[Illustration: "Two of the police had now arrived. " (_Page_ 295)]

M. Or N. 

"_Similia similibus curantur_"

By G. J. Whyte-Melville

CONTENTS

CHAP. 

I. "Small and Early"

II. "Nightfall"

III. Tom Ryfe

IV. Gentleman Jim

V. The Cracksman's Checkmate

VI. A Reversionary Interest

VII. Dick Stanmore

VIII. Nina

IX. The Usual Difficulty

X. The Fairy Queen

XI. In the Scales

XII. "A Cruel Parting"

XIII. Sixes and Sevens

XIV. The Officers' Mess

XV. Mrs. Stanmore at Home

XVI. "Missing--A Gentleman"

XVII. "Wanted--A Lady"

XVIII. "The Coming Queen"

XIX. An Incubus

XX. "The Little Cloud"

XXI. Furens Quid Fæmina

XXII. "Not for Joseph"

XXIII. Anonymous

XXIV. Parted

XXV. Coaxing a Fight

XXVI. Baffled

XXVII. Blinded

XXVIII. Beat

XXIX. Night-Hawks

XXX. Under the Acacias

M. Or N. 

"_Similia similibus curantur_"

CHAPTER I

"SMALL AND EARLY"

A wild wet night in the Channel, the white waves leaping, lashing, andtumbling together in that confusion of troubled waters, which nauticalmen call a "cross-sea. " A dreary, dismal night on Calais sands: faintmoonshine struggling through a low driving scud, the harbour-lightsquenched and blurred in mist. Such a night as bids the trim Frenchsentry hug himself in his watch-coat, calmly cursing the weather, while he hums the chorus of a comic opera, driving his thoughts byforce of contrast to the lustrous glow of the wine-shop, the sparklingeyes and gold ear-rings of Mademoiselle Thérèse, who presides overLove and Bacchus therein. Such a night as gives the travellers in themail-packet some notion of those ups and downs in life which landsmenmay bless themselves to ignore, as hints to the Queen's Messenger, seasoned though he be, that ten minutes more of that heaving, pitching, tremulous motion would lay him alongside those poor sickneophytes whom he pities and condemns; reminding him how even _he_ hascause to be thankful when he reflects that, save for an occasionalLevanter, the Mediterranean is a mill-pond compared to La Manche. Sucha night as makes the hardy fisherman running for Havre or St. Valériegrowl his "Babord" and "Tribord" in harsher tones than usual to hismate, because he cannot keep his thoughts off Marie and the littleones ashore; his dark-eyed Marie, praying her heart out to the Virginon her knees, feeling, as the fierce wind howls and blusters roundtheir hut, that not on her wedding-morning, not on that summer evewhen he won her down by the sea, did she love her Pierre so dearly, as now in this dark boisterous weather, that causes her very flesh tocreep while she listens to its roar. Nobody who could help it wouldbe abroad on Calais sands. "Pas même un Anglais!" mutters the sentry, ordering his firelock with a ring, and wishing it was time for theRelief. But an Englishman _is_ out nevertheless, wandering aimlesslyto and fro on the beach; turning his face to windward against thedriving rain; trying to think the wet on his cheek is all from_without_; vainly hoping to stifle grief, remorse, anxiety, byexposure and active bodily exercise. 

"How could I stay in that cursed room?" he mutters, striding wildlyamong the sand-hills. "The very tick of the clock was enough to driveone mad in those long fearful pauses--solemn and silent as death!Can't the fools do anything for her? What is the use of nurses anddoctors, and all the humbug of medicine and science? My darling! mydarling! It was too cruel to hear you wailing and crying, and to knowI could do you no good! What a coward I am to have fled into thewilderness like a murderer! I couldn't have stayed there, I feel Icouldn't! I wish I hadn't listened at the door! Only yesterday youseemed so well and in such good spirits, with your dark eyes lookingso patiently and fondly into mine! And now, if she should die!--if sheshould die!"

Then he stands stock-still, turning instinctively from the wind likeone of the brutes, while the past comes back in a waking dream so akinto reality, that even in his preoccupation he seems to live the lastyear of his life over again. Once more he is at the old place inCheshire, whither he has gone like any other young dandy, an agreeableaddition to a country shooting-party because of his chestnut locks, his blue eyes, his handsome person, and general recklessness ofcharacter; agreeable, he reflects, to elderly _roués_ and establishedmarried women, but a scarecrow to mothers, and a stumbling-block todaughters, as being utterly penniless and rather good-for-nothing. Once more he comes down late for dinner, to find a vacant place bythat beautiful girl, with her delicate features, her wealth of ravenhair, above all, with the soft, sad, dreamy eyes, that look so loving, so trustful, and so good. In such characters as theirs these thingsare soon accomplished. A walk or two, a waltz, a skein of silk towind, a drive in a pony-carriage, an afternoon church, and behold themin the memorable summer-house, where he won her heart--completely andunreservedly, while flinging down his own! Then came all the sweetexcitement, all the fascinating mystery of mutual understanding, ofstolen glances, of hidden meanings in the common phrases and dailycourtesies of social life. It was so delightful for each to feel thatother existence bound up in its own, to look down from their enchantedmountain, with pity not devoid of contempt on the commonplace dwellerson the plain, undeterred by proofs more numerous perhaps on the hillsof Paphos than in any other airy region, that

"Great clymbers fall unsoft;"

to know that come sorrow, suffering, disgrace, or misfortune, therewas refuge and safety for the poor, broken-winged bird, though itsplumage were torn by the fowler's cruelty, or even soiled in the stormof shame. Alas! that the latter should arrive too soon!

Perhaps of this young couple, the girl, in her perfect faith andentire self-sacrifice, may have been less aghast than her lover at theimminence of discovery, reprobation, and scorn. When no other coursewas left open, she eloped willingly enough with the man she hadtrusted--shutting her eyes to consequences, in that recklessnessof devotion which, lead though it may to much unhappiness in life, constitutes not the least lovable trait of the female character, soready to burst into extremes of right and wrong. 

Besides, who cares for consequences at nineteen, with the sun glintingon the waves of the Channel, the sea-air freshening cheek and brow, the coast of Picardy rising bright and glistening, in smiles ofwelcome, and the dear, fond face looking down so proudly and wistfullyon its treasure? Consequences indeed! They have been left with theheavy baggage at London Bridge, to reach their proper owner possiblyhereafter in Paris; but meantime, with this fresh breeze blowing--onthe blue sea--under the blue sky--they do not exist--there are no suchthings!

These young people were very foolish, very wicked, but they loved eachother very dearly. Mr. Bruce was none of those heartless, unscrupulousLovelaces, oftener met with in fiction than in real life, who canforget they are _men_ as well as gentlemen; and when he crossed theChannel with Miss Algernon, it was from sheer want of forethought, from mismanagement, no doubt, but still more from misfortune, that shewas Miss Algernon still. 

To marry, was to be disinherited--that he knew well enough; butneither he nor his Nina, as he called her, would have paused for thisconsideration. There were other difficulties, trivial in appearance, harassing, vexatious, insurmountable in reality, that yet seemedfrom day to day about to vanish; so they waited, and temporised, andhesitated, till the opportunity came of escaping together, and theyavailed themselves of it without delay. 

Now they had reached French ground, and were free, but it was toolate! That was why Mr. Bruce roamed so wildly to-night over the Calaissands, tortured by a cruel fear that he might lose the treasure of hisheart for ever; exaggerating, in that supreme moment of anxiety, hersufferings, her danger, perhaps even her priceless value to himself. 

To do him justice, he did not think for an instant of the many gallingannoyances to which both must be subjected hereafter in the event ofher coming safely through her trial. He found no time to reflect on acensorious world, an outraged circle of friends, an infuriated family;on the cold shoulder Mrs. Grundy would turn upon his darling, and thefair mark he would himself be bound to offer that grim old father, whohad served under Wellington, or that soft-spoken dandy brother inthe Guards, unerring at "rocketers, " and deadly for all groundgame, neither of whom would probably shoot the wider, under thecircumstances that he, the offender, felt in honour he must stand atleast one discharge without retaliation, an arrangement which makestwelve paces uncomfortably close quarters for the passive andimmovable target. He scarcely dwelt a moment on the bitter scorn withwhich his own great-uncle, whose natural heir he was, would calmly anddeliberately curse this piece of childish folly, while he disinheritedits perpetrator without scruple or remorse. He never even consideredthe disadvantage under which a life that ought to be very dear to himwas now opening on the world: a life that might be blighted throughits whole course by his own folly, punished, a score of years hence, for unwittingly arriving a few weeks too soon. No! He could thinkof nothing but Nina's anguish and Nina's danger; could only wanderhelplessly backwards and forwards, stupefied by the continuous gustsof that boisterous sea-wind, stunned by the dull wash of the incomingtide, feeling for minutes at a time, a numbed, apathetic impotency;till, roused and stung by a rush of recurring apprehensions, hehastened back to his hotel, white, agitated, dripping wet, movingwith wavering gestures and swift, irregular strides, like a man in atrance. 

At the foot of the staircase he ran into the arms of a dapper Frenchdoctor, young, yet experienced, a man of science, a man of pleasure, an anatomist, a dancer, a philosopher, and a dandy--who put both handson his shoulders, and looked in his face with so comical an expressionof congratulation, sympathy, pity, and amusement, that Mr. Bruce'sfears vanished on the instant, and he found voice to ask, in huskyaccents, "if it was over?"

"Over!" repeated the doctor. "Pardon, my good sir. For our interestingyoung friend it is only just begun. A young lady, monsieur, averitable little aristocrat, with a delicate nose, and, my faith, sound and powerful lungs! I make you my compliment, monsieur. I amhappy to be the first to advertise you of good news. It is late. Letmadame be kept tranquil. You will permit me to wish you good-night. Iwill return again in the morning. "

"And she is safe?" exclaimed Bruce, crushing the doctor's hand in agrasp like a vice. 

"Safe!" answered the little man. "Parbleu--yes--for the present, safeas the mole in the harbour, and likely to remain so if you will onlykeep out of the room. Come, you shall see her for one quiet littlemoment. She desires it so much. And when I scratch at the door thus, you will come out. Agreed? Enter, then. You shall embrace your child. "

So the good-natured man turned into the hotel again, to conduct Mr. Bruce back to the door from which he had fled in anguish an hour ortwo ago, and was thus five minutes too late for another professionalengagement, which could not be postponed, but went on indeed very wellwithout him, the expectant lady being a person of experience, the wifeof a Calais fisherman, and now employed for the thirteenth time in heryearly occupation. But this has nothing to do with Mr. Bruce. 

That gentleman stole on tiptoe through the darkened room, catching aglimpse, as he passed the tawdry mirror on the chimney-piece, of avery pale and anxious face strangely unlike his own, while from behindthe half-drawn bed-curtains he heard a quiet placid breathing, and aweak, faint voice with its tender whisper, "Charlie, are you there?My darling, I begged so hard to see you for one minute, and--Charliedear, to--to show you _this_. "

_This_ was a morsel of something swathed up in wrappings, round whichthe young mother's arm was folded with proud, protecting love; but Ithink he had been too anxious about the woman to feel a proper elationin his new position as father to the child. The tears came thick tohis eyes once more, while he caught the pale, fragile hand that lay soweary and listless on the counterpane, to press it against his lips, his cheeks, his forehead, murmuring broken words of endearment, andgratitude, and joy. 

She would have kept him there all night: she would have talked to himfor an hour, feeble as she was, of that little being, in so short atime promoted to its sovereignty of Baby (with a capital B), in whichshe had already discovered instincts, qualities, high reasoningpowers, noble moral characteristics: but the doctor's tap was heard, "scratching, " as he called it, at the door, and Bruce, too happy notto be docile, had the good sense to obey his summons without delay. 

"Let them sleep, monsieur, " said the Frenchman, struggling into hisgreat-coat, and hurrying down-stairs. "It will do them more goodthan all your prevision and all my experience. I will return in themorning, to inquire after madame and to renew my acquaintance withmademoiselle--I should say with 'your charming mees. ' Monsieur, youare now father of a family--you should keep early hours. Good-night, then--till to-morrow. "

Bruce looked after him with a blessing on his lips, and a ferventthanksgiving in his heart to the Providence that had spared himhis treasure. For the moment, I believe, he completely forgot thatimportant personage with whom originated all their anxiety anddiscomfort. To men, indeed, there is so little individuality abouta Baby, that, I fear, it has to be weaned and vaccinated, and to gothrough many other processes before it ceases to be a thing, andrather an inconvenient one. No; Bruce went to his own sitting-room, with his heart so full of his Nina, there was scarcely place for otherconsiderations; therefore, instead of going to bed, he kicked offhis wet boots, turned on a brilliant illumination of gas, and threwhimself into an arm-chair--to smoke. After the excitement he hadlately passed through, the first few whiffs of his cigar were soothingand consolatory in the extreme, but reflection comes with tobacco, notless surely than warmth comes with fire; and soon he began to see thecrowd of fresh difficulties which the events of to-night wouldbring swarming round his devoted head. How he cursed his foolishcalculations, his ill-judged caution, his cowardly scruples, thus tohave postponed the ceremony of marriage till too late. How impossibleit would be now, to throw dust in the eyes of society as to dates andcircumstances! how fruitless the reparation which should certainly beput off no longer, no, not a day! It seemed so hard that he, of allthe world, should have injured the woman who loved him, the woman whomhe so devotedly loved in return. He almost hated the innocent baby forits inopportune arrival; but remembering how that poor little creaturetoo must bear the punishment of his crime, he flung the end of hiscigar against the stove with a curse, and for one moment--only onebitter, painful moment--found himself wishing he had never met, neverloved, his darling; had left the lamb at peace in its fold, the roseungathered on its stalk. 

The clock did not tick twice before there came a reaction. It seemedso impossible that they should be independent of each other. He wouldnot be himself without Nina! and the flow of his affection, likethe back-water of a mill-stream, returned only the stronger for itsmomentary interruption. After all, Nina was everything, Nina was thefirst consideration. Something must be done at once. As soon as shecould bear it, that ceremony must be gone through which should havebeen performed long ago. He was young, he was impatient, he would fainbe at work without delay; so he turned to his writing-table, and beganopening certain letters that had already followed him into France, butthat he had laid aside without examination, in the excitement of thelast few hours. 

They were not calculated to afford him much distraction. A circularfrom a coal company, a couple of invitations to dinner, a tailor'sbill, and a manifesto from the firm, calling attention to the powersof endurance with which their little account had "made running" for aconsiderable period, while promising a "lawyer's letter" to enforcepayment of the same. Next this hostile protocol lay a business-likemissive bearing a Lincoln's Inn look about it not to be mistaken, andwhich Bruce determined he would leave unopened till the morning, when, if Nina had slept, and was doing well, he felt nothing in the worldcould make him unhappy. 

"Serves me right, though, " he yawned, "for deserting Poole. _He_wouldn't have bothered me for a miserable pony at such a time asthis;" and flinging off his clothes, in less than five minutes he wasas fast asleep as if he had never known an anxiety in the world, butwas lulled by the soothing considerations of a well-spent past, anuntroubled conscience, and a balance at his banker's!

So he slept and dreamed not, as those sleep who are thoroughlyout-wearied in body and mind, waking only when the sun had been upmore than an hour, and the stormy night had given place to a clear, unclouded day. 

The Channel was all blue and white now; the rollers, as they subsidedinto a long heaving ground-swell, bringing in with them a freightof health and freshness to the shore. The gulls were soaring andscreaming round the harbour, edging their wings with gold as theydipped and wheeled in the morning light. Everything spoke of hope andhappiness and vitality. Bruce opened his window, drew in long breathsof the keen, reviving air, and stole to listen at Nina's door. 

How his heart went up in gratitude to heaven! Mother and child weresleeping--so peacefully, so soundly. Mother and child! At that earlyperiod the dearest, the sweetest, the holiest link of human love--thegold without the dross, the flower without the insect, the winewithout the headache, the full fruition of the feelings without thewear and tear of the heart. 

He could have kissed the antiquated French chambermaid, dressed likea Sister of Mercy, who met him in the passage, and wishing "Monsieur"good-morning, congratulated him with tears of honest sympathy in herglittering, bold black eyes. He _did_ give a five-franc piece to thealert and well-dressed waiter, who looked as if he had never been inbed, and never required to go. It may be this impulse of generosityreminded him that five-franc pieces were likely to be scarce with himin future, and an unpleasant association of ideas brought the lawyer'sletter to his mind. There it lay, square and uncompromising, betweenhis watch and his cigar-case. He opened it, I am afraid, with a trulyBritish oath. 

He turned quite white when he read it the first time, but the bloodrushed to his temples on a second perusal, and he flung himselfdown on his knees at the windowsill, thanking Providence, somewhatinconsiderately, for the benefits that only came to him throughanother man's death. 

This letter, indeed, though the composition of a lawyer, had not beenwritten at the instance of his long-suffering tailor, but was from thesolicitor who conducted the business of his family. It advised him, invery concise language, of his great-uncle's sudden "demise, " as it wasworded, "intestate"; informing him that he thus became heir, as nextof kin, to the whole personal and real property of the deceased, andconcluded with sincere congratulations on his accession to a finefortune, not without a hope that their firm might continue to managehis affairs, and afford him the same satisfaction that had always beenexpressed by his late lamented relative, etc. The surprise staggeredhim like a blow. From such blows, however, we soon "come to time, "willing to take any amount of similar punishment. He gave himselfcredit for self-denial in not waking Nina on the instant to tellher of their good fortune. Still more, he plumed himself on hisforethought in resolving to ask her doctor's leave before he enteredon so exciting a topic with the invalid. He longed to tell somebody. He was so happy, so elated, so thankful! and yet, amidst all his joy, there rankled an uncomfortable sensation of remorse and self-reproachwhen he thought of the little blighted life, the little injuredhelpless creature nestling to its young mother's side in the nextroom. 

CHAPTER II

"NIGHTFALL"

It is more than twenty years ago, and yet how vividly it all comesback to him to-night!

The sun has gone down in streaks of orange and crimson over theold oaks that crown the deer-park sloping upward to the rear ofEcclesfield Manor. Mr. Bruce walks across a darkened room to throw thewindow open for a gasp of fresh evening air, laden with the perfume ofpinks, carnations, and moss-roses in the garden below. _Her_ garden!Is it possible? Something in the action reminds him of that bright, hopeful morning at Calais. Something in the scent of the flowerssteals to his brain, half torpid and benumbed; his heart contractswith an agony of physical suffering. "My darling! my darling!" hemurmurs, "shall I never see you tying those flowers again?" andturning from the window, he falls on his knees by the bedside witha passionate burst of weeping that, like blood-letting to the body, restores the unwelcome faculty of consciousness to his mind. Whenhe raises his head again he knows well enough that the one greatmisfortune has arrived at last--that henceforth for _him_ there maycome, in the lapse of long years, resignation, even repose, but hopeand happiness no more. 

Even now, though he wonders at his own callousness, he can bear tolook on the bed through a mist of tears; and, so looking, feelshis intellect failing in its effort to grasp the calamity that hasbefallen him. 

There she lies, like a dead lily, his own, his treasure, his beloved;the sweet face, calm and placid, with its chiselled ivory features, its smooth and gentle brow, has already borrowed a higher, a moreperfect beauty from the immortality on which it has entered. Notfairer, not lovelier did she look that well-remembered evening when hefirst knew her pure and priceless heart was his own, though she hasborne him a daughter--nay, two daughters (and he winces with a freshand different pain)--the younger as old as she was then. Her ravenhair is parted soft and silky off those pale, delicate temples; herlong black lashes rest upon the waxen cheek. No; she never looked asbeautiful, not in the calm sleep he used to watch so lovingly; and nowthe deep, fond eyes must open on his own no more. She was so gentle, too, so patient, so sweet-tempered, and O, so true. He had been a manof the world, neither better nor worse than others: he knew womenwell; knew how rare are the good ones; knew the prize he had won, andvalued it--yes, he was sure he always valued it as it deserved. What was the use? Had she not far better have been like theothers--petulant, wilful, capricious, covetous of admiration, carelessof affection, weak-headed, shallow-hearted, and desirous only of thatwhich could not possibly be her own? Such were most of the womenamongst whom he had been thrown in his youth; but O, how unlike herwho was lying dead there before his eyes. 

 "For men at most differ as heaven and earth, But women, worst and best, as heaven and hell. "

He felt so keenly now that she had been his better angel for more thantwenty years; that but for her he might long ago have deteriorated toselfishness and cynicism, or sunk into that careless philosophy whichbelieves only in the tangible, the material, and the present. 

A good woman's lot may be linked to that of a bad man; she may evenlove him very dearly, and yet retain much of her purer, better natureamidst all the mire in which she is steeped; but it is not so with us. To care for a bad woman is to be dragged down to her level, inch byinch, till the intellect itself becomes sapped in a daily degradationof the heart. From such slavery emancipation is cheap under anysuffering, at any sacrifice. The lopping of a limb is a painfulprocess, but above a gangrened wound experienced surgeons amputatewithout scruple or remorse. 

On the other hand, a true woman's affection is of all earthlyinfluences the noblest and most elevating. It encourages the highestand gentlest qualities of man's nature--his enterprise, courage, patience, sympathy, above all, his trust. Happy the pilgrim on whoselife such a beacon-star has shone out to guide him in the right way;thrice happy if it sets not until it has lured him so far that he willnever again turn aside from the path. 

Such reflections as these, while they added to his sense of loss andloneliness, yet took so much of the sting out of Mr. Bruce's greatsorrow, that he could realise it for minutes at a time without beinggoaded to madness or stunned to apathy by the pain. 

There had been no warning--no preparation. He had left her thatmorning as usual, after smoking a cigar in her society on the lawn, while she tied, and snipped, and gathered the flowers of her prettygarden. He had visited the stable, ordered the pony-carriage, seen thekeeper, and been to look at an Alderney cow. It was one of his idledays, yet, after twenty years of marriage, such days he still liked tospend, if possible, in the company of his wife. So he strolled back towrite his letters in her boudoir, and entered it at the garden door, expecting to find her, as usual, busied in some graceful feminineemployment. 

Her work was heaped on the sofa; a book she had been reading lay openon the table; the very flowers she gathered an hour ago had the dew onthem still. He could not finish his first letter without consultingher, for she kept his memory, his conscience, and his money, justas she kept his heart, so he ran up-stairs to her bedroom door andknocked. 

There was no answer, and he went in. At the first glance he thoughtshe must have fainted, for she had fallen on her knees against ahigh-backed chair, her face buried in its cushions, and one handtouching the carpet. He had a quick eye, and the turn of that greyrigid hand warned him with a stab of something he refused persistentlyto believe. Then he lifted her on the bed where she lay now, and sentfor every doctor within reach. 

He had no recollection of the interval that elapsed before the nearestcould arrive, nor distinct notion of any part of that long sunnyafternoon while he sat by his Nina in the death-chamber. Once hegot up to stop the ticking of a clock on the chimney-piece, movingmechanically with stealthy footfall across the room lest she shouldbe disturbed. The doctors came and went, agreeing, as they left thehouse, that he had answered their questions with wonderful precisionand presence of mind; nay, that he was less prostrated by the blowthan they should have expected. "Disease of the heart, " said they--Ibelieve they called it "the _pericardium_"; and after paying a tributeof admiration to the loveliness of the dead lady, discussed theleading article of that day's _Times_ with perfect equanimity. Whatwould you have? There can be but one person in the world to whomanother is more than all the world beside. 

This person was sitting by Nina's bed, except for a few brief minutesat a time, utterly stupefied and immovable. Even Maud--his cherisheddaughter Maud--whose smile had hitherto been welcome in his eyes asthe light of morning, could not rouse his attention by the depth ofher own uncontrolled grief. He sat like an idiot or an opium-eater, till something prompted him to open the window and gasp for a breathof fresh evening air. Then it all came back to him, and he awoke tothe full consciousness of his misery. 

There are men, though not many, and these, perhaps, the least inclinedto prate about it, who have one attachment in their lives to whichevery other sentiment is but an accessory and a satellite. Suchnatures are often very bold to dare, very strong to endure, verydifficult to assail, save in their single vulnerable point. Forcethat, and the man's whole vitality seems to collapse. He does not evenmake a fight of it, but fails, gives in, and goes down without aneffort. Such was the character of Mr. Bruce, and to-day he had gottenhis death-blow. 

The stars twinkled out faintly one by one, the harvest-moon rose broadand ruddy behind the wooded hill, and still he sat stupefied at thebedside. The door opened gently to admit a beautiful girl, strangely, startlingly like her dead mother, who came in with a cup of tea and acandle. Setting these on the chimney-piece, she moved softly roundto where he sat, and pressed his head, with both hands, against herbreast. 

"Dearest father, " said she, "I have brought you some tea. Try androuse yourself, papa, dear papa, for _my_ sake. You love _me_ too. "

The appeal was well chosen; once more the tears came to his eyes, andhe woke up as from a dream. 

"You are a good girl, Maud, " he answered, with a vague, distractedair. "I have my children left--I have my children left! But all theworld cannot make up to me for what I have lost!"

She thought his mind was wandering, and tried to recall him tohimself. 

"We must bear our sorrows as best we may, papa, " she answered, verygently. "We must help each other. You and I are alone now in theworld. "

A contraction, as of some fresh pain, came over his livid face. Heraised his head to speak, but, stopping himself with an obviouseffort, looked long and scrutinisingly in his daughter's face. 

Maud Bruce was a very beautiful girl even now, in the extremity ofher sorrow. She had been crying heartily; no wonder, but her delicatefeatures were not swollen, nor her dark eyes dimmed. The silkyhair shone smooth and trim, the muslin dress was not rumpled nordisarranged, and the white hands, with which she still caressed herfather's sorrow-laden head, neither shook nor wavered in their office. 

With her mother's beauty, Miss Bruce had inherited but little of hermother's character; on the contrary, her nature, like that ofher father's ancestors rather than his own, was bold, firm, andself-reliant to an unusual degree. She was hard, and that is the onlyepithet properly to describe her--manner, voice, appearance, allwere lady-like, feminine, and exceedingly attractive; but theself-possession she never seemed to lose, would have warned anexperienced admirer, that beneath the white bosom beat a heart not tobe reduced by stratagem, nor carried by assault; that he must not hopeto see the beautiful dark eyes veil themselves in the dreamy softnesswhich so confesses all it means to hide; that the raven tressesclinging coquettishly to that faultless head were most unlikely to besevered as a tribute of affection for any one whose conquest would notbe a question of pride and profit to their owner. Tenderness was theone quality Maud lacked, the one quality which, like the zone ofVenus, completed all her mother's attractions, with an indefinable andirresistible charm. 

There is a wild German legend which describes how a certain woodman, awidower, gave shelter to a strangely fascinating dame, and falling inlove with her, incontinently made his guest lawful mistress of hearthand home; how, notwithstanding his infatuated passion, and intenseadmiration for her beauty, there was yet in it a fierceness whichchilled and repelled him, while he worshiped; how his children couldnever be brought to look in the fair face of their stepmother withoutcrying aloud for fear; and how at last he discovered, to his horrorand dismay, that he had wedded a fearful creature, half wolf, halfwoman, combining the seductions of the syren with the cruel voracityof the brute. There was something about Maud Bruce to remind one ofthat horrible myth, even now, now at her gentlest and softest, whileshe clung round a sorrowing father, by the death-bed of one, whom, intheir different ways, both had very dearly loved. 

It was well that the young lady preserved her presence of mind, forBruce seemed incapable of connected thought or action. He rousedhimself, indeed, at his daughter's call, but gazed stupidly about him, stammered in his speech, and faltered in his step when he crossedthe room. The shock of grief had evidently overmastered hisfaculties--something, too, besides affliction, seemed to worry anddistress him--something of which he wished to unbosom himself, but that yet he could not make up his mind to reveal. Maud, whosequickness of perception was seldom at fault, did not fail to observethis, and reviewing the position with her accustomed coolness, drewher father gently to the writing-table, and sat down. 

"Papa, " said she, "there is much to be done. We must exert ourselves. It will do us both good. Bargrave can be down by the middle of theday, to-morrow. Let me write for him at once. "

Bargrave and Co. Were Mr. Bruce's solicitors, as they had been hisgreat-uncle's: it was the same firm, indeed, that had apprised him ofhis inheritance at Calais twenty years ago. How he rejoiced in theirintelligence then! What was the use of an inheritance now?

A weary lassitude had come over him; he seemed incapable of exertion, and shook his head in answer to Maud's appeal; but again somehidden motive stung him into action, and taking his seat at thewriting-table, he seized a pen, only to let it slip helplessly throughhis fingers, while he looked in his daughter's face with a vacantstare. 

Maud was equal to the occasion. Obviously something more than sorrowhad reduced her father to this state. She sat down opposite, scribbledoff a note hastily enough, but in the clear unwavering hand, affirmedby her correspondents to be so characteristic of the writer'sdisposition, and ringing the bell, desired it should be dispatched onthe instant. "Let Thomas take the brougham with the ponies; the doctoris sure to be at home. He can bring him back at once. "

Then she looked at her father, and stopped the lady's-maid, who, tearful and hysterical, had answered the familiar summons, which butthis morning was "missis's bell. "

"While they are putting to, " said she calmly, "I will write atelegraphic message and a letter. Tell him to send word when he isready. I shall give him exactly ten minutes. "

Once more she glanced uneasily at Mr. Bruce; what she saw decided her. In half-a-dozen words she penned a concise message to her father'ssolicitor, desiring him to come himself or send a confidential personto Ecclesfield Manor, by the very first train, on urgent business; andwrote a letter as well to the same address, explaining her need ofimmediate assistance, for Mr. Bargrave to receive the followingmorning, in case that gentleman should not obey her telegram inperson, a contingency Miss Bruce considered highly probable. 

The ten minutes conceded to Thomas had stretched to twenty before hewas ready; for so strong is the force of habit among stablemen, thateven in a case of life and death, horses cannot be allowed to starttill their manes are straightened and their hoofs blacked. In theinterval, Miss Bruce became more and more concerned to observe nosigns of attention on her father's part--no inquiries as to hermotives--apparently no consciousness of what she was doing. When thebrougham was heard to roll away at a gallop, she came round andput her arm about his neck, where he sat in his chair at thewriting-table. 

"Papa, dear, " she said, "I have told them to get your dressing-roomready. You are ill, very ill. I can see it. You must go to bed. "

He nodded, and smiled. Such a weary, silly smile, letting her lead himaway like a little child. He would even have passed the bed where hiswife lay without a look, but that his daughter stopped him at thedoor. 

"Papa, " said she--and the girl deserved credit for the courage withwhich she kept her tears back--"won't you kiss her before you go?"

It may be some instinct warned her that not in the body was he to lookon the face he loved again--that those material lips were never moreto touch the gentle brow which in a whole lifetime he had not seento frown--that their next greeting, freed from earthly anxieties, released from earthly troubles, must be exchanged, at no distantperiod, in heaven. 

He obeyed unhesitatingly, imprinting a caress on his dead wife'sforehead with no kind of emotion, and so left the room, mutteringvaguely certain indistinct and incoherent syllables, in which thewords "Nina" and "Bargrave" were alone intelligible. 

Maud saw her father to his room, and consigned him to the hands ofhis valet, to be put to bed without delay. Then she went to thedining-room, and forced herself to eat a crust of bread, to drinka single glass of sherry. "I shall need all my strength to-night, "thought the girl, "to take care of poor papa, and arrange about thefuneral and such matters as he cannot attend to--the funeral! O, mother, dear, kind mother! I wasn't half good enough to you while youwere with us, and now--but I won't cry--I won't cry. There'll be timeenough for all that by and by. The first thing to think of is aboutpapa. He hasn't borne it well. Men have very little courage when theycome to trial, and I fear--I fear there is something sadly wrong withhim. Let me see. Three-quarters of an hour to get to Bragford--fiveminutes' stoppage at the turn-pike, for that stupid man is sure tohave gone to bed--five minutes more for Doctor Skilton to put on hisgreatcoat, forty minutes for coming back--those ponies always gofaster towards home. No, he can't be here under another hour. Anotherhour! It's a long time in a case like this. Suppose papa should havea paralytic stroke! And I haven't a notion what to do--the properremedies, the best treatment. Women ought to know everything, and beready for everything. "

"Then there's the lawyer to-morrow. I don't suppose papa will be ableto see him. I must think of all the business--all the arrangements. Hecan't be here till ten o'clock at the earliest, even if he starts bythe first train. I shall write my directions for _him_ in the morning. Meantime, I'll go and sit with poor papa, and see if I can't hush himoff to sleep. "

But when Miss Bruce reached her father's room, she found him lying inan alarming state of which she had no experience. Something betweensleeping and waking, yet without the repose of the one, theconsciousness of the other. So she took her place by his pillow, andwatched, listening anxiously for the brougham that was to bring thedoctor. 

CHAPTER III

TOM RYFE

At half-past eight in the morning Mr. Bargrave's office in Gray's Innwas still empty. It had been swept, indeed, and "straightened, " as hecalled it, by a young gentleman, whose duty it was to be in attendanceat all hours from sunrise to sunset, when nobody else was in theway, and who fulfilled that duty by slipping out on such availableoccasions to join the youth of the quarter in sports of clamour, strength, and skill. Just now he was half-a-mile off in Holborn, running at full speed, shouting at the top of his voice, with noapparent object but that of exercising his own physical powers andthe patience of the general public in his exertions. It was not, therefore, the step of this trusty guardian which fell sharp andquick on the stone stair outside the office, nor was it his hand, nor pass-key, that opened the door to admit Mr. Bargrave's nephew, assistant, and possible successor in the business, Tom Ryfe. 

That gentleman entered with the air of a master, looked about him, detected the absence of his young subordinate as one who is disgustedrather than surprised, and lifted two envelopes lying unopened on thetable with an oath. "As usual, " he muttered, "telegram and letter, same date--same place. Arrive together, of course! Chances are, ifthere is any hurry you get the letter before the telegram. Halloa!here's a business. Bargrave's sure to be an hour late, and that youngscamp not within a mile. If I had my way--Hang it! I _will_ have myway. At all events I must manage _this_ business my way, for it seemsthere's not a moment to spare, and nobody to help me. Dorothe-a!"

The dirtiest woman to be found, probably, at that hour in the whole ofLondon, appeared from a lower storey in answer to his summons. Pushingher hair off a grimy forehead with a grimier hand, she listened tohis directions, staring vacantly, as is the manner of her kind, butunderstanding them, nevertheless, and not incapable of rememberingtheir purport: they were short and intelligible enough. 

"Tell that young scamp he is to sleep in the office tonight. Hemustn't leave it on any consideration while I'm away. I'm going intothe country, and I'll break his head when I come back. "

Tom Ryfe then huddled the letter into his pocket for perusal atleisure, hailed a hansom, and in less than a quarter of an hour was inhis uncle's breakfast-room, bolting ham, muffins, and green tea, whilehis clothes were packed. 

Mr. Bargrave, a bachelor, who liked his comforts, and took care tohave them, was reading the newspaper in a silk dressing-gown, and apair of gold spectacles. He had finished breakfast--such a copiousand leisurely repast as is consumed by one who dines at six, drinks abottle of port every day at dessert, and never smoked a cigar in hislife. No earthly consideration would hurry him for the next half-hour. He looked over the top of his newspaper with the placid benignity of aman who, considering digestion one of the most important functions ofnature, values and encourages it accordingly. 

"Sudden, " observed Mr. Bargrave, in answer to his nephew'scommunication. "Something of a seizure, no doubt. Time is ofimportance; the young lady's telegram should have come to hand lastnight. Be so good as to make a note on the back. Three doctors, doesshe say? Bless me! They'll never let him get over it. Most unfortunatejust now, on account of the child--of the young lady. You can take thenecessary instructions. I will follow, if required. It's twenty-threeminutes' drive to the station. Better be off at once, Tom. "

So Tom took the hint, and was off. While he drives to the station wemay as well give an account of Tom's position in the firm of Bargraveand Co. 

Old Bargrave's sister had chosen to marry a certain Mr. Ryfe, of whomnobody knew more than that he could shoot pigeons, had been concernedin one or two doubtful turf transactions, and played a good hand atwhist. _While_ he lived, though it was a mystery _how_ he lived, hekept Mrs. Ryfe "very comfortable, " to use Bargrave's expression. Whenhe died he left her nothing but the boy Tom, a precocious urchin, inheriting some of his father's sporting propensities, with a certainslang smartness of tone and manner, acquired in those circles wherehorseflesh is affected as an inducement to speculation. 

Mrs. Ryfe did not long survive her husband. She had married a scamp, and was, therefore, very fond of him: so before he had been dead ayear, she was laid in the same grave. Then her brother took the boyTom, and put him into his own business, making him begin by sweepingout the office, and so requiring him to rise grade by grade till hebecame confidential clerk and head manager of all matters connectedwith the firm. 

At twenty-six years of age, Tom Ryfe possessed as much experienceas his principal, joined to a cunning and sharpness of intellectpeculiarly his own. To take care of number one was doubtless thehead clerk's ruling maxim; but while thus attending to his personalwelfare, he never failed to affect a keen interest in the affairsof numbers two, three, four, and the rest. Tom Ryfe was a "friendlyfellow, " people declared; "a deuced friendly fellow, and knew what hewas about, mind you, better than most people. "

"Every great man, " said the Emperor Nicholas, "has a hook in hisnose. " In the firmest characters, no doubt, there is a weaknessby which they are to be led or driven; and Tom Ryfe, like othernotabilities, was not without this crevice in his armour, this breachin his embattled wall. He had shrewdness, knowledge of the world, common sense, and yet the one great object of his efforts was to beadmitted into a class of society far above his own, and to find therean ideal lady with whom to pass the rest of his days. 

"I'll marry a top-sawyer, " he used to say, whenever his uncle broachedthe question of his settlement in life. "Why, bless ye, it's the sametackle and the same fly that takes the big fish and the little one. It's no more trouble to make up to a duchess than a dairymaid. I'llpick a real white-handed one, you see if I don't. A wife that can_move_, uncle, cool, and calm, and lofty, like an air balloon; wearingher dresses as if she was made for them, and her jewels as if shedidn't know she'd got them on; looking as much at home in the Queen'sdrawing-room as she does in her own. That's my sort, and that's thesort I'll choose! Why, there's scores of 'em to be seen any afternoonin the Park. Never tell me I can't go in and take my pick. 'Nothingventure, nothing have, ' they say. I ain't going to venture much. Idon't see occasion for it, but I'll _have_ what I want, you see if Iwon't, or I'll know the reason why. "

Whereon Bargrave, who considered womankind in general as anunnecessary evil, would reply--

"Time enough, Tom, time enough. I haven't had much experience with theladies myself, except as clients, you know. The less I see of 'em, Ithink, the more I like 'em. Better put it off a little, Tom. It can bedone any day, my boy, when you've an hour to spare. I wouldn't be ina hurry if I was you. There's a fresh sample ticketed every year; andthey're not like port wine, you must remember, they don't improve withkeeping. "

Tom Ryfe had plenty of time to revolve his speculations, matrimonialand otherwise, during his journey to Ecclesfield Manor by one of thosemid-day trains so irritating to through-passengers, which stop atintermediate stations, dropping brown-paper parcels, and taking up oldwomen with baskets. He reviewed many little affairs of the heart inwhich he had lately been engaged, without, however, suffering hisaffections to involve themselves too deeply for speedy withdrawal. Hereflected with great satisfaction on his own fastidious rejection ofseveral "suitable parties, " as he expressed it, who did not quitereach his standard of aristocratic perfection, remembering how Mrs. Blades, the well-to-do widow, with fine eyes and a house in DukeStreet, had fairly landed him but for that unfortunate dinner at whichhe detected her eating fish with a knife; how certain grated-lookingneedle-marks on Miss Glance's left forefinger had checked him just intime while in the act of kissing her hand; and how, on the very eve ofa proposal to beautiful Constance de Courcy, whose manner, bearing, and appearance, no less than her name, denoted the extreme ofrefinement and high birth, he had sustained a shock, galvanic butsalutary, from her artless exclamation, "O my! whatever shall I do? Ifhere isn't pa!"

"No, " thought Tom, as he rolled on into the fair expanse of downcountry that lay for miles round Ecclesfield, "I haven't found one yetquite up to the pattern I require. When I do I shall go in andwin, that's all. I don't see why my chance shouldn't be as good asanother's. I'm not such a bad-looking chap when I'm dressed and myhair's greased. I can do tricks with cards like winking. I can ride abit, shoot a bit--'specially pigeons--dance a bit, and make love to'em no end. I've got the gift of the gab, I know, and I stick atnothing. That's what the girls like, and that's what will pull methrough when I find the one I want. Another station, and not thereyet! What a slow train this is!"

It was a slow train, and Tom, arriving at Ecclesfield, saw on the faceof the servant who admitted him that he was too late. In addition tothe solemn and mysterious hush that pervades a house in which the deadlie yet unburied, a feeling of horror, the result of some unlooked-forand additional calamity, seemed to predominate; and Tom was hardlysurprised, however much he might be shocked, when the oldbutler gasped, in broken sentences, "Seizure--last night--quiteunconscious--all over this morning. Will you take some refreshment, sir, after your journey?"

Mr. Bruce had been dead a few hours--dead without time to set hishouse in order, without consciousness even to wish his child good-bye. 

She came down to see Mr. Bargrave's clerk that afternoon, pale, calm, collected, beautiful, but stern and unbending under the sorrow againstwhich her haughty nature rebelled. In a few words, referring to amemorandum the while, she gave him her directions for the funeral andits ceremonies; desired him to ascertain at once the state of her latefather's affairs, the amount of a succession to which she believedherself entitled; begged he would return with full information thatday fortnight; ordered luncheon for him in the dining-room; and sodismissed him as a bereaved queen might dismiss the humblest of hersubjects. 

Tom Ryfe, returning to London by the next train, thought he had neverfelt so small; and yet, was not this proud, sorrowing, and beautifulyoung damsel the ideal he had been seeking hitherto in vain? It isnot too much to say that for twenty miles he positively _hated_ her, striving fiercely against the influence, which yet he could not butacknowledge. In another twenty, his good opinion of his best friendMr. Ryfe reasserted itself. He had seen something of the world, andpossessed, moreover, a certain shallow acquaintance with human nature, not of the highest class, so he argued thus--

"Women like what they are unaccustomed to. The Grand Duchess ofGerolstein makes love to a private soldier simply because she don'tknow what a private soldier is. This girl must have lived amongst aset of starched and stuck-up people who have not two ideas beyondthemselves and their order. She has never so much as seen a smart, business-like, active fellow, ready to take all trouble off her hands, and make up her mind for her before she can turn round--young, too, and not so bad-looking, though I dare say she's used to good-lookingchaps enough. The man's game who went in for Miss Bruce would bethis: constant attention to her interests, supreme disregard for herfeelings, and never to let her have her own way for a moment. She'd beso utterly taken aback she'd give in without a fight. Why shouldn't Itry my chance? It's a good spec. It must be a good spec. And yet, hang it! such a high-handed girl as that would suit _me_ without ashilling. It dashed me a little at first; but I like that scornful wayof hers, I own. What eyes, too! and what hair! I wonder if I'm a fool. No; nothing's impossible; it's only difficult. What! London already?Ah! there's no place like town. "

The familiar gas-lamps, the roll of the cabs, the bustle in thestreets, dispelled whatever shadows of mistrust in his own meritsremained from Tom's reflections in the railway carriage; and longbefore he reached his uncle's house, he had made up his mind to "goin, " as he called it, for Miss Bruce, morally confident of winning, yet troubled with certain chilling misgivings, as fearing that _this_time he had really fallen in love. 

Many and long, during the ensuing week, were the consultations betweenold Bargrave and his nephew as to the future prospects of the lady inquestion. Her father had died without a will. That fact seemed prettyevident, as he had often expressed his intention of preparing such aninstrument, but had hitherto moved no farther in the matter. 

"Depend upon it, Tom, " said his uncle, that very evening over theirport wine, "he wouldn't go to anybody else. He was never much ofa business man, and he couldn't have disentangled his affairssufficiently to make 'em clear, except to me. It's a sad pity for manyreasons, but I'm just as sure there's no will as I am that my glass isempty. Help yourself, Tom, and pass the wine. "

"Then she takes as next of kin, " said Tom, thinking of Maud's darkeyes, and filling his glass. "Here's her health!"

"By all means, " assented Bargrave. "Her very good health, poor girl!But as to the succession I have my doubts; grave doubts. There's atrust, Tom. I looked over the deed while you were down there to-day. It is so worded that a male heir might advance a prior claim. There_is_ a male heir, a parson in Dorsetshire, not a likely man to give inwithout a fight. We'll look at it again to-morrow. If it reads as Ithink, I wouldn't give a pinch of snuff for the young lady's chance. "

Tom's face fell. "Can't we fight it, uncle?" said he, stoutly, applying himself once more to the port; but Bargrave had drawn hissilk handkerchief over his face, and was already fast asleep. 

So uncle and nephew went into the trust-deed, morning after morning, arriving in its perusal at a conclusion adverse to Miss Brace'sinterest; but then, as the younger man observed, "the beauty of ourEnglish law is, that you can always fight a thing even if you haven'ta leg to stand on. "

It was almost time for Tom Ryfe's return journey to Ecclesfield, anda coat ordered for the express purpose of captivating Miss Bruce hadactually come home, when the post brought him a little note fromthat lady, which afforded him, as such notes often do, an absurd andoverweening joy. It was bordered with the deepest black, and ran asfollows--

DEAR SIR, ('_Dear_ sir, ' thought Tom, 'ah! that sounds much sweeter than plainsir')--I venture to trouble you with a commission in the nature ofbusiness. A packet, containing some diamond ornaments belonging to me, will be left by the jeweller at Mr. Bargrave's office to-morrow. Willyou kindly bring it down with you to Ecclesfield?

Yours, very obediently, "Maud Bruce. "

Tom kissed the signature. He was very far gone already, and took careto be at the office in time to receive the diamonds. That boy wasout of the way, of course! So Tom summoned the grimy Dorothea to hispresence. 

"I shall be busy for an hour, " said he; "don't admit anybody unless hecomes by appointment, except it's a man with a packet of jewelry. Takeit in yourself, and bring it here at once. I've got to carry it downwith me to-night by the train. Do you understand?"

"Is it a long journey as you're a-goin', sir?" asked Dorothea. "Ishould like to clean up a bit while you was away. "

"Only to Bragford, " answered Tom; "but I might not be back for a dayor two. Mind about the parcel, though, " he added, in the exuberanceof his spirits. "The thing's valuable. It's for a young lady. It'sjewels, Dorothea. It's diamonds. "

"Lor!" said Dorothea, going back to her scrubbing forthwith. 

The jeweller being dilatory, Tom had finished his letters before thatartificer arrived, thus saving Dorothea all responsibility in thevaluable packet confided to his charge, for Mr. Ryfe received ithimself in the outer office, whither he had resorted in a fidget tocompare a time-table with a railway-map of England. He fretted to setoff at once. He had finished his business; he had nothing to do nowbut eat an early dinner at his uncle's, and so start by the afternoontrain on the path of love, triumph, and success, leaving the boy, coerced by ghastly threats, to take charge of the office in hisabsence. 

We have all seen a bird moulting, draggled, dirty, woebegone, not tobe recognised for the same bird, sleek and glossy in its holiday-suitof feathers, pruning its wing for a flight across the summer sky. Evenso different was the Dorothea of the unkempt hair, the soapy arms, thedingy apron, and the grimy face, from a gaudy damsel who emerged inthe afternoon sun out of Mr. Bargrave's chambers, bright with all thecolours of the rainbow, and scrupulously dressed, according to theextreme style of the last prevailing fashion but two. 

She was a good-looking woman enough now that she had "cleanedherself, " as she expressed it, but for a certain roughness of hair, coarseness of skin, and general redundancy of outline, despite ofwhich drawbacks, however, she attracted many admiring glances fromcab-drivers, omnibus-conductors, a precocious shoeblack, and thepoliceman on duty, as she tripped into Holborn and mingled with theliving stream that flows unceasingly down that artery of London. 

Dorothea seemed to know where she was going well enough, and yet thecoarse red cheek turned pale while she approached her goal, though itwas but a flashy, dirty-looking gin-shop, standing at a corner wheretwo streets met. Her colour rose though, higher than before, when apot-boy, with a shock of red hair, and his shirt-sleeves rolled up tohis shoulders, thus accosted her--

"You're just in time, miss; he'd 'a been off in a minit, but oldBatters, he come in just now, and your young man stopped to take hisshare of another half-quartern. "

CHAPTER IV

GENTLEMAN JIM

There is no reason, because a woman is coarse, hard-working, low-born, and badly dressed, she should be without that inconvenient feminineappendage--a heart. Dorothea trembled and turned pale when the door ofthe Holborn gin-shop swung open and the man she most wished to see inall the world stood at her side. 

He would have been a good-looking fellow enough in any rank of life, but to Dorothea, and others of her class, his clear, well-cut featuresand jetty ringlets rendered him an absolute Adonis, despite the air ofhalf-drunken bravado and assumed recklessness which marred a naturallyresolute expression of countenance. He wore a fur cap, a velveteenjacket, and a bright-red neckcloth, secured by an enormous ring; norwas this remarkable costume out of character with the perfume heexhaled, denoting he had consumed at least his share of that otherhalf-quartern which postponed his departure. 

Dorothea slipped her arm in his, and clung to him with the fondtenacity of a woman who loves heart and soul, poor thing, to her cost. 

His manner was an admirable combination of low-class gallantry withpitying condescension. 

"Why, Doll, " said he, "what's up now? You don't look hearty, my lass. Step in and take a dram; it'll do you good. "

She glanced admiringly in the comely dissipated face. 

"Ah! they may well call you Gentleman Jim, " she answered; "you're fitto be a lord of the land, you are; and so you would, if I was queen. But I doesn't want you to treat me, Jim, leastways not this turn; Iwants you to come for a walk, dear. I've a bit of news for you. It'sbusiness, Jim, " she added, somewhat ruefully, "or I wouldn't go for toask. "

His face, which had fallen a little, assuming that wearied expressiona woman ought most to dread on the face she cares for, brightenedconsiderably. 

"Come on, lass!" he exclaimed, "business first, and pleasure arter. Speak up, and let's hear all about it. "

They had turned from the main thoroughfare into a dark and quietby-street. She crossed her work-worn hands on his arm, and proceedednervously--

"You say I never put you on a job, Jim. Well, I've a job to put you onnow. I don't half like it, dear. It's for your sake I don't half likeit. Promise me as you'll be careful, very careful, this turn. "

"Bother!" answered Jim. "Stow that, lass, and let's have it out. "

Thus elegantly adjured, Doll, as he called her, obeyed without delay, though her voice faltered and her colour faded more than once whileshe went on. 

"You told me as you wouldn't love me without I kep' my ears open, andmy eyes too. Well, Jim, I've watched and watched old master and young, like a cat watches a mouse-hole, till I've been that sick and tired Icould have set down and cried. Now, to-day I wanted to see you so bad, at any rate, and, thinks I, here's a bit of news as my Jim will liketo learn. Look now: young master, he's a-goin' to a place they callBragford by the five-o'clock train. O, I mind the name well enough. You know, Jim, you always bid me take notice of names. Well, it'sBragford. Bragford, says he, quite plain, an' as loud as I'ma-speakin' now. "

"Forty-five miles from London, " answered Jim, "and not ten minutes'walk from the branch line. Well?"

"He's a-takin' summut down for a young lady, " continued Doll. "It isbut a small package, what you might put in your coat-pocket, or yourhat. O, Jim! Jim! if you should chance on a stroke of luck this turn, won't you give the trade up for good and all? If you and me had but aroof to cover us, I wouldn't ask better than only liberty to work foryou till I dropped. "

Tears stood in her eyes, and for a moment the face that looked upinto the ruffian's was almost beautiful in its expression of entiredevotion and trust. 

He had taken a doubtful cigar from his coat-pocket, and was smokingthoughtfully. 

"Small, " said he, "then it ought, by rights, to be valuable. Did yeget a feel of it, Doll, or was it only a smell?"

"He took it hisself out of the jeweller's hands, " answered Doll;"but I hadn't no call to be curious, for he told me what it was freeenough. There ain't no smell about diamonds, Jim. "

"Nor you can't swear to them neither, " replied Jim exultingly. "Diamonds, Doll! you're _sure_ he said diamonds? Come, you _have_done it, my lass. Give us a kiss, Doll, and let's turn in here at theSunflower, and drink good luck to the job. "

The woman acceded to both proposals readily enough, but followed hercompanion into the ill-favoured little tavern with a weary step and aheavy heart. Some unerring instinct told her, no doubt, that she wasgiving all and taking nothing, offering gold for silver, truth forfalsehood, love and devotion for a mere liking, rapidly waning toindifference and contempt. 

Tom Ryfe, all anxiety to find himself once more in the same countywith Miss Bruce, was in good time, we may be sure, for the train thatshould carry him down to Ecclesfield. Bustling through the station totake his ticket, he was closely followed by a well-dressed person ina pair of blue spectacles, travelling apparently without luggage orimpediments of any description. This individual seemed also boundfor Bragford, and showed some little eagerness to travel in thesame carriage with Tom, who attributed the compliment to hislately-constructed coat and general appearance as a swell of the firstwater. "He don't often get such a chance, " thought Mr. Ryfe, acceptingwith extreme graciousness the other's civilities as to open windowsand change of seats. He even went so far as to take a proffered cigarfrom the case of his fellow-traveller, which he would have smokedforth-with, but for the peremptory objections of a crusty oldgentleman, who arrived at the last moment, encumbered with such aparaphernalia of railway-rugs, travelling-bags, books, newspapers andmagazines as denoted the through-passenger, not to be got rid of atany intermediate station. The old gentleman glared defiance, but madehimself comfortable nevertheless; and the presence of this commonenemy was a bond of union to render the two chance acquaintances morethan ordinarily cordial and communicative. 

Smoking being prohibited, they had not proceeded many miles into thecountry ere the gentleman in spectacles produced a box of lozengesfrom his pocket, and, selecting one for his own consumption, offeredanother, with much suavity, to Tom Ryfe, surveying meanwhile, withinquisitive glances, the bulge in that gentleman's breast-pocket, where he carried his valuable package; but here again both werestartled, not to say irritated, by the dictatorial interference of thelast arrival. 

"Excuse me, gentlemen, " said this irrepressible old man, "I cannotpermit it. Damn me, sir!" turning full round upon Tom Ryfe, "I _won't_permit it! I can detect the smell of chloroform in those lozenges. Smell, sir, I've the smell of a bloodhound. I could hunt a scamp allover England by nose--by nose, I tell you, sir, and worry him to deathwhen I ran into him; and I _would_ too. Now, sir, if _you_ choose tobe chloroformed, I don't. I'm not anxious to be taken out of thiscompartment as stupid as an owl, and as cold as a cabbage, with apain in my eyes, a singing in my ears, and a scoundrel's hands in mywaistcoat-pockets. Excuse me, sir, I'm warm--I wouldn't give much fora chap that wasn't--and I speak my mind!"

It seemed a bad speculation to quarrel with him, this big, burly, resolute, and disagreeable old man. Tom Ryfe, for once, was at anonplus. He murmured a few vague sentences of dissent, while thepassenger in spectacles, consigning his lozenges to an inner pocket, buried himself in the broad sheet of the _Times_. But it was his turnnow, and not even thus could he escape. Staring grimly at him, overthe top of the paper, his tormentor fired a point-blank question, fromwhich there was no refuge. 

"Pray, sir, " said he, "are you a chemist?"

The gentleman in spectacles signified, by a shake of the head, thatwas not his profession. 

"Then, sir, " continued the other, "do you know anything aboutchemistry--volatile essences, noxious drugs, subtle poisons? I do. "(Here Tom Ryfe observed his ally turn pale. ) "Permit me to remark, sir, that if _you_ don't, you are like a school-boy carrying apocketful of squibs and crackers on the fifth of November, unconsciousthat a single spark may blow him into the Christmas holidays before hecan say 'knife!' Let me see those lozenges, sir--let me have them inmy hand; I'll tell you in five seconds what they're made of, and how, and where, and why. "

Here the man in spectacles, with considerable presence of mind, threwthe whole of his lozenges out of window, under cover of the _Times_. 

"You frighten me, sir, " said he; "I wouldn't keep such dangerousarticles about me on any consideration. "

The old gentleman executed an elaborate wink, denoting extremesatisfaction, at Tom Ryfe. "If you were going through, " said he, "Icould tell you some funny stories. Queer tricks upon travellersI've seen in my time. Why I was the first person to find out thesinking-floor dodge in West Street. My evidence transported threepeople for life, and a fourth for fifteen years. I once saw a manpulled down by the heels through a grating in one of the busieststreets in the City, and if I _hadn't_ seen him he would never havecome up alive. Why the police apply to me for advice many a time whenpeople are missing. 'Don't distress yourselves, ' says I, 'they'll turnup, never fear. ' And they _do_ turn up, sir, in nineteen cases out oftwenty. In the twentieth, when there's foul play, we generally knowsomething about it within eight-and-forty hours. Bragford? Is it? Youget out here, do you? Good-morning, gentlemen; I hope you've enjoyedyour jaunt. "

Then as Tom, collecting great-coats, newspapers, etc. , followed hisnew acquaintance out of the carriage, this strange old gentlemandetained him for an instant by the arm. 

"Friend of yours, sir?" said he, pointing to the man in spectacles onthe platform. "Never saw him before? I thought so. Sharper, sir, I'lltake my oath of it, or something worse. I know the sort; I've exposedhundreds of them. Take my advice, sir, and never see him again. "

With that the train glided on, leaving Mr. Ryfe and the gentlemanin spectacles staring at each other over a basket of fish and aportmanteau. 

"Mad!" observed the latter, with an uneasy attempt at a laugh, and areadjustment of his glasses. 

"Mad, no doubt, " answered Tom, but followed the lunatic's counsel, nevertheless, so far as to refrain from offering the other a liftin the well-appointed brougham, with its burly coachman, waiting toconvey him to Ecclesfield Manor, though his late fellow-traveller wasproceeding in that direction on foot. 

Tom had determined to sleep at the Railway Hotel, Bragford, ere hereturned to London next day. This arrangement he considered morerespectful than an intrusion on the hospitality of Ecclesfield, shouldit be offered him. Perhaps so scrupulous a regard for the proprietiesmollified Miss Bruce in his favour, and called forth an invitationto tea in the drawing-room when he had concluded the solitary dinnerprepared for him after his journey. 

Tom Ryfe was always a careful dresser. Up to forty most men are. Itis only when we have nobody to please that we become negligent ofpleasing. I believe, though, that never in his life did he tie hisneckcloth or brush his whiskers with more care than on the presentoccasion in a large and dreary chamber known to the household as oneof the "best bedrooms" of Ecclesfield Manor. 

Tom looked about him, with a proud consciousness that at last his footwas on the ladder he had wanted all his life to climb. Here he stood, actually dressing for dinner, a welcome guest in the house of anold-established county family, on terms of confidence, if notintimacy, with its proud and beautiful female representative, in whosecause he was about to do battle with all the force of his intellect, and (Tom began to think she could make him fool enough for anything)all the resources of his purse. The old family pictures--sad daubs, orthey would never have been consigned to the bedrooms--simpered down onhim with encouraging benignity. Prim women, wearing enormously longwaists, and their heads a good deal on one side, pointed their fansat him, while he washed his hands, with a coquetry irresistible, hadtheir colours only stood, combining entreaty and command; whilea jolly old boy in flowing wig, steel breast-plate, and the mostconvivial of noses, smiled in his face, as who should say, "_AudacesFortuna juvat_!--Go in, my hearty, and win if you can!"

What was there in these surroundings, in the orderly decorum of thewell-regulated mansion, in the chiming of the stable clock, nay, inthe reflection of his own person shown by that full-length glass, totake the starch, as it were, out of Tom's self-confidence, turning hismoral courage limp and helpless for the nonce, bringing insensibly tohis mind the familiar refrain of "Not for Joseph"? What was there thatbade him man himself against this discouragement, as true bravery mansitself against the sensation of fear? and why should he be less worthyof approbation than other spirits who venture on "enterprises of greatpith and moment" with beating hearts indeed, but with unflinchingcourage and a dogged determination to succeed?

Had Tom been a young knight arming for a tournament, in which the goodfortune of his lance was to win him a king's daughter for his bride, he might have claimed to be an admirable and interesting hero. Washe, indeed, a less respectable adventurer, that for steel he had tosubstitute French polish, for surcoat and corselet, broadcloth andcambric--that the battle he was to wage must be fought out by tenacityof purpose and ingenuity of brain, rather than strength of arm anddownright hardness of skull?

He shook a little too much scent on his handkerchief as he finisheddressing, and walked down-stairs in a state of greater agitation thanhe would have liked to admit. 

Dinner was soon done. Eaten in solitude with grave servants watchingevery mouthful, he was glad to get it over. In a glass of brown sherryhe drank Miss Brace's health, and thus primed, followed the butler tothe drawing-room, where that lady sat working by the light of a singlelamp. 

The obscurity was in his favour. Tom made his bow and accepted thechair offered him, less awkwardly than was to be expected from thesituation. 

Maud looked very beautiful with the light falling on her sculpturedchin, her fair neck, and white hands, set off by the deep shadows ofthe mourning dress she wore. 

I believe he was going to begin by saying "it had been a fine day, "but she stopped him in her clear, cold voice, with its patricianaccent, so difficult to define, yet so impossible to mistake. 

"I have to thank you, Mr. Ryfe, for taking such care of my jewels. Ihope the man left them at your office as he promised, and that you hadno farther trouble about them. "

He wanted to say that "no errand of hers could be a trouble to him, "but the words stuck in his throat, or she would hardly have proceededso graciously. 

"We must go into a few matters of business this evening, if you havegot the papers you mentioned. I leave here to-morrow, and there islittle time to spare. "

He produced a neatly-folded packet, docketed and carefully tied withtape. The sight of it roused his energies, as the shaking of a guidonrouses an old trooper. Despite of the enchantress and all her glamour, Tom was himself again. 

"Business is my trade, Miss Bruce, " said he briskly. "I must askyour earnest attention for a quarter of an hour, while I explain ourposition as regards the estate. At present it appears beset withdifficulties. That's my look-out. Before we begin, " added Tom, with adiffident faltering of voice, partly natural, partly assumed, "forgivemy asking your future address. It is indispensable that we shouldfrequently communicate, and--and--I cannot help hoping and expressingmy hope for your happiness in the home you have chosen. "

Maud's smile was very taking. She smiled with her eyes, those dark, pleasing eyes that would have made a fool of a wiser man than Tom. 

"I am going to Aunt Agatha's, " she said. "I am to live with her forgood. I have no home of my own now. "

The words were simple enough--spoken, too, without sadness orbitterness as a mere abstract matter of fact, but they aroused all thepen-and-ink chivalry in Tom's nature, and he vowed in his heart to laygoose-quill in rest on her behalf, with the devotion of a Montmorencyor a Bayard. 

"Miss Bruce, " said he resolutely, "the battle is not yet lost. In ourlast, of the 15th, we advised you that the other side had alreadytaken steps to oppose our claims. My uncle has great experience, and Iwill not conceal from you that my uncle is less sanguine than myself;but I begin to see my way, and if there is a possibility of winning, by hook or by crook, depend upon it, Miss Bruce, win we _will_, forour own sakes, and--and--for _yours_!"

The last two words were spoken in a whisper, being indeed aspontaneous ebullition, but she heard them nevertheless. In her deepsorrow, in her friendless, homeless position there was somethingsoothing and consolatory in the sympathy of this young man, lawyer'sclerk though he were, as she insisted with unnecessary repetitionto herself. He showed at his best, too, while explaining the legalcomplications involved in the whole business, and the steps by whichhe hoped eventually to succeed. Maud was too thoroughly a woman not toadmire power, and Tom's intellect possessed obviously no small shareof that quality, when directed on such matters as the present. Inhalf-an-hour he had furnished her with a lucid statement of the wholecase, and in half-an-hour he had inspired her with respect forhis opinion, admiration of his sagacity, and confidence in hisstrength--not a bad thirty minutes' work. At its conclusion, she shookhands with him cordially when she wished him good-night. Tom wasno fool, and knew when to venture as when to hold back. He bowedreverentially over the white hand, muttering only--"God bless you, Miss Bruce! If you think of anything else, at a moment's notice I willcome from the end of the world to serve you, "--and so hurried awaybefore she could reply. 

CHAPTER V

THE CRACKSMAN'S CHECKMATE

Puckers, or Miss Puckers, as she liked to be called below-stairs, was a little puzzled by her young mistress's abstraction, while shebrushed out Maud's wealth of raven hair for the night. Stealingglances at herself in the glass opposite, she could not help observingthe expression on Miss Bruce's face. The light was in it once morethat had been so quenched by her father's death. Puckers, who, in thehousekeeper's room, had discussed the affairs of the family almosthourly ever since that sorrowful event, considered that it must haveleft his daughter in the possession of untold wealth, and that "theyoung man from town, " as she designated Tom Ryfe, was sent downexpressly to afford the heiress an estimate of her possessions. A truelady's-maid, she determined to hazard the inquiry. 

"I suppose, miss, " said she, brushing viciously, "we sha'n't be goingto your aunt's now quite so soon. I'm sure I've been that hurried andput about, I don't scarce know which way to turn. "

"Why?" asked Maud quietly. "Not so hard, please. "

"Well, miss, a lady is not like a servant, you know; she can do as shechooses, of course. But if I was _you_, miss, I'd remain on the spot. There's the new furniture to get; there's the linen to see to; there'sthe bailiff given warning; and that there young man from town, Isuppose _he_ wouldn't come if we could do without him, charginggoodness knows what, as if his very words was gold. But I give youjoy, miss, of your fortune, I do. I was a-sayin', only last night, wasit? to Mrs. Plummer, says I, 'Whatever _my_ young lady will do, ' saysI, 'in a house where she isn't mistress, she that's been used to rulein her poor ma's time, and her pa's, ah! ever since she cut her teethalmost;' and Mrs. Plummer says, says she----"

"That'll do, Puckers, " observed Miss Bruce, "I shall not want you anymore. Good-night. "

She took as little notice of her handmaid's volubility as if thelatter had been a grey parrot, and dismissed her with a certain cold, imperial manner that none of the household ever dreamt it possibleto dispute or disobey; but after Puckers, with a quantity of whitedraperies over her arm, had departed to return no more, she sat downat the dressing-table, and began to think with all her might. 

Her maid was a fool, no doubt: all maids were; but the shaft of folly, shot at random, went home to the quick. "A house where she wasn'tmistress!" Had she ever considered the future shelter offered her byAunt Agatha in that light? Here at the Manor, for as long as she couldremember, had she not reigned supreme? All the little arrangements ofdinner-parties, picnics, archery-meetings, and such gatherings asmake up country society, had fallen into her hands. Mamma didn'tcare--mamma never cared how anything was settled so long as papa waspleased; and papa thought Maud could not possibly do wrong. So bydegrees--and this at an age when young ladies are ordinarily in theschoolroom--Miss Bruce had grown, on all social questions, to be thevirtual head of the family. It was a position of which, till the timecame to abdicate, she had not sufficiently appreciated the value. Itseemed so natural to order carriages and horses at her own hours, toreturn visits, to receive guests, to do the honours of a comfortablecountry-house with an adequate establishment, and now, could she bearto live with Aunt Agatha, on sufferance?--Aunt Agatha, whom she hadnever liked, and whom she only refrained from snubbing and settingdown, because they so seldom met, but when the elder lady had beeninvited by the younger as a guest! "To be dependent, " thought Maud, mentally addressing the beautiful face in the glass, "How should youlike that? _you_ with your haughty head, and your scornful eyes, andyour hard, unbending heart? I know you! Nobody knows you but me! And Iknow how _bad_ you are--how capricious, and how cruel! When you wantanything, do you ever spare anybody to get it? Did you ever love anyone on earth as well as your own way? Even mamma? O, mamma, dear, dearmamma, if you had lived I might have got better--I _was_ better, Iknow I was better while I was with _you_. But now--now I must bemyself. I can't help it. After all, it is not my fault. What is itI most covet and desire in the world? It is power. Rank, wealth, luxury--these are all very well as accessories of life; but how shouldI loathe and hate them if they were conditional on my thinking asother people thought, or doing what I was told! I ought to have beena man. Women are such weak, vapid, idiotic characters, in general--atleast, all I meet down here. Engrossed with their children, theirparishes, their miserable household cares and perplexities. While inLondon, I believe there are women who actually lead a party and turnout a minister. But they are beautiful, of course. Well--and me? Idon't think I am so much amiss. With my looks and the position I oughtto have, surely I might hold my own with the best of them. But whatgood will my looks do me if I am to be a dependent on Aunt Agatha? No. Without the estate I am nothing. With it I might be _anything_. Thislawyer thinks he can win it for me. I wonder if he knows. How cleverhe seems! and how thoughtful! Nothing escapes him, and nothing seemsto take him by surprise. And yet what a fool I could make of him if Ichose. I saw it before he had been five minutes in the room. I wondernow what he thinks of _me_!--whether he has the presumption to supposeI could ever allow him to betray what he cared for me. I believe Ishould rather admire his impudence! It is pleasant to be cared for, even by an inferior; and, after all, this Mr. Ryfe is not without hisgood points. He has plenty of talent and energy, and I should thinkaudacity. By his own account he sticks at nothing, when he meanswinning, and he certainly means to win for me if he can. I never sawanybody so eager, so much in earnest. Perhaps he thinks that if hecould come to me and say, 'There, Miss Bruce, I have saved yourbirthright for you, and I ask nothing but one kind word in return, ' Imight be disposed to give it, and something more. Well, I don't know. Perhaps it would be as good a way as any other of getting into favour. One thing is certain. The inheritance I must preserve at everysacrifice. Dear me, how late it is! I ought to have been in bed hoursago. Puckers, is that you?"

Puckers did not answer, and a faint rustle in the adjoining room, which had called forth Miss Bruce's question, ceased the instant shespoke aloud. 

This young lady was not nervous; far from it; yet her watch seemedto tick with extraordinary vigour, and her heart to beat harder thancommon while she listened. 

The door of communication between the two rooms was closed. Anotherdoor in the smaller apartment opened to the passage, but this, sheremembered, was habitually locked on the inside. It couldn't bePuckers, therefore, who thus disturbed her mistress's reflections, unless that handmaiden had come down the chimney, or in at the window. 

In this smaller room Miss Bruce kept her riding-habits, herball-dresses, her draperies of different fabric, her transparencies ofall kinds, and her jewels. 

The house was very silent--so silent, that in the distant corridorswere distinctly audible those faint and ghostly footfalls, whichtraverse all large houses after midnight. There were candles burningon Maud's toilet-table, but they served rather to show how dismal werethe shadowy corners of the large, lofty bedroom, than to afford lightand confidence to its inmate. 

She listened intently. Yes; she was sure she heard somebody in thenext room--a step that moved stealthily about; a noise as of woodworkskilfully and cautiously forced open. 

One moment she felt frightened. Then her courage came back the higherfor its interruption. She could have escaped from her own room intothe passage, easily enough, and so alarmed the house; but when shereflected that its fighting garrison consisted only of an infirm oldbutler--for the footman was absent on leave--there seemed little tobe gained by such a proceeding, if violence or robbery were reallyintended. Besides, she rather scorned the idea of summoning assistancetill she had ascertained the amount of danger. 

So she blew her candle out, crept to the door of the little room, andlaid her hand noiselessly on its lock. 

Softly as she turned it, gently as she pushed the door back on itshinges inch by inch, she did not succeed in entering unobserved. Thelight of a shaded lantern flashed over her the instant she crossed thethreshold, dazzling her eyes indeed, yet not so completely butthat she made out the figure of a man standing over her shatteredjewel-box, of which he seemed to have been rifling the contents. Quickas thought, she said to herself, "Come, there is only one! If I canfrighten _him_ more than he frightens _me_, the game is mine. "

The man swore certain ghastly oaths in a whisper, and Maud was awareof the muzzle of a pistol covering her above the dark lantern. 

She wondered why she wasn't frightened, not the least frightened--onlyrather angry and intensely determined to save the jewels, and have itout. 

She could distinguish a dark figure behind the spot of intense lightradiating round her own person, and perceived, besides, almost withoutlooking, that an entrance had been made by the window, which stoodwide open to disclose the topmost rounds of a garden-ladder, borroweddoubtless from the tool-house, propped against its sill. 

What the housebreaker saw was a vision of dazzling beauty in a floodof light. A pale, queenly woman, with haughty, delicate face, andloops of jet-black hair, falling over robes of white, erect anddauntless, fronting his levelled weapon without the slightest sign offear. 

He had never set eyes on such a sight as this; no, neither in circusnor music-hall, nor gallery of metropolitan theatre at Christmas. Fora moment he lost his head--for a moment he hesitated. 

In that moment Miss Bruce showed herself equal to the occasion. 

Quick as thought, she made one step to the window, pushed the ladderoutwards with all her force, and shut down the sash. As it closed, theladder, poising for an instant, fell with a crash on the gravel below. 

"Now, " she said quietly, "you are trapped and taken. Better make noresistance, for the gamekeepers watching below are a rough sort ofpeople, and I do not wish to see you ill-treated. "

The man was aghast! What could it all mean? Was he awake or dreaming?She must be well backed, he said to himself, to assume such a positionas this; and she looked so beautiful--so beautiful!

The latter consideration was not without its effect on him, even inthe exercise of his profession. "Gentleman Jim, " as his mates affirmedin their nervous English, became a fool of the deepest crimson dyewhenever a woman was concerned, and this woman was in his eyes as anangel of light. 

Nevertheless, instinctively rather than of intention, he mutteredhoarsely--

"Drop it, miss, I warn you. One word out loud and I'll shoot, as sureas you stand there. "

"Shoot away!" she answered with perfect composure; "you will save methe trouble of giving an alarm. They expect it, and are waiting for itevery moment below-stairs. Light those candles, and let us see whatdamage you have done before you return the plunder. "

A pair of wax-candles stood on the chimney-piece, and he obeyedmechanically, wondering at himself the while. His cunning, however, had not entirely deserted him, and he left his pistol lying on thetable, ready to snatch it away if she tried to take possession. It wasthus he gauged her confidence, and seeing she scarcely noticed theweapon, argued that powerful assistance must be near at hand torender this beautiful young lady so arbitrary and so unconcerned. His admiration burst out in spite of his discomfiture and criticalposition. 

"Well, you _are_ a cool one!" he exclaimed, in accents of mingledvexation and approval. "A cool one and a stunner, I'm blessed if youain't! No offence, but I never see your likes yet, not since I wasborn. Come, miss, let's cry quits. You pass me out o' this on thequiet. I dessay as I can make shift to get down without the ladder;an' I'll leave all these here gimcracks just as I found 'em. Now I'veseen ye once, I'm blessed if I'd take so much as an ear-drop, unless it was in the way of a keepsake. Pass me out, miss, and I'llpromise--no, I'm blowed if I think as I _can_ promise--never to comehere no more. "

Undisguised admiration--the admiration always acceptable to a womanwhen accompanied with respect--shone in Gentleman Jim's dark eyes. Heseemed under a spell, and while he acknowledged its strength, had nopower, nay, had no wish, to resist its influence. When on such jobs asthese it was his habit to observe an unusual sobriety. He was glad nowto think of his adherence to that rule. Had he been drunk, he might, peradventure, have insulted this divinity. What had come over him? Hefelt almost pleased to know he was in her power, and yet she treatedhim like the dirt beneath her feet. 

"No insolence, sir, " she said in a commanding voice. "Let me see, first of all, that every one of my trinkets is in its place. There, that bracelet would have brought you money, those diamonds would havebeen valuable if you could have got them clear off. You must havelearned your trade very badly to suppose that with such things in thehouse we keep no guard. Come, I am willing to believe that distressbrought you to this. Listen. You are in my power, and I will show youmercy. If I give you five pounds now, on the spot, and let you go, will you promise to try and get your bread as an honest man?"

The tears came in his eyes. This woman, then, that looked so like anangel, was angel all through. Yet, touched as he felt in his betternature, the proletary instinct bade him try once more if her effort toget rid of him originated in pity or fear, and he muttered, "Guineas!make it guineas, miss, and I'll say 'done. '"

"Not a shilling more, not a farthing, " she answered, moving her handas if to put it on the bell-pull. "It cannot matter to me, " she added, in a tone of the most complete indifference, "but while I am aboutit I think I would rather be the making of an honest man than thedestruction of a rogue. "

Her acting was perfect. She seemed so cold, so impassive, socompletely mistress of the position, and all the time her heart wasbeating as the gambler's beats, albeit in winning vein, ere he liftsthe box from off the imprisoned dice--as the lion-tamer's beats whenhe spurns in its very den the monster that could crush him with amovement, and that yet he holds in check by an imaginary force, irresistible only so long as it is unresisted. 

Such situations have a horrible fascination of their own. I have evenknown them prolonged to gratify a morbid thirst for excitement; butI think Miss Bruce was chiefly anxious to be released from herprecarious position, and to get rid of her visitor as soon as shecould. Even her resolute nerves were beginning to give way, and sheknew her own powers well enough to mistrust a protracted trial ofendurance. Feminine fortitude is so apt to break down all at once, andMiss Bruce, though a courageous specimen of her sex, was but a womanwho had wrought herself up for a gallant effort, after all. 

She was quite unprepared though for its results. Gentleman Jimsnatched up his pistol, stowed it away in his breast-pocket, as ifheartily ashamed of it, brought out from that receptacle a pearlnecklace and a pair of coral ear-rings, dashed them down on the tablewith an imprecation, and looking ridiculously sheepish, thus deliveredhimself--

"Five pounds, miss! Five devils! If ever I went for to ask fiveshillings of you, or five fardens, may the hands rot off at my wristsand the teeth drop out of my head. Strike me blind, now, this moment, in this here room, if I'd take so much as a pin's head that youvalued, not if my life depended on it and there wasn't no other way ofgetting a morsel of bread! Look ye here, miss. No offence; I'm buta rough-and-ready chap, and you're a lady. I never come a-nigh oneafore. Now I know what they mean when they talk of a real lady, and Isee what it is puts such a spirit into them swells as lives with thelikes of you. But a rough chap needn't be a blind chap. I come in herefor to clean out your jewel-box. I tell ye fair, I don't think as Imeant to have ill-treated you, and now I know as I _couldn't_ havedone it, but I wanted them gimcracks just the same. If so be as you'dlike to see me shopped and lagged, you take and ring that there bell, and look if I go for to move a foot from this blessed spot. There! Ifso be as you bid me walk out free from that there winder, take andcount these here now at once, and see there's not one missing and notone broke. Say the word, miss--which is it to be?"

The reaction was coming on fast. Maud dared not trust her voice, butshe pointed to the window with a gesture in which she preserved anadmirable imitation of confidence and command. Gentleman Jim threwup the sash, but paused ere he ventured his plunge into the darknessoutside. 

"Look ye 'ere, miss, " he muttered in a hoarse whisper, with one legover the ledge, "if ever you wants a chap to do you a turn, don't yeforget there's one inside this waistcoat as will take a leap in ahalter any day to please ye. You drop a line to 'Gentleman Jim, ' atthe Sunflower, High Holborn. O! I can read, bless ye, and write andcipher too. What I says I sticks to. No offence, miss. I wonder will Iever see you again?"

He darted back for an instant, much to Maud's dismay, snatched a knotof ribbon which had fallen from her dress on the carpet, and was gone. 

She heard his leap on the gravel below, and his cautious footstepsreceding towards the park. Then she passed her hands over her face, and looked about her as one who wakes from a dream. 

"It was an escape, I suppose, " she said, "and I ought to have beenhorribly frightened; yet I never seemed to lose the upper hand withhim for a moment. How odd that even a man like that should be such afool. No wiser and no cooler than Mr. Ryfe. What is it, I wonder; whatis it, and how long will it last?"

[Illustration: He muttered in a hoarse whisper, with one leg over theledge. ]

CHAPTER VI

A REVERSIONARY INTEREST

Although Dorothea could assume on occasions so bright an exterior as Ihave in a previous chapter endeavoured to describe, her normal statewas undoubtedly that which is best conveyed by the epithet "grimy. "Old Mr. Bargrave, walking serenely into his office at eleven, andmeeting this handmaiden on the stairs, used to wonder how so muchdirt could accumulate on the human countenance, when irrigated, asDorothea's red eyelids too surely testified, by daily tears. Yes, shehad gone about her work of late with a heavy heart and a moody brow. Hers was at best a dull dreary life, but in it there grew a noxiousweed which she was pleased to cherish for a flower. Well, it waswithering every day before her eyes, and all the tears she could shedwere not enough to keep it alive. Ah! when the ship is going downunder our very feet I don't think it much matters what may be our rankand rating on board. The cook's mate in the galley is no less dismayedthan the admiral in command. Dorothea's light, so to speak, was onlya tallow-candle, yet to put it out was to leave the poor woman verydesolate in the dark. So Mr. Bargrave ventured one morning to ask ifshe felt quite well; but the snappish manner in which his inquirieswere met, as though they masked a load of hidden sarcasm and insult, caused the old gentleman to scuffle into his office with unusualactivity, much disturbed and humiliated, while resolved never so tocommit himself again. 

Into that office we must take the liberty of following him, tenantedas it is only by himself and Tom Ryfe. 

The latter, extremely well dressed, wears a posy of spring flowers athis buttonhole, and betrays in his whole bearing that he is under someextraneous influence of an unbusinesslike nature. Bargrave subsidesinto his leather chair with a grunt, shuffles his papers, dips a penin the inkstand, and looks over his spectacles at his nephew. 

"Waste of time, waste of capital, Tom, " says he, with some irritation. "Mind, I washed _my_ hands of it from the first. You've been at worknow for some months; that's _your_ look-out and it's been kept apartand separate from the general business--that's _mine_. "

"I've got Tangle's opinion here, " answered Tom; "I won't ask you tolook at it, uncle. He's dead against us. Just what you said six monthsback. There's no getting over that trust-deed, nor through it, nor round it, nor any way to the other side of it. I've done _my_d----dest, and we're not a bit better off than when we began. "

He spoke in a cheerful, almost an exulting tone, quite unlike a manworsted in a hard and protracted struggle. 

"I'm sorry for the young lady, " observed Bargrave; "but I neverexpected anything else. It's a fine estate, and it must go to the maleheir. She has but a small settlement, Tom, very inadequate to herposition, as I told poor Mr. Bruce many a time. He used to sayeverything would be set right by his will, and now one of these girlsis left penniless, and the other with a pittance, a mere pittance, brought up, as I make no doubt she was, to believe herself anheiress. "

"One of them!" exclaimed Tom. "What do you mean?"

"Why, that poor thing who was born a few weeks too soon, " answeredBargrave. "She's totally unprovided for. With regard to Miss Bruce, there is a settlement. Two hundred a year, Tom, for life; nothingmore. I told you so when you undertook the job. And now who's to payyour costs?"

"Not you, uncle, " answered Tom flippantly, "so don't distress yourselfon that score. "

"I don't, indeed, " observed Bargrave, with emphasis. 

"You've had your own time to work this, on the understanding, as youknow, that it was to be worked at your own risk. I haven't interfered;it was no affair of mine. But your costs will be heavy, Tom, I can'thelp seeing that. Tangle's opinion don't come so cheap, you see, though it's word for word the same as mine. I would have let _you_have it for nothing, and anybody else for six and eightpence. "

"The costs _will_ be heavy, " answered Tom, still radiant. "I shouldsay a thou. Wouldn't cover the amount. Of course, if we can't get themfrom the estate, they must come out of my pocket. "

Bargrave's eyebrows were raised. How the new school went ahead, hethought. Here was this nephew of his talking of a thousand pounds withan indifference verging on contempt. Well, that was Tom's look-out;nevertheless, on such a road it would be wise to establish ahalting-place, and his tone betrayed more interest than common whilehe asked--

"You won't take it into Chancery, Tom, will you?"

The younger man laid his forefinger to the side of his nose, winkedthrice with considerable energy, lifted his hat from its peg, adjustedhis collars in the glass, nodded to his uncle, muttering briefly, "Back in two hours, " and vanished. 

Old Bargrave looked after him with a grim, approving smile. "Boy orman, " said he aloud, "that chap always knew what he was about. Tom canbe safely trusted to take care of Number One. "

He was wrong, though, on the present occasion. If Mr. Ryfe did indeedknow what he was about, there could be no excuse for the enterprise onwhich he had embarked. He was selfish. He would not have denied hisselfishness, and indeed rather prided himself on that quality; yetbehold him now waging a contest in which a man wastes money, time, comfort, and self-respect, that he may wrest from real sorrow anddiscomfiture the shadow of a happiness which he cannot grasp when hehas reached it. There is much wisdom in the opinion expressed by acertain fox concerning grapes hanging out of distance; but it is awisdom seldom acquired till the limbs are too stiff to stretch for aneffort--till there is scarce a tooth left in the mumbling jaws to beset on edge. 

Tom Ryfe had allowed his existence to merge itself in another's. For months, as devotedly as such natures can worship, he had beenworshipping his ideal in the person of Miss Bruce. I do not say thathe was capable of that highest form of adoration which seeks in thefirst place the unlimited sovereignty of its idol, and which, as beingtoo good for them, women constantly undervalue; but I do say that heesteemed his fair client the most beautiful, the most attractive, andthe most perfect of her sex, resolving that for him she was the onlywoman in the world, and that in defiance of everything, even her owninclinations, he would win her if he could. 

In Holborn there is always a hansom to be got at short notice. "Grosvenor Crescent, " says Tom, shutting the half-doors with a bang, and shouting his orders through the little hole in the top. So toGrosvenor Crescent he is forwarded accordingly, at the utmost speedattainable by a pair of high wheels, a well-bred "screw, " and arough-looking driver with a flower in his mouth. 

There are several peculiarities, all unreasonable, many ridiculous, attending the demeanour of a man in love. Not the least eccentricof these are his predatory instincts, his tendency to prowl, hispreference for walking over other modes of conveyance, and inclinationto subterfuge of every kind as to his ultimate destination. Tom Ryfewas going to Belgrave Square; why should he direct his driver to sethim down a quarter of a mile off? why overpay the man by a shilling?why wear down the soles of an exceedingly thin and elaborate pair ofboots on the hot, hard pavement without compunction? Why? Because hewas in love. This was also the reason, no doubt, that he turned redand white when he approached the Square railings; that his nose seemedto swell, his mouth got dry, his hat felt too tight, and the restof his attire too loose for the occasion; also that he affected anunusual interest in the numbers of the doors, as though meditating aceremonious morning call, while all the time his heart was underthe laburnums in the centre of the Square gardens, at the feet of ahaughty, handsome girl, dressed in half-mourning, with the prettiestblack-laced parasol to be found on this side of the Rue Castiglione, for love--of which, indeed, as the gift of Mr. Ryfe, it was a type--ormoney, which, not having been yet paid for, it could hardly be said torepresent. 

That heart of his gave a bound when he saw it in her hand as shesailed up the broad gravel-walk to let him in. He was almost happy, poor fellow, for almost a minute, not distressing himself to observethat the colour never deepened a shade on her proud, pale cheek; thatthe shapely hand, which fitted its pass-key to the lock, was firm asa dentist's, and the clear, cold voice that greeted him far steadierthan his own. It is a choice of evils, after all, this favourite gameof cross-purposes for two. To care more than the adversary entailsworry and vexation; to care less makes a burden of it, and a bore. 

"Thank you so much for coming, Miss Bruce--Maud, " said Tompassionately. "You never fail, and yet I always dread, somehow, that Ishall be disappointed. "

"I keep my word, Mr. Ryfe, " answered the young lady, with perfectself-possession; "and I am quite as anxious as you can be, I assureyou. I want so to know how we are getting on. "

He showed less discouragement than might have been expected. Perhapshe was used to the _sang-froid_, perhaps he rather liked it, believingit, in his ignorance, a distinctive mark of class, not knowing--howshould he?--that, once excited, these thoroughbred ones are, of allracers, the least amenable to restraint. 

"I have bad news, " he said tenderly. "Miss Bruce, I hardly like totell you that I fear we cannot make our case enough to come intocourt. I took the opinion of the first man we have. I am sorry tosay he gives it against us. I am not selfish, " he added, with realemotion, "and I am sorry indeed, for your sake, dearest Miss Bruce. "

He meant to have called her "Maud"; but the beautiful lips tightened, and the delicate eyebrows came down very straight and stern over thedeep eyes in which he had learned to read his fate. He would wait fora better opportunity, he thought, of using the dear, familiar name. 

She took small notice of his trouble. 

"Has there been no mismanagement?" she asked, almost angrily; "nopapers lost? no foul play? Have you done your best?"

"I have, indeed, " he answered meekly. "After all, is it not for my owninterest as much as yours? Are they not henceforth to be in common?"

She ignored the question altogether; she seemed to be thinking ofsomething else. While they paced up and down a walk screened from theSquare windows by trees and shrubs already clothed in the tender, quivering foliage of spring, she kept silence for several seconds, looking straight before her with a sterner expression than he couldyet remember to have seen on the face he adored. Presently she spokein a hard, determined voice--

"I _am_ disappointed. Yes, Mr. Ryfe, I don't mind owning I am bitterlyand grievously disappointed. There, I suppose it's not your fault, soyou needn't look black about it; and I dare say you did the bestyou could afford at the price. Well, I don't want to hurt yourfeelings--your _very_ best, then. And yet it seems very odd--you wereso confident at first. Of course if the thing's really gone, andthere's no chance left, it's folly to think about it. But what afuture to lose--what a future to lose! Mr. Ryfe, I can't stay withAunt Agatha--I can't and I won't! How she could ever find anybody tomarry her! Mr. Ryfe, speak to me. What had I better do?"

Tom would have given a round sum of money at that moment to recall oneof the many imaginary conversations held with Miss Bruce, in whichhe had exhausted poetry, sentiment, and forensic ardour for thesuccessful pleading of his suit. Now he could find nothing better tosay than that "he had hoped she was comfortable with Mrs. Stanmore;and anybody who didn't make Miss Bruce comfortable must be brutaland wicked. But--but--if it was really so--and she could bepersuaded--why, Miss Bruce must long have known----" And herethe voice of Tom, the plausible, the prudent, the self-reliant, degenerated to a husky whisper, because he felt that his very heartwas mounting to his throat. 

Miss Bruce cut him exceedingly short. 

"You remember our bargain, " she said bitterly. "If you don't, I canremind you of it. Listen, Mr. Ryfe; I am not going to cheat you out ofyour dues. You were to win back my fortune from the next of kin--thiscousin who seems to have law on his side. You charged yourself withthe trouble--that counts for nothing, it is in the way of yourbusiness--with the costs--the expenses--I don't know what you callthem--these were to be paid out of the estate. It was all plainsailing, if we had conquered; and there was an alternative in theevent of failure. I accepted it. But I tell you, not till everystratagem has been tried, every stone turned, every resourceexhausted, do I acknowledge the defeat, nor--I speak plain English, Mr. Ryfe--do I pay the penalty. "

He turned very pale. "You did not use this tone when we walkedtogether through the snow in the avenue at Ecclesfield. You promisedof your own accord, you know you did, " said poor Tom, trembling allover; "and I have got your promise in writing locked up in a tin boxat home. "

She laughed a hard, shrill laugh, not without some real humour in it, at his obvious distress. 

"Keep it safe in your tin box, " said she, "and don't be afraid, whenthe time comes, that I shall throw you over. Ah! what an odd thingmoney is; and how it seems able to do everything!" She was lookingmiles away now, totally unconscious of her companion's presence. "To me this five or six thousand a year represents hope, enjoyment, position--all that makes life worth having. More, to lose it is tolose my freedom, to lose all that makes life endurable!"

"And you _have_ lost it, " observed Tom doggedly. He was very brave, very high-minded, very chivalrous in any way; but he possessed thetruly British quality of tenacity, and did not mean to be shaken offby any feminine vagaries where once he had taken hold. 

"Et je payerais de ma personne, " replied Miss Bruce scornfully. "Idon't suppose you know any French. You must go now, Mr. Ryfe; mymaid's coming back for me from the bonnet-shop. I can't be trusted, you see, over fifty yards of pavement and a crossing by myself. Themaid is walking with me now behind these lilac-bushes, you know. Hername is Ryfe. She is very cross and silent; she wears a well-madecoat, shiny boots, rather a good hat, and carries a nosegay as bigas a chimney-sweep's--you can give it me if you like--I dare say youbought it on purpose. "

How she could twist and turn him at will! three or four playful wordslike these, precious all the more that her general manner was sohaughty and reserved, caused Tom to forget her pride, her whims, hervarious caprices, her too palpable indifference to himself. He offeredthe flowers with humble gratitude, ignoring resolutely the presumptionthat she would probably throw them away before she reached her owndoor. 

"Good-bye, Miss Bruce, " said he, bowing reverently over the slim handshe vouchsafed him, and "Good-bye, " echoed the young lady, adding, with another of those hard little laughs that jarred so on Tom'snerves, "Come with better news next time, and don't give in whilethere's a chance left; depend upon it the money's better worth havingthan the client. By the bye, I sent you a card for Lady Goldthred'sthis afternoon--only a stupid breakfast--did you forget it?"

"Are you going?" returned Tom, with the clouds clearing from his brow. 

"Perhaps we shall, if it's fine, " was the reply. "And now I can't waitany longer. Don't forget what I told you, and do the best you can. "

So Tom Ryfe departed from his garden of Eden with sundry misgivingsnot entirely new to him, that the fruit he took such pains to ripenfor his own gathering might but be gaudy wax-work after all, orpainted stone, perhaps, cold, smooth, and beautiful, against which heshould rasp his teeth in vain. 

The well-tutored Puckers, dressed in faded splendour, and holding abrown-paper parcel in her hand, was waiting for her young lady at thecorner of the Square. 

While thus engaged she witnessed a bargain, of an unusual nature, madeapparently under extraordinary pressure of circumstances. A raggedboy, established at the crossing, who had indeed rendered himselfconspicuous by his endeavours to ferry Puckers over dry-shod, wasaccosted by a shabby-genteel and remarkably good-looking man in thefollowing vernacular--

"On this minnit, off at six, Buster; two bob an' a bender, and a threeof eye-water, in?"

"Done for another joey, " replied Buster, with the premature acutenessof youth foraging for itself in the streets of London. 

"Done, " repeated the man, pulling a handful of silver from his pocket, and assuming the broom at once to enter on his professional labours, ere Puckers had recovered from her astonishment, or Buster couldvanish round the corner in the direction of a neighbouring mews. 

Though plying his instrument diligently, the man kept a sharp eye onthe Square gardens. When Tom Ryfe emerged through the heavy iron gatehe whispered a deep and horrible curse, but his dark eyes shone andhis whole face beamed into a ruffianly kind of beauty, when after adiscreet pause, Miss Bruce followed the young lawyer through the sameportal. Then the man went to work with his broom harder than ever. NotSir Walter Raleigh spreading his cloak at the feet of his sovereignmistress lest they should take a speck of mud could have shown moreloyalty, more devotion, than did Gentleman Jim sweeping for bare life, as Miss Bruce and her maid approached the crossing he had hired forthe occasion. 

Maud recognised him at a glance. Not easily startled or surprised, shebade Puckers walk on, while she took a half-crown from her purse andput it in the sweeper's hand. 

"At least it is an honest trade, " said she, looking him fixedly in theface. 

The man turned pale while he received her bounty. 

"It's not that, miss, " he stammered. "It's not that--I only wanted toget a look of ye. I only wanted just to hear the turn of your voiceagain. No offence, miss, I'll go away now. O! can't ye give a chap ajob? It's my heart's blood as I'd shed for you, free--and never ask nomore nor a kind word in return!"

She looked him over from head to foot once more and passed on. In thatlook there was neither surprise, nor indignation, nor scorn, only aquaint and somewhat amused curiosity, yet this thief and associate ofthieves quivered, as if it had been a sun-stroke. When she passed outof sight he bit the half-crown till it bent, and hid it away in hisbreast. "I'll never part with ye, " said he, "never;" unmindful of poorDorothea, going about her work tearful and forlorn. Gentleman Jim, uneducated, besotted, half-brutalised as he was, had yet drunk fromthe cup that poisons equally the basest and noblest of our kind. Awell-dressed, good-looking young man, walking on the other side ofthe Square, did not fail to witness Tom Ryfe's farewell and Maud'sinterview with the crossing-sweeper. He too looked strangelydisturbed, pacing up and down an adjoining street, more than once, before he could make up his mind to ring a well-known bell. VerilyMiss Bruce seemed to be one of those ladies whose destiny it is topuzzle, worry, and interest every man with whom they come in contact. 

CHAPTER VII

DICK STANMORE

She had certainly succeeded in puzzling Dick Stanmore and alreadybegan to interest him. The worry would surely follow in due time. Dick was a fine subject for the scalpel--good-humoured, generous, single-hearted, with faultless digestive powers, teeth, and colour tocorrespond, a strong tendency to active exercise, and such a facultyof enjoyment as, except in the highest order of intellects, seldomlasts a man over thirty. 

Like many of his kind, he _said_ he hated London, but lived there verycontentedly from April to July, nevertheless. He was fresh, just atpresent, from a good scenting season in Leicestershire, followed by asojourn on the Tweed, in which classical river he had improved manyshining hours, wading waist-deep under a twenty-foot rod, any numberof yards of line, and a fly of various hues, as gaudy, and but littlesmaller than a cock pheasant. Now he had been a week in town, duringwhich period he met Miss Bruce at least once every day. This constantintercourse is to be explained in a few words. 

Mrs. Stanmore, the Aunt Agatha with whom Maud expressed herself sounwilling to reside, was a sister of the late Mr. Bruce. She hadmarried a widower with one son, that widower being old Mr. Stanmore, defunct, that son being Dick. Mrs. Stanmore, in the enjoyment ofa large jointure (which rather impoverished her step-son), thougharbitrary and unpleasant, was a woman of generous instincts, sooffered Maud a home the moment she learned her niece's doublebereavement; which home, for many reasons, heiress or no heiress, MissBruce felt constrained to accept. Thus it came about that she foundherself walking with Tom Ryfe _en cachette_ in the Square gardens;and, leaving them, recognised the gentleman whom she was to meet atluncheon in ten minutes, on whose intellect at least, if not hisheart, she felt pretty sure she had already made an impression. 

"I won't show her up, " said Dick to his neatest boots, while hescraped them at his mother's door, "but I _should_ like to know whothat bumptious-looking chap is, and what the h----ll she could have tosay to him in the Square gardens all the same. "

Mr. Stanmore's language at the luncheon-table, it is needless tosay, was far less emphatic than that which relieved his feelings insoliloquy; nor was he to-day quite so talkative as usual. His motherthought him silent (he always called her "mother, " and, to do herjustice, she could not have loved her own son better, nor scoldedhim oftener, had she possessed one); Miss Bruce voted him stupid andsulky. She told him so. 

"A merrythought, if you please, and no bread-sauce, " said the younglady, in her calm, imperious manner. "Don't forget I hate bread-sauce, if you mean to come here often to luncheon; and do _say_ something. Aunt Agatha can't, no more can I. Recollect we've got a heavyafternoon before us. "

Aunt Agatha always contradicted. "Not heavier than any otherbreakfast, Maud, " said she severely. "You didn't think that tea at theTower heavy last week, nor the ghosts in the mess-room of the Blues. Lady Goldthred's an old friend of mine, and it was very kind of her toask us. Besides, Dick's coming down in the barouche. "

Maud's face brightened, and be sure, Dick saw it brighten. 

"That accounts for it, " said she, with the rare smile in her eyes;"and he thinks we sha'n't let him smoke, so he sulks beforehand, grim, grave, and silent as a ghost. Mr. Stanmore, cheer up. You may smokethe whole way down. _I'll_ give you leave. "

"Nonsense, my dear, " observed Aunt Agatha sternly. "He don't wantto do anything of the kind. What have you been about, Maud, allthe morning? I looked for you everywhere to help me with thevisiting-list. "

"Puckers and I took a 'constitutional, '" answered Miss Bruceunblushingly. "We wanted to do some shopping. " But her dark eyes stoletowards Dick, and, although his never met them, she felt satisfied hehad witnessed her interview with Tom Ryfe in the Square gardens. 

"I saw you both coming in, Miss Bruce, " said Dick, breaking theawkward pause which succeeded Maud's mis-statement. "I think Puckerswears twice as smart a bonnet as yours. I hope you are not offended. "

Again that smile from the dark eyes. Dick felt, and perhaps she meanthim to feel, that he had lost nothing in her good opinion by ignoringeven to herself that which she wished to keep unknown. 

"I think you've very little taste in bonnets, whatever you may have infaces, " answered the young lady; "and I think I shall go and put oneon now that will make you eat your words humbly when I appear in it onthe lawn at Lady Goldthred's. "

"I have no doubt there won't be a dry eye in the place, " answeredDick, looking after her, as she left the room, with undisguisedadmiration in his honest face--with something warmer and sweeter thanadmiration creeping and gathering about his heart. 

So they all went down together in the barouche, Dick sitting with hisback to the horses, and gazing his fill on the young beauty opposite, looking so cool and fair in her fresh summer draperies, so thoroughlyin keeping with the light and sparkle of everything around--thebrilliant sunshine, the spring foliage, the varying scenery, even tothe varnish and glitter of the well-appointed carriage, and the platedharness on the horses. 

Aunt Agatha conversed but sparingly. She was occupied with the phantompages of her banker's book; with the shortcomings of a new housemaid;not a little with the vague sketch of a dress, to be worn at certainapproaching gaieties, which should embody the majesty of the chaperonwithout entirely resigning all pretensions to youth. But for oneremark, "that the coachman was driving very badly, " I think shetravelled in stately silence as far as Kew. Not so the otheroccupants of the barouche. Maud, desirous of forgetting much that wasdistasteful to her in the events of the morning, and indeed, in thecourse of her daily life, resolved to accept the tangible advantagesof the present, nor scrupled to show that she enjoyed fresh air, fineweather, and pleasant company. Dick, stimulated by her presence, and never disinclined to gaiety of spirit, exerted himself to beagreeable, pouring forth a continuous stream of that pleasant nonsensewhich is the only style of conversation endurable in the process ofriding, driving, or other jerking means of locomotion. 

It is only when his suit has prospered that a man feels utterlyidiotic and moonstruck in the presence of the woman he adores. Why, when life is scarce endurable but at her side, he should become a borein her presence, is only another intricacy in the many puzzles thatconstitute the labyrinth of love. So long as he flutters unsingedabout its flame, the moth is all the happier for the warmth of thecandle, all the livelier for the inspiration of its rays. DickStanmore, turning into the Kensington Road, was the insect basking inthose bright, alluring beams; but Dick Stanmore on the farther side ofKew felt more like the same insect when its wings have been alreadyshrivelled and its powers of flight destroyed in the temerity of itsadoration. 

Still it was pleasant, very pleasant. She looked so beautiful, shesmiled so kindly, always with her eyes, sometimes with the perfect, high-bred mouth; she entered so gaily into his gossip, his fancies, his jokes, allowing him to hold her parasol and arrange her shawlswith such sweetness and good-humour, that Dick felt quite sorry toreach the Portugal laurels and trim lawns of their destination, whenthe drive was over from which he had derived this new and unforeseengratification. Something warned him that, in accordance with that ruleof compensation which governs all terrestrial matters, these delightswere too keen to last, and there must surely be annoyance and vexationin store to complete the afternoon. 

His first twinge originated in the marked admiration called forth byMiss Bruce's appearance at the very outset. She had scarcely madeher salaam to Lady Goldthred, and passed on through billiard-room, library, and verandah, to the two dwarfed larches and half-acre ofmown grass which constitute the wilderness of a suburban villa, ereDick felt conscious that his could be no monopoly of adoration. Freetrade was at once declared by glances, whispers and inquiries from asuccession of well-dressed young gentlemen, wise doubtless in theirown conceit, yet not wanting in that worldly temerity which impelsfools to rush in where angels fear to tread, and gives the formerclass of beings, in their dealings with that sex which is compoundedof both, an immeasurable advantage over the latter. 

Miss Bruce had not traversed the archery-ground twenty-five feet, fromtarget to target, on her way to the refreshment-tent, ere half-a-dozenof the household troops, a bachelor baronet, and the richest youngcommoner of his year were presented by her host, at their own earnestrequest. Dick's high spirits went down like the froth in a glass ofsoda-water, and he fell back discouraged, to exchange civilities withLady Goldthred. 

That excellent woman, dressed, painted, and wound-up for the occasion, was volubly delighted with everybody; and being by no means sure ofDick's identity, dashed the more cordiality into her manner, whilecareful not to commit herself by venturing on his name. 

"_So_ good of you to come, " she fired it at him as she had fired it atfifty others, "all this distance from town, and such a hot day, to seemy poor little place. But isn't it pretty now? And are we not lucky inthe weather? And weren't you smothered in dust coming down? And you'vebrought _the_ beauty with you too. I declare Sir Moses is positivelysmitten. I'm getting quite jealous. Just look at him now. But he's notthe only one, that's a comfort. "

Dick _did_ look, wondering vaguely why the sunshine should have fadedall at once. Sir Moses, a little bald personage, in a good-humouredfuss, whom no amount of inexperience could have taken for anything butthe "man of the house, " was paying the utmost attention to Miss Bruce, bringing her tea, placing a camp-stool for her that she might see thearchery, and rendering her generally those hospitable services whichit had been his lot to waste on many less attractive objects duringthat long sunny afternoon. 

"Sir Moses is always so kind, " answered Dick vaguely, "and nobody'sbreakfasts are so pleasant as yours, Lady Goldthred. "

"I'm _too_ glad you think so, " answered his hostess, who, likea good-hearted woman as she was, took enormous pains with thesefestivities, congratulating herself, when she washed off her rouge, and doffed her robes of ceremony at night, that she had got throughthe great penance of her year. "You're always so good-natured. But I_do_ think men like to come here. The country air, you know, andthe scenery, and plenty of pretty people. Now, there's LordBearwarden--look, he's talking to Miss Bruce, under the cedar--he'sactually driven over from Windsor, and though he's a way of beingso fine and _blasé_ and all that, he don't look much bored at thismoment, does he? Twenty thousand a year, they say, and been everywhereand done everything. Now, I fancy, he wants to marry, for he's mucholder, you know, than he looks. To hear him talk, you'd think he wasa hundred, and broken-hearted into the bargain. For my part, I've nopatience with a melancholy man; but then I'm not a young lady. Youknow him, though, of course?"

Dick's reply, if he made one, was drowned in a burst of brass musicthat deafened people at intervals throughout the afternoon, and LadyGoldthred's attention wandered to fresh arrivals, for whom, with freshsmiles and untiring energy, she elaborated many more remarks of asimilar tendency. 

Dick Stanmore _did_ know Lord Bearwarden, as every man about Londonknows every other man leading the same profitable life. There weremany whom he would have preferred as rivals; but thinking he detectedsigns of weariness on Maud's face (it had already come to this, thathe studied her countenance, and winced to see it smile on any oneelse), he crossed the lawn, that he might fill the place by her side, to which he considered himself as well entitled as another. 

His progress took some little time, what, with bowing to one lady, treading on the dress of another, and parrying the attack of a thirdwho wanted him to give her daughter a cup of tea; so that by the timeDick reached her Lord Bearwarden had left Miss Bruce to the attentionsof another guest, more smart than gentlemanlike, in whose appearancethere was something indefinably out of keeping with the rest. Dickstarted. It was the man with whom he had seen Maud walking beforeluncheon in the Square. 

People were pairing for a dance on the lawn, and Mr. Stanmore, wedgedin by blocks of beauty and mountains of muslin, could neither advancenor retreat. It was no fault of his that he overheard Miss Bruce'sconversation with the stranger. 

"_Will_ you dance with me?" said the latter, in a whisper ofsuppressed anger, rather than the tone of loving entreaty with whichit is customary to urge this pleasant request. 

"Impossible!" answered Maud energetically. "I'm engaged to LordBearwarden--it's the Lancers, and he's only gone to make up the set. "

The man ground his teeth and knit his brows. 

"You seem to forget, " he muttered--"you carry it off with too high ahand. I have a right to bid you dance with me. I have a right, if Ichose, to order you down to the river there and row you back to Putneywith the tide; and I _will_, I swear, if you provoke me too far. "

She seemed to keep her temper with an effort. 

"_Do_ be patient, " she whispered, glancing round at the bystanders. "Surely you can trust me. Hush! here comes Lord Bearwarden. "

And taking that nobleman's arm, she walked off with a mournfulpleading look at her late companion, which poor Dick Stanmore wouldhave given worlds to have seen directed to himself. 

There was no more pleasure for him now during the rest of theentertainment. He did indeed obtain a momentary distraction from hisresolution to ascertain the name of the person who had so spoilt hisafternoon. It helped him very little to be told the gentleman was "aMr. Ryfe. " Nobody seemed to know any more, and even this informationhe extracted with difficulty from Lady Goldthred, who added, in a toneof astonishment--

"Why, you brought him, didn't you?"

Dick was mystified--worse, he was unhappy. For a few minutes hewandered about behind the dancers, watching Maud and her partner asthey threaded the intricacies of those exceedingly puzzling evolutionswhich constitute the Lancer quadrilles. Lord Bearwarden was obviouslydelighted with Maud, and that young lady seemed by no meansunconscious or careless of her partner's approval. I do not myselfconsider the measure they were engaged in threading as particularlyconducive to the interchange of sentiment. If my memory serves meright, this complicated dance demands as close an attention as whist, and affords almost as few opportunities of communicating with apartner. Nevertheless, there is a language of the eyes, as of thelips; and it was not Lord Bearwarden's fault if his looks weremisunderstood by their object. All this Dick saw, and seeing, grewmore and more disgusted with life in general, with Lady Goldthred'sbreakfast in particular. When the dance ended, and DickStanmore--hovering about his flame, like the poor moth to which I havecompared him, once singed and eager to be singed again--was hesitatingas to whether he, too, should not go boldly in and try his chance, behold Mr. Ryfe, with an offensive air of appropriation, walks offwith Miss Bruce arm-in-arm, towards the sequestered path that leadsto the garden-gate, that leads to the shady lane, that leads to theshining river!

It was all labour and sorrow now. People who called this sort of thingamusement, thought Dick, would go to purgatory for pastime, and astage farther for diversion. When he broke poor Redwing's back threefields from home in the Melton steeplechase he was grieved, annoyed, distressed. When he lost that eleven-pounder in the shallows belowMelrose, because "Aundry, " his Scottish henchman, was too drunk tokeep his legs in a running stream, he was angry, vexed, disgusted; butnever before, in his whole life of amusement and adventure, had heexperienced anything like the combination of uncomfortable feelingsthat oppressed him now. He was ashamed of his own weakness, too, allthe time, which only made matters worse. 

"Hang it!" thought Dick, "I don't see why I should punish myself bystaying here any longer. I'll tell my mother I must be back in Londonto dinner, make my bow, jump into a boat, and scull down to Chelsea. So I will. The scull will do me good, and if--if she _has_ gone on thewater with that snob, why I shall know the worst. What a strange, oddgirl she is! And O, how I wish she wasn't!"

But it takes time to find a lady, even of Mrs. Stanmore's presence, amongst five hundred of her kind jostled up in half-an-acre of ground;neither will the present code of good manners, liberal as it is, bear a guest out in walking up to his hostess _à bout portant_, tointerrupt her in an interesting conversation, by bidding her a solemngood-bye hours before anybody else has begun to move. Twenty minutesat least must have elapsed ere Dick found himself in a daintyoutrigger with a long pair of sculls, fairly launched on the bosom ofthe Thames--more than time for the corsair, if corsair he should be, to have sailed far out of sight with false, consenting Maud in thedirection of London Bridge. 

Dick was no mean waterman. The exercise of a favourite art, combiningskill with muscular effort, is conducive to peace of mind. A swim, arow, a gallop over a country, a fencing-bout or a rattling set-to with"the gloves" bring a man to his senses more effectually than wholehours of quiescent reflection. Ere the perspiration stood on DickStanmore's brow, he suspected he had been hasty and unjust; by thetime he caught his second wind, and had got fairly into swing, he wasin charity with all the world, reflecting, not without toleration andself-excuse, that he had been an ass. 

So he sculled on, like a jolly young waterman, making capital way withthe tide, and calculating that if the fugitive pair should have doneanything so improbable as to take the water in company, he must haveoverhauled, or at least sighted them, ere now. 

His spirits rose. He wondered why he should have been so desponding anhour ago. He had made excuses for himself--he began to make them forMaud, nay, he was fast returning to his allegiance, the allegiance ofa day, thrown off in five minutes, when he sustained another damper, such as the total reversal of his outrigger and his own immersion, head uppermost, in the Thames, could not have surpassed. 

At a bend of the river near Putney he came suddenly on one of thoselovely little retreats which fringe its banks--a red-brick house, apretty flower-garden, a trim lawn, shaded by weeping-willows, kissingthe water's edge. On that lawn, under those weeping-willows, hedescried the graceful, pliant figure, the raven hair, the imperiousgestures that had made such havoc with his heart, and muttering thedear name, never before coupled with a curse, he knew for the firsttime, by the pain, how fondly he already loved this wild, heedless, heartless girl, who had come to live in his mother's house. Swingingsteadily along in mid-stream, he must have been too far off, hethought, for her to recognise his features; yet why should she havetaken refuge in the house with such haste, at an open window, throughwhich a pair of legs clad in trousers denoted the presence of somemale companion? For a moment he turned sick and faint, as he resignedhimself to the torturing truth. This Mr. Ryfe, then, had been as goodas his word, and she, his own proud, refined, beautiful idol, hadcommitted the enormity of accompanying that imperious admirer downhere. What could be the secret of such a man's influence over such agirl? Whatever it was, she must be Dick's idol no longer. And he wouldhave loved her so dearly!--so dearly!

There were tears in the eyes of this jolly young waterman as he pulledon. These things hurt, you see, while the heart is fresh and honest, and has been hitherto untouched. Those should expect rubbers who playat bowls; if people pull their own chestnuts out of the fire theymust compound for burnt fingers; and when you wager a living, loving, trustful heart against an organ of wax, gutta-percha, or Aberdeengranite, don't be surprised if you get the worst of the game allthrough. 

He had quite given her up by the time he arrived at Chelsea, andhad settled in his own mind that henceforward there must be no moresentiment, no more sunshine, no more romance. He had dreamt his dream. Well for him it was so soon over. _Semel insanivimus omnes_. Fellowshad all been fools once, but no woman should ever make a fool of himagain! No woman ever _could_. He should never see another like _her_!

Perhaps this was the reason he walked half-a-mile out of his homewardway, through Belgrave Square, to haunt the street in which she lived, looking wistfully into those gardens whence he had seen her emergethat very day with her mysterious companion--gazing with plaintiveinterest on the bell-handle and door-scraper of his mother'shouse--vaguely pondering how he could ever bear to enter that houseagain--and going through the whole series of those imaginary throes, which are indeed real sufferings with people who have been foolishenough to exchange the dignity and reality of existence for a dream. 

What he expected I am at a loss to explain; but although, while pacingup and down the street, he vowed every turn should be the last, hehad completed his nineteenth, and was on the eve of commencing histwentieth, when Mrs. Stanmore's carriage rolled up to the door, stopping with a jerk, to discharge itself of that lady and Maud, looking cool, fresh, and unrumpled as when they started. The revulsionof feeling was almost too much for Dick. By instinct, rather than withintention, he came forward to help them out, so confused in his ideasthat he failed to remark how entirely his rapid retreat from thebreakfast had been overlooked. Mrs. Stanmore seemed never to havemissed him. Maud greeted him with a merry laugh, denoting more ofgood-humour and satisfaction than should have been compatible withkeen interest in his movements or justifiable pique at his desertion. 

"Why, here you are!" she exclaimed gaily. "Actually home before us, like a dog that one takes out walking to try and lose. Poor thing! didit run all the way under the carriage with its tongue out? and wasn'tit choked with dust, and isn't it tired and thirsty? and won't it comein and have some tea?"

What could Dick say or do? He followed her up-stairs to the backdrawing-room, meek and submissive as the dog to which she had likenedhim, waiting for her there with a dry mouth and a beating heart whileshe went to "take off her things"; and when she reappeared smiling andbeautiful, able only to propound the following ridiculous questionwith a gasp--

"Didn't you go on the water then, after all?"

"On the water!" she repeated. "Not I. Nothing half so pleasant, I assure you. I wish we had! for anything so slow as the wholeperformance on dry land, I never yet experienced. I danced fivedances, none of them nice ones--I hate dancing on turf--and I had awarm-water ice and some jelly that tasted of bees'-wax. What becameof you? We couldn't find you anywhere to get the carriage. However, Iasked Aunt Agatha to come away directly somebody made a move, becauseI was cross and tired and bored with the whole business. I thinkshe liked it much better than I did; but here she is to answer forherself. "

Dick had no dinner that day, yet what a pleasant cigar it was hesmoked as he coasted Belgrave Square once more in the sweet springevening under the gas-lamps! He had been very unhappy in theafternoon, but that was all over now. Anxiety, suspicion, jealousy, and the worst ingredient of the latter, a sense of humiliation, hadmade wild work with his spirits, his temper, and indeed his appetite;yet twenty minutes in a dusky back drawing-room, a cup of weak teaand a slice of inferior bread-and-butter, were enough to restoreself-respect, peace of mind, and vigour of digestion. He could notrecall one word that bore an unusually favourable meaning, one lookthat might not have been directed to a brother or an intimate friend, and still he felt buoyed up with hope, restored to happiness. Thereaction had come on, and he was more in love with her than ever. 

CHAPTER VIII

NINA

It might have spared Mr. Stanmore a deal of unnecessary discomfort hadthe owner of those legs which he saw through the open window at Putneythought fit to show the rest of his person to voyagers on the river. Dick would then have recognised an old college friend, would havelanded to greet him with the old college heartiness, and in thenatural course of events would have satisfied himself that hissuspicions of Maud were unfounded and absurd. 

Simon Perkins is not a romantic name, nor did the exterior of SimonPerkins, as seen either within or without the Putney cottage, correspond with that which fiction assigns to a hero of romance. Hisframe was small and slight, his complexion pale, his hair weak andthin, his manner diffident, awkward, almost ungainly, but that itsthorough courtesy and good-nature were so obvious and unaffected. Ingeneral society people passed him over as a shy, harmless, unmeaninglittle man; but those who really knew him affirmed that his couragewas not to be damped, nor his nerve shaken, by extremity ofdanger--that he was always ready with succour for the needy, withsympathy for the sorrowful. In short, as they tersely put it, that"his heart was in the right place. "

For half-a-dozen terms at Oxford he and Dick had been inseparable. Their intimacy, none the less close for dissimilarity of tastes andpursuits, since Perkins was a reading man, and Dick a "fast" one, hadbeen still more firmly soldered by a long vacation spent together inNorway, and a "thrilling tableau, " as Dick called it, to which theirexpedition gave rise. Had Simon Perkins's heart been no stouter thanhis slender person, his companion must have died a damp death, andthis story would never have been told. 

The young men were in one of the most picturesque parts of that wildand beautiful country, created, as it would seem, for the expressgratification of the fisherman and the landscape painter; SimonPerkins, an artist in his very soul, wholly engrossed by the sketch ofa mountain, Dick Stanmore equally absorbed in fishing a pool. Scarcetwenty yards apart, neither was conscious, for the moment, of theother's existence; Simon, indeed, being in spirit some seven thousandfeet above the level of the sea, putting more ochre into the virginsnow that crested his topmost peak, and Dick deftly dropping a fly, the size of a pen-wiper, over the nose of a fifteen-pounder that hadalready once risen to the gaudy lure. 

Poising himself, like a Mercury, on a rock in mid-stream, the anglerhad just thrown eighteen yards of line lightly as a silken threadto an inch, when his foot slipped, and a loud splash, bringing thepainter, like Icarus, out of the clouds with a run, startled hisattention to the place where his companion was not. In another secondSimon had his grip on Dick's collar, and both men were struggling fordear life in the pool. Stanmore could swim, of course, but it takesa good swimmer to hold his own in fisherman's boots, encumbered, moreover, with sundry paraphernalia of his art. Simon was a very mildperformer in the water, but he had coolness, presence of mind, andinflexible tenacity of purpose. To these qualities the friends owed itthat they ever reached the shore alive. It was a very near thing, and when they found their legs and looked into each other's faces, gasping, dripping, spouting water from ears, nose, and mouth, Dickgathered breath to exclaim, "You trump! I should have been drowned, to a moral!" Whereat the other, choking, coughing, and sputtering, answered faintly, "You old muff! I believe we were never out of ourdepth the whole time!"

Perkins did not go up for his degree, and the men lost sight of oneanother in a few years, cherishing, indeed, a kindly remembrance eachof his friend, yet taking little pains to refresh that remembrance byrenewed intercourse. How many intimacies, how many attachments outlasta twelvemonth's break? There are certain things people go on caringfor, but I fear they are more intimately connected with self in dailylife than either the romance of friendship or the intermittent feverof love. The enjoyment of luxury, the pursuit of money-making, seem tolose none of their zest with advancing years, and perhaps to these wemay add the taste for art. 

Now to Simon Perkins art was as the very air he breathed. The greatestpainter was, in his eyes, the greatest man that lived. When he leftOxford, he devoted himself to the profession of painting withsuch success as rendered him independent, besides enabling him tocontribute largely to the comfort of two maiden aunts with whom helived. 

Not without hard work; far from it. There is no pursuit, perhaps, which demands such constant and unremitting exertion from itsvotaries. The ideal to which he strains can never be reached, for hisvery successes keep building it yet higher, and a painter is so farlike a baby his whole life through that he is always learning to_see_. 

Simon was still learning to see on the afternoon Dick Stanmore sculledby his cottage windows--studying the effect of a declining sun on theopposite elms, not entirely averting his looks from that gracefulgirl, who ran into the house to the oarsman's discomfiture, andmissing her more than might have been expected when she vanishedup-stairs. Was not the sun still shining bright on that gracefulfeathery foliage? He did not quite think it was. 

Presently there came to the door a rustle of draperies, and an elderlylady, not remarkable for beauty, entered the room. Taking no noticeof Simon, she proceeded to arrange small articles of furniture with arestless manner that denoted anxiety of mind. At last, stopping shortin the act of dusting a china tea-cup, with a very clean cambrichandkerchief, she observed, in a faltering voice, "Simon, dear, I feelso nervous I know I shall never get through with it. Where's your AuntJemima?" Even while she spoke there appeared at the door another lady, somewhat more elderly, and even less remarkable for beauty, who seatedherself bolt upright in an elbow-chair without delay, and, lookingausterely round, observed in an impressive voice, "Susannah, fetch memy spectacles; Simon, shut the door. "

Of all governments there must be a head. It was obvious that in thisdeliberative assembly Miss Jemima Perkins assumed the lead. Bothcommands being promptly obeyed, she pulled her spectacles from theircase and put them on, as symbols of authority, forthwith. 

"I want your advice, Simon, " said this strong-minded old lady, in ahard, clear voice. "I dare say I sha'n't act upon it, but I want itall the same. I've no secrets from either of you; but as the head ofthe family I don't mean to shirk responsibility, and my opinion is, she must go. Susannah, no weakness. My dear, you ought to be ashamedof yourself. Nina, run up-stairs again, we don't want you just now. "

This to a pretty head with raven hair, that popped saucily in, and assaucily withdrew. 

Simon looked wistfully after the pretty head, and relapsed into aday-dream. Was he thinking what a picture it would make, or what areality it was? His aunt's voice recalled him to facts. 

"Simon, " she repeated, "my opinion is she must go. "

"Go!" said her nephew vacantly, "what do you mean, aunt?--Go?--where?--who?"

"Why that girl we're all so fond of, " replied Miss Jemima, growingevery moment more severe. "Mr. Algernon used to come here twice everyquarter, usedn't he? Never missed the day, did he? and paid his moneyas regular as clockwork. Susannah, how long is it since he's been tosee us?"

Susannah sobbed. 

"That's no answer, " pursued the inflexible speaker. "Tomorrow week itwill be ten months since we have seen him; and tomorrow week it willbe ten months since we've had a scrap of his handwriting. Is that girlto remain here, dependent on the bounty of a struggling artist and twoold maids? My opinion is that she ought to go out and gain her ownlivelihood; my feeling is that--that--I couldn't bear to think of thepoor dear in any home but this. "

Here the old lady, whose assumption of extreme fortitude hadbeen gradually leading to the inevitable catastrophe, broke downaltogether, while Susannah, giving rein to her emotions, lifted up hervoice and wept. 

"You knew who she was all along, Jemima, " said the latter, gulpingsadly at her syllables: "you know you did; and it's cruel to harrow upour feelings like this. "

Simon said nothing, but on his homely features gathered an expressionof resolve, through which there gleamed the bright radiance of hope. 

Miss Perkins wiped her eyes and then her spectacles. Resuming herdignity, she proceeded in a calmer voice--

"I will not conceal from you, Susannah, nor from you, Simon, that Ihave had my suspicions for several years. Those suspicions became acertainty some time ago. There can be no doubt now of the relationshipexisting between our Nina and the Mr. Algernon, as he called himself, who took such an interest in the child's welfare. When I saw Mr. Bruce's death in the paper, I knew that our pet had lost her father. What was I to do? When I consented to take charge of the child twentyyears ago--and a sweet pretty babe she was--I perfectly understoodthere must be a mystery connected with her birth. As head of thefamily, I imparted my suspicions to neither of you, and I kept myconjectures and my disapproval to myself. This seemed only fair tomy correspondent, only fair to the child. When I learned Mr. Bruce'sdeath, it came upon me like a shot, that he was the Mr. Algernon whoused to visit here, and who furnished such liberal means for thesupport and education of that girl up-stairs--Susannah, I cannot makemyself understood if you will persist in blowing your nose!--Since Mr. Bruce's death no Mr. Algernon has darkened our doors, no remittanceshave come to hand with the usual signature. Simon, my impression isthat no provision whatever has been made for the poor thing, and thatour Nina is--is utterly destitute and friendless. "

Here Miss Susannah gave a little scream, whereat her sister glaredausterely, and resumed the spectacles she had taken off to dry. 

"Not friendless, aunt, " exclaimed Simon, in a great heat and fuss;"never friendless so long as we are all above ground. I am perfectlywilling to--stay, Aunt Jemima, I beg your pardon, what do you thinkought to be done?"

The old lady smoothed her dress, looking round with placid dignity. 

"I will first hear what you two have to propose. Susannah, leave offcrying this minute, and tell us what you think of this--this _very_embarrassing position. "

It is possible that but for the formidable adjective Susannah mighthave originated, and indeed expressed some idea of her own; but toconfront a position described by her sister as "embarrassing" wasquite beyond her powers, and she could only repeat feebly, "I'll giveher half my money--I'll give her half my money. We can't drive herout into the cold. " This with sobs and tears, and a hand pressedhelplessly to her side. 

Miss Jemima turned from her with contempt, declaring, in an audiblewhisper, she had "more than half a mind to send the foolish thing tobed;" then looked severely at her nephew. 

"This girl, " said he, "has become a member of our family, just asif she were a born relation. It seems to me there is no question offeeling or sentiment or prejudice in the matter. It is a mere affairof duty. We are bound to treat Nina Algernon exactly as if she were aPerkins. "

His aunt took his face in both her hands, squeezed it hard, andflattened his nose with a grim kiss. After this feat she looked moresevere than ever. 

"I believe you are right, " she said; "I believe this arrangement is aspecial duty sent on purpose for us to fulfil. I had made up my mindon the subject before I spoke to you, but it is satisfactory toknow that you both think as I do. When we give way to our feelings, Susannah, we are sure to be injudicious, sometimes even unjust. Butduty is a never-failing guide, and--O! my dears, to part with thatdarling would be to take the very heart out of my breast; and, Simon, I'm so glad you agree with me; and, Susannah, dear, if I spoke harshlyjust now, it was for your own good; and--and--I'll just step upstairsinto the storeroom, and look out some of the house-linen that wantsmending. I had rather you didn't disturb me. I shall be down again totea. "

So the old lady marched out firmly enough, but sister and nephew bothknew right well that kindly tears, long kept back from a sense ofdignity, would drop on the half-worn house-linen, and that in thesolitude of her storeroom she would give vent to those womanlyfeelings she deemed it incumbent on her, as head of the family, torestrain before the rest. 

Miss Susannah entertained no such scruples. Inflicting on her nephew avery tearful embrace, she sobbed out incoherent congratulations on thedecision at which her eldest sister had arrived. 

"But we mustn't let the dear girl find it out, " said this sensitive, weak-minded, but generous-hearted lady. "We should make no sort ofdifference in our treatment of her, of course, but we must take greatcare not to let anything betray us in our manner. I am not good atconcealment, I know, but I will undertake that she never suspectsanything from mine. "

The fallacy of this assertion was so transparent that Simon could notforbear a smile. 

"Better make a clean breast of it at once, " said he. "Directly there'sa mystery in a family, Aunt Susannah, you may be sure there can beno union. It need not be put in a way to hurt her feelings. On thecontrary, Aunt Jemima might impress on her that we count on herassistance to keep the pot boiling. Why, she's saving us pounds andpounds at this moment. Where should I get such a model for my FairyQueen, I should like to know? It ought to be a great picture--a greatpicture, Aunt Susannah, if I can only work it out. And where should Ibe if she left me in the lurch? No--no; we won't forget the bundle ofsticks. I'll to the maul-stick, and you and Aunt Jemima shall be ascross as two sticks; and as for Nina, with her bright eyes, and herpleasant voice, and her merry ways, I don't know what sort of a stickwe should make of her. " "A fiddlestick, I should think, " said thatyoung lady, entering the room from the garden window, having heard, itis to be hoped, no more than Simon's closing sentence. "What areyou two doing here in the dark? It's past eight--tea's ready--AuntJemima's down--and everything's getting cold. "

Candles were lit in the next room, and the tea-things laid. Followingthe ladies, and watching with a painter's eye the lights and shades asthey fell on Nina's graceful beauty, Simon Perkins felt, not for thefirst time, that if she were to leave the cottage, she would carryaway with her all that made it a dear and happy home, depriving him atonce of past, present, and future, taking from him the very cunning ofhis handicraft, and, worse still, the inspiration of his art. 

It was no wonder she had wound herself round the hearts of that quietlittle family in the retired Putney villa. As like Maud Bruce in formand feature, as though she had been her twin sister, Nina Algernonpossessed the same pale, delicate features, the same graceful form, the same dark, pleading eyes and glossy raven hair; but Mr. Bruce'selder and unacknowledged daughter had this advantage over the younger, that about her there was a sweetness, a freshness, a quiet gaiety, anda _bonhomie_ such as spring only from kindliness of disposition andpure unselfishness of heart. Had she been an ugly girl, though shemight have lacked admirers, she could not have long remained without alover. Being as handsome as Maud, she seemed calculated to rivet moreattachments, while she made almost as many conquests. Between thesisters there was a similitude and a difference. One was a costlyartificial flower, the other a real garden rose. 

CHAPTER IX

THE USUAL DIFFICULTY

Maud's instincts, when, soon after her father's death, she felt astrong disinclination to live with Aunt Agatha, had not played herfalse. As inmates of the same house, the two ladies hit it off badlyenough. Perhaps because in a certain imperiousness and hardness ofcharacter they were somewhat alike, their differences, though only onrare occasions culminating in a battle royal, smouldered perpetually, breaking out, more often than was seemly, in brisk skirmish and rapidpassage of arms. 

Miss Bruce's education during the lifetime of her parents had beenlittle calculated to fit her for the position of a dependent, and withall her misgivings, which, indeed, vexed her sadly, she could not yetquite divest herself of an idea that her inheritance had not whollypassed away. Under any circumstances she resolved before long to go atthe head of an establishment of her own, so that she should assume herproper position, which she often told herself, with _her_ attractionsand _her_ opportunities was a mere question of will. 

Then, like a band of iron tightening round her heart, would come thethought of her promise to Tom Ryfe, the bitter regret for herown weakness, her own overstrained notions of honour, as she nowconsidered them, in committing that promise to writing. She feltas people feel in a dream, when, step which way they will, aninsurmountable obstacle seems to arise, arresting their progress, andhemming them in by turns on every side. 

It was not in the best of humours that, a few days after LadyGoldthred's party, Maud descended to the luncheon-table fresh from anhour's consideration of her grievances, and of the false positionin which she was placed. Mrs. Stanmore, too, had just sent back amisfitting costume to the dressmaker for the third time; so each ladybeing, as it were, primed and loaded, the lightest spark would sufficeto produce explosion. 

While the servants remained it was necessary to keep the peace, but cutlets, mashed potatoes, and a ration of sherry having beendistributed, the room was cleared, and a fair field remained forimmediate action. Dick's train was late from Newmarket, and he waswell out of it. 

To do her justice, Maud had meant to intrench herself in sullensilence. She saw the attack coming, and prepared to remain on thedefensive. Aunt Agatha began quietly enough--to borrow a metaphor fromthe noble game of chess, she advanced a pawn. 

"I don't know how I'm to take you to Countess Monaco's to-night, Maud;that stupid woman has disappointed me again, and I've got literallynothing to go in. Besides, there will be such a crush we shall neverget away in time for my cousin's ball. I promised her I'd be early ifI could. "

Now Miss Bruce knew, I suppose because he had told her, that LordBearwarden would be at Countess Monaco's reception, but would not beat the said ball. It is possible Mrs. Stanmore may have been awareof this also, and that her pawn simply represented what ladies call"aggravation. "

Maud took it at once with her knight. "I don't the least care aboutCountess Monaco's, aunt, " said she. "Dick's not going because he's notasked, and I'm engaged to dance the first dance with him at the otherplace. It's a family bear-fight, I conclude; but though I hate thekind of thing, Dick is sure to take care of _me_. "

Check for Aunt Agatha, whom this off-hand speech displeased for morereasons than one. It galled her to be reminded that her step-son hadreceived no invitation from the smart foreign countess; while thatMaud should thus appropriate him, calling him "Dick" twice in abreath, was more than she could endure. So she moved her king out ofposition. 

"Talking of balls, " said she, in a cold, civil voice, "reminds me thatyou danced three times the night before last with Lord Bearwarden, andtwice with Dick, besides going down with him to supper. I don't likefinding fault, Maud, but I have a duty to perform, and I speak to youas if you were my own child. "

"How can you be sure of that?" retorted incorrigible Maud. "You neverhad one. "

This was a sore point, as Miss Bruce well knew. Aunt Agatha's line ofbattle was sadly broken through, and her pieces huddled together onthe board. She began to lose her head, and her temper with it. 

"You speak in a very unbecoming tone, Miss Bruce, " said she angrily. "You force me into saying things I would much rather keep to myself. Idon't wish to remind you of your position in this house. "

It was now Maud's turn to advance her strongest pieces--castles, rooks, and all. 

"You remind me of it often enough, " she replied, with her haughtiestair--an air which, notwithstanding its assumption of superiority, certainly made her look her best; "if not in words, at least inmanner, twenty times a day. You think I don't see it, Mrs. Stanmore, or that I don't mind it, because I've too much pride to resent it asit deserves. I am indebted to you, certainly, for a great deal--theroof that shelters me, and the food I eat. I owe you as much as yourcarriage-horses, and a little less than your servants, for I do mywork and get no wages. Never fear but I shall pay up everything someday; perhaps very soon. You had better get your bill made out, so asto send it in on the morning of my departure. I wish the time had cometo settle it now. "

Mrs. Stanmore was aghast. Very angry, no doubt, but yet moresurprised, and perhaps the least thing cowed. Her cap, her laces, the lockets round her neck, the very hair of her head, vibrated withexcitement. Maud, cool, pale, impassable, was sure to win at last, waiting, like the superior chess-player, for that final mistake whichgives an adversary checkmate. 

It came almost immediately. Mrs. Stanmore set down her sherry, becausethe hand that held her glass shook so she could not raise it to herlips. "You are rude and impertinent, " said she; "and if you reallythink so wickedly, the sooner you leave this house the better, thoughyou _are_ my brother's child; and--and--Maud, I don't mean it. But howcan you say such things? I never expected to be spoken to like this. "

Then the elder lady began to cry, and the game was over. Before thesecond course came in a reconciliation took place. Maud presented apale, cold cheek to be kissed by her aunt, and it was agreed thatthey should go to Countess Monaco's for the harmless purpose, as theyexpressed it, of "just walking through the rooms, " leaving thereafteras soon as practicable for the ball; and Mrs. Stanmore, who wasgood-hearted if bad-tempered, trusted "dear Maud would think no moreof what she had said in a moment of irritation, but that they would bebetter friends than ever after their little tiff. "

None the less, though, for this decisive victory did the young ladycherish her determination to settle in life without delay. LordBearwarden had paid her considerable attention on the few occasionsthey had met. True, he was not what the world calls a "marrying man";but the world, in arranging its romances, usually leaves out that verychapter--the chapter of accidents--on which the whole plot revolves. And why should there not be a Lady Bearwarden of the present as of thepast? To land so heavy a fish would be a signal triumph. Well, it wasat least possible, if not probable. This should be a matter for futureconsideration, and must depend greatly on circumstances. 

In the meantime, Dick Stanmore would marry her tomorrow. Of that shefelt sure. Why? O, because she did! I believe women seldom deceivethemselves in such matters. Dick had never told her he cared for her;after all, she had not known him many weeks, yet a certain deferenceand softness of tone, a diffidence and even awkwardness of manner, increasing painfully when they were alone, betrayed that he was herslave. And she liked Dick, too, very much, as a woman could hardlyhelp liking that frank and kindly spirit. She even thought she couldlove him if it was necessary, or at any rate make him a good wife, aswives go. He would live in London, of course, give up hunting and allthat. It really might do very well. Yes, she would think seriouslyabout Dick Stanmore, and make up her mind without more delay. 

But how to get rid of Tom Ryfe? Ignore it as she might--strive as shewould to forget it in excitement, dissipation, and schemes for thefuture, none the less was the chain always round her neck. Even whileit ceased to gall her she was yet sensible of its weight. So long asshe owed him money, so long as he held her written promise to repaythat debt with her hand, so long was she debarred all chances for thefuture, so long was she tied down to a fate she could not contemplatewithout a shudder. To be a "Mrs. Ryfe" when on the cards lay such aprize as the Bearwarden coronet, when she need only put out her handand take Dick Stanmore, with his brown locks, his broad shoulders, hisgenial, generous heart, for better or worse! It was unbearable. Andthen to think that she could ever have fancied she liked the man;that, even now, she had to give him clandestine meetings, to see himat unseasonable hours, as if she loved him dearly, and was preparedto make every sacrifice for his sake! Her pride revolted, her wholespirit rose in arms at the reflection. She knew he cared for her too;cared for her in his own way very dearly; and "c'est ce que c'estd'être femme, " I fear she hated him all the more! So long as a womanknows nothing about him, her suspicion that a man likes her is ninepoints out of ten in his favour; but directly she has fathomed hisintellect and probed his heart; squeezed the orange, so to speak, andresolved to throw away the rind, in proportion to the constancy of hisattachment will be her weariness of its duration; and from wearinessin such matters there is but one short step to hatred and disgust. 

Tom Ryfe must be paid his money. To this conclusion, at least, Maud'sreflections never failed to lead. Without such initiatory proceedingit was useless to think of demanding the return of that writtenpromise. But how to raise the funds? After much wavering andhesitation, Miss Bruce resolved at last to pawn her diamonds. Sodearly do women love their trinkets, that I believe, though he neverknew it, Tom Ryfe was more than once within an ace of gaining theprize he longed for, simply from Maud's disinclination to part withher jewels. How little he dreamt that the very packet which had helpedto cement into intimacy his first acquaintance with her should provethe means of dashing his cherished hopes to the ground, and raisingyet another obstacle to shut him out from his lovely client!

While Maud is meditating in the back drawing-room, and Aunt Agatha, having removed the traces of emotion from her eyes and nose, is tryingon a bonnet up-stairs, Dick Stanmore has shaken off the dust of arailway journey, in his lodgings, dressed himself from top to toe, and is driving his phaeton merrily along Piccadilly, on his way toBelgrave Square. How his heart leaps as he turns the well-knowncorner! how it beats as he skips into his step-mother's house!--howit stops when he reaches the door of that back drawing-room, where, knowing the ways of the establishment, he hopes to find his treasurealone! The colour returns to his face. There she is in her usualplace, her usual attitude, languid, graceful, indolent, yet glad tosee him nevertheless. 

"I'm in luck, " said Dick, blushing like a school-boy. "My train waslate, and I was so afraid you'd be gone out before I could get here. It seems so long since I've seen you. And where have you been, andhow's my mother, and what have you been doing?"

"What have _you_ been doing, rather?" repeats the young lady, givinghim a cool and beautiful hand that he keeps in his own as long as hedares. "Three days at Newmarket are long enough to make 'a man ora mouse, ' as you call it, of a greater capitalist than you, Mr. Stanmore. Seriously, I hope you've had a good week. "

"Only lost a pony on the whole meeting, " answered Dick triumphantly. "And even that was a 'fluke, ' because Bearwarden's Bacchante filly wasleft at the post. "

"I congratulate you, " said Maud, with laughter gleaming in her darkeyes. "I suppose you consider that tantamount to winning. Was LordBearwarden much disappointed, and did he swear horribly?"

"Bearwarden never swears, " replied Dick. "He only told the starter hewondered he could get them off at all; for it must have put him outsadly to see all the boys laughing at him. I've no doubt one or twowere fined in the very next race, for the official didn't seem to likeit. "

Maud pondered. "Is Lord Bearwarden very good-tempered?" said she. 

"Well, he never breaks out, " answered Dick. "But why do you want toknow?"

"Because you and he are such friends, " said this artful young lady. '"Because I can't make him out--because I don't care whether he is ornot! And now, Mr. Stanmore, though you've not been to see your mammayet, you've behaved like a good boy, considering; so I've got a littletreat in store for you. Will you drive me out in your phaeton?"

"Will a duck swim?" exclaimed Dick, delighted beyond measure, with butthe one drawback to supreme happiness, of a wish that his off-horsehad been more than twice in harness. 

"Now before I go to put my bonnet on, " continued Miss Bruce, threatening him with her finger like a child, "you must promise to doexactly what you're told--to drive very slow and very carefully, andto set me down the instant I'm tired of you, because Aunt Agatha won'thear of our going for more than half-an-hour or so, and it will takesome diplomacy to arrange even that. "

Then she tripped up-stairs, leaving the door open, so that Dick, looking at himself in the glass, wondering, honest fellow, what shecould see in him to like, and thinking what a lucky dog he was, overheard the following conversation at the threshold of hisstep-mother's chamber on the floor above. 

A light tap--a smothered "Who's there?" and the silvery tones of thevoice he loved--

"Aunt Agatha--may Mr. Stanmore drive me to Rose and Brilliant's in hisphaeton?"

Something that sounded very like "Certainly not. "

"But please, Aunt Agatha, " pleaded the voice, "I've got a headache, and an open carriage will do me so much good, and you can call for meafterwards, whenever you like, to do our shopping. I sha'n't be fiveminutes putting my bonnet on, and the wind's changed, and it's such abeautiful day!"

Here a door opened, whispers were exchanged, it closed with a bang, abell rang, an organ in the street struck up "The Marseillaise, " andere it had played eight bars, Maud was on the stairs again looking, toDick's admiring eyes, like an angel in a bonnet coming straight downfrom heaven. 

In after-days he often thought of that happy drive--of the palebeautiful face, in its transparent little bonnet, turned confidinglyupwards to his own, of the winning ways, the playfully imperiousgestures, the sweet caressing voice--of the hope thrilling to his veryheart that perhaps for him might be reserved the blissful lot of thusjourneying with her by his side through life. 

As they passed into the Park at Albert Gate, two of his youngcompanions nodded and took off their hats, elbowing each other, as whoshould say, "I suppose that's a case!" How proud Dick felt, and howhappy! The quarter of a mile that brought him to Apsley House seemeda direct road to Paradise; the man who is always watering therhododendrons shone like a glorified being, and the soft west windfanned his temples like an air from heaven. How pleasant she was, howquaint, how satirical, how amusing! Not the least frightened when thatoff-horse shied in Piccadilly--not the least impatient (neither, besure, was he) when a block of carriages kept them stationary for tenminutes in the narrow gorge of Bond Street. Long before they stoppedat Rose and Brilliant's it was all over with Dick. 

"You're not to get out, " said Maud, while they drew up to the door ofthat fashionable jeweller. "Yes, you may, just to keep my dress offthe wheel, but you mustn't come in. I said I'd a treat for you; nowtell me without prevarication--will you have sleeve-links with acipher or a monogram? Speak up--in one word--quick!"

Sleeve-links! and from _her_! A present to be valued and cherishedmore than life itself. He could hardly believe his senses. Far toobewildered to solve the knotty point of cipher _versus_ monogram, hemuttered some incoherent syllables, and only began to recover when hehad stared blankly for a good five minutes at the off-horse's ears, from the driving-seat of his phaeton. 

It took a long time apparently to pick out those sleeve-links. Perhapsthe choicest assortment of such articles remained in the back shop, for thither Miss Bruce retired; and it is possible she may haveappealed to the proprietor's taste in her selection, since she wascloseted with that gentleman in earnest conference for three-quartersof an hour. Dick had almost got tired of waiting, when she emerged atlast to thank him for her drive, and to present him, as she affirmed, with the results of her protracted shopping. 

"There is a design on them already, " said she, slipping a little boxof card into his hand with her pleasantest smile, "so I could not haveyour initials engraved, but I dare say you won't lose them all thesame. "

Dick rather thought _not_, hiding the welcome keepsake away in hiswaistcoat-pocket, as near his heart as the construction of thatgarment would permit; but his day's happiness was over now, for Mrs. Stanmore had arrived in her brougham to take his companion away forthe rest of the afternoon. 

That night, before he went to bed, I think he was fool enough to kissthe insensible sleeve-links more than once. They were indeed choicelittle articles of workmanship, bearing on their surface two quaintand fanciful designs, representing a brace of Cupids in difficulty, the one singed by his own torch, the other crying over a broken bow. 

At the same hour Maud was enclosing an order for a large sum of moneyin a letter which seemed to cost her much study and vexation. EvenMiss Bruce found some difficulty in explaining to a lover that shevalued truth, honour, and fidelity at so many hundred pounds, whileshe begged to forward him a cheque for the amount in lieu of the goodsmarked "damaged and returned. "

CHAPTER X

THE FAIRY QUEEN

I have said that Simon Perkins was a painter to the tips of hisfingers. Just as a carpenter cannot help looking at a piece of woodwith a professional glance it is impossible to mistake--a glance thatseems to embrace at once its length, depth, thickness, toughness, and general capabilities--so a painter views every object in nature, animate or inanimate, as a subject for imitation and study of his art. The heavens are not too high, the sea too deep, nor the desert toowide to afford him a lesson; and the human countenance, with itsendless variety of feature and expression, is a book he never weariesof learning by heart. When his professional interest in beauty isenhanced by warmer feelings, it may be imagined that vanity couldrequire no fuller tribute of admiration than the worship of one whosespecial gift it is to decide on the symmetry of outward form. 

As a painter, Simon Perkins approved of Nina Algernon--as a man heloved her. Lest his position should not prove sufficiently fatal, shehad become of late practically identified with his art, almost ascompletely as she was mixed up with his every-day life. For manymonths, perhaps even for years, the germ of a great work had takenroot in his imagination. Slowly, almost painfully, that germ developeditself, passing through several stages, sketch upon sketch, till itcame to maturity at last in the composition of a large picture onwhich he was now employed. 

The subject afforded ample scope for liberty of fancy in form andgrouping--for the indulgence of a gorgeous taste in colouring andcostume. It represented Thomas the Rhymer in Fairyland, at the momentwhen its glamour is falling from his eyes, when its magic lustre isdying out on all that glittering pageantry and the elfin is fading toa gnome. The handsome wizard turns from a crowd of phantom shapes, half lovely, half grotesque--for their change is even now inprogress--to look wistfully and appealingly on the queen. 

There is a pained expression in his comely features, of hurtaffection, and trust betrayed, yet not without a ray of pride andtriumph, that, come what might to the others, she is still unchanged. Around him the fairies are shedding their glory as trees in autumnshed their leaves. Here a sweet laughing face surmounts the hideousbody of an imp, there the bright scales of an unearthly armour shrivelto rottenness and dust. The dazzling robes are turning blank andcolourless, the emerald rays waning to a pale, sad light, the flashingdiadem is dulled and dim. Yet on the fairy queen there lowers noshadow of change, there threaten no symptoms of decay. 

Bathed in the halo of a true though hapless love, she is stillthe same as when he first saw her all those seven long years ago, glistening in immortal charms, and knelt to her for the queen ofheaven, where she rode--"under the linden tree. "

It is obvious that on her countenance, besides the stamp of exceedingbeauty, there must appear sorrow, self-reproach, fortitude, majesty, and undying tenderness. All these the painter thought he read in NinaAlgernon's girlish face. 

So she sat to him dutifully enough for a model of his fairy queen, andif she wearied at times, as I think she must, comforted herself withthe remembrance that in this way she helped the family who gave herbread. 

For the convenience of sitters, Simon Perkins had his painting-room inBerners Street: thither it was his custom to resort in the morning, by penny steamer or threepenny omnibus, and there he spent many happyhours working hard with palette and brush. Not the least golden seemedthose in which Nina accompanied him to sit patiently while he studied, and drew her, line by line, feature by feature. The expeditions to andfro were delightful, the labour was pleasure, the day was gone far toosoon. 

A morning could not but be fine, when, emerging from an omnibus atAlbert Gate, Simon walked by the side of his model through Hyde Parkon their way to Berners Street; but about this period one morningseemed even finer than common, because that Nina, taking his arm asthey crossed Rotten Row, thought fit to confide to him an interview ofthe day before with Aunt Jemima, in which she extorted from that dearold lady with some difficulty the fact of her own friendless positionin the world. 

"And I don't mind it a bit, " continued the girl, catching her voicelike a child, as was her habit when excited, "for I'm sure you're allso kind to me that I'd much rather not have any other friends. And Idon't want to be independent, and I'll never leave you, so long asyou'll keep me. And O, Simon, isn't it good of your aunts, and youtoo, to have taken care of me ever since I was quite a little thing?For I'm no relation, you know--and how can I ever do enough for you? Ican't. It's impossible. And you don't want me to, if I could!"

Notwithstanding the playful manner which was part of Nina's self, there were tears of real feeling in her eyes, and I doubt if Simon'swere quite dry while he answered--

"You belong to us just as much as if you _were_ a relation, Nina. Myaunts have said so ever since I can remember, and as for me, why youused to ride on my foot when you were in short frocks! What a littleromp it was! Always troublesome, and always will be--and that'swhy we're so fond of you. " He spoke lightly, but his voice shooknevertheless. 

"So you ought to be, " she answered. "For you know how much I love youall. "

"What, even stern Aunt Jemima?" said this blundering young man, clumsily beating about the bush, and thus scaring the bird quite asmuch as if he had thrust his hand boldly into the nest. 

"Aunt Jemima best of all, " replied Nina saucily, "because she's theeldest, and tries to keep me in order, but she can't. "

"And which of us next best, Nina?" continued he, turning away withextraordinary interest in a mowing-machine. 

"Aunt Susannah, of course. " This very demurely, while tightening herpretty lips to keep back a laugh. 

"Then I come last, " he observed gently; but there was something in thetone that made her glance sharply in his face. 

She pressed his arm. "You dear old simple Simon, " said she kindly. "Surely you must know me by this time. I love you very dearly, just asif you were my brother. Brother, indeed! I don't think if I'd a fatherI could be much fonder of him than I am of you. "

What a bright morning it had been five minutes ago, and now the skyseemed clouded all at once. Simon even thought the statue of Achilleslooked more grim and ghostly than usual, lowering there in his nakedbronze. 

She had wounded him very deeply, that pretty unconscious archer. Theserandom shafts for which no interposing shield makes ready are sureto find the joints in our harness. A tough hard nature such asconstitutes the true fighter only presses more doggedly to the front, but gentler spirits are fain to turn aside out of the battle, and gohome to die. There came a dimness before Simon's eyes, and a ringingin his ears. He scarcely heard his companion, while she asked--

"Who are those men bowing? Do you know them? They must take me forsomebody else. "

"Those men bowing" were two no less important characters than LordBearwarden and Tom Ryfe, the latter in the act of selling the formera horse. Such transactions, for some mysterious reason, always takeplace in the morning, and whatever arguments may be adduced againsta too enthusiastic worship of the noble animal, at least it promotesearly rising. 

Tom Ryfe was one of those men rarely seen in the saddle or on the box, but who, nevertheless, always seem to have a horse to dispose of, whatever be the kind required. Hack, hunter, pony, phaeton-horse, hewas either possessor of the very animal you wanted, or could suit youwith it at twenty-four hours' notice; yet if you met him by accidentriding in the Park, he was sure to tell you he had been mounted bya friend; if you saw him driving a team--and few could handle fourhorses in a crowded thoroughfare with more neatness and precision--youmight safely wager it was from the box of another man's coach. 

He was supposed to be a very fine rider over a country, and there werevague traditions of his having gone exceedingly well through greatruns on special occasions; but these exploits had obviously lostnothing of their interest in the process of narration, and were indeedenhanced by that obscurity which increases the magnitude of mostthings, in the moral as in the material world. 

Mr. Ryfe knew all the sporting men about London, but not their wives. He was at home on the Downs and the Heath, in the pavilion at Lord's, and behind the traps of the Red House. He dined pretty frequently atthe barracks of the household troops, welcome to the genial spiritsof his entertainers, chiefly for those qualities with which theythemselves credited him; and he called Bearwarden "My lord, " whereforethat nobleman thought him a snob, and would perhaps have consideredhim a still greater if he had _not_. The horse in question showedgood points and fine action. Mr. Ryfe walked, trotted, cantered, and finally reined him up at the rails on which Lord Bearwarden wasleaning. 

"Rather a flat-catcher, Tom, " said that nobleman, between the whiffsof a cigar. "Too much action for a hunter, and too little body. Hewouldn't carry my weight if the ground was deep, though he's not a badgoer, I'll admit. "

"Exactly what I said at first, my lord, " answered Tom, slipping thereins through his fingers, and letting the horse reach over the ironbar against his chest to crop the tufts of grass beneath, an attitudein which his fine shoulders and liberty of frame showed to greatadvantage. "I never thought he was a fourteen-stone horse, and I nevertold you so. "

"And I never told _you_ I rode fourteen stone, did I?" replied LordBearwarden, who was a little touchy on that score. "Thirteen five atthe outside, and not so much as that after deer-stalking in Scotland. He's clean thoroughbred, isn't he?"

The purchaser was biting, and Tom understood his business as if he hadbeen brought up to it. 

"Clean, " he answered, passing his leg over the horse's neck, andsliding to the ground, thus leaving his saddle empty for the other. "But he's thrown away on a heavy man. His place is carrying thirteenstone over high Leicestershire. Nothing could touch him there amongstthe hills. Jumping's a vulgar accomplishment. Plenty of them can jumpif one dare ride them, but he's really an extraordinary fencer. Such amouth, too, and such a _gentleman_! Why he's the pleasantest hack inLondon. You like a nice hack, my lord. Get up and feel him. It's likeriding a bird. "

So Lord Bearwarden jumped on, and altered the stirrups, and crammedhis hat down, ere he rode the horse to and fro, trying him in allhis paces, and probably falling in love with him forthwith, for hereturned with a brightened eye and higher colour to Tom Ryfe on thefootway. 

It was at this juncture both gentlemen started and took their hats offto the lady who walked some fifty paces off, arm-in-arm with SimonPerkins, the painter. 

Their salute was not returned. The lady, indeed, to whom it wasaddressed seemed to hurry on all the faster with her companion. It wasremarkable, and both remarked it, that neither made any observation onthis lack of courtesy, but finished their bargain without apparentlyhalf so much interest in sale or purchase as they felt five minutesago. 

"You'll dine with us, Tom, on the 11th?" said Bearwarden, when theyparted opposite Knightsbridge Barracks, but he was obviously thinkingof something else. 

"On the 11th, " repeated Tom--"delighted, my lord--at eight o'clock, I suppose, " and turned his horse's head soberly towards Piccadilly, proceeding at a walk, as one who revolved certain reflections, not ofthe most agreeable, in his mind. A dinner at the barracks was usuallyrather an event with Mr. Ryfe, but on the present occasion he forgotall about it before he had gone a hundred yards. 

Lord Bearwarden, rejecting the temptation of luncheon in themess-room, ran up-stairs to his own quarters to think--of course hesmoked at the same time. 

This nobleman was one of the many of his kind who, to their credit beit said, are not spoiled by sailing down the stream with the wind intheir favour. He had been "a good fellow" at Eton, he remained "a goodfellow" in the regiment. With general society he was not perhaps quiteso popular. People said he "required knowing"; and for those whodidn't choose to take the trouble of knowing him he was a littlereserved; with men, even a little rough. His manner was of the world, worldly, and gave the idea of complete heartlessness and _savoirfaire_; yet under this seemingly impervious covering lurked a womanlyromance of temperament, a womanly tenderness of heart, than whichnothing would have made him so angry as to be accused of possessing. His habits were manly and simple, his chief ambition was todistinguish himself as a soldier, and so far as he could findopportunity he had seen service with credit on the staff. A keensportsman, he could ride and shoot as well as his neighbours, andthis is saying no little amongst the young officers of the HouseholdBrigade. 

Anything but a "ladies' man, " there was yet something aboutBearwarden, irrespective of his income and his coronet, that seemedto interest women of all temperaments and characters. They would turnaway from far handsomer, better dressed, and more amusing people toattract his notice when he entered a room, and the more enterprisingwould even make fierce love to him on further acquaintance, particularly after they discovered what up-hill work it was. Do theyappreciate a difficulty the greater trouble it requires to surmount, or do they enjoy a scrape the more, that they have to squeezethemselves into it by main force? I wonder if the sea-nymphs lovetheir Tritons because those zoophytes must necessarily be so cold! Itis doubtless against the hard impenetrable rock that the sea-wavesdash themselves again and again. Bearwarden responded but faintly tothe boldest advances. There must be a reason for it, said the fairassailants. Curiosity grew into interest, and, flavoured with a dashof pique, formed one of those messes with which, in stimulating theirvanity, women fancy they satisfy their hunger of the heart. 

Bearwarden was a man with a history; of this they were quite sure, andherein they were less mistaken than people generally find themselveswho jump to conclusions. Yes, Bearwarden had a history, and a sad one, so far as the principal actor was concerned. Indeed he dared notthink much about it even yet, and drove it--for he was no weak, sillysentimentalist--by sheer force of will out of his mind. Indeed, if ithad not wholly changed his _real_ self, it had encrusted him with thathardness and roughness of exterior which he turned instinctively tothe world. The same thing had happened to him that happens to most ofus at one time or another. Just as the hunting man, sooner or later, is pretty sure to be laid up with a broken collar-bone, so in thecareer of life must be encountered that inevitable disaster whichresults in a wounded spirit and a sore heart. The collar-bone, we allknow, is a six weeks' job; but injuries of a tenderer nature takefar longer to heal. Nevertheless, the cure of these, too, is but aquestion of time, though, to carry on the metaphor, I think ineither case the hapless rider loses some of the zest and dash whichdistinguished his earlier performances, previous to discomfiture. "Only a woman's hair, " wrote Dean Swift on a certain packet hiddenaway in his desk. And thus a very dark page in Lord Bearwarden'shistory might have been headed "Only a woman's falsehood. " Not much tomake a fuss about, surely; but he was kind, generous, of a peculiarlytrustful disposition, and it punished him very sharply, though hetried hard to bear his sorrow like a man. It was the usual business. He had attached himself to a lady of somewhat lower social standingthan his own, of rather questionable antecedents, and whom the worldaccepted to a certain extent on sufferance, as it were, and underprotest, yet welcomed her cordially enough, nevertheless. Hisrelations abused her, his friends warned him against her; of coursehe loved her very dearly, all the more that he had to sacrifice manyinterests for her sake, and so resolved to make her his wife. 

For reasons of her own she stipulated that he should leave hisregiment, and even in this, though he would rather have lost an arm, he yielded to her wish. 

The letter to his colonel, in which he requested permission to send inhis papers, actually lay sealed on the table, when he received a notein a well-known hand that taught him the new lesson he had neverexpected to learn. The writer besought his forgiveness, deploring herown heartlessness the while, and proceeded to inform him that therewas a Somebody else in the field to whom she was solemnly promised(just as she had been to him), and with whom she was about to uniteher Lot--capital L. She never could be happy, of course, but it washer destiny: to fight against it was useless, and she trusted Lord B. Would forget her, etc. , etc. All this in well-chosen language, andwritten with an exceedingly good pen. 

It was lucky his letter to the colonel had not been sent. In suchsorrows as these a soldier learns how his regiment is his real home, how his comrades are the staunchest, the least obtrusive, and thesincerest of friends. 

Patting his charger's neck at the very next field-day, Bearwardentold himself there was much to live for still; that it would beunsoldierlike, unmanly, childish, to neglect duty, to wince frompleasure, to turn his back on all the world had to offer, only becausea woman followed her nature and changed her mind. 

So he bore it very well, and those who knew him best wondered he caredso little: and all the while he never heard a strain of music, norfelt a ray of sunshine, nor looked on beauty of any kind whatever, without that gnawing cruel pain at his heart. Thus the years passedon, and the women of his family declared that Bearwarden was aconfirmed old bachelor. 

When he met Miss Bruce at Lady Goldthred's, no doubt he admired herbeauty and approved of her manner, but it was neither beauty normanner, nor could he have explained what it was, that caused thepulses within him to stir, as they stirred long ago--that brought backa certain flavour of the old draught he had quaffed so eagerly, tofind it so bitter at the dregs. Another meeting with Maud, a danceor two, a whisper on a crowded staircase, and Lord Bearwarden toldhimself that the deep wound had healed at last; that the grass wasgrowing fresh and fair over the grave of a dead love; that for himtoo, as for others, there might still be an interest in the chances ofthe great game. 

Surely the blind restored to sight is more grateful, more joyous, moretriumphant, than he who, born in darkness, finds himself overwhelmedand dazzled with the glare of his new gift!

Some men are so strangely constituted that they like a woman all thebetter for "snubbing" them. Lord Bearwarden had never felt so gravean interest in Miss Bruce as when he entered the barracks under theimpression she had cut him dead, without the slightest pretext orexcuse. 

Not so Tom Ryfe. In that gentleman's mind mingled the severaldisagreeable sensations of surprise, anger, jealousy, and disgust. Ofthese he chewed the bitter cud while he rode home, wondering with whomMiss Bruce could thus dare to parade herself in public, maddened atthe open rebellion inferred by so ignoring his presence and his love, vowing to revenge himself without delay by tightening the curb andmaking her feel, to her cost, the hold he possessed over her personand her actions. By the time he reached his uncle's house, he hadmade up his mind to demand an explanation, to come to a finalunderstanding, to assert his authority, and to avenge his pride. Heturned pale to see Maud's monogram on the envelope of a letter thathad arrived during his absence; paler still, when from this letter athin slip of stamped paper fluttered to the floor--white to the verylips while he read the sharp, decisive, cruel lines that accounted forits presence in the missive, and that bade him relinquish at a wordall the hope and happiness of his life. Without unbuttoning his coat, without removing the hat from his head, or the gloves from his hands, he sat fiercely down, and wrote his answer. 

"You think to get rid of me, Miss Bruce, as you would get rid of anunsuitable servant, by giving him his wages and bidding him to goabout his business. You imagine that the debt between us is such as asum of money can at once wipe out: that because you have been able toraise this money (and how you did so I think I have a right to ask)our business connection ceases, and the _lover_, inconvenient, nodoubt, from his priority of claim, must go to the wall directly the_lawyer_ has been paid his bill. You never were more mistaken in yourlife. Have you forgotten a certain promise I hold of yours, written inyour own hand, signed with your own signature, furnished, as itselfattests, of your own free will? and do you think I am a likely man toforego such an advantage? You might have had me for a friend--how deara friend I cannot bear to tell you now. If you persist in making me anenemy, you have but yourself to blame. I am not given to threaten; andyou know that I can generally fulfil what I promise. I give you fairwarning then: so surely as you try, in the faintest item, to eludeyour bargain, so surely will I cross your path, and spoil your game, and show you up before the world. Mine you are, and mine you shall be. If of free will, happily; if not, then to your misery and my own. But, mark me, always _mine_!"

"The wisest clerks are not the wisest men. " It is a bad plan ever todrive a woman into a corner; and with all his knowledge of law, Ithink Mr. Ryfe could hardly have written a more ill-advised andinjudicious letter than the above to Miss Bruce. 

CHAPTER XI

IN THE SCALES

It was a declaration of war. Of all women in the world--and this issaying a great deal--Maud was perhaps the least disposed to acceptanything like usurpation, or assumption of undue authority, especiallyon the part of one in whose character she had detected an element ofweakness. Tom Ryfe, notwithstanding his capabilities, was a fool, likemost others, where his feelings were touched, and proved it by theinjudicious means he used to attain the end he so desired. 

Locked in her own room, she read his letter over and over again, witha bitter curl of her lip, that denoted hatred, scorn, even contempt. When a man has been unfortunate enough to excite the last of theseamiable feelings, he should lose no time in decamping, for the game iswholly and irretrievably lost. Mr. Ryfe would have felt this, couldhe have seen the gestures of the woman he loved, while she tore hisletter into shreds--could he have marked the carriage of her haughtyhead, the compression of her sweet, resolute lips, the fierce energyof her white, cruel hands. Maud paced the floor for some half-dozenturns, opened the window, arranged the bottles on her toilet-table, the flowers on her chimney-piece, even took a good long look atherself in the glass, and sat down to think. 

For weeks she had been revolving in her mind the necessity of breakingwith Tom Ryfe, the policy of securing position and freedom by an earlymarriage. That odious letter decided her; and now it only remained tomake her choice. There are women--and these, though sometimes themost fascinating, by no means the most trustworthy of their sex--whopossess over mankind a mesmeric influence, almost akin to witchcraft. Without themselves feeling deeply, perhaps for the very reason thatthey do _not_, they are capable of exercising a magic sway over thosewith whom they come in contact; and while they attract more admirersthan they know what to do with, are seldom very fortunate in theirselection, or happy in their eventual lot. Miss Bruce was one of thesewitches, far more mischievous than the old conventional hags we usedto burn under the sapient government of our first Stuart, and she knewa deal better than any old woman who ever mounted a broom-stick thecredulity of her victims, the dangerous power of her spells. These shehad lately been using freely. It was time to turn their exercise togood account. 

"Mr. Stanmore _would_, in a moment, " thought Maud, "if I only gave himthe slightest hint. And I like him. Yes, I like him very much indeed. Poor Dick! What a fool one can make a man look, to be sure, when he'sin love, as people call it! Aunt Agatha wouldn't much fancy it, Isuppose; not that I should care two pins about that. And Dick's veryeasy to manage--too easy, I think. He seems as if I couldn't make himangry. I made him _sorry_, though, the other day, poor fellow! butthat's not half such fun. Now Lord Bearwarden _has_ got a temper, I'msure. I wonder, if we were to quarrel, which would give in first. Idon't think I should. I declare it would be rather nice to try. He'sgood-looking--that's to say, good-looking for a _man_. It's an uglyanimal at best. And they tell me the Den is such a pretty place in theautumn! And twenty thousand a year! I don't care so much about themoney part of it. Of course one must have money; but Selina St. Croixassured me that they called him The Impenetrable; and there wasn't agirl in London he ever danced with twice. _Wasn't_ there? He dancedwith me three times in two hours; but I didn't say so. I supposepeople _would_ open their eyes. I've a great mind--a _very_ greatmind. But then, there's Dick. He'd be horribly bored, poor fellow! Andthe worst of it is, he wouldn't _say_ anything; but I know exactly howhe'd look, and I should feel I was a least! What a bother it all is!But something must be done. I can't go on with this sort of life; Ican't stand Aunt Agatha much longer. There she goes, calling on thestairs again! Why can't she send my maid up, if she wants me?"

But Miss Bruce ran down willingly enough when her aunt informed her, from the first floor, that she must make haste, and Dick was in thelarge drawing-room. 

She found mother and son, as they called themselves, buried in alitter of cards, envelopes, papers of every description referring to"Peerage, " "Court Guide, " visiting-list--all such aids to memory--thecharts, as it were, of that voyage which begins in the middle ofApril, and ends with the last week in July. As usual on greatundertakings, from the opening of a campaign to the issuing ofinvitations for a ball, too much had been left to the last moment;there was a great deal to do, and little time to do it. 

"We can't get on without _you_, Miss Bruce, " said Dick, with risingcolour and averted eyes, that denoted how much less efficient anauxiliary he would prove since she had come into the room. "My motherhas mislaid the old visiting-list, and the new one only goes down toT: so that the U's, and the V's, and W's will be all left out. Thinkhow we shall be hated in London next week! To be sure it's what mymother calls 'small and early' like young potatoes, and I hear thereare three hundred cards sent out already. "

"You'll only hinder us, Mr. Stanmore, " said Maud. "Hadn't you bettergo away again?" but observing Dick's face fall, the smiling eyesadded, plainly as words could speak, "if you _can_!" She looked palethough, and unhappy, he thought. Of course he felt fonder of her thanever. 

"Hinder you!" he repeated. "Why, I'm the mainstay of the wholeperformance. Don't I bring you eight-and-twenty dancing men? all atonce if you wish it, in a body, like soldiers. "

"Nonsense, my dear, " interrupted Aunt Agatha. "The staircase will becrowded enough as it is. "

Maud laughed. 

"But are they _real_ dancing men?" she asked, "not 'dummies, ''duffers, '--what do you call them? people who only stand against thewall and look idiotic. They're no use unless they work regularlythrough, as if it was a match or a boat-race. I don't call it dancingto hover about, and be always wanting to go down to tea or supper, andto haunt one and look cross if one behaves with common propriety--likesome people I know. "

Dick accepted the imputation. 

"_I'm_ not a dancing man, " said he, "though my eight-and-twentyfriends are. I cannot see the pleasure of being hustled about in a hotroom with a girl I never saw before in my life, and never want to seeagain, --who is looking beyond me all the time, watching the door foranother fellow who never comes. "

"Then why on earth do you go?" asked Miss Bruce simply. 

"_You_ know why, " he answered in a low voice, without raising his eyesto her face. 

"O! I dare say, " replied Maud; but though it was couched in a tone ofbanter, the smile that accompanied this pertinent remark seemed toafford Dick unbounded satisfaction. 

Mrs. Stanmore looked up from her writing-table. 

"I can't get on while you two are jabbering in that corner. " (She hadnot heard a word either of them said. ) "I'll take my visiting-listup-stairs. You can put these cards in envelopes and direct them. Itwill help me a little, but you're neither of you much use. "

She gathered her materials together, and was leaving the room. Dick'sheart began beating to some purpose; but his step-mother stopped atthe door and addressed her niece. 

"By the bye, Maud, I'd almost forgotten. I'm going to Rose andBrilliant's. Fetch me your diamonds, and I'll take them to be cleaned. I can see the people myself, you know, and make sure of your havingthem back in time for the ball. "

The girl turned white. Dick saw it, though his mother did not. Heobserved, too, that she gasped as if she was trying to form wordswhich would not come. 

"I am not going to wear them. " She got it out at last with difficulty. 

"Not wear them! nonsense!" was the reply. "Bring them down, my dear, at any rate, and let me look them over. If you don't want it, youmight lend me the collar--it would go very well with my mauve satin. "

Maud's eyes turned here and there as if to look for help, and it wasDick's nature to throw himself in the gap. 

"I'll take them, mother, " said he. "My phaeton's at the door now. You've plenty to do, and it will save you a long drive. Besides, I canblow the people up more effectually than a lady. "

"I'm not so sure of that, " answered Mrs. Stanmore. "However, it's asensible plan enough. Maud can fetch them down for you, and you maycome back to dinner if you're disengaged. "

So speaking, Mrs. Stanmore sailed off, leaving the young people alone. 

Maud thanked him with such a look as would have repaid Dick for a farlonger expedition than from Belgravia to Bond Street. 

"What should I do without you, Mr. Stanmore?" she said. "You alwayscome to the rescue just when I want you most. "

He coloured with delight. 

"I like doing things for _you_, " said he simply; "but I don't knowthat taking a parcel a mile and a half is such a favour after all. Ifyou'll bring it, I'll start directly you give the word. "

Miss Bruce had been very pale hitherto, now a burning blush swept overher face to the temples. 

"I--I can't bring you my diamonds, " said she, "for the first of thosethirty reasons that prevented Napoleon's general from bringing up hisguns--I haven't got them: they're at Rose and Brilliant's already. "

"Maud!" he exclaimed, unconsciously using her Christian name--aliberty with which she seemed in nowise offended. 

"You may well say 'Maud'!" she murmured in a soft, low voice. "If youknew all, you'd never call me Maud. I don't believe you'd ever speakto me again. " "Then I'd rather not know all, " he replied. "Though itwould have to be something very bad indeed if it could make me thinkill of you! Don't tell me anything, Miss Bruce, except that you wouldlike your diamonds back again. "

"They _must_ be got back!" she exclaimed. "I _must_ have them back byfair means or foul. I can't face Aunt Agatha, now that she knows, andcan't appear at her ball without them. O! Mr. Stanmore, what shall Ido? Do you think Rose and Brilliant's would _lend_ them to me only forone night?"

Dick began to suspect something, began to surmise that this young ladyhad been "raising the wind, " as he called it, and to wonder for whatmysterious purpose she could want so large a sum as had necessitatedthe sacrifice of her most valuable jewels; but she seemed in suchdistress that he felt this was no time for explanation. 

"Do!" he repeated cheerfully, and walking to the window that he mightnot seem to notice her trouble. "Why do as I wish you had done allthrough. Leave everything to _me_. I was going to say 'trust me, ' butI don't want to be trusted. I only want to be made use of. "

Her better nature was conquering her fast. 

"But indeed I _will_ trust you, " she murmured. "You deserve to betrusted. You are so kind, so good, so true. You will despise me, Iknow--very likely hate me, and never come to see me again; but I don'tcare--I can't help it. Sit down, and I will tell you everything. "

He did not blush nor stammer now, his voice was very firm, and hestood up like a man. 

"Miss Bruce, " said he, "Maud--yes, I'm not afraid to call you Maud--Iwon't hear another word. I don't want to be told anything. Whateveryou have done makes no difference to me. Some day, perhaps, you'llremember how I believed in you. In the meantime tell my mother thatthe diamonds will be back in time for her ball. How late it is! I mustbe off like a shot. Those horses will be perfectly wild with waiting. I'm coming to dinner. Good-bye!"

He hurried away without another look, and Maud, burying her head inthe sofa-cushions, burst out crying, as she had not cried since shewas a child. 

"He's too good for me!--he's too good for me!" she repeated, betweenthe sobs she tried hard to keep back. "How wicked and vile I should beto throw him over! He's too good for me!--too good for me by far!"

CHAPTER XII

"A CRUEL PARTING"

The phaeton-horses went off like wildfire, Dick driving as if he wasdrunk. Omnibus-cads looked after him with undisguised admiration, and hansom cabmen, catching the enthusiasm of pace, found themselvesactually wishing they were gentlemen's servants, to have their beerfound, and sit behind such steppers as those!

The white foam stood on flank and shoulder when the pair were pulledup at Rose and Brilliant's door. 

Dick bustled in with so agitated an air that an experienced shopmaninstantly lifted the glass from a tray containing the usual assortmentof wedding-rings. 

"I'm come about some diamonds, " panted the customer, casting a wistfulglance towards these implements of coercion the while. "A set ofdiamonds--very valuable--left here by a lady--a young lady--I wantthem back again. "

He looked about him helplessly; nevertheless, the shopman, himself amarried man, became at once less commiserating, and more confidential. 

"Diamonds!" he repeated. "Let me see--yes, sir--quite so--I think Irecollect. Perhaps you'll step in and speak to our principal. Mindyour hat, if you please, sir--yes, sir--this way, sir. "

So saying, he ushered Mr. Stanmore through glass doors into a neatlittle room at the back, where sat a bald, smiling personage in soberattire, something between that of a provincial master of hounds and alow-church clergyman, whose cool composure, as it struck Dick at thetime, afforded a ludicrous contrast to his own fuss and agitation. 

"_My_ name is Rose, sir, " said the placid man. "Pray take a seat. "

Nobody can "take a seat" under feelings of strong excitement. Dickgrasped the proffered chair by the back. 

"Mr. Rose, " he began, "what I have to say to you goes no farther. "

"O dear, no!--certainly not--Mr. Stanmore, I believe? I hope I see youwell, sir. This is my _private_ room, you understand, sir. Whateveraffairs we transact here are _in_ private. How can I accommodate you, Mr. Stanmore?" Dick looked so eager, the placid man was persuaded hemust want money. 

"There's a young lady, " said Dick, plunging at his subject, "who lefther diamonds here last week--quite a young lady--very handsome. Didshe give you her name?"

Mr. Rose smiled and shook his head benevolently. "If any jewels ofvalue were left with _us_, you may be sure we satisfied ourselves ofthe party's name and address. Perhaps I can help you, Mr. Stanmore. Can you favour me with the date?"

"Yes, I can, " answered Dick, "and the name too. It's no use humbuggingabout it. Miss Bruce was the lady's name. There! Now she wants herjewels back again. She's changed her mind. "

Mr. Rose took a ledger off the table, and ran his finger down itscolumns. "Quite correct, sir, " said he, stopping at a particularentry. "You are acquainted with the circumstances, of course. "

Dick nodded, esteeming it little breach of confidence to look as if heknew all about it. 

"There is no difficulty whatever, " continued the bland Mr. Rose. "Happy to oblige Miss Bruce. Happy to oblige _you_. We shall charge asmall sum for commission. Nothing more--O dear, no! Have them cleanedup? Certainly, sir; and you may depend on their being sent home intime. At your convenience, Mr. Stanmore. No hurry, sir. You can writeme your cheque for the amount. Perhaps I'd better draw out a littlememorandum. We shall make a mere nominal charge for cleaning. "

Dick glanced over the memorandum, including its nominal charge forcleaning, which, perhaps from ignorance, did not strike him as beingextraordinarily low. He was somewhat startled at the sum total, butwhen this gentleman made up his mind, it was not easy to turn him froman object in view. 

The steppers, hardly cool, were hurried straight off to his bankers', to be driven, after their owner's interview with one of the partners, back again to the great emporium of their kind at Tattersall's. 

A woman who wants to make a sacrifice parts with her jewels, a mansells his horses. Honour to each, for each offers up what is nearestand dearest to the heart. 

Dick Stanmore lived no more within his income than other people. Toget back these diamonds he would have to raise a considerable sum. There was nothing else to be done. The hunters must go: nay, the wholestud, phaeton-horses, hacks, and all. Yet Dick marched into the officeto secure stalls for an early date, with a bright eye and a smilingface. He was proving, to _himself_, at least, how well he loved her. 

The first person he met in the yard was Lord Bearwarden. Thatnobleman, though knowing him but slightly, had rather a liking forStanmore, cemented by a certain good run they once saw in company, when each approved of the other's straightforward riding and unusualforbearance towards hounds. 

"There's a nice horse in the boxes, " said my lord; "looks very likeyour sort, Stanmore, and they say he'll go cheap, though he's quitesound. "

"Thanks, " answered Dick. "But I'm all the other way. Been takingstalls. Going to sell. "

"Draft?" asked his lordship, who did not waste words. 

"All of them, " replied the other. "Even the hacks, saddlery, clothing, in short, the whole plant, and without reserve--going to give itup--at any rate for a time. "

"Sorry for that, " replied Bearwarden, adding, courteously, "Can Ioffer you a lift? I'm going your way. Indeed, I'm going to call atyour mother's. Shall I find the ladies at home?"

"A little later you will, " said honest, unsuspecting Dick, who had notyet learned the lesson that teaches it is not worth while to trust ormistrust any of the sex. "They'll be charmed to give you some tea. I'moff to Croydon to look over my poor screws before they're sold, andbreak it to my groom. "

"That's a right good fellow, " thought Lord Bearwarden, "and not a badconnection if I was fool enough to marry the dark girl, after all. " Sohe called out to Dick, who had one foot on the step of his phaeton--

"I say, Stanmore, come and dine with us on the 11th; we've got two orthree hunting fellows, and we can go on together afterwards to yourmother's ball. "

"All right, " said Stanmore, and bowled away in the direction ofCroydon at the rate of fourteen miles an hour. If the horses wereto be sold, people might just as well be made aware of the class ofanimal he kept. Though the sacrifice involved was considerable, itwould be wise to lessen it by all judicious means in his power. 

_How_ great a sacrifice he scarcely felt till he arrived at hiscountry stables. 

Dick Stanmore had been fonder of hunting than any other pursuit in theworld, ever since he went out for the first time on a Shetland pony, and came home with his nose bleeding, at five years old. 

The spin and "whizz" of his reel, the rush of a brown mountain streamwith its fringe of silver birch and stunted alder, the white side of aleaping salmon, and the gasp of that noble fish towed deftly into theshallows at last, afforded him a natural and unmixed pleasure. Heloved the heather dearly, the wild hillside, the keen pure air, thesteady setters, the flap and cackle of the rising grouse, the ringingshot that laid him low, born in the purple, and fated there to die. Nor, when corn-fields were cleared, and partridges, almost as swift asbullets and as numerous as locusts, were driven to and fro across theopen, was his aim to be foiled by a flight little less rapid than theshot that arrested it. With a rifle in his hand, a general knowledgeof the surrounding forest, and a couple of gillies, give him the windof a royal stag feeding amongst his hinds, and despite the femininejealousy and instinctive vigilance of the latter, an hour's stalkwould put the lord of the hills at the mercy of Dick Stanmore. In allthese sports he was a proficient, from all of them he derived a keengratification, but fox-hunting was his passion and his delight. 

A fine rider, he loved the pursuit so well, and was so interested inhounds, that he gave his horse every opportunity of carrying him infront, and as his natural qualities included a good eye, and thatconfidence in the immediate future which we call "nerve, " he wasseen in difficulties less often than might be expected from hispredilection in favour of "the shortest way. "

His horses generally appeared to go pleasantly, and to reciprocatetheir rider's confidence, for he certainly seemed to get more work outof them than his neighbours. 

As Mr. Crop, his stud-groom, remarked in the peculiar style of Englishaffected by that trustworthy but exceedingly impracticable servant--

"Take and put him on a 'arf-bred' 'oss, an' he rides him like ahangel, nussin' of him, and coaxin' of him, and sendin' of him along, _beautiful_ for ground, an' uncommon liberal for fences. Take an' puthim on a thoro'-bred 'un, like our Vampire 'oss, and--Lor!"

One secret perhaps of that success in the hunting-field, which, whenwell mounted, even Mr. Crop's eloquence was powerless to express butby an interjection, lay in his master's affection for the animal. Dick Stanmore dearly loved a horse, as some men do love them, totallyirrespective of any pleasure or advantage to be derived from theiruse. 

There is a fanciful oriental legend which teaches that when Allah wasengaged in the work of creation, he tempered the lightning with thesouth wind, and thus created the horse. Whimsical as is this idea, ityet suggests the swiftness, the fire, the mettlesome, generous, butplastic temperament of our favourite quadruped--the only one ofour dumb servants in whose spirit we can rouse at will the utmostemulation, the keenest desire for the approval of its lord. Even thecountenance of this animal denotes most of the qualities we affect toesteem in the human race--courage, docility, good-temper, reflection(for few faces are so thoughtful as that of the horse), gratitude, benevolence, and, above all, trust. Yes, the full brown eye, large, and mild, and loving, expresses neither spite, nor suspicion, norrevenge. It turns on you with the mute unquestioning confidenceof real affection, and you may depend on it under all pressure ofcircumstance, in the last extremity of danger or death. Will you sayas much for the bluest eyes that ever sparkled in mirth, or swam intears, or shone and deepened under the combined influence of triumph, belladonna, and war-paint?

I once heard a man affirm that for him there was in every horse's facethe beauty each of us sees in the one woman he adores. This outrageousposition he assumed after a good run, and, indeed, after the dinnerwhich succeeded it. I will not go quite so far as to agree with him, but I will say that in generosity, temper, and fidelity, there ismany a woman, and man too, who might well take example from the noblequalities of the horse. 

And now Dick Stanmore was about to offer up half-a-dozen of thesevalued servants before the idol he had lately begun to worship, forwhom, indeed, he esteemed no victim too precious, no sacrifice toodear. 

Driving into his stable-yard, he threw the reins to a couple ofhelpers, and made use of Mr. Crop's arm to assist his descent. Thatworthy's face shone with delight. Next to his horses he loved hismaster--chiefly, it is fair to say, as an important ingredient withoutwhich there would be no stud. 

"I was expectin' of ye, sir, " said he, touching an exceedinglystraight-brimmed hat. "Glad to see ye lookin' so well. "

To do him justice, Mr. Crop did his duty as if he always _was_expecting his master. 

"Horses all right?" asked Dick, moving towards the stable-door. 

"'Osses _is_ 'ealthy, I am thankful to say, " replied the groomgravely, "and lookin', too, pretty nigh as I could wish, now they'vedone breakin' with their coats. There's Firetail got a queerishlook--them Northamptonshire 'osses is mostly unsound ones--and themare's off leg's filled; and the Vampire 'oss, he's got a bit of asplent a-comin', but I'll soon frighten that away; an' old Dandybrush, he's awful, but not wuss nor I counted; and the young un--"

"I'll look 'em over, " said Dick, interrupting what threatened to bea long catalogue. "I came down on purpose. The fact is (take thosehorses out and feed them)--the fact is, Crop, I'm going to sell themall. I'm going to send them up to Tattersall's. "

Every groom is more or less a sporting man, and it is the peculiarityof sporting men to betray astonishment at no eventuality, howeverstartling; therefore Mr. Crop, doing violence to his feelings, movednot a muscle of his countenance. 

"I'm sorry to part with them, Crop, " added Dick, a little put out bythe silence of his retainer, and not knowing exactly what to say next. "They've carried me very well--I've seen a deal of fun on them--Idon't suppose I shall ever have such good ones--I don't suppose Ishall ever hunt much again. "

Mr. Crop began to thaw. "They're _good_ 'osses, " he observedsententiously; "but that's not to say as there isn't good 'osseselsewheres. In regard of not huntin' there's a many seasons, askin'your pardon, atween you and me, and I should be sorry to think as Iwasn't goin' huntin', ay, twenty years from now! When is 'em goin' up, sir?" added he, sinking sentiment and coming to business at once. 

"Monday fortnight, " answered Dick, entering a loose box, in whichstood a remarkably handsome mare, that neighed at him, and rubbed herhead against his breast. 

"I should ha' liked another ten days, " replied Crop, for it was animportant part of his system never to accept his master's arrangementswithout a protest. "I could ha' got 'em to show as they ought to showby then. Is the stalls took?"

Dick nodded. He was looking wistfully at the mare, thinking what alight mouth she had, and how boldly she faced water. 

"That leg'll be as clean as my face in a week, " observed Mr. Cropconfidently. "She'll fetch a good price, _she_ will. Sir Frederic'safter _her_, I know. There's nothing but tares in there, sir; oldDandybrush is in the box on the right. "

Dick gave the mare a loving pat, and turned sadly into the residenceof old Dandybrush. 

That experienced animal greeted him with laid-back ears and a grin, asthough to say, "Here you are again! But I like you best in your redcoat. "

They had seen many a good gallop together, and rolled over each otherwith the utmost good-humour, in every description of soil. To look atthe old horse, even in his summer guise, was to recall the happiestmoments of a sufficiently happy life. 

"I'd meant to guv it _him_ pretty sharp, " said Crop; "but I'll let himalone now. He'd 'a carried you, maybe, another season or two, with agood strong dressin'; but them legs isn't what they _was_. Lasttime as I rode of him second horse, I found him different--gettin'inquisitive at his places--and when they gets inquisitive they soonbegins to get slow. You'll look at the Vampire 'oss, sir, before yougo back to town?"

Now "the Vampire 'oss, " as he called him, was an especial favouritewith Mr. Crop. Dick Stanmore had bought him out of training atNewmarket by his groom's advice, and the highbred animal, being riddenby an exceedingly good horseman, had turned out a far better hunterthan common--not invariably the case with horses that begin lifeon the Heath. Crop took great pride in this purchase, confidentlyasserting, and doubtless believing, that England could not produce itsequal. 

He threw the box-door open with the air of a man who is going toexhibit a picture of his own painting. 

"It's a pity to let him go, " said the groom, with a sigh. "Where'llyou get another as can touch him when the ground's deep, like it waslast March? I've had a many to look after, first and last; but such akind 'oss to do for in the stable I never see. Why, if you was togive that 'oss ten feeds of corn a day he'd take an' eat 'em all outclean--wouldn't leave a hoat! And legs. Them's not legs! them's slipsof gutta-percher an' steel! To be sure he'll fetch a hawful price atthe 'ammer--four 'underd, five 'underd, I shouldn't wonder--why he'sworth all the money to look at. Blessed if you mightn't ride a good'ack to death only tryin' to find such another!"

Nevertheless, the Vampire horse was condemned to go up with the rest. Notwithstanding the truth of the groom's protestations, its moneyvalue was exactly the quality that decided the animal's fate. 

Driving back to London, Dick's heart bounded to think that in anhour's time he should meet Miss Bruce again at dinner. How delightfulto be doing all this for her sake, yet to keep the precious secretsafe locked in his own breast, until the moment should come when itwould be judicious to divulge it, making, at the same time, anotherconfession, of which he hoped the result might be happiness for life. 

"I'd do more than that for her, " muttered this enthusiastic younggentleman, while he trotted over Vauxhall Bridge. "I liked my poorhorses better than anything; and that's just the reason I like to partwith them for her sake. My darling, I'd give you the heart out of mybreast, even if I thought you'd tread it under foot and send it backagain!"

Had such an anatomical absurdity been reconcilable with the structureof the human frame, it is possible Miss Bruce might have treated thisimportant organ in the contumelious manner suggested. 

CHAPTER XIII

SIXES AND SEVENS

In the meantime, while Dick Stanmore is hugging himself in the warmatmosphere of hope, while Lord Bearwarden hovers on the brink of astream in which he narrowly escaped drowning long ago, while Tom Ryfeis plunged in depths of anxiety, jealousy, and humiliation that scorchlike liquid fire, Miss Bruce's dark eyes, and winning, wilful ways, have kindled the torch of mistrust and discord between two people ofwhom she has rarely seen the one and never heard of the other. 

Mr. Bargrave's chambers in Gray's Inn were at no time more remarkablefor cleanliness than other like apartments in the same locality; butthe dust lies inch-thick now in all places where dust _can_ lie, because that Dorothea, more moping and tearful than ever, has not theheart to clean up, no, nor even to wash her own hands and face in theafternoon as heretofore. 

She loves her "Jim, " of course, all the more passionately that hemakes her perfectly miserable, neglecting her for days together, and when they do meet, treating her with an indifference far morelacerating than any amount of cruelty or open scorn. 

Not that he is always good-humoured. On the contrary, "Gentleman Jim, "as they call him, has lost much of the rollicking, devil-may-carerecklessness that earned his nickname, and is often morosenow--sometimes even fierce and savage to brutality. 

The poor woman has had a quarrel with him, not two hours ago, originating, it is but fair to state, in her own extremely irritatingconduct regarding beer, Jim being anxious to treat his ladye-love withthat fluid for the purpose, as he said, of "drowning unkindness, " andpossibly with the further view of quenching an inconvenient curiosityshe has lately indulged about his movements. No man likes to bewatched; and the more reason the woman he is betraying has to doubthim, the less patience he shows for her anxiety, the less he toleratesher inquiries, her jealousy, or her reproaches. 

Now Dorothea's suspicions, sharpened by affection, have of late grownextremely wearisome, and Jim has been heard to threaten more than oncethat "if so be as she doesn't mend her manners, and live conformable, he'll take an' hook it, he will, blessed if he won't!"--a dark sayingwhich sinks deeply and painfully into the forlorn one's heart. When, therefore, instead of drinking her share, as usual, of a foaming quartmeasure containing beer, dashed with something stronger, thispoor thing set it down untasted, and forthwith began to cry, thecracksman's anger knew no bounds. 

"Drop it!" he exclaimed brutally. "You'd best, I tell ye! D'ye think Iwant my blessed drink watered with your blessed nonsense? What's cometo ye, ye contrairy devil? I thought I'd larned ye better. I'll see ifI can't larn ye still. Would ye now!"

It was almost a blow, --such a push as is the next thing to actualviolence, and it sent her staggering from the sloppy bar at whichtheir altercation took place against a bench by the wall, where shesat down pale and gasping, to the indignation of a slatternly womannursing her child, and the concern of an honest coalheaver, who had avirago of a wife at home. 

"Easy, mate!" expostulated that worthy, putting his broad framebetween the happy pair. "Hold on a bit, an' give her a drop when shecomes to. She'd 'a throwed her arms about your neck a while ago, an'now she'd as soon knife ye as look at ye. "

Wild-eyed and pale, Dorothea glared round, as Clytemnestra may haveglared when her hand rested on the fatal axe; but this HolbornAgamemnon did not seem destined to fall by a woman's blow, inasmuch asthe tide was effectually turned by another woman's interference. 

The slatternly lady, shouldering her child, as a soldier does hisfirelock, thrust herself eagerly forward. 

"Knife him!" she exclaimed, with a most unfeminine execration. "I'dknife him, precious soon, if it was me, the blessed willen! To takean' use a woman like that there--a nasty, cowardly, sneakin, ' ugly, tallow-faced beast!"

Had it not been for the imputation on his beauty, Dorothea mightperhaps have blazed out in open rebellion, or remained passivein silent sulks; but to hear _her_ Jim, the flash man of a dozengin-shops, the beloved of a score of rivals, called "ugly, " wasmore than flesh and blood could endure. She turned fiercely on herauxiliary and gave battle at once. 

"And who arst _you_ to interfere, mem, if I may wenture to make theinquiry?" said she, with that polite but spasmodic intonation thatdenotes the approaching row. "Keep yerself _to_ yerself, if youplease, mem. And I'll thank ye not to go for to come between me and myyoung man, not till you've got a young man of your own, mem; and ifyou'd like to walk out, there's the door, mem, and don't you try forto give _me_ none o' your sauce, for I'm not a-goin' to put up withit. "

The slatternly woman ran her guns out and returned the broadside withpromptitude. 

"Door, indeed! you poor whey-faced drab, you dare to say the word doorto _me_, a respectable woman, as Mister Tripes here knows me well, andhave a score against me behind that there wery door as you disgraces, and as it's _you_ as ought to be t'other side, you ought; for it's outof the streets as _you_ come, well I knows, an' say another word, andI'll take that there bonnet off of your head, and chuck it into themstreets and _you_ arter it. O dear! O dear! that ever I should bespoke to like this here, and my master out o' work a month comeToosday, and this here gentleman standing by! But I'll set my mark onye, if I get six months for it--I will!"

Thus speaking, or rather screaming, and brandishing her baby, as thegonfalonier waves his gonfalon, the slat-slatternly woman, swellinginto a fury for the nonce, made a dive at Dorothea, which, but for theinterposition of "this here gentleman, " as she called the coalheaver, might have produced considerable mischief. That good man, however, took a deal of "weathering, " as sailors say, and ere either of thecombatants could get round his bulky person, the presence of apoliceman at the door warned them that ordeal by battle had betterbe deferred till a more fitting opportunity. They burst into tears, therefore, simultaneously, and the dispute ended, as such disputesoften do, in a general reconciliation, cemented by the consumption ofmuch excisable fluid, some of it at the expense of the philanthropiccoalheaver, whose simple faith involved a persuasion that the closestconnection must always be preserved between good-fellowship and beer. 

After these potations, it is not surprising that the slatternly womanshould have found herself, baby and all, under the care of the civilpower at a police-station, or that Gentleman Jim and his ladye-loveshould have adjourned to sober themselves in the steaming gallery of aplayhouse. 

Behold them, then, wedged into a front seat, Dorothea's bonnet hangingover the rail, Jim's gaudy handkerchief bulging with oranges, bothspectators too absorbed in the action of the piece to realise itsimprobabilities, and the woman thoroughly identifying herself with thecharacter and fortunes of its heroine. 

The theatre is small, but the audience if not select are enthusiastic;the stage is narrow, but affords room for a deal of strutting andstriding about on the part of an overpowering actor in the inevitablebelt and boots of the melodramatic highwayman. The play representscertain startling passages in the career of one Claude Duval, formerly a running footman, afterwards--strange anomaly!--a robber onhorseback, distinguished for polite manners and bold riding. 

This remarkable person has a wife, devoted to him of course. In theEnglish drama all wives are good; in the French all are bad, andpeople tell you that a play is the reflection of real life. Besidesthis dutiful spouse, he cherishes an attachment for a young ladyof high birth and aristocratic (stage) manners. She returns histenderness, as it is extremely natural a young person so educated andbrought up would return that of a criminal, who has made an impressionon her heart by shooting her servants, rifling her trunks, and forcingher to dance a minuet with him on a deserted heath under a harvestmoon. 

This improbable incident affords a favourite scene, in whichDorothea's whole soul is absorbed, and to which Jim devotes an earnestattention, as of one who weighs the verisimilitude of an illustration, that he may accept the purport of the parable it conveys. 

Dead servants (in profusion), struggling horses, the coach upset, andthe harvest moon, are depicted in the back scene, which representsbesides an illimitable heath, and a gibbet in the middle distance: allthis under a glare of light, as indeed it might well be, for the moonis quite as large as the hind wheel of the coach. 

In the foreground are grouped, the hero himself, a comic servant witha red nose and a fiddle, an open trunk, and a young lady in travellingcostume, viz. White satin shoes, paste diamonds, ball-dress, andlace veil. The tips of her fingers rest in the gloved hand of herassailant, whose voice comes deep and mellow through the velvet maskhe wears. 

"My preservier!" says the lady, a little inconsequentially, whileher fingers are lifted to the mask and saluted with such a smack aselicits a "hooray!" from some disrespectful urchin at the back of thepit. 

"To presurrve beauty from the jeer of insult, the grasp of vie-olenceis my duty and my prowfession. To adore it is my ree-ligion--and myfate!" replies the gallant highwayman, contriving with some addressto retain his hold of the lady's hand, though encumbered by spurs, asword, pistols, a mask, and an enormous three-cornered hat. 

"And this man is proscribed, hunted, in danger, in disgrace!" exclaimsthe lady, aside, and therefore loud enough to be heard in the street. Claude Duval starts. The start of such an actor makes Dorothea jump. "Perdition!" he shouts, "ye have reminded me of what were well buriedfathom-deep--obliterated--forgotten. Tr'you, lady, 'tis ee-ven so! Ihave a compact with my followers--the ransom--"

"Shall be paid right willingly, " she answers; and forth-with the comicservant with the red nose wakes into spasmodic life, winks repeatedly, and performs a flourish on his "property" fiddle, a little out of tunewith the real instrument in the orchestra at his feet. 

"What are they going to do?" asked Dorothea, in great anxiety. 

"Hold your noise!" answers Jim, and the action of the pieceprogresses. 

It is fortunate, perhaps, that minuets have gone out of fashion, ifthey involved such a test of endurance as that in which Claude Duvaland his fair captive now disport themselves with an amount of bodilyexertion it seems real cruelty to encore. His concluding caper shakesthe mask from his partner's face, and the young lady falls, with ashriek, into his arms, leaving the audience in that happy state ofperplexity, which so enhances the interest of a plot, as to whetherher distress originates in excess of sentiment or deficiency of wind. 

"It's beautiful!" whispers Dorothea, refreshing herself with anorange. "It 'minds me of the first time you and me ever met atHighbury Barn. "

Jim grunts, but his grunt is not that of a contented sleeper, ratherof one who is woke from a dream. 

After a tableau like the last, it is natural that Claude Duval shouldfind a certain want of excitement in the next scene, where he appearsas a respectable householder in the apartments of his lawful spouse. This lady, leaving a cradle in the background, and advancing to thefootlights, proceeds to hover round her husband, after the manner ofstage wives, with neck protruded and arms spread out, like a womanwho is a little afraid of a wasp or earwig, but wants to catch thecreature all the same. He sits with his back to her, as nobody everdoes sit but a stage husband at home, and punches the floor with hisspur. It is strictly natural that she should sing a faint song with aslow movement on the spot. 

It is perhaps yet more natural that this should provoke himexceedingly, so he jumps up, reaches a cupboard in two strides, and pulls out of it his whole paraphernalia, sword, pistols, mask, three-cornered hat, everything but his horse. Then the wife, from herknees, informs all whom it may concern, that for the first time intheir happy married life she has learned her husband is a robber, asthey both call it, by "prowfession. "

Dorothea's sympathies, womanlike, are with the wife. Jim, whoseinterest is centred in the young lady, finds this part of theperformance rather wearisome, and thirsts, to use his own expression, for "a drain. "

Events now succeed each other with startling rapidity. Claude Duval isseen at Ranelagh, still in his boots, where he makes fierce love tohis young lady, and exchanges snuff-boxes (literally) with a duke. Next, in a thicket beset by thief-takers, from whom he escapes afterprodigies of valour, aided by the comic servant, and thereafter guidedby that singular domestic to a place of safety, which turns out tobe the young lady's bedroom. Here Jim becomes much excited, fancyinghimself for the moment a booted hero, rings, laced-coat, Steinkirkhandkerchief, and all. His dress touches that of his companion, butinstinctively he moves from her as far as the crowded seat willpermit, while Dorothea, all unconscious, looks lovingly in his face. 

"She's a bold thing, and I can't abide her, " is that lady's commenton the principal actress. "She ought to think shame of herself, sheought, acause of his wife at 'ome. But he's a good plucked 'un, isn'the, Jim? and lady or no lady, that goes a long way with a woman!"

Jim turned his head aside. Brutalised, besotted, depraved, there wasyet in him a spark of that fire which lights men to their doom, andhis eyes filled with tears. 

But the thief-takers have Claude Duval by the throat at last; andthere is a scene in court, where the young lady perjures herselfunhesitatingly, and faints once more in the prisoner's arms. In vain. Claude Duval is sworn to, found guilty, condemned; and the stage isdarkened for a grand finale. 

Still gay, still gallant, still impenitent, and still booted, thoughin fetters, the highwayman sits in his prison cell, to be visited bythe young lady, who cannot bear to lose her partner, and the wife, who still clings to her husband. Unlike Macheath, he seems in no wayembarrassed by the position. His wife forgives him, at this suprememoment, all the sorrow he has caused her, in consideration of someunexplained past, "gilded, " as she expressed it, "by the sunny smilesof southern France, " while the young lady, holding on with greattenacity to his hand, weeps frantically on her knees. 

A clock strikes. It is the hour of execution. Dorothea begins to sob, and Gentleman Jim clenches his hands. The back of the stage opens todisclose a street, a crowd, a hangman, and the fatal Tyburn tree. Faint cheers are heard from the wings. The sheriff enters, bearingin his hand a reprieve, written apparently on a window-blind. He isattended by the comic servant, through whose mysterious agency apardon has been granted, and who sticks by his fiddle to the last. 

Grand tableau: Claude Duval penitent. His wife in his arms. The younglady conveying in dumb show how platonic has been her attachment, of which, nevertheless, she seems a little ashamed. The sheriffbenignant; the turnkeys amused; the comic servant, obviously inliquor, brandishing his fiddlestick, and the orchestra playing "Godsave the Queen. "

Walking home through the wet streets, under the flashing gaslights, Dorothea and her companion preserve an ominous silence. Both identifythemselves with the fiction they have lately witnessed: the womanpondering on Mrs. Duval's sufferings and the eventful reward of thatgood lady's constancy and truth; her companion reflecting, not on thecharms of the actress he has lately been applauding, but on anotherface which haunts him now, as the wilis and water-sprites hauntedtheir doomed votaries, and which must ever be as far out of reach asif it belonged indeed to some such being of another nature; thinkinghow a man might well risk imprisonment, transportation, hanging, forone kind glance of those bright eyes, one smile of those haughty, scornful lips; and comparing in bitter impatience that exotic beautywith the humble, homely creature at his side. 

She looks up in his face. "Jim, " says she timidly, and cowering closeto him the while, "if you was took, and shopped, like him in the longboots, I'd go to quod with you, if they'd give me leave--I'd go todeath with you, Jim, I would. I'd never forsake you, I wouldn't. Icouldn't, dear, --not if it was ever so!"

He shudders and shrinks from her. "It might come sooner than you thinkfor, " says he, adding brutally enough, "now you _could_ do me a turnin the witness-box, though I shouldn't wonder but you'd cut out whitelike the others. Let's call in here, and take a drop o' gin afore theyshuts up. "

The great picture of Thomas the Rhymer, and his Elfin Mistress, goeson apace. There is, I believe, but one representation in London ofthat celebrated prophet, and it is in the possession of his linealdescendant. Every feature, every shadow on that portrait has SimonPerkins studied with exceeding diligence and care, marvelling, it mustbe confessed, at the taste of the Fairy Queen. The accessories to hisown composition are in rapid progress. Most of the fairies have beenput in, and the gradual change from glamour to disillusion, cunninglyconveyed by a stream of cold grey morning light entering the magiccavern from realms of upper earth, to deaden the glitter, pale thecolouring, and strip, as it were, the tinsel where it strikes. Onthe Rhymer himself our artist has bestowed an infinity of pains, preserving (no easy task) some resemblance to the original portrait, while he dresses his conception in the manly form and comely featuresindispensable to the situation. 

But it is into the fairy queen herself that Simon loves to throw allthe power of his genius, all the resources of his art. To this labourof love, day after day, he returns with unabated zest, altering, improving, painting out, adding, taking away, drinking in the whilehis model's beauty, as parched and thirsty gardens of Egypt drinkin the overflowing Nile, to return a tenfold harvest of verdure, luxuriance, and wealth. 

She has been sitting to him for three consecutive hours. Truth totell, she is tired to death of it--tired of the room, the palette, the easel, the queen, the rhymer, the little dusky imp in the corner, whose wings are changing into scales and a tail, almost tired of dearSimon Perkins himself; who is working contentedly on (how can he?) asif life contained nothing more than effect and colouring--as if thereality were not better than the representation after all. 

"A quarter of an inch more this way, " says the preoccupied artist. "There is a touch wanting in that shadow under the eye--thanks, dearNina. I shall get it at last, " and he falls back a step to look at hiswork, with his head on one side, as nobody but a painter _can_ look, so strangely does the expression of face combine impartial criticismwith a satisfaction almost maternal in its intensity. 

Before beginning again, his eye rested on his model, and he could notbut mark the air of weariness and dejection she betrayed. 

"Why, Nina, " said he, "you look quite pale and tired. What a brute Iam! I go painting on and forget how stupid it must be for you, whomustn't even turn your head to look at my work. "

She gave a stretch, and such a yawn! Neither of them very gracefulperformances, had the lady been less fair and fascinating, but Ninalooked exceedingly pretty in their perpetration nevertheless. 

"Work, " she answered. "Do you call that work? Why you've undoneeverything you did yesterday, and put about half of it in again. Ifyou're diligent, and keep on at this pace, you'll finish triumphantlywith a blank canvas, like Penthesilea and her tapestry in my ancienthistory. "

"Penelope, " corrected Simon gently. 

"Well, Penelope! It's all the same. I don't suppose any of it's true. Let's have a peep, Simon. It can't be. Is that really like me?"

The colour had come back to her face, the light to her eye. She waspleased, flattered, half amused to find herself so beautiful. Helooked from the picture to the original, and with all his enthusiasmfor art awarded the palm to nature. 

"It _was_ like you a minute ago, " said he, in his grave, gentle tones. "Or rather, I ought to say you were like _it_. But you change so, thatI am often in despair of catching you, and, somehow, I always seem tolove the last expression best. "

There was something in his voice so admiring, so reverential, and yetso tender, that she glanced quickly, with a kind of surprise, in hisface; that face which to an older woman, who had known suffering andsorrow, might have been an index of the gentle heart, the noble, chivalrous character within, which, to this girl, was simply paleand worn, and not at all handsome, but very dear nevertheless, asbelonging to her kind old Simon, the playmate of her childhood, thebrother, and more than brother, of her youth. 

Those encounters are sadly unequal, and very poor fun for the muffledfighter, in which one keeps the gloves on, while the other's blows aredelivered with the naked fist. 

Miss Algernon was at this time perhaps more attached to Simon Perkinsthan to any other creature in the world; that is to say, she did nothappen to like anybody else better. How different from him, to whomshe represented the very essence of that spiritual life which, inour several ways, we all try to live, which so few of us know how toattain by postponing its enjoyment for a few short troubled years. 

It is probable that, if the painter had thrown down his brush at thisjuncture, and asked simply, "Nina, will you be my wife?" she wouldhave answered, "Thank you kindly, yes, I will!" but although hisjudgment told him he was likely to succeed, his finer instincts warnedhim that an affirmative would be the sacrifice of her youth, herillusions, her possible future. Such sacrifice it was far more inSimon's nature to make than to accept. 

"Will she ever know me thoroughly?" he used to think. "Will the timeever come when I can say to her, 'Nina, I am sure you care for me now, and therefore I am not afraid to tell you how dearly I loved you allthrough'? Such a time would be well worth waiting for, ay, though itnever came for seven years, and seven more to the back of that. ThenI should feel her happiness depended on mine. Now I often think theprince in the fairy tale will ride past our Putney villa some summer'sday, like Launcelot through the barley sheaves (I'll paint Launcelotwhen I've time, with the ripe ears reddened in the sun, and the lightflashing off his harness), ride by and take Nina's heart away withhim, and what will be left for me then? I could bear it! Yes, I couldbear it if I knew she was happy. My darling, my darling! so that youwalk on in joy and triumph, it matters little what becomes of me!"

The sentiment was perhaps overstrained. It is not thus that women arewon. The fruit that drops into people's mouths is usually over-ripe, and the Sabine maiden would have thought less of her Roman lover, though doubtless she would have taken the initiative rather than misshim altogether, had it been necessary to pounce on him in the vineyardand desire him straightway to carry her home. But the bird of preymust have its natural victim, and such hearts as our poor generouspainter possessed are destined for the talons and the beak. Ah! thosewho value them least win the great prizes in the lottery. Fortunesmiles on the careless player--gold goes to the rich--streams run tothe river, and if you have more mutton than you know what to do with, be sure that in your folds will be found the poor man's ewe-lamb. Puta ribbon round her neck, and be kind to her as _he_ was. It is theleast you can do!

"You've taken a deal of pains, Simon, " says the sitter, after a longand well-pleased scrutiny. "Tell me, no flattery now, why should Ibe so difficult to paint?" Why, indeed, you saucy innocent coquette!Perhaps, because, all the while, you are turning the poor artist'shead, and driving pins and needles into his heart. 

"I _ought_ to make a good likeness of you, " answers Simon rathersadly. "I'm sure, Nina, I know your face by heart. But I'm determinedto take enormous pains with this picture. It's to be my great work. Iwant them to admire it at the Academy. I want all London to come andlook at it. I want the critics, who know nothing, to say it's welldrawn; and the artists, who do know something, to say it's welltreated; and the public to declare my fairy queen is the loveliest, and the sweetest, and the dearest face they ever beheld. You see I'mvery--very--_ambitious_, Nina!"

"Yes, I suppose all painters are, " replies Miss Algernon, with alittle gasp of relief, accompanied by a little chill of something notquite unlike disappointment. "But you ought to be tired of working, and I know I am tired of sitting. Hand me my bonnet, Simon--not upsidedown--why that's the top where the rose is, of course! And let's walkback through the Park. It will be nearly full by this time. "

So they walked back through the Park, and it _was_ full--full tooverflowing; nevertheless, amongst all the riders, drivers, sitters, strollers, and idlers, there appeared neither of the smart-lookinggentlemen who had roused Nina's indignation by bowing to her in themorning without having the honour of her acquaintance. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE OFFICERS' MESS

A gigantic sentry of her Majesty's Household Cavalry paces up and downin front of the officers' quarters at Knightsbridge Barracks some twohours before watch-setting. It is fortunate that constant use hasrendered him insensible to admiration. Few persons of either sex passunder his nose without a glance of unqualified approval. They marvelat his stature, his spurs, his carbine, his overalls, his plumedhelmet, towering high above their heads, and the stupendousmoustaches, on which this gentleman-private prides himself more thanon all the rest of his heroic attributes put together. 

Beyond a shade of disciplined weariness, there is no expressionwhatever on his handsome face, yet it is to be presumed that the manhas his thoughts too, like another. Is he back in Cumberland amongsthis dales, a stalwart stripling, fishing some lonely stream within thehills, watching a bout at "knurr-and-spell" across the heather, orwrestling a fall in friendly rivalry with his cousin, a son of Anak, tall as himself? Does that purple sunset over Kensington Gardensremind him of Glaramara and Saddleback? Does that distant roar ofwheels in Piccadilly recall the rush and ripple of the Solway chargingup its tawny sands with the white horses all abreast in a spring-tide?

Perhaps he is wishing he was an officer with no kit to keep in order, no fatigue-duty to undergo, sitting merrily down to as good a dinneras luxury can provide, or a guest, of whom he has seen several passhis post in starched white neckcloths and trim evening clothes. Perhaps he would not change with any of these, after all, when hereflects on his own personal advantages, his social standing amongsthis comrades, his keen appreciation and large consumption of beer andtobacco, with the innumerable conquests he makes amongst maids andmatrons in the middle and lower ranks of life. Such considerations, however, impress themselves not the least upon his outward visage. Astatue could not look more imperturbable, and he turns his head butvery slightly, with supreme indifference, when peals of laughter, more joyous than common, are wafted through the open windows of themess-room, where some of our friends have fairly embarked on that tideof good-humour and hilarity which sets in with the second glass ofchampagne. 

It is a full mess; the colonel himself sits at dinner, with two orthree friends, old brothers-in-arms, whose soldier-like bearing andmanly faces betray their antecedents, though they may not have worna uniform for months. A lately-joined cornet looks at these with areverence that I am afraid could be extorted from him by no otherinstitution on earth. The adjutant and riding-master, makingholiday, are both present--"to the front, " as they call it, enjoyingexceedingly the jests and waggeries of their younger comrades. Theorderly-officer, conspicuous by his belt, sits at one end of the longtable. Lord Bearwarden occupies the other, supported on either side byhis two guests, Tom Ryfe and Dick Stanmore. It is the night of Mrs. Stanmore's ball, and these last-named gentlemen are going there, withfeelings how different, yet with the same object. Dick is full ofconfidence, elated and supremely happy. His entertainer experiences aquiet comfort and _bien-être_ stealing over him, to which he has longbeen a stranger, while Tom Ryfe with every mouthful swallows down someemotion of jealousy, humiliation, or mistrust. Nevertheless, he is inthe highest spirits of the three. 

"I tell you nothing can touch him, my lord, when hounds run, " says he, still harping on the merits of the horse he sold Lord Bearwarden inthe Park. Of course half the party are talking of hunting, the otherhalf of racing, soldiering, and women. "He'd have been thrown away onmost of the fellows we know. He wants a good man on his back, for ifyou keep him fiddling behind, it breaks his heart. I always said youought to have him--you or Mr. Stanmore. He's just the sort for both ofyou. I'm sorry to hear yours are all coming up at Tattersall's, " addsTom, with a courteous bow to the opposite guest. "Hope it's only tomake room for some more. "

Dick disclaims. "No, indeed, " says he, "it's a _bonâ fide_sale--without reserve, you know--I am going to give the thing up!"

"Give up hunting!" expostulates a very young subaltern on Dick's left. "Why, you're not a soldier, are you? What shall you do with yourself?You have nothing to live for. "

Overcome by this reflection, he empties his glass and looks feelinglyin his neighbour's face. 

"Are you so fond of it too?" asks Dick with a smile. 

"Fond of it! I believe you!" answers the boy. "What is there to becompared to it?--at least that I've tried, you know. I think thehappiest fellow on earth is a master of fox-hounds, particularly ifhe hunts them himself: there's only one thing to beat it, and that'ssoldiering. I'd rather command such a regiment as this than be Emperorof China. Perhaps I shall, too, some day. "

The real colonel, sitting opposite, overhears this military sentiment, and smiles good-humouredly at his zealous junior. "When you _are_ incommand, " says he, "I hope you'll be down upon the cornets--they wanta deal of looking up--I'm much too easy with them. " The young soldierlaughed and blushed. In his heart he thought the "chief, " as he calledhim, the very greatest man in the world, offering him that respectcombined with affection which goes so far to constitute the efficiencyof a regiment, hoping hereafter to tread in his footsteps and carryout his system. 

For ten whole minutes he held his tongue--and this was no small effortof self-restraint--that he might listen to the commanding officer'sconversation with his guests, savouring strongly of professionalinterests, as comprising Crimean, Indian, and continental experiences, all tending to prove that cavalry massed, kept under cover, held wellin hand, and "offered" at the critical moment, was _the_ force torender success permanent and defeat irretrievable. 

When they got into a dissertation on shoeing, with the comparativemerits of "threes" and "sections" at drill, the young man refreshedhimself liberally with champagne, and turned to more congenialdiscourse. 

Of this there seemed no lack. The winner of the St. Leger was asconfidently predicted as if the race were already in his owner'spocket. A match was made between two splendid dandies, calledrespectfully by their comrades "Nobby" and "The Dustman, " to walk fromKnightsbridge Barracks to Windsor Bridge that day week--the odds beingslightly in favour of "The Dustman, " who was a peer of the realm. Amoderate dancer was freely criticised, an exquisite singer approvedwith reservation, and the style of fighting practised by our presentchampion of the prize-ring unequivocally condemned. Presently a deepvoice made itself heard in more sustained tones than belong to generalconversation, and during a lull it became clear that the adjutant wasrelating an anecdote of his own military experience. "It's a wonderfulcountry, " said he, in reply to some previous observation. "I'm not anIrishman myself, but I've observed that the most conspicuous menin all nations are pure Irish or of Irish extraction. Look at theservice. Look at the ring--prize-fighters and book-makers. I believethe Slasher's mother was born in Connaught, and nothing will convinceme but that Deerfoot came from Tipperary--east and west the world'sfull of them--they swarm, I'm told, in America, and I can answer forthem in Europe. Did ye ever see a Turk in a vineyard? He's the verymoral of Pat in a potato-garden: the same frieze coat--the same baggybreeches--the same occasional smoke, every five minutes or so--and thesame rooted aversion to hard work. Go on into India--they're all overthe place. Shall I tell you what happened to myself? We were engagedon the right of the army, getting it hot and heavy, all the horseswith their heads up, but the men as steady as old Time. I was in theLancers then, under Sir Hope. The Sikhs worked their guns beautifully, and presently we got the word to advance. It wasn't bad ground formanoeuvring, and we were soon into them. The enemy fought a goodone--those Sikhs always do. There was one fine old white-beardedpatriarch stuck to his gun to the last. His people were all spearedand cut down, but he never gave back an inch. I can see him now, looking like the pictures of Abraham in my old Sunday-school book. Ithought I'd save him if I could. Our chaps had got their blood up, anddashed in to finish him with their lances, but I kept them off withsome difficulty, and offered him 'quarter. ' I was afraid he wouldn'tunderstand my language. 'Quarter, ' says he, in the richest brogueyou'll hear out of Cork--'quarter! you bloody thieves! will you sticka countryman, an' a comrade, ye murtherin' villains, like a _boneen_in a butcher's shop!' He'd have gone on, I dare say, for an hour, butthe men had their lances through him before you could say 'knife. ' Asmy right-of-threes, himself a Paddy, observed--he was discoorsin'the devil in less than five minutes. The man was a deserter and arenegade, so it served him right, but being an Irishman, you see, hedistinguished himself--that's all I mean to infer. "

The young officer was exceedingly attentive to an anecdote which, thustold by its bronzed, war-worn, and soldier-like narrator, possessedthe fascination of romance with the interest of reality. 

Lord Bearwarden and his guests had also broken off their conversationto listen--they returned to the previous subject. 

"There are so many people come to town now-a-days, " said his lordship, "that the whole thing spoils itself. Society is broken up into sets, and even if you belong to the same set, you cannot insure meeting anyparticular person at any particular place. Just the same with clubs. I might hunt you two fellows about all night, from Arthur's tothe Arlington--from the Arlington to White's--from White's to theCarlton--from the Carlton back to St. James's Street--and never runinto you at all, unless I had the luck to find you drinking gin andsoda at Pratt's. " Tom Ryfe, belonging only to the last-named of theseresorts, looked gratified. Dick Stanmore was thinking of somethingelse. 

"Now, to-night, " continued Lord Bearwarden, turning to the latter, "although the ball is in your own step-mother's house, I'll take oddsyou don't know three-fourths of the people you'll meet, and yet you'vebeen as much about London as most of us. Where they come from I can'tthink, and they're like the swallows, or the storks, or the woodcocks, only they're not so welcome. Where they'll go to when the season'sover I neither know nor care. "

Tom Ryfe would have given much to feel equally indifferent. Somethinglike a pang shot through him as he reflected that for him the battlemust be against wind and tide--a fierce struggle, more and morehopeless, to grasp at something drifting visibly out of reach. Hewas not a man, however, to be beat while it was possible to persist. Believing Dick Stanmore the great obstacle in his way, he watched thatpreoccupied gentleman as a cat watches a mouse. 

"I don't want to be introduced to any more people, " said Dick ratherabsently. "In my opinion you can't have too few acquaintances and toomany friends. "

"One ought to know lots of _women_, " said Mr. Ryfe, assuming the airof a fine gentleman, which fitted him, thought Lord Bearwarden, asill as his uniform generally fits a civilian. "I mean women ofposition--who _give_ things--whom you'd like to be seen talking to inthe Park. As for girls, they're a bore--there's a fresh crop everyseason--they're exactly like each other, and you have to dance with'em all!"

"Confound his impudence!" _thought_ Lord Bearwarden; "does he hope toimpose on _me_ with his half-bred swagger and Brummagem assurance?"but he only _said_, "I suppose, Tom, you're in great request withthem--all ranks, all sorts, all ages! You fellows have such a pullover us poor soldiers; you can be improving the time while we're onguard. "

Tom looked as if he rather believed he could. But he only _looked_it. Beneath that confident manner, his heart was sad and sinking. Howbitter he felt against Miss Bruce, and yet he loved her, in his ownway, too, all the while. 

"Champagne to Mr. Stanmore!" said his entertainer, beckoning to aservant. "You're below the mark, Stanmore, and we've a heavy nightbefore us. You're thinking of your pets at Tattersall's next week. Cheer up. Their future masters won't be half so hard on them, I'll bebound. But I wouldn't assist at the sacrifice if I were you. Comedown to the Den with me; we'll troll for pike, and give the clodsa cricket-match. Then we'll dine early, set trimmers, and consoleourselves with claret-cup under affliction. "

Dick laughed. Affliction, indeed, and he had never been so happy inhis life! Perhaps that was the reason of his silence, his abstraction. At this very moment, he thought, Maud might be opening the packet hemade such sacrifices to redeem. He had arranged for her to receive thediamonds all reset and glittering at the hour she would be dressingfor the ball. He could almost fancy he saw the beautiful face flushedwith delight, the dark eyes filled with tears. Would she press thosejewels to her lips, and murmur broken words of endearment for _him_?Would she not love him _now_, if, indeed, she had not loved himbefore? Horses, forsooth! What were all the horses that ever gallopedcompared to one smile of hers? He would have given her his right arm, his life, if she wanted it. And now, perhaps, he was to obtain hisreward. Who could tell what that very night might bring forth?

Mr. Stanmore's glass remained untasted before him, and Lord Bearwardenobserving that dinner was over, and his guests seemed disinclined todrink any more wine, proposed an adjournment to the little mess-roomto smoke. 

In these days the long sittings that delighted our grandfathers havecompletely given way to an early break up, a quiet cigar, and ageneral retreat, if not to bed, at least to other scenes and othersociety. In ten minutes from the rising of the colonel, LordBearwarden, and half-a-dozen guests, the larger mess-room was clearedof its inmates, and the smaller one crowded with an exceedingly merryand rather noisy assemblage. 

"Just one cigar, " said Lord Bearwarden, handing a huge case tohis friends. "It will steady you nicely for waltzing, and someeau-de-cologne in my room will take off all the smell afterwards. Iknow you dancing swells are very particular. "

Both gentlemen laughed, and putting large cigars into their mouths, accommodated themselves with exceeding goodwill to the arrangement. Itwas not in the nature of things that silence should be preservedunder such incentives to conversation as tobacco and soda-water withsomething in it, but presently, above other sounds, a young voice washeard to clamour for a song. 

"Let's have a chant!" protested this eager voice; "the night is stillyoung. We're all musical, and we don't often get the two best pipes inthe regiment to dine here the same day. Come, tune up, old boy. Giveus 'Twisting Jane, ' or the 'Gallant Young Hussar. '"

The "old boy" addressed, a large, fine-looking man, holding theappointment of riding-master, smiled good-humouredly, and shook hishead. "It's too early for the 'Hussar, '" said he, scanning thefresh beardless face with its clear mirthful eyes. "And it's not animproving song for young officers neither. I'll try 'Twisting Jane' ifyou gentlemen will support me with the chorus;" and in a deep mellowvoice he embarked without more ado on the following barrack-roomditty:--

 I loved a girl, down Windsor way, When we was lying there, As soft as silk, as mild as May, As timid as a hare. She blushed and smiled, looked down so shy, And then--looked up again-- My comrades warned me: 'Mind your eye, With Twisting Jane!'

 I wooed her thus, not sure but slow, To kiss she vowed a crime, -- For she was 'reining back, ' you know, While I was 'marking time. '

 'Alas!' I thought, 'these dainty charms Are not for me, 'tis plain; Too long she keeps me under arms, Does Twisting Jane. '

 Our corporal-major says to me, One day before parade, 'She's gammoning you, young chap, ' says he, 'Is that there artful jade! You'll not be long of finding out, When nothing's left to gain, How quick the word is "Threes about!" With Twisting Jane!'

 Our corporal-major knows what's what; I peeped above her blind; The tea was made--the toast was hot-- She looked so sweet and kind. My captain in her parlour sat, It gave me quite a pain, With coloured clothes, and shining hat, By Twisting Jane. 

 The major he came cantering past, She bustled out to see, -- 'O, major! is it you at last? Step in and take your tea. ' The major halted--winked his eye-- Looked up and down the lane; And in he went his luck to try With Twisting Jane. 

 I waited at 'attention' there, Thinks I, 'There'll soon be more. ' The colonel's phaeton and pair Came grinding to the door. She gave him such a sugary smile, (Old men is very vain!) 'It's you I looked for all the while, ' Says Twisting Jane, 'I've done with you for good, ' I cried, 'You're never on the square; Fight which you please on either side, But hang it, lass, fight fair! I won't be last--I can't be first-- So look for me in vain When next you're out "upon the burst, " Miss Twisting Jane!-- When next you're out "upon the burst, " Miss Twisting Jane!'

"A jolly good song, " cried the affable young gentleman who hadinstigated the effort, adding, with a quaint glance at the grizzledvisage and towering proportions of the singer, "You're very muchimproved, old chap--not so shy, more power, more volume. If you mindyour music, I'll get you a place as a chorister-boy in the ChapelRoyal, after all. You're just the size, and your manner's the verything!"

"Wait till I get _you_ in the school with that new charger, " answeredthe other, laughing. "I think, gentlemen, it's my call. I'll ask ouradjutant here to give us 'Boots and Saddles, ' you all like that game. "

Tumblers were arrested in mid-air, cigars taken from smooth or hairylips, while all eyes were turned towards the adjutant, a soldier downto his spurs, who "tuned up, " as universally requested, without delay. 

 BOOTS AND SADDLES. 

 The ring of a bridle, the stamp of a hoof, Stars above, and a wind in the tree, -- A bush for a billet, --a rock for a roof, -- Outpost duty's the duty for me! Listen. A stir in the valley below-- The valley below is with riflemen crammed, Covering the column and watching the foe-- Trumpet-major!--Sound and be d----d! Stand to your horses!--It's time to begin-- Boots and Saddles! The Pickets are in!

 Though our bivouac-fire has smouldered away, Yet a bit of good 'baccy shall comfort us well; When you sleep in your cloak there's no lodging to pay, And where we shall breakfast the devil can tell! But the horses were fed, ere the daylight had gone, There's a slice in the embers--a drop in the can-- Take a suck of it, comrade! and so pass it on, For a ration of brandy puts heart in a man. Good liquor is scarce, and to waste it a sin, -- Boots and Saddles! The Pickets are in!

 Hark! there's a shot from the crest of the hill! Look! there's a rocket leaps high in the air. By the beat of his gallop, that's nearing us still, That runaway horse has no rider, I'll swear!

 There's a jolly light-infantry post on the right, I hear their bugles--they sound the 'Advance. ' They will tip us a tune that shall wake up the night, And we're hardly the lads to leave out of the dance. They're at it already, I'm sure, by the din, -- Boots and Saddles! The Pickets are in!

 They don't give us long our divisions to prove-- Short, sharp, and distinct, comes the word of command. 'Have your men in the saddle---Be ready to move-- Keep the squadron together--the horses in hand--' While a whisper's caught up in the ranks as they form-- A whisper that fain would break out in a cheer-- How the foe is in force, how the work will be warm. But, steady! the chief gallops up from the rear. With old 'Death-or-Glory' to fight is to win, And the Colonel means mischief, I see by his grin. -- Boots and Saddles! The Pickets are in!-- Boots and Saddles! The Pickets are in!

"And it must be 'Boots and Saddles' with us, " said Lord Bearwarden tohis guests as the applause subsided and he made a move towards thedoor, "otherwise we shall be the 'lads to leave out of the dance'; andI fancy that would suit none of us to-night. "

CHAPTER XV

MRS. STANMORE AT HOME. 

DANCING. 

Amongst all the magnificent toilettes composed to do honour to thelady whose card of invitation heads this chapter, none appeared morevariegated in colour, more startling in effect, than that of MissPuckers the maid. 

True, circumstances compelled her to wear a high dress, but eventhis modest style of costume in the hands of a real artist admits ofmarvellous combinations and extraordinary breadth of treatment. MissPuckers had disposed about her person as much ribbon, tulle, and cheapjewelry as might have fitted out a fancy fair. Presiding in a littlebreakfast-room off the hall, pinning tickets on short red cloaks, shaking out skirts of wondrous fabrication, and otherwise assistingthose beautiful guests who constituted the entertainment, she affordeda sight only equalled by her after-performances in the tea-room, where, assuming the leadership of a body of handmaidens almost assmart as herself, she formed, for several waggish and irreverent younggentlemen, a principal attraction in that favourite place of resort. 

A ball is so far like a run with fox-hounds that it is difficult tospecify the precise moment at which the sport begins. Its votariesgather by twos and threes attired for pursuit; there is a certainamount of refitting practised, as regards dress and appointments, while some of the keenest in the chase are nevertheless the latestarrivals at the place of meeting. Presently are heard a note or two, a faint flourish, a suggestive prelude. Three or four couples getcautiously to work, the music swells, the pace increases, ere long theexcitement extends to all within sight or hearing, and a performanceof exceeding speed, spirit, and severity is the result. 

Puckers, with her mouth full of pins, is rearranging the dress ofa young lady in her first season, to whom, as to the inexperiencedhunter, that burst of music is simply maddening. She is a well-bredyoung lady, however, and keeps her raptures to herself, but isslightly indignant at the very small notice taken of her by DickStanmore, who rushes into the tiring-room, drops a flurried littlebow, and hurries Puckers off into a corner, totally regardless of thedispleasure with which a calm, cold-looking chaperon regards thisunusual proceeding. 

"Did it come in time?" says Dick in a loud agitated whisper. "Did yourun up with it directly? Was she pleased? Did she say anything? Hasshe got them on now?"

"Lor, Mr. Stanmore!" exclaims Puckers; "whatever do you mean?"

"Miss Bruce--the diamonds, " explains Dick, in a voice that causes twodandies, recently arrived, to pause in astonishment on the staircase. 

"O, the diamonds!" answers Puckers. "Only think, now. Was it _you_, sir? Well, I never. Why, sir, when Miss Bruce opens the packet, nothalf-an-hour ago, the tears comes into her eyes, and she says, 'Well, this _is_ kind'--them was her very words--'this _is_ kind, ' saysshe, and pops'em on that moment; for I'd done her hair and all. Goup-stairs, Mr. Stanmore, and see how she looks in them. I'll wagershe's waiting for Somebody to dance with her this very minute!"

Though it is too often of sadly short duration, every man _has_ his"good time" for a few blissful seconds during life. Let him notcomplain they are so brief. It is something to have at least tastedthe cup, and perhaps it is better to turn with writhing lips from thebitter drop near the brim than, drinking it fairly out, to find itssweets pall on the palate, its essence cease to warm the heart andstimulate the brain. 

Dick, hurrying past his mother into the soft, mellow, yet brilliantradiance of her crowded ball-room, felt for that moment the happiestman in London. 

Miss Bruce was _not_ waiting to dance with him, according to hermaid's prediction, but was performing a waltz in exceeding gravity, assisted, as Dick could not help observing, with a certainsatisfaction, by the ugliest man in the room. The look she gave himwhen their eyes met at last sent this shortsighted young gentlemanup to the seventh heaven. It seemed well worth all the hunters inLeicestershire, all the diamonds in Golconda! He did the honours ofhis step-mother's house, and thanked his own friends for coming, butall with the vague consciousness of a man in a dream. Presently the"round" dance came to an end, much to the relief of the ugly man, whocared, indeed, for ladies as little as ladies cared for him; andDick hastened to secure Miss Bruce as a partner for the approaching"square. " She was engaged, of course, six deep, but she put off allher claimants and took Mr. Stanmore's arm. "He's my cousin, you know, "said she, with her rare smile, "and cousins don't count; so you'reall merely put back _one_. If you don't like it, you needn't come forit--_c'est tout simple_!"

Then they took their places, and the dark eyes looked full into hisown. Dick felt he was winning in a canter. 

Miss Bruce put her hand on the collar of diamonds round her neck. "I'mglad you're _not_ my cousin, " she said; "I'm glad you're not _really_a relation. You're far dearer as it is. You're the best friend andtruest gentleman I ever met in my life. Now I sha'n't thank you anymore. Mind your dancing, and set to that gawky woman opposite. Isn'tshe badly dressed?"

How could Dick tell? He didn't even know he had a _vis-à-vis_, and the"gawky woman, " as Miss Bruce most unjustly called her, only wonderedanybody could make such blunders in so simple a figure as the _Eté_. His head was in a whirl. A certain chivalrous instinct warned him thatthis was no time, while his idol lay under a heavy obligation, topress his suit. Yet he could not, for the life of him, help venturinga word. 

"I look at nobody but you, " he answered, turning pale as men do whenthey are in sad earnest. "I should never wish to see any other facethan yours for the rest of my life. "

"How tired you'd get of it, " said she, with a bright smile; but shetimed her reply so as to embark immediately afterwards on the _Chaînedes Dames_, a measure exceedingly ill calculated for sustainedconversation, and changed the subject directly she returned to hisside. 

"Where did you dine?" she asked saucily. "With those wild young men atthe barracks, I suppose. I knew you would: and you did all sorts ofhorrid things, drank and smoked--I'm _sure_ you smoked. " She put herlaced hand-kerchief laughingly to her nose. 

"I dined with Bearwarden, " answered honest Dick, "and he's coming onhere directly with a lot of them. My mother will be so pleased--it'sgoing to be a capital ball. "

"I thought Lord Bearwarden never went to balls, " replied the younglady carelessly; but her heart swelled with gratified vanity to thinkof the attraction that drew him now to every place where he could hearher voice and look upon her beauty. 

"There he is, " was her partner's comment, as his lordship'shead appeared in the doorway. "We'll have one more dance, MissBruce--Maud--before the night is over?"

"As many as you please, " was her answer, and still Dick felt he hadthe race in hand and was winning in a canter. 

People go to balls for pleasure, no doubt, but it must be admitted, nevertheless, that the pleasure they seek there is of a delusive kindand lasts but for a few minutes at a time. 

Mr. Stanmore's whole happiness was centred in Miss Bruce, yet it wasimpossible for him to neglect all his step-mother's guests because ofhis infatuation for one, nor would the usages of society's Draconiclaws, that are not to be broken, permit him to haunt that onepresence, which turned to magic a scene otherwise only ludicrous foran hour or so, and simply wearisome as it went on. 

So Dick plunged into the thick of it, and did his duty manfully, diving at partners right and left, yet, with a certain characteristicloyalty, selecting the least attractive amongst the ladies for hisattentions. Thus it happened that as the rooms became crowded, and half the smartest people in London surged and swayed upon thestaircase, he lost sight of the face he loved for a considerableperiod, and was able to devote much real energy to the success of hisstep-mother's ball, uninfluenced by the distraction of Miss Brace'spresence. 

This young lady's movements, however, were not unobserved. Puckers, from her position behind the cups and saucers, enjoyed greatreconnoitring opportunities, which she did not suffer to escapeunimproved--the tea-room, she was aware, held an important place inthe working machinery of society, as a sort of neutral territory, between the cold civilities of the ball-room and the warmer interestsfostered by juxtaposition in the boudoir, not to mention a wickedlittle alcove beyond, with low red velvet seats, and a subdued lightsuggestive of whispers and provoking question rather than reply. 

Puckers was not easily surprised. In the housekeeper's room she oftenthanked her stars for this desirable immunity, and indeed on thepresent occasion had furnished a loving couple with tea, whose unitedages would have come hard upon a century, without moving a muscleof her countenance, albeit there was something ludicrous togeneral society in the affectation of concealment with which thislong-recognised attachment had to be carried on. The gentleman wasbald and corpulent. The lady--well, the lady had been a beauty thirtyyears ago, and dressed the character still. There was nothing toprevent their seeing each other every day and all day long, if theychose, yet they preferred scheming for invitation to the same places, that they might meet _en évidence_ before the public; and dearlyloved, as now, a retirement into the tea-room, where they couldenact their _rôle_ of turtle-doves, uninterrupted, yet not entirelyunobserved. Perhaps, after all, this imaginary restraint afforded thelittle spice of romance that preserved their attachment from decay. 

Puckers, I say, marvelled at these not at all, but she did marvel, andadmitted it, when Miss Bruce, entering the tea-room, was seen to beattended, not by Mr. Stanmore, but by Lord Bearwarden. 

Her dark eyes glittered, and there was an exceedingly becoming flushon the girl's fair face, usually so pale. Her maid thought she hadnever seen Maud look so beautiful, and to judge by the expression ofhis countenance, it would appear Lord Bearwarden thought so too. Theyhad been dancing together, and he seemed to be urging her to dancewith him again. His lordship's manner was more eager than common, andin his eyes came an anxious expression that only one woman, the onewoman it was so difficult to forget, had ever been able to call intothem before. 

"Look odd!" he repeated, while he set down her cup and gave her backthe fan he had been holding. "I thought you were above all that, MissBruce, and did what you liked, without respect to the fools who stareand can't understand. "

She drew up her head with a proud gesture peculiar to her. "How do youknow I do like it?" said she haughtily. 

He looked hurt, and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Forgive me, " hesaid, "I have no right to suppose it. I have been presumptuous, andyou are entitled to be unkind. I have monopolised you too much, andyou're--you're bored with me. It's my own fault. "

"I never said so, " she answered in the same tone; "who is unkind now?"Then the dark eyes were raised for one moment to look full in his, andit was all over with Lord Bearwarden. 

"You will dance with me again before I go, " said he, recovering hisformer position with an alacrity that denoted some previous practice. "I shall ask nobody else--why should I? You know I only came here tosee _you_. One waltz, Miss Bruce--promise?"

"I promise, " she answered, and again came into her eyes that smilewhich so fascinated her admirers to their cost. "I shall get intohorrid disgrace for it, and so I shall for sitting here so long now. I'm always doing wrong. However, I'll risk it if you will. "

Her manner was playful, almost tender; and Puckers, adding anotherlarge infusion of tea, wondered to see her look so soft and kind. 

A crowded waltz was in course of performance, and the tea-room, butfor this preoccupied couple, would have been empty. Two men looked inas they passed the door, the one hurried on in search of his partner, the other started, scowled, and turned back amongst the crowd. Puckers, the lynx-eyed, observing and recognising both, had sufficientskill in physiognomy to pity Mr. Stanmore and much mistrust Tom Ryfe. 

The former, indeed, felt a sharp, keen pang, when he saw the face thatso haunted him in close proximity to another face belonging to onewho, if he should enter for the prize, could not but prove a dangerousrival. Nevertheless, the man's generous instincts stifled and keptdown so unworthy a suspicion, forcing himself to argue against his ownconviction that, at this very moment, the happiness of his life washanging by a thread. He resolved to ignore everything of the kind. Jealousy was a bad beginning for a lover, and after all, if he shouldallow himself to be jealous of every man who admired and danced withMaud, life would be unbearable. How despicable, besides, would shehold such a sentiment! With her disposition, how would she resentanything like _espionage or surveillance_! How unworthy it seemed bothof herself and of him! In two minutes he was heartily ashamed of hismomentary discomfiture, and plunged energetically once more into theduties of the ball-room. Nevertheless, from that moment, the wholehappiness of the evening had faded out for Dick. 

There is a light irradiating all such gatherings which is totallyirrespective of gas or wax-candles. It can shed a mellow lustre ondingy rooms, frayed carpets, and shabby furniture; nay, I have seenits tender rays impart a rare and spiritual beauty to an old, worn, long-loved face; but on the other hand, when this magic light isquenched, or even temporarily shaded, not all the illuminations of aroyal birthday are brilliant enough to dispel the gloom its absenceleaves about the heart. 

Mr. Stanmore, though whirling a very handsome young lady through awaltz, began to think it was not such a good ball after all. 

Tom Ryfe, on the other hand, congratulated himself on his tactics inhaving obtained an invitation, not without considerable pressure putupon Miss Bruce, for a gathering of which his social standing hardlyentitled him to form a part. He was now, so to speak, on the veryground occupied by the enemy, and though he saw defeat imminent, couldat least make his own effort to avert it. After all his misgivings asregarded Stanmore, it seemed that he had been mistaken, and that LordBearwarden was the rival he ought to dread. In any case but his own, Mr. Ryfe was a man of the world, quite shrewd enough to have reasonedthat in this duality of admirers there was encouragement and hope. ButTom had lost his heart, such as it was; and his head, though of muchbetter material, had naturally gone with it. Like other gamblers, hedetermined to follow his ill-luck to the utmost, bring matters to acrisis, and so know the worst. In all graver affairs of life, it isdoubtless good sense to look a difficulty in the face; but in theamusements of love and play practised hands leave a considerablemargin for that uncertainty which constitutes the very essence of bothpastimes; and this is why, perhaps, the man in earnest has the worstchance of winning at either game. 

So Tom Ryfe turned back into the crowd, and waited his opportunity fora few minutes' conversation with Miss Bruce. 

It came at last. She had danced through several engagements, the nightwas waning, and a few carriages had already been called up. Maudoccupied the extreme end of a bench, from which a party of ladies hadjust risen to go away: she had declined to dance, and for the momentwas alone. Tom slipped into the vacant seat by her side, and thuscut her off from the whole surrounding world. A waltz requiring muchterrific accompaniment of brass instruments pealed out its deafeningstrains within ten feet of them, and in no desert island could therehave been less likelihood that their conversation would be overheard. 

Miss Bruce looked very happy, and in thorough good-humour. Tom Ryfeopened the trenches quietly enough. 

"You haven't danced with me the whole evening, " said he, with onlyrather a bitter inflection of voice. 

"You never asked me, " was the natural rejoinder. 

"And I'm not going to ask you, now, " proceeded Mr. Ryfe; "you and I, Miss Bruce, have something more than a mere dancing acquaintance, Ithink. "

An impatient movement, a slight curl of the lip, was the only answer. 

"You may drop an acquaintance when you are tired of him, or a friendwhen he gets troublesome. It's done every day. It's very easy, MissBruce. "

He spoke in a tone of irony that roused her. 

"Not so easy, " she answered, with tightening lips, "when people haveno tact--when they are not _gentlemen_. "

The taunt went home. The beauty of Mr. Ryfe's face was at no timein its expression--certainly not now. Miss Bruce, too, seemed welldisposed to fight it out. Obviously it must be war to the knife!

"Did you get my letter?" said he, in low, distinct syllables. "Do youbelieve I mean what I say? Do you believe I mean what I _write_?"

She smiled scornfully. A panting couple who stopped just in front ofthem imagined they were interrupting a flirtation, and, doing as theywould be done by, twirled on. 

"I treat all begging-letters alike, " answered Maud, "and make yours noexception, because they contain threats and abuse into the bargain. You have chosen the wrong person to try and frighten, Mr. Ryfe. Itonly shows how little you understand my character. "

He would have caught at a straw even then. "How little chance I havehad of studying it!" he exclaimed. "It is not my fault. Heaven knowsI have been kept in ignorance, uncertainty, suspense, till it almostdrove me mad. Miss Bruce, you have known the worst of me; only theworst of me, indeed, as yet. "

The man was pleading for his life, you see. Was it pitiable, or onlyludicrous, that his voice and manner had to be toned down to the staidpitch of general conversation, that a fat and happy German was puffingat a cornet-à-piston within arm's length of him? But for a quiver ofhis lip, any bystander might have supposed he was asking Miss Bruce ifhe should bring her an ice. 

"I have seen enough!" she replied, very resolutely, "and I amdetermined to see no more. Mr. Ryfe, if you have no pleasantersubjects of conversation than yourself and your arrangements, Iwill ask you to move for an instant that I may pass and find Mrs. Stanmore. "

Lord Bearwarden was at the other end of the room, looking aboutapparently for some object of unusual interest. Perhaps Miss Bruce sawhim--as ladies do see people without turning their eyes--and the sightfortified her resolution. 

"Then you defy me!" whispered Tom, in the low suppressed notes thatdenote rage, concentrated and intensified for being kept down. "Byheaven, Miss Bruce, you shall repent it! I'll show you up! I'll exposeyou! I'll have neither pity nor remorse! You think you've won a heavystake, do you? Hooked a big fish, and need only pull him ashore? _He_sha'n't be deceived! _He_ shall know you for what you are! He shall, by----!"

The adjuration with which Mr. Ryfe concluded this little ebullitionwas fortunately drowned to all ears but those for which it wasintended by a startling flourish on the cornet-à-piston. Miss Bruceaccepted the challenge readily. "Do your worst!" said she, risingwith a scornful bow, and taking Lord Bearwarden's arm, much to thatgentleman's delight, walked haughtily away. 

Perhaps this declaration of open war may have decided her subsequentconduct; perhaps it was only the result of those circumstances whichform the meshes of a certain web we call Fate. Howbeit, Miss Bruce wastoo tired to dance. Miss Bruce would like to sit down in a cool place. Miss Bruce would not be bored with Lord Bearwarden's companionship, not for an hour, not for a week--no, not for a lifetime!

Dick Stanmore, taking a lady down to her carriage, saw them sittingalone in the tea-room, now deserted by Puckers [Illustration: "'O, Dick!' she said, 'I couldn't help it!'"] and her assistants. Hishonest heart turned very sick and cold. Half-an-hour after, passingthe same spot, they were there still; and then, I think, he knew thathe was overtaken by the first misfortune of his life. 

Later, when the ball was over, and he had wished Mrs. Stanmoregood-night, he went up to Maud with a grave, kind face. 

"We never had our waltz, Miss Bruce, " said he; "and--and--there's _areason_, isn't there?"

He was white to his very lips. Through all her triumph, she felt atwinge, far keener than she expected, of compunction and remorse. 

"O, Dick!" she said, "I couldn't help it! Lord Bearwarden proposed tome in that room. "

"And you accepted him?" said Dick, trying to steady his voice, wondering why he felt half suffocated all the time. 

"And I accepted him. "

CHAPTER XVI

"MISSING--A GENTLEMAN"

"Age about thirty. Height five feet nine inches and a half--faircomplexion--light-grey eyes--small reddish-brown whiskers, close-trimmed--short dark hair. Speaks fast, in a high key, and has ahabit of drawing out his shirt-sleeves from beneath his cuffs. Whenlast seen, was dressed in a dark surtout, fancy necktie, black-clothwaist-coat, Oxford-mixture trousers, and Balmoral boots. Wore a blackhat with maker's name inside--Block and Co. , 401 Regent Street. Whoever will give such information to the authorities as may lead tothe discovery of the above, shall receive--A Reward!"

Such was the placard that afforded a few minutes' speculation for thefew people who had leisure to read it, one fine morning about a weekafter Mrs. Stanmore's eventful ball, and towards the close of theLondon season; eliciting at the same time criticism not altogetherfavourable on the style of composition affected by our excellentpolice. The man was missing no doubt, and had been missing for somedays before anxiety, created by his absence, growing into alarm forhis safety, had produced the foregoing advertisement, prompted bycertain affectionate misgivings of Mr. Bargrave, since the lost sheepwas none other than his nephew Tom Ryfe. The old man felt, indeed, seriously discomposed by the prolonged absence of this the only memberof his family. It was unjustifiable, as he remarked twenty times aday, unfeeling, unheard-of, unaccountable. He rang for the servants athis private residence every quarter of an hour or so to learn if thetruant had returned. He questioned the boy at the office sharply andrepeatedly as to orders left with him by Mr. Ryfe before he went away, only to gather from the answers of this urchin, who would, indeed, have forgotten any number of such directions, that he looked on thepresent period of anxiety in the light of a holiday and festival, devoutly praying that his taskmaster might never come back again. Finally in despair poor Bargrave cast himself on the sympathy ofDorothea, who listened to his bewailings with stolid indifference whensober, and replied to them by surmises of the wildest improbabilitywhen drunk. 

Alas, in common with so many others of her class, the charwomantook refuge from care in constant inebriety. Her imagination thusstimulated, pointed, like that of some old Castilian adventurer, steadily to the west. 

"Lor, Mr. Bargrave, " she would say, staring helplessly in his face, and yielding to the genial hiccough which refused to be kept down, "hebe gone to 'Merriky, poor dear, to better hisself, I make no doubt. Don't ye take on so. It's a weary world, it is; and that's where he begone, for sure!"

Yet she knew quite well where he was hidden all the time; and, inasmuch as she had some regard for her kind old employer, theknowledge almost drove her mad. Therefore it was that Dorothea, harassed by conflicting feelings, drowned her sorrows perseveringly inthe bowl. 

For a considerable period this poor woman had suffered a mentaltorture, the severest, perhaps, to which her sex can be subjected. Shehad seen the man she loved--and, though she was only a drudge, and notby any means a tidy one, she could love very dearly--she had seen, Isay, the man she loved gradually learning to despise her affection, and to estrange himself from her society. She was a good deal afraidof "Gentleman Jim"--perhaps she liked him none the less for that--anddared neither tax him with falsehood nor try to worm out of him theassurance that she had or had not a rival. Nevertheless, she wasdetermined to ascertain the cause of her lover's indifference toherself, and his changed conduct in other relations of life. 

Jim had always been somewhat given to the adornment of his person, affecting that flash and gaudy style of decoration so much in favourwith dog-stealers and men of like dubious professions. Of late, however, he had adopted, with different tastes and habits, a totallydifferent costume--when "off duty, " as he called it--meaning therebyrelease from the fulfilment of some business engagement subject topenalties affixed by our criminal code. He now draped himself in whitelinen, dark-coloured clothes, a tall hat, and such outward marks ofrespectability, if not station, going even so far as to invest in kidgloves and an "umbrellier, " as he called that instrument. At firstsight, but for his boots, Jim might almost have been mistaken for areal gentleman. About this period, too, he left off vulgar liquors, and shamefully abandoned a short black pipe that had stuck by himthrough many ups and downs, substituting for these stimulants a greatdeal of brown sherry and certain sad-coloured cigars, demanding stronglungs and a strong stomach as well. These changes did the forlornDorothea note with increasing anxiety, and, because every womanbecomes keen-sighted and quick-witted where her heart is concerned, drew from them an augury fatal to her future happiness. After a while, when the suspense grew intolerable, she resolved on putting a stop toit by personal inquiry, and with that view, as a preliminary, kept herself tolerably sober for twenty-four hours, during whichprobationary period she instituted a grand "clean up" of his premises;and so, as she mentally expressed it, "with a cool head and a cleanhouse and a clear conscience, " confronted her employer on the stairs. 

Old Bargrave had of late become very nervous and uneasy. The fullmeals, the daily bottle of port, the life of self-indulgence, thoughimparting an air of portliness and comfort while everything went well, had unfitted him sadly for a contest with difficulty or reverse. Like the fat troop-horse that looks so sightly on parade, a week'scampaigning reduced him to a miserable object--flabby, shrunk, dispirited, and with a sinking heart at least, if not a sore back. 

Dorothea's person blocked up the staircase before him, or he wouldhave slipped by and locked himself unnoticed in his chambers. 

"Can I speak with you, sir?" said the charwoman. "Now, sir, if youplease--himmediate. "

Old Bargrave trembled. 

"Certainly, Dorothea, certainly. What is it, my good girl? You'veheard something. They've traced him--they've found him. One minute, mygood girl--one minute, if you please. "

He had preceded her through the office to his own inner room, and now, shaking all over, sat down in his easy-chair, pressing both hands hardon its arms to steady himself. Dorothea, staring helplessly at thewall over his head, made a muff of her apron, and curtsied; nothingmore. 

"Speak!" gasped the old gentleman convulsively. 

"It's my haunt, if you please, sir, " said Dorothea, with anothercurtsey. 

"D----n your aunt!" vociferated Bargrave. "It's my nephew! Have youheard nothing? I'm hasty, my good girl; I'm anxious. I--I haven'tanother relation in the world. Have they told you anything more?"

Dorothea began to cry. 

"He be gone to 'Meriker, for sure, " she whimpered, trying back on theold consolatory suggestion; "to better hisself, no doubt. It's me, sir; that's my haunt. She's wuss this turn. An' if so be as you couldspare me for the day--I've been and cleaned up everythink, and I'dwipe over that there table and shake the dust out o' them curtains infive minutes, and----"

"That will do--that will do!" exclaimed the old gentleman, aghast, as well he might be, at the proposal, since none of the furniture inquestion had been subjected to such a process for years, and immediatesuffocation, with intolerable confusion of papers, must have been theresult. "If you want to go and see your aunt, my girl, go, in heaven'sname. I can spare you as long as you like. But you mustn't tidy uphere. No; that would never do. And, Dorothea, if you should hearanything, come and tell me that instant. Never mind the expense. I'dgive a great deal to know he was safe. Ah, I'd give all I have in theworld to see him back again. "

She curtsied and hurried out, leaving Bargrave to immerse himselfin law-papers and correspondence. From sheer force of habit he tookrefuge in his daily work at this hour of anxiety and sad distress. Insuch sorrows it is well for a man to have disciplined his mind tillit obeys him instinctively, like a managed steed bearing its rider atwill out of the crowd of assailants by whom he is beset. 

Dorothea, scrubbing her face with yellow soap till it shone again, proceeded to array herself in raiment of many colours, and, when gotup to her own satisfaction, scuttled off to a distant part of London, making use of more than one omnibus in her journey; and so, returningalmost upon her tracks, confronted Gentleman Jim as he emerged fromhis usual house of call in the narrow street out of Holborn. 

He started, and his face lengthened with obvious disgust. 

"What's up now, lass?" said he. "I've business tonight. D'ye mind?Blessed if my mouth isn't as dry as a cinder-heap. You go home, likea good gal, and I'll take ye to the theaytre, perhaps, to-morrow. Ihaven't a minnit to stop. I didn't ought to be here now. "

The promised treat, the hurried manner, above all the affectedkindness of tone, roused her suspicions to the utmost; and Dorotheawas woman enough to feel for the moment that she dared match her witsagainst those of her betrayer. 

"It's lucky, " she answered coolly; "for I've got to be home aforedark, and they're lighting the lamps now. I've been down to see arterhim, Jim, an' I thought I'd just step round and let you know. I footedit all the way back, that's why I'm so late now. "

She paused and looked steadily in his face. 

"Well?" said Jim, turning very pale, while his eyes glared in herswith a wild horrible meaning. 

She answered his look rather than his exclamation. 

"He's a trifle better since morning. He don't know nothing yet, nor hewon't neither, not for a while to come. But he ain't a-goin' to die, Jim--not this turn. "

His colour came back, and he laughed brutally. "Blast him! d'ye thinkI care?" said he, with a wild flourish of his arm; but added in aquieter voice, "Perhaps it's as well, lass. Cold meat isn't very handyto hide, and he's worth more alive than dead. I couldn't hardly keepfrom laffin' this mornin' when I saw them bills. I'll stand ye a drop, lass, if you're dry, but I mustn't stop with ye to drink it. "

Dorothea declined this liberal offer. 

"Good-night, Jim, " said she, and turned coldly away. She had no heartfor a more affectionate farewell; and could their positions have beenreversed he must have detected something strange in this unusual lackof cordiality. But men are seldom close observers in such matters, and Jim was full of his own interests, his own projects, his own wildsenseless infatuation. 

He watched her round her homeward turn, and then started off at aquick pace in an opposite direction. With all his cunning he wouldnever have suspected that Dorothea, whose intellect he consideredlittle better than an idiot's, could presume to dog his footsteps; andthe contempt he entertained for her--of which she was beginning to beuncomfortably conscious--no doubt facilitated this unhappy creature'soperations. 

Overhead the sky was dark and lowering, the air thick as beforethunder; and though the gaslights streamed on every street in London, it was an evening well suited to watch an unsuspecting personunobserved. 

Dorothea, returning on her footsteps, kept Jim carefully in sight, walking from twenty to fifty yards behind him, and as much as possibleon the other side of the street. There was no danger of her losinghim. She could have followed that figure--to her the type ofcomeliness and manhood--all over the world; but she dreaded, with afear that was almost paralysing, the possibility of his turning backand detecting that he was tracked. "He'd murder me, for sure, " thoughtDorothea, trembling in every limb. Nevertheless, the love that isstrong as death, the jealousy that is cruel as the grave, goaded herto persevere; and so she flitted in his wake with a noiseless step, wonderfully gliding and ghostlike considering the solidity of herproportions. 

Jim turned out of Oxford Street to stop at an ill-looking dirty littlehouse, the door of which seemed to open to him of its own accord. Shespied a small grocer's shop nearly opposite not yet shut up. To dodgerapidly in and sit down for a few minutes while she cheapened a coupleof ounces of tea, afforded Dorothea an excellent chance of watchinghis further movements unseen. 

He emerged again almost immediately with a false beard and a pair ofspectacles, carrying a large parcel carefully wrapped in oiled silk;then, after looking warily up and down the street, turned into themain thoroughfare for the chase to begin once more. 

"He must be dreadful hot, poor Jim!" thought Dorothea, pitying him inspite of herself for his false beard and heavy parcel, while she wipedaway the drops already beginning to pour off her own forehead. 

The night was indeed close and sultry. A light warm air, reeking likethe steam from a cook-shop, breathed in her face, while a low roll ofthunder, nearly lost in the noise of wheels, growled and rumbled amongthe distant Surrey hills. 

She followed him perseveringly through the more fashionable streetsand squares of London, tolerably silent and deserted now in theinterval between dinner and concert, ball or drum. Here and therethrough open windows might be seen a few gentlemen at their wine, ora lady in evening dress coming out for a gasp of fresh air on thebalcony overhead; but on the pavement below, a policeman under a lampor a lady's-maid hurrying on an errand were the only occupants, andthese took no heed of the bearded man with his parcel, nor of thedirty gaudily-dressed woman who followed like his shadow. So theyturned down Grosvenor Place and through Belgrave Square into one ofthe adjoining streets. Here Jim, slackening pace, took his hat offand wiped his brow. Dorothea, with all her faculties on the stretch, slipped into a portico at the very moment when he glanced round onevery side to make sure he was not watched. From this hiding-place sheobserved him, to her great astonishment, ring boldly at the door ofa large handsome house. That astonishment was increased to see himadmitted without demur by an irreproachable footman, powder, plush, and all complete. Large drops of rain began to fall, and outsideLondon, beyond the limits of our several gas companies, it lightenedall round the horizon. 

Dorothea crept nearer the house where Jim had disappeared. On theground floor, in a dining-room of which the windows stood open for theheat, she saw his figure within a few yards of her. He was unpackinghis bundle and arranging its contents on the table, where a servanthad placed a lamp when he admitted this unusual visitor. The rain fellnow in good earnest, and not a living creature remained in the street. Dorothea cowered down by the area railings and watched. 

Not for long. The dining-room door opened, and into the lamplight, like a vision from some world of which poor Dorothea could scarcelyform the vaguest conception, came a pale haughty woman, beautifulexceedingly, before whom Jim, her own Jim, usually so defiant, seemedto cower and tremble like a dog. Even in that moment of bewildermentDorothea's eye, woman-like, marked the mode in which Miss Bruce's longblack hair was twisted, and missed neither the cut nor texture of hergarments. 

Jim spread his goods out for inspection. It was obvious that he hadgained admission to the house under the guise of a dealer in raresilks and Eastern brocades. We, who know everything, know that Mrs. Stanmore was dozing over her coffee up-stairs, and that this scheme, too, originated in the fertile brain and determined character of herniece. 

"I'll take that shawl, if you please, " said Maud, in her coolauthoritative way. "I dare say it's better than it looks. Put it asidefor me. And--you were to ask your own price. "

Dorothea, drenched to the skin, felt nevertheless a fire burningwithin; for, raising her face to peer above the area railings, shemarked a mute worship in Jim's adoring eyes; she marked the workingof his features, pale, as it seemed, with some new and overpoweringemotion. Could this be Gentleman Jim? She had seen him asleep andawake, pleased and angry, drunk and sober, but she had never seen thatface before. Through all its agony there rose in her heart a feelingof anger at such transparent folly--almost of contempt for suchweakness in a man. 

His voice came hoarse and thick while he answered--

"Never name it, miss, never name it. I done as you desired, an' aprecious awkward job it were! _He'll tell no tales now!_"

She started. The hand in which she held a small embroidered note-casetrembled visibly; but her voice, though low, was perfectly firm andclear. 

"If you exceeded my order, " said she, "you have nothing to hope frommy forbearance. I shall be the first to have you punished. I told youso. "

He could scarcely contain his admiration. 

"What a plucked 'un!" he muttered; "what a plucked 'un! No, miss, " headded, "you needn't fear. Fear, says I! You never feared nothink inyour life. You needn't think of that 'ere. Me and another party weworked it off as neat as wax, without noise and without violence. We've a-trapped him safe, miss, and you've got nothink to do but justyou lift up your hand, and we'll put him back, not a ha'porth thewuss, on the very spot as we took him from. "

She drew a great breath of relief, but suffered not a muscle of hercountenance to betray her feelings. 

"It is better so, " she observed quietly. "Remember, once for all, whenI give orders they must be obeyed to the letter. I am satisfied withyou, Jim--I think your name is Jim?"

There was just the least possible inflection of kindness in her voice, and this ruffian's heart leaped to meet it, while the tears came tohis eyes. He dashed them savagely away, and took a letter from hisbreast-pocket. 

"That's all we found on him, miss, " said he, "that an' a couple o'cigars. He hadn't no watch, no blunt, no latch-key, no nothink. Ikep' this here careful to bring it you. Bless ye, I can read, I can, _well_, but I've not read that there. I couldn't even smoke of hiscigars. No, I guv 'em to a pal. This here job warn't done for money, miss! It were done for--for--well--for _you_!"

She took the letter with as little emotion as if it had been anordinary tradesman's bill for a few shillings; yet had she once pawneda good many hundred pounds' worth of diamonds only on the chance ofrecovering its contents. 

"At least, I must pay you for the shawl, " said she, pulling the notesout of their case. 

"For the shawl, miss? Yes, " answered Jim. "Ten pounds will buy that, an' leave a fair profit for my pal as owns it. Not a shilling more, miss--no--no. D'ye mind the first time as ever I see you? D'ye mindwhat I said then? There's one chap, miss, in this world, as belongs ofyou, body and soul. He's a poor chap, he is, and a rough chap, but heasks no better than to sarve of you, be the job what it may--ay, if heswings for it! Now it's out!"

Over her pale haughty face swept a flash of mingled triumph, malice, and even amusement, while she listened to this desperate man'savowal of fidelity and belief. But she only vouchsafed him a coldcondescending smile, observing, as she selected a ten-pound note--

"Is there nothing I can do to mark my satisfaction and approval?"

He fidgeted, glanced at the note-case, and began packing up his goods. 

"If _you're_ pleased, miss, that's enough. But if so be as you _could_do without that there empty bit of silk, and spare it me for akeepsake--well, miss, I'd never part with it--no, not if the rope wasrove, and the nightcap drawed over my blessed face!"

She put the empty note-case in his hand. 

"You're a fool, " she said, ringing the bell for a servant to show himout; "but you're a stanch one, and I wish there were more like you. "

"Blast me, I _am_!" he muttered; adding, as he turned into the wetstreet, and walked on through the rain like a man in a dream, "ifthere was more such gals as you, maybe there'd be more fools like me. It would be a rum world then, blessed if it wouldn't! And now it willbe a whole week afore I shall see her again!"

Dorothea, clinging to the area railings, even in the imminence ofdiscovery had not the heart to leave them as he went out. Stupefied, bewildered, benumbed, she could scarcely believe in the reality of thescene she had witnessed. She felt it explained much that had latelypuzzled her exceedingly; but at present she was unequal to the taskof arranging her ideas so as to understand the mystery that envelopedher. 

Gradually the thunderstorm rolled away, the rain cleared off, the moonshone out, and Dorothea reached her squalid home, drenched, cold, weary, and sick at heart. 

CHAPTER XVII

"WANTED--A LADY"

We must go back a few days to watch with Dick Stanmore through the sadsorrowing hours that succeeded his step-mother's ball. I trust I havenot so described this gentleman as to leave an impression that he waswhat young ladies call a romantic person. Romance, like portwine, after-dinner slumbers, flannel next the skin, and suchself-indulgences, should be reserved as a luxury for after-life; underno circumstances must it be permitted to impair the efficiency ofmanhood in its prime. Dick Stanmore took his punishment with trueBritish pluck and pertinacity. It was a "facer. " As it could notpossibly be returned, his instincts prompted him to "grin and bearit. " He had sustained a severe fall. His first impulse was to get upagain. None the less did nerves thrill and brain spin with the forceand agony of the blow. Perhaps the very nature that most resists, suffers also the most severely from such shocks, as a granite wallcracks and splinters to the round shot, while an earth-work acceptsthat rushing missile with a stolid harmless thud. 

Dick's composition was at least not earthy enough to let him go to bedafter this recent downfall of his hopes. Restless, hurt, sorrowful, angry with himself, not _her_--for his nature could be gallantlyloyal under defeat--sleep was as impossible as any other occupationrequiring quietude and self-control. No. The only thing to be done wasto smoke, of course! and then to pack up everything he could lay handson, without delay, so as to leave London that very morning, for anypart of England, Europe, or the habitable world. All places would bealike to him now, only the farther from Belgrave Square the better. Therefore it was, perhaps, that, after shamming to breakfast, andenduring considerable pain in a state of enforced inactivity, whilehis servant completed their travelling arrangements, he drove throughthis very Square, though it lay by no means in a direct line for therailway station to which he was bound. Those who believe in ghostsaffirm that a disembodied spirit haunts the place it best loved onearth; and what are we but the ghosts of our former selves, when allthat constituted the pith and colouring and vitality of our lives haspassed away? Ah! Lady Macbeth's are not the only white hands fromwhich that cruel stain can never be removed. There are soft eyes andsweet smiles and gentle whispers, enough in the world guilty of moralmanslaughter (I believe the culprits themselves call it "justifiablehomicide"), not entirely divested of that malice prepense whichconstitutes the crime of murder! Happy the victims in whom life is notcompletely extinguished, who recover their feet, bind up their wounds, and undeterred by a ghastly experience, hazard in more encounters afresh assassination of the heart. Such fortitude would have afforded aremedy to Dick Stanmore. "Wanted--a lady!" should have been the mottoemblazoned on his banner if ever he turned back into the battle oncemore. Homoeopathy, no doubt, is the treatment for a malady likethat which prostrated this hapless sufferer, --homoeopathy, at firstdistrusted, ridiculed, accepted only under protest, and in accordancewith the force of circumstances, the exigences of the position;gradually found to soothe, to revive, to ameliorate, till at last iteffects a perfect and triumphant cure, nay, even shows itself powerfulenough to produce a second attack of the same nature, fierce andvirulent as the first. But, meanwhile, Dick Stanmore followed theghost's example, and drove sadly through Belgrave Square, as he toldhimself, for the last--last time! Had he been an hour later, just onehour, he might have taken away with him a subject for considerablespeculation, during his proposed travels in search of distraction. This is what he would have seen. 

A good-looking bad-looking man, with dark eyes and hair, sweeping acrossing very inefficiently, while he watched the adjacent street withan air of eager anxiety, foreign to an occupation which indeed seemsto demand unusual philosophy and composure of mind. Presently, MaudBruce, tripping daintily across the path he had swept clean, letherself into the Square gardens, dropping her glove in the muddystreet as she took a pass-key from her pocket. The crossing-sweeperpounced at it like a hawk, stuck his broom against a lamp-post, andhurried round to the other side of the Square. 

Here Maud appeared at the gate, while "Gentleman Jim, " for it was noneother, returned her glove without a word through the iron bars. 

"I hardly expected you so soon, " said Miss Bruce. "My letter couldonly have been posted at five this morning. "

"You might ha' made sure I'd come that instant, miss, " answered Jim, his face brightening with excitement and delight. "I knowed who 'twasfrom, well enough, though 'twas but a line as a man might say. I ain'thad it an hour, an' here I am, ready and willing for your job, be itwhat it may!"

"You're a bold fellow, I know, " said Maud, "but it's a desperateundertaking. If you don't like it, say so. "

Jim swore a horrible oath, and then drew his hand across his lips asthough to wipe away its traces. 

"Look'ee here, miss, " he muttered in a hoarse thick whisper. "If yousays to me, Jim, says you, go and rob that there church--see, now, I'dhave the wards of the big key in wax, ah! this weary arternoon. If yousays to me, says you, Jim, go and cut that there parson's throat, I'vegot a old knife in my pocket as I wouldn't want to sharpen afore thejob was done, and the parson too, for good an' all!"

There was a peculiar grace in the setting on of Maud's head, especially in the firm lines of her mouth and chin. Though she lookedeven paler than usual, her rare beauty, always somewhat resolute anddefiant in character, never showed to greater advantage than now. 

"I won't speak of reward to _you_, " she said, very clearly anddistinctly, "though you shall name your own price, and be paid atyour own time. Listen--I have an enemy--a bitter enemy who threatenedme--actually dared to threaten _me_ last night--who would hesitate atnothing to do me an injury. "

"Blast him!" muttered Jim ferociously. "Leave 'un to me, miss, leave'un to me!"

She took no heed of his interruption. 

"That enemy, " she continued, "must be got out of my way. "

The sweat stood on her listener's brow. 

"I understand you, miss, " he gasped in a broken voice. "It shall bedone. "

Over the face this ruffian thought too beautiful to be mortal came astern proud smile. 

"I forbid _that_" she replied, "forbid it distinctly, and I _will_ beobeyed to the very letter. If you were to kill this man, I should bethe first to hand you over to justice. Listen. He must be kept quietand out of the way for something less than three weeks. After that, hecan harm me no more. I bear him no grudge, I wish him no evil; but hemust be taken away this very afternoon. Every hour might make it toolate. Can you do this?"

Jim pondered. He was an experienced criminal. A man with certainqualities which, in the honest paths of life, might have made himsuccessful, even remarkable. In a few seconds he had run over hischances, his resources, his risk of detection, all the pros and consof the undertaking. He looked cheerfully in her face. 

"I _can_, miss, " said he confidently. "I don't go for to say as it'sa job to be done right off, like easy shavin', or taking a dozen ofhiseters. But it's to be worked. I'll engage for that, and I'm thechap as can work it. You couldn't give me no longer than to-day, couldye now?"

"If it's not done at once, you must let it alone, " was the answer. 

"Now that's business, " replied Jim, growing cooler and moreself-possessed as he reviewed the difficulties of his enterprise. "Theparty being in town, miss, o' course. You may depend on my makin' ofhim safe before nine o'clock to-night. Shall I trouble you for thename and address, or will you give me a description in full, that willdo as well?"

"You have seen him, " she observed quietly. "On this very spot where Iam standing now. I walked with him in these gardens the first morningyou swept our crossing. A gentleman in a frock coat with a bunch offlowers at his buttonhole. Do you remember?"

_Did he remember_? Why the man's figure, features, every detail of hisdress was photographed on Jim's heart. 

"No need to tell me his name, miss, " was the answer. "I knows him aswell as I knows these here old shoes o' mine. I've had my eye on himever since. I can tell you when he goes out, when he comes in, wherehe takes his meals. I could lay my hand on him in any part of thishere town at two hours' notice. Make yourself easy, miss. Your job'sas good as done, and some day you'll see me again, miss, won't you?And--and you'll thank me kindly, perhaps, when it's off your mind forgood and all!"

"You shall come and tell me the particulars, " answered Miss Bruce, with a gracious smile that seemed to flood him in sunshine, "when thething is finished. And now I ought to be at home again; but before Igo, understand plainly, to-morrow will be too late!"

Jim was deep in thought. 

"The bird might be shy, miss, " said he after a pause. "Some on 'em'seasy scared, and this doesn't seem like a green one, not a bit of it. Supposin' as he _won't_ be 'ticed, miss; there's only one way, then!"

For a moment she felt a keen stab of compunction, but, remembering thestake she ventured, nerved herself to resist the pang. This was notime for child's play, for a morbid sensitiveness, for weak indulgenceof the feelings. 

"Tell him you have a message from _me_, from Miss Bruce, " she repliedfirmly. "It will lead him anywhere. "

Jim looked as if he would rather set about the business in any otherway; nevertheless, he was keenly alive to the efficiency of sotempting a bait, reflecting at the same time with a kind of awe on Mr. Ryfe's temerity in affronting such a character as this. 

Another hurried sentence. A light in Jim's eyes like that with which adog receives directions from its master, a gesture such as dismissesthe same dog imperiously to its kennel, and Miss Bruce walked quietlyhome to her music and her embroidery, while the crossing-sweeper, recovering his broom, hurried off in another direction to commenceoperations against the unsuspecting Tom Ryfe. 

That gentleman's feelings, as he sat in his uncle's office the morningafter Mrs. Stanmore's ball, were of no enviable nature. Malice, hatred, and all uncharitableness might indeed sufficiently describethe frame of mind in which he went about his daily business, unfortunately on the present occasion an affair of such mere routineas in no way to distract his attention from his sorrows and hiswrongs. 

"She has dared me, " thought he, poring over a deed he knew by heart, and of which his eye only took in the form and outward semblance, "challenged me to do my worst, and herself declared it is to be warto the knife. O Maud, Maud, how could you, how could you! Was it notenough to have wound yourself round my heart, to have identifiedyourself with my hopes, my ambition, my manhood, my very existence, and then with one turn of your hand to have destroyed them, each andall, but you must add insult to injury--must scorn and trample on meas well? Some men may stand this sort of treatment--I won't. I _have_a pull over you. Ah! I'm not such a fool, after all, perhaps, as youthought. I have it, and hang me, but I'll make use of it! You haveblasted my life, and thought it good fun, no doubt. I'll see if Ican't give tit-for-tat and spoil _your_ little game, my haughty lady, with your white face and your cursed high-handed airs. Yet, how Iloved them--how I loved them! Must I never see a woman again withoutthat queenly beauty coming between me and my share of happiness? Whatright had you to destroy my whole future? And I would have been sodifferent if you had cared _for_ me; I might have made a bettergentleman than any of them. As for that emptyheaded cousin (to be sureyou've thrown him over, too, and I hope he feels it to his marrow), and that swaggering lord, can they care for you like I did? Would theyhave worked as hard to please you, and sat up night after night, as Ihave done, poring over papers to see you righted? and why am I tobe sacrificed to such men as these? I won't be sacrificed; no, byheavens! I've done my best for you hitherto, Miss Bruce, and you'vedared me now to do my _worst_. I shall rather astonish you, I think, when you learn what that worst is. Curse you; I'll have no mercy! IfI _am_ to suffer, I'll take care not to suffer meekly and alone. It's_my_ turn now, my lady, as, before twelve hours are out, you shallknow to your cost. "

Mr. Ryfe, you see, was sadly wanting in that first element of chivalrywhich establishes the maxim that "a woman can do no wrong. " Thisprinciple, when acted up to in its fullest sense, is convenient, no doubt, and beneficial to us all. It involves free trade on thebroadest basis, sweeping away much of the selfishness and morbidsentimentality that constitute the superstition we call Love. _She_has a perfect right to change her mind, bless her! why shouldn't she?And so, no doubt, have _you_! Ring for fresh cards, cut again forpartners, and so sit merrily down to another rubber. Thus, too, youwill learn to play the game cautiously and with counters, saving bothyour temper and your gold. It may be you will miss the excitement ofreal gambling, finding the pastime so wearisome that you are fain toleave off and go to bed. Whatever you do, retire with a good grace. It is but a choice of evils. Perhaps you had better be bored thanmiserable, and, if less exciting, it is surely less painful to stiflelistless yawns, than to crush down the cry of a wilful wounded heart. 

Mr. Ryfe, however, I consider perfectly inexcusable in the coursehe chose to adopt. Self-sacrifice is, of all others, the quality bywhich, in questions of feeling, the true gold is to be distinguishedfrom the false. But Tom had no idea of such generous immolation--nothe. 

Hour after hour, poring over the deeds of which he never read a line, he raged and chafed and came to a determination at last. 

He had thought of writing to Lord Bearwarden, in his own name, warninghim as a true friend of the lady's antecedents who was about to becomehis lordship's bride, enclosing at the same time a copy of her promiseto himself; for, with professional caution, he reflected that theoriginal had better not pass out of his hands. Then, he argued, if hislordship could only see with his own eyes the treasured lines in herwell-known handwriting, by which Miss Bruce had bound herself in allhonour to the lawyer's clerk, that nobleman must readily, and ofnecessity, hold himself absolved from any engagement he might havecontracted with her, and perceive at once the folly and improprietyof making such a woman his wife. Yes, Lord Bearwarden should read theletter itself; he would obtain a personal interview that very evening, when the latter dressed for dinner. There would thus be no necessityfor trusting the important document out of his own possession, whileat the same time he could himself adopt a tone of candour and highfeeling, calculated to make a strong impression on such a truegentleman as his friend. 

He took Miss Bruce's promise from the safe in which he kept it lockedup, and hid it carefully in his breast-pocket. Then, looking at hiswatch, and finding it was time to leave his office for the West-End, heaped his papers together, bundled them into the safe, and preparedto depart. 

Walking moodily down-stairs he was waylaid by Dorothea, who, sluicingthe steps with dirty water under pretence of cleaning them, thus held, as it were, the key of the position, and so had him at command. Itsurprised him not a little that she should desist from her occupationto request an interview. 

"Can I speak to you for a moment, Mr. Thomas?" said she. "It'sprivate, and it's particular. "

The amount of pressure put on Dorothea ere she consented to thejob now in hand it is not for me to estimate. Her Jim was a man ofunscrupulous habits and desperate resources. It is probable that shehad been subjected to the influences of affection, sentiment, andintimidation, perhaps even physical force. I cannot tell, my businessis only with results. 

There was no escaping, even had Mr. Ryfe been so inclined, forDorothea's person, pail, and scrubbing-brushes defended the wholewidth of the staircase. 

"It's strange, Mr. Thomas, " she continued, pushing the hair off herface. "Lor! I was that frightened and that surprised, as you mighthave 'eard my 'eart beatin' like carpets. Who she may be, an' wot shemay be, I know no more than the dead. But her words was these--I'mtellin' you her werry words--If you can make sure of seeing Mr. Ryfe, says she, --that's _you_, Mr. Thomas, --any time afore to-night, saysshe, tell him, as I must have a word with him in priwate atween himand me this werry evening, or it would have been better for both ofus, poor things, says she, if we'd 'a never been born!"

Tom Ryfe stared. 

"What do you mean?" he said. "Am I to understand that the--thelady who spoke to you was desirous of an interview with me here inchambers, or where?"

"An' a born lady she is an' were!" answered Dorothea, incoherent, andtherefore in the acute lawyer's opinion more likely to be tellingthe truth. "A beautiful lady, too--tall and pale, 'aughty and'andsome--(Tom started)--dressed in 'alf-mourning, with ablack-and-white parasol in her 'and. It's to see you priwate, Mr. Thomas, as she bade me to warn of you. To-night at height in theBirdcage Walk, without fail, says she, for it's life and death as isthe matter, or marriage, says she, which is sometimes wuss nor both. "

Dorothea then removed herself, her pail, and her scrubbing-brushes toone side, as though inviting him to follow out his assignation withoutdelay. 

"I ask yer pardon, " said she, "Mr. Thomas, if I done wrong. But theyoung lady she seemed so anxious and aggrawated-like. No offence, sir, I 'umbly 'ope, and she guv' me 'alf-a-sovereign. "

"And I'll give you another, " exclaimed Tom, placing a coin of thatvalue in Dorothea's damp hot hand. "The Birdcage Walk, at eight. Andit's past six now. Thank you, Dorothea. I've no doubt it's all right. I'll start at once. "

Leaving Gray's Inn, the warm tears filled his eyes to think he hadso misjudged her. Evidently she was in some difficulty, somecomplication; she had no opportunity of confiding to him, and henceher apparent heartlessness, the inconsistency of her conduct which hehad been unable to understand. Obviously she loved him still, and theconviction filled him with rapture, all the more thrilling and intensefor his late misgivings. 

He pulled her written promise from his pocket, and kissed itpassionately, reading it over and over again in the fading light. Aprayer rose from heart to lip for the woman he loved, while he lookedup to the crimson glories of the western sky. Do such prayers fallback in the form of curses on the heads of those who betray, hauntingthem in their sorrows--at their need--worst of all in their suprememoments of happiness and joy? God forbid! Rather let us believe that, true to their heaven-born nature, they are blessings for those whogive and those who receive. 

Some two hours later, Tom Ryfe found himself pacing to and fro underthe trees in the Birdcage Walk, with a happier heart, though it beatso fast, than had been within his waistcoat for weeks. 

It was getting very dark, and even beneath the gas-lamps it wasdifficult to distinguish the figure of man or woman, flitting throughthe deep shadows cast by trees still thick with their summer foliage. Tom, peering anxiously into the obscure, could make out nothing buta policeman, a foot-guardsman with a clothes-basket, and a drunkenslattern carrying her baby upside-down. 

He was growing anxious. Big Ben's booming tones had already warned himit was a quarter past eight, when, suddenly, so close to him he couldalmost touch it, loomed the figure of a woman. 

"Miss Bruce, " he exclaimed--"Maud--is it you?"

Turning his own body, so as to take advantage of a dim ray from thenearest gaslight, he was aware that the woman, shorter and stouterthan Miss Bruce, had muffled herself in a cloak, and was closelyveiled. 

"You have a letter--a message, " he continued in a whisper. "It's allright. I'm the party you expected to meet--here--at eight--under thetrees. "

"And wot the--are you at with my missus under the trees?" growleda brutal voice over his shoulder, while Tom felt he was helplesslypinioned by a pair of strong arms from behind, that crushed andbruised him like iron. Ere he could twist his hands free to showfight, which he meant to do pretty fiercely, he found himself baffled, blinded, suffocated, by a handkerchief thrust into his face, while astrong, pungent, yet not altogether unpleasant flavour of ether filledeyes, mouth, and nostrils, till it permeated to his very lungs. Thenwith every pulsation of the blood Big Ben seemed to be strikinginside his brain till something gave way with a great whizz! likethe mainspring of a watch, and Tom Ryfe was perfectly quiet andcomfortable henceforth. 

Five minutes afterwards a belated bricklayer lounging home with hismate observed two persons, man and woman, supporting between them alimp helpless figure, obviously incapable of sense or motion. Said thebricklayer, "That's a stiff-'un, Bill, to all appearance. "

"Stiff-'un be d----d!" retorted Bill; "he's only jolly drunk. I wish Iwas too!"

The bricklayer seemed a man of reflection; for half-a-mile or so heheld his peace, then, with a backward nod of the head, to indicate hismeaning, observed solemnly--

"I wouldn't take that chap's head-ache when he comes to, no, not to beas jolly drunk as he is this minnit--I wouldn't!"

CHAPTER XVIII

"THE COMING QUEEN"

 "And whenever she comes she will find me waiting To do her homage--my queen--my queen!"

How many an aspiring heart has breathed the high chivalrous sentiment, never before so touchingly expressed, as in the words of thisbeautiful song! How many a gallant generous nature has desired withunspeakable longing to lay its wealth of loyalty and devotion at herfeet who is to prove the coming queen of its affections, the ladye ofits love! And for how many is the unwavering worship, the unfailingfaith, the venture of wealth and honour, the risk of life and limb, right royally rewarded according to its merits and its claim! I am notsure that implicit belief, unquestioning obedience, are the qualitiesmost esteemed by those illustrious personages on whom they arelavished; and I think that the rebel who sends in his adhesion on hisown terms is sometimes treated with more courtesy and considerationthan the stanch vassal whose fidelity remains unaffected by coldness, ingratitude, or neglect. 

Dick Stanmore, reading in the _Morning Post_ an eloquent account ofViscount Bearwarden's marriage to Miss Bruce, with the festivitiesconsequent thereon, felt that he had sadly wasted his loyalty, ifindeed this lady were the real sovereign to whom the homage of hisheart was due. He began now to entertain certain misgivings on thatscore. What if he had over-estimated his own admiration and the forceof her attractions? Perhaps his _real_ queen had not come to him afterall. It might be she was advancing even now in her maiden majesty, as yet unseen, but shedding before her a soft and mellow radiance, atender quiver of light and warmth, like that which flushes the horizonat the break of a summer's day. 

His dark hour had been cold and dismal enough. There is nothing to beashamed of in the confession. Dick suffered severely, as every manlynature must suffer when deceived by a woman. He did not blame thewoman--why should he?--but he felt that a calamity had befallen him, the heaviest of his young experience, and he bore it as best he might. 

"_Caelum non animum_" is a very old proverb: his first impulse, nodoubt, was to change the scene, and seek under other skies an alteredframe of mind, in defiance of Horace and his worldly wisdom, so rarelyat fault. In these days a code of behaviour has been established bysociety to meet every eventuality of life. When your fortunes areimpaired you winter at Rome; when your liver is affected you travel inGermany; when your heart is broke you start at once for India. Thereis something unspeakably soothing, I imagine, in the swing of anelephant as he crashes through jungle, beating it out for tigers;something consolatory to wounded feelings in the grin of a heavy oldtusker, lumbering along, half sulky, half defiant, winking a littleblood-red eye at the pig-sticker, pushing his Arab to speed with aloose rein ere he delivers the meditated thrust that shall win firstspear. Snipe, too, killed by the despairing lover while standing in apaddy-field up to his knees in water, with a tropical sun beating onhis head, to be eaten afterwards in military society, not undiluted bypale ale and brandy-pawnee, afford a relief to the finer feelings ofhis nature as delightful as it is unaccountable; while those moreadventurous spirits who, penetrating far into the mountainous regionsof the north-west frontier, persecute the wild sheep or the eland, andeven make acquaintance with the lordly ibex "rocketing" down from cragto crag, breaking the force and impetus of his leap by alighting onhorns and forehead, would seem to gain in their life of hardship andadventure an immunity from the "common evil" which lasts them wellinto middle age. 

Dick Stanmore's first impulse, therefore, was to secure a berth in theP. And O. Steamer at once. Then he reflected that it would not bea bad plan to stop at Constantinople--one of the Egean islands, Messina--or, indeed, why go farther than Marseilles? If you come tothat, Paris was the very place for a short visit. A man might spenda fortnight there pleasantly enough, even in the hot weather, and itwould be a complete change, the eventual result of these deliberationsbeing a resolve to go down and look after his landed property in thewest of England. I believe that in this determination Mr. Stanmoreshowed more wisdom than his friends had hitherto given him credit forpossessing. At his own place he had his own affairs to interest him, agood deal of business to attend to, above all, constant opportunitiesof doing good. This it is, I fancy, which constitutes the real pithand enjoyment of a country gentleman's life--which imparts zest andflavour to the marking of trees, the setting of trimmers, the shootingof partridges, nay, even to the joyous excitement of fox-huntingitself. 

This, too, is a wondrous salve for such wounds as those under whichDick Stanmore was now smarting. The very comparison of our own sorrowswith those of others has a tendency to decrease their proportionsand diminish their importance. How can I prate of my cut finger inpresence of your broken leg? And how utterly ridiculous would haveseemed Mr. Stanmore's sentimental sorrows to one of his own labourerskeeping a wife and half-a-dozen children on eleven shillings a week?

In the whole moral physic-shop there is no anodyne like duty, sweetened with a little charity towards your neighbours. Amusementand dissipation simply aggravate the evil. Personal danger, whileits excitement braces nerve and intellect for the time, is anover-powerful stimulant for the imagination, and leaves a reactionsadly softening to the heart. Successful ambition, gratified vanity, what are these with none to share the triumph? But put the suffererthrough a steady course of daily duties, engrossing in their nature, stupefying in the monotony of their routine, and insensibly, while hisattention is distracted from self and selfish feelings, he gathersstrength, day by day, till at last he is able to look his sorrow inthe face, and fight it fairly, as he would any other honourable foe. The worst is over then, and victory a mere question of time. 

So Dick Stanmore, setting to work with a will, found sleep andappetite and bodily strength come back rapidly enough. He had momentsof pain, no doubt, particularly when he woke in the morning. Also atintervals during the day, when the breeze sighed through his woods, or the sweetbrier's fragrance stole on his senses more heavily thanusual. Once, when a gipsy-girl blessed his handsome face, adding, inthe fervour of her gratitude, a thousand good wishes for "the lass heloved, as must love him dear, sure-lie!" but for very shame he couldhave cried like a child. 

Such relapses, however, were of rarer occurrence every week. It wasnot long before he told himself that he had been through the worst ofhis ordeal and could meet Lady Bearwarden now without looking likea fool. In this more rational frame of mind Mr. Stanmore arrived inLondon in business at that period of settled weather and comparativestagnation called by tradesmen the "dead time of year, " and found hislate-acquired philosophy put somewhat unexpectedly to the proof. 

He was staring at a shop-window in Oxford Street--studying, indeed, the print of a patent mowing-machine, but thinking, I fear, more ofpast scenes in certain well-lit rooms, on slippery floors, than of thevelvet lawns at home--when a barouche drew up to the kerb-stone withsuch trampling of hoofs, such pulling about of horses' mouths, such ajerk and vibration of the whole concern, as denoted a smart carriagewith considerable pretension, a body-coachman of no ordinary calibre. Dick turned sharply round, and there, not five yards off, was the paleface, proud, dreamy, and beautiful as of old. Had she seen him? Hehardly knew, for he was sick at heart, growing white to his verylips--he, a strong healthy man, with as much courage as hisneighbours. Horribly ashamed of himself he felt. And well he might be!But with more wisdom than he had hitherto shown, he made a snatch athis hat, and took refuge in immediate retreat. It was his only chance. How, indeed, could he have met her manfully and with dignity, whileevery nerve and fibre quivered at her presence? how endure the shameof betraying in his manner that he loved her very dearly still? Itgave him, indeed, a sharp and cruel pang to think that it had come tothis--that the face he had so worshipped he must now fly from like aculprit--that for his own sake, in sheer self-defence, he mustavoid her presence, as if he had committed against her some deadlyinjury--against _her_, for whom, even now, he would willingly havelaid down his life! Poor Dick! He little knew, but it was the lastpang he was destined to feel from his untoward attachment, and itpunished him far more severely than he deserved. 

Blundering hastily up a by-street, he ran into the very arms of agentleman who had turned aside to apply a latch-key at the door of arambling unfurnished-looking house, sadly in want of paint, whitewash, and general repair. The gentleman, with an exclamation of delight, putboth hands on Mr. Stanmore's shoulders. 

"This _is_ a piece of luck!" exclaimed the latter. "Why, it's 'old SirSimon the King'!"

His mind reverted insensibly to the pleasant Oxford days, and heused a nickname universally bestowed on his friend by the men of hiscollege. 

"And what can _you_ be doing here at this time of year?" asked Simon. "In the first place, how came you to be in London? In the second, howdid you ever get so far along Oxford Street? In the third, being here, won't you come up to the painting-room? I'll show you my sketches;I'll give you some 'baccy--I haven't forgot Iffley Lock and your vilehabit of stopping to drink. I can even supply you with beer! We'llhave a smoke, and a talk over old times. "

"Willingly, " answered Dick, declining the beer, however, on the pleathat such potations only went well with boating or cricket, andfollowed the painter up-stairs into an exceedingly uncomfortable room, of which the principal object of furniture seemed to be an easel, bearing a sketch, apparently to be transferred hereafter into someunfinished picture. 

Dick was in no frame of mind to converse upon his own affairs;accepting the proffered cigar, and taking the only seat in the place, he preferred listening to his friend, who got to work at once, andtalked disjointedly while he painted. 

"I can't complain, " said Simon, in answer to the other's questionsconcerning his prosperity and success. "I was always a plodding sortof fellow, as you remember. Not a genius--I don't _think_ I've thedivine gift. Sometimes I hope it may come. I've worked hard, I grantyou--very hard; but I've had extraordinary luck--marvellous! What doyou think of that imp's tail?--Isn't it a trifle too long?"

"I'm no judge of imps, " answered Dick. "He's horribly ugly. Go onabout yourself. "

"Well, as I was saying, " continued Simon, foreshortening his imp thewhile, "my luck has been wonderful. It all began with _you_. If youhadn't gone fishing there, I should never have seen Norway. If Ihadn't seen it, I couldn't have painted it. "

"I'm not sure that follows, " interrupted Dick. 

"Well, I _shouldn't_ have painted it, then, " resumed the artist. "Andthe credit I got for those Norway sketches was perfectly absurd. I seetheir faults now. They're cold and crude, and one or two are quitecontrary to the first principles of art. I should like to paint themall over again. But still, if I hadn't been to Norway, I shouldn't behere now. "

"No more should I, " observed Dick, puffing out a volume of smoke. "Ishould have been 'marry-ed to a mermy-ed' by this time, if you hadshown a proper devotion to your art, and the customary indifference toyour friend. "

"O, that was nothing!" said the painter, blushing. "Any other fellowcould have pulled you out just as well. I say, Stanmore, how jolly itwas over there! Those were happy days. And yet I don't wish to havethem back again--do you?"

Dick sighed and held his peace. For him it seemed that the light heartand joyous carelessness of that bright youthful time was gone, neverto come again. 

"I have learned so much since then, " continued Simon, putting a littlegrey into his imp's muzzle, "and unlearned so much, too, which is betterstill. Mannerism, Stanmore--mannerism is the great enemy of art. Now, I'll explain what I mean in two words. In the first place, you observethe light from that chink streaming down on my imp's back; well, in thepicture, you know--"

"Where _is_ the picture?" exclaimed Dick, whose cigar was finished, and who had no scruples in thus unceremoniously interrupting aprofessional lecture which previous experience told him might bewearisome. "Let's see it. Let's see _all_ the pictures. Illustration'sbetter than argument, and I can't understand anything unless it's setbefore me in bright colours, under my very nose. "

Good-natured Simon desisted from his occupation at once, and beganlifting picture after picture, as they stood in layers against thewall, to place them in a favourable light for the inspection ofhis friend. Many and discursive were his criticisms on these, theprogressive results of eye, and hand, and brain, improving everyday. Here the drawing was faulty, there the tints were coarse. Thisbetrayed mannerism, that lacked power, and in a very ambitiouslandscape, enriched with wood, water, and mountain, a patchy skyspoiled the effect of the whole. 

Nevertheless it seemed that he was himself not entirely dissatisfiedwith his work, and whenever his friend ventured on the diffidentcriticism of an amateur, Simon demonstrated at great length that eachfault, as he pointed it out, was in truth a singular merit and beautyin the picture. 

Presently, with a face of increased importance, he moved a largeoblong canvas from its hiding-place, to prop it artistically at suchan angle as showed the lights and shades of its finished portion tothe best advantage. Then he fell back a couple of paces, contemplatingit in silence with his head on one side, and so waited for hisfriend's opinion. 

But Dick was mute. Something in this picture woke up the pain of arecent wound festering in his heart, and yet through all the smart andtingling came a strange sensation of relief, like that with which astyptic salves a sore. 

"What do you think of it?" asked the artist. "I want your candidopinion, Stanmore--impartial--unprejudiced, I tell you. I hope greatthings from it. I believe it far and away the best I've painted yet. Look into the work. O, it will stand inspection. You might examine itwith a microscope. Then, the conception, eh? And the drawing's notamiss. A little more this way--you catch the outline of his eyebrow, with the turn of the Rhymer's head. "

"Hang the Rhymer's head!" replied Dick, "I don't care about it. Iwon't look at it. I _can't_ look at it, man, with such a woman as_that_ in the picture. Old boy, you've won immortality at last!"

But Simon's face fell. 

"That's a great fault, " he answered gravely. "The details, thoughkept down as accessories to the whole, should yet be worked out socarefully as to possess individual merit of their own. I see, though;I see how to remedy the defect you have suggested. I can easily bringhim out by darkening the shadows of the background. Then, this fairyat his elbow is paltry, and too near him besides. I shall paint herout altogether. She takes the eye off my principal figures, and breaksthat grand line of light pouring in from the morning sky. Don't youthink so?"

But Dick gave no answer. With feverish thirst and longing, he wasdrinking in the beauty of the Fairy Queen; and had not Simon Perkinsbeen the dullest of observers, and the least conceited of painters, hemust have felt intensely flattered by the effect of his work. 

"So you like her, " said he, after a pause, during which, in truth, hehad been considering whether he should not paint out the intrusivefairy that very afternoon. 

"Like her!" replied the other. "It's the image of the most beautifulface I ever saw in my life; only it's softer and even more beautiful. I'll tell you what, old fellow, put a price on that picture and I'llhave it, cost what it may! Only you must give me a little time, " addedDick somewhat ruefully, reflecting that he had spent a good deal ofmoney lately, and rent-day was still a long way off. 

Simon smiled. 

"I wonder what you'd think of the original, " said he, "the model whosits to me for my Fairy Queen! I can tell you that face on the canvasis no more to be compared to hers than I am to Velasquez. And yetVelasquez must have been a beginner once. "

"I don't believe there's such a woman--two such women--in London, "replied his friend, correcting himself. "I can hardly imagine sucheyes, such an expression. It's what the fellows who write poetry call'the beauty of a dream, ' and I'll never say poetry is nonsense again. No, that's neither more nor less than an imaginary angel, Simon. Simply an impossible duck!"

"Would you like to see her?" asked the painter, laughing. "She'll behere in five minutes. I do believe that's her step on the stairs now. "

A strange wild hope thrilled through Dick Stanmore's heart. Could itbe possible that Lady Bearwarden had employed his friend to paint herlikeness in this fancy picture, perhaps under a feigned name, and wasshe coming to take her sitting now?

All his stoicism, all his philosophy, vanished on the instant. Hewould remain where he was though he should die for it. O, to see her, to be in the same room with her, to look in her eyes, and hear hervoice once more!

A gown rustled, a light step was heard, the door opened, and asweet laughing voice rung out its greeting to the painter from thethreshold. 

"So late, Simon! Shameful, isn't it? But I've got all they wanted. Such bargains! I suppose nobody ever did so much shopping in so shorta--"

She caught sight of Dick, stopped, blushed, and made a veryfascinating little curtsey, as they were formally introduced; but nexttime she spoke the merriment had gone out of her voice. It had becomemore staid, more formal, and its deeper, fuller tones reminded himpainfully of Maud. 

[Illustration: "She caught sight of Dick. "]

Yes. Had he not known Lady Bearwarden so well, he thought it wouldhave been quite possible for him to have mistaken this beautiful younglady for that faithless peeress. The likeness was extraordinary, ridiculous. Not that he felt the least inclined to laugh. The featureswere absolutely the same, and a certain backward gesture of the head, a certain trick of the mouth and chin were identical with the mannerof Lady Bearwarden, in those merry days that seemed so long agonow, when she had been Maud Bruce. Only Miss Algernon's face had asoftness, a kindly trustful expression he never remembered on theother, and her large pleading eyes seemed as if they could neitherkindle with anger nor harden to freezing glances of scorn. 

As for the Fairy Queen, he looked from the picture to its original, and felt constrained to admit that, wondrously beautiful as he hadthought its likeness on canvas, the face before him was infinitelysuperior to the painter's fairest and most cherished work. 

Dick went away of course almost immediately, though sorely against hiswill. Contrary to her wont, Miss Algernon, who was rather a mimic andfull of fun, neither imitated the gestures nor ridiculed the bearingof this chance visitor. "She had not observed him much, " she said, when taxed by Simon with this unusual forbearance. This was false. But"she might know him again, perhaps, if they met. " This, I imagine, wastrue. 

And Dick, wending his way back to his hotel buried in thought, passedwithout recognising it the spot where he met Lady Bearwarden one shorthour ago. He was pondering, no doubt, on the face he had just seen--onits truth, its purity, its fresh innocent mirth, its dazzling beauty, more, perhaps, than on its extraordinary likeness to hers who hadbrought him the one great misfortune of his life. 

CHAPTER XIX

AN INCUBUS

It is not to be supposed that any gentleman can see a lady in thestreets of London and remain himself unseen. In the human as in meanerraces the female organ of perception is quicker, keener, and moreaccurate than the male. Therefore it is that a man bowing in Pall Mallor Piccadilly to some divinity in an open carriage, and failing toreceive any return for his salute, sinks at once into a false positionof awkwardness and discomfiture, _il a manqué son coup_, and his faceassumes incontinently the expression of one who has missed a woodcockin the open, and has no second barrel with which to redeem his shot. As Dick saw Lady Bearwarden in Oxford Street, we may be sure that LadyBearwarden also saw Dick. Nor was her ladyship best pleased with theactivity he displayed in avoiding her carriage and escaping from hersociety. If Mr. Stanmore had been the most successful Lovelace whoever devoted himself to the least remunerative of pursuits, insteadof a loyal, kindhearted, unassuming gentleman, he could hardly havechosen a line of conduct so calculated to keep alive some spark ofinterest in Maud's breast as that which he unconsciously adopted. Itis one thing to dismiss a lover because suited with a superior article(as some ladies send away five-foot-ten of footman when six-foot comesto look after the place), and another to lose a vassal for good, likean unreclaimed hawk, heedless of the lure, clear of the jesses, andchecking, perhaps, at every kind of prey in wilful wanton flight, down-wind towards the sea. 

There is but one chance for a man worsted in these duels _àl'outrance_, which are fought out with such merciless animosity. It isto bind up his wounds as best he may, and take himself off to die orget well in secret. Presently the conqueror finds that a battle onlyhas been won, and not a territory gained. After the flush of combatcomes a reaction. The triumph seems somewhat tame, ungraced bypresence of the captive. Curiosity wakes up, pity puts in its pleadingword, a certain jealous instinct of appropriation is aroused. Where ishe? What has become of him? I wonder if he ever thinks of me _now_!Poor fellow! I shouldn't wish to be forgotten altogether, as if we hadnever met; and though I didn't want him to like _me_, I never meantthat he was to care for anybody else. Such are the thoughts that chaseeach other through the female heart when deprived of sovereignty inthe remotest particular; and it was very much in this way that LadyBearwarden, sitting alone in her boudoir, speculated on the presentdoings and sentiments of the man who had loved her so well and hadgiven her up so unwillingly, yet with never a word of reproach, nevera look nor action that could add to her remorse or make her task morepainful. 

Alas, she was not happy; even now, when she had gained all she mostwished and schemed for in the world. She felt she was not happy, andshe felt, too, that for Dick to know of her unhappiness would be thebitterest drop in the bitter cup he had been compelled to drain. 

As she looked round her beautiful boudoir, with its blue-satinhangings, its numerous mirrors, its redundancy of coronets surmountingher own cipher, twisted and twined into a far more graceful decorationthan the grim heraldic bruin which formed her husband's cognisance, she said to herself that something was yet required to constitutea woman's happiness beyond the utmost efforts of the upholder'sart--that even carriages, horses, tall footmen, quantities of flowers, unlimited credit, and whole packs of cards left on the hall tableevery day were mere accessories and superfluities, not the real pithand substance of that for which she pined. 

Lady Bearwarden, more than most women, had, since her marriage, foundthe worldly ball at her foot. She needed but to kick it where shewould. As Miss Bruce, with nothing to depend on but her own good looksand conquering manners, she had wrested a large share of admirationfrom an unwilling public; now, as a peeress, and a rich one, the samepublic of both sexes courted, toadied, and flattered her, till shegrew tired of hearing herself praised. The men--at least those of highposition and great prospects--had no scruple in offering a marriedwoman that homage which might have entailed their own domesticsubjugation if laid at a spinster's feet; and the women--all exceptthe very smartest ladies (who liked her for her utter fearlessness and_sang-froid_ as well as for her own sake)--thought it a fine thing tobe on intimate terms with "Maud Bearwarden, " as they loved to callher, and being much afraid of her, made up to her with the sweetfacility and sincerity of their sex. 

Yet in defiance of ciphers, coronets, visiting-cards, blue hangings, the homage of lords, and the vassalage of ladies, there was somethingamiss. She caught herself continually looking back to the old daysat Ecclesfield Manor, to the soft lawns and shady avenues, the fondfather, who thought his darling the perfection of humanity, and whoseface lit up so joyfully whenever she came into the room; the sweetdelicate mother from whom she could never remember an unkind look noran angry word; the hills, the river, the cottages, the tenants, theflower-garden, the ponies, and the old retriever that died licking herhand. She felt kindly towards Mrs. Stanmore, and wondered whether shehad behaved quite as well to that lady as she ought, recalling many alittle act of triumphant malice and overt resistance which affordedkeen gratification to the rebel at the time. By an easy transition, she glided on to Dick Stanmore's honest and respectful admiration, hiscourtesy, his kindness, his unfailing forbearance and good humour. Bearwarden was not always good-humoured--she had found that outalready. But as for Dick, she remembered how no mishap nor annoyanceof his own ever irritated him in the slightest degree; how his firstconsideration always seemed to be _her_ comfort and _her_ happiness;how even in his deep sorrow, deceived, humiliated, cut to the heart, he had never so much as spoken one bitter word. How nobly had hetrusted her about those diamonds! How well he had behaved to herthroughout, and how fondly would he have loved and cherished her hadshe confided her future to his care! He must be strangely altered now, to avoid her like this. She was sure he recognised her, for she sawhis face fall, saw him wince--that at least was a comfort--but neverto shake hands, never even to stop and speak! Well, she had treatedhim cruelly, and perhaps he was right. 

But this was not the actual grievance, after all. She felt she woulddo precisely the same over again. It was less repentance that painedher, than retribution. Maud, for the first time in her life, wasbeginning to feel really in love, and with her own husband. Such aninfatuation, rare as it is admirable, ought to have been satisfactoryand prosperous enough. When ladies do so far condescend, it is usuallya gratifying domestic arrangement for themselves and their lords;but in the present instance the wife's increasing affection affordedneither happiness to herself nor comfort to her husband. There wasa "Something" always between them, a shadow, not of suspicion normistrust, for Bearwarden was frank and loyal by nature, but ofcoldness. She had a secret from him, and she was a bad dissembler; hisfiner instincts told him that he did not possess her full confidence, and he was too proud to ask it. So they lived together a few shortweeks after marriage, on outward terms of courtesy and cordiality, butwith this little rift of dissatisfaction gradually yet surely wideninginto a fissure that should rend each of these proud unbending heartsin twain. 

"What would I give to be like other wives, " thought Maud, looking ata half-length of her husband in uniform, which occupied the place ofhonour in her boudoir. "What is it? Why is it? I would love him so, ifhe would let me. How I wish I could be good--_really_ good, like mammawas. I suppose it's impossible now. I wonder if it's too late to try. "And with the laudable intention of beginning amendment at once, LadyBearwarden rang sharply to tell her servants she was "not at home toanybody till Lord Bearwarden came in, except"--and here she turnedaway from her own footman, that he might not see the colour rising inher face--"except a man should call with some silks and brocades, inwhich case he was to be shown up-stairs at once. "

The door had scarcely closed ere the paper-cutter in Maud's fingersbroke short off at the handle. Her grasp tightened on it insensibly, while she ground and gnashed her small white teeth, to think that she, with her proud nature, in her high position, should not be freeto admit or deny what visitors she pleased. So dandies of variouspatterns, afoot, in tea-carts, and on hacks more or less deserving inshape and action, discharged themselves of their visiting-cards atLady Bearwarden's door, and passed on in peace to fulfil the same riteelsewhere. 

Two only betrayed an unseemly emotion when informed "her ladyship wasnot at home": the one, a cheerful youth, bound for a water-partyat Skindle's, and fearful of missing his train, thanked Providenceaudibly for what he called "an unexpected let off"; the other, anolder, graver, and far handsomer man, suffered an expression ofpalpable discomfiture to overspread his comely face, and, regardlessof observation, walked away from the door with the heavy step thatdenotes a heavy heart. Not that he had fallen in love with LadyBearwarden--far from it. But there _was_ a Somebody--that Somebody anadverse fate had decreed he must neither meet to-day nor to-morrow, and the interval seemed to both of them wearisome, and even painful. But Maud was Somebody's dear friend. Maud either had seen her or wouldsee her that very afternoon. Maud would let him talk about her, praiseher, perhaps would even give her a message--nay, it was just possibleshe might arrive to pay a morning visit while he was there. No wonderhe looked so sad to forego this series of chances; and all the while, if he had only known it, Fate, having veered round at luncheon-time, would have permitted him to call at Somebody's house, to find her athome, enchanted to see him, and to sit with her as long as he likedin the well-known room, with its flowers and sun-shades and globesof gold-fish, and the picture over the chimney-piece, and its dearoriginal by his side. But it is a game at cross-purposes all throughthis dangerous pastime; and perhaps its very _contretemps_ are whatmake it so interesting to the players, so amusing to the lookers-on. 

Lady Bearwarden grew fidgety after a while. It is needless to say that"the man with some silks and brocades" to be admitted by her servantswas none other than "Gentleman Jim, " who, finding the disguise of a"travelling merchant" that in which he excited least suspicion in hisinterviews with her ladyship, had resolved to risk detection yet oncemore, and had given her notice of his intention. 

We all remember Sinbad's Old Man of the Sea, and the grip of thatmerciless rider tightening closer and closer the longer he was carriedby his disgusted victim. There is more truth in the fable than most ofus would like to allow. If you once permit yourself to set up an "OldMan of the Sea, " farewell to free agency, happiness, even tolerablecomfort, from that time forth! Sometimes your burden takes the shapeof a renewed bill, sometimes of a fatal secret, sometimes of an unwiseattachment, sometimes only of a bad habit; but whatever it be, thefarther you carry it the heavier it seems to grow; and in this casecustom does not in the least degree reconcile you to the infliction. Up with your heels, and kick it off at any price! Even should you rickyour back in the process, it is better to be crippled for life thaneternally oppressed by a ruthless rider and an intolerable weight. 

Gentleman Jim was becoming Lady Bearwarden's Old Man of the Sea. Morethan once of late he had forced himself on her presence when it wasexceedingly inconvenient and even dangerous to meet him. The promisedinterview of to-day had been extorted from her most unwillingly, andby threats, implied if not expressed. She began to feel that she wasno longer her own mistress--that she had lost her independence, andwas virtually at the command of an inferior. To a proud nature likehers such a situation seemed simply intolerable. 

Lord Bearwarden seldom came in much before it was time to dress fordinner; but young men's habits are not usually very regular, themonotonous custom of doing everything by clockwork being a tediousconcomitant of old age. Maud could not calculate on his absence at anyparticular hour of the day unless he were on duty, and the bare notionthat she should _wish_ thus to calculate fretted and chafed her beyondmeasure. It was a relief to hear the door-bell once more, and prepareto confront the worst. A London servant never betrays astonishment, nor indeed any emotion whatever, beyond a shade of dignified andforbearing contempt. The first footman showed Lady Bearwarden'ssuspicious-looking visitor into her boudoir with sublime indifference, returning thereafter leisurely and loftily to his tea. Maud felt hercourage departing, and her defeat, like that of brave troops seizedby panic, seemed all the more imminent for habitual steadiness andvalour. She took refuge in an attempt to bully. 

"Why are you here?" said Maud, standing bolt upright; while GentlemanJim, with an awkward bow, began as usual to unroll his goods. "I havetold you often enough this persecution must finish. I am determinednot to endure it any longer. The next time you call I shall order myservants to drive you from the door. O, will you--_will_ you not cometo terms?"

His face had been growing darker and darker while she spoke, and shewatched its expression as the Mediterranean fisherman watches a whitesquall gliding with fatal swiftness over the waters, to bring ruin andshipwreck and despair. It sometimes happens that the fisherman loseshis head precisely at the wrong moment, so that foiled, helpless, and taken aback, he comes to fatal and irremediable grief. Thus LadyBearwarden, too, found the nerve on which she prided herself failingwhen she most wanted it, and knew that the prestige and influencewhich formed her only safeguards were slipping from her grasp. 

She had cowed this ruffian at their first meeting by an assumptionof calm courage and superiority in a crisis when most women, thusconfronted at dead of night by a housebreaker, would have shrunktrembling and helpless before him. She had retained her superiorityduring their subsequent association by an utter indifference as toresults, so long as they only affected character and fortune, whichto his lower nature seemed simply incomprehensible; but now that herheart was touched she could no longer remain thus reckless, thusdefiant. With womanly feelings came womanly misgivings and fear ofconsequences. The charm was lost, the spell broken, and the familiarspirit had grown to an exacting master from an obedient slave. 

"That's not the way as them speaks who's had the pith and marrow outof a chap's werry bones, " growled Jim. "There wasn't no talkin offigure-footmen and drivin' of respectable tradesmen from folks' doorswhen a _man_ was wanted, like this here. A _man_, I says, wot wasn'tafeard to swing, if so be as he could act honourable and fulfil hisbargain. "

"I'll pay anything. Hush! _pray_. Don't speak so loud. What _must_ myservants think? Consider the frightful risks I run. Why should youwish to make me utterly miserable--to drive me out of my senses? I'llpay anything--anything to be free from this intolerable persecution. "

"Pay--pay anythink!" repeated Jim, slightly mollified by her distress, but still in a tone of deep disgust. "Pay. Ah! that's always the wordwith the likes of you. You think your blessed money can buy us poorchaps up, body and heart and soul Blast your money! says I. There, that's not over civil, my lady, but it's plain speaking. "

"What would you have me do?" she asked, in a low plaintive voice. 

She had sunk into an arm-chair, and was wringing her hands. How lovelyshe looked now in her sore distress! It imparted the one femininecharm generally wanting in her beauty. 

Gentleman Jim, standing over against her, could not but feel the oldmysterious influence pervading him once more. "If you was to say tome, Jim, says you, I believe as you're a true chap!--I believe asyou'd serve of me, body and bones. Well, not for money. Money bed----d! But for goodwill, we'll say. I believe as you thinks there'snobody on this 'arth as is to be compared of me, says you; and seenow, you shall come here once a week, once a fortnit, once a month, even, and I'll never say no more about drivin' of you away; but youshall see me, and I'll speak of you kind and haffable; and whateverI wants done I'll tell you, do it: and it _will_ be done; see if itwon't! Why--why I'd be proud, my lady--there--and happy too. Ay, therewouldn't walk a happier man, nor a prouder, maybe, in the streets ofLondon!"

It was a long speech for Jim. At its conclusion he drew his sleeveacross his face and bent down to re-arrange the contents of hisbundle. 

Tears were falling from her eyes at last. Noiselessly enough, andwithout that redness of nose, those contortions of face, which renderthem so unbecoming to most women. 

"Is there no way but this?" she murmured. "No way but this? It'simpossible! It's absurd! It's infamous! Do you know who I am? Do youknow what you ask? How dare you dictate terms to _me_? How dare youpresume to say I shall do this, I shall not do _that?_ Leave my housethis minute. I will not listen to another syllable!"

She was blazing out again, and the fire of pride had dried her tearsere she concluded. Anger brought back her natural courage, but it wastoo late. 

Gentleman Jim's face, distorted with fury, looked hideous. Under hiswaistcoat lurked a long thin knife. Maud never knew how near, for oneghastly moment, that knife was to being buried in her round whitethroat. 

He was not quite madman enough, however, to indulge his passions sofar, with the certainty of immediate destruction. 

"Have a care!" he hissed through his clenched teeth. "If you and meis to be enemies, look out! You know me--leastways you ought to; and_you_ know I stick at nothing!"

She was still dreadfully frightened. Once more she went back to theold plea, and offered him fifty pounds--a hundred pounds. Anything!

He was tying the knots of his bundle. Completing the last, he lookedup, and the glare in his eyes haunted her through many a sleeplessnight. 

"You've done it now!" was all he muttered. "When next you see meyou'll wish you hadn't. "

It speaks well for Jim's self-command that, as he went down, he couldsay, "Your servant, my lord, " with perfect composure, to a gentlemanwhom he met on the stairs. 

CHAPTER XX

"THE LITTLE CLOUD"

Lord Bearwarden, like other noblemen and gentlemen keeping house inLondon, was not invariably fortunate in the selection of his servants. The division of labour, that admirable system by which such greatresults are attained, had been brought to perfection in his as in manyother establishments. A man who cleaned knives, it appeared, couldnot possibly do anything else, and for several days the domesticarrangements below-stairs had been disturbed by a knotty question asto _whose_ business it was to answer "my lord's bell". Now my lordwas what his servants called rather "a arbitrary gentleman", seeming, indeed, to entertain the preposterous notion that these were paidtheir wages in consideration of doing as they were bid. It wasnot therefore surprising that figure-footmen, high of stature andfaultless in general appearance, should have succeeded each other withstartling rapidity, throwing up their appointments and doffing hislordship's livery, without regard to their own welfare or theiremployer's convenience, but in accordance with some Quixotic notionsof respect for their office and loyalty to their order. 

Thus it came about that a subordinate in rank, holding the appointmentof second footman, had been so lately enlisted as not yet to have madehimself acquainted with the personal appearance of his master; and itspeaks well for the amiable disposition of this recruit that, althoughhis liveries were not made, he should, during the temporary absence ofa fellow-servant, who was curling his whiskers below, have consentedto answer the door. 

Lord Bearwarden had rung like any other arrival; but it must beallowed that his composure was somewhat ruffled when refusedadmittance by his own servant to his own house. 

"Her ladyship's not at home, I tell ye", said the man, apparentlyresenting the freedom with which this stranger proceeded into thehall, while he placed his own massive person in the way; "and if youwant to see my lord, you just can't--_that_ I know!"

"Why?" asked his master, beginning to suspect how the land lay, andconsiderably amused. 

"Because his lordship's particularly engaged. He's having his 'aircut just now, and the dentist's waiting to see him after he'sdone", returned this imaginative retainer, arguing indeed from hispertinacity that the visitor must be one of the swell mob, thereforeto be kept out at any cost. 

"And who are _you_?" said his lordship, now laughing outright. 

"Who am I?" repeated the man. "I'm his lordship's footman. Now, then, who are _you_? That's more like it!"

"I'm Lord Bearwarden himself", replied his master. 

"Lord Bearwarden! O! I dare say", was the unexpected rejoinder. "Well, that _is_ a good one. Come, young man, none of these games here:there's a policeman round the corner. "

At this juncture the fortunate arrival of the gentleman withlately-curled whiskers, in search of his _Bell's Life_, left on thehall-table, produced an _éclaircissement_ much to the unbeliever'sconfusion, and the master of the house was permitted to ascend his ownstaircase without further obstruction. 

Meeting "Gentleman Jim" coming down with a bundle, it did not strikehim as the least extraordinary that his wife should have deniedherself to other visitors. Slight as was his experience of women andtheir ways, he had yet learned to respect those various rites thatconstitute the mystery of shopping, appreciating the composure andundisturbed attention indispensable to a satisfactory performance ofthat ceremony. 

But it _did_ trouble him to observe on Lady Bearwarden's face tracesof recent emotion, even, he thought, to tears. She turned quicklyaside when he came into the room, busying herself with the blinds andmuslin window-curtains; but he had a quick eye, and his perceptionswere sharpened besides by an affection he was too proud to admit, while racked with cruel misgivings that it might not be returned. 

"Gentleman-like man _that_, I met just now on the stairs!" he began, good-humouredly enough, though in a certain cold, conventional tone, that Maud knew too well, and hated accordingly. "Dancing partner, swell mob, smuggler, respectable tradesman, what is he? Ought to sellcheap, I should say. Looks as if he stole the things ready made. Hopeyou've done good business with him, my lady? May I see the plunder?"He never called her Maud; it was always "my lady", as if they hadbeen married for twenty years. How she longed for an endearingword, slipping out, as it were, by accident--for a covert smile, anoccasional caress. Perhaps had these been lavished more freely shemight have rated them at a lower value. 

Lady Bearwarden was not one of those women who can tell a lie withoutthe slightest hesitation, calmly satisfied that "the end justifiesthe means"; neither did it form a part of her creed that a lie byimplication is less dishonourable than a lie direct. On the contrary, her nature was exceedingly frank, even defiant, and from pride, perhaps, rather than principle, she scorned no baseness so heartilyas duplicity. Therefore she hesitated now and changed colour, lookingguilty and confused, but taking refuge, as usual, in self-assertion. 

"I had business with the man", she answered haughtily, "or you wouldnot have found him here. I might have got rid of him sooner, perhaps, if I had known you were to be home so early. I'm sure I hate shopping, I hate tradespeople, I hate--"

She was going to say "I hate everything", but stopped herself in time. Counting her married life as yet only by weeks, it would have soundedtoo ungracious, too ungrateful!

"Why should you do anything you hate?" said her husband, very kindly, and to all appearance dismissing every suspicion from his mind, thoughdeep in his heart rankled the cruel conviction that between them thisstrange, mysterious barrier increased day by day. "I want you to have aslittle of the rough and as much of the smooth in life as is possible. All the ups and none of the downs, my lady. If this fellow bores you, tell them not to let him in again. That second footman will keep him outlike a dragon, I'll be bound. " Then he proceeded laughingly to relatehis own adventure with his new servant in the hall. 

He seemed cordial, kind, good-humoured enough, but his tone was thatof man to man, brother officer to comrade, not of a lover to hismistress, a husband to his lately-married wife. 

She felt this keenly, though at the same time she could appreciate histact, forbearance, and generosity in asking no more questions abouther visitor. To have shown suspicion of Maud would have been at onceto drive her to extremities, while implicit confidence put her onhonour and rendered her both unable and unwilling to deceive. Neversince their first acquaintance had she found occasion to test thisquality of trust in her husband, and now it seemed that he possessedit largely, like a number of other manly characteristics. That he wasbrave, loyal, and generous she had discovered already; handsome and ofhigh position she knew long ago, or she would never have resolvedon his capture; and what was there wanting to complete her perfecthappiness? Only one thing, she answered herself; but for it she wouldso willingly have bartered all the rest--that he should love her asDick Stanmore did. Poor Dick Stanmore! how badly she had treated him, and perhaps this was to be her punishment. 

"Bearwarden, " she said, crossing the room to lean on the arm of hischair, "we've got to dine at your aunt's to-night. I suppose they willbe very late. I wish there were no such things as dinners, don't you?"

"Not when I've missed luncheon, as I did to-day, " answered hislordship, whose appetite was like that of any other healthy man underforty. 

"I hoped you wouldn't, " she observed, in rather a low voice; "it wasvery dull without you. We see each other so seldom, somehow. I shouldlike to go to the play to-morrow--you and I, Darby and Joan--I don'tcare which house, nor what the play is. "

"To-morrow", he answered, with a bright smile. "All right, my lady, I'll send for a box. I forgot, though, I can't go to-morrow, I'm onguard. "

Her face fell, but she turned away that he might not detect herdisappointment, and began to feed her bullfinch in the window. 

"You're always on guard, I think", said she, after a pause. "Iwonder you like it: surely it must be a dreadful tie. You lost yourgrouse-shooting this year and the Derby, didn't you? all to sit inplate armour and jack-boots at that gloomiest and stuffiest of HorseGuards. Bearwarden, I--I wish you'd give up the regiment, I doindeed. "

When Maud's countenance wore a pleading expression, as now, it wasmore than beautiful, it was lovely. Looking in her face it seemed tohim that it was the face of an angel. 

"Do you honestly wish it?" he replied gently. "I would do a great dealto please you, my lady; but--no--I couldn't do _that_. "

"He can't really care for me; I knew it all along", thought poor Maud, but she only looked up at him rather wistfully and held her peace. 

He was gazing miles away, through the window, through the oppositehouses, their offices, their washing-ground, and the mews at the back. She had never seen him look so grave; she had never seen that soft, sad look on his face before. She wondered now that she could ever haveregarded that face as a mere encumbrance and accessory to be takenwith a coronet and twenty thousand a year. 

"Would you like to know why I cannot make this sacrifice to pleaseyou?" he asked, in a low, serious voice. "I think you _ought_ to know, my lady, and I will tell you. I'm fond of soldiering, of course. I'vebeen brought up to the trade--that's nothing. So I am of hunting, shooting, rackets, cricketing, London porter, and dry champagne; butI'd give them up, each and all, at a moment's notice, if it made youany happier for ten minutes. I _am_ a little ambitious, I grant, andthe only fame I would care much for is a soldier's. Still, even ifmy chance of military distinction were ten times as good I shouldn'tgrudge losing it for your sake. No: what makes me stick to theregiment is what makes a fellow take a life-buoy on board ship--theinstinct of self-preservation. When everything else goes down he's gotthat to cling to, and can have a fight for his life. Once, my lady, long before I had ever seen you, it was my bad luck to be veryunhappy. I didn't howl about it at the time, I'm not going to howlabout it now. Simply, all at once, in a day, an hour, everything inthe world turned from a joy to a misery and a pain. If my motherhadn't taught me better, I should have taken the quickest remedy ofall. If I hadn't had the regiment to fall back upon I must have gonemad. The kindness of my brother officers I never can forget; and togo down the ranks scanning the bold, honest faces of the men, feelingthat we had cast our lot in together, and when the time came would allplay the same stake, win or lose, reminded me that there were othersto live for besides myself, and that I had not lost everything, whileyet a share remained invested in our joint venture. When I lay awakein my barrack-room at night I could hear the stamp and snort of theold black troopers, and it did me good. I don't know the reason, butit did me good. You will think I was very unhappy--so I was. "

"But why?" asked Maud, shrewdly guessing, and at the same timedreading the answer. 

"Because I was a fool, my lady, " replied her husband--"a fool of thevery highest calibre. You have, no doubt, discovered that in thisworld folly is punished far more severely than villainy. Deceiveothers, and you prosper well enough; allow yourself to be deceived, and you're pitched into as if you were the greatest rogue unhung. It'snot a subject for you and me to talk about, my lady. I only mentionedit to show you why I am so unwilling to leave the army. Why, I _dare_not do it, even to please you. "

"But"--she hesitated, and her voice came very soft and low--"you--youare not afraid--I mean you don't think it likely, do you, that youwill ever be so unhappy again? It was about--about somebody that youcared for, I suppose. "

She got it out with difficulty, and already hated that unknownSomebody with an unreasoning hatred, such as women think justifiableand even meritorious in like cases. 

He laughed a harsh, forced laugh. 

"What a fool you must think me", said he: "I ought never to have toldyou. Yes, it was about a woman, of course. You did not fancy I couldbe so soft, did you? Don't let us talk about it. I'll tell you inthree words, and then will never mention the subject again. I trustedand believed in her. She deceived me, and that sort of thing puts afellow all wrong, you know, unless he's very good-tempered, and Isuppose I'm not. It's never likely to happen again, but still, blowsof all sorts fall upon people when they least expect them, and that'swhy I can't give up the old corps, but shall stick by it to the last. "

"Are you sure you haven't forgiven her?" asked Maud, inwardlytrembling for an answer. 

"Forgiven her!" repeated his lordship; "well, I've forgiven her likea Christian, as they say--perhaps even more fully than that. I don'twish her any evil. I wouldn't do her a bad turn, but as for everthinking of her or caring for her afterwards, that was impossible. No. While I confided in her freely and fully, while I gave up for her sakeeverything I prized and cared for in the world, while I was even onthe verge of sending in my papers because it seemed to be her wish Ishould leave the regiment, she had her own secret hidden up from meall the time. That showed what she was. No; I don't think I could everforgive _that_--except _as a Christian_, you know, my lady!"

He ended in a light sarcastic tone, for like most men who have livedmuch in the world, he had acquired a habit of discussing the gravestand most painful subjects with conventional coolness, originatingperhaps in our national dislike of anything sentimental or dramaticin situation. He could have written probably eloquently and seriouslyenough, but to "speak like a book" would have lowered him, in his ownesteem, as being unmanly no less than ungentlemanlike. 

Maud's heart ached very painfully. A secret then, kept from him by thewoman he trusted, was the one thing he could not pardon. Must thisindeed be her punishment? Day by day to live with this honourable, generous nature, learning to love it so dearly, and yet so hopelessly, because of the great gulf fixed by her own desperate venture, risked, after all, that she might win _him_! For a moment, under the influenceof that great tide of love which swelled up in her breast, she felt asif she must put her whole life's happiness on one desperate throw, andabide the result. Make a clean breast, implore his forgiveness, andtell him all. 

She had been wandering about while he spoke, straightening atable-cover here, snipping a dead leaf off a geranium there, andotherwise fidgeting to conceal her emotion. Now she walked across theroom to her husband's side, and in another minute perhaps the wholetruth would have been out, and these two might have driven off todinner in their brougham, the happiest couple in London; but the doorwas thrown wide open, and the student of _Bell's Life_, on whosewhiskers the time employed in curling them had obviously not beenthrown away, announced to her ladyship, with much pomp, that hercarriage was at the door. 

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Maud, "and your aunt is always so punctual. You must dress in ten minutes, Bearwarden. I'm certain I can. Run downthis moment, and don't stop to answer a single letter if it's a caseof life and death. "

And Lady Bearwarden, casting all other thoughts to the winds in thepresent emergency, hurried up-stairs after the pretty little feet ofher French maid, whose anxiety that her lady should not be late, andperhaps a certain curiosity to know the cause of delay, had temptedher down at least as far as the first landing, while my lord walked tohis dressing-room on the ground-floor, with the comfortable convictionthat he might spend a good half-hour at his toilet, and would then beready a considerable time before his wife. 

The reflections that chased each other through the pretty head of thelatter while subjected to Justine's skilful manipulations, I will nottake upon me to detail. I may state, however, that the dress she choseto wear was trimmed with Bearwarden's favourite colour; that shecarried a bunch of his favourite flowers on her breast and another inher hair. 

A brougham drawn by a pair of long, low, high-stepping horses, atthe rate of twelve miles an hour, is an untoward vehicle for seriousconversation when taking its occupants out to dinner, although welladapted for tender confidence or mutual recrimination on its returnfrom a party at night. Lady Bearwarden could not even make sure thather husband observed she had consulted his taste in dress. Truthto tell, Lord Bearwarden was only conscious that his wife lookedexceedingly handsome, and that he wished they were going to dine athome. Marriage had made him very slow, and this inconvenient wishlasted him all through dinner, notwithstanding that it was hisenviable lot to sit by a fast young lady of the period, who ralliedhim with exceeding good taste on his wife, his house, his furniture, manners, dress, horses, and everything that was his. Once, inextremity of boredom, he caught sight of Maud's delicate profilefive couples off, and fancied he could detect on the pale, pure facesomething of his own weariness and abstraction. After that the fastyoung lady "went at him", as she called it, in vain. Later, in thedrawing-room, she told another damsel of her kind that "Bruin'smarriage had utterly spoilt him. Simply ruination, my dear! So unlikemen in general. What he could see in her I can't make out! She lookslike death, and she's not _very_ well dressed, in my opinion. I wonderif she bullies him. He used to be such fun. So fast, so cheery, sodelightfully satirical, and as wicked as Sin!"

Maud went home in the brougham by herself. After a tedious dinner, lasting through a couple of hours, enlivened by the conversation ofa man he can't understand, and the persecutions of a woman who boreshim, it is natural for the male human subject to desire tobacco, anda walk home in order to smoke. Somehow, the male human subject neverdoes walk straight home with its cigar. 

Bearwarden, like others of his class, went off to Pratt's, where, wewill hope, he was amused, though he did not look it. A cigar on aclose evening leads to soda-water, with a slice of lemon, and, I hadalmost forgotten to add, a small modicum of gin. This entails anothercigar, and it is wonderful how soon one o'clock in the morning comesround again. When Lord Bearwarden turned out of St. James's Street itwas too late to think of anything but immediate bed. Her ladyship'sconfessions, if she had any to make, must be put off tillbreakfast-time, and, alas! by _her_ breakfast-time, which was none ofthe earliest, my lord was well down in his sheepskin, riding out ofthe barrack-gate in command of his guard. 

 "Fronte capillatâ post est Oceasio calav"

Bald-pated Father Time had succeeded in slipping his forelock out ofMaud's hand the evening before, and, henceforth, behind his bare andmocking skull, those delicate, disappointed fingers must close onempty air in vain!

CHAPTER XXI

FURENS QUID FOEMINA

We left Tom Ryfe, helpless, unconscious, more dead than alive, supported between a man and woman up a back street in Westminster: wemust return to him after a considerable interval, pale, languid, butconvalescent, on a sofa in his own room under his uncle's roof. He isonly now beginning to understand that he has been dangerously ill;that according to his doctor nothing but a "splendid constitution" andunprecedented medical skill have brought him back from the thresholdof that grim portal known as death's door. This he does not quitebelieve, but is aware, nevertheless, that he is much enfeebled, andthat his system has sustained what he himself calls "a deuced awkwardshake. " Even now he retains no very clear idea of what happened tohim. He remembers vaguely, as in a dream, certain bare walls of a dimand gloomy chamber, tapestried with cobwebs, smelling of damp andmould like a vault, certain broken furniture, shabby and scarce, ona bare brick floor, with a grate in which no fire could have beenkindled without falling into the middle of the room. He recalls thatracking head-ache, that scorching thirst, and those pains in all thebones of a wan, wasted figure lying under a patchwork quilt on asqualid bed. A figure, independent of, and dissevered from himself, yet in some degree identified with his thoughts, his sufferings, and his memories. Somebody nursed the figure, too--he is sure ofthat--bringing it water, medicines, food, and leeches for its achingtemples; smoothing its pillow and arranging its bed-clothes, in thoseendless nights, so much longer, yet scarce more dismal than thedays, --somebody, whose voice he never heard, whose face he never saw, yet in whose slow, cautious tread there seemed a familiar sound. Once, in delirium, he insisted it was Miss Bruce, but even _through_ thatdelirium he knew he must be raving, and it was impossible. Could thatbe a part of his dream, too, in which he dragged himself out of bed, to dress in his own clothes, laid out on the chair that had hithertocarried a basin of gruel or a jug of cooling drink? No, it must havebeen reality surely, for even to-day he has so vivid a remembrance ofthe fresh air, the blinding sunshine, and the homely life-like look ofthat four-wheeled cab waiting in the narrow street, which he enteredmechanically, which _as_ mechanically brought him home to his uncle'shouse, the man asking no questions, nor stopping to receive his fare. To be sure, he fainted from utter weakness at the door. Of that heis satisfied, for he remembers nothing between the jolting of thoseslippery cushions and another bed in which he found himself, with agrave doctor watching over him, and which he recognised, doubtfully, as his own. 

Gradually, with returning strength, Tom began to suspect the truththat he had been hocussed and robbed. His pockets, when he resumedhis clothes, were empty. Their only contents, his cigar-case and MissBruce's letter, were gone. The motive for so desperate an attack hefelt unable to fathom. His intellect was still affected by bodilyweakness, and he inclined at first to think he had been mistaken forsomebody else. The real truth only dawned on him by degrees. Its firstray originated with no less brilliant a luminary than old Bargrave. 

To do him justice, the uncle had shown far more natural affection thanhis household had hitherto believed him capable of feeling. Duringhis nephew's absence, he had been like one distracted, and the largereward offered for discovery of the missing gentleman sufficientlytestified his anxiety and alarm. When Tom did return, more dead thanalive, Bargrave hurried off in person to procure the best medicaladvice, and postponing inquiry into his wrongs to the more immediatenecessity of nursing the sufferer, spent six or seven hours out of thetwenty-four at the sick man's bedside. 

The first day Tom could sit up his uncle thought well to enliven himwith a little news, social, general, and professional. Having toldhim that he had outbid Mortlake for the last batch of poor Mr. Chalkstone's port, and stated, at some length, his reasons fordoubting the stability of Government, he entered gleefully uponcongenial topics, and proceeded to give the invalid a general sketchof business affairs during his retirement. 

"I've worked the coach, Tom, " said he, walking up and down theroom, waving his coat-tails, "as well as it _could_ be worked, single-handed. I don't think you'll find a screw loose anywhere. Ah, Tom! an old head, you know, is worth a many pair of hands. When you'rewell enough, in a week or so, my lad, I shall like to show you howI've kept everything going, though I was so anxious, terribly anxious, all the time. The only matter that's been left what you call _in statuquo_ is that business of Miss Bruce's, which I had nothing to do with. It will last you a good while yet, Tom, though it's of less importanceto her now, poor thing!--don't you move, Tom--I'll hand you thebarley-water--because she's Miss Bruce no longer. "

Tom gasped, and hid his pale, thin face in the jug of barley-water. He had some pluck about him, after all; for weak and ill as he was hemanaged to get out an indifferent question. 

"Not Miss Bruce, isn't she? Ah! I hadn't heard. Who is she then, uncle? I suppose you mean she's--she's married. " He was so husky, nowonder he took another pull at the barley-water. 

"Yes, she's married, " answered his uncle, in the indifferent tone withwhich threescore years and odd can discuss that fatality. "Made a goodmarriage, too--an excellent marriage. What do you think of a peerage, my boy? She's Viscountess Bearwarden now. Twenty thousand a year, ifit's a penny. I am sure of it, for I was concerned in a lawsuit of thelate lord's twenty years ago. I don't suppose you're acquainted withher husband, Tom. Not in our circle, you know; but a most respectableyoung man, I understand, and likely to be lord-lieutenant of hiscounty before long. I'm sure I trust she'll be happy. And now, Tom, asyou seem easy and comfortable, perhaps you'd like to go to sleep for alittle. If you want anything you can reach the bell, and I'll come andsee you again before I dress for dinner. "

Easy and comfortable! When the door shut behind his uncle, Tom bowedhis head upon the table and gave way completely. He was unmanned byillness, and the shock had been too much for him. It was succeeded, however, and that pretty quickly, by feelings of bitter wrath andresentment, which did more to restore his strength than all the tonicsin the world. An explanation, too, seemed now afforded to much thathad so mystified him of late. What if, rendered desperate by histhreats, Miss Bruce had been in some indirect manner the origin of hiscaptivity and illness--Miss Bruce, the woman who of all others owedhim the largest debt of gratitude (like most people, Tom arguedfrom his own side of the question); for whom he had laboured sounremittingly, and was willing to sacrifice so much? Could it be so?And if it was, should he not be justified in going to any extremityfor revenge? Revenge--yes, that was all he had to live for now; andthe very thought seemed to put new vigour into his system, infusefresh blood in his veins. So is it with all baser spirits; and perhapsin the indulgence of this cowardly craving they obtain a more speedyrelief than nobler natures from the first agony of suffering; buttheir cure is not and never can be permanent; and to them must remainunknown that strange wild strain of some unearthly music which thrillsthrough those sore hearts that can repay good for evil, kindlyinterest for cold indifference; that, true to themselves and their ownhonour, can continue to love a memory, though it be but the memoryof a dream. Tom felt as if he could make an exceedingly high bid, involving probity, character, good faith, and the whole of hismoral code, for an auxiliary who should help him in his vengeance. Assistance was at hand even now, in an unexpected moment and anunlooked-for shape. 

"A person wishes to see you, sir, if you're well enough, " said alittle housemaid who had volunteered to provide for the wants of theinvalid, and took very good care of him indeed. 

"What sort of a person?" asked Tom languidly, feeling, nevertheless, that any distraction would be a relief. 

"Well, sir, " replied the maid, "it seems a respectable person, Ishould say. Like a sick-nurse or what not. "

There is no surmise so wild but that a rejected lover will grasp atand connect it with the origin of his disappointment. "I'll see her, "said Tom stoutly, not yet despairing but that it might be a messengerfrom Maud. 

He certainly was surprised when Dorothea, whom he recognised at once, even in her Sunday clothes, entered the room, with a wandering eye anda vacillating step. 

"You'll never forgive me, Master Tom, " was her startling salutation. "It's me as nursed you through it; but you'll never forgive me--never!And I don't deserve as you should. "

Dorothea was nervous, hysterical, but she steadied herself bravely, though her fingers worked and trembled under her faded shawl. 

Tom stared, and his visitor went on--

"You'd 'a died for sure if I hadn't. Don't ye cast it up to me, MasterTom. I've been punished enough. Punished! If I was to bare my arm nowI could show you weals that's more colours and brighter than yourneckankercher there. I've been served worse nor that, though, since. Iain't a-goin' to put up with it no longer. Master Tom, do you know asyou've Been put upon, and by who?"

His senses were keenly on the alert. "Tell me the truth, my goodgirl, " said he, "and I'll forgive you all your share. More, I'll stickby you through thick and thin. "

She whimpered a little, affected by the kindness of his tone, buttugging harder at her shawl, proceeded to further confessions. 

"You was hocussed, Master Tom; and I can point out to you the man asdid it. You'd 'a been murdered amongst 'em if it hadn't been for me. Who was it, d'ye think, as nussed of you, and cared for you, allthrough, and laid out your clothes ready brushed and folded, and wentand got you a cab the day as you come back here? Master Tom, I've beenput upon too. Put upon and deceived, as never yet was born woman usedso bad; and it's my turn now! Look ye here, Master Tom. It's thatvillain, Jim--Gentleman Jim, as we calls him--what's been at thebottom of this here. And yet there's worse than Jim in it too. There'sothers that set Jim on. O! to believe as a fine handsome chap like himcould turn out to be so black-hearted, and such a soft too. She'llnever think no more of him, for all his comely face, than the dirtbeneath her feet. "

"_She_!" repeated Tom, intensely interested, and thereforepreternaturally calm. "What d'ye mean by _she_? Don't fret, that's agood girl, and don't excite yourself. Tell your story your own way, you know, but keep as quiet as you can. You're safe enough here. "

"We'd been asked in church, " replied Dorothea, somewhatinconsequently. "Ah! more than once, we had. And I'd ha' been as trueto him, and was, as ever a needle to a stitch. Well, sir, when heslights of me, and leaves of me, why it's natural as I should run upand down the streets a-lookin' for him like wild. So one day, afterI'd done my work, and put things straight, for I never was one of yoursluttish ones, Master Tom--and your uncle, he's always been a kindgentleman to me, and a haffable, like yourself, Master Tom--according, I comes upon my Jim at the Sunflower, and I follows him unbeknown formiles and miles right away to the West-End. So he never looks behindhim, nor he never stops, o' course, till he comes to Belgrave Square;and he turns down a street as I couldn't read its name, but shouldknow it again as well as I know my own hand. And then, Master Tom, ifyou'll believe me, I thought as I must have dropped. "

"Well?" said Tom, not prepared to be satisfied with this climax, though his companion stopped, as if she had got to the end of herdisclosures. 

"Well indeed!" resumed Dorothea, after a considerable interval, "whenhe come that far, I know'd as he must be up to some of his games, andI watched. They lets him into a three-storied house, and I sees him inthe best parlour with a lady, speaking up to her, but not half so boldas usual. He a not often dashed, Jim isn't. I will say that for him. "

"What sort of a lady?" asked Tom, quivering with excitement. "You tooka good look at her, I'll be bound!"

"Well, a real lady in a muslin dress, " answered Dorothea. "A tallyoung lady--not much to boast of for looks, but with hair as black asyour hat and a face as white as cream. Very 'aughty too an' arbitrary, and seemed to have my Jim like quite at her command. So from where Istood I couldn't help hearing everything that passed. My Jim, he givesher the very letter as laid in your pocket that night, as you--as youwas taken so poorly, you know. And from what she said and what hesaid, and putting this and that together, I'm sure as they got you outof the way between them, Master Tom, and gammoned me into the job too, when I'd rather have cut both my hands off, if I'd only known thetruth. "

Tom sat back on his sofa, shutting his eyes that he might concentratehis powers of reflection. Yes, it was all clear enough at last. Thenature and origin of the outrage to which he had been subjected wereobvious, nor could he entertain any further doubt of Maud's motives, though marvelling exceedingly, as well he might, at her courage, herrecklessness, and the social standing of her accomplice. It seemedto him as if he could forgive every one concerned but her. This poorwoman who had fairly thrown herself on his mercy: the ruffian whosegrip had been at his throat, but who might hereafter prove asefficient an ally as he had been a formidable enemy. Only let him haveMaud in his power, that was all he asked, praying him to spare her, kneeling at his feet, and then without a shade of compunction to ruin, and crush, and humble her to the dust!

He saw his way presently, but he must work warily, he told himself, and use all the tools that came to his hand. 

"If you can clear the matter up, Dorothea, " said he, kindly, "I willnot visit your share in it on your head, as I have already told you. Indeed I believe I owe you my life. But this man you mention, thisGentleman Jim as you call him, can you find him? Do you know where heis? My poor girl! I think I understand. Surely you deserved bettertreatment at his hands. "

The kind words produced this time no softening effect, and Tom knewenough of human nature to feel sure that she was bent on revenge asearnestly as himself, while he also knew that he must take advantageof her present humour at once, for it might change in an hour. 

"If I could lay my hand on him, " answered Dorothea fiercely, "it'slikely I'd leave my mark! I've looked for him now, high and low, everyevening and many arternoons, better nor a week. I ain't come on himyet, the false-hearted thief! but I seen _her_ only the day beforeyesterday, seen her walk into a house in Berners Street as bold as youplease. I watched and waited better nor two hours, for, thinks I, he won't be long follerin'; and I seen her come out agin with agentleman, a comely young gentleman; I'd know him anywheres, but hewarn't like my Jim. "

"Are you sure it was the same lady?" asked Tom eagerly, but ashamedof putting so unnecessary a question when he saw the expression ofDorothea's face. 

"Am I _sure_?" said she, with a short gasping laugh. "Do you supposeas a woman can be mistook as has been put upon like me? Lawyers isclever men, askin' your pardon, Mr. Ryfe, but there's not much sensein such a question as yours: I seen the lady, sir, and I seen thehouse; that's enough for _me_!"

"And you observed the gentleman narrowly?" continued Tom, stiflingdown a little pang of jealousy that was surely unreasonable now. 

"Well, I didn't take much notice of the gentleman, " answered Dorotheawearily, for the reaction was coming on apace. "It warn't my Jim, Iknow. You and me has both been used bad, Master Tom, and it's a shame, it is. But the weather's uncommon close, and it's a long walk here, and I'm a'most fit to drop, askin' your pardon, sir. I wrote down thenumber of the house, Master Tom, to make sure--there it is. If youplease, I'll go down-stairs, and ask the servants for a cup o' tea, and I wish you a good arternoon, sir, and am glad to see you lookin' atrifle better at last. "

So Dorothea departed to enjoy the luxury of strong tea and unlimitedgossip with Mr. Bargrave's household, drawing largely on her inventionin explanation of her recent interview, but affording them no clue tothe real object of her visit. 

Tom Ryfe was still puzzled. That Maud (he could not endure to think ofher as Lady Bearwarden)--that Maud should, so soon after her marriage, be seen going about London by herself under such questionablecircumstances was strange, to say the least of it, even makingallowances for her recklessness and wilful disposition, of which noone could be better aware than himself. What could be her object?though he loved her so fiercely in his own way, he had no greatopinion of her discretion; and now, in the bitterness of his anger, was prepared to put the very worst construction upon everything shedid. He recalled, painfully enough, a previous occasion on which hehad met her, as he believed, walking with a stranger in the Park, anddid not forget her displeasure while cutting short his inquiries onthe subject. After all, it occurred to him almost immediately, thatthe person with whom she had been lately seen was probably her ownhusband. He would not himself have described Lord Bearwarden exactlyas a "comely young gentleman, " but on the subject of manly beautyDorothea's taste was probably more reliable than his own. If so, however, what could they be doing in Berners Street? Pshaw! How thisillness had weakened his intellect! Having her picture painted, ofcourse! what else could bring a doting couple, married only a fewweeks, to that part of the town? He cursed Dorothea bitterly for herridiculous surmises and speculations--cursed the fond pair--cursed hisown wild unconquerable folly--cursed the day he first set eyes on thatfatal beauty, so maddening to his senses, so destructive to his heart;and thus cursing staggered across the room to take his strengtheningdraught, looked at his pale, worn face in the glass, and sat downagain to think. 

The doctor had visited him at noon, and stated with proper cautionthat in a day or two, if amendment still progressed satisfactorily, "carriage exercise, " as he called it, might be taken with undoubtedbenefit to the invalid. We all know, none better than medical menthemselves, that if your doctor says you may get up to-morrow, youjump out of bed the moment his back is turned. Tom Ryfe, worried, agitated, unable to rest where he was, resolved that he would take hiscarriage exercise without delay, and to the housemaid's astonishment, indeed much against her protest, ordered a hansom cab to the door atonce. 

Though so weak he could not dress without assistance, he no soonerfound himself on the move, and out of doors, than he began to feelstronger and better; he had no object in driving beyond change ofscene, air, and exercise; but it will not surprise those who havesuffered from the cruel thirst and longing which accompanies suchmental maladies as his, that he should have directed the cabman toproceed to Berners Street. 

It sometimes happens that when we thus "draw a bow at a venture" ourrandom shaft hits the mark we might have aimed at for an hour invain. Tom Ryfe esteemed it an unlooked-for piece of good fortune thatturning out of Oxford Street he should meet another hansom going atspeed in an opposite direction, and containing--yes, he could havesworn to them before any jury in England--the faces, very near eachother, of Lady Bearwarden and Dick Stanmore. 

It was enough. Dorothea's statement seemed sufficiently corroborated, and after proceeding to the number she indicated, as if to satisfyhimself that the house had not walked bodily away, Mr. Ryfe returnedhome very much benefited in his own opinion by the drive, though thedoctor, visiting his patient next day, was disappointed to find himstill low and feverish, altogether not so much better as he expected. 

CHAPTER XXII

"NOT FOR JOSEPH"

But Dick Stanmore was _not_ in a hansom with Lady Bearwarden. ShallI confess, to the utter destruction of his character for undyingconstancy, that he did not wish to be?

Dick had been cured at last--cured of the painful disease he oncebelieved mortal--cured by a course of sanitary treatment, delightfulin its process, unerring in its results; and he walked about now withthe buoyant step, the cheerful air of one who has been lightened of aload lying next his heart. 

Medical discoveries have of late years brought into vogue a science ofwhich I have borrowed the motto for these volumes. _Similia similibuscurantur_ is the maxim of homoeopathy; and whatever success thishealing principle may obtain with bodily ailments, I have little doubtof its efficacy in affections of the heart. I do not mean to sayits precepts will render us invulnerable or immortal. There areconstitutions that, once shaken, can never be restored; there arecharacters that, once outraged, become saddened for evermore. Thefairest flowers and the sweetest, are those which, if trampled down, never hold up their heads again. But I do mean, that should man orwoman be capable of cure under sufferings originating in misplacedconfidence, such cure is most readily effected by a modified attack ofthe same nature, at the risk of misplacing it again. 

After Dick Stanmore's first visit to the painting-room in BernersStreet, it was astonishing how enthusiastic a taste he contracted forart. He was never tired of contemplating his friend's great picture, and Simon used laughingly to declare the amateur knew every line andshade of colour in his Fairy Queen as accurately as the painter. He remained in London at a season which could have afforded fewattractions for a young man of his previous habits, and came every dayto the painting-room as regularly as the model herself. Thus it fellout that Dick, religiously superintending the progress of this FairyQueen, found his eyes wandering perpetually from the representation oncanvas to its original on Miss Algernon's shoulders, and gratified hissense of sight with less scruple, that from the very nature of heroccupation she was compelled to keep her head always turned one way. 

It must have been agreeable for Nina, no doubt, if not improving, tolisten to Dick's light and rather trivial conversation which relievedthe monotony of her task, and formed a cheerful addition to the short, jerking, preoccupied sentences of the artist, enunciated obviouslyat random, and very often with a brush in his mouth. Nor was itdispleasing, I imagine, to be aware of Mr. Stanmore's admiration, forsaking day by day its loudly-declared allegiance to the FairyQueen in favour of her living prototype, deepening gradually to longintervals of silence, sweeter, more embarrassing, while far moreeloquent than words. 

And all the time, Simon, the chivalrous, painted on. I cannot believebut that, with the jealous instinct of true affection, he must haveperceived the ground slipping away, hour by hour, from beneath hisfeet--must have seen the ship that carried all his cargo sailingfarther and farther into a golden distance to leave him desolate onthe darkening shore. How his brain may have reeled, and his heartached, it is not for me to speculate. There is a decency of courage, as there is an extravagance of bravado, and that is the true spirit ofchivalry which bleeds to death unmoved, beneath its armour, keepingthe pale knightly face turned calm and constant towards the foe. 

It was a strange trio, that, in the painting-room. The garden ofEden seems to have been originally intended for two. The third wasdoubtless an intruder, and from that day to this how many a paradisehas been lost by admittance of the visitor who completes this unevennumber, unaccountably supposed to be so productive of good fortune. 

Curious cross purposes were at work in the three heads grouped so neareach other opposite the painter's glowing canvas. Dick perhaps was theleast perceptive and therefore the happiest of the party. His sense ofwell-being, indeed, seemed enhanced by his previous troubles: like aman who comes out of the cold into the glow of a comforting fire, heabandoned himself without much reflection to the positive enjoyment ofpleasure and the negative solace of relief from pain. 

Simon, always painting, fought hard to keep down that little leaveningof self which constitutes our very identity. Under the cold impassivevigour he was so determined to preserve, he registered many a noblevow of fortitude and abnegation on behalf of the friend he valued, ofthe woman he loved. Sometimes a pang would shoot through him painfullyenough while he marked a change of Nina's colour, a little flutter ofmanner, a little trembling of her hands, and felt that she was alreadymore affected by the presence of this comparative stranger than shehad ever shown herself by his, who had cared for her so tenderly, worshipped her so long. Then he bent all his faculties on the picture, and like a child running to seize its mother's gown, took refuge withhis art. 

That mistress did not fail him. She never does fail the trueworshipper, who kneels consistently at her shrine. It is not for herto scorn the homage offered to-day because it has been offered infaith and loyalty during many a long-past year. It is not for her toshed on the new votary her sweetest smiles only because he _is_ new. Woo her frankly, love her dearly, and serve her faithfully, she willinsure you from being cozened out of your reward. Had she not takencare of Simon at this period, I scarcely know what would have becomeof him. 

Nina, too, lived in a golden dream, from which it was her only fearthat she must soon awake. Ere long, she sometimes thought, she mustask herself who was this stranger that brought with him a floodof sunshine into the homely painting-room? that steeped for her, unconsciously and without effort, every day in happiness, everymorning in hope? She put off asking the question, having perhaps awholesome recollection of him who, going to count his treasure offairy gold, found it only withered leaves, and let herself float withthe stream, in that enjoyment of the present which is enhanced ratherthan modified by misgivings for the future. Nina was very happy, thatis the honest truth, and even her beauty seemed to brighten like thebloom on a flower, opening to the smile of spring. 

Simon marked the change. How could he help it? And still hepainted--painted on. 

"There!" exclaimed the artist, with a sigh of relief, as he steppedback from his picture, stretching both weary arms above his head. "Atlast--at last! If I only like it to-morrow as well as I do now, notanother touch shall go into it anywhere above the chin. It's theexpression I've been trying to catch for months. There it is! Doubt, sorrow, remorse, and, through it all, the real undying love ofthe--Well, that's all can't! I mean--Can't you see that she likes himawfully even now? Nina, you've been the making of me, you're the bestsitter in the world, and while I look at my picture I begin to thinkyou're the handsomest. I mustn't touch it again. Stanmore, what do youthink?"

Absorbed in contemplation of his work, he paid little attention to theanswer, which was so far fortunate, that Dick, in his preoccupation, faltered out a string of contradictory criticisms, flattering neitherto the original nor the copy. Nina indeed suggested, with some truth, that he had made the eyebrows too dark, but this remark appeared tooriginate only in a necessity for something to say. These two youngpeople seemed unusually shy and ill at ease. Perhaps in each of thethree hearts beating there before the picture lurked some vaguesuspicion that its wistful expression, so lately caught, may have beenowing to corresponding feelings lately awakened in the model; and, ifso, why should not two of them have thrilled with happiness, thoughthe third might ache in loneliness and despair?

"Not another stroke of work will I do to-day, " said the artist, affecting a cheerfulness which perhaps he did not feel. "Nina, you'vegot to be back early. I'll have a half-holiday for once and take youhome. Put your bonnet on: I shall be ready in five minutes when I'vewashed my hands. "

Dick's face fell. He had counted on a couple more hours at least. Women, when they are really disappointed, rarely show it, and perhapshe felt a little hurt to observe how readily, and with what apparentgoodwill, Miss Algernon resumed her out-of-doors attire. He felthardly sure of his ground yet, or he might have begun to sulk inearnest. No bad plan either, for such little misunderstandingsbring on explanations, reconciliations, declarations, all sorts ofvexations, every day!

Ladies are stanch believers in luck, and leave much to chance with adevout faith that it will serve them at their need. I imagine Ninathought it quite in the natural course of events that a dirty boyshould enter the room at this juncture and deliver a note to Simon, which called forth all his energies and sympathies in a moment. Thenote, folded in a hurry, written with a pencil, was from a brotherartist, and ran thus--

Dear Simon, "Come and see me if you _can_. On my back! Two doctors. Not going to be rubbed out, but beastly seedy all the same. "

"When was he taken ill? Who's attending him? Anybody taking care ofhim? What o'clock is it now? Tell him I'll be there in five minutes. "Simon delivered himself of these sentences in a breath, and thenglanced from Nina to Dick Stanmore. 

"I dare say you wouldn't mind, " said he. "I _must_ go to this poorfellow, and if I find him very ill I may be detained till evening. Ifyou've time, Stanmore, could you see Miss Algernon as far as the boat?She'll do very well then, but we don't like her to be wandering aboutLondon by herself. "

It is possible this idea may have suggested itself to the persons mostconcerned, for all that they seemed so supremely unconscious, and asif the arrangement, though a sensible one and convenient, no doubt, were a matter of perfect indifference to themselves. 

Dick "would be delighted, " of course; though he tried not to look so;and Nina "couldn't think of giving Mr. Stanmore so much trouble. "Nevertheless, within ten minutes the two were turning into OxfordStreet in a hansom cab; and although they said very little, beingindeed in a vehicle which jolted, swung, and rattled inordinately, Ihave not the least doubt they enjoyed their drive. 

They enjoyed the river steamer too, which seems equally strange, with its narrow deck, its tangible smoke, its jerks and snorts, andthrobbing vibrations, as it worked its way against the tide. Theyhad never before been alone together, and the situation, thoughdelightful, was at first somewhat embarrassing, because they were inearnest. The restraint, however, soon wore off, and with tonguesonce loosened there was no lack of matter for their employment. Howbeautiful, how interesting, how picturesque everything seemed to havegrown all at once: the Houses of Parliament--the bridges--the dull, broad surface of the river, grey, with a muddy tinge--the low, level banks--the blunt-nosed barges--their fellow-passengers--theengineer--the boy with the mop--and the dingy funnel of the steameritself. 

How mysterious the charm that lurks in association of ideas! Whatmagic it imparts to the commonest actions, the most vulgar objects oflife! What a heart-ache on occasions has it not caused you or me! Oneof us cannot see a woman fitting on her gloves without a pang. Toanother there is a memory and a sorrow in the flirt of a fan, therustle of a dress, the grinding of a barrel-organ, or the slang of astreet song. The stinging-nettle crops up in every bed of flowers weraise; the bitter tonic flavours all we eat and drink. I dare sayWerther could not munch his bread-and-butter for years in commoncomfort because of Charlotte. Would it not be wiser for us to ignorethe Charlottes of life altogether, and stick to the bread-and-butter?

Too soon that dingy steamer reached its place of disembarkation--toosoon, at least, for certain of its passengers; and yet in their shortvoyage up the river each of these two had passed the portal ofa paradise, through which, amongst all its gaudy and luxuriantvegetation, you may search for the tree of knowledge in vain. Not aword was spoken by either that could bear the direct interpretation oflove-making, yet each felt that the Rubicon had been passed which mustnever be recrossed dryshod again. 

Dick paid his respects, as seemed but right and proper, to the MissesPerkins, who voted him an exceedingly agreeable young man; and thiswas the more tolerant on their part that he found very little to say, and had the good taste to be a very short time in saying it. Theyasked him, indeed, to remain for dinner, and, notwithstanding theirhospitable inclinations, were no doubt relieved when he declined. Hehad gained some experience, you see, from his previous worship of MissBruce, which now stood him in good stead, for in affairs of love, as of honour, a man conducts his second with more skill and _savoirfaire_ than his first. 

The world seemed to have changed by magic while he went back toLondon. It felt like the breaking up of a frost, when all is warmthand softness and vitality once more. He could have talked to himself, and laughed aloud for very joy. 

But Nina went to her room, and cried as she had not cried since shewas a little child, shedding tears of mingled sweetness and sorrow, rapture and remorse. Her eyes were opened now in her new-foundhappiness, and she foresaw the crushing blow that happiness mustinflict on the oldest, kindest, dearest of friends. 

For the first time in her life she took herself to task and examinedher own heart. What a joyous heart it was! And yet how could she beso inhuman as to admit a pleasure which must be cruelly productive ofanother's pain? Here was a person whom she had known, as it were, butyesterday, and his lightest word or glance had already become dearerto her than the wealth of care and affection which tended her fromchildhood, which would be about her to her grave. It was infamous! shetold herself, and yet it was surpassingly sweet! Yes, she loved thisman--this brown-haired, broad-shouldered Mr. Stanmore, of whoseexistence a fortnight ago she had been perfectly unconscious, andin that love she learned to appreciate and understand the affectionloyal, true-hearted Simon lavished on herself. Was he to be sacrificedto this mere stranger? Never! Rather she would sacrifice herself. Butthe tears flowed faster to think that it would indeed be a sacrifice, an offering up of youth, beauty, hope, happiness for life. Then shedried her eyes, and went down on her knees to pray at her bedside; andso rose up, making certain stern resolutions, which it is only fair tostate she afterwards kept--like a woman!

With the view, doubtless, of putting these in practice, she inducedSimon to walk with her on the lawn after tea, while the stars weretwinkling dimly through a soft, misty sky, and the lazy river lappedand gurgled against the garden banks. He accompanied her, nothingloth, for he too had spent the last hour in hard painful conflict, making, also, stern resolutions, which he kept--like a man! "You foundhim better, " she said, alluding to the cause of his delay in returninghome. "I'm so glad. If he hadn't been, you'd have stayed with him allnight, I know. Simon, I think you're the best and the kindest personin the world. "

Here was an opening. Was she disappointed, or not, that he took solittle advantage of it? "We must all help each other, Nina, " said he;"that's the way to make life easy and to stifle sorrows, if we havethem, of our own. "

"_You_ ought never to have a sorrow, " she broke in. "_You_, who alwaysthink of others before yourself--you deserve to be so happy. And, Simon, sometimes I think you're not, and it makes me wretched; and I'ddo anything in the world to please you; anything, if--if it wasn't_too_ hard a task, you know. "

She had been so eager to make her sacrifice and get it over that shehurried inconsiderately to the brink, --then, like a timid bather, stopped short, hesitating--the water looked so cold and dark and deep. 

The lightest touch from his hand would have plunged her in, overhead. He would have held it in the fire rather, like the Roman hero, till itshrivelled into ashes. 

"My happiness can never be apart from yours, " he said, tenderly andsadly. "Yet I think I know now that yours is not entirely bound up inmine. Am I right, Nina?"

"I would do anything in the world for you--anything, " she murmured, taking refuge, as we all do at such times, in vain repetition. 

They had reached the drawing-room window, and she turned aside, as ifshe meant to go in. He took her hand lightly in his own, and led herback towards the river. It was very dark, and neither could read theexpression of the other's face. 

"I have but one earnest desire in the world, " said he, speakingdistinctly, but very low. "It is to see you happily settled in life. I never had a sister nor a daughter, Nina. You have stood me in thestead of both; and--and I shall never have a wife. "

She knew what he meant. The quiet, sad, yet uncomplaining tone cuther to the heart. "It's a shame! it's a shame!" she murmured. "Simon, Simon. Tell me; don't you think me the worst, the most ungrateful, themost horrible girl in the world?"

He spoke cheerfully now, and even laughed. "Very ungrateful, " herepeated, pressing her hand kindly; "and very detestable, unlessyou tell me the truth. Nina, dear Nina, confide in me as if I wasyour--well--your grandmother! Will that do? I think there's a somebodywe saw to-day who likes you very much. He's a good fellow, and to betrusted, I can swear. Don't you think, dear, though you haven'tknown him long, that _you_ like _him_ a little--more than a little, already?"

"O, Simon, what a brute I am, and what a fool!" answered the girl, bursting into tears. And then the painter knew that his ship had gonedown, and the waters had closed over it for evermore. That evening hisaunts thought Simon in better spirits than usual. Nina, thoughshe went to bed before the rest, had never found him kinder, morecheerful, more considerate. He spoke playfully, good-humouredly, onvarious subjects, and kissed the girl's forehead gravely, almostreverently, when she wished him good-night. It was such a caress as aman lays on the dead face that shall never look in his own again. Thepainter slept but little--perhaps not at all. And who shall tell howhard he wrestled with his great sorrow during those long hours ofdarkness, "even to the breaking of the day"? No angel sat by his bedto comfort him, nor spirit-voices whispered solace in his ear, norspirit-sympathy poured balm into the cold, aching, empty heart; butI have my own opinion on such matters, and I would fain believe thatstruggles and sufferings like these are neither wasted nor forgotten, but are treasured and recorded by kindred beings of a higher nature, as the training that alone fits poor humanity, then noblest, when mostsorrowful, to enter the everlasting gates and join the radiant legionsof heaven. 

CHAPTER XXIII

ANONYMOUS

Lord Bearwarden finds himself very constantly on guard just atpresent. Her ladyship is of opinion that he earns his pay morethoroughly than any day-labourer his wages. I do not myself considerthat helmet, cuirass, and leather breeches form the appropriateappliances of a hero, when terminating in a pair of red moroccoslippers. Nevertheless, in all representations purporting to belife-like, effect must be subservient to correctness of detail; andsuch was the costume in which his lordship, on duty at the HorseGuards, received a dispatch that seemed to cause him considerablesurprise and vexation. 

The guard coming off was mustering below. The relief coming on wasalready moving gallantly down Regent Street, to the admiration of allbeholders. Armed was his lordship to the teeth, though not tothe toes, for his bâtman waited respectfully with a pair of highjack-boots in his hand, and still his officer read, and frowned, andpulled his moustache, and swore, as the saying is, like a trooper, which, if he had only drawn on his boots, would not have been so muchout of character at the time. 

Once again he read it from end to end ere he crumpled the note inunder his cuirass for future consideration. It ran as follows--

My Lord, "Your lordship's manly and generous character has obtained for youmany well-wishers. Of these the writer is one of the most sincere. Itgrieves and angers him to see your lordship's honest nature deceived, your domestic happiness destroyed, your noble confidence abused. Thewriter, my lord, is your true friend. Though too late for rescue, itis not too late for redress; and he has no power of communicating toyour lordship suspicions which now amount to certainty but by themeans at present employed. Anonymous letters are usually the resourceof a liar and slanderer; but there is no rule without exception; andthe writer can bring _proof_ of every syllable he asserts. If yourlordship will use your own eyes, watch and wait. She has deceivedothers; why not _you_? Berners Street, Oxford Street, is no crowdedthoroughfare. Why should your lordship abstain from walking there anyafternoon between four and five? Be wary. Watch and wait. "

 * * * * *

"Blast his impudence!" muttered Lord Bearwarden, now booted to thethigh, and clattering down-stairs to take command of his guard. 

With zealous subalterns, an experienced corporal-major, well-drilledmen, and horses that knew their way home, it required little militaryskill to move his handful of cavalry back to barracks, so LordBearwarden came off duty without creating scandal or ridicule in theregiment; but I doubt if he knew exactly what he was doing, till hearrived in plain clothes within a few paces of his own door. Here hepaused for a few minutes' reflection before entering his house, andwas surprised to see at the street corner a lady extremely like hiswife in earnest conversation with a man in rags who had the appearanceof a professional beggar. The lady, as far as he could judge at thatdistance, seemed to be offering money, which the man by his actionsobviously refused. Lord Bearwarden walked briskly towards them, a gooddeal puzzled, and glad to have his attention distracted from his ownaffairs. 

It was a long street, and the couple separated before he reachedthem, the man disappearing round the corner, while the lady advancedsteadily towards himself. When within a few paces she lifted a thickdouble veil, and he found he had not been mistaken. 

Maud was pale and calm as usual, but to those who knew her well recentagitation would have been betrayed by the lowering of her eyebrows, and an unusual compression of the lines about her mouth. 

He knew her better than she thought, and did not fail to remark thesesigns of a recent storm, but, as usual, refrained from asking for theconfidence it was his right to receive. 

"You're out early, my lady, " said he, in a careless tone. "Been for anappetite against luncheon-time, eh? That beggar just now didn't seemhungry, at any rate. It looked to me as if you were offering himmoney, and he wouldn't take it. That's quite a new trick in thetrade. "

She glanced quickly in his face with something almost of reproach. It was a hateful life this, and even now, she thought, if he wouldquestion her kindly, she could find it in her heart perhaps to tellhim all. All! How she had deceived him, and promised herself toanother, and to get rid of that other, only for a time, had renderedherself amenable to the law--had been guilty of actual crime--had sunkto feel the very slave of a felon, the lowest refuse of society. Howshe, Lady Bearwarden, had within the last ten minutes been threatenedby this ruffian, been compelled to submit to his insolence, to maketerms with his authority, and to promise him another interview thatvery afternoon. How every hour of her life was darkened by terror ofhis presence and dread of his revenge. It was unheard-of! unbearable!She would make a clean breast of it on the first opportunity. 

"Let's go in, dear, " she said, with more of softness and affectionthan was her habit when addressing her husband. "Luncheon is almostready. I'm so glad you got away early from barracks. I see so littleof you now. Never mind. It will be all right next week. We shall havetwo more captains back from leave to help us. You see I'm beginning toknow the roster almost as well as the Adjutant himself. "

It pleased him that she should show an interest in these professionaldetails. He liked to hear such military terms of the orderly room fromthose pretty lips, and he would have replied with something unusuallyaffectionate, and therefore exceedingly precious, but that, as husbandand wife reached their own door, they found standing there to greetthem the pale wasted face and attenuated figure of Tom Ryfe. 

He saluted Lady Bearwarden gravely, but with perfect confidence, andshe was obliged to give him her hand, though she felt as if she couldhave strangled him with pleasure, then and there, by the scraper. Herhusband clapped him heartily on the back. "Glad to see you, Tom, " saidhe; "I heard you were ill and called to inquire, but they wouldn't letme disturb you. Been devilish seedy, haven't you? Don't look _quite_in form yet. Come in and have some luncheon. Doctors all tell one tokeep up the system now-a-days. "

Poor Lady Bearwarden! Here was another of her avengers, risen, asit seemed, from the dead, and she must speak kind words, find falsesmiles, bid him to her table, and treat him as an honoured guest. Whatever happened, too, she could not endure to leave him alone withBearwarden. Who could tell what disclosures might come out? She waswalking on a mine, so she backed her husband's invitation, and herselfled the way into the dining-room where luncheon was ready, not daringeven to go up-stairs and take her bonnet off before she sat down. 

Mr. Ryfe was less communicative than usual about himself, and spoke aslittle to her ladyship as seemed compatible with the ordinary forms ofpoliteness. His object was to lull her suspicions and put her off herguard. Nevertheless, with painful attention she watched every glanceof his eye, every turn of his features, hanging eagerly, nervously, onevery word he said. 

Tom had laid his plan of attack, and now called on the lately-marriedcouple, that he might reconnoitre his ground before bringing up hisforces. It is not to be supposed that a man of Mr. Ryfe's resourceswould long remain in ignorance of the real truth, after detecting, ashe believed at the time, Lady Bearwarden and Dick Stanmore side byside in a hansom cab. 

Ere twenty-four hours had elapsed he had learned the exact state ofthe case, and had satisfied himself of the extraordinary resemblancebetween Miss Algernon and the woman he had resolved to persecutewithout remorse. In this resemblance he saw an engine with which hehoped to work her ladyship's utter destruction, and then (Tom's heartleapt within him even now at the thought), ruined, lonely, desolate, when the whole world turned from her, she might learn to appreciatehis devotion, might take shelter at last with the only heart open toreceive her in her shame. 

It is hard to say whether Tom's feelings for the woman he so admiredwere of love or hate. 

He saw through Lord Bearwarden's nature thoroughly, for of him, too, he had made it his business to inquire into all the tendencies, allthe antecedents. A high fastidious spirit, jealous, because sensitive, yet far too proud to admit, much less indulge that jealousy, seemed ofall others the easiest to deceive. The hide of the rhinoceros is nocontemptible gift, and a certain bluntness, I might say coarsenessof character, enables a man to go through the world comfortably andhappily, unvexed by those petty stings and bites and irritations thatworry thinner skins to death. With Lord Bearwarden to suspect was tofret and ponder and conceal, hating and despising himself the while. He had other points, besides his taste for soldiering, in common withOthello. 

On such a man an anonymous letter acted like a blister, clinging, drawing, inflaming all round the affected part. Nobody in theory soutterly despised these productions. For nobody in practice did theyproduce so disastrous an effect. And then he had been deceived oncebefore. He had lost his trust, not so much in the other sex (forall men think every woman false but one) as in himself. He had beenoutraged, hurt, humbled, and the bold confidence, the _dash_ withwhich such games should be played were gone. There is a buoyancygradually lost as we cross the country of life, which is perhaps worthmore than all the gains of experience. And in the real pursuit, asin the mimic hurry of the chase, it is wise to avoid too hazardous aventure. The hunter that has once been overhead in a brook never faceswater very heartily again. 

Tom could see that his charm was working, that the letter he hadwritten produced all the effect he desired. His host was obviouslypreoccupied, absent in manner, and even flurried, at least for _him_. Moreover, he drank brown sherry out of a claret-glass, which lookedlike being uncomfortable somewhere inside. Lady Bearwarden, grave andunusually silent, watched her husband with a sad, wistful air, thatgoaded Tom to madness. How he had loved that pale, proud face, and itwas paler and prouder and lovelier than ever to-day!

"I've seen some furniture you'd like to look at, my lord, " said Tom, in his old, underbred manner. "There's a chair I'd buy directly if I'da house to put it in, or a lady to sit on it; and a carved ebony frameit's worth going all the distance to see. If you'd nothing to do thisafternoon, I'll be proud to show them you. Twenty minutes' drive fromhere in a hansom. "

"Will you come?" asked Lord Bearwarden, kindly, of his wife. "Youmight take us in the barouche. "

She seemed strangely agitated by so natural a proposal, and neithergentleman failed to remark her disorder. 

"I shall like it very much, " she stammered. "At least I should. But Ican't this afternoon. I--I've got an engagement at the other end ofthe town. "

"Which _is_ the other end of the town?" said Lord Bearwarden, laughing. "You've not told us _your_ end yet, Tom;" but seeing hiswife's colour fade more and more, he purposely filled Tom's glass todistract his attention. 

Her engagement was indeed of no pleasant nature. It was to holdanother interview with "Gentleman Jim, " in which she hoped to prevailon him to leave the country by offering the largest sum of moneyshe could raise from all her resources. Once released from hispersecutions, she thought she could breathe a little, and face TomRyfe well enough single-handed, should he try to poison her husband'smind against her--an attempt she thought him likely enough to make. Itwas Jim she feared--Jim, whom drink and crime, and an infatuation ofwhich she was herself the cause, had driven almost mad--she could seeit in his eye--who was reckless of her character as of his own--whoinsisted on her giving him these meetings two or three times a week, and was capable of any folly, any outrage, if she disappointedhim. Well, to-day should end it! On that she was determined. If hepersisted in refusing her bribe, she would throw herself on LordBearwarden's mercy and tell him the whole truth. 

Maud had more self-command than most women, and could hold her owneven in so false a position as this. 

"I must get another gown, " she said, after a moment's pause, ignoringTom's presence altogether as she addressed her husband across thetable. "I've nothing to wear at the Den, if it's cold when we go downnext week, so I _must_ call at Stripe and Rainbow's to-day, and Iwon't keep you waiting in the carriage all the time I'm shopping. "

He seemed quite satisfied. "Then I'll take Ryfe to my sulking-room, "said he, "and wish you good-bye till dinner-time. Tom, you shall havethe best cigar in England--I've kept them five years, and they'restrong enough to blow your head off now. "

So Tom, with a formal bow to Lady Bearwarden, followed his host into asnug but dark apartment at the back, devoted, as was at once detectedby its smell, to the consumption of tobacco. 

While he lit a cigar, he could not help thinking of the days, not solong ago, when Maud would have followed him, at least with her eyes, out of the room, but consoled himself by the reflection that histurn was coming now, and so smoked quietly on with a firm, crueldetermination to do his worst. 

Thus it came to pass that, before they had finished their cigars, these gentlemen heard the roll of her ladyship's carriage as it tookher away; also that a few minutes later, passing Stripe and Rainbow'sin a hansom cab, they saw the same carriage, standing empty at thedoor of that gorgeous and magnificent emporium. 

"Don't get out, Tom, " said his, lordship, stopping the hansom, "I onlywant to ask a question--I sha'n't be a minute;" and in two strides hewas across the pavement and within the folding-doors of the shop. 

Perhaps the question he meant to ask was of his own common-sense, andits answer seemed hard to accept philosophically. Perhaps he neverexpected to find what he meant to look for, yet was weak enough tofeel disappointed all the same--for he had turned very pale when here-entered the cab, and he lit another cigar without speaking. 

Though her carriage stood at the door, he had searched the whole ofStripe and Rainbow's shop for Lady Bearwarden in vain. 

Tom Ryfe was not without a certain mother-wit, sharpened by hisprofessional education. He suspected the truth, recalling the'agitated manner of his hostess at luncheon, when her afternoon'semployment came under notice. Will it be believed that he experiencedan actual pang, to think she should have some assignation, some secretof which his lordship must be kept in ignorance--that he should havefelt more jealous of this unknown, this possible rival, than of herlawful husband now sitting by his side! He was no bad engineer, however, and having laid his train, waited patiently for the mine toexplode at its proper time. 

"What an outlandish part of the town we are getting to, " observed LordBearwarden, after several minutes' silence; "your furniture-man seemsto live at the other end of the world. "

"If you want to buy things at first hand you must go into OxfordStreet, " answered Tom. "Let's get out and walk, my lord; it's socrowded here, we shall make better way. "

So they paid their hansom, and threading the swarms of passengers onthe footway, turned into Berners Street arm-in-arm. 

Tom walked very slowly for reasons of his own, but made himselfpleasant enough, talking on a variety of subjects, and boasting hisown good taste in matters of curiosity, especially old furniture. 

"I wish you could have induced the viscountess to come with us, " saidTom, "we should have been all the better for her help. But ladies haveso many engagements in the afternoon we know nothing about, that it'simpossible to secure their company without several days' notice. I'llbe bound her ladyship is in Stripe and Rainbow's still. "

There was something in the casual remark that jarred on LordBearwarden, more than Tom's absurd habit of thus bestowing her fulltitle on his wife in common conversation, though even that provokedhim a little too; something to set him thinking, to rouse all thepride and all the suspicion of his nature. "The viscountess, " as Tomcalled her, was _not_ in Stripe and Rainbow's, of that he had madehimself perfectly certain less than half-an-hour ago; then where_could_ she be? Why this secrecy, this mystery, this reserve, that hadbeen growing up between them day by day ever since their marriage?What conclusion was a man likely to arrive at who had lived in theworld of London from boyhood, and been already once so cruellydeceived? His blood boiled; and Tom, whose hand rested on his arm, felt the muscles swell and quiver beneath his touch. 

Mr. Ryfe had timed his observation well; the two gentlemen were nowproceeding slowly up Berners Street, and had arrived nearly oppositethe house that contained Simon's painting-room, its hard-workingartist, its frequent visitor, its beautiful sitter, and its FairyQueen. Since his first visit there Tom Ryfe, in person or throughhis emissaries, had watched the place strictly enough to have becomefamiliar with the habits of its inmates. 

Mr. Stanmore's trial trip with Miss Algernon proved so satisfactory, that the journey had been repeated on the same terms every day: thisarrangement, very gratifying to the persons involved, originatedindeed with Simon, who now went regularly after work to pass a fewhours with his sick friend. Thus, to see these two young peoplebowling down Berners Street in a hansom cab, about five o'clock, looking supremely happy the while, was as good a certainty as to meetthe local pot-boy, or the postman. 

Tom Ryfe manoeuvred skilfully enough to bring his man on the groundprecisely at the right moment. 

Still harping on old furniture, he was in the act of remarking that"he should know the shop again, though he had forgotten the number, and that it must be a few doors higher up, " when his companionstarted, uttered a tremendous execration, and struggling to freehimself from Tom's arm, holloaed at an unconscious cab-driver to stop. 

"What's the matter? are you ill, my lord?" exclaimed his companion, holding on to him with all his weight, while affecting great anxietyand alarm. 

"D--n you! let me go!" exclaimed Lord Bearwarden, nearly flinging Tomto the pavement as he shook himself free and tore wildly down thestreet in vain pursuit. 

He returned in a minute or two, white, scared, and breathless. Pullinghis moustache fiercely, he made a gallant effort to compose himself;but when he spoke, his voice was so changed, Tom looked with surprisein his face. 

"You saw it too, Tom!" he said at last, in a hoarse whisper. 

"Saw it!--saw what?" repeated Tom, with an admirable assumption ofignorance, innocence, and dismay. 

"Saw Lady Bearwarden in that cab with Dick Stanmore!" answered hislordship, steadying himself bravely like a good ship in a breeze, andgrowing cooler and cooler, as was his nature in an emergency. 

"Are you sure of it?--did you see her face? I fancied so myself, butthought I must be mistaken. It was Mr. Stanmore, no doubt, but itcannot possibly have been the viscountess. "

Tom spoke with an air of gravity, reflection, and profound concern. 

"I may settle with _him_, at any rate!" said Lord Bearwarden. "Tom, you're a true friend; I can trust you like myself. It's a comfort tohave a friend, Tom, when a fellow's smashed up like this. I shall bearit well enough presently; but it's an awful facer, old boy. I'd havedone anything for that woman--I tell you, anything! I'd have cut offmy right hand to please her. And now!--It's not because she doesn'tcare for me--I've known that all along; but to think that she'slike--like those poor painted devils we met just now. Likethem!--she's a million times worse! O, it's hard to bear! Damnation! I_won't_ bear it! Somebody will have to give an account for this!"

"You have my sympathy, " said Tom, in a low respectful voice, for heknew his man thoroughly; "these things won't stand talking about; butyou shall have my assistance too, in any and every way you require. I'm not a swell, my lord, but I'll stick by you through thick andthin. "

The other pressed his arm. "We must do something at once, " said he. "I will go up to barracks now: call for me there in an hour's time; Ishall have decided on everything by then. "

So Lord Bearwarden carried a sore heart back once more to the oldfamiliar scenes--through the well-known gate, past the stalwartsentry, amongst all the sights and sounds of the profession by whichhe set such store. What a mockery it seemed!--how hard, how cruel, andhow unjust!

But this time at least, he felt, he should not be obliged to sit downand brood over his injuries without reprisals or redress. 

CHAPTER XXIV

PARTED

Lady Bearwarden's carriage had, without doubt, set her down at Stripeand Rainbow's, to take her up again at the same place after waitingthere for so long a period as must have impressed on her servants theimportance of their lady's toilet, and the careful study she bestowedon its selection. The tall bay horses had been flicked at least ahundred times to make them stand out and show themselves, in the formLondon coachmen think so imposing to passers-by. The footman hadyawned as often, expressing with each contortion an excessive longingfor beer. Many street boys had lavished their criticisms, favourableand otherwise, on the wheels, the panels, the varnish, the driver'swig, and that dignitary's legs, whom they had the presumption toaddress as "John. " Diverse connoisseurs on the pavement had appraisedthe bay horses at every conceivable price--some men never can pass ahorse or a woman without thinking whether they would like to bargainfor the one or make love to the other; and the animals themselvesseemed to have interchanged many confidential whispers, on thesubject, probably, of beans, --when Lady Bearwarden re-appeared, toseat herself in the carriage and give the welcome order, "Home!"

She had passed what the French call a very "bad little quarter of anhour, " and the storm had left its trace on her pale brow and delicatefeatures. They bore, nevertheless, that firm, resolute expressionwhich Maud must have inherited from some iron-hearted ancestor. Therewas the same stem clash of the jaw, the same hard, determined frownin this, their lovely descendant, that confronted Plantagenet and hismailed legions on the plains by Stirling, that stiffened under the wanmoonlight on Culloden Moor amongst broken claymores and riven targets, and tartans all stained to the deep-red hues of the Stuart with hisclansmen's blood. 

Softened, weakened by a tender, doubting affection, she had yieldedto an ignoble, unworthy coercion; but it had been put on too hard oflate, and her natural character asserted itself under the pressure. She was in that mood which makes the martyr and the heroine, sometimeseven the criminal, but on which, deaf to reason and insensible tofear, threats and arguments are equally thrown away. 

She had met "Gentleman Jim, " according to promise, extorted from herby menaces of everything that could most outrage her womanly feelingsand tarnish her fair fame before the world--had met him with as muchsecrecy, duplicity, and caution as though he were really the favouredlover for whom she was prepared to sacrifice home, husband, honour, and all. The housebreaker had mounted a fresh disguise for theoccasion, and flattered himself, to use his own expression, that helooked "quite the gentleman from top to toe. " Could he have known howthis high-bred woman loathed his tawdry ornaments, his flash attire, his silks and velvets, and flushed face, and dirty, ringed hands andgreasy hair!

Could he have known! He _did_ know, and it maddened him till he forgotreason, prudence, experience, commonsense--forgot everything but thepresent torture, the cruel longing for the impossible, the accursedconviction (worse than all the stings of drink and sin and remorse)that this one wild, hopeless desire of his existence could never beattained. 

Therefore, in the lonely street to which a cab had brought her fromthe shop where her carriage waited, and which they paced to and fro, this strangely-assorted pair, he gave vent to his feelings, and brokeout in a paroxysm that roused all his listener's feelings of anger, resistance, and disgust. She had just offered him so large a sumof money to quit England for ever, as even Jim, for whom, you mustremember, every sovereign represented twenty shillings' worth ofbeer, could not refuse without a qualm. He hesitated, and Maud's facebrightened with a ray of hope that quivered in her eyes like sunlight. "To sail next week, " said he slowly; "to take my last look of yeto-day. Them's the articles. My last look. Standing there in thedaylight--a _real_ lady! And never to come back no more!"

She clasped her hands--the delicate gloved hands, with their heavybracelets at the wrists--and her voice shook while she spoke. "You'llgo; won't you? It will make your fortune; and--and--I'll always thinkof you kindly--and--gratefully. I _will_ indeed; so long as you keepaway. "

He sprang like a horse to the lash. "It's h----ll!" he exclaimed. "Putback your cursed money. I won't do it!"

"You won't do it?"

There was such quiet despair in her accents as drove him to fury. 

"I won't do it!" he repeated in a low voice that frightened her. "I'llrot in a gaol first!--I'll swing on a gallows!--I'll die in a ditch!Take care as _you_ don't give me something to swing for! Yes, _you_, with your pale face, and your high-handed ways, and your cold, cruelheart that can send a poor devil to the other end o' the earth witha 'pleasant trip, and here's your health, my lad, ' like as if I wasgoin' across to Lambeth. And yet you stand there as beautiful as ahangel; and I--I'm a fool, I am! And--and I don't know what keeps mefrom slippin' my knife into that white throat o' yourn, except it isas you don't look not a morsel dashed, nor skeared, you don't; no morethan you was that first night as ever I see your face. And I wish myeyes had been lime-blinded first, and I'd been dead and rotting in mygrave. "

With anything like a contest, as usual, Maud's courage came back. 

"I am not in your power yet, " said she, raising her haughty head. "There stands the cab. When we reach it I get in, and you shall neverhave a chance of speaking to me after to-day. Once for all. Will youtake this money, or leave it? I shall not make the offer again. "

He took the notes from her hand, with a horrible oath, and dashed themon the ground; then growing so pale she thought he must have fallen, seemed to recover his temper and his presence of mind, picked them up, returned them very quietly, and stood aside on the narrow pavement tolet her pass. 

"You are right, " said he, in a voice so changed, she looked anxiouslyin his white face, working like that of a man in a fit. "I was a foola while ago. I know better now. But I won't take the notes, my lady. Thank ye kindly just the same. I'll wish ye good-mornin' now. O, no!Make yourself easy. I'll never ask to see ye again. "

He staggered while he walked away, and laid hold of an area railing ashe turned the street corner; but Maud was too glad to get rid of hertormentor at any price to speculate on his meaning, his movements, orthe storm that raged within his breast. 

And now, sitting back in her carriage, bowling home-ward, with thefresh evening breeze in her face, the few men left to take their hatsoff looked in that face, and while making up their minds that afterall it was the handsomest in London, felt instinctively they had nevercoveted the ownership of its haughty beauty so little as to-day. Herhusband's cornet, walking with a brother subaltern, and saluting LadyBearwarden, or, rather, the carriage and horses, for her ladyship'seyes and thoughts were miles away, expressed the popular feelingperhaps with sufficient clearness when he thus delivered himself, inreply to his companion's loudly-expressed admiration--

"The best-looking woman in London, no doubt, and the best turned out. But I think Bruin's got a handful, you know. Tell ye what, my boy, I'mgenerally right about women. She looks like the sort that, if theyonce _begin_ to kick, never leave off till they've knocked thesplinter-bar into toothpicks and carried away the whole of the frontboot. "

Maud, all unconscious of the light in which she appeared to this youngphilosopher, was meanwhile hardening her heart with considerablemisgivings for the task she had in view, resolved that nothing shouldnow deter her from the confession she had delayed too long. Shereflected how foolish it was not to have taken advantage of the firstconfidences of married life by throwing herself on her husband'smercy, telling him all the folly, imprudence, crime of which she hadbeen guilty, and imploring to be forgiven. Every day that passed madeit more difficult, particularly since this coolness had arisen betweenthem, which, although she felt it did not originate with herself, shealso felt a little pliancy on her part, a little warmth of manner, alittle expressed affection, would have done much to counteract and putaway. She had delayed it too long; but "Better late than never. " Itshould be done to-day; before she dressed for dinner; the instant shegot home. She would put her arms round his neck, and tell him that theworst of her iniquities, the most unpardonable, had been committed forlove of _him_! She could not bear to lose him (Maud forgot that inthose days it was the coronet she wanted to capture). She dreadedfalling in his esteem. She dared all, risked all, because withouthim life must have been to her, as it is to so many, a blank and amistake. But supposing he put on the cold, grave face, assumed theconventional tone she knew so well, told her he could not pardon suchunladylike, such unwomanly proceedings, or that he did not desire tointrude on confidences so long withheld; or, worse than all, thatthey did very well as they were, got on--he had hinted as much oncebefore--better than half the married couples in London, why, she mustbear it. This would be part of the punishment; and at least she couldhave the satisfaction of assuring him how she loved him, and of lovinghim heartily, humbly, even without return. 

Lady Bearwarden had never done anything humbly before. Perhaps shethought this new sensation might be for her good--might make her achanged woman, and in such change happier henceforth. 

Tears sprang to her eyes. How slow that man drove; but, thank heaven!here she was, home at last. 

On the hall-table lay a letter in her husband's hand-writing, addressed to herself. "How provoking!" she muttered, "to say he dinesout, of course. And now I must wait till to-morrow. Never mind. "

Passing up-stairs to her boudoir, she opened it as she entered theroom, and sank into a chair, with a faint passionate cry, like that ofa hare, or other weak animal, struck to the death. She had courage, nevertheless, to read it over twice, so as thoroughly to master thecontents. During their engagement they used to meet every day. Theyhad not been parted since their marriage. It was the first, literallythe very first, letter she had ever received from him. 

 "I have no reproaches to make, " it said, "nor reasons to offer for my own decision. I leave both to your sense of right, if indeed yours can be the same as that usually accepted amongst honourable people. I have long felt some mysterious barrier existed between you and me. I have only an hour ago discovered its disgraceful nature, and the impossibility that it can ever be removed. You cannot wonder at my not returning home. Stay there as long as you please, and be assured I shall not enter that house again. You will not probably wish to see or hold any communication with me in future, but should you be so ill-advised as to attempt it, remember I have taken care to render it impossible. I know not how I have forfeited the right to be treated fairly and on the square, nor why you, of all the world, should have felt entitled to make me your dupe, but this is a question on which I do not mean to enter, now nor hereafter. My man of business will attend to any directions you think proper to give, and has my express injunctions to further your convenience in every way, but to withhold my address and all information respecting my movements. With a sincere wish for your welfare, I remain, "

 Yours, etc. , "Bearwarden. "

She was stunned, stupefied, bewildered. What had he found out? Whatcould it mean? She had known of late she loved him very dearly; shenever knew till now the pain such love might bring. She rocked herselfto and fro in her agony, but soon started up into action. She must dosomething. She could not sit there under his very picture looking downon her, manly, and kind, and soldierlike. She ran down-stairs to hisroom. It was all disordered just as he had left it, and an odour oftobacco clung heavily round the curtains and furniture. She wonderednow she should ever have disliked the fumes of that unsavoury plant. She could not bear to stay there long, but hurried up-stairs againto ring for a servant, and bid him get a cab at once, to see if LordBearwarden was at the barracks. She felt hopelessly convinced it wasno use; even if he were, nothing would be gained by the assurance, butit seemed a relief to obtain an interval of waiting and uncertaintyand delay. When the man returned to report that "his lordship had beenthere and gone away again, " she wished she had let it alone. It formedno light portion of her burden that she must preserve an appearanceof composure before her servants. It seemed such a mockery while herheart was breaking, yes, breaking, in the desolation of her sorrow, the blank of a future without _him_. 

Then in extremity of need she bethought her of Dick Stanmore, and inthis I think Lady Bearwarden betrayed, under all her energy and forceof character, the softer elements of woman's nature. A man, I suppose, under any pressure of affliction would hardly go for consolationto the woman he had deceived. He partakes more of the wild beast'ssulkiness, which, sick or wounded, retires to mope in a corner byitself; whereas a woman, as indeed seems only becoming to her lessfirmly-moulded character, shows in a struggle all the qualities ofvalour except that one additional atom of final endurance which winsthe fight at last. In real bitter distress they must have some one tolean on. Is it selfishness that bids them carry their sorrows for helpto the very hearts they have crushed and trampled? Is it not rather anoble instinct of forgiveness and generosity which tells them that iftheir mutual cases were reversed they would themselves be capable ofaffording the sympathy they expect?

Maud knew that, to use the conventional language of the world in whichthey moved, "she had treated Dick ill. " We think very lightly of theselittle social outrages in the battle of life, and yet I doubt if onehuman being can inflict a much deeper injury on another than thatwhich deprives the victim of all power of enjoyment, all belief ingood, all hope for the future, all tender memories of the past. Manor woman, we ought to have some humane compunction, some littlehesitation in sitting down to play at that game from which the winnerrises only wearied with unmerited good fortune, the loser, haggard, miserable, stripped and beggared for life. 

It was owing to no forbearance of Lady Bearwarden's that Dick had sofar recovered his losses as to sit down once more and tempt fortune atanother table; but she turned to him nevertheless in this her hourof perplexity, and wrote to ask his aid, advice, and sympathy in hergreat distress. 

I give her letter, though it never reached its destination, because Ithink it illustrates certain feminine ideas of honour, justice, andplain dealing which must originate in some code of reasoning totallyunintelligible to ourselves. 

 Dear Mr. Stanmore, You are a true friend, I feel sure. I have always considered you, since we have been acquainted, the truest and most tried amongst the few I possess. You told me once, some time ago, when we used to meet oftener than we have of late, that if ever I was in sorrow or difficulty I was to be sure and let you know. I am in sorrow and difficulty now--great sorrow, overwhelming difficulty. I have nobody that cares for me enough to give advice or help, and I am so very, _very_ sad and desolate. I think I have some claim upon you. We used to be so much together and were always such good friends. Besides, we are almost relations, are we not? and once I thought we should have been something more. But that is all over now. 

 Will you help me? Come to me at once, or write. Lord Bearwarden has left me without a word of explanation except a cruel, cutting, formal letter that I cannot understand. I don't know what I have said or done, but it seems so hard, so inhuman. And I loved him very dearly, very. Indeed, though you have every right to say you don't believe me, I would have made him a good wife if he had let me. My heart seems quite crushed and broken. It is too hard. Again I ask you to help me, and remain always

 Yours sincerely, "M. Bearwarden. "

There is little doubt that had Dick Stanmore ever received thistouching production he would have lost not one moment in complyingwith the urgency of its appeal. But Dick did not receive it, for thesimple reason that, although stamped by her ladyship and placed in theletter-box, it was never sent to the post. 

Lord Bearwarden, though absenting himself from home under suchunpleasant circumstances, could not therefore shake off the thousandimperceptible meshes that bind a man like chains of iron to his owndomestic establishment. Amongst other petty details his correspondencehad to be provided for, and he sent directions accordingly to hisgroom of the chambers, that all his letters should be forwarded to acertain address. The groom of the chambers, who had served in one ortwo families before, of which the heads had separated under ratherdiscreditable circumstances, misunderstanding his master's orders, ordetermined to err on the safe side, forwarded all the letters he couldlay hands on to my lord. Therefore the hurt and angry husband wasgreeted, ere he had left home a day, by the sight of an envelope inhis wife's handwriting addressed to the man with whom he believedshe was in love. Even under such provocation Lord Bearwarden was toohigh-minded to open the enclosure, but sent it back forthwith in aslip of paper, on which he calmly "presented his compliments andbegged to forward a letter he could see was Lady Bearwarden's that hadfallen into his hands by mistake. "

Maud, weeping in her desolate home, tore it into a thousand shreds. There was something characteristic of her husband in these littlehonourable scruples that cut her to the heart. "Why didn't he readit?" she repeated, wringing her hands and walking up and down theroom. "He knows Mr. Stanmore quite well. Why didn't he read it? andthen he would have seen what I shall never, never be able to tell himnow!"

CHAPTER XXV

COAXING A FIGHT

Mr. Ryfe could now congratulate himself that his puppets were fairlyon the stage prepared for their several parts; and it remained but tobring them into play, and with that view, he summoned all the craft ofhis experience to assist the cunning of his nature. 

Lord Bearwarden, amongst other old-fashioned prejudices, clung to anobsolete notion that there are certain injuries, and those of thedeepest and most abiding, for which neither the opinion of society, nor the laws of the land, afford redress, and which can only be wipedout by personal encounter of man to man. It seemed to him that hecould more easily forget his sorrow, and turn with a firmer tread intothe beaten track of life, after a snap shot at Mr. Stanmore across adozen yards of turf. Do not blame him--remember his education andthe opinions of those amongst whom he lived. Remember, too, that hiscrowning sorrow had not yet taught him resignation, an opiate whichworks only with lapse of time. There is a manlier and a truer couragethan that which seeks a momentary oblivion of its wrongs in theexcitement of personal danger--there is a heroism of defence, farabove the easier valour of attack--and those are distinguished as thebravest troops that under severe loss preserve their discipline andformation, without returning the fire of an enemy. 

Lord Bearwarden, however, as became the arm of the service to which hebelonged, was impatient of inaction, and had not yet learned to lookon hostilities in this light. 

"We'll parade him, Tom, " said he, affecting a cheerfulness which didnot the least deceive his companion. "I don't want to make a row aboutit, of course. I'll spare _her_, though she hardly deserves it, butI'll have a slap at _him_, and I'll shoot him, too, if I can! Youneedn't put us up much farther than the width of this room!"

They were closeted together at the back of a certain unassuming hotel, where their addresses, if required, would be consistently denied. Theroom in question was small, gloomy, and uncomfortable, but so shadedand sequestered, that, lulled by its drowsy glimmer, for its inmates, as for the lotus-eaters, "it was always afternoon. "

"Suppose he won't fight, " observed Tom, shaking his head. 

"Won't fight!" repeated his lordship, in high disdain. "Curse him--he_must_ fight. I'll horsewhip him in the Park! That's all nonsense, Tom. The fellow's a gentleman. I'll say that for him. He'll see thepropriety of keeping the whole thing quiet, if it was only out ofregard for _her_. You must settle it, Tom. It's a great deal to ask. Iknow I ought to have gone to a brother-officer, but this is a peculiarcase, you see, and the fewer fellows in the hunt the better!"

Mr. Ryfe mused. He didn't much like his job, but reflected that, underthe management of any one else, an explanation would assuredly puteverything in its true light, and his web would all be brushed away. What he required was a scandal; a slander so well sustained, that LadyBearwarden's character should never recover it, and for such a purposenothing seemed so efficacious as a duel, of which she should be thecause. He imagined also, in his inexperience, like the immortal Mr. Winkle, that these encounters were usually bloodless, and mere, matters of form. 

"You're resolved, I suppose, " said Tom. "I needn't point out to you, mylord, that such a course shuts every door to reconciliation--precludesevery possibility of things coming right in future. It's a strongmeasure--a very strong measure--and you really mean to carry itthrough?"

"I've made up my mind to shoot him, " answered the other doggedly. "What's the use of jawing about it? These things should be done atonce, my good fellow. If we have to go abroad, we'll start to-morrownight. "

"I'd better try and hunt him up without delay, " said Tom. "It's easierto find a fellow now than in the middle of the season, but I might nothit upon him to-night, nevertheless. "

Lord Bearwarden looked at his watch. "Try his club, " said he. "If hedines there, it's about the time. They'll know his address at anyrate, and if you look sharp you might catch him at home dressing fordinner. I'll wait here and we'll have a mutton-chop when you come in. Stick to him, Tom. Don't let him back out. It would have saved a dealof trouble, " added his lordship, while the other hurried off, "if Icould have caught that cab to-day. She'd have been frightened, though, and upset. Better as it is, perhaps, after all. "

Mr. Ryfe did not suffer the wheels of his chariot to tarry, nor thegrass to grow beneath his feet. Very few minutes elapsed before hefound himself waiting in the strangers' room of a club much affectedby Dick Stanmore, comforted with a hall-porter's assurance that thegentleman he sought had ordered dinner, and could not fail to arrivealmost immediately. He had scarcely taken up the evening paper whenMr. Stanmore came in. 

Anything less like a conscience-stricken Lothario, burdened with theguilt of another man's wife, can scarcely be imagined. Dick's eyewas bright, his cheek blooming, his countenance radiant with health, happiness, and the light from within that is kindled by a goodconscience and a loving heart. He came up to Ryfe with a merrygreeting on his lips, but stopped short, marking the gravity of thatgentleman's face and the unusual formality of his bow. 

"My errand is a very painful one, " said Tom. "I regret to say, Mr. Stanmore, that I have come to you on a most unpleasant business. "

"I thought you'd come to dinner, " answered Dick, no whit disconcerted. "Never mind. Let's have it out. I dare say it's not half so bad as itseems. "

"It could not possibly be worse, " was the solemn rejoinder. "Itinvolves life and honour for two gentlemen, both of whom I respect andesteem. For the sake of one, a very dear friend, I have consentedto be here now. Mr. Stanmore, I come to you on behalf of LordBearwarden. "

Dick started. The old wound was healed, and, indeed, perfectly curednow, but the skin had not yet grown quite callous over that injuredpart. 

"Go on, " said he. "Why didn't Lord Bearwarden come himself?"

"Impossible!" answered Tom, with great dignity. "Contrary to allprecedent. I could not have permitted such a thing. Should not havelistened to it for a moment. Quite inadmissible. Would have placedevery one in a false position. His lordship has lost no time inselecting an experienced friend. May I hope Mr. Stanmore will beequally prompt? You understand me, of course. "

"I'm hanged if I _do_!" replied Dick, opening his eyes very wide. "Youmust speak plainer. What is it all about?"

"Simply, " said the other, "that my principal assures me he feelsconfident your own sense of honour will not permit you to refuse him ameeting. Lord Bearwarden, as you must be aware, Mr. Stanmore, is aman of very high spirit and peculiarly sensitive feelings. You haveinflicted on him some injury of so delicate a nature that even fromme, his intimate friend, he withholds his confidence on the real factsof the case. He leads me to believe that I shall not find my task verydifficult, and my own knowledge of Mr. Stanmore's high character andjealous sense of honour points to the same conclusion. You will, ofcourse, meet me half-way, without any further negotiation or delay. "

("If he's ever spoken three words of endearment to 'the viscountess, '"reflected Tom, "he'll understand at once. If he hasn't, he'll thinkI'm mad!")

"But I can't fight without I'm told what it's for, " urged Dick, inconsiderable bewilderment. "I don't know Lord Bearwarden well. I'venothing to do with him. We've never had a quarrel in our lives. "

"Mr. Stanmore!" replied the other. "You surprise me. I thought youquite a different sort of person. I thought a _gentleman_"--here aflash in Dick's eye warned him not to go too far--"a gentleman of yourintelligence would have anticipated my meaning without trying to forcefrom me an explanation, which indeed it is out of my power to make. There _are_ injuries, Mr. Stanmore, on which outraged friendshipcannot bear to enlarge; for which a man of honour feels bound to offerthe only reparation in his power. Must we _force_ you, Mr. Stanmore, into the position we require, by overt measures, as disgraceful to youas they would be unbecoming in my friend?"

"Stop a moment, Mr. Ryfe, " said Dick. "Do you speak now for yourselfor Lord Bearwarden?"

There was a slight contraction of the lip accompanying this remarkthat Tom by no means fancied. He hastened to shelter himself behindhis principal. 

"For Lord Bearwarden, decidedly, " said he, "and without intention ofthe slightest discourtesy. My only object is indeed to avoid, for bothparties, anything so revolting as a personal collision. Have I saidenough?"

"No, you haven't!" answered Dick, who was getting warm while hisdinner was getting cold. "If you won't tell me what the offence is, how can I offer either redress or apology?"

"No apology would be accepted, " replied Mr. Ryfe loftily. "Nor, indeed, does his lordship consider that his injuries admit ofextenuation. Shall I tell you his very words, Mr. Stanmore, addressedto me less than an hour ago?"

"Drive on, " said Dick. 

"His lordship's words, not my own, you will bear in mind, " continuedTom, rather uncomfortable, but resolved to play out his trump card. "And I only repeat them as it were in confidence, and at your ownrequest. 'Tom, ' said he, 'nothing on earth shall prevent our meeting. No, not if I have to horsewhip Mr. Stanmore in the Park to bring itabout. '"

"If that don't fetch him, " thought Tom, "he's not the man I take himfor. "

It _did_ fetch him. Dick started, and turned fiercely on the speaker. 

"The devil!" he exclaimed. "Two can play at that game, and perhaps hemight come off the worst! Mr. Ryfe, you're a bold man to bring sucha message to _me_. I'm not sure how far your character of ambassadorshould bear you harmless; but, in the meantime, tell your principalI'll accommodate him with pleasure, and the sooner the better. "

Dick's blood was up, as indeed seemed natural enough under so grossan insult, and he was all for fighting now, right or wrong. Tom Ryfecongratulated himself on the success of this, his first step in adiplomacy leading to war, devoutly hoping that the friend to whom Mr. Stanmore should refer him might prove equally fierce and hot-headed. He bowed with the studied courtesy assumed by every man concerned, either as principal or second, in an act of premeditated homicide, andsmoothed his hat preparatory to taking leave. 

"If you will kindly favour me with your friend's name, " said he in atone of excessive suavity, "I will wish you good-evening. I fear Ihave already kept you too long from dinner. "

Dick considered for a few seconds, while he ran over in his mind thesum-total of intimates on whom he could rely in an emergency like thepresent. It is wonderful how short such lists are. Mr. Stanmore couldnot recall more than half-a-dozen, and of these four were out of town, and one lay ill in bed. The only available man of the six was SimonPerkins. Dick Stanmore knew that he could trust him to act as a stanchfriend through thick and thin, but he had considerable scruplesin availing himself of the painter's assistance under existingcircumstances. 

Time pressed, however, and there was nothing for it but to furnish Mr. Ryfe with Simon's name and address in Berners Street. 

"Can I see him at once?" asked Tom, strangely anxious to hastenmatters, as it seemed to Dick Stanmore, who could not help wonderingwhether, had the visitor been a combatant, he would have provedequally eager for the fray. 

"I am afraid not till to-morrow, " was the reply. "He has left hispainting-room by this time and gone out of town. I cannot ask you totake another journey to-night. Allow me to offer you a glass of sherrybefore you go. "

Tom declined the proffered hospitality, bowing himself out, asbefitted the occasion, with much ceremonious politeness, and leavingthe other to proceed to his club-dinner in a frame of mind thatconsiderably modified the healthy appetite he had brought with himhalf-an-hour ago. 

He congratulated himself, however, before his soup was done, that hehad not sent Mr. Ryfe down to the cottage at Putney. He could not bearto think of that peaceful, happy retreat, the nest of his dove, thehome of his heart, as desecrated by such a presence on such an errand. "Come what might, " he thought, "Nina must be kept from all terrors andanxieties of this kind--all knowledge of such wild, wicked doings asthese. "

So thinking, and reflecting, also, that it was very possible withan encounter of so deadly a nature before him they might never meetagain, he knew too well by the heaviness at his heart how dear thisgirl had become in so short a time--how completely she had filled upthat gaping wound in his affections from which he once thought he musthave bled hopelessly to death; how entirely he was bound up in herhappiness, and how, even in an hour of trouble, danger, and vexationlike this, his chief anxiety was lest it should bring sorrow andsuffering to _her_. 

He drank but little wine at his solitary dinner, smoked one cigarafter it, and wrote a long letter to Nina before he went to bed--aletter in which he told her all his love, all the comfort she had beento him, all his past sorrows, all his future hopes, and then tore thisaffectionate production into shreds and flung it in the fire-place. Ithad only been meant to reach her hands if he should be killed. Andwas it not calculated, then, to render her more unhappy, moreinconsolable? He asked himself the question several times before hefound resolution to answer it in the practical manner described. Ithink he must have been very fond of Nina Algernon indeed, although hedid not the least know she was at that moment looking out of window, with her hair down, listening to the night breeze in the poplars, thelap and wash of the ebb-tide against the river-banks, thinking hownice it was to have met him that morning, by the merest accident, how nice it would be to see him in the painting-room, by the merestaccident again, of course, to-morrow afternoon. 

The clock at St. George's, Hanover Square, struck nine as Mr. Ryfereturned to his hotel. He found Lord Bearwarden waiting for him, anddinner ready to be placed on the table. 

"Have you settled it?" asked his lordship, in a fierce whisper thatbetrayed no little eagerness for action--something very like athirst for blood. "When is it for, Tom? To-morrow morning? I've goteverything ready. I don't know that we need cross the water, afterall. "

"Easy, my lord, " answered Tom. "I can't get on quite so quick as youwish. I've seen our man, and learned his friend's name and address. That's pretty well, I think, for one day's work. "

"You'll meet the friend to-night, Tom!" exclaimed the other. "Who ishe? Do we know him? He's a soldier, I hope?"

"He's a painter, and he lives out of town; so I _can't_ see him tillto-morrow. In the meantime, I would venture to suggest, my lord, that I'm recovering from a severe illness, and I've been eight hourswithout food. "

Tom spoke cheerily enough, but in good truth he looked haggard andout-worn. Lord Bearwarden rang the bell. 

"I'm ashamed of myself, " said he. "Let's have dinner directly; and asfor this cursed business, don't let us think any more about it tillto-morrow morning. "

They sat down accordingly to, good food, well cooked, good wine, welldecanted: in good society, too, well chosen from a select fraternityusually to be found in this secluded resort. So they feasted, and weremerry, talking of hounds, horses, hunting, racing, weight for age, wine, women, and what not. The keenest observer, the acutest judgeof his kind, could never have detected that one of these men wasmeditating bloodshed, the other prompting him to something very likemurder as an accessory before the fact. 

I will never believe that Damocles ate his supper with less appetite, drank his wine with less zest, for the threatening sword suspendedoverhead. 

CHAPTER XXVI

BAFFLED

Mr. Ryfe, we may be sure, did not fail to make his appearance inBerners Street at an early hour on the following day, as soon indeedas, according to Mr. Stanmore's information, there was any chance offinding the painter at home. He felt, and he told himself so more thanonce, that he was enacting the part of Mephistopheles, without thesupernatural power of that fatal auxiliary, without even a fairallowance of time to lure his Faust to perdition. He had undertaken atask that never would have occurred but to a desperate man, and Tomwas desperate, inasmuch as the one hope on which he set his hearthad crumbled to atoms. He had resolved to bring together in activehostility two men of the world, versed in the usages of society, themselves perfectly familiar with the code of social honour, thatthey might attempt each other's lives beguiled by a delusion gross andpalpable as the common tricks of any fire-eating conjurer at a fair. 

The very audacity of the scheme, however, seemed to afford its bestchance of success, and when that success should have been attained, Tom's fancy, overleaping all intermediate difficulties, revelled inthe wild possibilities of the future. Of bloodshed he took very littlethought. What cared he, with his sad, sore heart, for the lives ofthose prosperous men, gifted with social advantages that had beendenied to himself, and that he felt a proud consciousness he couldhave put to a far richer profit? Whether either or both were killed, whether either or both came home untouched, his object would equallybe gained. Lady Bearwarden's fair fame would equally be dishonouredbefore the world. He knew that world well, knew its tyrannical code, its puzzling verdicts, its unaccountable clemency to the wolf, itsinflexible severity for the lamb, above all, its holy horror of a blotthat has been scored, of a sin, then only unpardonable, that has been"found out. "

Men love the women on whom they set their affections so differently. For some--and these are great favourites with the sex--attachmentmeans the desire of a tiger for its prey. With others it is thegratification a child finds in a toy. A small minority entertain thesuperstition of a savage for his idol; a smaller yet offer the holyhomage of a true worshipper to his saint. A woman's heart pines forunrivalled sovereignty--a woman's nature requires the strong hand of amaster to retain it in bondage. For this, as for every other earthlystate, there is no unalloyed happiness, no perfect enjoyment, nocomplete repose. The gourd has its worm, the diamond its flaw, therose its earwigs, and

 "The trail of the serpent is over them all. "

So Tom Ryfe, taking time by the forelock, breakfasted at ten, wroteseveral letters with considerable coolness and forethought, allbearing on the event in contemplation, some providing for a week'sabsence abroad, at least, smoked a cigar in Lord Bearwarden's bedroom, who was not yet up, and towards noon turned out of Oxford Street tofulfil his mission with Simon Perkins the painter. 

His step was lighter, his whole appearance more elate, than usual. Thetraces of recent illness and over-night's fatigue had disappeared. He was above all foolish fancies of luck, presentiments, and suchsuperstitions--a man not easily acted on by extraneous circumstancesof good or evil, trusting chiefly in his own resources, and believingvery firmly in nothing but the multiplication table; yet to-day hetold himself he "felt like a winner"; to-day victory seemed in hisgrasp, and he trod the pavement with the confident port of that pridewhich the proverb warns us "goeth before a fall. "

He rang the door-bell and was vaguely directed to proceed up-stairs bythe nondescript maid-servant who admitted him. The place was dark, theday sultry, the steps numerous. Tom climbed them leisurely, hat inhand, wondering why people couldn't live on the ground-floor, and nota little absorbed in preparation of such a plausible tale as shouldbring the contemplated interview to a warlike termination. 

Turning imaginary periods with certain grandiloquent phrasesconcerning delicacy of feeling and high sense of honour, he arrived atthe second landing, where he paused to take breath. Tom's illness hadno doubt weakened his condition, but the gasp with which he now openedhis mouth denoted excess of astonishment rather than deficiency ofwind. 

Spinning deftly into its place, as if dropped from heaven with aplumb-line, a wreath of artificial flowers landed lightly on histemples, while a woman's laugh, soft and silvery, accompanied with itspleasant music this unexpected coronation. 

Tom looked up aghast, but he was not quick enough to catch sight ofmore than the hem of a garment, the turn of an ankle. There was asmothered exclamation, a "my gracious!" denoting extremity of dismay, a rustle of skirts, the loud bang of a door, and all became still. "Deuced odd, " thought Tom, removing the wreath and wondering wherehe should put it, before he made his entrance. "Queer sort ofpeople these! Painter a regular Don Giovanni, no doubt. So much thebetter--all the more likely to go in for the fuss and _éclat_ of aduel. "

So Tom flung his garland aside and prepared to assume a lofty presencewith his hand on the painting-room door, while Nina, blushing tothe roots of her hair, barricaded herself carefully into a smalldressing-closet opening on the studio, in which retreat it was Simon'shabit to wash his hands and smarten himself up when he had done workfor the day. 

Poor Nina! To use her own expression, she was "horrified. " She expectedDick Stanmore, and with a girlish playfulness sufficiently denoting theterms on which they stood, had been lying in wait at the top of thestairs, preparing to take a good shot, and drop the wreath, one ofSimon's faded properties, on that head which she now loved better thanall the world besides. 

The staircase, I have said, was gloomy. Young gentlemen all brushtheir hair the same way. The missile was out of her fingers ere ahorrid suspicion crossed her that she had made a mistake; and when Tomlooked up there was nothing for it but _sauve qui peut!_ After all, one head, perhaps, also, one heart, is very like another; but Nina hadnot yet mastered this, the first element of a rational philosophy, andwould have fled, if she could, to the ends of the earth. 

In the meantime she took refuge in the little room off the studio, blushing, palpitating, very much ashamed, though more than halfamused, but firmly resolved not to leave her hiding-place nor face thevisitor, devoutly hoping, at the same time, that he might not staylong. 

Simon was in the act of lifting his Fairy Queen into her usualposition. She had been dethroned the day before, while he worked at aless congenial task. On his visitor's entrance he put her back withher face to the wall. 

Tom made an exceedingly stiff bow. "Mr. Perkins, I believe?"

"Mr. Ryfe?" replied Simon, in the same half-interrogative tone, with avery stiff bow too. 

"I am here on the part of Lord Bearwarden, " said Tom. "And I have beenreferred to you by Mr. Stanmore. You expected me, no doubt. "

"I had a communication from Mr. Stanmore an hour ago to that effect, "answered Simon, with a gravity the more profound that he had somedifficulty in repressing a smile. The painter was not without a senseof humour, and this "communication, " as he called it, lay crumpled upin his waistcoat-pocket while he spoke. It ran thus--

"Dear Simon, --I have had a visit from a man named Ryfe that puzzles meexceedingly. He comes from Lord Bearwarden, and they want to fastensome sort of quarrel on me, but why, I cannot imagine. I was obligedto refer him to you. Of course we'll fight if we must; but try andmake out what they are driving at, and which is the biggest fool ofthe two. I think they're both mad! I shall be with you rather laterthan usual. In the meantime I leave the whole thing in your hands. I don't know Bearwarden well, but used to think him rather a goodfellow. The others an _awful_ snob!"

 * * * * *

Now I feel that it would be unbecoming on my part to tax a young ladywith so mean an act as that of listening; nevertheless, each of thegentlemen in the studio thought proper to speak in so loud and indeedso pompous a voice that Miss Algernon could not avoid overhearingthem. It was surely natural, then, that when Mr. Stanmore's name wasbrought into the colloquy she should have drawn nearer the door ofthe partition, and--well--not _tried_ to avoid overhearing as much aspossible of their dialogue. 

The action of the farce amused her at first. It was soon to becomeinteresting, exciting, terrible, even to the verge of tragedy. 

"That makes my task easier, " continued Mr. Ryfe. "He has explained, ofcourse, the tendency of my instructions, the object of my visit. Itonly remains for us to fix time and place. "

"He has explained _nothing_, " answered the painter. "What is it youcomplain of, and of what nature is the dispute between Lord Bearwardenand my friend?"

Tom assumed an air of extreme candour, and opened his case artfullyenough; but, forgetting that every painter is necessarily aphysiognomist, omitted the precaution of turning his back to thelight. 

"You are on intimate terms with Mr. Stanmore, I believe, " said he. "Yet in matters of so delicate a nature men of honour keep their owncounsel very closely. It is possible you may not be aware of muchin his daily life that you would disapprove--much that, under thecircumstances, though I am no rigid moralist, appears inexcusable evento me. "

How white that delicate face turned in the next room! How eagerlythose dark eyes seemed trying to pierce the blank panels of the door!

"I have known Mr. Stanmore several years, " answered the painter. "Ihave seen him almost every day of late. I can only say you must bemore explicit, Mr. Ryfe. I do not understand you yet. "

"Do you mean to tell me you are ignorant of an entanglement, a_liaison_, a most untoward and unfortunate attachment, existingbetween Mr. Stanmore and a lady whose name I fear it will beimpossible to keep out of the discussion?"

A wild misgiving, not altogether painful, shot through the painterwhile he thought of Nina; but, watching the speaker's face, as was hiswont, and detecting a disparity of expression between eyes andmouth, he gathered that the man was trying to deceive him in someparticular--not speaking the whole truth. 

Miss Algernon, who could only listen, trembled and turned sick atheart. 

"I think you must be misinformed, Mr. Ryfe, " was Simon's reply. 

The other smiled, as pitying such ignorance of social gossip andworldly scandal. 

"Misinformed!" he repeated. "A man is not usually misinformedwho trusts his own eyes. A husband cannot be called unreasonablydissatisfied whose wife tells him distinctly she is going to oneplace, and who sees her an hour after in company with the man hesuspects at another. It is no use beating about the bush. Youcannot ignore such outrages as these. I wish to spare everybody'sfeelings--yours, mine, even the lady's, and, above all, my poorfriend's; but I must tell you, point-blank, that the intimacy whichI have reason to believe existed between Mr. Stanmore and LadyBearwarden has not been discontinued since her marriage; and I cometo you, as that gentleman's friend, on Lord. Bearwarden's behalf, todemand the only reparation that can be made for such injuries from manto man. "

The painter opened his eyes, and Tom told himself he had made a goodspeech, very much to the point. Neither gentleman heard a faint moanin the next room, the cry of a gentle heart wounded to the quick. 

"You mean they ought to fight, " said Simon, still scrutinising theexpression of the other's face. 

"Precisely, " answered Tom. "We must go abroad, I fancy, for all oursakes. Can you be ready to start tonight? Tidal train, you know--niceweather for crossing--breakfast the other side--_demi-poulet_ andbottle of moderate St. Julien--needn't stop long for that--Belgianfrontier by the middle of the day--no sort of difficulty when onceyou're across the water. Shall I say to-morrow afternoon, somewherein the neighbourhood of Mouscron? We can all go together, for thatmatter, and arrange the exact spot in ten minutes. "

Tom spoke as if they were planning a picnic, with nothing whatever todread but the chance of rain. 

"Stop a moment, " said the painter. "Not quite so fast, if you please. This is a matter of life and death. We can't settle it in fiveminutes, and as many words. You call yourself a man of the world, Mr. Ryfe, and, doubtless, have some familiarity with affairs of this kind, either from experience or hearsay. Do you seriously believe I am goingto put my friend up as a target for yours to shoot at without somemore definite information, some fuller explanation than you seeminclined to give? Lady Bearwarden has not left her home. My friendhas been here every day of late with the utmost regularity. It seemsimpossible that Lord Bearwarden's suspicions can be well grounded. There must be some mistake; some misconception. Over-haste in a matterlike this would be irrevocable, and ruinous to everybody concerned. "

Nina was listening with all her might. Every word of Tom's answer sunkinto her heart. 

"My friend has left _his_ home, " said he, in a voice of assumedfeeling. "I was at luncheon with them just before the disclosuretook place. A happier couple you never saw. Lately married--newfurniture--wedding-presents all over the place--delightful house, overlooking the Park. This paradise is now completely broken up. I confess I feel strongly on the subject. I know his lordshipintimately. I can appreciate his good qualities. I have also thehonour of Lady Bearwarden's acquaintance. The whole affair isextremely painful even to me, but I have a duty to perform, and I mustgo through with it. Mr. Perkins, we are wasting time, let us come tothe main point at once. "

Simon pondered for a minute, during which he made another narrowscrutiny of Tom Ryfe's face. Then he said, in the tone of a man whocomes to a final decision, "I suppose you are right. I fear there isbut one way out of it. "

It did not escape the painter that, notwithstanding his obviousself-command, the other's countenance brightened far more than wasnatural at this admission. A duel in these days is a very seriousmatter to every one concerned, and why should this man seem so trulyrejoiced at the progress of an affair that might put his own neck indanger of a halter?

Simon's natural shrewdness, of which, in common with many othersimple-minded persons, he possessed a considerable share, warned himthere was something more here than appeared at first sight--somemystery of which time alone was likely to afford the elucidation. Timehe resolved accordingly to gain, and that without putting the other onhis guard. 

"But one way out of it, " he repeated gravely. "I wish indeed it couldbe arranged otherwise. Still this is a serious matter--quite out of myusual line--I cannot undertake anything decided without advice, norentirely on my own responsibility. My intention is to consult with afriend, an old military man. You shall have my definite answer in aday or two at farthest. "

Again watching Mr. Ryfe's face, Simon observed it cloud withdissatisfaction, and his suspicions were confirmed. This fire-eaterwas evidently only anxious to hurry on the duel with unseemly haste, and make the principals fight at all risks. 

"We object to delay, " he exclaimed, "we object to publicity. The thingis plain enough as it stands. You will only complicate it by bringingothers into council, and in such a case, surely, the fewer peopleaware of our intentions the better. "

"I cannot help that, " answered the painter, in a tone of decision. "Mymind is made up, and I see my way clearly enough. You shall have ouranswer within forty-eight hours at farthest. I repeat, this is amatter in which I will not move an inch without the utmost certainty. "

Tom began to lose his temper. "Your scruples will bring about aflagrant scandal, " he exclaimed. "Lord Bearwarden is determined not tobe cheated out of his redress. I know his intentions, and I know hischaracter. There will be a personal collision, to the disgrace ofevery one concerned!"

"Then I shall recommend Stanmore to walk about With a thick stick, "answered Simon coolly. "I often carry one myself, Mr. Ryfe, " he addedin a tone of marked significance, "and should not scruple to use it onoccasion to the best of my abilities. "

The painter, though a small, slight man, was utterly fearless. Looking Tom Ryfe straight in the eyes while he made this suggestiveobservation, the latter felt that nothing was to be gained bybullying, and the game was lost. 

"I am surprised, " he replied loftily, but with a ceremonious bow, asreminding the other that his character of ambassador was sacred. "I amdisappointed. I wash my hands of the disagreeable results likelyto arise from this unfortunate delay. I wish you good-morning, Mr. Perkins. I leave you my address, and I trust you will lose no time inmaking me acquainted with the result of your deliberations. "

So Tom walked down-stairs with great dignity, though he smothered morethan one bitter curse the while, passing without so much as a glancethe rejected garland, lying where he had thrown it aside before heentered on his unsuccessful mission. 

Had he been a little less stately in manner, a little more rapid ofmovement, he might have overtaken the very lady of whom he obtained aglimpse during his ascent. Nina Algernon was but a few paces ahead ofhim, scouring along at a speed only accomplished by those who feelthat goad in the heart which stimulates exertion, far more effectuallythan the "spur in the head, " proverbially supposed to be worth "two inthe heels. '" Nina had overheard enough from her hiding-place to makeher angry, unhappy, and anxious in the highest degree. Angry, firstof all, with herself and him, to think that she could have set heraffections on one who was untrue; unhappy, to feel she still cared forhim so much; anxious to gather from the cold-blooded courtesies of theodious Mr. Ryfe that a life so dear to her was in danger, thatperhaps she might never see Dick Stanmore again. With this ghastlyconsideration, surged up fuller than ever the tide of love that hadbeen momentarily obstructed, forcing her into action, and compellingher to take immediate steps for ascertaining his perfidy, while, atthe same time, she warded off from him the penalties it entailed. 

"He'll know I love him then, " thought poor Nina. "But I'll never seehim, nor speak to him, again--never--never! How _could_ he? I wonderwhy men are so bad!"

To this end, acting on an impulse as unreasonable as it wasessentially feminine, she resolved to seek Lady Bearwarden withoutdelay, and throwing herself on the mercy of that formidable rival, implore advice and assistance for the safety of the man they bothloved. 

So she fled down-stairs, and was out of the house like a lapwing, justas Tom Ryfe's warlike colloquy with the painter came to a close. 

Simon, missing her, after he had taken leave of his visitor, was nottherefore disturbed nor alarmed by her absence. He accounted for iton the very natural supposition that she had met Dick Stanmore atthe door, and pressed him into her service to act as convoy in someshopping expedition, before she sat down to her daily duty as a modelfor the Fairy Queen, now completed, all but a few folds of drapery, and a turn of the white hand. 

Till she came back, however, the great work must remain at astandstill, and Simon had leisure to reflect on his late conversationwith Mr. Ryfe, which astonished and perplexed him exceedingly. 

Neither his astonishment, nor his perplexity, were decreased, tolearn, on Dick's arrival, that he had no knowledge of Miss Algernon'smovements--had not met her--had not seen her since yesterday, certainly expected to find her here, and was to the full as anxiousand uncomfortable as the painter himself. 

"This other business will keep cold, " said Dick, in a great heat andfuss. "I don't care whether it will or not. It _must_! But we can'thave Miss Algernon wandering about London by herself. We can't, atleast _I_ can't, be easy a moment till I know what has become of her. You stay here, Simon, in case she should come back. After all, she maybe shopping in the next street. I'll rush down to Putney at once, andfind out if she's gone home. Don't be afraid. I won't alarm the oldladies. If she's not there I'll be back immediately. If she comes inwhile I'm gone, wait for me, or leave a line. Old man, if anythinggoes wrong with that darling, I--I've nothing left to live for in theworld!"

Even while he spoke, he was on the stairs, and Simon, left in thepainting-room, shook his head, and pondered. 

"They'll never make me believe that cock-and-bull story about LadyBearwarden. Ah, Nina! I begin to think this man loves you almost aswell as I could have done!"

CHAPTER XXVII

BLINDED

Tom Ryfe, walking down Berners Street in the worst of humours, saw thewhole game he had been playing slipping out of his hands. If therewere to be no duel, all the trouble he had taken went for nothing;and even should there be an unseemly _fracas_, and should a meetingafterwards take place between Lord Bearwarden and Dick Stanmore, whatgood would it do him, if her ladyship's name were kept out of thequarrel? How he cursed this cockney painter's resolution and goodsense! How he longed for some fierce encounter, some desperatemeasure, something, no matter what, that should bring affairs to acrisis! It seemed so silly, so childlike, to be baffled now. Yes, hehad set his heart on Lady Bearwarden. The great master-passion ofhis life had gone on gathering and growing till it became, as suchmaster-passions will, when there is neither honour nor religion tocheck them, a fury, over which he had lost all control. And he feltthat, having gone so far, there was no crime, no outrage, he wouldshrink from committing, to obtain what he desired now. 

When a man is thus ripe for evil he seldom wants opportunity. It mustbe admitted the devil never throws a chance away. Open your hand, andere you can close it again, he slips a tool in, expressly adapted forthe purpose you design--a tool that, before you have done with it, youmay be sure, will cut your own fingers to the bone. 

"Beg pardon, sir, can I speak to you for a minute?" said agaudily-dressed, vulgar-looking personage, crossing the street toaccost Tom Ryfe as he emerged from the painter's house. "It's abouta lady. About her ladyship, askin' your pardon. Lady Bearwarden, youknow. "

That name was a talisman to arrest Tom's attention. He looked his manover from head to foot, and thought he had never seen a more ruffianlybearing, a wilder, sadder face. 

"Come up this by-street, " said he. "Speak out--I'll keep your counsel, and I'll pay you well. That's what you mean, I suppose. That'sbusiness. What about Lady Bearwarden?"

The man cursed her deeply, bitterly, ere he replied--"I know _you_, sir, an' so I ought to, though you don't know _me_. Mr. Ryfe, I seenyou in Belgrave Square, along of _her_. You was a-courtin' of herthen. You owes her more than one good turn now, or I'm mistaken!"

"Who the devil are you?" asked Tom, startled, and with reason; yetconscious, in his dark, dreary despair, of a vague glimmer, bearingthe same relation to hope that a will-o'-the-wisp does to the light onour hearth at home. 

The man looked about him. That narrow street was deserted but forthemselves. 

He stared in Tom's face with a certain desperate frankness. "I'll tellye who I am, " said he; "if you an' me is to go in for this job, astrue pals, let's have no secrets between us, an' bear no malice. Theycall me 'Gentleman Jim, ' Mr. Ryfe, that's what they call me. I'm theman as hocussed you that there arternoon, down Westminster way. I wasset on to that job, I was. Set on by _her_. I squeezed hard, I know. All in the way o' business. But I might have squeezed _harder_, Mr. Ryfe. You should think o' that!"

"You infernal scoundrel!" exclaimed Tom, yet in a tone neither soastonished nor so indignant as his informant expected. "If you had, you'd have been hanged for murder. Well, it's not _you_ I ought toblame. What have you got to say? You can help me--I see it in yourface. Out with it. You speak to a man as desperate as yourself. "

"I knowed it!" exclaimed the other. "When you come out o' that therehouse, I seen it in the way as you slammed to that there door. Says I, there's the man as I wants, an' the man as wants me! I follered youthis mornin' from your hotel, an' a precious job I had keepin' up withyour hansom, though the driver, as works by times with a pal o' mine, he kep' on easy when he could. I watched of the house, ah! an hour an'more, an' I never turned my head away but to get a drop o' beer from alad as I sent round to the Grapes for a quart. Bless ye! I hadn't butjust emptied the pot, when I see a lady--the very moral of her as weknows on--pops round the corner into Oxford Street. I was in two mindswhether to foller, but thinks I, it's Mr. Ryfe as I'm a-lookin' for, an' if it _was_ she, we couldn't trap her now, not in a crowded placelike that. Besides, I see a servant-gal takin' home the beer drop hera curtsey as she went by. No, it couldn't be my lady; but if so be asyou an' me is of the same mind, Mr. Ryfe, my lady shall be safe in acage afore this time to-morrow, and never a man to keep the key butyourself, Mr. Ryfe, if you'll only be guided by a true friend. "

"Who set you on to this?" asked Tom, coolly enough, considering thathis blood was boiling with all the worst and fiercest passions of hisnature. "What do you expect to gain from injury inflicted on" (hecould not get the name out)--"on the lady you mention?"

Jim laughed--a harsh, grating laugh. "You're a deep 'un, Mr. Ryfe!" heanswered. "I won't deceive you. I put this here in your way becausethere's two things as I must have to work the job as I ain't got. One's money, and t'other's gumption. I ain't rich enough, and I ain'thartful enough. I owe my lady a turn, too, never you mind what for, and strike me dead but I'll pay it up! I ain't a-going to say as Iwouldn't ha' worked this here off, clear, single-handed, if I'd hadthe chance. I'm not telling you a lie, Mr. Ryfe; you and me can do ittogether, an' I'll only charge you fair and reasonable. Ah! not halfwhat you'd take an' offer this minute if I was to stand out for aprice. "

Tom Ryfe turned round, put both hands on the other's shoulders, andlaughed too. 

"We understand each other, " said he. "Never mind the price. If thework's done to please me, I'm not likely to grudge the money. You'vesome plan in your head by which you think we can both gain what wemost desire. I know you're a resolute fellow. Hang it! my throat'sstill sore where you got that cursed grip of yours inside my collar. You can believe I'm not easily thwarted, or I should hardly be herenow. Explain yourself. Let me know your plan. If it is anything likepracticable, you and I ought to be able to carry it out. "

Then Jim, not without circumlocution and many hideous oaths, detailedin his hearer's willing ears the scheme he had in view. He proposed, with Mr. Ryfe's assistance, to accomplish no less flagrant an outragethan the forcible abduction of Lady Bearwarden from her home. He suggested that his listener, of whose skill in penmanship heentertained a high opinion, should write such a letter as might lureher ladyship into a lonely, ill-lighted locality, not far from her owndoor; and Tom, appreciating the anxiety she must now feel about herhusband's movements, saw no difficulty in the accomplishment of sucha stratagem. This desperate couple were then to be ready with afour-wheeled cab, a shawl, and a cleverly-constructed gag, in whichscreaming was impossible. Tom should enact the part of driver, whileJim, being the stronger man of the two, should seize and pinion herladyship in his grasp. Mute and muffled, she was to be forced intothe cab, which could then be driven off to that very lodging in thepurlieus of Westminster which Tom knew, by his own experiences, wasfar removed from assistance or inquiry. Once in Mr. Ryfe's hands, Jim observed, the captive would only be too glad to make terms, andarrangements for taking her out of London down the river, or in anyother direction, could be entered into at leisure. Mr. Ryfe surelywould not require more than twelve hours to come to an understandingwith a lady irrevocably in his power. And all the while, deep in thisbold villain's breast lurked a dark, fierce, terrible reflectionthat one more crime, only one more--almost, indeed, an act of wildretributive justice on his confederate--and that proud, tameless womanwould be crouching in the dust, praying for mercy at the feet of thedesperate man she had reviled and despised. 

Gentleman Jim, maddened by a course of dram-drinking, blinded byan infatuation that itself constituted insanity, was hardly to beconsidered an accountable being. It may be that under the mass ofguilt and impurity with which his whole being was loaded, thereglimmered some faint spark of manlier and worthier feeling; it maybe, that he entertained some vague notion of appearing before thehigh-born lady in the light of a preserver, with the blood of thesmoother and more polished scoundrel on his hands, and of setting herfree, while he declared his hopeless, his unalterable devotion, sealedby the sacrifice of two lives, for, as he often expressed it inimaginary conversations with his idol, "he asked no better than toswing for her sake!"

Who knows? Fanaticism has its martyrs, like religion. It is not onlythe savage heathen who run under Juggernaut every day. Diseasedbrains, corrupt hearts, and impossible desires go far to constituteaberration of intellect. Unreasoning love, and unlimited liquor, willmake a man fool enough for anything. 

Tom Ryfe listened, well pleased. For him there was neither the excuseof drink nor despair, yet he, too, entertained some notion of home andhappiness hereafter, when she found nobody in the world to turn to buthimself, and had forgiven him her wrongs because of the tenacity withwhich he clung to her in spite of all. 

Of his friend, and the position he must leave him in, he made noaccount. 

Something very disagreeable came across him, indeed, when he thoughtof Lord Bearwarden's resolute character--his practical notionsconcerning the redress of injury or insult; but all such apprehensionswere for the future. The present must be a time of action. If onlyto-night's _coup de main_ should come off successfully, he might crossthe Atlantic with his prey, and remain in safe seclusion till theoutrage had been so far forgotten by the public that those at homewhom it most affected would be unwilling to rekindle the embers of ascandal half-smothered and dying out. Tom Ryfe was not without readymoney. He calculated he could live for at least a year in some foreignclime, far beyond the western wave, luxuriously enough. A year!With _her_! Why it seemed an eternity; and even in that moment hiscompanion was wondering, half-stupidly, how Mr. Ryfe would look withhis throat cut, or his head laid open, weltering in blood; and whenand where it would be advisable to put this finishing stroke of murderand perfidy to the crimes he meditated to-night. 

Ere these confederates parted, however, two letters had to be writtenin a stationer's shop. They were directed by the same pen, thoughapparently in different handwritings, to Lord and Lady Bearwarden attheir respective addresses. 

The first was as follows--

 DEAR LORD BEARWARDEN, "They won't fight! All sorts of difficulties have been made, and even if we can obtain a meeting at last, it must be after considerable delay. In the meantime I have business of my own which forces me to leave town for four-and-twenty hours at least. If possible, I will look you up before I start. If not, send a line to the office. I shall find it on my return: these matters complicate themselves as they go on, but I still venture to hope you may leave the conduct of the present affair with perfect safety in my hands, and I remain, with much sympathy, "

 Your lordship's obedient servant, THOMAS RYFE. 

The second, though a very short production, took longer time, both incomposition and penmanship. It was written purposely on a scrap ofpaper from which the stationer's name and the water-mark had beencarefully torn off. It consisted but of these lines--

 "A cruel mystery has deprived you of your husband. You have courage. Walk out to-night at eight, fifty yards from your own door. Turn to the right--I will meet you and explain all. "

 "My reputation is at stake. I trust you as one woman trusts another. Seek to learn no more. "

"That will bring her, " thought Tom, "for she fears nothing!" and hesealed the letter with a dab of black wax flattened by the impressionof the woman's thimble, who kept the shop. 

There was a Court Guide on the counter. Tom Ryfe knew LadyBearwarden's address as well as his own, yet from a methodical andlawyer-like habit of accuracy, seeing that it lay open at the letterB, he glanced his eye, and ran his finger down the page to stop at thevery bottom, and thus verify, as it were, his own recollection of hislordship's number, ere he paid for the paper and walked away to posthis letters in company with Jim, who waited outside. 

The stationer, fitting shelves in his back shop, was a man ofobservation and some eccentricity. 

"Poll, " said he to his wife, "it's an uncertain business, is thebook-trade. A Court Guide hasn't been asked for over that counter, no, not for six months, and here's two parties come in and look at it ina morning. There's nothing goes off, to depend on, but hymns. Bothof 'em wanted the same address, I do believe, for I took notice eachstopped in the same column at the very foot. Nothing escapes me, lass!However, that isn't no business of yours nor mine. "

The wife, a woman of few words and abrupt demeanour, made a pounce atthe Court Guide to put it back in its place, but her "master, " as shesomewhat inconsequently called him, interposed. 

"Let it be, lass!" said he. "There's luck in odd numbers, they say. Who knows but we mayn't have a third party come in on the same errand?Let it be, and go make the toast. It's getting on for tea-time, andthe fire in the back parlour's nearly out. "

When these letters were posted, the confederates, feeling themselvesfairly embarked on their joint scheme, separated to advance each hisown share of the contemplated enormity. Tom Ryfe jumped into a cab, and was off on a multiplicity of errands, while Jim, pondering deeplywith his head down, and his hands thrust into his coat-pockets, slunktowards Holborn, revolving in his mind the least he could offer somedissipated cabman, whose licence was in danger at any rate, for thehire of horse and vehicle during the ensuing night. 

Feeling his sleeve plucked feebly from behind, he broke off thesemeditations, to turn round with a savage oath. 

What a dreary face was that which met his arm! Pale and gaunt, withthe hollow eyes that denote bodily suffering, and the deep cruel linesthat speak of mental care. What a thin wasted hand was laid on hisburly arm, in its velveteen sleeve; and what a weak faint voice intrembling accents, urged its sad, wistful prayer. 

"Speak to me, Jim--won't you speak to me, dear? I've looked for youday and night, and followed you mile after mile till I'm ready to liedown and die here on the cold stones. "

"Bother!" replied Jim, shaking himself free. "I'm busy, I tell ye. What call had you, I should like to know, to be tracking, and huntingof me about, as if I was a--well--a fancy dog we'll say, as hadstrayed out of a parlour? Go home, I tell ye, or it'll be the worsefor ye!"

"You don't love me no more, Jim!" said the woman. There was a calmsadness in her voice speaking of that resignation which is but theapathy of despair. 

"Well--I don't. There!" replied Jim, acceding to this proposition withgreat promptitude. 

"But you can't keep me off of loving _you_, Jim, " she replied, with awild stare; "nobody can't keep me off of that. Won't ye think betterof it, old man? Give us one chance more, that's a good chap. It's fordear life I'm askin'!"

She had wound both hands round his arm, and was hanging to it with allher weight. How light a burden it seemed, to which those limp ragsclung so shabbily, compared with the substantial frame he rememberedin former days, when Dorothea was honest, hard-working, and happy. 

"It ain't o' no use tryin' on of these here games, " said he, unclasping the poor weak hands with brutal force. "Come! I can't stopall day. Shut up, I tell ye! you'll wish you had by and by. "

"O! Jim, " she pleaded. "Is it come to this? Never say it, dear. If youand me is to part in anger now we'll not meet again. Leastways, noton this earth. And if it's true, as I was taught at Sunday-school, heaven's too good a place for us!"

"Go to h----ll!" exclaimed the ruffian furiously; and he flung her fromhim with a force that would have brought her to the ground had she notcaught at the street railings for support. 

She moaned and sat down on a doorstep a few paces off, without lookingup. 

For a moment Jim's heart smote him, and he thought to turn back, butin his maddened brain there rose a vision of the pale, haughty face, the queenly bearing, the commanding gestures that bade him kneel toworship, and with another oath--remorseless, pitiless, untouched, andunrepentant--he passed on to his iniquity. 

Dorothea sat with head bent down, and hands clasped about her knees, unconscious, as it seemed, of all the world outside. The heart knowethits own bitterness, and who shall say what expiation she may nothave made for sin in that dull trance of pain which took no note ofcircumstance, kept no count of time?

Ere long, a policeman, good-humoured but imperative, touched her onthe shoulder, and bade her "move on. "

The face that looked up to him puzzled this functionary extremely. Thewoman was sober enough, he could see, and yet there seemed somethingqueer about her, uncommon queer: he was blessed if he knew what tomake of her, and he had been a goodish time in the force, too!

She thanked him very quietly. She had been taking a rest, she said, thinking no harm, for she was tired, and now she would go home. Yes, she was dead-tired, she had better go home!

Wrapping her faded shawl about her, she glided on, instinctivelyavoiding the jostling of foot-passengers and the trampling ofhorses, proceeding at an even, leisurely pace, with something of thesleep-walker's wandering step and gestures. The roll of wheels camedull and muffled on her ear: those were phantoms surely, thosemeaningless faces that met her in the street, not living men andwomen, and yet she had a distinct perception of an apple-woman'sstall, of some sham jewelry she saw in a shop-window. She was nearturning back then, but it didn't seem worth while, and it was lesstrouble to plod stupidly on, always westward, always towards thesetting sun!

Without knowing how she got there, presently she felt tufts of grassbeneath her feet dank with dew, growing greener and coarser underlarge towering elms. O! she knew an elm-tree well enough! She wascountry bred, she was, and could milk a cow long ago. 

It wasn't Kensington Gardens, was it? She didn't remember whethershe'd ever been here before or not. She'd heard of the place, ofcourse, indeed Jim had promised to take her there some Sunday. Thenshe shivered from head to foot, and wrapped her shawl tight round heras she walked on. 

What was that shining far-off between the trees, cool, and quiet, andbright, like heaven? Could it be the water? That was what had broughther, to be sure. She remembered all about it now and hurried forwardwith quick, irregular steps, causing her breath to come thick, and herheart to beat with sudden choking throbs. 

She pulled at her collar, and undid its fastenings. She took herbonnet off and swung it in her hand. The soiled tawdry ribbon had beengiven her by Jim, long ago. Was it long ago? She couldn't tell, andwhat did it matter? She wouldn't have looked twice at it a while back. She might kiss and cuddle it now, if she'd a mind. 

What a long way off that water seemed! Not there yet, and she had beenwalking--walking like the wayfarer she remembered to have read of inthe _Pilgrim's Progress_. All in a moment, with a flash, as it were, of its own light, there it lay glistening at her feet. Another stepand she would have been in head-foremost! There was time enough. Howcool and quiet it looked! She sat down on the brink and wondered whyshe was born!

Would Jim feel it very much? Ah! they'd none of them care for him likeshe used. He'd find that out at last. How could he? How _could_ he?She'd given him fair warning!

She'd do it now. This moment, while she'd a mind to it. Afraid! Whyshould she be afraid? Better than the gin-palace! Better than theworkhouse! Better than the cold cruel streets! She couldn't be worseoff anywhere than here! Once! Twice!

Her head swam. She was rising to her feet, when a light touch restedon her shoulder, and the sweetest voice that had ever sounded in poorDorothea's ears, whispered softly, "You are ill, my good woman. Don'tsit here on the damp grass. Come home with me. "

What did it mean? Was it over? Could this be one of the angels, andhad she got to heaven after all? No; there were the trees, the grass, the distant roar of the city, and the peaceful water--fair, smooth, serene, like the face of a friend. 

She burst into a fit of hysterical weeping, cowering under that kindlytouch as if it had been a mountain to crush her, rocking herself toand fro, sobbing out wildly, "I wish I was dead! I wish I was dead!"

CHAPTER XXVIII

BEAT

Like a disturbed spirit Lady Bearwarden wandered about in the feverof a sorrow, so keen that her whole soul would sometimes rise inrebellion against the unaccustomed pain. There was something stiflingto her senses in the fact of remaining between the four walls of ahouse. She panted for air, motion, freedom, and betook herself toKensington Gardens, partly because that beautiful retreat lay withinan easy walk of her house, partly perhaps, that for her, as for manyof us, it had been brightened by a certain transient and delusivelight which turns everything to gold while it lasts, leaves everythingbut a dull dim copper when it has passed away. 

It was a benevolent and merciful restriction, no doubt, that debarredour first parents from re-entering the paradise they had forfeited. Better far to carry away unsullied and unfaded the sweet sad memoriesof the Happy Land, than revisit it to find weeds grown rank, fountainsdry, the skies darkened, the song of birds hushed, its bloom faded offthe flower, and its glory departed from the day. 

She used to sit here in the shade with _him_. There was the very tree. Even the broken chair they had laughed at was not mended, and yet forher a century ago could not have seemed a more hopeless past. Othersprings would bloom with coming years, other summers glow, and shecould not doubt that many another worshipper would kneel humbly andgratefully at her shrine, but their votive garlands could never moreglisten with the fresh dew of morning, the fumes from their loweraltars, though they might lull the senses and intoxicate the brain, could never thrill like that earlier incense, with subtle suddenpoison to her heart. 

To be sure, on more than one occasion she had walked here with DickStanmore too. It was but human nature, I suppose, that she should havelooked on that gentleman's grievances from a totally different pointof view. It couldn't be half so bad in his case, she argued, men hadso many resources, so many distractions. She was sorry for him, ofcourse, but he couldn't be expected to feel a disappointment of thisnature like a woman, and, after all, theirs was more a flirtationthan an attachment. He need not have minded it so very much, and hadprobably fancied he cared a great deal more than he really did. 

It is thus we are all prone to reason, gauging the tide of eachother's feelings by the ebb and flow of our own. 

Love, diffused amongst the species, is the best and purest ofearthly motives, concentrated on the individual it seems but a dualselfishness after all. 

There were few occupants of the Gardens; here two or threenursery-maids and children, there a foreign gentleman reading anewspaper. Occasionally, in some rare sequestered nook, an umbrella, springing up unnecessarily and defiantly like a toadstool, abovetwo male legs and a muslin skirt. Lady Bearwarden passed on, with ahaughty step, and a bitter smile. 

There is something of freemasonry in sorrow. Dorothea's vagueabstracted gait arrested Maud's attention even from a distance, andinvoluntarily the delicate lady followed on the track of that limpshabby figure with which she had but this one unconscious link, of acommon sorrow, an aching heart. 

Approaching nearer, she watched the poor sufferer with a curiositythat soon grew to interest and even alarm. 

While Dorothea sat herself down by the water's edge, her ladyshiplooked round in vain for a policeman or a park-keeper, holding herselfin readiness to prevent the horror she already anticipated, andwhich drove clear off her mind every thought of her own regrets anddespondency. 

There was no time to lose; when the despairing woman half rose to herfeet, Lady Bearwarden interposed, calm, collected, and commanding inthe courage which had hitherto never failed her in an emergency. 

That burst of hysterical tears, that despairing cry, "I wish I wasdead!" told her for the present Dorothea was saved. She sat down onthe grass by her side. She took the poor coarse hands in her own. Shelaid the drooping head on her lap, and with gentle, loving phrases, such as soothe a suffering child, encouraged the helpless wretch toweep and sob her fill. 

She could have wept too for company, because of the load that seemedlifted in an instant from her own breast; but this was a time foraction, and at such a season it was no part of Maud's nature to sitdown and cry. 

It was long ere the numbed heart and surcharged brain had relievedthemselves sufficiently for apprehension and intelligible speech. Dorothea's first impulse, on coming to herself, was to smooth herunkempt hair and apologise for the disorder of her costume. 

"If ever mind your dress, " said Lady Bearwarden, resuming, now thecrisis was past, her habitual air of authority, conscious that itwould be most efficacious under the circumstances. "You are tired andexhausted. You must have food and rest. I ask no questions, and Ilisten to no explanations, at least till to-morrow. Can you walk tothe gate? You must come home with me. "

"O, miss! O, my lady!" stammered poor Dorothea, quite overcome by suchunlikely sympathy, such unexpected succour. "It's too much! It's toomuch! I'm not fit for it! If you only knowed what I am!" then, liftingher eyes to the other's face, a pang, keener than all previoussufferings, went through her woman's heart like the thrust of a knife. It all came on her at once. This beautiful being, clad in shiningraiment, who had saved and soothed her like an angel from heaven, wasthe pale girl Jim had gone to visit in her stately, luxurious home, when she followed him so far through those weary streets on the nightof the thunderstorm. 

She could bear no more. Her physical system gave way, just as a treethat has sustained crash after crash falls with the last well-directedblow. She rolled her eyes, lifted both bare arms above her head, andwith a faint despairing cry, went down at Lady Bearwarden's feet, motionless and helpless as the dead. 

But assistance was at hand at last. A park-keeper helped to raise theprostrate figure. An elderly gentleman volunteered to fetch a cab. Amongst them they supported Dorothea to the gate and placed her in thevehicle. The park-keeper touched his hat, the elderly gentleman madea profusion of bows, and as many offers of assistance which weredeclined, while Maud, soothing and supporting her charge, told thedriver where to stop. As they jingled and rattled away from the gate, a pardonable curiosity prompted the elderly gentleman to inquire thename of this beautiful Samaritan, clad in silks and satins, soready to succour the fallen and give shelter to the homeless. Thepark-keeper took his hat off, looked in the crown, and put it onagain. 

"I see her once afore under them trees, " he said, "with a gentleman. Isee a many and I don't often take notice. But she's a rare sort, sheis! and as good as she's good-looking. I wish you a good-evening, sir. "

Then he retired into his cabin and ruminated on this "precious start, "as he called it, during his tea. 

Meantime, Maud took her charge home, and would fain have put her tobed. For this sanatory measure, however, Dorothea, who had recoveredconsciousness, seemed to entertain an unaccountable repugnance. Sheconsented, indeed, to lie down for an hour or two, but could notconceal a wild, restless anxiety to depart as soon as possible. Something more than the obvious astonishment of the servants, something more than the incongruity of the situation, seemed promptingher to leave Lady Bearwarden's house without delay and fly from thepresence of almost the first friend she had ever known in her life. 

When the bustle and excitement consequent on this little adventure hadsubsided, her ladyship found herself once more face to face with herown sorrow, and the despondency she had shaken off during a time ofaction gathered again all the blacker and heavier round her heart. Shewas glad to find distraction in the arrival of a nameless visitor, announced by the most pompous of footmen as "a young person desirousof waiting on her ladyship. "

"Show her up, " said Lady Bearwarden; and for the first time in theirlives the two sisters stood face to face. 

Each started, as if she had come suddenly on her own reflection in amirror. During a few seconds both looked stupefied, bewildered. LadyBearwarden spoke first. 

"You wish to see me, I believe. A sick person has just been broughtinto the house, and we are rather in confusion. I fear you have beenkept waiting. "

"I called while your ladyship was out, " answered Nina. "So I walkedabout till I thought you must have come home again. You've never seenme before--I didn't even know where you lived--I found your addressin the Court Guide--O! I can't say it properly, but I did so want tospeak to you. I hope I haven't done anything rude or wrong. "

There was no mistaking the refinement of Nina's voice and manner. 

Lady Bearwarden recognised one of her own station at a glance. Andthis girl so like herself--how beautiful she was! How beautiful theyboth were!

"What can I do for you?" said her ladyship, very kindly. "Sit down; Iam sure you must be tired. "

But Nina had too much of her sister's character to feel tired whenthere was a purpose to carry out. The girl stood erect and looked fullin her ladyship's face. All unconscious of their relationship, the likeness between them was at this moment so striking as to beludicrous. 

"I have come on a strange errand, Lady Bearwarden, " said Nina, hardening her heart for the impending effort--"I have come to tell atruth and to put a question. I suppose, even now, you have some regardfor your husband?"

Lady Bearwarden started. "What do you know about my husband?" sheasked, turning very pale. 

"That he is in danger, " was the answer, in a voice of suchpreternatural fortitude as promised a speedy break-down. "That he isgoing to fight a duel--and it's about _you_--with--with Mr. Stanmore!O! Lady Bearwarden, how _could_ you? You'd everything in the world, everything to make a woman good and happy, and now, see what you'vedone!"

Tears and choking sobs were coming thick, but she kept them back. 

"What do you mean?" exclaimed Maud, trembling in every limb, forthrough the dark midnight of her misery she began to see gleams of acoming dawn. 

"I mean _this_, " answered Nina, steadying herself bravely. "LordBearwarden has found everything out. He has sent a challenge to Mr. Stanmore. I--I--care for Mr. Stanmore, Lady Bearwarden--at least, I_did_. I was engaged to him. " (Here, notwithstanding the tumult of herfeelings, a little twinge crossed Lady Bearwarden to learn how quicklyDick had consoled himself. ) "I'm only a girl, but I know these things_can_ be prevented, and that's why I'm here now. You've done themischief; you are bound to repair it; and I have a right to come toyou for help. "

"But I haven't done anything!" pleaded Maud, in for humbler tones thanshe habitually used. "I love my husband very dearly, and I've notset eyes on Mr. Stanmore but once since I married, in Oxford Street, looking into a shop-window, and directly he caught sight of me, he gotout of the way as if I had the plague! There's some mistake. Not aminute should be lost in setting it right. I wonder what we ought todo!"

"And--and you're not in love with Mr. Stanmore? and he isn't going torun away with you? Lady Bearwarden, are you quite sure? And I don'tdeserve to be so happy. I judged him so harshly, so unkindly. Whatwill he think of me when he knows it? He'll never speak to me again. "

Then the tears came in good earnest, and presently Miss Algernongrew more composed, giving her hostess an account of herself, herprospects, her Putney home, and the person she most depended on in theworld to get them all out of their present difficulty, Simon Perkins, the painter. "I know he can stop it, " pursued Nina eagerly, "and bewill, too. He told the other man nothing should be done in a hurry. I heard him say so, for I listened, Lady Bearwarden, I _did_. And Iwould again if I had the same reason. Wouldn't _you_? I hope the otherman will be hanged. He seemed to want them so to kill each other. Don't you think he can be punished? For it's murder, you know, _really_, after all. "

Without entering into the vexed question of duelling--a practice forwhich each lady in her heart entertained a secret respect--the sistersconsulted long and earnestly on the best method of preventing aconflict that should endanger the two lives now dearer to them thanever. 

They drank tea over it, we may be sure, and in the course of thatrefreshment could not fail to observe how the gloves they laid asidewere the same number (six and three-quarters, if you would like toknow), how their hands were precisely similar in shape, how the turnof their arms and wrists corresponded as closely as the tone of theirvoices. Each thought she liked the other better than any one she hadever met of her own sex. 

After a long debate it was decided that Nina should return at once toher Putney home, doubtless ere now much disturbed at her prolongedabsence; that she should have full powers to inform Simon of all theconfidences regarding her husband Lady Bearwarden had poured in herear; should authorise him to seek his lordship out and tell him thewhole truth on his wife's behalf; also, finally, for women rarelyneglect the worship of Nemesis, that after a general reconciliationhad been effected, measures should be taken for bringing to condignpunishment the false friend who had been at such pains to fomenthostilities between the men they both loved. 

Lady Bearwarden had her hand on the bell to order the carriage for hervisitor, but the latter would not hear of it. 

"I can get a cab every twenty yards in this part of the town, " saidNina. "I shall be home in three-quarters of an hour. It's hardly darkyet, and I'm quite used to going about by myself. I am not at all acoward, Lady Bearwarden, but my aunts would be horribly alarmed if oneof your smart carriages drove up to the gate. Besides, I don't believeit could turn round in the lane. No; I won't even have a servant, thanks. I'll put my bonnet on and start at once, please. You've beenvery kind to me, and I'm so much obliged. Good-night!"

CHAPTER XXIX

NIGHT-HAWKS

Lord Bearwarden's groom of the chambers, a person by no meansdeficient in self-confidence, owned that he was mystified. Amongstall the domestic dissensions with which his situation had made himfamiliar, he could recall nothing like his present experience. Thisbringing home of a shabby woman out of the street and ordering thebest bedroom for her reception; this visit of a beautiful young personso exactly resembling his mistress that, but for the evidence of hisown senses, when he brought in tea and found them together, he couldhave sworn it was her ladyship; this general confusion of householdarrangements, and culpable indifference to the important ceremony ofdinner, forced him to admit that he was in a position of which hehad no preconceived idea, and from which he doubted whether he couldextricate himself with the dignity essential to his office. 

Returning to his own department, and glancing at the letter-box in thehall, he reflected with satisfaction how his professional dutieshad been scrupulously fulfilled, and how in accordance with hismisconception of Lord Bearwarden's orders, every packet that reachedthe house had been forwarded to its master without delay. 

Hence it came to pass, that the vexed and angry husband received indue course of post a letter which puzzled him exceedingly. 

He had only just digested Tom Ryfe's unwelcome missive, announcingsomewhat vaguely that the revenge for which he panted must be delayedtwo or three days at least, and had cursed, energetically enough, his own friend's mismanagement of the affair, with the scruplesentertained by the other side, when a fresh budget was placed in hishands, and he opened the envelopes as people often do, without lookingat their addresses: thus it fell out, that he read the anonymousletter directed to his wife, asking for a meeting that same night, inthe vicinity of his own house. 

"A cruel mystery has deprived you of your husband. " What couldit mean? He studied the brief communication very attentively, particularly that first line. And a vague hope rose in his loving, generous heart, that he might have judged her too harshly after all. It was but the faintest spark, yet he tried hard to kindle it intoflame. The wariest rogue is never armed on all sides. He is sure toforget some trifling precaution, that, left unguarded, is like thechink in a shutter to let in the light of day. Lord Bearwardenrecognised the same hand that had penned the anonymous letter hereceived on guard--this argued a plot of some sort. He resolved tosift the matter thoroughly, and instead of forwarding so mysterious arequest to his wife, repair to the indicated spot in person, and thereby threats, bribery, compulsion, any or all means in his power, arriveat a true solution of the mystery. 

It was a welcome distraction, too, this new idea, with which to whileaway the weary interminable day. It seemed well perhaps, after all, that the duel had been postponed. He might learn something to-nightthat would change the whole current of his actions, if not, let Mr. Stanmore look to himself!

That gentleman, in the meantime, had completely forgotten LordBearwarden's existence--had forgotten Mr. Ryfe's visit the nightbefore at his club, the unintelligible quarrel, the proposed meeting, everything but that Nina was lost. Lost! a stray lamb, helpless in thestreets of London! His blood ran cold to think of it. He hastened downto Putney, and indeed only knew that he had made so sure of findingher there, by his disappointment to learn she had not returned home. It made his task no easier that Aunt Susannah was in the garden whenhe reached the house, and he had to dissemble his alarm in presence ofthat weak-minded and affectionate spinster. "He was passing by, " hesaid, "on his way to town, and only looked in (he couldn't stay amoment) to know if they had any message to--to their nephew. He wasgoing straight from here to the painting-room. "

"How considerate!" said Aunt Susannah; not without reason, for it wasbut this morning they parted with Simon, and they expected him back todinner. "We have a few autumn flowers left. I'll just run in, andget the scissors to make up a nosegay. It won't take ten minutes. O!nothing like ten minutes! You can give it to poor Simon with our dearlove. He's so fond of flowers! and Nina too. But perhaps you knowNina's tastes as well as we do, and indeed I think they're verycreditable to her, and she's not at all a bad judge!"

Then the good lady, shaking her grey curls, smiled and looked knowing, while Dick cursed her below his breath, for a grinning old idiot, andglared wildly about him, like a beast in a trap seeking some way ofescape. It was provoking, no doubt, to be kept talking platitudes to asilly old woman in the garden, while every moment drifted his heart'streasure farther and farther into the uncertainty he scarcely dared tocontemplate. 

Some women are totally deficient in the essentially feminine qualityof tact. Aunt Susannah, with a pocket-handkerchief tied round herhead, might have stood drivelling nonsense to her visitor for an hour, and never found out he wanted to get away. Fortunately, she wentindoors for her scissors, and Dick, regardless of the proprieties, made his escape forthwith, thus avoiding also the ignominy of carryingback to London a nosegay as big as a chimney-sweep's on May-day. 

Hastening to the painting-room, his worst fears were realised. Ninahad not returned. Simon, too, began to share his alarm, and notwithout considerable misgivings did the two men hold counsel on theirfuture movements. 

It occurred to them at this juncture, that the maid-of-all-workbelow-stairs might possibly impart some information as to the exacttime when the young lady left the house. They rang for that domesticaccordingly, and bewildered her with a variety of questions in vain. 

Had she seen Miss Algernon during the morning? She was to think, andtake time, and answer without being frightened. 

"Miss Algernon! Lor! that was her as come here most days, along o'him, " with a backward nod at Dick. "No--she hadn't a-seen her to-day, she was sure. Not _particler_, that was. Not more nor any other day. "

"Had she seen her at all?"

"O, yes! she'd seen her at all. In course, you know, she couldn't beoff of seeing her at all!"

"When did she see her?"

"When? O! last week, every day a'most. And the week afore that too!She wasn't a-goin' to tell a lie!"

"Then she hadn't seen her this morning?"

"Yes, she'd seen her this morning. When she come in, you know, alongo' the other gentleman. " Here a dive of the shock head at Simon, andsymptoms of approaching emotion. 

"Why you said you hadn't at first!" exclaimed Dick, perplexed andprovoked. 

Forthwith a burst of sobs and tears. 

"Compose yourself, my good girl, " said the painter kindly. "We don'twant to hurry nor confuse you. We are in great distress ourselves. Miss Algernon went out, we believe, to take a walk. She has notreturned here, nor gone home. It would help us very much if we knewthe exact time at which she left the house, or could find anybody whosaw her after she went away. "

If you want a woman to help you, even a maid-of-all-work, tell heryour whole story, and make no half-confidences: the drudge brightenedup through her tears, and assumed a look of intelligence at once. 

"Lor!" said she, "why didn't ye say so? In course I see the younglady, as I was a-fetchin' in the dinner beer. She'd a-got her bonneton, I took notice, and was maybe goin' for a walk, or to get a fewodds and ends, or such like. "

Here a full stop with a curtsey. The men looked at each other andwaited. 

"She went into a shop round the corner, for I seen her myself. Astationer's shop it were. An' I come home then, with the beer, an'shut to the door, an' I couldn't tell you no more; no, not if you wasto take and kill me dead this very minute!"

Stronger symptoms of agitation now appearing, Simon thought wellto dismiss this incoherent witness, and proceed at once to thestationer's shop in quest of further intelligence. Its proprietor wasready to furnish all the information in his power. 

"Had a lady answering their description been in his shop?" "Well, agreat many ladies come backwards and forwards, you know. Trade wasn'tvery brisk just now, but there was always something doing in the fancystationery line. It was a light business, and most of his customerswere females. His 'missis' didn't take much notice, but he happened tobe something of a physiognomist himself, and a face never escaped him. A very beautiful young lady, was it? Tall, pale, with dark eyes andhair. Certainly, no doubt, that must be the party. Stepped in aboutdinner-time; seemed anxious and in a hurry, as you might say; didn'ttake any order from her, --the young lady only asked as a favour tolook into their Court Guide. There it lay, just as she left it. Singular enough, another party had come in afterwards to write aletter, and took the same address, he believed, right at the foot ofthe column; these were trifles, but it was his way to notice trifles. He was a scientific man, to a certain extent, and in science, as theyprobably knew, there were no such things as trifles. He remembered acurious story of Sir Isaac Newton. But perhaps the gentlemen were in ahurry. "

The gentlemen _were_ in a hurry. Dick Stanmore with characteristicimpetuosity had plunged at the Court Guide, to scan the page at whichit lay open with eager eyes. At the foot of the column, said this manof science. To be sure, there it was, Barsac, Barwise, Barzillai, Bearwarden--the very last name in the page. And yet what could Ninawant at Lord Bearwarden's house? Of all places in London why shouldshe go there? Nevertheless, in such a hopeless search, the vaguesthint was welcome, the faintest clue must be followed out. So the twomen, standing in earnest colloquy, under the gas-lamps, resolved tohunt their trail as far as Lord Bearwarden's residence without furtherdelay. 

The more precious are the moments, the faster they seem to pass. Anautumn day had long given place to night, ere they verified thislast piece of intelligence, and acquired some definite aim for theirexertions; but neither liked to compare notes with the other, norexpress his own disheartening reflection that Nina might be wanderingso late, bewildered, lonely, and unprotected, through the labyrinthsof the great city. 

In the meantime, Gentleman Jim and his confederate were fullyoccupied with the details necessary to carry their infamous plot intoexecution. The lawyer had drawn out from the bank all the ready moneyhe could lay hands on, amounting to several hundred pounds. Hehad furnished Jim with ample funds to facilitate his share of thepreparations, and he had still an hour or two on hand before theimportant moment arrived. That interval he devoted to his privateaffairs, and those of the office, so that his uncle should beinconvenienced as little as possible by an absence which he now hopedmight be prolonged for a considerable time. 

It had been dark for more than an hour ere the accomplices met again, equipped and ready for the work they had pledged themselves toundertake. 

Jim, indeed, contrary to his wont, when "business, " as he called it, was on hand, seemed scarcely sober; but to obtain the use of thevehicle he required without the company of its driver, he had foundit necessary to ply the latter with liquor till he became insensible, although the drunken man's instincts of good-fellowship bade himinsist that his generous entertainer should partake largely of thefluids consumed at his expense. To drink down a London cabman, onanything like fair terms, is an arduous task, even for a housebreaker, and Jim's passions were roused to their worst by alcohol long beforehe arrived with his four-wheeled cab at the appointed spot where hewas to wait for Tom Ryfe. 

How he laughed to himself while he felt the pliant life-preservercoiled in his great-coat pocket--the long, keen, murderous kniferesting against his heart. A fiend had taken possession of the man. Already overleaping the intervening time, ignoring everything but thecrime he meditated, his chief difficulty seemed how he should disposeof Tom's mutilated body ere he flew to reap the harvest of his guilt. 

He chuckled and grinned with a fierce, savage sense of humour, whilehe recalled the imperious manner in which Mr. Ryfe had taken theinitiative in their joint proceedings; as if they originated in hisown invention, were ordered solely for his own convenience; and thetone of authority in which that gentleman had warned him not to belate. 

"It's good! That is!" said Jim, sitting on the box of the cab, andpeering into the darkness, through which a gas-lamp glimmered withdull, uncertain rays, blurred by the autumn fog. "You'd like to bemaster, you would, I dare say, all through the job, and for me to beman! You'd best look sharp about it. I'll have that blessed life ofyours afore the sun's up to-morrow, and see who'll be master then. Ay, and missis too! Hooray! for the cruel eyes, and the touch-me-not airs. The proud, pale-faced devil! as thought Jim wasn't quite the equals ofthe dirt beneath her feet. Steady! Here he comes. "

And looming through the fog, Mr. Ryfe approached with cautious, resolute step; carrying a revolver in his pocket, prepared to use it, too, on occasion, with the fearless energy of a desperate man. 

"Is it all ready, Jim?" said he in a whisper. "You haven't forgot thegag? Nor the shawl to throw round her head? The least mistake upsets ajob like this. "

For answer, Jim descended heavily from his seat, and holding thecab-door open, pointed to the above-named articles lying folded on thefront seat. 

"You'll drive, master, " said he, with a hoarse chuckle. "You knowsthe way. First turn to the left. I'll ride inside, like a lord, or afashionable doctor, and keep my eye on the tackle. "

"It's very dark, " continued Tom uneasily. "But that's all in ourfavour, of course. You know her figure as well as I do. Don't forget, now. I'll drive close to the pavement, and the instant we stop, youmust throw the shawl over her head, muffle her up, and whip her in. This beggar can gallop, I suppose. "

"He's a thoroughbred 'un, " answered Jim, with a sounding pat on thehorse's bony ribs. "Leastways, so the chap as I borrowed him off sworesolemn. He was so precious drunk, I'm blessed if I think he knowedwhat he meant. But howsoever, I make no doubt the critter can go whenit's pushed. "

Thus speaking, Jim helped the other to mount the box, and placedhimself inside with the door open, ready to spring like a tiger whenhe should catch sight of his prey. 

The streets of the great city are never so deserted as an hour ortwo after nightfall, and an hour or two before dawn. Not a singlepassenger did they meet, and only one policeman; while the cab withits desperate inmates rattled and jolted along on this nefariousenterprise. 

It was stopped at last, close to the footway in a dimly-lightedstreet, within a hundred yards of Lord Bearwarden's house, which stooda few doors off round the corner. 

A distant clock struck the hour. That heavy clang seemed to dwell onthe gloomy stillness of the atmosphere, and both men felt their nervesstrangely jarred by the dull, familiar sound. 

Their hearts beat fast. Tom began to wish he had adopted some lessunconventional means of attaining his object, and tried in vain todrive from his mind the punishments awarded to such offences as hemeditated, by the severity of our criminal code. 

Jim had but one feeling, with which heart and brain were saturated. In a few minutes he would see her again! In a new character, possibly--tearful, humbled, supplicating. No; his instincts told himthat not even the last extremity of danger would force a tear fromthose proud eyes, nor bow that haughty head an inch. How this wild, fierce worship maddened him! So longing, yet so slavish--so reckless, so debased, yet all the while cursed with a certain leavening of thetrue faith, that drove him to despair. But come what might, in afew minutes he would see her again. Even at such a time, there wassomething of repose and happiness in the thought. 

So the quasi-thoroughbred horse went to sleep and the men waited;waited, wondering how the lagging minutes could pass so slow. 

Listen! a light footstep round the corner. The gentle rustle ofa woman's dress. A tall, slight figure gliding yonder under thegas-lamp, coming down the street, even now, with head erect, and easy, undulating gait. 

The blood rose to Jim's brain till it beat like strokes from asledge-hammer. Tom shortened the reins, and tightened his grasp roundthe whip. 

Nearer, nearer, she came on. The pure, calm face held high aloft, thepliant figure moving ever with the same smooth, graceful gestures. Fortune favoured them; she stopped when she reached the cab, andseemed about to engage it for her journey. 

The men were quick to see their advantage. Jim, coiled for a spring, shrank into the darkest corner of the vehicle. Tom, enacting driver, jumped down, and held the door to help her in. 

Catching sight of the dark figure on the front seat, she started back. The next moment, there rose a faint stifled shriek, the shawl was overher head. Jim's powerful arms wound themselves tight round her body, and Tom clambered in haste to the box. 

But quick feet had already rained along that fifty yards of pavement. A powerful grasp was at the driver's throat, pulling him back betweenthe wheels of the cab; and he found himself struggling for life with astrong, angry man, who swore desperately, while two more figures ranat speed up the street. 

Tom's eyes were starting, his tongue was out. 

"Jim, help me!" he managed to articulate. "I'm choking. "

"You infernal scoundrel!" exclaimed his antagonist, whose fury seemedredoubled by the sound of that familiar voice: the grasp, closinground Tom's neck like iron, threatened death unless he could get free. 

An instinct of self-preservation bade him pluck at his revolver. Hegot it out at the moment when Jim, setting his back to the door tosecure his captive, dealt with the heavy life-preserver a blow at theassailant's head, which fortunately only reached his shoulder. Thelatter released Tom's throat to get possession of the pistol. In thestruggle it went off. There was a hideous blasphemy, a groan, and aheavy fall between the wheels of the cab. 

Ere the smoke cleared away two more auxiliaries appeared on the scene. With Simon Perkins's assistance, Lord Bearwarden had little difficultyin pinioning his late antagonist, while Dick Stanmore, having liftedthe imprisoned lady out of the cab, over the housebreaker's prostratebody, held her tightly embraced, in a transport of affectionintensified by alarm. 

Lord Bearwarden, usually so collected, was now utterly stupefied andamazed. He looked from Tom Ryfe's white face, staring over the badgeand great-coat of a London cabman, to the sinking form of his wife--ashe believed--in the arms of her lover, clinging to him for protection, responding in utter shamelessness to his caresses and endearments. 

"Mr. Stanmore!" he exclaimed, in a voice breathless from exertion, andchoking with anger. "You and I have an account to settle that cannotbe put off. Lady Bearwarden, I will see you home. Come with me thisinstant. "

Dick seemed as if he thought his lordship had gone mad. Nina staredhelplessly at the group. Another gasp and a fainter groan came fromthe body lying underneath the cab. 

"We must look to this man; he is dying, " said Simon Perkins, on hisknees by the prostrate form, now motionless and insensible. 

"My house is round the corner, " answered Lord Bearwarden, stoopingover the fallen ruffian. "Let us take him in. All the doctors inthe world won't save him, " he added, in a tone of grave pity. "He'sbleeding to death inside. "

Nina had been a good deal frightened, but recovered wonderfully inthe reassuring presence of her lover. "_His_ house?" she asked, in asufficiently audible voice, considering her late agitation. "Who ishe, Dick, and where does he live?"

Two of the police had now arrived, and were turning their lanterns onthe party. The strong white light glared full on Miss Algernon'sface and figure, so like Lady Bearwarden's but yet to the husband'sbewildered senses so surely not his wife's. 

He shook all over. His face, though flushed a moment ago, turneddeadly pale. He clutched Dick's shoulder, and his voice came dry andhusky, while he gasped--

"What is it, Stanmore? Speak, man, for the love of heaven. What doesit all mean?"

Then came question and answer; clearer, fuller, more fluent with everysentence. And so the explanation went on: how some enemy hadroused his worst suspicions; how Lord Bearwarden, deceived by theextraordinary likeness which he could not but acknowledge even now, had been satisfied he saw Dick Stanmore with Maud in a hansom cab; howhe had left his home in consequence, and sent that hostile message toDick, which had so puzzled that gallant, open-hearted gentleman; howa certain letter from Lady Bearwarden, addressed to Mr. Stanmore, andforwarded to her husband, had but confirmed his suspicions; andhow, at last, an anonymous communication to the same lady, fallingaccidentally into his hands, had mystified him completely, andmade him resolve to watch and follow her at the hour named, with adesperate hope that something might be revealed to alleviate hissufferings, to give him more certainty of action and future guidance. 

"I was horribly cut up, I don't mind confessing it, " said LordBearwarden, with his kindly grasp still on Dick's shoulder. "And Iwaited there, outside my own house, like some d----d poaching thief. It seemed so hard I couldn't go in and see her just once more!Presently, out she came, as I thought, and I followed, very craftily, and not too near for fear she should look round. She didn't, though, but walked straight on; and when I saw the cab waiting, and shestopped as if she meant to get in, I couldn't tell what to make of itat all. "

"I was only just in time. I came that last few yards with a rush, Igive you my word! And I made a grab at the driver, thinking the bestchance was to stop the conveyance at once, or if I couldn't do that, take a free passage with the rest of them. She wasn't going of her ownaccord, I felt sure. That villain of a lawyer struggled hard. I didn'tthink he'd been so good a man. I wasn't at all sorry to see youfellows coming up. It was two to one, you know, and I do believe, ifit hadn't been for the pistol, they might have got clear off. It shotthe worst customer of the two, that poor fellow behind us, rightthrough the body. Under my arm, I should think, for I got a very nastyone on the shoulder just as the smoke flew in my face. It has squared_his_ accounts, I fancy. But here we are at my house. Let's get himin, and then you must introduce me properly to this young lady, whoseacquaintance I have made in such an unusual manner. "

The strange procession had, indeed, arrived at Lord Bearwarden'sresidence. It consisted of the proprietor himself, whose right arm wasnow completely disabled, but who gesticulated forcibly with his left;of Dick Stanmore and Nina, listening to his lordship with the utmostdeference and attention; of Jim's senseless body, carried by SimonPerkins and one policeman, while Tom Ryfe, in close custody of theother, brought up the rear. 

As they entered the hall, Lady Bearwarden's pale, astonished face wasseen looking over the banisters. Dorothea, too, creeping down-stairs, with some vague idea of escaping from this friendly refuge, andfinding her way back, perhaps, to the cool shining Serpentine, camefull upon the group at the moment when Jim was laid tenderly down byhis bearers, and the policeman whispered audibly to his comrade that, even if the doctor were in the next street now, he would come toolate!

She ran forward with a wild, despairing cry. She flung herself down bythe long, limp, helpless figure. She raised the drooping head withits matted locks, its fixed, white, rigid face, and pressed it hardagainst her bosom--hard to her wayward, ignorant, warped, but lovingheart. 

"Speak to me, Jim!" she moaned once more, rocking backwards andforwards in her fierce agony. "Speak to me, deary! You'll never speakagain. O! why did they stop _me_ to-day? It's cruel--cruel! Why didthey stop me? We'd have been together before now!"

And the groom of the chambers, an unwilling witness of all theseindecorous proceedings, resolved, for that one night, to do his dutystanchly by his employer, but give up his place with inflexibledignity on the morrow. 

CHAPTER XXX

UNDER THE ACACIAS

"Out of drawing; flesh tints infamous; chiaroscuro grossly muddled; nobreadth; not much story in it; badly composed; badly treated; badlypainted altogether. "

So said the reviews, laying down the infallible law of the writer, concerning Simon Perkins's great picture. The public followed thereviews, of course, in accordance with a generous instinct, urgingit to believe that he who can write his own language, not, indeed, accurately, but with a certain force and rapidity, must thereforebe conversant with all the subjects on which he chooses to declaim. Statesman, chemist, engineer, shipbuilder, soldier, above all, navigator, painter, plasterer, and statuary; like the hungry Greekadventurer of Juvenal, _omnia novit_: like Horace's wise man amongstthe Stoics; be the subject boots, beauty, bullocks, or the beer-trade, he is universal instructor and referee. 

 "Et sutor bonus, et solus formosus, et est rex. "

So reviewers abused the picture persistently, and Lord Bearwarden wasfurious, brandishing a weekly newspaper above his head, and stridingabout the little Putney lawn with an energy that threatened to immersehim in the river, forgetful of those narrow limits, suggesting theproverbial extent of a fisherman's walk on deck, "two steps andoverboard. "

His audience, though, were partial and indulgent. The old ladiesin the drawing-room, overhearing an occasional sentence, devoutlybelieved their nephew was the first painter of his time, LordBearwarden the wisest critic that ever lived, the greatest nobleman, the bravest soldier, the kindest husband, always excepting, perhaps, that other husband smoking there under the acacia, interchanging withhis lordship many a pleasant jest and smile, that argued the goodunderstanding existing between them. 

Dick Stanmore and Lord Bearwarden were now inseparable. Their alliancefurnished a standing joke for their wives. "They have the sameperverted tastes, my dear, and like the same sort of people, "lighthearted Nina would observe to the sister whom she had not foundtill the close of her girlish life. "It's always fast friends, or, atleast, men with a strong tendency to friendship, who are in love withthe same woman, and I don't believe they hate each other half as muchas we should, even for _that_!"

To which Maud would make no reply, gazing with her dark eyes out uponthe river, and wondering whether Dick had ever told the wife he lovedhow fondly he once worshipped another face so like her own. 

For my part, I don't think he had. I don't think he could realise theforce of those past feelings, nor comprehend that he could ever havecared much for any one but the darling who now made the joy of hiswhole life. When first he fell in love with Nina, it was for herlikeness to her sister. Now, though in his eyes the likeness wasfading every day, that sister's face was chiefly dear to him becauseof its resemblance to his wife's. 

Never was there a happier family party than these persons constituted. Lord and Lady Bearwarden, Mr. And Mrs. Stanmore, drove down fromLondon many days in the week to the pretty Putney villa. Simon wastruly rejoiced to see them, while the old ladies vibrated all over, caps, fronts, ribbons, lockets, and laces, with excitement anddelight. The very flowers had a sweeter perfume, the laburnums aricher gold, the river a softer ripple, than in the experience of allprevious springs. 

"They may say what they like, " continued Lord Bearwarden, still withthe weekly paper in his hand. "I maintain the criterion of meritis success. I maintain that the Rhymer and the Fairy Queen is anextraordinary picture, and the general public the best judge. Whythere was no getting near it at the Academy. The people crowded roundas they do about a Cheap Jack at a fair. I'm not a little fellow, butI couldn't catch a glimpse of any part except the Fairy Queen's head. I think it's _the_ most beautiful face I ever saw in my life!"

"Thank you, Lord Bearwarden, " said Nina, laughing. "He'd such asubject, you know; it's no wonder he made a good picture of it. "

No wonder, indeed! Did she ever think his brush was dipped in coloursground on the poor artist's heart?

"It's very like _you_ and it's very like Maud, " answered LordBearwarden. "Somehow you don't seem to me so like each other as youused to be. And yet how puzzled I was the second time I ever set eyeson you!"

"How cross you were! and how you scolded!" answered saucy Mrs. Stanmore. "I wouldn't have stood it from Dick. Do you ever speak toMaud like that?"

The look that passed between Lord and Lady Bearwarden was a sufficientreply. The crowning beauty had come to those dark eyes of hers, nowthat their pride was centred in another, their lustre deepened andsoftened with the light of love. 

"It was lucky for you, dear, that he _was_ angry, " said her ladyship. "If he had hesitated a moment, it's frightful to think what would havebecome of you, at the mercy of those reckless, desperate men!"

"They were punished, at any rate, " observed Nina gravely. "I shallnever forget that dead fixed face in the hall. Nor the other man'slook, the cowardly one, while he prayed to be forgiven. Forgiven, indeed! One ought to forgive a great deal, but not such an enormity asthat!"

"I think he got off very cheap, " interposed Dick Stanmore. "Hedeserved to be hanged, in my opinion, and they only transportedhim--not even for life!"

"Think of the temptation, Dick, " replied Nina, with another saucysmile. "How would you like it yourself?"

"And you were in pursuit of the same object. You can't deny that, onlyhe hit upon me first. "

"I was more sorry for the other villain, " said Lord Bearwarden, whohad heard long ago the history of Gentleman Jim's persecution of herladyship. "He was a daring, reckless scoundrel, and I should like tohave killed him myself, but _it_ did seem hard lines to be shot by hisown confederate in the row!"

"I pity that poor woman most of all, " observed Lady Bearwarden, with asigh. "It is quite a mercy that she should have lost her senses. Shesuffered so dreadfully till her mind failed. "

"How is she?" "Have you seen her?" came from the others in a breath. 

"I was with her this morning, " answered Maud. "She didn't know me. I don't think she knows anybody. They can't get her to read, nor doneedlework, nor even walk out into the garden. She's never still, poorthing! but paces up and down the room mumbling over a bent halfcrownand a knot of ribbon, " added Lady Bearwarden, with a meaning glanceat her husband, "that they found on the dead man's body, and keepspressing it against her breast while she mutters something about theirwanting to take it away. It's a sad, sad sight! I can't get that wildvacant stare out of my head. It's the same expression that frightenedme so on her face that day by the Serpentine. It has haunted meever since. She seemed to be looking miles away across the water atsomething I couldn't see. I wonder what it was. I wonder what shelooks at now!"

"She's never been in her right senses, has she, since that dreadfulnight?" asked Nina. "If she were a lady, and well dressed, andrespectable, one would say it's quite a romance. Don't you thinkperhaps, after all, it's more touching as it is?" and Nina, who likedto make little heartless speeches she did not mean, looked lovinglyon Dick, with her dark eyes full of tears, as she wondered what wouldbecome of her if anything happened to _him_!

"I can scarcely bear to think of it, " answered Maud, laying herhand on her husband's shoulder. "Through all the happiness of thatnight--far, far the happiest of my whole life--this poor thing's uttermisery comes back to me like a warning and a reproach. If I live to ahundred I shall never forget her when she looked up to heaven from thelong rigid figure with its fixed white face, and tried to pray, andcouldn't, and didn't know how! O! my darling!"--and here Maud's voicesank to a whisper, while the haughty head drooped lovingly and humblytowards her husband's arm, --"what have I done that I should be soblessed, while there is all this misery and disappointment and despairin the world?"

He made no attempt at explanation. The philosophy of our HouseholdCavalry, like the religion of Napoleon's "Old Guard, " is adapted foraction rather than casuistry. He did not tell her that in the journeyof life for some the path is made smooth and easy, for others pavedwith flint and choked with thorns; but that a wise Director knows bestthe capabilities of the wayfarer, and the amount of toil required tofit him for his rest. So up and down, through rough and smooth, instorm and sunshine--all these devious tracks lead home at last. IfLord Bearwarden thought this, he could not put it into words, but hisarm stole lovingly round the slender waist, and over his brave, manlyface came a gentle look that seemed to say he asked no better thanto lighten every load for that dear one through life, and bear hertenderly with him on the road to heaven. 

"_C'est l'amour_!" laughed Nina, "that makes all the bother andcomplications of our artificial state of existence!"

"And all its sorrows!" said Lord Bearwarden. 

"And all its sin!" said her ladyship. 

"And all its beauty!" said Dick. 

"And all its happiness!" added the painter, who had not yet spoken, from his seat under the acacia that grew by the water's edge. 

"Well put!" exclaimed the others, "and you need not go out of thisdear little garden in search of the proof. "

But Simon made no answer. Once more he was looking wistfully on theriver, thinking how it freshened and fertilised all about it as itpassed by. Fulfilling its noble task--bearing riches, comforts, health, happiness, yet taking to deck its own bosom, not one ofthe humblest wildflowers that must droop and die but for its love. Consoler, sympathiser, benefactor, night and day. Gently, noiselessly, imperceptibly speeding its good work, making no pause, knowing norest, till far away beyond that dim horizon, under the golden heaven, it merged into the sea. 

THE END