[Illustration]

BRED IN THE BONE; OR, LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

A Novel. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF

"A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK, " "GWENDOLINE'S HARVEST, " "CARLYON'S YEAR, " "ONEOF THE FAMILY, " "WON--NOT WOOED, " &c. 

_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_. 

NEW YORK: 1872. 

CHAPTER I. 

CAREW OF CROMPTON. 

Had you lived in Breakneckshire twenty years ago, or even any where inthe Midlands, it would be superfluous to tell you of Carew of Crompton. Every body thereabout was acquainted with him either personally or byhearsay. You must almost certainly have known somebody who had had anadventure with that eccentric personage--one who had been ridden down byhim, for that mighty hunter never turned to the right hand nor to theleft for any man, nor paid attention to any rule of road; or one who, more fortunate, had been "cleared" by him on his famous black horse_Trebizond_, an animal only second to his master in the popular esteem. There are as many highly colored pictures of his performance of thisflying feat in existence as there are of "Dick Turpin clearing theTurnpikegate. " Sometimes it is a small tradesman cowering down in hiscart among the calves, while the gallant Squire hurtles over him with a"Stoop your head, butcher. " Sometimes it is a wagoner, reminding one ofCommodore Trunnion's involuntary deed of "derring-do, " who, between twohigh banks, perceives with marked astonishment this portent flying overhimself and convoy. But, at all events, the thing was done; perhaps onmore than one occasion, and was allowed on all hands not only as a fact, but as characteristic of their sporting idol. It was "Carew all over, "or "Just like Carew. "

This phrase was also applied to many other heroic actions. The idea of"keel-hauling, " for instance, adapted from the nautical code, was saidto be practically enforced in the case of duns, attorneys, and otherobjectionable persons, in the lake at Crompton; while the administrationof pommelings to poachers and agriculturists generally, by the athleticSquire, was the theme of every tongue. These punishments, though severe, were much sought after by a certain class, the same to which thepurchased free and independent voter belongs, for the clenched fistinvariably became an open hand after it had done its work--a goldenointment, that is, was always applied after these inflictions, such ashealed all wounds. 

Carew of Crompton might at one time have been member for the county, ifhe had pleased; but he desired no seat except in the saddle, or on thedriving-box. He showed such skill in riding, and with "the ribbons, "that some persons supposed that his talents must be very considerable inother matters, and affected to regret their misuse; there were reportsthat he knew Latin better than his own chaplain; and was, or had been, so diligent a student of Holy Writ, that he could give you chapter andverse for every thing. But it must be allowed that others were notwanting to whisper that these traits of scholarship were greatlyexaggerated, and that all the wonder lay in the fact that the Squireknew any thing of such matters at all; nay, a few even ventured toexpress their opinion that, but for his recklessness and his money, there was nothing more remarkable in Carew than in other spendthrifts;but this idea was never mooted within twenty miles of Crompton. The realtruth is, that the time was unsuitable to the display of the Squire'sparticular traits. He would have been an eminent personage had he been aNorman, and lived in the reign of King John. Even now, if he could haveremoved his establishment to Poland, and assumed the character of aRussian proprietor, he would doubtless have been a great prince. Therewas a savage magnificence about him, and also certain degrading traits, which suggested the Hetman Platoff. Unfortunately, he was a Squire inthe Midlands. The contrast, however, of his splendid vagaries with thequiet time and industrious locality in which he lived, while itdiminished his influence, did, on the other hand, no doubt enhance hisreputation. He was looked upon (as Waterford and Mytton used to be) as a_lusus naturae_, an eccentric, an altogether exceptional personage, towhom license was permitted; and the charitable divided the human race, for his sake, into Men, Women, and Carew. 

The same philosophic few, however, who denied him talent, averred thathe was half mad; and indeed Fortune had so lavishly showered her favorson him from his birth, that it might well be that they had turned hishead. His father had died while Carew was but an infant, so that thesurplus income from his vast estates had accumulated to an enormous sumwhen he attained his majority. In the mean time, his doting mother hadsupplied him with funds out of all proportion to his tender years. Atten years old, he had a pack of harriers of his own, and hunted thecounty regularly twice a week. At the public school, where he was withdifficulty persuaded to remain for a short period, he had an allowancethe amount of which would have sufficed for the needs of a professionalman with a wife and family, and yet it is recorded of him that he hadthe audacity--"the boy is father to the man, " and it was "so likeCarew, " they said--to complain to his guardian, a great lawyer, that hismeans were insufficient. He also demanded a lump sum down, on the groundthat (being at the ripe age of fourteen) he contemplated marriage. Thereply of the legal dignitary is preserved, as well as the younggentleman's application: "If you can't live upon your allowance, you maystarve, Sir; and if you marry, you shall not have your allowance. "

You had only--having authority to do so--to advise Carew, and he waspositively certain to go counter to your opinion; and did you attempt tooppose him in any purpose, you would infallibly insure itsaccomplishment. He did not marry at fourteen, indeed, but he did soclandestinely in less than three years afterward, and had issue; but atthe age of five-and-thirty, when our stage opens, he had neither wifenor child, but lived as a bachelor at Crompton, which was sometimescalled "the open house, " by reason of its profuse hospitalities; andsometimes "Liberty Hall, " on account of its license; otherwise it wasnever, called any thing but Crompton; never Crompton Hall, or CromptonPark--but simply Crompton, just like Stowe or Blenheim. And yet the parkat Crompton was as splendid an appanage of glade and avenue, of copseand dell, as could be desired. It was all laid out upon a certainplan--somewhere in the old house was the very parchment on which thechase was ordered like a garden; a dozen drives here radiated from oneanother like the spokes of a wheel, and here four mighty avenues made aSt. Andrew's cross in the very centre--but the area was so immense, andthe stature of the trees so great, that nothing of this formality couldbe observed in the park itself. Not only were the oaks and beeches oflarge, and often of giant proportions, but the very ferns grew so tallthat whole herds of fallow deer were hidden in it, and could only betraced by their sounds. There were red deer also, almost as numerous, with branching antlers, curiously mossed, as though they had acquiredthat vegetation by rubbing, as they often did, against the high woodenpale--itself made picturesque by age--which hedged them in their sylvanprison for miles. Moreover, there were wild-cattle, as at Chartley(though not of the same breed), the repute of whose fierceness kept thefew public paths that intersected this wild domain very unfrequented. These animals, imported half a century ago, were of no use nor ofparticular beauty, and would have dwindled away, from the unfitness ofthe locality for their support, but that they were recruitedperiodically, and at a vast expense. It was enough to cause theirpresent owner to strain every nerve to retain them, because they were souniversally objected to. They had gored one man to death, andoccasionally maimed others, but, as Carew, to do him justice, was by nomeans afraid of them himself, and ran the same risk, and far oftenerthan other people, he held he had a right to retain them. Nobody wasobliged to come into his park unless they liked, he said, and if theydid, they must "chance a tossing. " The same detractors, whose opinion wehave already quoted, affirmed that the Squire kept these cattle for thevery reason that was urged against their existence; the fear of thesehorned police kept the park free from strangers, and thereby saved himhalf a dozen keepers. 

That his determination in the matter was pig-headed and brutal, there isno doubt; but the Squire's nature was far from exclusive, and the ideaof saving in any thing, it is certain, never entered into his head. Thetime, indeed, was slowly but surely coming when the park should know nomore not only its wild-cattle, but many a rich copse and shadowy glade. Not a stately oak nor far-spreading beech but was doomed, sooner orlater, to be cut down, to prop for a moment the falling fortunes oftheir spendthrift owner; but at the time of which we speak there was novisible sign of the coming ruin. It is recorded of a brother prodigal, that after enormous losses and expenses, his steward informed him thatif he would but consent to live upon seven thousand a year for the nextten years, the estate would recover itself. "Sir, " returned he in anger, "I would rather die than live on seven thousand a year. " Our Carew wouldhave given the same reply had twice that income been suggested to him, and been applauded for the gallant answer. The hint of any necessity forcurtailment would probably have caused him to double his expenditureforthwith, though, indeed, that would have been difficult to effect. Hehad already two packs of hounds, with which he hunted on alternate days, and he had even endeavored to do so on the Sunday; but the obsequious"county" had declined to go with him to that extent, and this anomaly ofthe nineteenth century had been compelled to confine himself on theseventh day to cock-fighting in the library. He kept a bear to bait (aswell as a chaplain to bully), and ferrets ran loose about Crompton asmice do in other houses. He had a hunter for every week in the year, yethe often rode his horses to death. He had a stud of racers, and it wasthis, or rather his belief in their powers, which eventually drained hisvast resources. Not one of them ever won a great race. This was nottheir fault, nor that of their trainer, but his own; he interfered intheir management, and would have things his own way; he would commandevery thing, except success, which was beyond his power, and in missingthat he lost all. Otherwise, he was lucky as a mere gambler. Hisaudacity, and the funds he always had at his disposal, carried himtriumphantly, where many a more prudent but less wealthy player withdrewfrom the contest. Games of skill had no attraction for him, but at anearlier date in his career he had been a terror to the club-keepers inSt. James's, where his luck and obstinacy had broken a dozen banks. Itwas said--and very likely with truth--that he had once cut double orquits for ten thousand pounds. 

His moral character, as respected the softer sex, was such as you mightexpect from these traits. No modest woman had been seen at Crompton formany a year; although not a few such--if at least good birth and highposition include modesty--had, since his majority, striven to give alawful mistress to the place. His eccentricities had not alarmed them, and his shamelessness had not abashed them. Though his constitution wassaid to be breaking up through unparalleled excesses, his heart, it wascurrently reported in domestic circles, was sound: and what a noble featwould it be to reclaim him! It was also reckoned impossible that anyamount of extravagance could have seriously embarrassed such a propertyas he had inherited, indeed long since, but of which he had had the solecontrol only a few years. At the time of which we speak Carew was butthirty-five, though he looked much older. His muscles were still firm, his limbs yet active, and his hand and eye as steady with the gun orbridle as ever. But his bronzed face showed signs of habitualintemperance; his head was growing prematurely bald; and once or twice, though the fact was known to himself only, his iron nerve had of latefailed him. The secret consciousness of this last fact made him moreventuresome and reckless than ever. "Time, " he swore, "should never play_him_ tricks. He was as good a man as ever he was. There was a quarterof a million, more or less, to be got through yet, and, by Jove, hewould see it out!" Of course he did not swear by Jove; for, as we havesaid, he kept a chaplain, and was therefore no heathen. 

One of the arguments that the mothers of those young ladies who soughthis hand were wont to make use of, to their great comfort, was that Mr. Carew was a churchman. There was a private chapel at Crompton, theexistence of which, of course, explained why his presence did not gracethe parish church. Then his genealogy was of the most satisfactorydescription. Carews had dwelt at Crompton in direct succession for manya century. Charles I. , it is almost unnecessary to state, had sleptthere--that most locomotive of monarchs seems to have honored all oldEnglish mansions with a night's visit--and had hunted in the chase nextmorning. Queen Elizabeth had also been most graciously pleased to visither subject, John Carew, on which occasion a wooden tower had beenerected for her in the park, from which to see "ten buckes, all havingfayre lawe, pulled down with grey-houndes;" she shot deer, too, with herown virgin hands, for which purpose "a cross-bowe was delivered to herby a nymph with a sweet song. " These things, however, were in no waycommemorated. Carew was all in all: his devouring egotism swallowed uphistorical association. His favorite female bull-dog, with her pups, slept in the royal martyr's apartment. The places in Crompton Chase heldremarkable were those where its present owner had made anunprecedentedly long shot, or had beaten off one of the wild cattlewithout a weapon, or had run down a stag on foot. There was no relic ofancient times preserved whatever, except that at midsummer, as in Lyme, that very curious custom was kept of driving the red deer round thepark, and then swimming them through the lake before the house--a verydifficult feat, by-the-by, to any save those who have been accustomed to"drive deer. " One peculiar virtue of Carew--he was addressed, by-the-way, by all his inferiors, and some of his equals, as "Squire"only--was, we had almost forgotten to say, his regard for truth, whichmay truly be said to have been "passionate, " if we consider the effectproduced in him when he discovered that any one had told him afalsehood. He would fall upon them tooth and nail, if they were menials;and if guests, he would forbid them his house. This was surely oneexcellent trait. Yet it was maintained by those carpers already alludedto, that to tell truth was comparatively easy in one who was as carelessof all opinion as he was independent in means; moreover, that a love oftruth is sometimes found to exist in very bad company, as in the case ofthe Spartan boy who stole the fox, and if the veracious Squire did notsteal foxes (which he did, by-the-by, indirectly, for a bagged one washis delight), he was guilty of much worse things. However, this iscertain, that Carew of Crompton never told a lie. 

CHAPTER II. 

WAITING FOR AN INTRODUCTION. 

We have said that Carew was not exclusive; so long as he had his own wayin every thing he was good-tempered, and so very good-natured that hepermitted not only his friends but his dependents to do pretty much asthey would. He was a tyrant only by fits and starts, and in the meantime there was anarchy at Crompton. Every soul in the place, from theyoung lords, its master's guests, down to the earth-stopper's assistant, who came for his quantum of ale to the back-door, did pretty much asseemed right in his own eyes. There were times when every thing had tobe done in a moment under the master's eye, no matter at what loss, oreven risk to limb or life; but usually there was no particular time forany thing--except dinner. The guests arose in the morning, or lay in bedall day, exactly as they pleased, and had their meals in public or intheir own rooms; but when the great dinner-gong sounded for the secondtime it was expected that every man should be ready for the feast, andwearing (with the single exception of the chaplain) a red coat. Thedinner-parties at Crompton--and there was a party of the mostheterogeneous description daily--were literally, therefore, very gayaffairs; the banquet was sumptuous, and the great cellars were laidunder heavy contribution. Only, if a guest did happen to be unpunctual, from whatever cause, even if it were illness, the host would send forhis bear, or his half-dozen bull-dogs, and proceed to the sick man'sroom, with the avowed intention (and he always kept his word) of"drawing the badger. " In spite of his four-legged auxiliaries, this wasnot always an easy task. His recklessness, though not often, didsometimes meet with its match in that of the badger; and in one chamberdoor at Crompton we have ourselves seen a couple of bullet-holes, whichshowed that assault on one side had met with battery upon the other. With such rough manners as Carew had, it may seem strange that he wasnever called to account for them at twelve paces; but, in the firstplace, it was thoroughly understood that he would have "gone out" (afact which has doubtless given pause to many a challenge), and wouldhave shot as straight as though he were partridge-shooting; andsecondly, as we have said, he had a special license for practical jokes;the subjects of them, too, were not men of delicate susceptibilities, for none such, by any accident, could have been his guests. Inconsideration of good fare, good wine, a good mount in thehunting-field, excellent shooting, and of a loan from the host wheneverthey were without funds, men even of good position were found to "putup" very good-naturedly with the eccentricities of the master ofCrompton, and he had his house full half the year. It is not to bewondered at, therefore, that his servants were found willing to compoundfor some occasional ill usage, in return for general laxity of rule, andmany unconsidered trifles in the way of perquisites. His huntsmen andwhips got now and then a severe beating; his grooms found it veryinconvenient when "Squire" took it into his mad head to sally forth onhorseback across country by moonlight; and still worse, when he wouldhave the whole stud out, and set every servant in his employ, notexcepting his fat French cook, in the saddle, to see how they wouldcomport themselves under the unaccustomed excitement of a steeple-chase. But upon the whole, the retainers at Crompton had an easy berth of it, and seldom voluntarily took their discharge. 

Perhaps the best situations, as being less liable to the _per contras_in the shape of the master's passionate outbursts, were those of thepark-keepers, of whom old Walter Grange was one. He was a bachelor, asalmost all of them were. It was not good for any one with wife ordaughter (if these were young, at least) to take service with Carew atall; and living in a pleasant cottage, far too large for him, in thevery heart of the chase, Grange thought it no harm to take a lodger. Thesame old woman who cooked his victuals and kept his rooms tidy would dothe same office for another who was not very particular in his food, andcould rough it a little in other respects; and such a one had Walterlately found in the person of a young landscape-painter, Richard Yorke. This gentleman was a stranger to Crompton and its neighborhood; buthaving (as he said) happened to see a certain guarded advertisement inthe _Times_ headed, "To Artists and Others, " that lodgings in the midstof forest scenery could be procured for what seemed next to nothing, hehad come down from London in the autumn on the chance, and found themsuitable. 

To poet or painter's eye, indeed, the lodge was charming; it was small, of course, but very picturesquely built, and afforded the new tenant abow-windowed sitting-room, with an outlook such as few dwellings inEngland, and probably none elsewhere, could offer. In the fore-groundwas an open lawn, on which scores of fine-plumaged pheasants struttedbriskly, and myriads of rabbits came forth at eve to play andnibble--bordered by crops of fern, above which moved statelily theantlered deer. A sentry oak or two of mighty girth guarded this openspace; but on both sides vast glades shut in the prospect with a wall ofcheckered light and shadow that deepened into sylvan gloom. But right infront the expanding view seemed without limit, and exhibited allvarieties of forest scenery; coppices with "Autumn's fiery finger" ontheir tender leaves; still, shining pools, where water-fowl bred anddwelt; broad pathways, across which the fallow deer could bound atleisure; or one would leap in haste, and half a hundred follow ingroundless panic. The wealth of animal life in that green solitude, where the voice of man was hardly ever heard, was prodigious; the rarestbirds were common there; even those who had their habitations by the seawere sometimes lured to this as silent spot, and skimmed above itsundulating dells as o'er the billow. The eagle and the osprey had beencaught there; and, indeed, a specimen of each was caged in a sort ofaviary, which Grange had had constructed at the back of the lodge; whileYorke's sitting-room was literally stuffed full of these strangefeathered visitants, which had fallen victims to the keeper's gun. Thehorse-hair sofa had a noble cover of deer-skin; the foot-stool and thefire-rug were made of furs, or skins that would have fetched their priceelsewhere, and been held rare, although once worn by British beast or"varmint. " The walls were stuck with antlers, and the very handle of thebell-rope was the fore-foot of a stag. Each of these had its story; andnothing pleased the old man better than to have a listener to hislong-winded tales of how and where and when the thing was slain. Allpersons whose lives are passed in the open air, and in comparativesolitude, seem in this respect to be descendants of Dame Quickly; theirwearisome digressions and unnecessary preciseness as to date and placetry the patience of all other kinds of men, and this was the chief crosswhich Grange's lodger had to bear as an offset to the excellence of hisquarters. It must be confessed that he did not bear it meekly. To stopold Walter in mid-talk--without an open quarrel--was an absoluteimpossibility; but his young companion would turn the stream of hisdiscourse, without much ceremony, from the records of slaughter intoanother channel (almost as natural to it)--the characteristics andpeculiarities of his master Carew. Of this subject, notwithstanding thatthat other made him fret and fume so, Yorke never seemed to tire. 

"I should like to know your master, " he had said, half musingly, afterlistening to one of these strange recitals, soon after his arrival; towhich Grange had answered, laughing: "Well, Squire's a very easy one toknow. He picks up friends by every road-side, without much troublinghimself as to who they are, I promise you. "

The young man's face grew dark with anger; but the idea of self-respect, far less of pride, was necessarily strange to a servant of Carew's. SoGrange went on, unconscious of offense: "Now, if you were a youngwoman, " he chuckled, "and as good-looking as you are as a lad, therewould be none more welcome than yourself up at the big house. Prettygals, bless ye, need no introduction yonder; and yet one would havethought that Squire would know better than to meddle with themischievous hussies--he took his lesson early enough, at all events. Why, he married before he was your age, and not half so much of a man tolook at, neither. You have heard talk of that, I dare say, however, inLondon?"

Richard Yorke, as the keeper had hinted, was a very handsomelad--brown-cheeked, blue eyed, and with rich clustering hair as black asa sloe; but at this moment he did not look prepossessing. He frowned andflashed a furious glance upon the speaker; but old Grange, who had aneye like a hawk, for the objects that a hawk desires, was as blind as amole to any evidence of human emotion short of a punch on the head, andwent on unheeding:

"Well, I thought you must ha' heard o' that too. We folk down here heardo' nothing else for all that year. She got hold o' Squire, this erewoman did, though he was but a school-boy, and she old enough to be hismother, bless ye, and was married to him. And they kep' it secret forsix months; and that's what bangs me most about it all. For Carew, hecan keep nothing secret--nothing: he blurts all out; and that's why heseems so much worse than he is to some people. Oh, she must have been adeep one, she must!"

"You never saw her, then?" asked Yorke, carelessly shading his eyes, asthough from the westering sun, which Midas-like, was turning every thingit touched in that broad landscape into gold. 

"Oh yes, I see her; she was here with Squire near half a year. Mrs. Carew--the old lady, I mean--was at Crompton then; and the youngone--though she was no chicken neither--she tried to get her turned out;but she wasn't clever enough, clever as she was, for that job. Carewloved his mother, as indeed he ought, for she had never denied him anything since he was born; and so, in that pitched battle between thewomen, he took his mother's side. And in the end the old lady took his, and with a vengeance. I do think that if it had not been for her, youngmadam would have held on--Why, what's the matter, young gentleman? Thatwas an oath fit for the mouth of Squire hisself. "

"It's this cursed toothache, " exclaimed Yorke, passionately. "It hasworried me so ever since you began to speak that I should have gone madif I had not let out at it a bit. Never mind me; I'm better now. "

"Well, that's like the Squire again, " returned the keeper, admiringly. "He seems allus to find hisself better for letting out at things, and atpeople too, for the matter of that. To hear him sometimes, one wouldalmost think the ground must open; not that he means any harm, but it'sa way he's got; but it does frighten them as is not used to him, surely. I mind that day when he first took the fox-hounds out, and Mr. Howardthe sheriff as was that year--he's dead and gone long since, and hisgrandson is sheriff now again, which is cur'ous--well, he happened toride a bit too forward with the dogs, and our young master--Oh dear, dear, " and the old man began to chuckle like a hen that has laid twoeggs at a time, "how he did swear at the old man!"

"You were talking about Mrs. Carew the elder, " observed the artist, coolly. 

"Was I? True, so I was. Well, she and the young Squire was for all theworld like a deer with her fawn--all tenderness and timidity, so long ashe was let alone; but when this 'ere woman came, as she considered hisenemy, she was as bold as a red stag--nay, as one of our wild-cattle. Itwas through her, I say, that the bride got the sack at last; and whenthat was done the old lady seemed to have done her work, and was contentenough when her son portioned her off, and persuaded her to live at thedower-house at Morden; and indeed she could hardly have staid atCrompton, with such goings on as there are now--feastings and fightingsand flirtings--"

"Just so, " interrupted the young painter; "she got her way, I know. Butwith respect to the younger lady, Mrs. Charles Carew, what was _she_like, and what did people say of her?"

"Well, not much good, I reckon. What could they say of a school-mistresswho marries her pupil?"

"A school-mistress, was she?" said Yorke, in a strange husky voice. "Wenever heard that in London. "

"Well, she was summut of that sort, Sir, though I don't know exactlywhat. Young as he was, Carew was not quite child enough to be at adame's school, that's true. But she was not a mere servant-girl, as somesaid, any way, for she could play and sing--ay, songs that pleased himtoo--and she had book-learning, I've heard, such as would haveastonished you; so that some folks said she was a witch, and had thedevil's help to catch Carew. But a woman don't want magic, bless you, tocome over a lad of seventeen--not she. What nonsense people talk! Ifany pretty girl about Crompton was to take a fancy to _you_ now, as islike enough, do you suppose--"

"But I thought you said that Mrs. Charles Carew was not a girl?"

"Nor more she was: she was five-and-thirty if she was a day; andyet--_there_ was the wonder of it--she did not look much over twenty!I've heard our gentlemen, when out shooting, liken her to some fineFrenchwoman as never grew old, and was fell in love with unbeknown byher grandson. Now, what was her name? I got it written down somewhere inmy old pocket-book; it was summut like Longclothes. "

"_Ninon de l'Enclos?_" suggested Yorke, without a smile. 

"Ay, that's the name. Well, Mrs. Charles Carew, as you call her, wasjust like her, and a regular everlasting! She was not what you wouldcall pretty, but very "taking" looking, and with a bloom and freshnesson her as would have deceived any man. Her voice was like music itself, and she moved like a stag o' ten; and the Squire being always manlylooking and swarthy, like yourself, there was really little differencebetween them to look at. I dare say she's gone all to pieces now, aswomen will do, while the Squire looks much the same as he did then. "

"I have never even seen him, " said the landscape-painter, moodily. 

"Well, don't you stare at him, young master, when you do get thatchance, that's all. Some comes down here merely to look at him, as if hewas a show, and that puts him in a pretty rage, I promise you; though toget to know him, as I say, is easy enough, if you go the right way aboutit. If you were a good rider, for instance, and could lead the field oneday when the hunting begins, he'd ask you to dinner to a certainty; orif you could drive stags--why, he would have given you a hundred poundslast midsummer, when we couldn't get the beasts to swim the lake. There's a pretty mess come o' that, by-the-by; for, out of the talkthere was among the gentlemen about that difficulty, the Squire laid abet as _he_ would drive stags; not as _we_ do, mind you, but in harness, like carriage-horses; and, cuss me, if he hasn't had the break out halfa dozen times with four red deer in it, and you may see him tearingthrough the park, with mounted grooms and keepers on the right and leftof him, all galloping their hardest, and the Squire with the ribbons, a-holloaing like mad! For my part, I don't like such pranks, and wouldmuch sooner not be there to see 'em. There will be mischief some daywith it yet, for all that old Lord Orford, down at Newmarket some fiftyyears ago, used to do the same thing, they say. It ain't in nature thatstags should be druv four-in-hand, even by Carew. However, the Squirewon his wager; and we haven't seen none o' _that_ wild work o' lateweeks, though we may see it again any day. "

"I have heard of that strange exploit, " observed Yorke; "but as drivingdeer, even in the ordinary way, is not my calling, and as I am no greatrider, even if I had a horse, I don't see how I am to introduce myselfto your mad Squire, and yet I have a great fancy for his acquaintance. Do you think he'd buy any of these drawings, taken in his own park, fromhis own timber?" The young man touched a portfolio, already well stockedwith studies of oak and beech. "Here is a sketch of the Decoy Pond, forinstance, with the oldest tree in the chase beside it; would not thatinterest him, think you? You think not?"

"Well, young gentleman, " said the keeper, frankly, "if I say no, itain't that I mean any slight to your drawing. It's like the tree enough, for certain, with the very hoop of iron as I put round it with my ownhands twenty years ago--and, by the same token, it will want anotherbefore this winter's out; but I don't think the Squire cares much forsuch matters. He might, maybe, just give a look at it, or he might bidyou go to the devil for a paper-staining son of a--well--what you will. He does not care a farthing, bless 'ee, for all the great pictures inhis own gallery, though they cost his grandfather a mint of money, andare certainly a fine sight--so far as the frames go. And, on the otherhand, if he happens to be cross-grained that day, he might tear it upbefore you could say 'Hold, ' and kick you down the Hall steps into thebargain, as he has done to many a one. That's where it is, you see, theSquire is so chancy. "

"I don't think he would kick _me_ down his Hall steps, " said Yorke, grimly. 

The keeper grinned. "Well, you see, nobody can tell that till it'stried. The Squire is a regular bruiser, I promise you, though I grantyou are a strapping young fellow, and you have told me that you know howto use your fists. That's a great thing, mind you, for a man to ha'learnt; a deal better than Latin or such-like, in my opinion. Folks talkof life-preservers and pistols, but there's nothing like a good pair ofwell-handled fists when one has to tackle a poacher. I've been atCrompton, man and boy, these fifty years, and had a good manyrough-and-tumbles with that sort, and I have never had the worst of ityet. It prevents bloodshed on both sides; for if you haven't noshooting-iron, there's few Englishmen, poachers or not, who will drawtrigger on you; and as for a bludgeon, it's as likely to be in my handas another's after the first half minute. "

"Is there much poaching now at Crompton?" inquired Yorke, mechanically. It would have been plain to any less obtuse observer than his companionthat he no longer gave him his attention. 

"Well, no; nothing to be called serious has happened lately; though Idare say we shall have some scrimmages as the winter comes on; there'sallus a good deal of what I calls hanky-panky work in the fawn season. Women and children--especially children--will come into the park, underpretense o' picking up sticks; and they'll put away a new dropped fawnin their bundles, if they get the chance; and then they take it home, tobe reared until it grows up, and can be sold for venison. "

"I should have thought there would have been no market for such acommodity--that is, in the case of people such as you describe, "observed Yorke, yawning. 

"Market!" echoed the keeper, contemptuously; "there'd be a marketto-morrow morning for the whole herd o' our wild-cattle, if they werestolen to-night; there'd be a market for a rhinoceros or a halligator, if we happened to keep 'em, bless 'ee, as easy as for a sucking pig! ButI don't call that poaching--I mean the fawn-stealing. It's theprofessionals from the Midland towns as come by tens and twenties at atime as is our trouble. We generally gets wind of 'em beforehand, andthen out we all goes, and Squire with us--for he dearly loves afight--and then there's broken crowns and bloody noses; but, thank God, there's been no murder done, at least, not in my time, at Crompton. Andthat reminds me, Sir, that it's time for me to start on my eveningrounds. "

"Well, when you next have any news of such an incursion, Grange, I hopeyou will let me make one of your party, " said Yorke, good-humoredly. "Ican hit out straight from the shoulder; and perhaps I might get to knowthe Squire _that_ way. "

"And as likely a road to lead you into his good graces, Sir, " said thekeeper, rising, "as any I know. Are you for a walk round the park thisfine evening, Sir?"

"No; not to-night, thank you, Grange. I have got to fill in this sketcha bit that I took this morning. "

"Then, good-night, Sir, for I sha'n't return before daylight. "

But it was not till long after the keeper had taken his departure thatRichard Yorke turned hand or eye to his unfinished drawing. He satstaring straight before him with steadfast eyes and thoughtful face, forhours, murmuring to himself disjointed sentences; and ever and anon hestarted up and paced the little room with rapid strides. "He shall seeme, and know me, too, " muttered he, at last, between his clenched teeth, "though it should cost one of us our lives. She shall not say I camedown to this wilderness, like some hunted beast to covert, for nothing. "

CHAPTER III. 

THE NIGHT-WATCH. 

It was an easy thing enough, as Walter Grange had said, to makeacquaintance with Carew of Crompton, and possible even to become hisbosom friend at a short notice, for his friendships, all made in wine, at play, or in the hunting-field, were soon cemented; but then, if theintroduction was effected in an unpropitious time or manner, it was likeenough to end in affront or downright insult. A gulf might be fixed justwhere you wanted a causeway, and of this--though he had feigned toinquire about it so innocently of the honest park-keeper--Richard Yorkewas well aware. He had, as has been hinted, come down to Crompton withthe express view of throwing himself in the way of its eccentric master, and to do so opportunely, and he was content to bide his time. Thus, though the autumn had far advanced, and the time had come for men of hiscraft to hasten from the dropping, dripping woods, no longer fair, tohive at home their sweet memorials of the summer time, Richard remainedat Crompton, not willingly, indeed, nor even patiently, but with thatsort of dogged resolve which is engendered, even in a restless spirit, by long watching. He had stopped so long that he would not now give uphis watch; the fortress, indeed, showed no more sign of breach than whenhe first sat down before it; but still he would not raise the siege. This persistency excited no surprise in his house companion; WalterGrange was no gossip, nor curious about other men's affairs; it waseasy, even for him, to see that his tenant had a proud stomach, and hehad set down his talk about desiring an introduction to Carew as merelyanother phrase for wishing for a good chance of disposing of his waresto best advantage in that market to which so many of such variouscallings thronged. He did not think, as he had honestly confessed, thatthere was much chance of the Squire becoming a patron of the fine arts, but he wished the young fellow luck, and was glad, for more than onereason, that he staid on. 

It was at least three months after his young lodger's arrival thatWalter burst into his sitting-room one afternoon, without his usualknock at the door, with the great news that he had just had word, by asafe hand, that a gang of poachers would be in the Home Park that verynight, and that all the staff of keepers would be out in waiting forthem. 

"You know, " said he, quite indignant that the young man did not show hisenthusiasm, "you told me I was to be sure and let you know, Mr. Yorke;but, of course, you needn't make one of us unless you like. "

"Oh yes, I'll come, " laughed the young fellow--"that is, provided it isfine. I can't fight in the rain, even for the game laws. "

"It'll be a lovely night, Sir, with just enough of moonlight to knowfriends from foes, " went on the keeper, rubbing his hands, andunconsciously moistening them in his excitement. "I knew you'd come. Isaid to myself: 'Mr. Yorke'll never turn tail;' and we shall be reallyglad of your help, for the fact is we are short-handed. Napes is downwith the rheumatics, and two of our men are away from home, and thereain't time to send to the out-beaters. So we shall be onlynine--including yourself--in all. Let's see, " continued the old man, counting on his fingers: "there'll be Bill Nokes, and Robert Sloane, and--"

"Spare me the roll-call, Grange, " interrupted the painter; "and tell mewhere I am to be, and when, and I'll be there. "

"Very good, Sir, " said the keeper, musing. "I'll put you at the Squire'soak--the one as you drawed so nicely--that'll be at the Decoy downyonder, and close to home. You have only to use this whistle, and you'llget help enough if you chance to be set upon; there will be a fight, nodoubt. They must be a daring lot to poach the near park, within sound ofthe house: they ain't a done that these ten year; for the last time theybrought Squire and his bull-dogs out, which was a lesson to one or twoof 'em. However, he's for town, they say, to-day. "

"All right, Grange; we must do without him, then, " returned the youngman, cheerfully. "What time am I to be on guard?"

"You should be there at ten at latest, Sir. There'll be plenty of uswithin whistle-call, you understand. But nobody will come aneist you ashas any business there; so whoever you see you must go in at. "

Yorke nodded, smiling, and doubling his white fists, hit outscientifically with his right. 

"You're one after the Squire's own heart, " exclaimed the keeper, admiringly; "and I do wish you could foregather with him. What a reachof arm you've got, and what a play of muscle! The fist is the weapon fora poacher--that is, I mean _agin_ him--if you only know how to use it. Ican depend on the Decoy being guarded by ten, Sir, can I? for I must beoff to the head-keeper's with the rest. "

"Yes, you can. "

"Then, good-by, Sir, for the present. "

"Now what a poor fool is that!" soliloquized the young painter, contemptuously, as the door closed upon his late companion. "To thinkthat I should risk my life against a poacher's on even terms! Of course, if they suffice, I shall only treat him to my knuckles; but if not--ifhe be a giant, or there be more than one of them--then here is a betterally than mere bone and sinew. " Yorke took out of a drawer alife-preserver, made of lead and whalebone, struck with it once, to testits weight and elasticity, then slipped it into his shooting-jacketpocket. "That will enlarge their organs of locality, " said he, grimly;"they will not forget the Decoy Pond in a hurry whose heads knockagainst this. "

He made a better supper than was usual with him that night; filled hispocket-flask with brandy, and his pouch with tobacco; and then makingsure that the whistle Grange had given him, and which he had hung roundhis neck, was within easy reach of his fingers, sallied out, wellwrapped up as to his throat, and with his hands in his pockets. IfRichard Yorke was doomed not to have life made easy for him, he made itas easy as he could. He never omitted a precaution, unless it gave himtrouble to take it out of proportion to the advantage it conferred; hewas never imprudent, unless the passion of the moment was too strong forhim; but sometimes, unfortunately, his mere whims were in theirintensity passions, and his passions, while they lasted, fits ofmadness. He was a landscape-painter, partly because he had some tastethat way, but chiefly because he hated regular work of any sort. He hadno real love for his art, and not the least touch of poetic feeling. Heknew an oak from a beech-tree, and the sort of touch that should be usedin delineating the foliage of each; a yellow primrose was to him ayellow primrose, and he could mix the colors deftly enough which made upits hue. His education had been by no means neglected, but it had beenof a strange sort; every thing he had learned was, as it were, forimmediate use, and of a superficial but attractive character. Theadvocates of a classical curriculum would have shaken their heads atwhat Richard Yorke did know, almost as severely as at his lack ofknowledge. He had read a good deal of all kinds of literature, includingmuch garbage; he could play a little on the piano, and speak Frenchwith an excellent accent. In a word, he had learned every thing that hadpleased him, as well as a little Latin and some mathematics, which hadnot. He knew English history far better than most young Englishmen; butthe sight of tomb or ruin had never made his heart pulse faster with anevoked idea by a single beat. Historical associations had no charm forhim. This mighty oak, for example, under the shadow of which he nowstands sentry, and which he had transferred so deftly to his portfolio, has no longer any interest for him. He has "done it, " and its use andpleasure are therefore departed in his eyes. He knows quite well thatthough it is called the Squire's, in token, probably, of some wholesaleslaughter of wild-ducks effected by Carew from its convenient cover, that this tree is hundreds of years old--the oldest in all the chase. Hehas read the "Talking Oak, " for indeed he can quote Tennyson by theyard, and in dulcet voice; and it would have been natural enough, onewould think, in such a time and place, that some thoughts of what thisvenerable monarch of the forest must have witnessed would perforce comeinto his mind. The same moonlight that now shines down between itsknotted naked branches must have doubtless lit on many a pair of lovers, for it was ever a favorite place for tryst in by-gone years. The youngmonk, perhaps, may here (when Crompton was an abbey) have given doubleabsolution, to himself and to the girl who confessed to him her love. Roundhead maiden and Cavalier gallant must many a time have forgottentheir political differences beneath this oak, as yet a tree not sacredto royalty; nay, perhaps even those of. York and Lancaster may here havebeen compounded for, in one red rose of a blush. Bluff Harry had haplyhunted beneath its once wide-spreading arms, and certainly the martyrking had done so, with a score of generations of men of all sorts, deadand gone, God alone knows whither. Though no more the bugle sounded, northe twanging bow was heard, there was surely an echo of their far-awaymusic in the young painter's ear! No, there was none. 

 Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter, was a line Richard Yorke had read, perhaps, but certainly had notunderstood. He heard the bare branch creak and sway above his head asthe wind slowly took it; he heard the night-jar croak, as it flew by onsilent wing; and now and then he heard, or thought he heard, the soundof the voices of his fellow-watchers a great way off, which was his onlytouch of fancy. They were all silent, and in close hiding. 

It is not to be supposed, however, that his mind was fixed upon thematter in which he was engaged, so that other subjects were therebyexcluded from it. The repression of night-poaching was not a matter thatinterested him either in principle or practice. He would just as soonthat the keeper had not reminded him of his offer to share hiswatch--the whim that had once seized him to do so had died away; buthaving once promised his company, he was not one to break his word. Sohere he was. 

The young man's thoughts were busy, then, neither with the past nor thepresent, but with the future--that is, _his own_ future. The path oflife did not lie straight before Richard Yorke, as it does before mostmen of his age, and in fact it came, so to speak, abruptly to atermination exactly where he stood. 

In such a case, the choice of the wayfarer becomes boundless, and isonly limited by the horizon and circumstances. As matters were, he hadscarcely enough to live on--not nearly enough to do so as his tastes andhabits suggested; and yet, by one bold stroke, with luck to back it, hemight, not "one day" (_that_ would have had small charm for him), but atonce, and for his life-long, be rich and prosperous. He could not besaid to have expectations, but his position was not without certaincontingencies, the extreme brilliancy of which might almost atone fortheir vagueness. It was from a dream of future greatness, or what seemedto him as such, wherein he saw himself wealthy and powerful, surroundedwith luxury and with the ministers of every pleasure, that he wassuddenly and sharply awakened by a trifling incident--the snapping of adead twig in the copse hard by. In an instant the glittering gossamer ofthought was swept aside, and the young fellow was all ear and eye. Thewind had dropped for some time, and the silence was intense; that solemnhush seemed to pervade the forest which some poet has attributed to thecessation of spiritual life, as though the haunters of the glade were_waiting_ for the resumption of their occupations until the interlopingmortal should pass by. Nothing stirred, or, if so, it was motion withoutsound, as when the full-feathered owl slid softly through the midnightair above him. Not a dead leaf fell; and where the leaves had fallenthere they lay. How was it, then, that a twig broke? The deer werecouched; the pheasants sat at roost, their heads beneath that splendidcoverlet, their wing; and though there were creeping things which evenmidnight did not woo to rest in that vast wilderness, Yorke had imbibedenough of forest lore to know that the noise which he had heard wasproduced by none of these. A rat in the water-rushes, or a stoat pushingthrough the undergrowth, would have announced itself in a differentfashion. Again the sound was heard, and this time it was no longer thecrackling of a twig, but the breaking of a branch; then cautiousfootsteps fell upon the frosty leaves, and, with a light leap on thebank that fringed the copse, the poacher stood in the open. 

That such he was, Yorke had no doubt whatever; the moonlight streamedfull upon him, and showed him to be none of the Crompton keepers, unless, indeed, he was disguised. For an instant, it passed across hismind that this might be Walter Grange himself--he was about the sameheight and build--come to play a trick upon him to test his courage, forthe man's face was blackened like a burglar's; but this idea wasdismissed as soon as entertained. The keeper, he reflected, thought fartoo seriously of the night's doings to make jest of them, and besides, he could never have sprung upon the bank as yonder fellow did, hislimbs, though sturdy, being stiff with age and occasional rheumatism. The intruder seemed quite alone, and it was probable, while hisconfederates paid attention to the pheasants in the Home Park, that hewas bent upon making a private raid upon the sleeping water-fowl. Hehad no gun, however, nor, as far as Yorke could make out, any otherweapon; and as soon as he had got near enough to the pond to admit ofit the watcher sprang out from beneath the shadow of the oak, andplaced himself between the stranger and the copse from which hehad emerged. Yorke was the taller by full six inches, and believinghimself to be more than a match for his antagonist, had not somuch as laid finger on his concealed weapon; but if he had nowany thought of doing so, it was too late; for, with a cryof eager rage, the man turned at once, and sprang at him like a tiger. It needed all his skill and coolness to parry the fierce blows whichfell upon him like hail, and which he had scarcely time to return. Yorkewas an adept at boxing, and in the chance encounters into which asomewhat dissipated and reckless youth had led him, he had been an easyvictor; but it now took all he knew to "keep himself. " An instant'scarelessness, or the absence of a hand in search of that which he wouldnow have gladly seized, and his guard, would have been broken through, and himself placed at his foe's mercy. Nothing but his long reachpreserved him from those sledge-hammer blows, which seemed as thougheach must break the arm they fell upon. As for using his whistle, theopportunity, of course, was not afforded him; and, moreover, he had nobreath to spare for such a purpose. Breath, however, was also adesideratum with the poacher, and the more so inasmuch as he accompaniedevery blow--as Brian de Bois-Guilbert was wont to hammer home hismace-strokes with "Ha! Beauseant, Beauseant!"--with some amazing oath. It is recorded of an American gentleman, much given to blasphemy, thathe could entertain "an intelligent companion" for half a day with themere force and ingenuity of his expletives; and this singular talentseemed to be shared by Richard Yorke's antagonist. That one of the mostaccomplished roughs of the Midlands had fallen to the young painter'slot in that night's _mêlée_, he could not for a moment doubt; but thisreflection did not go far to soothe him. He did not care for fightingfor its own sake, while his pride revolted against thus being kept atbay by a brutal clown. If he could but get the chance, he made up hismind to end this matter once for all, and at last the opportunity seemedto be afforded. The poacher suddenly stepped back to the very margin ofthe pond, a long oval piece of water, and not very deep, and quick asthought, Yorke drew his deadly weapon. But at the same moment there wasa sound of racing feet, and down the drive there came two men atheadlong speed. Yorke did not doubt that they were poachers; but hisblood was up, and he was armed--he felt like an iron-clad against whomthree wooden ships were about to pit themselves. "Where I hit now I makea hole, " he muttered, savagely, and stood firm; nor did he even put hislips to the whistle that hung round his neck. 

[Illustration: "THE MAN TURNED AT ONCE, AND SPRANG AT HIM LIKE ATIGER. "]

But as the men came nearer, in the foremost he recognized Walter Grange, and at the same moment saw his late antagonist plunge wildly into theice-cold pond, and begin to wade and swim across it. 

"Cuss him! I durst not do it, " gasped Walter, just too late, andmindful, even in his passionate disappointment, of rheumatic pains. "Dash after him, Bob, while Mr. Yorke and I run round. "

But Bob had had the rheumatism too, or had seen the unpleasant effectsof it in others, and shook his shaggy head. 

A mocking laugh burst from the poacher, already nearing the oppositebank. 

"Dang him! If I'd got a gun, I'd shoot him. Run, man!" cried Walter, excitedly--"run, man, run! He can never get along in his wet clothes. "And off the two men started in hot pursuit. 

Yorke watched them toiling round the pond, while the poacher landed, shook himself like any water-dog, and leisurely trotted off. 

"It was lucky for him, " murmured he, as he replaced his weapon in hispocket, "that the help came on _my_ side;" then lit his pipe, andleisurely walked home. 

Three hours later returned the keeper (for whose arrival he had beensitting up), with twinkling eye and a look of triumph. 

"Well, you caught the beggar, did you, Grange?"

"Oh yes, we caught him fast enough, " responded the other, grinning; "wecaught the whole lot of them. And who d'ye think they were? Why, it wasthe whole party from the house, as had come out to play at poachers! Whoever heard of such a game? Some on 'em got it hot, I reckon, in the newspinney yonder. But _that_ was no matter. We've all had our skins fullof rum punch, and a sov. Apiece, because Squire says we proved ourselvesgood watch-dogs. And here, " continued the old man, exultingly, "are acouple of sovs. For yourself. 'Give them to that tall young fellow, 'says Squire, 'as you posted by the Decoy Pond, for he knows how to usehis fists. ' Why, that 'ere chap as you had the tussle with was Carewhisself!"

A deadly paleness overspread the young man's cheeks. 

"Was that Carew?" he said. 

"Yes, indeed, it was; though none of us know'd it. You needn't look soskeared. He ain't annoyed with you; he's pleased, bless 'ee, and here'sthe proof of it. "

"You may keep the guineas, Grange, " said Yorke, gravely; "only keep mysecret too. If he thinks I was a night-watcher, let him continue in thatbelief. "

"Why, it's the best introduction to Carew as you could have!" insistedthe astonished keeper. "You have only to go up to the great houseto-morrow, and say: 'Here's the man as proved your match last night, 'and--"

"You must allow me to be the best judge of my own affairs, " interruptedthe young fellow, haughtily; "so you will be so good as to say nothingmore about the matter. "

"Just as you please, Sir; and I am sure you are very kind, " answered thekeeper, slipping the coins into his pocket. "Squire hisself could not bemore liberal, that's certain. You are tired, I see; and I wish yougood-night, Sir, or rather good-morning. "

"Good-night, Grange. "

"Now, that's what I call pride, " said Walter, grimly, as he closed thedoor upon his lodger; "and I am sure I hope, for his sake, it may neverhave a fall. "

When Richard Yorke was thus left to himself he did a curious thing; hetook out the life-preserver from its receptacle, and having made up thefire, placed it in the centre of the burning mass, so that in themorning there was nothing left of it save a dull lump of lead. 

CHAPTER IV. 

ACROSS THE THRESHOLD. 

A day or two passed by, and nothing more was heard of Carew's combatwith the young watcher; some other mad frolic had doubtless entered intothe Squire's head and driven that one out. The hot punch imbibed afterhis swim in the Decoy Pond seemed to have averted all evil consequences, or perhaps he was case-hardened to such things. It was not uncommon withhim to spend whole winter nights on a neighboring "broad, " in pursuit ofthe mere-fowl that haunted it, in water or ice or swamp. He treated hisbody as an enemy, and strove to subdue it--though not for the goodreasons of the Apostle--by every sort of harshness and imprudence; orrather he behaved toward it as a wayward father toward his child--at onetime with cruel severity, at another with the utmost luxury andindulgence. No rich man, probably, ever gave his heir so many chances ofinheritance, or excited in him so many false hopes, as did the Squire ofCrompton, who had no heir. 

The hunting season had begun with him after its usual fashion; he seldomtroubled himself to find a fox, but turned one out of a bag to insuresport, or ran a drag over the most difficult and dangerous country thatcould be selected. 

Yorke had almost made up his mind to take the keeper's advice, anddistinguish himself by putting his neck to the same risks as Carew, onhorseback, in order to recommend himself to his notice, when an eventoccurred by which he attained his end in another way. 

Tired of the park, wherein he had dwelled so long, and which every daythe approach of winter made more bare and desolate, he had taken asolitary walk along the highway which led to the market-town. He wasreturning, and had reached the top of the long hill where the park fencebegan, and a high solid gate--so that no dogs could enter--gave accessto that wild domain, when a confused murmur in the keen blue air causedhim to look back. For a mile or more the road was straight, and theleafless trees and hedges left the prospect open to him in alldirections; at the extremity of the road was some huge moving object, which, advancing at great speed, disclosed the Squire's mail phaeton, drawn by four antlered stags, and followed at some distance by three orfour mounted grooms, apparently unable to keep up with him. Carewhimself was standing up like some charioteer of old, and, although healready outstripped the very wind, was laying about him frantically withhis whip, as up the hill the frightened creatures tore as if the groundwere level. The reason of this headlong speed was at the same time madeevident by the appearance of a pack of hounds, which, followed by anumerous field in scarlet, was coming across the grass-land in full cry. The spectacle, though weird and strange, was by no means without acertain grandeur--like some barbarous pageant. Yorke understood thesituation at a glance. He had heard the keeper say that, not contentwith his wild progresses through the park, the Squire had sworn to drivehis stags one day into the market-town, and this he had doubtlessactually accomplished; but, on his return, he had had the misfortune tobe caught sight of by one of his own packs of hounds, which were now infull pursuit of him, like another Actaeon. The terrified stags, withthat deep-mouthed menace of their natural enemies ringing in their ears, at once threw off all control, and had left their grooms behind them inhalf a dozen bounds. If only the harness held, they would be at thelodge gate in a very few minutes; but, on the other hand, the houndswere nearer to that point, which they were approaching diagonally. Theywere running, of course, by sight, like greyhounds, and with greyhounds'speed. Above their eager mellow notes, and the mad shouting of theexcited sportsmen, and the ceaseless winding of the disregarded horn, above the thunder of his own wheels, and of the hoofs of his strangesteeds upon the wintry road, rang out Carew's hoarse tones: "The gate, the gate!" If only that wooden wall could be interposed between hisstags and their pursuers, all might yet be well. But, though thelodge-keeper had been drawn by the tumult to his door, he stood therelike one amazed and fascinated by the spectacle before him, andparalyzed with the catastrophe that seemed impending. 

"Gate, gate, you gaping idiot!" roared the Squire, with a frightfulcurse; but the poor shaking wretch had not the power to stir; it wasYorke himself who dashed at the latch, and threw the long gate wide tolet the madman pass, and then slammed it back upon the very jaws of thehounds. They rushed against the solid wood like a living battering-ram, and howled with baffled rage; and some leaped up and got their fore-pawsover it, and would have got in yet, but that Richard beat them back withhis bare hands. 

In the mean time Carew and his stags swept up the park like a whirlwind, and presently, coming to a coppice, the frightened creatures dashed intoit, doubtless for covert, where wheel and rein and antler, tangling withtrunk and branch, soon brought them to a full stop. 

"Good lad!" exclaimed Carew, as Yorke hurried up to help him; "you are agood plucked one, you are; you shall keep the lodge, if you will, instead of that lily-livered scoundrel who was too frightened to move. Oh, I ask pardon; you are a gentleman, are you?"

"Sir, I hope so, " answered the young man, stiffly, his anger only halfsubdued by the necessity for conciliation. 

"Then, come up to the house and dine, whoever you are; I'll lend you ared coat. Curse those grooms! what keeps them? One can't sit upon astag's head to quiet him as though he were a horse. " (Two of the stagswere down, and butting, at one another with their horns. ) "What a pacewe came up White Hill! I tried to time them, but I could not get mywatch out. You moved yourself like a flash of lightning, else I thoughtwe must have pinned you against the gate. It was well done, my lad, welldone; and I'm your debtor. "

The Squire held out his hand, for the first time, for Yorke to shake. 

"Why, what's this?" said he, peering into the other's eyes. "I haveseen your face before, my friend. "

"Yes, Sir; a week or two ago I played the part of night-watcher in yourpreserves--it was a mad prank; but"--and here the young fellow smiledroguishly--"it was better than poaching, you must admit. "

"What!" cried the Squire, delighted, "are you the fellow that had thatbout with me in the Decoy Pond? Why, I thought you were one of my ownmen, and sent you something; but, of course, my scoundrels drank it. I'mglad to see you, Sir, by daylight. It was the uncertain moonshine thathampered me, else, by Jove, I'd have given you 'one, two!' We must haveit out another day, for a drawn battle is just the thing I hate. What'syour name, young gentleman, and where do you live?"

"I live close by, Sir; I am in lodgings for the present. "

"Ay, ay, for the hunting, I suppose, " said the impetuous Squire. "Harkto those devils of dogs; they are howling yet; they would have had mystags by this time but for you. Well, well; send for your portmanteau, and take up your quarters at Crompton; you shall have a hearty welcome;only don't be late for dinner--seven, Sir, sharp. Here are my knavishgrooms at last. "

And, under cover of the fire of imprecations which the Squire pouredupon his approaching retainers, the young landscape-painter withdrew. Hehad obtained his end at last, and he wished to retire before Carewshould put that question to him for a second time--what is yourname?--which, at such a moment, it would, for certain reasons, have beenembarrassing to answer. 

He betook himself at once to the keeper's lodge, and packing up hiswardrobe, which, though of modest dimensions, comprised all that wasrequisite for a gentleman's costume, dispatched it to the great house. He followed it himself shortly afterward, only waiting to dash off anote by the afternoon's post for town. It was literally a "hurriedline, " and would have better suited these later telegraphic days, whenthoughts, though wire-drawn, are compressed, and brevity is the soul ofcheapness, as of wit. "_I have got my foot in, and however it may bepinched, will keep the door open. Direct to me at Crompton_. "

It was not a nice trait in the young man, if it was a characteristicone, that he did not take the trouble even to leave so much word as thatfor the old keeper, who was engaged in his outdoor duties, but simplyinclosed the few shillings in which he was indebted to him inside anenvelope, addressed to Walter Grange. The old man liked him, as he wellknew, and would have prized a few words of farewell; but Yorke was in ahurry to change his quarters for the better; he had climbed from low tohigh, and gave no further thought to the ladder which had so far servedhim. But yet he had some prudence too. Though he had dwelled so long inthe Carew domains, so careful had he been not to intrude his presenceinopportunely on its master, that he had never so much as seen, exceptat a distance, the mansion to which he was now an invited guest. Howgrand it showed, as his elastic step drew near it, with tower and turretstanding up against the gloomy November sky, and all its broad-wingedfront alive with light! How good it would be to call so fine a place hishome! How excellent to be made heir to the childless man who ruled it, and who could leave it to whomsoever his whim might choose!

It was unusual for a guest to approach Crompton for the first time onfoot. The Squire's jovial friends used for the most part strangeconveyances, such as tandems and randoms, and the great flower-beds inthe lawn in front gave sign that some such equipage had been latelydriven up not altogether with dexterity. It is difficult at all times todrive "unicorn, " and more so if the horses are not used to that methodof progression, and still more so if the charioteer is somewhatinebriated; and all these conditions had been fulfilled a few minutespreviously in the case of Mr. Frederick Chandos, a young gentleman oftwenty-one years of age, but of varied experience, who had just arrivedthat day on his first visit. But when Yorke appeared at the front-door, there was no less attention paid to him than if he had driven up withfour-in-hand. Obsequious footmen assisted him to take off his wrappersin the great hall, whose vastness dwarfed the billiard-table in itscentre to bagatelle proportions. A profusion of wax-lights--and noothers were permitted at Crompton, save in the servants' offices--showedeight shining pillars of rare marble, and a grand staircase broad enoughfor a coach-and-four, and up which, indeed, Carew _had_ ridden horsesfor a wager; while all the walls were hung with huge-figuredtapestry--"The Tent of Darius" and "The Entry of Alexander intoBabylon, " both miracles of patient art. The grandeur of the statelyplace was marred, however, by signs of revel and rough usage. ThePersian monarch, spared by his Grecian conqueror, had been deprived, bysome more modern barbarian, of his eyes; while the face of his royalconsort had been cut out of the threaded picture, to judge by the raggedend of the canvas, by a penknife. The very pillars were notched inplaces, as though some mad revelers had striven to climb to the picturedceiling, from which gods and men looked down upon them with amaze; thethick-piled carpet of the stairs was cut and torn, doubtless by horses'hoofs; and here and there a gap in the gilt balusters showed where theyhad been torn away in brutal frolic. A groom of the chambers precededthe new guest up stairs, and introduced him to a bachelor's apartment, small, but well furnished in the modern style, whither his portmanteauhad been already taken. "Squire has given orders, Sir, " said he, respectfully, "that he should be informed as soon as you arrived. Whatname shall I say, Sir? But here he is himself. "

As the groom withdrew, Carew made his appearance at the open door. Hewas smoking a cigar, although it was within an hour of dinner-time; andat his heels slouched a huge bull-dog, who immediately began to growland sniff at the new guest. "Quiet, you brute!" exclaimed the Squire, with his customary garnish of strong expletive. "Welcome to Crompton, Mr. --I forget your name; or rather you forgot, I think, to favor me withit. "

"My name is Richard Yorke, Sir. "

"Yorke, Yorke--that sounds easterly. You are of the Cambridgeshirestock, I reckon, are you not?"

"No, Sir, " returned the other, with a slight tremor in his voice, whichhe could not control; "I come from nearer home. Your wife's firsthusband was called Yorke, if you remember, and I bear his name, although I am her lawful son, by you, Sir. "

CHAPTER V. 

AT CROMPTON. 

After the bold avowal made at the conclusion of the last chapter, Richard Yorke and his father (for such indeed he was) stood confrontingone another, for near a minute, without a word. A tempest of evilpassions swept over Carew's swarthy face, and his eyes flashed with afire that seemed to threaten personal violence. The bull-dog, too, asthough perceiving his master's irritation with the stranger, began togrowl again; and this, perhaps, was fortunate for the young man, asaffording a channel for the Squire's pent-up wrath. With a great oath, leveled alike at man and brute, he raised his foot, and kicked thelatter to the other side of the room. 

"Impudent bastard!" cried he; "how dare you show your face beneath myroof?"

"How _dare_ I?" responded the young man, excitedly, and with hishandsome face aglow. "Because there was naught to fear; and if therewere, I should not have feared it. "

"Tut, tut! so bold a game could never have entered into your young head. Your mother must have set you on to do it--come, Sir, the truth, thetruth. "

"She did not set me on, father, " insisted the other, earnestly. "I camehere of my own will. I have been dwelling within a stone's-throw of yourhouse these six months, in hopes to see you face to face. She told me_not_ to come--I swear she did. "

"So much the better for her, " ejaculated the Squire, grimly. "If Ithought that she had any hand in this, not another shilling of my moneyshould she ever touch. It was agreed between us, " he continued, passionately--"and I, for my part, am a man who keeps his word--that sheand hers should never meddle more with me and mine; and now she hasbroken faith. "

"Nay, Sir, but she has not, " returned the young man, firmly. "I tell youit was against her will that I came hither. "

"The devil it was!" exclaimed the Squire, suddenly bursting into a wildlaugh. "If you get your way with _her_, when she says 'no, ' you must bea rare one. You are my son for certain, however, or you would never dareto stand here. It was a rash step, young Sir, and might have ended inthe horse-pond. I had half a mind to set my bull-dog at you. Since you_are_ here, however, you can stay. But let us understand one another. Iam your father, in a sense, as I am father, for aught I know, to halfthe parish; but as to being lawfully so, the law has happened to havedecided otherwise. I know what you would say about 'the rights of it;'but that's beside the question; the law, I say, for once, is on my side, and I stand by it. Egad, I have good reason to do so; and if your motherhad been _your_ wife, as she was mine, you would be with me so far. Now, look you, " and here again the speaker's manner changed with his shiftingmood, "if ever again you venture to address me as your father, or toboast of me as such, I will have you turned out neck and crop; but asMr. Richard Yorke, my guest, you will be welcome at Crompton, so long aswe two suit each other; only beware, young Sir, that you tell me nolies. I shall soon get rid of you on these terms, " continued the Squire, with a chuckle; "for to speak truth must be as difficult to you, considering the stock you come of, as dancing on the tight-rope. Yourmother, indeed, was a first-rate rope-dancer in that way, and I rarelycaught her tripping; but you--"

"Sir, " interrupted the young man, passionately, "is this yourhospitality?"

"True, lad, true, " answered the Squire, good-humoredly; "I had intendedto have forgotten Madam Yorke's existence. Well, Sir, what _are_you?--what do you do, I mean, for a livelihood--beside 'night-watching?'"

"I am a landscape-painter, Sir. "

"Umph!" grunted Carew, contemptuously; "you don't get fat on thatpasture, I reckon. Have you never done any thing else?"

For a single instant the young man hesitated to reply; then answered, "Never. "

"You are quite sure of that?" inquired the other, suspiciously. 

"Quite sure. "

"Good! Here, come with me. "

His host led the way along an ample corridor, hung with tall pictures oftheir common ancestors, and opened the door of another bedroom. It wasof a vast size; and even when the Squire had lit the candles upon themantle-piece, and those which clustered on either side of the greatpier-glass, the darkness did but give place to a sort of shining gloom:the cause of this strange effect was the peculiarity of the furniture;the walls were of bog-oak, relieved, like those of a ball-room, bysilver sconces; the chairs were of the same material. The curiosity ofthe room was, however, the bedstead; this was of an immense size, andadorned above with ostrich feathers, which gave it the appearance of afuneral car; the pillars were of solid ebony, as were also the carvedhead and foot boards; it was hung with crimson damask curtains, trimmedwith gold braid; and upon its coverlet of purple silk lay a quilt ofBrussels point lace of exquisite design. 

"I will have your traps brought in here, " said Carew, throwing away theend of his cigar, and drawing from his pocket a heap of filberts; "itwill be more convenient. You will find a room through yonder door, whereyou can sit and paint to your heart's content. "

"You lodge me so splendidly, Sir, that I shall feel like ChristopherSly, " observed the young fellow, gratefully. 

"Ay, sly enough, I'll warrant, " returned the Squire, who had justcracked a nut and found it a bad one. "That's Bred in the Bone with you, I reckon. Look yonder!" As he spoke, a porcelain vase clock upon thechimney-piece struck the half hour, and a gilt serpent sprang from thepedestal, showing its fang, which was set in brilliants. "That's myserpent clock, which always reminds me of Madam, your mother, and themore so, because it goes for a twelvemonth, which was just the time sheand I went in double harness. But here are your clothes, and you must bequick in getting into them, for we dine sharp at Crompton. --Watson, goto my man, and bid him fetch a red coat for this gentleman. --You'llhear the gong, Mr. Yorke, five minutes before dinner is served. " Andwith a careless nod to his guest, and a whistle to his four-footedcompanion, Carew sauntered off. 

The young man would have given much to have had half an hour at hisdisposal to think over the events of the last few minutes, and toreflect upon his present position; but there was no time to lose, if hewould avoid giving umbrage to his host by being late. He thereforedressed in haste, and before the first note of the gong was heard wasfully equipped. If the Squire, in introducing him to this splendidlodging, had had it in his mind to overcome him by a mere exhibition ofmagnificence, the design had failed; it was only Yorke's artistic sensethat had been impressed; the fact was that the young fellow was of thatcharacter on whom superiority of any sort has small effect; while in thepresent case the signs of wealth about him gave him self-confidence, rather than any feeling of inferiority; insomuch as he consideredhimself "by rights, " as the Squire had said, the heir of all he saw, andby no means despaired of becoming so, not only _de jure_, but _defacto_. Certainly, as he now regarded himself in the pier-glass in hisscarlet coat, it was not to be wondered at that he reflectedcomplacently that, so far as personal appearance went, he was not likelyto find a superior in any of the company he was about to meet. Ahandsomer young fellow had indeed never answered the importunate summonsof the Crompton gong. 

He had no difficulty about finding his way to the drawing-room, for astream of red-coated guests was already setting thither from theirrespective chambers, and he entered it with them unannounced. This wasthe only apartment in the house which did not bear traces of mischievousdamage, because, as on the present occasion, it was used for exactlyfive minutes every evening, and at no other time whatever. After dinnerthe Squire's guests invariably adjourned to the billiard-table or thelibrary, and the yellow drawing-room was left alone in its magnificence. This neglected apartment had probably excited more envy in the femalemind than any at Crompton, although there were drawing-rooms galorethere, as well as one or two such exquisite boudoirs as might havetempted a nun from her convent. It was a burning shame, said the matronsof Breakneckshire, that the finest room in the county should not have alawful mistress to grace it; and it was not their fault (as has beenhinted) that that deficiency had not been supplied. It was really asplendid room, not divided in any way, as is usual with rooms of suchvast extent, but comprehending every description of architecturalvagary--bay-windows, in each of which half a dozen persons might sit andmove, and recesses where as many could ensconce themselves, withouttheir presence being dreamed of by the occupants of the central space. 

At present, however, the flood of light that poured from chandelier andbracket, and flashed upon the gorgeous furniture and on the red coats ofthe guests, seemed to forbid concealment, and certainly afforded asplendid spectacle--a diplomatic reception, or a fancy-ball, could forbrilliancy scarcely have exceeded it, though the parallel went nofarther; for, with all this pomp and circumstance, there was not theslightest trace of ceremony. New guests, like Yorke himself, flocked in, and stood and stared, or paraded the room; while the less recentarrivals laughed and chatted together noisily, with their backs to thefires--of which there were no less than three alight--or lolled at fulllength upon the damask sofas. These persons were not, upon the whole, ofan aristocratic type; many of them, indeed, were of good birth, and allhad taken the usual pains with their costume, but a life of dissipationhad set its vulgarizing mark on them: on the seniors the pallid andexhausted look of the _roué_ was indeed rarely seen--country air andrough exercise had forbidden that--but drink and hard living had writtentheir autographs upon them in another and worse handwriting. Blotchesand pimples had indeed so erased their original likeness to gentlementhat it was even whispered by the scandalous that it was to prevent theconfusion with his menials, that must needs have otherwise arisen, thatthe Squire of Crompton compelled his guests to wear red coats. The_habitués_ of the place, who were the contemporaries of the Squire, had, as it were, gone to seed. But there was a sprinkling of a better class, or, at all events, of a class that had not as yet sunk so low as they inthe mire of debauchery: a young lord or two in their minority, whomtheir parents or guardians could not coerce into keeping better company;and other young gentlemen of fashion, in whose eyes Carew was "Adevilish good fellow at bottom;" "Quite a character, by Jove!" and "Asort of man to know. " Among these last was Mr. Frederick Chandos, whohad so lately got among the chrysanthemums with his gig-wheels, and Mr. Theodore Fane, his bosom friend, who always sat beside him on hisdriving-seat, and in return for sharing his perils, was reported to havethe whip-hand of him. Nor was old age itself without its representativein the person of Mr. Byam Byll, once a master of fox-hounds, now apauperized gourmand, who, in consideration of his coarse wit and"gentlemen's stories, " was permitted to have the run of his teeth atCrompton. This Falstaff to the Squire's Prince Hal was a rotund andportly man, like his great prototype, but singularly handsome. His smilewas winning yet, and, in spite of his load of years and fat, he stillconsidered himself agreeable to the fair sex. 

For this information and much more, respecting the character of hisfellow-guests, Yorke was indebted to a very singular personage, who hadintroduced himself to him as "Parson Whymper, " and whom he now knew tobe the Squire's chaplain. The reverend divine was as proud of thatoffice (and infinitely more comfortable in it) as though he had beenchaplain to an archbishop. He was the only man present who wore a blackcoat, and he had a grave voice and insinuating manner, which really didsmack something of the pulpit. 

"Mr. Yorke, " said he, blandly, "I make no apology for introducing myselfto you; Carew and I have been just having a talk about you, and he hasno secrets from his ghostly adviser. I take your hand with pleasure. Iseem to feel it is the flesh and blood of my best friend. Sooner orlater, mark me, he will own as much, and, be sure, no effort of mineshall be wanting to insure so desirable a consummation. "

Yorke flushed with pleasure, not at the honeyed terms, nor the good-willthey evidenced, but at the news itself--the fact of his father havingrevealed their relationship to him seemed so full of promise--and yet heresented the man's professions, the audacity of which seemed certainlyto imply that he was taken for a fool. 

"I am sure, Mr. Whymper, " said he, stiffly, "I ought to be greatlyobliged to you. "

"Hush! Not Mr. Whymper, if you please, for that's a fine here. Everybody at Crompton calls me 'Parson. ' Obliged, Sir! Not at all. It is onlynatural that, being what I am, I should wish you well. The law, it istrue, has decided against your legitimacy, but the Church is bound tothink otherwise. In my eyes you are the Squire's only son"--here he madea whispering-trumpet of his brawny hands, and added with greatsignificance--"and heir. "

"I see, " said Yorke, smiling in spite of himself. 

"Of course you do; did you think I was trifling with your intelligence?I tell you that it is quite on the cards that you may recover your lostposition, and regain what is morally your own again. Carew is delightedwith you, not so much because you saved his stags as because you foughtsuch a good battle with him by the Decoy Pond. He has been consulting meprofessionally as to whether it would be contrary to the tables ofaffinity to have another set-to with you. I am sorry my reply was in thenegative, for, now I look at you, I do believe you would have thrashedhim; but I was so afraid of his getting the better of you, which mighthave ruined your fortunes. "

Richard could only repeat his thanks for the good clergyman's kindness. "You know nobody here, I suppose, " observed the latter, "and, with a fewexceptions, which I will name to you, that is not of much consequence. It is a shifting lot: they are here to-day and gone to-morrow, as saysthe Scripture, and I wish they were all going to-morrow except ByamRyll. That's old Byam yonder, with the paunch and his hands behind him;he has nowhere else to put them, poor fellow. " And here Parson Whymperlaunched into biography as aforesaid. 

The clock on the chimney-piece, on which the two were leaning, broke inupon the divine's scarcely less dulcet accents with its silver quarter. 

"This is the first time, " said Whymper, "that I have ever known yourfather late; and to you belongs the honor of having caused him totransgress his own immutable rule. "

While he was yet speaking a hunting-horn was blown in the hall beneath, and the whole company turned _en masse_, like a field of poppies beforea sudden wind, to the door where Carew was standing. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE FEAST OF LAPITHAE

The host himself led the way down stairs; while the rear of the partywas brought up by Mr. Whymper, to whom Yorke attached himself. 

When they reached the dining-room, and before they took their seats atthe ample table, the chaplain, with sonorous voice, gave a view holloa!which was the Crompton grace. 

"It is very distressing to me to have to act in this way, " whispered heto his young friend, whose countenance betrayed considerableastonishment; but it is the custom of the house; and, after all, thereis no great harm in it. _De minimis non curat lex_, you know. "

"That does not hold good with respect to the law of affiliation, parson, " observed Mr. Byam Ryll, who sat on the other side of him, "if, at least, I have not forgotten my _Burns_. "

"I always understood that Burns had very loose views upon such matters, "returned the chaplain, demurely. 

"My dear parson, your remark is like that excellent condiment which Iwish I could see at this otherwise well-provided table--caviare to themultitude. Why is it not furnished? You have only to say the word. " Herehe addressed himself to Yorke: "This worthy divine who sits at thebottom of the table, young gentleman, and who has neglected his duty innot having introduced us, is all-powerful here; and we all endeavor tomake friends of him; nor is that circumstance, it is whispered, the onlyrespect in which he resembles the mammon of unrighteousness. "

A shadow of annoyance crossed the parson's smiling face. 

"Mr. Richard Yorke, " said he, "this is Mr. Byam Ryll, our unlicensedjester. "

"The parson, on the contrary, " retorted the other, with twinkling eyes, "is our Vice, and gives himself every license. What is the matter withCarew to-night? He looks glum. I dare say he has been eating greens andbacon at some farm-house, and is now regretting the circumstance. He hasno moral courage, poor fellow, and knows not how to deny his appetite. "

"You never did such a wasteful thing in your life, Byam, I'll warrant, "said the parson, smiling; "and yet some say that you have been aprofligate. "

"I know it, " replied the gourmand, shaking his head; "and I forgivethem. They call me a slave to my stomach; if it be so, I at least servea master of some capacity, which is not the case with every body. "

"You are saying something about _me_, you big fat man, " cried Carew, from the other end of the table, and his voice had a very unpleasantgrasp in it. "Come, out with it!"

"If our venerable friend does not stoop to deception, " whispered theparson into Yorke's ear, "he will now find himself in an ugly hole. "

"I was observing that you did not eat your lamperns, Squire, " said thestout gentleman, "and remarked that you were in no want of a feeder. "

"What's a feeder?" returned the host, ill-temperedly. "If it's a bib, you'll soon want one yourself, for, egad, you're getting near yoursecond childhood!"

"It must have been my plumpness and innocence which suggested thatidea, " responded the other, smiling. "But if you have never known afeeder, you have missed a great advantage, Squire. When you dine with myLord Mayor the question is always asked, will you have a feeder, or willyou not? If you say 'Yes, ' you pay your half-guinea, and get him. He isgenerally a grave old gentleman like myself, and much resembles abeneficed clergyman. He stands behind your chair throughout the feast, and delicately suggests what it is best for you to eat, to drink, and toavoid. 'No; _no_ salmon, ' he murmurs, if you have had turbot already;and, '_Now_, a glass of Burgundy, _if_ you please, Sir;'or, '_Now_, a glass of sherry. ' If an indigestible or ill-compounded_entree_ is handed, he will whisper 'No, Sir: neither now nor never, 'with quite an outburst of honest indignation; nor will he suffer you totake Gruyere cheese, nor port with your Stilton. The consequence is, that the next morning you feel as lively as though you had not feastedon the previous evening, and convinced that you made a good investmentof your half-guinea in securing his services. If there was a feeder atCrompton, " concluded the old gourmand, sighing, and with a hypocriticallook, "it would be a boon to some of you young fellows, and mightproduce a healthy and devout old age. "

"That's a good one!" "Well done, Byam!" "You won't beat that!" resoundedfrom all sides, for such were the terms in which the gallery at Cromptonexpressed their approbation, whether of man or beast; but Mr. FrederickChandos and a few others, inclusive of Mr. Theodore Fane, kept adignified silence, as over a joke that was beyond their capacities--theyreserved their high approval for "gentlemen's stories" only. As for thegrim Squire, for whom alone the narrative had been served and garnished, at so very short a notice, he observed upon it, that "when he had usedup old Byam's brains he should now have the less scruple in turning himout-of-doors, inasmuch as it seemed there was a profession in town thatwas just suited to him. "

How wondrous is the power of naked wealth--of the mere money! Simplybecause he had a large rent-roll, this mad Carew could find not onlycompanions of his own calibre--reckless good-for-naughts, or dulldebauchees--but could command gray beard experience, wit, the art ofpleasing, in one man; and in another (what he was not less destitute of, and needed more), politic management and common-sense. We do not say, asthe Squire himself sometimes did, when in a good-humor with his twosatellites, that Parson Whymper and Byam Ryll had more brains in theirlittle fingers than all his other friends had in their whole bodies, butit was certain that, even when drunk, they were wiser than the otherswhen sober; the one had astuteness enough for a great statesman (or whathas passed for such in England) to hold the most discordant elementstogether, and to make what is rotten seem almost sound; and, indeed, without his chaplain's dextrous skidding, Carew would long ago haveirretrievably lost social caste, and dissipated his vast means to thelast shilling. On the other hand, Byam Ryll was gifted with even rarerqualities; he was essentially a man of mark and character, and mighthave made his fortune in any pursuit by his own wits; but his fortunehad been ready-made when he came of age, and he had occupied himselfvery agreeably instead in getting through it, in which he had quitesucceeded. Parson Whymper, who had never known what it was to have aten-pound note to call his own, was now no worse off than he. They wouldboth have frankly owned, had they been asked, that they detested work ofany kind. Yet the chaplain had almost as much business on his hands asthe bursar of a great college, in the administration of Carew's affairs, besides filling an office which was by no means a sinecure, in that ofhis master of the ceremonies. Many a rudeness in that house would havebeen bitterly avenged, and many a quarrel would have had a serioustermination, but for the good offices of Parson Whymper. Nor would Mr. Byam Ryll have been considered by every body to earn an easy livelihoodin making jests out of every occasion, to tickle the fancy of adull-witted audience and of a patron, as often as not, morose; yet theflesh-pots of Egypt had attracted both these men to the Squire'sservice, their poverty as well as their will consenting; and in exchangefor meat and drink, and lodging of the best, they had sold themselvesinto slavery. Upon the whole, they were well disposed to one another;the bond of intelligence united them against the rich "roughs" with whomthey had to deal; they tilted together, side by side, against the_canaille_; yet each, from the bitter consciousness of his owndegradation, took pleasure in the humiliation or discomfiture of theother, at the rude hands of their common master. 

"Profession, " said Chandos, in reply to Carew's last remark; "gad, yourancient friend is lucky to have found one in these days. They tell methat no young gentleman can now get his living without answeringquestions, writing down things, drawing maps, and passing--What thedeuce do they call them?"

"Hanged if _I_ know, " said the Squire. "Ask Byam; he knows every thing. "

"I say, Mr. Byam, " drawled the young man, somewhat insolently, butwithout being aware that he was addressing a stranger by his Christianname, "Carew says you know every thing. What is it that a gentleman isnow obliged to go through before he can get any of these snug things oneused to get for the asking? What is the confounded thing one has topass?"

"Muster, " answered Ryll, derisively, as though it was a riddle. 

Carew laughed aloud. The nearer a retort approached to a practical joke, provided it was not at his own expense, the better he liked it. 

"What did the old beggar say?" inquired Mr. Frederick Chandos, his fairface crimson with anger. 

"He asked for the mustard; he didn't hear you, " answered the Squire, mischievously; "he never does hear a fellow who lisps. "

"I asked you, Mr. Byam, " repeated the young man with tipsy gravity, "what is the name of those examinations?"

"The name of the gentleman on my left, Mr. Chandos, is Ryll, and notByam--except to his intimate friends, " interposed the chaplain; "and thename you are in want of is competitive. "

"That's it, " said the young man, slapping the table, and forgetting bothhis mistake and his anger in the unaccustomed acquisition of an idea. "Competitive examination is what they call it Well, you know, there wasmy young brother--confound him!--looking to me to pay his bills; and, infact, having nothing to live upon, poor devil, except what I gave him. So, of course, I was anxious to get him off my hands. "

"Very natural, " assented Carew. "For my part, I could never see whatyounger brothers were born for. "

"You'd see it less if you had one to keep, " continued Chandos. "In oldtimes, now, I could have got Jack something warm and snug undergovernment, or in the colonies; and so I should now, but for onething--that he had to pass one of these cursed examinations first. However, as it had to be done, and as Jack, according to his ownaccount, was as much out of form for one as another of them, Irecommended him to try his luck for something in India; for as long asyou can keep a fellow on the other side of the world he can't dunyou--not to hurt; it ain't like coming and calling _himself_; and youneedn't read his letters unless you like. Well, 'India be it, ' saysJack; 'that's as good a place as another;' though, in my opinion, henever expected to go there. He thought he had no chance whatever ofpulling through, and so did I, for the fact is, Jack is a born fool. "

"Did you say he was your brother, or only your half-brother?" inquiredMr. Byam Ryll, with an appearance of great interest. 

"My very own brother, Sir, " replied the unconscious Chandos, flatteredto find such attention paid to him; "and as like to me as one thimble, Imean as one pea, is to another. Well, the strange thing is, the deucealone knows how it happened, but _Jack got through_. " Here he took abumper of port, as though in honor of that occasion. "It's a perfectmarvel, but the best thing for _him_ (as well as for me) in the world. Nobody ever went out under better auspices, for the governor of Bengalis our cousin, and Jack was to school with his private sec. : it's afirst-rate connection. Our family has been connected with India for everso long. I'll tell you how. "

"It is a most admirable connection, " observed Mr. Byam Ryll; "and thewhole circumstances of the case will, I have no doubt, be interesting inthe highest degree to the natives of Bengal. Your brother should embodythem in a neat speech, and deliver it from the deck of the steamerbefore he lands. "

It is probable that Mr. Frederick Chandos would have so farmisunderstood the nature of this observation as to have accepted it as acompliment had not Carew burst into a series of wild laughs, whichbetokened high approval, and was one of his few tokens of enjoyment. Hehad evinced unmistakable signs of discontent and boredom before hisintellectual henchman had thus struck in on his behalf; and he wasreally gratified for the rescue. Chandos was muttering some drunkenwords of insolence and anger; but Carew bore him down. 

"Pooh, pooh! Old Byam was right!" cried he, with boisterous mirth. "Idare say all that long story of yours _may_ interest those blackfellows; but for me, I care nothing about it. It's all rubbish. Bequiet, you young fool, I say; it's too early yet for buffets. Here, bring the beaker. "

This was a magnificent tankard, the pride of Crompton, which, at theconclusion of dinner, was always filled with port-wine, and passed roundthe table. It was lined with silver gilt, but made of ivory, and had acover of the same, both finely carved. On the bowl was portrayed aForest Scene, with Satyrs pursuing Nymphs; on the lid was the Battle ofthe Centaurs; while the stem was formed by a sculptured figure ofHercules. If the artist, Magnus Berg, who had fashioned it long ago inhis own Rhine Land, had had foresight of the sort of company into whosehands his work was in these days to pass he could not have hit upon moreapt devices. His Satyrs and his Centaurs had here their representativesin the flesh; while the thews and sinews of the son of Alcmene had theircounterpart in those of the man who now stood up at the head of thatsplendid table, and drank such a draught as though the port were porter. It was a feat to hold it with one hand, and therefore Carew did so; butto empty it at a draught was, even for him, an impossibility, for itheld three bottles of wine. Though the Squire could be acquitted ofentertaining reverence for any thing human or divine, he had a sort ofsuperstitious regard for his beaker, and believed that so long as he hadit in his possession--like the "Luck of Eden Hall"--no great harm couldhappen to him. He attached all the importance of a religiousceremony--and, indeed, it was the only one he practiced--to the using ofthis goblet, and resented any levity during the process as though itwere sacrilege. But to stand up after dinner, and much less to supportthis elaborate drinking-vessel, was not always an easy matter with theSquire's guests, and so it happened on the present occasion. The usagewas, that one held the cover while his neighbor drank from the cup, after a ceremonious bow to him; and it fell to the lot of Mr. FrederickChandos to perform this latter duty immediately after his host, andwhile there was still much wine in the goblet. Uncertain as to hisfooting, and trembling with irritation, as well as with the weight ofhis burden, he hesitated to drink. Perhaps, in his already wine-muddledbrain, he had some vague idea of passing the vessel on, and therebyshowing his displeasure; but, at all events, the hesitation wasunfortunate for him, for, with a fierce ejaculation of impatience, Carewcrammed the great cover on the young man's head, which, like the helmetof Otranto, came down over nose and chin. Maddened with the insult, Chandos dashed the contents of the goblet into what he thought was theSquire's face, but which was indeed the white cravat and waistcoat ofhis opposite neighbor; and then began a scene that Smollett alone couldhave described or Hogarth painted. It was as though a concerted signalhad been given for a free fight among all the Squire's guests. The oneart that was practiced among them was that of boxing, and almost everyman present had a neat way of hitting out with one hand or the other, which he believed to be unique, and the effect of which he was mostcurious to observe. The less skillful with their fists used any otherweapons that came handy. The dessert service of Dresden porcelain, elaborately enameled with views of the chief towns of Germany, had oncebeen the marriage portion of a princess, and was justly held to be oneof the rarest treasures of Crompton; but it was no more respected nowthan if it had furnished forth the table of Pirithous. The platesskimmed about like quoits, and all the board became a wreck of glass andchina. Above the clamor and the fighting could be heard Carew's stridentvoice demanding his beaker, pouring unimaginable anathemas against anyone who should do it damage, and threatening to unmuzzle and bring inhis bear. The servants, not unused to such mad tumults, gathered in amass at the doorway, and awaited with equanimity the subsidence of thestorm among their betters. It came at last, and found the scene ofcontest not unlike a ship after storm--the decks all but clean swept, and the crew (who had broken into the spirit-room) exhausted. 

Richard Yorke, who, with his two neighbors, had taken no part in theaffray beyond defending himself from blows or missiles, was even moreastonished at the general good-humor that now succeeded than at thefracas itself. If there had been any bad blood among the combatants, itseemed to have been spilled, for there was now nothing but laughter andapplausive drumming of fists upon the table. The company were as pleasedwith their own performance as the holiday faces that greet with suchexuberant joy the havoc upon the stage at pantomime time. The _habitués_of Crompton, indeed, were not unlike wild school-boys, with a Lord ofMisrule for their master, and "give and take" for their one goodprecept. Nay, the rude outbreak had even a beneficial effect, for it cutshort the orgie, which might, and probably would, have otherwise beenprolonged for hours. There was no dissentient voice when Mr. Byam Ryllarose and observed, in demure accents: "Suppose, my dear friends, thatwe join the ladies. "

CHAPTER VII. 

YORKE REPORTS PROGRESS. 

I trust it will not be imagined, and far less hoped for, by any readerof this sober narrative, that the phrase which concluded the lastchapter implies that he or she is about to be introduced to bad company. The fair sex will not be without their representatives in our story, andthat soon; but they will not be such as blushed unseen (if they blushedat all) in the bowers at Crompton. Mr. Ryll's suggestion, "Let us jointhe ladies, " was only an elegant way he had, and which was wellunderstood by his audience, of proposing an adjournment to thebilliard-room. If that worthy old gentleman could be said to have hadany source of income whatever, it was the billiard-table; and hence itwas that he was always ready to proceed thither. Nor had he boastedwithout reason, a while ago, of his powers of self-denial, for he wouldoften forego a glass of generous wine (when he felt that he had hadenough), in order to keep his hand steady for the game at pool, whichinvariably took place at Crompton after dinner. His extreme obesity, though it deprived him of some advantages in the way of "reach, " was, upon the whole, a benefit to him. His antagonists lost the sense of hissuperiority of skill in their enjoyment of the ridiculous andconstrained postures in which he was compelled to place himself, and hewas well content to see them laugh and lose. None but a first-rateplayer could have held his own among that company, whose intelligencehad been directed to this particular pursuit for most of their naturallives; and even "Tub Ryll, " as they called him, had to supplement hisdexterity by other means to make success secure. His liveliest sallies, his bitterest jests, were all reserved for these occasions, so thatmirth or anger was forever unstringing the nerves of his competitors, and diminishing their chance of gain. It was difficult to unstring thenerves of Parson Whymper, who ran him very close in skill, and sometimesdivided the spoil with him; but on the present occasion he had a wordyweapon to baffle even that foe. This consisted in constant allusion tothe latter's supposed reversionary interest in the living at Crompton, the incumbent whereof was ancient and infirm, and which was in theSquire's gift. This piece of preferment was the object of the chaplain'sdearest hopes, and the last subject he would have chosen to jest upon, especially in the presence of its patron. 

"Is he to have it, Squire, or is he not?" would be Tub Ryll's seriousinquiry, just as it was the parson's turn to play on him, or, "Who backsthe vicar elect?"--observations which seldom failed to cost thatexpectant divine a sovereign, for the play at the Hall table, althoughnot so high as was going on in the Library with those who patronizedcards, was for considerable stakes. Carew, who enjoyed, above allthings, this embarrassing pleasantry, would return an ambiguous reply, so that the problem remained without a solution. But when the disgustedchaplain at last threw up his cue, in a most unusual fit of dudgeon, theSquire put the question to the company, as a case of church prefermentof which he was unwilling to take the sole responsibility. "The sum, " hesaid, "which had been offered to him for the next presentation wouldexactly defray the cost of his second pack of hounds, which his chaplainhimself had advised him to put down; so the point to be considered--"

"The hounds, the hounds!" broke in this impatient audience, amidst roarsof laughter. And nobody knew better than poor Parson Whymper that thisverdict would be more final than that of most other ecclesiasticalsynods, and that he had lost his preferment. It was Carew's humor totake jest for earnest (as it was to turn into ridicule what wasserious), and to pretend that his word was pledged to decisions to whichnobody else would have attached the slightest weight; it pleased him tofeel that his lightest word was law, or perhaps it was a part of thesavage adoration which he professed to pay to truth. 

Byam Ryll felt a genuine regret that he had pushed matters so far, though Whymper himself was to blame for having shown temper, and therebyprecipitated the catastrophe. But he did not play the less skillfully onthat account; and, moreover, had no rival to divide the pool with him. 

"I would give five pounds if somebody would beat him, " muttered thediscontented parson within Yorke's hearing, who was standing aloof withhis cigar watching the game. 

"I think I _could_, " said the young man, quietly, "if I _had_ fivepounds. "

As the pool was two pounds, and the lives were one, this was exactly theamount of pecuniary risk to be run, and which want of the necessaryfunds had alone prevented the young man from incurring. 

"Here is a fiver, " replied the parson, softly. 

"But I really have no money, " remonstrated Yorke, though his fine facelit up for a moment with delight (for he was a gambler to the core), "nor any expectation of--"

"Yes, yes; you have expectations enough, " answered the other, hurriedly. "You may give me that living yet yourself--who knows? Take a ball, man--take a ball. "

So, when another game commenced, the young landscape-painter, who hadspent at least as much of his short life at those boards of green clothcalled "public tables" as in studying the verdant hues of nature, madeone of the combatants, and not a little astonished them by hisperformance. He had the eye of a hawk, with the litheness of a youngpanther; and his prudence during the late debauch had preserved hissteadiness of hand. Mr. Theodore Fane had the misfortune to be hisimmediate predecessor, and was "potted" at long distances. 

"By Jove!" exclaimed he, sulkily, upon losing his last life by a double, "you must have lived by your wits, young gentleman, to have learned toplay pool like that. "

"I have, " returned Yorke, without moving a muscle, and preparing tostrike again. "You will come to do the same, if you play much at thisgame--but your sad end will not be protracted. You will starve to deathwith considerable rapidity. "

"My dear Mr. Yorke, " said Byam Ryll, approvingly, "you have won myheart, though I can't afford to let you win my sovereigns; I like you, but I must kill you off, I see. "

"Unless--" said Yorke. 

"Unless what?" inquired Ryll, as he made his stroke at Yorke's ball, which was quite safe, and grazed it with his own, which, gliding offanother ball, found its way into a pocket. For once, he had reallyallowed himself to be "put off" his aim. 

"Unless you commit suicide, " replied the young fellow, smiling. "I wasabout to warn you of the danger of that kiss. "

"You are worse than a highway robber, young Sir, " said the annoyed oldgentleman. 

"That's true, " returned Yorke, "for I take your money and your 'life. '"

The young fellow repaid his loan that night, besides putting half adozen sovereigns into his own pocket; and there was other fruit fromthat investment. 

Carew was delighted with his son's skill, though his wit was somewhatwasted on him. "Why the deuce did you not play in the first game?" saidhe, when the party broke up to adjourn to the hazard-table. "I supposeit was your confounded cunning" (and here his face grew dark, as thoughwith some recollection of the past); "you wanted to see how they playedbefore you pitted yourself against them--did you? How like, how like!"

"I had no money, Sir, until Parson Whymper lent me some. "

"Oh, that was it--was it?" said the Squire. "Well, well, that was notyour fault, lad, nor shall it be mine--here, catch, " and out of hisbreeches-pocket he took a roll of crumpled notes and flung them at him;then suddenly turned upon his heels, with what sounded like a mutteredexecration at his own folly. 

Yorke did not risk this unexpected treasure on the chances of the dice, but retired to his own room. It was a dainty chamber, as we have said, and offered in its appointments a curious contrast to his latesleeping-room in the keeper's lodge. He opened the door of communicationto which the Squire had referred, and found himself in a sort ofboudoir, in which, as in his own room, a good fire was burning. By thelover of art-furniture, this latter apartment would have been pronounceda perfect gem. Here also every article was of ebony, and flashed backthe blaze from the red coals like dusky mirrors. Yorke lit thecandles--huge waxen ones, such as the pious soul in peril sees in hismind's eye, and promises to his saint--and looked around him withcuriosity. Like the little Marchioness of Mr. Richard Swiveller, he hadnever seen such things, "except in shops;" or rather, he had seen singlespecimens of such exposed in windows of great furniture warehouses, rather as a wonder and a show than with any hope to tempt a purchaser. On one hand stood an ebony cabinet, elaborately carved with fruit andflowers; it was divided into three parts, and their shut doors facedwith plate-glass gave it the appearance of a tripartite altar with itssacred fire kindled. A casket almost as large glowed close beside it, enriched with figures and landscapes, and with shining locks and hinges, as he afterward discovered, of solid gold. A book-case of the sameprecious wood was filled with volumes bound in scarlet--all Frenchnovels, superbly if not very decorously illustrated. But the articlewhich astonished the new tenant of this chamber most was the ebonyescritoire that occupied its centre, with every thing set out forornament or use that is seen on a lady's writing-table. It wasimpossible that such nick-nacks as he there beheld could be intended formale use, and still less for such men as were the Squire's guests. Didthis chamber and its neighbor apartment usually own a femaleproprietress? and if so, why was _he_ placed there? This idea by nomeans alarmed the young landscape-painter, who had no more _mauvaisehonte_, nor dislike to adventures of gallantry, than Gil Blas deSantillane. He sat down at the escritoire, and, taking up a gilt penwith a ridiculous silk tassel, began a letter to the same person to whomthat day he had already dispatched a missive; but this time it was notso brief: the day of brilliant dies and illuminated addresses had not asyet set in, so he wrote at the top of the little scented sheet, in abold free hand, the word Crompton! and put a note of admiration afterit. Had you seen his face as he did so, you would have said it was anote of triumph. 

"My DEAR MOTHER, --_Veni, vidi, vici_--I have come, I have seen him, andI am at all events tolerated. The perilous moment was when I told himwho I was. He said he was half disposed to set his bull-dog at me, buthe didn't; on the contrary, he at once bid me exchange my bachelor'squarters for the two chambers I at present occupy, and which remind meof the _Arabian Nights_. I have never seen any thing like them; thefurniture of both is of ebony; but the most curious part of the affairis, that they are evidently designed for a lady. Imagine your Richardsleeping under a coverlet of real Brussels lace! Every thing in thehouse, however, is magnificent, or was so once, before it was damaged bybarbarous revel. Such orgies as I have witnessed to-night would seemincredible, if I wrote them; the _Modern Midnight Entertainment_ of oldHogarth will supply you with the _dramatis personae_; but the splendorof the surroundings immensely heightened the effect of it all. Carew andhis friends might have sat for Alaric and his Goths carousing amidst thewreck of the art treasures of Rome. Nothing that he has affords him anysatisfaction; though, if it is of great cost, Chaplain Whymper tells methat he derives a momentary pleasure from its willful damage. This manand one other are the only persons of intelligence about Carew; but eventhey have no influence with him that can be depended on. If madness werealways hereditary indeed, I might consider myself doomed. You were rightthere, I own; but you must needs allow that in undertaking thisadventure contrary to your advice I have effected something. Thechaplain is already speculating upon my future fortunes, and he knowshis patron better than any body; at all events, if I am turned out ofdoors to-morrow (which I am aware is quite on the cards), I shall havethree hundred pounds in my pocket, which Carew, with a 'Catch that, 'threw me in notes, exactly as you throw a chicken-bone to _Dandy_ as hesits on his hind-legs, though I did not 'beg' for them, I do assure you. The immediate cause of my being invited hither was as follows [here thewriter described his exploit with the stags]. This, with our match atfisticuffs by moonlight, had greatly inclined Carew to favor me; yet, when the disclosure of my identity was made, I thought for a moment allmy pains were lost. He resented the intrusion exceedingly; but then hehad himself invited me to be his guest; and he holds his word as good ashis bond. Indeed, by what the chaplain tells me, it will soon be heldsomething better, for even his vast estate is crumbling away, acre byacre, beneath the load of lavish expenditure it has to bear. There mustbe much, however, at the worst, to be picked up among the _debris_ ofsuch a fortune. "

"I am aware that it is in the last degree improbable that Carew will bepersuaded to make a will in _any body's_ favor at present. He imagines, I think, that the whole world is made for his sole enjoyment--it almostmight be so, for all he sees to the contrary--and never dreams that hewill die. But it is also certain that he will die early; and more thanlikely that he will come to grief, when he has lost his nerve, in one orother of the mad exploits which he will be too proud to discontinue. Then will your Richard become the most assiduous and painstaking ofnurses that ever humored crack-brained patient. But there! I have made adozen programmes of what is to happen, and this is but a specimen. Whocan tell? I may be heir of Crompton yet, or I may come back to youto-morrow like a bad penny, and with what the vulgar describe as a fleain my ear. "

"It will not surprise you to learn that you are personally held in greatdisfavor here, though the chaplain (who has heard all from the Squire'slips) speaks of you with due respect. The last thing that is desired atCrompton is, of course, the return of its lawful mistress. Carew himselfis very bitter against you, which is doubtless owing to the good officesof grandmamma. The clock has just struck four, which bids me close thisletter, though of all the Squire's guests, to judge by the wranglingthat is going on in the Library below stairs, the first to retire willbe your affectionate son, RICHARD YORKE. "

"P. S. --I forgot to say that Carew made the most pointed inquiries as towhether I had any other profession than that of landscape-painting. Would it not be strangely comical if he should bestir himself to get mesome Civil appointment! I almost fancied he must have been thinking ofdoing so, from some scraps of talk I heard him let fall at dinner. Curiously enough, by-the-by, who should have been sitting at hisright-hand, but Frederick Chandos, Jack's brother! 'Good Heaven!' (youwill say), 'suppose it had been Jack himself;' however, it was not. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

HOW BENEDICT BECAME A BACHELOR. 

Notwithstanding the late hour at which Yorke retired to his sumptuouscouch, he was up the next morning betimes. He was restless, and eager toexplore the splendors of the house, that had been so nearly hisinheritance, for it was not without a stubborn contest that the law haddeprived him of what he still believed to be his rights. Nor hadCrompton, in his eyes (as we have hinted), only the interest ofMight-have-been; it had that of Might-be also. If not absolutelysanguine, he was certainly far from hopeless of fortune making him thatgreat amends; at all events, while the opportunity was afforded him, which he well knew might be lost forever by his own imprudence, orthrough the caprice of another, he resolved not to neglect it. It wasbroad daylight, yet not a soul was stirring in all the stately place;nothing but the echo of his own footsteps, as he trod the corridor, andentered the great Picture-gallery, met his attentive ear. The collectionof old masters at Crompton was varied and valuable; he could have spenthours among them with infinite pleasure, if the intoxicating thoughtthat they all might be one day his own had not been present to mar theircharms. He regarded them less as an admiring disciple, or a connoisseur, than as an appraiser. The homely life-scenes of Jan Stein, the saintlycreations of Paul Veronese, the warmth of Rubens, and the stateliness ofVandyck, were all measured by one standard--that of price. The contentsof this one room alone, thought he, "represent no moderate fortune. "

When his eye strayed to the tall windows, and rested on the wooded acreswhich owned in mad Carew a nominal master, the beauty of dale and uplandtouched him not at all. "I wonder now, " sighed he, "how much of this isdipped?" It was a good sign, he thought, that in one room he found acabinet containing no less than fifty antique cameos; for, if thepressure of pecuniary difficulty had really begun to be severe, theSquire would surely have parted with what must have been in his viewuseless lumber, and was so easily convertible into cash. The Libraryoffered a strange spectacle: chairs thrown down, and broken glasses, bore witness to the wildness of last night's revel; the splendid carpetwas strewn with the ends and ashes of cigars, and with packs of cards;and on the table, scratched in all directions by the sharp spurs offighting-cocks, still lay the dice and caster. The atmosphere was soheavy with the fumes of wine and smoke that Yorke was glad to escapefrom it, through a half-opened window, into the morning air. 

How bright and fresh it was! How much there was of bracing enjoyment, ofwholesome gayety, in the mere breath of it; how much of invigoratingdelight in the mere sight of the glittering turf, the beaded trees, towhich the hoar-frost had lent its jewels! But such cheap luxuries arenot only unknown to those who are sleeping off their debauch of the pastnight during the brightest hours of the day; they are also lost uponthose who rise early in the morning, to follow the strong drink of greedand envious expectation. Richard Yorke enjoyed them not, save that hefelt his lungs play more freely. A couple of gardeners were at work uponthe lawn, of one of whom he asked the way to the stables, the report ofthe completeness and perfection of which had often reached him. Thehouse and its furniture--nay, the house and its inmates--were of lessconsequence in the Squire's eyes than the arrangements of hisloose-boxes. The old dynasty of Houyhnhnms was re-established atCrompton; the Horse bare sway, or was at least held in higher accountthan the Human. The Horse, the Hound, the Pheasant, the Bag-fox, and, fifthly, Man, were there the gradations of rank; and a compoundbeing--half man, half brute--was, by a not unparalleled freak offortune, the master of all. Carew had never fed his mares with humanflesh, but there was a legend that he had rubbed a friend over withanise-seed, and offered that dainty morsel to his dogs. The victim wassnatched away again, however, by some officious underling, who justifiedhis interference upon the ground that the hounds would have been spoiledby such an indulgence; and the Squire had pardoned him. This was one ofthe stories about the Master of Crompton which divided the country intothose who believed it and those who did not; but Walter Grange had toldit to Richard as a characteristic fact. 

The stables were indeed a marvel, not only of cleanliness and comfort, but, if it had been possible by any arts of daintiness to make themcox-combs, such would Carew's horses have become. They hadlooking-glasses in their own glossy coats, and yet it was not well forone of them to be an especial favorite with its master, for it more thanonce happened that he would ride such so often and so long that it fellunder him, killed with kindness, overwhelmed with his oppressive favor. On such occasions, if the Squire happened to have been as devoted asusual to his brandy flask, he would shed copious tears, which manyinstanced as a proof that he was neither selfish nor cold-hearted. 

The kennels were of vast proportions, hedged in by high palisades, through the interstices of which many a black muzzle now protruded, sniffing like ill-tempered women, or uttering shrill whines of despair. As Yorke, with his hands buried in his pockets, for they were cold, though his head was too well provided with clustering hair to beconscious of the absence of a hat, was contemplating this spectacle withcynical amusement, up strode the chaplain, wholesome and ruddy-looking. 

"You are up betimes--as Crompton hours go--Mr. Yorke; I hope such goodhabits will not be undermined by evil associations. How I envy you yourconstitution, to be able to face this November mist with a bare head!"

"Nay, parson, " rejoined the young man, "you must have risen earlyyourself to know that there _was_ a mist. It's clear enough now allround. I suppose our impatient friends yonder, " pointing to the kennel, where all the dogs, hearing the chaplain's voice, were now in fullchorus, "will have their will this morning?"

"Yes; it is this pack's turn to hunt. "

"I wish, for your sake, Mr. Whymper, that there was only one pack, "observed Yorke, with good-natured earnestness. 

"Ah, you are referring to that foolish talk about the living last night. Poor Ryll is quite broken-hearted about it this morning; and, in fact, he did do me an ill turn, though, I am sure, without intending it. It isthe misfortune of a professed wit--and especially of a poor one--that hecan not afford to be silent. "

"You take it more good-humoredly than I should, " said Yorke. "I shouldbe inclined to charge something for a joke made at my own expense, wherethe loss was so considerable. "

"You don't look of a very revengeful disposition, neither, " returned thechaplain, critically. 

"I have never experienced the feeling of revenge, " answered the youngman, frankly; "but I know what it is to feel wronged, and I think it islucky that it is the law, and not an individual, that has done me themischief--one can't have a vendetta against the law, you know. But, ifit were a man, ay, though he were my own flesh and blood, he should payfor it--yes, sevenfold. I would not put up with injustice from any humanbeing; and where I could, if the law would not help me, I would rightmyself with the strong hand. "

It was curious to see the effect which this objectless passion wroughtupon the young man's face, and even figure. His lithe limbs seemed togrow rigid; his right hand was clenched convulsively; his handsomeSpanish countenance was lit up with a sort of dusky glow. 

"My dear young friend, " said the chaplain, quietly, "my profession, perhaps, ought to suggest to me some serious arguments against thedisposition which you so unmistakably evince; but I will confine myselfto saying that such a temper as yours is not to be kept for nothing. Itis only men in your father's position who can indulge themselves in sucha luxury, I do assure you. You'll come to grief with it some day. "

Yorke laughed, good-humoredly. "What must be, will be. Let us hope therewill be no occasion for the display of my fire-works. I suppose, whatwith his two packs of hounds and the rest of it, even my father will bebrought to behave himself demurely, sooner or later. "

"I should like to see Carew demure, " said the chaplain, smiling;"although not reduced to that state by the extremities of poverty. Yes, as you say, " he added, in a graver tone, "the pace at which he has beengoing these twenty years has begun to tell on his fortune. But it is notthe dogs that will ruin him (as they ruined poor Ryll, with his fewthousands), nor yet his hunters. It is his race-horses on the Downsyonder that will bring him to his piece of bread. "

"I suppose so, " said Yorke, sighing, not so much on Carew's account ason his own; "he backs a horse because it is his own. That is hisconfounded egotism. "

"Your tie of relationship, Mr. Yorke, does not, I perceive, make youblind to your father's foibles. "

"Why should it?" rejoined the young man, passionately. "Am I to feelgrateful to him for begetting me? What has he done to make me feel thatI owe him aught? Do you suppose I thank him for being admitted here, unacknowledged, uninvited in my own proper person? For being permittedto take my fill at the common trough along with his drunken swine?"

"Nay, my friend, " interposed the chaplain, coldly; "the food and wineare of the best; and we should never scoff at good victual. If you haveso proud a stomach, why are you here? It embarrasses you to answer thequestion. Let me, then, shape the reply. 'I have a sense of my owndignity, ' you would say, 'far keener than that of my father's flatterersand favorites; but, on the other hand, I humiliate myself for a muchgreater stake. '"

"_I_ humiliate myself?" reiterated the young man, angrily. 

"You take money that is not very gracefully offered for your acceptance, my young friend, " said the chaplain, quietly. 

"You saw him, did you?" cried Richard, hoarse with shame and passion. 

"No; I did not; but I heard him swearing at you at the hazard-table forhaving emptied his pockets; and I am familiar with his mode of bestowingpresents. You must forgive me, Mr. Yorke, " added Parson Whymper, dryly;"but you ought to know that when a man has lost his own self-respect, heis, naturally averse to the profession of independence in another. "

"If you deem yourself a dependent, Mr. Chaplain, " replied Yorke, bitterly, "you still permit yourself some frankness. "

"Yes; that is one of the few virtues which are practiced at Crompton. You will find me speak the truth. "

There was irony in Parson Whymper's tone; and yet the young man feltthat he was not the subject of its cynicism. Was it possible that thishard-drinking, hard-riding, hard-headed divine was scornful of himself, and of his own degraded position? Yorke did not credit him with any suchfine feeling. He had read of Swift at Temple's, and could understand thegreat Dean's bitterness against a shallow master and his insolentguests, but that a man should become despicable to himself, wasunintelligible to him. 

"Of course, " continued the chaplain, smiling at his evidentbewilderment, "I could have been as smooth-spoken as you please, myyoung friend; but I had estimated your good sense too highly to endeavorto conciliate you by such vapid arts. "

"I thank you, " said Yorke, thoughtfully. "I hope you were right there; Iam sure at least that from your mouth I could hear home truths, whichfrom another's would be very unpalatable. You are good enough to speakas though you would wish us to be friends. I am going to ask you, therefore, to do me a favor. "

"I will do any thing that lies in my power; but do not, for your ownsake, press me to influence your father----"

"No, no; it is not that, " broke in the other, hastily. "It lies withyourself to grant my request. I wish to hear from you the true story ofCarew's marriage with my mother. "

"The _true story_?" echoed Parson Whymper. "Nay; I can not vouch forbeing possessed of that. I have only heard it from your grandmother: thecounsel for the prosecution is scarcely a reliable authority for thefacts of a case. "

"And I have only heard the defense, " said Yorke. "Let me now, for thefirst time, know what was urged upon the other side, and so weightily, "the young man gloomily added, "that it made my mother an outcast, andmyself a disgraced and penniless lad. You see, I know exactly what wasthe end of it all, so do not fear to shock me. "

"There can be no disgrace where one has not one's self to blame, " urgedthe chaplain. 

"You think so?" broke in the other, bitterly. "What! not when one'smother is to blame, for instance? Well, please begin. "

"I had much rather not, " said the chaplain. "It would be much better foryou to get the newspaper report of the case--I can tell you the exactdate--and read both _pro_ and _con_. "

"No report was ever published, Mr. Whymper; the case was heard withclosed doors, or suppressed by Carew's influence. So much, perhaps--tojudge by your face--the better for me. "

"I think it would be better for you not to hear it, even now, Mr. Yorke, " returned the chaplain, not without a touch of tenderness in histone. "But, if you insist upon it, come to my private room, and let usbreakfast together first, then we will have the story over our cigars. "

Accordingly, the two repaired to the apartment in question--a very snugone, on the ground-floor, but so strewn with documents and letters thatit resembled a lawyer's sanctum. The morning meal--which, in the host'scase, consisted of a game-pie and a tankard of strong ale--having beenhere dispatched, and their cigars lighted, Parson Whymper began asfollows:

"It must have been in the autumn of 1821 that Carew finally leftschool--the public school of Harton. He got into some difficulties withthe authorities--refused, I believe, to apologize for somemisdemeanor--so that he had to be privately withdrawn----"

"I beg your pardon there, " remarked Yorke, hastily. "He was expelled, asI happen to know for certain. "

"Very likely, " said the chaplain, slowly expelling the smoke from hislips; "indeed, I should say most likely. But remember mine isprofessedly an _ex parte_ statement. Mrs. Carew--I mean Mrs. Carew theelder--is solely responsible for it. Of course, she softened down thefacts against her son, and I have no doubt made compensation for sodoing by highly coloring the offenses of her daughter-in-law. I toldyou, you would not like the story. Is it still your wish that I shouldproceed with it?"

"Yes, yes, " said Yorke; "go on. I was a fool to interrupt you. " But thechaplain noticed that the young man held his open palm before his face, under pretense of shielding it from the fire, and that his cheeks grewscarlet as the tale went on, nevertheless. 

"Carew was not seventeen then, when he left school for the house of agentleman of the name of Hardcastle, in Berkshire, as his private pupil. It was understood that he was to have his particular care and attention, but not his exclusive services. There were one or two otherpupils--rather queer ones as it would seem; but Mr. Hardcastleadvertised in the newspapers for lads of position, but neglectededucation--young fellows, in short, who had proved unmanageable athome--and undertook to reform them by his system. It was no wonder, then, that Carew found some strange companions. The strangest of all, however, under the circumstances, was surely the tutor's niece, MissHardcastle herself. "

"Why strangest?" interrupted Yorke. 

"I think Mrs. Carew the elder meant to imply that this young lady, beingpossessed of great physical advantages, should have been the last personselected by Mr. Hardcastle as his housekeeper, and the companion of hispupils, and the more so since he was well aware, as it afterward turnedout, that she had already succeeded in victimizing (such was Mrs. Carew's expression) one of these very lads. That was years ago, it istrue; and it might well be imagined that a lady of the mature age offive-and-thirty might have outlived her charms; but in her particularcase this was not so. Miss Hardcastle, as she was called, was still verybeautiful, high-spirited, and an excellent horsewoman. She was also--ifthat had been necessary to obtain her purpose--well-read andaccomplished. Being clever, good-looking, and not easily shocked, however, she was more than competent to secure the affections of youngCarew. She was, nevertheless, as I have said, literally old enough to behis mother; and the idea of the affair having been a love-match, in theusual sense of the expression, was simply preposterous. That MissHardcastle was herself of this opinion seems evident from her havingenjoined secrecy upon her youthful bridegroom. They lived together asman and wife, under Mr. Hardcastle's roof, for near six months beforetheir marriage was proclaimed. Then young Mrs. Carew took a bold step:she persuaded her husband to bring her to his house, under the roof ofwhich his mother was then residing. But they did not come (as one mighthave imagined) in the fashion of two runaway lovers, who seekforgiveness for their youthful ardor with penitence and submission. Thebridegroom was full of wild mirth at having at last done somethingseriously to astonish the world. He was fond of his mother, after hisown fashion; but so far from entreating her forgiveness, he did not evenperceive any particular necessity for conciliation. The bride was fullof triumph; she had not risked much, and she had won a great stake. Itwould have been better for her could she have borne her success withmore modesty. Her mother-in-law was transported with rage, which she wastoo wise to exhibit. She knew her son far better than his new wife did;and she felt that opposition was for the present hopeless; but she tookcounsel with her son's guardian, and bided her time. It came at last, though very slowly. Carew was devoted to his spouse for a wholetwelvemonth--a longer time than youth and beauty combined have everenthralled him since. Even when her tender tones--for she had thesweetest voice that ever woman possessed--failed to thrill him, and herqueenly form to charm, he would probably not have consented to take partagainst her, but for her own imprudence. She lost her temper with himupon a matter where it is difficult for the wisest of her sex to keepit: she grew jealous. "

"Without cause?" inquired Yorke, gloomily. His cigar had gone out, though he still held it between his white lips. 

"No; not without cause. That is a point, I fancy, about which myinformant had her reasons for not being explicit. "

"What!" cried the young man, indignantly. "She threw some one in herson's way, to divert his attention from his lawful wife?"

"Perhaps; I can't say for certain. I am not defending her, Mr. Yorke;but remember, she loved her son. She beheld him a victim to an artfulwoman. He was not in her eyes as he is in mine, and perhaps in yours. Hehad, she argued, capabilities of good, an affectionate and trustfulnature; he was the best _parti_ in the county, and had chosen histutor's niece--a woman old enough to have borne him. Besides, she was_not_ his lawful wife. The dowager had secretly taken legal opinion uponthat matter, and was only waiting for an opportunity to test it. It wasessential for this that her son should desire his own freedom; and atlast he did so. I have told you the occasion. In the whirlwind of herwrath, your mother told Carew some home truths; above all, let him knowshe despised him, and had inveigled him into marriage. He had no othername for her, henceforth, but Serpent. "

"I know, " said Yorke. "Go on. "

"It was within two months of your birth that this quarrel took place. Had you been born, and especially here at Crompton, I think the rupturewould never have happened. Your grandmother felt that too, and did herutmost to precipitate matters, and, as you know, she was successful. Herdaughter-in-law was compelled to leave the house, and an action wascommenced in an ecclesiastical court. The validity of the marriage wascontested on the ground of undue publication of the bans, both partieshaving a knowledge of the fact. I am a parson, you know, and this bit oflaw lies in my way. The bride appeared in the register as spinster, whereas she was the widow of an old pupil of her uncle's, whose surnameyou bear. It was not an easy victory by any means. The judge of theConsistory Court held that the inaccuracy in question was insufficientto invalidate the ceremony; but Carew, or rather your grandmother, appealed to the Court of Arches, and got the decision reversed. Themarriage was therefore declared null and void. Very hard lines it wasfor you, Mr. Yorke; and--and that's the whole story. "

"I thank you, " said the young man, gravely. "I can easily imagine thatit might have been told by other lips in harsher terms. "

They were silent for full a minute, Yorke busying himself with thetitles of the documents upon the table, written out in the chaplain'ssprawling hand. 

"Your mother must be a most remarkable woman, " observed the latter, thoughtfully. "Is she still young-looking for her age?"

"Yes; very. What a queer docket is here! '_Tin Mine. Refused_:' What doesthat mean?"

"It is an application from one Trevethick, an inn-keeper, to purchase adisused mine at Gethin, on the west coast of Cornwall, which Carew hasdeclined. Two thousand pounds was offered on the nail, a sum far beyondits value; but it is one of his crazes that his property there is veryvaluable, and it's evident that this Trevethick thinks so too--whereasit is only picturesque. For grandeur of position, Gethin Castle, orrather what is left of it, for it is a ruin, is indeed unequaled! Youshould take your sketch-book down there, some day. May I ask, by-the-by, are you only an amateur in that way, or a professional?"

"I am an artist by profession. I live by my pencil, save for what mymother allows me out of Carew's pittance. That is small enough, youknow. Hollo! there are the hounds coming round to the front! I supposeCarew and the rest of them will soon be in the saddle?"

"And you have never made money by any other means?" pursued thechaplain, thoughtfully. 

"Never. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it seemed so strange that a lad like you should find purchasersfor his works, " returned the chaplain, carelessly. "The Picture-galleryhere will be of service to you, no doubt. "

"Yes. I shall get my education at Crompton, if I get nothing else, " saidYorke; "and indeed, as I have no desire to peril my neck out hunting, Ishall set to work at once. Good-morning, Mr. Chaplain, and many thanks. "And with a nod and a smile, the young man left the room. 

Parson Whymper looked after him with a grave face. "I wonder whetherFane was right, " he muttered. "He seemed quite positive; though, 'tistrue, he owed him a grudge for potting him at pool. There was somethingwrong in that young fellow's face as he said 'Never, ' when I asked himthat question as to whether he gained money by other means. If he lied, the lying must have come from the mother's side. That woman must be amarvel. Well, I'm sorry, for I should have liked Richard Yorke to havehad his chance here. "

CHAPTER IX. 

IN BLOOMSBURY. 

It was the evening of the day after Yorke had listened to his ownbiography, and night had long fallen upon the shivering woods ofCrompton; the rain fell heavily also upon roof and sky-light with thudand splash. It was a wretched night, even in town, where man has soughtout so many inventions to defy foul weather and the powers of darkness. The waste-pipes could not carry off the water from the houses fastenough, choke and gurgle as they would; the contents of the guttersoverflowed the streets; and wherever the gas-lights shone was reflecteda damp glimmer. In a large room on the ground-floor of Rupert Street, Bloomsbury, sat a woman writing, and undisturbed by the dull beating ofthe rain without. She often raised her head, intermitted her occupation, and appeared to listen; but it was to the voices of her Past that shewas giving heed, and not to the ceaseless patter of the rain. What powerthey have with us, those voices! While they speak to us we hear nothingelse; we know of nothing that is taking place; there is no Present atall; we are living our lives again. If purely, so much the better forus; if vilely, viciously, there is no end to the contaminatingassociation. It is to escape this that some men work, and others pray. The furniture of the room was peculiar to the neighborhood; massive, yetcheap. It had been good once; but long before it came into the hands ofher who now owned it. There was the round bulging looking-glass; theside-board was adapted for quite a magnificent show of plate andtankards--only there were none; a horse-hair sofa, from which you wouldhave seen the intestines protruding had it not been for the continuousgloom. If the sun ever visited Rupert Street, it shone on the other sideof the way. On the mantel-piece were two of those huge shells in whichthe tropic deep is ever murmuring. Who that has taken lodgings in Londondoes not know them? Who has not sometimes forgotten the commonplaces ofhis life in listening to those cold lifeless lips? If you take them upon their own tropic shore, they will tell you of the roar of Londonstreets. 

There were two articles in the room, however, which were peculiar toitself. The one was a human skull--to all appearance, the same as allother skulls, the virtue of which has gone out of them, though it hadonce belonged to no common man. The second object could still less betermed an ornament than the first, although it was a picture. Itdepicted a woman of frightful aspect, having but one eye, and ahare-lip; she was standing up, and appeared to be declaiming ordictating; while an old cripple, at a table beside her, took down herwords in writing. If you had gone all over the rest of the house--and itwas a large one--you would have found nothing else remarkable, or whichdid not smack of Bloomsbury. It was, indeed, nothing but alodging-house, and the room we have described was the private apartmentof its mistress. She might consult her own private taste, sheconsidered, in her own room, else the skull and the picture occasionallyrather shocked "the daintier sense" of the new lodgers, to whom thelandlady gave audience in this apartment. She is as little like alodging-house keeper, to look at, as can be imagined. Her cheeks arefirm and fresh-colored, her teeth white and shining, her eyes quitebright, and her hands plump. To one who knows her age, as we do--she isfifty-three--she looks like an old woman who has found out the secret ofperpetual youth, but has kept it for her own use, as, in such a case, every woman probably would do. There is only one piece of deception inher appearance; her black hair, which clusters over her forehead like agirl's, is dyed of that color: it is in reality as white as snow. Bylamp-light, as you see her now, she might be a woman of five-and-twenty, penning a letter to her love. But she is, in fact, writing to her son;for it is Mrs. Yorke. Writing to him, but not thinking of him, surely, when she frowns as now, and leans back in her chair with that menacingand angry look. No; her anger is not directed against _him_, although hehas left her and home, long since, upon an adventure of which shedisapproved. 

"You will gain nothing for yourself, Richard, " was her warning; "and, perhaps, may wreck even _my_ scanty fortunes. " But, as we know, her sonhad taken his own way (as he was wont to do), and had so far prospered. She was writing a reply to the letter she had received from him fromCrompton that very morning, and the task was one that naturally evokedsome bitter memories. 

"So he put him in the ebony chamber, did he?" they ran on. "Ay, that was_my_ room once. What a pretty chime that serpent-clock had; and howoften have I heard it in the early morning as I lay there--alone! If ithad not been for that hateful woman, I might have been listening to itnow! He seems as mad as ever, by Dick's account, and, I do not doubt, asbrutal and as selfish! And yet it was _he_ that suffered, _he_ that waswronged, _he_ that was to be pitied! His wife was the adventuress, forsooth! who deserved all she got. Oh, these men, these men, that treatus as they please, because they are so sure of sympathy, even from ourfellow-slaves and sisters!"

She bent again to her occupation, but only for a minute. "All this islabor in vain, Dick, " muttered she, laying down her pen; "the luck isgone both from you and from me. If I were thirty years younger, indeed, and might have my chance once more, I would tame your father yet. Iought to have beaten his meek-faced mother out of doors; I ought to havetrained his bold-eyed girl to work my will with him. She should havebeen my accomplice, and not hers; but, now, what boots it that old agehas spared me? Yonder is the only woman!"--she looked toward thepicture--"who has found a way to win mankind, save as their toy. Myreign has been longer than that of most; but it is over. " She rose, and, holding up the lamp, surveyed herself, with a mocking face, in the roundglass. "And this was once Jane Hardcastle, was it? _This_ was her face, and _this_ her figure! No drunkard, staggering home through such a nightas this, could take me for her now! She had wits too; and better for mehad I lost them with all the rest; then I should not have the sense tobe so bitter! What a future she must once have had before her, if shehad but known what men were made of! It is only when too late that suchwomen discover what they have missed. This mad Carew was tinder to aflash of these bright eyes; and the fool Yorke, except in his wildcreeds, as pliant as a hazel twig. I used to think yonder woman was anidiot, because she believed in a place of torment; but she was rightthere. Yes, Joanna, " she continued, apostrophizing the picture, "I'mcompelled to confess that you are right; for, being in hell, it is idleto deny its existence. "

She placed the lamp once more upon the table, yet did not seat herselfbeside it, but walked hastily up and down the room. "To be young nomore, to be poor and powerless, to have no hope in this world nor beliefin a better, to have lost even belief in one's self--is not that to bein Gehenna? I am punished for my sins, men say. Hypocrites! liars! Whyis _he_ not punished? Why is he proud, and strong, and prosperous? Sins?If Judgment-day should come to-morrow, my soul would be as pure as snowbeside that man's! ay, and beside most men's! Joanna here knew _that_--Isuppose by inspiration; for how else should she? What's that?"

Amidst the pelting of the rain, which had increased within the last fewhours rather than diminished, the pulling of the house-bell could beheard. Mrs. Yorke drew forth her watch--a jeweled trinket of exquisitebeauty, one of the few relics of her palmy time. "Past midnight, " shemurmured, "and all the lodgers are within. Who can it be?"

The bell pealed forth again. 

She went into the hall, where the gas was burning, and unlocked thedoor. At the same time somebody flung himself violently against it, butthe chain was up. 

"Who is it?" inquired she; and it was strange, at such a moment, to hearhow very soft and musically she spoke, although, when talking to herselfa while ago, her tones had been harsh and bitter as her mood. 

"It is I, mother, " returned the voice from outside. 

She unhitched the chain and let him in. "I knew it would be so, Dick, "said she, quietly. 

Richard was pale and haggard, and shone from head to foot with the rain, which poured off his water-proof coat in streams. 

"You were right, mother, " said he, as he kissed her cheek. "Noreproaches. Let me have food and fire. "

She brought him socks and slippers, made a cheerful blaze, and set coldmeat and spirits upon the table. 

He ate voraciously, and drank his hot brandy-and-water, while Mrs. Yorkeworked busily at an antimacassar, in silence. 

"You are not disappointed at seeing me, that's one thing, mother?"

"No. Read that. " She pushed across to him the letter she had beenwriting to him that evening, and pointed to this sentence: "You have mygood wishes, but _not_ my hopes--I have no hopes. I shall be surprisedif I do not have you back again before the week is out. "

"Just so, " said the young man, cynically. "You have the pleasure, then, which your dear friend Joanna there never enjoyed, of seeing your ownprophecy accomplished; and I, for my part, have three hundred pounds tosolace myself with for what has certainly been a disappointment. "

"I am glad you are so philosophic, Dick. It is the best thing we can be, if we can't be religious. How did it all happen?"

"I scarcely know the plot (for there _was_ a plot), but only the_dénouement_. I had offended a certain Mr. Fane, toady-in-ordinary toFrederick Chandos. "

"Ah!" cried Mrs. Yorke, shaking her head. 

"Yes; you were right again, mother, there--the whole affair is a tributeto your sagacity, if you will only permit me to narrate it to you. I saythat this fellow Fane, when walking with his patron's brother, stupidJack, had me pointed out to him in town one day as the man who had'pulled him through, ' as he called it. Can you imagine how even such afool as he could have been so mad? It was an act of suicide, which, sofar as I know, fools never commit. Well, Fane was pretty certain of theidentity of your humble servant, which he was, moreover, anxious toestablish, because I had beaten him at pool, and given him the roughside of my tongue. "

"Oh, Dick, Dick! have skillful hand and ready speech been only given youto make enemies?"

Richard laughed, and lighted a cigar. 

"Well, sometimes, mother, the most prudent of us are carried away by ourown genius. I am told that even you, for instance, lost your temper upona certain occasion down at Crompton--gave a 'piece of your mind' to myfather, which, it seems, he took as a sample of the whole of it. There, don't be angry: the provocation, it must be allowed, was in your casegreater than mine; but then you pique yourself on your self-control!However, this Fane did hate me, and told the chaplain of his suspicions;the good parson was my friend, however, and all might have gone well, but for this oaf--this idiot Jack--coming down to Carew's in person. Hecould never get any coin out of 'Fred, ' it appears, by letter; or, perhaps, he couldn't 'write!' But there he was in the big drawing-roomwhen I went in last night, and Carew saw his jaw drop at the sight ofme. He had not the sense to shut it even afterward, though I told him hehad made a mistake, and gave him every chance. I could have persuadedhim, indeed, out of his own identity--and much more mine--only that heappealed to Fane; and then the game was up. It would have made me laughhad I not been so savage. Carew turned us both out of the housetogether. His love of truth would not permit him, it seems, to harborus. So Jack and I went to the inn, played _écarte_ all night, and partedthe best of friends this morning. But I'll be even with that fellowFane--yes; by Heaven, I will, if it's a score of years hence!"

Perhaps the light satiric tone which the young man had used throughouthis narrative was little in accordance with the feelings which reallyagitated him; but, at all events, his last few words were full ofmalignant passion. 

"Be even, Dick, by all means, with every body, " observed Mrs. Yorke, coolly, "but do not indulge yourself in revenge. Revenge is like a gameat battle-door, wherein one can never tell who will have the last hit. "

"At the same time, it is one of those few luxuries which those who haveleast to lose can best afford, " said Richard, with the air of amoralist. 

"It is not cheap, however, even to them, " returned Mrs. Yorke, stillbusy with her antimacassar. "It may cost one one's life, for instance. "

"And what then?" inquired Richard, carelessly. 

"Nobody knows 'what then, ' Dick. Our fanatic yonder had one opinion; ourphilosopher there"--she pointed to the skull--"another. Both of themknow by this time, and yet can not tell us. It is the one case where theexperience of others can not benefit ourselves. "

This subject had no charms for Richard. When we are what is vulgarlycalled "in the sulks, " and displeased (if we were to own it) with thesystem of universal government in this world, the next seems of butlittle importance. There may be a miscarriage of justice (that is, athwarting of our particular wishes) even _there_. Perhaps Mrs. Yorke wasaware that her son's clouded face did not portend religious ormetaphysical speculation, for she abruptly changed the subject. 

"And what are you going to do, Dick, now that this Crompton plan hasfailed?"

He did not answer, but stood with his back to the fire, moodily strokinghis silken mustache. 

"Richard"--she rose, and placed her plump white hand upon hisshoulder;--"it is very, very seldom that I ask a favor of you, but I amabout to do so now. Promise me that you will never again undertake foranother what you undertook for this man Chandos. "

He laughed, as he had laughed before, in bitter fashion. "Why not? Itwas fifty pounds down; and apparently no risk: that is, no risk from thelaw, which has omitted to provide for the contingency. Next to beingabove the law is surely to be ahead of it. Besides, I am really a publicbenefactor. Without my help, the state would already have been deprivedof the services of four young gentlemen, all of excellent families. Ofcourse, such a calling has its disadvantages. It is very difficult toobtain clients. The offer of one's valuable assistance is liable to bedeclined uncivilly--it requires the talents of a diplomatist to conveyit without offense--still, I possess those talents. Again, undoubtedlythe profession is in itself temporary, can never be permanent; but then, has not nature especially favored me for it, after my mother's model?Shall I not be a boy at forty, and blooming at fifty-three? The idea ofyou being fifty-three, mother!"

As they stood together side by side it seemed, indeed, impossible thatthis young man could be her son, far less the offspring of her middleage. She smiled upon him sadly, patting his handsome cheek. "And is myRichard so full-grown a man, " said she, "as, to flatter, and not togrant?" It was impossible to imagine a more winsome voice, or a moretender tone. 

"Nay, mother; I will promise, if you please, " said the young fellow, kissing her. "And now, let us divide this Crompton spoil together. " Hepulled out his purse, and counted the contents. "There is Carew's threehundred, a few pounds I won at pool, and dull Jack's IOU fortwenty--worth, perhaps, five. Come, we two are partners in the game oflife, you know, and must share alike. "

"No, Dick, no, " returned his mother, tenderly; "it is enough for me tosee you win. " She shut the purse, and forced it back into his unwillinghand. "Some day, I trust, you will sweep away a great stake--though notas you gained this. "

"Ah, you mean an heiress! You think that every woman must needs fall inlove with me, because _you_ have done so, mother. "

His rage and bitterness had vanished, as though by magic; her tone andtouch had spirited them away. 

"Perhaps I do, dear. Go to bed, and dream of one. You must be verytired. I ought not to say that I am glad to see you back, Dick; yet howcan I help it?"

CHAPTER X. 

OVER THE EMBERS. 

It was one of the peculiarities of Jane Yorke that she took but littlesleep. The household had long retired, and she put the remains of herson's meal away with her own hands, then sat down by the fire, thinking. She had more subject for thought than most women; her life had beeneventful, her experience strange. We know what her second husband--theman who repudiated her and her child--had been and was. Her firsthusband had been scarcely less remarkable. Leonard Yorke was a young manof respectable family, and of tolerable means. His parents were dead, and his relatives and himself had parted company early. They were sober, steady people, connected with the iron trade: a share in their house ofbusiness at Birmingham, carried on in the name of his two uncles, wasthe only tie between him and them, save that of kinship. They werestrong Unitarians, strong political economists, strong in their ruggedmaterial fashion every way. They did not know what to do with a nephewwho was a religious zealot, and thought all the world was out of joint;and they had characteristically sought for assistance in the advertisingcolumns of the _Times_. Mr. Hardcastle therein proclaimed himself ashaving a specialty for the reduction and reform of intractable younggentlemen, and they had consigned Leonard to his establishment. It wasthe best thing that they could think of--for they were genuinelyconscientious men--and they did not grudge the money, though the tutor'sterms were high. Jane was then a very young girl--so young, indeed, thatparents and guardians would scarcely have taken alarm had they beenaware of her being beneath the same roof with their impressionablecharges; and she was childish-looking even for her tender years. LeonardYorke, gentle and good-humored, was moved with compassion toward theorphan girl, as guileless-eyed as a saint in a picture; he pitied herpoverty, and, still more, the worldly character of her uncle and hersurroundings. She was wholly ignorant of the spiritual matters whichengrossed his being, and yet so willing to be taught. She sat at hisfeet, and listened by the hour to the outpourings of his fervid zeal. Ifshe did not understand them, she was in no worse position than himself. His tongue was fluent. His words were like a lambent flame, playing withsome indestructible material. His mind was weak, and devoted tometaphysical speculations--mysticisms: the _arcana coelestia_ ofSwedenborg was Holy Writ to him. He believed in three heavens, and theiropposites. Jane's endeavors were directed to make him believe in afourth heaven. Childlike and immature in appearance, she was incharacter exceedingly precocious. Her intelligence was keen andpractical. In very early years it had been instilled into her that herfuture welfare would depend upon her own exertions, and she never forgotthe lesson. Her uncle was very generous to her; but he was not the manto have saved money for his own offspring, if he had had any, and farless for his niece; he spent every shilling of his income. Little Janewould secretly have preferred to receive in hard cash the sums which helavished upon her in indulgences; she would have dispensed with herpony, and kept a steed in the stable for herself of another sort. Therainy day was certain to come some time or other to her, and she wouldhave liked to have made provision for it--a difficult matter for most ofus, and for her impossible. She was wise enough, even then, to know howUncle Hardcastle would have received any suggestion of a prudentialnature, and she held her tongue. 

In Leonard Yorke, if she did not comprehend his doctrine of "perpetualsubsistence, " she perceived a provision for her future. Atone-and-twenty, indeed, he made his pupil his wife, to the astonishmentrather than the scandal of the neighborhood. They opined that it wasonly in the East, or in royal families who wedded by proxy, that bridesran so young. Jane Hardcastle, however, was in reality eighteen years ofage. 

Yorke Brothers, of Birmingham, had nothing to say against the match, butthey objected to a Swedenborgian partner in the iron trade, and boughttheir nephew at a fair price out of the business. They did not offer totake him back again, when, five years later, he became a true believerin the faith of Mary Joanna Southcott and the coming of the youngShiloh. This lady, whose portrait, with that of her spiritualamanuensis, hung in Mrs. Yorke's sitting-room, had been her only rivalin the affections of her husband. She had not been jealous of her uponthat account, feeling pretty certain, perhaps, that the "affinity"between them was Platonic; but she had rather grudged the money withwhich he had so lavishly relieved the "perplexities" of "the handmaid. "The amanuensis used to issue I O U's at Joanna's dictation, to be paidwith enormous interest Hereafter, and Leonard Yorke was always ready todiscount her paper. There was no one that subscribed more munificentlythan he did toward the famous "cradle, " or looked more devoutly for itsexpected tenant. Even when that long-looked-for 19th of October had comeand gone without sign, and two months later his poor deluded idol passedaway into that future with which she had been so rashly familiar, he wasfaithful to her yet, and kept the "seal" which she had given him--hispassport to the realms of bliss--as his dearest treasure. He hadscarcely any other "effects" by that time, for, actuated by his toofervent faith, he had been living upon the principle of his fortune; andat five-and-thirty years of age Mrs. Yorke found herself a widow, with astock of very varied experience indeed, but not much more of worldlywealth than she had had to start with. It was hard, after half alifetime, to resume the same semi-relative, semi-dependent positionunder her uncle's roof which she had occupied before; but no betteroffered itself, and she was glad to accept it. Her natural attractionswere still wondrously preserved to her; and, perhaps, on the occasion ofher second nuptials (and the fact of her first was carefully concealed), her age excited less astonishment than her youth had done in the formerinstance. 

Yet now at fifty-three, this woman, as remarkable for her talents as forher beauty, and who, if but for a brief period, had once stood "onfortune's crowning slope, " found herself with little beyond a baresubsistence, which she received without gratitude from the hands ofCarew. What she derived from her lodging-house defrayed the somewhatlavish expenditure of her son Richard. She was far, however, fromcomplaining of his extravagances. She wished him to live like agentleman, and not to soil his hands with ignoble, pursuits. She felt agenuine pleasure--only known to mothers--in gathering toilsomelytogether what she knew he would lightly spend. She was for the presentamply repaid by the reflection that her Dick was as handsome andwell-appointed a young fellow as was to be seen in London, with an airand manner that would become a prince. It was only a question of time, she thought, when the princess should appear, be captivated, and raisehim to the sphere for which she had taken care to fit him. In the meantime, it was only natural that he should enjoy himself after the mannerof other youth of great expectations. She was not averse to hisdissipations, for in them indeed lay his best chance of gettingacquainted with young men of this class; nor, so far, had she beendisappointed. It would be surprising to many a stately pater-familias tolearn how easily acquaintanceship, and even friendship, is contractedwith his male offspring, if they be among the pleasure-seekers of thetown. A young man of good address and exterior, with plenty of money inhis pocket, does not require introduction. The club door soon flies opento him, but not that of the home. Richard was on tolerably intimateterms with Chandos, and other young men of the same class--but he hadnever been introduced to their sisters. It was here that Mrs. Yorke madeher mistake: she thought she understood society because she had studiedtwo exceptional phases of it. There is nobody more short-sighted thanthe Bohemian, who imagines he is a citizen of the world; his round oflife may have no fence in the shape of convention, yet it is often, verylimited, and it is outside every other. 

Mrs. Yorke judged of all men by her knowledge of her late husband and ofCarew, and of women by herself. If it had not been for theartificialities of society, she might have been right; but they arepowerful, and she knew little about them. In some matters she wasexceedingly sagacious. She did not entertain the alarm which would havebeen felt by some mothers with respect to her son's morals, probablyexposed to some danger by his mode of life; perhaps she had not theirscruples; and yet it is strange to see how light those weigh, even withour severest matrons, when any question of "position" is in the otherscale: they will not only permit their sons to herd with _roués_, provided they are persons of distinction, but even accept them for theirsons-in-law. Mrs. Yorke, being daughterless, had no temptation to committhis latter crime, but she was not displeased to imagine her Richard aman of gallantry; he would in that case be less likely to fall a victimto undowered charms. "It is not your man-about-town who sacrifices hisfuture in a love-match, " was her reflection. On the other hand, no oneknew better than herself what an easy prey to woman's wiles is a younggentleman without experience. It was for this reason, as well as becauseshe loved to have her boy about her, that she had opposed Richard'sgoing to Midlandshire. She knew Carew too well to hope that he wouldever take into favor a son of hers, and she distrusted the country, withits opportunities for ensnaring youth into matrimonial engagements. Thirty years ago, in a fortnight of village life together, she wouldhave backed herself to have got a promise of marriage out of the Pope;and she did not believe this to be one of the lost arts among youngpersons of her sex. 

Thus Mrs. Yorke had strained every nerve to get the necessary funds tomake town-life pleasant to her son, and yet she had not succeeded. Itwas not so much that he found his allowance insufficient, for he hadvarious means of supplementing it, one of them (at which we have alreadyhinted) a strange one enough; but the wayward fit was on him that takesso many of us in the early dawn of manhood; he was restless and eagerfor change, and the lessons which his mother had caused him to receivein landscape-painting furnished him with an excuse for wandering. Shehad had him taught to sketch, because it was a likely sort ofaccomplishment to aid the scheme of life which she had planned for him;and he had taken up with the art more seriously than with any thingelse. But it was not in Richard's nature to apply himself with assiduityto any pursuit. Such callings as lay within his means and opportunitieshe was incapacitated for by education and temper. He could not haveoccupied any subordinate position that required respectfulbehavior--submission to the will of a master. He had had to put thegreatest restraint upon himself during his brief residence at Crompton, and it was more than doubtful if he could have maintained his positionthere as a dependent in any case. He was gentle and good-humored, genialand agreeable, when pleased; but he had that personal pride which is asstubborn as any haughtiness of descent, and infinitely more inflammable. It was no idle brag when he told the Crompton chaplain that he would putup with injustice from no man (if he could help it), and would repay hiswrong-doer sevenfold (if he got the chance). His sense of right was veryacute and sensitive, especially as respected himself. All his passionswere strong. Much of this might probably be said of any young gentlemanof position accustomed to have his own way: lads of spirit (who canafford it) do not put up with slights; young noblemen in moments ofexhilaration may even pitch into policemen; and generally, where thereis no temptation to offend, much is forgiven. The danger in RichardYorke's case was that his position was far from assured, while he haddone some things which might prove great obstacles to his ever winningone. He had all the sensitiveness and impatience of one born to fortune, without the money. 

Mrs. Yorke was too wise a woman not to be acquainted with her son'scharacter. Her love for him was very great; as great and disinterestedas that with which the most religious and well-principled of womenregard their offspring; but it did not blind her to his faults. Herexperience of life had not led her to expect perfection; her standard ofmorals was of very moderate height, and Dick came fully up to it; yetshe felt that her son was headstrong, impulsive, and occasionallyungovernable. He had taken his own line in respect to his dealings withChandos and with others, in spite of her urgent entreaties. Heropposition, though fruitless, had indeed been so strenuous that thesubject was a sore one between them; and had the opportunity been lesspalpable, she would scarcely have ventured to revert to it that night. She had done so, however, and carried her point. He had passed his wordto her that he would undertake no more such hazards, and Dick's word wasas steadfast as Carew's. He was aimless and indolent; but as a mean man, who brings himself to perform some act of munificence, will effect itunsparingly, or a selfish man, "when he is about it, " will be allself-abnegation; so, when he _had_ made up his mind, his determinationwas rock. Mrs. Yorke then felt sure of her son so far, and rejoiced atit. But she was disturbed about him on other accounts. Perhaps, notwithstanding her assertion to the contrary, she may have had somescanty hopes of her son's success at Crompton; or perhaps his want of itplaced before her for the first time the gigantic obstacles that lay inhis social path. Were the times really gone by which she had known, wherein personal beauty, and youth, and grace of manner could win theirway to any height? Or did she misjudge her own sex, while so sagaciousan observer of the other? Her Dick was still very young; but hisappearance should surely have done something for him even now; yethitherto it had won him nothing but friendships of doubtful value, oneof which, indeed, had just done him infinite hurt. Were girls withfortunes, then, as prudent and calculating as those who were penniless, as she had been? It did not strike her that they were infinitely moreunapproachable; or rather, such was her estimation of her son'sattractions, that she thought he had only to be seen in his opera-stallto become the magnet of every female heart. Had she been mistakenaltogether in her plan for his future?

As she sat over the dropping embers of the fire, while the ceaselessrain huddled against the pane without, a terrible vision crossed hermind. She saw her son, no longer young, wan with dissipation and excess, peevish and fretting for the luxuries which she herself, old anddecrepit, could no longer procure for him. She even heard a voicereproaching her as the cause of their common ruin: "Why did you humorme, woman, when I should have been corrected? Why did you bring me up tobeggary, as though I had been a prince? why have taught me nothingwhereby I could now at least earn my daily bread? Why did you let melavish in my youth the money which, frugally husbanded, might now havesupported us in comfort? Why did you do all this--you who were soboastful of your worldly wisdom?" For a moment, so great was her mentalanguish, that she almost looked her age--not that the picture had anyterrors for herself, but upon her son's account alone. She may not havebeen penitent, as good folks are, but her heart was full of another'swoe, and had no room left for one selfish regret. She had (in hervision) ruined both; but it was only for dear Dick that her tears fell. If the guardian angel, which is said to watch for a time by every one ofus, had not given up his disappointing vigil at poor Mrs. Yorke's elbow, a tremor of delight then stirred him limb and wing. Nay, perhaps in theGreat Day, when all our plans shall be scrutinized, whether they havebeen carried out or not, this poor, impotent, fallacious one, whichworldly Mrs. Yorke had formed for her son's future, will stand, perchance, when others which recommend themselves better to human eyeshave toppled down, because built on the rotten foundations of self. There will certainly be many worse ones. She did not propose to sell heroffspring, as match-making mothers do, to evil bidders. In her dotingthought her Dick would make any woman happy as his wife. At all events, right or wrong, judicious or otherwise, her scheme must now be adheredto: it was too late to take up with any other. The vision of its failurehad faded away, and she could think the matter out with her usualcalmness. 

The gray dawn creeping through the shutter-chinks found her thinkingstill; but ere the dull sounds of awakening life were heard abovestairs, and before the coming of the sleepy, slatternly maid to "do theparlor, " Mrs. York had arrived at her conclusion. 

The early matin prime, she was wont to say, was always her brightesthour, but it found her, on the present occasion, white and worn, notwith her long vigil, but because it was "borne in upon her, " as poorJoanna used to say, that her son and she must part for his own good: sosoon as the spring should come she would bid him go. London, where allwas prudence and constraint, was no place to win the bride she soughtfor him. He should go forth into the country, where even heiresses werestill girls, and win her, as troubadour of old, but with sketch-book inhand instead of harp. Not a promising scheme, one might say; but then, what schemes for a young man's future, who has no money, _are_ promisingnowadays? Moreover, it could be said of it (as can not be often said)that, such as it was, her Richard was by nature adapted for it;and--though this was a less satisfactory reflection--was adapted fornothing else. 

CHAPTER XI. 

THE GUIDE TO GETHIN. 

It is the spring-time, that time of all the year when those "in citypent" desire most to leave it, if only for a day or two, and breathe theair of the mountain or the sea; the time when the freshest incensearises from the great altar of Nature, and all men would come to worshipat it if they could. Even the old, who so far from the East havetraveled that they have well-nigh forgotten their priesthood, feel thesacred longing; in their sluggish blood there still beats a pulse inspring-time, as the sap stirs in the ancient tree; but the young turn tothe open fields with rapture, and drink the returning sunbeams in likewine. To draw breath beneath the broad sky is to them an intoxication, and the very air kisses their cheek like the red lips of love. 

With his face set ever southward or westward, Richard Yorke has traveledafoot for days, nor yet has tired; neither coach nor train has carriedhim, and all the luggage that he possesses is in the knapsack on hisback, to which is strapped his sketch-book, like a shield. He isstriding across a heath-clad moor, with stony ridges, and here and therea distant mine-chimney--a desolate barren scene enough, but withsunshine, and a breeze from the unseen sea. It is classic ground, forhere, or hereabouts, twelve centuries ago, was fought "that last weirdbattle in the west, " wherein King Arthur perished, and many a gallantknight, Lancelot, or Galahad, may have pricked across that Cornish moorbefore him on a less promising quest than even his. How silent and howsolitary it was; for even what men were near were underground, and not aroof to be seen any where, nor track of man nor beast, nor even a tree. There had been men enough, and beasts and trees too, in oldtimes--heathen and ravening creatures, and huge forests; but it seemed, as the wayfarer looked around him, as though all things had been as henow beheld them from the beginning of creation. Richard, artist thoughhe was by calling, had not the soul to take pleasure in a picture forthe filling in of which so much imagination was required; and he turnedaside to one of the stony hills, and climbed it, in hopes to see somedwelling-place of man. He was gregarious by nature, and, besides, he wasin want of his mid-day meal. 

There was feast enough before him for his eyes. 

In front lay a great table-land, indented here and there with threechasm-like bays, which showed how high the cliffs were which they cut. In one, nestled a fishing-town, with its harbor; in another, a low whiterange of cottages hung on the green hill-side; and in the third, at sea, as it appeared, stood up an ancient castle, huge and rugged. This lastobject was of such enormous size that Richard rubbed his eyes like onein a dream. He had heard of Cornish giants, and certainly here was ahabitation fit for the king of them. A lonely church upon the clifftopbeyond it, by affording him some measure of the probable size of thisedifice, increased his incredulity. He looked again, and saw that it wasnot a castle, though the sun yet seemed to light up tower and battlementquite vividly, but only one isolated rock of vast size and picturesqueproportions; upon the crown of which, however, there were certainlywalls, and what looked to be broken towers. "That must be Gethin, " saidthe young man, cheerily. "I must be at the end of my journey. " Unless, indeed, he should take ship, there was not much more opportunity fortravel. Before him stretched in all directions the limitless sea. 

So magnificent had been the prospect that, when Richard descended andpursued his trackless way again along the moor, he half doubted whetherthat fair vision had not been a mere figment of his brain; the more so, since what view there was about him seemed now to contract rather thanto expand; the horizon grew more limited; and presently nor sea, norland, nor even sky was to be seen. There was no rain, but his hair andmustache were wet with a fog that was as thick as wool. By touch ratherthan by sight he presently became aware that he had left the heath, andwas walking on down-land. Suppose he were nearing the verge of that lineof cliff's which he had just seen, and should come to it before he wasaware! As he paused, in some apprehension of this, all of a sudden asong broke upon his ear, like a solemn chant:

 "Keep us, O keep us, King of kings, Under thine own almighty wings. "

He did not recognize the words, but the tone in which they were sung, though muffled by the dense atmosphere, struck him as especially sweetand earnest. The next instant, walking rapidly, with a light andgraceful motion, the dim figure of a young girl passed in front of him, and the mist closed behind her, though he still heard her pious psalm. Richard stood like one enchanted. Was she an angel sent to warn him ofhis peril, or an evil spirit clothed in beauty and holiness to lure himon to it? He gave a great shout, and the harmonious voice, alreadyfaint, grew still at once. He cried out again: "I am a stranger here, and have lost my way; pray, help me. "

Then once more through the mist came the young girl, this time withouther song, and stood before him; she was very beautiful, but with a paleface and frightened eyes. "She is crazed, poor soul, " thought Richard;and he smiled upon her with genuine pity. She put her hand to her side, as though in pain, or to repress some tumult of her heart. 

"Where is it you wish to go, Sir?"

"To Gethin; where there is an inn, I believe. Is it not so?"

"Yes, Sir. " Her words were sane and concise enough, but the tone inwhich they were spoken was tremulous and alarmed. 

"You are not afraid of me, are you?" said Richard, in the voice that hehad inherited from his mother. 

"No, Sir, no, " answered she, hurriedly; "only the fog was so thick, andI was startled. I did not expect to find any body here. It is verylonely about Gethin, and we do not in general see any of the quality whocome to sketch and such like"--and she pointed to his portfolio--"untilmuch later in the year. "

"I am not the quality, " rejoined Richard, smiling, "but only a wanderingartist, who has heard of the beauties of Gethin. What has been told me, however, comes far short of the reality, believe me;" and he cast aglance of genuine admiration upon the blushing girl. 

A slender fair-haired maiden she was, with soft blue eyes, over whichthe lids were modestly but attractively drooped. One who had a greatexperience of the sex--if not a very respectable one--has left on recorda warning against eyelids. "A wicked woman, " says he, "will take youwith her eyelids. "

It does not, however, require wickedness to ensnare a young gentleman bythese simple means. 

"I wish, my pretty damsel, " said Richard, softly, "that I paintedfigures instead of landscapes, for then I should ask you to be mymodel. "

It was not modesty so much as sheer ignorance which kept the young girlsilent; she had never heard of a painter's model; but the tone in whichher new acquaintance spoke implied a compliment, and she looked moreconfused than ever. 

"Have you often so thick a fog as this at Gethin?"

"Not often, Sir; this is a very bad one, and you might have come to harmin it. Some folks believe that in such weather the Pixies come abroad, as they do at night, to mislead travelers who have lost their way; and, indeed, the clifftop lies not a hundred yards in front of you. "

"Oh, you think I was misled by a bad fairy, do you?" returned Richard, in an amused and bantering tone. "Well, at all events, I have now metwith a good one; and may I ask what name she goes by?"

"My name is Trevethick, Sir, " said the damsel, simply. "I am no angel, but I am going to the place you seek; it is this way, Sir. "

It was evident that his banter had not pleased her. The same tone thatis found agreeable in the town does not always prove welcome in thecountry. She motioned with her hand to the southward, and began to walkso fast that Richard could not easily keep pace with her. 

"But are there really fairies about here?" inquired he, seriously. "I amquite a stranger to these parts, and should be glad to learn all I can. "

"Nay, Sir, I can not say; I have myself never seen one, though I knowsome who have, or say they have. There are tales of worse than Pixiestold about that moor you have come across. You might have met the DemonHorse that tempts the tired traveler to mount him, and then carries himnobody knows whither; but, for certain, he is never seen again. "

"Then the spirits about here are all bad, are they? I suppose to make upfor the goodness and the beauty of the mortals, eh?"

"Nay, they are not all bad, Sir, " continued the young girl, gravely;"the Spriggans, who guard the buried treasures of the giants, have oftenhelped a poor man out of their store; or, at least, 'tis said so. "

"And the giants--are they all dead?"

"Yes, indeed, Sir, long ago, " answered the damsel; "though that theylived here once is true enough. There's Bonza's Chair, you must havepassed before the fog came on, and could not but have noticed; and thehurling-stones he used to throw for pastime with his brother, they areto be seen still; but all that about his having such long arms that hecould snatch the sailors from the decks of ships as they went by, is, inmy judgment, but an old wife's tale, and I don't credit it. There, see, Sir; the fog is thinning; that is the castle yonder. When you see itthus in air it is a sign of storm. "

The mist, instead of lifting, was growing less dense above, as it meltedbefore the rays of the sun, and the ruin which Richard had seen from thehill-range was now once more visible, without the pedestal of rock onwhich it was placed. It was a glorious sight, though weird and spectral, and the young painter halted in mute admiration. The scene seemedscarcely of the earth at all. 

"Most folks are pleased with that when they first see it, " remarked hiscompanion, with the flattered air of one who exhibits some wonder of hisown to a well-pleased stranger. "You are very lucky, Sir; it is notoften one gets so good a view. "

"I am lucky, too, in having so fair a guide to show it me, " saidRichard, gallantly. "There is a church in air too: what is that?"

"That is Gethin church, Sir. It stands all by itself, a mile from thevillage; but folks say that the tower was first built for a landmark forthe ships, and that the church and church-yard were added afterward. "

"Then people die here, do they, even in this land of dreams?" saidRichard, half to himself. 

"Die, Sir? Oh yes, " answered the young girl, sadly; "my own mother diedtwo years ago, and lies buried there in yonder lonesome place. But it isnot usual for Gethin folks to die so young, except by shipwreck. "

"Are there many wrecks here, then?"

"Yes, Sir, and will be to all time; our church-yard is half full ofdrowned men. On the nights before storm, up yonder, you may hear themcalling out each other's names. "

"Have _you_ ever heard them?"

"Not I, Sir, thanks be to Heaven. I would not venture there at night forthe best cargo that ever came to Turlock. "

"Where is Turlock?"

"The port there behind us, Sir; you can see the houses now, but not theharbor. It winds beneath the cliff, so that a ship can scarcely make it, save in smooth weather, though, when it once does so, it is safe enough. To see the great green waves rush in and turn, and turn, and wastethemselves in their wild fury, as though they searched for it inanger--ah! it's an awful sight. "

"That is in winter-time only, I suppose?"

"Nay, Sir; we have storms at other seasons. Whenever I see such a signas the castle without the crag--it's all clear now, you see, because thewind is rising--then am I thankful that my father is no sailor. Mostfolk are such at Gethin that are not miners. "

"Then your father is a miner, is he?"

"No, Sir, not now, though he once was. Every body knows John Trevethickabout here, and why he don't work underground. "

"How was that, then?" inquired Richard, with interest. "You mustremember I am a stranger, and know nothing. "

"Well, Sir, it was years ago, and before I was born. Father was justmarried, though he was not a young man for a bridegroom, and was downTurlock pit-hole with Harry Coe (Solomon's father), putting in shot forblasting. They had worked underground together for five-and-twentyyears, and were fast friends, though Coe was an older man, and awidower, with Solomon almost of age. They were deep down in the shaft, and one at a time was all that the man at the windlass above could haulup; and they had put in their shot, and given them the signal. One wasto go up first, of course, and then the second to light the match, andfollow him with all speed. Now, while they were still both at thebottom, it struck Coe that the match was too long, and he took a coupleof stones, a flat and a sharp one, to cut it shorter. He did cut itshorter, but at the same time kindled the match. Both shouted theirloudest, and sprang at the basket, but the man at the windlass could notlift the double weight. You see, Sir, it was certain death to both ofthem, unless one should give way. Then Coe jumped out, crying to father'Go aloft, John. In one minute I shall be in heaven. ' It was he who hadcaused the disaster, and therefore, as he doubtless thought, should bethe one to suffer for it; besides, he reflected, perhaps, that he was anold man, and had no bride at home to mourn for him; still, it was anoble deed, and I never denied it. "

"Denied it!" exclaimed Richard; "I should think not. Why should you?"and he looked up with wonder into his companion's face. It was one blushfrom brow to chin. 

"Well, Sir, " continued she, disregarding his interruption, "my fatherwas hurried up; and as he looked over the basket the charge exploded, and the great stones flew up and blackened his face. In a minute more hewas safe above-ground. "

"But the poor man below?"

"He was dead, Sir. It could not have been otherwise. Father took it soto heart that he never did a day's work underground again. And when Iwas born, a few months afterward, I was christened Harry--though that'sa lad's name--in memory of the friend that saved his life by thesacrifice of his own. "

"He might well have done that, and even more, " said Richard, "if morecould have been done. "

"That's just what father says, Sir, " answered the young girl, quietly. "But when things have happened so long ago--before one was born--theydon't come home to one quite so strong, you see. Father keeps not onlyhis old gratitude, but his old tastes. He cares more for mines andmachinery and such like than for any thing else; he is a better mechanicthan any in Turlock, where I have just been to the watch-maker's to gethim some steel springs. You should see the locks he makes, and the ringshe turns. He will be so pleased if you ask him to show them to you. "

"I shall certainly ask him to do so, if I get the chance, " said Richard, eagerly. "Is that your house with the pretty garden?"

"No, Sir; that's the parson's. Nobody can get flowers to grow as hedoes. The next house at the top of the hill is ours. "

"Why, I thought that would be the inn!" exclaimed Richard, looking atthe little white-washed house, with its sign-board, or what seemed to besuch, swinging in the rising breeze. 

"It _is_ the inn, " said his companion, quietly, but not without aroguish smile. "Father keeps the _Gethin Castle_, although he has manyother trades. "

"And is that he, at the door yonder?" inquired Richard, pointing to atall, thick-set man of middle age, who was standing beneath the littleportico, with a pipe in his mouth. 

"No, Sir, that is not father, " replied the girl, with sudden gravity;"that is Solomon Coe. "

CHAPTER XII. 

A PERILOUS CLIMB. 

"Is father in?" inquired the young girl of Solomon, as he stood in thedoorway, without moving aside to let Richard pass into the house. 

"No, he is not, " returned the person addressed, his keen blue eye fixedsuspiciously on the stranger. "As you were so long on your errand, hegave up his lock-work, and has gone off to the pit. He said he had neverknown you loiter so. "

"I did not loiter at all, " returned the maiden, indignantly; "if it hadnot been for the fog, I should have been home an hour ago; but one can'twalk through wool as if it were air. You had the fog here yourselves, hadn't ye?"

It was strange to note the change in the girl's speech; not only wereher air and tone quite different from what they had been--her modesty orshyness exchanged for a confidence and even a touch of defiance--but herphraseology had become blunt and provincial. 

"Well, any way he was angered, Harry, " returned Solomon, "until I toldhim of the new copper lode, as I whispered to you of this morning (youwere the first to learn it, Harry), when off he set, in good-humorenough with all the world. --You'll come across John Trevethick, if youwant him, young man, over at Dunloppel, though I doubt whether you willfind him much of a customer--unless you are in the iron and steel line. "

"I am in the knife-and-fork line just at present, " answered Richard, good-humoredly; "and, if you will be good enough to move aside, I shouldlike to order my dinner. "

"I ax pardon, " said Solomon, sulkily, withdrawing himself from thedoorway. "I did not know I was hindering custom. --Who is this youngspark, Harry?" added he, in a low tone, as the other entered the house. 

"Well, he's a young gentleman, Solomon, as you could see very well ifyou chose, " answered the girl, angrily. "He don't look much like abagman, I think, any ways. I am sure father would not like you to treathis customers in that fashion. "

"I am sure he wouldn't like your escorting such customers over TurlockDown alone. "

"That's father's business, and not yours, at present, Solomon, " retortedthe girl, tartly; "and perhaps it never may be yours. You take as muchupon yourself because of your new copper vein as if it was gold. "

"Nay, don't say that, Harry, " replied the other, with an admiring look, from which every trace of ill feeling seemed to have departed. "If it_were_ gold, I should be more pleased upon your account than my own, youmay depend upon it. You think I am jealous, now, of yonder bit of a lad, but----"

"I think nothing of the kind, " answered Harry, impetuously. 

"Well, well, " returned Solomon, soothingly; "then we'll say no moreabout it. Trevethick wanted me to be away with him to pit, but I said:'No; I'll wait for Harry, and bring her with me to Dunloppel. ' It's agreat find, my girl, and may be the making of us all. "

"Nay, a walk to Turlock and back is enough for one day's work, Solomon;and, besides, I'm wet through with the fog, and must change mythings. --Hannah! Hannah!" and, raising her voice to landlady pitch, sheaddressed some one within doors, "didn't you hear the parlor bellringing?--So never mind me, Solomon; I dare say I shall hear enoughabout the lode when you and father come back;" and with that, and acareless nod of her shapely head, the young girl pushed past herdisappointed swain, and ran up stairs. 

The _Gethin Castle Inn_ was a much better house of entertainment thanmight have been looked for in a spot so secluded from the world, and farfrom the great arteries of travel. A coast-road passed through thelittle village leading from Turlock to the now almost disused harbor atPolwheel, and that was the sole means of getting to Gethin save on footor horseback. There was no traffic--to be called such--in the district. Dunloppel, always a productive mine, was, like its more famous brother, Botallack, situated on the sea-coast, so that neither road nor tramwayhad been created for its needs; the land about was barren, except inminerals; and not a tree was to be seen for miles. Indeed, with theexception of the parson's garden, there was scarcely a cultivated spotin the whole parish. The graceful sprays of the sea-tamarisk, however, flourished every where, in lieu of foliage, and in places wherecertainly foliage is seldom seen. Not only did it grow luxuriantly onbanks and similar exposed positions, as though the roaring sea-winds, which cut off all other vegetation, favored and nourished it, but wavedits triumphant pennant upon walls and house-tops. Stony places have aspecial attraction for this weed; and it takes root so readily that thestory of its importation into Gethin might have had more foundation infact than some other local legends equally credited. Only a few yearsback the plant had been unknown there, but a wagoner of the place, onhis return journey, had plucked a sprig of it in some locality where itgrew, to serve the purpose of a whip; and, when he reached home, hadthrown it carelessly on the top of an earthen wall, where it had struckroot, and multiplied. 

The cliffs, and the sea, and, above all, the ruined castle upon therock, were the sole attractions then which Gethin possessed--and thatthey _did_ attract was an unceasing subject of wonder to itsinhabitants. Whatever could the fine folk see in a heap of stones or awaste of water, to bring them there for hundreds of miles, was a mysteryunexplained; but the villagers were no more unwilling than professionalspiritualists to take a practical advantage of the Inexplicable. In thewinter they reaped the harvest of the sea, or explored the bowels of theearth; in the summer they transformed themselves into "guides, " and setup curiosity-shops of shells and minerals; while, to supplyaccommodation to the increasing throng of Visitors, John Trevethick, whohad always a keen eye for profit, had leased the village beer-house, andenlarged it to the dimensions of a respectable inn. Even now, however, the house exhibited a curious ignorance or disregard of the tastes ofthose for whose use it was built--the windows of all its sitting-roomsopened upon the straggling street, while the glorious prospect of cliffand ocean which it commanded behind was totally ignored. Thus RichardYorke found himself located in an apartment which, though otherwisetolerably comfortable, might as well have been in Bloomsbury for theview which it afforded. The walls were ornamented by colored pictures ofthe Royal Exchange and of the Thames Tunnel, London; and upon themantel-piece was an equestrian figure (in china) of Field-marshal theDuke of Wellington as he appears upon the arch of Constitution Hill. Theonly attempt at "local coloring" was found in the book-case--composed oftwo boards and a cat's cradle--in which three odd volumes of the "Talesof the Castle" had been placed, no doubt with reference to the grand oldruin whose tottering walls beckoned "the quality" to Gethin. 

His simple meal of bacon and eggs having been dispatched, and gratitudefailing to invest with interest the lean pigs that searched in vain forcabbage-stalks, or the dyspeptic fowls that were moulting digestivepebbles in the street without, Richard lit a cigar, and prepared tosaunter forth. The fog had vanished; all the sky was blue and bright. The keen and gusty air increased in him that elasticity of spirit withwhich luncheon at all stages of their life-journey inspires mankind. 

"I suppose, " said he, looking in at the window of the room he had justleft, and where Hannah, who was waiting-maid as well as cook, except "inthe season, " was clearing away the remnants of the repast, "one can getto the castle without a guide?"

"Nay, Sir; you must get the key first, for the man don't bide at thecottage, except in summer-time, and the gate has got spikes at the top. Miss Harry has got it somewheres, if you'll wait a minute. "

Miss Harry herself brought it out to him. She had changed her attire forwhat was an even more becoming one than that she had worn before, andher bright brown hair was arranged with greater care, and perhaps withmore view to effect. 

"The guide has not begun his duties yet, Sir, " she explained, with asmile; "and so we keep the key here. You can't fail to find the road;but the precipice-path is a bit awkward in a wind like this, and youmust be careful to take the right one; the old ledge was broken in bythe storm last month, and has an ugly gap. "

"But why not show me the way yourself, Miss Harry?" pleaded the youngfellow. "You know how easily I lose myself; and if I should come toharm, by taking the wrong turning, you would be sorry, I'm sure. "

"Indeed I should, Sir, " returned the young girl, simply; "and I doubtwhether you will find any body else in the village. This news from themine has taken them all off, it seems; and you wouldn't know rock fromcastle, unless you had one to tell you, they are so alike. "

The fact was that Harry's conscience smote her for her wish to be ofservice to this handsome young fellow, since she had just refused toaccompany Solomon to Dunloppel, on the score of fatigue. It was levelwalking, or nearly so, to the pit-mouth, and it was a climb of manyhundreds of feet to the ruin. Still, she felt no longer tired, if shehad done so a while ago, and the stranger _might_ come to harm without aguide. 

"But you're not coming without a bonnet?" exclaimed Richard. 

"Nay, Sir; I should come home without one if I went up yonder in such awind as this, " answered she, laughing; "and I recommend you to fasten on_your_ hat, if you wish to see it again. "

"But you'll catch cold, " urged Richard. 

"We don't mind air at Gethin, Sir; and this shawl will cover my head, ifthat's all. "

It really was Harry Trevethick's custom to go bareheaded in fine weatherabout her own home, though, perhaps, the consciousness that she neverlooked so well in even her Sunday head-gear, as with her own ampletresses for a covering, may have influenced her resolve. Chignons wereunknown at that time, and never had the young man beheld such wealth ofgold-tinged locks as that which blew about his fair companion's brow, and presently streamed out behind her, as they neared the cliffs, andmet the full force of that Atlantic breeze. It blew freshly and shrillyenough up the winding gorge through which they had to descend to thefoot of the castled rock; but by the time they reached the beach thewind had risen to a gale. They stopped a minute within shelter of ahollowed cliff to view the place. It was a noble spectacle. The greatwaves came roaring in, and dashed themselves against the walls of slatein sheets of foam, to fall back baffled and groaning. They had eaten thecliff away in two dark frowning spots, which his guide said werecaverns, approachable at low-water; but the rock itself on which thecastle stood defied them; they had only succeeded in insulating it, except for a narrow tongue of land, which now formed the sole access toit from the shore. Even without any historical or poetic association, the object before them--rising bare and sheer into the air to such aheight--on which a swarm of gulls, shrunk to the size of bees, wereclanging faintly, was grand and striking; but the place had been thehold of knights and kings a thousand years ago and more. The young girlpointed out to Richard where the main-land cliff had once projected soas to meet the rock, and showed him on the former's brow some fragmentsof rude masonry. "That was the ancient barbacan, " she said, "once joinedto the castle by a draw-bridge, as was supposed, which, when drawn up, left Gethin so that neither man nor beast could approach it withoutpermission of its defenders. Even now, with none to hinder one, it is asteep and perilous way, especially in a wind like this. Perhaps it wouldbe better not to venture. "

"But you shall take my arm, Harry, " said Richard; "only let me pin yourshawl about your head first, lest those long locks of yours blind usboth. "

"I can do that myself, Sir, thank you, " said Harry, austerely; thenadded, with a smile, to reassure him--for why should she be angry?--"youwould only have pricked your fingers, as Solomon does. No man is cleverwith his hands, excepting father. "

"And you say that to a painter, do you, Miss Harry--a man who lives byhis handiwork?"

"I forgot that, " said Harry, penitently; "besides, I was only sayingwhat Solomon says. "

"That was the gentleman who took me for a peddler, eh?" said Richard. "He is not quite so wise as his namesake--is he?"

"Oh yes, Sir; Solomon Coe has a long head: the longest, father says, ofany in these parts. He has made his own way famously in the world--or, rather, under it, for he is a miner. He used to work in the coal-pits upDurham way, but--"

"Is that why he looks so black?" interposed Richard, laughing. 

"Nay, Sir, I didn't notice _that_, " said Harry, simply. "Very likely hewas down Dunloppel this morning. It half belongs to him, father says;and if this lode turns out well, he will be very rich. "

"And your father would be glad of that, would he not?"

"Yes, indeed, Sir; for Solomon is the son of his old friend andpreserver, as I told you. "

"But it would not please _you_ quite so much--eh, Miss Harry?"

"Not so much as father--certainly not, " answered the girl, gravely. "Itseems to me folks are rich enough when they don't spend half they get;just as other folk--like Mr. Carew, who owns all about here--are poorenough, with all their wealth, who pay out of their purse twice whatcomes into it. "

"Mr. Carew is known here for a spendthrift, is he, then?"

"Well, Sir, it's only gossip, for he has never set foot here in hislife, I reckon; but, from what we hear, he must fling away his moneyfinely. However, as father says, there's one excuse for him--he hasneither chick nor child of his own. Eh, but you're looking white, Sir;Gethin air is apt to nip pretty sharp those who are not accustomed toit. You had best not try the castle to-day. "

"Yes, yes; we will go at once, " cried Richard, impatiently; and, drawingthe girl's hesitating arm through his own, he moved rapidly along thewind-swept way. Under the circumstances, there really was some danger;but, had there been twice the peril, he would not have shrunk from it atthat moment--the chance observation of the young girl about Carew'shaving no offspring had turned his blood to a white heat of wrath. Although his mother had studiously instilled in him how foolish it wasto indulge in any expectations with respect to the Squire, he had alwaysentertained some secret hopes in that quarter until he had proved theirfallacy by experiment; and the failure of his expedition to Cromptonrankled in his mind. He regarded his father with the bitterestresentment; he did not altogether forgive his mother for the share whichshe had had (through her misrepresentation of her own position in theregister) in depriving him of his birth-right, and he felt himself atodds with all the world. He had come to Gethin partly on account of whatParson Whymper had told him of its picturesqueness, but chiefly becauseit was an out-of-the-way spot, unfrequented by that society with whom hehad such good grounds for quarrel, and where he was not likely to havehis pride wounded afresh by any reference to his position; and yet hehad not been two hours in the place before the only person in it in whomhe was likely to be interested had galled him keenly. He could not longbe angry with her, however, for her involuntary offense, nor angry atall in such fair company. She clung to him, perforce, upon the narrowcauseway, and shrank with him into whatever shelter was afforded, hereand there, upon their toilsome path, when they took breath, and gatheredstrength together for once again confronting that pitiless blast. Ifeither of them had known how fierce a gale was imminent, they would notcertainly have ventured upon such an expedition; but, having done so, they were resolved to go through with it. Harry had plenty of courage, and fought her way with practiced eye and hand along the winding ledge;and Richard was not one to own himself vanquished by difficulties beforewhich a woman did not quail. Twice and thrice, however, they were bothdriven back again round some comparatively sheltered corner by the merefury of the wind, which battled with them as stubbornly as though itwere the disembodied spirits, of the ancient defenders of the place; andwhen, mechanically, and almost of necessity, Richard's arm sought theyoung girl's waist, whose garments made it more difficult for her toadvance than for him, she did not reject its welcome aid. Then, just ashis disengaged hand was clinging to a pinnacle of rock, his hat blewoff, exactly as she had predicted, and his dark curls mixed with hers inwild confusion. Thus, foot by foot, they won their way, and reached atlast the iron-spiked door, the only work of modern hands on that grayrock. This screened them from the gale; and, as they stood a while torest beneath its shelter, she showed him what a handsome key her fatherhad made for it, with cunning wards, more suitable for a banker's safethan for such ancient relics as they guarded, and told him how the gatewas put there to exclude the summer visitors, who would otherwise enterwithout fee. 

"Nay, but I will pay my fee, " said Richard, gallantly; and, since theircheeks were almost touching as it was, the debt was easily discharged onher ripe lips. 

"For shame, Sir!" cried the girl, indignantly; and there was somethingin her face and voice which showed him that her anger was not feigned. "I am sorry I brought you here, mistaking you for a gentleman. Here isthe key, Sir; but I go back alone. " And she freed herself roughly fromhis arm, and turned to go. 

"For Heaven's sake, don't!" cried Richard, earnestly. "You may call meany thing you please, but do not let my rudeness prove your peril. I_was_ rude, but, on my honor, I did not intend to be so. I meant noharm, although I see I have vexed you. Forgive me, pray; I did not meanto be either ungenerous or ungrateful. Is it thought so very wrong atGethin--even with such great temptation--"

"Yes, Sir, it is, " she broke in, vehemently; "and I was wrong to comewith you. "

"Nay, don't say that, " pleaded the young fellow. "How could you be wrongto do so great a kindness to a stranger as you have done to me? It wasmy sense of it--my heartfelt sense, believe me, of the trouble and toilyou have undergone for my sake; and I don't deny, Harry, your beautytoo, of which I have never seen the like. But there, I am offending youagain. Pray, come into the shelter; it makes me sick to see you in suchdanger;" and to make room for her, and at the same time to stand as muchapart from her as possible, he stepped back, forgetting the scanty spaceon which he stood, and--fell!

A yard--a mile--he scarcely could say which, so overwhelming for theinstant was his sense of peril! He only knew that he was flying throughspace. Then, suddenly, his feet found foothold, and his hands clung tothe gray rock, and the driving wind beat on his body ceaselessly, andseemed to nail him where he clung. 

Was it the scream of gull, or piercing cry of some spirit of the air, that rang through his brain? or was it, indeed, the agonizing shriek ofa woman? He heard it plainly; but Harry never knew whether she hadshrieked or not. She was aware of nothing except that this unhappy manwas perishing--had, perhaps, already perished--for her sake; throughfear for her safety, and his wish not to give her offense. She was onher knees upon the ledge, and craning over it with horror-stricken facethe next instant, and could see him plainly. His feet had fallen uponthat very part of the old path which the storms of last winter had tornand jagged away. A few jolting fragments of rock were all that was leftof it--insufficient even for a practiced cragsman to make his way alongon either side. His head--she could not see his face--was but a yardbeneath her; but how could she get at him?

"I am here, " she cried. "Be of good courage, Sir. "

She had nothing to offer in the way of help at the moment; but she waswell aware of what vital importance it was that he should not loseheart. She lay down with her face on the bare rock, and strove to reachhim; but, even had her arm been long enough, he had no hand to spare toclasp her own. The whole force of the gale was full upon her, andcarried her hair to windward like a whip. 

"Do not come too near the edge, brave girl, " cried Richard, beginning tobe conscious of her efforts. "Is there no rope nor ladder?"

"Yes, " answered the girl. "Keep heart. Do not look down. I must be fiveminutes gone--not more. "

She was up, and with the gate-key in her hand, ere she had donespeaking. Great Heaven! would that door never open? How her tremblinghands missed the keyhole; and when the key was in, how the rusty wardsopposed its turning. Then when the door was opened, it seemed as thoughthe winds had husbanded their strength behind it for one wild sortie, with such fury did they rush out to beat her back. But she struggled insomehow, and on across the howling waste of clifftop to a little hut ofstone, which formed the covering of a well. There, as she expected, shefound a rope coiled up, which was used to draw up water in an iron cup, to gratify the curiosity of visitors as much as to quench their thirst;for it was strange, indeed, to meet with fresh water there, the presenceof which, no doubt, had caused the place to be chosen for a fastness inold time. With this she hurried back; and fixing one end firmly roundthe door-post, she looped the other in a slip-knot, and lowered itcarefully to Richard. "Put this beneath your arms, " she said; "the ropeis strong and firmly fastened. You must climb up by it, hand over hand. "

It was not so easy a task for the young artist as for a Gethin man; buthe was strong and active; and where his chief difficulty lay, which wasat the clifftop, the girl's willing arms assisted him. 

"You have saved my life, Harry, " were his first words, when he stood insafety. "How shall I ever repay you?"

Then this brave girl, who had never faltered where action was necessary, began to sob and cry. 

He took her hand and covered it with kisses. "I may kiss this, " said he, plaintively, "may I not?"

She did not withdraw her fingers, but neither did she cease fromweeping. Her grief seemed to be something more than that resulting fromthe tension of strong feelings suddenly relaxed. 

"Let me go home, let me go home!" was her sole reply to all hisentreaties that she should rest a while, and strive to calm herself. Itwas with difficulty that he could support her down the steep, soviolently did she tremble. When they reached the foot of it she turnedto Richard and murmured: "I have one favor to ask of you, Sir. Will yougrant it to me?"

"Most certainly, dear girl. It would be gross ingratitude indeed if Idid not. "

"Then never speak, " returned she, earnestly, "of what has occurredto-day. Never show by your manner that you feel--as you say--gratefulfor what service I have been able to be to you. Let not father norSolomon ever know. "

"It will be very hard, Harry, to keep silence--to owe you so great adebt, without acknowledging it, " said Richard, tenderly; "but, sincesuch is your wish, I will obey it. "

"Thank you, Sir. And now I will go home alone. I was deterred by thewind, the steepness--any thing you please--from accompanying you upyonder; remember that. You will not mind waiting a while behind me?"

"Surely not, " said Richard, wonderingly. 

And the next moment she had hurried round an angle of the main-landcliff, and was gone. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

FISHING FOR AN INVITATION. 

"What a strange girl!" muttered Richard, as he stood in the samehollowed rock, alone, where Harry and he had first taken shelter. "Whata compound of strength and weakness--as my mother says all girls are, though I have never known them strong before! How eager she seemed topart company with me, and how anxious to get home without me--and I amnever to speak of what has happened, to her father nor to Solomon! ThisSolomon is her unwelcome wooer, that is clear. He is neither young norhandsome--nor attractive in any way in her eyes, I reckon. And what abeauty she is, to be thrown away on such a boor!"

The recollection that the door at the top of the rock had been leftopen, and the key inside it, here flashed upon him. "She will be sorryabout that key, " he thought; "and glad and grateful to me if I go backand fetch it. The old man will be wroth with her for having trusted astranger with such a treasure. This Trevethick must be an ingeniousfellow, and a long-sighted one, no doubt. It was he who applied toParson Whymper for a lease of the old mine, if I remember right. Perhapsthe chaplain may help me to get it him, for I owe him something for hisdaughter's sake. The idea of his having such a daughter! What rubbish isthis we artists talk of birth and beauty! Neither in life nor on canvashave I ever seen one so fair as this girl. " He meditated for a moment, then cried out, angrily: "Heaven curse me, if I harm her! What anungrateful villain should I be! If there be a Gehenna, and but one manin it, I should deserve to be that man!"

Then he began to climb the rock. He did not tarry this time for breathnor shelter, though the wind had no whit abated, but trod right on tillhe reached the spot where the catastrophe which had been so near fatalto him had occurred. "It was a narrow escape, " mused he, looking downupon the place, not without a slight shudder. "What odd things come intothe head when Death is whispering in the ear! If it had not been for myfair guide, where should I have been by this time? Beneath the sea, forcertain. But what else? How strange it seems that if there is any'else, ' no one, from the beginning of time till now, of all the millionswho have experienced it, should have come back to tell us! And yet therewas a man who came back from the grave once. Who was he? I recollect hispicture by Haydon; his talk must have been better worth listening tothan that of most. Is nothing true that one hears or reads, I wonder?Here is where I kissed her! I wouldn't kiss her again, if I had thechance; I swear I would not. I am a good boy now--all morality, if notreligion--for they do say that hell is paved with good intentions--whichseems hard. If one is to be punished for one's wicked thoughts--even ifthey do not bear fruit--it is surely but reasonable that one's goodones--even if never carried into practice--should be set down on thecredit side of the ledger. "

With an exclamation of contempt or impatience, he turned from the dizzysight of cliff and sea, and shouldered his way through the wind-keptdoorway on to the open summit of the rock. It was a wild waste placeindeed, yet not without ample indications of having been inhabited indays of old. Low but massive walls sketched out the ground-plan of manya chamber, the respective uses of which could only now be guessed at. But beneath one broken arch there was a heap of rude steps with a stonesomething on it, which Richard rightly imagined had once formed analtar. Man had worshiped there thirteen hundred years ago. Nay, not faroff, and in the very centre of this desolate hold, there was aburial-ground, with a low wall of earth about it, which neither time, nor the curious barbarism which marks our epoch, had much defaced. Thearchaeologists had been there, of course, and discovered evidence whichhad satisfied them of the presence of the remains of theirfellow-creatures; but with that they had been content. The dead had, forthe most part, been left undisturbed in their rocky graves, to await thesummons in the faith of which--and perhaps even for it--they had died. For these were King Arthur's men (as Richard had read)--the warriors whohad helped the blameless king "to drive the heathen and to slay thebeast, to fell the forest and let in the sun. "

The lonely desolation of the place, and its natural sublimity, combinedwith the recollection of his late deadly peril, tinged the young man'sthoughts with an unusual seriousness; and yet he could not restrain thecynicism that was habitual to him whenever his attention was compelledto solemn subjects. 

"Now, are these poor folks--whose creed must have been any thing butorthodox, by all accounts--all in eternal torments, I wonder, or onlywaiting to be so, for a few hundreds of years longer? Such was mymother's friend, Joanna's, comfortable creed, and it is shared, as Iunderstand, by all the most excellent people. How much better (if so)would it have been for them to have been born and cradled on this rockas sea-gulls! Gad, to dwell here and fight for a king about whose veryexistence posterity is to be in doubt in this world, and then to go tothe devil! What a nightmare view of life it seems! If, an hour ago orso, things had turned out otherwise with _me_, I should have solved theproblem for myself. I almost wish I had. And yet it was not so when Iwas clinging tooth and nail to the cliff yonder; and these folks wouldnot have died if they could have helped it, neither. There's somethingugly in black Death that disinclines man to woo her. This wind bites tothe marrow, and I'll go. I've seen Gethin now, and there's an end. " Heturned, and walked as slowly as the blast would let him toward the gate. "And yet, if it was warmer, and summer-time, " continued he, "I shouldlike to sketch these things, or some of them, especially if Harry werewith me. " He came out, and locked the door, and once more stood in theshelter of it, with the key in his hand. "She'll be glad I went back forthis, and know that it was done for her sake. If she had but money, now--this girl--and was a lady, and all that! Or if I could choose whomI would!" He began to descend slowly, step by step; the furious galeforgotten; his late escape from death unremembered; one thought alonemonopolizing his mind--the thought that monopolizes all men's minds (ornearly all) at his age. It was here that his hat had blown off, and hersoft curls had played about his face; it was there that he had firstclasped her waist, and had not been rebuked. Then he fell to thinking ofall that had happened between them during the few hours that werealready an epoch in his life. Why had she looked so frightened at firstseeing him? Had he seemed to come upon her as her "fate, " as some girlssay? He would ask her that some day--perhaps up yonder amidst the ruins. He had not missed the look of annoyance which she wore when Solomon hadspoken to him so roughly, nor failed to couple it with the expressionsshe had before made use of with reference to Coe the elder, and thegratitude with which her father regarded his memory. This Solomon mightbe a suitor who was backed by the old man, but certainly not encouragedby Harry. Was she already engaged to him, tacitly or otherwise? It wasimpossible, being what she was, that she should not have been wooed bysomebody. 

Richard Yorke was not one of those exacting characters who demand thatthe object of their affections should never have attracted those ofanother; he was even reasonable enough to have forgiven her (ifnecessary) for having returned them, in ignorance of the existence of amore worthy admirer in himself. There are many more varieties of Lovethan even the poets have classified; and perhaps it is in despair ofdealing with this Proteus that we elders so often ignore him in ourcalculations. 

The day was darkening by the time Richard reached the village. Aroundthe inn door were a group of miners, who stared at his bare head hardenough, but gave way to him civilly. They were talking and laughingloudly, and wiping their mouths with the backs of their hands. It wasevident that somebody had been "standing treat" in the narrow passage;and leaning their elbows on the sill of the little bar window were moreminers, each with his pint pot of ale. 

"Here's luck to Trevethick and Coe, " said one, "for a parting toast. "

"Ha, ha, that's good!" cried another, in appreciation of this commercialepigram; "Trevethick and Coe; to be sure. "

"Trevethick and Coe, and may the copper last!"

But one, emboldened by the liquor, or naturally more audacious than therest, put his head and shoulders through the open window, and, making atrumpet of his two hands, whispered in a hoarse voice, audible to everyone: "And is it to be Coe and Trevethick also, Miss Harry--eh?"

Then the window was slammed down with no gentle hand, and the men wentout laughing heartily, and for the first time leaving room for Richardto pass in. He did not look toward the bar window, but, as though he hadheard nothing, walked quickly past it into the sitting-room, which hadbeen allotted to him. It was strange, since what he had just heard onlyconfirmed the suspicions which he had already entertained, that thewords should give him annoyance; but they certainly did so. What wasmore natural than that this inn-keeper's daughter should be engaged tomarry her father's friend--a man apparently well-to-do, and with aprospect of doing better? What could be more unreasonable than for Mr. Richard Yorke, a young gentleman whose only hope in life was to marry agirl--or an old woman, for that matter--with a good fortune, to beirritated at such intelligence, especially after an acquaintance withthis "Miss Harry" of about three hours at most? After a minute or two ofreflection the idea seemed to strike even himself in the same light; forhe gave a short sharp laugh, and said what a fool he was, and then lithis pipe. Even tobacco, however, that balm of hurt minds, did notaltogether soothe him. He could think of nothing but this young girl, whose beauty had bewitched him, and to whose courage and presence ofmind he owed his life. He had sworn to himself--and there was nonecessity to repeat it--that he meant her no harm. Indeed, it would notbe less than she deserved to ask her to be his wife. Perhaps, if thismine, in which her father had a share, should turn out well, she wouldnot be so bad a match, even in point of money; but to this he did notattach much importance. He was indulging in a dream, which he fondlyimagined was unselfish and honorable to himself in a high degree. Quitea virtuous glow seemed to mingle with his ardent passion; though thefact simply was (as it often is in such cases) that, for a personalgratification, he was prepared to barter his future prospects. He didnot doubt but that what he contemplated would be for the benefit of thisyoung girl; he must seem like an angel to her (for love does not alwaystouch us with the sense of unworthiness); as, indeed, by comparison withthis man Coe, he was. His mother would be a good deal "put out, " it wastrue, but then she was too fond of him to be angry with him for long, far less to break with him. He was his own master, for some time tocome, at all events, for he had two hundred pounds in his pocket. 

What nonsense do the greatest philosophers sometimes discourse, whentheir topic is Self-interest! It is likely enough that self-interestactuates _them_, and in a supreme degree. When folks are by nature wiseand prudent--or if their tastes are studious, and their vices few--orwhen, above all, the brain is seasoned, and the blood moves sluggishlyin the veins, then men do act for their own advantage, and keep theireyes fixed on the main chance. But with most of us, especially whenyoung, self-interest, properly so called, is often but a feather'sweight in the balance of Motive. Revenge makes it kick the beam; andPassion; and even momentary Whim. It was one of the arguments advancedby Christian men in favor of slavery, that no man would ill-use hisslave, because it was his own property; as though the lust of cruelty ina brutal nature were, while it lasted, not ten times as strong as thelust of gain. There are moments when a man is ready to part with notonly his earthly prospects, but his hopes of heaven, rather than bebalked of an immediate satisfaction: that of striking his brother to theheart, or growing rich by one stroke of fraud, or ruining forever thewoman that loves him best; and there are many men, in no such desperatecase, whose only guide is Impulse, and whose care for the morrow isdwarfed to nothing matched with the gratification of to-day. These aresaid to have no enemies but themselves, but they have victims; and, though not apt for plots, are often more dangerous than the mostdesigning knaves. 

Pipe after pipe smoked Richard Yorke as he sat over the fire in thedeepening twilight, so deep in thought that it quite startled him, when, suddenly looking up, he found that all was dark. Then he rang the bell, and Hannah entered with the wished-for candles. 

"Is your master in?"

"I'll see, Sir. Do you wish to see him?"

"Yes. First bring me a bottle of sherry and two glasses, then ask him tostep in. "

The serving-maid obeyed; and presently there was a heavy step in thepassage, and in strode John Trevethick, a man of sixty years or so, butstraight as a pine, and strong as an oak. 

"Your servant, Sir, " said he, in a gruff voice, and with no suchinclination of the head as landlords use. 

"Good-evening, Mr. Trevethick. I am afraid I'm putting you to someinconvenience by coming to Gethin so many weeks before the usual time. "

"Nay, Sir; my house is open summer and winter. "

"Now I wonder is this the natural manner of this boor, " thought Richard, "or has he been already prejudiced against me by the other?--And anexcellent house it is, Mr. Trevethick; I little expected to find so gooda one down here, I promise you. "

"Well, I built it myself, Sir, " said the landlord; "so it don't becomeme to say much of that. It cost me a good bit of money, however; andit's hard to get it back, when one's season only lasts for a month ortwo. "

"Ah! I'm the first swallow that you've seen this year, I dare say. Well, I hope I herald a lucky summer. Take a glass of your own sherry, willyou?"

The landlord looked suspiciously at his guest: perhaps the phrase "yourown sherry" smote his conscience, knowing the price he paid for it, andwhat it was, and what he meant to charge; but grunting: "Here's to you, Sir, " he filled his glass, and smacked his lips over it slowly. 

"Solomon has not set him against me, " was Richard's conclusion. "Thegraceful manner of this Cornish giant is natural to him. --You have afine castle here, Mr. Trevethick, and nobly placed. Indeed, I never sawthe like before. "

"So most folks say, " answered the landlord. 

"There is not much left of it, however, " said Richard, smiling. 

"Well, it'll last my time, at all events, and I dare say yours, " was themorose reply. 

"Indeed it will, and that of many a generation to come. It is seldom onesees such massive walls. A good deal of trouble, however, seems to havebeen taken to prevent people from running away with them, to judge bythis;" and he held up the key. 

"Well, the castle is mine, Sir--or, at least, I pay my rent for it; and, I suppose, I can do what I like with my own. If there was no gate there, do you think any body would pay me for viewing the place? Not they. Why, there's some parties ain't even content with the key, but must have aguide too, or else they buttons up their pockets. "

It was so impossible to misunderstand the bearing of this remark thatRichard burst out into a good-humored laugh; he was really pleasedbecause the landlord's hint assured him that he was in ignorance that hehad had a guide. "I shall certainly pay my footing, Mr. Trevethick, thesame as if I had had an attendant--of which, however, I should have beenglad at one or two places; the wind did take my hat, and very nearly therest of me. But what I meant by the trouble that was taken to secureyour ruins from intruders was with reference not to the door, but to thekey of it. Why, if it were a real castle, full of furniture, it couldnot be more effectually guarded. You must have good lock-smithshereabout, if that's a specimen of their work. "

The icy landlord thawed again. 

"Well, Sir, the fact is, I made that key with my own hands. "

"You?" cried Richard, in affected astonishment. "Why, you must be amechanical genius. Look at the work! look at the wards!" and hescrutinized them admiringly close to the candle. "Do take another glass, Mr. Trevethick. "

"Nay, Sir; I've a friend in the parlor waiting for me, " rejoined thelandlord, dryly. He appeared already to regret having given way to thatmomentary feeling of self-esteem. 

"I wish _I_ had, " observed Richard, smiling. "It's lonely work comingdown here by one's self, and finding nobody to speak to. "

There was a short pause, during which Richard was rapt in admiration ofthe key. 

"Now, if his thick skin prove impervious to flattery, " thought he, "thenwill I fly my last shaft into his very gizzard. "

Mr. Trevethick's skin was quite compliment-proof, if an invitation intothe bar parlor was to be the evidence of its having been pierced. 

"You should come down in the summer-time, Sir, " said he, coolly; "thenyou will find lots of folks to talk with. At present I am afraid youmust put up with your own company. " And the huge frame of the landlordwas already moving toward the door. 

"I am afraid so, indeed, " said Richard, carelessly. "Parson Whymperought to have known better than to send me down here at such a time asthis. "

John Trevethick stopped at once, and Richard saw reflected in the glassabove the fire-place a look of intense interest. He could not havesupposed so phlegmatic a face was capable of so much expression. 

"Parson who, did you say, Sir? Whymper?"

"Yes; an excellent friend of me and mine; the chaplain of Mr. Carew, ofCrompton. It was he who told me how I might fill my sketch-book with thebeauties of Gethin; and added, that I should have a hearty welcome fromone John Trevethick, if I gave his name. "

"And that you shall, Sir, " cried the landlord, returning to the table, and striking his broad palm upon it, to give emphasis to his words. "Afriend of Mr. Whymper's should be always welcome here. How is he, Sir?And how is Mr. Carew?"

"I have seen neither of them since I was staying at Crompton threemonths ago or so, " said Richard, coolly. "They were well enough then, though the Squire was doing his best, as usual, to exhaust hisconstitution and his purse; and the chaplain, as usual, also, was makingthings as straight as he could, and putting the skid on where he dared. But you know all about that, Mr. Trevethick, I dare say, almost as wellas I do. I am sorry you won't take another glass of wine. "

"I think I will, if you permit me to change my mind, Sir, " said theother, suiting the action to the word. "Now, the idea of your being sointimate with Parson Whymper, and having staid at Squire Carew's! Why, the Squire's my landlord, and owns all about here--leastway, short ofDunloppel. It's unlucky that this copper should have cropped out justbeyond him, as it were. "

"There is no mine here belonging to him then, eh?"

"Well, no, Sir; not, properly speaking, a mine, there ain't;" and thewell-practiced hand of the landlord shook as he put down the glass, sothat it clanked against the bottle. 

Richard Yorke laughed a short dry laugh, apparently at some reflectionof his own. 

"Well, I'm sorry you've got your friend, landlord, and therefore can nothave a chat with me; for it is evident we should find something to talkabout together. "

"And I'm sorry too, Sir. Though, if you wouldn't be too proud to comeinto our bar parlor--but then I can scarcely ask a gentleman as has beenused to Crompton to do that. "

"Indeed, I shall be very pleased to come, " said Richard, frankly. "Ihave nothing to be proud of, I assure you; and if I had, why should Inot accept the company of an honest man?"

"Very good, Sir. There's only me, and my daughter Harry, and this friendof mine, Solomon Coe. If you'll please to walk this way. "

"Let's take the bottle with us, and then, perhaps, Mr. Coe will help usto finish it. "

And bearing that token of amity in his hand, John Trevethick led the wayinto the bar parlor. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE BAR PARLOR. 

The bar parlor of the _Gethin Castle_ was a small snug apartment in therear of the house, and therefore exposed to the full fury of theAtlantic winds, which were now roaring without, and enhanced, by theiridle menace, the comfort of its closely drawn red curtains, and itsample fire, the gleam of which was cast back from a goodly array ofglasses and vessels of burnished pewter. Upon a well-polished oakchest--the pride of the house, for oak was almost as rare at Gethin asamong the Esquimaux--stood a mighty punch-bowl; and on the mantel-piecewas a grotesque piece of earthen-ware, used for holding tobacco, aboutwhich some long clay pipes and peacocks' feathers were artisticallyarranged. A smell of nutmeg and lemons pervaded this apartment, andpleasantly accorded with its almost tropical temperature; and thecontrast it altogether afforded to his own more stately but desolate"private sitting-room, " with its disused air and comfortlesssurroundings, struck Richard very agreeably. On a chintz-covered sofa, in the most retired corner of this parlor, sat Solomon Coe and HarryTrevethick, and it was difficult to say in which of their countenancesthe most astonishment appeared when the young painter presented himselfat the door. Harry's cheeks, which were not pale before, became crimson, though she neither moved nor spoke. But Solomon rose, and, with a frown, seemed to be asking of Trevethick the reason of this unexpectedintrusion. 

"This is a friend of Mr. Whymper's, " said the landlord, setting down thesherry on the table; "and therefore, I am sure, the friend of all of us. That's my daughter Harry, Sir; and that" (and here he grinned) "isSolomon Coe, a very intimate friend of hers--as you may see. We are afamily party, in fact, or shall be some day; so, pray, make yourself athome. "

"I have seen Mr. Coe before, " said Richard, frankly, and shaking thatgentleman's unwilling hand; "and, though he took me for a bagman, I bearhim no malice on that account. "

"A bagman! Lor, Sol, what could you ha' been thinking about?" laughedTrevethick, grimly. "Why, this here gentleman has been stopping atCrompton with the Squire! But you mustn't mind Sol, Sir; his mind ain'tfree just Well, Harry, lass, why don't you get up and shake hands withthe gentleman?"

"I have seen this young lady before, also, " explained Richard. "It wasshe who was good enough to get me the key of the castle, which I havejust returned, by-the-by, to your father, " he added. 

Harry gave him a look which showed him that his second pilgrimage up therock was not unappreciated. 

"Did you see the chapel, Sir, and the tombs?" inquired she. 

"I hardly know, indeed, " said Richard. "It was the climb itself that Ienjoyed the most, and shall never forget as long as I live. "

"Oh, but you must go properly over our ruins, young gentleman, " saidTrevethick, with the air of a proprietor. "My girl here, or Solomon, must show you them to-morrow, for they need a bit of explanation. Solknows all about them. Don't you, Sol?"

"Oh yes; _I_ know, " answered Solomon, doggedly; "but nobody won't go upto the castle to-morrow, I reckon, with this sou'wester a-blowing. "

"It is a wild night, indeed, " said Richard, putting aside the curtain, and looking out through the shutterless window. "The clouds are drivingby at a frightful speed. "

"Ay, and it ain't only the clouds, " said Trevethick, filling his pipe, and speaking with great gravity; "the Flying Dutchman was seen off thepoint not two hours ago. "

"By old Madge, I suppose?" observed Solomon, derisively. 

"Yes, by old Madge, " retorted the landlord, sturdily. "She as knew ourlife-boat was lost last year with all hands long before she drove intoTurlock Bay, bottom upward. "

"But how was that?" inquired Richard, with interest. 

"Well, Sir, it was this way, " said Trevethick. "It was a stormy night, though not so bad a one as this is like to be, and the life-boat hadgone out to a disabled Indiaman. She had been away three hours or more, when, as I was sitting in this very parlor, in came Madge, lookingscared enough. She had been to Turlock on an errand for me. So, 'Sitdown, ' says I, 'and take a glass, for you look as though the wind hadblown your wits away, old woman. ' 'Tain't that, John Trevethick, ' saysshe; 'but I'm near frightened to death. I've seen a sight as I shallnever forget to my dying day. I have just seen our life-boat men--allnine of 'em. The Lord have mercy on their souls!' 'Well, why not?' saysI. 'Why shouldn't you ha' seen 'em? They've got back sooner than wehoped for--that's all. ' 'Nay, ' said she; 'but I met 'em coming out ofGethin--away from home--the home they will never see again--all wet andwhite like corpses. They're drowned men, as sure as you stand there, John Trevethick. ' And so it turned out, poor fellows!"

"And did you tell any body of this before you knew that they weredrowned?" inquired Richard. 

"Ay, that's the point, " muttered Solomon, approvingly. 

"No, " said Trevethick. "I didn't believe the old woman, and I thoughther story would be very ill taken; so I kept it to myself. But it turnedout true for all that; the thing happened just as I say. John Trevethickain't no liar. "

"Of course you are stating what you believe to be the fact, " saidRichard, in a conciliating tone; "I don't doubt that. "

"Just so; he's told it so often that he really does behave it, " saidSolomon, laughing. "But what seems curious is, that it is alwaysMadge--purblind old woman, as wants to be thought a witch--as sees thesethings--drowned sailors, and Flying Dutchmen, and so forth. I shouldlike to know who else has ever had the chance?"

"Lots of folks, " said the landlord, doggedly. 

"Well, _you_ been here these forty years, " said Solomon, "have _you_seen 'em? And Harry here has been at Gethin all her life, has _she_ seen'em?"

There was an awkward silence. Harry had turned very pale--in terror, asRichard thought, of the dispute between her father and Solomon becomingserious. 

"That's naught to do with it, " said Trevethick, sharply. "You're noGethin man, Solomon, or you wouldn't talk so. Why, didn't Madge describethe very ship as was lost off Castle Rock, the night before we ever seteyes on her? and wasn't it printed in the paper?"

"In the next Saturday's paper: yes, " replied Solomon, curtly. 

"Nay, I heard the old woman with my own ears, " said Harry, gravely. "There had been no wreck when she told me she had seen the schooner. 'The _Firefly_, ' said she, 'will never come nearer home than Gethin Bay:you mark my words. ' That was twelve hours, ay, and more, before shestruck. "

"Forgive me for interrupting, " said Richard; "but I don't understandthis matter. Is it supposed that a vessel announces her own destructionbeforehand?"

"Sometimes, " said Trevethick, gravely. "A ship is as well known here--ifshe belongs to this part of the coast--as a house is known in theMidlands. Well, if she's doomed, Madge--and it ain't only Madgeneither--will see her days before she comes to her end. This _Firefly, _for example, belonged to Polwheel, and had been away for weeks. "

"But still she was expected home?" interrogated Richard. 

"Ay, that's it, " said Solomon, once more nodding approval. "The oldwoman had that in her mind. "

"Why so?" argued Trevethick. "What was the _Firefly_ to her that sheshould think she saw her drive into the bay, and break to pieces againstthe rock out yonder? And why should she tell her vision to Harry?"

"That certainly seems strange, indeed, " said Richard, "as showing sheattached importance to the affair herself. It was a most curiouscoincidence, to say the least of it. But what is this Flying Dutchman, of which you also spoke? I did not know he ever came so far out of hisproper latitude as this. "

"He's seen before great storms, however, " said Trevethick; "you ask thecoast-guard men, and hear what _they_ say. There's many a craft has putout to her from Gethin, and come quite close, so that a man might almostreach her with a boat-hook, and then, all of a sudden, there is nothingto be seen but the big waves. "

John Trevethick had more to say to the same effect, to which Richardlistened with attentive courtesy; while at the same time he held to thesame skeptical view entertained by Solomon. Thus he won the good opinionof both men; and of that of the girl he felt already assured. Hescarcely ever addressed himself to Harry, and as much as possibleavoided gazing at her. If the idea of his paying any serious attentionto her had ever been put into her father's mind, the intelligence thathe had been the friend and guest of Carew's had been probably sufficientto dissipate it: the social position which that fact implied seemed tomake it out of the question that he should be Harry's suitor. It onlyremained for him to disabuse Solomon of the same notion. This was atfirst no easy task; but the stubbornness with which his rival resistedhis attempts at conciliation gave way by degrees, and at last vanished. To have been able to make common cause with him upon this question oflocal superstition was a great point gained. Solomon had a hard head, and prided himself upon his freedom from such weaknesses; and he hailedan ally in a battle-field on which he had contended at odds, five nightsout of every seven, for years. Harry, as we have seen, shared herfather's sentiments in the matter; and it was a great stroke of policyin Richard to have espoused the other side. He would, of course, havemuch preferred to agree with her--to have embraced any view which hadthe attraction of her advocacy; but it now gave him genuine pleasure tofind his opposition exciting her to petulance. She was not petulant withSolomon, but left her father to tilt with him after his own fashion. 

From the superstitions of the coast they fought their way to those ofthe mines. Old Trevethick believed in "Knockers" and "Buccas, " spiritswho indicate the position of good lodes by blows with invisible picks;and, as these had more immediate connection with his own affairs thanthe nautical phenomena, he clung to his creed with even greater tenacitythan before. So fierce was their contention that it was with difficultythat Richard could put in an inquiry as to whence these spirits came whothus interested themselves in the success of human ventures. 

"I know nothing of that, " said Trevethick, frankly, "any more than Iknow where that wind comes from that is shaking yonder pane; I only knowthat it is there. "

"Nay, father, but _I_ know, " said Harry, with a little blush at her ownerudition: "the Buccas are the ghosts of the old Jews who crucified ourLord, and were sent as slaves by the Roman emperor to work the Cornishmines. "

"Very like, " said Trevethick, approvingly, although probably without anyclear conception of the historical picture thus presented to him. "It'sthe least they could do in the spirit, after having done so muchmischief in the flesh. "

The contradiction involved in this exemplary remark, combined with theabsurdity of repentance taking the form of interest in miningspeculations, was almost too much for Richard's sense of humor; but heonly nodded with gravity, as became a man who was imbibing information, and inquired further, whether, in addition to these favorers ofindustry, there were any spirits who worked ill to miners. 

"Well, I can't say as there are, " said the landlord, with the air of aman who can afford to give a point in an argument; "but there's a manythings not of this world that happen underground, leastway in _our_mines, for Sol there is from the north, and it mayn't be the same inthose parts. "

"It certainly is not, " interrupted Solomon, taking his pipe out of hismouth to intensify the positiveness of his position. 

"I say, " continued Trevethick, reddening, "that down in Cornwall herethere is scarce a mine without its spirit o' some sort. At Wheal Vor, for example, a man and his son were once blown to pieces while blasting;and, nothing being left of them but fragments of flesh, the engine-manput 'em into the furnace with his shovel; and now the pit is full oflittle black dogs. I've seen one of 'em myself. "

Solomon laughed aloud. 

Richard was expecting an explosion of wrath. The old man turned towardhim quietly, and observed with tender gravity: "And in a certain mine, which Sol and I are both acquainted with, a white rabbit always showsitself before any accident which proves fatal to man. It was seen on theday that Sol's father sacrificed his life for mine. " Then he told thestory which Richard had already heard from Harry's lips, while Solomonsmoked in silence, and Harry looked hard at the fire, as though--asRichard thought--to avoid meeting the glance of her father's hereditarybenefactor. 

"You are right to remember such a noble deed as long as you live, " saidRichard, when the old man had done. "My own life, " added he, in a lowertone, "was once preserved by one whom I shall love and honor as long asI have breath. "

He saw the color glow on the young girl's cheek, and the fire-lightshine with a new brilliance in her eyes. Neither Trevethick nor Solomonhad caught his observation; at the moment it was made the former wasstretching out his great hand to the latter, moved by that memory oftwenty years ago, and, perhaps, in token of forgiveness for his recentskepticism. 

"Then there's the Dead Hand at Wheal Danes, father, " observed Harry, insomewhat hasty resumption of the general subject. "That's as curious asany, and more terrible. "

"Wheal Danes!" said Solomon. "Why, how comes that about, when nobody cannever have been killed there? It's been disused ever since the Romantime, I thought?"

"Yes, yes; so it has, " answered Trevethick, impatiently. 

"But I thought you told me about it yourself, father?" persisted Harry. "How you saw the Thing, with a flame at the finger-tops, going up anddown where the ladders used to be, and heard voices calling from thepit. "

"Not I, wench--not I. That was only what was told me by otherfolks. --Take another glass of your own sherry before supper, Sir; andafter that we will have a bowl of punch. "

The hospitalities of Mr. Trevethick were, in fact, profuse, and hismanner toward Richard most conciliatory. 

"We'll be glad to see you, Sol and I, in our little parlor, whenever youfeel in want of company, " were his last words at parting for the night. And, "Ay, ay, that's so, " had been Solomon's indorsement. 

Harry had said nothing; but the tender pressure of his hand, when hewished her good-night, had not gone unreturned, and was an invitationmore welcome than words. The events of the day, the conversation of theevening, had given him plenty of matter for reflection; but the touch ofthose soft fingers was more potent, and the dreams evoked by itswallowed up all soberer thoughts. He sat up for hours that night, picturing to himself a future altogether new to his imagination; andwhen he went to bed it was not to rest. His excited brain was fed with anightmare vision. He thought that he was once more with Harry on thecastled rock; his lips were pressed to hers; his arm was around herwaist, just as they had been; but, instead of his slipping alone overthe precipice, they fell together; and as they did so--not without awild delight mingling with his despair--she was suddenly plucked awayfrom him, and, as he sank headlong down, down, he saw that Solomon Coehad caught her in his arms, and, with her father, was looking down uponhim with savage and relentless glee!

CHAPTER XV. 

SOLOMON'S REMINISCENCES. 

There are wild places yet in the world, and primitive folk. Even inEngland there are localities of which the phrase, "It is a hundred yearsbehindhand, " still holds good; and so it was with Gethin. Its wind-sweptmoors, its rock-bound coast, had inhabitants altogether differing fromthe men of fields and farms; to Richard, a man of pleasure from thetown, they seemed a foreign race. They were rough in externals, butkindly and genial at heart; given to hospitality, and, though good at abargain, by no means greedy of gain. Above all there were no beggars. The poorest Gethin man would open a gate for you, or walk a hundredyards out of his way to show you your road, without asking for, or evenexpecting, a coin. They were, however, as delighted as surprised to getit; and before the open-handed young artist had been a week in the placehe had demoralized it by his largesses. As, however, his smile and histhanks always accompanied these presents, he was served more for love'ssake than the money's, and enjoyed a popularity which can not bepurchased, and which yet is impossible to be won by one who has nothingto give. He had the reputation among these simple folks, who knew how tobe frugal themselves, of having a superfluity of wealth; his air andmanner showed he had been always used to be lavish (as indeed he had), and nourished this delusion, which extended, though upon other grounds, to the tenants of the little inn. 

John Trevethick and his friend Solomon would not have been muchimpressed with the expenditure of a few pounds by an improvident youth;but the former was well aware that the guests of Carew of Crompton werealmost without exception very wealthy men, and he judged of Richard'ssocial position accordingly. He had no idea that his landscape-paintingwas any thing else than an amusement--as it was practiced by half theyoung ladies and gentlemen who visited Gethin in the summer months; hetook him for an amateur; and if he had seen his sketches, and been ajudge of art, he would have been only fortified in his conclusion. Heliked the young fellow upon his own account, though not so much as hishandsome face and pleasant manners, combined with his desire to please, caused others to do; for Mr. Trevethick was not at all impressionable insuch matters. Richard hated him in his heart for the scanty crop ofregard he seemed to get out of him, notwithstanding all his pains; hehad never made so continued an effort to make himself agreeable and withso small a result; but his self-love would have been more deeply woundedhad he known that his own exertions would not have even gained him whatthey did, had they not been seconded by a hidden ally in the landlord'sbreast. Richard's desire to conciliate was fully reciprocated byTrevethick, who wished above all things to make friends with the friendof Parson Whymper; only conciliation was so much out of his line. Theold man and the young had absolutely nothing in common except their lovefor Harry. 

Upon the other hand, John Trevethick and Solomon Coe were cast almost inthe same mould. Notwithstanding the former's superstition he wasintelligent and shrewd enough in practical matters, and had, indeed, quite a genius for mechanics. Deprived of his underground occupation bythe catastrophe with which we are acquainted, he had set his wits towork at home on the matters with which he had hitherto but physicallyconcerned himself; and the labor of his head had proved more lucrativethan that of his hand. He had invented several improvements in theworking machinery of the mine which had so nearly proved his tomb; thesehad been adopted, with considerable profit to himself, in other places;and the money thus acquired he had not frittered away (as is usual insuch cases) in speculative investments. In the interim between hisgiving up his trade and his reaping the fruits of his inventions he hadtasted the bitterness of poverty, and that had made him very cautious. But he had a small share in Dunloppel, which seemed likely to turn outvery profitable; and he had built the inn, the returns from which weremore than sufficient to support him--indeed, it was rumored that JohnTrevethick had been laying by a pretty penny, and could hold his headmuch higher if he pleased. His pleasures were certainly not expensive, for they consisted in fancy iron-working, the results of which broughthim in a considerable sum; and in occasionally getting drunk, which, being a publican, he could accomplish at the most reasonable figure. Hewas a hard unlovable man, and interesting only as statistics may be saidto be as compared with literature--in a hard, practical way. Ifsuperstitious, he was by no means religious; and, though honest, he wasgrasping. He took time to resolve upon a matter; but, when once hisresolution was fixed, his will was iron, and his heart was stone. It wascertainly curious that one of Trevethick's character should haveentertained so long and freshly his sentiment of gratitude even to a manthat had saved his life at the expense of his own; but even this mayhave had its roots in egotism. Had the person saved been his wife or hisdaughter the feeling would not perhaps have been so enduring; and incarrying it out, as he fully purposed to do, by bestowing Harry's handupon Solomon, he was certainly not uninfluenced by the fact that thelatter was, pecuniarily speaking, an excellent match. 

Like himself, his intended son-in-law was the architect of his ownfortunes; but he had built them up in a different way. His youth hadbeen spent in the coal-mines of the north; and, though no lucky strokeof the pick can there make one rich, as it can in other undergroundlocalities, his strength and skill had met with their full reward. Andwhat he had gained he had not wasted. Pound after pound he had laid by, until enough had been saved for investment; and it was Solomon's boastin after-years that he had never got less than ten per cent. For any ofit. It was all ventured on underground speculations, some of themhazardous enough--but all had prospered; and here John Trevethick'sjudgment, though the old man himself had not the courage to follow it, had been of great advantage to him. Every thing he touched turned, ifnot to gold, at least to tin or copper; and before the lode ceased toyield Solomon had sold his shares at a good premium, and placed theproceeds in another pit. He had sown, as it were, his money in theearth, and reaped a golden harvest. And now Dunloppel, his lastventure, seemed likely to prove his best: and it was another strand inthe strong bond between himself and Trevethick that the latter had alsoa share in that undertaking. There are some men with whom a commonpecuniary interest is the most binding tie of sympathy of which theirnature is capable; and never had the landlord of the _Gethin Castle_been more closely attached to his guest and son-in-law elect than atthis time, when Richard Yorke proposed to himself to part them; asthough a gilded summer skiff should thrust itself between two ladencoal-barges, and bid them budge. 

It was at least a week before Solomon Coe could be induced to open hislips before Richard, beyond the utterance of a few pithy sentences; notthat the smouldering embers of jealousy had been fanned in the meantime--for Richard had been prudence itself in his behavior to Harry--butbecause the miner could not comprehend the young fellow, and thereforedistrusted him. The light and airy manners, which were as natural toRichard as was John Trevethick's ponderous cunning or his ownself-satisfied reticence, seemed to Solomon mere affectation, and evenhis appearance effeminate and dandified; but when he saw that he wore noother air when conversing with the pitmen of Dunloppel--an expeditionundertaken with himself at Richard's special invitation--and marked howactively he climbed the tall, steep ladders, and how fearlessly hetrusted himself to the rope, he acquitted him of such artful fopperies. Of Richard's intelligence he had formed a good opinion from the timewhen the latter had enlisted himself upon his side in the argumentconcerning superstition; and it flattered his vanity to find so sensibleand accomplished a young fellow deferring to his opinion upon allpractical points, and apparently desirous of obtaining his views uponthem. 

There was one subject, the experience of his early years, upon whichSolomon was never averse to descant, could he once be got to talk atall; and it was a certain token--as one, at least, of the company wellknew--that his prejudice against Richard was quite surmounted whenSolomon began to unfold to him, over their punch in the bar parlor, theannals of his underground career. Often had he done so to Harry--likeanother Othello (and almost as swarthy) narrating his adventures to hisDesdemona--but never had she been so pleased to listen as now, when sheneeded but to seem to hear, and, without the penalty of reply, couldfeed her eyes upon young Richard's listening face. It is hard when, inthe race for woman's favor, one has to waste one's breath in making therunning for one's rival. 

And yet the talk of Solomon Coe was well worth listening to. He told ofthe great war which is always being waged by man beneath the earthagainst the powers of Water, and Fire, and Foul Air, and of the daringdeeds he had seen wrought against them. He told of coal-pits that hadbeen on fire from time immemorial, above which no snow would lie, byreason of the heat beneath, and where the grass of the meadows wasalways green. He told of others which had been suddenly inundated by aneighboring river, or by the waters from old workings, let in by asingle unlucky blow, whereby scores and scores of strong men wereoverwhelmed, whose corpses floated about for months in the dark drownedpit before their fellows above-ground could get at them. 

His speech was somewhat sullen and hesitating, and what he said wasinterrupted by whiffs of smoke and sips of liquor; but the nature of thesubject was so absorbing that it needed no gifts of eloquence. Itinterested Richard in spite of himself; and Solomon was not indifferentto the flattery which the young artist's attention conveyed, andscarcely needed the entreaties of Trevethick to persuade him to throwoff his native reticence. What he forgot, and had mentioned in formernarrations, the landlord supplemented; and when "Sol" became technicaland obscure the other performed the part of chorus or explainer. If theformer had been some gifted animal, and the latter its proprietor, hecould not have taken a greater pride in the exhibition of its talentthan did the landlord in these narrations. Now he would look at Richard, and nod and wink, as though to bespeak his special attention to what wascoming; and now he would wave his pipe, like a dumb orchestra playingslow music, to express the tremendous nature of a situation. Perhaps hewas genuinely impressed by these thrice-told tales--perhaps he wasendeavoring, by a feigned admiration for Sol's experiences and exploits, to justify his choice of a son-in-law not altogether suited to hisHarry. To do the _raconteur_ justice, he was by no means so egotistic ashis aider and abettor, and Trevethick would express his regrets toRichard that it was so hard to get Sol to dismiss generalities and talkabout himself. "It's on account of Harry being here, you see, " explainedhe behind his horny hand, but in a tone perfectly audible to the othertenants of the bar parlor; "or else he would tell you how the timberingof the pit once fell upon him, so as nothing was free but his head andhis left hand; and yet he never lost his wits in all his agony, but toldthe men where to saw and what to do; but he don't like to boast beforethe 'gal. '"

Then Richard, taking the hint, inquired of Solomon whether any incidentparticularly striking had ever happened to himself during hisunderground experience; and Solomon replied, with affected carelessness;"No, not as I know on; nothing particular. "

Then Trevethick broke in with, "What! not when you was shut up in theseam at Dunston?"

"Oh yes, to be sure, " said Sol, as though the recollection of thecircumstance had only just occurred to him; "there was _that_, certainly; but it was when I was quite a boy. I was not quite seventeenwhen Dunston Colliery was drowned. The Gatton poured right in upon it, and they have not got the water out of it in places to this day. It wasalways said that the pit was being worked too near the river; but thatwas little thought about by those as was most concerned, and it neverdisturbed the head of a lad like me, of course. It was in the afternoonof the 12th of December, a date as I am not likely to forget, when thething happened. Two mates--one old man and a middle-aged one--and myselfwere at work in a heading together, when suddenly we heard a noise likethunder. 'That's never blasting, ' says one. 'The Lord have mercy on us, 'cries the other; 'it's the river come in at last!' For, as I say, therisk was quite well known, though it was considered small, and made afrequent jest of. Nothing that ever I heard was equal to that noise; thewaves in Gethin caverns here, during storm, are a whisper to it; thewhole pit seemed to be roaring in upon us. We all ran up the gallery, which, fortunately for us, had a great slope, and crouched down at theend of it. We heard the water pouring in and filling all the workingsbeneath us, and then pouring in and filling ours. It reached our feet, and left us but a very limited space, in which the air was compressed, when the noise of the inundation ceased. There was a singing in ourears, so that we could scarcely hear one another speak. We knew that thewhole mine had become a lake by that time, and that it would take monthsto drain her, if she was ever drained. We knew that we were buried alivehundreds of feet beneath the earth; and yet we did not quite lose heart. There was this gleam of hope: supposing that the next gallery, which wason a higher level than our own, was not also flooded, we could be got atthrough the seam. We did not know the fact that it was more than sixtyfeet of solid coal, and would have taken under ordinary circumstances atleast four weeks to dig through; we only knew that, if a door of escapewas to open any where, it must open there. We kept tapping with theheels of our boots at equal intervals against this wall. "

"The miner's signal, " explained the landlord, with a wave of his pipe. 

"We felt that if we were once heard, and if hard work could do it, thatour mates would save us yet; and we encouraged one another as well as wecould. But presently the oil in our lamps gave out, and we were left indarkness; and then our hope grew faint indeed. We had knocked forfour-and-twenty hours unintermittingly without any reply. We did notcease, however, to discuss the possibilities of escape. We knew that allwas being done for us above-ground that could be done; that the surveysof the mine were well executed; and that it was known exactly where wewere, if we were alive at all. There were more than a hundred menemployed in the lower workings, and it was a certainty that not one ofthem could have escaped death; the attention, therefore, of theengineers would be concentrated upon those parts of the mine that mightpossibly be left above water. "

"On the second night of our imprisonment we heard a distinct reply toour signal; the old man who was of our company began to weep for joy, though he was doomed, as it turned out, poor soul! never to see thelight. 'We shall be saved, ' he said; 'do not fear. ' We knocked again, and again the reply was heard--they had found us out, and would neverrelax their efforts to save us. 'God bless them!' said we all. We laidour ears close to the rock, and presently heard the strokes of the pick, but not very distinctly. When the other said he was afraid the rock wasthick, the old man cried out: 'No, it was not that; it was because wewere dull of hearing. ' The fact was, that the seam was not only thick, but very hard. It was strange, indeed, though sounds are easilytransmitted through rocks of considerable thickness, how our feeble tapshad been heard at all. Day after day, and each day a black night, wenton; every hour was to be the last of our captivity, according to the oldman; as for me, I was almost worn out, and heavy with sleep, but he wasin constant motion, knocking and listening. Then suddenly we heard asplash in the water beneath us--he had lost his balance, slid down theinclined plane, and been drowned. He never stirred a limb nor uttered acry. His fate discouraged and alarmed us two survivors exceedingly. Ifhelp was coming, we now felt it would never come in time. We dug intothe shale with the handles of our lamps and with our fingers, to makeour position more secure. We did not venture to speak of our latecompanion's fate to one another. Horror overwhelmed us, so enfeebled hadwe become through famine and fatigue. We had devoured our leather belts, and even crumbled the rotten wood of the timber-props in water, andeaten that; but we were now consumed by thirst, which we dared no longerquench. We were afraid to venture down as before for the water in whichthe old man had sunk to death; and it was that which had kept us alive. "

"Don't forget about how you made a bucket of your boots, Sol, " suggestedTrevethick, gravely. 

"Yes, at last we tied a string to a boot, and got the water up thatway, " continued Solomon; "but our stomachs turned against it. "

"It was not so good as my punch, " observed the landlord, parenthetically, and emptying his steaming glass. 

"More dark days came and went, though, of course, we could not tell howmany; then, all of a sudden, we heard a human voice, inquiring: 'Howmany are you?' 'We are three, ' was our reply. We had not the courageeven then to own that one of us had already been taken; death seemedstill so near to us. The aperture which had thus let in the world uponus was also very small. "

"And what was it you asked for first?" interrupted the landlord, with anod at Richard, as much as to say: "Listen now; this is curious. "

"What we wanted was light. 'Light above all things!' was our cry. Butour deliverers could give us but little of that, for they had scarcelyany themselves. They had been working in a narrow gallery, by means offive inclined driftways, at each of which only one man could ply hispick at a time, and where light and air could only be procuredartificially. The coal was carried out in baskets as fast as it was hewnout: the atmosphere in which they thus toiled like giants, naked to thewaist, was almost suffocating; yet, under these conditions, they hadliterally effected in four days, to save our lives, what it would havetaken them four weeks to do, had they been working by the piece forwages. They had even been compelled to put up ventilators, and theirlamps would only burn when close to these. They gave us broth through atin pipe; but almost another day elapsed before the hole was largeenough for them to carry us through it in their arms. "

"And there was nobody else saved, was there?" inquired the landlord, with a triumphant look. 

"There was not, " said Solomon, expressing his tobacco smoke very slowly. "Out of a hundred and thirteen men who had been caught by the flood inDunston, we two were the sole survivors. "

Many other stories of the like sort had Solomon to tell, and for notone of them, was he indebted to his imagination. His experience of lifehad been remarkable, and it had impressed itself upon his character. Hiswill was as strong as that of Trevethick, but he had less of caution;and he was at the same time both plodding and audacious. 

It would not be well, thought Richard occasionally, to have either ofthese men for an enemy; and he was right. Unhappily, it was impossibleto win Harry without a quarrel with, at least, one of them, and ratherthan lose her he was prepared to defy them both. If he could but havelifted a corner of the curtain that veils the future--well, even then, so mad was he by this time with the love of her, that he would almosthave defied them still. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

SPRING-TIDE. 

There is a beauty in woman that takes the stranger, and another thechangeful charm of which wins its way deeper and deeper daily into theheart of man; but in the person of Harry Trevethick these two beautieswere combined. Richard thought he had never seen any face half so fairas that which shone upon him through the mist on the first day when hecame to Gethin; and when he had dwelt there for weeks he was of the sameopinion still. Harry was innocent, tender-hearted, and gay, and so farthe expression of her features told you truth; but it also told you morethan that, which you must needs believe, though it was not the fact. Herface was not the index of her mind in all respects; it was rather likethe exquisite and costly dial-plate of a time-piece the works of whichare indifferent. Her air was spiritual; her voice thrilled your beingwith its sweet tone; her eyes were full of earnest tenderness; but shewas weak of purpose, vacillating rather than impulsive, credulous, andgiven (not from choice, but fear) to dissimulation. That last faultRichard willingly forgave her, since it worked to his advantage; and tothe others he would have been more than human had he not been blind. ForHarry loved him. She had never said so; he had never asked her to sayso; but it was taken for granted on both sides. They were thrown muchtogether, for Dunloppel--a treasure-house, which proved richer andricher the more it yielded--monopolized the attention of both Trevethickand Solomon; they were in high good-humor, and not at all disposed forquarrel or suspicion. Harry had always been the mistress of her ownmovements, and she went, as usual, whither she liked, and Richard wentwith her. 

The spring was advancing, and brought its soft hues even to the barrenmoors of Gethin, and bathed its gray rocks in sunshine. There was muchto see that was worth seeing, and who so fit as Harry to point out theseobjects of attraction with which she had been familiar from herchildhood? They strolled along the beach to Polwheel, and she snowed himhow the harbor there had been silted up through the wrath of themermaids, or "merry maids, " as she called them, still (under favorablecircumstances) sometimes seen sitting on the slate cliff ledges beneaththe clear blue sea. Far from ridiculing her superstitions, he led her onto talk of them; he did not much mind what she talked about so long ashe could look at her and listen. 

"But why were the Polwheel mermaids so cruel, Harry? I always imaginethem bright and beautiful beings, with golden hair almost as long asyours, and with nothing to do but to comb it. "

"That is so, when they are let alone, " said Harry, simply; "but even theweakest creatures love revenge, and will get it if they can. "

"And quite right too, " interrupted Richard; "but for fear of that thestrong would be more uncivil even than they are. "

"Well, a mermaid was once cruelly treated by a Polwheel man--he fell inlove with her, and deserted her--and then her sisters choked up theharbor bar. "

"But how did he come to court the mermaid? That must have beendifficult; though, if I saw you sitting under water yonder, I shouldcertainly dive, and try. "

"You would have no breath to make me pretty speeches then, " said Harry, demurely. "This mermaid was, however, a changed child. A Polwheel womanwas bathing her infant in the pool yonder beneath that arched rock, whenit suddenly gave a cry of joy, and leaped from her arms into the sea. She thought it was drowned, but it came up the next instant morebeautiful and bright than ever. She did not herself know but that it washer own child, but there were old folks in the town who knew that it wasin reality a mermaid's changeling. She grew up to be a lovely woman, andthe Squire of Polwheel at that time--for his race has died outsince--fell in love with her; he treated her very ill, and she diedbroken-hearted, at Gethin, and was buried in our church-yard, where Ican show you the tomb. "

"And did no punishment overtake the scoundrel Squire?"

"Yes. After a great revel one night, he was returning home by the sands, and in the moonlight beheld a beautiful lady sitting by this same pool. She was so like his dead love to look at that he was frightened atfirst, but she smiled and beckoned to him, and then, clasping him in herarms, leaped into the sea, and drowned him; and in the storm that arosethat night the merry maids filled up the harbor. "

"That was hard upon Polwheel, " observed Richard, "though the Squire onlygot what he deserved. He must have been a bad lot. "

"But the mermaid was very foolish to believe him, " added Harry--"very. "

They visited the Fairy Bower, did these young people--the only spotabout Gethin where trees grew; a beautiful ravine, with a fall of water, and a caverned cell beside it, where a solitary hermit was said to havedwelt. Notwithstanding which celibate association, it had a wishing-wellbesides, into which a maiden had but to drop a pin, and wish her wish, and straightway the face of her future husband was mirrored in thewater. Through its clear depths you might see the bottom of the poolquite paved with pins. 

"And does the charm always work?" asked Richard, laughing. "Try itto-day. "

"No, no, " answered Harry, gravely; "one must be quite alone for that, and beneath the moonlight. "

On Morven Point, a grand old promontory, which pushed out many a yard tomeet the encroaching waves, and battled with long before they reachedthe main land, they sat and watched the sunsets; looked down upon thebusy hive of men that worked upon the slate quarry beneath, or gazedupon the ships that tacked and wore to make Turlock Haven. There was atower on this place, half ruined and with broken steps, up which theyclimbed together on one occasion, and stood supporting one another uponits dizzy top. There lay around them a splendid prospect of sea andland, but they were looking into one another's eyes, and yet they didnot speak of that which was nearest to their hearts. It was a topic tobe avoided as long as possible. They only enjoyed these blissfulopportunities--they had only been permitted to thus stroll out togetheralone and unsuspected--upon the tacit understanding that no such thingas love could exist between them. If Harry had not plighted faith toSolomon, her engagement to him tacitly existed nevertheless, and it wasunder its aegis alone that they had been protected and indulged. It wasa part of the character of the young girl to persuade herself that shewas doing no harm so long as it was possible to entertain that delusion;and it was all one to Richard what their love was called so long as it_was_ love. Else, as they stood alone together in the noonday stillness, his arm around her waist, as it had not been since that first afternoonupon the castled rock, he must needs have told her why the heart thatpressed so close against her side was beating high. Just then, however, he dared not. Suppose that, by any possibility, he had mistaken hersentiments; suppose, that is, an extorted promise, or fear of herfather's anger, or what not, should compel her to deny his suit, andcleave to Solomon; suppose even that her simplicity was such--and it wasin some things marvelously great--that she had accepted his affection asthat of a brother--a friend of her father's and of "Sol's"--but no; hefelt certain that she loved him; suppose, at all events, for whateverreason, she was once again to reprove him for yielding to the temptationof her lips, he felt that such a rebuke must of necessity finish all. She could not forgive him twice, unless she gave him license to offendforever. He dared not, therefore, speak directly of that which both werethinking of; and yet he could not altogether ignore so sweet a subject. 

"That is the moor yonder, Harry, over which I first came to Gethin--howlong ago!"

"Has the time, then, hung so very heavy on your hands?" asked she, seriously. 

"No, Harry, no; on the contrary, I have never been so happy; but whenone has a new experience, however charming it may be, it seems todwindle down one's past to nothing. I have had two lifetimes, as itseems to me--one elsewhere, and one here; and yet it is but six weekssince I met you first, Harry, out yonder, gleaming like a sunbeamthrough the fog. "

"I remember it well, " said Harry, with a slight shiver. 

"But not to sigh about it, dear, I trust? You are not afraid of me_now_, as you were then? Do you recollect how scared you were when Icalled you back that day?"

"Yes, well, " answered the young girl, earnestly. "I had a reason forbeing scared, though you would laugh at me if I told you what it was. "

"Do I ever laugh at you, Harry, when you would have me serious?" askedRichard, reproachfully. "Come, tell me why you shrank from me--as youcan not to-day, dear, for, see, I have got you close--and why your largeeyes looked so wild and strange that I half thought you mad? Did youtake me for a ghost?"

"No; but I had just seen what is far worse than any ghost. Did you notmark how pale I got that same night? I thought I should have faintedwhen I was asked" (it was Solomon who had put the question, butSolomon's name was never mentioned between these two young people) "if Ihad ever seen a spectre ship. I had seen one that very day--only a fewminutes before I met _you_--and on this very cliff. "

"Well, and what then?" said Richard, smiling. "Neither your father, norany one in whom you have an interest, goes to sea. The Flying Dutchmandid not concern you, I reckon, even if he did pay you a call. "

"You do not understand, " said Harry, seriously; "it was not that at all. But when the mists rise over Turlock sands, as they did that day, ablack, square-rigged vessel glides across them, which bodes ill to thosewho see her; and _I_ saw her as plain as I see _you_. "

"But not so near, " said Richard, fondly. 

"She was coming from Turlock to the quarry yonder--"

"To fetch slates, " interrupted the other--"nothing more likely. "

"Nay, not she; no craft would have attempted that in such weather; and, besides, there was not a soul on board of her. She was sailing againstwhat little wind there was, and against the tide. "

"But even if this was so, Harry, what of it? What harm has come of it?"

"Nothing as yet; nor was I greatly frightened at the time. That omenbodes unhappiness to him or her who sees it, and I was already unhappy. "

"Because I was not here to comfort you, Harry. Well, that is remedied. "

She shook her head, and did not return the reassuring pressure of hishand. "Listen!" she said. "This misery comes through the person whom hewho has seen the vision shall next meet; and I thought I knew who Ishould meet on my way home--one from whom"--she sank her voice to awhisper--"I already expected misery. "

"You mean--" began Richard, eagerly. 

"No matter whom I mean. It was not he who met me; that was _you_. "

The hand which he held in his was cold as ice; her face was pale; andher limbs trembled under her. 

"This is folly, Harry dear. Am I likely to do you harm, to make youmiserable?"

"I do not know, " said she. "I sometimes think you are. "

He put the long hair back from her forehead, and gazed into her eyes, which were now fast filling with tears. "I love you, Harry, with all myheart, " sighed he--"you know I do. And, though you are sometimes cold, and at others seem as though you purposely avoided me, I think you love_me_--just a little--too. Better, at all events, than the man with whomyou yourself have just confessed you expect nothing but misery. "

"Hush, hush!" moaned she. "If I said that, it was very wrong. "

"It was the truth, Harry. How could it be otherwise? He is not a lovermeet for such as you; he is twice your age, and rough and rude of speecheven as a suitor. Do you think he will be more tender when he is ahusband? He is no mate for you, Harry, nor you for him. "

Again she shook her head, with a slow mournful movement, as though lessin dissent from his statement than in despair of remedy. 

"What!" cried he, "because his father was your father's friend, doesthat give him the right to be your husband?"

The young girl answered only with her sobs. 

"Now tell me, darling--did you ever promise to be this man's wife inwords?"

"Yes--no--I am not sure. Oh yes, I must be his; my father has set hismind upon it. Nay, do not smile at that; you don't know what my fatheris. He is not one to cross;" and, as if at the very thought of her sternparent's wrath, she lifted up her head from Richard's breast, and lookedaround in fear. 

"But suppose I win him to my side, sweet Harry?"

"That you could never do, " sighed she. "I tell you you don't know him. "

"Nay; but I think I do, dear; and, if I could show him that it was tohis own advantage to have me for his son-in-law, in place of--"

"You would not persuade him, " interrupted the young girl, firmly--"noteven if you were Carew of Crompton's heir. "

The words she had used were meant to express exhaustless wealth--forwith such was the owner of Gethin still credited in that far-away cornerof his possession--but they startled and offended Richard. "I may not beCarew's heir, " said he, haughtily; "but I have some power at Crompton, and I can exert it in your father's favor. "

Harry shook her head. "He wants for nothing, " she said, "that you cangive him. He is wealthier than you imagine. He has two thousand poundsin notes, for which he has no use; they lie in the strong-box in myroom. But there, I promised not to speak of that. "

"I am not a burglar in disguise, " said Richard, smiling, "and would makeyour father richer rather than rob him. But why should he keep so largea sum by him?"

"I do not know; but there it is, locked with a letter padlock which hemade himself. No human being can open it, he says, who does not know thesecret. "

Richard was silent. Something else than love was occupying his thoughts, though his fingers were making marriage rings for themselves of Harry'sgolden hair. It is like entertaining angels unawares to find after onehas fallen in love that it is with an heiress. 

"Dear Harry, " said he at last, "I think I shall take you from yourfather's willing hands; I have good hope of it, and better since I haveheard you so despairing; but, at all events, you will be mine. Let mehear those sweet lips say so. Promise me, promise me, my darling, thatyou will be my wife. "

He caught and clasped her close, and she did not repulse him. 

"I dare not, Richard--I dare not promise you, " she murmured. 

"But if your father gives me leave?" whispered he, his lips to her warmcheek. 

She uttered a soft cry of passionate joy that told him more than ahundred phrases of assent how dear he was to her, and hid her face uponhis breast. 

Oh happy hour, so bright, and yet so brief! Oh golden noon, already onthe verge of eve and blackest night!

How often in the after-time did that fair and sunny scene recur to them, a bitter memory; how often was that first kiss of love renewed by cruelfancy and in mocking dreams, its sweetness changed to gall!

Better for one--better, perhaps, for both--if, clasped in one another'sarms, they had fallen from that tall tower's top, and then and there hadended life and love together!

CHAPTER XVII. 

WORKING ON A PIVOT. 

Never had Richard been in such high spirits as on the evening of thatday on which Harry had made confession to him of her love, and hadpromised to be his wife should her father's consent be gained. It wastrue that she had been far from sanguine upon the latter point; butRichard had his reasons for being of a different opinion. It would bebetter, every way, if he could obtain Trevethick's good-will; not thathe at all shared in the girl's dread of his anger, but because it reallyseemed that if he married her from her father's roof he should befulfilling his mother's injunctions in making alliance with an heiress. What with his two thousand pounds in gold, and his inn, and his luckymine, it was plain that the old man would have no despicable sum toleave behind him; and yet, to do Richard justice, this only formed anadditional incentive to a project upon which, at all events, he had longset his heart. He had resolved at all hazards to make the girl his wife. His love for her was as deep as it was passionate; and now that he wasassured from her own lips of its being returned, his heart was filledwith joy, and spoke out of its abundance. It had been hitherto his habitin that family circle round the bar-parlor fire to play the part oflistener rather than of talker. He had mainly confined himself to theexhibition of an attentive interest in Solomon's stories, or in hishost's sagacious observations with respect to the investment of capital, such as: "One couldn't be too cautious where one put one's money;" and, "Where the interest was high the risk was great, and where it was low itwas not worth while to let it leave one's hand. " Next to the subject oflocal superstition, "investment" was the favorite subject of debatebetween Trevethick and "Sol;" and Richard, whose ignorance insured hisimpartiality, had been the judicious scale-holder between them. Butupon the present occasion it was the young artist who led the talk andchose the matter. He told them of the splendors of Crompton and of themarvelous prodigality of its owner, and they listened with greedy ears. To vulgar natures, the topic of mere wealth is ever an attractive one, and in the present instance there was an additional whet to appetite inthe connection of Carew with Gethin. He was naturally an object ofcuriosity to his tenant Trevethick, and never before had the old man hadthe opportunity of hearing at first hand of the eccentricities of theSquire. In relating them Richard took good care to show by implicationon what intimate terms he stood with him, and hinted at the obligationunder which he had put him by throwing his park gate open soopportunely. The impression which he left upon his audience, and desiredto leave, was, that Carew was indebted to him for having saved his life. 

"Then it is likely the Squire would do any thing for you that you choseto ask him?" observed Trevethick, with the thought of his own debt toSolomon's father doubtless in his mind. 

"Well, he certainly ought to do so, " answered Richard, carelessly; "but, on the other hand, it is not very probable that I shall put him to thetest. "

"Just so, " returned Trevethick, sucking at his pipe; "you're independentof the likes of him. "

"Altogether, " was Richard's reply. 

The old man spoke no more, but sat in a cloud of smoke and thought forthe rest of the evening. Even when "Sol" rose up to go--Harry havingretired long since, for they kept very early hours at the GethinCastle--the landlord did not, as usual, accompany him, but mixed himselfanother glass of his favorite liquor. As for Richard, it was not hiscustom to seek his bed until after midnight; so Trevethick and he wereleft to one another's company. It was an opportunity to which the latterhad been looking forward for many a day, but which he had never desiredso keenly as at that moment. 

"Are you likely to be at Crompton soon again?" inquired the landlord, pursuing the subject of the evening's talk. 

"I have no intention of going there at present, " returned Richard. "Thefact is, Mr. Trevethick, between ourselves, I am but a poor man incomparison with many of those I meet there, and their ways and habitsare too expensive for me. "

"Ay! gambling and such like, I suppose?" observed the landlord, cunningly. "It is 'Light come light go' with the money of that sort offolk, I reckon. "

"Just so; and though my money comes light enough--that is, I have not toearn it, since my mother makes me an allowance--I don't choose to riskit at the card-table. "

"Quite right, quite right, young gentleman, " answered the other, approvingly. "But there are some prudent gentry even at Crompton, Isuppose. Parson Whymper, for instance, he don't gamble, do he?"

"Certainly not; he is much too sagacious a man, even if he were richenough, to play; but for him, indeed, some say the Squire would havecome to the end of his tether before this. He manages every thing atCrompton, as you know. "

"And yet Carew don't want money?" said the landlord, musing. 

"Well, I have been his guest, " returned Richard, smiling; "and it isscarcely fair of me to speak of his embarrassments. He does notcertainly want it so much but that he can still afford to indulge hiswhims, Mr. Trevethick, if that's what you mean. "

"That's just what I did mean, " said the old man, frankly. "Six monthsago or so I made a certain proposition to the Squire, which would havebeen exceedingly to his advantage to accept--"

"And not to yours?" interrupted Richard, slyly. 

"Nay, I don't say that, Sir, " answered the other. "But it was one thathe ought to have been glad to accept in any case, and which it wasdownright madness in him to refuse, if he wanted cash. It was a chance, too, I will venture to say, that will never offer itself from any otherquarter. Mr. Whymper acknowledged that himself. "

"I know all about the matter, Mr. Trevethick: the Squire behaved likethe dog in the manger to you. He won't work the mine himself, nor yetlet you work it. "

"For mercy's sake, be quiet!" cried the landlord, earnestly, and lookingcautiously about him. "If you know all about it, you need not let othersknow. What mine are you talking about? Give it a name--but speak itunder your breath, man. " The old man leaned forward with a white moistface, and peered into Richard's eyes as though he would read his soul. 

"Wheal Danes was the name of the place, if I remember right, " saidRichard. "Carew has a notion that the Romans did not use it up, and thatit only wants capital to make it a paying concern. It is one of his madideas, doubtless. "

Mr. John Trevethick was not by nature a quick appreciator of sarcasm, but he could not misunderstand the irony expressed in Richard's words. 

"And is that what you came down to Gethin about?" inquired he, with asort of grim despair, which had nevertheless a comical effect. 

Richard could only trust himself to nod his head assentingly. 

"Well, " cried the other, striking the table with his fist, "if I didn'tthink you was as deep as the devil the very first day that I set eyes onyou! So you are Parson Whymper's man, are you?" And here, in default oflanguage to express his sense of the deception that, as he supposed, hadbeen practiced on him, Mr. Trevethick uttered an execration terribleenough for a Cornish giant. 

"I am not Mr. Whymper's man at all, " observed Richard, coolly. "Mr. Whymper is my man--or at least he will be one day or another. "

"How so?" inquired the landlord, his eyes at their full stretch, hismouth agape, and his neglected pipe in his right hand. "Who, in theFiend's name, are you?"

"I am the only son and heir of Carew of Crompton, " answered the youngman, deliberately. 

"You? Why, Carew never had a son, " exclaimed Trevethick, incredulously;"leastways, not a lawful one. He was married once to a wench of the nameof Hardcastle, 'tis true; but that was put aside. "

"I tell you I am Carew's lawful son, nevertheless, " persisted Richard. "My mother was privately married to him. Ask Parson Whymper, and hewill tell you the same. It is true that my father has not acknowledgedme, but I shall have my rights some day--and Wheal Danes along with therest. "

The news of the young man's paternity must have been sufficientlystartling to him who thus received it for the first time, and would, under any other circumstances, have doubtless excited his phlegmaticnature to the utmost; but what concerns ourselves in even a slightdegree is, with some of us, more absorbing than the most vital interestsof another; and thus it was with Trevethick. The ambitious pretensionsof his lodger sank into insignificance--notwithstanding that, for themoment, he believed in them; for how, unless he was what he professed tobe, could he know so much?--before the disappointment which had befallenhimself in the overthrow of a long-cherished scheme. 

"Why, Mr. Whymper wrote me with his own hand, " growled he, "that in hisjudgment the mine was worthless, and that he had done all he could topersuade the Squire to sell. And yet you come down here to gauge andspy. "

"All stratagems are fair in war and business, " answered the young man, smiling. "Come, Mr. Trevethick; whatever reasons may have brought mehere, I assure you, upon my honor, that they do not weigh with me now, in comparison with the great regard I feel for you and yours. If youwill be frank with me, I will also be so with you; and let me say thisat the outset, that nothing which may drop from your lips shall be madeuse of to prejudice your interests. I have gathered this much formyself, that Wheal--"

"Hush, Sir! for any sake, hush!" implored the landlord, earnestly, andholding up his huge hand for silence. "Do not give it a name again;there is some one moving above stairs. "

"It is only Solomon, " observed Richard, quietly. 

"I don't want Sol nor any other man alive to hear what we are talkingabout, Mr. Yorke, " answered Trevethick, hoarsely. "You have gathered foryourself, you were about to say, that the mine is rich, and well worthwhat I have offered for it. "

"And a good deal more, " interrupted Richard. "Perhaps a hundred times, perhaps a thousand times as much. We don't make so close a secret of amatter without our reasons. We don't see Dead Hands, with flames of fireat the finger-tips, going up and down ladders that don't exist, withoutthe most excellent reasons, Mr. Trevethick. What we wish no eye to see, nay, no ear to hear spoken of, is probably a subject of considerableprivate importance to ourselves. Come, we are friends here together; Isay again, let us be frank. "

Trevethick was silent for a little; he felt a lump rise in his throat, as though nature itself forbade him to disclose the secret he had keptso long and so jealously guarded. "I have known it for these fiftyyears, " he began, in a half-choking voice. "I found it out as a merelad, when I went down into the old mine one day for sport, with someschoolmates. The vein lies in the lowest part of the old workings, at adepth that we think nothing of nowadays, though it was too deep for theold masters of the pit. I remember, as though it was yesterday, how myheart leaped within me when my torch shone upon it, and how I fled away, lest my school-fellows should see it also. I came back the next dayalone, to certify my great discovery. It is a good vein, if ever therewas one. The copper there may be worth tens of thousands, hundreds ofthousands, millions!" Never had the numeration table been invested withsuch significance. Trevethick's giant frame shook with emotion; his eyesliterally glared with greed. 

"You have been there since?" observed Richard, interrogatively. 

"Often, often, " answered the other, hoarsely; "I could not keep away. But nobody else has been there. The place is dark and perilous; thereare rats, and bats, and eerie creatures all about it. And folks areafraid, because of the Dead Hand and the Flame. "

"Your hand and torch?"

"Yes. I did my best to keep the place my own; my thoughts were neverabsent from it for a day. And when I had earned a little money I put itby, and more to that, and more to that again, till I had got enough tomake a bid for the lease of the old mine. But Carew was under age; sothat fell through. I bided my time, and bid again; not much--not enough, as I fondly thought, to excite suspicion--but still what would seem agood price for a disused pit. Then I bid more and more; but Carew willneither sell nor let; and my money grows and grows in vain. I tell you Ihave laid by a fortune only to pour into his hand. It is ready for himto-night; there would be no haggling, no asking for time--it would bepaid him in hard cash. How long, thought I, will this madman balk mewith his whim? He will die some day in his cups, or break his neck inhunting, and I shall surely come in with my offer to his heir, and havemy way at last, and win my prize. But now, after all my patience and mypains, I am overmatched by a Parson and a Boy. " He spoke with uncommonheat and passion--not complainingly. His face was dark, and his toneviolent, and even menacing. There was no mistake about his havingaccepted his companion's invitation to be frank. 

"Mr. Trevethick, " said Richard, gravely, "your disappointment would benatural enough, if your long-cherished plan had really failed; but youhave misunderstood me altogether. I am grateful to you for confiding tome the whole of what I had already guessed in part; and you shall haveno reason to repent your confidence. Your secret is safer now than ithas ever been; for from my lips Mr. Whymper shall never have hissuspicions with respect to Wheal Danes confirmed. I have been too longyour guest, I feel myself too much the friend of you and yours, to actin any way to your disadvantage. "

Trevethick looked at him inquiringly, suspicion and disfavor glowing inhis dusky face. "But if your story is true, young gentleman, this minewill be your own some day?"

"It may, or it may not be, Mr. Trevethick. My father's intentions arenot to be counted upon, as you must be well aware, for twenty-fourhours. But if ever Wheal Danes is mine--" Richard hesitated a moment, while the landlord devoured him with his eyes. 

"Well, " cried he, impatiently, "what then?"

"I am willing to make over to you, as soon as I come of age, by deed, all interest that I may have in it--on one condition. "

"Make over Wheal Danes to me by deed! What! at my own price?"

"For nothing; you shall have it for a free gift. "

"But the condition? What is it that you want of me that is not money?"

"I want permission from you, Mr. Trevethick, to wed, that is--for Iwould not speak of love without your leave--to woo your daughter. "

"To wed my daughter!" cried Trevethick, starting from his seat; "myHarry!"

"I say provided that my suit is not displeasing to her, " answeredRichard, not without a tremor in his voice, for the old man's face wasterrible to look upon. Hatred and Wrath were struggling there withAvarice, and had the upper hand. 

He rocked himself to and fro, then answered, in a stifled voice, "Mydaughter's hand is already promised, young man. "

"It may be so, Mr. Trevethick, but not by her, I think; and that herheart has not been given to the man you have designed for her iscertain. You may see that for yourself. "

"I tell you I have passed my word to Solomon Coe that she shall be hiswife, " returned the other, gloomily, "and I am not one to go back from abargain. "

"One can only promise what is in one's power, " urged Richard; "yourdaughter's heart is not yours to give. In backing this man's suit youhave already redeemed your word to him. If he has failed to win heraffections--and I think he has--let me try my chance. I am a fittermatch for her in years; I am a gentleman, and therefore fitter for her, for she is a true lady. I love her a thousand times as much as he. Asfor Wheal Danes, I would give you twenty such, if I had them, for theleave I ask for, and the end I hope for. "

It was curious to mark how the mere mention of the mine by name affectedthe old man; his wrath, which seemed on the very point of explosion, waschecked and smoothed at once, like raging waves by oil; his brow, indeed, was still dark and frowning, but he resumed his seat, andlistened, or seemed to listen, to Richard's impassioned pleading. Hisgenuine feeling made the young fellow eloquent, and gave a tender charmto his always handsome face and winning tones. 

Perhaps even the unsympathetic Trevethick was really somewhat touched;at all events, he did not interrupt him, but when he had quite finishedtook out his watch, and said, in a softened tone: "The hour is late, Mr. Yorke, and you have given me much to think about, to which I can notreply just now. Your communication has taken me altogether by surprise. I will answer neither 'Yes' nor 'No' at present. Good-night, Sir. " Henodded, which was his usual salute at parting; but upon the young man'seagerly stretching out his hand, he took it readily enough, and gave itsuch a squeeze with his giant fingers as made Richard wince. Then, smiling grimly, he retired. 

As his heavy step toiled up stairs Richard perceived a slip of paper onthe floor, which had apparently fluttered out of the old man'swatch-case. Upon it were written the three letters, B, N, Z. As he heldit in his hand he heard the landlord's tread returning with unusualhaste, and had only just time to replace the paper, face downward, onthe sanded floor, before the other reappeared. 

"I have dropped a memorandum, somewhere, " said he. "It is of no greatconsequence, but--Oh, here it is!" He picked it up, and replaced it inthe hollow of his great silver watch. 

Richard, who was sitting where he had left him, looked up with a glanceof careless inquiry. "Good-night again, Mr. Trevethick. "

"Good-night, Sir. " And again the landlord smiled in his grim fashion. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

BY MOONLIGHT. 

Richard sat over the fire, revolving his late conversation withTrevethick in his mind, and picturing to himself what would probablycome of it. Although the declaration of his love for Harry had been thussuddenly made, it had not been made unadvisedly. Though he had notexpected the opportunity for stating it would have offered itself sosoon, he had planned his whole argument out beforehand, with Wheal Danesfor its pivot. And, upon the whole, he felt satisfied with its effectupon his host. The latter had not surprised him (except by hisfrankness) in his disclosure respecting the rich promise of the mine. Richard's own observation, aided by the clew which Parson Whymper's fewchance sentences had given him, had convinced him that Wheal Danes was amost coveted object in the landlord's eyes; and had it happened to havefallen into his own hands, he did really suspect enough to have had itsearched for ore from top to bottom. Trevethick had therefore lostnothing by his revelation (as his sagacity had doubtless foreseen), while he had made a very favorable impression upon Richard by hiscandor. Cornish giants, thought the latter, might be rude and brutal, but duplicity was foreign to their character; it was not Blunderbore, but Jack the Giant-killer, who dug pitfalls, and pretended to swallowwhat he only put in a bag. 

Trevethick had certainly shown strong disfavor to the young man's suit, backed though it was by such great pretensions; and it was evident thatbut for his hold upon him with respect to the mine, Richard would nothave been listened to so patiently. However, his mouth had not beenperemptorily closed at once (as he had expected it would have been), which was a great point gained, and the longer the old man took to thinkabout the matter the more likely was self-interest to gain the day withhim. Supposing Richard's representations to have been correct, he wascertainly "a better match" for Harry than Solomon was; and he had noapprehension of their being refuted. Trevethick would in all probabilitywrite to Mr. Whymper to inquire into the truth of them--but what then?He would certainly make no reference to the mine; and as to Richardbeing Carew's lawful son, had not the chaplain himself (whom he couldcount on as a friend to say all that was to his advantage besides)admitted that, in his eyes, he was born in honest wedlock? At allevents, there would be ample excuse for his having taken such a view ofthe case; while, as to his prospects, he had frankly confessed that hewas, for the present, unacknowledged by the Squire. So long, in fact, ashe could keep up the pretense of influence, either present orcontingent, at Crompton, he felt his position with Trevethick tolerablysecure. In all this scheme of dark deceit his love for Harry wasinterwoven like a golden thread, and amidst all his plots and plans herglorious face would suddenly rise unbidden, and charm him from them. Hehad long since resolved to win her, but the late avowal of her love forhim, and now his partial success to gain her father's favor, seemed tohave made her his own already. How beautiful she had looked that dayupon the tower, with the sunlight on her hair! How fresh and guilelesswere her ways! Her very weaknesses were lovable, and the cause of love. How touching was her simple faith in omens, and how pleasant to combatit, his arm about her dainty waist, as though to protect her from theshadow of harm! How pitiful her fear of her gruff father, and of thisCornish Solomon; and how sweet to calm it, kissing her tears away! Oncemore his loving arms embraced her--once more his lips touched her warmcheeks--when a sudden noise awakened him from his dream of bliss. 

The parlor fire had long gone out. It was warm for the time of year; buthad it been otherwise he would not have replenished it. The candles, too, had burned out, and the moon-beams were streaming through thewindow; but had it been dark he would scarce have been aware of it. Thehouse had long ago been hushed in repose, and yet Richard felt certainthat he had heard a movement in the passage. 

A stealthy step, yet not that of thief or burglar; a fairy footfall, rather, which was music to his ear. His heart leaped up to tell him thaton the other side of the door was Harry Trevethick. He held his breath, and trembled--not for fear. Was it possible that, knowing he was sittingthere alone, she had come down of her own choice to bear him company?Had her father told her something--some glad tidings which she could notkeep from her lover even for a night? Or, filled with sweet dreams ofhim, as he of her, had she risen in her sleep, and been drawninvoluntarily toward him by the loadstone of love? But--hark! The boltthat fastened the house-door was softly drawn, and the latch gentlylifted. What _could_ that mean? Why was she thus going forth alone, andclandestinely, at midnight? His heart beat faster than ever. For aninstant all that he had read or heard from his wild companions, and whathe had himself believed until he came to Gethin, of the wiles andinconstancy of woman, flashed upon his mind. Had he, bred in the town, and familiar with all the ways of vice, been flattered and hoodwinked bya country wanton? Impossible. For, though there were no virtue in theworld, he felt assured that Harry loved him, and him alone. She must bewalking in her sleep. Softly, but very swiftly, he left the parlor, andhurried to the front-door. It was closed, but unfastened. He opened it, and looked out. All was as light as day, and yet so different. Everyobject in the street, every stone in the cottage opposite, stood outdistinct and clear, but bathed in a pale and ghostly atmosphere. Thedistant murmur of the sea came to him like the sigh of one just freedfrom pain. Nothing else was to be heard; no human tread disturbed themidnight stillness; but along the winding road that led to Turlock hecaught the far-off flutter of a woman's dress. She was going at rapidspeed, and the next moment had turned the corner, but not before he hadrecognized his Harry; and, closing the inn door softly behind him, hestarted after her like an arrow from the bow. 

The scene of this pursuit was strange and weird enough, had Richardpossessed eyes for any thing but the object of it. The sky was without acloud, and the sea--which showed on its cold blue surface a broad andshining path where the moon-beams lay--without a ripple. On shore therewas even less of motion. The bramble that threw its slender shadow onthe road moved not a twig. Nature, green and pale, seemed to be cast inan enchanted sleep, and even to suspend her breathing. From the pointRichard had reached he could see the road stretching for a full mile, like a white ribbon, save in the middle, where it dipped between highbanks. It led to Turlock only, but at this place a foot-path struckacross the fields to the Fairies' Bower. To his astonishment, thoughindeed he had scarcely capacity enough for further wonder, Harry tookthis path; he saw her climb the stile, and then for the first time lookround; he sank under the hedge, to hide himself; and when he cautiouslylooked forth again the girl had vanished. But he knew whither she wasgoing now. He had assisted her across that very stile but a few daysago; he had walked with her through the hazel copse, and skirted theclear trout-stream by her side; and he could follow her now at utmostspeed, and with less caution, for the path was green and noiseless. Hecould hear his heart beat--not from want of breath--as though in accordwith the silver treble of the stream, as he sped along. Through thescanty foliage of the dell he saw her light dress gleam across thewooden bridge, but he himself stopped beside it, peering through thelattice of the branches upon her as she stood on the green bank of theWishing-Well. 

Never had moon-beams shone upon a sight more fair. Harry was attired asshe had been on the previous evening, except that she wore a shawl, which also served her as head-gear, like a hood. This she nowunfastened, and taking out the pin that had joined it together, held itabove the well, which showed, as in a mirror, her leaning face andcurving form, her wealth of hair, her frightened yet hopeful eyes, andthe rise and fall of her bosom, filled with anxiety and superstitiousawe. She had come to test her future--to foresee her fate--at GethinWishing-Well. For an instant she poised the pin, her lips at the sametime murmuring some simple charm--then dropped it into the well's cleardepths, and watched it fall. As she did so, another figure seemed toglide upon the liquid mirror, at the sight of which she clasped herhands and trembled. Superstitious as she was, Harry had only halfexpected that her foolish curiosity would be actually gratified. Movedby the avowal of Richard's love that morning, the obstacles to whichseemed to her so formidable, she had wished to see her future husband, to know how fate would decide between him she loved and him whom herfather had chosen for her, and yet she was terrified now that thatwhich she had desired was vouchsafed her. She scarcely dared to lookupon yonder shadowy form, although its presence seemed to assure her ofthe fulfillment of her dearest wish. It was the counterfeit presentmentof Richard Yorke himself; bareheaded, just as she had seen him last inthe bar parlor, but with heightened color, an eager smile, and a lovinggratitude in his eyes, which seemed to thank her for having thussummoned him before her. The figure was at right angles from her own, but the face was turned toward her. She gazed upon it intently, lookingfor it to faint and fade, since its mission had been accomplished. Sheeven drew back a little, as though to express content, yet there was thevision still, a glorious picture in its fair round frame of moss andgreenery. Supposing it should remain there (her pale face flushed at thethought) indelibly and forever, to tell the secret of her heart to allthe world! Then a whisper, that seemed to tremble beneath its freight oflove, whispered, "Harry! Harry!" and she looked up, and saw thesubstance of the shadow, her lover, standing upon the little woodenbridge!

Though Folly be near kin to Vice, she does not acknowledge therelationship, and, to do Harry Trevethick justice, she would never havemade a midnight assignation with Richard in the Fairies' Bower. She wasmore alarmed and shocked at the too literal fulfillment of her wish thanpleased to see him there. She shed tears for very shame. Whateverreserve she had hitherto maintained, with respect to her affection forhim, had now, she perceived, been swept away by her own act. The sceneto which he had just been an unsuspected witness was more thanequivalent to a mere declaration of love: it was a leap-year offer ofher hand and heart. She had no strong-hold of Duty left to which tobetake herself, nor even a halting-place, such as coy maidens love tolinger at a little before they murmur, "I am yours. "

There was nothing left her but revilings. She poured upon him a torrentof contumely, reproaching him for his baseness, his cowardice, histreachery in tracking her hither, like a spy, to overhear a confessionthat should have been sacred with him of all men. Whatever thatconfession might have been--and, to say truth, so utterly possessed hadshe been by her passionate hopes, her loving yearnings, that she knewnot what she had merely felt, what uttered aloud--she now retracted it;she had no tenderness for eaves-droppers, for deceivers, for--she didnot know what she was saying--for wicked young men. Above all things itseemed necessary to be in a passion; to be as irritated and bitteragainst him as possible. The copiousness of her vocabulary of abusesurprised herself, and she did not shrink from tautology. She onlystopped at last for want of breath, and even then, as though she knewhow dangerous was silence, she bemoaned herself with sobs and sighs. 

Then Richard, all tenderness and submission, explained his presencethere; showed how little he was to blame in the matter, and, indeed, howthere was neither blame nor shame to be attached to either of them;spoke of his late interview with her father, gilding it with brightesthopes, and cited the marvelous attributes of the Wishing-Well itself insupport of his position. He felt himself already her affianced husband;the question of their union had become only one of time. She waslistening to him now, and had suffered him to kiss her tears away, whensuddenly she started from his embrace with a muffled cry of terror. Somemovement of beast or bird in the copse had made a rustling in theunderwood, but her fears gave it a human shape. What if Sol should havefollowed them thither, as Richard had followed _her!_ What if her fathershould have heard her leave his roof, as Richard had, or should miss herfrom it--and--oh shame!--_miss him!_ "Home! home!" she cried. "Let mego home. " And she looked so wild with fright that he durst not hinderher. Hardly could he keep pace with her along the winding path, withsuch frantic speed she ran. At the stile she forbade him to accompanyher farther. 

"What! leave you to walk alone, and at such an hour, my darling?" It wasnearly two o'clock. 

"Why not?" she cried, turning upon him fiercely. "I am afraid of nonebut you, and of those whom I should love, but of whom you make meafraid. " Then up the white road she glided like a ghost. 

Richard watched her with anxious eyes as long as he could, then sat uponthe stile, a prey to apprehensions. To what dangers might he not havealready exposed her by his inconsiderate pursuit! Suppose some eye hadseen them on their way, or should meet her now on her return! Supposeher own fears should prove true, and her father had already discoveredtheir absence! His thoughts were loyally occupied with Harry alone; butthe peril to himself was considerable. It was impossible that he couldsatisfactorily explain his companionship with the inn-keeper's daughterat such a place and hour. The truth would never be believed, even if itcould be related. She had got home by this time; but had she done sounobserved? Otherwise, it was more than probable that he should find twoCornish giants waiting, if not "to grind his bones to make their bread, "at least to break them with their cudgels. In their eyes he would seemto have been guilty of a deliberate seduction, the one of his daughter, the other of his destined bride. Yet, not to return to Gethin in such acase would be worse than cowardice, since his absence would be sure tobe associated with Harry's midnight expedition. He had hitherto onlydespised this Trevethick and his friend, but now, since he feared them, he began to hate them. Bodily discomfort combined with his mentaldisquietude. For the first time he felt the keenness of the moonlit air, and shivered in it, notwithstanding the hasty strides which he now wastaking homeward. Upon the hill-top he paused, and glanced about him. Allwas as it had been when he set out; there was no sign of change normovement. The inn, with its drawn-down blinds, seemed itself asleep. Thefront-door had been left ajar, doubtless by Harry; he pushed his way in, and silently shut it to, and shot the bolt; then he took off his boots, and walked softly up stairs in his stockinged feet. He knew that therewas at least one person in that house who was listening with beatingheart for every noise. 

The ways of clandestine love have been justly described as "full ofcares and troubles, of fears and jealousies, of impatient waiting, tediousness of delay, and sufferance of affronts, and amazements ofdiscovery;" and though Richard Yorke had never read those words of ourgreat English divine, he had already begun to exemplify them, and wasdoomed to prove them to the uttermost. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

RICHARD BURNS HIS BOATS. 

It was strange enough that day after day and week after week went bywithout John Trevethick making any reference to the application hisguest had made for his daughter's hand. His silence certainly seemed tofavor it; and the more so since, notwithstanding what he knew, he put noobstacles in the way of the young people's meeting and enjoying eachother's society as heretofore. Perhaps he had too strong a confidence inHarry's sense of duty, or in the somewhat more than filial fear in whichshe stood of him. Perhaps Richard's prudent and undemonstrative behaviortoward the girl in the presence of others deceived him. But, at allevents, the summer came and still found Richard under the same roof withHarry, and more like one of the family than ever. Tourists of the youngman's own position in life, and even of the same profession, began tovisit Gethin, and of course "put up" at the _Castle_, but he foundnothing so attractive in their company as to withdraw him from thathomely coterie in the bar parlor for a single evening. He was alwaysmade welcome there by both his host and Solomon; and without doubt, sofar as the former was concerned, a less sanguine man than the younglandscape-painter might have considered that his suit was tacitlyacceded to. 

Even Harry herself--to whom her father's conduct was surprisingenough--had come at last to this conclusion. Only one thing militatedagainst this pleasant view of affairs--it was certain that the old manhad not yet opened his lips to "Sol" upon the matter. It was clear thatthe miner still considered himself in the light of Harry's acceptedsuitor. As a lover, he was fortunately phlegmatic, and did not demandthose little tributes of affection in the shape of smiles and whispers, secret glances, silent pressures, which his position might have exacted;but he would now and then pay her a blundering compliment in a mannerthat could not be misinterpreted, or even make some direct allusion totheir future settlement in life, which embarrassed her still more. Theyoung girl, as we have hinted, was by no means incapable ofdissimulation, but she naturally revolted against having to support sucha _rôle_ as this, and would have even run the risk of precipitating whatmight have been a catastrophe by undeceiving him. But Richard bade herhave patience. He had strong reasons, if they were not good ones, forbeing well satisfied with the present state of affairs. In love, notwithstanding much savage writing to the contrary, it is the woman whosuffers; it is she who is the small trader, who can least afford towait, while man is the capitalist. Richard saw no immediate necessityfor pressing the matter of his marriage, upon which his heart was, nevertheless, as deeply set as ever. He would not (to do him justice)have been parted from his Harry now for all the wealth of Carew. But hewas not parted from her, and he did not wish to risk even a temporaryseparation by any act of impetuosity. Living was cheap as well aspleasant at the _Gethin Castle_, and it was of importance to husband hisfunds--to reserve as much of his resources as he could for the expensesof his honey-moon. So far, and no farther, went his plans for thefuture. He knew that his mother would not refuse to offer them a home, even if his wife should come to him empty-handed; and the more hehumored the old man, and abstained from demanding a decision, when itwas clear the other preferred to procrastinate, the better favor hewould have with him, and consequently the better chance of gaining adowry with his daughter. Even if he should press matters, it wasprobable, he reasoned, that Trevethick had no decisive reply to givehim. He had doubtless written to Mr. Whymper, and learned all thatRichard had already divulged to him--and no more; that is to say, thathe was, though an unacknowledged offspring of the Squire, in a verydifferent position, at all events, toward him than that of a merenatural son. Trevethick could not have heard less--that is, less to hisadvantage--or he certainly would not have kept silence for so long. 

Such was the state of affairs at Gethin. Harry with her two suitors; herfather with his two expectant sons-in-law, each of whom had more or lessof reason for his expectation. Though Richard might be satisfied withit, it was clear it could not last forever--nor for long. The day onwhich the change took place, though it was in no wise remarkable inother respects, he never forgot: every incident connected with it, though disregarded at the time, impressed itself upon his mind, to besubsequently dwelt upon a thousand times. It might have been marked inthe hitherto sunny calendar of his life as the "Last day of ThoughtlessGayety. Here Love and Pleasure end. "

It was fine weather, and there were more tourists at the inn than couldbe accommodated, so Richard had given up his private sitting-room totheir temporary use. This, however, did not throw him more in Harry'ssociety than usual, since their presence naturally much occupied hertime. He had not, indeed, seen her since the mid-day meal which he hadtaken in the bar parlor; but she had promised, if she could get away, tocall for him at a certain spot where he had gone to sketch--thechurch-yard on the hill. The attraction of the castled rock was suchthat few visitors sought the former spot, notwithstanding itspicturesque and wild position. How the church maintained itself on thatelevated and unsheltered hill, despite such winds as swept it in thewinter, was almost a miracle: but there it stood--as it had done forcenturies--gray, solitary, sublime. It was of considerable size, butsmall in comparison with its God's-acre, which was of vast extent, andonly sparsely occupied by graves. The bare and rocky moor was almostvalueless; it is as easy for one duly qualified to consecrate a squaremile as an acre; and the materials of the low stone wall that marked itslimits had been close at hand. In one or two spots only did the dead liethickly; where shipwrecked mariners--the very names of whom were unknownto those who buried them--were interred; and where the victims of thePlague reposed by scores. Even Gethin had not escaped the ravages ofthat fell scourge; and, what was very singular, had suffered from ittwice over; for, on the occasion of an ordinary burial having takenplace many generations after the first calamity, in the same spot, thedisease had broken forth afresh, and scattered broadcast in the littlehamlet ancient death. The particulars of the catastrophe, socharacteristic of this home of antique legend and hoary ruin, wereengraven on a stone above the spot, which had never since beendisturbed. 

In a lone corner, as though seeking in its humility to be as distantfrom the sacred edifice as possible, was a quaint old cross. It wasprobably not so old by half a dozen centuries as the grave-mounds on therock where the ruined castle stood, but it seemed even older, becausethere were words cut in its stone in a tongue that was no longer knownto man. Seated on the low wall beside it, Richard was transferring tohis sketch-book this relic of the past in his usual intermittentmanner--now gazing out upon the far-stretching sea, here blue andbright, there shadowed by a passing cloud; now down into the village, which stood on a lower hill, with a ravine between. He had seen thepost-cart come and go--for it came in and went out simultaneously atthat out-of-the-way hamlet, where there was no one to writecomplainingly to the papers concerning the inefficiency of the mailservice--and it was almost time for Harry to come and fetch him, as shehad appointed. But presently the reason for her absence made itselfapparent in the person of her father. It was not unusual for oldTrevethick, at the close of the day, to call at the cottage in theravine, which the guide to the ruin inhabited in the summer months, andsee how business was doing in that quarter. If he had no eye for thepicturesque, he had a very sharp one for the shillings which were madeout of it; and Richard was not surprised to see the landlord descendingthe opposite hill. "This will keep Harry at home; confound him!"muttered the young man to himself, and then resumed his occupation. Asthere was now no one to watch for, he worked with more assiduity, andwith such engrossment in his subject that he was first made consciousthat he was not alone by the sudden presence of a shadow on hissketch-book. He looked up, not a little startled, and there was JohnTrevethick standing beside him, his huge form black against the sun. 

"You may well be frightened, young gentleman, " were his first ominouswords; "it is only a guilty conscience that starts at a shadow. "

Richard _had_ a guilty conscience; and yet the remark that was thusaddressed to him, unconciliatory, if not directly hostile, as it was, rather reassured him than otherwise. 

Trevethick's presence there, for he had never made pretense of seekingRichard's society for its own sake--was of evil augury; his tone andmanner were morose and threatening; his swarthy face was full of pent-upwrath; and yet it was obvious to the other that the secret was yet safe, the divulging of which he had most cause to fear. Had it been otherwisethere would have been no mere thunder-cloud, but a tornado. "The posthas brought some ill news from Crompton, " was what flashed across theyoung man's brain; and the thought, though sufficiently uncomfortable, was a relief compared with that he had first entertained, and which haddriven the color from his cheeks. 

"I have no cause to be frightened, that I know of, either of you or anyother man, Mr. Trevethick, " observed Richard, haughtily. 

"I hear you say so, " was the other's grim reply; "but I shall be betterpleased to hear you prove it. "

"Prove what?"

"Two things--that you are not a bastard, nor a pauper. "

Richard leaped down from the wall with a fierce oath; and for a momentit really seemed that he would have flung himself against his giganticopponent, like a fretful wave against a rock of granite. 

Trevethick uttered an exclamation of contempt. "Pick up yoursketch-book, young man, or one of those pretty pictures will be spoiledby which you gain your bread. You've acted the fine gentleman at Gethinvery well, but the play is over now. "

"I don't understand you, Mr. Trevethick. If you must needs be insolent, at all events, be explicit. You have miscalled me by two names--Bastardand Pauper. Who has put those lies into your mouth, the taste of whichyou seem to relish so?"

Trevethick reached forth his huge hand, and seized the other's shoulderwith a gripe of steel. It seemed to compress bone and sinew as in avice; the arm between them was as a bar of iron. Richard felt powerlessas a child, and could have cried like a child--not from pain, though hewas in great pain, but from vexation and rage. It was maddening to findhimself thus physically subjugated by one whom he so utterly despised. 

"Keep a civil tongue in your head, cock-sparrow, " growled the giant, "lest I wring your neck. You're a nice one to talk of lying; you, withyour tales of son and heirship to the Squire, and your offers ofcopper-mines for the asking! Who told me how I had been fooled? Why, Carew himself! You thought I should write to the parson, eh?"

Richard certainly had thought that he would have written to the parson, but he strove to look as calm and free from disappointment as he could, as he replied: "It was quite indifferent to me to whom you wrote, Mr. Trevethick. There was only one account to give of my affairs; and it wasthe same I had already given to you. I told you that my father did notchoose to acknowledge me for the present, and I have no doubt that yourquestioning him upon the matter has made him very bitter against me; themore so because he is well aware that he is fighting against the truth;he knows that he was married to my mother in a lawful way, and that I amthe issue of that marriage. It is true that technical objections havebeen raised against it, but his own conscience warns him that they areworthless. Mr. Whymper will tell you the same. "

"Never you mind Mr. Whymper, " said the landlord, gruffly, but at thesame time relaxing his grasp upon the young man's shoulder; "the parsonneeds all his cleverness to take care of himself in this matter, andwill have no helping hand to spare for you. The Squire is in a prettytemper with you both, I promise you. Here's his letter, if you'd like tosee what he says of you in black and white; not that there's much whitein it, egad!"

It was a custom of the Squire of Crompton, unconsciously plagiarizedfrom the Great Napoleon, to let all letters addressed to him in anunfamiliar hand answer themselves. They were not destroyed, but lay forweeks or months unopened, until the fancy seized him to examine theircontents. He made, it was true, a gallant exception in the case of thosewhose superscription seemed to promise a lady correspondent; but thathad not been the case with the communication from Trevethick, and hencethe long interval that had elapsed before it was attended to. Trevethick's business letters had hitherto, as was the case with alltenants of Crompton estate, been addressed to the chaplain only, so thathe was unaware of this peculiarity of Carew, and had naturally construedhis silence into a tacit admission of the truth of Richard's statement. 

If force of language and bitterness of tone could have made up for hisprevious neglect, the Squire's letter was an apology in itself. It wasshort, but sharp and decisive. "The grain of truth, " he wrote, "amongthe bushel of lies that this young gentleman has told you is, that hewas once a guest under my roof--I forget whether for two nights orthree. He will never be there again--neither now nor after I am in mybox" (this was the Squire's playful way of alluding to the rites ofsepulture). "He has no more claim upon me than any other of mybastards--of whom I have more than I know of--and in fact less, for Imay have deceived their mothers, whereas his played a trick on me. As tohis expectations from me, I can only tell you this much, that I expecthe will come to be hanged; as for interest, whatever he may have with myson of a she-dog of a chaplain, he has none with me; and as for money, so far as I know, he is a pauper, and likely to remain so as long as helives. " There were other sentences spurted from the volcano of theSquire's wrath, but to the same effect. 

"A nice letter of recommendation, truly, and from his own father, of theyoung gentleman who asked me for my daughter's hand!" growledTrevethick. "You ought to be thankful to get out of Gethin with wholebones. If 'Sol' was to come to know of what you asked of me, I would notanswer for even so much as that, I promise you. "

"'Sol' might have known of it had you not chosen to keep it from him, for reasons best known to yourself, " said Richard, quietly. "You havetaken some time to make up your mind between us. "

Trevethick winced; for the promise of the young man's interest withrespect to Wheal Danes had, in fact, been the bait which had tempted himto temporize so long. He had never meant to give his daughter toRichard; but he had hoped to reap an advantage, present or future, outof the implied intention; nor did he know even yet in what relationRichard stood with Parson Whymper. 

"At all events, it's made up now, " answered the landlord, curtly. 

"This letter has caused you to decide against me, then?"

"That letter? Well, of course it has. Not that there ain't a heap ofother reasons; but that one's enough, I should think, even for you. "

"It is just such a letter as I should have expected Carew to pen, "observed Richard, coolly, "and does not alter the facts of the case as Istated them to you one whit. That my father is furious with me is clearenough; that is, because he is in the wrong, and feels it. He is angry, you see, even with Mr. Whymper, because he knows that his view of mycase is such as I described to you. I confessed from the first that myinterest at Crompton was a contingent one. You are treating me withgreat injustice, Mr. Trevethick. "

"What! Have you so much brass left as to say that? You, that have askedmy permission to pay court to my daughter, under the pretense that youwere a fine gentleman, independent at present, and the heir-presumptiveto one of the richest commoners in the kingdom! How durst you do it? Youvagabond! you scoundrel!"

"You will be sorry for having said those words some day, " said Richard, hoarsely; he was choking with rage, and yet it was necessary to restrainhimself. He felt that this man would presently forbid him hishouse--would separate him from his Harry forever; and that would be liketearing out his heart-strings. Always audacious, there was nothing thathe was not now prepared to say or do to avert this. "I tell you, Mr. Trevethick, this letter is full of lies, or rather it is written by amadman. I am not a bastard; I am not a pauper. I have an independence ofmy own, though, indeed, it is small compared with my expectations. Mymother makes me a good allowance. I am a gentleman, and I have a rightto be listened to by any man, when I ask leave to be his daughter'slover. "

"Let us leave alone your gentility, Sir, and your mother's allowances, "sneered the landlord, "since there is no means of gauging either the oneor the other. As for your independent property--I don't believe you havea hundred pounds in the world; but it is easy enough to prove that I ammistaken there. Let me see the money down. Show me your three or fourthousand pounds in gold, or notes that I know, for I must needs beparticular with so clever a young gentleman; notes of the Bank ofEngland, or of the Miners' Bank at Plymouth. Let me hold them in myhand, and then I shall feel that you are speaking the truth. At present, I tell you fairly, that if I saw a check of yours, I should look upon itas so much waste paper until I also saw it honored. "

"Three thousand pounds is a large sum, Mr. Trevethick, " said Richard, thoughtfully. 

"Let us say two, then, " returned the landlord, mockingly. "Sell out twothousand pounds of this independent fortune of yours, that has beeninvested in the Deep Sea Cockle Mine, or in debentures of the Railway inthe Air. Let me see but two thousand pounds, Mr. Richard Yorke, andthen--and not before--may you open your lips to me again respecting mydaughter Harry. " He turned upon his heel with a bitter laugh; whileRichard, as white as the sketch-book he still held in his hand, remainedspeechless. A perilous thought had taken possession of his mind--athought that it would have been better for him to have dropped downthere dead than to have entertained, but it grew and grew apace withinhim like a foul weed. Had his life of selfish pleasure angered thelong-suffering gods, and, having resolved upon his ruin, were theyalready making him mad? He ran after the old man, who did not so much asturn to look behind him, though he could not but have heard his rapidsteps. "Mr. Trevethick, I will do it, " he gasped out. 

"Do what?" said the other, contemptuously, striding on. "Go hangyourself, or jump off Gethin rock into the sea?"

"I will get you the money that you speak of--the two thousand pounds. You shall have it in your hand, and keep it for that matter, if youplease. "

"What?" Unutterable astonishment stared out from the landlord's face. For the first time since the receipt of Carew's letter he began todiscredit its contents. If this young fellow had really the immediatecommand of so large a sum, there was probably much more "behind him. " Hemust either have a fortune in his own right, or if Carew had settledsuch a sum of money on him, he must have had a reason for it--the veryreason Richard had assigned. And if so, Wheal Danes might be his todispose of even yet. But Trevethick was not the man to hint a doubt ofhis foregone conclusions. "You have not got this money in your pocket, have you?" said he, with a short dry laugh. 

"No, Sir; but I can get a check for it from my mother, in course ofpost. "

"A check!" cried the other, contemptuously, all his suspicions returningwith tenfold force. "I would not give one penny for such a check. "

"I will get it changed myself, Mr. Trevethick, at Plymouth. The post hasgone, but I will write to-morrow, and within the week--"

"You shall not stay here a week, nor another twenty-four hours, " roaredTrevethick. "I have been made a fool of long enough. I will not listento another word. "

But he did listen, nevertheless. No longer hampered by vague fears anddifficulties, with which he knew not how to grapple, but with a distinctplan of operations before him, Richard's eloquence was irresistible. Deceit, if not habitual with him, had been practiced too often to lackthe gloss of truth from his ready tongue. He actually had a scheme forprocuring the sum in question, and when he possessed confidence himself, it was rarely, indeed, that he failed to inspire it in others. For thesecond time, the landlord of the _Gethin Castle_ found himself in doubt;he was staggered by the positiveness of the young man's assertions, andby the force and flow of his glowing words. In spite of himself, hebegan once more to think that he might have been mistaken in condemninghim as an impostor, after all; as Richard had said, Carew _was_ scarcelysane, and when excited by wrath, a downright madman. His resolves, too, were as untrustworthy and fickle as the winds. Trevethick felt tolerablyconvinced that the money would, at all events, be forthcoming; and thesum--large in itself--seemed the earnest of much more. Last, but notleast, there were the possibilities in connection with the mine. If hebroke altogether with Richard, and turned him out of his house outright, might not his first act be to reveal to Parson Whymper, in revenge, allthat he knew about Wheal Danes!

"Well, well, you shall stay at Gethin, then, till your check comes, young gentleman, " said he, in a tone that was meant to be conciliatory. "I don't wish to be uncivil to any man, and certainly not to one who hasbeen my guest so long. But you will keep yourself _to_ yourself, if you please, in the mean time. The bar parlor will no longer be opento you, until you have proved your right to be there. And I don't meanto promise any thing certain by that, neither; but what with your fasttalking and fine speaking I'm all in a buzz. "

Honest John Trevethick did not, indeed, know What to think, what tobelieve, or what to propose to himself for the future. His brain, unaccustomed to much reflection, and dulled by pretty frequentpotations, was fairly muddled. Most heartily did he wish that this younglandscape-painter had never set foot in Gethin; but yet he could notmake up his mind to summarily eject him. Upon the whole, he was almostas glad to temporize in the matter as Richard was himself. 

In point of fact, Richard Yorke had won the battle, and was for thepresent master of the field; but what a struggle it had been, and atwhat a loss he had obtained the victory, you might have read in hiswhite face and haggard eyes. As to whether it would be possible to holdthe advantage he had gained was a problem he had yet to solve. He hadcommitted himself to a policy which might--nay, very probablywould--succeed; but if it should fail, there would be no escape fromutter ruin. He had burned his boats, and broken down the bridge behindhim. 

CHAPTER XX. 

ON THE BRINK. 

For four more days, Richard Yorke continued at the _Gethin Castle_--tooutward appearance, in the same relation with the landlord and hisfamily as before, but in reality on a totally different footing. Trevethick had not found it practicable to exclude his late guest fromthe bar parlor; he could not do so without entering into an explanationwith its other tenants, which he was not prepared for, or withoutdevising some excuse far beyond his powers. Notwithstanding his bluffways, he could tell a lie without moving a muscle; but he was incapableof any such ambitious flight of deceit as the present state of affairsdemanded. He had, indeed, no aptitude for social diplomacy of any kind, and suffered his change of feeling toward the young landscape-painter toappear so plainly that even the phlegmatic Solomon observed it. He wasrather pleased than otherwise to do so. He had acquiesced in thehospitality with which Richard had been treated, but without theslightest sympathy with it; and, in fact, he had no sympathies savethose which were connected with his personal interests. It was evidentenough that his father-in-law elect had had some reasons of hisown--probably in relation to the property he held under Carew--forconciliating this young gentleman; and "Sol" had taken it for grantedthey were good, that is, substantial, ones. If these reasons no longerexisted, the sooner this young gentleman was got rid of the better. Itwas true he had behaved himself very civilly; but his presence amongthem had been, on the whole, oppressive. "Sol" rather chafed atRichard's social superiority, though it was certainly never intruded, and, at all events, he preferred the society of his own class, amongwhom he felt himself qualified to take the lead. But the idea ofjealousy had never entered into his mind. In his eyes Richard was a mereboy, whose years, as well as his position in life, precluded him fromany serious intentions with respect to Harry, whom, moreover, Solomonregarded as his betrothed. If he had been married to her, he wouldcertainly have forbidden her "gadding about" so much with this youngfellow; but at present she was under her father's rule, and the old manknew very well what he was about. He was glad that there now seemed aprospect, to judge from the latter's manner, that the lad's intimacywith Harry, and the family generally, was about to end; but it mighthave lasted six months longer without "Sol's" opening his mouth aboutit, so prudently had Richard played his cards--so irreproachably behaved"before folk. "

Solomon went, as usual, daily to look after affairs at Dunloppel, butTrevethick remained within doors, under pretense that the influx ofguests, which was in fact considerable, demanded his presence. He tookcare that Richard and Harry should have no opportunity of meeting alonethroughout the day; while in the evening he sat in almost total silence, sucking his pipe, and frowning gloomily--a wet blanket upon the littlecompany, and the source of well-grounded terror to his daughter Harry. 

Richard had told her how the matter stood; protested that he could getthe money; and argued that when that was done, her father could have noexcuse for forbidding his suit. But she knew the old man better than he, and trembled. 

On the fifth day Richard received a letter, inclosing a check for twothousand pounds upon a London bank, from his mother, and, with an air ofquiet triumph, showed it to his host. 

"That is worth nothing here, " observed Trevethick, coldly; "for all Iknow, the bank may not exist, or she may have no account there. " But itwas plain he was surprised, and disappointed. 

"Notice has been sent to Plymouth, as I am here informed, " said Richard;"so that I can get the check changed there, if you are stilldissatisfied; which, you must pardon me for saying, I do not think youreally are. Come, take my hand, and allow that you have behavedungenerously. You're a man of your word, I know. This proves to you I amat least no pauper. I claim the right which you agreed to grant on thatcondition, to ask your daughter's hand, and demand of you to leave her, at all events, to grant it if she pleases. I affirm, once more, thetruth of all that I have told you as regards myself. I am Carew's onlyson, begotten in lawful wedlock. He will acknowledge as much himselfsome day, even though he should delay it to his dying hour. If ever Icome to possess it (and I think I shall), Wheal Danes shall be yours, without the payment of a shilling. Even now, I do not offer myselfempty-handed. This is the sum that you yourself agreed I should showmyself possessed of; but there is more where this comes from. I askagain, then, give me my fair chance with Harry: let her choose betweenme and this man Coe. "

This was a wily speech; for Richard was recapitulating the veryarguments which were presenting themselves to the old man's mind. True, he had promised his daughter to Solomon, and would much rather have hadhim for a son-in-law; but there were unquestionably great advantages inthe position of this other claimant. Trevethick was not quite the slaveto gratitude which he had professed himself to be, with respect to Coe'sfather. He did feel sincerely grateful; but he had himself exaggeratedthe feeling, with the very intention of making Harry understand that herfate was fixed. He had not been blind to the fact, that from the firstshe had never regarded "Sol" with favor as a suitor, and it was stillpossible to break off the match without disgrace, upon the ground of herdisinclination to it. Above all, perhaps, he was actuated by theapprehension that Richard, if refused a hearing, would disclose thesecret of Wheal Danes, and wreck the scheme upon which his heart hadbeen set for near half a century. One word from him would divert theunsuspected wealth, over which he had so long gloated in anticipation, into another's hand. But he did not like the young man better for theprecious knowledge which he alone shared with him; far otherwise; hehated him for it, and, without being a murderer in his heart, would havegladly welcomed the news that his mouth was closed forever by death. 

"I wish such or such a one was in heaven, " is a common expression, themeaning of which is of still more general acceptation. The idea, infact, has doubtless flitted across the minds of most of us, though few, let us hope, would help to realize it; for, notwithstanding itsagreeable form, it is not a benevolent aspiration. The reception of theindividual in question into the realms of bliss has less interest withus than his removal from the earth's surface, and, consequently, fromour path upon it. We may be very civil toward this person, and we oftenare; but we seldom desire him for a son-in-law. John Trevethick did not. But still less did he desire his open enmity; the longer, at all events, the declaration of war could be deferred the better. 

"Come, " urged Richard; "I am only demanding the redemption of yourpromise--one, " added he, precipitately, "that it lies in your own powerto redeem. "

"The conditions, Mr. Yorke, have not yet been fulfilled, " saidTrevethick, pointing to the check. "I must see that money inbank-notes. "

He had not the least doubt of the genuineness of the document; but hisobjection would at least give him the respite of another day or two, anda respite seemed almost a reprieve. 

"As you will, " answered Richard, with a faint smile. "It is a matter ofperfect indifference to me, and only costs me a journey to Plymouth. Ifyou will be so good as to let me have some vehicle to take me as far asTurlock, I will pack my carpet-bag and start at once. "

The landlord nodded, and withdrew without a word. 

Left to himself, the smile faded from Richard's face, and was succeededby a look of the utmost dejection and disappointment. All had been goingso well up to that very last moment, and now all remained to be done, just as though nothing had been done at all. The dangerous path that hehad marked out for himself had to be trodden from first to last, at thevery moment when he had seemed to have reached his journey's end by asafe short-cut. He knew that it was the smallest grain of suspicion, ifnot the mere desire to procrastinate, that had turned the scale inTrevethick's mind, and imposed this task upon him. The genuineness ofthe check had been _almost_ taken for granted--entire success had beenmissed, as it were, by a hair's-breadth. And now he was as far from itas ever. Had he been but a little more earnest, or a little morecareless in his own manner, all might have been well. The obstacle thatintervened between him and his desire still stood there, though only byan accident, as though, after he had fairly blown it into the air, ithad resettled itself precisely in the same spot. 

Richard felt like some offender against the law who had been foiled inan ingenious scheme by the stupidity rather than the sagacity of him hewould have defrauded; or, rather, like one who has been brought tojustice by misadventure--through some blunder which Fate itself hadsuggested to his prosecutor. He was filled with bitterness andmortification, and also with fear. This miscarriage now imposed anecessity upon him, which he had contemplated, indeed, but never lookedfairly in the face; he had always hoped it might be evaded. The onlyalternative that presented itself was to give up his Harry; this sweptacross his mind for a single instant--a black shadow that seemed toplunge his whole being in night--then left it firmly set upon itsperilous purpose. 

He did not seek to see her before he left; he could not trust himself sofar even as to turn his head and wave her a good-by, as he started fromthe inn door, although he felt that she was watching him from an upperwindow. He was afraid of the anxiety that consumed him being visible tothose loving eyes. She knew upon what errand he was going, but not thedangers of it. But he spoke cheerfully to Trevethick, who stood beneaththe porch with moody brow, and testily found fault with horse andharness. 

"The master's in a queer temper to-day, Sir, " was the driver's remark, as they slowly climbed the hill out of the village. 

"So it seems, " answered Richard, absently. 

The road they traveled was the same on which he had pursued Harry onthat eventful night, now months ago; every object recalled her tohim--the ruined tower on the promontory, the Fairies' Bower in the glen;but they suggested less of love than of the peril that, for love's sake, he was about to undergo. When they reached the point where he had mether first, on the margin of the moor, now bright with gorse and heather, and with its gray rocks sparkling in the sun, an overwhelming melancholyseized him. Was it possible that the omen which had alarmed her simplemind was really in the course of fulfillment? Was he, indeed, fated tobe the cause of misfortune to her he loved so well? If evil shouldbefall him, it was only too certain that it would include her in itsconsequences. 

"You seem a cup too low, Mr. Yorke, " said the driver, wondering at theyoung man's unusual silence; for his habit was to be brisk and livelywith every body. 

"We'll remedy that when we get to Turlock, " answered Richard, good-naturedly, "by taking a glass of what you will together. "

Accordingly, when they reached the little town, and while thepost-horses were getting ready which were to take him on the next stageof his journey, Richard called for some liquor. 

"Here's your good health, Sir, " said the man, and added, in a roguishwhisper, "and our young missus's too, Sir. "

"By all means, " said Richard, coolly. "But why couple hers with mine?"

"Well, Sir, it do come natural like, somehow, " said the man, becomingsuddenly stolid, on perceiving that his remark was by no means relished. "I suppose it's seeing you so much about together; but I meant nooffense. "

"I am sure of that, " said Richard. It was on the tip of his tongue topursue the subject, but he restrained himself. If he had already givenoccasion for gossip, he did not wish to provide fresh fuel for it in hisabsence from Gethin. 

When a mile or two away from Turlock he produced the check which was theapparent cause of his irksome journey, and tearing it into minutefragments, scattered them out of the window. 

Upon the second day he arrived at Plymouth, but too late forbanking-hours, and drove to an hotel. He had had little to eat upon hisjourney, yet he now sent his dinner away almost untasted; on the otherhand, though it was unusual with him to take much wine, he drank abottle of Champagne and some sherry, then lit a cigar, and strolled outof doors. It was a beautiful evening; and he sauntered on the Hoe, gazing upon that glorious prospect of sea and shore which it affords, without paying regard to any thing, although all was as new as fair. Hismind, however, took in every object mechanically, and often presentedthem to him again in after-years, just as it did that summer scene uponthe ruined tower. Was it laying in provision for itself against thetime, now drawing so nigh, when his physical eyes should have no more ofsuch fair sights to feed upon? Or was the circumstance only such asattends all great changes and crises of our lives; for is not everyfeature of the face of Nature, upon the eve of any vital event, thusengraven on our recollection? Do we not note the daisies on the lawnforever, when for one instant we look out upon it from the darkened roomwherein our loved one lies a-dying?

It presently grew too late for the ordinary signs and tokens of life;but Richard still paced to and fro, and gazed upon the darkening waters;he saw the light leap out upon them from the distant Eddystone, and fromthe craft in harbor, and from the houses that were built upon itsmargin: blue and red, and white and yellow. 

There was one large vessel a great way off that he had not hithertoobserved, but which now became conspicuous by its green light. Richard, vaguely interested in this exceptional beacon, inquired of amiserable-looking man, who had in vain been offering his services ascicerone, what it signified. 

"Well, Sir, them colors as the ships show all mean something different;the red is from the floating powder-magazine, and the yellow is--"

"I said the _green_ light, " broke in Richard, with his usual impatienceof prolixity. "What is that vessel _there_, I say?"

"Oh, that's the convict ship, Sir; they say she is waiting until afterthe 'sizes, to take the drab-jackets to Portland. "

Richard nodded, and threw the man a shilling; then walked hastily awayinto the town. The night was mild, but his teeth chattered, and he shookin every limb. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

THE MINERS' BANK. 

As, though Richard had fasted long, he could not eat, so, though he wasfatigued with the travel of the last two days, he could not sleep. Heturned from side to side upon his pillow throughout the weary night, andstrove to lose himself, and shut out thought, in vain, even for aninstant. He got up and paced the room; and, when the streaks of dawnbegan to show themselves, drew up the blind, and looked forth. It was avery different scene from that he had been accustomed to contemplate atGethin. In place of the waste of ocean, specked by a sail or two, whosepresence only served to intensify its solitary grandeur, thethick-peopled city lay before him. But as yet there were no tokens ofwaking life; the streets were empty, the windows shrouded, and a steadydrizzle of rain was falling, which gave promise of a wretched day. Evenwhen the morning advanced, it was difficult to make out the individualbuildings; but he had had the Miners' Bank pointed out to him on theprevious day, and he thought he recognized it now. It was there that thebusiness which he had proposed to himself was to be effected, and hegazed at it with interest. The wisest of us are simple in some things, and though so knowing in the ways of the world--that is, of _his_world--Richard knew nothing of banks whatever, and wondered whether hewould have any difficulty in carrying out his object. He could notforesee any; it seemed to him that the banking folks would be glad tooblige him in the matter in question, since, if there was any advantage, it would be on their side. But there were six hours yet before he couldperform this business, and since sleep was denied him, how was he topass the time? There was a large book upon the drawers, which he had nothitherto observed, with the royal arms stamped upon it, and the name ofthe hotel inscribed beneath them. It did not look like a devotionalwork, but it was the New Testament--a work that was very literally newto Richard Yorke. He had seen it, of course, often; was acquainted byhearsay with its contents, and had joked about them. It is the easiestbook in the world to make jokes upon, which, perhaps, accounts for itsbeing so favorite a subject of ridicule with foolish persons. Shakspeareis also easy to make fun of, but the _soupçon_ of blasphemy is in thatcase wanting, which, to many, forms the chief charm of witty converse. Richard looked at it as a dog looks at a stick; but he took it up, andopened it at random. "Having no hope, and without God in the world. "

He was not a believer in sortilege. If the text he had chanced upon hadbeen ever so applicable to his own condition, it would have made butlittle impression upon him, and this was not very pertinent in itsapplication. He was by no means without hope. He had come to Plymouthfull of hope, though disappointed at its not having been alreadyexchanged for certainty. He had good hope of inspiring John Trevethickwith confidence in his social position, and consequently of obtaininghis consent to marry the woman who had now become indispensable to hishappiness. He had even some hope of yet inheriting a portion of hisfather's great estate. He could not be accused of spiritual ambition. Any other sort of hope than that of being in a position to enjoy himselfthoroughly had never entered into his mind. Just now, however, he wasfar from enjoying himself; he was a prey to anxiety, and any opportunityof forgetting it was welcome to him. Not without an effort to beinterested, therefore, he reflected upon these words, which seemedrather to have been spoken in his ear aloud than merely to have caughthis eye. He had already shut the book with contemptuous impatience, buthe found himself, nevertheless, repeating: "Having no hope, and withoutGod in the world, " and pondering upon their meaning. He wondered athimself for taking the trouble to do so; but if he didn't do that, histhoughts would, he knew, be even less pleasantly occupied; so he letthem slip into this novel channel. How _could_ a man be without God inthe world, if God was every where? as he had somewhere seen or heardstated, and which he believed to be the fact. It was one of theobjections against the Bible, was his peevish reflection, that it wasself-contradictory in its assertions, and unmistakably distinct only inits denunciations of wrath. Here was a case in point, and one whichmight justly be "taken up" by a fellow, if it was worth while. As forhimself, he was no skeptic. Exeter Hall might have clasped him to herbreast (and would) upon that ground. He was accustomed to use the nameof the Creator whenever he wished to be particularly decisive; but forany other purpose he had never named it with his lips. Even as a child, his mother had never taught him to do so. She had never spoken to him onreligious subjects except in humorous connection with the Heads of thetwo Churches to which her first husband had belonged--Emanuel Swedenborgand Joanna Southcott. If the expression "without God in the world" meantthe living in it without the practice of religion, it certainly did havean application to himself, but also to every one else with whom he wasacquainted. Of course he had known people who went to church--young menof his own age, whom their parents compelled to do so, and who enviedhim the liberty he enjoyed in that respect; and the poor folks at Gethinwent to chapel. But, even, there, shrewd fellows like Trevethick andSolomon did not trouble themselves to do so. True, Harry went! But thenwomen, unless they were uncommonly clever, like his own mother, alwaysdid go to hear the parsons. Parsons, as a rule, were hypocrites. He hadmet one or two of them in town under circumstances that showed they hadreally no more "nonsense about them" than other people, but in thepulpit they were bound to cant. Look at Mr. Whymper, for instance--thebest specimen of them, by-the-by, he had ever known--who could doubtthat his mind was wholly set upon the main chance? To what slights andinsolences did he submit himself for the sake of feathering his ownnest; and how he had counted upon that fat living, of which the Squirehad so cruelly disappointed him! Talk of religion! why, there was Carewhimself, with thirty thousand a year, and did not spend a shilling of iton religion! True, he kept a chaplain, but only as a check upon hissteward, to manage his estate for him. If there was really any thing init, would not a rich man like him have put aside a portion of hiswealth, by way of insurance--insurance against fire?--and here Richardchuckled to himself. 

It was all rubbish, these texts and things. He would dress himself, andgo out and take a walk, although it was so early. He had already heardsounds in the house, as though somebody was astir; so he rang the bell. It was answered by a sleepy and disheveled personage, whom he scarcelyrecognized for the sleek "night chamberlain, " whose duty it was to watchwhile others slept, and who had given him a bed-candle not many hoursbefore. 

"What! still up, my man?" said Richard, gayly. 

"Yes, Sir. The morning mail has but just come in; we had a passenger byit. I put him in the room under you; but he seemed a quiet one, and Ididn't think he'd 'a disturbed you. "

"He did not, " said Richard. "I have been awake all night, and never somuch as heard him. Can I have some hot water?"

"Not yet, Sir, I'm afraid; there's no fire alight at present. I can getyou some brandy-and-soda, Sir. "

"No, no, " answered Richard, smiling; "I sha'n't want that; and as forthe hot water, I can do without it; but, now you're here, just tell me, for I am quite a stranger to your town, isn't that high roof yonder, "and he pointed to the object in question, "the Miners' Bank?"

"Yessir, that's it. Ah, if the morning was but a little finer, you wouldhave a lovely view from this here window--half the town and a good sliceof the harbor! There's a splendid building out to the left there, if theclouds would but lift a little. That's the County Jail, Sir. "

"Indeed, " said Richard, carelessly, and turned away. "Just take my bootsdown with you, as I shall want them as soon as you can get themcleaned. "

The man did as he was bid. Directly he had left the room, Richard pulleddown the window-blind, and staggered to a chair. Perhaps want of foodand sleep had weakened him; but he sat down, looking very pale andhaggard, like one who has received a sudden shock. Why should one manhave answered him last night, "the convict ship, " and now this fellowhave pointed out the jail? It was only a coincidence, of course; but ifthere was ever such a thing as an evil augury, he had surely experiencedit on those two occasions. "This is what comes of burying one's self atGethin, " thought he, smiling faintly at his own folly. "If I staid theremuch longer, I should begin to believe in mermaids and the FlyingDutchman. " Jail! Why, if the very worst should happen, the matter wouldonly require to be explained; he was in no real peril from the law, after all. Indeed, the very revelation which he most dreaded would only, by exposing the true state of affairs, precipitate his happiness. Trevethick would then be as eager as himself to hasten Harry's marriage. 

Thus he reasoned until something of equanimity returned to him. Then heattired himself, buttoning his frock-coat carefully over his chest, andwent down stairs. As he reached the next landing, a gentleman emergedfrom the room immediately beneath his own, like himself, fully dressed, and carrying his hat and great-coat. He was a small stout man, withbushy red whiskers, a good-natured face, and little twinkling blackeyes. With a civil bow he made way for Richard to pass him, and thenfollowed him down stairs into the coffee-room. It was a huge apartment, and quite empty except for their two selves. Most persons meeting insuch a Sahara would have exchanged a salutation; and Richard, gregariousby nature besides, being eager to divert his thoughts, at once enteredinto conversation. 

"You are the gentleman who arrived by the mail this morning, Iconclude, " said he, "otherwise you would scarcely keep such earlyhours. "

"Just so, Sir, " answered the other, smiling. "I thought it was not worthwhile to go to bed, but just gave myself a wash and brush up; and here Iam, sharp-set for breakfast. "

It was plain this man was not a gentleman, but Richard cared very littleabout that. He would have talked to the waiter, in default of any othercompanion. 

"Well, I have been to bed, " said Richard, smiling, "though something Itook at dinner disagreed with me, and kept me awake all night. Do youmean to say you are not going to take any horizontal refreshment atall?"

"Well, no; I had some sleep in the coach, and a very little of thatarticle does for me. If you eat and drink enough, as I do, it isastonishing how well you can get on without rest. "

"Indeed, " said Richard. "I should like to see the substitutes you takefor what I have always found an indispensable necessity. Suppose we havebreakfast together, and you shall order it. "

"But not pay for it, " stipulated the stout gentleman, in a tone that youmight take as either jest or earnest. "We'll go shares in that, eh?"

"Unless you will allow me to be your host, we will certainly go shares, "said Richard, wondering to himself whether in all Gethin so great a booras this could be found above-ground or beneath it, or making hisbusiness on the waters, but rather amused nevertheless. 

"I don't like misunderstandings, " explained the little man, "nor yetobligations. It's not that I grudge my money, or have not as much of itas I want, thank Heaven!"

"Then you've got more than any body else I know, " said Richard, laughing; "and I am acquainted with some rich men too. "

"I dare say, Sir; you are a rich man yourself, I hope. You look like ayoung gentleman with plenty of money in your pocket. "

At any other time Richard would not have been displeased by such anobservation, which was, moreover, a perfectly just one. He looked fromhead to heel like a young man of fortune, and had been brought up asidly and uselessly as any such; but now he blushed and feltuncomfortable; and his fingers, in spite of himself, sought thatbreast-pocket which he had so carefully buttoned up, as though hiscompanion's observation had had a literal and material meaning. 

"Do you know Plymouth?" asked he of the stranger, by way of turning theconversation. 

"Perfectly. Indeed, I live here; but I did not wish to arrive at home atsuch an unseasonable hour as the coach comes in. If, as a resident, Ican be of any service to you, pray command me. But you don't eat, Sir. "

Richard, indeed, was only playing with a piece of toast, while eggs andham and marmalade were disappearing with marvelous rapidity down thethroat of his companion. 

"I am not like you, " he answered. "Want of sleep produces want ofappetite with me. With respect to Plymouth, you are very good to offerme your hospitality, but--"

"Services, Sir--services while in the town, I said, " observed the littleman. "Let us have no misunderstanding, nor yet obligation; that's mymotto. Now, what can I do for you, short of that?"

"Well, I shall not greatly tax your prudence, " rejoined Richard, thistime laughing heartily, "though you must certainly be either a Scotchmanor a lawyer, to be so anxious to act 'without prejudice. ' The onlyinformation I have to ask of you is, at what time the bank opens; for Ihave got some business to do there, which I want to effect as soon aspossible, and then be off. "

"The bank! Well, there's more than one bank in Plymouth, " observed thelittle man, scraping up the last shreds of marmalade on his plate. "Theyopen at different hours. "

"The Miners' Company is the one I want to go to. "

"That opens at nine, Sir. It's on my way home, and I shall be glad toshow it you. "

"Thank you; but it was pointed out to me last night, " said Richard, stiffly; for he preferred to effect the business which he had on handalone. "It is still raining. What do you say to a cigar in thesmoking-room?"

"With pleasure, when I have just written three words to tell my peopleof my arrival, " answered the stranger; "however, I can do that as wellthere as here. "

And so eager did he seem for Richard's society that he had pen and paperbrought into the hotel divan, and from thence dispatched his note. 

"Take one of my cigars, " said Richard, good-naturedly, offering hiscase. 

"No, no, " replied the little man, shaking his head, and looking verygrave; "you know my motto, Sir. "

"A cigar, " urged Richard, "is one of those things that one can accepteven from a stranger without that sense of obligation from which youshrink so sensitively. Seriously, my good Sir, I shall feel offended ifyou refuse me this small favor. "

"Sooner than that shall be, Sir, I'll take your cigar, " said the littleman. He held it up to the light, and sniffed at it with great zest. "This is no common brand, I reckon. "

"Well, it is better than you will get out of the waiter's box, I daresay, " answered Richard, smiling; for his cigars, like every thing elsehe had about him, were of the best. 

"Now I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll put this in my pocket, if you'llallow me, young gentleman, for a treat when I get home. After an earlymorning breakfast, I generally prefer a pipe;" and he produced oneaccordingly from his pocket. 

The room was melancholy to the last degree, being lit only from asky-light; relics of the last night's dissipation, in the shape of emptyglasses and ends of cigars, were still upon the small round tables;while a two-days-old newspaper was the only literature of which theapartment could boast. 

"This place and hour would be dull enough, Sir, without your society, "observed Richard, genially. "I don't think I was ever up so early in mylife before, nor in such a den of a place. "

"It's reckoned a good inn, too, is the _George and Vulture_; but thelife of a hotel, you see, don't begin till later on in the day. "

"That's a pity, " said Richard, laughing, "as I sha'n't have theopportunity of seeing it at its best. I hope to be away by 9. 30, or 10at latest. "

"Ah, " said the little man, "indeed!" His words were meaningless enough, but there was really a genuine air of interest in his tone. He was avulgar fellow, no doubt; but Richard rather liked him, mainly because itwas evident that the other was captivated by him. He had laid himselfout to please John Trevethick and his friend Solomon for the last sixmonths, without success, yet here was a man who had evidentlyappreciated him at once. If he was but a bagman, or something of thatsort, it was only the more creditable to his own powers of pleasing; andhis vanity--and Richard was as vain of his social attractions as agirl--was flattered accordingly. In his solitude and wretchedness, too, the society of this stranger had been very welcome. 

"I am sorry, " said Richard, when they had passed some hours together, and it was getting near nine o'clock, "that I am obliged to leavePlymouth so soon. It would have given me great pleasure if you couldhave come and dined with me; though, indeed, I fear I have alreadydetained you from your family. It was the act of a good Samaritan tokeep me company so long, and I thank you heartily. "

"Don't mention it, Sir--don't mention it, " said the little man, quitehuskily. "I have only done my duty. "

This courteous sentiment made Richard laugh. "Your duty to yourneighbor, eh?" said he. "Well, I must now wish you good-by;" and he heldout his hand with a frank smile. "Perhaps we may meet again some day. "

"Perhaps so, Sir, " said the other, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and accompanying him into the hall. 

At the hotel door Richard called a fly, as it was now raining heavily. "Shall I take you as far as the bank, " said he, "since your road homelies that way? or is even that little service contrary to your motto?"

"I have got to see to my luggage, " answered the other, evasively. 

"Well, good-by, then. "

"Good-by. "

The vehicle rattled down a street or two, then stopped before a buildingof some pretension, with a tall portico and a flight of stone stepsbefore it. Another fly drove up at the same moment, but it did notattract Richard's attention, which was concentrated upon the business hehad in hand, and made his heart beat very fast. He pushed his waythrough the huge swinging door, and found himself in a vast room, with alarge circular counter, at which clerks were standing, each behind alittle rail. He had never been inside a bank before, and he lookedaround him curiously. On the left was an opaque glass door, with"Manager's Room" painted on it; on the right was an elevated desk, fromwhich every part of the apartment could be commanded; the clerk who satthere looked down at him for an instant as he entered, but at onceresumed his occupation. Every body was busy with pen and ledger; menwere thronging in and out like bees, giving or receiving sheaves ofbank-notes, or heaps of gold and silver. Richard waited until there wasa vacant place at the counter, then stepped up with: "I want toexchange some Bank of England notes, please, for your own notes. "

"Next desk, Sir, " said the man, not even looking up, but pointing withthe feather of his quill pen, then scratching away again as though hewould have overtaken the lost time. 

There was a singing in Richard's ear as he repeated his request, andfumbled in his breast-pocket for the notes; then a silence seemed tofall upon the place, which a moment before had been so alive and noisy. Every pen seemed to stop; the ring of the gold, the rustle of paper, ceased; only the tick of the great clock over the centre door was heard. "Thief, thief! thief, thief!" were the words it said. 

"How much is there?" inquired the clerk, taking the bundle of notes fromRichard's hand; and his voice sounded as though it was uttered in anempty room. 

"Two thousand pounds, " said Richard. "Is there any difficulty about it?If so, I can take them elsewhere. "

But the clerk had got them already, and was beginning to put down thenumber of each in a great ledger. Richard had not calculated upon thiscourse of procedure, and had his reasons for objecting to it. 

"80, 431, 80, 432, 80, 433, " read out the clerk aloud, and every soul inthe room seemed listening to him. 

"That will do, " said another voice close to Richard's ear, and a lighttouch was laid upon his arm. Scarlet to the very temples, he looked up, and there stood the little red-whiskered man from whom he had parted notten minutes before. A very grave expression was now in those twinklingblack eyes. "I have a warrant for your apprehension, young man, upon acharge of theft, " said he. 

"Of theft!" said Richard, angrily. "What nonsense is this?"

"Those notes are stolen, " said the little man. "Your name is RichardYorke, is it not?"

"What's that to you?" said Richard. "I decline--"

Here the door of the manager's room was opened, and out strode SolomonCoe, with a look of cruel triumph on his harsh features. "That's yourman, right enough, " said he. "He'd wheedle the devil, if once you lethim talk. Be off with him!"

The next moment Richard's wrists were seized, and he was hurried outbetween two men--his late acquaintance of the hotel and apoliceman--down the bank steps, and into a fly that stood there inwaiting. 

"To the County Jail!" cried Solomon, as he entered the vehicle afterthem. Then he turned to the red-whiskered man, and inquired fiercely, why he hadn't put the darbies on the scoundrel. 

"Never you mind that, " was the sharp reply. "I'm responsible for theyoung gentleman's safe-keeping, and that's enough. "

"Young gentleman! I am sure the young gentleman ought to be much obligedto you, " replied Solomon, contemptuously. "Young felon, you mean. "

"Nobody's a felon until after trial and conviction, " observed the littleman, decisively. "Let's have no misunderstanding and no obligation, Mr. Coe; that's my motto. "

Here the wheels began to rumble, and a shadow fell over the vehicle andthose it held: they were passing under the archway of the jail. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

LEAVING THE WORLD. 

What wondrous and surpassing change may be in store for us when the souland body have parted company none can guess; but of all the changes ofwhich man has experience in this world, there is probably none so greatand overwhelming as that which he undergoes when, for the first time, hepasses the material barrier that separates guilt from innocence, andfinds himself in the clutches of the criminal law. To be no longer afree man is a position which only one who has lost his freedom is ableto realize; the shock, of course, is greater or less according to hisantecedents. The habitual breaker of the law is aware that sooner orlater to the "stone jug" he must come; his friends have been there, andlaughed and joked about it, as Eton boys who have been "swished" makemerry with the block and rod, and affect to despise them; the situationis, in idea at least, familiar to him; yet even he, perhaps, feels asinking of the heart when the door of the prison-cell clangs upon himfor the first time, and shuts him from the world. The common liberty togo where we will is estimated, while we have it, at nothing; but, oncedenied, it becomes the most precious boon in life. How infinitely morepoignant, then, must be the feelings of one thus unhappilycircumstanced, to whom the idea of such a catastrophe has neveroccurred; who has always looked upon the law from the vantage-ground ofa good social position, and acquiesced in its working with complacence, as in something which could have no personal relation to himself!

Thus it was with Richard Yorke when, for the first time, he foundhimself a prisoner in the hands of Mr. Dodge, the detective, and hisblue-coated assistant. For the time he felt utterly unmanned, and mighthave even fainted, or burst into tears, but for the consciousness thatSolomon Coe was sitting opposite to him. The presence of that gentlemanacted as a cordial upon him; the idea that he owed his miserableposition to that despised boor wounded him to the quick, but at the sametime gave him an outward show of calmness: he could not have broken downbefore that man, though he had been standing beneath the gallows-tree. Despondency would have utterly possessed him but for hate and rage--hateof his rival and all who might be concerned in this catastrophe, andrage at the arrest itself. For, though he had not the consciousness ofinnocence to support him, he had no sense of guilt. He had had nointention of absolutely stealing Trevethick's money; and yet he foresawhow difficult it would be to clear himself of that grave charge. He alsolooked back, and perceived for the first time the magnitude of the follywhich he had committed. He felt no shame for it as a crime--he had notprinciple enough for that; but he recognized the extent of theimprudence, and its mad audacity; yet he was mad and audacious still. Hehad been brought up as much his own master as any youth in England, nomatter how rich or nobly born; he had never known control, nor even(except during those few days at Crompton) what it was to controlhimself; and he could not realize the fact that he might actually cometo share the fate of common thieves; to wear a prison garb; to be shutup within stone walls for months or even years; no longer a man, but aconvict, known only by his number from other jail-birds. He did notthink it could even come to his standing in the felon's dock, subject tothe curious gaze of a hundred eyes, the indifferent regard of the sternjudge, the--In the midst of these bitter thoughts, which were indeeddisputations with his fears, the fly had stopped at the jail gate, andMr. Dodge, with a cheerful air, observed: "We must get out here, if youplease, Mr. Yorke. "

Richard hesitated; he was mistrustful of his very limbs, so severely hadthe sight of those stone walls shaken him. 

"Your young friend does not seem much to like the idea of lodging here, "said Solomon, with a brutal laugh. 

"That is fortunate, " answered the detective, dryly, "since he will nothave to do so. In my profession, Mr. Coe, we hold it a mean trick tokick a man when he is down. --This way, Sir, if you please. " For, at thesound of Solomon's voice, Richard was up and out in a moment. "It ismerely a form that you have to go through before we go before the beak. "

"A form?" asked Richard, hoarsely; "what form?"

"We shall have to search you, Sir; that's all. "

"That's all, " echoed Solomon, with a grin. 

Richard's face changed from white to red, from red to white, by turns. 

"Mr. Coe will stay where he is, " said Dodge, peremptorily, as he led theway into a little room that opened from the gate-keeper's parlor. 

"I thank you for that, Mr. Dodge, " said Richard, gratefully. 

"Not at all, Sir. If you have any thing of a compromising nature aboutyou--revolvers or such like--that's my business and the beak's, nothis. --Officer do your duty. "

Richard was searched accordingly. He had no revolver; but whatastonished himself more than it did the searcher was that a cigar wasfound loose in his breast-pocket. 

"Why, this must be the one that I gave to you this morning, Mr. Dodge. "

"Just so, Sir. I put it back again as we came along. You know my motto. When you come to be your own master again--which I hope'll be soon--thenI'll smoke it with you with pleasure; they'll keep it for you verycareful, you may depend upon it, and baccar is a thing as don't spoil. That's a pretty bit of jewelry now--_that_ is. " Mr. Dodge's remarkreferred to a gold locket, with the word "Harry" outside it, written indiamonds; and within a portrait of her, which he had executed himself. "That's a token of some favorite brother, I dare say?"

"Yes, " said Richard. "Might I keep that, if you please; or, at allevents, might I ask that it should not be shown to the man in yonderroom? It's my own, Mr. Dodge, " added he, earnestly, "upon my word andhonor. "

"No doubt, Sir; no doubt. There's no charge against you except as tothese notes. I must put it down on the list, because that's the law; butyou can keep it, and welcome, so far as I am concerned; though I amafraid the Cross Key folks will not be so very easy with you. "

"The Cross Key folks?"

"Well, Mr. Yorke, it's no use to hide from you that you will be sent toCross Key; that's the nearest jail to Gethin, I believe. I am afraid thebeak will be for committing you; the sum is so large, and the case soclear, that I doubt whether he'll entertain the question of bail. Youhave no friends in Plymouth, either, you told me. "

"None, " said Richard, sadly; "unless, " he added, in a whisper, "I cancount you as one. "

"Officer, just fetch a glass of water, " said Dodge; "the prisoner sayshe feels faint. --Look here, young gentleman, " continued he, earnestly, as soon as they were alone, "this is no use; I can do nothing for youwhatever, except wish you luck, which I do most heartily. I am ashelpless as a baby in this matter. I can only give you one piece of goodadvice: when the beak asks if you've any thing to say, unless you havesomething that will clear you, and can be proved--you know best aboutthat--say, 'I reserve my defense;' then, as soon as you're committed, ask to see your solicitor; send for Weasel of Plymouth; your friendshave money, I conclude. Hush! Here's the water, young man; just sip alittle, and you'll soon come round. "

Not another word, either then or afterward, did Mr. Dodge exchange withhis prisoner. Perhaps he began to think he had acted contrary to themotto which was his guide in life in the good-will he had already shownhim. Perhaps he resented the favorable impression that the attractionsand geniality of his acquaintance at the hotel had made upon him asunprofessional. At all events, during their drive from the jail to theoffice where the magistrate was sitting--it was not open at the hourwhen Richard had been arrested, or he would have been searchedthere--Mr. Dodge seemed to have lost all sympathy for his "younggentleman, " chatting with the officer quite carelessly upon mattersconnected with their common calling, and even offering Mr. Coe a pinchfrom his snuff-box, without extending that courtesy to Yorke. Nay, whenthey were just at their journey's end, he had the want of feeling tolook his prisoner straight in the face, and whistle an enlivening air. The melody was not so popular as it has since become, or perhaps Mr. Dodge had doubts of his ability to render it with accuracy, but, as ifto inform all whom it might concern what it was that he was executing, he hummed aloud the fag-end of the tune, keeping time with his fist uponhis knee, "Pop goes the weasel, pop goes the weasel. "

Richard understood, and thanked him with his eyes. He had no need, however, to be reminded of the good-natured detective's word of advice. The ignominy which he had just undergone had had the effect of revealingto him the imminence as well as the full extent of the peril in which hestood. Henceforward he could think of nothing--not even revenge--savethe means of extricating himself from the toils which every momentseemed to multiply about him. The time for action was, indeed, butshort; if he was ever (for it already seemed "ever") to be free again, the means must be taken to deliver him at once. The assizes would beheld at Cross Key--he had heard the Gethin gossips talk of them, littlethinking that they would have any interest for him--in three weeks. Until then, at all events, he must be a prisoner; beyond that time hewould not, dared not, look. 

Within ten minutes Richard Yorke stood committed to Cross Key Jail. 

He followed his friend's counsel in all respects. But the messengerdispatched for Mr. Weasel returned with the news that that gentleman wasout of town; he was very busy at that season--there were other folks indifficulties besides our hero, urgent for his consolation and advice asto their course of conduct before my Lord the Judge. Mr. Dodge, however, assured Richard, upon taking leave, that he would dispatch the attorneyafter him that very night. 

The road to Cross Key was, for many miles, the same which he had latelytraveled in the reverse direction; yet how different it looked! He hadbeen in far from good spirits on that occasion, but how infinitely moremiserable was he now! The hills, the rocks, the streams were far morebeautiful than he had ever thought them, but they mocked him with theirbeauty. He longed to get out of the vehicle, and feel the springy turf, the yielding heather, beneath his feet; to lave his hands in thesparkling brook, to lie on the moss-grown rock, and bask in the blessedsun. Perhaps he should never see them any more--these simple everydaybeauties, of which he had scarcely taken any account when they werefreely offered for his enjoyment. He looked back on even the day before, wherein he had certainly been wretched enough, with yearning regret. Hehad at least been a free man, and when should he be free again? Ah, when! He was, as it were, in a prison on wheels, guarded by two jailers. Escape would have been hopeless, even had it been judicious to make theattempt. His only consolation was, that Solomon Coe was no longer withhim to jeer at his dejected looks. He had started for Gethin with thenews, doubtless as welcome to Trevethick as to himself, of theprisoner's committal. What would Harry say when she came to hear of it?What would she not suffer? Richard cast himself back in his seat, andgroaned aloud. The man at his side exchanged a glance with hiscompanion. "He is guilty, this young fellow. " "Without doubt, he'sbooked. " They had their little code of signals for such occasions. 

The day drew on, and the soft sweet air of evening began to rise. Theyhad stopped here and there for refreshments, but Richard had takennothing; he had, however, always accompanied his custodians within doorsat the various halting-places. He was afraid of the crowd that mightgather about the vehicle to look at the man that was being taken toprison. There was nothing to mark him as such, but it seemed to him thatnobody could fail to know it. He welcomed the approach of night. Theystill traveled on for hours, since there was no House of Detention atwhich he could be placed in safety on the road; at last the wheelsrumbled over the uneven stones of a little country town; they stoppedbefore a building similar, so far as he could see by the moonlight, tothat to which he had been taken at Plymouth: all jails are alike, especially to the eyes of the prisoner. A great bell was rung; there wasa parley with the keeper of the gate. The whole scene resembledsomething which Richard remembered to have read in a book; he knew notwhat, nor where. A door in the wall was opened; they led him up somestone steps; the door closed behind him with a clang; and its locksseemed to bite into the stone. 

"This way, prisoner, " said a gruff voice. 

Door after door, passage after passage; a labyrinth of stone and iron. At last he was ushered into a small chamber, unlike any thing he hadever seen in his life. His sleeping-room at the keeper's lodge atCrompton was palatial compared with it. The walls were stone; the floorof a shining brown, so that it looked wet, though it was not so. Hisjailer-chamberlain pointed to a low-lying hammock, stretched upon twostraps between the walls. "There, tumble in, " he said; "you will haveyour bath in the morning. Look alive!"

Richard obeyed him at once. "Good-night, warder, " said he. 

"Night!" grumbled the other; "it's morn-in'. A pretty time to beknockin' up people at a respectable establishment. If you want anythin'--broiled bones, or deviled kidneys"--for the man was a wag in hisquaint way--"ring this 'ere bell. As for the other rules and regulationsof her Majesty's jail, you'll learn them at breakfast-time. "

The door slammed behind him. 

How the doors _did_ slam in that place! And Richard was left alone. If, instead of the metal ewer of water that stood by his bed-head, there hadbeen a glass of deadliest poison, he would have seized it greedily, andemptied it to the dregs. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE LETTER LOOK. 

On the day that Richard left Gethin, which was itself an incident tokeep the tongues of its gossips wagging for a good week, anotheroccurrence took place in that favored neighborhood, and one of even moreabsorbing interest--the workings of Dunloppel were suspended. This, ofcourse, was not a wholly unexpected catastrophe. The new vein, aftergiving an exceedingly rich yield for some months, had of late, it waswhispered, evinced signs of exhaustion, although the fact was not knownthat for several weeks the undertaking had been carried on at a loss. Neither Trevethick nor Solomon, who were the principal proprietors, wasthe sort of man to play long at a losing game, or to send good moneyafter bad; so, for the present, the pit was closed. But Solomon believedin Dunloppel; contrary to his custom, he had not disposed of a singleshare when the mine was at a premium, and his stake in it was verylarge. 

Only a few minutes after Richard had departed for Plymouth with hischeck, Solomon returned to the inn with thoughtful brow. 

Trevethick was moodily smoking his pipe in the porch, still balancingthe rival claims of his sons-in-law elect, and dissatisfied with both ofthem. He did not share Solomon's hopes, and he detested losing his moneyabove every thing. "Well, you've packed off all those fellows, I hope, that have been eating me out of house and home for these three weeks?"

"I've closed the mine, if that's what you mean, " said Solomon. "But" (helooked cautiously up at the windows of the inn, which were all open--theguests were out in search of the picturesque, and Harry was on thetower, straining her eyes after Richard) "I want to have a word with youin private, Trevethick. "

"Come into the bar parlor, then, " grunted the landlord, for he did notmuch relish the idea of a confidential talk with Solomon just then, since it might have relation to a matter about which he had not fullymade up his mind to give him an answer. 

"Is that young painter fellow out of the way, then?" asked Solomon. "Wehave never had a place to ourselves, it seems to me, since _he_ came toGethin. "

"Yes, yes, he's far enough off, " answered Trevethick, more peevishlythan before, for Sol's remark seemed to foreshadow the very subject hewould fain have avoided talking about. "He's gone to Plymouth, he is, and won't be back these five days. "

"Umph!" said Sol. If he had said, "I wish he would never come back atall, " he could not have expressed his feelings more clearly. 

"Well, " growled Trevethick, when they were in his sanctum, and had shutthe door, "what is it now? Bad news, of course, of some sort. "

It was a habit with Trevethick, as it is with many men of his stamp, tohave a perpetual grievance against Providence--to profess themselves asnever astonished at any bad turn that _It_ may do them--and, besides, hewas on the present occasion desirous of taking up a position ofdiscontent beforehand, so that the expected topic might not appear tohave produced it. 

"No; it's good news, Trevethick, " said Solomon, quietly--"the best ofnews, as it seems to me; and I hope to bring you over to the sameopinion. "

"He's got some scheme for marrying Harry out of hand, " thought theharassed landlord. "How the deuce shall I put him off?"

There was not the slightest excuse for doing so; if Solomon had been ofa less phlegmatic disposition, he might have married her a year ago, young as she was. "Read this, " said he, producing a letter from hispocket, "and tell me what you think of it. It's old Stratum's reportupon the mine. "

"Ay, ay, " said Trevethick, diving into his capacious pocket for hissilver spectacles. As a general rule, he was wont to receive all suchreports with discredit, and to throw cold water upon Sol's more sanguineviews; but it was several minutes before he could get himself into hisnormal state of dissatisfied depression, so much relieved was he to findthat his daughter was not to be the topic of the conversation. 

"Here's the plan, " continued Solomon, "which accompanied the letter. Igot it just after I dismissed the men; and, upon my life, I'd half amind to set them on again. But I thought I'd just have a talk with youfirst. "

"Ay, " said Trevethick--"well?" He was quite himself again now--crafty, prudent, reticent; about as unpromising a gentleman to "get on with, "far less get the better of in a bargain, as a Greek Jew. But Solomon wasquite accustomed to him. 

"Stratum feels confident about the continuation of the lode, you see;and also that the fault is not considerable. We shall not have to sinkfifty feet, he thinks, before we come on the vein again. "

"He _thinks_" said Trevethick, contemptuously. "Is he ready to sink hisown money in it?"

"It's no good asking him that, " said Solomon, coolly, "because he's gotnone. But I have always found Stratum pretty correct in his judgment;and, as for me, I believe in Dunloppel. The question is, shall I go onwith it single-handed, or will you go shares?"

"If it's so good a thing, why not keep it yourself, Sol?"

"Because my money is particularly well laid out at present, and I don'twant to shift it. "

"That's just the case with mine, " said Trevethick, from behind the plan. 

"I thought you might have five hundred pounds or so lying idle, that'sall, " returned the other. "I'd give six per cent. For it just now. "

"Oh, that's another thing. Perhaps I have. I'll see about it. "

"If you could get it me at once, that would be half the battle, " urgedSolomon. "There are some good men at the mine whom I should not like tolose. If I could send round to-night to tell them not to engage, themselves elsewhere, since they're opening so many new pits just now, that would be a relief to my mind. "

"Very good; you may do that, then. I'll write for the money to-morrow. "

So blunt, straightforward, and exceedingly unpleasant a man as JohnTrevethick was, ought to have been the very incarnation of Truth, whereas that last observation of his was, to say the least of it, Jesuitical. There was no occasion to write to any body for what he hadgot above stairs, locked up in his private strong-box. But he did notwish all the world to know that, nor even his _alter ego_, Solomon Coe. 

Trevethick, although a close-fisted fellow, was no miser in the vulgarsense. He kept this vast sum at hand, partly because he had noconfidence in ordinary securities, and partly because he wished to be ina position, at a moment's notice, to accomplish his darling scheme. IfCarew should happen to change his mind, it would be because he was inwant of ready money, and he would be in mad haste to get it. Hisimpatience on such occasions brooked no delay on the score of advantage;and the man that could offer him what he wanted, as it were, in his openhand, would be the financier he would favor in preference to a much lessgrasping accommodator, who might keep him waiting for a week. It was notso much the tempting bait of ready money that caught the Squire as thefact of his wishes being obeyed upon the instant. He had not been usedto wait, and his pride revolted against it; and many a time had a usurermissed his mark by not understanding with how great a bashaw he had todeal in the person of Carew of Crompton. Trevethick was aware of this, and indeed the chaplain had given him a hint to keep the proposedpurchase-money within easy reach, in case the Squire's mood might alter, or his necessities demand his consent to what Mr. Whymper honestlybelieved to be a very advantageous offer. Otherwise, Trevethick was notone to keep a hoard in his house for the mere pleasure of gloating overit. He had not looked into his strong-box for months, nor would he havedone so now, but for this unexpected demand upon it. It was safe enough, he knew, in his daughter's room; and as for its having been opened, thatwas an impossibility; the padlock hung in front of it as usual, and itwould have taken a man half a lifetime to have hit upon its open sesameby trial. He was justly proud of that letter lock, which was his owncontrivance, invented when he was quite a young man, and had beenperforce compelled to turn his attention to mechanics, and he consideredit a marvel of skill. It was characteristic in him that he had neverrevealed its secret even to his daughter. Indeed, with the exception ofHarry, nobody at Gethin--save, perhaps, Hannah, when she dusted heryoung mistress's room--had ever set eyes upon it, nor, if they had, would they have understood its meaning. 

It was therefore without the slightest suspicion of its having beentampered with, that, an hour or two after the conversation justnarrated, Trevethick repaired to his strong-box, with the intention oftaking from it the sum of money required by Solomon. The padlock waslike a little clock, except that it had the letters of the alphabetround its face instead of figures, and three hands instead of two; thislatter circumstance insured, by its complication, the safety of thetreasure, but at the same time rendered it useless--unless he broke thebox open--to the possessor himself if by any accident he should forgetthe letter time at which he had set it; and accordingly Trevethick wasaccustomed to carry a memorandum of this about with him; even if he lostit, it would be no great matter, for what meaning would it convey to anyhuman being to find a bit of paper with the letters B, N, Z upon it?Harry, as we have said, was out of the house, so his daughter's room wasuntenanted. He went to a cupboard, and took down the box from its usualshelf, with the same feeling of satisfaction that an old poet recurs tohis first volume of verse; he may have written better things, and thingsthat have brought him more money, but those spring leaves are dearest tohim of all. So it was with Trevethick's spring lock. He adjusted thehands, and the padlock sprang open; he lifted the lid, and the box wasempty; the two thousand pounds in Bank of England notes were gone. 

He was a big bull-necked man, of what is called (in the reports ofinquests) "a full habit of body, " and the discovery was almost fatal tohim. His face grew purple, the veins in his forehead stood out, and hiswell-seasoned head, which liquor could so little affect, went round andround with him, and sang like a humming-top. He was on the very brink ofa fit, which might have "annihilated space and time" (as far as he wasconcerned), "and made two lovers happy. " But the star of Richard Yorkewas not in the ascendant. The old man held on by the shelf of thecupboard, and gradually came to himself. He did not even then comprehendthe whole gravity of the position; the sense of his great loss--not onlyof so much wealth, but of that which he had secured with such toil, andlaid by unproductively so long for the accomplishment of his darlingpurpose--monopolized his mind. Who _could_ have been the thief? was theone question with which he concerned himself, and the answer was notlong delayed. It was the coincidence of amount in the sum stolen withthat which Richard had gone to Plymouth to realize, that turned hissuspicions upon the young artist. Why, the scoundrel had fixed upon thatvery sum as the test of his possessing an independence for a reason thatwas now clear enough: it was the exact limit of what he knew he couldlay his hand upon. But how _did_ he know?--or, rather (for the old man'sthoughts were still fixed upon the mechanical mystery of his loss), howdid he open the padlock? Then there flashed upon his mind that incidentof his having dropped the memorandum out of his watch-case in the barparlor in Richard's presence, and the whole affair seemed as clear asday. It was Richard's intention to change the notes at Plymouth for thepaper of the Miners' Bank, or for gold, and then to exhibit it to him inits new form as his own property. He did not believe that the youngartist intended to steal it; but he was by no means less furious withhim upon that account--quite otherwise. He piqued himself upon hiscaution and long-headedness, and resented every deception practiced uponhim even more than an injury. Moreover, he felt that but for Solomon'sunexpected request for the loan the plan would have succeeded. In allprobability, he would not have discovered his loss until it had been toolate--he would not have known how to refuse the young man leave tobecome his daughter's suitor; and once his son-in-law, he could scarcelyhave prosecuted him for replacing two thousand pounds' worth ofbank-notes in his strong-box by notes of another kind. Exasperatedbeyond all measure as Trevethick was, it did credit to his sagacity thateven at such a moment he did not conceive of Richard Yorke as being acommon thief. But he concluded him to be much worse, and deserving offar heavier punishment, as a man that would have obtained his daughterunder false pretenses. He went down stairs, taking the box with him, toseek his friend. Solomon had just returned from the cottage over theway, where he had been giving orders to one of the best miners to stillhold himself engaged at Dunloppel, and had bidden him tell others thesame. He was in high spirits, and was twirling about in his large handsMr. Stratum's diagnosis of the mine. 

"You may put that away and have done with it, " said Trevethick, hoarsely; "I have no money to lend you for that, nor nothing else. Thisbox held two thousand pounds of mine, but it's all gone now. "

"Two thousand pounds!" exclaimed Solomon, too amazed at the magnitude ofthe sum to realize what had happened to it. "Two thousand pounds in abox!" He had always suspected that the old man kept something in astocking-foot, and had often rallied him upon his unnecessary cautionwith respect to investments; but this statement of his appearedincredible. 

"What does it matter if it was twenty thousand, when I tell you it'sgone, " said Trevethick, sullenly. "That limb of the devil, Yorke, is offwith every shilling of it. "

"Do you mean to say _he's_ stolen it?" inquired the other, even moreastonished than before. 

"He's taken it to Plymouth with him, that's all. "

Solomon Coe was a man of action, and prompt in emergencies, but for themoment he was fairly staggered. He had no liking for Richard, but such acharge as this appeared incredible; it seemed more likely that the oldman had repented of his late offer of the loan of five hundred pounds, and had invented this monstrous fiction to excuse himself. 

"Where was the box kept?" asked Solomon, dryly. 

For a moment or two Trevethick was silent. 

"It is as I suspected, " thought the other; "the old man is making up thestory as he goes on. "

But the fact was that this question had gone to the very root of thematter, and opened Trevethick's dull eyes wide. In his chagrin at hisloss (though he did believe it would be temporary), and irritation athis sagacity having been set at naught, he had overlooked the mostserious feature of the whole catastrophe. How had Yorke come to theknowledge that the strong-box was kept in Harry's room? and under whatcircumstances had he obtained access to it?

"Where's Harry?" exclaimed Trevethick, starting up with a great oath;for it flashed upon him that she had fled with Richard. "Where's mydaughter?"

"I saw her in the village just now, " said Solomon, "talking to oldMadge. She had been for a stroll out Turlock way, she said. But what'sthe use of vexing _her_ about the matter? Women are much best kept inthe dark when one don't want things to be talked about. The more quietyou keep this story, the more chance you'll have of getting your moneyback, you may depend upon it. It was in notes, of course?"

"Yes, in notes, " answered the other, with a vacant look, and drumming onthe table with his right hand. 

"Come, come, Trevethick, you must keep your head, " remonstrated Solomon. "I'll act for you quick enough, if you'll only supply me with the means. It's a great loss, but it should not paralyze a man. You've got amemorandum of the numbers of the notes?"

"Yes, yes; I have somewhere. "

"Well; go and fetch it, while I order out a horse. I can get to Plymouthbefore wheels can do it, and shall catch this scoundrel yet. He'll begoing there to change the notes, I reckon?"

"Yes, yes, " said Trevethick; "he'll be at the _George and Vulture_; sohe said. "

"Good, " replied Solomon. "I'll get a warrant from old Justice Smallgoodon my way. Rouse up, man, rouse up; you shall have your money back, Itell you, and see this rascal lagged for life into the bargain. "

"If I could only get him hanged!" answered the old man, fiercely--"if Icould only get _him_ hanged, Sol, I'd let the money go, and welcome!"

Solomon stared after him, as he left the room and tramped up stairs insearch of the list of notes, with a ludicrous expression of wonder. In_his_ eyes, no revenge at present seemed worth so extravagant a price. But Trevethick had his reasons, or thought he had, for this excess ofhate; his slow-moving yet powerful nature resembled the python--it wasexceedingly tenacious when its object was once grasped, and it was aptto glut itself. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

A HARD ALTERNATIVE. 

Solomon had ridden off, and was half-way to Turlock before Trevethickfelt himself sufficiently collected to summon Hannah, and bid her sendfor her young mistress. He could not go in search of her himself andspeak what he had to ask: no bird of the air must carry her reply, nowind of heaven breathe it, if it was such as he feared. There must be no"scene" in public to let loose the gossips' tongues. He sat in the barparlor, with his huge head leaning on his hands, brooding over hiswrongs, and waiting for her--for the daughter by whose wickedconnivance, as he thought, he had been despoiled of his hard-earnedgains. He did not reproach himself for having thrown her so much withRichard, in order that the latter might be kept in good-humor, and aptto forward his plans as to Wheal Danes. He "wondered at their vice, andnot his folly. " As to there being any thing beyond a flirtation betweenthe young people, he did not suspect it; but even as matters were, hewas bitterly enraged against Harry, and would have strangled Richard outof hand if he could have got near him. It was evident to him that thisfellow had been courting his daughter, though he knew she was plightedto another, and had wormed out of her the secret of his hoarded wealth. Six months ago she would not for her life have dared to tell what sheknew he wished to hide; and now this young villain had wound himself socunningly about her that she had no will but his, and had even helpedhim to rob her own flesh and blood. His heel was on that serpent's head, however, or would be in a day or two, and _then_--The old man ground histeeth as though his enemy were between them. 

"Well, father, here I am; Hannah said you wanted me. "

Harry's voice was as calm as she could make it, but her young limbstrembled, and her face was very pale. 

[Illustration: "SHE DRAGGED UPON HIS ARM. "]

"Come here--nearer!" cried Trevethick, hoarsely, seizing her by thewrist. "Do you know that you are the only creature but two--but one, Imay say, for gratitude ain't love--that I have ever loved in thisworld--that I have worked for you, planned for you, and for you only, all my life?"

"Yes, father; and I am very grateful for it, " answered she, submissively. 

"No doubt, " sneered the old man; "and the way you show how much you feelit, the way you show your duty and your love to your father in return, is to put a thief--a lying, cheating thief--in the road to rob him!"

"You must be mad, father!" exclaimed Harry, in blank amazement. "I knowno thief!"

"You know Richard Yorke, you wicked, wanton wench!" interruptedTrevethick, passionately. "And how could _he_ have heard of yonder boxexcept through you? Of course you'll lie; a lie or two is nothing to onelike you. But here's the proof. The padlock has been opened, the moneytaken. Who did it? Who could have done it, except him, or you?"

"As I am a living woman, father, as I hope for heaven, " answered Harry, earnestly, "I did not do it, and I do not know who did. "

"You didn't, and you don't! The thing's incredible. Reach here thatBible. " He still held her by the wrist. "You shall swear that, and bedamned forever! What! you never told that villain where my money lay?"

"I did tell Mr. Yorke that, father. Pray, pray, be patient. It was longago; we were talking together about I know not what, and it slipped fromme that you kept money in a strong-box. That was all. "

"All, " said the old man, bitterly, and flinging her arm away from him, the wrist all black and bruised with his angry clutch. "What more, orworse, could you have told than the one secret I had bid you keep? Youtold him the exact sum, too, I'll warrant? Two thousand pounds!"

"Yes, father, I did. It was very wrong, and I was very sorry directly Ihad done it. But I knew the secret would be safe with a gentleman likeMr. Yorke. "

"A gentleman! A cheat, an impostor, a common rogue!"

"Oh no, oh no, father!"

"But I say 'yes. ' To-morrow he will have the handcuffs on him! What!Have you tears for him, and none for me, you slut! Perhaps you _showed_him where the box was kept, as well as told him! Did you, _did_ you?"

There was something in Harry's frightened face that made her father riseand lock the door. 

"Speak low!" said he, in an awful voice; "you have something to tell me. Tell it. "

"Only that I love him, father--oh, so much!" pleaded Harry, passionately. "Indeed, indeed, I could not help it! I tried to love Sol, because you wished it, but it was no use; I felt that even beforeRichard came. We walked every day together for weeks and weeks, and hewas so different from Sol, so bright and pleasant, and he loved me fromthe first, he said. He told me, too, that you had listened with favor tohis suit, or, at all events, had not refused to listen--that there wasgood hope of your consenting to it, and without that hope he knew hecould not win me. I only promised to be his on that condition. Speak tome, father; pardon me, father! Don't look at me so. He never meant tothieve, I am sure of that. You asked of him some warrant of his wealth, some proof that he could afford to marry me. You would not have donethat had you set your face utterly against him. And I think--Ifear--though Heaven is my witness that I knew nothing of it until now, that he took this money only to bring it back to you again, and win yourfavor. It was an ill deed, if he has really done it, which even yet I donot credit; but it was done for my sake; then for _my_ sake, father, pity him, pardon him!" She had thrown herself upon her knees beside theold man's chair; her long hair had come unfastened, and trailed upon thesanded floor; her hands were clasped in an agony of supplication. Nopictured Magdalen ever looked more wretched or more beautiful. 

"You have more to tell?" said the old man, harshly. 

She shook her head, and uttered a plaintive moan. 

"Then _I_ have, " continued he. "You say you love this man; now _I_ hatehim! I do not regret that he has robbed me, since, by that act, he hasplaced himself in my power, and I mean to use it to the uttermost; butfor his cozening me to my face, as he has done so long, and for hissmooth, false ways, and for his impudent tales, which I had halfbelieved, and for his audacious attempt to pluck you from the hand forwhich I had designed you, I _hate_ him. I tell you, " cried out the oldman, fiercely, "if this villain had fifty lives, and the law would helpme to them, I would exact them all! If he stood here, I would brain himwith yonder staff; and if my curse could follow him beyond the grave--asmy vengeance shall to the grave's brink--he should perish in eternalfire! _Hate_ him? I almost hate you for having loved him; and if Ithought you would dare to cross me further by holding to him now, I'ddrive you from my door this very hour. You will never see him more; butI shall, once. This mouth shall witness against him to the uttermost;these ears shall hear the judge pronounce on him his righteous doom. "

"No, no, " gasped the young girl, faintly. "If you do not hate me yet, Ipray you to unsay those words. When you curse Richard, father, you arecursing you know not whom. " She dragged upon his arm, and brought hisear down to the level of her mouth, and whispered in it. 

The old man started to his feet, and pushed her from him with a hideousoath; then made as though he would have unlocked the door and thrown itwide, to drive her, as he had so lately threatened, from his roof. Butthere was a noise of many feet and chattering and laughter in thepassage without, which showed that some of the tourist guests had justcome in. Only a plank intervened between that little knot of giddypleasure-seekers, with their jokes and small-talk, and the father anddaughter in their agony. 

"Mercy! mercy!" cried the wretched girl. 

Trevethick clapped his hand upon her little mouth, with, "Hush, fool!hush!" and she felt thankful that he called her by no worse name. 

"Forgive me--pity--pardon, " murmured she. 

"Listen!" said he, in a stem whisper. "Obey me now, you wicked, wantonslut, or I proclaim your shame before them all; one minute will decideyour fate! Be stubborn, and you shall go forth through yonder door, discarded, friendless, infamous, to beg your bread, or win it how youwill; be tractable, and even yet you shall have a father and a home. Make choice, and quickly; and having made it, be you sure of this, thatit shall hold. Do you hear me, trollop?"

"I hear! I hear!" she murmured, shuddering. "I will obey you now, andever. "

"Then marry Solomon Coe--at once--within the month. "

"Oh, father, mercy!"

His fingers were on the door, and the key grated in the lock. 

"The sea-air makes one famish, " said a gay voice outside. 

"It's lucky, " laughed another, "for there is sure to be nothing fordinner but the inevitable ham and eggs. "

In another instant the final barrier between herself and public shamewould have been withdrawn by that relentless hand. 

"I promise--I promise--spare me!" cried the unhappy girl, and fellfainting on the floor. 

The old man drew a long, deep breath, and wiped his forehead. Hisvictory had not been lightly won. He lifted his daughter up and carriedher to the sofa; then raised the little clumsy window, rarely opened, and propped it with a stick, so that the breeze might blow upon hertear-stained cheek. How white and worn and emptied of all joy it looked!As he gazed upon her, a touch of pity stole into her father's face. Hepoured out a little spirits in a glass, and put it to her lips. "Take asup of this, and you'll be better, child. "

She opened her heavy eyes, and shook her head. 

"You said you would have mercy, father, if I promised?"

"Yes, yes; all shall be forgotten. We will not even speak of it to oneanother. "

"And you will pardon _him_? You will not hurt my Richard?"

"Your Richard!"

"Yes, for he was mine once. You will not bear witness against him beforethe judge? Is he not punished enough in losing me? Am _I_ not punished?"

"Silence!" exclaimed the old man, in a terrible voice. His hand, trembling with passion, had struck against the strong-box, and at itstouch his wrath broke out in flame. "That man is dead to you henceforth!You gave your promise without conditions. Moreover, his fate is in thehands of the law, and not in mine. "

CHAPTER XXV. 

AN UNEXPECTED GUEST. 

Six days had come and gone since her lover's departure from Gethin, butno tidings of him had reached Harry's ears. Solomon had returned on thesecond day, and been closeted with her father for some hours, doubtlessin consultation about Richard; but not a word had been spoken of him, inher presence, by either. She dared not mention him to her father, andstill less could she apply for information to his rival, her nowaffianced bridegroom. How much, or how little, her father had disclosedconcerning him to Sol she did not know; but the latter had evidentlyclosed with the terms which she had in her late strait accepted on herown part. The bans had been put up in the church upon the hill, and in amonth she would be this man's wife. She had been congratulated upon thecoming event by all the neighbors. Some had slyly hinted--littleguessing the pain they gave to that sore heart--at her late "goings-on"with that young gentleman-painter; they had almost suspected at one timethat he would have supplanted her old flame; but they were glad to seematters as they were. Solomon was a steady, sagacious man, as every bodyknew, and would get on in the world; and what he gained he would notwaste in foolish ways. Such an old friend of her father's, too. Nothingcould be more fitting and satisfactory in all respects. Solomon, notoriously a laggard in love, was likened to the tortoise, who had wonthe race against the hare. 

To have to listen to all this well-meant twaddle was misery indeed. Perhaps, upon the whole, good honest dullness does unknowingly inflictmore grievous wounds than the barbed satiric tongue. 

To think, to picture to herself the condition of her lover--deplorable, she was convinced, from the grim satisfaction upon Solomon's face whenhe first came back--was torture. She could not read, for her mind fledfrom the page, like breath from a mirror; there was nothing for it butoccupation. She busied herself as she had never done before with theaffairs of the house, which afforded some excuse for escaping from Sol'sattentions, naturally grown somewhat pressing, now that his weddedhappiness was drawing so near. The _Gethin Castle_ was not, however, very full of guests. It had been wet for a few days, and rain spoils theharvest of the inn-keeper even more than that of the farmer. One night, when it was pouring heavily, and such a windfall as a new tourist wasnot to have been expected by the most sanguine Boniface, a lady arrived, alone, and took up her quarters in the very room that Richard hadvacated. Trevethick himself was at the door when she had driven up andasked with some apparent anxiety whether she could be accommodated. Shewas wrapped up, and thickly veiled, but he had observed to his daughterwhat a well-spoken woman she was, and an uncommon fine one too, thoughher hair was gray. She had inquired whether there were any letterswaiting for her, addressed to Mrs. Gilbert; but there was no letter. 

Harry took in the new arrival's supper with her own hands. It was thetime when she would otherwise have been expected in the bar parlor, tosit by Solomon's side, and feel his arm creep round her waist, morehateful than a serpent's fold. A fire had been lit in the sitting-room, on account of the inclement weather, and Mrs. Gilbert was standingbeside it with her elbow on the mantel-piece. She watched Harry come inand out, without a word, but the expression of her face was sosearching and attentive that it embarrassed her. Under othercircumstances she would certainly have delegated her duties to Hannah, but to evade Solomon's society she would have waited on the Sphinx. Shebrought in each article one at a time, and when there was nothing moreto bring inquired deferentially whether there was any thing else thatshe could do for the lady. 

"Yes, " said Mrs. Gilbert, gravely; the voice was soft, but the mannermost earnest and impressive. "I want five minutes' talk with you; can Ihave it secure from interruption?"

"Certainly, madam, " answered Harry, trembling, she knew not why. 

"Close the door, girl. Come nearer, and away from the window; we mustnot be overheard. "

Harry was constitutionally timid, and it struck her that this poor ladywas not in her right mind. She hesitated. The other seemed to read herthoughts. 

"I am not mad, child, " said she, sorrowfully, "though I have troubleenough to make me so. You are the daughter of the landlord of this inn, I think?"

"Yes, madam. "

"And I am the mother of Richard Yorke. "

She was standing in the same position, and had spoken coldly and assternly as such a voice as hers could speak, when something in the younggirl's face caused her whole manner to change. With a sudden impulse sheturned toward her, and held out both her arms; and Harry threw herselfinto them with a passionate cry, and sobbed as though her heart wouldbreak. 

"Hush! hush!" whispered the other, tenderly; "we must not weep now, butact!"

But the girl still sobbed on, without lifting up her face. Tears hadbeen strangers to her heated eyes for days, and she had longed in vainfor one sympathizing breast on which to lay her head. "I have been hisruin, " she murmured; "but for me he would never have done wrong. Howyou, who are his mother, must hate me!"

"No, Harry, no!" answered the other, putting aside those rich brownlocks, and gazing upon the fair shut face attentively. "I do not wonderat his loving you; for such beauty as yours many a man would lose hissoul! I did hate you until now. But you love my Richard truly, as I see;and we two can not afford to be enemies. We must work together for hisgood to avert the ruin of which you speak, for it is imminent. He hassent me to you, for he can not come himself. He is in prison, Harry!"

"In prison! O Heaven, have mercy!"

She sank down on her knees, and covered her face with her hands. 

"Yes, Harry, think of it. Our Richard, so bright, so dear, within prisonwalls! He may pass his life there for what he has done for your sake, unless you help him. "

"Help him? I would die for him!"

"Calm yourself. Sit down. To grieve is selfish where one can do better;when all is lost it is time enough for that. All _will_ be lost afortnight hence, unless we bestir ourselves. Hush! I hear a step in thepassage. Who is that?"

"It is Sol, madam--Solomon Coe. "

"The man you are to marry, is it not?"

A stifled groan was the girl's reply. 

"I can not speak what I have to say here, " said the other, thoughtfully. "Is there no other place? Stay. I can be ill--overfatigued with myjourney--and you will come and tend me in my own room presently. Thatcan be managed, can't it?"

"Yes, madam, yes. "

"Then wipe your eyes--be a brave girl. Think of Richard, and not ofyourself--think of him, when yonder boor is clasping the hand that oncerested in his--think of him, when those alien lips press yours atparting, and be strong! If I were in your place, he would find that Ihad not deserted him in his trouble. "

"Desert him, madam? I? Oh, never!"

"To be weak is to desert him, girl--to let yonder man and your fathersuspect that any friend of Richard's is beneath this roof is to deserthim--to weep when there is need to work is to desert him. Did I not tellyou I was his own mother; and yet _I_ shed no tears! Look up, and learnyour lesson from me. "

The faces of the two women were indeed in strong contrast--the younger, yielding, feeble, despairing; the elder, calm, patient of purpose, andinflexible. Her cheeks were plump, and radiant with health; her formerect and composed; her eyes, indeed, betrayed anxiety, but it was fromwant of confidence in the person she addressed, not in herself; thewhite hair seemed to fitly crown that figure, so full of earnestness andfirmness. 

"I will do my best, " cried the young girl, "though I know I am but weakand foolish. Pity me, and pray for me. I am going to the torture, but Iwill be resolute. Tell Hannah--the servant-maid--that you wish me toattend you in your room. Send for me soon, for mercy's sake! How I longto know how I can help our Richard!"

As she left the room Mrs. Gilbert's face grew dark. "A fool! a dolt!"she muttered, angrily. "How could he risk so much for such a stake! Oh, Richard! Richard!"--her voice began to falter at that well-lovedname--"was this to have been the end of all my hopes? What fatal issue, then, may not my fears have end in! my beautiful, bright boy! The onlylight my lonely life possessed! to think of you as like yourself, andthen to think of you as you are now!" She looked around her on thesordid walls, the vulgar ornaments upon the mantel-piece, the wretchedill-chosen books; then listened to the splash of the rain in the unpavedstreet. "And this was Paradise, was it, my poor boy, because this girldwelt in it! I ought to have known that there was danger here. Hisletters few and short and far between, his patient tarrying in so wild aplace, should have been enough to warn me. But not of this; in nonightmare dream could I have conceived this unimaginable peril. Ah, me!ah, me!" She sat down at the untasted meal, and strove to eat. "I mustbe strong, for Richard's sake, " she murmured. But she soon laid down herknife and fork to muse again. "This Trevethick is a hard, stern man, Isee. There is no hope in his mercy. The only path of safety is thatwhich the lawyer pointed out; but will this puling girl have the heartand head to tread it? Will she not faint, as she nearly did just now, and lose her wits when my Richard most requires them? And then, andthen?" As if unable to continue such reflections, she rose and rang thebell, which Hannah answered. 

"Bring me a bed-candle, girl; I will seek my room at once; and pleaseask Miss Trevethick to look in upon me before she retires herself, for Ifeel far from well. "

"Yes, ma'am. " Hannah thought within herself that the new arrival lookeduncommon fresh and well considering her years, and that her youngmistress had far more need of rest and "looking to" than she; but, nevertheless, she gave the message; and Harry, at her usual time forgoing to rest, repaired to the new-comer's room accordingly. 

"Are they gone to bed, those men?" inquired Mrs. Gilbert, anxiously, assoon as the door was closed. 

"No, madam; my father and Solomon always sit up together now till late. "

"Ay; plotting against my boy, I doubt not. Well, let us, then, counterplot. Who sleeps on either side of this room?"

"No one, madam. Both rooms are empty at present; the last visitor, except yourself, left us this evening. "

"And the servants?"

"They have retired long ago up stairs. "

"That's well. Sit here, then, close to me, and listen. You know thatRichard is in prison, placed there by your father and that other man ona false charge. They know as well as I or you that he had no intentionof committing the crime of which he stands accused, and yet they bothmean to swear the contrary. "

"Oh, madam, they will surely not do that!"

"But I say 'Yes;' they want revenge upon him. I know them better thanyou, who have known them all your life; or perhaps you say they willnot, because you hope so. Is it possible, " she broke forth, impatiently, "that in such a strait as this, girl, you can encourage such delusions!You are like the fool in the Scripture, of whom it is written, thatthough thou shouldst bray him among wheat with a pestle, yet will nothis foolishness depart from him. "

"I know I am not like you, madam, " answered Harry, piteously. "Richardhas often told me how wise and brave you are; but yet my love for him isas great as yours can be. Whatever you think fit that I should do tohelp him, that shall be done. Trust me; it shall, indeed. "

"That's well said, girl. Be you the hand, and I the head, then, of thisenterprise, and we shall conquer yet. I say again, that if they could, these men would swear my Richard's life away. They might as well do thatas what they mean to do, and deprive him of his liberty; cast him foryears into prison, and herd with the worst and basest of mankind; towork under a task-master with irons on. Do you understand, girl, what itis to which, unless we can hinder them, these wretches would doom him?"

"Yes, yes, I do, " she murmured, shuddering. "It is horrible, mosthorrible! God help us!"

"We must help ourselves, " answered Mrs. Gilbert, sternly. 

"Yet God is surely on our side, and for the truth, madam. If they swearfalsely--"

"You must swear also, " interrupted the other, angrily; "you must meetthem with their own weapons, if you would defend the innocent againstthem. As it is, the law is with them, and will prove the instrument oftheir vengeance. The notes were found upon his person; he strove tochange them, that he might pass their substitutes more easily. Hecounted upon your father not missing them from his strong-box until itwas too late. The case is clear against him that he stole them. "

"Great Heaven!" cried Harry, clasping her hands in agony; "and yet hedid not mean to steal them. "

"Of course not; nay more, he did _not_ steal them, for _you gave them tohim_. "

"_I_ gave them to him? Nay, I never did. "

"You did--you did, girl; you acquiesced in his plan for obtaining yourfather's consent to your engagement; you undertook to supply himtemporarily with the money requisite to establish his pretensions as aman of fortune. Or, if you did _not_"--and here her voice assumed anintense earnestness--"your Richard, the man you pretend to love, will bea convicted felon--a prisoner for all the summer of his life, and forthe rest an outcast!"

Harry was silent; her hands were pressed to her forehead, as though tocompel her fevered brain to think without distraction. "I see, I see, "she murmured, presently; "his fate hangs upon my word. 'So help me, God, ' is what I have first to say, and then say _that_!"

"Why not?" rejoined the other, stoutly. "Will not these men, too, callGod to witness what they know to be a lie? Will not _He_ discern themotive that prompts _you_--desire to see a wronged man righted, theinnocent set free--and the motive that prompts _them_--malicious hate?Or do you deem the all-seeing eye of Heaven is purblind? I tell youthis, girl, if I were in _your_ place, and the man I loved stood_justly_ in such peril, I would swear a score such oaths to set himfree! Yet here, with justice on your side and truth, and Heaven itself, you hesitate; you shrink from uttering a mere form of words, the spiritof which is contrary to the letter, and for conscience sake, forsooth, will let your lover perish! _Your_ lover! yes, but you were never _his_, although he thinks so. I will go hence, and tell him that you refuse tospeak the thing that alone can save him from life-long wretchedness; Iwill go and tell him that the girl for whose sake he has brought thisload of ruin on himself will not so much as lift it with her littlefinger! You fair, foul devil, how I hate you!" She drew herself up toher full height, and regarded the wretched girl with such contemptuousscorn that even in her abject misery she felt its barb. 

"I have not earned your hate, " said Harry, with some degree of firmness, "if I have earned your scorn; nor is it meet that you should so despiseme, because I fear to anger God. "

"And man, " added the other, with bitterness. "You fear your father'swrath far more than Heaven's. "

That bolt went home: the unhappy girl did indeed stand in greater terrorof her father than of the sin of perjury; and the idea of affirming uponoath what she had but a few days before so solemnly denied to him wasfilling her with consternation and dismay. Still the picture that hadjust been drawn of the ruin that would assuredly befall her Richard, unless she interposed to save him, had more vivid colors even than thatof Trevethick's anger. Let him kill her, if he would, after the trialwas over, but Richard should go free. 

"I will do your bidding, madam, " said she, suddenly, "though I perish, body and soul. "

"You say that now, girl, and it's well and bravely said; but will youhave strength to put your words to proof? When I am gone, and there arenone but Richard's foes about you, will you resist their menaces, theirarguments, their cajolements, and be true as steel?"

"I will, I will; I swear it, " answered Harry, passionately; "they shallnever turn me from it. But suppose they prevent me from leaving Gethin, from attending at the trial at all?"

"Well thought of!" answered Mrs. Gilbert, approvingly; "she has somewits, then, after all, this girl. As for their forbidding you to giveevidence, however, Mr. Weasel, who is Richard's lawyer, will see tothat. You will be subpoenaed as a witness for the defense. You will say, then, that it was you who opened the strong-box, and took out the notes, and gave them into Richard's hand. "

"But how could I open the letter padlock?"

"Good, again!" answered the other; "you have asked the very question forwhich I have brought the answer. Now, listen! Have you access to yourfather's watch at times when he does not wear it?"

"Yes; he does not always put it on--never on the day he goes to market, for instance. He comes back late, you see. "

"Just so; and sometimes, perhaps, not altogether sober. Very good. Now, you once opened that watch from curiosity, and saw a paper in its casewith B N Z upon it. Those letters formed the secret by which the lockwas opened. You tried it, just in fun at first, and found they did. Doyou understand?"

"I do, " said Harry. 

"You will not forget, then, what you have to say; or shall Irecapitulate it?"

"There is no need, " groaned Harry. "I shall remember it forever, be sureof that, and on my death-bed most of all. " With a wearied look on herwan face, and a heavy sigh, the young girl rose to go. "Good-night, madam. We need not speak of this again to-morrow, need we?"

"Surely not, child. My mission here is done. The rain is falling still, and that will be a sufficient excuse for my departure. I had a sickheadache to-night--remember that--but it will be better after a night'ssleep. "

"Do you sleep?" asked Harry, simply. "Ah me, I would that _I_ couldsleep!"

"Of course I do. Is it not necessary for Richard's sake that I should bewell and strong? I could weep all night and fast all day, if I let myfoolish heart have its own will. It is easy enough to grieve at anytime; one has only to think to do that. Sleep, child, sleep, and dreamof him as he will be when you have set him free; then wake to work hisfreedom. I will tell him that you will do so. Press your lips to mine, that I may carry their sweet impress back to him. One moment more. Donot get your lesson by heart, lest they should doubt you; but hold bythis one sentence, and never swerve from it: 'I gave Richard Yorke thenotes with my own hand. ' That is the key which can alone unlock hisprison-door. Good-night, good-night. "

CHAPTER XXVI. 

MR. ROBERT BALFOUR. 

An author of sensitive organization has always a difficulty in treatingthe subject of prison life. If he avoids details, the critics do notascribe it to delicacy, but to incompetence; if, on the other hand, heenters into them, they nudge the elbow of the public, and hint that thisparticular phase of human experience is his specialty--that he "ought toknow, " because he has been "through the mill" himself. This is not kind, of course; but the expression, "a little more than kin and less thankind, " is exceedingly applicable to the critic in relation to his humblebrother, the author. We will take a middle course, then, and exhibitonly just so much of Cross Key as may be seen in a "justice's visit. "

Twenty years ago, the system of treatment of prisoners before trialincarcerated in her Majesty's jails was not so uniform as it now is. Insome they were permitted few privileges not enjoyed by the convictsthemselves; in others a considerable difference was made between the twoclasses. The establishment at Cross Key leaned to the side ofindulgence. Its inmates who were awaiting their trial were allowed towear their own clothes; to write letters to their friends withoutsupervision (though not without the suspicion of it on their own part);and to mingle together for some hours in a common room, where thatunbroken silence which pervades all our modern Bastiles, and is perhapstheir most terrible feature, was not insisted upon. In this common roomRichard Yorke was sitting on the afternoon following his incarceration. The principal meal of the day had been just concluded, and himself andhis fellow-guests were brooding moodily over their troubles. Theplatters, the block-tin knives, so rounded that the most determinedself-destroyer could never job himself with them into Hades, and themetal mugs had been removed, and their places on the narrow deal tablewere occupied by a few periodicals of a somewhat depressing character, though "devoted to the cultivation of quiet cheerfulness, " and by aleaden inkstand much too large to be swallowed. The prisoners--upon theground, perhaps, of not needing the wings of liberty for any otherpurpose--were expected to furnish (from them) their own pens. There werebut half a dozen of these unfortunates; all, with two exceptions, wereof the same type--that of the ordinary agricultural criminal. Ignorant, slouching, dogged, they might have fired a rick, or killed a keeper, oreven--sacrilegious but unthinking boors--have shot a great man'spheasant. They did not make use of their privileges of conversationbeyond a muttered word or two, but stared stupidly at the pictures inthe magazines, wondering (as well they might) at the benevolent faces ofthe landlords, clergymen, and all persons in authority thereinportrayed, or perhaps not wondering at them at all, but rather ponderingwhether Bet and the children had gone into "the House" or not by thistime, or whether the man in the big wig would be hard upon themselvesnext Wednesday three weeks. 

One of these two exceptions was, of course, our hero, who looked, bycontrast with these poor, simple malefactors, like a being from anotherworld, a fallen angel, but with the evil forces of his new abode alreadygathering fast within him. His capacities for ill, indeed, were tentimes theirs; and the dusky glow of his dark eyes evinced that they wereat work, though they did but ineffectually reflect the hell of hate thatwas beginning to be lit within him. It flamed against the whole world ofhis fellow-creatures, so mad he was with pride and scorn and rage; hishand should be against every man henceforth, as theirs was now againsthim; his motto, like the _exeunt_ exclamation of the mob in the play, should be: "Fire, burn, slay!" He was like a spoiled child who for thefirst time has received a severe punishment--for a wonder, not whollydeserved--and who wishes, in his vengeful passion, that all mankindmight have one neck in common with his persecutor, that (forgetting heis no Hercules) his infant arms might throttle it off-hand. The lovewhich he still felt for Harry and his mother, far from softening himtoward others, rather increased his bitterness of spirit. They, too, were suffering wrong and ill-treatment, and needed an avenger. His furychoked him, so that he had eaten nothing of what had been set beforehim, and he now sat leaning with his elbows on the bare boards, staringwith heated eyes at the blank wall before him, and feeding on his ownheart. 

"This is your first time in quod, I guess, young gentleman, " observed aquiet voice beside him. 

Richard started. He had thrown one contemptuous glance upon the companywhen they first assembled, and had decided that they possessed no moreinterest for him than a herd of cattle; buried in his own sombrethoughts, he had lost consciousness of their very presence, as of thatof the warder, who was pacing up and down the room with monotonoustread. But now that his attention was thus drawn to his next neighbor, he saw that he differed somewhat from the rest; not that he was moreintelligent-looking--for, indeed, there was a reckless brutality in hisexpression which the others lacked--but there was a certain resolutionand strength of will in his face, which at least told of power. But itwas the tone of voice, which, coming from such a man, though it was agruff voice enough in itself, had something conciliatory and winning init, that chiefly attracted Richard. Perhaps, too, the phrase "younggentleman" flattered his vanity. We can not throw off all our weaknessesat a moment's notice, no matter how stupendous the crisis in ourfortunes, any more than, though our boat be sinking under us, we candivest ourselves of our clothes with a single shrug; and sympathy anddeferential respect had still their weight with Richard Yorke. Perhaps, too, his nature had not yet even got quit of its gregariousness, and hewas not sorry to have his acquaintance sought, though by this hang-dogthief. 

"I have never been in prison before, if that is what you mean, " returnedhe, civilly. 

He who asked the question was a stout-built, grizzled fellow, of aboutfifty years. He was dressed like a well-to-do farmer, but his accentsmacked of London rather than the country; and his hands, Richardobserved, were not so coarse and rough as might be expected in one usedto manual labor, though his limbs and frame were powerful enough for themost arduous toil. His gray eyes looked keenly at Richard from undertheir bushy brows, as he propounded a second inquiry:

"What are you in for? Forgery or embezzlement, I reckon--which is it?"

"Neither, " answered Richard, laconically, a bitter smile parting hislips in spite of himself. 

"Well, now, that's curious, " observed the other, coolly. "If it was notthat you were sent here with the rest of us, and not shut up byyourself, I should have guessed 'Murder' outright, for you were lookingall that a minute ago; and since it could not be murder, I thought itmust be one of the other two. "

"I don't know what I am here for, " said Richard, gloomily, "except thatthe charge is false. "

"Oh, of course, " rejoined the other, with a grim chuckle; "it's alwaysfalse the first time, and as often afterward as we can get the juries tobelieve us. I'm an old hand myself, and my feelings are not easilywounded; but I have never yet disgraced myself by pleading guilty. It'sthrowing a chance away, unless you are a very beautiful young woman whohas put away her baby, and that I never was, nor did. "

"Beauty in distress mollifies the court, does it?" inquired Richard, willing to be won from his own wretchedness by talk even with a man likethis. 

"Mollifies!--yes, it makes a molly of every body. I have known a judgeshed tears about it, which he is not bound to do unless he has the blackcap on--that always set him going like an onion. Why, I've seen even anattorney use his pocket-handkerchief because of a pretty face introuble; but then she was his client, to be sure. Talking of attorneys, you'll have Weasel, of course?"

Richard nodded an affirmative. 

"Quite right. I should have him myself, if there was a shadow of achance; but, as it is, it's throwing good money out o' winder. I wishyou better luck, young gentleman, than mine is like to be; not that youwant luck, of course, but only justice. "

Richard did not relish this tone of banter, and he showed it in hislook. 

"Come, come, " said the other, good-humoredly, "it is a pity to curdlesuch a handsome face as yours with sour thoughts. Let us be friends, foryou may be glad of even a friend like me some dirty day. "

"It is very likely, " answered Richard, bitterly. "I see no fine daysahead, nor yet fine friends. "

"I hope you will see both, " answered the other, frankly. "The first timeone finds one's self provided for so extra careful as this, " with aglance at the iron bars across the low-arched windows, "the prospectalways does seem dark. But one learns to look upon the bright side atlast. Is the figure very heavy that you're in for? Excuse my countrymanners: I don't mean to be rude, nor do I ask the question from merecuriosity; but you don't look like one to have come here for a meretrifle. "

"The amount in question is two thousand pounds. "

"No whistling there!" cried the warder, peremptorily, for the "old hand"had not been able to repress an expression of emotion at thisannouncement. He looked at Richard with an air of self-complacency, suchas a gentleman of the middle classes exhibits on suddenly discoveringthat he has been in familiar converse with a person of title, or a smalltrader on being brought into unexpected connection with a merchantprince. The gigantic character of the "operation" had invested thisyoung man with an increased interest in the stranger's eye. 

"That's a great beginning, " said he, admiringly, "and could scarcelyhave happened with a poor devil like me. One requires to be born agentleman to have such opportunities. Now, I don't mind telling _you_"here he sank his voice to a whisper, and looked cautiously about him, "that I was forty years of age before I ever got such a haul as yours. I've done better since, but it's been up-hill work, for all that. "

"It doesn't seem to have been very hard work, " said Richard, with ameaning glance at the other's hand. 

"Well, no, I can't say as it's been hard; a neat touch is what is wantedin my profession. "

"Why, you're not a pick--" Richard hesitated from motives of delicacy. 

"A pickpocket? Well, I hope not, Sir, indeed, " interrupted the other, indignantly. 

"Then what _are_ you?" said Richard, bluntly. 

As a coy maiden blushes and hangs her head in silence when asked thequestion which she is yet both proud and pleased to answer in theaffirmative, so did Mr. Robert Balfour (for such was the name of our newacquaintance) pause and in graceful confusion rub his stubble chin withhis closed fist ere he replied: "Well, the fact is, I have been in thegold and precious stone line these thirty years, and never in theprovinces until this present summer, when I came down here, as a Yankeepal of mine once put it, 'to open a little jewelry store. '"

"With a crowbar?" suggested Richard, with a faint smile. 

"Just so, " said the other, nodding; "and it so happened that yourstruly, Bob Balfour, was caught in the very act. "

"And what term of punishment do you expect for such a--"

"Such a misfortune as that?" answered Mr. Balfour, hastening to relieveRichard's embarrassment. "Well, if I had got the swag, Ishould--considering the testimonials that will be handed in--have been alifer. But since I did not realize so much as a weddin' _ring_, twentyyears ought to see me through it now. "

Twenty years! Why, this man would be over seventy before he regained hisliberty!

"Great Heaven!" cried Richard, "can you be cheerful with such a futurebefore you! and at the end of it, to be turned old and penniless intothe wide world!"

A genuine pity showed itself in the young man's look and tone. A minutebefore he had thought himself the most wretched of human beings; yethere was one whose fate was even harder, and who met it withoutrepining. Community of trouble had already touched the heart which hehad thought was turned to stone. 

"Are you sorry for me, young gentleman, " inquired the convict, in analtered voice, "you who have got so much trouble of your own to bear?"

"I am, indeed, " said Richard, frankly. 

"You would not write a letter for me, though, would you?" inquired theother, wistfully. "I should like to tell--somebody as I've left athome--where I am gone to; and the fact is, I can't write; I neverlearned how to do it. "

A blush came over Bob Balfour's face for the first time; the man wasashamed of his ignorance, though not of his career of crime. "If it'stoo much trouble, say so, " added he, gruffly. "Perhaps it was too greata favor to ask of a gentleman born. "

"Not at all, " said Richard, hastily, "if the man will bring us pen andpaper. "

"Hush! the _officer_, if you please, " said Balfour. "They like to be'officered, ' these gentry, every one of them. Some friends of minealways addresses 'em as 'dogs;' but that's a mistake, when they has towatch you. "

Mr. Robert Balfour spoke a few respectful words to the warder, and therequisite materials were soon laid upon the table. Richard dipped hispen in the ink, and waited for directions. "It's only a few words, "muttered Mr. Balfour, apologetically, "to my old mother. Perhaps youhave a mother yourself, young gentleman?"

"I have. " He had written to her guardedly the previous day, before heleft Plymouth, to tell her the same sad news which he was now, as hesupposed, about to repeat for another, and to urge her to repair toCross Key at once. 

Mr. Balfour beat softly on the table with his forefinger for a moment, and then, as though he had found the key-note of the desiredcomposition, dictated as follows:

 "MY DEAR MOTHER, --When this comes to hand, I shall have took your advice, and started for the New World. There's a ship a-sailing from Plymouth in a day or two, and my passage in her is booked. I didn't like to come back to town again, for fear I should change my mind, and turn to the old trade. The post is queer and doubtful, they tell me, in these far-away parts; but you shall hear from me whenever I have an opportunity. All as is mine is yours, remember; so, use it. I have no need of money myself, for there's a place being kept for me, out yonder, in the carpentering line. Hoping this finds you well, as it leaves me, I am your dutiful son, ROBERT BALFOUR. "

"Then you don't tell her any thing about what's happened to you?" saidRichard, wonderingly. 

"Why should I? The poor soul's over seventy, and will never see meagain. It's much better that she should have a pretty picture to look atthan such a reality as this; ain't it?"

"Well, I suppose it is. "

This delicate feeling on the part of Mr. Balfour jarred upon Richard. _He_ had taken no pains to break the news of his imprisonment to _his_mother; on the contrary, he had painted the wretchedness of hisposition, with a view to set forth the urgent necessity for help, in itsmost sombre colors. Of course there was a great difference in the twocases, an immense difference; but still he resented this exhibition ofnatural piety, as contrasting unpleasantly with his own conduct. 

The other, however, had no suspicion of this. His thoughts, just then, were far away; and the subject of them gave an unwonted softness to histone as he observed: "I thank you for this, kindly, young gentleman. Here's the address--Earl Street, Spitalfields. It's her own house; andshe will have enough, and to spare, while she lives, thank the Lord!Well, that's done with; and if Bob Balfour can do you a good turn forit, he will. Hello, you're wanted. "

"Richard Yorke!" repeated the warder, loudly. "Can't you hear?"

Richard had heard well enough; but the idea that it was his mother whohad come to see him had for the moment unmanned him; he well knew howproud she had been of him; and how was he to meet her now, disgraced, disheartened, in prison, a reputed thief! But the next instant hereflected that her arrival could not be possibly looked for for somedays; perhaps it was Trevethick, who had, in the mean time, learned all, and was come to announce his willingness to withdraw from theprosecution; perhaps Harry herself was with him; perhaps--

But there was no time for further prognostication; a second warder wasat the door, beckoning impatiently, and Richard rose at once. The dullfaces of the rest were all raised toward him with a malign aspect; theyfeared that some good news was come for him, that they were about tolose a companion in misfortune. Only one held out his hand, with a "Goodluck to you, young gentleman; though I never see you again, I shall notforget you. "

"Silence there!" cried the officer in charge, as Richard passed out intothe stone passage. "You ought to know our ways better than that, Balfour. "

CHAPTER XXVII. 

ATTORNEY AND CLIENT. 

In a hall of stone stood a room of glass, and in that room the inmatesof Cross Key Jail were permitted to have access to their legal advisers. They were not lost sight of by the jealous guardians of the place, oneof whom perambulated the hall throughout the interview; but though hecould see all that passed, he could hear nothing. Mr. Weasel of Plymouthwas very well known at Cross Key as being a frequent visitor to thattransparent apartment, and those prisoners whom he favored with hisattentions were justly held in high estimation by the warders, asgentlemen who, though in difficulties, had at least some considerablecommand of ready money. He was waiting now, with his hat on (which healways wore, to increase his very limited stature), in this chamber ofaudience; and so withered up he looked, and such a sharp, shrunk face hehad, that Richard, seeing him in the glass case, might have thought himsome dried specimen of humanity, not alive at all, had he not chanced tobe in the act of taking snuff; and even that was ghostly too, since itproduced the pantomimic action of sneezing without its accompanyingsound. 

"Mr. Richard Yorke, I believe?" said he, as soon as they were shut upwithin the walls of glass, "I am glad to make your acquaintance, Sir, though I wish, for your sake, that it happened in another place. You'llexcuse my not offering you my hand. "

Richard drew back his extended arm and turned crimson. 

"Don't be offended, Sir, " said the lawyer; "but the fact is, theauthorities here don't like it. There are some parties in this place whoemploy very queer legal advisers; and in shaking hands, a file or agimlet, and a bit of tobacco, are as likely to pass as not. That wardercan see every thing, my dear young Sir; but he can no more hear what wesay than he can understand what a couple of bumble-bees are murmuringabout who are barred up in a double window. We can therefore conversewith one another as much without reserve as we please, or rather"--andhere the little man's eyes twinkled significantly--"as _you_ please. What I hear from a client in this ridiculous place is never revealedbeyond it, except so far as it may serve his interests. If Mr. Dodge (towhose favor, as I understand, I owe this introduction) has told you anything concerning me, he will, I am sure, have advised you to be quitefrank and candid. "

"There was no necessity for such a warning, Mr. Weasel, in my case, I doassure you, " answered Richard, earnestly. "I have nothing to concealfrom you with respect to the circumstances of my position: they areunfortunate, and doubtless very suspicious; but I am as innocent of thisdisgraceful charge--"

"Hush, hush! my dear Sir; this will never do. It is mere waste of time, though it might have been much worse. Good Heavens! suppose you had beenguilty, and told me _that_! you would have placed me in the mostembarrassing situation, as your professional adviser, it is possible forthe human mind to conceive. What I want to know is _your_ story, so faras these two thousand pounds found in your possession are concerned. Whether it is true or not, does not matter a button. I want to knowwhether it _seems_ true; whether it will seem true to a judge and jury. You have thought the matter over, of course; you have gone through it inyour own mind from beginning to end--now please to go over it to me. "

The little man whipped out a note-book, leaned forward in his chair, andlooked all eye and ear, like a terrier watching at a rat-hole. 

After a moment's pause, Richard stated his case pretty much as we arealready acquainted with it; the little lawyer interrupting him now andthen by a gesture, but never by a word, in order that he might set downa point or a memorandum. 

"Very good, " said Mr. Weasel, when he had quite finished. "That's yourstory, is it?"

"It's the truth, Sir. "

"Hush! my dear young Sir. We shall have enough of that--the truth, thewhole truth, and nothing but the truth--a fortnight hence. What you andI have to consider are the probabilities. Why did you go to Plymouth, more than any other place, to change these notes?"

"Because I had heard there was a Miners' Bank there, and Trevethick hadmentioned the notes of that company as being as good, in his opinion, asthose of the Bank of England. I thought it would be easier to get theMining notes in exchange for those of the Bank of England, than othersof the same bank. "

"The check which you showed this Trevethick was not, then, a _bonâ fide_piece of paper, eh?"

"It was not, " said Richard, casting down his eyes. 

"Very good, " answered the lawyer, so cheerfully that you would havethought his client had cleared himself of the least suspicion upon_that_ score, at all events. "Now, where did you get it?"

"My mother sent me a blank check, at my request, and I filled it in. "

"That check is destroyed, you say--you burned it, of course?"

"No; I tore it up, and threw it out of the window of the carriage. "

"The devil you did!" said Mr. Weasel, in perturbation. "That is not theway to destroy checks. Had your mother an account at the bank on whichit was drawn?"

"Of course. " said Richard, simply. 

"There is nothing 'of course, ' Mr. Yorke, in this matter, " answered thelawyer, gravely. "Are you quite sure?"

"Quite. She has always had an account there; though to no such amount astwo thousand pounds. "

"It is a large sum, " muttered the lawyer, thoughtfully, "but still theyhave not lost one penny of it. In case things went against you, Mr. Yorke, would an appeal to the prosecutor be likely to be of service?"

"Certainly not, " answered Richard, hastily. "I would not accept mercy athis hands; besides, it is not a question of mercy. "

"It may come to that, " observed the other, gravely. "We must not deceiveourselves, Mr. Yorke. "

"Good Heavens! do you believe, then, that I took this money with intentto steal it?"

"What my belief is is of no consequence, one way or the other; but myopinion is that the jury will take that view, if they hear your story asyou tell it. The fact is, you have left out the most important incidentof all: the whole case will hinge upon the young lady's having given youthese notes with her own hand. It is evident, of course, that shesympathized with you in your scheme, " pursued the lawyer, rapidly, andholding up his finger to forbid the protest that was already rising toRichard's lip: "nothing could be more natural, though most imprudent andill judged, than her behavior. She had no more idea of stealing themoney than you had; how should she, since it was in a manner her own, she being her father's sole heiress. You and I see that clearly enough, but to a jury used to mere matters of fact, motive has littlesignificance unless put into action. What we want, and what we musthave, is evidence that you got these notes, not only for this girl'ssake, but from her fingers. Nobody can hurt _her_, you know. Trevethickcould never prosecute his own daughter; indeed, the whole affairdwindles down to a lover's stratagem, and there is no need forprosecuting any body, if we can only put Harry Trevethick into thewitness-box. Now can we, Mr. Yorke, or can we not? that's the question. "

Richard was silent; the lawyer's argument struck him with its fullforce. He had no scruples on the matter for his own part, but he fearedthat Harry might entertain them--they would be only too much in keepingwith her credulous and superstitious nature. 

"If I could talk to her alone for five minutes, " muttered Richard, uneasily. 

"That is impossible, " said Mr. Weasel, with decision. "We can only playwith such cards as we hold. I could go to Gethin myself, though it wouldbe most inconvenient at this busy time, and refresh this young woman'smemory; but it is a delicate task, and would be looked upon by the otherside with some suspicion. Now, is there no judicious friend that can bethoroughly depended upon--a female friend, if possible, since the affairmay require tact and sympathy--to effect this little negotiation? Think, my good Sir, think. "

"Why, there is my mother herself!" ejaculated Richard, suddenly. "She isthe wisest of women, and the very one to conduct this matter, ifproperly instructed. "

"Is she, now, is she?" said the lawyer, cheerily. "Come, come, that'swell, and I begin to see a little light. Let her go down to Gethin, where, as I conclude, she is not known, and see Miss Trevethick herself. I should like to see her beforehand, however; indeed, that is absolutelynecessary. "

"In my note to her, yesterday, I asked her to call at your office inPlymouth on her way hither, " stammered Richard. "I thought itbetter--that is, in the first instance--that she should hear from youhow matters stood. "

Mr. Weasel took a copious pinch of snuff, and shut his eyes, as thoughhe were going to sneeze. Whenever a client got upon an embarrassingtopic Mr. Weasel took snuff, to obviate the necessity of looking him inthe face; while, in case of any compromising disclosure, Mr. Weaselsneezed, to obviate hearing it. 

"In a case of this kind, Mr. Yorke, not a moment is to be lost. I shouldadvise your mother's going direct to Gethin from my house, and makingsure of this young lady's evidence. There is even a possibility--I don'tsay it is probable, but there is just a chance, you see--that she may besubpoenaed _by the other side_. "

"Just so, " assented Richard, so naïvely that a smile flitted across thelittle lawyer's face. 

"Under these circumstances, then, this is what we will do, my dear youngSir: Mrs. Yorke will go to the _Gethin Castle_ as a guest, and, as Ishall venture to suggest, under another name; she will then find anopportunity of speaking to Miss Trevethick without awakening herfather's suspicions; and when she comes to Cross Key, she will have, Itrust, some good news to bring you, something to talk about (althoughyou must be very careful and guarded, mind that, for you will not beleft alone together, as we are) besides mere regrets and lamentations;don't you see, don't you see?"

Richard saw exceedingly well, and felt more grateful to the lawyer fordevising such an arrangement than he would like to have confessed;nevertheless, he did thank him heartily. 

"Not at all, not at all, my dear young Sir, " drawing on one of hisgloves, in signal of departure. "In a case like this, we must consultfeelings as well as array our facts; we must bring heart and head tobear together. Speaking of head reminds me, by-the-by, of the subject ofcounsel. I propose to instruct Mr. Smoothbore, who leads upon thiscircuit; I gather from your letter that there will be no difficulty withrespect to funds. "

"Whatever may be necessary, Mr. Weasel, for my defense will be, you mayrest assured, forthcoming. My mother--"

The smile disappeared from the lawyer's face with electrical rapidity. "Pardon me, my young friend, " said he; "but as a professional man, Ionly deal with principals in these matters. The word forthcoming is alittle vague. Counsel are paid beforehand, you must remember. "

We must not be angry with Mr. Weasel, who was really a good sort of manafter his kind. He was naturally cautious, and if he had been the mosttrustful of mankind his experience would have taught him prudence. Hedid like to see his money down; and really, as to Mr. Yorke, all he knewof his pecuniary position was with relation to that blank check, thehistory of which was not of a nature to inspire confidence. 

"I was about to observe, " said Richard, haughtily, "that my mother wouldsatisfy all claims; but, in the mean time, there were over a hundredpounds in notes and gold which were found upon me when I was searched atPlymouth. If you doubt me, you have only to make inquiries. "

"My dear young Sir, " returned the lawyer, earnestly, "this is notcourteous, this is not kind. I never doubted you from the first momentthat I saw you; no one with any knowledge of mankind could do so. Professional etiquette compelled me to remark that I could treat withprincipals only, that is all. Let me see, " added he, consulting hisnote-book, "have I any thing more to say? Yes, yes. With respect to thisyoung lady, Miss Harry Trevethick--I did not like to interrupt you atthe time, but I see I have made a memorandum--is she pretty?"

"She is very, very beautiful, " said Richard, earnestly, the remembranceof her beauty giving a tenderness to his tone. 

"That's capital!" nodded the lawyer. "Old Bantam is our judge thissession, and he likes a pretty face. So do we all, for the matter ofthat, I hope. You are young and good-looking yourself, too; Smoothborewill make something of _that_, you may depend upon it. 'GraciousHeavens, is the iron arm of the law to sunder these happy lovers for amere indiscretion, and make their bright young lives a blank forever?'He'll give them something like that, Sir, in a voice broken by emotion, and bring you off with flying colors. "

"I don't care about the colors, if he only brings me off, " said Richard, grimly. 

"A very natural remark, my dear young Sir, for one in your presentsituation; but three weeks hence, as I both hope and believe, you willnot be so easily satisfied; the more we have, the more we want, youknow--except in the matter of time. I have very little to spare of itjust now, and must therefore take my leave. "

Mr. Weasel had put on his other glove and his hat, and, with a cheerfulnod, had actually placed his fingers on the door-handle, when hesuddenly turned round, and said: "By-the-by, I had almost forgotten alittle form of words, which in your case I am sure will be _but_ a form, and yet I do not like to omit it. I never leave a client in yourposition without asking him the question; so you must excuse me, myyoung friend, and not be offended. "

"I am not in a position to be very sensitive about what is said to me, "answered Richard, bitterly. "Pray ask whatever you please. "

Mr. Weasel looked cautiously round, to see that the warder was not toonear, and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Is this little affair yourfirst, my dear young Sir? I mean, " added he, "have you ever been introuble with the law before?"

"Certainly not, " replied Richard, smiling. 

"I had anticipated your answer, " said the little lawyer, gayly; "but Ithought it right to make quite certain. Because, if the affair shouldhappen to reach a stage where the question of 'character' is mooted(though it won't get so far as _that_, I trust, in our case), onedoesn't like to be taken altogether by surprise, do you see? You havebeen a landscape-painter, you say. A most innocent and charmingoccupation, I am sure, and one which Smoothbore will make the very mostof. The case altogether will afford him such opportunities that hereally ought to do it cheap. And you've never been any thing else, haveyou? never had any other calling, or obtained your livelihood by anyother than quite legal and permissible means--eh? What, what? You havenot been quite frank and candid with me, my dear Sir, I fear. "

"It is really not of much consequence, " said Richard, hesitating. 

"You must allow me to be the judge of that, Mr. Yorke, " said the other, gravely, taking off his hat once more and one of his gloves. "Imagineyourself a good Catholic, if you please, with Father Weasel for yourpriest. "

The confession lasted for some minutes. 

"I think you will admit that what I have told you has not much bearingupon the matter in hand, " said Richard, when he had finished. 

"None at all, none at all--that is, I hope not, " answered the other, thoughtfully. "But what an interesting revelation it is! What a nicepoint as to whether the matter is an offense against the law or not! Howprettily Smoothbore would treat the subject, if it chanced to come inhis way!" He looked at Richard with admiration. "You're a mostremarkable young man, Sir; I wish that circumstances permitted of myshaking you by the hand. Good-morning, my dear Sir. You may depend uponmy not permitting the grass to grow under my feet. When your mothercomes she will have good news for you. Good-morning. "

The warder took possession of Richard, while Mr. Weasel, followed by theyoung man's longing eyes, was ushered to the opposite door, on the otherside of which was liberty. But the lawyer's mind was still within theprison walls, though his legs were free, and walking up the street ofthe little town toward his inn. 

"Now, that is really a most remarkable young man, " he murmured tohimself. "A most ingenious young fellow, upon my word. The idea of hishaving invented a new crime! Why, bless my heart, it's quite anepoch--quite an epoch!"

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE IRON CAGE. 

So long as Richard had had Mr. Weasel to bear him company, half histroubles--so elastic was his nature, and so apt for socialintercourse--seemed to have been removed; but now that that brisk, confident voice was heard no more, and the stone passages only echoed tothe tread of the warder and himself, his spirits sank even lower thanthey had been before. Alone in his comfortless cell, he went over thelawyer's talk anew, and it was strange how the sparks of comfort diedout of it. It was clear that in the first instance his companion hadtaken a gloomy view of his case, that he looked upon Richard's own storywith utter disbelief, and was convinced it would not hold water before ajury. His remark about the money having been recovered must have hadreference to a possible mitigation of the sentence, and therefore tookconviction for granted. Nor, upon reconsideration of the case withcalmness--the calm of loneliness and despair--was, Richard himselfadmitted, any other conclusion to be arrived at by a stranger. Those whowere acquainted with his rash and impulsive character and reckless wayswould understand that he had no serious intention of robbingTrevethick--except, that is, of his daughter; even Trevethick himselfmust be aware of that; though, with that same exception before his eyes, it was more than doubtful whether he would acknowledge it. Smarting withthe sense of the deceit that Richard had practiced (almost with success)upon him, he might conceal his real impression of the affair, and treatit as a common felony. Taking the brutality of Solomon's manner to himwhen he was arrested as an index of his prosecutor's purpose, he feltthat this was what would happen; and if so, what chance would he haveagainst such evidence? Would the judge and jury be persuaded to believethat he had acted with the romantic folly that had in reality possessedhim? And if not, to what protracted wretchedness might he not be doomed!

His old hopes, in short, lay dead within him, and he felt that his lateadviser had been right in suggesting the evidence of Harry Trevethick asthe only means to secure his acquittal. He did not look beyond _that_for an hour. Life for the next three weeks would have but one event forhim--his trial and its result. The little attorney, whom he had seen butonce, the suasive barrister, of whom he had only heard, were fromhenceforth the two persons upon earth who had the most interest for himof all mankind. If _they_ failed him, all was lost. If they succeeded, all, or what had now become his all, was gained. He thought of Harryonly as the being upon whose testimony his fate depended; he did notpicture her to himself in any other character, though perhaps he wouldhave refused to part with her even at the price of that liberty whichhad become so precious in his eyes. She would surely not refuse to saythe half-dozen words which were the "open sesame" that alone could sethim free! He thought of his mother, not so much as such--the truest andmost unselfish friend he had--as the person best qualified to win Harryover to speak those words. He was no longer ashamed to see her; hisheart was so full of anxious fear that there was no room for shame; buthe was glad that the lawyer had recommended her to visit Gethin beforecoming to Cross Key. What he thirsted for was hope, a gleam of sunshine, a whisper of good news. If his mother had not that to give him, let herstay away. He did not wish his heart to be melted within him by regretsand tears; if there was no hope, let it harden on, till it was as hardas adamant, for the hour, that, however long delayed, must come atlast--of vengeance! He thought of Solomon Coe as one of a dominant racethinks of the slave who has become his master, and was his murderer inhis heart ten times a day. He thought of him as the man who would marryTrevethick's daughter, his own Harry, while he (Richard) rotted in jail. 

Such were the bitter reflections, creeping fears, and meagre hopes whichconsumed him when he was alone, that is to say, for five-sixths of theday and all the weary night. In the society of Balfour he found, if notsolace, at least some respite from his gnawing cares. The importancewhich this man had attached to the recovery of stolen goods asmitigating the punishment of crime, and to good looks in the case of afemale witness or prisoner, corroborated as it had been by the judicialexperience of Mr. Weasel, gave him confidence in the convict'sintelligence; or, at least, in his judgment with respect to the matteron which Richard's thoughts were solely concentrated. He was never wearyof asking this man's opinion on this point and on that of his own case, the details of which he fully confided to him. Balfour, on his part, gave him his best advice, and whatever comfort he could. He did notresent, nor even seem to be aware of the fact, that the position inwhich he stood himself awoke no corresponding sympathy in Richard. Hehad taken a fancy to this young fellow, so different from any companionthat he had ever known; was flattered by his confidence; and felt thatenthusiasm toward him which friendship, when it exists between twopersons of widely different grades, sometimes begets in the inferior. 

A week passed on, and then, at the same time and place as before, Richard was summoned from his fellow-prisoners. He turned pale in spiteof himself, as he rose from the table to meet for the first time, sincedisgrace had overwhelmed him, his mother's face. 

"Don't give way, my young master, " whispered Balfour, good-naturedly, "for that will only make the old woman fret. "

Richard nodded, and followed the warder, who on this occasion led theway through a different door. "It ain't Mr. Weasel this time, " said thelatter, in answer to his look of surprise; "it's a private friend, andtherefore we can't let you have the glass box. " He ushered him into whatwould have been a stone courtyard, except that it had a roof also ofstone. In the middle of this, running right across it, was a sort ofcage of iron, or rather a passage some six feet broad, shut in on eitherside by high iron rails; within this paced an officer of the prison; andon the other side of it stood a female figure, whom Richard at oncerecognized as his mother. It was with this iron cage between them, andin the presence of an official, that prisoners in Cross Key Jail werealone permitted to receive the visits of their friends and kinsfolk. Itwas no wonder that in an interview under such restrictions, Mr. Weaselshould have recommended caution. 

To do Richard justice, however, that was not the reflection that nowpassed through his mind. For all his selfish thoughts and calculations, he had really yearned to cast himself on his mother's breast, and feelonce more her loving arms around him; to whisper in her ever-ready earhis sorrow for the past, his anxieties for the future; and when he sawthat this was not to be, the heart that he would have poured out beforeher seemed to sink and shrink within him. In this material obstaclebetween them he seemed to behold a type of the dread doom that wasimpending over him--separation from humanity, exclusion from the worldwithout, a life-long entombment within stone walls. He put his hand andarm through the bars, mechanically, to touch his mother's fingers, andwhen he found he could not reach them, he burst into tears. It was onlyby a great effort that Mrs. Yorke could maintain her self-control; butshe, nevertheless, did do so. Her face was calm, and her eyes, thoughfull of tenderness and pity, were tearless; only her low, soft voicegave token of the woe within her in its tremulous and faltering tones. 

"Dear Richard, " it said, "my own dear Richard, take heart; a few dayshence, and you will be folded in your mother's arms; not to stray fromthem again, I trust, my boy, my boy!" She pressed her forehead with itsfine white hair against the cruel bars, and seemed to devour him withher loving eyes. "All will yet be well, " she continued; "your innocencecan not fail to be established, and this dreadful time will be forgottenlike an evil dream. "

"Have you been to Gethin, mother?"

"Yes, dear; I only came from thence this morning. Harry sent you herbest love. Your faith in her, she bade me tell you, is not misplaced;_she will be in the witness-box, for certain_. " This last sentence wasuttered in the French tongue, and very rapidly. 

"I am very sorry, ma'am, " interrupted the official, who had retired tothe further extremity of the cage, "but my orders are to prohibitconversation between prisoners and their friends in a foreign language. "

"I will take care not to transgress again, " said Mrs. Yorke, with asweet smile; "your consideration for us I am sure demands allobedience. "

"Has Mr. Weasel made his arrangements, mother?"

"Yes, all; the subpoena will be sent to Gethin to morrow. He is mostconfident as to the result. "

"And what does Mr. Smoothbore say? Have you seen _him_?"

"No, dear, no. But the matter on which I went to Gethin having beensatisfactorily arranged, we may consider that is all settled. Yourcounsel has no doubt of being able to establish your innocence, notwithstanding the malice of your enemies. "

"But what is he like, this Smoothbore?"

"Well, the fact is, Richard, we have not got him, but another man, Mr. Balais--quite his equal, Mr. Weasel assures me, in all respects. "

"Not got him!" cried Richard, impatiently. "Why, Weasel told meSmoothbore led the circuit. Why have we not secured him?"

"He has been retained by the other side, " answered Mrs. Yorke, in a tonethat she in vain endeavored to render cheerful. "To say the truth, Richard, the prosecutor is exhibiting the utmost vindictiveness, andstraining every nerve for a conviction. Money, which he was said to beso fond of, is now no object with him, or at least he spares none. Buthe can not bribe twelve honest men, nor a righteous judge. "

"I knew it, " exclaimed Richard, stamping his foot on the stone floor. "Those sullen brutes, Trevethick and the other, would have my life, ifthey could. There is nothing that they would stick at, be assured ofthat--and do you put Weasel on his guard--to work my ruin. How could hebe such a dolt as to let them be beforehand with him, when he himselfsaid there was not an hour to be lost!"

"Indeed, Richard, all was done for the best. One could scarcely expectMr. Weasel to advance so large a sum as was required, without security;and he did communicate with Mr. Smoothbore as soon as he had satisfiedhimself upon that score. He assures me Mr. Balais is quite as clever acounsel. Indeed, I should not have told you of the change, had you notpressed the question so directly. "

"Tell me all, mother; tell me every thing; I adjure you to keep nothingback. To think and guess and fear, in a place like this, is worse thannot to know the worst. Trevethick is a miser, and yet you say he isspending with a lavish hand. How is it you know that?"

"Why, Mr. Smoothbore's clerk is a friend of Mr. Weasel's, and he hearsfrom him that his master has never received so large a retaining fee ason this occasion. The sum we offered, two days afterward, though largerthan is customary, was, he said, but a trifle compared with it. "

"You have something else to tell me yet, mother--I see it in your eyes. If you go away with it untold, you leave me on the rack. "

"There is nothing more, " answered his mother, hesitatingly, "or almostnothing. "

"What is it?" cried Richard, hoarsely--"what is it?"

"Well, merely this: that thinking that no money should be spared to helpyou in this dreadful trouble, Richard, and having but a very little ofmy own, I--I forgot my pride and steadfast resolution never to ask yourfather--"

"You did not apply to Carew for money, surely?" ejaculated Richard, angrily. "To let him know that I was here was ruin. "

"It may have been ill judged, indeed, dear Richard, " replied his mother, quietly; "but it was not ill meant. Do you suppose it cost me nothing tobe his suppliant? Do you suppose I have no scorn nor hate, as you have, for those who have wronged me and you? If fury could avail to set youfree, your mother would be as the tigress robbed of her young. It is aneasy thing enough to fume and foam; it is hard to have to clasp theknees of those whom you despise, in vain. "

"He refused you, then--this man?"

"He did, Richard. He told me--what I had not learned from you; I do notsay it to reproach you, dear--what it was that had so long detained youat Gethin. He mentioned, in coarsest terms, your love for Harry, and howyou had misrepresented yourself to Trevethick as the heir of Crompton inorder to win her. He expressed a callous indifference to your presentperil, and added something more in menace than in warning respectingthat affair with Chandos which caused you to leave his roof. Since itseemed you had made no secret of the matter to Mr. Weasel, I showed himCarew's note; and his opinion is that Trevethick has spies at work totrack your past. This may or may not injure you. Mr. Weasel thinks thatit will not; but it shows the rancor with which this case is pressed byTrevethick--a malice which we are altogether at a loss to understand. "

Richard ground his heel upon the stone without reply, while his motherlooked at him in gravest sorrow. 

"Your time is almost up, ma'am, " said the warder; "there's only a minutemore. "

"You told her how much depended on her, mother, did you?" said Richard, rousing himself in the effort. 

"Yes, dear. She will not fail us, never fear. Keep heart and hope; andas for me, you will be sure that not a moment of my waking thoughts iswasted upon aught but you. I shall see you again, once more at least, before your--before the trial comes on; and Mr. Weasel will be here nextweek again. Is there any thing, my own dear boy, that I can do for you?"

"One moment, mother. Carew has not punished _you_ on my account, Itrust? He has not cut off--"

"The annuity? Yes; he has stopped that. "

"May he rot on earth, and perish everlastingly!"

"Hush, hush, dear; pray be calm; there is no need to fret. I can supportmyself without his aid; indeed I can; and perhaps he may relent when hegets sane, for he was like a madman at my coming to Crompton. Mr. Whymper will do all he can, I am sure. How cruel it was of me to heedyour words, and tell you--Look to him, warder, look to my son!" shescreamed. 

Richard had indeed turned deadly pale, and though his fingers stillmechanically clutched the iron rail, was swaying to and fro; the warderunlocked the passage-gate, and ran to him just in time to save hisfalling headlong on the pavement. 

"Are you a man, " said the agonized woman, "or iron like this"--and shebeat against the railing passionately--"that you will not let a motherkiss her son when he is dying?"

"Nay, nay, ma'am; it's not so bad as that, " said the warder, good-naturedly; "see, he's a-coming round agen all right. I've seen amany took like that. In half a minute he'll be himself again. It's histrouble as does it, bless you. If you'll take my advice, you'll spareboth your son and yourself the pain of parting, and leave him as he is. I'd go bail for it, it's just a faint, that's all. "

"Let me kiss him once, " implored the unhappy woman. "Oh, man, if youhave ever known a mothers love, let me kiss him once! Here is afive-pound note--take it, and leave me still your debtor--but one kiss. "

"Nay, ma'am, I can't take your money; of which, as I couldn't helphearing you say, you have not got too much to spare. But you shall kissyour bonnie boy, and welcome;" and with that the stout warder took theunconscious lad up in his arms, and bore him within the passage; andhis, mother put her lips between the bars and pressed them to hisforehead once, twice, thrice. 

"There, there, ma'am; that will do, " muttered the man, impatiently; "andeven that is as much as my place is worth. Now, just tap at yonder door, and they'll let you out. "

Mrs. Yorke obeyed him without a word. She had heard the heavy flutteringsigh that betokened Richard's return to consciousness, and knew that theworst was over; unless, indeed, the coming back to life might not be theworst of all. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

IN THE COURT-HOUSE. 

It is proposed by some elevators of the public mind to make us allphilosophers, and to abolish the morbid interest which mankind atpresent entertains in the issues of life and death. They hold itweakness that we should become excited by incident, or enthralled bymystery, and prophesy a future when intelligence shall reign supreme, tothe extinction of the vulgar passion for sensation. In the mean time, however, the sympathetic hopes and fears of humanity remain pretty muchas they have been within all living memory; and one of the greatesttreats that can be provided for the popular palate is a criminal trial. There are many reasons why this should be the case; the courts of laware free, and a sight that can be seen for nothing is of itselfattractive, since we are, at all events, not losing our time and moneytoo. Again, the most popular drama, the most popular novel, are those towhich the dénouements can not easily be guessed; and in the court-housewe see drama and novel realized with the verdict of the jury and thesentence of the judge--a matter of anxious speculation to the very last. Where theatres and books are rare the passion for such scenes isproportionally stronger, and perhaps there is no periodical event whichso deeply stirs the agricultural interest--speaking socially, and notpolitically--as the advent of the Judges of Assize. 

At Cross Key, at all events, there was nothing else talked of for weeksbeforehand; and the case which above all others was canvassed, andprejudged, and descanted upon over all sorts of boards--from themahogany one in the dining-room at Cross Key Park to the deal tripodwhich held the pots and pipes at the road-side beer-house--was that ofRichard Yorke, the young gentleman-painter, who had run away with oldJohn Trevethick of Gethin's hoarded store. The rumor had got abroad thathe had almost run away with his daughter also, and this intensified theinterest immensely. The whole female population, from the high-sheriff'swife down to the woman who kept the apple-stall in the market-place, wasagog to see this handsome young Lothario, and especially to hear theevidence of his (clandestinely) betrothed, who was known to have beensubpoenaed for the defense. 

There were innumerable biographies of the prisoner to be had fornothing. He was a noble-man in disguise; he was the illegitimate son ofthe prime minister; he was indirectly but immediately connected withroyalty itself; he could speak every European language (except Polish), and painted landscapes like an angel; he had four thousand a year inland, only waiting for him to come of age, which carried with it halfthe representation of a Whig borough; he had not a penny in the world, but had hitherto supported himself in luxury by skillful forgeries;young as he was, he was a married man, and had a wife (three times hisage) alive. All these particulars were insisted upon and denied fortytimes a day. The least scraps of trust-worthy intelligence concerninghim were greedily devoured. The turnpike-man who had opened gate to lethim through on the night he came to the jail was cross-examined as tohis appearance and demeanor. The rural policeman of the district (whohad never had a chance of seeing him) was treated to pots of ale, andsuddenly found himself the best of company. The _Castle_ at Gethin wasthronged by local tourists, who, under pretense of being attracted bythe scenery, came to stare at Harry, and, having seen her, returned toCross Key with marvelous stories of her charms. As the time drew on theapplications for admittance to the court-house made the life of theunder-sheriff a burden, and caused the hearts of his subordinates (whogot the half-crowns) to sing for joy. 

The unhappy Richard was wholly ignorant of all this excitement. When hepictured the court-house to himself, as he often did, he only beheld acrowd of indifferent persons, who would pay no more attention to his owncase than to that of Balfour, or any other that might follow or precedeit. He saw himself taken out in custody, and carried in some conveyance, such as he had arrived in, through the gaping street; but the idea ofthat ordeal gave him no uneasiness. Those who saw him would forget himthe next moment, or confuse him with some other in the same wretchedplight. His mind always reverted from such reflections, as comparativelytrivial, to the issue of the trial itself. Indeed, that thought might besaid to be constant, though others intruded on it occasionally withoutobscuring it, like light clouds that cross the moon. As to the detailsof the scene of which he was about to be so prominent an actor, he knewnothing; for the warders never opened their lips to him, exceptofficially, and Mr. Balfour had never happened to come to grief in thecourse of his professional practice in that particular locality before. 

But the fact was that the jail of Cross Key, though situated in soout-of-the-way a spot, was a model establishment in its way, and builtupon the very highest principles of architecture, as connected with theadministration of the criminal law. No prisoner was ever taken out of itfor trial at all, but was conducted by an underground passage into thecourt-house itself--indeed, into the very heart of it, for a flight ofsteps, with a trap-door at the top, led straight into the dock, in whichhe made his appearance like a Jack-in-the-box, but much more to his ownastonishment than to that of the spectators. 

Imagine the unhappy Richard thus confronted, wholly unexpectedly, with athousand eager eyes! They devoured him on the right hand and on theleft, before him and behind him; they looked down upon him from thegalleries above with a hunger that was increased by distance. Even thebarristers in the space between him and the judge turned round to gazeat him, and the judge himself adjusted his spectacles upon his nose toregard him with a searching look. Not a sound was to be heard except themonotonous voice of the clerk reading the indictment; it was plain thatevery one of that vast concourse knew him, and needed not that hisneighbor should whisper, "That is he. " Was his mother there? thoughtRichard, and above all, Was Harry there? He looked round once upon thatpeering throng; but he could catch sight of neither. The former, with athick veil over her features, was, indeed, watching him from a corner ofthe court; but the only face he recognized was that of his attorney, seated immediately behind a man with a wig, whom he rightly concluded tobe Mr. Sergeant Balais. 

There was a sudden silence, following upon the question, "How say you, Richard Yorke, are you guilty of this felony, or not guilty?" Theturnkey by the prisoner's side muttered harshly behind his hand, "Theyhave called on you to plead. "

"Not guilty, " answered Richard, in a loud, firm voice, and fixing hiseyes upon the judge. 

A murmur of satisfaction ran softly through the court-house. Hishesitation had alarmed the curious folks; they were afraid that he mighthave pleaded "Guilty, " and robbed them of their treat. Not a few ofthem, and perhaps all the women, were also pleased upon his own account. He was so young and handsome that they could not choose but wish himwell, and out of his peril. 

Then Mr. Smoothbore rose, and was some time about it. He was six feetfour inches high, and it seemed as though you would never see the lastof him. ("Oh, Jerryusalem, upon wheels!" was the remark that Mr. RobertBalfour muttered to himself when some hours afterward _he_ found himselfconfronted by the same gigantic counsel, instructed specially by thecrown to prosecute so notorious a marauder. ) The twelve men in the boxopposite at once became all ear. Some leaned forward, as though toanticipate by the millionth of a second the silvery accents of Mr. Smoothbore; others leaned back with head aside, as though to concentratetheir intelligence upon them; and the foreman held his head with bothhis hands, as though that portion of his person was not wholly undercontrol, but might make some erratic twist, and thereby lose him somepregnant sentence. These honest men did not know Mr. Smoothbore, andthought (for the first five minutes) that they could sit and listen tohim forever; before they had done with him they began to think that theyshould have to do it. 

Far be it from us to emulate the prolixity with which the learnedcounsel set forth his case; it must be conceded that he did not hangover it; his words ran as smoothly as oil, and with perfectdistinctness, and if any body missed his meaning, it was not for want ofits being sufficiently expressed. To a listener of average ability, however, he became insupportable by repetition, which is, unhappily, notexclusively "the vice of the pulpit. " We will take care to avoid hiserror. It will be sufficient to say that when he had finished Richardstood accused not only of having stolen two thousand pounds from JohnTrevethick, but of having compassed that crime under circumstances ofpeculiar baseness. He had taken advantage of his superior education, manners, and appearance, to impose himself upon the honest Cornishman asthe legitimate son of his landlord, and secured within that humble homea footing of familiarity, only the better to compass a scheme ofvillainy, which must have occurred to him at a very early period oftheir acquaintance. Indeed, Mr. Smoothbore hinted that the prisoner'sprofession of landscape-painting was a mere pretense and pretext, andthat it was more than probable that, having heard by some means ofTrevethick's hoard, he had come down to Gethin with the expressintention of becoming possessed of it, which his accidental discovery ofthe secret of the letter padlock enabled him to do. In short, by artfulinnuendo at this or that part of the story, Richard was painted as acommon thief, whose possession of such faculties as dexterity and_finesse_ only made him a more dangerous enemy of society. There hadbeen rumors, Mr. Smoothbore admitted, of certain romantic circumstancesconnected with the case, but he was instructed to say that they werewholly baseless, and that the matter which the jury would have to decideupon was simply an impudent and audacious robbery, committed in a mannerthat he might stigmatize as being quite exceptionally void ofextenuation. 

The speech for the prosecution immensely disappointed the generalpublic, already half-convinced, in spite of themselves, by Mr. Smoothbore's impassioned clearness and straightforward simplicity, whileit pleased the jury, who were glad to hear that the matter in hand was, after all, an ordinary one, which would necessitate no deprivation ofvictuals, nor absence of fire and candle. The witnesses for theprosecution appeared, as usual, in an order in inverse ratio to theinterest and importance of their respective testimonies--the clerk ofthe Miners' Bank into whose hands the notes had been paid, policemen, Mr. Dodge, and others, who only repeated what we already know. Even theappearance of Solomon Coe was marked by nothing especial, save to theeyes of the accused. In the triumphant bearing of this witness, and inthe malignant glance which he had shot toward him ere he began his tale, Richard read that the charge against him was to be pushed to the bitterend. It was in this man's power, more than in any other's (save one), toextenuate or to set down in malice; and there was no doubt in hisrival's mind (though his rancor took so blunt a form that it might wellhave been mistaken by others for outspoken candor) which of the twocourses Solomon had chosen. He showed neither scruple nor hesitation;every word was distinct and decisive, and on one occasion (though therepetition of it was forbidden by the judge) even accompanied by a blowwith his sledge-hammer fist in the way of corroboration. It seemed thatthe story he had to tell was, after all, a very plain one. 

When John Trevethick, who was the last witness examined for theprosecution, strode into the box, this feeling was intensified. Hisgiant frame and massive features seemed, somehow, to associatethemselves with a plain story; and his evidence was as much inconsonance with his counsel's speech as evidence could be with pleading. 

But when he had quite done with his unvarnished tale, and when Mr. Smoothbore had given him a parting nod in sign that _he_ had done withhim, Sergeant Balais rose, for the first time, with an uplifted finger, as though, but for that signal of delay, the honest landlord would havefled incontinently, and hanged himself, like another Judas. 

"You have a daughter, I believe, Mr. Trevethick?" and the Sergeantlooked at the jury, with elevated eyebrows, as though he would havesaid, "If we can get even that admission out of this hoary miscreant, wemay consider ourselves fortunate. "

And indeed John Trevethick did hesitate for one instant ere he replied. He had not even looked at the prisoner before, but at that question hegave an involuntary glance toward him, and met Richard's answering look. When two men are fighting, each with his hands upon the throat of theother, not for dear life, but for the longed-for death of his foe, it ispossible that in their faces some such inextinguishable lurid fire ofhatred may be seen burning as then flashed from witness-box to dock, from dock to witness-box; but scarcely under any other circumstancescould such a look of deadly malice be exchanged between man and man. Itpassed, however, in an instant, like the electric fire, and was gone, leaving no trace behind it. 

"I _have_ a daughter, " replied Trevethick; and as he spoke his face, though somewhat pale, became as blank and hard and meaningless as a wallof stone. 

"This man is about to perjure himself, " thought the experienced Mr. Balais; and he looked around him with the air of one who was convincedof the fact. 

"The prisoner at the bar was, I believe, your daughter's lover, was henot?"

"Not that I knew of. "

"Not that you know of?" repeated Mr. Balais. "Will you venture to repeatthat?"

"The witness said _knew_, " interposed the judge, demurely, and ordered asky-light to be closed, the draught from which inconvenienced him. Everybody looked at the officer of the court who pulled the string and shutthe sky-light, as though it had been the most ingenious contrivanceknown to man. Not that it was a relief to them to do so, but from thatinexplicable motive which prompts us all to observe trivialcircumstances with which we have nothing whatever to do, on any occasionof engrossing interest. Even Richard regarded this little process ofventilation with considerable concern, and wondered whether the judgewould feel himself better after it. 

"Oh, you didn't know of this attachment between the prisoner and yourdaughter at the time it was going on under your roof, but you knew of itafterward, did you? You read of it in the papers, I suppose, eh?"

"I heard of it, after the robbery was discovered, from my daughterherself. "

"And, upon your oath, you did not know of it before then?"

"I did not. "

"Nor suspect it even, perhaps?"

"Nor even suspect it. "

Mr. Balais smiled, shrugged his shoulders. His principles of oratorywere Demosthenean; his motto was "Action, action, action. " His. Friendson circuit called him the Balais of action. He had had some experienceof the depravity of human nature, said the shrug, but this beat everything, and would be really amusing but for its atrocious infamy. GoodHeavens!

"Then you never had any conversation with the prisoner with referenceto your daughter at all?"

"Never. "

Mr. Balais bent down and interchanged a word or two with Mr. Weaselbehind him. 

"Now be so good as to give me your best attention, Mr. Trevethick, forupon my next question more may depend than you may be aware of. If youhave any regard for your own interests you will answer it truly; for assure as--"

"Is this necessary, Brother Balais?" interrupted the judge, scratchinghis forehead with his forefinger, and looking up at the sky-light, asthough that matter was not satisfactorily settled even yet. 

"My lud, I am instructed that nothing less than a conspiracy has beenentered into against my unfortunate client. "

The judge nodded slightly, shivered considerably, and made a mental noteto complain of that infernal draught before he should dismiss the grandjury. 

"I ask you, Mr. Trevethick, " continued the counsel, solemnly, "whetheror not, in a conversation which you held with the prisoner upon acertain day last month, you mentioned two thousand pounds as the sum youmust needs see in his possession before you could listen to anyproposition of his with respect to your daughter's hand?"

"I did not. "

"You never spoke of that particular sum to him at all?"

"Never at all. "

It was Mr. Balais who looked up at the sky-light this time--as though heexpected a thunder-bolt. 

"The notes, of which we have heard so much, as being hoarded in thisingenious box of yours--and that you are a very ingenious man, Mr. Trevethick, there is no doubt--this box, I say, was kept in a certaincupboard, was it not?"

"It was. "

"And now, please to look at the jury when you answer me this question:Where was this particular cupboard situated, Mr. Trevethick?"

Into the landlord's impassive face there stole for the first time a lookof disquiet, and his harsh, monotonous voice grew tremulous as hereplied, "The cupboard was in my daughter's bedroom. "

"That will do, Mr. Trevethick, _for the present_, " observed Mr. Balais, with emphasis; "though I shall probably have the opportunity of seeingyou another time"--and he glanced significantly toward the dock--"_inanother place_. "

CHAPTER XXX. 

FOR THE DEFENSE. 

When Mr. Balais rose again it was to speak for the defense, and headdressed the jury amidst an unbroken silence. So rapt, indeed, was theattention of his audience that the smack of a carter's whip, as he wentby in the street below, was resented by many a frown as an impertinentintrusion; and even the quarters of the church clock were listened towith impatience, lest its iron tongue should drown a single sentence. This latter interruption did not, however, often take place, for Mr. Balais was as brief in speech as he was energetic in action. He began byat once allowing the main facts which the prosecution had proved--thatthe notes had been taken from Trevethick's box, and found in theprisoner's possession, who had been detected in the very act ofendeavoring to change them for notes of another banking company. Butwhat he maintained was, that this exchange was not, as Mr. Smoothborehad suggested, effected for the purpose of realizing the money, butsimply of throwing dust in the prosecutor's eyes. He had changed thenotes only with the intention of returning his own money to Trevethickunder another form. Even so young a man, and one so thoroughly ignorantof the ways of the world and of business matters as was his client, mustsurely have been aware, if using the money for himself had been hisobject, that it could be traced in notes of the Mining Company as easilyas in notes of the Bank of England; nay, by this very proceeding of his, he had even given them a _double_ chance of being traced. He (Mr. Balais) was not there, of course, to justify the conduct of the prisonerat the bar. It was unjustifiable, it was reprehensible in a very highdegree; but what he did maintain was that, even taking for granted allthat had been put in evidence, this young man's conduct was notcriminal; it was not that of a thief. He had never had the leastintention of stealing this money; his scheme had been merely a stratagemto obtain the object of his affections for his wife. This Trevethick wasa hard and grasping man, and it was necessary for the young fellow tosatisfy him that he was possessed of certain property before he wouldlisten to any proposition for his daughter's hand. His idea--a wrong andfoolish one, indeed, but then look at his youth and inexperience--was toimpose upon this old miser, by showing him his own money in anotherform, and then, when he had gained his object, to return it to him. Mr. Balais was, for his own part, as certain of such being the fact as thathe was standing in that court-house. Let them turn their eyes on theunhappy prisoner in the dock, and judge for themselves whether he lookedlike the mere felon which his learned friend had painted him, or theromantic, self-deceiving, thoughtless lad, such as he (Mr. Balais) feltconvinced he was. They had all heard of the proverb that all things werefair in love as in war. When the jury had been young themselves perhapssome of them had acted upon that theory; at all events, it was not anunnatural idea for young people to act upon. Proverbs had always acertain weight and authority of their own. They were not necessarilyHoly Writ (Mr. Balais was not quite certain whether the proverb inquestion was one of Solomon's own or not, so he put it in this cautiousmanner), but they smacked of it. This Richard Yorke, perhaps, hadthought it no great harm to win his love by a false representation ofthe state of his finances. He could not see his way how otherwiseto melt the stony heart of this old curmudgeon, who haddoubtless--notwithstanding the evidence they had heard from him thatday--encouraged the young man's addresses so long as he believed him tobe Mr. Carew's lawful heir. The whole question, in fact, resolved itselfinto one of _motive_; and if there was not a word of evidenceforthcoming upon the prisoner's part, he (Mr. Balais) would have leftthe case in the jury's hands, with the confident conviction that theywould never impute to that unhappy boy--who had already suffered suchtortures of mind and body as were more than a sufficient punishment forhis offense--the deliberate and shameful crime of which he stoodaccused. He had lost his position in the world already; he had lost hissweetheart, for they had all heard that day that she was about to bedriven into wedlock with his rival, a man twice his age and hers; he hadlost the protection of his father--his own flesh and blood--for sincethis miserable occurrence he had chosen to disown him; and yet here wasthe prosecutor, who had lost nothing (except his own self-respect, andthe respect of all who had listened to his audacious testimony thatmorning), pressing for a conviction, for more punishment; in a word, forthe gratification of a mean revenge. If he (Mr. Balais) had nothingmore, therefore, to urge in his client's defense, he would have beencontent to leave the jury to deal with this case--Englishmen, whodetested oppression, and loved that justice only which is tempered withmercy. But as it so happened, there was no need thus to leave it; nonecessity to appeal to mercy at all. He had only to ask them for thebarest justice. He was happily in a position to prove that the prisonerat the bar had no more stolen this two thousand pounds than their ownupright and sagacious foreman. 

A sigh of relief was uttered from a hundred gentle breasts. "We arecoming to something at last, " it seemed to say. A hundred fair faceslooked at Mr. Balais--who was growing gray and wrinkled, and found everynew performance of his pantomime harder and harder--as though they couldhave kissed him, nevertheless. "Yes, gentlemen of the jury, that moneywas given to him by the prosecutor's daughter with her own hand. "

A murmur of satisfaction ran round the court-house. 

There _was_ a romance--a love-story--in the case, then, after all. 

Mr. Balais concluded a most energetic speech with a peroration of greatbrilliancy, in which Richard and Harry were exhibited like atransparency in the bright colors of Youth, and Hope, and Passion, andfinally sat down amidst what would have been a burst of applause but forthe harsh voice of the usher nipping it in the bud by proclaimingsilence. 

There was no need for his doing that when Mr. Balais jumped up to hisfeet again, as though he were on springs, and called for HarryTrevethick. The judge was taking snuff at the time; and such was thestillness that you could hear the overplus falling on the paper beforehim on which he wrote down his notes. There was a minute's delay, duringwhich every eye was fixed upon the witness-box, and then Harry appeared. She was very pale, and wore a look of anxious timidity; but a brightspot came into her cheeks as she turned her face to the prisoner in thedock, and smiled upon him. From that moment Richard felt that he wassafe. Guarded as he was, and still in peril, he forgot his danger, andonce more resolved that he would cleave to this tender creature, to whomhe was about to owe his safety, to his life's end. 

Harry was simply yet attractively attired in a pale violet silk dress, with a straw bonnet trimmed with the same modest color. It was observed, with reference to this and to the innocence and gentleness of herexpression, that she looked like a dove; and a dove she seemed toRichard, bringing him the signal that the flood was abating, the deepwaters of which had so nearly overwhelmed both soul and body. Even thejudge, as Mr. Weasel had foretold, regarded her through his doubleglasses with critical approval; for a most excellent judge he was--offemale attractions. 

Mr. Balais smiled triumphantly at the jury. "Did I not tell you, " heseemed to say, "that my client is guiltless in this matter? Here isTruth herself come to witness in his favor. Bless her!" Richard'sfeverish eyes were fixed upon her; he knew no God, but here was hisspring in the wilderness, his shadow of the great rock in a weary land. As for her, she looked only at the judge, expecting--poor littleignoramus--that it was he who would question her. 

"You are the daughter of John Trevethick, of Gethin?" said Mr. Balais. 

This interrogatory, simple as it was, made her color rise, coming fromthat unexpected quarter. 

"Yes, Sir. "

"He keeps an inn, does he not; the"--here Mr. Balais affected to consulthis brief, to give her time to recover herself from her modestconfusion--"the _Gethin Castle_, I believe?"

"Yes, Sir. "

"The prisoner at the bar has been staying there for some months, has henot?"

She stole another look at Richard: it spoke as plainly as looks couldspeak, "Oh yes; that is how I came to know and love him. " But she onlymurmured, "Yes, Sir. "

"Speak up, Miss Trevethick, " said the counsel, encouragingly; "thesetwelve gentlemen are all very anxious to hear what you have to say. " Thejudge nodded and smiled, as though in corroboration, as well as to add, upon his own account, that it would give _him_ also much pleasure tohear her. 

"Was the prisoner staying in the inn as an ordinary guest, or did he mixwith the family?"

"He was in the bar parlor most nights, Sir, along with father and me andSolomon. "

"He was in the bar parlor most nights, " repeated Mr. Balais, significantly, for he was anxious that the jury should catch thatanswer--"'With father and me and Solomon. ' And who introduced him intothe parlor?"

"Father brought him first, Sir, on the second day after he came toGethin. "

"Father brought him in, did he? Now, that is rather an unusual thing forthe landlord of an inn to do, is it not? To introduce a young man whomhe had known but twenty-four hours to his family circle, and to thesociety of his daughter, eh?"

"Please, Sir, I don't know, Sir. "

"No, of course you don't, Miss Trevethick; how should you? But I thinkthe jury know. You have no idea, then, yourself, why your fatherintroduced this young gentleman to you so early?"

"Father said he was a friend of Mr. Carew's, of Crompton, who isfather's landlord. "

"Just so, " said Mr. Balais, with another significant glance at theattentive twelve. "Mr. Trevethick had already discovered that this youthwas of a good social position, and likely to prove an excellent match. 'Will you walk into my parlor?' said the spider to the fly; 'I have theprettiest daughter that ever you did spy. '"

Every body tittered at this except Mr. Smoothbore and his solicitor;even the judge blew his nose. 

"Now, not only did the prisoner at the bar spend most nights in the barparlor, but, as I am given to understand, he spent most days there, or, at all events, in your society, did he not?"

"Father and Solomon were away most days, Sir, and so we were left a gooddeal together. "

"Just so. Your father took care to be away most days, did he, in orderthat you should be left a good deal together?"

Mr. Smoothbore started to his feet. "My lud, I submit, " etc. ; meaningthat this was a mode of interrogating the witness that he could _not_submit to for an instant. 

"Very good, " said Mr. Balais, smiling. "I will not put the question inthat form, then. The form is of very little consequence. You were lefttogether, however, and the consequence was that you two young peoplefell in love with one another, eh?"

Harry was crimson. "I--he--we;" and there she stuck. 

"I am very sorry to embarrass you, my dear young lady, but I amnecessitated to press this question. Did you fall in love with oneanother or not?"

No answer. Harry was thinking of Solomon, to whom she was to be marriedwithin ten days, and hung her head. 

"Come, did he fall in love with _you_, then? There was ample apology forit, I am sure, and he ought to have been ashamed of himself if hehadn't. Now, did he 'court' you? I think you must know what that means. "

No answer. Every eye was upon her, the judge's double glasses included. They might have been burning-glasses, she felt so hot and frightened. 

"Come, did this young gentleman ever give you a kiss?"

"Yes, Sir, " murmured poor Harry, almost under her breath. 

"Did you say 'Yes' or 'No?'" inquired the judge, dipping his pen in theink. 

"I said 'Yes, ' my lord, " said the unhappy Harry. 

"There were more kisses than one, now, I dare say, " said Mr. Balais, with a wink at the jury; "and they were not all on one side, eh?"

No answer. 

"Some of them were on the other side, were they not? I don't mean on theother cheek, for I have no doubt he was perfectly indifferent as tothat. "

Again there was a little titter. 

"She is your own witness, Brother Balais, " observed his lordship, "butit seems to me you are giving her unnecessary pain. "

He had a very tender heart, had the old judge, where a young and prettywoman was concerned--otherwise he was a Tartar. 

"My lud, it is absolutely necessary to prove that my client's passionwas reciprocated. Did you ever return one of these many kisses, MissTrevethick?"

"Yes, Sir. "

"Did you ever meet him alone at night in a place, I believe, called theFairies' Bower?"

"Yes, Sir. "

"Yes, " repeated Mr. Balais, recapitulating these facts upon his fingers;"you were left alone with him all day; you met him alone at night, awayfrom your father's roof; you returned his kisses; and all this withoutthe slightest suspicion--if we are to believe his evidence--beingaroused upon the part of your parent. Now, Miss Trevethick, you wereaware that your father kept a large sum of money--these two thousandpounds--in his strong-box, were you not?"

"I was, Sir. "

"Did you ever speak to the prisoner at the bar about it?"

"I think--yes, I did, Sir, on one occasion, " and here Harry's voicefluttered and faltered. No one noticed it, however, except the prisoner;if any neighbor eyes had watched him narrowly--but they were all fixedupon the witness--they would have seen his face whiten, and his browgrow damp. Why should she have laid that stress upon "on one occasion?"

"You told him that the two thousand pounds were in the box in thecupboard in your bedroom?"

"I did, Sir. "

"The fastening of the box was not an ordinary lock, I believe. It waswhat is called a letter padlock?"

"Yes, Sir. "

"Did you ever open it?"

"No, Sir. "

A great bell seemed to be suddenly set tolling in Richard's brain--itwas the knell of all his hopes. 

"You had never opened it at that time, eh?" continued Mr. Balais, cheerfully. "But you learned the secret afterward?"

"I--yes--I did. "

"Do you remember the letters that did open it?"

"Yes, Sir. "

"What were they?"

"B, N, Z. "

"Very good. We have heard from the counsel for the prosecution that theywere so; and that Mr. Trevethick kept a memorandum of them on a piece ofpaper that fitted into his watch-case. Did he always carry that watchabout with him?"

"Not always. When he went out to market, and was likely to be late, hesometimes left it at home. "

"In his own room, I suppose, where you or any body else could get atit?"

"I suppose so, Sir. "

"You _suppose_? You know he did, do you not? Did you not open thewatch-case yourself, and so discover the means of unlocking the box?"

"No, Sir, " said Harry, faintly; and once more she turned her eyes toRichard. It was a true and tender glance, one would have said, andaccompanied by an attempt at a smile of encouragement. But if it hadbeen a glance of a gorgon, it could not have had a more appallingeffect; it literally seemed to turn him into stone. 

[Illustration: "COME, DID THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN EVER GIVE YOU A KISS?"]

"Recollect yourself, Miss Trevethick, " said Mr. Balais, earnestly; "youare getting confused, I fear. Now please to give me your attention. Yousay that you knew that the letters B, N, Z were those which formed thekey of the letter padlock, and yet that you did not open your father'swatch-case. How, then, did you become possessed of the secret?"

No answer. Harry caught her breath convulsively, and turned deadly pale. She could never tell how Mrs. Yorke had endeavored to suborn her. 

"Well, well, this is a matter of very little consequence--though I seemy learned friend is making a copious note of it, " said Mr. Balais, gayly. "The main point is what, as you have told us, did occur--that youfound out the secret somehow. When you got it, I suppose you opened thebox?"

No answer, save from Mr. Smoothbore, who observed, tartly: "You have noright to assume that, Sergeant. "

"Let the young woman have a glass of water, " suggested the kindly judge. 

"My lord, my lord!" cried Harry, with sudden passion, "he is not guilty. Richard did not mean to steal the money; indeed he did not. He onlywished to get possession of it that my father might believe him to be aman of wealth. He did but--"

"Endeavor to compose yourself, young woman, " interposed the judge. "Thelearned counsel will only ask what is necessary. "

"Take your time. Miss Trevethick, take your time, " pursued Mr. Balais, in his blandest tones. "The question is, how the prisoner becamepossessed of this money. Now, tell us, did you not give it him with yourown hands?"

The bell was still tolling in Richard's brain, and yet he could hear thebuzzing of a fly against a window of the court-house, and the carelesswhistle of some lad in the street without. It was the same tune that thekeeper at Crompton had been wont to whistle in his leisure moments athome; and his mind reverted with a flash to the glades of the statelypark, the herds of deer, the high-mossed gate, which he had shut in theface of the hounds when they were chasing Carew's carriage. Was it thebang of the gate, or had Harry really answered in a firm voice, thatresounded through the silent court-house, "No, Sir?"

"What!" said Mr. Balais, raising his voice a little. "Do you mean tosay, then--and recollect that the fate of the prisoner at the bar maydepend upon your reply to this question--that Richard Yorke did notbecome possessed of these notes by your connivance, through your means, at all?"

"No, Sir, no, " answered Harry, passionately; "I can't say that; indeed, Sir, I can not. But he is innocent--Richard is innocent--he never meantto steal them. O God, help me!" In her excitement, and not because shewished to do so, she had turned about, and once more caught sight of theprisoner at the bar. It was her turn now to shrink appalled andpetrified. It was not reproach that she saw pictured in that well-lovedface, but downright hate and loathing. "He will never, never forgiveme!" cried she, with a piteous wail; and then scream followed scream, and she was borne out in haste, and a doctor sent for. 

Cross-examination was, of course, quite out of the question; and, indeed, Mr. Smoothbore was much too sagacious a man to wish to exercisethat privilege. The failure of the witness for the defense had provedthe case of the prosecution. 

It was Mr. Smoothbore who could now best afford to praise the innocenceand candor of the unhappy Harry. Was it not evident that that tendercreature had been tampered with, and almost persuaded to perjureherself, for the sake of the prisoner at the bar--almost, but, happilyfor the ends of justice, not quite persuaded! Her natural love of righthad conquered the ignoble passion with which she had been inspired bythis unscrupulous man. What words could sufficiently paint the basenessof the conduct of the accused! Was it not clear that he had endeavoredto escape scot-free, at the sacrifice of this poor girl's good name?_She_, forsooth, was to proclaim herself thief, to save his worthlessself! It was not for Mr. Smoothbore--Heaven forbid!--to exaggerate suchwickedness, but was it possible that the phrase, "Young in years, butold in vice, " had ever had a more appropriate application than in thepresent case! For the credit of human nature, he trusted not. The pointupon which his learned friend had mainly relied having been thus provedwholly untenable--the fact of Richard's taking the money having beenincontestably brought home to him--it only remained for him (Mr. Smoothbore) to notice what had been said with respect to motive. If theprisoner at the bar had even had the intention, which had been sogratuitously imputed to him, of returning this money to the prosecutor, when once the object of his supposed scheme had been effected, he wouldbe no less guilty of the crime that was laid to his charge. It waspossible, indeed, in such a case, that there might be extenuatingcircumstances, but those would not affect the verdict of the jury, however they might influence his lordship's sentence after that verdicthad been truly given. And this he would say, after what had justoccurred in that court--after the painful scene they had justwitnessed--the breaking down of that innocent girl in an act ofself-sacrifice, culpable in itself, but infinitely more culpable in himwho had incited her to do it--for he could not for an instant supposethat the prisoner's legal advisers could have suggested such a line ofdefense: taking all this into consideration, he, Mr. Smoothbore, wouldconfidently ask the jury whether the prisoner at the bar was to becredited with merely a romantic stratagem, or with a crime theheinousness of which was only exceeded by the means by which he hadstriven to exculpate himself from it, and to evade the ends of justice. 

When Mr. Smoothbore had thus concluded a lengthened and impassionedharangue, he sat down, wiping his hands upon his handkerchief, as thoughimplying that he had washed them of the prisoner for good and all, andthat a very dirty job it had been; while the judge rose and left thecourt, it being the hour appointed to his system, by nature, for thereception of lunch. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE SENTENCE. 

Richard remained in the dock. The warder who had charge of him gave himthe option of retiring, but he preferred to stay where he was till allwas over. He had at last caught sight of his mother, straining herloving eyes toward him--with still some hope in them--from a distantcorner of the gallery; and he kept his gaze fixed upon that spot. Theyhad all the world against them now, these two, so clever, and yet sowholly unable to combat with inexorable fate. Harry's evidence, andespecially the manner of it, had not needed Mr. Smoothbore's fiery scornto turn all hearts against the accused. To the great mass of spectatorsit seemed as though Richard would have made the girl change places withhimself, and become a vicarious sacrifice for his worthless self. 

The majesty of the law having withdrawn itself, a hum of many voicesfilled the court-house; a munching of biscuits, a sipping of flasks. Thesilence of suspense no longer reigned. The struggle was virtually over, and the victim was only waiting his doom. It was hoped it would be asevere one. The spectators were pitiless, and had turned their thumbstoward their breasts. As to the verdict there was no doubt. Those whoknew the character of the judge opined that this young gentleman would"get it hot, " notwithstanding that this was his first offense. Odds weretaken that he would have fourteen years. "At all events, " said one ofthe small officials, in answer to eager inquiries, "more than he coulddo on his head. " With this enigmatical reply of the oracle itsastonished questioners were compelled to be content. 

"Silence in the court--si-lence. " The judge had returned. It was thoughtby some that it was in the prisoner's favor that the judge had lunched. They were mistaken, or perhaps a fatal economy had provided Africansherry. His charge was scarcely less dead against the prisoner than hadbeen Mr. Smoothbore's closing speech. As for the motive, upon which suchstress had been laid by the counsel for the defense, that might be aplea for a recommendation to mercy, if the jury believed it, but itcould not affect the question of the prisoner's guilt. That the stolenproperty had been found in the possession of the accused there was nosort of doubt. If the prisoner at the bar had not himself taken it outof the prosecutor's strong-box, who had?

Such was the form in which the case was left for the jury. 

"It's UP, " whispered Mr. Weasel behind his hand to Mr. Balais. Mr. Balais nodded indifferently; the case was over so far as he wasconcerned, and he was not going to employ significant actiongratuitously. That would have been waste of power indeed at his age. Thejury did not leave the box; they laid their heads together, like ahydra, and "deliberated" for half a minute; that is to say, the foremanwhispered, "We can return but one verdict, I should say, gentlemen;" andthe eleven answered, "But one. "

"We find the prisoner guilty, your lordship. "

His lordship nodded approval. "In my opinion, gentlemen, you could nothave done otherwise. Hem!" Then that common phrase, "You could haveheard a pin drop, " might have been used with respect to that vastassemblage. That "hem!" was a very fatal sign with Mr. Justice Bantam, as the bar well knew. 

"I'll take you six to five in sovs he gives him seven years, " whisperedone learned gentleman to another, without moving his lips. 

"It seems to me you are rather fond of a good thing, " returned theother, scornfully, but with a like precaution. 

"Hem!" said the judge again. "Is there any one in court able to give anyinformation concerning the antecedents of the prisoner?"

"We have no witnesses to character, my lud, " said Mr. Balais, gravely;"we had hoped it would not have been necessary. "

"There _is_ a witness in court, please your lud-ship, a detective of theA division of metropolitan police, I believe, " observed Mr. Smoothbore, "who knows something of the prisoner. "

"Let him stand up, " said the judge. 

Here was an extra excitement--an additional attraction, which had notbeen advertised in the bills--and the public evinced their satisfactionaccordingly by craning and crowding. Richard turned his heated eyes inthe direction of this new enemy. He had no hope of seeing a friend. Theindividual in question was unknown to him. He was a tall, quiet-lookingman, whose face might have been carved out of box-wood, it was so hardand serious, but for its keen eyes, which seemed to meet his own with alook of recognition. 

"I know the prisoner at the bar; that is to say, I have seen him on aprevious occasion, when he passed under the name of Chandos, and onother occasions, as I believe, under other names. From informationreceived I attended a competitive examination, under the authority ofgovernment. "

"Do you mean that you were employed by the government, or that theexamination was a government one?" interrupted the judge. 

"You'll hear something now, " whispered Mr. Weasel to Mr. Balais, "byJove!"

"Both, my lord, " explained the witness. "It had come to the knowledge ofthe government that there had been several cases of personation in thecompetitive examinations recently instituted both for the military andcivil services. Not only were young gentlemen, who had apparently passedwith credit, found grossly ignorant of the subjects which they hadpreviously been examined upon, but their physical appearance wassometimes such as would have seemed to have disqualified them: itappeared incredible that they should have passed the preliminary medicalexamination. One was hump-backed; another almost blind. It wasunderstood that some systematized scheme of imposture, ofmispersonation, was at work to produce these results, and I wasinstructed to inquire into it. I did so. I came to the conclusion thatonly one person was concerned in the matter--the prisoner at the bar. Ihad had my suspicions of him for some time. I had seen him on threeseparate occasions as a candidate at public examinations. His nominationwas correct and genuine, but (as I have since discovered) it had beenissued to another person. He succeeded in every instance in obtainingthe appointments in question for his employers, who received them in duecourse, though they have, I believe, since been canceled. In the case ofChandos, a letter was written, by the supposed successful candidate, tothe authorities of the government branch--the India Board--under whichhe was to serve, so grossly misspelled that the fraud was at oncesuspected. In this instance the guilt was brought home to the prisonerby the confession of the young man Chandos himself, who paid over to hima considerable sum of money for the service in question. But I am now ina position to prove that on several other occasions the prisoner hascommitted the same offense; and, in short, if he may be said to have acalling, it is that of personating, at competitive examinations, younggentlemen of small ability, who are thus enabled to secure situationsand appointments which they could otherwise never obtain. "

Mr. Justice Bantam had his prejudices, but he had a fair and honestmind. 

"This is a most unlooked-for communication, Brother Balais, " said he, doubtfully; "and it is not permitted you to cross-examine upon a pointof character. "

"I am sorry to say, my lud, " returned Mr. Balais, after a hurriedconversation with the little attorney, "that my client is not in aposition to dispute the evidence just adduced. He prefers to throwhimself upon the mercy of the court, on the ground--a very tenable one, I think--of his youth and, " he was going to add "inexperience, " but, under the circumstances, he thought it better not--"of his extremeyouth, my lud; my unhappy client is barely eighteen years of age. "

"Very good, " said Mr. Justice Bantam, looking as if it could not beworse. "Hem! Prisoner at the bar: after a careful and fair trial, inwhich you have had the benefit of the best legal aid, you have beenfound _guilty_ of the charge of which you are accused. In that verdict Icordially concur. The offense was a very serious one; but the endeavorwhich you have made to screen yourself, at the expense of that beautifuland innocent young girl, is, in my opinion, still more heinous andcontemptible than the crime itself. Having made yourself master of heraffections, you used your power to the utmost to effect her moral andsocial hurt. You would have had her perjure herself, and proclaimherself guilty of a crime she did not commit, in order that you mightyourself escape justice. Nobody who heard her evidence--who saw her inyonder box--can doubt it. Still, as your counsel has just remarked, youare but a youth in years, and I looked about me in hopes to find someextenuating circumstances in your past career--some record ofgood--which might have justified me in inflicting on you a more lenientsentence than your offense had earned. I had no other purpose in askingwhether any thing was known of your previous career. The reply to thatquestion has astonished and shocked me, as it has shocked and astonishedevery right-thinking person in this court who heard it. We knew to whatbase purpose you had used the comeliness and youth and good address withwhich nature had endowed you; and now we have learned how evilly youhave misused your talents--with what perverted ingenuity you havestriven, at so early an age, to set at naught those precautions by whichyour country has lately endeavored to secure for itself efficient publicservants. "

"That's neat, " whispered a learned friend to Mr. Balais, reverentlyshutting his eyes, as though in rapt admiration. 

"Very, " returned that gentleman. "He's bidding for the Lord ChiefJusticeship. "

"In the whole course of my legal experience, young man, " continued thejudge, "I have never seen a case which seems to me to call for moreexemplary punishment than yours. The promise of your future is darkindeed--bad for yourself, and bad for that society which, though sofitted to adorn and benefit it, you have chosen to outrage. I will not, however, reproach you further; I will rather express a hope that whenyou return to the world after your long probation--and it will be aslong as I am able to make it--you may be a wiser and better, as well asa much older man. The sentence of the court is, that you be kept inpenal servitude for the space of twenty years. "

CHAPTER XXXII. 

BROODING. 

Not a syllable of the judge's exhortation was lost upon the prisoner atthe bar. He listened to it as attentively as one who is waiting for thethunder listens to the muffled menace that precedes it, and the fall ofeach big drop of rain. When the words of doom smote upon his ear asolemn hush succeeded them; and then one piteous, agonized shriek, and adull fall in the gallery above. 

"This way, " said a warder, sharply; and Richard was seized by the arm, and hurried through the trap-door, and down the stairs, by the way hehad come. It seemed to him like descending into hell itself. 

Twenty years' penal servitude! It was almost an eternity of torment!worse than death! and yet not so. He already beheld himself, at the endof his term of punishment, setting about the great work which alone wasleft him to do on earth--the accomplishment of his revenge. He hadrecognized his mother's voice in that agonized wail, and knew that heriron will had given way; that the weight of this unexpected calamity haddeprived even her elastic and vigorous mind of consciousness--hadcrushed out of her, perhaps, even life itself. Better so, thought he, inhis bitterness, if it had; there would then be not a single humancreature left to soften, by her attachment, his heart toward hisfellows--none to counsel moderation, mercy, prudence. 

If the view taken by the judge had even been a correct one, as to"motive, " Richard had been hardly dealt with, most severely sentenced;but in his own eyes he was an almost innocent man--the victim of aninfamous conspiracy, in which she who, was his nearest and dearest hadtreacherously joined. After flattering him with false hopes, she haddeserted him at the eleventh hour, and in a manner even more atrociousthan the desertion itself. He knew, of course, that it was mainly owingto her evidence, to which he had looked for his preservation, that hisruin had been so complete and overwhelming; but what he hated her worstfor was for that smile she had bestowed upon him as she entered thewitness-box, and which had bade him hope where no hope was. He could notbe mistaken as to that. She had known that she was about to doom him byher silence to years of misery, and yet she had had the devilish crueltyto smile upon him, as she had often smiled, when they had sat, cheek tocheek, together! Since they had done so, he could never lift his handagainst her (he felt that even now)--never strike her, slay her, noreven poison her; but he would have revenge upon her for all that. Hewould smite her, as she had smitten him, no matter how long the blowmight be in falling: if her affections should be entwined in any humancreatures, against them should his rage be directed; he would make herdesolate, as she had rendered him; he would turn their love for her tohate, if it were possible, and, if not, he would destroy them. As forher father--as for that stone devil Trevethick--it choked him to thinkthat nature herself might preserve him from his wrath, that the old manmight die before his hour of expiation could arrive. But Solomon Coewould live to feel his vengeance. His hatred was at white heat now; whatwould it be after twenty years of unmerited torture? To think that thisterrible punishment had befallen him through such contemptibleagencies--through such dull brains and vulgar hands--was maddening; andyet he must needs feed upon that thought for twenty years, and keep hissenses too, that at the end they might work out his purpose to theuttermost. There was plenty of time to plan and scheme and plot beforehim, and henceforth that should be his occupation. Revenge should be hislatest thought and his earliest, and all night long he would dream ofnothing else. His wrath against judge and jury, and the rest ofthem--though if he could have slain them all with a word he would haveuttered it--was slight compared with the vehemence of his fury againstthose three at Gethin. Rage possessed him wholly, and, though withoutnumbing him to the painful sense of his miserable doom, rendered himalmost unconscious of what was going on about him. 

When he found himself in his cell again he had no recollection of how hehad got there; and the warder had to repeat his sharp command, "Put onthese clothes, " before he could get him to understand that he was toexchange his garments for the prison suit that lay before him. It was asmall matter, but it brought home to him the reality of his situationmore than any thing that had yet occurred. With the deprivation of hisclothes he seemed to be deprived of his individuality, and, in adoptingthat shameful dress, to become an atom in a congeries of outcasts. Fromhenceforth he was not even to bear a name, but must become a number--aunit of that great sum of scoundrels which the world was so willing toforget. That he was to suffer under a system which had authority andright for its basis made his case no less intolerable to him; he feltlike one suddenly seized and sold into slavery. That his master andtyrant was called the Law was no mitigation of his calamity; nay, it wasan aggravation, since he could not cut its throat. 

"It is no use, young fellow, " said the warder, coolly, as Richard lookedat him like some hunted beast at bay. "If you was to kill me and a dozenmore it would do you not a morsel of good; the law has got you tight, and it's better to be quiet. "

Richard uttered a low moan, more woeful than any cry of physicalanguish. It touched his jailer, used as he was to the contemplation ofhuman misery. "Look here, " said he; "you keep up a good heart, and getas many _V G_'s as you can. Then you'll get out on ticket-of-leave infifteen years: it ain't as if you were a lifer. "

He meant it for consolation; but this unvarnished statement of the _verybest_ that could by possibility befall poor Richard seemed only todeepen his despondency. 

"Why, when you've done it, " pursued the warder, "you'll be quite a youngman still--younger than I am. There's Balfour, now; he's got some callto be down in the mouth, for he'll get it as hot as you, and he's an oldun, yet he's cheery enough up yonder"--and he jerked his head in thedirection of the court-house--"you may take your 'davey he is. You get_V G_'s. "

"What are those?" said Richard, wearily. 

"Why, the best marks that can be got; and remember that every one of 'emgoes to shorten your time. You must be handier with your room, to beginwith. You might be reported by some officers for the way in which thathammock is folded, and then away go your marks at once; and you mustlearn to sweep your room out cleaner. We couldn't stand _that_ in one ofour regulars, you know;" and he pointed to some specks of dust upon theshining floor. "As for the oakum pickings which will be set youto-morrow, I'll show you the great secret of that art. Your fingers willsuffer a bit at first, no doubt, but you'll be a clever one at it beforelong. Only buckle to, and keep a civil tongue in your head, youngfellow, and you'll do. "

"Thank you, " said Richard, mechanically. 

"If you'll take my advice, you'll set about something at once; sweepin', or polishin', or readin' your Bible. Don't brood. But you will do as youlike for this afternoon, since you won't begin regular business tillto-morrow. "

The warder looked keenly round the cell, probably to make sure that itafforded no facilities for suicide; but the gas was not yet turned on, and if it had been, his prisoner was unaware that by blowing it out, andplacing the jet in his mouth, more than one in a similar strait to hisown has found escape from his prison woes forever. 

"I'll bring you some supper presently, " he added; and with a familiarnod, good-naturedly intended for encouragement, he slammed the iron doorbehind him. 

That he should have become an object of pity and patronage to a man likethis would in itself have wounded Richard to the quick had he not beendevoured by far more biting cares, and even now it galled him. Histwenty years might possibly, then, by extremity of good luck, becurtailed by five. By diligent execution of menial drudgery; byperforming to some overlooker's satisfaction his daily toil; by carefulobedience and subservience to these Jacks in office, themselves butservants, and yet whose malice or ill-humor might cause them to reporthim for the most trifling faults, or for none at all, and therebydestroy even _this_ hope--he might be a free man in fifteen years! Hewould, even then, he was told, be still a young man. But that he wouldnever be young again Richard was well aware. Within these last threeweeks--nay, within that last hour, he had already lived a life, and onethat had aged him beyond the power of years. High spirits, pleasure, hopefulness, love, and all the attributes of youth, were dead within himfor evermore. For the future he was only to be strong and vigorous in awill that could not have its way for fifteen years at earliest. 

Through the grating of his narrow window a few rays of the setting sunwere streaming in, and fell upon the bare brown wall behind him. What aflood of glory they were pouring on the woods of Crompton, now in theirautumn splendor--on the cliffs at Gethin--on the copse that hid theWishing Well--on the tower where he had first clasped Harry in his arms!He saw them all, and the sunset hues upon them became suddenlyblood-red. He was once more at Gethin, and in imagination taking hisrevenge upon old Trevethick, and for the moment he was almost happy. "Pity on his gray hairs?" No, not he--though the gallows loomed beforehim, though hell yawned for him, he would slake his thirst in thelife-blood of that perjured villain; and as for her, he would drag herby the hair to look upon her father's corpse. Where was she? Ah, withSolomon upon the castled rock; and see!--he had pushed him from theedge, and there he hung exactly as he himself had hung when Harry hadpreserved him! How long would a man hold on like that, even a strong manlike Coe, on such a narrow ledge, with the gulls screaming about him?Not twenty years--no, nor fifteen!

The clatter of the trap in the door of his cell, as it fell in andformed a table, awoke him from this gloating dream. "Supper, " said thewarder, looking in at him through this orifice. "What! you're stillbrooding, are you?--that's bad;" then marched on to the next cell. 

Some gruel and bread stood upon this little improvised side-board. Ifthey had been the greatest luxuries imaginable, he could not haveswallowed a morsel. The sunlight had faded away; his dream ofretribution was over; he seemed to be touching the utmost verge of humanwretchedness. Was it possible to kill himself? His neckerchief had beentaken away; but he had his braces. The gas-pipe was the only thing towhich he could attach them, and it would never bear his weight. He hadread somewhere of some poor wretch who had suffocated himself by turninghis tongue inward. Had he determination enough for such a device asthat? Plenty. His will was iron; he felt that; but it was set onsomething else than suicide--that afterward, or death or life of anykind, he cared not what; but in the first place, and above all things, Vengeance! In the mean time, there were twenty years in which to thinkupon it! Twenty years!

The bar dined with the judge that night at Cross Key, and talked, amongother things, "shop. "

"A curious case that of that young fellow, Yorke, " said one. "I wonderwhether he has been playing his game long with these competitiveexaminations? That Chandos must be a queer one, too--son of LordFitzbacon's, is he not?"

"I dare say, " answered another, carelessly. "It is only vicariously thatthe juvenile aristocracy ever get an appointment in these days, havingno wits of their own. This conviction will be a great blow to them. "

"Very good, Sharpshins! but you'd better not let old Bantam hear you, for he dearly loves the Swells. By-the-by, what a pretty girl thatwitness for the defense was, who turned out to be for the prosecution, eh?"

"Yes, she upset her lover's coach for him nicely. Is it true, I wonder, that the little traitress is going to marry that dull, heavy fellow whomSmoothbore had such work to pump? Gad! if I had been she, I'd have stuckto the other. "

"Yes; but kissing goes by favor. She marries him next week, I hear. Isthere any thing of interest at Bodmin?"

"Nothing of interest to _me_, at all events. Smoothbore and Balais getall there is between them, confound them! I say, just pass that claret. "

Not another word about Richard. The judge himself had forgotten himexcept as a case in his notes. The jury forgot him in a week. A murderof a shipwrecked sailor happened soon afterward on that coast, andbecame the talk of the country-side in his place. The world went on itsway, and never missed him; the rank closed up where he had used tomarch, and left no gap. 

Richard Yorke was out of the world. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

IN COUPLES. 

What tender-nurtured boy, newly-arrived at school--that Paradise whenlooked back upon from afar, that _Inferno_ of the present--has notawakened from sweet dreams of home with a heavy heart? Who has notpictured to himself the weary months that must elapse before he oncemore regains his freedom and his friends? The burden (one may say) islight, but then the back is also weak that bears it. It is a genuinewoe. Something of this, but tenfold in intensity of wretchedness, didRichard feel when he awoke for the first time a convicted felon. He haddreamed that Carew was dead, and left him heir of Crompton; his motherand he were there, and Harry as his wife. The splendor of the house, thebeauty of the grand domain about it, were as vividly presented to him aswhen he saw them with his eyes; and they were all his own. The hope ofhis youth, the desire of his manhood, were gratified to the uttermost;yet through all ran an undercurrent which mirrored a portion of thepresent reality. In the marshy pond where he had fought the Squire bymoonlight lay two bodies; it was shallow, as it really had been, and hecould see their faces as he peered into the water: they were those ofCoe and Trevethick. He kept them there, and would not have the ponddragged; but would go thither and gloat upon them for half a summer'sday. The mansion was full of gay folks--his old town companions invitedto visit him, and behold his greatness (as he had often imagined theyshould be): Tub Ryll was _his_ jester now, and Parson Whymper his"chaplain. " They were all playing pool as usual, and he was just aboutto make an easy hazard, when somebody jogged his elbow. It was thewarder of the jail. 

"Come, come--this won't do, " said he, gruffly. "You must jump up whenthe bell rings, or we shall quarrel. Fold up your hammock, and cleanyour room. "

Even the school-boy does not begin on his first morning to reckon on hischimney almanac, "One day gone; twenty-four hours nearer to theholidays;" and how should Richard make that cheerful note, who hadtwenty years of prison life before him, save one day!

He did as he was ordered, wearily, with a heart that had no hope: itseemed to the warder that his air was sullen. 

"If this happens again, young fellow, I report you; and then good-by toyour _V G_'s. "

He did not mean to be brutal; but Richard could have stabbed him wherehe stood. There were times to come when the temptation to commit such anact was to be very strong within him; and when no thought of punishment, far less of right, restrained him, but that of his projected vengeancealways did. Every rough word, every insult, every wrong, was treasuredup in his mind, and added to the long account against those who haddoomed him to such a fate. It should be paid in full one day; and in themean time the debt was out at compound interest. 

He took his sordid meals, his cocoa, his bread, his gruel, not becausehe had ever any appetite for them, but because without them he shouldlose his strength. He must husband that for the long-expected hour whenhe might need it; when the moment had arrived to strike the blow forwhich his hand was clenched ten times a day. His hate grew every hour, and, like a petrifying spring, fell drop by drop about his heart, andmade it stone. In the mean time, a fiend in torment could alone imaginewhat he suffered. He spoke to no one but his warders and the chaplain;for now he was a convict, there was no communication with his fellows;only once a day for an hour and a half he took his monotonous exercisein the high-walled prison-yard. Tramp, tramp, tramp, each half a dozenpaces behind the other, with an officer on the watch to see that thelimit was preserved. 

"Keep your distance, you there, unless you want to be reported. "

Richard did not want that; but at times his temper was like a devilunchained, and it got the better of him, and even of his treasuredpurpose; he sometimes returned a sharp answer. This weakness was almostthe only feeling within him that reminded him that he was human. He wasput on bread and water within the first fortnight; then cursed his follyfor thus postponing the one object of his life, and amended. His casewas quoted to the visiting justices as an exemplification of theefficacy of cutting short a prisoner's supplies. 

While exercising one day he recognized Balfour, who happened to be onthe opposite side of the ever-moving circle: the old jail-bird, withoutglancing toward him, threw his open hands out twice. By this he conveyedto him that his own sentence was also twenty years. During the ninemonths that Richard remained at Cross Key, this was all that happened tohim which could be called an incident. At the end of three months hismother essayed to visit him, but he would not see her. She had been ill, it seemed, ever since that dreadful day of the trial, and was only justconvalescent; she had had lodgings in the town, within a hundred yardsof him, ever since: it was something, poor soul, to know that she wasnear him, however inexorably separated. "It would please him, " shewrote, "to learn that, through Mr. Whymper's intercession, Carew hadcontinued her pension. She had money enough, therefore, and to spare, but intended to go on with her business of lodging-house keeping in anew quarter of London, and under another name (that of Basil), that shemight save, and her Richard find himself a rich man when he regained hisliberty. In fifteen years--she had discovered that his time could beremitted to that extent--there would be quite a little fortune for him. In the mean time, she thought of him night and day. " But there wassomething else in the letter. "She confessed that in her agony at hisdreadful doom, she had written to his prosecutor to adjure him to appealfor mercy to the crown, and he had refused to do so. " This news haddriven Richard almost to frenzy. He had written her such a letter as theprison authorities had refused to send, and now he would not see her. 

He wrote again; more moderately, however, to bid her never mentionTrevethick's name again, nor Coe's, nor Harry's, if she wished him tothink of her as his mother: they were dead to him, he said, _for thepresent_. To be brief, Richard never saw his mother after hisconviction. He wished to harden his heart, and not to have it meltedwithin him; and perhaps his fury at her having appealed to Trevethickwas purposely exaggerated with this object. His recollection of "thecage, " it must be remembered, was also not such as to make the idea ofan interview attractive; moreover, that his mother should see him in hisconvict dress, kept within iron bars like a wild beast, seemed to him toafford a triumph to his deadly enemies. 

In the tenth month, Richard, with the other convicts, was transferred toLingmoor, one of the great penal settlements. They were "removed, " forsome portion of the distance, in vans, like furniture, or, we mightrather say, in caravans like wild beasts; but for some miles theytraveled by railway. They were handcuffed and chained together two andtwo, as pointers are upon their journeys, except that the connection wasat the wrist instead of the neck. Silence was strictly enjoined, butthis one opportunity of conversing with their fellow-creatures was notto be let slip. Richard's other half was a notorious burglar calledRolfe; this man had passed a quarter of a century in jail, and wasconversant with every plan of trickery and evasion of orders. Hiscountenance was not at all of that bull-dog type with which his class isfalsely though generally credited; he had good features, though somewhathard in their expression, and very intelligent gray eyes. It was theirvery intelligence, so sharp, so piercing, and yet which avoided yourgaze, that showed to those who studied such matters what he was. Afterone glance at Richard he never looked at him again, but stared straightbefore him, and talked in muttered tones unceasingly, and with lips asmotionless as those of a ventriloquist. He was doing fourteen years forcracking a public-house, and had cracked a good many private ones, concerning the details of which enterprises he was very eloquent. Whenhe had concluded his autobiography he began to evince some interest inthe circumstances of his companion. Richard, however, did not care toenlighten him on his own concerns, but confined his conversation to theone topic that was common between them--jails. Rolfe gave him a synopsisof the annals of Lingmoor, to which he was bound not for the first time. It was a place that had a bad reputation among those who became perforceits inmates; tobacco, for which elsewhere convenient warders charged ashilling an ounce, was there not less than eighteenpence: such a tariffwas shameful, and almost amounted to a prohibition. A pal of his hadhung himself there--it was supposed through deprivation of thisnecessary. It was "a queer case;" for he had "tucked himself up" to thebars of his cell by his braces, the buckles of which had left lividmarks upon his neck. His Prayer-book had been found open at the Burialof the Dead, and it was understood that he had read that service overhimself before taking leave of the world. He had also written his willwith a point of the said brace-buckles upon the brick of his cell. Hehimself (Mr. Rolfe) had been called as a witness at the inquest, and hadthereby obtained two hours' relaxation from labor; but upon the whole hewould rather have been working with his gang--the affair had quite upsethim; and, since its occurrence, the inmates of Lingmoor were forbiddento use braces. 

"Were there any escapes from Lingmoor by any other means?" inquiredRichard. 

"Escapes?" Mr. Rolfe's countenance assumed a more solemn vacuity thanever. It was an indiscretion of his young friend to shape that word withhis lips while a warder sat in the same carriage. Yes, there had beensuch things even at Lingmoor. But it was a difficult job, even for oneused to cracking cribs. The outer wall was not to be scaled without aladder, and ladders were even more difficult to procure than tobacco. Even if you did get over the outer wall, the space around the prison wasvery bare, and the sentries had orders to shoot you fleeing. If you gotto Bergen Wood, two miles away, you might be safe so far, but it was adangerous business. Nobody had ever done it yet without "puttingsomebody out. "

This was a euphemism for murder, as Richard was by this time "old hand"enough to know. 

"Warders?" inquired he indifferently; for he had already learned tovalue that objectionable class at a low figure. 

"Hush! Yes; you must kill 'a dog' or two before you say good-by toLingmoor, unless you can put them to sleep. " (Bribery. ) "There was a manonce as had to kill his pal to do it. "

"How could that help him?" Richard felt no interest whatever in thesenarratives as stories; but since they referred to escapes theyentrancing. The convict who is cast for death thinks of nothing but areprieve; the "lifer" or the long-termer, thinks of nothing but anescape--and (sometimes) vengeance. 

"Well, it was curious. There was a 'Smasher'" (utterer of counterfeitcoin) "named Molony in for life there--a thin-shanked, shambling fellow, as Smashers mostly are--mere trash. He had got a file, this fool, anddared not use it--kept it as close as though it were 'bacca, ' and waitedfor his chance, instead of making his chance for himself. Damme, if _I_had a file!"

Mr. Rolfe's feelings of irritation were almost too much for him; heturned up the whites of his eyes, so that persons who were unacquaintedwith his views upon religious subjects might have supposed him to beengaged in some devotional exercise. 

"Next door to this fellow--though it seemed a long way off, for the cellwas in an angle of the prison--there was one of the right sort; name ofJeffreys. No prison in England could have held _him_ if he had had afile. With a rusty nail as he had picked up he dug through his cellwall, and came out one night, all of a sudden, upon the Smasher--thoughthe was out of doors, poor beggar, through this cursed angle, you see, and after all had only changed his room. "

"That must have been the devil, " observed Richard. 

"It _was_, " said Mr. Rolfe, significantly. 

"'Why, how on earth did you do it?' asked the Smasher. At least Isuppose he did, for the conversation was not reported, as you shallhear. 'With a mere nail, too. Why, _I_'ve got a file, and yet I neverthought of that. '

"'A file!' cried Jeffreys. 'Let's look. Give it to me. '

"But Molony wouldn't give it him. The case was this, you see. IfJeffreys could have filed his irons off, and then the window-bars, hecould have made a push for it; but he couldn't wait for the other; thenight was too far gone for that--there was only time for one to freehimself and get away. The Smasher was willing enough to make an effortnow; the other's pluck had put a good heart into him. But since he hadbeen there so long, and never moved a hand to help hisself, Jeffreysthought he might stop a little longer; it seemed to himdog-in-the-manger like to be refused the file--at least that's my viewof what he thought; though he's been blamed a good deal for whatafterward happened. "

"But what did happen?"

"Well, they got to high words; the t'other wouldn't give up the file;and when Jeffreys tried to get hold of it, what did the aggravationSmasher do--for you see he was used to bolting half-crowns and suchlike--but _swallow the file_!"

"Why, that must have killed him?" observed Yorke. 

"So Jeffreys concluded, " returned Mr. Rolfe, coolly; "and indeed thatwas his defense when his trial came on. He pleaded that Molony was deadalready. 'I did not put the file down his throat, though I did deprivehim of it afterward. I was obliged to do it. ' He made an anatomy of himwith the nail, in fact, just as the surgeons do with theirdissecting-knives, though not so neat, in order to get at the file. Anugly job, I call it; but it was a very pretty case, the lawyers said, asto whether murder had been done or not. "

"But did this Jeffreys get off?"

"Upon the trial--yes; but not from the prison. He got into the yard allright, and climbed the wall by making steps of the file and the nail;but, in dropping on the other side, he broke his leg, and so they nabbedhim. It's a very hard nut to crack, is Lingmoor, _I_ can tell you. "

With these and similar incidents of prison-life, Mr. Rolfe regaled hiscompanion's ears. The sound of this man's voice, muffled as it was, notwithstanding the nature of his talk, was pleasant to Richard after somany months of enforced silence. After long starvation the stomach isthankful for even garbage; and so it is with the mind. Moreover, anything would have seemed better than to sit and think during that hatefuljourney. The railway part of it was by far the worst. To be made a showof at the various stations--every one curious to see how convicts lookedin their full regimentals, chained and ironed; to behold the otherpassengers who were free; to see the happy meetings of lovers andfriends, of parents and children; and the partings that were scarcelypartings at all compared with his own length of exile from all mankind:these were things the bitterness of which Richard felt to the uttermost;his very blood ran gall. His friend Balfour was among hisfellow-travelers, but they did not journey in the same van nor railwaycarriage. Had it been otherwise Richard might have felt some sense ofcompanionship; whereas the contact of this man Rolfe seemed to degradehim to his level, and isolate him from humanity itself. At the sametime, he shrank with sensitiveness from the gaze of the gaping crowd. Itis so difficult, even with the strongest will to do so, to becomecallous and hardened to shame except by slow degrees: every fingerseemed to point at him in recognition, every tongue to be telling of hisdisgrace and doom; whereas, in simple fact, his own mother wouldscarcely have known him in such a garb, and with those iron ornamentsabout his limbs; his fine hair cropped to the roots; his delicatefeatures worn and sharpened with spare diet and want of sleep; aboveall, with those haggard eyes, always watching and waiting for somethinga long way off--almost, indeed, out of sight at present, but coming up, as a ship comes spar by spar above the horizon, taking shape anddistinctness as it nears. There were nineteen years and three monthsstill, however, between him and _it_. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

OUT OF THE WORLD. 

This tedious, shameful travel came to an end at nightfall. Their way hadlain all day through landscapes of great beauty, though about to losethe last remnants of their autumn splendor; but when they left the rail, the woods, and glens, and rivers were seen no more. All was drearymoorland, where winter had already begun to reign. A village or two werepassed, among whose scanty population their appearance created littleexcitement: such sights were common in that locality. They were on thehigh-road that leads to Lingmoor, and to nowhere else. The way seemed astypical of their outcast life-path as a page out of the _Pilgrim'sProgress_. Vanity Fair, where they would fain have tarried if theycould, was left far behind them, while to some of them the road wasdoomed to be the veritable Valley of the Shadow. They were never to seethe world, nor partake of its coarse and brutal pleasures--the only onesthey cared for, or perhaps had experienced--any more. How bare, anddesolate, and wretched was the prospect! There was no living thing insight; only the wild moorland streams hurried by, as if themselvesdesirous to escape from the barren solitude. Not a tree was to be seensave Bergen Wood, which Richard's companion indicated to him, as theyneared it, by a movement of the eyelid. It had been the tomb of many aconvict, who had striven for freedom, and found death. As they emergedfrom it, Lingmoor prison presented itself, solid, immense, and gloomy, as though it were built of steel--"Castle of Giant Despair. " Its guardedgate was swung back, and all were marched into a paved courtyard, wheretheir names were called over, and their irons removed. Then each wasstripped and searched, and another uniform substituted for that they hadworn at Cross Key. The old hands seemed to take a pride in knowing whatwas about to be done beforehand; in being recognized by the warders, though their greeting was but a contemptuous shrug; and in threading thewindings of the stone labyrinths with an accustomed step. Richard wasushered into a cell the exact counterpart of that he had latelyinhabited; and yet he regarded it with the interest which one can notfail to feel in what is to be one's home for years. 

Home! Frightful misnomer for that place, warm and well-ventilated as itwas, and supplied with the latest products of civilization. The gas wasburning brightly; fresh cool water flowed at his will; at his touch abell rang, and instantly, outside his door, an iron plate sprang out, and indicated to the warder in what cell his presence was required. "Howclean and comfortable!" says the introduced-by-special-order visitor, tohis obsequious acquaintance the governor, on observing these admirablearrangements. "How much better are these scoundrels cared for, " criesthe unthinking public, "than are our honest poor!" It is not, however, that the convict is pampered; but for this unkindly care he would not beable to endure the punishment which justice has decreed for him. Sciencehas meted out to him each drop of gruel, each ounce of bread, eacharticle of clothing, and each degree of warmth. Not one of all therecipients of this cruel benevolence but would gladly have exchangedplaces with the shivering tramp or the work-house pauper. To cower underthe leafless branches of Bergen Wood, while the November night-blastsmade them grind and clang, would have seemed paradise compared with thatsnug lodging; nay, the grave itself, with its dim dread Hereafter, hasbeen preferred before it. 

Life at Lingmoor was existence by machinery--monotony that sometimesmaddened as well as slew. To read of it is to understand nothing ofthis. The bald annals of the place reveal nothing of this terriblesecret. 

Richard rose at five at clang of bell, cleaned out his cell, and foldedup his bed more neatly than did ever chamber-maid; at six wasbreakfast--porridge, and forty minutes allowed for its enjoyment; thenchapel and parade; then labor--mat-making was his trade, at which hebecame a great proficient. His fingers deftly worked, while his mindbrooded. At twelve was dinner--bread and potatoes, with seventy minutesallowed for its digestion; then exercise in the yard, and mat-makingagain till six in summer, and four in winter; prayers, supper, schooltill eight; when the weary day was done. On Sunday, except two hours ofexercise and chapel, Richard was his own master, to brood as much as hewould. There were also no less than three holidays in the year, on whichit has been whispered with horror that the convicts have pudding. Therewas, however, no such excess at Lingmoor. 

As for society, there was the chaplain. This gentleman could makenothing of Richard, though he tried his best. It was evident to him thatthe young man had something on his mind; if he would only confide in hisspiritual adviser, he assured him comfort could be administered. But noconfidence ever took place. It was a most distressing case; here was ayouth of superior position, and well educated, as obstinate and stubbornas the most hardened criminal in the establishment. His Bible was neveropened. One of his warders had expressed his opinion that No. 421 wasvindictive, but he (the chaplain) was bound to say he had observednothing of that. The remarks in his note-book respecting 421 were these:"Richard Yorke--aged twenty, looks ten years older; reserved andcynical; a hopeless infidel, but respectful, uncomplaining, andwell-mannered. "

Richard had been reported more than once for "inattention to orders, "and had lost some of his good marks accordingly. The cause of this wasone over which he could now be scarcely said to have control. He hadbecome so absent and _distrait_ that he sometimes hardly knew what wasgoing on about him. The perpetual brooding in which he indulged had, infact, already postponed the accomplishment of the very object whichenthralled his thoughts. The effect of this was serious; and he had goodreason for the apprehension which seized him, that his wits might leavehim before that day of liberty arrived, which was still so many yearsdistant. On account of his previous calling, which was described in theprison books as landscape-painter, he had been put to a handicrafttrade; but he now applied for harrow-work, and the surgeon seconded hisapplication. This change of occupation, which was destined in somerespects to be beneficial, proved at the outset most unfortunate. Theoutdoor toil was mostly spade and barrow labor on the moor, on which theconvicts worked in gangs--each gang under supervision of two warders, armed with sword and musket. The first face that Richard's eyes lit on, when he found himself in the open, with the free air of heaven blowingon him, and already, as it seemed, bearing the seeds of health and hope, was that of Robert Balfour. In his joyous excitement he sprang forwardand held out his hand; the other hesitated--for the old cracksman wasprudence itself--then, as if with an incontrollable impulse, grasped theoffered fingers, with an "I am right glad to see you, lad. " The nextinstant they were both in custody, and marched back to the prison, charged with the high crime and misdemeanor of conversation, which atLingmoor was called "colloguing, " "conspiracy, " and other terribleterms. Brought before the authorities upon this serious charge, Richardat once confessed himself alone to blame; the fresh air had, in amanner, intoxicated him, after his long confinement within stone walls;and the sight of his old acquaintance had caused him to forget therules. On the offense-list being examined, it was found, however, thatNo. 421 was a good deal in the habit of forgetting. His cell-warder gavehim but an indifferent character; and Richard, in a fury, committed thefatal indiscretion of rebutting this latter accusation by acountercharge of tyranny and ill-usage. The next instant he could havebitten his tongue out--but it was too late; he felt that he had made anenemy of this body-servant, who was also his master, for the remainderof his term. An "old hand, " unless he is a professional garroter (inwhich case he is generally too much respected to be ill-used), is alwayscareful to keep on good terms with his attendant; otherwise--since awarder's word, if it be not law, is at all events worth that of tenprisoners--there may be no end to your troubles. This is not becausewarders are not as a class a most respectable body of men, but simplybecause you can't get all the virtues for a guinea a week. A strict andimpartial sense of justice is especially a rare and dear article--evengovernors have sometimes been deficient in it. Most men have theirprejudices, as women have their spites; and a prejudice against afellow-creature is a thing that grows. Richard's warder was notyrant--only a sullen, ignorant fellow, in a false position; he had analmost absolute power over his fellow-creatures, and like many--perhapslike most who have ever possessed such a thing--it was too much for him. 

"I am a tyrant, am I?" said he, significantly, as he marched Richardback to his cell after sentence was decreed. "Very well; we'll _see_. "

Richard got bread and water for three days certain, and, what was farworse, another "monstrous cantle" might be cut out of that period ofremission which began to be all the dearer in his eyes the moreproblematical it grew. Garroters, as we have said, were respected atLingmoor; they are so ready with their great ape-like hands, and sodull-brained with respect to consequences; yet Richard's warder, when hebrought his bread and water, with a grin, that night, was probably asnear to death by strangling as he had ever been during his professionalexperience. It was not that he was on his own account the object of hisprisoner's wrath, but that by his conduct he had, as it were, supplemented the inexpiable wrong originally committed, and earned forhimself a portion of the undying hate which was due elsewhere. "I maykill this brute some day, " thought Richard, ruefully, "in spite ofmyself. " And he resolved on the first opportunity to communicate acertain secret which was on his mind to a friendly ear; so that _that_at least should be utilized to the disadvantage of his foes, in caseincontrollable passion should one day compel him to sacrifice a lesservictim, and make his great revenge to fail. It had not once entered intohis mind that he could _forego_ his purpose, but only that circumstancesmight render it impossible. 

The occasion for which he looked was not long in coming. His days ofpunishment concluded, he was once more marched out upon the moor, andagain found himself in Balfour's company. Not a sign passed between themthis time, but as they delved they talked. "I fear you have beensuffering for my sake, " said Richard. 

"It is no matter. My shoulders are broad enough for two, " returned theother, kindly. "I am right glad to see your face again, though it is sochanged. You have been ill, have you not, lad?"

"I don't know. Something is wrong with me, and I may be worse--that iswhy I want to speak to you. Listen!"

"All right. Don't look this way, and sink your voice if either of thesedogs comes to leeward. "

"If you get away from this place, and _I_ don't--"

"Now, none of that, lad, " interrupted the old man, earnestly. "That'sthe worst thing you can get into your head at Lingmoor, if you ever wantto leave it. Never _say_ die, nor even _think_ it. I am three times yourage, and yet I mean to get out again and enjoy myself. It is but fifteenyears now, without counting remission--though I've got into disgracewith my cursed watch-dog, and sha'n't get much of that--and you mustkeep a good heart. "

"I shall keep a firm one, " answered Richard, "never fear. I wish toguard against contingencies, that's all. If I die--"

"Damned if you shall, " said Balfour, sturdily, quite innocent of anyplagiarism from Uncle Toby. 

"Very good, " continued Richard, coolly. "If you get out of this beforeme, let us merely say, I have something to tell you which may be ofservice to you. There's a man in Breakneckshire called Carew ofCrompton--"

"I know him: the gentleman born as put on the gloves with Bendigo atBirmingham?"

"Very likely; at all events, every body knows him in the Midlands. Hewill go to the dogs some day, and his estate will be sold. You havesaved money, you tell me; if the chance occurs, you can't invest itbetter than in the lot called Wheal Danes, a mine in Cornwall. "

"I believe you every word, " said Balfour; "but a mine would be ratherover my figure, wouldn't it? I have only got eight hundred pounds. "

"That would be plenty. It's a disused mine, and supposed to be workedout. There's only one man in England that knows it is not so, exceptmyself. He will come or send to the auction, expecting to get it cheap;but do you bid two hundred pounds beforehand, and get it by privatecontract. Say you want the place--it's close to the sea--for buildingpurposes; they'll laugh at you, and jump at your offer. The fee-simpleis not supposed to be worth five shillings an acre. It will turn out agold mine to whoever gets it. "

"Wheal Danes, " repeated Balfour, carefully. "I'll remember that; andwhat is more, lad, I'll not forget the man as told me of it. It's notthe profit that I am speaking on: that will be yours, I hope, as itshould be in all reason, and not mine; but it's the confidence. " The oldman's voice grew husky with emotion. "Damme, I liked _you_ from thefirst, as was natural enough; but there was no reason why you shouldtake a fancy to an old thief like me more than any other among thispretty lot here. The first as speaks of secrets is of course the one asruns the risk, but I will do what I can to show myself honorable on myside. You have trusted me, and I'll trust you. "

"Have you any plan to get away from this?" whispered Richard, eagerly. "All that I have shall be yours: I swear it. "

"Nay, lad; your word's enough, " returned the other, reproachfully. "AndI don't covet nothing of yours; indeed I don't. "

"I was a brute to talk so to you, Balfour, " answered Richard, penitently. "But you don't mow how I crave for freedom: it makes me madto think of it. "

"Ay, ay; I know, " sighed the old fellow. "It used to be so with me once;but now it only comes on me when my term is nearly up. One gets patientas one gets old, you'll find. No; I've no plan just now; though, if Iever have, I promise you you shall be the man to know it. It's anothermatter altogether that I meant to tell you about. You've given me anaddress to remember: let me give you another in exchange for it--No. 91Earl Street East, Spitalfields. That's where mother lives, if the poorsoul is alive to whom you wrote for me from Cross Key. She'll be dead, however, long before you or I get out of this, that's certain, or Ishould not be telling you what I do; for one's mother is the best friendof all friends, and should come first and foremost. Well, the money willdo her no good; and if any thing happens to me, I have neither chick norchild to inherit it. I am speaking of this eight hundred pound, lad. IfI get into the world, I shall want it for myself, for I doubt my limbswill be too stiff for work by that time; but if not, then you shall haveit--every shilling. I am digging my own grave, as it might be, with thisspade, and making my will, do you see?" said the old fellow, smiling. 

"I thank you for your kind intentions, " returned Richard, absently;"it's very good of you, I'm sure. " His hopes of some scheme of presentrelease had been excited by the old man's manner, and this faint andfar-off prospect of a legateeship seemed but of little worth. 

"I may not have another chance to tell you about it, " resumed Balfour. "It is five years now since you and I spoke together last, and it may beanother five years before such good luck happens again; so don't forget91 Earl Street East. It's under the middle stone of the back kitchen, all in golden quids. You needn't mind it being 'swag;' and as for thosewhose own it is by rights, I could not tell you who the half of itbelonged to, if I would. It's the savings of an industrious life, lad, "added Mr. Balfour, pathetically; "and I should be sorry to think, if anything happened to me, that it should lie there useless, or be foundaccidental like, and perhaps fall into the hands of the bluebottles. Your memory's good, my lad, I dare say, and you won't forget the numbernor the street. "

"My memory is very good, friend, " returned Richard, slowly; "and I haveonly two or three things else to keep in it. And you, on your part, youwill not forget the mine?"

"Nay, nay; I've got it safe: Wheal Danes, Wheal Danes. "

"Silence, down there!" roared the warder; and nothing but the squeak ofthe barrow-wheel and the clean slice of the spade was heard in all thatthrong of involuntary toilers. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

BASIL. 

It is nineteen years since Richard Yorke stood in the dock at Cross Keyand heard the words of doom. Almost a whole generation of hisfellow-creatures has passed away from the earth. Old men have died, young men have become old, and babes have grown to be young men. Thereare but some half dozen persons in the world who, if reminded of him bysome circumstance, can recollect him dimly. There are two who still keephim in their thoughts continually, just as he was--like a picture whichbears no longer any resemblance to its original--and even these neverbreathe his name. 

Here is a young fellow walking with his mother along Oxford Street whois not unlike him, who might be himself but for those nineteen years;and the girl that walks upon the other side of him might also be HarryTrevethick. Youth and beauty are not dead because Richard Yorke is dead, or as good as dead. The name of this girl is Agnes Aird, a painter'sdaughter, who is also a teacher of his art. The lad is her father'spupil, and has learned beneath his roof a lesson not included in theartistic course; you may know that by the way in which his eyes devourthe girl, the intonation of his voice when he addresses her, the silentpressure of the arm on which her fingers rest. Charles Coe is in lovewith Agnes, and in all his studies of perspective beholds her, a radiantfigure beckoning him on to a happy future. His pencil strays from itsobject to portray her features--to inscribe her name beside his own. Mr. Coe, his father, exceedingly disapproves of this projected alliance, andhas forbidden the young people to associate. This ukase, however, canscarcely be obeyed while the whole party are inmates of Mr. Aird'sresidence, who "lets off" the upper part of his house as furnishedapartments, which the Coes have now inhabited as lodgers for some weeks. Solomon (now a very well-to-do personage, and a great authority onmetalliferous soils) has come to town on business, and left to his wifethe choice of a residence; and she, to please her son, had chosen theartist's dwelling, upon whose door-plate was inscribed the fact that hewas a professor of drawing. Solomon was not displeased that his son'stastes lay in that direction; it might be useful to himself hereafter inthe matter of plans and sections; but he is violently opposed to thisridiculous love affair, which is to be stamped out at once. To that endhe has instructed Mrs. Coe to look for lodgings in a distant quarter, and it is on that errand that we now behold her. It is characteristic ofthe Harry whom we once knew that she permits these young people toaccompany her--and one another--on the very quest that has their finalseparation for its object. She can not resist making them happy whileshe can; and she can refuse her Charley nothing. Moreover, Solomon is inthe City, looking after his mining interests, and need never know. 

In appearance, however, Harry Trevethick is greatly changed. She is butseven-and-thirty, yet has already passed into the shade of middle life. Her hair, though still in profusion, is tinged with gray; her featuresare worn and sharp; her brow is wrinkled; and in her once trustful eyesdwells a certain eager care, not mere distress or trouble, but ananxiety which is almost Fear. 

The three are now in one of the streets which unite Cavendish Squarewith Oxford Street, as a busy babbling rill connects the unruffled lakewith the roaring river. It is composed both of shops and private houses, the latter of which in some cases deign, notwithstanding their genteelappearance, to accommodate visitors by the week or month. 

"This is the sort of locality your father wished for, Charley, " remarkedMrs. Coe, looking about her; "it seems central, and yet tolerably quiet. Let us try this house. "

The name of "Basil, " without prefix, was engraved upon the door-plate;and in a corner of the dining-room window lurked an enameled card with"Apartments" on it. 

"There is no need to drag Agnes and you in, " Mrs. Coe went on, as theystood waiting for the bell to be answered. So Charles, well pleased, wasleft outside with the young girl, while his mother "went over thehouse. " In a few minutes, however, she reappeared, and in a somewhathurried and excited tone observed, "I think this place will do, mydears; but there is a good deal to talk about and settle, which willtake me some time. Therefore I think you had better go home together, and leave me. " Then, without waiting for a reply, she retired within andclosed the door. 

"How very curious!" exclaimed Agnes, wondering. 

"Oh, not at all, " said the young man, cheerfully; "my mother likes to dothings for herself, and I dare say has not a very high opinion of ourjudgment in domestic matters. You don't seem over-pleased, it seems tome, Agnes, at the notion of a _tête-à-tête_ with your humble servant;"and Mr. Charles pouted, half in fun and half with annoyance. 

"No, no; it is not that, Charles, " answered the girl, hastily. "You knowI have no pleasure equal to that of being with you; but I don't likeyour mother's looks; she had such a strange air, and spoke sodifferently from her usual way. I really scarcely like to leave her. "

"My dear Agnes, you don't know my mother, " returned Charles, laughing. "One would sometimes think she had all the care of the world upon hershoulders when every thing is going as smooth as oil. You don'tappreciate the grave responsibility of taking furnished lodgings for aweek certain. Come along, you little goose. " And, drawing her stillhesitating arm within his own, he marched away with her. 

Yet Agnes had reason for what she said; and Charles, somewhat selfish ashe was, would have foregone his flirtation and remained by his mother'sside had he seen her the moment after the house door had shut her in. 

With a throbbing heart, and a face as white as the handkerchief shepassed over her damp brow, she leaned against the wall of the passage, ere, with trembling steps, she approached the open parlor door. An agedwoman stood in the centre of the room, with hair as white as snow, butwith a figure straight as a poplar, and drawn up rigidly to its fullheight. 

"Why do you come back again?" cried she, in accents soft as milk, yetbitter as gall. "Why do you cross my threshold, you false witch, whenthere is nothing more to blight and blast? Did you think I should notknow you, that you dared to come? I should know you among all thefair-faced fiends in hell. "

"Mercy, mercy, Mrs. Yorke!" cried Harry, feebly; and she fell upon herknees, and made as though she would have clasped the other's garmentswith her stretched-out arms. 

"Don't touch me, lest I strike you, " answered the old woman, fiercely, "as, nineteen years ago, I would have struck you on your cruel lips, andspoiled the beauty that was the ruin of my boy! May _you_ have sons toperish through false wantons, and to pine in prison! May _you_ bedesolate, and without heart or hope, as I am! Go, devil, go, and rid meof your hateful presence!"

"Hear me, hear me, Mrs. Yorke!" pleaded the other, with clasped hands. "Strike me, spit upon me, if you will, but only hear me! Abject as Ilook, wretched as I feel--as I knew I must needs look and feel--I havelonged for this hour to come, as my boy longs for his bridal morning!"

"May he wake the next to find his bride a corpse; or, better still, tofind her false, like you. "

"I am not false; I never was; Heaven knows it!" cried Harry, passionately. "I do not blame you for your bitter words. I have earnedyour curses, though I meant to earn your blessing. "

"My blessing!" Contempt and hatred struggled for the mastery in hertone. "Richard, Richard! in your chains and toil, do you hear this? Thiswoman meant to earn my blessing!"

"Upon my soul--whose salvation I would have imperiled to save him--I didmy best, although it seemed my worst, " cried Harry. "That I was weak andcredulous and fearful is most true; but indeed, indeed, I was faithfulto your son. My father--he is dead, madam, and past your judgment" (forthe fury in the other's eyes had blazed up afresh at the mention ofhim)--"deceived me with false hopes; for fear alone--though I was timidtoo--would never have caused me to break the promise I had passed toyou. He said, if I disgraced myself and him by the perjury Icontemplated, that he would thrust me from his door forever; that in thelips of all the world my name would become another word for shame andinfamy; that even the man I loved would loathe me when I had thus servedhis turn. I answered him, 'No matter, so I save my Richard. ' Then hesaid, 'But you will not save him; you will ruin him, rather, by thisvery evidence you purpose to give. We have proof enough of this Yorke'sguilt, no matter what you swear; and we have proof, besides, of hishaving committed other offenses, if we choose to adduce it. All you willeffect is to make yourself shameful. ' Then I hesitated, not knowing whatto think. 'The case is this, ' argued my father: 'I have no grudgeagainst this young scoundrel, since the money has been all recovered, and I don't want revenge--else, as I say, I can easily get it. But I'llhave him taught a lesson; he must be punished for the wrong he has done, but not severely. Before the judge passes sentence, I, the prosecutor, will beg him off: such an appeal is always listened to, you know, and Iwill make it. But if you dare to speak for him, as I hear you mean todo--if you, my daughter, call yourself thief and trollop to save hisskin, then shall he rot in jail! He shall, by Heaven! His fate hangs onmy lips, not yours, '"

"Can this be true?" mused the old woman. 

"It _is_ true, so help me Heaven!" cried Harry. "I was a fool, a poor, weak, shuddering fool, but not a traitress. If you were in court, andsaw me look at him--the smile I gave by which I meant to assure him allwas well, however ill it seemed--You _did_ see it; I see you did. You dobelieve me. Oh, thank Heaven--thank Heaven!"

She began to sob and cry, and caught hold of the old woman's hand andkissed it, while the other stood silent, still in doubt. 

"Oh, madam, pity me. That you have suffered torments for long years isplain to see, and yet you have not, though he was your son, beentortured as I have. You could not have freed him by a word as I could;and oh, I did not utter it! I seemed to be his judge, his jailer, thecause of all his woes, to the man I loved--and loved beyond all others!I hated my own father for his sake. I"--she shuddered--"I was married toRichard's rival. You at least have been alone, not companioned night andday by one who helped to doom him. Your case is hard and bitter--butmine! not our own Richard, in his chains and toil, has suffered what _I_have suffered! Look at me, madam, and tell me if I speak truth or lie. "

"Yes, yes, " mused Mrs. Yorke, in tender tones, and passing her fingersover the other's silvering hair and haggard face; "I do--I must believeit. I should not have known you to-day had you not called me by my name. You must have mourned for him indeed. Is this the cheek he loved tokiss? Is this the hair a lock of which I took to comfort him in prison?Poor soul--poor soul!"

"How is he, madam?" whispered Harry, hoarsely. "Is he well? Is he free?"

"Not yet, Harry. In a year hence he will be. I had a letter onlyyesterday. But you must never see him; and if you really love him--Ispeak it for his sake, not theirs--you must never let him set eyes onyour husband or your boy. "

"I do not wish to see him; it would be too terrible to bear, " groanedHarry. 

"But he must not see _them_, " insisted the other, gravely. "You must putthe sea between yourselves and him, or there will be murder done. Hiswrath is terrible, and will be the destruction of both them and him. Thehope of vengeance is the food he lives upon, and without which he wouldhave perished years ago. Even if you persuaded him, as you haveconvinced _me_, that you yourself are innocent of his ruin, that wouldonly make him firmer in his purpose against your husband. He will havehis life-blood, and then his own will pay for it. If I had not seen you, I meant to see this man, and give him warning six months before Richardleft the prison. "

"Solomon would never heed it, " exclaimed Harry, "nor even believe it ifI told him. "

"He will believe _me_, " said the other, composedly. "You must bring himhere that I may tell him. Your Solomon must be a fool indeed not tohearken when a mother warns him against her own son. Mind, I do notblame my Richard, woman!" continued Mrs. Yorke, with sudden passion; "hehas had provocation enough; it is but right to kill such vermin, and Icould stand by and smile to see him do it. But they must be kept apart, I say--this man and Richard--lest a worse thing befall him than hashappened already. "

"Never to see him more!" moaned Harry, covering her face with her hands;"never to tell him I was not the wretch I seemed! only to fear him as anenemy to me and mine--"

"Ay, and to himself, " interrupted the other, gravely. "If you would notinflict far more on him than you have done already; if you would not--asyou will, if you neglect my warning--designedly bring him to a shamefuldeath, as you have involuntarily doomed him to a shameful life, keepthese two men apart. If you love this son of yours, remove him from thereach of mine. "

"Great Heaven!" cried Harry, shuddering, "would he harm my boy--myinnocent boy?"

"Ay, as he would set his heel upon his father--the viper and his brood. It is no idle menace he has breathed so cautiously that the whispermight well escape even another ear than mine, in every letter for thesemany years. He thirsts for liberty, not for his own sake, but for theslow-ripening vengeance it shall bear. He will have it, unless we savehim from himself by saving them from him, as sure as yonder inky cloudwill fall in storm. The thought of it was full grown in his mind when hewrote from Cross Key: '_They are dead to me, those three, at present_, 'and forbade me ever to mention them by name; and since then he hasthought of nothing else. The day of retribution is about to dawn. I sayagain, beware of him. "

"But he must be mad to cherish--"

"Perhaps he is, " interrupted the old woman, coldly; "he will not be lessdangerous on that account to those who made him mad. "

There was a long silence. Then Harry, in submissive tones, inquired whatMrs. Yorke would have her do. 

"Bring your husband hither, " returned she. "Take the rooms up stairs, and leave the task of telling him his peril to me: the sooner it is donethe better. There is but a year at most--not much too long to sell hisgoods, and get him away across the world, erasing every footstep behindhim. If he leave one--no matter how slight the clew--Richard will trackhim like a blood-hound. "

"We will come here at once--to-morrow, " cried Harry, eagerly. 

"Good. My name is Basil now, remember; not that it is likely, " sheadded, bitterly, "that you will call me Yorke from habit; it is not ahousehold word with you, I reckon. "

"It is never breathed, " said Harry, simply; "but, oh, madam, I _think_of him, indeed I do! He was my first love, and my last; and though heshould kill me for the crime, of which I have shown myself guiltless, Ishould pray God bless him with my latest breath. Yet he must curse _me_forever! He must never know but that I was the willing agent of hisruin!"

"'Tis true, I dare not mention your name, Harry, " said Mrs. Yorke, sadly; "and, if I told him, all the knowledge of the deception practicedon you would only make him the more bitter against your husband--the manwho, by connivance in your father's cruel falsehood, obtained you forhis wife, while his rival pined in prison. I do not blame you for yourmarriage--I know the force of stern necessity too well. But do notimagine that Richard could forgive you: he never, never could. "

"I know it, I know it, " sighed Harry, shuddering, "and yet he would pityme if he did but know what my life has been--almost as much as I havepitied _him_. But you, madam, _you_ at least have forgiven me; youbelieve me; you will not refuse to bless me, as his mother, before Igo. "

"I believe you, and therefore I forgive you, " answered Mrs. Yorke, withtenderness; "and if I believed in blessings, and had the power ofbestowing them, you should have your wish. From henceforth we two arefriends--though I never thought to kiss your cheek again, Harry--andmust work together for the good of him we love in common. You will behere to-morrow for certain, then?"

"Without fail we shall. "

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE OMEN. 

Mrs. Coe was as good as her word, and her husband and son were Mrs. Basil's lodgers within four-and-twenty hours. Solomon Coe was not veryparticular as to furnished apartments, and left such arrangements whollyto his wife. On the other hand, he confided to her but little respectinghis affairs, nor was she, on her part, curious to inquire into them. Manand wife had few things in common, and affection was not one of them. Solomon had married Harry with the full consciousness that another waspreferred before him; the disclosures at the trial, and the subsequentgossip of his neighbors, had placed that fact beyond a doubt. But he wasnot to be balked of the bride that had been promised him so long; nor, above all, should his rival enjoy even the barren victory of Harry'sremaining unwedded for his sake. There are marriages born of pique andspite on man's part as well as woman's; and Solomon's was one of them, although he reaped, of course, material advantages besides. Trevethickhad survived more than ten years, during which he had largely increasedhis savings; and at his death all these had reverted to his daughter andher husband. The wealth that had thus poured in upon Solomon throughHarry's means did not purchase for her any new regard; he had neverill-treated her, in a material sense, but he had spoken ash-sticks, though he had used none. On the slightest quarrel, that "jail-birdfriend of yours" had been thrown in her face, and the cowardly missilewas still cast at her upon occasion. The birth of their child had notcemented their union. As he grew up his character showed itself asforeign to that of his father as was his personal appearance. He wasslight in figure, delicate in appearance (though not in constitution), and fastidious in taste. His choice of an artist's calling was not soobjectionable to Solomon as might be imagined; he had not sensitivenessenough to abhor it from association, and, as has been said, he thoughtit might be made to co-operate with his own commercial schemes. But theartist nature was in antagonism to his own, and Charles and his fatherwere not on affectionate terms with one another. 

The wayward, handsome lad was, on the other hand, adored by his mother. Her intelligence, not naturally acute, was quickened to see his faults, not indeed as such, but as possible causes of misfortune to him. His toolively impulses, his indecision, his love of pleasure, were all sourcesof apprehension to her, though scarcely ever of rebuke. She saw in AgnesAird, his tutor's daughter--so simple, yet so sensible and sterling, sofaithful, pure, and true--the very girl to make her son a fitting wife;an antidote for what was amiss in him; her honest heart a sheet-anchorto hold him fast, not in the turbid ocean of excess, for her Charley wastoo good to tempt it, but through that sparkling sea of gayety in whichhe was too apt to plunge. She was beautiful enough even for him to matewith; she was better born and better trained than he; for old Jacob Airdwas none of those irregular geniuses of the pencil, addicted togin-punch and Shelley, and selfish to the core, but a plain honest man, who had brought up his daughter well--in tastes a lady, but housewifelyand wisely too. As for the inequality of wealth between them, her sonwould have enough for both; and it was certain that Agnes did not lovehim for his expectations, for they were unknown alike to her and him. Harry had never led him to believe that he would be a rich man; herlove, as we have said, had made her wise in all that concerned Charley;and as for his father, he was naturally reticent in such matters. He didnot spend one fifth part of his income. His habits were as inexpensiveas they had been in the old days at Gethin; and if the village folks hadever hinted to the young fellow of his father's wealth, he had noconception of its real extent. The idea itself, too, would have had nogreat interest for him; he liked to have money for the pleasure ofspending it, but it was never the object of his thoughts; he was toocareless, too much the creature of the hour, to forecast his future. Hismother gave him all she could, but he was aware that it was obtainedwith difficulty; the cost of his very education, which he had receivedat a school near Turlock, had, he knew, been grudged; his father hadoften grumbled that it was money thrown away, for, "Look at me, " saidhe; "I taught myself. " There was always, in short, a tightness in theCoe money market that augured any thing but pecuniary prosperity. 

The very fact of their having taken lodgings at Mr. Aird's house, situated as it was in Soho, a respectable but far from fashionablelocality, argued but moderate means, and placed the artist out of allsuspicion of setting his pretty daughter as a matrimonial snare forCharley. She was pretty enough and good enough, the old man justlythought, for him or for his betters; and though he regarded thegood-will which the young people evidently entertained for one anotherwith favor, he saw in it neither condescension nor advantage. Solomon, much engaged in business affairs away from home, and estimating, besides, the power of love at a low rate, was not seriously alarmed atthe growing attachment between his son and Agnes, nor would have beenhad it advanced much farther. He thought he had only to say "No, " to puta stop to it at any point. Still he had determined to place the boy outof the reach of such temptation as a pretty girl living beneath the sameroof must always offer to susceptible youth; and hence it was that Mrs. Coe had engaged new lodgings. But even now, so lightly did his fatherthink of the matter, that Charley was still to be permitted to visit atMr. Aird's daily, and take his drawing-lessons as heretofore. 

An excuse for the change of residence had been afforded in the fact thatSoho was too far from the parks, in which alone Mrs. Coe took pleasurein walking. She was quite unaccustomed to town life, and the roar andtumult of the streets annoyed and even alarmed her. In some respects, indeed, she was even a more nervous, timid creature than she had been asa girl; the warning just received from Mrs. Yorke had not fallen uponher altogether unexpectedly, though she could not have been said to beprepared for it. A vague apprehension of Richard's vengeance had hauntedher whole married life; she did not fear for her own safety; somethingtold her that his anger would scorn to harm herself; that it would passover her head like a flaming sword, and smite her husband and her boy;and as face after face passed by her in the crowded street, she wouldshrink and tremble, thinking that that of Richard Yorke would come oneday, and recognize her own, and track it home. Was he not fated to worktheir common ruin? Did not the spectre ship cross Turlock Sands beforeshe met his face for the first time? Though so mature in years, Harrywas indeed as superstitious as ever. A curious instance of this occurredon the day that the Coes moved into their new lodgings. The mother andson had arrived first--Solomon being engaged in the City untilevening--and Charley had strolled into the ground-floor parlor, whilethe landlady (whom he had not yet seen) was engaged with his mother upstairs in the distribution of the luggage. Above the chimney-piece hungthat striking if not attractive portrait of Joanna Southcott and heramanuensis, with which we are already acquainted; and it tickled theyoung man's fancy amazingly. He concluded it was a family group--thelikeness, perhaps, of Mrs. Basil and her late husband engaged in makingout their weekly accounts. "I will beg Agnes not to be jealous of ourcharming landlady, " thought he, and took out his note-book with theintention of transferring the likeness for that young lady's amusement. While engaged in this occupation the door opened, and in stepped Mrs. Basil and her new tenant. In his alarm and haste he stepped backsuddenly, and overthrew a little table, on which were some ornaments, heknew not what, which rolled to his mother's feet. She uttered a cry ofhorror; and the landlady herself stood still, regarding him with a faceof astonishment, and even terror. 

"Is that--your--son?" exclaimed she, clutching his mother by the arm. 

But Mrs. Coe did not seem to hear her. 

"Look, look!" cried she; "the skull, the skull! Oh, is it not afrightful omen!"

"I am really very sorry, " said Charley, picking up the article inquestion; "it was very stupid of me, Mrs. Basil. "

"Don't mention it, young Sir, " said the landlady, who had apparentlyrecovered from her sudden tremor; "the skull is no worse for its roll, you see; he was fortunately a hard-headed gentleman who originally ownedit. "

"Indeed, " said Charley, taking it from her hand with some curiosity, "it seems a curious ornament for a sitting-room. May I ask whom itbelonged to when it had flesh about it?"

"It is the skull of Swedenborg, " answered Mrs. Basil. "A near relativeof mine was a disciple of his, and left it to me as a most preciousrelic. "

"But how the deuce did he get possession of it?" inquired the young man. 

"Well, not very fairly, as it seems to me, " smiled the landlady. "Whileyour mother sits down and rests herself--for I am afraid you havefrightened her a bit--I'll tell you the story. "

"Yes, yes, " said Mrs. Coe, faintly; "I shall be better presently; don'tmind me. "

"Well, the tale runs thus, Sir. Swedenborg was buried in the vaultbeneath the Swedish embassador's chapel in Princes Square, RatcliffeHighway; and a certain theologian having once affirmed that all greatphilosophers took their bodies with them into the world of spirits, andthat this gentleman had done the like, leave was obtained to settle thispoint by actual examination. The body was found, and the theologianconfuted, but no trouble was taken to solder on again the lid of thecoffin. A thieving Swede, attending a funeral of one of his countrymenin the same vault, remarked this circumstance, and stole the skull, withthe intention of selling it to some disciple of the great philosopher's;and I am ashamed to say that he found a purchaser in my respectedrelative: and that's how I became possessed of Swedenborg's skull. "

"Very curious, though rather larcenous, " observed the young man, laughing. "And this good lady over the mantel-piece, who is she?"

"That's Joanna Southcott. But, my good young gentleman, I will answerall your questions another time. Your mother and I will have enough todo to arrange matters before your father comes home. You will excuse myfreedom, Sir. "

"Certainly, " said Charley, rather amused than otherwise with thelandlady's bluntness. "I know I'm in the way just now; so I'll step outfor half an hour or so. I am sorry I frightened you, dear mother. "

He stooped and kissed her fondly; and then, with a smile and a nod atMrs. Basil, stepped into the little passage and out of doors, and, whistling, passed the window down the street. 

"Your son has a light heart, " said Mrs. Basil, looking at Harry veryearnestly. "How old is he?"

"Eighteen--or a little less. "

"He looks his age _at least_, " observed the other, emphatically. 

"Yes; dark people always do. "

"And your husband is dark, like him, I remember. "

"Yes; his complexion is swarthy, though he is not slim, like Charles. "

Mrs. Coe, still in the arm-chair into which she had first sunk, hereclosed her eyes; either the faintness of which she had complained wascoming on again, or she did not wish to meet the other's searching gaze. 

There was a long pause, during which Mrs. Basil went to the cellaret, and pouring out a glass of sherry, put it to her tenant's lips. 

"Do you feel better now?" said she, when Harry had drunk it. 

"Yes, yes; much better. But that skull--oh, horrible! it rolled from himto me. What an omen on your very threshold! Heaven guard my Charles fromevil!"

"This is weakness, Mrs. Coe. The skull is harmless; and it rolledbecause your son upset it. "

"Yes, my son, " gasped the other, trembling. "It is for him I fear. Itaugurs death--death--death!"

There was a ring at the front-door, decisive, sharp, and resonant. 

"Great Heaven!" cried Harry; "if it should be he himself! Hide me away;put me out of sight. " Her terror was piteous to behold: she shook inevery limb. 

"It is the post, " said Mrs. Basil, contemptuously; and she was right. The servant brought in a letter for her mistress. 

"I don't know the hand, " mused she. "Black-bordered, and black-sealedtoo. " She opened it without excitement, and read it through: it was buta few lines. 

"Your omen has proved true for once, Mrs. Coe, " said she, in quiettones. "This speaks of death. "

"Whose death?" cried Harry. 

"My husband's, Richard's father. Carew of Crompton died last night. "

There was no sorrow in the aged woman's face: a gravity, unmixed withtenderness, possessed it. Carew was naught to her, and had been naughtfor twoscore years. But the tide of memory was at its flow within herbrain; and because the Past _is_ Past it touches us. This man had lovedher once, after his own scornful manner, when he was young, and beforepower and selfishness had made him stone. He had been the father of heronly son, and now he was Dead. 

"I am so sorry, " said Harry, not quite knowing what to say. 

"There is no need for sorrow, " replied the other, quietly. "Let us go upstairs and finish our work. "

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

WITCHERY. 

Carew of Crompton was really dead, as men said, "at last, " not that hehad been long dying, or was an old man, but that he had eventuallysuccumbed to one of those deadly risks to which he had so oftenvoluntarily exposed himself. On the occasion which had been fatal to himhe had started from home one frosty morning at the gallop, with a cigarin his mouth, the reins on his horse's neck, and both his hands in hispockets, and had been pitched off and broken his neck within half a mileof his own door. His chaplain, who had dispatched the news to Mrs. Basil, had been riding by his side at the very moment. "He was a goodfriend to me, " was the laconic remark that poor Parson Whymper had addedto the bare intelligence. 

To judge by the regretful excitement in the Midlands, Carew might havebeen a good friend to every body. The news was at once telegraphed totown, and appeared in the evening papers. The public interest in his madfreaks had of late years grown somewhat faint--his extravagances were, perforce, on a less splendid scale--but his death revived it. "So thatmad Carew has killed himself, after all, " was the observation frequentlyoverheard that evening, as acquaintance met acquaintance on theirhomeward way from business. "Well, he's had his whack of most things, "was the reply of the philosophers; "He has not left much to tempt hisheirs to be extravagant, I reckon, " of the cynics; "He was a deuced goodfellow at bottom, I believe, " remarked those who were secretly desirousof earning the same eulogium for themselves; "He was altogether wrong attop, " answered the charitable. 

Solomon Coe came home to his new abode in such a state of elation thatit even made him communicative to his wife. Mrs. Basil happened to bewith her in the drawing-room, but he only acknowledged her presence by ahasty nod. "Well, what d'ye think, Carew of Crompton, that was yourfather's landlord and mine"--Solomon never said "ours" with reference toproperty--"has broken his neck at last!"

Of course the very name of Carew was a sore subject between man andwife, on account of Richard Yorke's connection with him; but it suitedSolomon's purpose on this occasion to ignore that circumstance. It wouldbe necessary for some time to come to allude to the Crompton propertymore or less, and it was just as well to begin at once; it was also lessembarrassing to do so in the presence of a third person. 

"Yes, Solomon, I knew Mr. Carew was dead, " said Harry, gravely. The nextinstant she turned scarlet with the consciousness of her thoughtlessindiscretion. 

"Oh, " grunted her husband, annoyed at what he deemed her sulky manner, when he himself was so graciously inclined to be conciliatory, and alsodispleased to find his news anticipated, "you've been buying an eveningpaper, have you? You must have more money than you know what to do with, it seems to me. "

Harry was thankfully accepting this imputation in silence, when Mrs. Basil's soft voice was heard. "No, Sir; it was I who told your goodlady. I had a letter from Crompton by the afternoon's post. "

"The devil you did!" cried Solomon, turning sharply upon her. "How camethat about?"

"I was housekeeper at Crompton, Sir, in old Mrs. Carew's time, for someyears, and one of the servants wrote to let me know of the accident. "

"Housekeeper, were you?" said Solomon, with interest. "That must havebeen a good place, with deuced good pickings, eh?"

"Solomon, Solomon, " remonstrated his wife, in a low voice, "Mrs. Basilis quite a lady. Don't you see that you offend her?"

It is more than probable that, under ordinary circumstances, Mr. Coewould have resented this rebuke with choleric vehemence; but he had hisreasons for being good-humored in the present instance. "You must excusemy country manners, Mrs. Basil, " said he. "As my wife will tell you, Imust always have my joke; but I mean no offense. So you were housekeeperat Crompton, were you? Well, now, that's curious, for Mrs. Coe's fatherand I myself, as you heard me saying, have had a great deal to do withCarew. You knew him well, of course?"

"Yes, Sir; I did. "

"And the place too, of course. It was a very fine one, was it not?Plenty of pictures, and looking-glasses, and things?"

"It was very richly furnished. "

It was curious to mark the difference of manner between questioner andrespondent. Solomon, usually so reticent and reserved, was grown quitevoluble. Mrs. Basil, on the other hand, naturally so apt in speech, seemed to reply with difficulty. She was weighing every word. 

"The estate, I suppose, was out of your beat; you did not have much todo with that?"

"I used to walk in the park, Sir, most days. "

"Ay; but the property generally? The friend who writes you to-day don'tsay any thing about _that_, I suppose--whether any of it is to be soldor not, for instance?"

"The report--of course, being a servant, she can only speak fromreport--is that Mr. Carew's affairs are in a sad state. Every thing, Ibelieve, is to be sold at once. The whole estate is said to be--I don'tknow if I use the right term--mortgaged. "

"Just so, " replied Solomon; "yes, yes. That is so, no doubt. " There wasa slight pause; Mrs. Basil courtesied, and was about to leave the room. "Stop a bit, ma'am, " said Solomon. "My wife tells me that you are a lonewoman--a widow. Perhaps you'd like to take a bit of dinner with usto-day?"

Harry began to think her husband was intoxicated. He did getoccasionally so when any particularly good stroke of business was incourse of progress, and on such occasions his manner was unusuallyaffable; but she had never seen him half so gracious as at present. Hospitality, though he did sometimes bring a mining agent or a brokerhome to dinner, was by no means his strong point. Mrs. Basil lookeddoubtfully at her dress, which, though homely, was perfectly well-madeand lady-like, and murmured something about its being almost thedinner-hour, and there being "no time. "

"Oh, never mind your gown" (which, by-the-by, Solomon pronounced"gownd"); "we're quite plain people ourselves, as my wife will tell you. You shall take pot-luck with us. Where's Charley? That boy's alwayslate. "

But at that very moment the young gentleman in question entered theroom, at the same time as did the servant with the announcement thatdinner was on the table. 

The astonishment of the domestic at seeing her mistress taken down tothe dining-room by the new lodger was only exceeded by that of Charley, as, with his mother on his arm, he followed the strangely assorted pair. "I knew she was a witch, " he murmured, "with her human skull and herJoanna Southcott; but this beats old Margery's doings at Gethin. "

"Hush, hush!" whispered his mother, for Charley's high spirits andaudacity always terrified her when exhibited in his father's presence:"they have found they have a common acquaintance, and so made friends. "

"Father didn't know Swedenborg, did he?" answered the young man, slyly. "My belief is, he has fallen in love with her. I saw a black cat on thestairs. She can make any body do it, as I was telling Aggey" (the youngrogue had been to Soho since the morning); "I shall be the next victim, no doubt. It's no use saying to myself, 'Thou shalt not marry thygrandmother. ' Her charms are too powerful for the rubric. You'll seeshe'll not say grace. "

Mr. Charles was right in that particular of his diagnosis of their newguest. Mrs. Basil did treat that devotional formula, which Mrs. Coenever omitted to pronounce, in spite of her husband's contemptuousshrugs, with considerable indifference. She sat opposite to Charley, andmore than once, when he looked up suddenly, he caught her gaze fixedearnestly upon him. Those wondrous eyes of hers yet shone forth brightand clear; her cheeks were still smooth; and, though her brow had many awrinkle, they were the footprints of thought and care, rather than ofyears. 

The conversation, as was natural where the company and the guest werestrangers to each other, turned upon the topics of the day, and theobjects in the room, some of which, as we know, were sufficientlyremarkable. At Charley's request Mrs. Basil once more narrated the storyof the skull; and then epitomized, with caustic tongue, the biography ofpoor Joanna. Up stairs, she said, she had one of that lady's "seals"--apassport to eternal bliss--which she would bestow as a present upon theyoung gentleman opposite. Her cynical humor delighted Charley, and wonthe approbation of his father--not the less so, perhaps, since he saw itannoyed his wife. 

Poor Harry was a simple well-meaning woman in her way, and, had thecircumstances of her life been less exceptional, would have earned thereputation of a good creature and steadfast chapel-goer. But our livesdo not always fall in the places most suitable to our dispositions; therestive are often compelled to run in harness; and the quiet low-actiongoers, who would welcome restraint, are left without guide, and with nocourse marked out for them. Thus it was with Mrs. Coe. The situation inwhich Fate had placed her it was altogether beyond her powers to fill. She knew that Mrs. Basil was rapidly ingratiating herself with herhusband, and so far was furthering their common plan; but, notwithstanding its supreme importance, she shrank from the means thatwere bidding fair to accomplish her own end. She shuddered at herhusband's vulgar ejaculations of assent and approval; at her son'sthoughtless laughter; at this woman's sparkling and audacious talk, which seemed so purposeless, and yet was so full of design and craft. She had feared her and shrank from her at Gethin, and she feared hernow. And yet how necessary was her assistance! Of her own self she waswell aware that she could do nothing to avert that coming peril from herhusband and her son, the shadow of which had darkened all her marriedlife, and was now deepening into blackest doom. It was absolutelynecessary that Mrs. Basil should obtain the confidence of Solomon, andperhaps of Charley also, and yet this unlooked-for and swift success ofhers was far from welcome to poor Harry. It really almost seemed thatthere was truth in what her son had spoken in jest--that there waswitchcraft in it. 

Solomon was now talking earnestly to Mrs. Basil in low tones, whileCharley looked toward his mother with raised eyebrows, and a comicexpression, which seemed to say, "She's got him, you see; I did see ablack cat on the stairs. "

If she could have overheard her husband's talk, it would still have beeninexplicable to her. 

"Then you think this sale at Crompton will take place directly after thefuneral?"

"I should certainly imagine so--yes. "

"There is something--you needn't tell my wife, because I wish it to be asurprise for her--that I should like to buy at it; something I have longhad my eye on. "

"Some piece of furniture, I suppose. Well, you must be prepared to givea good sum, I fear. From the curiosity of the thing--the reputation, Imean, of poor Mr. Carew--it is likely things will fetch more than theirprice. "

"Perhaps so. But I should like to know, as soon as possible, when thesale comes off. From your connection with the place, you will be able toget news of this before the general public--I mean the exact date. "

"No doubt. I will write to-morrow, and beg that the information may besent me. "

"I should feel much obliged if you would, Mrs. Basil. "

"I'll write this very night. You wish to know the day on which the saleof the furniture may be fixed?"

"Yes; and of all the other things: of the estates as well, for instance;there may be some land that may prove a good investment. Don't make afuss about it, but say you have a friend who is interested. Thecatalogue of effects, with the dates appointed for the sale of each, will, of course, be settled down there. I want to have an early copy. "

"That is very simple, " said Mrs. Basil, making a memorandum in herpocket-book: "you shall be among the very first to get one, Mr. Coe--youmay rely on that. "

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

OVER THE ROOF. 

Richard Yorke is still at Lingmoor; and though but a twelvemonthintervenes between him and freedom--or perhaps partly because ofit--prison life is growing insupportable. It is the last year of "a longterm, " as all "old hands" will tell you, which is the most trying. Impatience becomes more incontrollable as the limit of suffering isneared; and just as, after a tedious and dangerous illness, theconvalescent will rise too soon, and risk a relapse in his feverishdesire to be well, so a prisoner will often make some wild endeavors toescape, when, if he did but wait a little--a span of time compared withthat in which he has lain captive--his jealous doors would open ofthemselves to let him pass in safety. But there are other reasons whichare pressing Richard toward flight, and goading him (as he feels) tomadness if he remain quiescent. He has quarreled with all about him, andhas suffered for it; and he is now menaced with worse things. Hissullenness, his brooding ire, have long transformed his nature;civility, and even obedience, have become impossible for him. He kicks, as it were, against a chevaux-de-frise of steel. He has been starved onbread and water, and grown thin and fierce. He has been put, and not fornothing, into the dark cell for hours, to brood, as usual, and has comeforth a more reckless devil than he went in. 

His warder and he are open foes. That cross-grained official has taken astrong antipathy to him, which is more than reciprocated; and every, time he enters his cell sets foot, though unconscious of the fact, onthe very threshold of the grave. He is the keeper of one who is almost amadman; but the latter is sane on one point yet--he knows to whom hisvengeance is mainly due; and while that knowledge lasts his lesser foeis safe from him--safe, that is, at present; but a provocation may begiven which would compel this long-suffering victim--in years scarce amiddle-aged man, in appearance gray and withered as the oldest withinthose prison walls--to give his passion way, and slay him. If somethingshould take place, which this warder himself has prophesied wouldhappen, it will be so; and all Richard's hoarded hate would then beuseless, since it would have no heir. There has been flogging in theprison--an unusual punishment, and only inflicted for great offenses, orfor continued contumacy and bad conduct. A conspiracy was discovered, and seven of the ringleaders received three dozen lashes each, inpresence of all the inmates of the jail. It was a punishment perhapsdeserved and necessary, but sickening enough to witness. Richard'swarder stood beside him, and while the cat was descending on onewretch's naked back, observed in a grim whisper: "Do you take warning, my man; for if you are reported again, the governor says you are to havea dose of the same medicine. "

Whether the man spoke truth or not, Richard believed him. It was morethan probable that he _would_ be reported, and by the very voice thatuttered the menace. In a twelvemonth's time there were three hundred andsixty-five opportunities, ten times told, of its being fulfilled. Ifsuch a sentence was ever passed upon him, as it was almost sure to be, Richard was well resolved that it should not be carried out; rathershould this man die, and he himself, his slayer, be hung for it. Hisdesire for vengeance upon those who had blasted his young life socruelly was as strong as ever--nay, stronger, fiftyfold; but he knewthat he could never bear the lash. Somehow or other, therefore, at allrisks, he must escape from Lingmoor. 

Robert Balfour was to be set free in a few days, his conduct, though notgood, having earned that much of remission. Richard was not envious ofhim, yet the contrast of their two positions made him perhaps moredesperate and reckless. Of late months the old man had been admitted tocertain privileges accorded to such as have almost worked out theirtime, or who are otherwise recommended for them. He had been employed as"a cleaner, " then as "a special"--in which position he was permitted towork out of doors without an attendant warder, and even (in hisparticular case, for he was growing very old and feeble) to have leaveof absence for an hour or two. On some occasions it was his duty tobring round the prisoners' meals; and then he saw Richard, and couldeven exchange a word or two with him alone. This happened upon theafternoon of the day when the public flogging had taken place. 

"Balfour, " said Richard, earnestly, "will you do me a favor?"

"Yes, lad, any thing, " replied the old man, softly. The word "lad"seemed so inapplicable to that gray-headed, care-lined face, which hehad known so young and comely, that the misuse of it touched thespeaker. "You know I will. "

"Even though you should run a risk, " said Richard, "within a day or twoof your freedom?"

"Ay; for your sake, I would do that and more. "

"God bless you, if there be a God!" answered those haggard lips. "Askleave to go to the village to-morrow, and get me a file. "

"Hush!--the warder. "

The conversation thus interrupted was resumed next day. 

"Here is the file, " said Balfour; "hide it in your mattress. But, lad, you will be mad to use it. I pray you be patient. It is only atwelvemonth now. "

Richard shook his head, with a ghastly smile. "I must try, " said he. 

"Nay, nay; you will be retaken and flogged, lad; think of that. "

"I shall never be retaken, Balfour, at least alive. "

It was easy enough to read in Richard's face the corroboration of hiswords. 

"Have you any plan?" asked the old man, disconsolately. 

"I have. From my window here I see an open shed, with a coil of rope init. I shall file my bars, and get that rope to-night; climb back againhere, and over the roof. I have calculated the distance from outside. Ifeel sure I can reach the parapet with my finger-tips as I stand uponthe window-ledge, then let myself down into the exercising-yard upon thewest side. "

"The walls about that yard are sixty feet high, lad. "

"There is a spout in the north corner which will help me up; and if Ireach the top without a broken neck, I make fast my rope, and slide onto the moor. From thence, no matter how dark it is--and it will bepitch-dark, I reckon--I can make Bergen Wood. No power on earth shallstop me. If you told the warder yonder of my plan this moment, I shouldstill escape--in another and more certain fashion. " To look at him andread the resolute despair in his white face was to have no doubt ofthat. 

"What must be must be, " sighed the old man. "But for _my_ sake, lad--formine, who love you as a father loves his own son--be patient tillto-morrow. This is my last day at Lingmoor. To-morrow I shall be free. I'll come at night to the wall of the west yard, and throw a rope overthe north corner, close by the spout you mention. It shall be made faston my side, and if you do but lay hold of it, the rest is easy. Yourscheme, as it now stands, is hopeless. No squirrel could climb thatspout, far less a man reduced as you are;" and he glanced significantlyat Richard's shrunken limbs. 

"You are the best of friends, Balfour--indeed, the only man that ever_was_ my friend. " He stopped, as if overcome by an emotion that was sostrange to him. "At midnight, then, to-morrow, I shall begin my work;and in an hour from that time, if all goes well, I shall be at the spotappointed. If I fail, you will remember Wheal Danes?"

"Yes, yes; but you will not fail. Keep a good heart, " whispered the oldman, as he hurried away at an approaching footstep. 

But, in reality, Balfour had no hope. His experience of such attempts, and his knowledge of the difficulties to be surmounted in the presentinstance, forbade any expectation of Richard's success, even in thematter of getting outside the prison walls; and, supposing that wasdone, and the wood reached, what was to be looked for further but slowstarvation or death from the sharp-tipped arrows of the wintry wind?Still, Balfour's help was promised, and would be given; the oldcracksman had many faults and vices, but he was not one to desert afriend at a pinch, and Richard Yorke was really dear to him. 

As for Richard, notwithstanding the seasonableness of the other's offer, and although he was himself almost convinced that without such aid hecould never effect his object, no sooner was he left alone than heregretted that he had passed his word to put off the attempt anotherday. Suppose he should transgress some prison regulation between thisand then, or be reported by his hostile attendant without havingcommitted a transgression! There were thirty-six hours of such perilousdelay before him, and his impatience was already at fever-heat. Bystanding on his metal wash-stand, and peering through his bars, he couldsee that the coil of rope still lay in its accustomed place thatafternoon, but would it remain there till to-morrow night? The very actof thus climbing to his window, which he could not resist, was a seriousoffense; and if by any chance he should be found in possession of thefile--then all was over. He was fully determined only to part with itwith life itself. For once, the picture of Trevethick and his son-in-law(for he had heard before he left Cross Key of Harry's marriage with hisrival), unsuspecting, complacent, and exposed to the full force of hisrevenge, failed to occupy his gloating thoughts; they were fixed as everthere, but on the means and not upon the end--his whole being wasengrossed in the coming enterprise. He feared the warder should readthat forbidden word "Escape" in his eager eyes, or on his restless lips. A change of cell or a sudden examination of his bed-furniture--nouncommon occurrence--would prove his ruin. He took the file out of hismattress, and placed it in his breast: let that man beware who found itthere!

At last the long night, which should have found him free, passed by, andthe next weary day. The appointed time had come. 

It was past midnight, and not a sound was heard in the vast prison;there was no moon, but a few stars shone on him as he worked at the ironbars; the noise of his file was muffled--he had rubbed it well withsoap--but every now and then he paused and listened. He half fancied hecould hear the distant tramp of the patrols, who, musket in hand, watched the walls of Lingmoor from the roofs of its four stone towers;but it was only fancy, and, at all events, no one else but they wasstirring. Years ago he had gauged those bars, and calculated that notless than three must be sawn through to give his body room to pass; butthat was when he was young and plump and vigorous. He was vigorousnow--the fever within him seemed to give him the strength of ten--but hewas an old man to look at, and the flesh had left his bones. So much thebetter; there were only two bars to file instead of three. Finding thespace sufficient, he twisted his blanket into a rope, fastened it to thebroken bars, and so, by its aid, slipped noiselessly into the yard. 

That portion of the prison was low, and consisted but of two stories;another cell window was immediately beneath his own, but, as he knew, itwas not used for prisoners. Still, he trembled as he slipped past it. Suppose a hand had been pushed through to clasp his limbs, or a voicehad given the alarm, and warned the watchful guards! But his feettouched ground in safety. His eyes, accustomed for long years to cleavethe darkness, guided him straight to the shed and to the coil of rope. He seized it as the shipwrecked mariner clutches that which is thrownhim from the shore to drag him through the roaring breakers, and then, winding it about his waist, he retraced his steps. To return to his cellwindow was comparatively easy; but to stand upon its narrow ledge, and, clutching the parapet with his fingers, to draw himself up thereby, wasa task that few, without the hope of liberty to spur them, could haveaccomplished. Three times he failed; without something more of purchasefor his hold, he felt the thing was beyond his powers. The question was, how broad was the stone coping? If, by a sudden spring, he could catchthe other side of it, he might succeed; but if he missed, his handswould slide from the smooth surface, his feet could not regain theirstand-point, and he would fall backward twenty feet or so upon the stonecourtyard. 

There was nothing for it but to run the risk. He gathered his strengthtogether, shut his eyes, and made a vigorous spring: one hand caught afirm gripe, and, after a sharp struggle, the other gained it; then hedrew himself slowly up, and lay down in the gutter of the roof to gatherbreath and look about him. The prison was built like the four spokes ofa wheel; and, indeed, with the high wall circling round it, did closelyresemble that image. Nearly the whole of the building could have beenseen, had it been light enough, from his present position; but, as itwas, only the west wing was dimly visible, with its guardian towerstanding blackly up against its dark back-ground of wintry night sky. Hecould not make out the sentry on its top; but now and then, when hiscircuit brought him nearest to his hiding-place, he could hear hismeasured footfall. 

Like a creeping thing, for he scarce used hand or foot at all, Richardslowly crawled and slid along the sloping roof, then swiftly over thevertex, while the patrol was at the most distant portion of his round, and then once more, motionless and almost breathless, he lay down behindthe western parapet. The exercising-yard, into which it was his objectto drop, was just below him; but it was necessary to find some object towhich to fasten his rope; and here he perceived how futile would havebeen his plan of escape without assistance from without; for here, having slid down it, he must needs leave his rope tied to a neighboringchimney. There was not length enough to cut off, and be of any serviceafterward for the descent of the external wall, nigh sixty feet inheight. If Balfour failed him, it was now, indeed, clear to him that hiswhole design must fail. Yonder towering wall, higher even than his ownpresent elevated position, could never be scaled by foot and hand, withonly the help of a spout--nay, he doubted whether, even if he found thepromised rope in position, he could even make use of that; for, thoughagile, he had none of the sailor's cunning. 

He made fast the coil which he had with him, however, and watching hisopportunity, slid off the parapet into space. Such a feat seems easyenough to read of; but to slide without noise down a loose and swingingrope for so great a distance is no slight task to one unused to suchgymnastics; and, besides, he had to check himself at intervals (whichtook the skin off from his hands, although at the time he did not feelit), lest he should suddenly reach the ground with a dull thud. Heaccomplished this in safety, and once more paused, his back pushed hardto the prison wall, while the warder passed, whose form he could noweven make out, it was so immediately above him; then he crossed the yardwith a swift but anxious step to its north corner, and peered about inthe gloom for the promised rope; the spout was there, smooth andineffectual enough as a means of exit, but no rope. 

His heart died within him, and his hands trembled with anxiety andtrepidation as they felt in vain for it along the smooth and lofty wall. Richard's brain began to reel. He leaned his trembling brow against thecold iron of the spout, and endeavored to think the matter out. He wassure of Balfour; he felt certain that nothing but sudden and dangerousillness would have prevented him from keeping his word. But perhaps hehad not been able to obtain a rope; such things were watchfully lookedafter in the neighborhood of Lingmoor Prison, and might even not beprocurable. Yet had such been the case, Balfour would not havevolunteered that form of assistance. He was of opinion that the rope wasthere, then, and if so, it must have been thrown over by means of astone, or weight of some kind. In that case, if the stone had rolledafter reaching the ground, the rope might not be hanging like aplumb-line from the wall, but at an angle from it, and at some distance. He began to move, then, in a parallel line from the wall, still feelingright and left; and on the third trial he caught in his stretched-outhand a string--a string-line such as a boy uses for his kite; and for aninstant, the sense of the inefficacy of such means to effect his purposefroze him with despair. But presently pulling on the string, he found itgather in his hand, and pulling softly on, more string, and then an endof thin but wire-strong rope, and then more rope. What was best of allwas, that this rope was knotted at intervals of every foot, so as toafford a strong, firm hold. 

After many yards of this had been hauled in he found resistance; the endof it was evidently fast on the other side. Richard passed the roperound the bottom of the iron spout, and beneath an iron clasp, thatprevented its slipping upward, and then made it taut. It was a perilousbridge even then, and supposing the watcher with his musket had notbeen, as he was, within easy gunshot of him; but it led from prisonwalls to liberty, and Richard did not hesitate for a moment to commithimself to it. Hand over hand, foot after foot, he dragged himself withinfinite effort slowly upward; but it was not now in his power to watchthe patrol, and secure the most favorable moment for crossing the walltop, as he had done in the case of the roof. As ill luck would have it, just as the sentry came to the northward portion of his beat, Richard'sform was vaguely visible against the sky, upon the very summit of thewall. The next instant he had crossed it, and at the hoarse cry, "Who'sthere?" had glided rapidly down upon the other side. The sentry's gunwas at his shoulder, and its sharp report rang through the silent nightjust as the convict reached the ground. The starlight was justsufficient, as the warder subsequently swore (and truly), to see the manwas hit; he staggered and fell, but crawled away directly, and was lostin the surrounding gloom. 

At the same moment all the prison seemed to wake to light and life, andthe alarm-bell clashed out its hoarse notes of warning on the wintryair. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

NEWS FROM LINGMOOR. 

Mrs. Basil kept her word with her lodger, and (thanks to the chaplain)gave into his hand a catalogue of the great Crompton sale some hours atleast before the details of it were made public; on the receipt of whichSolomon at once left town. His absence was felt to be a relief by allparties. The work of ingratiating herself with his hard, coarse nature, independently of the personal loathing with which Mrs. Basil regardedhim, on Richard's account, was very hard, and rest was grateful to her. Mrs. Coe was always more at ease when business took her husband from hishome. Charley hailed his departure, since he could now enjoy the societyof his Agnes without stint. 

He was, as usual, at Soho one morning, when Harry, sitting alone in thedrawing-room, engaged in needle-work, was alarmed by a shrill shriek, followed by a heavy fall on the floor beneath, in Mrs. Basil's parlor. She had heard the front-door closed but a minute before, and the thoughtthat was never wholly absent from her mind now flashed upon it withterrible distinctness--the Avenger had come at last! Her next hurriedreflection was one of thankfulness that neither Charley nor Solomon wasat home. Then, pale and trembling, she stole out on the landing of thestairs, and listened intently. Not a sound was to be heard save thethrobs of her own fluttering breast. The cook and the waiting-maid, whoalone composed the domestic staff, had apparently not heard the noise;for the former was singing loudly in the kitchen, as was her wont whenshe had been "put out, " as happened some half dozen times per diem. Itwas frightful to think that in yonder parlor her once-loved Richardmight even then be closeted with his mother, deaf to her appeals formercy, resolute for revenge, and only demanding where his enemies mightbe found: it was better to face him than to picture him thus. That hissudden appearance had terrified Mrs. Basil into a fit she had littledoubt from that shriek and fall; and, indeed, all was now so stillwithin there that she might be dead. The fear for her offspring, however, made Harry almost bold. Indeed, as has been said, she did notentertain any apprehension of personal violence at Richard's hands; and, perhaps, in spite of Mrs. Basil's assurance to the contrary, she hadsome hope of moving him from his set purpose by her prayers and tears. Step by step, and clinging to the hand-rail for support, for her limbsscarcely obeyed her will, she descended the stairs, stood a moment inthe passage, listening like a frightened hare, and then opened theparlor door. There was no one within it: yes, upon the hearth-rug laythe motionless form of Mrs. Basil; she was lying on her face; and, rushing forward, Harry knelt down beside her, and strove to lift her inher arms. Some instinct seemed to forbid her to call for assistance. 

"What is it? what is it?" gasped the old woman, looking vacantly up inthe other's face. 

"You have been unwell, dear madam. I am afraid you have had a faintingfit; but, thank Heaven, you are better now. "

Harry was truly grateful; first, that her original suspicion had provedto be unfounded; secondly, that Mrs. Basil was alive. She had contrivedto place her in a sitting posture, with her back against the heavyarm-chair; and now she brought a carafe of water from the side-board, and sprinkled her face and hands. 

"Let me call Mary, and we will get you up to your own room as soon asyou feel equal to the effort. "

Mrs. Basil's eyes had closed again. Her face was white and stiff as thatof a corpse; but she shook her head with vehemence. "The door--lock thedoor!" she murmured. 

Not without some hesitation, for she began to fear that her companionwas wandering in her mind, Harry obeyed her. "Get me into my chair. Oh, why did I ever wake to weary life again!"

"What has troubled you? Can any new misfortune have happened to us?"inquired Harry, woefully. 

"To _you_--no, " answered the old woman, with sudden fierceness; "tome--yes. Do you see that letter?" She pointed to one lying beneath thetable. "Twenty years ago that would have been my death-warrant; but nowI am so used to suffer that, like the man who lived on poisons, nothingkills. Read it--read it. "

The letter was an official one; the envelope immense, with "On herMajesty's Service" stamped upon it, and out of all proportion to thescanty contents, which ran as follows:

 "LINGMOOR PRISON, _December 22. _

 "MADAM, --I am instructed by the Governor of this Jail to acquaint you with the sad news that your son, Richard Yorke, is no more. Four weeks ago he escaped from prison by night, and took refuge in an adjoining wood. His body was discovered only four days ago, and an inquest held upon it, when a verdict was returned in accordance with the facts. I am, Madam, yours obediently, "THOMAS SPARKES (_for the Governor_). 

 "I am instructed to inclose a locket with miniature, which was found upon your son on his arrival here. The rest of his property will be forwarded by rail. "

This locket contained the little picture of Harry painted by Richardhimself, and which, though he had contrived to secrete while at CrossKey, had been taken from him at Lingmoor. 

Harry's breast was agitated by conflicting emotions. To know that herboy was safe--that there could be no murder done--gave her a sense ofintense relief, which could scarcely be called selfish. But thatreflection was but transient, and a passionate burst of sorrow succeededit. The only man she had ever loved--around whom, centred her mostprecious memories--had died, then, thus miserably, after miserable yearsof bondage endured on her account. She saw him with her mind's eye oncemore as when he had clasped her in his arms for the first time upon theruined tower--as when he had rained his kisses on her lips beside theWishing Well--in his youth and beauty and passion. Her nineteen years ofloveless wedlock were swept away, and left her as she saw herself in thelittle portrait he himself had painted, and which was now his legacy. His menaces and vows of vengeance against her and hers were allforgotten; her woman's heart was loyal to him whom she had owned itslord, and once more did him fealty. 

"Oh, Richard, Richard, my dear love, " cried she; "God knows I would havedied to save you!"

"Come here, Harry--come here, " whispered Mrs. Basil, "and let me kissyou. I would that I could weep like you; but the fountain of my tearshas long been dry. I thought you would have been glad to feel that youand yours were safe--that retribution was averted from the man, yourhusband; but I now see I did you wrong. Your heart is touched--youremember him as he was before the taint of crime was on him. "

"It never was!" cried Harry, passionately. "He never meant to wrong myfather of a shilling. "

"Well said, dear Harry; well said. He was himself a wronged--a murderedman. Imprisoned for nineteen years, and then to perish thus! And yet mentalk of Heaven's justice! My boy! my boy!"

The two women were silent for a while--the one gazing with dry eyes buttender yearning face upon the other, as she rocked herself to and fro, and shook with stifled sobs. 

"Dear Harry, you must not desert me now, " pleaded the former, pitifully;"I am very old, and this has broken me. He was my all--my only one onearth--and he is dead. I shall not trouble you long. We two, child, werethe only ones that loved him, and we love him still. Let me cling toyou, Harry, since it is but for a little while; and let us talk of himtogether, when we are alone, and think of what he was. So bright, sogay, so--Oh, my boy! my boy!"

The tears rushed to the mother's eyes at last. Hard Fate was softenedfor a while toward it's life-long victim; and side by side sat the twobereaved women, each striving to comfort the other, after woman'sfashion, by painting in its brightest colors that dead Past which bothdeplored. Begotten of their common sorrow, Love sprang up between them, and on one side confidence; and into Mrs. Basil's hungry ears Harry, forthe first time, poured the story of her courtship. Richard's death hadcemented between them the bond which it would seem to have destroyed. The fatal letter lay open on Harry's lap, but the envelope had fallen onthe floor. Stooping to pick it up, she found something still withinit--some folded slips from a local newspaper, with an account of theinquest, the details of which the governor's clerk had, perhapshumanely, preferred to communicate in that form, to be read or not asthe mother's feelings might dictate to her. The two women read ittogether, not aloud, for neither had the voice for that. With most ofthe evidence there recounted we are already familiar. It was proved thatNo. 421 had long been in a desponding, brooding state; but, as only ayear intervened between the expiration of his term of punishment, hisattempt to escape was almost unaccountable, and certainly unparalleled. No punishment was impending over him. The opinion of the authorities wasexpressed that the convict's reason was unhinged. The method ofobtaining his freedom showed indeed considerable cunning, but also anaudacity that was scarcely consistent with sanity. The height of theprisoner was known, and his proportionate reach of arm; and it seemedincredible how he could have succeeded in reaching the parapet above hiscell window; in that attempt he must have risked certain death. Hisdescent from the roof was explained by the presence of the rope. Theimmediate means by which he surmounted the external wall were, ofcourse, evident enough, since the rope was there also; but the questionwas, how did it come there? The prisoner must have been assisted by someone outside the wall. The warder who fired the shot which subsequentlyproved fatal had seen but one man; but the night was dark, and the wholeaffair had passed very rapidly. Indeed, the convict had only fully shownhimself when at the top of the wall, and the musket had been firedalmost at a venture. On the alarm being given, pursuit was at onceattempted; but, under cover of the night, the fugitive had gained BergenWood. The next morning his footsteps were traced so far, and it wasproved that he was unaccompanied. A cordon was placed round the wood, and the place itself thoroughly searched for many days. It was deemedcertain, from the report of the scouts who were made use of on suchoccasions, that the convict had not left that covert to seek shelter inany hamlet in the neighborhood; the quest was therefore still continued. Not, however, until three weeks afterward was No. 421 discovered. It wassupposed that the unhappy fugitive had died of his wounds upon the verynight of his escape, for the body was so decomposed that it could neverhave been identified but for its convict clothes; the nights had beenwet and tempestuous, and it lay in an unsheltered part of the wood, amere sodden heap of what had been once humanity. The bullet that hadbeen the cause of death was, however, detected in the remains. 

What an end to the high-spirited, handsome lad that had been the prideof his mother, the joy of his betrothed! What wonder that they sat overthe bald record of it with bowed-down faces, and filled up the gaps withonly too easily imagined horrors! Each kept hold of the other's hand, asthough in sign of the dread bond between them, and sat close to oneanother in silence. Presently Harry started up, at the sound of alatch-key in the house door. 

"That is Solomon, " cried she. 

"Impossible, " said Mrs. Basil. "He told me himself that he should stopfor the last day's sale, and to-day is but the fifth. "

"Hush! it is. "

Yes, it was certainly Solomon's voice in the passage; and apparently, bythe answering tone, he had a male companion with him. 

Harry seized the letter, with its inclosures, and thrust them into herbosom, which, full of grief for his victim, seemed to spurn herhusband's approach. Then she heard him calling her impatiently, as washis wont, from the foot of the stairs. 

"Harry, come down; I have brought a gentleman home with me. Let's havesomething to eat at once, will you?"

"Answer him--answer him!" gasped Harry. She could not speak; her tongueseemed paralyzed. 

Mrs. Basil rose at once, walked with steady step to the door, and openedit. "Your wife is here, Mr. Coe. I am glad you are come home, for she isfar from well, and I was getting quite nervous about her. "

"She _must_ be ill, " grumbled Solomon, "not to be able to say 'Here, 'when I am breaking a blood-vessel with holloing to her in the attics. Come in here, Sir. " This to his companion--a man considerably hissenior, thin and spare, who stood peering curiously at the landlady. "Iam sorry to see you unwell, wife. I have brought a friend to stay withus for a day or two. Mr. Robert Balfour--Mrs. Coe. "

CHAPTER XL. 

A PROJECTED PARTNERSHIP. 

Though by no means in either the mental or physical condition in which alady should be who is called upon to play the part of hostess, Harry wasnot displeased that Solomon had not returned alone. The presence of thisstranger, whom she greeted mechanically, and almost without a glance athis features, was welcome to her, because it was likely to distract fromherself her husband's regards. What she would like to have done wouldhave been to shut herself up alone in her chamber, to weep and pray. Asit was, she had to be cheerful, to affect an interest in her husband'slate expedition, and pleasure at his unexpected return. Mrs. Basil washere invaluable; you would never have imagined that it was the samewoman--so stricken and full of anguish but a few minutes before, and nowso self-possessed and cheerful. But she had been used to playing partsthroughout her life, and acting was easy to her. She dreaded silence, lest with it should come observation and remark upon the agitation anddistress only too visible in Harry's countenance; and yet it wasdifficult, even for her, to keep up the ball of small-talk, for Solomonwas always slow and scant of speech, and the new-comer rarely opened hismouth, and then only to utter a monosyllable. His manner, too, wasembarrassing; he turned his white and stony face from one woman to theother, like an automaton, but with a weird and searching gaze. 

They had never so much as heard his name before, for Richard had beencautious never to mention Balfour in his letters, since they were, ofcourse, perused by the authorities, and friendships were not encouragedat Lingmoor; but, on the other hand, it was evident that these ladieshad an interest for the visitor. Presently, while they were yet allbelow stairs, arrived Charles and Agnes, which effected, indeed, diversion enough, but also a great disturbance and alteration for theworse in Mr. Coe's temper. No sooner, as it seemed to him, had his backbeen turned, then, than the intimacy between this girl and his son, which he had strictly forbidden, had been recommenced, and with theconnivance and encouragement of his wife too, or else how should the laddare thus to bring her home? For the first time Solomon was openly rudeto Agnes; and the latter, being a girl of spirit, resented it by quietlyrising to depart. Charley, rash and impetuous, rose to accompany her. Solomon stormed displeasure; and it seemed that the presence of thevisitor would have been wholly inadequate to prevent a family scene, when Agnes herself interposed with dignity. "No, Charles; I would rathergo alone. If your father objects to my presence here, it shall not beintruded; and if he considers your company a condescension, I can notaccept it upon such terms. "

Charles would have taken her arm, in defiance of all consequences, andled her off under Solomon's nose; but this opposition on her partoffended him. He was almost as angry with her for thwarting him as hewas with his father. It was a triangular duel, the combatants in whichwere narrowly watched by the disregarded stranger. When Agnes got herway and departed, "That's a girl of character, " observed he, with acynical smile. 

"She is a girl without a penny, " answered Solomon, gloomily, with ascowl at his son, "upon whom this young fool wishes to throw himselfaway. "

"What! so early?" observed Mr. Balfour, good-humoredly addressingCharles. "When I was your age, I thought of enjoying life, and not ofmarriage. I don't wonder, however, that any girl should strive toenslave so handsome a young fellow as your son, Sir. It is quitenatural, and there is no need to blame her, and far less _him_. "

Ashamed, perhaps, of having exhibited such violence of temper before hisguest, Solomon was very willing to be mollified, and grimly smiledapproval of these sentiments; Charles, too, though fully resolved to sethimself right with Agnes on the morrow, was not displeased with thevisitor's remark; but the two women justly resented it as an impertinentfreedom. If Charles's thoughts had not been so preoccupied with his ownwrongs--the deprivation of his Agnes's society, which he had promisedhimself for the rest of the day, and the snub which he conceived she hadadministered to him--he would have noticed too, for he was by no meanswanting in observation, that the new-comer's manner to his hostess andMrs. Basil was not what it should have been. It was not absolutely rude, but it was studiously careless of their presence. He no longer stared atthem as at first, but, on the contrary, seemed to ignore the fact oftheir existence--never addressed them; and if either spoke to him, replied as briefly as possible, and then turned at once to Solomon orhis son. Mrs. Basil concluded that he was a vulgar fellow, who, havingpenetration enough to discover that the males had the upper hand in theestablishment, did not give himself the trouble to conciliate the lessimportant members of it; but Harry, always timid and suspicious, wasalarmed at him; his air had, in her eyes, something hostile in it aswell as contemptuous. She could not understand, and thereforemistrusted, the influence he had evidently obtained over her husband, and which already had superseded that of Mrs. Basil. 

That Solomon should no longer take pains to make himself agreeable tothe latter, now that he had obtained from her his object, was, to anyone who knew his character, explicable enough; but why should thisstranger have taken her place as his counselor and friend? The idea ofsome personal advantage was, of course, at the bottom of it; but it wasclear, not only to sage Mrs. Basil, but even to Harry--since even amoderately skillful looker-on sees more of the game than the bestplayer--that in any contest of wits Solomon would have small chance withhis new friend. The opinion of Mrs. Basil was, that some newspeculation, in some manner connected with the Crompton sale, had beenentered into by the two men, and that Mr. Balfour would in the endsecure the oyster, while Mr. Coe was left with the shell. But Harry haddarker forebodings still; she was instinctively confident that there wasenmity at work in the new-comer, as well as the readiness common to allspeculators to overreach a friend. There was a look in his pallid face, when it glanced, as he thought unheeded, on either Charles or Solomon, which, to her mind, boded ill. If it did so, it was certainlyunsuspected by those on whom it fell. Mr. Coe had apparently never founda companion so agreeable to him; and, curiously enough, this idea seemedto be shared by Charles. According to his own account, Mr. Balfour hadbeen abroad in Western America for many years, and had there retrieved afortune which, originally inherited, had been speedily dissipated in thepleasures of the town. His long absence from such scenes had by no meansdulled his taste for them, and his conversation ran on little else. Hehad a light rattling way with him--that, to Harry's view, resembledyouthful spirit no more than galvanism in a corpse resembles life, andwhich was certainly not in harmony with his age and appearance--and verygraphic powers of description; he expressed himself curious about thechanges in public amusements since he left town, near twenty years ago, and seriously placed himself under Charles's guidance on the expeditionsof pleasure for which the latter was always ready. To this, strangelyenough, Solomon made no objection, notwithstanding that his ownpurse-strings had to be drawn pretty wide to supply these extravagances. His new friend had only to suggest that he should give the lad afive-pound note to enjoy himself with, and the thing was done at once. 

As for himself, Mr. Balfour seemed to be made of money, so freely did hespend it; and if he did not offer the use of his purse to his youngcompanion, it was only, as he told him, because he feared to offend hispride. "Besides, " said he, when they were alone together on one of theseexpeditions of amusement, from which Solomon, whose notions of enjoymentwere mainly confined to money-making, always excused himself uponpretense of having business to do, "it is only right your father shouldbe made to fork out; he is as rich as Croesus. It is quite unreasonablethat he should stint you in enjoyment when, one day or another, you willhave all the pleasures of life to pick and choose from. "

It would have tested Solomon's new-born friendship severely if he couldhave heard Mr. Balfour dilate upon this topic, which he did with suchearnestness and fervor that the lad was soon convinced of those greatexpectations which the cautious reticence of his parents had so longconcealed from him. On the other hand, Charley's companion deduced anargument from this fair prospect which was not so welcome to the lad; hemaintained that, under the circumstances, it would be madness to riskhis father's displeasure by uniting himself irretrievably to Agnes, orto any other young woman. "My good offices will be always at yourdisposal, my lad, " urged he, gravely, "and I don't deny that, atpresent, I have considerable influence with Mr. Coe; but it would not beproof against so flagrant an act of disobedience as that which youcontemplate. The great bulk of his property is at his own disposal; andhis nature, if I may speak plainly to you in so important a matter, isobstinate and implacable. At all events, there is no hurry, since youand this charming young lady are but boy and girl at present. Life isuncertain, and you may be your own master any day; wait till you are so, or wait for a little, at all events, to see what may turn up; and in themean time, lad, enjoy yourself. " The last part of Mr. Balfour's advice, at all events, was palatable enough, and that much of it Charlesaccepted; in doing which, as was anticipated, the whole intention of hisMentor became fulfilled. Plunged in dissipation, the young man thoughtless and less of his love; gave himself little trouble, though he stillavowed his unalterable attachment, to set himself right with her; grewmore and more dissatisfied with his own home, at the same time that thatof Agnes became less and less attractive; and, in short, he drifted awaydaily farther and farther from the safe moorings of love and duty. 

Harry perceived all this with a dread so deep that it even drove her toinvoke her husband's aid against this man, who, inexplicable as hishostility might be, was bent, she firmly believed, upon the ruin of herdarling boy. With Solomon, as she well knew, the fact of his son'sdissipation was not likely to move him to interfere; he saw that thecompanionship of Balfour was gradually producing an estrangement betweenCharles and the portionless artist's daughter, and so far he cordiallyapproved of it, nor cared to question by what means this new friend madehimself agreeable. She had no argument available except that of expense, and, to her astonishment and dismay, this failed to affect her prudentspouse. 

"Just let things be a while, " was Solomon's reply, "and mind your ownbusiness. It is quite true the lad's throwing my money in the gutter ata fine rate; but in the end I shall get it all back again, and more withit. This Balfour takes me for a foolish doting father, but he shall payfor all himself before I've done with him. I throw a sprat to catch awhale; and neither you nor any other fool shall interfere with myfishing. "

Harry dared not say more; her husband had been in the worst of humorsever since he had returned from Crompton, and was all the more brutaland tyrannical to her that he had to be civil and conciliatory to hisnew friend, and involuntarily indulgent, upon his account, to Charles. The unhappy mother was powerless to check the evil the growth of whichwas so patent to her loving instinct, and there was none to whom shecould look for help. Mrs. Basil had no longer any influence withSolomon, and, besides, she was seriously ill, and had now been confinedto her own room for weeks. In her extremity, Harry had even resolved tomake a personal appeal to this man Balfour; to ask him in what herhusband had injured him, to adjure him to forgive the wrong, or at leastnot to visit it upon her Charley's innocent head. But she shrank with aninexplicable terror from putting this design into effect; she felt sheshould humiliate herself to no purpose; he would deny, in his cold, cynical way, that he entertained any thing but friendship for her astutehusband and affection for her bright and impulsive son. Besides, to saytruth, she was afraid to speak with the man; and she had a suspicionthat this weird and shadowy fear was in some degree shared by Mrs. Basil; at times she even imagined that it was not so much indispositionas a desire to avoid his presence that caused the landlady to absentherself from the family circle. 

Mr. Coe, at all events, entertained no such prejudice against his guest;day by day he grew more communicative with him, and more solicitous tohear his opinions, with which he seldom failed to agree. The two menwere in reality, as it was easy to see, as opposite in character as thepoles. Mr. Balfour was, and apparently always had been, a man ofpleasure; but he had seen men and cities, and his remarks were shrewd, and selfish, and worldly-wise enough. It was rarely that his talk everstrayed to matters of business, so that Solomon was perforce a listener;but that unambitious part he played to admiration. 

Upon one occasion, however, their after-dinner converse happened to turnupon partnerships; Solomon urged their great convenience, how one manbrought money and the other brains, and how pleasant it must be for theformer to live at ease while the latter gathered honey for him, both forpresent use and for the wintry store. He rose with the familiar subjectto quite a flight of poetry. 

Mr. Balfour, with half-shut eves and a mocking smile, dilated upon thesentiment involved in such communities of enterprise, the sympathyengendered by them, and the happy social effects that were produced bythem. His host either did not, or would not, perceive that these remarkswere ironical, and pursued the subject to its details, proportions ofprofits, balance-sheets, etc. , until Charles rose with a yawn, and lefthis two elders together. 

"Well, Balfour, " said Solomon, frankly, as soon as they were alone, "this talk reminds me of the matter that first introduced us to oneanother--your purchase of that outlying bit of the Crompton property, Wheal Danes. "

[Illustration: "I WILL GIVE YOU A THOUSAND POUNDS FOR THAT CROMPTONLOT. "]

"Ay, " replied the other, carelessly lighting another cigar. It wasquite wonderful to see how many cigars Mr. Balfour got through daily;you might have almost thought that he had been denied tobacco for yearsby his physician, and had only just been permitted to resume the habit. 

"Yes; you disappointed me there immensely, I must confess. I went downto the sale on purpose to secure it. "

"So you told me, or, at least, so I guessed from your manner; and yet Idon't know why you should have been so sweet upon it. It's only a barebit of ground with a round hole in it, close by the sea. "

"That's all, " said Solomon, puffing at his clay pipe. "What on earthcould have made you buy it?"

"Well, I told you once. I lost my yacht off Turlock, when coming toEngland last autumn, and very nearly my life with it. When one escapeswith a whole skin from such a storm as wrecked me there, the first pieceof dry land one comes to seems very attractive. I happened to be castashore beneath that very spot, and so I took a fancy to it. If I hadbeen a good Papist I should have built a chapel there to my patron saintin gratitude for my preservation; as it was, I resolved to erect a villafor myself there. It will have an excellent view, and the situation ishealthy. If you seek for any other reason for the purchase, I have noneto give you; it was a whim, if you like, but then I can afford toindulge my whims. "

"This one cost you a good deal, however; you gave five hundred poundsfor it, did you not?"

Balfour nodded assent. 

"A great sum for a few barren acres, " said Solomon, thoughtfully. 

"Yes; and so the trustees of the estate thought, Mr. Coe. They closedwith my offer sharp enough, and withdrew the lot from publiccompetition; else, perhaps, I should have got it cheaper. "

"Not if I had been bidding against you, " observed the host, significantly. 

"You don't say so! You were never shipwrecked thereabouts, were you? Oh, I remember: you were brought up in the neighborhood. You had some tenderrecollection of the spot, perhaps, with relation to madame up stairs. What creatures of sentiment you men of business sometimes are--dear me!"

"I did live near the spot, " said Solomon, slowly, "though I shoulddeceive you if I pretended that that had any thing to do with my wish topossess it. "

"You would not deceive me, my good friend, " answered Balfour, coolly;"but, as you were about to say, it would not be frank. Let us be frankand open, above all things. "

"I wish to be so, I assure you, " was Solomon's meek reply. "When Ioffered you a hundred pounds for your bargain, I think I showed you thatdeception was no part of my nature. In all matters of business I alwaysgo straight to the point at once. "

"As in the present instance, for example, " remarked the guest, with animperturbable smile. 

"I am coming to the point, Mr. Balfour--once for all. I will give you athousand pounds down for that Crompton lot--twice the money that yougave for it within a month; that's twelve hundred per cent, per annum. "

Balfour shook his head. "I am not a religious man, my dear Sir--far fromit. But I believe, like Miss Joanna yonder, in inspirations: all mywhims are inspirations, and therefore sacred. It was an inspiration thatmade me buy Wheal Danes, and I mean to keep it. If you offered me tenthousand pounds, I'd keep it. "

Solomon was silent for a while, his heavy brows knit in thought; thenonce again he advanced to the attack. "You may keep it, and yet sharethe profit, Mr. Balfour. "

"The profit?"

"Ay, the profit. I told you I was going to be frank with you, but youwould never guess _how_ frank. I am about to put thousands a year intoyour pocket, on condition that you will let me fill my own at the samerate. We were talking of partnerships just now; let us be partners inWheal Danes. "

"Balfour and Coe sounds natural enough, " returned the other, coolly. "But I must hear your plan. "

"My plan is a secret--invaluable, indeed, as such--but which, once told, will be worth nothing--that is, to _me_. "

"You may do as you like, my friend, about revealing it, " yawned Mr. Balfour. "I care nothing for your plan; only, until I hear it I stick tomy plot, my lot, my acreage. Tell me the whole story withoutreservation--don't attempt to deceive me on the slightest point--andthen you shall have your way. We will divide this land of gold betweenus, or, as seems to me much more likely, browse like twin donkeys on itscrop of thistles. "

"I have nothing but your bare word to trust to, " said Solomon, doubtfully; "but still, I must risk it. Come, it's a bargain. Then, here's my hand upon it. "

"Never mind my hand, my good friend, " returned the other, coolly. "Inthe part of the world from which I hailed last, folks didn't shakehands, and I've fallen out of the habit. Come, give us this story ofWheal Danes. "

"It's a very old one, Mr. Balfour. The plot of ground you purchased getsits strange name from an ancient tin mine that is comprised in it, onceworked by the Romans, but disused since their time. There are many suchin Cornwall. "

"So I've heard, " said Balfour, while the other sipped his glass. It wascurious to contrast the grave and earnest manner of the host with thecareless and uninterested air of his guest, who presently, as thenarrative proceeded, leaned his face upon his hand and gazed into thefire, an occasional glance sideways at his companion through his fingersalone testifying that his attention was still preserved. He neverstirred a limb nor winked an eyelid when Solomon came out with his greatsecret. 

"This mine that is said to be worked out, Mr. Balfour, and which youhave purchased by mere accident, as being in the same lot with yourproposed building-ground, will, I have reason to believe, turn out agold mine. "

"You don't say so! I did not know that there _was_ gold in Cornwall. "

"There is as good, or at least there are metals that bring gold--tin andcopper; and Wheal Danes is full of the latter. The old Romans worked itfor tin only, and left their prize just as it was getting to be worthhaving. There's a copper vein in the lowest level of that mine that maybe worth all the old Carew estate. "

"And you have seen this vein?"

"No; but my wife's father, John Trevethick, as good a judge as any manon earth, or under it, saw it, and told me of its existence on hisdeath-bed--"

"When did he die, and how? Was it a lingering, painful death, or was hestruck down suddenly?" interposed Balfour. "I ask, " added he, hastily, for Solomon looked up in wonder at his companion's vehemence, "becausethe credibility of such a story as you tell me would depend upon thestate of the man's brain. "

"He did die a painful and a lingering death, but his wits were clearenough, " answered Solomon. "It was ten years ago, and more, but I mindit as well as though it was but yesterday--indeed, I've thought oflittle else since. 'The best legacy I have to leave you, Sol, lies inthese last words of mine, ' said he; 'so do you listen, and lay them toheart. ' Then he told me how, as a boy, he had once explored Wheal Danesin play with other boys, and found the copper lode in a certain spot. Hewas not so young even then but that he knew the value of such a find, and he had held his tongue; and though he visited the place prettyoften--for he couldn't help that--he kept the secret close from thattime until his death. "

"He had never told any other person but yourself, you think?" inquiredBalfour, curiously. 

"No one to speak of. There was one fellow who had an inkling of thething, it seems, but he is dead now. I read of it in the newspaper quitelately. He died in jail, or rather in escaping from it, and had neverbeen in a position to profit by his suspicion. You may say, in fact, that not a living soul besides John Trevethick ever knew this secret. For fifty years he strove to possess himself of this mine; he evenoffered for it, valueless as it was thought to be, four times the moneyyou did; only Carew was mad and obstinate; and now, for ten years, Ihave had my own eyes fixed upon it, and got the earliest news of when itwas in the market, as I thought, when, here, without a hint to guideyou, a whiff of fortune blows it to your hand. It's a hard case _I_ callit--devilish hard. "

"Well, it _is_ hard, " said Balfour; "that is, supposing all you say istrue. But frankly, my good Sir, I don't believe you. I mean no offense;but, since you have not seen the lode with your own eyes, you mustpardon me for doubting its existence. "

"Well, then, Sir, I _have_ seen it, and that's the long and short of it. I would not take such a thing on trust from an angel. "

"So I suspected, " observed Balfour, coolly. "But as you have told me onelie you may tell me another. What am I to believe now?"

"The mine is yours, Sir, " answered Solomon, gruffly. "Let us go downtogether and look at it. If Trevethick and I were mistaken--and I'll betyou a thousand pounds that we were not--it is but coming back again, and--"

"And being made the laughing-stock of all the folks among whom I mean tospend my days, " interrupted Balfour. "No, no. If we go, I'll not have asoul to know of it. And mind you, if this turns out to be a mare's nest, I sha'n't be pleased, my friend. "

"It will not do that, Sir, you may take my word for it, " answeredSolomon, earnestly; "and as for going _incog. _, that matter's easy. Ican start for Gethin, which is my home, and but a stone's-throw from thevery place, on pretense of business; and you, a day or two after, maycome down to the inn at Turlock, just to see your purchase. We need notbe so much as seen together, if you so prefer it. "

"I would much prefer it, " observed Balfour, sententiously. 

"Very good. Then here's my plan: my father-in-law used to visit WhealDanes at night; from his doing so, instead of its drawing dangerousattention to the place, as one would think, the rumor arose that the oldmine was haunted; corpse-candles, with no hand to carry them, were seenthere going up and down the levels, and so the poor fools shunned itafter dark. Well, let _us_ take torch and ladder, and play atcorpse-candle. What say you?"

"Well, I'll come, " said Balfour, reluctantly, "though I don't much likethe chance of being made a fool of. What day will suit you best tostart? All's one to me. "

"I'll start to-morrow, " said Solomon, with excitement. "Do you comedown, as if into Midlandshire, on Friday: that's an unlucky day withTurlock folk, but not with you, I reckon?"

"You're right there, man, " answered Balfour, slowly. "Well?"

"On Saturday, at midnight, I will meet you at the old pit's mouth. Come, there's my hand upon it. "

This time Balfour took his companion's hand, and griped it firmly. 

"Then, that's a bargain, partner, " cried Solomon, gayly. "Fill up yourglass. Here's luck to the old mine!"

"Here's luck, " echoed Balfour, looking steadily at his host, "and to ournext merry midnight meeting!"

"Ay, good! Here's luck!" quoth Solomon. 

CHAPTER XLI. 

IN THE TOILS. 

Solomon started for Gethin on the ensuing morning; but his wife did not, as usual, find his departure a relief, since Balfour remained behind. Her last instructions from her husband were to treat this unwelcomeguest with marked consideration, and to let him have his way in everything. He also hinted, though it was scarcely necessary to insure herobedience, at certain brilliant prospects which were about to presentthemselves, through Balfour's means, if he were only kept in good-humor. Harry would have much preferred to relinquish his favor at the price ofhis absence; but not so her son. Notwithstanding the disparity in theirages, he and this new acquaintance were already fast friends. The latterhad laid himself out to please the lad, and had succeeded; partly, perhaps, from the very novelty of companionship, for Charley knew no onein town, and was tired of taking his pleasure therein alone, but chieflythrough his store of agreeable anecdotes, all illustrative of theenjoyments which wealth conferred, with which Balfour tickled his ears. 

"In a few years--perhaps sooner, who knows?--all these things of which Ispeak will be within your own means. You will be rich; and he who is socan please himself in almost every thing. You can then marry your Agnes, if you will, without fear of being disinherited; or, what is better andmore likely, you may choose from a score of Agneses, or even take themall. "

He had a light amusing way with him, this Balfour, that hid the cynicismwhich would otherwise have jarred upon his young companion; for Charles, though selfish and fond of pleasure, was good-natured, and had notreached that period of life when our sherry must needs not only be dry, but have bitters in it. He was genuinely fond of his mother; yet even inthis short time Balfour, as she well knew, had taught him to disobeyher; not setting her at open defiance, indeed, but regarding her adviceand remonstrances with a sort of tender contempt. She meant all for hisgood, his Mentor admitted, but women had not much knowledge of theworld; and if a young man was not to be his own master at eighteen, hemust look to be in leading-strings all his life. Harry perceived herdarling's plastic nature changing daily for the worse in the hands ofthis crafty potter; and though it was an admission humiliating to her, as a mother, to make, she made it to Mrs. Basil in her sick-room. 

"Mr. Balfour is doing my Charley harm, " she said. "He is an altered boyalready, and yet my husband talks as though we are never to be rid ofthe man. What money, what gain, can ever compensate for thedemoralization of our child?"

"Nothing, indeed, " said Mrs. Basil, quietly. "But have a littlepatience. Is not this gentleman going on Friday?"

"Yes; but he will come back again. It is only some business that callshim into Midlandshire. He does not even take all his luggage away. Ihave a great mind to tell him point-blank that his presence in thishouse--at all events in Mr. Coe's absence--is unwelcome; but I dare notdo it; I am afraid. "

"Yes, your husband would be very angry, without doubt, " said Mrs. Basil, thoughtfully. 

"That is not it. I am afraid of the man himself. He reminds me of thathateful creature--what is he?--in the opera, for which Mr. Aird gave usthe tickets, and which Agnes went with us to see--Mephistopheles. "

"What a strange fancy! He is only a sour, pleasure-jaded man. If I wasnot so ill I would speak to him myself; but you are right not to do so;that is your husband's place, who has brought him here. Let things be asthey are till Friday. "

Harry sighed, but perforce assented. Friday came, and Mr. Balfour wentas he had designed, but not without stating at breakfast his intentionof returning on the ensuing Monday or Tuesday at latest, and even makingan engagement with Charley to spend the latter evening with him at thetheatre. 

"Do you happen to know when my husband will be home?" inquired Harry, timidly. 

"No, madam. He was good enough to say, however, that his absence was tomake no difference as to my remaining here as his guest. "

This reply, which might easily have been made offensive, was deliveredwith the most studied courtesy: it cut the hostess's ground from underher; for it had answered the very objection which she had intended toimply. She felt herself not only defeated, but reproved. 

"Let us hope you will both return together, " said she. 

"I do not think that very probable, " answered Mr. Balfour, slowly. 

An hour later and he had departed, his hostess, under pretense of beingengaged with her sick friend up stairs, not having so much as shaken hishand. Charles, indignant at this slight, would have accompanied him tothe railway station, but Balfour would not hear of it. For this he hadtwo reasons: in the first place, he was anxious to keep his routesecret; and secondly, it was a part of his system to give the young manno sort of trouble or inconvenience on his account. He wished everyassociation that linked them together to be one of pleasure. 

Mrs. Basil, as we have said, had not made her appearance that morningbelow stairs; she was, in fact, no better, but rather worse: that newsfrom Lingmoor, outwardly borne so well, had shaken her to the core. Still, no sooner had Balfour left than she made shift to rise, and evencame down to dinner. She discussed with Charley, who had a considerableregard for her, the character of their late guest--not with hostility, as his mother was wont to do, but with the air of one who asks forinformation, and has confidence in the verdict which she seeks. The lad, flattered by this implied compliment to his sagacity, answered herquestions readily enough. He praised his friend, of course, and thoughthe praised him even when he spoke ill of him. He repeated his pungentsayings, and served up his anecdotes--such of them as were adapted, atleast, for the ears of the ladies--anew. By this means he hoped to bringhis hearers to a better opinion of so capital a fellow; and in Mrs. Basil's case he apparently succeeded. His mother still reiterated heropinion that Mr. Balfour was a dangerous personage, and not a fitcompanion for any young man. Charles smiled at this, for it was thealmost literal fulfillment of a prophecy which Balfour had made to him, and believed in that gentleman's sagacity, accordingly, more than ever. Women were so ludicrously prejudiced; the fact of Mrs. Basil's--"thewhite witch"--not being so was an exception that proved the rule. Shehad been evidently interested in his anecdotes, of one of which she hadeven requested to hear the particulars twice over; not that, in his ownjudgment, it was the best, but, being of a weird sort, it had probablystruck her fancy. It had lost in the telling, too--for he did notpretend to have the gift of narrative, as Mr. Balfour had--and hismother had seen in the story in question nothing at all. 

Mrs. Basil came down stairs no more after that evening. She grew worseand worse, and was not only confined to her room, but to her bed. Harrywas not much with her; she seized with avidity this opportunity of beingalone with Charley to undo, as far as she could, Mr. Balfour's work withhim. This was not hard, for the boy was a creature of impulse, andswayed for good or ill with equal ease. But she discovered that it wouldbe useless to attempt henceforth to conceal from him the nature of hisfuture prospects. He was now firmly convinced that he was the heir to alarge fortune, and she regretted too late that she had left thedisclosure to a stranger. What grieved her much more, and with reason, was that an attempt which she now made to bring the influence of Agnesto hear upon him proved unsuccessful; the girl resolutely refused tocome to the house in the absence of its master, and contrary, as sheknew, to his express commandment. Charley himself, too, whose visits toMr. Aird's studio had been intermitted for some time, was received inSoho with coldness. It was not in Harry's nature to understand thisindependence of spirit, and she deeply deplored it on her son's account. She had looked to this young girl to be his guardian angel, and hadnever anticipated that she could possibly decline to watch over a chargeso precious. She would not allow, even to herself, that her son's ownconduct was as much the cause of this as her husband's ill favor; butshe saw in it, clearly enough, the mark of the cloven hoof, the work ofBalfour. 

Sick Mrs. Basil could give her small comfort, though she did not attemptto defend their late visitor, as she had so unwarrantably appeared to dowhen discussing him with Charley. 

"The man is gone, my dear, " said she, wearily; "perhaps he may nevercome back: let us not meet troubles half-way. Charley has a kind, goodheart"--for "the white witch" showed great favor to the lad at alltimes--"and all will come right at last. "

She seemed too ill and weary to argue the matter, and Harry left her, asshe thought, to repose. No sooner was she gone, however, than the closedlids of Mrs. Basil were opened wide, and revealed a sleepless andunutterable woe. Her sharp, pinched face showed pain and fear. Herparched lips muttered unceasingly words like these, which were, perhaps, the ravings of her fevered brain: "I am sure of it now, quite sure;those stags, those stags! There is no room for hope. His heart hasbecome a stone, which no power can soften. It is no use to speak, orrather I am like one in a dream who watches murder done, and can not cryout. "

CHAPTER XLII. 

THE MINE AT MIDNIGHT. 

Mr. Balfour--for so we must call him now, since he is attiredrespectably, travels first-class, and, moreover, even looks like agentleman--did not go to the Midlands, as he had given out was hispurpose, but took his ticket to Plymouth, to which place the railway hadjust extended in those days. He bought neither book nor newspaper, butsat in the corner, with his hat drawn over his eyes, for the whole ninehours, thinking. From Plymouth he posted to Turlock, where he arrivedlate at night, and without having broken fast since morning. He took nopains either to divulge or conceal his name; he asked no questions, norwas asked any except "whether he preferred to sleep between sheets orblankets"--for Turlock was still an out-of-the-way region, and thelittle inn about three-quarters of a century behind our moderncaravansaries, with their "daily fly-bills" and "electric bells. "

After dinner, which he scarcely touched, he wandered out--it was hishabit to do so, as he told the hostler, who was also thenight-chamberlain--and did not return till long after midnight. Heobserved, as he gave the man half a crown for sitting up for him to solate an hour, that the moon looked very fine upon the sea. 

"You must be a painter, I guess, Sir, " said the hostler, with a grin ofintelligence. 

"Why?" asked Balfour, sharply. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, Sir, " returned the man, apologetically, "I mean no offense; butit is always the gentlemen-painters--or, at least, so they say atGethin, and I wish more of 'em came here--as is so free with theirmoney, and so fond of the moon. "

"Lunatics, eh?" said the new arrival, with a loud, quick laugh. "Well, I'm no painter, my friend. "

Then he took his candle and retired to his room, but not to bed. Hedisarranged the bed-clothes and rumpled the pillow; then walked softlyto and fro in his slippers until morning. On the following day he madeno attempt to visit his newly acquired property, but strolled about theharbor, or stood, in sheltered and, therefore, secluded places in therocks, watching the winter sea. His meals at the inn were sent downalmost as they were served up, yet he showed no sign of weakness orfatigue, but in the evening sallied forth as before. The night was verycloudy, with driving showers, and the landlady good-naturedly warned himof the danger of venturing on the cliff-path, which was narrow, and hadbeen broken in places by a late storm. 

"I will take care, " said he, mechanically. 

"Perhaps you would like supper--some cold meat, or something--since youhave eaten so little, placed in your sitting-room against your return?"

"Yes, yes, " said he, approvingly; "you are right; I shall doubtless behungry to-night. " Then he went out into the bleak, black night. 

He hung about the harbor as before until near eleven, when all thelights of the little town had faded away, save that at the inn, whichwas burning for him alone; then he climbed the cliff, and pushedsouthward along the very path against the dangers of which he had beencautioned. He walked fast, too, with his gaze fixed before him, like onewho has an appointment of importance for which there is a fear of beinglate. Presently he struck inland over the down, when he began to moveless quickly, and to peer cautiously before him. All was dark: the grasson which he trod seemed to be black, until he suddenly arrived at alarge circular patch of it which _was_ black, and made the surroundingsoil less sombre by contrast. This was the mouth of a great pit; and hesat on the brink of it, with his face to seaward, and his ear in hishollowed hand, listening. Nothing was to be heard, however, but theoccasional scud of the rain, and the ceaseless roar of the now distantwaves. Far out to sea there was a round red light, which fell upon himat regular intervals, its absence making the place which it had filledmore dark than elsewhere. It had a weird effect, as though some evilspirit was keeping watch upon him, but he knew it for what it was--therevolving lamp of a light-house. Presently, in the same direction as thered light, he perceived a white one, which, though moving slowly, wascertainly advancing toward him; nor did it, like the other, becomeobscure. 

"He is coming, " said Balfour to himself, with a great sigh. He had begunto have doubts of the other's keeping his appointment; though, indeed, it was not yet the time that he had himself fixed for it. The light cameon, quite close to the ground, and with two motions--across as well asalong. It was that of a lantern, which guided thus the footsteps of atall, stout man, who bore upon his shoulders a ladder so long that itboth projected above his head and trailed behind him. Balfour rose up, and stood motionless in the path of the new-comer till this light fellfull upon him. "Hollo!" cried the man, a little startled by the white, worn face that so suddenly confronted him, although he had been lookingfor it. "Is that you, Mr. Balfour?"

"Yes. Hush! There is no need to mention names. "

"Quite true, Sir; but you gave me quite a turn, " remonstrated the other, "coming out of the darkness like a ghost. This Wheal Danes, at midnight, puts queer thoughts into one's head. "

"John Trevethick was not afraid of coming here, " observed Balfour. 

"Well, so he always said. He told me at the last that he only pretendedto believe in any of the foolish stories that folks talk about, and infavor of which he used to argue. But he's dead and gone, and _that_don't make this place less uncanny. Nobody since his time has beena-near it; they think he haunts the pit, it seems, so every body givesit a wide berth, both night and day. We shall see, however, and prettysoon, I hope, whether that notion can not be got over. Why, in sixmonths' time we ought to have a hundred men at work here. "

"Let us hope so. But in the mean time you say nobody comes here even inthe daytime, eh?"

"Never. The place lies out of the way, you see: about midway between thecliff-path and the road. "

"That's well, " said Balfour, mechanically. "And you have not beenbabbling to any one of our prospects, Mr. Coe--nor of me, I hope?"

"Certainly not, Sir; that was the first article of our partnership, as Iunderstood. Not a soul at Gethin has heard a whisper of Wheal Danes, orof your coming; they think I'm fast asleep at my own house, thisinstant. But it's been hard work lugging this cursed ladder up here insuch a breakneck night as this, _I_ can tell you, and I am glad enoughto rest a bit. "

"Well, it's all over now, Mr. Coe. "

"Except that I have got to take it back again, " grumbled Solomon. 

"True, I had forgotten that. We must not leave it here, must we?"

"Of course not. I do not complain of the trouble, however, only you mustadmit I've kept my tryst under some little difficulties, eh, partner?"and Solomon chuckled self-approval. 

"You will be paid in full for all, my good Sir, " answered Balfour, gravely; "that is, " he added, hastily, "if the mine should turn out asyou predict. How deep is it? That ladder of yours will surely neverreach the bottom. "

"No, indeed. Did I not tell you that there are three levels, each aboutthe same depth? The copper lode lies at the bottom of the last, in thenortheastern corner. You will find I have concealed nothing from you. Well, I have got my breath again now. Are you ready, Mr. Balfour?"

"Quite; but walk slowly, I beg, for your lantern is very dim. "

"Yes, yes. But wait a minute; I came here yesterday and hid something. "Solomon seated himself upon the edge of the pit, with his legs hangingover, and began to peer and feel about him. 

"Take care what you are at, " cried Balfour, eagerly; "you may slip downand kill yourself, sliding along like that. "

Solomon laughed contemptuously. "Never fear, Sir; I have had too manymischances with mines to fear them. I have fallen down worse places, andbeen shut up in others far deeper and darker than Wheal Danes, withoutfood or candle, for a week, and yet lived through it. The shaft has notyet been dug, I reckon, as will prove--Oh, here's the torch. "

He dragged from under the overhanging rim of the pit a piece of woodlike a bludgeon, one end of which was smeared with pitch; and placingthe lantern with its back to the wind, pushed the stick inside, whichcame out a torch, flaming and dropping flame. 

"There's our corpse-candle!" cried Coe, triumphantly; "that would keepus without witnesses, even if any one were so bold as, in a night likethis, to venture near Wheal Danes, to trespass on Tom Tiddler's ground, where we shall pick up the gold and the silver. " There was a wildexcitement, quite foreign to his habit, about this man, and he whirledthe torch about his head in flaring circles. 

"Keep your wits steady, if you please, " observed Balfour, sternly. 

"It is over now, Sir, and I am in the counting-house again, " answeredSolomon, submissively. "I felt a little exhilarated at the prospect ofplucking a fruit that has been ripening for fifty years, that's all. This Wheal Danes is the very aloe of mines, and it is about to blossomfor us only. You had better take the torch yourself; the lantern willserve for me; but just show a light here while I place the ladder. "

Balfour held the blazing pine aloft, and disclosed the gaping mouth ofthe old pit, its margin wet with the rain, and its sheer sides slipperywith the damps of ages. 

"It would be easy enough to get down without this contrivance, " observedSolomon, grimly, as he carefully adjusted the ladder, the foot of whichwas lost in gloom; "but it would take us some trouble to find our wayback again without wings. "

"In daylight, however, I dare say it looks easier, " said Balfour, carelessly. 

"It may look so, but it ain't. Nothing but a sea-gull ever goes in andout of Wheal Danes; even the bats keep there, where indeed they are snugand warm enough. "

"It doesn't feel very warm at present, " replied the other, who did notseem to be in a hurry to explore this unpromising territory. 

"Ay, but you wait till we get to the lower level; you might live there, if the rats would let you, for a whole winter, and never need a fire. "

"Oh, there are rats, are there? Why, what do _they_ live upon?"

"Well, that's _their_ look-out, " laughed Solomon; "they would be veryglad to have _us_, no doubt. It would be only just in my case, for Ihave lived on them before now; with rats and water a man may do verywell for a week or two. "

"What! there is water laid on in this establishment, is there?"

"No; the low levels are quite dry. But come, let us see for ourselves. We are losing time. I will start first, and do you follow close upon me, but without treading on my fingers;" and Solomon placed his heavy footupon the first rung. 

"No, no, " said Balfour, drawing back; "I will not trust myself on thesame ladder with a man of your weight. When you are at the bottom giveme a call, and then I'll join you. "

"As you like, Sir, " responded Solomon, civilly; but his thick lipscurled contemptuously, and he muttered, "So this man is lily-liveredafter all; so much the better: it is well to have a coward for apartner. "

The next moment his descending form was lost in the gloom. 

Balfour waited, torch in hand, until an "All right, " that sounded like avoice from the tomb, assured him that his companion had reached terrafirma. Then he descended very carefully, and joined him. 

"Stand close to the wall, Sir, while I move the ladder, " said Coe; "yourhead don't seem made for these deep places. Ah, here's the spot. This isa drop of twenty feet. "

"And what is the depth of the last level?"

"Five-and-twenty. But don't you be afraid; the ladder will just reachit, only you won't have so much to hold on by at the top. It's only thegetting down that's unpleasant; you'll find going back quite easy work. And then, just think of the lode!"

Solomon began to be anxious lest his companion's fears should induce himto give up the expedition altogether. It had never entered into his mindthat what was so easy to himself could prove so formidable to another;and, besides, he had somehow concluded that Balfour was a man of strongnerves. 

"Make haste, " said the latter, in the tone of one who has achieved somemental victory: "let us go through with it. "

In the second level it was perceptibly warmer. Dark, noiseless objectsbegan to flit about the torch, and once something soft struck againstBalfour's foot, and then scampered away. 

He looked behind him, and not a trace of light was to be discerned, while before him was impenetrable gloom, except for the feeble gleam ofhis companion's lantern. Above him the roof was just discernible, fromwhich long strings of fungi, white and clammy, hung down and brushedagainst his face as he moved slowly forward. 

"Come on!" said Solomon, impatiently, whose spirits seemed to rise inthis familiar scene. "We are only a few score yards from Golconda. "

Balfour stopped short. "I thought you said there was another level?"There was a strange look of disappointment in his face, and even ofrage. 

"Yes, yes, and here it is, " cried the other, putting down the ladder, which he had carried from place to place. "It is only depth thatseparates us from it. They dug well, those Romans, but left off, as youshall see, upon the very threshold of fortune. You have only to be alittle careful, because the ladder does not quite reach. "

He descended, as before, in advance, while Balfour followed slowly andcautiously. "How steep and smooth the rock is!" observed he, examiningits surface. 

"Yes, indeed; it is like a wall of marble. But what matters that? Itbaffles the rats, but not us. Here is the land of gold, here is--Whatthe devil are you at?"

Solomon, in his impatience, had stridden on to the object of hisdesires; and Balfour, halting midway in his descent, suddenly retracedhis footsteps, and having reached the top, was dragging the ladder upafter him. 

Solomon heard this noise, with which his ear was familiar, and his tonehad some alarm in it as he cried out, "I say, no tricks, Mr. Balfour. "

There was no reply. He hastened back to the spot he had just left, andfrom thence could dimly perceive his late companion sitting on the vergeof the steep wall, peering down upon him. 

"Come, come, a joke is a joke, " remonstrated Coe. "What a fellow you areto be at such games when an important matter is at stake! Why, here isthe lode, man. "

"It is very valuable, I dare say, Mr. Coe, but it is worth more to oneman than to two. "

"Great Heaven! what do you mean?" cried Solomon, while a sudden sweatbedewed his forehead. "You would not murder a man to dissolve apartnership?"

"Certainly not. I shall leave him to die, that's all. He and the ratswill have to settle it together. Six months hence, perhaps, we may havea picnic here, and explore the place. Then we shall find, where you arenow standing, some well-picked bones and the metal part of your lantern. That will cause quite an excitement; and we shall search further, and inthe northeast corner there will be found a copper lode. I will take yourword for that. "

"Mr. Balfour, I am sure you will not do this, " pleaded the wretched man. "It is not in man's nature to treat a fellow-creature with suchbarbarity. You are trying to frighten me, I know, and I own you havesucceeded. I know what it is to be shut up in desolate, dark placesalone, out of reach of succor; and even for eight-and-forty hours or soit is terrible. "

"_What must it be, then, to suffer so for twenty years?_"

It was a third voice that seemed to wake the echoes of that lonesomecavern. Solomon looked up in terror, and beheld a third face, that ofRobert Balfour, but transfigured. He held the glowing brand above him, so that his deep-lined features could be distinctly seen, and they wereall instinct with a deadly rage and malice. There was a fire in his eyesthat might well have been taken for that of madness, and Solomon's heartsank within him as he looked. 

"Mr. Balfour, " said he, in a coaxing voice, "come and look at yourtreasure. It sparkles in the light of my lantern like gold, and youshall have it all if you please; I do not wish to share it with you. "

"So you take me for a madman, do you? Look again; look fixedly upon me, Solomon Coe. You do not recognize me even yet? I do not wonder. It isnot you that are dull, but I that am so changed by wrong and misery. Myown mother does not know me, nor the woman of whom you robbed menineteen years ago. Yes, you know me now. I am Richard Yorke!"

"Mercy, mercy!" gasped Solomon, dropping on his knees. 

Richard laughed long and loud. The echoes of his ghastly mirth diedslowly away, and when his voice was heard again it was stern and solemn. "It is my turn at last, man; I am the judge to-day, as you were thewitness nineteen years ago who doomed me wrongfully to shame and misery. Night and day I have had this hour in my mind; the thought of it hasbeen my only joy--in chains and darkness, in toil and torment, fastingand wakeful on my prison pillow, I have thought of nothing else. I didnot know how it would come about, but I was sure that it would come. Youswore falsely once that I was a thief; I am now about to be a murderer, and your whitening bones will not be able to witness against me. "

"I never swore it, Mr. Yorke, " pleaded Solomon, passionately. 

"Your memory is defective, " answered Richard, gloomily; "you forget thatI was in court myself on that occasion. You did your very worst toblacken me before judge and jury, and you succeeded. "

"But it was Trevethick--it was father-in-law who urged me to do it; itwas indeed. "

"I know it, " replied the other, coldly; "he was a greater villain thanyourself, but unhappily an older one. Death has robbed me of him, andmade my vengeance incomplete. Still there is something left for me. While you die slowly here--But no; I shall wait at Turlock for that tohappen. A strong man like you, who have rats to live upon, may last tendays, perhaps. Well, when you are dead, I shall return to your Londonhouse, and lead your son to ruin. You permitted me to begin the work inhopes of getting half this mine; I shall finish it while you are in solepossession of the whole of it. "

"Devil!" cried Solomon, furiously. 

"The appellation is a true one, my good Sir; but I was a man once. Evilis now my good, thanks to your teaching. Look at me--look at me, and seewhat you have brought me to at eight-and-thirty! You almost drove memad, and it was easy, for I had the Carew blood in my veins; but Icontrived to keep my wits for the enjoyment of this hour. I feel veryold, and have few pleasures left, you see. It is impossible, unfortunately, to return here and see you rot; there would be danger init; just the least risk in the world of somebody coming here to look forus. I must be off now, too, for there is a worthy man sitting up for meat the inn, and I have got to take this ladder back to Gethin. "

A cry of mingled rage and despair burst forth from Richard's foe. 

"What! you had calculated upon the absence of that ladder producingsuspicion? It is curious how great wits jump together: that had alsostruck me. I shall take it back, for I well know where it ought to be; Iam quite familiar with your house at Gethin, as you may remember, perhaps. You may keep the lantern, which will not be missed; but, if youwill take my advice, you will put out the light, to preserve thecandle--as an article of food. Put it somewhere where the rats can noteat it, and it may prolong your torments half a day. You can also eatthe horn of the lantern, but you will doubtless preserve that for a_bonne bouche_. You are not superstitious, else I would suggest thatyour father-in-law's spirit is exceedingly likely to haunt thatnortheastern corner down yonder. "

Here there was a dull scrambling noise, a violent struggle as of feetand hands against a wall, and then a heavy thud. 

"Now that is very foolish of you, Solomon, to attempt to get out of aplace which you yourself informed me could never be escaped from withoutwings. I sincerely hope you have not hurt yourself much. I hear youmoving slowly about again, so I may leave you without anxiety. Good-by, Solomon. " Richard waited a moment, a frightful figure of hate andtriumph, peering down into the pit beneath, where all was now dark. "Youare too proud to speak to a convict, perhaps. Well, well, that is butnatural in so honest a man. I take my leave, then. You have no message, I conclude, for home?"

An inarticulate cry, like that of a wild animal caught in a snare, wasthe only reply. 

"That is the worst of letting his candle go out, " mused Richard, aloud;"some rat has got hold of him already. " Then, with a steady foot andsmiling face, which showed how all his previous fears had been assumed, he retraced his steps, and mounted to the upper air. The sky was clearernow; and, casting the torch, for which he had no further need, far intothe mine, and shouldering the ladder, he started for Gethin at goodspeed. It was past two o'clock before he reached his inn at Turlock; butbefore he retired to rest he sat down to the supper that had beenprepared for him, but without the appetite which he had anticipated. 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

THE SMOKING-ROOM OF THE GEORGE AND VULTURE. 

Robert Balfour did not remain at Turlock, as he had originally intended. Perhaps the vicinity to Wheal Danes was not so attractive to him as hehad promised himself that it would be, although not for a single instantdid his purpose of revenge relax. Other considerations, had he neededthem, were powerful, now that he had taken the first step, to keep himon that terrible path which he had so long marked out for himself. Todisclose the position of his victim now would have been not only to makevoid his future plans, but to place his own fate at Solomon's mercy. Yethe found his heart less hard than the petrifaction it had undergone, theconstant droppings of wrong and hardship for twenty years, should haverendered it. He did not wake until late, and the first sound that brokeupon his ear was the tinkling of the bell of the little church, for itwas Sunday morning. He compared it for a moment with something that hehad been dreaming of: a man in a well chipping footsteps for himself inthe brick wall, up which he climbed a few feet, and then fell downagain. Then a pitiful, unceasing cry of "Help, help!--help, help!" rangin his ears, instead of the voice that called people to prayers. Evenwhen that ceased, the wind and rain--for the weather was wild andwet--beating against the window-pane, brought with them doleful shrieks. Sometimes a sudden gust seemed to bear upon it confused voices and thetramp of hurrying feet; and then he would knit his brow and clench hishand, with the apprehension that they had found his enemy, and werebringing him to the door. Not the slightest fear of the consequences tohimself in such a case agitated his mind; he had quite resolved what todo, and that no prison walls should ever hem him in again; but the bareidea that Solomon should escape his vengeance drove him to the brink offrenzy. He would have left the place at once, but that he thought thecoincidence of his departure with the disappearance of his foe mightpossibly awaken suspicion; so he staid on through the day, waiting forthe news which he knew must arrive sooner or later. At noon he thoughtthe landlady wore an unusually grave air, and he felt impelled to askher what was the matter. But then, if there was nothing--if she onlylooked sour, as folks often did, just because it was Sunday--she mightthink him too curious. 

From his window, a little later, he saw a knot of people in the raintalking eagerly together, and one of them pointing with his hand towardGethin. But they were too far off to be overheard, and he did not darego down and interrogate them. It was his object to appear utterlyindifferent to local affairs, and as a total stranger. He felt halfstifled within doors, and yet, if he should go out, he knew that hewould be incontrollably impelled to take the cliff path that he hadfollowed the preceding night, to watch that nobody came near the placethat held his prey, and thereby, like the bird who shows her nest bykeeping guard too near, attract attention. The tidings for which hewaited came at six o'clock, just as he was sitting down to his dinner. The parlor-maid who served him had that happy and excited look which thepossession of news, whether it be good or bad, but especially thelatter, always imparts to persons of her class. 

"There's strange news come from Gethin, Sir, " said she, as she arrangedthe dishes. 

"Indeed, " said Balfour, carelessly, though he felt his brain spin roundand his heart stop at the same moment. "What is it?"

"Mr. Coe, Sir, a very rich man--he as owns all Dunloppel--hasdisappeared. "

"How's that?"

"Well, Sir, he went to his room last night, they say, at his usual hour, but never slept in his bed, and the front-door was found unlocked in themorning, so that he must have gone away of himself. That would not be soodd, for he is a secret sort of man, as is always coming and going; buthe has taken nothing with him; only the clothes he stood in. "

"Well, I dare say he has come back again by this time, my good girl. What's this? Is there no fish?"

"No, Sir; the weather was too bad yesterday for catching them, and alllast night there was a dreadful sea: that's what they fear about Mr. Coe--that he has fell into the sea. His footsteps have been tracked tothe cliff edge, and there they stop. "

"Poor fellow! Has he any relatives?"

"Oh yes, Sir; a wife and son--a very handsome, nice young gentleman. "

"Then his widow will be rich, I suppose?"

"Oh, pray, don't call her a widow yet, Sir; let us hope her husband maybe found. It's a dreadful thing to be drowned like that on a Sundaymorning; and for one who knows the cliff path so well as he did, too. Hewas a hard man, and no favorite, but one forgets that now, of course. "

"You have also forgotten the Harvey Sauce, my good girl; oblige me bybringing it, will you?" said Mr. Balfour, beginning to whistle somethingwhich did not sound like a psalm tune. "You must excuse myhard-heartedness, but I had not the pleasure of knowing this gentleman. "

An hour afterward the solitary guest had left the inn, and was on hisroad to Plymouth. His departure caused little surprise, for the weatherwas such as to induce no visitor to prolong his stay. 

Whether from his long enforced abstinence from society, or from theunwelcome nature of his thoughts, Robert Balfour was always disinclinedto be alone. His expeditions with Charley in search of pleasure hadbeen, though he did not find pleasure, more agreeable to him than thebeing left to his own resources; and now this was more the case thanever. He preferred even such company as that which the smoking-room ofan hotel afforded to none at all. The voices of his fellow-creaturescould not shape themselves, as every inarticulate sound did to hisstraining ear, into groans and feeble cries for aid. Not twenty-fourhours had elapsed since his prisoner was placed in hold, so that suchsounds of weakness and agony must have been in every sense chimerical;and yet he heard them. What, then, if these echoes from the tomb shouldalways be heard? A terrible idea indeed, but one which bred norepentance. It was not likely that remorse should seize him in the veryplace where his hated foe had clutched and consigned him to _his_ livinggrave. 

The hotel at which he now put up was the same at which he had thenlodged; this public room was the same in which he had smoked his lastcigar upon his fatal visit to the Miners' Bank. He had had only onecompanion then, but now it was full of people. By their talk it wasevident that they were townsfolk, and all known to one another; in fact, it was a tradesmen's club, which met at the _George and Vulture_ onSunday nights through the winter months. In spite of his willingness tobe won from his thoughts, he could not fix his attention on the smalllocal gossip that was going on about him. Men came in and out withouthis observing them; and indeed it was not easy to take note of facesthrough the cloud of smoke that filled the room; he was fast relapsinginto his own reflections, wondering what Solomon was doing in the dark, and if he slept much, when an event occurred which roused him asthoroughly as the prick of a lance or a sudden douche of cold water. 

"Let us have no misunderstanding and no obligation--that is my motto. "

The speaker was a thin, gray man, whose entrance into the apartmentBalfour had not perceived, and who was seated in an elevated chair, which had apparently been reserved for him as president of the assembly. The face was unfamiliar, for twenty years had made an old man of theastute and lively detective; but his phrase, and the manner ofdelivering it, identified him at once as his old friend Mr. Dodge. 

"It was in this very room, " continued the latter, "that I sat and talkedwith him as sociable as could be, not a quarter of an hour before I putthe darbies on him; and it's a thing that has been upon my mind eversince. I was only doing my duty, of course, but still it seemed hard totake advantage of such a frank young fellow. As for stealing them notes, it's my belief he had no more intention of doing it than I had. "

"And yet he got it hot at the 'sizes, Mr. Dodge, didn't he?" inquiredone of the company. 

"Got it hot, Sir?" replied Mr. Dodge, with dignity; "he got an infamousand most unjustly severe sentence, if you mean that, Sir. Of course whathe did was contrary to law, but it's my opinion as the law was strainedagin him. There was some as swore hard and fast to get him punished asknew he deserved no such treatment. Why, the girl as he loved, and whosepicture I found upon him myself when I searched him, and gave it himback, too--ay, that I did--even she took a false oath, as Weasel himselftold me, who was his lawyer, and had built up his case with that samehussy for its corner-stone. Ah!" said Mr. Dodge, with a gesture ofabhorrence, "if there ever was a murdered man, it was that poor youngfellow, Richard Yorke. "

"But I thought he got twenty years' penal servitude, " observed the sameindividual who had interposed before, and whose thankless office itseemed to be to draw the old gentleman out for the benefit of society. 

"I say he was murdered, Sir. He was shut up for nigh twenty years, andthen shot in the back in trying to get away from Lingmoor. It was thehardest case I ever knew in all my professional experience. Lord, if youhad seen him--the handsomest, brightest, gayest young chap! And he waswhat some folks call well-born, too; he was the son--that is, though, ina left-handed sort of way, it's true--of mad Carew of Crompton, aboutwhose death the papers were so full a month ago or so; and that, in myjudgment, was the secret of all his misfortune: it was the Carew bloodas did it. To take his own way in the world; to seek nobody's advice, nor use it if 'twas given; to be spoiled and petted by all the women andhalf the men as came nigh him; to own no master nor authority; to actwithout thought, and to scorn consequences--well, all that was bred inthe bone with him. "

"Then he had never any one to look after him at home, I reckon, Mr. Dodge?"

"Well, yes; he had a mother; and though she was a queer one too, sheloved him dearly. She was the cleverest woman, Weasel used to say, asever he had to do with; and a perfect lady too, mind you. She worked toget the poor lad off like a slave; and when all was over, instead ofbreaking down, as most would, she swallowed her pride, and went down onher bended knees to that old miserly devil, Trevethick, the prosecutor, and to his son-in-law, Coe, likewise: they lived down Cross Keyway--where was it?--at Gethin--and begged and prayed him to join inpetitioning in her son's favor. She got down there the very day afterhis lying daughter was married to Solomon Coe, he as has got Dunloppel, and is a big man now. But he'll never be any thing but a scurvy lot, ifhe was to be king o' Cornwall. I shall never forget the way he insultedthat poor young fellow when he was took up. Damme, I would have given aten-pound note to have had _him_ charged with something, and I'd ha'seen that the handcuffs weren't none too big for his wrists neither. "

"And this Trevethick refused to help the lady, did he?"

"Why, of course he did. He broke her heart, poor soul. I saw her whenshe passed through Plymouth afterward, and she looked twenty years olderthan before that trial. Even then she didn't give the matter up, butlaid it before the crown. But poor Yorke had offended government--helpedsome fool or another through one of them public examinations; he hadwits enough for any thing, had that young fellow. But there--I can'ta-bear to talk about him; and yet somehow I can't help doing on it whenI get into this room. He sat just where that gentleman sits yonder. Ithink I see him now, smoking the best of cigars, one of which he offeredto me--for he was free as free; but I was necessitated to restore it, for I couldn't take a gift from one as I was just a-going to nab. 'Thankyou kindly, ' says I, 'but let us have no misunderstanding and noobligation. ' Poor fellow! poor fellow!"

No more was said about the case of Richard Yorke; but it was evidently astanding topic with the chairman of the _George and Vulture_ club. Ayearning to behold and embrace that mother who had done and suffered somuch for his sake took possession of Richard's soul. His heart had beensteeled against her when he found harbored under her roof the objects ofhis rage and loathing; but he felt now that that must have come to passwith some intention of benefit to himself. The very truth, indeed, flashed upon him that she entertained some plan of frustrating hisrevenge against them, with the idea of protecting him from theconsequences that were likely to ensue from it; and he forgave her, while he hated his foes the more. He would carry out his design to theuttermost, but very cautiously, and with a prudence that he wouldcertainly not have used had his own safety been alone concerned; andthen, when he had avenged himself and her, he would disclose himself toher. The statement he had just heard affected him deeply, but inopposite ways. The justification of himself in no way moved him--he didnot need that; it was also far too late for his heart to be touched bythe expression of the old detective's good-will, though the time hadbeen when he would have thanked him for its utterance with honest tears;but the revelation of his mother's toil and suffering in his behalfreawakened all his dormant love for her, while it made his purposefirmer than ever to be the Nemesis of her enemies and his own. 

As he went to bed that night the clock struck twelve. It was justfour-and-twenty hours since he had left his victim in the bowels ofWheal Danes. If a free pardon could have been offered to him for thecrime, and the mine been filled with gold for him to its mouth, he wouldnot have stretched out his hand to save him. 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

STILL HUMAN. 

Mr. Balfour atoned for his previous indifference to the wares of thenews-boy by sending him next morning to the station for all the localpapers. In each, as he expected, there was a paragraph headed_Mysterious Disappearance_, and as lengthened an account as professionalingenuity could devise of the unaccountable departure of Mr. Solomon Coefrom his house at Gethin. The missing man was "much respected;" and, "asthe prosperous owner of the Dunloppel mine, which had yielded so largelyfor so many years, he could certainly not have been pressed by pecuniaryembarrassments, and therefore the idea of suicide was out of thequestion. " Unlikely as it seemed in the case of one who knew the countryso well, the most probable explanation of the affair was that theunfortunate gentleman, in taking a walk by night along the cliff top, must have slipped into the sea. The weather had been very rough of lateand the wind blowing from off the land, which would have accounted--ifthis supposition was correct--for the body not having been washedashore. "In the mean time an active search was going on. "

Balfour had resolved not to return to London for at least ten days. Mrs. Coe and her son would, without doubt, be telegraphed for, and he couldnot repair to their house in their absence. The idea of being under thesame roof alone with his mother was now repugnant to him. He felt thathe could not trust himself in such a position. It had been hard andgrievous, notwithstanding his resentment against her, to see her incompany with others, and her absence of late from table had been a greatrelief to him. With his present feeling toward her it would beimpossible to maintain his incognito; and, if that was lost, his futureplans--to which he well knew she would oppose herself--would be renderedfutile. He had seen with rage and bitter jealousy that both Harry andher boy, and especially the latter, were dear to her; and it was certainshe would interfere to protect them, for their sake as well as for hisown. He had other reasons also for not returning immediately to town. Itmight hereafter be expedient to show that he _had_ really been toMidlandshire, where he had given out he had designed to go; and, moreover, though his purpose was relentless as respected Solomon, he didnot perhaps care to be in a house where hourly suggestions would bedropped as to the whereabouts of his victim, or the fate that hadhappened to him. Harry and her son might even not have gone to Gethin, and in that case their apprehensions and surmises would have beeninsupportable. 

Richard was more human than he would fain believe himself to be. Thoughhe had gone to bed so inexorable of purpose, it had been somewhat shakenthrough the long hours of a night in which he had slept but little, andwaked to think on what his feverish dreams had dwelt upon--the fate ofhis unhappy foe, perishing slowly beside his useless treasure. More thanonce, indeed, the impulse had been strong upon him that very morning tosend word anonymously where Solomon was to be found to the police atPlymouth. Remorse had not as yet become chronic with him, but it seizedhim by fits and starts. 

There had been a time when he had looked (through his prison bars) onall men with rage and hatred; but now he caught himself, as it were, atattempts at self-justification with respect to the retribution he hadexacted even from his enemy. Had he not been rendered miserable, heargued, supremely wretched, for more than half his lifetime, throughthis man's agency? for it was certain that Solomon had sworn falsely, inthe spirit if not in the letter, and caused him to be convicted of acrime which his rival was well aware he had not in intention committed. His conduct toward him on the occasion of his arrest had also been mostbrutal and insulting; while, after conviction had been obtained, thiswretch's malice, as Mr. Dodge had stated, had known no cessation. In thearms of his young bride he had been deaf to the piteous cry of a motherbeseeching for her only son. 

But, on the other hand, had not he (Richard) deeply wronged this man inthe first instance? Had he not robbed him--for so much at least mustSolomon have known--of the love of his promised wife? If happiness fromsuch an ill-assorted union was not to have been anticipated, still, hadhe not rendered it impossible? If their positions had been reversed, would not he have exacted expiation from such an offender to theuttermost? He would doubtless have scorned to twist the law as Solomonhad done, and make it, as it were, the crooked instrument of hisrevenge. He would not, of course, have evoked its aid at all. But wasthat to be placed to his credit? He had put himself above the lawthroughout his life; he had never acknowledged any authority save thatof his own selfish will; nay, he owned to himself that his bitternessagainst his unhappy victim had been caused not so much by the wrong hehad suffered at his hands as by the contempt which he (Richard) hadentertained for him. Without materials such as his father had possessedto back his pretensions he had imagined himself a sort of irresponsibleand sovereign being. (Such infatuation is by no means rare, nor confinedto despots and brigands, and when it exists in a poor man it is alwaysfatal to himself. ) His education, if it could be called such, haddoubtless fostered this delusion; but Mr. Dodge was right; the Carewblood had been as poison in his veins, and had destroyed him. 

All this might be true; but such philosophy could scarcely now obtain ahearing, while his enemy was dying of starvation in his living tomb. Itwas in vain for him to repeat mechanically that he had also suffered asort of lingering death for twenty years. The present picture of hisrival's torments presented itself in colors so lively and terrible thatit blotted out the reminiscence of his own. The recollection of hiswrongs was no longer sufficient for his vindication. He therefore stroveto behold his victim in another light than as his private foe--as themurderer of his friend Balfour, the history of whose end may here betold. 

On the night that Richard escaped from Lingmoor, it was Balfour, ofcourse, who assisted him, and who was awaiting him in person at the footof the prison wall. The old man's arms had received him as he slippeddown the rope; and the object at which the sentry had fired had been twomen, though in the misty night they had seemed but one. Balfour had beenmortally wounded, and it was with the utmost difficulty that, ladenwith the burden of his dying friend, Richard had contrived to reachBergen Wood. As his own footsteps were alone to be traced along themoor, the idea of another having accompanied his flight--though theyknew there was complicity--had not occurred to the authorities. Balfourhad hardly reached that wretched asylum when he expired, pressingRichard's hand, and bidding him remember Earl Street, Spitalfields. "What you find there is all yours, lad, " was his dying testament andlast words of farewell. And over his dead body Richard swore anew hisvow of vengeance against the man that had thus, though indirectly, deprived him of his only friend. He had watched by the dead body, on itsbed of rotten leaves, through that night and the whole of the next day;then, changing clothes with it, he had fled under cover of the ensuingdarkness, and got away eventually to town. 

He had found the house in Earl Street a wretched hovel, tenanted by afew abjects, whom the money found on Balfour--which he had received onleaving prison--was amply sufficient to buy out. Once alone in thistenement, he had easily possessed himself of the spoil so long secreted, and, furnished with it, he had hastened down to Crompton--the news ofCarew's death having reached London on the very day that he foundhimself in a position to profit by it. The very plan which he hadsuggested to Balfour, whose name he also assumed, he himself put intoexecution. He made a private offer for the disused mine, which wasgladly accepted by those who had the disposal of the property, actingunder the advice of Parson Whymper. Trevethick, the only man that hadattached any importance to the possession of it, was dead; and it wasnot likely that any one at the sale should bid one-half of the sum whichthis stranger was prepared to give for the mere gratification of hiswhim. The mine itself, indeed, had scarcely been mentioned in thetransaction; it merely formed a portion in the lot comprising the fewbarren acres on which this capricious purchaser had expressed his fancyto build a home. "Disposed of by private contract" was the marginal notewritten in the auctioneer's catalogue which dashed Solomon'slong-cherished hopes to the ground. 

Richard staid on in the neighborhood to attend the sale. It attracted animmense concourse; and no less than a guinea a head was the price ofadmission to those who explored the splendid halls of Crompton, discussing the character of its late owner, and retailing wild storiesof his eccentricities. Poor Parson Whymper, who had not a shilling leftto him--for Carew had died intestate, though, thanks to him, notabsolutely a beggar--was perhaps the only person present who felt atouch of regret. He had asked for his patron's signet-ring, as akeepsake, and this request had been refused on the part of thecreditors; he wandered among the gay and jeering crowd like a ghost, little thinking that the one man who looked at him with a glance of pitywas he whom he had once regarded as the heir of Crompton. It was thegeneral opinion now that the unhappy chaplain had been Carew's evilgenius, and had "led him on. " Even Richard bestowed but that singleglance upon him; he _was_ looking in vain for the face that had soterrible an interest for himself. He had not heard that Trevethick wasdead, but he knew it was so the instant that his eyes fell upon SolomonCoe, and all his hate was at once transferred to his younger enemy. Thebusiness upon which this man had come was as clear to him as though ithad been written on his forehead. The first gleam of pleasure which hadvisited his dark soul for twenty years was the sight of Solomon'scountenance when, on the sixth day's sale, the auctioneer gave out thatlot 970 had been withdrawn. Solomon might have received the intimationlong before but for the cautious prudence which had prevented him frommaking any inquiries upon the subject. For a minute or two he stoodstunned and silent, then hurriedly made his way to the rostrum. Richard, who was sitting at the long table with the catalogue before him, kepthis eyes fixed upon its pages while the auctioneer pointed him out asthe purchaser of the lot in question. He knew the inquiry that was beingasked, and its reply; he knew whose burly form it was that thrust itselfthe next minute in between him and his neighbor; every drop of blood inhis body, every hair on his head, seemed to be cognizant that the man hehated most on earth was seated cheek by jowl with him--that the firststep in the road of retribution had been taken voluntarily by his victimhimself. The rest is soon told. Solomon at once commenced his clumsyefforts at conciliation; and his endeavors to recommend himself to thestranger's friendship were suffered quickly to bear fruit. He invitedhim to his house in London, which, to Richard's astonishment andindignation, he found to be his mother's home; and, in short, fell ofhis own accord into the very snare which the other, had he had thefixing of it, would himself have laid for him. 

And now, as we have said, when all had gone exactly as Richard wouldhave had it go, and Solomon was being punished to the uttermost, theexecutor of his doom was beginning to feel, if not compunction, at allevents remorse. No adequate retribution had indeed overtaken Harry. Tohave made her a widow was, in fact, to have freed her from the yoke of aharsh and unloved master; but the fact was, notwithstanding the perjuryof which he believed her to have been guilty, he had never hated her ashe had hated the other authors of his wrongs. She had once on therock-bound coast at Gethin preserved his life; she had accorded to hispassion all that woman can grant, and had reciprocated it; not even inhis fiercest hour of despair had he harbored the thought of raising hishand against her; he had hated her, indeed, as his betrayer, and asSolomon's wife, but never regarded her with that burning detestationwhich he felt toward her husband. There was another motive also, thoughhe did not even admit it to himself, which, now that his chief foe wasexpiating his offense, had no inconsiderable weight in the scale ofmercy as regarded the others. 

His endeavors to win Charley's favor had had a reflex action. In spiteof himself, a certain good-will had grown up in him toward this boy, whom his mission it was to ruin. If there had been less of his mother inthe lad's appearance, or any thing of his father in his character, hisheart might have been steeled against his youth and innocence oftransgression. As a mere son of Solomon Coe's he would have beheld inhim the whelp of a wolf, and treated him accordingly; but between thewolf and his offspring there was evidently as little of affection asthere was of likeness. The very weaknesses of Charley's character--hislove of pleasure, his credulity, his wayward impulsiveness, of all whichBalfour had made use for his own purposes--were foreign to the nature ofthe elder Coe; while the lad's high spirit, demonstrativeness, andgeniality were all his own. If he had one to guide as well as lovehim--a woman with sound heart and brain, such as this Agnes Aird wasrepresented to be, what a happy future might be before this youth!Without such a wise counselor, how easy it would be, and how likely, forhim to drift on the tide of self-will and self-indulgence to the devil!The decision rested in Richard's own hands, he knew. Should he blastthis young life in the bud, in revenge for acts for which he was in noway accountable, and which were already being so bitterly expiated? Theapprehension that Solomon might even yet be found alive perhaps aloneprevented Richard from resolving finally to molest Harry and her son nofurther. If his victim should have been rescued, his enmity would havedoubtless blazed forth afresh against them as inextinguishable as ever, but in the mean time it smouldered, and was dying out for want of fuel. If he had no penitence with respect to the terrible retribution he hadalready wrought, the idea of it disturbed him. If he had no scruples, hehad pangs: when all was over--in a day or two, for even so strong a manas Solomon could scarcely hold out longer--he would doubtless cease tobe troubled with them; when he was once dead Richard did not fear hisghost; but the thought of this perishing wretch at present haunted him. He was still not far from Gethin, and its neighborhood was likely toencourage such unpleasant feelings. He had only executed a righteousjudgment, since there was no law to right him; but even a judge wouldavoid the vicinity of a gallows on which hangs a man on whom he hadpassed sentence. 

He would go into Midlandshire--where he was now supposed to be--untilthe affair had blown over. That watching and waiting for the Thing to bediscovered would, he foresaw, be disagreeable, nervous work. And when ithappened, how full the newspapers would be of it! How Solomon got to theplace where he would be found would be as much a matter of marvel as theobject of his going there. If the copper lode--the existence of whichRichard did not doubt--were discovered, as it most likely would be whenthe mine became the haunt of the curious and the morbid, it was only tooprobable that public attention would be drawn to the owner. Theidentification of Robert Balfour with the visitor who had visitedTurlock might then be established, whence would rise suspicion, andperhaps discovery. Richard had no terrors upon his own account, but hewas solicitous to spare his mother this new shame. He had been hithertoguiltless in her eyes, or, when blameworthy, the victim ofcircumstances; but could her love for him survive the knowledge that hewas a murderer? But why encourage these morbid apprehensions? Was it notjust as likely that the Thing would never be discovered at all? Once setupon a wrong scent, as folks already were, since the papers hadsuggested the man was drowned, why should they ever hit upon the rightone? Wheal Danes had not been explored for half a century. Why shouldnot Solomon's bones lie there till the judgment-day?

At this point in his reflections the door opened--he was taking hisbreakfast in a private sitting-room--and admitted, as he thought, thewaiter. Richard stood in such profound thought that it was almoststupor, with his arms upon the mantel-piece, and his head resting on hishands. He did not change his posture; but when the door closed, andthere was silence in place of the expected clatter of the breakfastthings, he turned about, and beheld Harry standing before him--in deepblack, and, as it seemed to him, in widow's weeds!

CHAPTER XLV. 

FACE TO FACE. 

If Solomon himself, half starved and imbecile with despair, had suddenlypresented himself from his living tomb, Richard could not have been moreastonished than at the appearance of his present visitor. He had lefther but three days ago for Midlandshire. How was it possible she hadtracked him hither? With what purpose she had done so he did not askhimself, for he had already read it in her haggard face and hopelesseyes. 

"Have I come too late?" moaned she in a piteous, terror-stricken voice. 

"For breakfast?--yes, madam, " returned Richard, coldly; "but that caneasily be remedied;" and he feigned to touch the bell. His heart wassteel again; this woman's fear and care he felt were for his enemy, andfor him alone. It was plain she had no longer fear of himself. 

"Where is my husband?" she gasped out. "Is he still alive?"

"I am not your husband's keeper, madam. "

"But you are his murderer!" She held out her arm, and pointed at himwith a terrible significance. There was something clasped in hertrembling fingers which he could not discern. 

"You speak in riddles, madam; and it seems to me your humor is somewhatgrim. "

"I ask you once more, is my husband dead, and have I come too late?"

"I have not seen him for some days; I left him alive and well. Whatmakes you think him otherwise, or that I have harmed him?"

"This"--she advanced toward him, keeping her eyes steadily fixed uponhis own--"this was found among your things after you left my house!"

It was a ticket-of-leave--the one that had been given to Balfour on hisdischarge from Lingmoor. It seemed impossible that Richard's colorlessface could have become still whiter, but it did so. 

"Yes, that is mine, " said he. "It was an imprudence in me to leave sucha token among curious people. You took an interest in my effects, itseems. "

"It was poor Mrs. Basil who found it, and who gave it to me. " Her voicewas calm, and even cold; but the phrase "poor Mrs. Basil" alarmed him. 

"The good lady is still unwell, then, is she?"

"She is dead. "

"Dead!" Richard staggered to a chair, and pressed his hands to hisforehead. The only creature in the world on whom his slender hopes werebuilt had, then, departed from it! "When did she die?" inquired he in ahollow voice, "and how?"

"On the evening of the day you left, and, as I believe, of a diseasewhich one like you will scarcely credit--of a broken heart. "

Her manner and tone were hostile; but that moved not Richard one whit;the cold and measured tones in which she had alluded to his mother'sdeath angered him, on the other hand, exceedingly. If his mother haddied of a broken heart, it was this woman's falsehood that had brokenit; and yet she could speak with calmness and unconcern of the losswhich had left him utterly forlorn! He forgot all his late remorse; andin his eyes glittered malice and cruel rage. 

"I do not fear you, " cried she, in answer to this look; "for thewretched have no fear. The hen will do battle with the fox, the rabbitwith the stoat, to save her young. If I can not save my husband, I willsave my son. I have come down here to do it. You are known to me now forwhat you are--a jail-bird. If you dare to meet my Charley's honest faceagain, I will tell him who and what you are. "

"Did Mrs. Basil tell you that, then?"

"Thus far she did, " cried Harry, pointing to the ticket which Richardhad taken from her hand. "Is not that enough? She warned me with herlatest breath against you. 'Beware of him, ' said she; 'and yet pursuehim, if you would save your husband and your son. Where Solomon is, there will this man also be. Pursue, pursue!' I did but stay to closeher eyes. "

"And so she knew me, did she?"

"She knew enough, as I do. Of course she could not guess--whocould?--your shameful past, the fruit of which is there!" and again shepointed to the ticket. 

"_My_ shameful past!" cried Richard, rising and drawing himself to hisfull height. "Who are you, that dare to say so? Do you, then, need oneto rise from the dead to remind you of _your_ past! Look at me, HarryTrevethick--look at _me_!"

"Richard!" It was but one word; but in the tone which she pronounced ita thousand memories seemed to mingle. An inexpressible awe pervaded her;she stood spell-bound, staring at his white hair and withered face. 

"Yes, it _is_ Richard, " answered the other, mockingly, "though it ishard to think so. Twenty years of wretchedness have worked the change. It is you he has to thank for it, you perjured traitress!"

"No, no; as Heaven is my judge, Richard, I tell you No!" She threwherself on her knees before him; and as she did so her bonnet fell, andthe rippling hair that he had once stroked so tenderly escaped from itsbands; the color came into her cheeks, and the light into her eyes, withthe passionate excitement of her appeal; and for the moment she lookedalmost as he had known her in the far-back spring-tide of her youth. 

"Fair and false as ever!" cried Richard, bitterly. 

"Listen, listen!" pleaded she; "then call me what you will. "

He sat in silence while she poured forth all the story of the trial, andof the means by which her evidence had been obtained, listening at firstwith a cold, cynical smile, like one who is prepared for falsehood, andbeyond its power; but presently he drooped his head and hid hisfeatures. She knew that she had persuaded him of her fidelity, butfeared that behind those wrinkled hands there still lay a ruthlesspurpose. She had exculpated herself, but only (of necessity) by showingin blacker colors the malice of his enemies. She knew that he had swornto destroy them root and branch; and there was one green bough which hehad already done his worst to bend to evil ways. "Richard, Richard!"said she, softly. 

He withdrew his chair with a movement which she mistook for one ofloathing. 

"He hates me for their sake, " thought she, "although he knows me to beinnocent. How much more must he hate those who made me seem so guilty!"But, in truth, his withdrawal from her touch had a very differentexplanation. He would have kissed her, and held out both his hands, butfor the blood which he dreaded might be even now upon them. He saw thatshe loved him still, and had ever done so, even when she seemed his foe:all the old affection that he thought had been dead within him awoke tolife, and yet he dared not give it voice. 

"You have said my husband was alive and well, Richard?"

"I said I had left him so, " answered he, hoarsely. 

"Then you have spared him thus far; spare him still, even for my sake;and, for Heaven's sake, spare my son! Harden not your heart against onemore dear to me by far than life itself. He has done you no wrong. "

Richard shook his head; he yearned to clasp her to his breast; he couldhave cried, "I forgive them all, " but he could not trust himself tospeak, lest he should say, "I love you. "

"You have seen my boy, Richard, many times. The friendship you havesimulated for him must have made you know how warm-hearted and kind andunsuspicious his nature is. You have listened to his merry laugh, andfelt the sunshine of his gayety. Oh! can you have the heart to harmhim?"

Still he did not speak; he scarcely heard her words. The murdered manwas standing between her and him; and he would always stand there, seenby him, though not by her. From the grave itself he had come forth totriumph over him to the end. 

"Richard"--her voice had sunk to a tremulous whisper--"I must save myson, and save you from yourself, no matter what it costs me. You littleknow on the brink of what a crime you stand. "

He laughed a bitter laugh; for was he not already steeped in crime? Shethought him pitiless and malignant when he was only hopeless andself-condemned. 

"Do you remember Gethin, Richard, and all that happened there? Can younot guess why I was made to marry--within--what was it?--a month, aweek, a day--it seemed but the next hour--after I lost you? You have hadtwenty years of misery for my sake; but so have I for yours. Did myhusband love me, think you? Did he love my child? He had good cause, ifhe had only known, to hate us both. Can you not guess it?"

He looked at her with eager hope--a trembling joy pervaded him. But hopeand joy had been strangers to him so long that he could scarce recognizethem for what they were. 

"My Charley is yours also, Richard--your own son. "

Richard burst into tears. There was somebody still to love him in theworld--his own flesh and blood--somebody to live for! The thoughtintoxicated him with delight; a vision of happiness floated before himfor an instant; then was swallowed up in darkness, as a single star bythe gloom of night. His own flesh and blood; ay, perhaps inheriting thesame nature as his father. It was only too likely, from what he had seenof the lad; and he had himself done his best to develop the evil in him, and to crush the good. 

"Don't weep, dear Richard: kiss me. "

He shrank from her proffered lips with a cold shudder. "Nay, I can notkiss you. Do not ask me why, Harry. Never ask me; but I never can. "

She looked at him with wonder, for she saw that his wrath had vanished. His tone was tender, though woeful, and his touch as he put her asidewas as gentle as a child's. 

"As you please, Richard, " said she, humbly, and with a deep blush. "Ionly wished for it as a token of your forgiveness. It is not necessary;those tears have told me we are reconciled. But you will kiss Charley. "

"Nay; he must never know, " answered Richard gloomily. 

"I had forgotten, " said Harry, simply. "You can guess by that theloyalty of my heart toward you, Richard. I forgot that to reveal itwould be to tell my darling of his mother's shame. But you will be kindand good to him; you will undo what you have done of harm; you will leadhim back to Agnes, and then he will be safe. "

"Yes, yes, " muttered Richard, mechanically; "I will undo so far as I canwhat I have done of harm. I will do my best, as I have done my worst. "

He rose hastily, and rang the bell. Harry eyed him like some attachedcreature that sympathizes with but can not comprehend its master. 

The waiter entered. 

"I shall not go by the train, " said Richard; "let a carriage and pair bebrought round instantly, without a moment's delay. "

The waiter hurried out to execute the order. 

"But you will surely return home, Richard, after what has happened?"said Harry, thinking of his mother's funeral. 

"The dead can wait, " returned he, solemnly. "Go you back to town. Inthree days' time, if you do not hear from me, come down to Gethin withCharles and Agnes. "

"But I dare not, unless my husband send for me. "

"He _will_ send for you, " said Richard, solemnly; "or others will in hisbehalf. "

Without one word or sign of farewell he suddenly rushed by her, and wasgone. A carriage stood at the front-door of the hotel, which had justreturned from taking a bride and bridegroom to the railway station, andshe saw him hurry into it. 

"Fast! fast!" she heard him cry, through the open window; and then hewas whirled away. 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

CURTIUS. 

Richard had many subjects for thought to beguile his lonely way toGethin, but one was paramount, and absorbed the rest, though he stroveto dismiss it all he could. 

He endeavored to think of his dead mother. His heart was full of herpatient love and weary, childless life; but her portrait faded from hismind like a dissolving view, and in its place stood that of Solomon Coe, haggard, emaciated, hideous. Still less could he think of Harry and herson, between whom and himself this spectre of the unhappy man rose up atonce, summoned by the thought of them, as by a spell. It did not occurto Richard even now that he had had no right to kill him; but heshuddered to think, if he had really done so, how this late openingflower of love which he had just discovered would blossom into fear andloathing. In that case his heart would have been softened only to bepierced. His mother's death, the knowledge of Harry's fidelity, and ofthe existence of his son, to whom his affection had been already drawn, unknowingly and in spite of himself, had dissolved his cruel purpose. Hewas eager to spare his mother's memory the shame of the foul crime hehad contemplated, and passionately anxious that in the veins of hisnew-found son there should at least run no murderer's blood. 

"Faster! faster!" was still his cry, though the horses galloped wheneverit was practicable, and the wheels cast the winter's mire into his eagerface. This haste was made, as he well knew, upon the road to his ownruin. To find Solomon alive was to be accused of having compassed hisdeath. There was no hope in the magnanimity of such a foe. But yesterdayRichard had cared little or nothing for his own safety, and was onlybent upon the prosecution of his scheme against his foe; now life hadmysteriously become dear to him, and he was about to risk it in savingthe man he had hated most on earth from the doom to which he had himselfconsigned him. He had calculated the possibilities which were in his ownfavor, and they had resolved themselves into this single chance--thatSolomon might be induced, by the unconditional offer of Wheal Danes andits golden treasure, to forego his revenge. His greed was great; but hismalice, as Richard had good cause to know, was also not easilysatisfied. Moreover, even if his victim should decline to be hisprosecutor, he would still stand in great peril. It was only tooprobable that he would be recognized at Gethin for the stranger that hadso lately been staying at Turlock; he had not, indeed, mentioned hisassumed name at the latter place; but his lack of interest in the fateof Solomon--whose disappearance had been narrated to him by thewaitress--and his departure from the town under such circumstances, would (in case of his identification) be doubtless contrasted with thispost-haste journey of his to deliver this same man. He had made up hismind, however, to neglect no precautions to avoid this contingency. Itwould be dark when he got to Gethin; and his purpose once accomplishedhe might easily escape recognition, unless he should be denounced bySolomon himself. In that case Richard was fully determined that he wouldglut no more the curiosity of the crowd. He would never stand in theprisoner's dock, or be consigned again to stone walls. The gossipsshould have a dead man's face to gaze at, and welcome; they might makewhat sport they pleased of that, but not again of his living agony. Then, instead of his being Solomon's murderer, he would be his victim. To judge by his present feeling, thought Richard, bitterly, this manwould not enjoy his triumph even then. Revenge, as his mother had oncetold him, was like a game of battle-door--it is never certain who getsthe last stroke. If Solomon was now dead, starved skeleton or rat-eatencorpse as he might be, Richard felt that he would still have had theadvantage over him. 

"What is it? Why are we stopping?" cried he, frantically, as the manpulled up on the top of a hill. 

"Let me breathe the horses for an instant, " pleaded the driver; "weshall gain time in the end. "

"How far are we still from Gethin?" inquired Richard, impatiently. 

"In time, two hours, Sir, for the road is bad, though me and the horseswill do our best; but the distance is scarce twelve miles. Do you seethat black thing out to seaward yonder? That's the castled rock. Hestands out fine against the sunset, don't he?"

"Yes, yes; make haste;" and on they sped again at a gallop. 

Within a mile or two of this spot Richard had first caught sight of thatsame object twenty years ago. The occasion flashed upon him with everyminutest circumstance, even to the fact of how hungry he had been at themoment. The world was all before him then, and life was young. Now, prematurely aged, his interest centred in three human beings, and one ofthose was his bitter enemy. 

The dusk thickened into dark; and the tired horses--for the stage hadbeen a very long one--made but slow way. 

"Faster! faster!" was Richard's constant cry, till the brow of the lasthill was gained, and the scanty lights of Gethin showed themselves. Thenit suddenly struck him for the first time what unnecessary speed hadbeen made. Why, this man, Solomon, strong and inured to privation, had, after all, been but eight-and-forty hours in the mine, and would surelybe alive, unless the rats had killed him. Where had he somewhere read ofa strong man overpowered in a single night by a legion of rats, anddiscovered a heap of clean-picked bones by morning?

The inn, as usual at that season, showed few signs of life; but therewere some half dozen miners drinking at the bar. 

"Keep those men, " said Richard to the inn-keeper; for Solomon had longdelegated that office to another, though his own name was still over thedoor, and the _Gethin Castle_ was still his home. "I shall want theirhelp to-night. "

"Their help, Sir?" said the astonished landlord. 

"Yes; but say nothing for the present. Bring me a bottle of brandy andsome meat--cold chicken, if you have it; then let me have a word withyou. "

Richard did not order the food for himself. While it was being broughthe sat down in the very chair that he had used so often--for he had beenushered into his old parlor--and gazed about him. There were the sametawdry ornaments on the mantel-piece, and the same books on the dustyshelf. Nothing was altered except the tenant of that room; but how greata change had taken place in _him_! What a face the dingy mirror offeredhim in place of that which it had shown him last! When the inn-keeperreturned his mind involuntarily conjured up old Trevethick, as he hadreceived from him the key of the ruin, and doggedly taken hiscompliments upon its workmanship. Truly, "there is no such thing asforgetting;" and to recall our past to its minutest details at thejudgment-day will not be so impracticable as some of us would desire. 

Richard had made up his mind exactly as to what he would say to thisman, but a question suddenly presented itself, which had been absentfrom his thoughts from the moment that he had resolved to rescue hisenemy. It was a very simple one, too, and would have occurred to any oneelse, as it had done already many times to himself. 

"Has Mr. Coe been found yet?"

He listened for the answer eagerly, for if such was the case, not onlywas his journey useless, but had brought him into the very jaws ofdestruction. He would have thrown away his life for nothing. 

"No, Sir, indeed--and he never will be, " replied the inn-keeper. "Whenthe sea don't give a man up in four-and-twenty hours, it keeps him forgood--at least we always find it so at Gethin. "

"Well, listen to me. My name is Balfour. I knew Mr. Coe, and have haddealings with him. We had arranged a partnership together in a certainmine; and it is my opinion that he came down here upon that business. "

"Very like, Sir. He was much engaged that way, and made, they say, apretty penny at it. "

"I was at Plymouth, on my way to join him, when I heard this sad news. Icame to-day post-haste in consequence of it. The search for him must berenewed to-night. "

"Lor, Sir, it is easy to see you are a stranger in these parts! Iwouldn't like to go myself where poor Mr. Coe met his end, on so dark anight as this. It's a bad path even in daylight along Turlock cliff. "

"He did not take that way, at least I think not. Have you a ladder aboutthe premises?"

"Yes, sure. "

"And a lantern?"

"Now that's strange enough, Sir, that you should have inquired for alantern; for we wanted one just now to see to your horses, and, thoughthey're looking for it high and low, it can't be found nowhere. "

"It doesn't strike you, then, that Mr. Coe might have taken it withhim?"

"Lor, Sir, " cried the inn-keeper, with admiration, "and so he must ha'done! Of course it strikes one when the thing has been put into one'shead. Well, 'twas a good lantern, and now 'tis lost. Dear me, dear me!"

Golden visions of succeeding to the management of the inn, and of takingto the furniture and fixings in the gross, had flitted across thishonest gentleman's brain, and the disappearance of the lantern affectedhim with the acute sense of pecuniary damage. The general valuationwould probably be no less because of the absence of this article. 

"Send out and borrow another, as many, in fact, as you can get, " saidRichard, impatiently; "and get ready a torch or two besides. Pick outfour of the strongest men yonder, and bid them come with me, and searchWheal Danes. "

"What! that old pit. Sir? You'll not find a man to do it--no, not ifthey knowed as master was at the bottom of it. You wait till morning. "

"Your master _is_ at the bottom of it. I feel sure he took the lanternwith him to search that mine. I will give them a pound apiece to startat once. Pack up this food, and lend them a mattress to bring him homeupon. Be quick! be quick!"

Richard's energy fairly overpowered the phlegmatic inn-keeper, whoseconscience, perhaps, also smote him with respect to his missing master;and he set about the execution of these orders promptly. Wheal Danes, hehad truly hinted, was a very unpopular spot with its neighbors afternightfall; but, on the other hand, sovereigns were rare in Gethin, andgreatly prized. In less than half an hour the necessaries which Richardhad indicated were procured, and a party, consisting of himself, fourstalwart miners, and the inn-keeper, started for the pit. These werefollowed by half the inhabitants of the little village, attracted by therumor of their purpose, which had oozed out from the bar of the _GethinCastle_. The windy down had probably never known so strange a concourseas that which presently streamed over it, with torch and lantern, andstood around the mouth of the disused mine. The night was dark, andnothing could be seen save what the flare of the lights they carriedshowed them--a jagged rim of pit without a bottom. Notwithstanding theirnumbers there was but little talk among them; they had a native dread ofthis dismal place, and, besides, there might now be a ghastly secrethidden within it. A muffled exclamation, half of admiration, half ofawe, broke from the circling crowd as, the ladder planted, Richard wasseen descending it torch in hand. No other man followed; none hadvolunteered, and he had asked for no companion. They watched him, as thecountrymen of those who had formerly worked Wheal Danes might havewatched Curtius when he leaped into the gulf; and as in _his_ case, whenthey saw the ladder removed, and the light grow dim, and finally die outbefore their eyes, it seemed that the pit had closed on Richard--that hewas swallowed up alive. No one, unless the strange story about theirmissing neighbor which this man had brought was true, had ventured intoWheal Danes for these fifty years! They kept an awe-struck silence, straining eye and ear. Some thought they could still see a far-offglimmer, others that they could hear a stifled cry, when the lessfortunate or the less imaginative could hear or see nothing. But after alittle darkness and silence reigned supreme beneath them; they seemedstanding on the threshold of a tomb. 

CHAPTER XLVII. 

WHAT WAS FOUND IN WHEAL DANES. 

A full half hour--which to the watchers above seemed a much longerinterval--had elapsed since Richard had disappeared in the depths ofWheal Danes, and not a sign of his return had reached the attentivethrong. 

"I thought he'd come to harm, " muttered a fisherman to his neighbor; "itwas a sin and a shame to let him venture. "

"Ay, you may say that, " returned the other, aloud. "I call it downrightmurder in them as sent him. "

"It was not I as sent him, " observed the inn-keeper, with the honestindignation of a man that has not right habitually on his own side. "What _I_ said to the gentleman was, 'Wait till morning. ' Why should _I_send him?" Here he stopped, though his reasons for not wishing to hurrymatters would have been quite conclusive. 

"Why was he let to go down at all, being a stranger?" resumed the firstspeaker. "Why didn't somebody show him the way?"

"Because nobody knowed it, " answered one of the four miners whoseservices Richard had retained, and who justly imagined that thefisherman's remark had been a reflection on his own profession. "I'd ha'gone down Dunloppel with him at midnight, or any other mine as can becalled such; but this is different. "

"Ay, ay, that's so, " said a second miner. "We know no more of this placethan you fishermen. There may be as much water in it as in the sea, foraught we can tell. "

"It's my belief they're more afraid of the Dead Hand than the water, "observed a voice from the crowd, the great majority of which wascomposed of fisher folk. 

No reply was given to this; perhaps because the speaker, an old cripple, the Thersites of the village, was beneath notice, perhaps because theremark was unanswerable. The miners were bold enough against materialenemies, but they were superstitious to a man. 

"If Solomon Coe were alive, " continued the same voice, "he wouldn't ha'feared nothin'. "

"That's the first word, old man, as ever I heard you speak in hisfavor, " said a miner, contemptuously; "and you've waited for that tillhe's dead. "

"Still, he would ha' gone, and you durstn't, " observed the old fellow, cunningly, "and that's the p'int. "

These allusions to the Dead Hand and to the missing Solomon were not ofa nature to inspire courage in those to whom it was already lacking, anda silence again ensued. There was less light, for a torch or two hadgone out, and the mine looked blacker than ever. 

"Well, who's a-going down?" croaked the old cripple. "The gentleman camefrom your inn, Jonathan, and it's your place, I should think, to lookafter him. "

"Certainly not, " answered the inn-keeper, hastily. "These men here werehired for this very service. "

"That's true, " said the first miner. "But what's the use of talking whenthe gentleman has got the ladder with him?"

"There's more ladders in the world than one, " observed the cripple. "Here's my grandson, John; he and half a dozen of these young fellowswould fetch Farmer Gray's in less than no time. Come, lads--be off withye. "

This suggestion was highly applauded, except by the miner who had soinjudiciously compromised himself, and was carried out at once. 

When the ladder arrived the three other miners, ashamed of desertingtheir comrade, volunteered to descend with him. The excitement among thespectators was great, indeed, when these four men disappeared in thelevels of Wheal Danes, as Richard had done before them. The light oftheir combined torches lingered a little in their rear; the sound oftheir voices, as they halloed to one another or to the missing man, washeard for several minutes. But darkness and silence swallowed _them_ upalso, and the watchers gazed on one another aghast. 

It is not an easy thing, even for those accustomed to underground labor, to search an unfamiliar spot by torch-light; the fitful gleam makes theobjects on which it falls difficult of identification. It is doubtfulwhether one has seen this or that before or not--whether we are notretracing old ground. Even to practiced eyes these objects, too, are notso salient as the tree or the stone which marks a locality above-ground;add to this, in the present case, that the searchers were momently inexpectation of coming upon something which they sought and yet feared tofind, and it will be seen that their progress was of necessity but slow. They kept together, too, as close as sheep, which narrowed the compassof their researches, and caused their combined torches to distributeonly as much light as one man would have done provided with achandelier. They knew, however, that their predecessor had descendedinto the second level, so that they did not need to explore the first atall. The ground was hard, and gave forth echoes to their cautious butheavy tread; their cries of "Hollo!" "Are you there?" which theyreiterated, like nervous children playing hide-and-seek, reverberatedfrom roof to wall. 

Presently, when they stopped to listen for these voices of the rock tocease, there was heard a human moan. It seemed to come up from a greatdepth out of the darkness before them. They listened earnestly, and thesound was repeated--the faint cry of a man in grievous pain. 

"There must be another level, " observed the miner who had volunteeredthe search. "This man has fallen down it. "

They had therefore to go back for the ladder. Pushing this before them, the end began presently to run freely, and then stopped; it had adjusteditself by the side of the shorter ladder which Richard had brought downwith him. 

"He could not have fallen, then, " observed a miner, answering hiscomrade's remark--as is the custom with this class of great doers andsmall talkers--at a considerable interval. 

"Yes, he could, " replied the one who had first spoken. "See, his ladderwas short, and he may have pitched over. "

They stood and listened, peering down into the darkness beneath them;but there was no repetition of the cries. The wounded man had apparentlyspent his last strength, perhaps his last breath, in uttering them. 

"He must be down here somewhere. Come on. "

The situation was sufficiently appalling; but these men had lost halftheir terrors, now that they knew there was a fellow-creature needinghelp. They descended slowly; and he who was foremost presently criedout, "I see him; here he is. "

The man was lying on his face quite still; and when they lifted him, each looked at the other with a grave significance--they had carried toomany from the bowels of the earth to the pit's mouth not to know when aman was dead. Even a senseless body is not the same to an experiencedbearer as a dead weight. The corpse was still warm, but the head fellback with a movement not of life. 

"You were right, mate. His neck is broke; the poor gentleman pitchedover on his head. "

"Stop a bit, " exclaimed the man addressed; "see here. Why, it ain't himat all--it's Solomon Coe. "

An exclamation of astonishment burst involuntarily from the other three. 

"Then where's the other?" cried they all together. 

"I am here, " answered a ghastly whisper. 

Within but a few feet of Solomon, so that they could hardly haveoverlooked him had not the former monopolized their attention, layRichard, grievously hurt. Some ribs were broken, and one of them waspressed in upon the lungs. Still he was alive, and the men turned theirattention first to him, since Solomon was beyond their aid. By help ofthe two ladders, side by side, they bore him up the wall of rock; and sofrom level to level--a tedious and painful journey to the woundedman--to the upper air. 

He was carried to the inn upon the mattress which his own care hadprovided for another; while the four miners, to the amazement of thethrong, once more descended into the pit for a still more ghastlyburden. 

Richard could speak a little, though with pain. By his orders amessenger was dispatched that night to Plymouth to telegraph the news ofthe discovery of her husband's body to Mrs. Coe. His next anxiety was tohear the surgeon's report, not on his own condition, but on that ofSolomon. This gentleman did not arrive for some hours, and Richard wassecretly well pleased at his delay. It was his hope, for a certainreason, that he would not arrive until the body was stiff and cold. 

He saw Richard first, of course. The case was very serious; so much sothat he thought it right to mention the fact, in order that his patientmight settle his worldly affairs if they needed settlement. 

"There is no immediate danger, my good Sir; but it is always well insuch cases to have the mind free from anxiety. "

"I understand; it is quite right, " said Richard, gravely. "Moreover, since the opportunity may not occur again, let me now state how it allhappened. "

"Nay, you must not talk. We know it all, or at least enough of it forthe present. "

"What do you know?" asked Richard, with his eyes half shut, but witheager ears. 

"That in your benevolent attempt to seek after Mr. Coe you met with thesame accident--though I trust it will not have the same ending--as thatunfortunate gentleman himself. He pitched upon his head and broke hisneck, while you fell upon your side. "

"That is so, " murmured Richard. "He and I were partners, you see--"

"There, there; not a word more, " insisted the doctor; "your depositioncan wait. "

And having done what he could for his patient, he left him, in order toexamine the unfortunate Solomon. His investigation corroborated all thathe had already heard of the circumstances of his death, with which alsoRichard's evidence accorded. An observation made by one of the minerswho had found the body, to the effect that it was yet warm when they hadcome upon it, excited the surgeon's ridicule. 

"It is now Tuesday morning, my friend, " said he, "and this poor fellowmet with his death on Saturday night for certain. He could not, therefore, have been much warmer when you found him than he is now. "

"Well, me and my mate here we both fancied--"

"I dare say you did, my man, " interrupted the doctor; "and fancy is avery proper word to apply to such an impression. If you take my advice, however, you will not repeat such a piece of evidence when put upon youroath, for the thing is simply impossible. "

"Then I suppose we be in the wrong, " said Dick to Jack; and on thatsupposition they acted. 

In this way too self-reliant Science, whose mission it is to explodefallacies, occasionally assists in the explosion or suffocation of afact, for Solomon Coe had not been dead half an hour when his body wasfound. 

When Richard, alone on his errand of mercy, was approaching the brink ofthe third level, he could hear Solomon calling lustily for help. Nay, itwas not only "Help!" but "Murder!" that he cried out; andnotwithstanding the menace that that word implied toward himself, Richard hurried on, well pleased to hear it; the vigor of the cryassured him that his enemy was not only living, but unhurt. As the lighthe carried grew more distinct to him, indeed, these shouts redoubled;but when it came quite near, and disclosed the features of its bearer, there was a dead silence. The two men stood confronting one another--theone in light, distinctly seen, looking down upon the other in shade, just as they had parted only eight-and-forty hours ago. To one of them, as we know, this space had been eventful; but to the other it had seemeda lifetime--an age of hopes and fears, and latterly of cold despair, which had now been warmed once more to hope only to freeze again. Forwas not this man, to whom he had looked for aid, his cruel foe come backto taunt him--to behold him already half-way toward death, and to makeits slow approach more bitter? But great as was his agony Solomon heldhis peace, nor offered to this monarch of his fate the tribute of agroan. 

"I am come to rescue you, " said Richard, in low but distinct tones; "toundo the evil that I have already done, although it was no less than youdeserved, nor an overpayment of the debt I owed you. In return you willdoubtless denounce me as having meant to murder you. "

No answer. If Richard had not heard his cries, it would have seemed thatthis poor wretch had lost the power of speech. His huge head droopedupon his shoulder, and he leaned against the rocky wall as though hislimbs could not have otherwise supported themselves; they shook, indeed--but was it with weakness or with hate?--as though he had thepalsy. 

"Well, you will have reason to do so, " continued Richard, calmly, "for Idid mean to murder you. In ten minutes hence you will find yourselfamong your neighbors, free to act as you please. I shall make no appealto your mercy; it would, I know, be as fruitless as was yours to minethe other day; but if you abstain from molesting me, this mine, with allits hidden treasure, shall be your own. I have nothing more to say. "

Solomon answered nothing. "Perhaps, " thought Richard, "he still doubtsme. --Well, here is the ladder;" and he suited the action to the word. Solomon's great hand flew out from his side, and clutched a rung as adog's teeth close upon a bone; a dog's growl, too, half triumph and halfthreat, came from his deep chest; then he began slowly to ascend, keeping his eyes fixed on Richard. The latter drew back a little to givehim space, and watched him with folded arms. 

"Now, " said Solomon, stepping off the ladder with the prolonged "Ha!" ofone who breathes freely after long oppression, "it is _my_ turn!"

"What are you about to do?" asked Richard, calmly. 

"What! you think we are quits, Richard Yorke, do you? or at least thatwhen I had seen you hung it would seem so to me? You don't know what itis to die here slowly in the dark; you are about to learn that. "

"Indeed. "

"Yes. You complained the other day of my having used the law againstyou. Well, you shall not have to reproach me with that a second time. Weare about to change places, you and I, that's all. You shall keep sentrydown yonder till Death comes to relieve _you_. It was indiscreet in youto venture here alone to dictate terms, my friend. "

Solomon's voice was grating and terrible; it had grown hoarse withcalling. His form was gaunt and pinched with hunger; his eyes flashedlike those of some starving beast of prey. 

"I swear to you I came here to rescue you, and with no other purpose, "said Richard, earnestly. "I was not afraid of you when you were hale andstrong, and much less now when you are weakened with privation; but I donot wish to have your blood upon my hands. I came here to-night--"

"Is it night?" interrupted the other, eagerly. "I did not know that itwas night; how should I, in this place, where there is no day? Well, that was still more indiscreet of you, for I shall get away unseen, while you lie here unsought. "

"Your scheme is futile. There are fifty men about the pit's mouth now. Ihave told them--"

"Liar!" Solomon darted forward; and Richard, throwing away the torch, asthough disdaining to use any advantage in the way of weapon, grappledwith him at once. At the touch of his foe his scruples vanished, and hishate returned with tenfold fury. But he was in the grasp of a giant. Privation had doubtless weakened Solomon, but he had still the strengthof a powerful man, and his rage supplied him for the time with all thathe had lost. They clung to one another like snakes, and whirled aboutwith frantic violence. Whichever fell undermost was a dead man forcertain. For a few moments the expiring torch still showed them eachother's hot, vindictive faces; then they battled in the dark, withlaboring breath and eager strain, swaying they knew not whither. At lastthe huge weight of Solomon overbore his lesser antagonist. Richard'slimbs gave way beneath him, and he fell, but fell through space; for intheir gyrations they had, without knowing it, returned to the top of theladder. His foe, fast clutched, fell with him, but, pitching on hishead, was killed, as we have seen, upon the instant. 

This was the true history of what had occurred in the mine, as Richard, on his bed of pain, recalled it step by step, and strove to shape it tohis ends. 

CHAPTER XLVIII. 

MAKING PEACE. 

Whether Richard's own injuries proved fatal or not was with him a matterof secondary importance. His anxiety was to prove that they werereceived by misadventure; upon the whole, matters promised favorably forthis, and were in other respects as satisfactory as could reasonably beexpected. The blood of Solomon Coe was upon his own head. Richard had noneed even to reproach himself with having struck in self-defense theblow that killed his enemy; and he did not reflect that he was still toblame for having, in the first instance, placed him in the mine. He hadat least done his best to extricate him, and his conscience was (perhapsnaturally) not very tender respecting the man who had repaid his attemptat atonement with such implacable animosity. At all events, Richard'smind was too much engaged in calculating the consequences of what hadhappened to entertain remorse. The question that now monopolized it was, what conclusion was likely to be arrived at by the coroner's inquestthat would, of course, be held upon the body. The verdict was of themost paramount importance to him, not because upon it depended his ownsafety (for he valued his life but lightly, and, besides, his inwardpain convinced him that it was already forfeited), but all that now madelife worth having--the good regards of Harry and her son. He had nolonger any scruple on his own part with respect to accepting orreturning their affection. His fear was, lest, having been compelled totake so active a part in the rescue of the unhappy Solomon, somethingshould arise to implicate him in his incarceration. 

Fortunately he was far too ill to be summoned as a witness. Hisdeposition alone could be taken, and that he framed with the utmostcaution, and as briefly as was possible. His wounded lung defended himfrom protracted inquiries. Solomon himself had proposed the idea of apartnership in Wheal Danes, and his interest in the mine, the knowledgeof which had suggested to Richard the place of his concealment, hadevidently proved fatal to him. That he should have broken his neck justas Richard had broken his ribs on such a quest was by no meansextraordinary; but how he ever reached the spot where he was found atall, without the aid of a ladder, was inexplicable. The line of evidencewas smooth enough but for this ugly knot, and it troubled Richard much, though, as it happened, unnecessarily. Had the place of the calamitybeen a gravel-pit at Highgate, it would have been guarded byconstabulary, and all things preserved as they were until after theofficial investigation. But Wheal Danes, from having been a desertedmine, had suddenly become the haunt of the curious and the morbid. Therewas nothing more likely than that Solomon's ladder had been carried off, and perhaps disposed of at a high price per foot as an interestingrelic. The presence of the half-extinguished torch that Richard hadflung away in the second level (and which should by rights have beenfound in the third) was still more easily explained: there were a scoreof such things now lying about the mine, which had been left there byvisitors. In short, an "active" coroner and an "intelligent" jury couldhave come to no other conclusion than that of "accidental death;" andthey came to it accordingly. 

Other comforters had arrived to the wounded man, before the receipt ofthat good news, in the persons of Harry and her son and Agnes. There wasa reason why all three should be now warmly attracted toward him, which, while it effectually worked his will in that way, gave him many atwinge. They looked upon him, as did the rest of the world, as the manwho had lost his life (for his wound was by this time pronounced to befatal) to save his friend. He told them that it was not so, and they didnot believe him. He had not the heart to tell them how matters reallystood; but their praise pained him more than the agony of his wound, andhe peremptorily forbade the subject to be alluded to. This command wasnot difficult to obey. Solomon's death, although the awful character ofit shocked them much, was, in reality, regretted neither by wife norson: such must be the case with every husband and father who has been adomestic tyrant, no matter how dutifully wife and son may strive tomourn: his loss was a release, and his memory a burden that they verywillingly put aside; and, in particular, his name was never mentionedbefore Agnes without strong necessity. 

Mrs. Coe, always at her best and wisest in matters wherein her son wasconcerned, had never told this girl of the part which Robert Balfour hadtaken against her. It would have wounded her self-love to have learnedthat the influence of a comparative stranger had been used, and withsome effect, to estrange her Charley. She would scarcely have madesufficient allowance for a man of the world's insidious arts, notwithstanding the circumstances that had so favored them. Thus Harryhad justly reasoned, and kept silence concerning him. Agnes hadtherefore set down the gradual cessation of her lover's visits to Soho, and his growing coldness, solely to the hostility of Solomon. They hadpained her deeply, though she had been too proud to evince aught butindignation; still she strove to persuade herself it was but naturalthat this lad, entirely dependent upon his father for the means oflivelihood, and daily exposed to his menaces or arguments, shouldendeavor to steel himself against her; that he really loved her less shedid not in her own faithful heart believe. It was, however, with nothought of regaining his affection that she had obeyed the widow's hastysummons on the news of the catastrophe at Wheal Danes, but solely fromsympathy and affection. She had always loved and pitied her, for Harryhad shown her kindness and great good-will; and, notwithstanding thegirl's high spirit, she did not now forget, as many would have done, allother debts in that obligation so easy of discharge, namely, "what sheowed to herself. "

Her presence, notwithstanding the sad occasion of it, at once reawakenedCharley's slumbering passion, and the coldness with which she receivedits advances only made it burn more brightly, like fire in frost. Hefelt that he had not even deserved the friendship she now offered him inplace of her former love, and was patient and submissive under his justpunishment. He hoped in time to re-establish himself in her affections;but at present, somewhat to Mrs. Coe's indignation, she had showed nosign of yielding. He did in reality occupy the same position in herheart as of old; but now that he was rich, and his own master (for hismother was his slave), she was not inclined to confess it. Had he beenpoor and dependent, she would have forgiven him readily enough; nor aresuch natures unparalleled in her sex, notwithstanding the pictures whichare nowadays presented to us as types of girlhood. 

Such, then, was the mutual relation in which these two young peoplestood, who ministered by turns (for Harry was always with him) to thewants of the dying Balfour. The feelings with which he was regarded byall three were in curious contrast with their former ones. What those ofHarry were now toward him we can easily guess; her hate and fear hadvanished to make room for love--not the love of old times, indeed, but adeeper and a purer passion; it could never bear fruit, she knew--it wasbut a prolonged farewell. To-morrow, or the next day, Death wouldinterpose between them; but in the mean time they were together, and sheclung to him. 

Charley, on the other hand, with whom Balfour had once been such afavorite, felt, though attentive to his needs, by no means cordiallytoward him. Gratitude for the fancied service he had done to his latefather compelled him to give Richard his company; but it was notaccorded willingly, as heretofore. He could not but set down to theaccount of his companionship the present frigidity of Agnes, and atfirst he had even seen him a material obstacle to his hopes. Thisaudacious man of the world, who had at one time so excited hisadmiration, had suddenly become in his eyes an impudent _roué_, who evenon his sick-bed was only too likely to make their past adventurestogether the subject of his talk. True, his mother had told him that Mr. Balfour was now an altered man; but the young gentleman had entertainedsome reasonable doubts of this conversion. His manner to the sick manwas so reserved and cool, indeed, that it seemed to all but Richard (whoguessed the cause of it, and yet felt its effect more bitterly than all)unkind. This behavior on the part of his former ally did not injureBalfour in the regards of Agnes; she resented Charley's conduct, and didher best to redress it by manifesting her own good-will; she had herselfhad experience of his shifting moods and causeless changes of demeanor, and perhaps she was willing to show what small importance she attachedto his capricious humors. Thus it happened that Richard and herself "goton" together much better (as well, of course, as much more speedily)than the former could have hoped for; for indeed he had, with reason, expected to find a bitter enemy in Agnes. He improved this advantage tothe utmost by taking occasion, in Charley's absence, to praise the lad, under whose displeasure he manifestly lay. She answered that he had not, at least from Mr. Balfour's lips, deserved such praise. 

"Nay, nay, " said Richard, gently; "it is I who have not deserved thelad's good-will; and you, my dear young lady, ought to be the last topity me, as I see you do. "

"How so?" asked she, in surprise. 

"Because, " answered he, gravely, "I once strove to keep him from you. "

She looked annoyed, and cast a hurried glance toward the place whereMrs. Coe had been sitting; but there was now only an empty chair there. The widow had purposely withdrawn herself, in accordance with Richard'swish. Agnes could scarcely leave the sick man without attendance. 

"When I say, 'keep him from you, '" continued Richard, "I mean that, being lonely and friendless (as you see I am but for you three), thesociety of this bright boy was very dear to me, and I selfishly stroveto secure it when he would fain have been elsewhere. I needed, as youmay well imagine, authority to back me in such efforts, but, unhappilyfor him, I possessed its aid. He now resents, and very naturally, therestraint which my companionship once imposed upon him, and sets down tomy account the estrangement which he so bitterly rues. An old man'sfriendship is of no great worth at any time; but weighed in the balanceagainst a woman's love--"

"Sir!" interrupted Agnes, with indignation. 

"Pardon me, " continued Richard, gently; "I see you do not love him. I amdeeply grieved, for the sake of this poor lad, who is as devoted to youas ever, to find it so, and to feel that it was in part my fault. I willask him to forgive me if he can. "

"Nay, Mr. Balfour, I beseech you, don't do that, " cried Agnes, withcrimson cheeks. 

"As you please, " murmured he, gravely. "But, remember, a few days hence, or perhaps a few hours, and I may be beyond his forgiveness. It willthen rest with you, young lady, to clear my memory. You are not angrywith me--you can not be vexed with a dying man. "

"No, no. " She was sobbing violently; her heart was touched, not only byhis own condition, as she would have had him believe, but by theseconfidences respecting Charley. There is nothing more dear to a younggirl than the testimony of another man to her lover's fealty; thewitness himself is even guerdoned with some payment of the rich store hebears; and from that moment Balfour was not only forgiven by Agnes, buteven beloved by her. 

CHAPTER XLIX. 

REST AT LAST. 

That the termination of Richard's malady would be fatal did not from thefirst admit of doubt, but he lingered on beyond all expectation. Thespring came on and found him yet alive at Gethin. He was never movedfrom the room to which he had been carried after his mischance--the samewhich had been his bedroom in the old times, when he was full ofstrength and vigor--wherein he had so often lain awake, revolvingschemes to win his Harry, or slept and dreamed of her. The comparison ofhis "now" and "then" was melancholy enough, but it was not bitter. Hispain was great, but not out of proportion to his comfort. He had stillHarry's love, and he had even that of two other hearts besides, which hehad reconciled and drawn together. In him Charles had had an unwearyingadvocate with Agnes, and at last he had won his cause. She had beendriven to take refuge in her last intrenchment--her poverty--andRichard had made that untenable. 

"You will not be an heiress, perhaps, my dear, " he had said to her, "though you deserve to be one; but neither will you be undowered. I haveleft you all I have. Nay, it is not much--a few score acres by thesea--but they will soon be yours. "

She had accepted them unwillingly, and under protest; but a day camewhen it became necessary for her to remonstrate with the sick man onceagain concerning this matter, sorry as she was to thwart or vex him; shetherefore requested, to have a few minutes' talk alone with him. 

"Dear Mr. Balfour, " said she, gently, "I am going to disobey you in oncemore reopening the matter of your kind bequest. Something has happenedwhich has given the affair a wholly different aspect. Among the visitorsyesterday to that dreadful mine, to which people still flock, there wasa Mr. Stratum--a young engineer, it seems, of some reputation; and inhis researches in Wheal Danes they say he has hit upon a great treasure, or what may turn out to be such. "

"Ay, " said Richard, with a smile; "what's that?"

"A copper lode. It is curious that so many folks should have come andgone there and never found it before; but there it is, for certain. Mr. Stratum has seen Charles, and tells him that he can hardly trust himselfto speak of its probable value. "

"Well, I congratulate you, my dear, on being an heiress. "

"Nay, my dear Mr. Balfour, but this must not be. Overborne by your kindpressure I consented to receive this bequest--a considerable one initself, indeed--for what it was. I could not now take advantage of yourignorance of its real value; it distresses me deeply to give you troublein your present sad condition, but you must see yourself thatcircumstances compel me. "

"Give me the will, my dear; it is in yonder drawer. Here is a letterfolded in it in my handwriting. What does the superscription say?"

"_To Agnes Aird_. "

"Just so. You were to have opened it after my death, but you may read itnow. Please to do so aloud. "

"MY DEAR YOUNG LADY, --When I am gone, it is my earnest desire that yourmarriage with Charles Coe shall take place as early as may be foundconvenient. He will make a good husband to you, I think; I am sure youwill make him a good wife. He loves you for your own sake, which is theonly love worth having. But, as it happens, you are very rich. In themine which I have left you--in the northeastern corner of the bottomlevel--there is a copper lode, the existence of which is known to me, and to me only. I have every reason to believe that it will be found inthe highest degree productive, and for your dear sake I trust it may beso. True, you will have money enough and to spare for your own needs, but wealth will not spoil you--in your hands it will be a great good. Tothe two injunctions which here follow I have no means to give effect, and must trust solely to your loyal heart to carry them out. I do sowith the most perfect confidence. (1. ) I wish that this bequest of mine, be the value of it ever so great, be strictly settled, upon yourmarriage, on yourself and your children, so that it can not be alienatedby any act of your husband; and this I do not from any preference toyourself over him, or from any prejudice against him, God knows. (2. ) Incase the estate of Crompton, of which Wheal Danes formed a fragment, should again be in the market, and the mine turn out so valuable thatits proceeds should enable you to purchase such estate (withoutinconvenience or damage to your interests), I do enjoin that you do sopurchase it, and make Crompton your future home. This is a 'sick man'sfancy, ' some will tell you; and yet you will not neglect it. "

 * * * * *

"And you _will_ not, Agnes dear?" whispered Richard, eagerly, when shehad thus finished. "This is the last favor I shall ever ask of you. Promise me! promise me!"

"Oh, Sir, I promise you, " cried Agnes, earnestly, and scared by hisanxious feebleness; "your wishes shall be obeyed in all points. "

"Good girl, good girl, " sighed he; and though the effort pained himsharply, his face exhibited a great content. "Send Charley to me, " saidhe, presently, in a faint voice. 

"But you are tired already, " remonstrated Agnes. "You have talked enoughfor to-day; see him to-morrow. "

"To-morrow!" repeated Richard, with a smile that chilled her heart. "There will be no to-morrow, dear, for me. Reflect hereafter that youmade my last day a happy one. Kiss me, daughter. " This term, which wasuttered very fondly, did not surprise her, for she little guessed itsfull significance. She bent down, and kissed his forehead. "Send meCharley. "

Those were the last words she ever heard him speak. 

Agnes had told the young fellow how much feebler Mr. Balfour seemed thatday, and warned him to make his interview as brief as possible; butCharley was of a sanguine temperament, and to his view the sick manlooked better. The recent excitement had heightened his color, and, besides, he always strove to look his best and cheerfulest with Charley. 

Balfour told him all that he had already said to Agnes respecting theprovision he had made for her; he thought it better to relieve her fromthat task. But, to do Charley justice, he was neither grasping norjealous. Nothing seemed more natural to him, or even more reasonable, than that Agnes should be made sole heiress. 

"As for me, I should only make a mess of so much money, " said he, laughing. "_She_ understands how to manage"--meaning that she had atalent for administration of affairs--"five thousand times better than Ido. Her father has taught her all sorts of good things, and that amongthem. You see the poor governor and I--we never pulled together. Perhapsif I had had a father a little less unlike myself, I might have been abetter son, and a wiser one. It was unfortunate, as Mrs. Basil used tosay. You remember her, of course?"

"Yes, indeed. "

The sick man's tone was so full of interest that Charley, with greatcheerfulness, proceeded to pursue this subject. 

"She was an excellent old soul; and, for her age, how sprightly andappreciative! I remember--the very last time she came down todinner--telling her that story of yours about the stags in harness, andit so interested her that she made me repeat it. It seemed to remind herof something that she had heard before; and yet the incident wasoriginal, and happened within your own experience, did it not?"

"It did, " said Balfour, hoarsely. 

"I am tiring you, my dear Sir, " said Charley, anxiously. "What a fool Ihave been to chatter on so, when Agnes particularly told me to be brief!I shall leave you now, Sir; I shall indeed. Is there any thing I can dofor you before I leave?"

"Nothing, nothing. If I strove to take Agnes from you, lad, I did mybest to make her yours again. You don't dislike me now, dear boy, doyou?"

"Dislike you, Sir!" cried the young man. "That would indeed be baseingratitude; you were always most kind to me, and you have loaded myAgnes with benefits. I can not say, Sir, how unhappy it makes me to seeyou lying here in pain, and--"

"And dying, Charley. Yes, you are sorry for me, good lad. "

"Indeed, indeed I am, Sir. "

"When your Agnes left me last she kissed me on the forehead--here. Iwould not ask it else--but--kiss me, Charley. "

The sick man's voice was very weak and faint, but its tones were full ofpathos. In some surprise, but without the least hesitation, the youngman stooped down and kissed him. "I shall leave you now, dear Mr. Balfour, and only hope my thoughtless chatter may not have done youmischief. I will send my mother to you, who is so quiet, and so good anurse, as an antidote. Good-by for the present, Sir. "

"Good-by, dear lad--good-by. "

Richard well knew it was good-by, not for the present, but forever. 

When Mrs. Coe came into the sick man's room she perceived in him achange for the worse, so marked that it alarmed her greatly, and she wasabout to softly pull the bell, when Richard stopped her with a look. 

"Don't ring, " whispered he, faintly. "Sit down by me, Harry; put yourlittle hand in mine. I am quite happy. Our boy has kissed me. "

"You did not tell him? He does not know?" inquired Harry, anxiously. 

"Nay, dear, nay; I am not quite so selfish as that, " answered he, gently. 

There was a long pause. 

"Do you think my mother knew about him?" asked Richard, presently. 

"Oh yes--though I strove to deceive her--from the first moment she sawhim, Richard, she knew it well. We never spoke of it, but it was asecret we had in common. She loved him as though he had been your veryself; I am sure of that. "

"And she knew _me_ too, Harry. "

"Impossible! She could never have concealed that knowledge--with youbefore her; for you were her idol, Richard. "

"It was afterward, " murmured the dying man. "When I had left the houseCharley told her something I had related to him, which convinced her ofmy identity. I see it all now. She felt that I was bent on vengeance, and sent you after me to use that weapon of which she knew you werepossessed. If we once came face to face, and you reproached me, mysecret was certain to come out--just as it did, Harry--and then you hadbut to say, 'Charley is your son. '"

"But why did she not tell me who you were?"

"Because, if you were too late--if the mischief had been done on whichshe deemed me bent--if your--if Solomon had come to harm, she would nothave had you know that Richard Yorke--the father of your child--hadblood upon his hands. Oh, mother, mother, your last thought was to keepmy memory free from stain!"

He spoke no more for full a minute; no sound was heard except thedistant murmur of the sea, for the day was fine and windless. The Aprilsun shone brightly in upon the pair, as if to bless their parting. 

"Where is Charley?" murmured he. 

"He is gone with Agnes for a walk; they will not be long; they talked ofgoing to the Watch Tower. You remember the old Watch Tower, Richard?"

"Well, ah, well!" answered he, smiling. "It is just twenty years ago. How often have I thought of it!"

For a moment--before they separated forever--these two seemed tothemselves to relive the youth to which another generation hadsucceeded. 

"Agnes is a far better girl than I was, Richard; but she can not loveour boy more than _I_ loved _you_. "

Richard answered with a smile that glorified each ghastly feature, andbrought out in them a likeness to himself of old. 

"She will be his good angel, Harry, " whispered Richard, gravely, "andwill guard him from himself. He will need her aid, but it will besufficient. I trust, I believe, that evil is not Bred in the Bone withhim, as it was with me. "

There was a long, long silence, broken by a silvery laugh, which camethrough the half-opened window like a strain of cheerful music, then wassuddenly cut short. 

"Hush, Charley; you forget, " said the soft voice of Agnes; "he may besleeping. "

Through the calm spring air the reproof was borne into the sick man'sroom as clearly as the sound which had called it forth. 

"He is so happy, " whispered Harry, gently; "you must forgive him;remember he does not know. "

"Yes, yes; it is better so. Dear Charley--happy, happy Charley!"

And a smile once more came over the sick man's face, which did not passaway, for Death had frozen it there. 

L'ENVOI. 

Years have passed since Richard Yorke was laid in the church-yard on thehill at Gethin, close beside his mother, whose bones Harry's pious carehad caused to be transported thither. 

 If aught of things that here befall Touch a spirit among things divine-- If love has force to move us there at all, her ghost was glad. "In time, " thought Harry, "I too shall lie by hisside, at last, once more. "

Old Trevethick's prophecy was accomplished in the almost fabuloussuccess that attended the working of Wheal Danes. If its shares are notquoted in the market, that is because the family have retained it intheir own hands, in spite of the most dazzling offers. 

Mr. Dodge has a codicil to his story at _The George and Vulture_ now, and expresses his infinite satisfaction at the fact that "that 'ere Coe"came to grief in the end, as he had so richly deserved to do. "I don'tdoubt, " says he, "that while he was underground with the bats and ratshe thought of that poor lad as he had treated so spiteful. Things mostlydoes work round all right" (he would add) "under Providence, whose motto(if I may say so without disrespect) is summat like mine: 'Let us haveno misunderstandings and no obligation. '" On the other hand, what"sticks in Mr. Dodge's throat, " as he expresses it, and is "a'mostenough to make a man an infidel, " is, that "the widow of that 'ereCoe--she as was young Yorke's ruin--is living at Crompton (in the veryhouse his father had) with all her brood. "

Mr. Dodge is right in his facts, if not in his deductions. Out of theproceeds of the mine the whole home-estate of Crompton has beenpurchased by Charles Coe, or rather by his wife; and they both dwellthere quite unconscious that he is the lineal descendant of the madCarew, with whose wild exploits the country side still teems. If the oldblood shows itself, it is but in quick starts of temper, and occasional"cursory remarks, " which sound quite harmless in halls that have echoedto the Squire's thunderous tones; and even at such times Agnes can calmhim with a word. If the open hand which is Bred in the Bone with himscatters its _largesse_ somewhat broadcast, the revenues of Crompton, thanks to her, are in the main directed to good ends. In that statelymansion, whose hospitality is as proverbial though less promiscuous thanof old, not only is there room for Mrs. Coe the elder to dwell with heryoung folks, without jar, but in a certain ground-floor chamber, thesame he used to inhabit in old times, there dwells an ancient divine, once Carew's chaplain. He is still hale and stout, and has a quiet airthat becomes his age and calling. Life's fitful fever is past, and helives on in calm. The children--for there is small chance of Cromptonbeing heirless in time to come--are very fond of him; and grandmammaspends so much time in the old gentleman's apartments, that Charleydeclares it is quite scandalous. What _can_ Parson Whymper and she haveto talk about in common? In spite of the attractions of her beautifulhome, and the infirmities of advancing years, not a summer passeswithout Mrs. Coe the elder revisiting Gethin. The castled rock, up whichshe used to run so lightly, is beyond her powers; she is content to gazeon that with dewy eyes; but she never fails to seek the church-yard onthe hill. 

"He was what one would call a hardish husband to her, was old Solomon, "say the neighbors; "and yet you see, when a man is dead, how a wife willkeep his memory green!"

THE END