WYLDER'S HAND

A NOVEL

by

J. SHERIDAN LE FANU

First published 1864

CONTENTS

CHAP. 

I. --RELATING HOW I RODE THROUGH THE VILLAGE OF GYLINGDEN WITH MARKWYLDER'S LETTER IN MY VALISE

II. --IN WHICH I ENTER THE DRAWING-ROOM

III. --OUR DINNER-PARTY AT BRANDON

IV. --IN WHICH WE GO TO THE DRAWING-ROOM AND THE PARTY BREAKS UP

V. --IN WHICH MY SLUMBER IS DISTURBED

VI. --IN WHICH DORCAS BRANDON SPEAKS

VII. --RELATING HOW A LONDON GENTLEMAN APPEARED IN REDMAN'S DELL

VIII. --IN WHICH CAPTAIN LAKE TAKES HIS HAT AND STICK

IX. --I SEE THE RING OF THE PERSIAN MAGICIAN

X. --THE ACE OF HEARTS

XI. --IN WHICH LAKE UNDER THE TREES OF BRANDON, AND I IN MY CHAMBER, SMOKEOUR NOCTURNAL CIGARS

XII. --IN WHICH UNCLE LORNE TROUBLES ME

XIII. --THE PONY CARRIAGE

XIV. --IN WHICH VARIOUS PERSONS GIVE THEIR OPINIONS OF CAPTAIN STANLEYLAKE

XV. --DORCAS SHOWS HER JEWELS TO MISS LAKE

XVI. --"JENNY PUT THE KETTLE ON"

XVII. --RACHEL LAKE SEES WONDERFUL THINGS BY MOONLIGHT FROM HER WINDOW

XVIII. --MARK WYLDER'S SLAVE

XIX. --THE TARN IN THE PARK

XX. --CAPTAIN LAKE TAKES AN EVENING STROLL ABOUT GYLINGDEN

XXI. --IN WHICH CAPTAIN LAKE VISITS HIS SISTER'S SICK BED

XXII. --IN WHICH CAPTAIN LAKE MEETS A FRIEND NEAR THE WHITE HOUSE

XXIII. --HOW RACHEL SLEPT THAT NIGHT IN REDMAN'S FARM

XXIV. --DORCAS BRANDON PAYS RACHEL A VISIT

XXV. --CAPTAIN LAKE LOOKS IN AT NIGHTFALL

XXVI. --CAPTAIN LAKE FOLLOWS TO LONDON

XXVII. --LAWYER LARKIN'S MIND BEGINS TO WORK

XXVIII. --MARK WYLDER'S SUBMISSION

XXIX. --HOW MARK WYLDER'S DISAPPEARANCE AFFECTED HIS FRIENDS

XXX. --IN BRANDON PARK

XXXI. --IN REDMAN'S DELL

XXXII. --MR. LARKIN AND THE VICAR

XXXIII. --THE LADIES OF GYLINGDEN HEATH

XXXIV. --SIR JULIUS HOCKLEY'S LETTER

XXXV. --THE HUNT BALL

XXXVI. --THE BALL ROOM

XXXVII. --THE SUPPER-ROOM

XXXVIII. --AFTER THE BALL

XXXIX. --IN WHICH MISS RACHEL LAKE COMES TO BRANDON, AND DOCTOR BUDDLECALLS AGAIN

XL. --THE ATTORNEY'S ADVENTURES ON THE WAY HOME

XLI. --IN WHICH SIR FRANCIS SEDDLEY MANIPULATES

XLII. --A PARAGRAPH IN THE COUNTY PAPER

XLIII. --AN EVIL EYE LOOKS ON THE VICAR

XLIV. --IN WHICH OLD TAMAR LIFTS UP HER VOICE IN PROPHECY

XLV. --DEEP AND SHALLOW

XLVI. --DEBATE AND INTERRUPTION

XLVII. --A THREATENING NOTICE

XLVIII. --IN WHICH I GO TO BRANDON, AND SEE AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE IN THETAPESTRY ROOM

XLIX. --LARCOM, THE BUTLER, VISITS THE ATTORNEY

L. --NEW LIGHTS

LI. --A FRACAS IN THE LIBRARY

LII. --AN OLD FRIEND LOOKS INTO THE GARDEN AT REDMAN'S FARM

LIII. --THE VICAR'S COMPLICATIONS, WHICH LIVELY PEOPLE HAD BETTER NOT READ

LIV. --BRANDON CHAPEL ON SUNDAY

LV. --THE CAPTAIN AND THE ATTORNEY CONVERSE AMONG THE TOMBS

LVI. --THE BRANDON CONSERVATORY

LVII. --CONCERNING A NEW DANGER WHICH THREATENED CAPTAIN STANLEY LAKE

LVIII. --MISS RACHEL LAKE BECOMES VIOLENT

LIX. --AN ENEMY IN REDMAN'S DELL

LX. --RACHEL LAKE BEFORE THE ACCUSER

LXI. --IN WHICH DAME DUTTON IS VISITED

LXII. --THE CAPTAIN EXPLAINS WHY MARK WYLDER ABSCONDED

LXIII. --THE ACE OF HEARTS

LXIV. --IN THE DUTCH ROOM

LXV. --I REVISIT BRANDON HALL

LXVI. --LADY MACBETH

LXVII. --MR. LARKIN IS VIS-A-VIS WITH A CONCEALED COMPANION

LXVIII. --THE COMPANION DISCLOSES HIMSELF

LXIX. --OF A SPECTRE WHOM OLD TAMAR SAW

LXX. --THE MEETING IN THE LONG POND ALLEY

LXXI. --SIR HARRY BRACTON'S INVASION OF GYLINGDEN

LXXII. --MARK WYLDER'S HAND

LXXIII. --THE MASK FALLS

LXXIV. --WE TAKE LEAVE OF OUR FRIENDS

WYLDER'S HAND. 

CHAPTER I. 

RELATING HOW I DROVE THROUGH THE VILLAGE OF GYLINGDEN WITH MARK WYLDER'SLETTER IN MY VALISE. 

It was late in the autumn, and I was skimming along, through a richEnglish county, in a postchaise, among tall hedgerows gilded, like allthe landscape, with the slanting beams of sunset. The road makes a longand easy descent into the little town of Gylingden, and down this we weregoing at an exhilarating pace, and the jingle of the vehicle sounded likesledge-bells in my ears, and its swaying and jerking were pleasant andlife-like. I fancy I was in one of those moods which, under similarcircumstances, I sometimes experience still--a semi-narcotic excitement, silent but delightful. 

An undulating landscape, with a homely farmstead here and there, andplenty of old English timber scattered grandly over it, extended mistilyto my right; on the left the road is overtopped by masses of nobleforest. The old park of Brandon lies there, more than four miles from endto end. These masses of solemn and discoloured verdure, the faint butsplendid lights, and long filmy shadows, the slopes and hollows--my eyeswandered over them all with that strange sense of unreality, and thatmingling of sweet and bitter fancy, with which we revisit a scenefamiliar in very remote and early childhood, and which has haunted a longinterval of maturity and absence, like a romantic reverie. 

As I looked through the chaise-windows, every moment presented somegroup, or outline, or homely object, for years forgotten; and now, with astrange surprise how vividly remembered and how affectionately greeted!We drove by the small old house at the left, with its double gable andpretty grass garden, and trim yews and modern lilacs and laburnums, backed by the grand timber of the park. It was the parsonage, and oldbachelor Doctor Crewe, the rector, in my nonage, still stood, in memory, at the door, in his black shorts and gaiters, with his hands in hispockets, and a puckered smile on his hard ruddy countenance, as Iapproached. He smiled little on others I believe, but always kindly uponme. This general liking for children and instinct of smiling on them isone source of the delightful illusions which make the remembrance ofearly days so like a dream of Paradise, and give us, at starting, suchfalse notions of our value. 

There was a little fair-haired child playing on the ground before thesteps as I whirled by. The old rector had long passed away; the shorts, gaiters, and smile--a phantom; and nature, who had gathered in the past, was providing for the future. 

The pretty mill-road, running up through Redman's Dell, dank and darkwith tall romantic trees, was left behind in another moment; and we werenow traversing the homely and antique street of the little town, with itsqueer shops and solid steep-roofed residences. Up Church-street Icontrived a peep at the old gray tower where the chimes hung; and as weturned the corner a glance at the 'Brandon Arms. ' How very small and lowthat palatial hostelry of my earlier recollections had grown! There werenew faces at the door. It was only two-and-twenty years ago, and I wasthen but eleven years old. A retrospect of a score of years or so, atthree-and-thirty, is a much vaster affair than a much longer one atfifty. 

The whole thing seemed like yesterday; and as I write, I open my eyes andstart and cry, 'can it be twenty, five-and-twenty, aye, by Jove!five-and-thirty, years since then?' How my days have flown! And I thinkwhen another such yesterday shall have arrived, where shall I be?

The first ten years of my life were longer than all the rest puttogether, and I think would continue to be so were my future extended toan ante-Noachian span. It is the first ten that emerge from nothing, andcommencing in a point, it is during them that consciousness, memory--allthe faculties grow, and the experience of sense is so novel, crowded, andastounding. It is this beginning at a point, and expanding to the immensedisk of our present range of sensuous experience, that gives to them soprodigious an illusory perspective, and makes us in childhood, measuringfuturity by them, form so wild and exaggerated an estimate of theduration of human life. But, I beg your pardon. 

My journey was from London. When I had reached my lodgings, after mylittle excursion up the Rhine, upon my table there lay, among the rest, one letter--there generally _is_ in an overdue bundle--which I viewedwith suspicion. I could not in the least tell why. It was a broad-facedletter, of bluish complexion, and had made inquisition after me in thecountry--had asked for me at Queen's Folkstone; and, _vised_ by mycousin, had presented itself at the Friars, in Shropshire, and thenceproceeded by Sir Harry's direction (there was the autograph) to NoltonHall; thence again to Ilchester, whence my fiery and decisive old auntsent it straight back to my cousin, with a whisk of her pen which seemedto say, 'How the plague can I tell where the puppy is?--'tis yourbusiness, Sir, not mine, to find him out!' And so my cousin despatched itto my head-quarters in town, where from the table it looked up in myface, with a broad red seal, and a countenance scarred and marred allover with various post-marks, erasures, and transverse directions, thescars and furrows of disappointment and adventure. 

It had not a good countenance, somehow. The original lines were notprepossessing. The handwriting I knew as one sometimes knows a face, without being able to remember who the plague it belongs to; but, still, with an unpleasant association about it. I examined it carefully, andlaid it down unopened. I went through half-a-dozen others, and recurredto it, and puzzled over its exterior again, and again postponed what Ifancied would prove a disagreeable discovery; and this happened every nowand again, until I had quite exhausted my budget, and then I did open it, and looked straight to the signature. 

'Pooh! Mark Wylder, ' I exclaimed, a good deal relieved. 

Mark Wylder! Yes, Master Mark could not hurt _me_. There was nothingabout him to excite the least uneasiness; on the contrary, I believe heliked me as well as he was capable of liking anybody, and it was nowseven years since we had met. 

I have often since thought upon the odd sensation with which I hesitatedover his unopened letter; and now, remembering how the breaking of thatseal resembled, in my life, the breaking open of a portal through which Ientered a labyrinth, or rather a catacomb, where for many days I gropedand stumbled, looking for light, and was, in a manner, lost, hearingstrange sounds, witnessing imperfectly strange sights, and, at last, arriving at a dreadful chamber--a sad sort of superstition steals overme. 

I had then been his working junior in the cause of Wylder _v. _ Trusteesof Brandon, minor--Dorcas Brandon, his own cousin. There was acomplicated cousinship among these Brandons, Wylders, andLakes--inextricable intermarriages, which, five years ago, before Irenounced the bar, I had at my fingers' ends, but which had now relapsedinto haze. There must have been some damnable taint in the blood of thecommon ancestor--a spice of the insane and the diabolical. They were anill-conditioned race--that is to say, every now and then there emerged amiscreant, with a pretty evident vein of madness. There was Sir JonathanBrandon, for instance, who ran his own nephew through the lungs in a duelfought in a paroxysm of Cencian jealousy; and afterwards shot hiscoachman dead upon the box through his coach-window, and finally died inVienna, whither he had absconded, of a pike-thrust received from a sentryin a brawl. 

The Wylders had not much to boast of, even in contrast with that wickedline. They had produced their madmen and villains, too; and there hadbeen frequent intermarriages--not very often happy. There had been manylawsuits, frequent disinheritings, and even worse doings. The Wylders ofBrandon appear very early in history; and the Wylder arms, with theirlegend, 'resurgam, ' stands in bold relief over the great door of BrandonHall. So there were Wylders of Brandon, and Brandons of Brandon. In onegeneration, a Wylder ill-using his wife and hating his children, wouldcut them all off, and send the estate bounding back again to theBrandons. The next generation or two would amuse themselves with alawsuit, until the old Brandon type reappeared in some bachelor brotheror uncle, with a Jezebel on his left hand, and an attorney on his right, and, presto! the estates were back again with the Wylders. 

A 'statement of title' is usually a dry affair. But that of the dynastyof Brandon Hall was a truculent romance. Their very 'wills' were spicedwith the devilment of the 'testators, ' and abounded in insinuations andeven language which were scandalous. 

Here is Mark Wylder's letter:--

'DEAR CHARLES--Of course you have heard of my good luck, and how kindpoor Dickie--from whom I never expected anything--proved at last. It wasa great windfall for a poor devil like me; but, after all, it was onlyright, for it ought never to have been his at all. I went down and tookpossession on the 4th, the tenants very glad, and so they might well be;for, between ourselves, Dickie, poor fellow, was not always pleasant todeal with. He let the roof all out of repair, and committed waste besidein timber he had no right to in life, as I am told; but that don'tsignify much, only the house will cost me a pretty penny to get it intoorder and furnish. The rental is five thousand a-year and some hundreds, and the rents can be got up a bit--so Larkin tells me. Do you knowanything of him? He says he did business for your uncle once. He seems aclever fellow--a bit too clever, perhaps--and was too much master here, Isuspect, in poor Dickie's reign. Tell me all you can make out about him. It is a long time since I saw you, Charles; I'm grown brown, and greatwhiskers. I met poor Dominick--what an ass that chap is--but he did notknow me till I introduced myself, so I must be a good deal changed. Ourship was at Malta when I got the letter. I was sick of the service, andno wonder: a lieutenant--and there likely to stick all my days. Sixmonths, last year, on the African coast, watching slavers--think of that!I had a long yarn from the viscount--advice, and that sort of thing. I donot think he is a year older than I, but takes airs because he's atrustee. But I only laugh at trifles that would have riled me once. So Iwrote him a yarn in return, and drew it uncommon mild. And he has beenuseful to me; and I think matters are pretty well arranged to disappointthe kind intention of good Uncle Wylder--the brute; he hated my father, but that was no reason to persecute me, and I but an infant, almost, whenhe died, d-- him. Well, you know he left Brandon with some charges to myCousin Dorcas. She is a superbly fine girl. Our ship was at Naples whenshe was there two years ago; and I saw a good deal of her. Of course itwas not to be thought of then; but matters are quite different, you know, now, and the viscount, who is a very sensible fellow in the main, saw itat once. You see, the old brute meant to leave her a life estate; but itdoes not amount to that, though it won't benefit me, for he settled thatwhen I die it shall go to his right heirs--that will be to my son, if Iever have one. So Miss Dorcas must pack, and turn out whenever I die, that is, if I slip my cable first. Larkin told me this--and I took anopinion--and found it is so; and the viscount seeing it, agreed the bestthing for her as well as me would be, we should marry. She is awide-awake young lady, and nothing the worse for that: I'm a bit that waymyself. And so very little courtship has sufficed. She is a splendidbeauty, and when you see her you'll say any fellow might be proud of sucha bride; and so I am. And now, dear Charlie, you have it all. It willtake place somewhere about the twenty-fourth of next month; and you mustcome down by the first, if you can. Don't disappoint. I want you for bestman, maybe; and besides, I would like to talk to you about some thingsthey want me to do in the settlements, and you were always a long-headedfellow: so pray don't refuse. 

'Dear Charlie, ever most sincerely, 'Your old Friend, 'MARK WYLDER. 

'P. S. --I stay at the Brandon Arms in the town, until after the marriage;and then you can have a room at the Hall, and capital shooting when wereturn, which will be in a fortnight after. '

I can't say that Wylder was an old _friend_. But he was certainly one ofthe oldest and most intimate acquaintances I had. We had been for nearlythree years at school together; and when his ship came to England, metfrequently; and twice, when he was on leave, we had been for monthstogether under the same roof; and had for some years kept up a regularcorrespondence, which first grew desultory, and finally, as manhoodsupervened, died out. The plain truth is, I did not _very_ much like him. 

Then there was that beautiful apathetic Dorcas Brandon. Where is thelaggard so dull as to experience no pleasing flutter at his heart inanticipation of meeting a perfect beauty in a country house. I wasromantic, like every other youngish fellow who is not a prematurecurmudgeon; and there was something indefinitely pleasant in theconsciousness that, although a betrothed bride, the young lady still wasfancy free: not a bit in love. It was but a marriage of convenience, withmitigations. And so there hovered in my curiosity some little flicker ofegotistic romance, which helped to rouse my spirits, and spur me on toaction. 

CHAPTER II. 

IN WHICH I ENTER THE DRAWING-ROOM. 

I was now approaching Brandon Hall; less than ten minutes more would setme down at its door-steps. The stiff figure of Mrs. Marston, the oldhousekeeper, pale and austere, in rustling black silk (she was accounteda miser, and estimated to have saved I dare not say how much moneyin the Wylder family--kind to me with the bread-and-jam andNaples-biscuit-kindness of her species, in old times)--stood in fancy atthe doorway. She, too, was a dream, and, I dare say, her money spent bythis time. And that other dream, to which she often led me, with thelarge hazel eyes, and clear delicate tints--so sweet, so _riante_, yet sosad; poor Lady Mary Brandon, dying there--so unhappily mated--a youngmother, and her baby sleeping in long 'Broderie Anglaise' attire upon thepillow on the sofa, and whom she used to show me with a peeping mystery, and her finger to her smiling lip, and a gaiety and fondness in herpretty face. That little helpless, groping, wailing creature was now theDorcas Brandon, the mistress of the grand old mansion and all itssurroundings, who was the heroine of the splendid matrimonial compromisewhich was about to reconcile a feud, and avert a possible lawsuit, and, for one generation, at least, to tranquillise the troubled annals of theBrandons and Wylders. 

And now the ancient gray chapel, with its stained window, and store ofold Brandon and Wylder monuments among its solemn clump of elm-trees, flitted by on my right; and in a moment more we drew up at the great gateon the left; not a hundred yards removed from it, and with an eagerrecognition, I gazed on the noble front of the old manorial house. 

Up the broad straight avenue with its solemn files of gigantic timbertowering at the right and the left hand, the chaise rolled smoothly, andthrough the fantastic iron gate of the courtyard, and with a fineswinging sweep and a jerk, we drew up handsomely before the door-steps, with the Wylder arms in bold and florid projection carved above it. 

The sun had just gone down. The blue shadows of twilight overcast thelandscape, and the mists of night were already stealing like thin smokeamong the trunks and roots of the trees. Through the stone mullions ofthe projecting window at the right, a flush of fire-light looked pleasantand hospitable, and on the threshold were standing Lord Chelford and myold friend Mark Wylder; a faint perfume of the mildest cheroot declaredhow they had been employed. 

So I jumped to the ground and was greeted very kindly by the smokers. 

'I'm here, you know, _in loco parentis_;--my mother and I keep watch andward. We allow Wylder, you see, to come every day to his devotions. Butyou are not to go to the Brandon Arms--you got my note, didn't you?'

I had, and had come direct to the Hall in consequence. 

I looked over the door. Yes, my memory had served me right. There werethe Brandon arms, and the Brandon quartered with the Wylder; but theWylder coat in the centre, with the grinning griffins for supporters, andflaunting scrolls all round, and the ominous word 'resurgam' underneath, proclaimed itself sadly and vauntingly over the great entrance. I oftenwonder how the Wylder coat came in the centre; who built the old house--aBrandon or a Wylder; and if a Wylder, why was it Brandon Hall?

Dusty and seedy somewhat, as men are after a journey, I chatted with Markand the noble peer for a few minutes at the door, while my valise and _etceteras_ were lifted in and hurried up the stairs to my room, whither Ifollowed them. 

While I was at my toilet, in came Mark Wylder laughing, as was his wont, and very unceremoniously he took possession of my easy-chair, and threwhis leg over the arm of it. 

'I'm glad you're come, Charlie; you were always a good fellow, and Ireally want a hand here confoundedly. I think it will all do very nicely;but, of course, there's a lot of things to be arranged--settlements, youknow--and I can't make head or tail of their lingo, and a fellow don'tlike to sign and seal hand over head--_you_ would not advise that, youknow; and Chelford is a very good fellow, of course, and all that--buthe's taking care of Dorcas, you see; and I might be left in the lurch. '

'It is a better way, at all events, Mark, than Wylder _versus_ Trusteesof Brandon, minor, ' said I. 

'Well, things do turn out very oddly; don't they?' said Mark with a slyglance of complacency, and his hands in his pockets. 'But I know you'llhold the tiller till I get through; hang me if I know the soundings, orwhere I'm going; and you have the chart by heart, Charlie. '

'I'm afraid you'll find me by no means so well up now as six years ago in"Wylder and Brandon;" but surely you have your lawyer, Mr. Larkin, haven't you?'

'To be sure--that's exactly it--he's Dorcas's agent. I don't knowanything about him, and I do know you--don't you see? A fellow doesn'twant to put himself into the hands of a stranger altogether, especially alawyer, ha, ha! it wouldn't pay. '

I did not half like the equivocal office which my friend Mark hadprepared for me. If family squabbles were to arise, I had no fancy to mixin them; and I did not want a collision with Mr. Larkin either; and, onthe whole, notwithstanding his modesty, I thought Wylder very well ableto take care of himself. There was time enough, however, to settle thepoint. So by this time, being splendid in French boots and white vest, and altogether perfect and refreshed, I emerged from my dressing-room, Wylder by my side. 

We had to get along a dim oak-panelled passage, and into a sort of_oeil-de-boeuf_, with a lantern light above, from which diverged twoother solemn corridors, and a short puzzling turn or two brought us tothe head of the upper stairs. For I being a bachelor, and treatedaccordingly, was airily perched on the third storey. 

To my mind, there is something indescribably satisfactory in the intensesolidity of those old stairs and floors--no spring in the planks, not acreak; you walk as over strata of stone. What clumsy grandeur! WhatCyclopean carpenters! What a prodigality of oak!

It was dark by this time, and the drawing-room, a vast and grand chamber, with no light but the fire and a pair of dim soft lamps near the sofasand ottomans, lofty, and glowing with rich tapestry curtains andpictures, and mirrors, and carved oak, and marble--was already tenantedby the ladies. 

Old Lady Chelford, stiff and rich, a Vandyke dowager, with a generaleffect of deep lace, funereal velvet, and pearls; and pale, with drearyeyes, and thin high nose, sat in a high-backed carved oak throne, withred cushions. To her I was first presented, and cursorily scrutinisedwith a stately old-fashioned insolence, as if I were a candidate footman, and so dismissed. On a low seat, chatting to her as I came up, was a veryhandsome and rather singular-looking girl, fair, with a lightgolden-tinted hair; and a countenance, though then grave enough, instinctwith a certain promise of animation and spirit not to be mistaken. Couldthis be the heroine of the pending alliance? No; I was mistaken. A thirdlady, at what would have been an ordinary room's length away, halfreclining on an ottoman, was now approached by Wylder, who presented meto Miss Brandon. 

'Dorcas, this is my old friend, Charles de Cresseron. You have oftenheard me speak of him; and I want you to shake hands and make hisacquaintance, and draw him out--do you see; for he's a shy youth, andmust be encouraged. '

He gave me a cheerful slap on the shoulder as he uttered this agreeablebit of banter, and altogether disconcerted me confoundedly. Wylder'sdress-coats always smelt of tobacco, and his talk of tar. I was quietlyincensed and disgusted; for in those days I _was_ a little shy. 

The lady rose, in a soft floating way; tall, black-haired--but ablackness with a dull rich shadow through it. I had only a generalimpression of large dusky eyes and very exquisite features--more delicatethan the Grecian models, and with a wonderful transparency, like tintedmarble; and a superb haughtiness, quite unaffected. She held forth herhand, which I did little more than touch. There was a peculiarity in hergreeting, which I felt a little overawing, without exactly discovering inwhat it consisted; and it was I think that she did not smile. She nevertook that trouble for form's sake, like other women. 

So, as Wylder had set a chair for me I could not avoid sitting upon it, though I should much have preferred standing, after the manner of men, and retaining my liberty. 

CHAPTER III. 

OUR DINNER PARTY AT BRANDON. 

I was curious. I had heard a great deal of her beauty; and it hadexceeded all I heard; so I talked my sublimest and brightest chit-chat, in my most musical tones, and was rather engaging and amusing, I venturedto hope. But the best man cannot manage a dialogue alone. Miss Brandonwas plainly not a person to make any sort of exertion towards what istermed keeping up a conversation; at all events she did not, and after awhile the present one got into a decidedly sinking condition. Anacquiescence, a faint expression of surprise, a fainter smile--shecontributed little more, after the first few questions of courtesy hadbeen asked, in her low silvery tones, and answered by me. To me thenatural demise of a _tête-à-tête_ discourse has always seemed a disgrace. But this apathetic beauty had either more moral courage or more stupiditythan I, and was plainly terribly indifferent about the catastrophe. I'vesometimes thought my struggles and sinkings amused her cruel serenity. 

Bella ma stupida!--I experienced, at last, the sort of pique with whichGeorge Sand's hero apostrophises _la derniere Aldini_. Yet I could notthink her stupid. The universal instinct honours beauty. It is sodifficult to believe it either dull or base. In virtue of some mysteriousharmonies it is 'the image of God, ' and must, we feel, enclose theGod-like; so I suppose I felt, for though I wished to think her stupid, Icould not. She was not exactly languid, but a grave and listless beauty, and a splendid beauty for all that. 

I told her my early recollections of Brandon and Gylingden, and how Iremembered her a baby, and said some graceful trifles on that theme, which I fancied were likely to please. But they were only received, andled to nothing. In a little while in comes Lord Chelford, always naturaland pleasant, and quite unconscious of his peerage--he was above it, Ithink--and chatted away merrily with that handsome animated blonde--whoon earth, could she be?--and did not seem the least chilled in the stiffand frosted presence of his mother, but was genial and playful even withthat Spirit of the Frozen Ocean, who received his affectionate triflingwith a sort of smiling, though wintry pride and complacency, reflectingback from her icy aspects something of the rosy tints of that kindlysunshine. 

I thought I heard him call the young lady Miss Lake, and there rosebefore me an image of an old General Lake, and a dim recollection of somereverse of fortune. He was--I was sure of that--connected with theBrandon family; and was, with the usual fatality, a bit of a _mauvaissujet_. He had made away with his children's money, or squandered hisown; or somehow or another impoverished his family not creditably. So Iglanced at her, and Miss Brandon divined, it seemed, what was passing inmy mind, for she said:--

'That is my cousin, Miss Lake, and I think her very beautiful--don'tyou?'

'Yes, she certainly is very handsome, ' and I was going to say somethingabout her animation and spirit, but remembered just in time, that thatline of eulogy would hardly have involved a compliment to Miss Brandon. 'I know her brother, a little--that is, Captain Lake--Stanley Lake; he'sher brother, I fancy?'

'_Oh?_' said the young lady, in that tone which is pointed with anunknown accent, between a note of enquiry and of surprise. 'Yes; he's herbrother. '

And she paused; as if something more were expected. But at that momentthe bland tones of Larcom, the solemn butler, announced the Rev. WilliamWylder and Mrs. Wylder, and I said--

'William is an old college friend of mine;' and I observed him, as heentered with an affectionate and sad sort of interest. Eight years hadpassed since we met last, and that is something at any time. It hadthinned my simple friend's hair a little, and his face, too, was morecareworn than I liked, but his earnest, sweet smile was there still. Slight, gentle, with something of a pale and studious refinement in hisface. The same gentle voice, with that slight, occasional hesitation, which somehow I liked. There is always a little shock after an absence ofsome years before identities adjust themselves, and then we find thechange is not, after all, so very great. I suspect it is, rather, thatsomething of the old picture is obliterated, in that little interval, toreturn no more. And so William Wylder was vicar now instead of thatstraight wiry cleric of the mulberry face and black leggings. 

And who was this little Mrs. William Wylder who came in, so homely offeature, so radiant of goodhumour, so eager and simple, in a very plaindress--a Brandon housemaid would not have been seen in it, leaning sopleasantly on his lean, long, clerical arm--made for reaching books downfrom high shelves, a lank, scholarlike limb, with a somewhat threadbarecuff--and who looked round with that anticipation of pleasure, and thatsimple confidence in a real welcome, which are so likely to insure it?Was she an helpmeet for a black-letter man, who talked with the Fathersin his daily walks, could extemporise Latin hexameters, and dream inGreek. Was she very wise, or at all learned? I think her knowledge laychiefly in the matters of poultry, and puddings, and latterly, of thenursery, where one treasure lay--that golden-haired little boy, fouryears old, whom I had seen playing among the roses before the parsonagedoor, asleep by this time--half-past seven, 'precise, ' as old LadyChelford loved to write on her summons to dinner. 

When the vicar, I dare say, in a very odd, quaint way, made his proposalof marriage, moved thereto assuredly, neither by fortune, nor by beauty, to good, merry, little Miss Dorothy Chubley, whom nobody was supposed tobe looking after, and the town had, somehow, set down from the first as anatural-born old maid--there was a very general amazement; somedisappointment here and there, with customary sneers and compassion, anda good deal of genuine amusement not ill-natured. 

Miss Chubley, all the shopkeepers in the town knew and liked, and, in away, respected her, as 'Miss Dolly. ' Old Reverend John Chubley, D. D. , whohad been in love with his wife from the period of his boyhood; and yet sogrudging was Fate, had to undergo an engagement of nigh thirty yearsbefore Hymen rewarded their constancy; being at length made Vicar ofHuddelston, and master of church revenues to the amount of three hundredpounds a year--had, at forty-five, married his early love, now forty-two. 

They had never grown old in one another's fond eyes. Their fidelity wasof the days of chivalry, and their simplicity comical and beautiful. Twenty years of happy and loving life were allotted them and onepledge--poor Miss Dorothy--was left alone, when little more than nineteenyears old. This good old couple, having loved early and waited long, andlived together with wonderful tenderness and gaiety of heart theirallotted span, bid farewell for a little while--the gentle little ladygoing first, and, in about two years more, the good rector following. 

I remembered him, but more dimly than his merry little wife, though shewent first. She made raisin-wine, and those curious biscuits that tastedof Windsor soap. 

And this Mrs. William Wylder just announced by soft-toned Larcom, is thedaughter (there is no mistaking the jolly smile and lumpy odd littlefeatures, and radiance of amiability) of the good doctor and Mrs. Chubley, so curiously blended in her loving face. And last comes in oldMajor Jackson, smiling largely, squaring himself, and doing hiscourtesies in a firm but florid military style, and plainly pleased tofind himself in good company and on the eve of a good dinner. And so ourdinner-list is full. 

The party were just nine--and it is wonderful what a row ninewell-behaved people will contrive to make at a dinner-table. The inferioranimals--as we see them caged and cared for, and fed at one o'clock, 'precise, ' in those public institutions provided for theirmaintenance--confine their uproar to the period immediately antecedent totheir meal, and perform the actual process of deglutition with silentattention, and only such suckings, lappings, and crunchings, asillustrate their industry and content. It is the distinctive privilege ofman to exert his voice during his repast, and to indulge also in thosespecially human cachinnations which no lower creature, except thatdisreputable Australian biped known as the 'laughing jackass, ' presumesto imitate; and to these vocal exercises of the feasters respond theendless ring and tinkle of knife and fork on china plate, and theministering angels in white chokers behind the chairs, those murmuredsolicitations which hum round and round the ears of the revellers. 

Of course, when great guns are present, and people talk _pro bonopublico_, one at a time, with parliamentary regularity, things aredifferent; but at an ordinary symposium, when the garrulous and diffidentmake merry together, and people break into twos or threes and talk acrossthe table, or into their neighbours' ears, and all together, the noise isnot only exhilarating and peculiar, but sometimes perfectlyunaccountable. 

The talk, of course, has its paroxysms and its subsidences. I have onceor twice found myself on a sudden in total silence in the middle of asomewhat prolix, though humorous story, commenced in an uproar for thesole recreation of my pretty neighbour, and ended--patched up, _renounced_--a faltering failure, under the converging gaze of a sternlyattentive audience. 

On the other hand, there are moments when the uproar whirls up in acrescendo to a pitch and volume perfectly amazing; and at such times, Ibelieve that anyone might say anything to the reveller at his elbow, without the smallest risk of being overheard by mortal. You may plan withyoung Caesar Borgia, on your left, the poisoning of your host; or askpretty Mrs. Fusible, on your right, to elope with you from her grinningand gabbling lord, whose bald head flashes red with champagne only at theother side of the table. There is no privacy like it; you may plot yourwickedness, or make your confession, or pop the question, and not a soulbut your confidant be a bit the wiser--provided only you command yourcountenance. 

I don't know how it happened, but Wylder sat beside Miss Lake. I fanciedhe ought to have been differently placed, but Miss Brandon did not seemconscious of his absence, and it seemed to me that the handsome blondewould have been as well pleased if he had been anywhere but where he was. There was no look of liking, though some faint glimmerings both ofannoyance and embarrassment in her face. But in Wylder's I saw a sort ofconceited consciousness, and a certain eagerness, too, while he talked;though a shrewd fellow in many ways, he had a secret conviction that nowoman could resist him. 

'I suppose the world thinks me a very happy fellow, Miss Lake?' he said, with a rather pensive glance of enquiry into that young lady's eyes, ashe set down his hock-glass. 

'I'm afraid it's a selfish world, Mr. Wylder, and thinks very little ofwhat does not concern it. '

'Now, _you_, I dare say, ' continued Wylder, not caring to perceive the_soupçon_ of sarcasm that modulated her answer so musically, 'look uponme as a very fortunate fellow?'

'You are a very fortunate person, Mr. Wylder; a gentleman of verymoderate abilities, with no prospects, and without fortune, who findshimself, without any deservings of his own, on a sudden, possessed of anestate, and about to be united to the most beautiful heiress in England, _is_, I think, rather a fortunate person. '

'You did not always think me so stupid, Miss Lake, ' said Mr. Wylder, showing something of the hectic of vexation. 

'Stupid! did I say? Well, you know, we learn by experience, Mr. Wylder. One's judgment matures, and we are harder to please--don't you thinkso?--as we grow older. '

'Aye, so we are, I dare say; at any rate, some things don't please us aswe calculated. I remember when this bit of luck would have made me adevilish happy fellow--_twice_ as happy; but, you see, if a fellow hasn'this liberty, where's the good of money? I don't know how I got into it, but I can't get away now; and the lawyer fellows, and trustees, and allthat sort of prudent people, get about one, and persuade, and exhort, andthey bully you, by Jove! into what they call a marriage of convenience--Iforget the French word--you know; and then, you see, your feelings may bevery different, and all that; and where's the good of money, I say, ifyou can't enjoy it?'

And Mr. Wylder looked poetically unhappy, and trundled over a little bitof fricandeau on his plate with his fork, desolately, as though earthlythings had lost their relish. 

'Yes; I think I know the feeling, ' said Miss Lake, quietly. 'That ballad, you know, expresses it very prettily:--"Oh, thou hast been the cause ofthis anguish, my mother?"'

It was not then as old a song as it is now. 

Wylder looked sharply at her, but she did not smile, and seemed to speakin good faith; and being somewhat thick in some matters, though a cunningfellow, he said--

'Yes; that is the sort of thing, you know--of course, with adifference--a girl is supposed to speak there; but men suffer that way, too--though, of course, very likely it's more their own fault. '

'It is very sad, ' said Miss Lake, who was busy with a _pâté_. 

'She has no life in her; she's a mere figurehead; she's awfully slow; Idon't like black hair; I'm taken by conversation--and all that. There aresome men that can only really love once in their lives, and never forgettheir first love, I assure you. '

Wylder murmured all this, and looked as plaintive as he could withoutexciting the attention of the people over-the-way. 

Mark Wylder had, as you perceive, rather vague notions of decency, andnot much experience of ladies; and thought he was making just theinteresting impression he meditated. He was a good deal surprised, then, when Miss Lake said, and with quite a cheerful countenance, and veryquickly, but so that her words stung his ear like the prick of a bodkin. 

'Your way of speaking of my cousin, Sir, is in the highest degreediscreditable to you and offensive to me, and should you venture torepeat it, I will certainly mention it to Lady Chelford. '

And so she turned to old Major Jackson at her right, who had beenexpounding a point of the battle of Vittoria to Lord Chelford; and sheled him again into action, and acquired during the next ten minutes agreat deal of curious lore about Spanish muleteers and French prisoners, together with some particulars about the nature of picket duty, and 'thatscoundrel, Castanos. '

CHAPTER IV. 

IN WHICH WE GO TO THE DRAWING-ROOM AND THE PARTY BREAKS UP. 

Wylder was surprised, puzzled, and a good deal incensed--that saucy crafthad fired her shot so unexpectedly across his bows. He looked a littleflushed, and darted a stealthy glance across the table, but no one hethought had observed the manoeuvre. He would have talked to ugly Mrs. W. Wylder, his sister-in-law, at his left, but she was entertaining LordChelford now. He had nothing for it but to perform _cavalier seul_ withhis slice of mutton--a sensual sort of isolation, while all the world waschatting so agreeably and noisily around him. He would have liked, atthat moment, a walk upon the quarter-deck, with a good head-wind blowing, and liberty to curse and swear a bit over the bulwark. Women are so fullof caprice and hypocrisy, and 'humbugging impudence!'

Wylder was rather surly after the ladies had floated away from the scene, and he drank his liquor doggedly. It was his fancy, I suppose, to revivecertain sentimental relations which had, it may be, once existed betweenhim and Miss Lake; and he was a person of that combative temperament thatmagnifies an object in proportion as its pursuit is thwarted. 

In the drawing-room he watched Miss Lake over his cup of coffee, andafter a few words to his _fiancée_ he lounged toward the table at whichshe was turning over some prints. 

'Do come here, Dorothy, ' she exclaimed, not raising her eyes, 'I havefound the very thing. '

'What thing? my dear Miss Lake, ' said that good little woman, skipping toher side. 

'The story of "Fridolin, " and Retzch's pretty outlines. Sit down besideme, and I'll tell you the story. '

'Oh!' said the vicar's wife, taking her seat, and the inspection andexposition began; and Mark Wylder, who had intended renewing his talkwith Miss Lake, saw that she had foiled him, and stood with a heightenedcolour and his hands in his pockets, looking confoundedly cross and verylike an outcast, in the shadow behind. 

After a while, in a pet, he walked away. Lord Chelford had joined the twoladies, and had something to say about German art, and some pleasantlights to throw from foreign travel, and devious reading, and was asusual intelligent and agreeable; and Mark was still more sore and angry, and strutted away to another table, a long way off, and tossed over theleaves of a folio of Wouverman's works, and did not see one of the plateshe stared at so savagely. 

I don't think Mark was very clear as to what he wanted, or, even if hehad had a cool half-hour to define his wishes, that he would seriouslyhave modified existing arrangements. But he had a passionate sort ofobstinacy, and his whims took a violent character when they were crossed, and he was angry and jealous and unintelligible, reminding one ofCarlyle's description of Philip Egalité--a chaos. 

Then he joined a conversation going on between Dorcas Brandon and thevicar, his brother. He assisted at it, but took no part, and in fact waslistening to that other conversation which sounded, with its pleasantgabble and laughter, like a little musical tinkle of bells in thedistance. His gall rose, and that distant talk rang in his ears like acool but intangible insult. 

It was dull work. He looked at his watch--the brougham would be at thedoor to take Miss Lake home in a quarter of an hour; so he glided by oldLady Chelford, who was dozing stiffly through her spectacles on a Frenchnovel, and through a second drawing-room, and into the hall, where he sawLarcom's expansive white waistcoat, and disregarded his advance andrespectful inclination, and strode into the outer hall or vestibule, where were hat-stands, walking-sticks, great coats, umbrellas, and theexuviae of gentlemen. 

Mark clapped on his hat, and rifled the pocket of his paletot of hiscigar-case and matches, and spluttered a curse or two, according to oldNollekins' receipt for easing the mind, and on the door-steps lighted hischeroot, and became gradually more philosophical. 

In due time the brougham came round with its lamps lighted, and Mark, whowas by this time placid, greeted Price on the box familiarly, after hiswont, and asked him whom he was going to drive, as if he did not know, cunning fellow; and actually went so far as to give Price one of thosecheap and nasty weeds, of which he kept a supply apart in his case forsuch occasions of good fellowship. 

So Mark waited to put the lady into the carriage, and he meditatedwalking a little way by the window and making his peace, and there wasperhaps some vague vision of jumping in afterwards; I know not. Mark'sideas of ladies and of propriety were low, and he was little better thana sailor ashore, and not a good specimen of that class of monster. 

He walked about the courtyard smoking, looking sometimes on the solemnfront of the old palatial mansion, and sometimes breathing a white filmup to the stars, impatient, like the enamoured Aladdin, watching inambuscade for the emergence of the Princess Badroulbadour. But honestMark forgot that young ladies do not always come out quite alone, andjump unassisted into their vehicles. And in fact not only did LordChelford assist the fair lady, cloaked and hooded, into the carriage, butthe vicar's goodhumoured little wife was handed in also, the good vicarlooking on, and as the gay good-night and leave-taking took place by thedoor-steps, Mark drew back, like a guilty thing, in silence, and showedno sign but the red top of his cigar, glowing like the eye of a Cyclopsin the dark; and away rolled the brougham, with the two ladies, andChelford and the vicar went in, and Mark hurled the stump of his cherootat Fortune, and delivered a fragmentary soliloquy through his teeth; andso, in a sulk, without making his adieux, he marched off to his crib atthe Brandon Arms. 

CHAPTER V. 

IN WHICH MY SLUMBER IS DISTURBED. 

The ladies had accomplished their ascension to the upper regions. Thegood vicar had marched off with the major, who was by this timeunbuckling in his lodgings; and Chelford and I, _tête-à-tête_, had aglass of sherry and water together in the drawing-room before parting. And over this temperate beverage I told him frankly the nature of theservice which Mark Wylder wished me to render him; and he as franklyapproved, and said he would ask Larkin, the family lawyer, to come up inthe morning to assist. 

The more I saw of this modest, refined, and manly peer, the more I likedhim. There was a certain courteous frankness, and a fine old Englishsense of duty perceptible in all his serious talk. So I felt no longerlike a conspirator, and was to offer such advice as might seem expedient, with the clear approbation of Miss Brandon's trustee. And this pointclearly settled, I avowed myself a little tired; and lighting our candlesat the foot of the stairs, we scaled that long ascent together, and heconducted me through the intricacies of the devious lobbies up stairs tomy chamber-door, where he bid me good-night, shook hands, and descendedto his own quarters. 

My room was large and old-fashioned, but snug; and I, beginning to growvery drowsy, was not long in getting to bed, where I fell asleepindescribably quickly. 

In all old houses one is, of course, liable to adventures. Where is themarvellous to find refuge, if not among the chambers, the intricacies, which have seen the vicissitudes, the crimes, and the deaths ofgenerations of such men as had occupied these?

There was a picture in the outer hall--one of those full-length gentlemenof George II. 's time, with a dark peruke flowing on his shoulders, a cutvelvet coat, and lace cravat and ruffles. This picture was pale, and hada long chin, and somehow had impressed my boyhood with a singular senseof fear. The foot of my bed lay towards the window, distant at leastfive-and-twenty-feet; and before the window stood my dressing-table, andon it a large looking-glass. 

I dreamed that I was arranging my toilet before this glass--just as I haddone that evening--when on a sudden the face of the portrait I havementioned was presented on its surface, confronting me like a realcountenance, and advancing towards me with a look of fury; and at theinstant I felt myself seized by the throat and unable to stir or tobreathe. After a struggle with this infernal garotter, I succeeded inawaking myself; and as I did so, I felt a rather cold hand really restingon my throat, and quietly passed up over my chin and face. I jumped outof bed with a roar, and challenged the owner of the hand, but received noanswer, and heard no sound. I poked up my fire and lighted my candle. Everything was as I had left it except the door, which was the least bitopen. 

In my shirt, candle in hand, I looked out into the passage. There wasnothing there in human shape, but in the direction of the stairs thegreen eyes of a large cat were shining. I was so confoundedly nervousthat even 'a harmless, necessary cat' appalled me, and I clapped my door, as if against an evil spirit. 

In about half an hour's time, however, I had quite worked off the effectof this night-mare, and reasoned myself into the natural solution thatthe creature had got on my bed, and lay, as I have been told they will, upon my throat, and so, all the rest had followed. 

Not being given to the fear of _larvae_ and _lemures_, and also knowingthat a mistake is easily committed in a great house like that, and thatmy visitor might have made one, I grew drowsy in a little while, and soonfell asleep again. But knowing all I now do, I hold a differentconclusion--and so, I think, will you. 

In the morning Mark Wylder was early upon the ground. He had quite sleptoff what he would have called the nonsense of last night, and was verykeen upon settlements, consols, mortgages, jointures, and all that drybut momentous lore. 

I find a note in my diary of that day:--'From half-past ten o'clock untiltwo with Mark Wylder and Mr. Larkin, the lawyer, in the study--dullwork--over papers and title--Lord Chelford with us now and then to lend ahelping hand. '

Lawyer Larkin, though he made our work lighter--for he was clear, quick, and orderly, and could lay his hand on any paper in those tin walls oflegal manuscripts that built up two sides of his office--did not make ourbusiness, to me at least, any pleasanter. Wylder thought him a clever man(and so perhaps, in a certain sense, he was); Lord Chelford, a mosthonourable one; yet there came to me by instinct an unpleasant feelingabout him. It was not in any defined way--I did not fancy that he wasmachinating, for instance, any sort of mischief in the business beforeus--but I had a notion that he was not quite what he pretended. 

Perhaps his _personnel_ prejudiced me--though I could not quite say why. He was a tall, lank man--rather long of limb, long of head, and gaunt offace. He wanted teeth at both sides, and there was rather a skull-likecavity when he smiled--which was pretty often. His eyes were small andreddish, as if accustomed to cry; and when everything went smoothly weredull and dove-like, but when things crossed or excited him, whichoccurred when his own pocket or plans were concerned, they grewsingularly unpleasant, and greatly resembled those of some not amiableanimal--was it a rat, or a serpent? It was a peculiar concentratedvigilance and rapine that I have seen there. But that was longafterwards. Now, indeed, they were meek, and sad, and pink. 

He had an ambition, too, to pass for a high-bred gentleman, and thoughtit might be done by a somewhat lofty and drawling way of talking, anddistributing his length of limb in what he fancied were easy attitudes. If the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel, so are the elegances of avulgar man; and his made me wince. 

I might be all in the wrong--and was, no doubt, unreasonable--for he borea high character, and passed for a very gentlemanlike man among thevillagers. He was also something of a religious light, and had for a timeconformed to Methodism, but returned to the Church. He had a liking forlong sermons, and a sad abhorrence of amusements, and sat out the morningand the evening services regularly--and kept up his dissenting connectiontoo, and gave them money--and appeared in print, in all charitablelists--and mourned over other men's backslidings and calamities in alofty and Christian way, shaking his tall bald head, and turning up hispink eyes mildly. 

Notwithstanding all which he was somehow unlovely in my eyes, and in anindistinct way, formidable. It was not a pleasant misgiving about agentleman of Larkin's species, the family lawyer, who become _visceramagnorum domuum_. 

My duties were lighter, as adviser, than I at first apprehended. Wylder'scrotchets were chiefly 'mare's nests. ' We had read the draft of thesettlement, preparatory to its being sent to senior counsel to beapproved. Wylder's attorney had done his devoir, and Mr. Larkin avowed asort of parental interest in both parties to the indentures, and made, atclosing, a little speech, very high in morality, and flavoured in a manlyway with religion, and congratulated Mark on his honour and plaindealing, which he gave us to understand were the secrets of all successin life, as they had been, in an humble way of his own. 

CHAPTER VI. 

IN WHICH DORCAS BRANDON SPEAKS. 

In answer to 'the roaring shiver of the gong' we all trooped awaytogether to luncheon. Lady Chelford and Dorcas and Chelford had nearlyended that irregular repast when we entered. My chair was beside MissBrandon; she had breakfasted with old Lady Chelford that morning, andthis was my first meeting that day. It was not very encouraging. 

People complained that acquaintance made little way with her. That youwere, perhaps, well satisfied with your first day's progress, but thenext made no head-way; you found yourself this morning exactly at thepoint from which you commenced yesterday, and to-morrow would recommencewhere you started the day before. This is very disappointing, but maysometimes be accounted for by there being nothing really to discover. Itseemed to me, however, that the distance had positively increased sinceyesterday, and that the oftener she met me the more strange she became. As we went out, Wylder enquired, with his usual good taste: 'Well, whatdo you think of her?' Then he looked slily at me, laughing, with hishands in his pockets. 'A little bit slow, eh?' he whispered, and laughedagain, and lounged into the hall. If Dorcas Brandon had been a plainwoman, I think she would have been voted an impertinent bore; but she wasso beautiful that she became an enigma. I looked at her as she stoodgravely gazing from the window. Is it Lady Macbeth? No; she never wouldhave had energy to plan her husband's career and manage that affair ofDuncan. A sultana rather--sublimely egotistical, without reverence--avoluptuous and haughty embodiment of indifference. I paused, looking at apicture, but thinking of her, and was surprised by her voice very nearme. 

'Will you give me just a minute, Mr. De Cresseron, in the drawing-room, while I show you a miniature? I want your opinion. '

So she floated on and I accompanied her. 

'I think, ' she said, 'you mentioned yesterday, that you remembered mewhen an infant. You remember my poor mamma, don't you, very well?'

This was the first time she had yet shown any tendency, so far as I hadseen, to be interested in anything, or to talk to me. I seized theoccasion, and gave her, as well as I could, the sad and pretty picturethat remained, and always will, in the vacant air, when I think of her, on the mysterious retina of memory. 

How filmy they are! the moonlight shines through them, as through thephantom Dane in Retzch's outlines--colour without substance. How theycome, wearing for ever the sweetest and pleasantest look of their earthlydays. Their sweetest and merriest tones hover musically in the distance;how far away, how near to silence, yet how clear! And so it is with ourremembrance of the immortal part. It is the loveliest traits that remainwith us perennially; all that was noblest and most beautiful is there, ina changeless and celestial shadow; and this is the resurrection of thememory, the foretaste and image which the 'Faithful Creator' accords usof the resurrection and glory to come--the body redeemed, the spirit madeperfect. 

On a cabinet near to where she stood was a casket of ormolu, which sheunlocked, and took out a miniature, opened, and looked at it for a longtime. I knew very well whose it was, and watched her countenance; for, asI have said, she interested me strangely. I suppose she knew I waslooking at her; but she showed always a queenlike indifference about whatpeople might think or observe. There was no sentimental softening; buther gaze was such as I once saw the same proud and handsome face turnupon the dead--pale, exquisite, perhaps a little stern. What she readthere--what procession of thoughts and images passed by--threw neitherlight nor shadow on her face. Its apathy interested me inscrutably. 

At last she placed the picture in my hand, and asked--

'Is this really very like her?'

'It is, and it is _not_, ' I said, after a little pause. 'The features aretrue: it is what I call an accurate portrait, but that is all. I daresay, exact as it is, it would give to one who had not seen her a false, as it must an inadequate, idea, of the original. There was something_naïve_ and _spirituel_, and very tender in her face, which he has notcaught--perhaps it could hardly be fixed in colours. '

'Yes, I always heard her expression and intelligence were very beautiful. It was the beauty of mobility--true beauty. '

'There is a beauty of another stamp, equally exquisite, Miss Brandon, andperhaps more overpowering. ' I said this in nearly a whisper, and in avery marked way, almost tender, and the next moment was amazed at my ownaudacity. She looked on me for a second or two, with her dark drowsyglance, and then it returned to the picture, which was again in her hand. There was a total want of interest in the careless sort of surprise shevouchsafed my little sally; neither was there the slightest resentment. If a wafer had been stuck upon my forehead, and she had observed it, there might have been just that look and no more. I was ridiculouslyannoyed with myself. I was betrayed, I don't know how, into this littleventure, and it was a flat failure. The position of a shy man, who hasjust made an unintelligible joke at a dinner-table, was not more pregnantwith self-reproach and embarrassment. 

Upon my honour, I don't think there was anything of the _roué_ in me. Iown I did feel towards this lady, who either was, or seemed to me, sosingular, a mysterious interest just beginning--of that peculiar kindwhich becomes at last terribly absorbing. 

I was more elated by her trifling notice of me than I can quite accountfor. It was a distinction. She was so indescribably handsome--sopassively disdainful. I think if she had listened to me with even thefaintest intimation of caring whether I spoke in this tone or not, witheven a flash of momentary resentment, I might have rushed into a mostreprehensible and ridiculous rigmarole. 

In this, the subtlest and most perilous of all intoxications, it needsimmense presence of mind to conduct ourselves always with decorum. Butshe was looking, just as before, at the miniature, as it seemed to me, infancy infusing some of the spirit I had described into the artist'srecord, and she said, only in soliloquy, as it were, 'Yes, I see--I_think_ I see. '

So there was a pause; and then she said, without, however, removing hereyes from the miniature, 'You are, I believe, Mr. De Cresseron, a veryold friend of Mr. Wylder's. Is it not so?'

So soon after my little escapade, I did not like the question; but it wasanswered. There was not the faintest trace of a satirical meaning, however, in her face; and after another very considerable interval, atthe end of which she shut the miniature in its case, she said, 'It was apeculiar face, and very beautiful. It is odd how many of our familymarried for love--wild love-matches. My poor mother was the last. I couldpoint you out many pictures, and tell you stories--my cousin, Rachel, knows them all. You know Rachel Lake?'

'I've not the honour of knowing Miss Lake. I had not an opportunity ofmaking her acquaintance yesterday; but I know her brother--so doesWylder. '

'What's that?' said Mark, who had just come in, and was tumbling over avolume of 'Punch' at the window. 

'I was telling Miss Brandon that we both know Stanley Lake. ' On hearingwhich, Wylder seemed to discover something uncommonly interesting orclever in the illustration before him; for he approached his face verynear to it, in a scrutinising way, and only said, 'Oh?'

'That marrying for love was a fatality in our family, ' she continued inthe same low tone--too faint I think to reach Mark. 'They were all themost beautiful who sacrificed themselves so--they were all unhappymarriages. So the beauty of our family never availed it, any more thanits talents and its courage; for there were clever and witty men, as wellas very brave ones, in it. Meaner houses have grown up into dukedoms;ours never prospers. I wonder what it is. '

'Many families have disappeared altogether, Miss Brandon. It is no smallthing, through so many centuries, to have retained your ancestralestates, and your pre-eminent position, and even this splendid residenceof so many generations of your lineage. '

I thought that Miss Brandon, having broken the ice, was henceforth to bea conversable young lady. But this sudden expansion was not to last. Ovidtells us, in his 'Fasti, ' how statues sometimes surprised people byspeaking more frankly and to the purpose even than Miss Brandon, andstraight were cold chiselled marble again; and so it was with that proud, cold _chef d'oeuvre_ of tinted statuary. 

Yet I thought I could, even in that dim glimpse, discern how the silentsubterranean current of her thoughts was flowing; like otherrepresentatives of a dynasty, she had studied the history of her race toprofit by its errors and misfortunes. There was to be no weakness orpassion in her reign. 

The princess by this time was seated on the ottoman, and chose to read aletter, thus intimating, I suppose, that my audience was at an end; so Itook up a book, put it down, and then went and looked over Wylder'sshoulder, and made my criticisms--not very novel, I fear--upon the pageshe turned over; and I am sorry to say I don't think he heard much of whatI was saying, for he suddenly came out with--

'And where is Stanley Lake now, do you know?'

'I saw him in town--only for a moment though--about a fortnight ago; hewas arranging, he said, about selling out. '

'Oh! retiring; and what does he propose doing then?' asked Wylder, without raising his eyes from his book. He spoke in a sort of undertone, like a man who does not want to be overheard, and the room was quitelarge enough to make that sort of secrecy easy without the appearance ofseeking it. 

'I have not an idea. I don't think he's fit for many things. He knowssomething of horses, I believe, and something of play. '

'But he'll hardly make out a living that way, ' said Wylder, with a sortof sneer or laugh. I thought he seemed put out, and a little flushed. 

'I fancy he has enough to live upon, without adding to it, however, ' Isaid. 

Wylder leaned back in his low chair, with his hands stuffed in hispockets, and the air of a man trying to look unconcerned, but bothannoyed and disconcerted nevertheless. 

I tell you what, Charlie, between you and me, that fellow, Stanley, is ad----d bad lot. I may be mistaken, of course; he's always been very civilto me, but we don't like one another; and I don't think I ever heard himsay a good word of any one, I dare say he abuses you and me, as he doeseveryone else. '

'Does he?' I said. 'I was not aware he had that failing. '

'Oh, yes. He does not stick at trifles, Master Stanley. He's about thegreatest liar, I think, I ever met with, ' and he laughed angrily. 

I happened at that moment to raise my eyes, and I saw Dorcas's facereflected in the mirror; her back was towards us, and she held the letterin her hand as if reading it, but her large eyes were looking over it, and on us, in the glass, with a gaze of strange curiosity. Our glancesmet in the mirror; but hers remained serenely undisturbed, and minedropped and turned away hastily. I wonder whether she heard us. I do notknow. Some people are miraculously sharp of hearing. 

'I dare say, ' said Wylder, with a sneer, 'he was asking affectionatelyfor me, eh?'

'No; not that I recollect--in fact there was not time; but I suppose hedoes not like you less for what has happened; you're worth cultivatingnow, you know. '

Wylder was leaning on his elbow, with just the tip of his thumb to histeeth, with a vicious character of biting it, which was peculiar to himwhen anything vexed him considerably, and glancing sharply this way andthat--

'You know, ' he said, suddenly, 'we are a sort of cousins; his mother wasa Brandon--a second cousin of Dorcas's--no, of her father's--I don't knowexactly how. He's a pushing fellow, one of the coolest hands I know; butI don't see that I can be of any use to him, or why the devil I should. Isay, old fellow, come out and have a weed, will you?'

I raised my eyes. Miss Brandon had left the room. I don't know that herpresence would have prevented his invitation, for Wylder's wooing wascertainly of the coolest. So forth we sallied, and under the autumnalfoliage, in the cool amber light of the declining evening, we enjoyed ourcheroots; and with them, Wylder his thoughts; and I, the landscape, andthe whistling of the birds; for we waxed Turkish and taciturn over ourtobacco. 

CHAPTER VII. 

RELATING HOW A LONDON GENTLEMAN APPEARED IN REDMAN'S DELL. 

I believe the best rule in telling a story is to follow eventschronologically. So let me mention that just about the time when Wylderand I were filming the trunks of the old trees with wreaths of lingeringperfume, Miss Rachel Lake had an unexpected visitor. 

There is, near the Hall, a very pretty glen, called Redman's Dell, verysteep, with a stream running at the bottom of it, but so thickly woodedthat in summer time you can only now and then catch a glimpse of thewater gliding beneath you. Deep in this picturesque ravine, buried amongthe thick shadows of tall old trees, runs the narrow mill-road, whichlower down debouches on the end of the village street. There, in thetransparent green shadow, stand the two mills--the old one with A. D. 1679, and the Wylder arms, and the eternal 'resurgam' projecting over itsdoor; and higher up, on a sort of platform, the steep bank rising highbehind it, with its towering old wood overhanging and surrounding, upon asite where one of king Arthur's knights, of an autumn evening, as he rodesolitary in quest of adventures, might have seen the peeping, gray gableof an anchorite's chapel dimly through the gilded stems, and heard thedrowsy tinkle of his vesper-bell, stands an old and small two-storiedbrick and timber house; and though the sun does not very often glimmer onits windows, it yet possesses an air of sad, old-world comfort--a littleflower-garden lies in front with a paling round it. But not every kind offlowers will grow there, under the lordly shadow of the elms andchestnuts. 

This sequestered tenement bears the name of Redman's Farm; and itsoccupant was that Miss Lake whom I had met last night at Brandon Hall, and whose pleasure it was to live here in independent isolation. 

There she is now, busy in her tiny garden, with the birds twitteringabout her, and the yellow leaves falling; and her thick gauntlets on herslender hands. How fresh and pretty she looks in that sad, sylvansolitude, with the background of the dull crimson brick and the climbingroses. Bars of sunshine fall through the branches above, across the thicktapestry of blue, yellow, and crimson, that glow so richly upon theirdeep green ground. 

There is not much to be done just now, I fancy, in the gardening way; butwork is found or invented--for sometimes the hour is dull, and thatbright, spirited, and at heart, it may be, bitter exile, will make outlife somehow. There is music, and drawing. There are flowers, as we see, and two or three correspondents, and walks into the village; and her darkcousin, Dorcas, drives down sometimes in the pony-carriage, and is notalways silent; and indeed, they are a good deal together. 

This young lady's little Eden, though overshadowed and encompassed withthe solemn sylvan cloister of nature's building, and vocal with sounds ofinnocence--the songs of birds, and sometimes those of its youngmistress--was no more proof than the Mesopotamian haunt of our firstparents against the intrusion of darker spirits. So, as she worked, shelifted up her eyes, and beheld a rather handsome young man standing atthe little wicket of her garden, with his gloved hand on the latch. A manof fashion--a town man--his dress bespoke him: smooth cheeks, light browncurling moustache, and eyes very peculiar both in shape and colour, andsomething of elegance of finish in his other features, and of generalgrace in the _coup d'oeil_, struck one at a glance. He was smilingsilently and slily on Rachel, who, with a little cry of surprise, said--

'Oh, Stanley! is it you?'

And before he could answer, she had thrown her arms about his neck andkissed him two or three times. Laughingly, half-resisting, the young manwaited till her enthusiastic salutation was over, and with one glovedhand caressingly on her shoulder, and with the other smoothing hisruffled moustache, he laughed a little more, a quiet low laugh. He wasnot addicted to stormy greetings, and patted his sister's shouldergently, his arm a little extended, like a man who tranquillises afrolicsome pony. 

'Yes, Radie, you see I've found you out;' and his eye wandered, stillsmiling oddly, over the front of her quaint habitation. 

'And how have you been, Radie?'

'Oh, very well. No life like a gardener's--early hours, work, air, andplenty of quiet. ' And the young lady laughed. 

'You are a wonderful lass, Radie. '

'Thank you, dear. '

'And what do you call this place?'

'"The Happy Valley, " _I_ call it. Don't you remember "Rasselas?"'

'No, ' he said, looking round him; 'I don't think I was ever there. '

'You horrid dunce!--it's a book, but a stupid one--so no matter, ' laughedMiss Rachel, giving him a little slap on the shoulder with her slenderfingers. 

His reading, you see, lay more in circulating library lore, and he wasnot deep in Johnson--as few of us would be, I'm afraid, if it were notfor Boswell. 

'It's a confounded deal more like the "Valley of the Shadow of Death, " in"Pilgrim's Progress"--you remember--that old Tamar used to read to us inthe nursery, ' replied Master Stanley, who had never enjoyed being quizzedby his sister, not being blessed with a remarkably sweet temper. 

'If you don't like my scenery, come in, Stanley, and admire mydecorations. You must tell me all the news, and I'll show you my house, and amaze you with my housekeeping. Dear me, how long it is since I'veseen you. '

So she led him in by the arm to her tiny drawing-room; and he laid hishat and stick, and gray paletot, on her little marquetrie-table, and satdown, and looked languidly about him, with a sly smile, like a manamused. 

'It is an odd fancy, living alone here. '

'An odd necessity, Stanley. '

'Aren't you afraid of being robbed and murdered, Radie?' he said, leaningforward to smell at the pretty bouquet in the little glass, and turningit listlessly round. 'There are lots of those burglar fellows goingabout, you know. '

'Thank you, dear, for reminding me. But, somehow, I'm not the leastafraid. There hasn't been a robbery in this neighbourhood, I believe, foreight hundred years. The people never think of shutting their doors herein summer time till they are going to bed, and then only for form's sake;and, beside, there's nothing to rob, and I really don't much mind beingmurdered. '

He looked round, and smiled on, as before, like a man contemptuouslyamused, but sleepily withal. 

'You are very oddly housed, Radie. '

'I like it, ' she said quietly, also with a glance round her homelydrawing-room. 

'What do you call this, your boudoir or parlour?'

'I call it my drawing-room, but it's anything you please. '

'What very odd people our ancestors were, ' he mused on. 'They lived, Isuppose, out of doors like the cows, and only came into their sheds atnight, when they could not see the absurd ugliness of the places theyinhabited. I could not stand upright in this room with my hat on. Lots ofrats, I fancy, Radie, behind that wainscoting? What's that horrid work ofart against the wall?'

'A shell-work cabinet, dear. It is not beautiful, I allow. If I werestrong enough, or poor old Tamar, I should have put it away; and now thatyou're here, Stanley, I think I'll make you carry it out to the lobby forme. '

'I should not like to touch it, dear Radie. And pray how do you amuseyourself here? How on earth do you get over the day, and, worse still, the evenings?'

'Very well--well enough. I make a very good sort of a nun, and a capitalhousemaid. I work in the garden, I mend my dresses, I drink tea, and whenI choose to be dissipated, I play and sing for old Tamar--why did not youask how she is? I do believe, Stanley, you care for no one, but' (she wasgoing to say yourself, she said instead, however, but) 'perhaps, theleast in the world for me, and that not very wisely, ' she continued, alittle fiercely, 'for from the moment you saw me, you've done little elsethan try to disgust me more than I am with my penury and solitude. Whatdo you mean? You always have a purpose--will you ever learn to be frankand straightforward, and speak plainly to those whom you ought to trust, if not to love? What are you driving at, Stanley?'

He looked up with a gentle start, like one recovering from a reverie, andsaid, with his yellow eyes fixed for a moment on his sister, before theydropped again to the carpet. 

'You're miserably poor, Rachel: upon my word, I believe you haven't cleartwo hundred a year. I'll drink some tea, please, if you have got any, andit isn't too much trouble; and it strikes me as very curious you likeliving in this really very humiliating state. '

'I don't intend to go out for a governess, if that's what you mean; noris there any privation in living as I do. Perhaps you think I ought to goand housekeep for you. '

'Why--ha, ha!--I really don't know, Radie, where I shall be. I'm not ofany regiment now. '

'Why, you have not sold out?' She flushed and suddenly grew pale, for shewas afraid something worse might have happened, having no greatconfidence in her brother. 

But she was relieved. 

'I _have_ sold my commission. '

She looked straight at him with large eyes and compressed lips, andnodded her head two or three times, just murmuring, 'Well! well! well!'

'Women never understand these things. The army is awfully expensive--Imean, of course, a regiment like ours; and the interest of the money isbetter to me than my pay; and see, Rachel, there's no use in lecturing_me_--so don't let us quarrel. We're not very rich, you and I; and weeach know our own affairs, you yours, and I mine, best. '

There was something by no means pleasant in his countenance when histemper was stirred, and a little thing sometimes sufficed to do so. 

Rachel treated him with a sort of deference, a little contemptuousperhaps, such as spoiled children receive from indulgent elders; and shelooked at him steadily, with a faint smile and arched brows, for a littlewhile, and an undefinable expression of puzzle and curiosity. 

'You are a very amusing brother--if not a very cheery or a very usefulone, Stanley. '

She opened the door, and called across the little hall into the homelykitchen of the mansion. 

'Tamar, dear, Master Stanley's here, and wishes to see you. '

'Oh! yes, poor dear old Tamar; ha, ha!' says the gentleman, with a gentlelittle laugh, 'I suppose she's as frightful as ever, that worthy woman. Certainly she _is_ awfully like a ghost. I wonder, Radie, you're notafraid of her at night in this cheerful habitation. _I_ should, I know. '

'A ghost _indeed_, the ghost of old times, an ugly ghost enough for manyof us. Poor Tamar! she was always very kind to _you_, Stanley. '

And just then old Tamar opened the door. I must allow there was somethingvery unpleasant about that worthy old woman; and not being under anypersonal obligations to her, I confess my acquiescence in the spirit ofCaptain Lake's remarks. 

She was certainly perfectly neat and clean, but white predominatedunpleasantly in her costume. Her cotton gown had once had a pale patternover it, but wear and washing had destroyed its tints, till it was nobetter than white, with a mottling of gray. She had a large whitekerchief pinned with a grisly precision across her breast, and a whitelinen cap tied under her chin, fitting close to her head, like a child'snightcap, such as they wore in my young days, and destitute of border orfrilling about the face. It was a dress very odd and unpleasant tobehold, and suggested the idea of an hospital, or a madhouse, or death, in an undefined way. 

She was past sixty, with a mournful puckered and puffy face, tinted allover with a thin gamboge and burnt sienna glazing; and very blue underthe eyes, which showed a great deal of their watery whites. This oldwoman had in her face and air, along with an expression of suspicion andanxiety, a certain character of decency and respectability, which madeher altogether a puzzling and unpleasant apparition. 

Being taciturn and undemonstrative, she stood at the door, looking withas pleased a countenance as so sad a portrait could wear upon the younggentleman. 

He got up at his leisure and greeted 'old Tamar, ' with his sleepy, amusedsort of smile, and a few trite words of kindness. So Tamar withdrew toprepare tea; and he said, all at once, with a sudden accession of energy, and an unpleasant momentary glare in his eyes--

'You know, Rachel, this sort of thing is all nonsense. You cannot go onliving like this; you must marry--you shall marry. Mark Wylder is downhere, and he has got an estate and a house, and it is time he shouldmarry you. '

'Mark Wylder is here to marry my cousin, Dorcas; and if he had no suchintention, and were as free as you are, and again to urge his foolishsuit upon his knees, Stanley, I would die rather than accept him. '

'It was not always so foolish a suit, Radie, ' answered her brother, hiseyes once more upon the carpet. 'Why should not _he_ do as well asanother? You liked him well enough once. '

The young lady coloured rather fiercely. 

'I am not a girl of seventeen now, Stanley; and--and, besides, I _hate_him. '

'What d--d nonsense! I really beg your pardon, Radie, but it _is_precious stuff. You are quite unreasonable; you've no cause to hate him;he dropped you because you dropped him. It was only prudent; he had not aguinea. But now it is different, and he _must_ marry you. '

The young lady stared with a haughty amazement upon her brother. 

'I've made up my mind to speak to him; and if he won't I promise you heshall leave the country, ' said the young man gently, just lifting hisyellow eyes for a second with another unpleasant glare. 

'I almost think you're mad, Stanley; and if you do anything so insane, sure I am you'll rue it while you live; and wherever he is I'll find himout, and acquit myself, with the scorn I owe him, of any share in a plotso unspeakably mean and absurd. '

'Brava, brava! you're a heroine, Radie; and why the devil, ' he continued, in a changed tone, 'do you apply those insolent terms to what I purposedoing?'

'I wish I could find words strong enough to express my horror of yourplot--a plot every way disgusting. You plainly know something to MarkWylder's discredit; and you mean, Stanley, to coerce him by fear into amarriage with your penniless sister, who _hates_ him. Sir, do you pretendto be a gentleman?'

'I rather think so, ' he said, with a quiet sneer. 

'Give up every idea of it this moment. Has it not struck you that MarkWylder may possibly know something of you, you would not have published?'

'I don't think he does. What do you mean?'

'On my life, Stanley, I'll acquaint Mr. Wylder this evening with what youmeditate, and the atrocious liberty you presume--yes, Sir, though you aremy brother, the _atrocious liberty_ you dare to take with my name--unlessyou promise, upon your honour, now and here, to dismiss for ever theodious and utterly resultless scheme. '

Captain Lake looked very angry after his fashion, but said nothing. Hecould not at any time have very well defined his feelings toward hissister, but mingling in them, certainly, was a vein of unacknowledgeddread, and, shall I say, respect. He knew she was resolute, fierce ofwill, and prompt in action, and not to be bullied. 

'There's more in this, Stanley, than you care to tell me. You have nottroubled yourself a great deal about me, you know: and I'm no worse offnow than any time for the last three years. You've _not_ come down hereon _my_ account--that is, altogether; and be your plans what they may, you sha'n't mix my name in them. What you please--wise or foolish--you'lldo in what concerns yourself;--you always _have_--without consulting me;but I tell you again, Stanley, unless you promise, upon your honour, toforbear all mention of my name, I will write this evening to LadyChelford, apprising her of your plans, and of my own disgust andindignation; and requesting her son's interference. _Do_ you promise?'

'There's no such _haste_, Radie. I only mentioned it. If you don't likeit, of course it can lead to nothing, and there's no use in my speakingto Wylder, and so there's an end of it. '

'There _may_ be some use, a purpose in which neither my feelings norinterests have any part. I venture to say, Stanley, your plans are allfor _yourself_. You want to extort some advantage from Wylder; and youthink, in his present situation, about to marry Dorcas, you can use mefor the purpose. Thank Heaven! Sir, you committed for once the rareindiscretion of telling the truth; and unless you make me the promise Irequire, I will take, before evening, such measures as will completelyexculpate me. Once again, do you promise?'

'Yes, Radie; ha, ha! of course I promise. '

'Upon your honour?'

'Upon my honour--_there_. '

'I believe, you gentlemen dragoons observe that oath--I hope so. If youchoose to break it you may give me some trouble, but you sha'n'tcompromise me. And now, Stanley, one word more. I fancy Mr. Wylder is aresolute man--none of the Wylders wanted courage. '

Captain Lake was by this time smiling his sly, sleepy smile upon hisFrench boots. 

'If you have formed any plan which depends upon frightening him, it is adesperate one. All I can tell you, Stanley, is this, that if I were aman, and an attempt made to extort from me any sort of concession byterror, I would shoot the miscreant who made it through the head, like ahighwayman. '

'What the devil are you talking about?' said he. 

'About _your danger_, ' she answered. 'For once in your life listen toreason. Mark Wylder is as prompt as you, and has ten times your nerve andsense; you are more likely to have committed yourself than he. Take care;he may retaliate your _threat_ by a counter move more dreadful. I knownothing of your doings, Stanley--Heaven forbid! but be warned, or you'llrue it. '

'Why, Radie, you know nothing of the world. Do you suppose I'm quitedemented? Ask a gentleman for his estate, or watch, because I knowsomething to his disadvantage! Why, ha, ha! dear Radie, every man who hasever been on terms of intimacy with another must know things to hisdisadvantage, but no one thinks of telling them. The world would nottolerate it. It would prejudice the betrayer at least as much as thebetrayed. I don't affect to be angry, or talk romance and heroics, because you fancy such stuff; but I assure you--when will that old womangive me a cup of tea?--I assure you, Radie, there's nothing in it. '

Rachel made no reply, but she looked steadfastly and uneasily upon theenigmatical face and downcast eyes of the young man. 

'Well, I hope so, ' she said at last, with a sigh, and a slight sense ofrelief. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

IN WHICH CAPTAIN LAKE TAKES HIS HAT AND STICK. 

So the young people sitting in the little drawing-room of Redman's farmpursued their dialogue; Rachel Lake had spoken last, and it was thecaptain's turn to speak next. 

'Do you remember Miss Beauchamp, Radie?' he asked rather suddenly, aftera very long pause. 

'Miss Beauchamp? Oh! to be sure; you mean little Caroline; yes, she mustbe quite grown up by this time--five years--she promised to be pretty. What of her?'

Rachel, very flushed and agitated still, was now trying to speak asusual. 

'She _is_ good-looking--a little coarse some people think, ' resumed theyoung man; 'but handsome; black eyes--black hair--rather on a largescale, but certainly handsome. A style I admire rather, though it is notvery refined, nor at all classic. But I like her, and I wish you'd adviseme. ' He was talking, after his wont, to the carpet. 

'Oh?' she exclaimed, with a gentle sort of derision. 

'You mean, ' he said, looking up for a moment, with a sudden stare, 'shehas got money. Of course she has; I could not afford to admire her if shehad not; but I see you are not just now in a mood to trouble yourselfabout my nonsense--we can talk about it to-morrow; and tell me now, howdo you get on with the Brandon people?'

Rachel was curious, and would, if she could, have recalled that sarcastic'oh' which had postponed the story; but she was also a little angry, andwith anger there was pride, which would not stoop to ask for therevelation which he chose to defer; so she said, 'Dorcas and I are verygood friends; but I don't know very well what to make of her. Only Idon't think she's quite so dull and apathetic as I at first supposed; butstill I'm puzzled. She is either absolutely uninteresting, or veryinteresting indeed, and I can't say which. '

'Does she like you?' he asked. 

'I really don't know. She tolerates me, like everything else; and I don'tflatter her; and we see a good deal of one another upon those terms, andI have no complaint to make of her. She has some aversions, but noquarrels; and has a sort of laziness--mental, bodily, and moral--that issublime, but provoking; and sometimes I admire her, and sometimes Idespise her; and I do not yet know which feeling is the juster. '

'Surely she is woman enough to be fussed a little about her marriage?'

'Oh, dear, no! she takes the whole affair with a queenlike andsupernatural indifference. She is either a fool or a very greatphilosopher, and there is something grand in the serene obscurity thatenvelopes her, ' and Rachel laughed a very little. 

'I must, I suppose, pay my respects; but to-morrow will be time enough. What pretty little tea-cups, Radie--quite charming--old cock china, isn'tit? These were Aunt Jemima's, I think. '

'Yes; they used to stand on the little marble table between the windows. '

Old Tamar had glided in while they here talking, and placed the littletea equipage on the table unnoticed, and the captain was sipping his cupof tea, and inspecting the pattern, while his sister amused him. 

'This place, I suppose, is confoundedly slow, is not it? Do theyentertain the neighbours ever at Brandon?'

'Sometimes, when old Lady Chelford and her son are staying there. '

'But the neighbours can't entertain them, I fancy, or you. What a drearything a dinner party made up of such people must be--like "Aesop'sFables, " where the cows and sheep converse. '

'And sometimes a wolf or a fox, ' she said. 

'Well, Radie, I know you mean me; but as you wish it, I'll carry my fangselsewhere;--and what has become of Will Wylder?'

'Oh! he's in the Church!'

'Quite right--the only thing he was fit for;' and Captain Lake laughedlike a man who enjoys a joke slily. 'And where is poor Billy quartered?'

'Not quite half a mile away; he has got the vicarage of Naunton Friars. '

'Oh, then, Will is not quite such a fool as we took him for. '

'It is worth just £180 a year! but he's very far from a fool. '

'Yes, of course, he knows Greek poets and Latin fathers, and all the restof it. I don't mean he ever was plucked. I dare say he's the kind offellow _you'd_ like very well, Radie. ' And his sly eyes had a twinkle inthem which seemed to say, 'Perhaps I've divined your secret. '

'And so I do, and I like his wife, too, _very_ much. '

'His wife! So William has married on £180 a year;' and the captainlaughed quietly but very pleasantly again. 

'On a very little more, at all events; and I think they are about thehappiest, and I'm sure they are the best people in this part of theworld. '

'Well, Radie, I'll see you to-morrow again. You preserve your good lookswonderfully. I wonder you haven't become an old woman here. '

And he kissed her, and went his way, with a slight wave of his hand, andhis odd smile, as he closed the little garden gate after him. 

He turned to his left, walking down towards the town, and the innocentgreen trees hid him quickly, and the gush and tinkle of the clear brookrose faint and pleasantly through the leaves, from the depths of theglen, and refreshed her ear after his unpleasant talk. 

She was flushed, and felt oddly; a little stunned and strange, althoughshe had talked lightly and easily enough. 

'I forgot to ask him where he is staying: the Brandon Arms, I suppose. Idon't at all like his coming down here after Mark Wylder; what _can_ hemean? He certainly never would have taken the trouble for _me_. What_can_ he want of Mark Wylder? I think _he_ knew old Mr. Beauchamp. He maybe a trustee, but that's not likely; Mark Wylder was not the person forany such office. I hope Stanley does not intend trying to extract moneyfrom him; anything rather than that degradation--than that _villainy_. Stanley was always impracticable, perverse, deceitful, and so foolishwith all his cunning and suspicion--so _very_ foolish. Poor Stanley. He'sso unscrupulous; I don't know what to think. He said he could force MarkWylder to leave the country. It must be some bad secret. If he tries andfails, I suppose he will be ruined. I don't know what to think; I neverwas so uneasy. He will blast himself, and disgrace all connected withhim; and it is quite useless speaking to him. '

Perhaps if Rachel Lake had been in Belgravia, leading a town life, thematter would have taken no such dark colouring and portentousproportions. But living in a small old house, in a dark glen, with nocompanion, and little to occupy her, it was different. 

She looked down the silent way he had so lately taken, and repeated, rather bitterly, 'My only brother! my only brother! my only brother!'

That young lady was not quite a pauper, though she may have thought so. Comparatively, indeed, she was; but not, I venture to think, absolutely. She had just that symmetrical three hundred pounds a year, which thefamous Dean of St. Patrick's tells us he so 'often wished that he hadclear. ' She had had some money in the Funds besides, still moreinsignificant but this her Brother Stanley had borrowed and beggedpiecemeal, and the Consols were no more. But though something of a nun inher way of life, there was no germ of the old maid in her, and money wasnot often in her thoughts. It was not a bad _dot_; and her BrotherStanley had about twice as much, and therefore was much better off thanmany a younger son of a duke. But these young people, after the manner ofmen were spited with fortune; and indeed they had some cause. Old GeneralLake had once had more than ten thousand pounds a year, and lived, untilthe crash came, in the style of a vicious old prince. It was a greatbreak up, and a worse fall for Rachel than for her brother, when theplate, coaches, pictures, and all the valuable effects' of old Tiberiuswent to the hammer, and he himself vanished from his clubs and otherhaunts, and lived only--a thin intermittent rumour--surmised to be ingaol, or in Guernsey, and quite forgotten soon, and a little lateractually dead and buried. 

CHAPTER IX. 

I SEE THE RING OF THE PERSIAN MAGICIAN. 

'That's a devilish fine girl, ' said Mark Wylder. 

He was sitting at this moment on the billiard table, with his coat offand his cue in his hand, and had lighted a cigar. He and I had just had agame, and were tired of it. 

'Who?' I asked. He was looking on me from the corners of his eyes, andsmiling in a sly, rakish way, that no man likes in another. 

'Radie Lake--she's a splendid girl, by Jove! Don't you think so? and sheliked me once devilish well, I can tell you. She was thin then, but shehas plumped out a bit, and improved every way. '

Whatever else he was, Mark was certainly no beauty;--a little short hewas, and rather square--one shoulder a thought higher than the other--anda slight, energetic hitch in it when he walked. His features in profilehad something of a Grecian character, but his face was too broad--verybrown, rather a bloodless brown--and he had a pair of great, dense, vulgar, black whiskers. He was very vain of his teeth--his only reallygood point--for his eyes were a small cunning, gray pair; and this, perhaps, was the reason why he had contracted his habit of laughing andgrinning a good deal more than the fun of the dialogue always warranted. 

This sea-monster smoked here as unceremoniously as he would have done in'Rees's Divan, ' and I only wonder he did not call for brandy-and-water. He had either grown coarser a great deal, or I more decent, during ourseparation. He talked of his _fiancée_ as he might of an opera-girlalmost, and was now discussing Miss Lake in the same style. 

'Yes, she is--she's very well; but hang it, Wylder, you're a married mannow, and must give up talking that way. People won't like it, you know;they'll take it to mean more than it does, and you oughtn't. Let us haveanother game. '

'By-and-by; what do you think of Larkin?' asked Wylder, with a sly glancefrom the corners of his eyes. 'I think he prays rather more than is goodfor his clients; mind I spell it with an 'a, ' not with an 'e;' but hangit, for an attorney, you know, and such a sharp chap, it does seem to merather a--a joke, eh?'

'He bears a good character among the townspeople, doesn't he? And I don'tsee that it can do him any harm, remembering that he has a soul to besaved. '

'Or the other thing, eh?' laughed Wylder. 'But I think he comes it alittle too strong--two sermons last Sunday, and a prayer-meeting at nineo'clock?'

'Well, it won't do him any harm, ' I repeated. 

'Harm! O, let Jos. Larkin alone for that. It gets him all the religiousbusiness of the county; and there are nice pickings among the charities, and endowments, and purchases of building sites, and trust deeds; I daresay it brings him in two or three hundred a year, eh?' And Wylder laughedagain. 'It has broken up his hard, proud heart, ' he says; 'but it lefthim a devilish hard head, I told him, and I think it sharpens his wits. '

'I rather think you'll find him a useful man; and to be so in his line ofbusiness he must have his wits about him, I can tell you. '

'He amused me devilishly, ' said Wylder, 'with a sort of exhortation hetreated me to; he's a delightfully impudent chap, and gave me tounderstand I was a limb of the Devil, and he a saint. I told him I wasbetter than he, in my humble opinion, and so I am, by chalks. I know verywell I'm a miserable sinner, but there's mercy above, and I don't hide myfaults. I don't set up for a light or a saint; I'm just what thePrayer-book says--neither more nor less--a miserable sinner. There's onlyone good thing I can safely say for myself--I am no Pharisee; that's all;I air no religious prig, puffing myself, and trusting to forms, makinglong prayers in the market-place' (Mark's quotations were paraphrastic), 'and thinking of nothing but the uppermost seats in the synagogue, andbroad borders, and the praise of men--hang them, I hate those fellows. '

So Mark, like other men we meet with, was proud of being a Publican; andhis prayer was--'I thank Thee that I am not as other men are, spirituallyproud, formalists, hypocrites, or even as this Pharisee. '

'Do you wish another game?' I asked. 

'Just now, ' said Wylder, emitting first a thin stream of smoke, andwatching its ascent. 'Dorcas is the belle of the county; and she likesme, though she's odd, and don't show it the way other girls would. But afellow knows pretty well when a girl likes him, and you know the marriageis a sensible sort of thing, and I'm determined, of course, to carry itthrough; but, hang it, a fellow can't help thinking sometimes there areother things besides money, and Dorcas is not my style. Rachel's morethat way; she's a _tremendious_ fine girl, by Jove! and a spirited minx, too; and I think, ' he added, with an oath, having first taken two puffsat his cigar, 'if I had seen her first, I'd have thought twice before I'dhave got myself into this business. '

I only smiled and shook my head. I did not believe a word of it. Yet, perhaps, I was wrong. He knew very well how to take care of his money; infact, compared with other young fellows, he was a bit of a screw. But hecould do a handsome and generous thing for himself. His selfishness wouldexpand nobly, and rise above his prudential considerations, and drownthem sometimes; and he was the sort of person, who, if the fancy werestrong enough, might marry in haste, and repent--and make his wife, too, repent--at leisure. 

'What do you laugh at, Charlie?' said Wylder, grinning himself. 

'At your confounded grumbling, Mark. The luckiest dog in England! Willnothing content you?'

'Why, I grumble very little, I think, considering how well off I am, 'rejoined he, with a laugh. 

'Grumble! If you had a particle of gratitude, you'd build a temple toFortune--you're pagan enough for it, Mark. '

'Fortune has nothing to do with it, ' says Mark, laughing again. 

'Well, certainly, neither had you. '

'It was all the Devil. I'm not joking, Charlie, upon my word, though I'mlaughing. ' (Mark swore now and then, but I take leave to soften hisoaths). 'It was the Persian Magician. '

'Come, Mark, say what you mean. '

'I mean what I say. When we were in the Persian Gulf, near six years ago, I was in command of the ship. The captain, you see, was below, with ahurt in his leg. We had very rough weather--a gale for two days and anight almost--and a heavy swell after. In the night time we picked upthree poor devils in an open boat--. One was a Persian merchant, with agrand beard. We called him the magician, he was so like the pictures ofAladdin's uncle. '

'Why _he_ was an African, ' I interposed, my sense of accuracy offended. 

'I don't care a curse what he was, ' rejoined Mark; 'he was exactly likethe picture in the story-books. And as we were lying off--I forget thecursed name of it--he begged me to put him ashore. He could not speak aword of English, but one of the fellows with him interpreted, and theywere all anxious to get ashore. Poor devils, they had a notion, Ibelieve, we were going to sell them for slaves, and he made me a presentof a ring, and told me a long yarn about it. It was a talisman, it seems, and no one who wore it could ever be lost. So I took it for a keepsake;here it is, ' and he extended his stumpy, brown little finger, and showeda thick, coarsely-made ring of gold, with an uncut red stone, of the sizeof a large cherry stone, set in it. 

'The stone is a humbug, ' said Wylder. 'It's not real. I showed it toPlatten and Foyle. It's some sort of glass. But I would not part with it. I got a fancy into my head that luck would come with it, and maybe thatglass stuff was the thing that had the virtue in it. Now look at thesePersian letters on the inside, for that's the oddest thing about it. Hangit, I can't pull it off--I'm growing as fat as a pig--but they are like aqueer little string of flowers; and I showed it to a clever fellow atMalta--a missionary chap--and he read it off slick, and what do you thinkit means: "I will come up again;"' and he swore a great oath. 'It's astrue as you stand there--_our_ motto. Is not it odd? So I got the"resurgam" you see there engraved round it, and by Jove! it did bring meup. I was near lost, and did rise again. Eh?'

Well, it certainly was a curious accident. Mark had plenty of odd and notunamusing lore. Men who beat about the world in ships usually have; andthese 'yarns, ' furnished, after the pattern of Othello's tales ofAnthropophagites and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders, oneof the many varieties of fascination which he practised on the fair sex. Only in justice to Mark, I must say that he was by no means so shamelessa drawer of the long-bow as the Venetian gentleman and officer. 

'When I got this ring, Charlie, three hundred a year and a London lifewould have been Peru and Paradise to poor Pill Garlick, and see what ithas done for me. '

'Aye, and better than Aladdin's, for you need not rub it and bring upthat confounded ugly genii; the slave of your ring works unseen. '

'So he does, ' laughed Wylder, in a state of elation, 'and he's not doneworking yet, I can tell you. When the estates are joined in one, they'llbe good eleven thousand a year; and Larkin says, with smart management, Ishall have a rental of thirteen thousand before three years! And that'sonly the beginning, by George! Sir Henry Twisden can't hold hisseat--he's all but broke--as poor as Job, and the gentry hate him, and helives abroad. He has had a hint or two already, and he'll never fight thenext election. D'ye see--hey?'

And Wylder winked and grinned, with a wag of his head. 

'M. P. --eh? You did not see that before. I look a-head a bit, eh? and cantake my turn at the wheel--eh?'

And he laughed with cunning exultation. 

'Miss Rachel will find I'm not quite such a lubber as she fancies. Buteven then it is only begun. Come, Charlie, you used to like a bet. Whatdo you say? I'll buy you that twenty-five guinea book of pictures--what'sits name?--if you give me three hundred guineas one month after I'm apeer of Parliament. Hey? There's a sporting offer for you. Well! what doyou say--eh?'

'You mean to come out as an orator, then?'

'Orator be diddled! Do you take me for a fool? No, Charlie; but I'll comeout strong as a _voter_--that's the stuff they like--at the right side, of course, and that is the way to manage it. Thirteen thousand ayear--the oldest family in the county--and a steady thick and thinsupporter of the minister. Strong points, eh, Charlie? Well, do you takemy offer?'

I laughed and declined, to his great elation, and just then the gongsounded and we were away to our toilets. 

While making my toilet for dinner, I amused myself by conjecturingwhether there could be any foundation in fact for Mark's boast, that MissBrandon liked him. Women are so enigmatical--some in everything--all inmatters of the heart. Don't they sometimes actually admire what isrepulsive? Does not brutality in our sex, and even rascality, interestthem sometimes? Don't they often affect indifference, and occasionallyeven aversion, where there is a different sort of feeling?

As I went down I heard Miss Lake chatting with her queen-like cousin nearan open door on the lobby. Rachel Lake was, indeed, a very constant guestat the Hall, and the servants paid her much respect, which I look upon asa sign that the young heiress liked her and treated her withconsideration; and indeed there was an insubordinate and fiery spirit inthat young lady which would have brooked nothing less and dreamed ofnothing but equality. 

CHAPTER X. 

THE ACE OF HEARTS. 

Who should I find in the drawing-room, talking fluently and smiling, after his wont, to old Lady Chelford, who seemed to receive him verygraciously, for her at least, but Captain Stanley Lake!

I can't quite describe to you the odd and unpleasant sort of surprisewhich that very gentlemanlike figure, standing among the Brandonhousehold gods at this moment, communicated to me. I thought of the fewodd words and looks that had dropped from Wylder about him with anominous pang as I looked, and I felt somehow as if there were some occultrelation between that confused prelude of Wylder's and theMephistophelean image that had risen up almost upon the spot where it wasspoken. I glanced round for Wylder, but he was not there. 

'You know Captain Lake?' said Lord Chelford, addressing me. 

And Lake turned round upon me, a little abruptly, his odd yellowish eyes, a little like those of the sea-eagle, and the ghost of his smile thatflickered on his singularly pale face, with a stern and insidious look, confronted me. There was something evil and shrinking in his aspect, which I felt with a sort of chill, like the commencing fascination of aserpent. I often thought since that he had expected to see Wylder beforehim. 

The church-yard meteor expired, there was nothing in a moment but hisordinary smile of recognition. 

'You're surprised to see me here, ' he said in his very pleasing lowtones. 

'I lighted on him in the village; and I knew Miss Brandon would notforgive me if I allowed him to go away without coming here. (He had hishand upon Lake's shoulder. ) They are cousins, you know; we are allcousins. I'm bad at genealogies. My mother could tell us all aboutit--we, Brandons, Lakes; Wylders, and Chelfords. '

At this moment Miss Brandon entered, with her brilliant Cousin Rachel. The blonde and the dark, it was a dazzling contrast. 

So Chelford led Stanley Lake before the lady of the castle. I thought ofthe 'Fair Brunnisende, ' with the captive knight in the hands of herseneschal before her, and I fancied he said something of having found himtrespassing in her town, and brought him up for judgment. Whatever LordChelford said, Miss Brandon received it very graciously, and even with amomentary smile. I wonder she did not smile oftener, it became her so. But her greeting to Captain Lake was more than usually haughty andfrozen, and her features, I fancied, particularly proud andpale. It seemed to me to indicate a great deal more than mereindifference--something of aversion, and nearer to a positive emotionthan anything I had yet seen in that exquisitely apathetic face. 

How was it that this man with the yellow eyes seemed to gleam from theman influence of pain or disturbance, wherever almost he looked. 

'Shake hands with your cousin, my dear, ' said old Lady Chelford, peremptorily. The little scene took place close to her chair; and uponthis stage direction the little piece of by-play took place, and theyoung lady coldly touched the captain's hand, and passed on. 

Young as he was, Stanley Lake was an old man of the world, not to bedisconcerted, and never saw more than exactly suited him. Waiting in thedrawing-room, I had some entertaining talk with Miss Lake. Herconversation was lively, and rather bold, not at all in the coarse sense, but she struck me as having formed a system of ethics and views of life, both good-humoured and sarcastic, and had carried into her rusticsequestration the melancholy and precocious lore of her early Londonexperience. 

When Lord Chelford joined us, I perceived that Wylder was in the room, and saw a very cordial greeting between him and Lake. The captainappeared quite easy and cheerful; but Mark, I thought, notwithstandinghis laughter and general jollity, was uncomfortable; and I saw him onceor twice, when Stanley's eye was not upon him, glance sharply on theyoung man with an uneasy and not very friendly curiosity. 

At dinner Lake was easy and amusing. That meal passed off ratherpleasantly; and when we joined the ladies in the drawing-room, the goodvicar's enthusiastic little wife came to meet us, in one of her honestlittle raptures. 

'Now, here's a thing worth your looking at! Did you ever see anything sobee-utiful in your life? It is such a darling little thing; and--looknow--is not it magnificent?'

She arrested the file of gentlemen just by a large lamp, before whoseeffulgence she presented the subject of her eulogy--one of those costlytrifles which announce the approach of Hymen, as flowers spring up beforethe rosy steps of May. 

Well, it was pretty--French, I dare say--a little set of tablets--atoy--the cover of enamel, studded in small jewels, with a slender borderof symbolic flowers, and with a heart in the centre, a mosaic of littlecarbuncles, rubies, and other red and crimson stones, placed with a viewto light and shade. 

'Exquisite, indeed!' said Lord Chelford. 'Is this yours, Mrs. Wylder?'

'Mine, indeed!' laughed poor little Mrs. Dorothy. 'Well, dear me, no, indeed;'--and in an earnest whisper close in his ear--'a present to MissBrandon, and the donor is not a hundred miles away from your elbow, mylord!' and she winked slyly, and laughed, with a little nod at Wylder. 

'Oh! I see--to be sure--really, Wylder, it does your taste infinitecredit. '

'I'm glad you like it, ' says Wylder, chuckling benignantly on it, overhis shoulder. 'I believe I _have_ a little taste that way; those are allreal, you know, those jewels. '

'Oh, yes! of course. Have you seen it, Captain Lake?' And he placed it inthat gentleman's fingers, who now took his turn at the lamp, andcontemplated the little parallelogram with a gleam of sly amusement. 

'What are you laughing at?' asked Wylder, a little snappishly. 

'I was thinking it's very like the ace of hearts, ' answered the captainsoftly, smiling on. 

'Fie, Lake, there's no poetry in you, ' said Lord Chelford, laughing. 

'Well, now, though, really it is funny; it did not strike me before, butdo you know, now, it _is_, ' laughs out jolly Mrs. Dolly, 'isn't it. Lookat it, do, Mr. Wylder--isn't it like the ace of hearts?'

Wylder was laughing rather redly, with the upper part of his face verysurly, I thought. 

'Never mind, Wylder, it's the winning card, ' said Lord Chelford, layinghis hand on his shoulder. 

Whereupon Lake laughed quietly, still looking on the ace of hearts withhis sly eyes. 

And Wylder laughed too, more suddenly and noisily than the humour of thejoke seemed quite to call for, and glanced a grim look from the cornersof his eyes on Lake, but the gallant captain did not seem to perceive it;and after a few seconds more he handed it very innocently back to Mrs. Dorothy, only remarking--

'Seriously, it _is_ very pretty, and _appropriate_. '

And Wylder, making no remark, helped himself to a cup of coffee, and thento a glass of Curaçoa, and then looked industriously at a Spanish quartoof Don Quixote, and lastly walked over to me on the hearthrug. 

'What the d-- has he come down here for? It can't be for money, or balls, or play, and he has no honest business anywhere. Do you know?'

'Lake? Oh! I really can't tell; but he'll soon tire of country life. Idon't think he's much of a sportsman. '

'Ha, isn't he? I don't know anything about him almost; but I hate him. '

'Why should you, though? He's a very gentlemanlike fellow and yourcousin. '

'My cousin--the Devil's cousin--everyone's cousin. I don't know who's mycousin, or who isn't; nor you don't, who've been for ten years over thosed--d papers; but I think he's the nastiest dog I ever met. I took adislike to him at first sight long ago, and that never happened me but Iwas right. '

Wylder looked confoundedly angry and flustered, standing with his heelson the edge of the rug, his hands in his pockets, jingling some silverthere, and glancing from under his red forehead sternly and unsteadilyacross the room. 

'He's not a man for country quarters! he'll soon be back in town, or toBrighton, ' I said. 

'If _he_ doesn't, _I_ will. That's all. '

Just to get him off this unpleasant groove with a little jolt, I said--

'By-the-bye, Wylder, you know the pictures here; who is the tall man, with the long pale face, and wild phosphoric eyes? I was always afraid ofhim; in a long peruke, and dark red velvet coat, facing the hall-door. Ihad a horrid dream about him last night. '

'That? Oh, I know--that's Lorne Brandon. He was one of our family devils, he was. A devil in a family now and then is not such a bad thing, whenthere's work for him. ' (All the time he was talking to me his angrylittle eyes were following Lake. ) 'They say he killed his son, ablackguard, who was found shot, with his face in the tarn in the park. Hewas going to marry the gamekeeper's daughter, it was thought, and he andthe old boy, who was for high blood, and all that, were at loggerheadsabout it. It was not proved, only thought likely, which showed what anice character he was; but he might have done worse. I suppose MissPartridge would have had a precious lot of babbies; and who knows wherethe estate would have been by this time. '

'I believe, Charlie, ' he recommenced suddenly, 'there is not such anunnatural family on record as ours; is there? Ha, ha, ha! It's well to bedistinguished in any line. I forget all the other good things he did; buthe ended by shooting himself through the head in his bed-room, and thatwas not the worst thing ever he did. '

And Wylder laughed again, and began to whistle very low--not, I fancy, for want of thought, but as a sort of accompaniment thereto, for hesuddenly said--

'And where is he staying?'

'Who?--Lake?'

'Yes. '

'I don't know; but I think he mentioned Larkins's house, didn't he? I'mnot quite sure. '

'I suppose he this I'm made of money. By Jove! if he wants to borrow anyI'll surprise him, the cur; I'll talk to him; ha, ha, ha!'

And Wylder chuckled angrily, and the small change in his pocket tinkledfiercely, as his eye glanced on the graceful captain, who wasentertaining the ladies, no doubt, very agreeably in the distance. 

CHAPTER XI. 

IN WHICH LAKE UNDER THE TREES OF BRANDON, AND I IN MY CHAMBER, SMOKE OURNOCTURNAL CIGARS. 

Miss Lake declined the carriage to-night. Her brother was to see herhome, and there was a leave-taking, and the young ladies whispered a wordor two, and kissed, after the manner of their kind. To Captain Lake, MissBrandon's adieux were as cold and haughty as her greeting. 

'Did you see that?' said Wylder in my ear, with a chuckle; and, wagginghis head, he added, rather loftily for him, 'Miss Brandon, I reckon, hastaken your measure, Master Stanley, as well as I. I wonder what the deucethe old dowager sees in him. Old women always like rascals. '

And he added something still less complimentary. 

I suppose the balance of attraction and repulsion was overcome by MissLake, much as he disliked Stanley, for Wylder followed them out with LordChelford, to help the young lady into her cloak and goloshes, and I foundmyself near Miss Brandon for the first time that evening, and much to mysurprise she was first to speak, and that rather strangely. 

'You seem to be very sensible, Mr. De Cresseron; pray tell me, frankly, what do you think of all this?'

'I am not quite sure, Miss Brandon, that I understand your question, ' Ireplied, enquiringly. 

'I mean of the--the family arrangements, in which, as Mr. Wylder'sfriend, you seem to take an interest?' she said. 

'There can hardly be a second opinion, Miss Brandon; I think it a verywise measure, ' I replied, much surprised. 

'Very wise--exactly. But don't these very wise things sometimes turn outvery foolishly? Do you really think your friend, Mr. Wylder, cares aboutme?'

'I take that for granted: in the nature of things it can hardly beotherwise, ' I replied, a good deal startled and perplexed by the curiousaudacity of her interrogatory. 

'It was very foolish of me to expect from Mr. Wylder's friend any otheranswer; you are very loyal, Mr. De Cresseron. '

And without awaiting my reply she made some remark which I forget to LadyChelford, who sat at a little distance; and, appearing quite absorbed inher new subject, she placed herself close beside the dowager, andcontinued to chat in a low tone. 

I was vexed with myself for having managed with so little skill aconversation which, opened so oddly and frankly, might have placed me onrelations so nearly confidential, with that singular and beautiful girl. I ought to have rejoiced--but we don't always see what most concerns ourpeace. In the meantime I had formed a new idea of her. She was sounreserved, it seemed, and yet in this directness there was somethingalmost contemptuous. 

By this time Lord Chelford and Wylder returned; and, disgusted ratherwith myself, I ruminated on my want of general-ship. 

In the meantime, Miss Lake, with her hand on her brother's arm, waswalking swiftly under the trees of the back avenue towards that footpathwhich, through wild copse and broken clumps near the park, emerges uponthe still darker road which passes along the wooded glen by the mills, and skirts the little paling of the recluse lady's garden. 

They had not walked far, when Lake suddenly said--

'What do you think of all this, Radie--this particular version, I mean, of marriage, _à-la-mode_, they are preparing up there?' and he made alittle dip of his cane towards Brandon Hall, over his shoulder. 'I reallydon't think Wylder cares twopence about her, or she about him, ' andStanley Lake laughed gently and sleepily. 

'I don't think they pretend to like one another. It is quite understood. It was all, you know, old Lady Chelford's arrangement: and Dorcas is sosupine, I believe she would allow herself to be given away by anyone, andto anyone, rather than be at the least trouble. She provokes me. '

'But I thought she liked Sir Harry Bracton: he's a good-looking fellow;and Queen's Bracton is a very nice thing, you know. '

'Yes, so they said; but that would, I think, have been worse. Somethingmay be made of Mark Wylder. He has some sense and caution, has nothe?--but Sir Harry is wickedness itself!'

'Why--what has Sir Harry done? That is the way you women run away withthings! If a fellow's been a little bit wild, he's Beelzebub at once. Bracton's a very good fellow, I can assure you. '

The fact is, Captain Lake, an accomplished player, made a pretty littlerevenue of Sir Harry's billiards, which were wild and noisy; and likinghis money, thought he liked himself--a confusion not uncommon. 

'I don't know, and can't say, how you fine gentlemen define wickedness:only, as an obscure female, I speak according to my lights: and he isgenerally thought the wickedest man in this county. '

'Well, you know, Radie, women like wicked fellows: it is contrast, Isuppose, but they do; and I'm sure, from what Bracton has said to me--Iknow him intimately--that Dorcas likes him, and I can't conceive why theyare not married. '

'It is very happy, for her at least, they are not, ' said Rachel, and along silence ensued. 

Their walk continued silent for the greater part, neither was quitesatisfied with the other. But Rachel at last said--

'Stanley, you meditate some injury to Mark Wylder. '

'I, Radie?' he answered quietly, 'why on earth should you think so?'

'I saw you twice watch him when you thought no one observed you--and Iknow your face too well, Stanley, to mistake. '

'Now that's impossible, Radie; for I really don't think I once thought ofhim all this evening--except just while we were talking. '

'You keep your secret as usual, Stanley, ' said the young lady. 

'Really, Radie, you're quite mistaken. I assure you, upon my honour, I'veno secret. You're a very odd girl--why won't you believe me?'

Miss Rachel only glanced across her mufflers on his face. There was abright moonlight, broken by the shadows of overhanging boughs andwithered leaves; and the mottled lights and shadows glided oddly acrosshis pale features. But she saw that he was smiling his sly, sleepy smile, and she said quietly--

'Well, Stanley, I ask no more--but you don't deceive me. '

'I don't try to. If your feelings indeed had been different, and that youhad not made such a point--you know--'

'Don't insult me, Stanley, by talking again as you did this morning. WhatI say is altogether on your own account. Mark my words, you'll find himtoo strong for you; aye, and too deep. I see very plainly that _he_suspects you as I do. You saw it, too, for nothing of that kind escapesyou. Whatever you meditate, he probably anticipates it--you knowbest--and you will find him prepared. You have given him time enough. Youwere always the same, close, dark, and crooked, and wise in your ownconceit. I am very uneasy about it, whatever it is. _I_ can't help it. Itwill happen--and most ominously I feel that you are courting a dreadfulretaliation, and that you will bring on yourself a great misfortune; butit is quite vain, I know, speaking to you. '

'Really, Radie, you're enough to frighten a poor fellow; you won't mind aword I say, and go on predicting all manner of mischief between me andWylder, the very nature of which I can't surmise. Would you dislike mysmoking a cigar, Radie?'

'Oh, no, ' answered the young lady, with a little laugh and a heavy sigh, for she knew it meant silence, and her dark auguries grew darker. 

To my mind there has always been something inexpressibly awful in familyfeuds. Mortal hatred seems to deepen and dilate into something diabolicalin these perverted animosities. The mystery of their origin--theircapacity for evolving latent faculties of crime--and the steady vitalitywith which they survive the hearse, and speak their deep-mouthedmalignities in every new-born generation, have associated them somehow inmy mind with a spell of life exceeding and distinct from human and aspecial Satanic action. 

My chamber, as I have mentioned, was upon the third storey. It was one ofmany, opening upon the long gallery, which had been the scene, fourgenerations back, of that unnatural and bloody midnight duel which hadlaid one scion of this ancient house in his shroud, and driven another afugitive to the moral solitudes of a continental banishment. 

Much of the day, as I told you, had been passed among the grisly recordsof these old family crimes and hatreds. They had been an ill-conditionedand not a happy race. When I heard the servant's step traversing thatlong gallery, as it seemed to the in haste to be gone, and when all grewquite silent, I began to feel a dismal sort of sensation, and lighted thepair of wax candles which I found upon the small writing table. Howwonderful and mysterious is the influence of light! What sort of beingsmust those be who hate it?

The floor, more than anything else, showed the great age of the room. Itwas warped and arched all along by the wall between the door and thewindow. The portion of it which the carpet did not cover showed it to beoak, dark and rugged. My bed was unexceptionably comfortable, but, in mythen mood, I could have wished it a great deal more modern. Its fourposts were, like the rest of it, oak, well-nigh black, fantasticallyturned and carved, with a great urn-like capital and base, and shapedmidway, like a gigantic lance-handle. Its curtains were of thick andfaded tapestry. I was always a lover of such antiquities, but I confessat that moment I would have vastly preferred a sprightly modern chintzand a trumpery little French bed in a corner of the Brandon Arms. Therewas a great lowering press of oak, and some shelves, with withered greenand gold leather borders. All the furniture belonged to other times. 

I would have been glad to hear a step stirring, or a cough even, or thegabble of servants at a distance. But there was a silence and desertionin this part of the mansion which, somehow, made me feel that I wasmyself a solitary intruder on this level of the vast old house. 

I shan't trouble you about my train of thoughts or fancies; but I beganto feel very like a gentleman in a ghost story, watching experimentallyin a haunted chamber. My cigar case was a resource. I was not a bitafraid of being found out. I did not even take the precaution of smokingup the chimney. I boldly lighted my cheroot. I peeped through the densewindow curtain there were no shutters. A cold, bright moon was shiningwith clear sharp lights and shadows. Everything looked strangely cold andmotionless outside. The sombre old trees, like gigantic hearse plumes, black and awful. The chapel lay full in view, where so many of the, strange and equivocal race, under whose ancient roof-tree I then stood, were lying under their tombstones. 

Somehow, I had grown nervous. A little bit of plaster tumbled down thechimney, and startled me confoundedly. Then some time after, I fancied Iheard a creaking step on the lobby outside, and, candle in hand, openedthe door, and looked out with an odd sort of expectation, and a ratheragreeable disappointment, upon vacancy. 

CHAPTER XII. 

IN WHICH UNCLE LORNE TROUBLES ME. 

I was growing most uncomfortably like one of Mrs. Anne Radcliffe'sheroes--a nervous race of demigods. 

I walked like a sentinel up and down my chamber, puffing leisurely thesolemn incense, and trying to think of the Opera and my essay on'Paradise Lost, ' and other pleasant subjects. But it would not do. Everynow and then, as I turned towards the door, I fancied I saw it softlyclose. I can't the least say whether it was altogether fancy. It was withthe corner, or as the Italians have it, the 'tail' of my eye that I saw, or imagined that I saw, this trifling but unpleasant movement. 

I called out once or twice sharply--'Come in!' 'Who's there?' 'Who'sthat?' and so forth, without any sort of effect, except that unpleasantreaction upon the nerves which follows the sound of one's own voice in asolitude of this kind. 

The fact is I did not myself believe in that stealthy motion of my door, and set it down to one of those illusions which I have sometimessucceeded in analysing--a half-seen combination of objects which, rightlyplaced in the due relations of perspective, have no mutual connectionwhatever. 

So I ceased to challenge the unearthly inquisitor, and allowed him, aftera while, serenely enough, to peep as I turned my back, or to withdrawagain as I made my regular right-about face. 

I had now got half-way in my second cheroot, and the clock clanged 'one. 'It was a very still night, and the prolonged boom vibrated strangely inmy excited ears and brain. I had never been quite such an ass before; butI do assure you I was now in an extremely unpleasant state. One o'clockwas better, however, than twelve. Although, by Jove! the bell was'beating one, ' as I remember, precisely as that king of ghosts, oldHamlet, revisited the glimpses of the moon, upon the famous platform ofElsinore. 

I had pondered too long over the lore of this Satanic family, and drunkvery strong tea, I suppose. I could not get my nerves into a comfortablestate, and cheerful thoughts refused to inhabit the darkened chamber ofmy brain. As I stood in a sort of reverie, looking straight upon thedoor, I saw--and this time there could be no mistake whatsoever--thehandle--the only modern thing about it--slowly turned, and the dooritself as slowly pushed about a quarter open. 

I do not know what exclamation I made. The door was shut instantly, and Ifound myself standing at it, and looking out upon the lobby, with acandle in my hand, and actually freezing with foolish horror. 

I was looking towards the stair-head. The passage was empty and ended inutter darkness. I glanced the other way, and thought I saw--though notdistinctly--in the distance a white figure, not gliding in theconventional way, but limping off, with a sort of jerky motion, and, in asecond or two, quite lost in darkness. 

I got into my room again, and shut the door with a clap that soundedloudly and unnaturally through the dismal quiet that surrounded me, andstood with my hand on the handle, with the instinct of resistance. 

I felt uncomfortable; and I would have secured the door, but there was nosort of fastening within. So I paused. I did not mind looking out again. To tell you the plain truth, I was just a little bit afraid. Then I grewangry at having been put into such remote, and, possibly, suspectedquarters, and then my comfortable scepticism supervened. I was yet tolearn a great deal about this visitation. 

So, in due course having smoked my cheroot, I jerked the stump into thefire. Of course I could not think of depriving myself of candle-light;and being already of a thoughtful, old-bachelor temperament, and aversefrom burning houses, I placed one of my tall wax-lights in a basin on thetable by my bed--in which I soon effected a lodgment, and lay with acomparative sense of security. 

Then I heard two o'clock strike; but shortly after, as I suppose, sleepovertook me, and I have no distinct idea for how long my slumber lasted. The fire was very low when I awoke, and saw a figure--and a very oddone--seated by the embers, and stooping over the grate, with a pair oflong hands expanded, as it seemed, to catch the warmth of the sinkingfire. 

It was that of a very tall old man, entirely dressed in white flannel--avery long spencer, and some sort of white swathing about his head. Hisback was toward me; and he stooped without the slightest motion over thefire-place, in the attitude I have described. 

As I looked, he suddenly turned toward me, and fixed upon me a cold, andas it seemed, a wrathful gaze, over his shoulder. It was a bleached and along-chinned face--the countenance of Lorne's portrait--only more faded, sinister, and apathetic. And having, as it were, secured its awfulcommand over me by a protracted gaze, he rose, supernaturally lean andtall, and drew near the side of my bed. 

I continued to stare upon this apparition with the most dreadfulfascination I ever experienced in my life. For two or three seconds Iliterally could not move. When I did, I am not ashamed to confess, it wasto plunge my head under the bed-clothes, with the childish instinct ofterror; and there I lay breathless, for what seemed to me not far fromten minutes, during which there was no sound, nor other symptom of itspresence. 

On a sudden the bed-clothes were gently lifted at my feet, and I sprangbackwards, sitting upright against the back of the bed, and once moreunder the gaze of that long-chinned old man. 

A voice, as peculiar as the appearance of the figure, said:--

'You are in my bed--I died in it a great many years ago. I am UncleLorne; and when I am not here, a devil goes up and down in the room. See!he had his face to your ear when I came in. I came from Dorcas Brandon'sbed-chamber door, where her evil angel told me a thing;--and Mark Wyldermust not seek to marry her, for he will be buried alive if he does, andhe will, maybe, never get up again. Say your prayers when I go out, andcome here no more. '

He paused, as if these incredible words were to sink into my memory; andthen, in the same tone, and with the same countenance, he asked--

'Is the blood on my forehead?'

I don't know whether I answered. 

'So soon as a calamity is within twelve hours, the blood comes upon myforehead, as they found me in the morning--it is a sign. '

The old man then drew back slowly, and disappeared behind the curtains atthe foot of the bed, and I saw no more of him during the rest of thatodious night. 

So long as this apparition remained before me, I never doubted its beingsupernatural. I don't think mortal ever suffered horror more intense. Myvery hair was dripping with a cold moisture. For some seconds I hardlyknew where I was. But soon a reaction came, and I felt convinced that theapparition was a living man. It was no process of reason or philosophy, but simply I became persuaded of it, and something like rage overcame myterrors. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE PONY CARRIAGE

So soon as daylight came, I made a swift cold water toilet, and got outinto the open air, with a solemn resolution to see the hated interior ofthat bed-room no more. When I met Lord Chelford in his early walk thatmorning, I'm sure I looked myself like a ghost--at all events, very wildand seedy--for he asked me, more seriously than usual, how I was; and Ithink I would have told him the story of my adventure, despite the secretridicule with which, I fancied, he would receive it, had it not been fora certain insurmountable disgust and horror which held me tongue-tiedupon the affair. 

I told him, however, that I had dreamed dreams, and was restless anduncomfortable in my present berth, and begged his interest with thehousekeeper to have my quarters changed to the lower storey--quiteresolved to remove to the 'Brandon Arms, ' rather than encounter anothersuch night as I had passed. 

Stanley Lake did not appear that day; Wylder was glowering andabstracted--worse company than usual; and Rachel seemed to have quitepassed from his recollection. 

While Rachel Lake was, as usual, busy in her little garden that day, LordChelford, on his way to the town, by the pretty mill-road, took off hishat to her with a smiling salutation, and leaning on the paling, hesaid--

'I often wonder how you make your flowers grow here--you have so littlesun among the trees--and yet, it is so pretty and flowery; it remains inmy memory as if the sun were always shining specially on this littlegarden. '

Miss Lake laughed. 

'I am very proud of it. They try not to blow, but I never let them alonetill they do. See all my watering-pots, and pruning-scissors, my sticks, and bass-mat, and glass covers. Skill and industry conquer churlishnature--and this is my Versailles. '

'I don't believe in those sticks, and scissors, and watering-pots. Youwon't tell your secret; but I'm sure it's an influence--you smile andwhisper to them. '

She smiled--without raising her eyes--on the flower she was tying up;and, indeed, it was such a smile as must have made it happy--and shesaid, gaily--

'You forget that Lord Chelford passes this way sometimes, and shines uponthem, too. '

'No, he's a dull, earthly dog; and if he shines here, it is only inreflected light'

'Margery, child, fetch me the scissors. '

And a hobble-de-hoy of a girl, with round eyes, and a long white-apron, and bare arms, came down the little walk, and--eyeing the peer with anawful curiosity--presented the shears to the charming Atropos, whoclipped off the withered blossoms that had bloomed their hour, and wereto cumber the stalk no more. 

'Now, you see what art may do; how _passée_ this creature was till I madeher toilet, and how wonderfully the poor old beauty looks now, ' and sheglanced complacently at the plant she had just trimmed. 

'Well, it is young again and beautiful; but no--I have no faith in thescissors; I still believe in the influence--from the tips of yourfingers, your looks, and tones. Flowers, like fairies, have theirfavourites, whom they smile on and obey; and I think this is a hauntedglen--trees, flowers, all have an intelligence and a feeling--and I amsure you see wonderful things, by moonlight, from your window. '

With a strange meaning echo, those words returned to her afterwards--'I'msure you see wonderful things, by moonlight, from your window. '

But no matter; the winged words--making pleasant music--flew pleasantlyaway, now among transparent leaves and glimmering sun; by-and-by, inmoonlight, they will return to the casement piping the same tune, inghostly tones. 

And as they chatted in this strain, Rachel paused on a sudden, withupraised hand, listening pleasantly. 

'I hear the pony-carriage; Dorcas is coming, ' she said. 

And the tinkle of tiny wheels, coming down the road, was audible. 

'There's a pleasant sense of adventure, too, in the midst of yourseclusion. Sudden arrivals and passing pilgrims, like me, leaning overthe paling, and refreshed by the glimpse the rogue steals of thischarming oratory. Yes; here comes the fair Brunnisende. '

And he made his salutation. Miss Brandon smiled from under her gipsy-hatvery pleasantly for her. 

'Will you come with me for a drive, Radie?' she asked. 

'Yes, dear--delighted. Margery, bring my gloves and cloak. ' And sheunpinned the faded silk shawl that did duty in the garden, and drew offher gauntlets, and showed her pretty hands; and Margery popped her cloakon her shoulders, and the young lady pulled on her gloves. All ready in amoment, like a young lady of energy; and chatting merrily she sat downbeside her cousin, who held the reins. As there were no more gates toopen, Miss Brandon dismissed the servant, who stood at the ponies' heads, and who, touching his hat with his white glove, received his _congé_, andstrode with willing steps up the road. 

'Will you take me for your footman as far as the town?' asked LordChelford; so, with permission, up he jumped behind, and away theywhirled, close over the ground, on toy wheels ringing merrily on theshingle, he leaning over the back and chatting pleasantly with the youngladies as they drove on. 

They drew up at the Brandon Arms, and little girls courtesied at doors, and householders peeped from their windows, not standing close to thepanes, but respectfully back, at the great lady and the nobleman, who wasnow taking his leave. 

And next they pulled up at that official rendezvous, with white-washedfront--and 'post-office, ' in white letters on a brown board over itsdoor, and its black, hinged window-pane, through which Mr. Driver--or, inhis absence, Miss Anne Driver--answered questions, and transacted affairsofficially. 

In the rear of this establishment were kept some dogs of Lawyer Larkin's;and just as the ladies arrived, that person emerged, lookingoverpoweringly gentlemanlike, in a white hat, gray paletot, lavendertrowsers, and white riding gloves. He was in a righteous and dignifiedway pleased to present himself in so becoming a costume, and moreover ingood company, for Stanley Lake was going with him to Dutton for a day'ssport, which neither of them cared for. But Stanley hoped to pump theattorney, and the attorney, I'm afraid, liked being associated with thefashionable captain; and so they were each pleased in the way that suitedthem. 

The attorney, being long as well as lank, had to stoop under the doorway, but drew himself up handsomely on coming out, and assumed his easy, high-bred style, which, although he was not aware of it, was very nearlyinsupportable, and smiled very engagingly, and meant to talk a littleabout the weather; but Miss Brandon made him one of her gravest andslightest bows, and suddenly saw Mrs. Brown at her shop door on the otherside, and had a word to say to her. 

And now Stanley Lake drew up in the tax-cart, and greeted the ladies, andtold them how he meant to pass the day; and the dogs being put in, andthe attorney, I'm afraid a little spited at his reception, in possessionof the reins, they drove down the little street at a great pace, anddisappeared round the corner; and in a minute more the young ladies, inthe opposite direction, resumed their drive. The ponies, being grave andtrustworthy, and having the road quite to themselves, needed littlelooking after, and Miss Brandon was free to converse with her companion. 

'I think, Rachel, you have a lover, ' she said. 

'Only a bachelor, I'm afraid, as my poor Margery calls the younggentleman who takes her out for a walk on a Sunday, and I fear meansnothing more. '

'This is the second time I've found Chelford talking to you, Rachel, atthe door of your pretty little garden. '

Rachel laughed. 

'Suppose, some fine day, he should put his hand over the paling, and takeyours, and make you a speech. '

'You romantic darling, ' she said, 'don't you know that peers and princeshave quite given over marrying simple maidens of low estate for love andliking, and understand match-making better than you or I; though I couldgive a tolerable account of myself, after the manner of the white cat inthe story, which I think is a pattern of frankness and modest dignity. I'd say with a courtesy--"Think not, prince, that I have always been acat, and that my birth is obscure; my father was king of six kingdoms, and loved my mother tenderly, " and so forth. '

'Rachel, I like you, ' interrupted the dark beauty, fixing her large eyes, from which not light, but, as it were, a rich shadow fell softly on hercompanion. It was the first time she had made any such confession. Rachelreturned her look as frankly, with an amused smile, and then said, with acomic little toss of her head--

'Well, Dorcas, I don't see why you should not, though I don't know whyyou say so. '

'You're not like other people; you don't complain, and you're not bitter, although you have had great misfortunes, my poor Rachel. '

There be ladies, young and old, who, the moment they are pitied, thoughnever so cheerful before, will forthwith dissolve in tears. But that wasnot Rachel's way; she only looked at her with a good-humoured but gravecuriosity for a few seconds, and then said, with rather a kindly smile--

'And now, Dorcas, I like you. '

Dorcas made no answer, but put her arm round Rachel's neck, and kissedher; Dorcas made two kisses of it, and Rachel one, but it was cousinlyand kindly; and Rachel laughed a soft little laugh after it, lookingamused and very lovingly on her cousin; but she was a bold lass, and notgiven in anywise to the melting mood, and said gaily, with her open handstill caressingly on Dorcas's waist--

'I make a very good nun, Dorcas, as I told Stanley the other day. Isometimes, indeed, receive a male visitor, at the other side of thepaling, which is my grille; but to change my way of life is a dream thatdoes not trouble me. Happy the girl--and I am one--who cannot like untilshe is first beloved. Don't you remember poor, pale Winnie, the maid whoused to take us on our walks all the summer at Dawling; how she used topluck the leaves from the flowers, like Faust's Marguerite, saying, "Heloves me a little--passionately, not at all. " Now if I were lovedpassionately, I might love a little; and if loved a little--it should benot at all. '

They had the road all to themselves, and were going at a walk up anascent, so the reins lay loosely on the ponies' necks and Dorcas lookedwith an untold meaning in her proud face, on her cousin, and seemed onthe point of speaking, but she changed her mind. 

'And so Dorcas, as swains are seldom passionately in love with so small apittance as mine, I think I shall mature into a queer old maid, and takeall the little Wylders, masters and misses, with your leave, for theirwalks, and help to make their pinafores. ' Whereupon Miss Dorcas put herponies into a very quick trot, and became absorbed in her driving. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

IN WHICH VARIOUS PERSONS GIVE THEIR OPINIONS OF CAPTAIN STANLEY LAKE. 

'Stanley is an odd creature, ' said Rachel, so soon as another slightincline brought them to a walk; 'I can't conceive why he has come downhere, or what he can possibly want of that disagreeable lawyer. They havegot dogs and guns, and are going, of course, to shoot; but he does notcare for shooting, and I don't think Mr. Larkin's society can amuse him. Stanley is clever and cunning, I think, but he is neither wise nor frank. He never tells me his plans, though he must know--he _does_ know--I lovehim; yes, he's a strange mixture of suspicion and imprudence. He'swonderfully reserved. I am certain he trusts no one on earth, and at thesame time, except in his confidences, he's the rashest man living. If hewere like Lord Chelford, or even like our good vicar--not in piety, forpoor Stanley's training, like my own, was sadly neglected there--I meanin a few manly points of character, I should be quite happy, I think, inmy solitary nook. '

'Is he so very odd?' said Miss Brandon, coldly. 

'I only know he makes me often very uncomfortable, ' answered Rachel. 'Inever mind what he tells me, for I think he likes to mislead everybody;and I have been two often duped by him to trust what he says. I only knowthat his visit to Gylingden must have been made with some seriouspurpose, and his ideas are all so rash and violent. '

'He was at Donnyston for ten days, I think, when I was there, and seemedclever. They had charades and _proverbes dramatiques_. I'm no judge, butthe people who understood it, said he was very good. '

'Oh! yes he is clever; I knew he was at Donnyston, but he did not mentionhe had seen you there; he only told me he had met you pretty often whenyou were at Lady Alton's last season. '

'Yes, in town, ' she answered, a little drily. 

While these young ladies are discussing Stanley Lake, I may be permittedto mention my own estimate of that agreeable young person. 

Captain Lake was a gentleman and an officer, and of course an honourableman; but somehow I should not have liked to buy a horse from him. He wasvery gentlemanlike in appearance, and even elegant; but I never likedhim, although he undoubtedly had a superficial fascination. I alwaysthought, when in his company, of old Lord Holland's silk stocking withsomething unpleasant in it. I think, in fact, he was destitute of thosefine moral instincts which are born with men, but never acquired; and inhis way of estimating his fellow men, and the canons of honour, there wasoccasionally perceptible a faint flavour of the villainous, and anundefined savour, at times, of brimstone. I know also that when histemper, which was nothing very remarkable, was excited, he could besavage and brutal enough; and I believe he had often been violent andcowardly in his altercations with his sister--so, at least, two or threepeople, who were versed in the scandals of the family, affirmed. But itis a censorious world, and I can only speak positively of my ownsensations in his company. His morality, however, I suppose, was quitegood enough for the world, and he had never committed himself in any ofthose ways of which that respectable tribunal takes cognizance. 

'So that d--d fellow Lake is down here still; and that stupid, scheminglubber, Larkin, driving him about in his tax-cart, instead of minding hisbusiness. I could not see him to-day. That sort of thing won't answer me;and he _is_ staying at Larkin's house, I find. ' Wylder was talking to meon the door steps after dinner, having in a rather sulky way swallowedmore than his usual modicum of Madeira, and his remarks were deliveredinterruptedly--two or three puffs of his cigar interposed between eachsentence. 

'I suppose he expects to be asked to the wedding. He _may_ expect--ha, ha, ha! You don't know that lad as I do. '

Then there came a second cigar, and some little time in lighting, andfull twenty enjoyable puffs before he resumed. 

'Now, you're a moral man, Charlie, tell me really what you think of afellow marrying a girl he does not care that for, ' and he snapt hisfingers. 'Just for the sake of her estate--it's the way of the world, ofcourse, and all that--but, is not it a little bit shabby, don't youthink? Eh? Ha, ha, ha!'

'I'll not debate with you, Wylder, on that stupid old question. It's theway of the world, as you say, and there's an end of it. '

'They say she's such a beauty! Well, so I believe she is, but I can'tfancy her. Now you must not be angry. I'm not a poet likeyou--book-learned, you know; and she's too solemn by half, and grand. Iwish she was different. That other girl, Rachel--she's a devilishhandsome craft. I wish almost she was not here at all, or I wish she wasin Dorcas's shoes. '

'Nonsense, Wylder! stop this stuff; and it is growing cold throw awaythat cigar, and come in. '

'In a minute. No, I assure you, I'm not joking. Hang it! I must talk tosome one. I'm devilish uncomfortable about this grand match. I wish I hadnot been led into it I don't think I'd make a good husband to any woman Idid not fancy, and where's the good of making a girl unhappy, eh?'

'Tut, Wylder, you ought to have thought of all that before. I don't likeyour talking in this strain when you know it is too late to recede;besides, you are the luckiest fellow in creation. Upon my word, I don'tknow why the girl marries you; you can't suppose that she could not marrymuch better, and if you have not made up your mind to break off, of whichthe world would form but one opinion, you had better not speak in thatway any more. '

'Why, it was only to you, Charlie, and to tell you the truth, I dobelieve it is the best thing for me; but I suppose every fellow feels alittle queer when he is going to be spliced, a little bit nervous, eh?But you are right--and I'm right, and we are all right--it _is_ the bestthing for us both. It will make a deuced fine estate; but hang it! youknow a fellow's never satisfied. And I suppose I'm a bit put out by thatdisreputable dog's being here--I mean Lake; not that I need care morethan Dorcas, or anyone else; but he's no credit to the family, you see, and I never could abide him. I've half a mind, Charlie, to tell you athing; but hang it! you're such a demure old maid of a chap. Will youhave a cigar?'

'No. '

'Well, I believe two's enough for me, ' and he looked up at the stars. 

'I've a notion of running up to town, only for a day or two, before thisbusiness comes off, just on the sly; you'll not mention it, and I'll havea word with Lake, quite friendly, of course; but I'll shut him up, andthat's all. I wonder he did not dine here to-day. Did you ever see sopushing a brute?'

So Wylder chucked away his cigar, and stood for a minute with his handsin his pockets looking up at the stars, as if reading fortunes there. 

I had an unpleasant feeling that Mark Wylder was about some mischief--asuspicion that some game of mine and countermine was going on between himand Lake, to which I had no clue whatsoever. 

Mark had the frankness of callosity, and could recount his evil deeds andconfess his vices with hilarity and detail, and was prompt to take hispart in a lark, and was a remarkably hard hitter, and never shrank fromthe brunt of the row; and with these fine qualities, and a much superiorknowledge of the ways of the flash world, had commanded my boyishreverence and a general popularity among strangers. But, with all this, he could be as secret as the sea with which he was conversant, and ashard as a stonewall, when it answered his purpose. He had no lack ofcunning, and a convenient fund of cool cruelty when that stoicalattribute was called for. Years, I dare say, and a hard life andprofligacy, and command, had not made him less selfish or more humane, orabated his craft and resolution. 

If one could only see it, the manoeuvring and the ultimate collision oftwo such generals as he and Lake would be worth observing. 

I dare say my last night's adventure tended to make me more nervous andprone to evil anticipation. And although my quarters had been changed tothe lower storey, I grew uncomfortable as it waxed late, and halfregretted that I had not migrated to the 'Brandon Arms. '

Uncle Lorne, however, made me no visit that night. Once or twice Ifancied something, and started up in my bed. It was fancy, merely. Whatstate had I really been in, when I saw that long-chinned apparition ofthe pale portrait? Many a wiser man than I had been mystified bydyspepsia and melancholic vapours. 

CHAPTER XV. 

DORCAS SHOWS HER JEWELS TO MISS LAKE. 

Stanley Lake and his sister dined next day at Brandon. Under the coldshadow of Lady Chelford, the proprieties flourished, and generally verylittle else. Awful she was, and prompt to lecture young people beforetheir peers, and spoke her mind with fearful directness and precision. But sometimes she would talk, and treat her hearers to her recollections, and recount anecdotes with a sort of grim cleverness, not whollyunamusing. 

She did not like Wylder, I thought, although she had been the inventorand constructor of the family alliance of which he was the hero. I didnot venture to cultivate her; and Miss Brandon had been, from the first, specially cold and repellent to Captain Lake. There was nothing verygenial or promising, therefore, in the relations of our little party, andI did not expect a very agreeable evening. 

Notwithstanding all this, however, our dinner was, on the whole, muchpleasanter than I anticipated. Stanley Lake could be very amusing; but Idoubt if our talk would quite stand the test of print. I often thought ifone of those artists who photograph language and thought--the quiet, clever 'reporters, ' to whom England is obliged for so much of her dailyentertainment, of her social knowledge, and her political safety, were, pencil in hand, to ensconce himself behind the arras, and present us, atthe close of the agreeable banquet, with a literal transcript of thefeast of reason, which we give and take with so much complacency--whetherit would quite satisfy us upon reconsideration. 

When I entered the drawing-room after dinner, Lord Chelford was plainlyarguing a point with the young ladies, and by the time I drew near, itwas Miss Lake's turn to speak. 

'Flattering of mankind, I am sure, I have no talent for; and withoutflattering and wheedling you'll never have conjugal obedience. Don't youremember Robin Hood? how--

 'The mother of Robin said to her husband, My honey, my love, and my dear. '

And all this for leave to ride with her son to see her own brother atGamwell. '

'I remember, ' said Dorcas, with a smile. 'I wonder what has become ofthat old book, with its odd little woodcuts. 

 'And he said, I grant thee thy boon, gentle Joan! Take one of my horses straightway. '

'Well, though the book is lost, we retain the moral, you see, ' saidRachel with a little laugh; 'and it has always seemed to me that if ithad not been necessary to say, "my honey, my love, and my dear, " thatgood soul would not have said it, and you may be pretty sure that if shehad not, and with the suitable by-play too, she might not have ridden toGamwell that day. '

'And you don't think _you_ could have persuaded yourself to repeat thatlittle charm, which obtained her boon and one of his horses straightway?'said Lord Chelford. 

'Well, I don't know what a great temptation and a contumacious husbandmight bring one to; but I'm afraid I'm a stubborn creature, and have notthe feminine gift of flattery. If, indeed, he felt his inferiority andowned his dependence, I think I might, perhaps, have called him "myhoney, my love, and my dear, " and encouraged and comforted him; but tobuy my personal liberty, and the right to visit my brother atGamwell--never!'

And yet she looked, Lord Chelford thought, very goodhumoured andpleasant, and he fancied a smile from her might do more with some menthan all gentle Joan's honeyed vocabulary. 

'I own, ' said Lord Chelford, laughing, 'that, from prejudice, I suppose, I am in favour of the apostolic method, and stand up for the divine rightof my sex; but then, don't you see, it is your own fault, if you make ita question of right, when you may make it altogether one of fascination?'

'Who, pray, is disputing the husband's right to rule?' demanded old LadyChelford unexpectedly. 

'I am very timidly defending it against very serious odds, ' answered herson. 

'Tut, tut! my dears, what's all this; you _must_ obey your husbands, 'cried the dowager, who put down nonsense with a high hand, and had ruledher lord with a rod of iron. 

'That's no tradition of the Brandons, ' said Miss Dorcas, quietly. 

'The Brandons--pooh! my dear--it is time the Brandons should grow likeother people. Hitherto, the Brandon men have all, without exception, beenthe wickedest in all England, and the women the handsomest and the mostself-willed. Of course the men could not be obeyed in all things, nor thewomen disobeyed. I'm a Brandon myself, Dorcas, so I've a right to speak. But the words are precise--honour and obey--and obey you _must_; though, of course you may argue a point, if need be, and let your husband hearreason. '

And, having ruled the point, old Lady Chelford leaned back and resumedher doze. 

There was no longer anything playful in Dorcas's look. On the contrary, something fierce and lurid, which I thought wonderfully becoming; andafter a little she said--

'I promised, Rachel, to show you my jewels. Come now--will you?--and seethem. '

And she placed Rachel's hand on her arm, and the two young ladiesdeparted. 

'Are you well, dear?' asked Rachel when they reached her room. 

Dorcas was very pale, and her gaze was stern, and something undefinablywild in her quietude. 

'What day of the month is this?' said Dorcas. 

'The eighth--is not it?--yes, the eighth, ' answered Rachel. 

'And our marriage is fixed for the twenty-second--just a fortnight hence. I am going to tell you, Rachel, what I have resolved on. '

'How really beautiful these diamonds are!--quite superb. '

'Yes, ' said Dorcas, opening the jewel-cases, which she had taken from hercabinet, one after the other. 

'And these pearls! how very magnificent! I had no idea Mark Wylder'staste was so exquisite. '

'Yes, very magnificent, I suppose. '

'How charming--quite regal--you will look, Dorcas!'

Dorcas smiled strangely, and her bosom heaved a little, Rachel thought. Was it elation, or was there not something wildly bitter gleaming in thatsmile?

'I _must_ look a little longer at these diamonds. '

'As long, dear, as you please. You are not likely, Rachel, to see themagain. '

From the blue flash of the brilliants Rachel in honest amazement raisedher eyes to her cousin's face. The same pale smile was there; the lookwas oracular and painful. Had she overheard a part of that unworthy talkof Wylder's at the dinner-table, the day before, and mistaken Rachel'sshare in the dialogue?

And Dorcas said--

'You have heard of the music on the waters that lures mariners todestruction. The pilot leaves the rudder, and leans over the prow, andlistens. They steer no more, but drive before the wind; and what carethey for wreck or drowning?'

I suppose it was the same smile; but in Rachel s eyes, as pictures will, it changed its character with her own change of thought, and now itseemed the pale rapt smile of one who hears music far off, or sees avision. 

'Rachel, dear, I sometimes think there is an evil genius attendant on ourfamily, ' continued Dorcas in the same subdued tone, which, in its verysweetness, had so sinister a sound in Rachel's ear. 'From mother tochild, from child to grandchild, the same influence continues; and, oneafter another, wrecks the daughters of our family--a wayward family, andfull of misery. Here I stand, forewarned, with my eyes open, determinedlyfollowing in the funereal footsteps of those who have gone their waybefore me. These jewels all go back to Mr. Wylder. He never can beanything to me. I was, I thought, to build up our house. I am going, Ithink, to lay it in the dust. With the spirit of the insane, I feel thespirit of a prophetess, too, and I see the sorrow that awaits me. Youwill see. '

'Dorcas, darling, you are certainly ill. What is the matter?'

'No, dear Rachel, not ill, only maybe agitated a little. You must nottouch the bell--listen to me; but first promise, so help you Heaven, youwill keep my secret. '

'I do promise, indeed Dorcas, I swear I'll not repeat one word you tellme. '

'It has been a vain struggle. I know he's a bad man, a worthlessman--selfish, cruel, maybe. Love is not blind with me, but quite insane. He does not know, nor you, nor anyone; and now, Rachel, I tell you whatwas unknown to all but myself and Heaven--looking neither for counsel, nor for pity, nor for sympathy, but because I must, and you have sworn tokeep my secret. I love your brother. Rachel, you must try to like me. '

She threw her arms round her cousin's neck, and Rachel felt in herembrace the vibration of an agony. 

She was herself so astonished that for a good while she could hardlycollect her thoughts or believe her senses. Was it credible? Stanley!whom she had received with a coldness, if not aversion, so marked, that, if he had a spark of Rachel's spirit, he would never have approached hermore! Then came the thought--perhaps they understood one another, andthat was the meaning of Stanley's unexpected visit?

'Well, Dorcas, dear, I _am_ utterly amazed. But does Stanley--he canhardly hope?'

Dorcas removed her arms from her cousin's neck; her face was pale, andher cheeks wet with tears, which she did not wipe away. 

'Sit down by me, Rachel. No, _he_ does _not_ like _me_--that is--I don'tknow; but, I am sure, he can't suspect that I like him. It was mydetermination it should not be. I resolved, Rachel, quite to extinguishthe madness; but I could not. It was not his doing, nor mine, butsomething else. There are some families, I think, too wicked for Heavento protect, and they are given over to the arts of those who hated themin life and pursue them after death; and this is the meaning of the cursethat has always followed us. No good will ever happen us, and I must golike the rest. '

There was a short silence, and Rachel gazed on the carpet in troubledreflection, and then, with an anxious look, she took her cousin's hand, and said--

'Dorcas, you must think of this no more. I am speaking against mybrother's interest. But you must not sacrifice yourself, your fortune, and your _happiness_, to a shadow; whatever his means are, they hardlysuffice for his personal expenses--indeed, they don't suffice, for I havehad to help him. But that is all trifling compared with otherconsiderations. I am his sister, and, though he has shown little love forme, I am not without affection--and strong affection--for him; but I mustand will speak frankly. You could not, I don't think anyone could behappy with Stanley for her husband. You don't know him: he's profligate;he's ill-tempered; he's cold; he's selfish; he's secret. He was a spoiledboy, totally without moral education; he might, perhaps, have been verydifferent, but he _is what_ he is, and I don't think he'll ever change. '

'He may be what he will. It is vain reasoning with that which is notreason; the battle is over; possibly he may never know, and that might bebest for both--but be it how it may, I will never marry anyone else. '

'Dorcas, dear, you must not speak to Lady Chelford, or to Mark Wylder, to-night. It is too serious a step to be taken in haste. '

'There has been no haste, Rachel, and there can be no change. '

'And what reason can you give?'

'None; no reason, ' said Dorcas, slowly. 

'Wylder would have been suitable in point of wealth. Not so well, I amsure, as you _might_ have married; but neither would _he_ be a goodhusband, though not so bad as Stanley; and I do not think that MarkWylder will quietly submit to his disappointment. '

'It was to have been simply a marriage of two estates. It was old LadyChelford's plan. I have now formed mine, and all that's over. Let him dowhat he will--I believe a lawsuit is his worst revenge--I'm indifferent. '

Just then a knock came to the chamber door. 

'Come in, ' said Miss Brandon: and her maid entered to say that thecarriage, please Ma'am, was at the door to take Miss Lake home. 

'I had no idea it was so late, ' said Rachel. 

'Stay, dear, don't go for a moment. Jones, bring Miss Lake's cloak andbonnet here. And now, dear, ' she said, after a little pause, 'you'llremember your solemn promise?'

'I never broke my word, dear Dorcas; your secret is safe. '

'And, Rachel, try to like me. '

'I love you better, Dorcas, than I thought I ever could. Good-night, dear. '

'Good-night. '

And the young ladies parted with a kiss, and then another. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

'JENNY, PUT THE KETTLE ON. '

Old Lady Chelford, having despatched a sharp and unceremonious message toher young kinswoman, absent without leave, warning her, in effect, thatif she returned to the drawing-room it would be to preside, alone, overgentlemen, departed, somewhat to our secret relief. 

Upon this, on Lord Chelford's motion, in our forlorn condition, we wentto the billiard-room, and there, under the bright lights, and the gayinfluence of that wonderful game, we forgot our cares, and becameexcellent friends apparently--'cuts, ' 'canons, ' 'screws, ' 'misses, ''flukes'--Lord Chelford joked, Wylder 'chaffed, ' even Lake seemed toenjoy himself; and the game proceeded with animation and no lack oflaughter, beguiling the watches of the night; and we were all amazed, atlength, to find how very late it was. So we laid down our cues, with thecustomary ejaculations of surprise. 

We declined wine and water, and all other creature comforts. Wylder andLake had a walk before them, and we bid Lord Chelford 'good-night' in thepassage, and I walked with them through the deserted and nearly darkenedrooms. 

Our talk grew slow, and our spirits subsided in this changed andtenebrose scenery. The void and the darkness brought back, I suppose, myrecollection of the dubious terms on which these young men stood, and afeeling of the hollowness and delusion of the genial hours just passedunder the brilliant lights, together with an unpleasant sense ofapprehension. 

On coming out upon the door-steps we all grew silent. 

The moon was low, and its yellow disk seemed, as it sometimes does, dilated to a wondrous breadth, as its edge touched the black outline ofthe distant woods. I half believe in presentiments, and I felt one now, in the chill air, the sudden silence, and the watchful gaze of the moon. I suspect that Wylder and Lake, too, felt something of the same ominousqualm, for I thought their faces looked gloomy in the light, as theystood together buttoning their loose wrappers and lighting their cigars. 

With a 'good-night, good-night, ' we parted, and I heard their retreatingsteps crunching along the walk that led to Redman's Hollow, and by MissRachel's quiet habitation. I heard no talking, such as comes betweenwhiffs with friendly smokers, side by side; and, silent as mutes at afuneral, they walked on, and soon the fall of their footsteps was heardno more, and I re-entered the hall and shut the door. The level moonlightwas shining through the stained heraldic window, and fell bright on theportrait of Uncle Lorne, at the other end, throwing a patch of red, likea stain, on one side of its pale forehead. 

I had forgot, at the moment, that the ill-omened portrait hung there, anda sudden horror smote me. I thought of what my vision said of the 'bloodupon my forehead, ' and, by Jove! there it was!

At this moment the large white Marseilles waistcoat of grave Mr. Larcomappeared, followed by a tall powdered footman, and their candles andbusiness-like proceedings frightened away the phantoms. So I withdrew tomy chamber, where, I am glad to say, I saw nothing of Uncle Lorne. 

Miss Lake, as she drove that night toward Gylingden, said little to thevicar's wife, whose good husband had been away to Friars, making asick-call, and she prattled on very merrily about his frugal little teaawaiting his late return, and asked her twice on the way home whether itwas half-past nine, for she did not boast a watch; and in the midst ofher prattle was peeping at the landmarks of their progress. 

'Oh, I'm so glad--here's the finger post, at last!' and then--'Well, herewe are at the "Cat and Fiddle;" I thought we'd never pass it. '

And, at last, the brougham stopped at the little garden-gate, at the farend of the village; and the good little mamma called to hermaid-of-all-work from the window--

'Has the master come yet, Becky?'

'No, Ma'am, please. '

And I think she offered up a little thanksgiving, she so longed to givehim his tea herself; and then she asked--

'Is our precious mannikin asleep?' Which also being answered happily, asit should be, she bid her fussy adieux, with a merry smile, and hurried, gabbling amicably with her handmaid, across the little flower-garden; andMiss Lake was shut in and drove on alone, under the thick canopy of oldtrees, and up the mill-road, lighted by the flashing lamps, to her ownlittle precincts, and was, in turn, at home--solitary, triste, but stillher home. 

'Get to your bed, Margery, child, you are sleepy, ' said the young ladykindly to her queer little maid-of-honour. Rachel was one of thosepersons who, no matter what may be upon their minds, are quicklyimpressible by the scenes in which they find themselves. She stepped intoher little kitchen--always a fairy kitchen, so tiny, so white, soraddled, and shining all over with that pleasantest of alleffulgence--burnished tins, pewters, and the homely decorations of thedresser--and she looked all round and smiled pleasantly, and kissed oldTamar, and said--

'So, my dear old fairy, here's your Cinderella home again from the ball, and I've seen nothing so pretty as this since I left Redman's Farm. Howwhite your table is, how nice your chairs; I wish you'd change with meand let me be cook week about; and, really the fire is quite pleasantto-night. Come, make a cup of tea, and tell us a story, and frighten meand Margery before we go to our beds. Sit down, Margery, I'm only here bypermission. What do you mean by standing?' And the young lady, with alaugh, sat down, looking so pleased, and good-natured, and merry, thateven old Tamar was fain to smile a glimmering smile; and little Margeryactively brought the tea-caddy; and the kettle, being in a skittishsinging state, quickly went off in a boil, and Tamar actually made tea inher brown tea-pot. 

'Oh, no; the delf cups and saucers;--it will be twice as good in them;'and as the handsome mistress of the mansion, sitting in the deal chair, loosened her cloak and untied her bonnet, she chatted away, to theedification of Margery and the amusement of both. 

This little extemporised bivouac, as it were, with her domestics, delighted the young belle. Vanity of vanities, as Mr. Thackeray and KingSolomon cry out in turn. Silver trays and powdered footmen, and Utrecht, velvet upholstery--miserable comforters! What saloon was ever so cheeryas this, or flashed all over in so small a light so splendidly, oryielded such immortal nectar from chased teapot and urn, as this brewedin brown crockery from the roaring kettle?

So Margery, sitting upon her stool in the background--for the Queen hadsaid it, and sit she must--and grinning from ear to ear, in a great haloof glory, partook of tea. 

'Well, Tamar, where's your story?' said the young lady. 

'Story! La! bless you, dear Miss Radie, where should I find a story? Myold head's a poor one to remember, ' whimpered white Tamar. 

'Anything, no matter what--a ghost or a murder. '

Old Tamar shook her head. 

'Or an elopement?'

Another shake of the head. 

'Or a mystery--or even a dream?'

'Well--a dream! Sometimes I do dream. I dreamed how Master Stanley wascoming, the night before. '

'You did, did you? Selfish old thing! and you meant to keep it all toyourself. What was it?'

Tamar looked anxiously and suspiciously in the kitchen fire, and placedher puckered hand to the side of her white linen cap. 

'I dreamed, Ma'am, the night before he came, a great fellow was at thehall-door. '

'What! here?'

'Yes, Ma'am, this hall-door. So muffled up I could not see his face; andhe pulls out a letter all over red. '

'Red?'

'Aye, Miss; a red letter. '

'Red ink?'

'No, Miss, red _paper_, written with black, and directed for you. '

'Oh!'

'And so, Miss, in my dream, I gave it you in the drawing-room; and youopened it, and leaned your hand upon your head, sick-like, reading it. Inever saw you read a letter so serious-like before. And says you to me, Miss, "It's all about Master Stanley; he is coming. " And sure enough, here he was quite unexpected, next morning. '

'And was there no more?' asked Miss Lake. 

'No more, Miss. I awoke just then. '

'It _is_ odd, ' said Miss Lake, with a little laugh. 'Had you beenthinking of him lately?'

'Not a bit, Ma'am. I don't know when. '

'Well, it certainly is _very_ odd. '

At all events, it had glanced upon a sensitive recollection unexpectedly. The kitchen was only a kitchen now; and the young lady, on a sudden, looked thoughtful--perhaps a little sad. She rose; and old Tamar got upbefore her, with her scared, secret look, clothed in white--the witch, whose word had changed all, and summoned round her those shapes, whichthrew their indistinct shadows on the walls and faces around. 

'Light the candles in the drawing-room, Margery, and then, child, go toyour bed, ' said the young lady, awakening from an abstraction. 'I don'tmind dreams, Tamar, nor fortune-tellers--I've dreamed so many gooddreams, and no good ever came of them. But talking of Stanley reminds meof trouble and follies that I can't help, or prevent. He has left thearmy, Tamar, and I don't know what his plans are. '

'Ah! poor child; he was always foolish and changeable, and a deal tooinnocent for them wicked officer-gentlemen; and I'm glad he's not amongthem any longer to learn bad ways--I am. '

So, the drawing-room being prepared, Rachel bid Tamar and little Margerygood-night, and the sleepy little handmaid stumped off to her bed; andwhite old Tamar, who had not spoken so much for a month before, put onher solemn round spectacles, and by her dipt candle read her chapter inthe ponderous Bible she had thumbed so well, and her white lips told overthe words as she read them in silence. 

Old Tamar, I always thought, had seen many untold things in her day, andsome of her recollections troubled her, I dare say; and she held hertongue, and knitted her white worsteds when she could sit quiet--whichwas most hours of the day; and now and then when evil remembrances, maybe, gathered round her solitude, she warned them off with that book ofpower--so that my recollection of her is always the same white-clad, cadaverous old woman, with a pair of barnacles on her nose, and her lookof secrecy and suffering turned on the large print of that worn volume, or else on the fumbling-points of her knitting-needles. 

It was a small house, this Redman's Farm, but very silent, for all that, when the day's work was over; and very solemn, too, the look-out from thewindow among the colonnades of tall old trees, on the overshadowed earth, and through them into deepest darkness; the complaining of the lonelystream far down is the only sound in the air. 

There was but one imperfect vista, looking down the glen, and thisafforded no distant view--only a downward slant in the near woodland, anda denser background of forest rising at the other side, and to-nightmistily gilded by the yellow moon-beams, the moon herself unseen. 

Rachel had opened her window-shutters, as was her wont when the moon wasup, and with her small white hands on the window-sash, looked into thewooded solitudes, lost in haunted darkness in every direction but one, and there massed in vaporous and discoloured foliage, hardly moredistinct, or less solemn. 

'Poor old Tamar says her prayers, and reads her Bible; I wish _I_ could. How often I wish it. That good, simple vicar--how unlike his brother--iswiser, perhaps, than all the shrewd people that smile at him. He used totalk to me; but I've lost that--yes--I let him understand I did not carefor it, and so that good influence is gone from me--graceless creature. No one seemed to care, except poor old Tamar, whether I ever said aprayer, or heard any good thing; and when I was no more than ten yearsold, I refused to say my prayers for her. My poor father. Well, Heavenhelp us all. '

So she stood in the same sad attitude, looking out upon the shadowyscene, in a forlorn reverie. 

Her interview with Dorcas remained on her memory like an odd, clear, half-horrible dream. What a dazzling prospect it opened for Stanley; whata dreadful one might it not prepare for Dorcas. What might not arise fromsuch a situation between Stanley and Mark Wylder, each in his way aworthy representative of the ill-conditioned and terrible race whoseblood he inherited? Was this doomed house of Brandon never to know reposeor fraternity?

Was it credible? Had it actually occurred, that strange confession ofDorcas Brandon's? Could anything be imagined so mad--so unaccountable?She reviewed Stanley in her mind's eye. She was better acquainted, perhaps, with his defects than his fascinations, and too familiar withboth to appreciate at all their effect upon a stranger. 

'What can she see in him? There's nothing remarkable in Stanley, poorfellow, except his faults. There are much handsomer men than he, and manyas amusing--and he with no estate. '

She had heard of charms and philtres. How could she account for thisdesperate hallucination?

Rachel was troubled by a sort of fear to-night, and the low fever of anundefined expectation was upon her. She turned from the window, intendingto write two letters, which she had owed too long--young ladies'letters--for Miss Lake, like many of her sex, as I am told, had severallittle correspondences on her hands; and as she turned, with a start, shesaw old Tamar standing in the door-way, looking at her. 

'Tamar!'

'Yes, Miss Rachel. '

'Why do you come so softly, Tamar? Do you know, you frightened me?'

'I thought I'd look in, Miss, before I went to bed, just to see if youwanted anything. '

'No--nothing, thank you, dear Tamar. '

'And I don't think, Miss Rachel, you are quite well to-night, though youare so gay--you're pale, dear; and there's something on your mind. Don'tbe thinking about Master Stanley; he's out of the army now, and I'mthankful for it; and make your mind easy about him; and would not it bebetter, dear, you went to your bed, you rise so early. '

'Very true, good old Tamar, but to-night I must write a letter--not along one, though--and I assure you, I'm quite well. Good-night, Tamar. '

Tamar stood for a moment with her odd weird look upon her, and thenbidding her good-night, glided stiffly away, shutting the door. 

So Rachel sat down to her desk and began to write; but she could not getinto the spirit of her letter; on the contrary, her mind wandered away, and she found herself listening, every now and then, and at last shefancied that old Tamar, about whom that dream, and her unexpectedappearance at the door, had given her a sort of spectral feeling thatnight, was up and watching her; and the idea of this white sentineloutside her door excited her so unpleasantly, that she opened it, butfound no Tamar there; and then she revisited the kitchen, but that wasempty too, and the fire taken down. And, finally, she passed into the oldwoman's bed-chamber, whom she saw, her white head upon her pillow, dreaming again, perhaps. And so, softly closing her door, she left her toher queer visions and deathlike slumber. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

RACHEL LAKE SEES WONDERFUL THINGS BY MOONLIGHT FROM HER WINDOW. 

Though Rachel was unfit for letter-writing, she was still more unfit forslumber. She leaned her temple on her hand, and her rich light hair halfcovered her fingers, and her amazing interview with Dorcas was againpresent with her, and the same feeling of bewilderment. The suddennessand the nature of the disclosures were dream-like and unreal, and theimage of Dorcas remained impressed upon her sight; not like Dorcas, though the same, but something ghastly, wan, glittering, and terrible, like a priestess at a solitary sacrifice. 

It was late now, not far from one o'clock, and around her the terriblesilence of a still night. All those small sounds lost in the hum ofmidday life now came into relief--a ticking in the wainscot, a crack nowand then in the joining of the furniture, and occasionally the tap of amoth against the window pane from outside, sounds sharp and odd, whichmade her wish the stillness of the night were not so intense. 

As from her little table she looked listlessly through the window, shesaw against the faint glow of the moonlight, the figure of a man whoseized the paling and vaulted into the flower garden, and with a fewswift, stumbling strides over the flower-beds, reached the window, andplacing his pale face close to the glass, she saw his eyes glitteringthrough it; he tapped--or rather beat on the pane with his fingers--andat the same time he said, repeatedly: 'Let me in; let me in. '

Her first impression, when she saw this person cross the little fence atthe road-side was, that Mark Wylder was the man. But she was mistaken;the face and figure were Stanley Lake's. 

She would have screamed in the extremity of her terror, but that hervoice for some seconds totally failed her; and recognising her brother, though like Rhoda, in Holy Writ, she doubted whether it was not hisangel, she rose up, and with an awful ejaculation, she approached thewindow. 

'Let me in, Radie; d-- you, let me in, ' he repeated, drumming incessantlyon the glass. There was no trace now of his sleepy jeering way. Rachelsaw that something was very wrong, and beckoned him toward the porch insilence, and having removed the slender fastenings of the door, itopened, and he entered in a rush of damp night air. She took him by thehand, and he shook hers mechanically, like a man rescued from shipwreck, and plainly not recollecting himself well. 

'Stanley, dear, what's the matter, in Heaven's name?' she whispered, sosoon as she had got him into her little drawing-room. 

'He has done it; d-- him, he has done it, ' gasped Stanley Lake. 

He looked in her face with a glazed and ashy stare. His hat remained onhis head, overshadowing his face; and his boots were soiled with clay, and his wrapping coat marked, here and there, with the green of the stemsand branches of trees, through which he had made his way. 

'I see, Stanley, you've had a scene with Mark Wylder; I warned you ofyour danger--you have had the worst of it. '

'I spoke to him. He took a course I did not expect. I'm not well. '

'You've broken your promise. I see you have used _me_. How base; howstupid!'

'How could I tell he was such a _fiend_?'

'I told you how it would be. He has frightened you, ' said Rachel, herselffrightened. 

'D-- him; I wish I had done as you said. I wish I had never come here. Give me a glass of wine. He has ruined me. '

'You cruel, wretched creature!' said Rachel, now convinced that he hadcompromised her as he threatened. 

'Yes, I was wrong; I'm sorry; things have turned out different. Who'sthat?' said Lake, grasping her wrist. 

'Who--where--Mark Wylder?'

'No; it's nothing, I believe. '

'Where is he? Where have you left him?'

'Up there, at the pathway, near the stone steps. '

'Waiting there?'

'Well, yes; and I don't think I'll go back, Radie. '

'You _shall_ go back, Sir, and carry my message; or, no, I could nottrust you. I'll go with you and see him, and disabuse him. How couldyou--how _could_ you, Stanley?'

'It was a mistake, altogether; I'm sorry, but I could not tell there wassuch a devil on the earth. '

'Yes, I told you so. _He_ has frightened _you_' said Rachel. 

'He _has_, _maybe_. At any rate, I was a fool, and I think I'm ruined;and I'm afraid, Rachel, you'll be inconvenienced too. '

'Yes, you have made him savage and brutal; and between you, I shall becalled in question, you wretched fool!'

Stanley was taking these hard terms very meekly for a savage youngcoxcomb like him. Perhaps they bore no very distinct meaning just then tohis mind. Perhaps it was preoccupied with more exciting ideas; or, it maybe, his agitation and fear cried 'amen' to the reproach; at all events, he only said, in a pettish but deprecatory sort of way--

'Well, where's the good of scolding? how can I help it now?'

'What's your quarrel? why does he wait for you there? why has he sent youhere? It must concern _me_, Sir, and I insist on hearing it all. '

'So you shall, Radie; only have patience just a minute--and give me alittle wine or water--anything. '

'There is the key. There's some wine in the press, I think. '

He tried to open it, but his hand shook. He saw his sister look at him, and he flung the keys on the table rather savagely, with, I dare say, acurse between his teeth. 

There was running all this time in Rachel's mind, and had been almostsince the first menacing mention of Wylder's name by her brother, anindistinct remembrance of something unpleasant or horrible. It may havebeen mere fancy, or it may have referred to something long agoimperfectly heard. It was a spectre of mist, that evaporated before shecould fix her eyes on it, but was always near her elbow. 

Rachel took the key with a faint gleam of scorn on her face and broughtout the wine in silence. 

He took a tall-stemmed Venetian glass that stood upon the cabinet, anantique decoration, and filled it with sherry--a strange revival of oldservice! How long was it since lips had touched its brim before, andwhose? Lovers', maybe, and how. How long since that cold crystal hadglowed with the ripples of wine? This, at all events, was its lastservice. It is an old legend of the Venetian glass--its shivering attouch of poison; and there are those of whom it is said, 'the poison ofasps is under their lips. '

'What's that?' ejaculated Rachel, with a sudden shriek--that whisperedshriek, so expressive and ghastly, that you, perhaps, have once heard inyour life--and her very lips grew white. 

'Hollo!' cried Lake. He was standing with his back to the window, andsprang forward, as pale as she, and grasped her, with a white leer thatshe never forgot, over his shoulder, and the Venice glass was shivered onthe ground. 

'Who's there?' he whispered. 

And Rachel, in a whisper, ejaculated the awful name that must not betaken in vain. 

She sat down. She was looking at him with a wild, stern stare, straightin the face, and he still holding her arm, and close to her. 

'I see it all now, ' she whispered. 

'Who--what--what is it?' said he. 

'I could not have fancied _that_, ' she whispered with a gasp. 

Stanley looked round him with pale and sharpened features. 

'What the devil is it! If that scoundrel had come to kill us you couldnot cry out louder, ' he whispered, with an oath. 'Do you want to wakeyour people up?'

'Oh! Stanley, ' she repeated, in a changed and horror-stricken way. 'Whata fool I've been. I see it at last; I see it all now, ' and she waved herwhite hands together very slowly towards him, as mesmerisers move theirs. 

There was a silence of some seconds, and his yellow ferine gaze met hersstrangely. 

'You were always a sharp girl, Radie, and I think you do see it, ' he saidat last, very quietly. 

'The witness--the witness--the dreadful witness!' she repeated. 

'I'll show you, though, it's not so bad as you fancy. I'm sorry I did nottake your advice; but how, I say, could I know he was such a devil? Imust go back to him. I only came down to tell you, because Radie, youknow you proposed it yourself; _you_ must come, too--you _must_, Radie. '

'Oh, Stanley, Stanley, Stanley!'

'Why, d-- it, it can't be helped now; can it?' said he, with a peevishmalignity. But she was right; there was something of the poltroon in him, and he was trembling. 

'Why could you not leave me in peace, Stanley?'

'I can't go without you, Rachel. I won't; and if we don't we're bothruined, ' he said, with a bleak oath. 

'Yes, Stanley, I knew you were a coward, ' she replied, fiercely andwildly. 

'You're always calling names, d-- you; do as you like. I care less thanyou think how it goes. '

'No, Stanley; you know me too well. Ah! No, you sha'n't be lost if I canhelp it. ' Rachel shook her head as she spoke, with a bitter smile and adreadful sigh. 

Then they whispered together for three or four minutes, and Rachelclasped her jewelled fingers tight across her forehead, quite wildly, fora minute. 

'You'll come then?' said Stanley. 

She made no answer, and he repeated the question. 

By this time she was standing; and without answering, she beganmechanically to get on her cloak and hat. 

'You must drink some wine first; he may frighten you, perhaps. You _must_take it, Rachel, or I'll not go. '

Stanley Lake was swearing, in his low tones, like a swell-mobsmanto-night. 

Rachel seemed to have made up her mind to submit passively to whatever herequired. Perhaps, indeed, she thought there was wisdom in his advice. Atall events she drank some wine. 

Rachel Lake was one of those women who never lose their presence of mind, even under violent agitation, for long, and who generally, even whenhighly excited, see, and do instinctively, and with decision, what isbest to be done; and now, with dilated eyes and white face, she walkednoiselessly into the kitchen, listened there for a moment, then stolelightly to the servants' sleeping-room, and listened there at the door, and lastly looked in, and satisfied herself that both were stillsleeping. Then as cautiously and swiftly she returned to herdrawing-room, and closed the window-shutters and drew the curtain, andsignalling to her brother they went stealthily forth into the night air, closing the hall-door, and through the little garden, at the outer gateof which they paused. 

'I don't know, Rachel--I don't like it--I'm not fit for it. Go backagain--go in and lock your door--we'll not go to him--_you_ need not, youknow. He may stay where he is--let him--I'll not return. I say, I'll seehim no more. I'll get away. I'll consult Larkin--shall I? Though thatwon't do--he's in Wylder's interest--curse him. What had I best do? I'mnot equal to it. '

'We _must_ go, Stanley. You said right just now; be resolute--we are bothruined unless we go. You have brought it to that--you _must_ come. '

'I'm not fit for it, I tell you--I'm not. You were right, Radie--I thinkI'm not equal to a business of this sort, and I won't expose you to sucha scene. _You're_ not equal to it either, I think, ' and Lake leaned onthe paling. 

'Don't mind me--you haven't much hitherto. Go or stay, I'm equally ruinednow, but not equally disgraced; and go we must, for it is _your only_chance of escape. Come, Stanley--for shame!'

In a few minutes more they were walking in deep darkness and silence, side by side, along the path, which diverging from the mill-road, penetrates the coppice of that sequestered gorge, along the bottom ofwhich flows a tributary brook that finds its way a little lower down intothe mill-stream. This deep gully in character a good deal resemblesRedman's Glen, into which it passes, being fully as deep, and wooded tothe summit at both sides, but much steeper and narrower, and thereforemany shades darker. 

They had now reached those rude stone steps, some ten or fifteen innumber, which conduct the narrow footpath up a particularly steepacclivity, and here Lake lost courage again, for they distinctly heardthe footsteps that paced the platform above. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

MARK WYLDER'S SLAVE. 

Nearly two hours had passed before they returned. As they did so, RachelLake went swiftly and silently before her brother. The moon had gonedown, and the glen was darker than ever. Noiselessly they re-entered thelittle hall of Redman's Farm. The candles were still burning in thesitting-room, and the light was dazzling after the profound darkness inwhich they had been for so long. 

Captain Lake did not look at all like a London dandy now. His dress wasconfoundedly draggled; the conventional countenance, too, was wanting. There was a very natural savagery and dejection there, and a wild leer inhis yellow eyes. 

Rachel sat down. No living woman ever showed a paler face, and she staredwith a look that was sharp and stern upon the wainscot before her. 

For some minutes they were silent; and suddenly, with an exceeding bittercry, she stood up, close to him, seizing him in her tiny hands by thecollar, and with wild eyes gazing into his, she said--

'See what you've brought me to--wretch, wretch, wretch!'

And she shook him with violence as she spoke. It was wonderful how thatfair young face could look so terrible. 

'There, Radie, there, ' said Lake, disengaging her fingers. 'You're alittle hysterical, that's all. It will be over in a minute; but don'tmake a row. You're a good girl, Radie. For Heaven's sake, don't spoil allby folly now. '

He was overawed and deprecatory. 

'A slave! only think--a slave! Oh frightful, frightful! Is it a dream? Ohfrightful, frightful! Stanley, Stanley, it would be _mercy_ to kill me, 'she broke out again. 

'Now, Radie, listen to reason, and don't make a noise; you know weagreed, _you_ must go, and _I can't_ go with you. '

Lake was cooler by this time, and his sister more excited than beforethey went out. 

'I used to be brave; my courage I think is gone; but who'd have imaginedwhat's before me?'

Stanley walked to the window and opened the shutter a little. He forgothow dark it was. The moon had gone down. He looked at his watch and thenat Rachel. She was sitting, and in no calmer state; serene enough inattitude, but the terribly wild look was unchanged. He looked at hiswatch again, and held it to his ear, and consulted it once more before heplaced the tiny gold disk again in his pocket. 

'This won't do, ' he muttered. 

With one of the candles in his hand he went out and made a hurried, peeping exploration, and soon, for the rooms were quickly counted inRedman's Farm, he found her chamber small, neat, _simplex munditiis_. Bright and natty were the chintz curtains, and the little toilet set out, not inelegantly, and her pet piping-goldfinch asleep on his perch, withhis bit of sugar between the wires of his cage; her pillow so white andunpressed, with its little edging of lace. Were slumbers sweet as of oldever to know it more? What dreams were henceforward to haunt it? Shadowswere standing about that lonely bed already. I don't know whether StanleyLake felt anything of this, being very decidedly of the earth earthy. Butthere are times when men are translated from their natures, and forced tobe romantic and superstitious. 

When he came back to the drawing-room, a toilet bottle of _eau decologne_ in his hand, with her lace handkerchief he bathed her templesand forehead. There was nothing very brotherly in his look as he peeredinto her pale, sharp features, during the process. It was the dark andpallid scrutiny of a familiar of the Holy Office, bringing a victim backto consciousness. 

She was quickly better. 

'There, don't mind me, ' she said sharply; and getting up she looked downat her dress and thin shoes, and seeming to recollect herself, she tookthe candle he had just set down, and went swiftly to her room. 

Gliding without noise from place to place, she packed a small blackleather bag with a few necessary articles. Then changed her dressquickly, put on her walking boots, a close bonnet and thick veil, andtaking her purse, she counted over its contents, and then standing in themidst of the room looked round it with a great sigh, and a strange look, as if it was all new to her. And she threw back her veil, and goinghurriedly to the toilet, mechanically surveyed herself in the glass. Andshe looked fixedly on the pale features presented to her, and said--

'Rachel Lake, Rachel Lake! what are you now?'

And so, with knitted brows and stern lips, a cadaveric gaze was returnedon her from the mirror. 

A few minutes later her brother, who had been busy down stairs, put hishead in and asked--

'Will you come with me now, Radie, or do you prefer to wait here?'

'I'll stay here--that is, in the drawing-room, ' she answered, and theface was withdrawn. 

In the little hall Stanley looked again at his watch, and getting quietlyout, went swiftly through the tiny garden, and once upon the mill-road, ran at a rapid pace down towards the town. 

The long street of Gylingden stretched dim and silent before him. Slumberbrooded over the little town, and his steps sounded sharp and hollowamong the houses. He slackened his pace, and tapped sharply at the littlewindow of that modest post-office, at which the young ladies in the ponycarriage had pulled up the day before, and within which Luke Waggot waswont to sleep in a sort of wooden box that folded up and appeared to be achest of drawers all day. Luke took care of Mr. Larkin's dogs, andgroomed Mr. Wylder's horse, and 'cleaned up' his dog-cart, for Mark beingclose about money, and finding that the thing was to be done more cheaplythat way, put up his horse and dog-cart in the post-office premises, andso evaded the livery charges of the 'Brandon Arms. '

But Luke was not there; and Captain Lake recollecting his habits and hishaunt, hurried on to the 'Silver Lion, ' which has its gable towards thecommon, only about a hundred steps away, for distances are not great inGylingden. Here were the flow of soul and of stout, long pipes, longyarns, and tolerably long credits; and the humble scapegraces of the townresorted thither for the pleasures of a club-life, and often revelleddeep into the small hours of the morning. 

So Luke came forth. 

D-- it, where's the note?' said the captain, rummaging uneasily in hispockets. 

'You know me--eh!'

'Captain Lake. Yes, Sir. '

'Well--oh! here it is. '

It was a scrap pencilled on the back of a letter--

'LUKE WAGGOT, 'Put the horse to and drive the dog-cart to the "White House. " Look outfor me there. We must catch the up mail train at Dollington. Be lively. If Captain Lake chooses to drive you need not come. 

'M. WYLDER. '

'I'll drive, ' said Captain Lake. 'Lose no time and I'll give youhalf-a-crown. '

Luke stuck on his greasy wideawake, and in a few minutes more thedog-cart was trundled out into the lane, and the horse harnessed, wentbetween the shafts with that wonderful cheerfulness with which they bearto be called up under startling circumstances at unseasonable hours. 

'Easily earned, Luke, ' said Captain Lake, in his soft tones. 

The captain had buttoned the collar of his loose coat across his face, and it was dark beside. But Luke knew his peculiar smile, and presumedit; so he grinned facetiously as he put the coin in his breeches pocketand thanked him; and in another minute the captain, with a lighted cigarbetween his lips, mounted to the seat, took the reins, the horse boundedoff, and away rattled the light conveyance, sparks flying from the road, at a devil of a pace, down the deserted street of Gylingden, and quicklymelted in darkness. 

That night a spectre stood by old Tamar's bedside, in shape of her youngmistress, and shook her by the shoulder, and stooping, said sternly, close in her face--

'Tamar, I'm going away--only for a few days; and mind this--I'd rather be_dead_ than any creature living should know it. Little Margery must notsuspect--you'll manage that. Here's the key of my bed-room--say I'msick--and you must go in and out, and bring tea and drinks, and talk andwhisper a little, you understand, as you might with a sick person, andkeep the shutters closed; and if Miss Brandon sends to ask me to theHall, say I've a headache, and fear I can't go. You understand meclearly, Tamar?'

'Yes, Miss Radie, ' answered old Tamar, wonder-stricken, with a strangeexpression of fear in her face. 

'And listen, ' she continued, 'you must go into my room, and bring themessage back, as if from me, with _my love_ to Miss Brandon; and if sheor Mrs. William Wylder, the vicar's wife, should call to see me, alwayssay I'm asleep and a little better. You see exactly what I mean?'

'Yes, Miss, ' answered Tamar, whose eyes were fixed in a sort offascination, full on those of her mistress. 

'If Master Stanley should call, he is to do just as he pleases. You usedto be accurate, Tamar; may I depend upon you?'

'Yes, Ma'am, certainly. '

'If I thought you'd fail me now, Tamar, I should _never_ come back. Good-night, Tamar. There--don't bless me. Good-night. '

When the light wheels of the dog-cart gritted on the mill-road before thelittle garden gate of Redman's Farm, the tall slender figure of RachelLake was dimly visible, standing cloaked and waiting by it. Silently shehanded her little black leather bag to her brother, and then there was apause. He stretched his hand to help her up. 

In a tone that was icy and bitter, she said--

'To save myself I would not do it. You deserve no love from me--you'veshowed me none--_never_, Stanley; and yet I'm going to give the mostdesperate proof of love that ever sister gave--all for your sake; andit's guilt, guilt, but my _fate_, and I'll go, and you'll never thank me;that's all. '

In a moment more she sat beside him; and silent as the dead in Charon'sboat, away they glided toward the 'White House which lay upon the highroad to Dollington. 

The sleepy clerk that night in the Dollington station stamped twofirst-class tickets for London, one of which was for a gentleman, and theother for a cloaked lady, with a very thick veil, who stood outside onthe platform; and almost immediately after the scream of the engine washeard piercing the deep tatting, the Cyclopean red lamps glared nearerand nearer, and the palpitating monster, so stupendous and so docile, came smoothly to a stand-still before the trelliswork and hollyhocks ofthat pretty station. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE TARN IN THE PARK. 

Next morning Stanley Lake, at breakfast with the lawyer, said--

'A pretty room this is. That bow window is worth all the pictures inBrandon. To my eye there is no scenery so sweet as this, at least tobreakfast by. I don't love your crags and peaks and sombre grandeur, noryet the fat, flat luxuriance of our other counties. These undulations, and all that splendid timber, and the glorious ruins on that hillock overthere! How many beautiful ruins that picturesque old fellow Cromwell hasleft us. '

'You don't eat your breakfast, though, ' said the attorney, with acharming smile of reproach. 

'Ah, thank you; I'm a bad breakfaster; that is, ' said Stanley, recollecting that he had made some very creditable meals at the sametable, 'when I smoke so late as I did last night. '

'You drove Mr. Wylder to Dollington?'

'Yes; he's gone to town, he says--yes, the mail train--to get somediamonds for Miss Brandon--a present--that ought to have come the daybefore yesterday. He says they'll never have them in time unless he goesand blows them up. Are you in his secrets at all?'

'Something in his confidence, I should hope, ' said Mr. Larkin, in rathera lofty and reserved way. 

'Oh, yes, of course, in serious matters; but I meant other things. Youknow he has been a little bit wild; and ladies, you know, ladies will betroublesome sometimes; and to say truth, I don't think the diamonds havemuch to say to it. '

'Oh?--hem!--well, you know, _I_'m not exactly the confidant Mr. Wylderwould choose, I suspect, in a case of that very painful, and, I will say, distressing character--I rather think--indeed, I _hope_ not. '

'No, of course--I dare say--but I just fancied he might want a hint aboutthe law of the matter. '

The gracious attorney glanced at his guest with a thoroughlybusiness-like and searching eye. 

'You don't think there's any really serious annoyance--you don't know theparty?' said he. 

'_I?_--Oh, dear, no. Wylder has always been very reserved with me. Hetold me nothing. If he had, of course I should not have mentioned it. Ionly conjecture, for he really did seem to have a great deal more on hismind; and he kept me walking back and forward, near the mill-road, aprecious long time. And I really think once or twice he was going to tellme. '

'Oh! you think then, Mr. Lake, there _may_ be some serious--a--a--well, Ishould hope not--I do most earnestly _trust_ not. ' This was said withupturned eyes and much unction. 'But do you happen, Captain Lake, to knowof any of those unfortunate, those miserable connections which younggentlemen of fashion--eh? It's very sad. Still it often needs, as yousay, professional advice to solve such difficulties--it is very sad--oh!is not it sad?'

'Pray, don't let it affect your spirits, ' said Lake, who was leaning backin his chair, and looking on the carpet, about a yard before hislacquered boots, in his usual sly way. 'I may be quite mistaken, youknow, but I wished you to understand--having some little experience ofthe world, I'd be only too happy to be of any use, if you thought mydiplomacy could help poor Wylder out of his trouble--that is, if therereally is any. But _you_ don't know?'

'_No_, ' said Mr. Larkin, thoughtfully; and thoughtful he continued for aminute or two, screwing his lips gently, as was his wont, whileruminating, his long head motionless, the nails of his long and somewhatlarge hand tapping on the arm of his chair, with a sharp glance now andthen at the unreadable visage of the cavalry officer. It was evident hismind was working, and nothing was heard in the room for a minute but thetapping of his nails on the chair, like a death-watch. 

'No, ' said Mr. Larkin again, 'I'm not suspicious--naturally too much thereverse, I fear; but it certainly does look odd. Did he tell the familyat Brandon?'

'Certainly not, that I heard. He may have mentioned it. But I startedwith him, and we walked together, under the impression that he was going, as usual, to the inn, the--what d'ye call it?--"Brandon Arms;" and it wasa sudden thought--now I think of it--for he took no luggage, though to besure I dare say he has got clothes and things in town. '

'And when does he return?'

'In a day or two, at furthest, ' he said. 

'I wonder what they'll think of it at Brandon?' said the attorney, with acavernous grin of sly enquiry at his companion, which, recollecting hischaracter, he softened into a sad sort of smile, and added, 'No harm, Idare say; and, after all, you know, why should there--any man may havebusiness; and, indeed, it is very likely, after all, that he really wentabout the jewels. Men are too hasty to judge one another, my dear Sir;charity, let us remember, thinketh no evil. '

'By-the-bye, ' said Lake, rather briskly for him, rummaging his pockets, 'I'm glad I remembered he gave me a little note to Chelford. Are any ofyour people going to Brandon this morning?'

'I'll send it, ' said the lawyer, eyeing the little pencilled notewistfully, which Lake presented between two fingers. 

'Yes, it is to Lord Chelford, ' said the attorney, with a grand sort ofsuavity--he liked lords--placing it, after a scrutiny, in his waistcoatpocket. 

'Don't you think it had best go at once?--there may be somethingrequiring an answer, and your post leaves, doesn't it, at twelve?'

'Oh! an answer, is there?' said Mr. Larkin, drawing it from his pocket, and looking at it again with a perceptible curiosity. 

'I really can't say, not having read it, but there _may_, ' said CaptainLake, who was now and then a little impertinent, just to keep Mr. Larkinin his place, and perhaps to hint that he understood him. 

'_Read_ it! Oh, my _dear_ Sir, my _dear_ Captain Lake, how _could_you--but, oh! no--you _could_ not suppose I meant such an idea--oh, dear--no, no. You and I have our notions about what's gentlemanlike andprofessional--a--and gentlemanlike, as I say--Heaven forbid. '

'Quite so!' said Captain Lake, gently. 

'Though all the world does not think with us, _I_ can tell you, thingscome before us in _our_ profession. Oh, ho! ho!' and Mr. Larkin lifted uphis pink eyes and long hands, and shook his long head, with a melancholysmile and a sigh like a shudder. 

When at the later breakfast, up at Brandon, that irregular pencilledscroll reached Lord Chelford's hand, he said, as he glanced on thedirection--

'This is Mark Wylder's; what does he say?'

'So Mark's gone to town, ' he said; 'but he'll be back again on Saturday, and in the meantime desires me to lay his heart at your feet, Dorcas. Will you read the note?'

'No, ' said Dorcas, quietly. 

Lady Chelford extended her long, shrivelled fingers, on which glimmeredsundry jewels, and made a little nod to her son, who gave it to her, witha smile. Holding her glasses to her eyes, the note at a distance, and herhead rather back, she said--

'It is not a pretty billet, ' and she read in a slow and grim way:--

'DEAR CHELFORD, --I'm called up to London just for a day. No lark, buthonest business. I'll return on Saturday; and tell Dorcas, with dozens ofloves, I would write to her, but have not a minute for the train. 

'Yours, &c. 

'M. WYLDER. '

'No; it is not pretty, ' repeated the old lady; and, indeed, in no sensewas it. Before luncheon Captain Lake arrived. 

'So Wylder has run up to town, ' I said, so soon as we had shaken hands inthe hall. 

'Yes; _I_ drove him to Dollington last night; we just caught the uptrain. '

'He says he'll be back again on Saturday, ' I said. 

'Saturday, is it? He seemed to think--yes--it _would_ be only a day orso. Some jewels, I think, for Dorcas. He did not say distinctly; I onlyconjecture. Lady Chelford and Miss Brandon, I suppose, in thedrawing-room?'

So to the drawing-room he passed. 

'How is Rachel? how is your sister, Captain Lake, have you seen herto-day?' asked old Lady Chelford, rather benignantly. She chose to begracious to the Lakes. 'Only, for a moment, thank you. She has one of hermiserable headaches, poor thing; but she'll be better, she says, in theafternoon, and hopes to come up here to see you, and Miss Brandon, thisevening. '

Lord Chelford and I had a pleasant walk that day to the ruins ofWillerton Castle. I find in my diary a note--'Chelford tells me it iswritten in old surveys, Wylderton, and was one of the houses of theWylders. What considerable people those Wylders were, and what an antiquestock. '

After this he wished to make a visit to the vicar, and so we partedcompany. I got into Brandon Park by the pretty gate near Latham. 

It was a walk of nearly three miles across the park from this point tothe Hall, and the slopes and hollows of this noble, undulating plain, came out grandly in the long shadows and slanting beams of evening. Thatyellow, level light has, in my mind, something undefinably glorious andmelancholy, such as to make almost any scenery interesting, and mysolitary walk was delightful. 

People must love and sympathise very thoroughly, I think, to enjoynatural scenery together. Generally it is one of the few spectacles bestseen alone. The silence that supervenes is indicative of the solitarycharacter of the enjoyment. It is a poem and a reverie. I was quite happystriding in the amber light and soft, long shadows, among the ferns, thecopsewood, and the grand old clumps of timber, exploring the undulations, and the wild nooks and hollows which have each their circumscribed andsylvan charm; a wonderful interest those little park-like broken dellshave always had for me; dotted with straggling birch and oak, and hereand there a hoary ash tree, with a grand and melancholy grace, dreamingamong the songs of wild birds, in their native solitudes, and the brownleaves tipped with golden light, all breathing something of old-worldromance--the poetry of bygone love and adventure--and stirringundefinable and delightful emotions that mingle unreality with sense, amusic of the eye and spirit. 

After many devious wanderings, I found, under shelter of a wonderfullittle hollow, in which lay, dim and still, a tarn, reflecting the stemsof the trees that rose from its edge, in a way so clear and beautiful, that, with a smile and a sigh, I sat myself down upon a rock among theferns, and fell into a reverie. 

The image of Dorcas rose before me. There is a strange mystery and powerin the apathetic, and in that unaffected carelessness, even defiance ofopinion and criticism, which I had seen here for the first time, sobeautifully embodied. I was quite sure she both thought and felt, andcould talk, too, if she chose it. What tremendous self-reliance anddisdain must form the basis of a female character, which acceptedmisapprehension and depreciation with an indifference so genuine as toscorn even the trifling exertion of disclosing its powers. 

She could not possibly care for Wylder, any more than he cared for her. That odd look I detected in the mirror--what did it mean? and Wylder'sconfusion about Captain Lake--what was that? I could not comprehend thesituation that was forming. I went over Wylder's history in my mind, andCaptain Lake's--all I could recollect of it--but could find no clue, andthat horrible visitation or vision! what was _it_?

This latter image had just glided in and taken its place in my wakingdream, when I thought I saw reflected in the pool at my feet, the shapeand face which I never could forget, of the white, long-chinned old man. 

For a second I was unable, I think, to lift my eyes from the water whichpresented this cadaverous image. 

But the figure began to move, and I raised my eyes, and saw it retreat, with a limping gait, into the thick copse before me, in the shadow ofwhich it stopped and turned stiffly round, and directed on me a look ofhorror, and then withdrew. 

It is all very fine laughing at me and my fancies. I do not think thereare many men who in my situation would have felt very differently. Irecovered myself; I shouted lustily after him to stay, and then in a sortof half-frightened rage, I pursued him; but I had to get round the pool, a considerable circuit. I could not tell which way he had turned ongetting into the thicket; and it was now dusk, the sun having gone downduring my reverie. So I stopped a little way in the copsewood, which wasgrowing quite dark, and I shouted there again, peeping under thebranches, and felt queer and much relieved that nothing answered orappeared. 

Looking round me, in a sort of dream, I remembered suddenly what Wylderhad told me of old Lorne Brandon, to whose portrait this inexplicablephantom bore so powerful a resemblance. He was suspected of havingmurdered his own son, at the edge of a tarn in the park. _This_ tarnmaybe--and with the thought the water looked blacker--and a deeper andcolder shadow gathered over the ominous hollow in which I stood, and therustling in the withered leaves sounded angrily. 

I got up as quickly as might be to the higher grounds, and waited therefor awhile, and watched for the emergence of the old man. But it did notappear; and shade after shade was spreading solemnly over the landscape, and having a good way to walk, I began to stride briskly along the slopesand hollows, in the twilight, now and then looking into vacancy, over myshoulder. 

The little adventure, and the deepening shades, helped to sadden myhomeward walk; and when at last the dusky outline of the Hall rose beforeme, it wore a sort of weird and haunted aspect. 

CHAPTER XX. 

CAPTAIN LAKE TAKES AN EVENING STROLL ABOUT GYLINGDEN. 

Again I had serious thoughts of removing my person and effects to theBrandon Arms. I could not quite believe I had seen a ghost; but neitherwas I quite satisfied that the thing was altogether canny. Theapparition, whatever it was, seemed to persecute me with a mysteriousobstinacy; at all events, I was falling into a habit of seeing it; and Ifelt a natural desire to escape from the house which was plagued with itspresence. 

At the same time I had an odd sort of reluctance to mention the subjectto my entertainers. The thing itself was a ghostly slur upon the house, and, to run away, a reproach to my manhood; and besides, writing now at adistance, and in the spirit of history, I suspect the interest whichbeauty always excites had a great deal to do with my resolve to hold myground; and, I dare say, notwithstanding my other reasons, had the ladiesat the Hall been all either old or ugly, I would have made good myretreat to the village hotel. 

As it was, however, I was resolved to maintain my position. But thatevening was streaked with a tinge of horror, and I more silent and_distrait_ than usual. 

The absence of an accustomed face, even though the owner be nothing veryremarkable, is always felt; and Wylder was missed, though, sooth to say, not very much regretted. For the first time we were really a small party. Miss Lake was not there. The gallant captain, her brother, was alsoabsent. The vicar, and his good little wife, were at Naunton that eveningto hear a missionary recount his adventures and experiences in Japan, andnone of the neighbours had been called in to fill the empty chairs. 

Dorcas Brandon did not contribute much to the talk; neither, in truth, did I. Old Lady Chelford occasionally dozed and nodded sternly after tea, waking up and eyeing people grimly, as though enquiring whether anyonepresumed to suspect her ladyship of having had a nap. 

Chelford, I recollect, took a book, and read to us now and then, a snatchof poetry--I forget what. _My_ book--except when I was thinking of thetarn and that old man I so hated--was Miss Brandon's exquisite andmysterious face. 

That young lady was leaning back in her great oak chair, in which shelooked like the heroine of some sad and gorgeous romance of the old civilwars of England, and directing a gaze of contemplative and haughtycuriosity upon the old lady, who was unconscious of the daringprofanation. 

All on a sudden Dorcas Brandon said--

'And pray what do you think of marriage, Lady Chelford?'

'What do I think of marriage?' repeated the dowager, throwing back herhead and eyeing the beautiful heiress through her gold spectacles, with astony surprise, for she was not accustomed to be catechised by youngpeople. 'Marriage?--why 'tis a divine institution. What can the childmean?'

'Do you think, Lady Chelford, it may be safely contracted, solely to jointwo estates?' pursued the young lady. 

'Do I think it may safely be contracted, solely to join two estates?'repeated the old lady, with a look and carriage that plainly showed howentirely she appreciated the amazing presumption of her interrogatrix. 

There was a little pause. 

'_Certainly_, ' replied Lady Chelford; 'that is, of course, under properconditions, and with a due sense of its sacred character anda--a--obligations. '

'The first of which is _love_, ' continued Miss Brandon; 'the second_honour_--both involuntary; and the third _obedience_, which springs fromthem. '

Old Lady Chelford coughed, and then rallying, said--

'Very good, Miss!'

'And pray, Lady Chelford, what do you think of Mr. Mark Wylder?' pursuedMiss Dorcas. 

'I don't see, Miss Brandon, that my thoughts upon that subject canconcern anyone but myself, ' retorted the old lady, severely, and from anawful altitude. 'And I may say, considering who I am--and my years--andthe manner in which I am usually treated, I am a little surprised at thetone in which you are pleased to question me. '

These last terrible remarks totally failed to overawe the serene temerityof the grave beauty. 

'I assumed, Lady Chelford, as you had interested yourself in me so far asto originate the idea of my engagement to Mr. Wylder, that you hadconsidered these to me very important questions a little, and could giveme satisfactory answers upon points on which my mind has been employedfor some days; and, indeed, I think I've a right to ask that assistanceof you. '

'You seem to forget, young lady, that there are times and places for suchdiscussions; and that to Mr. --a--a--your visitor (a glance at me), itcan't be very interesting to listen to this kind of--of--conversation, which is neither very entertaining, nor very _wise_. '

'I am answerable only for _my_ part of it; and I think my questions verymuch to the purpose, ' said the young lady, in her low, silvery tones. 

'I don't question your good opinion, Miss Brandon, of your owndiscretion; but _I_ can't see any profit in now discussing an engagementof more than two months' standing, or a marriage, which is fixed to takeplace only ten days hence. And I think, Sir (glancing again at me), itmust strike _you_ a little oddly, that I should be invited, in yourpresence, to discuss family matters with Miss Dorcas Brandon?'

Now, was it fair to call a peaceable inhabitant like me into the thick ofa fray like this? I paused long enough to allow Miss Brandon to speak, but she did not choose to do so, thinking, I suppose, it was my business. 

'I believe I ought to have withdrawn a little, ' I said, very humbly; andold Lady Chelford at the word shot a gleam of contemptuous triumph atMiss Dorcas; but I would not acquiesce in the dowager's abusing myconcession to the prejudice of that beautiful and daring young lady--'Imean, Lady Chelford, in deference to you, who are not aware, as MissBrandon is, that I am one of Mr. Wylder's oldest and most intimatefriends; and at his request, and with Lord Chelford's approval, have beenadvised with, in detail, upon all the arrangements connected with theapproaching marriage. '

'I am not going, at present, to say any more upon these subjects, becauseLady Chelford prefers deferring our conversation, ' said this very oddyoung lady; 'but there is nothing which either she or I may say, which Iwish to conceal from any friend of Mr. Wylder's. '

The idea of Miss Brandon's seriously thinking of withdrawing from herengagement with Mark Wylder, I confess never entered my mind. LadyChelford, perhaps, knew more of the capricious and daring character ofthe ladies of the Brandon line than I, and may have discovered some signsof a coming storm in the oracular questions which had fallen soharmoniously from those beautiful lips. As for me, I was puzzled. The oldviscountess was flushed (she did not rouge), and very angry, and, Ithink, uncomfortable, though she affected her usual supremacy. But theyoung lady showed no sign of excitement, and lay back in her chair in herusual deep, cold calm. 

Lake's late smoking with Wylder must have disagreed with him very muchindeed, for he seemed more out of sorts as night approached. He stoleaway from Mr. Larkin's trellised porch, in the dusk. He marched into thetown rather quickly, like a man who has business on his hands; but he hadnone--for he walked by the 'Brandon Arms, ' and halted, and stared at thepost-office, as if he fancied he had something to say there. Butno--there was no need to tap at the wooden window-pane. Some idle boyswere observing the dandy captain, and he turned down the short lane thatopened on the common, and sauntered upon the short grass. 

Two or three groups, and an invalid visitor or two--for Gylingden boastsa 'spa'--were lounging away the twilight half-hours there. He seatedhimself on one of the rustic seats, and his yellow eyes wanderedrestlessly and vaguely along the outline of the beautiful hills. Then fornearly ten minutes he smoked--an odd recreation for a man suffering fromthe cigars of last night--and after that, for nearly as long again, heseemed lost in deep thought, his eyes upon the misty grass before him, and his small French boot beating time to the music of his thoughts. 

Several groups passed close by him, in their pleasant circuit. Somewondered what might be the disease of that pale, peevish-lookinggentleman, who sat there so still, languid, and dejected. Others set himdown as a gentleman in difficulties of some sort, who was using Gylingdenfor a temporary refuge. 

Others, again, supposed he might be that Major Craddock who had lostthirty thousand pounds on Vanderdecken the other day. Others knew he wasstaying with Mr. Larkin, and supposed he was trying to raise money atdisadvantage, and remarked that some of Mr. Larkin's clients lookedalways unhappy, though they had so godly an attorney to deal with. 

When Lake, with a little shudder, for it was growing chill, lifted up hisyellow eyes suddenly, and recollected where he was, the common had growndark, and was quite deserted. There were lights in the windows of thereading-room, and in the billiard-room beneath it; and shadowy figures, with cues in their hands, gliding hither and thither, across itsuncurtained windows. 

With a shrug, and a stealthy glance round him, Captain Lake started up. The instinct of the lonely and gloomy man unconsciously drew him towardsthe light, and he approached. A bat, attracted thither like himself, wasflitting and flickering, this way and that, across the casement. 

Captain Lake, waiting, with his hand on the door-handle, for the stroke, heard the smack of the balls, and the score called by the marker, andentered the hot, glaring room. Old Major Jackson, with his glass in hiseye, was contending in his shirt-sleeves heroically with a Manchesterbag-man, who was palpably too much for him. The double-chinned and floridproprietor of the 'Brandon Arms, ' with a brandy-and-water familiarity, offered Captain Lake two to one on the game in anything he liked, whichthe captain declined, and took his seat on the bench. 

He was not interested by the struggle of the gallant major, who smiledlike a prize-fighter under his punishment. In fact, he could not havetold the score at any point of the game; and, to judge by his face, wastranslated from the glare of that arena into a dark and splenetic worldof his own. 

When he wakened up, in the buzz and clack of tongues that followed theclose of the game, Captain Lake glared round for a moment, like a mancalled up from sleep; the noise rattled and roared in his ears, the talksounded madly, and the faces of the people excited and menaced himundefinably, and he felt as if he was on the point of starting to hisfeet and stamping and shouting. The fact is, I suppose, he wasconfoundedly nervous, dyspeptic, or whatever else it might be, and theheat and glare were too much for him. 

So, out he went into the chill, fresh night-air, and round the cornerinto the quaint main-street of Gylingden, and walked down it in the dark, nearly to the last house by the corner of the Redman's Dell road, andthen back again, and so on, trying to tire himself, I think; and everytime he walked down the street, with his face toward London, his yelloweyes gleamed through the dark air, with the fixed gaze of a man lookingout for the appearance of a vehicle. It, perhaps, indicated an anxietyand a mental look-out in that direction, for he really expected no suchthing. 

Then he dropped into the 'Brandon Arms, ' and had a glass of brandy andwater, and a newspaper, in the coffee-room; and then he ordered a 'fly, 'and drove in it to Lawyer Larkin's house--'The Lodge, ' it was called--andentered Mr. Larkin's drawing-room very cheerfully. 

'How quiet you are here, ' said the captain. 'I have been awfullydissipated since I saw you. '

'In an innocent way, my dear Captain Lake, you mean, of course--in aninnocent way. '

'Oh! no; billiards, I assure you. Do you play?'

'Oh! dear no--not that I see any essential harm in the game _as_ a game, for those, I mean, who don't object to that sort of thing; but for aresident here, putting aside other feelings--a resident holding aposition--it would not do, I assure you. There are people there whom onecould not associate with comfortably. I don't care, I hope, how poor aman may be, but do let him be a gentleman. I own to that prejudice. Aman, my dear Captain Lake, whose father before him has been a gentleman(old Larkin, while in the flesh, was an organist, and kept a small dayschool at Dwiddleston, and his grandfather he did not care to enquireafter), and who has had the education of one, does not feel himself athome, you know--I'm sure you have felt the same sort of thing yourself. '

'Oh! of course; and I had such a nice walk on the common first, and thena turn up and down before the 'Brandon Arms, ' where at last I read apaper, and could not resist a glass of brandy and water, and, growinglazy, came home in a 'fly, ' so I think I have had a very gay evening. 

Larkin smiled benignantly, and would have said something no doubt worthhearing, but at that moment the door opened, and his old cook and elderlyparlour-maid--no breath of scandal ever troubled the serene fair fame ofhis household, and everyone allowed that, in the prudential virtues, atleast, he was nearly perfect--and Sleddon the groom, walked in, withthose sad faces which, I suppose, were first learned in the belief thatthey were acceptable to their master. 

'Oh!' said Mr. Larkin, in a low, reverential tone, and the smilevanished; 'prayers!'

'Well, then, if you permit me, being a little tired, I'll go to mybed-room. '

With a grave and affectionate interest, Mr. Larkin looked in his face, and sighed a little and said:--

'Might I, perhaps, venture to beg, just this one night----'

That chastened and entreating look it was hard to resist. But somehow thewhole thing seemed to Lake to say, 'Do allow me this once to prescribe;do give your poor soul this one chance, ' and Lake answered himsuperciliously and irreverently. 

'No, thank you, no--any prayers I require I can manage for myself, thankyou. Good-night. '

And he lighted a bed-room candle and left the room. 

'What a beast that fellow is. I don't know why the d-- I stay in hishouse. '

One reason was, perhaps, that it saved him nearly a guinea a day, and hemay have had some other little reasons just then. 

'Family prayers indeed! and such a pair of women--witches, by Jove!--andthat rascally groom, and a hypocritical attorney! And the vulgar brutewill be as rich as Croesus, I dare say. '

Here soliloquised Stanley Lake in that gentleman's ordinary vein. Hismomentary disgust had restored him for a few seconds to his normal self. But certain anxieties of a rather ghastly kind, and speculations as towhat might be going on in London just then, were round him again, likearmed giants, in another moment, and the riches or hypocrisy of his hostwere no more to him than those of Overreach or Tartuffe. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

IN WHICH CAPTAIN LAKE VISITS HIS SISTER'S SICK BED. 

I suspect there are very few mere hypocrites on earth. Of course, I donot reckon those who are under compulsion to affect purity of manners anda holy integrity of heart--and there are such--but those who volunteer anextraordinary profession of holiness, being all the while consciousvillains. The Pharisees, even while devouring widows' houses, believedhonestly in their own supreme righteousness. 

I am afraid our friend Jos. Larkin wore a mask. I am sure he often woreit when he was quite alone. I don't know indeed, that he ever took itoff. He was, perhaps, content to see it, even when he looked in theglass, and had not a very distinct idea what the underlying featuresmight be. It answers with the world; it almost answers with himself. Pityit won't do everywhere! 'When Moses went to speak with God, ' says theadmirable Hall, 'he pulled off his veil. It was good reason he shouldpresent to God that face which he had made. There had been more need ofhis veil to hide the glorious face of God from him than to hide his fromGod. Hypocrites are contrary to Moses. He showed his worst to men, hisbest to God; they show their best to men, their worst to God; but Godsees both their veil and their face, and I know not whether He more hatestheir veil of dissimulation or their face of wickedness. '

Captain Lake wanted rest--sleep--quiet thoughts at all events. When hewas alone he was at once in a state of fever and gloom, and seemed alwayswatching for something. His strange eyes glanced now this way, now that, with a fierce restlessness--now to the window--now to the door--and youwould have said he was listening intently to some indistinct and toodistant conversation affecting him vitally, there was such a look of fearand conjecture always in his face. 

He bolted his door and unlocked his dressing case, and from a littlesilver box in that glittering repository he took, one after the other, two or three little wafers of a dark hue, and placed them successively onhis tongue, and suffered them to melt, and so swallowed them. They werenot liquorice. I am afraid Captain Lake dabbled a little in opium. He wasnot a great adept--yet, at least--like those gentlemen who can swallowfive hundred drops of laudanum at a sitting. But he knew the virtues ofthe drug, and cultivated its acquaintance, and was oftener under itsinfluence than perhaps any mortal, except himself, suspected. 

The greater part of mankind are, upon the whole, happier and morecheerful than they are always willing to allow. Nature subserves themajority. She smiled very brightly next morning. There was a twitteringof small birds among the brown leaves and ivy, and a thousand otherpleasant sounds and sights stirring in the sharp, sunny air. This sort ofinflexible merry-making in nature seems marvellously selfish in the eyesof anxious Captain Lake. Fear hath torment--and fear is the worstingredient in mental pain. This is the reason why suspense is sointolerable, and the retrospect even of the worst less terrible. 

Stanley Lake would have given more than he could well afford that it werethat day week, and he no worse off. Why did time limp so tediously awaywith him, prolonging his anguish gratuitously? He felt truculently, andwould have murdered that week, if he could, in the midst of its loiteringsunshine and gaiety. 

There was a strange pain at his heart, and the pain of intense andfruitless calculation in his brain; and, as the Mahometan prays towardsMecca, and the Jew towards Jerusalem, so Captain Lake's morning orisons, whatsoever they were, were offered at the window of his bed-room towardLondon, from whence he looked for his salvation, or it might be the otherthing--with a dreadful yearning. 

He hated the fresh glitter of that morning scene. Why should the world becheerful? It was a repast spread of which he could not partake, and itspited him. Yes; it was selfish--and hating selfishness--he would havestruck the sun out of the sky that morning with his walking-cane, if hecould, and draped the world in black. 

He saw from his window the good vicar walk smiling by, in white chokerand seedy black, his little boy holding by his fingers, and capering andwheeling in front, and smiling up in his face. They were very busytalking. 

Little 'Fairy' used to walk, when parochial visits were not very distant, with his 'Wapsie;' how that name came about no one remembered, but thevicar answered to it more cheerily than to any other. The little man wassolitary, and these rambles were a delight. A beautiful smiling littlefellow, very exacting of attention--troublesome, perhaps; he was sosociable, and needed sympathy and companionship, and repaid it with aboundless, sensitive _love_. The vicar told him the stories of David andGoliath, and Joseph and his brethren, and of the wondrous birth inBethlehem of Judea, the star that led the Wise Men, and the celestialsong heard by the shepherds keeping their flocks by night, and snatchesof 'Pilgrim's Progress'; and sometimes, when they made a feast and eattheir pennyworth of cherries, sitting on the style, he treated him, I amafraid, to the profane histories of Jack the Giant-killer and the YellowDwarf; the vicar had theories about imagination, and fancied it was animportant faculty, and that the Creator had not given children theirunextinguishable love of stories to no purpose. 

I don't envy the man who is superior to the society of children. What canhe gain from children's talk? Is it witty, or wise, or learned? Be frank. Is it not, honestly, a mere noise and interruption--a musical cackling ofgeese, and silvery braying of tiny asses? Well, say I, out of my largeacquaintance, there are not many men to whom I would go for wisdom;learning is better found in books, and, as for wit, is it alwayspleasant? The most companionable men are not always the greatestintellects. They laugh, and though they don't converse, they make acheerful noise, and show a cheerful countenance. 

There was not a great deal in Will Honeycomb, for instance; but our dearMr. Spectator tells us somewhere that 'he laughed easily, ' which I thinkquite accounts for his acceptance with the club. He was kindly andenjoying. What is it that makes your dog so charming a companion in yourwalks? Simply that he thoroughly likes you and enjoys himself. He appealsimperceptibly to your affections, which cannot be stirred--such is God'swill--ever so lightly, without some little thrillings of happiness; andthrough the subtle absorbents of your sympathy he infuses into yousomething of his own hilarious and exulting spirit. 

When Stanley Lake saw the vicar, the lines of his pale face contractedstrangely, and his wild gaze followed him, and I don't think he breathedonce until the thin smiling man in black, with the little gambollingbright boy holding by his hand, had passed by. He was thinking, you maybe sure, of his Brother Mark. 

When Lake had ended his toilet and stared in the glass, he still lookedso haggard, that on greeting Mr. Larkin in the parlour, he thought itnecessary to mention that he had taken cold in that confoundedbilliard-room last night, which spoiled his sleep, and made him awfullyseedy that morning. Of course, his host was properly afflicted andsympathetic. 

'By-the-bye, I had a letter this morning from that party--our commonfriend, Mr. W. , you know, ' said Larkin, gracefully. 

'Well, what is he doing, and when does he come back? You mean Wylder, ofcourse?'

'Yes; my good client, Mr. Mark Wylder. Permit me to assist you to somehoney, you'll find it remarkably good, I venture to say; it comes fromthe gardens of Queen's Audley. The late marquis, you know, prided himselfon his honey--and my friend, Thornbury, cousin to Sir FrederickThornbury--I suppose you know him--an East Indian judge, you know--verykindly left it at Dollington for me, on his way to the Earl of Epsom's. '

'Thank you--delicious, I'm sure, it has been in such good company. May Isee Wylder's note--that is, if there's no private business?'

'Oh, certainly. '

And, with Wylder's great red seal on the back of the envelope, the letterran thus:--

'DEAR LARKIN, --I write in haste to save post, to say I shall be detainedin town a few days longer than I thought. Don't wait for me about theparchments; I am satisfied. If anything crosses your mind, a word withMr. De C. At the Hall, will clear all up. Have all ready to sign and sealwhen I come back--certainly, within a week. 

'Yours sincerely, 'M. WYLDER, 'London. '

It was evidently written in great haste, with the broad-nibbed pen heliked; but notwithstanding the sort of swagger with which the writingmarched across the page, Lake might have seen here and there a littlequaver--indicative of something different from haste--the vibrations ofanother sort of flurry. 

'"Certainly within a week, " he writes. Does he mean he'll be here in aweek or only to have the papers ready in a week?' asked Lake. 

'The question, certainly, does arise. It struck me on the first perusal, 'answered the attorney. 'His address is rather a wide one, too--London! Doyou know his club, Captain Lake?'

'The _Wanderers_. He has left the _United Service_. Nothing for me, by-the-way?'

'No letter. No. '

'_Tant mieux_, I hate them, ' said the captain. 'I wonder how my sister isthis morning. '

'Would you like a messenger? I'll send down with pleasure to enquire. '

'Thank you, no; I'll walk down and see her. '

And Lake yawned at the window, and then took his hat and stick andsauntered toward Gylingden. At the post-office window he tapped with thesilver tip of his cane, and told Miss Driver with a sleepy smile--

'I'm going down to Redman's Farm, and any letters for my sister, MissLake, I may as well take with me. '

Everybody 'in business' in the town of Gylingden, by this time, knewCaptain Lake and his belongings--a most respectable party--a high man;and, of course, there was no difficulty. There was only one letter--theaddress was written--'Miss Lake, Redman's Farm, near Brandon Park, Gylingden, ' in a stiff hand, rather slanting backwards. 

Captain Lake put it in his paletot pocket, looked in her face gently, andsmiled, and thanked her in his graceful way--and, in fact, left anenduring impression upon that impressible nature. 

Turning up the dark road at Redman's Dell, the gallant captain passed theold mill, and, all being quiet up and down the road, he halted under thelordly shadow of a clump of chestnuts, and opened and read the letter hehad just taken charge of. It contained only these words:--

'Wednesday. 

'On Friday night, next, at half-past twelve. '

This he read twice or thrice, pausing between whiles. The envelope borethe London postmark. Then he took out his cigar case, selected apromising weed, and wrapping the laconic note prettily round one of hisscented matches, lighted it, and the note flamed pale in the daylight, and dropped still blazing, at the root of the old tree he stood by, andsent up a little curl of blue smoke--an incense to the demon of thewood--and turned in a minute more into a black film, overrun by a hundredcreeping sparkles; and having completed his mysterious incremation, he, with his yellow eyes, made a stolen glance around, and lighting hiscigar, glided gracefully up the steep road, under the solemn canopy ofold timber, to the sound of the moaning stream below, and the rustle ofwithered leaves about him, toward Redman's Farm. 

As he entered the flower-garden, the jaundiced face of old Tamar, withits thousand small wrinkles and its ominous gleam of suspicion, waslooking out from the darkened porch. The white cap, kerchief, anddrapery, courtesied to him as he drew near, and the dismal face changednot. 

'Well, Tamar, how do you do?--how are all? Where is that girl Margery?'

'In the kitchen, Master Stanley, ' said she, courtesying again. 

'Are you sure?' said Captain Lake, peeping toward that apartment over theold woman's shoulder. 

'Certain sure, Master Stanley. '

'Well, come up stairs to your mistress's room, ' said Lake, mounting thestairs, with his hat in his hand, and on tip-toe, like a man approachinga sick chamber. 

There was something I think grim and spectral in this ceremonious ascentto the empty chamber. Children had once occupied that silent floor forthere was a little balustraded gate across the top of the staircase. 

'I keep this closed, ' said old Tamar, 'and forbid her to cross it, lestshe should disturb the mistress. Heaven forgive me!'

'Very good, ' he whispered, and he peeped over the banister, and thenentered Rachel's silent room, darkened with closed shutters, the whitecurtains and white coverlet so like 'the dark chamber of white death. '

He had intended speaking to Tamar there, but changed his mind, or rathercould not make up his mind; and he loitered silently, and stood with thecurtain in his gloved hand, looking upon the cold coverlet, as if Rachellay dead there. 

'That will do, ' he said, awaking from his wandering thought. 'We'll godown now, Tamar. '

And in the same stealthy way, walking lightly and slowly, down the stairsthey went, and Stanley entered the kitchen. 

'How do you do, Margery? You'll be glad to hear your mistress is better. You must run down to the town, though, and buy some jelly, and you are tobring her back change of this. '

And he placed half-a-crown in her hand. 

'Put on your bonnet and my old shawl, child; and take the basket, andcome back by the side door, ' croaked old Tamar. 

So the girl dried her hands--she was washing the teacups--and in atwinkling was equipped and on her way to Gylingden. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

IN WHICH CAPTAIN LAKE MEETS A FRIEND NEAR THE WHITE HOUSE. 

Lake had no very high opinion of men or women, gentle or simple. 

'She listens, I dare say, the little spy, ' said he. 

'No, Master Stanley! She's a good little girl. '

'She quite believes her mistress is up stairs, eh?'

'Yes; the Lord forgive me--I'm deceiving her. '

He did not like the tone and look which accompanied this. 

'Now, my good old Tamar, you really can't be such an idiot as to fancythere can be any imaginable wrong in keeping that prying little slut inignorance of that which in no wise concerns her. This is a criticalmatter, do you see, and if it were known in this place that your youngmistress had gone away as she has done--though quite innocently--upon myhonour--I think it would blast her. You would not like, for a stupidcrotchet, to ruin poor Radie, I fancy. '

'I'm doing just what you both bid me, ' said the old woman. 

'You sit up stairs chiefly?'

She nodded sadly. 

'And keep the hall door shut and bolted?'

Again she nodded. 

'I'm going up to the Hall, and I'll tell them she's much better, and thatI've been in her room, and that, perhaps, she may go up to see them inthe morning. '

Old Tamar shook her head and groaned. 

'How long is all this to go on for, Master Stanley?'

'Why, d-- you, Tamar, can't you listen?' he said, clutching her wrist inhis lavender kid grasp rather roughly. 'How long--a very short time, Itell you. She'll be home immediately. I'll come to-morrow and tell youexactly--maybe to-morrow evening--will that do? And should they call, youmust say the same; and if Miss Dorcas, Miss Brandon, you know--shouldwish to go up to see her, tell her she's asleep. Stop that hypocriticalgrimacing, will you. It is no part of your duty to tell the world whatcan't possibly concern them, and may bring your young mistressto--_perdition_. That does not strike me as any part of your religion. '

Tamar groaned again, and she said: 'I opened my Bible, Lord help me, three times to-day, Master Stanley, and could not go on. It's no use--Ican't read it. '

'Time enough--I think you've read more than is good for you. I think youare half mad, Tamar; but think what you may, it must be done. Have notyou read of straining at gnats and swallowing camels? You used not, I'veheard, to be always so scrupulous, old Tamar. '

There was a vile sarcasm in his tone and look. 

'It is not for the child I nursed to say that, ' said Tamar. 

There were scandalous stories of wicked old Tiberius--bankrupt, dead, andburied--compromising the fame of Tamar--not always a spectacled andcadaverous student of Holy Writ. These, indeed, were even in Stanley'schildhood old-world, hazy, traditions of the servants' hall. But boyshear often more than is good, and more than gospel, who live in suchhouses as old General Lake, the old millionaire widower, kept. 

'I did not mean anything, upon my honour, Tamar, that could annoy you. Ionly meant you used not to be a fool, and pray don't begin now; for Iassure you Radie and I would not ask it if it could be avoided. You haveMiss Radie's secret in your hands, I don't think you'd like to injureher, and you used to be trustworthy. I don't think your Bible teaches youanywhere to hurt your neighbour and to break faith. '

'Don't speak of the Bible now; but you needn't fear me, Master Stanley, 'answered the old woman, a little sternly. 'I don't know why she's gone, nor why it's a secret--I don't, and I'd rather not. Poor Miss Radie, shenever heard anything but what was good from old Tamar, whatever I mightha' bin myself, miserable sinners are we all; and I'll do as you bid me, and I _have_ done, Master Stanley, howsoever it troubles my mind;' andnow old Tamar's words spoke--that's all. 

'Old Tamar is a sensible creature, as she always was. I hope I did notvex you, Tamar. I did not mean, I assure you; but we get rough ways inthe army, I'm afraid, and you won't mind me. You never _did_ mind littleStannie when he was naughty, you know. '

There was here a little subsidence in his speech. He was thinking ofgiving her a crown, but there were several reasons against it, so thathandsome coin remained in his purse. 

'And I forgot to tell you, Tamar, I've a ring for you in town--a littlesouvenir; you'll think it pretty--a gold ring, with a stone in it--itbelonged to poor dear Aunt Jemima, you remember. I left it behind; sostupid!'

So he shook hands with old Tamar, and patted her affectionately on theshoulder, and he said:--

'Keep the hall-door bolted. Make any excuse you like: only it would notdo for anyone to open it, and run up to the room as they might, so don'tforget to secure the door when I go. I think that is all. Ta-ta, dearTamar. I'll see you in the morning. '

As he walked down the mill-road toward the town, he met Lord Chelford onhis way to make enquiry about Rachel at Redman's Farm; and Lake, who, aswe know, had just seen his sister, gave him all particulars. 

Chelford, like the lawyer, had heard from Mark Wylder that morning--a fewlines, postponing his return. He merely mentioned it, and made nocomment; but Lake perceived that he was annoyed at his unexplainedabsence. 

Lake dined at Brandon that evening, and though looking ill, was very goodcompany, and promised to bring an early report of Rachel's convalescencein the morning. 

I have little to record of next day, except that Larkin received anotherLondon letter. Wylder plainly wrote in great haste, and merely said:--

'I shall have to wait a day or two longer than I yesterday thought, tomeet a fellow from whom I am to receive something of importance, rather, as I think, to me. Get the deeds ready, as I said in my last. If I am notin Gylingden by Monday, we must put off the wedding for a weeklater--there is no help for it. You need not talk of this. I write toChelford to say the same. '

This note was as unceremonious, and still shorter. Lord Chelford wouldhave written at once to remonstrate with Mark on the unseemliness ofputting off his marriage so capriciously, or, at all events, somysteriously--Miss Brandon not being considered, nor her friendsconsulted. But Mark had a decided objection to many letters: he had nofancy to be worried, when he had made up his mind, by prosyremonstrances; and he shut out the whole tribe of letter-writers bysimply omitting to give them his address. 

His cool impertinence, and especially this cunning precaution, incensedold Lady Chelford. She would have liked to write him one of those terse, courteous, biting notes, for which she was famous; and her fingers, morally, tingled to box his ears. But what was to be done with mere'London?' Wylder was hidden from mortal sight, like a heaven-protectedhero in the 'Iliad, ' and a cloud of invisibility girdled him. 

Like most rustic communities, Gylingden and its neighbourhood were earlyin bed. Few lights burned after half-past ten, and the whole vicinity wasdeep in its slumbers before twelve o'clock. 

At that dread hour, Captain Lake, about a mile on the Dollington, whichwas the old London road from Gylingden, was pacing backward and forwardunder the towering files of beech that overarch it at that point. 

The 'White House' public, with a wide panel over its door, presenting, intints subdued by time, a stage-coach and four horses in mid career, lay afew hundred yards nearer to Gylingden. Not a soul was stirring--not asound but those, sad and soothing, of nature was to be heard. 

Stanley Lake did not like waiting any more than did Louis XIV. He wasreally a little tired of acting sentry, and was very peevish by the timethe ring of wheels and horse-hoofs approaching from the London directionbecame audible. Even so, he had a longer wait than he expected, sounds are heard so far by night. At last, however, it drewnearer--nearer--quite close--and a sort of nondescript vehicle--onehorsed--loomed in the dark, and he calls--

'Hallo! there--I say--a passenger for the "White House?"'

At the same moment, a window of the cab--shall we call it--was let down, and a female voice--Rachel Lake's--called to the driver to stop. 

Lake addressed the driver--

'You come from Johnson's Hotel--don't you--at Dollington?'

'Yes, Sir. '

'Well, I'll pay you half-fare to bring me there. '

'All right, Sir. But the 'oss, Sir, must 'av 'is oats fust. '

'Feed him here, then. They are all asleep in the "White House. " I'll bewith you in five minutes, and you shall have something for yourself whenwe get into Dollington. '

Stanley opened the door. She placed her hand on his, and stepped to theground. It was very dark under those great trees. He held her hand alittle harder than was his wont. 

'All quite well, ever since. You are not very tired, are you? I'm afraidit will be necessary for you to walk to "Redman's Farm, " dear Radie--butit is hardly a mile, I think--for, you see, the fellow must not know whoyou are; and I must go back with him, for I have not been verywell--indeed I've been, I may say, very ill--and I told that fellow, Larkin, who has his eyes about him, and would wonder what kept me out solate, that I would run down to some of the places near for a change, andsleep a night there; and that's the reason, dear Radie, I can walk only ashort way with you; but you are not afraid to walk a part of the way homewithout me? You are so sensible, and you have been, really, so very kind, I assure you I appreciate it, Radie--I do, indeed; and I'm verygrateful--I am, upon my word. '

Rachel answered with a heavy sigh. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

HOW RACHEL SLEPT THAT NIGHT IN REDMAN'S FARM. 

'Allow me--pray do, ' and he took her little bag from her hand. 'I hopeyou are not very tired, darling; you've been so very good; and you're notafraid--you know the place is so quiet--of the little walk by yourself. Take my arm; I'll go as far as I can, but it is very late you know--andyou are sure you are not afraid?'

'I ought to be afraid of nothing now, Stanley, but I think I am afraid ofeverything. '

'Merely a little nervous--it's nothing--I've been wretchedly since, myself; but, I'm so glad you are home again; you shall have no moretrouble, I assure you; and not a creature suspects you have been fromhome. Old Tamar has behaved admirably. '

Rachel sighed again and said--

'Yes--poor Tamar. '

'And now, dear, I'm afraid I must leave you--I'm very sorry; but you seehow it is; keep to the shady side, close by the hedge, where the treesstop; but I'm certain you will meet no one. Tamar will tell you who hascalled--hardly anyone--I saw them myself every day at Brandon, and toldthem you were ill. You've been very kind, Radie; I assure you I'll neverforget it. You'll find Tamar up and watching for you--I arranged allthat; and I need not say you'll be very careful not to let that girl ofyours hear anything. You'll be very quiet--she suspects nothing; and Iassure you, so far as personal annoyance of any kind is concerned, youmay be perfectly at ease. Good-night, Radie; God bless you, dear. I wishvery much I could see you all the way, but there's a risk in it, youknow. Good-night, dear Radie. By-the-bye, here's your bag; I'll take therug, it's too heavy for you, and I may as well have it to Dollington. '

He kissed her cheek in his slight way, and left her, and was soon on hisway to Dollington, where he slept that night--rather more comfortablythan he had done since Rachel's departure. 

Rachel walked on swiftly. Very tired, but not at all sleepy--on thecontrary, excited and nervous, and rather relieved, notwithstanding thatStanley had left her to walk home alone. 

It seemed to her that more than a month had passed since she saw themill-road last. How much had happened! how awful was the change! Familiarobjects glided past her, the same, yet the fashion of the countenance wasaltered; there was something estranged and threatening. 

The pretty parsonage was now close by: in the dews of night the spirit ofpeace and slumbers smiled over it; but the sight of its steep roof andhomely chimney-stacks smote with a shock at her brain and heart--atroubled moan escaped her. She looked up with the instinct of prayer, andclasped her hands on the handle of that little bag which had made themysterious journey with her; a load which no man could lift lay upon herheart. 

Then she commenced her dark walk up the mill-road--her hands stillclasped, her lips moving in broken appeals to Heaven. She looked neitherto the right nor to the left, but passed on with inflexible gaze andhasty steps, like one who crosses a plank over some awful chasm. 

In such darkness Redman's dell was a solemn, not to say an awful, spot;and at any time, I think, Rachel, in a like solitude and darkness, wouldhave been glad to see the red glimmer of old Tamar's candle proclaimingunder the branches the neighbourhood of human life and sympathy. 

The old woman, with her shawl over her head, sat listening for her youngmistress's approach, on the little side bench in the trellised porch, andtottered hastily forth to meet her at the garden wicket, whisperingforlorn welcomes, and thanksgivings, which Rachel answered only with akiss. 

Safe, safe at home! Thank Heaven at least for that. Secluded oncemore--hidden in Redman's Dell; but never again to be the same--thecareless mind no more. The summer sunshine through the trees, the leafysongs of birds, obscured in the smoke and drowned in the discord of anuntold and everlasting trouble. 

The hall-door was now shut and bolted. Wise old Tamar had turned the keyupon the sleeping girl. There was nothing to be feared from prying eyesand listening ears. 

'You are cold, Miss Radie, and tired--poor thing! I lit a bit of fire inyour room, Miss; would you like me to go up stairs with you, Miss?'

'Come. '

And so up stairs they went; and the young lady looked round with astrange anxiety, like a person seeking for something, and forgettingwhat; and, sitting down, she leaned her head on her hand with a moan, theliving picture of despair. 

'You've a headache, Miss Radie?' said the old woman, standing by her withthat painful enquiry which sat naturally on her face. 

'A heartache, Tamar. '

'Let me help you off with these things, Miss Radie, dear. '

The young lady did not seem to hear, but she allowed Tamar to remove hercloak and hat and handkerchief. 

The old servant had placed the tea-things on the table, and what remainedof that wine of which Stanley had partaken on the night from which theeclipse of Rachel's life dated. So, without troubling her with questions, she made tea, and then some negus, with careful and trembling hands. 

'No, ' said Rachel, a little pettishly, and put it aside. 

'See now, Miss Radie, dear. You look awful sick and tired. You are tiredto death and pale, and sorry, my dear child; and to please old Tamar, you'll just drink this. '

'Thank you, Tamar, I believe you are right. '

The truth was she needed it; and in the same dejected way she sipped itslowly; and then there was a long silence--the silence of a fatigue, likethat of fever, near which sleep refuses to come. But she sat in thatwaking lethargy in which are sluggish dreams of horror, and neither eyesnor ears for that which is before us. 

When at last with another great sigh she lifted her head, her eyes restedon old Tamar's face, at the other side of the fire-place, with a dark, dull surprise and puzzle for a moment, as if she could not tell why shewas there, or where the place was; and then rising up, with piteous lookin her old nurse's face, she said, 'Oh! Tamar, Tamar. It is a dreadfulworld. '

'So it is, Miss Radie, ' answered the old woman, her glittering eyesreturning her sad gaze wofully. 'Aye, so it is, sure!--and such it wasand will be. For so the Scripture says--"Cursed is the ground for thysake"--hard to the body--a vale of tears--dark to the spirit. But it isthe hand of God that is upon you, and, like me, you will say at last, "Itis good for me that I have been in trouble. " Lie down, dear Miss Radie, and I'll read to you the blessed words of comfort that have been sealedfor me ever since I saw you last. They have--but that's over. '

And she turned up her pallid, puckered face, and, with a trembling andknotted pair of hands uplifted, she muttered an awful thanksgiving. 

Rachel said nothing, but her eyes rested on the floor, and, with thequiet obedience of her early childhood, she did as Tamar said. And theold woman assisted her to undress, and so she lay down with a sigh in herbed. And Tamar, her round spectacles by this time on her nose, sitting atthe little table by her pillow, read, in a solemn and somewhat quaveringvoice, such comfortable passages as came first to memory. 

Rachel cried quietly as she listened, and at last, worn out by manyfeverish nights, and the fatigues of her journey, she fell into adisturbed slumber, with many startings and sudden wakings, with cries andstrange excitement. 

Old Tamar would not leave her, but kept her seat in the high-backedarm-chair throughout the night, like a nurse--as indeed she was--in asick chamber. And so that weary night limped tediously away, and morningdawned, and tipped the discoloured foliage of the glen with its glow, awaking the songs of all the birds, and dispersing the white mists ofdarkness. And Rachel with a start awoke, and sat up with a wild look anda cry--

'What is it?'

'Nothing, dear Miss Radie--only poor old Tamar. ' And a new day had begun. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

DORCAS BRANDON PAYS RACHEL A VISIT. 

It was not very much past eleven that morning when the pony carriage fromBrandon drew up before the little garden wicket of Redman's Farm. 

The servant held the ponies' heads, and Miss Dorcas passed through thelittle garden, and met old Tamar in the porch. 

'Better to-day, Tamar?' enquired this grand and beautiful young lady. 

The sun glimmered through the boughs behind her; her face was in shade, and its delicate chiselling was brought out in soft reflected lights; andold Tamar looked on her in a sort of wonder, her beauty seemed socelestial and splendid. 

Well, she _was_ better, though she had had a bad night. She was up anddressed, and this moment coming down, and would be very happy to see MissBrandon, if she would step into the drawing-room. 

Miss Brandon took old Tamar's hand gently and pressed it. I suppose shewas glad and took this way of showing it; and tall, beautiful, graceful, in rustling silks, she glided into the tiny drawing-room silently, andsate down softly by the window, looking out upon the flowers and thefalling leaves, mottled in light and shadow. 

We have been accustomed to see another girl--bright and fair-hairedRachel Lake--in the small rooms of Redman's Farm; but Dorcas only in richand stately Brandon Hall--the beautiful 'genius loci' under loftyceilings, curiously moulded in the first James's style--amid carved oakand richest draperies, tall china vases, paintings, and cold whitestatues; and somehow in this low-roofed room, so small and homely, shelooks like a displaced divinity--an exile under Juno's jealousy from thecloudy splendours of Olympus--dazzlingly melancholy, and 'humano major'among the meannesses and trumperies of earth. 

So there came a step and a little rustling of feminine draperies, thesmall door opened, and Rachel entered, with her hand extended, and a palesmile of welcome. 

Women can hide their pain better than we men, and bear it better, too, except when _shame_ drops fire into the dreadful chalice. But poor RachelLake had more than that stoical hypocrisy which enables the torturedspirits of her sex to lift a pale face through the flames and smile. 

She was sanguine, she was genial and companionable, and her spirits roseat the sight of a friendly face. This transient spring and lighting upare beautiful--a glamour beguiling our senses. It wakens up the frozenspirit of enjoyment, and leads the sad faculties forth on a wildforgetful frolic. 

'Rachel, dear, I'm so glad to see you, ' said Dorcas, placing her armsgently about her neck, and kissing her twice or thrice. There wassomething of sweetness and fondness in her tones and manner, which wasnew to Rachel, and comforting, and she returned the greeting as kindly, and felt more like her former self. 'You have been more ill than Ithought, darling, and you are still far from quite recovered. '

Rachel's pale and sharpened features and dilated eye struck her with apainful surprise. 

'I shall soon be as well as I am ever likely to be--that is, quite well, 'answered Rachel. 'You have been very kind. I've heard of your cominghere, and sending, so often. '

They sat down side by side, and Dorcas held her hand. 

'Maybe, Rachel dear, you would like to drive a little?'

'No, darling, not yet; it is very good of you. '

'You have been so ill, my poor Rachel. '

'Ill and troubled, dear--troubled in mind, and miserably nervous. '

Poor Rachel! her nature recoiled from deceit, and she told, at allevents, as much of the truth as she dared. 

Dorcas's large eyes rested upon her with a grave enquiry, and then MissBrandon looked down in silence for a while on the carpet, and wasthinking a little sternly, maybe, and with a look of pain, still holdingRachel's hand, she said, with a sad sort of reproach in her tone, 'Rachel, dear, you have not told my secret?'

'No, indeed, Dorcas--never, and never will; and I think, though I havelearned to fear death, I would rather die than let Stanley even suspectit. '

She spoke with a sudden energy, which partook of fear and passion, andflushed her thin cheek, and made her languid eyes flash. 

'Thank you, Rachel, my Cousin Rachel, my only friend. I ought not to havedoubted you, ' and she kissed her again. 'Chelford had a note from Mr. Wylder this morning--another note--his coming delayed, and something ofhis having to see some person who is abroad, ' continued Dorcas, after alittle pause. 'You have heard, of course, of Mr. Wylder's absence?'

'Yes, something--_everything_, ' said Rachel, hurriedly, lookingfrowningly at a flower which she was twirling in her fingers. 

'He chose an unlucky moment for his departure. I meant to speak to himand end all between us; and I would now write, but there is no address tohis letters. I think Lady Chelford and her son begin to think there ismore in this oddly-timed journey of Mr. Wylder's than first appeared. When I came into the parlour this morning I knew they were speaking ofit. If he does not return in a day or two, Chelford, I am sure, willspeak to me, and then I shall tell him my resolution. '

'Yes, ' said Rachel. 

'I don't understand his absence. I think _they_ are puzzled, too. Can youconjecture why he is gone?'

Rachel made no answer, but rose with a dreamy look, as if gazing at somedistant object among the dark masses of forest trees, and stood beforethe window so looking across the tiny garden. 

'I don't think, Rachel dear, you heard me?' said Dorcas. 

'Can I conjecture why he is gone?' murmured Rachel, still gazing with awild kind of apathy into distance. 'Can I? What can it now be to you orme--why? Yes, we sometimes conjecture right, and sometimes wrong; thereare many things best not conjectured about at all--some interesting, someabominable, some that pass all comprehension: I never mean to conjecture, if I can help it, again. '

And the wan oracle having spoken, she sate down in the same sort ofabstraction again beside Dorcas, and she looked full in her cousin'seyes. 

'I made you a voluntary promise, Dorcas, and now you will make me one. OfMark Wylder I say this: his name has been for years hateful to me, andrecently it has become frightful; and you will promise me simply this, that you will never ask me to speak again about him. Be he near, or be hefar, I regard his very name with horror. '

Dorcas returned her gaze with one of haughty amazement; and Rachel said, 'Well, Dorcas, you promise?'

'You speak truly, Rachel, you _have_ a right to my promise: I give it. '

'Dorcas, you are changed; have I lost your love for asking so poor akindness?'

'I'm only disappointed, Rachel; I thought you would have trusted me, as Idid you. '

'It is an antipathy--an antipathy I cannot get over, dear Dorcas; you maythink it a madness, but don't blame me. Remember I am neither well norhappy, and forgive what you cannot like in me. I have very few to love menow, and I thought you might love me, as I have begun to love you. Oh!Dorcas, darling, don't forsake me; I am very lonely here and my spiritsare gone and I never needed kindness so much before. '

And she threw her arms round her cousin's neck, and brave Rachel at lastburst into tears. 

Dorcas, in her strange way, was moved. 

'I like you still, Rachel; I'm sure I'll always like you. You resembleme, Rachel: you are fearless and inflexible and generous. That spiritbelongs to the blood of our strange race; all our women were so. Yes, Rachel, I do love you. I was wounded to find you had thoughts you wouldnot trust to me; but I have made the promise, and I'll keep it; and Ilove you all the same. '

'Thank you, Dorcas, dear. I like to call you cousin--kindred is sopleasant. Thank you, from my heart, for your love; you will never know, perhaps, how much it is to me. '

The young queen looked on her kindly, but sadly, through her large, strange eyes, clouded with a presage of futurity, and she kissed heragain, and said--

'Rachel, dear, I have a plan for you and me: we shall be old maids, youand I, and live together like the ladies of Llangollen, careless andhappy recluses. I'll let Brandon and abdicate. We will make a little tourtogether, when all this shall have blown over, in a few weeks, and chooseour retreat; and with the winter's snow we'll vanish from Brandon, andappear with the early flowers at our cottage among the beautiful woodsand hills of Wales. Will you come, Rachel?'

At sight of this castle or cottage in the air, Rachel lighted up. Thelittle whim had something tranquillising and balmy. It was escape--flightfrom Gylingden--flight from Brandon--flight from Redman's Farm: they andall their hated associations would be far behind, and that awful page inher story, not torn out, indeed, but gummed down as it were, and nolonger glaring and glowering in her eyes every moment of her waking life. 

So she smiled upon the picture painted on the clouds; it was the firstthing that had interested her for days. It was a hope. She seized it; sheclung to it. She knew, perhaps, it was the merest chimera; but it restedand consoled her imagination, and opened, in the blackness of her sky, one small vista, through whose silvery edge the blue and stars of heavenwere visible. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

CAPTAIN LAKE LOOKS IN AT NIGHTFALL. 

In the queer little drawing-room of Redman's Farm it was twilight, sodense were the shadows from the great old chestnuts that surrounded it, before the sun was well beneath the horizon; and you could, from itsdarkened window, see its red beams still tinting the high grounds ofWillerston, visible through the stems of the old trees that were massedin the near foreground. 

A figure which had lost its energy--a face stamped with the lines andpallor of a dejection almost guilty--with something of the fallen graceand beauty of poor Margaret, as we see her with her forehead leaning onher slender hand, by the stirless spinning-wheel--the image of a strangeand ineffaceable sorrow, sat Rachel Lake. 

Tamar might glide in and out; her mistress did not speak; the shadowsdeepened round her, but she did look up, nor call, in the old cheerfulaccents, for lights. No more roulades and ringing chords from thepiano--no more clear spirited tones of the lady's voice sounded throughthe low ceilings of Redman's Farm, and thrilled with a haunting melodythe deserted glen, wherein the birds had ended their vesper songs andgone to rest. 

A step was heard at the threshold--it entered the hall; the door of thelittle chamber opened, and Stanley Lake entered, saying in a doubtful, almost timid way--

'It is I, Radie, come to thank you, and just to ask you how you do, andto say I'll never forget your kindness; upon my honour, I never can. '

Rachel shuddered as the door opened, and there was a ghastly sort ofexpectation in her look. Imperfectly as it was seen, he could understandit. She did not bid him welcome or even speak. There was a silence. 

'Now, you're not angry with me, Radie dear; I venture to say I suffermore than you: and how could I have anticipated the strange turn thingshave taken? You know how it all came about, and you must see I'm notreally to blame, at least in intention, for all this miserable trouble;and even if I were, where's the good in angry feeling or reproaches now, don't you see, when I can't mend it? Come, Radie, let by-gones beby-gones. There's a good girl; won't you?'

'Aye, by-gones are by-gones; the past is, indeed, immutable, and thefuture is equally fixed, and more dreadful. '

'Come, Radie; a clever girl like you can make your own future. '

'And what do you want of me now?' she asked, with a fierce cold stare. 

'But I did not say I wanted anything. '

'Of course you do, or I should not have seen you. Mark me though, I'll gono further in the long route of wickedness you seem to have marked outfor me. I'm sacrificed, it is true, but I won't renew my hourly horrors, and live under the rule of your diabolical selfishness. '

'Say what you will, but keep your temper--will you?' he answered, morelike his angry self. But he checked the rising devil within him, andchanged his tone; he did not want to quarrel--quite the reverse. 

'I don't know really, Radie, why you should talk as you do. I don't wantyou to do anything--upon my honour I don't--only just to exercise yourcommon sense--and you have lots of sense, Radie. Don't you think peoplehave eyes to see, and ears and tongues in this part of the world? Don'tyou know very well, in a small place like this, they are all alive withcuriosity? and if you choose to make such a tragedy figure, and keepmoping and crying, and all that sort of thing, and look so _funeste_ andmiserable, you'll be sure to fix attention and set the whole d--d placespeculating and gossiping? and really, Radie, you're making mountains ofmole-hills. It is because you live so solitary here, and it _is_ such agloomy out-o'-the-way spot--so awfully dark and damp, nobody _could_ bewell here, and you really must change. It is the very temple ofblue-devilry, and I assure you if I lived as you do I'd cut my throatbefore a month--you _mustn't_. And old Tamar, you know, such a figure!The very priestess of despair. She gives me the horrors, I assure you, whenever I look at her; you must not keep her, she's of no earthly use, poor old thing; and, you know, Radie, we're not rich enough--you andI--to support other people. You must really place yourself morecheerfully, and I'll speak to Chelford about Tamar. There's a very niceplace--an asylum, or something, for old women--near--(Dollington he wasgoing to say, but the associations were not pleasant)--near some of thoselittle towns close to this, and he's a visitor, or governor, or whateverthey call it. It is really not fair to expect you or me to keep peoplelike that. '

'She has not cost you much hitherto, Stanley, and she will give you verylittle trouble hereafter. I won't part with Tamar. '

'She has not cost me much?' said Lake, whose temper was not of a kind topass by anything. 'No; of course, she has not. _I_ can't afford a guinea. You're poor enough; but in proportion to my expenses--a woman, of course, can live on less than half what a man can--I'm a great deal poorer thanyou; and I never said I gave her sixpence--did I? I have not got it togive, and I don't think she's fool enough to expect it; and, to say thetruth, I don't care. I only advise you. There are some cheerful littlecottages near the green, in Gylingden, and I venture to think, this isone of the very gloomiest and most uncomfortable places you could haveselected to live in. '

Rachel looked drearily toward the window and sighed--it was almost agroan. 

'It was cheerful always till this frightful week changed everything. Oh!why, why, why did you ever come?' She threw back her pale face, bitingher lip, and even in that deepening gloom her small pearly teethglimmered white; and then she burst into sobs and an agony of tears. 

Captain Lake knew something of feminine paroxysms. Rachel was not givento hysterics. He knew this burst of anguish was unaffected. He was ratherglad of it. When it was over he expected clearer weather and a calm. Sohe waited, saying now and then a soothing word or two. 

'There--there--there, Radie--there's a good girl. Nevermind--there--there. ' And between whiles his mind, which, in truth, had agood deal upon it, would wander and pursue its dismal and perplexedexplorations, to the unheard accompaniment of her sobs. 

He went to the door, but it was not to call for water, or for old Tamar. On the contrary, it was to observe whether she or the girl was listening. But the house, though small, was built with thick partition walls, andsounds were well enclosed in the rooms to which they belonged. 

With Rachel this weakness did not last long. It was a gust--violent--soonover; and the 'o'er-charged' heart and brain were relieved. And shepushed open the window, and stood for a moment in the chill air, andsighed, and whispered a word or two over the closing flowers of herlittle garden toward the darkening glen, and with another great sighclosed the window, and returned. 

'Can I do anything, Radie? You're better now. I knew you would be. ShallI get some water from your room?'

'No, Stanley; no, thank you. I'm very well now, ' she said, gently. 

'Yes, I think so. I knew you'd be better. ' And he patted her shoulderwith his soft hand; and then followed a short silence. 

'I wish you were more pleasantly lodged, Radie; but we can speak of thatanother time. '

'Yes--you're right. This place is dreadful, and its darkness dreadful;but light is still more dreadful now, and I think I'll change; but, asyou say, there is time enough to think of all that. '

'Quite so--time enough. By-the-bye, Radie, you mentioned our old servant, whom my father thought so highly of--Jim Dutton--the other evening. I'vebeen thinking of him, do you know, and I should like to find him out. Hewas a very honest fellow, and attached, and a clever fellow, too, myfather thought; and _he_ was a good judge. Hadn't you a letter from hismother lately? You told me so, I think; and if it is not too muchtrouble, dear Radie, would you allow me to see it?'

Rachel opened her desk, and silently selected one of those clumsy andoriginal missives, directed in a staggering, round hand, on paper oddlyshaped and thick, such as mixes not naturally with the aristocraticfabric, on which crests and ciphers are impressed, and placed it in herbrother's hand. 

'But you can't read it without light, ' said Rachel. 

'No; but there's no hurry. Does she say where she is staying, or herson?'

'Both, I think, ' answered Rachel, languidly; 'but he'll never make aservant for you--he's a rough creature, she says, and was a groom. Youcan't remember him, nor I either. '

'Perhaps--very likely;' and he put the letter in his pocket. 

'I was thinking, Rachel, you could advise me, if you would, you are soclever, you know. '

'Advise!' said Rachel, softly; but with a wild and bitter rage ringingunder it. 'I did advise when it was yet time to profit by advice. I boundyou even by a promise to take it, but you know how it ended. You don'twant my advice. '

'But really I do, Radie. I quite allow I was wrong--worse than wrong--butwhere is the use of attacking me now, when I'm in this dreadful fix? Itook a wrong step; and what I now have to do is to guard myself, ifpossible, from what I'm threatened with. '

She fancied she saw his pale face grow more bloodless, even in the shadowwhere he sat. 

'I know you too well, Stanley. You want _no_ advice. You never tookadvice--you never will. Your desperate and ingrained perversity hasruined us both. '

'I wish you'd let me know my own mind. I say I do--(and he uttered anunpleasant exclamation). Do you think I'll leave matters to take theircourse, and sit down here to be destroyed? I'm no such idiot. I tell youI'll leave no stone unturned to save myself; and, in some measure, _you_too, Radie. You don't seem to comprehend the tremendous misfortune thatmenaces me--_us_--_you_ and me. '

And he cursed Mark Wylder with a gasp of hatred not easily expressed. 

She winced at the name, and brushed her hand to her ear. 

'Don't--don't--_don't_, ' she said, vehemently. 

'Well, what the devil do you mean by refusing to help me, even with ahint? I say--I _know_--all the odds are against us. It is sometimes along game; but unless I'm sharp, I can't escape what's coming. I_can't_--you can't--sooner or later. It is in motion already--d--him--it's coming, and you expect me to do everything alone. '

'I repeat it, Stanley, ' said Rachel, with a fierce cynicism in her lowtones, 'you don't want advice; you have formed your plan, whatever it is, and that plan you will follow, and no other, though men and angels wereunited to dissuade you. '

There was a pause here, and a silence for a good many seconds. 

'Well, perhaps, I _have_ formed an outline of a plan, and it strikes meas very well I have--for I don't think you are likely to take thattrouble. I only want to explain it, and get your advice, and any littleassistance you can give me; and surely that is not unreasonable?'

'I have learned one secret, and am exposed to one danger. I havetaken--to save you--it may be only a _respite_--one step, the remembranceof which is insupportable. But I was passive. I am fallen from light intodarkness. There ends my share in your confidence and your fortunes. Iwill know no more secrets--no more disgrace; do what you will, you shallnever use me again. '

'Suppose these heroics of yours, Miss Radie, should contribute to bringabout--to bring about the worst, ' said Stanley, with a sneer, throughwhich his voice trembled. 

'Let it come--my resolution is taken. '

Stanley walked to the window, and in his easy way, as he would across adrawing-room to stand by a piano, and he looked out upon the trees, whosetops stood motionless against the darkened sky, like masses of ruins. Then he came back as gently as he had gone, and stood beside his sister;she could not see his yellow eyes now as he stood with his back to thewindow. 

'Well, Radie, dear--you have put your hand to the plough, and you sha'n'tturn back now. '

'What?'

'No--you sha'n't turn back now. '

'You seem, Sir, to fancy that I have no right to choose for myself, ' saidMiss Rachel, spiritedly. 

'Now, Radie, you must be reasonable--who have I to advise with?'

'Not me, Stanley--keep your plots and your secrets to yourself. In theguilty path you have opened for me one step more I will never tread. '

'Excuse me, Radie, but you're talking like a fool. '

'I am not sorry you think so--you can't understand motives higher thanyour own. '

'You'll see that you must, though. You'll see it in a little while. Self-preservation, dear Radie, is the first law of nature. '

'For yourself, Stanley; and for _me_, self-sacrifice, ' she retorted, bitterly. 

'Well, Radie, I may as well tell you one thing that I'm resolved to carryout, ' said Lake, with a dreamy serenity, looking on the dark carpet. 

'I'll hear no secret, Stanley. '

'It can't be long a secret, at least from you--you can't help knowingit, ' he drawled gently. 'Do you recollect, Radie, what I said thatmorning when I first called here, and saw you?'

'Perhaps I do, but I don't know what you mean, ' answered she. 

'I said, Mark Wylder----'

'Don't name him, ' she said, rising and approaching him swiftly. 

'I said _he_ should go abroad, and so he shall, ' said Lake, in a very lowtone, with a grim oath. 

'Why do you talk that way? You terrify me, ' said Rachel, with one handraised toward his face with a gesture of horror and entreaty, and theother closed upon his wrist. 

'I say he _shall_, Radie. '

'Has he lost his wits? I can't comprehend you--you frighten me, Stanley. You're talking wildly on purpose, I believe, to terrify me. You know thestate I'm in--sleepless--half wild--all alone here. You're talking like amaniac. It's cruel--it's cowardly. '

'I mean to _do_ it--you'll see. '

Suddenly she hurried by him, and in a moment was in the little kitchen, with its fire and candle burning cheerily. Stanley Lake was at hershoulder as she entered, and both were white with agitation. 

Old Tamar rose up affrighted, her stiff arms raised, and uttered ablessing. She did not know what to make of it. Rachel sat down upon oneof the kitchen chairs, scarce knowing what she did, and Stanley Lakehalted near the threshold--gazing for a moment as wildly as she, with theghost of his sly smile on his smooth, cadaverous face. 

'What ails her--is she ill, Master Stanley?' asked the old woman, returning with her white eyes the young man's strange yellow glare. 

'I--I don't know--maybe--give her some water, ' said Lake. 

'Glass of water--quick, child, ' cried old Tamar to Margery. 

'Put it on the table, ' said Rachel, collected now, but pale and somewhatstern. 

'And now, Stanley, dear, ' said she, for just then she was past caring forthe presence of the servants, 'I hope we understand one another--atleast, that you do me. If not, it is not for want of distinctness on mypart; and I think you had better leave me for the present, for, to saytruth, I do not feel very well. '

'Good-night, Radie--good-night, old Tamar. I hope, Radie, you'll bebetter--every way--when next I see you. Good-night. '

He spoke in his usual clear low tones, and his queer ambiguous smile wasthere still; and, hat in hand, with his cane in his fingers, he madeanother glance and a nod over his shoulder, at the threshold, and thenglided forth into the little garden, and so to the mill-road, down which, at a swift pace, he walked towards the village. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

CAPTAIN LAKE FOLLOWS TO LONDON. 

Wylder's levanting in this way was singularly disconcerting. The time wasgrowing short. He wrote with a stupid good-humour, and an insolentbrevity which took no account of Miss Brandon's position, or that (thoughsecondary in awkwardness) of her noble relatives. Lord Chelford plainlythought more than he cared to say; and his mother, who never mincedmatters, said perhaps more than she quite thought. 

Chelford was to give the beautiful heiress away. But the receiver of thisrich and peerless gift--like some mysterious knight who, having carriedall before him in the tourney, vanishes no one knows whither, when theprize is about to be bestowed, and whom the summons of the herald and thecall of the trumpet follow in vain--had escaped them. 

'Lake has gone up to town this morning--some business with his bankerabout his commission--and he says he will make Wylder out on his arrival, and write to me, ' said Lord Chelford. 

Old Lady Chelford glanced across her shoulder at Dorcas, who leaned backin a great chair by the window, listlessly turning over a book. 

'She's a strange girl, she does not seem to feel her situation--a mostpainful and critical one. That low, coarse creature must be looked upsomehow. '

'Lake knows where he is likely to be found, and will see him, I dare say, this evening--perhaps in time to write by to-night's post. '

So, in a quiet key, Miss Dorcas being at a distance, though in the sameroom, the dowager and her son discussed this unpleasant and very nervoustopic. 

That evening Captain Lake was in London, comfortably quartered in aprivate hotel, in one of the streets off Piccadilly. He went to his cluband dined better than he had done for many days. He really enjoyed histhree little courses--his pint of claret, his cup of _cafè noir_, and his_chasse;_ the great Babylon was his Jerusalem, and his spirit found restthere. 

He was renovated and refreshed, his soul was strengthened, and hiscountenance waxed cheerful, and he began to feel like himself again, under the brown canopy of metropolitan smoke, and among the cabs andgaslights. 

After dinner he got into a cab, and drove to Mark Wylder's club. Was hethere?--No. Had he been there to-day?--No. Or within the last week?--No;not for two months. He had left his address, and was in the country. Theaddress to which his letters were forwarded was 'The Brandon Arms, Gylingden. '

So Captain Lake informed that functionary that his friend had come up totown, and asked him again whether he was quite certain that he had notcalled there, or sent for his letters. --No; nothing of the sort. ThenCaptain Lake asked to see the billiard-marker, who was likely to knowsomething about him. But he knew nothing. He certainly had not been atthe 'Lark's Nest, ' which was kept by the marker's venerable parent, andwas a favourite haunt of the gay lieutenant. 

Then our friend Stanley, having ruminated for a minute, pencilled alittle note to Mark, telling him that he was staying at Muggeridge'sHotel, 7, Hanover Street, Piccadilly, and wished _most_ particularly tosee him for a few minutes; and this he left with the hall-porter to givehim should he call. 

Then Lake got into his cab again, having learned that he had lodgings inSt. James's Street when he did not stay at the club, and to these hedrove. There he saw Mrs. M'Intyre, a Caledonian lady, at this hoursomewhat mellow and talkative; but she could say nothing to the purposeeither. Mr. Wylder had not been there for nine weeks and three days; andwould owe her, on Saturday next, twenty-five guineas. So here, too, heleft a little note to the same purpose; and re-entering his cab, he drovea long way, and past St. Paul's, and came at last to a court, outsidewhich he had to dismount from his vehicle, entering the grimy quadranglethrough a narrow passage. He had been there that evening before, shortlyafter his arrival, with old Mother Dutton, as he called her, about herson, Jim. 

Jim was in London, looking for a situation, all which pleased CaptainLake; and he desired that she should send him to his hotel to see him inthe morning. 

But being in some matters of a nervous and impatient temperament, he hadcome again, as we see, hoping to find Jim there, and to anticipate hisinterview of the morning. 

The windows, however, were dark, and a little research satisfied CaptainLake that the colony was in bed. In fact, it was by this time half-pasteleven o'clock, and working-people don't usually sit up to that hour. Butour friend, Stanley Lake, was one of those persons who think that thecourse of the world's affairs should bend a good deal to their personalconvenience, and he was not pleased with these unreasonableworking-people who had gone to their beds, and brought him to this remoteand grimy amphitheatre of black windows for nothing. So, wishing them thegood-night they merited, he re-entered his cab, and drove rapidly backagain towards the West-end. 

This time he went to a somewhat mysterious and barricadoed place, wherein a blaze of light, in various rooms, gentlemen in hats, and some ingreat coats, were playing roulette or hazard; and I am sorry to say, thatour friend, Captain Lake, played first at one and then at the other, withwhat success exactly I don't know. But I don't think it was very far fromfour o'clock in the morning when he let himself into his family hotelwith that latchkey, the cock's tail of Micyllus, with which good-naturedold Mrs. Muggeridge obliged the good-looking captain. 

Captain Lake having given orders the evening before, that anyone whomight call in the morning, and ask to see him, should be shown up to hisbed-room _sans ceremonie_, was roused from deep slumber at a quarter pastten, by a knock at his door, and a waiter's voice. 

'Who's that?' drawled Captain Lake, rising, pale and half awake, on hiselbow, and not very clear where he was. 

'The man, Sir, as you left a note for yesterday, which he desires to seeyou?'

'Tell him to step in. '

So out went the waiter in pumps, and the sound of thick shoes was audibleon the lobby, and a sturdier knock sounded on the door. 

'Come in, ' said the captain. 

And Jim Dutton entered the room, and, closing the door, made, at the sideof the bed, his reverence, consisting of a nod and a faint pluck at thelock of hair over his forehead. 

Now Stanley Lake had, perhaps, expected to see some one else; for thoughthis was a very respectable-looking fellow for his walk in life, the gayyoung officer stared full at him, with a frightened and rather dreadfulcountenance, and actually sprung from his bed at the other side, with anejaculation at once tragic and blasphemous. 

The man plainly had not expected to produce any such result, and lookedvery queer. Perhaps he thought something had occurred to affect hispersonal appearance; perhaps some doubt about the captain's state ofhealth, and misgiving as to delirium tremens may have flickered over hisbrain. 

They were staring at one another across the bed, the captain in hisshirt. 

At last the gallant officer seemed to discover things as they were, forhe said--

'Jim Dutton, by Jove!'

The oath was not so innocent; but it was delivered quietly; and then thecaptain drew a long breath, and then, still staring at him, he laughed aghastly little laugh, also quietly. 

'And so it is you, Jim, ' said the captain. 'And how do you do--quitewell, Jim--and out of place? You've been hurt in the foot, eh? so oldyour--Mrs. Dutton tells me, but that won't signify. I was dreaming whenyou came in; not quite awake yet, hardly; just wait a bit till I get myslippers on; and this--' So into his red slippers he slid, and got hisgreat shawl dressing-gown, such as fine gentlemen then wore, about hisslender person, and knotted the silken cords with depending tassels, andgreeted Jim Dutton again in very friendly fashion, enquiring veryparticularly how he had been ever since, and what his mother was doing;and I'm afraid not listening to Jim's answers as attentively as one mighthave expected. 

Whatever may have been his intrinsic worth, Jim was not polished, andspoke, moreover, an uncouth dialect, which broke out now and then. But hewas in a sort of way attached to the Lake family, the son of anhereditary tenant on that estate which had made itself wings, and flownaway like the island of Laputa. It could not be said to be love; it was asort of traditionary loyalty; a sentiment, however, not altogetherunserviceable. 

When they had talked together for a while, the captain said--

'The fact is, it is not quite on me you would have to attend; thesituation, perhaps, is better. You have no objection to travel. You_have_ been abroad, you know; and of course wages and all that will be inproportion. '

Well, Jim had not any objection to speak of. 

'What's wanted is a trustworthy man, perfectly steady, you see, and afellow who knows how to hold his tongue. '

The last condition, perhaps, struck the man as a little odd; he looked alittle confusedly, and he conveyed that he would not like to be inanything that was not quite straight. 

'Quite straight, Sir!' repeated Stanley Lake, looking round on himsternly; 'neither should I, I fancy. You are to suppose the case of agentleman who is nursing his estate--you know what that means--and wantsto travel, and keep quite quiet, and who requires a steady, trustworthyman to look after him, in such a way as I shall direct, with very littletrouble and capital pay. I have a regard for you, Dutton; and seeing sogood a situation was to be had, and thinking you the fittest man I know, I wished to serve you and my friend at the same time. '

Dutton became grateful and docile upon this. 

'There are reasons, quite honourable I need not tell you, which make itnecessary, James Dutton, that the whole of this affair should be keptperfectly to ourselves; you are not to repeat one syllable I say to youto your mother, do you mind, or to any other person living. The gentlemanis liberal, and if you can just hold your tongue, you will have littletrouble in satisfying him upon all other points. But if you can't bequite silent, you had better, I frankly tell you, decline the situation, excellent in all respects as it is. '

'I'm a man, Sir, as can be close enough. '

'So much the better. You don't drink?'

Dutton coloured a little and coughed and said--

'No, Sir. '

'You have your papers?'

'Yes, Sir. '

'We must be satisfied as to your sobriety, Dutton. Come back at half-pasteleven and I'll see you, and bring your papers; and, do you see, you arenot to talk, you understand; only you may say, if anyone presses, that Iam thinking of hiring you to attend on a gentleman, whose name you don'tyet know, who's going to travel. That's all. '

So Jim Dutton made his bow, and departed; and Captain Lake continued towatch the door for some seconds after his departure, as if he could seehis retreating figure through it. And, said he, with an oath, and hishand to his forehead, over his eyebrow--

'It _is_ the most unaccountable thing in nature!'

Then, after a reverie of some seconds, the young gentleman appliedhimself energetically to his toilet; and coming down to his sitting-room, he looked into his morning paper, and then into the street, and told theservant as he sate down to breakfast, that he expected a gentleman namedWylder to call that morning, and to be sure to show him up directly. 

Captain Lake's few hours' sleep, contrary to popular ideas aboutgamesters' slumbers, had been the soundest and the most natural which hehad enjoyed for a good many nights. He was refreshed. At Gylingden andBrandon he had been simulating Captain Stanley Lake--being, in truth, something quite different--with a vigilant histrionic effort which wasawfully exhausting, and sometimes nearly intolerable. Here the captainwas perceptibly stealing into his old ways and feelings. His spiritrevived; something like confidence in the future, and a possibility evenof enjoying the present, was struggling visibly through the cold fog thatenvironed him. Reason has, after all, so little to do with our moods. Theweather, the scene, the stomach, how pleasantly they deal with facts--howthey supersede philosophy, and even arithmetic, and teach us how much oflife is intoxication and illusion. 

Still there was the sword of Damocles over his pineal gland. D---- thatsheer, cold blade! D---- him that forged it! Still there was a great dealof holding in a horse-hair. Had not salmon, of I know not how manypounds' weight, been played and brought to land by that slender towage. There is the sword, a burnished piece of cutlery, weighing just so manypounds; and the horsehair has sufficed for an hour, and why not foranother--and soon? Hang moping and nonsense! Waiter, another pint ofChian; and let the fun go forward. 

So the literal waiter knocked at the door. 'A person wanted to seeCaptain Lake. No, it was not Mr. Wylder. It was the man who had been herein the morning--Dutton is his name. '

'And so it is really half-past eleven?' said Lake, in a sleepy surprise. 'Let him come in. '

And so in comes Jim Dutton again, to hear particulars, and have, as hehopes, his engagement ratified. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

LAWYER LARKIN'S MIND BEGINS TO WORK. 

That morning Lake's first report upon his inquisition into thewhereabouts of Mark Wylder--altogether disappointing and barren--reachedLord Chelford in a short letter; and a similar one, only shorter, foundLawyer Larkin in his pleasant breakfast parlour. 

Now this proceeding of Mr. Wylder's, at this particular time, struck therighteous attorney, and reasonably, as a very serious and unjustifiablestep. There was, in fact, no way of accounting for it, that wasaltogether complimentary to his respected and nutritious client. Yes;there was something every way _very_ serious in the affair. It actuallythreatened the engagement which was so near its accomplishment. Some mostpowerful and mysterious cause must undoubtedly be in operation to induceso sharp a 'party, ' so keen after this world's wealth, to risk so huge aprize. Whatever eminent qualities Mark Wylder might be deficient in, theattorney very well knew that cunning was not among the number. 

'It is nothing of the nature of debt--plenty of money. It is nothing thatmoney can buy off easily either, though he does not like parting with it. Ten--_twenty_ to one--it is the old story--some unfortunate femaleconnection--some ambiguous relation, involving a doubtful marriage. '

And Josiah Larkin turned up his small pink eyes, and shook his tall, baldhead gently, and murmured, as he nodded it--

'The sins of his youth find him out; the sins of his youth. '

And he sighed; and his long palms were raised, and waved, or ratherpaddled slowly to the rhythm of the sentiment. 

If the butchers' boy then passing saw that gaunt and good attorney, standing thus in his bow-window, I am sure he thought he was at hisdevotions and abated his whistling as he went by. 

After this Mr. Larkin's ruminations darkened, and grew, perhaps, lessdistinct. He had no particular objection to a mystery. In fact, he ratherliked it, provided he was admitted to confidence. A mystery implied adifficulty of a delicate and formidable sort; and such difficulties werenot disadvantageous to a clever and firm person, who might render himselfvery necessary to an embarrassed principal with plenty of money. 

Mr. Larkin had a way of gently compressing his under-lip between hisfinger and thumb--a mild pinch, a reflective caress--when contemplationsof this nature occupied his brain. The silver light of heaven faded fromhis long face, a deep shadow of earth came thereon, and his small, dove-like eyes grew intense, hungry, and rat-like. 

Oh! Lawyer Larkin, your eyes, though very small, are very sharp. They canread through the outer skin of ordinary men, as through a parchmentagainst the light, the inner writing, and spell out its meanings. How isit that they fail to see quite through one Jos. Larkin, a lawyer ofGylingden? The layover of Gylingden is somehow two opaque for them, Ialmost think. Is he really too deep for you? Or is it that you don't careto search him too narrowly, or have not time? or as men in moneyperplexities love not the scrutiny of their accounts or papers, you don'tcare to tire your eyes over the documents in that neatly japanned box, the respectable lawyer's conscience?

If you have puzzled yourself, you have also puzzled me. I don't quiteknow what to make of you. I've sometimes thought you were simply animpostor, and sometimes simply the dupe of your own sorceries. The heartof man is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. Some men, with a piercing insight into the evil of man's nature, have a blurredvision for their own moralities. For them it is not easy to see wherewisdom ends and guile begins--what wiles are justified to honour, andwhat partake of the genius of the robber, and where lie the delicateboundaries between legitimate diplomacy and damnable lying. I am not surethat Lawyer Larkin did not often think himself very nearly what he wishedthe world to think him--an 'eminent Christian. ' What an awful abyss isself delusion. 

Lawyer Larkin was, on the whole, I dare say, tolerably well pleased withthe position, as he would have said, of his spiritual interest, andbelonged to that complacent congregation who said, 'I am rich and haveneed of nothing;' and who, no doubt, opened their eyes wide enough, andmisdoubted the astounding report of their ears, when the judge thundered, 'Thou art wretched and miserable, and poor and blind and naked. '

When Jos. Larkins had speculated thus, and built rich, but sombre, castles in the air, for some time longer, he said quietly to himself--

'Yes. '

And then he ordered his dog-cart, and drove off to Dollington, and put upat Johnson's Hotel, where Stanley Lake had slept on the night of hissister's return from London. The people there knew the lawyer very well;of course, they quite understood his position. Mr. Johnson, theproprietor, you may be sure, does not confound him with the greatsquires, the baronets, and feudal names of the county; but though he wasby comparison easy in his company, with even a dash of familiarity, hestill respected Mr. Larkin as a man with money, and a sort of influence, and in whose way, at election and other times, it might lie to do hishouse a good or an ill turn. 

Mr. Larkin got into a little brown room, looking into the inn garden, andcalled for some luncheon, and pen and ink, and had out a sheaf of lawpapers he had brought with him, tied up in professional red tape; andasked the waiter, with a grand smile and recognition, how he did; andasked him next for his good friend, Mr. Johnson; and trusted thatbusiness was improving; and would be very happy to see him for two orthree minutes, if he could spare time. 

So, in due time, in came the corpulent proprietor, and Lawyer Larkinshook hands with him, and begged him to sit down, like a man who confersa distinction; and assured him that Lord Edward Buxleigh, whom he hadrecommended to stay at the house for the shooting, had been very wellpleased with the accommodation--very highly so indeed--and his lordshiphad so expressed himself when they had last met at Sir Hugh Huxterley's, of Hatch Court. 

The good lawyer liked illuminating his little narratives, compliments, and reminiscences with plenty of armorial bearings and heraldic figures, and played out his court-cards in easy and somewhat overpoweringprofusion. 

Then he enquired after the two heifers that Mr. Johnson was so good as tofeed for him on his little farm; and then he mentioned that his friend, Captain Lake, who was staying with him at his house at Gylingden, wasalso very well satisfied with his accommodation, when he, too, at LawyerLarkin's recommendation, had put up for a night at Johnson's Hotel; andit was not every house which could satisfy London swells of CaptainLake's fashion and habits, he could tell him. 

Then followed some conversation which, I dare say, interested the lawyermore than be quite showed in Mr. Johnson's company. For when that pleasedand communicative host had withdrawn, Jos. Larkin made half-a-dozenlittle entries in his pocket-book, with 'Statement of Mr. WilliamJohnson, ' and the date of their conversation, at the head of thememorandum. 

So the lawyer, having to run on as far as Charteris by the goods-train, upon business, walked down to the station, where, having half-an-hour towait, he fell into talk with the station-master, whom he also knew, andafterwards with Tom Christmas, the porter; and in the waiting-room hemade some equally business-like memoranda, being certain chips andsplinters struck off the clumsy talk of these officials, and laid up inthe lawyer's little private museum, for future illustration and analysis. 

By the time his little book was again in the bottom of hispocket, the train had arrived, and doors swung open and claptand people got in and out to the porter's accompaniment of'Dollington--Dollington--Dollington!' and Lawyer Larkin took his place, and glided away to Charteris, where he had a wait of two hours for thereturn train, and a good deal of barren talk with persons at the station, rewarded by one or two sentences worth noting, and accordingly dulyentered in the same little pocket-book. 

Thus was the good man's day consumed; and when he mounted his dog-cart, at Dollington, wrapped his rug about his legs, whip and reins in hand, and the ostler buckled the apron across, the sun was setting redly behindthe hills; and the air was frosty, and the night dark, as he drew upbefore his own door-steps, near Gylingden. A dozen lines of one of thesepages would suffice to contain the fruits of his day's work; and yet thelawyer was satisfied, and even pleased with it, and eat his late dinnervery happily; and though dignified, of course, was more than usually mildand gracious with all his servants that evening, and 'expounded at familyprayers' in a sense that was liberal and comforting; and went to bedafter a calm and pleased review of his memoranda, and slept the sleep ofthe righteous. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

MARK WYLDER'S SUBMISSION. 

Every day the position grew more critical and embarrassing. The dayappointed for the nuptials was now very near, and the bridegroom not onlyout of sight but wholly untraceable. What was to be done?

A long letter from Stanley Lake told Lord Chelford, in detail, all themeasures adopted by that energetic young gentleman for the discovery ofthe truant knight:--

'I have been at his club repeatedly, as also at his lodgings--still_his_, though he has not appeared there since his arrival in town. Thebilliard-marker at his club knows his haunts; and I have taken theliberty to employ, through him, several persons who are acquainted withhis appearance, and, at my desire, frequent those places with a view todiscovering him, and bringing about an interview with me. 

'He was seen, I have reason to believe, a day or two before my arrivalhere, at a low place called the "Miller's Hall, " in the City, wheremembers of the "Fancy" resort, at one of their orgies, but not since. Ihave left notes for him wherever he is likely to call, entreating aninterview. 

'On my arrival I was sanguine about finding him; but I regret to say myhopes have very much declined, and I begin to think he must have changedhis quarters. If you have heard from him within the last few days, perhaps you will be so kind as to send me the envelope of his letter, which, by its postmark, may possibly throw some light or hint some theoryas to his possible movements. He is very clever; and having taken thisplan of concealing his residence, will conduct it skilfully. If the casewere mine I should be much tempted to speak with the detectiveauthorities, and try whether they might not give their assistance, ofcourse without _éclat_. But this is, I am aware, open to objection, and, in fact, would not be justifiable, except under the very peculiar urgencyof the case. 

'Will you be so good as to say what you think upon this point; also, toinstruct me what you authorise me to say should I be fortunate enough tomeet him. At present I am hardly in a position to say more than anacquaintance--never, I fear, very cordial on his part--would allow;which, of course, could hardly exceed a simple mention of your anxiety tobe placed in communication with him. 

'If I might venture to suggest, I really think a peremptory alternativeshould be presented to him. Writing, however, in ignorance of what maysince have passed at Brandon, I may be assuming a state of things which, possibly, no longer exists. Pray understand that in any way you please toemploy me, I am entirely at your command. It is also possible, though Ihardly hope it, that I may be able to communicate something definite bythis evening's post. 

'I do not offer any conjectures as to the cause of this very embarrassingprocedure on his part; and indeed I find a great difficulty in renderingmyself useful, with any likelihood of really succeeding, without at thesame exposing myself to an imputation of impertinence. You will easilysee how difficult is my position. 

'Whatever may be the cause of Mark Wylder's present line of conduct, itappears to me that if he really did attend that meeting at the "Miller'sHall, " there cannot be anything _very_ serious weighing upon his spirits. My business will detain me here, I rather think, three days longer. '

By return of post Lord Chelford wrote to Stanley Lake:--

'I am so very much obliged to you for all the trouble you have taken. Themeasures which you have adopted are, I think, most judicious; and Ishould not wish, on consideration, to speak to any official person. Ithink it better to trust entirely to the means you have already employed. Like you, I do not desire to speculate as to the causes of Wylder'sextraordinary conduct; but, all the circumstances considered, I cannotavoid concluding, as you do, that there must be some _very_ seriousreason for it. I enclose a note, which, perhaps, you will be so good asto give him, should you meet before you leave town. '

The note to Mark Wylder was in these terms:--

'DEAR WYLDER, --I had hoped to see you before now at Brandon. Yourunexplained absence longer continued, you must see, will impose on me thenecessity of offering an explanation to Miss Brandon's friends, of therelations, under these strange circumstances, in which you and she are tobe assumed to stand. You have accounted in no way for your absence. Youhave not even suggested a postponement of the day fixed for thecompletion of your engagement to that young lady; and, as her guardian, Icannot avoid telling her, should I fail to hear explicitly from youwithin three days from this date, that she is at liberty to hold herselfacquitted of her engagement to you. I do not represent to you how muchreason everyone interested by relationship in that young lady has to feeloffended at the disrespect with which you have treated her. Still hoping, however, that all may yet be explained, 'I remain, my dear Wylder, yours very truly, 'CHELFORD. '

Lord Chelford had not opened the subject to Dorcas. Neither had old LadyChelford, although she harangued her son upon it as volubly and fiercelyas if he had been Mark Wylder in person, whenever he and she were_tête-à-tête_. She was extremely provoked, too, at Dorcas's evidentrepose under this astounding treatment, and was enigmatically sarcasticupon her when they sat together in the drawing-room. 

She and her son were, it seemed, not only to think and act, but to feelalso, for this utterly immovable young lady! The Brandons, in her youngdays, were not wanting in spirit. No; they had many faults, but they werenot sticks or stones. They were not to be taken up and laid down like waxdolls; they could act and speak. It would not have been safe to trampleupon them; and they were not less beautiful for being something more thanpictures and statues. 

This evening, in the drawing-room, there were two very pretty ormolucaskets upon the little marble table. 

'A new present from Mark Wylder, ' thought Lady Chelford, as these objectsmet her keen glance. 'The unceremonious bridegroom has, I suppose, foundhis way back with a peace-offering in his hand. ' And she actually peeredthrough her spectacles into the now darkened corners of the chamber, halfexpecting to discover the truant Wylder awaiting there the lecture shewas well prepared to give him; but the square form and black whiskers ofthe prodigal son were not discernible there. 

'So, so, something new, and very elegant and pretty, ' said the old ladyaloud, holding her head high, and looking as if she were disposed to bepropitiated. 'I think I can risk a conjecture. Mr. Wylder is about toreappear, and has despatched these heralds of his approach, no doubtsuitably freighted, to plead for his reacceptance into favour. You haveheard, then, from Mr. Wylder, my dear Dorcas?'

'No, Lady Chelford, ' said the young lady with a grave serenity, turningher head leisurely towards her. 

'No? Oh, then where is my son? He, perhaps, can explain; and pray, mydear, what are these?'

'These caskets contain the jewels which Mr. Wylder gave me about sixweeks since. I had intended restoring them to him; but as his return isdelayed, I mean to place them in Chelford's hands; because I have made upmy mind, a week ago, to put an end to this odious engagement. It is allover. '

Lady Chelford stared at the audacious young lady with a look of incensedamazement for some seconds, unable to speak. 

'Upon my word, young lady! vastly fine and independent! You _chasser_ Mr. Wylder without one moment's notice, and without deigning to consult me, or any other person capable of advising you. You are about to commit asgross and indelicate a breach of faith as I recollect anywhere to haveheard of. What will be thought?--what will the world say?--what will yourfriends say? Will you be good enough to explain yourself? _I_'ll notundertake your excuses, I promise you. '

'Excuses! I don't think of excuses, Lady Chelford; no person living has aright to demand one. '

'Very tragic, young lady, and quite charming!' sneered the dowagerangrily. 

'Neither one nor the other, I venture to think; but quite true, LadyChelford, ' answered Miss Brandon, haughtily. 

'I don't believe you are serious, Dorcas, ' said Lady Chelford, moreanxiously, and also more gently. 'I can't suppose it. I'm an old woman, my dear, and I sha'n't trouble you very long. I can have no object inmisleading you, and you have never experienced from me anything butkindness and affection. I think you might trust me a little, Dorcas--butthat, of course, is for you, you are your own mistress now--but, atleast, you may reconsider the question you propose deciding in soextraordinary a way. I allow you might do much better than Mark Wylder, but also worse. He has not a title, and his estate is not enough to carrythe point _à force d'argent_; I grant all that. But _together_ theestates are more than most titled men possess; and the real point is thefatal slip in your poor uncle's will, which makes it so highly importantthat you and Mark should be united; bear that in mind, dear Dorcas. Ilook for his return every day--every hour, indeed--and no doubt hisabsence will turn out to have been unavoidable. You must not actprecipitately, and under the influence of mere pique. His absence, I willlay my life, will be satisfactorily accounted for; he has set his heartupon this marriage, and I really think you will almost drive him mad ifyou act as you threaten. '

'You have, indeed, dear Lady Chelford, been always very kind to me, and Ido trust you, ' replied this beautiful heiress, turning her large shadowyeyes upon the dowager, and speaking in slow and silvery accents, somehowvery melancholy. 'I dare say it is very imprudent, and I don't deny thatMr. Wylder may have reason to complain of me, and the world will notspare me either; but I have quite made up my mind, and nothing can everchange me; all is over between me and Mr. Wylder--quite over--for ever. '

'Upon my life, young lady, this is being very sharp, indeed. Mr. Wylder'sbusiness detains him a day or two longer than he expected, and he ispunished by a final dismissal!'

The old lady's thin cheeks were flushed, and her eyes shot a reddishlight, and altogether she made an angry sight. It was hardly reasonable. She had been inveighing against Miss Brandon's apathy under Wylder'sdisrespect, and now that the young lady spoke and acted too, she wasincensed. She had railed upon Wylder, in no measured terms, herself, andeven threatened, as the proper measure, that very step which Dorcas hadannounced; and now she became all at once the apologist of this insolenttruant, and was ready to denounce her unreasonable irritation. 

'So far, dear Lady Chelford, from provoking me to this decision, hisabsence is, I assure you, the sole reason of my having delayed to informhim of it. '

'And I assure you, Miss Brandon, _I_ sha'n't undertake to deliver yourmonstrous message. He will probably be here to-morrow. You have preparedan agreeable surprise for him. You shall have the pleasure ofadministering it yourself, Miss Brandon. For my part, I have done myduty, and here and now renounce all responsibility in the futuremanagement of your affairs. '

Saying which, she rose, in a stately and incensed way, and looking withflashing eyes over Dorcas's head to a far corner of the apartment, without another word she rustled slowly and majestically from thedrawing-room. 

She was a good deal shocked, and her feelings quite changed, however, when next morning the post brought a letter to Chelford from Mark Wylder, bearing the Boulogne postmark. It said--

'DEAR CHELFORD, 'Don't get riled; but the fact is I don't see my way out of my presentbusiness'--(this last word was substituted for another, crossed out, which looked like 'scrape')--'for a couple of months, maybe. Therefore, you see, my liberty and wishes being at present interfered with, it wouldbe very hard lines if poor Dorcas should be held to her bargain. Therefore, I will say this--_she is quite free_ for me. Only, of course, I don't decline to fulfil my part whenever at liberty. In the meantime Ireturn the miniature, with her hair in it, which I constantly wore aboutme since I got it. But I have no right to it any longer, till I know herdecision. Don't be too hard on me, dear Chelford. It is a very old larkhas got me into this present vexation. In the meantime, I wish to make itquite clear what I mean. Not being able by any endeavour'--(here anautical phrase scratched out, and 'endeavour' substituted)--'of mine tobe up to time, and as these are P. P. Affairs, I must only forfeit. Imean, I am at the lady's disposal, either to fulfil my engagement theearliest day I can, or to be turned adrift. That is all I can say. 

'In more trouble than you suppose, I remain, dear Chelford, yours, whatever you may think, faithfully, 'MARK WYLDER'

CHAPTER XXIX. 

HOW MARK WYLDER'S DISAPPEARANCE AFFECTED HIS FRIENDS. 

Lady Chelford's wrath was now turned anew upon Wylder--and theinconvenience of having no visible object on which to expend it was oncemore painfully felt. Railing at Mark Wylder was, alas! but beating theair. The most crushing invective was--thanks to his adroitmystification--simply a soliloquy. Poor Lady Chelford, who loved to givethe ingenious youngsters of both sexes, when occasion invited, a piece ofher mind, was here--in the case of this vulgar and most provokingdelinquent--absolutely tongue-tied! If it had been possible to tellWylder what she thought of him it would, perhaps, have made her moretolerable than she was for some days after the arrival of that letter, toother members of the family. 

The idea of holding Miss Brandon to this engagement, and proroguing hernuptials from day to day, to convenience the bridegroom--absent withoutexplanation--was of course quite untenable. Fortunately, the marriage, considering the antiquity and the territorial position of the twofamilies who were involved, was to have been a very quiet affairindeed--no festivities--no fire-works--nothing of the nature of a countygala--no glare or thunder--no concussion of society--a dignified butsecluded marriage. 

This divested the inevitable dissolution of these high relations of agreat deal of its _éclat_ and ridicule. 

Of course there was abundance of talk. Scarce a man or woman in the shirebut had a theory or a story--sometimes bearing hard on the lady, sometimes on the gentleman; still it was an abstract breach of promise, and would have much improved by some outward and visible sign ofdisruption and disappointment. Some concrete pageantries to be abolishedand removed; flag-staffs, for instance, and banners, marquees, pyrotechnic machinery, and long tiers of rockets, festoons of evergreens, triumphal arches with appropriate mottoes, to come down and hidethemselves away, would have been pleasant to the many who like a joke, and to the few, let us hope, who love a sneer. 

But there were no such fopperies to hurry off the stage disconcerted. Inthe autumnal sun, among the embrowned and thinning foliage of the nobletrees, Brandon Hall looked solemn, sad and magnificent, as usual, with asort of retrospective serenity, buried in old-world glories and sorrows, and heeding little the follies and scandals of the hour. 

In the same way Miss Brandon, with Lord and Lady Chelford, was seen nextSunday, serene and unchanged, in the great carved oak Brandon pew, raisedlike a dais two feet at least above the level of mere Christians, whofrequented the family chapel. There, among old Wylder and Brandontombs--some painted stone effigies of the period of Elizabeth and thefirst James, and some much older--stone and marble knights praying ontheir backs with their spurs on, and said to have been removed nearlythree hundred years ago from the Abbey of Naunton Friars, when thatfamous monastery began to lose its roof and turn into a picturesque ruin, and by-gone generations of Wylders and Brandons had offered up theirconspicuous devotions, with--judging from their heathen lives--I fear novery remarkable efficacy. 

Here then, next Sunday afternoon, when the good vicar, the Rev. WilliamWylder, at three o'clock, performed his holy office in reading-desk andpulpit, the good folk from Gylingden assembled in force, saw nothingnoticeable in the demeanour or appearance of the great Brandon heiress. Agoddess in her aerial place, haughty, beautiful, unconscious of humangaze, and seen as it were telescopically by mortals from below. No shadowof trouble on that calm marble beauty, no light of joy, but a serenesuperb indifference. 

Of course there was some satire in Gylingden; but, in the main, it was aloyal town, and true to its princess. Mr. Wylder's settlements were notsatisfactory, it was presumed, or the young lady could not bring herselfto like him, or however it came to pass, one way or another, that sprigof willow inevitably to be mounted by hero or heroine upon such equivocaloccasions was placed by the honest town by no means in her breast, butaltogether in his button-hole. 

Gradually, in a more authentic shape, information traceable to old LadyChelford, through some of the old county families who visited at Brandon, made it known that Mr. Wylder's affairs were not at present by any meansin so settled a state as was supposed; and that a long betrothal notbeing desirable on the whole, Miss Brandon's relatives thought itadvisable that the engagement should terminate, and had so decided, Mr. Wylder having, very properly, placed himself absolutely in their hands. 

As for Mark, it was presumed he had gone into voluntary banishment, andwas making the grand tour in the spirit of that lackadaisical gentlemanin the then fashionable song, who says:--

 From sport to sport they hurry me, To banish my regret, And if they win a smile from me, They think that I forget. 

It was known to be quite final, and as the lady evinced no chagrin andaffected no unusual spirits, but held, swanlike and majestic, the eventenor of her way, there was, on the whole, little doubt anywhere that thegentleman had received his _congé_, and was hiding his mortification andhealing his wounds in Paris or Vienna, or some other suitable retreat. 

But though the good folk of Gylingden, in general, cared very little howMark Wylder might have disposed of himself, there was one inhabitant towhom his absence was fraught with very serious anxiety and inconvenience. This was his brother, William, the vicar. 

Poor William, sound in morals, free from vice, no dandy, a quiet, bookish, self-denying mortal, was yet, when he took holy orders andquitted his chambers at Cambridge, as much in debt as many a scamp of hiscollege. He had been, perhaps, a little foolish and fanciful in thearticle of books, and had committed a serious indiscretion in the matterof a carved oak bookcase; and, worse still, he had published a slendervolume of poems, and a bulkier tome of essays, scholastic and theologic, both which ventures, notwithstanding their merits, had turned outunhappily; and worse still, he had lent that costly loan, his signmanual, on two or three occasions, to friends in need, and one way oranother found that, on winding up and closing his Cambridge life, hisassets fell short of his liabilities very seriously. 

The entire amount it is true was not very great. A pupil or two, and asuccess with his work 'On the Character and Inaccuracies of Eusebius, 'would make matters square in a little time. But his advertisements for aresident pupil had not been answered; they had cost him something, and hehad not any more spare bread just then to throw upon the waters. So theadvertisements for the present were suspended; and the publishers, somehow, did not take kindly to Eusebius, who was making the tour of thatfastidious and hard-hearted fraternity. 

He had staved off some of his troubles by a little loan from an insurancecompany, but the premium and the instalments were disproportioned to hisrevenue, and indeed very nearly frightful to contemplate. The Cambridgetradesmen were growing minatory; and there was a stern person who held arenewal of one of his old paper subsidies to the necessities of hisscampish friend Clarkson, who was plainly a difficult and awful characterto deal with. 

Dreadful as were the tradesmen's peremptory and wrathful letters, thepromptitude and energy of this latter personage were such as to produce asense of immediate danger so acute that the scared vicar opened hisdismal case to his Brother Mark. 

Mark, sorely against the grain, and with no good grace, at last consentedto advance £300 in this dread emergency, and the vicar blessed hisbenefactor, and in his closet on his knees, shed tears of thankfulnessover his deliverance, and the sky opened and the flowers locked bright, and life grew pleasant once more. 

But the £300 were not yet in his pocket, and Mark had gone away; andalthough of course the loan was sure to come, the delay--any delay in hissituation--was critical and formidable. Here was another would-becorrespondent of Mark's foiled for want of his address. Still he wouldnot believe it possible that he could forget his promise, or shut up hisbowels of mercy, or long delay the remittance which he knew to be sourgently needed. 

In the meantime, however, a writ reached the hand of the poor Vicar ofNaunton Friars, who wrote in eager and confused terror to a friend in theMiddle Temple on the dread summons, and learned that he was now 'incourt, ' and must 'appear, ' or suffer judgment by default. 

The end was that he purchased a respite of three months, by adding thirtypounds to his debt, and so was thankful for another deliverance, and wasconfident of the promised subsidy within a week, or at all events afortnight, or, at worst, three months was a long reprieve--and thesubsidy must arrive before the emergency. 

 In this there can be no dismay; My ships come home a month before the day. 

When the 'service' was over, the neighbourly little congregation, with asprinkling of visitors to Gylingden, for sake of its healing waters, broke up, and loitered in the vicinity of the porch, to remark on thesermon or the weather, and ask one another how they did, and to see theBrandon family enter their carriage and the tall, powdered footman shutthe door upon them, and mount behind, and move off at a brilliant pace, and with a glorious clangour and whirl of dust; and, this incident over, they broke up gradually into little groups, in Sunday guise, and manycolours, some for a ramble on the common, and some to tea, according tothe primitive hours that ruled old Gylingden. 

The vicar, and John Hughes, clerk and sexton, were last out; and thereverend gentleman, thin and tall, in white necktie, and black, a littlethreadbare, stood on the steps of the porch, in a sad abstraction. Thered autumnal sun nearing the edge of the distant hills, Looked through the horizontal misty air Shorn of its beams--

and lighted the thin and gentle features of the vicar with a melancholyradiance. The sound of the oak door closing heavily behind him and JohnHughes, and the key revolving in the lock recalled him, and with a sighand a smile, and a kindly nod to John, he looked up and round on thefamiliar and pretty scenery undecided. It was not quite time to go home;his troubles were heavy upon him, too, just then; they have theirparoxysms like ague; and the quiet of the road, and the sweet air andsunshine, tempted him to walk off the chill and fever of the fit. 

As he passed the little cottage where old Widow Maddock lay sick, RachaelLake emerged. He was not glad. He would rather have had his sad walk inhis own shy company. But there she was--he could not pass her by; so hestopped, and lifted his hat, and greeted her; and then they shook hands. She was going his way. He looked wistfully on the little hatch of oldWidow Maddock's cottage; for he felt a pang of reproach at passing herdoor; but there was no comfort then in his thoughts, only a sense of fearand hopeless fatigue. 

'How is poor old Mrs. Maddock?' he asked; 'you have been visiting thesick and afflicted, and I was passing by; but, indeed, if I were capableat this moment I should not fail to see her, poor creature. '

There was something apologetic and almost miserable in his look as hesaid this. 

'She is not better; but you have been very good to her, and she is verygrateful; and I am glad, ' said Rachel, 'that I happened to light on you. '

And she paused. They were by this time walking side by side; and sheglanced at him enquiringly; and he thought that the handsome girl lookedrather thin and pale. 

'You once said, ' Miss Lake resumed, 'that sooner or later I should betaught the value of religion, and would learn to prize my greatprivileges; and that for some spirits the only approach to the throne ofmercy was through great tribulation. I have often thought since of thosewords, and they have begun, for me, to take the spirit of aprophecy--sometimes that is--but at others they sound differently--like adreadful menace--as if my afflictions were only to bring me to the gateof life to find it shut. '

'Knock, and it shall be opened, ' said the vicar; but the comfort wassadly spoken, and he sighed. 

'But is not there a time, Mr. Wylder, when He shall have shut to thedoor, and are there not some who, crying to him to open, shall yet remainfor ever in outer darkness?'

'I see, dear Miss Lake, that your mind is at work--it is a goodinfluence--at work upon the great, theme which every mortal spirit oughtto be employed upon. '

'My fears are at work; my mind is altogether dark and turbid; I amsometimes at the brink of despair. '

'Take comfort from those fears. There is hope in that despair;' and helooked at her with great interest in his gentle eyes. 

She looked at him, and then away toward the declining sun, and she saiddespairingly--

'I cannot comprehend you. '

'Come!' said he, 'Miss Lake, bethink you; was there not a time--and novery distant one--when futurity caused you no anxiety, and when thesubject which has grown so interesting, was altogether distasteful toyou. The seed of the Word is received at length into good ground; but agrain of wheat will bring forth no fruit unless it die first. The seeddies to outward sense, and despair follows; but the principle of life isworking in it, and it will surely grow, and bring forth fruit--thirty, sixty, an hundredfold--be not dismayed. The body dies, and the Lord oflife compares it to the death of the seed in the earth; and then comesthe palingenesis--the rising in glory. In like manner He compares thereception of the principle of eternal life into the soul to the droppingof a seed into the earth; it follows the general law of mortality. It toodies--such a death as the children of heaven die here--only to germinateafresh with celestial power and beauty. '

Miss Lake's way lay by a footpath across a corner of the park to Redman'sDell. So they crossed the stile, and still conversing, followed thefootpath under the hedgerow of the pretty field, and crossing anotherstile, entered the park. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

IN BRANDON PARK. 

To me, from association, no doubt, that park has always had a melancholycharacter. The ground undulates beautifully, and noble timber studs it inall varieties of grouping; and now, as when I had seen the ill-omenedform of Uncle Lorne among its solitudes, the descending sun shone acrossit with a saddened glory, tipping with gold the blades of grass and thebrown antlers of the distant deer. 

Still pursuing her solemn and melancholy discourse, the young ladyfollowed the path, accompanied by the vicar. 

'True, ' said the vicar, 'your mind is disturbed, but not by doubt. No; itis by _truth_. ' He glanced aside at the tarn where I had seen thephantom, and by which their path now led them--'You remember Parnell'spretty image?

 'So when a smooth expanse receives imprest Calm nature's image on its watery breast, Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow, And skies beneath with answering colours glow; But if a stone the gentle scene divide, Swift ruffling circles curl on every side, And glimmering fragments of a broken sun, Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run. '

'But, as I said, it is not a doubt that agitates your mind--that is wellrepresented by the "stone, " that subsides and leaves the pool clear, itmaybe, but stagnant as before. Oh, no; it is an angel who comes down andtroubles the water. '

'What a heavenly evening!' said a low, sweet voice, but with somethinginsidious in it, close at his shoulder. 

With a start, Rachel glanced back, and saw the pale, peculiar face of herbrother. His yellow eyes for a moment gleamed into hers, and then on thevicar, and, with his accustomed smile, he extended his hand. 

'How do you do?--better, I hope, Radie? How are you, William?'

Rachel grew deadly pale, and then flushed, and then was pale again. 

'I thought, Stanley, you were in London. '

'So I was; but I arrived here this morning; I'm staying for a few days atthe Lodge--Larkin's house; you're going home, I suppose, Radie?'

'Yes--oh, yes--but I don't know that I'll go this way. You say you mustreturn to Gylingden now, Mr. Wylder; I think I'll turn also, and go homethat way. '

'Nothing would give me greater pleasure, ' said the vicar, truly as wellas kindly, for he had grown interested in their conversation; 'but I fearyou are tired'--he looked very kindly on her pale face--'and you know itwill cost you a walk of more than two miles. '

'I forgot--yes--I believe I _am_ a _little_ tired; I'm afraid I have led_you_, too, farther than you intended. ' She fancied that her suddenchange of plan on meeting her brother would appear odd. 

'I'll see you a little bit on your way home, Radie, ' said Stanley. 

It was just what she wished to escape. She was more nervous, though notless courageous than formerly. But the old, fierce, defiant spirit awoke. Why should she fear Stanley, or what could it be to her whether he wasbeside her in her homeward walk?

So the vicar made his adieux there, and began, at a brisker pace, toretrace his steps toward Gylingden; and she and Stanley, side by side, walked on toward Redman's Dell. 

'What a charming park! and what delightful air, Radie; and the weather sovery delicious. They talk of Italian evenings; but there is a pleasantsharpness in English evenings quite peculiar. Is not there just a littlesuspicion of frost--don't you think so--not actually cold, but crisp andsharp--unspeakably exhilarating; now really, this evening is quitecelestial. '

'I've just been listening to a good man's conversation, and I wish toreflect upon it, ' said Rachel, very coldly. 

'Quite so; that is, of course, when you are alone, ' answered Stanley, serenely. 'William was always a very clever fellow to talk--very wellread in theology--is not he?--yes, he does talk very sweetly and nobly onreligion; it is a pity he is not quite straight, or at least morepunctual, in his money affairs. '

'He is distressed for money? William Wylder is distressed for money! Doyou mean _that_?' said Rachel, turning a tone of sudden surprise andenergy, almost horror, turning full upon him, and stopping short. 

'Oh, dear! no--not the least distressed that I ever heard of, ' laughedStanley coldly--'only just a little bit roguish, maybe. '

'That's so like you, Stanley, ' said the young lady, with a quiet scorn, resuming her onward walk. 

'How very beautiful that clump of birch trees is, near the edge of theslope there; you really can't imagine, who are always here, how veryintensely a person who has just escaped from London enjoys all this. '

'I don't think, Stanley, ' said the young lady coldly, and lookingstraight before her as she walked, 'you ever cared for naturalscenery--or liked the country--and yet you are here. I don't think youever loved me, or cared whether I was alone or in company; and yetseeing--for you _did_ see it--that I would now rather be alone, youpersist in walking with me, and talking of trees and air and celestialevenings, and thinking of something quite different. Had not you betterturn back to Gylingden, or the Lodge, or wherever you mean to pass theevening, and leave me to my quiet walk and my solitude?'

'In a few minutes, dear Radie--you are so odd. I really believe you thinkno one can enjoy a ramble like this but yourself. '

'Come, Stanley, what do you want?' said his sister, stopping short, andspeaking with the flush of irritation on her cheek--'do you mean to walkto Redman's Dell, or have you anything unpleasant to say?'

'Neither, I hope, ' said the captain, with his sleepy smile, his yelloweyes resting on the innocent grass blades before him. 

'I don't understand you, Stanley. I am always uncomfortable when you arenear me. You stand there like an evil spirit, with some purpose which Icannot divine; but you shall not ensnare me. Go your own way, why can'tyou? Pursue your own plots--your wicked plots; but let me rest. I _will_be released, Sir, from your presence. '

'Really this is very fine, Radie, considering how we are related; I'mMephistopheles, I suppose, and you Margaret, or some other simpleheroine--rebuking the fiend in the majesty of your purity. '

And indeed in the reddish light, and in that lonely and solemn spot, theslim form of the captain, pale, sneering, with his wild eyes, confrontingthe beautiful light-haired girl, looked not quite unlike a type of thejaunty fiend he was pleased to suppose himself. 

'I tell you, Stanley, I feel that you design employing me in some of yourcrooked plans. I have horrible reasons, as you know, for avoiding you, and so I will. I hope I may never desire to see you alone again, but if Ido, it shall not be to receive, but to impose commands. You had betterreturn to Gylingden, and leave me. '

'So I will, dear Radie, by-and-by, ' said he, with his amused smile. 

'That is, you _won't_ until you have said what you meditate. Well, then, as it seems I must hear it, pray speak at once, standing where we are, and quickly, for the sun will soon go down, and one step more I will notwalk with you. '

'Well, Radie, you are pleased to be whimsical; and, to say truth, I _was_thinking of saying a word or two, just about as idea that has been in mymind some time, and which you half divined--you are so clever--the firstday I saw you at Redman's Farm. You know you fancied I was thinking ofmarrying. '

'I don't remember that I said so, but I thought it. You mentionedCaroline Beauchamp, but I don't see how your visit _here_ could have beenconnected with that plan. '

'But don't you think, Radie, I should do well to marry, that is, assumingeverything to be suitable?'

'Well, perhaps, for _yourself_, Stanley; but----'

'Yes, of course, ' said Lake; 'but the unfortunate girl, you were going tosay--thank you. She's, of course, very much to be pitied, and you have myleave to pity her as much as you please. '

'I do pity her, ' said Rachel. 

'Thank you, again, ' said Stanley; 'but seriously, Radie, you can be, Ithink, very essentially of use to me in this affair, and you must notrefuse. '

'Now, Stanley, I will cut this matter short. I can't serve you. I won't. I don't know the young lady, and I don't mean to make her acquaintance. '

'But I tell you that you _can_ serve me, ' retorted Stanley, with a savageglare, and features whitened with passion, 'and you _shall_ serve me; andyou _do_ know the young lady intimately. '

'I say, Sir, I do _not_, ' replied Rachel, haughtily and fiercely. 

'She is Dorcas Brandon; you know _her_, I believe. I came down here tomarry her. I had made up my mind when I saw you first and I'll carry mypoint; I always do. She does not like me, maybe; but she _shall_. I neveryet resolved to make a woman like me, and failed. You need not look sopale; and put on that damned affected look of horror. I may be wild, and--and what you please, but I'm no worse than that brute, Mark Wylder, and you never turned up your eyes when he was her choice; and I knewthings about him that ought to have damned him, and she's well rid of abranded rascal. And now, Rachel, you know her, and you must say a goodword for me. I expect your influence, and if you don't use it, andeffectually, it will be worse for you. You women understand one another, and how to get a fellow favourably into one another's thoughts. So, listen to me, this is a vital matter; indeed, it is, Radie. I have lost alot of money, like a--fool, I suppose; well, it is gone, and thismarriage is indispensable. I must go in for it, it is life or death; andif I fail through your unkindness (here he swore an impious oath) I'llend all with a pistol, and leave a letter to Chelford, disclosingeverything concerning you, and me, and Mark Wylder. '

I think Rachel Lake was as near fainting as ever lady was, withoutactually swooning. It was well they had stopped just by the stem of agreat ash tree, against which Rachel leaned for some seconds, withdarkness before her eyes, and the roar of a whirlpool in her ears. 

After a while, with two or three gasps, she came to herself. Lake hadbeen railing on all this time, and his voice, which, in ill-temper, wassingularly bleak and terrible, was again in her ears the moment sherecovered her hearing. 

'I do not care to quarrel; there are many reasons why we should not, 'Lake said in his peculiar tones. 'You have some of my secrets, and youmust have more; it can't be helped, and, I say, you _must_. I've beenvery foolish. I'll give up play. It has brought me to this. I've had tosell out. I've paid away all I could, and given bills for the rest; but Ican't possibly pay them, don't you see; and if things go to the worst, Itell you I'll not stay. I don't want to make my bow just yet, and I've nowish to injure you; but I'll do as I have said (he swore again), andChelford shall have a distinct statement under my hand of everything thathas happened. I don't suppose you wish to be accessory to all this, andtherefore it behoves you, Rachel, to do what you can to prevent it. Onewoman can always influence another, and you are constantly with Dorcas. You'll do all you can; I'm sure you will; and you can do a great deal. Iknow it; I'll do as much for you, Radie! Anything you like. '

For the first time her brother stood before her in a really terribleshape; she felt his villainy turning with a cowardly and mercilesstreason upon her forlorn self. Sacrificed for him, and that sacrificeused by him to torture, to extort, perhaps to ruin. She quailed for aminute in the presence of this gigantic depravity and cruelty. But Rachelwas a brave lass, and rallied quickly. 

'After all I have done and suffered!' said she, with a faint smile ofunimaginable bitterness; 'I did not think that human wickedness couldproduce such a brother as you are. '

'Well, it is no news what you think of me, and not much matter, either. Idon't see that I am a worse brother than you are a sister. ' Stanley Lakewas speaking with a livid intensity. 'You see how I'm placed; a ruinedman, with a pistol to my head; what you can do to save me may amount tonothing, but it may be everything, and you say you won't try! Now I sayyou _shall_, and with every energy and faculty you possess, or else abidethe consequences. '

'And I tell you, Sir, ' replied Rachel, 'I know you; you are capable ofanything but of hurting yourself. I'll never be your slave; though, if Ipleased, I might make you mine. I scorn your threats--I defy you. '

Stanley Lake looked transported, and the yellow fires of his deep-seteyes glared on her, while his lips moved to speak, but not a word came, and it became a contortion; he grasped the switch in his hand as if tostrike her. 

'Take care, Sir, Lord Chelford's coming, ' said the young lady, haughtily, with a contracted glance of horror fixed on Lake. 

Lake collected himself. He was a man who could do it pretty quickly; buthe had been violently agitated, and the traces of his fury could notdisappear in a moment. 

Lord Chelford was, indeed, approaching, only a few hundred yards away. 

'Take my arm, ' said Lake. 

And Rachel mechanically, as story-tellers say, placed her slender glovedhand upon his arm--the miscreant arm that had been so nearly raised tostrike her; and they walked along, brother and sister, in the Sabbathsunset light, to meet him. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

IN REDMAN'S DELL. 

Lord Chelford raised his hat, smiling: 'I am so very glad I met you, Iwas beginning to feel so solitary!' he placed himself beside Miss Lake. 'I've had such a long walk across the park. How do you do, Lake? when didyou come?'

And so on--Lake answering and looking wonderfully as usual. 

I think Lord Chelford perceived there was something amiss between theyoung people, for his eye rested on Rachel with a momentary look ofenquiry, unconscious, no doubt, and quickly averted, and he went onchatting pleasantly; but he looked, once or twice, a little hard atStanley Lake. I don't think he had an extraordinarily good opinion ofthat young gentleman. He seldom expressed an ill one of anybody, and thenit was in very measured language. But though he never hinted at anunfavourable estimate of the captain, his intimacies with him were alittle reserved; and I think I have seen him, even when he smiled, lookthe least little bit in the world uncomfortable, as if he did not quiteenter into the captain's pleasantries. 

They had not walked together very far, when Stanley recollected that hemust take his leave, and walk back to Gylingden; and so the young ladyand Lord Chelford were left to pursue their way towards Redman's Farmtogether. 

It would have been a more unaccountable proceeding on the part of StanleyLake, and a more romantic situation, if Rachel and his lordship had nothad before two or three little accidental rambles together in the groundsand gardens of Brandon. There was nothing quite new in the situation, therefore; and Rachel was for a moment indescribably relieved byStanley's departure. 

The shock of her brief interview with her brother over, reflectionassured her, knowing all she did, that Stanley's wooing would prosper, and so this cause of quarrel had really nothing in it; no, nothing but adisplay of his temper and morals--not very astonishing, after all--and, like an ugly picture or a dreadful dream, in no way to affect herafter-life, except as an odious remembrance. 

Therefore, little by little, like a flower that has been bruised, in thetranquillising influences about her, the young lady got up, expanded, andgrew like herself again--not like enough, indeed, to say much, but tolisten and follow his manly, refined, and pleasant talk, every momentwith a pang, that had yet something pleasurable in it, contrasting thequiet and chivalric tone of her present companion, with the ferociousduplicity of the sly, smooth terrorist who had just left her side. 

It was rather a marked thing--as lean Mrs. Loyd, of Gylingden, who hadtwo thin spinsters with pink noses under her wing, remarked--this longwalk of Lord Chelford and Miss Lake in the park; and she enjoined uponher girls the propriety of being specially reserved in their intercoursewith persons of Lord Chelford's rank; not that they were much troubledwith dangers from any such quarter. Miss Lake had, she supposed, her ownnotions, and would act as she pleased; but she owned for her part shepreferred the old fashion, and thought the men did also; and was sure, too, that young ladies lost nothing by a little reserve and modesty. 

Now something of this, no doubt, passed in the minds of Lord Chelford andhis pretty companion. But what was to be done? That perverse and utterlyselfish brother, Stanley Lake, had chosen to take his leave. LordChelford could not desert the young lady, and would it have been a verynice delicacy in Miss Lake to make her courtesy in the middle of thepark, and protest against pursuing their walk together any further?

Lord Chelford was a lively and agreeable companion; but there wassomething unusually gentle, almost resembling tenderness, in his manner. She was so different from her gay, fiery self in this walk--so gentle; sosubdued--and he was more interested by her, perhaps, than he had everbeen before. 

The sun just touched the verge of the wooded uplands, as the young peoplebegan to descend the slope of Redman's Dell. 

'How very short!' Lord Chelford paused, with a smile, at these words. 'Iwas just going to say how short the days have grown, as if it had allhappened without notice, and contrary to the almanac; but really the sunsets cruelly early this evening, and I am so _very_ sorry our little walkis so soon to end. '

There was not much in this little speech, but it was spoken in a low, sweet voice; and Rachel looked down on the ferns before her feet, as theywalked on side by side, not with a smile, but with a blush, and thatbeautiful look of gratification so becoming and indescribable. Happy thatmoment--that enchanted moment of oblivion and illusion! But the fitfulevening breeze came up through Redman's Dell, with a gentle sweep overthe autumnal foliage. Sudden as a sigh, and cold; in her ear it soundedlike a whisper or a shudder, and she lifted up her eyes and saw thedarkening dell before her; and with a pang, the dreadful sense of realityreturned. She stopped, with something almost wild in her look. But withan effort she smiled, and said, with a little shiver, 'The air has grownquite chill, and the sun nearly set; we loitered, Stanley and I, a greatdeal too long in the park, but I am now at home, and I fear I havebrought you much too far out of your way already; good-bye. ' And sheextended her hand. 

'You must not dismiss your escort here. I must see you through theenchanted dell--it is only a step--and then I shall return with a goodconscience, like a worthy knight, having done my devoir honestly. '

She looked down the dell, with a dark and painful glance, and then shesaid a few words of hesitating apology and acquiescence, and in a fewminutes more they parted at the little wicket of Redman's Farm. Theyshook hands. He had a few pleasant, lingering words to say. She paused ashe spoke at the other side of that little garden door. She seemed to likethose lingering sentences--and hung upon them--and even smiled but in hereyes there was a vague and melancholy pleading--a wandering andunfathomable look that pained him. 

They shook hands again--it was the third time--and then she walked up thelittle gravel walk, hardly a dozen steps, and disappeared within the doorof Redman's Farm, without turning another parting look on Lord Chelford, who remained at the little paling--expecting one, I think--to lift hishat and say one more parting word. 

She turned into the little drawing-room at the left, and, herself unseen, did take that last look, and saw him go up the road again towardsBrandon. The shadows and mists of Redman's Dell anticipated night, and itwas already deep twilight there. 

On the table there lay a letter which Margery had brought from thepost-office. So Rachel lighted her candles and read it with very littleinterest, for it concerned a world towards which she had few yearnings. There was just one sentence which startled her attention: it said, 'Weshall soon be at Knowlton--for Christmas, I suppose. It is growing toowintry for mamma near the sea, though I like it better in a high windthan in a calm; and a gale is such fun--such a romp. The Dulhamptons havearrived: the old Marchioness never appears till three o'clock, and onlyout in the carriage twice since they came. I can't say I very much admireLady Constance, though she is to be Chelford's wife. She has fineeyes--and I think no other good point--much too dark for my taste--butthey say clever;' and not another word was there on this subject. 

'Lady Constance! arranged, I suppose, by Lady Chelford--no great dot--andan unamiable family--an odious family--nothing to recommend her but herrank. '

So ruminated Rachel Lake as she looked out on her shadowy garden, andtapped a little feverish tattoo with her finger on the window pane; andshe meditated a great while, trying to bring back distinctly herrecollection of Lady Constance, and also vaguely conjecturing who hadarranged the marriage, and how it had come about. 

'Chelford cannot like her. It is all Lady Chelford's doing. Can I havemistaken the name?'

But no. Nothing could be more perfectly distinct than 'Chelford, ' tracedin her fair correspondent's very legible hand. 

'He treats the young lady very coolly, ' thought Rachel, forgetting, perhaps, that his special relations to Dorcas Brandon had compelled hisstay in that part of the world. 

Mingled with this criticism, was a feeling quite unavowed even toherself--a sore feeling that Lord Chelford had been--and this she neveradmitted to herself before--more particular--no, not exactly that--butmore something or other--not exactly expressible in words, in hisapproaches to her, than was consistent with his situation. But then shehad been very guarded; not stiff or prudish, indeed, but frank and coldenough with him, and that was comforting. 

Still there was a sense of wonder--a great blank, and something of painin the discovery--yes, pain--though she smiled a faint blushingsmile--alone as she was; and then came a deep sigh; and then a sort ofstart. 

'Rachel, Rachel, is it possible?' murmured the young lady, with the samedubious smile, looking down upon the ground, and shaking her head. 'Yes, I do really think you had begun to like Lord Chelford--only _begun_, theleast little insidious bit; but thank you, wild Bessie Frankleyn, youhave quite opened my eyes. Rachel, Rachel, girl! what a fool you werenear becoming!'

She looked like her old pleasant self during this little speech--arch andfresh, and still smiling--she looked up and sighed, and then her darklook returned, and she said dismally, 'What utter madness!'

And leaned for a while with her fingers upon the window sash; and whenshe turned to old Tamar, who brought in her tiny tea equipage, it seemedas if the shadow of the dell, into which she had been vacantly gazing, still rested on her face. 

'Not here, Tamar; I'll drink tea in my room; and you must bring yourtea-cup, too, and we'll take it together. I am--I think I am--a littlenervous, darling, and you won't leave me?'

So they sat down together in her chamber. It was a cheery littlebed-room, when the shutters were closed, and the fire burning brightly inthe grate. 

'My good Tamar will read her chapters aloud. I wish I could enjoy themlike you. I can only wish. You must pray for me, Tamar. There is adreadful image--and I sometimes think a dreadful being always near me. Though the words you read are sad and awful, they are also sweet, likefuneral music a long way off, and they tranquillise me without making mebetter, as the harping of David did the troubled and forsaken King Saul. '

So the old nurse mounted her spectacles, glad of the invitation, andbegan to read. Her reading was very, slow, and had other faults too, being in that sing-song style to which some people inexplicably like toread Holy Writ; but it was reverent and distinct, and I have heard worseeven in the reading desk. 

'Stop, ' said Rachel suddenly, as she reached about the middle of thechapter. 

The old woman looked up, with her watery eyes wide open, and there was ashort pause. 

'I beg your pardon, dear Tamar, but you must first tell me that story youused to tell me long ago of Lady Ringdove, that lived in Epping Forest, to whom the ghost came and told something she was never to reveal, andwho slowly died of the secret, growing all the time more and more likethe spectre; and besought the priest when she was dying, that he wouldhave her laid in the abbey vault, with her mouth open, and her eyes andears sealed, in token that her term of slavery was over, that her lipsmight now be open, and that her eyes were to see no more the dreadfulsight, nor her ears to hear the frightful words that used to scare themin her life-time; and then, you remember, whenever afterwards they openedthe door of the vault, the wind entering in, made such moanings in herhollow mouth, and declared things so horrible that they built up the doorof the vault, and entered it no more. Let me have the entire story, justas you used to tell it. '

So old Tamar, who knew it was no use disputing a fancy of her youngmistress, although on Sunday night she would have preferred other talk, recounted her old tale of wonder. 

'Yes, it is true--a true allegory, I mean, Tamar. Death will close theeyes and ears against the sights and sounds of earth; but even the tombsecures no secrecy. The dead themselves declare their dreadful secrets, open-mouthed, to the winds. Oh, Tamar! turn over the pages, and try tofind some part which says where safety and peace may be found at anyprice; for sometimes I think I am almost bereft of--reason. '

CHAPTER XXXII. 

MR. LARKIN AND THE VICAR. 

The good vicar was not only dismayed but endangered by his brother'sprotracted absence. It was now the first week in November. Bleak andwintry that ungenial month set in at Gylingden; and in accord with thetempestuous and dismal weather the fortunes of the Rev. William Wylderwere darkened and agitated. 

This morning a letter came at breakfast, by post, and when he had readit, the poor vicar grew a little white, and he folded it very quietly andput it in his waistcoat pocket, and patted little Fairy on the head. Little Fairy was asking him a question all this time, very vehemently, 'How long was Jack's sword that he killed the giants with?' and severaltimes to this distinct question he received only the unsatisfactoryreply, 'Yes, my darling;' and at last, when little Fairy mounted hisknee, and hugging the abstracted vicar round the neck, urged his questionwith kisses and lamentations, the parson answered with a look of greatperplexity, and only half recalled, said, 'Indeed, little man, I don'tknow. How long, you say, was Jack's sword? Well, I dare say it was aslong as the umbrella. ' He got up, with the same perplexed and absentlook, as he said this, and threw an anxious glance about the room, as iflooking for something he had mislaid. 

'You are not going to write now, Willie, dear?' expostulated his goodlittle wife, 'you have not tasted your tea yet. '

'I have, indeed, dear; haven't I? Well, I will. '

And, standing, he drank nearly half the cup she had poured out for him, and set it down, and felt in his pocket, she thought, for his keys. 

'Are you looking for anything, Willie, darling? Your keys are in mybasket. '

'No, darling; no, darling--nothing. I have everything I want. I think Imust go to the Lodge and see Mr. Larkin, for a moment. '

'But you have eaten nothing, ' remonstrated his partner; 'you must not gountil you have eaten something. '

'Time enough, darling; I can't wait--I sha'n't be away twentyminutes--time enough when I come back. '

'Have you heard anything of Mark, darling?' she enquired eagerly. 

'Of Mark? Oh, no!--nothing of Mark. ' And he added with a deep sigh, 'Oh, dear! I wonder he does not write--no, nothing of Mark. '

She followed him into the hall. 

'Now, Willie darling, you must not go till you have had yourbreakfast--you will make yourself ill--indeed you will--do come back, just to please me, and eat a little first. '

'No, darling; no, my love--I can't, indeed. I'll be back immediately; butI must catch Mr. Larkin before he goes out. It is only a little matter--Iwant to ask his opinion--and--oh! here is my stick--and I'll returnimmediately. '

'And I'll go with you, ' cried little Fairy. 

'No, no, little man; I can't take you--no, it is business--stay withmamma, and I'll be back again in a few minutes. '

So, spite of Fairy's clamours and the remonstrances of his fond, clinginglittle wife, with a hurried kiss or two, away he went alone, at a veryquick pace, through the high street of Gylingden, and was soon in theaudience chamber of the serious, gentleman attorney. 

The attorney rose with a gaunt and sad smile of welcome--begged Mr. Wylder, with a wave of his long hand, to be seated--and then seatinghimself and crossing one long thigh over the other, he threw his arm overthe back of his chair, and leaning back with what he conceived to be agraceful and gentlemanly negligence--with his visitor full in the lightof the window and his own countenance in shadow, the light coming frombehind--a diplomatic arrangement which he affected--he fixed his small, pink eyes observantly upon him, and asked if he could do anything for Mr. William Wylder. 

'Have you heard anything since, Mr. Larkin? Can you conjecture where hisaddress may now be?' asked the vicar, a little abruptly. 

'Oh! Mr. Mark Wylder, perhaps, you refer to?'

'Yes; my brother, Mark. '

Mr. Larkin smiled a sad and simple smile, and shook his head. 

'No, indeed--not a word--it is very sad, and involves quite a world oftrouble--and utterly inexplicable; for I need not tell you, in myposition, it can't be pleasant to be denied all access to the client whohas appointed me to act for him, nor conducive to the apprehension of hiswishes upon many points, which I should much prefer not being left to mydiscretion. It is really, as I say, inexplicable, for Mr. Mark Wyldermust thoroughly see all this: he is endowed with eminent talents forbusiness, and must perfectly appreciate the embarrassment in which themystery with which he surrounds the place of his abode must involve thosewhom he has appointed to conduct his business. '

'I have heard from him this morning, ' resumed the lawyer; 'he was pleasedto direct a power of attorney to me to receive his rents and signreceipts; and he proposes making Lord Viscount Chelford and Captain Laketrustees, to fund his money or otherwise invest it for his use, and'--

'Has he--I beg pardon--but did he mention a little matter in which I amdeeply--indeed, vitally interested?' The vicar paused. 

'I don't quite apprehend; perhaps if you were to frame your question alittle differently, I might possibly--a--you were saying'--

'I mean a matter of very deep interest to me, ' said the poor vicar, colouring a little, 'though no very considerable sum, viewed absolutely;but, under my unfortunate circumstances, of the most urgent importance--aloan of three hundred pounds--did he mention it?'

Again Mr. Larkin shook his head, with the same sad smile. 

'But, though we do not know how to find him, he knows very well where tofind us--and, as you are aware, we hear from him constantly--and no doubthe recollects his promise, and will transmit the necessary directions allin good time. '

'I earnestly hope he may, ' and the poor cleric lifted up his eyesunconsciously and threw his hope into the form of a prayer. 'For, tospeak frankly, Mr. Larkin, my circumstances are very pressing. I havejust heard from Cambridge, and find that my good friend, Mr. Mountain, the bookseller, has been dead two months, and his wife--he was awidower when I knew him, but it would seem has married since--ishis sole executrix, and has sold the business, and directedtwo gentlemen--attorneys--to call in all the debts due tohim--peremptorily--and they say I must pay before the 15th; and I have, absolutely, but five pounds in the world, until March, when my half-yearwill be paid. And indeed, only that the tradespeople here are so verykind, we should often find it very difficult to manage. '

'Perhaps, ' said Mr. Larkin, blandly, 'you would permit me to look at theletter you mention having received from the solicitors at Cambridge?'

'Oh, thank you, certainly; here it is, ' said William Wylder, eagerly, andhe gazed with his kind, truthful eyes upon the attorney's countenance ashe glanced over it, trying to read something of futurity therein. 

'Foukes and Mauley, ' said Mr. Larkin. 'I have never had but onetransaction with them; they are not always pleasant people to deal with. Mind, I don't say anything affecting their integrity--Heaven forbid; butthey certainly did take rather what I would call a short turn with us onthe occasion to which I refer. You must be cautious; indeed, my dear Sir, _very_ cautious. The fifteenth--just ten clear days. Well, you know youhave till then to look about you; and you know we may any day hear fromyour brother, directing the loan to be paid over to you. And now, my dearand reverend friend, you know me, I hope, ' continued Mr. Larkin, verykindly, as he handed back the letter; 'and you won't attribute what I sayto impertinent curiosity; but your brother's intended advance of threehundred pounds can hardly have had relation only to this trifling claimupon you. There are, no doubt--pardon me--several little matters to bearranged; and considerable circumspection will be needed, pending yourbrother's absence, in dealing with the persons who are in a position topress their claims unpleasantly. You must not trifle with these things. And let me recommend you seeing your legal adviser, whoever he is, immediately. '

'You mean, ' said the vicar, who was by this time very much flushed, 'agentleman of your profession, Mr. Larkin. Do you really think--well, ithas frequently crossed my mind--but the expense, you know; and althoughmy affairs are in a most unpleasant and complicated state, I am sure thateverything would be perfectly smooth if only I had received the loan mykind brother intends, and which, to be sure, as you say, any day I mayreceive. '

'But, my dear Sir, do you really mean to say that you would pay claimsfrom various quarters--how old is this, for instance?--withoutexamination!'

The vicar looked very blank. 

'I--this--well, this I certainly do owe; it has increased a little withinterest, though good Mr. Mountain never charged more than six per cent. It was, I think, about fifteen pounds--books--I am ashamed to say howlong ago; about a work which I began then, and laid aside--on Eusebius;but which is now complete, and will, I hope, eventually repay me. '

'Were you of age, my dear Sir, when he gave you these books on credit?Were you twenty-one years of age?'

'Oh! no; not twenty; but then I owe it, and I could not, as s a Christianman, you know, evade my debts. '

'Of course; but you can't pay it at present, and it may be highlyimportant to enable you to treat this as a debt of honour, you perceive. Suppose, my dear Sir, they should proceed to arrest you, or tosequestrate the revenue of your vicarage. Now, see, my dear Sir, I am, Ihumbly hope, a Christian man; but you will meet with men in everyprofession--and mine is no exception--disposed to extract the lastfarthing which the law by its extremest process will give them. And Ireally must tell you, frankly, that if you dream of escaping the mostserious consequences, you must at once place yourself and your affairs inthe hands of a competent man of business. It will probably be found thatyou do not in reality owe sixty pounds of every hundred claimed againstyou. '

'Oh, Mr. Larkin, if I could induce _you_. '

Mr. Larkin smiled a melancholy smile, and shook his head. 

'My dear Sir, I only wish I could; but my hands are so awfully full, ' andhe lifted them up and shook them, and shook his tall, bald head at thesame time, and smiled a weary smile. 'Just look there, ' and he waved hisfingers in the direction of the Cyclopean wall of tin boxes, tier abovetier, each bearing, in yellow italics, the name of some countrygentleman, and two baronets among the number; 'everyone of them ladenwith deeds and papers. You can't have a notion--no one has--what it is. '

'I see, indeed, ' murmured the honest vicar, in a compassionating tone, and quite entering into the spirit of Mr. Larkin's mournful appeal, as ifthe being in large business was the most distressing situation in whichan attorney could well find himself. 

'It was very unreasonable of me to think of troubling you with mywretched affairs; but really I do not know very well where to turn, orwhom to speak to. Maybe, my dear Sir, you can think of some conscientiousand Christian practitioner who is not so laden with other people's caresand troubles as you are. I am a very poor client, and indeed more troublethan I could possibly be gain to anyone. But there may be some one; praythink; ten days is so short a time, and I can do nothing. '

Mr. Larkin stood at the window ruminating, with his left hand in hisbreeches pocket, and his right, with finger and thumb pinching his underlip, after his wont, and the despairing accents of the poor vicar's lastsentence still in his ear. 

'Well, ' he said hesitatingly, 'it is not easy, at a moment's notice, topoint out a suitable solicitor; there are many, of course, very desirablegentlemen, but I feel it, my dear Sir, a very serious responsibilitynaming one for so peculiar a matter. But you shall not, in the meantime, go to the wall for want of advice. Rely upon it, we'll do the best we canfor you, ' he continued, in a patronising way, with his chin raised, andextending his hand kindly to shake that of the parson. 'Yes, I certainlywill--you must have advice. Can you give me two hours to-morrowevening--say to tea--if you will do me the honour. My friend, CaptainLake, dines at Brandon to-morrow. He's staying here with me, you areaware, on a visit; but we shall be quite by ourselves, say at seveno'clock. Bring all your papers, and I'll get at the root of the business, and see, if possible, in each particular case, what line is best to beadopted. '

'How can I thank you, my dear Sir, ' cried gentle William Wylder, hiscountenance actually beaming with delight and gratitude--a brighter lookthan it had worn for many weeks. 

'Oh, don't--_pray_ don't mention it. I assure you, it is a happiness tome to be of any little use; and, really, I don't see how you couldpossibly hold your own among the parties who are pressing you withoutprofessional advice. '

'I feel, ' said the poor vicar, and his eyes filled as he smiled, and hislip quivered a little--'I feel as if my prayer for direction anddeliverance were answered at last. Oh! my dear Sir, I have suffered agreat deal; but something assures me I am rescued, and shall have a quietmind once more--I am now in safe and able hands. ' And he shook the safeand able, and rather large, hands of the amiable attorney in both his. 

'You make too much of it, my dear Sir. I should at any time be most happyto advise you, ' said Mr. Larkin, with a lofty and pleased benevolence, 'and with great pleasure, _provisionally_, until we can hit upon asatisfactory solicitor with a little more time at his disposal, Iundertake the management of your case. '

'Thank Heaven!' again said the vicar, who had not let go his hands. 'Andit is so delightful to have for my guide a Christian man, who, even wereI so disposed, would not lend himself to an unworthy or questionabledefence; and although at this moment it is not in my power to reward yourinvaluable assistance----'

'Now really, my dear Sir, I must insist--no more of this, I beseech you. I do most earnestly insist that you promise me you will never mention thematter of professional remuneration more, until, at least, I press it, which, rely upon it, will not be for a good while. '

The attorney's smile plainly said, that his 'good while' meant in fact'never. '

'This is, indeed, unimaginable kindness. How _have_ I deserved sowonderful a blessing!'

'And I have no doubt, ' said the attorney, fondling the vicar's arm in hislarge hand, 'that these claims will ultimately be reduced fully thirtyper cent. I had once a good deal of professional experience in this sortof business; and, oh! my dear Sir, it is really _melancholy_!' and upwent his small pink eyes in a pure horror, and his hands were lifted atthe same time; 'but we will bring them to particulars; and you may relyupon it, you will have a much longer time, at all events, than they aredisposed to allow you. '

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

THE LADIES ON GYLINGDEN HEATH. 

Just at this moment they became aware of a timid little tapping which hadbeen going on at the window during the latter part of this conference, and looking up, the attorney and the vicar saw 'little Fairy's' violeteyes peering under his light hair, with its mild, golden shadow, and theodd, sensitive smile, at once shy and arch; his cheeks were wet withtears, and his pretty little nose red, though he was smiling; and he drewhis face aside among the jessamine, when he saw the gaunt attorneydirecting his patronising smile upon him. 

'I beg pardon, ' said the vicar, rising with a sudden smile, and going tothe window. 'It is my little man. Fairy! Fairy! What has brought youhere; my little man?'

Fairy glanced, still smiling, but very shamefacedly at the grandattorney, and in his little fist he held a pair of rather seedy gloves tothe window pane. 

'So I did. I protest I forgot my gloves. Thank you, little man. Who iswith you? Oh! I see. That is right. '

The maid ducked a short courtesy. 

'Indeed, Sir, please, Master Fairy was raising the roof (a nurseryphrase, which implied indescribable bellowing), and as naughty as couldbe, until missis allowed him to come after you. '

'Oh! my little man, you must not do that. Ask nicely, you know; alwaysquietly, like a little gentleman. '

'But, oh! Wapsie, your hands would be cold;' and he held the gloves tohim against the glass. 

'Well, darling, thank you; you are a kind little man, and I'll be withyou in a moment, ' said the vicar, smiling very lovingly on his naughtylittle man. 

'Mr. Larkin, ' said he, turning very gratefully to the attorney 'you canlay this Christian comfort to your kind heart, that you have made mine ahundredfold lighter since I entered this blessed room; indeed, you havelifted a mountain from it by the timely proffer of your invaluableassistance. '

Again the attorney waved off, with a benignant and humble smile, ratheroppressive to see, all idea of obligation, and accompanied his gratefulclient to the glass door of his little porch, where Fairy was alreadyawaiting him with the gloves in his hand. 

'I do believe, ' said the good vicar, as he walked down what Mr. Larkincalled 'the approach, ' and looking up with irrepressible gratitude to theblue sky and the white clouds sailing over his head, 'if it be notpresumption, I must believe that I have been directed hither--yes, darling, yes, my hands are warm' (this was addressed to little Fairy, whowas clamouring for information on the point, and clinging to his arm ashe capered by his side). 'What immense relief;' and he murmured anotherthanksgiving, and then quite hilariously--

'If little man would like to come with his Wapsie, we'll take such a nicelittle walk together, and we'll go and see poor Widow Maddock; and we'llbuy three muffins on our way home, for a feast this evening; and we'lllook at the pictures in the old French "Josephus;" and Mamma and I willtell stories; and I have a halfpenny to buy apples for little Fairy. '

The attorney stood at his window with a shadow on his face, and his smalleyes a little contracted and snakelike, following the slim figure of thethreadbare vicar and his golden-haired, dancing little comrade; and thenhe mounted a chair, and took down successively four of his japannedboxes; two of them, in yellow letters, bore respectively the label'_Brandon, No. 1_, ' and '_No. 2_;' the other '_Wylder, No. 1_, ' and '_No. 2_. '

He opened the 'Wylder' box first, and glanced through a neat little'statement of title, ' prepared for counsel when draughting the deed ofsettlement for the marriage which was never to take place. 

'The limitations, let me see, is not there something that one might besafe in advancing a trifle upon--eh?--h'm--yes. '

And, with his lip in his finger and thumb, he conned over thoseremainders and reversions with a skilled and rapid eye. 

Rachel Lake was glad to see the slender and slightly-stooped figure ofthe vicar standing that morning--his bright little boy by the hand--inthe wicket of the tiny flower-garden of Redman's Farm. She went outquickly to greet him. The sick man likes the sound of his kind doctor'sstep on the stairs; and, be his skill much or little, trusts in him, andwill even joke a little asthmatic joke, and smile a feeble hectic smileabout his ailments, when he is present. 

So they fell into discourse among the autumnal flowers and witheredleaves; and, as the day was still and genial, they remained standing inthe garden; and away went busy little 'Fairy, ' smiling and chatting withMargery, to see the hens and chickens in the yard. 

The physician, after a while, finds the leading features of most casespretty much alike. He knows when inflammation may be expected and feverwill supervene; he is not surprised if the patient's mind wanders alittle at times; expects the period of prostration and the return ofappetite; and has his measures and his palliatives ready for eachsuccessive phase of sickness and recovery. In like manner, too, the goodand skilful parson comes by experience to know the signs and stages ofthe moral ailments and recoveries which some of them know how so tenderlyand so wisely to care for. They, too, have ready--having often provedtheir consolatory efficacy--their febrifuges and their tonics, culledfrom that tree of life whose 'leaves are for the healing of the nations. '

Poor Rachel's hours were dark, and life had grown in some sort terrible, and death seemed now so real and near--aye, quite a fact--and, somehow, not unfriendly. But, oh! the immense futurity beyond, that could not beshirked, to which she was certainly going. 

Death, and sleep so welcome! But, oh! that stupendous LIFE EVERLASTING, now first unveiled. She could only close her eyes and wring her hands. Oh! for some friendly voice and hand to stay her through the Valley ofthe Shadow of Death!

They talked a long while--Rachel chiefly a listener, and often quietlyweeping; and, at last, a very kindly parting, and a promise from thesimple and gentle vicar that he would often look in at Redman's Farm. 

She watched his retreating figure as he and little Fairy walked down thetenebrose road to Gylingden, following them with a dismal gaze, as abenighted and wounded wayfarer in that 'Valley' would the pale lamp'sdisappearing that had for a few minutes, in a friendly hand, shone overhis dreadful darkness. 

And when, in fitful reveries, fancy turned for a moment to an earthlypast and future, all there was a blank--the past saddened, the futurebleak. She did not know, or even suspect, that she had been living in anaerial castle, and worshipping an unreal image, until, on a sudden, allwas revealed in that chance gleam of cruel lightning, the line in thatletter, which she read so often, spelled over, and puzzled over soindustriously, though it was clear enough. How noble, how good, howbright and true, was that hero of her unconscious romance. 

Well, no one else suspected that incipient madness--that was something;and brave Rachel would quite master it. Happy she had discovered it sosoon. Besides, it was, even if Chelford were at her feet, a wildimpossibility now; and it was well, though despair were in the pang, thatshe had, at last, quite explained this to herself. 

As Rachel stood in her little garden, on the spot where she had biddenfarewell to the vicar, she was roused from her vague and dismal reverieby the sound of a carriage close at hand. She had just time to see thatit was a brougham, and to recognise the Brandon liveries, when it drew upat the garden wicket, and Dorcas called to her from the open window. 

'I'm come, Rachel, expressly to take you with me; and I won't be denied. '

'You are very good, Dorcas; thank you, dear, very much; but I am not verywell, and a very dull companion to-day. '

'You think I am going to bore you with visits. No such thing, I assureyou. I have taken a fancy to walk on the common, that is all--a kind oflonging; and you must come with me; quite to ourselves, you and I. Youwon't refuse me, darling; I know you'll come. '

Well, Rachel did go. And away they drove through the quiet town ofGylingden together, and through the short street on the right, and soupon the still quieter common. 

This plain of green turf broke gradually into a heath; and an irregularscreen of timber and underwood divided the common of Gylingden in sylvanfashion from the moor. The wood passed, Dorcas stopped the carriage, andthe two young ladies descended. It was a sunny day, and the air still;and the open heath contrasted pleasantly with the sombre and confinedscenery of Redman's Dell; and altogether Rachel was glad now that she hadmade the effort, and come with her cousin. 

'It was good of you to come, Rachel, ' said Miss Brandon; 'and you looktired; but you sha'n't speak more than you like; and I'll tell you allthe news. Chelford is just returned from Brighton; he arrived thismorning; and he and Lady Chelford will stay for the Hunt Ball. I made ita point. And he called at Hockley, on his way back, to see Sir Julius. Doyou know him?'

'Sir Julius Hockley? No--I've heard of him only. '

'Well, they say he is wasting his property very fast; and I think himevery way very nearly a fool; but Chelford wanted to see him about Mr. Wylder. Mark Wylder, you know, of course, has turned up again in England. His letter to Chelford, six weeks ago, was from Boulogne; but his lastwas from Brighton; and Sir Julius Hockley witnessed--I think they callit--that letter of attorney which Mark sent about a week since to Mr. Larkin; and Chelford, who is most anxious to trace Mark Wylder, having tosurrender--I think they call it--a "trust" is not it--or something--Ireally don't understand these things--to him, and not being able to findout his address, Mr. Larkin wrote to Sir Julius, whom Chelford did notfind at home, to ask him for a description of Mark, to ascertain whetherhe had disguised himself; and Sir Julius wrote to Chelford such an absurddescription of poor Mark, in doggrel rhyme--so like--his odd walk, hisgreat whiskers, and everything. Chelford does not like personalities, buthe could not help laughing. Are you ill, darling?'

Though she was walking on beside her companion, Rachel looked on thepoint of fainting. 

'My darling, you must sit down; you do look very ill. I forgot my promiseabout Mark Wylder. How stupid I have been! and perhaps I have distressedyou. '

'No, Dorcas, I am pretty well; but I have been ill, and I am a littletired; and, Dorcas, I don't deny it, I _am_ amazed, you tell me suchthings. That letter of attorney, or whatever it is, must not be actedupon. It is incredible. It is all horrible wickedness. Mark Wylder's fateis dreadful, and Stanley is the mover of all this. Oh! Dorcas, darling, Iwish I could tell you everything. Some day I may be--I am sick andterrified. '

They had sat down, by this time, side by side, on the crisp bank. Eachlady looked down, the one in suffering, the other in thought. 

'You are better, darling; are not you better?' said Dorcas, laying herhand on Rachel's, and looking on her with a melancholy gaze. 

'Yes, dear, better--very well'--answered Rachel, looking up but withoutan answering glance at her cousin. 

'You blame your brother, Rachel, in this affair. '

'Did I? Well--maybe--yes, he _is_ to blame--the miserable man--whom Ihate to think of, and yet am always thinking of--Stanley well knows isnot in a state to do it. '

'Don't you think, Rachel, remembering what I have confided to you, thatyou might be franker with me in this?'

'Oh, Dorcas! don't misunderstand me. If the secret were all myown--Heaven knows, hateful as it is, how boldly I would risk all, andthrow myself on your fidelity or your mercy--I know not how you mightview it; but it is different, Dorcas, at least for the present. You knowme--you know how I hate secrets; but this _is_ not mine--only inpart--that is, I dare not tell it--but may be soon free--and to us all, dear Dorcas, a woful, _woful_, day will it be. '

'I made you a promise, Rachel, ' said her beautiful cousin, gravely, and alittle coldly and sadly, too; 'I will never break it again--it wasthoughtless. Let us each try to forget that there is anything hiddenbetween us. '

'If ever the time comes, dear Dorcas, when I may tell it to you, I don'tknow whether you will bless or hate me for having kept it so well; at allevents, I think you'll pity me, and at last understand your miserablecousin. '

'I said before, Rachel, that I liked you. You are one of us, Rachel. Youare beautiful, wayward, and daring, and one way or another, misfortunealways waylays us; and I have, I know it, calamity before me. Death comesto other women in its accustomed way; but we have a double death. Thereis not a beautiful portrait in Brandon that has not a sad and true story. Early death of the frail and fair tenement of clay--but a still earlierdeath of happiness. Come, Rachel, shall we escape from the spell and thedestiny into solitude? What do you think of my old plan of the valleysand lakes of Wales? a pretty foreign tongue spoken round us, and no onebut ourselves to commune with, and books, and music. It is not, Radie, altogether jest. I sometimes yearn for it, as they say foreign girls dofor convent life. '

'Poor Dorcas, ' said Rachel, very softly, fixing her eyes upon her with alook of inexpressible sadness and pity. 

'Rachel, ' said Dorcas, 'I am a changeable being--violent, self-willed. Myfate may be quite a different one from that which _I_ suppose or _you_imagine. I may yet have to retract _my_ secret. '

'Oh! would it were so--would to Heaven it were so. '

'Suppose, Rachel, that I had been deceiving you--perhaps deceivingmyself--time will show. '

There was a wild smile on beautiful Dorcas's face as she said this, whichfaded soon into the proud serenity that was its usual character. 

'Oh! Dorcas, if your good angel is near, listen to his warnings. '

'We have no good angels, my poor Rachel: what modern necromancers, conversing with tables, call "mocking spirits, " have always usurped theirplace with us: singing in our drowsy ears, like Ariel--visiting ourreveries like angels of light--being really our evil genii--ah, yes!'

'Dorcas, dear, ' said Rachel, after both had been silent for a time, speaking suddenly, and with a look of pale and keen entreaty--'Beware ofStanley--oh! beware, beware. I think I am beginning to grow afraid of himmyself. '

Dorcas was not given to sighing--but she sighed--gazing sadly across thewide, bleak moor, with her proud, apathetic look, which seemed passivelyto defy futurity--and then, for awhile, they were silent. 

She turned, and caressingly smoothed the golden tresses over Rachel'sfrank, white forehead, and kissed them as she did so. 

'You are better, darling; you are rested?' she said. 

'Yes, dear Dorcas, ' and she kissed the slender hand that smoothed herhair. 

Each understood that the conversation on that theme was ended, andsomehow each was relieved. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

SIR JULIUS HOCKLEY'S LETTER. 

Jos. Larkin mentioned in his conversation with the vicar, just related, that he had received a power of attorney from Mark Wylder. Connected withthis document there came to light a circumstance so very odd, that thereader must at once be apprised of it. 

This legal instrument was attested by two witnesses, and bore date abouta week before the interview, just related, between the vicar and Mr. Larkin. Here, then, was a fact established. Mark Wylder had returned fromBoulogne, for the power of attorney had been executed at Brighton. Whowere the witnesses? One was Thomas Tupton, of the Travellers' Hotel, Brighton. 

This Thomas Tupton was something of a sporting celebrity, and a likelyman enough to be of Mark's acquaintance. 

The other witness was Sir Julius Hockley, of Hockley, an unexceptionableevidence, though a good deal on the turf. 

Now our friend Jos. Larkin had something of the Red Indian's faculty fortracking his game, by hardly perceptible signs and tokens, through thewilderness; and this mystery of Mark Wylder's flight and seclusion wasthe present object of his keen and patient pursuit. 

On receipt of the 'instrument, ' therefore, he wrote by return of post, 'presenting his respectful compliments to Sir Julius Hockley, and deeplyregretting that, as solicitor of the Wylder family, and the _gentleman_(_sic_) empowered to act under the letter of attorney, it was imperativeupon him to trouble him (Sir Julius H. ) with a few interrogatories, whichhe trusted he would have no difficulty in answering. '

The first was, whether he had been acquainted with Mr. Mark Wylder'spersonal appearance before seeing him sign, so as to be able to identifyhim. The second was, whether he (Mr. M. W. ) was accompanied, at the timeof executing the instrument, by any friend; and if so, what were the nameand address of such friend. And the third was, whether he couldcommunicate any information whatsoever respecting Mr. M. W. 's presentplace of abode?

The same queries were put in a somewhat haughty and peremptory way to thesporting hotel-keeper, who answered that Mr. Mark Wylder had been stayingfor a week at his house, about five months ago; and that he had seen himtwice--once 'backing' Jonathan, when he beat the great Americanbilliard-player; and another time, when he lent him his copy of 'Bell'sLife, ' in the coffee-room; and thus he was enabled to identify him. Forthe rest he could say nothing. 

Sir Julius's reply was of the hoity-toity and rollicking sort, borderingin parts very nearly on nonsense, and generally impertinent. It reachedMr. Larkin as he sat at breakfast with his friend, Stanley Lake. 

'Pray read your letters, and don't mind me, I entreat. Perhaps you willallow me to look at the "Times;" and I'll trouble you for the sardines. '

The postmark 'Hockley, ' stared the lawyer in the face; and, longing tobreak the seal, he availed himself of the captain's permission. So Lakeopened the 'Times;' and, as he studied its columns, I think he stole aglance or two over its margin at the attorney, now deep in the letter ofSir Julius Hockley. 

He (Sir J. H. ) 'presented his respects to Mr. Lark_ens_, or Lark_ins_, orLark_me_, or Lark_us_--Sir J. H. Is not able to read _which_ or _what_;but he is happy to observe, at all events, that, end how he may, thegentleman begins with a "lark!" which Sir J. H. Always does, when he can. Not being able to discover his terminal syllable, he will take theliberty of styling him by his sprightly beginning, and calling himshortly "Lark. " As Sir J. Never objected to a lark, the gentleman sodesignated introduces himself with a strong prejudice, in Sir J. 's mind, in his favour--so much so, that by way of a lark, Sir J. Will answerLark's questions, which are not, he thinks, very impertinent. The wildestof all Lark's questions refers to Wylder's place of abode, which Sir J. Was never wild enough to think of asking after, and does not know; and solittle was he acquainted with the gentleman, that he forgot he was anevangelist doing good under the style and title of Mark. Lark may, therefore, tell Mark, if he sees him, or his friends--Matthew, Luke, andJohn--that Sir Julius saw Mark only on two successive days, at thecricket-match, played between Paul's Eleven--the coincidence isremarkable--and the Ishmaelites (these, I am bound to observe, wereliterally the designations of the opposing sides); and that he had thehonour of being presented to Mark--saint or sinner, as he may be--on theground, by his, Sir J. H. 's, friend, Captain Stanley Lake, of the Guards. '

Here was an astounding fact. Stanley Lake had been in Mark Wylder'scompany only ten days ago, when that great match was played at Brighton!What a deep gentleman was that Stanley Lake, who sat at the other end ofthe table with the 'Times' before him. What a varnished rascal--what amatchless liar!

He had returned to Gylingden, direct, in all likelihood, from hisconferences with Mark Wylder, to tell all concerned that it was vainendeavouring to trace him, and still offering his disinterested servicesin the pursuit. 

No matter! We must take things coolly and cautiously. All this chicanerywill yet break down, and the conspiracy, be it what it may, will bethoroughly exposed. Mystery is the shadow of guilt; and, most assuredly, thought Mr. Larkin, there is some _infernal_ secret, _well worthknowing_, at the bottom of all this. You little think I have you here!and he slid Sir Julius Hockley's piece of rubbishy banter into hiswaistcoat pocket, and then opened and glanced at half-a-dozen otherletters, in a cool, quick official way, endorsing a little note on theback of each with his gold, patent pencil. All Mr. Jos. Larkin's'properties' were handsome and imposing, and he never played withchildren without producing his gold repeater, and making it strike, andexhibiting its wonders for their amusement, and the edification of theadults, whose presence, of course, he forgot. 

'Paul's Eleven have challenged the Gipsies, ' said Lake, languidly liftinghis eyes from the paper. 'By-the-bye, are you anything of a cricketer?And they are to play at Hockley, Sir Julius Hockley's ground. You knowSir Julius, don't you?'

'Very slightly. I may say I _have_ that honour, but we have never beenthrown together; a mere--a--the slightest thing in the world. '

'Not schoolfellows----you are not an Eton man, eh?' said Lake. 

'Oh no! My dear father' (the organist) 'would not send a boy of his towhat he called an idle school. But my acquaintance with Sir Julius was atrifling matter. Hockley is a very pretty place, is not it?'

'A sweet place. A great match was played between those fellows atBrighton: Paul's Eleven beat fifteen of the Ishmaelites, about afortnight since; but they have no chance with the Gipsies. It will bequite a hollow thing--a one-innings affair. '

'Have you ever seen Paul's Eleven play?' asked the lawyer, carelesslytaking up the newspaper which Lake had laid down. 

'I saw them play that match at Brighton, I mentioned just now, a few daysago. '

'Ah! did you?'

'Did not you _know_ I was there?' said Lake, in rather a changed tone. Larkin looked up, and Lake laughed in his face quietly the mostimpertinent laugh he had ever seen or heard, with his yellow eyes fixedon the lawyer's pink little optics. 'I was there, and Hockley was there, and Mark Wylder was there--was not he?' and Lake stared and laughed, andthe attorney stared; and Lake added, 'What a d--d cunning fellow you are;ha, ha, ha!'

Larkin was not easily put out, but he _was_ disconcerted now; and hischeeks and forehead grew suddenly pink, and he coughed a little, andtried to throw a look of mild surprise into his face. 

'Why, you have this moment had a letter from Hockley. Don't you think Iknew his hand and the post-mark, and your look said quite plainly, "Here's news of my friend Stanley Lake and Mark Wylder. " I had an unclein the Foreign Office, and they said he would have been quite adistinguished diplomatist if he had lived; and I was said to have a gooddeal of his talent; and I really think I have brought my little evidencesvery prettily together, and jumped to a right conclusion--eh?'

A flicker of that sinister shadow I have sometimes mentioned crossedLarkin's face, and contracted his eyes, as he said, a little sternly--

'I have nothing on earth to conceal, Sir; I never had. All _my_ conducthas been as open as the light; there's not a letter, Sir, I ever write orreceive, that might not, so far as _I_ am concerned, with my good will, lie open on that table for every visitor that comes in to read;--open asthe day, Sir:' and the attorney waved his hand grandly. 

'Hear, hear, hear, ' said Lake, languidly, and tapping a little applauseon the table, while he watched the solicitor's rhetoric with his sly, disconcerting smile. 

'It was but conscientious, Captain Lake, that I should make particularenquiry respecting the genuineness of a legal instrument conferring suchvery considerable powers. How, on earth, Sir, could I have the slightestsuspicion that _you_ had seen my client, Mr. Wylder, considering thetenor of your letters and conversation? And I venture to say, CaptainLake, that Lord Chelford will be just as much surprised as I, when hehears it. '

Jos. Larkin, Esq. , delivered this peroration from a moral elevation, allthe loftier that he had a peer of the realm on his side. But peers didnot in the least overawe Stanley Lake, who had been all his days familiarwith those idols; and the moral altitudes of the attorney amused himvastly. 

'But he'll _not_ hear it; _I_ won't tell him, and you sha'n't; because Idon't think it would be prudent of us--do you?--to quarrel with MarkWylder, and he does not wish our meeting known. It is nothing on earth tome; on the contrary, it rather places me in an awkward position keepingother people's secrets. '

The attorney made one of his slight, gentlemanlike bows, and threw backhis head with a lofty and reserved look. 

'I don't know, Captain Lake, that I would be quite justified inwithholding the substance of Sir Julius Hockley's letter from LordChelford, consulted, as I have had the honour to be, by that nobleman. Ishall, however, turn it over in my mind. '

'Don't the least mind me. In fact, I would rather tell it than not. And Ican explain to Chelford why _I_ could not mention the circumstance. Wylder, in fact, tied me down by a promise, and he'll be devilish angrywith you; but, it seems, you don't very much mind that. '

He knew that Mr. Larkin _did_ very much mind it; and the quick glance ofthe attorney could read nothing whatever in the captain's pallid face anddowncast eyes, smiling on the points of his varnished boots. 

'Of course, you know, Captain Lake, in alluding to the possibility of mymaking any communication to Lord Chelford, I limit myself strictly to theletter of Sir Julius Hockley, and do not, by any means, my dear CaptainLake, include the conversation which has just occurred, and thecommunication which you have volunteered to make me. '

'Oh! quite so, ' said the captain, looking up suddenly, as was his way, with a momentary glare, like a man newly-waked from a narcotic doze. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE HUNT BALL. 

By this time your humble servant, the chronicler of these Gylingdenannals, had taken his leave of magnificent old Brandon, and of itsstrangely interesting young mistress and was carrying away with him, ashe flew along the London rails, the broken imagery of that grand andshivered dream. He was destined, however, before very long, to revisitthese scenes; and in the meantime heard, in rude outline, the tenor ofwhat was happening--the minute incidents and colouring of which wereafterwards faithfully communicated. 

I can, therefore, without break or blur, continue my description; and tosay truth, at this distance of time, I have some difficulty--so wellacquainted was I with the actors and the scenery--in determining, withoutconsulting my diary, what portions of the narrative I relate fromhearsay, and what as a spectator. But that I am so far from understandingmyself, I should often be amazed at the sayings and doings of otherpeople. As it is, I behold in myself an abyss, I gaze down and listen, and discover neither light nor harmony, but thunderings and lightnings, and voices and laughter, and a medley that dismays me. There rage theelements which God only can control. Forgive us our trespasses; lead usnot into temptation; deliver us from the Evil One! How helpless andappalled we shut our eyes over that awful chasm. 

I have long ceased, then, to wonder why any living soul does anythingthat is incongruous and unanticipated. And therefore I cannot say howMiss Brandon persuaded her handsome Cousin Rachel to go with her party, under the wing of Old Lady Chelford, to the Hunt Ball of Gylingden. Andknowing now all that then hung heavy at the heart of the fair tenant ofRedman's Farm, I should, indeed, wonder inexpressibly, were it not, as Ihave just said, that I have long ceased to wonder at any vagaries ofmyself or my fellow creatures. 

The Hunt Ball is the great annual event of Gylingden. The criticalprocess of 'coming out' is here consummated by the young ladies of thattown and vicinage. It is looked back upon for one-half of the year, andforward to for the other. People date by it. The battle of Inkerman wasfought immediately before the Hunt Ball. It was so many weeks after theHunt Ball that the Czar Nicholas died. The Carnival of Venice was nothinglike so grand an event. Its solemn and universal importance in Gylingdenand the country round, gave me, I fancied, some notion of what the feastof unleavened bread must have been to the Hebrews and Jerusalem. 

The connubial capabilities of Gylingden are positively wretched. When Iknew it, there were but three single men, according even to the modestmeasure of Gylingden housekeeping, capable of supporting wives, and thesewere difficult to please, set a high price on themselves--looked thecountry round at long ranges, and were only wistfully and meekly glancedafter by the frugal vestals of Gylingden, as they strutted round thecorners, or smoked the pipe of apathy at the reading-room windows. 

Old Major Jackson kept the young ladies in practice between whiles, withhis barren gallantries and graces, and was, just so far, better thannothing. But, as it had been for years well ascertained that he eithercould not or would not afford to marry, and that his love passages, likethe passages in Gothic piles that 'lead to nothing, ' were not designed toterminate advantageously, he had long ceased to excite, even in thatdesolate region, the smallest interest. 

Think, then, what it was, when Mr. Pummice, of Copal and Pummice, thesplendid house-painters at Dollington, arrived with his artists andcharwomen to give the Assembly Room its annual touching-up andbedizenment, preparatory to the Hunt Ball. The Gylingden young ladiesused to peep in, and from the lobby observe the wenches dry-rubbing andwaxing the floor, and the great Mr. Pummice, with his myrmidons, inaprons and paper caps, retouching the gilding. 

It was a tremendous crisis for honest Mrs. Page, the confectioner, overthe way, who, in legal phrase, had 'the carriage' of the supper andrefreshments, though largely assisted by Mr. Battersby, of Dollington. During the few days' agony of preparation that immediately preceded thisnotable orgie, the good lady's countenance bespoke the magnitude of hercares. Though the weather was usually cold, I don't think she ever wascool during that period--I am sure she never slept--I don't think sheate--and I am afraid her religious exercises were neglected. 

Equally distracting, emaciating, and godless, was the condition to whichthe mere advent of this festival reduced worthy Miss Williams, thedressmaker, who had more white muslin and young ladies on her hands thanshe and her choir of needle-women knew what to do with. During thistremendous period Miss Williams hardly resembled herself--her eyesdilated, her lips were pale, and her brow corrugated with deep andinflexible lines of fear and perplexity. She lived on bad tea--sat up allnight--and every now and then burst into helpless floods of tears. Butsomehow, generally things came pretty right in the end. One way oranother, the gay belles and elderly spinsters, and fat villagechaperones, were invested in suitable costume by the appointed hour, andin a few weeks Miss Williams' mind recovered its wonted tone, and hercountenance its natural expression. 

The great night had now arrived. Gylingden was quite in an uproar. Ruralfamilies of eminence came in. Some in old-fashioned coaches; others, thewealthier, more in London style. The stables of the 'Brandon Arms, ' ofthe 'George Inn, ' of the 'Silver Lion, ' even of the 'White House, ' thougha good way off, and generally every vacant standing for horses in orabout the town were crowded; and the places of entertainment we havenamed, and minor houses of refection, were vocal with the talk offlunkeys, patrician with powdered heads, and splendent in variegatedliveries. 

The front of the Town Hall resounded with the ring of horse-hoofs, thecrack of whips, the bawling of coachmen, the clank of carriage steps andclang of coach doors. A promiscuous mob of the plebs and profanum vulgusof Gylingden beset the door, to see the ladies--the slim and the young inwhite muslins and artificial flowers, and their stout guardian angels, ofmaturer years, in satins and velvets, and jewels--some real, and some, just as good, of paste. In the cloak-room such a fuss, unfurling of fans, and last looks and hurried adjustments. 

When the Crutchleighs, of Clay Manor, a good, old, formal family, weremounting the stairs in solemn procession--they were always among theearly arrivals--they heard a piano and a tenor performing in thesupper-room. 

Now, old Lady Chelford chose to patronise Mr. Page, the Dollingtonprofessor, and partly, I fancy, to show that she could turn thingstopsy-turvy in this town of Gylingden, had made a point, with the rulersof the feast, that her client should sing half-a-dozen songs in thesupper-room before dancing commenced. 

Mrs. Crutchleigh stayed her step upon the stairs abruptly, and turned, with a look of fierce surprise upon her lean, white-headed lord, arresting thereby the upward march of Corfe Crutchleigh, Esq. , the hopeof his house, who was pulling on his gloves, with his eldest spinstersister on his lank arm. 

'There appears to be a concert going on; we came here to a ball. Had younot better enquire, Mr. Crutchleigh; it would seem we have made amistake?'

Mrs. Crutchleigh was sensitive about the dignity of the family of ClayManor; and her cheeks flushed above the rouge, and her eyes flashedseverely. 

'That's singing--particularly _loud singing_. Either we have mistaken thenight, or somebody has taken upon him to upset all the arrangements. You'll be good enough to enquire whether there will be dancing to-night;I and Anastasia will remain in the cloak-room; and we'll all leave if youplease, Mr. Crutchleigh, if this goes on. '

The fact is, Mrs. Crutchleigh had got an inkling of this performance, andhad affected to believe it impossible; and, detesting old Lady Chelfordfor sundry slights and small impertinences, and envying Brandon and itsbelongings, was resolved not to be put down by presumption in thatquarter. 

Old Lady Chelford sat in an arm-chair in the supper-room, where aconsiderable audience was collected. She had a splendid shawl or twoabout her, and a certain air of demi-toilette, which gave the Gylingdenpeople to understand that her ladyship did not look on this gala in thelight of a real ball, but only as a sort of rustic imitation--curious, possibly amusing, and, like other rural sports, deserving ofencouragement, for the sake of the people who made innocent holidaythere. 

Mr. Page, the performer, was a plump young man, with black whiskers, andhis hair in oily ringlets, such as may be seen in the model wigspresented on smiling, waxen dandies, in Mr. Rose's front window atDollington. He bowed and smiled in the most unexceptionable of whitechokers and the dapperest of dress coats, and drew off the whitestimaginable pair of kid gloves, when he sat down to the piano, subsidingin a sort of bow upon the music-stool, and striking those few, brisk andnoisy chords with which such artists proclaim silence and reassurethemselves. 

Stanley Lake, that eminent London swell, had attached himself asgentleman-in-waiting to Lady Chelford's household, and was perpetuallygliding with little messages between her ladyship and the dapper vocalistof Dollington, who varied his programme and submitted to an occasional_encore_ on the private order thus communicated. 

'I told you Chelford would be here, ' said Miss Brandon to Rachel, in alow tone, glancing at the young peer. 

'I thought he had returned to Brighton. I fancied he might be--you knowthe Dulhamptons are at Brighton; and Lady Constance, of course, has aclaim on his time and thoughts. '

Rachel smiled as she spoke, and was adjusting her bouquet, as Dorcas madeanswer--

'Lady Constance, my dear Radie! That, you know, was never more than amere whisper; it was only Lady Chelford and the marchioness who talked itover--they would have liked it very well. But Chelford won't be managedor scolded into anything of the kind; and will choose, I think, forhimself, and I fancy not altogether according to their ideas, when thetime comes. And I assure you, dear Radie, there is not the least truth inthat story about Lady Constance. '

Why should Dorcas be so earnest to convince her handsome cousin thatthere was nothing in this rumour? Rachel made no remark, and there was alittle silence. 

'I'm so glad I succeeded in bringing you here, ' said Dorcas; 'Chelfordmade such a point of it; and he thinks you are losing your spirits amongthe great trees and shadows of Redman's Dell; and he made it quite alittle cousinly duty that I should succeed. '

At this moment Mr. Page interposed with the energetic prelude of hisconcluding ditty. It was one of Tom Moore's melodies. 

Rachel leaned back, and seemed to enjoy it very much. But when it wasover, I think she would have found it difficult to say what the song wasabout. 

Mr. Page had now completed his programme, and warned by the disrespectfulviolins from the gallery of the ball-room, whence a considerablecaterwauling was already announcing the approach of the dance, he madehis farewell flourish, and bow and, smiling, withdrew. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE BALL ROOM. 

Rachel Lake, standing by the piano, turned over the leaves of the volumeof 'Moore's Melodies' from which the artist in black whiskers and whitewaistcoat had just entertained his noble patroness and his audience. 

Everyone has experienced, I suppose for a few wonderful moments, now andthen, a glow of seemingly causeless happiness, in which the earth and itspeople are glorified--peace and sunlight rest on everything--the spiritof music and love is in the air, and the heart itself sings for joy. Inthe light of this celestial illusion she stood now by the piano, turningover the pages of poor Tom Moore, as I have said, when a low pleasantvoice near her said--

'I was so glad to see that Dorcas had prevailed, and that you were here. We both agreed that you are too much a recluse in that Der FrieschutzGlen--at least, for your friends' pleasure; and owe it to us all toappear now and then in this upper world. '

'Excelsior, Miss Lake, ' interposed dapper little Mr. Buttle, with asmirk; 'I think this little bit of music--it was got up, you know, bythat old quiz, Dowager Lady Chelford--was really not so bad--a rathergood idea, after all, Miss Lake. Don't you?'

Poor Mr. Buttle did not know Lord Chelford, and thus shooting his 'arrowo'er the house, ' he 'hurt his brother. ' Chelford turned away, and bowedand smiled to one or two friends at the other side of the room. 

'Yes, the music was very pretty, and some of the songs were quitecharmingly sung. I agree with you--we are very much obliged to LadyChelford--that is her son, Lord Chelford. '

'Oh!' said Buttle, whose smirk vanished on the instant in a very red anddismal vacancy, 'I--I'm afraid he'll think me shockingly rude. ' And in aminute more Buttle was gone. 

Miss Lake again looked down upon the page, and as she did so, LordChelford turned and said--

'You are a worshipper of Tom Moore, Miss Lake?'

'An admirer, perhaps--certainly no worshipper. Yet, I can't say. PerhapsI do worship; but if so, it is a worship strangely mixed with contempt. 'And she laughed a little. 'A kind of adoring which I fancy belongsproperly to the lords of creation, and which we of the weaker sex have noright to practise. '

'Miss Lake is pleased to be ironical to-night, ' he said, with a smile. 

'Am I? I dare say. All women are. Irony is the weapon of cowardice, andcowardice the vice of weakness. Yet I think I was naturally bold andtrue. I hate cowardice and deception even in myself--I hate perfidy--Ihate _fraud_. '

She tapped a little emphasis upon the floor with her white satin shoe, and her eyes flashed with a dark and angry meaning among the crowd at theother end of the room, as if for a second or two following an object towhom in some way the statement applied. 

The strange bitterness of her tone, though it was low enough, andsomething wild, suffering, and revengeful in her look, though butmomentary, and hardly definable, did not escape Lord Chelford, and hefollowed unconsciously the direction of her glance; but there was nothingthere to guide him to a conclusion, and the good people who formed thatpolite and animated mob were in his eyes, one and all, quite below thelevel of tragedy, or even of melodrama. 

'And yet, Miss Lake, we are all more or less cowards or deceivers--atleast, to the extent of suppression. Who would speak the whole truth, orlike to hear it?--not I, I know. '

'Nor I, ' she said, quietly. 

'And I do think, if people had no reserves, they would be veryuninteresting, ' he added. 

She was looking, with a strange light upon her face--a smile, perhaps--upon the open pages of 'Moore's Melodies' as he spoke. 

'I like a little puzzle and mystery--they surround our future and ourpast; and the present would be insipid, I think, without them. Now, Ican't tell, Miss Lake, as you look on Tom Moore there, and I try to readyour smile, whether you happen at this particular moment to adore ordespise him. '

'Moore's is a daring morality--what do you think, for instance, of theselines?' she said, touching the verse with her bouquet. 

Lord Chelford read--

 I ask not, I know not, if guilt's in thy heart I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art. '

He laughed. 

'Very passionate, but hardly respectable. I once knew, ' he continued alittle more gravely, 'a marriage made upon that principle, and not veryaudaciously either, which turned out very unhappily. '

'So I should conjecture, ' she said, rising from her chair, ratherdrearily and abstractedly, 'and there is good old Lady Sarah. I must goand ask her how she does. ' She paused for a moment, holding her bouquetdrooping towards the floor, and looking with her clouded eyesdown--down--through it; and then she looked up suddenly, with an odd, fierce smile, and she said bitterly enough--'and yet, if I were a man, and capable of loving, I could love no other way; because I suppose loveto be a madness, and the sublimest and the most despicable of states. AndI admire Moore for that flash of the fallen angelic--it is the sentimentof a hero and a madman--too base and too _noble_ for this cool, wiseworld. '

She was already moving away, nebulous in hovering folds of snowy muslin. And she floated down like a cloud upon the ottoman, beside old LadySarah, and smiled and leaned towards her, and talked in her sweet, low, distinct accents. And Lord Chelford followed her, with a sad sort ofsmile, admiring her greatly. 

Of course, _non cuivis contigit_, it was not every man's privilege todance with the splendid Lady of Brandon. It was only the demigods whoventured within the circle. Her kinsman, Lord Chelford, did so; and nowhandsome Sir Harry Bracton, six feet high, so broad-shouldered andslim-waisted, his fine but not very wise face irradiated withindefatigable smiles, stood and conversed with her, with that jauntyswagger of his--his weight now on this side, now on that, squaring hiselbows like a crack whip with four-in-hand, and wagging his perfumedtresses--boisterous, rollicking, beaming with immeasurableself-complacency. 

Stanley Lake left old Lady Chelford's side, and glided to that of DorcasBrandon. 

'Will you dance this set--are you engaged, Miss Brandon?' he said, in loweager tones. 

'Yes, to both questions, ' answered she, with the faintest gleam of theconventional smile, and looking now gravely again at her bouquet. 

'Well, the next possibly, I hope?'

'I never do that, ' said the apathetic beauty, serenely. 

Stanley looked as if he did not quite understand, and there was a littlesilence. 

'I mean, I never engage myself beyond one dance. I hope you do not thinkit rude--but I never do. '

'Miss Brandon can make what laws she pleases for all here, and for someof us everywhere, ' he replied, with a mortified smile and a bow. 

At that moment Sir Harry Bracton arrived to claim her, and MissKybes--elderly and sentimental, and in no great request--timidly said, ina gobbling, confidential whisper--

'What a handsome couple they do make! Does not it quite realise yourconception, Captain Lake, of young Lochinvar, you know, and his fairHelen--

 So stately his form and so lovely her face--

You remember--

 'That never a hall such a galliard did grace. 

Is not it?'

'So it is, really; it did not strike me. And that "one cup of wine"--yourecollect--which the hero drank; and, I dare say it made young Lochinvara little noisy and swaggering, when he proposed "treading themeasure"--is not that the phrase? Yes, really; it is a very prettypoetical parallel. '

And Miss Kybes was pleased to think that Captain Lake would be sure toreport her elegant little compliment in the proper quarters, and that herincense had not missed fire. 

When Miss Brandon returned, Lake was unfortunately on duty beside oldLady Chelford, whom it was important to propitiate, and who was in themiddle of a story--an extraordinary favour from her ladyship; and he hadthe vexation to see Lord Chelford palpably engaging Miss Brandon for thenext dance. 

When she returned, she was a little tired, and doubtful whether she woulddance any more--certainly not the next dance. So he resolved to lie inwait, and anticipate any new suitor who might appear. 

His eyes, however, happened to wander, in an unlucky moment, to old LadyChelford, who instantaneously signalled to him with her fan. 

'-- the woman, ' mentally exclaimed Lake, telegraphing, at the same time, with a bow and a smile of deferential alacrity, and making his waythrough the crowd as deftly as he could; what a ---- fool I was to gonear her. '

So the captain had to assist at the dowager lady's supper; and not onlyso, but in some sort at her digestion also, which she chose should takeplace for some ten minutes in the chair that she occupied at the suppertable. 

When he escaped, Miss Brandon _was_ engaged once more--and to Sir HarryBracton, for a second time. 

And moreover, when he again essayed his suit, the young lady hadperemptorily made up her mind to dance no more that night. 

'How _can_ Dorcas endure that man, ' thought Rachel, as she saw Sir Harrylead her to her seat, after a second dance. 'Handsome, but so noisy andfoolish, and wicked; and is not he vulgar, too?'

But Dorcas was not demonstrative. Her likings and dislikings were alwaysmore or less enigmatical. Still Rachel Lake fancied that she detectedsigns, not only of tolerance, but of positive liking, in her haughtycousin's demeanour, and wondered, after all, whether Dorcas was beginningto like Sir Harry Bracton. Dorcas had always puzzled her--not, indeed, somuch latterly--but this night the mystery began to darken once more. 

Twice, for a moment, their eyes met; but only for a moment. Rachel knewthat a tragedy might be--at that instant, and under the influence of thatvery spectacle--gathering its thunders silently in another part of theroom, where she saw Stanley's pale, peculiar face; and although heappeared in nowise occupied by what was passing between Dorcas Brandonand Sir Harry, she perfectly well knew that nothing of it escaped him. 

The sight of that pale face was a cold pang at her heart--a faceprophetic of evil, at sight of which the dark curtain which hid futurityseemed to sway and tremble, as if a hand from behind was on the point ofdrawing it. Rachel sighed profoundly, and her eyes looked sadly throughher bouquet on the floor. 

'I'm very glad you came, Radie, ' said a sweet voice, which somehow madeher shiver, close to her ear. 'This kind of thing will do you good; andyou really wanted a little fillip. Shall I take you to the supper-room?'

'No, Stanley, thank you; I prefer remaining. '

'Have you observed how Dorcas has treated me this evening?'

'No, Stanley; nothing unusual, is there?' answered Rachel, glancinguneasily round, lest they should be overheard. 

'Well, I think she has been more than usually repulsive--quite marked; Ialmost fancy these Gylingden people, dull as they are, must observe it. Ihave a notion I sha'n't trouble Gylingden or her after to-morrow. '

Rachel glanced quickly at him. He was deadly pale, with his faintunpleasant smile; and he returned her glance for a second wildly, andthen dropped his eyes to the ground. 

'I told you, ' he resumed again, after a short pause, and commencing witha gentle laugh, 'that she liked that fellow, Bracton. '

'You did say something, I think, of that, some time since, ' said Rachel;'but really----'

'But really, Radie, dear, you can't need any confirmation more than thisevening affords. We both know Dorcas very well; she is not like othergirls. She does not encourage fellows as they do; but if she did not likeBracton very well indeed, she would send him about his business. She hasdanced with him twice, on the contrary, and has suffered his agreeableconversation all the evening; and that from Dorcas Brandon means, youknow, everything. '

'I don't know that it means anything. I don't see why it should; but I amvery certain, ' said Rachel, who, in the midst of this crowded, gossipingball-room, was talking much more freely to Stanley, and also, strange tosay, in more sisterly fashion, than she would have done in the littleparlour of Redman's Farm; 'I am very certain, Stanley, that if thissupposed preference leads you to abandon your wild pursuit of Dorcas, itwill prevent more ruin than, perhaps, either of us anticipates; and, Stanley, ' she added in a whisper, looking full in his eyes, which wereraised for a moment to hers, 'it is hardly credible that you dare stillto persist in so desperate and cruel a project. '

'Thank you, ' said Stanley quietly, but the yellow lights glared fiercelyfrom their sockets, and were then lowered instantly to the floor. 

'She has been very rude to me to-night; and you have not been, or triedto be, of any earthly use to me; and I will take a decided course. Iperfectly know what I'm about. You don't seem to be dancing. _I_ have noteither; we have both got something more serious, I fancy, to think of. '

And Stanley Lake glided slowly away, and was lost in the crowd. He wentinto the supper-room, and had a glass of seltzer water and sherry. Heloitered at the table. His ruminations were dreary, I fancy, and histemper by no means pleasant; and it needed a good deal of that artificialcommand of countenance which he cultivated, to prevent his betrayingsomething of the latter, when Sir Harry Bracton, talking loud and volublyas usual, swaggered into the supper-room, with Dorcas Brandon on his arm. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

THE SUPPER-ROOM. 

It was rather trying, in this state of things, to receive from thetriumphant baronet, with only a parenthetical 'Dear Lake, I beg yourpardon, ' a rough knock on the elbow of the hand that held his glass, andto be then summarily hustled out of his place. It was no mitigation ofthe rudeness, in Lake's estimate, that Sir Harry was so engrossed andelated as to seem hardly conscious of any existence but Miss Brandon'sand his own. 

Lake was subject to transient paroxysms of exasperation; but even inthese be knew how to command himself pretty well before witnesses. Hissmile grew a little stranger, and his face a degree whiter, as he setdown his glass, quietly glided a little away, and brushed off with hishandkerchief the aspersion which his coat had suffered. 

In a few minutes more Miss Brandon had left the supper-room leaning uponLord Chelford's arm; and Sir Harry remained, with a glass of pinkchampagne, such as young fellows drink with a faith and comfort sowonderful, at balls and _fêtes champêtres_. 

Sir Harry Bracton was already 'chaffing a bit, ' as he expressed it, withthe young lady who assisted in dispensing the good things across thesupper-table, and was just calling up her blushes by a pretty parallelbetween her eyes and the sparkling quality of his glass, and telling herher mamma must have been sweetly pretty. 

Now, Sir Harry's rudeness to Lake had not been, I am afraid, altogetheraccidental. The baronet was sudden and vehement in his affairs of theheart; but curable on short absences, and easily transferable. He hadbeen vehemently enamoured of the heiress of Brandon a year ago and more;but during an absence Mark Wylder's suit grew up and prospered, and SirHarry Bracton acquiesced; and, to say truth, the matter troubled hismanly breast but little. 

He had hardly expected to see her here in this rollicking, rusticgathering. She was, he thought, even more lovely than he remembered her. Beauty sometimes seen again does excel our recollections of it. Wylderhad gone off the scene, as Mr. Carlyle says, into infinite space. Whocould tell exactly the cause of his dismissal, and why the young lady hadasserted her capricious resolve to be free?

There were pleasant theories adaptable to the circumstances; and SirHarry cherished an agreeable opinion of himself; and so, all thingsfavouring; the old flame blazed up wildly, and the young gentleman wasmore in love then, and for some weeks after the ball, than perhaps he hadever been before. 

Now some men--and Sir Harry was of them--are churlish and ferocious overtheir loves, as certain brutes are over their victuals. In one of thesetender paroxysms, when in the presence of his Dulcinea, the young baronetwas always hot, short, and saucy with his own sex; and when his jealousywas ever so little touched, positively impertinent. 

He perceived what other people did not, that Miss Brandon's eye once onthat evening rested for a moment on Captain Lake with a peculiarexpression of interest. This look was but once and momentary; but theyoung gentleman resented it, and brooded over it, every now and then, when the pale face of the captain crossed his eye; and two or threetimes, when the beautiful young lady's attention seemed unaccountably towander from his agreeable conversation, he thought he detected herhaughty eye moving in the same direction. So he looked that way too; andalthough he could see nothing noticeable in Stanley's demeanour, he couldhave felt it in his heart to box his ears. 

Therefore, I don't think he was quite so careful as he might have been tospare Lake that jolt upon the elbow, which coming from a rival in amoment of public triumph was not altogether easy to bear like aChristian. 

'Some grapes, please, ' said Lake, to the young lady behind the table. 

'Oh, _uncle_! Is that you, Lake?--beg pardon; but you _are_ so like mypoor dear uncle, Langton. I wish you'd let me adopt you for an uncle. Hewas such a pretty fellow, with his fat white cheeks and long nose, and helooked half asleep. Do, pray, Uncle Lake; I should like it so, ' and thebaronet, who was, I am afraid, what some people would term, perhaps, vulgar, winked over his glass at the blooming confectioner, who turnedaway and tittered over her shoulder at the handsome baronet's charmingbanter. 

The girl having turned away to titter, forgot Lake's grapes; so he helpedhimself, and leaning against the table, looked superciliously upon SirHarry, who was not to be deterred by the drowsy gaze of contempt withwhich the captain retorted his angry 'chaff. '

'Poor uncle died of love, or chicken pox, or something, at forty. You'renot ailing, Nunkie, are you? You do look wofully sick though; too bad tolose a second uncle at the same early age. You're near forty, eh, Nunkie?and such a pretty fellow! You'll take care of me in your will, Nunkie, won't you? Come, what will you leave me; not much tin, I'm afraid. '

'No, not much tin, ' answered Lake; 'but I'll leave you what you wantmore, my sense and decency, with a request that you will use them for mysake. '

'You're a devilish witty fellow, Lake; take care your wit don't get youinto trouble, ' said the baronet, chuckling and growing angrier, for hesaw the Hebe laughing; and not being a ready man, though given to banter, he sometimes descended to menace in his jocularity. 

'I was just thinking your dulness might do the same for you, ' drawledLake. 

'When do you mean to pay Dawlings that bet on the Derby?' demanded SirHarry, his face very red, and only the ghost of his smile grinning there. 'I think you'd better; of course it is quite easy. '

The baronet was smiling his best, with a very red face, and thatunpleasant uncertainty in his contracted eyes which accompaniessuppressed rage. 

'As easy as that, ' said Lake, chucking a little bunch of grapes full intoSir Harry Bracton's handsome face. 

Lake recoiled a step; his face blanched as white as the cloth; his leftarm lifted, and his right hand grasping the haft of a table-knife. 

There was just a second in which the athletic baronet stood, as it werebreathless and incredulous, and then his Herculean fist whirled in theair with a most unseemly oath: the girl screamed, and a crash of glassand crockery, whisked away by their coats, resounded on the ground. 

A chair between Lake and Sir Harry impeded the baronet's stride, and hisuplifted arm was caught by a gentleman in moustache, who held so fastthat there was no chance of shaking it loose. 

'D-- it, Bracton; d-- you, what the devil--don't be a--fool' and othersoothing expressions escaped this peacemaker, as he clung fast to theyoung baronet's arm. 

'The people--hang it!--you'll have all the people about you. Quiet--quiet--can't you, I say. Settle it quietly. Here I am. '

'Well, let me go; that will do, ' said he, glowering furiously at Lake, who confronted him, in the same attitude, a couple of yards away. 'You'llhear, ' and he turned away. 

'I am at the "Brandon Arms" till to-morrow, ' said Lake, with white lips, very quietly, to the gentleman in moustaches, who bowed slightly, andwalked out of the room with Sir Harry. 

Lake poured out some sherry in a tumbler, and drank it off. He was alittle bit stunned, I think, in his new situation. 

Except for the waiters, and the actors in it, it so happened that thesupper-room was empty during this sudden fracas. Lake stared at thefrightened girl, in his fierce abstraction. Then, with his wild gaze, hefollowed the line of his adversary's retreat, and shook his earsslightly, like a man at whose hair a wasp has buzzed. 

'Thank you, ' said he to the maid, suddenly recollecting himself, with asort of smile; 'that will do. What confounded nonsense! He'll be quitecool again in five minutes. Never mind. '

And Lake pulled on his white glove, glancing down the file of silentwaiters-some looking frightened, and some reserved--in white ties andwaistcoats, and he glided out of the room--his mind somewhere else--likea somnambulist. 

It was not perfectly clear to the gentlemen and ladies in charge of theices, chickens, and champagne, between which of the three swells who hadjust left the room the quarrel was--it had come so suddenly, and was overso quickly, like a clap of thunder. Some had not seen any, and othersonly a bit of it, being busy with plates and ice-tubs; and the few whohad seen it all did not clearly comprehend it--only it was certain thatthe row had originated in jealousy about Miss Jones, the prettyapprentice, who was judiciously withdrawn forthwith by Mrs. Page, theproperest of confectioners. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

AFTER THE BALL. 

Lake glided from the feast with a sense of a tremendous liability uponhim. There was no retreat. The morning--yes, the morning--what then?Should he live to see the evening? Sir Harry Bracton was the crack shotof Swivel's gallery. He could hit a walking-cane at fifteen yards, at theword. There he was, talking to old Lady Chelford. Very well; and therewas that fellow with the twisted moustache--plainly an officer and agentleman--twisting the end of one of them, and thinking profoundly, withhis back to the wall, evidently considering his coming diplomacy withLake's 'friend. ' Aye, by-the-bye, and Lake's eye wandered in bewildermentamong village dons and elderly country gentlemen, in search of thatinestimable treasure. 

These thoughts went whisking and whirling round in Captain Lake's brain, to the roar and clatter of the Joinville Polka, to which fifty pair ofdancing feet were hopping and skimming over the floor. 

'Monstrous hot, Sir--hey? ha, ha, by Jove!' said Major Jackson, who hadjust returned from the supper-room, where he had heard several narrativesof the occurrence. 'Don't think I was so hot since the ball at GovernmentHouse, by Jove, Sir, in 1828--awful summer that!'

The major was jerking his handkerchief under his florid nose and chin, byway of ventilation; and eyeing the young man shrewdly the while, to readwhat he might of the story in his face. 

'Been in Calcutta, Lake?'

'No; very hot, indeed. Could I say just a word with you--this way alittle. So glad I met you. ' And they edged into a little nook of thelobby, where they had a few minutes' confidential talk, during which themajor looked grave and consequential, and carried his head high, noddingnow and then with military decision. 

Major Jackson whispered an abrupt word or two in his ear, and threw backhis head, eyeing Lake with grave and sly defiance. Then came anotherwhisper and a wink; and the major shook his hand, briefly but hard, andthe gentlemen parted. 

Lake strolled into the ball-room, and on to the upper end, where the'best' people are, and suddenly he was in Miss Brandon's presence. 

'I've been very presumptuous, I fear, to-night, Miss Brandon, he said, inhis peculiar low tones. 'I've been very importunate--I prized the honourI sought so very much, I forgot how little I deserved it. And I do notthink it likely you'll see me for a good while--possibly for a very longtime. I've therefore ventured to come, merely to say good-bye--only that, just--good-bye. And--and to beg that flower'--and he plucked itresolutely from her bouquet--'which I will keep while I live. Good-bye, Miss Brandon. '

And Captain Stanley Lake, that pale apparition, was gone. 

I do not know at all how Miss Brandon felt at this instant; for I nevercould quite understand that strange lady. But I believe she looked alittle pale as she gravely adjusted the flowers so audaciously violatedby the touch of the cool young gentleman. 

I can't say whether Miss Brandon deigned to follow him with her dark, dreamy gaze. I rather think not. And three minutes afterwards he had leftthe Town Hall. 

The Brandon party did not stay very late. And they dropped Rachel at herlittle dwelling. How very silent Dorcas was, thought Rachel, as theydrove from Gylingden. Perhaps others were thinking the same of Rachel. 

Next morning, at half-past seven o'clock, a dozen or so of rustics, undercommand of Major Jackson, arrived at the back entrance of Brandon Hall, bearing Stanley Lake upon a shutter, with glassy eyes, that did not seemto see, sunken face, and a very blue tinge about his mouth. 

The major fussed into the house, and saw and talked with Larcom, who wassolemn and bland upon the subject, and went out, first, to make personalinspection of the captain, who seemed to him to be dying. He was shotsomewhere in the shoulder or breast--they could not see exactly where, nor disturb him as he lay. A good deal of blood had flowed from him, uponthe arm and side of one of the men who supported his head. 

Lake said nothing--he only whispered rather indistinctly one word, 'water'--and was not able to lift his head when it came; and when theypoured it into and over his lips, he sighed and closed his eyes. 

'It is not a bad sign, bleeding so freely, but he looks devilish shaky, you see. I've seen lots of our fellows hit, you know, and I don't likehis looks--poor fellow. You'd better see Lord Chelford this minute. Hecould not stand being brought all the way to the town. I'll run down andsend up the doctor, and he'll take him on if he can bear it. '

Major Jackson did not run. Though I have seen with an astonishment thathas never subsided, fellows just as old and as fat, and braced up, besides, in the inflexibilities of regimentals, keeping up at doublequick, at the heads of their companies, for a good quarter of a mile, before the colonel on horseback mercifully called a halt. 

He walked at his best pace, however, and indeed was confoundedly uneasyabout his own personal liabilities. 

The major surprised Doctor Buddle shaving. He popped in unceremoniously. The fat little doctor received him in drawers and a very tight webworsted shirt, standing by the window, at which dangled a smalllooking-glass. 

'By George, Sir, they've been at mischief, ' burst forth the major; andthe doctor, razor in hand, listened with wide open eyes and half his facelathered, to the story. Before it was over the doctor shaved the unshornside, and (the major still in the room) completed his toilet in hothaste. 

Honest Major Jackson was very uncomfortable. Of course, Buddle could notgive any sort of opinion upon a case which he had not seen; but itdescribed uglily, and the major consulted in broken hints, with an uneasywink or two, about a flight to Boulogne. 

'Well, it will be no harm to be ready; but take no step till I comeback, ' said the doctor, who had stuffed a great roll of lint andplaister, and some other medicinals, into one pocket, and his leathercase of instruments, forceps, probe, scissors, and all the other steeland silver horrors, into the other; so he strutted forth in his greatcoat, unnaturally broad about the hips; and the major, 'devilishuncomfortable, ' accompanied him at a smart pace to the great gate ofBrandon. He did not care to enter, feeling a little guilty, although heexplained on the way all about the matter. How devilish stiff Bracton'sman was about it. And, by Jove, Sir! you know, what was to be said? forLake, like a fool, chucked a lot of grapes in his face--for nothing, byGeorge!'

The doctor, short and broad, was now stumping up the straight avenue, under the noble trees that roofed it over, and Major Jackson saunteredabout in the vicinity of the gate, more interested in Lake's safety thanhe would have believed possible a day or two before. 

Lord Chelford being an early man, was, notwithstanding the ball of thepreceding night, dressing, when St. Ange, his Swiss servant, knocked athis door with a dozen pockethandkerchiefs, a bottle of eau-de-cologne, and some other properties of his métier. 

St. Ange could not wait until he had laid them down, but broke out with--

'Oh, mi Lor!--qu'est-il arrivé?--le pauvre capitaine! il est tué--il semeurt--he dies--d'un coup de pistolet. He comes de se battre from beatinghimself in duel--il a été atteint dans la poitrine--le pauvregentil-homme! of a blow of the pistol. '

And so on, the young nobleman gathering the facts as best he might. 

'Is Larcom there?'

'In the gallery, mi lor. '

'Ask him to come in. '

So Monsieur Larcom entered, and bowed ominously. 

'You've seen him, Larcom. Is he very much hurt?'

'He appears, my lord, to me, I regret to say, almost a-dying like. '

'Very weak? Does he speak to you?'

'Not a word, my lord. Since he got a little water he's quite quiet. '

'Poor fellow. Where have you put him?'

'In the housekeeper's lobby, my lord. I rather think he's a-dying. Helooks uncommon bad, and I and Mrs. Esterbroke, the housekeeper, my lord, thought you would not like he should die out of doors. '

'Has she got your mistress's directions?'

'Miss Brandon is not called up, my lord, and Mrs. Esterbroke is unwillin'to halarm her; so she thought it better I should come for orders to yourlordship; which she thinks also the poor young gentleman is certainlya-dying. '

'Is there any vacant bed-room near where you have placed him? What doesMrs. ---- the housekeeper, say?'

'She thinks, my lord, the room hopposit, where Mr. Sledd, the architeck, slep, when 'ere, would answer very nice. It is roomy and hairy, and nosteps. Major Jackson, who is gone to the town to fetch the doctor, mylord, says Mr. Lake won't a-bear carriage; and so the room on the level, my lord, would, perhaps, be more convenient. '

'Certainly; tell her so. I will speak to Miss Brandon when she comesdown. How soon will the doctor be here?'

'From a quarter to half an hour, my lord. '

'Then tell the housekeeper to arrange as she proposes, and don't removehis clothes until the doctor comes. Everyone must assist. I know, St. Ange, you'll like to assist. '

So Larcom withdrew ceremoniously, and Lord Chelford hastened his toilet, and was down stairs, and in the room assigned by the housekeeper to theill-starred Captain Lake, before Doctor Buddle had arrived. 

It had already the dismal character of a sick chamber. Its light wasdarkened; its talk was in whispers; and its to-ings and fro-ings ontip-toe. An obsolete chambermaid had been already installed as nurse. Little Mrs. Esterbroke, the housekeeper, was fussing hither and thitherabout the room noiselessly. 

So this gay, astute man of fashion had fallen into the dungeon of suddendarkness, and the custody of old women; and lay helpless in the stocks, awaiting the judgment of Buddle. Ridiculous little pudgy Buddle--howawful on a sudden are you grown--the interpreter of death in this verycase. '_My_ case, ' thought that seemingly listless figure on the bed;'_my_ case--I suppose it _is_ fatal--I am to go out of this room in along cloth-covered box. I am going to try, alone and for ever, the valueof those theories of futurity and the unseen which I have quietly scoutedall my days. Oh, that the prophet Buddle were here, to end my tremendoussuspense, and to announce a reprieve from Heaven. '

While the wounded captain lay on the bed, with his clothes on, and thecoverlet over him, and that clay-coloured apathetic face, with closedeyes, upon the pillow, without sigh or motion, not a whispered wordescaped him; but his brain was appalled, and his heart died within him inthe unspeakable horror of death. 

Lord Chelford, too, having looked on Lake with silent, but awfulmisgivings, longed for the arrival of the doctor; and was listening andsilent when Buddle's short step and short respiration were heard in thepassage. So Larcom came to the door to announce the doctor in a whisper, and Buddle fussed into the room, and made his bow to Lord Chelford, andhis brief compliments and condolences. 

'Not asleep?' he enquired, standing by the bed. 

The captain's lips moved a disclaimer, I suppose, but no sound came. 

So the doctor threw open the window-shutters, and clipped Stanley Lake'sexquisite coat ruthlessly through with his scissors, and having clearedthe room of all useless hands, he made his examination. 

It was a long visit. Buddle in the hall afterwards declined breakfast--hehad a board to attend. He told Lord Chelford that the case was 'a verynasty one. '

In fact, the chances were against the captain, and he, Buddle, would wisha consultation with a London surgeon--whoever Lord Chelford lead mostconfidence in--Sir Francis Seddley, he thought, would be verydesirable--but, of course, it was for the family to decide. If themessenger caught the quarter to eleven up train at Dollington, he wouldbe in London at six, and could return with the doctor by the down mailtrain, and so reach Dollington at ten minutes past four next morning, which would answer, as he would not operate sooner. 

As the doctor toddled towards Gylingden, with sympathetic Major Tacksonby his side, before they entered the town they were passed by one of theBrandon men riding at a hard canter for Dollington. 

'London?' shouted the doctor, as the man touched his hat in passing. 

'Yes, Sir. '

'Glad o' that, ' said the major, looking after him. 

'So am I, ' said the learned Buddle. 'I don't see how we're to get thebullet out of him, without mischief. Poor devil, I'm afraid he'll do nogood. '

The ladies that morning had tea in their rooms. It was near twelveo'clock when Lord Chelford saw Miss Brandon. She was in the conservatoryamongst her flowers, and on seeing him stepped into the drawing-room. 

'I hope, Dorcas, you are not angry with me. I've been, I'm afraid, veryimpertinent; but I was called on to decide for you, in your absence, andthey all thought poor Lake could not be moved on to Gylingden withoutdanger. '

'You did quite rightly, Chelford, and I thank you, ' said Miss Brandon, coldly; and she seated herself, and continued--

'Pray, what does the doctor really say?'

'He speaks very seriously. '

'Does he think there is danger?'

'Very great danger. '

Miss Brandon looked down, and then, with a pale gaze suddenly inChelford's face--

'He thinks he may die?' said she. 

'Yes, ' said Lord Chelford, in a very low tone, returning her gazesolemnly. 

'And nobody to advise but that village doctor, Buddle--that's hardlycredible, I think. '

'Pardon me. At his suggestion I have sent for Sir Francis Seddley, fromtown, and I hope he may arrive early to-morrow morning. '

'Why, Stanley Lake may die to-day. '

'He does not apprehend that. But it is necessary to remove the bullet, and the operation will be critical, and it is for that specially that SirFrancis is coming down. '

'It is to take place to-morrow, and he'll die in that operation. You knowhe'll die, ' said Dorcas, pale and fierce. 

'I assure you, Dorcas, I have been perfectly frank. He looks upon poorLake as in very great danger--but that is all. '

'What brutes you men are!' said Dorcas, with a wild scorn in her look andaccent, and her cheeks flushed with passion. 'You knew quite well lastnight there was to be this wicked duel in the morning--and you--amagistrate--a lord-lieutenant--what are you?--you connived at this bloodyconspiracy--and _he_--your own cousin, Chelford--your cousin!'

Chelford looked at her, very much amazed. 

'Yes; you are worse than Sir Harry Bracton--for you're no fool; and worsethan that wicked old man. Major Jackson--who shall never enter thesedoors again--for he was employed--trusted in their brutal plans; but youhad no excuse and every opportunity--and you have allowed your CousinStanley to be murdered. '

'You do me great injustice, Dorcas. I did not know, or even suspect thata hostile meeting between poor Lake and Bracton was thought of. I merelyheard that there had been some trifling altercation in the supper-room;and when, intending to make peace between them, I alluded to it, justbefore we left, and Bracton said it was really nothing--quite blownover--and that he could not recollect what either had said. I wasentirely deceived--you know I speak truth--quite deceived. They think itfair, you know, to dupe other people in such affairs; and I will alsosay, ' he continued, a little haughtily, 'that you might have spared yourcensure until at least you had heard what I had to say. '

'I do believe you, Chelford; you are not vexed with me. Won't you shakehands?'

He took her hand with a smile. 

'And now, ' said she, 'Chelford, ought not we to send for poor Rachel: heronly brother? Is not it sad?'

'Certainly; shall I ask my mother, or will you write?'

'I will write, ' she said. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

IN WHICH MISS RACHEL LAKE COMES TO BRANDON, AND DOCTOR BUDDLE CALLSAGAIN. 

In about an hour afterwards, Rachel Lake arrived in the carriage whichhad been despatched for her with Dorcas's note. 

She was a good deal muffled up, and looked very pale, and asked whetherMiss Brandon was in her room, whither she glided rapidly up stairs. Itwas a sort of boudoir or dressing-room, with a few pretty old portraitsand miniatures, and a number of Louis Quatorze looking-glasses hunground, and such pretty quaint cabriole gilt and pale green furniture. 

Dorcas met her at the door, and they kissed silently. 

'How is he, Dorcas?'

'Very ill, dear, I'm afraid--sit down, darling. '

Rachel was relieved, for in her panic she almost feared to ask if he wereliving. 

'Is there immediate danger?'

'The doctor says not, but he is very much alarmed for to-morrow. '

'Oh! Dorcas, darling, he'll die; I know it. Oh! merciful Heaven! howtremendous. '

'You will not be so frightened in a little time. You have only just heardit, Rachel dearest, and you are startled. I was so myself. '

'I'd like to see him, Dorcas. '

'Sit here a little and rest, dear. The doctor will make his visitimmediately, and then we can ask him. He's a good-natured littlecreature--poor old Buddle--and I am certain if it can safely be, he won'tprevent it. '

'Where is he, darling--where is Stanley?'

So Dorcas described as well as she could. 

'Oh, poor Stanley. Oh, Stanley--poor Stanley, ' gasped Rachel, with whitelips. 'You have no idea, Dorcas--no one can--how terrific it is. Oh, poorStanley--poor Stanley. '

'Drink this water, darling; you must not be so excited. '

'Dorcas, say what the doctor may, see him I must. '

'There is time to think of that, darling. '

'Has he spoken to anyone?'

'Very little, I believe. He whispers a few words now and then--that isall. '

'Nothing to Chelford--nothing particular, I mean?'

'No--nothing--at least that I have heard of. '

'Did he wish to see no one?'

'No one, dear. '

'Not poor William Wylder?'

'No, dear. I don't suppose he cares more for a clergyman than for anyother man; none of his family ever did, when they came to lie on a bed ofsickness, or of death either. '

'No, no, ' said Rachel, wildly; 'I did not mean to pray. I was notthinking of that; but William Wylder was different; and he did notmention _me_ either?'

Dorcas shook her head. 

'I knew it, ' continued Rachel, with a kind of shudder. 'And tell me, Dorcas, does he know that he is in danger--such imminent danger?'

'That I cannot say, Rachel, dear. I don't believe doctors like to telltheir patients so. '

There was a silence of some minutes, and Rachel, clasping her hands in anagony, said--

'Oh, yes--he's gone--he's certainly gone; and I remain alone under thatdreadful burden. '

'Please, Miss Brandon, the doctor's down stairs with Captain Lake, ' saidthe maid, opening the door. 

'Is Lord Chelford with him?'

'Yes, Miss, please. '

'Then tell him I will be so obliged if he will come here for a moment, when the doctor is gone; and ask the doctor now, from me, how he thinksCaptain Lake. '

In a little while the maid returned. Captain Lake was not so low, andrather better than this morning, the doctor said; and Rachel raised hereyes, and whispered an agitated thanksgiving. 'Was Lord Chelford coming?'

'His lordship had left the room when she returned, and Mr. Larcom said hewas with Lawyer Larkin in the library. '

'Mr. Larkin can wait. Tell Lord Chelford I wish very much to see himhere. '

So away went the maid again. A message in that great house was a journey;and there was a little space before they heard a knock at the door ofDorcas's pretty room, and Lord Chelford, duly invited, came in. 

Lord Chelford was surprised to see Rachel, and held her hand, while hecongratulated her on the more favourable opinion of the physician thisafternoon; and then he gave them, as fully and exactly as he could, allthe lights emitted by Dr. Buddle, and endeavoured to give his narrativeas cheerful and confident an air as he could. Then, at length, herecollected that Mr. Larkin was waiting in the study. 

'I quite forgot Mr. Larkin, ' said he; 'I left him in the library, and Iam so very glad we have had a pleasanter report upon poor Lake thisevening; and I am sure we shall all feel more comfortable on seeing SirFrancis Seddley. He _is_ such an admirable surgeon; and I feel sure he'llstrike out something for our poor patient. I've known him hit upon suchoriginal expedients, and make such wonderful successes. '

So with a kind smile he left the room. 

Then there was a long pause. 

'Does he really think that Stanley will recover?' said Rachel. 

'I don't know; I suppose he hopes it. I don't know, Rachel, what to thinkof anyone or anything. What wild beasts they are. How "swift to shedblood, " as poor William Wylder said last Sunday. Have you any idea whatthey quarrelled about?'

'None in the world. It was that odious Sir Harry Bracton--was not it?'

'Why so odious, Rachel? How can you tell which was in the wrong? I onlyknow he seems to be a better marksman than your poor brother. '

Rachel looked at her with something of haughty and surprised displeasure, but said nothing. 

'You look at me, Radie, as if I were a monster--or _monstress_, I shouldsay--whereas I am only a Brandon. Don't you remember how our greatancestor, who fought for the House of York, changed suddenly toLancaster, and how Sir Richard left the King and took part with Cromwell, not for any particular advantage, I believe, or for any particular reasoneven, but for wickedness and wounded pride, perhaps. '

'I don't quite see your meaning, Dorcas. I can't understand how _your_pride has been hurt; but if Stanley had any, I can well imagine whattorture it must have endured; wretched, wicked, punished fool!'

'You suspect what they fought about, Radie!'

Rachel made no answer. 

'You do, Radie, and why do you dissemble with me?'

'I don't dissemble; I don't care to speak; but if you will have me sayso, I _do_ suspect--I think it must have originated in jealousy of you. '

'You look, Radie, as if you thought I had managed it--whereas I reallydid not care. '

'I do not understand you, Dorcas; but you appear to me very cruel, andyou smile, as I say so. '

'I smile, because I sometimes think so myself. '

With a fixed and wrathful stare Rachel returned the enigmatical gaze ofher beautiful cousin. 

'If Stanley dies, Dorcas, Sir Harry Bracton shall hear of it. I'll losemy life, but he shall pay the forfeit of his crime. '

So saying, Rachel left the room, and gliding through passages, and downstairs, she knocked at Stanley's door. The old woman opened it. 

'Ah, Dorothy! I'm so glad to see _you_ here!' and she put a present inher hard, crumpled hand. 

So, noiselessly, Rachel Lake, without more parley, stepped into the room, and closed the door. She was alone with Stanley With a beating heart, anda kind of chill stealing over her, by her brother's bed. 

The room was not so dark that she could not see distinctly enough. 

There lay her brother, such as he was--still her brother, on the bleak, neutral ground between life and death. His features, peaked and earthy, and that look, so new and peculiar, which does not savour of life uponthem. He did not move, but his strange eyes gazed cold and earnest fromtheir deep sockets upon her face in awful silence. Perhaps he thought hesaw a phantom. 

'Are you better, dear?' whispered Rachel. 

His lips stirred and his throat, but he did not speak until a secondeffort brought utterance, and he murmured, 'Is that you, Radie?'

'Yes, dear. Are you better?'

'_No_. I'm shot. I shall die to-night. Is it night yet?'

'Don't despair, Stanley, dear. The great London doctor, Sir FrancisSeddley, will be with you early in the morning, and Chelford has greatconfidence in him. I'm sure he will relieve you. '

'This is Brandon?' murmured Lake. 

'Yes, dear. '

She thought he was going to say more, but he remained silent, and sherecollected that he ought not to speak, and also that she had that to saywhich must be said. 

Sharp, dark, and strange lay that familiar face upon the white pillow. The faintest indication of something like a peevish sneer; it might beonly the lines of pain and fatigue; still it had that unpleasantcharacter remaining fixed on its features. 

'Oh, Stanley! you say you think you are dying. Won't you send for WilliamWylder and Chelford, and tell all you know of Mark?'

She saw he was about to say something, and she leaned her head near hislips, and she heard him whisper, --

'It won't serve Mark. '

'I'm thinking of _you_, Stanley--I'm thinking of you. '

To which he said either 'Yes' or 'So. ' She could not distinguish. 

'I view it now quite differently. You said, you know, in the park, youwould tell Chelford; and I resisted, I believe, but I don't now. I had_rather_ you did. Yes, Stanley, I conjure you to tell it all. '

The cold lips, with a livid halo round them, murmured, 'Thank you. '

It was a sneer, very shocking just then, perhaps; but unquestionably asneer. 

'Poor Stanley!' she murmured, with a kind of agony, looking down uponthat changed face. 'One word more, Stanley. Remember, it's I, the onlyone on earth who stands near you in kindred, your sister, Stanley, whoimplores of you to take this step before it is too late; at least, toconsider. '

He said something. She thought it was 'I'll think;' and then he closedhis eyes. It was the only motion she had observed, his face lay just asit had done on the pillow. He had not stirred all the time she was there;and now that his eyelids closed, it seemed to say, our interview isover--the curtain has dropped; and so understanding it, with that oneawful look that may be the last, she glided from the bed-side, told oldDorothy that he seemed disposed to sleep, and left the room. 

There is something awful always in the spectacle of such a sick-bed asthat beside which Rachel had just stood. But not quite so dreadful is thesight as are the imaginings and the despair of absence. So reassuring isthe familiar spectacle of life, even in its subsidence, so long as bodilytorture and mental aberration are absent. 

In the meanwhile, on his return to the library, Lord Chelford found hisdowager mother in high chat with the attorney, whom she afterwardspronounced 'a very gentlemanlike man for his line of life. '

The conversation, indeed, was chiefly that of Lady Chelford, theexemplary attorney contributing, for the most part, a politeacquiescence, and those reflections which most appositely pointed themoral of her ladyship's tale, which concerned altogether the vagaries ofMark Wylder--a subject which piqued her curiosity and irritated herpassions. 

It was a great day for Jos. Larkin; for by the time Lord Chelfordreturned the old lady had asked him to stay for dinner, which he did, notwithstanding his morning dress, to his great inward satisfaction, because he could henceforward mention, 'the other day, when I dined atBrandon, ' or 'old Lady Chelford assured me, when last I dined atBrandon;' and he could more intimately speak of 'our friends at Brandon, 'and 'the Brandon people, ' and, in short, this dinner was very serviceableto the excellent attorney. 

It was not very amusing this interchange of thought and feeling betweenLarkin and the dowager, upon a theme already so well ventilated as MarkWylder's absconding, and therefore I let it pass. 

After dinner, when the dowager's place knew her no more, Lord Chelfordresumed his talk with Larkin. 

'I am quite confirmed in the view I took at first, ' he said. 'Wylder hasno claim upon me. There are others on whom much more naturally the careof his money would devolve, and I think that my undertaking the office heproposes, under his present strange circumstances, might appear like anacquiescence in the extraordinary course he has taken, and a sanctiongenerally of his conduct, which I certainly can't approve. So, Mr. Larkin, I have quite made up my mind. I have no business to undertakethis trust, simple as it is. '

'I have only, my lord, to bow to your lordship's decision; at the sametime I cannot but feel, my lord, how peculiar and painful is the positionin which it places me. There are rents to be received by me, and sumshanded over, to a considerable--I may say, indeed, a very large amount:and my friend Lake--Captain Lake--now, unhappily, in so very precarious astate, appears to dislike the office, also, and to anticipate annoyance, in the event of his consenting to act. Altogether, your lordship willperceive that the situation is one of considerable, indeed very greatembarrassment, as respects me. There is, however, one satisfactorycircumstance disclosed in his last letter. His return, he says, cannot bedelayed beyond a very few months, perhaps _weeks;_ and he states, in hisown rough way, that he will then explain the motives of his conduct tothe entire satisfaction of all those who are cognizant of the measureswhich he has adopted--no more claret, thanks--no more--a deliciouswine--and he adds, it will then be quite understood that hehas acted neither from caprice, nor from any motive other thanself-preservation. I assure you, my lord, that is the identical phrase heemploys--self-preservation. I all along suspected, or, rather, I mean, supposed, that Mr. Wylder had been placed in this matter undercoercion--a--a threat. '

'A little more wine?' asked Lord Chelford, after another interval. 

'No--no more, I thank you. Your lordship's very good, and the wine, I maysay, excellent--delicious claret; indeed, quite so--ninety shillings adozen, I should venture to say, and hardly to be had at that figure; butit grows late, I rather think, and the trustees of our little Wesleyanchapel--we've got a little into debt in that quarter, I am sorry tosay--and I promised to advise with them this evening at nine o'clock. They have called me to counsel more than once, poor fellows; and so, withyour lordship's permission, I'll withdraw. '

Lord Chelford walked with him to the steps. It was a beautifulnight--very little moon, but that and the stars wonderfully clear andbright, and all things looking so soft and airy. 

'Try one of these, ' said the peer, presenting his cigar case. 

Larkin, with a glow of satisfaction, took one of these noble cigars, androlled it in his fingers, and smelt it. 

'Fragrant--wonderfully fragrant!' he observed, meekly, with aconnoisseur's shake of the head. 

The night was altogether so charming that Lord Chelford was tempted. Sohe took his cap, and lighted his cigar, too, and strolled a little waywith the attorney. 

He walked under the solemn trees--the same under whose airy groyningWylder and Lake had walked away together on that noteworthy night onwhich Mark had last turned his back upon the grand old gables and twistedchimneys of Brandon Hall. 

This way was rather a round, it must be confessed, to the Lodge--Jos, Larkin's peaceful retreat. But a stroll with a lord was worth more thanthat sacrifice, and every incident which helped to make a colourable caseof confidential relations at Brandon--a point in which the good attorneyhad been rather weak hitherto--was justly prized by that virtuous man. 

If the trustees, Smith the pork-butcher, old Captain Snoggles, the TownClerk, and the rest, had to wait some twenty minutes in the drawing-roomat the Lodge, so much the better. An apology was, perhaps, the best andmost modest shape into which he could throw the advertisement of hisdinner at Brandon--his confidential talk with the proud old dowager, andhis after-dinner ramble with that rising young peer, Lord Chelford. Itwould lead him gracefully into detail, and altogether the idea, thesituation, the scene and prospect, were so soothing and charming, thatthe good attorney felt a silent exaltation as he listened to LordChelford's two or three delighted sentences upon the illimitable wondersand mysteries glimmering in the heavens above them. 

The cigar was delicious, the air balmy and pleasant, his digestion happy, the society unexceptionably aristocratic--a step had just been gained, and his consideration in the town and the country round improved, by theoccurrences of the evening, and his whole system, in consequence, in astate so serene, sweet and satisfactory, that I really believe there wasgenuine moisture in his pink, dove-like eyes, as he lifted them to theheavens, and murmured, 'Beautiful, beautiful!' And he mistook hissensations for a holy rapture and silent worship. 

Cigars, like other pleasures, are transitory. Lord Chelford threw awayhis stump, tendered his case again to Mr. Larkin, and then took hisleave, walking slowly homewards. 

CHAPTER XL. 

THE ATTORNEY'S ADVENTURES ON THE WAY HOME. 

Mr. Jos. Larkin was now moving alone, under the limbs of the Brandontrees. He knew the path, as he had boasted to Lord Chelford, from hisboyhood; and, as he pursued his way, his mind got upon the accustomedgroove, and amused itself with speculations respecting the vagaries ofMark Wylder. 

'I wonder what his lordship thinks. He was very close--very' ruminatedLarkin; 'no distinct ideas about it possibly; and did not seem to wish tolead me to the subject. Can he _know_ anything? Eh, can he possibly?Those high fellows are very knowing often--so much on the turf, and allthat--very sharp and very deep. '

He was thinking of a certain noble lord in difficulties, who had hit aclient of his rather hard, and whose affairs did not reflect much creditupon their noble conductor. 

'Aye, I dare say, deep enough, and intimate with the Lakes. He expects tobe home in two months' time. _He's_ a deep fellow too; he does not liketo let people know what he's about. I should not be surprised if he cameto-morrow. Lake and Lord Chelford may both know more than they say. Whyshould they both object merely to receive and fund his money? They thinkhe wants to get them into a fix--hey? If I'm to conduct his business, Iought to know it; if he keeps a secret from me, affecting all hisbusiness relations, like this, and driving him about the world like anabsconding bankrupt, how can I advise him?'

All this drifted slowly through his mind, and each suggestion had itscollateral speculations; and so it carried him pleasantly a good way onhis walk, and he was now in the shadow of the dense copsewood thatmantles the deep ravine which debouches into Redman's Dell. 

The road was hardly two yards wide, and the wood walled it in, andoverhung it occasionally in thick, irregular masses. As the attorneymarched leisurely onward, he saw, or fancied that he saw, now and then, in uncertain glimpses, something white in motion among the trees besidehim. 

At first he did not mind; but it continued, and grew graduallyunpleasant. It might be a goat, a white goat; but no, it was too tall forthat. Had he seen it at all? Aye! there it was, no mistake now. Apoacher, maybe? But their poachers were not of the dangerous sort, andthere had not been a robber about Gylingden within the memory of man. Besides, why on earth should either show himself in that absurd way?

He stopped--he listened--he stared suspiciously into the profounddarkness. Then he thought he heard a rustling of the leaves near him, andhe hallooed, 'Who's there?' But no answer came. 

So, taking heart of grace, he marched on, still zealously peering amongthe trees, until, coming to an opening in the pathway, he more distinctlysaw a tall, white figure, standing in an ape-like attitude, with its armsextended, grasping two boughs, and stooping, as if peeping cautiously, ashe approached. 

The good attorney drew up and stared at this gray phantasm, saying tohimself, 'Yes, ' in a sort of quiet hiss. 

He stopped in a horror, and as he gazed, the figure suddenly drew backand disappeared. 

'Very pleasant this!' said the attorney, after a pause, recovering alittle. 'What on earth can it be?'

Jos. Larkin could not tell which way it had gone. He had already passedthe midway point, where this dark path begins to descend through theravine into Redman's Dell. He did not like going forward--but to turnback might bring him again beside the mysterious figure. And though hewas not, of course, afraid of ghosts, nor in this part of the world, ofrobbers, yet somehow he did not know what to make of this gigantic graymonkey. 

So, not caring to stay longer, and seeing nothing to be gained by turningback, the attorney buttoned the top button of his coat, and holding hishead very erect, and placing as much as he could of the path betweenhimself and the side where the figure had disappeared, marched onsteadily. It was too dark, and the way not quite regular enough, torender any greater speed practicable. 

From the thicket, as he proceeded, he heard a voice--he had often shotwoodcocks in that cover--calling in a tone that sounded in his ears likebanter, 'Mark--Mark--Mark--Mark. '

He stopped, holding his breath, and the sound ceased. 

'Well, this certainly is not usual, ' murmured Mr. Larkin, who was alittle more perturbed than perhaps he quite cared to acknowledge even tohimself. 'Some fellow perhaps watching for a friend--or tricks, maybe. '

Then the attorney, trying his supercilious smile in the dark, listenedagain for a good while, but nothing was heard except those whisperings ofthe wind which poets speak of. He looked before him with his eyebrowsscrewed, in a vain effort to pierce the darkness, and the same behindhim; and then after another pause, he began uncomfortably to move downthe path once more. 

In a short time the same voice, with the same uncertain echo among thetrees, cried faintly, 'Mark--Mark, ' and then a pause; then again, 'Mark--Mark--Mark, ' and then it grew more distant, and sounded among thetrees and reverberations of the glen like laughter. 

'Mark--ha--ha--hark--ha--ha--ha--hark--Mark--Mark--ha--ha--hark!'

'Who's there?' cried the attorney, in a tone rather ferocious fromfright, and stamping on the path. But his summons and the provocationdied away together in the profoundest silence. 

Mr. Jos. Larkin did not repeat his challenge. This cry of 'Mark!' wasbeginning to connect itself uncomfortably in his mind with hisspeculations about his wealthy client, which in that solitude anddarkness began to seem not so entirely pure and disinterested as he wasin the habit of regarding them, and a sort of wood-demon, such as a queerlittle schoolfellow used long ago to read a tale about in an old Germanstory-book, was now dogging his darksome steps, and hanging upon hisflank with a vindictive design. 

Jos. Larkin was not given to fancy, nor troubled with superstition. Hisreligion was of a comfortable, punctual, business-like cast, whichaccording with his genius--denied him, indeed, some things for which, intruth, he had no taste--but in no respect interfered with his mainmission upon earth, which was getting money. He had found no difficultyhitherto in serving God and Mammon. The joint business prospered. Let ussuppose it was one of those falterings of faith, which try the best men, that just now made him feel a little queer, and gave his thoughts aboutMark Wylder, now grown habitual, that new and ghastly complexion whichmade the situation so unpleasant. 

He wished himself more than once well out of this confounded pass, andlistened nervously for a good while, and stared once more, half-frightened, in various directions, into the darkness. 

'If I thought there could be anything the least wrong orreprehensible--we are all fallible--in my allowing my mind to turn somuch upon my client, I can certainly say I should be very far fromallowing it--I shall certainly consider it--and I may promise myself todecide in a Christian spirit, and if there be a doubt, to give it againstmyself. '

This resolution, which was, he trusted, that of a righteous man, was, Iam afraid, the effect rather of fright than reflection, and employed inthat sense somewhat in the manner of an exorcism--whispered rather to theghost than to his conscience. 

I am sure Larkin did not himself suppose this. On the contrary, he reallybelieved, I am convinced, that he scouted the ghost, and had merelyvolunteered this salutary self-examination as an exercise of conscience. He could not, however, have doubted that he was very nervous--and that hewould have been glad of the companionship even of one of the Gylingdenshopkeepers, through this infested bit of wood. 

Having again addressed himself to his journey, he was now approachingthat part of the path where the trees recede a little, leaving aconsiderable space unoccupied at either side of his line of march. Herethere was faint moonlight and starlight, very welcome; but a little inadvance of him, where the copsewood closed in again, just above thosestone steps which Lake and his sister Rachel had mounted together uponthe night of the memorable rendezvous, he fancied that he again saw thegray figure cowering among the foremost stems of the wood. 

It was a great shock. He stopped short--and as he stared upon the object, he felt that electric chill and rising of the hair which accompanysupernatural panic. 

As he gazed, however, it was gone. Yes. At all events, he could see it nomore. Had he seen it there at all? He was in such an odd state he couldnot quite trust himself. He looked back hesitatingly. But he rememberedhow very long and dark the path that way was, and how unpleasant hisadventures there had been. And although there was a chance that the graymonkey was lurking somewhere near the path, still there was now but ashort space between him and the broad carriage track down Redman's Dell, and once upon that he considered himself almost in the street ofGylingden. 

So he made up his mind, and marched resolutely onward, and had nearlyreached that point at which the converging screen of thicket againovershadows the pathway, when close at his side he saw the tall, whitefigure push itself forward among the branches, and in a startlingunder-tone of enquiry, like a conspirator challenging his brother, avoice--the same which he had so often heard during this walk--cried overhis shoulder, 'Mark _Wylder_!'

Larkin sprung back a pace or two, turning his face full upon thechallenger, who in his turn was perhaps affrighted, for the same voiceuttered a sort of strangled shriek, and he heard the branches crack andrustle as he pushed his sudden retreat through them--leaving the attorneymore horrified than ever. 

No other sound but the melancholy soughing of the night-breeze, and thehoarse murmur of the stream rising from the stony channel of Redman'sDell, were now, or during the remainder of his walk through these hauntedgrounds, again audible. 

So, with rapid strides passing the dim gables of Redman's Farm, he atlength found himself, with a sense of indescribable relief, upon theGylingden road, and could see the twinkling lights in the windows of themain street. 

CHAPTER XLI. 

IN WHICH SIR FRANCIS SEDDLEY MANIPULATES. 

At about two o'clock Buddle was called up, and spirited away to Brandonin a dog-cart. A haemorrhage, perhaps, a sudden shivering, andinflammation--a sinking, maybe, or delirium--some awful change, probably--for Buddle did not return. 

Old Major Jackson heard of it, in his early walk, at Buddle's door. Hehad begun to grow more hopeful. But hearing this he walked home, andreplaced the dress-coat and silk stockings he had ventured to remove, promptly in his valise, which he buckled down and locked--swallowed withagitated voracity some fragments of breakfast--got on his easy boots andgaiters--brushed his best hat, and locked it into its leathercase--placed his rug, great-coat, and umbrella, and a rough walking-stickfor service, and a gold-tipped, exquisite cane, for duty on promenades offashion, neatly on top of his valise, and with his old white hat andshooting-coat on, looking and whistling as much as possible as usual, hepopped carelessly into John Hobbs's stable, where he was glad to seethree horses standing, and he mentally chose the black cob for his flightto Dollington. 

'A bloodthirsty rascal that Bracton, ' muttered the major. The expenseswere likely to be awful, and some allowance was to be made for his stateof mind. 

He was under Doctor Buddle's porch, and made a flimsy rattle with histhin brass knocker. 'Maybe he has returned?' He did not believe it, though. 

Major Jackson was very nervous, indeed. The up trains from Dollingtonwere 'few and far between, ' and that _diddled_ Crutchleigh would be downon him the moment the breath was out of poor Lake. 'It was plainyesterday at the sessions that infernal woman (his wife) had been at him. She hates Bracton like poison, because he likes the Brandon people; and, by Jove, he'll have up every soul concerned. The Devil and his wife Icall them. If poor Lake goes off anywhere between eleven and fouro'clock, I'm nabbed, by George!'

The door was opened. The doctor peeped out of his parlour. 

'Well?' enquired the major, confoundedly frightened. 

'Pretty well, thank ye, but awfully fagged--up all night, and no use. '

'But how _is_ he?' asked the major, with a dreadful qualm of dismay. 

'Same as yesterday--no change--only a little bleeding last night--notarterial; venous you know--only venous. '

The major thought he spoke of the goddess, and though he did not wellcomprehend, said he was 'glad of it. '

'Think he'll do then?'

'He may--very unlikely though. A nasty case, as you can imagine. '

'He'll certainly not go, poor fellow, before four o'clock P. M. I daresay--eh?'

The major's soul was at the Dollington station, and was regulating poorLake's departure by 'Bradshaw's Guide. '

'Who knows? We expect Sir Francis this morning. Glad to have a share ofthe responsibility off my shoulders, I can tell you. Come in and have achop, will you?'

'No, thank you, I've had my breakfast. '

'You have, have you? Well, I haven't, ' cried the doctor, with anagreeable chuckle, shaking the major's hand, and disappearing again intohis parlour. 

I found in my lodgings in London, on my return from Doncaster, some twomonths later, a copy of the county paper of this date, with a crossscrawled beside the piece of intelligence which follows. I knew thattremulous cross. It was traced by the hand of poor old Miss Kybes--withher many faults always kind to me. It bore the Brandon postmark, andaltogether had the impress of authenticity. It said:--

'We have much pleasure in stating that the severe injury sustained fourdays since by Captain Stanley Lake, at the time a visitor at the Lodge, the picturesque residence of Josiah Larkin, Esq. , in the vicinity ofGylingden, is not likely to prove so difficult of treatment or soimminently dangerous as was at first apprehended. The gallant gentlemanwas removed from the scene of his misadventure to Brandon Hall, close towhich the accident occurred, and at which mansion his noble relatives, Lord Chelford and the Dowager Lady Chelford, are at present staying on avisit. Sir Francis Seddley came down express from London, and assisted byour skilful county practitioner, Humphrey Buddle, Esq. , M. D. OfGylingden, operated most successfully on Saturday last, and we are happyto say the gallant patient has since been going on as favourably as couldpossibly have been anticipated. Sir Francis Seddley returned to London onSunday afternoon. '

Within a week after the operation, Buddle began to talk so confidentlyabout his patient, that the funereal cloud that overhung Brandon hadalmost totally disappeared, and Major Jackson had quite unpacked hisportmanteau. 

About a week after the 'accident' there came one of Mr. Mark Wylder'sstrange letters to Mr. Jos. Larkin. This time it was from Marseilles, andbore date the 27th November. It was much the longest he had yet received, and was in the nature of a despatch, rather than of those short notes inwhich he had hitherto, for the most part, communicated. 

Like the rest of his letters it was odd, but written, as it seemed, inbetter spirits. 

'Dear Larkin, --You will be surprised to find me in this port, but I thinkmy secret cruise is nearly over now, and you will say the plan was amaster-stroke, and well executed by a poor devil, with nobody to advisehim. I am coiling such a web round them, and making it fast, as you maysee a spider, first to this point and then to the other, that I won'tleave my persecutors one solitary chance of escape. I'll draw it quietlyround and round--closer and closer--till they can neither blow nor budge, and then up to the yardarm they go, with what breath is left in them. Youdon't know yet _how_ I am dodging, or why my measures are taken; but I'llshorten your long face a good inch with a genuine broad grin when youlearn how it all was. I may see you to tell the story in four weeks'time; but keep this close. Don't mention where I write from, nor even somuch as my name. I have reasons for everything, which you may guess, Idare say, being a sharp chap; and it is not for nothing, be very sure, that I am running this queer rig, masquerading, hiding, and dodging, likea runaway forger, which is not pleasant anyway, and if you doubt it, onlytry; but needs must when the old boy drives. He is a clever fellow, nodoubt, but has been sometimes out-witted before now. You must arrangeabout Chelford and Lake. I don't know where Lake is staying. I don'tsuppose at Brandon; but he won't stay in the country nor spend his moneyto please you or I. Therefore you must have him at your house--besure--and I will square it with you; I think three pounds a week ought todo it very handsome. Don't be a muff and give him expensive wines--a pintof sherry is plenty between you; and when he dines at his clubhalf-a-pint does him. _I_ know; but if he costs you more, I herebypromise to pay it. Won't that do? Well, about Chelford: I have beenthinking he takes airs, and maybe he is on his high-horse about thatawkward business about Miss Brandon. But there is no reason why CaptainLake should object. He has only to hand you a receipt in my name for theamount of cheques you may give him, and to lodge a portion of it where Itold him, and the rest to buy Consols; and I suppose he will expectpayment for his no-trouble. Every fellow, particularly thesegentlemanlike fellows, they have a pluck at you when they can. If he isat that, give him at the rate of a hundred a-year, or a hundred and fiftyif you think he won't do for less; though 100_l_. Ought to be a good dealto Lake; and tell him I have a promise of the adjutancy of the countymilitia, if he likes that; and I am sure of a seat in Parliament eitherfor the county or for Dollington, as you know, and can do better for himthen; and I rely on you, one way or another, to make him undertake it. And now for myself: I think my vexation is very near ended. I have notfired a gun yet, and they little think what a raking broadside I'll givethem. Any of the county people you meet, tell them I'm making a littleexcursion on the Continent; and if they go to particularise, you may saythe places I have been at. Don't let anyone know more. I wish there wasany way of stopping that old she'--(it looked like dragon or devil--butwas traced over with a cloud of flourishes, and only 'Lady Chelford'smouth' was left untouched). 'Don't expect to hear from me so long a yarnfor some time again; and don't write. I don't stay long anywhere, anddon't carry my own name--and never ask for letters at the post. I've agood glass, and can see pretty far, and make a fair guess enough what'sgoing on aboard the enemy. 

'I remain always, 'Dear Larkin, 'Ever yours truly, 'MARK WYLDER. '

'He hardly trusts Lake more than he does me, I presume, ' murmured Mr. Larkin, elevating his tall bald head with an offended and superciliousair; and letting the thin, open letter fall, or rather throwing it with aslight whisk upon the table. 

'No, I take leave to think he certainly does _not_. Lake has got privatedirections about the disposition of a portion of the money. Of course, ifthere are persons to be dealt with who are not pleasantly approachable byrespectable professional people--in fact it would not suit me. It isreally rather a compliment, and relieves me of the unpleasant necessityof saying--no. '

Yet Mr. Larkin was very sore, and curious, and in a measure, hated bothLake and Wylder for their secret confidences, and was more than everresolved to get at the heart of Mark's mystery. 

CHAPTER XLII. 

A PARAGRAPH IN THE COUNTY PAPER. 

The nature of his injury considered, Captain Lake recovered withwonderful regularity and rapidity. In four weeks he was out rather paleand languid but still able to walk without difficulty, leaning on astick, for ten or fifteen minutes at a time. In another fortnight he hadmade another great advance, had thrown away his crutch handled stick, andrecovered flesh and vigour. In a fortnight more he had grown quite likehimself again; and in a very few weeks more, I read in the same countypaper, transmitted to me by the same fair hands, but this time not with across, but three distinct notes of admiration standing tremulously at themargin of the paragraph, the following to me for a time incredible, andvery nearly to this day amazing, announcement:--

 'MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 

'The auspicious event so interesting to our county, which we have thisday to announce, though for some time upon the _tapis_, has been attendedwith as little publicity as possible. The contemplated union betweenCaptain Stanley Lake, late of the Guards, sole surviving son of the lateGeneral Williams Stanley Stanley Lake, of Plasrhwyn, and the beautifuland accomplished Miss Brandon, of Brandon Hall, in this county, wascelebrated in the ancestral chapel of Brandon, situated within themanorial boundaries, in the immediate vicinity of the town of Gylingden, on yesterday. Although the marriage was understood to be strictlyprivate--none but the immediate relations of the bride and bridegroombeing present--the bells of Gylingden rang out merry peals throughout theday, and the town was tastefully decorated with flags, and brilliantlyilluminated at night. 

'A deputation of the tenantry of the Gylingden and the Longmoor estates, together with those of the Brandon estate, went in procession to BrandonHall in the afternoon, and read a well-conceived and affectionateaddress, which was responded to in appropriate terms by Captain Lake, whoreceived them, with his beautiful bride at his side, in the greatgallery--perhaps the noblest apartment in that noble ancestral mansion. The tenantry were afterwards handsomely entertained under the immediatedirection of Josiah Larkin, Esq. , of the Lodge, the respected manager ofthe Brandon estates, at the "Brandon Arms, " in the town of Gylingden. Itis understood that the great territorial influence of the Brandon familywill obtain a considerable accession in the estates of the bridegroom inthe south of England. '

There was some more which I need not copy, being very like what weusually see on such occasions. 

I read this piece of intelligence half a dozen times over duringbreakfast. 'How that beautiful girl has thrown herself away!' I thought. 'Surely the Chelfords, who have an influence there, ought to have exertedit to prevent her doing anything so mad. His estates in the south ofEngland, indeed! Why, he can't have £300 a year clear from that littleproperty in Devon. He _is_ such a liar; and so absurd, as if he couldsucceed in deceiving anyone upon the subject. '

So I read the paragraph over again, and laid down the paper, simplysaying, 'Well, certainly, that _is_ disgusting!'

I had heard of his duel. It was also said that it had in some way hadreference to Miss Brandon. But this was the only rumoured incident whichwould at all have prepared one for the occurrence. I tried to recollectanything particular in his manner--there was nothing; and she positivelyseemed to dislike him. I had been utterly mystified, and so, I presume, had all the other lookers-on. 

Well! after all, 'twas no particular business of mine. 

At the club, I saw it in the 'Morning Post;' and an hour after, old JoeGabloss, that prosy Argus who knows everything, recounted the detailswith patient precision, and in legal phrase, 'put in' letters from two orthree country houses proving his statement. 

So there was no doubting it longer: and Captain Stanley Lake, late of HerMajesty's ---- Regiment of Guards, idler, scamp, coxcomb, and thebeautiful Dorcas Brandon, heiress of Brandon, were man and wife. 

I wrote to my fair friend, Miss Kybes, and had an answer confirming, ifthat were needed, the public announcement, and mentioning enigmatically, that it had caused 'a great deal of conversation. '

The posture of affairs in the small world of Gylingden, except in thematter of the alliance just referred to, was not much changed. 

Since the voluminous despatch from Marseilles, promising his return sosoon, not a line had been received from Mark Wylder. He might arrive anyday or night. He might possibly have received some unexpected check--ifnot checkmate, in that dark and deep game on which he seemed to havestaked so awfully. Mr. Jos. Larkin sometimes thought one thing, sometimesanother. 

In the meantime, Captain Lake accepted the trust. Larkin at times thoughtthere was a constant and secret correspondence going on between him andMark Wylder, and that he was his agent in adjusting some complicated andvillainous piece of diplomacy by means of the fund--secret-servicemoney--which Mark had placed at his disposal. 

He, Mr. Larkin, was treated like a child in this matter, and his advicenever so much as asked, nor his professional honour accredited by thesmallest act of confidence. 

Sometimes his suspicions took a different turn, and he thought that Lakemight be one of those 'persecutors' of whom Mark spoke with suchmysterious hatred; and that the topic of their correspondence was, perhaps, some compromise, the subject or the terms of which would notbear the light. 

Lake certainly made two visits to London, one of them of a week'sduration. The attorney being a sharp, long-headed fellow, who knew verywell what business was, knew perfectly well, too, that two or three shortletters might have settled any legitimate business which his gallantfriend had in the capital. 

But Lake was now married, and under the incantation whistled over him bythe toothless Archdeacon of Mundlebury, had sprung up into a countymagnate, and was worth cultivating, and to be treated tenderly. 

So the attorney's business was to smile and watch--to watch, and ofcourse, to pray as heretofore--but specially to watch. He himself hardlyknew all that was passing in his own brain. There are operations ofphysical nature which go on actively without your being aware of them;and the moral respiration, circulation, insensible perspiration, and allthe rest of that peculiar moral system which exhibited its type in Jos. Larkin, proceeded automatically in the immortal structure of thatgentleman. 

Being very gentlemanlike in externals, with a certain grace, amountingvery nearly to elegance, and having applied himself diligently to pleasethe county people, that proud fraternity, remembering his father'sestates, condoned his poverty, and took Captain Lake by the hand, andlifted him into their superb, though not very entertaining order. 

There were solemn festivities at Brandon, and festive solemnities at theprincipal county houses in return. Though not much of a sportsman, Lakelent himself handsomely to all the sporting proceedings of the county, and subscribed in a way worthy of the old renown of Brandon Hall to allsorts of charities and galas. So he was getting on very pleasantly withhis new neighbours, and was likely to stand very fairly in that dull, butnot unfriendly society. 

About three weeks after this great county marriage, there arrived, thistime from Frankfort, a sharp letter, addressed to Jos. Larkin, Esq. Itsaid:--

'My Dear Sir, --I think I have reason to complain. I have just seen byaccident the announcement of the marriage at Brandon. I think as myfriend, and a friend to the Brandon family, you ought to have donesomething to delay, if you could not stop it. Of course, you had thesettlements, and devil's in it if you could not have beat about awhile--it was not so quick with me--and not doubled the point in a singletack; and you know the beggar has next to nothing. Any way, it was yourduty to have printed some notice that the thing was thought of. If youhad put it, like a bit of news, in "Galignani, " I would have seen it, andknown what to do. Well, that ship's blew up. But I won't let all go. Thecur will begin to try for the county or for Dollington. You must quietlystop that, mind; and if he persists, just you put an advertisement in"Galignani, " saying _Mr. Smith will take notice, that the other party isdesirous to purchase, and becoming very pressing_. Just you hoist thatsignal, and _somebody_ will bear down, and blaze into him at allhazards--you'll see how. Things have not gone quite smooth with me since;but it won't be long till I run up my flag again, and take the command. Be perfectly civil with Stanley Lake till I come on board--that isindispensable; and keep this letter as close from every eye as sealedorders. You may want a trifle to balk S. L. 's electioneering, and there'san order on Lake for 200_l. _ Don't trifle about the county and borough. He must have no footing in either till I return. 

'Yours, dear Larkin, 'Very truly

'(but look after my business better), 'M. WYLDER. '

The order on Lake, a little note, was enclosed:--

'Dear Lake, --I wish you joy, and all the good wishes going, as I couldnot make the prize myself. 

'Be so good to hand my lawyer, Mr. Jos. Larkin, of the Lodge, Gylingden, 200_l. _ sterling, on my account. 

'Yours, dear Lake, 'Very faithfully, 'M. WYLDER. 

200_l. _)

'23rd Feb. , &c. &c. '

When Jos. Larkin presented this little order, it was in the handsomesquare room in which Captain Lake transacted business--a lofty apartment, wainscoted in carved oak, and with a great stone mantelpiece, with theWylder arms, projecting in bold relief, in the centre, and a floridscroll, with 'RESURGAM' standing forth as sharp as the day it waschiselled nearly three hundred years before. 

There was some other business--Brandon business--to be talked over first;and that exhausted, Mr. Larkin sat as usual, with one long thigh crossedupon the other--his arm thrown over the back of his chair, and his tall, bald head a little back, and his small mild eyes twinkling through theirpink lids on the enigmatical captain, who had entered upon the march ofambition in a spirit so audacious and conquering. 

'I had a line from Mr. Mark Wylder yesterday afternoon, as usual withoutany address but the postmark;' and good Mr. Larkin laughed a mild, littlepatient laugh, and lifted his open hand, and shook his head. 'It reallyis growing too absurd--a mere order upon you to hand me 200_l. _ How I'mto dispose of it, I have not the faintest notion. '

And he laughed again; at the same time he gracefully poked the littlenote, between two fingers, to Captain Lake, who glanced full on him, fora second, as he took it. 

'And how is Mark?' enquired Lake, with his odd, sly smile, as he scrawleda little endorsement on the order. 'Does he say anything?'

'No; absolutely nothing--he's a very strange client!' said Larkin, laughing again. 'There can be no objection, of course, to your readingit; and he thinks--he thinks--he'll be here soon again--oh, here it is. '

Mr. Larkin had been fumbling, first in his deep waistcoat, and then inhis breast-pocket, as if for the letter, which was locked fast into theiron safe, with Chubb's patent lock, in his office at the Lodge. But itwould not have done to have kept a secret from Captain Lake, of Brandon;and therefore his not seeing the note was a mere accident. 

'Oh! no--stupid!--that's Mullett and Hock's. I have not got it with me;but it does not signify, for there's nothing in it. I hope I shall soonbe favoured with his directions as to what to do with the money. '

'He's an odd fellow; and I don't know how he feels towards me; but on mypart there is no feeling, I do assure you, but the natural desire to liveon the friendly terms which our ties of family and our position in thecounty'--

Stanley Lake was writing the cheque for 200_l. _ meanwhile, and handed itto Larkin; and as that gentleman penned a receipt, the captaincontinued--his eyes lowered to the little vellum-bound book in which hewas now making an entry:--

'You have handed me a large sum, Mr. Larkin--3, 276_l. _ 11_s. _ 4_d. _ Iundertook this, you know, on the understanding that it was not to go onvery long; and I find my own business pretty nearly as much as I canmanage. Is Wylder at all definite as to when we may expect his return?'

'Oh, dear no--quite as usual--he expects to be here soon; but that isall. I so wish I had brought his note with me; but I'm positive that isall. '

So, this little matter settled, the lawyer took his leave. 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

AN EVIL EYE LOOKS ON THE VICAR. 

There were influences of a wholly unsuspected kind already gatheringround the poor vicar, William Wylder; as worlds first begin in thinnestvapour, and whirl themselves in time into consistency and form, so dothese dark machinations, which at times gather round unsuspecting mortalsas points of revolution, begin nebulously and intangibly, and grow involume and in density, till a colossal system, with its inexorabletendencies and forces, crushes into eternal darkness the centre it hasenveloped. 

Thou shalt not covet; thou shalt not cast an eye of desire; out of theheart proceed _murders_;--these dreadful realities shape themselves fromso filmy a medium as thought!

Ever since his conference with the vicar, good Mr. Larkin had been dimlythinking of a thing. The good attorney's weakness was money. It was aspeck at first; a metaphysical microscope of no conceivable power couldhave developed its exact shape and colour--a mere speck, floating, as itwere, in a transparent kyst, in his soul--a mere germ--by-and-by to be animpish embryo, and ripe for action. When lust hath conceived it bringethforth sin, and sin when it is finished bringeth forth death. 

The vicar's troubles grew and gathered, as such troubles will; and theattorney gave him his advice; and the business of the Rev. William Wyldergradually came to occupy a good deal of his time. Here was a new reasonfor wishing to know really how Mark Wylder stood. William had undoubtedlythe reversion of the estate; but the attorney suspected sometimes--justfrom a faint phrase which had once escaped Stanley Lake--as the likeliestsolution, that Mark Wylder had made a left-handed marriage somehow andsomewhere, and that a subterranean wife and family would emerge at anunlucky moment, and squat upon that remainder, and defy the world todisturb them. This gave to his plans and dealings in relation to thevicar a character of irresolution and caprice foreign to his character, which was grim and decided enough when his data were clear, and hisobject in sight. 

William Wylder, meanwhile, was troubled, and his mind clouded by moresorrows than one. 

Poor William Wylder had those special troubles which haunt nervoustemperaments and speculative minds, when under the solemn influence ofreligion. What the great Luther called, without describing them, his'tribulations'--those dreadful doubts and apathies which at times menaceand darken the radiant fabric of faith, and fill the soul with namelesshorrors. The worst of these is, that unlike other troubles, they are notalways safely to be communicated to those who love us best. These terrorsand dubitations are infectious. Other spiritual troubles, too, there are;and I suppose our good vicar was not exempt from them any more than otherChristians. 

The best man, the simplest man that ever lived, has his reserves. Theconscious frailty of mortality owes that sad reverence to itself, and tothe esteem of others. You can't be too frank and humble when you havewronged your neighbour; but keep your offences against God to yourself, and let your battle with your own heart be waged under the eye of Himalone. The frankness of the sentimental Jean Jacques Rousseau, and of mycoarse friend, Mark Wylder, is but a damnable form of vicious egotism. Amiserable sinner have I been, my friend, but details profit neither theenor me. The inner man had best be known only to himself and his Maker. Ilike that good and simple Welsh parson, of Beaumaris, near two hundredyears ago, who with a sad sort of humour, placed for motto under hisportrait, done in stained glass, _nunc primum transparui_. 

But the spiritual tribulation which came and went was probably connectedwith the dreadful and incessant horrors of his money trouble. Thegigantic Brocken spectre projected from himself upon the wide horizon ofhis futurity. 

The poor vicar! He felt his powers forsaking him. Hope, the life ofaction, was gone. Despair is fatalism, and can't help itself. Theinevitable mountain was always on his shoulders. He could not rise--hecould not stir. He could scarcely turn his head and look up beseechinglyfrom the corners of his eyes. 

Why is that fellow so supine? Why is his work so ill done, when he oughtmost to exert himself? He disgusts the world with his hang-dog looks. Alas! with the need for action, the power of action is gone. Despair--distraction--the Furies sit with him. Stunned, stupid, andwild--always agitated--it is not easy to compose his sermons as finely asheretofore. He is always jotting down little sums in addition andsubtraction. The cares of the world--the miseries of what the world calls'difficulties' and a 'struggle'--these were for the poor vicar;--theworst torture, for aught we know, which an average soul out of hell canendure. Other sorrows bear healing on their wings;--this one is thePromethean vulture. It is a falling into the hands of men, not of God. The worst is, that its tendencies are so godless. It makes men bitter;its promptings are blasphemous. Wherefore, He who knew all things, indescribing the thorns which choke the word, places the _cares_ of thisworld _first_, and _after_ them the deceitfulness of riches and the lustsof other things. So if money is a root of evil, the want of it, withdebt, is root, and stem, and branches. 

But all human pain has its intervals of relief. The pain is suspended, and the system recruits itself to endure the coming paroxysm. An hour ofillusion--an hour of sleep--an hour's respite of any sort, to six hoursof pain--and so the soul, in anguish, finds strength for its long labour, abridged by neither death nor madness. 

The vicar, with his little boy, Fairy, by the hand, used twice, at least, in the week to make, sometimes an hour's, sometimes only half an hours, visit at Redman's Farm. Poor Rachel Lake made old Tamar sit at herworsteds in the window of the little drawing-room while theseconversations proceeded. The young lady was so intelligent that WilliamWylder was obliged to exert himself in controversy with her eloquentdespair; and this combat with the doubts and terrors of a mind of muchmore than ordinary vigour and resource, though altogether feminine, compelled him to bestir himself, and so, for the time, found him entireoccupation; and thus memory and forecast, and suspense, were superseded, for the moment, by absorbing mental action. 

Rachel's position had not been altered by her brother's marriage. Dorcashad urged her earnestly to give up Redman's Farm, and take up her abodepermanently at Brandon. This kindness, however, she declined. She wasgrateful, but no, nothing could move her. The truth was, she recoiledfrom it with a species of horror. 

The marriage had been, after all, as great a surprise to Rachel as to anyof the Gylingden gossips. Dorcas, knowing how Rachel thought upon it, hadgrown reserved and impenetrable upon the subject; indeed, at one time, Ithink, she had half made up her mind to fight the old battle over againand resolutely exercise this fatal passion. She had certainly mystifiedRachel, perhaps was mystifying herself. 

Rachel grew more sad and strange than ever after this marriage. I thinkthat Stanley was right, and that living in that solitary and darksomedell helped to make her hypochondriac. 

One evening Stanley Lake stood at her door. 

'I was just thinking, dear Radie, ' he said in his sweet low tones, whichto her ear always bore a suspicion of mockery in them, 'how pretty youcontrive to make this bright little garden at all times of the year--youhave such lots of those evergreens, and ivy, and those odd flowers. '

'They call them _immortelles_ in France, ' said Rachel, in a cold strangetone, 'and make chaplets of them to lay upon the coffin-lids and thegraves. '

'Ah, yes, to be sure, I have seen them there and in Père la Chaise--sothey do; they have them in all the cemeteries--I forgot that. Howcheerful; how very sensible. Don't you think it would be a good plan tostick up a death's-head and cross-bones here and there, and to split upold coffin-lids for your setting-sticks, and get old Mowlders, thesexton, to bury your roots, and cover them in with a "dust to dust, " andso forth, and plant a yew tree in the middle, and stick those bits ofpainted board, that look so woefully like gravestones, all round it, andthen let old Tamar prowl about for a ghost? I assure you, Radie, I thinkyou, all to nothing, the perversest fool I ever encountered or heard ofin the course of my life. '

'Well, Stanley, suppose you do, I'll not dispute it. Perhaps you areright, ' said Rachel, still standing at the door of her little porch. 

'Perhaps, ' he repeated with a sneer; 'I venture to say, _mostpositively_, I can't conceive any sane reason for your refusing Dorcas'sentreaty to live with us at Brandon, and leave this triste, andunwholesome, and everyway objectionable place. '

'She was very kind, but I can't do it. '

'Yes, you can't do it, simply because it would be precisely the mostsensible, prudent, and comfortable arrangement you could possibly make;you _won't_ do it--but you can and will practise all the airs andfooleries of a bad melodrama. You have succeeded already in fillingDorcas's mind with surmise and speculation, and do you think theGylingden people are either blind or dumb? You are taking, I've told youagain and again, the very way to excite attention and gossip. What goodcan it possibly do you? You'll not believe until it happens, and when itdoes, you'd give your eyes you could undo it. It is so like you. '

'I have said how very kind I thought it of Dorcas to propose it. I can'texplain to her all my reasons for declining; and to you I need not. But Icannot overcome my repugnance--and I won't try. '

'I wonder, ' said Stanley, with a sly look of enquiry, 'that you who readthe Bible--and a very good book it is no doubt--and believe in all sortsof things--'

'That will do, Stanley. I'm not so weak as you suppose. '

'You know, Radie, I'm a Sadducee and that sort of thing does not troubleme the least in the world. It is a little cold here. May we go into thedrawing-room? You can't think how I hate this--house. We are alwaysunpleasant in it. '

This auspicious remark he made taking off his hat, and placing it and hiscane on her work-table. 

But this was not a tempestuous conference by any means. I don't knowprecisely what they talked about. I think it was probably the pros andcons of that migration to Brandon, against which Rachel had pronounced sofirmly. 

'I can't do it, Stanley. My motives are unintelligible to you, I know, and you think me obstinate and stupid; but, be I what I may, myobjections are insurmountable. And does it not strike you that my stayinghere, on the contrary, would--would tend to prevent the kind ofconversation you speak of?'

'Not the least, dear Radie--that is, I mean, it could have no possibleeffect, unless the circumstances were first supposed, and then it couldbe of no appreciable use. And your way of life and your looks--for bothare changed--are likely, in a little prating village, where every humanbeing is watched and discussed incessantly, to excite conjecture; that isall, and that is _every thing_. '

It had grown dark while Stanley sat in the little drawing-room, andRachel stood on her doorstep, and saw his figure glide away slowly intothe thin mist and shadow, and turn upward to return to Brandon, by thatnarrow ravine where they had held rendezvous with Mark Wylder, on thatill-omened night when trouble began for all. 

To Rachel's eyes, that disappearing form looked like the moping spirit ofguilt and regret, haunting the scene of the irrevocable. 

When Stanley took his leave after one of these visits--stolen visits, somehow, they always seemed to her--the solitary mistress of Redman'sFarm invariably experienced the nervous reaction which follows theartificial calm of suppressed excitement. Something of panic or horror, relieved sometimes by a gush of tears--sometimes more slowly andpainfully subsiding without that hysterical escape. 

She went in and shut the door, and called Tamar. But Tamar was out of theway. She hated that little drawing-room in her present mood--itsassociations were odious and even ghastly; so she sat herself down by thekitchen fire, and placed her pretty feet--cold now--upon the high steelfender, and extended her cold hands towards the embers, leaning back inher rude chair. 

And so she got the girl to light candles, and asked her a great manyquestions, and obliged her, in fact, to speak constantly though sheseemed to listen but little. And when at last the girl herself, growinginterested in her own narrative about a kidnapper, grew voluble andanimated, and looked round upon the young lady at the crisis of the tale, she was surprised to remark, on a sudden, that she was gazing vacantlyinto the bars; and when Margery, struck by her fixed and melancholycountenance, stopped in the midst of a sentence, the young lady turnedand gazed on her wistfully, with large eyes and pale face, and sighedheavily. 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

IN WHICH OLD TAMAR LIFTS UP HER VOICE IN PROPHECY. 

Certainly Stanley Lake was right about Redman's Dell. Once the sun hadgone down behind the distant hills, it was the darkest, the most silent, and the most solitary of nooks. 

It was not, indeed, quite dark yet. The upper sky had still a faint graytwilight halo, and the stars looked wan and faint. But the narrow walkthat turned from Redman's Dell was always dark in Stanley's memory; andSadducees, although they believe neither in the resurrection nor thejudgment, are no more proof than other men against the resurrections ofmemory and the penalties of association and of fear. 

Captain Lake had many things to think of. Some pleasant enough as hemeasured pleasure, others troublesome. But as he mounted the stone stepsthat conducted the passenger up the steep acclivity to the upper level ofthe dark and narrow walk he was pursuing, one black sorrow met him andblotted out all the rest. 

Captain Lake knew very well and gracefully practised the art of notseeing inconvenient acquaintances in the street. But here in this narrowway there met him full a hated shadow whom he would fain have 'cut, ' bylooking to right or left, or up or down, but which was not to beevaded--would not only have his salutation but his arm, and walked--ahorror of great darkness, by his side--through this solitude. 

Committed to a dreadful game, in which the stakes had come to exceedanything his wildest fears could have anticipated, from which he couldnot, according to his own canons, by any imaginable means recede--_here_was the spot where the dreadful battle had been joined, and his covenantwith futurity sealed. 

The young captain stood for a moment still on reaching the upperplatform. A tiny brook that makes its way among briars and shingle to themore considerable mill-stream of Redman's Dell, sent up a hoarse babblingfrom the darkness beneath. Why exactly he halted there he could not havesaid. He glanced over his shoulder down the steps he had just scaled. Hadthere been light his pale face would have shown just then a malignanxiety, such as the face of an ill-conditioned man might wear, whoapprehends danger of treading on a snake. 

He walked on, however, without quickening his pace, waving very slightlyfrom side to side his ebony walking-cane--thin as a pencil--as if it werea wand to beckon away the unseen things that haunt the darkness; and nowhe came upon the wider plateau, from which, the close copse receding, admitted something more of the light, faint as it was, that lingered inthe heavens. 

A tall gray stone stands in the centre of this space. There had once beena boundary and a stile there. Stanley knew it very well, and was notstartled as the attorney was the other night when he saw it. As heapproached this, some one said close in his ear, 'I beg your pardon, Master Stanley. '

He cowered down with a spring, as I can fancy a man ducking under around-shot, and glanced speechlessly, and still in his attitude ofrecoil, upon the speaker. 

'It's only me, Master Stanley--your poor old Tamar. Don't be afraid, dear. '

'I'm _not_ afraid--woman. Tamar to be sure--why, of course, I know you;but what the devil brings you here?' he said. 

Tamar was dressed just as she used to be when sitting in the open air ather knitting, except that over her shoulders she had a thin gray shawl. On her head was the same close linen nightcap, borderless and skull-like, and she laid her shrivelled, freckled hand upon his arm, and looking withan earnest and fearful gaze in his face she said--

'It has been on my mind this many a day to speak to you, Master Stanley;but whenever I meant to, summat came over me, and I couldn't. '

'Well, well, well, ' said Lake, uneasily; 'I mean to call to-morrow, ornext day, or some day soon, at Redman's Farm. I'll hear it then; this isno place, you know, Tamar, to talk in; besides I'm pressed for time, andcan't stay now to listen. '

'There's no place like this, Master Stanley; it's so awful secret, ' shesaid, with her hand still upon his arm. 

'Secret! Why one place is as well as another; and what the devil have Ito do with secrets? I tell you, Tamar, I'm in haste and can't stay. I_won't_ stay. There!'

'Master Stanley, for the love of Heaven--you know what I'm going to speakof; my old bones have carried me here--'tis years since I walked so far. I'd walk till I dropped to reach you--but I'd say what's on my mind, 'tislike a message from heaven--and I _must_ speak--aye, dear, I must. '

'But I say I can't stay. Who made you a prophet? You used not to be afool, Tamar; when I tell you I can't, that's enough. '

Tamar did not move her fingers from the sleeve of his coat, on which theyrested, and that thin pressure mysteriously detained him. 

'See, Master Stanley, if I don't say it to _you_, I must to another, ' shesaid. 

'You mean to threaten me, woman, ' said he with a pale, malevolent look. 

'I'm threatening nothing but the wrath of God, who hears us. '

'Unless you mean to do me an injury, Tamar, I don't know what else youmean, ' he answered, in a changed tone. 

'Old Tamar will soon be in her coffin, and this night far in the past, like many another, and 'twill be everything to you, one day, for weal orwoe, to hearken to her words _now_, Master Stanley. '

'Why, Tamar, haven't I told you I'm ready to listen to you. I'll go andsee you--upon my honour I will--to-morrow, or next day, at the Dell;what's the good of stopping me here?'

'Because, Master Stanley, something told me 'tis the best place; we'requiet, and you're more like to weigh my words here--and you'll be alonefor a while after you leave me, and can ponder my advice as you walk homeby the path. '

'Well, whatever it is, I suppose it won't take very long to say--let uswalk on to the stone there, and then I'll stop and hear it--but you mustnot keep me all night, ' he said, very peevishly. 

It was only twenty steps further on, and the woods receded round it, soas to leave an irregular amphitheatre of some sixty yards across; andCaptain Lake, glancing from the corners of his eyes, this way and that, without raising or turning his face, stopped listlessly at the time-wornwhite stone, and turning to the old crone, who was by his side, he said, 'Well, then, you have your way; but speak low, please, if you haveanything unpleasant to say. '

Tamar laid her hand upon his arm again; and the old woman's face affordedStanley Lake no clue to the coming theme. Its expression was quite asusual--not actually discontent or peevishness, but crimped and puckeredall over with unchanging lines of anxiety and suffering. Neither wasthere any flurry in her manner--her bony arm and discoloured hand, onceher fingers lay upon his sleeve, did not move--only she looked veryearnestly in his face as she spoke. 

'You'll not be angry, Master Stanley, dear? though if you be, I can'thelp it, for I must speak. I've heard it all--I heard you and Miss Radiespeak on the night you first came to see her, after your sickness; and Iheard you speak again, by my room door, only a week before your marriage, when you thought I was asleep. So I've heard it all--and though I mayn'tunderstand all the ins and outs on't, I know it well in the main. Oh, Master Stanley, Master Stanley! How can you go on with it?'

'Come, Tamar, what do you want of me? What do you mean? What the d-- isit all about?'

'Oh! well you know, Master Stanley, what it's about. '

'Well, there _is_ something unpleasant, and I suppose you have heard asmattering of it in your muddled way; but it is quite plain you don't inthe least understand it, when you fancy I can do anything to serve anyonein the smallest degree connected with that disagreeable business--or thatI am personally in the least to blame in it; and I can't conceive whatbusiness you had listening at the keyhole to your mistress and me, norwhy I am wasting my time talking to an old woman about my affairs, whichshe can neither understand nor take part in. '

'Master Stanley, it won't do. I heard it--I could not help hearing. Ilittle thought you had any such matter to speak--and you spoke so suddenlike, I could not help it. You were angry, and raised your voice. Whatcould old Tamar do? I heard it all before I knew where I was. '

'I really think, Tamar, you've taken leave of your wits--you are quite inthe clouds. Come, Tamar, tell me, once for all--only drop your voice alittle, if you please--what the plague has got into your old head. Come, I say, what is it?'

He stooped and leaned his ear to Tamar; and when she had done, helaughed. The laugh, though low, sounded wild and hollow in that darksolitude. 

'Really, dear Tamar, you must excuse my laughing. You dear old witch, howthe plague could you take any such frightful nonsense into your head? Ido assure you, upon my honour, I never heard of so ridiculous a blunder. Only that I know you are really fond of us, I should never speak to youagain. I forgive you. But listen no more to other people's conversation. I could tell you how it really stands now, only I have not time; butyou'll take my word of honour for it, you have made the most absurdmistake that ever an old fool tumbled into. No, Tamar, I can't stay anylonger now; but I'll tell you the whole truth when next I go down toRedman's Farm. In the meantime, you must not plague poor Miss Radie withyour nonsense. She has too much already to trouble her, though of quiteanother sort. Good-night, foolish old Tamar. '

'Oh, Master Stanley, it will take a deal to shake my mind; and if it beso, as I say, what's to be done next--what's to be done--oh, what _is_ tobe done?'

'I say good-night, old Tamar; and hold your tongue, do you see?'

'Oh, Master Stanley, Master Stanley! my poor child--my child that Inursed!--anything would be better than this. Sooner or later judgmentwill overtake you, so sure as you persist in it. I heard what Miss Radiesaid; and is not it true--is not it cruel--is not it frightful to go on?'

'You don't seem to be aware, my good Tamar, that you have been talkingslander all this while, and might be sent to gaol for it. There, I'm notangry--only you're a fool. Good-night. '

He shook her hand, and jerked it from him with suppressed fury, passingon with a quickened pace. And as he glided through the dark, towardssplendid old Brandon, he ground his teeth, and uttered two or threesentences which no respectable publisher would like to print. 

CHAPTER XLV. 

DEEP AND SHALLOW. 

Lawyer Larkin's mind was working more diligently than anyone suspectedupon this puzzle of Mark Wylder. The investigation was a sort ofscientific recreation to him, and something more. His sure instinct toldhim it was a secret well worth mastering. 

He had a growing belief that Lake, and perhaps he _only_--except Wylderhimself--knew the meaning of all this mysterious marching andcounter-marching. Of course, all sorts of theories were floating in hismind; but there was none that would quite fit all the circumstances. Theattorney, had he asked himself the question, what was his object in theseinquisitions, would have answered--'I am doing what few other men would. I am, Heaven knows, giving to this affair of my absent client's, gratuitously, as much thought and vigilance as ever I did to any case inwhich I was duly remunerated. This is self-sacrificing and noble, andjust the conscientious conduct I should expect from myself. '

But there was also this consideration, which you failed to define. 

'Yes; my respected client, Mr. Mark Wylder, is suffering under some acutepressure, applied perhaps by my friend Captain Lake. Why should not Ishare in the profit--if such there be--by getting my hand too upon theinstrument of compression? It is worth trying. Let us try. '

The Reverend William Wylder was often at the Lodge now. Larkin had struckout a masterly plan. The vicar's reversion, a very chimericalcontingency, he would by no means consent to sell. His little man--littleFairy--oh! no, he could not. The attorney only touched on this, remarkingin a friendly way--

'But then, you know, it is so mere a shadow. '

This indeed, poor William knew very well. But though he spoke quitemeekly, the attorney looked rather black, and his converse grew somewhatdry and short. 

This sinister change was sudden, and immediately followed the suggestionabout the reversion; and the poor vicar was a little puzzled, and beganto consider whether he had said anything _gauche_ or offensive--'it wouldbe so very painful to appear ungrateful. '

The attorney had the statement of title in one hand, and leaning back inhis chair, read it demurely in silence, with the other tapping theseal-end of his gold pencil-case between his lips. 

'Yes, ' said Mr. Larkin, mildly, 'it is so _very_ shadowy--and thatfeeling, too, in the way. I suppose we had better, perhaps, put it aside, and maybe something else may turn up. ' And the attorney rose grandly toreplace the statement of title in its tin box, intimating thereby thatthe audience was ended. 

But the poor vicar was in rather urgent circumstances just then, and histroubles had closed in recently with a noiseless, but tremendouscontraction, like that iron shroud in Mr. Mudford's fine tale; and tohave gone away into outer darkness, with no project on the stocks, andthe attorney's countenance averted, would have been simply despair. 

'To speak frankly, ' said the poor vicar, with that hectic in his cheekthat came with agitation, 'I never fancied that my reversionary interestcould be saleable. '

'Neither is it, in all probability, ' answered the attorney. 'As you areso seriously pressed, and your brother's return delayed, it merelycrossed my mind as a thing worth trying. '

'It was very kind and thoughtful; but that feeling--the--my poor littleman! However, I may be only nervous and foolish, and I think I'll speakto Lord Chelford about it. '

The attorney looked down, and took his nether lip gently between hisfinger and thumb. I rather think he had no particular wish to take LordChelford into council. 

'I think before troubling his lordship upon the subject--if, indeed, onreflection, you should not think it would be a little odd to trouble himat all in reference to it--I had better look a little more carefully intothe papers, and see whether anything in that direction is reallypracticable at all. '

'Do you think, Mr. Larkin, you can write that strong letter to stayproceedings which you intended yesterday?'

The attorney shook his head, and said, with a sad sort of dryness--'Ican't see my way to it. '

The vicar's heart sank with a flutter, and then swelled, and sank anotherbit, and his forehead flushed. 

There was a silence. 

'You see, Mr. Wylder, I relied, in fact, altogether upon thisa--arrangement; and I don't see that any thing is likely to come of it. '

The attorney spoke in the same dry and reserved way, and there was ashadow on his long face. 

'I have forfeited his good-will somehow--he has ceased to take anyinterest in my wretched affairs; I am abandoned, and must be ruined. '

These dreadful thoughts filled in another silence; and then the vicarsaid--

'I am afraid I have, quite unintentionally, offended you, Mr. Larkin--perhaps in my ignorance of business; and I feel that I should bequite ruined if I were to forfeit your good offices; and, pray tell me, if I have said anything I ought not. '

'Oh, no--nothing, I assure you, ' replied Mr. Larkin, with a lofty andgentle dryness. 'Only, I think, I have, perhaps, a little mistaken therelation in which I stood, and fancied, wrongly, it was in the lightsomewhat of a friend as well as of a professional adviser; and I thought, perhaps, I had rather more of your confidence than I had any right to, and did not at first see the necessity of calling in Lord Chelford, whoseexperience of business is necessarily very limited, to direct you. Youremember, my dear Mr. Wylder, that I did not at all invite theserelations; and I don't think you will charge me with want of zeal in yourbusiness. '

'Oh! my dear Mr. Larkin, my dear Sir, you have been my preserver, mybenefactor--in fact, under Heaven, very nearly my last and only hope. '

'Well, I _had_ hoped I was not remiss or wanting in diligence. '

And Mr. Larkin took his seat in his most gentlemanlike fashion, crossinghis long legs, and throwing his tall head back, raising his eyebrows, andletting his mouth languidly drop a little open. 

'My idea was, that Lord Chelford would see more clearly what was best forlittle Fairy. I am so very slow and so silly about business, and you somuch my friend--I have found you so--that you might think only of me. '

'I should, of course, consider the little boy, ' said Mr. Larkin, condescendingly; 'a most interesting child. I'm very fond of childrenmyself, and should, of course, put the entire case--as respected him aswell as yourself--to the best of my humble powers before you. Is thereany thing else just now you think of, for time presses, and really wehave ground to apprehend something unpleasant _to-morrow_. You ought not, my dear Sir--pray permit me to say--you really ought _not_ to haveallowed it to come to this. '

The poor vicar sighed profoundly, and shook his head, a contrite man. They both forgot that it was arithmetically impossible for him to haveprevented it, unless he had got some money. 

'Perhaps, ' said the vicar, brightening up suddenly, and looking in theattorney's eyes for answer, 'Perhaps something might be done with thereversion, as a security, to borrow a sufficient sum, without selling. '

The attorney shook his high head, and whiskers gray and foxy, andmeditated with the seal of his pencil case between his lips. 

'I don't see it, ' said he, with another shake of that long head. 

'I don't know that any lender, in fact, would entertain such a security. If you wish it I will write to Burlington, Smith, and Company, aboutit--they are largely in policies and _post-obits_. '

'It is very sad--very sad, indeed. I wish so much, my dear Sir, I couldbe of use to you; but you know the fact is, we solicitors seldom have thecommand of our own money; always in advance--always drained to theuttermost shilling, and I am myself in the predicament you will seethere. '

And he threw a little note from the Dollington Bank to Jos. Larkin, Esq. , The Lodge, Gylingden, announcing the fact that he had overdrawn hisaccount certain pounds, shillings, and pence, and inviting him forthwithto restore the balance. 

The vicar read it with a vague comprehension, and in his cold fingersshook the hand of his fellow sufferer. Less than fifty pounds would notdo! Oh, where was he to turn? It was _quite_ hopeless, and poor Larkinpressed too!

Now, there was this consolation in 'poor Larkin's case, ' that although hewas quite run aground, and a defaulter in the Dollington Bank to theextent of 7_l_. 12_s_. 4_d_. , yet in that similar institution, whichflourished at Naunton, only nine miles away, there stood to his name thesatisfactory credit of 564_l_. 11_s_. 7_d_. One advantage which the goodattorney derived from his double account with the rival institutions was, that whenever convenient he could throw one of these certificates ofdestitution and impotence sadly under the eyes of a client in want ofmoney like poor Will Wylder. 

The attorney had no pleasure in doing people ill turns. But he had cometo hear the distresses of his clients as tranquilly as doctors do thepangs of their patients. As he stood meditating near his window, he sawthe poor vicar, with slow limbs and downcast countenance, walk under hislaburnums and laurustinuses towards his little gate, and suddenly stopand turn round, and make about a dozen quick steps, like a man who hasfound a bright idea, towards the house, and then come to a thoughtfulhalt, and so turn and recommence his slow march of despair homeward. 

At five o'clock--it was dark now--there was a tread on the door-steps, and a double tattoo at the tiny knocker. It was the 'lawyer. '

Mr. Larkin entered the vicar's study, where he was supposed to be busyabout his sermon. 

'My dear Sir; thinking about you--and I have just heard from an oldhumble friend, who wants high interest, and of course is content to takesecurity somewhat personal in its nature. I have written already. He's inthe hands of Burlington, Smith, and Company. I have got exactly 55_l. _since I saw you, which makes me all right at Dollington; and here's mycheck for 50_l. _ which you can send--or perhaps _I_ had better send bythis night's post--to those Cambridge people. It settles _that_; and yougive me a line on this stamp, acknowledging the 50_l. _ on account ofmoney to be raised on your reversion. So that's off your mind, my dearSir. '

'Oh, Mr. Larkin--my--my--you don't know, Sir, what you have done forme--the agony--oh, thank God! what a friend is raised up. '

And he clasped and wrung the long hands of the attorney, and I reallythink there was a little moisture in that gentleman's pink eyes for amoment or two. 

When he was gone the vicar returned from the door-step, radiant--not tothe study but to the parlour. 

'Oh, Willie, darling, you look so happy--you were uneasy this evening, 'said his little ugly wife, with a beautiful smile, jumping up andclasping him. 

'Yes, darling, I was--_very_ uneasy; but thank God, it is over. '

And they cried and smiled together in that delightful embrace, while allthe time little Fairy, with a paper cap on his head, was telling themhalf-a-dozen things together, and pulling Wapsie by the skirts. 

Then he was lifted up and kissed, and smiled on by that sunshine onlyremembered in the sad old days--parental love. And there was highfestival kept in the parlour that night. I am told six crumpets, and anew egg apiece besides at tea, to make merry with, and stories and littlesongs for Fairy. Willie was in his old college spirits. It was quitedelightful; and little Fairy was up a great deal too late; and the vicarand his wife had quite a cheery chat over the fire, and he and she bothagreed he would make a handsome sum by Eusebius. 

Thus, if there are afflictions, there are also comforts: greatconsolations, great chastisements. There is a comforter, and there is achastener. Every man must taste of death: every man must taste of life. It shall not be all bitter nor all sweet for any. It shall be life. Theunseen ministers of a stupendous equity have their eyes and their handsabout every man's portion; 'as it is written, he that had gathered muchhad nothing over; and he that had gathered little had no lack. '

It is the same earth for all; the same earth for the dead, great andsmall; dust to dust. The same earth for the living. 'Thorns, also, andthistles shall it bring forth, ' and God provides the flowers too. 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

DEBATE AND INTERRUPTION. 

Rachel beheld the things which were coming to pass like an awful dream. She had begun to think, and not without evidence, that Dorcas, for somecause or caprice, had ceased to think of Stanley as she once did. And theannouncement, without preparation or apparent courtship, that her brotherhad actually won this great and beautiful heiress, and that, just emergedfrom the shades of death, he, a half-ruined scapegrace, was about to takehis place among the magnates of the county, and, no doubt, to enterhimself for the bold and splendid game of ambition, the stakes of whichwere now in his hand, towered before her like an incredible anddisastrous illusion of magic. 

Stanley's uneasiness lest Rachel's conduct should compromise themincreased. He grew more nervous about the relations between him and MarkWylder, in proportion as the world grew more splendid and prosperous forhim. 

Where is the woman who will patiently acquiesce in the reserve of herhusband who shares his confidence with another? How often had StanleyLake sworn to her there was no secret; that he knew nothing of MarkWylder beyond the charge of his money, and making a small payment to anold Mrs. Dutton, in London, by his direction, and that beyond this, hewas as absolutely in the dark as she or Chelford. 

What, then, did Rachel mean by all that escaped her, when he was indanger?

'How the -- could he tell? He really believed she was a little--_ever_ solittle--crazed. He supposed she, like Dorcas, fancied he knew everythingabout Wylder. She was constantly hinting something of the kind; andbegging of him to make a disclosure--disclosure of what? It was enough todrive one mad, and would make a capital farce. Rachel has a ridiculousway of talking like an oracle, and treating as settled fact everyabsurdity she fancies. She is very charming and clever, of course, solong as she speaks of the kind of thing she understands. But when shetries to talk of serious business--poor Radie! she certainly does talksuch nonsense! She can't reason; she runs away with things. It _is_ themost tiresome thing you can conceive. '

'But you have not said, Stanley, that she does not suspect the truth. '

'Of course, I say it; I _have_ said it. I swear it, if you like. I'vesaid plainly, and I'm ready to swear it. Upon my honour and soul I knowno more of his movements, plans, or motives, than you do. If you reflectyou must see it. We were never good friends, Mark and I. It was no faultof mine, but I never liked him; and he, consequently, I suppose, neverliked me. There was no intimacy or confidence between us. I was the lastman on earth he would have consulted with. Even Larkin, his own lawyer, is in the dark. Rachel knows all this. I have told her fifty times over, and she seems to give way at the moment. Indeed the thing is too plain tobe resisted. But as I said, poor Radie, she can't reason; and by the timeI see her next, her old fancy possesses her. I can't help it; becausewith more reluctance than I can tell, I at length consent, at Larkin's_entreaty_, I may say, to bank and fund his money. '

But Dorcas's mind retained its first impression. Sometimes hisplausibilities, his vehemence, and his vows disturbed it for a time; butthere it remained like the picture of a camera obscura, into which amomentary light has been admitted, unseen for a second, but the imagesreturn with the darkness, and group themselves in their old colours andplaces again. Whatever it was Rachel probably knew it. There was apainful confidence between them; and there was growing in Dorcas's mind afeeling towards Rachel which her pride forbade her to define. 

She did not like Stanley's stealthy visits to Redman's Farm; she did notlike his moods or looks after those visits, of which he thought she knewnothing. She did not know whether to be pleased or sorry that Rachel hadrefused to reside at Brandon; neither did she like the stern gloom thatovercast Rachel's countenance when Stanley was in the room, nor thoseoccasional walks together, up and down the short yew walk, in which Lakelooked so cold and angry, and Rachel so earnest. What was this secret?How dared her husband mask from her what he confided to another? Howdared Rachel confer with him--influence him, perhaps, under her very eye, walking before the windows of Brandon--that Brandon which was _hers_, andto which she had taken Stanley, passing her gate a poor and tiredwayfarer of the world, and made him--_what?_ Oh, mad caprice! Oh, fitretribution!

A wild voice was talking this way, to-and-fro, and up and down, in thechambers of memory. But she would not let it speak from her proud lips. She smiled, and to outward seeming, was the same; but Rachel felt thatthe fashion of her countenance towards her was changed. 

Since her marriage she had not hinted to Rachel the subject of their oldconversations: burning beneath her feeling about it was now a deep-rootedanger and jealousy. Still she was Stanley's sister, and to be treatedaccordingly. The whole household greeted her with proper respect, andDorcas met her graciously, and with all the externals of kindness. Thechange was so little, that I do not think any but she and Rachel saw it;and yet it was immense. 

There was a dark room, a sort of ante-room, to the library, with only twotall and narrow windows, and hung with old Dutch tapestries, representingthe battles and sieges of men in periwigs, pikemen, dragoons in buffcoats, and musketeers with matchlocks--all the grim faces of soldiers, generals, drummers, and the rest, grown pale and dusky by time, likearmies of ghosts. 

Rachel had come one morning to see Dorcas, and, awaiting her appearance, sat down in this room. The door of the library opened, and she was alittle surprised to see Stanley enter. 

'Why, Stanley, they told me you were gone to Naunton. '

'Oh! did they? Well, you see, I'm here, Radie. '

Somehow he was not very well pleased to see her. 

'I think you'll find Dorcas in the drawing-room, or else in theconservatory, ' he added. 

'I am glad, Stanley, I happened to meet you. Something _must_ be done inthe matter I spoke of immediately. Have you considered it?'

'Most carefully, ' said Stanley, quietly. 

'But you have done nothing. '

'It is not a thing to be done in a moment. '

'You can, if you please, do a great deal in a moment'

'Certainly; but I may repent it afterwards. '

'Stanley, you may regret postponing it, much more. '

'You have no idea, Rachel, how very tiresome you've grown. '

'Yes, Stanley, I can quite understand it. It would have been better foryou, perhaps for myself, I had died long ago. '

'Well, that is another thing; but in the meantime, I assure you, Rachel, you are disposed to be very impertinent. '

'Very impertinent; yes, indeed, Stanley, and so I shall continue to beuntil----'

'Pray how does it concern you? I say it is no business on earth ofyours. '

Stanley Lake was growing angry. 

'Yes, Stanley, it _does_ concern me. '

'That is false. '

'True, _true_, Sir. Oh, Stanley, it is a load upon my conscience--amountain--a mountain between me and my hopes. I can't endure the miseryto which you would consign me; you _shall_ do it--immediately, too' (shestamped wildly as she said it), 'and if you hesitate, Stanley, I shall becompelled to speak, though the thought of it makes me almost mad withterror. '

'What is he to do, Rachel?' said Dorcas, standing near the door. 

It was a very awkward pause. The splendid young bride was the only personon the stage who looked very much as usual. Stanley turned his pale glareof fury from Rachel to Dorcas, and Dorcas said again, 'What is it, Rachel, darling?'

Rachel, with a bright blush on her cheeks, stepped quickly up to her, puther arms about her neck and kissed her, and over her shoulder she criedto her brother--

'Tell her, Stanley. '

And so she quickly left the room and was gone. 

'Well, Dorkie, love, what's the matter?' said Stanley sharply, at lastbreaking the silence. 

'I really don't know--you, perhaps, can tell, ' answered she coldly. 

'You have frightened Rachel out of the room, for one thing, ' answered hewith a sneer. 

'I simply asked her what she urged you to do--I think I have a claim toknow. It is strange so reasonable a question from a wife should scareyour sister from the room. '

'I don't quite see that--for my part, I don't think _anything_ strange ina woman. Rachel has been talking the rankest nonsense, in the mostunreasonable temper conceivable; and because she can't persuade me toaccept her views of what is Christian and sensible, she threatens to gomad--I think that is her phrase. '

'I don't think Rachel is a fool, ' said Dorcas, quietly, her eye stillupon Stanley. 

'Neither do I--when she pleases to exert her good sense--but she can, when she pleases, both talk and act like a fool. '

'And pray, what does she want you to do, Stanley?'

'The merest nonsense. '

'But what is it?'

'I really can hardly undertake to say I very well understand it myself, and I have half-a-dozen letters to write; and really if I were to stayhere and try to explain, I very much doubt whether I could. Why don't youask _her_? If she has any clear ideas on the subject I don't see why sheshould not tell you. For my part, I doubt if she understands herself--_I_certainly don't. '

Dorcas smiled bitterly. 

'Mystery already--mystery from the first. _I_ am to know nothing of yoursecrets. You confer and consult in my house--you debate and decide uponmatters most nearly concerning, for aught I know, my interests and myhappiness--certainly deeply affecting you, and therefore which I have a_right_ to know; and my entering the room is the signal for silence--aguilty silence--for departure and for equivocation. Stanley, you areisolating me. Beware--I may entrench myself in that isolation. You arechoosing your confidant, and excluding me; rest assured you shall have noconfidence of mine while you do so. '

Stanley Lake looked at her with a gaze at once peevish and inquisitive. 

'You take a wonderfully serious view of Rachel's nonsense. '

'I do. '

'Certainly, you women have a marvellous talent for making mountains ofmolehills--you and Radie are adepts in the art. Never was a poor devil solectured about nothing as I between you. Come now, Dorkie, be a goodgirl--you must not look so vexed. '

'I'm not vexed. '

'What then?'

'I'm only _thinking_. '

She said this with the same bitter smile. Stanley Lake looked for amoment disposed to break into one of his furies, but instead he onlylaughed his unpleasant laugh. 

'Well, I'm thinking too, and I find it quite possible to be vexed at thesame time. I assure you, Dorcas, I really am busy; and it is too bad tohave one's time wasted in solemn lectures about stuff and nonsense. Domake Rachel explain herself, if she can--_I_ have no objection, I assureyou; but I must be permitted to decline undertaking to interpret thatoracle. ' And so saying, Stanley Lake glided into the library and shut thedoor with an angry clap. 

Dorcas did not deign to look after him. She had heard his farewelladdress, looking from the window at the towering and sombre clumps of herancestral trees--pale, proud, with perhaps a peculiar gleam ofresentment--or malignity--in her exquisite features. 

So she stood, looking forth on her noble possessions--on terraces--'longrows of urns'--noble timber--all seen in slanting sunlight and longshadows--and seeing nothing but the great word FOOL! in letters of flamein the air before her. 

CHAPTER XLVII. 

A THREATENING NOTICE. 

Stanley Lake was not a man to let the grass grow under his feet when anobject was to be gained. It was with a sure prescience that Mark Wylder'sletter had inferred that Stanley Lake would aspire to the representationeither of the county or of the borough of Dollington. His mind wasalready full of these projects. 

Electioneering schemes are conducted, particularly at their initiation, like conspiracies--in fact, they _are_ conspiracies, and therefore therewas nothing remarkable in the intense caution with which Stanley Lake setabout his. He was not yet 'feeling his way. ' He was only preparing tofeel his way. 

All the data, except the muster-roll of electors, were _in nubibus_--whowould retire--who would step forward, as yet altogether in the region ofconjecture. There are men to whom the business of elections--a life ofsecrecy, excitement, speculation, and combat--has all but irresistiblecharms; and Tom Wealdon, the Town Clerk, was such a spirit. 

A bold, frank, good-humoured fellow--he played at elections as he wouldat cricket. Every faculty of eye, hand, and thought--his whole heart andsoul in the game. But no ill-will--no malevolence in victory--no sournessin defeat. A successful _coup_ made Tom Wealdon split with laughing. Aridiculous failure amused him nearly as much. He celebrated his lastgreat defeat with a pic-nic in the romantic scenery of Nolton, where heand his comrades in disaster had a roaring evening, and no end of 'chaff'When he and Jos. Larkin carried the last close contest at Dollington, bya majority of two, he kicked the crown out of the grave attorney'schimney-pot, and flung his own wide-awake into the river. He did not showmuch; his official station precluded prominence. He kept in thebackground, and did his spiriting gently. But Tom Wealdon, it wasknown--as things _are_ known without evidence--was at the bottom of allthe clever dodges, and long-headed manoeuvres. When, therefore, Mr. Larkin heard from the portly and veracious Mr. Larcom, who was on veryhappy relations with the proprietor of the Lodge, that Tom Wealdon hadbeen twice quietly to Brandon to lunch, and had talked an hour alone withthe captain in the library each time; and that they seemed very 'hernestlike, and stopped of talking directly he (Mr. Larcom) entered the roomwith the post-bag'--the attorney knew very well what was in the wind. 

Now, it was not quite clear what was right--by which the good attorneymeant prudent--under the circumstances. He was in confidential--whichmeant lucrative--relations with Mark Wylder. Ditto, ditto with CaptainLake, of Brandon. He did not wish to lose either. Was it possible to holdto both, or must he cleave only to one and despise the other?

Wylder might return any day, and Tom Wealdon would probably be one of thefirst men whom he would see. He must 'hang out the signal' in'Galignani. ' Lake could never suspect its meaning, even were he to seeit. There was but one risk in it, which was in the coarse perfidy of MarkWelder himself, who would desire no better fun, in some of his moods, than boasting to Lake of the whole arrangement in Jos. Larkin's presence. 

However, on the whole, it was best to obey Mark Wylder's orders, andaccordingly 'Galignani' said: '_Mr. Smith will take notice that the otherparty is desirous to purchase, and becoming very pressing. _'

In the meantime Lake was pushing his popularity among the gentry withremarkable industry, and with tolerable success. Wealdon's two littlevisits explained perfectly the active urbanities of Captain Stanley Lake. 

About three weeks after the appearance of the advertisement in'Galignani, ' one of Mark Wylder's letters reached Larkin. It was datedfrom Geneva(!) and said:--

'DEAR LARKIN, --I saw my friend _Smith_ here in the café, who has kept abright look out, I dare say; and tells me that Captain Stanley Lake isthinking of standing either for the county or for Dollington. I willthank you to apprise him that I mean to take my choice first; and pleasehand him the enclosed notice open as you get it; and, if you please, tolet him run his eye also over this note to you, as I have my own reasonsfor wishing him to know that you have seen it. 

'This is all I will probably trouble you about elections for some monthsto come, or, at least, weeks. It being time enough when I go back, and nosqualls a-head just now at home, though foreign politics look muggyenough. 

'I have nothing particular at present about tenants or timber, except thethree acres of oak behind Farmer Tanby's--have it took down. Thomas Jonesand me went over it last September, and it ought to bring near 3, 000_l_. I must have a good handful of money by May next. 

'Yours, my dear Larkin, 'Very truly, 'MARK WYLDER. '

Folded in this was a thin slip of foreign paper, on which were tracedthese lines:--

'_Private. _

'DEAR LARKIN, --Don't funk the interview with the beast Lake--a hyaena hasno pluck in him. When he reads what I send him by your hand, he'll be asmild as you please. Parkes must act for me as usual--no bluster aboutgiving up. Lake's afraid of yours, 'M. W. '

Within was what he called his 'notice' to Stanley Lake, and it was thusconceived:--

'_Private. _

'DEAR LAKE--I understand you are trying to make all safe for nextelection in Dollington or the county. Now, understand at once, that _Iwon't permit that_. There is not a country gentleman on the grand jurywho is not your superior; and there is no extremity I will not make youfeel--and you know what I mean--if you dare despise this first and notunfriendly warning. 

'Yours truly, 'MARK WYLDER. '

Now there certainly was need of Wylder's assurance that nothingunpleasant should happen to the conscious bearer of such a message to anofficer and a gentleman. Jos. Larkin did not like it. Still there was aconfidence in his own conciliatory manners and exquisite tact. Something, too, might be learned by noting Lake's looks, demeanour, and languageunder this direct communication from the man to whom his relations wereso mysterious. 

Larkin looked at his watch; it was about the hour when he was likely tofind Lake in his study. The attorney withdrew the little privateenclosure, and slipt it, with a brief endorsement, into the neat sheaf ofWylder's letters, all similarly noted, and so locked it up in the ironsafe. He intended being perfectly ingenuous with Lake, and showing himthat he had 'no secrets--no concealments--all open as the day'--byproducing the letter in which the 'notice' was enclosed, and submittingit for Captain Lake's perusal. 

When Lawyer Larkin reached the dim chamber, with the Dutch tapestries, where he had for a little while to await Captain Lake's leisure, he beganto anticipate the scene now so immediately impending more uncomfortablythan before. The 'notice' was, indeed, so outrageous in its spirit, andso intolerable in its language, that, knowing something of Stanley's wildand truculent temper, he began to feel a little nervous about theexplosion he was about to provoke. 

The Brandon connection, one way or other, was worth to the attorney inhard cash between five and six hundred a-year. In influence, and what istermed 'position, ' it was, of course, worth a great deal more. It wouldbe a very serious blow to lose this. He did not, he hoped, care for moneymore than a good man ought; but such a loss, he would say, he could notafford. 

Precisely the same, however, was to be said of his connection with MarkWylder; and in fact, of late years, Mr. Jos. Larkin, of the Lodge, hadbegun to put by money so fast that he was growing rapidly to be a veryconsiderable man indeed. 'Everything, ' as he said, 'was doing verynicely;' and it would be a deplorable thing to mar, by any untoward act, this pilgrim's quiet and prosperous progress. 

In this stage of his reverie he was interrupted by a tall, powderedfootman, in the Brandon livery, who came respectfully to announce thathis master desired to see Mr. Larkin. 

Larkin's soul sneered at this piece of state. Why could he not put hishead in at the door and call him? But still I think it impressed him, andthat, diplomatically, Captain Lake was in the right to environ himselfwith the ceremonial of a lord of Brandon. 

'Well, Larkin, how d'ye do? Anything about Raikes's lease?' said thegreat Captain Lake, rising from behind his desk, with his accustomedsmile, and extending his gentlemanlike hand. 

'No, Sir--nothing, Captain Lake. He has not come, and I don't think weshould show any anxiety about it, ' replied the attorney, taking thecaptain's thin hand rather deferentially. 'I've had--a--such a letterfrom my--my client, Mr. Mark Wylder. He writes in a violent passion, andI'm really placed in a most disagreeable position. '

'Won't you sit down?'

'A--thanks--a--well I thought, on the whole, having received the letterand the enclosure, which I must say very much surprises me--very much_indeed_. ' And Larkin looked reprovingly on an imaginary Mark Wylder, andshook his head a good deal. 

'He has not appointed another man of business?'

'Oh, dear, no, ' said Larkin, quickly, with a faint, supercilious smile. 'No, nothing of that kind. The thing--in fact, there has been somegossiping fellow. Do you happen to know a person at all versed inGylingden matters--or, perhaps, a member of your club--named Smith?'

'Smith? I don't, I think, recollect any particular Smith, just at thismoment. And what is Smith doing or saying?'

'Why, he has been talking over election matters. It seems Wylder--Mr. Wylder--has met him in Geneva, from whence he dates; and he says--hesays--oh, here's the letter, and you'll see it all there. '

He handed it to Lake, and kept his eye on him while he read it. When hesaw that Lake, who bit his lip during the perusal, had come to the end, by his glancing up again at the date, Larkin murmured--

'Something, you see, has gone wrong with him. I can't account for thetemper otherwise--so violent. '

'Quite so, ' said Lake, quietly; 'and where is the notice he speaks ofhere?'

'Why, really, Captain Lake, I did not very well know, it _is such_ aproduction--I could not say whether you would wish it presented; and inany case you will do me the justice to understand that I, for my part--Ireally don't know how to speak of it. 

'Quite so, ' repeated Lake, softly, taking the thin, neatly folded pieceof paper which Larkin, with a sad inclination of his body, handed to him. 

Lake, under the 'lawyer's' small, vigilant eyes, quietly read MarkWylder's awful threatenings through, twice over, and Larkin was not quitesure whether there was any change of countenance to speak of as he didso. 

'This is dated the 29th, ' said Lake, in the same quiet tone; 'perhaps youwill be so good as to write a line across it, stating the date of yourhanding it to me. '

'I--of course--I can see no objection. I may mention, I suppose, that Ido so at your request. '

And Larkin made a neat little endorsement to that effect, and he feltrelieved. The hyaena certainly was not showing fight. 

'And now, Mr. Larkin, you'll admit, I think, that I've exhibited noill-temper, much less violence, under the provocation of that note. '

'Certainly; none whatever, Captain Lake. '

'And you will therefore perceive that whatever I now say, speaking incool blood, I am not likely to recede from. '

Lawyer Larkin bowed. 

'And may I particularly ask that you will so attend to what I am about tosay, as to be able to make a note of it for Mr. Welder's consideration?'

'Certainly, if you desire; but I wish to say that in this particularmatter I beg it may be clearly understood that Mr. Wylder is in norespect more my client than you, Captain Lake, and that I merely act as amost reluctant messenger in the matter. '

'Just so, ' said Captain Lake. 

'Now, as to my thinking of representing either county or borough, ' heresumed, after a little pause, holding Mark Wylder's 'notice' between hisfinger and thumb, and glancing at it from time to time, as a speakermight at his notes, 'I am just as well qualified as he in every respect;and if it lies between him and me, I will undoubtedly offer myself, andaccompany my address with the publication of this precious document whichhe calls his notice--the composition, in all respects, of a ruffian--andwhich will inspire every gentleman who reads it with disgust, abhorrence, and contempt. His threat I don't understand. I despise his machinations. I defy him utterly; and the time is coming when, in spite of hismanoeuvring, I'll drive him into a corner and pin him to the wall. Hevery well knows that flitting and skulking from place to place, like anescaped convict, he is safe in writing what insults he pleases throughthe post. I can't tell how or where to find him. He is not only nogentleman, but no man--a coward as well as a ruffian. But his game ofhide-and-seek cannot go on for ever; and when next I can lay my hand uponhim, I'll make him eat that paper on his knees, and place my heel uponhis neck. '

The peroration of this peculiar invective was emphasised by an oath, atwhich the half-dozen short grizzled hairs that surmounted the top of Mr. Jos. Larkin's shining bald head no doubt stood up in silent appeal. 

The attorney was standing during this sample of Lake's parliamentaryrhetoric a little flushed, for he did not know the moment when a blueflicker from the rhetorical thunder-storm might splinter his own baldhead, and for ever end his connection with Brandon. 

There was a silence, during which pale Captain Lake locked up MarkWylder's warning, and the attorney twice cleared his voice. 

'I need hardly say, Captain Lake, how I feel in this business. I----'

'Quite so, ' said the captain, in his soft low tones. 'I assure you Ialtogether acquit you of sympathy with any thing so utterly ruffianly, 'and he took the hand of the relieved attorney with a friendlycondescension. 'The only compensation I exact for your involuntary partin the matter is that you distinctly convey the tenor of my language toMr. Wylder, on the first occasion on which he affords you an opportunityof communicating with him. And as to my ever again acting as histrustee;--though, yes, I forgot'--he made a sudden pause, and was lostfor a minute in annoyed reflection--'yes, I must for a while. It can'tlast very long; he _must_ return soon, and I can't well refuse to actuntil at least some other arrangement is made. There are quite otherpersons and I can't allow them to starve. '

So saying, he rose, with his peculiar smile, and extended his hand tosignify that the conference was at an end. 

'And I suppose, ' he said, 'we are to regard this little conversation, forthe present, as confidential?'

'Certainly, Captain Lake, and permit me to say that I fully appreciatethe just and liberal construction which you have placed upon myconduct--a construction which a party less candid and honourably-mindedthan yourself might have failed to favour me with. '

And with this pretty speech Larkin took his hat, and gracefully withdrew. 

CHAPTER XLVIII. 

IN WHICH I GO TO BRANDON, AND SEE AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE IN THE TAPESTRYROOM. 

To my surprise, a large letter, bearing the Gylingden postmark, and witha seal as large as a florin, showing, had I examined the heraldry, theBrandon arms with the Lake bearings quartered thereon, and proving to bea very earnest invitation from Stanley Lake, found me in London justabout this time. 

I paused, I was doubtful about accepting it, for the business of theseason was just about to commence in earnest, and the country had not yetassumed its charms. But I now know very well that from the first it wasquite settled that down I should go. I was too curious to see the bridein her new relations, and to observe something of the conjugaladministration of Lake, to allow anything seriously to stand in the wayof my proposed trip. 

There was a postscript to Lake's letter which might have opened my eyesas to the motives of this pressing invitation, which I pleased myself bythinking, though penned by Captain Lake, came in reality from hisbeautiful young bride. 

This small appendix was thus conceived:--

'P. S. --Tom Wealdon, as usual, deep in elections, under the rose, begs youkindly to bring down whatever you think to be the best book or books onthe subject, and he will remit to your bookseller. Order them in hisname, but bring them down with you. '

So I was a second time going down to Brandon as honorary counsel, withoutknowing it. My invitations, I fear, were obtained, if not under falsepretences, at least upon false estimates, and the laity rated my legallore too highly. 

I reached Brandon rather late. The bride had retired for the night. I hada very late dinner--in fact a supper--in the parlour. Lake sat with mechatting, rather cleverly, not pleasantly. Wealdon was at Brandon aboutsessions business, and as usual full of election stratagems andcalculations. Stanley volunteered to assure me he had not the faintestidea of looking for a constituency. I really believe--and at thisdistance of time I may use strong language in a historical sense--thatCaptain Lake was the greatest liar I ever encountered with. He seemed todo it without a purpose--by instinct, or on principle--and wouldcontradict himself solemnly twice or thrice in a week, without seeming toperceive it. I dare say he lied always, and about everything. But it wasin matters of some moment that one perceived it. 

What object could he gain, for instance, by the fib he had just told me?On second thoughts this night he coolly apprised me that he _had_ someidea of sounding the electors. So, my meal ended, we went into thetapestry room where, the night being sharp, a pleasant bit of fire burnedin the grate, and Wealdon greeted me. 

My journey, though by rail, and as easy as that of the Persian gentlemanwho skimmed the air, seated on a piece of carpet, predisposed me tosleep. Such volumes of fine and various country air, and such an eighthours' procession of all sorts of natural pictures are not traversedwithout effect. Sitting in my well-stuffed chair, my elbows on thecushioned arms, the conversation of Lake and the Town Clerk now and thengrew faint, and their faces faded away, and little 'fyttes' and fragmentsof those light and pleasant dreams, like fairy tales, which visit suchstolen naps, superseded with their picturesque and musical illusions therealities and recollections of life. 

Once or twice a nod a little too deep or sudden called me up. But Lakewas busy about the Dollington constituency, and the Town Clerk's bluffface was serious and thoughtful. It was the old question about Rogers, the brewer, and whether Lord Adleston and Sir William could not get him;or else it had gone on to the great railway contractor, Dobbs, and thequestion how many votes his influence was really worth; and, somehow, Inever got very far into the pros and cons of these discussions, whichsoon subsided into the fairy tale I have mentioned, and that sweetperpendicular sleep--all the sweeter, like everything else, for beingcontraband and irregular. 

For one bout--I fancy a good deal longer than the others--my nap was muchsounder than before, and I opened my eyes at last with the shudder andhalf horror that accompany an awakening from a general chill--a dismaland frightened sensation. 

I was facing a door about twenty feet distant, which exactly as I openedmy eyes, turned slowly on its hinges, and the figure of Uncle Lorne, inhis loose flannel habiliments, ineffaceably traced upon my memory, likeevery other detail of that ill-omened apparition, glided into the room, and crossing the thick carpet with long, soft steps, passed near me, looking upon me with a malign sort of curiosity for some two or threeseconds, and sat down by the declining fire, with a side-long glancestill fixed upon me. 

I continued gazing on this figure with a dreadful incredulity, and theindistinct feeling that it must be an illusion--and that if I could onlywake up completely, it would vanish. 

The fascination was disturbed by a noise at the other end of the room, and I saw Lake standing close to him, and looking both angry andfrightened. Tom Wealdon looking odd, too, was close at his elbow, and hadhis hand on Lake's arm, like a man who would prevent violence. I do notknow in the least what had passed before, but Lake said--

'How the devil did he come in?'

'Hush!'was all that Tom Wealdon said, looking at the gaunt spectre withless of fear than inquisitiveness. 

'What are you doing here, Sir?' demanded Lake, in his most unpleasanttones. 

'Prophesying, ' answered the phantom. 

'You had better write your prophecies in your room, Sir--had notyou?--and give them to the Archbishop of Canterbury to proclaim, whenthey are finished; we are busy here just now, and don't requirerevelations, if you please. '

The old man lifted up his long lean finger, and turned on him with asmile which I hate even to remember. 

'Let him alone, ' whispered the Town Clerk, in a significant whisper, 'don't cross him, and he'll not stay long. '

'_You_'re here, a scribe, ' murmured Uncle Lorne, looking upon TomWealdon. 

'Aye, Sir, a scribe and a Pharisee, a Sadducee and a publican, and apriest, and a Levite, ' said the functionary, with a wink at Lake. 'ThomasWealdon, Sir; happy to see you, Sir, so well and strong, and likely toenlighten the religious world for many a day to come. It's a long time, Sir, since I had the honour of seeing you; and I'm always, of course, atyour command. '

'Pshaw!' said Lake, angrily. 

The Town Clerk pressed his arm with a significant side nod and a wink, which seemed to say, 'I understand him; can't you let me manage him?'

The old man did not seem to hear what they said; but his tall figure roseup, and he extended the fingers of his left hand close to the candle fora few seconds, and then held them up to his eyes, gazing on hisfinger-tips, with a horrified sort of scrutiny, as if he saw signs andportents gathered there, like Thomas Aquinas' angels at the needles'points, and then the same cadaverous grin broke out over his features. 

'Mark Wylder is in an evil plight, ' said he. 

'Is he?' said Lake, with a sly scoff, though he seemed to me a good dealscared. 'We hear no complaints, however, and fancy he must be tolerablycomfortable notwithstanding. '

'You know where he is, ' said Uncle Lorne. 

'Aye, in Italy; everyone knows that, ' answered Lake. 

'In Italy, ' said the old man, reflectively, as if trying to gather up hisideas, 'Italy. Oh! yes, Vallombrosa--aye, Italy, I know it well. '

'So do we, Sir; thank you for the information, ' said Lake, whonevertheless appeared strangely uneasy. 

'He has had a great tour to make. It is nearly accomplished now; when itis done, he will be like me, _humano major_. He has seen the places whichyou are yet to see. '

'Nothing I should like better; particularly Italy, ' said Lake. 

'Yes, ' said Uncle Lorne, lifting up slowly a different finger at eachname in his catalogue. 'First, Lucus Mortis; then Terra Tenebrosa; next, Tartarus; after that, Terra Oblivionis; then Herebus; then Barathrum;then Gehenna, and then Stagium Ignis. '

'Of course, ' acquiesced Lake, with an ugly sneer, and a mock bow. 

'And to think that all the white citizens were once men and women!'murmured Uncle Lorne, with a scowl. 

'Quite so, ' whispered Lake. 

'I know where he is, ' resumed the old man, with his finger on his longchin, and looking down upon the carpet. 

'It would be very convenient if you would favour us with his address, 'said Stanley, with a gracious sneer. 

'I know what became of him, ' continued the oracle. 

'You are more in his confidence than we are, ' said Lake. 

'Don't be frightened--but he's alive; I think they'll make him mad. It isa frightful plight. Two angels buried him alive in Vallombrosa by night;I saw it, standing among the lotus and hemlock. A negro came to me, ablack clergyman with white eyes, and remained beside me; and the angelsimprisoned Mark; they put him on duty forty days and forty nights, withhis ear to the river listening for voices; and when it was over weblessed them; and the clergyman walked with me a long while, to-and-fro, to-and-fro upon the earth, telling me the wonders of the abyss. '

'And is it from the abyss, Sir, he writes his letters?' enquired the TownClerk, with a wink at Lake. 

'Yes, yes, very diligent; it behoves him; and his hair is always standingstraight on his head for fear. But he'll be sent up again, at last, athousand, a hundred, ten and one, black marble steps, and then it will bethe other one's turn. So it was prophesied by the black magician. '

'I thought, Sir, you mentioned just now he was a clergyman, ' suggestedMr. Wealdon, who evidently enjoyed this wonderful yarn. 

'Clergyman and magician both, and the chief of the lying prophets withthick lips. He'll come here some night and see you, ' said Uncle Lorne, looking with a cadaverous apathy on Lake, who was gazing at him inreturn, with a sinister smile. 

'Maybe it was a vision, Sir, ' suggested the Town Clerk. 

'Yes, Sir; a vision, maybe, ' echoed the cavernous tones of the old man;'but in the flesh or out of the flesh, I saw it. '

'You have had revelations, Sir, I've heard, ' said Stanley's mockingvoice. 

'Many, ' said the seer; 'but a prophet is never honoured. We live insolitude and privations--the world hates us--they stone us--they cut usasunder, even when we are dead. Feel me--I'm cold and white all over--Idied too soon--I'd have had wings now only for that pistol. I'm as whiteas Gehazi, except on my head, when that blood comes. '

Saying which, he rose abruptly, and with long jerking steps limped to thedoor, at which, I saw, in the shade, the face of a dark-featured man, looking gloomily in. 

When he reached the door Uncle Lorne suddenly stopped and faced us, witha countenance of wrath and fear, and threw up his arms in an attitude ofdenunciation, but said nothing. I thought for a moment the giganticspectre was about to rush upon us in an access of frenzy; but whateverthe impulse, it subsided--or was diverted by some new idea; hiscountenance changed, and he beckoned as if to some one in the corner ofthe room behind us, and smiled his dreadful smile, and so left theapartment. 

'That d--d old madman is madder than ever, ' said Lake, in his fellesttones, looking steadfastly with his peculiar gaze upon the closed door. 'Jermyn is with him, but he'll burn the house or murder some one yet. It's all d--d nonsense keeping him here--did you see him at the door?--hewas on the point of assailing some of us. He ought to be in a madhouse. '

'He used to be very quiet, ' said the Town Clerk, who knew all about him. 

'Oh! very quiet--yes, of course, very quiet, and quite harmless to peoplewho don't live in the house with him, and see him but once inhalf-a-dozen years; but you can't persuade me it is quite so pleasant forthose who happen to live under the same roof, and are liable to beintruded upon as we have been to-night every hour of their existence. '

'Well, certainly it is not pleasant, especially for ladies, ' admitted theTown Clerk. 

'No, not pleasant--and I've quite made up my mind it sha'n't go on. It istoo absurd, really, that such a monstrous thing should be enforced; I'llget a private Act, next Session, and regulate those absurd conditions inthe will. The old fellow ought to be under restraint; and I rather thinkit would be better for himself that he were. '

'Who is he?' I asked, speaking for the first time. 

'I thought you had seen him before now, ' said Lake. 

'So I have, but quite alone, and without ever learning who he was, ' Ianswered. 

'Oh! He is the gentleman, Julius, for whom in the will, under which wetake, those very odd provisions are made--such as I believe no one but aWylder or a Brandon would have dreamed of. It is an odd state of thingsto hold one's estate under condition of letting a madman wander aboutyour house and place, making everybody in it uncomfortable and insecureand exposing him to the imminent risk of making away with himself, eitherby accident or design. I happen to know what Mark Wylder would havedone--for he spoke very fiercely on the subject--perhaps he consultedyou?'

'No. '

'No? well, he intended locking him quietly into the suite of threeapartments, you know, at the far end of the old gallery, and giving himfull command of the mulberry garden by the little private stair, andputting a good iron door to it; so that "my beloved brother, Julius, atpresent afflicted in mind" (Lake quoted the words of the will, with anunpleasant sneer), should have had his apartments and his pleasuregrounds quite to himself. '

'And would that arrangement of Mr. Wylder's have satisfied the conditionsof the will?' said the Town Clerk. 

'I rather think, with proper precautions, it would. Mark Wylder was veryshrewd, and would not have run himself into a fix, ' answered Lake. 'Idon't know any man shrewder; he is, certainly. '

And Lake looked at us, as he added these last words, in turn, with aquick, suspicious glance, as if he had said something rash, and doubtedwhether we had observed it. 

After a little more talk, Lake and the Town Clerk resumed theirelectioneering conference, and the lists of electors were passed undertheir scrutiny, name by name, like slides under the miscroscope. 

There is a great deal in nature, physical and moral, that had as well notbe ascertained. It is better to take things on trust, with something ofdistance and indistinctness. What we gain in knowledge by scrutiny issometimes paid for in a ghastly sort of disgust. It is marvellous in asmall constituency of 300 average souls, what a queer moral result one ofthese business-like and narrow investigations which precede an electionwill furnish. How you find them rated and classified--what odd notes youmake to them in the margin; and after the trenchant and rapidvivisection, what sinister scars and seams remain, and how gaunt andrepulsive old acquaintances stand up from it. 

The Town Clerk knew the constituency of Dollington at his fingers' ends;and Stanley Lake quietly enjoyed, as certain minds will, the nefariousand shabby metamorphosis which every now and then some familiar andrespectable burgess underwent, in the spell of half-a-dozen dry sentenceswhispered in his ear; and all this minute information is trustworthy andquite without malice. 

I went to my bed-room, and secured the door, lest Uncle Lorne, or Julius, should make me another midnight visit. So that mystery was cleared up. Neither ghost nor spectral illusion, but flesh and blood--though in mymind there has always been a horror of a madman akin to the ghostly ordemoniac. 

I do not know how late Tom Wealdon and Stanley Lake sat up over theirlists; but I dare say they were in no hurry to leave them, for adissolution was just then expected, and no time was to be lost. 

When I saw Tom Wealdon alone next day in the street of Gylingden, hewalked a little way with me, and, said Tom, with a grave wink--

'Don't let the captain up there be hard on the poor old gentleman. He'squite harmless--he would not hurt a fly. I know all about him; for JackFord and I spent five weeks in the Hall, about twelve years ago, when thefamily were away and thought the keeper was not kind to him. He's quitegentle, and sometimes he'd make you die o' laughing. He fancies, youknow, he's a prophet; and says he's that old Sir Lorne Brandon that shothimself in his bed-room. Well, he is a rum one; and we used to draw himout--poor Jack and me. I never laughed so much, I don't think, in thesame time, before or since. But he's as innocent as a child--and you knowthem directions in the will is very strong; and they say Jos. Larkin doesnot like the captain a bit too well--and he has the will off, every wordof it; and I think, if Captain Lake does not take care, he may get intotrouble; and maybe it would not be amiss if you gave him a hint. '

Tom Wealdon, indeed, was a good-natured fellow: and if he had had hisway, I think the world would have gone smoothly enough with most people. 

CHAPTER XLIX. 

LARCOM, THE BUTLER, VISITS THE ATTORNEY. 

Now I may as well mention here an occurrence which, seeming veryinsignificant, has yet a bearing upon the current of this tale, and it isthis. About four days after the receipt of the despatches to which theconference of Captain Lake and the attorney referred, there came a letterfrom the same prolific correspondent, dated 20th March, from Genoa, whichaltogether puzzled Mr. Larkin. It commenced thus:--

'Genoa: 20th march. 

'DEAR LARKIN, --I hope you did the three commissions all right. Wealdonwon't refuse, I reckon--but don't let Lake guess what the 150_l. _ is for. Pay Martin for the job when finished; it is under 60_l. _. Mind; and getit looked at first. '

There was a great deal more, but these were the passages which perplexedLarkin. He unlocked the iron safe, and took out the sheaf of Wylder'sletters, and conned the last one over very carefully. 

'Why, ' said he, holding the text before his eyes in one hand and with thefingers of the other touching the top of his bald forehead, 'Tom Wealdonis not once mentioned in this, nor in any of them; and this palpablyrefers to some direction. And 150_l. _?--no such sum has been mentioned. And what is this job of Martin's? Is it Martin of the China Kilns, orMartin of the bank? That, too, plainly refers to a former letter--not aword of the sort. This is very odd indeed. '

Larkin's finger-tips descended over his eyebrow, and scratched in aminiature way there for a few seconds, and then his large long handdescended further to his chin, and his under-lip was, as usual in deepthought, fondled and pinched between his finger and thumb. 

'There has plainly been a letter lost, manifestly. I never knew anythingwrong in this Gylingden office. Driver has been always correct; but it ishard to know any man for certain in this world. I don't think the captainwould venture anything so awfully hazardous. I really can't suspect somonstrous a thing; but, _unquestionably_, a letter _has_ been lost--andwho's to _take_ it?'

Larkin made a fuller endorsement than usual on this particular letter, and ruminated over the correspondence a good while, with his lip betweenhis finger and thumb, and a shadow on his face, before he replaced it inits iron drawer. 

'It is not a thing to be passed over, ' murmured the attorney, who hadcome to a decision as to the first step to be taken, and he thought witha qualm of the effect of one of Wylder's confidential notes getting intoCaptain Lake's hands. 

While he was buttoning his walking boots, with his foot on the chairbefore the fire, a tap at his study door surprised him. A hurried glanceon the table satisfying him that no secret paper or despatch lay there, he called--

'Come in. '

And Mr. Larcom, the grave butler of Brandon, wearing outside his portlyperson a black garment then known as a 'zephyr, ' a white choker, andblack trousers, and well polished, but rather splay shoes, and, on thewhole, his fat and serious aspect considered, being capable of beingmistaken for a church dignitary, or at least for an eminent undertaker, entered the room with a solemn and gentlemanlike reverence. 

'Oh, Mr. Larcom! a message, or business?' said Mr. Larkin, urbanely. 

'Not a message, Sir; only an enquiry about them few shares, ' answered Mr. Larcom, with another serene reverence, and remaining standing, hat inhand, at the door. 

'Oh, yes; and how do you do, Mr. Larcom? Quite well, I trust. Yes--aboutthe Naunton Junction. Well, I'm happy to tell you--but pray take achair--that I have succeeded, and the directors have allotted you fiveshares; and it's your own fault if you don't make two ten-and-six ashare. The Chowsleys are up to six and a-half, I see here, ' and hepointed to the 'Times. ' Mr. Larcom's fat face smiled, in spite of hisendeavour to keep it under. It was part of his business to look alwaysgrave, and he coughed, and recovered his gravity. 

'I'm very thankful, Sir, ' said Mr. Larcom, 'very. '

'But do sit down, Mr. Larcom--pray do, ' said the attorney, who was verygracious to Larcom. 'You'll get the scrip, you know, on executing, butthe shares are allotted. They sent the notice for you here. And--and howare the family at Brandon--all well, I trust?'

Mr. Larcom blew his nose. 

'All, Sir, well. '

'And--and let me give you a glass of sherry, Mr. Larcom, after your walk. I can't compete with the _Brandon_ sherry, Mr. Larcom. Wonderful finewine that!--but still I'm told this is not a _bad_ wine notwithstanding. '

Larcom received it with grave gratitude, and sipped it, and spokerespectfully of it. 

'And--and any news in that quarter of Mr. Mark Wylder--any--any_surmise_? I--you know--I'm interested for all parties. '

'Well, Sir, of Mr. Wylder, I can't say as I know no more than he's been asubjek of much unpleasant feelin', which I should say there has been agreat deal of angry talk since I last saw you, Sir, between Miss Lake andthe capting. '

'Ah, yes, you mentioned something of the kind; and your own impression, that Captain Lake, which I trust may turn out to be so, knows where Mr. Mark Wylder is at present staying. '

'I much misdoubt, Sir, it won't turn out to be no good story for no one, 'said Mr. Larcom, in a low and sad tone, and with a long shake of hishead. 

'No good story--hey? How do you mean, Larcom?'

'Well, Sir, I know you won't mention me, Mr. Larkin. '

'Certainly not--go on. '

'When people gets hot a-talking they won't mind a body comin' in; andthat's how the capting and Miss Rachel Lake they carried on their disputelike, though me coming into the room. '

'Just so; and what do you found your opinion about Mr. Mark Wylder on?'

'Well, Sir, I could not hear more than a word now and a sentince again;and pickin' what meaning I could out of what Miss Lake said, and thecapting could not deny, I do suspeck, Sir, most serious, as how they haveput Mr. Mark Wylder into a mad-house; and that's how I think it's gonewith him; an' you'll never see him out again if the capting has hiswill. '

'Do you mean to say you actually think he's shut up in a madhouse at thismoment?' demanded the attorney; his little pink eyes opened quite round, and his lank cheeks and tall forehead flushed, at the rush of wild ideasthat whirred round him, like a covey of birds at the startlingsuggestion. 

The butler nodded gloomily. Larkin continued to stare on him in silence, with his round eyes, for some seconds after. 

'In a _mad_-house! Pooh, pooh! incredible! Pooh! impossible--_quite_impossible. Did either Miss Lake or the captain use the word mad-house?'

'Well, no. '

Or any other word--lunatic asylum, or a--bedlam, or--or _any_ other wordmeaning the same thing?'

'Well, I can't say, Sir, as I remember; but I rayther think not. I onlyknow for certain, I took it so; and I do believe as how Mr. Mark Wylderis confined in a mad-house, and the captain knows all about it, and won'tdo nothing to get him out. '

'H'm--very odd--very strange; but it is only from the general tenor ofwhat passed, by a sort of guess work, you have arrived at thatconclusion?'

Larcom assented. 

'Well, Mr. Larcom, I think you have been led into an erroneousconclusion. Indeed, I may mention I have reason to think so--in fact, to_know_ that such is the case. What you mention to me, you know, as afriend of the family, and holding, as I do, a confidential position--infact, a _very_ confidential one--alike in relation to Mr. Wylder and tothe family of Brandon Hall, is of course sacred; and anything that comesfrom you, Mr. Larcom, is never heard in connection with your name beyondthese walls. And let me add, it strikes me as highly important, both inthe interests of the leading individuals in this unpleasant business, andalso as pertaining to your own comfort and security, that you shouldcarefully avoid communicating what you have just mentioned to any otherparty. You understand?'

Larcom did understand perfectly, and so this little visit ended. 

Mr. Larkin took a turn or two up and down the room thinking. He stopped, with his fingertips to his eyebrow, and thought more. Then he tookanother turn, and stopped again, and threw back his head, and gazed for awhile on the ceiling, and then he stood for a time at the window, withhis lip between his finger and thumb. 

No, it was a mistake; it could not be. It was Mark Wylder'spenmanship--he could swear to it. There was no trace of madness in hisletters, nor of restraint. It was not possible even that he was wanderingfrom place to place under the coercion of a couple of keepers. No; Wylderwas an energetic and somewhat violent person, with high animal courage, and would be sure to blow up and break through any such machination. No, no; with Mark Wylder it was quite out of the question--altogethervisionary and impracticable. Persons like Larcom do make such absurdblunders, and so misapprehend the conversation of educated people. 

Nothwithstanding all which, there remained in his mind an image of MarkWylder, in the straw and darkness of a solitary continentalmad-house--squalid, neglected, and becoming gradually that which he wassaid to be. And he always shaped him somehow after the outlines of agrizzly print he remembered in his boyish days, of a maniac chained in aSicilian cell, grovelling under the lash of a half-seen gaoler, and withhis teeth buried in his own arm. 

Quite impossible! Mark Wylder was the last man in the world to submit tophysical coercion. The idea, besides, could not be reconciled with thefacts of the case. It was all a blundering chimera. 

Mr. Larkin walked down direct to Gylingden, and paid a rather awful visitto Mr. Driver, of the post-office. A foreign letter, addressed to him, had most positively been lost. He had called to mention the circumstance, lest Mr. Driver should be taken by surprise by official investigation. Was it possible that the letter had been sent by mistake to Brandon--toCaptain Lake? Lake and Larkin, you know, might be mistaken. At allevents, it would be well to make your clerks recollect themselves. (Mr. Larkin knew that Driver's 'clerks' were his daughters. ) It is not easy tomeet with a young fellow that is quite honest. But if they knew that theywould be subjected to a sifting examination on oath, on the arrival ofthe commissioner, they might possibly prefer finding the letter, in whichcase there would be no more about it. Mr. Driver knew him (Mr. Larkin), and he might tell his young men if they got the letter for him theyshould hear no more of it. 

The people of Gylingden knew very well that, when the rat-like glittertwinkled in Mr. Larkin's eyes, and the shadow came over his long face, there was mischief brewing. 

CHAPTER L. 

NEW LIGHTS. 

A few days later 'Jos. Larkin, Esq. , The Lodge, Gylingden, ' received fromLondon a printed form, duly filled in, and with the official signatureattached, informing him that enquiry having been instituted inconsequence of his letter, no result had been obtained. 

The hiatus in his correspondence caused Mr. Larkin extreme uneasiness. Hehad a profound distrust of Captain Lake. In fact, he thought him capableof everything. And if there should turn out to be anything not quitestraight going on at the post-office of Gylingden--hitherto anunimpeached institution--he had no doubt whatsoever that that dark andsinuous spirit was at the bottom of it. 

Still it was too prodigious, and too hazardous to be probable; but thecaptain had no sort of principle, and a desperately strong head. Therewas not, indeed, when they met yesterday, the least change orconsciousness in the captain's manner. That, in another man, would haveindicated something; but Stanley Lake was so deep--such a mask--in him itmeant nothing. 

Mr. Larkin's next step was to apply for a commissioner to come down andinvestigate. But before he had time to take this step, an occurrence tookplace to arrest his proceedings. It was the receipt of a foreign letter, of which the following is an exact copy:--

'VENICE: March 28. 

'DEAR LARKIN, --I read a rumour of a dissolution during the recess. Keep abright look out. Here's three things for you:--

'1. Try and get Tom Wealdon. He is a _sina que non_. [Mark's Latin wassailor-like. ]

'2. Cash the enclosed order for 150_l. _ more, for _the same stake_. 

'3. Tell Martin the tiles I saw in August last will answer for thecow-house; and let him put them down at once. 

'In haste, 'Yours truly, 'M. WYLDER. '

Enclosed was an order on Lake for 150_l. _

When Larkin got this he was in his study. 

'Why--why--this--_positively_ this is the letter. _How's_ this?'

And Mr. Larkin looked as much scared and astonished as if a spirit roseup before him. 

'_This_ is the letter--aye, this _is_ the letter. '

He repeated this from time to time as he turned it over and looked at thepostmark, and back again at the letter, and looked up at the date, anddown at the signature, and read the note through. 

'Yes, this is it--here it is--this is it. There's no doubt whatever--thisis the letter referred to in the last--Wealdon, Martin, and the 150_l. _'

And the attorney took out his keys, looking pale and stern, like a manabout to open the door upon a horror, and unlocked his safe, and took outthe oft-consulted and familiar series--letters tied up and bearing thelabel, 'Mark Wylder, Esq. '

'Aye, here it is, Genoa, 20th, and this, Venice, 28th. Yes, the postmarkscorrespond; yet the letter from Genoa, dated 20th, refers back to theletter from Venice, written eight days later! the-- Well--I can'tcomprehend--how in the name of--how in the name----'

He placed the two letters on his desk, and read them over, and up anddown, and pondered darkly over them. 

'It is Mark Wylder's writing--I'll swear to it. What on earth _can_ hemean? He can't possibly want to confuse us upon dates, as well as places, because that would simply render his letters, for purposes of business, nugatory, and there are many things he wishes attended to. '

Jos. Larkin rose from his desk, ruminating, and went to the window, andplaced the letter against the pane. I don't think he had any definitemotive in doing this, but something struck him that he had not remarkedbefore. 

There was something different in the quality of the ink that wrote thenumber of the date, 28th, from that used in the rest of the letter. 

'What can that mean?' muttered Larkin, with a sort of gasp at hisdiscovery; and shading his eyes with his hand, he scrutinised thenumerals--'28th, ' again;--'a totally different ink!

He took the previous letter, frowned on it fiercely from his rat-likeeyes, and then with an ejaculation, as like an oath as so good a mancould utter, he exclaimed, 'I have it!'

Then came a pause, and he said--

'Both alike!--blanks left when the letters were written, and the datesfilled in afterward--_not_ the same hand I _think_--no, _not_ thesame--_positively_ a different hand. '

Then Jos. Larkin examined these mysterious epistles once more. 

'There may be something in what Larcom said--a very great deal, possibly. If he was shut up somewhere they could make him write a set of theseletters off at a sitting, and send them from place to place to be posted, to make us think he was travelling, and prevent our finding where theykeep him. Here it is plain there was a slip in posting the wrong onefirst. '

Trepanned, kidnapped, hid away in the crypts of some remotemad-house--reduced to submission by privation and misery--a case asdesperate as that of a prisoner in the Inquisition. What could be themotive for this elaborate and hideous fraud? Would it not be a moreconvenient course, as well as more merciful to put him to death? Thecrime would hardly be greater. Why should he be retained in that ghastlyexistence?

Well, if Stanley Lake were at the bottom of this horrid conspiracy, _he_certainly had a motive in clearing the field of his rival. And then--forthe attorney had all the family settlements present to his mind--therewas this clear motive for prolonging his life, that by the slip in thewill under which Dorcas Brandon inherited, the bulk of her estate wouldterminate with the life of Mark Wylder; and this other motive too existedfor retaining him in the house of bondage, that by preventing hismarriage, and his having a family to succeed him, the reversion of hisbrother William was reduced to a certainty, and would become amagnificent investment for Stanley Lake whenever he might choose topurchase. Upon that purchase, however, the good attorney had cast hiseye. He thought he now began to discern the outlines of a gigantic andsymmetrical villainy emerging through the fog. If this theory were right, William Wylder's reversion was certain to take effect; and it wasexasperating that the native craft and daring of this inexperiencedcaptain should forestall so accomplished a man of business as Jos. Larkin. 

The attorney began to hate Stanley Lake as none but a man of that stampcan hate the person who mars a scheme of aggrandisement. But what was heto do exactly? If the captain had his eye on the reversion, it wouldrequire nice navigation to carry his plan successfully through. 

On the other hand, it was quite possible that Wylder was a free agent, and yet, for purposes of secrecy, employing another person to post hisletters at various continental towns; and this blunder might just as wellhave happened in this case, as in any other that supposed the samemachinery. 

On the whole, then, it was a difficult question. But there were Larcom'sconclusions about the mad-house to throw into the balance. And though, asrespected Mark Wylder, they were grisly, the attorney would not have beensorry to be quite sure that they were sound. What he most needed wereascertained data. With these his opportunities were immense. 

Mr. Larkin eyed the Wylder correspondence now with a sort of reverencethat was new to him. There was something supernatural and talismanic inthe mystery. The sheaf of letters lay before him on the table, likeCornelius Agrippa's 'bloody book'--a thing to conjure with. Whatprodigies might it not accomplish for its happy possessor, if only hecould read it aright, and command the spirits which its spells might callup before him? Yes, it was a stupendous secret. Who knew to what it mightconduct? There was a shade of guilt in his tamperings with it, akin tothe black art, which he felt without acknowledging. This little parcel ofletters was, in its evil way, a holy thing. While it lay on the table, the room became the holy of holies in his dark religion; and the lankattorney, with tall bald head, shaded face, and hungry dangerous eyes, apriest or a magician. 

The attorney quietly bolted his study door, and stood erect, with hishands in his pockets, looking sternly down on the letters. Then he took alittle gazetteer off a tiny shelf near the bell-rope, where was a railwayguide, an English dictionary, a French ditto, and a Bible, and with hissharp penknife he deftly sliced from its place in the work of referencethe folded map of Europe. 

It was destined to illustrate the correspondence, and Larkin sat downbefore it and surveyed, with a solemn stare, the wide scene of MarkWylder's operations, as a general would the theatre of his rival'sstrategy. 

Referring to the letters as he proceeded, with a sharp pen in red ink, hemade his natty little note upon each town or capital in succession, fromwhich Wylder had dated a despatch. Boulogne, for instance, a neat littlered cross over the town, and beneath, '12th October, 1854;' Brighton, ditto, '20th October, 1854;' Paris, ditto, '17th November, 1854;'Marseilles, ditto, '26th November, 1854;' Frankfurt, ditto, '22ndFebruary, 1855;' Geneva, ditto, '10th March, 1855;' Genoa, ditto, '20thMarch, 1855;' Venice, ditto, '28th March, 1855. '

I may here mention that in the preceding notation I have marked the daysand months exactly, but the years fancifully. 

I don't think that Mr. Larkin had read the 'Wandering Jew. ' He had nogreat taste for works of fancy. If he had he might have been reminded, ashe looked down upon the wild field of tactics just noted by his pen, ofthat globe similarly starred all over with little red crosses, which M. Rodin was wont to consult. 

Now he was going into this business as he did into others, methodically. He, therefore, read what his gazetteer had to say about these towns andcities, standing, for better light, at the window. But though, the typebeing small, his eyes were more pink than before, he was nothing wiser, the information being of that niggardly historical and statistical kindwhich availed nothing in his present scrutiny. He would get Murray'shandbooks, and all sorts of works--he was determined to read it up. Hewas going into this as into a great speculative case, in which he had aheavy stake, with all his activity, craft, and unscrupulousness. It mightbe the making of him. 

His treasure--his oracle--his book of power, the labelled parcel ofWylder's letters, with the annotated map folded beside them--he replacedin their red-taped ligature in his iron safe, and with Chubb's key in hispocket, took his hat and cane--the day was fine--and walked forth forBrandon and the captain's study. 

A pleasant day, a light air, a frosty sun. On the green the vicar, withhis pretty boy by the hand, passed him, not a hundred yards off, like aship at sea. There was a waving of hands, and smiles, and a shouted'beautiful day. '

'What a position that poor fellow has got himself into!' good Mr. Larkinthought, with a shrug of compassion, to himself. 'That reversion! Whyit's nothing--I really don't know why I think about it at all. If it wereoffered me this moment, positively I would not have it. Anythingcertain--_any_ thing would be better. '

Little Fairy grew grave, in spite of the attorney's smiles, whenever hesaw him. He was now saying--as holding his 'Wapsie's' hand, he caperedround in front, looking up in his face--

'Why has Mr. Larkin no teeth when he laughs? Is he ever angry when helaughs--is he, Wapsie--oh, Wapsie, _is_ he? Would you let him whip me, ifI was naughty? I don't like him. Why does mamma say he is a good man, Wapsie?'

'Because, little man, he _is_ a good man, ' said the vicar, recalled bythe impiety of the question. 'The best friend that Wapsie ever met within his life. '

'But you would not give me to him, Wapsie?'

'Give you, darling! no--to no one but to God, my little man; for richer, for poorer, you're my own--your Wapsie's little man. '

And he lifted him up, and carried him in his arms against his lovingheart, and the water stood in his eyes, as he laughed fondly into thatpretty face. 

But 'little man' by this time was struggling to get down and give chaseto a crow grubbing near them for dainties, with a muddy beak, and'Wapsie's' eyes followed, smiling, the wild vagaries of his little Fairy. 

In the mean time Mr. Larkin had got among the noble trees of Brandon, andwas approaching the lordly front of the Hall. His mind was busy. He hadnot very much fact to go upon. His theories were built chiefly of vapour, and every changing light or breath, therefore, altered their colouringand outlines. 

'Maybe Mark Wylder is mad, and wandering in charge of a keeper; maybe heis in some mad doctor's house, and _not_ mad; maybe in England, and therewrites these letters which are sent from one continental town to anotherto be posted, and thus the appearance of locomotion is kept up. Perhapshe has been inveigled into the hands of ruffians, and is living as itwere under the vault of an Inquisition, and compelled to write what everhis gaolers dictate. Maybe he writes not under physical but moralcoercion. Be the fact how it may, those Lakes, brother and sister, have aguilty knowledge of the affair. 

'I will be firm--it is my duty to clear this matter up, if I can--we mustdo as we would be done by. '

CHAPTER LI. 

A FRACAS IN THE LIBRARY. 

It was still early in the day. Larcom received him gravely in the hall. Captain Lake was at home, as usual, up to one o'clock in the library--themost diligent administrator that Brandon had perhaps ever known. 

'Well, Larkin--letters, letters perpetually, you see. Quite well, I hope?Won't you sit down--no bad news? You look rather melancholy. Your otherclient is not ill--nothing sad about Mark Wylder, I hope?'

'No--nothing sad, Captain Lake--nothing--but a good deal that isstrange. '

'Oh, is there?' said Lake, in his soft tones, leaning forward in his easychair, and looking on the shining points of his boots. 

'I have found out a thing, Captain Lake, which will no doubt interest_you_ as much as it does me. It will lead, I think, to a much more exact_guess_ about Mr. Mark Wylder. '

There was a sturdy emphasis in the attorney's speech which was far fromusual, and indicated something. 

'Oh! you have? May one hear it?' said Lake, in the same silken tone, andlooking down, as before, on his boots. 

'I've discovered something about his letters, ' said the attorney, andpaused. 

'Satisfactory, I hope?' said Lake as before. 

'Foul play, Sir. '

'Foul play--is there? What is he doing now?' said Lake in the samelanguid way, his elbows on the arms of his chair, stooping forward, andlooking serenely on the floor, like a man who is tired of his work, andenjoys his respite. 

'Why, Captain Lake, the matter is this--it amounts, in fact, to _fraud_. It is plain that the letters are written in batches--several at atime--and committed to some one to carry from town to town, and post, _having previously filled in dates_ to make them _correspond_ with theexact period of posting them. '

The attorney's searching gaze was fixed on the captain, as he said this, with all the significance consistent with civility; but he could notobserve the slightest indication of change. I dare say the captain felthis gaze upon him, and he undoubtedly heard his emphasis, but he plainlydid not take either to himself. 

'Indeed! that is very odd, ' said Captain Lake. 

'Very odd;' echoed the attorney. 

It struck Mr. Larkin that his gallant friend was a little overacting, andshowing perhaps less interest in the discovery than was strictly natural. 

'But how can you show it?' said Lake with a slight yawn. 'Wylder _is_such a fellow. I don't the least pretend to understand him. It may be afreak of his. '

'I don't think, Captain Lake, that is exactly a possible solution here. Idon't think, Sir, he would write two letters, one referring back to theother, at the same time, and post and date the latter more than a week_before_ the other. '

'Oh!' said Lake, quietly, for the first time exhibiting a slight changeof countenance, and looking peevish and excited; yes, that certainly doeslook very oddly. '

'And I think, Captain Lake, it behoves us to leave no stone unturned tosift this matter to the bottom. '

'With what particular purpose, I don't quite see, ' said Lake. 'Don't youthink possibly Mark Wylder might think us very impertinent?'

'I think, Captain Lake, on the contrary, we might be doing that gentlemanthe only service he is capable of receiving, and I know we should bedoing something toward tracing and exposing the machinations of aconspiracy. '

'A conspiracy! I did not quite see your meaning. Then, you really thinkthere is a conspiracy--formed _by_ him or _against_ him, which?'

'_Against_ him, Captain Lake. Did the same idea never strike you?'

'Not, I think, that I can recollect. '

'In none of your conversations upon the subject with--with members ofyour family?' continued the attorney with a grave significance. 

'I say, Sir, I don't recollect, ' said Lake, glaring for an instant in hisface very savagely. 'And it seems to me, that sitting here, you fancyyourself examining some vagrant or poacher at Gylingden sessions. Andpray, Sir, have you no evidence in the letters you speak of but theinsertion of dates, and the posting them in inverse order, to lead you tothat strong conclusion?'

'None, as supplied by the letters themselves, ' answered Larkin, a littledoggedly, 'and I venture to think that is rather strong. '

'Quite so, to a mind like yours, ' said Lake, with a faint gleam of hisunpleasant smile thrown upon the floor, 'but other men don't see it; andI hope, at all events, there's a likelihood that Mark Wylder will soonreturn and look after his own business--I'm quite tired of it, and of'(he was going to say _you_)--'of everything connected with it. '

'This delay is attended with more serious mischief. The vicar, hisbrother, had a promise of money from him, and is disappointed--in verygreat embarrassments; and, in fact, were it not for some temporaryassistance, which I may mention--although I don't speak of such things--Iafforded him myself, he must have been ruined. '

'It is very sad, ' said Lake; 'but he ought not to have married without anincome. '

'Very true, Captain Lake--there's no defending that--it was wrong, butthe retribution is terrible, ' and the righteous man shook his tall head. 

'Don't you think he might take steps to relieve himself considerably?'

'I don't see it, Captain Lake, ' said the attorney, sadly and drily. 

'Well, you know best; but are not there resources?'

'I don't see, Captain Lake, what you point at. '

'I'll give him something for his reversion, if he chooses, and make himcomfortable for his life. '

The attorney, somehow, didn't seem to take kindly to this proposition. Weknow he had imagined for himself some little flirtation on this behalf, and cherished a secret _tendre_ for the same reversion. Perhaps he hadother plans, too. At all events it flashed the same suspicion of Lakeupon his mind again; and he said--

'I don't know, Sir, that the Reverend Mr. Wylder would entertain anythingin the nature of a sale of his reversion. I rather think the contrary. Idon't think his friends would advise it. '

'And why not? It was never more than a contingency; and now they say MarkWylder is married, and has children; they tell me he was seen at Ancona?'said Lake tranquilly. 

'_They_ tell you! who are _they?_' said the attorney, and his dove's eyeswere gone again, and the rat's eyes unequivocally looking out of thesmall pink lids. 

'They--they, ' repeated Captain Lake. 'Why, of course, Sir, I use the wordin its usual sense--that is, there was a rumour when I was last in town, and I really forget who told me. Some one, two, or three, perhaps. '

'Do you think it's true, Sir?' persisted Mr. Larkin. 

'No, Sir, I don't, ' said Captain Lake, fixing his eyes for a moment witha frank stare on the attorney's face; 'but it is quite possible it _may_be true. '

'If it _is_, you know, Sir, ' said Jos. Larkin, 'the reversion would be abad purchase at a halfpenny. I don't believe it either, Sir, ' resumed theattorney, after a little interval; 'and I could not advise the party younamed, Sir, to sell his remainder for a song. '

'You'll advise as you please, Sir, and no doubt not without sufficientreason, ' retorted Captain Lake. 

There was a suspicion of a sneer--not in his countenance, not in histone, not necessarily in his words--but somehow a suspicion, which stungthe attorney like a certainty, and a pinkish flush tinged his forehead. 

Perhaps Mr. Larkin had not yet formed any distinct plans, and was reallyin considerable dubitation. But as we know, perceiving that the situationof affairs, like all uncertain conjunctures, offered manifestly anopportunity for speculation, he was, perhaps, desirous, like our oldfriend, Sindbad, of that gleam of light which might show him the gold andprecious stones with which the floor of the catacomb was strewn. 

'You see, Captain Lake, to speak quite frankly--there's nothing likebeing perfectly frank and open--although you have not treated me withconfidence, which, of course, was not called for in this particularinstance--I may as well say, in passing, that I have no doubt on my mindyou know a great deal more than you care to tell about the fate of Mr. Mark Wylder. I look upon it, Sir, that that party has been made awaywith. '

'Old villain!' exclaimed Lake, starting up, with a sudden access ofenergy, and his face looked whiter still than usual--perhaps it was onlythe light. 

'It won't do, Sir, ' said Larkin, with a sinister quietude. 'I say there'sbeen _foul play_. I think, Sir, you've got him into some foreignmad-house, or place of confinement, and I won't stop till it's sifted tothe bottom. It is my duty, Sir. '

Captain Lake's slender hand sprang on the attorney's collar, coat andwaistcoat together, and his knuckles, hard and sharp, were screwedagainst Mr. Larkin's jaw-bone, as he shook him, and his face was like adrift of snow, with two yellow fires glaring in it. 

It was ferine and spectral, and so tremendously violent, that the longattorney, expecting nothing of the sort, was thrown out of his balanceagainst the chimneypiece. 

'You d--d old miscreant! I'll pitch you out of the window. '

'I--I say, let go. You're mad, Sir, ' said the attorney, disengaginghimself with a sudden and violent effort, and standing, with the back ofa tall chair grasped in both hands, and the seat interposed betweenhimself and Captain Lake. He was twisting his neck uncomfortably in hisshirt collar, and for some seconds was more agitated, in a different way, than his patron was. 

The fact was, that Mr. Larkin had a little mistaken his man. He had neverhappened before to see him in one of his violent moods, and fancied thathis apathetic manner indicated a person more easily bullied. There wassomething, too, in the tone and look of Captain Lake which went a goodway to confound and perplex his suspicions, and he half fancied that themasterstroke he had hazarded was a rank and irreparable blunder. Something of this, I am sure, appeared in his countenance, and CaptainLake looked awfully savage, and each gentleman stared the other full inthe face, with more frankness than became two such diplomatists. 

'Allow me to speak a word, Captain Lake. '

'You d--d old miscreant!' repeated the candescent captain. 

'Allow me to say, you misapprehend. '

'You infernal old cur!'

'I mean no imputation upon _you_, Sir. I thought you might have committeda mistake--any man may; perhaps you have. I have acted, Captain Lake, with fidelity in all respects to you, and to every client for whom I'vebeen concerned. Mr. Wylder is my client, and I was bound to say I was notsatisfied about his present position, which seems to me unaccountable, except on the supposition that he is under restraint of some sort. Inever said you were to blame; but you may be in error respecting Mr. Wylder. You may have taken steps, Captain Lake, under a mistake. I neverwent further than that. On reflection, you'll say so. I didn't upon myhonour. '

'Then you did not mean to insult me, Sir, ' said Lake. 

'Upon my honour, and conscience, and soul, Captain Lake, ' said theattorney, stringing together, in his vindication, all the articles he wasassumed most to respect, 'I am perfectly frank, I do assure you. I neversupposed for an instant more than I say. I could not imagine--I am amazedyou have so taken it. '

'But you think I exercise some control or coercion over my cousin, Mr. Mark Wylder. He's not a man, I can tell you, wherever he is, to bebullied, no more than I am. I don't correspond with him. I have nothingto do with him or his affairs; I wash my hands of him. '

Captain Lake turned and walked quickly to the door, but came back assuddenly. 

'Shake hands, Sir. We'll forget it. I accept what you say; but don't talkthat way to me again. I can't imagine what the devil put such stuff inyour head. I don't care twopence. No one's to blame but Wylder himself. Isay I don't care a farthing. Upon my honour, I quite see--I now acquityou. You could not mean what you seemed to say; and I can't understandhow a sensible man like you, knowing Mark Wylder, and knowing me, Sir, could use such--such _ambiguous_ language. I have no more influence withhim, and can no more affect his doings, or what you call his _fate_--and, to say the truth, care about them no more than the child unborn. He's hisown master, of course. What the devil can you have been dreaming of. Idon't even get a letter from him. He's _nothing_ to me. '

'You have misunderstood me; but that's over, Sir. I may have spoken withwarmth, fearing that you might be acting under some cruelmisapprehension--that's all; and you don't think worse of me, I'm verysure, Captain Lake, for a little indiscreet zeal on behalf of a gentlemanwho has treated me with such unlimited confidence as Mr. Wylder. I'd dothe same for you, Sir; it's my character. '

The two gentlemen, you perceive, though still agitated, were becomingreasonable, and more or less complimentary and conciliatory; and themasks which an electric gust had displaced for a moment, revealing grossand somewhat repulsive features, were being readjusted, while each lookedover his shoulder. 

I am sorry to say that when that good man, Mr. Larkin, left his presence, Captain Lake indulged in a perfectly blasphemous monologue. His fury wasexcited to a pitch that was very nearly ungovernable; and after it hadexhibited itself in the way I have said, Captain Lake opened a littledespatch-box, and took therefrom a foreign letter, but three daysreceived. He read it through: his ill-omened smile expanded to a grinthat was undisguisedly diabolical. With a scissors he clipt his own namewhere it occurred from the thin sheet, and then, in red ink and Romancapitals, he scrawled a line or two across the interior of the letter, enclosed it in an envelope, directed it, and then rang the bell. 

He ordered the tax-cart and two horses to drive tandem. The captain wasrather a good whip, and he drove at a great pace to Dollington, took thetrain on to Charteris, there posted his letter, and so returned; histemper continuing savage all that evening, and in a modified degree inthe same state for several days after. 

CHAPTER LII. 

AN OLD FRIEND LOOKS INTO THE GARDEN AT REDMAN'S FARM. 

Lady Chelford, with one of those sudden changes of front which occur infemale strategy, on hearing that Stanley Lake was actually accepted byDorcas, had assailed both him and his sister, whom heretofore she had agood deal petted and distinguished, with a fury that was startling. Asrespects Rachel, we know how unjust was the attack. 

And when the dowager opened her fire on Rachel, the young lady repliedwith a spirit and dignity to which she was not at all accustomed. 

So soon as Dorcas obtained a hearing, which was not for sometime--forshe, 'as a miserable and ridiculous victim and idiot, ' was nearly as deepin disgrace as those 'shameless harpies the Lakes'--she told the wholetruth as respected all parties with her superb and tranquil frankness. 

Lady Chelford ordered her horses, and was about to leave Brandon nextmorning. But rheumatism arrested her indignant flight; and during herweek's confinement to her room, her son contrived so that she consentedto stay for 'the odious ceremony, ' and was even sourly civil to MissLake, who received her advances quite as coldly as they were made. 

To Miss Lake, Lord Chelford, though not in set terms, yet in manypleasant ways, apologised for his mother's impertinence. Dorcas had told_him_ also the story of Rachel's decided opposition to the marriage. 

He was so particularly respectful to her--he showed her by the very forminto which he shaped his good wishes that he knew how frankly she hadopposed the marriage--how true she had been to her friend Dorcas--and sheunderstood him and was grateful. 

In fact, Lord Chelford, whatever might be his opinion of the motives ofCaptain Lake and the prudence of Dorcas, was clearly disposed to make thebest of the inevitable, and to stamp the new Brandon alliance with whatever respectability his frank recognition could give it. 

Old Lady Chelford's bitter and ominous acquiescence also came, and thepresence of mother and son at the solemnity averted the family scandalwhich the old lady's first access of frenzy threatened. 

This duty discharged, she insisted, in the interest of her rheumatism, upon change of air; and on arriving at Duxley, was quite surprised tofind Lady Dulhampton and her daughters there upon a similar quest. 

About the matrimonial likelihoods of gentlemen with titles and estatesFame, that most tuft-hunting of divinities, is always distending hercheeks, and blowing the very finest flourishes her old trumpet affords. 

Lord Chelford was not long away when the story of Lady Constance wasagain alive and vocal. It reached old Jackson through his sister, who wasmarried to the brother of the Marquis of Dulhampton's solicitor. Itreached Lake from Tom Twitters, of his club, who kept the Brandon Captain_au courant_ of the town-talk; and it came to Dorcas in a more authenticfashion, though mysteriously, and rather in the guise of a conundrum thanof a distinct bit of family intelligence, from no less a person than theold Dowager Lady Chelford herself. 

Stanley Lake, who had begun to entertain hopes for Rachel in thatdirection, went down to Redman's Farm, and, after his bleak and bitterfashion, rated the young lady for having perversely neglected heropportunities and repulsed that most desirable _parti_. In this he wasintensely in earnest, for the connection would have done wonders forCaptain Lake in the county. 

Rachel met this coarse attack with quiet contempt; told him that LordChelford had, she supposed, no idea of marrying out of his own rank; andfurther, that he, Captain Lake, must perfectly comprehend, if he couldnot appreciate, the reasons which would for ever bar any such relation. 

But Rachel, though she treated the subject serenely in this interview, was sadder and more forlorn than ever, and lay awake at night, and, perhaps, if we knew all, shed some secret tears; and then with time camehealing of these sorrows. 

It was a fallacy, a mere chimera, that was gone; an impracticability too. She had smiled at it as such when Dorcas used to hint at it; but arethere no castles in the clouds which we like to inhabit, although we knowthem altogether air-built, and whose evaporation desolates us?

Rachel's talks with the vicar were frequent; and poor little Mrs. WilliamWylder, who knew not the reason of his visits, fell slowly, and to thegood man's entire bewilderment, into a chronic jealousy. It expresseditself enigmatically; it was circumlocutory, sad, and mysterious. 

'Little Fairy was so pleased with his visit to Redman's Farm to-day. Hetold me all about it; did not you, little man? But still you love poorold mamma best of all; you would not like to have a new mamma. Ah, no;you'd rather have your poor old, ugly Mussie. I wish I was handsome, mylittle man, and clever; but wishing is vain. '

'Ah! Willie, there was a time when you could not see how ugly and dullyour poor foolish little wife was; but it could not last for ever. Howdid it happen--oh, how?--you such a scholar, so clever, so handsome, mybeautiful Willie--how did you ever look down on poor wretched me?'

'I think it will be fine, Willie, and Miss Lake will expect you atRedman's Farm; and little Fairy will go too; yes, you'd like to go, andmamma will stay at home, and try to be useful in her poor miserable way, 'and so on. 

The vicar, thinking of other things, never seeing the reproachful ironyin all this, would take it quite literally, assent sadly, and with littleFairy by the hand, set forth for Redman's Farm; and the good little body, to the amazement of her two maids, would be heard passionately weeping inthe parlour in her forsaken state. 

At last there came a great upbraiding, a great _éclaircissement_, andlaughter, and crying, and hugging; and the poor little woman, quiterelieved, went off immediately, in her gratitude, to Rachel, and paid herquite an affectionate little visit. 

Jealousy is very unreasonable. But have we no compensation in this, thatthe love which begets it is often as unreasonable? Look in the glass, andthen into your own heart, and ask your conscience, next, 'Am I reallyquite a hero, or altogether so lovely, as I am beloved?' Keep the answerto yourself, but be tender with the vehement follies of your jealouswife. Poor mortals! It is but a short time we have to love, and bejealous, and love again. 

One night, after a long talk in the morning with good William Wylder, andgreat dejection following, all on a sudden, Rachel sat up in her bed, andin a pleasant voice, and looking more like herself than she had for manymonths, she said--

'I think I have found the true way out of my troubles, Tamar. At everysacrifice to be quite honest; and to that, Tamar, I have made up my mindat last, thank God. Come, Tamar, and kiss me, for I am free once more. '

So that night passed peacefully. 

Rachel--a changed Rachel still--though more like her early self, was nowin the tiny garden of Redman's Farm. The early spring was already showingits bright green through the brown of winter, and sun and showeralternating, and the gay gossiping of sweet birds among the branches, were calling the young creation from its slumbers. The air was so sharp, so clear, so sunny, the mysterious sense of coming life so invigorating, and the sounds and aspect of nature so rejoicing, that Rachel with hergauntlets on, her white basket of flower seeds, her trowel, and all hergarden implements beside her, felt her own spring of life return, andrejoiced in the glad hour that shone round her. 

Lifting up her eyes, she saw Lord Chelford looking over the little gate. 

'What a charming day, ' said he, with his pleasant smile, raising his hat, 'and how very pleasant to see you at your pretty industry again. '

As Rachel came forward in her faded gardening costume, an old silk shawlabout her shoulders, and hoodwise over her head, somehow very becoming, there was a blush--he could not help seeing it--on her young face, andfor a moment her fine eyes dropped, and she looked up, smiling a morethoughtful and a sadder smile than in old days. The picture of that smileso gay and fearless, and yet so feminine, rose up beside the sadder smilethat greeted him now, and he thought of Ondine without and Ondine with asoul. 

'I am afraid I am a very impertinent--at least a veryinquisitive--wayfarer; but I could not pass by without a word, even atthe risk of interrupting you. And the truth is, I believe, if it had notbeen for that chance of seeing and interrupting you, I should not havepassed through Redman's Dell to-day. '

He laughed a little as he said this; and held her hands some secondslonger than is strictly usual in such a greeting. 

'You are staying at Brandon?' said Rachel, not knowing exactly what tosay. 

'Yes; Dorcas, who is always very good to me, made me promise to comewhenever I was at Drackley. I arrived yesterday, and they tell me youstay so much at home, that possibly you might not appear in the upperworld for two or three days; so I had not patience, you see. '

It was now Rachel's turn to laugh a musical little roulade; but somehowher talk was neither so gay, nor so voluble, as it used to be. She likedto listen; she would not for the world their little conversation endedbefore its time; but there was an unwonted difficulty in finding anythingto say. 

'It is quite true; I am more a stay-at-home than I used to be. I believewe learn to prize home more the longer we live. '

'What a wise old lady! I did not think of that; I have only learned thatwhatever is most prized is hardest to find. '

'And spring is come again, ' continued Rachel, passing by this littlespeech, 'and my labours recommence. And though the day is longer, thereis more to do in it, you see. '

'I don't wonder at your being a stay-at-home, for, to my eyes, it is theprettiest spot of earth in all the world; and if you find it half as hardto leave it as I do, your staying here is quite accounted for. '

This little speech, also, Rachel understood quite well, though she wenton as if she did not. 

'And this little garden costs, I assure you, a great deal of wisethought. In sowing my annuals I have so much to forecast and arrange;suitability of climate, for we have sun and shade here, succession ofbloom and contrast of colour, and ever so many other important things. '

'I can quite imagine it, though it did not strike me before, ' he said, looking on her with a smile of pleasant and peculiar interest, whichsomehow gave a reality to this playful talk. 'It is quite true; and Ishould not have thought of it--it is very pretty, ' and he laughed agentle little laugh, glancing over the tiny garden. 

'But, after all, there is no picture of flowers, or still life, or evenof landscape, that will interest long. You must be very solitary here attimes--that is, you must have a great deal more resource than I, or, indeed, almost anyone I know, or this solitude must at times beoppressive. I hope so, at least, for that would force you to appear amongus sometimes. '

'No, I am not lonely--that is, not lonelier than is good for me. I havesuch a treasure of an old nurse--poor old Tamar--who tells me stories, and reads to me, and listens to my follies and temper, and sometimes saysvery wise things, too; and the good vicar comes often--this is one of hisdays--with his beautiful little boy, and talks so well, and answers myfollies and explains all my perplexities, and is really a great help andcomfort. '

'Yes, ' said Lord Chelford, with the same pleasant smile, 'he told me so;and seems so pleased to have met with so clever a pupil. Are you comingto Brandon this evening? Lake asked William Wylder, perhaps he will bewith us. I do hope you will come. Dorcas says there is no use in writing;but that you know you are always welcome. May I say you'll come?'

Rachel smiled sadly on the snow-drops at her feet, and shook her head alittle. 

'No, I must stay at home this evening--I mean I have not spirits to go toBrandon. Thank Dorcas very much from me--that is, if you really mean thatshe asked me. '

'I am so sorry--I am so disappointed, ' said Lord Chelford, lookinggravely and enquiringly at her. He began, I think, to fancy someestrangement there. 'But perhaps to-morrow--perhaps even to-day--you mayrelent, you know. Don't say it is impossible. '

Rachel smiled on the ground, as before; and then, with a little sigh anda shake of her head, said--

'No. '

'Well, I must tell Dorcas she was right--you are very inexorable andcruel. '

'I am very cruel to keep you here so long--and I, too, am forgetting thevicar, who will be here immediately, and I must meet him in a costumeless like the Woman of Endor. '

Lord Chelford, leaning on the little wicket, put his arm over, and shegave him her hand again. 

'Good-bye, ' said Rachel. 

'Well, I suppose I, too, must say good-bye; and I'll say a great dealmore, ' said he, in a peculiar, odd tone, that was very firm, and yetindescribably tender. And he held her slender hand, from which she haddrawn the gauntlet, in his. 'Yes, Rachel, I will--I'll say everything. Weare old friends now--you'll forgive me calling you Rachel--it may beperhaps the last time. '

Rachel was standing there with such a beautiful blush, and downcast eyes, and her hand in his. 

'I liked you always, Rachel, from the first moment I saw you--I liked youbetter and better--indescribably--indeed, I do; and I've grown to likeyou so, that if I lose you, I think I shall never be the same again. '

There was a very little pause, the blush was deeper, her eyes lowerstill. 

'I admire you, Rachel--I like your character--I have grown to love youwith all my heart and mind--quite desperately, I think. I know there arethings against me--there are better-looking fellows than I--and--and agreat many things--and I know very well that you will judge foryourself--quite differently from other girls; and I can't say with whatfear and hope I await what you may say; but this you may be sure of, youwill never find anyone to love you better, Rachel--I think sowell--and--and now--that is all. Do you think you could _ever_ like me?'

But Rachel's hand, on a sudden, with a slight quiver, was drawn from his. 

'Lord Chelford, I can't describe how grateful I am, and how astonished, but it could never be--no--never. '

'Rachel, perhaps you mean my mother--I have told her everything--she willreceive you with all the respect you so well deserve; and with all herfaults, she loves me, and will love you still more. '

'No, Lord Chelford, no. ' She was pale now, and looking very sadly in hiseyes. 'It is not that, but only that you must never, never speak of itagain. '

'Oh! Rachel, darling, you must not say that--I love you so--so_desperately_, you don't know. '

'I can say nothing else, Lord Chelford. My mind is quite made up--I aminexpressibly grateful--you will never know how grateful--but except as afriend--and won't you still be my friend?--I never can regard you. '

Rachel was so pale that her very lips were white as she spoke this in amelancholy but very firm way. 

'Oh, Rachel, it is a great blow--maybe if you thought it over!--I'll waitany time. '

'No, Lord Chelford, I'm quite unworthy of your preference; but timecannot change me--and I am speaking, not from impulse, but conviction. This is our secret--yours and mine--and we'll forget it; and I could notbear to lose your friendship--you'll be my friend still--won't you?Good-bye. '

'God bless you, Rachel!' And he hurriedly kissed the hand she had placedin his, and without a word more, or looking back, he walked swiftly downthe wooded road towards Gylingden. 

So, then, it had come and gone--gone for ever. 

'Margery, bring the basket in; I think a shower is coming. '

And she picked up her trowel and other implements, and placed them in theporch, and glanced up towards the clouds, as if she saw them, and hadnothing to think of but her gardening and the weather, and as if herheart was not breaking. 

CHAPTER LIII. 

THE VICAR'S COMPLICATIONS, WHICH LIVELY PEOPLE HAD BETTER NOT READ. 

William Wylder's reversion was very tempting. But Lawyer Larkin knew thevalue of the precious metals, and waited for more data. The more hethought over his foreign correspondence, and his interview with Lake, themore steadily returned upon his mind the old conviction that the gallantcaptain was deep in the secret, whatever it might be. 

Whatever his motive--and he always had a distinct motive, thoughsometimes not easily discoverable--he was a good deal addicted now tocommenting, in his confidential talk, with religious gossips and others, upon the awful state of the poor vicar's affairs, his inconceivableprodigality, the unaccountable sums he had made away with, and his ownanxiety to hand over the direction of such a hopeless complication ofdebt, and abdicate in favour of any competent skipper the command of thewater-logged and foundering ship. 

'Why, his Brother Mark could get him cleverly out of it--could not he?'wheezed the pork-butcher. 

'More serious than you suppose, ' answered Larkin, with a shake of hishead. 

'It can't go beyond five hundred, or say nine hundred--eh, at theoutside?'

'Nine _hundred_--say double as many _thousand_, and I'm afraid you'll benearer the mark. You'll not mention, of course, and I'm only feeling myway just now, and speaking conjecturally altogether; but I'm afraid it isenormous. I need not remind you not to mention. '

I cannot, of course, say how Mr. Larkin's conjectures reached soprodigious an elevation, but I can now comprehend why it was desirablethat this surprising estimate of the vicar's liabilities should prevail. Mr. Jos. Larkin had a weakness for enveloping much of what he said andwrote in an honourable mystery. He liked writing _private_ or_confidential_ at top of his notes, without apparent right or even reasonto impose either privacy or confidence upon the persons to whom he wrote. There was, in fact, often in the good attorney's mode of transactingbusiness just a _soupçon_ or flavour of an _arrière pensée_ of a remoteand unseen plan, which was a little unsatisfactory. 

Now, with the vicar he was imperative that the matter of the reversionshould be strictly confidential--altogether 'sacred, ' in fact. 

'You see, the fact is, my dear Mr. Wylder, I never meddle in speculativethings. It is not a class of business that I like or would touch with oneof my fingers, so to speak, ' and he shook his head gently; 'and I maysay, if I were supposed to be ever so slightly engaged in these riskythings, it would be the _ruin_ of me. I don t like, however, sending youinto the jaws of the City sharks--I use the term, my dear Mr. Wylder, advisedly--and I make a solitary exception in your case; but the fact is, if I thought you would mention the matter, I could not touch it even foryou. There's Captain Lake, of Brandon, for instance--I should not besurprised if I lost the Brandon business the day after the matter reachedhis ears. All men are not like you and me, my dear Mr. Wylder. The sadexperience of my profession has taught me that a suspicious man of theworld, without religion, my dear Mr. Wylder, ' and he lifted his pinkeyes, and shook his long head and long hands in unison--'withoutreligion--will imagine anything. They can't understand us. '

Now, the fifty pounds which good Mr. Larkin had procured for theimprovident vicar, bore interest, I am almost ashamed to say, at thirtyper cent. Per annum, and ten per cent. More the first year. But you areto remember that the security was altogether speculative; and Mr. Larkin, of course, made the best terms he could. 

Annual premium on a policy for £100 [double insurance } £ _s. _ _d. _being insisted upon by lender, to cover contingent ex- } 10 0 0penses, and life not insurable, a delicacy of the lungs }being admitted, on the ordinary scale] }

Annuity payable to lender, clear of premium, the } 7 10 0security being unsatisfactory } -------------- £17 10 0

Ten pounds of which (the premium), together with four pounds tenshillings for expenses, &c. Were payable in advance. So that thirty-twopounds, out of his borrowed fifty, were forfeit for these items within ayear and a month. In the meantime the fifty pounds had gone, as we know, direct to Cambridge; and he was called upon to pay forthwith ten poundsfor premium, and four pounds ten shillings for 'expenses. ' _Quodimpossibile. _

The attorney had nothing for it but to try to induce the lender to lethim have another fifty pounds, pending the investigation oftitle--another fifty, of which he was to get, in fact, eighteen pounds. Somehow, the racking off of this bitter vintage from one vessel intoanother did not seem to improve its quality. On the contrary, things weregrowing decidedly more awful. 

Now, there came from Messrs. Burlington and Smith a peremptory demand forthe fourteen pounds ten shillings, and an equally summary one fortwenty-eight pounds fourteen shillings and eight pence, their costs inthis matter. 

When the poor vicar received this latter blow, he laid the palm of hishand on the top of his head, as if to prevent his brain from boilingover. Twenty-eight pounds fourteen shillings and eight pence! _Quodimpossibile. _ again. 

When he saw Larkin, that conscientious guardian of his client's interestsscrutinised the bill of costs very jealously, and struck out between fourand five pounds. He explained to the vicar the folly of borrowinginsignificant and insufficient sums--the trouble, and consequently thecost, of which were just as great as of an adequate one. He wasdetermined, if he could, to pull him through this. But he must raise asufficient sum, for the expense of going into title would be something;and he would write sharply to Burlington, Smith, and Co. , and had nodoubt the costs would be settled for twenty-three pounds. And Mr. Jos. Larkin's opinion upon the matter was worthy of respect, inasmuch as hewas himself, under the rose, the 'Co. ' of that firm, and ministered itscapital. 

'The fact is you must, my dear Mr. Wylder, make an effort. It won't dopeddling and tinkering in such a case. You will be in a worse positionthan ever, unless you boldly raise a thousand pounds--if I can managesuch a transaction upon a security of the kind. Consolidate all yourliabilities, and keep a sum in hand. You are well connected--powerfulrelatives--your brother has Huxton, four hundred, a year, wheneverold--the--the present incumbent goes--and there are other thingsbeside--but you must not allow yourself to be ruined through timidity;and if you go to the wall without an effort, and allow yourself to beslurred in public, what becomes of your chance of preferment?'

And now 'title' went up to Burlington, Smith, and Co. To examine andapprove; and from that firm, I am sorry to say, a bill of costs wascoming, when deeds were prepared and all done, exceeding three hundredand fifty pounds; and there was a little reminder from good Jos. Larkinfor two hundred and fifty pounds more. This, of course, was to await Mr. Wylder's perfect convenience. The vicar knew _him_--_he_ never pressedany man. Then there would be insurances in proportion; and interest, aswe see, was not trifling. And altogether, I am afraid, our friend thevicar was being extricated in a rather embarrassing fashion. 

Now, I have known cases in which good-natured debauchees have interestedthemselves charitably in the difficulties of forlorn families; and Ithink _I_ knew, almost before they suspected it, that their generousinterference was altogether due to one fine pair of eyes, and a pretty_tournure_, in the distressed family circle. Under a like half-delusion, Mr. Jos. Larkin, in the guise of charity, was prosecuting his designsupon the vicar's reversion, and often most cruelly and most artfully, when he frankly fancied his conduct most praiseworthy. 

And really I do not myself know, that, considering poor William'sliabilities and his means, and how many chances there were against thatreversion ever becoming a fact, that I would not myself have advised hisselling it, if a reasonable price were obtainable. 

'All this power will I give thee, ' said the Devil, 'and the glory ofthem; for that is delivered unto me, and to whomsoever I will I give it. 'The world belongs to the rascals. It is like 'the turf, ' where, everyoneadmits, an honest man can hardly hold his own. Jos. Larkin looked down onthe seedy and distracted vicar from an immense moral elevation. He heardhim talk of religion with disgust. He owed him costs, and, beside, costsalso to Burlington, Smith, and Co. Was there not Talkative in 'Pilgrim'sProgress?' I believe there are few things more provoking than that a manwho owes you money, and can't pay the interest, should pretend toreligion to your face, except, perhaps, his giving sixpence in charity. 

The attorney was prosperous. He accounted for it by his attributes, andthe blessing that waits on industry and integrity. He did not see thatluck and selfishness had anything to do with it. No man ever failed butthrough his own fault--none ever succeeded but by his deservings. Theattorney was in a position to lecture the Rev. Mr. Wylder. In hispresence, religion, in the vicar's mouth, was an impertinence. 

The vicar, on the other hand, was all that we know. Perhaps, incomparison, his trial is, in some sort, a blessing; and that there is nogreater snare than the state of the man with whom all goes smoothly, andwho mistakes his circumstances for his virtues. 

The poor vicar and his little following were got pretty well into theFurcae Caudinae. Mr. Jos. Larkin, if he did not march him out, to do himjustice, had had no hand in primarily bringing him there. There was noreason, however, why the respectable lawyer should not make whatever wasto be fairly made of the situation. The best thing for both was, perhaps, that the one should sell and the other buy the reversion. Larkin had noapprehensions about the nature of the dealing. He was furnished with anexcellent character--his cheques were always honoured--his 'tots' alwaysunexceptionable--his vouchers never anything but exact. He had twice beenpublicly complimented in this sense, when managing Lord Hedgerow'sestate. No man had, I believe, a higher reputation in his walk--few menwere more formidable. I think it was Lawyer Larkin's private canon, inhis dealings with men, that everything was moral that was not contrary toan Act of Parliament. 

CHAPTER LIV. 

BRANDON CHAPEL ON SUNDAY. 

For a month and three days Mr. Jos. Larkin was left to ruminate withoutany new light upon the dusky landscape now constantly before his eyes. Atthe end of that time a foreign letter came for him to the Lodge. It wasnot addressed in Mark Wylder's hand--not the least like it. Mark's was abold, free hand, and if there was nothing particularly elegant, neitherwas there anything that could be called vulgar in it. But this was adecidedly villainous scrawl--in fact it was written as a self-educatedbutcher might pen a bill. There was nothing impressed on the wafer, but apoke of something like the ferrule of a stick. 

The interior corresponded with the address, and the lines slantedconfoundedly. It was, however, on the whole, better spelled and expressedthan the penmanship would have led one to expect. It said--

'MISTER LARKINS, --Respeckted Sir, I write you, Sir, to let you know hashow there is no more Chance you shud ear of poor Mr. Mark Wylder--of hoseorrible Death I make bold to acquainte you by this writing--which isSecret has yet from all--he bing Hid, and made away with in the dark. Itis only Right is family shud know all, and his sad ending--wich I willtell before you, Sir, in full, accorden to my Best guess, as bin thefamily Lawyer (and, Sir, you will find it usful to Tell this in secret toCapten Lake, of Brandon Hall--But not on No account to any other). It isorrible, Sir, to think a young gentleman, with everything the world cangive, shud be made away with so crewel in the dark. Though you do notrekelect me, Sir, I know you well, Mr. Larkins, haven seen you hoffenwhen a boy. I wud not wish, Sir, no noise made till I cum--which I amreturning hoame, and will then travel to Gylingden strateways to see you. 

Sir, your obedient servant, 'JAMES DUTTON. '

This epistle disturbed Mr. Jos. Larkin profoundly. He could recollect nosuch name as James Dutton. He did not know whether to believe this letteror not. He could not decide what present use to make of it, nor whetherto mention it to Captain Lake, nor, if he did so, how it was best to openthe matter. 

Captain Lake, he was confident, knew James Dutton--why, otherwise, shouldthat person have desired his intelligence communicated to him. At leastit proved that Dutton assumed the captain to be specially interested inwhat concerned Mark Wylder's fate; and in so far it confirmed hissuspicions of Lake. Was it better to wait until he had seen Dutton, andheard his story, before hinting at his intelligence and his name--or wasit wiser to do that at once, and watch its effect upon the gallantcaptain narrowly, and trust to inspiration and the moment for strikingout the right course. 

If this letter was true there was not a moment to be lost in bringing thepurchase of the vicar's reversion to a point. The possibilities werepositively dazzling. They were worth risking something. I am not surethat Mr. Larkin's hand did not shake a little as he took the statement oftitle again out of the Wylder tin box No. 2. 

Now, under the pressure of this enquiry, a thing struck Mr. Larkin, strangely enough, which he had quite overlooked before. There werecertain phrases in the will of the late Mr. Wylder, which limited a largeportion of the great estate in strict settlement. Of course an attorney'sopinion upon a question of real property is not conclusive. Still theycan't help knowing something of the barrister's special province; andthese words were very distinct--in fact, they stunted down the vicar'sreversion in the greater part of the property to a strict life estate. 

Long did the attorney pore over his copy of the will, with his finger andthumb closed on his under lip. The language was quite explicit--there wasno way out of it. It was strictly a life estate. How could he haveoverlooked that? His boy, indeed, would take an estate tail--and coulddisentail whenever--if ever--he came of age. But that was in the clouds. Mackleston-on-the-Moor, however, and the Great Barnford estate, wereunaffected by these limitations; and the rental which he now carefullyconsulted, told him these jointly were in round numbers worth 2, 300_l. _ ayear, and improvable. 

This letter of Dutton's, to be sure, may turn out to be all a lie or ablunder. But it may prove to be strictly true; and in that case it willbe _every_ thing that the deeds should be executed and the purchasecompleted before the arrival of this person, and the public notificationof Mark Wylder's death. 

'What a world it is, to be sure!' thought Mr. Larkin, as he shook hislong head over Dutton's letter. 'How smoothly and simply everything wouldgo, if only men would stick to truth! Here's this letter--how much timeand trouble it costs me--how much opportunity possibly sacrificed, simplyby reason of the incurable mendacity of men. ' And he knocked the back ofhis finger bitterly on the open page. 

Another thought now struck him for the first time. Was there no mode of'hedging, ' so that whether Mark Wylder were living or dead the attorneyshould stand to win?

Down came the Brandon boxes. The prudent attorney turned the key in thedoor, and forth came the voluminous marriage settlement of StanleyWilliams Lake, of Slobberligh, in the county of Devon, late captain, &c. , &c. Of the second part, and Dorcas Adderley Brandon, of Brandon Hall, inthe county of &c. , &c. Of the second part, and so forth. And as he readthis pleasant composition through, he two or three times murmuredapprovingly, 'Yes--yes--yes. ' His recollection had served him quiterightly. There was the Five Oaks estate, specially excluded fromsettlement, worth 1, 400_l. _ a year; but it was conditioned that the saidStanley Williams Lake was not to deal with the said lands, except withthe consent in writing of the said Dorcas, &c. , who was to be aconsenting party to the deed. 

If there was really something 'unsound in the state of Lake's relations, 'and that he could be got to consider Lawyer Larkin as a friend worthkeeping, that estate might be had a bargain--yes, a _great_ bargain. 

Larkin walked off to Brandon, but there he learned that Captain _Brandon_Lake as he now chose to call himself, had gone that morning to London. 

'Business, I venture to say, and he went into that electioneering withoutever mentioning it either. '

So thought Larkin, and he did not like this. It looked ominous, and likean incipient sliding away of the Brandon business, Well, no matter, allthings worked together for good. It was probably well that he should notbe too much shackled with considerations of that particular kind in theimportant negotiation about Five Oaks. 

That night he posted a note to Burlington, Smith, and Co. , and bySaturday night's post there came down to the sheriff an execution for123_l. _ and some odd shillings, upon a judgment on a warrant to confess, at the suit of that firm, for costs and money advanced, against the poorvicar, who never dreamed, as he conned over his next day's sermon withhis solitary candle, that the blow had virtually descended, and that hishomely furniture, the silver spoons his wife had brought him, and the twoshelves half full of old books which he had brought her, and all the restof their little frugal trumpery, together with his own thin person, hadpassed into the hands of Messrs. Burlington, Smith, and Co. 

The vicar on his way to the chapel passed Mr. Jos. Larkin on thegreen--not near enough to speak--only to smile and wave his hand kindly, and look after the good attorney with one of those yearning gratefullooks, which cling to straws upon the drowning stream of life. 

The sweet chapel bell was just ceasing to toll as Mr. Jos. Larkin stalkedunder the antique ribbed arches of the little aisle. Slim and tall, heglided, a chastened dignity in his long upturned countenance, and a fainthalo of saint-hood round his tall bald head. Having whispered his orisonsinto his well-brushed hat and taken his seat, his dove-like eyes restedfor a moment upon the Brandon seat. 

There was but one figure in it--slender, light-haired, with his yellowmoustache and pale face, grown of late a little fatter. Captain BrandonLake was a very punctual church-goer since the idea of trying the countyat the next election had entered his mind. Dorcas was not very well. LordChelford had taken his departure, and your humble servant, who pens thesepages, had gone for a few days to Malwich. There was no guest just thenat Brandon, and the captain sat alone on that devotional dais, theelevated floor of the great oaken Brandon seat. 

There were old Brandon and Wylder monuments built up against the walls. Figures cut in stone, and painted and gilded in tarnished splendour, according to the gorgeous barbarism of Elizabeth's and the first James'sage; tablets in brass, marble-pillared monuments, and a couple oflife-sized knights, armed _cap-à-pie_, on their backs in the aisle. 

There is a stained window in the east which connoisseurs in that branchof mediaeval art admire. There is another very fine one over the Brandonpew--a freak, perhaps, of some of those old Brandons or Wylders, who hada strange spirit of cynicism mingling in their profligacy and violence. 

Reader, you have looked on Hans Holbein's 'Dance of Death, ' that grim, phantasmal pageant, symbolic as a dream of Pharaoh; and perhaps you bearin mind that design called 'The Elector, ' in which the Prince, emergingfrom his palace gate, with a cloud of courtiers behind, is met by a poorwoman, her little child by the hand, appealing to his compassion, despising whom, he turns away with a serene disdain. Beneath, in blackletter, is inscribed the text '_Princeps induetur maerore et quiescerefaciam superbiam potentium_'--and gigantic Death lays his fingers on thegreat man's ermine tippet. 

It is a copy of this, which, in very splendid colouring, fills the windowthat lights the Brandon state seat in the chapel. The gules and gold werereflected on the young man's head, and with a vain augury, the attorneyread again the solemn words from Holy Writ, _'Princeps indueturmaerore. '_ The golden glare rested like a glory on his head; but therewas also a gorgeous stain of blood that bathed his ear and temple. Hishead was busy enough at that moment, though it was quite still, and hissly eyes rested on his Prayer-book; for Sparks, the millionaire clothier, who had purchased Beverley, and was a potent voice in the DollingtonBank, and whose politics were doubtful, and relations amphibious, wassitting in the pew nearly opposite, and showed his red, fat face andwhite whiskers over the oak wainscoting. 

Jos. Larkin, like the rest of the congregation, was by this time praying, his elbows on the edge of the pew, his hands clasped, his thumbs underhis chin, and his long face and pink eyes raised heavenward, with now andthen a gentle downward dropping of the latter. He was thinking of CaptainLake, who was opposite, and, like him, praying. 

He was thinking how aristocratic he looked and how well, in externals, hebecame the Brandon seat; and there were one or two trifles in thecaptain's attitude and costume of which the attorney, who, as we know, was not only good, but elegant, made a note. He respected his audacityand his mystery, and he wondered intensely what was going on in thatsmall skull under the light and glossy hair, and anxiously guessed howvitally it might possibly affect him, and wondered what his schemes wereafter the election--_quiescere faciam superbiam potentium_; and moredarkly about his relations with Mark Wylder--_Princeps induetur maerore_. 

His eye was on the window now and then it dropped, with a vague presage, upon the sleek head of the daring and enigmatical captain, reading theLitany, from 'battle, murder, and sudden death, good Lord deliver us, 'and he almost fancied he saw a yellow skull over his shoulder gloweringcynically on the Prayer-book. So the good attorney prayed on, to theedification of all who saw, and mothers in the neighbouring seats werespecially careful to prevent their children from whispering or fidgeting. 

When the service was over Captain Lake went across to Mr. Sparks, andasked him to come to Brandon to lunch. But the clothier could not, andhis brougham whirled him away to Naunton Friars. So Stanley Lake walkedup the little aisle toward the communion table, thinking, and took holdof the railing that surrounded the brass monument of Sir William deBraundon, and seemed to gaze intently on the effigy, but was reallythinking profoundly of other matters and once or twice his sly sidelongglance stole ominously to Jos. Larkin, who was talking at the church doorwith the good vicar. 

In fact, he was then and there fully apprising him of his awfulsituation; and poor William Wylder looking straight at him, with whiteface and damp forehead, was listening stunned, and hardly understanding aword he said, and only the dreadful questions rising to his mouth, 'Can_anything_ be done? Will the people come _to-day_?'

Mr. Larkin explained the constitutional respect for the Sabbath. 

'It would be better, Sir--the publicity of an arrest' (it was a hard wordto utter) 'in the town would be very painful--it would be better I think, that I should walk over to the prison--it is only six miles--and see theauthorities there, and give myself up. '

And his lip quivered; he was thinking of the leave-taking--of poor Dollyand little Fairy. 

'I've a great objection to speak of business to-day, ' said Mr. Larkin, holily; 'but I may mention that Burlington and Smith have written verysternly; and the fact is, my dear Sir, we must look the thing straight inthe face; they are determined to go through with it; and you know myopinion all along about the fallacy--you _must_ excuse me, seeing all thetrouble it has involved you in--the infatuation of hesitating about thesale of that miserable reversion, which they could have disposed of onfair terms. In fact, Sir, they look upon it that you don't want to paythem and of course, they are very angry. '

'I'm sure I was wrong. I'm such a fool!'

'I must only go to the Sheriff the first thing the morning and beg of himto hold over that thing, you know, until I have heard from Burlington andSmith; and I suppose I may say to them that you see the necessity ofdisposing of the reversion, and agree to sell it if it be not too late. '

The vicar assented; indeed, he had grown, under this urgent pressure, asnervously anxious to sell as he had been to retain it. 

'And they can't come _to-day_?'

'Certainly not. '

And poor William Wylder breathed again in the delightful sense of evenmomentary escape, and felt he could have embraced his preserver. 

'I'll be very happy to see you to-morrow, if you can conveniently lookin--say at twelve, or half-past, to report progress. '

So that was arranged; and again in the illusive sense of deliverance, thepoor vicar's hopes brightened and expanded. Hitherto his escapes had notled to safety, and he was only raised from the pit to be sold to theIshmaelites. 

CHAPTER LV. 

THE CAPTAIN AND THE ATTORNEY CONVERSE AMONG THE TOMBS. 

I cannot tell whether that slender, silken machinator, Captain Lake, loitered in the chapel for the purpose of talking to or avoiding Jos. Larkin, who was standing at the doorway, in sad but gracious conversewith the vicar. 

He was certainly observing him from among the tombs in his sly way. Andthe attorney, who had a way, like him, of noting things without appearingto see them, was conscious of it, and was perhaps decided by this trifleto accost the gallant captain. 

So he glided up the short aisle with a sad religious smile, suited to theplace, and inclined his lank back and his tall bald head toward thecaptain in ceremonious greeting as he approached. 

'How d'ye do, Larkin? The fog makes one cough a little this evening. '

Larkin's answer, thanks, and enquiries, came gravely in return. And withthe same sad smile he looked round on the figures, some marble, somepainted stone, of departed Brandons and Wylders, with garrulous epitaphs, who surrounded them in various costumes, quite a family group, in whichthe attorney was gratified to mingle. 

'_Ancestry_, Captain Lake--_your_ ancestry--noble assemblage--monumentsand timber. Timber like the Brandon oaks, and monuments like these--theseare things which, whatever else he may acquire, the _novus homo_, CaptainBrandon Lake--the _parvenu_--can never command. '

Mr. Jos. Larkin had a smattering of school Latin, and knew half-a-dozenFrench words, which he took out on occasion. 

'Certainly our good people do occupy some space here; more regularattendants in church, than, I fear, they formerly were; and their virtuesmore remarked, perhaps, than before the stone-cutter was instructed topublish them with his chisel, ' answered Lake, with one of his quietsneers. 

'Beautiful chapel this, Captain Lake--beautiful chapel, Sir, ' said theattorney, again looking round with a dreary smile of admiration. Butthough his accents were engaging and he smiled--of course, a Sabbath-daysmile--yet Captain Lake perceived that it was not the dove's but therat's eyes that were doing duty under that tall bald brow. 

'Solemn thoughts, Sir--solemn thoughts, Captain Lake--silent mentors, eloquent monitors!' And he waved his long lank hand toward the monumentalgroups. 

'Yes, ' said Lake, in the same mocking tone, that was low and sweet, andeasily mistaken for something more amiable. 'You and they go capitallytogether--so solemn, and eloquent, and godly--capital fellows! _I_'m nothalf good enough for such company--and the place is growing rathercold--is not it?'

'A great many Wylders, Sir--a great many _Wylders_. ' And the attorneydropped his voice, and paused at this emphasis, pointing a long fingertoward the surrounding effigies. 

Captain Lake, after his custom, glared a single full look upon theattorney, sudden as the flash of a pair of guns from their embrasures inthe dark; and he said quietly, with a wave of his cane in the samedirection--

'Yes, a precious lot of Wylders. '

'Is there a _Wylder_ vault here, Captain Brandon Lake?'

'Hanged if I know!--what the devil's that to you or me, Sir?' answeredthe captain, with a peevish sullenness. 

'I was thinking, Captain Lake, whether in the event of its turning outthat Mr. Mark Wylder was _dead_, it would be thought proper to lay hisbody here?'

'Dead, Sir!--and what the plague puts that in your head? You arecorresponding with him--aren't you?'

'I'll tell you exactly how that is, Captain Lake. May I take the libertyto ask you for one moment to look up?'

As between these two gentlemen, this, it must be allowed, was animpertinent request. But Captain Lake did look up, and there wassomething extraordinarily unpleasant in his yellow eyes, as he fixed themupon the contracted pupils of the attorney, who, nothing daunted, wenton--

'Pray, excuse me--thank you, Captain Lake--they say one is better heardwhen looked at than when not seen; and I wish to speak rather low, forreasons. '

Each looked the other in the eyes, with that uncertain and sinister gazewhich has a character both of fear and menace. 

'I have received those letters, Captain Lake, of which I spoke to youwhen I last had the honour of seeing you, as furnishing, in certaincircumstances connected with them, grave matter of suspicion, since whenI have _not_ received one with Mr. Wylder's signature. But I _have_received, only the other day, a letter from a new correspondent--a personsigning himself James Dutton--announcing his belief that Mr. Mark Wylderis dead--_is dead_--and has been made away with by foul means; and I havearranged, immediately on his arrival, at his desire, to meet himprofessionally, and to hear the entire narrative, both of what he knowsand of what he suspects. '

As Jos. Larkin delivered this with stern features and emphasis, thecaptain's countenance underwent such a change as convinced the attorneythat some indescribable evil had befallen Mark Wylder, and that CaptainBrandon Lake had a guilty knowledge thereof. With this conviction came asense of superiority and a pleasant confidence in his position, whichbetrayed itself in a slight frown and a pallid smile, as he lookedsteadily in the young man's face, with his small, crafty, hungry eyes. 

Lake knew that his face had betrayed him. He had felt the livid change ofcolour, and that twitching at his mouth and cheek which he could notcontrol. The mean, tyrannical, triumphant gaze of the attorney was uponhim, and his own countenance was his accuser. 

Lake ground his teeth, and returned Jos. Larkin's intimidating smirk witha look of fury, which--for he now believed he held the winning cards--didnot appal him. 

Lake cleared his throat twice, but did not find his voice, and turnedaway and read half through the epitaph on Lady Mary Brandon, which is apious and somewhat puritanical composition. I hope it did him good. 

'You know, Sir, ' said Captain Lake, but a little huskily, turning aboutand smiling at last, 'that Mark Wylder is nothing to me. We don'tcorrespond: we have not corresponded. I know--upon my honour and soul, Sir--nothing on earth about him--what he's doing, where he is, or what'sbecome of him. But I can't hear a man of business like you assert, uponwhat he conceives to be reliable information--situated as the Brandontitle is--depending, I mean, in some measure, upon his life--that MarkWylder is no more, without being a good deal shocked. '

'I quite understand, Sir--quite, Captain Lake. It is very serious, Sir, very; but I can't believe it has gone that length, quite. I shall knowmore, of course, when I've seen James Dutton. I can't think, I mean, he'sbeen made away with in that sense; nor how that could benefit anyone; andI'd much rather, Captain Lake, move in this matter--since move I must--inyour interest--I mean, as your friend and man of business--than in anyway, Captain Lake, that might possibly involve you in trouble. '

'You _are_ my man of business--aren't you? and have no grounds forill-will--eh?' said the captain, drily. 

'No ill-will certainly--quite the reverse. Thank Heaven, I think I maytruly say, I bear ill-will to no man living; and wish you, Captain Lake, nothing but good, Sir--nothing but good. '

'Except a hasty word or two, I know no reason you should _not_, ' said thecaptain, in the same tone. 

'Quite so. But, Captain Brandon Lake, there is nothing like beingcompletely above-board--it has been my rule through life; and I willsay--it would not be frank and candid to say anything else--that I haveof late been anything but satisfied with the position which, ostensiblyyour professional adviser and confidential man of business, I haveoccupied. Have I been consulted?--I put it to you; have I been trusted?Has there been any real confidence, Captain Lake, upon your part? Youhave certainly had relations with Mr. Mark Wylder--correspondence, foranything I know. You have entertained the project of purchasing theReverend William Wylder's reversion; and you have gone intoelectioneering business, and formed connections of that sort, withoutonce doing me the honour to confer with me on the subject. Now, the plainquestion is, do you wish to retain my services?'

'Certainly, ' said Captain Lake, biting his lip, with a sinister littlefrown. 

'Then, Captain Lake, upon the same principle, and speaking quiteabove-board, you must dismiss at once from your mind the idea that you_can_ do so upon the terms you have of late seen fit to impose. I amspeaking frankly when I say there must be a total change. I must _be_ inreality what I am held out to the world as being--your trusted, andresponsible, and _sole_ adviser. I don't aspire to the position--I amwilling at this moment to retire from it; but I never yet knew a divideddirection come to good. It is an office of great responsibility, and Ifor one will not consent to touch it on any other conditions than those Ihave taken the liberty to mention. '

'These are easily complied with--in fact I undertake to show you theyhave never been disturbed, ' answered Lake, rather sullenly. 'So thatbeing understood--eh?--I suppose we have nothing particular to add?'

And Captain Lake extended his gloved hand to take leave. 

But the attorney looked down and then up, with a shadow on his face, andhis lip in his finger and thumb, and he said--

'That's all very well, and a _sine qua non_, so far as it goes! but, mydear Captain Lake, let us be plain. You must see, my dear Sir, with suchrumours, possibly about to get afloat, and such persons about to appear, as this James Dutton, that matters are really growing critical, andthere's no lack of able solicitors who would on speculation, undertake asuit upon less evidence, perhaps, than may be forthcoming, to upset yourtitle, under the will, through Mrs. Dorcas Brandon Lake--your jointtitle--in favour of the reversioner. '

Lake only bit his lip and shook his head. The attorney knew, however, that the danger was quite appreciated, and went on--

'You will, therefore, want a competent man--who has the papers at hisfingers' ends, and knows how to deal ably--_ably_, Sir, with a fellow ofJames Dutton's stamp--at your elbow. The fact is, to carry you safelythrough you will need pretty nearly the undivided attention of awell-qualified, able, and confidential practitioner; and I need not say, such a man is not to be had for nothing. '

Lake nodded a seeming assent, which seemed to say, 'I have found it so. '

'Now, my dear Captain Lake, I just mention this--I put it beforeyou--that is, because you know the county is not to be contested fornothing--and you'll want a very serious sum of money for the purpose, andpossibly a petition--and I can, one way or another, make up, with aneffort, about £15, 000_l. _ Now it strikes me that it would be a wise thingfor you--the wisest thing, perhaps, my dear Captain Lake, you everdid--to place me in the same boat with yourself. '

'I don't exactly see. '

'I'll make it quite clear. ' The attorney's tall forehead had a littlepink flush over it at this moment, and he was looking down a little andpoking the base of Sir William de Braundon's monument with the point ofhis umbrella. 'I wish, Captain Lake, to be perfectly frank, and, as Isaid, above-board. You'll want the money, and you must make up your mindto sell Five Oaks. '

Captain Lake shifted his foot, as if he had found it on a sudden on a hotflag. 

'Sell Five Oaks--that's fourteen hundred a year, ' said he. 

'Hardly so much, but nearly, perhaps. '

'Forty-three thousand pounds were offered for it. Old Chudworth offeredthat about ten years ago. '

'Of course, Captain Lake, if you are looking for a fancy price from me Imust abandon the idea. I was merely supposing a dealing between friends, and in that sense I ventured to name the extreme limit to which I couldgo. Little more than five per cent, for my money, if I insure--andpossibly to defend an action before I've been six months in possession. Ithink my offer will strike you as a _great_ one, considering the postureof affairs. Indeed, I apprehend, my friends will hardly think mejustified in offering so much. '

The sexton was walking back and forward near the door, making the bestclatter he decently could, and wondering the Captain and Lawyer Larkincould find no better place to talk in than the church. 

'In a moment--in a moment, ' said the lawyer, signalling to him to bequiet, as loftily as if chapel, hall, and sexton were his privateproperty. 

It was one of those moments into which a good deal of talk is fitted, andwhich seem somewhat of the longest to those who await its expiration. 

The chapel was growing dark, and its stone and marble company of bygoneWylders and Brandons were losing themselves in shadow. Part of theperiwig and cheek of Sir Marcus Brandon still glimmered whitish, as at alittle distance did also the dim marble face and arm of the youngCountess of Lydingworth, mourning these hundred and thirty years over herdead baby. Sir William Wylder, in ruff, rosettes, and full dress of JamesI. 's fashion, on his back, defunct, with children in cloaks kneeling athead and foot, was hardly distinguishable; and the dusky crimson andtarnished gold had gone out of view till morning. The learned ArchbishopBrandon, a cadet, who filled the see of York in his day, and was the onlyunexceptionably godly personage of that long line, was praying, as usual, at his desk--perhaps to the saints and Virgin, for I believe he wasbefore the Reformation--in beard and skull-cap, as was evident from theblack profile of head and uplifted hands, against the dim sky seenthrough the chapel window. A dusky glow from the west still faintlyshowed Hans Holbein's proud 'Elector, ' in the Brandon window, fading, with Death himself, and the dread inscription, 'Princeps indueturmaerore, ' into utter darkness. 

The ice once broken, Jos. Larkin urged his point with all sorts ofarguments, always placing the proposed transaction in the most plausiblelights and attitudes, and handling his subject in round and flowingsentences. This master of persuasion was not aware that Captain Lake wasarguing the question for himself, on totally different grounds, and thatit was fixed in his mind pretty much in these terms:--

'That old villain wants an exorbitant bribe--is he worth it?'

He knew what the lawyer thought he did _not_ know--that Five Oaks washeld by the lawyers to be possibly _without_ those unfortunatelimitations which affected all the rest of the estate. It was only amoot-point; but the doubt had led Mr. Jos. Larkin to the selection. 

'I'll look in upon you between eight and nine in the morning, and I'llsay yes or no then, ' said the captain, as they parted under the old stoneporch, the attorney with a graceful inclination, a sad smile, and a waveof his hand--the captain with his hands in the pockets of his loose coat, and a sidelong glance from his yellow eyes. 

The sky, as he looked toward Brandon, was draped in black cloud, intensely black, meeting a black horizon--except for one little rent ofdeep crimson which showed westward behind those antique gables and lordlytrees, like a lake of blood. 

CHAPTER LVI. 

THE BRANDON CONSERVATORY. 

Captain Lake did look in at the Lodge in the morning, and remained anhour in conference with Mr. Jos. Larkin. I suppose everything went offpleasantly. For although Stanley Lake looked very pale and vicious as hewalked down to the iron gate of the Lodge among the evergreens andbass-mats, the good attorney's countenance shone with a serene andheavenly light, so pure and bright, indeed, that I almost wonder hisdazzled servants, sitting along the wall while he read and expounded thatmorning, did not respectfully petition that a veil, after the manner ofMoses, might be suspended over the seraphic effulgence. 

Somehow his 'Times' did not interest him at breakfast; theseparliamentary wrangles, commercial speculations, and foreign disputes, are they not, after all, but melancholy and dreary records of the merestworldliness; and are there not moments when they become almost insipid?Jos. Larkin tossed the paper upon the sofa. French politics, relationswith Russia, commercial treaties, party combinations, how men _can_ sowrap themselves up in these things!

And he smiled ineffable pity over the crumpled newspaper--on the poorsouls in that sort of worldly limbo. In which frame of mind he took fromhis coat pocket a copy of Captain Lake's marriage settlement, and readover again a covenant on the captain's part that, with respect to thisparticular estate of Five Oaks, he would do no act, and execute noagreement, deed, or other instrument whatsoever, in any wise affectingthe same, without the consent in writing of the said Dorcas Brandon; anda second covenant binding him and the trustees of the settlement againstexecuting any deed, &c. , without a similar consent; and especiallydirecting, that in the event of alienating the estate, the said Dorcasmust be made an assenting party to the deed. 

He folded the deed, and replaced it in his pocket with a peaceful smileand closed eyes, murmuring--

'I'm much mistaken if the gray mare's the better horse in that stud. '

He laughed gently, thinking of the captain's formidable and unscrupulousnature, exhibitions of which he could not fail to remember. 

'No, no, Miss Dorkie won't give us much trouble. '

He used to call her 'Miss Dorkie, ' playfully to his clerks. It gave himconsideration, he fancied. And now with this Five Oaks to beginwith--£1, 400 a year--a great capability, immensely improvable, he wouldstake half he's worth on making it more than £2, 000 within five years;and with other things at his back, an able man like him might before longlook as high as she. And visions of the grand jury rose dim andsplendid--an heiress and a seat for the county; perhaps he and Lake mightgo in together, though he'd rather be associated with the Hon. JamesCluttworth, or young Lord Griddlestone. Lake, you see, wanted weight, and, nothwithstanding his connections, was, it could not be denied, a newman in the county. 

So Wylder, Lake, and Jos. Larkin had each projected for himself, prettymuch the same career; and probably each saw glimmering in the horizon thegolden round of a coronet. And I suppose other modest men are not alwaysproof against similar flatteries of imagination. 

Jos. Larkin had also the vicar's business and reversion to attend to. TheRev. William Wylder had a letter containing three lines from him at eighto'clock, to which he sent an answer, whereupon the solicitor despatched aspecial messenger, one of his clerks to Dollington, with a letter to thesheriff's deputy, from whom he received duly a reply, which necessitateda second letter with a formal undertaking, to which came another reply;whereupon he wrote to Burlington, Smith, and Co. , acquainting themrespectfully, in diplomatic fashion, with the attitude which affairs hadassumed. 

With this went a private and confidential, non-official, note to Smith, desiring him to answer stiffly and press for an immediate settlement, andto charge costs fairly, as Mr. William Wylder would have ample funds toliquidate them. Smith knew what _fairly_ meant, and his entries went downaccordingly. By the same post went up to the same firm a proposition--anafterthought--sanctioned by a second miniature correspondence with hisclient, now sailing before the wind, to guarantee them against lossconsequent against staying the execution in the sheriff's hands for afortnight, which, if they agreed to, they were further requested to senda draft of the proposed undertaking by return, at foot of which, inpencil, he wrote, 'N. B. --_Yes_. '

This arrangement necessitated his providing himself with a guarantee fromthe vicar; and so the little account as between the vicar and Jos. Larkin, solicitor, and the vicar and Messrs. Burlington, Smith, and Co. , solicitors, grew up and expanded with a tropical luxuriance. 

About the same time--while Mr. Jos. Larkin, I mean, was thinking overMiss Dorkie's share in the deed, with a complacent sort of interest, anticipating a struggle, but sure of victory--that beautiful young ladywas walking slowly from flower to flower, in the splendid conservatorywhich projects southward from the house, and rears itself in glacialarches high over the short sward and flowery patterns of the outer gardenof Brandon. The unspeakable sadness of wounded pride was on her beautifulfeatures, and there was a fondness in the gesture with which she laid herfingers on these exotics and stooped over them, which gave to hersolitude a sentiment of the pathetic. 

From the high glass doorway, communicating with the drawing-rooms, at thefar end, among towering ranks of rare and gorgeous flowers, over theencaustic tiles, and through this atmosphere of perfume, did CaptainStanley Lake, in his shooting coat, glide, smiling, toward his beautifulyoung wife. 

She heard the door close, and looking half over her shoulder, in a lowtone indicating surprise, she merely said:

'Oh!' receiving him with a proud sad look. 

'Yes, Dorkie, I'm here at last. I've been for some weeks so insufferablybusy, ' and he laid his white hand lightly over his eyes, as if they andthe brain within were alike weary. 

'How charming this place is--the temple of Flora, and you the divinity!'

And he kissed her cheek. 

'I'm now emancipated for, I hope, a week or two. I've been so stupid andinattentive. I'm sure, Dorkie, you must think me a brute. I've been shutup so in the library, and keeping such tiresome company--you've no idea;but I think you'll say it was time well spent, at least I'm sure you'llapprove the result; and now that I have collected the facts, and can showyou, darling, exactly what the chances are, you must consent to hear thelong story, and when you have heard, give me your advice. '

Dorcas smiled, and only plucked a little flowery tendril from a plantthat hung in a natural festoon above her. 

'I assure you, darling, I am serious; you must not look so incredulous;and it is the more provoking, because I love you so. I think I have aright to your advice, Dorkie. '

'Why don't you ask Rachel, she's cleverer than I, and you are more in thehabit of consulting her?'

'Now, Dorkie is going to talk her wicked nonsense over again, as if I hadnever answered it. What about Radie? I do assure you, so far from takingher advice, and thinking her an oracle, as you suppose, I believe her insome respects very little removed from a fool. '

'I think her very clever, on the contrary, ' said Dorcas, enigmatically. 

'Well, she is clever in some respects; she is gay, at least she used tobe, before she fell into that transcendental parson's hands--I mean poordear William Wylder; and she can be amusing, and talks very well, but shehas no sense--she is utterly Quixotic--she is no more capable of advisingthan a child. '

'I should not have fancied that, although you say so, Stanley. ' sheanswered carelessly, adding a geranium to her bouquet. 

'You are thinking, I know, because you have seen us once or twice talkingtogether----'

Stanley paused, not knowing exactly how to construct the remainder of hissentence. 

Dorcas added another blossom. 

'I think that blue improves it wonderfully. Don't you?'

'The blue? Oh yes, certainly. '

'And now that little star of yellow will make it perfect, ' said Dorcas. 

'Yes--yellow--quite perfect, ' said Stanley. 'But when you saw Rachel andme talking together, or rather Rachel talking to me, I do assure you, Dorcas, upon my sacred honour, one half of what she said I do not to thismoment comprehend, and the whole was based on the most preposterousblunder; and I will tell you in a little time everything about it. Iwould this moment--I'd be delighted--only just until I have got a letterwhich I expect--a letter, I assure you, nothing more--and until I havegot it, it would be simply to waste your time and patience to weary youwith any such--any such. '

'_Secret_, ' said Dorcas. 

'_Secret_, then, if you will have it so, ' retorted Stanley, suddenly, with one of those glares that lasted for just one fell moment; but heinstantly recovered himself. '_Secret_--yes--but no secret in the evilsense--a secret only awaiting the evidence which I daily expect, and thento be stated fully and frankly to you, my only darling, and as completelyblown to the winds. '

Dorcas looked in his strange face with her proud, sad gaze, like oneguessing at a funereal allegory. 

He kissed her cheek again, placing one arm round her slender waist, andwith his other hand taking hers. 

'Yes, Dorcas, my beloved, my only darling, you will yet know all it hascost me to retain from you even this folly; and when you have heardall--which upon my soul and honour, you shall the moment I am enabled to_prove_ all--you will thank me for having braved your momentarydispleasure, to spare you a great deal of useless and miserable suspense. I trust you, Dorcas, in everything implicitly. Why won't you credit whatI say?'

'I don't urge you--I never have--to reveal that which you describe sostrangely as a concealment, yet no secret; as an absurdity, and yetfraught with miserable suspense. '

'Ah, Dorcas, why will you misconstrue me? Why will you not believe me? Ilong to tell you this, which, after all, _is_ an _utter_ absurdity, athousand times more than you can desire to hear it; but my doing so now, unfortified by the evidence I shall have in a very few days, would beattended with a danger which you will then understand. Won't you trustme?'

'And now for my advice, ' said Dorcas, smiling down in her mysterious wayupon a crimson exotic near her feet. 

'Yes, darling, thank you. In sober earnest, your advice, ' answered Lake;'and you must advise me. Several of our neighbours--the Hillyards, theLedwiches, the Wyndermeres, and ever so many more--have spoken to me verystrongly about contesting the county, on the old Whig principles, at theelection which is now imminent. There is not a man with a chance ofacceptance to come forward, if I refuse. Now, you know what even moderatesuccess in the House, when family and property go together, mayaccomplish. There are the Dodminsters. Do you think they would ever havegot their title by any other means? There are the Forresters----'

'I know it all, Stanley; and at once I say, go on. I thought you musthave formed some political project, Mr. Wealdon has been with you sooften; but you tell me nothing, Stanley. '

'Not, darling, till I know it myself. This plan, for instance, until youspoke this moment, was but a question, and one which I could not submituntil I had seen Wealdon, and heard how matters stood, and what chancesof success I should really have. So, darling, you have it all; and I amso glad you advise me to go on. It is five-and-thirty years since anyoneconnected with Brandon came forward. But it will cost a great deal ofmoney, Dorkie. '

'Yes, I know. I've always heard it cost my uncle and Sir William Camdenfifteen thousand pounds. '

'Yes, it will be expensive, Wealdon thinks--_very_, this time. The otherside will spend a great deal of money. It often struck me as a greatmistake, that, where there is a good income, and a position to bemaintained, there is not a little put by every year to meet cases likethis--what they call a reserve fund in trading companies. '

'I do not think there is much money. _You_ know, Stanley. '

'Whatever there is, is under settlement, and we cannot apply it, Dorkie. The only thing to be done, it strikes me, is to sell a part of FiveOaks. '

'I'll not sell any property, Stanley. '

'And what _do_ you propose, then?'

'I don't know. I don't understand these things. But there are ways ofgetting money by mortgages and loans, and paying them off, without losingthe property. '

'I've the greatest possible objection to raising money in that way. Itis, in fact, the first step towards ruin; and nobody has ever done it whohas not regretted that he did not sell instead. '

'I won't sell Five Oaks, Stanley, ' said the young lady, seriously. 

'I only said a part, ' replied Stanley. 

'I won't sell at all. '

'Oh? And _I_ won't mortgage, ' said Stanley. 'Then the thing can't go on?'

'I can't help it. '

'But I'm resolved it _shall_, ' answered Stanley. 

'I tell you, Stanley, plainly, I will not sell. The Brandon estate shallnot be diminished in my time. '

'Why, you perverse idiot, don't you perceive you impair the estate asmuch by mortgaging as by selling, with ten times the ultimate danger. Itell you _I_ won't mortgage, and _you shall sell_. '

'This, Sir, is the first time I have been spoken to in such terms. '

'And why do you contradict and thwart me upon business of which I knowsomething and you nothing? What object on earth can I have in impairingthe estate? I've as deep an interest in it as you. It is perfectly plainwe should sell; and I am determined we shall. Come now, Dorcas--I'msorry--I'm such a brute, you know, when I'm vexed. You mustn't be angry;and if you'll be a good girl, and trust me in matters of business----'

'Stanley, I tell you plainly once more, I never will consent to sell oneacre of the Brandon estates. '

'Then we'll see what I can do without you, Dorkie, ' he said in apleasant, musing way. 

He was now looking down, with his sly, malign smile; and Dorcas couldalmost fancy two yellow lights reflected upon the floor. 

'I shall protect the property of my family, Sir, from your folly or yourmachinations; and I shall write to Chelford, as my trustee, to come hereto advise me. '

'And I snap my fingers at you both, and meet you with _defiance_;' andStanley's singular eyes glared upon her for a few seconds. 

Dorcas turned in her grand way, and walked slowly toward the door. 

'Stay a moment, I'm going, ' said Stanley, overtaking and confronting hernear the door. 'I've only one word. I don't think you quite know me. Itwill be an evil day for you, Dorkie, when you quarrel with me. '

He looked steadily on her, smiling for a second or two more, and thenglided from the conservatory. 

It was the first time Dorcas had seen Stanley Lake's features in thattranslated state which indicated the action of his evil nature, and theapparition haunted her for many a day and night. 

CHAPTER LVII. 

CONCERNING A NEW DANGER WHICH THREATENED CAPTAIN STANLEY LAKE. 

The ambitious captain walked out, sniffing, white, and incensed. Therewas an air of immovable resolution in the few words which Dorcas hadspoken which rather took him by surprise. The captain was a terrorist. Heacted instinctively on the theory that any good that was to be got fromhuman beings was to be extracted from their fears. He had so operated onMark Wylder; and so sought to coerce his sister Rachel. He had hopes, too, of ultimately catching the good attorney napping, and leading himtoo, bound and docile, into his ergastulum, although he was himself justnow in jeopardy from that quarter. James Dutton, too. Sooner or later hewould get Master Jim into a fix, and hold him also spell-bound in thesame sort of nightmare. 

It was not from malice. The worthy attorney had much more of that leaventhan he. Stanley Lake did not care to smash any man, except such as stoodin his way. He had a mercantile genius, and never exercised his craft, violence and ferocity, on men or objects, when no advantage wasobtainable by so doing. When, however, fortune so placed them that one orother must go to the wall, Captain Stanley Lake was awfully unscrupulous. But, having disabled, and struck him down, and won the stakes, he wouldhave given what remained of him his cold, white hand to shake, or sippedclaret with him at his own table, and told him stories, and entertainedhim with sly, sarcastic sallies, and thought how he could make use of himin an amicable way. 

But Stanley Lake's cold, commercial genius, his craft and egotism, werefrustrated occasionally by his temper, which, I am afraid, with all itsexternal varnish, was of the sort which is styled diabolical. People saidalso, what is true of most terrorists, that he was himself quite capableof being frightened; and also, that he lied with too fertile an audacity:and, like a man with too many bills afloat, forgot his endorsementsoccasionally, and did not recognise his own acceptances when presentedafter an interval. Such were some of this dangerous fellow's weak points. But on the whole it was by no means a safe thing to cross his path; andfew who did so came off altogether scathless. 

He pursued his way with a vague feeling of danger and rage, havingencountered an opposition of so much more alarming a character than hehad anticipated, and found his wife not only competent _ferre aspectum_to endure his maniacal glare and scowl, but serenely to defy his violenceand his wrath. He had abundance of matter for thought and perturbation, and felt himself, when the images of Larcom, Larkin, and Jim Duttoncrossed the retina of his memory, some thrill of the fear which 'hathtorment'--the fear of a terrible coercion which he liked so well topractise in the case of others. 

In this mood he paced, without minding in what direction he went, underthose great rows of timber which over-arch the pathway leading towardRedman's Dell--the path that he and Mark Wylder had trod in that mistymoonlight walk on which I had seen them set out together. 

Before he had walked five minutes in this direction, he was encounteredby a little girl in a cloak, who stopped and dropped a courtesy. Thecaptain stopped also, and looked at her with a stare which, I suppose, had something forbidding in it, for the child was frightened. But thewild and menacing look was unconscious, and only the reflection of thedark speculations and passions which were tumbling and breaking in hissoul. 

'Well, child, ' said he, gently, 'I think I know your face, but I forgetyour name. '

'Little Margery, please Sir, from Miss Lake at Redman's Farm, ' shereplied with a courtesy. 

'Oh! to be sure, yes. And how is Miss Rachel?'

'Very bad with a headache, please, Sir. '

'Is she at home?'

'Yes, Sir, please. '

'Any message?'

'Yes, Sir, please--a note for you, Sir;' and she produced a note, rather, indeed, a letter. 

'She desired me, Sir, please, to give it into your own hand, if I could, and not to leave it, please, Sir, unless you were at home when Ireached. '

He read the direction, and dropped it unopened into the pocket of hisshooting coat. The peevish glance with which he eyed it betrayed apresentiment of something unpleasant. 

'Any answer required?'

'No, Sir, please--only to leave it. '

'And Miss Lake is quite well?'

'No, Sir, please--a bad headache to-day. '

'Oh! I'm very sorry, indeed. Tell her so. She is at home, is she?'

'Yes, Sir. '

'Very well; that's all. Say I am very sorry to hear she is suffering; andif I can find time, I hope to see her to-day; and remember to say I havenot read her letter, but if I find it requires an answer, it shall haveone. '

He looked round like a man newly awakened, and up among the great boughsand interlacing foliage of the noble trees, and the child made him twocourtesies, and departed towards Redman's Farm. 

Lake sauntered back slowly toward the Hall. On his way, a rustic seatunder the shadow invited him, and he sat down, drawing Rachel's letterfrom his pocket. 

What a genius they have for teasing! How women do contrive to waste ourtime and patience over nonsense! How ingeniously perverse their whimsiesare! I do believe Beelzebub employs them still, as he did in Eden, forthe special plague of us, poor devils. Here's a lecture or an exhortationfrom Miss Radie, and a quantity of infinitely absurd advice, all which Iam to read and inwardly digest, and discuss with her whenever shepleases. I've a great mind to burn it quietly. '

But he applied his match, instead, to his cigar; and having got it welllighted, he leaned back, and broke the seal, and read this letter, which, I suspect, notwithstanding his preliminary thoughts, he fancied mightcontain matter of more practical import:--

'I write to you, my beloved and only brother, Stanley, in an alteredstate of mind, and with clearer views of duty than, I think, I have everhad before. '

'Just as I conjectured, ' muttered Stanley, with a bitter smile, as heshook the ashes off the top of his cigar--'a woman's homily. '

He read on, and a livid frown gradually contracted his forehead as he didso. 

'I do not know, Stanley, what your feelings may be. Mine have been thesame ever since that night in which I was taken into a confidence sodreadful. The circumstances are fearful; but far more dreadful to me, themystery in which I have lived ever since. I sometimes think I have onlymyself to blame. But you know, my poor brother, why I consented, and withwhat agony. Ever since, I have lived in terror, and worse, indegradation. I did not know, until it was too late, how great was myguilt. Heaven knows, when I consented to that journey, I did notcomprehend its full purpose, though I knew enough to have warned me of mydanger, and undertook it in great fear and anguish of mind. I can nevercease to mourn over my madness. Oh! Stanley, you do not know what it isto feel, as I do, the shame and treachery of my situation; to try toanswer the smiles of those who, at least, once loved me, and to taketheir hands; to kiss Dorcas and good Dolly; and feel that all the time Iam a vile impostor, stained incredibly, from whom, if they knew me, theywould turn in horror and disgust. Now, Stanley, I can bear anything butthis baseness--anything but the life-long practice of perfidy--that, Iwill not and cannot endure. _Dorcas must know the truth. _ That there is asecret jealously guarded from her, she does know--no woman could fail toperceive that; and there are few, Stanley, who would not prefer thecertainty of the worst, to the anguish of such relations of mystery andreserve with a _husband_. She is clever, she is generous, and has manynoble qualities. She will see what is right, and do it. Me she may hate, and must despise; but that were to me more endurable than friendshipgained on false pretences. I repeat, therefore, Stanley, that _Dorcasmust know the whole truth_. Do not suppose, my poor brother, that I writefrom impulse--I have deeply thought on the subject. '

'_Deeply_, ' repeated Stanley, with a sneer. 

'And the more I reflect, the more am I convinced--if _you_ will not tellher, Stanley, that _I_ must. But it will be wiser and better, terrible asit may be, that the revelation should come from _you_, whom she has madeher husband. The dreadful confidence would be more terrible from anyother. Be courageous then, Stanley; you will be happier when you havedisclosed the truth, and released, at all events, one of your victims. 

'Your sorrowful and only sister, 'RACHEL. '

On finishing the letter, Stanley rose quickly to his feet. He had becomegradually so absorbed in reading it, that he laid his cigar unconsciouslybeside him, and suffered it to go out. With downcast look, and an angrycontortion, he tore the sheets of note-paper across, and was on the pointof reducing them to a thousand little snow flakes, and giving them to thewind, when, on second thoughts, he crumpled them together, and thrustthem into his breast pocket. 

His excitement was too intense for foul terms, or even blasphemy. Withthe edge of his nether lip nipped in his teeth, and his clenched hands inhis pockets, he walked through the forest trees to the park, and in hissolitudes hurried onward as if his life depended on his speed. Graduallyhe recovered his self-possession. He sat down under the shade of a knotof beech trees, overlooking that ill-omened tarn, which we have oftenmentioned, upon a lichen-stained rock, his chin resting on his clenchedhand, his elbow on his knee, and the heel of his other foot stamping outbits of the short, green sod. 

'That d--d girl deserves to be shot for her treachery, ' was the firstsentence that broke from his white lips. 

It certainly was an amazing outrage upon his self-esteem, that the secretwhich was the weapon of terror by which he meant to rule his sisterRachel, should, by her slender hand, be taken so easily from his grasp, and lifted to crush him. 

The captain's plans were not working by any means so smoothly as he hadexpected. That sudden stab from Jos. Larkin, whom he always despised, andnow hated--whom he believed to be a fifth-rate, pluckless rogue, withoutaudacity, without invention; whom he was on the point of tripping up, that he should have turned short and garotted the gallant captain, was aprovoking turn of fortune. 

That when a dire necessity subjugated his will, his contempt, his rage, and he inwardly decided that the attorney's extortion must be submittedto, his wife--whom he never made any account of in the transaction, whomhe reckoned carelessly on turning about as he pleased, by a fewcompliments and cajoleries--should have started up, cold and inflexibleas marble, in his path, to forbid the payment of the black mail, andexpose him to the unascertained and formidable consequences of Dutton'sstory, and the disappointed attorney's vengeance--was another stroke ofluck which took him altogether by surprise. 

And to crown all, Miss Radie had grown tired of keeping her own secret, and must needs bring to light the buried disgraces which all concernedwere equally interested in hiding away for ever. 

Stanley Lake's position, if all were known, was at this moment formidableenough. But he had been fifty times over, during his brief career, inscrapes of a very menacing kind; once or twice, indeed, of the mostalarming nature. His temper, his craft, his impetus, were always drivinghim into projects and situations more or less critical. Sometimes he won, sometimes he failed; but his audacious energy hitherto had extricatedhim. The difficulties of his present situation were, however, appalling, and almost daunted his semi-diabolical energies. 

From Rachel to Dorcas, from Dorcas to the attorney, and from him toDutton, and back again, he rambled in the infernal litany he mutteredover the inauspicious tarn, among the enclosing banks and undulations, and solitary and lonely woods. 

'Lake Avernus, ' said a hollow voice behind him, and a long grisly handwas laid on his shoulder. 

A cold breath of horror crept from his brain to his heel, as he turnedabout and saw the large, blanched features and glassy eyes of Uncle Lornebent over him. 

'Oh, Lake Avernus, is it?' said Lake, with an angry sneer, and raisinghis hat with a mock reverence. 

'Ay! it is the window of hell, and the spirits in prison come up to seethe light of it. Did you see him looking up?' said Uncle Lorne, with hispallid smile. 

'Oh! of course--Napoleon Bonaparte leaning on old Dr. Simcock's arm, 'answered Lake. 

It was odd, in the sort of ghastly banter in which he played off this oldman, how much hatred was perceptible. 

'No--not he. It is Mark Wylder, ' said Uncle Lorne; 'his face comes uplike a white fish within a fathom of the top--it makes me laugh. That'sthe way they keep holiday. Can you tell by the sky when it is holiday inhell? _I_ can. '

And he laughed, and rubbed his long fingers together softly. 

'Look! ha! ha!--Look! ha! ha! ha!--_Look!_' he resumed pointing with hiscadaverous forefinger towards the middle of the pool. 

'I told you this morning it was a holiday, ' and he laughed very quietlyto himself. 

'Look how his nostrils go like a fish's gills. It is a funny way for agentleman, and _he's_ a gentleman. Every fool knows the Wylders aregentlemen--all gentlemen in misfortune. He has a brother that is walkingabout in his coffin. Mark has no coffin; it is all marble steps; and awicked seraph received him, and blessed him till his hair stood up. Letme whisper you. '

'No, not just at this moment, please, ' said Lake, drawing away, disgusted, from the maniacal leer and titter of the gigantic old man. 

'Aye, aye--another time--some night there's aurora borealis in the sky. You know this goes under ground all the way to Vallambrosa?'

'Thank you; I was not aware: that's very convenient. Had you not bettergo down and speak to your friend in the water?'

'Young man, I bless you for remembering, ' said Uncle Lorne, solemnly. 'What was Mark Wylder's religion, that I may speak to him comfortably?'

'An Anabaptist, I conjecture, from his present situation, ' replied Lake. 

'No, that's in the lake of fire, where the wicked seraphim and cherubimbaptise, and anabaptise, and hold them under, with a great stone laidacross their breasts. I only know two of their clergy--the African vicar, quite a gentleman, and speaks through his nose; and the archbishop withwings; his face is so burnt, he's all eyes and mouth, and on one hand hasonly one finger, and he tickles me with it till I almost give up theghost. The ghost of Miss Baily is a lie, he said, by my soul; and helikes you--he loves you. Shall I write it all in a book, and give it you?I meet Mark Wylder in three places sometimes. Don't move, till I go down;he's as easily frightened as a fish. '

And Uncle Lorne crept down the bank, tacking, and dodging, and all thetime laughing softly to himself; and sometimes winking with a horrid, wily grimace at Stanley, who fervently wished him at the bottom of thetarn. 

'I say, ' said Stanley, addressing the keeper, whom by a beck he hadbrought to his side, 'you don't allow him, surely, to go alone now?'

'No, Sir--since your order, Sir, ' said the stern, reserved official. 

'Nor to come into any place but this--the park, I mean?'

'No, Sir. '

'And do you mind, try and get him home always before nightfall. It iseasy to frighten him. Find out what frightens him, and do it or say it. It is dangerous, don't you see? and he might break his d--d neck any timeamong those rocks and gullies, or get away altogether from you in thedark. '

So the keeper, at the water's brink, joined Uncle Lorne, who was talking, after his fashion, into the dark pool. And Stanley Lake--a general indifficulties--retraced his steps toward the park gate through which hehad come, ruminating on his situation and resources. 

CHAPTER LVIII. 

MISS RACHEL LAKE BECOMES VIOLENT. 

So soon as the letter which had so surprised and incensed Stanley Lakewas despatched, and beyond recall, Rachel, who had been indescribablyagitated before, grew all at once calm. She knew that she had done right. She was glad the die was cast, and that it was out of her power toretract. 

She kneeled at her bedside, and wept and prayed, and then went down andtalked with old Tamar, who was knitting in the shade by the porch. 

Then the young lady put on her bonnet and cloak, and walked down toGylingden, with an anxious, but still a lighter heart, to see her friend, Dolly Wylder. 

Dolly received her in a glad sort of fuss. 

'I'm so glad to see you, Miss Lake. '

'Call me Rachel; and won't you let me call you Dolly?'

'Well, Rachel, dear, ' replied Dolly, laughing, 'I'm delighted you'recome; I have such good news--but I can't tell it till I think for aminute--I must begin at the beginning. '

'Anywhere, everywhere, only if it is good news, let me hear it at once. I'll be sure to understand. '

'Well, Miss--I mean Rachel, dear--you know--I may tell you now--thevicar--my dear Willie--he and I--we've been in great trouble--oh, suchtrouble--Heaven _only_ knows--' and she dried her eyes quickly--'money, my dear--' and she smiled with a bewildered shrug--'some debts atCambridge--no fault of his--you can't imagine what a saving darling heis--but these were a few old things that mounted up with interest, mydear--you understand--and law costs--oh, you can't think--and indeed, dear Miss--well, _Rachel_--I forgot--I sometimes thought we must be quiteruined. '

'Oh, Dolly, dear, ' said Rachel, very pale, 'I feared it. I thought youmight be troubled about money. I was not sure, but I was afraid; and, tosay truth, it was partly to try your friendship with a question on thatvery point that I came here, and not indeed, Dolly, dear, fromimpertinent curiosity, but in the hope that maybe you might allow me tobe of some use. '

'How wonderfully good you are! How friends are raised up!' and with asmile that shone like an April sun through her tears, she stood ontiptoe, and kissed the tall young lady, who--not smiling, but with a paleand very troubled face--bowed down and returned her kiss. 

'You know, dear, before he went, Mark promised to lend dear Willie alarge sum of money. Well, he went away in such a hurry, that he neverthought of it; and though he constantly wrote to Mr. Larkin--you have noidea, my dear Miss Lake, what a blessed angel that man is--oh! _such_ afriend as has been raised up to us in that holy and wise man, wordscannot express; but what was I saying?--oh, yes--Mark, you know--it wasvery kind, but he has so many things on his mind it quite escapedhim--and he keeps, you know, wandering about on the Continent, and nevergives his address; so he, can't, you see, be written to; and thedelay--but, Rachel, darling, are you ill?'

She rang the bell, and opened the window, and got some water. 

'My darling, you walked too fast here. You were very near fainting. '

'No, dear--nothing--I am quite well now--go on. '

But she did not go on immediately, for Rachel was trembling in a kind ofshivering fit, which did not pass away till after poor Dolly, who had noother stimulant at command, made her drink a cup of very hot milk. 

'Thank you, darling. You are too good to me, Dolly. Oh! Dolly, you aretoo good to me. '

Rachel's eyes were looking into hers with a careworn, entreating gaze, and her cold hand was pressed on the back of Dolly's. 

Nearly ten minutes passed before the talk was renewed. 

'Well, now, what do you think--that good man, Mr. Larkin, just as thingswere at the worst, found a way to make everything--oh, blessedmercy!--the hand of Heaven, my dear--quite right again--and we'll be sohappy. Like a bird I could sing, and fly almost--a foolish old thing--ha!ha! ha!--such an old goose!' and she wiped her eyes again. 

'Hush! is that Fairy? Oh, no, it is only Anne singing. Little man has notbeen well yesterday and to-day. He won't eat, and looks pale, but heslept very well, my darling man; and Doctor Buddle--I met him thismorning--so kindly took him into his room, and examined him, and says itmay be nothing at all, please Heaven, ' and she sighed, smiling still. 

'Dear little Fairy--where is he?' asked Rachel, her sad eyes lookingtoward the door. 

'In the study with his Wapsie. Mrs. Woolaston, she is such a kind soul, lent him such a beautiful old picture book--"Woodward's Eccentricities"it is called--and he's quite happy--little Fairy, on his little stool atthe window. '

'No headache or fever?' asked Miss Lake cheerfully, though, she knew notwhy, there seemed something ominous in this little ailment. 

'None at all; oh, none, thank you; none in the world. I'd be sofrightened if there was. But, thank Heaven, Doctor Buddle says there'snothing to make us at all uneasy. My blessed little man! And he has hiscanary in the cage in the window, and his kitten to play with in thestudy. He's quite happy. '

'Please Heaven, he'll be quite well to-morrow--the darling little man, 'said Rachel, all the more fondly for that vague omen that seemed to say, 'He's gone. '

'Here's Mr. Larkin!' cried Dolly, jumping up, and smiling and nodding atthe window to that long and natty apparition, who glided to the hall-doorwith a sad smile, raising his well-brushed hat as he passed, and with onegrim glance beyond Mrs. Wylder, for his sharp eye half detected anotherpresence in the room. 

He was followed, not accompanied--for Mr. Larkin knew what a gentleman hewas--by a young and bilious clerk, with black hair and a melancholycountenance, and by old Buggs--his conducting man--always grinning, whosered face glared in the little garden like a great bunch of hollyhocks. Hewas sober as a judge all the morning, and proceeded strictly on theprinciple of business first, and pleasure afterward. But his orgies, whenoff duty, were such as to cause the good attorney, when complaintsreached him, to shake his head, and sigh profoundly, and sometimes tolift up his mild eyes and long hands; and, indeed, so scandalous anappendage was Buggs, that if he had been less useful, I believe the pureattorney, who, in the uncomfortable words of John Bunyan, 'had found acleaner road to hell, ' would have cashiered him long ago. 

'There is that awful Mr. Buggs, ' said Dolly, with a look of honest alarm. 'I often wonder so Christian a man as Mr. Larkin can countenance him. Heis hardly ever without a black eye. He has been three nights togetherwithout once putting off his clothes--think of that; and, my dear, onFriday week he fell through the window of the Fancy Emporium, at twoo'clock in the morning; and Doctor Buddle says if the cut on his jaw hadbeen half an inch lower, he would have cut some artery, and lost hislife--wretched man!'

'They have come about law business, Dolly!' enquired the young lady, whohad a profound, instinctive dread of Mr. Larkin. 

'Yes, my dear; a most important windfall. Only for Mr. Larkin, it nevercould have been accomplished, and, indeed, I don't think it would everhave been thought of. '

'I hope he has some one to advise him, ' said Miss Lake, anxiously. 'I--Ithink Mr. Larkin a very cunning person; and you know your husband doesnot understand business. '

'Is it Mr. Larkin, my dear? Mr. Larkin! Why, my dear, if you knew him aswe do, you'd trust your life in his hands. '

'But there are people who know him still better; and I think they fancyhe is a very crafty man. I do not like him myself, and Dorcas Brandondislikes him too; and, though I don't think we could either give areason--I don't know, Dolly, but I should not like to trust him. '

'But, my dear, he is an excellent man, and such a friend, and he hasmanaged all this most troublesome business so delightfully. It is whatthey call a reversion. '

'William Wylder is not selling his reversion?' said Rachel, fixing a wildand startled look on her companion. 

'Yes, reversion, I am sure, is the name. And why not, dear? It is mostunlikely we should ever get a farthing of it any other way, and it willgive us enough to make us quite happy. '

'But, my darling, don't you know the reversion under the will is a great_fortune_? He must not think of it;' and up started Rachel, and beforeDolly could interpose or remonstrate, she had crossed the little hall, and entered the homely study, where the gentlemen were conferring. 

William Wylder was sitting at his desk, and a large sheet of lawscrivenery, on thick paper, with a stamp in the corner, was before him. The bald head of the attorney, as he leaned over him, and indicated animaginary line with his gold pencil-case, was presented toward Miss Lakeas she entered. 

The attorney had just said '_there_, please, ' in reply to the vicar'squestion, 'Where do I write my name?' and red Buggs, grinning with hismouth open, like an over-heated dog, and the sad and bilious younggentleman, stood by to witness the execution of the cleric's autograph. 

Tall Jos. Larkin looked up, smiling with his mouth also a little open, aswas his wont when he was particularly affable. But the rat's eyes werelooking at her with a hungry suspicion, and smiled not. 

'William Wylder, I am so glad I'm in time, ' said Rachel, rustling acrossthe room. 

'_There_, ' said the attorney, very peremptorily, and making a littlefurrow in the thick paper with the seal end of his pencil. 

'Stop, William Wylder, don't sign; I've a word to say--you _must_ pause. '

'If it affects our business, Miss Lake, I do request that you addressyourself to me; if not, may I beg, Miss Lake, that you will defer it fora moment. '

'William Wylder, lay down that pen; as you love your little boy, lay it_down_, and hear me, ' continued Miss Lake. 

The vicar looked at her with his eyes wide open, puzzled, like a man whois not quite sure whether he may not be doing something wrong. 

'I--really, Miss Lake--pardon me, but this is very irregular, and, infact, unprecedented!' said Jos. Larkin. 'I think--I suppose, you canhardly be aware, Ma'am, that I am here as the Rev. Mr. Wylder'sconfidential solicitor, acting solely for him, in a matter of a strictlyprivate nature. '

The attorney stood erect, a little flushed, with that peculiarcontraction, mean and dangerous, in his eyes. 

'Of course, Mr. Wylder, if you, Sir, desire me to leave, I shallinstantaneously do so; and, indeed, unless you proceed to sign, I hadbetter go, as my time is generally, I may say, a little pressed upon, andI have, in fact, some business elsewhere to attend to. '

'What _is_ this law-paper?' demanded Rachel, laying the tips of herslender fingers upon it. 

'Am I to conclude that you withdraw from your engagement?' asked Mr. Larkin. 'I had better, then, communicate with Burlington and Smith bythis post; as also with the sheriff, who has been very kind. '

'Oh, no!--oh, no, Mr. Larkin!--pray, I'm quite ready to sign. '

'Now, William Wylder, you _sha'n't_ sign until you tell me whether thisis a sale of your reversion. '

The young lady had her white hand firmly pressed upon the spot where hewas to sign, and the ring that glittered on her finger looked like atalisman interposing between the poor vicar and the momentous act he wasmeditating. 

'I think, Miss Lake, it is pretty plain you are not acting for yourselfhere--you have been sent, Ma'am, ' said the attorney, looking veryvicious, and speaking a little huskily and hurriedly; 'I quite conceiveby whom. '

'I don't know what you mean, Sir, ' replied Miss Lake, with grave disdain. 

'You have been commissioned, Ma'am, I venture to think, to come here towatch the interests of another party. '

'I say, Sir, I don't in the least comprehend you. '

'I think it is pretty obvious, Ma'am--Miss Lake, I beg pardon--you havehad some conversation with your _brother_, ' answered the attorney, with asignificant sneer. 

'I don't know what you mean, Sir, I repeat. I've just heard, in the otherroom, from your wife, William Wylder, that you were about selling yourreversion in the estates, and I want to know whether that is so; for ifit be, it is the act of a madman, and I'll prevent it, if I possiblycan. '

'Upon my word! possibly'--said the vicar, his eyes very wide open, andlooking with a hesitating gaze from Rachel to the attorney--'there may besomething in it which neither you nor I know; does it not strike you--hadwe not better consider?'

'Consider _what_, Sir?' said the attorney, with a snap, and losing histemper somewhat. 'It is simply, Sir, that this young lady representsCaptain Lake, who wishes to get the reversion for himself. '

'That is utterly false, Sir!' said Miss Lake, flashing and blushing withindignation. 'You, William, are a _gentleman_; and such inconceivablemeanness cannot enter _your_ mind. '

The attorney, with what he meant to be a polished sarcasm, bowed andsmiled toward Miss Lake. 

Pale little Fairy, sitting before his 'picture-book, ' was watching thescene with round eyes and round mouth, and that mixture of interest, awe, and distress, with which children witness the uncomprehended excitementand collision of their elders. 

'My dear Miss Lake, I respect and esteem you; you quite mistake, I ampersuaded, my good friend Mr. Larkin; and, indeed, I don't quitecomprehend; but if it were so, and that your brother really wished--doyou think he does, Mr. Larkin?--to buy the reversion, he might think itmore valuable, perhaps. '

'I can say with certainty, Sir, that from that quarter you would getnothing like what you have agreed to take; and I must say, once for all, Sir, that--quite setting aside every consideration of honour and ofconscience, and of the highly prejudicial position in which you wouldplace me as a man of business, by taking the very _short turn_ which thisyoung lady, Miss Lake, suggests--your letters amount to an equitableagreement to sell, which, on petition, the court would compel you to do. '

'So you see, my dear Miss Lake, there is no more to be said, ' said thevicar, with a careworn smile, looking upon Rachel's handsome face. 

'Now, now, we are all friends, aren't we?' said poor Dolly, who could notmake anything of the debate, and was staring, with open mouth, from onespeaker to another. 'We are all agreed, are not we? You are all so good, and fond of Willie, that you are actually ready almost to quarrel forhim. ' But her little laugh produced no echo, except a very joyless andflushed effort from the attorney, as he looked up from consulting hiswatch. 

'Eleven minutes past three, ' said he, 'and I've a meeting at my house athalf-past: so, unless you complete that instrument _now_, I regret to sayI must take it back unfinished, and the result may be to defeat thearrangement altogether, and if the consequences should prove serious, I, at least, am not to blame. '

'Don't sign, I entreat, I _implore_ of you. William Wylder, you_shan't_. '

'But, my dear Miss Lake, we have considered everything, and Mr. Larkinand I agree that my circumstances are such as to make it inevitable. '

'Really, this is child's play; _there_, if you please, ' said theattorney, once more. 

Rachel Lake, during the discussion, had removed her hand. Thefaintly-traced line on which the vicar was to sign was now fairlypresented to him. 

'Just in your usual way, ' murmured Mr. Larkin. 

So the vicar's pen was applied, but before he had time to trace the firstletter of his name, Rachel Lake resolutely snatched the thick, bluishsheet of scrivenery, with its handsome margins, and red ink lines, frombefore him, and tore it across and across, with the quickness of terror, and in fewer seconds than one could fancy, it lay about the floor andgrate in pieces little bigger than dominoes. 

The attorney made a hungry snatch at the paper, over William Wylder'sshoulder, nearly bearing that gentleman down on his face, but his clutchfell short. 

'Hallo! Miss Lake, Ma'am--the paper!'

But wild words were of no avail. The whole party, except Rachel, wereaghast. The attorney's small eye glanced over the ground and hearthstone, where the bits were strewn, like

 Ladies' smocks, all silver white, That paint the meadows with delight. 

He had nothing for it but to submit to fortune with his best air. Hestood erect; a slanting beam from the window glimmered on his tall, baldhead, and his face was black and menacing as the summit of athunder-crowned peak. 

'You are not aware, Miss Lake, of the nature of your act, and of theconsequences to which you have exposed yourself, Madam. But that is aview of the occurrence in which, except as a matter of deep regret, Icannot be supposed to be immediately interested. I will mention, however, that your interference, your _violent_ interference, Madam, may beattended with most serious consequences to my reverend client, for which, of course, you constituted yourself fully responsible, when you enteredon the course of unauthorised interference, which has resulted indestroying the articles of agreement, prepared with great care andlabour, for his protection; and retarding the transmission of thedocument, by at least four-and-twenty hours, to London. You may, Madam, Iregret to observe, have ruined my client. '

'Saved him, I hope. '

'And run yourself, Madam, into a _very_ serious scrape. '

'Upon that point you have said quite enough, Sir. Dolly, William, don'tlook so frightened; you'll both live to thank me for this. '

All this time little Fairy, unheeded, was bawling in great anguish ofsoul, clinging to Rachel's dress, and crying--'Oh! he'll hurt her--he'llhurt her--he'll hurt her. Don't let him--don't let him. Wapsie, don't lethim. Oh! the frightle man!--don't let him--he'll hurt her--the frightleman!' And little man's cheeks were drenched in tears, and his wee feetdanced in an agony of terror on the floor, as, bawling, he tried to pullhis friend Rachel into a corner. 

'Nonsense, little man, ' cried his father, with quick reproof, on hearingthis sacrilegious uproar. 'Mr. Larkin never hurt anyone; tut, tut; sitdown, and look at your book. '

But Rachel, with a smile of love and gratification, lifted the little manup in her arms, and kissed him; and his thin, little legs were claspedabout her waist, and his arms round her neck, and he kissed her with hiswet face, devouringly, blubbering 'the frightle man--you doatie!--thefrightle man!'

'Then, Mr. Wylder, I shall have the document prepared again from thedraft. You'll see to that, Mr. Buggs, please; and perhaps it will bebetter that you should look in at the Lodge. '

When he mentioned the Lodge, it was in so lofty a way that a strangerwould have supposed it something very handsome indeed, and one of thesights of the county. 

'Say, about nine o'clock to-morrow morning. Farewell, Mr. Wylder, farewell. I regret the enhanced expense--I regret the delay--I regret therisk--I regret, in fact, the whole scene. Farewell, Mrs. Wylder. ' Andwith a silent bow to Rachel--perfectly polished, perfectly terrible--hewithdrew, followed by the sallow clerk, and by that radiant scamp, oldBuggs, who made them several obeisances at the door. 

'Oh, dear Miss Lake--Rachel, I mean--Rachel, dear, I hope it won't be alloff. Oh, you don't know--Heaven only knows--the danger we are in. Oh, Rachel, dear, if this is broken off, I don't know what is to become ofus--I don't know. '

Dolly spoke quite wildly, with her hands on Rachel's shoulders. It wasthe first time she had broken down, the first time, at least, the vicarhad seen her anything but cheery, and his head sank, and it seemed as ifhis last light had gone out, and he was quite benighted. 

'Do you think, ' said he, 'there is much danger of that? Do you reallythink so?'

'Now, don't blame me, ' said Miss Lake, 'and don't be frightened till youhave heard me. Let us sit down here--we shan't be interrupted--and justanswer your wretched friend, Rachel, two or three questions, and hearwhat she has to say. '

Rachel was flushed and excited, and sat with the little boy still in herarms. 

So, in reply to her questions, the vicar told her frankly how he stood;and Rachel said--'Well, you must not think of selling your reversion. Oh!think of your little boy--think of Dolly--if _you_ were taken away fromher. '

'But, ' said Dolly, 'Mr. Larkin heard from Captain Lake that Mark isprivately married, and actually has, he says, a large family; and he, youknow, has letters from him, and Mr. Larkin thinks, knows more than anyoneelse about him; and if that were so, none of us would ever inherit theproperty. So'--

'_Do_ they say that Mark is married? Nothing can be more _false_. I_know_ it is altogether a falsehood. He neither is nor ever will bemarried. If my brother _dared_ say that in my presence, I would make himconfess, before you, that he _knows_ it cannot be. Oh! my poor littleFairy--my poor Dolly--my poor good friend, William! What shall I say? Iam in great distraction of mind. ' And she hugged and kissed the palelittle boy, she herself paler. 

'Listen to me, good and kind as you are. You are never to call me yourfriend, mind that. I am a most unhappy creature forced by circumstancesto be your enemy, for a time--not always. You have no conception _how_, and may never even suspect. Don't ask me, but listen. '

Wonder stricken and pained was the countenance with which the vicar gazedupon her, and Dolly looked both frightened and perplexed. 

'I have a little more than three hundred a-year. There is a littleannuity charged on Sir Hugh Landon's estate, and his solicitor haswritten, offering me six hundred pounds for it. I will write to-nightaccepting that offer, and you shall have the money to pay those debtswhich have been pressing so miserably upon you. _Don't_ thank--not aword--but listen. I would so like, Dolly, to come and live with you. Wecould unite our incomes. I need only bring poor old Tamar with me, and Ican give up Redman's Farm in September next. I should be so much happier;and I think my income and yours joined would enable us to live withoutany danger of getting into debt. Will you agree to this, Dolly, dear; andpromise me, William Wylder, that you will think no more of selling thatreversion, which may be the splendid provision of your dear little boy. Don't thank me--don't say anything now; and oh! don't reject my poorentreaty. Your refusal would almost make me mad. I would try, Dolly, tobe of use. I think I could. Only try me. '

She fancied she saw in Dolly's face, under all her gratitude, someperplexity and hesitation, and feared to accept a decision then. So shehurried away, with a hasty and kind good-bye. 

A fortnight before, I think, during Dolly's jealous fit, this magnificentoffer of Rachel's would, notwithstanding the dreadful necessities of thecase, have been coldly received by the poor little woman. But thatdelusion was quite cured now--no reserve, or doubt, or coldness leftbehind. And Dolly and the vicar felt that Rachel's noble proposal was themaking of them. 

CHAPTER LIX. 

AN ENEMY IN REDMAN'S DELL. 

Jos. Larkin grew more and more uncomfortable about the unexpectedinterposition of Rachel Lake as the day wore on. He felt, with anunerring intuition, that the young lady both despised and suspected him. He also knew that she was impetuous and clever, and he feared from thatsmall white hand a fatal mischief--he could not tell exactly how--to hisplans. 

Jim Dutton's letter had somehow an air of sobriety and earnestness, whichmade way with his convictions. His doubts and suspicions had subsided, and he now believed, with a profound moral certainty, that Mark Wylderwas actually dead, within the precincts of a mad-house or of some lawlessplace of detention abroad. What was that to the purpose? Dutton mightarrive at any moment. Low fellows are always talking; and the story mightget abroad before the assignment of the vicar's interest. Of course therewas something speculative in the whole transaction, but he had made hisbook well, and by his 'arrangement' with Captain Lake, whichever way thetruth lay, he stood to win. So the attorney had no notion of allowingthis highly satisfactory arithmetic to be thrown into confusion by thefillip of a small gloved finger. 

On the whole he was not altogether sorry for the delay. Everything workedtogether he knew. One or two covenants and modifications in the articleshad struck him as desirable, on reading the instrument over with WilliamWylder. He also thought a larger consideration should be stated andacknowledged as paid, say 22, 000_l. _ The vicar would really receive just2, 200_l. _ 'Costs' would do something to reduce the balance, for Jos. Larkin was one of those oxen who, when treading out corn, decline to bemuzzled. The remainder was--the vicar would clearly understand--one ofthose ridiculous pedantries of law, upon which our system of crotchetsand fictions insisted. And William Wylder, whose character, simply andsensitively honourable, Mr. Larkin appreciated, was to write toBurlington and Smith a letter, for the satisfaction of their speculativeand nervous client, pledging his honour, as a gentleman, and hisconscience, as a Christian, that in the event of the sale beingcompleted, he would never do, countenance, or permit, any act orproceeding, whatsoever, tending on any ground to impeach or invalidatethe transaction. 

'I've no objection--have I?--to write such a letter, ' asked the vicar ofhis adviser. 

'Why, I suppose you have no intention of trying to defeat your own act, and that is all the letter would go to. I look on it as whollyunimportant, and it is really not a point worth standing upon for asecond. '

So that also was agreed to. 

Now while the improved 'instrument' was in preparation, the attorneystrolled down in the evening to look after his clerical client, and keephim 'straight' for the meeting at which he was to sign the articles nextday. 

It was by the drowsy faded light of a late summer's evening that hearrived at the quaint little parsonage. He maintained his character as 'anice spoken gentleman, ' by enquiring of the maid who opened the door howthe little boy was. 'Not so well--gone to bed--but would be better, everyone was sure, in the morning. ' So he went in and saw the vicar, whohad just returned with Dolly from a little ramble. Everything promisedfairly--the quiet mind was returning--the good time coming--all thepleasanter for the storms and snows of the night that was over. 

'Well, my good invaluable friend, you will be glad--you will rejoice withus, I know, to learn that, after all, the sale of our reversion isunnecessary. '

The attorney allowed his client to shake him by both hands, and he smileda sinister congratulation as well as he could, grinning in reply to thevicar's pleasant smile as cheerfully as was feasible, and wofully puzzledin the meantime. Had James Dutton arrived and announced the death ofMark--no; it could hardly be _that_--decency had not yet quite takenleave of the earth; and stupid as the vicar was, he would hardly announcethe death of his brother to a Christian gentleman in a fashion sooutrageous. Had Lord Chelford been invoked, and answered satisfactorily?Or Dorcas--or had Lake, the diabolical sneak, interposed with his longpurse, and a plausible hypocrisy of kindness, to spoil Larkin's plans?All these fanciful queries flitted through his brain as the vicar's handsshook both his, and he laboured hard to maintain the cheerful grin withwhich he received the news, and his guileful rapacious little eyessearched narrowly the countenance of his client. 

So after a while, Dolly assisting, and sometimes both talking together, the story was told, Rachel blessed and panegyrised, and the attorney'scongratulations challenged and yielded once more. But there was somethingnot altogether joyous in Jos. Larkin's countenance, which struck thevicar, and he said--

'You don't see any objection?' and paused. 

'Objection? Why, _objection_, my dear Sir, is a strong word; but I fear Ido see a difficulty--in fact, several difficulties. Perhaps you wouldtake a little turn on the green--I must call for a moment at thereading-room--and I'll explain. You'll forgive me, I hope, Mrs. Wylder, 'he added, with a playful condescension, 'for running away with yourhusband, but only for a few minutes--ha, ha!'

The shadow was upon Jos. Larkin's face, and he was plainly meditating alittle uncomfortably, as they approached the quiet green of Gylingden. 

'What a charming evening, ' said the vicar, making an effort atcheerfulness. 

'Delicious evening--yes, ' said the attorney, throwing back his long head, and letting his mouth drop. But though his face was turned up towards thesky, there was a contraction and a darkness upon it, not altogetherheavenly. 

'The offer, ' said the attorney, beginning rather abruptly, 'is no doubt ahandsome offer at the first glance, and it may be well meant. But thefact is, my dear Mr. Wylder, six hundred pounds would leave little morethan a hundred remaining after Burlington and Smith have had their costs. You have no idea of the expense and trouble of title, and the inevitablecostliness, my dear Sir, of all conveyancing operations. The deeds, Ihave little doubt, in consequence of the letter you directed me to write, have been prepared--that is, in draft, of course--and then, my dear Sir, I need not remind you, that there remain the costs to me--those, ofcourse, await your entire convenience--but still it would not be eitherfor your or my advantage that they should be forgotten in the generaladjustment of your affairs, which I understand you to propose. '

The vicar's countenance fell. In fact, it is idle to say that, beingunaccustomed to the grand scale on which law costs present themselves onoccasion, he was unspeakably shocked and he grew very pale and silent onhearing these impressive sentences. 

'And as to Miss Lake's residing with you--I speak now, you willunderstand, in the strictest confidence, because the subject is a painfulone; as to her residing with you, as she proposes, Miss Lake is wellaware that I am cognizant of circumstances which render any sucharrangement absolutely impracticable. I need not, my dear Sir, be moreparticular--at present, at least. In a little time you will probably bemade acquainted with them, by the inevitable disclosures of time, which, as the wise man says, "discovers all things. "'

'But--but what'--stammered the pale vicar, altogether shocked and giddy. 

'You will not press me, my dear Sir; you'll understand that, just now, Ireally _cannot_ satisfy any particular enquiry. Miss Lake has spoken, incharity I _will_ hope and trust, without thought. But I am much mistaken, or she will herself, on half-an-hour's calm consideration, see the moralimpossibilities which interpose between her, to me, most amazing plan andits realisation. '

There was a little pause here, during which the tread of their feet onthe soft grass alone was audible. 

'You will quite understand, ' resumed the attorney, 'the degree ofconfidence with which I make this communication; and you will please, specially not to mention it to any person whatsoever. I do not except, infact, _any_. You will find, on consideration, that Miss Lake will notpress her residence upon you. No; I've no doubt Miss Lake is a veryintelligent person, and, when not excited, will see it clearly. '

The attorney's manner had something of that reserve, and grim sort ofdryness, which supervened whenever he fancied a friend or client on whomhe had formed designs was becoming impracticable. Nothing affected him somuch as that kind of unkindness. 

Jos. Larkin took his leave a little abruptly. He did not condescend toask the vicar whether he still entertained Miss Lake's proposal. He hadnot naturally a pleasant temper--somewhat short, dark, and dangerous, butby no means noisy. This temper, an intense reluctance ever to say 'thankyou, ' and a profound and quiet egotism, were the ingredients of that'pride' on which--a little inconsistently, perhaps, in so eminent aChristian--he piqued himself. It must be admitted, however, that hispride was not of that stamp which would prevent him from listening toother men's private talk, or reading their letters, if anything were tobe got by it; or from prosecuting his small spites with a patient andvirulent industry; or from stripping a man of his possessions, andtransferring them to himself by processes from which most men wouldshrink. 

'Well, ' thought the vicar, 'that munificent offer is unavailing, itseems. The sum insufficient, great as it is; and other difficulties inthe way. '

He was walking homewards, slowly and dejectedly; and was now beginning tofeel alarm lest the purchase of the reversion should fail. The agreementwas to have gone up to London by this day's mail, and now could not reachtill the day after to-morrow--four-and-twenty hours later than waspromised. The attorney had told him it was a 'touch-and-go affair, ' andthe whole thing might be off in a moment; and if it _should_ miscarrywhat inevitable ruin yawned before him? Oh, the fatigue of thesemonotonous agitations--this never-ending suspense! Oh, the yearningunimaginable for quiet and rest! How awfully he comprehended thereasonableness of the thanksgiving which he had read that day in thechurchyard--'We give Thee hearty thanks for that it hath pleased Thee todeliver this our brother out of the miseries of this sinful world. '

With the attorney it was different. Making the most of his height, whichhe fancied added much to the aristocratic effect of his presence, withhis head thrown back, and swinging his walking cane easily between hisfinger and thumb by his side, he strode languidly through the main streetof Gylingden, in the happy belief that he was making a sensation amongthe denizens of the town. 

And so he moved on to the mill-road, on which he entered, and was soondeep in the shadows of Redman's Dell. 

He opened the tiny garden-gate of Redman's Farm, looking about him with asupercilious benevolence, like a man conscious of bestowing adistinction. He was inwardly sensible of a sort of condescension inentering so diminutive and homely a place--a kind of half amusingdisproportion between Jos. Larkin, Esq. , of the Lodge, worth, already, £27, 000, and on the high road to greatness, and the trumpery little placein which he found himself. 

Old Tamar was sitting in the porch, with her closed Bible upon her knees;there was no longer light to read by. She rose up, like the 'grim, whitewoman who haunts yon wood, ' before him. 

Her young lady had walked up to Brandon, taking the little girl with her, and she supposed would be back again early. 

Mr. Larkin eyed her for a second to ascertain whether she was tellinglies. He always thought everyone might be lying. It was his primaryimpression here. But there was a recluse and unearthly character in theface of the crone which satisfied him that she would never think offencing with such weapons with him. 

Very good. Mr. Larkin would take a short walk, and as his business waspressing, he would take the liberty of looking in again in abouthalf-an-hour, if she thought her mistress would be at home then. 

So, although the weird white woman who leered after him so strangely ashe walked with his most lordly air out of the little garden, and down thedarkening road towards Gylingden, could not say, he resolved to maketrial again. 

In the meantime Rachel had arrived at Brandon Hall. Dorcas--whom, if thetruth were spoken, she would rather not have met--encountered her on thesteps. She was going out for a lonely, twilight walk upon the terrace, where many a beautiful Brandon of other days, the sunshine of whose smileglimmered only on the canvas that hung upon those ancestral walls, andwhose sorrows were hid in the grave and forgotten by the world, hadwalked in other days, in the pride of beauty, or in the sadness ofdesertion. 

Dorcas paused upon the door-steps, and received her sister-in-law uponthat elevation. 

'Have you really come all this way, Rachel, to see _me_ this evening?'she said, and something of sarcasm thrilled in the cold, musical tones. 

'No, Dorcas, ' said Rachel, taking her proffered hand in the spirit inwhich it was given, and with the air rather of a defiance than of agreeting; 'I came to see my brother. '

'You are frank, at all events, Rachel, and truth is better than courtesy;but you forget that your brother could not have returned so soon. '

'Returned?' said Rachel; 'I did not know he had left home. '

'It's strange he should not have consulted you. I, of course, knewnothing of it until he had been more than an hour upon his journey. '

Rachel Lake made no answer but a little laugh. 

'He'll return to-morrow; and perhaps your meeting may still be in time. Iwas thinking of a few minutes' walk upon the terrace, but you arefatigued: you had better come in and rest. '

'No, Dorcas, I won't go in. '

'But, Rachel, you are tired; you must come in with me, and drink tea, andthen you can go home in the brougham, ' said Dorcas, more kindly. 

'No, Dorcas, no; I will not drink tea nor go in; but I _am_ tired, and asyou are so kind, I will accept your offer of the carriage. '

Larcom had, that moment, appeared in the vestibule, and received theorder. 

'I'll sit in the porch, if you will allow me, Dorcas; you must not loseyour walk. '

'Then you won't come into the house, you won't drink tea with me, and youwon't join me in my little walk; and why not any of these?'

Dorcas smiled coldly, and continued, 'Well, I shall hear the carriage coming to the door, and I'll return andbid you good-night. It is plain, Rachel, you do not like my company. '

'True, Dorcas, I do _not_ like your company. You are unjust; you have noconfidence in me; you prejudge me without proof; and you have quiteceased to love me. Why should I like your company?'

Dorcas smiled a proud and rather sad smile at this sudden change from theconventional to the passionate; and the direct and fiery charge of herkinswoman was unanswered. 

She stood meditating for a minute. 

'You think I no longer love you, Rachel, as I did. Perhaps young ladies'friendships are never very enduring; but, if it be so, the fault is notmine. '

'No, Dorcas, the fault is not yours, nor mine. The fault is incircumstances. The time is coming, Dorcas, when you will know all, and, maybe, judge me mercifully. In the meantime, Dorcas, _you_ cannot like_my_ company, because you do not like me; and I do not like yours, justbecause, in spite of all, I do love you still; and in yours I only seethe image of a lost friend. You may be restored to me soon--maybe_never_--but till then, I have lost you. '

'Well, ' said Dorcas, 'it may be there is a wild kind of truth in what yousay, Rachel, and--no matter--_time_, as you say, and _light_--I don'tunderstand you, Rachel; but there is this in you that resembles me--weboth hate hypocrisy, and we are both, in our own ways, proud. I'll comeback, when I hear the carriage, and see you for a moment, as you won'tstay, or come with me, and bid you good-bye. '

So Dorcas went her way; and alone, on the terrace, looking over the stonebalustrade--over the rich and sombre landscape, dim and vaporous in thetwilight--she still saw the pale face of Rachel--paler than she liked tosee it. Was she ill?--and she thought how lonely she would be if Rachelwere to die--how lonely she was now. There was a sting of compunction--ayearning--and then started a few bitter and solitary tears. 

In one of the great stone vases, that are ranged along the terrace, thereflourished a beautiful and rare rose. I forget its name. Some of myreaders will remember. It is first to bloom--first to wither. Itsfragrant petals were now strewn upon the terrace underneath. One blossomonly remained untarnished, and Dorcas plucked it, and with it in herfingers, she returned to the porch where Rachel remained. 

'You see, I have come back a little before my time, ' said Dorcas. 'I havejust been looking at the plant you used to admire so much, and the leavesare shed already, and it reminded me of our friendship, Radie; but I amsure you are right; it will all bloom again, after the winter, you know, and I thought I would come back, and say _that_, and give you this relicof the bloom that is gone--the last token, ' and she kissed Rachel, as sheplaced it in her fingers, 'a token of remembrance and of hope. '

'I will keep it, Dorkie. It was kind of you, ' and their eyes metregretfully. 

'And--and, I think, I do trust you, Radie, ' said the heiress of Brandon;'and I hope you will try to like me on till--till spring comes, you know. And, I wish, ' she sighed softly, 'I wish we were as we used to be. I amnot very happy; and--here's the carriage. '

And it drew up close to the steps, and Rachel entered; and her littlehandmaid of up in the seat behind; and Dorcas and Rachel kissed theirhands, and smiled, and away the carriage glided; and Dorcas, standing onthe steps, looked after it very sadly. And when it disappeared, shesighed again heavily, still looking in its track; and I think she said'Darling!'

CHAPTER LX. 

RACHEL LAKE BEFORE THE ACCUSER. 

Twilight was darker in Redman's Dell than anywhere else. But dark as itwas, there was still light enough to enable Rachel, as she hurried acrossthe little garden, on her return from Brandon, to see a long white face, and some dim outline of the figure to which it belonged, looking out uponher from the window of her little drawing-room. 

But no, it could not be; who was there to call at so odd an hour? Shemust have left something--a bag, or a white basket upon the window-sash. She was almost startled, however, as she approached the porch, to see itnod, and a hand dimly waved in token of greeting. 

Tamar was in the kitchen. Could it be Stanley! But faint as the outlinewas she saw, she fancied that it was a taller person than he. She felt asort of alarm, in which there was some little mixture of thesuperstitious, and she pushed open the door, not entering the room, butstaring in toward the window, where against the dim, external light, sheclearly saw, without recognising it, a tall figure, greeting her with mopand moe. 

'Who is that?' cried Miss Lake, a little sharply. 

'It is I, Miss Lake, Mr. Josiah Larkin, of the Lodge, ' said thatgentleman, with what he meant to be an air of dignified firmness, andlooking very like a tall constable in possession; 'I have taken theliberty of presenting myself, although, I fear, at a somewhatunseasonable hour, but in reference to a little business, which, unfortunately, will not, I think, bear to be deferred. '

'No bad news, Mr. Larkin, I hope--nothing has happened. The Wylders areall well, I hope?'

'Quite well, so far as I am aware, ' answered the attorney, with a grimpoliteness; 'perfectly. Nothing has occurred, as yet at least, affectingthe interests of that family; but something is--I will not saythreatened--but I may say mooted, which, were any attempt seriously madeto carry it into execution, would, I regret to say, involve very seriousconsequences to a party whom for, I may say, many reasons, I shouldregret being called upon to affect unpleasantly. '

'And pray, Mr. Larkin, can I be of any use?'

'_Every_ use, Miss Lake, and it is precisely for that reason that I havetaken the liberty of waiting upon you, at what, I am well aware, is asomewhat unusual hour. '

'Perhaps, Mr. Larkin, you would be so good as to call in the morning--anyhour you appoint will answer me, ' said the young lady, a little stiffly. She was still standing at the door, with her hand upon the brass handle. 

'Pardon me, Miss Lake, the business to which I refer is really urgent. '

'_Very_ urgent, Sir, if it cannot wait till to-morrow morning. '

'Very true, quite true, very urgent indeed, ' replied the attorney, calmly; 'I presume, Miss Lake, I may take a chair?'

'Certainly, Sir, if you insist on my listening to-night, which I shouldcertainly decline if I had the power. '

'Thank you, Miss Lake. ' And the attorney took a chair, crossing one legover the other, and throwing his head back as he reclined in it with hislong arm over the back--the 'express image, ' as he fancied, of a polishedgentleman, conducting a diplomatic interview with a clever and high-bredlady. 

'Then it is plain, Sir, I _must_ hear you to-night, ' said Miss Lake, haughtily. 

'Not that, exactly, Miss Lake, but only that _I_ must _speak_to-night--in fact, I have no choice. The subject of our conference reallyis, as you will find, an urgent one, and to-morrow morning, which weshould each equally prefer, would be possibly too late--too late, atleast, to obviate a very painful situation. '

'You will make it, I am sure, as short as you can, Sir, ' said the younglady, in the same tone. 

'Exactly my wish, Miss Lake, ' replied Mr. Jos. Larkin. 

'Bring candles, Margery. '

And so the little drawing-room was illuminated; and the bald head of thetall attorney, and the gloss on his easy, black frock-coat, and his goldwatch-chain, and the long and large gloved hand, depending near thecarpet, with the glove of the other in it. And Mr. Jos. Larkin rose witha negligent and lordly case, and placed a chair for Miss Lake, so thatthe light might fall full upon her features, in accordance with his usualdiplomatic arrangement, which he fancied, complacently, no one had everdetected; he himself resuming his easy _pose_ upon his chair, with hisback, as much as was practicable, presented to the candles, and the long, bony fingers of the arm which rested on the table, negligently shadinghis observing little eyes, and screening off the side light from hisexpressive features. 

These arrangements, however, were disconcerted by Miss Lake's sittingdown at the other side of the table, and quietly requesting Mr. Larkin toopen his case. 

'Why, really, it is hardly a five minutes' matter, Miss Lake. It refersto the vicar, the Rev. William Wylder, and his respectable family, and aproposition which he, as my client, mentioned to me this evening. Hestated that you had offered to advance a sum of 600_l. _ for theliquidation of his liabilities. It will, perhaps, conduce to clearness todispose of this part of the matter first. May I therefore ask, at thisstage, whether the Rev. William Wylder rightly conceived you, when he sostated your meaning to me?'

'Yes, certainly, I am most anxious to assist them with that little sum, which I have now an opportunity of procuring. '

'A--exactly--yes--well, Miss Lake, that is, of course, very kind ofyou--very kind, indeed, and creditable to your feelings; but, as Mr. William Wylder's solicitor, and as I have already demonstrated to him, Imust now inform you, that the sum of six hundred pounds would beabsolutely _useless_ in his position. No party, Miss Lake, in hisposition, ever quite apprehends, even if he could bring himself fully tostate, the aggregate amount of his liabilities. I may state, however, toyou, without betraying confidence, that ten times that sum would notavail to extricate him, even temporarily, from his difficulties. He seesthe thing himself now; but drowning men will grasp, we know, at straws. However, he _does_ see the futility of this; and, thanking you mostearnestly, he, through me, begs most gratefully to decline it. In fact, my dear Miss Lake--it is awful to contemplate--he has been in the handsof sharks, harpies, my dear Madam; but I'll beat about for the money, inthe way of loan, if possible, and, one way or another, I am resolved, ifthe thing's to be done, to get him straight. '

There was here a little pause, and Mr. Larkin, finding that Miss Lake hadnothing to say, simply added--

'And so, for these reasons, and with these views, my dear Miss Lake, webeg, most respectfully, and I will say gratefully, to decline theproffered advance, which, I will say, at the same time, does honour toyour feelings. '

'I am sorry, ' said Miss Lake, 'you have had so much trouble in explainingso simple a matter. I will call early to-morrow, and see Mr. Wylder. '

'Pardon me, ' said the attorney, 'I have to address myself next to thesecond portion of your offer, as stated to me by Mr. W. Wylder, thatwhich contemplates a residence in his house, and in the respectablebosom, I may say, of that, in many respects, unblemished family. '

Miss Lake stared with a look of fierce enquiry at the attorney. 

'The fact is, Miss Lake, that that is an arrangement which under existingcircumstances I could not think of advising. I think, on reflection, youwill see, that Mr. Wylder--the Reverend William Wylder and hislady--could not for one moment seriously entertain it, and that I, who ambound to do the best I can for them, could not dream of advising it. '

'I fancy it is a matter of total indifference, Sir, what you may and whatyou may not advise in a matter quite beyond your province--I don't in theleast understand, or desire to understand you--and thinking your mannerimpertinent and offensive, I beg that you will now be so good as to leavemy house. '

Miss Rachel was very angry--although nothing but her bright colour andthe vexed flash of her eye showed it. 

'I were most unfortunate--most unfortunate indeed, Miss Lake, if mymanner could in the least justify the strong and undue language in whichyou have been pleased to characterise it. But I do not resent--it is notmy way--"beareth all things, " Miss Lake, "beareth all things"--I hope Itry to practise the precept; but the fact of being misunderstood shallnot deter me from the discharge of a simple duty. '

'If it is part of your duty, Sir, to make yourself intelligible, may Ibeg that you will do it without further delay. '

'My principal object in calling here was to inform you, Miss Lake, thatyou must quite abandon the idea of residing in the vicar's house, as youproposed, unless you wish me to state explicitly to him and to Mrs. Wylder the insurmountable objections which exist to any such arrangement. Such a task, Miss Lake, would be most painful to me. I hesitate todiscuss the question even with you; and if you give me your word ofhonour that you quite abandon that idea, I shall on the instant take myleave, and certainly, for the present, trouble you no further upon a mostpainful subject. '

'And now, Sir, as I have no intention whatever of tolerating yourincomprehensibly impertinent interference, and don't understand yourmeaning in the slightest degree, and do not intend to withdraw the offerI have made to good Mrs. Wylder, you will I hope perceive the uselessnessof prolonging your visit, and be so good as to leave me in unmolestedpossession of my poor residence. '

'If I wished to do you an injury, Miss Lake, I should take you at yourword. I don't--I wish to spare you. Your countenance, Miss Lake--you mustpardon my frankness, it is my way--_your countenance_ tells only tooplainly that you now comprehend my allusion. '

There was a confidence and significance in the attorney's air and accent, and a peculiar look of latent ferocity in his evil countenance, whichgradually excited her fears, and fascinated her gaze. 

'Now, Miss Lake, we are sitting here in the presence of Him who is thesearcher of hearts, and before whom nothing is secret--your eye is uponmine and mine on yours--and I ask you, _do you remember the night of the29th of September last_?'

That mean, pale, taunting face! the dreadful accents that vibrated withinher! How could that ill-omened man have divined her connection with theincidents--the unknown incidents--of that direful night? The lean figurein the black frock-coat, and black silk waistcoat, with that greatgleaming watch-chain, the long, shabby, withered face, and flushed, baldforehead; and those paltry little eyes, in their pink setting, thatnevertheless fascinated her like the gaze of a serpent. How had thathorrible figure come there--why was this meeting--whence his knowledge?An evil spirit incarnate he seemed to her. She blanched before it--everyvestige of colour fled from her features--she stared--she gaped at himwith a strange look of imbecility--and the long face seemed to enjoy andprotract its triumph. 

Without removing his gaze he was fumbling in his pocket for hisnote-book, which he displayed with a faint smile, grim and pallid. 

'I see you _do_ remember that night--_as well you may_, Miss Lake, ' heejaculated, in formidable tones, and with a shake of his bald head. 

'Now, Miss Lake, you see this book. It contains, Madam, the skeleton of acase. The bones and joints, Ma'am, of a case. I have it here, noted andprepared. There is not a fact in it without a note of the name andaddress of the witness who can prove it--the _witness_--observe me. '

Then there was a pause of a few seconds, during which he still kept herunder his steady gaze. 

'On that night, Miss Lake, the 29th September, you drove in Mr. MarkWylder's tax-cart to the Dollington station, where, notwithstanding yourveil, and your caution, you were _seen_ and _recognised_. The sameoccurred at Charteris. You accompanied Mr. Mark Wylder in his midnightflight to London, Miss Lake. Of your stay in London I say nothing. It wasprotracted to the 2nd October, when you arrived in the down train atDollington at twelve o'clock at night, and took a cab to the "WhiteHouse, " where you were met by a gentleman answering the description ofyour brother, Captain Lake. Now, Miss Lake, I have stated no particulars, but do you think that knowing all this, and knowing the _fraud_ by whichyour absence was covered, and perfectly understanding, as every manconversant with this sinful world must do, the full significance of allthis, I could dream of permitting you, Miss Lake, to become domesticatedas an inmate in the family of a pure-minded, though simple andunfortunate clergyman?'

'It may become my duty, ' he resumed, 'to prosecute a searching enquiry, Madam, into the circumstances of Mr. Mark Wylder's disappearance. If youhave the slightest regard for your own honour, you will not precipitatethat measure, Miss Lake; and so sure as you persist in your unwarrantabledesign of residing in that unsuspecting family, I will publish what Ishall then feel called upon by my position to make known; for I will beno party to seeing an innocent family compromised by admitting an inmateof whose real character they have not the faintest suspicion, and I shallat once set in motion a public enquiry into the circumstances of Mr. MarkWylder's disappearance. '

Looking straight in his face, with the same expression of helplessness, she uttered at last a horrible cry of anguish that almost thrilled thatcallous Christian. 

'I think I'm going mad!'

And she continued staring at him all the time. 

'Pray compose yourself, Miss Lake--there's no need to agitateyourself--nothing of all this need occur if you do not force it uponme--_nothing_. I beg you'll collect yourself--shall I call for water, Miss Lake?'

The fact is the attorney began to apprehend hysterics, or something evenworse, and was himself rather frightened. But Rachel was never longoverwhelmed by any shock--fear was not for her--her brave spirit stoodher in stead; and nothing rallied her so surely as the sense that anattempt was being made to intimidate her. 

'What have I heard--what have I endured? Listen to me, you cowardlylibeller. It is true that I was at Dollington, and at Charteris, on thenight you name. Also true that I went to London. Your hideous slander isgarnished with two or three bits of truth, but only the more villainousfor that. All that you have dared to insinuate is utterly false. BeforeHim who judges all, and knows all things--_utterly_ and _damnably_false!'

The attorney made a bow--it was his best. He did not imitate a gentlemanhappily, and was never so vulgar as when he was finest. 

One word of her wild protest he did not believe. His bow was of thatgrave but mocking sort which was meant to convey it. Perhaps if he hadaccepted what she said it might have led him to new and sounderconclusions. Here was light, but it glared and flashed in vain for him. 

Miss Lake was naturally perfectly frank. Pity it was she had ever had asecret to keep! These frank people are a sore puzzle to gentlemen ofLawyer Larkin's quaint and sagacious turn of mind. They can't believethat anybody ever speaks quite the truth: when they hear it--they don'trecognise it, and they wonder what the speaker is driving at. The bestmethod of hiding your opinion or your motives from such men, is to tellit to them. They are owls. Their vision is formed for darkness, and lightblinds them. 

Rachel Lake rang her bell sharply, and old Tamar appeared. 

'Show Mr. --Mr. --; show him to the door, ' said Miss Lake. 

The attorney rose, made another bow, and threw back his head, and movedin a way that was oppressively gentlemanlike to the door, and speedilyvanished at the little wicket. Old Tamar holding her candle to lightenhis path, as she stood, white and cadaverous, in the porch. 

'She's a little bit noisy to-night, ' thought the attorney, as hedescended the road to Gylingden; 'but she'll be precious sober byto-morrow morning--and I venture to say we shall hear nothing more ofthat scheme of hers. A reputable inmate, truly, and a pleasant_éclaircissement_ (this was one of his French words, and pronounced byhim with his usual accuracy, precisely as it is spelt)--a pleasant_éclaircissement_--whenever that London excursion and its creditablecircumstances come to light. '

CHAPTER LXI. 

IN WHICH DAME DUTTON IS VISITED. 

Duly next morning the rosy-fingered Aurora drew the gold and crimsoncurtains of the east, and the splendid Apollo, stepping forth from hischamber, took the reins of his unrivalled team, and driving four-in-handthrough the sky, like a great swell as he is, took small note of thestaring hucksters and publicans by the road-side, and sublimelyoverlooked the footsore and ragged pedestrians that crawl below hislevel. It was, in fact, one of those brisk and bright mornings whichproclaim a universal cheerfulness, and mock the miseries of those dismalwayfarers of life, to whom returning light is a renewal of sorrow, who, bowing toward the earth, resume their despairing march, and limp andgroan under heavy burdens, until darkness, welcome, comes again, andtheir eyelids drop, and they lie down with their loads on, looking up asilent supplication, and wishing that death would touch their eyelids intheir sleep, and their journey end where they lie. 

Captain Lake was in London this morning. We know he came aboutelectioneering matters; but he had not yet seen Leverett. Perhaps onsecond thoughts he rightly judged that Leverett knew no more than he didof the matter. It depended on the issue of the great debate that wasdrawing nigh. The Minister himself could not tell whether the dissolutionwas at hand; and could no more postpone it, when the time came, than hecould adjourn an eclipse. 

Notwithstanding the late whist party of the previous night, the gallantcaptain made a very early toilet. With his little bag in his hand, hewent down stairs, thinking unpleasantly, I believe, and jumped into theHansom that awaited him at the door, telling the man to go to the ----station. They had hardly turned the corner, however, when he popped hishead forward and changed the direction. 

He looked at his watch. He had quite time to make his visit, and save thedown-train after. 

He did not know the City well. Many men who lived two hundred miles away, and made a flying visit only once in three years, knew it a great dealbetter than the London-bred rake who had lived in the West-end all hisdays. 

Captain Lake looked peevish and dangerous, as he always did, when he wasanxious. In fact he did not know what the next ten minutes might bringhim. He was thinking what had best be done in any and every contingency. Was he still abroad, or had he arrived? was he in Shive's Court, or, cursed luck! had he crossed him yesterday by the down-train, and was heby this time closeted with Larkin in the Lodge? Lake, so to speak, stoodat his wicket, and that accomplished bowler, Fortune, ball in hand, atthe other end; will it be swift round-hand, or a slow twister, or ashooter, or a lob? Eye and hand, foot and bat, he must stand tense, yetflexible, lithe and swift as lightning, ready for everything--cut, block, slip, or hit to leg. It was not altogether pleasant. The stakes wereenormous! and the suspense by no means conducive to temper. 

Lake fancied that the man was driving wrong, once or twice, and was onthe point of cursing him to that effect, from the window. But at last, with an anxious throb at his heart, he recognised the dingy archway, andthe cracked brown marble tablet over the keystone, and he recognisedShive's Court. 

So forth jumped the captain, so far relieved, and glided into the dimquadrangle, with its square of smoky sky overhead; and the prattle ofchildren playing on the flags, and the scrape of a violin from a window, were in his ears, but as it were unheard. He was looking up at a window, with a couple of sooty scarlet geraniums in it. This was the court whereDame Dutton dwelt. He glided up her narrow stair and let himself in bythe latch; and with his cane made a smacking like a harlequin's swordupon the old woman's deal table, crying: 'Mrs. Dutton; Mrs. Dutton. IsMrs. Dutton at home?'

The old lady, who was a laundress, entered, in a short blue cottonwrapper, wiping the suds from her shrunken but sinewy arms with herapron, and on seeing the captain, her countenance, which was threatening, became very reverential indeed. 

'How d'ye do, Mrs. Dutton? Quite well. Have you heard lately from Jim?'

'No. '

'You'll see him soon, however, and give him this note, d'ye see, and tellhim I was here, asking about you and him, and very well, and glad if Ican serve him again? don't forget that, _very_ glad. Where will you keepthat note? Oh! your tea-caddy, not a bad safe; and see, give him this, it's ten pounds. You won't forget; and you want a new gown, Mrs. Dutton. I'd choose it thyself, only I'm such a bad judge; but you'll choose itfor me, won't you? and let me see it on you when next I come, ' and with acourtesy and a great beaming smile on her hot face, she accepted thefive-pound note, which he placed in her hand. 

In another moment the captain was gone. He had just time to swallow a cupof coffee at the 'Terminus Hotel, ' and was gliding away towards thedistant walls of Brandon Hall. 

He had a coupé all to himself. But he did not care for the prospect. Hesaw Lawyer Larkin, as it were, reflected in the plate-glass, with hishollow smile and hungry eyes before him, knowing more than he should do, paying him compliments, and plotting his ruin. 

'Everything would have been quite smooth only for that d---- fellow. TheDevil fixed him precisely there for the express purpose of fleecing andwatching, and threatening him--perhaps worse. He hated that sly, double-dealing reptile of prey--the arachnida of social nature--thespiders with which also naturalists place the scorpions. I dare say Mr. Larkin would have had as little difficulty in referring the gallantcaptain to the same family. 

While Stanley Lake is thus scanning the shabby, but dangerous image ofthe attorney in the magic mirror before him, that eminent limb of the lawwas not inactive in the quiet town of Gylingden. Under ordinarycircumstances his 'pride' would have condemned the vicar to a direfulterm of suspense, and he certainly would not have knocked at the door ofthe pretty little gabled house at the Dollington end of the town for manydays to come. The vicar would have had to seek out the attorney, to liein wait for and to woo him. 

But Jos. Larkin's pride, like all his other passions--except his weaknessfor the precious metals--was under proper regulation. Jim Dutton mightarrive at any moment, and it would not do to risk his publishing themelancholy intelligence of Mark Wylder's death before the transfer of thevicar's reversion; and to prevent that risk the utmost promptitude wasindispensable. 

At nine o'clock, therefore, he presented himself, attended by his legalhenchmen as before. 

'Another man might not have come here, Mr. Wylder, until his presence hadbeen specially invited, after the--the----' when he came to define theoffence it was not very easy to do so, inasmuch as it consisted in thevicar's having unconsciously very nearly escaped from his fangs; 'but letthat pass. I have had, I grieve to say, by this morning's post a mostserious letter from London;' the attorney shook his head, while searchinghis pocket. 'I'll read just a passage or two if you'll permit me; itcomes from Burlington and Smith. I protest I have forgot it at home;however, I may mention, that in consequence of the letter you authorisedme to write, and guaranteed by your bond, on which they have enteredjudgment, they have gone to the entire expense of drawing the deeds, andinvestigating title, and they say that the purchaser will positively beoff, unless the articles are in their office by twelve o'clock to-morrow;and, I grieve to say, they add, that in the event of the thing fallingthrough, they will issue execution for the amount of their costs, which, as I anticipated, a good deal exceeds four hundred pounds. I have, therefore, my dear Mr. Wylder, casting aside all unpleasant feeling, called to entreat you to end and determine any hesitation you may havefelt, and to execute without one moment's delay the articles which areprepared, and which must be in the post-office within half an hour. '

Then Mr. Jos. Larkin entered pointedly and briefly into Miss Lake'soffer, which he characterised as 'wholly nugatory, illusory, andchimerical;' told him he had spoken on the subject, yesterday evening, tothe young lady, who now saw plainly that there really was nothing in it, and that she was not in a position to carry out that part of herproposition, which contemplated a residence in the vicar's family. 

This portion of his discourse he dismissed rather slightly andmysteriously; but he contrived to leave upon the vicar's mind a verypainful and awful sort of uncertainty respecting the young lady of whomhe spoke. 

Then he became eloquent on the madness of further indecision in a stateof things so fearfully menacing, freely admitting that it would have beenincomparably better for the vicar never to have moved in the matter, than, having put his hand to the plough, to look back as he had beendoing. If he declined his advice, there was no more to be said, but tobow his head to the storm, and that ponderous execution would descend inwreck and desolation. 

So the vicar, very much flushed, in panic and perplexity, and trustingwildly to his protesting lawyer's guidance, submitted. Buggs and thebilious youngster entered with the deed, and the articles were dulyexecuted, and the vicar signed also a receipt for the fanciful part ofthe consideration, and upon it and the deed he endorsed a solemn promise, in the terms I have mentioned before, that he would never take any stepto question, set aside, or disturb the purchase, or any matter connectedtherewith. 

Then the attorney, now in his turn flushed and very much elated, congratulated the poor vicar on his emancipation from his difficulties;and 'now that it was all done and over, told him, what he had never toldhim before, that, considering the nature of the purchase, he had got a_splendid_ price for it. '

The good man had also his agreement from Lake to sell Five Oaks. 

The position of the good attorney, therefore, in a commercial point ofview, was eminently healthy and convenient. For less than half the valueof Five Oaks alone, he was getting that estate, and a vastly greater onebeside, to be succeeded to on Mark Wylder's death. 

No wonder, then, that the good attorney was more than usually bland andhappy that day. He saw the pork-butcher in his back-parlour, and had afew words to say about the chapel-trust, and his looks and talk werequite edifying. He met two little children in the street, and stopped andsmiled as he stooped down to pat them on the heads, and ask them whosechildren they were, and gave one of them a halfpenny. And he satafterwards, for nearly ten minutes, with lean old Mrs. Mullock, in herlittle shop, where toffey, toys, and penny books for young people weresold, together with baskets, tea-cups, straw-mats, and other adult ware;and he was so friendly and talked so beautifully, and although, as headmitted in his lofty way, 'there might be differences in fortune andposition, ' yet were we not all members of one body? And he talked uponthis theme till the good lady, marvelling how so great a man could be sohumble, was called to the receipt of custom, on the subject of 'paradise'and 'lemon-drops, ' and the heavenly-minded attorney, with a celestialcondescension, recognised his two little acquaintances of the street, andactually adding another halfpenny to his bounty--escaped, with a hastyfarewell and a smile, to the street, as eager to evade the thanks of thelittle people, and the admiration of Mrs. Mullock. 

It is not to be supposed, that having got one momentous matter well offhis mind, the good attorney was to be long rid of anxieties. The humanmind is fertile in that sort of growth. As well might the gentleman whoshaves suppose, as his fingers glide, after the operation, over thepolished surface of his chin--_factus ad unguem_--that he may fling hisbrush and strop into the fire, and bury his razor certain fathoms in theearth. No! One crop of cares will always succeed another--not veryoppressive, nor in any wise grand, perhaps--worries, simply, no more; butneeding a modicum of lather, the looking glass, the strop, the diligentrazor, delicate manipulation, and stealing a portion of our precious timeevery day we live; and this must go on so long as the state of man isimperfect, and plenty of possible evil in futurity. 

The attorney must run up to London for a day or two. What if thatmysterious, and almost illegible brute, James Dutton, should arrive whilehe was away. Very unpleasant, possibly! For the attorney intended to keepthat gentleman very quiet. Sufficient time must be allowed to interveneto disconnect the purchase of the vicar's remainder from the news of MarkWylder's demise. A year and a-half, maybe, or possibly a year might do. For if the good attorney was cautious, he was also greedy, and would takepossession as early as was safe. Therefore arrangements were carefullyadjusted to detain that important person, in the event of his arriving;and a note, in the good attorney's hand, inviting him to remain at theLodge till his return, and particularly requesting that 'he would kindlyabstain from mentioning to _anyone_, during his absence, any matter hemight intend to communicate to him in his professional capacity orotherwise. '

This, of course, was a little critical, and made his to-morrow's journeyto London a rather anxious prospect. 

In the meantime our friend, Captain Lake, arrived in a hired fly, withhis light baggage, at the door of stately Brandon. So soon as the dustand ashes of railway travel were removed, the pale captain, in changedattire, snowy cambric, and with perfumed hair and handkerchief, presentedhimself before Dorcas. 

'Now, Dorkie, darling, your poor soldier has come back, resolved to turnover a new leaf, and never more to reserve another semblance of a secretfrom you, ' said he, so soon as his first greeting was over. 'I long tohave a good talk with you, Dorkie. I have no one on earth to confide inbut you. I think, ' he said, with a little sigh, 'I would never have beenso reserved with you, darling, if I had had anything pleasant to confide;but all I have to say is triste and tiresome--only a story ofdifficulties and petty vexations. I want to talk to you, Dorkie. Whereshall it be?'

They were in the great drawing-room, where I had first seen DorcasBrandon and Rachel Lake, on the evening on which my acquaintance with theprincely Hall was renewed, after an interval of so many years. 

'This room, Stanley, dear?'

'Yes, this room will answer very well, ' he said, looking round. 'We can'tbe overheard, it is so large. Very well, darling, listen. '

CHAPTER LXII. 

THE CAPTAIN EXPLAINS WHY MARK WYLDER ABSCONDED. 

'How delicious these violets are!' said Stanley, leaning for a momentover the fragrant purple dome that crowned a china stand on the marbletable they were passing. 'You love flowers, Dorkie. Every perfect womanis, I think, a sister of Flora's. You are looking pale--you have not beenill? No! I'm very glad you say so. Sit down for a moment and listen, darling. And first I'll tell you, upon my honour, what Rachel has beenworrying me about. '

Dorcas sate beside him on the sofa, and he placed his slender armaffectionately round her waist. 

'You must know, Dorkie, that before his sudden departure, Mark Wylderpromised to lend William, his brother, a sum sufficient to relieve him ofall his pressing debts. '

'Debts! I never knew before that he had any, ' exclaimed Dorcas. 'PoorWilliam! I am so sorry. '

'Well, he has, like other fellows, only he can't get away as easily, andhe has been very much pressed since Mark went, for he has not yet lenthim a guinea, and in fact Rachel says she thinks he is in danger of beingregularly sold out. She does not say she knows it, but only that shesuspects they are in a great fix about money. '

'Well, you must know that _I_ was the sole cause of Mark Wylder's leavingthe country. '

'_You_, Stanley!'

'Yes, _I_, Dorkie. I believe I thought I was doing a duty; but really Iwas nearly mad with _jealousy_, and simply doing my utmost to drive arival from _your_ presence. And yet, without hope for myself, _desperately_ in love. '

Dorcas looked down and smiled oddly; it was a sad and bitter smile, andseemed to ask whither has that desperate love, in so short a time, flown?

'I know I was right. He was a stained man, and was liable at any momentto be branded. It was villainous in him to seek to marry you. I told himat last that, unless he withdrew, your friends should know all. Iexpected he would show fight, and that a meeting would follow; and Ireally did not much care whether I were killed or not. But he went, onthe contrary, rather quietly, threatening to pay me off, however, thoughhe did not say how. He's a cunning dog, and not very soft-hearted; andhas no more conscience than that, ' and he touched his finger to the coldsummit of a marble bust. 

'He is palpably machinating something to my destruction with aninfluential attorney on whom I keep a watch, and he has got some fellownamed Dutton into the conspiracy; and not knowing how they mean to act, and only knowing how utterly wicked, cunning, and bloody-minded he is, and that he hates me as he probably never hated anyone before, I must beprepared to meet him, and, if possible, to blow up that Satanic cabal, which without _money_ I can't. It was partly a mystification about theelection; of course, it will be expensive, but nothing like the other. Are you ill, Dorkie?'

He might well ask, for she appeared on the point of fainting. 

Dorcas had read and heard stories of men seemingly no worse than theirneighbours--nay, highly esteemed, and praised, and liked--who yet werehaunted by evil men, who encountered them in lonely places, or by night, and controlled them by the knowledge of some dreadful crime. WasStanley--her husband--whose character she had begun to discern, whosehabitual mystery was, somehow, tinged in her mind with a shade of horror, one of this two-faced, diabolical order of heroes?

Why should he dread this cabal, as he called it, even though directed bythe malignant energy of the absent and shadowy Mark Wylder? What couldall the world do to harm him in free England, if he were innocent, if hewere what he seemed--no worse than his social peers?

Why should it be necessary to buy off the conspirators whom a guiltlessman would defy and punish?

The doubt did not come in these defined shapes. As a halo surrounds asaint, a shadow rose suddenly, and enveloped pale, scented, smilingStanley, with the yellow eyes. He stood in the centre of a dreadfulmedium, through which she saw him, ambiguous and awful; and she sickened. 

'Are you ill, Dorkie, darling?' said the apparition in accents oftenderness. 'Yes, you _are_ ill. '

And he hastily threw open the window, close to which they were sitting, and she quickly revived in the cooling air. 

She saw his yellow eyes fixed upon her features, and his face wearing anodd expression--was it interest, or tenderness, or only scrutiny; to herthere seemed a light of insincerity and cruelty in its pallor. 

'You are better, darling; thank Heaven, you are better. '

'Yes--yes--a great deal better; it is passing away. '

Her colour was returning, and with a shivering sigh, she said--

'Oh? Stanley, you must speak truth; I am your wife. Do they know anythingvery bad--are you in their power?'

'Why, my dearest, what on earth could put such a wild fancy in yourhead?' said Lake, with a strange laugh, and, as she fancied, growingstill paler. 'Do you suppose I am a highwayman in disguise, or amurderer, like--what's his name--Eugene Aram? I must have expressedmyself very ill, if I suggested anything so tragical. I protest beforeHeaven, my darling, there is not one word or act of mine I need fear tosubmit to any court of justice or of honour on earth. '

He took her hand, and kissed it affectionately, and still fondling itgently between his, he resumed--

'I don't mean to say, of course, that I have always been better thanother young fellows; I've been foolish, and wild, and--and--I've donewrong things, occasionally--as all young men will; but for high crimesand misdemeanors, or for melodramatic situations, I never had theslightest taste. There's no man on earth who can tell anything of me, orput me under any sort of pressure, thank Heaven; and simply because Ihave never in the course of my life done a single act unworthy of agentleman, or in the most trifling way compromised myself. I swear it, mydarling, upon my honour and soul, and I will swear it in any terms--themost awful that can be prescribed--in order totally and for ever toremove from your mind so amazing a fancy. '

And with a little laugh, and still holding her hand, he passed his armround her waist, and kissed her affectionately. 

'But you are perfectly right, Dorkie, in supposing that I _am_ under veryconsiderable apprehension from their machinations. Though they cannotslur our fair fame, it is quite possible they may very seriously affectour property. Mr. Larkin is in possession of all the family papers. Idon't like it, but it is too late now. The estates have been back andforward so often between the Brandons and Wylders, I always fancy theremay be a screw loose, or a frangible link somewhere, and he's deeplyinterested for Mark Wylder. '

'You are better, darling; I think you are better, ' he said, looking inher face, after a little pause. 

'Yes, dear Stanley, much better; but why should you suppose any plotagainst our title?'

'Mark Wylder is in constant correspondence with that fellow Larkin. Iwish we were quietly rid of him, he is such an unscrupulous dog. I assureyou, I doubt very much if the deeds are safe in his possession; at allevents, he ought to choose between us and Mark Wylder. It is monstroushis being solicitor for both. The Wylders and Brandons have always beencontesting the right to these estates, and the same thing may arise againany day. '

'But tell me, Stanley, how do you want to apply money? What particulargood can it do us in this unpleasant uncertainty?'

'Well, Dorkie, believe me I have a sure instinct in matters of this kind. Larkin is plotting treason against us. Wylder is inciting him, and willreap the benefit of it. Larkin hesitates to strike, but that won't lastlong. In the meantime, he has made a distinct offer to buy Five Oaks. Hisdoing so places him in the same interest with us; and, although he doesnot offer its full value, still I should sleep sounder if it wereconcluded; and the fact is, I don't think we are safe until that sale_is_ concluded. '

Dorcas looked for a moment earnestly in his face, and then down, inthought. 

'Now, Dorkie, I have told you all. Who is to advise you, if not yourhusband? Trust my sure conviction, and promise me, Dorcas, that you willnot hesitate to join me in averting, by a sacrifice we shall hardly feel, a really stupendous blow. '

He kissed her hand, and then her lips, and he said--

'You _will_, Dorkie, I _know_ you will. Give me your promise. '

'Stanley, tell me once more, are you really quite frank when you tell methat you apprehend no personal injury from these people--apart, I mean, from the possibility of Mr. Larkin's conspiring to impeach our rights infavour of Mr. Wylder?'

'Personal injury? None in life, my darling. '

'And there is really no secret--nothing--_tell_ your wife--nothing youfear coming to light?'

'I swear again, nothing. _Won't_ you believe me, darling?'

'Then, if it be so, Stanley, I think we should hesitate long beforeselling any part of the estate, upon a mere conjecture of danger. You orI may over-estimate that danger, being so nearly affected by it. We musttake advice; and first, we must consult Chelford. Remember, Stanley, howlong the estate has been preserved. Whatever may have been their crimesand follies, those who have gone before us never impaired the Brandonestate; and, without full consideration, without urgent cause, I, Stanley, will not begin. '

'Why, it is only Five Oaks, and we shall have the money, you forget, 'said Stanley. 

'Five Oaks is an estate in itself; and the idea of dismembering theBrandon inheritance seems to me like taking a plank from a ship--all willgo down when that is done. '

'But you _can't_ dismember it; it is only a life estate. '

'Well, perhaps so; but Chelford told me that one of the London peoplesaid he thought Five Oaks belonged to me absolutely. '

'In that case the inheritance _is_ dismembered already. '

'I will have no share in selling the old estate, or any part of it, tostrangers, Stanley, except in a case of necessity; and we must do nothingprecipitately; and I must insist, Stanley, on consulting Chelford beforetaking any step. He will view the question more calmly than you or I can;and we owe him that respect, Stanley, he has been so very kind to us. '

'Chelford is the very last man whom I would think of consulting, 'answered Stanley, with his malign and peevish look. 

'And why?' asked Dorcas. 

'Because he is quite sure to advise against it, ' answered Stanley, sharply. 'He is one of those Quixotic fellows who get on very well infair weather, while living with a duke or duchess, but are sure to runyou into mischief when they come to the inns and highways of common life. I know perfectly, he would protest against a compromise. DischargeLarkin--fight him--and see us valiantly stript of our property by somecursed law-quibble; and think we ought to be much more comfortable so, than in this house, on the terms of a compromise with a traitor likeLarkin. But _I_ don't think so, nor any man of sense, nor anyone but ahairbrained, conceited knight-errant. '

'I think Chelford one of the most sensible as well as honourable men Iknow; and I will take no step in selling a part of our estate to thatodious Mr. Larkin, without consulting him, and at least hearing what hethinks of it. '

Stanley's eyes were cast down--and he was nipping the struggling hairs ofhis light moustache between his lips--but he made no answer. Onlysuddenly he looked up, and said quietly, 'Very well. Good-bye for a little, Dorkie, ' and he leaned over her andkissed her cheek, and then passed into the hall, where he took his hatand cane. 

Larcom presented him with a note, in a sealed envelope. As he took itfrom the salver he recognised Larkin's very clear and large hand. Isuspect that grave Mr. Larcom had been making his observations andconjectures thereupon. 

The captain took it with a little nod, and a peevish side-glance. Itsaid--

'MY DEAR CAPTAIN BRANDON LAKE, --Imperative business calls me to London bythe early train to-morrow. Will you therefore favour me, if convenient, _by the bearer_, with the small note of consent, which must accompany thearticles agreeing to sell. 

'I remain, &c. &c. &c. '

Larkin's groom was waiting for an answer. 

'Tell him I shall probably see Mr. Larkin myself, ' said the captain, snappishly; and so he walked down to pretty little Gylingden. 

On the steps of the reading-room stood old Tom Ruddle, who acted asmarker in the billiard-room, treasurer, and book-keeper beside, and sweptout the premises every morning, and went to and fro at the proper hours, between that literary and sporting institution and the post-office; andwho, though seldom sober, was always well instructed in the news of thetown. 

'How do you do, old Ruddle--quite well?' asked the captain with a smile. 'Who have you got in the rooms?'

Well, Jos. Larkin was not there. Indeed he seldom showed in thosepremises, which he considered decidedly low, dropping in only now andthen, like the great county gentlemen, on sessions days, to glance at thepapers, and gossip on their own high affairs. 

But Ruddle had seen Mr. Jos. Larkin on the green, not five minutes since, and thither the gallant captain bent his steps. 

CHAPTER LXIII. 

THE ACE OF HEARTS. 

'So you are going to London--_to-morrow_, is not it?' said Captain Lake, when on the green of Gylingden where visitors were promenading, and themilitia bands playing lusty polkas, he met Mr. Jos. Larkin, in lavendertrousers and kid gloves, new hat, metropolitan black frock-coat, andshining French boots--the most elegant as well as the most Christian ofprovincial attorneys. 

'Ah, yes--I think--should my engagements permit--of starting earlyto-morrow. The fact is, Captain Lake, our poor friend the vicar, youknow, the Rev. William Wylder, has pressing occasion for some money, andI can't leave him absolutely in the hands of Burlington and Smith. '

'No, of course--quite so, ' said Lake, with that sly smile which madeevery fellow on whom it lighted somehow fancy that the captain haddivined his secret. 'Very honest fellows, with good looking after--eh?'

The attorney laughed a little awkwardly, with his pretty pink blush overhis long face. 

'Well, I'm far from saying that, but it is their business, you know, totake care of _their_ client; and it would not do to give them thehandling of _mine_. Can I do anything, Captain Lake, for you while intown?'

'Nothing on earth, thank you very much. But I am thinking of doingsomething for you. You've interested yourself a great deal about MarkWylder's movements. '

'Not more than my duty clearly imposed. '

'Yes; but notwithstanding it will operate, I'm afraid, as you willpresently see, rather to his prejudice. For to prevent your conjecturalinterference from doing him a more serious mischief, I will now, andhere, if you please, divulge the true and only cause of his absconding. It is fair to mention, however, that your knowing it will make you fullyas odious to him as I am--and that, I assure you, is very odious indeed. There were four witnesses beside myself--Lieutenant-Colonel Jermyn, SirJames Carter, Lord George Vanbrugh, and Ned Clinton. 

'_Witnesses_! Captain Lake. Do you allude to a legal matter?' enquiredLarkin, with his look of insinuating concern and enquiry. 

'Quite the contrary--a very lawless matter, indeed. These four gentlemen, beside myself, were present at the occurrence. But perhaps you've heardof it?' said the captain, 'though that's not likely. '

'Not that I recollect, Captain Lake, ' answered Jos. Larkin. 

'Well, it is not a thing you'd forget easily--and indeed it was a verywell kept secret, as well as an ugly one, ' and Lake smiled in his slyquizzical way. 

'And _where_, Captain Lake, did it occur, may I enquire?' said Larkin, with his charming insinuation. 

'You may, and you shall hear--in fact, I'll tell you the whole thing. Itwas at Gray's Club, in Pall Mall. The whist party were old Jermyn, Carter, Vanbrugh, and Wylder. Clinton and I were at piquet, and weredisturbed by a precious row the old boys kicked up. Jermyn and Carterwere charging Mark Wylder, in so many words, with not playingfairly--there was an ace of hearts on the table played by him, and beforethree minutes they brought it home--and in fact it was quite clear thatpoor dear Mark had helped himself to it in quite an irregular way. '

'Oh, dear, Captain Lake, oh, dear, how shocking--how inexpressiblyshocking! Is not it _melancholy_?' said Larkin, in his finest and mostpathetic horror. 

'Yes; but don't cry till I've done, ' said Lake, tranquilly. 'Mark triedto bully, but the cool old heads were too much for him, and he threwhimself at last entirely on our mercy--and very abject he became, poorthing. '

'How well the mountains look! I am afraid we shall have rain to-morrow. '

Larkin uttered a short groan. 

'So they sent him into the small card-room, next that we were playing in. I think we were about the last in the club--it was past threeo'clock--and so the old boys deliberated on their sentence. To bring thematter before the committee were utter ruin to Mark, and they let himoff, on these conditions--he was to retire forthwith from the club; hewas never to play any game of cards again; and, lastly, he was never moreto address any one of the gentlemen who were present at his detection. Poor dear devil!--how he did jump at the conditions;--and provided theywere each and all strictly observed, it was intimated that the occurrenceshould be kept secret. Well, you know, that was letting poor old Mark offin a coach; and I do assure you, though we had never liked one another, Ireally was very glad they did not move his expulsion--which would haveinvolved his quitting the service--and I positively don't know how hecould have lived if that had occurred. '

'I do solemnly assure you, Captain Lake, what you have told me has beyondexpression amazed, and I will say, horrified me, ' said the attorney, witha slow and melancholy vehemence. 'Better men might have suspectedsomething of it--I do solemnly pledge my honour that nothing of the kindso much as crossed my mind--not naturally suspicious, I believe, but allthe more shocked, Captain Lake, on that account'

'He was poor then, you see, and a few pounds were everything to him, andthe temptation immense; but clumsy fellows ought not to try that sort ofthing. There's the highway--Mark would have made a capital garrotter. '

The attorney groaned, and turned up his eyes. The band was playing 'Popgoes the weasel, ' and old Jackson, very well dressed and buckled up, witha splendid smile upon his waggish, military countenance, cried, as hepassed, with a wave of his hand, 'How do, Lake--how do, Mr. Larkin--beautiful day!'

'I've no wish to injure Mark; but it is better that you should know atonce, than go about poking everywhere for information. '

'I do assure you----'

'And having really no wish to hurt him, ' pursued the captain, 'and alsomaking it, as I do, a point that you shall repeat this conversation aslittle as possible, I don't choose to appear singular, as your soleinformant, and I've given you here a line to Sir James Carter--he'smember, you know, for Huddlesbury. I mention, that Mark, having brokenhis promise, and played for heavy stakes, too, both on board his ship, and at Plymouth and Naples, which I happen to know; and also by accostingme, whom, as one of the gentlemen agreeing to impose these conditions, hewas never to address, I felt myself at liberty to mention it to you, holding the relation you do to me as well as to him, in consequence ofthe desirableness of placing you in possession of the true cause of hisabsconding, which was simply my telling him that I would not permit him, slurred as he was, to marry a lady who was totally ignorant of his actualposition; and, in fact, that unless he withdrew, I must acquaint theyoung lady's guardian of the circumstances. '

There was quite enough probability in this story to warrant Jos. Larkinin turning up his eyes and groaning. But in the intervals, his shrewdeyes searched the face of the captain, not knowing whether to believe onesyllable of what he related. 

I may as well mention here, that the attorney did present the note to SirJ. Carter with which Captain Lake had furnished him; indeed, he neverlost an opportunity of making the acquaintance of a person of rank; andthat the worthy baronet, so appealed to, and being a blunt sort offellow, and an old acquaintance of Stanley's, did, in a short and testysort of way, corroborate Captain Lake's story, having previouslyconditioned that he was not to be referred to as the authority from whomMr. Larkin had learned it. 

The attorney and Captain Brandon Lake were now walking side by side overthe more sequestered part of the green. 

'And so, ' said the captain, coming to a stand-still, 'I'll bid yougood-bye, Larkin; what stay, I forgot to ask, do you make in town?'

'Only a day or two. '

'You'll not wait for the division on Trawler's motion?'

'Oh, dear, no. I calculate I'll be here again, certainly, in three days'time. And, I suppose, Captain Lake, you received my note?'

'You mean just now? Oh, yes; of course it is all right; but one day is asgood as another; and you have got my agreement signed. '

'Pardon me, Captain Brandon Lake; the fact is, one day, in this case, does _not_ answer as well as another, for I must have drafts of the deedsprepared by my conveyancer in town, and the note is indispensable. Perhaps, if there is any difficulty, you will be so good as to say so, and I shall then be in a position to consider the case in its newaspect. '

'What the devil difficulty _can_ there be, Sir? I can't see it, any morethan what _hurry_ can possibly exist about it, ' said Lake, stung with amomentary fury. It seemed as though everyone was conspiring to perplexand torment him; and he, like the poor vicar, though for very differentreasons, had grown intensely anxious to sell. He had grown to dread theattorney, since the arrival of Dutton's letter. He suspected that hisjourney to London had for its object a meeting with that person. He couldnot tell what might be going on in the dark. But the possibility of sucha conjunction might well dismay him. 

On the other hand, the more Mr. Larkin relied upon the truth of Dutton'sletter, the cooler he became respecting the purchase of Five Oaks. Itwas, of course, a very good thing; but not his first object. The vicar'sreversion in that case was everything; and of it he was now sure. 

'There is no difficulty about the note, Sir; it contains but four lines, and I've given you the form. No difficulty can exist but in the onequarter; and the fact is, ' he added, steadily, 'unless I have that notebefore I leave to-morrow-morning, I'll assume that you wish to be off, Captain Lake, and I will adapt myself to circumstances. '

'You may have it _now_, ' said the captain, with a fierce carelessness. 'D--d nonsense! Who could have fancied any such stupid hurry? Send in themorning, and you shall have it. ' And the captain rather savagely turnedaway, skirting the crowd who hovered about the band, in his leisurely andnow solitary ramble. 

The captain was sullen that evening at home. He was very uncomfortable. His heart was failing him for the things that were coming to pass. One ofhis maniacal tempers, which had often before thrown him, as it were, 'offthe rails, ' was at the bottom of his immediate troubles. This pronenessto sudden accesses of violence and fury was the compensation which abatedthe effect of his ordinary craft and self-command. 

He had done all he could to obviate the consequences of his folly in thiscase. He hoped the attorney might not succeed in discovering Jim Dutton'swhereabouts. At all events, he had been beforehand, and taken measures toquiet that person's dangerous resentment. But it was momentous in thecritical state of things to give this dangerous attorney a handsome sharein his stake--to place him, as he had himself said, 'in the same boat, 'and enlist all his unscrupulous astuteness in maintaining his title: andif he went to London disappointed, and that things turned out unluckilyabout Dutton, it might be a very awful business indeed. 

Dinner had been a very dull _tête-à-tête_. Dorcas sat stately andsad--looking from the window toward the distant sunset horizon, piled indusky gold and crimson clouds, against the faded, green sky--a glory thatis always melancholy and dreamy. Stanley sipped his claret, his eyes uponthe cloth. He raised them and looked out, too; and the ruddy light tintedhis pale features. 

A gleam of good humour seemed to come with it, and he said, 'I was just thinking, Dorkie, that for you and me, _alone_, these greatrooms are a little dreary. Suppose we have tea in the tapestry room. '

'The Dutch room, Stanley--I think so--I should like it very well. So, Iam certain, would Rachel. I've written to her to come. I hope she will. Iexpect her at nine. The brougham will be with her. She wrote such an oddnote to-day, addressed to you; but _I opened it_. Here it is. '

She did not watch his countenance, or look in his direction, as he readit. She addressed herself, on the contrary, altogether to her Liliputianwhite lap-dog, Snow, and played with his silken ears; and chatted withhim as ladies will. 

A sealed envelope broken. That scoundrel, Larcom, knew perfectly it wasmeant for _me_. He was on the point of speaking his mind, which wouldhardly have been pleasant to hear, upon this piece of detectiveimpertinence of his wife's. He could have smashed all the glass upon thetable. But he looked serene, and leaned back with the corner of Rachel'snote between two fingers. It was a case in which he clearly saw he mustcommand himself. 

CHAPTER LXIV. 

IN THE DUTCH ROOM. 

His heart misgave him. He felt that a crisis was coming; and he read--

'I cannot tell you, my poor brother, how miserable I am. I have justlearned that a very dangerous person has discovered more about thatdreadful evening than we believed known to anybody in Gylingden. I amsubjected to the most agonising suspicions and _insults_. Would to HeavenI were dead! But living, I cannot endure my present state of mind longer. To-morrow morning I will see Dorcas--poor Dorcas!--and tell her all. I amweary of urging you, _in vain_, to do so. It would have been much better. But although, after that interview, I shall, perhaps, never see her more, I shall yet be happier, and, I think, relieved from suspense, and thetorments of mystery. So will she. At all events, it is her _right_ toknow all--and she shall. 

'YOUR OUTCAST AND MISERABLE SISTER. '

On Stanley's lips his serene, unpleasant smile was gleaming, as he closedthe note carelessly. He intended to speak, but his voice caught. Hecleared it, and sipped a little claret. 

'For a clever girl she certainly does write the most wonderful rubbish. Such an effusion! And she sends it tossing about, from hand to hand, among the servants. I've anticipated her, however, Dorkie. ' And he tookher hand and kissed it. 'She does not know I've told you _all_ myself. '

Stanley went to the library, and Dorcas to the conservatory, neither veryhappy, each haunted by an evil augury, and a sense of coming danger. Thedeepening shadow warned Dorcas that it was time to repair to the Dutchroom, where she found lights and tea prepared. 

In a few minutes more the library door opened and Stanley Lake peeped in. 

'Radie not come yet?' said he entering. 'We certainly are much pleasanterin this room, Dorkie, more, in proportion, than we two should have beenin the drawing-room. '

He seated himself beside her, drawing his chair very close to hers, andtaking her hand in his. He was more affectionate this evening than usual. What did it portend? she thought. She had already begun to acquiesce inRachel's estimate of Stanley, and to fancy that whatever he did it waswith an unacknowledged purpose. 

'Does little Dorkie love me?' said Lake, in a sweet undertone. 

There was reproach, but love too, in the deep soft glance she threw uponhim. 

'You must promise me not to be frightened at what I am going to tellyou, ' said Lake. 

She heard him with sudden panic, and a sense of cold stole over her. Helooked like a ghost--quite white--smiling. She knew something wascoming--the secret she had invoked so long--and she was appalled. 

'Don't be frightened, darling. It is necessary to tell you; but it isreally not much when you hear me out. You'll say so when you have quiteheard me. So you won't be frightened?'

She was gazing straight into his wild yellow eyes, fascinated, with alook of expecting terror. 

'You are nervous, darling, ' he continued, laying his hand on hers. 'Shallwe put it off for a little? You are frightened. '

'Not much frightened, Stanley, ' she whispered. 

'Well, we had better wait. I see, Dorcas, you _are_ frightened andnervous. Don't keep looking at me; look at something else, can't you? Youmake yourself nervous that way. I promise, upon my honour, I'll not say aword about it till you bid me. '

'I know, Stanley--I know. '

'Then, why won't you look down, or look up, or look any way you please, only don't stare at me so. '

'Yes--oh, yes, ' and she shut her eyes. 

'I'm sorry I began, ' he said, pettishly. 'You'll make a fuss. You've madeyourself quite nervous; and I'll wait a little. '

'Oh! no, Stanley, _now_--for Heaven's sake, _now_. I was only a littlestartled; but I am quite well again. Is it anything about marriage? Oh, Stanley, in mercy, tell me was there any other engagement?'

'Nothing, darling--nothing on earth of the sort;' and he spoke with anicy little laugh. 'Your poor soldier is altogether yours, Dorkie, ' and hekissed her cheek. 

'Thank God for that!' said Dorcas, hardly above her breath. 

'What I have to say is quite different, and really nothing that needaffect you; but Rachel has made such a row about it. Fifty fellows, Iknow, are in much worse fixes; and though it is not of so muchconsequence, still I think I should not have told you; only, withoutknowing it, you were thwarting me, and helping to get me into a seriousdifficulty by your obstinacy--or what you will--about Five Oaks. '

Somehow trifling as the matter was, Stanley seemed to grow more and moreunwilling to disclose it, and rather shrank from it now. 

'Now, Dorcas, mind, there must be no trifling. You must not treat me asRachel has. If you can't keep a secret--for it _is_ a secret--say so. Shall I tell you?'

'Yes, Stanley--yes. I'm your wife. '

'Well, Dorcas, I told you something of it; but only a part, and somecircumstances I _did_ intentionally colour a little; but I could not helpit, unless I had told everything; and no matter what you or Rachel maysay, it was kinder to withhold it as long as I could. '

He glanced at the door, and spoke in a lower tone. 

And so, with his eyes lowered to the table at which he sat, glancing everand anon sideways at the door, and tracing little figures with the tip ofhis finger upon the shining rosewood, he went on murmuring his strangeand hateful story in the ear of his wife. 

It was not until he had spoken some three or four minutes that Dorcassuddenly uttered a wild scream, and started to her feet. And Stanley alsorose precipitately, and caught her in his arms, for she was falling. 

As he supported her in her chair, the library door opened, and thesinister face of Uncle Lorne looked in, and returned the captain's starewith one just as fixed and horrified. 

'Hush!' whispered Uncle Lorne, and he limped softly into the room, andstopped about three yards away, 'she is not dead, but sleepeth. '

'Hallo! Larcom, ' shouted Lake. 

'I tell you she's dreaming the same dream that I dreamt in the middle ofthe night. '

'Hallo! Larcom. '

'Mark's on leave to-night, in uniform; his face is flattened against thewindow. This is his lady, you know. '

'Hallo! D-- you--are you there?' shouted the captain, very angry. 

'I saw Mark following you like an ape, on all-fours; such nice whiteteeth! grinning at your heels. But he can't bite yet--ha, ha, ha! PoorMark!'

'Will you be so good, Sir, as to touch the bell?' said Lake, changing histone. 

He was afraid to remove his arm from Dorcas, and he was splashing waterfrom a glass upon her face and forehead. 

'No--no. No bell yet--time enough--ding, dong. You say, dead and gone. '

Captain Lake cursed him and his absent keeper between his teeth; still ina rather flurried way, prosecuting his conjugal attentions. 

'There was no bell for poor Mark; and he's always listening, and staresso. A cat may look, you know. '

'Can't you touch the bell, Sir? What are you standing there for?' snarledLake, with a glare at the old man. He looked as if he could have murderedhim. 

'Standing between the living and the dead!'

'Here, Reuben, here; where the devil have you been--take him away. He hasterrified her. By ---- he ought to be shot. '

The keeper silently slid his arm into Uncle Lorne's, and, unresisting, the old man talking to himself the while, drew him from the room. 

Larcom, about to announce Miss Lake, and closely followed by that younglady, passed the grim old phantom on the lobby. 

'Be quick, you are wanted there, ' said the attendant as he passed. 

Dorcas, pale as marble, sighing deeply again and again, her rich blackhair drenched in water, which trickled over her cheeks, like the tearsand moisture of agony, was recovering. There was water spilt on thetable, and the fragments of a broken glass upon the floor. 

The moment Rachel saw her, she divined what had happened, and, glidingover, she placed her arm round her. 

'You're better, darling. Open the window, Stanley. Send her maid. '

'Aye, send her maid, ' cried Captain Lake to Larcom. 'This is your d--dwork. A nice mess you have made of it among you. '

'Are you better, Dorcas?' said Rachel. 

'Yes--much better. I'm glad, darling, I understand you now. Radie, kissme. '

Next morning, before early family prayers, while Mr. Jos. Larkin waslocking the despatch box which was to accompany him to London Mr. Larcomarrived at the Lodge. 

He had a note for Mr. Larkin's hand, which he must himself deliver; andso he was shown into that gentleman's official cabinet, and received withthe usual lofty kindness. 

'Well, Mr. Larcom, pray sit down. And can I do anything for you, Mr. Larcom?' said the good attorney, waving his long hand toward a vacantchair. 

'A note, Sir. '

'Oh, yes; very well. ' And the tall attorney rose, and, facing the ruralprospect at his window, with his back to Mr. Larcom, he read, with afaint smile, the few lines, in a delicate hand, consenting to the sale ofFive Oaks. 

He had to look for a time at the distant prospect to allow his smile tosubside, and to permit the conscious triumph which he knew beamed throughhis features to discharge itself and evaporate in the light and airbefore turning to Mr. Larcom, which he did with an air of suddenrecollection. 

'Ah--all right, I was forgetting; I must give you a line. '

So he did, and hid away the note in his despatch-box, and said--

'The family all quite well, I hope?' whereat Larcom shook his head. 

'My mistress'--he always called her so, and Lake the capting--'has beentakin' on hoffle, last night, whatever come betwixt 'em. She was faintedoutright in her chair in the Dutch room; and he said it was the oldgentleman--Old Flannels, we calls him, for shortness--but lor' bless you, she's too used to him to be frightened, and that's only a make-belief;and Miss Dipples, her maid, she says as how she was worse up stairs, andshe's made up again with Miss Lake, which _she_ was very glad, no doubt, of the making friends, I do suppose; but it's a bin a bad row, and Isuspeck amost he's used vilins. '

'Compulsion, I suppose; you mean constraint?' suggested Larkin, verycurious. 

'Well, that may be, Sir, but I amost suspeck she's been hurted somehow. She got them crying fits up stairs, you know; and the capting, he'shoffle bad-tempered this morning, and he never looked near her once, after his sister came; and he left them together, talking and crying, andhe locked hisself into the library, like one as knowed he'd donesomething to be ashamed on, half the night. '

'It's not happy, Larcom, I'm much afraid; it's _not_ happy, ' and theattorney rose, shaking his tall bald head, and his hands in his pockets, and looked down in meditation. 

'In the Dutch room, after tea, I suppose?' said the attorney. 

'Before tea, Sir, just as Miss Lake harrived in the brougham. '

And so on. But there was no more to be learned, and Mr. Larcom returnedand attended the captain very reverentially at his solitary breakfast. 

Mr. Jos. Larkin was away for London. And a very serene companion he was, if not very brilliant. Everything was going perfectly smoothly with him. A celestial gratitude glowed and expanded within his breast. His anglinghad been prosperous hitherto, but just now he had made a miraculousdraught, and his nets and his heart were bursting. Delightful sentiment, the gratitude of a righteous man; a man who knows that his heart is notset upon the things of the world; who has, like King Solomon, made wisdomhis first object, and who finds riches added thereto!

There was no shadow of self-reproach to slur the sunny landscape. He hadmade a splendid purchase from Captain Lake it was true. He drew hisdespatch-box nearer to him affectionately, as he thought on the preciousrecords it contained. But who in this wide-awake world was better able totake care of himself than the gallant captain? If it were not the bestthing for the captain, surely it would not have been done. Whom have Idefrauded? My hands are clean! He had made a still better purchase fromthe vicar; but what would have become of the vicar if he had not beenraised up to purchase? And was it not speculative, and was it notpossible that he should lose all that money, and was it not, on thewhole, the wisest thing that the vicar, under his difficulties, couldhave been advised to do?

So reasoned the good attorney, as with a languid smile and a sigh ofcontent, his long hand laid across the cover of the despatch-box by hisside, he looked forth through the plate-glass window upon the sunnyfields and hedgerows that glided by him, and felt the blessed assurance, 'look, whatsoever he doeth it shall prosper, ' mingling in the hum ofsurrounding nature. And as his eyes rested on the flying diorama oftrees, and farmsteads, and standing crops, and he felt already the prideof a great landed proprietor, his long fingers fiddled pleasantly withthe rough tooling of his morocco leather box; and thinking of the signedarticles within, it seemed as though an angelic hand had placed themthere while he slept, so wondrous was it all; and he fancied under thered tape a label traced in the neatest scrivenery, with a pencil oflight, containing such gratifying testimonials to his deserts, 'as welldone good and faithful servant, ' 'the saints shall inherit the earth, 'and so following; and he sighed again in the delicious luxury of havingsecured both heaven and mammon. And in this happy state, and volunteeringall manner of courtesies, opening and shutting windows, lending hisrailway guide and his newspapers whenever he had an opportunity, he atlength reached the great London terminus, and was rattling over themetropolitan pavement, with his hand on his despatch-box, to his cheaphotel near the Strand. 

CHAPTER LXV. 

I REVISIT BRANDON HALL. 

Rachel Lake was courageous and energetic; and, when once she had taken aclear view of her duty, wonderfully persistent and impracticable. Herdreadful interview with Jos. Larkin was always in her mind. The bleachedface, so meek, so cruel, of that shabby spectre, in the small, lowparlour of Redman's Farm, was always before her. There he had spoken thesentences which made the earth tremble, and showed her distinctly thecracking line beneath her feet, which would gape at his word into thefathomless chasm that was to swallow her. But, come what might, she wouldnot abandon the vicar and his little boy, and good Dolly, to the arts ofthat abominable magician. 

The more she thought, the clearer her conviction. She had no one toconsult with; she knew the risk of exasperating that tall man of God, wholived at the Lodge. But, determined to brave all, she went down to seeDolly and the vicar at home. 

Poor Dolly was tired; she had been sitting up all night with sick littleFairy. He was better to-day; but last night he had frightened them so, poor little man! he began to rave about eleven o'clock; and more or lesshis little mind continued wandering until near six, when he fell into asound sleep, and seemed better for it; and it was such a blessing therecertainly was neither scarlatina nor small-pox, both which enemies hadappeared on the northern frontier of Gylingden, and were picking downtheir two or three cases each in that quarter. 

So Rachel first made her visit to little man, sitting up in his bed, verypale and thin, and looking at her, not with his pretty smile, but alanguid, earnest wonder, and not speaking. How quickly and strikinglysickness tells upon children. Little man's frugal store of toys, chieflythe gifts of pleasant Rachel, wild beasts, Noah and his sons, and part ofa regiment of foot soldiers, with the usual return of broken legs andmissing arms, stood peacefully mingled upon the board across his bedwhich served as a platform. 

But little man was leaning back; his fingers once so busy, lay motionlesson the coverlet, and his tired eyes rested on the toys with a joyless, earnest apathy. 

'Didn't play with them a minute, ' said the maid. 

'I'll bring him a new box. I'm going into the town; won't that bepretty?' said Rachel, parting his golden locks over the young forehead, and kissing him; and she took his little hand in hers--it was hot anddry. 

'He looks better--a little better, don't you think; just a littlebetter?' whispered his mamma, looking, as all the rest were, on that wan, sad little face. 

But he really looked worse. 

'Well, he can't look better, you know, dear, till there's a decidedchange. What does Doctor Buddle say?'

'He saw him yesterday morning. He thinks it's all from his stomach, andhe's feverish; no meat. Indeed he won't eat anything, and you see thelight hurts his eyes. 

There was only a chink of the shutter open. 

'But it is always so when he is ever so little ill, my precious littleman; and I _know_ if he thought it anything the _least_ serious, DoctorBuddle would have looked in before now, he's so very kind. '

'I wish my darling could get a little sleep. He's very tired, nurse, 'said Rachel. 

'Yes'm, very tired'm; would he like his precious head lower a bit? No;very well, darling, we'll leave it so. '

'Dolly, darling, you and nurse must be so tired sitting up. I have alittle wine at Redman's Farm. I got it, you remember, more than a yearago, when Stanley said he was coming to pay me a visit. I never take any, and a little would be so good for you and poor nurse. I'll send some toyou. '

So coming down stairs Rachel said, 'Is the vicar at home?' Yes, he was inthe study, and there they found him brushing his seedy hat, and makingready for his country calls in the neighbourhood of the town. The hourwas dull without little Fairy; but he would soon be up and out again, andhe would steal up now and see him. He could not go out without his littlefarewell at the bed-side, and he would bring him in some pretty flowers. 

'You've seen little Fairy!' asked the good vicar, with a very anxioussmile, 'and you think him better, dear Miss Lake, don't you?'

'Why, I can't say that, because you know, so soon as he's better, he'llbe quite well; they make their recoveries all in a moment. '

'But he does not look worse?' said the vicar, lifting his eyes eagerlyfrom his boot, which he was buttoning on the chair. 

'Well, he _does_ look more _tired_, but that must be till his recoverybegins, which will be, please Heaven, immediately. '

'Oh, yes, my little man has had two or three attacks _much_ more seriousthan this, and always shook them off so easily, I was reminding Dolly, always, and good Doctor Buddle assures us it is none of those horridcomplaints. '

And so they talked over the case of the little man, who with Noah and hissons, and the battered soldiers and animals before him, was fighting, though they only dimly knew it, silently in his little bed, the greatbattle of life or death. 

'Mr. Larkin came to me the evening before last, ' said Rachel, '_and toldme_ that the little sum I mentioned--now don't say a word till you haveheard me--was not sufficient; so I want to tell you what I have quiteresolved on. I have been long intending some time or other to change myplace of residence, perhaps I shall go to Switzerland, and I have made upmy mind to sell my rent-charge on the Dulchester estate. It will produce, Mr. Young says, a very large sum, and I wish to lend it to you, either_all_ or as much as will make you _quite_ comfortable--you must notrefuse. I had intended leaving it to my dear little man up stairs; andyou must promise me solemnly that you will not listen to the advice ofthat bad, cruel man, Mr. Larkin. '

'My dear Miss Lake, you misunderstood him. But what can I say--how can Ithank you?' said the vicar, clasping her hand. 

'A wicked and merciless man, I say, ' repeated Miss Lake. 'From myobservation of him, I am certain of two things--I am sure that he hassome reason for thinking that your brother, Mark Wylder, is dead; andsecondly, that he is himself deeply interested in the purchase of yourreversion. I feel a little ill; Dolly, open the window. '

There was a silence for a little while, and Rachel resumed:--

'Now, William Wylder, I am convinced, that you and your wife (and shekissed Dolly), and your dear little boy, are marked out for plunder--theobjects of a conspiracy; and I'll lose my life, but I'll prevent it. '

'Now, maybe, Willie, upon my word, perhaps, she's quite right; for, youknow, if poor Mark is dead, then would not _he_ have the estate _now_; isnot that it, Miss Lake, and--and, you know, that would be dreadful, tosell it all for next to nothing, is not that what you mean, MissLake--Rachel dear, I mean. '

'Yes, Dolly, stripping yourselves of a splendid inheritance, and robbingyour poor little boy. I protest, in the name of Heaven, against it, andyou have no excuse now, William, with my offer before you; and, Dolly, itwill be inexcusable _wickedness_ in you, if you allow it. '

'Now, Willie dear, do you hear that--do you hear what she says?'

'But, Dolly darling--dear Miss Lake, there is no reason whatever tosuppose that poor Mark is dead, ' said the vicar, very pale. 

'I tell you again, I am convinced the attorney _believes_ it. He did notsay so, indeed; but, cunning as he is, I think I've quite seen throughhis plot; and even in what he said to me, there was something that halfbetrayed him every moment. And, Dolly, if you allow this sale, youdeserve the ruin you are inviting, and the remorse that will follow youto your grave. '

'Do you hear that, Willie?' said Dolly, with her hand on his arm. 

'But, dear, it is too late--I _have_ signed this--this instrument--and itis too late. I hope--God help me--I have not done wrong. Indeed, whateverhappens, dear Miss Lake, may Heaven for ever bless you. But respectinggood Mr. Larkin, you are, indeed, in error; I am sure you have quitemisunderstood him. You don't know how kind--how _disinterestedly_ good hehas been; and _now_, my dear Miss Lake, it is too late--_quite_ toolate. '

'No; it is _not_ too late. Such wickedness as that cannot be lawful--Iwon't believe the law allows it, ' cried Rachel Lake. 'It is all afraud--even if you have signed--all a fraud. You must procure able adviceat once. Your enemy is that dreadful Mr. Larkin. Write to some goodattorney in London. I'll pay everything. '

'But, dear Miss Lake, I can't, ' said the vicar, dejectedly; 'I am boundin honour and conscience not to disturb it--I have written to Messrs. Burlington and Smith to that effect. I assure you, dear Miss Lake, wehave not acted inconsiderately--nothing has been done without careful anddeep consideration. '

'You _must_ employ an able attorney immediately. You have been duped. Your little boy must not be ruined. '

'But--but I do assure you, I have so pledged myself by the letter I havementioned, that I _could_ not--no, it is _quite impossible_, ' he added, as he recollected the strong and pointed terms in which he had pledgedhis honour and conscience to the London firm, to guarantee them againstany such disturbance as Miss Lake was urging him to attempt. 

'I am going into the town, Dolly, and so are you, ' said Rachel, after alittle pause. 'Let us go together. '

And to this Dolly readily assented; and the vicar, evidently muchtroubled in mind, having run up to the nursery to see his little man, thetwo ladies set out together. Rachel saw that she had made an impressionupon Dolly, and was resolved to carry her point. So, in earnest terms, again she conjured her, at least, to lay the whole matter before somefriend on whom she could rely; and Dolly, alarmed and eager, quite agreedwith Rachel, that the sale must be stopped, and she would do whateverdear Rachel bid her. 

'But do you think Mr. Larkin really supposes that poor Mark is dead?'

'I do, dear--I suspect he knows it. '

'And what makes you think that, Rachel, darling?'

'I can't define--I've no proofs to give you. One knows things, sometimes. I perceived it--and I think I can't be mistaken; and now I've said all, and pray ask me no more upon that point. '

Rachel spoke with a hurried and fierce impatience, that rather startledher companion. 

It is wonderful that she showed her state of mind so little. There was, indeed, something feverish, and at times even fierce, in her looks andwords. But few would have guessed her agony, as she pleaded with thevicar and his wife; or the awful sense of impending consequences thatclosed over her like the shadow of night, the moment the excitement ofher pleading was over--'Rachel, are you mad?--Fly, fly, fly!' was alwayssounding in her ears. The little street of Gylingden, through which theywere passing, looked strange and dream-like. And as she listened to Mrs. Crinkle's babble over the counter, and chose his toys for poor little'Fairy, ' she felt like one trifling on the way to execution. 

But her warnings and entreaties, I have said, were not quite thrown away;for, although the vicar was inflexible, she had prevailed with his wife, who, at parting, again promised Rachel, that if she could do it, the saleshould be stopped. 

When I returned to Brandon, a few mornings later, Captain Lake receivedme joyfully at his solitary breakfast. He was in an intenseelectioneering excitement. The evening papers for the day before lay onthe breakfast table. 

'A move of some sort suspected--the opposition prints all hinting attricks and ambuscades. They are whipping their men up awfully. OldWattles, not half-recovered, went by the early train yesterday, Wealdontells me. It will probably kill him. Stower went up the day before. Leesays he saw him at Charteris. He never speaks--only a vote--and a fellowthat never appears till the minute. '

'Brittle, the member for Stoney-Muckford, was in the next carriage to meyesterday; and he's a slow coach, too, ' I threw in. 'It does look as ifthe division was nearer than they pretend. '

'Just so. I heard from Gybes last evening--what a hand that fellowwrites--only a dozen words--"Look out for squalls, " and "keep your men inhand. " I've sent for Wealdon. I wish the morning papers were come. I'm aquarter past eleven--what are you? The post's in at Dollington fiftyminutes before we get our letters here. D--d nonsense--it's all thatheavy 'bus of Driver's--I'll change that. They leave London at five, andget to Dollington at half-past ten, and Driver never has them in soonerthan twenty minutes past eleven! D--d humbug! I'd undertake to take adog-cart over the ground in twenty minutes. '

'Is Larkin here?' I asked. 

'Oh, no--run up to town. I'm so glad he's away--the clumsiest dog inEngland--nothing clever--no invention--only a bully--the people hate him. Wealdon's my man. I wish he'd give up that town-clerkship--it can't beworth much, and it's in his way--I'd make it up to him somehow. Will youjust look at that--it's the 'Globe'--only six lines, and tell me what_you_ make of it?'

'It does look like it, certainly. '

'Wealdon and I have jotted down a few names here, ' said Lake, sliding alist of names before me; 'you know some of them, I think--rather a strongcommittee; don't you think so? Those fellows with the red cross beforehave promised. '

'Yes; it's very strong--capital!' I said, crunching my toast. 'Is itthought the writs will follow the dissolution unusually quickly?'

'They must, unless they want a very late session. But it is quitepossible the government may win--a week ago they reckoned upon eleven. '

And as we were talking the post arrived. 

'Here they are!' cried Lake, and grasping the first morning paper hecould seize on, he tore it open with a greater display of energy than Ihad seen that languid gentleman exhibit on any former occasion. 

CHAPTER LXVI. 

LADY MACBETH. 

'Here it is, ' said the captain. 'Beaten'--then came an oath--'threevotes--how the devil was that?--there it is, by Jove--nomistake--majority against ministers, three! Is that the "Times?" Whatdoes _it_ say?'

'A long leader--no resignation--immediate dissolution. That is what Icollect from it. '

'How on earth could they have miscalculated so! Swivell, I see, voted inthe majority; that's very odd; and, by Jove, there's Surplice, too, andhe's good for seven votes. Why his own paper was backing the ministers!What a fellow that is! That accounts for it all. A difference of fourteenvotes. '

And thus we went on, discussing this unexpected turn of luck, and readingto one another snatches of the leading articles in different interestsupon the subject. 

Then Lake, recollecting his letters, opened a large-sealed envelope, withS. C. G. In the corner. 

'This is from Gybes--let us see. Oh! _before_ the division. "It looks alittle fishy, " he says--well, so it does--"We may take the divisionto-night. Should it prove adverse, you are to expect an immediatedissolution; this on _the best authority_. I write to mention this, as Imay be too much hurried to-morrow. "'

We were discussing this note when Wealdon arrived. 

'Well, captain; great news, Sir. The best thing, I take it, could havehappened ministers, ha, ha, ha! A rotten house--down with it--blow itup--three votes only--but as good as three hundred for the purpose--ofthe three hundred, grant but three, you know--of course, they don't thinkof resigning. '

'Oh, dear, no--an immediate dissolution. Read that, ' said Lake, tossingGybes' note to him. 

'Ho, then, we'll have the writs down hot and heavy. We must be sharp. Thesheriff's all right; that's a point. You must not lose an hour in gettingyour committee together, and printing your address. '

'Who's on the other side?'

'You'll have Jennings, of course; but they are talking of four differentmen, already, to take Sir Harry Twisden's place. _He'll_ resign; that'spast a doubt now. He has his retiring address written; Lord Edward Mordunread it; and he told FitzStephen on Sunday, after church, that he'd neversit again. '

'Here, by Jove, is a letter from Mowbray, ' said Lake, opening it. 'Allabout his brother George. Hears I'm up for the county. Lord George readyto join and go halves. What shall I say?'

'Could not have a better man. Tell him you desire no better, and willbring it at once before your committee; and let him know, the moment theymeet; and tell him _I_ say he knows Wealdon pretty well--he may look onit as settled. That will be a spoke in Sir Harry's wheel. '

'Sir Harry who?' said Lake. 

'Bracton. I think it's only to spoil your game, you see, ' answeredWealdon. 

'Abundance of malice; but I don't think he's countenanced?'

'He'll try to get the start of you; and if he does, one or other must goto the wall; for Lord George is too strong to be shook out. Do _you_ getforward at once; that's your plan, captain. '

Then the captain recurred to his letters, which were a larger pack thanusual this morning, chatting all the time with Wealdon and me on thetremendous topic, and tossing aside every letter that did not bear on thecoming struggle. 

'Who can this be?' said Lake, looking at the address of one of these. 'Very like my hand, ' and he examined the seal. It was only a largewafer-stamp, so he broke it open, and drew out a shabby, very ill-writtenscroll. He turned suddenly away, talking the while, but with his eyesupon the note, and then he folded, or rather crumpled it up, and stuffedit into his pocket, and continued his talk; but it was now plain to methere was something more on his mind, and he was thinking of the shabbyletter he had just received. 

But, no matter; the election was the pressing topic, and Lake was soonengaged in it again. 

There was now a grand _coup_ under discussion--the forestalling of allthe horses and vehicles along the line of railway, and in all theprincipal posting establishments throughout the county. 

'They'll want to keep it open for a bid from the other side. It is aheavy item any way; and if you want to engage them now, you'll have togive double what they got last time. '

But Lake was not to be daunted. He wanted the seat, and would stick atnothing to secure it; and so, Wealdon got instructions, in his ownphrase, to go the whole animal. 

As I could be of no possible use in local details, I left the council ofwar sitting, intending a stroll in the grounds. 

In the hall, I met the mistress of the house, looking very handsome, butwith a certain witch-like beauty, very pale, something a little haggardin her great, dark eyes, and a strange, listening look. Was itwatchfulness? was it suspicion? She was dressed gravely but richly, andreceived me kindly--and, strange to say, with a smile that, yet, was notjoyful. 

'I hope she is happy. Lake is such a beast; I hope he does not bullyher. '

In truth, there were in her exquisite features the traces of thatmysterious misery and fear which seemed to fall wherever Stanley Lake'sill-omened confidences were given. 

I walked down one of the long alleys, with tall, close hedges of beech, as impenetrable as cloister walls to sight, and watched the tench baskingand flickering in the clear pond, and the dazzling swans sailingmajestically along. 

What a strange passion is ambition, I thought. Is it really the passionof great minds, or of little. Here is Lake, with a noble old place, inexhaustible in variety; with a beautiful, and I was by this timesatisfied, a very singular and interesting woman for his wife, who musthave married him for love, pure and simple; a handsome fortune; the powerto bring his friends--those whom he liked, or who amused him--about him, and to indulge luxuriously every reasonable fancy, willing to forsakeall, and follow the beck of that phantom. Had he knowledge, publictalents, training? Nothing of the sort. Had he patriotism, any one noblemotive or fine instinct to prompt him to public life? The mere suggestionwas a sneer. It seemed to me, simply, that Stanley Lake was a lively, amusing, and even intelligent man, without any internal resource; vacant, peevish, with an unmeaning passion for corruption and intrigue, and thesort of egotism which craves distinction. So I supposed. 

Yet, with all its weakness, there was a dangerous force in the characterwhich, on the whole, inspired an odd mixture of fear and contempt. I wasbitten, however, already, by the interest of the coming contest. It isvery hard to escape that subtle and intoxicating poison. I wondered whatfigure Stanley would make as a hustings orator, and what impression inhis canvass. The latter, I was pretty confident about. Altogether, curiosity, if no deeper sentiment, was highly piqued; and I was glad Ihappened to drop in at the moment of action, and wished to see the playout. 

At the door of her boudoir, Rachel Lake met Dorcas. 

'I am so glad, Radie, dear, you are come. You must take off your things, and stay. You must not leave me to-night. We'll send home for whateveryou want; and you won't leave me, Radie, I'm certain. '

'I'll stay, dear, as you wish it, ' said Rachel, kissing her. 

'Did you see Stanley? I have not seen him to-day, ' said Dorcas. 

'No, dear; I peeped into the library, but he was not there; and there aretwo men writing in the Dutch room, very busily, '

'It must be about the election. '

'What election, dear?' asked Rachel. 

'There is going to be an election for the county, and--only think--heintends coming forward. I sometimes think he is mad, Radie. '

'I could not have supposed such a thing. If I were he, I think I shouldfly to the antipodes. I should change my name, sear my features withvitriol, and learn another language. I should obliterate my past selfaltogether; but men are so different, so audacious--some men, atleast--and Stanley, ever since his ill-omened arrival at Redman's Farm, last autumn, has amazed and terrified me. '

'I think, Radie, we have both courage--_you_ have certainly; you haveshown it, darling, and you must cease to blame yourself; I think you a_heroine_, Radie; but you know _I_ see with the wild eyes of theBrandons. '

'I am grateful, Dorcas, that you don't hate me. Most women I am surewould abhor me--yes, Dorcas--_abhor_ me. '

'You and I against the world, Radie!' said Dorcas, with a wild smile anda dark admiration in her look, and kissing Rachel again. 'I used to thinkmyself brave; it belongs to women of our blood; but this is no commonstrain upon courage, Radie. I've grown to fear Stanley somehow like aghost; I fear it is even worse than he says, ' and she looked with ahorrible enquiry into Rachel's eyes. 

'So do _I_, Dorcas, ' said Rachel, in a firm low whisper, returning herlook as darkly. 

'What's done cannot be undone, ' said Rachel, sadly, after a little pause, unconsciously quoting from a terrible soliloquy of Shakespeare. 

'I know what you mean, Radie; and you warned me, with a strangesecond-sight, before the evil was known to either of us. It was anirrevocable step, and I took it, not seeing all that has happened, it istrue; but forewarned. And this I will say, Radie, if I _had_ known theworst, I think even that would not have deterred me. It was madness--it_is_ madness, for I love him still. Rachel, though I know him and hiswickedness, and am filled with horror--I love him desperately. '

'I am very glad, ' said Rachel, 'that you do know everything. It is sogreat a relief to have companionship. I often thought I must go mad in mysolitude. '

'Poor Rachel! I think you wonderful--I think you a heroine--I do, Radie;you and I are made for one another--the same blood--something of the samewild nature; I can admire you, and understand you, and will always loveyou. '

'I've been with William Wylder and Dolly. That wicked attorney, Mr. Larkin, is resolved on robbing them. I wish they had anyone able toadvise them. Stanley I am sure could save them; but he does not choose todo it. He was always so angry when I urged him to help them, that I knewit would be useless asking him; I don't think he knows what Mr. Larkinhas been doing; but, Dorcas, I am afraid the very same thought has beenin his mind. '

'I hope not, Radie, ' and Dorcas sighed deeply. 'Everything is sowonderful and awful in the light that has come. '

That morning, poor William Wylder had received a letter from Jos. Larkin, Esq. , mentioning that he had found Messrs. Burlington and Smith anythingbut satisfied with him--the vicar. What exactly he had done to disobligethem he could not bring to mind. But Jos. Larkin told him that he haddone all in his power 'to satisfy them of the _bonâ fide_ character' ofhis reverend client's dealings from the first. But 'they still expressthemselves dissatisfied upon the point, and appear to suspect adisposition to shilly-shally. ' I have said 'all I could to disabuse themof the unpleasant prejudice; but I think I should hardly be doing my dutyif I were not to warn you that you will do wisely to exhibit nohesitation in the arrangements by which your agreement is to be carriedout, and that in the event of your showing the slightest disposition toqualify the spirit of your strong note to them, or in anywisedisappointing their client, you must be prepared, from what I know of thefirm, for very sharp practice indeed. '

What could they do to him, or why should they hurt him, or what had hedone to excite either the suspicion or the temper of the firm? Theyexpected their client, the purchaser, in a day or two. He was alreadygrumbling at the price, and certainly would stand no trifling. Neitherwould Messrs. Burlington and Smith, who, he must admit, had gone to verygreat expense in investigating title, preparing deeds, &c. , and who werenoted as a very expensive house. He was aware that they were in aposition to issue an execution on the guarantee for the entire amount oftheir costs; but he thought so extreme a measure would hardly becontemplated, notwithstanding their threats, unless the purchaser were towithdraw or the vendor to exhibit symptoms of--he would not repeat theirphrase--irresolution in his dealing. He had, however, placed the vicar'sletter in their hands, and had accompanied it with his own testimony tothe honour and character of the Rev. William Wylder, which he was happyto say seemed to have considerable weight with Messrs. Burlington andSmith. There was also this passage, 'Feeling acutely the anxiety intowhich the withdrawal of the purchaser must throw you--though I trustnothing of that sort may occur--I told them that rather than have youthrown upon your beam-ends by such an occurrence, I would myself step inand purchase on the terms agreed on. This will, I trust, quiet them onthe subject of their costs, and also prevent any low _dodging_ on thepart of the purchaser. '

This letter would almost seem to have been written with a supernaturalknowledge of what was passing in Gylingden, and was certainly wellcontrived to prevent the vicar from wavering. 

But all this time the ladies are conversing in Dorcas's boudoir. 

'This election frightens me, Radie--everything frightens me now--but thisis _so_ audacious. If there be powers either in heaven or hell, it seemslike a defiance and an invocation. I am glad you are here, Radie--I havegrown so nervous--so superstitious, I believe; watching always for signsand omens. Oh, darling, the world's ghastly for me now. '

'I wish, Dorcas, we were away--as you used to say--in some wild andsolitary retreat, living together--two recluses--but all that isvisionary--quite visionary now. '

Dorcas sighed. 

'You know, Rachel, the world must not see this--we will carry our headshigh. Wicked men, and brave and suffering women--that is the history ofour family--and men and women always quite unlike the rest of theworld--unlike the human race; and somehow they interest me unspeakably. Iwish I knew more about those proud, forlorn beauties, whose portraits arefading on the walls. Their spirit, I am sure, is in us, Rachel; and theirpictures and traditions have always supported me. When I was a littlething, I used to look at them with a feeling of melancholy and mystery. They were in my eyes, reserved prophetesses, who could speak, if theywould, of my own future. '

'A poor support, Dorcas--a broken reed. I wish we could find another--thetrue one, in the present, and in the coming time. '

Dorcas smiled faintly, and I think there was a little gleam of a ghastlysatire in it. I am afraid that part of her education which deals withfuturity had been neglected. 

'I am more likely to turn into a Lady Macbeth than a _dévote_, ' said she, coldly, with the same painful smile. 'I found myself last night sittingup in my bed, talking in the dark about it. '

There was a silence for a time, and Rachel said, --

'It is growing late, Dorcas. '

'But you must not go, Rachel--you _must_ stay and keep me company--youmust, _indeed_, Radie, ' said Dorcas. 

'So I will, ' she answered; 'but I must send a line to old Tamar; and Ipromised Dolly to go down to her to-night, if that darling little boyshould be worse--I am very unhappy about him. '

'And is he in danger, the handsome little fellow?' said Dorcas. 

'Very great danger, I fear, ' said Rachel. 'Doctor Buddle has been verykind--but he is, I am afraid, more desponding than poor William or Dollyimagines--Heaven help them!'

'But children recover wonderfully. What is his ailment?'

'Gastric fever, the doctor says. I had a foreboding of evil the moment Isaw him--before the poor little man was put to his bed. '

Dorcas rang the bell. 

'Now, Radie, if you wish to write, sit down here--or if you prefer amessage, Thomas can take one very accurately; and he shall call at thevicar's, and see Dolly, and bring us word how the dear little boy is. Anddon't fancy, darling, I have forgotten what you said to me aboutduty--though I would call it differently--only I feel so wild, I canthink of nothing clearly yet. But I am making up my mind to a great andbold step, and when I am better able, I will talk it over with you--myonly friend, Rachel. '

And she kissed her. 

CHAPTER LXVII. 

MR. LARKIN IS VIS-A-VIS WITH A CONCEALED COMPANION. 

The time had now arrived when our friend Jos. Larkin was to refresh thevillage of Gylingden with his presence. He had pushed matters forwardwith wonderful despatch. The deeds, with their blue and silver stamps, were handsomely engrossed--having been approved in draft by Crompton S. Kewes, the eminent Queen's Counsel, on a case furnished by Jos. Larkin, Esq. , The Lodge, Brandon Manor, Gylingden, on behalf of his client, theReverend William Wylder; and in like manner on behalf of Stanley WilliamsBrandon Lake, of Brandon Hall, in the county of ----, Esq. 

In neither draft did Jos. Larkin figure as the purchaser by name. He didnot care for advice on any difficulty depending on his special relationsto the vendors in both these cases. He wished, as was his custom, everything above-board, and such 'an opinion' as might be published byeither client in the 'Times' next day if he pleased it. Besides thesematters of Wylder and of Lake, he had also a clause to insert in aprivate Act, on behalf of the trustees of the Baptist Chapel, at NauntonFriars; a short deed to be consulted upon on behalf of his client, PudderSwynfen, Esq. , of Swynfen Grange, in the same county; and a deed to beexecuted at Shillingsworth, which he would take _en route_ for Gylingden, stopping there for that night, and going on by next morning's train. 

Those little trips to town paid very fairly. 

In this particular case his entire expenses reached exactly £5 3_s. _, andwhat do you suppose was the good man's profit upon that small item?Precisely £62 7_s. _! The process is simple, Jos. Larkin made his ownhandsome estimate of his expenses, and the value of his time to and fromLondon, and then he charged this in its entirety--shall we sayintegrity--to each client separately. In this little excursion he wasconcerned for no less than _five_. 

His expenses, I say, reached exactly £5 3_s_. But he had a right to go toDondale's if he pleased, instead of that cheap hostelry near CoventGarden. He had a right to a handsome lunch and a handsome dinner, insteadof that economical fusion of both meals into one, at a cheapeating-house, in an out-of-the-way quarter. He had a right to his pint ofhigh-priced wine, and to accomplish his wanderings in a cab, instead of, as the Italians say, 'partly on foot, and partly walking. ' Therefore, andon this principle, Mr. Jos. Larkin had 'no difficulty' in acting. Hissavings, if the good man chose to practise self-denial, were his own--andit was a sort of problem while he stayed, and interested himcuriously--keeping down his bill in matters which he would not havedreamed of denying himself at home. 

The only client among his wealthy supporters, who ever went in a grudgingspirit into one of these little bills of Jos. Larkin's, was old SirMulgrave Bracton--the defunct parent of the Sir Harry, with whom we areacquainted. 

'Don't you think, Mr. Larkin, you could perhaps reduce _this_, just alittle?'

'Ah, the expenses?'

'Well, yes. '

Mr. Jos. Larkin smiled--the smile said plainly, 'what would he have melive upon, and where?' We do meet persons of this sort, who would fain'fill our bellies with the husks' that swine digest; what of that--wemust remember who we are--_gentlemen_--and answer this sort ofshabbiness, and every other endurable annoyance, as Lord Chesterfielddid--with a bow and a smile. 

'I think so, ' said the baronet, in a bluff, firm way. 

'Well, the fact is, when I represent a client, Sir Mulgrave Bracton, of acertain rank and position, I make it a principle--and, as a man ofbusiness, I find it tells--to present myself in a style that is suitablyhandsome. '

'Oh! an expensive house--_where_ was this, now?'

'Oh, Sir Mulgrave, pray don't think of it--I'm only too happy--pray, drawyour pen across the entire thing. '

'I think so, ' said the baronet unexpectedly. 'Don't you think if we saida pound a-day, and your travelling expenses?'

'Certainly--_any_thing--what_ever_ you please, Sir. '

And the attorney waved his long hand a little, and smiled almostcompassionately; and the little alteration was made, and henceforward hespoke of Sir Mulgrave as not quite a pleasant man to deal with in moneymatters; and his confidential friends knew that in a transaction in whichhe had paid money out of his own pocket for Sir Mulgrave he had never gotback more than seven and sixpence in the pound; and, what made it worse, it was a matter connected with the death of poor Lady Bracton! And henever lost an opportunity of conveying his opinion of Sir Mulgrave, sometimes in distinct and confidential sentences, and sometimes only by asad shake of his head, or by awfully declining to speak upon the subject. 

In the present instance Jos. Larkin was returning in a heavenly frame ofmind to the Lodge, Brandon Manor, Gylingden. Whenever he was away heinterpolated 'Brandon Manor, ' and stuck it on his valise and hat-case;and liked to call aloud to the porters tumbling among the luggage--'Jos. Larkin, Esquire, _Brandon Manor, if_ you please;' and to see the peopleread the inscription in the hall of his dingy hostelry. Well might thegood man glow with a happy consciousness of a blessing. In small thingsas in great he was prosperous. 

This little excursion to London would cost him, as I said, exactly £53_s. _ It might have cost him £13 10_s. _ and at that sum his expensesfigured in his ledger; and as he had five clients on this occasion, thetotal reached £67 10_s. _, leaving a clear profit, as I have mentioned, of£62 7_s. _ on this item. 

But what was this little tip from fortune, compared with the splendidpieces of scrivenery in his despatch box. The white parchment--the blueand silver stamps in the corner--the German text and flourishes at thetop, and those broad, horizontal lines of recital, `habendum, ' and soforth--marshalled like an army in procession behind his march of triumphinto Five Oaks, to take the place of its deposed prince? From thecaptain's deed to the vicar's his mind glanced fondly. 

He would yet stand the highest man in his county. He had found time for avisit to the King-at-Arms and the Heralds' Office. He would have hispictures and his pedigree. His grandmother had been a Howard. Her branch, indeed, was a little under a cloud, keeping a small provision-shop in thetown of Dwiddleston. But this circumstance need not be in prominence. Shewas a Howard--_that_ was the fact he relied on--no mortal could gainsayit; and he would be, first, J. Howard Larkin, then Howard Larkin, simply;then Howard Larkin Howard, and the Five Gaks' Howards would come to bevery great people indeed. And the Brandons had intermarried with otherHowards, and Five Oaks would naturally, therefore, go to Howards; and sohe and his, with clever management, would be anything but _novi homines_in the county. 

'He shall be like a tree planted by the water-side, that will bring forthhis fruit in due season. His leaf also shall not wither. So thought thisgood man complacently. He liked these fine consolations of the Jewishdispensation--actual milk and honey, and a land of promise on which hecould set his foot. Jos. Larkin, Esq. , was as punctual as the clock atthe terminus. He did not come a minute too soon or too late, butprecisely at the moment which enabled him, without fuss, and without atiresome wait, to proceed to the details of ticket, luggage, selection ofplace, and ultimate ascension thereto. 

So now having taken all measures, gliding among the portmanteaus, hand-barrows, and porters, and the clangorous bell ringing, he mounted, lithe and lank, into his place. 

There was a pleasant evening light still, and the gas-lamps made apurplish glow against it. The little butter-cooler of a glass lampglimmered from the roof. Mr. Larkin established himself, and adjusted hisrug and mufflers about him, for, notwithstanding the season, there hadbeen some cold, rainy weather, and the evening was sharp; and he set histwo newspapers, his shilling book, and other triumphs of cheap literaturein sundry shapes, in the vacant seat at his left hand, and madeeverything handsome about him. He glanced to the other end of thecarriage, where sat his solitary fellow-passenger. This gentleman wassimply a mass of cloaks and capes, culminating in a queer battered felthat; his shoulders were nestled into the corner, and his face buriedamong his loose mufflers. They sat at corners diagonally opposed, andwere, therefore, as far apart as was practicable--an arrangement, notsociable, to be sure, but on the whole, very comfortable, and whichneither seemed disposed to disturb. 

Mr. Larkin had a word to say to the porter from the window, and boughtone more newspaper; and then looked out on the lamplit platform, and sawthe officials loitering off to the clang of the carriage doors; then camethe whistle, and then the clank and jerk of the start. And so the brickwalls and lamps began to glide backward, and the train was off. 

Jos. Larkin tried his newspaper, and read for ten minutes, or so, prettydiligently; and then looked for a while from the window, upon recedinghedgerows and farmsteads, and the level and spacious landscape; and thenhe leaned back luxuriously, his newspaper listlessly on his knees, andbegan to read, instead, at his ease, the shapeless, wrapt-up figurediagonally opposite. 

The quietude of the gentleman in the far corner was quite singular. Heproduced neither tract, nor newspaper, nor volume--not even a pocket-bookor a letter. He brought forth no cigar-case, with the stereotyped, 'Haveyou any objection to my smoking a cigar?' He did not even change hisattitude ever so little. A burly roll of cloaks, rugs, capes, and loosewrappers, placed in the corner, and _tanquam cadaver_, passive andmotionless. 

I have sometimes in my travels lighted on a strangely shaped mountain, whose huge curves, and sombre colouring have interested me indefinably. In the rude mass at the far angle, Mr. Jos. Larkin, I fancy, found somesuch subject of contemplation. And the more he looked, the more he feltdisposed to look. 

As they got on there was more night fog, and the little lamp at top shonethrough a halo. The fellow-passenger at the opposite angle lay back, allcloaks and mufflers, with nothing distinct emerging but the felt hat attop, and the tip--it was only the tip now--of the shining shoe on thefloor. 

The gentleman was absolutely motionless and silent. And Mr. Larkin, though his mind was pretty universally of the inquisitive order, began inthis particular case to feel a special curiosity. It was partly themonotony and their occupying the carriage all to themselves--as the twouncommunicative seamen did the Eddystone Lighthouse--but there was, beside, an indistinct feeling, that, in spite of all these wrappers andswathings, he knew the outlines of that figure; and yet the likeness musthave been of the rudest possible sort. 

He could not say that he recognised anything distinctly--only he fanciedthat some one he knew was sitting there, unrevealed, inside that mass ofclothing. And he felt, moreover, as if he ought to be able to guess whohe was. 

CHAPTER LXVIII. 

THE COMPANION DISCLOSES HIMSELF. 

But this sort of musing and wonderment leads to nothing; and Mr. Jos. Larkin being an active-minded man, and practical withal, in a littlewhile shook it off, and from his breast-pocket took a tiny treasure of apocket-book, in which were some bank-notes, precious memoranda in pencil, and half-a-dozen notes and letters, bearing upon cases and negotiationson which, at this juncture, he was working. 

Into these he got, and now and then brought out a letter bearing on somepoint of speculation, and read it through, and then closed his eyes forthree minutes at a time, and thought. But he had not his tin boxes there;and, with a man of his stamp, speculation, which goes upon guess as todates and quantities, which are all ascertainable by reference to blackand white, soon loses its interest. And the evidence in his pocket beingpretty soon exhausted, he glanced again at his companion over the way. 

He had not moved all this while. He had a high stand-up collar to thecape he wore, which covered his cheeks and nose and outside was looselyswathed a large, cream-coloured, cashmere handkerchief. The battered felthat covered his forehead and eyebrows, and left, in fact, but a narrowstreak of separation between. 

Through this, however, for the first time, Jos. Larkin now saw theglitter of a pair of eyes gazing at him, he fancied. At all events therewas the glitter, and the gentleman was awake. 

Jos. Returned the gentleman's gaze. It was his lofty aristocratic stare;and he expected to see the glittering lights that peeped through the darkchink between brim and collar shut up under its rebuke. But nothing ofthe kind took place, and the ocular exercises of the attorney weretotally ineffectual. 

If the fellow knew that his fixed stare was observed through his narrowembrasure--and Larkin thought he could hardly be insensible to thereproof of his return fire--he must be a particularly impertinent person. It would be ridiculous, however, to continue a contest of this kind; sothe attorney lowered the window and looked out. Then he pulled it up, andtook to his newspaper again, and read the police cases, and a verycurious letter from a poor-house doctor, describing a boy who was quiteblind in daylight, but could see very fairly by gas or candle light, andthen he lighted upon a very odd story, and said to be undergoing specialsifting at the hands of Sir Samuel Squailes, of a policeman on a certainbeat, in Fleet Street, not far from Temple Bar, who every night saw, ator about the same hour, a certain suspicious-looking figure walk alongthe flag-way and enter a passage. Night after night he pursued thisfigure, but always lost it in the same passage. On the last occasion, however, he succeeded in keeping him in view, and came up with him in acourt, when he was rewarded with a sight of such a face as caused him tofall to the ground in a fit. This was the Clampcourt ghost, and I believehe was left in that debatable state, and never after either exploded orconfirmed. 

So having ended all these studies, the attorney lifted up his eyes again, as he lowered his newspaper, and beheld the same glittering gaze fixedupon him through the same horizontal cranny. 

He fancied the eyes were laughing. He could not be sure, of course, butat all events the persistent stare was extremely, and perhapsdeterminedly, impertinent. Forgetting the constitutional canon throughwhich breathes the genuine spirit of British liberty, he felt for amoment that he was such a king as that cat had no business to look at;and he might, perhaps, have politely intimated something of the kind, hadnot the enveloped offender made a slight and lazy turn which, burying hischin still deeper in his breast, altogether concealed his eyes, and soclosed the offensive scrutiny. 

In making this change in his position, slight as it was, the gentleman inthe superfluous clothing reminded Mr. Jos. Larkin very sharply for aninstant of--_some_body. There was the rub; who could it be?

The figure was once more a mere mountain of rug. What was the peculiarityin that slight movement--something in the knee? something in the elbow?something in the general character?

Why had he not spoken to him? The opportunity, for the present, was past. But he was now sure that his fellow-traveller was an acquaintance, whohad probably recognised him. Larkin--except when making a mysterious tripat election times, or in an emergency, in a critical case--was a frank, and as he believed could be a fascinating _compagnon de voyage_, such andso great was his urbanity on a journey. He rather liked talking withpeople; he sometimes heard things not wholly valueless, and once or twicehad gathered hints in this way, which saved him trouble, or money, whichis much the same thing. Therefore upon principle he was not averse fromthat direst of bores, railway conversation. 

And now they slackened speed, with a long, piercing whistle, and came toa standstill at 'East Had_don_' (with a jerk upon the last syllable), 'East Had_don_, East Had_don_, ' as the herald of the station declared, and Lawyer Larkin sat straight up, very alert, with a budding smile, ready to blow out into a charming radiance the moment hisfellow-traveller rose perpendicular, as was to be expected, and peepedfrom his window. 

But he seemed to know intuitively that Larkin intended telling him, _apropos_ of the station, that story of the Haddon property, and SirJames Wotton's will, which as told by the good attorney and jumbled bythe clatter, was perhaps a little dreary. At all events he did not stir, and carefully abstained from wakening, and in a few seconds more theywere again in motion. 

They were now approaching Shillingsworth, where the attorney was to getout, and put up for the night, having a deed with him to be executed inthat town, and so sweetening his journey with this small incident ofprofit. 

Now, therefore, looking at his watch, and consulting his time table, hegot his slim valise from under on top of the seat before him, togetherwith his hat-case, despatch-box, stick, and umbrella, and brushed offwith his handkerchief some of the gritty railway dust that lay drifted inexterior folds and hollows of his coat, rebuttoned that garment withprecision, arranged his shirt-collar, stuffed his muffler into hiscoat-pocket, and made generally that rude sacrifice to the graces withwhich natty men precede their exit from the dust and ashes of this sortof sepulture. 

At this moment he had just eight minutes more to go, and the glitter ofthe pair of eyes, staring between the muffler and the rim of the hat, methis view once more. 

Mr. Larkin's cigar-case was open in his hand in a moment, and with such asmile as a genteel perfumer offers his wares with, he presented it towardthe gentleman who was built up in the stack of garments. 

He merely shook his head with the slightest imaginable nod and a wave ofa pudgy hand in a soiled dog-skin glove, which emerged for a second fromunder a cape, in token that he gratefully declined the favour. 

Mr. Larkin smiled and shrugged regretfully, and replaced the case in hiscoat pocket. Hardly five minutes remained now. Larkin glanced round for atopic. 

'My journey is over for the present, Sir, and perhaps you would findthese little things entertaining. '

And he tendered with the same smile 'Punch, ' the 'Penny Gleaner, ' and'Gray's Magazine, ' a religious serial. They were, however, similarlydeclined in pantomime. 

'He's not particularly polite, whoever he is, ' thought Mr. Larkin, with asniff. However, he tried the effect of a direct observation. So gettingone seat nearer, he said:--

'Wonderful place Shillingsworth, Sir; one does not really, until one hasvisited it two or three times over, at all comprehend its wealth andimportance; and how justly high it deserves to hold its head amongst theprovincial emporia of our productive industry. '

The shapeless traveller in the corner touched his ear with his pudgydogskin fingers, and shook his hand and head a little, in token eitherthat he was deaf, or the noise such as to prevent his hearing, and in thenext moment the glittering eyes closed, and the pantomimist appeared tobe asleep. 

And now, again, the train subsided to a stand-still, and Shillingsworthresounded through the night air, and Larkin scrambled forward to thewindow, by which sat the enveloped gentleman, and called the porter, and, with many unheeded apologies, pulled out his various properties, close bythe knees of the tranquil traveller. So, Mr. Larkin was on the platform, and his belongings stowed away against the wall of the station-house. 

He made an enquiry of the guard, with whom he was acquainted, about hiscompanion; but the guard knew nothing of the 'party, ' neither did theporter, to whom the guard put a similar question. 

So, as Larkin walked down the platform, the whistle sounded and the trainglided forward, and as it passed him, the gentleman in the cloak andqueer hat was looking out. A lamp shone full on him. Mr. Larkin's heartstood still for a moment, and then bounded up as if it would choke him. 

'It's him, by ----!' and Mr. Larkin, forgetting syntax, and propriety, and religion, all together, and making a frantic race to keep up with thetrain, shouted--

'Stop it, stop it--hollo!--stop--stop--ho, stop!'

But he pleaded with the winds; and before he had reached the end of theplatform, the carriage windows were flying by him with the speed ofwheel-spokes, and the end of the coupé, with its red lantern, sailed awaythrough the cutting. 

'Forgot summat, Sir, ' said the porter, touching his hat. 

'Yes--signal--stop him, can you?'

The porter only scratched his head, under his cap, and smiled sheepishlyafter the train. Jos. Larkin knew, the next moment, he had talkednonsense. 

'I--I--yes--I have--have you an engine here:--express--I'll payanything. '

But, no, there was 'no engine--not nearer than the junction, and shemight not be spared. '

'How far is the junction?'

'Nineteen and a-half. '

'Nineteen miles! They'll never bring me there, by horse, under two hours, they are so cursed tedious. Why have not you a spare engine at a placelike this? Shillingsworth! Nice management! Are you certain? Where's thestation-master?'

All this time he kept staring after the faint pulsations on the air thatindicated the flight of the engine. 

But it would not do. The train--the image upon earth of the irrevocable, the irretrievable--was gone, neither to be overtaken nor recalled. Thetelegraph was not then, as now, whispering secrets all over England, atthe rate of two hundred miles a second, and five shillings per twentywords. Larkin would have given large money for an engine, to get up withthe train that was now some five miles on its route, at treble, quadruple, the common cost of such a magical appliance; but all was vain. He could only look and mutter after it wildly. Vain to conjecture forwhat station that traveller in the battered hat was bound! Idlespeculation! Mere distraction!

Only that Mr. Larkin was altogether the man he was, I think he would havecursed freely. 

CHAPTER LXIX. 

OF A SPECTRE WHOM OLD TAMAR SAW. 

Little Fairy, all this while, continued, in our Church language, 'sickand weak. ' The vicar was very sorry, but not afraid. His little man wasso bright and merry, that he seemed to him the very spirit of life. Hecould not dream of his dying. It was sad, to be sure, the little man somany days in his bed, too languid to care for toy or story, quite silent, except when, in the night time, those weird monologues began which showedthat the fever had reached his brain. The tones of his pleasant littlevoice, in those sad flights of memory and fancy, busy with familiarscenes and occupations, sounded wild and plaintive in his ear. And when'Wapsie' was mentioned, sometimes the vicar's eyes filled, but he smiledthrough this with a kind of gladness at the child's affection. 'It willsoon be over, my darling! You will be walking with Wapsie in a weekagain. ' The sun could as soon cease from shining as little Fairy fromliving. The thought he would not allow near him. 

Doctor Buddle had been six miles away that evening with a patient, andlooked in at the vicar's long after the candles were lighted. 

He was not satisfied with little Fairy--not at all satisfied. He put hishand under the clothes and felt his thin, slender limbs--thinner thanever now. Dry and very hot they were--and little man babbling hisnonsense about little boys, and his 'Wapsie, ' and toys, and birds, andthe mill-stream, and the church-yard--of which, with so strange afatality, children, not in romance only, but reality, so often prattle intheir feverish wanderings. 

He felt his pulse. He questioned his mamma, and cross-examined the nurse, and looked grave and very much annoyed; and then bethought him ofsomething to be tried; and having given his directions to the maid, hewent home in haste, and returned in half an hour with the something in aphial--a few drops in water, and little man sat up, leaning on hisWapsie's arm, and 'took it very good, ' his nurse said, approvingly; andhe looked at them all wonderingly, for two or three moments, and sotired; and they laid him down again, and then his spoken dreams beganonce more. 

Doctor Buddle was dark and short in his answers to voluble little Mrs. Wylder--though, of course, quite respectful--and the vicar saw him downthe narrow stairs, and they turned into the study for a moment, and, saidBuddle, in an under tone--

'He's very ill--I can say nothing else. '

And there was a pause. 

The little colour he had receded from the vicar's face, for the looks andtones of good-natured Buddle were not to be mistaken. He was readinglittle Fairy's death warrant. 

'I see, doctor--I see; you think he'll die, ' said the vicar, staring athim. 'Oh doctor, my little Fairy!'

The doctor knew something of the poor vicar's troubles--of course in avillage most things of the kind _are_ known--and often, in his brisk, rough way, he thought as, with a nod and a word, he passed the lankcleric, under the trees or across the common, with his bright, prattling, sunny-haired little boy by the hand--or encountered them telling storieson the stile, near the castle meadow--what a gleam of sunshine was alwaysdancing about his path, in that smiling, wayward, loving littlefellow--and now a long Icelandic winter was coming, and his path was toknow that light no more. 

'With children, you know, I--I always say there's a chance--but you areright to look the thing in the face--and I'll be here the first call inthe morning; and you know where to find me, in the meantime;' and thedoctor shook hands very hard with the vicar at the hall-door, and madehis way homeward--the vicar's eyes following him till he was out ofsight. 

Then William Wylder shut the hall-door, and turned about. 

Little Fairy's drum was hanging from a peg on the hat-stand--the drumthat was to sound no more in the garden, or up and down the hall, withthe bright-haired little drummer's song. There would be no moreinterruption now--the vicar would write his sermons undisturbed; no moreconsolations claimed--no more broken toys to be mended--some of theinnocent little rubbish lay in the study. It should never move fromthat--nor his drum--nor that little hat and cape, hanging on their peg, with the tiny boots underneath. 

No more prattling at unseasonable times--no more crying--no moresinging--no more laughing; all these interruptions were quiet now, andaltogether gone--'Little man! little Fairy! Oh, was it possible!' Butmemory would call up the vicar from his half-written sermon. He wouldmiss his troublesome little man, when the sun shone out that he used towelcome--when the birds hopped on the window-stone, to find the crumbsthat little man used to strew there; and when his own littlecanary--'Birdie' he used to call him--would sing and twitter in hiscage--and the time came to walk out on his lonely visits. 

He must walk alone by the shop-doors--where the little man was soadmired--and up the mill-road, and in the castle meadow and over thestile where they used to sit. 

Poor Dolly! Her Willie would not tell her yet. He kneeled down in thestudy--'Little man's' top, and some cut paper nondescripts, were lyingwhere he had left them, at his elbow--and he tried to pray, and then heremembered that his darling ought to know that he was going into thepresence of his Maker. 

Yes, he would tell poor Dolly first, and then his little man. He wouldrepeat his hymn with him, and pray--and so he went up the nursery stairs. 

Poor Dolly, very tired, had gone to lie down for a little. He would notdisturb her--no, let her enjoy for an hour more her happy illusion. 

When he went into the nursery little Fairy was sitting up, taking hismedicine; the nurse's arm round his thin shoulders. He sat down besidehim, weeping gently, his thin face turned a little away, and his hand onthe coverlet. 

Little man looked wonderingly from his tired eyes on Wapsie, and his thinfingers crept on his hand, and Wapsie turned about, drying his eyes, andsaid--

'Little man! my darling!'

'He's like himself, Sir, while he's sitting up--his little head quiteright again. '

'My head's quite right, Wapsie, ' the little man whispered, sadly. 

'Thank God, my darling!' said the vicar. The tears were running down hischeeks while he parted little Fairy's golden hair with his fingers. 

'When I am quite well again, ' whispered the little man, 'won't you bringme to the castle meadow, where the wee river is, and we'll float raceswith daisies and buttercups--the way you did on my birthday. '

'They say that little mannikin----' suddenly the vicar stopped. 'They saythat little mannikin won't get well. '

'And am I always to be sick, here in my little bed, Wapsie?' whisperedlittle Fairy, in his dreamy, earnest way, that was new to him. 

'No, darling; not always sick: you'll be happier than ever--but not here;little man will be taken by his Saviour, that loves him best of all--andhe'll be in heaven--and only have a short time to wait, and maybe hispoor Wapsie will come to him, please God, and his darling mamma--andwe'll all be happy together, for ever, and never be sick or sorry anymore, my treasure--my little Fairy--my darling. '

And little man looked on him with his tired eyes, not quite understandingwhat it meant, nor why Wapsie was crying; and the nurse said--

'He'd like to be dozin', Sir, he's so tired, please. ' So down the poorlittle fellow lay, his 'Wapsie' praying by his bedside. 

When, in a little time, poor Dolly returned, her Willie took her roundthe waist, as on the day when she accepted him, and led her tenderly intothe other room, and told her all, and they hugged and wept together. 

'Oh, Dolly, Dolly!'

'Oh, Willie, darling! Oh, Willie, our precious treasure--our only one. '

And so they walked up and down that room, his arm round her waist, and inthat sorrowful embrace, murmuring amid their sobs to one another, theirthoughts and remembrances of 'little man. ' How soon the treasure grows aretrospect!

Then Dolly bethought her of her promise to Rachel. 

'She made me promise to send for her if he was worse--she loved himso--everyone loved him--they could not help--oh, Willie! our brightdarling. '

'I think, Dolly, we could not live here. I'd like to go on some mission, and maybe come back in a great many years--maybe, Dolly, when we are old. I'd like to see the place again--and--and the walks--but not, I think, for a long time. He was such a darling. '

Perhaps the vicar was thinking of the church-yard, and how he would like, when his time came, to lie beside the golden-haired little comrade of hiswalks. So Dolly despatched the messenger with a lantern, and thus it wasthere came a knocking at the door of Redman's Farm at that unseasonablehour. For some time old Tamar heard the clatter in her sleep; disturbingand mingling with her dreams. But in a while she wakened quite, and heardthe double knocks one after another in quick succession; and huddling onher clothes, and muttering to herself all the way, she got into the hall, and standing a couple of yards away from the door, answered in shrill andquerulous tones, and questioning the messenger in the same breath. 

How could she tell what it might or might not portend? Her alarms quicklysubsided, however, for she knew the voice well. 

So the story was soon told. Poor little Fairy; it was doubtful if he wasto see another morning; and the maid being wanted at home, old Tamarundertook the message to Brandon Hall, where her young mistress was, andsallied forth in her cloak and bonnet, under the haunted trees ofRedman's Dell. 

Tamar had passed the age of ghostly terrors. There are a certain soberliterality and materialism in old age which abate the illusions of thesupernatural as effectually as those of love; and Tamar, though notwithout awe, for darkness and solitude, even were there no associationsof a fearful kind in the locality, are suggestive and dismal to the last. 

Her route lay, as by this time my reader is well aware, by that narrowdefile reached from Redman's Farm by a pathway which scales a flight ofrude steps, the same which Stanley Lake and his sister had mounted on thenight of Mark Wylder's disappearance. 

Tamar knew the path very well. It was on the upper level of it that shehad held that conference with Stanley Lake, which obviously referred tothat young gentleman's treatment of the vanished Mark. As she came tothis platform, round which the trees receded a little so as to admit themoonlight, the old woman was tired. 

She would have gladly chosen another spot to rest in, but fatigue wasimperious; and she sat down under the gray stone which stoodperpendicularly there, on what had once been the step of a stile, leaningagainst the rude column behind her. 

As she sat here she heard the clank of a step approaching measuredly fromthe Brandon side. It was twelve o'clock now; the chimes from theGylingden church-tower had proclaimed that in the distance some minutesbefore. The honest Gylingden folk seldom heard the tower chimes telleleven, and gentle and simple had, of course, been long in their beds. 

The old woman had a secret hatred of this place, and the unexpectedsounds made her hold her breath. She peeped round the stone, in whoseshadow she was sitting. The steps were not those of a man walking brisklywith a purpose: they were the desultory strides of a stroller loungingout an hour's watch. The steps approached. The figure was visible--thatof a short broadish man, with a mass of cloaks, rugs, and mufflers acrosshis arm. 

Carrying them with a sort of swagger, he came slowly up to the part ofthe pathway opposite to the pillar, where he dropped those draperies in aheap upon the grass; and availing himself of the clear moonlight, hestopped nearly confronting her. 

It was the face of Mark Wylder--she knew it well--but grown fat andbroader, and there was--but this she could not see distinctly--a purplishscar across his eyebrow and cheek. She quivered with terror lest heshould have seen her, and might be meditating some mischief. But she wasseated close to the ground, several yards away, and in the sharp shadowof the old block of stone. 

He consulted his watch, and she sat fixed and powerless as a portion ofthe block on which she leaned, staring up at this, to her, terrificapparition. Mark Wylder's return boded, she believed, somethingtremendous. 

She saw the glimmer of the gold watch, and, distinctly, the great blackwhiskers, and the face pallid in the moonlight. She was afraid for aminute, during which he loitered there, that he was going to seat himselfupon the cloaks which he had just thrown upon the ground, and felt thatshe could not possibly escape detection for many seconds more. But shewas relieved; for, after a short pause, leaving these still upon theground, he turned, and walked slowly, like a policeman on his beat, toward Brandon. 

With a gasp she began to recover herself; but she felt too faint and illto get up and commence a retreat towards Redman's Farm. Besides, she wassure he would return--she could not tell how soon--and although the clumpof alders hid her from view, she could not tell but that the next momentwould disclose his figure retracing his leisurely steps, and ready topursue and overtake, if by a precipitate movement she had betrayed herpresence. 

In due time the same figure, passing at the same rate, did emerge again, and approached just as before, only this time he was carelessly examiningsome small but clumsy steel instrument which glittered occasionally inthe light. From Tamar's description of it, I conclude it was a revolver. 

He passed the pile of cloaks but a few steps, and again turned towardBrandon. So soon as he was once more concealed by the screen ofunderwood, old Tamar, now sufficiently recovered, crept hurriedly away inthe opposite direction, half dead with terror, until she had descendedthe steps, and was buried once more in friendly darkness. 

Old Tamar did not stop at Redman's Farm; she passed it and the mills, andnever stopped till she reached the Vicarage. In the hall, she felt for amoment quite overpowered, and sitting in one of the old chairs that didduty there, she uttered a deep groan, and looked with such a gaze in theface of the maid who had admitted her, that she thought the old woman wasdying. 

Sick rooms, even when, palpably, doctors, nurses, friends, have allceased to hope, are not to those who stand in the _very_ nearest and mosttender relations to the patient, altogether chambers of despair. Thereare those who hover about the bed and note every gleam and glow ofsubsiding life, and will read in sunset something of the colours of thedawn, and cling wildly to these hallucinations of love; and no one hasthe heart to tear them from them. 

Just now, Dolly fancied that 'little man was better--the darling! thetreasure! oh, precious little man! He was coming back!'

So, she ran down with this light of hope in her face, and saw old Tamarin the hall, and gave her a glass of the wine which Rachel had provided, and the old woman's spirit came again. 

'She was glad--yes, very glad. She was thankful to hear the dear childwas better. ' But there was a weight upon her soul, and a dreadful horroron her countenance still. 

'Will you please, Ma'am, write a little note--my old hand shakes so, shecould hardly read my writing--to my mistress--Miss Radie, Ma'am. I seepen and ink on the table there. I was not able to go up to the Hall, Ma'am, with the message. There's something on the road I could not pass. '

'Something! What was it?' said Dolly, staring with round eyes in the oldwoman's woeful face, her curiosity aroused for a moment. 

'Something, Ma'am--a person--I can't exactly tell--above the steps, inthe Blackberry path. It would cost my young mistress her life. ForHeaven's sake, Ma'am, write, and promise, if you send for her, she shallget the note. '

So, Dolly made the promise, and bringing old Tamar with her into thestudy, penned these odd lines from her dictation, merely adjusting thegrammar. 

'MISS RADIE, DEAR, --If coming down to-night from Brandon, this is to tellyou, it is as much as your life is worth to pass the Blackberry walkabove the steps. My old eyes have seen him there, walking back andforward, lying at catch for some one, this night--the great enemy of man;you can suppose in what shape. 

'Your dutiful and loving servant, TAMAR. '

So, old Tamar, after a little, took her departure; and it needed a greateffort to enable her to take the turn up the dark and lonely mill-road, leading to Redman's Farm; so much did she dread the possibility of againencountering the person she had just described. 

CHAPTER LXX. 

THE MEETING IN THE LONG POND ALLEY. 

I suppose there were few waking heads at this hour in all the wide parishof Gylingden, though many a usually idle one was now busy enough aboutthe great political struggle which was to muster its native forces, bothin borough and county, and agitate these rural regions with the roar andcommotion of civil strife. 

But generals must sleep like other men; and even Tom Wealdon was snoringin the fairy land of dreams. 

The night was very still--a sharp night, with a thin moon, like ascimitar, hanging bright in the sky, and a myriad of intense starsblinking in the heavens, above the steep roofs and spiral chimneys ofBrandon Hall, and the ancient trees that surrounded it. 

It was late in the night, as we know. The family, according to theircustom, had sought their slumbers early; and the great old house wasperfectly still. 

One pair, at least, of eyes, however, were wide open; one head busy; andone person still in his daily costume. This was Mr. Larcom--the grave_major domo_, the bland and attached butler. He was not busy about hisplate, nor balancing the cellar book, nor even perusing his Bible. 

He was seated in that small room or closet which he had, years ago, appropriated as his private apartment. It is opposite the housekeeper'sroom--a sequestered, philosophic retreat. He dressed in it, read hisnewspaper there, and there saw his select acquaintance. His wardrobestood there. The iron safe in which he kept his keys, filled one of itsnooks. He had his two or three shelves of books in the recess; not thathe disturbed them much, but they were a grave and gentlemanlike property, and he liked them for their binding, and the impression they produced onhis visitors. There was a meditative fragrance of cigars about him, andtwo or three Havannah stumps under the grate. 

The fact is, he was engaged over a letter, the writing of which, considering how accomplished a gentleman he was, he had found ratherlaborious and tedious. The penmanship was, I am afraid, clumsy, and thespelling here and there, irregular. It was finished however, and he wasnow reading it over with care. 

It was thus expressed:--

'RESPECTET SIR, --In accordens with your disier, i av took my pen to say afue words. There has cum a leter for a sertun persen this morning, with aLundun posmark, and i do not now hand nor sele, but bad writting, which ihave not seen wot contanes, but I may, for as you told me offen, you areanceus for welfare of our famly, as i now to be no more than trewth, so Iam anceus to ascest you Sir, wich my conseynce is satesfid, but leter astrubeled a sertun persen oufull, hoo i new was engry, and look oufull putabout, wich do not offen apen, and you may sewer there is sumthing inwind, he is alday so oufull peefish, you will not thing worse of mespeeken plane as yo disier, there beeing a deel to regret for frends ofthe old famly i feer in a sertun resent marrege, if I shud lern be chancecontense of letter i will sewer rite you. --i Remane your humbel servant, 'JOHN LARCOM. '

Just as grave Mr. Larcom had ended the perusal of this bulletin, he hearda light step on the stair, at the end of the passage, which made hismanly heart jump unpleasantly within his fat ribs. He thrust the unfoldedletter roughly into the very depths of his breeches pocket, and blew outboth candles; and then listened, as still as a mouse. 

What frightened him was the certainty that the step, which he well knew, was Stanley Lake's. And Stanley being a wideawake and violent person, andhis measures sharp and reckless, Mr. Larcom cherished a nervous respectfor him. 

He listened; the captain's step came lightly to the foot of the stairs, and paused. Mr. Larcom prepared to be fast asleep in the chair, in theevent of the captain's making a sudden advance, and entering his sanctum. But this movement was not executed. 

There was a small door at the foot of the stairs. It shut with a springlock, of which Captain Lake had a latch-key. Mr. Larcom accidentally hadanother--a cylindrical bit of steel, with a hinge in the end of it, and afew queer wards. 

Now, of this little door he heard the two iron bolts stealthily drawn, and then the handle of the spring lock turned, and the door cautiouslyopened, and as gently closed. 

Mr. Larcom's fears now naturally subsided, and curiosity as naturallysupervened. He drew near his window; and it was well he had extinguishedhis lights, for as he did so, Captain Lake's light figure, in a graypaletot and cloth cap, glided by like a spirit in the faint moonlight. 

This phenomenon excited the profoundest interest in the correspondingfriend of the family, who, fumbling his letter between his finger andthumb in his breeches' pocket, standing on tip-toe, with mouth agape, andhis head against the shutter, followed the receding figure with a greedystare. 

Mr. Larcom had no theory whatsoever to account for this procedure on thepart of his master. It must be something very extraordinary, and wellworth investigating--of course, for the benefit of the family--whichcould have evoked the apparition which had just crossed his window. Withhis eyes close to the window pane, he saw his master glide swiftly alongthe short terrace which covers this side of the house, and disappear downthe steps, like a spectre sinking into the earth. 

It is a meeting, thought Mr. Larcom, taking courage, for he already feltsomething of the confidence and superiority of possessing a secret; andas quickly as might be, the trustworthy man, with his latch-key in hispocket, softly opened the portal through which the object of his anxietyhad just emerged, closed the door behind him, and stood listeningintently in the recess of the entrance, where he heard the now morecareless step of the captain, treading, as he thought, the broadyew-walk, which turns at a right angle at the foot of the terrace step. The black yew hedge was a perfect screen. 

Here was obviously resented a chance of obtaining the command of a secretof greater or less importance. It was a considerable stake to play for, and well worth a trifling risk. 

He did not hesitate to follow--but with the soft tread of a politebutler, doing his offices over the thick carpet of a drawing-room--and itwas in his mind--'Suppose he does discover me, what then? _I_'m as muchsurprised as he! Thomas Brewen, the footman, who is under notice toleave, has twice, to the captain's knowledge, played me the same trick, and stole out through the gunroom window at night, and denied itafterwards; so I sat up to detect him, and hearing the door open, and astep, I pursued, and find I've made a mistake; and beg pardon with properhumility--supposing the master is on the same errand--what can he say? Itwill bring me a present, and a hint to say nothing of my having seen himin the yew-walk at this hour. '

Of course he did not run through all this rigmarole in detail; but thesituation, the excuse, and the result, were present to his mind, andfilled him with a comfortable assurance. 

Therefore, with decision and caution, he followed Captain Lake's march, and reaching the yew-walk, he saw the slim figure in the cap and paletotturn the corner, and enter the broad walk between the two wall-like beechhedges, which led direct to the first artificial pond--a long, narrowparallelogram, round which the broad walk passed in two straight lines, fenced with the towering beech hedges, shorn as smooth as the walls of anunnery. 

When the butler reached the point at which Captain Lake had turned, hefound himself all at once within fifty steps of that eccentric gentleman, who was talking, but in so low a tone, that not even the sound of thevoices reached him, with a rather short, broad-shouldered person, buttoned up in a surtout, and wearing a queer, Germanesque, felt hat, battered and crushed a good deal. 

Mr. Larcom held his breath. He was profoundly interested. After a while, with an oath, he exclaimed--

'That's _him!_'

Then, after another pause, he gasped another oath:--

'It _is_ him!'

The square-built man in the surtout had a great pair of black whiskers;and as he stood opposite Lake, conversing, with, now and again, anearnest gesture, he showed a profile which Mr. Larcom knew very well; andnow they turned and walked slowly side by side along the broad walk bythat perpendicular wall of crisp brown leaves, he recognised also acertain hitch in his shoulder, which made him swear and asseverate again. 

He would have given something to hear what was passing. He thoughtuneasily whether there might not be a side-path or orifice anywherethrough which he might creep so as to get to the other side of the hedgeand listen. But there was no way, and he must rest content with suchreport as his eyes might furnish. 

'They're not quarrelling no ways, ' murmured he. 

And, indeed, they walked together, stopping now and again, as it seemed, very amicably. Captain Lake seemed to have most to say. 

'He's awful cowed, he is; I never did think to see Mr. Wylder so affeardof Lake; he _is_ affeard; yes, he is--_that_ he is. 

And indeed there was an indescribable air of subservience in thedemeanour of the square-built gentleman very different from what MarkWylder once showed. 

He saw the captain take from the pocket of his paletot a square box orpacket, it might be jewels or only papers, and hand them to hiscompanion, who popped them into his left-hand surtout pocket, and kepthis hand there as if the freightage were specially valuable. 

Then they talked earnestly a little longer, standing together by thepond; and then, side-by-side, they paced down the broad walk by its edge. It was a long walk. Honest Larcom would have followed if there had beenany sort of cover to hide his advance; but there being nothing of thekind he was fain to abide at his corner. Thence he beheld them come atlast slowly to a stand-still, talk evidently a little more, and finallythey shook hands--an indefinable something still of superiority in Lake'sair--and parted. 

The captain was now all at once walking at a swift pace, alone, towardsLarcom's post of observation, and his secret confederate nearly asrapidly in an opposite direction. It would not do for the butler to betaken or even seen by Lake, nor yet to be left at the outside of the doorand barred out. So the captain had hardly commenced his homeward walk, when Larcom, though no great runner, threw himself into an agitatedamble, and reached and entered the little door just in time to escapeobservation. He had not been two minutes in his apartment again when heonce more beheld the figure of his master cross the window, and heard thesmall door softly opened and closed, and the bolts slowly and cautiouslydrawn again into their places. Then there was a pause. Lake was listeningto ascertain whether anyone was stirring, and being satisfied, re-ascended the stairs, leaving the stout and courteous butler amplematter for romantic speculation. 

It was now the butler's turn to listen, which he did at the half-openeddoor of his room. When he was quite assured that all was quiet, he shutand bolted his door, closed the window-shutters, and relighted his pairof wax candles. 

Mr. Larcom was a good deal excited. He had seen strange things thatnight. He was a good deal blown and heated by his run, and a little wildand scared at the closeness of the captain's unconscious pursuit. Hishead beside was full of amazing conjectures. After a while he took hiscrumpled letter from his pocket, unfolded and smoothed it, and wrote upona blank half-page--

'RESPECTED SIR, --Since the above i ave a much to tel mos surprisen, thegentleman you wer anceous of tiding mister M. W. Is cum privet, and himand master met tonite nere 2 in morning, in the long pond allee, so isnear home then we suposed, no more at present Sir from your

'humbel servent JOHN

'LARCOM. 

'i shall go to dolington day arter to-morrow by eleven o'clock trane ifyou ere gong, Sir. '

When the attorney returned, between eleven and twelve o'clock nextmorning, this letter awaited him. It did not, of course, surprise him, but it conclusively corroborated all his inferences. 

Here had been Mark Wylder. He had stopped at Dollington, as the attorneysuspected he would, and he had kept tryst, in the Brandon grounds, withsly Captain Lake, whose relations with him it became now more difficultthan ever clearly to comprehend. 

Wylder was plainly under no physical coercion. He had come and goneunattended. For one reason or other he was, at least, as stronglyinterested as Lake in maintaining secrecy. 

That Mark Wylder was living was the grand fact with which he had justthen to do. How near he had been to purchasing the vicar's reversion! Theengrossed deeds lay in the black box there. And yet it might be all trueabout Mark's secret marriage. At that moment there might be a wholerosary of sons, small and great, to intercept the inheritance; and theReverend William Wylder might have no more chance of the estates than hehad of the crown. 

What a deliverance for the good attorney. His money was quite safe. Theexcellent man's religion was, we know, a little Jewish, and rested upontemporal rewards and comforts. He thought, I am sure, that a competentstaff of angels were placed specially in charge of the interests of Jos. Larkin, Esq. , who attended so many services and sermons on Sundays, andled a life of such ascetic propriety. He felt quite grateful to them, inhis priggish way--their management in this matter had been so eminentlysatisfactory. He regretted that he had not an opportunity of telling themso personally. I don't say that he would have expressed it in theseliteral terms; but it was fixed in his mind that the carriage of hisbusiness was supernaturally arranged. Perhaps he was right, and he was atonce elated and purified, and his looks and manner that afternoon weremore than usually meek and celestial. 

CHAPTER LXXI. 

SIR HARRY BRACTON'S INVASION OF GYLINGDEN. 

Jim Dutton had not turned up since, and his letter was one of thosemares' nests of which gentlemen in Mr. Larkin's line of business have solarge an experience. Of Mark Wylder not a trace was discoverable. Hisenquiries on this point were, of course, conducted with caution andremoteness. Gylingden, however, was one of those places which, if itknows anything, is sure to find a way of telling it, and the attorney wassoon satisfied that Mark's secret visit had been conducted withsufficient caution to baffle the eyes and ears of the good folk of thetown. 

Well, one thing was plain. The purchase of the reversion was to wait, andfraudulent as was the price at which he had proposed to buy it, he wasnow resolved to get it for less than half that sum, and he wrote a shortnote to the vicar, which he forthwith despatched. 

In the meantime there was not a moment to be lost in clenching thepurchase of Five Oaks. And Mr. Jos. Larkin, with one of his 'young men'with him in the tax-cart, reached Brandon Hall in a marvellously shorttime after his arrival at home. 

Jos. Larkin, his clerk, and the despatch-box, had a short wait in theDutch room, before his admission to the library, where an animated debatewas audible. The tremendous contest impending over the county was, ofcourse, the theme. In the Dutch room, where they waited, there was alarge table, with a pyramid of blank envelopes in the middle, and ever somany cubic feet of canvassing circulars, six chairs, and pens and ink. The clerks were in the housekeeper's room at that moment, partaking ofrefreshment. There was a gig in the court-yard, with a groom at thehorse's head, and Larkin, as he drew up, saw a chaise driving round tothe stable yard. People of all sorts were coming and going, and BrandonHall was already growing like an inn. 

'How d'ye do, dear Larkin?' said Captain Brandon Stanley Lake, the heroof all this debate and commotion, smiling his customary sly greeting, andextending his slim hand across the arm of his chair--'I'm so sorry youwere away--this thing has come, after all, so suddenly--we are getting onfamously though--but I'm awfully fagged. ' And, indeed, he looked pale andtired, though smiling. 'I've a lot of fellows with me; they've just runin to luncheon; won't you take something?'

But Jos. Larkin, smiling after his sort, excused himself. He was gladthey had a moment to themselves. He had brought the money, which he knewwould be acceptable at such a moment, and he thought it would bedesirable to sign and seal forthwith, to which the captain, a littleanxiously, agreed. So he got in one of the clerks who were directing thecanvassing circulars, and gave him the draft, approved by his counsel, toread aloud, while he followed with his eye upon the engrossed deed. 

The attorney told down the money in bank bills. He fancied that exceptionmight be taken to his cheque for so large a sum, and was eager to avoiddelay, and came from London so provided. 

The captain was not sorry, for in truth he was in rather imminentjeopardy just then. He had spoken truth, strangely enough, when hementioned his gambling debts as an incentive to his marriage with theheiress of Brandon, in that Sunday walk with Rachel in the park; andhardly ten minutes had passed when Melton Hervey, trustiest ofaide-de-camps, was on his way to Dollington to make a large lodgment tothe captain's credit in the county bank, and to procure a letter ofcredit for a stupendous sum in favour of Messrs. Hiram and Jacobs, transmitted under cover to Captain Lake's town solicitor. The captain hadsigned, sealed, and delivered, murmuring that formula about hand andseal, and act and deed, and Dorcas glided in like a ghost, and merelywhispering an enquiry to Lake, did likewise, the clerk deferentiallyputting the query, 'this is your hand and seal, &c. ?' and Jos. Larkindrawing a step or two backward. 

Of course the lady saw that lank and sinister man of God quitedistinctly, but she did not choose to do so, and Larkin, with a grandsort of prescience, foresaw a county feud between the Houses of Five Oaksand Brandon, and now the lady had vanished. The money, carefully counted, was rolled in Lake's pocket book, and the bright new deed which made Jos. Larkin, of the Lodge, Esq. , master of Five Oaks, was safely locked intothe box, under his long arm, and the attorney vanished, bowing very much, and concealing his elation under a solemn sort of _nonchalance_. 

The note, which by this time the vicar had received, though short, was, on the whole, tremendous. It said:--

'(_Private. _)

REV. AND DEAR SIR, --I have this moment arrived from London, where Ideeply regret to state the negotiation on which we both relied to carryyou comfortably over your present difficulties has fallen through, inconsequence of what I cannot but regard as the inexcusable caprice of theintending purchaser. He declines stating any reason for his withdrawal. Ifear that the articles were so artfully framed by his solicitors, in oneparticular which it never entered into my mind to refer to anything liketrick or design, that we shall find it impossible to compel him to carryout what, in the strongest terms, I have represented to Messrs. Burlington and Smith as a bargain irrevocably concluded in point ofhonour and morality. The refusal of their own client to make the proposedinvestment has alarmed those gentlemen, I regret to add, for the safetyof their costs, which, as I before apprised you, are, though I cannot sayexcessive, certainly _very heavy_; and I fear we must be prepared forextreme measures upon their part. I have carefully reconsidered the veryhandsome proposal which Miss Lake was so good as to submit; but theresult is that, partly on technical, and partly on other grounds, Icontinue of the clear opinion that the idea is absolutely impracticable, and must be peremptorily laid aside in attempting to arrive at anestimate of any resources which you may be conscious of commanding. If, under these deplorably untoward circumstances, you still think I can beof any use to you, may I beg that you will not hesitate to say how. 

'I remain, my dear and reverend Sir, with profound regrets and sympathy, yours very sincerely, 'JOS. H. LARKIN. '

He had already imported the H. Which was to germinate, in a little while, into Howard. 

When Jos. Larkin wanted to get a man's property a bargain--and he hadmade two or three excellent hits, though, comparatively, on a very smallscale--he liked so to contrive matters as to bring his client to hisknees, begging him to purchase on the terms he wished; and then Jos. Larkin came forward, in the interests of humanity, and unable to resistthe importunities of 'a party whom he respected, ' he did 'what, at thetime, appeared a very risky thing, although it has turned out tolerablysafe in the long run. '

The screw was now twisted pretty well home upon the poor vicar, who, ifhe had any sense at all, would, remembering Larkin's expressions only aweek before, suggest his buying, and so, the correspondence woulddisclose, in a manner most honourable to the attorney, the history of thepurchase. 

But the clouds had begun to break, and the sky to clear, over the goodvicar, just at the point where they had been darkest and most menacing. 

Little Fairy, after all, was better. Good-natured Buddle had been thereat nine, quite amazed at his being so well, still reserved and cautious, and afraid of raising hopes. But when he came back, at eleven, and hadcompleted his examination, he told them, frankly, that there was adecided change; in fact, that the little man, with, of course, greatcare, might do very well, and _ought_ to recover, if nothing went wrong. 

Honest Buddle was delighted. He chuckled over the little man's bed. Hecould not suppress his grins. He was a miracle of a child! a prodigy! ByGeorge, it was the most extraordinary case he had ever met with! It wasall that bottle, and that miraculous child; they seemed made for oneanother. From two o'clock, last night, the action of his skin hascommenced, and never ceased since. When he was here last night, thelittle fellow's pulse was a hundred and forty-four, and now down toninety-seven!

The doctor grew jocular; and who can resist a doctor's jokes, when theygarnish such tidings as he was telling. Was ever so pleasant a doctor!Laughter through tears greeted these pleasantries; and oh, suchtransports of gratitude broke forth when he was gone!

It was well for Driver, the postmaster, and his daughters, that all thecirculars made up that day in Brandon Hall were not despatched throughthe Gylingden post-office. It was amazing how so many voters could findroom to one county. Next day, it was resolved, the captain's personalcanvass was to commence. The invaluable Wealdon had run through the listof his to-morrow's visits, and given him an inkling of theidiosyncrasies, the feuds, and the likings of each elector in thecatalogue. 'Busy times, Sir!' Tom Wealdon used to remark, with a chuckle, from time to time, in the thick of the fuss and conspiration which wasthe breath of his nostrils; and, doubtless, so they are, and were, andever will be, until the time-honoured machinery of our election systemhas been overhauled, and adapted to the civilisation of these days. 

Captain Brandon Lake was as much as possible at head quarters in thesecritical times; and, suddenly, Mr. Crump; the baker, and John Thomas, ofthe delft, ironmongery, sponge, and umbrella shop, at the corner ofChurch Street, in Gylingden, were announced by the fatigued servant. Theybowed, and stood, grinning, near the door; and the urbane and cordialcaptain, with all a candidate's good fellowship, shook them both by thehands, and heard their story; and an exciting one it was. 

Sir Harry Bracton had actually invaded the town of Gylingden. There was arabble of the raff of Queen's Bracton along with him. He, with two orthree young swells by him, had made a speech, from his barouche, outsidethe 'Silver Lion, ' near the green; and he was now haranguing from thesteps of the Court House. They had a couple of flags, and some music. Itwas 'a regular, planned thing;' for the Queen's Bracton people had beendropping in an hour before. The shop-keepers were shutting their windows. Sir Harry was 'chaffing the capting, ' and hitting him very hard 'for ahupstart'--and, in fact, Crump was more particular in reporting theworthy baronet's language than was absolutely necessary. And it wasthought that Sir Harry was going to canvass the town. 

The captain was very much obliged, indeed, and begged they would go intothe parlour, and take luncheon; and, forthwith, Wealdon took the command. The gamekeepers, the fifty hay-makers in the great meadow, they were toenter the town from the top of Church Street, where they were to gatherall the boys and blackguards they could. The men from the gas-works, themasons, and blacksmiths, were to be marched in by Luke Samways. TomWealdon would, himself, in passing, give the men at the coal-works ahint. Sir Harry's invasion was the most audacious thing on record; and itwas incumbent on Gylingden to make his defeat memorably disgraceful anddisastrous. 

His barouche was to be smashed, and burnt on the green; his white topcoatand hat were to clothe the effigy, which was to swing over the bonfire. The captured Bracton banners were to hang in the coffee-room of the'Silver Lion, ' to inspire the roughs. What was to become of the humanportion of the hostile pageant, Tom, being an official person, did notchoose to hint. 

All these, and fifty minor measures, were ordered by the fertile Wealdonin a minute, and suitable messengers on the wing to see after them. Thecaptain, accompanied by Mr. Jekyl, myself, and a couple of the gravescriveners from the next room, were to go by the back approach andRedman's Dell to the Assembly Rooms, which Crump and Thomas, already ontheir way in the fly, undertook to have open for their reception, andfurnished with some serious politicians from the vicinity. From thewindows, the captain, thus supported, was to make his maiden speech, onepoint in which Tom Wealdon insisted upon, and that was an injunction tothe 'men of Gylingden' on no account to break the peace. 'Take care tosay it, and we'll have it well reported in the "Chronicle, " and our ladswon't mind it, nor hear it neither, for that matter. '

So, there was mounting in hot haste in the courtyard of old Brandon, anda rather ponderous selection of walking-sticks by the politicians--ofwhom I was one--intended for the windows of the assembly room. 

Lake rode; Tom Wealdon, myself, and two scriveners, squeezed into thedog-cart, which was driven by Jekyl, and away we went. It was a pleasantdrive, under the noble old trees. But we were in no mood for thepicturesque. A few minutes brought us into the Blackberry hollow, whichdebouches into Redman's Dell. 

Here, the road being both steep and rugged, our speed abated. Theprecipitous banks shut out the sunlight, except at noon, and the roadthrough this defile, overhung by towering trees and rocks, was even nowin solemn shadow. The cart-road leading down to Redman's Dell, andpassing the mills near Redman's Farm, diverges from the footpath withwhich we are so well acquainted, near that perpendicular block of stonewhich stands a little above the steps which the footpath here descends. 

CHAPTER LXXII. 

MARK WYLDER'S HAND. 

Just at the darkest point of the road, a little above the rude columnwhich I have mentioned, Lake's horse, a young one, shied, stopped short, recoiling on its haunches, and snorted fiercely into the air. At the sametime, the two dogs which had accompanied us began to bark furiouslybeneath in the ravine. 

The tall form of Uncle Lorne was leaning against a tree at the edge ofthe ravine, with his left hand extended towards us, and his rightpointing down the precipice. Perhaps it was this odd apparition thatstartled Lake's horse. 

'I told you he was coming up--lend him a hand, ' yelled Uncle Lorne, ingreat excitement. 

No one at such a moment minded his maunderings: but many peopleafterwards thought that the crazed old man, in one of his night-rambles, had seen that which, till now, no one had imagined; and that Captain Lakehimself, whose dislike of him was hardly disguised, suspected him, attimes of that alarming knowledge. 

Lake plunged the spurs into his beast, which reared so straight that shetoppled backward toward the edge of the ravine. 

'Strike her on the head; jump off, ' shouted Wealdon. 

But he did neither. 

'D-- it! put her head down; lean forward, ' bellowed Wealdon again. 

But it would not do. With a crash among briars, and a heavy thump frombeneath that shook the earth, the mare and her rider went over. A shoutof horror broke from us all; and Jekyl, watching the catastrophe, wasvery near pulling our horse over the edge, and launching us all together, like the captain, into the defile. 

In a moment more we were all on the ground, and scrambling down the sideof the ravine, among rocks, boughs, brambles, and ferns, in the deepshadows of the gorge, the dogs still yelling furiously from below. 

'Here he is, ' cried Jekyl. 'How are you, Lake? Much hurt, old boy? ByJove, he's killed, I think. '

Lake groaned. 

He lay about twelve feet below the edge. The mare, now lying near thebottom of the gorge, had, I believe, fallen upon him, and then tumbledover. 

Strange to say, Lake was conscious, and in a few seconds, he said, inreply to the horrified questions of his friend--

'I'm _all_ smashed. Don't move me;' and, in a minute more--'Don't mindthat d--d brute; she's killed. Let her lie. '

It appeared very odd, but so it was, he appeared eager upon this point, and, faint as he was, almost savage. 

'Tell them to let her lie there. '

Wealdon and I, however, scrambled down the bank. He was right. The marelay stone dead, on her side, at the bottom. He lifted her head, by theear, and let it fall back. 

In the meantime the dogs continued their unaccountable yelling close by. 

'What the devil's that?' said Wealdon. 

Something like a stunted, blackened branch was sticking out of the peat, ending in a set of short, thickish twigs. This is what it seemed. Thedogs were barking at it. It was, really, a human hand and arm, disclosedby the slipping of the bank; undermined by the brook, which was swollenby the recent rains. 

The dogs were sniffing and yelping about it. 

'It's a hand!' cried Wealdon, with an oath. 

'A hand?' I echoed. 

We were both peering at it, having drawn near, stooping and hesitating asmen do in a curious horror. 

It was, indeed, a human hand and arm, disclosed from about the elbow, enveloped in a discoloured coat-sleeve, which fell back from the limb, and the fingers, like it black, were extended in the air. Nothing more ofthe body to which it belonged, except the point of a knee, in stained andmuddy trousers, protruding from the peat, was visible. 

It must have lain there a considerable time, for, notwithstanding theantiseptic properties of that sort of soil, mixed with the decayed barkand fibre of trees, a portion of the flesh of the hand was decomposed, and the naked bone disclosed. On the little finger something glimmereddully. 

In this livid hand, rising from the earth, there was a character both ofmenace and appeal; and on the finger, as I afterwards saw at the inquest, glimmered the talismanic legend 'Resurgam--I will rise again!' It was thecorpse of Mark Wylder, which had lain buried here undiscovered for manymonths. A horrible odour loaded the air. Perhaps it was this smell ofcarrion, from which horses sometimes recoil with a special terror, thatcaused the swerving and rearing which had ended so fatally. At thatmoment we heard a voice calling, and raising our eyes, saw Uncle Lornelooking down from the rock with an agitated scowl. 

'I've done with him now--_emeritus_--he touches me, no more. Take him bythe hand, merciful lads, or they'll draw him down again. '

And with these words Uncle Lorne receded, and I saw him no more. 

As yet we had no suspicion whose was the body thus unexpectedlydiscovered. 

We beat off the dogs, and on returning to Lake, found Jekyl trying toraise him a little against a tree. We were not far from Redman's Farm, and it was agreed, on hasty consultation, that our best course would beto carry Lake thither at once by the footpath, and that one ofus--Wealdon undertook this--should drive the carriage on, and apprisingRachel on the way of the accident which had happened, and that herbrother was on his way thither, should drive on to Buddle's house, sending assistance to us from the town. 

It was plain that Stanley Lake's canvass was pretty well over. There wasnot one of us who looked at him that did not feel convinced that he wasmortally hurt. I don't think he believed so himself then; but we couldnot move him from the place where he lay without inflicting so much pain, that we were obliged to wait for assistance. 

'D-- the dogs, what are they barking for?' said Lake, faintly. He seemeddistressed by the noise. 

'There's a dead body partly disclosed down there--some one murdered andburied; but one of Mr. Juke's young men is keeping them off. '

Lake made an effort to raise himself, but with a grin and a suppressedmoan he abandoned it. 

'Is there no doctor--I'm very much hurt?' said Lake, faintly, after aminute's silence. 

We told him that Buddle had been sent for; and that we only awaited helpto get him down to Redman's Farm. 

When Rachel heard the clang of hoofs and the rattle of the tax-cartdriving down the mill-road, at a pace so unusual, a vague augury of evilsmote her. She was standing in the porch of her tiny house, and old Tamarwas sitting knitting on the bench close by. 

'Tamar, they are galloping down the road, I think--what can it mean?'exclaimed the young lady, scared she could not tell why; and old Tamarstood up, and shaded her eyes with her shrunken hand. 

Tom Wealdon pulled up at the little wicket. He was pale. He had lost hishat, too, among the thickets, and could not take time to recover it. Altogether he looked wild. 

He put his hand to where his hat should have been in token of salutation, and said he--

'I beg pardon, Miss Lake, Ma'am, but I'm sorry to say your brother thecaptain's badly hurt, and maybe you could have a shakedown in the parlourready for him by the time I come back with the doctor, Ma'am?'

Rachel, she did not know how, was close by the wheel of the vehicle bythis time. 

'Is it Sir Harry Bracton? He's in the town, I know. Is Stanley shot?'

'Not shot; only thrown, Miss, into the Dell; his mare shied at a deadbody that's there. You'd better stay where you are, Miss; but if youcould send up some water, I think he'd like it. Going for the doctor, Ma'am; good-bye, Miss Lake. '

And away went Wealdon, wild, pale, and hatless, like a man pursued byrobbers. 

'Oh! Tamar, he's killed--Stanley's killed--I'm sure he's killed, andall's discovered'--and Rachel ran wildly up the hill a few steps, butstopped and returned as swiftly. 

'Thank God, Miss, ' said old Tamar, lifting up her trembling fingers andwhite eyes to Heaven. 'Better dead, Miss, than living on in sin andsorrow, better discovered than hid by daily falsehood and cruelty. OldTamar's tired of life; she's willing to go, and wishin' for death thismany a day. Oh! Master Stanley, my child!'

Rachel went into the parlour and kneeled down, with white upturned faceand clasped hands. But she could not pray. She could only look her wildsupplication;--deliverance--an issue out of the terrors that beset her;and 'oh! poor miserable lost Stanley!' It was just a look and aninarticulate cry for mercy. 

An hour after Captain Stanley Brandon Lake, whose 'election address' wasfiguring that evening in the 'Dollington Courier, ' and in the 'CountyChronicle, ' lay with his clothes still on, in the little drawing-room ofRedman's Farm, his injuries ascertained, his thigh broken near the hip, and his spine fractured. No hope--no possibility of a physicalreascension, this time. 

Meanwhile, in the Blackberry Dell, Doctor Buddle was assisting at adifferent sort of inquisition. The two policemen who constituted thecivil force of Gylingden, two justices of the peace, the doctor, and acrowd of amateurs, among whom I rank myself, were grouped in the dismalgorge, a little to windward of the dead body, which fate had brought tolight, while three men were now employed in cautiously disinterring it. 

When the operation was completed, there remained no doubt whatever on mymind: discoloured and disfigured as were both clothes and body, I wassure that the dead man was no other than Mark Wylder. When the clay withwhich it was clotted was a little removed, it became indubitable. Thegreat whiskers; the teeth so white and even; and oddly enough, one blacklock of hair which he wore twisted in a formal curl flat on his forehead, remained undisturbed in its position, as it was fixed there at his lasttoilet for Brandon Hall. 

In the rude and shallow grave in which he lay, his purse was found, andsome loose silver mixed in the mould. The left hand, on which was thering of 'the Persian magician, ' was bare; the right gloved, with theglove of the other hand clutched firmly in it. 

The body was got up in a sheet to a sort of spring cart which awaited it, and so conveyed to the 'Silver Lion, ' in Gylingden, where it was placedin a disused coach-house to await the inquest. There the examination wascontinued, and his watch (the chain broken) found in his waistcoatpocket. In his coat-pocket were found (of course, in no very presentablecondition) his cigar-case, his initials stamped on it, for Mark had, inhis day, a keen sense of property; his handkerchief, also marked; apocket-book with some entries nearly effaced; and a letter unopened, andsealed with Lord Chelford's seal. The writing was nearly washed away, butthe letters 'lwich, ' or 'twich, ' were still legible near the corner, andit turned out to be a letter to Dulwich, which Mark Wylder had undertakento put in the Gylingden post-office, on the last night on which heappeared at Brandon. 

The whole town was in a ferment that night. Great debate and conjecturein the reading-room, and even on the benches of the billiard-room. The'Silver Lion' did a great business that night. Mine host might haveturned a good round sum only by showing the body, were it not thatEdwards, the chief policeman, had the keys of the coach-house. Muchto-ing and fro-ing there was between the town and Redman's Farm, therespectable inhabitants all sending or going up to enquire how thecaptain was doing. At last Doctor Buddle officially interfered. Theconstant bustle was injurious to his patient. An hourly bulletin up totwelve o'clock should be in the hall of the 'Brandon Arms;' and Redman'sDell grew quiet once more. 

When William Wylder heard the news, he fainted; not altogether throughhorror or grief, though he felt both; but the change in his circumstanceswas so amazing and momentous. It was a strange shock--immenserelief--immense horror--quite overwhelming. 

Mark had done some good-natured things for him in a small five-pound way;he had promised him that loan, too, which would have lifted him out ofhis Slough of Despond, and he clung with an affectionate gratitude tothese exhibitions of brotherly love. Besides, he had accustomedhimself--the organ of veneration standing prominent on the top of thevicar's head--to regard Mark in the light of a great practicalgenius--'natus rebus agendis;' he knew men so thoroughly--he understoodthe world so marvellously! The vicar was not in the least surprised whenMark came in for a fortune. He had always predicted that Mark must become_very_ rich, and that nothing but indolence could prevent his ultimatelybecoming a very great man. The sudden and total disappearance of socolossal an object was itself amazing. 

There was another person very strongly, though differently, affected bythe news. Under pretext of business at Naunton, Jos. Larkin had drivenoff early to Five Oaks, to make inspection of his purchase. He dined likea king in disguise, at the humble little hostelry of Naunton Friars, andreturned in the twilight to the Lodge, which he would make thedower-house of Five Oaks, with the Howard shield over the door. He wasgracious to his domestics, but the distance was increased: he was nearerto the clouds, and they looked smaller. 

'Well, Mrs. Smithers, ' said he, encouragingly, his long feet on thefender, for the evening was sharp, and Mrs. S. Knew that he liked a bitof fire at his tea 'any letters--any calls--any news stirring?'

'No letters, nor calls, Sir, please, except the butcher's book. I s'pose, Sir, you were viewing the body?'

'What body?'

'Mr. Wylder's, please, Sir. '

'The vicar!' exclaimed Mr. Larkin, his smile of condescension suddenlyvanishing. 

'No, Sir; Mr. _Mark_ Wylder, please; the gentleman, Sir, as was to 'avmarried Miss Brandon. '

'What the devil do you mean, woman?' ejaculated the attorney, his back tothe fire, standing erect, and a black shadow over his amazed and offendedcountenance. 

'The devil, ' in such a mouth, was so appalling and so amazing, that theworthy woman gazed, thunder-struck, upon him for a moment. 

'Beg your pardon, Sir; but his body's bin found, Sir. '

'You mean Mr. _Mark_?'

'Yes, please, Sir; in a hole near the mill road--it's up in the "SilverLion" now, Sir. '

'It must be the vicar's--it must, ' said Jos. Larkin, getting his hat on, sternly, and thinking how likely he was to throw himself into the millrace, and impossible it was that Mark, whom he and Larcom had both seenalive and well last night--the latter, indeed, _this morning_--couldpossibly be the man. And thus comforting himself, he met old MajorJackson on the green, and that gentleman's statement ended with thewords; 'and in an advanced stage of decomposition. '

'That settles the matter, ' said Larkin, breathing again, and with a tossof his head, and almost a smile of disdain: 'for I saw Mr. Mark Wylderlate last night at Shillingsworth. '

Leaving Major Jackson in considerable surprise, Mr. Larkin walked off toEdwards' dwelling, at the top of Church Street, and found that activepoliceman at home. In his cool, grand, official way, Mr. Larkin requestedMr. Edwards to accompany him to the 'Silver Lion, ' where in the same calmand commanding way, he desired him to attend him to view the corpse. Invirtue of his relation to Mark Wylder, and of his position as soleresident and legal practitioner, he was obeyed. 

The odious spectacle occupied him for some minutes. He did not speakwhile they remained in the room. On coming out there was a black cloudupon the attorney's features, and he said, sulkily, to Edwards, who hadturned the key in the lock, and now touched his hat as he listened, 'Yes, there is a resemblance, but it is all a mistake. I travelled as faras Shillingsworth last night with Mr. Mark Wylder: he was perfectly well. This can't be he. '

But there was a terrible impression on Mr. Jos. Larkin's mind that thiscertainly _was_ he, and with a sulky nod to the policeman, he walkeddarkly down to the vicar's house. The vicar had been sent for to Nauntonto pray with a dying person; and Mr. Larkin, disappointed, left a note tostate that in writing that morning, as he had done, in reference to thepurchase of the reversion, through Messrs. Burlington and Smith, he hadsimply expressed his own surmises as to the probable withdrawal of theintending purchaser, but had received no formal, nor, indeed, _any_authentic information, from either the party or the solicitors referredto, to that effect. That he mentioned this lest misapprehension shouldarise, but not as attaching any importance to the supposed discoverywhich seemed to imply Mr. Mark Wylder's death. That gentleman, on thecontrary, he had seen alive and well at Shillingsworth on the nightprevious; and he had been seen in conference with Captain Lake at asubsequent hour, at Brandon. 

From all this the reader may suppose that Mr. Jos. Larkin was not quitein a comfortable state, and he resolved to get the deeds, and go downagain to the vicar's, and persuade him to execute them. He could makeWilliam Wylder, of course, do whatever he pleased. 

There were a good many drunken fellows about the town, but there was anend of election demonstrations in the Brandon interest. Captain Lake wasnot going in for that race; he would be on another errand by the time thewrit came down. 

CHAPTER LXXIII. 

THE MASK FALLS. 

There was a 'stop press' that evening in the county paper--'We have justlearned that a body has been disinterred, early this afternoon, undervery strange circumstances, in the neighbourhood of Gylingden; and if thesurmises which are afloat prove well-founded, the discovery will set atrest the speculations which have been busy respecting the whereabouts ofa certain gentleman of large property and ancient lineage, who, some timesince, mysteriously disappeared, and will, no doubt, throw this countyinto a state of very unusual excitement. We can state, upon authority, that the coroner will hold his inquest on the body, to-morrow at twelveo'clock, in the town of Gylingden. 

There was also an allusion to Captain Lake's accident--with theexpression of a hope that it would 'prove but a trifling one, ' and anassurance 'that his canvass would not be prevented by it--although for afew days it might not be a personal one. But his friends might rely onseeing him at the hustings, and hearing him too, when the proper timearrived. '

It was quite well known, however, in Gylingden, by this time, thatCaptain Lake was not to see the hustings--that his spine wassmashed--that he was lying on an extemporised bed, still in his clothes, in the little parlour of Redman's Farm--cursing the dead mare ingasps--railing at everybody--shuddering whenever they attempted to removehis clothes--hoping, in broken sentences, that his people would giveBracton and--good licking. Bracton's outrage was the cause of the entirething--and so help him Heaven, so soon as he should be on his legs again, he would make him feel it, one way or other. 

Buddle thought he was in so highly excited a state, that his brain musthave sustained some injury also. 

He asked Buddle about ten o'clock (having waked up from a sort ofstupor)--'what about Jim Dutton?' and then, whether there was not sometalk about a body they had found, and what it was. So Buddle told him allthat was yet known, and he listened very attentively. 

'But Larkin has been corresponding with Mark Wylder up to a very lateday, and if this body has been so long buried, how the devil can it behe? And if it be as bodies usually are after such a time, how can anybodypretend to identify it? And I happen to know that Mark Wylder is living, 'he added, suddenly. 

The doctor told him not to tire himself talking, and offered, if hewished to make a statement before a magistrate, to arrange that oneshould attend and receive it. 

'I rather dislike it, because Mark wants to keep it quiet; but if, onpublic grounds, it is desirable, I will make it, of course. You'll useyour discretion in mentioning the subject. '

So the captain was now prepared to acknowledge the secret meeting of thenight before, and to corroborate the testimony of his attorney and hisbutler. 

Stanley Lake had now no idea that his injuries were dangerous. He said hehad a bad bruise under his ribs, and a sprained wrist, and was a littlebit shaken; and he talked of his electioneering as only suspended for aday or two. 

Buddle, however, thought the case so imminent, that on his way to the'Brandon Arms, ' meeting Larkin, going, attended by his clerk, again tothe vicar's house, he stopped him for a moment, and told him what hadpassed, adding, that Lake was so frightfully injured, that he might beginto sink at any moment, and that by next evening, at all events, he mightnot be in a condition to make a deposition. 

'It is odd enough--very odd, ' said Larkin. 'It was only an hour since, inconversation with our policeman, Edwards, that I mentioned the fact of myhaving myself travelled from London to Shillingsworth last night with Mr. Mark Wylder, who went on by train in this direction, I presume, to meetour unfortunate friend, Captain Lake, by appointment. Thomas Sleddon, ofWadding Hall--at this moment in the "Brandon Arms"--is just the man; ifyou mention it to him, he'll go up with you to Redman's Farm, and takethe deposition. Let it be a _deposition_, do you mind; a statement ismere hearsay. '

Comforted somewhat, reassured in a certain way, and in strong hopes that, at all events, such a muddle would be established as to bewilder thejury, Mr. Jos. Larkin, with still an awful foreboding weighing at hisheart, knocked at the vicar's door, and was shown into the study. Asolitary candle being placed, to make things bright and pleasant for thevisitor, who did not look so himself, the vicar, very pale, and appearingto have grown even thinner since he last saw him, entered, and shook hishand with an anxious attempt at a smile, which faded almost instantly. 

'I am so delighted that you have come. I have passed a day of suchdreadful agitation. Poor Mark!'

'There is no doubt, Sir, whatsoever that he is perfectly well. Threedifferent persons--unexceptionable witnesses--can depose to having seenhim last night, and he had a long conference with Captain Lake, who is bythis time making his deposition. It is with respect to the other littlematter--the execution of the deed of conveyance to Messrs. Burlington andSmith's clients. You know my feeling about the note I wrote this morninga little--I will not say incautiously, because with a client of yourknown character and honour, no idea of the sort can find place--but Iwill say thoughtlessly. If there be any hanging back, or appearance ofit, it may call down unpleasant--indeed, to be quite frank, ruinous--consequences, which, I think, in the interest of your family, you would hardly be justified in invoking upon the mere speculation ofyour respected brother's death. '

There was a sound of voices at the door. 'Do come in--pray do, ' was heardin Dolly's voice. 'Won't you excuse me, but pray do. Willie, darling, don't you wish him to come in?'

'Most particularly. Do _beg_ of him, in my name--and I know Mr. Larkinwould wish it so much. '

And so Lord Chelford, with a look which, at another time, would have beenan amused one, quite conscious of the oddity of his introduction, came inand slightly saluted Mr. Larkin, who was for a few seconds prettyobviously confounded, and with a pink flush all over his bald forehead, tried to smile, while his hungry little eyes searched the viscount withfear and suspicion. 

Larkin's tone was now much moderated. Any sort of dealing was good enoughfor the simple vicar; but here was the quiet, sagacious peer, who hadshown himself, on two remarkable committees, so quick and able a man ofbusiness, and the picture of the vicar's situation, and of the powers andterrors of Messrs. Burlington and Smith, were to be drawn with an exacterpencil, and far more delicate colouring. 

Lord Chelford listened so quietly that the tall attorney felt he wasmaking way with him, and concluded his persuasion by appealing to him foran opinion. 

'That is precisely as I said. I knew my friend, Mr. Larkin, would be onlytoo glad of an opinion in this difficulty from you, ' threw in the vicar. 

The opinion came--very clear, very quiet, very unpleasant--dead againstMr. Larkin's view, and concluding with the remark that he thought therewas more in the affair than had yet come to light. 

'I don't see exactly how, my lord, ' said Mr. Larkin, a little loftily, and redder than usual. 

'Nor do I, Mr. Larkin, at present; but the sum offered is much too small, and the amount of costs and other drawbacks utterly monstrous, and theresult is, after deducting all these claims, including your costs, Mr. Larkin----'

Here Mr. Larkin threw up his chin a little, smiling, and waving his longhand, and saying, 'Oh! as to _mine_, ' in a way that plainly expressed, 'They are merely put down for form's sake. It is playing at costs. Youknow Jos. Larkin--he never so much as dreamed of looking for them. '

'There remain hardly nine hundred and fifty pounds applicable to thepayment of the Reverend Mr. Wylder's debts--a sum which would have beenample, before this extraordinary negotiation was commenced, to haveextricated him from all his pressing difficulties, and which I would havebeen only too happy at being permitted to advance, and which, and a greatdeal more, Miss Lake, whose conduct has been more than kind--quitenoble--wished to place in your client's hands. '

'_That_, ' said the attorney, flushing a little, 'I believe to have beentechnically impossible; and it was accompanied by a proposition which wason other grounds untenable. '

'You mean Miss Lake's proposed residence here--an arrangement, it appearsto me, every way most desirable. '

'I objected to it on, I will say, _moral_ grounds, my lord. It is painfulto me to disclose what I know, but that young lady accompanied Mr. MarkWylder, my lord, in his midnight flight from Dollington, and remained inLondon, under, I presume, his protection for some time. '

'That statement, Sir, is, I happen to _know_, utterly contrary to fact. The young lady you mention never even saw Mr. Mark Wylder, since she tookleave of him in the drawing-room at Brandon; and I state this not invindication of her, but to lend weight to the caution I give you againstever again presuming to connect her name with your surmises. '

The peer's countenance was so inexpressibly stern, and his eyes pouredsuch a stream of fire upon the attorney, that he shrank a little, andlooked down upon his great fingers which were drumming, let us hope, somesacred music upon the table. 

'I am truly rejoiced, my lord, to hear you say so. Except to the youngparty herself, and in this presence, I have never mentioned it; and I canshow you the evidence on which my conclusions rested. '

'Thank you--no Sir; my evidence is conclusive. '

I don't know what Mr. Larkin would have thought of it; it was simplyRachel's letter to her friend Dolly Wylder on the subject of theattorney's conference with her at Redman's Farm. It was a frank andpassionate denial of the slander, breathing undefinably, butirresistibly, the spirit of truth. 

'Then am I to understand, in conclusion, ' said the attorney, that defyingall consequences, the Rev. Mr. Wylder refuses to execute the deed ofsale?'

'Certainly, ' said Lord Chelford, taking this reply upon himself. 

'You know, my dear Mr. Wylder, I told you from the first that Messrs. Burlington and Smith were, in fact, a very sharp house; and I fear theywill execute any powers they possess in the most summary manner. ' Theattorney's eye was upon the vicar as he spoke, but Lord Chelfordanswered. 

'The powers you speak of are quite without parallel in a negotiation topurchase; and in the event of their hazarding such a measure, the Rev. Mr. Wylder will apply to a court of equity to arrest their proceedings. My own solicitor is retained in the case. '

Mr. Larkin's countenance darkened and lengthened visibly, and his eyesassumed their most unpleasant expression, and there was a little pause, during which, forgetting his lofty ways, he bit his thumb-nail ratherviciously. 

'Then I am to understand, my lord, that I am superseded in the managementof this case?' said the attorney at last, in a measured way, which seemedto say, 'you had better think twice on this point. '

'Certainly, Mr. Larkin, ' said the viscount. 

'I'm not the least surprised, knowing, I am sorry to say, a good deal ofthe ways of the world, and expecting very little gratitude, for eithergood will or services. ' This was accompanied with a melancholy sneerdirected full upon the poor vicar, who did not half understand thesituation, and looked rather guilty and frightened. 'The Rev. Mr. Wyldervery well knows with what reluctance I touched the case--a nasty case;and I must be permitted to add, that I am very happy to be quite rid ofit, and only regret the manner in which my wish has been anticipated, adiscourtesy which I attribute, however, to female influence. '

The concluding sentence was spoken with a vile sneer and a measuredemphasis directed at Lord Chelford, who coloured with a sudden access ofindignation, and stood stern and menacing, as the attorney, with ageneral bow to the company, and a lofty _nonchalance_, made his exit fromthe apartment. 

Captain Lake was sinking very fast next morning. He made a statement toChelford, who was a magistrate for the county, I suppose to assist thecoroner's inquest. He said that on the night of Mark Wylder's last visitto Brandon, he had accompanied him from the Hall; that Mark had seen someone in the neighbourhood of Gylingden, a person pretending to be hiswife, or some near relative of hers, as well as he, Captain Lake, couldunderstand, and was resolved to go to London privately, and have thematter arranged there. He waited near the 'White House, ' while he, Stanley Lake, went to Gylingden and got his tax-cart at his desire. Hecould give particulars as to that. Captain Lake overtook him, and he gotin and was driven to Dollington, where he took the up-train. That someweeks afterwards he saw him at Brighton; and the night before last, byappointment, in the grounds of Brandon; and that he understood Larkin hadsome lights to throw upon the same subject. 

The jury were not sworn until two o'clock. The circumstances of thediscovery of the body were soon established. But the question which nextarose was very perplexed--was the body that of Mr. Mark Wylder? Therecould be no doubt as to a general resemblance; but, though marvellouslypreserved, in its then state, certainty was hardly attainable. But therewas a perfectly satisfactory identification of the dress and propertiesof the corpse as those of Mr. Mark Wylder. On the other hand there wasthe testimony of Lord Chelford, who put Captain Lake's deposition inevidence, as also the testimony of Larkin, and the equally preciseevidence of Larcom, the butler. 

The proceedings had reached this point when an occurrence took placewhich startled Lord Chelford, Larkin, Larcom, and every one in the roomwho was familiar with Mark Wylder's appearance. 

A man pushed his way to the front of the crowd, and for a moment itseemed that Mark Wylder stood living before them. 

'Who are you?' said Lord Chelford. 

'Jim Dutton, Sir; I come by reason of what I read in the "Chronicle" overnight, about Mr. Mark Wylder being found. '

'Do you know anything of him?' asked the coroner. 

'Nowt, ' answered the man bluffly, 'only I writ to Mr. Larkin, there, as Iwanted to see him. I remember him well when I was a boy. I seed him inthe train from Lunnon t'other night; and he seed me on the Shillingsworthplatform, and I think he took me for some one else. I was comin' down tosee the Captain at Brandon--and seed him the same night. '

'Why have you come here?' asked the coroner. 

'Thinkin' I might be mistook, ' answered the man. 'I _was_ twice here inEngland, and three times abroad. '

'For whom?'

'Mr. Mark Wylder, ' answered he. 

'It is a wonderful likeness, ' said Lord Chelford. 

Larkin stared at him with his worst expression; and Larcom, I think, thought he was the devil. 

I was as much surprised as any for a few seconds. But there were pointsof difference--Jim Dutton was rather a taller and every way a larger manthan Mark Wylder. His face, too, was broader and coarser, but in featuresand limbs the relative proportions were wonderfully preserved. It wassuch an exaggerated portrait as a rustic genius might have executed upona sign-board. He had the same black, curly hair, and thick, blackwhiskers: and the style of his dress being the same, helped the illusion. In fact, it was a rough, but powerful likeness--startling at themoment--unexceptionable at a little distance--but which failed on anearer and exacter examination. There was, beside, a scar, which, however, was not a very glaring inconsistency, although it was plainly ofa much older standing than the date of Mark's disappearance. All thatcould be got from Jim Dutton was that 'he thought he might be mistook'and so attended. But respecting Mr. Mark Wylder he could say 'nowt. ' Heknew 'nowt. '

Lord Chelford was called away at this moment by an urgent note. It was torequest his immediate attendance at Redman's Farm, to see Captain Lake, who was in a most alarming state. The hand was Dorcas's--and LordChelford jumped into the little pony carriage which awaited him at thedoor of the 'Silver Lion. '

When he reached Redman's Farm, Captain Lake could not exert himselfsufficiently to speak for nearly half-an-hour. At the end of that time hewas admitted into the tiny drawing-room in which the captain lay. He wasspeaking with difficulty. 

'Did you see Buddle, just now?'

'No, not since morning. '

'He seems to have changed--bad opinion--unless he has a _law_object--those d--d doctors--never can know. Dorcas thinks--I'll do nogood. Don't you think--he may have an object--and not believe I'm in muchdanger? You don't?'

Lake's hand, with which he clutched and pulled Chelford's, was trembling. 

'You must reflect, my dear Lake, how very severe are the injuries youhave sustained. You certainly _are_ in danger--_great_ danger. '

Lake became indescribably agitated, and uttered some words, not often onhis lips, that sounded like desperate words of supplication. Not thatseaworthy faith which floats the spirit through the storm, but fragmentsof its long-buried wreck rolled up from the depths and flung madly on thehowling shore. 

'I'd like to see Rachel, ' at last he said, holding Chelford's hand inboth his, very hard. 'She's clever--and I don't think she gives me upyet, no--a drink!--and they think I'm more hurt than I really am--Buddle, you know--only an apothecary--village;' and he groaned. 

His old friend, Sir Francis Seddley, summoned by the telegraph, was nowgliding from London along the rails for Dollington station; butanother--a pale courier--on the sightless coursers of the air, wasspeeding with a different message to Captain Stanley Lake, in the smalland sombre drawing-room in Redman's Dell. 

I had promised Chelford to run up to Redman's Farm, and let him know ifthe jury arrived at a verdict during his absence. They did so; findingthat the body was that of Marcus Wylder, Esquire, of Raddiston, and 'thathe had come by his death in consequence of two wounds inflicted with asharp instrument, in the region of the heart, by some person or personsunknown, at a period of four weeks since or upwards. '

Chelford was engaged in the sick room, as I understood, in conferencewith the patient. It was well to have heard, without procrastination, what he had to say; for next morning, at a little past four o'clock, hedied. 

A nurse who had been called in from the county infirmary, said he made avery happy ending. He mumbled to himself, in his drowsy state, as she wasquite sure, in prayer; and he made a very pretty corpse when he was laidout, and his golden hair looked so nice, and he was all so slim andshapely. 

Rachel and Dorcas were sitting in the room with him--not expecting thecatastrophe then. Both tired; both silent; the nurse dozing a little inher chair, near the bed's head; and Lake said, in his clear, low tone, ona sudden, just as he spoke when perfectly well--

'Quite a mistake, upon my honour. '

As a clear-voiced sentence sometimes speaks out in sleep, followed bysilence, so no more was heard after this--no more for ever. The nurse wasthe first to perceive 'the change. '

'There's a change, Ma'am'--and there was a pause. 'I'm afraid, Ma'am, he's gone, ' said the nurse. 

Both ladies, in an instant, were at the bedside, looking at the peakedand white countenance, which was all they were ever again to see ofStanley; the yellow eyes and open mouth. 

Rachel's agony broke forth in a loud, wild cry. All was forgotten andforgiven in that tremendous moment. 

'Oh! Stanley, Stanley!--brother, brother, oh, brother!'

There was the unchanged face, gaping its awful farewell of earth. Allover!--never to stir more. 

'Is he dead?' said Dorcas, with the peculiar sternness of agony. 

There could be no doubt. It was a sight too familiar to deceive thenurse. 

And Dorcas closed those strange, wild eyes that had so fatally fascinatedher, and then she trembled, without speaking or shedding a tear. Herlooks alarmed the nurse, who, with Rachel's help, persuaded her to leavethe room. And then came one of those wild scenes which close suchtragedies--paroxysms of despair and frantic love, over that worthlessyoung man who lay dead below stairs; such as strike us sometimes with adesolate scepticism, and make us fancy that all affection is illusion, and perishable with the deceits and vanities of earth. 

CHAPTER LXXIV. 

WE TAKE LEAVE OF OUR FRIENDS. 

The story which, in his last interview with Lord Chelford, Stanley Lakehad related, was, probably, as near the truth as he was capable oftelling. 

On the night when Mark Wylder had left Brandon in his company they hadsome angry talk; Lake's object being to induce Mark to abandon hisengagement with Dorcas Brandon. He told Stanley that he would not give upDorcas, but that he, Lake, must fight him, and go to Boulogne for thepurpose, and they should arrange matters so that one or other _must_fall. Lake laughed quietly at the proposition, and Mark retorted bytelling him he would so insult him, if he declined, as to compel ameeting. When they reached that lonely path near the flight of stonesteps, Stanley distinctly threatened his companion with a disclosure ofthe scandalous incident in the card-room of the club, which he afterwardsrelated, substantially as it had happened, to Jos. Larkin. When he tookthis decisive step, Lake's nerves were strung, I dare say, to a highpitch of excitement. Mark Wylder, he knew, carried pistols, and, allthings considered, he thought it just possible he might use them. He didnot, but he struck Lake with the back of his hand in the face, and Lake, who walked by his side, with his fingers on the handle of a dagger in hiscoat pocket, instantly retorted with a stab, which he repeated as Markfell. 

He solemnly averred that he never meant to have used the dagger, exceptto defend his life. That he struck in a state of utter confusion, andwhen he saw Mark dead, with his feet on the path, and his head lying overthe edge, he would have given a limb almost to bring him back. The terrorof discovery and ruin instantly supervened. 

He propped the body against the bank, and tried to stanch the bleeding. But there could be no doubt that he was actually dead. He got the bodyeasily down the nearly precipitous declivity. Lake was naturally by nomeans wanting in resource, and a certain sort of coolness, whichsupervened when the momentary distraction was over. 

He knew it would not do to leave the body so, among the rocks andbrambles. He recollected that only fifty yards back they had passed aspade and pick, lying, with some other tools, by the side of the path, near that bit of old wall which was being removed. Like a man doingthings in a dream, without thought or trouble, only waiting and listeningfor a moment before he disturbed them, he took away the implements whichhe required; and when about to descend, a sort of panic andinsurmountable disgust seized him; and in a state of supernatural dismay, he felt for a while disposed to kill himself. In that state it was hereached Redman's Farm, and his interview with Rachel occurred. It was theaccidental disclosure of the blood, in which his shirt sleeve was soaked, that first opened Rachel's eyes to the frightful truth. 

After her first shock, all her terrors were concentrated on the onepoint--Stanley's imminent danger. He must be saved. She made him return;she even accompanied him as far as the top of the rude flight of steps Ihave mentioned so often, and there awaited his return--the conditionimposed by his cowardice--and made more dreadful by the circumstance thatthey had heard retreating footsteps along the walk, and Stanley saw thetall figure of Uncle Julius or Lorne, as he called himself, turning thefar corner. 

There was a long wait here, lest he should return; but he did not appear, and Stanley--though I now believe observed by this strangebeing--executed his horrible task, replaced the implements, and returnedto Rachel, and with her to Redman's Farm; where--his cool cunning oncemore ascendant--he penned those forgeries, closing them with MarkWylder's seal, which he compelled his sister--quite unconscious of allbut that their despatch by post, at the periods pencilled upon them, wasessential to her wretched brother's escape. It was the success of this, his first stratagem, which suggested that long series of frauds which, with the aid of Jim Dutton, selected for his striking points ofresemblance to Mark Wylder, had been carried on for so long with suchconsummate art in a different field. 

It was Lake's ungoverned fury, when Larkin discovered the mistake inposting the letters in wrong succession, which so nearly exploded hisingenious system. He wrote in terms which roused Jim Dutton's wrath. Jimhad been spinning theories about the reasons of his mysterious, thoughvery agreeable occupation, and announced them broadly in his letter toLarkin. But he had cooled by the time he reached London, and the letterfrom Lake, received at his mother's and appointing the meeting atBrandon, quieted that mutiny. 

I never heard that Jim gave any member of the family the least troubleafterward. He handed to Lord Chelford a parcel of those clever andelaborate forgeries, with which Lake had last furnished him, with apencilled note on each, directing the date and town at which it was to bedespatched. Years after, when Jim was emigrating, I believe Lord Chelfordgave him a handsome present. 

Lord Chelford was advised by the friend whom he consulted that he neednot make those painful particulars public, affecting only a dead man, andleading to no result. 

Lake admitted that Rachel had posted the letters in London, believingthem to be genuine, for he pretended that they were Wylder's. It is easyto look grave over poor Rachel's slight, and partly unconscious, share inthe business of the tragedy. But what girl of energy and strongaffections would have had the melancholy courage to surrender her brotherto public justice under the circumstances? Lord Chelford, who knew all, says that she 'acted nobly. '

'Now, Joseph, being a just man, was minded to put her away privily. ' The_law_ being what? That she was to be publicly stigmatised and punished. His _justice_ being what? Simply that he would have her to beneither--but screened and parted 'with privily. ' Let the Pharisees whowould have _summum jus_ against their neighbours, remember that Godregards the tender and compassionate, who forbears, on occasion, to putthe law in motion, as the _just_ man. 

The good vicar is a great territorial magnate now; but his pleasures andall his ways are still simple. He never would enter Brandon as itsmaster, and never will, during Dorcas Brandon's lifetime. And althoughwith her friend, Rachel Lake, she lives abroad, chiefly in Italy andSwitzerland, Brandon Hall, by the command of its proprietor, lies alwaysat her disposal. 

I don't know whether Rachel Lake will ever marry. The tragic shadow ofher life has not chilled Lord Chelford's strong affection. Neither doesthe world know or suspect anything of the matter. Old Tamar died threeyears since, and lies in the pretty little churchyard of Gylingden. AndMark's death is, by this time, a nearly forgotten mystery. 

Jos. Larkins's speculations have not turned out luckily. The trustees ofWylder, a minor, tried, as they were advised they must, his title to FiveOaks, by ejectment. A point had been overlooked--as sometimeshappens--and Jos. Larkin was found to have taken but an estate for thelife of Mark Wylder, which terminated at his decease. The point wascarried on to the House of Lords, but the decision of 'the court below'was ultimately affirmed. 

The flexible and angry Jos. Larkin then sought to recoup himself out ofthe assets of the deceased captain; but here he failed. In hiscleverness--lest the inadequate purchase-money should upset hisbargain--he omitted the usual covenant guaranteeing the vendor's title tosell the fee-simple, and recited, moreover, that, grave doubts existingon the point, it was agreed that the sum paid should not exceed twelveyears' purchase. Jos. Then could only go upon the point that it was knownto Lake at the period of the sale that Mark Wylder was dead. Unluckily, however, for Jos. 's case, one of his clever letters, written during thenegotiation, turned up, and was put in evidence, in which he pressedCaptain Lake with the fact, that he, the purchaser, was actually inpossession of information to the effect that Mark was dead, and that hewas, therefore, buying under a liability of having his title litigated, with a doubtful result, the moment he should enter into possession. Thisshut up the admirable man, who next tried a rather bold measure, directedagainst the Reverend William Wylder. A bill was filed by Messrs. Burlington and Smith, to compel him to execute a conveyance to theirclient--on the terms of the agreement. The step was evidently taken onthe calculation that he would strike, and offer a handsome compromise;but Lord Chelford was at his elbow--the suit was resisted. Messrs. Burlington and Smith did not care to run the awful risk which Mr. Larkin, behind the scenes, invited them to accept for his sake. There was first afaltering; then a bold renunciation and exposure of Mr. Jos. Larkin bythe firm, who, though rather lamely, exonerated themselves as having beenquite taken in by the Gylingden attorney. 

Mr. Jos. Larkin had a holy reliance upon his religious reputation, whichhad always stood him in stead. But a worldly judge will sometimesdisappoint the expectations of the Christian suitor; and the language ofthe Court, in commenting upon Mr. Jos. Larkin, was, I am sorry to say, inthe highest degree offensive--'flagitious, ' 'fraudulent, ' and kindredepithets, were launched against that tall, bald head, in a storm thatdarkened the air and obliterated the halo that usually encircled it. Hewas dismissed, in a tempest, with costs. He vanished from court, like anevil spirit, into the torture-chamber of taxation. 

The whole structure of rapine and duplicity had fallen through with adismal crash. Shrewd fellows wondered, as they always do, when a rashgame breaks down, at the infatuation of the performer. But the cup of histribulation was not yet quite full. Jos. Larkin's name was ultimatelystruck from the roll of solicitors and attorneys, and there were minuteand merciless essays in the papers, surrounding his disgrace with adreadful glare. People say he has not enough left to go on with. He hadlodgings somewhere near Richmond, as Howard Larkin, Esq. , and is still areligious character. I am told that he shifts his place of residenceabout once in six months, and that he has never paid one shilling of rentfor any, and has sometimes positively received money for vacating hisabode. So substantially valuable is a thorough acquaintance with thecapabilities of the law. I saw honest Tom Wealdon about a fortnightago--grown stouter and somewhat more phlegmatic by time, but still thesame in good nature and inquisitiveness. From him I learned that Jos. Larkin is likely to figure once more in the courts about some very uglydefalcations in the cash of the Penningstal Mining Company, and that thistime the persecutions of that eminent Christian are likely to take adifferent turn, and, as Tom said, with a gloomy shrewdness, to end in'ten years penal. '

Some summers ago, I was, for a few days, in the wondrous city of Venice. Everyone knows something of the enchantment of the Italian moon, theexpanse of dark and flashing blue, and the phantasmal city, rising like abeautiful spirit from the waters. Gliding near the Lido--where so manyrings of Doges lie lost beneath the waves--I heard the pleasant sound offemale voices upon the water--and then, with a sudden glory, rose a sad, wild hymn, like the musical wail of the forsaken sea:--

 The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord. 

The song ceased. The gondola which bore the musicians floated by--aslender hand over the gunwale trailed its fingers in the water. Unseen Isaw Rachel and Dorcas, beautiful in the sad moonlight, passed so near wecould have spoken--passed me like spirits--never more, it may be, tocross my sight in life.