BOOK VII. 

CHAPTER I. 

 VIGNETTES FOR THE NEXT BOOK OF BEAUTY. 

"I quite agree with you, Alban; Honoria Vipont is a very superior younglady. "

"I knew you would think so!" cried the Colonel, with more warmth thanusual to him. 

"Many years since, " resumed Darrell, with reflective air, "I read MissEdgeworth's novels; and in conversing with Miss Honoria Vipont, methinksI confer with one of Miss Edgeworth's heroines--so rational, so prudent, so well-behaved--so free from silly romantic notions--so replete withsolid information, moral philosophy and natural history--so sure toregulate her watch and her heart to the precise moment, for the one tostrike, and the other to throb--and to marry at last a respectable steadyhusband, whom she will win with dignity, and would lose with decorum! Avery superior girl indeed. "

 ["Darrell speaks--not the author. Darrell is unjust to the more exquisite female characters of a Novelist, admirable for strength of sense, correctness of delineation, terseness of narrative, and lucidity of style-nor less admirable for the unexaggerated nobleness of sentiment by which some of her heroines are notably distinguished. ]

"Though your description of Miss Vipont is satirical, " said Alban Morley, smiling, in spite of some irritation, "yet I will accept it as panegyric;for it conveys, unintentionally, a just idea of the qualities that makean intelligent coinpanion and a safe wife. And those are the qualitieswe must look to, if we marry at our age. We are no longer boys, " addedthe Colonel sententiously. 

DARRELL. --"Alas, no! I wish we were. But the truth of your remark isindisputable. Ah, look! Is not that a face which might make anoctogenarian forget that he is not a boy?--what regular features!--and what a blush!"

The friends were riding in the park; and as Darrell spoke, he bowed to ayoung lady, who, with one or two others, passed rapidly by in a barouche. It was that very handsome young lady to whom Lionel had seen himlistening so attentively in the great crowd, for which Carr Vipont'sfamily party had been deserted. 

Yes; Lady Adela is one of the loveliest girls in Loudon, " said theColonel, who had also lifted his hat as the barouche whirled by--"andamiable too: I have known her ever since she was born. Her father and Iare great friends--an excellent man but stingy. I had much difficulty inarranging the eldest girl's marriage with Lord Bolton, and am a trusteein the settlement. If you feel a preference for Lady Adela, though Idon't think she would suit you so well as Miss Vipont, I will answer forher father's encouragement and her consent. 'Tis no drawback to you, though it is to most of her admirers, when I add, 'There's nothing withher!'"

"And nothing in her! which is worse, " said Darrell. 

"Still, it is pleasant to gaze on a beautiful landscape, even though thesoil be barren. "

COLONEL MORLEY. --"That depends upon whether you are merely the artisticspectator of the landscape, or the disappointed proprietor of the soil. "

"Admirable!" said Darrell; "you have disposed of Lady Adela. So ho! soho!" Darrell's horse (his old high-nettled horse, freshly sent to himfrom Fawley, and in spite of the five years that had added to its age, ofspirit made friskier by long repose) here put down its ears lashed out--and indulged in a bound which would have unseated many a London rider. A young Amazon, followed hard by some two or three young gentlemen andtheir grooms, shot by, swift and reckless as a hero at Balaclava. ButWith equal suddenness, as she caught sight of Darrell--whose hand andvoice had already soothed the excited nerves of his steed--the Amazonwheeled round and gained his side. Throwing up her veil, she revealed aface so prettily arch, so perversely gay--with eye of radiant hazel, andfair locks half loosened from their formal braid--that it would havebeguiled resentment from the most insensible--reconciled to danger themost timid. And yet there was really a grace of humility in theapologies she tendered for her discourtesy and thoughtlessness. As thegirl reined her light palfrey by Darrell's side-turning from the youngcompanions who had now joined her, their hackneys in a foam-and devotingto his ear all her lively overflow of happy spirits, not untempered by acertain deference, but still apparently free from dissimulation--Daxrell's grand face lighted up--his mellow laugh, unrestrained, thoughlow, echoed her sportive tones; her youth, her joyousness wereirresistibly contagious. Alban Morley watched observant, whileinterchanging talk with her attendant comrades, young men of high ton, but who belonged to that /jeunesse doree/ with which the surface of lifepatrician is fretted over--young men with few ideas, fewer duties--butwith plenty of leisure--plenty of health--plenty of money in theirpockets--plenty of debts to their tradesmen--daring at Melton--schemingat T'attersall's--pride to maiden aunts--plague to thrifty fathers--fickle lovers, but solid matches--in brief, fast livers, who get throughtheir youth betimes, and who, for the most part, are middle-aged beforethey are thirty--tamed by wedlock--sobered by the responsibilities thatcome with the cares of property and the dignities of rank--undergo abruptmetamorphosis into chairmen of quarter sessions, county members, ordecorous peers;--their ideas enriched as their duties grow--theiropinions, once loose as willows to the wind, stiffening into thepalisades of fenced propriety--valuable, busy men, changed as Henry V. , when coming into the cares of state, he said to the Chief Justice, "Thereis my hand;" and to Sir John Falstaff, "I know thee not, old roan; Fall to thy prayers!"

But meanwhile the elite of this /jeunesse doree/ glittered round FloraVyvyan: not a regular beauty like Lady Adela--not a fine girl like MissVipont, but such a light, faultless figure--such a pretty radiant face--more womanly for affection to be manlike--Hebe aping Thalestris. Flora, too, was an heiress--an only child--spoilt, wilful--not at allaccomplished--(my belief is that accomplishments are thought great boresby the jeunesse doree)--no accomplishment except horsemanship, with aslight knack at billiards, and the capacity to take three whiffs from aSpanish cigarette. That last was adorable--four offers had been advancedto her hand on that merit alone. --(N. B. Young ladies do themselves nogood with the jeunesse doree, which, in our time, is a lover that rathersmokes than "sighs, like furnace, " by advertising their horror ofcigars. ) You would suppose that Flora Vyvyan must be coarse-vulgarperhaps; not at all; she was pignaute--original; and did the oddestthings with the air and look of the highest breeding. Fairies cannot bevulgar, no matter what they do; they may take the strangest liberties--pinch the maids--turn the house topsy-turvy; but they are ever thedarlings of grace and poetry. Flora Vyvyan was a fairy. Not peculiarlyintellectual herself, she had a veneration for intellect; those fastyoung men were the last persons likely to fascinate that fast young lady. Women are so perverse; they always prefer the very people you would leastsuspect--the antithesis to themselves. Yet is it possible that FloraVyvyan can have carried her crotchets to so extravagant a degree as tohave designed the conquest of Guy Darrell--ten years older than her ownfather? She, too, an heiress--certainly not mercenary; she who hadalready refused better worldly matches than Darrell himself was--youngmen, handsome men, with coronets on the margin of their note-paper andthe panels of their broughams! The idea seemed preposterous;nevertheless, Alban Morley, a shrewd observer, conceived that idea, andtrembled for his friend. 

At last the young lady and her satellites shot off, and the Colonel saidcautiously, "Miss Vyvyan is--alarming. "

DARRELL. --"Alarming! the epithet requires construing. "

COLONEL MORLEY. --"The sort of girl who might make a man of our yearsreally and literally an old fool!"

DARRELL. --"Old fool such a man must be if girls of any sort are permittedto make him a greater fool than he was before. But I think that, withthose pretty hands resting on one's arm-chair, or that sunny face shininginto one's study windows, one might be a very happy old fool--and that isthe most one can expect!"

COLONEL MORLEY (checking an anxious groan). --"I am afraid, my poorfriend, you are far gone already. No wonder Honoria Vipont fails to beappreciated. But Lady Selina has a maxim--the truth of which myexperience attests--'the moment it comes to woman, the most sensible menare the'--"

"Oldest fools!" put in Darrell. "If Mark Antony made such a goose ofhimself for that painted harridan Cleopatra, what would he have done fora blooming Juliet! Youth and high spirit! Alas! why are these to beunsuitable companions for us, as we reach that climax in time and sorrow--when to the one we are grown the most indulgent, and of the other havethe most need? Alban, that girl, if her heart were really won--her wildnature wisely mastered, gently guided--would make a true, prudent, loving, admirable wife--"

"Heavens!" cried Alban Morley. 

"To such a husband, " pursued Darrell, unheeding the ejaculation, "as--Lionel Haughton. What say you?" "Lionel--oh, I have no objection at allto that; but he's too young yet to think of marriage--a mere boy. Besides, if you yourself marry, Lionel could scarcely aspire to a girl ofMiss Vyvyan's birth and fortune. "

"Ho, not aspire! That boy at least shall not have to woo in vain fromthe want of fortune. The day I marry--if ever that day come--I settle onLionel Haughton and his heirs five thousand a-year; and if, with gentleblood, youth, good looks, and a heart of gold, that fortune does notallow him to aspire to any girl whose hand he covets, I can double it, and still be rich enough to buy a superior companion in Honoria Vipont--"

MORLEY. --"Don't say buy--"

DARRELL. --" Ay, and still be young enough to catch a butterfly in LadyAdela--still be bold enough to chain a panther in Flora Vyvyan. Let theworld know--your world in each nook of its gaudy auction-mart--thatLione: Haughton is no pauper cousin--no penniless fortune-hunter. I wishthat world to be kind to him while he is yet young, and can enjoy it. Ah, Morley, Pleasure, like Punishment, hobbles after us, /pede claudo/. What would have delighted us yesterday does not catch us up tillto-morrow, and yesterday's pleasure is not the morrow's. A pennyworth ofsugar-plums would have made our eyes sparkle when we were scrawling pot-hooks at a preparatory school, but no one gave us sugar-plums then. Nowevery day at dessert France heaps before us her daintiest sugar-plums ingilt /bonbonnieres/. Do you ever covet them? I never do. Let Lionelhave his sugar-plums in time. And as we talk, there he comes. Lionel, how are you?"

"I resign you to Lionel's charge now, " said the Colonel, glancing at hiswatch. "I have an engagement--trouble some. Two silly friends of minehave been quarrelling--high words--in an age when duels are out of thequestion. I have promised to meet another man, and draw up the form fora mutual apology. High words are so stupid nowadays. No option but toswallow them up again if they were as high as steeples. Adieu for thepresent. We meet to-night at Lady Dulcett's concert?"

"Yes, " said Darrell. "I promised Miss Vyvyan to be there, and keep herfrom disturbing the congregation. You Lionel, will come with me. "

LIONELL (embarrassed). --"No; you must excuse me. I have long beenengaged elsewhere. "

"That's a pity, " said the Colonel, gravely. "Lady Dulcett's conceit isjust one of the places where a young man should be seen. " Colonel Morleywaved his hand with his usual languid elegance, and his hack cantered offwith him, stately as a charger, easy as a rocking-horse. 

"Unalterable man, " said Darrell, as his eye followed the horseman'sreceding figure. "'Through all the mutations on Time's dusty high-road-stable as a milestone. Just what Alban Morley was as a school-boy he isnow; and if mortal span were extended to the age of the patriarchs, justwhat Alban Morley is now, Alban Morley would be a thousand years hence. I don't mean externally, of course; wrinkles will come--cheeks will fade. But these are trifles: man's body is a garment, as Socrates said beforeme, and every seven years, according to the physiologists, man has a newsuit, fibre and cuticle, from top to toe. The interior being that wearsthe clothes is the same in Alban Morley. Has he loved, hated, rejoiced, suffered? Where is the sign? Not one. At school, as in life, doingnothing, but decidedly somebody--respected by small boys, petted by bigboys--an authority with all. Never getting honours--arm and arm withthose who did; never in scrapes--advising those who were; imperturbable, immovable, calm above mortal cares as an Epicurean deity. What canwealth give that he has not got? In the houses of the richest he chooseshis room. Talk of ambition, talk of power--he has their rewards withoutan effort. True prime minister of all the realm he cares for; goodsociety has not a vote against him--he transacts its affairs, he knowsits secrets--he yields its patronage. Ever requested to do a favour--noloan great enough to do him one. Incorruptible, yet versed to a fractionin each man's price; impeccable, yet confidant in each man's foibles;smooth as silk, hard as adamant; impossible to wound, vex, annoy him--butnot insensible; thoroughly kind. Dear, dear Alban! nature never polisheda finer gentleman out of a solider block of man!" Darrell's voicequivered a little as he completed in earnest affection the sketch begunin playful irony, and then with a sudden change of thought, he resumedlightly:

"But I wish you to do me a favour, Lionel. Aid me to repair a fault ingood breeding, of which Alban Morley would never have been guilty. Ihave been several days in London, and not yet called on your mother. Will you accompany me now to her house and present me?"

"Thank you, thank you; you will make her so proud and happy; but may Iride on and prepare her for your visit?"

"Certainly; her address is--"

"Gloucester Place, No. --. "

"I will meet you there in half an hour. "

CHAPTER II. 

 "Let observation, with expansive view, Survey mankind from China to Peru, "

--AND OBSERVATION WILL EVERYWHERE FIND, INDISPENSABLE TO THE HAPPINESS OFWOMAN, A VISITING ACQUAINTANCE. 

Lionel knew that Mrs. Haughton would that day need more than usualforewarning of a visit from Mr. Darrell. For the evening of that dayMrs. Haughton proposed "to give a party. " When Mrs. Haughton gave aparty, it was a serious affair. A notable and bustling housewife, sheattended herself to each preparatory detail. It was to assist at thisparty that Lionel had resigned Lady Dulcett's concert. The young man, reluctantly acquiescing in the arrangements by which Alban Morley hadengaged him a lodging of his own, seldom or never let a day pass withoutgratifying his mother's proud heart by an hour or two spent in GloucesterPlace, often to the forfeiture of a pleasant ride, or other temptingexcursion, with gay comrades. Difficult in London life, and at the fullof its season, to devote an hour or two to visits, apart from the trackchalked out by one's very mode of existence--difficult to cut off an hourso as not to cut up a day. And Mrs. Haughton was exacting-nice in herchoice as to the exact slice in the day. She took the prime of thejoint. She liked her neighbours to see the handsome, elegant young mandismount from his charger or descend from his cabriolet, just at thewitching hour when Gloucester Place was fullest. Did he go to a levee, he must be sure to come to her before he changed his dress, that she andGloucester Place might admire him in uniform. Was he going to dine atsome very great house, he must take her in his way (though no streetcould be more out of his way), that she might be enabled to say in theparties to which she herself repaired "There is a great dinner at LordSo-and-so's to-day; my son called on me before he went there. If he hadbeen disengaged, I should have asked permission to bring him here. "

Not that Mrs. Haughton honestly designed, nor even wished to draw theyoung man from the dazzling vortex of high life into her own littlecurrents of dissipation. She was much too proud of Lionel to think thather friends were grand enough for him to honour their houses by hispresence. She had in this, too, a lively recollection of her lostCaptain's doctrinal views of the great world's creed. The Captain hadflourished in the time when Impertinence, installed by Brummell, thoughher influence was waning, still schooled her oligarchs, and maintainedthe etiquette of her court; and even when his /misalliance/ and his debtshad cast him out of his native sphere, he lost not all the originalbrightness of an exclusive. In moments of connubial confidence, whenowning his past errors, and tracing to his sympathising Jessie the causesof his decline, he would say: "'Tis not a man's birth, nor his fortune, that gives him his place in society--it depends on his conduct, Jessie. He must not be seen bowing to snobs, nor should his enemies track him tothe haunts of vulgarians. I date my fall in life to dining with a horridman who lent me L100, and lived in Upper Baker Street. His wife took myarm from a place they called a drawing-room (the Captain as he spoke wason a fourth floor), to share some unknown food which they called a dinner(the Captain at that moment would have welcomed a rasher). The womanwent about blabbing--the thing got wind--for the first time my characterreceived a soil. What is a man without character! and character oncesullied, Jessie, man becomes reckless. Teach my boy to beware of thefirst false step--no association with parvenus. Don't cry, Jessie--I don't mean that he is to cut your--relations are quite different fromother people--nothing so low as cutting relations. I continued, forinstance, to visit Guy Darrell, though he lived at the back of Holborn, and I actually saw him once in brown beaver gloves. But he was arelation. I have even dined at his house, and met odd people there--people who lived also at the back of Holborn. But he did not ask meto go to their houses, and if he had, I must have cut him. " Byreminiscences of this kind of talk, Lionel was saved from any design ofMrs. Haughton's to attract his orbit into the circle within which sheherself moved. He must come to the parties she gave--illumine or awe oddpeople there. That was a proper tribute to maternal pride. But had theyasked him to their parties, she would have been the first to resent sucha liberty. 

Lionel found Mrs. Haughton in great bustle. A gardener's cart was beforethe street door. Men were bringing in a grove of evergreens, intended toborder the staircase, and make its exiguous ascent still more difficult. The refreshments were already laid out in the dining-room. Mrs. Haughton, with scissors in hand, was cutting flowers to fill the eperyne, but darting to and fro, like a dragonfly, from the dining-room to thehall, from the flowers to the evergreens. 

"Dear me, Lionel, is that you? Just tell me, you who go to all thosegrandees, whether the ratafia-cakes should be opposite to the spauge-cakes, or whether they would not go better--thus--at cross-corners?"

"My dear mother, I never observed--I don't know. But make haste-take offthat apron-have those doors shut come upstairs. Mr. Darrell will be herevery shortly. I have ridden on to prepare you. "

"Mr. Darrell--TO-DAY--HOW could you let him come? Oh, Lionel, howthoughtless you are! You should have some respect for your mother--I amyour mother, sir. "

"Yes, my own dear mother--don't scold--I could not help it. He is soengaged, so sought after; if I had put him off to-day, he might neverhave come, and--"

"Never have come! Who is Mr. Darrell, to give himself such airs?--Only alawyer after all, " said Mrs. Haughton, with majesty. 

"Oh, mother, that speech is not like you. He is our benefactor--our--"

"Don't, don't say very more--I was very wrong--quite wicked--only mytemper, Lionel dear. Good Mr. Darrell! I shall be so happy to see him--see him, too, in this house that I owe to him--see him by your side! Ithink I shall fall down on my knees to him. "

And her eyes began to stream. 

Lionel kissed the tears away fondly. "That's my own mother now indeed--now I am proud of you, mother; and how well you look! I am proud of thattoo. "

"Look well--I am not fit to be seen, this figure--though perhaps anelderly quiet gentleman like good Mr. Darrell does not notice ladiesmuch. John, John, makes haste with those plants. Gracious me! you'vegot your coat off!--put it on--I expect a gentleman--I'm at home, in thefront drawing-room--no--that's all set out--the back drawing-room, John. Send Susan to me. Lionel, do just look at the supper-table; and what isto be done with the flowers, and--"

The rest of Mrs. Haughton's voice, owing to the rapidity of her ascent, which affected the distinctness of her utterance, was lost in air. Shevanished at culminating point--within her chamber. 

CHAPTER III. 

 MRS. HAUGHTON AT HOME TO GUY DARRELL. 

Thanks to Lionel's activity, the hall was disencumbered--the plantshastily stowed away-the parlour closed on the festive preparations--andthe footman in his livery waiting at the door--when Mr. Darrell arrived. Lionel himself came out and welcomed his benefactor's footstep across thethreshold of the home which the generous man had provided for the widow. 

If Lionel had some secret misgivings as to the result of this interview, they were soon and most happily dispelled. For, at the sight of GuyDarrell leaning so affectionately on her son's arm, Mrs. Haughtonmechanically gave herself up to the impulse of her own warm, grateful, true woman's heart. And her bound forward, her seizure of Darrell'shand--her first fervent blessing--her after words, simple but eloquentwith feeling--made that heart so transparent, that Darrell looked itthrough with respectful eyes. 

Mrs. Haughton was still a pretty woman, and with much of that delicacy ofform and outline which constitutes the gentility of person. She had asweet voice too, except when angry. Her defects of education, of temper, or of conventional polish, were not discernible in the overflow ofnatural emotion. Darrell had come resolved to be released if possible. Pleased he was, much more than he had expected. He even inly acceptedfor the deceased Captain excuses which he had never before admitted tohimself. The linen-draper's daughter was no coarse presuming dowdy, andin her candid rush of gratitude there was not that underbred servilitywhich Darrell had thought perceptible in her epistolary compositions. There was elegance too, void both of gaudy ostentation and penuriousthrift, in the furniture and arrangements of the room. The income hegave to her was not spent with slatternly waste or on tawdry gewgaws. Toladies in general, Darrell's manner was extremely attractive--not theless winning because of a certain shyness which, implying respect forthose he addressed, and a modest undervaluing of his own merit, conveyedcompliment and soothed self-love. And to that lady in especial suchgentle shyness was the happiest good-breeding. 

In short, all went off without a hitch, till, as Darrell was takingleave, Mrs. Haughton was reminded by some evil genius of her eveningparty, and her very gratitude, longing for some opportunity to requiteobligation, prompted her to invite the kind man to whom the facility ofgiving parties was justly due. She had never realised to herself, despite all that Lionel could say, the idea of Darrell's station in theworld--a lawyer who had spent his youth at the back of Holborn, whom thestylish Captain had deemed it a condescension not to cut, might indeedbecome very rich; but he could never be the fashion. "Poor man, " shethought, "he must be very lonely. He is not, like Lionel, a youngdancing man. A quiet little party, with people of his own early rank andhabits, would be more in his way than those grand places to which Lionelgoes. I can but ask him--I ought to ask him. What would he say if I didnot ask him? Black ingratitude indeed, if he were not asked!" All theseideas rushed through her mind in a breath, and as she clasped Darrell'sextended hand in both her own, she said: "I have a little party to-night!"--and paused. Darrell remaining mute, and Lionel not suspectingwhat was to ensue, she continued: "There may be some good music--youngfriends of mine--sing charmingly--Italians!"

Darrell bowed. Lionel began to shudder. 

"And if I might presume to think it would amuse you, Mr. Darrell, oh, Ishould be so happy to see you!--so happy!"

"Would you?" said Darrell, briefly. "Then I should be a churl if I didnot come. Lionel will escort me. Of course you expect him too?"

"Yes, indeed. Though he has so many fine places to go to-and it can't beexactly what he is used to-yet he is such a dear good boy that he givesup all to gratify his mother. "

Lionel, in agonies, turned an unfilial back, and looked steadily out ofthe window; but Darrell, far too august to take offence where none wasmeant, only smiled at the implied reference to Lionel's superior demandin the fashionable world, and replied, without even a touch of hisaccustomed irony: "And to gratify his mother is a pleasure I thank youfor inviting me to share with him. "

More and more at her ease, and charmed with having obeyed her hospitableimpulse, Mrs. Haughton, following Darrell to the landing-place, added:

"And if you like to play a quiet rubber--"

"I never touch cards--I abhor the very name of them, ma'am, " interruptedDarrell, somewhat less gracious in his tones. 

He mounted his horse; and Lionel, breaking from Mrs. Haughton, who wasassuring him that Mr. Darrell was not at all what she expected, butreally quite the gentleman--nay, a much grander gentleman than evenColonel Morley--regained his kinsman's side, looking abashed anddiscomfited. Darrell, with the kindness which his fine quick intellectenabled him so felicitously to apply, hastened to relieve the youngguardsman's mind. 

"I like your mother much--very much, " said he, in his most melodiousaccents. "Good boy! I see now why you gave up Lady Dulcett. Go andtake a canter by yourself, or with younger friends, and be sure you callon me so that we may be both at Mrs. Haughton's by ten o'clock. I can golater to the concert if I feel inclined. "

He waved his hand, wheeled his horse, and trotted off towards the fairsuburban lanes that still proffer to the denizens of London glimpses ofrural fields, and shadows from quiet hedgerows. He wished to be alone;the sight of Mrs. Haughton had revived recollections of bygone days--memory linking memory in painful chain-gay talk with his youngerschoolfellow--that wild Charlie, now in his grave--his own laboriousyouth, resolute aspirings, secret sorrows--and the strong man felt thewant of the solitary self-commune, without which self-conquest isunattainable. 

CHAPTER IV. 

 MRS. HAUGHTON AT HOME MISCELLANEOUSLY. LITTLE PARTIES ARE USEFUL IN BRINGING PEOPLE TOGETHER. ONE NEVER KNOWS WHOM ONE MAY MEET. 

Great kingdoms grew out of small beginnings. Mrs. Haughton's socialcircle was described from a humble centre. On coming into possession ofher easy income and her house in Gloucester Place, she was naturallyseized with the desire of an appropriate "visiting acquaintance. " Theaccomplishment of that desire had been deferred awhile by the excitementof Lionel's departure for Paris, and the IMMENSE TEMPTATION to which theattentions of the spurious Mr. Courtenay Smith had exposed her widowedsolitude: but no sooner had she recovered from the shame and anger withwhich she had discarded that showy impostor, happily in time, than thedesire became the more keen; because the good lady felt that with a mindso active and restless as hers, a visiting acquaintance might be her bestpreservative from that sense of loneliness which disposes widows to lendthe incautious ear to adventurous wooers. After her experience of herown weakness in listening to a sharper, and with a shudder at her escape, Mrs. Haughton made a firm resolve never to give her beloved son a father-in-law. No, she would distract her thoughts--she would have a VISITINGACQUAINTANCE. She commenced by singling out such families as at varioustimes had been her genteelest lodgers--now lodging elsewhere. Sheinformed them by polite notes of her accession of consequence andfortune, which she was sure they would be happy to hear; and these notes, left with the card of "Mrs. Haughton, Gloucester Place, " necessarilyproduced respondent notes and correspondent cards. Gloucester Place thenprepared itself for a party. The ci-devant lodgers urbanely attended thesummons. In their turn they gave parties. Mrs. Haughton was invited. From each such party she bore back a new draught into her "socialcircle. " Thus, long before the end of five years, Mrs. Haughton hadattained her object. She had a "VISITING ACQUAINTANCE!" It is true thatshe was not particular; so that there was a new somebody at whose house acard could be left, or a morning call achieved--who could help to fillher rooms, or whose rooms she could contribute to fill in turn. She wascontented. She was no tuft-hunter. She did not care for titles. Shehad no visions of a column in the Morning Post. She wanted, kind lady, only a vent for the exuberance of her social instincts; and being proud, she rather liked acquaintances who looked up to, instead of looking downon her. Thus Gloucester Place was invaded by tribes not congenial to itsnatural civilised atmosphere. Hengists and Horsas, from remote Anglo-Saxon districts, crossed the intervening channel, and insulted theBritish nationality of that salubrious district. To most of suchimmigrators, Mrs. Haughton, of Gloucester Place, was a personage of thehighest distinction. A few others of prouder status in the world, thoughthey owned to themselves that there was a sad mixture at Mrs. Haughton'shouse, still, once seduced there, came again--being persons who, howeverindependent in fortune or gentle by blood, had but a small "visitingacquaintance" in town; fresh from economical colonisation on theContinent or from distant provinces in these three kingdoms. Mrs. Haughton's rooms were well lighted. There was music for some, whist forothers; tea, ices, cakes, and a crowd for all. 

At ten o'clock-the rooms already nearly filled, and Mrs. Haughton, as shestood at the door, anticipating with joy that happy hour when thestaircase would become inaccessible--the head attendant, sent with theices from the neighbouring confectioner, announced in a loud voice: "Mr. Haughton--Mr. Darrell. "

At that latter name a sensation thrilled the assembly--the name so muchin every one's mouth at that period, nor least in the mouths of the greatmiddle class, on whom--though the polite may call them "a sad mixture, "cabinets depend--could not fail to be familiar to the ears of Mrs. Haughton's "visiting acquaintance. " The interval between hisannouncement and his ascent from the hall to the drawing-room was busilyfilled up by murmured questions to the smiling hostess: "Darrell! what!the Darrell! Guy Darrell! greatest man of the day! A connection ofyours? Bless me, you don't say so?" Mrs. Haughton began to feelnervous. Was Lionel right? Could the man who had only been a lawyer atthe back of Holborn really be, now, such a very, very great man--greatestman of the day? Nonsense!

"Ma'am, " said one pale, puff-cheeked, flat-nosed gentleman, in a verylarge white waistcoat, who was waiting by her side till a vacancy in oneof the two whist-tables should occur. "Ma'am, I'm an enthusiasticadmirer of Mr. Darrell. You say he is a connection of yours? Present meto him. "

Mrs. Haughton nodded flutteringly, for, as the gentleman closed hisrequest, and tapped a large gold snuff-box, Darrell stood before her--Lionel close at his side, looking positively sheepish. The great mansaid a few civil words, and was gliding into the room to make way for thepress behind him, when he of the white waistcoat, touching Mrs. Haughton's arm, and staring Darrell full in the face, said, very loud:"In these anxious times, public men dispense with ceremony. I crave anintroduction to Mr. Darrell. " Thus pressed, poor Mrs. Haughton, withoutlooking up, muttered out: "Mr. Adolphus Poole--Mr. Darrell, " and turnedto welcome fresh comers. 

"Mr. Darrell, " said Mr. Poole, bowing to the ground, "this is an honour. "

Darrell gave the speaker one glance of his keen eye, and thought tohimself: "If I were still at the bar I should be sorry to hold a brieffor that fellow. " However, he returned the bow formally, and, bowingagain at the close of a highly complimentary address with which Mr. Poolefollowed up his opening sentence, expressed himself "much flattered, " andthought he had escaped; but wherever he went through the crowd, Mr. Poolecontrived to follow him, and claim his notice by remarks on the affairsof the day--the weather--the funds--the crops. At length Darrellperceived, sitting aloof in a corner, an excellent man whom indeed itsurprised him to see in a London drawing-room, but who, many years ago, when Darrell was canvassing the enlightened constituency of Ouzelford, had been on a visit to the chairman of his committee--an influentialtrader--and having connections in the town--and, being a very highcharacter, had done him good service in the canvass. Darrell rarelyforgot a face, and never a service. At any time he would have been gladto see the worthy man once more, but at that time he was grateful indeed. 

"Excuse me, " he said bluntly to Mr. Poole, "but I see an old friend. " Hemoved on, and thick as the crowd had become, it made way, with respect asto royalty for the distinguished orator. The buzz of admiration as hepassed--louder than in drawing-rooms more refined--would have hadsweeter music than Grisi's most artful quaver to a vainer man--nay, onceon a time to him. But--sugar plums come too late! He gained the corner, and roused the solitary sitter. 

"My dear Mr. Hartopp, do you not remember me--Guy Darrell?"

"Mr. Darrell!" cried the ex-mayor of Gatesboro', rising, "who couldthink that you would remember me?"

"What! not remember those ten stubborn voters, on whom, all and singly, I had lavished my powers of argu ment in vain? You came, and with thebrief words, 'John--Ned--Dick--oblige me-vote for Darrell!' the men wereconvinced--the votes won. That's what I call eloquence"--(sotto voce-"Confound that fellow! still after me! "Aside to Hartopp)--"Oh! may I askwho is that Mr. What's-his-name--there--in the white waistcoat?"

"Poole, " answered Hartopp. "Who is he, sir? A speculative man. He isconnected with a new Company--I am told it answers. Williams (that's myforeman--a very long head he has too) has taken shares in the Company, and wanted me to do the same, but 'tis not in my way. And Mr. Poole maybe a very honest man, but he does not impress me with that idea. I havegrown careless; I know I am liable to be taken in--I was so once--andtherefore I avoid 'Companies' upon principle--especially when theypromise thirty per cent. , and work copper mines--Mr. Poole has a coppermine. "

"And deals in brass--you may see it in his face! But you are not in townfor good, Mr. Hartopp? If I remember right, you were settled atGatesboro' when we last met. "

"And so I am still--or rather in the neighbourhood. I am graduallyretiring from business, and grown more and more fond of farming. But Ihave a family, and we live in enlightened times, when children require afiner education than their parents had. Mrs. Hartopp thought my daughterAnna Maria was in need of some 'finishing lessons'--very fond of the harpis Anna Maria--and so we have taken a house in London for six weeks. That's Mrs. Hartopp yonder, with the bird on her head--bird of paradise, I believe; Williams says birds of that kind never rest. That bird is anexception--it has rested on Mrs. Hartopp's head for hours together, everyevening since we have been in town. "

"Significant of your connubial felicity, Mr. Hartopp. "

"May it be so of Anna Maria' s. She is to be married when her educationis finished--married, by the by, to a son of your old friend Jessop, ofOuzelford; and between you and me, Mr. Darrell, that is the reason why Iconsented to come to town. Do not suppose that I would have a daughterfinished unless there was a husband at hand who undertook to beresponsible for the results. "

"You retain your wisdom, Mr. Hartopp; and I feel sure that not even yourfair partner could have brought you up to London unless you had decidedon the expediency of coming. Do you remember that I told you the day youso admirably settled a dispute in our committee-room, 'it was well youwere not born a king, for you would have been an irresistible tyrant'?"

"Hush! hush!" whispered Hartopp, in great alarm, "if Mrs. H. Should hearyou! What an observer you are, sir. I thought I was a judge ofcharacter--but I was once deceived. I dare say you never were. "

"You mistake, " answered Darrell, wincing, "you deceived! How?"

"Oh, a long story, sir. It was an elderly man--the most agreeable, interesting companion--a vagabond nevertheless--and such a prettybewitching little girl with him, his grandchild. I thought he might havebeen a wild harumscarum chap in his day, but that he had a true sense ofhonour"--(Darrell, wholly uninterested in this narrative, suppressed ayawn, and wondered when it would end). 

"Only think, sir, just as I was saying to myself, 'I know character--Inever was taken in, ' down comes a smart fellow--the man's own son--andtells me--or rather he suffers a lady who comes with him to tell me--thatthis charming old gentleman of high sense of honour was a returnedconvict--been transported for robbing his employer. "

Pale, breathless, Darrell listened, not unheeding now. "What was thename of--of--"

"The convict? He called himself Chapman, but the son's name was Losely--Jasper. "

"Ah!" faltered Darrell, recoiling. "And you spoke of a little girl?"

"Jasper Losely's daughter; he came after her with a magistrate's warrant. The old miscreant had carried her off, --to teach her his own swindlingways, I suppose. "

"Luckily she was then in my charge. I gave her back to her father, andthe very respectable-looking lady he brought with him. Some relation, Ipresume. "

"What was her name, do you remember?"

"Crane. "

"Crane!--Crane!" muttered Darrell, as if trying in vain to tax hismemory with that name. "So he said the child was his daughter--are yousure?"

"Oh, of course he said so, and the lady too. But can you be acquaintedwith their, sir?"

"I?--no! Strangers to me, except by repute. Liars--infamous liars! Buthave the accomplices quarrelled--I mean the son and father--that thefather should be exposed and denounced by the son?"

"I conclude so. I never saw them again. But you believe the fatherreally was, then, a felon, a convict--no excuse for him--no extenuatingcircumstances? There was something in that man, Mr. Darrell, that madeone love him--positively love him; and when I had to tell him that I hadgiven up the child he trusted to my charge, and saw his grief, I felt acriminal myself. "

Darrell said nothing, but the character of his face was entirely altered--stern, hard, relentless--the face of an inexorable judge. Hartopp, lifting his eyes suddenly to that countenance, recoiled in awe. 

"You think I was a criminal!" he said, piteously. 

"I think we are both talking too much, Mr. Hartopp, of a gang ofmiserable swindlers, and I advise you to dismiss the whole remembrance ofintercourse with any of them from your honest breast, and never to repeatto other ears the tale you have poured into mine. Men of honour shouldcrush down the very thought that approaches them to knaves. "

Thus saying, Darrell moved off with abrupt rudeness, and passing quicklyback through the crowd, scarcely noticed Mrs. Haughton by a retreatingnod, nor heeded Lionel at all, but hurried down the stairs. He wasimpatiently searching for his cloak in the back parlour, when a voicebehind said: "Let me assist you, sir--do:" and turning round withpetulant quickness, he beheld again Mr. Adolphus Poole. It requires anhabitual intercourse with equals to give perfect and invariable controlof temper to a man of irritable nerves and frank character; and though, where Daxrell really liked, he had much sweet forbearance, and where hewas indifferent much stately courtesy, yet, when he was offended, hecould be extremely uncivil. "Sir, " he cried almost stamping his foot, "your importunities annoy me I request you to cease them. "

"Oh, I ask your pardon, " said Mr. Poole, with an angry growl. "I have noneed to force myself on any man. But I beg you to believe that if Ipresumed to seek your acquaintance, it was to do you a service sir--yes, a private service, sir. " He lowered his voice into a whisper, and laidhis finger on his nose: "There's one Jasper Losely, sir--eh? Oh, sir, I'm no mischief-maker. I respect family secrets. Perhaps I might be ofuse, perhaps not. "

"Certainly not to me, sir, " said Darrell, flinging the cloak he had nowfound across his shoulders, and striding from the house. When he enteredhis carriage, the footman stood waiting for orders. Darrell was long ingiving them. "Anywhere for half an hour--to St. Paul's, then home. "But on returning from this objectless plunge into the City, Darrellpulled the check-string: "To Belgrave Square--Lady Dulcett's. "

The concert was half over; but Flora Vyvyan had still guarded, as she hadpromised, a seat beside herself for Darrell, by lending it for thepresent to one of her obedient vassals. Her face brightened as she sawDarrell enter and approach. The vassal surrendered the chair. Darrellappeared to be in the highest spirits; and I firmly believe that he wasstriving to the utmost in his power--what? to make himself agreeable toFlora Vyvyan? No; to make Flora Vyvyan agreeable to himself. The mandid not presume that a fair young lady could be in love with him; perhapshe believed that, at his years, to be impossible. But he asked whatseemed much easier, and was much harder--he asked to be himself in love. 

CHAPTER V. 

 IT IS ASSERTED BY THOSE LEARNED MEN WHO HAVE DEVOTED THEIR LIVES TO THE STUDY OF THE MANNERS AND HABIT OF INSECT SOCIETY, THAT WHEN A SPIDER HAS LOST ITS LAST WEB, HAVING EXHAUSTED ALL THE GLUTINOUS MATTER WHEREWITH TO SPIN ANOTHER, IT STILL. PROTRACTS ITS INNOCENT EXISTENCE, BY OBTRUDING ITS NIPPERS ON SOME LESS WARLIKE BUT MORE RESPECTABLE SPIDER, POSSESSED OF A CONVENIENT HOME AND AN AIRY LARDER. OBSERVANT MORALISTS HAVE NOTICED THE SAME PECULIARITY IN THE MANEATER, OR POCKET-CANNIBAL. 

Eleven o'clock, A. M. , Samuel Adolphus Poole, Esq. , is in his parlour, --the house one of those new dwellings which yearly spring up north ofthe Regent's Park, --dwellings that, attesting the eccentricity of thenational character, task the fancy of the architect and the gravity ofthe beholder--each tenement so tortured into contrast with the other, that, on one little rood of ground, all ages seemed blended, and allraces encamped. No. 1 is an Egyptian tomb!--Pharaohs may repose there!No. 2 is a Swiss chalet--William Tell may be shooting in its garden! Lo!the severity of Doric columns--Sparta is before you! Behold that Gothicporch--you are rapt to the Norman days! Ha! those Elizabethan mullions--Sidney and Raleigh, rise again! Ho! the trellises of China--come forth, Confucius, and Commissioner Yeh! Passing a few paces, we are in the landof the Zegri and Abencerrage:

 'Land of the dark-eyed maid and dusky Moor. '

Mr. Poole's house is called Alhambra Villa! Moorish verandahs--plate-glass windows, with cusped heads and mahogany sashes--a garden behind, a smaller one in front--stairs ascending to the doorway under a Saracenicportico, between two pedestalled lions that resemble poodles--the wholenew and lustrous--in semblance stone, in substance stucco-cracks in thestucco denoting "settlements. " But the house being let for ninety-nineyears--relet again on a running lease of seven, fourteen, and twenty-one-the builder is not answerable for duration, nor the original lessee forrepairs. Take it altogether, than Alhambra Villa masonry could devise nobetter type of modern taste and metropolitan speculation. 

Mr. Poole, since we saw him between four and five years ago, has enteredthe matrimonial state. He has married a lady of some money, and become areformed man. He has eschewed the turf, relinquished Belcher neckclothsand Newmarket coats-dropped his old-bachelor acquaintances. When a manmarries and reforms, especially when marriage and reform are accompaniedwith increased income, and settled respectably in Alhambra Villa--relations, before estranged, tender kindly overtures: the world, beforeaustere, becomes indulgent. It was so with Poole--no longer Dolly. Grant that in earlier life he had fallen into bad ways, and, amongequivocal associates, had been led on by that taste for sporting which isa manly though a perilous characteristic of the true-born Englishman; hewho loves horses is liable to come in contact with blacklegs; the raceris a noble animal; but it is his misfortune that the better his breedingthe worse his company:--Grant that, in the stables, Adolphus Samuel Poolehad picked up some wild oats--he had sown them now. Bygones werebygones. He had made a very prudent marriage. Mrs. Poole was a sensiblewoman--had rendered him domestic, and would keep him straight! His uncleSamuel, a most worthy man, had found him that sensible woman, and, havingfound her, had paid his nephew's debts, and adding a round sum to thelady's fortune, had seen that the whole was so tightly settled on wifeand children that Poole had the tender satisfaction of knowing that, happen what might to himself, those dear ones were safe; nay, that if, inthe reverses of fortune, he should be compelled by persecuting creditorsto fly his native shores, law could not impair the competence it hadsettled upon Mrs. Poole, nor destroy her blessed privilege to share thatcompetence with a beloved spouse. Insolvency itself, thus protected by amarriage settlement, realises the sublime security of VIRTUE immortalisedby the Roman muse:

 --"Repulse nescia sordidae, Intaminatis fulget honoribus; Nec sumit ant ponit secures Arbitrio popularis aurae. "

Mr. Poole was an active man in the parish vestry--he was a soundpolitician--he subscribed to public charities--he attended publicdinners he had votes in half a dozen public institutions--he talked ofthe public interests, and called himself a public man. He chose hisassociates amongst gentlemen in business--speculative, it is true, butsteady. A joint-stock company was set up; he obtained an officialstation at its board, coupled with a salary--not large, indeed, but stilla salary. 

"The money, " said Adolphus Samuel Poole, "is not my object; but I like tohave something to do. " I cannot say how he did something, but no doubtsomebody was done. 

Mr. Poole was in his parlour, reading letters and sorting papers, beforehe departed to his office in the West End. Mrs. Poole entered, leadingan infant who had not yet learned to walk alone, and denoting, by aninteresting enlargement of shape, a kindly design to bless that infant, at no distant period, with a brother or sister, as the case might be. 

"Come and kiss Pa, Johnny, " said she to the infant. "Mrs. Poole, I ambusy, " growled Pa. 

"Pa's busy--working hard for little Johnny. Johnny will be better for itsome day, " said Mrs. Poole, tossing the infant half up to the ceiling, incompensation for the loss of the paternal kiss. 

"Mrs. Poole, what do you want?"

"May I hire Jones's brougham for two hours to-day, to pay visits? Thereare a great many cards we ought to leave; is there any place where Ishould leave a card for you, lovey--any person of consequence you wereintroduced to at Mrs. Haughton's last night? That great man they wereall talking about, to whom you seemed to take such a fancy, Samuel, duck--"

"Do get out! that man insulted me, I tell you. "

"Insulted you! No; you never told me. "

"I did tell you last night coming home. "

"Dear me, I thought you meant that Mr. Hartopp. "

"Well, he almost insulted me, too. Mrs. Poole, you are stupid anddisagreeable. Is that all you have to say?"

"Pa's cross, Johnny dear! poor Pa!--people have vexed Pa, Johnny--naughty people. We must go or we shall vex him too. "

Such heavenly sweetness on the part of a forbearing wife would havesoftened Tamburlane. Poole's sullen brow relaxed. If women knew how totreat men, not a husband, unhenpecked, would be found from Indos to thePole. 

And Poole, for all his surly demeanour, was as completely governed bythat angel as a bear by his keeper. 

"Well, Mrs. Poole, excuse me. I own I am out of sorts to-day--give melittle Johnny--there (kissing the infant; who in return makes a dig atPa's left eye, and begins to cry on finding that he has not succeeded indigging it out)--take the brougham. Hush, Johnny--hush--and you mayleave a card for me at Mr. Peckham's, Harley Street. My eye smartshorribly; that baby will gouge me one of these days. "

Mrs. Poole had succeeded in stilling the infant, and confessing thatJohnny's fingers are extremely strong for his age--but, adding thatbabies will catch at whatever is very bright and beautiful, such as goldand jewels and Mr. Poole's eyes, administers to the wounded orb sosoothing a lotion of pity and admiration that Poole growls out quitemildly: "Nonsense, blarney--by the by, I did not say this morning thatyou should not have the rosewood chiffoniere!"

"No, you said you could not afford it, duck; and when Pa says he can'tafford it, Pa must be the judge--must not he, Johnny dear?"

"But perhaps I can afford it. Yes, you may have it yes, I say, you shallhave it. Don't forget to leave that card on Peckham--he's a moneyed man. There's a ring at the bell. Who is it? run and see. "

Mrs. Poole obeyed with great activity, considering her interestingcondition. She came back in half a minute. "Oh, my Adolphus--I oh, mySamuel! it is that dreadful-looking man who was here the other evening--stayed with you so long. I don't like his looks at all. Pray don't beat home. "

"I must, " said Poole, turning a shade paler, if that were possible. "Stop--don't let that girl go to the door; and you--leave me. " Hesnatched his hat and gloves, and putting aside the parlour-maid, who hademerged from the shades below in order to answer the "ring, " walkedhastily down the small garden. 

Jasper Losely was stationed at the little gate. Jasper was no longer inrags, but he was coarsely clad--clad as if he had resigned all pretenceto please a lady's eye, or to impose upon a West-End tradesman--a checkshirt--a rough pea-jacket, his hands buried in its pockets. 

Poole started with well--simulated surprise. "What, you! I am justgoing to my office--in a great hurry at present. "

"Hurry or not, I must and will speak to you, " said Jasper, doggedly. 

"What now? then, step in;--only remember I can't give you snore than fiveminutes. "

The rude visitor followed Poole into the back parlour, and closed thedoor after him. 

Leaning his arm over a chair, his hat still on his head, Losely fixed hisfierce eyes on his old friend, and said in a low, set, deterinined voice:"Now, mark me, Dolly Poole, if you think to shirk my business, or throwme over, you'll find yourself in Queer Street. Have you called on GuyDarrell, and put my case to him, or have you not?"

"I met Mr. Darrell only last night, at a very genteel party. " (Pooledeeined it prudent not to say by WHOM that genteel party was given, forit will be remembered that Poole had been Jasper's confidant in thatadventurer's former designs upon Mrs. Haughton; and if Jasper knew thatPoole had made her acquaintance, might he not insist upon Poole'sreintroducing him as a visiting acquaintance?) "A very genteel party, "repeated Poole. "I made a point of being presented to Mr. Darrell, andvery polite he was at first. "

"Curse his politeness--get to the point. "

"I sounded my way very carefully, as you may suppose; and when I had gothim into friendly chat, you understand, I began; Ah! my poor Losely, nothing to be done there--he flew off in a tangent--as much as desired meto mind my own business, and hold my tongue; and upon my life, I don'tthink there is a chance for you in that quarter. "

"Very well--we shall see. Next, have you taken any steps to find out thegirl, my daughter?"

"I have, I assure you. But you give me so slight a clue. Are you quitesure she is not in America after all?"

"I have told you before that that story about America was all bosh! astratagem of the old gentleman's to deceive me. Poor old man, " continuedJasper, in a tone that positively betrayed feeling, "I don't wonder thathe dreads and flies me; yet I would not hurt him more than I have done, even to be as well off as you are--blinking at me from your mahoganyperch like a pet owl with its crop full of mice. And if I would take thegirl from him, it is for her own good. For if Darrell could be got tomake a provision on her, and, through her, on myself, why, of course theold man should share the benefit of it. And now that these infernalpains often keep me awake half the night, I can't always shut out theidea of that old man wandering about the world, and dying in a ditch. And that runaway girl--to whom, I dare swear, he would give away his lastcrumb of bread--ought to be an annuity to us both: Basta, basta! As tothe American story--I had a friend at Paris, who went to America on aspeculation; I asked him to inquire about this Willaim Waife and hisgranddaughter Sophy, who were said to have sailed for New York nearlyfive years ago, and he saw the very persons--settled in New York--nolonger under the name of Waife, but their true name of Simpson, and gotout from the man that they had been induced to take their passage fromEngland in the name of Waife, at the request of a person whom the mailwould not-give up, but to whom he said he was under obligations. Perhapsthe old gentleman had done the fellow a kind turn in early life. Thedescription of this /soi-disant/ Waife and his grandchild settles thematter--wholly unlike those I seek; so that there is every reason tosuppose they must still be in England, and it is your business to findthem. Continue your search--quicken your wits--let me be better pleasedwith your success when I call again this day week--and meanwhile fourpounds, if you please--as much more as you like. "

"Why, I gave you four pounds the other day, besides six pounds forclothes; it can't be gone. "

"Every penny. "

"Dear, dear! can't you maintain yourself anyhow? Can't you get any oneto play at cards? Four pounds! Why, with your talent for whist, fourpounds are a capital!"

"Whom can I play with! Whom can I herd with? Cracksmen and pickpockets. Fit me out; ask me to your own house; invite your own friends; make up arubber, and you will then see what I can do with four pounds; and may goshares if you like, as we used to do. "

"Don't talk so loud. Losely, you know very well that what you ask isimpossible. I've turned over a new leaf. "

"But I've still got your handwriting on the old leaf. "

"What's the good of these stupid threats? If you really wanted to do mea mischief, where could you go to, and who'd believe you?"

"I fancy your wife would. I'll try. Hillo--"

"Stop--stop--stop. No row here, sir. No scandal. Hold your tongue, orI'll send for the police. "

"Do! Nothing I should like better. I'm tired out. I want to tell myown story at the Old Bailey, and have my revenge upon you, upon Darrell, upon all. Send for the police. "

Losely threw himself at length on the sofa--(new morocco with springcushions)--and folded his arms. 

"You could only give me five minutes--they are gone, I fear. I am moreliberal. I give you your own time to consider. I don't care if I stayto dine; I dare say Mrs. Poole will excuse my dress. "

"Losely, you are such a--fellow! If I do give you the four pounds youask, will you promise to shift for yourself somehow, and molest me nomore?"

"Certainly not. I shall come once every week for the same sum. I can'tlive upon less--until--"

"Until what?"

"Until either you get Mr. Darrell to settle on me a suitable provision;or until you place me in possession of my daughter, and I can then be ina better condition to treat with him myself; for if I would make a claimon account of the girl, I must produce the girl, or he may say she isdead. Besides, if she be as pretty as she was when a child, the verysight of her might move him more than all my talk. "

"And if I succeed in doing anything with Mr. Darrell, or discovering yourdaughter, you will give up all such letters and documents of mine as yousay you possess?"

"'Say I possess!' I have shown them to you in this pocket-book, DollyPoole--your own proposition to rob old Latham's safe. "

Poole eyed the book, which the ruffian took out and tapped. Had theruffian been a slighter man, Poole would have been a braver one. As itwas--he eyed and groaned. "Turn against one's own crony! So unhandsome, so unlike what I thought you were. "

"It is you who would turn against me. But stick to Darrell or find me mydaughter, and help her and me to get justice out of him; and you shallnot only have back these letters, but I'll pay you handsomely--handsomely, Dolly Poole. Zooks, sir--I am fallen, but I am always agentleman. "

Therewith Losely gave a vehement slap to his hat, which, crushed by thestroke, improved his general appearance into an aspect so outrageouslyraffish, that but for the expression of his countenance the contrastbetween the boast and the man would have been ludicrous even to Mr. Poole. The countenance was too dark to permit laughter. In the dress, but the ruin of fortune--in the face, the ruin of man. Poole heaved adeep sigh, and extended four sovereigns. 

Losely rose and took them carelessly. "This day week, " he said--shookhimself--and went his way. 

CHAPTER VI. 

 FRESH TOUCHES TO THE THREE VIGNETTES FOR THE BOOK OF BEAUTY. 

Weeks passed--the London season was beginning--Darrell had decidednothing--the prestige of his position was undiminished, --in politics, perhaps higher. He had succeeded in reconciling some great men; he hadstrengthened--it might be saved--a jarring cabinet. In all this he hadshown admirable knowledge of mankind, and proved that time and disuse hadnot lessened his powers of perception. In his matrimonial designs, Darrell seemed more bent than ever upon the hazard--irresolute as ever onthe choice of a partner. Still the choice appeared to be circumscribedto the fair three who had been subjected to Colonel Morley's speculativecriticism--Lady Adela, Miss Vipont, Flora Vyvyan. Much pro and con mightbe said in respect to each. Lady Adela was so handsome that it was apleasure to look at her; and that is much when one sees the handsome faceevery day, --provided the pleasure does not wear off. She had thereputation of a very good temper; and the expression of her countenanceconfirmed it. There, panegyric stopped; but detraction did not commence. What remained was inoffensive commonplace. She had no salient attribute, and no ruling passion. Certainly she would never have wasted a thoughton Mr. Darrell, nor have discovered a single merit in him, if he had notbeen quoted as a very rich man of high character in search of a wife, andif her father had not said to her: "Adela, Mr. Darrell has been greatlystruck with your appearance--he told me so. He is not young, but he isstill a very fine looking man, and you are twenty-seven. 'Tis a greaterdistinction to be noticed by a person of his years and position, than bya pack of silly young fellows, who think more of their own pretty facesthan they would ever do of yours. "

"If you did not mind a little disparity of years, he would make you ahappy wife; and, in the course of nature, a widow, not too old to enjoyliberty, and with a jointure that might entitle you to a still bettermatch. "

Darrell thus put into Lady Adela's head, he remained there, and became an/idee fixe/. Viewed in the light of a probable husband, he was elevatedinto an "interesting man. " She would have received his addresses withgentle complacency; and, being more the creature of habit than impulse, would no doubt, in the intimacy of connubial life, have blest him, or anyother admiring husband, with a resaonable modicum of languid affection. Nevertheless, Lady Adela was an unconscious impostor; for, owing to amild softness of eye and a susceptibility to blushes, a victim ensnaredby her beauty would be apt to give her credit for a nature far moreaccessible to the romance of the tender passion than, happily perhaps forher own peace of mind, she possessed; and might flatter himself that hehad produced a sensation which gave that softness to the eye and thatdamask to the blush. 

Honoria Vipont would have been a choice far more creditable to the goodsense of so mature a wooer. Few better specimens of a young lady broughtup to become an accomplished woman of the world. She had sufficientinstruction to be the companion of an ambitious man-solid judgment to fither for his occasional adviser. She could preside with dignity over astately household--receive with grace distinguished guests. Fitted toadminister an ample fortune, ample fortune was necessary to thedevelopment of her excellent qualities. If a man of Darrell's age werebold enough to marry a young wife, a safer wife amongst the young ladiesof London he could scarcely find; for though Honoria was only three-and-twenty, she was as staid, as sensible, and as remote from all girlishfrivolities, as if she had been eight-and-thirty. Certainly had GuyDarrell been of her own years, his fortunes unmade, his fame to win, alawyer residing at the back of Holborn, or a pretty squire in the pettydemesnes of Fawley, he would have had no charm in the eyes of HonoriaVipont. Disparity of years was in this case no drawback but hisadvantage, since to that disparity Darrell owed the established name andthe eminent station which made Honoria think she elevated her own self inpreferring him. It is but justice to her to distinguish here between awoman's veneration for the attributes of respect which a man gathersround him, and the more vulgar sentiment which sinks the man altogether, except as the necessary fixture to be taken in with general valuation. It is not fair to ask if a girl who entertains a preference for one ofour toiling, stirring, ambitious sex, who may be double her age or have asnub nose, but who looks dignified and imposing on a pedestal of state, whether she would like him as much if stripped of all his accessories, and left unredeemed to his baptismal register or unbecoming nose. Justas well ask a girl in love with a young Lothario if she would like him asmuch if he had been ugly and crooked. The high name of the one man is asmuch a part of him as good looks are to the other. Thus, though it wassaid of Madame de la Valliere that she loved Louis XIV: for himself andnot for his regal grandeur, is there a woman in the world, howeverdisinterested, who believes that Madame de la Valliere would have likedLouis XIV. As much if Louis XIV. Had been Mr. John Jones; Honoria wouldnot have bestowed her hand on a brainless, worthless nobleman, whateverhis rank or wealth. She was above that sort of ambition; but neitherwould she have married the best-looking and worthiest John Jones who everbore that British appellation, if he had not occupied the social positionwhich brought the merits of a Jones within range of the eyeglass of aVipont. 

Many girls in the nursery say to their juvenile confidants, "I will marrythe man I love. " Honoria had ever said, "I will only marry the man Irespect. " Thus it was her respect for Guy Darrell that made her honourhim by her preference. She appreciated his intellect--she fell in lovewith the reputation which the intellect had acquired. And Darrell mightcertainly choose worse. His cool reason inclined him much to Honoria. When Alban Morley argued in her favour, he had no escape fromacquiescence, except in the turns and doubles of his ironical humour. But his heart was a rebel to his reason; and, between you and me, Honoriawas exactly one of those young women by whom a man of grave years oughtto be attracted, and by whom, somehow or other, he never is; I suspect, because the older we grow the more we love youthfulness of character. When Alcides, having gone through all the fatigues of life, took a bridein Olympus, he ought to have selected Minerva, but he chose Hebe. 

Will Darrell find his Hebe in Flora Vyvyan? Alban Morley became more andmore alarmed by the apprehension. He was shrewd enough to recognise inher the girl of all others formed to glad the eye and plague the heart ofa grave and reverend seigneur. And it might well not only flatter thevanity, but beguile the judgment, of a man who feared his hand would beaccepted only for the sake of his money, that Flora just at this momentrefused the greatest match in the kingdom, young Lord Vipont, son of thenew Earl of Montfort, a young man of good sense, high character, well-looking as men go--heir to estates almost royal; a young man whom no girlon earth is justified in refusing. But would the whimsical creatureaccept Darrell? Was she not merely making sport of him, and if, caughtby her arts, he, sage and elder, solemnly offered homage and hand to that/belle dedaigneuse/ who had just doomed to despair a comely young magnetwith five times his fortune, would she not hasten to make hirer theridicule of London. 

Darrell had perhaps his secret reasons for thinking otherwise, but he didnot confide them even to Alban Morley. This much only will the narrator, more candid, say to the reader: If out of the three whom his thoughtsfluttered round, Guy Darrell wished to select the one who would love himbest--love him with the whole fresh unreasoning heart of a girl whosechildish forwardness sprang from childlike innocence, let him dare thehazard of refusal and of ridicule; let him say to Flora Vyvyan, in thepathos of his sweet deep voice: "Come and be the spoiled darling of mygladdened age; let my life, ere it sink into night, be rejoiced by thebloom and fresh breeze of the morning. "

But to say it he must wish it; he himself must love--love with allthe lavish indulgence, all the knightly tenderness, all the gratefulsympathising joy in the youth of the beloved, when youth for the loveris no more, which alone can realise what we sometimes see, though lothto own it--congenial unions with unequal years. If Darrell feel not thatlove, woe to him, woe and thrice shame if he allure to his hearth one whomight indeed be a Hebe to the spouse who gave up to her his whole heartin return for hers; but to the spouse who had no heart to give, or gavebut the chips of it, the Hebe indignant would be worse than Erinnys!

All things considered, then, they who wish well to Guy Darrell must rangewith Alban Morley in favour of Miss Honoria Vipont. She, profferingaffectionate respect--Darrell responding by rational esteem. So, perhaps, Darrell himself thought, for whenever Miss Vipont was named hebecame more taciturn, more absorbed in reflection, and sighed heavily, like a man who slowly makes up his mind to a decision, wise, but nottempting. 

CHAPTER VII. 

 CONTAINING MUCH OF THAT INFORMATION WHICH THE WISEST MEN IN THE WORLD COULD NOT GIVE, BUT WHICH THE AUTHOR CAN. 

"Darrell, " said Colonel Morley, "you remember my nephew George as a boy?He is now the rector of Humberston; married--a very nice sort of woman--suits him Humberston is a fine living; but his talents are wasted there. He preached for the first time in London last year, and made aconsiderable sensation. This year he has been much out of town. He hasno church here as yet. 

"I hope to get him one. Carr is determined that he shall be a Bisop. Meanwhile he preaches at--Chapel tomorrow; come and hear him with me, and then tell me frankly--is he eloquent or not?"

Darrell had a prejudice against fashionable preachers; but to pleaseColonel Morley he went to hear George. He was agreeably surprised by thepulpit oratory of the young divine. It had that rare combination ofimpassioned earnestness with subdued tones, and decorous gesture, whichsuits the ideal of ecclesiastical eloquence conceived by an educatedEnglish Churchman

 "Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full. "

Occasionally the old defect in utterance was discernible; there was agasp as for breath, or a prolonged dwelling upon certain syllables, which, occurring in the most animated passages, and apparently evincingthe preacher's struggle with emotion, rather served to heighen thesympathy of the audience. But, for the most part, the original stammerwas replaced by a felicitous pause, the pause as of a thoughtful reasoneror a solemn monitor knitting ideas, that came too quick, into method, orchastening impulse into disciplined zeal. The mind of the preacher, thusnot only freed from trammel, but armed for victory, came forth with thatpower which is peculiar to an original intellect--the power whichsuggests more than it demonstrates. He did not so much preach to hisaudience as wind himself through unexpected ways into the hearts of theaudience; and they who heard suddenly found their hearts preaching tothemselves. He took for his text: "Cast down, but not destroyed;" andout of this text he framed a discourse full of true Gospel tenderness, which seemed to raise up comfort as the saving, against despair as theevil, principle of mortal life. The congregation was what is called"brilliant"--statesmen, and peers, and great authors, and fine ladies--people whom the inconsiderate believe to stand little in need of comfort, and never to be subjected to despair. In many an intent or droopingfarce in that brilliant congregation might be read a very different tale. But of all present there was no one whom the discourse so moved as awoman who, chancing to pass that way, had followed the throng into theChapel, and with difficulty obtained a seat at the far end; a woman whohad not been within the walls of a chapel or church for long years--a grim woman, in iron grey. There she sate unnoticed, in her remotecorner; and before the preacher had done, her face was hidden behind herclasped hands, and she was weeping such tears as she had not wept sincechildhood. 

On leaving church, Darrell said little more to the Colonel than this:"Your nephew takes me by surprise. The Church wants such men. He willhave a grand career, if life be spared to him. " Then he sank into areverie, from which he broke abruptly: "Your nephew was, at school withmy boy. Had my son lived, what had been his career?"

The Colonel, never encouraging painful subjects, made no rejoinder. 

"Bring George to see me to-morrow. I shrunk from asking it before:I thought the sight of him would too much revive old sorrows; but I feelI should accustom myself to face every memory. Bring him. "

The next day the Colonel took George to Darrell's; but George had beenpre-engaged till late at noon, and Darrell was just leaving home, and athis street door, when the uncle and nephew came. They respected his timetoo much to accept his offer to come in, but walked beside him for a fewminutes, as he bestowed upon George those compliments which are sweet tothe ears of rising men from the lips of those who have risen. 

"I remember you, George, as a boy, " said Darrell, "and thanked you thenfor good advice to a schoolfellow, who is lost to your counsels now. "He faltered an instant, but went on firmly: "You had then a slight defectin utterance, which, I understand from your uncle, increased as you grewolder; so that I never anticipated for you the fame that you areachieving. Orator fit--you must have been admirably taught. In themanagement of your voice, in the excellence of your delivery, I see thatyou are one of the few who deem that the Divine Word should not beunworthily uttered. The debater on beer bills may be excused fromstudying the orator's effects; but all that enforce, dignify, adorn, makethe becoming studies of him who strives by eloquence to people heaven;whose task it is to adjure the thoughtless, animate the languid, softenthe callous, humble the proud, alarm the guilty, comfort the sorrowful, call back to the fold the lost. Is the culture to be slovenly where theglebe is so fertile? The only field left in modern times for the ancientorator's sublime conceptions, but laborious training, is the Preacher's. And I own, George, that I envy the masters who skilled to the Preacher'sart an intellect like yours. "

"Masters, " said the Colonel. "I thought all those elocution mastersfailed with you, George. You cured and taught yourself. Did not you?No! Why, then, who was your teacher?"

George looked very much embarrassed, and, attempting to answer, beganhorribly to stutter. 

Darrell, conceiving that a preacher whose fame was not yet confirmedmight reasonably dislike to confess those obligations to elaborate study, which, if known, might detract from his effect or expose him to ridicule, hastened to change the subject. "You have been to the country, I hear, George; at your living, I suppose?"

"No. I have not been there very lately; travelling about. "

"Have you seen Lady Montfort since your return?" asked the Colonel. 

"I only returned on Saturday night. I go to Lady Montfort's atTwickenham, this evening. "

"She has a delightful retreat, " said the Colonel. "But if she wishto avoid admiration, she should not make the banks of the river herfavourite haunt. I know some romantic admirers, who, when she re-appearsin the world, may be rival aspirants, and who have much taken to rowingsince Lady Montfort has retired to Twickenham. They catch a glimpse ofher, and return to boast of it. But they report that there is a younglady seen walking with her an extremely pretty one--who is she? Peopleask me--as if I knew everything. "

"A companion, I suppose, " said George, more and more confused. "But, pardon me, I must leave you now. Good-bye, uncle. Good day, Mr. Darrell. "

Darrell did not seem to observe George take leave, but walked on, his hatover his brows, lost in one of his frequent fits of abstracted gloom. 

"If my nephew were not married, " said the Colonel, "I should regard hisembarrassment with much suspicion--embarrassed at every point, from histravels about the country to the question of a young lady at Twickenham. I wonder who that young lady can be--not one of the Viponts, or I shouldhave heard. Are there any young ladies on the Lyndsay side?--Eh, Darrell?"

"What do I care?--your head runs on young ladies, " answered Darrell, withpeevish vivacity, as he stopped abruptly at Carr Vipont's door. 

"And your feet do not seem to run from them, " said the Colonel; and, withan ironical salute, walked away, while the expanding portals engulfed hisfriend. 

As he sauntered up St. James's Street, nodding towards the throngedwindows of its various clubs, the Colonel suddenly enountered Lionel, and, taking the young gentleman's arm, said: "If you are not very muchoccupied, will you waste half an hour on me?--I am going homewards. "

Lionel readily assented, and the Colonel continued "Are you in wantof your cabriolet to-day, or can you lend it to me? I have asked aFrenchman, who brings me a letter of introduction, to dine at the nearestrestaurant's to which one can ask a Frenchman. I need not say that isGreenwich: and if I took him in a cabriolet, he would not suspect that hewas taken five miles out of town. "

"Alas, my dear Colonel, I have just sold my cabriolet. " What! old-fashioned already!--True, it has been built three months. Perhaps thehorse, too, has become an antique in some other collection--silent--um!--cabriolet and horse both sold?"

"Both, " said Lionel, imefully. 

"Nothing surprises me that man can do, " said the Colonel; "or I should besurprised. When, acting on Darrell's general instructions for youroutfit, I bought that horse, I flattered myself that I had chosen well. But rare are good horses--rarer still a good judge of them; I suppose Iwas cheated, and the brute proved a screw. "

"The finest cab-horse in London, my dear Colonel, and every one knows howproud I was of him. But I wanted money, and had nothing else that wouldbring the sum I required. Oh, Colonel Morley, do hear me?"

"Certainly, I am not deaf, nor is St. James's Street. When a man says, 'I have parted with my horse because I wanted money, ' I advise him to sayit in a whisper. "

"I have been imprudent, at least unlucky, and I must pay the penalty. Afriend of mine--that is, not exactly a friend, but an acquaintance--whomI see every day--one of my own set-asked me to sign my name at Paris to abill at three months' date, as his security. He gave me his honour thatI should hear no more of it--he would be sure to take up the bill whendue--a man whom I supposed to be as well off as myself! You will allowthat I could scarcely refuse--at all events, I did not. The bill becamedue two days ago; my friend does not pay it, and indeed says he cannot, and the holder of the bill calls on me. He was very civil-offered torenew it--pressed me to take my time, &c. ; but I did not like his manner:and as to my friend, I find that, instead of being well off, as Isupposed, he is hard up, and that I am not the first he has got into thesame scrape--not intending it, I am sure. He's really a very goodfellow, and, if I wanted security, would be it to-morrow to any amount. "

"I've no doubt of it--to any amount!" said the Colonel. 

"So I thought it best to conclude the matter at once. I had savednothing from my allowance, munificent as it is. I could not have theface to ask Mr. Darrell to remunerate me for my own imprudence. I shouldnot like to borrow from my mother--I know it would be inconvenient toher. 

"I sold both horse and cabriolet this morning. I had just been gettingthe cheque cashed when I met you. I intend to take the money myself tothe bill-holder. I have just the sum--L200. "

"The horse alone was worth that, " said the Colonel, with a faint sigh--"not to be replaced. France and Russia have the pick of our stables. However, if it is sold, it is sold--talk no more of it. I hate painfulsubjects. You did right not to renew the bill--it is opening an accountwith Ruin; and though I avoid preaching on money matters, or, indeed, anyother (preaching is my nephew's vocation, not mine), yet allow me toextract from you a solemn promise never again to sign bills, nor to drawthem. Be to your friend what you please except security for him. Orestes never asked Pylades to help him to borrow at fifty per cent. Promise me--your word of honour as a gentleman! Do you hesitate?"

"My dear Colonel, " said Lionel frankly, "I do hesitate. I might promisenot to sign a money-lender's bill on my own account, though really Ithink you take rather an exaggerated view of what is, after all, a commonoccurrence--"

"Do I?" said the Colonel meekly. "I'm sorry to hear it. I detestexaggeration. Go on. You might promise not to ruin yourself--but youobject to promise not to help in the ruin of your friend. "

"That is exquisite irony, Colonel, " said Lionel, piqued; but it does notdeal with the difficulty, which is simply this: When a man whom you callfriend--whom you walk with, ride with, dine with almost every day, saysto you 'I am in immediate want of a few hundreds--I don't ask you to lendthem to me, perhaps you can't--but assist me to borrow--trust to myhonour that the debt shall not fall on you, --why, then, it seems as if torefuse the favour was to tell the man you call friend that you doubt hishonour; and though I have been caught once in that way, I feel that Imust be caught very often before I should have the moral courage to say'No!' Don't ask me, then to promise--be satisfied with my assurance that, in future at least, I will be more cautious, and if the loss fall on me, why, the worst that can happen is to do again what I do now. "

"Nay, you would not perhaps have another horse and cab to sell. In thatcase, you would do the reverse of what you do now--you would renew thebill--the debt would run on like a snowball--in a year or two you wouldowe, not hundreds, but thousands. But come in--here we are at my door. "

The Colonel entered his drawing-room. A miracle of exquisite neatnessthe room was--rather effeminate, perhaps, in its attributes; but that wasno sign of the Colonel's tastes, but of his popularity with the ladies. All those pretty things were their gifts. The tapestry on the chairstheir work--the Sevres on the consoles--the clock on the mantel-shelf--the inkstand, paper-cutter, taper-stand on the writing-table--theirbirthday presents. Even the white woolly Maltese dog that sprang fromthe rug to welcome him--even the flowers in the jardiniere--even thetasteful cottage-piano, and the very music-stand beside it--and the card-trays, piled high with invitations, --were contributions from theforgiving sex to the unrequiting bachelor. 

Surveying his apartment with a complacent air, the Colonel sank into hiseasy /fauteuil/, and drawing off his gloves leisurely said--

"No man has more friends than I have--never did I lose one--never didI sign a bill. Your father pursued a different policy--he signed manybills--and lost many friends. " Lionel, much distressed, looked down, andevidently desired to have done with the subject. Not so the Colonel. That shrewd man, though he did not preach, had a way all his own, whichwas perhaps quite as effective as any sermon by a fashionable layman canbe to an impatient youth. 

"Yes, " resumed the Colonel, "it is the old story. One always begins bybeing security to a friend. The discredit of the thing is familiarisedto one's mind by the false show of generous confidence in another. Theirwhat you have done for a friend, a friend should do for you;--a hundredor two would be useful now--you are sure to repay it in three months. To Youth the Future seems safe as the Bank of England, and distant as thepeaks of Himalaya. You pledge your honour that in three months you willrelease your friend. The three months expire. To release the onefriend, you catch hold of another--the bill is renewed, premium andinterest thrown into the next pay-day--soon the account multiplies, andwith it the honour dwindles--your NAME circulates from hand to hand onthe back of doubtful paper--your name, which, in all money transactions, should grow higher and higher each year you live, falling down everymonth like the shares in a swindling speculation. You begin by what youcall trusting a friend, that is, aiding him to self-destruction--buyinghim arsenic to clear his complexion--you end by dragging all near youinto your own abyss, as a drowning man would clutch at his own brother. Lionel Haughton, the saddest expression I ever saw in your father's facewas when--when--but you shall hear the story--"

"No, sir; spare me. Since you so insist on it, I will give the promise--it is enough; and my father--"

"Was as honourable as you when he first signed his name to a friend'sbill; and, perhaps, promised to do so no more as reluctantly as you do. You had better let me say on; if I stop now, you will forget all about itby this day twelve-month; if I go on, you will never forget. There areother examples besides your father; I am about to name one. "

Lionel resigned himself to the operation, throwing his handkerchief overhis face as if he had taken chloroform. "When I was young, " resumed theColonel, "I chanced to make acquaintance with a man of infinite whim andhumour; fascinating as Darrell himself, though in a very different way. We called him Willy--you know the kind of man one calls by his Christianname, cordially abbreviated--that kind of man seems never to be quitegrown up; and, therefore, never rises in life. I never knew a man calledWilly after the age of thirty, who did not come to a melancholy end!Willy was the natural son of a rich, helter-skelter, cleverish, maddish, stylish, raffish, four-in-hand Baronet, by a celebrated French actress. The title is extinct now, and so, I believe, is that genus of stylish, raffish, four-in-hand Baronet--Sir Julian Losely--"

"Losely!" echoed Lionel. "Yes; do you know the name?"

"I never heard it till yesterday. I want to tell you what I did hearthen--but after your story--go on. "

"Sir Julian Losely (Willy's father) lived with the French lady as hiswife, and reared Willy in his house, with as much pride and fondness asif he intended him for his heir. The poor boy, I suspect, got but littleregular education; though of course, he spoke his French mother's tonguelike a native; and, thanks also perhaps to his mother, he had anextraordinary talent for mimicry and acting. His father was passionatelyfond of private theatricals, and Willy had early practice in that line. I once saw him act Falstaff in a country house, and I doubt if Quin couldhave acted it better. Well, when Willy was still a mere boy, he lost hismother, the actress. Sir Julian married--had a legitimate daughter--diedintestate--and the daughter, of course, had the personal property, whichwas not much; the heir-at-law got the land, and poor Willy nothing. ButWilly was an universal favourite with his father's old friends--wildfellows like Sir Julian himself amongst them there were two cousins, withlarge country-houses, sporting-men, and bachelors. They shared Willybetween them, and quarrelled which should have the most of him. So hegrew up to be man, with no settled provision, but always welcome, notonly to the two cousins, but at every house in which, like Milton's lark, 'he came to startle the dull night'--the most amusing companion!--a famous shot--a capital horseman--knew the ways of all animals, fishes, and birds; I verily believe he could have coaxed a pug-dog to point, andan owl to sing. Void of all malice, up to all fun. Imagine how muchpeople would court, and how little they would do for, a Willy of thatsort. Do I bore you?"

"On the contrary, I am greatly interested. "

"One thing a Willy, if a Willy could be wise, ought to do for himself--keep single. A wedded Willy is in a false position. My Willy wedded--for love too--an amiable girl, I believe (I never saw her; it was longafterwards that I knew Willy)--but as poor as himself. The friends andrelatives then said: 'This is serious: something--must be done forWilly. ' It was easy to say, 'something must be done, ' and monstrousdifficult to do it. While the relations were consulting, his half-sister, the Baronet's lawful daughter, died, unmarried; and though shehad ignored him in life, left him L2, 000. 'I have hit it now, 'cried oneof the cousins; 'Willy is fond of a country life. I will let him have afarm on a nominal rent, his L2, 000 will stock it; and his farm, which issurrounded by woods, will be a capital hunting-meet. As long as I live, Willy shall be mounted. '

"Willy took the farm, and astonished his friends by attending to it. Itwas just beginning to answer when his wife died, leaving him only onechild--a boy; and her death made him so melancholy that he could nolonger attend to his farm. He threw it up, invested the proceeds as acapital, and lived on the interest as a gentleman at large. He travelledover Europe for some time--chiefly on foot--came back, having recoveredhis spirits--resumed his old desultory purposeless life at differentcountry-houses, and at one of those houses I and Charles Haughton methim. Here I pause, to state that Willy Losely at that time impressed mewith the idea that he was a thoroughly honest man. Though he wascertainly no formalist--though he had lived with wild sets of convivialscapegraces--though, out of sheer high spirits, he would now and thenmake conventional Proprieties laugh at their own long faces; yet, Ishould have said that Bayard himself--and Bayard was no saint--could nothave been more incapable of a disloyal, rascally, shabby action. Nay, inthe plain matter of integrity, his ideas might be called refined, almostQuixotic. If asked to give or to lend, Willy's hand was in his pocket inan instant; but though thrown among rich men--careless as himself--Willynever put his hand into their pockets, never borrowed, never owed. Hewould accept hospitality--make frank use of your table, your horses, yourdogs--but your money, no! He repaid all he took from a host by renderinghimself the pleasantest guest that host ever entertained. Poor Willy! Ithink I see his quaint smile brimming over with sly sport! The sound ofhis voice was like a cry of 'o-half-holiday' in a schoolroom. Hedishonest! I should as soon have suspected the noonday sun of being adark lantern! I remember, when he and I were walking home from wild-duckshooting in advance of our companions, a short conversation between usthat touched me greatly, for it showed that, under all his levity, therewere sound sense and right feeling. I asked him about his son, then aboy at school: 'Why, as it was the Christmas vacation, he had refused ourhost's suggestion to let the lad come down there?' 'Ah, ' said he, 'don'tfancy that I will lead my son to grow up a scatterbrained good-for-noughtlike his father. His society is the joy of my life; whenever I haveenough in my pockets to afford myself that joy, I go and hire a quietlodging close by his school, to have him with me from Saturday tillMonday all to myself--where he never hears wild fellows call me "Willy, "and ask me to mimic. I had hoped to have spent this vacation with him inthat way, but his school bill was higher than usual, and after paying it, I had not a guinea to spare--obliged to come here where they lodge andfeed me for nothing; the boy's uncle on the mother's side--respectableman in business--kindly takes him home for the holidays; but did not askme, because his wife--and I don't blame her--thinks I'm too wild for aCity clerk's sober household. '

"I asked Willy Losely what he meant to do with his son, and hinted that Imight get the boy a commission in the army without purchase. 

"'No, ' said Willy. 'I know what it is to set up for a gentleman on thecapital of a beggar. It is to be a shuttlecock between discontent andtemptation. I would not have my lost wife's son waste his life as I havedone. He would be more spoiled, too, than I have been. The handsomestboy you ever saw-and bold as a lion. Once in that set' (pointing overhis shoulder towards some of our sporting comrades, whose loud laughterevery now and then reached our ears)--'once in that set, he would neverbe out of it--fit for nothing. I swore to his mother on her death-bedthat I would bring him up to avoid my errors--that he should be nohanger-on and led-captain! Swore to her that he should be rearedaccording to his real station--the station of his mother's kin--(I haveno station)--and if I can but see him an honest British trader--respectable, upright, equal to the highest--because no rich man'sdependant, and no poor man's jest--my ambition will be satisfied. Andnow you understand, sir, why my boy is not here. ' You would say a fatherwho spoke thus had a man's honest stuff in him. Eh, Lionel!"

"Yes, and a true gentleman's heart, too!"

"So I thought; yet I fancied I knew the world! After that conversation, I quitted our host's roof, and only once or twice afterwards, at country-houses, met William Losely again. To say truth, his chief patrons andfriends were not exactly in my set. But your father continued to seeWilly pretty often. They took a great fancy to each other. Charlie, youknow, was jovial--fond of private theatricals, too; in short, they becamegreat allies. Some years after, as ill-luck would have it, CharlesHaughton, while selling off his Middlesex property, was in immediate wantof L1, 200. He could get it on a bill, but not without security. Hisbills were already rather down in the market, and he had alreadyexhausted most of the friends whose security was esteemed byaccommodators any better than his own. In an evil hour he had learnedthat poor Willy had just L1, 500 out upon mortgage; and the money-lender, who was lawyer for the property on which the mortgage was, knew it too. It was on the interest of this L1, 500 that Willy lived, having spent therest of his little capital in settling his son as a clerk in a first-ratecommercial house. Charles Haughton went down to shoot at the house whereWilly was a guest-shot with him--drank with him--talked with him--proved tohim, no doubt, that long before the three months were over the Middlesexproperty would be sold; the bill taken up, Willy might trust to hisHonour. Willy did trust. Like you, my dear Lionel, he had not moralcourage to say 'No. ' Your father, I am certain, meant to repay him; yourfather never in cold blood meant to defraud any human being; but--yourfather gambled! A debt of honour at piquet preceded the claim of a bill-discounter. The L1, 200 were forestalled--your father was penniless. Themoney-lender came upon Willy. Sure that Charles Haughton would yetredeem his promise, Willy renewed the bill another three months onusurious terms; those months over, he came to town to find your fatherhiding between four walls, unable to stir out for fear of arrest. Willyhad no option but to pay the money; and when your father knew that it wasso paid, and that the usury had swallowed up the whole of Willy's littlecapital, then, I say, I saw upon Charles Haughton's once radiant face thesaddest expression I ever saw on mortal man's. And sure I am that allthe joys your father ever knew as a man of pleasure were not worth theagony and remorse of that moment. I respect your emotion, Lionel, butyou begin as your father began; and if I had not told you this story, youmight have ended as your father ended. "

Lionel's face remained covered, and it was only by choking gasps that heinterrupted--the Colonel's narrative. "Certainly, " resumed Alban Morley, in a reflective tone "certainly that villain--I mean William Losely, forvillain he afterwards proved to be--had the sweetest, most forgivingtemper! He might have gone about to his kinsmen and friends denouncingCharles Haughton, and saying by what solemn promises he had been undone. But no! such a story just at that moment would have crushed CharlesHaughton's last chance of ever holding up his head again, and Charlestold me (for it was through Charles that I knew the tale) that Willy'sparting words to him were 'Do not fret, Charles--after all, my boy is nowsettled in life, and I am a cat with nine lives, and should fall on mylegs if thrown out of a garret window. Don't fret. ' So he kept thesecret, and told the money-lender to hold his tongue. Poor Willy! Inever asked a rich friend to lend me money but once in my life. It wasthen I went to Guy Darrell, who was in full practice, and said to him:'Lend me one thousand pounds. I may never repay you. ' 'Five thousandpounds, if you like it, ' said he. 'One will do. '

"I took the money and sent it to Willy. Alas! he returned it, writingword that 'Providence had been very kind to him; he had just beenappointed to a capital place, with a magnificent salary. ' The cat hadfallen on its legs. He bade me comfort Haughton with that news. Themoney went back into Darrell's pocket, and perhaps wandered thence toCharles Haughton's creditors. Now for the appointment. At the country-house to which Willy had returned destitute, he had met a stranger (norelation), who said to him: 'You live with these people--shoot their game--break in their horses--see to their farms--and they give you nothing!You are no longer very young--you should lay by your little income, andadd to it. Live with me and I will give you L300 a-year. I am partingwith my steward--take his place, but be my friend. ' William Losely ofcourse closed with the proposition. This gentleman, whose name wasGunston, I had known slightly in former times--(people say I knoweverybody)--a soured, bilious, melancholy, indolent, misanthropical oldbachelor. With a splendid place universally admired, and a large estateuniversally envied, he lived much alone, ruminating on the bitterness oflife and the nothingness of worldly blessings. Meeing Willy at thecountry-house to which, by some predestined relaxation of misanthropy, he had been decoyed-for the first time for years Mr. Gunston was heard tolaugh. He said to himself, 'Here is a man who actually amuses me. 'William Losely contrived to give the misanthrope a new zest of existence;and when he found that business could be made pleasant, the rich manconceived an interest in his own house, gardens, property. For the sakeof William's merry companionship, he would even ride over his farms, andactually carried a gun. Meanwhile, the property, I am told, was reallywell managed. Ah! that fellow Willy was a born genius, and could havemanaged everybody's affairs except his own. I heard of all this withpleasure--(people say I hear everything)--when one day a sporting manseizes me by the button at Tattersall's--'Do you know the news? WillLosely is in prison on a charge; of robbing his employer. '"

"Robbing! incredible!" exclaimed Lionel. 

"My dear Lionel, it was after hearing that news that I established asinvariable my grand maxim, /Nil admirari/--never to be astonished atanything!"

"But of course he was innocent?"

"On the contrary, he confessed, --was committed; pleaded guilty, and wastransported! People who knew Willy said that Gunston ought to havedeclined to drag him before a magistrate, or, at the subsequent trial, have abstained from giving evidence against him; that Willy had been tillthen a faithful steward; the whole proceeds of the estate lead passedthrough his hands; he might, in transactions for timber, have cheatedundetected to twice the amount of the alleged robbery; it must have beena momentary aberration of reason; the rich man should have let him off. But I side with the rich man. His last belief in his species wasannihilated. He must have been inexorable. He could never be amused, never be interested again. He was inexorable and--vindictive. "

"But what were the facts?--what was the evidence?"

"Very little came out on the trial; because, in pleading guilty, thecourt had merely to consider the evidence which had sufficed to commithim. The trial was scarcely noticed in the London papers. WilliamLosely was not like a man known about town. His fame was confined tothose who resorted to old-fashioned country-houses, chiefly single men, for the sake of sport. But stay. I felt such an interest in the case, that I made an abstract or praecis, not only of all that appeared, butall that I could learn of its leading circumstances. 'Tis a habitof mine, whenever any of my acquaintances embroil themselves with theCrown--" The Colonel rose, unlocked a small glazed bookcase, selectedfrom the contents a MS. Volume, reseated himself, turning the pages, found the place sought, and reading from it, resumed his narriative. "One evening Mr. Gunston came to William Losely's private apartment. Losely had two or three rooms appropriated to himself in one side of thehouse; which was built in a quadrangle round a courtyard. When Loselyopened his door to Mr. Gunston's knock, it struck Mr. Gunston that hismanner seemed confused. After some talk on general subjects, Losely saidthat he had occasion to go to London next morning for a few days onprivate business of his own. This annoyed Mr. Gunston. He observed thatLosely's absence just then would be inconvenient. He reminded him that atradesman, who lived at a distance, was coming over the next day to bepaid for a vinery he had lately erected, and on the charge for whichthere was a dispute. Could not Losely at least stay to settle it?Losely replied, 'that he had already, by correspondence, adjusted thedispute, having suggested deductions which the tradesman had agreed to, and that Mr. Gunston would only have to give a cheque for the balance-viz. L270. ' Thereon Mr. Gunston remarked: 'If you were not in the habitof paying my bills for me out of what you receive, you would know that Iseldom give cheques. I certainly shall not give one now, for I have themoney in the house. ' Losely observed 'That is a bad habit of yourskeeping large sums in your own house. You may be robbed. ' Gunstonanswered 'Safer than lodging large sums in a country bank. Country banksbreak. My grandfather lost L1, 000 by the failure of a country bank; andmy father, therefore, always took his payments in cash, remitting them toLondon from time to time as he went thither himself. I do the same, andI have never been robbed of a farthing that I know of. Who would rob agreat house like this, full of menservants?'--'That's true, ' said Losely;'so if you are sure you have as much by you, you will pay the bill andhave done with it. I shall be back before Sparks the builder comes to bepaid for the new barn to the home farm-that will be L600; but I shall betaking money for timber next week. He can be paid out of that. '

GUNSTON. --'No. I will pay Sparks, too, out of what I have in my bureau;and the timber-merchant can pay his debt into my London banker's. '

LOSELY. --'DO you mean that you have enough for both these bills actuallyin the house?'

GUNSTON. --'Certainly, in the bureau in my study. I don't know howmuch I've got. It may be L1, 500--it may be L1, 700. I have not counted;I am such a bad man of business; but I am sure it is more than L1, 400. 'Losely made some jocular observation to the effect that if Gunston neverkept an account of what be had, he could never tell whether he wasrobbed, and, therefore, never would be robbed; since, according toOthello, 'He that is robbed, not wanting what is stolen, Let him not know it, and He's not robbed at all. '

"After that, Losely became absent in manner, and seemed impatient to getrid of Mr. Gunston, hinting that he had the labour-book to look over, andsome orders to write out for the bailiff, and that he should start earlythe next morning. "

Here the Colonel looked up from his MS. , and said episodically: "Perhapsyou will fancy that these dialogues are invented by me after the fashionof the ancient historians? Not so. I give you the report of whatpassed, as Gunston repeated it verbatim; and I suspect that his memorywas pretty accurate. Well (here Alban returned to his MS. ) Gunston leftWilly, and went into his own study, where he took tea by himself. Whenhis valet brought it in, he told the man that Mr. Losely was going totown early the next morning, and ordered the servant to see himself thatcoffee was served to Mr. Losely before he went. The servant observed'that Mr. Losely had seemed much out of sorts lately, and that it wasperhaps some unpleasant affair connected with the gentleman who had cometo see him two days before. ' Gunston had not heard of such a visit. 

"Losely had not mentioned it. When the servant retired, Gunston, thinkingover Losely's quotation respecting his money, resolved to ascertain whathe had in his bureau. He opened it, examined the drawers, and found, stowed away in different places at different times, a larger sum than hehad supposed--gold and notes to the amount of L1, 975, of which nearlyL300 were in sovereigns. He smoothed the notes carefully; and, for wantof other occupation, and with a view of showing Losely that he couldprofit by a hint, he entered the numbers of the notes in his pocketbook, placed them all together in one drawer with the gold, relocked hisbureau, and went shortly afterwards to bed. The next day (Losely havinggone in the morning) the tradesman came to be paid for the vinery. Gunston went to his bureau, took out his notes, and found L250 were gone. He could hardly believe his senses. Had he made a mistake in counting?No. There was his pocket book, the missing notes entered duly therein. Then he re-re-counted the sovereigns; 142 were gone of them--nearlyL400 in all thus abstracted. He refused at first to admit suspicion ofLosely; but, on interrogating his servants, the valet deposed, that hewas disturbed about two o'clock in the morning by the bark of the house-dog, which was let loose of a night within the front courtyard of thehouse. Not apprehending robbers, but fearing the dog might also disturbhis master, he got out of his window (being on the ground-flour) topacify the animal; that he then saw, in the opposite angle of thebuilding, a light moving along the casement of the passage betweenLosely's rooms and Mr. Gunston's study. Surprised at this, at such anhour, he approached that part of the building and saw the light veryfaintly through the chinks in the shutters of the study. The passagewindows had no shutters, being old-fashioned stone mullions. He waitedby the wall a few minutes, when the light again reappeared in thepassage; and he saw a figure in a cloak, which, being in a peculiarcolour, he recognised at once as Losely's, pass rapidly along; but beforethe figure had got half through the passage, the light was extinguished, and the servant could see no more. But so positive was he, from hisrecognition of the cloak, that the man was Losely, that he ceased to feelalarm or surprise, thinking, on reflection, that Losely, sitting up laterthan usual to transact business before his departure, might have goneinto his employer's study for any book or paper which he might have leftthere. The dog began barking again, and seemed anxious to get out of thecourtyard to which he was confined; but the servant graduallyappeased him--went to bed, and somewhat overslept himself. When heawoke, he hastened to take the coffee into Losely's room, but Losely wasgone. Here there was another suspicious circumstance. It had been aquestion how the bureau had been opened, the key being safe in Gunston'spossession, and there being no sign of force. The lock was one of thoserude old-fashioned ones which are very easily picked, but to which amodern key does not readily fit. In the passage there was found a longnail crooked at the end; and that nail, the superintendent of the police(who had been summoned) had the wit to apply to the lock of the bureau, and it unlocked and re-locked it easily. It was clear that whoever hadso shaped the nail could not have used such an instrument for the firsttime, and must be a practised picklock. That, one would suppose atfirst, might exonerate Losely; but he was so clever a fellow at allmechanical contrivances that, coupled with the place of finding, the nailmade greatly against him; and still more so when some nails preciselysimilar were found on the chimney-piece of an inner room in hisapartment, a room between that in which he had received Guar ston and hisbed-chamber, and used by him both as study and workshop. The nails, indeed, which were very long and narrow, with a Gothic ornamental head, were at once recognised by the carpenter on the estate as having beenmade according to Losely's directions, for a garden bench to be placed inGunston's favourite walk, Gunston having remarked, some days before, thathe should like a seat there, and Losely having undertaken to make onefrom a design by Pugin. Still loth to believe in Losely's guilt, Gunstonwent to London with the police superintendent, the valet, and theneighbouring attorney. They had no difficulty in finding Losely; he wasat his son's lodgings in the City, near the commercial house in which theson was a clerk. On being told of the robbery, he seemed at firstunaffectedly surprised, evincing no fear. He was asked whether he hadgone into the study about two o'clock in the morning. He said, 'No; whyshould I?' The valet exclaimed: 'But I saw you--I knew you by that oldgrey cloak, with the red lining. Why, there it is now--on that chairyonder. I'll swear it is the same. ' Losely then began to tremblevisibly, and grew extremely pale. A question was next put to him as tothe nail, but he secured quite stupefied, muttering: 'Good heavens! thecloak--you mean to say you saw that cloak?' They searched his person-found on him some sovereigns, silver, and one bank-note for five pounds. The number on that bank-note corresponded with a number in Gunston'spocket-book. He was asked to say where he got that five-pound note. Herefused to answer. Gunston said: 'It is one of the notes stolen fromme!' Losely cried fiercely: 'Take care what you say. How do you know?'Gunston replied: 'I took an account of the numbers of my notes on leavingyour room. Here is the memorandum in my pocket-book--see--' Loselylooked, and fell back as if shot. Losely's brother-in-law was in theroom at the time, and he exclaimed, 'Oh, William! you can't be guilty. You are the honestest fellow in the world. There must be some mistake, gentlemen. Where did you get the note, William--say?'

"Losely made no answer, but seemed lost in thought or stupefaction. 'Iwill go for your son, William--perhaps he may help to explain. ' Loselythen seemed to wake up. 'My son! what! would you expose me before myson? he's gone into the country, as you know. What has he to do withit? I took the notes--there--I have confessed. --Have done with it, '--or words to that effect. 

"Nothing more of importance, " said the Colonel, turning over the leavesof his MS. , "except to account for the crime. And here we come back tothe money-lender. You remember the valet said that a gentleman hadcalled on Losely two days before the robbery. This proved to be theidentical bill-discounter to whom Losely had paid away his fortune. Thisperson deposed that Losely had written to him some days before, statingthat he wanted to borrow two or three hundred pounds, which he couldrepay by instalments out of his salary. What would be the terms? Themoney-lender, having occasion to be in the neighbourhood, called todiscuss the matter in person, and to ask if Losely could not get someother person to join in security--suggesting his brother-in-law. Loselyreplied that it was a favour he would never ask of any one; that hisbrother-in-law had no pecuniary means beyond his salary as a seniorclerk; and, supposing that he (Losely) lost his place, which he might anyday, if Gunston were displeased with him--how then could he be sure thathis debt would not fall on the security? Upon which the money-lenderremarked that the precarious nature of his income was the very reason whya security was wanted. And Losely answered, 'Ay; but you know that youincur that risk, and charge accordingly. Between me and you the debt andthe hazard are mere matter of business, but between me and my security itwould be a matter of honour. ' Finally the money-lender agreed to findthe sum required, though asking very high terms. Losely said he wouldconsider, and let him know. There the conversation ended. But Gunstoninquired 'if Losely had ever had dealings with the money-lender before, and for what purpose it was likely he would leant the money now;' and themoney-lender answered 'that probably Losely had some sporting or gamingspeculations on the sly, for that it was to pay a gambling debt that hehad joined Captain Haughton in a bill for L1, 200. ' And Gunstonafterwards told a friend of mine that this it was that decided him toappear as a witness at the trial; and you will observe that if Gunstonhad kept away there would have been no evidence sufficient to insureconviction. But Gunston considered that the man who could gamble awayhis whole fortune must be incorrigible, and that Losely, having concealedfrom him that he had become destitute by such transactions, must havebeen more than a mere security in a joint bill with Captain Haughton. 

"Gunston could never have understood such an inconsistency in humannature, that the same man who broke open his bureau should have becomeresponsible to the amount of his fortune for a debt of which he had notshared the discredit, and still less that such a man should, in case hehad been so generously imprudent, have concealed his loss out of delicatetenderness for the character of the man to whom he owed his ruin. Therefore, in short, Gunston looked on his dishonest steward not as a mantempted by a sudden impulse in some moment of distress, at which aprevious life was belied, but as a confirmed, dissimulating sharper, towhom public justice allowed no mercy. And thus, Lionel, William Loselywas prosecuted, tried, and sentenced to seven years' transportation. Bypleading guilty, the term was probably made shorter than it otherwisewould have been. "

Lionel continued too agitated for words. The Colonel, not seeming toheed his emotions, again ran his eye over the MS. 

"I observe here that there are some queries entered as to the evidenceagainst Losely. The solicitor whom, when I heard of his arrest, Iengaged and sent down to the place on his behalf--"

"You did! Heaven reward you!" sobbed out Lionel. "But my father?--where was he?"

"Then?--in his grave. "

Lionel breathed a deep sigh, as of thankfulness. 

"The lawyer, I say--a sharp fellow--was of opinion that if Losely hadrefused to plead guilty, he could have got him off in spite of his firstconfession--turned the suspicion against some one else. In the passagewhere the nail was picked up there was a door into the park. That doorwas found unbolted in the inside the next morning: a thief mighttherefore have thus entered and passed at once into the study. The nailwas discovered close by the door; the thief might have dropped it onputting out his light, which, by the valet's account, he must have donewhen he was near the door in question, and required the light no more. Another circumstance in Losely's favour: just outside the door, near alaurel-bush, was found the fag-end of one of those small rose-colouredwax-lights which are often placed in Lucifer-match boxes. If this hadbeen used by the thief, it would seem as if, extinguishing the lightbefore he stepped into the air, he very naturally jerked away the morselof taper left, when, in the next moment, he was out of the house. ButLosely would not have gone out of the house; nor was he, nor any oneabout the premises, ever known to make use of that kind of taper, whichwould rather appertain to the fashionable fopperies of a London dandy. You will have observed, too, the valet had not seen the thief's face. His testimony rested solely on the colours of a cloak, which, on cross-examination; might have gone for nothing. The dog had barked before thelight was seen. It was not the light that made him bark. He wished toget out of the courtyard; that looked as if there were some stranger inthe grounds beyond. Following up this clue, the lawyer ascertained thata strange man had been seen in the park towards the grey of the evening, walking up in the direction of the house. And here comes the strongpoint. At the railway station, about five miles from Mr. Gunston's, astrange man had arrived just in time to take his place in the night-trainfrom the north towards London, stopping there at four o'clock in themorning. The station-master remembered the stranger buying the ticket, but did not remark his appearance. The porter did, however, so farnotice him as he hurried into a first-class carriage, that he saidafterwards to the stationmaster: 'Why, that gentleman has a grey cloakjust like Mr. Losely's. If he had not been thinner and taller, I shouldhave thought it was Mr. Losely. ' Well, Losely went to the same stationthe next morning, taking an early train, going thither on foot, with hiscarpet-bag in his hand; and both the porter and station-master declaredthat he had no cloak on him at the time; and as he got into a second-class carriage, the porter even said to him: "Tis a sharp morning, sir;I'm afraid you'll be cold. ' Furthermore, as to the purpose for whichLosely had wished to borrow of the money-lender, his brother-in-lawstated that Losely's son had been extravagant, had contracted debts, andwas even hiding from his creditors in a county town, at which WilliamLosely had stopped for a few hours on his way to London. He knew theyoung man's employer had written kindly to Losely several days before, lamenting the son's extravagance; intimating that unless his debts weredischarged he must lose the situation, in which otherwise he might soonrise to competence, for that he was quick and sharp; and that it wasimpossible not to feel indulgent towards him, he was so lively and sogood-looking. The trader added that he would forbear to dismiss theyoung man as long as he could. It was on the receipt of that letter thatLosely had entered into communication with the money-lender, whom he hadcome to town to seek, and to whose house he was actually going at thevery hour of Gunston's arrival. But why borrow of the money-lender, ifhe had just stolen more money than he had any need to borrow?

The most damning fact against Losely, by the discovery in his possessionof the L5 note, of which Mr. Gunston deposed to have taken the number, was certainly hard to get over; still an ingenious lawyer might havethrown doubt on Gunstun's testimony--a man confessedly so careless mighthave mistaken the number, &c. The lawyer went, with these hints fordefence, to see Losely himself in prison; but Losely declined his help--became very angry--said that he would rather suffer death itself thanhave suspicion transferred to some innocent man; and that, as to thecloak, it had been inside his carpet-bag. So you see, bad as he was, there was something inconsistently honourable left in him still. PoorWilly! he would not even subpeena any of his old friends as to hisgeneral character. But even if he had, what could the Court do since hepleaded guilty? And now dismiss that subject, it begins to pain meextremely. You were to speak to me about some one of the same name whenmy story was concluded. What is it?"

"I am so confused, " faltered Lionel, still quivering with emotion, "thatI can scarcely answer you--scarcely recollect myself. But--but--whileyou were describing this poor William Losely, his talent for mimicry andacting, I could not help thinking that I had seen him. " Lionel proceededto speak of Gentleman Waife. "Can that be the man?"

Alban shook his head incredulously. He thought it so like a romanticyouth to detect imaginary resemblances. 

"No, " said he, "my dear boy. My William Losely could never become astrolling-player in a village fair. Besides, I have good reason tobelieve that Willy is well off; probably made money in the colony by somelucky hit for when do you say you saw your stroller? Five years ago?Well, not very long before that date-perhaps a year or two-less than twoyears, I am sure-this eccentric rascal sent Mr. Gunston, the man who hadtransported him, L100! Gunston, you must know, feeling more than everbored and hipped when he lost Willy, tried to divert himself by becomingdirector in some railway company. The company proved a bubble; allturned their indignation on the one rich man who could pay where otherscheated. Gunston was ruined--purse and character--fled to Calais; andthere, less than seven years ago, when in great distress, he receivedfrom poor Willy a kind, affectionate, forgiving letter, and L100. I havethis from Gunston's nearest relation, to whom he told it, crying like achild. Willy gave no address! but it is clear that at the time he musthave been too well off to turn mountebank at your miserable exhibition. Poor, dear, rascally, infamous, big-hearted Willy, " burst out theColonel. "I wish to heaven he had only robbed me!"

"Sir, " said Lionel, "rely upon it, that man you described never robbedany one--'tis impossible. "

"No--very possible!--human nature, " said Alban Morley. "And, after all, he really owed Gunston that L100. For, out of the sum stolen, Gunstonreceived anonymously, even before the trial, all the missing notes, minusabout that L100; and Willy, therefore, owed Gunston the money, but not, perhaps, that kind, forgiving letter. Pass on--quick--the subject isworse than the gout. You have heard before the name of Losely--possibly. There are many members of the old Baronet's family; but when or where didyou hear it?"

"I will tell you; the man who holds the bill (ah, the word sickens me)reminded me when he called that I had seen him at my mother's house--achance acquaintance of hers--professed great regard for me--greatadmiration for Mr. Darrell--and then surprised me by asking if I hadnever heard Mr. Darrell speak of Mr. Jasper Losely. "

"Jasper!" said the Colonel; "Jasper!--well, go on. " "When I answered, 'No, ' Mr. Poole (that is his name) shook his head, and muttered: 'A sadaffair--very bad business--I could do Mr. Darrell a great service if hewould let me;' and then went on talking what seemed to me impertinentgibberish about 'family exposures' and 'poverty making men desperate, 'and 'better compromise matters;' and finally wound up by begging me, 'ifI loved Mr. Darrell, and wished to guard him from very great annoyanceand suffering, to persuade him to give Mr. Poole an interview. ' Then hetalked about his own character in the City, and so forth, and entreatingme 'not to think of paying him till quite convenient; that he would keepthe bill in his desk; nobody should know of it; too happy to do me afavour'--laid his card on the table, and went away. Tell me, should Isay anything to Mr. Darrell about this or not?"

"Certainly not, till I have seen Mr. Poole myself. You have the money topay him about you? Give it to me, with Mr. Poole's address; I will call, and settle the matter. Just ring the bell. " (To the servant entering)"Order my horse round. " Then, when they were again alone, turning toLionel, abruptly laying one hand on leis shoulder, with the othergrasping his hand warmly, cordially: "Young man, " said Alban Morley, "Ilove you--I am interested in you-who would not be? I have gone throughthis story; put myself positively to pain--which I hate--solely for yourgood. You see what usury and money-lenders bring men to. Look me in theface! Do you feel now that you would have the 'moral courage' you beforedoubted of? Have you done with such things for ever?"

"For ever, so help me Heaven! The lesson has been cruel, but I do thankand bless you for it. "

"I knew you would. Mark this! never treat money affairs with levity--MONEY is CHARACTER! Stop. I have bared a father's fault to a son. Itwas necessary--or even in his grave those faults might have revived inyou. Now, I add this, if Charles Haughton--like you, handsome, high-spirited, favoured by men, spoiled by women--if Charles Haughton, onentering life, could have seen, in the mirror I have held up to you, theconsequences of pledging the morrow to pay for to-day, Charles Haughtonwould have been shocked as you are, cured as you will be. Humbled byyour own first error, be lenient to all his. Take up his life where Ifirst knew it: when his heart was loyal, his lips truthful. Raze out theinterval; imagine that he gave birth to you in order to replace theleaves of existence we thus blot out and tear away. In every erroravoided say, 'Thus the father warns the son;' in every honourable action, or hard self-sacrifice, say, 'Thus the son pays a father's debt. '"

Lionel, clasping his hands together, raised his eyes streaming withtears, as if uttering inly a vow to Heaven. The Colonel bowed hissoldier-crest with religious reverence, and glided from the roomnoiselessly. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

 BEING BUT ONE OF THE CONSIDERATE PAUSES IN A LONG JOURNEY, CHARITABLY AFFORDED TO THE READER. 

Colonel Morley found Mr. Poole at home, just returned from his office;he stayed with that gentleman nearly an hour, and then went straight toDarrell. As the time appointed to meet the French acquaintance, whodepended on his hospitalities for a dinner, was now nearly arrived, Alban's conference with his English friend was necessarily brief andhurried, though long enough to confirm one fact in Mr. Poole's statement, which had been unknown to the Colonel before that day, and the admissionof which inflicted on Guy Darrell a pang as sharp as ever wrenchedconfession from the lips of a prisoner in the cells of the Inquisition. On returning from Greenwich, and depositing his Frenchman in somemelancholy theatre, time enough for that resentful foreigner to witnesstheft and murder committed upon an injured countryman's vaudeville, Albanhastened again to Carlton Gardens. He found Darrell alone, pacing hisfloor to and fro, in the habit he had acquired in earlier life, perhapswhen meditating some complicated law case, or wrestling with himselfagainst some secret sorrow. There are men of quick nerves who require acertain action of the body for the better composure of the mind; Darrellwas one of them. 

During these restless movements, alternated by abrupt pauses, equallyinharmonious to the supreme quiet which characterised his listener'stastes and habits, the haughty gentleman disburdened himself of at leastone of the secrets which he had hitherto guarded from his early friend. But as that secret connects itself with the history of a Person aboutwhom it is well that the reader should now learn more than was known toDarrell himself, we will assume our privilege to be ourselves thenarrator, and at the cost of such dramatic vivacity as may belong todialogue, but with the gain to the reader of clearer insight into thoseportions of the past which the occasion permits us to reveal--we willweave into something like method the more imperfect and desultorycommunications by which Guy Darrell added to Alban Morley's distastefulcatalogue of painful subjects. The reader will allow, perhaps, that wethus evince a desire to gratify his curiosity, when we state that ofArabella Crane Darrell spoke but in one brief and angry sentence, andthat not by the name in which the reader as yet alone knows her; and itis with the antecedents of Arabella Crane that our explanation willtranquilly commence. 

CHAPTER IX. 

 GRIM ARABELLA CRANE. 

Once on a time there lived a merchant named Fossett, a widower with threechildren, of whom a daughter, Arabella, was by some years the eldest. Hewas much respected, deemed a warm man, and a safe--attended diligently tohis business--suffered no partner, no foreman, to dictate or intermeddle--liked his comforts, but made no pretence to fashion. His villa was atClapham, not a showy but a solid edifice, with lodge, lawn, and gardenschiefly notable for what is technically called glass--viz. A range ofglass-houses on the most improved principles, the heaviest pines, theearliest strawberries. "I'm no judge of flowers, " quoth Mr. Fossett, meekly. "Give me a plain lawn, provided it be close-shaven. But I sayto my gardener: 'Forcing is my hobby--a cucumber with my fish all theyear round!'" Yet do not suppose Mr Fossett ostentatious--quite thereverse. He would no more ruin himself for the sake of dazzling others, than he would for the sake of serving them. He liked a warm house, spacious rooms, good living, old wine, for their inherent merits: Hecared not to parade them to public envy. When he dined alone, or witha single favoured guess, the best Lafitte, the oldest sherry!--whenextending the rites of miscellaneous hospitality to neighbours, relations, or other slight acquaintances--for Lafitte, Julien; and forsherry, Cape!--Thus not provoking vanity, nor courting notice, Mr. Fossett was without an enemy, and seemed without a care. Formal were hismanners, formal his household, formal even the stout cob that bore himfrom Cheapside to Clapham, from Claphain to Cheapside. That cob couldnot even prick up its ears if it wished to shy--its ears were cropped, so were its mane and its tail. 

Arabella early gave promise of beauty, and more than ordinary power ofintellect and character. Her father be stowed on her every advantage ofeducation. She was sent to a select boarding-school of the highestreputation; the strictest discipline, the best masters, the longestbills. At the age of seventeen she had become the show pupil of theseminary. Friends wondered somewhat why the prim merchant took suchpains to lavish on his daughter the worldly accomplishments which seemedto give him no pleasure, and of which he never spoke with pride. Butcertainly, if she was so clever--first-rate musician, exquisite artist, accomplished linguist, "it was very nice in old Fossett to bear it someekly, never crying her up, nor showing her off to less fortunateparents--very nice in him--good sense--greatness of mind. "

"Arabella, " said the worthy man one day, a little time after his eldestdaughter had left school for good; "Arabella, " said he, "Mrs. -------, "naming the head teacher in that famous school, "pays you a very highcompliment in a letter I received from her this morning. She says it isa pity you are not a poor man's daughter--that you are so steady and soclever that you could make a fortune for yourself as a teacher. "

Arabella at that age could smile gaily, and gaily she smiled at thenotion conveyed in the compliment. 

"No one can guess, " resumed the father, twirling his thumbs and speakingrather through his nose; "the ups and downs in this mortal sphere oftrial, 'specially in the mercantile community. If ever, when I'm deadand gone, adversity should come upon you, you will gratefully rememberthat I have given you the best of education, and take care of your littlebrother and sister, who are both--stupid!"

These doleful words did not make much impression on Arabella, uttered asthey were in a handsome drawing-room, opening on the neat-shaven lawn ittook three gardeners to shave, with a glittering side-view of thosegalleries of glass in which strawberries were ripe at Christmas, andcucumbers never failed to fish. Time--went on. Arabella was now twenty-three--a very fine girl, with a decided manner--much occupied by hermusic, her drawing, her books, and her fancies. Fancies--for, like mostgirls with very active heads and idle hearts, she had a vague yearningfor some excitement beyond the monotonous routine of a young lady's life;and the latent force of her nature inclined her to admire whatever wasout of the beaten track--whatever was wild and daring. She had receivedtwo or three offers from young gentlemen in the same mercantile communityas that which surrounded her father in this sphere of trial. But theydid not please her; and she believed her father when he said that theyonly courted her under the idea that he would come down with somethinghandsome; "whereas, " said the merchant, "I hope you will marry an honestman, who will like you for yourself; and wait for your fortune till mywill is read. As King William says to his son, in the History ofEngland, 'I don't mean to strip till I go to bed. '"

One night, at a ball in Clapham, Arabella saw the man who was destined toexercise so baleful an influence over her existence. Jasper Losely hadbeen brought to this ball by a young fellow-clerk in the same commercialhouse as himself; and then in all the bloom of that conspicuous beauty, to which the miniature Arabella had placed before his eyes so many yearsafterwards did but feeble justice, it may well be conceived that heconcentred on himself the admiring gaze of the assembly. Jasper wasyounger than Arabella; but, what with the height of his stature and theself-confidence of his air, he looked four or five and twenty. Certainly, in so far as the distance from childhood may be estimated bythe loss of innocence, Jasper might have been any age! He was told thatold Fossett's daughter would have a very fine fortune; that she was astrong-minded young lady, who governed her father, and would choose forherself; and accordingly he devoted himself to Arabella the whole of theevening. The effect produced on the mind of this ill-fated woman by herdazzling admirer was as sudden as it proved to be lasting. There was astrange charm in the very contrast between his rattling audacity and thebashful formalities of the swains who had hitherto wooed her as if shefrightened them. Even his good looks fascinated her less than that vitalenergy and power about the lawless brute, which to her seemed theelements of heroic character, though but the attributes of riotousspirits, magnificent formation, flattered vanity, and imperious egotism. She was a bird gazing spell-bound on a gay young boa-constrictor, dartingfrom bough to bough, sunning its brilliant hues, and showing off all itsbeauty, just before it takes the bird for its breakfast. 

When they parted that night, their intimacy had so far advanced thatarrangements had been made for its continuance. Arabella had aninstinctive foreboding that her father would be less charmed than herselfwith Jasper Losely; that, if Jasper were presented to him, he wouldpossibly forbid her farther acquaintance with a young clerk, howeversuperb his outward appearance. She took the first false step. She had amaiden aunt by the mother's side, who lived in Bloomsbury, gave and wentto small parties, to which Jasper could easily get introduced. Shearranged to pay a visit for some weeks to this aunt, who was then verycivil to her, accepting with marked kindness seasonable presents ofstrawberries, pines, spring chickens, and so forth, and offering in turn, whenever it was convenient, a spare room, and whatever amusement a roundof small parties, and the innocent flirtations incidental thereto, couldbestow. Arabella said nothing to her father about Jasper Losely, and toher aunt's she went. Arabella saw Jasper very often; they became engagedto each other, exchanged vows and love-tokens, locks of hair, &c. Jasper, already much troubled by duns, became naturally ardent to insurehis felicity and Arabella's supposed fortune. Arabella at last summonedcourage, and spoke to her father. To her delighted surprise, Mr. Fossett, after some moralising, more on the uncertainty of life ingeneral than her clandestine proceedings in particular, agreed to see Mr. Jasper Losely, and asked him down to dinner. After dinner, over 'abottle of Lafitte, in an exceedingly plain but exceedingly weighty silverjug, which made Jasper's mouth water (I mean the jug), Mr. Fossett, commencing with that somewhat coarse though royal saying of William theConqueror, with which he had before edified his daughter, assured Jasperthat he gave his full consent to the young gentleman's nuptials withArabella, provided Jasper or his relations would maintain her in a plainrespectable way, and wait for her fortune till his (Fossett's) will wasread. What that fortune would be, Mr. Fossett declined even to hint. Jasper went away very much cooled. Still the engagement remained inforce; the nuptials were tacitly deferred. Jasper and his relationsmaintain a wife! Preposterous idea! It would take a clan of relationsand a Zenana of wives to maintain in that state to which he deemedhimself entitled--Jasper himself! But just as he was meditating thepossibility of a compromise with old Fossett, by which he would agree towait till the will was read for contingent advantages, provided Fossett, in his turn, would agree in the mean while to afford lodging and board, with a trifle for pocket-money, to Arabella and himself, in the Claphamvilla, which, though not partial to rural scenery, Jasper preferred, onthe whole, to a second floor in the City, --old Fossett fell ill, took tohis bed; was unable to attend to his business, some one else attended toit; and the consequence was, that the house stopped payment, and wasdiscovered to have been insolvent for the last ten years. Not adiscreditable bankruptcy. There might perhaps be seven shillings in thepound ultimately paid, and not more than forty families irretrievablyruined. Old Fossett, safe in his bed, bore the affliction withphilosophical composure; observed to Arabella that he had always warnedher of the ups and downs in this sphere of trial; referred again withpride to her first-rate education; commended again to her care Tom andBiddy; and, declaring that he died in charity with all men, resignedhimself to the last slumber. 

Arabella at first sought a refuge with her maiden aunt. But that lady, though not hit in pocket by her brother-in-law's failure, was morevehement against his memory than his most injured creditor--not only thatshe deemed herself unjustly defrauded of the pines, strawberries, andspring chickens, by which she had been enabled to give small parties atsmall cost, though with ample show, but that she was robbed of theconsequence she had hitherto derived from the supposed expectations ofher niece. In short, her welcome was so hostile, and her condolences socutting, that Arabella quitted her door with a solemn determination neveragain to enter it. 

And now the nobler qualities of the bankrupt's daughter rose at once intoplay. Left penniless, she resolved by her own exertions to support andto rear her young brother and sister. The great school to which she hadbeen the ornament willingly received her as a teacher, until some moreadvantageous place in a private family, and with a salary worthy of hertalents and accomplishments, could be found. 

Her intercourse with Jasper became necessarily suspended. She had thegenerosity to write, offering to release him from his engagement. Jasperconsidered himself fully released without that letter; but he deemed itneither gallant nor discreet to say so. Arabella might obtain asituation with larger salary than she could possibly need, thesuperfluities whereof Jasper might undertake to invest. Her aunt hadevidently something to leave, though she might have nothing to give. Infine, Arabella, if not rich enough for a wife, might be often rich enoughfor a friend at need; and so long as he was engaged to her for life, itmust be not more her pleasure than her duty to assist him to live. Besides, independently of these prudential though not ardent motives fordeclaring unalterable fidelity to troth, Jasper at that time really didentertain what he called love for the handsome young woman--flatteredthat one of attainments so superior to all the girls he had ever knownshould be so proud even less of his affection for her than her ownaffection for himself. Thus the engagement lasted--interviews none--letters frequent. Arabella worked hard, looking to the future; Jasperworked as little as possible, and was very much bored by the present. 

Unhappily, as it turned out, so great a sympathy, not only amongst theteachers, but amongst her old schoolfellows, was felt for Arabella'sreverse; her character for steadiness, as well as talent, stood so high, and there was something so creditable in her resolution to maintain herorphan brother and sister, that an effort was made to procure her alivelihood much more lucrative, and more independent, than she couldobtain either in a school or a family. Why not take a small house of herown, live there with her fellow-orphans, and give lessons out by thehour? Several families at once agreed so to engage her, and an incomeadequate to all her wants was assured. Arabella adopted this plan. Shetook the house; Bridget Greggs, the nurse of her infancy, became herservant, and soon to that house, stealthily in the shades of evening, glided Jasper Losely. She could not struggle against his influence--hadnot the heart to refuse his visits--he was so poor--in such scrapes--andprofessed himself to be so unhappy. There now became some one else totoil for, besides the little brother and sister. But what wereArabella's gains to a man who already gambled? New afflictions smoteher. A contagious fever broke out in the neighborhood; her littlebrother caught it; her little sister sickened the next day; in less thana week two small coffins were borne from her door by the Black Horses--borne to that plot of sunny turf in the pretty suburban cemetery, boughtwith the last earnings made for the little ones by the mother-likesister:--Motherless lone survivor! what! no friend on earth, no sootherbut that direful Jasper! Alas! the truly dangerous Venus is not thatErycina round whom circle Jest and Laughter. Sorrow, and that sense ofsolitude which makes us welcome a footstep as a child left in thehaunting dark welcomes the entrance of light, weaken the outworks offemale virtue more than all the vain levities of mirth, or the flatterieswhich follow the path of Beauty through the crowd. Alas, and alas! letthe tale hurry on!

Jasper Losely has still more solemnly sworn to marry his adored Arabella. But when? When they are rich enough. She feels as if her spirit wasgone--as if she could work no more. She was no weak commonplace girl, whom love can console for shame. She had been rigidly brought up; hersense of female rectitude was keen; her remorse was noiseless, but it wasstern. Harassments of a more vulgar nature beset her: she hadforestalled her sources of income; she had contracted debts for Jasper'ssake;--in vain: her purse was emptied, yet his no fuller. His creditorspressed him; he told her that he must hide. One winter's day he thusdeparted; she saw him no more for a year. She heard, a few days after heleft her, of his father's crime and committal. Jasper was sent abroad byhis maternal uncle, at his father's prayer; sent to a commercial housein France, in which the uncle obtained him a situation. In fact, theyoung man had been despatched to France under another name, in order tosave him from the obloquy which his father had brought upon his own. 

Soon came William Losely's trial and sentence. Arabella felt thedisgrace acutely--felt how it would affect the audacious insolent Jasper;did not wonder that he forbore to write to her. She conceived him bowedby shame, but she was buoyed up by her conviction that they should meetagain. For good or for ill, she held herself bound to him for life. Butmeanwhile the debts she had incurred on his account came upon her. Shewas forced to dispose of her house; and at this time Mrs. Lyndsay, looking out for some first-rate superior governess for Matilda Darrell, was urged by all means to try and secure for that post Arabella Fossett. The highest testimonials from the school at which she had been reared, from the most eminent professional masters, from the families at whichshe had recently taught, being all brought to bear upon Mr. Darrell, heauthorised Mrs. Lyndsay to propose such a salary as could not fail tosecure a teacher of such rare qualifications. And thus Arabella becamegoverness to Miss Darrell. 

There is a kind of young lady of whom her nearest relations will say, "Ican't make that girl out. " Matilda Darrell was that kind of young lady. She talked very little; she moved very noiselessly; she seemed to regardherself as a secret which she had solemnly sworn not to let out. She hadbeen steeped in slyness from her early infancy by a sly mother. Mrs. Darrell was a woman who had always something to conceal. There wasalways some note to be thrust out of sight; some visit not to be spokenof; something or other which Matilda was not on any account to mention toPapa. 

When Mrs. Darrell died, Matilda was still a child, but she stillcontinued to view her father as a person against whom prudence demandedher to be constantly on her guard. It was not that she was exactlyafraid of him--he was very gentle to her, as he was to all children; buthis loyal nature was antipathetic to hers. She had no sympathy with him. How confide her thoughts to him? She had an instinctive knowledge thatthose thoughts were not such as could harmonise with his. Yet, thoughtaciturn, uncaressing, undemonstrative, she appeared mild and docile. Her reserve was ascribed to constitutional timidity. Timid to a degreeshe usually seemed; yet, when you thought you had solved the enigma, shesaid or did something so coolly determined, that you were forced again toexclaim, "I can't make that girl out!" She was not quick at her lessons. You had settled in your mind that she was dull, when, by a chance remark, you were startled to find that she was very sharp; keenly observant, whenyou had fancied her fast asleep. She had seemed, since her mother'sdeath, more fond of Mrs. Lyndsay and Caroline than of any other humanbeings--always appeared sullen or out of spirits when they were absent;yet she confided to them no more than she did to her father. You wouldsuppose from this description that Matilda could inspire no liking inthose with whom she lived. Not so; her very secretiveness had a sort ofattraction--a puzzle always creates some interest. Then her face, thoughneither handsome nor pretty, had in it a treacherous softness--a subdued, depressed expression. A kind observer could not but say with anindulgent pity; "There must be a good deal of heart in that girl, if onecould but--make her out. "

She appeared to take at once to Arabella, more than she had taken to Mrs. Lyndsay, or even to Caroline, with whom she had been brought up as asister, but who, then joyous and quick and innocently fearless--with hersoul in her eyes and her heart on her lips--had no charm for Matilda, because there she saw no secret to penetrate, and her she had no objectin deceiving. 

But this stranger, of accomplishments so rare, of character so decided, with a settled gloom on her lip, a gathered care on her brow--there wassome one to study, and some one with whom she felt a sympathy; for shedetected at once that Arabella was also a secret. 

At first, Arabella, absorbed in her own reflections, gave to Matilda butthe mechanical attention which a professional teacher bestows on anordinary pupil. But an interest in Matilda sprung up in her breast, inproportion as she conceived a venerating gratitude for Darrell. He wasaware of the pomp and circumstance which had surrounded her earlieryears; he respected the creditable energy with which she had devoted hertalents to the support of the young children thrown upon her care;compassionated her bereavement of those little fellow-orphans for whomtoil had been rendered sweet; and he strove, by a kindness of forethoughtand a delicacy of attention, which were the more prized in a man soeminent and so preoccupied, to make her forget that she was a salariedteacher--to place her saliently, and as a matter of course, in theposition of a gentlewoman, guest, and friend. Recognising in her acertain vigour and force of intellect apart from her mereaccomplishments, he would flatter her scholastic pride, by referring toher memory in some question of reading, or consulting her judgment onsome point of critical taste. She, in return, was touched by hischivalrous kindness to the depth of a nature that, though alreadyseriously injured by its unhappy contact with a soul like Jasper's, retained that capacity of gratitude, the loss of which is humanity'slast deprivation. Nor this alone: Arabella was startled by the intellectand character of Darrell into that kind of homage which a woman, who hashitherto met but her own intellectual inferiors, renders to the firstdistinguished personage in whom she recognises, half with humility andhalf with awe, an understanding and a culture to which her own reason isbut the flimsy glass-house, and her own knowledge but the forced exotic. 

Arabella, thus roused from her first listlessness, sought to requiteDarrell's kindness by exerting every energy to render his insipiddaughter an accomplished woman. So far as mere ornamental educationextends, the teacher was more successful than, with all her experience, her skill, and her zeal, she had presumed to anticipate. Matilda, without ear, or taste, or love for music, became a very fair mechanicalmusician. Without one artistic predisposition, she achieved the scienceof perspective--she attained even to the mixture of colours--she filled aportfolio with drawings which no young lady need have been ashamed to seecircling round a drawing-room. She carried Matilda's thin mind to thefarthest bound it could have reached without snapping, through an elegantrange of selected histories and harmless feminine classics--throughGallic dialogues--through Tuscan themes--through Teuton verbs--yea, across the invaded bounds of astonished Science into the ElementaryOlogies. And all this being done, Matilda Darrell was exactly the samecreature that she was before. In all that related to character, toinclinations, to heart, even that consummate teacher could give nointelligible answer, when Mrs. Lyndsay in her softest accents (and noaccents ever were softer) sighed: "Poor dear Matilda! can you make herout, Miss Fossett?" Miss Fossett could not make her out. But, after themost attentive study, Miss Fossett had inly decided that there wasnothing to make out--that, like many other very nice girls, MatildaDarrell was a harmless nullity, what you call "a Miss" white deal orwillow, to which Miss Fossett had done all in the way of increasing itsvalue as ornamental furniture, when she had veneered it over withrosewood or satinwood, enriched its edges with ormolu, and strewed itssurface with nicknacks and albums. But Arabella firmly believed MatildaDarrell to be a quiet, honest, good sort of "Miss, " on the whole--veryfond of her, Arabella. The teacher had been several months in Darrell'sfamily, when Caroline Lyndsay, who had been almost domesticated withMatilda (sharing the lessons bestowed on the latter, whether by MissFossett or visiting masters), was taken away by Mrs. Lyndsay on avisit to the old Marchioness of Montfort. Matilda, who was to come outthe next year, was thus almost exclusively with Arabella, who redoubledall her pains to veneer the white deal, and protect with ormolu itsfeeble edges--so that, when it "came out, " all should admire thatthoroughly fashionable piece of furniture. It was the habit of MissFossett and her pupil to take a morning walk in the quiet retreats of theGreen Park; and one morning, as they were thus strolling, nursery-maidsand children, and elderly folks who were ordered to take early exercises, undulating round their unsuspecting way, --suddenly, right upon their path(unlooked--for as the wolf that startled Horace in the Sabine wood, butinfinitely more deadly than that runaway animal), came Jasper Losely!Arabella uttered a faint scream. She could not resist--had no thought ofresisting--the impulse to bound forward--lay her hand on his arm. Shewas too agitated to perceive whether his predominant feeling was surpriseor rapture. A few hurried words were exchanged, while Matilda Darrellgave one sidelong glance towards the handsome stranger, and walkedquietly by them. On his part, Jasper said that he had just returned toLondon--that he had abandoned for ever all idea of a commercial life--that his father's misfortune (he gave that gentle appellation to theincident of penal transportation) had severed him from all formerfriends, ties, habits--that he had dropped the name of Losely for ever--entreated Arabella not to betray it--his name now was Hammond--his"prospects, " he said, "fairer than they had ever been. " Under the nameof Hammond, as an independent gentleman, he had made friends morepowerful than he could ever have made under the name of Losely as a cityclerk. He blushed to think he had ever been a city clerk. No doubt heshould get into some Government office; and then, oh then, with assuredincome and a certainty to rise, he might claim the longed-for hand of the"best of creatures. "

On Arabella's part, she hastily explained her present position. She wasgoverness to Miss Darrell--that was Miss Darrell. Arabella must notleave her walking on by herself--she would write to him. Addresses wereexchanged--Jasper gave a very neat card--"Mr. Hammond, No. --, DukeStreet, St. James's. "

Arabella, with a beating heart, hastened to join her friend. At therapid glance she had taken of her perfidious lover, she thought him, ifpossible, improved. His dress, always studied, was more to the fashionof polished society, more simply correct--his air more decided. Altogether he looked prosperous, and his manner had never been moreseductive, in its mixture of easy self-confidence and hypocriticalcoaxing. In fact, Jasper had not been long in the French commercialhouse--to which he had been sent out of the way while his father's trialwas proceeding and the shame of it fresh--before certain licenses ofconduct had resulted in his dismissal. But, meanwhile, he had made manyfriends amongst young men of his own age--those loose wild viveurs who, without doing anything the law can punish as dishonest, contrive for afew fast years to live very showily on their wits. In that strangesocial fermentation which still prevails in a country where anaristocracy of birth, exceedingly impoverished, and exceedingly numerousso far as the right to prefix a De to the name, or to stamp a coronet onthe card, can constitute an aristocrat--is diffused amongst an ambitious, adventurous, restless, and not inelegant young democracy--each cementedwith the other by that fiction of law called egalite; in that yetunsettled and struggling society in which so much of the old has beenirretrievably destroyed, and so little of the new has been solidlyconstructed--there are much greater varieties, infinitely more subtlegrades and distinctions, in the region of life which lies betweenrespectability and disgrace, than can be found in a country like ours. The French novels and dramas may apply less a mirror than a magnifying-glass to the beings that move through that region. But still thoseFrench novels and dramas do not unfaithfully represent theclassifications of which they exaggerate the types. Those strangecombinations, into one tableau, of students and grisettes; opera-dancers, authors, viscounts, swindlers, romantic Lorettes, gamblers on the Bourse, whose pedigree dates from the Crusades; impostors, taking titles fromvillages in which their grandsires might have been saddlers--and ifdetected, the detection but a matter of laugh; delicate women living likelawless men; men making trade out of love, like dissolute women, yet withpoint of honour so nice, that, doubt their truth or their courage, and--piff! you are in Charon's boat, --humanity in every civilised land maypresent single specimens, more or less, answering to each thus described. But where, save in France, find them all, if not precisely in the samesalons, yet so crossing each other to and fro as to constitute a socialphase, and give colour to a literature of unquestionable genius? Andwhere, over orgies so miscellaneously Berecynthian, an atmosphere soelegantly Horatian? And where can coarseness so vanish into polishedexpression as in that diamond-like language--all terseness and sparkle--which, as friendly to Wit in its airiest prose, as hostile to Passion inits torrent of cloud-wrack of poetry, seems invented by the Grace out ofspite to the Muse?

Into circles such as those of which the dim outline is here soimperfectly sketched, Jasper Losely niched himself, as /le bel Anglais/. (Pleasant representative of the English nation!) Not that those circlesare to have the sole credit of his corruption. No! Justice is justice!Stand we up for our native land! /Le bel Anglais/ entered those circles amuch greater knave than most of those whom he found there. But there, atleast, he learned to set a yet higher value on his youth, and strength, and comeliness--on his readiness of resource--on the reckless audacitythat browbeat timid and some even valiant men--on the six feet one offaultless symmetry that captivated foolish, and some even sensible women. Gaming was, however, his vice by predilection. A month before Arabellamet him, he had had a rare run of luck. On the strength of it he hadresolved to return to London, and (wholly oblivious of the best ofcreatures till she had thus startled him) hunt out and swoop off with anheiress. Three French friends accompanied him. Each had the sameobject. Each believed that London swarmed with heiresses. They wereall three fine-looking men. One was a Count, --at least he said so. Butproud of his rank?--not a bit of it: all for liberty (no man more likelyto lose it)--all for fraternity (no man you would less love as abrother). And as for /egalite!/--the son of a shoemaker who was /hommede lettres/, and wrote in a journal, inserted a jest on the Count'scourtship. "All men are equal before the pistol, " said the Count; andknowing that in that respect he was equal to most, having practised at/poupees/ from the age of fourteen, he called out the son of Crispin andshot him through the lungs. Another of Jasper's travelling friends wasan /enfant die peuple/--boasted that he was a foundling. He made versesof lugubrious strain, and taught Jasper how to shuffle at whist. Thethird, like Jasper, had been designed for trade; and, like Jasper, he hada soul above it. In politics he was a Communist--in talk Philanthropist. He was the cleverest man of them all, and is now at the galleys. Thefate of his two compatriots--more obscure it is not my duty to discover. In that peculiar walk of life Jasper is as much as I can possibly manage. 

It need not be said that Jasper carefully abstained from reminding hisold city friends of his existence. It was his object and his hope todrop all identity with that son of a convict who had been sent out of theway to escape humiliation. In this resolve he was the more confirmedbecause he had no old city friends out of whom anything could be wellgot. His poor uncle, who alone of his relations in England had beenprivy to his change of name, was dead; his end hastened by grief forWilliam Losely's disgrace, and the bad reports he had received fromFrance of the conduct of William Losely's son. That uncle had left, incircumstances too straitened to admit the waste of a shilling, a widow ofvery rigid opinions; who, if ever by some miraculous turn in the wheel offortune she could have become rich enough to slay a fatted calf, wouldnever have given the shin-bone of it to a prodigal like Jasper, even hadhe been her own penitent son, instead of a graceless step-nephew. Therefore, as all civilisation proceeds westward, Jasper turned his facefrom the east; and had no more idea of recrossing Temple Bar in search offortune, friends, or kindred, than a modern Welshman would dream of apilgrimage to Asian shores to re-embrace those distant relatives whom HuGadarn left behind him countless centuries ago, when that mythical chiefconducted his faithfid Cymrians over the Hazy Sea to this happy island ofHoney. 

 [Mel Ynnys--Isle of Honey. One of the poetic names given to England in the language of the ancient Britons. ]

Two days after his rencontre with Arabella in the Green Park, the /soi-disant/ Hammond having, in the interim, learned that Darrell wasimmensely rich, and that Matilda was his only surviving child, did notfail to find himself in the Green Park again--and again--and again!

Arabella, of course, felt how wrong it was to allow him to accost her, and walk by one side of her while Miss Darrell was on the other. But shefelt, also, as if it would be much more wrong to slip out and meet himalone. Not for worlds would she again have placed herself in such peril. To refuse to meet him at all?--she had not strength enough for that! Herjoy at seeing him was so immense. And nothing could be more respectfulthan Jasper's manner and conversation. Whatever of warmer and moreimpassioned sentiment was exchanged between them passed in notes. Jasperhad suggested to Arabella to represent him to Matilda as some nearrelation. But Arabella refused all such disguise. Her sole claim toself-respect was in considering him solemnly engaged to her--the man shewas to marry. 

And, after the second time they thus met, she said to Matilda, who hadnot questioned her by a word-by a look: "I was to be married to thatgentleman before my father died; we are to be married as soon as we havesomething to live upon. "

Matilda made some commonplace but kindly rejoinder. And thus she becameraised into Arabella's confidence, so far as that confidence could begiven, without betraying Jasper's real name or one darker memory inherself. Luxury, indeed, it was to Arabella to find, at last, some oneto whom she could speak of that betrothal in which her whole future wasinvested--of that affection which was her heart's sheet-anchor--of thathome, humble it might be and far off, but to which Time rarely fails tobring the Two, if never weary of the trust to become as One. Talkingthus, Arabella forgot the relationship of pupil and teacher; it was aswoman to woman--girl to girl--friend to friend. Matilda seemed touchedby the confidence--flattered to possess at last another's secret. Arabella was a little chafed that she did not seem to admire Jasper asmuch as Arabella thought the whole world must admire. Matilda excusedherself. "She had scarcely noticed Mr. Hammond. Yes: she had no doubthe would be considered handsome; but she owned, though it might be badtaste, that she preferred a pale complexion, with auburn hair;" and thenshe sighed and looked away, as if she had, in the course of her secretlife, encountered some fatal pale complexion, with never-to-be-forgottenauburn hair. Not a word was said by either Matilda or Arabella as toconcealing from Mr. Darrell these meetings with Mr. Hammond. PerhapsArabella could not stoop to ask that secrecy; but there was no necessityto ask; Matilda was always too rejoiced to have something to conceal. 

Now, in these interviews, Jasper scarcely ever addressed himself toMatilda; not twenty spoken words could have passed between them; yet, inthe very third interview, Matilda's sly fingers had closed on a sly note. And from that day, in each interview, Arabella walking in the centre, Jasper on one side, Matilda the other--behind Arabella's back-passed thesly fingers and the sly notes, which Matilda received and answered. Notmore than twelve or fourteen times was even this interchange effected. Darrell was about to move to Fawley. All such meetings would be nowsuspended. Two or three mornings before that fixed for leaving London, Matilda's room was found vacant. She was gone. Arabella was the firstto discover her flight, the first to learn its cause. Matilda had lefton her writing-table a letter for Miss Fossett. It was very short, veryquietly expressed, and it rested her justification on a note from Jasper, which she enclosed--a note in which that gallant hero, ridiculing theidea that he could ever have been in love with Arabella, declared that hewould destroy himself if Matilda refused to fly. She need not fear suchangelic confidence in him. No! Even

 Had he a heart for falsehood framed, He ne'er could injure her. "

Stifling each noisier cry--but panting--gasping--literally half out ofher mind, Arabella rushed into Darrell's study. He, unsuspecting man, calmly bending over his dull books, was startled by her apparition. Fewminutes sufficed to tell him all that it concerned him to learn. Fewbrief questions, few passionate answers, brought him to the very worst. 

Who, and what, was this Mr. Hammond? Heaven of heavens! the son ofWilliam Losely--of a transported felon!

Arabella exulted in a reply which gave her a moment's triumph over therival who had filched from her such a prize. Roused from his firstmisery and sense of abasement in this discovery, Darrell's wrath wasnaturally poured, not on the fugitive child, but on the frontless woman, who, buoyed up by her own rage and sense of wrong, faced him, and did notcower. She, the faithless governess, had presented to her pupil thisconvict's son in another name; she owned it--she had trepanned into thesnares of so vile a fortune-hunter an ignorant child: she might feignamaze--act remorse--she must have been the man's accomplice. Stung, amidst all the bewilderment of her anguish, by this charge, which, atleast, she did not deserve, Arabella tore from her bosom Jasper's recentletters to herself--letters all devotion and passion--placed them beforeDarrell, and bade him read. Nothing thought she then of name and fame--nothing but of her wrongs and of her woes. Compared to herself, Matildaseemed the perfidious criminal--she the injured victim. Darrell butglanced over the letters; they were signed "your loving husband. "

"What is this?" he exclaimed; "are you married to the man?"

"Yes, " cried Arabella, "in the eyes of Heaven!"

To Darrell's penetration there was no mistaking the significance of thosewords and that look; and his wrath redoubled. Anger in him, when onceroused, was terrible; he had small need of words to vent it. His eyewithered, his gesture appalled. Conscious but of one burning firebrandin brain and heart--of a sense that youth, joy, and hope were for evergone, that the world could never be the same again--Arabella left thehouse, her character lost, her talents useless, her very means ofexistence stopped. Who henceforth would take her to teach? Whohenceforth place their children under her charge?

She shrank into a gloomy lodging--she--shut herself up alone with herdespair. Strange though it may seem, her anger against Jasper was slightas compared with the in tensity of her hate to Matilda. And strangerstill it may seem, that as her thoughts recovered from their first chaos, she felt more embittered against the world, more crushed by a sense ofshame, and yet galled by a no less keen sense of injustice, in recallingthe scorn with which Darrell had rejected all excuse for her conduct inthe misery it had occasioned her, than she did by the consciousness ofher own lamentable errors. As in Darrell's esteem there was somethingthat, to those who could appreciate it, seemed invaluable, so in hiscontempt to those who had cherished that esteem there was a weight ofignominy, as if a judge had pronounced a sentence that outlaws the restof life. 

Arabella had not much left out of her munificent salary. What she hadhitherto laid by had passed to Jasper--defraying, perhaps, the very costof his flight with her treacherous rival. When her money was gone, shepawned the poor relics of her innocent happy girlhood, which she had beenpermitted to take from her father's home, and had borne with her wherevershe went, like household gods, the prize-books, the lute, the costlywork-box, the very bird-cage, all which the reader will remember to haveseen in her later life, the books never opened--the lute broken, the birdlong, long, long vanished from the cage! Never did she think she shouldredeem those pledges from that Golgotha, which takes, rarely to giveback, so many hallowed tokens of the Dreamland called "Better Days, "--the trinkets worn at the first ball, the ring that was given with theearliest love-vow--yea, even the very bells and coral that pleased theinfant in his dainty cradle, and the very Bible in which the lips, thatnow bargain for sixpence more, read to some grey-haired father on his bedof death!

Soon the sums thus miserably raised were as miserably doled away. With asullen apathy the woman contemplated famine. She would make no effort tolive--appeal to no relations, no friends. It was a kind of vengeance shetook on others, to let herself drift on to death. She had retreated fromlodging to lodging, each obscurer, more desolate than the other. Now, she could no longer pay rent for the humblest room; now, she was told togo forth--whither? She knew not--cared not--took her way towards theRiver, as by that instinct which, when the mind is diseased, tendstowards self-destruction, scarce less involuntarily than it turns, inhealth, towards self-preservation. Just as she passed under the lamp-light at the foot of Westminster Bridge, a man looked at her, and seizedher arm. She raised her head with a chilly, melancholy scorn, as if shehad received an insult--as if she feared that the man knew the stain uponher name, and dreamed, in his folly, that the dread of death might causeher to sin again. 

"Do you not know me?" said the man; "more strange that I shouldrecognise you! Dear, dear, and what a dress!--how you are altered! Poorthing!"

At the words "poor thing" Arabella burst into tears; and in those tearsthe heavy cloud on her brain seemed to melt away. 

"I have been inquiring, seeking for you everywhere, Miss, " resumed theman. "Surely, you know me now! Your poor aunt's lawyer! She is nomore--died last week. She has left you all she had in the world; and avery pretty income it is, too, for a single lady. "

Thus it was that we find Arabella installed in the dreary comforts ofPodden Place. "She exchanged, " she said, "in honour to her aunt'smemory, her own name for that of Crane, which her aunt had borne--her ownmother's maiden name. " She assumed, though still so young, that title of"Mrs. " which spinsters, grown venerable, moodily adopt when they desireall mankind to know that henceforth they relinquish the vanities oftender misses--that, become mistress of themselves, they defy and spitupon our worthless sex, which, whatever its repentance, is warned that itrepents in vain. Most of her aunt's property was in houses, in variousdistricts of Bloombury. Arabella moved from one to the other of thesetenements, till she settled for good into the dullest of all. To make itduller yet, by contrast with the past, the Golgotha for once gave up itsburied treasures--broken lute, birdless cage!

Somewhere about two years after Matilda's death, Arabella happened to bein the office of the agent who collected her house-rents, when a well-dressed man entered, and, leaning over the counter, said: "There is anadvertisement in to-day's Times about a lady who offers a home, education, and so forth, to any little motherless girl; terms moderate, as said lady loves children for their own sake. Advertiser refers toyour office for particulars--give them!"

The agent turned to his books; and Arabella turned towards the inquirer. "For whose child do you want a home, Jasper Losely?"

Jasper started. "Arabella! Best of creatures! And can you deign tospeak to such a vil---"

"Hush--let us walk. Never mind the advertisement of a stranger. I mayfind a home for a motherless child--a home that will cost you nothing. "

She drew him into the street. "But can this be the child of--of--MatildaDarrell?"--

"Bella!" replied, in coaxing accents, that most execrable of lady-killers, "can I trust you?--can you be my friend in spite of my havingbeen such a very sad dog? But money--what can one do without money inthis world? 'Had I a heart for falsehood framed, it would ne'er haveinjured you'--if I had not been so cursedly hard up! And indeed, now, ifyou would but condescend to forgive and forget, perhaps some day or otherwe may be Darby and Joan--only, you see, just at this moment I am reallynot worthy of such a Joan. You know, of course, that I am a widower--notinconsolable. "

"Yes; I read of Mrs. Hammond's death in an old newspaper. "

"And you did not read of her baby's death, too--some weeks afterwards?"'

"No; it is seldom that I see a newspaper. Is the infant dead?"

"Hum--you shall hear. " And Jasper entered into a recital, to whichArabella listened with attentive interest. At the close she offered totake, herself, the child for whom Jasper sought a home. She informed himof her change of name and address. The wretch promised to call thatevening with the infant; but he sent the infant, and did not call. Nordid he present himself again to her eyes, until, several yearsafterwards, those eyes so luridly welcomed him to Podden Place. Butthough he did not even condescend to write to her in the mean while, itis probable that Arabella contrived to learn more of his habits and modeof life at Paris than she intimated when they once more met face to face. 

And now the reader knows more than Alban Morley, or Guy Darrell, perhapsever will know, of the grim woman in iron-grey, CHAPTER X. 

 "Sweet are the uses of Adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Bears yet a precious jewel in its head. "

 MOST PERSONS WILL AGREE THAT THE TOAD IS UGLY AND VENOMOUS, BUT FEW INDEED ARE THE PERSONS WHO CAN BOAST OF HAVING ACTUALLY DISCOVERED THAT "PRECIOUS JEWEL IN ITS HEAD, " WHICH THE POET ASSURES US IS PLACED THERE. BUT CALAMITY MAY BE CLASSED IN TWO GREAT DIVISIONS-- 1ST, THE AFFLICTIONS, WHICH NO PRUDENCE CAN AVERT; 2ND, THE MISFORTUNES, WHICH MEN TAKE ALL POSSIBLE PAINS TO BRING UPON THEMSELVES. AFFLICTIONS OF THE FIRST CLASS MAY BUT CALL FORTH OUR VIRTUES, AND RESULT IN OUR ULTIMATE GOOD. SUCH IS THE ADVERSITY WHICH MAY GIVE US THE JEWEL. BUT TO GET AT THE JEWEL WE MUST KILL THE TOAD. MISFORTUNES OF THE SECOND CLASS BUT TOO OFTEN INCREASE THE ERRORS OR THE VICES BY WHICH THEY WERE CREATED. SUCH IS THE ADVERSITY WHICH IS ALL TOAD AND NO JEWEL. IF YOU CHOOSE TO BREED AND FATTEN YOUR OWN TOADS, THE INCREASE OF THE VENOM ABSORBS EVERY BIT OF THE JEWEL. 

Never did I know a man who was an habitual gambler, otherwise thannotably inaccurate in his calculations of probabilities in the ordinaryaffairs of life. Is it that such a man has become so chronic a drunkardof hope, that he sees double every chance in his favour?

Jasper Losely had counted upon two things as matters of course. 

1st. Darrell's speedy reconciliation with his only child. 2nd. ThatDarrell's only child must of necessity be Darrell's heiress. 

In both these expectations the gambler was deceived. Darrell did noteven answer the letters that Matilda addressed to him from France, to theshores of which Jasper had borne her, and where he had hastened to makeher his wife under the assumed name of Hammond, but his true Christianname of Jasper. 

In the disreputable marriage Matilda had made, all the worst parts of hercharacter seemed suddenly revealed to her father's eye, and he saw whathe had hitherto sought not to see, the true child of a worthless mother. A mere mesalliance, if palliated by long or familiar acquaintance withthe object, however it might have galled him, his heart might havepardoned; but here, without even a struggle of duty, without the ordinarycoyness of maiden pride, to be won with so scanty a wooing, by a man whoshe knew was betrothed to another--the dissimulation, the perfidy, thecombined effrontery and meanness of the whole transaction, left no forcein Darrell's eyes to the common place excuses of experience and youth. Darrell would not have been Darrell if he could have taken back to hishome or his heart a daughter so old in deceit, so experienced in thoughtsthat dishonour. 

Darrell's silence, however, little saddened the heartless bride, andlittle dismayed the sanguine bridegroom. Both thought that pardon andplenty were but the affair of time a little more or little less. Buttheir funds rapidly diminished; it became necessary to recruit them. Onecan't live in hotels entirely upon hope. Leaving his bride for a whilein a pleasant provincial town, not many hours distant from Paris, Jasperreturned to London, intent upon seeing Darrell himself; and, should thefather-in-law still defer articles of peace, Jasper believed that hecould have no trouble in raising a present supply upon such an El Doradoof future expectations. Darrell at once consented to see Jasper, not athis own house, but at his solicitor's. Smothering all opposing disgust, the proud gentleman deemed this condescension essential to the clear anddefinite understanding of those resolves upon which depended the worldlystation and prospects of the wedded pair. 

When Jasper was shown into Mr. Gotobed's office, Darrell was alone, standing near the hearth, and by a single quiet gesture repelled thattender rush towards his breast which Jasper had elaborately prepared; andthus for the first time the two men saw each other, Darrell perhaps yetmore resentfully mortified while recognising those personal advantages inthe showy profligate which had rendered a daughter of his house so facilea conquest: Jasper (who had chosen to believe that a father-in-law soeminent must necessarily be old and broken) shocked into the mostdisagreeable surprise by the sight of a man still young, under forty, with a countenance, a port, a presence, that in any assemblage would haveattracted the general gaze from his own brilliant self, and lookingaltogether as unfavourable an object, whether for pathos or for post-obits, as unlikely to breathe out a blessing or to give up the ghost, asthe worst brute of a father-in-law could possibly be. Nor were Darrell'swords more comforting than his aspect. 

"Sir, I have consented to see you, partly that you may learn from my ownlips once for all that I admit no man's right to enter my family withoutmy consent, and that consent you will never receive; and partly that, thus knowing each other by sight, each may know the man it becomes himmost to avoid. The lady who is now your wife is entitled by my marriage-settlement to the reversion of a small fortune at my death; nothing morefrom me is she likely to inherit. As I have no desire that she to whom Ionce gave the name of daughter should be dependent wholly on yourself forbread, my solicitor will inform you on what conditions I am willing, during my life, to pay the interest of the sum which will pass to yourwife at my death. Sir, I return to your hands the letters that lady hasaddressed to me, and which, it is easy to perceive, were written at yourdictation. No letter from her will I answer. Across my threshold herfoot will never pass. Thus, sir, concludes all possible intercoursebetween you and myself; what rests is between you and that gentleman. "

Darrell had opened a side-door in speaking the last words--pointedtowards the respectable form of Mr. Gotobed standing tall beside his talldesk--and, before Jasper could put in a word, the father-in-law was gone. 

With becoming brevity, Mr. Gotobed made Jasper fully aware that not onlyall, Mr. Darrell's funded or personal property was entirely at his owndisposal--that not only the large landed estates he had purchased (andwhich Jasper had vaguely deemed inherited and in strict entail) were inthe same condition--condition enviable to the proprietor, odious to thebridegroom of the proprietor's sole daughter; but that even the fee-simple of the poor Fawley Manor House and lands were vested in Darrell, encumbered only by the portion of L10, 000 which the late Mrs. Darrell hadbrought to her husband, and which was settled, at the death of herselfand Darrell, on the children of the marriage. 

In the absence of marriage-settlements between Jasper and Matilda, thatsum at Darrell's death was liable to be claimed by Jasper, in right ofhis wife, so as to leave no certainty that provision would remain for thesupport of his wife and family; and the contingent reversion might, inthe mean time, be so dealt with as to bring eventual poverty on them all. 

"Sir, " said the lawyer, "I will be quite frank with you. It is my wish, acting for Mr. Darrell, so to settle this sum of L10, 000 on your wife, and any children she may bear you, as to place it out of your power toanticipate or dispose of it, even with Mrs. Hammond's consent. If youpart with that power, not at present a valuable one, you are entitled tocompensation. I am prepared to make that compensation liberal. Perhapsyou would prefer communicating with me through your own solicitor. But Ishould tell you, that the terms are more likely to be advantageous to youin proportion as negotiation is confined to us two. It might, forinstance, be expedient to tell your solicitor that your true name (I begyou a thousand pardons) is not Hammond. That is a secret which, the moreyou can keep it to yourself, the better I think it will be for you. Wehave no wish to blab it out. "

Jasper, by this time, had somewhat recovered the first shock ofdispleasure and disappointment; and with that quickness which soerratically darted through a mind that contrived to be dull when anythinghonest was addressed to its apprehension, he instantly divined that hisreal name of Losely was worth something. He had no idea of reusing--was, indeed, at that time anxious altogether to ignore and eschew it; but hehad a right to it, and a man's rights are not to be resigned for nothing. Accordingly, he said with some asperity: "I shall resume my family namewhenever I choose it. If Mr. Darrell does not like his daughter to becalled Mrs. Jasper Losely--or all the malignant tittle-tattle which mypoor father's unfortunate trial might provoke--he must, at least, ask meas a favour to retain the name I have temporarily adopted--a name in myfamily, sir. A Losely married a Hammond, I forget when--generations ago--you'll see it in the Baronetage. My grandfather, Sir Julian, was not acrack lawyer, but he was a baronet of as good birth as any in thecountry; and my father, sir"--(Jasper's voice trembled) "my father, " herepeated, fiercely striking his clenched hand on the table, "was agentleman every inch of his body; and I'll pitch any man out of thewindow who says a word to the contrary!"

"Sir, " said Mr. Gotobed, shrinking towards the bell pull, "I think, onthe whole, I had better see your solicitor. "

Jasper cooled down at that suggestion; and, with a slight apology fornatural excitement, begged to know what Mr. Gotobed wished to propose. To make an end of this part of the story, after two or three interviews, in which the two negotiators learned to understand each other, asettlement was legally completed, by which the sum of L10, 000 wasinalienably settled on Matilda, and her children by her marriage withJasper; in case he survived her, the interest was to be his for life--in case she died childless, the capital would devolve to himself atDarrell's decease. Meanwhile, Darrell agreed to pay L500 a year, as theinterest of the L10, 000 at five per cent. , to Jasper Hammond, or hisorder, provided always that Jasper and his wife continued to residetogether, and fixed that residence abroad. 

By a private verbal arrangement, not even committed to writing, to thissum was added another L200 a year, wholly at Darrell's option anddiscretion. It being clearly comprehended that these words meant so longas Mr. Hammond kept his own secret, and so long, too, as he forbore, directly or indirectly, to molest, or even to address, the person atwhose pleasure it was held. On the whole, the conditions to Jasper weresufficiently favourable: he came into an income immeasurably beyond hisright to believe that he should ever enjoy; and sufficient--well managed--for even a fair share of the elegancies as well as comforts of life, toa young couple blest in each other's love, and remote from the horribletaxes and emulous gentilities of this opulent England, where out of fearto be thought too poor nobody is ever too rich. 

Matilda wrote no more to Darrell. But some months afterwards he receivedan extremely well-expressed note in French, the writer whereofrepresented herself as a French lady, who had very lately seen MadameHammondwho was now in London, but for a few days, and had something tocommunicate, of such importance as to justify the liberty she took inrequesting him to honour her with a visit. After some little hesitation, Darrell called on this lady. Though Matilda had forfeited his affection, he could not contemplate her probable fate without painful anxiety. Perhaps Jasper had ill-used her--perhaps she had need of shelterelsewhere. Though that shelter could not again be under a father's roof--and though Darrell would have taken no steps to separate her from thehusband she had chosen, still, in secret, he would have felt comparativerelief and ease had she herself sought to divide her fate from one whosepath downwards in dishonour his penetration instinctively divined. Withan idea that some communication might be made to him, to which he mightreply that Matilda, if compelled to quit her husband, should never wantthe home and subsistence of a gentlewoman, he repaired to the house (ahandsome house in a quiet street) temporarily occupied by the Frenchlady. A tall chasseur, in full costume, opened the door--a page usheredhim into the drawing-room. He saw a lady--young-and with all the graceof a Parisieune in her manner--who, after some exquisitely-turned phrasesof excuse, showed him (as a testimonial of the intimacy between herselfand Madame Hammond) a letter she had received from Matilda, in a veryheart-broken, filial strain, full of professions of penitence--of apassionate desire for her father's forgivenessbut far from complaining ofJasper, or hinting at the idea of deserting a spouse with whom, but forthe haunting remembrance of a beloved parent, her lot would be blestindeed. Whatever of pathos was deficient in the letter, the French ladysupplied by such apparent fine feeling, and by so many touching littletraits of Matilda's remorse, that Darrell's heart was softened in spiteof his reason. He went away, however, saying very little, and intendingto call no more. But another note came. The French lady had received aletter from a mutual friend--"Matilda, " she feared, "was dangerouslyill. " This took him again to the house, and the poor French lady seemedso agitated by the news she had heard--and yet so desirous not toexaggerate nor alarm him needlessly, that Darrell suspected his daughterwas really dying, and became nervously anxious himself for the nextreport. Thus, about three or four visits in all necessarily followed thefirst one. Then Darrell abruptly closed the intercourse, and could notbe induced to call again. Not that he for an instant suspected that thisamiable lady, who spoke so becomingly, and whose manners were so high-bred, was other than the well-born Baroness she called herself, andlooked to be, but partly because, in the last interview, the charmingParisienne had appeared a little to forget Matilda's alarming illness, in a not forward but still coquettish desire to centre his attention moreupon herself; and the moment she did so, he took a dislike to her whichhe had not before conceived; and partly because his feelings havingrecovered the first effect which the vision of a penitent, pining, dyingdaughter could not fail to produce, his experience of Matilda's duplicityand falsehood made him discredit the penitence, the pining, and thedying. The Baroness might not wilfully be deceiving him--Matilda mightbe wilfully deceiving the Baroness. To the next note, therefore, despatched to him by the feeling and elegant foreigner, he replied butby a dry excuse--a stately hint, that family matters could never besatisfactorily discussed except in family councils, and that if herfriend's grief or illness were really in any way occasioned by a beliefin the pain her choice of life might have inflicted on himself, it mightcomfort her to know that that pain had subsided, and that his wish forher health and happiness was not less sincere, because henceforth hecould neither watch over the one nor administer to the other. To thisnote, after a day or two, the Baroness replied by a letter so beautifullyworded, I doubt whether Madame de Sevigne could have written in purerFrench, or Madame de Steel with a finer felicity of phrase. Stripped ofthe graces of diction, the substance was but small: "Anxiety for a friendso beloved--so unhappy--more pitied even than before, now that theBaroness had been enabled to see how fondly a daughter must idolise afather in the Man whom the nation revered!--(here two lines devoted tocompliment personal)--compelled by that anxiety to quit even sooner thanshe had first intended the metropolis of that noble Country, " &c. --(herefour lines devoted to compliment national)--and then proceeding throughsome charming sentences about patriot altars and domestic hearths, thewriter suddenly checked herself--" would intrude no more on timesublimely dedicated to the Human Race--and concluded with the assuranceof sentiments the most /distinguees/. " Little thought Darrell that thiscomplimentary stranger, whom he never again beheld, would exercise aninfluence over that portion of his destiny which then seemed to him mostsecure from evil; towards which, then, be looked for the balm to everywound--the compensation to every loss!

Darrell heard no more of Matilda, till, not long afterwards, her deathwas announced to him. She had died from exhaustion shortly after givingbirth to a female child. The news came upon him at a moment; when, fromother causes--(the explanation of which, forming no part of hisconfidence to Alban, it will be convenient to reserve)--his mind was in astate of great affliction and disorder--when he had already buriedhimself in the solitudes of Fawley--ambition resigned and the worldrenounced--and the intelligence saddened and shocked him more than itmight have done some months before. If, at that moment of utterbereavement, Matilda's child had been brought to him--given up to him torear--would he have rejected it? would he have forgotten that it was afelon's grandchild?

I dare not say. But his pride was not put to such a trial. One day hereceived a packet from Mr. Gotobed, enclosing the formal certificates ofthe infant's death, which had been presented to him by Jasper, who hadarrived in London for that melancholy purpose, with which he combineda pecuniary proposition. By the death of Matilda and her only child, thesum of L10, 000 absolutely reverted to Jasper in the event of Darrell'sdecease. As the interest meanwhile was continued to Jasper, that widowedmourner suggested "that it would be a great boon to himself and nodisadvantage to Darrell if the principal were made over to him at once. He had been brought up originally to commerce. He had abjured allthoughts of resuming such vocation during his wife's lifetime, out ofthat consideration for her family and ancient birth which motives ofdelicacy imposed. Now that the connection with Mr. Darrell wasdissolved, it might be rather a relief than otherwise to that gentlemanto know that a son-in-law so displeasing to him was finally settled, notonly in a foreign land, but in a social sphere in which his veryexistence would soon be ignored by all who could remind Mr. Darrell thathis daughter had once a husband. An occasion that might never occuragain now presented itself. A trading firm at Paris, opulent, butunostentatiously quiet in its mercantile transactions, would accept himas a partner could he bring to it the additional capital of L10, 000. "Not without dignity did Jasper add, "that since his connection had beenso unhappily distasteful to Mr. Darrell, and since the very payment, eachquarter, of the interest on the sum in question must in itself keep alivethe unwelcome remembrance of that connection, he had the less scruple inmaking a proposition which would enable the eminent personage who sodisdained his alliance to get rid of him altogether. " Darrell closed atonce with Jasper's proposal, pleased to cut off from his life each tiethat could henceforth link it to Jasper's, nor displeased to relieve hishereditary acres from every shilling of the marriage portion which wasimposed on it as a debt, and associated with memories of unmingledbitterness. Accordingly, Mr. Gotobed, taking care first to ascertainthat the certificates as to the poor child's death were genuine, acceptedJasper's final release of all claim on Mr. Darrell's estate. Therestill, however, remained the L200 a year which Jasper had received duringMatilda's life, on the tacit condition of remaining Mr. Hammond, and notpersonally addressing Mr. Darrell. Jasper inquired "if that annuity wasto continue?" Mr. Gotobed referred the inquiry to Darrell, observingthat the object for which this extra allowance had been made was renderednugatory by the death of Mrs. Hammond and her child; since Jasperhenceforth could have neither power nor pretext to molest Mr. Darrell, and that it could signify but little what name might in future be borneby one whose connection with the Darrell family was wholly dissolved. Darrell impatiently replied, "That nothing having been said as to thewithdrawal of the said allowance in case Jasper became a widower, heremained equally entitled, in point of honour, to receive that allowance, or an adequate equivalent. "

This answer being intimated to Jasper, that gentleman observed "that itwas no more than he had expected from Mr. Darrell's sense of honour, " andapparently quite satisfied, carried himself and his L10, 000 back toParis. Not long after, however, he wrote to Mr. Gotobed that "Mr. Darrell having alluded to an equivalent for the L200 a year allowed tohim, evidently implying that it was as disagreeable to Mr. Darrell to seethat sum entered quarterly in his banker's books, as it had been to seethere the quarterly interest of the L10, 000, so Jasper might be excusedin owning that he should prefer an equivalent. The commercial firm towhich he was about to attach himself required a somewhat larger capitalon his part than he had anticipated, &c. , &c. Without presuming todictate any definite sum, he would observe that L1, 500 or even L1000would be of more avail to his views and objects in life than an annuityof L200 a year, which, being held only at will, was not susceptible of atemporary loan. " Darrell, wrapped in thoughts wholly remote fromrecollections of Jasper, chafed at being thus recalled to the sense ofthat person's existence wrote back to the solicitor who transmitted tohim this message, "that an annuity held on his word was not to becalculated by Mr. Hammond's notions of its value. That the L200 a yearshould therefore be placed on the same footing as the L500 a year thathad been allowed on a capital of L10, 000; that accordingly it might beheld to represent a principal of L4, 000, for which he enclosed a cheque, begging Mr. Gotobed not only to make Mr. Hammond fully understand thatthere ended all possible accounts or communication between them, butnever again to trouble him with any matters whatsoever in reference toaffairs that were thus finally concluded. " Jasper, receiving the L4, 000, left Darrell and Gotobed in peace till the following year. He thenaddressed to Gotobed an exceedingly plausible, business-like letter. "The firm he had entered, in the silk trade, was in the most flourishingstate--an opportunity occurred to purchase a magnificent mulberryplantation in Provence, with all requisite magnanneries, &c. , which wouldyield an immense increase of profit. That if, to insure him a share inthis lucrative purchase, Mr. Darrell could accommodate him for a yearwith a loan of L2, 000 or L3, 000, he sanguinely calculated on attaining sohigh a position in the commercial world as, though it could not renderthe recollection of his alliance more obtrusive to Mr. Darrell, wouldrender it less humiliating. "

Mr. Gotobed, in obedience to the peremptory instructions he had receivedfrom his client, did not refer this letter to Darrell, but havingoccasion at that time to visit Paris on other business, he resolved(without calling on Mr. Hammond) to institute there some private inquiry-into that rising trader's prospects and status. He found, on arrival atParis, these inquiries difficult. No one in either the /beau monde/ orin the /haut commerce/ seemed to know anything about this Mr. JasperHammond. A few fashionable English /roues/ remembered to have seen, onceor twice during Matilda's life, and shortly after her decease, a veryfine-looking man shooting meteoric across some equivocal /salons/, orlounging in the Champs Elysees, or dining at the Cafe de Paris; but oflate that meteor had vanished. Mr. Gotobed, then anxiously employing acommissioner to gain some information of Mr. Hammond's firm at theprivate residence from which Jasper addressed his letter, ascertainedthat in that private residence Jasper did not reside. He paid the porterto receive occasional letters, for which he called or sent; and theporter, who was evidently a faithful and discreet functionary, declaredhis belief that Monsieur Hammond lodged in the house in which hetransacted business, though where was the house or what was the business, the porter observed, with well-bred implied rebuke, "Monsieur Hammond wastoo reserved to communicate, he himself too incurious to inquire. " Atlength, Mr. Gotobed's business, which was, in fact, a commission from adistressed father to extricate an imprudent son, a mere boy, from someunhappy associations, having brought him into the necessity of seeingpersons who belonged neither to the /beau monde/ nor to the /hautcommerce/, he gleaned from them the information he desired. Mr. Hammondlived in the very heart of a certain circle in Paris, which but fewEnglishmen ever penetrate. In that circle Mr. Hammond had, on receivinghis late wife's dowry, become the partner in a private gambling hell; inthat hell had been engulfed all the monies he had received--a hell thatought to have prospered with him, if he could have economised hisvillanous gains. His senior partner in that firm retired into thecountry with a fine fortune--no doubt the very owner of those mulberryplantations which were now on sale! But Jasper scattered napoleonsfaster than any croupier could rake them away. And Jasper's naturaltalent for converting solid gold into thin air had been assisted by alady who, in the course of her amiable life, had assisted many richer menthan Jasper to lodgings in /St. Pelagie/, or cells in the /Maison desFous/. With that lady he had become acquainted during the lifetime ofhis wife, and it was supposed that Matilda's discovery of this liaisonhad contributed perhaps to the illness which closed in her decease; thename of that lady was Gabrielle Desinarets. She might still be seendaily at the Bois de Boulogne, nightly at opera-house or theatre; she hadapartments in the Chaussee d'Antin far from inaccessible to Mr. Gotobed, if he coveted the honour of her acquaintance. But Jasper was less beforean admiring world. He was supposed now to be connected with anothergambling-house of lower grade than the last, in which he had contrived tobreak his own bank and plunder his own till. It was supposed also thathe remained good friends with Mademoiselle Desmarets; but if he visitedher at her house, he was never to be seen there. In fact, his temper wasso uncertain, his courage so dauntless, his strength so prodigious, thatgentlemen who did not wish to be thrown out of the window, or hurled downa staircase, shunned any salon or boudoir in which they had a chanceto encounter him. Mademoiselle Desmarets had thus been condemned to thepainful choice between his society and that of nobody else, or that ofanybody else with the rigid privation of his. Not being a turtle-dove, she had chosen the latter alternative. It was believed, nevertheless, that if Gabrielle Desmarets had known the weakness of a kind sentiment, it was for this turbulent lady-killer; and that, with a liberality shehad never exhibited in any other instance, when she could no longer helphim to squander, she would still, at a pinch, help him to live; though, of course, in such a reverse of the normal laws of her being, Mademoiselle Desmarets set those bounds on her own generosity which shewould not have imposed upon his, and had said with a sigh: "I couldforgive him if he beat me and beggared my friends! but to beat my friendsand to beggar me, --that is not the kind of love which makes the world goround!"

Scandalised to the last nerve of his respectable system by theinformation thus gleaned, Mr. Gotobed returned to London. More lettersfrom Jasper--becoming urgent, and at last even insolent--Mr. Gotobedworried into a reply, wrote back shortly "that he could not evencommunicate such applications to Mr. Darrell, and that he mustperemptorily decline all further intercourse, epistolary or personal, with Mr. Hammond. "

Darrell, on returning from one of the occasional rambles on theContinent, "remote, unfriended, melancholy, " by which he broke themonotony of his Fawley life, found a letter from Jasper, not fawning, butabrupt, addressed to himself, complaining of Mr. Gotobed's improper tone, requesting pecuniary assistance, and intimating that he could in returncommunicate to Mr. Darrell an intelligence that would give him more joythan all his wealth could purchase. Darrell enclosed that note to Mr. Gotobed; Mr. Gotobed came down to Fawley to make those revelations ofJasper's mode of life which were too delicate--or too much the reverse ofdelicate--to commit to paper. Great as Darrell's disgust at the memoryof Jasper had hitherto been, it may well be 'conceived how much morebitter became that memory now. No answer was, of course, vouchsafed toJasper, who, after another extremely forcible appeal for money, andequally enigmatical boast of the pleasurable information it was in hispower to bestow, relapsed into sullen silence. 

One day, somewhat more than five years after Matilda's death, Darrell, coming in from his musing walks, found a stranger waiting for him. Thisstranger was William Losely, returned from penal exile; and whileDarrell, on hearing this announcement, stood mute with haughty wonderthat such a visitor could cross the threshold of his father's house, theconvict began what seemed to Darrell a story equally audacious andincomprehensible--the infant Matilda had borne to Jasper, and thecertificates of whose death had been so ceremoniously produced and soprudently attested, lived still! Sent out to nurse as soon as born, thenurse had in her charge another babe, and this last was the child who haddied and been buried as Matilda Hammond's. The elder Losely went on tostammer out a hope that his son was not at the time aware of thefraudulent exchange, but had been deceived by the nurse--that it had notbeen a premeditated imposture of his own to obtain his wife's fortune. 

When Darrell came to this part of his story, Alban Morley's face grewmore seriously interested. "Stop!" he said; "William Losely assuredyou of his own conviction that this strange tale was true. What proofsdid he volunteer?"

"Proofs! Death, man, do you think that at such moments I was but abloodless lawyer, to question and cross examine? I could but bid theimpostor leave the house which his feet polluted. "

Alban heaved a sigh, and murmured, too low for Darrell to overhear, "PoorWilly!" then aloud: "But, my dear friend, bear with me one moment. Suppose that, by the arts of this diabolical Jasper, the exchange reallyhad been effected, and a child to your ancient line lived still, would itnot be a solace, a comfort--"

"Comfort!" cried Darrell, "comfort in the perpetuation of infamy! Theline I promised my father to restore to its rank in the land, to berenewed in the grandchild of a felon!--in the child of the yet vilersharper of a hell! You, gentleman and soldier, call that thought--'comfort!' O Alban!--out on you! Fie! fie! No!--leave such a thoughtto the lips of a William Losely! He indeed, clasping his hands, falteredforth some such word; he seemed to count on my forlorn privation of kithand kindred--no heir to my wealth--no representative of my race--would Ideprive myself of--ay--your very words--of a solace--a comfort! He askedme, at least, to inquire. "

"And you answered?"

"Answered so as to quell and crush in the bud all hopes in the success ofso flagrant a falsehold--answered: 'Why inquire? Know that, even if yourtale were true, I have no heir, no representative, no descendant in thechild of Jasper--the grandchild of William-Losely. I can at least leavemy wealth to the son of Charles Haughton. True, Charles Haughton was aspendthrift, a gamester; but he was neither a professional cheat nor aconvicted felon. '"

"You said that--Oh, Darrell!"

The Colonel checked himself. But for Charles Haughton, the spendthriftand gamester, would William Losely have been the convicted felon? Hechecked that thought, and hurried on: "And how did William Losely reply?"

"He made no reply--he skulked away without a word. " Darrell thenproceeded to relate the interview which Jasper had forced on him atFawley during Lionel's visit there--on Jasper's part an attempt to tellthe same tale as William had told--on Darrell's part, the same scornfulrefusal to hear it out. "And, " added Darrell, "the man, finding it thusimpossible to dupe my reason, had the inconceivable meanness to apply tome for alms. I could not better show the disdain in which I held himselfand his story than in recognising his plea as a mendicant. I threw mypurse at his feet, and so left him. 

"But, " continued Darrell, his brow growing darker and darker--" but wildand monstrous as the story was, still the idea that it MIGHT be true--asupposition which derived its sole strength from the character of JasperLosely--from the interest he had in the supposed death of a child thatalone stood between himself and the money he longed to grasp--an interestwhich ceased when the money itself was gone, or rather changed into thecounter-interest of proving a life that, he thought, would re-establish ahold on me--still, I say, an idea that the story might be true wouldforce itself on my fears, and if so, though my resolution never toacknowledge the child of Jasper Losely as a representative, or even as adaughter, of my house, would of course be immovable--yet it would becomemy duty to see that her infancy was sheltered, her childhood reared, heryouth guarded, her existence amply provided for. "

"Right--your plain duty, " said Alban bluntly. "Intricate sometimes arethe obligations imposed on us as gentlemen; 'noblesse oblige' is a mottowhich involves puzzles for a casuist; but our duties as men are plain--the idea very properly haunted you--and--"

"And I hastened to exorcise the spectre. I left England--I went to theFrench town in which poor Matilda died--I could not, of course, makeformal or avowed inquiries of a nature to raise into importance the veryconspiracy (if conspiracy there were) which threatened me. But I saw thephysician who had attended both my daughter and her child--I sought thosewho had seen them both when living--seen them both when dead. The doubton my mind was dispelled--not a pretext left for my own self-torment. The only person needful in evidence whom I failed to see was the nurse towhom the infant had been sent. She lived in a village some miles fromthe town--I called at her house--she was out. I left word I should callthe next day--I did so--she had absconded. I might, doubtless, havetraced her, but to what end if she were merely Jasper's minion and tool?Did not her very flight prove her guilt and her terror? Indirectly Iinquired into her antecedents and character. The inquiry opened a fieldof conjecture, from which I hastened to turn my eyes. This woman had asister who had been in the service of Gabrielle Desmarets, and GabrielleDesmarets had been in the neighbourhood during my poor daughter's life-time, and just after my daughter's death. And the nurse had had twoinfants under her charge; the nurse had removed with one of them toParis--and Gabrielle Desmarets lived in Paris--and, O Alban, if there bereally in flesh and life a child by Jasper Losely, to be forced upon mypurse or my pity--is it his child, not by the ill-fated Matilda, but bythe vile woman for whom Matilda, even in the first year of wedlock, wasdeserted? Conceive how credulity itself would shrink appalled from thehorrible snare!--I to acknowledge, adopt, proclaim as the last of theDarrells, the adulterous offspring of a Jasper Losely and a GabrielleDesmarets!--or, when I am in my grave, some claim advanced upon the sumsettled by my marriage articles on Matilda's issue, and which, if a childsurvived, could not have been legally transferred to its father--a claimwith witnesses suborned--a claim that might be fraudulently established--a claim that would leave the representative--not indeed of my lands andwealth, but, more precious far, of my lineage and blood--in--in theperson of--of--"

Darrell paused, almost stifling, and became so pale that Alban startedfrom his seat in alarm. 

"It is nothing, " resumed Darrell, faintly, "and, ill or well, I mustfinish this subject now, so that we need not reopen it. "

"I remained abroad, as you know, for some years. During that time two orthree letters from Jasper Losely were forwarded to me; the latest in datemore insolent than all preceding ones. It contained demands as if theywere rights, and insinuated threats of public exposure, reflecting onmyself and my pride: 'He was my son-in-law after all, and if he came todisgrace, the world should know the tie. ' Enough. This is all I knewuntil the man who now, it seems, thrusts himself forward as JasperLosely's friend or agent, spoke to me the other night at Mrs. Haughton's. That man you have seen, and you say that he--"

"Represents Jasper's poverty as extreme; his temper unscrupulous anddesperate; that he is capable of any amount of scandal or violence. Itseems that though at Paris he has (Poole believes) still preserved thename of Hammond, yet that in England he has resumed that of Losely; andseems by Poole's date of the time at which he, Poole, made Jasper'sacquaintance, to have done so after his baffled attempt on you at Fawley-whether in so doing he intimated the commencement of hostilities, orwhether, as is more likely, the sharper finds it convenient to have onename in one country, and one in another, 'tis useless to inquire; enoughthat the identity between the Hammond who married poor Matilda, and theJasper Losely whose father was transported, that unscrupulous rogue hasno longer any care to conceal. It is true that the revelation of thisidentity would now be of slight moment to a man of the world-as thick-skinned as myself, for instance; but to you it would be disagreeable-there is no denying that--and therefore, in short, when Mr. Poole advisesa compromise, by which Jasper could be secured from want and yourselffrom annoyance, I am of the same opinion as Mr. Poole is. "

"You are?"

"Certainly. My dear Darrell, if in your secret heart there was somethingso galling in the thought that the man who had married your daughter, though without your consent, was not merely the commonplace adventurerwhom the world supposed, but the son of that poor dear--I mean thatrascal who was transported, Jasper, too, himself a cheat and a sharper-ifthis galled you so, that you have concealed the true facts from myself, your oldest friend, till this day--if it has cost you even now so sharp apang to divulge the true name of that Mr. Hammond, whom our society neversaw, whom even gossip has forgotten in connection with yourself--howintolerable would be your suffering to have this man watching for you inthe streets, some wretched girl in his hand, and crying out, 'A penny foryour son-in-law and your grandchild!' Pardon me--I must be blunt. Youcan give him to the police--send him to the treadmill. Does that mendthe matter? Or, worse still, suppose the man commits some crime thatfills all the newspapers with his life and adventures, including ofcourse his runaway marriage with the famous Guy Darrell's heiress--no onewould blame you, no one respect you less; but do not tell me that youwould not be glad to save your daughter's name from being coupled withsuch a miscreant's at the price of half your fortune. "

"Alban'" said Darrell, gloomily, "you can say nothing on this score thathas not been considered by myself. But the man has so placed the matter, that honour itself forbids me to bargain with him for the price of myname. So long as he threatens, I cannot buy off a threat; so long as hepersists in a story by which he would establish a claim on me on behalfof a child whom I have every motive as well as every reason to disown asinheriting my blood--whatever I bestowed on himself would seem like hush-money to suppress that claim. "

"Of course--I understand, and entirely agree with you. But if the manretract all threats, confess his imposture in respect to this pretendedoffspring, and consent to retire for life to a distant colony, upon anannuity that may suffice for his wants, but leave no surplus beyond, torender more glaring his vices, or more effective his powers of evil; ifthis could be arranged between Mr. Poole and myself, I think that yourpeace might be permanently secured without the slightest sacrifice ofhonour. Will you leave the matter in my hands on this assurance--that Iwill not give this person a farthing except on the conditions I havepremised?"

"On these conditions, yes, and most gratefully, " said Darrell. "Do whatyou will; but one favour more: never again speak to me (unless absolutelycompelled) in reference to this dark portion of my inner life. "

Alban pressed his friend's hand, and both were silent for some moments. Then said the Colonel, with an attempt at cheerfulness: "Darrell, morethan ever now do I see that the new house at Fawley, so long suspended, must be finished. Marry again you must!--you can never banish oldremembrances unless you can supplant them by fresh hopes. "

"I feel it--I know it, " cried Darrell, passionately. And oh! if oneremembrance could be wrenched away! But it shall--it shall!"

"Ah!" thought Alban--" the remembrance of his former conjugal life!--aremembrance which might well make the youngest and the boldest Benedictshrink from the hazard of a similar experiment. "

In proportion to the delicacy, the earnestness, the depth of a man'snature, will there be a something in his character which no male friendcan conceive, and a something in the secrets of his life which no malefriend can ever conjecture. 

CHAPTER XI. 

 OUR OLD FRIEND THE POCKET-CANNIBAL EVINCES UNEXPECTED PATRIOTISM AND PHILOSOPHICAL MODERATION, CONTENTED WITH A STEAK OFF HIS OWN SUCCULENT FRIEND IN THE AIRS OF HIS OWN NATIVE SKY. 

Colonel Morley had a second interview with Mr. Poole. It needed notAlban's knowledge of the world to discover that Poole was no partialfriend to Jasper Losely; that, for some reason or other, Poole was noless anxious than the Colonel to get that formidable client, whose causehe so warmly advocated, pensioned and packed off into the region mostremote from Great Britain in which a spirit hitherto so restless mightconsent to settle. And although Mr. Poole had evidently taken offence atMr. Darrell's discourteous rebuff of his amiable intentions, yet nogrudge against Darrell furnished a motive for conduct equal to hisChristian desire that Darrell's peace should be purchased by Losely'sperpetual exile. Accordingly, Colonel Morley took leave, with a well-placed confidence in Poole's determination to do all in his power toinduce Jasper to listen to reason. The Colonel had hoped to learnsomething from Poole of the elder Losely's present residence andresources. Poole, as we know, could give him there no information. TheColonel also failed to ascertain any particulars relative to that femalepretender on whose behalf Jasper founded his principal claim to Darrell'said. And so great was Poole's embarrassment in reply to all questions onthat score--Where was the young person? With whom had she lived? Whatwas she like? Could the Colonel see her, and hear her own tale?--thatAlban entertained a strong suspicion that no such girl was in existence;that she was a pure fiction and myth; or that, if Jasper were compelledto produce some petticoated fair, she would be an artful baggage hiredfor the occasion. 

Poole waited Jasper's next visit with impatience and sanguine delight. He had not a doubt that the ruffian would cheerfully consent to allowthat, on further inquiry, he found he had been deceived in his belief ofSophy's parentage, and that there was nothing in England so peculiarlysacred to his heart, but what he might consent to breathe the freer airof Columbian skies, or even to share the shepherd's harmless life amidstthe pastures of auriferous Australia! But, to Poole's ineffableconsternation, Jasper declared sullenly that he would not consent toexpatriate himself merely for the sake of living. 

"I am not so young as I was, " said the bravo; "I don't speak of years, but feeling. I have not the same energy; once I had high spirits--theyare broken; once I had hope--I have none: I am not up to exertion; I havegot into lazy habits. To go into new scenes, form new plans, live in ahorrid raw new world, everybody round me bustling and pushing--No! thatmay suit your thin dapper light Hop-o'-my-thumbs! Look at me! See how Ihave increased in weight the last five years--all solid bone and muscle. I defy any four draymen to move me an inch if I am not in the mind to it;and to be blown off to the antipodes as if I were the down of a pestilentthistle, I am not in the mind for that, Dolly Poole!"

"Hum!" said Poole, trying to smile. "This is funny talk. You alwayswere a funny fellow. But I am quite sure, from Colonel Morley's decidedmanner, that you can get nothing from Darrell if you choose to remain inEngland. "

"Well, when I have nothing else left, I may go to Darrell myself, andhave that matter out with him. At present I am not up to it. Dolly, don't bore!" And the bravo, opening a jaw strong enough for anycarnivorous animal, yawned--yawned much as a bored tiger does in the faceof a philosophical student of savage manners in the Zoological Gardens. 

"Bore!" said Poole, astounded and recoiling from that expanded jaw. "But I should have thought no subject could bore you less than theconsideration of how you are to live?"

"Why, Dolly, I have learned to be easily contented, and you see atpresent I live upon you. "

"Yes, " groaned Poole, "but that can't go on for ever; and, besides, youpromised that you would leave me in peace as soon as I had got Darrell toprovide for you. "

"So I will. Zounds, sir, do you doubt my word? So I will. But I don'tcall exile 'a provision'--Basta! I understand from you that ColonelMorley offers to restore the niggardly L200 a year Darrell formerlyallowed to me, to be paid monthly or weekly, through some agent in VanDiemen's Land, or some such uncomfortable half-way house to Eternity, that was not even in the Atlas when I studied geography at school. ButL200 a year is exactly my income in England, paid weekly too, by youragreeable self, with whom it is a pleasure to talk over old times. Therefore that proposal is out of the question. Tell Colonel Morley, with my compliments, that if he will double the sum, and leave me tospend it where I please, I scorn haggling, and say 'done. ' And as to thegirl, since I cannot find her (which, on penalty of being threshed to amummy, you will take care not to let out), I would agree to leave Mr. Darrell free to disown her. But are you such a dolt as not to see that Iput the ace of trumps on my adversary's pitiful deuce, if I depose thatmy own child is not my own child, when all I get for it is what I equallyget out of you, with my ace of trumps still in my hands? Basta!--I sayagain Basta! It is evidently an object to Darrell to get rid of all fearthat Sophy should ever pounce upon him tooth and claw: if he be soconvinced that she is not his daughter's child, why make a point of mysaying that I told him a fib, when I said she was? Evidently, too, he isafraid of my power to harass and annoy him; or why make it a point that Ishall only nibble his cheese in a trap at the world's end, stared at bybushmen, and wombats, and rattlesnakes, and alligators, and otherAmerican citizens or British settlers! L200 a year, and my wife's fathera millionaire! The offer is an insult. Ponder this: put on the screw;make them come to terms which I can do them the honour to accept;meanwhile, I will trouble you for my four sovereigns. "

Poole had the chagrin to report to the Colonel, Jasper's refusal of theterms proposed, and to state the counter-proposition he was commissionedto make. Alban was at first surprised, not conjecturing the means ofsupply, in his native land, which Jasper had secured in the coffers ofPoole himself. On sounding the unhappy negotiator as to Jasper'sreasons, he surmised, however, one part of the truth--viz. , that Jasperbuilt hopes of better terms precisely on the fact that terms had beenoffered to him at all; and this induced Alban almost to regret that hehad made any such overtures, and to believe that Darrell's repugnance toopen the door of conciliation a single inch to so sturdy a mendicant wasmore worldly-wise than Alban had originally supposed. Yet partly, evenfor Darrell's own security and peace, from that persuasion of his ownpowers of management which a consummate man of the world is apt toentertain, and partly from a strong curiosity to see the audacious soilof that poor dear rascal Willy, and examine himself into the facts heasserted, and the objects he aimed at, Alban bade Poole inform Jasperthat Colonel Morley would be quite willing to convince him, in a personalinterview, of the impossibility of acceding to the propositions Jasperhad made; and that he should be still more willing to see the youngperson whom Jasper asserted to be the child of his marriage. 

Jasper, after a moment's moody deliberation, declined to meet ColonelMorley, actuated to some extent in that refusal by the sensitive vanitywhich once had given him delight, and now only gave him pain. Meet thus--altered, fallen, imbruted--the fine gentleman whose calm eye hadquelled him in the widow's drawing-room in his day of comparativesplendour--that in itself was distasteful to the degenerated bravo. Buthe felt as if he should be at more disadvantage in point of argument witha cool and wary representative of Darrell's interests, than he shouldbe even with Darrell himself. And unable to produce the child whom hearrogated the right to obtrude, he should be but exposed to a fire ofcross-questions without a shot in his own locker. Accordingly hedeclined, point-blank, to see Colonel Morley; and declared that the termshe himself had proposed were the lowest he would accept. "Tell ColonelMorley, however, that if negotiations fail, I shall not fail, sooner orlater, to argue my view of the points in dispute with my kind father-in-law, and in person. "

"Yes, hang it!" cried Poole, exasperated; "go and see Darrell yourself. He is easily found. "

"Ay, " answered Jasper, with the hardest look of his downcast sidelongeye--"Ay; some day or other it may come to that. I would rather not, if possible. I might not keep my temper. It is not merely a matter ofmoney between us, if we two meet. There are affronts to efface. Banished his house like a mangy dog--treated by a jackanapes lawyer likethe dirt in the kennel! The Loselys, I suspect, would have looked downon the Darrells fifty years ago; and what if my father was born out ofwedlock, is the blood not the same? Does the breed dwindle down for wantof a gold ring and priest? Look at me. No; not what I now am; not evenas you saw me five years ago; but as I leapt into youth! Was I born tocast sums and nib pens as a City clerk? Aha, my poor father, you werewrong there! Blood will out! Mad devil, indeed, is a racer in acitizen's gig! Spavined, and wind-galled, and foundered--let the brutego at last to the knockers; but by his eye, and his pluck, and his bone, the brute shows the stock that he came from!"

Dolly opened his eyes and-blinked. Never in his gaudy days had Jasperhalf so openly revealed what, perhaps, had been always a sore in hispride; and his outburst now may possibly aid the reader to a subtlercomprehension of the arrogance, and levity, and egotism, whichaccompanied his insensibility to honour, and had converted his very claimto the blood of a gentleman into an excuse for a cynic's disdain of thevery virtues for which a gentleman is most desirous of obtaining credit. But by a very ordinary process in the human mind, as Jasper had fallenlower and lower into the lees and dregs of fortune, his pride had moreprominently emerged from the group of the other and gaudier vices, bywhich, in health and high spirits, it had been pushed aside and outshone. 

"Humph!" said Poole, after a pause. "If Darrell was as uncivil to you ashe was to me, I don't wonder that you owe him a grudge. But even if youdo lose temper in seeing him, it might rather do good than not. You canmake yourself cursedly unpleasant if you choose it; and perhaps you willhave a better chance of getting your own terms if they see you can biteas well as bark! Set at Darrell, and worry him; it is not fair to worrynobody but me!"

"Dolly, don't bluster! If I could stand at his door, or stop him in thestreets, with the girl in my hand, your advice would be judicious. Theworld would not care for a row between a rich man and a penniless son-in-law. But an interesting young lady, who calls him grandfather, and fallsat his knees, --he could not send her to hard labour; and if he does notbelieve in her birth, let the thing but just get into the newspapers, andthere are plenty who will: and I should be in a very different positionfor treating. 'Tis just because, if I meet Darrell again, I don't wishthat again it should be all bark and no bite, that I postpone theinterview. All your own laziness--exert yourself and find the girl. "

"But I can't find the girl, and you know it. And I tell you what, Mr. Losely, Colonel Morley, who is a very shrewd man, does not believe in thegirl's existence. "

"Does not he! I begin to doubt it myself. But, at all events, you can'tdoubt of mine, and I am grateful for yours; and since you have given methe trouble of coming here to no purpose, I may as well take the nextweek's pay in advance--four sovereigns if you please, Dolly Poole. "

CHAPTER XII. 

 ANOTHER HALT--CHANGE OF HORSES--AND A TURN ON THE ROAD. 

Colonel Morley, on learning that Jasper declined a personal conferencewith himself, and that the proposal of an interview with Jasper's allegeddaughter was equally scouted or put aside, became still more confirmed inhis belief that Jasper had not yet been blest with a daughtersufficiently artful to produce. And pleased to think that the sharperwas thus unprovided with a means of annoyance, which, skilfully managed, might have been seriously harassing; and convinced that when Jasper foundno farther notice taken of him, he himself 'would be compelled topetition for the terms he now rejected, the Colonel dryly informed Poole"that his interference was at an end; that if Mr. Losely, either throughhimself, or through Mr. Poole, or any one else, presumed to address Mr. Darrell direct, the offer previously made would be peremptorily andirrevocably withdrawn. I myself, " added the Colonel, "shall be goingabroad very shortly for the rest of the summer; and should Mr. Losely, inthe mean while, think better of a proposal which secures him from want, Irefer him to Mr. Darrell's solicitor. To that proposal, according toyour account of his destitution, he must come sooner or later; and I amglad to see that he has in yourself so judicious an adviser"--a compliment which by no means consoled the miserable Poole. 

In the briefest words, Alban informed Darrell of his persuasion thatJasper was not only without evidence to support a daughter's claim, butthat the daughter herself was still in that part of Virgil's Hadesappropriated to souls that have not yet appeared upon the upper earth;and that Jasper himself, although holding back, as might be naturallyexpected, in the hope of conditions more to his taste, had only to beleft quietly to his own meditations in order to recognise the advantagesof emigration. Another L100 a-year or so, it is true, he might bargainfor, and such a demand might be worth conceding. But, on the whole, Alban congratulated Darrell upon the probability of hearing very littlemore of the son-in-law, and no more at all of the son-in-law's daughter. 

Darrell made no comment nor reply. A grateful look, a warm pressure ofthe hand, and, when the subject was changed, a clearer brow and liveliersmile, thanked the English Alban better than all words. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

 COLONEL MORLEY SHOWS THAT IT IS NOT WITHOUT REASON THAT HE ENJOYS HIS REPUTATION OF KNOWING SOMETHING ABOUT EVERYBODY. 

"Well met, " said Darrell, the day after Alban had conveyed to him thecomforting assurances which had taken one thorn from his side-dispersedone cloud in his evening sky. "Well met, " said Darrell, encountering theColonel a few paces from his own door. "Pray walk with me as far as theNew Road. I have promised Lionel to visit the studio of an artist friendof his, in whom he chooses to find a Raffaele, and in whom I suppose, atthe price of truth, I shall be urbanely compelled to compliment adauber. "

"Do you speak of Frank Vance?"

"The same. "

"You could not visit a worthier man, nor compliment a more promisingartist. Vance is one of the few who unite gusto and patience, fancy andbrushwork. His female heads, in especial, are exquisite, though they areall, I confess, too much like one another. The man himself is athoroughly fine fellow. He has been much made of in good society, andremains unspoiled. You will find his manner rather off-hand, the reverseof shy; partly, perhaps, because he has in himself the racy freshness andboldness which he gives to his colours; partly, perhaps, also, because hehas in his art the self-esteem that patricians take from their pedigree, and shakes a duke by the hand to prevent the duke holding out to him afinger. "

"Good, " said Darrell, with his rare, manly laugh. "Being shy myself, Ilike men who meet one half-way. I see that we shall be at our ease witheach other. "

"And perhaps still more 'when I tell you that he is connected with an oldEton friend of ours, and deriving no great benefit from that connection;you remember poor Sidney Branthwaite?"

"To be sure. He and I were great friends at Eton somewhat in the sameposition of pride and poverty. Of all the boys in the school we two hadthe least pocket-money. Poor Branthwaite! I lost sight of himafterwards. He went into the Church, got only a curacy, and died young. "

"And left a son, poorer than himself, who married Frank Vance's sister. "

"You don't say so. The Branthwaites were of good old family; what is Mr. Vance's?"

"Respectable enough. Vance's father was one of those clever men who havetoo many strings to their bow. He, too, was a painter; but he was also aman of letters, in a sort of a way--had a share in a journal, in which hewrote Criticisms on the Fine Arts. A musical composer, too. 

"Rather a fine gentleman, I suspect, with a wife who was rather a finelady. Their house was much frequented by artists and literary men: oldVance, in short, was hospitable--his wife extravagant. Believing thatposterity would do that justice to his pictures which his contemporariesrefused, Vance left to his family no other provision. After selling hispictures and paying his debts, there was just enough left to bury him. Fortunately, Sir --------, the great painter of that day, had alreadyconceived a liking to Frank Vance--then a mere boy--who had shown geniusfrom an infant, as all true artists do. Sir -------- took him into hisstudio and gave him lessons. It would have been unlike Sir --------, whowas open-hearted but close-fisted, to give anything else. But the boycontrived to support his mother and sister. That fellow, who is now asarrogant a stickler for the dignity of art as you or my Lord Chancellormay be for that of the bar, stooped then to deal clandestinely with fancyshops, and imitate Watteau on fans. I have two hand-screens that hepainted for a shop in Rathbone Place. I suppose he may have got tenshillings for them, and now any admirer of Frank's would give L100 apiecefor them. "

"That is the true soul in which genius lodges, and out of which firesprings, " cried Darrell cordially. "Give me the fire that lurks in theflint, and answers by light the stroke of the hard steel. I'm gladLionel has won a friend in such a man. Sidney Branthwaite's son marriedVance's sister--after Vance had won reputation?"

"No; while Vance was still a boy. Young Arthur Branthwaite was anorphan. If he had any living relations, they were too poor to assisthim. He wrote poetry much praised by the critics (they deserve to behanged, those critics!)--scribbled, I suppose, in old Vance's journal;saw Mary Vance a little before her father died; fell in love with her;and on the strength of a volume of verse, in which the critics allsolemnly deposed to his surpassing riches--of imagination, rushed to thealtar, and sacrificed a wife to the Muses! Those villanous critics willhave a dark account to render in the next world! Poor ArthurBranthwaite! For the sake of our old friend, his father, I bought a copyof his little volume. Little as the volume was, I could not read itthrough. "

What!--below contempt?"

"On the contrary, above comprehension! All poetry praised by criticsnow-a-days is as hard to understand as a hieroglyphic. I own a weaknessfor Pope and common sense. I could keep up with our age as far as Byron;after him I was thrown out. However, Arthur was declared by the criticsto be a great improvement on Byron--more 'poetical in form'--more'aesthetically artistic'--more 'objective' or 'subjective' (I am sure Iforget which; but it was one or the other, nonsensical, and not English)in his views of man and nature. Very possibly. All I know is--I boughtthe poems, but could not read them; the critics read them, but did notbuy. All that Frank Vance could make by painting hand-screens and fansand album-scraps, he sent, I believe, to the poor poet; but I fear it didnot suffice. Arthur, I suspect, must have been publishing another volumeon his own account. I saw a Monody on something or other, by ArthurBranthwaite, advertised, and no doubt Frank's fans and hand-screens musthave melted into the printer's bill. But the Monody never appeared: thepoet died, his young wife too. Frank Vance remains a bachelor, andsneers at gentility--abhors poets--is insulted if you promise posthumousfame--gets the best price he can for his pictures--and is proud to bethought a miser. Here we are at his door. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

 ROMANTIC LOVE PATHOLOGICALLY REGARDED BY FRANK VANCE AND ALBAN MORLEY. 

Vance was before his easel, Lionel looking over his shoulder. Never wasDarrell more genial than he was that day to Frank Vance. The two mentook to each other at once, and talked as familiarly as if the retiredlawyer and the rising painter were old fellow-travellers along the sameroad of life. Darrell was really an exquisite judge of art, and hispraise was the more gratifying because discriminating. Of course he gavethe due meed of panegyric to the female heads, by which the artist hadbecome so renowned. Lionel took his kinsman aside, and, with a mournfulexpression of face, showed him the portrait by which, all those varyingideals had been suggested--the portrait of Sophy as Titania. 

"And that is Lionel, " said the artist, pointing to the rough outline ofBottom. 

"Pish!" said Lionel, angrily. Then turning to Darrell: "This is theSophy we have failed to find, sir--is it not a lovely face?"

"It is indeed, " said Darrell. "But that nameless refinement inexpression--that arch yet tender elegance in the simple, watchfulattitude--these, Mr. Vance, must he your additions to the original. "

"No, I assure you, sir, " said Lionel: "besides that elegance, thatrefinement, there was a delicacy in the look and air of that child towhich Vance failed to do justice. Own it, Frank. "

"Reassure yourself, Mr. Darrell, " said Vance, "of any fears whichLionel's enthusiasm might excite. He tells me that Titania is inAmerica; yet, after all, I would rather he saw her again--no cure forlove at first sight like a second sight of the beloved object after along absence. "

DARRELL (somewhat gravely). --"A hazardous remedy--it might kill, if itdid not cure. "

COLONEL MORLEY. --"I suspect, from Vance's manner, that he has tested itsefficacy on his own person. "

LIONEL. --"NO, mon Colonel--I'll answer for Vance. He in love! Never. "

Vance coloured--gave a touch to the nose of a Roman senator in the famousclassical picture which he was then painting for a merchant atManchester--and made no reply. Darrell looked at the artist with a sharpand searching glance. 

COLONEL MORLEY. --"Then all the more credit to Vance for his intuitiveperception of philosophical truth. Suppose, my dear Lionel, that welight, one idle day, on a beautiful novel, a glowing romance--supposethat, by chance, we are torn from the book in the middle of the interest--we remain under the spell of the illusion--we recall the scenes--we tryto guess what should have been the sequel--we think that no romance everwas so captivating, simply because we were not allowed to conclude it. Well, if, some years afterwards, the romance fall again in our way, andwe open at the page where we left off, we cry, in the maturity of oursober judgment, 'Mawkish stuff!--is this the same thing that I oncethought so beautiful?--how one's tastes do alter!'"

DARRELL. --"Does it not depend on the age in which one began the romance?"

LIONEL. --"Rather, let me think, sir, upon the real depth of theinterest--the true beauty of the--"

VANCE (interrupting). --" Heroine?--Not at all, Lionel. I once fell inlove--incredible as it may seem to you--nine years ago last January. Iwas too poor then to aspire to any young lady's hand--therefore I did nottell my love, but 'let concealment, ' et cetera, et cetera. She went awaywith her mamma to complete her education on the Continent. I remained'Patience on a monument. ' She was always before my eyes--the slenderest, shyest creature just eighteen. I never had an idea that she could growany older, less slender, or less shy. Well, four years afterwards (justbefore we made our excursion into Surrey, Lionel), she returned toEngland, still unmarried. I went to a party at which I knew she was tobe-saw her, and was cured. "

"Bad case of small-pox, or what?" asked the Colonel, smiling. 

VANCE--"Nay; everybody said she was extremely improved--that was themischief--she had improved herself out of my fancy. I had been faithfulas wax to one settled impression, and when I saw a fine, full-formed, young Frenchified lady, quite at her ease, armed with eyeglass andbouquet and bustle, away went my dream of the slim blushing maiden. TheColonel is quite right, Lionel; the romance once suspended, 'tis ahaunting remembrance till thrown again in our way, but completedisillusion if we try to renew it; though I swear that in my case theinterest was deep, and the heroine improved in her beauty. So with youand that dear little creature. See her again, and you'll tease, me nomore to give you that portrait of Titania at watch over Bottom's softslumbers. All a Midsummer Night's Dream, Lionel. Titania fades backinto the arms of Oberon, and would not be Titania if you could make her-Mrs. Bottom. "

CHAPTER XV. 

 EVEN COLONEL MORLEY, (KNOWING EVERYBODY AND EVERYTHING), IS PUZZLED WHEN IT COMES TO THE PLAIN QUESTION--"WHAT WILL HE DO WITH IT?"

"I am delighted with Vance, " said Darrell, when he and the Colonel wereagain walking arm-in-arm. "His is not one of those meagre intellectswhich have nothing to spare out of the professional line. He has humour. Humour--strength's rich superfluity. "

"I like your definition, " said the Colonel. "And humour in Vance, thoughfantastic, is not without subtlety. There was much real kindness in hisobvious design to quiz Lionel out of that silly enthusiasm for--"

"For a pretty child, reared up to be a strolling player, " interruptedDarrell. "Don't call it silly enthusiasm. I call it chivalrouscompassion. Were it other than compassion, it would not be enthusiasm--it would be degradation. But do you believe, then, that Vance'sconfession of first love, and its cure, was but a whimsical invention?"

COLONEL MORLEY. --"Not so. Many a grave truth is spoken jestingly. Ihave no doubt that, allowing for the pardonable exaggeration of a/raconteur/, Vance was narrating an episode in his own life. "

DARRELL. --"Do you think that a grown man, who has ever really felt love, can make a jest of it, and to mere acquaintances?"

COLONEL MORLEY. --"Yes; if he be so thoroughly cured, that he has made ajest of it to himself. And the more lightly he speaks of it, perhaps themore solemnly at one time he felt it. Levity is his revenge on thepassion that fooled him. "

DARRELL. --"You are evidently an experienced philosopher in the lore ofsuch folly. '/Consultas insapientis sapientiae/. ' Yet I can scarcelybelieve that you have ever been in love. "

"Yes, I have, " said the Colonel bluntly, "and very often! Everybody atmy age has--except yourself. So like a man's observation, that, "continued the Colonel with much tartness. "No man ever thinks anotherman capable of a profound and romantic sentiment!"

DARRELL. --"True; I own my shallow fault, and beg you ten thousandpardons. So then you really believe, from your own experience, thatthere is much in Vance's theory and your own very happy illustration?Could we, after many years, turn back to the romance at the page at whichwe left off, we should--"

COLONEL MORLEY. --"Not care a straw to read on! Certainly, half thepeculiar charm of a person beloved must be ascribed to locality andcircumstance. "

DARRELL. --"I don't quite understand you. "

COLONEL MORLEY. --"Then, as you liked my former illustration, I willexplain myself by another one more homely. In a room to which you areaccustomed there is a piece of furniture, or an ornament, which soexactly suits the place that you say: 'The prettiest thing I ever saw!'You go away--you return--the piece of furniture or the ornament has beenmoved into another room. You see it there, and you say: 'Bless me, isthat the thing I so much admired!' The strange room does not suit it-losing its old associations and accessories, it has lost its charm. Soit is with human beings--seen in one place, the place would be nothingwithout them; seen in another, the place without them would be all thebetter!"

DARRELL (musingly)--"There are some puzzles in life which resemble theriddles a child asks you to solve. Your imagination cannot descend lowenough for the right guess. Yet, when you are told, you are obliged tosay, 'How clever!' Man lives to learn. "

"Since you have arrived at that conviction, " replied Colonel Morley, amused by his friend's gravity, "I hope that you will rest satisfied withthe experiences of Vance and myself; and that if you have a mind topropose to one of the young ladies whose merits we have alreadydiscussed, you will not deem it necessary to try what effect a prolongedabsence might produce on your good resolution. "

"No!" said Darrell, with sudden animation. "Before three days are overmy mind shall be made up. " "Bravo!--as to whom of the three you wouldask in marriage?"

"Or as to the idea of ever marrying again. Adieu, I am going to knock atthat door. "

"Mr. Vyvyan's! Ah, is it so, indeed? Verily, you are a true Dare-all. "

"Do not be alarmed. I go afterwards to an exhibition with Lady Adela, and I dine with the Carr Viponts. My choice is not yet made, and my handstill free. "

"His hand still free!" muttered the Colonel, pursuing his walk alone. "Yes--but three days hence--O--What will he do with it?"

CHAPTER XVI. 

 GUY DARRELL'S DECISION. 

Guy Darrell returned home from Carr Vipont's dinner at a late hour. Onhis table was a note from Lady Adela's father, cordially inviting Darrellto pass the next week at his country-house; London was now emptying fast. On the table too was a parcel, containing a book which Darrell had lentto Miss Vyvyan some weeks ago, and a note from herself. In calling ather father's house that morning, he had learned that Mr. Vyvyan hadsuddenly resolved to take her into Switzerland, with the view of passingthe next winter in Italy. The room was filled with loungers of bothsexes. Darrell had stayed but a short time. The leave-taking had beensomewhat formal--Flora unusually silent. He opened her note, and readthe first lines listlessly; those that followed, with a changing cheekand an earnest eye. He laid down the note very gently, again took it upand reperused. Then he held it to the candle, and it dropped from hishand in tinder. "The innocent child, " murmured he, with a soft paternaltenderness; "she knows not what she writes. " He began to pace the roomwith his habitual restlessness when in solitary thought--often stopping--often sighing heavily. At length his face cleared-his lips became firmlyset. He summoned his favourite servant. "Mills, " said he, "I shallleave town on horseback as soon as the sun rises. Put what I may requirefor a day or two into the saddle-bags. Possibly, however I may be backby dinner-time. Call me at five o'clock, and then go round to thestables. I shall require no groom to attend me. "

The next morning, while the streets were deserted, no houses as yetastir, but the sun bright, the air fresh, Guy Darrell rode from his door. He did not return the same day, nor the next, nor at all. But, late inthe evening of the second day, his horse, reeking hot and evidently hard-ridden, stopped at the porch of Fawley Manor-House; and Darrell flunghimself from the saddle, and into Fairthorn's arms. "Back again--backagain--and to leave no more!" said he, looking round; "Spes et Fortunavalete!"

CHAPTER XVII. 

 A MAN'S LETTER--UNSATISFACTORY AND PROVOKING AS A MAN'S LETTERS ALWAYS ARE. 

GUY DARRELL To COLONEL MORLEY. 

Fawley Manor-House, August 11, 18--. I HAVE decided, my dear Alban. Idid not take three days to do so, though the third day may be just overere you learn my decision. I shall never marry again: I abandon thatlast dream of declining years. My object in returning to the Londonworld was to try whether I could not find, amongst the fairest and mostattractive women that the world produces--at least to an English eye--some one who could inspire me with that singleness of affection whichcould alone justify the hope that I might win in return a wife's esteemand a contented home. That object is now finally relinquished, and withit all idea of resuming the life of cities. I might have re-entered apolitical career, had I first secured to myself a mind sufficientlyserene and healthful for duties that need the concentration of thoughtand desire. Such a state of mind I cannot secure. I have striven forit; I am baffled. It is said that politics are a jealous mistress--thatthey require the whole man. The saying is not invariably true in theapplication it commonly receives--that is, a politician may have someother employment of intellect, which rather enlarges his powers thandistracts their political uses. Successful politicians have united withgreat parliamentary toil and triumph legal occupations or learnedstudies. But politics do require that the heart should be free, and atpeace from all more absorbing private anxieties--from the gnawing of amemory or a care, which dulls ambition and paralyses energy. In thissense politics do require the whole man. If I return to politics now, I should fail to them, and they to me. I feel that the brief intervalbetween me and the grave has need of repose: I find that repose here. I have therefore given the necessary orders to dismiss the pompousretinue which I left behind me, and instructed my agent to sell my Londonhouse for whatever it may fetch. I was unwilling to sell it before--unwilling to abandon the hope, however faint, that I might yet regainstrength for action. But the very struggle to obtain such strengthleaves me exhausted more. 

You may believe that it is not without a pang, less of pride than ofremorse, that I resign unfulfilled the object towards which all myearlier life was so resolutely shaped. The house I promised my father tore-found dies to dust in my grave. To my father's blood no heir to mywealth can trace. Yet it is a consolation to think that Lionel Haughtonis one on whom my father would have smiled approvingly. At my death, therefore, at least the old name will not die; Lionel Haughton will takeand be worthy to bear it. Strange weakness of mine, you will say; but Icannot endure the thought that the old name should be quite blotted outof the land. I trust that Lionel may early form a suitable and happymarriage. Sure that he will not choose ignobly, I impose no fetters onhis choice. 

One word only on that hateful subject, confided so tardily to yourfriendship, left so thankfully to your discretion. Now that I have oncemore buried myself in Fawley, it is very unlikely that the man it painsme to name will seek me here. If he does, he cannot molest me as if Iwere in the London world. Continue, then, I pray you, to leave himalone. And, in adopting your own shrewd belief, that after all there isno such child as he pretends to claim, my mind becomes tranquillised onall that part of my private griefs. 

Farewell, old school-friend! Here, so far as I can foretell--here, wheremy life began, it returns, when Heaven pleases, to close. Here I couldnot ask you to visit me: what is rest to me would be loss of time to you. But in my late and vain attempt to re-enter that existence in which youhave calmly and wisely gathered round yourself, "all that shouldaccompany old age-honour, love, obedience, troops of friends"--nothing sorepaid the effort--nothing now so pleasantly remains to recollection--asthe brief renewal of that easy commune which men like me never know, savewith those whose laughter brings back to them a gale from the oldplayground. "/Vive, vale/;" I will not add, "/Sis memor mei/. " So manymy obligations to your kindness, that you will be forced to remember mewhenever you recall the not "painful subjects" of early friendship andlasting gratitude. Recall only those when reminded of GUY DARRELL. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

 NO COINAGE IN CIRCULATION S0 FLUCTUATES IN VALUE AS THE WORTH OF A MARRIAGEABLE MAN. 

Colonel Morley was not surprised (that, we know, he could not be, by anyfresh experience of human waywardness and caprice), but much disturbedand much vexed by the unexpected nature of Darrell's communication. Schemes for Darrell's future lead become plans of his own. Talk with hisold school-fellow had, within the last three months, entered into thepleasures of his age. Darrell's abrupt and final renunciation of thissocial world made at once a void in the business of Alban's mind, and inthe affections of Alban's heart. And no adequate reason assigned for sosudden a flight and so morbid a resolve! Some tormenting remembrance--some rankling grief--distinct from those of which Alban was cognisant, from those in which he had been consulted, was implied, but by vague andgeneral hints. But what was the remembrance or the grief, Alban Morley, who knew everything, was quite persuaded that Darrell would never sufferhim to know. Could it be in any way connected with those three youngladies to whom Darrell's attentions had been so perversely impartial?The Colonel did not fail to observe that to those young ladies Darrell'sletter made no allusion. Was it not possible that he had really felt forone of them a deeper sentiment than a man advanced in years ever likes toown even to his nearest friend--hazarded a proposal, and met with arebuff? If so, Alban conjectured the female culprit by whom thesentiment had been inspired, and the rebuff administered. "Thatmischievous kitten, Flora Vyvyan, " growled the Colonel. "I always feltthat she had the claws of a tigress under her /patte de velours/!"Roused by this suspicion, he sallied forth to call on the Vyvyans. Mr. Vyvyan, a widower, one of those quiet gentleman-like men who sit much inthe drawing-room and like receiving morning visitors, was at home to him. "So Darrell has left town for the season, " said the Colonel, pushingstraight to the point. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Vyvyan. "I had a note from him this morning to say hehad renounced all hope of--"

"What?" cried the Colonel. 

"Joining us in Switzerland. I am so sorry. Flora still more sorry. Sheis accustomed to have her own way, and she had set her heart on hearingDarrell read 'Manfred' in sight of the Jungfrau!"

"Um!" said the Colonel. "What might be sport to her might be death tohim. A man at his age is not too old to fall in love with a young ladyof hers. But he is too old not to be extremely ridiculous to such ayoung lady if he does. "

"Colonel Morley--Fie!" cried an angry voice behind him. Flora hadentered the room unobserved. Her face was much flushed, and her eyelidslooked as if tears had lately swelled beneath them, and were swellingstill. 

"What have I said to merit your rebuke?" asked the Colonel composedly. 

"Said! coupled the thought of ridicule with the name of Mr. Darrell!"

"Take care, Morley, " said Mr. Vyvyan, laughing. "Flora is positivelysuperstitious in her respect for Guy Darrell; and you cannot offend hermore than by implying that he is mortal. Nay, child, it is very natural. Quite apart from his fame, there is something in that man's familiartalk, or rather, perhaps, in the very sound of his voice, which makesmost other society seem flat and insipid. 

"I feel it myself. And when Flora's young admirers flutter and babbleround her--just after Darrell has quitted his chair beside her--they seemvery poor company. I am sure, Flora, " continued Vyvyan kindly, "that themere acquaintance of such a man has done you much good; and I am now ingreat hopes that, whenever you marry, it will be a man of sense. "

"Um!" again said the Colonel, eyeing Flora aslant, but with muchattention. "How I wish, for my friend's sake, that he was of an agewhich inspired Miss Vyvyan with less--veneration. "

Flora turned her back on the Colonel, looking out of the window, and hersmall foot beating the ground with nervous irritation. 

"It was given out that Darrell intended to marry again, " said Mr. Vyvyan. "A man of that sort requires a very superior highly-educated woman; andif Miss Carr Vipont had been a little more of his age she would have justsuited him. But I am patriot enough to hope that he will remain single, and have no wife but his country, like Mr. Pitt. " The Colonel having nowsatisfied his curiosity, and assured himself that Darrell was, there atleast, no rejected suitor, rose and approached Flora to make peace and totake leave. As he held out his hand, he was struck with the change in acountenance usually so gay in its aspect--it spoke of more thandejection, it betrayed distress; when she took his hand, she retained it, and looked into his eyes wistfully; evidently there was something on hermind which she wished to express and did not know how. At length shesaid in a whisper: "You are Mr. Darrell's most intimate friend; I haveheard him say so; shall you see him soon?"

"I fear not; but why?"

"Why? you, his friend; do you not perceive that he is not happy? I, amere stranger, saw it at the first. You should cheer and comfort him;you have that right--it is a noble privilege. "

"My dear young lady, " said the Colonel, touched, "you have a better heartthan I thought for. It is true Darrell is not a happy man; but can yougive me any message that might cheer him more than an old bachelor'scommonplace exhortations to take heart, forget the rains of yesterday, and hope for some gleam of sun on the morrow?"

"No, " said Flora, sadly, "it would be a presumption indeed in me, toaffect the consoler's part; but"--(her lips quivered)--"but if I mayjudge by his letter, I may never see him again. "

"His letter! He has written to you, then, as well as to your father?"

"Yes, " said Flora, confused and colouring, "a few lines in answer to asilly note of mine; yes, tell him that I shall never forget his kindcounsels, his delicate, indulgent construction of--of--in short, tell himmy father is right, and that I shall be better and wiser all my life forthe few short weeks in which I have known Guy Darrell. "

"What secrets are you two whispering there?" asked Mr. Vyvyan from hiseasy-chair. 

"Ask her ten years hence, " said the Colonel, as he retreated to the door. "The fairest leaves in the flower are the last that the bud willdisclose. "

From Mr. Vyvyan the Colonel went to Lord -----'s. His lordship had alsoheard from Darrell that morning; Darrell declined the invitation to ----Hall; business at Fawley. Lady Adela had borne the disappointment withher wonted serenity of temper, and had gone out shopping. Darrell hadcertainly not offered his hand in that quarter; had he done so--whetherrefused or accepted--all persons yet left in London would have heard thenews. Thence the Colonel repaired to Carr Vipont's. Lady Selina was athome and exceedingly cross. Carr had been astonished by a letter fromMr. Darrell, dated Fawley--left town for the season without even callingto take leave--a most eccentric man. She feared his head was a littletouched--that he knew it, but did not like to own it--perhaps the doctorshad told him he must keep quiet, and not excite himself with politics. "I had thought, " said Lady Selina, "that he might have felt a growingattachment for Honoria; and considering the disparity of years, and thatHonoria certainly might marry any one, he was too proud to incur the riskof refusal. But I will tell you in confidence, as a relation and dearfriend, that Honoria has a very superior mind, and might have overlookedthe mere age: congenial tastes--you understand. But on thinking it allover, I begin to doubt whether that be the true reason for his runningaway in this wild sort of manner. My maid tells me that his house-steward called to say that the establishment was to be broken up. Thatlooks as if he had resigned London for good; just, too, when, Carr says, the CRISIS, so long put off, is sure to burst on us. I'm quite sick ofclever men--one never knows how to trust them; if they are not dishonestthey are eccentric! I have just been telling Honoria that clever menare, after all, the most tiresome husbands. Well, what makes you sosilent? What do you say? Why don't you speak?"

"I am slowly recovering from my shock, " said the Colonel. "So Darrellshirks the CRISIS, and has not even hinted a preference for Honoria, thevery girl in all London that would have made him a safe, rationalcompanion. I told him so, and he never denied it. But it is a comfortto think he is no loss. Old monster!"

"Nay, " said Lady Selina, mollified by so much sympathy, "I don't say heis no loss. Honestly speaking--between ourselves--I think he is a verygreat loss. An alliance between him and Honoria would have united allthe Vipont influence. Lord Montfort has the greatest confidence inDarrell; and if this CRISIS comes, it is absolutely necessary for theVipont interest that it should find somebody who can speak. Really, mydear Colonel Morley, you, who have such an influence over this very oddman, should exert it now. One must not be over-nice in times of CRISIS;the country is at stake, Cousin Alban. "

"I will do my best, " said the Colonel; "I am quite aware that an alliancewhich would secure Darrell's talents to the House of Vipont, and theHouse of Vipont to Darrell's talents, would--but 'tis no use talking, wemust not sacrifice Honoria even on the altar of her country's interest!"

"Sacrifice! Nonsense! The man is not young certainly, but then what agrand creature, and so clever. "

"Clever--yes! But that was your very objection to him five minutes ago. "

"I forgot the CRISIS. --One don't want clever men every day, but there aredays when one does want them!"

"I envy you that aphorism. But from what you now imply, I fear thatHonoria may have allowed her thoughts to settle upon what may never takeplace; and if so, she may fret. "

"Fret! a daughter of mine fret!--and of all my daughters, Honoria! Agirl of the best-disciplined mind! Fret! what a word!--vulgar!"

COLONEL MORLEY. --"So it is; I blush for it; but let us understand eachother. If Darrell proposed for Honoria, you think, ambition apart, shewould esteem him sufficiently for a decided preference. "

LADY SELINA, --"If that be his doubt, re-assure him. He is shy-men ofgenius are; Honoria would esteem him! Till he has actually proposed itwould compromise her to say more even to you. "

COLONEL MORLEY. --"And if that be not the doubt, and if I ascertain thatDarrell has no idea of proposing, Honoria would--"

LADY SELINA. --"Despise him. Ah, I see by your countenance that you thinkI should prepare her. Is it so, frankly?"

COLONEL MORLEY. --"Frankly, then. I think Guy Darrell, like many othermen, has been so long in making up his mind to marry again that he haslost the right moment, and will never find it. "

Lady Selina smells at her vinaigrette, and replies in her softest, affectedest, civilest, and crushingest manner: "POOR--DEAR--OLD MAN!"

CHAPTER XIX. 

 MAN IS NOT PERMITTED, WITH ULTIMATE IMPUNITY, TO EXASPERATE THE ENVIES AND INSULT THE MISERIES OF THOSE AROUND HIM, BY A SYSTEMATIC PERSEVERANCE IN WILFUL-CELIBACY. IN VAIN MAY HE SCHEME, IN THE MARRIAGE OF INJURED FRIENDS, TO PROVIDE ARM-CHAIRS, AND FOOT-STOOLS, AND PRATTLING BABIES FOR THE LUXURIOUS DELECTATION OF HIS INDOLENT AGE. THE AVENGING EUMENIDES (BEING THEMSELVES ANCIENT VIRGINS NEGLECTED) SHALL HUMBLE HIS INSOLENCE, BAFFLE HIS PROJECTS, AND CONDEMN HIS DECLINING YEARS TO THE HORRORS OF SOLITUDE, --RARELY EVEN WAKENING HIS SOUL TO THE GRACE OF REPENTANCE. 

The Colonel, before returning home, dropped into the Clubs, and took careto give to Darrell's sudden disappearance a plausible and commonplaceconstruction. The season was just over. Darrell had gone to thecountry. The town establishment was broken up, because the house inCarlton Gardens was to be sold. Darrell did not like the situation--found the air relaxing--Park Lane or Grosvenor Square were on higherground. Besides, the staircase was bad for a house of such pretensions--not suited to large parties. Next season Darrell might be in a positionwhen he would have to give large parties, &c. , &c. As no one is inclinedto suppose that a man will retire from public life just when he hasa chance of office, so the Clubs took Alban Morley's remarksunsuspiciously, and generally agreed that Darrell showed great tact inabsenting himself from town during the transition state of politics thatalways precedes a CRISIS, and that it was quite clear that he calculatedon playing a great part when the CRISIS was over, by finding his househad grown too small for him. Thus paving the way to Darrell's easyreturn to the world, should he repent of his retreat (a chance whichAlban by no means dismissed from his reckoning), the Colonel returnedhome to find his nephew George awaiting him there. The scholarlyclergyman had ensconced himself in the back drawing-room, fitted up asa library, and was making free with the books. "What have you there, George?" asked the Colonel, after shaking him by the hand. "You seemedquite absorbed in its contents, and would not have noticed my presencebut for Gyp's bark. "

"A volume of poems I never chanced to meet before, full of true genius. "

"Bless me, poor Arthur Branthwaite's poems. And you were positivelyreading those--not induced to do so by respect for his father? Could youmake head or tail of them?"

"There is a class of poetry which displeases middle age by the veryattributes which render it charming to the young; for each generation hasa youth with idiosyncrasies peculiar to itself, and a peculiar poetry bywhich those idiosyncrasies are expressed. "

Here George was beginning to grow metaphysical, and somewhat German, whenhis uncle's face assumed an expression which can only be compared to thatof a man who dreads a very severe and long operation. George humanelyhastened to relieve his mind. 

"But I will not bore you at present. "

"Thank you, " said the Colonel, brightening up. 

"Perhaps you will lend me the book. I am going down to Lady Montfort'sby-and-by, and I can read it by the way. "

"Yes, I will lend it to you till next season. Let me have it again then, to put on the table when Frank Vance comes to breakfast with me. Thepoet was his brother-in-law; and though, for that reason, poets andpoetry are a sore subject with Frank, yet the last time he breakfastedhere, I felt, by the shake of his hand in parting, that he felt pleasedby a mark of respect to all that is left of poor Arthur Branthwaite. Soyou are going to Lady Montfort? Ask her why she chits me!"

"My dear uncle! You know how secluded her life is at present; but shehas charged me to assure you of her unalterable regard for you; andwhenever her health and spirits are somewhat more recovered, I have nodoubt that she will ask you to give her the occasion to make thatassurance in person. "

COLONEL MORLEY. --"Can her health and spirits continue so long affected bygrief for the loss of that distant acquaintance whom the law called herhusband?"

GEORGE. --"She is very far from well, and her spirits are certainly muchbroken. And now, uncle, for the little favour I came to ask. Since youpresented me to Mr. Darrell, he kindly sent me two or three invitationsto dinner, which my frequent absence from town would not allow me toaccept. I ought to call on him; and, as I feel ashamed not to have doneso before, I wish you would accompany me to his house. One happy wordfrom you would save me a relapse into stutter. When I want to apologiseI always stutter. "

"Darrell has left town, " said the Colonel, roughly, "you have missed anopportunity that will never occur again. The most charming companion; anintellect so manly, yet so sweet! I shall never find such another. " Andfor the first time in thirty years a tear stole to Alban Morley's eye. 

GEORGE. --"When did he leave town?"

COLONEL MORLEY. --"Three days ago. "

GEORGE. --"Three days ago! and for the Continent again?"

COLONEL MORLEY. --"No; for the Hermitage, George. I have such a letterfrom him! You know how many years he has been absent from the world. When, this year, he re-appeared, he and I grew more intimate than we hadever been since we had left school; for though the same capital held usbefore, he was then too occupied for much familiarity with an idle manlike me. But just when I was intertwining what is left of my life withthe bright threads of his, he snaps the web asunder: he quits this Londonworld again; says he will return to it no more. "

GEORGE. --"Yet I did hear that he proposed to renew his parliamentarycareer; nay, that he was about to form a second marriage, with HonoriaVipont?"

COLONEL MORLEY. --"Mere gossip-not true. No, he will never marry again. Three days ago I thought it certain that he would--certain that I shouldfind for my old age a nook in his home--the easiest chair in his socialcircle; that my daily newspaper would have a fresh interest, in thepraise of his name or the report of his speech; that I should walkproudly into White's, sure to hear there of Guy Darrell; that I shouldkeep from misanthropical rust my dry knowledge of life, planning shrewdpanegyrics to him of a young happy wife, needing all his indulgence--panegyrics to her of the high-minded sensitive man, claiming tenderrespect and delicate soothing;--that thus, day by day, I should have mademore pleasant the home in which I should have planted myself, and foundin his children boys to lecture and girls to spoil. Don't be jealous, George. I like your wife, I love your little ones, and you will inheritall I have to leave. But to an old bachelor, who would keep young to thelast, there is no place so sunny as the hearth of an old school-friend. But my house of cards is blown down--talk of it no more--'tis a painfulsubject. You met Lionel Haughton here the last time you called--how didyou like him!"

"Very much indeed. "

"Well, then, since you cannot call on Darrell, call on him. "

GEORGE (with animation). --"It is just what I meant to do--what is hisaddress?"

COLONEL MORLEY--"There is his card--take it. He was here last night toinquire if I knew where Darrell had gone, though no one in his household, nor I either, suspected till this morning that Darrell had left town forgood. You will find Lionel at home, for I sent him word I would call. But really I am not up to it now. Tell him from me that Mr. Darrell willnot return to Carlton Gardens this season, and is gone to Fawley. Atpresent Lionel need not know more--you understand? And now, my dearGeorge, good day. "

CHAPTER XX. 

 EACH GENERATION HAS ITS OWN CRITICAL CANONS IN POETRY AS WELL AS IN POLITICAL CREEDS, FINANCIAL SYSTEMS, OR WHATEVER OTHRR CHANGEABLE MATTERS OF TASTE ARE CALLED "SETTLED QUESTIONS" AND "FIXED OPINIONS. "

George, musing much over all that his uncle had said respecting Darrell, took his way to Lionel's lodgings. The young man received him with thecordial greeting due from Darrell's kinsman to Colonel Morley's nephew, but tempered by the respect no less due to the distinction and thecalling of the eloquent preacher. 

Lionel was perceptibly affected by learning that Darrell had thussuddenly returned to the gloomy beech-woods of Fawley; and he evinced hisanxious interest in his benefactor with so much spontaneous tenderness offeeling that George, as if in sympathy, warmed into the same theme. "I can well conceive, " said he, "your affection for Mr. Darrell. Iremember, when I was a boy, how powerfully he impressed me, though I sawbut little of him. He was then in the zenith of his career, and had butfew moments to give to a boy like me; but the ring of his voice and theflash of his eye sent me back to school, dreaming of fame and intent onprizes. I spent part of one Easter vacation at his house in town; hebade his son, who was my schoolfellow, invite me. "

LIONEL. --"You knew his son? How Mr. Darrell has felt that loss!"

GEORGE. --"Heaven often veils its most provident mercy in what to manseems its sternest inflictions. That poor boy must have changed hiswhole nature, if his life had not, to a father like Mr. Darrell, occasioned grief sharper than his death. "

LIONEL. --"You amaze me. Mr. Darrell spoke of him as a boy of greatpromise. "

GEORGE. --"He had that kind of energy which to a father conveys the ideaof promise, and which might deceive those older than himself--a finebright-eyed, bold-tongued boy, with just enough awe of his father tobridle his worst qualities before him. "

LIONEL. --"What were those?"

GEORGE. --"Headstrong arrogance--relentless cruelty. He had a pride whichwould have shamed his father out of pride, had Guy Darrell detected itsnature--purse pride! I remember his father said to me with a half-laugh:'My boy must not be galled and mortified as I was every hour at school--clothes patched and pockets empty. ' And so, out of mistaken kindness, Mr. Darrell ran into the opposite extreme, and the son was proud, not ofhis father's fame, but of his father's money, and withal not generous, nor exactly extravagant, but using money as power-power that allowed himto insult an equal or to buy a slave. In a word, his nickname at schoolwas 'Sir Giles Overreach. ' His death was the result of his strangepassion for tormenting others. He had a fag who could not swim, and whohad the greatest terror of the water; and it was while driving this childinto the river out of his depth that cramp seized himself, and he wasdrowned. Yes, when I think what that boy would have been as a man, succeeding to Darrell's wealth--and had Darrell persevered (as he would, perhaps, if the boy had lived) in his public career--to the rank andtitles he would probably have acquired and bequeathed--again, I say, inman's affliction is often Heaven's mercy. "

Lionel listened aghast. George continued: "Would that I could speak asplainly to Mr. Darrell himself! For we find constantly in the world thatthere is no error that misleads us like the error that is half a truthwrenched from the other half; and nowhere is such an error so common aswhen man applies it to the judgment of some event in his own life, andseparates calamity from consolation. "

LIONEL. --"True; but who could have the heart to tell a mourning fatherthat his dead son was worthless?"

GEORGE. --"Alas! my young friend, the preacher must sometimes harden hisown heart if he would strike home to another's soul. But I am not surethat Mr. Darrell would need so cruel a kindness. I believe that hisclear intellect must have divined some portions of his son's nature whichenabled him to bear the loss with fortitude. And he did bear it bravely. But now, Mr. Haughton, if you have the rest of the day free, I am aboutto make you an unceremonious proposition for its disposal. A lady whoknew Mr. Darrell when she was very young has--a strong desire to formyour acquaintance. She resides on the banks of the Thames, a littleabove Twickenham. I have promised to call on her this evening. Shall wedine together at Richmond? and afterwards we can take a boat to hervilla. "

Lionel at once accepted, thinking so little of the lady that he did noteven ask her name. He was pleased to have a companion with whom he couldtalk of Darrell. He asked but delay to write a few lines of affectionateinquiry to his kinsman at Fawley, and, while he wrote, George took outArthur Branthwaite's poems, and resumed their perusal. Lionel havingsealed his letter, George extended the book to him. "Here are someremarkable poems by a brother-in-law of that remarkable artist, FrankVance. "

"Frank Vance! True, he had a brother-in-law a poet. I admire Frank somuch; and, though he professes to sneer at poetry, he is so associated inmy mind with poetical images that I am prepossessed beforehand in favourof all that brings him, despite himself, in connection with poetry. "

"Tell me then, " said George, pointing out a passage in the volume, "whatyou think of these lines. My good uncle would call them gibberish. I amnot sure that I can construe them; but when I was your age, I think Icould--what say you?"

Lionel glanced. "Exquisite indeed!--nothing can be clearer--they expressexactly a sentiment in myself that I could never explain. "

"Just so, " said George, laughing. "Youth has a sentiment that it cannotexplain, and the sentiment is expressed in a form of poetry that middleage cannot construe. It is true that poetry of the grand order interestsequally all ages; but the world ever throws out a poetry not of thegrandest; not meant to be durable--not meant to be universal, butfollowing the shifts and changes of human sentiment, and just like thosepretty sundials formed by flowers, which bloom to tell the hour, opentheir buds to tell it, and, telling it, fade themselves from time. "

Not listening to the critic, Lionel continued to read the poems, exclaiming, "How exquisite!--how true!"

CHAPTER XXI. 

 IN LIFE, AS IN ART, THE BEAUTIFUL MOVES IN CURVES. 

They have dined. --George Morley takes the oars, and the boat cuts throughthe dance of waves flushed by the golden sunset. Beautiful river! whichmight furnish the English tale-teller with legends wild as those culledon shores licked by Hydaspes, and sweet as those which Cephisus everblended with the songs of nightingales and the breath of violets! Butwhat true English poet ever names thee, O Father Thames, without amelodious tribute? And what child ever whiled away summer noons alongthy grassy banks, nor hallowed thy remembrance among the fairy days oflife?

Silently Lionel bent over the side of the gliding boat; his mind carriedback to the same soft stream five years ago. How vast a space in hisshort existence those five years seemed to fill! And how distant fromthe young man, rich in the attributes of wealth, armed with each weaponof distinction, seemed the hour when the boy had groaned aloud, "'Fortuneis so far, Fame so impossible!'" Farther and farther yet than hispresent worldly station from his past seemed the image that had firstcalled forth in his breast the dreamy sentiment, which the sternest of usin after life never, utterly forget. Passions rage and vanish, and whenall their storms are gone, yea, it may be, at the verge of the verygrave, we look back and see like a star the female face, even though itbe a child's, that first set us vaguely wondering at the charm in a humanpresence, at the void in a smile withdrawn! How many of us could recalla Beatrice through the gaps of ruined hope, seen, as by the Florentine, on the earth a guileless infant, in the heavens a spirit glorified!Yes--Laura was an affectation--Beatrice a reality!

George's voice broke somewhat distastefully on Lionel's reverie. "Wenear our destination, and you have not asked me even the name of the ladyto whom you are to render homage. It is Lady Montfort, widow to the lastMarquess. You have no doubt heard Mr. Darrell speak of her?"

"Never Mr. Darrell--Colonel Morley often. And in the world I have heardher cited as perhaps the handsomest, and certainly the haughtiest, womanin England. "

"Never heard Mr. Darrell mention her! that is strange indeed, " saidGeorge Morley, catching at Lionel's first words, and unnoticing his aftercomment. "She was much in his house as a child, shared in his daughter'seducation. "

"Perhaps for that very reason he shuns her name. Never but once did Ihear him allude to his daughter; nor can I wonder at that, if it be true, as I have been told by people who seem to know very little of theparticulars, that, while yet scarcely out of the nursery, she fled fromhis house with some low adventurer--a Mr. Hammond--died abroad the firstyear of that unhappy marriage. "

"Yes, that is the correct outline of the story; and, as you guess, itexplains why Mr. Darrell avoids mention of one, whom he associates withhis daughter's name; though, if you desire a theme dear to Lady Montfort, you can select none that more interests her grateful heart than praise ofthe man who saved her mother from penury, and secured to herself theaccomplishments and instruction which have been her chief solace. "

"Chief solace! Was she not happy with Lord Montfort? What sort of manwas he?"

"I owe to Lord Montfort the living I hold, and I can remember the goodqualities alone of a benefactor. If Lady Montfort was not happy withhim, it is just to both to say that she never complained. But there ismuch in Lady Montfort's character which the Marquess apparently failed toappreciate; at all events, they had little in common, and what was calledLady Montfort's haughtiness was perhaps but the dignity with which awoman of grand nature checks the pity that would debase her--theadmiration that would sully--guards her own beauty, and protects herhusband's name. Here we are. Will you stay for a few minutes in theboat, while I go to prepare Lady Montfort for your visit?"

George leapt ashore, and Lionel remained under the covert of mightywillows that dipped their leaves into the wave. Looking through thegreen interstices of the foliage, he saw at the far end of the lawn, on acurving bank by which the glittering tide shot oblique, a simple arbour-an arbour like that from which he had looked upon summer stars five. Years ago--not so densely covered with the honeysuckle; still thehoneysuckle, recently trained there, was fast creeping up the sides; andthrough the trellis of the woodwork and the leaves of the floweringshrub, he just caught a glimpse of some form within--the white robe of afemale form in a slow gentle movement-tending perhaps the flowers thatwreathed the arbour. Now it was still, now it stirred again; now it wassuddenly lost to view. Had the inmate left the arbour? Was the inmateLady Montfort? George Morley's step had not passed in that direction. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

 A QUIET SCENE-AN UNQUIET HEART. 

Meanwhile, not far from the willow-bank which sheltered Lionel, but farenough to be out of her sight and beyond her hearing, George Morley foundLady Montfort seated alone. It was a spot on which Milton might haveplaced the lady in "Comus"--a circle of the smoothest sward, ringedeverywhere (except at one opening which left the glassy river in fullview) with thick bosks of dark evergreens and shrubs of livelier verdure;oak and chest nut backing and overhanging all. Flowers, too, raised onrustic tiers and stages; a tiny fountain, shooting up from a basinstarred with the water-lily; a rustic table, on which lay hooks and theimplements of woman's graceful work; so that the place had the home-lookof a chamber, and spoke that intense love of the out-door life whichabounds in our old poets from Chaucer down to the day when minstrels, polished into wits, took to Will's Coffee-house, and the lark came nomore to bid bards

 "Good morrow From his watch-tower in the skies. "

But long since, thank Heaven we have again got back the English poetrywhich chimes to the babble of the waters, and the riot of the birds; andjust as that poetry is the freshest which the out-door life has the mostnourished, so I believe that there is no surer sign of the rich vitalitywhich finds its raciest joys in sources the most innocent, than thechildlike taste for that same out-door life. Whether you take fromfortune the palace or the cottage, add to your chambers a hall in thecourts of Nature. Let the earth but give you room to stand on; well, look up--Is it nothing to have for your roof-tree--Heaven?

Caroline Montfort (be her titles dropped) is changed since we last sawher. The beauty is not less in degree, but it has gained in oneattribute, lost in another; it commands less, it touches more. Still indeep mourning, the sombre dress throws a paler shade over the cheek. Theeyes, more sunken beneath the brow, appear larger, softer. There is thatexpression of fatigue which either accompanies impaired health orsucceeds to mental struggle and disquietude. But the coldness or prideof mien which was peculiar to Caroline as a wife is gone--as if inwidowhood it was no longer needed. A something like humility prevailedover the look and the bearing which had been so tranquilly majestic. Asat the approach of her cousin she started from her seat, there was anervous tremor in her eagerness; a rush of colour to the cheeks; ananxious quivering of the lip; a flutter in the tones of the sweet lowvoice: "Well, George. "

"Mr. Darrell is not in London; he went to Fawley three days ago; at leasthe is there now. I have this from my uncle, to whom he wrote; and whomhis departure has vexed and saddened. "

"Three days ago! It must have been he, then! I was not deceived, "murmured Caroline, and her eyes wandered mound. 

"There is no truth in the report you heard that he was to marry HonoriaVipont. My uncle thinks he will never marry again, and implies that hehas resumed his solitary life at Fawley with a resolve to quit it nomore. "

Lady Montfort listened silently, bending her face over the fountain, anddropping amidst its playful spray the leaves of a rose which she hadabstractedly plucked as George was speaking. 

"I have, therefore, fulfilled your commission so far, " renewed GeorgeMorley. "I have ascertained that Mr. Darrell is alive, and doubtlesswell; so that it could not have been his ghost that startled you amidstyonder thicket. But I have done more: I have forestalled the wish youexpressed to become acquainted with young Haughton; and your object inpostponing the accomplishment of that wish while Mr. Darrell himself wasin town having ceased with Mr. Darrell's departure, I have ventured tobring the young man with me. He is in the boat yonder. Will you receivehim? Or--but, my dear cousin, are you not too unwell today? What is thematter? Oh, I can easily make an excuse for you to Haughton. I will runand do so. "

"No, George, no. I am as well as usual. I will see Mr. Haughton. Allthat you have heard of him, and have told me, interests me so much in hisfavour; and besides--" She did not finish the sentence; but led away bysome other thought, asked, "Have you no news of our missing friend?"

"None as yet; but in a few days I shall renew my search. Now, then, Iwill go for Haughton. "

"Do so; and George, when you have presented him to me, will you kindlyjoin that dear anxious child yonder!

"She is in the new arbour, or near it-her favourite spot. You mustsustain her spirits, and give her hope. You cannot guess how eagerly shelooks forward to your visits, and how gratefully she relies on yourexertions. "

George shook his head half despondingly, and saying briefly, "Myexertions have established no claim to her gratitude as yet, " wentquickly back for Lionel. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

 SOMETHING ON AN OLD SUBJECT, WHICH HAS NEVER BEEN SAID BEFORE

Although Lionel was prepared to see a very handsome woman in LadyMontfort, the beauty of her countenance took him by surprise. Nopreparation by the eulogies of description can lessen the effect thatthe first sight of a beautiful object produces upon a mind to whichrefinement of idea gives an accurate and quick comprehension of beauty. Be it a work of art, a scene in nature, or, rarest of all, a human facedivine, a beauty never before beheld strikes us with hidden pleasure, like a burst of light. And it is a pleasure that elevates; theimagination feels itself richer by a new idea of excellence; for not onlyis real beauty wholly original, having no prototype, but its immediateinfluence is spiritual. It may seem strange--I appeal to every observantartist if the assertion be not true--but the first sight of the mostperfect order of female beauty, rather than courting, rebukes and strikesback, every grosser instinct that would alloy admiration. There must besome meanness and blemish in the beauty which the sensualist no soonerbeholds than he covets. In the higher incarnation of the abstract ideawhich runs through all our notions of moral good and celestial purity--even if the moment the eye sees the heart loves the image--the love hasin it something of the reverence which it was said the charms of Virtuewould produce could her form be made visible; nor could mere human loveobtrude itself till the sweet awe of the first effect had beenfamiliarised away. And I appreheud that it is this exalting oretherealising attribute of beauty to which all poets, all writers whowould poetise the realities of life, have unconsciously rendered homage, in the rank to which they elevate what, stripped of such attribute, wouldbe but a gaudy idol of painted clay. If, from the loftiest epic to thetritest novel, a heroine is often little more than a name to which we arecalled upon to bow, as to a symbol representing beauty, and if weourselves (be we ever so indifferent in our common life to fair faces)feel that, in art at least, imagination needs an image of the Beautiful--if, in a word, both poet and reader here would not be left excuseless, itis because in our inmost hearts there is a sentiment which links theideal of beauty with the Supersensual. Wouldst thou, for instance, formsome vague conception of the shape worn by a pure soul released? wouldstthou give to it the likeness of an ugly hag? or wouldst thou not ransackall thy remembrances and conceptions of forms most beauteous to clothethe holy image? Do so: now bring it thus robed with the richest gracesbefore thy mind's eye. Well, seest thou now the excuse for poets in therank they give to BEAUTY? Seest thou now how high from the realm of thesenses soars the mysterious Archetype? Without the idea of beauty, couldst thou conceive a form in which to clothe a soul that has enteredheaven?

CHAPTER XXIV. 

 AGREEABLE SURPRISES ARE THE PERQUISITES OF YOUTH. 

If the beauty of Lady Montfort's countenance took Lionel by surprise, still more might he wonder at the winning kindness of her address--akindness of look, manner, voice, which seemed to welcome him not as achance acquaintance but as a new-found relation. The first fewsentences, in giving them a subject of common interest, introduced intotheir converse a sort of confiding household familiarity. For Lionel, ascribing Lady Montfort's gracious reception to her early recollectionsof his kinsman, began at once to speak of Guy Darrell; and in a littletime they were walking over the turf, or through the winding alleys ofthe garden, linking talk to the same theme, she by question, he byanswer--he, charmed to expatiate--she, pleased to listen--and liking eachother more and more, as she recognised in all he said a bright youngheart, overflowing with grateful and proud affection, and as he feltinstinctively that he was with one who sympathised in his enthusiasm--onewho had known the great man in his busy day, ere the rush of his careerhad paused, whose childhood had lent a smile to the great man's homebefore childhood and smile had left it. 

As they thus conversed, Lionel now and then, in the turns of their walk, caught a glimpse of George Morley in the distance, walking also side byside with some young companion, and ever as he caught that glimpse astrange restless curiosity shot across his mind, and distracted it evenfrom praise of Guy Darrell. Who could that be with George? Was it arelation of Lady Montfort's? The figure was not in mourning; its shapeseemed slight and youthful--now it passes by that acacia tree, --standingfor a moment apart and distinct from George's shadow, but its own outlinedim in the deepening twilight--now it has passed on, lost amongst thelaurels. 

A turn in the walk brought Lionel and Lady Montfort before the windows ofthe house, which was not large for the rank of the owner, but commodious, with no pretence to architectural beauty--dark-red brick, a century and ahalf old--irregular; jutting forth here, receding there, so as to producethat depth of light and shadow which lends a certain picturesque charmeven to the least ornate buildings--a charm to which the Gothicarchitecture owes half its beauty. Jessamine, roses, wooodbine, ivy, trained up the angles and between the windows. Altogether the house hadthat air of HOME which had been wanting to the regal formality ofMoutfort Court. One of the windows, raised above the ground by a shortwinding stair, stood open. Lights had just been brought into the roomwithin, and Lionel's eye was caught by the gleam. Lady Montfort turnedup the stair, and Lionel followed her into the apartment. A harp stoodat one corner--not far from it a piano and music-stand. On one of thetables there were the implements of drawing--a sketch in water-colourshalf finished. 

"Our work-room, " said Lady Montfort, with a warm cheerful smile, and yetLionel could see that tears were in her eyes--" mine and my dear pupil's. Yes, that harp is hers. Is he still fond of music--I mean Mr. Darrell?"

"Yes, though he does not care for it in crowds; but he can listen forhours to Fairthorn's flute. You remember Mr. Fairthorn?"

"Ay, I remember him, " answered Lady Montfort softly. "Mr. Darrell thenlikes his music, still?"

Lionel here uttered an exclamation of more than surprise. He had turnedto examine the water-colour sketch--a rustic inn, a honeysuckle arbour, a river in front; a boat yonder--just begun. 

"I know the spot!" he cried. "Did you make the sketch of it?"

"I? no; it is hers--my pupil's--my adopted child's. " Lionel's dark eyesturned to Lady Montfort's wistfully, inquiringly; they asked what hislips could not presume to ask. "Your adopted child--what is she?--who?"

As if answering to the eyes, Lady Montfort said: "Wait here a moment; Iwill go for her. "

She left him, descended the stairs into the garden, joined George Morleyand his companion; took aside the former, whispered him, then drawing thearm of the latter within her own, led her back into the room, whileGeorge Morley remained in the garden, throwing himself on a bench, andgazing on the stars as they now came forth, fast and frequent, though oneby one. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

 "Quem Fors dierum cunque dabit Lucro appone. "--HORAT. 

Lionel stood, expectant, in the centre of the room, and as the two femaleforms entered, the lights were full upon their faces. That younger face--it is she--it is she, the unforgotten--the long-lost. Instinctively, as if no years had rolled between--as if she were still the little child, he the boy who had coveted such a sister--he sprang forward and openedhis arms, and as suddenly halted, dropped the arms to, his side, blushing, confused, abashed. She! that vagrant child!--she! that formso elegant--that great peeress's pupil--adopted daughter, she the poorwandering Sophy! She!--impossible!

But her eyes, at first downcast, are now fixed on him. She, too, starts--not forward, but in recoil; she, too, raises her arms, not to open, butto press them to her breast; and she, too, as suddenly checks an impulse, and stands, like him, blushing, confused, abashed. 

"Yes, " said Caroline Montfort, drawing Sophy nearer to her breast, "yes, you will both forgive me for the surprise. Yes, you do see before you, grown up to become the pride of those who cherish her, that Sophy who--"

"Sophy!" cried Lionel advancing; "it is so, then! I knew you were nostroller's grandchild. "

Sophy drew up: "I am, I am his grandchild, and as proud to be so as I wasthen. "

"Pardon me, pardon me; I meant to say that he too was not what be seemed. You forgive me, " extending his hand, and Sophy's soft hand fell into hisforgivingly. 

"But he lives? is well? is here? is--" Sophy burst into tears, and LadyMontfort made a sign to Lionel to go into the garden, and leave them. Reluctantly and dizzily, as one in a dream, he obeyed, leaving thevagrant's grandchild to be soothed in the fostering arms of her whom, anhour or two ago, he knew but by the titles of her rank and the reputationof her pride. 

It was not many minutes before Lady Montfort rejoined him. 

"You touched unawares, " said she, "upon the poor child's most anxiouscause of sorrow. Her grandfather; for whom her affection is sosensitively keen, has disappeared. I will speak of that later; and ifyou wish, you shall be taken into our consultations. But--" she paused, looked into his face-open, loyal face, face of gentleman--with heart ofman in its eyes, soul of man on its brow; face formed to look up to thestars which now lighted it--and laying her hand lightly on his shoulder, resumed with hesitating voice: "but I feel like a culprit in asking youwhat, nevertheless, I must ask, as an imperative condition, if yourvisits here are to be renewed--if your intimacy here is to beestablished. And unless you comply with that condition, come no more;we cannot confide in each other. "

"Oh, Lady Montfort, impose any condition. I promise beforehand. "

"Not beforehand. The condition is this: inviolable secrecy. You willnot mention to any one your visits here; your introduction to me; yourdiscovery of the stroller's grandchild in my adopted daughter. "

"Not to Mr. Darrell?"

"To him least of all; but this I add, it is for Mr. Darrell's sake that Iinsist on such concealment; and I trust the concealment will not be longprotracted. "

"For Mr. Darrell's sake?"

"For the sake of his happiness, " cried Lady Montfort, clasping her hands. "My debt to him is larger far than yours; and in thus appealing to you, I scheme to pay back a part of it. Do you trust me?"

"I do, I do. "

And from that evening Lionel Haughton became the constant visitor in thathouse. 

Two or three days afterwards Colonel Morley, quitting England for aGerman Spa at which he annually recruited himself for a few weeks, relieved Lionel from the embarrassment of any questions which that shrewdobserver might otherwise have addressed to him. London itself was nowempty. Lionel found a quiet lodging in the vicinity of Twickenham. Andwhen his foot passed along the shady lane through yon wicket gate intothat region of turf and flowers, he felt as might have felt that famousMinstrel of Ercildoun, when, blessed with the privilege to enterFairyland at will, the Rhymer stole to the grassy hillside, and murmuredthe spell that unlocks the gates of Oberon,