TWO YEARS AGO

[Illustration]

TWO YEARS AGO

BYCHARLES KINGSLEY

IN TWO VOLS. --VOL. II

1901

CONTENTS OF VOL. II. 

 CHAP

 XV THE CRUISE OF THE WATERWITCH XVI COME AT LAST XVII BAALZEBUB'S BANQUET XVIII THE BLACK HOUND XIX BEDDGELERT XX BOTH SIDES OF THE MOON AT ONCE XXI NATURE'S MELODRAMA XXII FOND, YET NOT FOOLISH XXIII THE BROAD STONE OF HONOUR XXIV THE THIRTIETH OF SEPTEMBER XXV THE BANKER AND HIS DAUGHTER XXVI TOO LATE XXVII A RECENT EXPLOSION IN AN ANCIENT CRATER XXVIII LAST CHRISTMAS EVE

TWO YEARS AGO. 

CHAPTER XV. 

THE CRUISE OF THE WATERWITCH. 

The middle of August is come at last; and with it the solemn day onwhich Frederick Viscount Scoutbush may be expected to revisit the homeof his ancestors. Elsley has gradually made up his mind to theinevitable, with a stately sulkiness: and comforts himself, as the timedraws near, with the thought that, after all, his brother-in-law is nota very formidable personage. 

But to the population of Aberalva in general, the coming event is one ofawful jubilation. The shipping is all decked with flags; all the Sundayclothes have been looked out, and many a yard of new ribbon and pound ofbad powder bought; there have been arrangements for a procession, whichcould not be got up; for a speech which nobody would undertake topronounce; and, lastly, for a dinner, about which last there was nohanging back. Yea, also, they have hired from Carcarrow Church-town, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and all kinds of music; for Frank has putdown the old choir band at Aberalva, --another of his mistakes, --andthere is but one fiddle and a clarionet now left in all the town. So thesaid town waits all the day on tiptoe, ready to worship, till out of thesoft brown haze the stately Waterwitch comes sliding in, like a whiteghost, to fold her wings in Aberalva bay. 

And at that sight the town is all astir. Fishermen shake themselves upout of their mid-day snooze, to admire the beauty, as she slips on andon through water smooth as glass, her hull hidden by the vast curve ofthe balloon-jib, and her broad wings boomed out alow and aloft, till itseems marvellous how that vast screen does not topple headlong, insteadof floating (as it seems) self-supporting above its image in the mirror. Women hurry to put on their best bonnets; the sexton toddles up with thechurch key in his hand, and the ringers at his heels; the CoastguardLieutenant bustles down to the Manby's mortar, which he has hauled outin readiness on the pebbles. Old Willis hoists a flag before his house, and half-a-dozen merchant skippers do the same. Bang goes the harmlessmortar, burning the British nation's powder without leave or licence;and all the rocks and woods catch up the echo, and kick it from cliff tocliff, playing at football with it till its breath is beaten out; arolling fire of old muskets and bird-pieces crackles along the shore, and in five minutes a poor lad has blown a ramrod through his hand. Never mind, lords do not visit Penalva every day. Out burst the bellsabove with merry peal; Lord Scoutbush and the Waterwitch are duly "rungin" to the home of his lordship's ancestors; and he is received, as hescrambles up the pier steps from his boat, by the curate, thechurchwardens, the Lieutenant, and old Tardrew, backed by half-a-dozenancient sons of Anak, lineal descendants of the free fishermen to whomsix hundred years before, St. Just of Penalva did grant privileges hardto spell, and harder to understand, on the condition of receiving, whensoever he should land at the quay head, three brass farthings fromthe "free fishermen of Aberalva. "

Scoutbush shakes hands with curate, Lieutenant, Tardrew, churchwardens;and then come forward the three farthings, in an ancient leather purse. 

"Hope your lordship will do us the honour to shake hands with us too; weare your lordship's free fishermen, as we have been your forefathers', "says a magnificent old man, gracefully acknowledging the feudal tie, while he claims the exemption. 

Little Scoutbush, who is the kindest-hearted of men, clasps the greatbrown fist in his little white one, and shakes hands heartily with everyone of them, saying, --"If your forefathers were as much taller thanmine, as you are than me, gentlemen, I shouldn't wonder if they tooktheir own freedom, without asking his leave for it!"

A lord who begins his progress with a jest! That is the sort ofaristocrat to rule in Aberalva! And all agree that evening, at theMariners' Rest, that his lordship is as nice a young gentleman as evertrod deal board, and deserves such a yacht as he's got, and long may hesail her!

How easy it is to buy the love of men! Gold will not do it: but there isa little angel, may be, in the corner of every man's eye, who is worthmore than gold, and can do it free of all charges: unless a man driveshim out, and "hates his brother; and so walks in darkness; not knowingwhither he goeth, " but running full butt against men's prejudices, andtreading on their corns, till they knock him down in despair--and alljust because he will not open his eyes, and use the light which comes bycommon human good-nature!

Presently Tom hurries up, having been originally one of the deputation, but kept by the necessity of binding up the three fingers which theramrod had spared to poor Jem Burman's hand. He bows, and theLieutenant--who (Frank being a little shy) acts as her Majesty'srepresentative--introduces him as "deputy medical man to our district ofthe union, sir: Mr. Thurnall. "

"Dr. Heale was to have been hero, by the by. Where is Dr. Heale?" sayssome one. 

"Very sorry, my lord; I can answer for him--professional calls, I don'tdoubt--nobody more devoted to your lordship. "

One need not inquire where Dr. Heale was: but if elderly men will drinkmuch brandy-and-water in hot summer days, after a heavy early dinner, then will those men be too late for deputations and for more importantemployments. 

"Never mind the doctor, daresay he's asleep after dinner: do him good!"says the Viscount, hitting the mark with a random shot; and therebyraising his repute for sagacity immensely with his audience, who laughoutright. 

"Ah! Is it so, then? But--Mr. Thurnall, I think you said?--I am glad tomake your acquaintance, sir. I have heard your name often: you are myfriend Mellot's old friend, are you not?"

"I am a very old friend of Claude Mellot's. "

"Well, and there he is on board, and will be delighted to do the honoursof my yacht to you whenever you like to visit her. You and I must knoweach other better, sir. "

Tom bows low--his lordship does him too much honour: the cunning fellowknows that his fortune is made in Aberalva, if he chooses to work itout: but he humbly slips into the rear, for Frank has to be supported, not being over popular; and the Lieutenant may "turn crusty, " unless hehas his lordship to himself, before the gaze of assembled Aberalva. 

Scoutbush progresses up the street, bowing right and left, and stoppedhalf-a-dozen times by red-cloaked old women, who curtsey under his nose, and will needs inform him how they knew his grandfather, or nursed hisuncle, or how his "dear mother, God rest her soul, gave me this verycloak as I have on, " and so forth; till Scoutbush comes to theconclusion that they are a very loving and lovable set of people--asindeed they are--and his heart smites him somewhat for not having seenmore of them in past years. 

No sooner is Thurnall released, than he is off to the yacht as fast asoars can take him, and in Claude's arms. 

"Now!" (after all salutations and inquiries have been gone through), "let me introduce you to Major Campbell. " And Tom was presented to atall and thin personage, who sat at the cabin table, bending over amicroscope. 

"Excuse my rising, " said he, holding out a left hand, for the right wasbusy. "A single jar will give me ten minutes' work to do again. I amdelighted to meet you: Mellot has often spoken to me of you as a man whohas seen more, and faced death more carelessly, than most men. "

"Mellot flatters, sir. Whatsoever I have done, I have given up beingcareless about death; for I have some one beside myself to live for. "

"Married at last? has Diogenes found his Aspasia?" cried Claude. 

Tom did not laugh. 

"Since my brothers died, Claude, the old gentleman has only me to lookto. You seem to be a naturalist, sir. "

"A dabbler, " said the major, with eye and hand still busy. 

"I ought not to begin our acquaintance by doubting your word: but thesethings are no dabbler's work;" and Tom pointed to some exquisitephotographs of minute corallines, evidently taken under the microscope. 

"They are Mellot's. "

"Mellot turned man of science? Impossible!"

"No; only photographer. I am tired of painting nature clumsily, and thenseeing a sun-picture out-do all my efforts--so I am turned photographer, and have made a vow against painting for three years and a day. "

"Why, the photographs only give you light and shade. "

"They will give you colour, too, before seven years are over--and thatis more than I can do, or any one else. No; I yield to the new dynasty. The artist's occupation is gone henceforth, and the painter's studio, like 'all charms, must fly, at the mere touch of cold philosophy. ' SoMajor Campbell prepares the charming little cockyoly birds, and I callin the sun to immortalise them. "

"And perfectly you are succeeding! They are quite new to me, recollect. When I left Melbourne, the art had hardly risen there above guineaportraits of bearded desperadoes, a nugget in one hand and a £50 note inthe other: but this is a new, and what a forward step for science!"

"You are a naturalist, then?" said Campbell, looking up with interest. 

"All my profession are, more or less, " said Tom, carelessly; "and I havebeen lucky enough here to fall on untrodden ground, and have hunted up afew sea-monsters this summer. "

"Really? You can tell one where to search then, and where to dredge, Ihope. I have set my heart on a fortnight's work here, and have beendreaming at night, like a child before a Twelfth-night party, of allsorts of impossible hydras, gorgons and chimaeras dire, fished up fromyour western deeps. "

"I have none of them; but I can give you Turbinolia Milletiana andZoanthus Couchii. I have a party of the last gentlemen alive on shore. "

The major's face worked with almost childish delight. 

"But I shall be robbing you. "

"They cost me nothing, my dear sir. I did very well, moreover, withoutthem, for five-and-thirty years; and I may do equally well forfive-and-thirty more. "

"I ought to be able to say the same, surely, " answered the Major, composing his face again, and rising carefully. "I have to thank you, exceedingly, my dear sir, for your prompt generosity: but it is betterdiscipline for a man, in many ways, to find things for himself than tohave them put into his hands. So, with a thousand thanks, you shall letme see if I can dredge a Turbinolia for myself. "

This was spoken with so sweet and polished a modulation, and yet sosadly and severely withal, that Tom looked at the speaker with interest. He was a very tall and powerful man, and would have been a very handsomeman, both in face and figure, but for the high cheekbone, long neck, andnarrow shoulders, so often seen north of Tweed. His brow was very highand full; his eyes--grave, but very gentle, with large drooping eyelids--were buried under shaggy grey eyebrows. His mouth was gentle as hiseyes; but compressed, perhaps by the habit of command, perhaps by secretsorrow; for of that, too, as well as of intellect and magnanimity, Thurnall thought he could discern the traces. His face was bronzed bylong exposure to the sun; his close-cut curls, which had once beenauburn, were fast turning white, though his features looked those of aman under five-and-forty; his cheeks were as smooth shaven as his chin. A right, self-possessed, valiant soldier he looked; one who could bevery loving to little innocents, and very terrible to full-grown knaves. 

"You are practising at self-denial, as usual, " said Claude. 

"Because I may, at any moment, have to exercise it in earnest. Mr. Thurnall, can you tell me the name of this little glass arrow, which Ijust found shooting about in the sweeping net?"

Tom did know the wonderful little link between the fish and the insect;and the two chatted over its strange form, till the boat returned totake them ashore. 

"Do you make any stay here?"

"I purpose to spend a fortnight here in my favourite pursuit. I mustdraw on your kindness and knowledge of the place to point me outlodgings. "

Lodgings, as it befell, were to be found, and good ones, close to thebeach, and away from the noise of the harbour, on Mrs. Harvey's firstfloor; for the local preacher, who generally occupied them, was away. 

"But Major Campbell might dislike the noise of the school?"

"The school? What better music for a lonely old bachelor than children'svoices?"

So, by sunset the major was fairly established over Mrs. Harvey's shop. It was not the place which Tom would have chosen; he was afraid of"running over" poor Grace, if he came in and out as often as he couldhave wished. Nevertheless, he accepted the major's invitation to visithim that very evening. 

"I cannot ask you to dinner yet, sir; for my ménage will be hardlysettled: but a cup of coffee, and an exceedingly good cigar, I think myestablishment may furnish you by seven o'clock to-night;--if you thinkthem worth walking down for. "

Tom, of course, said something civil, and made his appearance in duetime. He found the coffee ready, and the cigars also; but the Major wasbusy, in his shirt sleeves, unpacking and arranging jars, nets, microscopes, and what not of scientific lumber; and Tom proffered hishelp. 

"I am ashamed to make use of you the first moment that you become myguest. "

"I shall enjoy the mere handling of your tackle, " said Tom; and beganbreaking the tenth commandment over almost every article he touched; foreverything was first-rate of its kind. 

"You seem to have devoted money, as well as thought, plentifully to thepursuit. "

"I have little else to which to devote either; and more of both than is, perhaps, safe for me. "

"I should hardly complain of a superfluity of thought, if superfluity ofmoney was the condition of it. "

"Pray understand me. I am no Dives; but I have learned to want solittle, that I hardly know how to spend the little which I have. "

"I should hardly have called that an unsafe state. "

"The penniless Faquir who lives on chance handfuls of rice has hisdangers, as well as the rich Parsee who has his ventures out fromMadagascar to Canton. Yes, I have often envied the schemer, the man ofbusiness, almost the man of pleasure; their many wants at least absorbthem in outward objects, instead of leaving them too easily satisfied, to sink in upon themselves, and waste away in useless dreams. "

"You found out the best cure for that malady when you took up themicroscope and the collecting-box. "

"So I fancied once. I took up natural history in India years ago todrive away thought, as other men might take to opium, or tobrandy-pawnee: but, like them, it has become a passion now and a tyranny;and I go on hunting, discovering, wondering, craving for more knowledge;and--_cui bono_? I sometimes ask--"

"Why, this at least, sir; that, without such men as you, who work formere love, science would be now fifty years behind her presentstanding-point; and we doctors should not know a thousand important facts, which you have been kind enough to tell us, while we have not time to findthem out for ourselves. "

"_Sic vos non vobis_--"

"Yes, you have the work, and we have the pay; which is a very fairdivision of labour, considering the world we live in. "

"And have you been skilful enough to make science pay you here, in suchan out-of-the-way little world as that of Aberalva must be?"

"She is a good stalking-horse anywhere;" and Tom detailed, with plentyof humour, the effect of his microscope and his lecture on the drops ofwater. But his wit seemed so much lost on Campbell, that he at laststopped almost short, not quite sure that he had not taken a liberty. 

"No; go on, I beg you; and do not fancy that I am not interested andamused too, because my laughing muscles are a little stiff from want ofuse. Perhaps, too, I am apt to take things too much _au grand sérieux;_but I could not help thinking, while you were speaking, how sad it wasthat people were utterly ignorant of matters so vitally necessary tohealth. "

"And I, perhaps, ought not to jest over the subject: but, indeed, withcholera staring us in the face here, I must indulge in some emotion; andas it is unprofessional to weep, I must laugh as long as I dare. "

The Major dropped his coffee-cup upon the floor, and looked at Thurnallwith so horrified a gaze, that Tom could hardly believe him to be thesame man. Then recollecting himself, he darted down upon the remains ofhis cup: and looking up again--"A thousand pardons; but--did I hear youaright? cholera staring us in the face?"

"How can it be otherwise? It is drawing steadily on from the eastwardweek by week; and, in the present state of the town, nothing but somemiraculous caprice of Dame Fortune's can deliver us. "

"Don't talk of Fortune, sir! at such a moment. Talk of God!" said theMajor, rising from his chair, and pacing the room. "It is too horrible!Intolerable! When do you expect it here?"

"Within the month, perhaps, --hardly before. I should have warned you ofthe danger, I assure you, had I not understood from you that you wereonly going to stay a fortnight. "

The Major made an impatient gesture. 

"Do you fancy that I am afraid for myself? No; but the thought of itscoming to--to the poor people in the town, you know. It is too dreadful. I have seen it in India--among my own men--among the natives. Goodheavens, I never shall forget--and to meet the fiend again here, of allplaces in the world! I fancied it so clean and healthy, swept by freshsea-breezes. "

"And by nothing else. A half-hour's walk round would convince you, sir;I only wish that you could persuade his lordship to accompany you. "

"Scoutbush? Of course he will, --he shall, --he must. Good heavens! whoseconcern is it more than his? You think, then, that there is a chance ofstaving it off--by cleansing, I mean?"

"If we have heavy rains during the next week or two, yes. If thisdrought last, better leave ill alone; we shall only provoke the devil bystirring him up. "

"You speak confidently, " said the Major, gradually regaining his ownself-possession, as he saw Tom so self-possessed. "Have you--allow me toask so important a question--have you seen much of cholera?"

"I have worked through three. At Paris, at St. Petersburgh, and in theWest Indies: and I have been thinking up my old experience for the lastsix weeks, foreseeing what would come. "

"I am satisfied, sir; perhaps I ought to ask your pardon for thequestion. "

"Not at all. How can you trust a man, unless you know him?" "And youexpect it within the month? You shall go with me to Lord Scoutbushto-morrow, and--and now we will talk of something more pleasant. " And hebegan again upon the zoophites. 

Tom, as they chatted on, could not help wondering at the Major'sunexpected passion; and could not help remarking, also, that in spite ofhis desire to be agreeable, and to interest his guest in his scientificdiscoveries, he was yet distraught, and full of other thoughts. Whatcould be the meaning of it? Was it mere excess of human sympathy? Thecountenance hardly betokened that: but still, who can trust altogetherthe expression of a weather-hardened visage of forty-five? So the Doctorset it down to tenderness of heart, till a fresh vista opened on him. 

Major Campbell, he soon found, was as fond of insects as ofsea-monsters: and he began inquiring about the woods, the heaths, theclimate; which seemed to the Doctor, for a long time, to mean nothingmore than the question which he put plainly, "Where have I a chance ofrare insects?" But he seemed, after a while, to be trying to learn thegeography of the parish in detail, and especially of the ground roundVavasour's house. "However it's no business of mine, " thought Thurnall, and told him all he wanted, till--

"Then the house lies quite in the bottom of the glen? Is there a goodfall to the stream--for a stream I suppose there is?"

Thurnall shook his head. "Cold boggy stewponds in the garden, such asour ancestors loved, damming up the stream. They must needs have fish inLent, we know; and paid the penalty of it by ague and fever. "

"Stewponds damming up the stream? Scoutbush ought to drain theminstantly!" said the Major, half to himself. "But still the house lieshigh--with regard to the town, I mean. No chance of malaria coming up?"

"Upon my word, sir, as a professional man, that is a thing that I darenot say. The chances are not great--the house is two hundred yards fromthe nearest cottage: but if there be an east wind--"

"I cannot bear this any longer. It is perfect madness!"

"I trust, sir, that you do not think that I have neglected the matter. Ihave pointed it all out, I assure you, to Mr. Vavasour. "

"And it is not altered?"

"I believe it is to be altered--that is--the truth is, sir, that Mr. Vavasour shrinks so much from the very notion of cholera, that--"

"That he does not like to do anything which may look like believing inits possibility?"

"He says, " quoth Tom, parrying the question, but in a somewhat dry tone, "that he is afraid of alarming Mrs. Vavasour and the servants. "

The Major said something under his breath, which Tom did not catch, andthen, in an appeased tone of voice--

"Well, that is at least a fault on the right side. Mrs. Vavasour'sbrother, as owner of the place, is of course the proper person to makethe house fit for habitation. " And he relapsed into silence, whileThurnall, who suspected more than met the ear, rose to depart. 

"Are you going? It is not late; not ten o'clock yet. "

"A medical man, who may be called up at any moment, must make sure ofhis 'beauty sleep, '"

"I will walk with you, and smoke my last cigar. " So they went out, andup to Heale's. Tom went in: but he observed that his companion, afterstanding awhile in the street irresolutely, went on up the hill, and, asfar as he could see, turned up the lane to Vavasour's. 

"A mystery here, " thought he, as he put matters to rights in the surgeryere going upstairs. "A mystery which I may as well fathom. It may be ofuse to poor Tom, as most other mysteries are. That is, though, if I cando it honourably; for the man is a gallant gentleman. I like him, and Iam inclined to trust him. Whatsoever his secret is, I don't think thatit is one which he need be ashamed of. Still, 'there's a deal of humannatur' in man, ' and there may be in him:--and what matter if there is?"

Half an hour afterwards the Major returned, took the candle from Grace, who was sitting up for him, and went upstairs with a gentle "goodnight, " but without looking at her. 

He sat down at the open window, and looked out leaning on the sill. 

"Well, I was too late: I daresay there was some purpose in it. Whenshall I learn to believe that God takes better care of His own than Ican do? I was faithless and impatient to-night. I am afraid I betrayedmyself before that man. He looks like one, certainly, who could betrusted with a secret: yet I had rather that he had not mine. It is myown fault, like everything else! Foolish old fellow that you are, fretting and fussing to the end! Is not that scene a message from above, saying, 'Be still, and know that I am God'?"

And the Major looked out upon the summer sea, lit by a million globes ofliving fire, and then upon the waves which broke in flame upon thebeach, and then up to the spangled stars above. 

"What do I know of these, with all my knowing? Not even a twentieth partof those medusae, or one in each thousand of those sparks among thefoam. Perhaps I need not know. And yet why was the thirst awakened inme, save to be satisfied at last? Perhaps to become more intense, withevery fresh delicious draught of knowledge. .. . Death, beautiful, wise, kind death; when will you come and tell me what I want to know? Icourted you once and many a time, brave old Death, only to give rest tothe weary. That was a coward's wish, and so you would not come. I ranyou close in Afghanistan, old Death, and at Sobraon too, I was not farbehind you; and I thought I had you safe among that jungle grass atAliwal; but you slipped through my hand--I was not worthy of you. Andnow I will not hunt you any more, old Death: do you bide your time, andI mine; though who knows if I may not meet you here? Only when you comegive me not rest, but work. Give work to the idle, freedom to thechained, sight to the blind!--Tell me a little about finer things thanzoophytes--perhaps about the zoophytes as well--and you shall still bebrave old Death, my good camp-comrade now for many a year. "

Was Major Campbell mad? That depends upon the way in which the readermay choose to define the adjective. 

Meanwhile Scoutbush had walked into Penalva Court--where an affectingscene of reconciliation took place?

Not in the least. Scoutbush kissed Lucia, shook hands with Elsley, hugged the children, and then settled himself in an arm-chair, andtalked about the weather, exactly as if he had been running in and outof the house every week for the last three years, and so the matter wasdone; and for the first time a _partie carrée_ was assembled in thedining-room. 

The evening passed off at first as uncomfortably as it could, wherethree out of the four were well-bred people. Elsley was, of course, shybefore Lord Scoutbush, and Scoutbush was equally shy before Elsley, though as civil as possible to him; for the little fellow stood inextreme awe of Elsley's talents, and was afraid of opening his lipsbefore a poet. Lucia was nervous for both their sakes, as well she mightbe; and Valencia had to make all the talking, and succeeded capitally indrawing out both her brother and her brother-in-law, till both of themfound the other, on the whole more like other people than he hadexpected. The next morning's breakfast, therefore, was easy and graciousenough: and when it was over, and Lucia fled to household matters--

"You smoke, Vavasour?" asked Scoutbush. 

Vavasour did not smoke. 

"Really? I thought poets always smoked. You will not forbid my having acigar in your garden, nevertheless, I suppose! Do walk round with me, too, and show me the place, unless you are going to be busy. "

Oh no; Elsley was at Lord Scoutbush's service, of course, and had reallynothing to do. So out they went. 

"Charming old pigeon-hole it is, " said its owner, "I have not seen itsince I went into the Guards. Campbell says it's a shame of me, and soit is one, I suppose; but how beautiful you have made the garden look!"

"Lucia is very fond of gardening, " said Elsley, who was very fond of italso, and had great taste therein; but he was afraid to confess any suchtastes before a man who, he thought, would not understand him. 

"And that fine old wood--full of cocks it used to be--I hope you workedit well last year. "

Elsley did not shoot; but he had heard there was plenty of game there. 

"Plenty of cocks, " said his guest, correcting him; "but for game, theless we say about that the better. I really wonder you do not shoot; itfills up time so in the winter. "

"There is really no winter to fill up here, thanks to this deliciousclimate; and I have my books. "

"Ah! I wish I had. I wish heartily, " said he, in a confidential tone, "you, or Campbell, or some of your clever men, would sell me a little oftheir book-learning; as Valencia says to me, 'brains are so common inthe world, I wonder how none fell to your share. '"

"I do not think that they are an article which is for sale, if Solomonis to be believed. "

"And if they were, I couldn't afford to buy, with this Irish EncumberedEstates' Bill. But now, this is one thing I wanted to say. Is everythinghere just as you would wish? Of course no one could wish a bettertenant; but any repairs, you know, or improvements which I ought to doof course? Only tell me what you think should be done; for, of course, you know more about these things than I do--can't know less. "

"Nothing, I assure you, Lord Scoutbush. I have always left those mattersto Mr. Tardrew. "

"Ah, my dear fellow, you shouldn't do that. He is such a screw, as allhonest stewards are. Screws me, I know, and I dare say has screwed youtoo. "

"Never, I assure you. I never gave him the opportunity, and he has beenmost civil. "

"Well, in future, just order him to do what you like, and just as if youwere landlord, in fact; and if the old man haggles, write to me, andI'll blow him up. Delighted to have a man of taste like you here, whocan improve the place for me. "

"I assure you, Lord Scoutbush, I need nothing, nor does the place. I ama man of very few wants. "

"I wish I were, " sighed Scoutbush, pulling out another of Hudson'shighest-priced cigars. 

"And I am bound to say"--(and here Elsley choked a little; but theViscount's frankness and humility had softened him, and he determined tobe very magnanimous)--"I am bound in honour, after owing to yourkindness such an exquisite retreat--all that either I or Lucia couldhave fancied for ourselves, and more--not to trouble you by asking forlittle matters which we really do not need. "

And so Elsley, instead of simply asking to have the house-drains setright, which Lord Scoutbush would have done upon the spot, chose to belofty-minded, at the risk of killing his wife and children. 

"My dear follow, you really must not 'lord' me any more; I hate it. Imust be plain Scoutbush here among my own people, just as I am in theGuards' mess-room. And as for owing me any, --really, it is we that arein your debt--to see my sister so happy, and such beautiful children, and so well too--and altogether--and Valencia so delighted with yourpoems--and, and altogether--" and there Lord Scoutbush stopped, havinghoisted, as he considered, the flag of peace once and for all, and veryglad that the thing was over. 

Elsley was going to say something in return; but his guest turned theconversation as fast as he could. "And now, I know you want to be busy, though you are too civil to confess it; and I must be with that old foolTardrew at ten, to settle accounts: he'll scold me if I do not--theprecise old pedant--just as if I was his own child. Good-bye. "

"Where are you going, Frederick?" called Lucia, from the window; she hadbeen watching the interview anxiously enough, and could see that it hadended well. 

"To old Stot-and-kye at the farm: do you want anything?"

"No; only I thought you might be going to the yacht; and Valencia wouldhave walked down with you. She wants to find Major Campbell. "

"I want to scold Major Campbell, " said Valencia, tripping out on thelawn in her walking dress. "Why has he not been here an hour ago? I willundertake to say that he was up at four this morning. "

"He waits to be invited, I suppose, " said Scoutbush. 

"I suppose I must do it, " said Elsley to himself, sighing. 

"Just like his primness, " said Valencia. "I shall go down and bring himup myself this minute, and Mr. Vavasour shall come with me. Of courseyou will! You do not know what a delightful person he is, when once youcan break the ice. "

Elsley, like most vain men, was of a jealous temper; and Valencia'seagerness to see Major Campbell jarred on him. He wanted to keep theexquisite creature to himself, and Headley was quite enough of anintruder already. Beside, the accounts of the new comer, his learning, his military prowess, the reverence with which all, even Scoutbush, evidently regarded him, made him prepared to dislike the Major; and allthe more, now he heard that there was an ice-crust to crack. Impulsivemen like Elsley, especially when their self-respect and certainty oftheir own position is not very strong, have instinctively a defiant fearof the strong, calm, self-contained man, especially if he has seen theworld; and Elsley set down Major Campbell as a proud, sarcastic fellow, before whom he must be at the pains of being continually on his guard. He wished him a hundred miles away. However, there was no refusingValencia anything; so he got his hat, but with so bad a grace, thatValencia saw his chagrin, and from mere naughtiness of heart amusedherself with it by talking all the way of nothing but Major Campbell. 

"And Lucia, " she said at last, "will be so glad to see him again. Weknew him so well, you know, in Eaton Square years ago. "

"Really, " said Elsley, wincing, "I never met him there. " He recollectedthat Lucia had expressed more pleasure at Major Campbell's coming thaneven, at that of her brother; and a dark, undefined phantom entered hisheart, which, though he would have been too proud to confess it tohimself, was none other than jealousy. 

"Oh--did you not? No; it was the year before we first knew you. And weused to laugh at him together, behind his back, and christened him thewild Indian, because he was so gauche and shy. He was a major in theIndian army then: but a few months afterwards he sold out, went into theline--no one could tell why, for he threw away very brilliantprospects, they say, and might have been a general by now, instead of amere major still. But he is so improved since then; he is like an elderbrother to Scoutbush; guides him in everything. I call him the blindman, and the major his dog!"

"So much the worse, " thought Elsley, who disliked the notion ofCampbell's having power over a man to whom he was indebted for hishouse-room: but by this time they were at Mrs. Harvey's door. 

Mrs. Harvey opened it, curtseying to the very ground: and Valencia ranupstairs, and knocked at the sitting-room door herself. 

"Come in, " shouted a pre-occupied voice inside. 

"Is that a proper way in which to address a lady, sir?" answered she, putting in her beautiful head. 

Major Campbell was sitting, Elsley could see, in his shirt sleeves, cigar in mouth, bent over his microscope: but instead of the unexpectedprim voice, he heard a very gay and arch one answer, "Is that a properway in which to come peeping into an old bachelor's sanctuary, ma'am? Goaway this moment, till I make myself fit to be seen. "

Valencia shut the door again, laughing. 

"You seem very intimate with Major Campbell, " said Elsley. 

"Intimate? I look on him as my father almost. Now, may we come in?" saidshe, knocking again in pretty petulance. "I want to introduce Mr. Vavasour. "

"I shall be only too happy, " said the Major, opening his door (this timewith his coat on); "there are few persons in the world whom I have morewished to know than Mr. Vavasour. " And he held out his hand, and quiteled Elsley in. He spoke in a tone of grave interest, looking intently atElsley as he spoke. Valencia remarked the interest--Elsley only thecompliment. 

"It is a great kindness of you to call on me so soon, " said he. "I metMrs. Vavasour several times in years past; and though I saw very littleof her, I saw enough to long much for the acquaintance of the man whohas been worthy to become her husband. "

Elsley blushed, for his conscience smote him a little at that word"worthy, " and muttered some commonplace civility in return. Valencia sawit, and attributing it to his usual awkwardness, drew off theconversation to herself. 

"Really, Major Campbell! You bring in Mr. Vavasour, and let me walkbehind as I can; and then let me sit three whole minutes in your housewithout deigning to speak to me!"

"Ah! my dear Queen Whims!" answered he, returning suddenly to his gaytone; "and how have you been misbehaving yourself since we met last?"

"I have not been misbehaving myself at all, mon cher Saint Père, as Mr. Vavasour will answer for me, during the most delightful fortnight I everspent!"

"Delightful indeed!" said Elsley, as he was bound to say: but he said itwith an earnestness which made the Major fix his eyes on him. "Whyshould he not find any and every fortnight as delightful as his last?"said he to himself; but now Valencia began bantering him about his booksand his animals; wanting to look through his microscope, pulling off herhat for the purpose, laughing when her curls blinded her, letting themblind her in order to toss them back in the prettiest way, jesting athim about "his old fogies" at the Linnaean Society; clapping her handsin ecstasy when he answered that they were not old fogies at all, butthe most charming set of men in England, and that (with no offence tothe name of Scoutbush) he was prouder of being an F. L. S. , than if hewere a peer of the realm, --and so forth; all which harmless pleasantrymade Elsley cross, and more cross--first, because he did not mix in it;next, because he could not mix in it if he tried. He liked to be alwaysin the seventh heaven; and if other people were anywhere else, hethought them bores. 

At last, --"Now, if you will be good for five minutes, " said the Major, "I will show you something really beautiful. "

"I can see that, " answered she, with the most charming impudence, "inanother glass besides your magnifying one. "

"Be it so: but look here, and see what an exquisite world there is, ofwhich you never dream; and which behaves a great deal better in itsstation than the world of which you do dream!"

When Campbell spoke in that way, Valencia was good at once; and as shewent obediently to the microscope, she whispered, "Don't be angry withme, mon Saint Père. "

"Don't be naughty, then, _ma chère enfant_" whispered he; for he sawsomething about Elsley's face which gave him a painful suspicion. 

She looked long, and then lifted up her head suddenly--"Do come andlook, Mr. Vavasour, at this exquisite little glass fairy, like--I cannottell what like, but a pure spirit hovering in some nun's dream! Come!"

Elsley came, and looked; and when he looked he started, for it was thevery same zoophyte which Thurnall had shown him on a certain memorableday. 

"Where did you find the fairy, mon Saint Père?"

"I had no such good fortune. Mr. Thurnall, the doctor, gave it me. "

"Thurnall?" said she, while Elsley kept still looking, to hide cheekswhich were growing very red. "He is such a clever man, they say. Wheredid you meet him? I have often thought of asking Mr. Vavasour to invitehim up for an evening with his microscope. He seems so superior to thepeople round him. It would be a charity, really, Mr. Vavasour. "

Vavasour kept his eyes fixed on the zoophyte, and said, --

"I shall be only too delighted, if you wish it. "

"You will wish it yourself a second time, " chimed in Campbell, "if youtry it once. Perhaps you know nothing of him but professionally. Unfortunately for professional men, that too often happens. "

"Know anything of him--I! I assure you not, save that he attends Mrs. Vavasour and the children, " said Vavasour, looking up at last: but withan expression of anger which astonished both Valencia and Campbell. 

Campbell thought that he was too proud to allow rank as a gentleman to acountry doctor; and despised him from that moment, though, as ithappened, unjustly. But he answered quietly, --

"I assure you, that whatever some country practitioners may be, theaverage of them, as far as I have seen, are cleverer men, and even ofhigher tone than their neighbours; and Thurnall is beyond the average:he is a man of the world, --even too much of one, --and a man of science;and I fairly confess that, what with his wit, his _savoir vivre_, andhis genial good temper, I have quite fallen in love with him in a singleevening; we began last night on the microscope, and ended on all heavenand earth. "

"How I should like to make a third!"

"My dear Queen Whims would hear a good deal of sober sense, then; atleast on one side: but I shall not ask her: for Mr. Thurnall and I haveour deep secrets together. "

So spoke the Major, in the simple wish to exalt Tom in a quarter wherehe hoped to get him practice; and his "secret" was a mere jest, unnecessary, perhaps, as he thought afterwards, to pass off Tom's wantof orthodoxy. 

"I was a babbler then, " said he to himself the next moment; "how muchbetter to have simply held my tongue!"

"Ah; yes; I know men have their secrets, as well as women, " saidValencia, for the mere love of saying something: but as she looked atVavasour, she saw an expression in his face which she had never seenbefore. What was it?--All that one can picture for oneself branded intothe countenance of a man unable to repress the least emotion, who hadworked himself into the belief that Thurnall had betrayed his secret. 

"My dear Mr. Vavasour, " cried Campbell, of course unable to guess thetruth, and supposing vaguely that he was 'ill;' "I am sure that--thatthe sun has overpowered you" (the only possible thing he could thinkof). "Lie down on the sofa a minute" (Vavasour was actually reeling withrage and terror), "and I will run up to Thurnall's for salvolatile. "

Elsley, who thought him the most consummate of hypocrites, cast on him alook which he intended to have been withering, and rushed out of theroom, leaving the two staring at each other. 

Valencia was half inclined to laugh, knowing Elsley's petulance andvanity: but the impossibility of guessing a cause kept her quiet. 

Major Campbell stood for full five minutes; not as one astounded, but asone in deep and anxious thought. 

"What can be the matter, mon Saint Père?" asked she at last, to breakthe silence. 

"That there are more whims in the world than yours, dear Queen Whims;and I fear darker ones. Let us walk up together after this man. I haveoffended him. "

"Nonsense! I dare say he wanted to get home to write poetry, as you didnot praise what he had written. I know his vanity and flightiness. "

"You do?" asked he quickly, in a painful tone. "However, I have offendedhim, I can see; and deeply. I must go up, and make things right, for thesake of--for everybody's sake. "

"Then do not ask me anything. Lucia loves him intensely, and let that beenough for us. "

The Major saw the truth of the last sentence no more than Valenciaherself did; for Valencia would have been glad enough to pour out tohim, with every exaggeration, her sister's woes and wrongs, real andfancied, had not the sense of her own folly with Vavasour kept hersilent and conscience-stricken. 

Valencia remarked the Major's pained look as they walked up the street. 

"You dear conscientious Saint Père, why will you fret yourself aboutthis foolish matter? He will have forgotten it all in an hour; I knowhim well enough. "

Major Campbell was not the sort of person to admire Elsley the more forthrowing away capriciously such deep passion as he had seen him show, any more than for showing the same. 

"He must be of a very volatile temperament. "

"Oh, all geniuses are. "

"I have no respect for genius, Miss St. Just; I do not even acknowledgeits existence when there is no strength and steadiness of character. Ifany one pretends to be more than a man, he must begin by proving himselfa man at all. Genius? Give me common sense and common decency! Does hegive Mrs. Vavasour, pray, the benefit of any of these pretty flights ofgenius?"

Valencia was frightened. She had never heard her Saint Père speak soseverely and sarcastically; and she feared that if he knew the truth hewould be terribly angry. She had never seen him angry; but she knew wellenough that that passion, when it rose in him in a righteous cause, would be very awful to see; and she was one of those women who alwaysgrow angry when they are frightened. So she was angry at his calling herMiss St. Just; she was angry because she chose to think he was talkingat her; though she reasonably might have guessed it, seeing that he hadscolded her a hundred times for want of steadiness of character. She wasmore angry than all, because she knew that her own vanity had caused--atleast disagreement--between Lucia and Elsley. All which (combined withher natural wish not to confess an unpleasant truth about her sister)justified her, of course, in answering, --

"Miss St. Just does not intrude into the secrets of her sister's marriedlife; and if she did, she would not repeat them. "

Major Campbell sighed, and walked on a few moments in silence, then, --

"Pardon, Miss St. Just; I asked a rude question, and I am sorry for it. "

"Pardon you, my dear Saint Père?" cried she, almost catching at hishand. "Never! I must either believe you infallible, or hate youeternally. It is I that was naughty; I always am; but you will forgiveQueen Whims?"

"Who could help it?" said the Major, in a sad, sweet tone. "But here isthe postman. May I open my letters?"

"You may do as you like, now you have forgiven me. Why, what is it, monSaint Père?"

A sudden shock of horror had passed over the Major's face, as he readhis letter: but it had soon subsided into stately calm. 

"A gallant officer, whom we and all the world knew well, is dead ofcholera, at his post, where a man should die. .. . And, my dear Miss St. Just, we are going to the Crimea. "

"We?--you?"

"Yes. The expedition will really sail, I find. "

"But not you?"

"I shall offer my services. My leave of absence will, in any case, endon the first of September; and even if it did not, my health is quiteenough restored to enable me to walk up to a cannon's mouth. "

"Ah, mon Saint Père, what words are these?"

"The words of an old soldier, Queen Whims, who has been so long at histrade that he has got to take a strange pleasure in it. "

"In killing?"

"No; only in the chance of----. But I will not cast an unnecessaryshadow over your bright soul. There will be shadows enough over it soon, without my help. "

"What do you mean?"

"That you, and thousands more as delicate, if not as fair as you, willsee, ere long, what the realities of human life are; and in a way ofwhich you have never dreamed. "

And he murmured, half to himself, the words of the prophet, --"'Thousaidst, I shall sit as a lady for ever: but these two things shall comeupon thee in one day, widowhood and the loss of children. They shalleven come upon thee, '--No! not in their fulness! There are nobleelements beneath the crust, which will come out all the purer from thefire; and we shall have heroes and heroines rising up among us as ofold, sincere and earnest, ready to face their work, and to do it, and tocall all things by their right names once more; and Queen Whims herselfwill become what Queen Whims might be!"

Valencia was awed, as well she might have been; for there was a verydeep sadness about Campbell's voice. 

"You think there will be def--disasters?" said she, at last. 

"How can I tell? That we are what we always were, I doubt not. Scoutbushwill fight as merrily as I. But we owe the penalty of many sins, and weshall pay it. "

It would be as unfair, perhaps, as easy, to make Major Campbell aprophet after the fact, by attributing to him any distinct expectationof those mistakes which have been but too notorious since. Much of thesadness in his tone may have been due to his habitual melancholy; hisstrong belief that the world was deeply diseased, and that some terriblepurgation would surely come, when it was needed. But it is difficult, again, to conceive that those errors were altogether unforeseen by manyan officer of Campbell's experience and thoughtfulness. 

"We will talk no more of it just now. " And they walked up to PenalvaCourt, seriously enough. 

"Well, Scoutbush, any letters from town?" said the Major. 

"Yes. "

"You have heard what has happened at D---- Barracks?"

"Yes. "

"You had better take care then, that the like of it does not happenhere. "

"Here?"

"Yes. I'll tell you all presently. Have you heard from head-quarters?"

"Yes; all right, " said Scoutbush, who did not like to let out the truthbefore Valencia. 

Campbell saw it and signed to him to speak out. 

"A11 right?" asked Valencia. "Then you are not going?"

"Ay, but I am! Orders to join my regiment by the first of October, andto be shot as soon afterwards as is fitting for the honour of mycountry. So, Miss Val, you must be quick in making good friends with theheir-at-law; or else you won't get your bills paid any more. "

"Oh, dear, dear!" And Valencia began to cry bitterly. It was her firstreal sorrow. 

Strangely enough, Major Campbell, instead of trying to comfort her, tookScoutbush out with him, and left her alone with her tears. He could notrest till he had opened the whole cholera question. 

Scoutbush was honestly shocked. Who would have dreamed it? No one hadever told him that the cholera had really been there before. What couldhe do? Send for Thurnall?

Tom was sent for; and Scoutbush found, to his horror, that what littlehe could have ever done ought to have been done three months ago, withLord Minchampstead's improvements at Pentremochyn. 

The little man walked up and down, and wrung his hands. He cursedTardrew for not telling him the truth; he cursed himself for letting thecottages go out of his power; he cursed A, B, and C, for taking the saidcottages off his hands; he cursed up, he cursed down, he cursed allaround, things which ought to have been cursed, and things which reallyought not--for half of the worst sanatory sinners, in this blessed ageof ignorance, yclept of progress and science (how our grandchildren willlaugh at the epithets!) are utterly unconscious and guiltless ones. 

But cursing leaves him, as it leaves other men, very much where he hadstarted. 

To do him justice, he was in one thing a true nobleman, for he was aboveall pride; as are most men of rank, who know what their own rank means. It is only the upstart, unaccustomed to his new eminence, who stands onhis dignity, and "asserts his power. "

So Scoutbush begged humbly of Thurnall only to tell him what he coulddo. 

"You might use your moral influence, my lord. "

"Moral influence?" in a tone which implied naively enough, "I'd betterget a little morals myself before I talk of using the same. "

"Your position in the parish--"

"My good sir!" quoth Scoutbush in his shrewd way; "do you not knowyourself what these fine fellows who were ready yesterday to kiss thedust off my feet would say, if I asked leave to touch a single hair oftheir rights?--'Tell you what, my lord; we pays you your rent, and youtakes it. You mind your business, and we'll mind our'n. ' You forget thattimes are changed since my seventeenth progenitor was lord of life andlimb over man and maid in Aberalva. "

"And since your seventeenth progenitor took the trouble to live atPenalva Court, " said Campbell, "instead of throwing away what littlemoral influence he had by going into the Guards, and spending his timebetween Rotten Row and Cowes. "

"Hardly fair, Major Campbell!" quoth Tom; "you forget that in the oldtimes, if the Lord of Aberalva was responsible for his people, he hadalso by law the power of making them obey him. "

"The long and the short of it is, then, " said Scoutbush a little tartly, "that I can do nothing. "

"You can put to rights the cottages which are still in your hands, mylord. For the rest, my only remaining hope lies in the last person whomone would usually depute on such an errand. "

"Who is that?"

"The schoolmistress. "

"The who?" asked Scoutbush. 

"The schoolmistress; at whose house Major Campbell lodges. "

And Tom told them, succinctly, enough to justify his strange assertion. 

"If you doubt me, my lord, I advise you to ask Mr. Headley. He is nofriend of hers; being a high churchman, while she is a little inclinedto be schismatic; but an enemy's opinion will be all the more honest. "

"She must be a wonderful woman, " said Scoutbush; "I should like to seeher. "

"And I too, " said Campbell, "I passed a lovely girl on the stairs lastnight, and thought no more of it. Lovely girls are common enough in WestCountry ports. "

"We'll go and see her, " quoth his lordship. 

Meanwhile, Aberalva pier was astonished by a strange phenomenon. A boatfrom the yacht landed at the pier-head, not only Claude Mellot, whosebeard was an object of wonder to the fishermen, but a tall three-leggedbox and a little black tent; which, being set upon the pier, became thescene of various mysterious operations, carried on by Claude and asailor lad. 

"I say!" quoth one of the fishing elders, after long suspicious silence;"I say, lads, this won't do. We can't have no outlandish foreignerstaking observations here!"

And then dropped out one wild suspicion after another. 

"Maybe he's surveying for a railroad?"

"Maybe he's from the Trinity House, going to make a new harbour; ormaybe a lighthouse. And then we'd better not meddle wi' him. "

"I'll tell you what he be. He's that here government chap as the Doctorsaid he'd bring down to set our drains right. "

"If he goes meddling with our drains, and knocking of our back-yardsabout, he'll find himself over quay before he's done. "

"Steady! Steady. He come with my loord, mind. "

"He might a' taken in his loordship, and be a Roossian spy to the bottomof him after all. They mak' munselves up into all manner ofdisguisements, specially beards. I've seed the Roossians with theirbeards many a time. "

"Maybe 'tis witchcraft. Look to mun, putting mun's head under that blackbag now! He'm after no good, I'll warrant. If they ben't works ofdarkness, what be?"

"Leastwise he'm no right to go spying here on our quay, and never axwith your leave, or by your leave. I'll just goo mak' mun out. "

And Claude, who had just retreated into his tent, had the pleasure offinding the curtain suddenly withdrawn, and as a flood of light rushedin, spoiling his daguerreotype plate, hearing a voice as of a sleepybear--

"Ax your pardon, sir; but what be you arter here?"

"Murder! shut the screen!" But it was too late; and Claude came out, while the eldest-born of Anak stood sternly inquiring, --

"I say, what be you arter here, mak' so boold?"

"Taking sun-pictures, my good sir, and you have spoilt one for me. "

"Sun-picturs, saith a?" in a very incredulous tone. 

"Daguerreotypes of the place, for Lord Scoutbush. "

"Oh!--if it's his lordship's wish, of course! Only things is very wellas they are, and needs no mending, thank God. Only, ax pardon, sir. Yousee, we don't generally allow no interfering on our pier without lave, sir; the pier being ourn, we pays for the repairing. So, if his lordshipintends making of alterations, he'd better to have spoken to us first. "

"Alterations?" said Claude, laughing; "the place is far too pretty toneed any improvement. "

"Glad you think so, sir! But whatever be you arter here?"

"Taking views! I'm a painter, an artist! I'll take your portrait, if youlike!" said Claude, laughing more and more. 

"Bless my heart, what vules we be! 'Tis a paainter gentleman, lads!"roared he. 

"What on earth did you take me for? A Russian spy?"

The elder shook his head; grinned solemnly; and peace was concluded. "We'm old-fashioned folks here, you see, sir; and don't like nonew-fangled meddlecomes. You'll excuse us; you'm very welcome to do whatyou like, and glad to see you here. " And the old fellow made a statelybow, and moved away. 

"No, no! you must stay and have your portrait taken; you'll make a finepicture. "

"Hum; might ha', they used to say, thirty years agone; I'm over old now. Still, my old woman might like it. Make so bold, sir, but what's yourcharge?"

"I charge nothing. Five minutes' talk with an honest man will pay me. "

"Hum: if you'd a let me pay you, sir, well and good; but I maunt take upyour time for nought; that's not fair. "

However, Claude prevailed, and in ten minutes he had all the sailors onthe quay round him; and one after another came forward blushing andgrinning to be "taken off. " Soon the children gathered round, and whenValencia and Major Campbell came on the pier, they found Claude in themidst of a ring of little dark-haired angels; while a dozen honestfellows grinned when their own visages appeared, and chaffed each otherabout the sweethearts who were to keep them while they were out at sea. And in the midst little Claude laughed and joked, and told good stories, and gave himself up, the simple, the sunny-hearted fellow, to thepleasure of pleasing, till he earned from one and all the character of"the pleasantest-spokenest gentleman that was ever into the town. "

"Here's her ladyship! make room for her ladyship!" But Claude held up awarning hand. He had just arranged a masterpiece, --half-a-dozen of theprettiest children, sitting beneath a broken boat, on spars, sails, blocks, lobster-pots, and what not, arranged in picturesque confusion;while the black-bearded sea-kings round were promising them rock andbulls-eyes, if they would only sit still like "gude maids. "

But at Valencia's coming the children all looked round, and jumped upand curtsied, and then were afraid to sit down again. 

"You have spoilt my group, Miss St. Just, and you must mend it!"

Valencia caught the humour, regrouped them all forthwith; and thenplaced herself in front of them by Claude's side. 

"Now, be good children! Look straight at me, and listen!" And lifting upher finger, she began to sing the first song of which she could think, "The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers. "

She had no need to bid the children look at her and listen; for not onlythey, but every face upon the pier was fixed upon her; breathless, spell-bound, at once by her magnificent beauty and her magnificentvoice, as up rose, leaping into the clear summer air, and rolling awayover the still blue sea, that glorious melody which has now become thenational anthem to the nobler half of the New World. Honour to woman, and honour to old England, that from Felicia Hemans came the song whichwill last, perhaps, when modern Europe shall have shared the fate ofancient Rome and Greece!

Valencia's singing was the reflex of her own character; and therefore, perhaps, all the more fitted to the song, the place, and the audience. It was no modest cooing voice, tender, suggestive, trembling withsuppressed emotion, such as, even though narrow in compass, and dull inquality, will touch the deepest fibres of the heart, and, as delicatescents will sometimes do, wake up long-forgotten dreams, which seemmemories of some antenatal life. 

It was clear, rich, massive, of extraordinary compass, and yet full ofall the graceful ease, the audacious frolic, of perfect physical health, and strength, and beauty; had there been a trace of effort in it, itmight have been accused of "bravura:" but there was no need of effortwhere nature had bestowed already an all but perfect organ, and all thatwas left for science was to teach not power, but control. Above all, itwas a voice which you trusted; after the first three notes you felt thatthat perfect ear, that perfect throat, could never, even by thethousandth part of a note, fall short of melody; and you gave your soulup to it, and cast yourself upon it, to bear you up and away, like afairy steed, whither it would, down into the abysses of sadness, and upto the highest heaven of joy; as did those wild and rough, and yettenderhearted and imaginative men that day, while every face spoke newdelight, and hung upon those glorious notes, --

 "As one who drinks from a charmed cup Of sparkling, and foaming, and murmuring wine"--

and not one of them, had he had the gift of words, but might have saidwith the poet:--

 "I have no life, Constantia, now but thee, While, like the world-surrounding air, thy songFlows on, and fills all things with melody. Now is thy voice tempest swift and strong, On which, like one in a trance upborne, Secure o'er rocks and waves I sweep, Rejoicing like a cloud of morn. Now 'tis the breath of summer night, Which, when the starry waters sleep Round western isles, with incense-blossoms bright, Lingering, suspends my soul in its voluptuous flight. "

At last it ceased: and all men drew their breaths once more; while alow murmur of admiration ran through the crowd, too well-bred to applaudopenly, as they longed to do. 

"Did you ever hear the like of that, Gentleman Jan?"

"Or see? I used to say no one could hold a candle to our Grace but she--she looked like a born queen all the time!"

"Well, she belongs to us, too, so we've a right to be proud of her. Why, here's our Grace all the while!"

True enough; Grace had been standing among the crowd all the while, rapt, like them, her eyes fixed on Valencia, and full, too, of tears. They had been called up first by the melody itself, and then, by a chainof thought peculiar to Grace, by the faces round her. 

"Ah! if Grace had been here!" cried one, "we'd have had her dra'ed offin the midst of the children. "

"Ah! that would ha' been as nat'ral as life!"

"Silence, you!" says Gentleman Jan, who generally feels a mission toteach the rest of the quay good manners, "'Tis the gentleman's pleasureto settle who he'll dra' off, and not wer'n. "

To which abnormal possessive pronoun, Claude rejoined, --

"Not a bit! whatever you like. I could not have a better figure for thecentre. I'll begin again. "

"Oh, do come and sit among the children, Grace!" says Valencia. 

"No, thank your ladyship. "

Valencia began urging her; and many a voice round, old as well as young, backed the entreaty. 

"Excuse me, my lady, " and she slipped into the crowd; but as she wentshe spoke low, but clear enough to be heard by all: "No: it will be timeenough to flatter me, and ask for my picture, when you do what I tellyou--what God tells you!"

"What's that, then, Grace dear?"

"You know! I've asked you to save your own lives from cholera, and youhave not the common sense to do it. Let me go home and pray for you!"

There was an awkward silence among the men, till some fellow said, --

"She'm gone mad after that doctor, I think, with his muck-huntingnotions. "

And Grace went home, to await the hour of afternoon school. 

"What a face!" said Mellot. 

"Is it not? Come and see her in her school, when the children go in attwo o'clock. Ah! there are Scoutbush and St. Père. "

"We are going to the school, my lord. Don't you think that, as patron ofthings in general here, it would look well if you walked in, andsignified your full approbation of what you know nothing about?"

"So much so, that I was just on my way there with Campbell. But I mustjust speak to that lime-burning fellow. He wants a new lease of thekiln, and I suppose he must have it. At least, here he comes, running atme open-mouthed, and as dry as his own waistband. It makes one thirstyto look at him. I'll catch you up in five minutes!"

So the three went off to the school. 

 * * * * *

Grace was telling, in her own sweet way, that charming story of theThree Trouts, which, by the by, has been lately pirated (as many thingsare) by a religious author, whose book differs sufficiently from theliberal and wholesome morality of the true author of the tale. 

"What a beautiful story, Grace!" said Valencia. "You will surpass HansAnderssen some day. "

Grace blushed, and was silent a moment. 

"It is not my own, my lady. "

"Not your own? I should have thought that no one but you and Anderssencould have made such an ending to it. "

Grace gave her one of those beseeching, half-reproachful looks, withwhich she always answered praise; and then, --"Would you like to hear thechildren repeat a hymn, my lady?"

"No. I want to know where that story came from. "

Grace blushed, and stammered. 

"I know where, " said Campbell. "You need not be ashamed of having readthe book, Miss Harvey. I doubt not that you took all the good from it, and none of the harm, if harm there be. "

Grace looked at him; at once surprised and relieved. 

"It was a foolish romance-book, sir, as you seem to know. It was theonly one which I ever read, except Hans Anderssen's, --which are notromances, after all. But the beginning was so full of God's truth, sir, --romance though it was, --and gave me such precious new light abouteducating children, that I was led on unawares. I hope I was not wrong. "

"This schoolroom proves that you were not, " said Campbell. "'To thepure, all things are pure. '"

"What is this mysterious book? I must know!" said Valencia. 

"A very noble romance, which I made Mellot read once, containing theideal education of an English nobleman, in the middle of the lastcentury. "

"The Fool of Quality?" said Mellot. "Of course! I thought I had heardthe story before. What a well-written book it is, too, in spite of allextravagance and prolixity. And how wonderfully ahead of his generationthe man who wrote it, in politics as well as in religion!"

"I must read it, " said Valencia. "You must lend it me, Saint Père. "

"Not yet, I think. "

"Why?" whispered she, pouting. "I suppose I am not as pure as GraceHarvey?"

"She has the children to educate, who are in daily contact with coarsesins, of which you know nothing--of which she cannot help knowing. Itwas written in an age when the morals of our class (more shame to us)were on the same level with the morals of her class now. Let it alone. Ioften have fancied I should edit a corrected edition of it. When I do, you shall read that. "

"Now, Miss Harvey, " said Mellot, who had never taken his eyes off herface, "I want to turn schoolmaster, and give your children a drawinglesson. Get your slates, all of you!"

And taking possession of the black board and a piece of chalk, Claudebegan sketching them imps and angels, dogs and horses, till the schoolrang with shrieks of delight. 

"Now, " said he, wiping the board, "I'll draw something, and you shallcopy it. "

And, without taking off his hand, he drew a single line; and a profilehead sprang up, as if by magic, under his firm, unerring touch. 

"Somebody?" "A lady!" "No, 'taint; 'tis schoolmistress!"

"You can't copy that; I'll draw you another face. " And he sketched afull face on the board. 

"That's my lady. " "No, it's schoolmistress again!" "No it's not!"

"Not quite sure, my dears?" said Claude, half to himself. "Then here!"and wiping the board once more, he drew a three-quarters face, whichelicited a shout of approbation. 

"That's schoolmistress, her very self!"

"Then you cannot do anything better than try and draw it. I'll show youhow. " And going over the lines again, one by one, the crafty Claudepretended to be giving a drawing lesson, while he was really studyingevery feature of his model. 

"If you please, my lady, " whispered Grace to Valencia; "I wish thegentleman would not. "

"Why not?"

"Oh, madam, I do not judge any one else: but why should this poorperishing flesh be put into a picture? We wear it but for a littlewhile, and are blessed when we are rid of its burden. Why wish to keep acopy of what we long to be delivered from?"

"It will please the children, Grace, " said Valencia, puzzled. "See howthey are all trying to copy it, from love of you. "

"Who am I? I want them to do things from love of God. No, madam, I waspained (and no offence to you) when I was asked to have my likenesstaken on the quay. There's no sin in it, of course: but let those whoare going away to sea, and have friends at home, have their picturestaken: not one who wishes to leave behind her no likeness of her own, only Christ's likeness in these children; and to paint Him to otherpeople, not to be painted herself. Do ask him to rub it out, my lady!"

"Why, Grace, we were all just wishing to have a likeness of you. Everyone has their picture taken for a remembrance. "

"The saints and martyrs never had theirs, as far as I ever heard, andyet they are not forgotten yet. I know it is the way of great peoplelike you. I saw your picture once, in a book Miss Heale had; and did notwonder, when I saw it, that people wished to remember such a face asyours: and since I have seen you, I wonder still less. "

"My picture? where?"

"In a book--'The Book of Beauty, ' I believe they called it. "

"My dear Grace, " said Valencia, laughing and blushing, "if you everlooked in your glass, you must know that you are quite as worthy of aplace in 'The Book of Beauty' as I am. "

Grace shook her head with a serious smile. "Every one in their place, madam. I cannot help knowing that God has given me a gift: but why, Icannot tell. Certainly not for the same purpose as He gave it to youfor, --a simple country girl like me. If He have any use for it, He willuse it, as He does all His creatures, without my help. At all events itwill not last long; a few years more, perhaps a few months, and it willbe food for worms; and then people will care as little about my looks asI care now. I wish, my lady, you would stop the gentleman!"

"Mr. Mellot, draw the children something simpler, please;--a dog or acat. " And she gave Claude a look which he obeyed. 

Valencia felt in a more solemn mood than usual as she walked home thatday. 

"Well, " said Claude, "I have here every line and shade, and she cannotescape me. I'll go on board and paint her right off from memory, whileit is fresh. Why, here come Scoutbush and the Major. "

"Miss Harvey, " said Scoutbush, trying, as he said to Campbell, "to lookas grand as a sheep-dog among a pack of fox-hounds, and very thankfulall the while he had no tail to be bitten off"--"Miss Harvey, I--we--have heard a great deal in praise of your school; and so I thought Ishould like to come and see it. "

"Would your lordship like to examine the children?" says Grace, curtseying to the ground. 

"No--thanks--that is--I have no doubt you teach them all that's right, and we are exceedingly gratified with the way in which you conduct theschool. --I say Val, " cried Scoutbush, who could support the part ofpatron no longer, "what pretty little ducks they are, I wish I had adozen of them! Come you here!" and down he sat on a bench, and gathereda group round him. 

"Now, are you all good children? I'm sure you look so!" said he, lookinground into the bright pure faces, fresh from Leaven, and feeling himselfthe nearer heaven as he did so. "Ah! I see Mr. Mellot's been drawing youpictures. He's a clever man, a wonderful man, isn't he? I can't draw youpictures, nor tell you stories, like your schoolmistress. What shall Ido?"

"Sing to them, Fred!" said Valencia. 

And he began warbling a funny song, with a child on each knee, and hisarms round three or four more, while the little faces looked up intohis, half awe-struck at the presence of a live lord, half longing tolaugh, but not sure whether it would be right. 

Valencia and Campbell stood close together, exchanging looks. 

"Dear fellow!" whispered she, "so simple and good when he is himself!And he must go to that dreadful war!"

"Never mind. Perhaps by this very act he is earning permission to comeback again, a wiser and a more useful man. "

"How then?"

"Is he not making friends with angels who always behold our Father'sface? At least he is showing capabilities of good, which God gave; andwhich therefore God will never waste. "

"Now, shall I sing you another song?"

"Oh yes, please!" rose from a dozen little mouths. 

"You must not be troublesome to his lordship, " says Grace. 

"Oh no, I like it. I'll sing them one more song, and then--I want tospeak to you, Miss Harvey. "

Grace curtsied, blushed, and shook all over. What could Lord Scoutbushwant to say to her?

That indeed was not very easy to discover at first; for Scoutbush feltso strongly the oddity of taking a pretty young woman into his counselon a question of sanitary reform, that he felt mightily inclined tolaugh, and began beating about the bush, in a sufficiently confusedfashion. 

"Well, Miss Harvey, I am exceedingly pleased with--with what I have seenof the school--that is, what my sister tells, and the clergyman--"

"The clergyman?" thought Grace, surprised, as she well might be, at whatwas entirely an impromptu invention of his lordship's. 

"And--and--there is ten pounds toward the school, and--and, I will givean annual subscription the same amount. "

"Mr. Headley receives the subscriptions, my lord, " said Grace, drawingback from the proffered note. 

"Of course, " quoth Scoutbush, trusting again to an impromptu: "but thisis for yourself--a small mark of our sense of your--your usefulness. "

If any one has expected that Grace is about to conduct herself, duringthis interview, in any wise like a prophetess, tragedy queen, or otherexalted personage; to stand upon her native independence, and scorningthe bounty of an aristocrat, to read the said aristocrat a lecture onhis duties and responsibilities, as landlord of Aberalva town; then willthat person be altogether disappointed. It would have looked very well, doubtless: but it would have been equally untrue to Grace's womanhood, and to her notions of Christianity. Whether all men were or were notequal in the sight of Heaven, was a notion which, had never crossed hermind. She knew that they would all be equal in heaven, and that wasenough for her. Meanwhile, she found lords and ladies on earth, andseeing no open sin in the fact of their being richer and more powerfulthan she was, she supposed that God had put them where they were; andshe accepted them simply as facts of His kingdom. Of course they hadtheir duties, as every one has: but what they were she did not know, orcare to know. To their own master they stood or fell; her business waswith her own duties, and with her own class, whose good and evil sheunderstood by practical experience. So when a live lord made hisappearance in her school, she looked at him with vague wonder andadmiration, as a being out of some other planet, for whom she had nogauge or measure: she only believed that he had vast powers of doinggood unknown to her; and was delighted by seeing him condescend to playwith her children. The truth may be degrading, but it must be told. People, of course, who know the hollowness of the world, and the vanityof human wealth and honour, and are accustomed to live with lords andladies, see through all that, just as clearly as any American republicandoes; and care no more about walking down Pall-Mall with the Marquis ofCarabas, who can get them a place or a living, than with Mr. Two-shoes, who can only borrow ten pounds of them; but Grace was a poor simpleWest-country girl; and as such we must excuse her, if, curtseying to thevery ground, with tears of gratitude in her eyes, she took the ten-poundnote, saying to herself, "Thank the Good Lord! This will just paymother's account at the mill. "

Likewise we must excuse her if she trembled a little, being a youngwoman--though being also a lady, she lost no jot of self-possession--when his lordship went on in as important a tone as he could--

"And--and I hear, Miss Harvey, that you have a great influence overthese children's parents. "

"I am afraid some one has misinformed your lordship, " said Grace, in alow voice. 

"Ah!" quoth Scoutbush, in a tone meant to be reassuring; "it is quiteproper in you to say so. What eyes she has! and what hair! and whathands, too!" (This was, of course, spoken mentally. ) "But we knowbetter; and we want you to speak to them, whenever you can, aboutkeeping their houses clean, and all that, in case the cholera shouldcome. " And Scoutbush stopped. It was a quaint errand enough; andbesides, as he told Mellot frankly, "I could think of nothing but thosewonderful eyes of hers, and how like they were to La Signora's. "

Grace had been looking at the ground all the while. Now she threw uponhim one of her sudden, startled looks, and answered slowly, as her eyesdropped again:

"I have, my lord; but they will not listen to me. "

"Won't listen to you? Then to whom will they listen?"

"To God, when He speaks Himself, " said she, still looking on the ground. Scoutbush winced uneasily. He was not accustomed to solemn words, spokenso solemnly. 

"Do you hear this, Campbell? Miss Harvey has been talking to thesepeople already, and they won't hear her. "

"Miss Harvey, I dare say, is not astonished at that. It is the usualfate of those who try to put a little common sense into theirfellow-men. "

"Well, and I shall, at all events, go off and give them my mind on thematter; though I suppose (with a glance at Grace) I can't expect to beheard where Miss Harvey has not been. "

"Oh, my lord, " cried Grace, "if you would but speak--" And there shestopped; for was it her place to tell him his duty? No doubt he hadwiser people than her to counsel him. 

But the moment the party left the school, Grace dropped into her chair;her head fell on the table, and she burst into an agony of weeping, which brought the whole school round her. 

"Oh, my darlings! my darlings!" cried she at last, looking up, andclasping them to her by twos and threes; "Is there no way of saving you?No way! Then we must make the more haste to be good, and be all readywhen Jesus comes to take us. " And shaking off her passion with onestrong effort, she began teaching those children as she had never taughtthem before, with a voice, a look, as of Stephen himself when he saw theheavens opened. 

For that burst of weeping was the one single overflow of long pentpassion, disappointment, and shame. 

She had tried, indeed. Ever since Tom's conversation and Frank's sermonhad poured in a flood of new light on the meaning of epidemics, andbodily misery, and death itself, she had been working as only she couldwork; exhorting, explaining, coaxing, warning, entreating with tears, offering to perform with her own hands the most sickening offices; tobecome, if no one else would, the common scavenger of the town. Therewas no depth to which, in her noble enthusiasm, she would not have gonedown. And behold, it had been utterly in vain! Ah! the bitterdisappointment of finding her influence fail her utterly, the first timethat it was required for a great practical work! They would let her talkto them about their souls, then!--They would even amend a few sins hereand there, of which they had been all along as well aware as she. But tobe convinced of a new sin; to have their laziness, pride, covetousness, touched; that, she found, was what they would not bear; and where shehad expected, if not thanks, at least a fair hearing, she had been metwith peevishness, ridicule, even anger and insult. 

Her mother had turned against her. "Why would she go getting a bad namefrom every one, and driving away customers?" The preachers, who were (asis too common in West-country villages) narrow, ignorant, and somewhatunscrupulous men, turned against her. They had considered the cholera, if it was to come, as so much spiritual capital for themselves; anoccasion which they could "improve" into a sensation, perhaps a"revival;" and to explain it upon mere physical causes was to rob themof their harvest. Coarse viragos went even farther still, and dared toask her "whether it was the curate or the doctor she was setting her capat: for she never had anything in her mouth now but what they had said?"And those words went through her heart like a sword. Was shedisinterested? Was not love for Thurnall, the wish to please him, mingling with all her earnestness? And again, was not self-love minglingwith it? and mingling, too, with the disappointment, even indignation, which she felt at having failed? Ah--what hitherto hidden spots ofself-conceit, vanity, pharisaic pride, that bitter trial laid bare, orseemed to lay, till she learned to thank her unseen Guide even for it!

Perhaps she had more reason to be thankful for her humiliation than shecould suspect, with her narrow knowledge of the world. Perhaps thatsudden downfall of her fancied queenship was needed, to shut her out, once and for all, from that downward path of spiritual intoxication, followed by spiritual knavery, which, as has been hinted, was but tooeasy for her. 

But meanwhile the whole thing was but a fresh misery. To bear the burdenof Cassandra day and night, seeing in fancy--which yet was truth--theblack shadow of death hanging over that doomed place; to dream of whomit might sweep off;--perhaps, worst of all, her mother, unconfessed andimpenitent!

Too dreadful! And dreadful, too, the private troubles which werethickening fast; and which seemed, instead of drawing her mother to herside, to estrange her more and more, for some mysterious reason. Hermother was heavily in debt. This ten pounds of Lord Scoutbush's wouldcertainly clear off the miller's bill. Her scanty quarter's salary, which was just due, would clear off a little more. But there was along-standing account of the wholesale grocer's for five-and-twentypounds, for which Mrs. Harvey had given a two months' bill. That billwould become due early in September: and how to meet it, neither mothernor daughter knew; it lay like a black plague-spot on the future, onlysurpassed in horror by the cholera itself. 

It might have been three or four days after, that Claude, lounging afterbreakfast on deck, was hailed from a dingy, which contained CaptainWillis and Gentleman Jan. 

"Might we take the liberty of coming aboard to speak with your honour?"

"By all means!" and up the side they came; their faces evidently bigwith some great purpose, and each desirous that the other should begin. 

"You speak, Captain, " says Jan, "you'm oldest;" and then he beganhimself. "If you please, sir, we'm come on a sort of deputation--Whydon't you tell the gentleman, Captain?" Willis seemed either doubtfulof the success of his deputation, or not over desirous thereof; for, after trying to put John Beer forward as spokesman, he began:--

"I'm sorry to trouble you, sir, but these young men will have it so--andno shame to them--on a matter which I think will come to nothing. Butthe truth is, they have heard that you are a great painter, and theyhave taken it into their heads to ask you to paint a picture for them. "

"Not to ask you a favour, sir, mind!" interrupted Jan; "we'd scorn to beso forward; we'll subscribe and pay for it, in course, any price inreason. There's forty and more promised already. "

"You must tell me, first, what the picture is to be about, " said Claude, puzzled and amused. 

"Why didn't you tell the gentleman, Captain?"

"Because I think it is no use; and I told them all so from the first. The truth is, sir, they want a picture of my--of our schoolmistress, tohang up in the school or somewhere--"

"That's it, dra'ed out all natural, in paints, and her bonnet, and hershawl, and all, just like life; we was a going to ax you to do one ofthey garrytypes; but she would have'n noo price; besides tan't cheerfullooking they sort, with your leave; too much blackamoor wise, you see, and over thick about the nozzes, most times, to my liking; so we'll payyou and welcome, all you ask. "

"Too much blackamoor wise, indeed!" said Claude, amused. "And how muchdo you think I should ask?"

No answer. 

"We'll settle that presently. Come down into the cabin with me. "

"Why, sir, we couldn't make so hold. His lordship--"

"Oh, his lordship's on shore, and I am skipper for the time; and if not, he'd be delighted to see two good seamen here. So come along. "

And down they went. 

"Bowie, bring these gentlemen some sherry!" cried Claude, turning overhis portfolio. "Now then, my worthy friends, is that the sort of thingyou want?"

And he spread on the table a water-colour sketch of Grace. 

The two worthies gazed in silent delight, and then looked at each other, and then at Claude, and then at the picture. 

"Why, sir, " said Willis; "I couldn't have believed it! You've got thevery smile of her, and the sadness of her too, as if you'd known her ahundred year!"

"'Tis beautiful!" sighed Jan, half to himself. Poor fellow, he hadcherished, perhaps, hopes of winning Grace after all. 

"Well, will that suit you?"

"Why, sir, make so bold:--but what we thought on was to have her drawnfrom head to foot, and a child standing by her like, holding to herhand, for a token as she was schoolmistress; and the pier behind, maybe, to signify as she was our maid, and belonged to Aberalva. "

"A capital thought! Upon my word, you're men of taste here in the West;but what do you think I should charge for such a picture as that?"

"Name your price, sir, " said Jan, who was in high good humour atClaude's approbation. 

"Two hundred guineas?"

Jan gave a long whistle. 

"I told you so, Captain Beer, " said Willis, "or ever we got into theboat. "

"Now, " said Claude, laughing, "I've two prices, ore's two hundred, andthe other is just nothing; and if you won't agree to the one, you musttake the other. "

"But we wants to pay, we'd take it an honour to pay, if we could affordit. "

"Then wait till next Christmas. "

"Christmas?"

"My good friend, pictures are not painted in a day. Next Christmas, if Ilive, I'll send you what you shall not be ashamed of, or she either, anddo you club your money and put it into a handsome gold frame. "

"But, sir, " said Willis, "this will give you a sight of trouble, and allfor our fancy. "

"I like it, and I like you! You're fine fellows, who know a noblecreature when God sends her to you; and I should be ashamed to ask afarthing of your money. There, no more words!"

"Well, you are a gentleman, sir!" said Gentleman Jan. 

"And so are you, " said Claude. "Now I'll show you some more sketches. "

"I should like to know, sir, " asked Willis, "how you got at thatlikeness. She would not hear of the thing, and that's why I had noliking to come troubling you about nothing. "

Claude told them, and Jan laughed heartily, while Willis said, --

"Do you know, sir, that's a relief to my mind. There is no sin in beingdrawn, of course; but I didn't like to think my maid had changed hermind, when once she'd made it up. "

So the deputation retired in high glee, after Willis had entreatedClaude and Beer to keep the thing a secret from Grace. 

It befell that Claude, knowing no reason why he should not tell FrankHeadley, told him the whole story, as a proof of the chivalry of hisparishioners, in which he would take delight. 

Frank smiled, but said little; his opinion of Grace was altering fast. Acircumstance which occurred a few days after altered it still more. 

Scoutbush had gone forth, as he threatened, and exploded in everydirection, with such effect as was to be supposed. Everybody promisedhis lordship to do everything. But when his lordship's back was turned, everybody did just nothing. They knew very well that he could not makethem do anything; and what was more, in some of the very worst cases, the evil was past remedy now, and better left alone. For the droughtwent on pitiless. A copper sun, a sea of glass, a brown easterly blight, day after day, while Thurnall looked grimly aloft and mystified thesailors with--

"Fine weather for the Flying Dutchman, this!"

"Coffins sail fastest in a calm. "

"You'd best all out to the quay-head, and whistle for a wind: it wouldbe an ill one that would blow nobody good just now!"

But the wind came not, nor the rain; and the cholera crept nearer andnearer: while the hearts of all in Aberalva were hardened, and out ofvery spite against the agitators, they did less than they would havedone otherwise. Even the inhabitants of the half-a-dozen cottages, whichScoutbush, finding that they were in his own hands, whitewashed by mainforce, filled the town with lamentations over his lordship's tyranny. True--their pig-styes were either under their front windows; or withintwo feet of the wall: but to pull down a poor man's pig-stye!--theymight ever so well be Rooshian slaves!--and all the town was on theirside; for pigs were the normal inhabitants of Aberalva back-yards. 

Tardrew's wrath, of course, knew no bounds; and meeting Thurnallstanding at Willis's door, with Frank and Mellot, he fell upon himopen-mouthed. 

"Well, sir! I've a crow to pick with you. "

"Pick away!" quoth Tom. 

"What business have you meddling between his lordship and me?"

"That is my concern, " quoth Tom, who evidently was not disinclined toquarrel. "I am not here to give an account to you of what I choose todo. "

"I'll tell you what, sir; ever since you've been in this parish you'vebeen meddling, you and Mr. Headley too, --I'll say it to your faces, --I'll speak the truth to any man, gentle or simple; and that ain't enoughfor you, but you must come over that poor half-crazed girl, to set herplaguing honest people, with telling 'em they'll all be dead in a month, till nobody can eat their suppers in peace: and that again ain't enoughfor you, but you must go to my lord with your--"

"Hold hard!" quoth Tom. "Don't start two hares at once. Let's hear thatabout Miss Harvey again!"

"Miss Harvey? Why, you should know better than I. "

"Let's hear what you know. "

"Why, ever since that night Trebooze caught you and her together--"

"Stop!" said Tom, "that's a lie. "

"Everybody says so. "

"Then everybody lies, that's all; and you may say I said so, and takecare you don't say it again yourself. But what ever since that night?"

"Why, I suppose you come over the poor thing somehow, as you seem mindedto do over every one as you can. But she's been running up and down thetown ever since, preaching to 'em about windilation, and drains, andsmells, and cholera, and its being a judgment of the Lord against dirt, till she's frightened all the women so, that many's the man as has hadto forbid her his house. --But you know that as well as I. "

"I never heard a word of it before: but now I have, I'll give you myopinion on it. That she is a noble, sensible girl, and that you are alla set of fools who are not worthy of her; and that the greatest fool ofthe whole is you, Mr. Tardrew. And when the cholera comes, it will serveyou exactly right if you are the first man carried off by it. Now, sir, you have given me your mind, and I have given you mine, and I do notwish to hear anything more of you. Good morning!"

"You hold your head mighty high, to be sure, since you've had the run ofhis lordship's yacht. "

"If you are impertinent, sir, you will repent it. I shall take care toinform his lordship of this conversation. "

"My dear Thurnall, " said Headley, as Tardrew withdrew, muttering curses, "the old fellow is certainly right on one point. "

"What then?"

"That you have wonderfully changed your tone. Who was to eat any amountof dirt, if he could but save his influence thereby?"

"I have altered my plans. I shan't stay here long: I shall just see thischolera over, and then vanish. "

"No?"

"Yes. I cannot sit here quietly, listening to the war-news. It makes memad to be up and doing. I must eastward-ho, and see if trumps will notturn up for me at last. Why, I know the whole country, half-a-dozen ofthe languages, --oh, if I could get some secret-service work! Go I must. At worst I can turn my hand to doctoring Bashi-bazouks. "

"My dear Tom, when will you settle down like other men?" cries Claude. 

"I would now, if there was an opening at Whitbury, and low as life wouldbe, I'd face it for my father's sake. But here I cannot stay. "

Both Claude and Headley saw that Tom had reasons which he did not chooseto reveal. However, Claude was taken into his confidence that veryafternoon. 

"I shall make a fool of myself with that schoolmistress. I have beennear enough to it a dozen times already; and this magnificent conduct ofhers about the cholera has given the finishing stroke to my brains. If Istay on here, I shall marry her: I know I shall! and I won't--I'd goto-morrow, if it were not that I'm bound, for my own credit, to see thecholera safe into the town, and out again. "

Tom did not hint a word of the lost money, or of the month's delay whichGrace had asked of him. The month was drawing fast to a close now, however: but no sign of the belt. Still, Tom had honour enough in him tobe silent on the point, even to Claude. 

"By the by, have you heard from the wanderers this week?"

"I heard from Sabina this morning. Marie is very poorly, I fear. Theyhave been at Kissingen, bathing; and are going to Bertrich: somebody hasrecommended the baths there. "

"Bertrich! Where's Bertrich?"

"The most delicious little nest of a place, half way up the Moselle, among the volcano craters. "

"Don't know it. Have they found that Yankee?"

"No. "

"Why, I thought Sabina had a whole detective force of pets and protégés, from Boulogne to Rome. "

"Well, she has at least heard of him at Baden; and then again atStuttgard: but he has escaped them as yet. "

"And poor Marie is breaking her heart all the while? I'll tell you what, Claude, it will be well for him if he escapes me as well as them. "

"What do you mean?"

"I certainly shan't go to the East without shaking hands once more withMarie and Sabina; and if in so doing I pass that fellow, it's a pity ifI don't have a snap shot at him. "

"Tom! Tom! I had hoped your duelling days were over. "

"They will be, over, when one can get the law to punish such puppies;but not till then. Hang the fellow! What business had he with her atall, if he didn't intend to marry her?"

"I tell you, as I told you before, it is she who will not marry him. "

"And yet she's breaking her heart for him. I can see it all plainenough, Claude. She has found him out only too late. I know him--luxurious, selfish, blazé; would give a thousand dollars to-morrow, Ibelieve, like the old Roman, for a new pleasure: and then amuses himselfwith her till he breaks her heart! Of course she won't many him: becauseshe knows that if he found out her Quadroon blood--ah, that's it! I'lllay my life he has found it out already, and that is why he has bolted!"

Claude had no answer to give. That talk at the Exhibition made it onlytoo probable. 

"You think so yourself, I see! Very well. You know that whatever I havebeen to others, that girl has nothing against me. "

"Nothing against you? Why, she owes you honour, life, everything. "

"Never mind that. Only when I take a fancy to begin, I'll carry itthrough. I took to that girl, for poor Wyse's sake; and I'll behave byher to the last as he would wish; and he who insults her, insults me. Iwon't go out of my way to find Stangrave: but if I do, I'll have itout!"

"Then you will certainly fight. My dearest Tom, do look into your ownheart, and see whether you have not a grain or two of spite against himleft. I assure you you judge him too harshly. "

"Hum--that must take its chance. At least, if we fight, we fight fairlyand equally. He is a brave man--I will do him that justice--and a coolone; and used to be a sweet shot. So he has just as good a chance ofshooting me, if I am in the wrong, as I have of shooting him, if he is. "

"But your father?"

"I know. That is very disagreeable; and all the more so because I amgoing to insure my life--a pretty premium they will make me pay!--and ifI'm killed in a duel, it will be forfeited. However, the only answer tothat is, that either I shan't fight, or if I do, I shan't be killed. Youknow I don't believe in being killed, Claude. "

"Tom! Tom! The same as ever!" said Claude sadly. 

"Well, old man, and what else would you have me? Nobody could ever alterme, you know; and why should I alter myself? Here I am, after all, aliveand jolly; and there is old daddy, as comfortable as he ever can be onearth: and so it will be to the end of the chapter. There! let's talk ofsomething else. "

CHAPTER XVI. 

COME AT LAST. 

Now, as if in all things Tom Thurnall and John Briggs were fated totake opposite sides, Campbell lost ground with Elsley as fast as hegained it with Thurnall. Elsley had never forgiven himself for hispassion that first morning. He had shown Campbell his weak side, andfeared and disliked him accordingly. Beside, what might not Thurnallhave told Campbell about him? And what use might not the Major make ofhis secret? Besides, Elsley's dread and suspicion increased rapidly whenhe discovered that Campbell was one of those men who live on terms ofpeculiar intimacy with many women; whether for his own good or not, still for the good of the women concerned. For only by honest purity, and moral courage superior to that of the many, is that dangerous postearned; and women will listen to the man who will tell them the truth, however sternly; and will bow, as before a guardian angel, to the stronginsight of him whom they have once learned to trust. But it is adangerous office, after all, for layman as well as for priest, that offather-confessor. The experience of centuries has shown that they mustneeds exist, wherever fathers neglect their daughters, husbands theirwives; wherever the average of the women cannot respect the average ofthe men. But the experience of centuries should likewise have taughtmen, that the said father-confessors are no objects of envy; that theirtemptations to become spiritual coxcombs (the worst species of allcoxcombs), if not intriguers, bullies, and worse, are so extreme, thatthe soul which is proof against them must be either very great, or verysmall indeed. Whether Campbell was altogether proof, will be seenhereafter. But one day Elsley found out that such was Campbell'sinfluence, and did not love him the more for the discovery. 

They were walking round the garden after dinner; Scoutbush was lickinghis foolish lips over some commonplace tale of scandal. 

"I tell you, my dear fellow, she's booked; and Mellot knows it as wellas I. He saw her that night at Lady A's. "

"We saw the third act of the comi-tragedy. The fourth is playing outnow. We shall see the fifth before the winter. "

"Non sine sanguine!" said the Major. 

"Serve the wretched stick right, at least, " said Scoutbush. "What righthad he to marry such a pretty woman?"

"What right had they to marry her up to him?" said Claude. "I don'tblame poor January. I suppose none of us, gentlemen, would have refusedsuch a pretty toy, if we could have afforded it as he could. "

"Whom do you blame then?" asked Elsley. 

"Fathers and mothers who prate hypocritically about keeping theirdaughters' minds pure; and then abuse a girl's ignorance, in order tosell her to ruin. Let them keep her mind pure, in heaven's name; but letthem consider themselves all the more bound in honour to use on herbehalf the experience in which she must not share. "

"Well, " drawled Scoutbush, "I don't complain of her bolting; she's avery sweet creature, and always was: but, as Longreach says, --and a verywitty fellow he is, though you laugh at him, --'If she'd kept to us, Ishouldn't have minded: but as Guardsmen, we must throw her over. It's aninsult to the whole Guards, my dear fellow, after refusing two of us, tomarry an attorney, and after all to bolt with a plunger. '"

What bolting with a plunger might signify, Elsley knew not: but ere hecould ask, the Major rejoined, in an abstracted voice--

"God help us all! And this is the girl I recollect, two years ago, singing there in Cavendish Square, as innocent as a nestling thrush!"

"Poor child!" said Mellot, "sold at first--perhaps sold again now. Theplunger has bills out, and she has ready money. I know her settlements. "

"She shan't do it, " said the Major quietly: "I'll write to herto-night. "

Elsley looked at him keenly. "You think, then, sir, that you can, bysimply writing, stop this intrigue?"

The Major did not answer. He was deep in thought. 

"I shouldn't wonder if he did, " said Scoutbush; "two to one on hisbaulking the plunger!"

"She is at Lord ----'s now, at those silly private theatricals. Is hethere?"

"No, " said Mellot; "he tried hard for an invitation--stooped to work meand Sabina. I believe she told him that she would sooner see him in theMorgue than help him; and he is gone to the moors now, I believe. "

"There is time then: I will write to her to-night;" and Campbell took uphis hat and went home to do it. 

"Ah, " said Scoutbush, taking his cigar meditatively from his mouth, "Iwonder how he does it! It's a gift, I always say, a wonderful gift!Before he has been a week in a house, he'll have the confidence of everywoman in it, --and 'gad, he does it by saying the rudest things!--and theconfidence of all the youngsters the week after. "

"A somewhat dangerous gift, " said Elsley, drily. 

"Ah, yes; he might play tricks if he chose: but there's the wonder, thathe don't. I'd answer for him with my own sister. I do every day of mylife--for I believe he knows how many pins she puts into her dress--andyet there he is. As I said once in the mess-room--there was a youngsterthere who took on himself to be witty, and talked about the still sowsupping the milk--the snob! You recollect him, Mellot? the attorney'sson from Brompton, who sold out;--we shaved his mustachios, put a bearin his bed, and sent him home to his ma--And he said that Major Campbellmight be very pious, and all that: but he'd warrant--they were thefellow's own words, --that he took his lark on the sly, like other men--the snob! so I told him, I was no better than the rest, and no more Iam; but if any man dared to say that the Major was not as honest as hisown sister, I was his man at fifteen paces. And so I am, Claude!"

All which did not increase Elsley's love to the Major, conscious as hewas that Lucia's confidence was a thing which he had not wholly; andwhich it would be very dangerous to him for any other man to have atall. 

Into the drawing-room they went. Frank Headley had been asked up to tea;and he stood at the piano, listening to Valencia's singing. 

As they came in, the maid came in also. "Mr. Thurnall wished to speak toMajor Campbell. "

Campbell went out, and returned in two minutes somewhat hurriedly. 

"Mr. Thurnall wishes Lord Scoutbush to be informed at once, and I thinkit is better that you should all know it--that--it is a painfulsurprise:--but there is a man ill in the street, whose symptoms he doesnot like, he says. "

"Cholera?" said Elsley. 

"Call him in, " said Scoutbush. 

"He had rather not come in, he says. "

"What! is it infectious?"

"Certainly not, if it be cholera, but--"

"He don't wish to frighten people, quite right:" (with a half glance atElsley;) "but is it cholera, honestly?"

"I fear so. "

"Oh, my children!" said poor Mrs. Vavasour. 

"Will five pounds help the poor fellow?" said Scoutbush. 

"How far off is it?" asked Elsley. 

"Unpleasantly near. I was going to advise you to move at once. "

"You hear what they are saying?" asked Valencia of Frank. 

"Yes, I hear it, " said Frank, in a quiet meaning tone. 

Valencia thought that he was half pleased with the news. Then shethought him afraid; for he did not stir. 

"You will go instantly, of course?"

"Of course I shall. Good-bye! Do not be afraid. It is not infectious. "

"Afraid? And a soldier's sister?" said Valencia, with a toss of herbeautiful head, by way of giving force to her somewhat weak logic. 

Frank left the room instantly, and met Thurnall in the passage. 

"Well, Headley, it's here before we sent for it, as bad luck usuallyis. "

"I know. Let me go! Where is it? Whose house?" asked Frank in an excitedtone. 

"Humph!" said Thurnall, looking intently at him, "that is just what Ishall not tell you. "

"Not tell me?"

"No, you are too pale, Headley. Go back and get two or three glasses ofwine, and then we will talk of it. "

"What do you mean? I must go instantly! It is my duty, --my parishioner!"

"Look here, Headley! Are you and I to work together in this business, orare we not?"

"Why not, in heaven's name?"

"Then I want you, not for cure, but for prevention. You can do them nogood when they have once got it. You may prevent dozens from having itin the next four-and-twenty hours, if you will be guided by me. "

"But my business is with their souls, Thurnall. "

"Exactly;--to give them the consolations of religion, as they call it. You will give them to the people who have not taken it. You may bringthem safe through it by simply keeping up their spirits; while if youwaste your time on poor dying wretches--"

"Thurnall, you must not talk so! I will do all you ask: but my place isat the death-bed, as well as elsewhere. These perishing souls are in mycare. "

"And how do you know, pray, that they are perishing?" answered Tom, withsomething very like a sneer. "And if they were, do you honestly believethat any talk of yours can change in five minutes a character which hasbeen forming for years, or prevent a man's going where he ought to go, --which, I suppose, is the place to which he deserves to go?"

"I do, " said Frank, firmly. 

"Well. It is a charitable and hopeful creed. My great dread was, lestyou should kill the poor wretches before their time, by adding to thefear of cholera the fear of hell. I caught the Methodist parson at thatwork an hour ago, took him by the shoulders and shot him out into thestreet. But, my dear Headley" (and Tom lowered his voice to a whisper), "wherever poor Tom Beer deserved to go to, he is gone to it already. Hehas been dead this twenty minutes. "

"Tom Beer dead? One of the finest fellows in the town! And I never sentfor?"

"Don't speak so loud, or they will hear you. I had no time to send foryou; and if I had, I should not have sent, for he was past attending toyou from the first. He brought it with him, I suppose, from C----. Hadhad warnings for a week, and neglected them. Now listen to me: that manwas but two hours ill; as sharp a case as I ever saw, even in the WestIndies. You must summon up all your good sense, and play the man for afortnight; for it's coming on the poor souls like hell!" said Tombetween his teeth, and stamped his foot upon the ground. Frank had neverseen him show so much feeling; he fancied he could see tears glisteningin his eyes. 

"I will, so help me God!" said Frank. 

Tom held out his hand, and grasped Frank's. 

"I know you will. You're all right at heart. Only mind three things:don't frighten them; don't tire yourself; don't go about on an emptystomach; and then we can face the worst like men. And now go in, and saynothing to these people. If they take a panic we shall have some of themdown to-night as sure as fate. Go in, keep quiet, persuade them to boltanywhere on earth by daylight to-morrow. Then go home, eat a goodsupper, and come across to me; and if I'm out, I'll leave word where. "

Frank went back again; he found Campbell, who had had his cue from Tom, urging immediate removal as strongly as he could, without declaring theextent of the danger. Valencia was for sending instantly for a fly tothe nearest town, and going to stay at a watering-place some forty milesoff. Elsley was willing enough at heart, but hesitated; he knew not, atthe moment, poor fellow, where to find the money. His wife knew that shecould borrow of Valencia; but she, too, was against the place. Thecholera would be in the air for miles round. The journey in the hot sunwould make the children sick and ill; and watering-place lodgings weresuch horrid holes, never ventilated, and full of smells--people caughtfevers at them so often. Valencia was inclined to treat this as"mother's nonsense;" but Major Campbell said gravely, that Mrs. Vavasourwas perfectly right as to fact, and her arguments full of sound reason;whereon Valencia said that "of course if Lucia thought it, MajorCampbell would prove it; and there was no arguing with such Solons ashe--"

Which Elsley heard, and ground his teeth. Whereon little Scoutbush criedjoyfully, --

"I have it; why not go by sea? Take the yacht, and go! Where? Of courseI have it again. 'Pon my word I'm growing clever, Valencia, in spite ofall your prophecies. Go up the Welsh coast. Nothing so healthy and airyas a sea-voyage: sea as smooth as a mill-pond, too, and likely to be. And then land, if you like, at Port Madoc, as I meant to do; and thereare my rooms at Beddgelert lying empty. Engaged them a week ago, thinking I should be there by now; so you may as well keep them airedfor me. Come, Valencia, pack up your millinery! Lucia, get the cradlesready, and we'll have them all on board by twelve. Capital plan, Vavasour, isn't if? and, by Jove, what stunning poetry you will writethere under Snowdon!"

"But will you not want your rooms yourself, Lord Scoutbush?" saidElsley. 

"My dear fellow, never mind me. I shall go across the country, I think, see an old friend, and get some otter-hunting. Don't think of me, tillyou're there, and then send the yacht back for me. She must be doingsomething, you know; and the men are only getting drunk every day here. Come--no arguing about it, or I shall turn you all out of doors into thelane, eh?"

And the little fellow laughed so good-naturedly, that Elsley could nothelp liking him: and feeling that he would be both a fool, and cruel tohis family, if he refused so good an offer, he gave in to the scheme, and went out to arrange matters: while Scoutbush went out into the hallwith Campbell, and scrambled into his pea-jacket, to go off to the yachtthat moment. 

"You'll see to them, there's a good fellow, " as they lighted theircigars at the door. "That Vavasour is greener than grass, you know, _tant pis_ for my poor sister. "

"I am not going. "

"Not going?"

"Certainly not; so my rooms will be at their service; and you had muchbetter escort them yourself. It will be much less disagreeable forVavasour, who knows nothing of commanding sailors, " or himself, thoughtthe Major, "than finding himself master of your yacht in your absence, and you will get your fishing as you intended. "

"But why are you going to stay?"

"Oh, I have not half done with the sea-beasts here. I found too new onesyesterday. "

"Quaint old beetle-hunter you are, for a man who has fought inhalf-a-dozen battles!" and Scoutbush walked on silently for five minutes. 

Suddenly he broke out--

"I cannot! By George, I cannot; and what's more, I won't!"

"What?"

"Run away. It will look so--so cowardly, and there's the truth of it, before those fine fellows down there: and just as I am come among them, too! The commander-in-chief to turn tail at the first shot! Though Ican't be of any use, I know, and I should have liked a fortnight'sfishing so, " said he in a dolorous voice, "before going to be eaten upwith flies at Varna--for this Crimean expedition is all moonshine. "

"Don't be too sure of that, " said Campbell. "We shall go; and some of uswho go will never come back, Freddy. I know those Russians better thanmany, and I have been talking them over lately with Thurnall, who hasbeen in their service. "

"Has he been at Sevastopol?"

"No. Almost the only place on earth where he has not been: but from allhe says, and from all I know, we are undervaluing our foes, as usual, and shall smart for it!"

"We'll lick them, never fear!"

"Yes; but not at the first round. Scoutbush, your life has been child'splay as yet. You are going now to see life in earnest, --the sort of lifewhich average people have been living, in every age and country, sinceAdam's fall; a life of sorrow and danger, tears and blood, mistake, confusion, and perplexity; and you will find it a very new sensation;and, at first, a very ugly one. All the more reason for doing what gooddeeds you can before you go; for you may have no time left to do any onthe other side of the sea. "

Scoutbush was silent awhile. 

"Well; I'm afraid of nothing, I hope: only I wish one could meet thischolera face to face, as one will those Russians, with a good sword inone's hand, and a good horse between one's knees; and have a chance ofgiving him what he brings, instead of being kicked off by the cowardlyRockite, no one knows how; and not even from behind a turf dyke, but outof the very clouds. "

"So we all say, in every battle, Scoutbush. Who ever sees the man whosent the bullet through him? And yet we fight on. Do you not think thegreatest terror, the only real terror, in any battle, is the chanceshot? which come from no one knows where, and hit no man can guess whom?If you go to the Crimea, as you will, you will feel what I felt at theCape, and Cabul, and the Punjab, twenty times, --the fear of dying like adog, one knew not how. "

"And yet I'll fight, Campbell!"

"Of course you will, and take your chance. Do so now!"

"By Jove, Campbell--I always say it--you're the most sensible man I evermet; and, by Jove, the doctor comes the next. My sister shall have theyacht, and I'll go up to Penalva. "

"You will do two good deeds at once, then, " said the Major. "You will dowhat is right, and you will give heart to many a poor wretch here. Believe me, Scoutbush, you will never repent of this. "

"By Jove, it always does one good to hear you talk in that way, Campbell! One feels--I don't know--so much of a man when one is withyou; not that I shan't take uncommonly good care of myself, old fellow;that is but fair: but as for running away, as I said, why--why--why Ican't, and so I won't!"

"By the by, " said the Major, "there is one thing which I have forgotten, and which they will never recollect. Is the yacht victualled--with freshmeat and green stuff, I mean?"

"Whew--w--"

"I will go back, borrow a lantern, and forage in the garden, like an oldcampaigner. I have cut a salad with my sword before now. "

"And made it in your helmet, with macassar sauce?" And the two wenttheir ways. 

Meanwhile, before they had left the room, a notable conversation hadbeen going on between Valencia and Headley. 

Headley had re-entered the room so much paler than he went out, thateverybody noticed his altered looks. Valencia chose to attribute them tofear. 

"So! Are you returned from the sick man already, Mr. Headley?" askedshe, in a marked tone. 

"I have been forbidden by the doctor to go near him at present, Miss St. Just, " said he quietly, but in a sort of under-voice, which hinted thathe wished her to ask no more questions. A shade passed over herforehead, and she began chatting rather noisily to the rest of theparty, till Elsley, her brother, and Campbell went out. 

Valencia looked up at him, expecting him to go too. Mrs. Vavasour beganbustling about the room, collecting little valuables, and looking overher shoulders at the now unwelcome guest. But Frank leaned back in acosy arm-chair, and did not stir. His hands were clasped on his knees;he seemed lost in thought; very pale: but there was a firm set lookabout his lips which attracted Valencia's attention. Once he looked upin Valencia's face, and saw that she was looking at him. A flush cameover his cheeks for a moment, and then he seemed as impassive as ever. What could he want there! How very gauche and rude of him; so unlikehim, too! And she said, civilly enough, to him, "I fear, Mr. Headley, wemust begin packing up now. "

"I fear you must, indeed, " answered he, as if starting from a dream. Hespoke in a tone, and with a look, which made both the women start; forwhat they meant it was impossible to doubt. 

"I fear you must. I have foreseen it a long time; and so, I fear (and herose from his seat), must I, unless I mean to be very rude. You will atleast take away with you the knowledge, that you have given to oneperson's existence, at least for a few weeks, pleasure more intense thanhe thought earth could hold. "

"I trust that pretty compliment was meant for me, " said Lucia, halfplayful, half reproving. 

"I am sure that it ought not to have been meant for me, " said Valencia, more downright than her sister. Both could see for whom it was meant, bythe look of passionate worship which Frank fixed on a face which, afterall, seemed made to be worshipped. 

"I trust that neither of you, " answered he, quietly, "think meimpertinent enough to pretend to make love, as it is called, to Miss St. Just. I know who she is, and who I am. Gentleman as I am, and thedescendant of gentlemen" (and Frank looked a little proud, as he spoke, and very handsome), "I see clearly enough the great gulf fixed betweenus; and I like it; for it enables me to say truth which I otherwise darenot have spoken; as a brother might say to a sister, or a subject to aqueen. Either analogy will do equally well and equally ill. "

Frank, without the least intending it, had taken up the very strongestmilitary position. Let a man once make a woman understand, or fancy, that he knows that he is nothing to her; and confess boldly that thereis a great gulf fixed between them, which he has no mind to bridge over:and then there is little that he may not see or do, for good or forevil. 

And therefore it was that Lucia answered gently, "I am sure you are notwell, Mr. Headley. The excitement of the night has been too much foryou. "

"Do I look excited, my dear madam?" he answered quietly. "I assure youthat I am as calm as a man must be who believes that he has but a fewdays to live, and trusts, too, that when he dies, he will be infinitelyhappier than he ever has been on earth, and lay down an office which hehas never discharged otherwise than ill; which has been to him aconstant source of shame and sorrow. "

"Do not speak so!" said Valencia, with her Irish impetuous generosity;"you are unjust to yourself. We have watched you, felt for you, honouredyou, even when we differed from you"--What more she would have said, Iknow not, but at that moment Elsley's peevish voice was heard callingover the stairs, "Lucia! Lucia?"

"Oh dear! He will wake the children!" cried Lucia, looking at hersister, as much as to say, "How can I leave you!"

"Run, run, my dear creature!" said Valencia, with a self-confidentsmile: and the two were left alone. 

The moment that Mrs. Vavasour left the room, there vanished from Frank'sface that intense look of admiration which had made even Valenciauneasy. He dropped his eyes, and his voice faltered as he spoke again. He acknowledged the change in their position, and Valencia saw that hedid so, and liked him the better for it. 

"I shall not repeat, Miss St. Just, now that we are alone, what I saidjust now of the pleasure which I have had during the last month. I amnot poetical, or given to string metaphors together; and I could only goover the same dull words once more. But I could ask, if I were notasking too much, leave to prolong at least a shadow of that pleasure tothe last moment. That I shall die shortly, and of this cholera, is withme a fixed idea, which nothing can remove. No, madam--it is useless tocombat it! But had I anything, by which to the last moment I could bringback to my fancy what has been its sunlight for so long; even if it werea scrap of the hem of your garment, aye, a grain of dust off your feet--God forgive me! He and His mercy ought to be enough to keep me up: butone's weakness may be excused for clinging to such slight floatingstraws of comfort. "

Valencia paused, startled, and yet affected. How she had played withthis deep pure heart! And yet, was it pure? Did he wish, by exciting herpity, to trick her into giving him what he might choose to consider atoken of affection?

And she answered coldly enough--

"I should be sorry, after what you have just said, to chance hurting youby refusing. I put it to your own good feeling--have you not askedsomewhat too much?"

"Certainly too much, madam, in any common case, " said he, quite unmoved. "Certainly too much, if I asked you for it, as I do not, as the token ofan affection which I know well you do not, cannot feel. But--take mywords as they stand--were you to--It would be returned if I die, in afew weeks; and returned still sooner if I live. And, madam, " said helowering his voice, "I vow to you, before Him who sees us both, that, asfar as I am concerned, no human being shall ever know of the fact. "

Frank had at last touched the wrong chord. 

"What, Mr. Headley? Can you think that I am to have secrets in commonwith you, or with any other man? No, sir! If I granted your request, Ishould avow it as openly as I shall refuse it. "

And she turned sharply toward the door. 

Frank Headley was naturally a shy man: but extreme need sometimesbestows on shyness a miraculous readiness--(else why, in the long run, do the shy men win the best wives? which is a fact, and may be proved bystatistics, at least as well as anything else can) so he quietly steppedto Valencia's side, and said in a low voice--

"You cannot avow the refusal half as proudly as I shall avow therequest, if you will but wait till your sister's return. Both areunnecessary, I think: but it will only be an honour to me to confess, that, poor curate as I am--"

"Hush!" and Valencia walked quietly up to the table, and began turningover the leaves of a book, to gain time for her softened heart andpuzzled brain. 

In five minutes Frank was beside her again. The book was Tennyson's"Princess. " She had wandered--who can tell why?--to that last exquisitescene, which all know; and as Valencia read, Frank quietly laid a fingeron the book, and arrested her eyes at last--

 "If you be, what I think you, some sweet dream. Stoop down, and seem to kiss me ere I die!"

Valencia shut the book up hurriedly and angrily. A moment after she hadmade up her mind what to do, and with the slightest gesture in theworld, motioned Frank proudly and coldly to follow her back into thewindow. Had she been a country girl, she would have avoided the uglymatter; but she was a woman of the world enough to see that she must, for her own sake and his, talk it out reasonably. 

"What do you mean, Mr. Headley? I must ask! You told me just now thatyou had no intention of making love to me. "

"I told you the truth, " said he, in his quiet impassive voice. "I fixedon these lines as a _pis aller_; and they have done all and more than Iwished, by bringing you back here for at least a moment. "

"And do you suppose--you speak like a rational man, therefore, I musttreat you as one--that I can grant your request?"

"Why not? It is an uncommon one. If I have guessed your characteraright, you are able to do uncommon things. Had I thought you enslavedby etiquette, and by the fear of a world which you can make bow at yourfeet if you will, I should not have asked you. But, "--and here his voicetook a tone of deepest earnestness--"grant it--only grant it, and youshall never repent it. Never, never, never will I cast one shadow over alight which has been so glorious, so life-giving; which I watched withdelight, and yet lose without regret. Go your way, and God be with you!I go mine; grant me but a fortnight's happiness, and then, let what willcome!"

He had conquered. The quiet earnestness of the voice, the child-likesimplicity of the manner, of which every word conveyed the most delicateflattery--yet, she could see, without intending to flatter, without anafter-thought--all these had won the impulsive Irish nature. For all thedukes and marquises in Belgravia she would not have done it; for theywould have meant more than they said, even when they spoke moreclumsily: but for the plain country curate she hesitated, and askedherself, "What shall I give him?"

The rose from her bosom? No. That was too significant at once, and toocommonplace; besides, it might wither, and he find an excuse for notrestoring it. It must be something valuable, stately, formal, which hemust needs return. And she drew off a diamond hoop, and put it quietlyinto his hand. 

"You promise to return if?"

"I promised long ago. "

He took it, and lifted it--she thought that he was going to press it tohis lips. Instead, he put it to his forehead, bowing forward and movedit slightly. She saw that he made with it the sign of the Cross. 

"I thank you, " he said, with a look of quiet gratitude. "I expected asmuch, when you came to understand my request. Again, thank you!" and hedrew back humbly, and left her there alone; while her heart smote herbitterly for all the foolish encouragement which she had given to one sotender and humble, and delicate and true. 

And so did Frank Headley get what he wanted; by that plain earnestsimplicity, which has more power (let worldlings pride themselves asthey will on their knowledge of women) than all the cunning wiles of themost experienced rake; and only by aping which, after all, can the rakeconquer. It was a strange thing for Valencia to do, no doubt: but thestrange things which are done in the world (which are some millionsdaily) are just what keep the world alive. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

BAALZEBUB'S BANQUET. 

The next day there were three cholera cases: the day after there werethirteen. 

He had come at last, Baalzebub, God of flies, and of what flies are bredfrom; to visit his self-blinded worshippers, and bestow on them his ownCross of the Legion of Dishonour. He had come suddenly, capriciously, sportively, as he sometimes comes; as he had come to Newcastle thesummer before, while yet the rest of England was untouched. He hadwandered all but harmless about the West country that summer; as if hismaw had been full glutted five years before, when he sat for many a weekupon the Dartmoor hills, amid the dull brown haze, and sun-burnt bents, and dried-up watercourses of white dusty granite, looking far and wideover the plague-struck land, and listening to the dead-bell booming allday long in Tavistock churchyard. But he was come at last, with appetitemore fierce than ever, and had darted aside to seize on Aberalva, andnot to let it go till he had sucked his fill. 

And all men moved about the streets slowly, fearfully; conscious of someawful unseen presence, which might spring on them from round everycorner; some dreadful inevitable spell, which lay upon them like anightmare weight; and walked to and fro warily, looking anxiously intoeach other's faces, not to ask, "How are you?" but "How am I?" "Do Ilook as if--?" and glanced up ever and anon restlessly, as if theyexpected to see, like the Greeks, in their tainted camp, by Troy, thepitiless Sun-god shooting his keen arrows down on beast and man. 

All night long the curdled cloud lay low upon the hills, wrapping in itshot blanket the sweltering breathless town; and rolled off sullenly whenthe sun rose high, to let him pour down his glare, and quicken into evillife all evil things. For Baalzebub is a sunny fiend; and loves notstorm and tempest, thunder, and lashing rains; but the broad bright sun, and broad blue sky, under which he can take his pastime merrily, andlaugh at all the shame and agony below; and, as he did at his greatbanquet in New Orleans once, madden all hearts the more by the contrastbetween the pure heaven above and the foul hell below. 

And up and down the town the foul fiend sported, now here now there;snapping daintily at unexpected victims, as if to make confusion worseconfounded: to belie Thurnall's theories and prognostics, and harden thehearts of fools by fresh excuses for believing that he had nothing to dowith drains and water; that he was "only"--such an only!--"theVisitation of God. "

He has taken old Beer's second son; and now he clutches at the old manhimself; then across the street to Gentleman Jan, his eldest: but he isdriven out from both houses by chloride of lime and peat dust, and thecolony of the Beers has peace awhile. 

Alas! there are victims enough and to spare beside them, too ready forthe sacrifice, and up the main street he goes unabashed, springing in atone door and at another, on either side of the street, but fondest ofthe western side, where the hill slopes steeply down to the house-backs. 

He fleshes his teeth on every kind of prey. The drunken cobbler dies, ofcourse: but spotless cleanliness and sobriety does not save the motherof seven children, who has been soaking her brick floor daily with waterfrom a poisoned well, defiling where she meant to clean. Youth does notsave the buxom lass, who has been filling herself, as girls will do, with unripe fruit: nor innocence the two fair children who were sailingtheir feather-boats yesterday in the quay-pools, as they have sailedthem for three years past, and found no hurt; piety does not save thebed-ridden old dame, bed-ridden in the lean-to garret, who moans, "It isthe Lord!" and dies. It is "the Lord" to her, though Baalzebub himselfbe the angel of release. 

And yet all the while sots and fools escape where wise men fall; weaklywomen, living amid all wretchedness, nurse, unharmed, strong men whohave breathed fresh air all day. Of one word of Scripture at leastBaalzebub is mindful; for "one is taken and another left. "

Still, there is a method in his seeming madness. His eye falls on ablind alley, running back from the main street, backed at the upper endby a high wall of rock. There is a God-send for him--a devil's-send, rather, to speak plain truth: and in he dashes; and never leaves thatcourt, let brave Tom wrestle with him as he may, till he has taken onefrom every house. 

That court belonged to Treluddra, the old fish-jowder. He must dosomething. Thurnall attacks him; Major Campbell, Headley; the neighboursjoin in the cry; for there is no mistaking cause and effect there, andno one bears a great love to him; besides, terrified andconscience-stricken men are glad of a scapegoat; and some of those whowere his stoutest backers in the vestry are now, in their terror, theloudest against him, ready to impute the whole cholera to him. Indeed, old Beer is ready to declare that it was Treluddra's fish-heaps whichpoisoned him and his: so, all but mobbed, the old sinner goes up--to setthe houses to rights? No; to curse the whole lot for a set of pigs, andorder them to clean the place out themselves, or he will turn them intothe street. He is one of those base natures, whom fact only lashes intogreater fury, --a Pharaoh whose heart the Lord himself can only harden;such men there are, and women, too, grown grey in lies, to reap at lastthe fruit of lies. But he carries back with him to his fish-heaps alittle invisible somewhat which he did not bring; and ere nightfall heis dead hideously; he, his wife, his son:--and now the Beers are downagain, and the whole neighbourhood of Treluddra's house is wild withdisgusting agony. 

Now the fiend is hovering round the fish-curing houses: but turns back, disgusted with the pure scent of the tan-yard, where not hides, but netsare barked; skips on board of a brig in the quay-pool; and a poorcollier's 'prentice dies, and goes to his own place. What harm has hedone? Is it his sin that, ill-fed and well-beaten daily, he has beenleft to sleep on board, just opposite the sewer's mouth, in a berth somefour feet long by two feet high and broad?

Or is it that poor girl's sin who was just now in Heale's shop, talkingto Miss Heale safe and sound, that she is carried back into it, inhalf-an-hour's time, fainting, shrieking? One must draw a veil over thetoo hideous details. 

No, not her fault: but there, at least, the curse has not come without acause. For she is Tardrew's daughter. 

But whither have we got? How long has the cholera been in Aberalva? Fivedays, five minutes, or five years? How many suns have risen and setsince Frank Headley put into his bosom Valencia's pledge!

It would be hard for him to tell; and hard for many more: for all thedays have passed as in a fever dream. To cowards the time has seemedendless; and every moment, ere their term shall come, an age of terror, of self-reproach, of superstitious prayers, and cries, which are notrepentance. And to some cowards, too, the days have seemed but as amoment; for they have been drunk day and night. 

Strange and hideous, yet true. 

It has now become a mere commonplace, the strange power which greatcrises, pestilences, famines, revolutions, invasions, have to call outin their highest power, for evil and for good alike, the passions andvirtues of man; how, during their stay, the most desperate recklessness, the most ferocious crime, side by side with the most heroic andunexpected virtue, are followed generally by a collapse and a moraldeath, alike of virtue and of vice. We should explain this now-a-days, and not ill, by saying that these crises put the human mind into a stateof exaltation: but the truest explanation, after all, lies in the oldBible belief, that in these times there goes abroad the unquenchablefire of God, literally kindling up all men's hearts to the highestactivity, and showing, by the light of their own strange deeds, theinmost recesses of their spirits, till those spirits burn down again, self-consumed, while the chaff and stubble are left as ashes, notvalueless after all, as manure for some future crop; and the pure gold, if gold there be, alone remains behind. 

Even so it was in Aberalva during that fearful week. The drunkards drankmore; the swearers swore more than ever; the unjust shopkeeper clutchedmore greedily than ever at the last few scraps of mean gain whichremained for him this side the grave; the selfish wrapped themselves upmore brutally than ever in selfishness; the shameless woman mingleddesperate debauchery with fits of frantic superstition; and all basesouls cried out together, "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die!"

But many a brave man and many a weary woman possessed their souls inpatience, and worked on, and found that as their day their strengthshould be. And to them the days seemed short indeed; for there was toomuch to be done in them for any note of time. 

Headley and Campbell, Grace and old Willis, and last, but not least, TomThurnall, --these and three or four brave women, organised themselvesinto a right-gallant and well-disciplined band, and commenced at once avisitation from house to house, saving thereby, doubtless, many a life:but ere eight-and-forty hours were passed, the house visitationlanguished. It was as much as they could do to attend to the acutecases. 

And little Scoutbush? He could not nurse, nor doctor: but what he could, he did. He bought, and fetched all that money could procure. He gallopedover to the justices, and obtained such summary powers as he could; andthen, like a true Irishman, exceeded them recklessly, breaking intopremises right and left, in an utterly burglarious fashion; he organisedhis fatigue-party, as he called them, of scavengers, and paid thecowardly clods five shillings a day each to work at removing allremovable nuisances; he walked up and down the streets for hours, givingthe sailors cigars from his own case, just to show them that he was notafraid, and therefore they need not be: and if it was somewhat his faultthat the horse was stolen, he at least did his best after the event toshut the stable-door. The five real workers toiled on, meanwhile, inperfect harmony and implicit obedience to the all-knowing Tom, but withthe most different inward feelings. Four of them seemed to forget deathand danger; but each remembered them in his own fashion. 

Major Campbell longed to die, and courted death. Frank believed that heshould die, and was ready for death. Grace longed to die, but knew thatshe should not die till she had found Tom's belt, and was content towait. Willis was of opinion that an "old man must die some day, andsomehow, --as good one way as another;" and all his concern was to runabout after his maid, seeing that she did not tire herself, and obeyingall her orders with sailor-like precision and cleverness. 

And Tom? He just thought nothing about death and danger at-all. Alwayssmiling, always cheerful, always busy, yet never in a hurry, he went upand down, seemingly ubiquitous. Sleep he got when he could, and food asoften as he could; into the sea he leapt, morning and night, and cameout fresher every time; the only person in the town who seemed to growhealthier, and actually happier, as the work went on. 

"You really must be careful of yourself, " said Campbell, at last. "Youcarry no charmed life. "

"My dear sir, I am the most cautious and selfish man in the town. I amliving by rule; I have got--and what greater pleasure?--a good stand-upfight with an old enemy; and be sure I shall keep myself in conditionfor it. I have written off for help to the Board of Health, and I shallnot be shoved against the ropes till the Government man comes down. "

"And then?"

"I shall go to bed and sleep for a month. Never mind me; but mindyourself: and mind that curate; he's a noble brick;--if all parsons inEngland were like him, I'd--What's here now?"

Miss Heale came shrieking down the street. 

"Oh, Mr. Thurnall! Miss Tardrew! Miss Tardrew!"

"Screaming will only make you ill, too, Miss. Where is Miss Tardrew?"

"In the surgery, --and my mother!"

"I expected this, " said Tom. "The old man will go next. "

He went into the surgery. The poor girl was in collapse already. Mrs. Heale was lying on the sofa, stricken. The old man hanging over her, brandy bottle in hand. 

"Put away that trash!" cried Tom; "you've had too much already. "

"Oh, Mr. Thurnall, she's dying, and I shall die too!"

"You! you were all right this morning. "

"But I shall die; I know I shall, and go to hell!"

"You'll go where you ought; and if you give way to this miserablecowardice, you'll go soon enough. Walk out, sir! Make yourself of someuse, and forget your fear! Leave Mrs. Heale to me. "

The wretched old man obeyed him, utterly cowed, and went out: but not tobe of use: he had been hopelessly boozy from the first--half to fortifyhis body against infection, half to fortify his heart againstconscience. Tom had never reproached him for his share in the publicfolly. Indeed, Tom had never reproached a single soul. Poor wretches whohad insulted him had sent for him, with abject shrieks. "Oh, doctor, doctor, save me! Oh, forgive me! oh, if I'd minded what you said! Oh, don't think of what I said!" And Tom had answered cheerfully, "Tut-tut;never mind what might have been; let's feel your pulse. "

But though Tom did not reproach Heale, Heale reproached himself. He hadjust conscience enough left to feel the whole weight of his abusedresponsibility, exaggerated and defiled by superstitious horror; andmaudlin tipsy, he wandered about the street, moaning that he hadmurdered his wife, and all the town, and asking pardon of every one hemet; till seeing one of the meeting-houses open, he staggered in, in thevain hope of comfort which he knew he did not deserve. 

In half-an-hour Tom was down the street again to Headley's. "Where isMiss Harvey?"

"At the Beers'. "

"She must go up to Heale's instantly. The mother will die. Those casesof panic seldom recover. And Miss Heale may very likely follow her. Shehas shrieked and sobbed herself into it, poor fool! and Grace must go toher at once; she may bring her to common sense and courage, and that isthe only chance. "

Grace went, and literally talked and prayed Miss Heale into life again. 

"You are an angel, " said Tom to her that very evening, when he found thegirl past danger. 

"Mr. Thurnall!" said Grace, in a tone of sad and most meaning reproof. 

"But you are! And these owls are not worthy of you. "

"This is no time for such language, sir! After all, what am I doing morethan you?" And Grace went upstairs again, with a cold hard countenancewhich belied utterly the heart within. 

That was the critical night of all. The disease seemed to have done itsworst in the likeliest spots: but cases of panic increased all theafternoon; and the gross number was greater than ever. 

Tom did not delay inquiring into the cause: and he discovered it. Headley, coming out the next morning, after two hours' fitful sleep, methim at the gate: his usual business-like trot was exchanged for a fierceand hurried stamp. When he saw Frank, he stopped short, and burst outinto a story which was hardly intelligible, so interlarded was it withoaths. 

"For Heaven's sake! Thurnall, calm yourself, and do not swear sofrightfully; it is so unlike you! What can have upset you thus?"

"Why should I not curse and swear in the street, " gasped he, "whileevery fellow who calls himself a preacher is allowed to do it in thepulpit with impunity! Fine him five shillings for every curse, as youmight if people had courage and common sense, and then complain of me! Iam a fool, I know, though. But I cannot stand it! To have all my workundone by a brutal ignorant fanatic!--It is too much! Here, if you willbelieve it, are those preaching fellows getting up a revival, or somesuch invention, just to make money out of the cholera! They have gotdown a great gun from the county town. Twice a-day they are preaching atthem, telling them that it is all God's wrath against their sins; thatit is impious to interfere, and that I am fighting against God, and theend of the world is coming, and they and the devil only know what. If Imeet one of them, I'll wring his neck, and be hanged for it! Oh, youparsons! you parsons!" and Tom ground his teeth with rage. 

"Is it possible? How did you find this out?"

"Mrs. Heale had been in, listening to their howling, just before she wastaken. Heale went in when I turned him out of doors; came home ravingmad, and is all but blue now. Three cases of women have I had thismorning, all frightened into cholera, by their own confession, by lastnight's tomfoolery. --Came home howling, fainted, and were taken beforemorning. One is dead, the other two will die. You must stop it, or Ishall have half-a-dozen more to-night. Go into the meeting, and curse thecur to his face!"

"I cannot, " cried Frank, with a gesture of despair, "I cannot!"

"Ah, your cloth forbids you, I suppose, to enter the non-conformistopposition shop. "

"You are unjust, Thurnall! What are such rules at a moment like this?I'd break them, and the bishop would hold me guiltless. But I cannotspeak to these people. I have no eloquence--no readiness--they do nottrust me--would not believe me--God help me!" and Frank covered his facewith his hands, and burst into tears. 

"Not that, for Heaven's sake!" said Tom, "or we shall have you bluenext, my good fellow. I'd go myself, but they'd not hear me, forcertain; I am no Christian, I suppose: at least, I can't talk theirslang:--but I know who can! We'll send Campbell!"

Frank hailed the suggestion with rapture, and away they went: but theyhad an hour's good search from sufferer to sufferer before they foundthe Major. 

He heard them quietly. A severe gloom settled over his face. "I willgo, " said he. 

At six o'clock that evening, the meeting-house was filling withterrified women, and half-curious, half-sneering, men; and among themthe tall figure of Major Campbell, in his undress uniform (which he hadput on, wisely, to give a certain dignity to his mission), stalked in, and took his seat in the back benches. 

The sermon was what he expected. There is no need to transcribe it. Suchdiscourses may be heard often enough in churches as well as chapels. Thepreacher's object seemed to be--for some purpose or other which we haveno right to judge--to excite in his hearers the utmost intensity ofselfish fear, by language which certainly, as Tom had said, came underthe law against profane cursing and swearing. He described the nextworld in language which seemed a strange jumble of Virgil's Aeneid, theKoran, the dreams of those rabbis who crucified our Lord, and of thosemediaeval inquisitors who tried to convert sinners (and on their ownground, neither illogically nor over-harshly) by making this world for afew hours as like as possible to what, so they held, God was going tomake the world to come for ever. 

At last he stopped suddenly, when he saw that the animal excitement wasat the very highest; and called on all who felt "convinced" to comeforward and confess their sins. 

In another minute there would have been (as there have been ere now)four or five young girls raving and tossing upon the floor, in madterror and excitement; or, possibly, half the congregation might haverushed out (as a congregation has rushed out ere now) headed by thepreacher himself, and ran headlong down to the quay-pool, with shrieksand shouts, declaring that they had cast the devil out of BetseyPennington, and were hunting him into the sea: but Campbell saw that themadness must be stopped at once; and rising, he thundered, in a voicewhich brought all to their senses in a moment--

"Stop! I, too, have a sermon to preach to you; I trust I am a Christianman, and that not of last year's making, or the year before. Follow meoutside, if you be rational beings, and let me tell you the truth--God'struth! Men!" he said, with an emphasis on the word, "you at least, willgive me a fair hearing, and you too, modest married women! Leave thatfellow with the shameless hussies who like to go into fits at his feet. "

The appeal was not in vain. The soberer majority followed him out; theinsane minority soon followed, in the mere hope of fresh excitement;while the preacher was fain to come also, to guard his flock from thewolf. Campbell sprang upon a large block of stone, and taking off hiscap, opened his mouth, and spake unto them. 

 * * * * *

Readers will doubtless desire to hear what Major Campbell said: but theywill be disappointed; and perhaps it is better for them that they shouldbe. Let each of them, if they think it worth while, write for themselvesa discourse fitting for a Christian man, who loved and honoured hisBible too much to find in a few scattered texts, all misinterpreted, andsome mistranslated, excuses for denying fact, reason, common justice, the voice of God in his own moral sense, and the whole remainder of theBible from beginning to end. 

Whatsoever words he spoke they came home to those wild hearts withpower. And when he paused, and looked intently into the faces of hisauditory, to see what effect he was producing, a murmur of assent andadmiration rose from the crowd, which had now swelled to half thepopulation of the town. And no wonder; no wonder that, as the men wereenchained by the matter, so were the women by the manner. The grandhead, like a grey granite peak against the clear blue sky; the tallfigure, with all its martial stateliness and ease; the gesture of hislong arm, so graceful, and yet so self-restrained; the tones of hisvoice which poured from beneath that proud moustache, now tender as agirl's, now ringing like a trumpet over roof and sea. There were old menthere, old beyond the years of man, who said they had never seen norheard the like: but it must be like what their fathers had told them of, when John Wesley, on the cliffs of St. Ives, out-thundered the thunderof the gale. To Grace he seemed one of the old Scotch Covenanters ofwhom she had read, risen from the dead to preach there from his rockbeneath the great temple of God's air, a wider and a juster creed thantheirs. Frank drew Thurnall's arm through his, and whispered, "I shallthank you for this to my dying day:" but Thurnall held down his head. Heseemed deeply moved. At last, half to himself, --

"Humph! I believe that between this man and that girl, you will make aChristian even of me some day!"

But the lull was only for a moment. For Major Campbell, looking round, discerned among the crowd the preacher, whispering and scowling amid aknot of women; and a sudden fit of righteous wrath came over him. 

"Stand out there, sir, you preacher, and look me in the face, if youcan!" thundered he. "We are here on common ground as free men, beneathGod's heaven and God's eye. Stand out, sir! and answer me if you can; orbe for ever silent!"

Half in unconscious obedience to the soldier-like word of command, halfin jealous rage, the preacher stepped forward, gasping for breath, --"Don't listen to him! He is a messenger of Satan, sent to damn you--alying prophet! Let the Lord judge between me and him! Stop your ears--amessenger of Satan--a Jesuit in disguise!"

"You lie, and you know that you lie!" answered Campbell, twirling slowlyhis long moustache, as he always did when choking down indignation. "Butyou have called on the Lord to judge; so do I. Listen to me, sir! Dareyou, in the presence of God, answer for the words which you have spokenthis day?"

A strange smile came over the preacher's face. 

"I read my title clear, sir, to mansions in the skies. Well for you ifyou could do the same. "

Was it only the setting sun, or was it some inner light from the depthsof that great spirit, which shone out in all his countenance, and filledhis eyes with awful inspiration, as he spoke, in a voice calm and sweet, sad and regretful, and yet terrible from the slow distinctness of everyvowel and consonant?

"Mansions in the skies? You need not wait till then, sir, for thepresence of God. Now, here, you and I are before God's judgment-seat. Now, here, I call on you to answer to Him for the innocent lives whichyou have endangered and destroyed, for the innocent souls to whom youhave slandered their heavenly Father by your devil's doctrines this day!You have said it. Let the Lord judge between you and me. He knows besthow to make His judgment manifest. "

He bowed his head awhile, as if overcome by the awful words which he haduttered, almost in spite of himself, and then stepped slowly down fromthe stone, and passed through the crowd, which reverently made way forhim; while many voices cried, "Thank you, sir! Thank you!" and oldCaptain Willis, stepping forward, held out his hand to him, a quietpride in his grey eye. 

"You will not refuse an old fighting man's thanks, sir? This has beenlike Elijah's day with Baal's priests on Carmel. "

Campbell shook his hand in silence: but turned suddenly, for another anda coarser voice caught his ear. It was Jones, the Lieutenant's. 

"And now, my lads, take the Methodist Parson, neck and heels, and heavehim into the quay pool, to think over his summons!"

Campbell went back instantly. "No, my dear sir, let me entreat you formy sake. What has passed has been too terrible to me already; if it hasdone any good, do not let us break it by spoiling the law. "

"I believe you're right, sir: but my blood is up, and no wonder. Why, where is the preacher?"

He had stood quite still for several minutes after Campbell'sadjuration. He had, often perhaps, himself hurled forth such words inthe excitement of preaching; but never before had he heard thempronounced in spirit and in truth. And as he stood, Thurnall, who hadhis doctor's eye on him, saw him turn paler and more pale. Suddenly heclenched his teeth, and stooped slightly forwards for a moment, drawinghis breath. Thurnall walked quickly and steadily up to him. 

Gentleman Jan and two other riotous fellows had already laid hold ofhim, more with the intention of frightening, than of really ducking him. 

"Don't! don't!" cried he, looking round with eyes wild--but not withterror. 

"Hands off, my good lads, " said Tom quietly. "This is my business now, not yours, I can tell you. "

And passing the preacher's arm through his own, with a serious face, Tomled him off into the house at the back of the chapel. 

In two hours more he was blue; in four he was a corpse. The judgment, asusual, had needed no miracle to enforce it. 

Tom went to Campbell that night, and apprised him of the fact. "Thosewords of yours went through him, sir, like a Minié bullet. I was afraidof what would happen when I heard them. "

"So was I, the moment after they were spoken. But, sir, I felt a powerupon me, --you may think it a fancy, --that there was no resisting. "

"I dare impute no fancies, when I hear such truth and reason as youspoke upon that stone, sir. "

"Then you do not blame me?" asked Campbell, with a subdued, almostdeprecatory voice, such as Thurnall had never heard in him before. 

"The man deserved to die, and he died, sir. It is well that there aresome means left on earth of punishing offenders whom the law cannottouch. "

"It is an awful responsibility. "

"Not more awful than killing a man in battle, which we both have done, sir, and yet have felt no sting of conscience. "

"An awful responsibility still. Yet what else is life made up of, frommorn to night, but of deeds which may earn heaven or hell?. .. Well, ashe did to others, so was it done to him. God forgive him! At least, ourcause will be soon tried and judged: there is little fear of my notmeeting him again--soon enough. " And Campbell, with a sad smile, layback in his chair and was silent. 

"My dear sir, " said Tom, "allow me to remind you, after this excitementcomes a collapse; and that is not to be trifled with just now. MedicineI dare not give you. Food I must. "

Campbell shook his head. 

"You must go now, my dear fellow. It is now half-past ten, and I will beat Pennington's at one o'clock, to see how he goes on; so you need notgo there. And, meanwhile, I must take a little medicine. "

"Major, you are not going to doctor yourself?" cried Tom. 

"There is a certain medicine called prayer, Mr. Thurnall--an oldspecific for the heart-ache, as you will find one day--which I have beenneglecting much of late, and which I must return to in earnest beforemidnight. Good-bye, God bless and keep you!" And the Major retired tohis bed-room, and did not stir off his knees for two full hours. Afterwhich he went to Pennington's, and thence somewhere else; and Tom methim at four o'clock that morning musing amid unspeakable horrors, quiet, genial, almost cheerful. 

"You are a man, " said Tom to himself; "and I fancy at times somethingmore than a man; more than me at least. "

Tom was right in his fear that after excitement would come collapse; butwrong as to the person to whom it would come. When he arrived at thesurgery door, Headley stood waiting for him. 

"Anything fresh? Have you seen the Heales?"

"I have been praying with them. Don't be frightened. I am not likely toforget the lesson of this afternoon. "

"Then go to bed. It is full twelve o'clock. "

"Not yet, I fear. I want you to see old Willis. All is not right. "

"Ah! I thought the poor dear old man would kill himself. He has beenworking too hard, and presuming on his sailor's power of tumbling in andtaking a dog's nap whenever he chose. "

"I have warned him again and again: but he was working so magnificently, that one had hardly heart to stop him. And beside, nothing would parthim from his maid. "

"I don't wonder at that:" quoth Tom to himself. "Is she with him?"

"No: he found himself ill; slipped home on some pretence; and will nothear of our telling her. "

"Noble old fellow! Caring for every one but himself to the last. " Andthey went in. 

It was one of those rare cases, fatal, yet merciful withal, in which thepoison seems to seize the very centre of the life, and to preclude thechance of lingering torture, by one deadening blow. 

The old man lay paralysed, cold, pulseless, but quite collected andcheerful. Tom looked, inquired, shook his head, and called for a hotbath of salt and water. 

"Warmth we must have, somehow. Anything to keep the fire alight. "

"Why so, sir?" asked the old man "The fire's been flickering down thismany a year. Why not let it go out quietly, at three-score years andten? You're sure my maid don't know?"

They put him into his bath, and he revived a little. 

"No; I am not going to get well; so don't you waste your time on me, sirs! I'm taken while doing my duty, as I hoped to be. And I've lived tosee my maid do hers, as I knew she would, when the Lord called on her. Ihave, --but don't tell her, she's well employed, and has sorrows enoughalready, some that you'll know of some day--"

"You must not talk, " quoth Tom, who guessed his meaning, and wished toavoid the subject. 

"Yes, but I must, sir. I've no time to lose. If you'd but go and seeafter those poor Heales, and come again. I'd like to have one word withMr. Headley; and my time runs short. "

"A hundred, if you will, " said Frank. 

"And now, sir, " when they were alone, "only one thing, if you'll excusean old sailor, " and Willis tried vainly to make his usual salutation;but the cramped hand refused to obey, --"and a dying one too. "

"What is it?"

"Only don't be hard on the people, sir; the people here. They'regood-hearted souls, with all their sins, if you'll only take them as youfind them, and consider that they've had no chance. "

"Willis, Willis, don't talk of that! I shall be a wiser man henceforth, I trust. At least I shall not trouble Aberalva long. "

"Oh, sir, don't talk so; and you just getting a hold of them!"

"I?"

"Yes, you, sir. They've found you out at last, thank God. I always knewwhat you were and said it. They've found you out in the last week; andthere's not a man in the town but what would die for you, I believe. "

This announcement staggered Frank. Some men it would have only hardenedin their pedantry, and have emboldened them to say: "Ah! then these mensee that a High Churchman can work like any one else, when there is apractical sacrifice to be made. Now I have a standing ground which noone can dispute from which to go on, and enforce my idea of what heought to be. "

But, rightly or wrongly, no such thought crossed Frank's mind. He wasjust as good a Churchman as ever--why not? Just as fond of his own idealof what a parish and a Church Service ought to be--why not? But the onlythought which did rise in his mind was one of utter self-abasement. 

"Oh, how blind I have been! How I have wasted my time in laying down thelaw to these people: fancying myself infallible, as if God were not asnear to them as He is to me--certainly nearer than to any book on myshelves--offending their little prejudices, little superstitions, in myown cruel self-conceit and self-will! And now, the first time that Iforget my own rules; the first time that I forget almost that I am apriest, even a Christian at all! that moment they acknowledge me as apriest, as a Christian. The moment I meet them upon the commonest humanground, helping them as one heathen would help another, simply becausehe was his own flesh and blood, that moment they soften to me and showme how much I might have done with them twelve months ago, had I had butcommon sense!"

He knelt down and prayed by the old man, for him and for himself. 

"Would it be troubling you, sir?" said the old man at last. "But I'dlike to take the Sacrament before I go. "

"Of course. Whom shall I ask in?"

The old man paused awhile. "I fear it's selfish: but it seems to me Iwould not ask it, but that I know I'm going. I should like to take itwith my maid, once more before I die. "

"I'll go for her, " said Frank, "the moment Thurnall comes back to watchyou. "

"What need to go yourself, sir? Old Sarah will go, and willing. "

Thurnall came in at that moment. 

"I am going to fetch Miss Harvey. Where is she, Captain?"

"At Janey Headon's, along with her two poor children. "

"Stay, " said Tom, "that's a bad quarter, just at the fish-house back. Have some brandy before you start?"

"No! no Dutch courage!" and Frank was gone. He had a word to say toGrace Harvey, and it must be said at once. 

He turned down the silent street, and turned up over stone stairs, through quaint stone galleries and balconies such as are often huddledtogether on the cliff sides in fishing towns; into a stifling cottage, the door of which had been set wide open in the vain hope of fresh air. A woman met him, and clasped both his hands, with tears of joy. 

"They're mending, sir! They're mending, else I'd have sent to tell you. I never looked for you so late. "

There was a gentle voice in the next room. It was Grace's. 

"Ah, she's praying by them now. She'm giving them all their medicinesall along! Whatever I should have done without her?--and in and out allday long, too; till one fancies at whiles the Lord must have changed herinto five or six at once, to be everywhere to the same minute. "

Frank went in, and listened to her prayer. Her face was as pale and calmas the pale, calm faces of the two worn-out babes, whose heads lay onthe pillow close to hers: but her eyes were lit up with an intenseglory, which seemed to fill the room with love and light. 

Frank listened: but would not break the spell. 

At last she rose, looked round and blushed. 

"I beg your pardon, sir, for taking the liberty. If I had known that youwere about, I would have sent: but hearing that you were gone home, Ithought you would not be offended, if I gave thanks for them myself. They are my own, sir, as it were--"

"Oh, Miss Harvey, do not talk so! While you can pray as you were prayingthen, he who would silence you might be silencing unawares the Lordhimself!"

She made no answer, though the change in Frank's tone moved her; andwhen he told her his errand, that thought also passed from her mind. 

At last, "Happy, happy man!" she said calmly; and putting on her bonnet, followed Frank out of the house. 

"Miss Harvey, " said Frank, as they hurried up the street, "I must sayone word to you, before we take that Sacrament together. "

"Sir?"

"It is well to confess all sins before the Eucharist, and I will confessmine. I have been unjust to you. I know that you hate to be praised; soI will not tell you what has altered my opinion. But Heaven forbid thatI should ever do so base a thing, as to take the school away from onewho is far more fit to rule in it than ever I shall be!"

Grace burst into tears. 

"Thank God! And I thank you, sir! Oh, there's never a storm but whatsome gleam breaks through it! And now, sir, I would not have told you itbefore, lest you should fancy that I changed for the sake of gain--though, perhaps, that is pride, as too much else has been. But you willnever hear of me inside either of those chapels again. "

"What has altered your opinion of them, then?"

"It would take long to tell, sir: but what happened this morning filledthe cup. I begin to think, sir, that their God and mine are not thesame. Though why should I judge them, who worshipped that other Godmyself till no such long time since; and never knew, poor fool, that theLord's name was Love?"

"I have found out that, too, in these last days. More shame to me thanto you that I did not know it before. "

"Well for us both that we do know it now, sir. For if we believed Himnow, sir, to be aught but perfect Love, how could we look round hereto-night, and not go mad?"

"Amen!" said Frank. 

And how had the pestilence, of all things on earth, revealed to thosetwo noble souls that God is Love?

Let the reader, if he have supplied Campbell's sermon, answer thequestion for himself. 

They went in, and upstairs to Willis. 

Grace bent over the old man, tenderly, but with no sign of sorrow. Dry-eyed, she kissed the old man's forehead; arranged his bed-clothes, woman-like, before she knelt down; and then the three received theSacrament together. 

"Don't turn me out, " whispered Tom. "It's no concern of mine, of course;but you are all good creatures, and, somehow, I should like to be withyou. "

So Tom stayed; and what thoughts passed through his heart are no concernof ours. 

Frank put the cup to the old man's lips; the lips closed, sipped, --thenopened . .. The jaw had fallen. 

"Gone, " said Grace quietly. 

Frank paused, awe-struck. 

"Go on, sir, " said she, in a low voice. "He hears it all more clearlythan he ever did before. " And by the dead man's side Frank finished theCommunion Service. 

Grace rose when it was over, kissed the calm forehead, and went outwithout a word. 

"Tom, " said Frank, in a whisper, "come into the next room with me. "

Tom hardly heard the tone in which the words were spoken, or he wouldperhaps have answered otherwise than he did. 

"My father takes the Communion, " said he, half to himself. "At least, itis a beautiful old--"

Howsoever the sentence would have been finished, Tom stopped short--

"Hey?--What does that mean?"

"At last?" gasped Frank, gently enough. "Excuse me!" He was bowed almostdouble, crushing Thurnall's arm in the fierce gripe of pain. "Pish!--Hang it!--Impossible!--There, you are all right now!"

"For the time. I can understand many things now. Curious sensation itis, though. Can you conceive a sword put in on one side of the waist, just above the hip-bone, and drawn through, handle and all, till itpasses out at the opposite point?"

"I have felt it twice; and therefore you will be pleased to hold yourtongue and go to bed. Have you had any warnings?"

"Yes, --no, --that is--this morning: but I forgot. Never mind!--Whatmatter a hundred years hence I There it is again!--God help me!"

"Humph!" growled Thurnall to himself. "I'd sooner have lost a dozen ofthese herring-hogs, whom nobody misses, and who are well out of theirlife-scrape: but the parson, just as he was making a man!"

There is no use in complaints. In half an hour Frank is screaming like awoman, though he has bitten his tongue half through to stop his screams. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE BLACK HOUND. 

Pah! Let us escape anywhere for a breath of fresh air, for even thescent of a clean turf. We have been watching saints and martyrs--perhapsnot long enough for the good of our souls, but surely too long for thecomfort of our bodies. Let us away up the valley, where we shall find, it not indeed a fresh healthful breeze (for the drought lasts on), atleast a cool refreshing down-draught from Carcarrow Moor before the sungets up. It is just half-past four o'clock, on a glorious Augustmorning. We shall have three hours at least before the heavens becomeone great Dutch-oven again. 

We shall have good company, too, in our walk; for here comes Campbellfresh from his morning's swim, swinging up the silent street towardFrank Headley's lodging. 

He stops, and tosses a pebble against the window-pane. In a minute ortwo Thurnall opens the street-door and slips out to him. 

"Ah, Major! Overslept myself at last; that sofa is wonderfullycomfortable. No time to go down and bathe. Ill get my header somewhereup the stream. "

"How is he?"

"He? sleeping like a babe, and getting well as fast as his soul willallow his body. He has something on his mind. Nothing to be ashamed of, though, I will warrant; for a purer, nobler fellow I never met. "

"When can we move him?"

"Oh, to-morrow, if he will agree. You may all depart and leave me andthe Government man to make out the returns of killed and wounded. Weshall have no more cholera. Eight days without a new case. We shall donow. I'm glad you are coming up with us. "

"I will just see the hounds throw off, and then go back and getHeadley's breakfast. "

"No, no! you mustn't, sir: you want a day's play. "

"Not half as much as you. And I am in no hunting mood just now. Do youtake your fill of the woods and the streams, and let me see our patient. I suppose you will be back by noon?"

"Certainly. " And the two swing up the street, and out of the town, alongthe vale toward Trebooze. 

For Trebooze of Trebooze has invited them, and Lord Scoutbush, andcertain others, to come out otter-hunting; and otter-hunting they willgo. 

Trebooze has been sorely exercised, during the last fortnight, betweenfear of the cholera and desire of calling upon Lord Scoutbush--"as Iought to do, of course, as one of the gentry round; he's a Whig, ofcourse, and no more to me than anybody else; but one don't like to letpolitics interfere;" by which Trebooze glosses over to himself andfriends the deep Hunkeydom with which he lusteth after a live lord'sacquaintance, and one especially in whom he hopes to find even such aone as himself. .. . "Good fellow, I hear he is, too, --good sportsman, smokes like a chimney, " and so forth. 

So at last, when the cholera has all but disappeared, he comes down toPenalva, and introduces himself, half swaggering, half servile; beginsby a string of apologies for not having called before, --"Mrs. Treboozeso afraid of infection, you see, my lord, "--which is a lie: thenblunders out a few fulsome compliments to Scoutbush's courage instaying; then takes heart at a little joke of Scoutbush's, and tries thefree and easy style; fingers his lordship's high-priced Hudsons, andgives a broad hint that he would like to smoke one on the spot; whichhint is not taken, any more than the bet of a "pony" which he offersfive minutes afterwards, that he will jump his Irish mare in and out ofAberalva pound; is utterly "thrown on his haunches" (as he informs hisfriend Mr. Creed afterwards) by Scoutbush's praise of Tom Thurnall, asan "invaluable man, a treasure in such an out-of-the-way place, andreally better company than ninety-nine men out of a hundred;" recovershimself again when Scoutbush asks after his otter-hounds, of which hehas heard much praise from Tardrew; and launches out once more intosporting conversation of that graceful and lofty stamp which may beperused and perpended in the pages of "Handley Cross, " and "Mr. Sponge'sSporting Tour, " books painfully true to that uglier and baser side ofsporting life, which their clever author has chosen so wilfully toportray. 

So, at least, said Scoutbush to himself, when his visitor had departed. 

"He's just like a page out of Sponge's Tour, though he's not half asgood a fellow as Sponge himself; for Sponge knew he was a snob, andlived up to his calling honestly: but this fellow wants all the while toplay at being a gentleman; and--Ugh! how the fellow smelt of brandy, andworse! His hand, too, shook as if he had the palsy, and he chattered andfidgetted like a man with St. Vitus's dance. "

"Did he, my lord?" quoth Tom Thurnall, when he heard the same, in a verymeaning tone. 

And Trebooze, "for his part, couldn't make out that lord--uncommonlyagreeable, and easy, and all that: but shoves a fellow off, and sets himdown somehow, and in such a ---- civil way, that you don't know where tohave him. "

However, Trebooze departed in high spirits; for Lord Scoutbush hasdeigned to say that he will be delighted to see the otter-hounds workany morning that Trebooze likes, and anyhow--no time too early for him. "He will bring his friend Major Campbell?"

"By all means. "

"Expect two or three sporting gentlemen from the neighbourhood, too. Regular good ones, my lord--though they are county bucks--very muchhonoured to make your lordship's acquaintance. "

Scoutbush expresses himself equally honoured by making theiracquaintance, in a tone of bland simplicity, which utterly puzzlesTrebooze, who goes a step further. 

"Your lordship'll honour us by taking pot luck afterwards. Can't showyou French cookery, you know, and your souffleys and glacys, and allthat. Honest saddle o' mutton, and the grounds of old port. --My fatherlaid it down, and I take it up, eh?" And Trebooze gave a wink and anudge of his elbow, meaning to be witty. 

His lordship was exceedingly sorry; it was the most unfortunateaccident: but he had the most particular engagement that very afternoon, and must return early from the otter-hunt, and probably sail the nextday for Wales. "But, " says the little man, who knows all aboutTrebooze's household, "I shall not fail to do myself the honour ofcalling on Mrs. Trebooze, and expressing my regret, " etc. 

So to the otter-hunt is Scoutbush gone, and Campbell and Thurnall afterhim; for Trebooze has said to himself, "Must ask that blackguard of adoctor--hang him! I wish he were an otter himself; but if he's so thickwith his lordship it won't do to quarrel. " For, indeed, Thurnall mighttell tales. So Trebooze swallows his spite and shame, --as do many folkwho call themselves his betters, when they have to deal with a greatman's hanger-on, --and sends down a note to Tom:

"Mr. Trebooze requests the pleasure of Mr. Thurnall's company with hishounds at----"

And Tom accepts--why not? and chats with Campbell, as they go, on manythings; and among other things on this, --

"By the by, " said he, "I got an hour's shore-work yesterday afternoon, and refreshing enough it was. And I got a prize, too. The suckingbarnacle which you asked for: I was certain I should get one or two, ifI could have a look at the pools this week. Jolly little dog! he waspaddling and spinning about last night, and enjoying himself, 'ere agewith creeping'--What is it?--'hath clawed him in his clutch. ' Thatfellow's destiny is not a hopeful analogy for you, sir, who believe thatwe shall rise after we die into some higher and freer state. "

"Why not?"

"Why, which is better off, the free swimming larva, or the perfectcirrhipod, rooted for ever motionless to the rock?"

"Which is better off, the roving young fellow who is sowing his wildoats, or the man who has settled down, and become a respectablelandowner with a good house over his head?"

"And begun to propagate his species? Well, you have me there, sir, asfar as this life is concerned; but you will confess that the barnacle'shistory proves that all crawling grubs don't turn into butterflies. "

"I daresay the barnacle turns into what is best for him; at all events, what he deserves. That rule of yours will apply to him, to whomsoever itwill not. "

"And so does penance for the sins of his youth, as some of us are to doin the next world?"

"Perhaps yes; perhaps no; perhaps neither. "

"Do you speak of us, or the barnacle?"

"Of both. "

"I am glad of that; for on the popular notion of our being punished amillion years hence for what we did when we were lads, I never could seeanything but a misery and injustice in our having come into the world atall. "

"I can, " said the Major quietly. 

"Of course I meant nothing rude: but I had to buy my experience, andpaid for it dearly enough in folly. "

"So had I to buy mine. "

"Then why be punished over and above? Why have to pay for the folly, which was itself only the necessary price of experience'?"

"For being, perhaps, so foolish as not to use the experience after ithas cost you so dear. "

"And will punishment cure me of the foolishness?"

"That depends on yourself. If it does, it must needs be so much thebetter for you. But perhaps you will not be punished, but forgiven. "

"Let off? That would be a very bad thing for me, unless I become a verydifferent man from what I have been as yet. I am always right glad nowto get a fall whenever I make a stumble. I should have gone to sleep inmy tracks long ago else, as one to do in the back woods on a long elkhunt. "

"Perhaps you may become a very different man. "

"I should be sorry for that, even if it were possible. "

"Why? Do you consider yourself perfect?"

"No. .. . But somehow, Thomas Thurnall is an old friend of mine, the firstI ever had; and I should be sorry to lose his company. "

"I don't think you need fear doing so. You have seen an insect gothrough strange metamorphoses, and yet remain the same individual; whyshould not you and I do so likewise?"

"Well?"

"Well--There are some points about you, I suppose, which you would notbe sorry to have altered?"

"A few, " quoth Tom, laughing. "I do not consider myself quite perfectyet. "

"What if those points were not really any part of your character, butmere excrescences of disease: or if that be too degrading a notion, merescars of old wounds, and of the wear and tear of life; and what if, insome future life, all those disappeared, and the true Mr. ThomasThurnall, pure and simple, were alone left?"

"It is a very hopeful notion. Only, my dear sir, one is quiteself-conceited enough in this imperfect state. What intolerable coxcombswe should all be if we were perfect, and could sit admiring ourselves forever and ever!"

"But what if that self-conceit and self-dependence were the very root ofall the disease, the cause of all the scars, the very thing which willhave to be got rid of, before our true character and true manhood can bedeveloped?"

"Yes, I understand. Faith and humility. .. . You will forgive me, MajorCampbell. I shall learn to respect those virtues when good people havedefined them a little more exactly, and can show me somewhat moreclearly in what faith differs from superstition, and humility fromhypocrisy. "

"I do not think any man will ever define them for you. But you may gothrough a course of experiences, more severe, probably, than pleasant, which may enable you at last to define them for yourself. "

"Have you defined them?" asked Tom, bluntly, glancing round at hiscompanion. 

"Faith?--Yes, I trust. Humility?--No, I fear. "

"I should like to hear your definition of the former, at least. "

"Did I not say that you must discover it for yourself?"

"Yes. Well. When the lesson comes, if it does come, I suppose it willcome in some learnable shape; and till then, I must shift for myself--and if self-dependence he a punishable sin, I shall, at all events, haveplenty of company whithersoever I go. There is Lord Scoutbush andTrebooze!"

Why did not Campbell speak his mind more clearly to Thurnall?

Because he knew that with such men words are of little avail. Thedisease was entrenched too strongly in the very centre of the man'sbeing. It seemed at moments as if all his strange adventures andhairbreadth escapes had been sent to do him harm, and not good; topamper and harden his self-confidence, not to crush it. ThereforeCampbell seldom argued with him: but he prayed for him often; for he hadbegun, as all did who saw much of Tom Thurnall, to admire and respecthim, in spite of all his faults. 

And now, turning through a woodland path, they descend toward the river, till they can hear voices below them; Scoutbush laughing quietly, Trebooze laying down the law at the top of his voice. 

"How noisy the fellow is, and how he is hopping about!" says Campbell. 

"No wonder: he has been soaking, I hear, for the last fortnight, withsome worthy compeers, by way of keeping off cholera. I must have my eyeon him to-day. "

Scrambling down through the brushwood, they found themselves in such ascene as Creswick alone knows how to paint: though one element ofbeauty, which Creswick uses full well, was wanting; and the whole placewas seen, not by slant sun-rays, gleaming through the boughs, anddappling all the pebbles with a lacework of leaf shadows, but in theuniform and sober grey of dawn. 

A broad bed of shingle, looking just now more like an ill-made turnpikeroad than the bed of Alva stream; above it, a long shallow pool, whichshowed every stone through the transparent water; on the right, a craggybank, bedded with deep wood sedge and orange-tipped king ferns, clustering beneath sallow and maple bushes already tinged with gold; onthe left, a long bar of gravel, covered with giant "butter-bur" leaves;in and out of which the hounds are brushing--beautiful black-and-tandogs, of which poor Trebooze may be pardonably proud; while round theburleaf-bed dances a rough white Irish terrier, seeming, by his franticself-importance, to consider himself the master of the hounds. 

Scoutbush is standing with Trebooze beyond the bar, upon a little lawnset thick with alders. Trebooze is fussing and fidgetting about, wipinghis forehead perpetually; telling everybody to get out of the way, andnot to interfere; then catching hold of Scoutbush's button to chatter inhis face; then, starting aside to put some part of his dress to rights. His usual lazy drawl is exchanged for foolish excitement. Two or threemore gentlemen, tired of Trebooze's absurdities, are scrambling over therocks above, in search of spraints. Old Tardrew waddles stooping alongthe line where grass and shingle meet, his bulldog visage bent to hisvery knees. 

"Tardrew out hunting?" says Campbell. "Why, it is but a week since hisdaughter was buried!"

"And why not? I like him better for it. Would he bring her back again bythrowing away a good day's sport? Better turn out, as he has done, andforget his feelings, if he has any. "

"He has feelings enough, don't doubt. But you are right. There issomething very characteristic in the way in which the English countrymannever shows grief, never lets it interfere with business, even withpleasure. "

"Hillo! Mr. Trebooze!" says the old fellow, looking up. "Here it is!"

"Spraint?--Spraint?--Spraint?--Where? Eh--what?" cries Trebooze. 

"No; but what's as good: here on this alder stump, not an hour old. Ithought they beauties starns weren't flemishing for nowt. "

"Here! Here! Here! Here! Musical, Musical! Sweetlips! Get out of theway!"--and Trebooze runs down. 

Musical examines, throws her nose into the air, and answers by the richbell-like note of the true otter hound; and all the woodlands ring asthe pack dashes down the shingle to her call. 

"Over!" shouts Tom. "Here's the fresh spraint our side!"

Through the water splash squire, viscount, steward, and hounds, to thehorror of a shoal of par, the only visible tenants of a pool, which, after a shower of rain, would be alive with trout. Where those trout arein the meanwhile is a mystery yet unsolved. 

Over dances the little terrier, yapping furiously, and expending hissuperfluous energy by snapping right and left at the par. 

"Hark to Musical! hark to Sweetlips! Down the stream?--No! the old girlhas it; right up the bank!"

"How do, Doctor? How do, Major Campbell? Forward!--Forward!--Forward!"shouts Trebooze, glad to escape a longer parley, as with his spear inhis left hand, he clutches at the overhanging boughs with his right, andswings himself up, with Peter, the huntsman, after him. Tom follows him;and why?

Because he does not like his looks. That bull-eye is red, and almostbursting; his cheeks are flushed, his lips blue, his hand shakes; andTom's quick eye has already remarked, from a distance, over and abovehis new fussiness, a sudden shudder, a quick half-frightened glancebehind him; and perceived, too, that the moment Musical gave tongue, heput the spirit-flask to his mouth. 

Away go the hounds at score through tangled cover, their merry pealringing from brake and brier, clashing against the rocks, moaningmusically away through distant glens aloft. 

Scoutbush and Tardrew "take down" the riverbed, followed by Campbell. Itis in his way home; and though the Major has stuck many a pig, shot manya gaur, rhinoceros, and elephant, he disdains not, like a truesportsman, the less dangerous but more scientific excitement of anotter-hunt. 

"Hark to the merry merry Christchurch bells! She's up by this time;--that don't sound like a drag now!" cries Tom, bursting desperately, withelbow-guarded visage, through the tangled scrub. 

"What's the matter, Trebooze? No, thanks! 'Modest quenchers' won'timprove the wind just now. "

For Trebooze has halted, panting and bathed in perspiration; has been atthe brandy flask again; and now offers Tom a "quencher, " as he calls it. 

"As you like, " says Trebooze, sulkily, having meant it as a token ofreconciliation, and pushes on. 

They are now upon a little open meadow, girdled by green walls of wood;and along the river-bank the hounds are fairly racing. Tom and Peterhold on; Trebooze slackens. 

"Your master don't look right this morning, Peter. "

Peter lifts his hand to his mouth, to signify the habit of drinking; andthen shakes it in a melancholy fashion, to signify that the said habithas reached a lamentable and desperate point. 

Tom looks back. Trebooze has pulled up, and is walking, wiping still athis face. The hounds have overrun the scent, and are back again, flemishing about the plashed fence on the river brink. 

"Over! over! over!" shouts Peter, tumbling over the fence into thestream, and staggering across. 

Trebooze comes up to it, tries to scramble over, mutters something, andsits down astride of a bough. 

"You are not well, Squire?"

"Well as ever I was in my life! only a little sick--have been severaltimes lately; couldn't sleep either--haven't slept an hour this week. --Don't know what it is. "

"What ducks of hounds those are!" says Tom, trying, for ulteriorpurposes, to ingratiate himself. "How they are working there all bythemselves, like so many human beings. Perfect!"

"Yes--don't want us--may as well sit here a minute. Awfully hot, eh?What a splendid creature that Miss St. Just is! I say, Peter!"

"Yes, sir, " shouts Peter, from the other side. 

"Those hounds ain't right!" with an oath. 

"Not right, sir?"

"Didn't I tell you?--five couple and a half--no, five couple--no, six. Hang it! I can't see, I think! How many hounds did I tell you to bringout?"

"Five couple, sir. "

"Then . .. Why did you bring out that other?"

"Which other?" shouts Peter, while Thurnall eyes Trebooze keenly. 

"Why that! He's none o' mine! Nasty black cur, how did he get here?"

"Where? There's never no cur here!"

"You lie, you oaf--no--why--Doctor--How many hounds are there here?"

"I can't see, " says Tom, "among those bushes. "

"Can't see, eh? Why don't those brutes hit it off?" says Trebooze, drawling, as if he had forgotten the matter, and lounging over thefence, drops into the stream, followed by Tom, and wades across. 

The hounds are all round him, and he is couraging them on, fussing againmore than ever; but without success. 

"Gone to hole somewhere here, " says Peter. 

". .. . !" cries Trebooze, looking round, with a sudden shudder, and faceof terror. "There's that black brute again! there, behind me! Hang it, he'll bite me next!" and he caught up his leg, and struck behind himwith his spear. 

There was no dog there. 

Peter was about to speak; but Tom silenced him by a look, and shouted, --

"Here we are! Gone to holt in this alder root!"

"Now then, little Carlingford! Out of the way, puppies!" cries Trebooze, righted again for the moment by the excitement, and thrusting the houndsright and left, he stoops down to put in the little terrier. 

Suddenly he springs up, with something like a scream, and then burstsout on Peter with a volley of oaths. 

"Didn't I tell you to drive that cur away?"

"Which cur, sir?" cries Peter, trembling, and utterly confounded. 

"That cur!. .. Can't I believe my own eyes? Will you tell me that thebeggar didn't bolt between my legs this moment, and went into the holebefore the terrier?"

Neither answered. Peter with utter astonishment; Tom because he saw whatwas the matter. 

"Don't stoop, Squire. You'll make the blood fly to your head. Let me--"

But Trebooze thrust him back with curses. 

"I'll have the brute out, and send the spear through him!" and flinginghimself on his knees again, Trebooze began tearing madly at the rootsand stones, shouting to the half-buried terrier to tear the intruder. 

Peter looked at Tom, and then wrung his hands in despair. 

"Dirty work--beastly work!" muttered Trebooze. "Nothing but slugs andevats!--Toads, too, --hang the toads! What a plague brings all thisvermin? Curse it!" shrieked he, springing back, "there's an adder! andhe's gone up my sleeve! Help me! Doctor! Thurnall! or I'm a dead man!"

Tom caught the arm, thrust his hand up the sleeve, and seemed to snatchout the snake, and hurl it back into the river. 

"All right now!--a near chance, though!"

Peter stood open mouthed. 

"I never saw no snake!" cried he. 

Tom caught him a buffet which sent him reeling. "Look after your hounds, you blind ass! How are you now, Trebooze?" And he caught the squireround the waist, for he was reeling. 

"The world! The world upside down! rocking and swinging! Who's put mefeet upwards, like a fly on a ceiling? I'm falling, falling off, intothe clouds--into hell-fire--hold me!--Toads and adders! and wasps--to goto holt in a wasp's nest! Drive 'em away, --get me a green bough! I shallbe stung to death!"

And tearing off a green bough, the wretched man rushed into the river, beating wildly right and left at his fancied tormentors. 

"What is it?" cry Campbell and Scoutbush, who have run up breathless. 

"Delirium tremens. Campbell, get home as fast as you can, and send me upa bottle of morphine. Peter, take the hounds home. I must go after him. "

"I'll go home with Campbell, and send the bottle up by a man and horse, "cries Scoutbush; and away the two trot at a gallant pace, for across-country run home. 

"Mr. Tardrew, come with me, there's a good man!--I shall want help. "

Tardrew made no reply, but dashed through the river at his heels. 

Trebooze had already climbed the plashed fence, and was running wildlyacross the meadow. Tom dragged Tardrew up it after him. 

"Thank 'ee, sir, " but nothing more. The two had not met since thecholera. 

Trebooze fell, and lay rolling, trying in vain to shield his face fromthe phantom wasps. 

They lifted him up, and spoke gently to him. 

"Better get home to Mrs. Trebooze, sir, " said Tardrew, with as muchtenderness as his gruff voice could convey. 

"Yes, home! home to Molly! My Molly's always kind. She won't let me beeaten up alive. Molly, Molly!"

And shrieking for his wife, the wretched man started to run again. 

"Molly, I'm in hell! Only help me! you're always right! only forgive me!and I'll never, never again--"

And then came out hideous confessions; then fresh hideous delusions. 

 * * * * *

Three weary up-hill miles lay between them and the house: but home theygot at last. 

Trebooze dashed at the house-door, tore it open; slammed and bolted itbehind him, to shut out the pursuing fiends. 

"Quick, round by the back-door!" said Tom, who had not opposed him forfear of making him furious, but dreaded some tragedy if he were leftalone. 

But his fear was needless. Trebooze looked into the breakfast-room. Itwas empty; she was not out of bed yet. He rushed upstairs into herbed-room, shrieking her name; she leaped up to meet him; and the poorwretch buried his head in that faithful bosom, screaming to her to savehim from he knew not what. 

She put her arms round him, soothed him, wept over him sacred tears. "MyWilliam! my own William! Yes, I will take care of you! Nothing shallhurt you, --my own, own!"

Vain, drunken, brutal, unfaithful. Yes: but her husband still. 

There was a knock at the door. 

"Who is that?" she cried, with her usual fierceness, terrified for hischaracter, not terrified for herself. 

"Mr. Thurnall, madam. Have you any laudanum in the house?"

"Yes, here! Oh, come in! Thank God you are come! What is to be done?"

Tom looked for the laudanum bottle, and poured out a heavy dose. 

"Make him take that, madam, and put him to bed. I will wait downstairsawhile!"

"Thurnall, Thurnall!" calls Trebooze, "don't leave me, old fellow! youare a good fellow. I say, forgive and forget. Don't leave me! Only don'tleave me, for the room is as full of devils as--"

 * * * * *

An hour after, Tom and Tardrew were walking home together. 

"He is quite quiet now, and fast asleep. "

"Will he mend, sir?" asks Tardrew. 

"Of course, he will: and perhaps in more ways than one. Best thing thatcould have happened--will bring him to his senses, and he'll startfresh. "

"We'll hope so, --he's been mad, I think, ever since he heard of thatcholera. "

"So have others: but not with brandy, " thought Tom: but he said nothing. 

"I say, sir, " quoth Tardrew, after a while, "how's Parson Headley?"

"Getting well, I'm happy to say. "

"Glad to hear it, sir. He's a good man, after all; though we did haveour differences. But he's a good man, and worked like one. "

"He did. "

Silence again. 

"Never heard such beautiful prayers in all my life, as he made over mypoor maid. "

"I don't doubt it, " said Tom. "He understands his business at heart, though he may have his fancies. "

"And so do some others, " said Tardrew in a gruff tone, as if half tohimself, "who have no fancies. .. . Tell you what it is, sir: you wasright this time; and that's plain truth. I'm sorry to hear talk of yourgoing. "

"My good sir, " quoth Tom, "I shall be very sorry to go. I have foundplace and people here as pleasant as man could wish: but go I must. "

"Glad you're satisfied, sir; wish you was going to stay, " says Tardrew. "Seen Miss Harvey this last day or two, sir?"

"Yes. You know she's to keep her school?"

"I know it. Nursed my girl like an angel. "

"Like what she is, " said Tom. 

"You said one true word once: that she was too good for us. "

"For this world, " said Tom; and fell into a great musing. 

By those curt and surly utterances did Tardrew, in true British bulldogfashion, express a repentance too deep for words; too deep for allconfessionals, penances, and emotions or acts of contrition; therepentance not of the excitable and theatric southern, unstable aswater, even in his most violent remorse: but of the still, deep-heartednorthern, whose pride breaks slowly and silently, but breaks once forall; who tells to God what he will never tell to man; and having toldit, is a new creature from that day forth for ever. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

BEDDGELERT. 

The pleasant summer voyage is over. The Waterwitch is lounging off PortMadoc, waiting for her crew. The said crow are busy on shore drinkingthe ladies' healths, with a couple of sovereigns which Valencia hasgiven them, in her sister's name and her own. The ladies, under the careof Elsley, and the far more practical care of Mr. Bowie, are rattlingalong among children, maids, and boxes, over the sandy flats of theTraeth Mawr, beside the long reaches of the lazy stream, with the bluesurges of the hills in front, and the silver sea behind. Soon they beginto pass wooded knolls, islets of rock in the alluvial plain. The higherpeaks of Snowdon sink down behind the lower spurs in front; the plainnarrows; closes in, walled round with woodlands clinging to the steephill-sides; and, at last, they enter the narrow gorge ofPont-Aberglaslyn, --pretty enough no doubt, but much over-praised; for thereare in Devon alone a dozen passes far grander, both for form and size. 

Soon they emerge again on flat meadows, mountain-cradled; and the graveof the mythic greyhound, and the fair old church, shrouded in talltrees; and last, but not least, at the famous Leek Hotel, where rulethMrs. Lewis, great and wise, over the four months' Babylon of guides, cars, chambermaids, tourists, artists, and reading-parties, camp-stools, telescopes, poetry-books, blue uglies, red petticoats, and parasols ofevery hue. 

There they settle down in the best rooms in the house, and all goes asmerrily as it can, while the horrors which they have left behind themhang, like a black background, to all their thoughts. However, bothScoutbush and Campbell send as cheerful reports as they honestly can;and gradually the exceeding beauty of the scenery, and the amusingbustle of the village, make them forget, perhaps, a good deal which theyought to have remembered. 

As for poor Lucia, no one will complain of her for being happy; forfeeling that she has got a holiday, the first for now four years, andtrying to enjoy it to the utmost. She has no household cares. Mr. Bowiemanages everything, and does so, in order to keep up the honour of thefamily, on a somewhat magnificent scale. The children, in that bracingair, are better than she has ever seen them. She has Valencia all toherself; and Elsley, in spite of the dark fancies over which he has beenbrooding, is better behaved, on the whole, than usual. 

He has escaped--so he considers--escaped from Campbell, above all fromThurnall. From himself, indeed, he has not escaped; but the company ofself is, on the whole, more pleasant to him than otherwise just now. Forthough he may turn up his nose at tourists and reading-parties, and longfor contemplative solitude, yet there is a certain pleasure to somepeople, and often strongest in those who pretend most shyness, in the"digito monstrari, et diceri, hic est:" in taking for granted thateverybody has read his poems; that everybody is saying in their hearts, "There goes Mr. Vavasour the distinguished poet. I wonder what he iswriting now? I wonder where he has been to-day, and what he has beenthinking of. "

So Elsley went up Hebog, and looked over the glorious vista of the vale, over the twin lakes, and the rich sheets of woodland, with Aran and MoelMeirch guarding them right and left, and the greystone glaciers of theGlyder walling up the valley miles above. And they went up Snowdon, too, and saw little beside fifty fog-blinded tourists, five-and-twentydripping ponies, and five hundred empty porter-bottles; wherefrom theyreturned, as do many, disgusted, and with great colds in their heads. But most they loved to scramble up the crags of Dinas Emrys, and museover the ruins of the old tower, "where Merlin taught Vortigern thecourses of the stars;" till the stars set and rose as they had done forMerlin and his pupil, behind the four great peaks of Aran, Siabod, Cnicht, and Hebog, which point to the four quarters of the heavens: orto lie by the side of the boggy spring, which once was the magic well ofthe magic castle, till they saw in fancy the white dragon and the redrise from its depths once more, and fight high in air the battle whichforetold the fall of the Cymry before the Sassenach invader. 

One thing, indeed, troubled Elsley, --that Claude was his only companion;for Valencia avoided carefully any more _tête-à-tête_ walks with him. She had found out her mistake, and devoted herself now to Lucia. She hada fair excuse enough, for Lucia was not just then in a state for ramblesand scrambles; and of that Elsley certainly had no right to complain; sothat he was forced to leave them both at home, with as good grace as hecould muster, and to wander by himself, scribbling his fancies, whilethey lounged and worked in the pleasant garden of the hotel, with Bowiefetching and carrying for them all day long, and intimating prettyroundly to Miss Clara his "opeeenion, " that he "was very proud andthankful of the office: but he did think that he had to do a great manythings for Mrs. Vavasour every day which would come with a much bettergrace from Mr. Vavasour himself: and that, when he married, he shouldnot leave his wife to be nursed by other men. " Which last words werespoken with an ulterior object, well understood by the hearer; forbetween Clara and Bowie there was one of those patient and honourableattachments so common between worthy servants. They had both "keptcompany, " though only by letter, for the most part, for now five years;they had both saved a fair sum of money; and Clara might have marriedBowie when she chose, had she not thought it her duty to take care ofher mistress; while Bowie considered himself equally indispensable tothe welfare of that "puir feckless laddie, " his master. 

So they waited patiently, amusing the time by little squabbles ofjealousy, real or pretended; and Bowie was faithful, though Clara waspast thirty now, and losing her good looks. 

"So ye'll see your lassie, Mr. Bowie!" said Sergeant MacArthur, hisintimate, when he started for Aberalva that summer. "I'm thinking ye'dbetter put her out of her pain soon. Five years is ower lang courting, and she's na pullet by now, saving your pardon. "

"Hoooo--, " says Bowie; "leave the green gooseberries to the lads, andgi' me the ripe fruit, Sergeant. "

However, he found love-making in his own fashion so pleasant, that, notcontent with carrying Mrs. Vavasour's babies about all day long, he hadseveral times to be gently turned out of the nursery, where he wanted toassist in washing and dressing them, on the ground that an old soldiercould turn his hand to anything. 

So slipped away a fortnight and more, during which Valencia was thecynosure of all eyes, and knew it also: for Claude Mellot, half to amuseher, and half to tease Elsley, made her laugh many a time by retailinglittle sayings and doings in her praise and dispraise, picked up fromrich Manchester gentlemen, who would fain have married her without apenny, and from strong-minded Manchester ladies, who envied her beauty alittle, and set her down, of course, as an empty-minded worldling, and aproud aristocrat. The majority of the reading-parties, meanwhile, thought a great deal more about Valencia than about their books. TheOxford men, it seemed, though of the same mind as the Cambridge men inconsidering her the model of all perfection, were divided as to theirmethod of testifying the same. Two or three of them, who were given tothat simpering and flirting tone with young ladies to which Oxfordwould-be-fine gentlemen are so pitiably prone, hung about the inn-doorto ogle her: contrived always to be walking in the garden when she wasthere, dressed out as if for High Street at four o'clock on a Mayafternoon; tormented Claude by fruitless attempts to get from him anintroduction, which he had neither the right nor the mind to give; andat last (so Bowie told Claude one night, and Claude told the whole partynext morning) tried to bribe and flatter Valencia's maid into givingthem a bit of ribbon, or a cast-off glove, which had belonged to theidol. Whereon that maiden, in virtuous indignation, told Mr. Bowie, andcomplained moreover (as maids are bound to do to valets for whom theyhave a penchant), of their having dared to compliment her on her owngood looks: by which act she succeeded, of course, in making Mr. Bowieunderstand that other people still thought her pretty, if he did not;and also in arousing in him that jealousy which is often the besthelpmate of sweet love. So Mr. Bowie went forth in his might that veryevening, and finding two of the Oxford men, informed them in plainScotch, that, "Gin he caught them, or any ither such skellums, philandering after his leddies, or his leddies' maids, he'd jist knocktheir empty pows togither. " To which there was no reply but silence; forMr. Bowie stood six feet four without his shoes, and had but the weekbefore performed, for the edification of the Cambridge men, who held himin high honour, a few old Guards' feats; such, as cutting in two at onesword-blow a suspended shoulder of mutton; lifting a long table by histeeth; squeezing a quart pewter pot flat between his fingers; and otherlittle recreations of those who are "born unto Rapha. "

But the Cantabs, and a couple of gallant Oxford boating men who hadfraternised with them, testified their admiration in their simple honestway, by putting down their pipes whenever they saw Valencia coming, andjust lifting their hats when they met her close. It was taking aliberty, no doubt. "But I tell you, Mellot, " said Wynd, as brave andpure-minded a fellow as ever pulled in the University eight, "the Arabs, when they see such a creature, say, 'Praise Allah for beautiful women, 'and quite right; they may remind some fellows of worse things, but theyalways remind me of heaven and the angels; and my hat goes off to her byinstinct, just as it does when I go into a church. "

That was all; simple chivalrous admiration, and delight in herloveliness, as in that of a lake, or a mountain sunset; but nothingmore. The good fellows had no time, indeed, to fancy themselves in lovewith her, or her with them, for every day was too short for them; whatwith reading all the morning, and starting out in the afternoon instrange garments (which became shabbier and more ragged very rapidly asthe weeks slipped on) upon all manner of desperate errands; walkingunheard-of-distances, and losing their way upon the mountains;scrambling cliffs and now and then falling down them; camping all nightby unpronounceable lakes, in the hope of catching mythical trout; tryingin all ways how hungry, thirsty, dirty, and tired a man could makehimself, and how far he could go without breaking his neck, any approachto which catastrophe was hailed (as were all other mishaps) as "all inthe day's work, " and "the finest fun in the world, " by thatunconquerable English "lebensglückseligkeit, " which is a perpetualwonder to our sober German cousins. Ah, glorious twenty-one, with yourinexhaustible powers of doing and enjoying, eating and hungering, sleeping and sitting up, reading and playing! Happy are those who stillpossess you, and can take their fill of your golden cup, steadied, butnot saddened, by the remembrance, that for all things a good and lovingGod will bring them into judgment. Happier still those who (like a few)retain in body and soul the health and buoyancy of twenty-one on to thevery verge of forty, and seeming to grow younger-hearted as they growolder-headed, can cast off care and work at a moment's warning, laughand frolic now as they did twenty years ago, and say with Wordsworth--

 "So was it when I was a boy, So let it be when I am old, Or let me die!"

Unfortunately, as will appear hereafter, Elsley's especial _bêtesnoirs_ were this very Wynd and his inseparable companion, Naylor, whohappened to be not only the best men of the set, but Mellot's especialfriends. Both were Rugby men, now reading for their degree. Wynd was aShropshire squire's son, a lissom fair-haired man, the handiest ofboxers, rowers, riders, shots, fishermen, with a noisy superabundance ofanimal spirits, which maddened Elsley. Yet Wynd had sentiment in hisway, though he took good care never to show it Elsley; could repeatTennyson from end to end; spouted the Mort d'Arthur up hill and downdale, and chaunted rapturously, "Come into the garden, Maud!" while heexpressed his opinion of Maud's lover in terms more forcible thandelicate. Naylor, fidus Achates, was a Gloucestershire parson's son, ahuge heavy-looking man, with a thick curling lip, and a sleepy eye; buthe had brains enough to become a first-rate classic; and in that samesleepy eye and heavy lip lay an infinity of quiet humour; racy oldcountry stories, quaint scraps of out-of-the-way learning, jovial oldballads, which he sang with the mellowest of voices, and a slangvocabulary, which made him the dread of all bargees from Newnham pool toUpware. Him also Elsley hated, because Naylor looked always as if he waslaughing at him, which indeed he was. 

And the worst was, that Elsley had always to face them both at once. IfWynd vaulted over a gate into his very face, with a "How de' do, Mr. Vavasour? Had any verses this morning?" in the same tone as if he hadasked, "Had any sport?" Naylor's round face was sure to look over thestone-wall, pipe in mouth, with a "Don't disturb the gentleman, Tom;don't you see he's a composing of his rhymes!" in a strong provincialdialect put on for the nonce. In fact, the two young rogues, having norespect whatsoever for genius, perhaps because they had each of them alittle genius of their own, made a butt of the poet, as soon as theyfound out that he was afraid of them. 

But worse _bêtes noirs_ than either Wynd or Naylor were on their way tofill up the cup of Elsley's discomfort. And at last, without a note ofwarning, appeared in Beddgelert a phenomenon which rejoiced some hearts, but perturbed also the spirits not only of the Oxford "philanderers, "but those of Elsley Vavasour, and, what is more, of Valencia herself. 

She was sitting one evening at the window with Lucia, looking out intothe village and the pleasure-grounds before the hotel. They were bothlaughing and chatting over the groups of tourists in their pretty Irishway, just as they had done when they were girls; for Lucia's heart wasexpanding under the quiet beauty of the place, the freedom fromhousehold care, and what was more, from money anxieties; for Valenciahad slipped into her hand a cheque for fifty pounds from Scoutbush, andassured her that he would be quite angry if she spoke of paying the rentof the rooms; Elsley was mooning down the river by himself; Claude wasentertaining his Cambridge acquaintances, as he did every night, withhis endless fun and sentiment. Gradually the tourists slipt in one byone, as the last rays of the sun faded off the peaks of Aran, and themist settled down upon the dark valley beneath, and darkness fell uponthat rock-girdled paradise; when up to the door below there drove a car, at sight whereof out rushed, not waiters only and landlady, but Mr. Bowie himself, who helped out a very short figure in a pea-jacket and ashining boating hat, and then a very tall one in a wild shooting-coatand a military cap. 

"My brother, and mon Saint Père! Lucia! too delightful! This is why theydid not write. " And Valencia sprang up, and was going to run down stairsto them, when she paused at Lucia's call. 

"Who have they with them'? Val, --come and look! who can it be?"

Campbell and Bowie were helping out carefully a tall man, covered up inmany wrappers. It was too dark to see the face; but a fancy crossedValencia's mind which made her look grave, in spite of her pleasure. 

He was evidently weak, as from recent illness; for his two supportersled him up the steps, and Scoutbush seemed full of directions andinquiries, and fussed about with the landlady, till she was tired ofcurtseying to "my lord. "

A minute afterwards Bowie threw open the door grandly. "My lord, myladies!" and in trotted Scoutbush, and began kissing them fiercely, andthen dancing about. 

"Oh my dears! Here at last--out of that horrid city of the plague! Suchsights as I have seen--" and then he paused. "Do you know, Val andLucia, I'm glad I've seen it: I don't know, but I feel as if I should bea better man all my life; and those poor people, how well they didbehave! And the Major, he's an angel! And so's that brick of a doctor, and the mad schoolmistress, and the curate. Everybody, I think, but me. Hang it, Val! but your words shan't come true! I will be of some use yetbefore I die! But I've--" and Valencia went up to him and kissed him, while he ran on, and Lucia said, --

"You have been of use already, dear Fred. You have sent me and the dearchildren to this sweet place, where we have been safer and happierthan--" (she checked herself); "and your generous present too. I feel quitea girl again, thanks to you. Val and I have done nothing but laugh all daylong;" and she began kissing him too. 

 "'How happy could I be with either, Were t'other dear charmer away!'"

broke out Scoutbush. "What a pity it is now, that I should have two suchsweet creatures making love to me, and can't marry either of them? Whydid ye go and be my father's daughters, mavourneen? I'd have made apeeress of the one of ye, if ye'd had the sense to be anybody else'ssisters. "

At which they all laughed, and laughed, and chattered broad Irishtogether as they used to do for fun in old Kilanbaggan Castle, beforeLucia was a weary wife, and Valencia a worldly fine lady, and Scoutbusha rackety guardsman, breaking half of the ten commandments every week, rather from ignorance than vice. 

"Well, I'm glad ye're pleased with me, asthore, " said he at last toLucia; "but I've done another little good deed, I flatter myself; forI've brought away the poor spalpeen of a priest, and have got him safein the house. "

Valencia stopped short in her fun. 

"Why, what have ye to say against that, Miss Val?"

"Why, won't he be a little in the way?" said Valencia, not knowing whatto say. 

"Faith, he needn't trouble you; and I shall take very good care--Iwonder when the supper is coming--that neither he nor any else troublesme. But really, " said he, in his natural voice, and with some feeling, "I was ashamed to go away and leave him there. He would have died if wehad. He worked day and night. Talk of saints and martyrs! Campbellhimself said he was an idler by the side of him. "

"Oh! I hope Major Campbell has not over-exerted himself!"

"He? nothing hurts him. He's as hard as his own sword. But the poorcurate worked on till he got the cholera himself. He always expected it, longed for it; Campbell said--wanted to die. Some love affair, Isuppose, poor fellow?--and a terrible bout he had for eight-and-fortyhours. Thurnall thought him gone again and again; but he pulled the poorfellow through, after all, and we got some one (that is, Campbell did)to take his duty; and brought him away, after a good deal of persuasion;for he would not move as long as there was a fresh case in the town;that is why we never wrote. We did not know till the last hour when weshould start; and we expected to be with you in two days, and give you apleasant surprise. He was half dead when we got him on board; but theweek's sea-air helped him through; so I must not grumble at thesenortherly breezes. 'It's an ill wind that blows nobody good, ' they say!"

Valencia heard all this as in a dream; and watched her chatteringbrother with a stupefied air. She comprehended all now; and bitterly sheblamed herself. He had really loved her, then; set himself manfully todie at his post, that he might forget her in a better world. Howshamefully she had trifled with that noble heart! How should she evermeet--how have courage to look him in the face? And not love, oranything like love, but sacred pity and self-abasement filled her heart, as his fair, delicate face rose up before her, all wan and shrunken, with sad upbraiding eyes; and round it such a halo, pure and pale, ascrowns, in some old German picture, a martyr's head. 

"He has had the cholera! he has been actually dying?" asked she at last, with that strange wish to hear over again bad news, which one knows toowell already. 

"Of course he has. Why, you are not going away, Valencia? You need notbe afraid of infection. Campbell, and Thurnall, too, says that's allnonsense; and they must know, having seen it so often. Here comes Bowieat last with supper!"

"Has Mr. Headley had anything to eat?" asked Valencia, who longed to runaway to her own room, but dared not. 

"He is eating now like any ged, ma'am; and Major Campbell's making himeat too. "

"He must be very ill, " thought she, "for mon Saint Père never to havecome near us yet:" and then she thought with terror that her Saint Pèremight have guessed the truth, and be angry with her. And yet she trustedin Frank's secrecy. He would not betray her. 

Take care, Valencia. When a woman has to trust a man not to betray her, and does trust him, she may soon find it not only easy, but necessary, to do more than trust him. 

However, in five minutes Campbell came in. Valencia saw at once thatthere was no change in his feelings to her: but he could talk of nothingbut Headley, his self-devotion, courage, angelic gentleness, andhumility; and every word of his praise was a fresh arrow in Valencia'sconscience; at last, --

"One knows well enough what is the matter, " said he, almost bitterly--"what is the matter, I sometimes think, with half the noblest men in theworld, and nine-tenths of the noblest women; and with many a one, too, God help them! who is none of the noblest, and therefore does not knowhow to take the bitter cup, as he knows--"

"What does the philosopher mean now?" asked Scoutbush, looking up fromthe cold lamb. Valencia knew but too well what he meant. 

"He has a history, my dear lord. "

"A history? What! is he writing a book?"

Campbell laughed a quiet under-laugh, half sad, half humorous. 

"I am very tired, " said Valencia; "I really think I shall go to bed. "

She went to her room; but to bed she did not go: she sat down and criedtill she could cry no more, and lay awake the greater part of the night, tossing miserably. She would have done better if she had prayed; butprayer, about such a matter, was what Valencia knew nothing of. She wasregular enough at church, of course, and said her prayers and confessedher sins in a general way, and prayed about her "soul, " as she had beentaught to do, --unless she was too tired: but to pray really, about areal sorrow, a real sin like this, was a thought which never entered hermind; and if it had, she would have driven it away again: just becausethe anxiety was so real, practical, human, it was a matter which hadnothing to do with religion; which it seemed impertinent--almost wrongto lay before the Throne of God. 

So she came downstairs next morning, pale, restless, unrefreshed in bodyor mind; and her peace of mind was not improved by seeing, seated at thebreakfast-table, Frank Headley, whom Lucia and Scoutbush were stuffingwith all manner of good things. 

She blushed scarlet--do what she would she could not help it--when herose and bowed to her. Half choked, she came forward and offered herhand. She was so "shocked to hear that he had been so dangerously ill, --no one had even told them of it, --it had come upon them so suddenly;"and so forth. 

She spoke kindly, but avoided the least tone of tenderness: for she feltthat if she gave way, she might be only too tender; and to re-awakenhope in his heart would be only cruelty. And, therefore, and for otherreasons also, she did not look him in the face as she spoke. 

He answered so cheerfully that she was half disappointed, in spite ofher remorse, at his not being as miserable as she had expected. Still, if he had overcome the passion, it was so much better for him. But yetValencia hardly wished that he should have overcome it, soself-contradictory is woman's heart; and her pity had sunk to half-ebb, and her self-complacency was rising with a flowing tide, as he chatted onquietly, but genially, about the voyage, and the scenery, and Snowdon, which he had never seen, and which he would ascend that very day. 

"You will do nothing of the kind, Mr. Headley!" cried Lucia. "Is he notmad, Major Campbell, quite mad?"

"I know I am mad, my dear Mrs. Vavasour; I have been so a long time: butSnowdon ponies are in their sober senses, --and I shall take one ofthem. "

"Fulfil the old pun?--Begin beside yourself, and end beside your horse!I am sure he is not strong enough to sit over those rocks. No, you shallstay at home comfortably here; Valencia and I will take care of you. "

"And mon Saint Père too. I have a thousand things to say to him. "

"And so has he to Queen Whims. "

So Scoutbush sent Bowie for "John Jones Clerk, " the fisherman (may hisdays be as many as his salmon, and as good as his flies!), and the fourstayed at home, and talked over the Aberalva tragedies, till, as itbefell, both Lucia and Campbell left the room awhile. 

Immediately Frank rose, and walking across to Valencia, laid the fatalring on the arm of her chair, and returned to his seat without a word. 

"You are very--. I hope that it--, " stammered Valencia. 

"You hope that it was a comfort to me? It was; and I shall be alwaysgrateful to you for it. "

Valencia heard an emphasis on the "was. " It checked the impulse (foolishenough) which rose in her, to bid him keep the ring. 

So, prim and dignified, she slipped it into its place on her finger, andwent on with her work; merely saying, --

"I need not say that I am happy that anything which I could do shouldhave been of use to you in such a fearful time. "

"It was a fearful time! but for myself, I cannot be too glad of it. Godgrant that it may have been as useful to others as to me! It cured me ofa great folly. Now I look back, I am astonished at my own absurdity, rudeness, presumption. --You must let me say it!--I do not know how tothank you enough, I cannot trust myself with the fit words, they wouldbe so strong: but I owe this confession to you, and to your exceedinggoodness and kindness, when you would have been justified in treating meas a madman. I was mad, I believe: but I am in my right mind now, Iassure you, " said he gaily. "Had I not been, I need hardly say you wouldnot have seen me here. What a prospect this is!" And he rose and lookedout of the window. 

Valencia had heard all this with downcast eyes and unmoved face. Was shepleased at it? Not in the least, the naughty child that she was; andmore, she grew quite angry with herself, ashamed of herself, for havingthought and felt so much about him the night before. "How silly of me!He is very well, and does not care for me. And who is he, pray, that Ishould even look at him?"

And, as if in order to put her words into practice, she looked at himthere and then. He was gazing out of the window, leaning gracefully andyet feebly against the shutter, with the full glory of the forenoon sunupon his sharp-cut profile and rich chestnut locks; and after all, having looked at him once, she could not help looking at him again. Hewas certainly a most gentleman-like man, elegant from head to foot;there was not an ungraceful line about him, to his very boots, and thewhite nails of his slender fingers; even the defects of his figure--thetoo great length of the neck and slope of the shoulders--increased hislikeness to those saintly pictures with which he had been mixed up inher mind the night before. He was at one extreme pole of the differenttypes of manhood, and that burly doctor who had saved his life at theother: but her Saint Père alone perfectly combined the two. There wasnobody like him, after all. Perhaps her wisest plan, as Headley hadforgotten his fancy, was to confess all to the Saint Père (as sheusually did her little sins), and get some sort of absolution from him. 

However, she must say something in answer--

"Yes, it is a very lovely view; but really I must say one more wordabout this matter. I have to thank you, you know, for the good faithwhich you have kept with me. "

He looked round, seemingly amused. "_Cela va sans dire_!" and he bowed;"pray do not say any more about the matter;" and he looked at her withsuch humble and thankful eyes, that Valencia was sorry not to hear morefrom him than--

"Pray tell me--for of course you know--the name of this exquisite valleyup which I am looking. "

"Gwynnant. You must go up it when you are well enough; and see thelakes; they are the only ones in Snowdon from the banks of which theprimaeval forest has not disappeared. "

"Indeed? I must make shift to go there this very afternoon, for--do notlaugh at me--but I never saw a lake in my life. "

"Never saw a lake?"

"No. I am a true Lowlander: born and bred among bleak Norfolk sands andfens--so much the worse for this chest of mine; and this is my firstsight of mountains. It is all like a dream to me, and a dream which Inever expected to be realised. "

"Ah, you should see our Irish lakes and mountains--you should seeKillarney!"

"I am content with these; I suppose it is as wrong to break the tenthcommandment about scenery, as about anything else. "

"Ah, but it seems so hard that you, who I am sure would appreciate finescenery, should have been debarred from it, while hundreds of stupidpeople run over the Alps and Italy every summer, and come home, as faras I can see, rather more stupid than they went; having made confusionworse confounded by filling their poor brains with hard names out ofMurray. "

"Not quite so hard as that thousands, every day, who would enjoy a meatdinner, should have nothing but dry bread, and not enough of that. Ifancy sometimes, that, in some mysterious way, that want will be made upto them in the next life; and so with all the beautiful things whichtravelled people talk of--I comfort myself with the fancy, that I see asmuch as is good for me here, and that if I make good use of that, Ishall see the Alps and the Andes in the world to come, or something muchmore worth seeing. Tell me now, how far may that range of crags be fromus? I am sure that I could walk there after luncheon, this mountain airis strengthening me so. "

"Walk thither? I assure you they are at least four miles off. "

"Four? And I thought them one! So clear and sharp as they stand outagainst the sky, one fancies that one could almost stretch out a handand touch those knolls and slabs of rock, as distinct as in aphotograph; and yet so soft and rich withal, dappled with pearly-greystone and purple heath. Ah!--So it must be, I suppose. The first timethat one sees a glorious thing, one's heart is lifted up towards it inlove and awe, till it seems near to one--ground on which one may freelytread, because one appreciates and admires; and so one forgets thedistance between its grandeur and one's own littleness. "

The allusion was palpable: but did he intend it? Surely not, after whathe had just said. And yet there was a sadness in the tone which madeValencia fancy that some feeling for her might still linger: but heevidently had been speaking to himself, forgetful, for the moment, ofher presence; for he turned to her with a start and a blush--"But now--Ihave been troubling you too long with this stupid _tête-à-tête_sentimentality of mine. I will make my bow, and find the Major. I amafraid, if it be possible for him to forget any one, he has forgotten mein some new moss or other. "

He went out, and to Valencia's chagrin she saw him no more that day. Hespent the forenoon in the garden, and the afternoon in lying down, andat night complained of fatigue, and stayed in his own room the wholeevening, while Campbell read him to sleep. Next morning, however, hemade his appearance at breakfast, well and cheerful. 

"I must play at sick man no more, or I shall rob you, I see, of MajorCampbell's company; and I owe you all for too much already. "

"Unless you are better than you were last night, you must play at sickman, " said the Major. "I cannot conceive what exhausted you so; unlessyou ladies are better nurses, I must let no one come near him butmyself. If you had been scolding him the whole morning, instead ofpraising him as he deserves, he could not have been more tired lastnight. "

"Pray do not!" cried Frank, evidently much pained; "I had such adelightful morning, and every one is so kind--you only make me wretched, when I feel all the trouble I am giving. "

"My dear fellow, " said Scoutbush _en grand sérieux_, "after all that youhave done for our people at Aberalva, I should be very much shocked ifany of my family thought any service shown to you a trouble. "

"Pray do not speak so, " said Frank, "I am fallen among angels, when Ileast expected. "

"Scoutbush as an angel!" shrieked Lucia, clapping her hands. "Elsley, don't you see the wings sprouting already, under his shooting jacket?"

"They are my braces, I suppose, of course, " said Scoutbush, who neverunderstood a joke about himself, though he liked one about other people;while Elsley, who hated all jokes, made no answer--at least none worthrecording. In fact, as the reader may have discovered, Elsley, save_tête-à-tête_ with some one who took his fancy, was somewhat of a silentand morose animal, and, as little Scoutbush confided to Mellot, therewas no getting a rise out of him. All which Lucia saw as keenly as anyone, and tried to pass off by chattering nervously and fussily for him, as well as for herself; whereby she only made him the more cross, for hecould not the least understand her argument--"Why, my dear, if you don'ttalk to people, I must!"

"But why should people be talked to?"

"Because they like it, and expect it!"

"The more foolish they. Much better to hold their tongues and think. "

"Or read your poetry, I suppose?" And then would begin a squabble. 

Meanwhile there was one, at least, of the party, who was watching Luciawith most deep and painful interest. Lord Scoutbush was too busy withhis own comforts, especially with his fishing, to think much of thismoroseness of Elsley's. "If he suited Lucia, very well. His taste andhers differed: but it was her concern, not his"--was a very easy way offreeing himself from all anxiety on the matter: but not so with MajorCampbell. He saw all this; and knew enough of human nature to suspectthat the self-seeking which showed as moroseness in company, might showas downright bad temper in private. Longing to know more of Elsley, ifpossible, to guide and help him, he tried to be intimate with him, as hehad tried at Aberalva; paid him court, asked his opinion, talked to himon all subjects which he thought would interest him. His conclusion wasmore favourable to Elsley's head than to his heart. He saw that Elsleywas vain, and liked his attentions; and that lowered him in his eyes:but he saw too that Elsley shrank from him; at first he thought itpride, but he soon found that it was fear; and that lowered him stillmore in his eyes. 

Perhaps Campbell was too hard on the poet: but his own purity itselftold against Elsley. "Who am I, that any one should be afraid of me, unless they have done something wrong?" So, with his dark suspicionsroused, he watched intently every word and every tone of Elsley's to hiswife; and here he came to a more unpleasant conclusion still. He sawthat they were, sometimes at least, not happy together; and from this hetook for granted, too hastily, that they were never happy together; thatLucia was an utterly ill-used person; that Elsley was a bad fellow, whoill-treated her: and a black and awful indignation against the man grewup within him; all the more fierce because it seemed utterly righteous, and because, too, it had, under heavy penalties, to be utterly concealedbeneath a courteous and genial manner: till many a time he felt inclinedto knock Elsley down for little roughnesses to her, which were reallythe fruit of mere _gaucherie_; and then accused himself for a hypocrite, because he was keeping up the courtesies of life with such a man. ForCampbell, like most men of his temperament, was over-stern, andsometimes a little cruel and unjust, in demanding of others the samelofty code which he had laid down for himself, and in demanding it, too, of some more than of others, by a very questionable exercise of privatejudgment. On the whole, he was right, no doubt, in being as indulgent ashe dared to the publicans and sinners like Scoutbush; and in being assevere as he dared on all Pharisees, and pretentious persons whatsoever:but he was too much inclined to draw between the two classes one ofthose strong lines of demarcation which exist only in the fancies of thehuman brain; for sins, like all diseased matters, are complicated andconfused matters; many a seeming Pharisee is at heart a self-condemnedpublican, and ought to be comforted, and not cursed; while many apublican is, in the midst of all his foul sins, a thorough exclusive andself-complacent Pharisee, and needs not the right hand of mercy, but thestrong arm of punishment. 

Campbell, like other men, had his faults: and his were those of a manwrapped up in a pure and stately, but an austere and lonely creed, distrusted with the world in all its forms, and looking down upon men ingeneral nearly as much as Thurnall did. So he set down Elsley for a badman, to whom he was forced by hard circumstances to behave as if he werea good one. 

The only way, therefore, in which he could vent his feeling, was byshowing to Lucia that studied attention which sympathy and chivalrydemand of a man toward an injured woman. Not that he dared, or wished, to conduct himself with her as he did with Valencia, even had she notbeen a married woman; he did not know her as intimately as he did hersister; but still he had a right to behave as the most intimate friendof her family, and he asserted that right; and all the more determinedlybecause Elsley seemed now and then not to like it. "I will teach him howto behave to a charming woman, " said he to himself; and perhaps he hadbeen wiser if he had not said it: but every man has his weak point, andchivalry was Major Campbell's. 

"What do you think of that poet, Mellot?" said he once, on returningfrom a pic-nic, during which Elsley had never noticed his wife; and, atlast, finding Valencia engaged with Headley, had actually gone off, _pour pis aller_, to watch Lord Scoutbush fishing. 

"Oh, clever enough, and to spare; and as well read a man as I know. Oneof the Sturm-und-drang party, of course:--the express locomotive school, scream-and-go-head: and thinks me, with my classicism, a benightedpagan. Still, every man has a right to his opinion. Live and let live. "

"I don't care about his taste, " said the Major impatiently. "What sortof man is he?--man, Claude?"

"Ahem, humph! 'Irritabile genus poetarum. ' But one is so accustomed tothat among literary men, one never expects them to be like anybody else, and so takes their whims and oddities for granted. "

"And their sins too, eh?"

"Sins? I know of none on his part. "

"Don't you call temper a sin?"

"No; I call it a determination of blood to the head, or of animalspirits to the wrong place, or--my dear Major, I am no moralist. I takepeople, you know, as I find them. But he is a bore; and I should notwonder if that sweet little woman had found it out ere now. "

Campbell ground something between his teeth. He fancied himself full ofrighteous wrath: he was really in a very unchristian temper. Be it so:perhaps there were excuses for him (as there are for many men) of whichwe know nothing. 

Elsley, meanwhile, watched Campbell with fast lowering brow. Losing awoman's affections? He who does so deserves his fate. Had he been in thehabit of paying proper attention to Lucia, he would have liked Campbellall the more for his conduct. There are few greater pleasures to a manwho is what he should be to his wife, than to see other men admiringwhat he admires, and trying to rival him where he knows that he can haveno rival. Let them worship as much as they will. Let her make herself ascharming to them as she can. What matter? He smiles at them in hisheart; for has he not, over and above all the pretty things which he cansay and do ten times as well as they, a talisman--a dozen talismanswhich are beyond their reach?--in the strength of which he will go homeand laugh over with her, amid sacred caresses, all which makes mean menmad? But Elsley, alas for him, had neglected Lucia himself, andtherefore dreaded comparison with any other man; and the suspicionswhich had taken root in him at Aberalva grew into ugly shape andstrength. However he was silent, and contented himself with coldness andall but rudeness. 

There were excuses for him. In the first place, it would have been anugly thing to take notice of any man's attentions to a wife; it couldnot be done but upon the strongest grounds, and done in a way whichwould make a complete rupture necessary, so breaking up the party in asufficiently unpleasant way. Besides, to move in the matter at all wouldbe to implicate Lucia; for, of whatsoever kind Campbell's attentionswere, she evidently liked them; and a quarrel with her on that score wasmore than Elsley dared face. He was not a man of strong moral courage;he hated a scene of any kind; and he was afraid of being worsted in anyreally serious quarrel, not merely by Campbell, but by Lucia. It mayseem strange that he should be afraid of her, though not so that heshould be afraid of Campbell. But the truth is, that the man who bullieshis wife very often does so--as Elsley had done more than once--simplyto prove to himself his own strength, and hide his fear of her. He knewwell that woman's tongue, when once the "fair beast" is brought to bay, is a weapon far too trenchant to be faced by any shield but that of avery clear conscience toward her; which was more than Elsley had. 

Beside--and it is an honour to Elsley Vavasour, amid all his weakness, that he had justice and chivalry enough left to know what nine men outof ten ignore--behind all, let the worst come to the worst, lay onejust and terrible rejoinder, which he, though he had been no worse thanthe average of men, could only answer by silent shame, --

"At least, sir, I was pure when I came to you! You best know whether youwere so likewise. "

And yet even that, so all-forgiving is woman, might, have been faced bysome means: but the miserable complication about the false name stillremained. Elsley believed that he was in his wife's power; that shecould, if she chose, turn upon him, and proclaim him to the world as ascoundrel and an impostor. And, as it is of the nature of man to hatethose whom he fears, Elsley began to have dark and ugly feelings towardLucia. Instead of throwing them away, as a strong man would have done, he pampered them almost without meaning to do so. For he let them runriot through his too vivid imagination, in the form of possiblespeeches, possible scenes, till he had looked and looked through ahundred thoughts which no man has a right to entertain for a moment. True; he had entertained them with horror; but he ought not to haveentertained them at all; he ought to have kicked them contemptuously outand back to the devil, from whence they came. It may be again, that thisis impossible to man; that prayer is the only refuge against thatWalpurgis-dance of the witches and the fiends, which will, at haplessmoments, whirl unbidden through a mortal brain: but Elsley did not pray. 

So, leaving these fancies in his head too long, he soon becameaccustomed to them; and accustomed too, to the Nemesis which they bringwith them; of chronic moodiness and concealed rage. Day by day he waslashing himself up into fresh fury, and yet day by day he was becomingmore careful to conceal that fury. He had many reasons: moral cowardice, which made him shrink from the tremendous consequences of an explosion--equally tremendous, were he right or wrong. Then the secret hope, perhaps the secret consciousness, that he was wrong, and was only sayingto God, like the self-deceiving prophet, "I do well to be angry;" thenthe honest fear of going too far; of being surprised at last into somehideous and irreparable speech or deed, which he might find out too latewas utterly unjust: then at moments (for even that would cross him) thedevilish notion, that, by concealment, he might lure Lucia on to givehim a safe ground for attack. All these, and more, tormented him for awretched fortnight, during which he became, at such an expense ofself-control as he had not exercised for years, courteous to Campbell, more than courteous to Lucia; hiding under a smiling face, wrath whichincreased with the pressure brought to bear upon it. 

Campbell and Lucia, Mellot, Valencia, and Frank, utterly deceived, wenton more merrily than ever, little dreaming that they walked and talkeddaily with a man who was fast becoming glad to flee to the pit of hell, but for the fear that "God would be there also. " They, meanwhile, chatted on, enjoying, as human souls are allowed to do at rare andprecious moments, the mere sensation of being; of which they would talkat times in a way which led them down into deep matters: for instance, --

"How pleasant to sit here for ever!" said Claude, one afternoon, in theinn garden at Beddgelert, "and say, not with Descartes, 'I think, therefore I exist;' but simply, 'I enjoy, therefore I exist. ' I almostthink those Emersonians are right at times, when they crave the 'life ofplants, and stones, and rain. ' Stangrave said to me once, that his idealof perfect bliss was that of an oyster in the Indian seas, drinking thewarm salt water motionless, and troubling himself about nothing, whilenothing troubled itself about him. "

"Till a diver came and tore him up for the sake of his pearls?" saidValencia. 

"He did not intend to contain any pearls. A pearl, you know, is adisease of the oyster, the product of some irritation. He wished to bethe oyster pure and simple, a part of nature. "

"And to be of no use?" asked Frank. 

"Of none whatsoever. Nature had made him what he was, and all beside washer business, and not his. I don't deny that I laughed at him, and madehim wroth by telling him that his doctrine was 'the apotheosis ofloafing. ' But my heart went with him, and the jolly oyster too. It isvery beautiful after all, that careless nymph and shepherd life of theold Greeks, and that Marquesas romance of Herman Melville's--to enjoythe simple fact of living, like a Neapolitan lazzaroni, or a fly upon awall. "

"But the old Greek heroes fought and laboured to till the land, and ridit of giants and monsters, " said Frank. "And as for the Marquesas, Mr. Melville found out, did he not--as you did once--that they were onlypetting and fattening him for the purpose of eating him? There is a darkside to that pretty picture, Mr. Mellot. "

"_Tant pis pour eux_! But that is an unnecessary appendage to the idea, purely. It must be possible to realise such a simple, rich, healthylife, without wickedness, if not without human sorrow. It is no dream, and no one shall rob me of it. I have seen fragments of it scattered upand down the world; and I believe they will all meet in Paradise--whereand when I care not; but they will meet. I was very happy in the SouthSea Islands, after that, when nobody meant to eat me; and I am veryhappy here, and do not intend to be eaten, unless it will be anypleasure to Miss St. Just. No; let man enjoy himself when he can, andtake his fill of those flaming red geraniums, and glossy rhododendrons, and feathered crown-ferns, and the gold green lace of those acaciastossing and whispering overhead, and the purple mountains sleeping therealoft, and the murmur of the brook over the stones; and drink in scentswith every breath, --what was his nose made for, save to smell? I used totorment myself once by asking them all what they meant. Now, I amcontent to have done with symbolisms, and say, 'What you all mean, Icare not, all I know is, that I can draw pleasure from the mere sight ofyou, as, perhaps, you do from the mere sight of me; so let us sittogether, Nature and I, and stare into each other's eyes like two younglovers, careless of the morrow and its griefs. ' I will not even take thetrouble to paint her. Why make ugly copies of perfect pictures? Letthose who wish to see her take a railway ticket, and save usacademicians colours and canvas. _Quant à moi_, the public must go tothe mountains, as Mahomet had to do; for the mountains shall not come tothe public. "

"One of your wilful paradoxes, Mr. Mellot; why, you are photographingthem all day long. "

"Not quite all day long, madam. And after all, _il faut vivre:_ I want afew luxuries; I have no capacity for keeping a shop; photographing paysbetter than painting, considering the time it takes; and it is onlyNature reproducing herself, not caricaturing her. But if any one willensure me a poor two thousand a year, I will promise to photograph nomore, but vanish to Sicily or Calabria, and sit with Sabina in anorchard all my days, twining rose garlands for her pretty head, likeTheocritus and his friends, while the 'pears drop on our shoulders, andthe apples by our side. '"

"What do you think of all this?" asked Valencia of Frank. 

"That I am too like the Emersonian oyster here, very happy, and veryuseless; and, therefore, very anxious to be gone. "

"Surely you have earned the right to be idle awhile?"

"No one has a right to be idle. "

"Oh!" groaned Claude; "where did you find that eleventh commandment?"

"I have done with all eleventh commandments; for I find it quite hardwork enough to keep the ancient ten. But I find it, Mellot, in thedeepest abyss of all; in the very depth from which the commandmentssprang. But we will not talk about it here. "

"Why not?" asked Valencia, looking up. "Are we so very naughty as to beunworthy to listen?"

"And are these mountains, " asked Claude, "so ugly and ill-made, thatthey are an unfit pulpit for a sermon? No; tell me what you mean. Afterall, I am half in jest"

"Do not courtesy, pity, chivalry, generosity, self-sacrifice, --inshort, being of use, --do not our hearts tell us that they are the mostbeautiful, noble, lovely things in the world?"

"I suppose it is so, " said Valencia. 

"Why does one admire a soldier? Not for his epaulettes and red coat, butbecause one knows that, coxcomb though he be at home here, there is thepower in him of that same self-sacrifice; that, when he is called, hewill go and die, that he may be of use to his country. And yet--it mayseem invidious to say so just now--but there are other sorts ofself-sacrifice, less showy, but even more beautiful. "

"Oh, Mr. Headley, what can a man do more than die for his countrymen?"

"Live for them. It is a longer work, and therefore a more difficult anda nobler one. "

Frank spoke in a somewhat sad and abstracted tone. 

"But, tell me, " she said, "what all this has to do with--with the deepmatter of which you spoke?"

"Simply that it is the law of all earth, and heaven, and Him who madethem. --That God is perfectly powerful, because He is perfectly andinfinitely of use; and perfectly good, because he delights utterly andalways in being of use; and that, therefore, we can become like God--asthe very heathens felt that we can, and ought to become--only inproportion as we become of use. I did not see it once. I tried to begood, not knowing what good meant. I tried to be good, because I thoughtit would pay me in the world to come. But, at last, I saw that all life, all devotion, all piety, were only worth anything, only Divine, andGod-like, and God-beloved, as they were means to that one end--to beof use. "

"It is a noble thought, Headley, " said Claude: but Valencia was silent. 

"It is a noble thought, Mellot; and all thoughts become clear in thelight of it; even that most difficult thought of all, which so oftentorments good people, when they feel, 'I ought to love God, and yet I donot love him. ' Easy to love Him, if one can once think of Him as theconcentration, the ideal perfection, of all which is most noble, admirable, lovely in human character! And easy to work, too, when oneonce feels that one is working for such a Being, and with such a Being;as that! The whole world round us, and the future of the world too, seemfull of light even down to its murkiest and foulest depths, when we canbut remember that great idea, --An infinitely useful God over all, who istrying to make each of us useful in his place. If that be not thebeatific vision of which old Mystics spoke so rapturously, one glimpseof which was perfect bliss, I at least know none nobler, desire nonemore blessed. Pray forgive me, Miss St. Just! I ought not to intrudethus!"

"Go on!" said Valencia. 

"I--I really have no more to say. I have said too much. I do not knowhow I have been betrayed so far, " stammered Frank, who had the justdislike of his school of anything like display on such solemn matters. 

"Can you tell us too much truth? Mr. Headley is right, Mr. Mellot, andyou are wrong. "

"It will not be the first time, Miss St. Just. But what I spoke in jest, he has answered in earnest. "

"He was quite right. We are none of us half earnest enough. There isLucia with the children. " And she rose and walked across the garden. 

"You have moved the fair trifler somewhat, " said Claude. 

"God grant it! but I cannot think what made me. "

"Why think? You spoke out nobly, and I shall not forget your sermon. "

"I was not preaching at you, most affectionate and kindly of men. "

"And laziest of men, likewise. What can I do now, at this moment, to beof use to any one? Set me my task. "

But Frank was following with his eyes Valencia, as she went hurriedlyacross to Lucia. He saw her take two of the children at once off hersister's hands, and carry them away down a walk. A few minutesafterwards he could hear her romping with them; but he could not haveguessed, from the silver din of those merry voices, that Valencia'sheart was heavy within her. 

For her conscience was really smitten. Of what use was she in the world?Major Campbell had talked to her often about her duties to this personand to that, of this same necessity of being useful; but she had escapedfrom the thought, as we have seen her, in laughing at poor littleScoutbush on the very same score. But why had not Major Campbell'ssermons touched her heart as this one had? Who can tell? Who is thereamong us to whom an oft-heard truth has not become a tiresome andsuperfluous commonplace, till one day it has flashed before us utterlynew, indubitable, not to be disobeyed, written in letters of fire acrossthe whole vault of heaven? All one can say is, that her time was notcome. Besides, she looked on Major Campbell as a being utterly superiorto herself; and that very superiority, while it allowed her to be asfamiliar with him as she chose, excused her in her own eyes from openingto him her real heart. She could safely jest with him, let him pet her, play at being his daughter, while she felt that between him and her laya gulf as wide as between earth and heaven; and that very notioncomforted her in her naughtiness; for in that case, of course, his codeof morals was not meant for her; and while she took his warnings (asmany of them at least as she chose), she thought herself by no meansbound to follow his examples. She all but worshipped him as her guardianangel: but she was not meant for an angel herself; so she could indulgefreely in those little escapades and frivolities for which she was born, and then, whenever frightened, run for shelter under his wings. But tohear the same, and even loftier words, from the lips of the curate, whomshe had made her toy, almost her butt, was to have them brought downunexpectedly and painfully to her own level. If this was his ideal, whyought it not to be hers? Was she not his equal, perhaps his superior?And so her very pride humbled her, as she said to herself, --"Then Iought to be useful. I can be;--will be!"

"Lucia, " asked she, that very afternoon, "will you let me take thechildren off your hands while Clara is busy in the morning?"

"Oh, you dear good creature? but it would be such a _gêne_! They arereally stupid, I am afraid sometimes, or else I am. They make me somiserably cross at times. "

"I will take them. It would be a relief to you, would it not?"

"My clear!" said poor Lucia, with a doleful smile, which seemed toValencia's self-accusing heart to say, "Have you only now discoveredthat fact?"

From that day Valencia courted Headley's company more and more. To fallin love with him was of course absurd; and he had cured himself of hispassing fancy for her. There could be no harm, then, in her making themost of conversation so different from what she heard in the world, andwhich in her heart of hearts she liked so much better. For it was withValencia as with all women; in this common fault of frivolity, as inmost others, the men rather than they are to blame. Valencia hadcultivated in herself those qualities which she saw admired by the menwhom she met, and some one of whom, of course, she meant to marry; andas their female ideal was a butterfly ideal, a butterfly she became. Butbeneath all lay, deep and strong, the woman's love of nobleness andwisdom, the woman's longing to learn and to be led, which has shownitself in every age in so many a fantastic and even ugly shape, andwhich is their real excuse for the flirting with, "geniuses, " castingthemselves at the feet of directors; which had tempted her to coquettewith Elsley, and was now bringing her into "undesirable" intimacy withthe poor curate. 

She had heard that day, with some sorrow, his announcement that hewished to be gone; but as he did not refer to it again, she left thethought alone, and all but forgot it. The subject, however, was renewedabout a week afterwards. "When you return to Aberalva, " she had said, inreference to some commission. 

"I shall never return to Aberalva. "

"Not return?"

"No; I have already resigned the curacy. I believe your uncle hasappointed to it the man whom Campbell found for me: and an excellentman, I hear, he is. At least, he will do better there than I. "

"But what could have induced you? How sorry all the people will be!"

"I am not sure of that, " said he with a smile. "I did what I could atlast to win back at least their respect, and to leave at least nothatred behind me: but I am unfit for them. I did not understand them. Imeant--no matter what I meant? but I failed. God forgive me! I shall nowgo somewhere where I shall have simpler work to do, where I shall atleast have a chance of practising the lesson which I learnt there. Ilearnt it all, strange to say, from the two people in the parish fromwhom I expected to learn least. "

"Whom do you mean?"

"The doctor and the schoolmistress. "

"Why from them less than from any in the parish? She so good, and he soclever?"

"That I shall never tell to any one now. Suffice it that I wasmistaken. "

Valencia could obtain no further answer; and so the days ran on, everyone becoming more and more intimate, till a certain afternoon, on whichthey were all to go and pic-nic, under Claude's pilotage, above the lakeof Gwynnant. Scoutbush was to have been with them; but a heavy day'srain in the meanwhile swelled the streams into fishing order, so thelittle man ordered a car, and started at three in the morning for Bettwswith Mr. Bowie, who, however loth to give up the arrangement of platesand the extraction of champagne corks, considered his presence by theriver-side a natural necessity. 

"My dear Miss Clara, ye see, there'll be nobody to see that his lordshippits on dry stockings; and he's always getting over the tops of hiswater-boots, being young and daft, as we've all been, and no offence toyou; and to tell you truth, I can stand all temptations--in moderation, that is, save an' except the chance o' cleiking a fish. "

CHAPTER XX. 

BOTH SIDES OF THE MOON AT ONCE. 

The spot which Claude had chosen for the pic-nic was on one of the lowerspurs of that great mountain of The Maiden's Peak, which bounds the valeof Gwynnant to the south. Above, a wilderness of gnarled volcanic dykes, and purple heather ledges; below, broken into glens, in which stilllinger pale green ashwoods, relics of that great primaeval forest inwhich, in Bess's days, great Leicester used to rouse the hart with houndand horn. 

Among these Claude had found a little lawn, guarded by great rocks, outof every cranny of which the ashes grew as freely as on flat ground. Their feet were bedded deep in sweet fern and wild raspberries, andgolden-rod, and purple scabious, and tall blue campanulas. Above them, and before them, and below them, the ashes shook their green filigree inthe bright sunshine; and through them glimpses were seen of the purplecliffs above, and, right in front, of the great cataract of NantGwynnant, a long snow-white line zigzagging down coal-black cliffs formany a hundred feet, and above it, depth beyond depth of purple shadowaway into the very heart of Snowdon, up the long valley of Cwm-dyli, tothe great amphitheatre of Clogwyn-y-Garnedd; while over all the cone ofSnowdon rose, in perfect symmetry, between his attendant peaks ofLliwedd and Crib Coch. 

There they sat, and laughed, and talked, the pleasant summer afternoon, in their pleasant summer bower; and never regretted the silence of thebirds, so sweetly did Valencia's song go up, in many a rich sad Irishmelody; while the lowing of the milch kine, and the wild cooing of theherd-boys, came softly up from the vale below, "and all the air wasfilled with pleasant noise of waters. "

Then Claude must needs photograph them all, as they sat, and group themfirst according to his fancy; and among his fancies was one, thatValencia should sit as queen, with Headley and the Major at her feet. And Headley lounged there, and looked into the grass, and thought itwell for him could he lie there for ever. 

Then Claude must photograph the mountain itself; and all began to talkof it. 

"See the breadth of light and shadow, " said Claude; "how the purpledepth of the great lap of the mountain is thrown back by the sheet ofgreen light on Lliwedd, and the red glory on the cliffs of Crib Coch, till you seem to look away into the bosom of the hill, mile after mile. "

"And so you do, " said Headley. "I have learnt to distinguish mountaindistances since I have been here. That peak is four miles from us now;and yet the shadowed cliffs at its foot seem double that distance. "

"And look, look, " said Valencia, "at the long line of glory with whichthe western sun is gilding the edge of the left hand slope, bringing itnearer and nearer to us every moment, against the deep blue sky!"

"But what a form! Perfect lightness, perfect symmetry!" said Claude. "Curve sweeping over curve, peak towering over peak, to the highestpoint, and then sinking down again as gracefully as they rose. One canhardly help fancying that the mountain moves; that those dancing linesare not instinct with life. "

"At least, " said Headley, "that the mountain is a leaping wave, frozenjust ere it fell. "

"Perfect, " said Valencia. "That is the very expression! So concise, andyet so complete. "

And Headley, poor fool, felt as happy as if he had found a gold mine. 

"To me, " said Elsley, "the fancy rises of some great Eastern monarchsitting in royal state; with ample shoulders sloping right and left, helays his purple-mantled arms upon the heads of two of those Titan guardswho stand on either side his footstool. "

"While from beneath his throne, " said Headley, "as Eastern poets wouldsay, flow everlasting streams, life-giving, to fertilise broad landsbelow. "

"I did not know that you, too, were a poet, " said Valencia. "Nor I, madam. But if such scenes as these, and in such company, cannot inspirethe fancy of even a poor country curate to something of exaltation, hemust be dull indeed. "

"Why not put some of these thoughts into poetry?"

"What use?" answered he in so low, sad, and meaning a tone, meant onlyfor her ear, that Valencia looked down at him: but he was gazingintently upon the glorious scene. Was he hinting at the vanity andvexation of poor Elsley's versifying? Or did he mean that he had now nopurpose in life, --no prize for which it was worth while to win honour?

She did not answer him: but he answered himself, --perhaps to explainaway his own speech, --

"No, madam! God has written the poetry already; and there it is beforeme. My business is not to re-write it clumsily but to read it humbly, and give Him thanks for it. "

More and more had Valencia been attracted by Headley, during the lastfew weeks. Accustomed to men who tried to make the greatest possibleshow of what small wits they possessed, she was surprised to find onewho seemed to think it a duty to keep his knowledge and taste in thebackground. She gave him credit for more talent than appeared; for more, perhaps, than he really had. She was piqued, too, at his very modestyand self-restraint. Why did not he, like the rest who dangled about her, spread out his peacock's train for her eyes; and try to show his worshipof her, by setting himself off in his brightest colours? And yet thismodesty awed her into respect of him; for she could not forget that, whether he had sentiment much or little, sentiment was not the staple ofhis manhood: she could not forget his cholera work; and she knew that, under that delicate and bashful outside, lay virtue and heroism, enoughand to spare. 

"But, if you put these thoughts into words, you would teach others toread that poetry. "

"My business is to teach people to do right; and if I cannot, to prayGod to find some one who can. "

"Right, Headley!" said Major Campbell, laying his hand on the Curate'sshoulder. "God dwells no more in books written with pens than in templesmade with hands; and the sacrifice which pleases Him is not verse, butrighteousness. Do you recollect, Queen Whims, what I wrote once in youralbum?

 'Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever Do noble things, not dream them, all day long, So making life, death, and that vast for ever, One grand, sweet song. '"

"But, you naughty, hypocritical Saint Père, you write poetry yourself, and beautifully. "

"Yes, as I smoke my cigar, to comfort my poor rheumatic old soul. But ifI lived only to write poetry, I should think myself as wise as if Ilived only to smoke tobacco. "

Valencia's eyes could not help glancing at Elsley, who had wandered awayto the neighbouring brook, and was gazing with all his eyes upon a fernyrock, having left Lucia to help Claude with his photographing. 

Frank saw her look, and read its meaning; and answered her thoughts, perhaps too hastily. 

"And what a really well-read and agreeable man he is, all the while!What a mine of quaint learning, and beautiful old legend!--If he wouldbut bring it into the common stock for every one's amusement, instead ofhoarding it up for himself!" "Why, what else does he do but bring itinto the common stock, when he publishes a book which every one canread!" said Valencia, half out of the spirit of contradiction. 

"And few understand, " said Headley, quietly. 

"You are very unjust; he is a very discerning and agreeable person, andI shall go and talk to him. " And away went Valencia to Elsley, somewhatcross. Woman-like, she allowed, for the sake of her sister's honour, noone but herself to depreciate Vavasour, and chose to think itimpertinent on Headley's part. 

Headley began quietly talking to Major Campbell about botany, whileValencia, a little ashamed of herself all the while, took her revenge onElsley by scolding him for his unsocial ways, in the very terms whichHeadley had been using. 

At last Claude, having finished his photographing, departed downward toget some new view from the road below, and Lucia returned to the rest ofthe party. Valencia joined them at once, bringing up Elsley, who was notin the best of humours after her diatribes; and the whole party wanderedabout the woodland, and scrambled down beside the torrent beds. 

At last they came to a point where they could descend no further; forthe stream, falling over a cliff, had worn itself a narrow chasm in therock, and thundered down it into a deep narrow pool. 

Lucia, who was basking in the sunshine and the flowers as simple as achild, would needs peep over the brink, and made Elsley hold her whileshe looked down. A quiet happiness, as of old recollections, came intoher eyes, as she watched the sparkling and foaming water--

 "And beauty, born of murmuring sound, Did pass into her face. "

Campbell started. The Lucia of seven years ago seemed to bloom outagain in that pale face and wrinkled forehead; and a smile came over hisface, too, as he looked. 

"Just like the dear old waterfall at Kilanbaggan. You recollect it, Major Campbell?"

Elsley always disliked recollections of Kilanbaggan; recollections ofher life before he knew her; recollections of pleasures in which he hadnot shared: especially recollections of her old acquaintance with theMajor. 

"I do not, I am ashamed to say, " replied the Major. 

"Why, you were there a whole summer. Ah! I suppose you thought aboutnothing but your salmon fishing. If Elsley had been there he would nothave forgotten a rock or a pool. Would you, Elsley?"

"Really, in spite of all salmon, I have not forgotten a rock or a poolabout the place which I ever saw: but at the waterfall I never was. "

"So he has not forgotten? What cause had he to remember so carefully?"thought Elsley. 

"Oh, Elsley, look! What is that exquisite flower, like a ball of gold, hanging just over the water?"

If Elsley had not had the evil spirit haunting about him, he would havejoined in Lucia's admiration of the beautiful creature, as it droppedinto the foam from its narrow ledge, with its fan of palmate leavesbright green against the black mosses of the rock, and its golden petalsglowing like a tiny sun in the darkness of the chasm: as it was, heanswered--

"Only a buttercup. "

"I am sure it's not a buttercup! It is three times as large, and a somuch paler yellow! Is it a buttercup, now, Major Campbell?"

Campbell looked down. 

"Very nearly one, after all: but its real name is the globe flower. Itis common enough here in spring; you may see the leaves in everypasture. But I suppose this plant, hidden from the light, has kept itsflowers till the autumn. "

"And till I came to see it, darling that it is! I should like to rewardit by wearing it home. "

"I daresay it would be very proud of the honour; especially if Mr. Vavasour would embalm it in verse, after it had done service to you. "

"It is doing good enough service where it is, " said Elsley. "Why pluckout the very eye of that perfect picture?"

"Strange, " said Lucia, "that such, a beautiful thing should be bornthere all alone upon these rocks, with no one to look at it. "

"It enjoys itself sufficiently without us, no doubt, " said Elsley. 

"Yes; but I want to enjoy it. Oh, if you could but get it for me?"

Elsley looked down. There were fifteen feet of somewhat slippery rock;then a ragged ledge a foot broad, in a crack of which the flower grew;then the dark boiling pool. Elsley shrugged his shoulders, and said, smiling, as if it were a fine thing to say--"Really, my dear, all menare not knight errants enough to endanger their necks for a bit of weed;and I cannot say that such rough _tours de force_ are at all to myfancy. "

Lucia turned away: but she was vexed. Campbell could see that a strangefancy for the plant had seized her. As she walked from the spot, hecould hear her talking about its beauty to Valencia. 

Campbell's blood boiled. To be asked by that woman--by any woman--to gether that flower: and to be afraid! It was bad enough to be ill-tempered;but to be a coward, and to be proud thereof! He yielded to a temptation, which he had much better have left alone, seeing that Lucia had notasked him; swung himself easily enough down the ledge; got the flower, and put it, quietly bowing, into Mrs. Vavasour's hand. 

He was frightened when he had done it; for he saw, to his surprise, thatshe was frightened. She took the flower, smiling thanks, and expressinga little commonplace horror and astonishment at his having gone downsuch a dangerous cliff: but she took it to Elsley, drew his arm throughhers, and seemed determined to make as much of him as possible for therest of the afternoon. "The fellow was jealous, then, in addition to hisother sins!" And Campbell, who felt that he had put himselfunnecessarily forward between husband and wife, grew more and moreangry; and somehow, unlike his usual wont, refused to confess himself inthe wrong, because he was in the wrong. Certainly it was not pleasantfor poor Elsley; and so Lucia felt, and bore with him when he refused tobe comforted, and rendered blessing for railing when he said to her morethan one angry word; but she had been accustomed to angry words by thistime. 

All might have passed off, but for that careless Valencia, who had notseen the details of what had passed; and so advised herself to ask whereLucia got that beautiful plant?

"Major Campbell picked it up for her from the cliff, " said Elsley, drily. 

"Ah? at the risk of his neck, I don't doubt. He is the most matchless_cavalier servente_. "

"I shall leave Mrs. Vavasour to his care, then--that is, for thepresent, " said Elsley, drawing his arm from Lucia's. 

"I assure you, " answered she, roused in her turn by his determined badtemper, "I am not the least afraid of being left in the charge of so olda friend. "

Elsley made no answer, but sprang down through the thickets, callingloudly to Claude Mellot. 

It was very naughty of Lucia, no doubt: but even a worm will turn; andthere are times when people who have not courage to hold their peacemust say something or other; and do not always, in the hurry, get outwhat they ought, but only what they have time to think of. And sheforgot what she had said the next minute, in Major Campbell's question--

"Am I, then, so old a friend, Mrs. Vavasour?"

"Of course; who older?"

Campbell was silent a moment. If he was inclined to choke, at leastLucia did not see it. 

"I trust I have not offended your--Mr. Vavasour?"

"Oh!" she said, with a forced gaiety, "only one of his poetic fancies. He wanted so much to see Mr. Mellot photograph the waterfall. I hope hewill be in time to find him. "

"I am a plain soldier, Mrs. Vavasour, and I only ask because I do notunderstand. What are poetic fancies?"

Lucia looked up in his face puzzled, and saw there an expression sograve, pitying, tender, that her heart leaped up toward him, and thensank back again. 

"Why do you ask? Why need you know? You are no poet. "

"And for that very cause I ask you. "

"Oh, but, " said she, guessing at what was in his mind, and trying, woman-like, to play purposely at cross purposes, and to defend herhusband at all risks; "he has an extraordinary poetic faculty; all theworld agrees to that, Major Campbell. "

"What matter?" said he. Lucia would have been very angry, and perhapsought to have been so; for what business of Campbell's was it whetherher husband were kind to her or not? But there was a deep sadness, almost despair, in the tone, which disarmed her. 

"Oh, Major Campbell, is it not a glorious thing to be a poet? And is itnot a glorious thing to be a poet's wife? Oh, for the sake of that--if Icould but see him honoured, appreciated, famous, as he will be some day!Though I think" (and she spoke with all a woman's pride) "he is somewhatfamous now, is he not?"

"Famous? Yes, " answered Campbell, with an abstracted voice, and thenrejoined quickly, "If you could but see that, what then?"

"Why then, " said she, with a half smile (for she had nearly entrappedherself into an admission of what she was determined to conceal)--"whythen, I should be still more what I am now, his devoted little wife, whocares for nobody and nothing but putting his study to rights, andbringing up his children. "

"Happy children!" said he, after a pause, and half to himself, "who havesuch a mother to bring them up. "

"Do you really think so? But flattery used not to be one of your sins. Ah, I wish you could give me some advice about how I am to teach them. "

"So it is she who has the work of education, not he!" thought Campbellto himself; and then answered gaily, --

"My dear madam, what can a confirmed old bachelor like me know aboutchildren?"

"Oh, don't you know" (and she gave one of her pretty Irish laughs) "thatit is the old maids who always write the children's books, for thebenefit of us poor ignorant married women? But" (and she spoke earnestlyagain) "we all know how wise and good you are. I did not know it in oldtimes. I am afraid I used to torment you when I was young and foolish. "

"Where on earth can Mellot and Mr. Vavasour be?" asked Campbell. 

"Oh, never mind! Mr. Mellot has gone wandering down the glen with hisapparatus, and my Elsley has gone wandering after him, and will find himin due time, with his head in a black bag, and a great bull just goingto charge him from behind, like that hapless man in 'Punch. ' I alwaystell Mr. Mellot that will be his end. "

Campbell was deeply shocked to hear the light tone in which she talkedof the passionate temper of a man whom she so surely loved. How manyoutbursts of it there must have been; how many paroxysms ofastonishment, shame, and grief, --perhaps, alas! counterbursts of anger--ere that heart could have become thus proof against the ever-loweringthunder-storm!

"Well, " he said, "all we can do is to walk down to the car, and let themfollow; and, meanwhile, I will give you my wise opinion about thiseducation question, whereof I know nothing. "

"It will be all oracular to me, for I know nothing either;" and she puther arm through his, and walked on. 

"Did you hurt yourself then? I am sure you are in pain. "

"I? Never less free from it, with many thanks to you. What made youthink so?"

"I heard you breathe so hard, and quite stamp your feet, I thought. Isuppose it was fancy. "

It was not fancy, nevertheless. Major Campbell was stamping downsomething; and succeeded too in crushing it. 

They walked on toward the car, Valencia and Headley following them: erethey arrived at the place where they were to meet it, it was quite dark:but what was more important, the car was not there. 

"The stupid man must have mistaken his orders, and gone home. "

"Or let his horse go home of itself, while he was asleep inside. He wasmore than half tipsy when we started. "

So spoke the Major, divining the exact truth. There was nothing to bedone but to walk the four miles home, and let the two truants follow asthey could. 

"We shall have plenty of time for our educational lecture, " said Lucia. 

"Plenty of time to waste, then, my clear lady. "

"Oh, I never talk with you five minutes--I do not know why--withoutfeeling wiser and happier. I envy Valencia for having seen so much ofyou of late. "

Little thought poor Lucia, as she spoke those innocent words, thatwithin four yards of her, crouched behind the wall, his face and everylimb writhing with mingled curiosity and rage, was none other but herhusband. 

He had given place to the devil: and the devil (for the "superstitious"and "old-world" notion which attributes such frenzies to the devil hasnot yet been superseded by a better one) had entered into him, andconcentrated all the evil habits and passions which he had indulged foryears into one flaming hell within him. 

Miserable man! His torments were sevenfold: and if he had sinned, he wasat least punished. Not merely by all which a husband has a right to feelin such a case, or fancies that he has a right; not merely by torturedvanity and self-conceit, by the agony of seeing any man preferred tohim, which to a man of Elsley's character was of itself unbearable;--notmerely by the loss of trust in one whom he hail once trusted utterly:--but, over and above all, and worst of all, by the feeling of shame, self-reproach, self-hatred, which haunts a jealous man, and which oughtto haunt him; for few men lose the love of women who have once lovedthem, save by their own folly or baseness:--by the recollection that hehad traded on her trust; that he had drugged his own conscience with thefancy that she must love him always, let him do what he would; and hadneglected and insulted her affection, because he fancied, in hisconceit, that it was inalienable. And with the loss of self-respect, came recklessness of it, and drove him on, as it has jealous men in allages, to meannesses unspeakable, which have made them for centuries, poor wretches, the butts of worthless playwrights, and the scorn oftheir fellow-men. 

Elsley had wandered, he hardly knew how or whither, for his calling toMellot was the merest blind, --stumbling over rocks, bruising himselfagainst tree-trunks, to this wall. He knew they must pass it. He waitedfor them, and had his reward. Blind with rage, he hardly waited for thesound of their footsteps to die away, before he had sprung into theroad, and hurried up in the opposite direction, --anywhere, everywhere, --to escape from them, and from self. Whipt by the furies, he fled alongthe road and up the vale, he cared not whither. 

And what were Headley and Valencia, who of necessity had paired offtogether, doing all the while? They walked on silently side by side forten minutes; then Frank said, --

"I have been impertinent, Miss St. Just, and I beg your pardon. "

"No, you have not, " said she, quite hastily. "You were right, tooright, --has it not been proved within the last five minutes? My poorsister! What can be done to mend Mr. Vavasour's temper? I wish you couldtalk to him, Mr. Headley. "

"He is beyond my art. His age, and his talents, and his--hisconsciousness of them, " said Frank, using the mildest term he couldfind, "would prevent so insignificant a person as me having anyinfluence. But what I cannot do, God's grace may. "

"Can it change a man's character, Mr. Headley? It may make good menbetter--but can it cure temper?"

"Major Campbell must have told you that it can do anything. "

"Ah, yes: with men as wise, and strong, and noble as he is; but withsuch a weak, vain man--"

"Miss St. Just, I know one who is neither wise, nor strong, nor noble:but as weak and vain as any man; in whom God has conquered--as He mayconquer yet in Mr. Vavasour--all which makes man cling to life. "

"What all?" asked she, suspecting, and not wrongly, that he spoke ofhimself. 

"All, I suppose, which it is good for them to have crushed. There arefeelings which last on, in spite of all struggles to quench them--Isuppose, because they ought to last; because, while they torture, theystill ennoble. Death will quench them: or if not, satisfy them: or ifnot, set them at rest somehow. "

"Death?" answered she, in a startled tone. 

"Yes. Our friend, Major Campbell's friend, Death. We have been seeing agood deal of him together lately, and have come to the conclusion thathe is the most useful, pleasant, and instructive of all friends. "

"Oh, Mr. Headley, do not speak so! Are you in earnest?"

"So much in earnest, that I have resolved to go out as an army chaplain, to see in the war somewhat more of my new friend. "

"Impossible! Mr. Headley; it will kill you!--All that horrible fever andcholera!"

"And what possible harm can it do me, if it does kill me, Miss St. Just!"

"Mr. Headley, this is madness! I--we cannot allow you to throw away yourlife thus--so young, and--and such prospects before you! And there isnothing that my brother would not do for you, were it only for yourheroism at Aberalva. There is not one of the family who does not loveand respect you, and long to see all the world appreciating you as wedo; and your poor mother--"

"I have told my mother all, Miss St. Just. And she has said 'Go; it isyour only hope. ' She has other sons to comfort her. Let us say no moreof it. Had I thought that you would have disapproved of it, I wouldnever have mentioned the thing. "

"Disapprove of--your going to die? You shall not! And for me, too: for Iguess all--all is my fault!"

"All is mine, " said he quietly: "who was fool enough to fancy that Icould forget you--conquer my love for;" and at these words his wholevoice and manner changed in an instant into wildest passion. "I mustspeak--now and never more--I love you still, fool that I am! Would God Ihad never seen you! No, not that. Thank God for that to the last: butwould God I had died of that cholera! that I had never come here, conceited fool that I was, fancying that it was possible, after havingonce--No! Let me go, go anywhere, where I may burden you no more with myabsurd dreams!--You, who have had the same thing said to you, and infiner words, a hundred times, by men who would not deign to speak tome!" and covering his face in his hands, he strode on, as if to escape. 

"I never had the same thing said to me!"

"Never? How often have fine gentlemen, noblemen, sworn that they weredying for you?"

"They never have said to me what you have done. "

"No--I am clumsy, I suppose--"

"Mr. Headley, indeed you are unjust to yourself--unjust to me!"

"I--to you? Never! I know you better than you know yourself--see in youwhat no one else sees. Oh, what fools they are who say that love isblind! Blind? He sees souls in God's own light; not as they have become:but as they ought to become--can become--are already in the sight of Himwho made them!"

"And what might I become?" asked she, half-frightened by the newearnestness of his utterance. 

"How can I tell! Something infinitely too high for me, at least, whoeven now am not worthy to kiss the dust off your feet. "

"Oh, do not speak so: little do you know--! No, Mr. Headley, it is youwho are too good for me; too noble, single-eyed, self-sacrificing, toendure my vanity and meanness for a day. "

"Madam, do not speak thus! Give me no word which my folly can distortinto a ray of hope, unless you wish to drive me mad. No! it isimpossible; and, were it possible, what but ruin to my soul? I shouldlive for you, and not for my work. I should become a schemer, ambitious, intriguing, in the vain hope of proving myself to the world worthy ofyou. No; let it be. 'Let the dead bury their dead, and follow thou me. '"

She made no answer--what answer was there to make? And he strode on byher side in silence for full ten minutes. At last she was forced tospeak. 

"Mr. Headley, recollect that this conversation has gone too far for usto avoid coming to some definite understanding--"

"Then it shall, Miss St. Just. Then it shall, once and for all: formallyand deliberately, it shall end now. Suppose, --I only say suppose, --thatI could, without failing in my own honour, my duty to my calling, makemyself such a name among good men that, poor parson though I be, yourfamily need be ashamed of nothing about me, save my poverty? Tell me, now and for ever, could it be possible--"

He stopped. She walked on, silent, in her turn. 

"Say no, as a matter of course, and end it!" said he, bitterly. 

She drew a long breath, as if heaving off a weight. 

"I cannot--dare not say it. "

"It? Which of the two? yes, or no?"

She was silent. 

He stopped, and spoke calmly and slowly. "Say that again, and tell methat I am not dreaming. You? the admired! the worshipped! theluxurious!--and no blame to you that you are what you were born--couldyou endure a little parsonage, the teaching village school-children, tending dirty old women, and petty cares the whole year round?"

"Mr. Headley, " answered she, slowly and calmly, in her turn, "I couldendure a cottage, --a prison, I fancy, at moments, --to escape from thisworld, of which I am tired, which will soon be tired of me: from womenwho envy me, impute to me ambitions as base as their own; from men whoadmire--not me, for they do not know me, and never will--but what in me--I hate them!--will give them pleasure. I hate it all, despise it all;despise myself for it all every morning when I wake! What does it do forme, but rouse in me the very parts of my own character which are mostdespicable, most tormenting? If it goes on, I feel I could become asfrivolous, as mean, aye, as wicked as the worst. You do not know--you donot know--. I have envied the nuns their convents. I have envied Selkirkhis desert island. I envy now the milkmaids there below: anything toescape and be in earnest, anything for some one to teach me to be ofuse! Yes, this cholera--and this war--though only, only its comingshadow has passed over me, --and your words too--" cried she, and stoppedand hesitated, as if afraid to tell too much--"they have wakened me--toa new life--at least to the dream of a new life!"

"Have you not Major Campbell?" said Headley, with a terrible effort ofwill. 

"Yes--but has he taught me? He is dear, and good, and wise; but he istoo wise, too great for me. He plays with me as a lion might with amouse; he is like a grand angel far above in another planet, who canpity and advise, but who cannot--What am I saying?" and she covered herface with her hand. 

She dropped her glove as she did so. Headley picked it up and gave it toher: as he did so their hands met; and their hands did not part again. 

"You know that I love you, Valencia St. Just. "

"Too well! too well!"

"But you know, too, that you do not love me. "

"Who told you so? What do you know? What do I know? Only that I long forsome one to make me--to make me as good as you are!" and she burst intotears. 

"Valencia, will you trust me?"

"Yes!" cried she, looking up at him suddenly: "if you will not go to thewar. "

"No--no--no! Would you have me turn traitor and coward to God; and now, of all moments in my life?"

"Noble creature!" said she; "you will make me love you whether I wish ornot. "

What was it, after all, by which Frank Headley won Valencia's love? Icannot tell. Can you tell, sir, how you won the love of your wife? Aslittle as you can tell of that still greater miracle--how you have kepther love since she found out what manner of man you were. 

So they paced homeward, hand in hand, beside the shining ripples, alongthe Dinas shore. The birches breathed fragrance on them; the night-hawkchurred softly round their path; the stately mountains smiled above themin the moonlight, and seemed to keep watch and ward over their love, andto shut out the noisy world, and the harsh babble and vain fashions ofthe town. The summer lightning flickered to the westward; but round themthe rich soft night seemed full of love, --as full of love as their ownhearts were, and, like them, brooding silently upon its joy. At last thewalk was over; the kind moon sank low behind the hills; and the darknesshid their blushes as they paced into the sleeping village, and theirhands parted unwillingly at last. 

When they came into the hall, through the group of lounging gownsmen andtourists, they found Bowie arguing with Mrs. Lewis, in his dogmaticScotch way, --

"So ye see, madam, there's no use defending the drunken loon any-more atall; and here will my leddies have just walked their bonny legs off, allthrough that carnal sin of drunkenness, which is the curse of your Welshpopulaaation. "

"And not quite unknown north of Tweed either, Bowie, " said Valencia, laughing. "There now, say no more about it. We have had a delightfulwalk, and nobody is the least tired. Don't say any more, Mrs. Lewis: buttell them to get us some supper. Bowie, so my lord has come in?"

"This half-hour good!"

"Has he had any sport?"

"Sport! aye, troth! Five fish in the day. That's a river indeed atBettws! Not a pawky wee burn, like this Aberglaslyn thing. "

"Only five fish?" said Valencia, in a frightened tone. 

"Fish, my leddy, not trouts, I said. I thought ye knew better than thatby this time. "

"Oh, salmon?" cried Valencia, relieved. "Delightful. I'll go to himthis moment. "

And upstairs to Scoutbush's room she went. 

He was sitting in dressing-gown and slippers, sipping his claret, andfondling his fly-book (the only one he ever studied _con amore_), with amost complacent face. She came in and stood demurely before him, holdingher broad hat in both hands before her knees, like a school-girl, herface half-hidden in the black curls. Scoutbush looked up and smiledaffectionately, as he caught the light of her eyes and the arch play ofher lips. 

"Ah! there you are, at a pretty time of night! How beautiful you look, Val! I wish my wife may be half as pretty!"

Valencia made him a prim curtsey. 

"I am delighted to hear of my lord's good sport. He will choose to be ina good humour, I suppose. "

"Good humour? _ça va sans dire_! Three stone of fish in three hours!"

"Then his little sister is going to do a very foolish thing, and wantshis leave to do it; which if he will grant, she will let him do as manyfoolish things as he likes without scolding him, as long as they bothshall live. "

"Do it then, I beg. What is it? Do you want to go up Snowdon withHeadley to-morrow, to see the sun rise? You'll kill yourself!"

"No, " said Valencia very quietly; "I only want to marry him. "

"Marry him?" cried Scoutbush, starting up. 

"Don't try to look majestic, my dear little brother, for you are reallynot tall enough; as it is, you have only hooked all your flies into yourdressing-gown. "

Scoutbush dashed himself down into his chair again. 

"I'll be shot if you shall!"

"You may be shot just as surely, whether I do or not, " said she softly;and she knelt down before him, and put her arms round him, and laid herhead upon his lap. "There, you can't run away now; so you must hear mequietly. And you know it may not be often that we shall be togetheragain thus; and oh, Scoutbush! brother! if anything was to happen toyou--I only say if--in this horrid war, you would not like to think thatyou had refused the last thing your little Val asked for, and that shewas miserable and lonely at home. "

"I'll be shot if you shall!" was all the poor Viscount could get out. 

"Yes, miserable and lonely; you gone away, and mon Saint Père too: andLucia, she has her children--and I am so wild and weak--I must have someone to guide me and protect me--indeed I must!"

"Why, that was what I always said! That was why I wanted you so to marrythis season! Why did not you take Chalkclere, or half-a-dozen goodmatches who were dying for you, and not this confounded black parson, ofall birds in the air?"

"I did not take Lord Chalkclere for the very reason that I do take Mr. Headley. I want a husband who will guide me, not one whom I must guide. "

"Guide?" said Scoutbush bitterly, with one of those little sparks ofpractical shrewdness which sometimes fell from him. "Aye, I see how itis! These intriguing rascals of parsons--they begin as fatherconfessors, like so many popish priests; and one fine morning theyblossom out into lovers, and so they get all the pretty women, and allthe good fortunes, --the sneaking, ambitious, low-bred--"

"He is neither! You are unjust, Scoutbush!" cried Valencia, looking up. "He is the very soul of honour. He might be rich now, and have had afine living, if he had not been too conscientious to let his uncle buyhim one; and that offended his uncle, and he would allow him nothing. And as for being low-bred, he is a gentleman, as you know; and if hisuncle be in business, his mother is a lady, and he will be well enoughoff one day. "

"You seem to know a great deal about his affairs. "

"He told me all, months ago--before there was any dream of this. And, mydear, " she went on, relapsing into her usual arch tone, "there is nofear but his uncle will be glad enough to patronise him again, when hefinds that he has married a viscount's sister. "

Scoutbush laughed. "You scheming little Irish rogue! But I won't! I'vesaid it, and I won't. It's enough to have one sister married to a poorpoet, without having another married to a poor parson. Oh! what have Idone that I should be bothered in this way? Isn't it bad enough to be alandlord, and to have an estate, and be responsible for a lot of peoplethat will die of the cholera, and have to vote in the house about a lotof things I don't understand, or anybody else, I believe, but that, overand above, I must be the head of the family, and answerable to all theworld for whom my mad sisters many? I won't, I say!"

"Then I shall just go and marry without your leave! I'm of age, youknow, and my fortune's my own; and then we shall come in as the runawaycouples do in a play, while you sit there in your dressing-gown as thestern father--Won't you borrow a white wig for the occasion, my lord?--And we shall fall down on our knees so, "--and she put herself in theprettiest attitude in the world, --"and beg your blessing--please forgiveus this time, and we'll never do so any more! And then you will turnyour face away, like the baron in the ballad, --

 'And brushed away the springing tear He proudly strove to hide, '

Et cetera, et cetera, --Finish the scene for yourself, with a 'Bless ye, my children; bless ye!'"

"Go along, and marry the cat if you like! You are mad; and I am mad; andall the world's mad, I think. "

"There, " she said, "I knew that he would be a good boy at last!" And shesprang up, threw her arms round his neck, and, to his greatastonishment, burst into the most violent fit of crying. 

"Good gracious, Valencia! do be reasonable! You'll go into a fit, orsomebody will hear you! You know how I hate a scene. Do be good, there'sa darling! Why didn't you tell me at first how much you wished for it, and I would have said yes in a moment. "

"Because I didn't know myself, " cried she passionately. "There, I willbe good, and love you better than all the world, except one. And if youlet those horrid Russians hurt you, I will hate you as long as I live, and be miserable all my life afterwards. "

"Why, Valencia, do you know, that sounds very like a bull?"

"Am I not a wild Irish girl?" said she, and hurried out, leavingScoutbush to return to his flies. 

She bounded into Lucia's room, there to pour out a bursting heart--andstopped short. 

Lucia was sitting on the bed, her shawl and bonnet tossed upon thefloor, her head sunk on her bosom, her arms sunk by her side. 

"Lucia, what is it? Speak to me, Lucia!"

She pointed faintly to a letter on the floor--Valencia caught it up--Lucia made a gesture as if to stop her. 

"No, you must not read it. Too dreadful!"

But Valencia read it; while Lucia covered her face in her hands, anduttered a long, low, shuddering moan of bitter agony. 

Valencia read, with flashing eyes and bursting brow. It was a hideousletter. The words of a man trying to supply the place of strength byvirulence. A hideous letter, unfit to be written here. 

"Valencia! Valencia! It is false--a mistake--he is dreaming. You know itis false! You will not leave me too!"

Valencia dashed it on the ground, clasped her sister in her arms, andcovered her head with kisses. 

"My Lucia! My own sweet good sister! Base, cowardly, " sobbed she, in herrage; while Lucia's agony began to find a vent in words, and she moanedon--

"What have I done? All that flower, that horrid flower: but who wouldhave dreamed--and Major Campbell, too, of all men upon earth! Valencia, it is some horrid delusion of the devil. Why, he was there all thewhile--and you too. Could he think that I should before his very face?What must he fancy me? Oh, it is a delusion of the devil, and nothingelse!"

"He is a wretch! I will take the letter to my brother; he shall rightyou!"

"Ah no! no! never! Let me tear it to atoms--hide it! It is all amistake! He did not mean it! He will recollect himself to-morrow andcome back. "

"Let him come back if he dare!" cried Valencia, in a tone which said, "Icould kill him with my own hands!"

"Oh, he will come back! He cannot have the heart to leave his poorlittle Lucia. Oh, cruel, cowardly, not to have said one word--not oneword to explain all--but it was all my fault, my wicked, odious temper;and after I had seen how vexed he was, too!--Oh, Elsley, Elsley, comeback, only come back, and I will beg your pardon on my knees! anything?Scold me, beat me, if you will! I deserve it all! Only come back, andlet me see your face, and hear your voice, instead of leaving me hereall alone, and the poor children too! Oh, what shall I say to themto-morrow, when they wake and find no father!"

Valencia's indignation had no words. She could only sit on the bed, withLucia in her arms, looking defiance at all the world above that fairhead which one moment dropped on her bosom, and the next gazed up intoher face in pitiful child-like pleading. 

"Oh, if I but knew where he was gone! If I could but find him! One word--one word would set all right! It always did, Valencia, always! He wasso kind, so dear in a moment, when I put away my naughty, naughtytemper, and smiled in his face like a good wife. Wicked creature that Iwas! and this is my punishment. Oh, Elsley, one word, one word! I mustfind him if I went barefoot over the mountains--I must go, I must--"

And she tried to rise: but Valencia held her down, while she entreatedpiteously--

"I will go, and see about finding him!" she said at last as her onlyresource. "Promise me to be quiet here, and I will. "

"Quiet? Yes! quiet here!" and she threw herself upon her face on thefloor. 

She looked up eagerly. "You will not tell Scoutbush?"

"Why not?"

"He is so--so hasty. He will kill him! Valencia, he will kill him!Promise me not to tell him, or I shall go mad!" And she sat up again, pressing her hands upon her head, and rocking from side to side. 

"Oh, Valencia, if I dared only scream! but keeping it in kills me. It islike a sword through my brain now!"

"Let me call Clara. "

"No, no! not Clara. Do not tell her, I will be quiet; indeed I will;only come back soon, soon; for I am all alone, alone!" And she threwherself down again upon her face. 

Valencia went out. Certain as she was of her sister's innocence, therewas one terrible question in her heart which must be answered, or herbelief in all truth, goodness, religion, would reel and rock to its veryfoundations. And till she had an answer to that, she could not sit stillby Lucia. 

She walked hurriedly, with compressed lips, but quivering limbs, downstairs, and into the sitting-room. Scoutbush was gone to bed. Campbelland Mellot sat chatting still. 

"Where is my brother?"

"Gone to bed, as some one else ought to be; for it is past twelve. IsVavasour come in yet?"

"No. "

"Very odd, " said Claude; "I never saw him after I left you. "

"He said certainly that he was going to find you, " said Campbell. 

"There is no need for speculating, " said Valencia quietly; "my sisterhas a note from Mr. Vavasour at Pen-y-gwryd. "

"Pen-y-gwryd?" cried both men at once. 

"Yes. Major Campbell, I wish to show it to you. "

Valencia's tone and manner was significant enough to make Claude Mellotbid them both good-night. 

When he had shut the door behind him, Valencia put the letter into theMajor's hand. 

He was too much absorbed in it to look up at her; but if he had done so, he would have been startled by the fearful capacity of passion whichchanged, for the moment, that gay Queen Whims into a terrible Roxana, asshe stood, leaning against the mantelpiece, but drawn up to her fullheight, her lips tight shut, eyes which gazed through and through him inawful scrutiny, holding her very breath, while a nervous clutching ofthe little hand said, "If you have tampered with my sister's heart, better for you that you were dead!"

He read it through, once, twice, with livid face; then clashed it on thefloor. 

"Fool!--cur!--liar!--she is as pure as God's sunlight. "

"You need not tell me that, " said Valencia, through her closed teeth. 

"Fool!--fool!" And then, in a moment, his voice changed from indignationto the bitterest self-reproach. 

"And fool I; thrice fool! Who am I, to rail on him? Oh God! what have Idone?" And he covered his face with his hands. 

"What have you done?" literally shrieked Valencia. 

"Nothing that you or man can blame, Miss St. Just! Can you dream that, sinful as I am, I could ever harbour a thought toward her of which Ishould be ashamed before the angels of God?"

He looked up as he spoke, with an utter humility and an intense honesty, which unnerved her at once. 

"Oh, my Saint Père!" and she held out both her hands. "Forgive me, if--only for a moment--"

"I am not your Saint Père, nor any one's! I am a poor, weak, conceited, miserable man, who by his accursed impertinence has broken the heart ofthe being whom he loves best on earth. "

Valencia started: but ere she could ask for an explanation, he rejoinedwildly--

"How is she? Tell me only that, this once! Has it killed her? Does shehate him?"

"Adores him more than ever. Oh, Major Campbell! it is too piteous, toopiteous. "

He covered his face with his hands, shuddering. "Thank God! yes, thankGod! So it should be. Let her love him to the last, and win her martyr'scrown! Now, Valencia St. Just, sit down, if but for five minutes; andlisten, once for all, to the last words, perhaps, you will ever hear mespeak; unless she wants you--?"

"No, no! Tell me all, Saint Père!" said Valencia, "for I am walking in adream--a double dream!" as the new thought of Headley, and that walk, came over her. "Tell me all at once, while I have wits left tocomprehend. "

"Miss St. Just, " said he, in a clear calm voice, "it is fit, for herhonour and for mine, that you should know all. The first day that I eversaw your sister, I loved her; as a man loves who can never cease tolove, or love a second time. I was a raw awkward Scotchman then, and sheused to laugh at me. Why not? I kept my secret, and determined to becomea man at whom no one would wish to laugh. I was in the Company's servicethen. You recollect her jesting once about the Indian army, and mycommanding black people, and saying that the Line only was fit for--somegirl's jest?"

"No; I recollect nothing of it. "

"I never forgot it. I threw up all my prospects, and went into the Line. Whether I won honour there or not I need not tell you. I came back toEngland years after, not unworthy, as I fancied, to look your sister inthe face as an equal. I found her married. "

He paused a little, and then went on, in a quiet, business-like tone. 

"Good. Her choice was sure to be a worthy one, and that was enough forme. You need not doubt that I kept my secret then more sacredly thanever. I returned to India, and tried to die. I dared not kill myself, for I was a soldier and a Christian, and belonged to God and my Queen. The Sikhs would not kill me, do what I would to help them. Then I threwmyself into science, that I might stifle passion; and I stifled it. Ifancied myself cured, and I was cured; and I returned to England again. I loved your brother for her sake; I loved you at first for her sake, then for your own. But I presumed upon my cure; I accepted yourbrother's invitation; I caught at the opportunity of seeing her again--happy--as I fancied; and of proving to myself my own soundness. Iconsidered myself a sort of Melchisedek, neither young nor old, withoutpassions, without purpose on earth--a fakeer who had licence to do andto dare what others might not. But I kept my secret proudly inviolate. Ido not believe at this moment she dreams that--Do you?"

"She does not. "

"Thank God! I was a most conceited fool, puffed up with spiritual pride, tempting God needlessly. I went, I saw her. Heaven is my witness, thatas far as passion goes, my heart is as pure as yours: but I found that Istill cared more for her than for any being on earth: and I found toothe sort of man upon whom--God forgive me! I must not talk of that--Idespised him, hated him, pretended to teach him his duty, by behavingbetter to her than he did--the spiritual coxcomb that I was! Whatbusiness had I with it? Why not have left all to God and her good sense?The devil tempted me to-day, in the shape of an angel of courtesy andchivalry; and here the end is come. I must find that man, Miss St. Just, if I travel the world in search of him. I must ask his pardon frankly, humbly, for my impertinence. Perhaps so I may bring him back to her, andnot die with a curse on my head for having parted those whom God hasjoined. And then to the old fighting-trade once more--the only one, Ibelieve, I really understand; and see whether a Russian bullet will notfly straighter than a clumsy Sikh's. "

Valencia listened, awe-stricken; and all the more so because this wasspoken in a calm, half-abstracted voice, without a note of feeling, savewhere he alluded to his own mistakes. When it was over, she rose withouta word, and took both his hands in her own, sobbing bitterly. 

"You forgive me, then, all the misery which I have caused!"

"Do not talk so! Only forgive me having fancied for one moment that youwere anything but what you are, an angel out of heaven. "

Campbell hung down his head. 

"Angel, truly! Azraël, the angel of death, then. Go to her now--go, andleave a humbled penitent man alone with God. "

"Oh, my Saint Père!" cried she, bursting into tears. "This is toowretched--all a horrid dream--and when, too--when I had been counting ontelling you something so different!--I cannot now, I have not theheart. "

"What, more misery?"

"Oh no! no! no! You will know all to-morrow. Ask Scoutbush. "

"I shall be gone in search of that man long before Scoutbush is awake. "

"Impossible! you do not know whither he is gone. "

"If I employ every detective in Bow Street, I will find him. "

"Wait, only wait, till the post comes in to-morrow. He will surelywrite, if not to her, --wretch that he is!--at least to some of us. "

"If he be alive. No. I must go up to Pen-y-gwryd, where he was lastseen, and find out what I can. "

"They will be all in bed at this hour of the night; and if--if anythinghas happened, it will be over by now, " added she with a shudder. 

"God forgive me! It will indeed: but he may write--perhaps to me. He isno coward, I believe: and he may send me a challenge. Yes, I will waitfor the post. "

"Shall you accept it if he does?"

Major Campbell smiled sadly. 

"No, Miss St. Just; you may set your mind at rest upon that point. Ihave done quite enough harm already to your family. Now, good-bye! Iwill wait for the post to-morrow: do you go to your sister. "

Valencia went, utterly bewildered. She had forgotten Frank, but Frankhad not forgotten her. He had hurried to his room; lay till morning, sleepless with delight, and pouring out his pure spirit in thanks forthis great and unexpected blessing. A new life had begun for him, evenin the jaws of death. He would still go to the East. It seemed easy tohim to go there in search of a grave; how much more now, when he felt sofull of magic life, that fever, cholera, the chances of war, could notharm him! After this proof of God's love, how could he doubt, how fear?

Little he thought that three doors off from him, Valencia was sitting upthe whole night through, vainly trying to quiet Lucia, who refused toundress, and paced up and down her room, hour after hour in wild misery, which I have no skill to detail. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

NATURE'S MELODRAMA. 

What, then, had become of Elsley? And whence had he written the fatalletter? He had hurried up the high road for half an hour and more, tillthe valley on the left sloped upward more rapidly, in dark dreary bogs, the moonlight shining on their runnels; while the mountain on his rightsloped downwards more rapidly in dark dreary down, strewn with rockswhich stood out black against the sky. He was nearing the head of thewatershed; soon he saw slate roofs glittering in the moonlight, andfound himself at the little inn of Pen-y-gwryd, at the meeting of thethree great valleys, the central heart of the mountains. 

And a genial, jovial little heart it is, and an honest, kindly littleheart too, with warm life-blood within. So it looked that night, withevery window red with comfortable light, and a long stream of glarepouring across the road from the open door, gilding the fir-tree tops infront: but its geniality only made him shudder. He had been there morethan once, and knew the place and the people; and knew, too, that of allpeople in the world, they were the least like him. He hurried past thedoorway, and caught one glimpse of the bright kitchen. A sudden thoughtstruck him. He would go in and write his letter there. But not yet--hecould not go in yet; for through the open door came some sweet Welshair, so sweet, that even he paused to listen. Men were singing in threeparts, in that rich metallic temper of voice, and that perfect time andtune, which is the one gift still left to that strange Cymry race, wornout with the long burden of so many thousand years. He knew the air; itwas "The Rising of the Lark. " Heavens! what a bitter contrast to his ownthoughts! But he stood rooted, as if spell-bound, to hear it to the end. The lark's upward flight was over; and Elsley heard him come quiveringdown from heaven's gate, fluttering, sinking, trilling self-complacently, springing aloft in one bar, only to sink lower in the next, and callmore softly to his brooding mate below; till, worn out with his ecstasy, he murmured one last sigh of joy, and sank into the nest. The pictureflashed through Elsley's brain as swiftly as the notes did through hisears. He breathed more freely when it vanished with the sounds. Hestrode hastily in, and down the little passage to the kitchen. 

It was a low room, ceiled with dark beams, from which hung bacon andfishing-rods, harness and drying stockings, and all the miscellanea of afishing inn kept by a farmer, and beneath it the usual happy, hearty, honest group. There was Harry Owen, bland and stalwart, his baby in hisarms, smiling upon the world in general; old Mrs. Pritchard, bendingover the fire, putting the last touch to one of those miraculoussoufflets, compact of clouds and nectar, which transport alike palateand fancy, at the first mouthful, from Snowdon to Belgrave Square. Asturdy fair-haired Saxon Gourbannelig sat with his back to the door, andtwo of the beautiful children on his knee, their long locks flowing overthe elbows of his shooting jacket, as, with both arms round them, hemade Punch for them with his handkerchief and his fingers, and chatteredto them in English, while they chattered in Welsh. By him sat anotherEnglishman, to whom the three tuneful Snowdon guides, their music-scoreupon their knees, sat listening approvingly, as he rolled out, withvoice as of a jolly blackbird, or jollier monk of old, the good oldWessex song:--

 "My dog he has his master's nose, To smell a knave through silken hose; If friends or honest men go by, Welcome, quoth my dog and I!

 "Of foreign tongues let scholars brag, With fifteen names for a pudding-bag: Two tongues I know ne'er told a lie; And their wearers be, my dog and I!"

"That ought to be Harry's song, and the colly's too, eh?" said he, pointing to the dear old dog, who sat with his head on Owen's knee--"eh, my men? Here's a health to the honest man and his dog!"

And all laughed and drank; while Elsley's dark face looked in at thedoorway, and half turned to escape. Handsome lady-like Mrs. Owen, bustling out of the kitchen with a supper-tray, ran full against him, and uttered a Welsh scream. 

"Show me a room, and bring me a pen and paper, " said he; and thenstarted in his turn, as all had started at him; for the two Englishmenlooked round, and, behold, to his disgust, the singer was none otherthan Naylor; the actor of Punch was Wynd. 

To have found his _bêtes noires_ even here, and at such a moment! Andwhat was worse, to hear Mrs. Owen say, --"We have no room, sir, unlessthese gentlemen--"

"Of course, " said Wynd, jumping up, a child under each arm. "Mr. Vavasour! we shall be most happy to have your company, --for a week ifyou will!"

"Ten minutes' solitude is all I ask, sir, if I am not intruding toofar. "

"Two hours, if you like. We'll stay here. Mrs. Owen, --the thicker themerrier. " But Elsley had vanished into a chamber bestrewn with plaids, pipes, hob-nail boots, fishing-tackle, mathematical books, scraps ofore, and the wild confusion of a gownsman's den. 

"The party is taken ill with a poem, " said Wynd. 

Naylor stuck out his heavy under-lip and glanced sidelong at his friend. 

"With something worse, Ned. That man's eye and voice had somethinguncanny in them. Mellot said he would go crazed some day; and be hangedif I don't think he is so now. "

Another five minutes, and Elsley rang the bell violently for hotbrandy-and-water. 

Mrs. Owen came back looking a little startled, a letter in her hand. 

"The gentleman had drunk the liquor off at one draught, and ran out ofthe house like a wild man. Harry Owen must go down to Beddgelertinstantly with the letter; and there was five shillings to pay for all. "

Harry Owen rises, like a strong and patient beast of burden, ready forany amount of walking, at any hour in the twenty-four. He has been upSnowdon once to-day already. He is going up again at twelve to-night, with a German who wants to see the sun rise; he deputes that office toJohn Roberts and strides out. 

"Which way did the gentleman go, Mrs. Owen?" asks Naylor. 

"Capel Curig road. "

Naylor whispers to Wynd, who sets the two little girls on the table, andhurries out with him. They look up the road, and see no one; run acouple of hundred yards, where they catch a sight of the next turn, clear in the moonlight. There is no one on the road. 

"Run to the bridge, Wynd, " whispers Naylor. "He may have thrown himselfover. "

"Tally ho!" whispers Wynd in return, laying his hand on Naylor's arm, and pointing to the left of the road. 

A hundred yards from them, over the boggy upland, among scatteredboulders, a dark figure is moving. Now he stops short, gesticulating;turns right and left irresolutely. At last he hurries on and upward; heis running, springing from stone to stone. 

"There is but one thing, Wynd. After him, or he'll drown himself in LlynCwn Fynnon. "

"No, he's striking to the right. Can he be going up the Glyder?"

"We'll see that in five minutes. All in the day's work, my boy. I couldgo up Mont Blanc with such a dinner in me. "

The two gallant men run in, struggle into their wet boots again, andprovisioned with meat and bread, whiskey, tobacco, and plaids, are awayupon Elsley's tracks, having left Mrs. Owen disconsolate by theirannouncement, that a sudden fancy to sleep on the Glyder has seizedthem. Nothing more will they tell her, or any one; being gentlemen, however much slang they may talk in private. 

Elsley left the door of Pen-y-gwryd, careless whither he went, if hewent only far enough. 

In front of him rose the Glyder Vawr, its head shrouded in soft mist, through which the moonlight gleamed upon the chequered quarries of thatenormous desolation, the dead bones of the eldest-born of time. A wildlonging seized him; he would escape up thither; up into those clouds, upanywhere to be alone--alone with his miserable self. That was dreadfulenough: but less dreadful than having a companion, --ay, even a stone byhim--which could remind him of the scene which he had left; even remindhim that there was another human being on earth beside himself. Yes, --toput that cliff between him and all the world! Away he plunged from thehigh road, splashing over boggy uplands, scrambling among scatteredboulders, across a stony torrent bed, and then across another andanother:--when would he reach that dark marbled wall, which rose intothe infinite blank, --looking within a stone-throw of him, and yet nonearer after he had walked a mile?

He reached it at last, and rushed up the talus of boulders, springingfrom stone to stone; till his breath failed him, and he was forced tosettle into a less frantic pace. But upward he would go, and upward hewent, with a strength which he never had felt before. Strong? How shouldhe not be strong, while every vein felt filled with molten lead; whilesome unseen power seemed not so much to attract him upwards, as to drivehim by magical repulsion from all that he had left below?

So upward and upward ever, driven on by the terrible gad-fly, like Io ofold he went; stumbling upwards along torrent beds of slippery slate, writhing himself upward through crannies where the waterfall splashedcold upon his chest and face, yet could not cool the inward fire;climbing, hand and knee, up cliffs of sharp-edged rock; striding overdowns where huge rocks lay crouched in the grass, like fossil monstersof some ancient world, and seemed to stare at him with still and angrybrows. Upward still, to black terraces of lava, standing out hard andblack against the grey cloud, gleaming like iron in the moonlight, stairabove stair, like those over which Vathek and the Princess climbed up tothe halls of Eblis. Over their crumbling steps, up through their cracksand crannies, out upon a dreary slope of broken stones, and then, --before he dives upward into the cloud ten yards above his head, --onebreathless look back upon the world. 

The horizontal curtain of mist; gauzy below, fringed with white tuftsand streamers, deepening above into the blackness of utter night. Belowit a long gulf of soft yellow haze in which, as in a bath of gold, liedelicate bars of far-off western cloud; and the faint glimmer of thewestern sea, above long knotted spurs of hill, in deepest shades, like abunch of purple grapes flecked here and there from behind with gleams ofgolden light; and beneath them again, the dark woods sleeping overGwynnant, and their dark double sleeping in the bright lake below. 

On the right hand Snowdon rises. Vast sheets of utter blackness--vastsheets of shining light. He can see every crag which juts from the greenwalls of Galt-y-Wennalt; and far past it into the Great Valley of CwnDyli; and then the red peak, now as black as night, shuts out the worldwith its huge mist-topped cone. But on the left hand all is deepestshade. From the highest saw-edges, where Moel Meirch cuts the goldensky, down to the very depth of the abyss, all is lustrous darkness, sooty, and yet golden still. Let the darkness lie upon it for ever!Hidden be those woods where she stood an hour ago! Hidden that road downwhich, even now, they may be pacing home together!--Curse the thought!He covers his face in his hands, and shudders in every limb. 

He lifts his hands from his eyes at last:--what has befallen?

Before the golden haze a white veil is falling fast. Sea, mountain, lake, are vanishing, fading as in a dream. Soon he can see nothing, butthe twinkle of a light in Pen-y-gwryd, a thousand feet below; happychildren are nestling there in innocent sleep. Jovial voices arechatting round the fire. What has he to do with youth, and health, andjoy? Lower, lower, ye clouds!--Shut out that insolent and intrudingspark, till nothing be seen but the silver sheet of Cwm Fynnon, and thesilver zig-zag lines which wander into it among black morass, while downthe mountain side go, softly sliding, troops of white mist-angels. Softly they slide, swift and yet motionless, as if by some inner will, which needs no force of limbs; gliding gently round the crags, divinggently off into the abyss, their long white robes trailing about theirfeet in upward-floating folds. "Let us go hence, " they seem to whisperto the God-forsaken, as legends say they whispered, when they left theirdoomed shrine in old Jerusalem. Let the white fringe fall between himand the last of that fair troop; let the grey curtain follow, the blackpall above descend; till he is alone in darkness that may be felt, andin the shadow of death. 

Now he is safe at last; hidden from all living things--hidden it may be, from God; for at least God is hidden from him. He has desired to bealone: and he is alone; the centre of the universe, if universe therebe. All created things, suns and planets, seem to revolve round him, andhe a point of darkness, not of light. He seems to float self-poised inthe centre of the boundless nothing, upon an ell-broad slab of stone--and yet not even on that: for the very ground on which he stands he doesnot feel. He does not feel the mist which wets his cheek, the bloodwhich throbs within his veins. He only is; and there is none beside. 

Horrible thought! Permitted but to few, and to them--thank God!--butrarely. For two minutes of that absolute self-isolation would bringmadness; if, indeed, it be not the very essence of madness itself. 

There he stood; he knew not how long; without motion, without thought, without even rage or hate, now--in one blank paralysis of his wholenature; conscious only of self, and of a dull, inward fire, as if hissoul were a dark vault, lighted with lurid smoke. 

 * * * * *

What was that? He started: shuddered--as well he might. Had he seenheaven opened? or another place? So momentary was the vision, that hescarce knew what he saw. There it was again! Lasting but for a moment: butlong enough to let him see the whole western heaven transfigured intoone sheet of pale blue gauze, and before it Snowdon towering black asink, with every saw and crest cut out, hard and terrible, against thelightning-glare:--and then the blank of darkness. 

Again! The awful black giant, towering high in air, before the gates ofthat blue abyss of flame: but a black crown of cloud has settled uponhis head; and out of it the lightning sparks leap to and fro, ringinghis brows with a coronet of fire. 

Another moment, and the roar of that great battle between earth andheaven crashed full on Elsley's ears. 

He heard it leap from Snowdon, sharp and rattling, across the gulftoward him, till it crashed full upon the Glyder overhead, and rolledand flapped from crag to crag, and died away along the dreary downs. No!There it boomed out again, thundering full against Siabod on the left;and Siabod tossed it on to Moel Meirch, who answered from all her cleftsand peaks with a long confused battle-growl, and then tossed it acrossto Aran; and Aran, with one dull, bluff report from her flat cliff, tonearer Lliwedd; till, worn out with the long bufferings of that giantring, it sank and died on Gwynnant far below--but ere it died, anotherand another thunder-crash burst, sharper and nearer every time, to hurryround the hills after the one which roared before it. 

Another minute, and the blue glare filled the sky once more: but noblack Titan towered before it now. The storm had leapt Llanberris pass, and all around Elsley was one howling chaos of cloud, and rain, andblinding flame. He turned and fled again. 

By the sensation of his feet, he knew that he was going up hill; and ifhe but went upward, he cared not whither he went. The rain gushedthrough, where the lightning pierced the cloud, in drops like musketballs. He was drenched to the skin in a moment; dazzled and giddy fromthe flashes; stunned by the everlasting roar, peal over-rushing peal, echo out-shooting echo, till rocks and air quivered alike beneath thecontinuous battle-cannonade. --"What matter? What fitter guide for such apath as mine than the blue lightning flashes?"

Poor wretch! He had gone out of his way for many a year, to give himselfup, a willing captive, to the melodramatic view of Nature, and had letsights and sounds, not principles and duties, mould his feelings forhim: and now, in his utter need and utter weakness, he had met her in amood which was too awful for such as he was to resist. The Nemesis hadcome; and swept away helplessly, without faith and hope, by thoseoutward impressions of things on which he had feasted his soul so long, he was the puppet of his own eyes and ears; the slave of glare andnoise. 

Breathless, but still untired, he toiled up a steep incline, where hecould feel beneath him neither moss nor herb. Now and then his feetbrushed through a soft tuft of parsley fern: but soon even that sign ofvegetation ceased; his feet only rasped over rough bare rock, and he wasalone in a desert of stone. 

What was that sudden apparition above him, seen for a moment dim andgigantic through the mist, hid the next in darkness? The next flashshowed him a line of obelisks, like giants crouching side by side, staring down on him from the clouds. Another five minutes, he was attheir feet, and past them; to see above them again another line of awfulwatchers through the storms and rains of many a thousand years, waiting, grim and silent, like those doomed senators in the Capitol of Rome, tilltheir own turn should come, and the last lightning stroke hurl them toodown, to lie for ever by their fallen brothers, whose mighty bonesbestrewed the screes below. 

He groped his way between them; saw some fifty yards beyond a higherpeak; gained it by fierce struggles and many falls; saw another beyondthat; and, rushing down and up two slopes of moss, reached a regionwhere the upright lava-ledges had been split asunder into chasms, crushed together again into caves, toppled over each other, hurled upinto spires, in such chaotic confusion, that progress seemed impossible. 

A flash of lightning revealed a lofty cairn above his head. There wasyet, then, a higher point! He would reach it, if he broke every limb inthe attempt! and madly he hurried on, feeling his way from ledge toledge, squeezing himself through crannies, crawling on hands and kneesalong the sharp chines of the rocks, till he reached the foot of thecairn; climbed it, and threw himself at full length on the summit of theGlyder Vawr. 

An awful place it always is; and Elsley saw it at an awful time, as theglare unveiled below him a sea of rock-waves, all sharp on edge, pointing toward him on every side: or rather one wave-crest of a sea;for twenty yards beyond, all sloped away into the abysmal dark. 

Terrible were those rocks below; and ten times more terrible as seenthrough the lurid glow of his distempered brain. All the weird peaks andslabs seemed pointing up at him: sharp-toothed jaws gaped upward--tongues hissed upward--arms pointed upward--hounds leaped upward--monstrous snake-heads peered upward out of cracks and caves. Did he notsee them move, writhe? or was it the ever-shifting light of the flashes?Did he not hear them howl, yell at him? or was it but the wind, torturedin their labyrinthine caverns?

The next moment, and all was dark again; but the images which had beencalled up remained, and fastened on his brain, and grew there; and when, in the light of the next flash, the scene returned, he could see the redlips of the phantom hounds, the bright eyes of the phantom snakes; thetongues wagged in mockery; the hands brandished great stones to hurl athim; the mountain-top was instinct with fiendish life, --a veryBlocksberg of all hideous shapes and sins. 

And yet he did not shrink. Horrible it was; he was going mad before it. And yet he took a strange and fierce delight in making it more horrible;in maddening himself yet more and more; in clothing those fantasticstones with every fancy which could inspire another man with dread. Buthe had no dread. Perfect rage, like perfect love, casts out fear. Herejoiced in his own misery, in his own danger. His life hung on athread; any instant might hurl him from that cairn, a blackened corpse. 

What better end? Let it come! He was Prometheus on the peak of Caucasus, hurling defiance at the unjust Jove! His hopes, his love, his veryhonour--curse it!--ruined! Let the lightning stroke come! He were acoward to shrink from it. Let him face the worst, unprotected, bare-headed, naked, and do battle, himself, and nothing but himself, against the universe! And, as men at such moments will do, in the maddesire to free the self-tortured spirit from some unseen and chokingbond, he began wildly tearing off his clothes. 

But merciful nature brought relief, and stopped him in his mad efforts, or he had been a frozen corpse long ere the dawn. His hands, stiff withcold, refused to obey him; as he delayed he was saved. After theparoxysm came the collapse; he sank upon the top of the cairn halfsenseless. He felt himself falling over its edge; and the animalinstinct of self-preservation, unconsciously to him, made him slide downgently, till he sank into a crack between two rocks, sheltered somewhat, as it befell happily, from the lashing of the rain. 

Another minute, and he slept a dreamless sleep. 

But there are two men upon that mountain, whom neither rock nor rain, storm nor thunder have conquered, because they are simply brave honestmen; and who are, perhaps, far more "poetic" characters at this momentthan Elsley Vavasour, or any dozen of mere verse-writers, because theyare hazarding their lives, on an errand of mercy, and all the while haveso little notion that they are hazarding their lives, or doing anythingdangerous or heroic, that, instead of being touched for a moment byNature's melodrama, they are jesting at each other's troubles, greetingeach interval of darkness with mock shouts of misery and despair, likening the crags to various fogies of their acquaintance, male andfemale, and only pulling the cutty pipes out of their mouths to chantsnatches of jovial songs. They are Wynd and Naylor, the two Cambridgeboating-men, in bedrabbled flannel trousers, and shooting-jacketspocketful of water; who are both fully agreed, that hunting a mad poetover the mountains in a thunder-storm is, on the whole, "the jolliestlark they ever had in their lives. "

"He must have gone up here somewhere. I saw the poor beggar against thesky as plain as I see you, --which I don't--" for darkness cut the speechshort. 

"Where be you, William? says the keeper. "

"Here I be, sir, says the beater, with my 'eels above my 'ed. "

"Wery well, William; when you get your 'ed above your 'eels, gae on. "

"But I'm stuck fast between two stones! Hang the stones!" And Naylorbursts into an old seventeenth century ditty of the days of "three-manglees. "

 "They stoans, they stoans, they stoans, they stoans-- They stoans that built George Riddler's oven, O they was fetched from Blakeney quarr'; And George he was a jolly old man, And his head did grow above his har'. 

 "One thing in George Riddler I must commend, And I hold it for a valiant thing; With any three brothers in Gloucestershire He swore that his three sons should sing. 

 "There was Dick the tribble, and Tom the mane, Let every man sing in his own place; And William he was the eldest brother, And therefore he should sing the base. --

I'm down again! This is my thirteenth fall. "

"So am I! I shall just lie and light a pipe. "

"Come on, now, and look round the lee side of this crag. We shall findhim bundled up under the lee of one of them. "

"He don't know lee from windward, I dare say. " "He'll soon find out thedifference by his skin;--if it's half as wet, at least, as mine is. "

"I'll tell you what, Naylor, if the poor fellow has crossed the ridge, and tried to go down on the Twll du, he's a dead man by this time. "

"He'll have funked it, when he comes to the edge, and sees nothing butmist below. But if he has wandered on to the cliffs above Trifaen, he'sa dead man, then, at all events. Get out of the way of that flash! Aclose shave, that! I believe my whiskers are singed. "

"'Pon my honour, Wynd, we ought to be saying our prayers rather thanjoking in this way. "

"We may do both, and be none the worse. As for coming to grief, old boy, we're on a good errand, I suppose, and the devil himself can't harm us. Still, shame to him who's ashamed of saying his prayers, as Arnold usedto say. "

And all the while, these two brave lads have been thrusting theirlanthorn into every crack and cranny, and beating round every cragcarefully and cunningly, till long past two in the morning. 

"Here's the ordnance cairn, at last; and--here am I astride of acarving-knife, I think! Come and help me off, or I shall be split to thechin!"

"I'm coming! What's this soft under my feet? Who-o-o-oop! Run him toearth at last!"

And diving down into a crack, Wynd drags out by the collar theunconscious Elsley. 

"What a swab! Like a piece of wet blotting-paper. Lucky he's not made ofsalt. "

"He's dead!" says Naylor. 

"Not a bit. I can feel his heart. There's life in the old dog yet. "

And they begin, under the lee of a rock, chafing him, wrapping him intheir plaids, and pouring whiskey down his throat. 

It was some time before Vavasour recovered his consciousness. The firstuse which he made of it was to bid his preservers leave him; querulouslyat first; and then fiercely, when he found out who they were. 

"Leave me, I say! Cannot I be alone if I choose? What right have you todog me in this way?"

"My dear sir, we have as much right here as any one else; and if we finda man dying here of cold and fatigue--"

"What business of yours, if I choose to die?"

"There is no harm in your dying, sir, " says Naylor. "The harm is in ourletting you die; I assure you it is entirely to satisfy our ownconsciences we are troubling you thus;" and he begins pressing him totake food. 

"No, sir; nothing from you! You have shown me impertinence enough in thelast few weeks, without pressing on me benefits for which I do not wish. Let me go! If you will not leave me, I shall leave you!"

And he tried to rise: but, stiffened with cold, sank back again upon therock. 

In vain they tried to reason with him; begged his pardon for all pastjests: he made effort after effort to get up; and at last, his limbs, regaining strength by the fierceness of his passion, supported him; andhe struggled onward toward the northern slope of the mountain. 

"You must not go down till it is light; it is as much as your life isworth. "

"I am going to Bangor, sir; and go I will!"

"I tell you, there is fifteen hundred feet of slippery screes belowyou. "

"As steep as a house-roof, and with every tile on it loose. You willroll from top to bottom before you have gone a hundred yards. "

"What care I? Let me go, I say! Curse you, sir! Do you mean to useforce?"

"I do, " said Wynd quietly, as he took him round arms and body, and sethim down on the rock like a child. 

"You have assaulted me, sir! The law shall avenge this insult, if therebe law in England!"

"I know nothing about law: but I suppose it will justify me in savingany man's life who is rushing to certain death. "

"Look here, sir!" said Naylor. "Go down, if you will, when it growslight: but from this place you do not stir yet. Whatever you may thinkof our conduct to-night, you will thank us for it to-morrow morning, when you see where you are. "

The unhappy man stamped with rage. The red glare of the lanthorn showedhim his two powerful warders, standing right and left. He felt thatthere was no escape from them, but in darkness; and suddenly he dashedat the lanthorn, and tried to tear it out of Wynd's hands. 

"Steady, sir!" said Wynd, springing back, and parrying his outstretchedhand. "If you wish us to consider you in your senses, you will bequiet. "

"And if you don't choose to appear sane, " said Naylor, "you must not besurprised if we treat you as men are treated who--you understand me. "

Elsley was silent awhile; his rage, finding itself impotent, subsidedinto dark cunning. "Really, gentlemen, " he said at length, "I believeyou are right; I have been very foolish, and you very kind; but youwould excuse my absurdities if you knew their provocation. "

"My dear sir, " said Naylor, "we are bound to believe that you have goodcause enough for what you are doing. We have no wish to interfereimpertinently. Only wait till daylight, and wrap yourself in one of ourplaids, as the only possible method of carrying out your own intentions;for dead men can't go to Bangor, whithersoever else they may go. "

"You really are too kind; but I believe I must accept your offer, underpenalty of being called mad;" and Elsley laughed a hollow laugh; for hewas by no means sure that he was not mad. He took the proffered wrapper;lay down; and seemed to sleep. 

Wynd and Naylor, congratulating themselves on his better mind, lay downalso beneath the other plaid, intending to watch him. But worn out withfatigue, they were both fast asleep ere ten minutes had passed. 

Elsley had determined to keep himself awake at all risks; and he paid abitter penalty for so doing; for now that the fury had passed away, hisbrain began to work freely again, and inflicted torture so exquisite, that he looked back with regret on the unreasoning madness of lastnight, as a less fearful hell than that of thought; of deliberate, acuterecollections, suspicions, trains of argument, which he tried to thrustfrom him, and yet could not. Who has not known in the still, sleeplesshours of night, how dark thoughts will possess the mind with terrors, which seem logical, irrefragable, inevitable?

So it was then with the wretched Elsley; within his mind a whole trainof devil's advocates seemed arguing, with triumphant subtlety, thecertainty of Lucia's treason; and justifying to him his rage, hishatred, his flight, his desertion of his own children, --if indeed (sofar had the devil led him astray) they were his own. At last he couldbear it no longer. He would escape to Bangor, and then to London, crossto France, to Italy, and there bury himself amid the forests of theApennines, or the sunny glens of Calabria. And for a moment the visionof a poet's life in that glorious land brightened his dark imagination. Yes! He would escape thither, and be at peace; and if the world heard ofhim again, it should be in such a thunder-voice, as those with whichShelley and Byron, from their southern seclusion, had shaken theungrateful motherland which cast them out. He would escape; and now wasthe time to do it! For the rain had long since ceased; the dawn wasapproaching fast; the cloud was thinning from black to pearly grey. Nowwas his time--were it not for those two men! To be kept, guarded, stopped by them, or by any man! Shameful! intolerable! He had fledhither to be free, and even here he found himself a prisoner. True, theyhad promised to let him go if he waited till daylight; but perhaps theywere deceiving him, as he was deceiving them--why not? They thought himmad. It was a ruse, a stratagem, to keep him quiet awhile, and thenbring him back, --"restore him to his afflicted friends. " His friends, truly! He would be too cunning for them yet. And even if they meant tolet him go, would he accept liberty from them, or any man? No; he wasfree! He had a right to go; and go he would, that moment!

He raised himself cautiously. The lanthorn had burned to the socket: andhe could not see the men, though they were not four yards off; but bytheir regular and heavy breathing he could tell that they both sleptsoundly. He slipped from under the plaid; drew off his shoes, for fearof noise among the rocks, and rose. What if he did make a noise? What ifthey woke, chased him, brought him back by force? Curse the thought!--And gliding close to them, he listened again to their heavy breathing. 

How could he prevent their following him?

A horrible, nameless temptation came over him. Every vein in his bodythrobbed fire; his brain seemed to swell to bursting; and ere he wasaware, he found himself feeling about in the darkness for a loose stone. 

He could not find one. Thank God that he could not find one! But afterthat dreadful thought had once crossed his mind, he must flee from thatplace ere the brand of Cain be on his brow. 

With a cunning and activity utterly new to him, he glided away, like asnake; downward over crags and boulders, he knew not how long or howfar; all he knew was, that he was going down, down, down, into a dimabyss. There was just light enough to discern the upper surface of arock within arm's length; beyond that all was blank. He seemed to behours descending; to be going down miles after miles: and still hereached no level spot. The mountain-side was too steep for him to standupright, except at moments. It seemed one uniform quarry of smoothbroken slate, slipping down for ever beneath his feet. --Whither? He grewgiddy, and more giddy; and a horrible fantastic notion seized him, thathe had lost his way; that somehow, the precipice had no bottom, no endat all; that he was going down some infinite abyss, into the very depthsof the earth, and the molten roots of the mountains, never to reascend. He stopped, trembling, only to slide down again; terrified, he tried tostruggle upward: but the shale gave way beneath his feet, and go hemust. 

What was that noise above his head? A falling stone? Were his enemies inpursuit? Down to the depth of hell rather than that they should takehim! He drove his heels into the slippery shale, and rushed forwardblindly, springing, slipping, falling, rolling, till he stoppedbreathless on a jutting slab. And lo! below him, through the thin pearlyveil of cloud, a dim world of dark cliffs, blue lakes, grey mountainswith their dark heads wrapped in cloud, and the straight vale of NantFrancon, magnified in mist, till it seemed to stretch for hundreds ofleagues towards the rosy north-east dawning and the shining sea. 

With a wild shout he hurried onward. In five minutes he was clear of thecloud. He reached the foot of that enormous slope, and hurried overrocky ways, till he stopped at the top of a precipice, full six hundredfeet above the lonely tarn of Idwal. 

Never mind. He knew where he was now; he knew that there was a passagesomewhere, for he had once seen one from below. He found it, and almostran along the boggy shore of Idwal, looking back every now and then atthe black wall of the Twll du, in dread lest he should see two movingspecks in hot pursuit. 

And now he had gained the shore of Ogwen, and the broad coach-road; anddown it he strode, running at times, past the roaring cataract, past theenormous cliffs of the Carnedds, past Tin-y-maes, where nothing wasstirring but a barking dog; on through the sleeping streets of Bethesda, past the black stairs of the Penrhyn quarry. The huge clicking ant-heapwas silent now, save for the roar of Ogwen, as he swirled and bubbleddown, rich coffee-brown from last night's rain. 

On, past rich woods, past trim cottages, gardens gay with flowers; pastrhododendron shrubberies, broad fields of golden stubble, sweet clover, and grey swedes, with Ogwen making music far below. The sun is up atlast, and Colonel Pennant's grim slate castle, towering above blackwoods, glitters metallic in its rays, like Chaucer's house of fame. Hestops, to look back once. Far up the vale, eight miles away, beneath aroof of cloud, the pass of Nant Francon gapes high in air between thegreat jaws of the Carnedd and the Glyder, its cliffs marked with theupright white line of the waterfall. He is clear of the mountains; clearof that cursed place, and all its cursed thoughts! On, past Llandegaiand all its rose-clad cottages; past yellow quarrymen walking out totheir work, who stare as they pass at his haggard face, drenchedclothes, and streaming hair. He does not see them. One fixed thought isin his mind, and that is, the railway station at Bangor. 

He is striding through Bangor streets now, beside the summer sea, fromwhich fresh scents of shore-weed greet him. He had rather smell thesmoke and gas of the Strand. 

The station is shut. He looks at the bill outside. There is no train forfull two hours; and he throws himself, worn out with fatigue, upon thedoorstep. 

Now a new terror seizes him. Has he money enough to reach London? Has hehis purse at all? Too dreadful to find himself stopped short, on thevery brink of deliverance! A cold perspiration breaks from his forehead, as he feels in every pocket. Yes, his purse is there: but he turns sickas he opens it, and dare hardly look. Hurrah! Five pounds, six--eight!That will take him as far as Paris. He can walk; beg the rest of theway, if need be. 

What will he do now? Wander over the town, and gaze vacantly at onelittle object and another about the house fronts. One thing he will notlook at; and that is the bright summer sea, all golden in the sun rays, flecked with gay white sails. From all which is bright and calm, andcheerful, his soul shrinks as from an impertinence; he longs for thelurid gas-light of London, and the roar of the Strand, and theeverlasting stream of faces among whom he may wander free, sure that noone will recognise him, the disgraced, the desperate. 

The weary hours roll on. Too tired to stand longer, he sits down on theshafts of a cart, and tries not to think. It is not difficult. Body andmind are alike worn out, and his brain seems filled with uniform dullmist. 

A shop-door opens in front of him; a boy comes out. He sees bottlesinside, and shelves, the look of which he knows too well. 

The bottle-boy, whistling, begins to take the shutters down. How often, in Whitbury of old, had Elsley done the same! Half amused, he watchedthe lad, and wondered how he spent his evenings, and what works he read, and whether he ever thought of writing poetry. 

And as he watched, all his past life rose up before him, ever since heserved out medicines fifteen years ago;--his wild aspirations, heavylabours, struggles, plans, brief triumphs, long disappointments: andhere was what it had all come to, --a failure, --a miserable, shamefulfailure! Not that he thought of it with repentance, with a single wishthat he had done otherwise: but only with disappointed rage. "Yes!" hesaid bitterly to himself--

 "'We poets in our youth begin in gladness, But after come despondency and madness. '

This is the way of the world with all who have nobler feelings in themthan will fit into its cold rules. Curse the world! what on earth had Ito do with mixing myself up in it, and marrying a fine lady? Fool that Iwas! I might have known from the first that she could not understand me;that she would go back to her own! Let her go! I will forget her, andthe world, and everything--and I know how!"

And springing up, he walked across to the druggist's shop. 

Years before, Elsley had tried opium, and found, unhappily for him, thatit fed his fancy without inflicting those tortures of indigestion whichkeep many, happily for them, from its magic snare. He had tried it morethan once of late: but Lucia had had a hint of the fact from Thurnall;and in just terror had exacted from him a solemn promise never to touchopium again. Elsley was a man of honour, and the promise had been kept. But now--"I promised her, and therefore I will break my promise! She hasbroken hers, and I am free!"

And he went in and bought his opium. He took a little on the spot toallay the cravings of hunger. He reserved a full dose for therailway-carriage. It would bridge over the weary gulf of time which laybetween him and town. 

He took his second-class place at last; not without stares and whispersfrom those round at the wild figure which was starting for London, without bag or baggage. But as the clerks agreed, "If he was runningaway from his creditors, it was a shame to stop him. If he was runningfrom the police, they would have the more sport the longer the run. Atleast it was no business of theirs. "

There was one thing more to do, and he did it. He wrote to Campbell ashort note. 

"If, as I suppose, you expect from me 'the satisfaction of a gentleman, 'you will find me at . .. Adelphi. I am not escaping from you but from thewhole world. If, by shooting me you can quicken my escape, you will dome the first and last favour which I am likely to ask from you. "

He posted his letter, settled himself in a corner of the carriage, andtook his second dose of opium. From that moment he recollected littlemore. A confused whirl of hedges and woods, rattling stations, screamingand flashing trains, great red towns, white chalk cuttings; while theeverlasting roar and rattle of the carriages shaped themselves in hisbrain into a hundred snatches of old tunes, all full of a strangemerriment, as if mocking at his misery, striving to keep him awake andconscious of who and what he was. He closed his eyes and shut out thehateful garish world: but that sound he could not shut out. Too tired tosleep, too tired even to think, he could do nothing but submit to theridiculous torment; watching in spite of himself every note, as onejig-tune after another was fiddled by all the imps close to his ear, mile after mile, and county after county, for all that weary day, whichseemed full seven years long. 

At Euston Square the porter called him several times ere he could rousehim. He could hear nothing for awhile but that same imps' melody, eventhough it had stopped. At last he got out, staring round him, shookhimself awake by one strong effort, and hurried away, not knowingwhither he went. 

Wrapt up in self, he wandered on till dark, slept on a doorstep, andawoke, not knowing at first where he was. Gradually all the horror cameback to him, and with the horror the craving for opium wherewith toforget it. 

He looked round to see his whereabouts. Surely this must be GoldenSquare? A sudden thought struck him. He went to a chemist's shop, boughta fresh supply of his poison, and, taking only enough to allay thecravings of his stomach, hurried tottering in the direction of DruryLane. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

FOND, YET NOT FOOLISH. 

Next morning, only Claude and Campbell made their appearance atbreakfast. 

Frank came in; found that Valencia was not down: and, too excited toeat, went out to walk till she should appear. Neither did Lord Scoutbushcome. Where was he?

Ignorant of the whole matter, he had started at four o'clock to fish inthe Traeth Mawr; half for fishing's sake, half (as he confessed) to gaintime for his puzzled brains before those explanations with FrankHeadley, of which he stood in mortal fear. 

Mellot and Campbell sat down together to breakfast; but in silence. Claude saw that something had gone very wrong; Campbell ate nothing, andlooked nervously out of the window every now and then. 

At last Bowie entered with the letters and a message. There were twogentlemen from Pen-y-gwryd must speak with Mr. Mellot immediately. 

He went out and found Wynd and Naylor. What they told him we knowalready. He returned instantly, and met Campbell leaving the room. 

"I have news of Vavasour, " whispered he. "I have a letter from him. Bowie, order me a car instantly for Bangor. I am off to London, Claude. You and Bowie will take care of my things, and send them after me. "

"Major Cawmill has only to command, " said Bowie, and vanished down thestairs. 

"Now, Claude, quick; read that and counsel me. I ought to askScoutbush's opinion; but the poor dear fellow is out, you see. "

Claude read the note written at Bangor. 

"Fight him I will not! I detest the notion: a soldier should never fighta duel. His life is the Queen's, and not his own. And yet if the honourof the family has been compromised by my folly, I must pay the penalty, if Scoutbush thinks it proper. "

So said Campbell, who, in the over-sensitiveness of his conscience, hadactually worked himself round during the past night into this new fancy, as a chivalrous act of utter self-abasement. The proud self-possessionof the man was gone, and nothing but self-distrust and shame remained. 

"In the name of all wit and wisdom, what is the meaning of all this?"

"You do not know, then, what passed last night?"

"I? I can only guess that Vavasour has had one of his rages. "

"Then you must know, " said Campbell with an effort; "for you mustexplain all to Scoutbush when he returns; and I know no one more fit forthe office. " And he briefly told him the story. 

Mellot was much affected. "The wretched ape! Campbell, your firstthought was the true one: you must not fight that cur. After all, it's afarce: you won't fire at him, and he can't hit you--so leave ill alone. Beside, for Scoutbush's sake, her sake, every one's sake, the thing mustbe hushed up. If the fellow chooses to duck under into the London mire, let him lie there, and forget him!"

"No, Claude; his pardon I must beg, ere I go out to the war: or I shalldie with a sin upon my soul. "

"My dear, noble creature! if you must go, I go with you. I must see fairplay between you and that madman; and give him a piece of my mind, too, while I am about it. He is in my power: or if not quite that, I know onein whose power he is! and to reason he shall be brought. "

"No; you must stay here. I cannot trust Scoutbush's head, and these poordear souls will have no one to look to but you. I can trust you withthem, I know. Me you will perhaps never see again. "

"You can trust me!" said the affectionate little painter, the tearsstarting to his eyes, as he wrung Campbell's hand. 

"Mind one thing! If that Vavasour shows his teeth, there is a spell willturn him to stone. Use it!"

"Heaven forbid! Let him show his teeth. It is I who am in the wrong. Whyshould I make him more my enemy than he is?"

"Be it so. Only, if the worst comes to the worst, call him not ElsleyVavasour, but plain John Briggs--and see what follows. "

Valencia entered. 

"The post has come in! Oh, dear Major Campbell, is there a letter?"

He put the note into her hand in silence. She read it, and darted backto Lucia's room. 

"Thank God that she did not see that I was going! One more pang on earthspared!" said Campbell to himself. 

Valencia hurried to Lucia's door. She was holding it ajar and lookingout with pale face, and wild hungry eyes. --"A letter? Don't be silent orI shall go mad! Tell me the worst! Is he alive?"

"Yes. "

She gasped, and staggered against the door-post. 

"Where? Why does he not come back to me?" asked she, in a confused, abstracted way. 

It was best to tell the truth, and have it over. 

"He has gone to London, Lucia. He will think over it all there, and besorry for it, and then all will be well again. "

But Lucia did not hear the end of that sentence. Murmuring to herself, "To London! To London!" she hurried back into the room. 

"Clara! Clara! have the children had their breakfast?"

"Yes, ma'am!" says Clara, appearing from the inner room. 

"Then help me to pack up, quick! Your master is gone to London onbusiness; and we are to follow him immediately. "

And she began bustling about the room. 

"My dearest Lucia, you are not fit to travel now!"

"I shall die if I stay here; die if I do nothing! I must find him!"whispered she. "Don't speak loud, or Clara will hear. I can find him, and nobody can but me! Why don't you help me to pack, Valencia?"

"My dearest! but what will Scoutbush say when he comes home, and findsyou gone?"

"What right has he to interfere? I am Elsley's wife, am I not? and mayfollow my husband if I like:" and she went on desperately collecting, not her own things, but Elsley's. 

Valencia watched her with tear-brimming eyes; collecting all his papers, counting over his clothes, murmuring to herself that he would want thisand that in London. Her sanity seemed failing her, under the fixed ideathat she had only to see him, and set all right with, a word. 

"I will go and get you some breakfast, " said she at last. 

"I want none. I am too busy to eat. Why don't you help me?"

Valencia had not the heart to help, believing, as she did, that Lucia'sjourney would be as bootless as it would be dangerous to her health. 

"I will bring you some breakfast, and you must try; then I will help topack:" and utterly bewildered she went out; and the thought uppermost inher mind was, --"Oh, that I could find Frank Headley?"

Happy was it for Frank's love, paradoxical as it may seem, that it hadconquered just at that moment of terrible distress. Valencia'sacceptance of him had been hasty, founded rather on sentiment andadmiration than on deep affection; and her feeling might have faltered, waned, died away in self-distrust of its own reality, if giddyamusement, if mere easy happiness, had followed it. But now the fire ofaffliction was branding in the thought of him upon her softened heart. 

Living at the utmost strain of her character, Campbell gone, her brotheruseless, and Lucia and the children depending utterly on her, there wasbut one to whom she could look for comfort while she needed it mostutterly; and happy for her and for her lover that she could go to him. 

"Poor Lucia! thank God that I have some one who will never treat me so!who will lift me up and shield me, instead of crushing me!--dearcreature!--Oh that I may find him!" And her heart went out after Frankwith a gush of tenderness which she had never felt before. 

"Is this, then, love?" she asked herself; and she found time to slipinto her own room for a moment and arrange her dishevelled hair, ere sheentered the breakfast-room. 

Frank was there, luckily alone, pacing nervously up and down. He hurriedup to her, caught both her hands in his, and gazed into her wan andhaggard face with the intensest tenderness and anxiety. 

Valencia's eyes looked into the depths of his, passive and confiding, till they failed before the keenness of his gaze, and swam in glitteringmist. 

"Ah!" thought she; "sorrow is a light price to pay for the feeling ofbeing so loved by such a man!"

"You are tired, --ill? What a night you must have had! Mellot has told meall. "

"Oh, my poor sister!" and wildly she poured out to Frank her wrathagainst Elsley, her inability to comfort Lucia, and all the misery andconfusion of the past night. 

"This is a sad dawning for the day of my triumph!" thought Frank, wholonged to pour out his heart to her on a thousand very differentmatters: but he was content; it was enough for him that she could tellhim all, and confide in him; a truer sign of affection than any selfishlove-making; and he asked, and answered, with such tenderness andthoughtfulness for poor Lucia, with such a deep comprehension ofElsley's character, pitying while he blamed, that he won his reward atlast. 

"Oh! it would he intolerable, if I had not through it all the thought"and blushing crimson, her head drooped on her bosom. She seemed ready todrop with exhaustion. 

"Sit down, sit down, or you will fall!" said Frank, leading her to achair; and as he led her, he whispered with fluttering heart, new to itsown happiness, and longing to make assurance sure--"What thought?"

She was silent still; but he felt her hand tremble in his. 

"The thought of me?"

She looked up in his face; how beautiful! And in another moment, neitherknew how, she was clasped to his bosom. 

He covered her face, her hair with kisses: she did not move; from thatmoment she felt that he was her husband. 

"Oh, guide me! counsel me! pray for me!" sobbed she. "I am all alone, and my poor sister, she is going mad, I think, and I have no one totrust but you; and you--you will leave me to go to those dreadful wars;and then, what will become of me? Oh, stay! only a few days!" andholding him convulsively, she answered his kisses with her own. 

Frank stood as in a dream, while the room reeled round and vanished; andhe was alone for a moment upon earth with her and his great love. 

"Tell me, " said he, at last, trying to awaken himself to action. "Tellme! Is she really going to seek him?"

"Yes, selfish and forgetful that I am! You must help me! she will go toLondon, nothing can stop her;--and it will kill her!"

"It may drive her mad to keep her here. "

"It will! and that drives me mad also. What can I choose!"

"Follow where God leads. It is she, after all, who must reclaim him. Leave her in God's hands, and go with her to London. "

"But my brother?"

"Mellot or I will see him. Let it be me. Mellot shall go with you toLondon. "

"Oh that you were going!"

"Oh that I were! I will follow, though. Do you think that I can be longaway from you?. .. But I must tell your brother. I had a very differentmatter on which to speak to him this morning, " said he, with a sadsmile: "but better as it is. He shall find me, I hope, reasonable andtrustworthy in this matter; perhaps enough so to have my Valenciacommitted to me. Precious jewel! I must learn to be a man now, at least;now that I have you to care for. "

"And yet you go and leave me?"

"Valencia! Because God has given us to each other, shall ourthank-offering be to shrink cowardly from His work?"

He spoke more sternly than he intended, to awe into obedience ratherhimself than her; for he felt, poor fellow, his courage failing fast, while he held that treasure in his arms. 

She shuddered in silence. 

"Forgive me!" he cried; "I was too harsh, Valencia!"

"No!" she cried, looking up at him with a glorious smile. "Scold me! Beharsh to me! It is so delicious now to be reproved by you!" and as shespoke she felt as if she would rather endure torture from that man'shand than bliss from any other. How many strange words of Lucia's thatnew feeling explained to her; words at which she had once grown angry, as doting weaknesses, unjust and degrading to self-respect. Poor Lucia!She might be able to comfort her now, for she had learnt to sympathisewith her by experience the very opposite to hers. Yet there must havebeen a time when Lucia clung to Elsley as she to Frank. How horrible tohave her eyes opened thus!--To be torn and flung away from the bosomwhere she longed to rest! It could never happen to her. Of course herFrank was true, though all the world were false: but poor Lucia! Shemust go to her. This was mere selfishness at such a moment. 

"You will find Scoutbush, then!"

"This moment. I will order the car now, if you will only eat. You must!"

And he rang the bell, and then made her sit down and eat, almost feedingher with his own hand. That, too, was a new experience; and one sostrangely pleasant, that when Bowie entered, and stared solemnly at thepair, she only looked up smiling, though blushing a little. 

"Get a car instantly, " said she. 

"For Mrs. Vavasour, my lady? She has ordered hers already. "

"No; for Mr. Headley. He is going to find my lord. Frank, pour me out acup of tea for Lucia. "

Bowie vanished, mystified. "It's no concern of mine; but better tak' upwi' a godly meenister than a godless pawet, " said the worthy warrior tohimself as he marched down stairs. 

"You see that I am asserting our rights already before all the world, "said she, looking up. 

"I see you are not ashamed of me. "

"Ashamed of you?"

"And now I must go to Lucia. "

"And to London. "

Valencia began to cry like any baby; but rose and carried away the teain her hand. "Must I go? and before you come back, too?"

"Is she determined to start instantly?"

"I cannot stop her. You see she has ordered the car. "

"Then go, my darling! My own! my Valencia! Oh, a thousand things to askyou, and no time to ask them in! I can write?" said Frank, with aninquiring smile. 

"Write? Yes; every day, --twice a day. I shall live upon those letters. Good-bye!" And out she went, while Frank sat himself down at the table, and laid his head upon his hands, stupefied with delight, till Bowieentered. 

"The car, sir. "

"Which? Who?" asked Frank, looking up as from a dream. 

"The car, sir. "

Frank rose, and walked downstairs abstractedly. Bowie kept close to hisside. 

"Ye'll pardon me, sir, " said he in a low voice; "but I see how it is, --the more blessing for you. Ye'll be pleased, I trust, to take more careof this jewel than others have of that one: or--"

"Or you'll shoot me yourself, Bowie?" said Frank, half amused, halfawed, too, by the stern tone of the guardsman. "I'll give you leave todo it if I deserve it"

"It's no my duty, either as a soldier or as a valet. And, indeed, I'vethat opeenion of you, sir, that I don't think it'll need to be any one'selse's duty either. "

And so did Mr. Bowie signify his approbation of the new family romance, and went off to assist Mrs. Clara in getting the trunks down stairs. 

Clara was in high dudgeon. She had not yet completed her flirtation withMr. Bowie, and felt it hard to have her one amusement in life snatchedout of her hard-worked hands. 

"I'm sure I don't know why we're moving. I don't believe it's business. Some of his tantrums, I daresay. I heard her walking up and down theroom all last night, I'll swear. Neither she nor Miss Valencia have beento bed. He'll kill her at last, the brute!"

"It's no concern of either of us, that. Have ye got another trunk tobring down?"

"No concern? Just like your hard-heartedness, Mr. Bowie. And as soon asI'm gone, of course you will be flirting with these impudent Welshwomen, in their horrid hats. "

"Maybe, yes; maybe, no. But flirting's no marrying, Mrs. Clara. "

"True for you, sir! Men were deceivers ever, " quoth Clara, and flouncedup stairs; while Bowie looked after her with a grim smile, and caughther, when she came down again, long enough to give her a great kiss; theonly language which he used in wooing, and that but rarely. 

"Dinna fash, lassie. Mind your lady and the poor bairns like a godlyhandmaiden, and I'll buy the ring when the sawmon fishing's over, andwe'll just be married ere I start for the Crimee"

"The sawmon!" cried Clara. "I'll see you turned into a mermaid first, and married to a sawmon!"

"And ye won't do anything o' the kind, " said Bowie to himself, andshouldered a valise. 

In ten minutes the ladies were packed into the carriage, and away, underMellot's care. Frank watched Valencia looking back, and smiling throughher tears, as they rolled through the village; and then got into hiscar, and rattled down the southern road to Pont Aberglaslyn, his handstill tingling with the last pressure of Valencia's. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE BROAD STONE OF HONOUR. 

But where has Stangrave been all this while?

Where any given bachelor has been, for any given month, is difficult tosay, and no man's business but his own. But where he happened to be on acertain afternoon in the first week of October, on which he had justheard the news of Alma, was, --upon the hills between Ems and Coblentz. Walking over a high table-land of stubbles, which would be grass inEngland; and yet with all its tillage is perhaps not worth more thanEnglish grass would be, thanks to that small-farm system much be-praisedby some who know not wheat from turnips. Then along a road, which mightbe a Devon one, cut in the hill-side, through authentic "Devonian"slate, where the deep chocolate soil is lodged on the top of the uprightstrata, and a thick coat of moss and wood sedge clusters about theoak-scrub roots, round which the delicate and rare oak-fern mingles itsfronds with great blue campanulas; while the "white admirals" andsilver-washed "fritillaries" flit round every bramble bed, and the great"purple emperors" come down to drink in the road puddles, and sit, fearless flashing off their velvet wings a blue as of that empyreanwhich is "dark by excess of light. "

Down again through cultivated lands, corn and clover, flax and beet, andall the various crops with which the industrious German yeoman ekes outhis little patch of soil. Past the thrifty husbandman himself, as heguides the two milch-kine in his tiny plough, and stops at the furrow'send, to greet you with the hearty German smile and bow; while the littlefair-haired maiden, walking beneath the shade of standard cherries, walnuts, and pears, all grey with fruit, fills the cows' mouths withchicory, and wild carnations, and pink saintfoin, and many a fragrantweed which richer England wastes. 

Down once more, into a glen; but such a glen as neither England norAmerica has ever seen; or, please God, ever will see, glorious as it is. Stangrave, who knew all Europe well, had walked the path before; but hestopped then, as he had done the first time, in awe. On the right, slopeup the bare slate downs, up to the foot of cliffs; but only half ofthose cliffs God has made. Above the grey slate ledges rise cliffs ofman's handiwork, pierced with a hundred square black embrasures; andabove them the long barrack-ranges of a soldier's town; which a foemanstormed once, when it was young: but what foeman will ever storm itagain [Transcriber's note: punctuation missing from the end of thissentence in original. Possibly question mark. ] What conqueror's footwill ever tread again upon the "broad stone of honour, " and callEhrenbreitstein his? On the left the clover and the corn range on, beneath the orchard boughs, up to yon knoll of chestnut and acacia, tallpoplar, feathered larch:--but what is that stonework which gleams greybeneath their stems'? A summer-house for some great duke, looking outover the glorious Rhine vale, and up the long vineyards of the brightMoselle, from whence he may bid his people eat, drink, and take theirease, for they have much goods laid up for many years?--

Bank over bank of earth and stone, cleft by deep embrasures, from whichthe great guns grin across the rich gardens, studded with standardfruit-trees, which close the glacis to its topmost edge. And there, below him, lie the vineyards: every rock-ledge and narrow path of soiltossing its golden tendrils to the sun, grey with ripening clusters, rich with noble wine; but what is that wall which winds among them, upand down, creeping and sneaking over every ledge and knoll of vantageground, pierced with eyelet-holes, backed by strange stairs andgalleries of stone; till it rises close before him, to meet the lowround tower full in his path, from whose deep casemates, as from darkscowling eye-holes, the ugly cannon-eyes stare up the glen?

Stangrave knows them all--as far as any man can know. The wards of thekey which locks apart the nations; the yet maiden Troy of Europe; thegreatest fortress of the world. 

He walks down, turns into the vineyards, and lies down beneath themellow shade of vines. He has no sketch-book--articles forbidden; hispassport is in his pocket; and he speaks all tongues of German men. So, fearless of gendarmes and soldiers, he lies down, in the blazing Germanafternoon, upon the shaly soil; and watches the bright-eyed lizards huntflies along the roasting-walls, and the great locusts buzz and pitch andleap; green locusts with red wings, and grey locusts with blue wings; henotes the species, for he is tired and lazy, and has so many thoughtswithin his head, that he is glad to toss them all away, and give up hissoul, if possible, to locusts and lizards, vines and shade. 

And far below him fleets the mighty Rhine, rich with the memories of twothousand stormy years; and on its further bank the grey-walled Coblentztown, and the long arches of the Moselle-bridge, and the rich flats ofKaiser Franz, and the long poplar-crested uplands, which look so gay, and are so stern; for everywhere between the poplar-stems thesaw-toothed outline of the western forts cuts the blue sky. 

And far beyond it all sleeps, high in air, the Eifel with its hundredcrater peaks; blue mound behind blue mound, melting into white haze. --Stangrave has walked upon those hills, and stood upon the crater-lip ofthe great Moselkopf, and dreamed beside the Laacher See, beneath theancient abbey walls; and his thoughts flit across the Moselle flatstowards his ancient haunts, as he asks himself--How long has that oldEifel lain in such soft sleep? How long ere it awake again?

It may awake, geologists confess, --why not? and blacken all the skieswith smoke of Tophet, pouring its streams of boiling mud once more todam the Rhine, whelming the works of men in flood, and ash, and fire. Why not? The old earth seems so solid at first sight: but look a littlenearer, and this is the stuff of which she is made!--The wreck of pastearthquakes, the leavings of old floods, the washings of cold cinderheaps--which are smouldering still below. 

Stangrave knew that well enough. He had climbed Vesuvius, Etna, Popocatepetl. He had felt many an earthquake shock; and knew how far totrust the everlasting hills. And was old David right, he thought thatday, when he held the earthquake and the volcano as the truest symbolsof the history of human kind, and of the dealings of their Maker withthem? All the magnificent Plutonic imagery of the Hebrew poets, had itno meaning for men now? Did the Lord still uncover the foundations ofthe world, spiritual as well as physical, with the breath of Hisdispleasure? Was the solfa-tara of Tophet still ordained for tyrants?And did the Lord still arise out of His place to shake terribly theearth? Or, had the moral world grown as sleepy as the physical one hadseemed to have done? Would anything awful, unexpected, tragical, everburst forth again from the heart of earth, or from the heart of man?

Surprising question! What can ever happen henceforth, save infiniterailroads and crystal palaces, peace and plenty, cockaigne anddilettantism, to the end of time? Is it not full sixty whole years sincethe first French revolution, and six whole years since the revolution ofall Europe? Bah!--change is a thing of the past, and tragedy a myth ofour forefathers; war a bad habit of old barbarians, eradicated by thespread of an enlightened philanthropy. Men know now how to govern theworld far too well to need any divine visitations, much less divinepunishments; and Stangrave was an Utopian dreamer, only to be excused bythe fact that he had in his pocket the news that three great nationswere gone forth to tear each other as of yore. 

Nevertheless, looking round upon those grim earth-mounds and embrasures, he could not but give the men who put them there credit for supposingthat they might be wanted. Ah! but that might be only one of the direfulnecessities of the decaying civilisation of the old world. What acontrast to the unarmed and peaceful prosperity of his own country!Thank heaven, New England needed no fortresses, military roads, orstanding armies! True, but why that flush of contemptuous pity for thepoor old world, which could only hold its own by such expensive and uglymethods?

He asked himself that very question, a moment after, angrily; for he wasout of humour with himself, with his country, and indeed with theuniverse in general. And across his mind flashed a memorableconversation at Constantinople long since, during which he had made somesuch unwise remark to Thurnall, and received from him a sharp answer, which parted them for years. 

It was natural enough that that conversation should come back to himjust then; for, in his jealousy, he was thinking of Tom Thurnall oftenenough every day; and in spite of his enmity, he could not helpsuspecting more and more that Thurnall had had some right on his side ofthe quarrel. 

He had been twitting Thurnall with the miserable condition of thelabourers in the south of England, and extolling his own country at theexpense of ours. Tom, unable to deny the fact, had waxed all the morewroth at having it pressed on him; and at last had burst forth--

"Well, and what right have you to crow over us on that score? I suppose, if you could hire a man in America for eighteen-pence a day instead of adollar and a half, you would do it? You Americans are not accustomed togive more for a thing than it's worth in the market, are you?"

"But, " Stangrave had answered, "the glory of America is, that you cannotget the man for less than the dollar and a half; that he is too wellfed, too prosperous, too well educated, to be made a slave of. "

"And therefore makes slaves of the niggers instead? I'll tell you what, I'm sick of that shallow fallacy--the glory of America! Do you mean byAmerica, the country, or the people? You boast, all of you, of yourcountry, as if you had made it yourselves; and quite forget that Godmade America, and America has made you. "

"Made us, sir?" quoth Stangrave fiercely enough. 

"Made you!" replied Thurnall, exaggerating his half truth from anger. "To what is your comfort, your high feeding, your very education, owing, but to your having a thin population, a virgin soil, and unlimited meansof emigration? What credit to you if you need no poor laws, when youpack off your children, as fast as they grow up, to clear more groundwestward? What credit to your yeomen that they have read more books thanour clods have, while they can earn more in four hours than our poorfellows in twelve? It all depends on the mere physical fact of yourbeing in a new country, and we in an old one: and as for moralsuperiority, I shan't believe in that while I see the whole of thenorthern states so utterly given up to the 'almighty dollar, ' that theyleave the honour of their country to be made ducks and drakes of by afew southern slaveholders. Moral superiority? We hold in England thatan honest man is a match for three rogues. If the same law holds good inthe United States, I leave you to settle whether Northerners orSoutherners are the honester men. "

Whereupon (and no shame to Stangrave) there was a heavy quarrel, and thetwo men had not met since. 

But now, those words of Thurnall's, backed by far bitterer ones ofMarie's, were fretting Stangrave's heart. --What if they were true? Theywere not the whole truth. There was beside, and above them all, anobleness in the American heart, which could, if it chose, and when itchose, give the lie to that bitter taunt: but had it done so already?

At least he himself had not. .. . If Thurnall and Marie were unjust to hisnation, they had not been unjust to him. He, at least, had been making, all his life, mere outward blessings causes of self-congratulation, andnot of humility. He had been priding himself on wealth, ease, luxury, cultivation, without a thought that these were God's gifts, and that Godwould require an account of them. If Thurnall were right, was he himselftoo truly the typical American? And bitterly enough he accused at oncehimself and his people. 

"Noble? Marie is right! We boast of our nobleness: better to take theonly opportunity of showing it which we have had since we have become anation! Heaped with every blessing which God could give; beyond thereach of sorrow, a check, even an interference; shut out from all theworld in God's new Eden, that we might freely eat of all the trees ofthe garden, and grow and spread, and enjoy ourselves like the birds ofheaven--God only laid on us one duty, one command, to right one simple, confessed, conscious wrong. .. . 

"And what have we done?--what have even I done? We have steadily, deliberately cringed at the feet of the wrong-doer, even while weboasted our superiority to him at every point, and at last, for the sakeof our own selfish ease, helped him to forge new chains for his victims, and received as our only reward fresh insults. White slaves! We, perhaps, and not the English peasant, are the white slaves! At least, ifthe Irishman emigrates to England, or the Englishman to Canada, he isnot hunted out with blood-hounds, and delivered back to his landlord tobe scourged and chained. He is not practically out of the pale of law, unrepresented, forbidden even the use of books; and even if he were, there is an excuse for the old country; for she was founded on nopolitical principles, but discovered what she knows step by step, a sortof political Topsy, as Claude Mellot calls her, who has 'kinder growed, 'doing from hand to mouth what seemed best. But that we, who profess tostart as an ideal nation, on fixed ideas of justice, freedom, andequality--that we should have been stultifying ever since every greatprinciple of which we so loudly boast!--"

 * * * * *

"The old Jew used to say of his nation, 'It is God that hath made us, and not we ourselves. ' We say, 'It is we that have made ourselves, whileGod--?'--Ah, yes; I recollect. God's work is to save a soul here and asoul there, and to leave America to be saved by the Americans who madeit. We must have a broader and deeper creed than that if we are to workout our destiny. The battle against Middle Age slavery was fought by theold Catholic Church, which held the Jewish notion, and looked on theDeity as the actual King of Christendom, and every man in it as God'sown child. I see now!--No wonder that the battle in America has as yetbeen fought by the Quakers, who believe that there is a divine light andvoice in every man; while the Calvinist preachers, with their isolatingand individualising creed, have looked on with folded hands, content tosave a negro's soul here and there, whatsoever might become of thebodies and the national future of the whole negro race. No wonder, whilesuch men have the teaching of the people, that it is necessary still inthe nineteenth century, in a Protestant country, amid sane human beings, for such a man as Mr. Sumner to rebut, in sober earnest, the argumentthat the negro was the descendant of Canaan, doomed to eternal slaveryby Noah's curse!"

 * * * * *

He would rouse himself. He would act, speak, write, as many a noblefellow-countryman was doing. He had avoided them of old as bores andfanatics who would needs wake him from his luxurious dreams. He had evenhated them, simply because they were more righteous than he. He would bea new man henceforth. 

He strode down the hill through the cannon-guarded vineyards, among thebusy groups of peasants. 

"Yes, Marie was right. Life is meant for work, and not for ease; tolabour in danger and in dread; to do a little good ere the night comes, when no man can work: instead of trying to realise for oneself aParadise; not even Bunyan's shepherd-paradise, much less Fourier'sCasino-paradise; and perhaps least of all, because most selfish andisolated of all, my own heart-paradise--the apotheosis of loafing, asClaude calls it. Ah, Tennyson's Palace of Art is a true word--too true, too true!

"Art? What if the most necessary human art, next to the art ofagriculture, be, after all, the art of war? It has been so in all ages. What if I have been befooled--what if all the Anglo-Saxon world has beenbefooled by forty years of peace? We have forgotten that the history ofthe world has been as yet written in blood; that the story of the humanrace is the story of its heroes and its martyrs--the slayers and theslain. Is it not becoming such once more in Europe now? And what divineexemption can we claim from the law? What right have we to suppose thatit will be aught else, as long as there are wrongs unredressed on earth;as long as anger and ambition, cupidity and wounded pride, canker thehearts of men? What if the wise man's attitude, and the wise nation'sattitude, is that of the Jews rebuilding their ruined walls, --the toolin one hand, and the sword in the other; for the wild Arabs are closeoutside, and the time is short, and the storm has only lulled awhile inmercy, that wise men may prepare for the next thunder-burst? It is anugly fact: but I have thrust it away too long, and I must accept it nowand henceforth. This, and not luxurious Broadway; this, and not thecomfortable New England village, is the normal type of human life; andthis is the model city!--Armed industry, which tills the corn and vineamong the cannons' mouths; which never forgets their need, though it maymask and beautify their terror: but knows that as long as cruelty andwrong exist on earth, man's destiny is to dare and suffer, and, if itmust be so, to die. .. . 

"Yes, I will face my work; my danger, if need be. I will find Marie. Iwill tell her that I accept her quest; not for her sake, but for itsown. Only I will demand the right to work at it as I think best, patiently, moderately, wisely if I can; for a fanatic I cannot be, evenfor her sake. She may hate these slaveholders, --she may have herreasons, --but I cannot. I cannot deal with them as _feras naturae_. Icannot deny that they are no worse men than I; that I should have donewhat they are doing, have said what they are saying, had I been bred up, as they have been, with irresponsible power over the souls and bodies ofhuman beings. God! I shudder at the fancy! The brute that I might havebeen--that I should have been!

"Yes; one thing at least I have learnt, in all my experiments on poorhumanity;--never to see a man do a wrong thing, without feeling that Icould do the same in his place. I used to pride myself on that once, fool that I was, and call it comprehensiveness. I used to make it anexcuse for sitting by, and seeing the devil have it all his own way, andcall that toleration. I will see now whether I cannot turn the saidknowledge to a better account, as common sense, patience, and charity;and yet do work of which neither I nor my country need be ashamed. "

He walked down, and on to the bridge of boats. They opened in thecentre; as he reached it a steamer was passing. He lounged on the railas the boat passed through, looking carelessly at the groups oftourists. 

Two ladies were standing on the steamer; close to him; looking up atEhrenbreitstein. Was it?--yes, it was Sabina, and Marie by her!

But ah, how changed! The cheeks were pale and hollow; dark rings--hecould see them but too plainly as the face was lifted up toward thelight--were round those great eyes, bright no longer. Her face waslistless, careworn; looking all the more sad and impassive by the sideof Sabina's, as she pointed smiling and sparkling, up to the fortress;and seemed trying to interest Marie in it, but in vain. 

He called out. He waved his hand wildly, to the amusement of theofficers and peasants who waited by his side; and who, looking first athis excited face, and then at the two beautiful women, were not long inmaking up their minds about him; and had their private jestsaccordingly. 

They did not see him, but turned away to look at Coblentz; and thesteamer swept by. 

Stangrave stamped with rage--upon a Prussian officer's thin boot. 

"Ten thousand pardons!"

"You are excused, dear sir, you are excused, " says the good-naturedGerman, with a wicked smile, which raises a blush on Stangrave's cheek. "Your eyes were dazzled; why not? it is not often that one sees two suchsuns together in the same sky. But calm yourself; the boat stops atCoblentz. "

Stangrave could not well call the man of war to account for hisimpertinence; he had had his toes half crushed, and had a right toindemnify himself as he thought fit. And with a hundred more apologies, Stangrave prepared to dart across the bridge as soon as it was closed. 

Alas! after the steamer, as the fates would have it, came lumbering downone of those monster timber rafts; and it was a full half hour beforeStangrave could get across, having suffered all the while the tormentsof Tantalus, as he watched the boat sweep round to the pier, anddischarge its freight, to be scattered whither he knew not. At last hegot across, and went in chase to the nearest hotel: but they were notthere; thence to the next, and the next, till he had hunted half thehotels in the town; but hunted all in vain. 

He is rushing wildly back again, to try if he can obtain any clue at thesteam-boat pier, through the narrow, dirty street at the back of theRhine Cavalier, when he is stopped short by a mighty German embrace, anda German kiss on either cheek, as the kiss of a housemaid's broom; whilea jolly voice shouts in English:--

"Ah, my dear, dear friend! and you would pass me! Whither the hangman sofast are you running in the mud!"

"My dear Salomon! But let me go, I beseech you; I am in search--"

"In search?" cries the jolly Jew banker, --"for the philosopher's stone?You had all that man could want a week since, except that. Search nomore, but come home with me; and we will have a night as of the gods onOlympus!"

"My dearest fellow, I am looking for two ladies!"

"Two? ah, rogue! shall not one suffice?"

"Don't, my dearest fellow! I am looking for two English ladies. "

"Potz! You shall find two hundred in the hotels, ugly and fair; but thetwo fairest are gone this two hours. "

"When?--which?" cries Stangrave, suspecting at once. 

"Sabina Mellot, and a Sultana--I thought her of The Nation, and wouldhave offered my hand on the spot: but Madame Mellot says she is aGentile. "

"Gone? And you have seen them! Where?"

"To Bertrich. They had luncheon with my mother, and then started byprivate post. "

"I must follow. "

"_Ach lieber_? But it will be dark in an hour. "

"What matter?"

"But you shall find them to-morrow, just as well as to-day. They stay atBertrich for a fortnight more. They have been there now a month, andonly left it last week for a pleasure tour, across to the Ahrthal, andso back by Andernach. "

"Why did they leave Coblentz, then, in such hot haste?"

"Ah, the ladies never give reasons. There were letters waiting for themat our house; and no sooner read, but they leaped up, and would forth. Come home now, and go by the steamer to-morrow morning. "

"Impossible! most hospitable of Israelites. "

"To go to-night, --for see the clouds!--Not a postilion will dare toleave Coblentz, under that quick-coming _allgemein und ungeheuerhenker-hund-und-teufel's-gewitter_. "

Stangrave looked up, growling; and gave in. A Rhine-storm was rolling uprapidly. 

"They will be caught in it. "

"No. They are far beyond its path by now; while you shall endure thewhole visitation; and if you try to proceed, pass the night in aflea-pestered post-house, or in a ditch of water. "

So Stangrave went home with Herr Salomon, and heard from him, amidclouds of Latakia, of wars and rumours of wars, distress of nations, andperplexity, seen by the light, not of the Gospel, but of thestock-exchange; while the storm fell without in lightning, hail, rain, of right Rhenish potency. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE THIRTIETH OF SEPTEMBER. 

We must go back a week or so, to England, and to the last day ofSeptember. The world is shooting partridges, and asking nervously, whenit comes home, What news from the Crimea? The flesh who serves it isbathing at Margate. The devil is keeping up his usual correspondencewith both. Eaton Square is a desolate wilderness, where dusty sparrowsalone disturb the dreams of frowzy charwomen, who, like Anchorites amidthe tombs of the Thebaid, fulfil the contemplative life each in hersubterranean cell. Beneath St. Peter's spire the cabman sleeps withinhis cab, the horse without: the waterman, seated on his empty bucket, contemplates the untrodden pavement between his feet, and is at rest. The blue butcher's boy trots by with empty cart, five miles an hour, instead of full fifteen, and stops to chat with the red postman, who, his occupation gone, smokes with the green gatekeeper, and reviles theCzar. Along the whole north pavement of the square only one figuremoves, and that is Major Campbell. 

His face is haggard and anxious; he walks with a quick, excited step;earnest enough, whoever else is not. For in front of Lord Scoutbush'shouse the road is laid with straw. There is sickness there, anxiety, bitter tears. Lucia has not found her husband, but she has lost herchild. 

Trembling, Campbell raises the muffled knocker, and Bowie appears. "Whatnews to-day?" he whispers. 

"As well as can be expected, sir, and as quiet as a lamb now, they say. But it has been a bad time, and a bad man is he that caused it. "

"A bad time, and a bad man. How is Miss St. Just?"

"Just gone to lie down, sir. Mrs. Clara is on the stairs, if you'd liketo see her. "

"No; tell Miss St. Just that I have no news yet. " And the Major turnswearily away. 

Clara, who has seen him from above, hurries down after him into thestreet, and coaxes him to come in. "I am sure you have had no breakfast, sir: and you look so ill and worn. And Miss St. Just will be so vexednot to see you. She will get up the moment she hears you are here. "

"No, my good Miss Clara, " says Campbell, looking down with a wearysmile. "I should only make gloom more gloomy. Bowie, tell his lordshipthat I shall be at the afternoon train to-morrow, let what will happen. "

"Ay, ay, sir. We're a' ready to march. The Major looks very ill, MissClara. I wish he'd have taken your counsel. And I wish ye'd take mine, and marry me ere I march, just to try what it's like. "

"I must mind my mistress, Mr. Bowie, " says Clara. 

"And how should I interfere with that, as I've said twenty times, whenI'm safe in the Crimea? I'll get the licence this day, say what ye will:and then you would not have the heart to let me spend two pounds twelveand sixpence for nothing. "

Whether the last most Caledonian argument conquered or not, Mr. Bowiegot the licence, was married before breakfast the next morning, andstarted for the Crimea at four o'clock in the afternoon; mostastonished, as he confided in the train to Sergeant MacArthur, "to see alassie that never gave him a kind word in her life, and had not beenmarried but barely six hours, greet and greet at his going, till shevanished away into hystericals. They're a very unfathomable species, Sergeant, are they women; and if they were taken out o' man, they tookthe best part o' Adam wi' them, and left us to shift with the worse. "

But to return to Campbell. The last week has altered him frightfully. Heis no longer the stern, self-possessed warrior which he was; he nolonger even walks upright; his cheek is pale, his eye dull; his wholecountenance sunken together. And now that the excitement of anxiety ispast, he draws his feet along the pavement slowly, his hands claspedbehind him, his eyes fixed on the ground, as if the life was gone fromout of him, and existence was a heavy weight. 

"She is safe, at least, then! One burden off my mind. And yet had it notbeen better if that pure spirit had returned to Him who gave it, insteadof waking again to fresh misery? I must find that man! Why, I have beensaying so to myself for seven days past, and yet no ray of light. Canthe coward have given me a wrong address? Yet why give me an address atall if he meant to hide from me? Why, I have been saying that too, tomyself every day for the last week? Over and over again the same drearyround of possibilities and suspicions. However, I must be quiet now, ifI am a man. I can hear nothing before the detective comes at two. How topass the weary, weary time? For I am past thinking--almost past praying--though not quite, thank God!"

He paces up still noisy Piccadilly, and then up silent Bond Street;pauses to look at some strange fish on Groves's counter--anything towhile away the time; then he plods on toward the top of the street, andturns into Mr. Pillischer's shop, and upstairs to the microscopicclub-room. There, at least, he can forget himself for an hour. 

He looks round the neat pleasant little place, with its cases ofcuriosities, and its exquisite photographs, and bright brassinstruments; its glass vases stocked with delicate water-plants andanimalcules, with the sunlight gleaming through the green and purpleseaweed fronds, while the air is fresh and fragrant with the seaweedscent; a quiet, cool little hermitage of science amid that great noisy, luxurious west-end world. At least, it brings back to him the thought ofthe summer sea, and Aberalva, and his shore-studies: but he cannot thinkof that any more. It is past; and may God forgive him!

At one of the microscopes on the slab opposite him stands a sturdybearded man, his back toward the Major; while the wise little German, hopeless of customers, is leaning over him in his shirt sleeves. 

"But I never have seen its like; it had just like a painter's easel inits stomach yesterday!"

"Why, it's an Echinus Larva: a sucking sea-urchin! Hang it, if I hadknown you hadn't seen one, I'd have brought up half-a-dozen of them!"

"May I look, sir?" asked the Major; "I, too, never have seen an EchinusLarva. "

The bearded man looks up. 

"Major Campbell!"

"Mr. Thurnall! I thought I could not be mistaken in the voice. "

"This is too pleasant, sir, to renew our watery loves together here, "said Tom: but a second look at the Major's face showed him that he wasin no jesting mood. "How is the party at Beddgelert? I fancied you withthem still. "

"They are all in London, at Lord Scoutbush's house, in Eaton Square. "

"In London, at this dull time? I trust nothing unpleasant has broughtthem here. "

"Mrs. Vavasour is very ill. We had thoughts of sending for you, as thefamily physician was out of town: but she was out of danger, thank God, in a few hours. Now let me ask in turn after you. I hope no unpleasantbusiness brings you up three hundred miles from your practice?"

"Nothing, I assure you. Only I have given up my Aberalva practice. I amgoing to the East. "

"Like the rest of the world. "

"Not exactly. You go as a dignified soldier of her Majesty's; I as anundignified Abel Drugger, to dose Bashi-bazouks. "

"Impossible! and with such an opening as you had there! You must excuseme; but my opinion of your prudence must not be so rudely shaken. "

"Why do you not ask the question which Balzac's old Tourangeois judgeasks, whenever a culprit is brought before him, --'Who is she?'"

"Taking for granted that there was a woman at the bottom of everymishap? I understand you, " said the Major, with a sad smile. "Now letyou and me walk a little together, and look at the Echinoid another day--or when I return from Sevastopol--"

Tom went out with him. A new ray of hope had crossed the Major's mind. His meeting with Thurnall might he providential; for he recollected now, for the first time, Mellot's parting hint. 

"You knew Elsley Vavasour well?"

"No man better. "

"Did you think that there was any tendency to madness in him?"

"No more than in any other selfish, vain, irritable man, with a strongimagination left to run riot. "

"Humph! you seem to have divined his character. May I ask you if youknew him before you met him at Aberalva?"

Tom looked up sharply in the Major's face. 

"You would ask, what cause I have for inquiring? I will tell youpresently. Meanwhile I may say, that Mellot told me frankly that you hadsome power over him; and mentioned, mysteriously, a name--John Briggs, Ithink--which it appears that he once assumed. "

"If Mellot thought fit to tell you anything, I may frankly tell you all. John Briggs is his real name. I have known him from childhood. " And thenTom poured into the ears of the surprised and somewhat disgusted Majorall he had to tell. 

"You have kept your secret mercifully, and used it wisely, sir; and Iand others shall be always your debtors for it. Now I dare tell you inturn, in strictest confidence of course--"

"I am far too poor to afford the luxury of babbling. "

And the Major told him what we all know. 

"I expected as much, " said he drily. "Now, I suppose that you wish me toexert myself in finding the man?"

"I do. "

"Were Mrs. Vavasour only concerned, I should say--Not I! Betterthat she should never set eyes on him again. "

"Better, indeed!" said he bitterly: "but it is I who must see him, ifbut for five minutes. I must!"

"Major Campbell's wish is a command. Where have you searched for him?"

"At his address, at his publisher's, at the houses of various literaryfriends of his, and yet no trace. "

"Has he gone to the Continent?"

"Heaven knows! I have inquired at every passport office for news of anyone answering his description; indeed, I have two detectives, I may tellyou, at this moment, watching every possible place. There is but onehope, if he be alive. Can he have gone home to his native town?"

"Never! Anywhere but there. "

"Is there any old friend of the lower class with whom he may have takenlodgings?"

Tom pondered. 

"There was a fellow, a noisy blackguard, whom Briggs was asking afterthis very summer--a fellow who went off from Whitbury with some players. I know Briggs used to go to the theatre with him as a boy--what was hisname? He tried acting, but did not succeed; and then became ascene-shifter, or something of the kind, at the Adelphi. He has somecomplaint, I forget what, which made him an out-patient at St. Mumpsimus's, some months every year. I know that he was there thissummer, for I wrote to ask, at Briggs's request, and Briggs sent him asovereign through me. "

"But what makes you fancy that he can have taken shelter with such aman, and one who knows his secret?"

"It is but a chance: but he may have done it from the mere feeling ofloneliness--just to hold by some one whom he knows in this greatwilderness; especially a man in whose eyes he will be a great man, andto whom he has done a kindness; still, it is the merest chance. "

"We will take it, nevertheless, forlorn hope though it be. "

They took a cab to the hospital, and, with some trouble, got the man'sname and address, and drove in search of him. They had some difficultyin finding his abode, for it was up an alley at the back of Drury Lane, in the top of one of those foul old houses which hold a family in everyroom; but, by dint of knocking at one door and the other, and bearingmeekly much reviling consequent thereon, they arrived, "_per modumtollendi_" at a door which must be the right one, as all the rest werewrong. 

"Does John Barker live here?" asks Thurnall, putting his head incautiously for fear of drunken Irishmen, who might be seized with thenational impulse to "slate" him. 

"What's that to you?" answers a shrill voice from among soapsuds andsteaming rags. 

"Here is a gentleman wants to speak to him. "

"So do a many as won't have that pleasure, and would be little thebetter for it if they had. Get along with you, I knows your lay. "

"We really want to speak to him, and to pay him, if he will--"

"Go along! I'm up to the something to your advantage dodge, and to themustachio dodge too. Do you fancy I don't know a bailiff, because he'sdressed like a swell?"

"But, my good woman!" said Tom, laughing. 

"You put your crocodile foot in here, and I'll hit the hot water overthe both of you!" and she caught up the pan of soapsuds. 

"My dear soul! I am a doctor belonging to the hospital which yourhusband goes to; and have known him since he was a boy, down inBerkshire. "

"You?" and she looked keenly at him. 

"My name is Thurnall. I was a medical man once in Whitbury, where yourhusband was born. "

"You?" said she again, in a softened tone, "I knows that name wellenough. "

"You do? What was your name, then?" said Tom, who recognised the woman'sBerkshire accent beneath its coat of cockneyism. 

"Never you mind: I'm no credit to it, so I'll let it be. But come in, for the old county's sake. Can't offer you a chair, he's pawned 'em all. Pleasant old place it was down there, when I was a young girl; they sayit's grow'd a grand place now, wi' a railroad. I think many times I'dlike to go down and die there. " She spoke in a rough, sullen, carelesstone, as if life-weary. 

"My good woman, " said Major Campbell, a little impatiently, "can youfind your husband for us?"

"Why then?" asked she sharply, her suspicion seeming to return. 

"If he will answer a few questions, I will give him five shillings. Ifhe can find out for me what I want, I will give him five pounds. "

"Shouldn't I do as well? If you gi' it he, it's little out of it I shallsee, but he coming home tipsy when it's spent. Ah, dear! it was a sadday for me when I first fell in with they play-goers!"

"Why should she not do it as well?" said Thurnall. "Mrs. Barker, do youknow anything of a person named Briggs--John Briggs, the apothecary'sson, at Whitbury?"

She laughed a harsh bitter laugh. 

"Know he? yes, and too much reason. That was where it all begun, alongof that play-going of he's and my master's. "

"Have you seen him lately?" asked Campbell, eagerly. 

"I seen 'un? I'd hit this water over the fellow, and all his play-actingmerryandrews, if ever he sot a foot here!"

"But have you heard of him?"

"Ees--" said she carelessly; "he's round here now, I heard my mastersay, about the 'Delphy, with my master: a drinking, I suppose. No good, I'll warrant. "

"My good woman, " said Campbell, panting for breath, "bring me face toface with that man, and I'll put a five-pound note in your hand thereand then. "

"Five pounds is a sight to me: but it's a sight more than the sight ofhe's worth, " said she suspiciously again. 

"That's the gentleman's concern, " said Tom. "The money's yours. Isuppose you know the worth of it by now?"

"Ees, none better. But I don't want he to get hold of it; he's made awaywith enough already;" and she began to think. 

"Curiously impassive people, we Wessex worthies, when we are a littleground down with trouble. You must give her time, and she will do ourwork. She wants the money, but she is long past being excited at theprospect of it. "

"What's that you're whispering?" asked she sharply. 

Campbell stamped with impatience. 

"You don't trust us yet, eh?--then, there!" and he took five sovereignsfrom his pocket, and tossed them on the table. "There's your money! Itrust you to do the work, as you've been paid beforehand. "

She caught up the gold, rang every piece on the table to see if it wassound; and then--

"Sally, you go down with these gentlemen to the Jonson's Head, and if heben't there, go to the Fighting Cocks; and if he ben't there, go to theDuke of Wellington; and tell he there's two gentlemen has heard of hispoetry, and wants to hear 'un excite. And then you give he a glass ofliquor, and praise up his nonsense, and he'll tell you all he knows, anda sight more. Gi' un plenty to drink. It'll be a saving and a charity, for if he don't get it out of you, he will out of me. "

And she returned doggedly to her washing. 

"Can't I do anything for you?" asked Tom, whose heart always yearnedover a Berkshire soul. "I have plenty of friends down at Whitburystill. "

"More than I have. No, sir, " said she sadly, and with the first touch ofsweetness they had yet heard in her voice. "I've cured my own bacon, andI must eat it. There's none down there minds me, but them that would beashamed of me. And I couldn't go without he, and they wouldn't take hein; so I must just bide. " And she went on washing. 

"God help her!" said Campbell, as he went downstairs. 

"Misery breeds that temper, and only misery, in our people. I can showyou as thorough gentlemen and ladies, people round Whitbury, living onten shillings a week, as you will show me in Belgravia living on fivethousand a year. "

"I don't doubt it, " said Campbell. .. . "So 'she couldn't go without he, 'drunken dog as he is! Thus it is with them all the world over. "

"So much the worse for them, " said Tom cynically, "and for the men too. They make fools of us first with our over-fondness of them; and thenthey let us make fools of ourselves with their over-fondness of us. "

"I fancy sometimes that they were all meant to be the mates of angels, and stooped to men as a _pis aller_; reversing the old story of the sonsof heaven and the daughters of men. "

"And accounting for the present degeneracy. When the sons of heavenmarried the daughters of men, their offspring were giants and men ofrenown. Now the sons of men marry the daughters of heaven, and theoffspring is Wiggle, Waggle, Windbag, and Redtape. "

They visited one public-house after another, till the girl found forthem the man they wanted, a shabby, sodden-visaged fellow, with awould-be jaunty air of conscious shrewdness and vanity, who stood beforethe bar, his thumbs in his armholes, and laying down the law to a groupof coster-boys, for want of a better audience. 

The girl, after sundry plucks at his coat-tail, stopped him in the midstof his oration, and explained her errand somewhat fearfully. 

Mr. Barker bent down his head on one side, to signify that he wasabsorbed in attention to her news; and then drawing himself up oncemore, lifted his greasy hat high in air, bowed to the very floor, andbroke forth:--

 "Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors: A man of war, and eke a man of peace-- That is, if you come peaceful; and if not, Have we not Hiren here?"

And the fellow put himself into a fresh attitude. 

"We come in peace, my good sir, " said Tom; "first to listen to yourtalented effusions, and next for a little private conversation on asubject on which--" but Mr. Barker interrupted, --

 "To listen, and to drink? The muse is dry, And Pegasus doth thirst for Hippocrene, And fain would paint--imbibe the vulgar call-- Or hot or cold, or long or short--Attendant!"

The bar girl, who knew his humour, came forward. 

 "Glasses all round--these noble knights will pay-- Of hottest hot, and stiffest stiff. Thou mark'st me? Now to your quest!"

And he faced round with a third attitude. 

"Do you know Mr. Briggs?" asked the straightforward Major. He rolledhis eyes to every quarter of the seventh sphere, clapped his hand uponhis heart, and assumed an expression of angelic gratitude:--

 "My benefactor! Were the world a waste, A thistle-waste, ass-nibbled, goldfinch-pecked, And all the men and women merely asses, I still could lay this hand upon this heart, And cry, 'Not yet alone! I know a man-- A man Jove-fronted, and Hyperion-curled-- A gushing, flushing, blushing human heart!'"

"As sure as you live, sir, " said Tom, "if you won't talk honest prose, I won't pay for the brandy and water. "

 "Base is the slave who pays, and baser prose-- Hang uninspired patter! 'Tis in verse That angels praise, and fiends in Limbo curse. "

"And asses bray, I think, " said Tom, in despair. "Do you know where Mr. Briggs is now?"

 "And why the devil do you want to know? For that's a verse, sir, although somewhat slow. "

The two men laughed in spite of themselves. 

"Better tell the fellow the plain truth, " said Campbell to Thurnall. 

"Come out with us, and I will tell you. " And Campbell threw down themoney, and led him off, after he had gulped down his own brandy, andhalf Tom's beside. 

"What? leave the nepenthe untasted?"

They took him out, and he tucked his arms through theirs, and strutteddown Drury Lane. 

"The fact is, sir, --I speak to you, of course, in confidence, as onegentleman to another--"

Mr. Barker replied by a lofty and gracious bow. 

"That his family are exceedingly distressed at his absence, and hiswife, who, as you may know, is a lady of high family, dangerously ill;and he cannot be aware of the fact. This gentleman is the medical man ofher family, and I--I am an intimate friend. We should esteem ittherefore the very greatest service if you would give us any informationwhich--"

 "Weep no more, gentle shepherds, weep no more; For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, Sunk though he be upon a garret floor, With fumes of Morpheus' crown about his head. "

"Fumes of Morpheus' crown?" asked Thurnall. 

 "That crimson flower which crowns the sleepy god, And sweeps the soul aloft, though flesh may nod. "

"He has taken to opium!" said Thurnall to the bewildered Major. "What Ishould have expected. "

"God help him! we must save him out of that last lowest deep!" criedCampbell. "Where is he, sir?"

 "A vow! a vow! I have a vow in heaven! Why guide the hounds toward the trembling hare? Our Adonais hath drunk poison; Oh! What deaf and viperous murderer could crown Life's early cup with such a draught of woe?"

"As I live, sir, " cried Campbell, losing his self-possession in disgustat the fool; "you may rhyme your own nonsense as long as you will, butyou shan't quote the Adonais about that fellow in my presence. "

Mr. Barker shook himself fiercely free of Campbell's arm, and facedround at him in a fighting attitude. Campbell stood eyeing him sternly, but at his wit's end. 

"Mr. Barker, " said Tom blandly, "will you have another glass of brandyand water, or shall I call a policeman?"

"Sir, " sputtered he, speaking prose at last, "this gentleman hasinsulted me! He has called my poetry nonsense, and my friend a fellow. And blood shall not wipe out--what liquor may?"

The hint was sufficient; but ere he had drained another glass, Mr. Barker was decidedly incapable of managing his affairs, much lesstheirs; and became withal exceedingly quarrelsome, returning angrily tothe grievance of Briggs having been called a fellow; in spite of alltheir entreaties, he talked himself into a passion, and at last, toCampbell's extreme disgust, rushed out of the bar into the street. 

"This is too vexations! To have kept half-an-hour's company with such ananimal, and then to have him escape me after all! A just punishment onme for pandering to his drunkenness. "

Tom made no answer, but went quietly to the door, and peeped out. 

"Pay for his liquor, Major, and follow. Keep a few yards behind me;there will be less chance of his recognising us than if he saw us bothtogether. "

"Why, where do you think he's going?"

"Not home, I can see. Ten to one that he will go raging off straight toBriggs, to put him on his guard against us. Just like a drunkard'scunning it would be. There, he has turned up that side street. Nowfollow me quick. Oh that he may only keep his legs!"

They gained the bottom of that street before he had turned out of it;and so through another, and another, till they ran him to earth in oneof the courts out of St. Martin's Lane. 

Into a doorway he went, and up a stair. Tom stood listening at thebottom, till he heard the fellow knock at a door far above, and call outin a drunken tone. Then he beckoned to Campbell, and both, careless ofwhat might follow, ran upstairs, and pushing him aside, entered the roomwithout ceremony. 

Their chances of being on the right scent were small enough, consideringthat, though every one was out of town, there were a million and a halfof people in London at that moment; and, unfortunately, at least fiftythousand who would have considered Mr. John Barker a desirable visitor;but somehow, in the excitement of the chase, both had forgotten thechances against them, and the probability that they would have to retiredownstairs again, apologising humbly to some wrathful Joseph Buggins, whose convivialities they might have interrupted. But no; Tom's cunninghad, as usual, played him true; and as they entered the door, theybeheld none other than the lost Elsley Vavasour, alias John Briggs. 

Major Campbell advanced bowing, hat in hand, with a courteous apology onhis lips. 

It was a low lean-to garret; there was a deal table and an old chair init, but no bed. The windows were broken; the paper hanging down instrips. Elsley was standing before the empty fireplace, his hand in hisbosom, as if he had been startled by the scuffle outside. He had notshaved for some days. 

So much Tom could note; but no more. He saw the glance of recognitionpass over Elsley's face, and that an ugly one. He saw him draw somethingfrom his bosom, and spring like a cat almost upon the table. A flash--acrack. He had fired a pistol full in Campbell's face. 

Tom was startled, not at the thing, but that such a man should have doneit. He had seen souls, and too many, flit out of the world by that sametiny crack, in Californian taverns, Arabian deserts, Australian gullies. He knew all about that: but he liked Campbell; and he breathed morefreely the next moment, when he saw him standing still erect, a quietsmile on his face, and felt the plaster dropping from the wall upon hisown head. The bullet had gone over the Major. All was right. 

"He is not man enough for a second shot, " thought Tom quietly, "whilethe Major's eye is on him. "

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Vavasour, " he heard the Major say, in a gentleunmoved voice, "for this intrusion. I assure you that there is no causefor any anger on your part; and I am come to entreat you to forget andforgive any conduct of mine which may have caused you to mistake eitherme or the lady whom I am unworthy to mention. "

"I am glad the beggar fired at him, " thought Tom. "One spice of danger, and he's himself again, and will overawe the poor cur by mere civility. I was afraid of some abject methodist parson humility, which would givethe other party a handle. "

Elsley heard him with a stupefied look, like that of a trapped wildbeast, in which rage, shame, suspicion, and fear, were mingled with thevacant glare of the opium-eater's eye. Then his eye drooped beneathCampbell's steady gentle gaze, and he looked uneasily round the room, still like a trapped wild beast, as if for a hole to escape by; then upagain, but sidelong, at Major Campbell. 

"I assure you, sir, on the word of a Christian and a soldier, that youare labouring under an entire misapprehension. For God's sake and Mrs. Vavasour's sake, come back, sir, to those who will receive you withnothing but affection! Your wife has been all but dead; she thinks of noone but you, asks for no one but you. In God's name, sir, what are youdoing here, while a wife who adores you is dying from your--I do notwish to be rude, sir, but let me say at least--neglect?"

Elsley looked at him still askance, puzzled, inquiring. Suddenly hisgreat beautiful eyes opened to preternatural wideness, as if trying tograsp a new thought. He started, shifted his feet to and fro, his armsstraight down by his sides, his fingers clutching after something. Thenhe looked up hurriedly again at Campbell; and Thurnall looked at himalso; and his face was as the face of an angel. 

"Miserable ass!" thought Tom, "if he don't see innocence in that man'scountenance, he wouldn't see it in his own child's. "

Elsley suddenly turned his back to them, and thrust his hand into hisbosom. Now was Tom's turn. 

In a moment he had vaulted over the table, and seized Elsley's wrist, ere he could draw the second pistol. 

"No, my dear Jack, " whispered he quietly, "once is enough in a day!"

"Not for him, Tom, for myself!" moaned Elsley. 

"For neither, dear lad! Let bygones be bygones, and do you be a new man, and go home to Mrs. Vavasour. "

"Never, never, never, never, never, never!" shrieked Elsley like a baby, every word increasing in intensity, till the whole house rang; and thenthrew himself into the crazy chair, and dashed his head between hishands upon the table. 

"This is a case for me, Major Campbell. I think you had better go now. "

"You will not leave him?"

"No, sir. It is a very curious psychological study, and he is a Whitburyman. "

Campbell knew quite enough of the would-be cynical doctor, to understandwhat all that meant. He came up to Elsley. 

"Mr. Vavasour, I am going to the war, from which I expect never toreturn. If you believe me, give me your hand before I go. "

Elsley, without lifting his head, beat on the table with his hand. 

"I wish to die at peace with you and all the world. I am innocent inword, in thought. I shall not insult another person by saying that sheis so. If you believe me, give me your hand. "

Elsley stretched his hand, his head still buried. Campbell took it, andwent silently downstairs. 

"Is he gone?" moaned he, after a while. 

"Yes. "

"Does she--does she care for him?"

"Good heavens! How did you ever dream such an absurdity?"

Elsley only beat upon the table. 

"She has been ill?"

"Is ill. She has lost her child. "

"Which?" shrieked Elsley. 

"A boy whom she should have had. "

Elsley only beat on the table; then--

"Give me the bottle, Tom!"

"What bottle?"

"The laudanum;--there in the cupboard. "

"I shall do no such thing. You are poisoning yourself. "

"Let me then! I must, I tell you! I can live on nothing else. I shall gomad if I do not have it. I should have been mad by now. Nothing elsekeeps off these fits;--I feel one coming now. Curse you! give me thebottle!"

"What fits?"

"How do I know? Agony and torture--ever since I got wet on thatmountain. "

Tom knew enough to guess his meaning, and felt Elsley's pulse andforehead. 

"I tell you it turns every bone to red-hot iron!" almost screamed he. 

"Neuralgia; rheumatic, I suppose, " said Tom to himself. "Well, this isnot the thing to cure you: but you shall have it to keep you quiet. " Andhe measured him out a small dose. 

"More, I tell you, more!" said Elsley, lifting up his head, and lookingat it. 

"Not more while you are with me. "

"With you! Who the devil sent you here?"

"John Briggs, John Briggs, if I did not mean you good, should I be herenow? Now do, like a reasonable man, tell me what you intend to do. "

"What is that to you, or any man?" said Elsley, writhing with neuralgia. 

"No concern of mine, of course: but your poor wife--you must see her. "

"I can't, I won't!--that is, not yet! I tell you I cannot face thethought of her, much less the sight of her, and her family, --thatValencia! I'd rather the earth should open and swallow me! Don't talk tome, I say!"

And hiding his face in his hands, he writhed with pain, while Thurnallstood still patiently watching him, as a pointer dog does a partridge. He had found his game, and did not intend to lose it. 

"I am better now; quite well!" said he, as the laudanum began to work. "Yes! I'll go--that will be it--go to ---- at once. He'll give me anorder for a magazine article; I'll earn ten pounds, and then off toItaly. "

"If you want ten pounds, my good fellow, you can have them withoutracking your brains over an article. " Elsley looked up proudly. 

"I do not borrow, sir!"

"Well--I'll give you five for those pistols. They are of no use to you, and I shall want a spare brace for the East. "

"Ah! I forgot them. I spent my last money on them, " said he with ashudder; "but I won't sell them to you at a fancy price--no dealingsbetween gentleman and gentleman. I'll go to a shop, and get for themwhat they are worth. "

"Very good. I'll go with you, if you like. I fancy I may get you abetter price for them than you would yourself: being rather a knowingone about the pretty little barkers. " And Tom took his arm, and walkedhim quietly down into the street. 

"If you ever go up those kennel-stairs again, friend, " said he tohimself, "my name's not Tom Thurnall. "

They walked to a gunsmith's shop in the Strand, where Tom had oftendealt, and sold the pistols for some three pounds. 

"Now then let's go into 333, and get a mutton chop. "

"No. "

Elsley was too shy; he was "not fit to be seen. "

"Come to my rooms, then, in the Adelphi, and have a wash and a shave. Itwill make you as fresh as a lark again, and then we'll send out for theeatables, and have a quiet chat. "

Elsley did not say no. Thurnall took the thing as a matter of course, and he was too weak and tired to argue with him. Beside, there was asort of relief in the company of a man who, though he knew all, chattedon to him cheerily and quietly, as if nothing had happened; who at leasttreated him as a sane man. From any one else he would have shrunk, lestthey should find him out: but a companion, who knew the worst, at leastsaved him suspicion and dread. 

His weakness, now that the collapse after passion had come on, clung toany human friend. The very sound of Tom's clear sturdy voice seemedpleasant to him, after long solitude and silence. At least it kept offthe fiends of memory. 

Tom, anxious to keep Elsley's mind employed on some subject which shouldnot be painful, began chatting about the war and its prospects. Elsleysoon caught the cue, and talked with wild energy and pathos, opium-fed, of the coming struggle between despotism and liberty, the arising ofPoland and Hungary, and all the grand dreams which then haunted mindslike his. 

"By Jove!" said Tom, "you are yourself again now. Why don't you put allthat into a book!"

"I may perhaps, " said Elsley proudly. 

"And if it comes to that, why not come to the war, and see it foryourself? A new country--one of the finest in the world. New scenery, new actors, --Why, Constantinople itself is a poem! Yes, there isanother 'Revolt of Islam' to be written yet. Why don't you become ourwar poet? Come and see the fighting; for there'll be plenty of it, letthem say what they will. The old bear is not going to drop his deaddonkey without a snap and a hug. Come along, and tell people what it'sall really like. There will be a dozen Cockneys writing battle songs, I'll warrant, who never saw a man shot in their lives, not even a hare. Come and give us the real genuine grit of it, --for if you can't, whocan?"

"It is a grand thought! The true war poets, after all, have beenwarriors themselves. Körner and Alcaeus fought as well as sang, and sangbecause they fought. Old Homer, too, --who can believe that he had nothewn his way through the very battles which he describes, and seen everywound, every shape of agony? A noble thought, to go out with that armyagainst the northern Anarch, singing in the van of battle, as Taillefersang the song of Roland before William's knights, and to die like him, the proto-martyr of the Crusade, with the melody yet upon one's lips!"

And his face blazed up with excitement. 

"What a handsome fellow he is, after all, if there were but more ofhim?" said Tom to himself. "I wonder if he'd fight, though, when thesinging-fever was off him. "

He took Elsley upstairs into his bed-room, got him washed and shaved:and sent out the woman of the house for mutton chops and stout, andbegan himself setting out the luncheon table, while Elsley in the roomwithin chanted to himself snatches of poetry. 

"The notion has taken: he's composing a war song already, I believe. "It actually was so: but Elsley's brain was weak and wandering; and hewas soon silent; and motionless so long, that Tom opened the door andlooked in anxiously. 

He was sitting on a chair, his hands fallen on his lap, the tearsrunning down his face. 

"Well?" asked Tom smilingly, not noticing the tears; "how goes on theopera? I heard through the door the orchestra tuning for the prelude. "

Elsley looked up in his face with a puzzled piteous expression. 

"Do you know, Thurnall, I fancy at moments that my mind is not what itwas. Fancies flit from me as quickly as they come. I had twenty versesfive minutes ago, and now I cannot recollect one. "

"No wonder, " thought Tom to himself. "My clear fellow, recollect allthat you have suffered with this neuralgia. Believe me all you want isanimal strength. Chops and porter will bring all the verses back, orbetter ones instead of them. "

He tried to make Elsley eat; and Elsley tried himself: but failed. Themoment the meat touched his lips he loathed it, and only courtesyprevented his leaving the room to escape the smell. The laudanum haddone its work upon his digestion. He tried the porter, and drank alittle: then, suddenly stopping, he pulled out a phial, dropped a heavydose of his poison into the porter, and tossed it off. 

"Sold am I?" said Tom to himself. "He must have hidden the bottle as hecame out of the room with me. Oh, the cunning of those opium-eaters?However, it will keep him quiet just now, and to Eaton Square I mustgo. "

"You had better be quiet now, my dear fellow, after your dose; talkingwill only excite you. Settle yourself on my bed, and I'll be back in anhour. "

So he put Elsley on his bed, carefully removing razors and pistols (forhe had still his fears of an outburst of passion), then locked him in, ran down into the Strand, threw himself into a cab for Eaton Square, andasked for Valencia. 

Campbell had been there already; so Tom took care to tell nothing whichhe had not told, expecting, and rightly, that he would not mentionElsley's having fired at him. Lucia was still all but senseless, tooweak even to ask for Elsley; to attempt any meeting between her and herhusband would be madness. 

"What will you do with the unhappy man, Mr. Thurnall?"

"Keep him under my eye, day and night, till he is either rational again, or--"

"Do you think that he may?--Oh my poor sister!"

"I think that he may yet end very sadly, madam. There is no useconcealing the truth from you. All I can promise is, that I will treathim as my own brother. "

Valencia held out her fair hand to the young doctor. He stooped, andlifted the tips of her fingers to his lips. 

"I am not worthy of such an honour, madam. I shall study to deserve it. "And he bowed himself out, the same sturdy, self-confident Tom, doingright, he hardly knew why, save that it was all in the way of business. 

And now arose the puzzle, what to do with Elsley? He had set his hearton going down to Whitbury the next day. He had been in England nearlysix months, and had not yet seen his father; his heart yearned, too, after the old place, and Mark Armsworth, and many an old friend, whom hemight never see again. "However, that fellow I must see to, come whatwill: business first and pleasure afterwards. If I make him all right--if I even get him out of the world decently, I get the Scoutbushinterest on my side--though I believe I have it already. Still, it's aswell to lay people under as heavy an obligation as possible. I wish MissValencia had asked me whether Elsley wanted any money: it's expensivekeeping him myself. However, poor thing, she has other matters to thinkof: and I dare say, never knew the pleasures of an empty purse. Here weare! Three-and-sixpence--eh, cabman? I suppose you think I was bornSaturday night? There's three shillings. Now, don't chaff me, myexcellent friend, or you will find you have met your match, and a leetlemore!"

And Tom hurried into his rooms, and found Elsley still sleeping. 

He set to work, packing and arranging, for with him every moment foundits business: and presently heard his patient call faintly from the nextroom. 

"Thurnall!" said he; "I have been a long journey. I have been toWhitbury once more, and followed my father about his garden, and satupon my mother's knee. And she taught me one text, and no more. Over andover again she said it, as she looked down at me with still sad eyes, the same text which she spoke the day I left her for London. I never sawher again. 'By this, my son, be admonished; of making of books there isno end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh. Let us hear theconclusion of the whole matter. Fear God and keep His commandments; forthis is the whole duty of man. '. .. . Yes, I will go down to Whitbury, and he a little child once more. I will take poor lodgings, and crawlout day by day, down the old lanes, along the old river-banks, where Ifed my soul with fair and mad dreams, and reconsider it all from thebeginning;--and then die. No one need know me; and if they do, theyneed not be ashamed of me, I trust--ashamed that a poet has risen upamong them, to speak words which have been heard across the globe. Atleast, they need never know my shame--never know that I have broken theheart of an angel, who gave herself to me, body and soul--attempted thelife of a man whose shoes I am not worthy to unloose--never know that Ihave killed my own child!--that a blacker brand than Cain's is on mybrow!--Never know--Oh, my God, what care I? Let them know all, as longas I can have done with shams and affectations, dreams, and vainambitions, and he just my own self once more, for one day, and thendie!"

And he burst into convulsive weeping. 

"No, Tom, do not comfort me! I ought to die, and I shall die. I cannotface her again; let her forget me, and find a husband who will--and be afather to the children whom I neglected! Oh, my darlings, my darlings!If I could but see you once again: but no! you too would ask me where Ihad been so long. You too would ask me--your innocent faces at leastwould--why I had killed your little brother!--Let me weep it out, Thurnall; let me face it all! This very misery is a comfort, for it willkill me all the sooner. "

"If you really mean to go to Whitbury, my poor dear fellow, " said Tom atlast, "I will start with you to-morrow morning. For I too must go; Imust see my father. "

"You will really?" asked Elsley, who began to cling to him like a child. 

"I will indeed. Believe me, you are right; you will find friends there, and admirers too. I know one. "

"You do?" asked he, looking up. 

"Mary Armsworth, the banker's daughter. "

"What! That purse-proud, vulgar man?"

"Don't be afraid of him. A truer and more delicate heart don't beat. Noone has more cause to say so than I. He will receive you with open arms, and need be told no more than is necessary; while, as his friend, youmay defy gossip, and do just what you like. "

Tom slipped out that afternoon, paid Elsley's pittance of rent at hisold lodgings; bought him a few necessary articles, and lent him, withoutsaying anything, a few more. Elsley sat all day as one in a dream, moaning to himself at intervals, and following Tom vacantly with hiseyes, as he moved about the room. Excitement, misery, and opium werefast wearing out body and mind, and Tom put him to bed that evening, ashe would have put a child. 

Tom walked out into the Strand to smoke in the fresh air, and think, inspite of himself, of that fair saint from whom he was so perverselyflying. Gay girls slithered past him, looked round at him, but in vain;those two great sad eyes hung in his fancy, and he could see nothingelse. Ah--if she had but given him back his money--why, what a fool hewould have made of himself! Better as it was. He was meant to be avagabond and an adventurer to the last; and perhaps to find at last theluck which had flitted away before him. 

He passed one of the theatre doors; there was a group outside, morenoisy and more earnest than such groups are wont to be; and ere he couldpass through them, a shout from within rattled the doors with its mightypulse, and seemed to shake the very walls. Another; and another!--Whatwas it? Fire?

No. It was the news of Alma. 

And the group surged to and fro outside, and talked, and questioned, andrejoiced; and smart gents forgot their vulgar pleasures, and looked fora moment as if they too could have fought--had fought--at Alma; andsinful girls forgot their shame, and looked more beautiful than they haddone for many a day, as, beneath the flaring gas-light, their facesglowed for a while with noble enthusiasm, and woman's sacred pity, whilethey questioned Tom, taking him for an officer, as to whether he thoughtthere were many killed. 

"I am no officer: but I have been in many a battle, and I know theRussians well, and have seen how they fight; and there is many a braveman killed, and many a one more will be. "

"Oh, does it hurt them much?" asked one poor thing. 

"Not often, " quoth Tom. 

"Thank God, thank God!" and she turned suddenly away, and with theimpulsive nature of her class, burst into violent sobbing and weeping. 

Poor thing! perhaps among the men who fought and fell that day was he towhom she owed the curse of her young life; and after him her lonelyheart went forth once more, faithful even in the lowest pit. 

"You are strange creatures, women, women!" thought Tom: "but I knew thatmany a year ago. Now then--the game is growing fast and furious, itseems. Oh, that I may find myself soon in the thickest of it!"

So said Tom Thurnall; and so said Major Campbell, too, that night, as heprepared everything to start next morning to Southampton. "The betterthe day, the better the deed, " quoth he. "When a man is travelling to abetter world, he need not be afraid of starting on a Sunday. "

CHAPTER XXV. 

THE BANKER AND HIS DAUGHTER. 

Tom and Elsley are safe at Whitbury at last; and Tom, ere he has seenhis father, has packed Elsley safe away in lodgings with an old damewhom he can trust. Then he asks his way to his father's new abode; asmall old-fashioned house, with low bay windows jutting out upon thenarrow pavement. 

Tom stops, and looks in the window. His father is sitting close to it, in his arm-chair, his hands upon his knees, his face lifted to thesunlight, with chin slightly outstretched, and his pale eyes feeling forthe light. The expression would have been painful, but for its perfectsweetness and resignation. His countenance is not, perhaps, a strongone; but its delicacy, and calm, and the high forehead, and the longwhite locks, are most venerable. With a blind man's exquisite sense, hefeels Tom's shadow fall on him, and starts, and calls him by name; forhe has been expecting him, and thinking of nothing else all the morning, and takes for granted that it must be he. 

In another moment Tom is at his father's side. What need to describe thesacred joy of those first few minutes, even if it were possible? Butunrestrained tenderness between man and man, rare as it is, and, as itwere, unaccustomed to itself, has no passionate fluency, no metaphor orpoetry, such as man pours out to woman, and woman again to man. All itslanguage lies in the tones, the looks, the little half-concealedgestures, hints which pass themselves off modestly in jest; and such wasTom's first interview with his father; till the old Isaac, having feltTom's head and hands again and again, to be sure whether it were hisvery son or no, made him sit down by him, holding him still fast, andbegan--

"Now, tell me, tell me, while Jane gets you something to eat. No, Jane, you mustn't talk to Master Tom yet, to bother about how much he'sgrown;--nonsense, I must have him all to myself, Jane. Go and get himsome dinner. Now, Tom, " as if he was afraid of losing a moment; "youhave been a dear boy to write to me every week; but there are so manyquestions which only word of mouth will answer, and I have stored updozens of them! I want to know what a coral reef really looks like, andif you saw any trepangs upon them? And what sort of strata is the goldreally in? And you saw one of those giant rays; I want a whole hour'stalk about the fellow. And--What an old babbler I am! talking to youwhen you should be talking to me. Now begin. Let us have the trepangsfirst. Are they real Holothurians or not?"

And Tom began, and told for a full half-hour, interrupted then by somelittle comment of the old man's, which proved how prodigious was thememory within, imprisoned and forced to feed upon itself. 

"You seem to know more about Australia than I do, father, " said Tom atlast. 

"No, child; but Mary Armsworth, God bless her! comes down here almostevery evening to read your letters to me; and she has been reading to mea book of Mrs. Lee's Adventures in Australia, which reads like a novel;delicious book--to me at least. Why, there is her step outside, I dobelieve, and her father's with her!"

The lighter woman's step was inaudible to Tom; but the heavy, deliberatewaddle of the banker was not. He opened the house-door, and then theparlour-door, without knocking; but when he saw the visitor, he stoppedon the threshold with outstretched arms. 

"Hillo, ho! who have we here? Our prodigal son returned, with hispockets full of nuggets from the diggings. Oh, mum's the word, is it?"as Tom laid his finger on his lips. "Come here, then, and let's have alook at you!" and he catches both Tom's hands in his, and almost shakesthem off. "I knew you were coming, old boy! Mary told me--she's in allthe old man's secrets. Come along, Mary, and see your old playfellow. She has got a little fruit for the old gentleman. Mary, where are you Ialways colloguing with Jane. "

Mary comes in: a little dumpty body, with a yellow face, and a red nose, the smile of an angel, and a heart full of many little secrets of otherpeople's--and of one great one of her own, which is no business of anyman's--and with fifty thousand pounds as her portion, for she is an onlychild. But no man will touch that fifty thousand; for "no one wouldmarry me for myself, " says Mary; "and no one shall marry me for mymoney. "

So she greets Tom shyly and humbly, without looking in his face, yetvery cordially; and then slips away to deposit on the table a noblepine-apple. 

"A little bit of fruit from her greenhouse, " says the old man in adisparaging tone: "and, oh Jane, bring me a saucer. Here's a sprat Ijust capered out of Hemmelford mill-pit; perhaps the Doctor would likeit fried for supper, if it's big enough not to fall through thegridiron. "

Jane, who knows Mark Armsworth's humour, brings in the largest dish inthe house, and Mark pulls out of his basket a great three-pound trout. 

"Aha! my young rover; Old Mark's right hand hasn't forgot its cunning, eh? And this is the month for them; fish all quiet now. When fools goa-shooting, wise men go a-fishing! Eh? Come here, and look me over. Howdo I wear, eh? As like a Muscovy duck as ever, you young rogue? Do yourecollect asking me, at the Club dinner, why I was like a Muscovy duck?Because I was a fat thing in green velveteen, with a bald red head, thatwas always waddling about the river bank. Ah, those were days! We'llhave some more of them. Come up to-night and try the old '21 bin. "

"I must have him myself to-night; indeed I must, Mark, " says the Doctor. 

"All to yourself you selfish old rogue?"

"Why--no--"

"We'll come down, then, Mary and I, and bring the '21 with us, and hearall his cock-and-bull stories. Full of travellers' lies as ever, eh?Well, I'll come, and smoke my pipe with you. Always the same old Mark, my lad, " nudging Tom with his elbow; "one fellow comes and borrows mymoney, and goes out and calls me a stingy old hunks because I won't lethim cheat me; another comes, and eats my pines, and drinks my port, goeshome, and calls me a purse-proud upstart, because he can't match 'em. Never mind; old Mark's old Mark; sound in the heart, and sound in theliver, just the same as thirty years ago, and will be till he takes hislast quietus est--

 'And drops into his grassy nest. '

Bye, bye, Doctor! Come, Mary!"

And out he toddled, with silent little Mary at his heels. 

"Old Mark wears well, body and soul, " said Tom. 

"He is a noble, generous fellow, and as delicate-hearted as a womanwithal, in spite of his conceit and roughness. Fifty and odd years now, Tom, have we been brothers, and I never found him change. And brotherswe shall be, I trust, a few years more, till I see you back again fromthe East, comfortably settled. And then--"

"Don't talk of that, sir, please!" said Tom, quite quickly and sharply. "How ill poor Mary looks!"

"So they say, poor child; and one hears it in her voice. Ah, Tom, thatgirl is an angel; she has been to me daughter, doctor, clergyman, eyesand library; and would have been nurse too, if it had not been formaking old Jane jealous. But she is ill. Some love affair, I suppose--"

"How quaint it is, that the father has kept all the animal vigour tohimself, and transmitted none to the daughter. "

"He has not kept the soul to himself, Tom, or the eyes either. She willbring me in wild flowers, and talk to me about them, till I fancy I cansee them as well as ever. Ah, well! It is a sweet world still, Tom, andthere are sweet souls in it. A sweet world: I was too fond of looking atit once, I suppose, so God took away my sight, that I might learn tolook at Him. " And the old man lay back in his chair, and covered hisface with his handkerchief, and was quite still awhile. And Tom watchedhim, and thought that he would give all his cunning and power to be likethat old man. 

Then Jane came in, and laid the cloth, --a coarse one enough, --and Tompicked a cold mutton bone with a steel fork, and drank his pint of beerfrom the public-house, and lighted his father's pipe, and then his own, and vowed that he had never dined so well in his life, and began histraveller's stories again. 

And in the evening Mark came in, with a bottle of the '21 in hiscoat-tail pocket; and the three sat and chatted, while Mary brought outher work, and stitched listening silently, till it was time to lead theold man upstairs. 

Tom put his father to bed, and then made a hesitating request--

"There is a poor sick man whom I brought down with me, sir, if you couldspare me half-an-hour. It really is a professional case; he is under mycharge, I may say. "

"What is it, boy?"

"Well, laudanum and a broken heart. "

"Exercise and ammonia for the first. For the second, God's grace and thegrave: and those latter medicines you can't exhibit, my dear boy. Well, as it is professional duty, I suppose you must: but don't exceed thehour; I shall lie awake till you return, and then you must talk me tosleep. "

So Tom went out and homeward with Mark and Mary, for their roads laytogether; and as he went, he thought good to tell them somewhat of thehistory of John Briggs, alias Elsley Vavasour. 

"Poor fool!" said Mark, who listened in silence to the end. "Why didn'the mind his bottles, and just do what Heaven sent him to do? Is he inwant of the rhino, Tom?"

"He had not five shillings left after he had paid his fare; and herefuses to ask his wife for a farthing. "

"Quite right--very proper spirit. " And Mark walked on in silence a fewminutes. 

"I say, Tom, a fool and his money are soon parted. There's a five-poundnote for him, you begging, insinuating dog, and be hanged to you both! Ishall die in the workhouse at this rate. "

"Oh father, you will never miss--"

"Who told you I thought I should, pray? Don't you go giving another fivepounds out of your pocket-money behind my back, ma'am. I know yourtricks of old. Tom, I'll come and see the poor beggar to-morrow with you, and call him Mr. Vavasour--Lord Vavasour, if he likes--if you'll warrantme against laughing in his face. " And the old man did laugh, till hestopped and held his sides again. 

"Oh, father, father, don't be so cruel. Remember how wretched the poorman is. "

"I can't think of anything but old Bolus's boy turned poet. Why did youtell me, Tom, you bad fellow? It's too much for a man at my time oflife, and after his dinner too. "

And with that he opened the little gate by the side of the grand one, and turned to ask Tom--

"Won't come in, boy, and have one more cigar?"

"I promised my father to be back as quickly as possible. "

"Good lad--that's the plan to go on--

 'You'll be churchwarden before all's over, And so arrive at wealth and fame. '

Instead of writing po-o-o-etry? Do you recollect that morning, and theblack draught? Oh dear, my side!"

And Tom heard him keckling to himself up the garden walk to his house;went off to see that Elsley was safe; and then home, and slept like atop; no wonder, for he would have done so the night before hisexecution. 

And what was little Mary doing all the while?

She had gone up to the room, after telling her father, with a kiss, notto forget to say his prayers. And then she fed her canary bird, and madeup the Persian cat's bed; and then sat long at the open window, gazingout over the shadow-dappled lawn, away to the poplars sleeping in themoonlight, and the shining silent stream, and the shining silent stars, till she seemed to become as one of them, and a quiet heaven within hereyes took counsel with the quiet heaven above. And then she drew insuddenly, as if stung by some random thought, and shut the window. Apicture hung over her mantelpiece--a portrait of her mother, who hadbeen a country beauty in her time. She glanced at it, and then at thelooking-glass. Would she have given her fifty thousand pounds to haveexchanged her face for such a face as that?

She caught up her little Thomas à Kempis, marked through and throughwith lines and references, and sat and read steadfastly for an hour andmore. That was her school, as it has been the school of many a noblesoul. And, for some cause or other, that stinging thought returned nomore; and she knelt and prayed like a little child; and like a littlechild slept sweetly all the night, and was away before breakfast thenext morning, after feeding the canary and the cat, to old women whoworshipped her as their ministering angel, and said, looking after her:"That dear Miss Mary, pity she is so plain! Such a match as she mighthave made! But she'll be handsome enough, when she is a blessed angel inheaven. "

Ah, true sisters of mercy, whom the world sneers at as "old maids, " ifyou pour out on cats and dogs and parrots, a little of the love which isyearning to spend itself on children of your own flesh and blood! Aslong as such as you walk this lower world, one needs no Butler's Analogyto prove to us that there is another world, where such as you will havea fuller and a fairer (I dare not say a juster) portion. 

 * * * * *

Next morning Mark started with Tom to call on Elsley, chatting andpuffing all the way. 

"I'll butter him, trust me. Nothing comforts a poor beggar like a bit ofpraise when he's down; and all fellows that take to writing are asgreedy after it as trout after the drake, even if they only scribble incounty newspapers. I've watched them when I've been electioneering, myboy!"

"Only, " said Tom, "don't be angry with him if he is proud and peevish. The poor fellow is all but mad with misery. "

"Poh! quarrel with him? whom did I ever quarrel with? If he barks, I'llstop his mouth with a good dinner. I suppose he's gentleman enough, toinvite?"

"As much a gentleman as you and I; not of the very first water, ofcourse. Still he eats like other people, and don't break many glassesduring a sitting. Think! he couldn't have been a very great cad to marrya nobleman's daughter!"

"Why, no. Speaks well for him, that, considering his breeding. He mustbe a very clever fellow to have caught the trick of the thing so soon. "

"And so he is, a very clever fellow; too clever by half; and a veryfine-hearted fellow, too, in spite of his conceit and his temper. Butthat don't prevent his being an awful fool!"

"You speak like a book, Tom!" said old Mark, clapping him on the back. "Look at me! no one can say I was ever troubled with genius: but I canshow my money, pay my way, eat my dinner, kill my trout, hunt my hounds, help a lame dog over a stile" (which was Mark's phrase for doing agenerous thing), "and thank God for all; and who wants more, I shouldlike to know? But here we are--you go up first!"

They found Elsley crouched up over the empty grate, his head in hishands, and a few scraps of paper by him, on which he had been trying toscribble. He did not look up as they came in, but gave a sort ofimpatient half-turn, as if angry at being disturbed. Tom was about toannounce the banker; but he announced himself. 

"Come to do myself the honour of calling on you, Mr. Vavasour. I amsorry to see you so poorly; I hope our Whitbury air will set all right. "

"You mistake me, sir; my name is Briggs!" said Elsley, without turninghis head; but a moment after he looked up angrily. 

"Mr. Armsworth? I beg your pardon, sir; but what brings you here? Areyou come, sir, to use the rich successful man's right, and lecture me inmy misery?"

"'Pon my word, sir, you must have forgotten old Mark Armsworth, indeed, if you fancy him capable of any such dirt. No, sir, I came to pay myrespects to you, sir, hoping that you'd come up and take a familydinner. I could do no less, " ran on the banker, seeing that Elsley waspreparing a peevish answer, "considering the honour that, I hear, youhave been to your native town. A very distinguished person, our friendTom tells me; and we ought to be proud of you, and behave to you as youdeserve, for I am sure we don't send too many clever fellows out ofWhitbury. "

"Would that you had never sent me!" said Elsley in his bitter way. 

"Ah, sir, that's matter of opinion! You would never have been heard ofdown here, never have had justice done you, I mean; for heard of youhave been. There's my daughter has read your poems again and again--always quoting them; and very pretty they sound too. Poetry is not in myline, of course; still, it's a credit to a man to do anything well, ifhe has the gift; and she tells me that you have it, and plenty of it. And though she's no fine lady, thank Heaven, I'll back her for goodsense against any woman. Come up, sir, and judge for yourself if I don'tspeak the truth; she will be delighted to meet you, and bade me say so. "

By this time good Mark had talked himself out of breath; and Elsleyflushing up, as of old, at a little praise, began to stammer an excuse. "His nerves were so weak, and his spirits so broken with late troubles. "

"My dear sir, that's the very reason I want you to come. A bottle ofport will cure the nerves, and a pleasant chat the spirits. Nothing likeforgetting all for a little time; and then to it again with a freshlease of strength, and beat it at last like a man. "

"Too late, my dear sir; I must pay the penalty of my own folly, " saidElsley, really won by the man's cordiality. 

"Never too late, sir, while there's life left in us. And, " he went on ina gentler tone, "if we all were to pay for our own follies, or lie downand die when we saw them coming full cry at our heels, where would anyone of us be by now? I have been a fool in my time, young gentleman, more than once or twice; and that too when I was old enough to be yourfather: and down I went, and deserved what I got: but my rule alwayswas--Fight fair; fall soft; know when you've got enough; and don't cryout when you've got it: but just go home; train again; and say--betterluck next fight. " And so old Mark's sermon ended (as most of them did)in somewhat Socratic allegory, savouring rather of the market than ofthe study; but Elsley understood him, and looked up with a smile. 

"You too are somewhat of a poet in your way, I see, sir!"

"I never thought to live to hear that, sir. I can't doubt now that youare cleverer than your neighbours, for you have found out somethingwhich they never did. But you will come?--for that's my business. "

Elsley looked inquiringly at Tom; he had learnt now to consult his eye, and lean on him like a child. Tom looked a stout yes, and Elsley saidlanguidly, --

"You have given me so much new and good advice in a few minutes, sir, that I must really do myself the pleasure of coming and hearing more. "

"Well done, our side!" cried old Mark. "Dinner at half-past five. NoLondon late hours here, sir. Miss Armsworth will be out of her mind whenshe hears you're coming. "

And off he went. 

"Do you think he'll come up to the scratch, Tom?"

"I am very much afraid his courage will fail him. I will see him again, and bring him up with me: but now, my dear Mr. Armsworth, do rememberone thing; that if you go on with him at your usual rate of hospitality, the man will as surely be drunk, as his nerves and brain are all butruined; and if he is so, he will most probably destroy himself to-morrowmorning. "

"Destroy himself?"

"He will. The shame of making a fool of himself just now before you willbe more than he could bear. So be stingy for once. He will not wish forit unless you press him; but if he talks (and he will talk after thefirst half-hour), he will forget himself, and half a bottle will makehim mad; and then I won't answer for the consequences. "

"Good gracious! why, these poets want as tender handling as a bag ofgunpowder over the fire. "

"You speak like a book there in your turn. " And Tom went home to hisfather. 

He returned in due time. A new difficulty had arisen. Elsley, under theexcitement of expectation, had gone out and deigned to buy laudanum--sowill an unhealthy craving degrade a man!--of old Bolus himself, wholuckily did not recognise him. He had taken his fullest dose, and wasnow unable to go anywhere or do anything. Tom did not disturb him: butwent away, sorely perplexed, and very much minded to tell a white lie toArmsworth, in whose eyes this would be an offence--not unpardonable, fornothing with him was unpardonable, save lying or cruelty--but verygrievous. If a man had drunk too much wine in his house, he would havesimply kept his eye on him afterwards, as a fool who did not know whenhe had his "quotum;" but laudanum drinking, --involving, too, thebreaking of an engagement, which, well managed, might have been ofimmense use to Elsley, --was a very different matter. So Tom knew notwhat to say or do; and not knowing, determined to wait on Providence, smartened himself as best he could, went up to the great house, andfound Miss Mary. 

"I'll tell her. She will manage it somehow, if she is a woman; much moreif she is an angel, as my father says. "

Mary looked very much shocked and grieved; answered hardly a word; butsaid at last, "Come in, while I go and see my father. " He came into thesmart drawing-room, which he could see was seldom used; for Mary livedin her own room, her father in his counting-house, or in his "den. " Inten minutes she came down. Tom thought she had been crying. 

"I have settled it. Poor unhappy man! We will talk of something morepleasant. Tell me about your shipwreck, and that place, --Aberalva, is itnot? What a pretty name!"

Tom told her, wondering then, and wondering long afterwards, how she had"settled it" with her father. She chatted on artlessly enough, till theold man came in, and to dinner, in capital humour, without saying oneword of Elsley. 

"How has the old lion been tamed?" thought Tom. "The two greatestaffronts you could offer him in old times were, to break an engagement, and to despise his good cheer. " He did not know what the quiet oil onthe waters of such a spirit as Mary's can effect. 

The evening passed pleasantly enough till nine, in chatting over oldtimes, and listening to the history of every extraordinary trout and foxwhich had been killed within twenty miles, when the footboy entered witha somewhat scared face. 

"Please, sir, is Mr. Vavasour here?"

"Here? Who wants him?"

"Mrs. Brown, sir, in Hemmelford Street. Says he lodges with her, and hasbeen to seek for him at Dr. Thurnall's. "

"I think you had better go, Mr. Thurnall, " said Mary, quietly. 

"Indeed you had, boy. Bother poets, and the day they first began tobreed in Whitbury! Such an evening spoilt! Have a cup of coffee? No?then a glass of sherry?"

Out went Tom. Mrs. Brown had been up, and seen him seemingly sleeping;then had heard him run downstairs hurriedly. He passed her in thepassage, looking very wild. "Seemed, sir, just like my nevy's wife'sbrother, Will Ford, before he made away with hes'self. "

Tom goes off post haste, revolving many things in a crafty heart. Thenhe steers for Bolus's shop. Bolus is at "The Angler's Arms;" but hisassistant is in. 

"Did a gentleman call here just now, in a long cloak, with a feltwide-awake?"

"Yes. " And the assistant looks confused enough for Tom to rejoin, --

"And you sold him laudanum?"

"Why--ah--"

"And you had sold him laudanum already this afternoon, you young rascal?How dare you, twice in six hours? I'll hold you responsible for theman's life!"

"You dare call me a rascal?" blusters the youth, terror-stricken atfinding how much Tom knows. 

"I am a member of the College of Surgeons, " says Tom, recovering hiscoolness, "and have just been dining with Mr. Armsworth. I suppose youknow him?"

The assistant shook in his shoes at the name of that terrible justice ofthe peace and of the war also; and meekly and contritely he replied, --

"Oh sir, what shall I do?"

"You're in a very neat scrape; you could not have feathered your nestbetter, " says Tom, quietly filling his pipe, and thinking. "As youbehave now, I will get you out of it, or leave you to--you know what, aswell as I. Get your hat. "

He went out, and the youth followed trembling, while Tom formed hisplans in his mind. 

"The wild beast goes home to his lair to die, and so may he; for I fearit's life and death now. I'll try the house where he was born. Somewherein Water Lane it is I know. "

And toward Water Lane he hurried. It was a low-lying offshoot of thetown, leading along the water meadows, with a straggling row of houseson each side, the perennial haunts of fever and ague. Before them, oneach side the road, and fringed with pollard willows and tall poplars, ran a tiny branch of the Whit, to feed some mill below; and spread out, meanwhile, into ponds and mires full of offal and duckweed and rankfloating grass. A thick mist hung knee-deep over them, and over thegardens right and left; and as Tom came down on the lane from the mainstreet above, he could see the mist spreading across the water-meadowsand reflecting the moon-beams like a lake; and as he walked into it, hefelt as if he were walking down a well. And he hurried down the lane, looking out anxiously ahead for the long cloak. 

At last he came to a better sort of house. That might be it. He wouldtake the chance. There was a man of the middle class, and two or threewomen, standing at the gate. He went up--

"Pray, sir, did a medical man named Briggs ever live here?"

"What do you want to know for?"

"Why"--Tom thought matters were too serious for delicacy--"I am lookingfor a gentleman, and thought he might have come here. "

"And so he did, if you mean one in a queer hat and a cloak. "

"How long since?"

"Why, he came up our garden an hour or more ago; walked right into theparlour without with your leave, or by your leave, and stared at us allround like one out of his mind; and so away, as soon as ever I asked himwhat he was at--"

"Which way?"

"To the river, I expect: I ran out, and saw him go down the lane, but Iwas not going far by night alone with any such strange customers. "

"Lend me a lanthorn then, for Heaven's sake!"

The lanthorn is lent, and Tom starts again down the lane. 

Now to search. At the end of the lane is a cross road parallel to theriver. A broad still ditch lies beyond it, with a little bridge across, where one gets minnows for bait: then a broad water-meadow; then silverWhit. 

The bridge-gate is open. Tom hurries across the road to it. The lanthornshows him fresh footmarks going into the meadow. Forward!

Up and down in that meadow for an hour or more did Tom and the tremblingyouth beat like a brace of pointer dogs, stumbling into gripes, and oversleeping cows; and more than once stopping short just in time, as theywere walking into some broad and deep feeder. 

Almost in despair, and after having searched down the river bank forfull two hundred yards, Tom was on the point of returning, when his eyerested on a part of the stream where the mist lay higher than usual, andlet the reflection of the moonlight off the water reach his eye; and inthe moonlight ripples, close to the farther bank of the river--what wasthat black lump?

Tom knew the spot well; the river there is very broad, and very shallow, flowing round low islands of gravel and turf. It was very low just nowtoo, as it generally is in October: there could not be four inches ofwater where the black lump lay, but on the side nearest him the waterwas full knee deep. 

The thing, whatever it was, was forty yards from him; and it was a coldnight for wading. It might be a hassock of rushes; a tuft of the greatwater-dock; a dead dog; one of the "hangs" with which the club-water wasstudded, torn up and stranded: but yet, to Tom, it had not a canny look. 

"As usual! Here am I getting wet, dirty, and miserable, about matterswhich are not the slightest concern of mine! I believe I shall end bygetting hanged or shot in somebody else's place, with this confoundedspirit of meddling. Yah! how cold the water is!"

For in he went, the grumbling honest dog; stepped across to the blacklump; and lifted it up hastily enough, --for it was Elsley Vavasour. 

Drowned?

No. But wet through, and senseless from mingled cold and laudanum. 

Whether he had meant to drown himself, and lighting on the shallow, hadstumbled on till he fell exhausted: or whether he had merely blunderedinto the stream, careless whither he went, Tom knew not, and never knew;for Elsley himself could not recollect. 

Tom took him in his arms, carried him ashore and up through the watermeadow; borrowed a blanket and a wheelbarrow at the nearest cottage;wrapped him up; and made the offending surgeon's assistant wheel him tohis lodgings. 

He sat with him there an hour; and then entered Mark's house again withhis usual composed face, to find Mark and Mary sitting up in greatanxiety. 

"Mr. Armsworth, does the telegraph work at this time of night?"

"I'll make it, if it is wanted. But what's the matter?"

"You will indeed?"

"'Gad, I'll go myself and kick up the station-master. What's thematter?"

"That if poor Mrs. Vavasour wishes to see her husband alive, she must behere in four-and-twenty hours. I'll tell you all presently--"

"Mary, my coat and comforter!" cries Mark, jumping up. 

"And, Mary, a pen and ink to write the message, " says Tom. 

"Oh! cannot I be of any use?" says Mary. 

"No, you angel. "

"You must not call me an angel, Mr. Thurnall. After all, what can I dowhich you have not done already?"

Tom started. Grace had once used to him the very same words. By the by, what was it in the two women which made them so like? Certainly, neitherface nor fortune. Something in the tones of their voices. 

"Ah! if Grace had Mary's fortune, or Mary Grace's face!" thought Tom, ashe hurried back to Elsley, and Mark rushed down to the station. 

Elsley was conscious when he returned, and only too conscious. All nighthe screamed in agonies of rheumatic fever; by the next afternoon he wasfailing fast; his heart was affected; and Tom knew that he might die anyhour. 

The evening train brings two ladies, Valencia and Lucia. At the risk ofher life, the poor faithful wife has come. 

A gentleman's carriage is waiting for them, though they have orderednone; and as they go through the station-room, a plain littlewell-dressed body comes humbly up to them--

"Are either of these ladies Mrs. Vavasour?"

"Yes! I!--I!--is he alive?" gasps Lucia. 

"Alive, and better! and expecting you--"

"Better?--expecting me?" almost shrieks she, as Valencia and Mary (forit is she) help her to the carriage. Mary puts them in, and turns away. 

"Are you not coming too?" asks Valencia, who is puzzled. 

"No, thank you, madam; I am going to take a walk. John, you know whereto drive these ladies. "

Little Mary does not think it necessary to say that she, with herfather's carriage, has been down to two other afternoon trains, upon thechance of finding them. 

But why is not Frank Headley with them, when he is needed most? And whyare Valencia's eyes more red with weeping than even her sister's sorrowneed have made them?

Because Frank Headley is rolling away in a French railway, on his roadto Marseilles, and to what Heaven shall find for him to do. 

Yes, he is gone Eastward Ho among the many; will he come Westward Hoagain, among the few?

They are at the door of Elsley's lodgings now. Tom Thurnall meets themthere, and bows them upstairs silently. Lucia is so weak that she has tocling to the banister a moment; and then, with a strong shudder, thespirit conquers the flesh, and she hurries up before them both. 

It is a small low room--Valencia had expected that: but she hadexpected, too, confusion and wretchedness: for a note from MajorCampbell, ere he started, had told her of the condition in which Elsleyhad been found. Instead, she finds neatness--even gaiety; fresh damasklinen, comfortable furniture, a vase of hothouse flowers, while the airwas full of cool perfumes. No one is likely to tell her that Mary hasfurnished all at Tom's hint--"We must smarten up the place, for the poorwife's sake. It will take something off the shock; and I want to avoidshocks for her. "

So Tom had worked with his own hands that morning; arranging the room ascarefully as any woman, with that true doctor's forethought andconsideration, which often issues in the loftiest, because the mostunconscious, benevolence. 

He paused at the door--

"Will you go in?" whispered he to Valencia, in a tone which meant--"youhad better not. "

"Not yet--I daresay he is too weak. "

Lucia darted in, and Tom shut the door behind her, and waited at thestair-head. "Better, " thought he, "to let the two poor creatures settletheir own concerns. It must end soon, in any case. "

Lucia rushed to the bed-side, drew back the curtains--

"Tom!" moaned Elsley. 

"Not Tom!--Lucia!"

"Lucia?--Lucia St. Just!" answered he, in a low abstracted voice, as iftrying to recollect. 

"Lucia Vavasour!--your Lucia!"

Elsley slowly raised himself upon his elbow, and looked into her facewith a sad inquiring gaze. 

"Elsley--darling Elsley!--don't you know me?"

"Yes, very well indeed; better than you know me. I am not Vavasour atall. My name is Briggs--John Briggs, the apothecary's son, come home toWhitbury to die. "

She did not hear, or did not care for those last words. 

"Elsley! I am your wife!--your own wife!--who never loved any one butyou--never, never, never!"

"Yes, my wife, at least!--Curse them, that they cannot deny!" said he, in the same abstracted voice. 

"Oh God! is he mad?" thought she. "Elsley, speak to me!--I am yourLucia--your love--"

And she tore off her bonnet, and threw herself beside him on the bed, and clasped him in her arms, murmuring, --"Your wife! who never loved anyone but you!"

Slowly his frozen heart and frozen brain melted beneath the warmth ofher great love: but he did not speak: only he passed his weak arm roundher neck; and she felt that his cheek was wet with tears, while shemurmured on, like a cooing dove, the same sweet words again--

"Call me your love once more, and I shall know that all is past. "

"Then call me no more Elsley, love!" whispered he. "Call me John Briggs, and let us have done with shams for ever. "

"No; you are my Elsley--my Vavasour! and I am your wife once more!" andthe poor thing fondled his head as it lay upon the pillow. "My ownElsley, to whom I gave myself, body and soul; for whom I would die now, --oh, such a death!--any death!"

"How could I doubt you?--fool that I was!"

"No, it was all my fault. It was all my odious temper! But we will behappy now, will we not?"

Elsley smiled sadly, and began babbling--Yes, they would take a farm, and he would plough, and sow, and be of some use before he died; "Butpromise me one thing!" cried he, with sudden strength. 

"What?"

"That you will go home and burn all the poetry--all the manuscripts, and never let the children write a verse--a verse--when I am dead?" Andhis head sank back, and his jaw dropped. 

"He is dead!" cried the poor impulsive creature, with a shriek whichbrought in Tom and Valencia. 

"He is not dead, madam: but you must be very gentle with him, if we areto--"

Tom saw that there was little hope. 

"I will do anything, --only save him!--save him! Mr. Thurnall, till Ihave atoned for all. "

"You have little enough to atone for, madam, " said Tom, as he busiedhimself about the sufferer. He saw that all would soon be over, andwould have had Mrs. Vavasour withdraw: but she was so really good anurse as long as she could control herself, that he could hardly spareher. 

So they sat together by the sick-bed side, as the short hours passedinto the long, and the long hours into the short again, and the Octoberdawn began to shine through the shutterless window. 

A weary eventless night it was, a night as of many years, as worse andworse grew the weak frame; and Tom looked alternately at the heavingchest, and shortening breath, and rattling throat, and then at the palestill face of the lady. 

"Better she should sit by (thought he), and watch him till she is tiredout. It will come on her the more gently, after all. He will die atsunrise, as so many die. "

At last be began gently feeling for Elsley's pulse. 

Her eye caught his movement, and she half sprang up; but at a gesturefrom him she sank quietly on her knees, holding her husband's hand inher own. 

Elsley turned toward her once, ere the film of death had fallen, andlooked her full in the face, with his beautiful eyes full of love. Thenthe eyes paled and faded; but still they sought for her painfully longafter she had buried her head in the coverlet, unable to bear the sight. 

And so vanished away Elsley Vavasour, poet and genius, into his ownplace. 

"Let us pray, " said a deep voice from behind the curtain: it was MarkArmsworth's. He had come over with the first dawn, to bring the ladiesfood; had slipped upstairs to ask what news, found the door open, andentered in time to see the last gasp. 

Lucia kept her head still buried: and Tom, for the first time for many ayear, knelt, as the old banker commended to God the soul of our dearbrother just departing this life. Then Mark glided quietly downstairs, and Valencia, rising, tried to lead Mrs. Vavasour away. 

But then broke out in all its wild passion the Irish temperament. Let uspass it over; why try to earn a little credit by depicting the agony andthe weakness of a sister?

At last Thurnall got her downstairs. Mark was there still, having sentoff for his carriage. He quietly put her arm through his, led her off, worn out and unresisting, drove her home, delivered her and Valenciainto Mary's keeping, and then asked Tom to stay and sit with him. 

"I hope I've no very bad conscience, boy; but Mary's busy with the pooryoung thing, mere child she is, too, to go through such a night; and, somehow, I don't like to be left alone after such a sight as that!"

 * * * * *

"Tom!" said Mark, as they sat smoking in silence, after breakfast, inthe study. "Tom!"

"Yes, sir!"

"That was an awful death-bed, Tom!"

Tom was silent. 

"I don't mean that he died hard, as we say; but so young, Tom. And Isuppose poets' souls are worth something, like other people's--perhapsmore. I can't understand 'em; but my Mary seems to, and people, likeher, who think a poet the finest thing in the world. I laugh at it allwhen I am jolly, and call it sentiment and cant: but I believe that theyare nearer heaven than I am: though I think they don't quite know whereheaven is, nor where" (with a wicked wink, in spite of the sadness ofhis tone)--"where they themselves are either. "

"I'll tell you, sir. I have seen men enough die--we doctors are hardenedto it: but I have seen unprofessional deaths--men we didn't killourselves; I have seen men drowned, shot, hanged, run over, and worsedeaths than that, sir, too;--and, somehow, I never felt any death likethat man's. Granted, he began by trying to set the world right, when hehadn't yet set himself right; but wasn't it some credit to see that theworld was wrong?"

"I don't know that. The world's a very good world. "

"To you and me; but there are men who have higher notions than I ofwhat this world ought to be; and, for aught I know, they are right. That Aberalva curate, Headley, had; and so had Briggs, in his own way. I thought him once only a poor discontented devil, who quarrelled withhis bread and butter because he hadn't teeth to eat it with: but therewas more in the fellow, coxcomb as he was. 'Tisn't often that I letthat croaking old bogy, Madam might have been, trouble me; but I cannothelp thinking that if, fifteen years ago, I had listened to hisvapourings more, and bullied him about them less, he might have beenhere still. "

"You wouldn't have been then. Well for you that you didn't catch hisfever. "

"And write verses too? Don't make me laugh, sir, on such a day as this;I always comfort myself with--'it's no business of mine:' but, somehow, I can't do so just now. " And Tom sat silent, more softened than he hadbeen for years. 

"Let's talk of something else, " said Mark at last. "You had the choleravery bad down there, I hear?"

"Oh, sharp, but short, " said Tom, who disliked any subject which broughtGrace to his mind. 

"Any on my lord's estate with the queer name?"

"Not a case. We stopped the devil out there, thanks to his lordship. "

"So did we here. We were very near in for it, though, I fancy. --Atleast, I chose to fancy so--thought it a good opportunity to cleanWhitbury once for all. "

"It's just like you. Well?"

"Well, I offered the Town-council to drain the whole town at my ownexpense, if they'd let me have the sewage. And that only made thingsworse; for as soon as the beggars found out the sewage was worthanything, they were down on me, as if I wanted to do them--I, MarkArmsworth!--and would sooner let half the town rot with an epidemic, than have reason to fancy I'd made any money out of them. So a prettyfight I had, for half-a-dozen meetings, till I called in my lord; and, sir, he came down by the next express, like a trump, all the way fromtown, and gave them such a piece of his mind--was going to have theBoard of Health down, and turn on the Government tap, commissioners andall, and cost 'em hundreds: till the fellows shook in their shoes;--andso I conquered, and here we are, as clean as a nut, --and a fig for thecholera!--except down in Water-lane, which I don't know what to do with;for if tradesmen will run up houses on spec in a water-meadow, who canstop them? There ought to be a law for it, say I; but I say a good manythings in the twelve months that nobody minds. But, my dear boy, if oneman in a town has pluck and money, he may do it. It'll cost him a few:I've had to pay the main part myself, after all: but I suppose God willmake it up to a man somehow. That's old Mark's faith, at least. Now Iwant to talk to you about yourself. My lord comes into town to-day, andyou must see him. "

"Why, then? He can't help me with the Bashi-bazouks, can he?"

"Bashi-fiddles! I say, Tom, the more I think over it, the more it won'tdo. It's throwing yourself away. They say that Turkish contingent isgetting on terribly ill. "

"More need of me to make them well. "

"Hang it--I mean--hasn't justice done it, and so on. The papers are fullof it. "

"Well, " quoth Tom, "and why should it?"

"Why, man alive, if England spends all this money on the men, she oughtto do her duty by them. "

"I don't see that. As Pecksniff says, 'if England expects every man todo his duty, she's very sanguine, and will be much disappointed. ' Theydon't intend to do their duty by her, any more than I do; so why shouldshe do her duty by them?"

"Don't intend to do your duty?"

"I'm going out because England's money is necessary to me; and Englandhires me because my skill is necessary to her. I didn't think of dutywhen I settled to go, and why should she? I'll get all out of her I canin the way of pay and practice, and she may get all she can out of me inthe way of work. As for being ill-used, I never expect to be anythingelse in this life. I'm sure I don't care; and I'm sure she don't; solive and let live; talk plain truth, and leave Bunkum for righthonourables who keep their places thereby. Give me another weed. "

"Queer old philosopher you are; but go you shan't!"

"Go I will, sir; don't stop me. I've my reasons, and they're good onesenough. "

The conversation was interrupted by the servant;--Lord Minchampstead waswaiting at Mr. Armsworth's office. 

"Early bird, his lordship, and gets the worm accordingly, " says Mark, ashe hurries off to attend on his ideal hero. "You come over to the shopin half-an-hour, mind. "

"But why?"

"Confound you, sir! you talk of having your reasons: I have mine!"

Mark looked quite cross; so Tom gave way, and went in due time to thebank. 

Standing with his back to the fire in Mark's inner room, he saw the oldcotton prince. 

"And a prince he looks like, " quoth Tom to himself, as he waited in thebank outside, and looked through the glass screen. "How well the old manwears! I wonder how many fresh thousands he has made since I saw himlast, seven years ago. "

And a very noble person Lord Minchampstead did look; one to whom hatswent off almost without their owners' will; tall and portly, with asoldier-like air of dignity and command, which was relieved by thegood-nature of the countenance. Yet it was a good-nature which wouldstand no trifling. The jaw was deep and broad, though finely shaped; themouth firm set; the nose slightly aquiline; the brow of great depth andheight, though narrow;--altogether a Julius Caesar's type of head; thatof a man born to rule self, and therefore to rule all he met. 

Tom looked over his dress, not forgetting, like a true Englishman, tomark what sort of boots he wore. They were boots not quite fashionable, but carefully cleaned on trees; trousers strapped tightly over them, which had adopted the military stripe, but retained the slit at theankle which was in vogue forty years ago; frock coat with a velvetcollar, buttoned up, but not too far; high and tight blue cravat belowan immense shirt collar; a certain care and richness of dressthroughout, but soberly behind the fashion: while the hat was a veryshabby and broken one, and the whip still more shabby and broken; allwhich indicated to Tom that his lordship let his tailor and his valetdress him; and though not unaware that it behoved him to set out hisperson as it deserved, was far too fine a gentleman to trouble himselfabout looking fine. 

Mark looks round, sees Tom, and calls him in. 

"Mr. Thurnall, I am glad to meet you, sir. You did me good service atPentremochyn, and did it cheaply. I was agreeably surprised, I confess, at receiving a bill for four pounds seven shillings and sixpence, whereI expected one of twenty or thirty. "

"I charged according to what my time was really worth there, my lord. Iheartily wish it had been worth more. "

"No doubt, " says my lord, in the blandest, but the driest tone. 

Some men would have, under a sense of Tom's merits, sent him a chequeoff-hand for five-and-twenty pounds: but that is not LordMinchampstead's way of doing business. He had paid simply the sum asked:but he had set Tom down in his memory as a man whom he could trust to dogood work, and to do it cheaply; and now--

"You are going to join the Turkish contingent?"

"I am. "

"You know that part of the world well, I believe?"

"Intimately. "

"And the languages spoken there?"

"By no means all. Russian and Tartar well; Turkish tolerably; with asmattering of two or three Circassian dialects. "

"Humph! A fair list. Any Persian?"

"Only a few words. "

"Humph! If you can learn one language I presume you can learn another. Now, Mr. Thurnall, I have no doubt that you will do your duty in theTurkish contingent. "

Tom bowed. 

"But I must ask you if your resolution to join it is fixed?"

"I only join it because I can get no other employment at the seat ofwar. "

"Humph! You wish to go then, in any case, to the seat of war?"

"Certainly. "

"No doubt you have sufficient reasons. .. . Armsworth, this puts thequestion in a new light. "

Tom looked round at Mark, and, behold, his face bore a ludicrous mixtureof anger and disappointment, and perplexity. He seemed to be trying tomake signals to Tom, and to be afraid of doing so openly before thegreat man. 

"He is as wilful and as foolish as a girl, my lord; and I've told himso. "

"Everybody knows his own business best, Armsworth; Mr. Thurnall, haveyou any fancy for the post of Queen's messenger?"

"I should esteem myself only too happy as one. "

"They are not to be obtained now as easily as they were fifty years ago;and are given, as you may know, to a far higher class of men than theywere formerly. But I shall do my best to obtain you one, when anopportunity offers"

Tom was beginning his profusest thanks: for was not his fortune made?but Lord Minchampstead stopped him with an uplifted finger. 

"And, meanwhile, there are foreign employments of which neither thosewho bestow them, nor those who accept them, are expected to talk much:but for which you, if I am rightly informed, would be especiallyfitted. "

Tom bowed; and his face spoke a hundred assents. 

"Very well; if you will come over to Minchampstead to-morrow, I willgive you letters to friends of mine in town. I trust that they may giveyou a better opportunity than the Bashi-bazouks will, of displaying thatcourage, address, and self-command, which, I understand, you possess inso uncommon a degree. Good morning!" And forth the great man went. 

Most opposite were the actions of the two whom he had left behind him. 

Tom dances about the room, hurrahing in a whisper--

"My fortune's made! The secret service! Oh, what bliss! The thing I'vealways longed for!"

Mark dashes himself desperately back in his chair, and shoots his angrylegs straight out, almost tripping up Tom. 

"You abominable ass! You have done it with a vengeance! Why, he has beenpumping me about you this month! One word from you to say you'd havestayed, and he was going to make you agent for all his Cornishproperty. "

"Don't he wish he may get it? Catch a fish climbing trees! Catch mestaying at home when I can serve my Queen and my country, and find asphere for the full development of my talents! Oh, won't I be as wise asa serpent? Won't I be complimented by ---- himself as his best lurcher, worth any ten needy Poles, greedy Armenians, traitors, renegades, rag-tag and bob-tail! I'll shave my head to-morrow, and buy me anassortment of wigs of every hue!"

Take care, Tom Thurnall. After pride comes a fall; and he who digs a pitmay fall into it himself. Has this morning's death-bed given you nolesson that it is as well not to cast ourselves down from where God hasput us, for whatsoever seemingly fine ends of ours, lest, doing so, wetempt God once too often?

Your father quoted that text to John Briggs, here, many years ago. Mighthe not quote it now to you? True, not one word of murmuring, not even ofregret, or fear, has passed his good old lips about your self-willedplan. He has such utter confidence in you, such utter carelessness abouthimself, such utter faith in God, that he can let you go without a sigh. But will you make his courage an excuse for your own rashness? Again, beware; after pride may come a fall. 

 * * * * *

On the fourth day Elsley was buried. Mark and Tom were the onlymourners; Lucy and Valencia stayed at Mark's house, to return next dayunder Tom's care to Eaton Square. 

The two mourners walked back sadly from the churchyard. "I shall put astone over him, Tom. He ought to rest quietly now; for he had littlerest enough in this life. .. . 

"Now, I want to talk to you about something; when I've taken off myhatband, that is; for it would be hardly lucky to mention such matterswith a hatband on. "

Tom looked up, wondering. 

"Tell me about his wife, meanwhile. What made him marry her? Was she apretty woman?"

"Pretty enough, I believe, before she married: but I hardly think hemarried her for her face. "

"Of course not!" said the old man with emphasis; "of course not!Whatever faults he had, he'd be too sensible for that. Don't you marryfor a face, Tom! I didn't. "

Tom opened his eyes at this last assertion; but humbly expressed hisintention of not falling into that snare. 

"Ah? you don't believe me: well, she was a beautiful woman. --I'd like tosee her fellow now in the county!--and I won't deny I was proud of her. But she had ten thousand pounds, Tom. And as for her looks, why, ifyou'll believe me, after we'd been married three months, I didn't knowwhether she had any looks or not. What are you smiling at, you youngrogue?"

"Report did say that one look of Mrs. Armsworth's, to the last, would domore to manage Mr. Armsworth than the opinions of the whole bench ofbishops. "

"Report's a liar, and you're a puppy! You don't know yet whether it wasa pleasant look, or a cross one, lad. But still--well, she was an angel, and kept old Mark straighter than he's ever been since: not that he's sovery bad, now. Though I sometimes think Mary's better even than hermother. That girl's a good girl, Tom. "

"Report agrees with you in that, at least. "

"Fool if it didn't. And as for looks--I can speak to you as to my ownson--Why, handsome is that handsome does. "

"And that handsome has; for you must honestly put that into theaccount. "

"You think so? So do I! Well, then, Tom, "--and here Mark was seizedwith a tendency to St. Vitus's dance, and began overhauling every buttonon his coat, twitching up his black gloves, till (as undertakers' glovesare generally meant to do) they burst in half-a-dozen places; taking offhis hat, wiping his head fiercely, and putting the hat on again behindbefore; till at last he snatched his arm from Tom's, and gripping him bythe shoulder, recommenced--

"You think so, eh? Well, I must say it, so I'd better have it out now, hatband or none! What do you think of the man who married my daughter, face and all?"

"I should think, " quoth Tom, wondering who the happy man could be, "thathe would be so lucky in possessing such a heart, that he would be a foolto care about the face. "

"Then be as good as your word, and take her yourself. I've watched youthis last week, and you'll make her a good husband. There, I havespoken; let me hear no more about it. "

And Mark half pushed Tom from him, and puffed on by his side, highlyexcited. 

If Mark had knocked the young Doctor down, he would have been far lessastonished and far less puzzled too. "Well, " thought he, "I fanciednothing could throw my steady old engine off the rails; but I am offthem now, with a vengeance. " What to say he knew not; at last--

"It is just like your generosity, sir; you have been a brother to myfather; and now--"

"And now I'll be a father to you! Old Mark does nothing by halves. "

"But, sir, however lucky I should be in possessing Miss Armsworth'sheart, what reason have I to suppose that I do so? I never spoke a wordto her. I needn't say that she never did to me--which--"

"Of course she didn't, and of course you didn't. Should like to haveseen you making love to my daughter, indeed! No, sir; it's my will andpleasure. I've settled it, and done it shall be! I shall go home andtell Mary, and she'll obey me--I should like to see her do anythingelse! Hoity, toity, fathers must be masters, sir! even in these fly-awaynew times, when young ones choose their own husbands, and their ownpolitics, and their own hounds, and their own religion too, and behanged to them!"

What did this unaccustomed bit of bluster mean? for unaccustomed it was;and Tom knew well that Mary Armsworth had her own way, and managed herfather as completely as he managed Whitbury. 

"Humph! It is impossible; and yet it must be. This explains his being soanxious that Lord Minchampstead should approve of me. I have foundfavour in the poor dear thing's eyes, I suppose: and the good old fellowknows it, and won't betray her, and so shams tyrant. Just like him!"But--that Mary Armsworth should care for him! Vain fellow that he was tofancy it! And yet, when he began to put things together, littlesilences, little looks, little nothings, which all together might makesomething. He would not slander her to himself by supposing that herattentions to his father were paid for his sake: but he could not forgetthat it was she, always, who read his letters aloud to the old man: orthat she had taken home and copied out the story of his shipwreck. Beside, it was the only method of explaining Mark's conduct, save on thesupposition that he had suddenly been "changed by the fairies" in hisold age, instead of in the cradle, as usual. 

It was a terrible temptation; and to no man more than to ThomasThurnall. He was no boy, to hanker after mere animal beauty; he had nodelicate visions or lofty aspirations; and he knew (no man better) theplain English of fifty thousand pounds, and Mark Armsworth's daughter--agood house, a good consulting practice (for he would take his M. D. Ofcourse), a good station in the county, a good clarence with a good pairof horses, good plate, a good dinner with good company thereat; and, over and above all, his father to live with him; and with Mary, whom heloved as a daughter, in luxury and peace to his life's end. --Why, it wasall that he had ever dreamed of, three times more than he ever hoped togain!--Not to mention (for how oddly little dreams of selfish pleasureslip in at such moments!)--that he would buy such a Ross's microscope!and keep such a horse for a sly by-day with the Whitford Priors! Oh, tosee once again a fox break from Coldharbour gorse!

And then rose up before his imagination those drooping steadfast eyes;and Grace Harvey, the suspected, the despised, seemed to look throughand through his inmost soul, as through a home which belonged of rightto her, and where no other woman must dwell, or could dwell; for she wasthere; and he knew it; and knew that, even if he never married till hisdying day, he should sell his soul by marrying any one but her. "And whyshould I not sell my soul?" asked he, almost fiercely. "I sell mytalents, my time, my strength; I'd sell my life to-morrow, and go to beshot for a shilling a day, if it would make the old man comfortable forlife; and why not my soul too? Don't that belong to me as much as anyother part of me? Why am I to be condemned to sacrifice my prospects inlife to a girl of whose honesty I am not even sure? What is thisintolerable fascination? Witch! I almost believe in mesmerism now!--Again, I say, why should I not sell my soul, as I'd sell my coat, if thebargain's but a good one?"

And if he did, who would ever know?--Not even Grace herself. The secretwas his, and no one else's. 

Or if they did know, what matter? Dozens of men sell their souls everyyear, and thrive thereon; tradesmen, lawyers, squires, popularpreachers, great noblemen, kings and princes. He would be in goodcompany, at all events: and while so many live in glass houses, who darethrow stones?

But then, curiously enough, there came over him a vague dread ofpossible evil, such as he had never felt before. He had been trying foryears to raise himself above the power of fortune; and he had succeededill enough: but he had never lost heart. Robbed, shipwrecked, lost indeserts, cheated at cards, shot in revolutions, begging his bread, hehad always been the same unconquerable light-hearted Tom, whose mottowas, "Fall light, and don't whimper: better luck next round. " But now, what if he played his last court-card, and Fortune, out of herclose-hidden hand, laid down a trump thereon with quiet sneering smile?And she would! He knew, somehow, that he should not thrive. His childrenwould die of the measles, his horses break their knees, his plate bestolen, his house catch fire, and Mark Armsworth die insolvent. What afool he was, to fancy such nonsense! Here he had been slaving all hislife to keep his father: and now he could keep him; why, he would bejustified, right, a good son, in doing the thing. How hard, how unjustof those upper Powers in which he believed so vaguely, to forbid hisdoing it!

And how did he know that they forbid him? That is too deep a question tobe analysed here: but this thing is noteworthy, that there came nextover Tom's mind a stranger feeling still--a fancy that if he did thisthing, and sold his soul, he could not answer for himself thenceforth onthe score of merest respectability; could not answer for himself not todrink, gamble, squander his money, neglect his father, prove unfaithfulto his wife; that the innate capacity for blackguardism, which was asstrong in him as in any man, might, and probably would, run utterly riotthenceforth. He felt as if he should cast away his last anchor, anddrift helplessly down into utter shame and ruin. It may have been veryfanciful: but so he felt; and felt it so strongly too, that in less timethan I have taken to write this he had turned to Mark Armsworth:--

"Sir, you are what I have always found you. Do you wish me to be whatyou have always found me?"

"I'd be sorry to see you anything else, boy. "

"Then, sir, I can't do this. In honour, I can't. "

"Are you married already?" thundered Mark. 

"Not quite as bad as that;" and in spite of his agitation Tom laughed, but hysterically, at the notion. "But fool I am; for I am in love withanother woman. I am, sir, " went he on hurriedly. "Boy that I am! and shedon't even know it: but if you be the man I take you for, you may beangry with me, but you'll understand me. Anything but be a rogue to youand to Mary, and to my own self too. Fool I'll be, but rogue I won't!"

Mark strode on in silence, frightfully red in the face for full fiveminutes. Then he turned sharply on Tom, and catching him by theshoulder, thrust him from him. 

"There, --go! and don't let me see or hear of you; that is, till I tellyou! Go along, I say! Hum-hum!" (in a tone half of wrath, and half oftriumph), "his father's child! If you will ruin yourself, I can't helpit. "

"Nor I, sir, " said Tom, in a really piteous tone, bemoaning the day heever saw Aberalva, as he watched Mark stride into his own gate. "If Ihad but had common luck! If I had but brought my £1500 safe home here, and never seen Grace, and married this girl out of hand! Common luck isall I ask, and I never get it!"

And Tom went home sulkier than a bear: but he did not let his fatherfind out his trouble. It was his last evening with the old man. To-morrow he must go to London, and then--to scramble and twist aboutthe world again till he died! "Well, why not? A man must die somehow:but it's hard on the poor old father, " said Tom. 

As Tom was packing his scanty carpet-bag next morning, there was a knockat the door. He looked out, and saw Armsworth's clerk. What could thatmean? Had the old man determined to avenge the slight, and to do so onhis father, by claiming some old debt? There might be many between himand the doctor. And Tom's heart beat fast, as Jane put a letter into hishand. 

"No answer, sir, the clerk says. "

Tom opened it, and turned over the contents more than once ere he couldbelieve his own eyes. 

It was neither more nor less than a cheque on Mark's London banker forjust five hundred pounds. 

A half-sheet was wrapped round it, on which were written these words:--

"To Thomas Thurnall, Esq. , for behaving like a gentleman. The chequewill be duly honoured at Messrs. Smith, Brown, and Jones, LombardStreet. No acknowledgment is to be sent. Don't tell your father. MARKARMSWORTH. "

"Queer old world it is!" said Tom, when the first burst of childishdelight was over. "And jolly old flirt, Dame Fortune, after all! If Ihad written this in a book now, who'd have believed it?"

"Father, " said he, as he kissed the old man farewell, "I've a littlemoney come in. I'll send you fifty from London in a day or two, andlodge a hundred and fifty more with Smith and Co. So you'll be quite inclover while I am poisoning the Turkeys, or at some better work. "

The old man thanked God for his good son, and only hoped that he was notstraitening himself to buy luxuries for a useless old fellow. 

Another sacred kiss on that white head, and Tom was away for London, with a fuller purse, and a more self-contented heart too, than he hadknown for many a year. 

And Elsley was left behind, under the grey church spire, sleeping withhis fathers, and vexing his soul with poetry no more. Mark has coveredhim now with a fair Portland slab. He took Claude Mellot to it thiswinter before church time, and stood over it long with a puzzled look, as if dimly discovering that there were more things in heaven and earththan were dreamed of in his philosophy. 

"Wonderful fellow he was, after all! Mary shall read us out some of hisverses to-night. But, I say, why should people be born clever, only tomake them all the more miserable?"

"Perhaps they learn the more, papa, by their sorrows, " said quiet littleMary; "and so they are the gainers after all. "

And none of them having any better answer to give, they all three wentinto the church, to see if one could be found there. 

And so Tom Thurnall, too, went Eastward-Ho, to take, like all the rest, what God might send. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

TOO LATE. 

And how was poor Grace Harvey prospering the while? While comfortablefolks were praising her, at their leisure, as a heroine, Grace Harveywas learning, so she opined, by fearful lessons, how much of theunheroic element was still left in her. The first lesson had come just aweek after the yacht sailed for Port Madoc, when the cholera had all butsubsided; and it came in this wise. Before breakfast one morning she hadto go up to Heale's shop for some cordial. Her mother had passed, so shesaid, a sleepless night, and come downstairs nervous and withoutappetite, oppressed with melancholy, both in the spiritual and thephysical sense of the word. It was not often so with her now. She hadescaped the cholera. The remoteness of her house; her care never toenter the town; the purity of the water, which trickled always freshfrom the cliff close by; and last, but not least, the scrupulouscleanliness which (to do her justice) she had always observed, and inwhich she had trained up Grace, --all these had kept her safe. 

But Grace could see that her dread of the cholera was intense. She eventried at first to prevent Grace from entering an infected house; butthat proposal was answered by a look of horror which shamed her intosilence, and she contented herself with all but tabooing Grace; makingher change her clothes whenever she came in; refusing to sit with her, almost to eat with her. But, over and above all this, she had grownmoody, peevish, subject to violent bursts of crying, fits ofsuperstitious depression; spent, sometimes, whole days in readingexperimental books, arguing with the preachers, gadding to and fro toevery sermon, Arminian or Calvinist; and at last even to Church--walkingin dry places, poor soul; seeking rest, and finding none. 

All this betokened some malady of the mind, rather than of the body; butwhat that malady was, Grace dare not even try to guess. Perhaps it wasone of the fits of religious melancholy so common in the West country--like her own, in fact: perhaps it was all "nerves. " Her mother wasgrowing old, and had a great deal of business to worry her; and so Gracethrust away the horrible suspicion by little self-deceptions. 

She went into the shop. Tom was busy upon his knees behind the counter. She made her request. 

"Ah, Miss Harvey!" and he sprang up. "It will be a pleasure to serve youonce more in one's life. I am just going. "

"Going where?"

"To Turkey. I find this place too pleasant and too poor. Not workenough, and certainly not pay enough. So I have got an appointment assurgeon in the Turkish contingent, and shall be off in an hour. "

"To Turkey! to the war?"

"Yes. It's a long time since I have seen any fighting. I am quite out ofpractice in gunshot wounds. There is the medicine. Good-bye! You willshake hands once, for the sake of our late cholera work together. "

Grace held out her hand mechanically across the counter, and he took it. But she did not look into his face. Only she said, half to herself, --

"Well, better so. I have no doubt you will be very useful among them. "

"Confound the icicle!" thought Tom. "I really believe that she wants toget rid of me. " And he would have withdrawn his hand in a pet: but sheheld it still. 

Quaint it was; those two strong natures, each loving the other betterthan anything else on earth, and yet parted by the thinnest pane of ice, which a single look would have melted. She longing to follow that manover the wide world, slave for him, die for him; he longing for theleast excuse for making a fool of himself, and crying, "Take me, as Itake you, without a penny, for better, for worse!" If their eyes had butmet! But they did not meet; and the pane of ice kept them asunder assurely as a wall of iron. 

Was it that Tom was piqued at her seeming coldness: or did he expect, before he made any advances, that she should show that she wished atleast for his respect, by saying something to clear up the ugly questionwhich lay between them? Or was he, as I suspect, so ready to melt, andmake a fool of himself, that he must needs harden his own heart by helpof the devil himself? And yet there are excuses for him. It would havebeen a sore trial to any man's temper to quit Aberalva in the beliefthat he left fifteen hundred pounds behind him. Be that as it may, hesaid carelessly, after a moment's pause, --

"Well, farewell! And, by the bye, about that little money matter. Themonth of which you spoke once was up yesterday. I suppose I am notworthy yet; so I shall be humble, and wait patiently. Don't hurryyourself, I beg of you, on my account. "

She snatched her hand from his without a word, and rushed out of theshop. 

He returned to his packing, whistling away as shrill as any blackbird. 

Little did he think that Grace's heart was bursting, as she hurried downthe street, covering her face in her veil, as if every one would espyher dark secret in her countenance. 

But she did not go home to hysterics and vain tears. An awful purposehad arisen in her mind, under the pressure of that great agony. Heavens, how she loved that man! To be suspected by him was torture. But shecould bear that. It was her cross; she could carry it, lie down on it, and endure: but wrong him she could not--would not! It was sinful enoughwhile he was there; but doubly, unbearably sinful, when he was going toa foreign country, when he would need every farthing he had. So not forher own sake, but for his, she spoke to her mother when she went home, and found her sitting over her Bible in the little parlour, vainlytrying to find a text which suited her distemper. 

"Mother, you have the Bible before you there. "

"Yes, child! Why? What?" asked she, looking up uneasily. 

Grace fixed her eyes on the ground. She could not look her mother in theface. 

"Do you ever read the thirty-second Psalm, mother?"

"Which? Why not, child?"

"Let us read it together then, now. "

And Grace, taking up her own Bible, sat quietly down and read, as nonein that parish save she could read:

"Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, and whose sin iscovered. 

"Blessed is the man unto whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity, and inwhose spirit there is no guile. 

"When I kept silence, my bones waxed old, through my groaning all theday long. 

"For day and night Thy hand was heavy upon me; my moisture is turned tothe drought of summer. 

"I acknowledge my sin unto Thee, and mine iniquity have I not hid. 

"I said, I will confess my transgressions unto the Lord; and Thouforgavest the iniquity of my sin. "

Grace stopped, choked with tears which the pathos of her own voice hadcalled up. She looked at her mother. There were no tears in her eyes:only a dull thwart look of terror and suspicion. The shaft, howeverbravely and cunningly sped, had missed its mark. 

Poor Grace! Her usual eloquence utterly failed her, as most things do inwhich one is wont to trust, before the pressure of a real and horribleevil. She had no heart to make fine sentences, to preach a brilliantsermon of commonplaces. What could she say that her mother had not knownlong before she was born? And throwing herself on her knees at hermother's feet, she grasped both her hands and looked into her faceimploringly, --"Mother! mother! mother!" was all that she could say: buttheir tone meant more than all words. --Reproof, counsel, comfort, uttertenderness, and under-current of clear deep trust, bubbling up frombeneath all passing suspicions, however dark and foul, were in it: butthey were vain. 

Baser terror, the parent of baser suspicion, had hardened that woman'sheart for the while; and all she answered was, --

"Get up! what is this foolery?"

"I will not! I will not rise till you have told me. "

"What?"

"Whether"--and she forced the words slowly out in a low whisper, "whether you know--anything of--of--Mr. Thurnall's money--his belt?"

"Is the girl mad! Belt! Money? Do you take me for a thief, wench!"

"No! no! no! Only say you--you know nothing of it!"

"Psha! girl! Go to your school:" and the old woman tried to rise. 

"Only say that! only let me know that it is a dream--a hideous dreamwhich the devil put into my wicked, wicked heart--and let me know that Iam the basest, meanest of daughters for harbouring such a thought amoment! It will be comfort, bliss, to what I endure! Only say that, andI will crawl to your feet, and beg for your forgiveness, --ask you tobeat me, like a child, as I shall deserve! Drive me out, if you will, and let me die, as I shall deserve! Only say the word, and take thisfire from before my eyes, which burns day and night, --till my brain isdried up with misery and shame! Mother, mother, speak!"

But then burst out the horrible suspicion, which falsehood, suspectingall others of being false as itself, had engendered in that mother'sheart. 

"Yes, viper! I see your plan! Do you think I do not know that you are inlove with that fellow?"

Grace started as if she had been shot, and covered her face with herhands. 

"Yes! and want me to betray myself--to tell a lie about myself, that youmay curry favour with him--a penniless, unbelieving--"

"Mother!" almost shrieked Grace, "I can bear no more! Say that it is alie, and then kill me if you will!"

"It is a lie, from beginning to end! What else should it be?" And thewoman, in the hurry of her passion, confirmed the equivocation with anoath; and then ran on, as if to turn her own thoughts, as well asGrace's, into commonplaces about "a poor old mother, who cares fornothing but you; who has worked her fingers to the bone for years toleave you a little money when she is gone! I wish I were gone! I wish Iwere out of this wretched ungrateful world, I do! To have my own childturn against me in my old age!"

Grace lifted her hands from her face, and looked steadfastly at hermother. And behold, she knew not how or why, she felt that her motherhad forsworn herself. A strong shudder passed through her; she rose andwas leaving the room in silence. 

"Where are you going, hussy? Stop!" screamed her mother between herteeth, her rage and cruelty rising, as it will with weak natures, in thevery act of triumph, --"to your young man?"

"To pray, " said Grace, quietly; and locking herself into the emptyschoolroom, gave vent to all her feelings, but not in tears. 

How she upbraided herself!--She had not used her strength; she had nottold her mother all her heart. And yet how could she tell her heart? Howface her mother with such vague suspicions, hardly supported by a singlefact? How argue it out against her like a lawyer, and convict her to herface? What daughter could do that, who had human love and reverence leftin her? No! to touch her inward witness, as the Quakers well and trulyterm it, was the only method: and it had failed. "God help me!" was heronly cry: but the help did not come yet; there came over her instead afeeling of utter loneliness. Willis dead; Thurnall gone; her motherestranged; and, like a child lost upon a great moor, she looked roundall heaven and earth, and there was none to counsel, none to guide--perhaps not even God. For would He help her as long as she lived in sin?And was she not living in sin, deadly sin, as long as she knew what shewas sure she knew, and left the wrong unrighted?

It is sometimes true, the popular saying, that sunshine comes afterstorm. Sometimes true, or who could live? but not always: not evenoften. Equally true is the popular antithet, that misfortunes never comesingle; that in most human lives there are periods of trouble, blowfollowing blow, wave following wave, from opposite and unexpectedquarters, with no natural or logical sequence, till all God's billowshave gone over the soul. 

How paltry and helpless, in such dark times, are all theories of mereself-education; all proud attempts, like that of Göthe's WilhelmMeister, to hang self-poised in the centre of the abyss, and thereorganise for oneself a character by means of circumstances! Easy enough, and graceful enough does that dream look, while all the circumstancesthemselves--all which stands around--are easy and graceful, obliging andcommonplace, like the sphere of petty experiences with which Göthesurrounds his insipid hero. Easy enough it seems for a man to educatehimself without God, as long as he lies comfortably on a sofa, with acup of coffee and a review: but what if that "daemonic element of theuniverse, " which Göthe confessed, and yet in his luxuriousness tried toignore, because he could not explain--what if that broke forth over thegraceful and prosperous student, as it may any moment! What if something, or some person, or many things, or many persons, one after theother (questions which he must get answered then, or die), took him upand dashed him down, again, and again, and again, till he was ready tocry, "I reckoned till morning that like a lion he will break all mybones; from morning till evening he will make an end of me"? What if hethus found himself hurled perforce amid the real universal experiencesof humanity; and made free, in spite of himself, by doubt and fear andhorror of great darkness, of the brotherhood of woe, common alike to thesimplest peasant-woman, and to every great soul perhaps, who has lefthis impress and sign manual upon the hearts of after generations? Jew, Heathen, or Christian; men of the most opposite creeds and aims; whetherit be Moses or Socrates, Isaiah or Epictetus, Augustine or Mohammed, Dante or Bernard, Shakspeare or Bacon, or Göthe's self, no doubt, thoughin his tremendous pride he would not confess it even to himself, --eachand all of them have this one fact in common--that once in their lives, at least, they have gone down into the bottomless pit, and "stato all'inferno"--as the children used truly to say of Dante; and there, out ofthe utter darkness, have asked the question of all questions--"Is therea God? And if there be, what is he doing with me?"

What refuge then in self-education; when a man feels himself powerlessin the gripe of some unseen and inevitable power, and knows not whetherit be chance, or necessity, or a devouring fiend? To wrap himselfsternly in himself, and cry, "I will endure, though all the universe beagainst me;"--how fine it sounds!--But who has done it? Could a man doit perfectly but for one moment, --could he absolutely and utterly forone moment isolate himself, and accept his own isolation as a fact, hewere then and there a madman or a suicide. As it is, his nature, happilytoo weak for that desperate self-assertion, falls back recklessly onsome form, more or less graceful according to the temperament, of theancient panacea, "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die. " Whyshould a man educate self, when he knows not whither he goes, what willbefall him to-night? No. There is but one escape, one chink throughwhich we may see light; one rock on which our feet may findstanding-place, even in the abyss: and that is the belief, intuitive, inspired, due neither to reasoning nor to study, that the billows areGod's billows; and that though we go down to hell, He is there also;--the belief that not we, but He, is educating us; that these seeminglyfantastic and incoherent miseries, storm following earthquake, andearthquake fire, as if the caprice of all the demons were let looseagainst us, have in His Mind a spiritual coherence, an organic unity andpurpose (though we see it not); that sorrows do not come singly, onlybecause He is making short work with our spirits; and because the moreeffect He sees produced by one blow, the more swiftly He follows it upby another; till, in one great and varied crisis, seemingly long to us, but short enough compared with immortality, our spirits may be--

 "Heated hot with burning fears, And bathed in baths of hissing tears, And battered with the strokes of doom, To shape and use. "

And thus, perhaps, it was with poor Grace Harvey. At least, happily forher, she began after a while to think that it was so. Only after awhile, though. There was at first a phase of repining, of doubt, almostof indignation against high heaven. Who shall judge her? What blame ifthe crucified one writhe when the first nail is driven? What blame ifthe stoutest turn sick and giddy at the first home-thrust of that swordwhich pierces the joints and marrow, and lays bare to self the secretsof the heart? God gives poor souls time to recover their breaths, ere Hestrikes again; and if He be not angry, why should we condemn?

Poor Grace! Her sorrows had been thickening fast during the last fewmonths. She was schoolmistress again, true; but where were her children?Those of them whom she loved best, were swept away by the cholera; andcould she face the remnant, each in mourning for a parent or a brother?That alone was grief enough for her; and yet that was the lightest ofall her griefs. She loved Tom Thurnall--how much, she dared not tellherself; she longed to "save" him. She had thought, and not untruly, during the past cholera weeks, that he was softened, opened to newimpressions: but he had avoided her more than ever--perhaps suspectedher again more than ever--and now he was gone, gone for ever. That, too, was grief enough alone. But darkest and deepest of all, darker anddeeper than the past shame of being suspected by him she loved, was theshame of suspecting her own mother--of believing herself, as she did, privy to that shameful theft, and yet unable to make restitution. Therewas the horror of all horrors, the close prison which seemed to stifleher whole soul. The only chink through which a breath of air seemed tocome, and keep her heart alive, was the hope that somehow, somewhere, she might find that belt, and restore it without her mother's knowledge. 

But more--the first of September was come and gone; the bill forfive-and-twenty pounds was due, and was not met. Grace, choking down herhonest pride, went off to the grocer, and, with tears which he could notresist, persuaded him to renew the bill for one month more; and now thatmonth was all but past, and yet there was no money. Eight or ten peoplewho owed Mrs. Harvey money had died of the cholera. Some, of course, hadleft no effects; and all hope of their working out their debts was gone. Some had left money behind them: but it was still in the lawyer's hands, some of it at sea, some on mortgage, some in houses which must be sold;till their affairs were wound up--(a sadly slow affair when a countryattorney has a poor man's unprofitable business to transact)--nothingcould come in to Mrs. Harvey. To and fro she went with knitted brow andheavy heart; and brought home again only promises, as she had done ahundred times before. One day she went up to Mrs. Heale. Old Heale owedher thirteen pounds and more: but that was not the least reason forpaying. His cholera patients had not paid him; and whether Heale had themoney by him or not, he was not going to pay his debts till other peoplepaid theirs. Mrs. Harvey stormed; Mrs. Heale gave her as good as shebrought; and Mrs. Harvey threatened to County Court her husband; whereonMrs. Heale, _en revanche_ dragged out the books, and displayed to thepoor widow's horror-struck eyes an account for medicine and attendance, on her and Grace, which nearly swallowed up the debt. Poor Grace wasoverwhelmed when her mother came home and upbraided her, in her despair, with being a burden. Was she not a burden? Must she not be onehenceforth? No, she would take in needlework, labour in the fields, heave ballast among the coarse pauper-girls on the quay-pool, anythingrather: but how to meet the present difficulty?

"We must sell our furniture, mother!"

"For a quarter of what it's worth? Never, girl! No! The Lord willprovide, " said she, between her clenched teeth, with a sort of hystericchuckle. "The Lord will provide!"

"I believe it; I believe it, " said poor Grace; "but faith is weak, andthe day is very dark, mother. "

"Dark, ay? And may be darker, yet; but the Lord will provide. Heprepares a table in the wilderness for his saints that the world don'tthink of. "

"Oh, mother! and do you think there is any door of hope?"

"Go to bed, girl; go to bed, and leave me to see to that. Find myspectacles. Wherever have you laid them to, now? I'll look over thebooks awhile. "

"Do let me go over them for you. "

"No, you sha'n't! I suppose you'll be wanting to make out your poor oldmother's been cheating somebody. Why not, if I'm a thief, Miss, eh?"

"Oh, mother! mother! don't say that again. "

And Grace glided out meekly to her own chamber, which was on theground-floor adjoining the parlour, and there spent more than one hourin prayer, from which no present comfort seemed to come; yet who shallsay that it was all unanswered?

At last her mother came upstairs, and put her head in angrily:--"Whyben't you in bed, girl? sitting up this way?"

"I was praying, mother, " says Grace, looking up as she knelt. 

"Praying! What's the use of praying? and who'll hear you if you pray?What you want's a husband, to keep you out of the workhouse; and youwon't get that by kneeling here. Get to bed, I say, or I'll pull youup?"

Grace obeyed uncomplaining, but utterly shocked; though she was notunacquainted with those frightful fits of morose unbelief, even offierce blasphemy, to which the excitable West-country mind is liable, after having been over-strained by superstitious self-inspection, and bythe desperate attempt to prove itself right and safe from frames andfeelings, while fact and conscience proclaim it wrong. 

The West-country people are apt to attribute these paroxysms to thepossession of a devil; and so did Grace that night. 

Trembling with terror and loving pity, she lay down, and began to prayafresh for that poor wild mother. 

At last the fear crossed her that her mother might make away withherself. But a few years before, another class-leader in Aberalva hadattempted to do so, and had all but succeeded. The thought wasintolerable. She must go to her; face reproaches, blows, anything. Sherose from her bed, and went to the door. It was fastened on the outside. 

A cold perspiration stood on her forehead. She opened her lips to shriekto her mother: but checked herself when she heard her stirring gently inthe outer room. Her pulses throbbed too loudly at first for her to heardistinctly: but she felt that it was no moment for giving way toemotion; by a strong effort of will, she conquered herself; and then, with that preternatural acuteness of sense which some women possess, shecould hear everything her mother was doing. She heard her put on hershawl, her bonnet; she heard her open the front door gently. It was nowlong past midnight. Whither could she be going at that hour?

She heard her go gently to the left, past the window; and yet herfootfall was all but inaudible. No rain had fallen, and her shoes oughtto have sounded on the hard earth. She must have taken them off. There, she was stopping, just by the school-door. Now she moved again. She musthave stopped to put on her shoes; for now Grace could hear her stepsdistinctly, down the earth bank, and over the rattling shingle of thebeach. Where was she going? Grace must follow!

The door was fast: but in a moment she had removed the table, opened theshutter and the window. 

"Thank God that I stayed here on the ground floor, instead of going backto my own room when Major Campbell left. It is a providence! The Lordhas not forsaken me yet!" said the sweet saint, as, catching up hershawl, she wrapped it round her, and slipping through the window, crouched under the shadow of the house, and looked for her mother. 

She was hurrying over the rocks, a hundred yards off. Whither? To drownherself in the sea? No; she held on along the mid-beach, right acrossthe cove, toward Arthur's Nose. But why? Grace must know. 

She felt, she knew not why, that this strange journey, that wild "TheLord will provide, " had to do with the subject of her suspicion. Perhapsthis was the crisis; perhaps all will he cleared up to-night, for joy orfor utter shame. 

The tide was low; the beach was bright in the western moonlight: onlyalong the cliff foot lay a strip of shadow a quarter of a mile long, till the Nose, like a great black wall, buried the corner of the cove indarkness. 

Along that strip of shadow she ran, crouching; now stumbling over aboulder, now crushing her bare feet between the sharp pebbles, as, heedless where she stepped, she kept her eye fixed on her mother. As iffascinated, she could see nothing else in heaven or earth but that darkfigure, hurrying along with a dogged determination, and then stopping amoment to look round, as if in fear of a pursuer. And then Grace laydown on the cold stones, and pressed herself into the very earth; andthe moment her mother turned to go forward, sprang up and followed. 

And then a true woman's thought flashed across her, and shaped itselfinto a prayer. For herself she never thought: but if the Coast Guardsmanabove should see her mother, stop her, question her? God grant that hemight be on the other side of the point! And she hurried on again. 

Near the Nose the rocks ran high and jagged; her mother held on to them, passed through a narrow chasm, and disappeared. 

Grace now, not fifty yards from her, darted out of the shadow into themoonlight, and ran breathlessly toward the spot where she had seen hermother last. Like Anderssen's little sea-maiden she went, every step onsharp knives, across the rough beds of barnacles; but she felt no pain, in the greatness of her terror and her love. 

She crouched between the rocks a moment; heard her mother slipping andsplashing among the pools; and glided after her like a ghost--a guardianangel rather--till she saw her emerge again for a moment into themoonlight, upon a strip of beach beneath the Nose. 

It was a weird and lonely spot; and a dangerous spot withal. For only atlow spring-tide could it be reached from the land, and then the floodrose far up the cliff, covering all the shingle, and filling the mouthof a dark cavern. Had her mother gone to that cavern? It was impossibleto see, so utterly was the cliff shrouded in shadow. 

Shivering with cold and excitement, Grace crouched down, and gazed intothe gloom, till her eyes swam, and a hundred fantastic figures, andsparks of fire, seemed to dance between her and the rock. Sparks offire!--yes; but that last one was no fancy. An actual flash; the crackleand sputter of a match! What could it mean? Another match was lighted;and a moment after, the glare of a lanthorn showed her mother enteringbeneath the polished arch of rock which glared lurid overhead, like thegateway of the pit of fire. 

The light vanished into the windings of the cave. And then Grace, hardlyknowing what she did, rushed up the beach, and crouched down once moreat the cave's mouth. There she sat, she knew not how long, listening, listening, like a hunted hare; her whole faculties concentrated in theone sense of hearing; her eyes wandering vacantly over the black saws ofrock, and glistening oar-weed beds, and bright phosphoric sea. ThankHeaven, there was not a ripple to break the silence. Ah, what was thatsound within? She pressed her ear against the rock, to hear more surely. A rumbling as of stones rolled down. And then, --was it a fancy, or wereher powers of hearing, intensified by excitement, actually equal todiscern the chink of coin? Who knows? but in another moment she hadglided in, silently, swiftly, holding her very breath; and saw hermother kneeling on the ground, the lanthorn by her side, and in her handthe long-lost belt. 

She did not speak, she did not move. She always knew, in her heart ofhearts, that so it was: but when the sin took bodily shape, and wasthere before her very eyes, it was too dreadful to speak of, to act uponyet. And amid the most torturing horror and disgust of that great sin, rose up in her the divinest love for the sinner; she felt--strangeparadox--that she had never loved her mother as she did at that moment. "Oh, that it had been I who had done it, and not she!" And her mother'ssin was to her her own sin, her mother's shame her shame, till all senseof her mother's guilt vanished in the light of her divine love. "Oh, that I could take her up tenderly, tell her that all is forgiven andforgotten by man and God!--serve her as I have never served her yet!--nurse her to sleep on my bosom, and then go forth and bear herpunishment, even if need be on the gallows-tree!" And there she stood, in a silent agony of tender pity, drinking her portion of the cup of Himwho bore the sins of all the world. 

Silently she stood; and silently she turned to go, to go home and prayfor guidance in that dark labyrinth of confused duties. Her mother heardthe rustle; looked up; and sprang to her feet with a scream, droppinggold pieces on the ground. 

Her first impulse was wild terror. She was discovered; by whom, she knewnot. She clasped her evil treasure to her bosom, and thrusting Graceagainst the rock, fled wildly out. 

"Mother! Mother!" shrieked Grace, rushing after her. The shawl fell fromher shoulders. Her mother looked back, and saw the white figure. 

"God's angel! God's angel, come to destroy me! as he came to Balaam!"and in the madness of her guilty fancy she saw in Grace's hand the fierysword which was to smite her. 

Another step, looking backward still, and she had tripped over a stone. She fell, and striking the back of her head against the rock, laysenseless. 

Tenderly Grace lifted her up: went for water to a pool near by; bathedher face, calling on her by every term of endearment. Slowly the oldwoman recovered her consciousness, but showed it only in moans. Her headwas cut and bleeding. Grace bound it up, and then taking that fatalbelt, bound it next to her own heart, never to be moved from thence tillshe should put it into the hands of him to whom it belonged. 

And then she lifted up her mother. 

"Come home, darling mother;" and she tried to make her stand and walk. 

The old woman only moaned, and waved her away impatiently. Grace put heron her feet; but she fell again. The lower limbs seemed all butparalysed. 

Slowly that sweet saint lifted her, and laid her on her own back; andslowly she bore her homeward, with aching knees and bleeding feet; whilebefore her eyes hung the picture of Him who bore his cross up Calvary, till a solemn joy and pride in that sacred burden seemed to intertwineitself with her deep misery. And fainting every moment with pain andweakness, she still went on, as if by supernatural strength: andmurmured--

"Thou didst bear more for me, and shall not I bear even this for Thee?"

Surely, if blest spirits can weep and smile over the woes and heroismsof us mortal men, faces brighter than the stars looked down on that fairgirl that night, and in loving sympathy called her, too, blest. 

At last it was over. Undiscovered she reached home, laid her mother onthe bed, and tended her till morning; but long ere morning dawned stuporhad changed into delirium, and Grace's ears were all on fire with words--which those who have ever heard will have no heart to write. 

And now, by one of those strange vagaries, in which epidemics so oftenindulge, appeared other symptoms; and by day-dawn cholera itself. 

Heale, though recovering, was still too weak to be of use: but, happily, the medical man sent down by the Board of Health was still in the town. 

Grace sent for him; but he shook his head after the first look. Thewretched woman's ravings at once explained the case, and made it, in hiseyes, all but hopeless. 

The sudden shock to body and mind, the sudden prostration of strength, had brought out the disease which she had dreaded so intensely, andagainst which she had taken so many precautions, and which yet lay, allthe while, lurking unfelt in her system. 

A hideous eight-and-forty hours followed. The preachers andclass-leaders came to pray over the dying woman: but she screamed toGrace to send them away. She had just sense enough left to dread thatshe might betray her own shame. Would she have the new clergyman then?No; she would have no one;--no one could help her! Let her only diein peace!

And Grace closed the door upon all but the doctor, who treated the wildsufferer's wild words as the mere fancies of delirium; and then Gracewatched and prayed, till she found herself alone with the dead. 

She wrote a letter to Thurnall--

"Sir--I have found your belt, and all the money, I believe and trust, which it contained. If you will be so kind as to tell me where and how Ishall send it to you, you will take a heavy burden off the mind of

"Your obedient humble Servant, who trusts that you will forgive herhaving been unable to fulfil her promise. "

She addressed the letter to Whitbury; for thither Tom had ordered hisletters to be sent; but she received no answer. 

The day after Mrs. Harvey was buried, the sale of all her effects wasannounced in Aberalva. 

Grace received the proceeds, went round to all the creditors, and paidthem all which was due. She had a few pounds left. What to do with thatshe knew full well. 

She showed no sign of sorrow: but she spoke rarely to any one. A deaddull weight seemed to hang over her. To preachers, class-leaders, gossips, who upbraided her for not letting them see her mother, shereplied by silence. People thought her becoming idiotic. 

The day after the last creditor was paid she packed up her little box:hired a cart to take her to the nearest coach; and vanished fromAberalva, without bidding farewell to a human being, even to herSchool-children. 

 * * * * *

Vavasour had been buried more than a week. Mark and Mary were sitting inthe dining-room, Mark at his port and Mary at her work, when the footboyentered. 

"Sir, there's a young woman wants to speak with you. "

"Show her in, if she looks respectable, " said Mark, who had slippers on, and his feet on the fender, and was, therefore, loth to move. 

"Oh, quite respectable, sir, as ever I see;" and the lad ushered in afigure, dressed and veiled in deep black. 

"Well, ma'am, sit down, pray; and what can I do for you!"

"Can you tell me, sir, " answered a voice of extraordinary sweetness andgentleness, very firm, and composed withal, "if Mr. Thomas Thurnall isin Whitbury?"

"Thurnall? He has sailed for the East a week ago. May I ask yourbusiness with him? Can I help you in it?"

The black damsel paused so long, that both Mary and her father feltuneasy, and a cloud passed over Mark's brow. 

"Can the boy have been playing tricks?" said he to himself. 

"Then, sir, as I hear that you have influence, can you get me asituation as one of the nurses who are going out thither, so I hear?"

"Get you a situation? Yes, of course, if you are competent. "

"Thank you, sir. Perhaps, if you could be so very kind as to tell me towhom I am to apply in town; for I shall go thither to-night. "

"My goodness!" cried Mark. "Old Mark don't do things in this off-hand, cold-blooded way. Let us know who you are, my dear, and about Mr. Thurnall. Have you anything against him?"

She was silent. 

"Mary, just step into the next room. "

"If you please, sir, " said the same gentle voice, "I had sooner that thelady should stay. I have nothing against Mr. Thurnall, God knows. He hasrather something against me. "

Another pause. 

Mary rose, and went up to her and took her hand. 

"Do tell us who you are, and if we can do anything for you. "

And she looked winningly up into her face. 

The stranger drew a long breath and lifted her veil. Mary and Mark bothstarted at the beauty of the countenance which she revealed--but in adifferent way. Mark gave a grunt of approbation: Mary turned pale asdeath. 

"I suppose that it is but right and reasonable that I should tell you, at least give proof of my being an honest person. For my capabilities asa nurse--I believe you know Mrs. Vavasour? I heard that she has beenstaying here"

"Of course. Do you know her?"

A sad smile passed over her face. 

"Yes, well enough, at least for her to speak for me. I should have askedher or Miss St. Just to help me to a nurse's place: but I did not liketo trouble them in their distress. How is the poor lady now, sir?"

"I know who she is!" cried Mary by a sudden inspiration. "Is not yourname Harvey! Are you not the schoolmistress who saved Mr. Thurnall'slife? who behaved so nobly in the cholera? Yes! I knew you were! Comeand sit down, and tell me all! I have so longed to know you! Dearcreature, I have felt as if you were my own sister. He--Mr. Thurnall--wrote often about all your heroism. "

Grace seemed to choke down somewhat: and then answered steadfastly--

"I did not come here, my dear lady, to hear such kind words, but to doan errand to Mr. Thurnall. You have heard, perhaps, that when he waswrecked last spring he lost some money. Yes! Then it was stolen. Stolen!" she repeated with a great gasp: "never mind by whom. Not byme. "

"You need not tell us that, my dear, " interrupted Mark. 

"God kept it. And I have it; here!" and she pressed her hands tight overher bosom. "And here I must keep it till I give it into his hands, if Ifollow him round the world!" And as she spoke her eyes shone in thelamplight, with an unearthly brilliance which made Mary shudder. 

Mark Armsworth poured a libation to the goddess of Puzzledom, in theshape of a glass of port, which first choked him, and then descendedover his clean shirt front. But after he had coughed himself black inthe face, he began:--

"My good girl, if you are Grace Harvey, you're welcome to my roof and anhonour to it, say I: but as for taking all that money with you acrossthe seas, and such a pretty helpless young thing as you are, God helpyou, it mustn't be, and shan't be, and that's flat. "

"But I must go to him!" said she in so naïve half-wild a fashion, thatMary, comprehending all, looked imploringly at her father, and puttingher arm round Grace, forced her into a seat. 

"I must go, sir, and tell him--tell him myself. No one knows what I knowabout it. "

Mark shook his head. 

"Could I not write to him? He knows me as well as he knows his ownfather. "

Grace shook her head, and pressed her hand upon her heart, where Tom'sbelt lay. 

"Do you think, madam, that after having had the dream of this belt, theshape of this belt, and of the money which is in it, branded into mybrain for months--years it seems like--by God's fire of shame andsuspicion;--and seen him poor, miserable, fretful, unbelieving, for thewant of it--O God! I can't tell even your sweet face all. --Do you thinkthat now I have it in my hands, I can part with it, or rest, till it isin his? No, not though I walk barefoot after him to the ends of theearth. "

"Let his father have the money, then, and do you take him the belt as atoken, if you must--"

"That's it, Mary!" shouted Mark Armsworth, "you always come in with theright hint, girl!" and the two, combining their forces, at last talkedpoor Grace over. But upon going out herself she was bent. To ask hisforgiveness in her mother's name, was her one fixed idea. He might die, and not know all, not have forgiven all, and go she must. 

"But it is a thousand to one against your seeing him. We, even, don'tknow exactly where he is gone. "

Grace shuddered a moment; and then recovered her calmness. 

"I did not expect this: but be it so. I shall meet him if God wills; andif not, I can still work--work. "

"I think, Mary, you'd better take the young woman upstairs, and make hersleep here to-night, " said Mark, glad of an excuse to get rid of them;which, when he had done, he pulled his chair round in front of the fire, put a foot on each hob, and began rubbing his eyes vigorously. 

"Dear me! Dear me! What a lot of good people there are in this oldworld, to be sure! Ten times better than me, at least--make one ashamedof oneself:--and if one isn't even good enough for this world, how's oneto be good enough for heaven?"

And Mary carried Grace upstairs, and into her own bed-room. A bed shouldbe made up there for her. It would do her good just to have anything sopretty sleeping in the same room. And then she got Grace supper, andtried to make her talk: but she was distrait, reserved; for a new andsudden dread had seized her, at the sight of that fine house, fineplate, fine friends. These were his acquaintances, then: no wonder thathe would not look on such as her. And as she cast her eye round thereally luxurious chamber, and (after falteringly asking Mary whether shehad any brothers and sisters) guessed that she must be the heiress ofall that wealth, she settled in her heart that Tom was to marry Mary;and the intimate tone in which Mary spoke of him to her, and herinnumerable inquiries about him, made her more certain that it was asettled thing. Handsome she was not, certainly; but so sweet and good;and that her own beauty (if she was aware that she possessed any) couldhave any weight with Tom, she would have considered as an insult to hissense; so she made up her mind slowly, but steadily, that thus it was tobe; and every fresh proof of Mary's sweetness and goodness was a freshpang to her, for it showed the more how probable it was that Tom lovedher. 

Therefore she answered all Mary's questions carefully and honestly, asto a person who had a right to ask; and at last went to her bed, and, worn out in body and mind, was asleep in a moment. She had not remarkedthe sigh which escaped Mary, as she glanced at that beautiful head, andthe long black tresses which streamed down for a moment over the whiteshoulders ere they were knotted back for the night, and then at her ownpoor countenance in the glass opposite. 

 * * * * *

It was long past midnight when Grace woke, she knew not how, and lookingup, saw a light in the room, and Mary sitting still over a book, herhead resting on her hands. She lay quiet and thought she heard a sob. She was sure she heard tears drop on the paper. She stirred, and Marywas at her side in a moment. 

"Did you want anything?"

"Only to--to remind you, ma'am, it is not wise to sit up so late. "

"Only that?" said Mary, laughing. "I do that every night, alone withGod; and I do not think He will be the farther off for your being here!"

"One thing I had to ask, " said Grace. "It would lesson my labour so, ifyou could give me any hint of where he might be. "

"We know, as we told you, as little as you. His letters are to be sentto Constantinople. Some from Aberalva are gone thither already. "

"And mine among them!" thought Grace. "It is God's will!. .. Madam, if itwould not seem forward on my part--if you could tell him the truth, andwhat I have for him, and where I am, in case he might wish--wish to seeme--when you were writing. "

"Of course I will, or my father will, " said Mary, who did not like toconfess either to herself or to Grace, that it was very improbable thatshe would ever write again to Tom Thurnall. 

And so the two sweet maidens, so near that moment to an explanation, which might have cleared up all, went on each in her ignorance; for soit was to be. 

The next morning Grace came down to breakfast, modest, cheerful, charming. Mark made her breakfast with them; gave her endless letters ofrecommendation; wanted to take her to see old Doctor Thurnall, which shedeclined, and then sent her to the station in his own carriage, paid herfare first-class to town, and somehow or other contrived, with Mary'shelp, that she should find in her bag two ten-pound notes, which she hadnever seen before. After which he went out to his counting-house, onlyremarking to Mary--

"Very extraordinary young woman, and very handsome, too. Will make someman a jewel of a wife, if she don't go mad, or die of the hospitalfever. "

To which Mary fully assented. Little she guessed, and little did herfather, that it was for Grace's sake that Tom had refused her hand. 

A few days more, and Grace Harvey also had gone Eastward Ho. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

A RECENT EXPLOSION IN AN ANCIENT CRATER. 

It is, perhaps, a pity for the human race in general, that someenterprising company cannot buy up the Moselle (not the wine, but theriver), cut it into five-mile lengths, and distribute them over Europe, wherever there is a demand for lovely scenery. For lovely is its properepithet; it is not grand, not exciting--so much the better; it isscenery to live and die in; scenery to settle in, and study a singlelandscape, till you know every rock, and walnut-tree, and vine-leaf byheart: not merely to run through in one hasty steam-trip, as you now do, in a long burning day, which makes you not "drunk"--but weary--"withexcess of beauty. " Besides, there are two or three points so superior tothe rest, that having seen them, one cares to see nothing more. Thatparadise of emerald, purple, and azure, which opens behind Treis; andthat strange heap of old-world houses at Berncastle, which havescrambled up to the top of a rock to stare at the steamer, and havenever been able to get down again--between them, and after them, onefeels like a child who, after a great mouthful of pine-apple jam, iscondemned to have poured down its throat an everlasting stream oftreacle. 

So thought Stangrave on board the steamer, as he smoked his way up theshallows, and wondered which turn of the river would bring him to hisdestination. When would it all be over? And he never leaped on shoremore joyfully than he did at Alf that afternoon, to jump into acarriage, and trundle up the gorge of the Issbach some six lonely wearymiles, till he turned at last into the wooded caldron of theRomer-kessel, and saw the little chapel crowning the central knoll, withthe white high-roofed houses of Bertrich nestling at its foot. 

He drives up to the handsome old Kurhaus, nestling close beneathheather-clad rocks, upon its lawn shaded with huge horse-chestnuts, andset round with dahlias, and geraniums, and delicate tinted Germanstocks, which fill the air with fragrance; a place made only for younglovers:--certainly not for those black, petticoated worthies, each withthat sham of a sham, the modern tonsure, pared down to a poor florin'sbreadth among their bushy, well-oiled curls, who sit at little tables, passing the lazy day "à muguetter les bourgeoises" of Sarrebruck andTreves, and sipping the fragrant Josephshofer--perhaps at the goodbourgeois' expense. 

Past them Stangrave slips angrily; for that "development of humanity"can find no favour in his eyes; being not human at all, but professedlysuperhuman, and therefore, practically, sometimes inhuman. 

He hurries into the public room; seizes on the visitor's book. 

The names are there, in their own handwriting: but where are they?

Waiters are seized and questioned. The English ladies came back lastnight, and are gone this afternoon. 

"Where are they gone?"

Nobody recollects: not even the man from whom they hired the carriage. But they are not gone far. Their servants and their luggage are stillhere. Perhaps the Herr Ober-Badmeister, Lieutenant D---- will know. "Oh, it will not trouble him. An English gentleman? Der Herr Lieutenant willbe only too happy;" and in ten minutes der Herr Lieutenant appears, really only too happy; and Stangrave finds himself at once in thecompany of a soldier and a gentleman. Had their acquaintance been alonger one, he would have recognised likewise the man of taste and ofpiety. 

"I can well appreciate, sir, " says he, in return to Stangrave's anxiousinquiries, "your impatience to rejoin your lovely countrywomen, who havebeen for the last three weeks the wonder and admiration of our littleparadise; and whose four days' absence was regarded, believe me, as apublic calamity. "

"I can well believe it; but they are not countrywomen of mine. The onelady is an Englishwoman; the other--I believe--an Italian. "

"And der Herr?"

"An American. "

"Ah! A still greater pleasure, sir. I trust that you will carry backacross the Atlantic a good report of a spot all but unknown, I fear, toyour compatriots. You will meet one, I think, on the return of theladies. "

"A compatriot?"

"Yes. A gentleman who arrived here this morning, and who seemed, fromhis conversation with them, to belong to your noble fatherland. He wentout driving with them this afternoon, whither I unfortunately know not. Ah! good Saint Nicholas!--For though I am a Lutheran, I must invoke himnow--Look out yonder!"

Stangrave looked, and joined in the general laugh of lieutenant, waiters, priests, and bourgeoises. 

For under the chestnuts strutted, like him in Struwelpeter, as though hewere a very king of Ashantee, Sabina's black boy, who had taken tohimself a scarlet umbrella, and a great cigar; while after him came, also like them in Struwelpeter, Caspar, bretzel in hand, and Ludwig withhis hoop, and all the naughty boys of Bertrich town, hooting and singingin chorus, after the fashion of German children. 

The resemblance to the well-known scene in the German child's book wasperfect, and as the children shouted, --

 "Ein kohlpechrabenschwarzer Mohr, Die Sonne schien ihm ins gehirn, Da nahm er seinen Sonnenschirm"--

more than one grown person joined therein. 

Stangrave longed to catch hold of the boy, and extract from him allnews; but the blackamoor was not quite in respectable company enough atthat moment; and Stangrave had to wait till he strutted proudly up tothe door, and entered the hall with a bland smile, evidently havingtaken the hooting as a homage to his personal appearance. 

"Ah? Mas' Stangrave? glad see you, sir! Quite a party of us, now, 'mongdese 'barian heathen foreigners. Mas' Thurnall he come dis mornin'; goneup picken' bush wid de ladies. He! he! Not seen him dis tree yearafore. "

"Thurnall!" Stangrave's heart sank within him. His first impulse was toorder a carriage, and return whence he came; but it would look so odd, and, moreover, be so foolish, that he made up his mind to stay and facethe worst. So he swallowed a hasty dinner, and then wandered up thenarrow valley, with all his suspicions of Thurnall and Marie seethingmore fiercely than ever in his heart. 

Some half-mile up, a path led out of the main road to a wooden bridgeacross the stream. He followed it, careless whither he went; and in fiveminutes found himself in the quaintest little woodland cavern he everhad seen. 

It was simply a great block of black lava, crowned with brushwood, andsupported on walls and pillars of Dutch cheeses, or what should havebeen Dutch cheeses by all laws of shape and colour, had not his fingersproved to them that they were stone. How they got there, and what theywere, puzzled him; for he was no geologist; and finding a bench inside, he sat down and speculated thereon. 

There was more than one doorway to the "Cheese Cellar. " It stood beneatha jutting knoll, and the path ran right through; so that, as he sat, hecould see up a narrow gorge to his left, roofed in with trees; and downinto the main valley on his right, where the Issbach glittered clear andsmooth beneath red-berried mountain-ash and yellow leaves. 

There he sat, and tried to forget Marie in the tinkling of the streams, and the sighing of the autumn leaves, and the cooing of the sleepydoves; while the ice-bird, as the Germans call the water-ouzel, sat on arock in the river below, and warbled his low sweet song, and thenflitted up the grassy reach to perch and sing again on the next rockabove. 

And, whether, it was that he did forget Marie awhile; or whether he weretired, as he well might have been; or whether he had too rapidlyconsumed his bottle of red Walporzheimer, forgetful that it alone ofGerman wines combines the delicacy of the Rhine sun with the potency ofits Burgundian vinestock, transplanted to the Ahr by Charlemagne;--whether it were any of these causes, or whether it were not, Stangravefell fast asleep in the Kaise-kellar, and slept till it was dark, at therisk of catching a great cold. 

How long he slept he knew not: but what wakened him he knew full well. Voices of people approaching; and voices which he recognised in amoment. 

Sabina? Yes; and Marie too, laughing merrily; and among their shrillertones the voice of Thurnall. He had not heard it for years; but, considering the circumstances under which he had last heard it, therewas no fear of his forgetting it again. 

They came down the side-glen; and before he could rise, they had turnedthe sharp corner of the rock, and were in the Kaise-kellar, close tohim, almost touching him. He felt the awkwardness of his position. Tokeep still was, perhaps, to overhear, and that too much. To discoverhimself was to produce a scene; and he could not trust his temper thatthe scene would not be an ugly one, and such as women must not witness. 

He was relieved to find that they did not stop. They were laughing aboutthe gloom; about being out so late. 

"How jealous some one whom I know would be, " said Sabina, "if he foundyou and Tom together in this darksome den!"

"I don't care, " said Tom; "I have made up my mind to shoot him out ofhand, and marry Marie myself. Sha'n't I now, my--" and they passed on;and down to their carriage, which had been waiting for them in the roadbelow. 

What Marie's answer was, or by what name Thurnall was about to addressher, Stangrave did not hear: but he had heard quite enough. 

He rose quietly after a while, and followed them. 

He was a dupe, an ass! The dupe of those bad women, and of his ancientenemy! It was maddening! Yet, how could Sabina be in fault? She had notknown Marie till he himself had introduced her; and he could not believeher capable of such baseness. The crime must lie between the other two. Yet--

However that might be mattered little to him now. He would return, orderhis carriage once more, and depart, shaking off the dust of his feetagainst them! "Pah! There were other women in the world; and women, too, who would not demand of him to become a hero. "

He reached the Kurhaus, and went in; but not into the public room, forfear of meeting people whom he had no heart to face. 

He was in the passage, in the act of settling his account with thewaiter, when Thurnall came hastily out, and ran against him. 

Stangrave stood by the passage lamp, so that he saw Tom's face at once. 

Tom drew back; begged a thousand pardons; and saw Stangrave's face inturn. 

The two men looked at each other for a few seconds. Stangrave longed tosay, "You intend to shoot me? Then try at once;" but he was ashamed, ofcourse, to make use of words which he had so accidentally overheard. 

Tom looked carefully at Stangrave, to divine his temper from hiscountenance. It was quite angry enough to give Tom excuse for saying tohimself--

"The fellow is mad at being caught at last. Very well. "

"I think, sir, " said he, quietly enough, "that you and I had better walkoutside for a few minutes. Allow me to retract the apology I just made, till we have had some very explicit conversation on other matters. "

"Curse his impudence!" thought Stangrave. "Does he actually mean tobully me into marrying her?" and he replied haughtily enough, --

"I am aware of no matters on which I am inclined to be explicit with Mr. Thurnall, or on which Mr. Thurnall has a right to be explicit with me. "

"I am, then, " quoth Tom, his suspicion increasing in turn. "Do you wish, sir, to have a scene before this waiter and the whole house, or will yoube so kind as to walk outside with me?"

"I must decline, sir; not being in the habit of holding intercourse withan actress's bully. "

Tom did not knock him down: but replied smilingly enough--

"I am far too much in earnest in this matter, sir, to be stopped by anycoarse expressions. Waiter, you may go. Now, will you fight me to-morrowmorning, or will you not?"

"I may fight a gentleman: but not you. "

"Well, I shall not call you a coward, because I know that you are none;and I shall not make a row here, for a gentleman's reasons, which you, calling yourself a gentleman, seem to have forgotten. But this I willdo; I will follow you till you do fight me, if I have to throw up my ownprospects in life for it. I will proclaim you, wherever we meet, forwhat you are--a mean and base intriguer; I will insult you in Kursaals, and cane you on public places; I will be Frankenstein's man to you dayand night, till I have avenged the wrongs of this poor girl, the dust ofwhose feet you are not worthy to kiss off. "

Stangrave was surprised at his tone. It was certainly not that of aconscious villain: but he only replied sneeringly, --

"And pray what may give Mr. Thurnall the right to consider himself thedestined avenger of this frail beauty's wrongs?"

"I will tell you that after we have fought; and somewhat more. Meanwhile, that expression, 'frail beauty, ' is a fresh offence, forwhich I should certainly cane you, if she were not in the house. "

"Well, " drawled Stangrave, feigning an ostentatious yawn, "I believe thewise method of ridding oneself of impertinents is to grant theirrequests. Have you pistols? I have none. "

"I have both duellers and revolvers at your service. "

"Ah? I think we'll try the revolvers then, " said Stangrave, savage fromdespair, and disbelief in all human goodness. "After what has passed, five or six shots apiece will be hardly _outré_. "

"Hardly, I think, " said Tom. "Will you name your second'?"

"I know no one. I have not been here two hours; but I suppose they donot matter much. "

"Humph! it is as well to have witnesses in case of accident. There are acouple of roystering Burschen in the public room, who, I think, wouldenjoy the office. Both have scars on their faces, so they will be _aufait_ at the thing. Shall I have the honour of sending one of them toyou?"

"As you will, sir; my number is 34. " And the two fools turned on theirrespective heels, and walked off. 

At sunrise next morning Tom and his second are standing on theFalkenhohe, at the edge of the vast circular pit, blasted out by someexplosion which has torn the slate into mere dust and shivers, nowcovered with a thin coat of turf. 

"Schöne aussicht!" says the Bursch, waving his hand round, in a tonewhich is benevolently meant to withdraw Tom's mind from painfulconsiderations. 

"Very pretty prospect indeed. You're sure you understand that revolverthoroughly?"

The Bursch mutters to himself something about English nonchalance, andassures Thurnall that he is competently acquainted with the weapon; asindeed he ought to be; for having never seen one before, he has beentalking and thinking of nothing else since they left Bertrich. 

And why does not Tom care to look at the prospect? Certainly not becausehe is afraid. He slept as soundly as ever last night; and knows not whatfear means. But somehow, the glorious view reminds him of anotherglorious view, which he saw last summer walking by Grace Harvey's sidefrom Tolchard's farm. And that subject he will sternly put away. He isnot sure but what it might unman even him. 

The likeness certainly exists; for the rock, being the same in bothplaces, has taken the same general form; and the wanderer inRhine-Prussia and Nassau might often fancy himself in Devon or Cornwall. True, here there is no sea: and there no Moselkopf raises its hugecrater-cone far above the uplands, all golden in the level sun. But thatbrown Tannus far away, or that brown Hundsruck opposite, with itsdeep-wooded gorges barred with level gleams of light across black gulfs ofshade, might well be Dartmoor, or Carcarrow moor itself, high overAberalva town, which he will see no more. True, in Cornwall there wouldbe no slag-cliffs of the Falkenley beneath his feet, as black andblasted at this day as when yon orchard meadow was the mouth of hell, and the south-west wind dashed the great flame against the cinder cliffbehind, and forged it into walls of time-defying glass. But that mightwell be Alva stream, that Issbach in its green gulf far below, windingalong toward the green gulf of the Moselle--he will look at it no more, lest he see Grace herself come to him across the down, to chide him, with sacred horror, for the dark deed which he has come to do. 

And yet he does not wish to kill Stangrave. He would like to "wing him. "He must punish him for his conduct to Marie; punish him for last night'sinsult. It is a necessity, but a disagreeable one; he would be sorry togo to the war with that man's blood upon his hand. He is sorry that heis out of practice. 

"A year ago I could have counted on hitting him where I liked. I trust Ishall not blunder against his vitals now. However, if I do, he hashimself to blame!"

The thought that Stangrave may kill him never crosses his mind. Ofcourse, out of six shots, fired at all distances from forty paces tofifteen, one may hit him: but as for being killed!. .. 

Tom's heart is hardened; melted again and again this summer for amoment, only to freeze again. He all but believes that he bears acharmed life. All the miraculous escapes of his past years, instead ofmaking him believe in a living, guiding, protecting Father, have becometo that proud hard heart the excuse for a deliberate, thoughunconscious, atheism. His fall is surely near. 

At last Stangrave and his second appear. Stangrave is haggard, not fromfear, but from misery, and rage, and self-condemnation. This is the endof all his fine resolves! Pah! what use in them? What use in being amartyr in this world? All men are liars, and all women too!

Tom and Stangrave stand a little apart from each other, while one of theseconds paced the distance. He steps out away from them, across thecrater floor, carrying Tom's revolver in his hand, till he reaches therequired point, and turns. 

He turns: but not to come back. Without a gesture or an exclamationwhich could explain his proceedings, he faces about once more, andrushes up the slope as hard as legs and wind permitted. 

Tom is confounded with astonishment: either the Bursch is seized withterror at the whole business, or he covets the much-admired revolver; ineither case, he is making off with it before the owner's eyes. 

"Stop! Hillo! Stop thief! He's got my pistol!" and away goes Thurnall inchase after the Bursch, who, never looking behind, never sees that he isfollowed: while Stangrave and the second Bursch look on with wide eyes. 

Now the Bursch is a "gymnast, " and a capital runner; and so is Tomlikewise; and brilliant is the race upon the Falkenhohe. But thevictory, after a while, becomes altogether a question of wind; for itwas all up-hill. The crater, being one of "explosion, and not ofelevation, " as the geologists would say, does not slope downward again, save on one side, from its outer lip: and Tom and the Bursch werebreasting a fair hill, after they had emerged from the "kessel" below. 

Now, the Bursch had had too much Thronerhofberger the night before; andpossibly, as Burschen will in their vacations, the night before thatalso; whereby his diaphragm surrendered at discretion, while his heelswere yet unconquered; and he suddenly felt a strong gripe, and astronger kick, which rolled him over on the turf. 

The hapless youth, who fancied himself alone upon the mountain tops, roared mere incoherences; and Tom, too angry to listen, and too hurriedto punish, tore the revolver out of his grasp; whereon one barrelexploded--

"I have done it now!"

No: the ball had luckily buried itself in the ground. 

Tom turned, to rush down hill again, and meet the impatient Stangrave. 

Crack--whing--g--g!

"A bullet!"

Yes! And, prodigy on prodigy, up the hill towards him charged, as hewould upon a whole army, a Prussian gendarme, with bayonet fixed. 

Tom sat down upon the mountain-side, and burst into inextinguishablelaughter, while the gendarme came charging up, right toward his verynose. 

But up to his nose he charged not; for his wind was short, and the noiseof his roaring went before him. Moreover, he knew that Tom had arevolver, and was a "mad Englishman. " Now, he was not afraid of Tom, orof a whole army: but he was a man of drills and of orders, of rules andof precedents, as a Prussian gendarme ought to be; and for the modes ofattacking infantry, cavalry, and artillery, man, woman, and child, thiefand poacher, stray pig, or even stray wolf, he had drill and orderssufficient: but for attacking a Colt's revolver, none. 

Moreover, for arresting all manner of riotous Burschen, drunken boors, French red Republicans, Mazzini-hatted Italian refugees, suspect Polishincendiaries, or other feras naturse, he had precedent and regulation:but for arresting a mad Englishman, none. He held fully the opinion ofhis superiors, that there was no saying what an Englishman might not, could not, and would not do. He was a sphinx, a chimera, a lunatic brokeloose, who took unintelligible delight in getting wet, and dirty, andtired, and starved, and all but lolled; and called the same "takingexercise:" who would see everything that nobody ever cared to see, andwho knew mysteriously everything about everywhere; whose deeds were likehis opinions, utterly subversive of all constituted order in heaven andearth; being, probably, the inhabitant of another planet; possibly theman in the moon himself, who had been turned out, having made his nativesatellite too hot to hold him. All that was to be done with him was toinquire whether his passport was correct, and then (with a due regard toself-preservation) to endure his vagaries in pitying wonder. 

So the gendarme paused panting; and not daring to approach, walkedslowly and solemnly round Tom, keeping the point of his bayonetcarefully towards him, and roaring at intervals--

"You have murdered the young man!"

"But I have not!" said Tom. "Look and see. "

"But I saw him fall!"

"But he has got up again, and run away. "

"So! Then where is your passport?"

That one other fact cognisable by the mind of a Prussian gendarme, remained as an anchor for his brains under the new and tryingcircumstances, and he used it. "Here!" quoth Tom, pulling it out. 

The gendarme stepped cautiously forward. 

"Don't be frightened. I'll stick it on your bayonet-point;" and suitingthe action to the word, Tom caught the bayonet-point, put the passporton it, and pulled out his cigar-case. 

"Mad Englishman!" murmured the gendarme. "So! The passport is correct. But der Herr must consider himself under arrest. Der Herr will give uphis death-instrument. "

"By all means, " says Tom: and gives up the revolver. 

The gendarme takes it very cautiously; meditates awhile how to carry it;sticks the point of his bayonet into its muzzle, and lifts it aloft. 

"Schon! Das kriegt! Has der Herr any more death-instruments?"

"Dozens!" says Tom, and begins fumbling in his pockets; from whence hepulls a case of surgical instruments, another of mathematical ones, another of lancets, and a knife with innumerable blades, saws, andpickers, every one of which he opens carefully, and then spreads thewhole fearful array upon the grass before him. 

The gendarme scratches his head over those too plain proofs of sometremendous conspiracy. 

"So! Man must have a dozen hands! He is surely Palmerston himself; or atleast Hecker, or Mazzini!" murmurs he, as he meditates how to stow themall. 

He thinks now that the revolver may be safe elsewhere; and that theknife will do best on the bayonet-point So he unships the revolver. 

Bang goes barrel number two, and the ball goes into the turf between hisfeet. 

"You will shoot yourself soon, at that rate, " says Tom. 

"So? Der Herr speaks German like a native, " says the gendarme, growingcomplimentary in his perplexity. "Perhaps der Herr would be so good asto carry his death-instruments himself, and attend on the HerrPolizeirath, who is waiting to see him. "

"By all means!" And Tom picks up his tackle, while the prudent gendarmereloads; and Tom marches down the hill, the gendarme following, with hisbayonet disagreeably near the small of Tom's back. 

"Don't stumble! Look out for the stones, or you'll have that skewerthrough me!"

"So! Der Herr speaks German like a native, " says the gendarme, civilly. "It is certainly der Palmerston, " thinks he, "his manners are sopolite. "

Once at the crater edge, and able to see into the pit, the mystery is, in part at least, explained: for there stand not only Stangrave andBursch number two, but a second gendarme, two elderly gentlemen, twoladies, and a black boy. 

One is Lieutenant D----, by his white moustache. He is lecturing theBursch, who looks sufficiently foolish. The other is a portly andawful-looking personage in uniform, evidently the Polizeirath of thoseparts, armed with the just terrors of the law: but Justice has, if nother eyes bandaged, at least her hands tied; for on his arm hangs Sabina, smiling, chatting, entreating. The Polizeirath smiles, bows, ogles, evidently a willing captive. Venus had disarmed Rhadamanthus, as she hasMars so often; and the sword of Justice must rust in its scabbard. 

Some distance behind them is Stangrave, talking in a low voice, earnestly, passionately, --to whom but to Marie?

And lastly, opposite each other, and like two dogs who are uncertainwhether to make friends or fight, are a gendarme and Sabina's black boy:the gendarme, with shouldered musket, is trying to look as stiff andcross as possible, being scandalised by his superior officer's defectionfrom the path of duty; and still more by the irreverence of the blackboy, who is dancing, grinning, snapping his fingers, in delight athaving discovered and prevented the coming tragedy. 

Tom descends, bowing courteously, apologises for having been absent whenthe highly distinguished gentleman arrived; and turning to the Bursch, begs him to transmit to his friend who has run away his apologies forthe absurd mistake which led him to, etc. Etc. 

The Polizeirath looks at him with much the same blank astonishment asthe gendarme had done; and at last ends by lifting up his hands, andbursting into an enormous German laugh; and no one on earth can laugh asa German can, so genially and lovingly, and with such intenseself-enjoyment. 

"Oh, you English! you English! You are all mad, I think! Nothing canshame you, and nothing can frighten you! Potz! I believe when yourGuards at Alma walked into that battery the other day, every one of themwas whistling your Jim Crow, even after he was shot dead!" And the jollyPolizeirath laughed at his own joke, till the mountain rang. "But youmust leave the country, sir; indeed you must. We cannot permit suchconduct here--I am very sorry. "

"I entreat you not to apologise, sir. In any case, I was going to Alf byeight o'clock, to meet the steamer for Treves. I am on my way to the warin the East, viâ Marseilles. If you would, therefore, be so kind as toallow the gendarme to return me that second revolver, which also belongsto me--"

"Give him his pistol!" shouted the magistrate. 

"Potz! Let us be rid of him at any cost, and live in peace, like honestGermans. Ah, poor Queen Victoria! What a lot! To have the government offive-and-twenty million such!"

"Not five-and-twenty millions, " says Sabina. 

"That would include the ladies; and we are not mad too, surely, yourExcellency?"

The Polizeirath likes to be called your Excellency, of course, or anyother mighty title which does or does not belong to him; and that Sabinaknows full well. 

"Ah, my dear madam, how do I know that? The English ladies do every dayhere what no other dames would dare or dream--what then, must you be athome? Ach! your poor husbands!"

"Mr. Thurnall!" calls Marie, from behind. "Mr. Thurnall!"

Tom comes, with a quaint, dogged smile on his face. 

"You see him, Mr. Stangrave! You see the man who risked for me liberty, life, --who rescued me from slavery, shame, suicide, --who was to me abrother, a father, for years!--without whose disinterested heroism youwould never have set eyes on the face which you pretend to love. And yourepay him by suspicion--insult--Apologise to him, sir! Ask his pardonnow, here, utterly, humbly: or never speak to Marie Lavington again!"

Tom looked first at her, and then at Stangrave. Marie was convulsed withexcitement; her thin cheeks were crimson, her eyes flashed very flame. Stangrave was pale--calm outwardly, but evidently not within. He waslooking on the ground, in thought so intense that he hardly seemed tohear Marie. Poor fellow! he had heard enough in the last ten minutes tobewilder any brain. 

At last he seemed to have strung himself for an effort, and spoke, without looking up. 

"Mr. Thurnall!"

"Sir?"

"I have done you a great wrong!"

"We will say no more about it, sir. It was a mistake, and I do not wishto complicate the question. My true ground of quarrel with you is yourconduct to Miss Lavington. She seems to have told you her true name, soI shall call her by it. "

"What I have done, I have undone!" said Stangrave, looking up. "If Ihave wronged her, I have offered to right her; if I have left her, Ihave sought her again; and if I left her when I knew nothing, now that Iknow all, I ask her here, before you, to become my wife!"

Tom looked inquiringly at Marie. 

"Yes; I have told him all--all?" and she hid her face in her hands. 

"Well, " said Tom, "Mr. Stangrave is a very enviable person; and thematch in a worldly point of view, is a most fortunate one for MissLavington; and that stupid rascal of a gendarme has broken my revolver. "

"But I have not accepted him, " cried Marie; "and I will not unless yougive me leave. "

Tom saw Stangrave's brow lower, and pardonably enough, at this. 

"My dear Miss Lavington, as I have never been able to settle my own loveaffairs satisfactorily to myself, I do not feel at all competent tosettle other people's. Good-bye! I shall be late for the steamer. " And, bowing to Stangrave and Marie, he turned to go. 

"Sabina! Stop him!" cried she; "he is going, without even a kind word!"

"Sabina, " whispered Tom as he passed her, --"a had business--selfishcoxcomb; when her beauty goes, won't stand her temper and herflightiness: but I know you and Claude will take care of the poor thing, if anything happens to me. "

"You're wrong--prejudiced--indeed!"

"Tut, tut, tut!--Good-bye, you sweet little sunbeam. Good morning, gentlemen!"

And Tom hurried up the slope and out of sight, while Marie burst into anagony of weeping. 

"Gone, without a kind word!"

Stangrave bit his lip, not in anger, but in manly self-reproach. 

"It is my fault, Marie! my fault! He knew me too well of old, and hadtoo much reason to despise me! But he shall have reason no longer. Hewill come back, and find me worthy of you; and all will be forgotten. Again I say it, I accept your quest, for life and death. So help me Godabove, as I will not fail or falter, till I have won justice for you andfor your race! Marie?"

He conquered: how could he but conquer! for he was man, and she waswoman; and he looked more noble in her eyes, while he was confessing hispast weakness, than he had ever done in his proud assertion of strength. 

But she spoke no word in answer. She let him take her hand, pass her armthrough his, and lead her away, as one who had a right. 

They walked down the hill behind the rest of the party, blest, butsilent and pensive; he with the weight of the future, she with that ofthe past. 

"It is very wonderful, " she said at last. "Wonderful . .. That you cancare for me. .. . Oh, if I had known how noble you were, I should havetold you all at once. "

"Perhaps I should have been as ignoble as ever, " said Stangrave, "ifthat young English Viscount had not put me on my mettle by his ownnobleness. "

"No! no! Do not belie yourself. You know what he does not;--what I wouldhave died sooner than tell him. "

Stangrave drew the arm closer through his, and clasped the hand. Mariedid not withdraw it. 

"Wonderful, wonderful love!" she said quite humbly. Her theatricpassionateness had passed;--

 "Nothing was left of her, Now, but pure womanly. "

"That you can love me--me, the slave; me, the scourged; the scarred--OhStangrave! it is not much--not much really;--only a little mark ortwo. .. . "

"I will prize them, " he answered, smiling through tears, "more than allyour loveliness. I will see in them God's commandment to me, written noton tables of stone, but on fair, pure, noble flesh. My Marie! You shallhave cause even to rejoice in them!"

"I glory in them now; for, without them, I never should have known allyour worth. "

The next day Stangrave, Marie, and Sabina were hurrying home to England!while Tom Thurnall was hurrying to Marseilles, to vanish Eastward Ho. 

He has escaped once more: but his heart is hardened still. What will hisfall be like?

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

LAST CHRISTMAS EVE. 

And now two years and more are past and gone; and all whose lot it washave come Westward Ho once more, sadder and wiser men to their lives'end; save one or two, that is, from whom not even Solomon's pestle andmortar discipline would pound out the innate folly. 

Frank has come home stouter and browner, as well as heartier and wiser, than he went forth. He is Valencia's husband now, and rector, notcurate, of Aberalva town; and Valencia makes him a noble rector's wife. 

She, too, has had her sad experiences;--of more than absent love; forwhen the news of Inkerman arrived, she was sitting by Lucia's death-bed;and when the ghastly list came home, and with it the news of Scoutbush"severely wounded by a musket-ball, " she had just taken her last look ofthe fair face, and seen in fancy the fair spirit greeting in the eternalworld the soul of him whom she loved unto the death. She had hurried outto Scutari, to nurse her brother; had seen there many a sight--she bestknows what she saw. She sent Scoutbush back to the Crimea, to try hischance once more; and then came home to be a mother to those threeorphan children, from whom she vowed never to part. So the children wentwith Frank and her to Aberalva, and Valencia had learnt half a mother'sduties, ere she had a baby of her own. 

And thus to her, as to all hearts, has the war brought a discipline fromheaven. 

Frank shrank at first from returning to Aberalva, when Scoutbush offeredhim the living on old St. Just's death. But Valencia all but commandedhim; so he went: and, behold his return was a triumph. 

All was understood now, all forgiven, all forgotten, save his conduct inthe cholera, by the loving, honest, brave West-country hearts; and whenthe new-married pair were rung into the town, amid arches and garlands, flags and bonfires, the first man to welcome Frank into his rectory wasold Tardrew. 

Not a word of repentance or apology ever passed the old bulldog's lips. He was an Englishman, and kept his opinions to himself. But he had hadhis lesson like the rest, two years ago, in his young daughter's death;and Frank had thenceforth no faster friend than old Tardrew. 

Frank is still as High Church as ever; and likes all pomp andcircumstance of worship. Some few whims he has given up, certainly, forfear of giving offence; but he might indulge them once more, if hewished, without a quarrel. For now that the people understand him, hedoes just what he likes. His congregation is the best in thearchdeaconry; one meeting-house is dead, and the other dying. His choiris admirable; for Valencia has had the art of drawing to her all themusical talent of the tuneful West-country folk; and all that he needs, he thinks, to make his parish perfect, is to see Grace Harveyschoolmistress once more. 

What can have worked the change? It is difficult to say, unless it bethat Frank has found out, from cholera and hospital experiences, thathis parishioners are beings of like passions with himself; and foundout, too, that his business is to leave the Gospel of damnation to thosewhose hapless lot it is to earn their bread by pandering to popularsuperstition; and to employ his independent position, as a free rector, in telling his people the Gospel of salvation--that they have a Fatherin heaven. 

Little Scoutbush comes down often to Aberalva now, and oftener to hisIrish estates. He is going to marry the Manchester lady after all, andto settle down; and try to be a good landlord; and use for the benefitof his tenants the sharp experience of human hearts, human sorrows, andhuman duty, which he gained in the Crimea two years ago. 

And Major Campbell?

Look on Cathcart's Hill. A stone is there, which is the only earthlytoken of that great experience of all experiences which Campbell gainedtwo years ago. 

A little silk bag was found, hung round his neck, and lying next hisheart. He seemed to have expected his death; for he had put a label onit--

"To be sent to Viscount Scoutbush for Miss St. Just. "

Scoutbush sent it home to Valencia, who opened it, blind with tears. 

It was a note, written seven years before; but not by her; by Lucia ereher marriage. A simple invitation to dinner in Eaton Square, written forLady Knockdown, but with a postscript from Lucia, herself: "Do come, andI will promise not to tease you as I did last night. "

That was, perhaps, the only kind or familiar word which he had ever hadfrom his idol; and he had treasured it to the last. Women can love, asthis book sets forth: but now and then men can love too, if they be men, as Major Campbell was. 

And Trebooze of Trebooze?

Even Trebooze got his new lesson two years ago. Terrified into sobriety, he went into the militia, and soon took delight therein. He worked, forthe first time in his life, early and late, at a work which was suitedfor him. He soon learnt not to swear and rage, for his men would notstand it; and not to get drunk, for his messmates would not stand it. Hegot into better society and better health than he ever had had before. With new self-discipline has come new self-respect; and he tells hiswife frankly, that if he keeps straight henceforth, he has to thank forit his six months at Aldershott. 

And Mary?

When you meet Mary in heaven, you can ask her there. 

But Frank's desire, that Grace should become his schoolmistress oncemore, is not fulfilled. 

How she worked at Scutari and at Balaklava, there is no need to tell. Why mark her out from the rest, when all did more than nobly? The lessonwhich she needed was not that which hospitals could teach; she hadlearnt that already. It was a deeper and more dreadful lesson still. Shehad set her heart on finding Tom; on righting him, on righting herself. She had to learn to be content not to find him; not to right him, not toright herself. 

And she learnt it. Tearless, uncomplaining, she "trusted in God, andmade no haste. " She did her work, and read her Bible; and read too, again and again, at stolen moments of rest, a book which some one lenther, and which was to her as the finding of an unknown sister--Longfellow's Evangeline. She was Evangeline; seeking as she sought, perhaps to find as she found--No! merciful God! Not so! yet better sothan not at all. And often and often, when a new freight of agony waslanded, she looked round from bed to bed, if his face too, might bethere. And once, at Balaklava, she knew she saw him: but not on a sickbed. 

Standing beneath the window, chatting merrily with a group of officers--It was he! Could she mistake that figure, though the face was turnedaway? Her head swam, her pulses beat like church bells, her eyes wereready to burst from their sockets. But--she was assisting at anoperation. It was God's will, and she must endure. 

When the operation was over, she darted wildly down the stairs without aword. 

He was gone. 

Without a word she came back to her work, and possessed her soul inpatience. 

Inquiries, indeed, she made, as she had a right to do; but no one knewthe name. She questioned, and caused to be questioned, men from Varna, from Sevastopol, from Kerteh, from the Circassian coast; English, French, and Sardinian, Pole and Turk. No one had ever heard the name. She even found at last, and questioned, one of the officers who hadformed that group beneath the window. 

"Oh! that man? He was a Pole, Michaelowyzcki, or some such name. Atleast, so he said; but he suspected the man to be really a Russian spy. "

Grace knew that it was Tom: but she went back to her work again, and indue time went home to England. 

Home, but not to Aberalva. She presented herself one day at MarkArmsworth's house in Whitbury, and humbly begged him to obtain her aplace as servant to old Dr. Thurnall. What her purpose was therein shedid not explain; perhaps she hardly knew herself. 

Jane, the old servant who had clung to the doctor through his reverses, was growing old and feeble, and was all the more jealous of an intruder:but Grace disarmed her. 

"I do not want to interfere; I will be under your orders. I will bekitchen-maid--maid-of-all-work. I want no wages. I have brought home alittle money with me; enough to last me for the little while I shall behere. "

And, by the help of Mark and Mary, she took up her abode in the oldman's house; and ere a month was past she was to him as a daughter. 

Perhaps she had told him all. At least, there was some deep and pureconfidence between them; and yet one which, so perfect was Grace'shumility, did not make old Jane jealous. Grace cooked, swept, washed, went to and fro as Jane bade her; submitted to all her grumblings andtossings; and then came at the old man's bidding to read to him everyevening, her hand in his; her voice cheerful, her face full of quietlight. But her hair was becoming streaked with gray. Her face, howsoevergentle, was sharpened, as if with continual pain. No wonder; for she hadworn that belt next her heart for now two years and more, till it hadalmost eaten into the heart above which it lay. It gave her perpetualpain: and yet that pain was a perpetual joy--a perpetual remembrance ofhim, and of that walk with him from Tolchard's farm. 

Mary loved her--wanted to treat her as an equal--to call her sister: butGrace drew back lovingly, but humbly, from all advances; for she haddivined Mary's secret with the quick eye of woman; she saw how Mary grewdaily paler, thinner, sadder, and knew for whom she mourned. Be it so;Mary had a right to him, and she had none. 

 * * * * *

And where was Tom Thurnall all the while?

No man could tell. 

Mark inquired; Lord Minchampstead inquired; great personages who hadneed of him at home and abroad inquired: but all in vain. 

A few knew, and told Lord Minchampstead, who told Mark, in confidence, that he had been heard of last in the Circassian mountains, aboutChristmas, 1854: but since then all was blank. He had vanished into theinfinite unknown. 

Mark swore that he would come home some day: but two full years werepast, and Tom came not. 

The old man never seemed to regret him; never mentioned his name after awhile. 

"Mark, " he said once, "remember David. Why weep for the child? I shallgo to him, but he will not come to me. "

None knew, meanwhile, why the old man needed not to talk of Tom to hisfriends and neighbours; it was because he and Grace never talked ofanything else. 

 * * * * *

So they had lived, and so they had waited, till that week before lastChristmas-day, when Mellot and Stangrave made their appearance inWhitbury, and became Mark Armsworth's guests. 

The week slipped on. Stangrave hunted on alternate days; and on theothers went with Claude, who photographed (when there was sun to do itwith) Stangrave End, and Whitford Priory, interiors and exteriors; notforgetting the Stangrave monuments in Whitbury church; and sat, too, formany a pleasant hour with the good Doctor, who took to him at once, asall men did. It seemed to give fresh life to the old man to listen toTom's dearest friend. To him, as to Grace, he could talk openly aboutthe lost son, and live upon the memory of his prowess and his virtues;and ere the week was out, the Doctor, and Grace too, had heard a hundredgallant feats, to tell all which would add another volume to this book. 

And Grace stood silently by the old man's chair, and drank all inwithout a smile, without a sigh, but not without full many a prayer. 

It is the blessed Christmas Eve; the light is failing fast; when downthe high street comes the mighty Roman-nosed rat-tail which carriesMark's portly bulk, and by him Stangrave, on a right good horse. 

They shog on side by side--not home, but to the Doctor's house. Forevery hunting evening Mark's groom meets him at the Doctor's door tolead the horses home, while he, before he will take his bath and dress, brings to his blind friend the gossip of the field, and details to himevery joke, fence, find, kill, hap and mishap of the last six hours. 

The old man, meanwhile, is sitting quietly, with Claude by him, talking--as Claude can talk. They are not speaking of Tom just now: but theeloquent artist's conversation suits well enough the temper of the goodold man, yearning after fresh knowledge, even on the brink of the grave;but too feeble now, in body and in mind, to do more than listen. Claudeis telling him about the late Photographic Exhibition; and the old manlistens with a triumphant smile to wonders which he will never beholdwith mortal eyes. At last, --

"This is very pleasant--to feel surer and surer, day by day, that one isnot needed; that science moves forward swift and sure, under a higherguidance than one's own; that the sacred torch-race never can standstill; that He has taken the lamp out of old and failing hands, only toput it into young and brave ones, who will not falter till they reachthe goal. "

Then he lies back again, with closed eyes, waiting for more facts fromClaude. 

"How beautiful!" says Claude--"I must compliment you, sir--to see thechild-like heart thus still beating fresh beneath the honours of thegrey head, without envy, without vanity, without ambition, welcomingevery new discovery, rejoicing to see the young outstripping them. "

"And what credit, sir, to us? Our knowledge did not belong to us, but toHim who made us, and the universe; and our sons' belonged to Himlikewise. If they be wiser than their teachers, it is only because they, like their teachers, have made His testimonies their study. When werejoice in the progress of science, we rejoice not in ourselves, not inour children, but in God our Instructor. "

And all the while, hidden in the gloom behind, stands Grace, her armsfolded over her bosom, watching every movement of the old man; andlistening, too, to every word. She can understand but little of it: butshe loves to hear it, for it reminds her of Tom Thurnall. Above all sheloves to hear about the microscope, a mystery inseparable in herthoughts from him who first showed her its wonders. 

At last the old man speaks again:--

"Ah! How delighted my boy will be when he returns, to find that so muchhas been done during his absence. "

Claude is silent awhile, startled. 

"You are surprised to hear me speak so confidently? Well, I can onlyspeak as I feel. I have had, for some days past, a presentiment--youwill think me, doubtless, weak for yielding to it. I am notsuperstitious. "

"Not so, " said Claude, "but I cannot deny that such things aspresentiments may be possible. However miraculous they may seem, arethey so very much more so than the daily fact of memory? I can as littleguess why we can remember the past as why we may not, at times, be ableto foresee the future. "

"True. You speak, if not like a physician, yet like a metaphysician; soyou will not laugh at me, and compel the weak old man and his fancy totake refuge with a girl--who is not weak. --Grace, darling, you thinkstill that he is coming?"

She came forward and leaned over him. 

"Yes, " she half whispered. "He is coming soon to us: or else we are soongoing to him. It may mean that, sir. Perhaps it is better that itshould. "

"It matters little, child, if he be near, as near he is. I tell you, Mr. Mellot, this conviction has become so intense during the last week, that--that I believe I should not be thrown off my balance if he enteredat this moment. .. . I feel him so near me, sir, that--that I could swear, did I not know how the weak brain imitates expected sounds, that I heardhis footstep outside now. "

"I heard horses' footsteps, " says Claude. --"Ah, there comes Stangraveand our host. "

"I heard them: but I heard my boy's likewise, " said the old man quietly. 

The next minute he seemed to have forgotten the fancy, as the twohunters entered, and Mark began open-mouthed as usual--

"Well, Ned! In good company, eh? That's right. Mortal cold I am! Weshall have a white Christmas, I expect. Snow's coming. "

"What sport?" asked the doctor blandly. 

"Oh! Nothing new. Bothered about Sidricstone till one. Got away at lastwith an old fox, and over the downs into the vale. I think Mr. Stangraveliked it?"

"Mr. Stangrave likes the vale better than the vale likes him. I havefallen into two brooks following, Claude; to the delight of all thedesperate Englishmen. "

"Oh! You rode straight enough, sir! You must pay for your fun in thevale:--but then you have your fun. But there were a good many falls thelast ton minutes: ground heavy, and pace awful; old rat-tail had enoughto do to hold his own. Saw one fellow ride bang into a pollard-willow, when there was an open gate close to him--cut his cheek open, and lay;but some one said it was only Smith of Ewebury, so I rode on. "

"I hope you English showed more pity to your wounded friends in theCrimea, " quoth Stangrave, laughing, "I wanted to stop and pick him up:but Mr. Armsworth would not hear of it. "

"Oh, sir, if it had been a stranger like you, half the field would havebeen round you in a minute: but Smith don't count--he breaks his neck onpurpose three days a week:--by the by, Doctor, got a good story of himfor you. Suspected his keepers last month. Slips out of bed at two inthe morning; into his own covers, and blazes away for an hour. Nobodycomes. Home to bed, and tries the same thing next night. Not a soulcomes near him. Next morning has up keepers, watchers, beaters, thewhole posse; and 'Now, you rascals! I've been poaching my own covers twonights running, and you've been all drunk in bed. There are your wagesto the last penny; and vanish! I'll be my own keeper henceforth; andnever let me see your faces again!"

The old Doctor laughed cheerily. "Well: but did you kill your fox?"

"All right: but it was a burster, --just what I always tell Mr. Stangrave. Afternoon runs are good runs; pretty sure of an empty fox anda good scent after one o'clock. "

"Exactly, " answered a fresh voice from behind; "and fox-hunting is anepitome of human life. You chop or lose your first two or three: butkeep up your pluck, and you'll run into one before sun-down; and I seemto have run into a whole earthful!"

All looked round; for all knew that voice. 

Yes! There he was, in bodily flesh and blood; thin, sallow, bearded tothe eyes, dressed in ragged sailor's clothes: but Tom himself. 

Grace uttered a long, low, soft, half-laughing cry, full of thedelicious agony of sudden relief; a cry as of a mother when her child isborn; and then slipped from the room past the unheeding Tom, who had noeyes but for his father. Straight up to the old man he went, took bothhis hands, and spoke in the old cheerful voice, --

"Well, my dear old daddy! So you seem to have expected me; and gathered, I suppose, all my friends to bid me welcome. I'm afraid I have made youvery anxious: but it was not my fault; and I knew you would be certain Ishould come at last, eh?"

"My son! my son! Let me feel whether thou be my very son Esau or not!"murmured the old man, finding half-playful expression in the words ofScripture, for feelings beyond his failing powers. 

Tom knelt down: and the old man passed his hands in silence over andover the forehead, and face, and beard; while all stood silent. 

Mark Armsworth burst out blubbering like a great boy:

"I said so! I always said so! The devil could not kill him, and Godwouldn't!"

"You won't go away again, dear boy? I'm getting old--and--and forgetful;and I don't think I could bear it again, you see. "

Tom saw that the old man's powers were failing. "Never again, as long asI live, daddy!" said he, and then, looking round, --"I think that we aretoo many for my father. I will come and shake hands with you allpresently. "

"No, no, " said the Doctor. "You forget that I cannot see you, and somust only listen to you. It will be a delight to hear your voice andtheirs;--they all love you. "

A few moments of breathless congratulation followed, during which Markhad seized Tom by both his shoulders, and held him admiringly at arm'slength. 

"Look at him, Mr. Mellot! Mr. Stangrave! Look at him! As they said ofLiberty Wilkes, you might rob him, strip him, and hit him over LondonBridge: and you find him the next day in the same place, with a lacedcoat, a sword by his side, and money in his pocket! But how did you comein without our knowing?"

"I waited outside, afraid of what I might hear--for how could I tell!"said he, lowering his voice; "but when I saw you go in, I knew all wasright, and followed you; and when I heard my father laugh, I knew thathe could bear a little surprise. But, Stangrave, did you say? Ah! thisis too delightful, old fellow! How's Marie and the children?"

Stangrave, who was very uncertain as to how Tom would receive him, hadbeen about to make his amende honorable in a fashion graceful, magnificent, and, as he expressed it afterwards laughingly to Thurnallhimself, "altogether highfalutin:" but what chivalrous and courtly wordshad arranged themselves upon the tip of his tongue, were so utterlyupset by Tom's matter-of-fact bonhomie, and by the cool way in which hetook for granted the fact of his marriage, that he burst out laughing, and caught both Tom's hands in his. 

"It is delightful; and all it needs to make it perfect is to have Marieand the children here. "

"How many?" asked Tom. 

"Two. "

"Is she as beautiful as ever!"

"More so, I think. "

"I dare say you're right; you ought to know best, certainly. "

"You shall judge for yourself. She is in London at this moment. "

"Tom!" says his father, who has been sitting quietly, his face coveredin his handkerchief, listening to all, while holy tears of gratitudesteal down his face. 

"Sir!"

"You have not spoken to Grace yet!"

"Grace?" cries Tom, in a very different tone from that in which he hadyet spoken. 

"Grace Harvey, my boy. She was in the room when you came in. "

"Grace? Grace? What is she doing here?"

"Nursing him, like an angel as she is!" said Mark. 

"She is my daughter now, Tom; and has been these twelve months past. "

Tom was silent, as one astonished. 

"If she is not, she will be soon, " said he quietly, between his clenchedteeth. "Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me for five minutes, and see to myfather:"--and he walked straight out of the room, closing the doorbehind him--to find Grace waiting in the passage. 

She was trembling from head to foot, stepping to and fro, her hands andface all but convulsed; her left hand over her bosom, clutching at herdress, which seemed to have been just disarranged; her right drawn back, holding something; her lips parted, struggling to speak; her great eyesopened to preternatural wideness, fixed on him with an intensity ofeagerness;--was she mad?

At last words bubbled forth: "There! there! There it is!--the belt!--your belt! Take it! take it, I say!"

He stood silent and wondering; she thrust it into his hand. 

"Take it! I have carried it for you--worn it next my heart, till it hasall but eaten into my heart. To Varna, and you were not there!--Scutari, Balaklava, and you were not there!--I found it, only a week after!--Itold you I should! and you were gone!--Cruel, not to wait! And Mr. Armsworth has the money--every farthing--and the gold:--he has had itthese two years!--I would give you the belt myself; and now I have doneit, and the snake is unclasped from my heart at last, at last, at last!"

Her arms dropped by her side, and she burst into an agony of tears. 

Tom caught her in his arms: but she put him back, and looked up in hisface again. 

"Promise me!" she said, in a low clear voice; "promise me this one thingonly, as you are a gentleman; as you have a man's pity, a man'sgratitude in you"

"Anything!"

"Promise me that you will never ask, or seek to know, who had thatbelt. "

"I promise: but, Grace!--"

"Then my work is over, " said she in a calm collected voice. "Amen. Solettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace. Good-bye, Mr. Thurnall. I mustgo and pack up my few things now. You will forgive and forget?"

"Grace!" cried Tom; "stay!" and he girdled her in a grasp of iron. "Youand I never part more in this life, perhaps not in all lives to come!"

"Me? I?--let me go! I am not worthy of you!"

"I have heard that once already;--the only folly which ever came out ofthose sweet lips. No! Grace, I love you, as man can love but once; andyou shall not refuse me! You will not have the heart, Grace! You willnot dare, Grace! For you have begun the work; and you must finish it. "

"Work? What work?"

"I don't know, " said Tom. "How should I? I want you to tell me that. "

She looked up in his face, puzzled. His old self-confident look seemedstrangely past away. 

"I will tell _you_" he said, "because I love you. I don't like to showit to them; but I've been frightened, Grace, for the first time in mylife. "

She paused for an explanation; but she did not straggle to escape fromhim. 

"Frightened; beat; run to earth myself, though I talked so bravely ofrunning others to earth just now. Grace, I've been in prison!"

"In prison? In a Russian prison? Oh, Mr. Thurnall!"

"Ay, Grace, I'd tried everything but that; and I could not stand it. Death was a joke to that. Not to be able to get out!--To rage up anddown for hours like a wild beast; long to fly at one's gaoler and tearhis heart out;--beat one's head against the wall in the hope of knockingone's brains out;--anything to get rid of that horrid notion, night andday over one--I can't get out!"

Grace had never seen him so excited. 

"But you are safe now, " said she soothingly. "Oh, those horridRussians!"

"But it was not Russians!--If it had been, I could have borne it. --Thatwas all in my bargain, --the fair chance of war: but to be shut up by amistake!--at the very outset, too--by a boorish villain of a khan, on adrunken suspicion;--a fellow whom I was trying to serve, and whocouldn't, or wouldn't, or daren't understand me--Oh, Grace, I was caughtin my own trap! I went out full blown with self-conceit. Never was anyone so cunning as I was to be!--Such a game as I was going to play, andmake my fortune by it!--And this brute to stop me short--to make a foolof me--to keep me there eighteen months threatening to cut my head offonce a quarter, and wouldn't understand me, let me talk with the tongueof the old serpent!"

"He didn't stop you: God stopped you!"

"You're right, Grace; I saw that at last! I found out that I had beentrying for years which was the stronger, God or I; I found out I hadbeen trying whether I could not do well enough without Him: and there Ifound that I could not, Grace;--could not! I felt like a child who hadmarched off from home, fancying it can find its way, and is lost atonce. I felt like a lost child in Australia once, for one moment: butnot as I felt in that prison; for I had not heard you, Grace, then. Idid not know that I had a Father in heaven, who had been looking afterme, when I fancied that I was looking after myself;--I don't halfbelieve it now--If I did, I should not have lost my nerve as I havedone!--Grace, I dare hardly stir about now, lest some harm should cometo me. I fancy at every turn, what if that chimney fell? what if thathorse kicked out?--and, Grace, you, and you only, can cure me of my newcowardice. I said in that prison, and all the way home, --if I can butfind her!--let me but see her--ask her--let her teach me; and I shall besure! Let her teach me, and I shall be brave again! Teach me, Grace! andforgive me!"

Grace was looking at him with her great soft eyes opening slowly, like astartled hind's, as if the wonder and delight were too great to be takenin at once. The last words unlocked her lips. 

"Forgive you? What! Do you forgive me?"

"You? It is I am the brute; ever to have suspected you. My consciencetold me all along I was a brute! And you--have you not proved it to mein this last minute, Grace?--proved to me that I am not worthy to kissthe dust from off your feet?"

Grace lay silent in his arms: but her eyes were fixed upon him; herhands were folded on her bosom; her lips moved as if in prayer. 

He put back her long tresses tenderly, and looked into her deep gloriouseyes. 

"There! I have told you all. Will you forgive my baseness; and take me, and teach me, about this Father in heaven, through poverty and wealth, for better, for worse, as my wife--my wife?"

She leapt up at him suddenly, as if waking from a dream, and wreathedher arms about his neck. 

"Oh, Mr. Thurnall! my dear, brave, wise, wonderful Mr. Thurnall! comehome again!--home to God!--and home to me! I am not worthy! Too muchhappiness, too much, too much:--but you will forgive, will you not, --andforget--forget?"

And so the old heart passed away from Thomas Thurnall: and instead of itgrew up a heart like his father's; even the heart of a little child.