculating the depth of that man. He has thrown dust in youreyes already. He will make that poor girl believe him the mostdisinterested of mankind. "

"You can warn her. "

"Yes; as I have warned you. To what purpose? You are inclined tobelieve in Phil rather than to believe in me, and you will be soinclined to the end of the chapter. You remember that man Palmer, atRugely, who used to go to church, and take the sacrament?"

"Yes; of course I remember that case. What of him?"

"Why, people believed in him, you know, and thought him a jolly goodfellow, up to the time when they discovered that he had poisoned a fewof his friends in a quiet gentlemanly way. "

Mr. Hawkehurst smiled at the irrelevance of this remark. He could notperceive the connection of ideas between Palmer the Rugely poisoner, and Philip Sheldon the stockbroker. 

"That was an extreme case, " he said. 

"Yes; of course that was an extreme case, " answered George, carelessly. "Only it goes far to prove that a man may be gifted with a remarkablegenius for throwing dust in the eyes of his fellow-creatures. "

There was no further disputation between the lawyer and Valentine. George Sheldon began to understand that a secret marriage was not to beaccomplished in the present position of affairs. 

"I am half inclined to suspect that Phil knows something about thatmoney, " he said presently, "and is playing some artful game of hisown. "

"In that case your better policy would be to take the initiative, "answered Valentine. 

"I have no other course. "

"And will Charlotte know--will she know that I have been concerned inthis business?" asked Valentine, growing very pale all of sudden. Hewas thinking how mean he must appear in Miss Halliday's eyes, if shecame to understand that he had known her to be John Haygarth's heiressat the time he won from her the sweet confession of her love. "Will sheever believe how pure and true my love has been, if she comes to knowthis?" he asked himself despairingly, while George Sheldon deliberatedin silence for a few moments. 

"She need know nothing until the business comes to a head, " repliedGeorge at last. "You see, there may be no resistance on the part of theCrown lawyers; and, in that case, Miss Halliday will get her rightsafter a moderate amount of delay. But if they choose to dispute herclaim, it will be quite another thing--Halliday _versus_ the Queen, andso on--with no end of swell Q. O. 's against us. In the latter caseyou'll have to put all your adventures at Ullerton and Huxter's Crossinto an affidavit, and Miss H. Must know everything. "

"Yes; and then she will think--ah, no; I do not believe she canmisunderstand me, come what may. "

"All doubt and difficulty might be avoided if you would manage amarriage on the quiet off-hand, " said George. "I tell you again that Icannot do that; and that, even if it were possible, I would not attemptit. "

"So be it. You elect to ride the high horse; take care that magnificentanimal doesn't give you an ugly tumble. "

"I can take my chance. "

"And I must take my chance against that brother of mine. The winningcards are all in my own hand this time, and it will be uncommonly hardif he gets the best of me. "

On this the two gentlemen parted. Valentine went to look at abachelor's lodging in the neighbourhood of the Edgeware-road, which hehad seen advertised in that morning's Times; and George Sheldon startedfor Bayswater, where he was always sure of a dinner and a liberalallowance of good wine from the hospitality of his prosperous kinsman. 

CHAPTER VII. 

MR. SHELDON IS PRUDENT. 

Valentine found the apartments near the Edgeware-road in every mannereligible. The situation was midway between his reading-room in GreatRussell-street and the abode of his delight--a half-way house on theroad between business and pleasure. The terms were very moderate, therooms airy and pleasant; so he engaged them forthwith, his tenancy tocommence at the end of the following week; and having settled thismatter, he went back to Omega-street, bent on dissolving partnershipwith the Captain in a civil but decided manner. 

A surprise, and a very agreeable one, awaited him at Chelsea. He foundthe sitting-room strewn with Captain Paget's personal property, and theCaptain on his knees before a portmanteau, packing. 

"You're just in time to give me a hand, Val, " he said in his mostagreeable manner. "I begin to find out my age when I put my poor oldbones into abnormal attitudes. I daresay packing a trunk or two will beonly child's-play to you. "

"I'll pack half a dozen trunks if you like, " replied Valentine. "Butwhat is the meaning of this sudden move? I did not know you were goingto leave town. "

"Neither did I when you and I breakfasted together. I got an unexpectedoffer of a very decent position abroad this morning; a kind of agency, that will be much better than the hand-to-mouth business I've beendoing lately. "

"What kind of agency, and where?"

"Well, so far as I can make out at present, it is something in thesteam navigation way. My head-quarters will be at Rouen. " "Rouen! Well, it's a pleasant lively old city enough, and as mediaeval as one of SirWalter's novels, provided they haven't Haussmanised it by this time. Iam very glad to hear you have secured a comfortable berth. "

"And I am not sorry to leave England, Yal, " answered the Captain, inrather a mournful tone. 

"Why not?"

"Because I think it's time you and I parted company. Our associationbegins to be rather disadvantageous to you, Val. We've had our ups anddowns together, and we've got on very pleasantly, take it for all inall. But now that you're settling down as a literary man, engaged tothat young woman, hand-in-glove with Philip Sheldon, and so on, I thinkit's time for me to take myself off. I'm not wanted; and sooner orlater I should begin to feel myself in the way. "

The Captain grew quite pathetic as he said this; and little pangs ofremorse shot through Valentine's heart as he remembered how eager hehad been to rid himself of this Old Man of the Mountain. And here wasthe poor old creature offering to take himself out of the way of hisown accord. 

Influenced by this touch of remorse, Mr. Hawkehurst held out his hand, and grasped that of his comrade and patron. 

"I hope you may do well, in some--comfortable kind of business, " hesaid heartily. That adjective "comfortable" was a hasty substitute forthe adjective "honest, " which had been almost on his lips as he utteredhis friendly wish. He was too well disposed to all the world not tofeel profound pity for this white-headed old man, who for so many yearshad eaten the bread of rogues and scoundrels. 

"Come, " he cried cheerily, "I'll take all the packing off your hands, Captain; and we'll eat our last dinner and drink our last bottle ofsparkling together at my expense, at any place you please to name. "

"Say Blanchard's, " replied Horatio Paget. "I like a corner-window, looking out upon the glare and bustle of Regent-street. It reminds onejust a little of the Maison Dorée and the boulevard. We'll drinkCharlotte Halliday's health, Val, in bumpers. She's a charming youngperson, and I only wish she were an heiress, for your sake. "

The eyes of the two men met as the Captain said this; and there was atwinkle in the cold gray orbs of that gentleman which had a veryunpleasant effect upon Valentine. 

"What treachery is he engaged in now?" he asked himself. "I know thatlook in my Horatio's eyes; and I know it always means mischief. "

George Sheldon made his appearance at the Lawn five minutes after hisbrother came home from the City. He entered the domestic circle in hisusual free-and-easy manner, knowing himself to be endured, rather thanliked, by the two ladies, and to be only tolerated as a necessary evilby the master of the house. 

"I've dropped in to eat a chop with you, Phil, " he said, "in order toget an hour's comfortable talk after dinner. There's no saying half adozen consecutive words to you in the City, where your clerks seem tospend their lives in bouncing in upon you when you don't want them. "

There was very little talk during dinner. Charlotte and her stepfatherwere thoughtful. Diana was chiefly employed in listening to the _sottovoce_ inanities of Mrs. Sheldon, for whom the girl showed herselfadmirably patient. Her forbearance and gentleness towards Georgyconstituted a kind of penitential sacrifice, by which she hoped toatone for the dark thoughts and bitter feelings that possessed her mindduring those miserable hours in which she was obliged to witness thehappiness of Charlotte and her lover. 

George Sheldon devoted himself chiefly to his dinner and a certain drysherry, which he particularly affected. He was a man who would havedined and enjoyed himself at the table of Judas Iscariot, knowing thebanquet to be provided out of the thirty pieces of silver. 

"That's as good a pheasant as I ever ate, Phil, " he said, after windingup with the second leg of the bird in question. "No, Georgy; nomacaroni, thanks. I don't care about kickshaws after a good dinner. HasHawkehurst dined with you lately, by the way, Phil?"

Charlotte blushed red as the holly-berries that decorated thechandelier. It was Christmas-eve, and her own fair hands had helped tobedeck the rooms with festal garlands of evergreen and holly. 

"He dines with us to-morrow, " replied the stockbroker. "You'll come, Isuppose, as usual, George?"

"Well, I shall be very glad, if I'm not in the way. "

Mrs. Sheldon murmured some conventional protestation of the unfailingdelight afforded to her by George's society. 

"Of course we're always glad to see you, " said Philip in his mostgenial manner; "and now, if you've anything to say to me aboutbusiness, the sooner you begin the better. --You and the girls needn'tstay for dessert, Georgy. Almonds and raisins can't be much of anovelty to you; and as none of you take any wine, there's not much tostop for. George and I will come in to tea. "

The ladies departed, by no means sorry to return to their Berlin-wooland piano. Diana took up her work with that saintly patience with whichshe performed all the duties of her position; and Charlotte seatedherself before the piano, and began to play little bits of waltzes, andodds and ends of polkas, in a dreamy mood, and with a slurring over ofdominant bass notes, which would have been torture to a musician's ear. 

She was wondering whether Valentine would call that evening, Christmas-eve--a sort of occasion for congratulation of some kind fromher lover, she fancied. It was the first Christmas-eve on which she hadbeen "engaged. " She looked back to the same period last year, andremembered herself sitting in that very room strumming on that verypiano, and unconscious that there was such a creature as ValentineHawkehurst upon this earth. And, strange to say, even in that benightedstate, she had been tolerably happy. 

"Now, George, " said Mr. Sheldon, when the brothers had filled theirglasses and planted their chairs on the opposite sides of thehearth-rug, "what's the nature of this business that you want to talkabout?"

"Well, it is a business of considerable importance, in which you areonly indirectly concerned. The actual principal in the affair is yourstepdaughter, Miss Halliday. "

"Indeed!"

"Yes. You know how you have always ridiculed my fancy for hunting upheirs-at-law and all that kind of thing, and you know how I have heldon, hoping against hope, starting on a new scent when the old scentfailed, and so on. "

"And you have got a chance at last, eh?"

"I believe that I have, and a tolerably good one; and I think you willown that it is rather extraordinary that my first lucky hit shouldbring luck your way. "

"That is to say, to my stepdaughter?" remarked Mr. Sheldon, without anyappearance of astonishment. 

"Precisely, " said George, somewhat disconcerted by his brother'scoolness. "I have lately discovered that Miss Halliday is entitled to acertain sum of money, and I pledge myself to put her in possession ofthat money--on one condition. "

"And that is--"

"That she executes a deed promising to give me half of the amount shemay recover by my agency. "

"Suppose she can recover it without your agency?"

"That I defy her to do. She does not even know that she has any claimto the amount in question. "

"Don't be too sure of that. Or even supposing she knows nothing, do youthink her friends are as ignorant as she is? Do you think me such avery bad man of business as to remain all this time unaware of the factthat my stepdaughter, Charlotte Halliday, is next of kin to the Rev. John Haygarth, who died intestate, at Tilford Haven, in Kent, about ayear ago?"

This was a cannon-shot that almost knocked George Sheldon off hischair; but after that first movement of surprise, he gave a sigh, oralmost a groan, expressive of resignation. 

"Egad, Phil Sheldon, " he said, "I ought not to be astonished at this. Knowing you as well as I do, I must have been a confounded fool not toexpect some kind of underhand work from you. "

"What do you mean by underhand work?" exclaimed Mr. Sheldon. "The samenewspapers that were open to you were open to me, and I had betteropportunities for tracking my stepdaughter's direct descent from JohnHaygarth's father. "

"How did you discover Miss Halliday's descent from Matthew Haygarth?"asked George, very meekly. He was quite crestfallen. He began to feelthat his brother would have the upper hand of him in this business asin all other business of this world. 

"That is my secret, " replied Mr. Sheldon, with agreeable tranquillityof manner. "You have kept your secrets, and I shall keep mine. Yourpolicy has been the policy of distrust. Mine shall be the same. Whenyou were starting this affair, I offered to go into it with you--toadvance whatever money you needed, in a friendly manner. You declinedmy offer, and chose to go in for the business on your own hook. Youhave made a very good thing for yourself, no doubt; but you are notquite clever enough to keep me altogether in the dark in a matter whichconcerns a member of my own family. "

"Yes, " said George, with a sigh, "that's where you hold the winningcards. Miss Halliday is your ace of trumps. "

"Depend upon it, I shall know how to hold my strength in reserve, andwhen to play my leading trump. "

"And how to collar my king, " muttered George between his set teeth. 

"Come, " exclaimed Philip presently, "we may as well discuss this matterin a friendly spirit. What do you mean to propose?"

"I have only one proposition to make, " answered the lawyer, withdecision. "I hold every link of the chain of evidence, without whichMiss Halliday might as well be a native of the Fiji islands for anyclaim she can assert to John Haygarth's estate. I am prepared to carrythis matter through; but I will only do it on the condition that Ireceive half the fortune recovered from the Crown by Miss Halliday. "

"A very moderate demand, upon my word!"

"I daresay I shall be able to make my bargain with Miss Halliday. ""Very likely, " replied Mr. Sheldon; "and I shall be able to get thatbargain set aside as illegal. "

"I doubt that. I have a deed of agreement drawn up here which wouldhold water in any court of equity. "

And hereupon Mr. Sheldon the younger produced and read aloud one ofthose dry as dust documents by which the legal business of life iscarried on. It was a deed to be executed by Charlotte Halliday, spinster, of Bayswater, on the one part, and George Sheldon, solicitor, of Gray's Inn, on the other part; and it gave to the said GeorgeSheldon, as securely as any deed can give anything, one half of anyproperty, not now in her possession or control, which the saidCharlotte Halliday might obtain by the agency of the above-mentionedGeorge Sheldon. 

"And pray, who is to find the costs for this business?" asked thestockbroker. "I don't feel by any means disposed to stake my money onsuch a hazardous game. Who knows what other descendants of MatthewHaygarth may be playing at hide-and-seek in the remotest corners of theearth, ready to spring out upon us when we've wasted a small fortuneupon law-proceedings. "

"I shan't ask you to risk your money, " replied George, with sullendignity. "I have friends who will back me when they see that agreementexecuted. "

"Very well, then, all you have to do is to alter your half share toone-fifth, and I will undertake that Miss Halliday shall sign theagreement before the week is out. "

"One-fifth?"

"Yes, my dear George. Twenty thousand pounds will pay you veryhandsomely for your trouble. I cannot consent to Miss Halliday cedingmore than a fifth. "

"A fig for your consent! The girl is of age, and can act upon her ownhook. I shall go to Miss Halliday herself, " exclaimed the indignantlawyer. 

"O no, you won't. You must know the danger of running counter to me inthis business. That agreement is all very well; but there is no kind ofdocument more easy to upset if one only goes about it in the right way. Play your own game, and I will upset that agreement, as surely as Iturn this wine-glass bowl downwards. "

Mr. Sheldon's action and Mr. Sheldon's look expressed a determinationwhich George knew how to estimate by the light of past experience. 

"It is a hard thing to find you against me, after the manner in which Ihave toiled and slaved for your stepdaughter's interests. "

"I am bound to hold my stepdaughter's interests paramount over everyconsideration. " "Yes, paramount over brotherly feeling and all thatsort of thing. I say that it is more than hard that you should beagainst me, considering the special circumstances and the manner inwhich I have kept my own counsel----"

"You will take a fifth share, or nothing, George, " said Mr. Sheldon, with a threatening contraction of his black brows. 

"If I have any difficulty in arranging matters with you, I will go intothis affair myself, and carry it through without your help. "

"That I defy you to do. "

"You had better not defy me. "

"Pray how much do you expect to get out of Miss Halliday's fortune?"demanded the aggravated George. 

"That is my business, " answered Philip. "And now we had better go intothe drawing-room for our tea. O, by the bye, George, " he added, carelessly, "as Miss Halliday is quite a child in all business matters, she had better be treated like a child. I shall tell her that she has aclaim to a certain sum of money; but I shall not tell her what sum. Herdisappointment will be less in the event of a failure, if herexpectations are not large. "

"You are always so considerate, my dear Phil, " said George, with amalignant grin. "May I ask how it is you have taken it into your headto play the benevolent father in the matter of Valentine Hawkehurst andMiss Halliday ?"

"What can it signify to me whom my stepdaughter marries?" asked Philip, coolly. "Of course I wish her well; but I will not have theresponsibility of controlling her choice. If this young man suits her, let her marry him. "

"Especially when he happens to suit _you_ so remarkably well. I think Ican understand your tactics, Phil. "

"You must understand or misunderstand me, just as you please. And nowcome to tea. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

CHRISTMAS PEACE. 

Valentine Hawkehurst did not make his appearance at the Lawn onChristmas-eve. He devoted that evening to the service of his old ally. He performed all friendly offices for the departing Captain, dined withhim very pleasantly in Regent-street, and accompanied him to theLondon-bridge terminus, where he beheld the voyager comfortably seatedin a second-class carriage of the night-train for Newhaven. 

Mr. Hawkehurst had seen the Captain take a through ticket for Rouen, and he saw the train leave the terminus. This he held to be oculardemonstration of the fact that Captain Paget was really going to theGallic Manchester. 

"That sort of customer is so uncommonly slippery, " the young man saidto himself as he left the station; "nothing but the evidence of my owneyes would have convinced me of my friend's departure. How pure andfresh the London atmosphere seems now that the perfume of Horatio Pagetis out of it! I wonder what he is going to do at Rouen? Very littlegood, I daresay. But why should I wonder about him, or trouble myselfabout him? He is gone, and I have set myself free from the trammels ofthe past. "

 * * * * *

The next day was Christmas-day. Mr. Hawkehurst recited scraps ofMilton's glorious hymn as he made his morning toilet. He was veryhappy. It was the first Christmas morning on which he had ever awakenedwith this sense of supreme happiness, or with the consciousness thatthe day was brighter, or grander, or more holy than other days. Itseemed to him to-day, more than ever, that he was indeed a regeneratecreature, purified by the influence of a good woman's love. 

He looked back at his past existence, and the vision of manyChristmas-days arose before him: a Christmas in Paris, amidstunutterable rain and mud; a Christmas-night spent in roaming theBoulevards, and in the consumption of cognac and tobacco at athird-rate café; a Christmas in Germany; more than one Christmas inthe Queen's Bench; one especially dreary Christmas in a long bare wardat Whitecross-street, --how many varied scenes and changing faces arosebefore his mental vision associated with that festive time! And yetamong them all there was not one on which there shone the faintestglimmer of that holy light which makes the common holiday a sacredseason. 

It was a pleasant thing to breakfast without the society of thebrilliant Horatio, whose brilliancy was apt to appear somewhat ghastlyat that early period of the morning. It was pleasant to loiter over themeal, now meditating on the happy future, now dipping into a tatteredcopy of Southey's "Doctor;" with the consciousness that the winds andwaves had by this time wafted Captain Paget to a foreign land. 

Valentine was to spend the whole of Christmas-day with Charlotte andher kindred. He was to accompany them to a fashionable church in themorning, to walk with them after church, to dine and tell ghost-storiesin the evening. It was to be his first day as a recognised member ofthat pleasant family at Bayswater; and in the fulness of his heart hefelt affectionately disposed to all his adopted relations; even to Mr. Sheldon, whose very noble conduct had impressed him strongly, in spiteof the bitter sneers and covert slanders of George. Charlotte had toldher lover that her stepfather was a very generous and disinterestedperson, and that there was a secret which she would have been glad totell him, had she not been pledged to hold it inviolate, that wouldhave gone far to place Mr. Sheldon in a very exalted light before theeyes of his future son-in-law. 

And then Miss Halliday had nodded and smiled, and had informed herlover, with a joyous little laugh, that he should have a horse to ride, and an edition of Grote's "Greece" bound in dark-brown calf withbevelled edges, when they were married; this work being one which theyoung author had of late languished to possess. 

"Dear foolish Lotta, I fear there will be a new history of Greece, based on new theories, before that time comes, " said the lover. 

"O no, indeed; that time will come very soon. See how industriously youwork, and how well you succeed. The magazine people will soon give youthirty pounds a month. Or who knows that you may not write some bookthat will make you suddenly famous, like Byron, or the good-natured fatlittle printer who wrote those long, long, long novels that no onereads nowadays?"

Influenced by Charlotte's hints about her stepfather, Mr. Hawkehurst'sfriendly feeling for that gentleman grew stronger, and the sneers andinnuendoes of the lawyer ceased to have the smallest power over him. 

"The man is such a thorough-going schemer himself, that he cannot bringhimself to believe in another man's honesty, " thought Mr. Hawkehurst, while meditating upon his experience of the two brothers. "So far as Ihave had any dealings with Philip Sheldon, I have found himstraightforward enough. I can imagine no hidden motive for his conductin relation to Charlotte. The test of his honesty will be the manner inwhich he is acted upon by Charlotte's position as claimant of a greatfortune. Will he throw me overboard, I wonder? or will my dear onebelieve me an adventurer and fortune-hunter? Ah, no, no, no; I do notthink in all the complications of life there could come about a stateof events which would cause my Charlotte to doubt me. There is noclairvoyance so unerring as true love. "

Mr. Hawkehurst had need of such philosophy as this to sustain him inthe present crisis of his life. He was blest with a pure delight whichexcelled his wildest dreams of happiness; but he was not blest with anysense of security as to the endurance of that exalted state of bliss. 

Mr. Sheldon would learn Charlotte's position, would doubtless extortfrom his brother the history of those researches in which Valentine hadbeen engaged; and then, what then? Alas! hereupon arose incalculabledangers and perplexities. 

Might not the stockbroker, as a man of the world, take a sordid view ofthe whole transaction, and consider Valentine in the light of ashameless adventurer, who had traded on his secret knowledge in thehope of securing a rich wife? Might he not reveal all to Charlotte, andattempt to place her lover before her in this most odious aspect? Shewould not believe him base; her faith would be unshaken, her loveunchanged; but it was odious, it was horrible, to think that her earsshould be sullied, her tender heart fluttered, by the mere suggestionof such baseness. 

It was during the Christmas-morning sermon that Mr. Hawkehurstpermitted his mind to be disturbed by these reflections. He was sittingnext his betrothed, and had the pleasure of contemplating her fairgirlish face, with the rosy lips half parted in reverent attention asshe looked upward to her pastor. After church there was the walk hometo the Lawn: and during this rapturous promenade Valentine put awayfrom him all shadow of doubt and fear, in order to bask in the fullsunshine of his Charlotte's presence. Her pretty gloved hand restedconfidingly on his arm, and the supreme privilege of carrying a daintyblue-silk umbrella and an ivory-bound church-service was awarded him. With what pride he accepted the duty of convoying his promised wifeover the muddy crossings! Those brief journeys seemed to him in amanner typical of their future lives. She was to travel dry-shod overthe miry ways of this world, supported by his strong arm. How fondly hesurveyed her toilet! and what a sudden interest he felt in thefashions, that had until lately seemed so vulgar and frivolous!

"I will never denounce the absurdity of those little bonnets again, Lotta, " he cried; "that conglomeration of black velvet andmaiden's-hair fern is divine. Do you know that in some places they callthat fern Maria's hair, and hold it sacred to the mother of Him who wasborn to-day? so you see there is an artistic fitness in your head-dress. Yes, your bonnet is delicious, darling; and though the diminutive sizeof that velvet jacket would lead me to suppose you had borrowed it fromsome juvenile sister, it seems the very garment of all garments bestcalculated to render you just one hair's-breadth nearer perfection thanyou were made by Nature. "

"Valentine, don't be ridiculous!" giggled the young lady. 

"How can I help being ridiculous? Your presence acts upon my nerveslike laughing-gas. Ah, you do not know what cares and perplexities Ihave to make me serious. Charlotte, " exclaimed the young man, withsudden energy, "do you think you could ever come to distrust me?"

"Valentine! Do I think I shall ever be Queen of England? One thing isquite as likely as the other. "

"My dear angel, if you will only believe in me always, there is nopower upon earth that can make us unhappy. Suppose you found yourselfsuddenly possessed of a great fortune, Charlotte; what would you dowith it?"

"I would buy you a library as good as that in the British Museum; andthen you would not want to spend the whole of your existence in GreatRussell-street. "

"But if you had a great fortune, Lotta, don't you think you would bevery much disposed to leave me to plod on at my desk in GreatRussell-street? Possessed of wealth, you would begin to languish forposition; and you would allow Mr. Sheldon to bring you some suitor whocould give you a name and a rank in society worthy of an angeliccreature with a hundred thousand pounds or so. "

"I should do nothing of the kind. I do not care for money. Indeed, Ishould be almost sorry to be very rich. "

"Why, dearest?"

"Because, if I were very rich, we could not live in the cottage atWimbledon, and I could not make lemon cheese-cakes for your dinner. "

"My own true-hearted darling!" cried Valentine; "the taint ofworldliness can never touch your pure spirit. "

They were at the gates of Mr. Sheldon's domain by this time. Diana andGeorgy had walked behind the lovers, and had talked a little about thesermon, and a good deal about the bonnets; poor Diana doing her veryuttermost to feign an interest in the finery that had attracted Mrs. Sheldon's wandering gaze. 

"Well, I should have thought you couldn't fail to see it, " said theelder lady, as they approached the gate; "a leghorn, very small, withholly-berries and black ribbon--quite French, you know, and _so_stylish. I was thinking, if I had my Tuscan cleaned and altered, itmight----" And here the conversation became general, as the familyparty entered the drawing-room, where Mr. Sheldon was reading his paperby a roaring fire. 

"Talking about the bonnets, as per usual, " said the stockbroker. "Whatan enormous amount of spiritual benefit you women must derive fromchurch-going!--Consols have fallen another eighth since Tuesdayafternoon, George, " added Mr. Sheldon, addressing himself to hisbrother, who was standing on the hearth-rug, with his elbow on thechimney-piece. 

"Consols are your 'bonnets, ' papa, " cried Charlotte, gaily; "I don'tthink there is a day upon which you do not talk about their having goneup, or gone down, or gone somewhere. "

After luncheon the lovers went for a walk in Kensington-gardens, withDiana Paget to play propriety. "You will come with us, won't you, dearDi?" pleaded Charlotte. "You have been looking pale and ill lately, and I am sure a walk will do you good. "

Valentine seconded his liege lady's request; and the three spent acouple of hours pacing briskly to and fro in the lonelier parts of thegardens, leaving the broad walks for the cockneys, who mustered strongupon this seasonable Christmas afternoon. 

For two out of those three that wintry walk was rapture only toofleeting. For the third it was passive endurance. The agonies that hadbut lately rent Diana's breast when she had seen those two together nolonger tortured her. The scorpion sting was beginning to lose itsvenomous power. She suffered still, but her suffering was softened byresignation. There is a limit to the capacity for pain in every mind. Diana had borne her share of grief; she had, in Homeric phrase, satiated herself with anguish and tears; and to those sharp throes andbitter torments there had succeeded a passive sense of sorrow that wasalmost peace. 

"I have lost him, " she said to herself. "Life can never bring me muchjoy; but I should be worse than weak if I spent my existence in theindulgence of my sorrow. I should be one of the vilest wretches uponthis earth if I could not teach myself to witness the happiness of myfriend without repining. "

Miss Paget had not arrived at this frame of mind without severestruggles. Many times, in the long wakeful nights, in the slow, joylessdays, she had said to herself, "Peace, peace, when there was no peace. "But at last the real peace, the true balm of Gilead, was given inanswer to her prayers, and the weary soul tasted the sweetness ofrepose. She had wrestled with, and had vanquished, the demon. 

To-day, as she walked beside the lovers, and listened to their happyfrivolous talk, she felt like a mother who had seen the man she lovedwon from her by her own daughter, and who had resigned herself to theruin of all her hopes for love of her child. 

There was more genial laughter and pleasant converse at Mr. Sheldon'sdinner-table that evening than was usual at that hospitable board;but the stockbroker himself contributed little to the merriment of theparty. He was quiet, and even thoughtful, and let the talk and laughtergo by him without any attempt to take part in it. After dinner he wentto his own room; while Valentine and the ladies sat round the fire inthe orthodox Christmas manner, and after a good deal of discursiveconversation, subsided into the telling of ghost-stories. 

George Sheldon sat apart from the circle, turning over the books uponthe table, or peering into a stereoscope with an evident sense ofweariness. This kind of domestic evening was a manner of life which Mr. Sheldon of Gray's Inn denounced as "slow;" and he submitted himself tothe endurance of it this evening only because he did not know whereelse to bestow his presence. 

"I don't think papa cares much about ghost-stories, does he, uncleGeorge?" Charlotte asked, by way of saying something to the gentleman, who seemed so very dreary as he sat yawning over the books andstereoscopes. 

"I don't suppose he does, my dear. "

"And do you think he believes in ghosts?" the young lady demanded, laughingly. 

"No, I am sure he doesn't, " replied George, very seriously. 

"Why, how seriously you say that!" cried Charlotte, a little startledby George Sheldon's manner, in which there had been an earnestness notquite warranted by the occasion. 

"I was thinking of your father--not my brother Phil. He died inPhilip's house, you know; and if Phil believed in ghosts, he wouldscarcely have liked living in that house afterwards, you see, and soon. But he went on living there for a twelvemonth longer. It seemedjust as good as any other house to him, I suppose. "

Hereupon Georgy dissolved into tears, and told the company how she hadfled, heartbroken, from the house in which her first husband had died, immediately after the funeral. 

"And I'm sure the gentlemanly manner in which your step-papa behavedduring all that dreadful time, Charlotte, is beyond all praise, "continued the lady, turning to her daughter; "so thoughtful, so kind, so patient. What I should have done if poor Tom's illness had happenedin a strange house, I don't know. And I have no doubt that the newdoctor, Mr. Burkham, did his duty, though his manner was not as decidedas I should have wished. "

"Mr. Burkham!" cried Valentine. "What Burkham is that? We've a memberof the Ragamuffins called Burkham, a surgeon, who does a little in theliterary line. "

"The Mr. Burkham who attended my poor dear husband was a very youngman, " answered Georgy; "a fair man, with a fresh colour and ahesitating manner. I should have been so much better satisfied if hehad been older. "

"That is the man, " said Valentine. "The Burkham I know isfresh-coloured and fair, and cannot be much over thirty. "

"Are you and he particularly intimate?" asked George Sheldon, carelessly. 

"O dear no, not at all. We speak to each other when we happen to meet--that's all. He seems a nice fellow enough; and he evidently hasn't muchpractice, or he couldn't afford to be a Ragamuffin, and to writefarces. He looks to me exactly the kind of modest deserving man whoought to succeed, and who so seldom does. "

This was all that was said about Mr. Burkham; but there was no moretalk of ghost-stories, and a temporary depression fell upon the littleassembly. The memory of her father had always a saddening influence onCharlotte; and it needed many tender _sotto-voce_ speeches fromValentine to bring back the smiles to her fair young face. 

The big electro-plated tea-tray and massive silver teapot made theirappearance presently, and immediately after came Mr. Sheldon. 

"I want to have a little talk with you after tea, Hawkehurst, " he said, as he took his own cup from Georgy's hand, and proceeded to imbibe thebeverage standing. "If you will come out into the garden and have acigar, I can say all I have to say in a very few minutes; and then wecan come in here for a rubber. Georgy is a very decent player; and mybrother George plays as good a hand at whist as any man at theConservative or the Reform. "

Valentine's heart sank within him. What could Mr. Sheldon want with afew minutes' talk, if not to revoke his gracious permission of somedays before--the permission that had been accorded in ignorance ofCharlotte's pecuniary advantages? The young man looked very pale as hewent to smoke his cigar in Mr. Sheldon's garden. Charlotte followed himwith anxious eyes, and wondered at the sudden gravity of his manner. George Sheldon also was puzzled by his brother's desire for atête-à-tête. 

"What new move is Phil going to make?" he asked himself. The two menlit their cigars, and got them well under weigh before Mr. Sheldonbegan to talk. 

"When I gave my consent to receive you as Miss Halliday's suitor, mydear Hawkehurst, " he said, at last, "I told you that I was acting asvery few men of the world would act, and I only told you the truth. Since giving you that consent I have made a very startling discovery, and one that places me in quite a new position in regard to thismatter. "

"Indeed!"

"Yes, Mr. Hawkehurst, I have become aware of the fact that MissHalliday, the girl whom I thought entirely dependent upon mygenerosity, is heir-at-law to a large fortune. You will, of course, perceive how entirely this alters the position of affairs. "

"I do perceive, " Valentine answered earnestly; "but I trust you willbelieve that I had not the faintest idea of Miss Halliday's positionwhen I asked her to be my wife. As to my love for her, I can scarcelytell you when that began; but I think it must have dated from the firsthour in which I saw her, for I can remember no period at which I did_not_ love her. "

"If I did not believe you superior to any mercenary motives, you wouldnot have been under my roof to-day, Mr. Hawkehurst, " said thestockbroker, with extreme gravity. "The discovery of my stepdaughter'sposition gives me no pleasure. Her claim to this wealth only increasesmy responsibility with regard to her, and responsibility is what Iwould willingly avoid. After all due deliberation, therefore, I havedecided that this discovery need make no alteration in your position asCharlotte's future husband. If you were worthy of her when she waswithout a fortune, you are not less worthy now. "

"Mr. Sheldon, " cried Valentine, with considerable emotion, "I did notexpect so much generosity at your hands!"

"No, " replied the stockbroker, "the popular idea of a business man isnot particularly agreeable. I do not, however, pretend to anything likegenerosity; I wish to take a common-sense view of the affair, but notan illiberal one. "

"You have shown so much generosity of feeling, that I can no longersail under false colours, " said Valentine, after a brief pause. "Untila day or two ago I was bound to secrecy by a promise made to yourbrother. But his communication of Miss Halliday's rights to you sets meat liberty, and I must tell you that which may possibly cause you towithdraw your confidence. "

Hereupon Mr. Hawkehurst revealed his share in the researches that hadresulted in the discovery of Miss Halliday's claim to a large fortune. He entered into no details. He told Mr. Sheldon only that he had beenthe chief instrument in the bringing about of this important discovery. 

"I can only repeat what I said just now, " he added, in conclusion. "Ihave loved Charlotte Halliday from the beginning of our acquaintance, and I declared myself some days before I discovered her position. Itrust this confession will in nowise alter your estimate of me. "

"It would be a poor return for your candour if I were to doubt yourvoluntary statement, Hawkehurst, " answered the stockbroker. "No; Ishall not withdraw my confidence. And if your researches shouldultimately lead to the advancement of my stepdaughter, there will beonly poetical justice in your profiting more or less by thatadvancement. In the mean tune we cannot take matters too quietly. I amnot a sanguine person, and I know how many hearts have been broken bythe High Court of Chancery. This grand discovery of yours may result innothing but disappointment and waste of money, or it may end aspleasantly as my brother and you seem to expect. All I ask is, thatpoor Charlotte's innocent heart may not be tortured by a small lifetimeof suspense. Let her be told nothing that can create hope in thepresent or disappointment in the future. She appears to be perfectlyhappy in her present position, and it would be worse than folly todisturb her by vague expectations that may never be realised. She willhave to make affidavits, and so on, by-and-by, I daresay; and when thattime comes she must be told there is some kind of suit pending in whichshe is concerned. But she need not be told how nearly that suitconcerns her, or the extent of her alleged claim. You see, my dear sir, I have seen so much of this sort of thing, and the misery involved init, that I may be forgiven if I am cautious. "

This was putting the whole affair in a new light. Until this momentValentine had fancied that, the chain of evidence once established, Charlotte's claim had only to be asserted in order to place her inimmediate possession of the Haygarth estate. But Mr. Sheldon's cool andmatter-of-fact discussion of the subject implied all manner of doubtand difficulty, and the Haygarthian thousands seemed carried away tothe most remote and shadowy regions of Chanceryland, as by the waves ofsome legal ocean. 

"And you really think it would be better not to tell Charlotte?"

"I am sure of it. If you wish to preserve her from all manner of worryand annoyance, you will take care to keep her in the dark until theaffair is settled--supposing it ever should be settled. I have knownsuch an affair to outlast the person interested. "

"You take a very despondent view of the matter. "

"I take a practical view of it. My brother George is a monomaniac onthe next-of-kin subject. "

"I cannot quite reconcile myself to the idea of concealing the truthfrom Charlotte. "

"That is because you do not know the world as well as I do, " answeredMr. Sheldon, coolly. 

"I cannot imagine that the idea of this claim would have any disturbinginfluence upon her, " Valentine argued, thoughtfully. "She is the lastperson in the world to care about money. "

"Perhaps so. But there is a kind of intoxication in the idea of a largefortune--an intoxication that no woman of Charlotte's age could standagainst. Tell her that she has a claim to considerable wealth, and fromthat moment she will count upon the possession of that wealth, andshape all her plans for the future upon that basis. 'When I get myfortune, I will do this, that, and the other. ' _That_ is what she willbe continually saying to herself; and by-and-by, when the affairresults in failure, as it very likely will, there will remain a senseof disappointment which will last for a lifetime, and go far toembitter all the ordinary pleasures of her existence. "

"I am inclined to think you are right, " said Valentine, after somelittle deliberation. "My darling girl is perfectly happy as it is. Itmay be wisest to tell her nothing. "

"I am quite sure of that, " replied Mr. Sheldon. "Of course her beingenlightened or not can be in no way material to me. It is a subjectupon which I can afford to be entirely disinterested. "

"I will take your advice, Mr. Sheldon. "

"So be it. In that case matters will remain _in statu quo_. You will bereceived in this house as my stepdaughter's future husband, and it isan understood thing that your marriage is not to take place without dueconsultation, with me. I am to have a voice in the business. "

"Most decidedly. It is only right that you should be deferred to. "

This brought the interview to a close very pleasantly. The gentlemenwent back to the house, and Valentine found himself presently seated ata whist-table with the brothers Sheldon, and Georgy, who played verywell, in a feeble kind of way, holding religiously by all the preceptsof Hoyle, and in evident fear of her husband and brother-in-law. Charlotte and Diana played duets while the whist progressed, withorthodox silence and solemnity on the part of the four players. Valentine's eyes wandered very often to the piano, and he was in nowisesorry when the termination of a conquering rubber set him at liberty. He contrived to secure a brief _tête-à-tête_ with Charlotte while hehelped her in the arrangement of the books on the music-stand, and thenthe shrill chime of the clock on the mantelpiece, and an audible yawnfrom Philip Sheldon, told him that he must go. 

"Providence has been very good to us, " he said, in an undertone, as hebade Miss Halliday good night. "Your stepfather's conduct is all thatis kind and thoughtful, and there is not a cloud upon our future. Goodnight, and God bless you, my dearest! I think I shall always considerthis my first Christmas-day. I never knew till to-day how sweet andholy this anniversary can be. "

He walked to Cumberland-gate in company with George Sheldon, whopreserved a sulky gravity, which was by no means agreeable. 

"You have chosen your own course, " he said at parting, "and I only hopethe result may prove your wisdom. But, as I think I may have remarkedbefore, you don't know my brother Phil as well as I do. " "Your brotherhas behaved with such extreme candour and good feeling towards me, thatI would really rather not hear any of your unpleasant innuendoesagainst him. I hate that 'I could an if I would' style of talk, andwhile I occupy my present position in your brother's house I cannotconsent to hear anything to his discredit. "

"That's a very tall animal you've taken to riding lately, my friendHawkehurst, " said George, "and when a man rides the high horse with meI always let him have the benefit of his _monture_. You have servedyourself without consideration for me, and I shall not trouble myselfin the future with any regard for you or your interests. But if harmever comes to you or yours, through my brother Philip, remember that Iwarned you. Good night. "

 * * * * *

In Charlotte's room the cheery little fire burned late upon that frostynight, while the girl sat in her dressing-gown dreamily brushing hersoft brown hair, and meditating upon the superhuman merits and gracesin her lover. 

It was more than an hour after the family had retired, when there camea cautious tapping at Charlotte's door. "It is only I, dear, " said alow voice; and before Charlotte could answer, the door was opened, andDiana came in, and went straight to the hearth, by which her friend wassitting. 

"I am so wakeful to-night, Lotta, " she said; "and the light under yourdoor tempted me to come in for a few minutes' chat. "

"My dearest Di, you know how glad I always am to see you. "

"Yes, dear, I know that you are only too good to me--and I have been sowayward, so ungracious. O, Charlotte, I know my coldness has woundedyou during the last few months. "

"I have been just a little hurt now and then, dear, when you haveseemed not to care for me, or to sympathise with me in all my joys andsorrows; but then it has been selfish of me to expect so much sympathy, and I know that, if your manner is cold, your heart is noble. "

"No, Lotta, it is not noble. It is a wicked heart. "

"Diana!"

"Yes, " said Miss Paget, kneeling by her friend's chair, and speakingwith suppressed energy; "it has been a wicked heart--wicked becauseyour happiness has been torture to it. "

"Diana!"

"O, my dearest one, do not look at me with those innocent, wonderingeyes. You will hate me, perhaps, when you know all. O, no, no, no, youwill not hate--you will pity and forgive me. I loved him, dear; he wasmy companion, my only friend; and there was a time--long ago--before hehad ever seen your face, when I fancied that he cared for me, and wouldget to love me--as I loved him--unasked, uncared for. O, Charlotte, youcan never know what I have suffered. It is not in your nature tocomprehend what such a woman as I can suffer. I loved him so dearly, Iclung so wickedly, so madly to my old hopes, my old dreams, long afterthey had become the falsest hopes, the wildest dreams that ever hadpower over a distracted mind. But, my darling, it is past, and I cometo you on this Christmas night to tell you that I have conquered mystubborn heart, and that from this time forward there shall be no cloudbetween you and me. "

"Diana, my dear friend, my poor girl!" cried Charlotte, quite overcome, "you loved him, you--as well as I--and I have robbed you of his heart!"

"No, Charlotte, it was never mine. "

"You loved him--all the time you spoke so harshly of him!"

"When I seemed most harsh, I loved him most. But do not look at me withsuch distress in your sweet face, my dear. I tell you that the worstpain is past and gone. The rest is very easy to bear, and to outlive. These things do not last for ever, Charlotte, whatever the poets andnovelists may tell us. If I had not lived through the worst, I shouldnot be here to-night, with your arm round my neck and his name upon mylips. I have never wished you joy until to-night, Charlotte, and nowfor the first time I can wish you all good things, in honesty andtruth. I have conquered myself. I do not say that to me ValentineHawkehurst can ever be quite what other men are. I think that to theend of my life there will be a look in his face, a tone of his voice, that will touch me more deeply than any other look or tone upon earth;but my love for you has overcome my love for him, and there is nohidden thought in my mind to-night, as I sit here at your feet, andpray for God's blessing on your choice. "

"My darling Diana, I know not how to thank you, how to express my faithand my love. "

"I doubt if I am worthy of your love, dear; but, with God's help, Iwill be worthy of your trust; and if ever there should come a day inwhich my love can succour or my devotion serve you, there shall be nolack of either. Listen, dear; there are the waits playing the sweetChristmas hymn. Do you remember what Shakespeare says about the 'birdof dawning' singing all night long, and how no evil spirit roams abroadat this dear season, --

 'So hallowed and so gracious is the time?'

"I have conquered my evil spirit, Lotta, and there shall be peace andtrue love between us for evermore, shall there not, dearest friend?"

And thus ends the story of Diana Paget's girlish love--the love thathad grown up in secret, to be put away from her heart in silence, andburied with the dead dreams and fancies that had fostered it. For herto-night the romance of life closed for ever. For Charlotte the sweetstory was newly begun, and the opening chapters were very pleasant--themystic volume seemed all delight. Blessed with her lover's devotion, her mother's approval, and even Mr. Sheldon's benign approbation, whatmore could she ask from Providence--what lurking dangers could shefear--what storm-cloud could she perceive upon the sunlit heavens?

There was a cloud, no bigger than a man's hand, but the harbinger oftempest and terror. It yet remains to be shown what form that cloudassumed, and from what quarter the tempest came. The history ofCharlotte Halliday has grown upon the writer; and the completion ofthat history, with the fate of John Haygarth's fortune, will be foundunder the title of, CHARLOTTE'S INHERITANCE. 

THE END.