GUY LIVINGSTONE;

OR, "THOROUGH. "

BY

GEORGE A. LAWRENCE. 

ICH HABE GELEBT UND GELIEBT. 

NEW YORK:HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE. 1868. 

GUY LIVINGSTONE. 

CHAPTER I. 

 "Neque imbellem feroces Progenerant aquilæ columbam. "

It is not a pleasant epoch in one's life, the first forty-eight hours ata large public school. I have known strong-minded men of mature ageconfess that they never thought of it without a shiver. I don't countthe home-sickness, which perhaps only affects seriously the mostinnocent of _débutants_, but there are other thousand and one littleannoyances which make up a great trouble. If there were nothing else, for instance, the unceasing query, "What's your name?" makes you feelthe possession of a cognomen at all a serious burden and bar toadvancement in life. 

A dull afternoon toward the end of October; the sky a neutral tint ofashy gray; a bitter northeast wind tearing down the yellow leaves fromthe old elms that girdle the school-close of ----; a foul, clingingpaste of mud and trampled grass-blades under foot, that chilled you tothe marrow; a mob of two hundred lower boys, vicious with cold and theenforcement of keeping goal through the first football match of theseason--in the midst, I, who speak to you, feeling myself in aneminently false position--there's the _mise en scène_. 

My small persecutors had surrounded me, but had hardly time to settlewell to their work, when one of the players came by, and stopped for aninstant to see what was going on. The match had not yet begun. 

There was nothing which interested him much apparently, for he waspassing on, when my despondent answer to the everlasting question caughthis ear. He turned round then--

"Any relation to Hammond of Holt?"

I replied, meekly but rather more cheerfully, that he was my uncle. 

"I know him very well, " the new-comer said. "Don't bully him more thanyou can help, you fellows; I'll wait for you after calling over, Hammond. I should like to ask you about the squire. "

He had no time to say more, for just then the ball was kicked off, andthe battle began. I saw him afterward often during that afternoon, always in the front of the rush or the thick of the scrimmage, and Isaw, too, more than one player limp out of his path disconsolately, trying vainly to dissemble the pain of a vicious "hack. "

I'll try to sketch Guy Livingstone as he appeared to me then, at ourfirst meeting. 

He was about fifteen, but looked fully a year older, not only from hisheight, but from a disproportionate length of limb and development ofmuscle, which ripened later into the rarest union of activity andstrength that I have ever known. His features were very dark and pale, too strongly marked to be called handsome; about the lips and lower jawespecially there was a set sternness that one seldom sees before thebeard is grown. The eyes were very dark gray, nearly black, and sodeeply set under the thick eyebrows that they looked smaller than theyreally were; and I remember, even at that early age, their expression, when angered, was any thing but pleasant to meet. His dress was welladapted for displaying his deep square chest and sinewy arms--aclose-fitting jersey, and white trowsers girt by a broad black belt; thecap, orange velvet, fronted with a silver Maltese cross. 

The few words he had spoken worked an immediate change in my favor. Iheard one of my tormentors say, not without awe, "The Count knows hispeople at home;" and they not only left me in peace, but, a littlelater, some of them began to tell me of a recent exploit of Guy's, whichhad raised him high in their simple hero-worship, and which, I dare say, is still enumerated among the feats of the brave days of old by the fagsover their evening small-beer. 

To appreciate it, you must understand that the highest form in theschool--the sixth--were regarded by the fags and other subordinateclasses with an inexpressible reverence and terror. They were consideredas exempt from the common frailties of schoolboy nature: no one venturedto fix a limit to their power. Like the gods of the Lotus-eater, theylay beside their nectar, rarely communing with ordinary mortals exceptto give an order or set a punishment. On the form immediately below thempart of their glory was reflected; these were a sort of hêmitheoi, awaiting their translation into the higher Olympus of perfectedomnipotence. 

In this intermediate state flourished, at the time I speak of, oneJoseph Baines, a fat, small-eyed youth, with immense pendent pallidcheeks, rejoicing in the _sobriquet_ of "Buttons, " his father beingeminent in that line in the Midland Metropolis. The son was Brummagem tothe back-bone. He was intensely stupid; but, having been a fixture at---- beyond the memory of the oldest inhabitant, he had slowlygravitated on into his present position, on the old Ring principle, "weight must tell. " I believe he had been bullied continuously for manyyears, and now, with a dull, pertinacious malignity, was biding histime, intending, on his accession to power, to inflict full reprisals onthose below him; or, in his own expressive language, "to take it out of'em, like smoke. " He was keeping his hand in by the perpetration ofsmall tyrannies on all whom he was not afraid to meddle with; buthitherto, from a lingering suspicion, perhaps, that it was not quitesafe, he had never annoyed Livingstone. 

It was on a Saturday night, the hebdomadal Saturnalia, when the week'swork was over, and no one had any thing to do; the heart of Joseph wasjocund with pork chops and mulled beer, and, his evil genius temptinghim, he proposed to three of his intimates "to go and give the Count aturn. " Nearly every one had a nickname, and this had been given to Guy, partly, I think, from his haughty demeanor, partly from a prevalent ideathat this German dignity was dormant somewhere in his family. When the_quartette_ entered, Guy knew perfectly what they came for, but he satquite still and silent, while two of them held him down by the arms inhis chair. 

"I think you'd look very well with a cross on, Count, " Baines said, "sokeep steady while we decorate you. "

As he spoke he was mixing up a paste with tallow and candle-snuff, and, when it was ready, came near to daub the cross on Livingstone'sforehead. 

The two who held him had been quite deceived by his unexpectedtranquillity, and had somewhat relaxed their gripe as they leanedforward to witness the operation; but the fourth, standing idle, saw allat once the pupils of his eyes contract, and his lips set so ominously, that the words were in his mouth, "Hold him fast!" when Guy, exertingthe full force of his arms, shook himself clear, and grasping abrass-candlestick within his reach, struck the executioner straightbetween the eyes. The effort of freeing himself to some extent broke theforce of the blow, or the great Baines dynasty might have ended thereand then; as it was, Buttons fell like a log, and, rolling once over onhis face, lay there bleeding and motionless. 

While the assistants were too much astounded to detain him, Guy walkedout without a glance at his prostrate enemy; and going straight to thehead of the house, told him what had happened. The character of theaggressor was so well known, that, when they found he was not seriouslyhurt, they let Guy off easy with "two books of the _Iliad_ to write outin Greek. " Buttons kept the sick-room for ten days, and came out lookingmore pasty than ever, with his pleasant propensities decidedly checkedfor the time. 

In his parish church at Birmingham, two tons of marble weighing himdown, the old button-maker sleeps with his father (to pluralize hisancestors would be a grave historical error), and Joseph II. Reigns inhis stead, exercising, I doubt not, over his factory-people the sameingenuity of torture which in old times nearly drove the fags torebellion. He is a Demosthenes, they say, at vestries, and a Draco atthe Board of Guardians; but in the centre of his broad face, marring theplatitude of its smooth-shaven respectability, still burns angrily adark red scar--Guy's sign-manual--which he will carry to his grave. 

The exultation of the lower school over this exploit was boundless. Fifty energetic admirers contended for the honor of writing out thepunishment inflicted on the avenger; and one sentimentalist, just inHerodotus, preserved the fatal candlestick as an inestimable relic, wreathing its stem with laurel and myrtle, in imitation of the honorspaid by Athens to the sword that slew the Pisistratid. 

CHAPTER II. 

 "My only books Were woman's looks, And folly all they taught me. "

The Count bore his honors very calmly, though every week some fresh featof bodily strength or daring kept adding to his popularity. It was noslight temptation to his vanity; for, as some one has said truly, nosuccessful adventurer in after-life ever wins such undivided admirationand hearty partisans as a school hero. The _prestige_ of the liberatoramong the Irish peasantry comes nearest to it, I think; or the feelingof a clan, a hundred years ago, toward their chief. It must be verypleasant to be quoted so incessantly and believed in so implicitly, andto know that your decisions are so absolutely without appeal. From thatfirst day when he interfered in my favor, Guy never ceased to accord methe ægis of his protection, and it served me well; for, then as now, Iwas strong neither in body nor nerve. Yet our tastes, save in onerespect, were as dissimilar as can be imagined. The solitary conformitywas, that we were both, in a desultory way, fond of reading, and ourfavorite books were the same. Neither would do more school-work than wasabsolutely necessary, but at light literature of a certain class we readhard. 

I don't think Guy's was what is usually called a poetical temperament, for his taste in this line was quite one-sided. He was no admirer ofthe picturesque, certainly. I have heard him say that his idea of acountry to live in was where there was no hill steep enough to wind ahorse in good condition, and no wood that hounds could not run throughin fifteen minutes; therein following the fancy of that eminent Frenchphilosopher, who, being invited to climb Ben Lomond to enjoy the mostmagnificent of views, responded meekly, "_Aimez-vous les beautés de laNature? Pour moi, je les abhorre_. " Can you not fancy the stridentemphasis on the last syllable, revealing how often the poor materialisthad been victimized before he made a stand at last?

All through Livingstone's life the real was to predominate over theideal; and so it was at this period of it. He had a great dislike topurely sentimental or descriptive poetry, preferring to all others thosebattle-ballads, like the _Lays of Rome_, which stir the blood like atrumpet, or those love-songs which heat it like rough strong wine. 

He was very fond of Homer, too. He liked the diapason of those sonoroushexameters, that roll on, sinking and swelling with the ebb and flow ofa stormy sea. I hear his voice--deep-toned and powerful even at thatearly age--finishing the story of Poseidon and his beautifulprize--their bridal-bed laid in the hollow of a curling wave--

 _"Porphureon d' ara kuma peristathê, oureï ison, Kurtôthen, krupsen de Theon thnêtên te gunaika. "_

And yet they say that the glorious old Sciote was a myth, and theOdyssey a magazine worked out by clever contributors. They might as wellassert that all his marshals would have made up one Napoleon. 

I remember how we used to pass in review the beauties of old time, forwhom "many drew swords and died, " whose charms convulsed kingdoms andruined cities, who called the stars after their own names. 

Ah! Gyneth and Ida, peerless queens of beauty, it was exciting, doubtless, to gaze down from your velveted gallery on the mad tiltingbelow, to see ever and anon through the yellow dust a kind, handsomeface looking up at you, pale but scarcely reproachful, just before thehorse-hoofs trod it down; ah! fairest Ninons and Dianas--prizes that, like the Whip at Newmarket, were always to be challenged for--you wereproud when your reckless lover came to woo, with the blood of lastnight's favorite not dry on his blade; but what were your fatal honorscompared to those of a reigning toast in the rough, ancient days? Thedemigods and heroes that were suitors did not stand upon trifles, andthe contest often ended in the extermination of all the lady's malerelatives to the third and fourth generation. People then took it quiteas a matter of course--rather a credit to the family than otherwise. 

Guy and I discussed, often and gravely, the relative merits of Evadnethe violet-haired, Helen, Cleopatra, and a hundred others, just as, onthe steps of White's, or in the smoking-room at the "Rag, " men comparethe points of the _débutantes_ of the season. 

His knowledge of feminine psychology--it _must_ have been theoretical, for he was not seventeen--implied a study and depth of research that wasquite surprising; but I am bound to state that his estimate of thestrength of character and principle inherent in the weaker sex was anything but high; nearly, indeed, identical with that formed by thelearned lady who, to the question, "Did she think the virtue of anysingle one of her sisterhood impregnable?" replied "_C'est selon_. " Heoften used to astonish my weak mind by his observations on this head. Idid not know till afterward that Sir Henry Fallowfield, the Bassompierreof his day, came for the Christmas pheasant-shooting every year intoGuy's neighborhood, and that he had already imbibed lessons ofquestionable morality, sitting at the gouty feet of that evil Gamaliel. 

He spoke of and to women of every class readily whenever he got thechance, always with perfect _aplomb_ and self-possession; and I haveheard older men remark since, that in him it did not appear theprecocity of "the rising generation, " but rather the confidence of onewho knew his subject well. Perhaps the fact of his father having diedwhen he was an infant, and his having always been suzerain among hiswomen at home, may have had something to do with this. An absurdinstance of what I have been saying happened just before Guy left. 

By time-honored custom, four or five of the Sixth were invited everyweek to dine with the head master. They were not, strictly speaking, convivial, those solemn banquets; where the host was condescendinglyaffable, and his guests cheerful, as it were, under protest; resemblingsomewhat the entertainments in the captain's cabin, where the chief isunpopular. 

Our Archididascalus was a kind-hearted, honest man, albeit, by virtueof his office, somewhat strict and stern. You could read the_Categories_ in the wrinkles of his colorless face, and contestedpassages of Thucydides in the crows'-feet round his eyes. Theeverlasting grind at the educational tread-mill had worn away all hemight once have had of imagination; he translated with precisely thesame intonations the Tusculan _Disputations_ and--_Erôs anikate machan. _

He had lately taken to himself a wife, his junior by a score of years. The academic atmosphere had not had time then to freeze her into thedignity befitting her position; when I met her ten years later, she wassteady and staid enough, poor thing, to have been the wife of Grotius. 

Guy sat next to her that evening, and before the first course was over adecided flirtation was established. The pretty hostess, albeit wife of adoctor and daughter of a dean, had evidently a strong coquettish elementin her composition, and a very slight spark was sufficient to relightthe _veteris vestigia flammæ. _

For some time her husband did not seem to realize the position; butgradually his sentences grew rare and curt; he opened his mouth, nolonger to let fall the pearls of his wisdom, but to stop it with savorymeat; finally this last resource failed, and he sat, looking wrathfullybut helplessly on the proceedings at the other end of the table--alamentable instance of prostrated ecclesiastical dignity. His disgust, however, was far exceeded by the horror of one of the party, a meek, cadaverous-looking boy, whose parents lived in the town, and who waswont to regard the head master as the vicegerent of all powers, civiland sacerdotal--I am not sure he did not include military as well. Icaught him looking several times at the door and the ceiling with apale, guilty face, as if he expected some immediate visitation to punishthe sacrilege. However, heaven, which did not interrupt the feast ofAtreus or of Tereus (till the dessert), allowed us to finish our dinnerin peace. During the interval when we sat alone over his claret, ourhost revived a little; but utterly relapsed in the drawing-room, wherethings went on worse than ever. Guy leaned over the fair Penelope (suchwas her classical and not inappropriate name) while she was singing, andover her sofa afterward, evidently considering himself her legitimateproprietor for the time, and regarding the husband, as he hovered roundthem, in the light of an unauthorized intruder. The latter would havegiven any thing, once or twice, to have interfered, I am sure; but, apart from, the extreme ridicule of the thing, he was in his own house, and as hospitable as Saladin. 

It was a great scene, when, at parting, she gave Guy the camellia thatshe wore at her breast; the doctor gasped thrice convulsively and saidno word; but I wonder how she accounted afterward for the smile andblush which answered some whispered thanks? There are certain limitsthat even the historian dares not transgress; a veil falls between theprofane and the thalamus of an LL. D. ; but I rather imagine she had ahard time of it that night, the poor little woman! Let us hope, incharity, that she held her own. 

When the Count was questioned as to the conversation that had passed, he declined to give any particulars, merely remarking that "he had tothank Dr. ---- for for a very pleasant evening, and he hoped everyonehad enjoyed themselves very much"--which was philanthropic, to say theleast of it. 

I don't know if it was our imagination, but we fancied that when thehead master called up Livingstone in form after this, he did so with anair of grave defiance, such as a duelist of the Old Régime may have wornwhen, doffing his plumed hat, he said to his adversary, "_En garde!_"

There was little time to make observations, for shortly afterward Guywent up to Oxford, whither, six months later, I followed him. 

CHAPTER III. 

 "Through many an hour of summer suns, By many pleasant ways, Like Hezekiah's, backward runs The shadow of my days. "

When I came up, I found Guy quite established and at home. He was ageneral favorite with all the men he knew at college, though intimatewith but very few. There was but one individual who hated himthoroughly, and I think the feeling was mutual--the senior tutor, aflaccid being, with a hand that felt like a fish two days out of water, a large nose, and a perpetual cold in his head. He consistently andimpartially disbelieved every one on their word, requiring materialproof of each assertion; an original mode of acquiring the confidence ofhis pupils, and precluding any thing like an attempt at deception ontheir part. I remember well a discussion on his merits that took placein the porter's lodge one night just after twelve. When several hadgiven their opinions more or less strongly, some one asked the gate-wardwhat he thought of the individual in question, to which that eminentfunctionary thus replied: "Why, you see, sir, I'm only a servant, and, as such, can't speak freely, but I wish he was dead, I do. "

As I have said, Livingstone disliked Selkirk heartily, and did not takethe trouble to conceal it. He used to look at him sometimes with acurious expression in his eyes, which made the tutor twirl and writheuncomfortably in his chair. The latter annoyed him as much as hepossibly could, but Guy held on the even tenor of his way, seldomcontravening the statutes except in hunting three days a week, which hepersisted in doing, all lectures and regulations notwithstanding. Herode little under fourteen stone even then; but the three horses he keptwere well up to his weight, and he stood A 1 in Jem Hill's estimation as"the best heavy-weight that had come out of Oxford for many a day;" forhe not only went straight as a die, but rode _to_ hounds instead of_over_ them. I suppose this latter practice is inherent in Universitysportsmen. I know, in my time, the way in which they pressed on hounds, for the first two fields out of cover or after a check, used to make thegray hairs, which were the brave old huntsman's crown of glory, stand onend with indignation and terror, so that he prayed devoutly for a bigfence which, like the broken bridge at Leipsic, might prove a stopper tothe pursuing army. There was the making of a good rider in many of them, too; they only wanted ballast, for they knew no more of fear than Nelsondid, and would grind over the Vale of the Evenlode and the Marsh Gibbondouble timber as gayly and undauntedly as over the accommodatingBullingdon hurdles. And what screws they rode! ancient animals bearingas many scars as a _vieux de la vieille_, that were considered short ofwork if they did not come out five days a fortnight. This was Guy'sfavorite pursuit; but he threw off the superfluity of his animalenergies in all sorts of athletics: in sparring especially he attained arare excellence; so well-known was it, indeed, that he passed his firstyear without striking a blow in anger, through default of an antagonist, except a chance one or two exchanged in the _melée_ which is imperativeon the 5th of November. 

I did not hunt much myself, for my health was far from strong, and, Iconfess, my University recollections are not lively. 

After the first flush of novelty had worn off, they bored oneintensely--those large wines and suppers where, night by night, a scoreof Nephelégeretæ sat shrouded in smoke, chanting the same equivocalditties, drinking the same fiery liquors miscalled the juice of thegrape, villainous enough to make the patriarch that planted the vinestir remorsefully in his grave under Ararat--each man all the whiletalking "shop, " _à l'outrance_. The skeleton of ennui sat at thesedreary feasts; and it was not even crowned with roses. I often used towonder what the majority of my contemporaries conversed about, when inthe bosom of their families, during the "long. " They couldn't _always_have been inflicting Oxford on their miserable relatives; the weakest ofhuman natures would have revolted against such tyranny; and yet thehorizon of their ideas seemed as utterly bounded by Bagley andHeadington Hill as if the great ocean-stream had flowed outside thoselimits. Some adventurous spirits, it is true, stretched away as far asWoodstock and Abingdon, but I doubt if they returned much improved bythe grand tour. 

One of their most remarkable characteristics was the invincible terrorand repugnance that they appeared to entertain to the society of womenof their own class. When the visitation was inevitable, it isimpossible to describe the great horror that fell on these unfortunateboys. The feeling of Zanoni's pupil, as the Watcher on the Thresholdcame floating and creeping toward him, was nothing to it. 

For example, at Commemoration--to which festival "lions" from allquarters of the earth resorted in vast droves--when one of this classwas hard hit by the charms of some fair stranger, he never thought ofexpressing his admiration otherwise than by piteous looks, directed ather from an immense distance, out of shot for an opera-glass; when inher immediate vicinity his motto was that of the Breton baron--_mourirmuet_. Claret-cup flowed and Champagne sparkled, powerless to raise himto the audacity of an avowal. Under the woods of Nuneham, in the gardensof Blenheim, amid the crowd of the Commemoration ball, the same deepriver of diffidence flowed between him and his happiness. My own idea isthat, after all was over, the silent ones, like Jacques' stricken deer, used to "go weep" over chances lost and opportunities neglected. Withwaitresses at wayside inns, _et id genus omne_, they were tolerablyself-possessed and reliant; though even there "a thousand might well bestopped by three, " and I would have backed an intelligent barmaidagainst the field at odds; indeed, I think I have seen a security nearlyallied to contempt on the fine features of a certain "lone _star_" asshe parried--so easily!--the compliments and repartees of a dozenassailants at once, accounted, in their own quadrangles, Millamours ofthe darkest dye. 

Guy accounted for this unfortunate peculiarity by saying that a cigarin the mouth was the normal state of many of these men; so that, whencircumstances debarred them from the Havana courage, they lost allpresence of mind, and, being unable to retreat under cover of the smoke, lapsed instantly into a sullen despair, suffering themselves to be shotdown unresistingly. Perhaps some future philosopher will favor us with abetter solution to this important problem in physics; I know of none. 

After all, the reading men did best, though we did not think so then, when we saw them creeping into morning chapel jaded and heavy-eyed, after a debauch over Herodotus or the Stagyrite. They had a purpose inview, at all events, and, I believe, were placidly content during theprogress of its attainment--in the seventh heaven when their hopes werecrowned by a First, or even a Second. True; the pace was too good forsome of the half-bred ones, and such as could not stand the training, who departed, to fade away rapidly in the old house at home, or to pine, slowly, but very surely, in remote curacies. 

Some of these, I fancy, must have sympathized with Madame de Staël'sconsumptive niece, who answered to the question, "Why she was weepingall alone?" "_Je me regrette. _" When, resting in their daily walk, shortened till it became a toil to reach the shady seat under the elmsat the garden's end, they watched the stalwart plowmen and drovers gostriding by, without a trouble behind their tanned foreheads except thethought that wages might fall a shilling a week, was there no envy, Iwonder, as they looked down on the wan hands lying so listless acrosstheir knees? Would they not have given their First, and their fellowshipin embryo to boot, to have had the morning appetite of Tom Chauntrell, the horse-breaker, after twelve pipes overnight, with gin and water tomatch, or to have been able, like Joe Springett, the under keeper, tobreast the steepest brae in Cumberland with never a sob or a painfulbreath? Did they never murmur while thinking how brightly the blademight have flashed, how deftly have been wielded, if the worthlessscabbard had only lasted out till, on some grand field-day, the word wasgiven, "Draw swords?" Some felt this, doubtless; but the most part, Iimagine, were possessed with a comfortable assurance that their shortlife had been useful, if not ornamental; and so, to a certain extent, they had their reward. At any rate, their ending was to the full asglorious as that of some other friends of ours, who crawl away from thebattle-ground of the _Viveurs_ to die, or to linger on helplesshypochondriacs. 

If I have spoken depreciatingly or unfairly of the mass of my collegecoevals (and it may well be so), I do full justice, in thought at least, to some brilliant exceptions. I founded friendships there which, Itrust, will outlive me. 

I do not forget Warrenne, too good for the men he lived with, a David inour camp of Kedar--always going on straight in the path he thoughtright--though ever and anon his hot Irish blood would chafe fiercelyunder the curb self-imposed--and laboring incessantly, with allgentleness, to induce others to follow; a Launcelot in his devotion towomankind; a Galahad in purity of thought and purpose. I have neverknown a man of the world so single-hearted, or a saint with so much_savoir vivre_. 

I see before me now Lovell, with his frank look and cheery laugh, themodel of a stalwart English squirehood; and Petre, equal to eitherfortune; in reverse or success calm and impassible as Athos themousquetaire; regarding money simply as a circulating medium, with theprofoundest contempt for its actual value--_se ruinant en prince_. Heedified us greatly, on one occasion, by meeting his justly offendedfather with a stern politeness, declining to hold any communication withhim by word or letter till he (the sire) "could express himself in amore Christian spirit. "

Then there was Barlowe, the pearl of gentlemen riders, the very apple ofCharles Symond's eye; unspoiled by a hundred triumphs, and neverdegenerating into the professional, though I believe his idea of earthlyfelicity was, A match for £50, 10 st. 7 lb. Each. Owners up. Over 4 miles of a fairhunting country. 

I see him, too, with his pleasant face, round, rosy, and beardless as achild-cherub of Rubens, tempting pale men with splitting heads to throwboots at him in the bitterness of their envy as he entered their roomson the morning after a heavy drink, his eyes so clear and guileless thatyou would never guess how sharp they could be at times when a dangeroushorse was coming up on his quarter. A strange compound his character wasof cool calculation and sentimental simplicity. The most astute oftrainers never got the better of him in making a match; and I am sure, to this day, he believes in ----'s poetry, and in the immutability offeminine affection. 

How agreeable he was about the small hours, chirping over his grog;alternating between reminiscences of "My tutor's daughter" and recitalsof choice morsels in verse and prose; misquoting, to the utterannihilation of rhythm and sense, but all with perfect gravity, goodfaith, and satisfaction!

_Nec te, memorande, relinquam_--true Tom Lynton! not clever, not evenhigh-bred, but loved by every one for the honestest and kindest heartthat ever was the kernel of a rough rind. 

Do we not remember that supper where the Fathers of England were beingdiscussed? Every one, drawn on by the current, had a stone to throw athis relieving officer, the complaint, of course, being a generaltightness in the supplies. At last, Tom, who, though his own sire was anaustere man, could not bear to hear the absent run down, broke in, gravely remonstrating, "Well, gentlemen, " he said, "remember they're our _fellow-creatures_, atall events. "

They drank "Lynton and the Governors" with a compound multiplication ofcheers. 

I might mention more; but a face rises just now before me which makes meclose the muster-roll--the face of one who united in himself many, verymany of the best qualities of the others; of one whom I shrink fromnaming here, lest it should seem that I do so lightly--a face that I sawsix hours before its features became set forever. 

CHAPTER IV. 

 _"Dê tot' anaschomenô, ho men êlase dexion ômon Iros, ho d' auchen' elassen hup' ouatos, ostea d' eisô Ethlasen; autika d' êlthen ana stoma phoinion haima. "_

Toward the end of my second year an event came off in which we were allmuch interested--a steeplechase in which both Universities were to takepart. The stakes were worth winning--twenty sovs. Entrance, h. F. , and ahundred sovs. Added; besides, the _esprit de corps_ was strong, and menbacked their opinions pretty freely. The venue was fixed at B----; thetime, the beginning of the Easter vacation. 

The old town was crowded like Vanity Fair. There was a railway inprogress near, and the navvies and other "roughs" came flocking in byhundreds, so that the municipal authorities, justly apprehensive of arow, concentrated the cohorts of their police, and swore in no end ofspecials as a reserve. 

The great event came off duly, a fair instance of the "gloriousuncertainty" which backers of horses execrate and ring-men adore. Allthe favorites were out of the race early. Our best man, Barlowe, thecentre of many hopes, and carrying a heavy investment of Oxford money, was floored at the second double post-and-rail. The Cambridge cracks, too, by divers casualties, were soon disposed of. At the last fence, anOxford man was leading by sixty yards; but it was his maiden race, andhe lost his head when he found himself looking like a winner so nearhome. Instead of taking the stake-and-bound at the weakest place, herode at the strongest; his horse swerved to the gap, took the fencesideways, and came down heavily into the ditch of the winning field. Therepresentative of Cambridge, who came next, riding a good steady hunter, not fast, but safe at his fences, cantered in by himself. I remember hewas so bewildered by his unexpected victory that one of his backers hadto hold him fast in the saddle, or he would have dismounted beforeriding to scale, and so lost the stakes. 

Well, the race was over and the laurels lost, so we had nothing to dobut pay and look pleasant, and then adjourn to the inevitable banquet at"The George. " There was little to distinguish the proceedings from theroutine of such festivals. The winners stood Champagne, and the losersdrank it--to any amount. The accidents of flood and field were discussedover and over again; and, I believe, every man of the twenty-three whohad ridden that day could and did prove, to his own entire satisfaction, that he must have won but for some freak of fortune totally unavoidable, and defying human calculation. 

About nine o'clock I went out with another man to get some fresh air, and something I wanted in the town. At the corner of every street therewas a group of heavy, sullen faces, looking viciously ready for a row, while out of the windows of the frequent public houses gushed bursts ofrevelry hideously discordant, from the low-browed rooms where the wildIrish sat howling and wrangling over their liquor. However, we got whatwe wanted, and were returning, when, in a street on our left, we heardcries and a trampling of many feet. Two figures, looking like Universitymen, passed us at speed, and, throwing something down before us, divedinto an alley opposite, and were lost to sight. My companion picked upthe object; and we had just time to make out that it was a bell-handleand name-plate, when the pursuers came up--six or seven "peelers" andspecials, with a ruck of men and boys. We were collared on the instant. The fact of the property being found in our possession constituted a_flagrans delictum_--we were caught "red-handed. " It was vain to arguethat, had we been the delinquents, we should scarcely have been standingthere still, awaiting discovery. The idea of arguing with a ruralpoliceman, when, by a rare coincidence, popular feeling is with him! Themob regarded our capture, exulting like the Romans over Jugurtha inchains. It was decided "we were to go before the Inspector. " We wereplaced in the centre of a phalanx of specials, each guarded by tworegulars; and so the triumph, followed by a train that swelled at everyturning, moved slowly along the Sacred Way toward the temple of thestation-house, where the municipal Jupiter Capitolinus sat in his glory. 

Before we had proceeded three hundred yards there was a shout from thecrowd, "Look out! here come the 'Varsity!" and down a cross streetleading from the inn, two hundred gownsmen, wild with wrath and wassail, came leaping to the rescue. 

In the van of all I caught sight of two figures--one that I knew verywell, towering, bareheaded, a hand's-breadth above the throng; theother, something below the middle height, but shaggy, vast-chested, anddouble-jointed as a red Highland steer--M'Diarmid of Trinity, glory ofthe Cambridge gymnasium, and "5" in the University eight. They were notshouting like the rest, but hitting out straight and remorselessly; andbefore those two strong Promachi, townsman and navvy, peeler andspecial, went down like blades of corn. Close at their shoulder Idistinguished Lovell, his clear blue eyes lightening savagely; and stoutTom Lynton, a deeper flush on his honest face, hewing away with all theunscientific strength of his nervous arm. 

But my two guards, very Abdiels in their duty, never let me go; on thecontrary, one tightened his gripe on my throat suffocatingly, while theother, though I remained perfectly quiescent, kept giving me gentlehints to keep the peace with the end of his staff. I was getting sickand dizzy, when something passed my cheek like the wind of a ball; therewas a dull, crashing sound close at my ear; the grasp on my neck relaxedall at once; I felt something across my feet, and saw a dark blue mass, topped by the ruin of a shiny hat, lying there quite still; an arm wasround my waist like the coil of a cable, and I heard Guy's voicelaughing loud, "My dear Frank, " he said, as he dragged me away toward the inn, "thecentre of a row, as usual. _Que, diable, allait il faire dans cettebagarre?_"

I hardly heard him, for my senses were still confused; but in thirtyseconds I was under the archway of "The George. " As the heroines of theRadcliffe romances say, "I turned to thank my preserver, but he wasgone. "

When I recovered my breath, I went up to a balcony on the first floorand looked out. The tide of the affray was surging gradually back intothe wide open space before the inn, and very shortly this was filledwith a chaos of furious faces and struggling arms. The University wereevidently recoiling, pressed back by the sheer weight of theiropponents; but soon came a re-enforcement of grooms and stable-men, lightweights, active and wiry; and these, with their hunting-crops andheavy cutting-whips used remorselessly--like Cæsar's legionaries, theystruck only at the face--once more re-established the balance of thebattle. 

Suddenly the _melée_ seemed to converge to one point--the mid-eddy, asit were, of the whirlpool; then came a lull, almost a hush; and thenfifty strong arms, indiscriminately of town and gownsmen, were locked tokeep the ground, while a storm of voices shouted for "A ring!"

In that impromptu arena two men stood face to face under the full glareof the gas-lamps--one was Guy Livingstone; the other a denizen of thePotteries, yclept "Burn's Big 'un, " who had selected B---- as histraining quarters, in preparation for his fight to come off in theensuing week with the third best man in England for £100 a side. 

They made a magnificent contrast. Guy, apparently quite composed, butthe lower part of his face set stern and pitiless; an evil light in hiseyes, showing how all the gladiator in his nature was roused; his lefthand swaying level with his hip; all the weight of his body resting onthe right foot; his lofty head thrown back haughtily; his guard low. Theprofessional, three inches shorter than his adversary, but a rare modelof brute strength; his arms and neck, where the short jersey left themexposed, clear-skinned and white as a woman's, through the perfection ofhis training; his hair cropped close round a low, retreating forehead;his thick lips parted in a savage grin, meant to represent a smile ofconfidence. So they stood there--fitting champions of the races thathave been antagonistic for four thousand years--Patrician andProletarian. 

Suddenly there was a commotion at one corner of the ring, and I saw asmall, bullet-headed man, with a voice like a fractious child, strivingfrantically to force his way through. "Don't let 'em fight!" hescreamed: "it's robbery, I tell you. There's hundreds of pounds on himfor Thursday next, I'm his trainer; and I daren't show him with ascratch on him. "

A great roar of laughter answered his entreaties, and twenty arms thrustthe little man back; but his interesting charge seemed to ponder andhesitate, when a drawling nasal voice spoke from the opposite corner:"Ah! you're right; take him away; don't show his white feather tillyou're druv to it. " That turned the wavering scale. The Big 'un groundhis teeth with blasphemy, and set-to. 

I need not go through the minutiæ of the fight; it was all one way. Theprofessional did his best, and took his punishment like a glutton; buthe could do nothing against the long reach of his adversary, who stoppedand countered as coolly as if he had only the gloves on. 

It was the beginning of the sixth round; our champion bore only onemark, showing where a tremendous right-hander had almost come home--acut on his lower lip, whence the bright Norman blood was flowing freely. I will not attempt to describe the hideous changes that ten minutes hadwrought in his opponent's countenance; but I think I was not the onlyspectator who felt a thrill of fear mingling with disgust as the Big 'unmade his despairing effort, and fought his way in to the terrible"half-arm rally. " In truth, there was something unearthly and awful inthe sight of the maimed and mangled Colossus; his huge breast heavingwith wrath and pain; his one unblinded eye glaring unutterably; hiscrushed lips churning the crimson foam. It was the last rash of theCordovan bull goaded to madness by picador and chulo; but Guy's fatalleft met him, straight, unyielding as the blade of the matador; twice hereeled back wellnigh stunned; the third time he dropped his headcleverly, so as to avoid the blow, and grappled. For some seconds thetwo were locked together, undistinguishably; then we saw Guy's righthand, never used till then save as a guard, rise and fall twice with adull, smashing sound, which was bad to hear; then the huge form of theprize-fighter was whirled up unresistingly over his antagonist's hip, and fell crashing down at his feet, a heap of blind, senseless, bleedinghumanity. 

"Time!" You must call louder yet before he will hear, and lance a veinin the throat before he will answer. 

Then, in the old market-place of B----, there went up such a shout as Ithink it has never heard since Vikings and Berserkyr caroused thereafter storming the town. The gownsmen, as they will do on slighterprovocation, screamed themselves hoarse and voiceless with delight; andtheir late opponents--the honest Saxon's love of a fair fight overcomingthe spirit of the partisan--echoed and prolonged the cheer. 

There was no more thought of battle or broil; and there were as manynavvies as University men among the enthusiasts who bore the champion ontheir shoulders into "The George. "

How we reveled on that night of victory, especially when Guy, afternecessary ablutions and change of raiment, joined us, calm andself-possessed as ever, only slightly swelled about the lower lip, and adark red flush on his forehead! He had satisfactory accounts of hisadversary, the said amiable individual having so far recovered, underthe surgeon's hands, as to swear thrice--"quite like hisself, " themessenger said--and to call for cold brandy and water. 

Livingstone's health was proposed twice--the first time by a fellow ofKing's, with a neat talent for classical allusions, who remarked that, "if the olive-crown of the Hippodrome had fallen to the lot ofCambridge, none would deny her sister's claim to the parsley of thecæstus. " The second time was very late in the evening, by M'Diarmid. Itmust be confessed that gallant chieftain was somewhat incoherent, andamid protestations of admiration and eternal friendship, much to ourastonishment, wept profusely. Still later, he got very maudlin indeed, and was heard to murmur, looking at his scarred knuckles, that "he wasafraid he must have hurt some one that night, " with an accent ofheartfelt sorrow and contrition which was inimitable. 

We heard afterward that the taunt which made the fight a certainty camefrom the commissioner of the party who stood heavily against the Big'un, sent down to watch him in his training, and spy out the joints inhis harness. 

CHAPTER V. 

 "As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow, Each carline was flyting and shaking her pow; But the young Plants of Grace they looked couthie and slee, Saying, 'Luck to thy bonnet, thou bonnie Dundee. '"

In the autumn of that year my chest became so troublesome that I wasobliged to try Italy. Thither I went; and, about the same time, Guy wasgazetted to the ---- Life Guards. The struggle between climate andconstitution was protracted, and for a long time doubtful; but winterswithout fog, and springs without cold winds, worked wonders, and at lastcarried the day. In the fourth year they told me I might risk Englandagain. Moving homeward slowly, I reached London about the beginning ofDecember--a most unfavorable season, it is true; but I was weary offoreign wandering, and wanted to spend Christmas somewhere in thefatherland, though where I had not yet determined. 

I had heard tolerably often from Livingstone during my absence. Hisletters were very amusing, containing all sorts of news, and remarks onmen and manners. They would have pleased me more if they had notindicated a vein of sarcasm deepening into cynicism. 

I stand very much alone in this world, and had few family visits todetain me; so, on the morning after my arrival, I went down to theKnightsbridge barracks, where Guy's regiment happened to be quartered. 

It was a field-day, his servant said, and his master was out with histroop; but he expected him in very shortly. Captain Forrester waswaiting breakfast for him up stairs. 

As I entered the room, its occupant turned his head languidly on thesofa-cushion which supported it; but when he saw it was a stranger, satup, and, on hearing my name, actually rose and came toward me. 

"Livingstone will be charmed to find you here, Mr. Hammond, " he said, ina voice that, though slightly affected and _traînante_, was verymusical. "I don't know if he ever mentioned Charley Forrester to you, who must do the honors of the barrack-room in his absence?"

I had heard of him very often; and, though my expectations as to hispersonal appearance had been raised, I own the first glance did notdisappoint them. He was about three-and-twenty then, rather tall, butvery slightly built; his eyes long, sleepy, of a violet blue; featuressmall and delicately cut, with a complexion so soft and bright that hissilky, chestnut mustache hardly saved the face from effeminacy; hishands and feet would have satisfied the Pacha of Tebelen at once as tohis purity of race; indeed, though Charley was not disposed toundervalue any of his own bodily advantages, I imagine he considered hisextremities as his strong point. His manner was very fascinating, and, with women, had a sort of caress in it which is hard to describe, thougheven with _them_ he seldom excited himself much, preferring, consistently, the passive to the active part in the conversation. Indeed, his golden rule was the Arabic maxim, _Agitel lilShaitan_--Hurry is the Devil's--so, in the flirtations which were theserious business of his life, he always let his fish hook themselves, just exerting himself enough to play them afterward. 

In ten minutes we were very good friends, talking pleasantly of allsorts of things, though Forrester had resumed his recumbent posture, andI could not help fearing it was only a strong effort of politeness orsense of duty which enabled him always to answer at the right time. 

Before long we heard the clatter of horses' hoofs and the rattle ofsteel scabbards, and I looked out at the squadrons defiling into thebarrack-yard. My eye fell upon Livingstone at once: it was not difficultto distinguish him, for few, if any, among those troopers, picked fromthe flower of all the counties north of the Humber, could compare withhim for length of limb and breadth of shoulder. I felt proud of him, asthe hero of my boyhood, looking at him there, on his great blackcharger, square and steadfast as the keep of a castle. 

His servant spoke to him as he dismounted. I saw his features soften andbrighten in an instant; in five seconds he was in the room, and thelight was on his face still--I like to think of it--the light of afrank, cordial welcome, as he griped my hand. 

He was changed, certainly, but for the better. The features, which inearly youth had been too rugged and strongly marked, harmonizedperfectly with the vast proportions of a frame now fully developed, though still lean in the flanks as a wolf-hound. The stern expressionabout his mouth was more decided and unvarying than ever--an effectwhich was increased by the heavy mustache that, dense as a Cuirassier'sof the Old Guard, fell over his lip in a black cascade. It was the faceof one of those stone Crusaders who look up at us from their couches inthe Round Church of the Temple. 

Before our first sentences were concluded, Forrester had nerved himselfto the effort of rising, and turned to go. 

"You must have fifty things to say to each other, " he said. "You'll findme in the mess-room. But, Guy, don't be long; I've no appetite myselfthis morning, and it will refresh me to see you eat your breakfast;" andso faded away gradually through the door. 

"How do you like him?" Livingstone called out from the inner room, wherehe was donning the "mufti. " "He's not so conceited as he might be, considering how the women spoil him; and, lazy as he looks, he is a veryfair officer, and goes across country like a bird. Did I ever tell youwhat first made him famous?"

"No; I should like to hear. "

"Well, it was at a picnic at Cliefden. Charley was hardly nineteen then, and had just joined the ----th Lancers at Hounslow; he wandered away, and got lost with Kate Harcourt, a self-possessed beauty in highcondition for flirting, for she had had three seasons of hard training. When they had been away from their party about two hours, she felt, orpretended to feel, the awkwardness of the situation, and asked hercavalier, in a charmingly helpless and confiding way, what they were todo. 'Well, I hardly know, ' Forrester answered, languidly; 'but I don'tmind proposing to you, if that will do you any good. ' A fair performancefor an untried colt, was it not? Miss Harcourt thought so, and said so, and Charley woke next morning with an established renown. Shall we goand find him?"

After breakfast we went with Guy to his room, to do the regulationcigar. 

"I know you've made no plans, Frank, " Livingstone said, "so I havesettled every thing for you already. You are coming down to Kerton withus. We have just got our long leave, and our horses went down three daysago. "

"It's very nice of him to say 'our horses, '" interrupted Forrester. "Mine consist of one young one, that has been over about eight fences inhis life, and a mare, that I call the Wandering Jewess, for I don'tthink she will ever die, and I am sure she will never rest till shedoes: what with being park-hack in the summer and cover-hack in thewinter, with a by-day now and then when the country's light, she's thebest instance of perpetual motion I know. Well, it's not my fault thechief won't let us hunt our second chargers--that's the charm of beingin a crack regiment--I always have one lame at least, and no one willsell me hunters on tick. "

"Don't be so plaintive, Charley; you've nearly all mine to ride: it's atreat to them, poor things, to feel your light weight and hand, aftercarrying my enormous carcass. That's settled, then, Frank; you come withus?" Guy said. 

"I shall be very glad. I only want a day to get my traps together. " Sotwo days afterward we three came down to Kerton Manor. It was not myfirst visit to Livingstone's home, but I have not described it before. 

Fancy a very large, low house, built in two quadrangles--the offices andstables forming the smaller one farthermost from the main entrance--ofthe light gray stone common in Northamptonshire, darkened at the anglesand buttresses into purple, and green, and bistre by the storms of threehundred years; on the south side, smooth turf, with islands in it ofbright flower-beds, sloped down to a broad, slow stream, where grave, stately swans were always sailing to and fro, and moor-hens diving amongthe rushes; on the other sides, a park, extensive, but somewhatrough-looking, stretched away, and, all round, lines of tall avenueradiated--the bones of a dead giant's skeleton--for Kerton once stood inthe centre of a royal forest. 

You entered into a wide, low hall, the oak ceiling resting on broadsquare pillars of the same dark wood; all round hung countless memorialsof chase and war, for the Livingstones had been hunters and soldiersbeyond the memory of man. 

Often, passing through of a winter's evening, I have stopped to watchthe fitful effects of the great logs burning on the andirons, as theirlight died away, deadened among brown bear-skins and shadowy antlers, orplayed, redly reflected, on the mail-shirt and corslet of Crusader orCavalier. 

There were many portraits too; one, the most remarkable, fronted you asyou came through the great doorway, the likeness of a very handsome manin the uniform of a Light Dragoon; under this hung a cavalry sword, anda brass helmet shaded with black horse-hair. The portrait and sword werethose of Guy's father; the helmet belonged to the Cuirassier who slewhim. 

It was in a skirmish with part of Kellermann's brigade, near the end ofthe Peninsular war; Colonel Livingstone was engaged with an adversary inhis front, when a trooper, delivering point from behind, ran him throughthe body. He had got his death-wound, and knew it; but he came of a racethat ever died hard and dangerously; he only ground his teeth, and, turning short in his saddle, cut the last assailant down. Look at thehelmet, with the clean, even gap in it, cloven down to thecheek-strap--the stout old Laird of Colonsay struck no fairer blow. 

It was curious to mark how the same expression of sternness and decisionabout the lips and lower part of the face, which was so remarkable intheir descendants, ran through the long row of ancestral portraits. Yousaw it--now, beneath the half-raised visor of Sir Malise, surnamed_Poing-de-fer_, who went up the breach at Ascalon shoulder to shoulderwith strong King Richard--now, yet more grimly shadowed forth, under thecowl of Prior Bernard, the ambitious ascetic, whom, they say, the greatEarl of Warwick trusted as his own right hand--now, softened a little, but still distinctly visible, under the long love-locks of PrinceRupert's aid-de-camp, who died at Naseby manfully in his harness--now, contrasting strangely with the elaborately powdered peruke and delicatelace ruffles of Beau Livingstone, the gallant, with the whitest hand, the softest voice, the neatest knack at a sonnet, and the deadliestrapier at the court of good Queen Anne. Nay, you could trace it in thefeatures of many a fair Edith and Alice, half counteracting the magneticattraction of their melting eyes. 

On the sunny south side, looking across the flower-garden, were LadyCatharine Livingstone's rooms, where, diligent as Matilda and hermaidens, in summer by the window, in winter by the fire; the palechâtelaine sat over her embroidery. What rivers of tapestry must haveflowed from under those slender white fingers during their ceaselesstoil of twenty years!

The good that she did in her neighborhood can not be told. She was kindand hospitable, too, to her female guests, in her own haughty, undemonstrative way; nevertheless, the wives and daughters of thesquirearchy regarded her with great awe and fear. Perhaps she felt this, though she could not alter it, and the sense of isolation may havedeepened the shades on her sad face. She had only one thing on earth tocentre her affections on, and that one she worshiped with a lovestronger than her sense of duty; for, since his father died, she hadnever been able to check Guy in a single whim. 

When he had a hunting-party in the house, she sometimes would not appearfor days; but, however early he might start for the meet, I do not thinkhe ever left his dressing-room without his mother's kiss on his cheek. She knew, as well as any one, how recklessly her son rode; nothing buthis science, coolness, and great strength in the saddle could often havesaved him from some terrible accident. Many times, in the middle of theday's sport, the thought has come across me piteously of that poor lady, in her lonely rooms, trembling, and I am very sure praying, for herdarling. 

On the opposite side of the court were Guy's own apartments: first, whatwas called by courtesy his study--an armory of guns and other weapons, achaos _e rebus omnibus et quibusdam aliis_, for he never had thefaintest conception of the beauty of order; then came the smoking-room, with its great divans and scattered card-tables; then Livingstone'sbed-room and dressing-room. 

Did the distance and the doors always deaden the sounds of late revels, so as not to break Lady Catharine's slumbers? I fear not. 

CHAPTER VI. 

 "Thou art not steeped in golden languors; No tranced summer calm is thine, Ever-varying Madeline. "

It was a woodland meet, a long way off, the morning after we arrived, sowe staid at home; and, after breakfast, Guy having to give audience tokeepers and other retainers, I strolled out with Forrester to smoke inthe stables. I have seldom seen a lot which united so perfectly bone andblood. Livingstone gave any price for his horses; the only thing he wasnot particular about was their temper; more than one looked eminentlyunsuited to a nervous rider, and a swinging bar behind them warned thestranger against incautious approach. 

After duly discussing and admiring the stud, we established ourselves onthe sunniest stone bench in the garden, and I asked my companion to tellme something of what Guy had been doing during my absence. 

"Well, it's rather hard to say, " answered Charley. "He never takes thetrouble to conceal any thing; but then, you see, he never tells one anything either; so it's only guess work, after all. He lives very muchlike other men in the Household Brigade; plays heavily, though notregularly; but he always has two _affaires de coeur_, at least, onhand at once; that's his stint. "

"So he still persecutes the weaker sex unremittingly?" I asked, laughing. 

"In a way peculiar to himself, " said Forrester; "he is always strictlycourteous, but decidedly sarcastic. Poor things, they are easily imposedupon; he very soon has them well in hand, and they can never get theirheads up afterward. I suppose they like it, for it seems to answeradmirably. Last season he divided himself pretty equally betweenConstance Brandon and Flora Bellasys--quite the two best things out, though as opposite to each other in every way as the poles. To do MissBrandon justice, I don't think she knew much of the other flirtation;she always went away early, and he used to take up her rival for therest of the evening. "

"But the said rival--how did she like the divided homage?"

"Not at all at first; at least, she used to look revolvers at Guy fromtime to time--(ah! you should see the Bellasys' eyes when they begin tolighten)--but he always brought her back to the lure, and at last sheseemed to take it quite as a matter of course, keeping all herafter-supper waltzes for him religiously, though half the men in townwere trying to cut in. I can't make out how he does it. Do you think hissize and sinews can have any thing to do with it?" He said this gravelyand reflectively. 

"Not unlikely, " I replied; "the _fortiter in re_ goes a long way withwomen apparently, even where there is not a tongue like his to back it. Don't you remember Juvenal's strong-minded heroine, who left husband andhome to follow the scarred, maimed gladiator? I doubt if the Mirmillowas a pleasant or intellectual companion. Now I want you to tell mesomething about Guy's cousin and her father; they are coming hereto-day, and I have never met them. "

"Mr. Raymond is very like most calm, comfortable old men with a lifeinterest in £2000 a year, " Charley said; "rather more cold andimpassible than the generality, perhaps. He _must_ be clever, for heplays whist better than any one I know; but not brilliant, certainly. His daughter is"--the color deepened on his cheek perceptibly--"verycharming, most people think; but I hate describing people. I alwayscaricature the likeness. You'll form your own judgment at dinner. Shallwe go in? We shoot an outlying cover after luncheon, and the blackthornsinvolve gaiters. "

We had very fair sport, and were returning across the park, picking up astray rabbit every now and then in the tufts of long grass and patchesof brake. One had just started before Forrester, and he was in the actof pulling the trigger, when Livingstone said suddenly, "There's my uncle's carriage coming down the north avenue. "

It was an easy shot in the open, but Charley missed it clean. 

"What eyes you have, Guy, " he said, pettishly; "but I wish you wouldn'tspeak to a man on his shot. "

Guy's great Lancaster rang out with the roar of a small field-piece, andthe rabbit was rolling over, riddled through the head, before heanswered, "Yea, my eyes _are_ good, and I see a good many things, but I _don't_see why you should have muffled that shot, particularly as myintelligence was meant for the world in general, and it was not such anastounding remark, after all. "

Charley did not seem ready with a reply, so he retained his look ofinjured innocence, and walked on, sucking silently at his cigar. TheRaymonds reached the house before us; but, not being in a presentablestate, I did not see them before dinner. 

Forrester was right; there was nothing startling about Mr. Raymond. Hehad one of those thin, high-bred looking faces that one always fancieswould have suited admirably the powder and ruffles of the last century. It expressed little except perfect repose, and when he spoke, which wasbut seldom, no additional light came into his hard blue eyes. Hisdaughter was his absolute contrast--a lovely, delicate little creature, with silky dark-brown hair, and eyes _en suite_, and color that deepenedand faded twenty times in an hour, without ever losing the softness ofits tints. She had the ways of a child petted all its life through, thata harsh word would frighten to annihilation. She seemed very fond ofGuy, though evidently rather afraid of him at times. 

Nothing passed at dinner worth mentioning; but soon after the ladiesleft us, Mr. Raymond turned lazily to his nephew to inquire, "If he would mind asking Bruce to come and stay at Kerton, as he was tobe in the neighborhood soon after Christmas. "

He did not seem to feel the faintest interest in the reply. 

"I shall be too glad, Uncle Henry, " answered Guy (he did not lookparticularly charmed though), "if it will give you or Bella anypleasure. Need he be written to immediately?"

"Thank you very much, " said Raymond, languidly. "I know he bores you, and I am sure I don't wonder at it; but one must be civil to one'sson-in-law that is to be. No, you need not trouble yourself to invitehim yet. Bella can do it when she writes. I suppose she _does_ write tohim sometimes. "

I looked across the table at Forrester. This was the first time I hadheard of Miss Raymond's engagement. He met my eye quite unconcernedly, pursuing with great interest his occupation of peeling walnuts anddropping them into Sherry. It did not often happen to him to blush_twice_ in the twenty-four hours. Directly afterward we began to talkabout pheasants and other things. 

After coffee in the drawing-room Guy sat down to piquet with his uncle. Raymond liked to utilize his evenings, and never played for nominalstakes. He was the _beau ideal_ of a card-player, certainly; norevolution or persistence of luck could ruffle the dead calm of hiscourteous face. He would win the money of his nearest and dearestfriend, or lose his own to an utter stranger with the same placidity. Tobe sure, to a certain extent, he had enslaved Fortune; though he alwaysplayed most loyally, and sometimes would forego an advantage he mightfairly have claimed, his rare science made ultimate success scarcelydoubtful. He never touched a game of mere chance. 

I heard a good story of him in Paris. They were playing a game likeBrag; the principle being that the players increase the stakes withoutseeing each other's cards, till one refuses to go on and throws up, orshows his point. Raymond was left in at last with one adversary; thestakes had mounted up to a sum that was fearful, and it was his choiceto double or _abattre_. Of course, it was of the last importance todiscover whether the antagonist was strong or not; but the Frenchman'sface gave not the slightest sign. He was _beau joueur s'il en fût_, andhad lost two fair fortunes at play. Raymond hesitated, looking steadilyinto his opponent's eyes. All at once he smiled and doubled instantly. The other dared not go on; he showed his point, and lost. They askedRaymond afterward how he could have detected any want of confidence toguide him in a face that looked like marble. 

"I saw three drops of perspiration on his forehead, " he said; "and Iknew my own hand was strong. "

Lady Catharine was resting on a sofa: she looked tired and paler thanusual, not in the least available for conversation. Miss Raymond hadnestled herself into the recesses of a huge arm-chair close to thefire--she was as fond of warmth, when she could not get sunshine, as atropical bird--and Forrester was lounging on an ottoman behind her, sothat his head almost touched her elbow. When I caught scraps of theirconversation it seemed to be turning on the most ordinary subjects; buteven in these I should have felt lost--I had been so long away fromEngland--so I contented myself with watching them, and wondering whydiscussions as to the merits of operas and inquiries after mutualacquaintances should make the fair cheeks hang out signals of distressso often as they did that evening. 

I lingered in the smoking-room about midnight for a moment afterForrester left us. 

"So your cousin is really engaged?" I asked Guy. 

"_Tout ce qu'il y a du plus fiancé_, " was the answer. "It was one of thelast affairs of state that my poor aunt concluded before she died. Bruceis a very good match. I don't think Bella worships him, though I havescarcely ever seen them together, and I am sure he is not a favoritewith Uncle Henry; but nothing on earth would make him break it off;indeed, I know no one who would propose such a thing to him--not hisdaughter, certainly. There's no such hopeless obstacle as the passiveresistance of a thoroughly lazy man. Good-night, Frank. I've sent theBaron on for you to-morrow. We must start about nine, mind, for we'vefifteen miles to go to cover. "

I went to bed, and dreamed that Raymond was playing _ecarté_ withForrester for his daughter, who stood by blushing beautifully--and neverheld a trump!

CHAPTER VII. 

 "She has two eyes so soft and brown; Take care! She gives a side glance, and looks down; Beware! beware! Trust her not; she is fooling thee. "

So the days went on. The stream of visitors usual in a country houseduring the hunting season flowed in and out of Kerton Manor without anyremarkable specimen showing itself above the surface. One individual, perhaps, I ought to except, the curate of the parish, who was a veryconstant visitor. 

His appearance was not fascinating: he had a long, narrow head, thatchedwith straight, scanty hair; little, protruding eyes, and a complexion ofa bright unvarying red--in fact, he was very like a prawn. 

It was soon evident that the Rev. Samuel Foster was helplessly smittenby Miss Raymond, or, as Forrester elegantly expressed it, "hard hit inthe wings, and crippled for flying!" Helplessly, I say, but nothopelessly; for that wicked little creature, acting perhaps underprivate orders, gave him all sorts of treacherous encouragement. I neversaw any human being evolve so much caloric under excitement as he did, except one young woman whom I met ages ago--(a most estimable person;her Sunday-school was a model)--whose only way of evincing any emotion, either of anger, fear, pain, or pleasure, was--a profuse perspiration. Mr. Foster not only got awfully hot, but electrical into the bargain. His thin hairs used to stand out distinctly and in relief from his headand face, just like a person on the glass tripod. Charley suggestedinsulating him unawares, and getting a flash out of his knuckles, if notout of his brain. In truth, it was piteous to see the struggle betweenpassion and nervousness that raged perpetually within him. He wouldstand for some time casting _lamb's_-eyes at the object of hisaffections--to the amorous audacity of the full-grown sheep he neversoared--then suddenly, without the slightest provocation, he woulddischarge at her a compliment, elaborate, long-winded, Grandisonian, asa raw recruit fires his musket, shutting his eyes, and incontinentlytake to flight, without waiting to see the effect of his shot. If he hadspent half the time and pains on his sermons that he did on hissmall-talk (I believe he used to write out three or four foul copies ofeach sentence previously at home), what a boon it would have been to hisunlucky audience on Sundays!

Why is it that the great proportion of our pastors seem to conspiretogether with one consent to make the periodical duty of listening tothem as hard as possible? Can they imagine there is profit or pleasurein a discourse wandering wearily round in a circle, or dragging a slowlength along of truisms and trivialities? In the best of congregationsthere can be but few alchemists; and, without that science, who is toextract the essence of Truth from the _moles incongesta_ of crassmoralities?

To persuade or dissuade you must interest the head or the heart. Iadmire those who can do either successfully, but I do protest againstthose clerical tyrants who shelter themselves behind their license tofire at us their ruthless platitudes. If such could only struggleagainst that strong temptation of our fallen nature--the delight ofhearing one's own sweet voice--so as to concentrate now and then! Thebest orators, spiritual and mundane, have been brief sometimes. 

I am no theologian, but I take leave to doubt if, in the elaboratedivinity of fourteen epistles, the apostle of the Gentiles ever went sostraight to his hearer's heart as in that farewell charge, when theelders of Ephesus gathered round him on the sea-sand, "Sorrowing most ofall for the words that he spake, that they should see his face no more. "

Do you remember Canning and the clergyman? When the latter asked him, "How did you like my sermon? I endeavored not to be tedious;" I alwaysfancy the statesman's weary, wistful look, which would have beencompassionate but for a sense of personal injury, as he answered, in hismild voice, "And yet--_you were_. "

Well, the flirtation went on its way rejoicing, to the intense amusementof all of us, especially of Forrester, till one day his cousin came intoGuy's study, who had just returned from hunting, looking ratherfrightened, like a child who has let fall a valuable piece of china--itwas only an honest man's heart that she had broken. Slowly the truthcame out; Mr. Foster had proposed to her that afternoon in the park. 

We, far off in the drawing-room, heard the shrill whistle with whichLivingstone greeted the intelligence. 

"You accepted him, of course?" he said. 

"O Guy!" Miss Raymond answered, blushing more than ever. (I'll back awoman against the world for expressing half a chapter by a simpleinterjection; Lord Burleigh's nod is nothing to it. ) "But, indeed, " shewent on, "I'm very sorry about it; I never saw any one look so unhappybefore. Do you know I think I saw the tears standing in his eyes; and Ionly guessed at the words when he said 'God bless you!'"

"Ah bah!" replied Guy, with his most cynical smile on his lip; "he'llrecover. Who breaks his heart in these days, especially for such littledots of things as you? But, Bella mia, how do you think Mr. Bruce wouldapprove of all these innocent amusements?"

It was no blush now, but a dead waxen whiteness, that came over thebeautiful face, even down to the chin. The soft brown eyes grew fixedand wild with an imploring terror. "You won't tell him?" she gasped out;and then stood quivering and shuddering. Guy was very much surprised: hehad never believed greatly in his cousin's affection for her betrothed;but here there were signs, not only of the absence of love, but of thepresence of physical fear. 

"My dear child, " he said, very kindly, "don't alarm yourself soabsurdly. I have not the honor of Mr. Bruce's confidence; and if I had, how could I tell him of an affair where _I_ have been most to blame?I'll speak to Foster; he must not show his disappointment even beforeUncle Henry. You will be quite safe, you see. But, mind, I won't allow_any one_ to frighten or vex my pet cousin. " His countenance lowered ashe spoke, and there was a threat in his eyes. 

As the cloud darkened on his face, the light came back on IsabelRaymond's. She took his hand--all fibre and sinew, like anoak-bough--into her slender fingers and pressed it hard. In good truth, a woman at her need could ask no better defender than he who stood byher side then, tall, strong, black-browed, and terrible as Saul. "Thankyou so much, dear Guy, " she whispered. "If you speak to Mr. Foster, youwill tell him how _very_ sorry I am!" and then she left him. 

Guy did speak to the curate, I hope gently. At all events, we neverlaughed at him again. How could we, when we saw him going about hisdaily duties, honestly and bravely, and always, when in presence, struggling with his great sorrow, so as not by word or look tocompromise the thoughtless child who had won his heart for heramusement, and thrown it away for her convenience?

I have been disciplined since by what I have felt and seen, and I seenow how ungenerous we had been. 

What right had we to make of that man a puppet for our amusement, because he was shy, and stupid, and slow? He was as true in hisdevotion, as honorable in all his wishes, as confident in his hopes tillthey were blasted, as any one that has gone a wooing since the firstwhisper of love was heard in Eden. If his despair was less crushing thanthat of other men, it was because his principles were stronger toendure, and perhaps because his temperament was more tranquil and cold. As I have said, he did his day's work thoroughly, and that helped himthrough a good deal. But, to the utmost of his nature, I believe he didsuffer. And could the long train of those whom disappointment has mademaniacs or suicides do more?

Let us not trust too much to the absence of feeling in these seeminglyimpassive organizations. 

I wonder how often the executors of old college fellows, or ofhard-faced bankers and bureaucrats, have been aggravated by finding inthat most secret drawer, which ought to have held a codicil or a jewel, a tress, a glove, or a flower? The searcher looks at the object for amoment, and then throws it into the rubbish-basket, with a laugh if heis good-natured, with a curse if he is vicious and disappointed. Let itlie there--though the dead miser valued it above all his bank-stock, andkissed it oftener than he did his living and lawful wife andchildren--what is it worth now? Say, as the grim Dean of St. Patrickwrote on _his_ love-token, "Only a woman's hair. "

Now these men, unknown to their best friend perhaps, had gone throughthe affliction which is so common that it is hard to speak of it withoutlaunching into truisms. This sorrow has made some men famous, by forcingthem out into the world and shutting the door behind them. It has madethe fortunes of some poets, who choose the world for their confidant, setting their bereavement to music, and bewailing Eurydice in charmingvolumes, that are cheap at "3_s. _ 6_d. _ in cloth, lettered. " It has madesome--I think the best and bravest--somewhat silent for the rest oftheir lives. I read some lines the other day wise enough to have sprungfrom an older brain than Owen Meredith's. 

 "They were pedants who could speak-- Grander souls have passed unheard; Such as felt all language weak; Choosing rather to record Secrets before Heaven, than break Faith with angels, by a word--"

Yes, many men have their Rachel; but--there being a prejudice againstbigamy--few have even the Patriarch's luck, to marry her at last; forthe wife _de convenance_ generally outlives her younger sister; and so, one afternoon, we turn again from a grave in Ephrata-Green Cemetery, somewhat drearily, into our tent pitched in the plains of Belgravia, where Leah--(there was ever jealousy between those two)--meets us with asharp glance of triumph in her "tender eyes. "

We have known pleasanter _tête-à-têtes_--have we not?--than that whichwe undergo that evening at dinner, though our companion seems disposedto be especially lively. We have not much appetite; but our _carissimasposa_ tells us "not to drink any more claret, or we shall never be fitto take her to Lady Shechem's _conversazione_. " Of all nights in theyear, would she let us off duty on this one? "There are to be some verypleasant people there, " she says, "though none, perhaps, that _youparticularly care about_. " (Thank you, my love; I understand thatgood-natured allusion perfectly, and am proportionately grateful. ) Hervoice sounds shriller than usual as she says this, and leaves us to putsome last touches to her toilette. So we order a fresh bottle, notwithstanding the warning, and fall to thinking. How low and soft_that other_ voice was, and, even when a little reproachful, how rarelysweet! _She_ would scarcely have invented that last taunt if mattershad turned out differently. Then we think of our respectedfather-in-law, Sir Joseph Leyburn, of Harran Park--a mighty countymagistrate and cattle-breeder. He got Ishmael Deadeye, the poacher, transported last year, and took the prize for Devons at the GreatMesopotamian Agricultural with a brindled bull. We remember his weepingat the wedding-breakfast over the loss of his eldest treasure, andwonder if he was an arrant humbug, or only a foolish, fond old man, inclining morosely toward the former opinion. We don't seem to care muchabout Sir Roland de Vaux, the celebrated geologist, whom we shall havethe privilege of meeting this evening. What are strata to us, when ourthoughts will not go lower than about _eight feet_ underground? We shallbe rather bored than otherwise by Dr. Sternhold, that eminent Christiandivine, who passes his leisure hours in proving St. Paul to have been anunsound theologian and a weak dialectician. Why should Mr. Planet, theintrepid traveler, be always inflicting Jerusalem upon us, as if no onehad ever visited the Holy Land before him? Our ancestors did so fivehundred years ago, and did not make half the fuss about it; and _they_had a skirmish or two there worth speaking of, while we don't believe aword of Planet's encounter with those three Arabs on the Hebron road. Pooh! there's no more peril in traversing the Wilderness of Cades thanin going up to the Grands Mulets. We are not worthy of thosedistinguished men, and would prefer the society of hard-riding DickFoley of the Blues. He had a few feelings in common with us once on acertain point (how we hated him then), and he won't wonder if we areduller than usual this evening. Perhaps his own nerve will scarcely beas iron as usual in the Grand Military, to come off in the course of theweek. 

Well, the bottle is out, and Mademoiselle Zelpa comes to say that"Madame is ze raidèe. " So one glass of Cognac neat, as a _chasse_ (tomore things than good Claret), and then--let us put on our whitest tieand our most attractive smile, and "go forth, for she is gone. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

 "A man had given all other bliss And all his worldly worth for this, To waste his whole heart in one kiss Upon her perfect lips. "

We were asked to dine and sleep at Brainswick, where the hounds met onthe following morning. Mr. Raymond could not make up his mind to theexertion, so Forrester and I accompanied Guy alone. 

"By-the-by, " the latter observed, as we were driving over in hismail-phaeton, "I wonder if we shall see the Bellasys to-night? I knowthey were to come down about this time. Steady, old wench! where are youoff to?" (This was to the near wheeler, who was breaking her trot. ) "Ithink you'll admire her, Frank; but, _gare à vous_, she's dangerous. Eh, Charley?"

"Well, you ought to know, " answered Forrester; "I never tried her muchmyself. She's two or three stone over my weight. I wonder what she hasbeen doing lately? They sent her down to rusticate somewhere at the endof the season. She ought to be in great condition now, with a summer'srun. "

Livingstone smiled, complacently I thought, as if some one had praisedone of his favorite hunters, but did not pursue the subject. 

When I came down before dinner he was talking to a lady in dark bluesilk, with black lace over it, a wreath curiously plaited of natural ivyin her hair. I guessed her at once to be Flora Bellasys. 

Let me try to paint--though abler artists have failed--the handsomestbrunette I have ever seen. 

She was very tall; her figure magnificently developed, thoughslender-waisted and lithe as a serpent. She walked as if she had beenbred in a _basquiña_, and her foot and ankle were hardly to be matchedon this side of the Pyrenees; the nose slightly aquiline, with thin, transparent nostrils; and the forehead rather low--it looked more so, perhaps, from the thick masses of dark hair which framed and shaded herface. Under the clear, pale olive of the cheeks the rich blood mantlednow and then like wine in a Venice glass; and her lips--the outline ofthe upper one just defined by a penciling of down, the lower one fulland pouting--glistened with the brilliant smoothness of a pomegranateflower when the dew is clinging. Her eyes--the opium-eaters of Stamboulnever dreamed of their peers among the bevies of hachis-houris. Theywere of the very darkest hazel; one moment sleeping lazily under theirlong lashes, like a river under leaves of water-lilies; the next, sparkling like the same stream when the sunlight is splintered on itsripples into carcanets of diamonds. When they chose to speak, not allthe orators that have rounded periods since Isocrates could match theireloquence; when it was their will to guard a secret, they met you withthe cold, impenetrable gaze that we attribute to the mighty mother, Cybèle. Even a philosopher might have been interested--on purelypsychological grounds, of course--in watching the thoughts as they roseone by one to the surface of those deep, clear wells (was truth at thebottom of them?--I doubt), like the strange shapes of beauty thatreveal themselves to seamen, coyly and slowly, through the purple calmof the Indian Sea. 

Twice I have chosen a watery simile; but I know no other elementcombining, as her glances did, liquid softness with lustre. 

When near her, you were sensible of a strange, subtle, intoxicatingperfume, very fragrant, perfectly indefinable, which clung, not only toher dress, but to every thing belonging to her. From what flowers it wasdistilled no artist in essences alive could have told. I incline tothink that, like the "birk" in the ghost's garland, "They were not grown on earthly bank, Nor yet on earthly sheugh. "

Guy took Miss Bellasys in to dinner, and I found myself placed on herother side. I had been introduced to her ten minutes before, but hadlittle opportunity for "improving the occasion, " as the Nonconformistshave it, for she never once deigned a look in my direction. 

My right-hand neighbor was an elderly man of a full habit, whom it wouldhave been cruel to disturb till the rage of hunger was appeased, so Iwas fain to seek amusement in the conversation going on on my left. There was no indiscretion in this, for I knew Guy would never touchsecrets of state in mixed company. 

For some time they talked nothing but commonplaces, evidently feelingeach other's foils. The real fencing began with a question fromFlora--if he was not surprised at seeing her there that evening. 

"Not at all, " was the reply; "I knew we must meet before long. It isonly parallels that don't; and there is very little of the right lineabout either you or me. "

"Speak for yourself, " Miss Bellasys said; "I consider that a very rudeobservation. "

"Pardon me, " retorted Guy; "I seldom say rude things--neverintentionally. I don't know which is in worst taste, that, or payingpoint-blank compliments. Without being mathematical, you may have heardthat the line of beauty is a curve. "

Flora laughed. 

"It is difficult to catch you. What have you been doing since weparted?"

"That is just the question that was on my lips, so nearly uttered that Iconsider I spoke first. Now, will you confess, or must I cross-questionsome one else? I _will_ know. It is easy to follow you, like an invadingarmy, by the trail of devastation. "

"So you do care to know?" the soft voice said, that could make thenerves of even an indifferent hearer thrill and quiver strangely. 

After once listening to it, it was very easy to believe the weirdstories of Norse sorceresses, and German wood-spirits and pixies, luringmen to death with their fatally musical tones. 

"Simple curiosity, " Guy replied, coolly, "and a little compassion foryour victims. They might be friends of mine, you know. "

Miss Bellasys bit her lip, half provoked, half amused, apparently, asshe answered, "The dead tell no tales. "

"No, but the wounded do, and they cry out pretty loudly sometimes. Isuppose all the cases did not terminate fatally. Will you confess?"

"I have nothing to tell you, " Flora said, very demurely and meekly, only for once her eyes betrayed her. "Mamma took me down intoDevonshire, where we have an aunt or two, for sea-breezes and seclusion. I rather liked at first having nothing on earth to do, and nothing--yes, I understand--really nothing to think about. I used to sleep a greatdeal, and then drive a little obstinate pony, to see views. But I don'tcare much about views--do you? Then mamma was always wanting me to helpher look for shells and wild-flowers; and the rocks hurt my feet, andthe bushes never would leave me alone in the woods. " She shudderedslightly here. 

"The Bushes! a Devonshire family of that name, I presume?" Guyinterrupted, with intense gravity. "How wrong of them! They are veryill-regulated young men down in those parts, I believe. "

"Don't be absurd; I never saw a creature for months between fifteen andfifty. Are not those ages safe?" (A shake of the head from Livingstone. )"I began to be very unhappy; I had no one to tease; my aunts are toogood-natured, and mamma is used to it. At last I had the greatest mindto do something desperate--to write to you, for instance--merely to seethe household's horror when your answer came. You would have answered, would you not? I should not have opened it, you know, but given it tomamma, like a good child. "

"Of course; I know you show all your letters to your mother. But thatruralizing must have been fearful for you, _poverina_! People weretalking a good deal of agricultural distress, but this is the mostpiteous case I've heard of. So there were really no men to govern inthat wood?"

"Not even a little boy, " said Flora, decisively. "There were two orthree from Oxford in the neighborhood; I used to see them sittingoutside their lodgings in the sun, like rabbits, but they always ran inbefore--"

"Before you could get a shot at them, you mean?" broke in Guy; "youought to have crept up, and stalked them cleverly. "

Flora threw hack her handsome head. "I don't war with children. It wenton just as I tell you till we left for our round of winter visits, whichhave been very stupid and correct--till now. "

I hardly caught the two last words, she spoke them so low. There wassilence for several minutes, and then Guy leaned back to address me. 

"Do you remember Arthur Darrell, of Christchurch, Frank, the man thatused to speak at the Union, and was always raving about ebon locks anddark eyes?"

"I remember him well. I have not seen him for years; but I heard he wasgetting on well in the law. "

"He'll have time to get tired of brunettes--if any one ever _does_ gettired of them--before he comes back, " said Guy. "He's just gone out totry the Indian bar. "

"What could have put such an idea into his head?" I asked, veryinnocently. 

"I can't say, " was the reply; "men do take such curious fancies. It wasa sudden determination, I believe. The beauties of the Easternhemisphere began to develop themselves to his weak mind last summerwhile he was down with his people in--Devonshire. "

Involuntarily I looked at Miss Bellasys. She saw she was detected; but, instead of betraying any embarrassment, she turned upon Guy a queerlittle imploring look, not indicative in the least of shame orrepentance, but such as might be put on by one of those truly excellentpeople who do good by stealth and blush to find it known, when some oftheir benevolent acts have come to light, and they wish to deprecatepraise. 

Livingstone gazed piercingly at her for several instants without movinga muscle of his face; suddenly its fixed and stern expression--you couldnot say softened, but--broke up all at once like a sheet of iceshivering. 

"Let there be peace, " he said, sententiously. "We forgive all the errorsof your long vacation in consideration of the good it has evidently doneyou. You are looking brilliantly!"

There was an unusual softness, almost a tremor, in his deep voice as hespoke the last words, and a look in his bold eyes that many trainedcoquettes would have shrunk from--a look that I should be sorry andangry to see turned on any woman in whom I felt an interest--a look suchas Selim Pasha might wear as the Arnauts defile into his harem-court, bringing the fair Georgians home. 

Flora Bellasys only smiled in saucy triumph. 

"You say you never pay compliments, " she answered, "and I always _try_to believe you. We will suppose this one is only the truth extorted. Myglove--thank you. " The same smile was on her lip as she turned her headonce in her haughty progress to the door. 

As Guy sat down again, and filled a huge glass with claret, I heard himmutter between his teeth, "_Royale, quand même_!"

"Close up, gentlemen, close up!" broke in the cheery voice of our rareold host. "Livingstone, if you begin back-handing already, you'll neverbe able to hold that great raking chestnut I saw your groom leading thisevening. The man looked as if he thought he would be eaten before he gotin. "

"Whatever you do, drink fair, " Guy answered, laughing; "so saith theimmortal Gamp. The squire's beginning to tremble for his '22 wine. "

"I don't wonder, " said Godfrey Parndon, the M. F. H. "I've always observedthat, after flirting disgracefully at dinner, you drink harderafterward. It's to drown remorse, I suppose. So you ride that new horseof yours to-morrow? My poor hounds!"

"Don't be alarmed, " cried Guy; "he never kicks hounds, and I won't lethim go over them; it's only human strangers the amiable animal can'tendure: that's why I call him the Axeine. He is worth more than the £300I gave for him. "

"Well, he nearly spoiled two grooms for Hounscott, " Parndon said. "Thestablemen at Revesby had a great beer the day they got rid of him. "

"He wouldn't suit every one, " remarked Livingstone--"not you, forinstance, Godfrey, who always ride with a loose rein. I was obliged togive him his gallops myself at first; he's a devil to pull, and if heonce gets away with you, you may 'write to your friends. ' But I'venothing like him in my stable. "

Then the conversation became general, revolving in a circle ofhound-and-horse talk, as it will do now and then in the shires. 

"Guy, " whispered Forrester, as we went up stairs, "there's a littlewoman here who says she used to know you very well: won't you go andtalk to her?"

"Many little women say that, " answered Guy; "it's a way they have. Whichis it, now?"

Charley pointed out a small, plump, rather pretty blonde, with longringlets, and light, laughing blue eyes. It seemed the lady'sreminiscences were well founded, for in five minutes Livingstone and shewere talking like old friends. 

In the course of the evening I found myself near Miss Bellasys. Thistime she did me the honor to address me, and soon began asking me morequestions than I could answer, even had she waited a reply. Did I likeKerton Manor? Had there been many agreeable people there yet? Not anyremarkably so! She was surprised at that. Miss Raymond was there _enpermanence_, of course? She was such a favorite with her (Flora), andwith her cousin too, she thought. Was Mr. Livingstone always playingwith his uncle, and always losing? She supposed he liked losing--atplay. Did I know the lady in pink, with twenty-five flowers in her hair?She had counted them. Yes, that was her husband, the stout man lookinguncomfortable, in the corner--an old friend of Mr. Livingstone's? He hadso many old friends; but he did not always talk to them for a wholeevening without intermission. Ah! she was going to sing; that is, ifMr. Livingstone had quite finished with her, and would let her go. Little women with pink cheeks and dresses always _did_ sing, and neverhad any voice. 

I don't know how many more questions she put to me in the same quiet, clear tones; but just then I happened to look down on the handkerchiefshe held in her hand, and I saw a long rent in its broad Valenciennesborder that I am very sure was not there an hour ago; for Flora'stoilette, morning and evening, was faultless to a degree. 

I had hardly time to remark this when Guy lounged up to us. Mycompanion's dark eyes were more eloquent than her lips, which quiveredslightly as she said, "I wonder you have not more consideration. A new arrival in the county, and compromised irretrievably! Look at Mr. Stafford now. "

"The husband?" Guy said, with intense disdain; "the husband's helpless. He may sharpen his--tusks, but he'll never come to battle. How good andgreat you are! It is quite refreshing to hear your strictures oninnocent amusements. But I beg you will speak of that lady with duerespect; she is the first--yes, positively the first--woman I everloved. "

"_Monseigneur, que d'honneur!_" Flora said, curling her haughty lip. 

"It is true, " Guy went on. "At a children's ball, about fifteen yearsago, I met my fate. She was in white muslin, with a velvet bodice (Florashuddered visibly); for a year after I pictured to myself the angels inno other attire, and now--years vitiate one's tastes so--I can fancynothing but a jockey in 'black body and white sleeves. ' I suppose shewas very pretty; let us hope so; it is my only excuse for beingenchanted in ten minutes, and stupidly enslaved in half an hour. Thething would not have been complete without a rival; he came--a plump, circular-faced boy, with severely flaxen hair. No, you need not lookacross the room--not the least like what she is now! Great jealousy maymake me unjust, but I don't think he had any advantage over me save one, and he used that mercilessly. He wore collars boldly erect under his fatchecks, while those of the rest of us lay prostrate, after the simplefashion of my childhood. The _prestige_ was too much for Ellen's weakmind. (Did I tell you her name was Ellen?) Bottom monopolized Titaniafor the rest of the evening. I could have beaten him with ease andsatisfaction to myself, but I refrained; and, rushing into thesupper-room, drained three glasses of weak negus with the energy ofdespair. 

"I have never suffered any thing since like the torment of the next twohours. I saw her several times afterward, and might have made play, perhaps, but the phantom of a round red face, with collars starched _àl'outrance_, always came between us. It is only a slight satisfaction tohear that she has utterly lost sight of my rival, and promises to cuthim dead the first time they meet. There's the history of a young heartblighted--of a crushed affection! I am not aware if there is any moralin it; if there is, you are very welcome to it, I am sure. You mightlook a little more sympathizing, though, even if I _have_ bored you. "

Flora tried to look grave, but the dancing light in her rebellious eyesbetrayed her, even before her merry musical laugh broke in. 

"It is far the most touching thing I ever heard. Poor child, how youmust have suffered! I wonder you ever smiled again. How well she sings, does she not? when she does not try to go too high. "

"Don't be severe, " Guy retorted; "you may have to sing yourself someday. You prefer talking, though? Well, with a well-managed _contralto_, it comes nearly to the same thing, and I suppose you consider the worldin general is not worthy of it?"

Almost imperceptibly, but very meaningly, her glance turned to where Isat close beside her. 

"How absurd! you know why I don't sing often. To-night it would be--toocruel. (Flora's idea of modest merit was peculiar. ) Now tell me, whatare you going to ride to-morrow? We shall all go and see them throwoff. "

Without answering her question, he leaned over her, and said somethingtoo low for me to hear, which made her color brighten. 

From a distant corner two ancient virgins, long past "mark of mouth, "surveyed the proceedings with faces like moulds of lemon-ice. Floraglanced toward them this time, and said demurely, making a gesture ofcrossing her arms a _à la Napoléon I. _, "Take care; from the summit ofyonder sofa forty ages behold you. "

The caution was a challenge; and so her hearer interpreted it as he sankdown beside her. 

I seemed to be lapsing rapidly into the terrible _third_ that spoilssport, so I left them; but not all the adjurations of Godfrey Parndoninvoking his favorite antagonist to the whist-table could draw Guy fromhis post again that evening. 

I know men who would have given five years of life for the whisper thatglided into his ear as he gave Miss Bellasys her candle on retiring, tenfor the Parthian glance that shot its arrow home. 

CHAPTER IX. 

 "I know the purple vestment; I know the crest of flame; So ever _rides_ Mamilius, Prince of the Latian name. "

The next was a perfect hunting morning; a light breeze, steady from thesouthwest, and not too much sun; the very day when a scent, in and outof cover, would be a certainty, if there were any calculation on thiscontingency. Let us do our sisters justice--there is _one_ thing innature more uncertain and capricious than the whims of womankind. 

The hounds had come up with their usual train of officials, and of thosesteady-going sportsmen who love the pack better than their own children, and can call each individual in it by his name. Godfrey Parndon wasdoing the civil to the "great men in Israel, " his heaviest subscribers;pinks were gleaming in every direction through the clumps and belts ofplantation, as the men came up at a hard gallop on their cover-hacks, oropened the pipes of their hunters by a stretch over the turf of thepark. 

On the hall steps stood Flora Bellasys--Penthesilea in a wide-awake andplume; a dozen men were round her, striving emulously for a word or asmile, and she held her own gallantly with them all. She was waitingpatiently till Guy had lighted an obstinate cigar, and was ready tomount her. He understood putting her up better than any one else, shesaid. Perhaps he did; but, though he swung her into the saddle with onewave of his mighty arm as lightly as Lochinvar could have done, thearrangement of the skirt and stirrup seemed a problem hardly to besolved. 

If there was any truth in the old Courland superstition that the displayof a lady's ankle to the hunters before they started brought them luck, we ought to have had the run of the season that day. 

He rode by her side, too, as near as the plunges of the chestnut wouldallow, till we reached the gorse that we were to draw; once there, thestronger passion prevailed. Aphroditè hid her face, and the greatgoddess Artemis claimed her own. As the first hound whimpered, he drewoff toward a corner, where a big fence would give a chance of shakingoff the crowd, and I do not think he turned his head till the fox wentaway. 

The last thing I remember there was the anxious look in two beautifulhazel eyes as they gazed after the Axeine, charging his second fencewith the rush of an express train. 

The _fétiche_ did not fail us; we had a wonderful run, of which onlyfive men saw the end. I confess, the second brook stopped me and manyothers. Forrester got over with a fall; but they were preparing to breakup the fox, when he came up first of the second flight. 

Guy came home in great spirits; he had been admirably carried. He andthe first whip, a ten-stone man, were head and head at the last fence, while the hounds were rolling over their fox, a hundred yards farther, in the open. 

After dinner he amused himself with teasing his cousin. At last heasked her if she would lend him Bella Donna to hack to cover, as his ownfavorite was rather lame. 

Miss Raymond's indignation was superb; for, be it known, she was prouderof the said animal than of any thing else in the world. 

She (the mare, not the lady) was a bright bay, with black points, quitethorough-bred, and as handsome as a picture. Livingstone had bought herout of a training-stable, and had given her to his cousin, after havingbroken her into a perfect light-weight hunter. 

One of the few extravagances in which Mr. Raymond indulged his daughterwas allowing her to take Bella Donna wherever she went. 

"Don't excite yourself, you small Amazon!" replied Guy to her indignantrefusal. "How you do believe in that mare! I wonder you don't put herinto some of the great Spring Handicaps! You would get her in light, andmight win enough to keep you in gloves for half a century. "

"Well, I don't know, " Forester's slow, languid voice suggested; "I thinkshe's faster, for three miles, than any thing in your stable. I shouldlike to run the best you have for £50, weight for inches. "

"I am not surprised at your supporting Bella's opinion, " said Guy, witha shade of sarcasm in his voice, "but I did not expect you would backit. Come, I'll make this match, if you like; you shall ridecatch-weight, which will be about 11 st. 7 lb. , and I'll ride the Axeineat 14 st. 7 lb. : I must take a 7 lb. Saddle to do that. They are both inhard condition, so it can come off in ten days; and I'll give thefarmers a cup to run for at the same time. Is it a match?"

"Certainly, if Miss Raymond will trust me with Bella Donna. "

Isabel's eyes sparkled--so brilliantly! as she answered, "I should likeit, of all things. "

"Now, Puss, " Guy went on, "you ought to have something on it. There is acertain set of turquoises and pearls that I meant to give you wheneveryou had been good for three weeks consecutively; it is no use waitingfor such a miracle, so I'll bet you these against that sapphire anddiamond ring you have taken to wearing lately. "

His cousin looked distressed and confused. "Any thing else, Guy, " shesaid. "I can not risk that; it was a present from--from Mrs. Molyneux. "

"I don't think, " Charley suggested, very quietly, "Mrs. --Molyneux, wasit not?--could object to your investing her present on such a certainty. I really believe we shall bring it off; and if not--" He checked himselfwith a smile. 

"Oh, if you think so, " answered Isabel, blushing more than ever, "I willventure my ring. But you _must_ win; I don't know what I should do if Ilost it. " So it was settled. 

"You seem confident, " I remarked to Livingstone, later in the evening. Iremember the peculiar expression of his face, though I did not thenunderstand it, as he answered gravely, "Bella ought to be; for--she has laid long odds. "

There was great excitement in the neighborhood when the match, and thefarmers' race to follow, became known. Half the county was assembled onthe appointed morning, an off-day with the Pytchley. Godfrey Parndon wasjudge, and had picked the ground--a figure of 8, with 17 fences, largebut fair for the most part; the horses were to traverse it twice, missing the brook (16 feet of clear water) the second time. 

I wish they were not getting so rare, those purely country meetings, where three wagons with an awning make the grant stand; where there areno ring-men to force the betting and deafen you with their blatantproffers--"to lay agin any thing in the race;" where the bold yeomen, infull confidence that their favorite will not be "roped, " back theiropinions manfully for crowns. 

Livingstone's great local renown, and the reputation of the Axeine forstrength and speed (though no one knew how fast he _could_ go), made thebetting 5 to 4 on him; but takers were not wanting, calculating on thehorse's truly Satanic temper. Miss Bellasys, who, with her mother, hadarrived at Kerton the night before, laid half a point more--_not_ ingloves--on the heavy-weight. 

The bell for saddling rang, and the horses came out. The mare strippedbeautifully, as fine as a star--no wonder her mistress was proud of her;and I think she had, to the full, as many admirers as the Axeine. 

The latter was a dark chestnut with a white fetlock, standing full 16hands (while the mare scarcely topped 15), well ribbed up, with a goodsloping shoulder, immense flat hocks, and sinewy thighs; his crest andforehand were like a stallion's; and, when you looked at his quarters, it was easy to believe what the Revesby stablemen said, "They couldshoot a man into the next county. "

He was "orkarder than usual that morning, " the groom remarked; perhapshe did not fancy the crowd without the hounds, for he kept lashing outperpetually, with vicious backward glances from his red eyes. 

Then the riders showed: Livingstone in his own colors, purple andscarlet cap, workmanlike and weather-stained; Forrester in the freshglories of light blue with white sleeves, his cap quartered with thesame. 

Charley lingered a minute by Miss Raymond's side, taking her lastinstructions, I suppose. She looked very nervous and pale, her jockeypleasantly languid as ever. 

The instant the chestnut was mounted he reared, and indulged in two orthree "buck-jumps" that would have made a weaker man tremble for hisback-bone, and then kicked furiously; but Guy seemed to take it all as amatter of course, sitting square and erect; all he did was to drive thesharp rowels in repeatedly, bringing a dark blood-spot out with eachstroke. It was not by love certainly that he ruled the Axeine. Then camethe preliminary gallops, the mare going easily on her bit, gliding overthe ground smoothly and springily; the horse shaking his head, and everynow and then tearing madly at the reins, without being able to gain ahair's breadth on the iron hands that never moved from his withers. 

"They're off!" Guy taking the lead; well over the first two fences, fairhunting ones; the third is a teaser--an ugly black bulfinch, with aditch on the landing side, and a drop into a plowed field. Thechestnut's devil is thoroughly roused by this time. When within sixtyyards of the fence, he puts on a rush that even his rider's mightymuscles can not check: his impetus would send him through a castle wall;but he hardly rises at the leap, taking it, too, where there is anetwork of growers--a crash that might be heard in the grand stand--andhorse and man are rolling in the field beyond. 

Flora Bellasys strikes her foot angrily with her riding-whip, and turnsvery pale. 

Ten lengths behind, the mare comes up, well in hand, and slips throughthe bulfinch without a mistake--hardly with an effort--just at the onlyplace where you can see daylight through the blackthorn. 

What is Guy doing? Even in that thundering fall he has never let thereins go. Horse and rider struggle up together. A dozen arms are readyto lift him into the saddle, and a cheery voice says in his ear, "Holdup, squire; keep him a going, and you'll catch the captain yet!" Hehardly hears the words though, for his head is whirling, and he feelsstrangely sick and faint; but before he has gone a hundred yards hisface has settled into its habitual resolute calmness, only there is athin thread of blood creeping from under his cap, and his brow is bentand lowering. 

A fall, which would have taken the fight out of most horses, has onlysteadied the Axeine; and, as we watch him striding through the deepground, casting the dirt behind him like a catapult we think and say, "The race is not over yet. "

They are over the brook without a scramble. Forrester still leads, riding patiently and well. He knows better than to force the running, even with the difference in weight, for the going is too heavy quite tosuit his mare. 

As Livingstone passed the spot where Miss Raymond was stationed, heturned half round in his saddle, and looked curiously in her face. Shedid not even know he was near. All her soul was in her eyes, that weregazing after Forrester with an anxiety so disproportioned to theoccasion that her cousin fairly started. 

"Poor child, " he said to himself, all his angry feelings changing, "sheseems to have set her heart so upon winning, it would be sad if she weredisappointed. No one has much on it; shall I try 'Captain Armstrong' foronce? It would make her very happy. Bar accidents, I must win. They donot know that the chestnut has not extended himself yet. "

We lose sight of the horses for a little. When we see them a gain, themare has decidedly gained ground; and, to our astonishment, the Axeineswerves, and refuses at rather an easy fence. 

Miss Bellasys' cheek flushes this time. She goes off at a sharp canterthrough a gate that takes her into a field where the horses must passher close; several of her attendants follow. Charley comes up, lookingrather more excited and happy than usual. He has made the pace betterfor the last half mile, and still seems going at his ease. More than adistance behind is the chestnut, evidently on bad terms with his jockey;he is in a white lather of foam, and changes his leg twice as heapproaches. Guy has his face turned slightly aside as he nears the spotwhere Miss Bellasys waits for him, in the midst of her body-guard. Forthe first time since the race began, her voice was heard, cutting theair with its clear mocking tones, like the edge of a Damascus sabre, "The chestnut wins--hard held!"

Guy's kindly impulses vanished instantly before the sarcasm latent inthose last two words. He could sacrifice his own victory and the hopesof his backers, but he would not give a chance to Flora's mercilesstongue. We saw him change his hold on the reins, and, with a shake and afierce thrust of the spurs, he set the Axeine fairly going. 

Every man on the ground, including his late owner [who hated himselfbitterly at that moment for parting with him], was taken by surprise bythe extraordinary speed the horse displayed. He raced up to Bella Donnajust before the last fence, at which she hangs ever so little, while hetakes it in his swing, covering good nine yards from hoof to hoof. Nothing but hurdles now between them and home. The down-hill run-infavors his vast stride. A thousand voices echo Flora's words, "Thechestnut wins!" Charley made his effort exactly at the right time, andthe brave little mare answered gallantly; but it was not to be. He shookhis head, and never touched her with whip or spur again. 

The race was over. No one disputed the judge's fiat: "The Axeine by sixlengths. "

Up to the skies went the hats and the shouts of the sturdy yeomen, who"know'd he couldn't be beat, " exulting in the success of theirfavorite. Round winner and loser crowded their friends, congratulatingthe one, condoling with the other, praising both for their riding. Atthat moment I do not think any one except myself remarked IsabelRaymond, who sat somewhat apart, her tears falling fast under her veilas she looked upon her lost ring. 

Just then Forrester rode up. "Woe to the vanquished!" he said. "All islost but honor. Will you say something kind to me after my defeat, MissRaymond? You will find your pet not punished in the least, and without ascratch on her. "

Without answering, she held out her hand. As he bent over it, andwhispered, what I could not hear, I saw her eyes sparkle, and a happyconsciousness flush her cheeks, till they glowed like a sky at sunsetwhen a storm is passing away in the west. Then I knew that he had won aricher prize than ever was set on a race since the first GreatMetropolitan was run for at Olympia. 

Livingstone had washed away the traces of his fall (his wound was only acut under the hair, above the temple), and was going to get the horsesin line to start them for the farmers' cup. As he passed Miss Bellasyshe checked his horse for an instant, and said, very coldly, "You are satisfied, I trust?"

"All's well that ends well, " answered Flora; "but I began to tremble formy bets. I thought you were waiting too long. "

Guy did not wish to pursue the subject apparently, for he rode onwithout reply. Flora made no attempt to detain him. She had studied thesigns of the times in his countenance long enough to be weather-wise, and to know that the better part of valor was advisable when thequicksilver had sunk to Stormy. 

The cup was a great success. Eleven started, and three made a mostartistic finish--scarcely a length between first and third. The farmersof the present day ride very differently from their ancestors of fiftyyears ago, whose highest ambition was to pound along after the slow, sure "currant-jelly dogs. "

Go down into the Vale of Belvoir; watch one of the duke's tenantshanding a five-year old over the Smite, and say if the modernagriculturists might not boast with Tydides, _"hêmeis dê paterôn meg' ameinones euchometh' einai. "_

They are getting so erudite, too, that I dare say they would quote it inthe original. 

When all was over, and they were returning to Kerton, Guy ranged up tohis cousin's side. He looked rather embarrassed and penitent--anexpression which sat upon his stern, resolute face very strangely. ButIsabel was radiant with happiness, and did not even sigh as she held outthe forfeited ring. He put it back with a decided gesture of his hand, and, leaning over her, whispered something in her ear. I don't know howthey arranged it; but Miss Raymond wore the turquoises at the nextcounty ball--the ring, to her dying day. 

CHAPTER X. 

 "Souvent femme varie; Bien fol est, qui s'y fie. "

We sat by the firelight in the old library of Kerton Manor. The drearyJanuary evening was closing in, with a sharp sleet lashing the windowsand rattling on their diamond panes, but the gleams from the greatburning logs lighted up the dark crimson cushions of Utrecht and thepolished walnut panels so changefully and enticingly that no one had theheart to think of candles. 

All the younger members of the party were assembled there, with Mrs. Bellasys to play propriety. It was her mission to be chaperon inordinary to her daughter and her daughter's friends, and she wentthrough with it, admirable in her patient self-denial. May they bereckoned to her credit hereafter--those long hours, when she sat sleepy, weary, uncomplaining, with an aching head but a stereotyped smile. 

Let us speak gently of these maternal martyrs, manoeuvring though theybe. If they have erred, they have suffered. I knew once a lady with alot of six, nubile, but not attractive, all with a decided bias towardTerpsichore and Hymen. Fancy what she must have endured, with thoseplain young women round her, always clamoring for partners, temporary orpermanent, like fledglings in a nest for food. Clever and unscrupulousas she was--they called her the "judicious Hooker"--she must have beenconscious of her utter inability to satisfy them. She knew, too, thatif, by any dispensation, one were removed, five daughters of thehorse-leech would still remain, with ravenous appetites unappeased. Yetthe poor old bird was cheerful, and sometimes, after supper, would chirpquite merrily. _Honneur au courage malheureux. _ Let us stand aside inthe cloak-room, and salute her as she passes out with all the honors ofwar. 

Mrs. Bellasys was a little woman, who always reminded me of a certaintropical monkey--name unknown. She wore her hair bushily on each side ofher small face, just like the said intelligent animal, and had the sameeager, rather frightened way of glancing out of her beady black eyes, accompanied by a quick turning of the head when addressed. She had herfull share of troubles in her time, but she took them allcontentedly--not to say complacently--as part of the day's work. Herhusband was not a model of fidelity, nor, indeed, of any of the conjugalor cardinal virtues. He was a sort of Maëlstrom, into which fairfortunes and names were sucked down, only emerging in unrecognizablefragments. His own would have gone too, doubtless; but he had been luckyat play for a long time--too constantly so, some said--and a pistolbullet cut him short before he had half spent his wife's money, so thatshe was left comfortably off, and her daughter was a fair averageheiress. She had long ago abdicated the government in favor of Flora, who treated her well on the whole, _en bonne princesse_. 

It is an invariable rule that, if there is a delicate subject which wedetermine beforehand to avoid, this particular one is sureimperceptibly to creep into the conversation. 

Mr. Bruce was to arrive before dinner, an event which we guessed wouldnot add materially to the comfort of two of our party (how silent thosetwo were in their remote corner where the firelight never came), so ofcourse we found ourselves talking of ill-assorted marriages. 

"You count _mésalliances_ among such?" Guy asked, at length. "Yes, youare right; but I know a case where 'a man's being balked in hisintention to degrade himself' ruined him for life. Ralph Mohun told meof it. It was a nine-days' wonder in Vienna soon after he joined theImperial Cuirassiers. A Bohemian count flourished there then--a greatfavorite with every one, for he was frank and generous, like most boyswell-born and of great possessions, who have only seen things in generalon the sunny side. While down at his castle for the shooting, he fell inlove with the daughter of one of his foresters. The man was a dull, brutal cur, and, when drunk, especially savage. His daughter was rarelybeautiful; at all events, the count, a good judge, thought her peerless. 

"He meant fairly by the girl from the first, and promised her marriage, actually intending to keep his word. Still there were arrangements to bemade before he could introduce such a novel element into blood that forcenturies had been pure as the _sangue azzura_. He went up to Vienna forthat purpose, leaving his design a profound secret to all hisdependents. If these thought about it at all, they probably believedtheir master's intentions to be--like Dick Harcourt's toward the Irishlady--'strictly dishonorable. '

"One night during his absence shrieks came from the cottage where theforester lived alone with his daughter. Those who heard them made haste;but it was a desolate spot, far from any other dwelling, and they cametoo late. 

"They found the girl lying in her blood, not a feature of her prettyface recognizable. Near her were the butt of a gun shivered, and herfather senselessly drunk. He had evidently finished the bottle afterbeating her to death. 

"Whether it was merely an outbreak of his stupid ferocity, or if she hadexasperated him by her threats and taunts, for she was of a haughtyspirit, poor child! and perhaps rather elevated by the thought of thecoming coronet, will never be known. The murderer was in no state tomake a confession, and he remained obstinately silent in prison till hislord's return. "

"How very horrible!" Mrs. Bellasys cried out, shuddering; "was not thecount very angry?"

"Well, he _was_ rather vexed, " replied Guy, coolly. "They are highjusticiaries on their own lands, those great Bohemian barons, and so hegave the forester a fair trial. It was soon over; the man deniednothing, only whining out, in excuse, that he thought his daughter wasdishonored. The shadow of death was closing round him, and he was nearlymad with fear. 

"The old steward saw a strange sort of smile twist his master's white, quivering lips when he heard this, but he never said a word. I imaginehe thought to reveal his purpose now that it was crushed too great asacrifice even to clear the dead girl's fair fame; perhaps, though, hecould not trust his voice, for he did not announce the sentence inwords, but wrote it down: his hand shook very much, and it never carrieda full glass unspilled to his mouth again. 

"The court broke up at midday, and the man went straight, unconfessed, to the place of his punishment. They tied him to the tree nearest hisown door, and the count sat by while he howled his life out under thelash. He was hardly dead by sundown. "

"It was revenge, not justice, " Mrs. Bellasys said, more firmly than washer wont. I saw the quick, impatient movement of her daughter's littlefoot; she did not appreciate her mother's moralities. 

The answer came in the deepest of Livingstone's deep, stern tones. 

"He was no saint, but a man, and a very miserable one; he actedaccording to his light, and in his despair caught at the weapon that wasnearest to his hand. After all, the blood of a base, brutal hound, takeit in what fashion you will, is a poor compensation for one life cutshort in agony, and another blasted utterly. 

"Mohun knew the count's family. Some of them, maiden aunts I suppose, were devotees of the first order: these came in person, or sent theirpet priests, to argue with him on his unchristian habits of sullensolitude. The men of his old set came too, to laugh him out of thehorrors. Saint and sinner got the same answer--a shake of the head, acurse, a threat if he were not left alone, growled out between deepdraughts of strong Moldavian wine. They went, and were wise; for hispistols lay always beside him--in case his servants offended him, or ifhe should take a sudden fancy to suicide--and the shaking finger couldhave pulled a trigger still. 

"After a little he left Vienna, shut himself up in his castle, and wouldsee no one. 

"In England they would have tried at the '_de lunatico_' statute; buthis next of kin left him in peace, biding their time as patiently asthey could. They had not to wait long; in four years a good constitutionbroke up, suddenly at last, and the count exchanged stupor for a sleepwith his fathers, without benefit of clergy. Perhaps they would not havegiven him absolution, for he died certainly not in charity with allmen. "

"I don't know, " Mrs. Bellasys objected, with a timid obstinacy; "I cannot argue with you; but I am sure it was very wrong. "

I struck in to the meek little woman's rescue. 

"That's right, Mrs. Bellasys, don't let him put you down with the highhand; it's always his way when truth is against him; but I never knewhim break down a stubborn fact yet. "

Guy turned upon me directly. 

"Frank, I have often remarked in you, with pain, quite a femininepropensity to theorize. Women _will_ do it. My dear Mrs. Bellasys, don'tlook so dreadfully like an accusing angel about to bring me to book; youknow I am a hopeless heretic. They get up a sort of _Memoria Technica_in early youth, and it clings to them all their life through. If they goastray, they never cease proclaiming aloud that 'they know it's verywrong;' though eminently unpractical, they think it due to themselves topet certain abstract truths (circumstances don't affect them in theleast), like that priestess of Cotytto, who said to the magistrate, through her tears, 'I may have been unfortunate, but I've always beenrespectable!' Sometimes principle gets the pull over passion, but, insuch a case, regrets come as often afterward as remorse does in thereverse. I was reading a French story the other day--" He checkedhimself with a laugh. "Bah! I am in the prosaic vein, it seems, anecdoting like the old knave of clubs. "

"Will you go on?" Flora said, leaning over toward him, her eyesglittering in the firelight. 

The thrill in her voice--strangely contagious it was--told how much shewas interested. I do not wonder at it. There was only one man on earthfor whom she had ever really cared--he sat beside her then--and, Ibelieve, what attracted her most in him was the daring disregard ofopinions, conventionalities, and more sacred things yet, which carriedhim on straight to the accomplishment of his thought or purpose. Inthose days, if either were an obstacle, he flinched no more before agreat moral law than at a big fence. 

"Well, " Guy went on, "it is the simple history of Fernande, an _angedéchue_ of the Quartier Brèda. She had formed a connection with a manwho suited her perfectly in every way, and they went on in happyimmorality, till she found out that Maurice had a wife somewhere, a verycharming person, who loved him dearly; perhaps she thought that thepossession of two such affections by one man was _de luxe_; at allevents, she cut him at once, refusing consistently to see him again. Maurice, after trying all other means to move her in vain, resorted tothe expedient of a brain fever. When his wife and mother saw him verynear his end, they sent for Fernande as a last resource. They ought tohave preferred death to dishonor, of course; but, my dear Mrs. Bellasys, they were not strong-minded. What would you have? There are women andwomen. 

"She came and nursed him faithfully; when he got better, though stillvery weak, she took advantage of his unprotected position to inflict onhim the longest lectures, replete with good sense and good feeling, asto his conjugal duties, proprieties, and so forth. He gave in at last, on the principle of 'any thing for a quiet life, ' and promised to behavehimself like a decent head of a family. When the balance of power wasthoroughly re-established, she left him, first entreating him, when hefound himself really in love with his wife, and happy, to write and tellher so. This was to be her reward, you know. The others went to Italy, Fernande to a place she had in Brittany, where she put herself on astrict _régime_ of penitence, attending matins regularly, and doing asmuch good in her neighborhood as Lady Bountiful, or--my mother. In abouta twelvemonth the letter came; Maurice was devoted to his wife, andgreat on the point of domestic felicity. Then Fernande went into heroratory and prayed. What do you think was the substance of her prayer?"

"That she might go mad or die, " was the quick answer: it came from FloraBellasys. 

"How good of you, " Guy said, "to let me finish that long story, when youknew it by heart. "

I think no ear but his and mine caught the whisper--"I never read orheard of it till now. "

He bent his head in assent, as if the intelligence did not surprise himmuch, and then spoke suddenly, "Charley, will you make an observation? You have been displaying thatincontestable talent of yours for silence long enough. "

Very seldom was Forrester taken by surprise, but this time his reply wasnot ready. There was an embarrassing pause, broken by a _Deus exmachinâ_, --the butler announcing that Mr. Bruce had arrived, and was inthe drawing-room. 

CHAPTER XI. 

 "And now thou knowest thy father's will, All that thy sex hath need to know: 'Twas mine to teach obedience still-- The way to love thy lord may show. "

From that dark distant corner I heard a sigh, ending in a nervouscatching of the breath, and then a muttered word unpleasantly like anoath, as Forrester sprang to his feet. 

Livingstone rose slowly. 

"I'll go and receive him. Let Mr. Raymond know, Wise. I suppose he willnot care to see any one else before dressing-time; it must be near thatnow. "

As he passed his cousin, he whispered something inaudible to us; and Isaw his heavy hand fall on Charley's shoulder, crushing him down againlike a child. 

Then Flora went to Miss Raymond, and asked her, with more kindness inher manner than usual, to come to her rooms for some tea; they alwaysseriously inclined to the consumption of that cheerful herb about thishour. Isabel clung to her companion as they went out with a meekhelplessness which was sad to see. 

Charley had vanished before them. After that first involuntary movementhe had become _nonchalant_ as ever, so I remained alone to ruminate. Iconfess, after some thought, I was still in the dark as to where thingswould end. 

The meeting had been got over somehow, for, when I came down beforedinner, Bruce was sitting on a sofa by Miss Raymond's side. 

Why does a man in such a position invariably look as if he were on thestool of repentance, expiating some misdeed of unutterable shame? He hassat by the same woman before, when it was only a strong flirtation; moreeyes, curious and spiteful, were upon him then, and he met them withperfect self-possession. Now that he is in his right, why does he lookblushingly uneasy, as if he would call on the curtains to hide him, andthe cushions to cover him? Have any mortals existed so good, or great, or wise, as to be exempt from that dreadful poll-tax levied on all malesunprivileged to woo by proxy--the necessity of looking ridiculous fromthe moment their engagement is announced to that when they leave thechurch as Benedicts? I should like to have watched Burke, or Herschel, or the Iron Duke, or _any_ Archbishop of Canterbury, through the ordealof a recognized courtship. Would the dignity of the statesman, the sage, the soldier, or the saint have been sustained? I trow not. 

In truth, it is a sight full of sad warning, that ever-recurringspectacle of an engaged man (the lady is always provokingly at her ease)in general society. His friends turn away in compassion and charity; thegirls, whom he ought to have married and--didn't, look on, exchangingsmiles with their mothers; it is their hour of savage triumph. TheFrench manage things more comfortably, I think. The promessi sposi meetso seldom before the contract is signed--between sentence and executionthe time is so brief that there is little space for intermediateterrors. 

Nature had not been bountiful to Mr. Bruce in externals. He was verytall, with round shoulders, long, lean limbs, large feet and hands, andimmense joints. There was a good deal of strength about him, but itwanted concentration and arrangement. His features were ratherexaggerated and coarse in outline, with the high cheek-bones common onthe north side of the Tweed; his hair of an unhappy vacillating colorthat could not make its mind up to be red; and his eyes, that rarely metyou fairly, of a light cold gray. About the mouth, in particular, therewas a very unpleasant expression, alternately vicious and cunning. 

I do not believe that his intimates, if he had any, in their wildestmoments of conviviality, ever called him "Jack;" nor his mother, in hisearliest childhood, "Johnnie. " Plain "John Bruce" was writtenuncompromisingly in every line of his face; just the converse ofForrester, whom old maids of rigid virtue, after seeing him twice, wereirresistibly impelled to speak of as "Charley. "

I wish some profound psychologist would give us his theory on thequestion of "The influence of nomenclature on disposition and destiny. "It is all very well to ask, "What's in a name?" I think there is a greatdeal; and that our sponsors have much to answer for in indulging theirbaptismal fancies. Not to go into the subject (which some have alreadydone without exhausting it), have you not remarked that Georgiana isalways pretty and slightly sarcastic; that Isabella has large, soft, lustrous eyes--generally they are dark; that Fanny invariably flirts;and that Kate is decided in character, if not haughty?

Tragedy and comedy both are forced to observe these nominalproprieties. Who was it that illuminated his house, and had the churchbells rung, on finding a name for his hero? We should never havebelieved in Iago's treacheries if he had appeared before us as simple"James. "

The new arrival seemed to have chilled us all into stupidity. Dinnerlanguished; and afterward, Guy, after trying at first to be laboriouslycivil--the sense of duty was painfully evident--lapsed into silence, passing the claret rather faster than usual, so that Mr. Raymond, to hisintense disgust, had to make an effort and force the conversation. 

When we entered, Isabel was nestling under Miss Bellasys' wing, fromwhich shelter she had to emerge at Bruce's request for some music. Shewent directly, and played several pieces that he asked for straightthrough, while he stood gravely behind her with a complacent air ofproprietorship which was inexpressibly aggravating. 

When her task was done she went back to her sofa again; there she wassafe, for all Bruce's devotion to his ladye-love and stubbornness ofcharacter could not give him courage enough to affront, at closequarters, the mingled dislike and scornful humor that played roundFlora's lips, and gleamed in her eyes like summer lightning. He had toretreat upon Lady Catharine, who, thinking him hardly used, in herinextinguishable charity exerted herself to entertain him. 

We were all glad when that first evening was over, and we got into thesmoking-room, whither Mr. Bruce was not entreated to follow. It wasalways an augury of foul weather in Livingstone's temper when, insteadof the decent evening cigar, he smoked the short black _brule-gueule_, loaded to the muzzle with cavendish. He sat thus for some minutes, rolling out stormy puffs from under his mustache, and then broke out, "I haven't an idea what to do with him" (there was no need to name theobject of his thoughts); "I made up my mind to risk a horse or two, for, of course, he would have broken their knees; but when I offered him amount, he thanked me and said, 'He didn't hunt. ' It would have got himaway from home, at all events. Poor Bella! how heavy on hand she _will_find him. "

"Ah! and he might have come to a timely end over timber; Providence doesinterfere so benevolently sometimes. " This was Forrester's piousreflection. 

"Well, that's over, " Guy went on. "He must shoot, though; every oneshoots, or thinks he does. We have all the pheasants to kill yet(by-the-by, Fallowfield comes over on Thursday for the Home Wood); thatwill keep him employed for some time; but it's only putting off the evilday. My match-making aunt, of blessed memory, how much she has to answerfor! I hate to think of Bella's _mignonne_ face alongside of thatflinty-cheeked Scotchman's. "

"Don't be angry, Guy, " suggested Charley, with some diffidence; "but, ifit's not an impertinent question, do you think he ever tries to kissyour cousin?"

"I never thought of that, " replied Livingstone, not without an oath;"there's another pleasant reflection. No, I should think not. He _is_ceremonious, to give the devil his due. I'll find out to-morrow, though, without making Bella blush. Miss Bellasys is sure to know. I saw themexchanging confidences all this evening, and I am certain there wereinstigations to rebellion. Flora would delight in an _émeute_; she's aperfect Red Republican, that girl. "

"The opposition seems organizing, " I remarked; "ministers will findthemselves soon, I fear, without a working majority. "

"Not unlikely, " said Guy, filling another pipe; "but they won't resign. Some men never know when they are beaten. Well, he who lives will see. If this wind lasts, we shall have a cracker from Lilbourne to-morrow. You ride the young one, don't you, Charley?"

CHAPTER XII. 

 "A life whose waste Ravaged each bloom by which its path was traced, Sporting at will, and moulding sport to art, With what sad holiness--the human heart. "

It is a bright, crisp morning, and there is a gathering round the halldoor of Kerton Manor. 

To the right is Sir Henry Fallowfield, already established on the broadtack of his shooting pony, an invaluable animal, that can leap or creepwherever a man can go, and steady under fire as old Copenhagen. Thebaronet is very gouty. The whip made out of his favorite vices cuts himup sharply at times, and he does not like it alluded to. I never saw himlook so savage at Guy as when the latter quoted, _"Raro antecedentemscelestum Deseruit pede poena claudo. "_ Of course, he can not walkmuch; but, placed in a ride, or at the corner of a cover, he rolls overthe hares and pulls down the pheasants unerringly as ever; when you comeup, you will find him surrounded by a semicircle of slain, and not arunner among them. 

The battle of life has left its tokens on the face of the strong, skillful Protagonist. The features, once so finely cut, are somewhatfull and bloated now; but it is a magnificent ruin, and there are tracesyet of "the handsomest man of his day. " Very expressive are his glancesstill; a little too much so, some people think, when he is criticising afigure or a face; but, to do him justice, _gourmandise_ is his petweakness now, a comparatively harmless one; and a delicate _entremet_will bring the light into his eyes that only war or love could do in theold days. 

By Sir Henry's side, encouraging him with great prophecies of sport, stands Mallett, the head-keeper. What a contrast his fresh, honest facemakes with the veteran _roué's_! He is the elder of the two by a goodten years, and there is scarcely a wrinkle on his ruddy cheeks andsmooth forehead. Wind and weather have used him with a rough kindness, and his foot is almost as light, his hand quite as heavy, as when heentered the service of Guy's grandfather half a century ago. Forgenerations his family have been devoted to the preservation of game;his six stalwart sons are all eminent in that line; and the "Kertonbreed" of keepers is renowned throughout the Midland shires. He is aprime favorite with the village children and their mothers, for, in allrespects save one, his heart is as soft as a woman's; to poachers it isas the nether millstone. There is the stain of a "justifiable homicide"on the old man's hands--the blood of an antagonist slain in fair fight, in those rough times when the forest was, and marauders came out byscores to strike its deer. I do not think the deed has weighed heavilyon his conscience (though he never has spoken of it since), or troubledhis healthy, honest slumbers. 

To the left is Guy, repressing the attentions of four couple of strongred and white spaniels, but _not_ those of Miss Bellasys, who, standingat the oriel window of the library, is good-natured enough to fasten theband of his wide-awake for him, which has come undone. As he standswith his towering head a little bent, murmuring the "more last words, "Sir Henry, contemplating the picture with much satisfaction, smacks hislips, and suggests "Omphale. "

Last of all, Mr. Raymond comes slowly down the staircase, followed byhis son-in-law that is to be. Forrester and I have been ready long ago, so we start. 

Bruce did shoot, certainly, if discharging his gun on the slightestprovocation constituted the fact; but he shot curiously ill. Indeed, hemight have formed a pendant to that humane sportsman who, having takento rural sports _sero sed serio_, said, in extreme old age, "that it wasa satisfaction to him to reflect that he could not charge himself withhaving been, wittingly, the death of more than a dozen of hisfellow-creatures. "

It was a problem whereon Mallett ruminated gravely longafterward--"Wherever Mr. Bruce's shot do go to?" He could not conceiveso much lead being dispersed in the atmosphere without a more adequateresult. This want of dexterity, too, was thrown into strong relief thatday; for all the other men, putting myself out of the question, wererare masters of the art. 

Livingstone headed the list, though Fallowfield ran him hard. He got themost shots, indeed; for his knowledge of the woods and great strengthenabled him always to keep close to the spaniels. He was a sight tomarvel at, as he went crashing through bramble and blackthorn with along even stride, just as if he had been walking through light springs. 

At the end of the day we were all assembled outside the cover, where thegame was being counted, except Bruce, who was still in the wood. A strayshot every now and then gave notice of his approach. 

 "We heard but the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing, "

Guy quoted, laughing. 

"Random! you may say that, " remarked Fallowfield. "That man ought to bein a glass case, and ticketed; he's a natural curiosity. His bag to-dayconsists of one hare, one hen, and one--sex unknown, for no one saw itrise or tried to pick it up; it was blown into a cloud of featherswithin six feet of his muzzle. Here he comes; don't ask him what he'sdone--it's cruelty. "

Bruce came up to us, looking rather more discontented than usual, butnot nearly so savage as the keeper who had attended him all day, whoimmediately retreated among his fellows to relieve himself, by manyoaths, of his suppressed disgust and scorn. They offered him beer, butit was no use. I heard him growl out, "That there muff's enough to spileone's taste for a fortnit. "

It was the hour of the wood-pigeons coming in to roost, and several werewheeling over our heads at a considerable height. 

"There's something for you to empty your gun at, Bruce, " Sir. Raymondsaid, pointing to one that came rather nearer than the rest. 

He was leveling, when Forrester cried out, "Five-and-twenty to five onthe bird!"

"Done!" answered Bruce, as he pulled the trigger. It was a long and notvery easy shot, but the pigeon came whirling down through the trancheswith a broken pinion. 

"You are unlucky in your selection, Captain Forrester, " the successfulshot remarked, coolly. "You might have won a heavy stake by laying thesame odds all day. "

"It serves you right, " interposed Guy, "for speaking to a man on hisshot. Don't you remember quarreling with me the other day for doing so, Charley?"

Charley's face of perplexity and disgust was irresistible. We alllaughed. "What a _guignon_ I have, " he said. "Mr. Raymond, I believe youwere in the robbery. "

"Not I, " was the answer. "I was as much surprised as any one. I think, "he went on, lowering his tone, "Guy is right; he changed his aim, as youspoke, involuntarily, or he _must_ have missed. "

Then we turned homeward through the twilight. 

I do not know if the reminiscence of his lost "pony" was rankling inForrester's mind, or if he was only affected by the presence of SirHenry Fallowfield--an immoral Upas, under whose shadow the mostflourishing of good resolutions were apt to wither and die; butcertainly, after dinner, he broke through the cautious reserve which hehad always in public maintained toward Miss Raymond since Bruce'sarrival. He not only talked to her incessantly, but tempted her to singwith him, during which performance they seemed rapidly lapsing into theold confidential style. 

Bruce sat apart, the shades on his rugged face gradually deepening fromsullenness into ferocity. He looked quite wolfish at last, for it was ahabit he had to show his white teeth more when he was savage than whenhe smiled. But the music went on its way rejoicing, "Unconscious of their doom, The little victims played. "

Isabel was too happy, and Charley too careless to be prudent. Once Icaught his glance as it crossed with Bruce's scowl. There was anexpression on his pleasant face that few men had ever seen there, approaching nearly to an insolent defiance. Looking at those two, achild might have known that between them there was bitter hate. 

But what of that? Are not the laws of society and the amenities ofcivilized life supreme over such trifles as personal animosities? Howmany women are there who never meet without mingling in a close embrace, when each is to the other a Brinvilliers in heart? My gentle cousinKate, only last night I saw you greet your intimate enemy. It was themoat gushing thing I ever imagined. The kisses were profuse andtantalizing in the extreme; yet I wish, if thoughts could kill, dearestEmma's neck would have been safer in the hug of a Norway bear than inthe clasp of your white willowy arms. 

Are there not men, sitting constantly at each other's tables, who, inthe Golden Age, when people spoke and acted as they felt, would onlyhave encountered at the sword's point?

If we hear that our mortal foe is ruined irretrievably, we betray noindecorous exultation, but smile complacently and say, "We are notsurprised;" or, if we have the chance, give him a last push to send himover the precipice on whose brink he is staggering. But as for anyviolent demonstration--bah! the _Vendetta_ is going out of fashion, evenin Corsica, nowadays; only on the boards of the "Princess's" does ithave a run. 

It is better so. Is it not far more creditable and less ridiculous fortwo of our reverend seniors, between whom there exists a deadly feud, tocomport themselves with decent reserve toward each other, than to govaporing about on crutches, stamping the foot that is not gouty, andblaspheming in a weak, cracked treble, like Capulet and Montague? Hotrooms and cold draughts are dangerous, but not so fatal as the AquaTofana, and other pleasant beverages more revolting and rapid in theireffects. Could any thing be more harrowing to a well regulated mind thanto see, in the midst of a neatly-turned compliment, one's partnerliterally _look black_ at one, and expire incontinently in greattorments?

It is less romantic, but I prefer to be given an unmedicated rose. WhenI win a pair of gloves, it is a satisfaction to me to reflect that inHoubigant or Pivert there is no venom or guile. 

All these consoling thoughts, and more, passed through my mind thatevening; yet I could not get rid of a strange, indistinct impressionthat it was only the presence of Livingstone which averted some greatdanger imminent over his cousin and Forrester. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

 "This is all The gain we reap, from all the wisdom sown Through ages. Nothing doubted those first sons Of time; while we, the schooled of centuries, Nothing believe--"

We were scattered round the smoking-room, about midnight, in differentattitudes of repose. Bruce was of the party, decidedly out of hiselement. He did not like tobacco much, and only took a cigar as asacrifice to the exigencies of the occasion, consuming the same withgreat toil and exertion of the lungs, and when he removed it from hislips, holding it at arm's length, like a viper or other venomous beast. 

"Charley, " asked Fallowfield, at length, from the depths of his divan, "how is the regiment going on? Insolvent as ever?"

"More so, " was the reply. "When I came away they were thinking offraming a £5 note, and hanging it up in the ante-room, to show that wehad _some_ money--just like the man who pitched loaves over thecity-walls when they were dying of famine--but there was a difficultyabout procuring one. However, we have been promised the son of anopulent brewer or distiller (I forget which, but I know he makessomething to drink), who is to join before Easter. Perhaps he may set usafloat again. "

"Yes, " Guy remarked; "fortunately, a martial spirit is abroad in theThird Estate. _Walbrook s'en va t'en guerre_. If there is one moneyedman in the lot, it seems sufficient to keep the others going. I oftenwonder how you manage; for, to do you justice, you don't plunder yourCroesus. You deserve statues--as Sydney Smith would have said--_ærisalieni_. "

"I am not the rose, but I have lived with her, " responded Forrester, sententiously. "That's the principle of the thing. When a subalternarrives laden with gold, the barrack-yard is a perfect garden ofBendemeer to the tradesmen. "

"I believe it is precisely such regiments, " remarked Bruce, "that thepolitical economists have in view when they attack the army estimates. "

The observation was aggressive; but Charley's countenance was unruffledas the Dead Sea as he answered, "Personal, but correct. You are intimatewith Joseph Hume, probably? You look as if you were. " (These last wordswere a stage aside, not quite so inaudible as could be wished. ) "I thinkwe should fight, if we had a chance, though. "

His lip wore a curious smile, and he raised himself on his arm to lookthe last speaker full in the face. 

"Of course you would, " broke in Sir Henry; "that's not a peculiarity ofcrack regiments or second sons. It's only in their baptism of fire thatthe young ones shrink and start; after that, the meekest of men developthemselves wonderfully. I heard an old Indian, the other day, speak of acase in point. 

"There was an officer in his service, mild and stupid to a degree. Hehad been a butt all his life; bullied at school, at Addiscombe, and inhis corps worst of all. 

"They were attacking a hill-fort, and the fire from wall-pieces andmatchlocks was so heavy that the storming-party would not face it. Amongthose who retreated were two of his superior officers and chieftormentors. The junior lieutenant saw them cowering away to seekshelter, and laughed out loud; then he flung his shako before him intothe fort, and led the sepoys back to the charge, and right over thebreastwork--bareheaded and cheering. He was shot down inside, and livedonly a few hours, all the time in horrible agony; but Western told usthat Bayard or Sidney could have made no braver or calmer ending. "

"You are right, " Livingstone said. "The Roundheads fought fully as wellas the Cavaliers. I only know of two instances where the thoroughbredshad the advantage of a contrast. One was when the Scottish regiment tookthe island in the Rhine; the other was the exploit of the _GantsGlacés_. Don't you know it? It's worth hearing. 

"They were attacking some town in the wars of the Fronde. The breach wasscarcely practicable, and the best of the besieging army had recoiledfrom it with great loss. The Black Mousquetaires stood by in all thecoquetry of scarf, and plume, and fringed scented gloves, laughinglouder at each repulse of the Linesmen. The soldiers heard them andgnashed their teeth. At last there was a murmur, and then a shout--_'Enavant les Gants Glacés!'_ They wanted to see 'the swells' beaten too. Then the Household Brigade went up and carried the breach, leaving athird of their number on it. The general in command made the whole armydefile past their _guidon_, and salute it with sloped standards. 

"No; very few men are physical cowards in battle, whatever they may beacross country. I don't believe Paris was, when he ran from Menelaüs;and Helen did not think so, though she teased him about it, or she wouldnever have spoken to him again. I rather imagine his feeling was that ofa certain Guardsman of our acquaintance, who said, declining the ordealof combat, that 'his first duty was to his partners, and this did notallow him to risk a black eye. '"

"Might not remorse at the sight of the man he had injured have hadsomething to do with his flight?" Bruce asked. 

He was full of moral sentiments--that man; only you could not look athim without fancying that they sprung more from an inclination to becontradictious and disagreeable than from any depth of principle. 

"Absurd, " Guy retorted. "Wasn't he a heathen, and rather an immoral one?It was of profligates with far greater advantages of education that someone said, '_'Le remords nait de l'abandon, et non de la faute_. ' Thewalls of Troy were strong then, and the Destroyer-of-ships safe behindthem, 'getting herself up alarmingly' for his return. No wonder Menelaüswas eager for the duel: he was staking his loneliness against Paris'snine points of the law. "

Sir Henry Fallowfield smiled approvingly. 

"Yes, " he observed, not answering what had been said, but evidentlyfollowing out a train of his own thought. "Modern exquisites havecourage, and self-possession, and conceit--great elements of successwith women, I own--but they have not much more. I am certain Charley, who is a favorable specimen of the class, often affects silence becausehe has nothing on earth to say. There is a decadence since my youngerdays (I hope I speak dispassionately), and how very far we fell short ofthe _roués_ of the Régence! We could no more match them than afighting-man in good training could stand up to one of the old Pictgiants. Look at Richelieu: good at all points--in the battle, in theboudoir, in the Bastille--a dangerous rival at the two ages of ordinarymen's first and second childhood. "

"He was a great man in his way, " I assented. "Do you remember his answerto the Duchesse de Maine, when she asked him, for a political purpose, if he could remain faithful for one week to an intrigue then twenty-fourhours old? '_Madame, quand une fois j'embrasse un parti, je suis capabledes plus grandes sacrifices pour le soutenir. _' The object of thatheroic constancy was the Maréchale de Villars, one of the loveliestwomen in France. It was the sublime of fatuity--was it not?"

"Well, I don't know, " said Charley, settling himself comfortably in hiscushions, and glancing almost imperceptibly at Bruce; "they seem tofancy us, notwithstanding. We have only one great obstacle--the mothersthat _bore_ us. "

Be it known that "they, " used simply, stood in his vocabulary for thefair sex in general. 

"Nonsense, " replied Fallowfield; "don't be so ungrateful. You don't knowwhat you owe to those anxious parents. It helps you enormously, beingthe objects of perpetual warnings from husbands and chaperons, thefirst considering you _mauvais sujets_, the last _mauvais partis_; foryou _are_ 'detrimentals, ' for the most part, you will own. "

"_Vetitum ergo cupitum_, " interrupted Livingstone. "A good manymoralists before and since old Rabelais have discoursed on that text. The Chief of Errington was probably much more agreeable, besides being abetter match than Jock of Hazeldean, who clearly was what an oldFrenchman lately described to me--'_un vaurien, mon cher, qui court lesfilles et qui n'a pas le son_. ' But then poor Frank was the governmentcandidate; so, of course, in a popular election, he went to the wall. "

Sir Henry's face grew more pensive and grave as he said, "It is veryhard on the women, certainly, that our race should have degenerated so, for I believe in my conscience they are as clever and wicked, andappreciate temptation as much as ever. " (The gusto with which he saidthis is indescribable. ) "There is the Bellasys, for instance, with acalculating sensuality, an astuteness of stratagem, an utter contempt oftruth, and a general aptitude for making fools of men, that poor Philipthe Regent would have worshiped. When she had no one better to corrupt, I have seen her take in hand an older, sadder, wiser, uglier man thanmyself, and in three days bring him to the verge of insanity, so that hewould scowl at his wife, his companion for forty years, the blamelessmother of six grown-up children, with a hideous expression indicative ofcarving-knives and strychnine. Guy suits her best. His thews and sinewsawe her a little sometimes; and he has a certain hardness of characterand pitilessness of purpose, improved by my instructions, which willcarry him far, but not far enough, I think. You're right not to lookflattered" (Guy's face had moved no more than the marble Memnon's); "youare only a shade better than the rest. Our effete world is not worthy ofthat rare creature: she was born a century too late. "

"I quite differ with you, " Bruce said, in his harshest voice; "I amcertain the great plurality of the women of our day would resist anytemptation, from fear of the consequences, if not from principle. "

Fancy the feelings of the Greek professor interrupted in his lecture bya controverting freshman, and you will have some idea of Fallowfield's. His eye lighted on the last speaker, glittering like a hooded snake's, as it were caressing him with a lambent scorn. 

I never guessed how much sneering provocation could reside in tonesusually so very soft and musical till I heard him answer, "I suppose you_do_ differ with me. We probably both speak from experience. On onepoint you are scarcely practical, though. You think you can frighten awoman into propriety. Try it. "

"Are you not too general in your strictures or encomiums?" I suggested, wishing to relieve the awkwardness which ensued; "surely there are manyinstances to the contrary. Take Lady Clanronald, for instance, marriedto a man her elder by twenty years, and not very clever or agreeable, Ishould think. No one ever breathed a whisper against her, and it has notbeen through default of aspirants. "

An evil smile curled round the old _roué's_ sensual mouth, radiatingeven to the verge of the forest of his iron-gray whiskers. 

"Clanronald not clever?" he replied. "The cleverest man I know. He knewhow his wife would be tempted, and he has taken the greatest pains toencourage a counteracting influence--family pride. Don't you know she isa Hautagne? It is a tradition with that race that their women never gowrong--under a prince of the blood. None of these are available justnow, so she is still '_Une Madeleine, dans la puissance de son mari, etdans l'impuissance de se repentir_. '"

It was worse than useless to argue with Fallowfield. All your own besthits were turned aside by the target of his cynicism and unbelief, whilehis sophistries and sarcasms often came home. Like old wounds, theywould begin to shoot and rankle in after years, just when it was mostimportant and profitable to forget them. 

We separated soon after this. Sir Henry's face wore an expression ofplacid self-congratulation. He thought the conversation had been ratherimproving, I believe, and that some of the ideas and illustrations hadbeen rather neatly put; so he laid his head down that night with thecalm, satisfied feeling of a good man who has done his duty and not losta day. 

He was not more ingenious in overcoming the scruples of others than insilencing his own conscience, though of late years this last hadprobably ceased to give him much trouble. Finer feelings with him wereonly "sensations morbidly exaggerated, " and he made no sort ofallowance for such; among others, utterly ignoring remorse, I doubt ifhe ever looked forward; I am sure he never looked back. A parody on the"tag" which was given to Cambronne would sum up his terribly simple andconsistent creed--_La femme se rend, mais ne meurt pas_. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

 "I hold him but a fool, that would endanger His body for a girl that loves him not. "

Fallowfield left us the next morning, the Bellasys later in the sameday. They were to pay divers visits, and then return to Kerton. LadyCatharine pressed them to do so; though she liked the daughter less thanthe mother, she was so anxious Guy should marry some one that I thinkshe would have accepted even Flora with thankfulness. 

It is a favorite delusion with the British parent that marriage willwork a miracle, and steady their children for life, by casting forth the_lutins_ who beset them. A thousand failures have not convinced the goodspeculative matrons of the hazard of the experiment, nor will as manymore do so; they will go on match-making and blundering to the end oftime. For a very brief space the evil spirits are exorcised; but beforethe gloss is off the new-married couple's new furniture, one of the bandcreeps back and opens the door to his fellows. These hardly know theirold quarters at first, but they soon begin to like them better thanever--are they not swept and garnished? "So they enter in and dwellthere, and"--I need not finish the sentence; a thousand sweet thoughsomewhat shrill voices will save me that trouble--a doleful music--anancient tale of wrong--the Song of the Brides! They used to say that aman never went so hard to hounds after entering the holy estate. Ifthis be so, I fear it is the only comforting result which follows ofcourse. 

What Flora and Guy said to each other at parting I can not guess. Neither was of the sentimental order, and both might have taken fortheir motto, "Lightly won and lightly lost. " Her hand lingered somewhatlong in his as they said farewell, but she was smiling, if any thing, more saucily than ever. So she went, leaving behind her no tangibletoken, except a tiny pearl-colored glove, which Guy twisted ratherpensively between his fingers as he stood on the hall steps, and watchedthe carriage disappear down the avenue. Mr. Bruce exulted after hissaturnine fashion, and Isabel Raymond trembled; the one had lost astrong, unscrupulous ally, the other a formidable enemy. 

"Why don't you open those letters, Charley?" Livingstone asked atbreakfast, next morning, pointing to a pile that lay unopened by theletters plate. 

"My dear boy, I haven't the heart to do it, " was the reply. "They areall expressive, I know, of different phases of mercantile despair. Ibelieve these men keep a supplicant, as Moses maintains a poet. The lastappeal from my saddler was perfectly heartrending: he could not havewritten it himself, for he looks as tough as his own pig-skin. If hehad, he would be _impayable_ in more ways than one. What can I do? Ican't come down on the poor old man who has the misfortune to be myfather for more supplies when rents are being reduced fifteen per cent. The tradesmen must learn to endure. They have a splendid chance ofattaining the victory of suffering. "

Bruce smiled complacently to himself, and then superciliously atCharley. He had just received a letter from his banker, consulting himas to the disposal of a superfluous thousand or so, and he washesitating between some dock shares and a promising railway. 

"Yes, " Forrester went on, "it's very well for you to talk in thathardened way, as you did the other night, about detrimentals and secondsons. I wonder how you would like to have an elder brother, a pillar oflearned societies, and as tenacious of life as one of his pet zoophytes?He used to consume quantities of medicine, which was encouraging; butlately he has taken to homoeopathy, which was quite out of the match. He told me, lately, that 'four hundred a year and my pay was affluence. 'Affluence!"

It is impossible to describe the cadence of plaintive indignation whichhe gave to the last word. The recollection of his wrongs had made himalmost energetic: we listened to his eloquence in respectful surprise. 

"It was adding insult to injury, " answered Guy. "If Parliament does notdo something for you all soon, there will be another exodus of theParthenidæ. "

Charley looked at his friend admiringly, as he always did when Guy wasclassical in his allusions; but the unwonted effort had evidentlyexhausted him, and he lapsed into silence. 

We rode out that afternoon to make some calls in the neighborhood, and, in returning, Livingstone proposed a short cut through a line of gates, with a short interval of cross-country work. 

His cousin looked delighted, Bruce decidedly uncomfortable, though, ofcourse, he could not refuse. He was riding Kathleen, an Irish mare, oneof the quietest in the Kerton stable, where none were very steady. Thefences were nothing at first; at last we came to a brook. It was notbroad, but evidently deep, with high, rotten banks. However, as we weregoing at a fair hunting pace, all, including Bella Donna and hermistress, took it in their stride, but pulled up at once, seeing thatBruce was left behind, with the groom who was following us. 

The first time he came at it, it was a clear case of "craning. " He washauling nervously at the reins, and would not let the mare have it. 

Guy regarded him with intense contempt. "By G--d, " he muttered, "Ibelieve the man's afraid!"

Forrester laughed so unrestrainedly that Isabel looked at himbeseechingly, in evident dread of the consequences. 

"My dear Miss Raymond, " he said, answering her frightened glance, "don'talarm yourself. Do you think I am a Quixote, to war with windmills?"

No one could look at Bruce's long arms and legs, all working at once, without owning the aptness of the simile. 

For the third time he came down at the brook, and, I really believe, meant going; but Kathleen, unused to such vacillating measures, had gotsulky, and swerved on the very brink, almost sliding over it. Her riderlost his seat, rolled over her shoulder, and for an instant disappearedin the water. 

Achelous or Tiber, emerging from his native waves, crowned with aquaticplants, presented, I doubt not, an appearance at once dignified andbecoming, but I defy any ordinary non-amphibious mortal to look, undersimilar circumstances, any thing but supremely ridiculous. The wrathfulface framed in dripping hair and plastered whiskers--the movements ofthe limbs, awkward and constrained--the rivulets distilling from everysalient angle, turning the victim into a walking Lauterbrunnen--when wesaw all these absurdities exaggerated before us, no wonder that from thewhole party, including the groom, there broke "unnumbered laughters. "

"Curse the mare!" Bruce hissed out. The words came crushed and broken, as it were, through the white ranges of his grinding teeth. 

Livingstone's face hardened directly. "Swear as much as you think thecircumstances require, or as my cousin will allow, " he said, "but bejust before you're generous: don't anathematize Kathleen. It was nofault of hers. I never saw her refuse before; but she is used to be putstraight at her fences. Hold her still, Harry" (to the groom on thefarther side, who had caught the mare's rein); "I'll ride her at itmyself. "

He threw his bridle to Forrester, and, dismounting, cleared the brook ata bound. Then he went up to Kathleen, and began to coax her with voiceand hand. 

"I'll bet an even fifty he takes her over the first time, " said Charley. 

Bruce nodded his head, without speaking, to show that he took the bet. Ithought he had the best of it, for the mare was so savage and sulkystill that a refusal seemed a certainty. 

Guy had mounted by this time, and, after taking a wide sweep in thefield, came down at the brook. Kathleen was curling her back up, andgoing short, with the most evident intention of balking; but swervingwas next to impossible, for she was fairly held in a vice by her rider'shands and knees. The whip fell heavily twice on either shoulder, and, just at the water's edge, Livingstone drove his heels in and lifted her. It was almost a standing leap, and, as Kathleen landed, a fragment ofthe bank went crashing into the water from under her hind hoofs, and shewent down on her head; but Guy recovered her cleverly, and, turningagain, sent her over it twice, backward and forward. The first time themare did not try to refuse again, but rushed at it, snorting wrathfully, with her head in the air; the second she was quite tamed, and took itevenly in her stride. 

"Give Mr. Bruce your horse, Harry, and take the Czar, " Guy said. "I'llride Kathleen home. Steady, old lady--don't fret. We are friends againnow. "

"So you have got your pony back, " I remarked to Forrester. 

"Yes, and with interest, " was the quiet reply. "I don't think he willowe me much when I have done with him. "

Though I had nothing on earth to do with it, I felt something likecompunction as I guessed what he meant. 

Bruce's was a hard, money-loving nature, unromantic to a degree; but Ibelieve he would gladly have waked to find himself a houseless, landlessbeggar, if he could thus have regained what Charley, with his softvoice, and eyes, and manner, had stolen from him long ago. 

Am I right in saying "stolen?" Perhaps he never had it; at all events, he thought he had, which comes to nearly the same thing. 

It is true that, unraveling the cord of a man's existence, you willgenerally find the blackest hank in it twined by a woman's hand, but itis not less common to trace the golden thread to the same spindle. 

Great warrior, profound statesman, stanch champion of liberty as he was, without Edith of the Swan's-neck, Harold would scarcely have risen intoa hero of romance. We do not quite despise Charles VII. When we thinkhow faithfully, in loneliness and ruin, the Lady of Beauty loved herapathetic, senseless, discrowned king. Others never found it out, butthere must have been something precious hid in a dark corner of hiswayward heart near which Agnes nestled so long. We look leniently onOtho--parasite and profligate--when we see him lingering on his lastmarch, on the very verge of the death-struggle, in the teeth of Galba'slegions, to decorate Popæa's grave. More in pity than in scorn, be sure, did Tacitus, the historic epigrammatist, write "_Ne tum quidem veterumimmemor amorum_. "

Was it in remorseful consciousness of having inflicted a deep, irreparable wrong, that Isabel rode so constantly by Bruce's side, striving, by all means of timid propitiation, to chase the cloudlowering on his sullen face as we returned slowly home?

CHAPTER XV. 

 _"To de prokluein, Epei genoit' an êlusis, prochairetô; Ison de tô prostenein, Toron gar êxei sunorthron augais. "_

My stay at Kerton Manor was drawing to a close. I had lingered there toolong already, and letters from neglected relatives and friends came, reproachful, with every post. The day before I went, Guy called me intohis study. 

"Frank, " he said, "I am in a great strait of perplexity; my uncle hasbeen attacking me this morning about Isabel and Charley. Bruce puts himup to it, of course. "

"I thought it would come; but why on earth did not Bruce speak to you, if not to Forrester, himself? Perhaps it was from delicacy, though. Letus hope so. "

"How philanthropic we are!" Guy retorted. "I don't believe any other manwould have spoken of delicacy and that rough-hewn log of Scotch-fir inthe same breath. My dear boy, the thing is as simple as possible--theman is a coward. He is as careful of that precious person of his as ifit were worth preserving, so he shoots his arrows from behind UncleHenry's Telamonian shield. Nothing is so acute and right-judging as theinstinct of fear. He knows that if he had a fancy for a quarrel, eitherCharley or I would be too happy to indulge him. "

"He can't be such a dastard, " I said. 

"I am sure of it; but he is not the less dangerous for that. Such menare always the most unscrupulous in revenge. I have seen murder in hiseyes a score of times in the last fortnight. If our lines had fallen inthe pleasant Italian places, he would have invested twenty scudi longago in hiring a dagger. As it is, civilization and the rural policestand our friends; but I have strongly advised Charley not to trusthimself near him in cover. By G--d, I think, for once in his life, hewould hold straight!"

"You don't like him, that's evident. "

The pupils of Livingstone's eyes contracted ominously; a lurid flashshot out from under his black, bent brows, and there came on his lipthat peculiar smile that we fancy on the face of Homeric heroes--morefell, and cruel, and terrible than even their own frown--just beforethey leveled the spear. He laid his broad hand, corded across with anet-work of tangled sinews, on the table before him, and the stout oakcreaked and trembled. 

"If I were to strangle him, " he said, "as I constantly feel tempted todo, I believe I should deserve well of the state. But, with all that, Idon't like plotting against him under my own roof; it strikes me that isa phase of hospitality not strictly Arabian. My mother laments over himalready as hardly dealt with. Then Uncle Henry is a great difficulty. Heis not in the least one of the light comedy fathers who, during twoacts, stamps about with many strange oaths and stormy denials, but inthe last yields to fate and _soubrettes_, says 'Bless you, my children!'and hands out untold gold. There is no more appeal from his decisionsthan from Major A----'s. He dislikes Bruce, of course; but he would justas soon think of objecting to a partner at whist as to a son-in-lawbecause he happened to be unprepossessing. When the poor littleIphigenia is sacrificed on the shrine of expediency, you will see him, not veiling his face but taking snuff with the calm grace that ispeculiar to him. Arguing with such a man is a simple absurdity. "

"I can not advise you, " I answered, sadly; "but it seems hard on MissRaymond, too. "

"Of course it is, " Livingstone broke in; "and the worst of it is, thepoor child looks to me to help her. I can't bear to think of what herlife would be if she married Bruce. He would be constantly retaliatingon her for what he is suffering now--for he does suffer. A pleasant ideathat she, who is only meant to be petted, should be set up as a targetfor his jealousy and ill-humor! She would never be able to stand it, andCharley wouldn't if she could; and then there would be a _dénouement_like that which ruined Ralph Mohun. If there _is_ to be a row, it hadbetter come before than after marriage. It's more moral, and saves aninfinity of trouble. I think Charley is better away, too, just now. Parndon wants us both to stay with him. We'll go; and so my consciencewill stand at ease for the present. When we are on neutral ground I canhelp them, or, at all events, 'let the justice of the king pass by. '"

"Have you spoken to Forrester yet?"

"No; but he will do as I advise, and temporize, I am sure, though hewould hardly give up Bella, even if I asked him. He means business foronce, evidently. They will have plenty of time to concert their plansbefore the summer. Charley wants no help in that. As to carrying themout--we shall see. Well, you will go to-morrow. I am very sorry, for allreasons. I hope you have not been much bored here. Kerton counts on youfor next winter. "

I need not give my answer. I felt really loth to go; but, fortunatelyfor my peace of mind, I could not guess at the changes that would bewrought in the hopes, the intentions, the destinies of all of us beforeI should stand in the fine old manor-house again. 

If adieus are painful in reality, they ate intensely stupid on paper--alandscape without a foreground--so I spare you next morning'sleave-takings. 

Guy had said nothing to his cousin then of the plan he had determinedon. I was glad of it. I was glad not to see, at parting, her sweet faceso sad as I am sure it became when she heard that she was to struggleagainst Brace's persecutions and her own antipathies unaided and alone. 

I wandered through many counties, and then went to Ireland. During thenext few months I saw the faces I had left behind me many times, butonly in my dreams. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

 "The only living thing he could not hate Was reft at once--and he deserved his fate, But did not feel it less; the good explore For peace, these realms where guilt can never soar; The proud--the wayward--who have fixed below Their joy, and find this earth enough for woe, Lose in that one their all--perchance a mite-- But who in patience parts with all delight?"

Pleasant days they were when, through the soft spring weather, Iwandered round the coasts of Kerry, Clare, and Galway, hooking salmon inbroad pools, where the vexed water rests a while from its labors underwooded cliffs, and at the tail of roaring rapids, specked with whitefoam-clots, or sea-trout in the estuaries where the great rivers hurrydown to their stormy meeting with the Atlantic rollers. 

Every where I met the frank, cheery welcome that you must cross theChannel to find in its perfection. 

It is sad to see how widely over that fair land the abomination ofdesolation has cast its shadow. Many halls are tenantless besides thoseof Tara. The ancient owners of the soil--where are they? Not a countryin Europe but is conscious of these restless, careless, homelessZingari. In distant provincial towns of France you hear their enormousblunders in grammar and musical Milesian brogue breaking the uniformityof dull legitimist _soirées_. Hombourg and Baden are irradiated with theglory of their whiskers. You find their blue eyes and open, handsomefeatures diversifying the sameness of wooden-faced Austrian squadrons. Nay, has it not been whispered that the proudest name in Irelandattained a bad eminence in the Grecian Archipelago as the captain of thewickedest of those long low craft that, in the purple dawn or ivorymoonlight, steal silently out from behind the headlands of the Cyclades?

But let us do justice to those who remain behind. 

The sceptre of Connemara has passed away from the ancient dynasty. Ifthe penultimate monarch could rise from his peaceful grave, his placewould know him no more. If he traveled through all his thirty miles ofseaboard, the Scotch laborers would doff their hats more respectfully tothe steward of the "Law Life" than to the humane old homicide. The royalwrit, which he defied from his place at St. Stephen's, might be servednow, I imagine, without danger of the bailiff's breaking his fast on thesame. Claret flows soberly from long-necked bottles whose corks bear thebrand of the wine-merchant, high priced and legal, instead of from thecask of which the snug sandy cove and the roguish-looking hooker couldhave told tales. But, in spite of visionary rents, and poor-ratessternly real, the Irish squire still clings to the exercise of thathospitality which has been an heirloom with the tribes since the days ofStrongbow. 

One of my longest halting-places was at Ralph Mohun's, by whom, thoughpersonally unknown to him, I was made very welcome as a friend of Guy's. My host deserves a more especial mention, for his history was a sad, though not an uncommon one. 

He began life in a Cavalry regiment, wherein he conducted himself withfair average propriety till he met Lady Caroline Desborough. He fell inlove with her--most people did--but, unluckily, when she married Mr. Mannering, to whom she had been predestined since her _début_, he couldnot bring himself to wear the willow decently and in order, like herother disappointed admirers. 

It was the old unhappy story: her husband neglected Lady Carolineconsistently--ill-treated her sometimes. Mohun pursued his purpose withthe relentless obstinacy of his character. Eighteen months after hermarriage they fled together. 

He was not rich, so that the trial which ensued, with its heavy damages, completely crippled him. The partner of his crime was absolutelypenniless. They went to Vienna, and Ralph entered the AustrianCuirassiers, where he had some interest to push him. He had lingeredsome time within reach of England, to give Mannering an opportunity ofdemanding satisfaction. But the injured husband knew his man too well totrust himself within fifteen paces of Mohun's pistol. He chose a surer, safer revenge in taking no steps to procure a divorce, and so debarringRalph from his only means of atonement--marriage with his victim. 

He varied the dull routine of seducers, it is true, for he never weariedof, or behaved unkindly to, the woman he had ruined. Time brought manytroubles on them, but never satiety or coldness. To the very last heworshiped her, and, to the utmost of his power, guarded her tenderly. Rough, and hard, and morose as he was to others, she never heard hislips utter one harsh word. 

But she was of a proud, sensitive spirit, and had miscalculated herstrength when she thought she could bear dishonor. After that duel withwhich Austria rang, in which the best _schlager_ in his brigade fell, horribly mangled, the day after he had whispered a jest about CarolineMannering, men were very cautious how they even looked askance at her;but the women--who could bridle their tongues or blunt their scornfulglances? Briareus, armed to the teeth, would not affright our moderndowagers, or deter them from their prey. Wherever the carcass of a fairfame lies, thither they flock, screaming shrilly in triumph, vulture-eyed, sharp-taloned--the choosers of the slain. 

I pity from my heart the frailest, the most utterly fallen of her sex, when once the social Nemesis hands her over to the chorus of theEumenides. 

We deride the _subsignanæ_ who line the wall; we make a mock at theirold-fashioned whist; we risk jokes whereat our partners smileapprovingly on their false fronts and wonderful head-gears; but may thewittiest of us never know by experience how much worse is the bite thanthe bark of the Veteran Battalion!

Caroline Mannering had all this to contend with, for Vienna was afavorite resort in those days for the English, and she was constantlyencountering some of her old set. She bore up bravely for a while, butit killed her. She never wearied her lover with her self-reproach, butcrushed back her sorrows into her heart, and met him always with agentle smile. That same smile contrasted so sadly, at last, with thewan, worn features, that it often made him bend his bushy brows toconceal the rising tears. 

If her destiny had been different--if she had died ripe in years, aftera life spent in calm matronly happiness, with all that she loved bestround her, would she have been nursed so tenderly or mourned so bitterlyby the nearest and dearest of them all as she was by her tempter to sin?I think not. I believe that in all the world there never was a greatersorrow than that which Mohun endured as he saw his treasure slowlyescaping him; never a desolation more complete and crushing than thatwhich fell upon him as he stood by her corpse, with dry eyes, foldedarms, and a heavy, frowning brow. It was not only that he felt her placecould never be filled again--many feel that, and find it turn outso--but a part of his being was gone: all that was soft, and kind, andtender in his nature died with Caroline Mannering. He never could getrid of a certain chivalry which was inherent in him, so sometimes hewould do a generous thing; but he did it so harshly as to deprive theact of the semblance of good-nature. I think he very seldom again feltsympathy or compassion for any living creature. Perhaps he thought theworld had behaved hardly to his dead love, and so never forgave it. Shepassed away very stilly and painlessly. She was leaning on his breastwhen he saw death come into her eyes: he shivered then all over, as if acold wind had struck him suddenly, but spoke no word. She understoodhim, though. Her last motion was to draw his cheek down to hers with herthin, shadowy arm, and her last breath went up to the God who wouldjudge them both in an unselfish prayer. 

"She was rightly served, " says Cornelia; "such women ought to bemiserable. "

O rigid mother of the Gracchi! how we all respect you, _trônante_ in thecomfortable cathedra of virtue inexpugnable, perhaps unassailed. Yourdictum must stand for the present. The court is with you. But I believeother balances will weigh the strength of temptation, the weakness ofhuman endurance, the sincerity of repentance, and the extent of sufferedretribution, when the Father of all that have lived and erred since theworld began shall make up His jewels. In that day, I think, the light ofmany orthodox virgins and dignified matrons will pale before the softerlustre of Magdalene the Saint. 

Mohun remained in the Austrian service some time after CarolineMannering's death, and, by dint of good service and interest, roserapidly; but, about eight years before I saw him, a distant relationleft him the estate in the west of Ireland, where he had resided eversince, making occasional visits to the Continent, and beating up his oldquarters, but rarely coming to England. 

He did not mix much with the county society, such as it was; and hisvisitors were chiefly friends from England who had not forgotten himyet, or the military quartered in his neighborhood. 

It was a dreary, desolate old house where he lived--massive, square, andgray. There were wooded banks and hollows just round it; but fartherafield the chill, bare moorland stretched away toward the sea, brokenhere and there by sullen sedgy tarns. 

Here he spent his monotonous existence, riding hard and drinkingobstinately, but never, even in the latter case, rising intoconviviality. A long, bushy beard, and portentous mustache, grizzled, though he was scarcely past middle age, which could not conceal a deepsabre-scar, gave him a grim, sinister expression; and his voice had thatbrief imperious accent which is peculiar to men for many years used togive the word of command. 

That worn, haggard face told a real tale. The furrows there had beenplowed by an enduring remorse, very different from that comfortable, half-complacent regret which some feel at the retrospect of theiryouthful _frèdaines_. 

They shake their solemn old heads as they hold themselves up to us as awarning; they sermonize with edifying gravity on the impropriety of suchmisdemeanors; but we can trace through all this an under-current ofsatisfaction tenderly fatuitous, as they go back to the days of theirgipsyhood, when Plancus was consul. 

I have been amused with watching these eminent but somewhat sensualChristians on such occasions, and seeing the dull eyes begin to glisten, and the lips wrinkle themselves into a fat, unpleasant smile. _They_have prospered since, and certainly it would be most absurd to tormentthemselves now about the souls and bodies which they once sacrificed toa whim. Over those ruins and relics the River of Oblivion has rolledlong ago--let them sleep on there and take their rest. 

Have we not the bright example of the prototype of this class--thepious Æneas? How creditable was his behavior when he looked back overthe black water on the trail of flame stretching from the funeral pyrewhere Dido lay burning!

"He knew, " says his admiring biographer, "what the madness of womencould do;" but the breeze was getting up astern, and favoring godsbeckoned him on to Italy and fortune; so he sighed twice orthrice--perhaps he wept, for the amiable hero's tears were always readyon the shortest notice--and then, like the captain of the _Hesperus_, "steered for the open sea. "

Did he feel a pang of remorse or shame at that meeting in the twilightof Hades, when he called vainly on Elissa, and the dead queen, fromwhere she stood by the side of Sychæus, who had forgiven her all, turnedon him the disgust and horror of her imperial eyes? Who can tell? Thegreatest and best of men have their moments of weakness. If so, be surehe was soon comforted as he reviewed the shadowy procession of hisposterity of kings. The episode of Byrsa would scarcely trouble hisconjugal happiness, or make him more indulgent to the mildest flirtationof Lavinia. 

I fancy that poor princess--after listening to a long, intensely properdiscourse from her immaculate husband, or when the young Iulus had beenunusually disagreeable--gazing wistfully in the direction where, againstthe sky-line, rose the clump of plane-trees, under which hot-headed, warm-hearted Turnus was resting after his brief life of storms. Then shewould think of that unhappy mother who, with every impulse of a willfulnature, loved her child so dearly, till she would begin to doubt--it wasvery wrong of her--if Amata or the match-making gods were most rightafter all. 

The neighboring peasantry regarded Mohun with mingled dislike andterror--a feeling which was increased tenfold by an event which occurredabout three years before my visit, in the height of the agrariantroubles. I can not do better than give it, as near as I can, in thewords of one who was an actor in the scene. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

 "Now what wouldst thou do, good my squire, That rides beside my rein, Wert thou Glenallan's earl to-day, And I were Roland Cheyne?

 * * * * *

 My horse should ride through their ranks sae rude, As he would through the moorland fern, And ne'er let the gentle Norman bluid Grow cauld for the Highland kerne. "

It was in the beginning of December, 184-(said Fred. Carew); we weresitting down to dinner after a capital day's cock-shooting--besidesmyself there were Lord Clontarf, Mohun, and Kate, my wife--when we weredisturbed by a perfect hail of knocks at the hall door. Old Dan Tucker, or the Spectre Horseman, never clamored more loudly for admittance. Fritz, Mohun's old Austrian servant, went down to see what was up, and, on opening the door, was instantly borne down by the tumultuous rush ofMichael Kelly, gentleman, agent to half a dozen estates, and attorney atlaw. In the two last capacities be had given, it seems, great umbrage tothe neighboring peasantry, and they had caught him that night as hereturned home, intending to put him to death with that ingenuity oftorture for which the fine, warm-hearted fellows are justly celebrated. 

They did not wish to hurry over the entertainment, so confined him in anupper chamber, while they called their friends and neighbors to rejoicewith them, carousing meantime jovially below. The victim contrived tolet himself down from the window, and ran for his life to the nearesthouse, which, unluckily, happened to be the Lodge. Two boys, however, saw and recognized him as he entered the demesne, and raised a whoop, toshow that they knew where the fox had gone to ground. 

This we made out from a string of incoherent interjections; and then helay panting and contorting himself in an agony of fear. 

Mohun sat on the hall table, swinging his foot and regarding thespectacle with the indolent curiosity that one might exhibit toward thegambols of some ugly new importation of the Zoological Society. When thestory was told he pointed coolly to the door. 

The shriek that the miserable creature set up on seeing that gesture Ishall never forget. 

"Do you think I shall turn my house into a refuge for destituteattorneys?" Ralph said, answering my look of inquiry. "If there were noother reason, I would not risk it, with your wife under my roof. Anight-attack in the West is no child's play. "

Kate had come out, and was leaning over the gallery. She heard the lastwords, and spoke, flushing scarlet with anger. 

"If I thought that my presence prevented an act of common humanity, Iwould leave your house this instant, Colonel Mohun. "

Ralph smiled slightly as he bent his head in courteous acknowledgment ofher interruption. 

"Don't be indignant, Mrs. Carew. If you have a fancy for such anexcitement, I shall be too happy to indulge you. It is settled, then? Weback the attorney. Don't lie there, sir, looking so like a whippedhound. You hear? You are safe for the present. " He had hardly finished, when there came a rustling of feet outside, then hurried whispers, thena knock, and a summons. 

"We'd like to spake wid the curnel, av ye plase. "

"I am here; what do ye want?" Mohun growled. 

"We want the 'torney. We know he's widin. "

"Then I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. It's not my fancy to give himup. I wouldn't turn out a badger to you, let alone a man. "

You see, he took the high moral ground now. 

"Then we'll have him out in spite of yez, " two or three voices cried outtogether. 

"Try it, " Ralph said. "Meantime I am going to dine; good-night. "

A voice that had not spoken yet was heard, with a shrill, gibing accent. "Ah! thin the best of appetites to ye, curnel, and make haste over yerdinner. It's Pierce Delaney that'll give ye yer supper. " Then they wentoff. 

"The said Delaney is a huge quarryman, " Ralph observed. "He representsthe physical element of terror hereabouts, as I believe I do the moral. We shall have warm work before morning. He does not like me. Fritz, sendConnell up; he is below somewhere. "

The keeper came, looking very much surprised. He had been in thestables, and had only just heard of the disturbance. 

"Get the rifles and guns ready, with bullets and buckshot, " his mastersaid. "We are to be attacked, it seems. "

The man's bold face fell blankly. 

"By the powers, yer honor, I haven't the value of an ounce of poudtherin the house. I meant to get some the morrow morning, afore ye were up. "

Mohun shrugged his shoulders, whistling softly. 

"Man proposes, " he said. "It's almost a pity we found so many cocks inthe lower copse this afternoon. I have fifteen charges or so in mypistol-case. We must make that do, loading the rifles light. " Then hewent to a window, whence he could see down the road; the moon wasshining brightly. 

"I thought so; they have got scouts posted already. The barbarians knowsomething of skirmishing, after all. Maddox, come here. " (The groom wasa strong English boy, very much afraid of his master, but of nothingelse on earth. ) "Saddle Sunbeam, and go out by the back gates, keepingwell under the shadow of the trees. When you clear them, ride straightat the rails at the end of the paddock. You'll get over with a scramble, I think. Keep fast hold of his head--you _mustn't_ fall. Then make thebest of your way to A----, and tell Colonel Harding, with mycompliments, that I shall be glad if he will send over a troop asquickly as possible. They ought to be here in two hours. And, mind, don't spare the horse going, but bring him back easy. You will be of nouse here, and I won't have him lamed if I can help it. You'll have torisk a bullet or two as you get into the road; but they can't shoot. It's odds against their hitting you. Now go. "

The groom pulled his forelock as if the most ordinary commission hadbeen given him, and vanished. 

"Connell, " Ralph went on, "go and saw the ladders that are in the yardhalf through. They will hardly try the barred windows; but it looks moreworkmanlike to take all precautions. Then come back, and help Fritz topile chairs and furniture all up the staircase, and about the hall nearit. Line the gallery with mattresses, two deep, leaving spaces to firethrough. Light all the lamps, and get more candles to fix about; weshall not see very clearly after the smoke of the first dozen shots. When you have finished, come to me. Now, shall we go back to dinner?"

I am not ashamed to own I had little appetite; nevertheless, I sat down. Kate had gone to her room. If her courage was failing, she did not wishto show it. 

Suddenly our host got up and went to the window. His practiced ear hadcaught the tread of the horse which Maddox was taking out as quietly aspossible. We watched him stealing along under the trees till theirshelter failed him. Then he put Sunbeam to speed, and rode boldly at therails. A yell went up from the road, and we saw dark figures running;then came a shot, just as the horse was rising at the fence, he hit ithard, and the splinters flew up white in the moonlight, but he was over. We held our breath, while several flashes told of dropping shots afterthe fugitive. They did not stop him, though; and, to our great relief, we heard the wild rush of the frightened horse subside into a longstretching gallop, and the wind brought back a cheery hollo--"Forr'ard, forr'ard away!"

"So far so good, " said Ralph Mohun, as he sat down again, and went insteadily at a woodcock. "Don't hurry yourselves, gentlemen. We havethree quarters of an hour yet; they will take that time to muster. Clontarf, some Hock?"

The boy to whom he spoke held out his glass with a pleasant smile. Thecoming peril had not altered a tint on his fresh, beardless cheeks--rosyand clear as a page's in one of Boucher's pictures. 

A good contrast he made with the miserable attorney, who had followed usuninvited (it seemed he only felt safe in our presence), and who wascrouching in a corner, his lank hair plastered round his livid convulsedface with the sweat of mortal fear. 

It struck Mohun, I think. He laid his hand on Clontarf's shoulder, andspoke with a kindliness of voice and manner most unusual with him--

 "We'll quell the savage mountaineer, As their Tinchell cows the game: They come as fleet as forest deer; We'll drive them back as tame. "

Even at that anxious moment I could not help laughing at the idea ofRalph quoting poetry--of that grim Saul among the prophets. 

I went in to keep up Kate's spirits. She bore up gallantly, poor child, and I left her tolerably calm. She believed in me as a "plunger" to anenormous extent, and in Mohun still more. When I returned my companionswere in the gallery. This ran round two sides of the hall, which went upto the roof. The only access to the upper part of the house was by astone staircase of a single flight. The kitchen and offices were on theground floor, otherwise it was uninhabited. 

Ralph had his pistols by him, and his cavalry sword, long and heavy, butadmirably poised, lay within his reach. 

"I have settled it, " he said. "You and Connell are to take the guns. Smooth-bores are quickest loaded, and will do for this short distance. Clontarf, who is not quite so sure with the trigger, is to have the postof honor, and guard the staircase with his sabre. Throw another bucketof water over it, Connell--is it thoroughly drenched? And draw thewindows up" (these did not reach to within ten feet of the floor); "weshall be stifled else. But there will be a thorough draft when thedoor's down, that's our comfort. One word with you, Carew. "

He drew me aside, and spoke almost in a whisper, while his face was verygrave and stern. 

"You will do me this justice, whatever happens. Unless it had beenforced upon me, I would not have risked a hair of your wife's head tosave all the attorneys that are patronized by the father of lies. But, mark, me! if it comes to the worst, keep a bullet for _her_. Don't leaveher to the mercy of those savage devils. I know them. She had better dieten times over than full into their brutal hands. You must use your owndiscretion, though. I shall not be able to advise you then. Not a man ofthem will be in this gallery till I am past praying for. Nevertheless, Ihope and believe all will be right. Don't trouble yourself to reload;Fritz will do that for you. I have given him his orders. Aim verycoolly, too; we must not waste a bullet. You can choose your own sword;there are several behind you. Ah! I hear them coming up. Now, men, toyour posts. "

There was the tramp of many feet, and the surging of a crowd about andagainst the hall door. Then a harsh, loud voice spoke:

"Onst for all, will ye give him up, or shall we take him, and serve therest of yez as bad? Ye've got women there, too--"

I will not add the rest of the threat for very shame. I know it made memore wolfish than ever I thought it possible to feel, for I am agood-natured man in the main. Mohun, who is _not_, bit his mustachefuriously, and his voice shook a little as he answered, "Do you ever say a prayer, Pierce Delaney? You need one now. If you liveto see to-morrow's sunset, I wish my right hand may wither at thewrist. "

A shrill howl pealed out from the assailants, and then the stout oakdoor cracked and quivered under the strokes of a heavy battering-beam;in a hundred seconds the hinges yielded, and it came clattering in; overit leaped three wild figures, bearing torches and pikes, but theirchief, Delaney, was not one of them. 

"The left-hand man is yours, Carew; Connell, take the middle one, " saidRalph, as coolly as if we had sprung a pack of grouse. While he spokehis pistol cracked, and the right-hand intruder dropped across thethreshold without a cry or a stagger, shot right through the brain. Thekeeper and I were nearly as fortunate. Then there was a pause; then arush from without, an irregular discharge of musketry, and the clearpart of the hall was crowded with enemies. 

I can't tell exactly what ensued. I know they retreated several times, for the barricade was impassable; and while their shots fell harmlesslyon the mattresses, every one of ours told--nothing makes a man shootstraight like being short of powder--but they came on again, each timewith added ferocity. 

I heard Mohun mutter more than once, in a dissatisfied tone, "Why doesnot that scoundrel show himself? I can't make out Delaney. " All at onceI heard a stifled cry on my right, and, to my horror, I saw Clontarfdragged over the balustrade in the gripe of a giant, whom I guessed atonce to be the man we had looked for so long. Under cover of the smoke, he had swung himself up by the balustrade of the staircase, and, grasping the poor boy's collar as he looked out incautiously from hisshelter, dropped back into the hall, carrying his victim with him. 

With a roar of exultation the wild beasts closed round their prey. Before I had time to think what could be done, I heard, close to my ear, a blasphemy so awful that it made me start even at that critical moment:it was Ralph's voice, but I hardly knew it--hoarse and guttural, andindistinct with passion. Without hesitating an instant, he swung himselfover the balustrade, and lighted on his feet in the midst of the crowd. They were half drunk with whisky, and maddened by the smell of blood;but--so great was the terror of Mohun's name--all recoiled when they sawhim thus face to face, his sword bare and his eyes blazing. Thatmomentary panic saved Clontarf. In a second Ralph had thrown him underthe arch of a deep doorway, and placed himself between the senselessbody and its assailants. Two or three shots were fired at him withouteffect; it was difficult to take aim in such a tossing chaos; then oneman, Delaney, sprung out at him with a clubbed musket. "At last!" weheard Mohun say, laughing low and savagely in his beard as he steppedone pace forward to meet his enemy. A blow that looked as if it mighthave felled Behemoth was warded dexterously by the sabre, and, by aquick turn of the wrist, its edge laid the Rapparee's face open in abright scarlet gash, extending from eyebrow to chin. 

His comrades rushed over his body, furious, though somewhat disheartenedat seeing their champion come to grief; but they had to deal with ablade that had kept half a dozen Hungarian swordsmen at bay, and, withpoint or edge, it met them every where, magically. They were drawingback, when Delaney, recovering from the first effects of his fearfulwound, crawled forward, gasping out curses that seemed floating on thetorrent of his rushing blood, and tried to grasp Mohun by the knees anddrag him down. 

Pah! it was a sight to haunt one's dreams. (You might have filled myglass, some of you, when you saw it was empty. )

Ralph looked down on him, and laughed again; his sabre whirled roundonce, and cleared a wide circle; then, trampling down the wounded man bymain force, he drove the point through his throat, and pinned him to thefloor. I tell you I heard the steel plainly as it grated on the stone. There was an awful convulsion of all the limbs, and then the huge masslay quite still. 

Then came a lull for several moments. The Irish cowered back to the doorlike penned sheep; their ammunition was exhausted, and none dared tocross the hideous barrier that now was between them and the terribleCuirassier. 

All this took about half the time to act that it does to tell. I washesitating whether to descend or to stay where my duty called me--nearmy wife. Fritz knelt behind me, silent and motionless; he had got hisorders to stay by me to the last; but the sturdy keeper rose to hisfeet. 

"Faix, " he said, "I'm but a poor hand at the swoording, but I must helpmy master, anyhow;" and he began to climb over the breastwork. Thecolonel's quick glance caught the movement, and his brief imperioustones rang over the hubbub of voices loud and clear, "Don't stir, Connell; stay where you are. I can finish with these houndsalone. "

As he spoke, he dashed in upon them with lowered head and upliftedsword. 

I don't wonder that they all recoiled; his whole face and form werefearfully transfigured; every hair in his bushy beard was bristling withrage, and the incarnate devil of murder was gleaming redly in his eyes. 

Just then there was a wild cry from without, answered by a shriek frommy wife, who had been quiet till now. At first I thought that somefellows had scaled the window; but I soon distinguished the accents of agreat joy. My poor Kate! She had roughed it in barracks too long not toknow the rattle of the steel scabbards. 

When the dragoons came up at a hard gallop, there was nothing left inthe court-yard but the dead and dying. Mohun had followed the flyers toget a last stroke at the hindmost. We clambered down into the hall, and, just as we reached the door, we saw a miserable crippled being clinginground his knees, crying for quarter. Poor wretch! he might as well haveasked it from a famished jungle-tiger. The arm that had fallen so oftenthat night, and never in vain, came down once more; the piteous appealended in a death-yell, and, as we reached him, Mohun was wiping coollyhis dripping sabre: it had no more work to do. 

I could not help shuddering as I took his offered hand, and I sawConnell tremble for the first time as he made the sign of the cross. 

The Dragoons were returning from the pursuit; they had only made twoprisoners; the darkness and broken ground prevented their doing more. Ralph went up to the officer in command. 

"How very good of you to come yourself, Harding, when I only asked youfor a troop. Come in; you shall have some supper in half an hour, andFritz will take care of your men. Throw all that carrion out, " he wenton, as we entered the hall, strewn with corpses. "We'll give them atruce to take up their dead. "

Clontarf came to meet us; he had only been stunned and bruised by thefall. His pale face flushed up as he said, "I shall never forget that Ihave to thank you for my life. "

"It's not worth mentioning, " Mohun replied, carelessly. "I hope you arenot much the worse for the tumble. Gad! it was a near thing, though. Thequarryman's arms were a rough necklace. "

At that moment they were carrying by the disfigured remains of the deadColossus. His slayer stopped them, and bent over the hideous face with agrim satisfaction. 

"My good friend Delaney, " he muttered, "you will own that I have kept myword. If ever we meet again, I think I shall know you. _Au revoir_, " andhe passed on. 

I need not go through the congratulatory scene, nor describe how Kateblushed as they complimented her on her nerve. Fortunately for her, shehad seen nothing, though she had heard all. Just as we were sitting downto supper, which Fritz prepared with his usual stolid coolness, and whenKate was about to leave us, for she needed rest, we remarked theattorney hovering about us with an exultation on his face yet moreservile and repulsive than its late abject terror. 

"Mrs. Carew, " said Mohun, "if you have quite done with your _protégé_, Ithink we'll send him down stairs. Give him something to eat, Fritz; notwith the soldiers, though; and let some one take him home as soon asit's light. If you say one word, sir, I'll have you turned out _now_. "

Mr. Kelly crept out of the room, almost as frightened as he had been twohours before. 

The supper was more cheerful than the dinner, though there was a certainconstraint on the party, who were not all so seasoned as their host. _He_ was in unusual spirits; so much so that Clontarf confided to acornet, his particular friend, that "it was a pity the colonel couldnot have such a bear-fight once a fortnight, it put him into such acharming humor. "

We had nearly finished when, from the road outside, there came aprolonged ear-piercing wail, that made the window-panes tremble. I havenever heard any earthly sound at once so expressive of utter despair, and appealing to heaven or hell for vengeance. 

We all started, and set down our glasses; but Mohun finished his slowly, savoring like a connoisseur the rich Burgundy. 

"It is the wild Irish women keening over their dead, " he remarked, withperfect unconcern. "They'll have more to howl for before I have donewith them. I shall go round with the police to-morrow and pick up thestragglers. Your men are too good for such work, Harding. There areseveral too hard hit to go far, and my hand-writing is pretty legible. "

The stout soldier to whom he spoke bent his head in assent, but withrather a queer expression on his honest face. 

"Gad!" he said, "you do your work cleanly, Mohun. "

"It is the best way, and the shortest in the end, " was the reply; and sothe matter dropped. 

The Dragoons left us before daybreak; their protection was not needed;we were as safe as in the Tower of London. The next morning, while I wassleeping heavily, Ralph was in the saddle scouring the country, withwhat success the next Assizes could tell. 

I go there again this winter for the cock-shooting, but I don't muchthink Kate will accompany me. 

Now who says "a rubber?" Don't all speak at once. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

 "He has mounted her on a milk-white steed, Himself on a dappled gray; And a bugelet-horn hung down by his side As lightly they rode away. "

It is hard to describe the terrible _prestige_ which, after the event Ihave been speaking of, attached itself to Ralph Mohun. As for attemptinga second attack on the fatal house, the peasantry would as soon havethought of storming the bottomless pit. They did not even try a shot athim from behind a wall; considering him perfectly invulnerable, theydeemed it a pity to waste good powder and lead that might be usefullyemployed on an agent or process server. As his gaunt, erect figure wentby, the men shrunk out of his path, and the women called their childrenin hastily, and shut their cabin doors; the very beggars, who aretolerably unscrupulous, gave his gate a wide berth, crossing themselves, with a muttered prayer, "God stand betwixt us and harm. " If Ralphperceived this, I think he rather liked it; at all events, he made noattempt, either by softening his manner or by any act of benevolence, towin the popular favor. 

Before going to the Lodge I had heard from Livingstone. He said that hiscousin's affair with Charley was progressing satisfactorily (I knew whatthat meant), and that he was going himself to sell out. I was notsurprised at this; for some time past even the light restraint ofservice in the Household Brigade had begun to bore him. But theintelligence conveyed in a brief note from him during my stay with Mohunstartled me very much. It announced, without any preface or explanation, that he was engaged to Constance Brandon. 

I had observed that lately he never mentioned or alluded to MissBellasys, but he had been equally silent about his present betrothed. Itold my host of the news directly. 

"I am very glad to hear it, " he said. "I never heard any thing but goodof his _fiancée_. She is wonderfully beautiful, too, I believe, and herblood is unexceptionable. And yet, " he went on musingly, "I shouldhardly have fancied that she would quite suit Guy. I don't know any onewho would exactly. By-the-by, was there not a strong flirtation with aMiss Bellasys?"

"Yes; so strong that I should have been less surprised to have seen hername in this letter. "

"Then he has not got out of that scrape yet, " Mohun observed. "That girlcomes of the wrong stock to give up any thing she has fancied without astruggle. I knew her father, Dick Bellasys, well. He contrived tocompress as much mischief into his five-and-thirty years, before DeLauny shot him, as most strong men can manage in double the time. He waslike the Visconti--never sparing man in his anger, or woman in hislove. "

I felt that he was right. I did not fancy the idea of Flora's state ofmind when she heard that all her fascinations had failed, and that herrival had won the day. 

"I think I must leave you sooner than I had intended, " I said; "Ishould like to be in England to see how things are going on. "

"You are right, " answered Ralph, "though I shall be sorry to lose you. You have some influence with Livingstone, I know, though he is so hardto guide and self-reliant that advice is almost useless. If I had togive you a _consigne_, it would be--Distrust. If Miss Bellasys seems totake things pleasantly, be still more wary. I never saw a peculiarlyfrank, winning smile on her father's face without there being ruin tosome one in the background. After all, you can do but little, I suppose. _Che sara, sara_. " He said this drearily, and with something like asigh. 

I had some business which detained me in Dublin, and it was nearly afortnight after I received Guy's letter before I reached London. 

Early on the morning after my arrival I went down to his lodgings inPiccadilly. I found him at breakfast; after the first greetings, beforeI could say one word about his own affairs, he began to speak eagerly. 

"What a pity you should have come too late for the catastrophe, when youhad seen all the preface! Five days ago Bella and Charley made theirgreat _coup_, and were married in Paris. "

"And Bruce?" I said, recovering from the intelligence, which was not sounexpected, after all. 

"Ah! Bruce"--Guy replied; "I should be very glad if I knew what he _was_doing at this moment. I have been expecting him every day; but nothinghas been heard of him since he left my mother's presence in a rabidstate of fury. Did I tell you it was from Kerton they fled? I thoughthe must have come to me for an explanation, knowing that I was anaccessory before the fact. Indeed, I lent Charley the sinews of war inthe shape of a blank check, which I see this morning he has filled upfor a thousand--just like his modesty. Well, I hope they'll amusethemselves! Bruce has never been near me. Suicide is the most charitablesuggestion I've heard yet; but coroners are silent, and the Thames, ifit is conscious of that unlucky though disagreeable man, keeps hissecret so far!"

Then he went on to give me more particulars of the _escapade_. It seemsthat Miss Raymond had gone out to walk alone, after luncheon, and thatnothing more was heard of her till dinner-time, when a note was found onher dressing-table, addressed to her aunt, containing the intelligenceof her flight with Forrester, and a little piece of ready-madepenitence--the first for all whom it might concern, the second for herfather. 

That placid Lord Ullin received the news by telegraph when he was wellinto his second rubber at the "Travelers;" he put the message into hispocket without remark, and won the rubber before he rose. It has beenreported that he was somewhat absent during its progress, so much so asto rough his partner's strongest suit; but this I conceive to have beenan after-thought of some one's, or a _canard_ of the club. Impavid asthe Horatian model-man--(just in all his _dealings_, and tenacious ofthe odd trick)--I can not imagine the convulsion of nature which wouldhave made him jeopardize by any sin of omission or commission thewinning of the long odds. 

He found Bruce that night, and told him all. He never would give anaccount of that interview: it must have been a curious one. 

 _"xunômosan gar, ontes echtistoi to prin, pur kai thalassa--"_

Fancy the well-iced conventionalities of the one brought in contact withthe other's savage temperament, maddened by baffled desires and thesense of shameful defeat. 

Before noon the next day it was announced to Lady Catharine, at KertonManor, that Bruce was waiting for her in the drawing-room. It was with adiffidence and sense of guilt very strange to her pure, straightforwardnature that she obeyed the summons. 

His back was to the door as she entered. 

"I can not tell you how sorry I am, " she began. 

Bruce turned toward her his ghastly face, ravaged and deformed bypassion and sleeplessness, like a cane-brake in the Western Indies overwhich a tornado has passed. He did not appear to notice her words or heroffered hand, but spoke in a strange, broken voice, after clearing hisparched throat once or twice, huskily:

"When did they go? At what hour?"

She told him as well as she could. 

"Where have they gone to?"

"I have not the least idea. Bella gave no hint of this. Would you liketo see her note?" and she held it out to him. 

The name appeared to sting him like the cut of a whip, for he startedconvulsively as he took the scrap of paper. He read it through more thanonce, as if unable to comprehend it; the power of discrimination seemedblasted in his dry, red eyeballs; they could only glare. 

He made it out at last, and crumpled it up in his hand, clenching ittill the knuckles became dead-white under the strain. 

"We were to have been married this day month, " he said to himself, in ahoarse whisper; then raising his voice, "You can guess, at least, whichroute they have taken?"

"Indeed I can not, " she answered; "I would have done any thing toprevent this; but you must see that pursuit now would be worse thanuseless; it could only lead to fresh evils. "

Then the smouldering passion burst into a flame. 

"It is false, " he cried out; "you would have done nothing. It is a plot. You are all in it; you, your son, and more that I will know soon. I sawit from the first moment I set foot in this cursed house. And you thinkI will not be revenged? Wait--wait and see!" He spoke rapidly, but itseemed as if the words could hardly force their way through his gnashingteeth. 

Good and kind-hearted as she was, there breathed no prouder woman thanLady Catharine Livingstone. Before he had ended her hand was on thebell. 

"Not even your disappointment can excuse your language, " she said, inher clear, vibrating tones; "our interview is ended. I have pitied youhitherto, and blamed my niece; I do neither now: she knew you betterthan I. Not one word more. Mr. Bruce's carriage. "

Bruce glared at her savagely. He would have sold his soul, I believe, to have strangled her where she stood; but Guy's own peculiar look wasin the cold, disdainful eyes, which met his without flinching orfaltering. He knew that look very well, and quailed under it now, as hehad done many times before. 

"A last piece of advice, " Lady Catharine said, as he turned to go; "youhad better curb your temper if you think of seeing my son. He mayscarcely be so patient with you as I have been. "

If he heard it he did not notice the remark, but left the room slowly. He lifted his hand, but not his head, in a stealthy gesture of menace ashe reached the door. 

Lady Catharine stood for some moments after his departure as if inthought, unconsciously retaining her somewhat haughty attitude andexpression. Then she went to her room, and prayed, with many tears, thatIsabel Raymond might never have to repent the step she had taken sorashly. I think a presentiment of danger made her pray for Guy too. Butdid she ever forget him when she was on her knees?

Nevertheless, Bruce had not shown upon the scene since, so that theycould not convey to him the intelligence when Isabel Forrester wrotefrom Paris to communicate her marriage. 

Guy went to Mr. Raymond as a plenipotentiary from the recently alliedpowers, to obtain, if possible, fair conditions of peace. His uncle wasbreakfasting alone, and received him with perfect good-temper. 

"My dear boy, " he said, "it was a match of your poor aunt's making, notmine. If she had lived to see it broken off, I think she would have beenvery much provoked. (He gave a slight shudder of reminiscence here, andfinished his chocolate. ) But they say there is no marrying or giving inmarriage where she is gone, so let us hope it will not seriously affecther now. As to me, I have never been angry since I was twenty-two. Personally, I very much prefer Forrester to Bruce as a connection. Ishould have allowed Bella £300 a year, and I suppose the necessaryoutfit and presents would have cost me about £500. I will do just thesame now--neither more nor less. You can tell Charley he may draw forthe last sum and for the first quarter when he pleases. They had bettertravel for a year or so, I think, till the people have stopped talkingabout them. Charley will sell out, of course?"

"His papers are sent in, " Guy replied. 

"Just so, " Raymond went on. "If they are in a pleasant place, I may verylikely go and see them this summer. Suggest Hombourg. I should like totry the waters. And tell Charley not to go about too much alone afternightfall. The deserted one is capable of laying a trap for him. Ididn't like his look when I saw him last. That is all, I think. Do yougo to Lady Featherstone's to-night?"

Raymond appeared at his clubs and elsewhere with a face so impenetrablycheerful and complacent that his bitterest friend dared not venture on acondolence. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

 "Tu mihi, tu certè (memini), Græcine, negabas, Uno posse aliquem tempore amare duas. "

When I had heard all this, I questioned Guy about his own affairs. Hewas not very communicative, though he seemed perfectly happy and hopefulas to the future. He said that his marriage was not to take place tillthe autumn, when Miss Brandon's brother (they were orphans) was expectedto return from India. I could not help asking what Flora Bellasysthought of it. 

Livingstone bit his lip and frowned slightly as he answered, "Well, there _was_ a scene--rather a tempestuous one, to speak the truth, butwe are perfectly good friends now. I wonder if she ever really expectedme to marry her? She is the most amusing person alive to flirt with, butas for serious measures--" He shrugged his shoulders expressively. "Perhaps she _has_ something to complain of; but if she has anyconscience at all, she ought to recognize the _lex talionis_. "

I was not convinced or satisfied, but it was useless to pursue thesubject then. 

"Will you ride to-day?" Guy asked. "There are always horses for youhere. I should like to introduce you to Constance. We shall be in thePark about five. "

I accepted willingly, and left him soon afterward. 

A little after the hour he had named I saw Livingstone's tall figureturn the corner of Kensington Gardens, riding on Miss Brandon's right;on her left was her uncle, Mr. Vavasour, her usual escort. 

She was rarely lovely, certainly, as I was sure she would be, for Guy'staste in feminine beauty was undisputed. Her features were delicate, butvery clearly cut; the nose and chin purely Grecian in their outline; thedark gray eyes met you with an earnest, true expression, as if they hadnothing to conceal. Her broad Spanish hat suited her well, shading as itdid cheeks slightly flushed by exercise, and shining tresses of thatcolor which with us is nameless, and which across the Channel theycall--_blond cendré_. Her hand was strikingly perfect, even in itsgauntlet. It might have been modeled from that famous marble fragment ofwhich the banker-poet was so proud, and which Canova kissed so often. 

There is a face which always reminds me of hers, though the figure inthe portrait is far more matured and developed than Constance's willowyform--the picture of Queen Joanna of Naples in the Palazzo Doria. 

I have stood before it long, trying in vain to read the riddle of thehaughty lineaments, and serene, untroubled eyes. Gazing at these, whocould guess the story of that most guilty woman and astuteconspirator--unbridled in sensuality--remorseless in statecraft--whocounted her lovers by legions, and saw, unmoved, her chief favorite tornlimb from limb on the rack?

But this is no singular instance. Marble and canvas are more discreetthan the mask of the best trained living features. Messalina and Julialook cold and correct enough since they have been turned into stone. Only by the magic of her smile and by the glory of her golden hair do werecognize her who, if all tales are true, might have given a tongue tothe walls of the Vatican. We forget the Borgia, with her laboratory ofphiltres and poisons--we only think that never a duke of all his royalrace brought home a lovelier bride than Alfonso of Ferrara. 

Perhaps it is best so. Why should a mark be set upon those whom, it maybe, history has condemned unrighteously? Let us not be more uncharitablethan the painter or the sculptor, but pass on without pausing toreflect--_Desinit in piscem_. 

If one had wanted to find a fault in Constance Brandon's beauty, Isuppose it would have been that her forehead was too high, and her lipstoo thin and decided in their expression, especially when compressedunder any strong feeling. But this defect it would have been hard todiscover on this first occasion of our meeting. She looked so bright andjoyous, and the light from her face seemed reflected on Guy's darkfeatures, softening their stern outline, and making them radiant with aproud happiness. She received me very cordially, and I well remember thepleasant impression left on my ear by the first sound of her voice, softand low as Cordelia's. In these two attributes it resembled that ofFlora Bellasys, yet their tones were essentially different--as differentas is to the taste a draft of pure sparkling water from one of strongsweet wine. We had taken two or three turns, when a large partyapproached us, in the centre of whom I recognized instantly MissBellasys. If possible, she looked handsomer than ever as she swept by ata sharp canter, sitting square and firmly, but yielding just enough tothe stride of the horse--perfectly erect, but inimitably lithe andgraceful. 

Nothing in her demeanor betrayed the faintest shade of emotion; but Iremembered the old maxim of the fencing-school--"Watch your enemy'seyes, not his blade;" and I caught Flora's, as she raised her head afterreturning our salutation, before she had time to discipline themthoroughly. I saw them glitter with defiant hatred as they lighted onher rival. I saw them melt with passionate eagerness as for one briefmoment they followed Guy's retreating figure and averted face. Half ofMohun's warning became superfluous after that. I was in no danger ofbeing deceived by "Miss Bellasys taking things pleasantly. "

Yet, as time wore on, the idea forced itself on me more and more thatLivingstone's choice was in some respects a mistake. They were _not_suited to each other. Constance was as unsuspicious and as free fromcommonplace jealousies as the merest child; but some of her lover'sproceedings did not please her, and she told him so, perhaps withoutattending sufficiently to the "_suaviter in modo_"; for, when it was aquestion of duty, real or fancied, to herself and to others, she wasrigid as steel. Besides this, she was a strict observer of all Churchcanons and rituals; and more than once, when Guy had proposed some plan, a vigil, or matins, or vespers came in the way. She did all for thebest, I am certain, and judged herself far more severely than she didothers, but she could not guess how any thing like an admonition or alecture grated on the proud, self-willed nature that from childhood hadbeen unused to the slightest control. To speak the truth, too, she wasnot exempt from that failing which brought ruin on the brightest of theangels, and punishment eternal on the Son of the Morning; so that pridemay often have checked the evidence of the deep love she really felt, and made her manner seem constrained and cold. 

I only guess all this; for neither then, nor at any future time, did Iever hear from Guy the faintest whisper of accusation or complaint. 

I do not think he contradicted her often; I am quite sure it never cameto a quarrel or even a dispute. They were not a couple likely to indulgein the _amantium iræ_; but sometimes, after quitting her, his brow wasso ominously overcast that it would have gladdened the very heart ofFlora Bellasys to have seen it. Once, I remember, after sitting sometime in silence, his eyes turned toward a table, where, among otherletters, lay a little triangular note unopened. He broke the seal andread it through, frowning still heavily; after a few moments of whatlooked like hesitation, he seemed to come to a decision, and burned itslowly at the flame of his spirit-lamp. Then he rose and shook all hismighty limbs--as the Danite Titan might have done before his locks wereshorn--and sat down again with a long-drawn sigh, as of relief. I longedto interpose with a warning word, for in the handwriting I recognizedthe _griffe_ of the fatal Delilah. But I knew how dangerous it was toattempt interference with Guy; and besides, this time, I felt sure hehad escaped the toils. Yet my heart sank as I thought of the seductionsand temptations that the future might have in store. I could hardlykeep my temper that evening when I saw at the Opera FloraBellasys--triumphant, as if she could guess what the morning's work hadbeen--and then thought of the single, guileless heart whose happinessshe was plotting to overthrow. 

She and Guy met constantly, for he still went every where, oftenaccompanied by his _fiancée_. They seemed to be on the most ordinaryfooting of old acquaintances, though it was remarked that no one couldbe said to have succeeded to the post of grand vizier at the Bellasyscourt, vacated by Livingstone. I can not trace the threads of the web ofCirce. She concealed them well at the time; and since--between theknowledge of them and me is drawn the veil of a terrible remorse, whichI have never tried to penetrate. 

I can only tell the end, which came very speedily. 

CHAPTER XX. 

 "'Tis good to be merry and wise; 'Tis good to be honest and true; 'Tis good to be off with the old love Before you are on with the new. "

There was a sound of revelry by night in Mrs. Wallace's villa atRichmond, and fair women and brave men mustered there strong. Every oneliked those parties. The hostess was young and very charming, while herhusband, a bald, inoffensive, elderly man, was equally eminent in hisown department of the commissariat. His wines were things to dream of inafter years, when, like Curran, "confined to the Port" of a remotecountry inn, one sacrifices one's self heroically on the altar of thelandlord for the good of the house. 

The crowd was not so dense as at most London parties, and thetemperature consequently something below that of a vapor-bath or of the_Piombi_, but the generality of the guests were either amusing, orpretty, or otherwise eligible. To be sure, it was rather an expeditionand a question of passports to get down there, but the drive homethrough the cool dewy morning made you amends. 

Constance Brandon was present. I never saw her look so lovely as onthis, her last appearance on the world's stage. No one could haveguessed that, five hours later, the light was to die in her eyes and thecolor in her cheeks, never to return to either again till she shallwake on the Resurrection morning. 

Flora Bellasys was there too, in all the insolence of beauty, defyingcriticism, and challenging the admiration that was lavished on her. Ishould like to describe her dress; but I know how dangerous it is forthe uninitiate to venture within the verge of those awful mysteries overwhich, as hierophants, Devy and Maradon-Carson preside. Conscious of mysex, I retire. Have we not read of Actæon?

Still I may say that I have an impression of her being surrounded by asort of cloud of pale blue _tulle_, over which bouquets of geranium werescattered here and there; and I remember perfectly a certain serpent ofscarlet velvet and diamonds flashing amid the rolls and braids of herdark shining tresses. 

The evening began with private theatricals, which were most successful. There was a _soubrette_--provoking enough to have set all theparti-colored world by the ears--who traced her descent from a vavasorof Duke William the Norman, and an attorney's clerk, who had evidentlymistaken his profession when he took a commission in the Coldstreams. 

Soon after the ball which followed had begun, Livingstone arrived. Hehad been dining at the mess of his old regiment. I never remember seeinghim what is called the worse for liquor. His head was marble under theinfluence of wine and of yet stronger compounds; but the instant I methis eyes, I guessed from their unusual brilliancy, and from the slightadditional flush on his brown cheeks, that the wassail had been deep. 

He paused for a moment to say a word or two to me, and I noticed thatthe first person whom his glance lighted on was, not his betrothed, butFlora Bellasys. The latter was resting after her first polka, with herusual staff of admirers round her. Guy watched the circle paying theirhomage, and I heard him mutter to himself the formula of the Romanarena--_Morituri te salutant_. Then he passed on; and, after retainingConstance for her first disengaged turn, he began talking to a lady, whom I have not noticed yet, but who merits to be sketched hastily. 

Rose Thornton was not clever. She was no longer in her first youth, andhad never been pretty or very attractive. Her figure was neat, and herface had a sort of nervous deprecating expression, that made you look atit a second time. Nevertheless, she was always deeply engaged, andgenerally to the best goers in the room. She was a good performerherself, but this would not account for it; ninety-nine girls out ofevery hundred are that, after two seasons' practice. Those who were inthe secret did not wonder at her luck. She was the _âme damnee_ of FloraBellasys. 

Whenever the latter ventured on any unusually daring escapade, she wasalways really accompanied by Miss Thornton, or supposed to be so. Howthe influence was originally acquired I know not; at the time I speak ofshe had no more volition left than a Russian Grenadier. She had someprinciples of action once, I suppose, and considered herself as anaccountable being; but all such vanities her "dashing white sergeant"had drilled out of her long ago. Poor thing! It was no wonder that thefrightened look had become habitual to her face, and that she alwaysspoke with reserve and constraint, as if to guard against thechance-betrayal of some terrible secret. It was no sinecure, heroffice--alternately scapegoat and _confidante_. My own idea is, thathaving still a little feeble remnant of a conscience remaining, shesuffered agonies of remorse at times in the latter capacity. Dancing washer great--almost her only pleasure, and Flora certainly provided herregularly with partners. Indeed, some one had irreverently designatedMiss Thornton as The Turnpike, inasmuch as, before securing a waltz withthe beauty, it was necessary to pay toll in the shape of a duty-dancewith her _protégée_. Rose's gratitude was boundless. She never weariedin rendering small services to her patroness. She would write her notesfor her, as La Raffé did for Richelieu, and fetch and carry like thebest of retrievers; venturing every now and then on a timid caress, which was permitted rather than accepted with an imperial nonchalance. The only subject on which she ever expanded into eloquence was thefascinations of her friend. She spent all her weak breath in blowingthat laudatory trumpet, as if she expected the defenses of the bestguarded heart to fall prostrate before it, like the walls of Jericho. And yet, if all the truth were known, I think she had as much reason tocomplain as the dwarf in the story who swore fellowship in arms with thegiant. 

I was sorry to see Livingstone linger at her side, yet more sorry when, by an easy transition, he passed on to Flora's, and the circle aroundher, from old habit, made room for him to pass. He did not stay therelong, though--only long enough to make future arrangements, Isuppose--and then, for some time, I lost sight of him. 

I had been driving heavily through a quadrille in the society of a veryfoolish virgin, whose ideas of past, present, and future seemed boundedby the last Opera, which she had and I had not seen. A horror of greatdullness had fallen upon me, and I went out to restore the tone of mydepressed spirits by a libation, wherein I devoted, solemnly, my latepartner to the infernal gods. When I returned they were playing "TheOlga, " and Flora was whirling round on Guy Livingstone's arm. 

Among her many perilous fascinations, have I ever mentioned herwonderful waltzing? She was as untiring as an Almè; and when once fairlylaunched with a steerer who could do her justice, had a sway withher--to use an Americanism--like that of a clipper three points off thewind. 

As I watched her, almost reclining in her partner's powerful grasp, herlips moving incessantly, though audibly only to him, as her head leanedagainst his shoulder, I thought of the old Rhineland tradition of theWilis; then the daughter of Herodias came into my mind; and then thatscarcely less murderous _danseuse_, at whose many-twinkling feet theysay the second Napoleon cast his frail life down. 

If, in his assault on St. Anthony, the Evil One mingled no Terpsichoreantemptation, be sure it was because the ancient man had no ear for music, I do not think that weapon was forgotten when Don Roderick, who had oncebeen a courtly king, did battle through a long winter's night with thephantasm of fair, sinful La Cava. 

The waltz was over, and I saw Guy and Flora disappear through thecurtained door of the conservatory. If there was one thing Mrs. Wallacewas prouder of than another, it was the arrangement of this sanctum. Very justly so; for it had witnessed the commencement and happytermination of more flirtations than half the ball-rooms in London puttogether. When you got into one of those nooks, contrived in artfulrecesses, shaded by magnolias, camellias, and the broad, thick-leavedtropical plants, lighted dimly by lamps of many-colored glass, you feltthe recitation of some chapter in "the old tale so often told" anecessity of the position, not a matter of choice. Against eyes you weretolerably safe, though not against ears; but this is of very secondaryimportance. The man who would not assist a woman in distress (as thestage sailor has it) by adhering to the whisper appropriate to theimparting of interesting information, deserves to be--overheard. 

Flora sank down on a convenient _causeuse_, still panting slightly--notfrom breathlessness, but past excitement--the ground-swell after thestorm. 

"Ah! what a waltz!" she said, with a sigh. "And what a pity it is sonearly the last! I shall never find any one else who will understand mystep and pace so well. "

"Why should it be nearly the last?" Guy asked, contemplating the varyingexpression of her face and the somewhat careless _pose_ of hermagnificent figure with more than admiration in his eyes. 

"_On se range, _" Flora answered, demurely. "And the first step in theright direction will be to give up one's favorite partners. "

He sat down by her with a short laugh that was rather forced. 

"Bah! do you think, because we are virtuous, there shall be no morecakes and ale?"

"Of course I do. I could sketch your future so easily. It will be sointensely respectable. You will become a model country squire. You willhunt a good deal, but never _ride_ any more. (You must sell the Axeine, you know. ) You will go to magistrates' meetings regularly, and breedimmense cattle; and you will grow very fat yourself. That's the worst ofall. I don't like to fancy you stout and unwieldy, like Athelstan. "

She ended, pensively. The languor of reaction seemed stealing over her, but it only made her more charming as she leaned still farther back onthe soft cushions, watching the point of her tiny foot tracing thepattern of the carpet. 

"What a brilliant horoscope!" said Guy; "and so benevolently sketched, too! Now your own, Improvisatrice. "

"I shall marry too, " she answered, gravely. "I ought to have done solong ago. Perhaps I shall make up my mind soon. Evil examples are socontagious. "

"And who will draw the great prize?"

"I have not the faintest idea. I suppose some fine old Englishgentleman, who has a great estate. "

"I only hope the said estate will be near Kerton, " Livingstonesuggested; and he drew closer to his companion. 

"Ah! dear old Kerton, " she said, sighing again, "I shall never go thereany more. "

"The reason?"

"Perhaps because my husband, whoever he may be, will not choose to bringme. "

"Absurd!" Guy retorted, biting his lip hard. "As if that individualwould have any will of his own. You want to provoke me, I see. "

The answer came in so low a whisper that, though he bent his ear down, he had almost to guess at the words. 

"No, I have never tried to do that, even during the last three months. Iam not brave enough. Perhaps I should not come, because--I could notbear it. "

They were silent. She was so near him now that her quick breath stirredhis hair, and he could feel the pulse of her heart beating against hisown side. The fiery Livingstone blood, heated seven-fold by wine andpassion, was surging through his veins like molten iron. Memory andforesight were both swept away like withered leaves by the strength ofthe terrible temptation. 

His arm stole round her waist, and he drew her toward him--close--closeryet; then she looked up in his face. The cloud of thoughtful gravity haspassed away from hers, and the provocations of a myriad of coquettes andcourtesans concentrated in her marvelous eyes. 

He bent down his lofty head, and instantly their lips met, and were settogether fast. 

A kiss! Tibullus, Secundus, Moore, and a thousand other poets andpoetasters, have rhymed on the word for centuries, decking it with thechoicest and quaintest conceits. But, remember, it was with a kiss thatthe greatest of all criminals sealed the unpardonable sin--it was a kisswhich brought on Francesca punishment so unutterably piteous that heswooned at the sight who endured to look on all other terrors ofnine-circled hell. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

 "God help thee, then! I'll see thy face no more. Like water spilled upon the plain, Not to be gathered up again, Is the old love I bore. "

Before that long caress was ended, close behind them there broke forth alow, plaintive cry, such as might be wrung from the bravest of delicatewomen, in her extremity of pain, when stricken by a heavy brutal hand. 

The hot blood ebbed back in Guy Livingstone's veins, and froze at itsfountain-head. His punishment had begun already. Before her face, whiteas the dress she wore, was revealed through a break in the dark greenfoliage of the camellias, he knew that he had trifled away his life'shappiness, and lost Constance Brandon. 

She came forward slowly. With a valiant effort she had shaken off thefirst feeling of faintness that had crept over her, and there wasscarcely a trace of emotion left on her features--calm and pale as theAngel of Death. 

Guy had risen, and stood still, with his head bent down on his breast. For the first time in his life he was unable to raise his eyes, weigheddown by the heavy sense of bitter disgrace and forfeited honor. 

But the bright flush on Flora's cheek spoke more of exultation than ofshame; the bouquet which she raised to her lips only half concealed asmile of triumph. She wreathed her slender neck haughtily while she mether rival's glance without flinching. She thought that, if she hadplayed for a heavy stake--no less than the jeopardy of her fairfame--this time, at least, the game was her own. 

Constance spoke first, in a voice perfectly measured and composed. Therewas not a false note in the soft, musical tones. After once conqueringher emotion, she would have dropped dead at Flora's feet sooner thanbetray how she was wounded. 

"When you have taken Miss Bellasys back, will you come to me for amoment, Mr. Livingstone? I will wait for you here. "

Flora rose before Guy could answer. "Don't trouble yourself, " she said, gayly. "Here is my partner for the polka looking anxiously for me. I amready, Captain Ravenswood. "

She turned, before reaching the door, to fire a last shot. 

"It is the next galop I am to keep for you, is it not?"

This was to Guy; but there was no answer. He stood in precisely the sameattitude, without a muscle of his face stirring or an eyelash quivering. 

In all the Rifle Brigade there was not a more reckless dare-devil thanHarry Ravenswood, nor one who adhered more devoutly to the convenientcreed, "All is fair in war or love. " But he saw that something hadhappened quite out of his line; and he did not venture on a singleallusion to it as he led his partner back to the dancing-room, with aperplexed expression on his cheery face, which amused Flora intenselywhen she remarked it. When the subject came on for discussion afterwardin the smoking-room at his club, he thus expressed himself, in languageterse and elegantly allegorical. 

"You see, Livingstone is a very heavy weight; a good deal better thanmost in the ring. When I saw him so floored as not to be able to come totime, I knew there had been some hard hitting going on thereabouts, so Ikept clear. "

The two who were left alone in the conservatory remained silent for afew seconds. Then Guy roused himself, and offered his arm to hiscompanion with an impulse of courtesy that was simply mechanical. Shetook it without remark, and they passed out through the door which ledinto the garden. 

There Constance left his side; and, for the first time, their eyes metas they stood face to face under the bright moon. Guy read his sentenceinstantly--a sentence from which there was no appeal. The veryhopelessness of his situation restored its elasticity to the somewhatsullen pride which was the mainspring of his character. He stood, waiting for her to speak; and his eyes were not cast down now, butriveted on her face--gloomily defiant. 

"I hope you will believe, " Miss Brandon said, "that it was quiteinvoluntarily I became a spy on your actions. I did not overhear oneword; and my partner had that moment left me, when I saw--" Not all herself-command could check the shudder that ran through every limb, andthe choking in her throat that would interrupt her. 

"I have very little to add, " she went on, more steadily. "After what Iwitnessed, I need hardly say that we only meet again as the mereststrangers. You might think meanly of me, indeed, if I ever allowed yourlips to touch my cheek or my hand again. Remember, I told you from thefirst we were not suited to each other; perhaps I deserve all I have metwith for allowing myself to be overruled. You can not contradict a wordof this, or say that it is unjust or severe. "

Did she pause in the expectation or the hope of an excuse, or an appealfrom her hearer? Only the hoarse answer came, "I have forfeited the right to defend myself or to gainsay you. "

"You would find it difficult to do either, " Constance rejoined, rathermore haughtily; perhaps she was disappointed in the tone of his reply. "One word more: if my name is ever called in question, I am sure no onewill defend it more readily than yourself. My voice will never be heardagainst you; and if, hereafter, you shall desire my forgiveness morethan you now do; remember, I have given it unasked and freely. "

Guy's tone was pregnant with cold, cruel irony as he answered, "I congratulate you on your position, Miss Brandon; it is quiteunassailable. You are in the right now, as you always have been. Youwere right, of course, in always doling out the tokens of your love insuch scanty measure as your pride and your priests would allow. Theyought to canonize you--those holy men! I doubt if they have anotherdisciple so superior to all human weaknesses. It must be verygratifying to so eminent a Christian to be able to forgive plenarily, without danger of the favor being returned. I have nothing to urgeagainst your decision--that we part forever. You will have no difficultyin forgetting me, whom you ought never to have stooped to. Yet I willgive you one caution. I am not romantic, as you know, and I generallymean what I say. If you should think hereafter of bestowing yourself onsome worthier object, hesitate a little for _his_ sake, or wait till Iam dead; otherwise, the day that makes his happiness certain may bringhim very near his grave. "

His voice had changed during the last words into a growl of savagemenace, and his forehead was black and furrowed with passion. 

It might have been his own excited fancy, or the passing just then of alight cloud over the moon; but, for an instant, he thought he saw hersteady lip quiver and tremble. If so, be very sure it was not fear whichcaused the emotion, though even that the circumstances might haveexcused; rather, I think, it was a pang of self-reproach--aconsciousness of having acted unwisely, though for the best; perhaps, too, the stubbornness of the heart she had ruled once--so strong andproud even in its abasement--was congenial to her own besetting sin: sheliked the fierce threat better than the cool sarcasm. At any rate, sheanswered more gently than she had yet spoken. 

"I believe you. But you know me better than to think a threat wouldinfluence me. Yet you need not fear my ever again trusting this worldwith my happiness. You will be very sorry hereafter for some things youhave said to-night. Ask yourself--if I had loved you, as you seem tohave expected, better than my own soul, would the result have beendifferent? It is too late now to say any thing but--farewell. Will younot say it, as I do, kindly, or at least not in anger--Guy?"

She paused between the two last words, and their imploring accent wasalmost piteous. There must have been a strange fascination aboutLivingstone, for, saint as she was, no other living creature would havewon such a concession from the Christian charity of Constance Brandon. 

Had Guy spoken then, as he ought to have done, I believe all might havebeen amended; but an angry devil was busy within him, and would not letgo his prey; he stood with his black brows downcast, and with foldedarms, never seeming to notice the slender fingers that sought to touchhis hand. True it is that nothing makes a man so unforgiving as theconsciousness of having inflicted a bitter wrong. He heard a sigh, heavyand despairing as Francesca's when her dying prayer was spurned, a lightshadow flitted across the streak of moonlit grass, and, when he raisedhis head, he was left alone, like Alp on the sea-shore, to judge thebattle between a remorseful conscience and a hardened heart. 

Livingstone was seen no more that night; Constance glided in alone, andher absence had been scarcely noticed. During the short time that sheremained, no one could have guessed from her face that her heart wasbroken, any more than did Napoleon that the aid-de-camp who brought thenews of Lannes' victory had been almost cut in two by a grape-shot. 

I speak it diffidently, with the fear of the divine voice of the peoplebefore my eyes, as is but fitting in these equalizing days, whenterritories, the title to which is possession immemorial, are beingplucked away acre by acre, and hereditary privileges mined one by one;but it seems to me, in this, perhaps, solitary attribute, "the brave oldhouses" still keep their pre-eminence. 

They are not better, nor wiser in their generation (forbid it, Manchester!), nor even more daring in confronting danger than thethousands whose grandsires are creations of a powerful fancy or of acomplaisant king-at-arms. In that terrible charge which swept away theRussian cavalry at Eylau, three lengths in front of the best blood inFrance rode the innkeeper's son. The "First Grenadier" himself was notmore splendidly reckless, though he was a La Tour d'Auvergne. But inpassive uncomplaining endurance, in the power of obliterating outwardtokens of suffering, physical or mental, may we not still say, _Noblesseoblige_?

Hundreds of similar isolated instances may be quoted from the annals ofthe Third Estate; but, in the class I speak of, this quality seems asixth sense wholly independent of, and often contradicting the rest ofthe individual's disposition. 

I remember meeting in France an old Italian refugee. He had not muchprinciple and very little pride; he was ready _quidvis facere aut pati_to get a five-franc piece, which he would incontinently stake and loseat baccarat or ecarté, as he had done aforetime with a large ancestralinheritance; but his quiet fortitude under privations that were neitherfew nor light was worthy of Belisarius. 

Very often, I am sure, his evening meal must have been eaten with theBarmecide; but his pale, handsome face, finished off so gracefully bythe white, pointed beard, still met you, courteous and unruffled, theidea of an exiled doge, or a Rohan in disgrace. Once only I saw himmoved--when the landlord of our inn, a vast bloated _bourgeois_, smotethe Count familiarly on the shoulder, and bantered him pleasantly on thebrilliant prospects of his eldest son. It was not unkindly meant, perhaps, but the old man shrunk away from the large fat hand as if ithurt him, and turned toward us a look piteously appealing, which was notlost on myself or Livingstone. When mine host, later in the evening, shook in his gouty slippers before an ebullition of Guy's wrath, excitedby the most shadowy pretext, I wonder if he guessed at the remote causeof that outpouring of the vials? Count Massa did, for he smiledintensely, as only an Italian can smile when amply revenged. 

One instance more to close a long digression. I have read of a baron inthe fifteenth century who once in his life said a good thing. He was acoarse, brutal marauder, illiterate enough to have satisfied Earl Angus, and as unromantic as the Integral Calculus. He was mortally wounded in askirmish; and when his men came back from the pursuit, he was bleedingto death, resting against a tree. When they lifted him up, they noticedhis eyes fixed with a curious, complacent expression on the red streamthat surged and gurgled out of his wound, just as a _gourmand_ looks ata bumper of a rare vintage held up to the light. They heard him growl tohimself, "_Qu'il coule rouge et fort, le bon vieux sang de Bourgogne_. "And then he fell back--dead. 

O Publicola Thompson! Phösphor to the Tower Hamlets and Boanerges ofthe platform--will you not allow that, amid a wilderness of weeds, thisone fair plant flourishes under "the cold shade?"

CHAPTER XXII. 

 "Shy she was, and I thought her cold; Thought her proud, and fled over the sea; Filled I was with folly and spite, When Ellen Adair was dying for me. "

When I came to Livingstone's chambers on the following morning, I foundhim alone. His head was resting listlessly against the back of the vasteasy-chair in which he was reclining, and his face, thrown out in reliefagainst the crimson velvet, looked haggard and drawn. The calumet--notof peace--was between his lips, and the dense blue clouds were wreathinground him like a Scotch mist. On a table near lay a heap of gold andnotes. He had finished the night at his club, where lansquenet had beenraging till long after sunrise. Fortune had been more kind than usual, and the fruits of "passing" eight times lay before me. An openliqueur-case close at his elbow showed that play was not the onlycounter-excitement to which he had resorted. 

I hoped to have found him in a repentant mood, but his first wordsundeceived me: "I start for Paris by this evening's train;" and then Iremarked all about me the signs of immediate departure. 

I only had a confused idea of what had happened, and was anxious to knowthe truth, but he was very brief in his answers: the particulars of whathad passed I learned long afterward. 

"Can nothing be done?" I asked, when he had finished all he chose totell me. 

"Nothing!" replied Livingstone, decisively. "If excuse or explanationhad been of any use, I think I should have tried them last night. Youwould not advise me to humiliate myself to no purpose, I suppose?"

There is a certain scene in Æschylus which came into my mind just then. 

A group of elderly men, with grave, rather vacuous faces, and grizzledbeards, stand in the court-yard of an ancient palace. On one side is theperistyle, with its square stunted pillars, looking as if the weightabove crushed them, though it wearies them no more than the heavens doAtlas; on the other, a gateway, vast, low-browed, shadowy with Cyclopeanstones. Somewhat apart is a strange weird figure, ever and anon startingup and tossing her arms wildly as she utters some new denunciation, andthen cowering down again in a despairing weariness. There are traces yetin the thin, wan face of the beauty which enslaved Loxian Apollo, and ofthe pride which turned his great love into a greater hate: round it hangthe black elf-locks, disheveled, that have never been braided since thegripe of Telamonian Ajax ruffled them so rudely. In her great, troubledeyes you read terrible memories, and a prescience of comingdeath--death, most grateful to the dishonored princess, but before whichthe frail womanhood can not but shudder and quail. No wonder that thereverend men glance at her uneasily, scarcely mustering courage enoughsometimes to answer her with a pious platitude. Alas! alas! Cassandra. 

While we gaze, forth from the recesses of the gynæceum there breaks acry, expressing rather wrath and surprise than mere pain. Then therecomes another, more plaintive--the moan of a strong man in thedeath-throe. 

We know that voice very well; we have heard it many times, calm andregal, above the wrangle of councils and the roar of battle; often itprayed for victory or for the people's weal, but it never yet called onearth or heaven to help Agamemnon. The Chorus hear it too; but theylinger and palter, while each gives his grave sentence deliberately inhis proper turn. One or two advise action and interference, and standperfectly still. At last we hear a heavy, choking groan, and a greatstillness follows. We know that all is over--we know that there is astir already down there in Hades--we seem to catch a far-off murmurraised by a thousand weak, tremulous voices--the very ghost of awail--as the shadows of those who died gallantly in their harness beforeTroy gather to meet their old leader, the mightiest Atride. 

In the background of all we fancy a hideous Eidolon, from whose sideeven the damned recoil in loathing. There is a grin on the lips yet redand wet with the traces of the unholy banquet. Thyestes exalts over thefulfillment of another chapter in the inevitable curse. 

Who has not grown savage over that scene? We hate the old drivelers lesswhen, a few minutes later, they truckle and temporize with the awfulshape, who comes forth with a splash of blood on her slender wrist, anda speck or two on her white, lofty forehead. 

Just so helpless and useless I felt at that moment. I was standing bywhile a foul wrong was being wrought. I saw nothing but ruin for Guy, and desolate misery for Constance, in the black future. Yet I couldthink of no argument or counsel that would in the least avail. I feltsick at heart. It was some minutes before I answered his last question. At last the words broke from me almost unconsciously: "Ah! how will youanswer to God and man for last night's work?"

I forgot that I was quoting the cry of the Covenanter's widow when sheknelt by her husband's corpse, and looked up into Claverhouse's facewith those sad eyes that were ever dim and cloudy after the carbinesflashed across them. But Guy remembered it, and answered instantly inthe words of his favorite hero, "I can answer it to man well enough, and I will take God in my ownhand. "

Years afterward we both recalled that fatal defiance, when the speakerlay helpless, at the mercy of the Omnipotence whose might he challenged. Just then his servant, who was busily preparing for departure, enteredthe room. 

Willis was a slight, under-sized man, of about fifty; his complexion wasmuddy and indefinite; his small whiskers, of a grayish red, were trimmedand pruned as accurately as a box border-edging, and the partial absenceof eyebrows and eyelashes gave his face a sort of unfinished look. Theexpression natural to it was, I think, a low, vicious cunning; but hisfeatures and little green eyes were so rigidly disciplined that, as arule, neither had any characteristic save utter vacuity. In his own linehe was perfect. No commission that could be intrusted to him would drawfrom him a remark or a look of surprise. He executed precisely what hewas told, and fulfilled the minutest duties of his stationirreproachably, with a noiseless, feline activity. He was like thewar-horse of the Douglas:

 "Though somewhat old, Swift in his paces, cool, and bold. "

He held a miniature-case in his hand as he entered. "Am I to put thisin, sir?" he asked, in the slow, measured voice that was habitual tohim. 

His master gazed sharply at him, as if trying to detect a covertsneer--it would have been safer to have stroked a rattlesnake's crestthan to have trifled with Livingstone just then--but Willis's face wasas innocent of any expression as a dead wall. 

"Put it down, and go on with your packing; you have no time to spare. "The man laid the case on a marble table near, and went out. 

Guy took the miniature and regarded it steadfastly for some moments, then he looked up and caught my eye. Perhaps there was an eager appealthere (for I knew well whose likeness lay before him) which displeasedand provoked his sullen temper; for he frowned darkly, and then hisclenched hand fell with the crashing weight of a steam-hammer. Nothingbut a heap of shivered wood, glass, and ivory remained of what had beenthe life-like image of Constance Brandon. 

A thrill of horror shot through me icily, and a low cry burst from mylips. I felt at that moment as if the blow had fallen, not on theportrait, but on the original. 

But I kept silence. The dark hour was on Saul, and I knew no spell tochase the evil spirit away. 

Guy spoke at last. His manner was unusually chill and constrained. 

"I expect to meet Mohun in Paris, and we shall probably go on to Vienna. I hardly like troubling you with commissions, but I must. Listen. Ileave my own name--and another person's--in your keeping. I wish it tobe clearly understood that the engagement was broken off by MissBrandon, not by me. If you hear any man speak disparagingly of her inconnection with what has passed, you can insult him on my behalf asgrossly as you please. I will be here, as fast as steam can bring me, toback what you may have said or done. This is the only point in which Ihope you will guard my honor. As for blaming _me_, they may say whatthey please. Do you quite understand? And will you promise?"

I did promise; and so, after a few more last words, we parted, morecoldly than we had ever done in all the years through which we had beenintimate. 

Guy left England the same evening, and descended like a thunder-clap onthe joyous little _ménage_ in the Rue de la Madeleine, where Forresterand his bride were still fluttering their wings in the honeymoon-shineof post-nuptial spring. 

They were miraculously happy, those two. Indeed, they seemed to haveonly one taste between them, and that was Charley's. If he feltinclined, which was not seldom, to utter inaction, his wife encouragedhim in his laziness, sitting contentedly for hours on her footstool, with her silky hair just within reach of his indolent hand. If, afterdinner, he suggested the "Italiens, " or the "Bouffes, " it was alwaysprecisely that theatre that she had been thinking of all the morning. She was in the seventh heaven when he won a hurdle-race in the Champ deMars. 

They made excursions into the _banlieue_, and farther afield yet, like acouple of the _Pays Latin_ in their first loves. The cabinets of Bercyand St. Cloud knew them; so did the arbors of Asnières, where, inoilskin and _vareuse_, muster for their Sabbat the ancient mariners ofthe Seine. Nay, it has been whispered that more than once--close veiledand clinging tightly to her husband's arm--Isabel witnessed at _Mabille_and the _Chaumière_ the choregraphic triumphs of _Frisette_, _Pomare_, and _Mogador_. 

My hand trembles while I record such enormities and backslidings. OBrougham-girls of Belgravia, who "never gave your mothers a moment'suneasiness"--stars of the Western hemisphere, who can be trusted anywhere without fear of your wandering from your orbits--think on thislost Pleiad, once your companion, and be warned. Men are deceivers ever, even when they mean matrimony; and the tender mercies of the LightDragoon are cruel. 

Isabel was dreadfully startled at the sudden appearance of her cousin. Her notions of his power were quite unlimited and irrational, and Ibelieve her first thought was that he had changed his mind about thepropriety of her marriage, and was come to carry her back into the houseof her bondage with the strong hand. 

When his curt sentences told her the facts, sorry as she was, itcertainly was rather a relief to her. Charley was full of compassiontoo, but he only confided this to his wife. He knew better than to trycondolence with Guy, and felt instantly that the case was far beyond hissimple powers of healing. 

They did not see much of him. The contrast of their happiness with hisown state must have grated on his feelings. His grim presence chilledand clouded their little banquets at the Trois Frères or the Café deParis. He sat there among the bright lamps and flowers like a statue ofdark marble that it is impossible to light up, drinking all the while, moodily, of the strongest wines to that portentous extent that it madeIsabel nervous and her husband grave. 

Perhaps Guy was conscious of the effect he produced; at all events, herather avoided the Forresters, finding in Mohun more congenial society. The latter probably regretted what had happened; perhaps he felt anapproach to sympathy, after his rough fashion, but with this mingled adreary sort of satisfaction at the sight of a strong mind and hardynature rapidly descending to his own misanthropical level. Such anexultation was breathed in that ghastly chorus of the dead kings andchief ones of the earth when they rose, each on his awful throne, andHell beneath was moved at the advent of the Son of the Morning. 

These two did not stay long in Paris before they took their departurefor Vienna. 

We who were left behind in England talked a little at first, of course, about the broken engagement, but I had no occasion to throw down thegauntlet that had been left in my hands. I never heard any thing morespiteful about Miss Brandon than that "she was never suited to her_fiancé_--far too good for him. " Others "had always thought how itwould be; it would take a good deal more yet to tame Livingstone. " SirHenry Fallowfield observed, "Nothing could be more natural and correct. The lady was a saint, and there is always a sort of incompleteness aboutsaints if they are not made martyrs. Suffering is their normal state. "

It was remarked that he was unusually cheerful for some days afterward;and when Guy's conduct was canvassed, seemed inclined to quote the oldschool-master's words on witnessing his pupil's success, "Bless the boy!I taught him. "

Some other subject soon came up and replaced the week's wonder. 

Constance left town with her uncle almost immediately, and I heardnothing of her for many months. Miss Bellasys remained. Very few personseven guessed at the share she had had in breaking off the match; so hercredit was not much impaired, and her campaign was as brilliantlysuccessful as usual. If she felt any disappointment at Guy's abruptdeparture, she concealed it remarkably well. In some things, thoughnaturally impetuous and impatient, she was as cool as a Red Indian, andwould wait and watch forever if she saw a prospect of ultimate success. So the days rolled on, bringing swiftly and surely the bitterharvest-time, when he who had sown the wind was to reap the whirlwind. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

 "And from his lips those words of insult fell-- His sword is good who can maintain them well. "

It was the middle of October; the reflux of the winter season wasbeginning to fill Paris, and thither Mohun and Livingstone had returnedfrom their German tour, the latter decidedly the worse for hiswanderings. He had not suffered much physically, for the hard livingthat would have utterly broken up some constitutions had only been ableto make his face thinner, to deepen the bistre tints under the eyes, andto give a more angular gauntness to his massive frame. 

But morally he was not the same man. Play, which had formerly been onlyan occasional excitement, had now become a necessary part of his dailyexistence. Mohun would never say--perhaps he did not know--how much Guyhad lost during those few months. In spite of several gigantic _coups_(he broke the bank both at Baden and Hombourg), the balance wasfearfully on the wrong side, so much so that it entailed a heavymortgage--the maiden one in his time--on the fair lands of Kerton Manor. 

I wonder people have not got tired of quoting "_Heureux en jeu;malheureux en amour_. " It seems one of the least true of all stale, stupid proverbs. Luck will run itself out in more ways than one; andsometimes you will never hold a trump, however often the suit changes. The ancients knew better than we when they called the double-sixes"Venus's cast. " The monotony of Guy's reckless dissipations was soonbroken up by an event which ought to have sobered him. 

He had been dining with Mohun at the Trois Frères, and they werereturning late toward the Boulevards, when their attention was attractedby a group in one of the narrow streets leading out of the Rue Vivienne. Five or six raffish-looking men had surrounded a fair, delicate girl, and were preparing to besiege her in form, deriving apparently intenseamusement from the piteous entreaties of their victim to be released. Not the _roués_ of the Regency after the suppers that have become aby-word--not the _mousquetaires_ after the wildest of their orgies--wereever so unrelenting in brutality toward women quite lonely andundefended as those unshorn ornaments of Young France, when replete witha dinner at forty _sous_, and with the anomalous liquor that Maconblushes to own. 

In all Europe there is no more genial companion and gallant gentlemanthan the aristocrat of France _pur sang_--in all the world no moreterrible adversary than her wiry, well-trained soldier; but, from theprolific decay of old institutions and prejudices, a mushroom growth hassprouted of child-atheists and precocious profligates, calculatingdebauchees while their cheeks are still innocent of down, who, after theeffervescence of a foul, vicious youth has spent itself, simmer downinto avaricious, dishonest _bourgeois_ and bloated café politicians. Theteeth of the Republican dragon have been drawn, but they are sownbroadcast from Dan even to Beersheba. Ancient realm of Capet, Valois, and Bourbon--motherland of Du Guesclin and Bayard--you may well be proudof your Cadmean offspring!

Guy was passing the scene with a careless side-glance when the accent ofthe suppliant caught his ear--not French, though she spoke the languageperfectly. 

"By G--d, " he said, dropping Mohun's arm, "I believe it's anEnglishwoman they are bullying;" and three of his long strides took himinto the midst of the group. 

Two of the aggressors reeled back, right and left, from the shock of hismighty shoulders; and griping another, the tallest, by the collar, hewhirled him some paces off on his back in the streaming kennel, as onemight do with a very weak, light little child. "_Au large, canaille_!"he said, as he advanced on the two who still kept their feet. These drewback from his path without a second warning. One indeed, eminent in the_savate_, made a demonstration for an instant; but his comrade, who hadjust gathered himself up, caught his arm, muttering "_Ne t'y frotte pas, Alphonse. C'est trop dur_. " None of them fancied an encounter with thegrim giant who confronted them, his muscles braced and salient, his eyesgleaming with the _gaudia certaminis_, and his nostrils dilated as ifthey snuffed the battle. 

So they made way for Guy and his charge to pass, only grinding outbetween their teeth the strange guttural blasphemies that characterizeimpotent Gallic wrath. 

Mohun, a reserve scarcely leas formidable, stood by all the while, looking on lazily; he saw that his companion was more than equal to theemergency. 

"I hope you have not been much annoyed, " Livingstone said, kindly. "Where were you going to? I shall be too happy to escort you, if youwill allow me. "

She named the street, only a few hundred yards off, and tried to thankhim gratefully, but her voice was broken and scarcely audible, and theblinding tears would rush into her eyes. Poor child! it was very longsince she had heard gentle, courteous words in her mother-tongue. Sherecovered herself, however, during their short walk, and they had nearlyreached her destination when Livingstone said, "Forgive me for beingimpertinent; I have no right to advise you; but I think you would findit better not to walk alone, often, at this hour. There is always achance of something disagreeable. "

He could see her blush painfully as she answered, "I have no one toaccompany me. I work hard at drawing and painting as long as there islight, and I had gone out to see if I could sell what I have done. But Ifear I am a very poor artist; no one would offer me as much as they hadcost me. And I tried at so many places!"

It was piteous to hear the heavy, heart-broken sigh. 

"Perhaps I have better taste, " replied Livingstone. "Those print-sellersare absurdly ignorant of what is good and anonymous. At all events, theywill interest me, as a memorial of to-night. Will you give them to me? Iwill promise not to be too critical. "

He drew the roll out of her hand as he spoke, replacing it by hisnote-case; and before she could open it or make any objection, hefollowed Mohun (for they had reached the artist's door by this time), first raising his hat to her in adieu as courteously as he would havedone to a reigning archduchess. 

How much did the case contain? Guy himself could hardly have told you. But be sure the Recorder of his many misdeeds knew, and reckoned it tothe uttermost farthing when he wrote down that one kind action on thecredit side. 

"Philanthropic, for a change!" Mohun remarked, when his companion joinedhim. "Well, it's not worse than many of your vagaries. We shall have youfounding an asylum next, I suppose. "

In his heart the savage old cynic approved, but, for the life of him, hecould not check the sneer. 

Livingstone made no reply. It was a habit of his very often not toanswer Ralph, and the latter did not mind it in the least. In a fewmoments they reached Guy's apartments, where they found about a dozenmen--French and English--awaiting their arrival to begin an unbridledlansquenet. It was a favorite rendezvous for this purpose. Thethoroughbred gamblers preferred it to the brilliant entertainments ofthe Quartier Brèda. They liked to court or fight Fortune by themselves, without being congratulated in success or compassionated in defeat bythe fair Phrynes and Aspasias, whose sympathy was somewhat expansive, inasmuch as they always would borrow from the heap whenever any one won, repaying the loan in kind by smiles and caresses, which cost the happyrecipient about fifteen Napoleons apiece. Here was an Eden from whichEves were excluded; and on the nights of the _Mercurialia_, thebrightest Peri that ever wore camellias might have knocked at the gatedisconsolately, but in vain. 

While the tables were being prepared, Guy began to tell his lateadventure. He spoke of it very lightly, but he thought, if he passed itover altogether, Mohun would probably betray him. 

Immediately there was a great cry for a sight of the performances of theunknown genius. 

Livingstone looked over the drawings himself carefully, and then passedthem to the man who sat nearest him. "I have seen worse, " he said. "There is no signature, and I shall not give you the address. You arenone of you just the patrons she would fancy. You don't care much forhigh art. "

Among the guests was Horace Levinge, a pale, dark man, with a face thatwas decidedly handsome, in spite of its Jewish _contour_, and theexcessive fullness of the scarlet, sensual lips. His grandfather, reportsaid, had been a prize-fighting Israelite, and afterward a celebratedbetting-man--equally eminent in either ring for an unscrupulousscoundrelism which made his fortune. His father had added to the familytreasure and importance by cautious usury and adventurous stock-jobbing. Horace himself was a gentleman at large, with no other profession thanthe consistent pursuit of all kinds of debauchery. He was calculatingeven in his pleasures, and, they say, kept a regular ledger and daybookof the moneys disbursed in his vices. 

When the drawings came to him, he glanced at them for a moment, andthen threw them down with a little contemptuous laugh. 

"I am sorry to spoil your romance, Livingstone, but I have a pretty goodright to recognize the artist's touch. You know her, some of you; it isFanny Challoner. "

"What! the girl you sent away about three weeks ago?" some one asked. "Poor thing! she was not sorry, I should think. She had a hard time ofit before she left you. "

"Precisely, " Levinge replied. "Her modesty and high moral principles, which I never could quite subdue, gave a zest to the thing at first. Youunderstand?--a sort of caviare flavor. But at last it bored me horribly. I really believe she had a conscience. Can you conceive any thing so outof place? I did offer her a little money when she went away, but shewould not take any, and said she would try to maintain herself honestly. Bah! I defy her. She was a governess, you know, when I took her first, so she is trying some of the old accomplishments. I wish you joy of your_protégée_, Livingstone; and as for her address, if any of you want it, I will give it you to-morrow. "

Before Guy could reply Mohun broke in. While Levinge had been speaking, the colonel's face had grown very dark and threatening. 

"Did her father live near Walmer? And was he a half-pay officer?"

"Quite correct, " was the answer. "He died about eighteen months before Imet Fanny. You knew him, perhaps? How interesting! Excuse my emotion. "

"I did know him, " Ralph said. "He was a gentleman, and well born. Perhaps that was the reason you could not get on long with hisdaughter?"

It is a popular error that a bully is always a coward. Certainly Horacewas an exception to the rule, if such exists. Nothing could be morecalmly insolent than his tone as he answered deliberately, "How admirable to find Colonel Mohun in the character of the Censor! AClodius come to judgment. I should hardly have expected it, from hispast life, either. "

The reply came from the depths of Ralph's chest, very distinct, but witha strange effect of distance and echo, as if the words had been spokenunder the vault of some vast dome. 

"You will leave my past life alone, if you are wise. I don't preachagainst immorality; it is only brutality that I find simply disgusting. "

"Bah!" the other retorted; "it comes to the same thing. I should havethought Lady Caroline Mannering might have taught you to be lesscritical. "

The Cuirassier rose from his seat and strode a pace forward, the grayhair bristling round his savage face like a wild-boar's at bay. 

"If you dare to breathe that name again, except with respect and honor, I'll cram the words down your throat, by the eternal God!"

Levinge crimsoned with passion. The brutal blood of the deadprize-fighter, who, when he "crossed" a fight, lost it ever by a foulblow, was boiling in his descendant. He had been drinking too, and, asthe French say--_avait le vin mauvais_--so he answered coolly andslowly, letting the syllables fall one by one, like drops of hail, "I shall mention it just as often as it pleases me, and with just somuch respect as is due to Mannering's cast-off wife and your--"

The foul word that was on his lips never left them, for Mohun's threatwas literally fulfilled. His right hand shot out from the shoulder witha sudden impulse that seemed rather mechanical than an action of thewill, and, catching the speaker full in the mouth, laid him on thecarpet senseless and streaming with blood. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

 "Look doun, look doun now, ladye fair, On him ye lo'ed sae weel; A brawer man than yon blue corse Never drew sword of steel. "

The dead silence that ensued was broken first by Guy Livingstone. "Itwas well done! I say it and maintain it; Mohun, I envy you that blow!"He looked round as if to challenge contradiction; but evidently thegeneral opinion was that Levinge had only got his deserts. By this timethe fallen man had recovered his consciousness, and struggled up, firstinto a sitting posture, then to his feet; he stood leaning against atable, swaying to and fro, and staring about him with wild eyes halfglazed. At last he spoke in a thick, faint voice, stanching all thewhile the gushing blood with his handkerchief. 

"Will any one here be my second, or must I look for a friend elsewhere?"

There was a pause, and then from the circle stepped forth Camille deRosny. He did not like Levinge, and thought in the present instance hehad behaved infamously, but it was the fashion hereditary in his gallanthouse to back the losing side; so, when he saw every one else shrinkfrom the appeal, he bowed gravely and said, "I shall have that honor, if you will permit me. In an hour I shall beat the orders of M. Le Colonel's second. Where shall I find him?"

"Here, " replied Livingstone. "I think no one will contest my right tosee my old friend through this quarrel. "

Mohun grasped his hand. "I would have chosen you among a thousand. Youunderstand me, and know what I wish. "

"Then I shall expect you, De Rosny, " Guy went on. The Frenchman assentedcourteously, and then, turning to his principal, "Let us go, " he said. "My _coupé_ is at your disposition, M. Levinge. _Messieurs, au plaisir. _"

Horace followed him with a step that was still faltering and uncertain;but at the door he turned, and, straightening himself up, faced hisadversary with such a look as few human countenances have ever worn. There was more in it than mortal hatred: it expressed a sort of devilishsatisfaction and anticipation, as if he knew that his revenge wassecured. 

Mohun read all this as plainly as if it had been written down in so manywords; but he only smiled as he seated himself and lighted a cigar. 

There was an end of lansquenet for that night. An ordinary quarrel wouldhave made little impression on those reckless spirits, who had, most ofthem, at one time or another, "been out" themselves; but they felt thatwhat they had witnessed now was the prologue to a certain tragedy; therewas a savor of death in the air; so they dropped off one by one, leavingGuy and Ralph alone; not before the latter had expressed, with muchpoliteness, "his desolation at having been compelled to interrupt a_partie_, which he trusted was only deferred till the morrow. "

Before long De Rosny returned. The preliminaries were soon arranged. Pistols were necessarily to be the weapons, for Levinge had seldomtouched a foil; and, as the Frenchman said with a bow that made hisobjection a compliment, "Colonel Mohun's reputation as a swordsman wasEuropean. " An early hour next morning was fixed for the _venue_, in thePré aux Clercs of the nineteenth century--the Bois de Boulogne. 

When they were alone again Guy turned gravely to his companion. "It is abad business, I fear, though you could not have acted otherwise; but Iwould rather your adversary were any other than Levinge. It is amurderous, unscrupulous scoundrel as ever lived. He can shoot--that'snothing; so can you, better than most men--but, mark me, Ralph, he hasbeen out twice, and hit his man each time, the last mortally; but onneither occasion was _his fire returned_. Men say he has an awkwardknack of pulling the trigger half a second too soon. I don't know ifthis is true, but I do know that Seymour, who seconded him at Florencewhen he killed O'Neill, has been more than cool to him ever since. "

"Faith, I can well believe it, " Mohun answered, quietly, "and it is veryprobable I may get hard hit to-morrow; but of killing him I feel morallycertain. Do you believe in presentiments? I do. Before that drunkenbrute had half done speaking, I saw imminent death written in his faceas plainly as if I had possessed the Highland second-sight. I think Icould almost tell you how it will look _after my shot_. Well, we musttalk of business. My arrangements won't take me long. I have very littleto dispose of; it is almost all entailed property. I shall leave you thechoice of any thing among my goods and chattels. You will find some armsthat you may fancy. But if my pistols fail me to-morrow, so that Levingelives over it, do me the favor to throw them into the Seine; theydeserve nothing better. As for the ready-money I have with me, and somemore at my banker's--" he hesitated, and then went on in a gentlervoice, "I should like it to go to that poor child whom we met to-night. If I live I will take care she is settled in England, where some onewill be kind to her. Her father was a good soldier and a true-heartedgentleman. And, Guy, I am sorry that I sneered at you to-night; I hardlymeant it when I said it. "

This was a great concession from Mohun, and his hearer thought so as hewrung his hand hard and replied, "Don't think of that again. I did you justice an hour ago. "

There was this peculiarity about Ralph; he was not only insensible todanger, like other men, but he absolutely seemed to revel in it. Thegenial side of his character came out at the approach of deadly peril, just as some morose natures will soften and brighten temporarily underthe influence of strong wine. 

His mood seemed to change, however, suddenly; and when, after a longpause, he spoke again, it was in a low, broken voice, as if to himself. 

"'Be sure your sin will find you out. ' It is thirty years since I heardthat text; I forgot it the same day, and never thought of it again tillnow. There may be truth in that. It hunted _her_ to her grave, and itwill not leave her in peace even there. And yet she suffered enough tomake atonement. She tried not to let me see how much, but I did see it;I watched her dying for a year and more. I am sure she is an angel now. I like to think so, though I shall never see her again. I would notbelieve otherwise if a thousand priests said it and swore it; for Inever moved from her side, after she was dead, till I saw the smile comeon her face. She must have been happy then; do you not think so? Theywould hardly have gone on punishing her forever. It was all my fault, you know. "

He gazed at Livingstone anxiously, almost timidly. Guy bowed his head inassent, but he could not find words to answer just then. There wassomething very terrible in that opening of the flood-gates when a life'spent-up remorse broke forth. 

"I think you will end better than I have done, " Mohun went on, "thoughyou are going down-hill fast now. But I have no right even to warn you. Only take care--" He broke off suddenly, and roused himself with aneffort. "I shall go home and dress now, and get through what little Ihave to write, and then lie down for an hour or two. Nothing makes thehand shake like a sleepless night. I'll call for you in good time. " Sohe went away. 

Livingstone sat thinking, without ever closing his eyes, till Mohunreturned. The latter looked fresh and alert; he had slept for the timehe had allotted to himself quite calmly and comfortably; the old habitsof picket-duty had taught him to watch or sleep at pleasure. 

After Guy had made a careful toilette, at the special request of hisprincipal they started, and in forty minutes were on the ground. Levingeand his second, with the surgeon, arrived almost immediately; the formerstood somewhat apart, keeping the lower part of his face carefullymuffled. 

It was a dull, chill morning; the sky of a steely-gray, without apromise of a gleam from the sun, which had risen _somewhere_, but wasreserving himself for better times. There was a sort of desultory windblowing, just strong enough at intervals to bring the moist brown leavessullenly down. 

After the pistols had been scientifically loaded, the seconds placedtheir men fifteen yards apart--with such known shots it was not worthwhile shortening the distance. 

The sensations of ordinary mortals under such circumstances are somewhatcurious. Very few are afraid, I think; but one has an impression thatone's own proportions are becoming sensibly developed--"swellingwisibly, " in fact, like the lady at the Pickwickian tea-fight--whilethose of our adversary diminish in a like ratio, so that he does notappear near so fair a mark as he did a few minutes ago. But, with allthis, there is a quickening of the pulse not unpleasurable--somethinglike the excitement of the "four to the seven" chance at hazard, whenyou are backing the In for a large stake. 

I do not believe Mohun felt any thing of this sort. It was not his ownlife, but his adversary's death he was playing for; the other was busy, too, with still darker thoughts and purposes. 

"Listen, " Guy said in French; "M. De Rosny gives the signal, _un_, _deux_, _trois_; if either fires before the last is fully pronounced, itis murder. " He looked sharply at Levinge, but the latter seemedstudiously to avoid meeting his eye. Guy felt very uncomfortable andvery savage. 

The men stood opposite to one another like black marble statues, neithershowing a speck of color which might serve as a _point de mire_, eachturning only a side-front to his opponent. 

De Rosny pronounced the two first words of the signal in a clear, deliberate voice; the last left his lips almost in a shriek, for, beforeit was half syllabled, his principal fired. 

Quick as the movement was, it was anticipated; as Levinge's handstirred, Mohun made a half-face to the right, and looked his enemystraight between the eyes. That sudden change of position, or theconsciousness of detection, probably unsettled the practiced aim, forthe ball, that would have drilled Ralph through the heart, only scored adeep furrow in his side. 

No one could have guessed that he was touched; he brought his pistol tothe level just as coolly as he would have done in the shooting-gallery, and, after the discharge, dropped his hand with measured deliberation. Before the smoke had curled a yard upward, Horace Levinge sprang intothe air, and, with out-stretched arms, fell crashing down upon thegrass--a bullet through his brain. 

They turned him over on his back. It was a ghastly sight; the ball hadpenetrated just below the arch of the right eyebrow, and all the lowerfeatures were swollen and distorted with the blow of last night, addingto the hideous disfigurement. 

Is that the face on which the dead man used to spend hours, tending it, like an ancient coquette, with washes and cosmetics, dreading thefaintest freckle or sunburn which might mar the smoothness of thedelicate skin? No need of the surgeon there. Cover it up quickly. Themother that bore him, if she should recognize him, would recoil indisgust and loathing. 

"_C'en est fini_, " Livingstone said to De Rosny, who stood by shudderingin horror, not at the death, but at the treachery which had preceded it. 

None but a Frenchman could have given such an accent to the low, hissingreply, "_Je l'espére_. "

Then they looked to Mohun's wound; it was nothing serious: there were adozen deeper on the warworn body and limbs. Indeed, I imagine hisgeneral health was materially benefited by the blood-letting. The firstremark he made was when he was depositing his pistol in itscase--tenderly as you would lay a child in its cradle--"Do you believein presentiments _now_, Guy?"

The sullen sun broke out just as they turned to go, and peered curiouslythrough the boughs, till it found out and lighted on the angular ominousheap, shrouded with a cloak, that, ten minutes ago, was a strong, hot-blooded man. 

There the _garde_ soon after discovered Horace Levinge; and, when he hadbeen owned, they buried him in _Père la Chaise_. Such events were commonthen, and the police gave themselves no trouble to trace who had slainthe stranger. Among his tribes-men and kinsfolk in Houndsditch and theMinories there was great joy at first, and afterward bitter, endlesslitigation. They screamed and battled over the heritage like vulturesover a mighty carrion, tearing it at length piecemeal. He did not keep apet dog, and so no living creature regretted him, unless it were thethin, delicate girl, with white cheeks and hollow eyes, who came once, and knelt to pray by his grave for hours, her tears falling fast. 

Hard as they may find it to observe other precepts of the Great Master, this one, at least, most women have practiced easily and naturally foreighteen hundred years: "Forgive, until seventy times seven. " The actsof some of these--how they warred with their husbands and were worsted;how they provoked the presiding Draco, and stultified the attestingpoliceman by obstinately ignoring their injuries, written legibly inred, and black, and blue; how they interceded with many sobs for theaggressor--are they not written in the book of the chronicles ofBow-street and Clerkenwell?

This propensity leads them into scrapes, it is true, for our world, inits wisdom, will take advantage of such weakness. Perhaps the next willmake them some amends. 

But the mourner strewed no flowers on the grave. It would have been toobitter a mockery; for, if there were sympathy in sweet roses and purewhite lilies, on no other spot of God's earth would they have witheredso soon: she hung up no wreath of _immortelles_; for, if such thingscould be, the dearest wish one could have formed for the dead man's soulwould have been swift, utter annihilation. 

Yet Fanny Challoner would scarcely have accepted Mohun's good offices ifshe had guessed that the blood of her seducer and tyrant was on hishand. She never suspected it, and so went gratefully to the home hefound for her; and there she lives yet, tranquil and contented, thoughalways sad and humble, among people who know nothing of her history andlove her dearly, trying her best to be useful in her generation--alonein her cottage, that nestles under a sunny cliff, just above the whitespray-line of the Irish Sea. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

 "Let me see her once again. Let her bring her proud dark eyes, And her petulant quick replies; Let her wave her slender hand With its gesture of command, And throw back her raven hair With the old imperial air; Let her be as she was then-- The loveliest lady in all the land Iseult of Ireland. "

Mohun and Livingstone soon fell back into the groove of their oldhabits; if any thing, the former was more forbidding and morose, thelatter more reckless than ever. 

Just at this time Mrs. Bellasys and her daughter arrived in Paris. Itwas Flora's _débût_ there, and she had an immense success. The _jeunessedorée_ of the Chaussée d'Antin and the cavaliers of the Faubourgthronged about her, emulously enthusiastic. Her repartees and sarcasmswere quoted like Talleyrand's. They never wearied in raving over herperfections, taking them in a regular catalogue--from her magnificenteyes and hair, that flashed back the light from its smooth bands likeclouded steel, down to the small _brodequins_ of white satin, which itwas her fancy to wear instead of the ball-room _chaussure_ of ordinarymortals. The intrigues to secure her for a waltz or a mazurka displayeddiplomatic talent enough to have set half a dozen German principalitiesand powers by the ears. The succession of admirers was never broken; asfast as one dropped off, killed by her coldness or caprice, anotherstepped into his place. It reminded one of the old "Die-hards" atWaterloo, filling up their squares torn and ravaged by the peltinggrape-shot. 

Here, as elsewhere, she pursued her favorite amusement remorselessly. Fallowfield called it "her cutting-out expeditions. " She used to watchtill a mother and daughter had, between them, secured a good matrimonialprize, and then employ her fascinations on the captured one--seldomwithout effect--so as to steal him out of their hands. 

Do you remember Waterton's story of the osprey? The hard-working bird, by dint of perseverance, has brought up a good fish. Just as it emergesfrom the water, there is heard a flap and a whistle of mighty pinions, and from his watch-tower on the cliff far above swoops down the greatsea-eagle. The poor osprey _a beau crier_, it must drop its booty, andthe strong marauder sails off with a slow and dignified flight, todiscuss it in the wood at his leisure. The only fault in the parallelwas that Flora always dropped the prey with the coolest disdain when itwas once fairly within her clutches. How the match-makers did hate her!What vows for her discomfiture must have been breathed into bouquetsheld up to conceal the angry flush of disappointment or the paleness ofdespair!

I own this practice of hers did not raise her in my opinion. I can notthink so hardly as it is the fashion to do of the junior and workingmembers, at least, of the manoeuvring guild. It is not an elevating orvery creditable profession, certainly, but it seems such a disagreeableone that none would take it up from choice. The chief fault, at allevents, lies with the trainers; the jockeys (poor little things!) onlyride to orders; and, by the way, I think they generally err in notknowing how to _wait_, and in making the running too strong at first. 

As I meet, year after year, one of these--to whom the seed sown inLondon ball-rooms and German watering-places had produced nothing yetbut those tiresome garlands of the vestal--I look curiously to see howshe wears, thinking of the courtier's answer to Louis XIV. When thelatter asked if he was looking older: "Sire, I see some more victorieswritten on your forehead. " It is more defeats that one can read soplainly on poor Fanny Singleton's. 

How many shipwrecks close to port; how many races lost by a head, howmany games by a point, she must have known before her silver laughbecame so hollow, and her pleasant smile so evidently theatrical andlip-deep; before what once was chanceful became desperate, and she fellback into the ranks of the forlorn hope--of the "Lost Children!"

On one of these occasions I met her. She was just beginning her_condottiére_ life then, and was very attractive even to those on whomshe had no designs--believed in balls, and had an ingenious talent fororiginal composition. I don't think those entertainments are dangerouslyexciting to her now; and Heaven forefend that she should write poetry!One shudders to think of what it would he. Well, she was returning tothe house after a moonlight flirtation (if you can call it so when itwas all on one side). She had been trying to fascinate a stupid, sullen, commercial Orson--a boy not clever, but cunning, who calculated on hisshare in the bank as a means of procuring him these amusements, as othermen might reckon on their good looks or soft tongue. He had just lefther, and I was wishing her good-night under the porch. She forgot hercue for a moment, and became natural. "I feel so very, very tired, " shesaid. I remember how drearily she said it, and how the tears glitteredin her weary eyes. I remember, too, how, ten minutes later, I heard thatamiable youth boasting of what had happened, and giving a hideoustravestie of her attempts to captivate him, till at last my wrath waskindled, and, to his great confusion (for he was of a timiddisposition), I spoke, and sharply, with my tongue. 

Ah me! I mind the time when men used to waylay Fanny Singleton in thecloak-room, and shoot her flying as she went up the staircase, in theiranxiety to secure her for a partner; and now she is a refuge for thedestitute, except when some one, for old acquaintance' sake, takes aturn with one of the best waltzers in Europe. 

I like her for one thing--she has never tried the girlish dodge on yet. She has never been heard to say, "Mamma always calls me a wild thing. "It is better that she should be bitter and sardonic, as she issometimes, than that. Mars herself could hardly play the _ingénues_ whenin mature age. Grisi's best part now is not Amina. 

The last thing I heard of Fanny was that she was about to unite herself(the _active_ voice is the proper one) to a very Low-Church clergyman, adistinguished member of the Evangelical Alliance, pregnant with the odorof sanctity--_bouquet de Baptiste_ treble distilled. I dare say theywill get on well enough. If the holy man wants to collect "experiences, "his wife will be able to furnish them, that's certain. It will be very"sweet. "

I pity, but I condemn. In the name of Matuta and of common sense, isthere an imperative necessity that all our maids should become matrons?

If such exists, think, I beseech you, O virgins--pretty, butpenniless--apt for the yoke, how many chances of subjection may turn upwithout rushing to put your necks under it. Is the aspiring race ofH. E. I. C. S. Cadets extinct? Are Erin's sons so good or so cold as not tobe tempted by woman, even without the gold? Are there not soldiers stillto the fore too inflammable to be trusted near an ammunition wagon? Arethere not--the _bonne bouche_ comes at last--priests and deacons? Theinstant a man takes orders, celibacy becomes intolerable to him. Ifirmly believe that half the offers made in the year throughout broadEngland emanate from those energetic ecclesiastics. 

After all, what specimens you do pick up sometimes in your haste! If you_are_ to lead apes, is it not better to defer the evil day as long aspossible, instead of parading the animals about by your sides here onthis upper earth?

My sermon is too long for the occasion--too short for the text. I closea discourse not much wiser, perhaps, than poor Wamba's, with his "_Paxvobiscum!_"

Flora and Guy met with perfect composure on both sides. She did notappear to think that she had any claim upon him arising from what hadpassed, but it was evident that he was still the favorite, and that allothers were complete "outsiders. " No betting man would have backed thefield for a shilling. She waltzed with him whenever he asked her, to theutter oblivion and annihilation of previous engagements, whereat theFrenchmen chafed inexpressibly, cursing and gnashing their teeth when, after the ball was over, they went forth into the outer darkness. Nothing but Livingstone's extraordinary reputation in theshooting-galleries, added to a certain ferocity of demeanor which hadbecome habitual to him of late, saved him from more than one seriousquarrel. 

He took it all as a matter of course. Flora amused him certainly; shesympathized with his tastes, and perhaps flattered his vanity. Forinstance, she always took an interest in his fortunes at play, watchingand sometimes backing him at _ecarté_, and often inquiring the nextmorning how the battle had gone in her absence at the Board of GreenCloth. 

Once when an unfortunate adorer--in bitterness of spirit at being thrownover twice in one evening--hinted at some of the intrigues which hadmade Guy's name unenviably notorious (play was not the guiltiest of hisdistractions to thoughts that would come back), Miss Bellasys onlysmiled haughtily, and did not even deign to betray any curiosity on thesubject. Those ephemeral passions were not the rivals she feared. 

Her mother all this time was very uncomfortable. Though herselfperfectly innocent of any connivance in Flora's schemes, she wasafflicted with a perpetual indistinct sort of remorse. Once or twice, Ibelieve, she did venture on a remonstrance, but she was put downdecisively, and did not try it again. 

One evening Guy had been lingering for some time in the Bellasys' box atthe Opera. As he went out into the _foyer_ he saw an old acquaintancecoming toward him. 

Lord Killowen was past sixty: the world had used him roughly, and he hadbeen ruined very early in life, but he bore both years and troubleslightly. Looking at his smooth forehead, and square, erect figure, andlistening to his ready, cheery laugh, you would never have guessed howlong he had led that guerrilla existence--for forty years keeping thebailiffs at bay. His nerve and his seat in the saddle were as firm asthey were on the first night of his joining the ---- Hussars, when herode Kicking Kate over the iron pales round Hounslow Barrack-yard, andhit the layers of the long odds for a cool thousand. 

He had been intimate with Colonel Livingstone, and had known his sonfrom childhood; but he was a still closer friend of the Brandon family, with whom, indeed, he was distantly connected. He had never seen Guysince the breaking off of the latter's engagement till this night, whenhe caught a glimpse of his lofty head bending over Flora Bellasys'chair. 

Lord Killowen's blood was as hot and his impulses as quick as if he hadnot yet seen his twentieth winter, and the chivalry within him wasstirred at what he considered an insolent parade of treachery; for hehad guessed much of what had happened, though he did not know all thetruth; so he passed Guy's extended hand, turning his head studiouslyaside. 

The latter was startled for a moment, but he could not believe in anintentional "cut, " and he knew his friend to be rather short-sighted; sowith one stride he overtook him, and, touching him on the shoulder, said, "I must be very much changed if you do not know me, LordKillowen. "

The brave old Irishman turned short upon his heel and confronted thespeaker, bending on him all the light of his clear blue eyes: he drewhimself up to the full height of a stature that nearly equaledLivingstone's, and said, coolly and slowly, "Pardon me, you are notchanged in the least; I know you very well. "

The insult was palpable. Guy fairly staggered as if he had received asword-thrust; then the angry blood rushed up to his temples, making theveins start out like muscles, and he spoke in a voice hoarse andindistinct with passion, "You will answer this. "

True, his antagonist was more than old enough to have been his father, but in feast, field, and fray, Lord Killowen remembered his own age soseldom that other men might be excused for forgetting it sometimes. 

The old man was going to answer eagerly, but he checked himself with aneffort, as if repressing a strong temptation; when, after some seconds, he spoke, there was more of sadness and warning than of anger in histone. 

"No, I will not fight, even in this quarrel, with your father's son;besides, I might be anticipating one who has a better right. Four daysago Cyril Brandon landed from India. "

It would have been difficult, I think, to have found another, amongliving men, both by constitution and temperament, so inaccessible tomaterial terrors as Livingstone, yet when that name came upon him thussuddenly he felt a thrill and a start through his nerves, sounpleasantly like commonplace physical fear that ever, when he thoughtof it, it made his cheek burn with shame. He could not, after that, controvert gallant Lannes' maxim: "It is only a coward who says that henever was afraid. "

He stood silently, and allowed Lord Killowen to pass him, bowingcourteously, though coldly, to him. The latter never knew what mischiefhe had done. After that momentary sensation had passed off, all theworst elements of Guy's stubborn, haughty nature rose in rebellion atwhat he deemed a despicable weakness. As if in defiance of theconsequences, all that evening and on the succeeding days he devotedhimself to Flora Bellasys with such unusual ardor that it made hernervous: she thought it was too good to last. 

When Mohun heard what had happened, he would not admit that there wasthe slightest chance of a meeting with Cyril Brandon, though he knew thecharacter of the latter--fierce and intractable to a degree. 

"Don't flatter yourself you will wipe off the score in that way, " hesaid to Guy, with his sardonic laugh. "Men will quarrel over cards andabout _lorettes_ easily enough, but who fights for a 'broken covenant'now? We live two hundred years too late. "

Ralph remembered how long he had lingered on the French seaboardwaiting for a challenge from beyond the Channel which never came, thoughthere was deeper provocation to justify it. 

A few mornings after this had occurred Livingstone found himself withouta servant. His demeanor toward this estimable class had always beenimperious and stern to a fault, but latterly they, as well as others, had felt the effects of his exasperated temper, and he was sometimesbrutally overbearing in his reprimands. On this particular occasion hemust have been unusually oppressive, for it exhausted the patience ofthe much-enduring Willis, so that the worm turned again--insolently. 

Before he had said ten words his master interrupted him, his eye turningtoward a heavy horsewhip that lay near with an expression that madeWillis retreat toward the door. 

"So you have robbed me of enough to make you independent? Very well;make your book up; the _maître d'hôtel_ will settle with you. You willcarry away some of my property, of course? I shall not trouble myself tohave your trunks searched, but if you take any thing that I happen towant afterward, I'll have you arrested, wherever you are. Now go. "

The man left the room sulkily: an hour later he returned. "I am goingthis instant, Mr. Livingstone; but I could tell you something first thatyou ought to know, if you would promise not to be violent. I am verysorry now I did it. " There was a curious expression--half spiteful, halffrightened--on his cunning face as he spoke. 

Guy looked at him carelessly. "Thank you; I am in no humor to listen toyour confessions. You may be quite easy; I give you credit for allimaginable rascality. Remember what I said: if I miss any thing, thepolice will be after you the same day. Now, once more, go. If I see yourface about here again, it will be the worse for you. "

There was a good deal of meaning in Willis's smile, though, his lipswere white with fear. "You will never miss what I was going to tell youabout, sir, " he said; and then faded away out of the room with his usualnoiseless step, closing the door softly behind him. 

If his master could have guessed what was the secret he had refused tohear, haughty as he was, I do believe there is no earthly degradation towhich he would not have abased himself to gain its knowledge. 

But the hour for the humbling of the strong, self-reliant nature had notcome yet, though it was very near. The wild bull never saw the net tillits meshes had trapped him fast. 

The same morning Guy, who was lounging an hour away at the Bellasys', mentioned to them what had occurred. If he had glanced at Flora's facejust then, he would have been puzzled to guess what there was in theintelligence to turn her so deadly pale. It was only for an instant thatthe accomplished actress forgot her part, and when he looked at her nextthere was not a trace of emotion in her face. 

"Have you filled up his place?" she asked, carelessly. 

"I have ordered my landlord to provide me, " replied Guy. "I shall findsome well-trained scoundrel on my return, I hope. I shall never getanother like Willis, though. It's just my luck. The great principle ofthe gazelle runs through life: When they come to know you well, &c. Whatmade you ask? Surely you have no _protégé_ to recommend?"

Flora laughed gayly as she answered in the negative, and so the subjectdropped; but all the afternoon she was pensive and absent, and flashesof vexation gleamed every now and then fitfully in her stormy eyes. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

 "Let none think to fly the danger, For, soon or late, Love is his own avenger. "

Christmas-tide had come round again, and hall, manor-house, and castlewere filling fast. But the pheasants had a jubilee at Kerton, to thegreat discouragement of Mallett, who "could not mind such anotherbreeding season. " Foxes were strong and plentiful with the Belvoir andthe Pytchley; and, during two months of open weather, many astraight-goer had died gallantly in the midst of the widepasture-grounds, testifying with his last breath to the generalship ofGoodall and Payne. But the best shot and the hardest rider inNorthamptonshire lingered on still in Paris, wasting his patrimony inmost riotous living, and trying his iron constitution presumptuously. 

Lady Catharine sat alone in the gray old house, paler and more care-wornthan ever. I think she would have preferred the noisiest revel that everbroke her slumbers in the old times to the dead silence that broodedlike a mist in the deserted rooms. 

Guy had always been a bad correspondent, and now he hardly ever wrote toher; but rumors of his wild life reached his mother often, though dimlyand vaguely. It was best so; what would that poor lady have felt if shecould have guessed at the scene in which her son was the principalfigure as the Christmas morning was breaking?

It is the close of a furious orgie; the Babel of cries, of fragments ofsongs, of insane, meaningless laughter, is dying away, through the pureexhaustion of the revelers; on the gay carpet and the rich damask arepools of spilled liquors, heaps of shivered glass, and bouquets andgarlands that have ceased to be fragrant hours ago. All around, indifferent attitudes--ignoble and helpless--are strewn the bodies ofthose who have gone down early in the battle of the Bacchanals: they liein their ranks as they fell. One figure towers above therest--pre-eminent as Satan in the conclave of the ruined angels--theguiltiest, because the most conscious of his own utter degradation. Thefrequent draughts that have prostrated his companions have only broughtout two round scarlet spots in the pale bronze of his cheeks; his voiceretains still its deep, calm, almost solemn tone. Listen to it as heraises to his lips an immense glass brimming-full of Burgundy: "Onetoast more, and with funeral honors--'To the memory of those who havefallen gloriously on the 24th of December. '"

Is it true that, six months ago, the soft, pure cheek of ConstanceBrandon rested often on the broad breast that pillows now the disheveledhead of that wild-eyed, shrill-voiced Mænad? Draw the curtains closeryet; shut out the dawn of the Nativity for very shame. 

Mohun was breakfasting with Livingstone on a cold, gusty Januarymorning, that succeeded a night of heavy drinking and heavier play. Thecolonel would see him through one of these readily enough, but if therewas even a single female face present he would retreat in disgust andcontempt unutterable. Guy had been hit so hard that it made him graverthan usual as he thought of it, though he was tolerably inured andindifferent to evil fortune; so the conversation languished during themeal. After it was over, Mohun rose to light a cigar, while hiscompanion took up a pile of letters and began to glance at themlistlessly. Suddenly the former dropped the match from his hand, starting in irrepressible astonishment. 

He had seen strong men die hard, mangled and shattered by sabre orbullet, but he had never heard a sound so terribly significant of agonyas the dull, heavy groan that just then burst from Livingstone's lips. 

In those few seconds his face had grown perfectly livid; his eyes wereriveted upon a small note that he held in his shaking fingers; theyglittered strangely, but there was no meaning or expression in theirfixed stare. 

"In the name of God, what has happened?" Ralph asked. 

Guy's lips worked and moved, but no sound came from them, except anirregular catching of the breath and a gasping rattle in the throat. 

Mohun took the note from his hand without his seeming to be aware of it, and read it through. These were the words:

"I have tried very hard to persuade myself that you never received theletter I wrote to you two months ago. I think you would have answeredit, for you would know how much I must have suffered before my pridebroke down so utterly. Yet I could not have risked being scorned asecond time if I had not learned yesterday that my life must now bereckoned by weeks, if not by days. I do not know if I shall be allowedto see you if you come. But you will come; will you not? Dear, dear Guy, I can not die as I ought to do, contentedly, unless I speak to you onceagain. In spite of all, I will sign my last letter

 "Your own CONSTANCE BRANDON. "

It was dated Ventnor. 

Hard and cynical as he was, Mohun was thoroughly shocked and grieved;but the urgency of the crisis brought back the prompt decision ofthought and purpose that were habitual to the trained soldier. He sprangto his feet, alert and ready for action, as he would have done in theold times, from his bivouac, to meet a night-surprise of the wildHungarians. 

"Get every thing ready, " he said to the servant, who entered at thatmoment; "your master is going to England immediately. The train startsfor Havre at two o'clock. You will catch the night-boat forSouthampton. "

When the man had left the room he turned to Guy: "Rouse yourself, man!There is all a lifetime for remorse, but only a few hours for the littleamends you can make. You will be at Ventnor to-morrow; and mind--you_must_ see her, whatever difficulties may be thrown in your way. Youwon't lose your temper if you meet her brother? Ah! I see you are notlistening. "

Then Livingstone spoke for the first time, in a hoarse, gratingwhisper, articulating the words one by one with difficulty. 

"I never dreamed of this. I did not mean to kill her. "

Mohun knew his friend too well to attempt consolation or sympathy, evenif these had not been foreign to his own nature; so he answereddeliberately and coldly, "Of having brought bitter sorrow on Constance Brandon I do hold youguilty; of having caused her death, not, and so you will find when youknow all. But her note of two months ago--of course you never saw it?You must have overlooked it; you are so careless with your papers. "

"It never reached me, " Livingstone replied. "I have always looked at theoutside of my letters, and I should have known that handwriting amongten thousand. Some one must have intercepted it. I wish I knew who. " Hewas recovering from the first stunning effects of the shock, and the oldangry light came back into his eyes. 

"I will find out when you are gone, " said Mohun. "You have not a momentto spare. I won't ask you to write; I will join you in England in threedays. Only remember one thing--keep cool. Yes, I know what you mean; butyour patience may be tried more than you have any idea of. " He wasthinking of Cyril Brandon. 

The hurry of departure prevented any further conversation. At thestation, just before the train started, Ralph said, grasping hiscomrade's hand as he spoke, "I did not think you loved her so dearly. "

It was very long before he forgot the dreary look which accompanied theanswer, "I did not know it myself till now. "

"I must trace the note, " the colonel muttered, as he strode away fromthe station. "That handsome tiger-cat has laid her claw on it, I amcertain. But she won't confess; red-hot pincers would not drag a secretfrom her, if she meant to keep it. I doubt if she will even betrayherself by a blush. Poor Constance! What chance had she against such aMachiavel in petticoats? I am bad at diplomacy, too. If I only had theslightest proof, or if she had any weak point--unless she loses her headwhen she hears where Guy is gone, I have no chance of finding out muchin that quarter. There's Willis, to be sure--she bribed him, no doubt. D--n them both!" In this complimentary and charitable mood, he wentstraight to Flora Bellasys. 

He found her alone. She was sitting in her riding-dress, and the broadSpanish hat, with its curling plumes, lay close beside her, with thegauntlets and whip across it. 

She did not much like Mohun, for she had an idea that his sarcasms, withher for their object, had made Guy smile more than once approvingly. Sheknew, too, that all her fascinations recoiled harmlessly from thatrugged block of ironstone. Whatever he might have been in early years, he was harder of heart than stout Sir Artegall now. Radigund, unhelmingher lovely face, would never have tempted him to forego his advantageand throw his weapons down. 

However, she greeted him with perfect composure and satisfaction. 

"Do you join our party this afternoon, Colonel Mohun? I expect them tocall for me every moment. We are going to the Croix de Berny, to see theground for the race next week. Mr. Livingstone was to have lunched here;but I never reckon on his keeping an engagement. "

There was something in Ralph's manner which made her uncomfortable. Shetook up her whip, and began twisting its slender stock rather nervously;you would not have thought there was so much strength in the delicatefingers. 

"You are right, " he replied, coolly, "not to count too much on Guy'spunctuality. He _is_ very uncertain in his movements. I fear he can notaccompany you this afternoon. He would have charged me with his excuses, I am sure, if he had not been so hurried. "

Flora looked up quickly. 

"It must have been something very sudden, then. Have you any idea wherehe is now?"

Ralph consulted his watch. "About Mantes, I should imagine. He startedfor Havre by the last train. He will be at Southampton, to-morrow, andthe same day he can reach--"

He stopped, gazing at his companion with a cold, cruel satisfaction. Theblood was sinking in her cheeks, not with a sudden impulse, butgradually--as the sunset rose-tints fade from the brow of the Jungfrau, leaving a ghastly opaque whiteness behind them. During the silence thatensued, a sharp tinkle might be heard as the jeweled head of theriding-whip, snapped by a convulsive movement, fell at Flora's feet. 

It _was_ weak in her to betray such loss of self-command, but, remember, the blow came unexpectedly. She saw the edifice she hadplotted, and toiled, and risked so much to build, ruined and shatteredto its foundation-stone. How many whispers, and smiles, and eloquentglances had been lavished, only to end in this Pavia, where not evenhonor was saved from the utter wreck!

Was not the perfect waxen mask of the first Napoleon shivered in thatterrible abdication-night at Fontainebleau? Where was Cleopatra'squeenly dignity when she heard that Antony had rejoined Octavia?

"Why has he gone? What called him back?"

Her voice had lost the clear ring of silver, and sounded dull and flat, like base metal. 

"Constance Brandon wrote to tell him she was dying. Do you wonder thathe went to her?"

A passing cloud of horror swept across Flora's pale face; but after itbroke forth a gleam of strange, ferocious exultation, which stifled therising pity in her hearer's breast, and changed it into contempt. 

"I don't believe it, " she cried, passionately. "It is a trick. She wasquite well two months ago. At least, she said nothing--"

She checked herself, but too late. The practiced duelist laughed grimlyin his mustache, as he might have done on discovering the weak point inhis enemy's ward which laid him open to his rapier. 

"You make my task easier, " he said; "I came to inquire about a notewhich miscarried about the time you speak of. I _will_ know what becameof it, Miss Bellasys, though I wish to spare you unnecessary exposureand shame. "

He had gained a momentary advantage, but it did not profit him much. There are swordsmen who will not own that they are touched, though theirlife-blood is ebbing fast. Flora rose without a sign of yielding orweakness in her dry eyes, drawing up her magnificent figure proudly. Ralph could not help thinking how like her father she was just then. 

"I will answer, though I deny your right to question me. I have not thefaintest idea of what you refer to. I have seen no note, except such aswere addressed to myself; and you will hardly think that Miss Brandonwould choose me as a _confidante_ or correspondent. "

Mohun saw that she would persist to the last, undaunted as Sapphira. Sohe rose to leave her, without another word. 

"You do not doubt me?" Flora asked, as he turned away after salutingher. It was a rash question, all things considered, and scarcely worthyof the accomplished speaker. There is no more useful maxim in diplomacythan this: _Quieta non movere_. 

Ralph faced her directly. "Miss Bellasys, when a lady tells me what Ican not believe, I question--not her word, but--her agent. " He was halfway down stairs before she could answer or detain him. 

He found out Willis's direction at Guy's hotel, but he had to wait sometime before obtaining it; and other things delayed him _en route_, sothat it was nearly two hours before he reached the modest lodgings, _auquatrième_, where the discharged valet was hiding his greatness. 

Willis had an extensive connection; this, and his well-known talents, made him tolerably sure of a situation whenever he chose to seek one. Hehad luxurious tastes, and thoroughly appreciated self-indulgence; so hedetermined to devote some time and a portion of his perquisites torelaxation before going into harness again. 

On this particular evening he had in prospect a little dinner atPhilippe's--not uncheered by the smiles of venal beauty--and had justcompleted a careful toilette. He was above the small peculations of hisorder; indeed, had he been inclined to plunder his late masterswardrobe, the absurd disproportion in their size would have saved himfrom that vulgar temptation. He was somewhat choice in his tailors, andhis clothes fitted him and suited him well. He was reviewing the generaleffect in the glass with a complacent and rather _égrillarde_ expressionin his little eyes, when between him and his _partie fine_ rose theapparition of the colonel, like that of the commander before a bolderprofligate. He knew that the interview must come, and did not wish toavoid it, but just at this moment it was singularly ill timed. What acontrast between the stern, fixed gaze that seemed to nail him to thespot where he stood and the well-tutored glances of fair, frail Héloise!He felt as if he had been put into the ice-pail by mistake for theChampagne. However, he met his ill luck placidly, and, handing hisvisitor a chair, begged to know "what he could do to serve him. "

"You can tell me what became of a letter from Miss Brandon, which oughtto have reached yow master two months ago, and miscarried. "

Willis was forewarned and armed for the question; but, even with thisadvantage given in, his blank, unconscious look and start ofastonishment did him infinite credit. 

"A letter, sir?" he said, vaguely, as if consulting his recollections. "From Miss Brandon? I have never seen or heard of such a thing. If Ihad, of course I should have given it to Mr. Livingstone. What elsecould I have done with it?"

"I will give a thousand francs for it, " Mohun went on, without noticingthe denial, "or for a written acknowledgment of how you disposed of it, and at whose orders. " He laid the bank-note on the table. 

The flats changed; the look of bewilderment gave place to one of injuredinnocence--an appeal against manifest injustice. It was reallyartistically done. 

"I am sorry, sir, that you should think I want a bribe to serve you orMr. Livingstone. It is quite out of my power now. I don't know what yourefer to. "

"I have no time to bargain, " Ralph growled, and his eyes began toglisten ominously. "Name your price, and have done with it. "

Finale and Grand Tableau--virtuous indignation--the faithful servantasserting his dignity as a man. There was a hitch here somewhere; thescene-shifter was hardly up to his work, so that it was rather afailure. 

"I have told you twice, sir, that I do not know any thing about it. Ibeg you will not insult me with more questions. You have no right to doso; I am neither in your service nor Mr. Livingstone's now. "

Mohun bent his bushy brows in some perplexity. After all, he had not ashadow of proof, though he felt a moral certainty. His sheet-anchor wasthe avarice of the scoundrel he was dealing with, and this seemed tofail. Evidently a strong counter-influence had been at work. 

"Curse her!" he muttered between his clenched teeth, "she has been herebefore me. "

Then he looked up suddenly, and what he saw caused the shallow cup ofhis patience at once to overflow. 

In Willis's eyes was an ill-repressed twinkle of exultation andamusement, and on his thin lips the dawning of an actual sneer. It wasbut seldom the trained satellite allowed himself the luxury of betrayingany natural feeling. In truth, he chose his time badly for itsexhibition now. Before he could collect himself so as to utter a cry, helay upon his back on the carpet, a heavy foot on his chest; and thecolonel was gazing down on him with a fell murderous expression, thatmade the victim's blood run cold. 

"By G--d!" Mohun said, in the smothered tones of concentrated passion, "if you trifle with me ten seconds longer--if you open your lips exceptto answer my question, I'll crush your breast-bone in. "

Willis knew the desperate character of the man who held him in hispower; it was no vain threat he had just heard; the pressure on hischest was agonizing already. 

"For God's sake don't murder me!" he gasped out; "I--I gave it to MissBellasys. "

"Of course you did, " Mohun said, coolly; "I knew it all along. Now getup, and write that down. "

He spurned away the fallen man as he spoke till he rolled over and overon the floor. 

There is nothing which disconcerts a nature long used to obey like asudden brutal _coup de main_. Remember the Scythians and their slaves. The rebels met their masters boldly enough on a fair field with swordand spear, but they cowered before the crack of the horsewhips. 

All the spider-webs of the unfortunate Willis's diplomacy were utterlyswept away; his powers of thought and volition were concentrated now onone point--to get rid of his visitor as soon as possible. 

He rose slowly and painfully (for the mere physical shock had beenheavy), and, placing himself at a table, tried to write the few words ofacknowledgment that Mohun dictated; but his hand trembled so excessivelythat he could hardly form the letters. As he looked up in piteousdeprecation, evidently fearing lest his inability to comply should beconstrued into unwillingness or rebellion, he presented a spectacle ofdegraded humanity so revolting in its abasement that even the cynicturned away in painful disgust. 

It was done at last. As Willis saw his confession consigned to Mohun'spocket-book, his avarice gave him courage to try one last effort to gainsomething by the transaction--a salve to his bruises--a set-off againstthe _relicta non bene parmula_. 

"I hope you will consider I have done all I can, sir, " he said, lookingwistfully at the bank-note, which still lay on the table. "I shall beruined if this becomes known. "

The cast-steel smile which was peculiar to him hardened the colonel'sface. 

"You must come down on Miss Bellasys for compensation. She pays well, Ihave no doubt. You never get another _sou_ from our side, if it were tokeep you from starving. My second thought was the best, after all; itsaved time and--money. (He put the note back into his purse. ) I'll giveyou one caution, though. Keep out of Mr. Livingstone's way. If he meetsyou, after hearing all this, he'll break your neck, I believe in myconscience. " So he left him. 

For the second time that evening Willis looked in the glass--thereflection was not so satisfactory. Was that unseemly crumpled ruin thewhite tie, sublime in its scientific wrinkles, on which its author hadgazed with a pardonable paternal pride? No wonder that he stamped inwrath, not the less bitter because impotent, while he shook off the dustfrom his garments as a testimony against Ralph Mohun. 

He repaired the damages, though, to the best of his power, and then wentoff to keep his appointment; but the _pâtés à la bechamelle_ were asashes, and the _gelée au marisquin_ as gall to his parched, disorderedpalate. He made himself so intensely disagreeable that poor Héloisethenceforth swore an enmity against his compatriots, which endured tothe end of her brief misspent existence. "_Gredin d'Anglais, va!_" shewas wont to say, grinding her little white teeth melodramatically, whenever she recalled that dreary entertainment, and the failure of hersimple stratagems to enliven her saturnine host. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

 "Then let the funeral bells be tolled, a requiem be sung, An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young; A dirge for her--the doubly dead, in that she died so young. "

For the first few minutes after the train had moved off Guy was unableto collect his thoughts. As the tall figure of Mohun passed from hisview, it seemed as if a sustaining prop had been suddenly cut away fromunder him, and he felt more than ever helpless. The stubborn strength ofhis character asserted itself before long, and he faced his great sorrowas he would have done an enemy in bodily shape; but neither then, norfor many days after, could he pursue any one train of reflection longunbroken. 

First he began to think how Constance would look when he saw her. Wouldshe be much changed? How beautiful she was the night they parted, withthe blue myosotis gleaming through her bright hair! Would her eyes be ascold as he remembered them then (he had not seen their _last_ look), orwould they forgive him at once, and tell him so? Not if she knew all. And then, in hideous contrast to her pure stately beauty, there rosebefore him faces and figures which had shared his orgies during the pastmonths, gay with paint and jewels, and meretricious ornament. There wasa deeper horror in those mocking shapes than in the most loathsomephantasms of corporeal corruption that feverish dreams ever called upfrom the grave-yard. If his lips were unworthy, months ago, to touchConstance's cheek or hand, what were they now? He ground his teeth inthe bitterness of self-condemnation. It would be easier to bear, if shemet him coldly and proudly, than if she yielded at once, as her letterseemed to promise. Her letter! What became of the first one? If that hadreached him, how much had been saved! Perhaps Constance'slife--certainly much of his own dishonor. The idea did cross him thatFlora might have been concerned in intercepting it, but it seemedimprobable, and he drove it away. With all his revived devotion toConstance, he did not like to think hardly of her rival; in a lesserdegree he had wronged her too. 

You will rarely find the sternest or wisest of men disposed to be harshtoward errors that spring from a devotion to themselves. It is onlyjust, as well as natural, that it should be so. If the second cause ofthe crime did not find an excuse for the defendant, I don't know wherehe or she would look for an advocate. St. Kevin need not have troubledhimself: there were plenty of people ready to push poor Kathleen down. Ithink it is a pity they canonized him. 

Through all Guy's reflections there ran this under-current--"how easilyall might have been avoided if the slightest things had turned outdifferently. " Just so, after a heavy loss at play, a man _will_ keepthinking how he might have won a large stake if he had played one cardotherwise, or backed the In instead of the Out. I have heard good judgessay that this pertinacious after-thought is the hardest part to bear ofall the annoyance. Of course he worries himself about it, just as if"great results from small beginnings" were not the tritest of alltruisms. I don't wish to be historical, or I would reflect how often theContinent has been convulsed by a dish that disagreed with some one, orby a ship that did not start to its time. The Jacobites were very wisein toasting "the little gentleman in black velvet" that raised the fatalmole-hill. Does not the old romance say that an adder starting from abush brought on the terrible battle in which all the chivalry of Englandwere strewn like leaves around Arthur on Barren Down?

Guy could still hardly realize to himself the certainty of Constance'sapproaching death. He tried to fix his thoughts on this till a heavy, listless torpor, like drowsiness, began to steal over him. He rousedhimself impatiently, and began to think how slow they were going. Nevertheless, the green _coteaux_ that swell between Rouen and the seawere flying past rapidly, and they arrived at Havre, as Mohun had said, just in time to catch the Southampton packet. 

There was threatening of foul weather to windward. The clouds, in massesof indigo just edged with copper, were banking up fast, and the "whitehorses, " more and more frequent, were beginning to toss their manesagainst the dark sky-line. 

To the few travelers whom the stern necessities of business drove forth, lingering and shivering, from their comfortable inns on to the deck, already wet and unsteady, Livingstone was an object of great interestand many theories. His impatience to be gone was so marked that theconscientious official looked more than once suspiciously at hispassport. 

Mr. Phineas Hackett, of Boston, U. S. , Marchand (so self-described inthe Livre des Voyageurs at Chamounix), made up his mind that he sawbefore him the hero of some gigantic forgery, or a fraudulent bankrupton a large scale; but, just as he had fixed on the astute question whichwas to drive the first wedge into the mystery, Guy turned in his quickwalk and met him full. I doubt if he even saw the smooth-shaven, eagerface at his elbow; but he was thinking again of the lost letter, and thesavage glare in his eyes made the heart of the "earnest inquirer" quiverunder his black satin waistcoat. "D----d hard knot, that, " he muttered, disconsolately, and retreated with great loss, to writhe during the restof the passage in an orgasm of unsatisfied curiosity. 

The weather looked worse every moment as the wild north wind cameroaring from seaward with a challenge to the vessels that lay tossingwithin the jetty to come forth and meet him. The waste-pipe of the_Sea-gull_ screamed out shrilly in answer; and the brave old ship, shaking the foam from her bows after every plunge, as her namesake mightdo from its breast-feathers, steamed out right in the teeth of the gale. 

A regular "Channel night"--a night which Mr. Augustus Winder, Paristraveler to H---- and Co. , the mighty mercers of Regent Street, spoke ofin after days with a shudder of reminiscence mingling with the pride ofone who has endured and survived great peril; who has gone down to thesea in ships, and seen the wonders of the deep. His associates--the_élite_ of the silk-and-ribbon department--youths of polished mannersand fascinating address, than whom _non alii leviore saltu_ took thecounter in their stride--would gather round the narrator in respectfuladmiration, just as the young sea-dogs of Nantucket might listen to aveteran hunter of the sperm whale as he tells of a hurricane that caughthim in the strait between the Land of Fire and terrible Cape Horn. 

Mr. Winder represented himself as having assisted all on board, from thecaptain down to the cabin-boy, with his counsel and encouragement, andas having been materially useful to the man at the wheel. The fact was, that he cried a good deal during the night, and was incessant in hisappeals to the steward and Heaven for help. In his appeals to the latterpower he employed often a strangely modified form of the Apostles'Creed; for his religious education had been neglected, and this was hissolitary and simple idea of an orison. However, no one was present todetract from his triumph or to controvert his concluding words:

"An awful night, gents; but duty's duty, and the firm behaved handsome. Mr. Sassnett, I'll trouble you for a light, sir. " And so he ignited afuller-flavored Cuba, and drank, in a sweeter grog, "Our nobleselves"--_olim hæc meminisse juvabit_. 

There was one striking contrast on board to the gallant Winder. Livingstone did not go below, but walked the deck all night long, straining his eyes eagerly forward through the thick darkness and thedriving rain. 

Captain Weatherby regarded him approvingly, as, halting in his walk, Guystood near him, upright and steady as a mainmast of Memel pine. "That'sthe sort I like to carry, " the old sailor remarked confidentially tohis second in command as they shared an amicable grog under the shelterof the companion. 

The wind abated toward morning; and, as the dawn broke, they were underthe lee of the Wight, and moving steadily into the quiet Solent. 

Guy made his way straight to Ventnor. Twenty-four hours after hersummons reached him, Constance knew that her lover had never receivedher first letter, and that now he was within five hundred yards of her, waiting to be called into her presence. 

It was long before her answer came. It only contained a few hurriedwords, saying that it was impossible for her to see him that day, andbegging him not to be angry, but to wait. The hand-writing was far morefaltering and uncertain than that which had struck him so painfully withits weakness the day before. It spoke plainly of the effort which it hadcost the invalid to trace even those brief lines. He did not try todelude himself any more, but all that day remained alone, face to facewith his despair. 

He went out after nightfall, and stole up cautiously to the house whereConstance was staying. 

It is not only ghosts that _walk_. Men, as powerless to retrieve thepast as if they were already disembodied spirits, _will_ haunt thescenes and sepulchres of their lost happiness even before they die. Though the world was all before them where to choose, I doubt not thatthe exiles from Paradise lingered long just without the sweep of theflaming sword. 

Two rooms in the house were lighted, one with the faint glimmer peculiarto the shaded lamp of a sick-room. Guy's pulse bounded wildly at first, and then grew dull and still. In that room he knew Constance lay dying. The other window was brightly lighted, but half shaded by a curtain. While he gazed, this was torn suddenly aside, as if by an angry, impatient hand, and a man leaned out, throwing back the hair from hisforehead, to catch the cold wind which was blowing sharply. Guy hadnever seen the dark, passionate face before, but he know whose it wasvery well, though there was little family likeness to guide him. CyrilBrandon's features were small and finely cut, like his sister's; butthere the resemblance ended. His complexion, naturally sallow, had beenburnt three shades deeper by the Indian sun. His fierce black eyes, andthin lips, that seemed always ready to curl or quiver, made the contrastwith Constance very striking. 

Livingstone drew back into the farthest shadow of the garden trees. Heknew how much reason Cyril had for hating him above all living men, andhe did not wish to risk a meeting. Mohun's warning shot across his mind, and he felt it was rightly founded. 

Brandon looked out for some minutes without moving, then he dropped hishead suddenly on his arms with a heavy groan. The bright light wasbehind him, and Guy could see his clasped fingers twisting and tearingat each other, as if he wished to distract mental agony by the sense ofbodily pain. The gazer saw that another besides himself had given up allhope; and, with a heavier heart than over, he stole away home--not tosleep, but to think, and wait for the morning. 

About noon next day the expected message came:

 "DEAR GUY, --I have got leave to see you at last, but it was very difficult to gain. It is only on these conditions: you are not to stay with me a moment beyond three hours, and you must leave Ventnor immediately afterward, and not return. I have promised all for you. It seems very hard; but we must not think of that now. Come directly. C. B. "

Ten minutes later there was only a closed door between Livingstone, andthe interview he longed for and dreaded so much. His steel nerves stoodhim in good stead then; it was not at the crisis that these were likelyto fail. When Constance heard his step, it was measured and firmlyplanted as she always remembered it. So it would have been if he hadbeen walking to meet the fire of a platoon. Her aunt, Mrs. Vavasour, waswith her, but left the room, as Guy opened the door, and so they metagain as they had parted--alone. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

 "I charge thee, by the living's prayer, By the dead's silentness, To wring from out thy soul a cry That God may hear and bless; Lest heaven's own palm fade in my hand, And, pale among the saints I stand A saint companionless. "

Constance was lying on a couch near the fire propped up by many pillows. She felt weaker than usual: what she had gone through in the morning hadexhausted her. Guy never knew, till long after, that the effort she hadmade to secure the meeting with him had, in all human probability, shortened her life by weeks. She thought it cheaply purchased at thatprice--and she was right. Even the excitement of the moment had hardlybrought a tinge of color into the pure waxen cheeks, but the beautifulclear eyes were more brilliant than ever. A ribbon of the blue which wasGuy's favorite was twisted in her bright glossy hair. 

He saw nothing of this at first; he did not see her raise herself with afaint joyful cry as he advanced with his eyes cast down; he never knewhow it was that he found himself kneeling by Constance, with her armsclinging fondly round his neck, and her voice murmuring in his ear, "Isaid you would come--I knew you would come. "

Though her soft cheek lay so very near his lips, they never touched it. He drew back, shuddering all over, and said, hoarsely, "I can not; I dare not; I am not worthy. "

I do not know if she guessed what he meant, but she tried to lift hishead, which was bent down on the cushion beside her, so that he mightlook into her true eyes as she answered, "You must not think that--you must not say so. I know you have beenangry and almost mad for many months, but you are not so now, and younever will be any more. It was my fault--yes, mine. If I had not been socold and proud, you would never have left me. You thought I did not loveyou; but I did; my own, my darling, I did--so dearly!"

All Guy's stout manhood was shivered within him, utterly and suddenly, as 4000 years ago the rock was cloven in Horeb, the Mount of God. Now, too, from the rift in the granite the waters flowed; the first tearsthat he had shed since he was a very little child--the last that anymortal saw there--streamed hot and blinding from his eyes down on thethin, transparent hand that he held fast. 

Would those with whom he was a by-word for hard sternness of characterhave known him then? They would have been almost as much surprised tosee Constance Brandon--thought so haughty and cold--overcoming herterror at his passionate burst of grief, to soothe him with everytenderest gesture and with words that were each a caress, till theconvulsion passed away, and calm self-government returned. 

Guy did not speak till he could quite control himself; then he saidfirmly, but with a sob in his voice still, "Yet I have killed you!"

"No, no, " Constance answered, quickly; "indeed it is not so. A coldwhich attacked my chest caused this illness; but they say my lungs wereaffected long ago, and that I could hardly have lived many months. Youmust think of that, dear; and perhaps it is much better that it shouldbe so. Life is very hard and difficult, I think, and I should never havebeen strong enough to bear my part in it well. "

Guy shook his head sadly, as if only half convinced, though he knew shewould not have said an untrue word even to save him from suffering. 

"If you could only stay with me--if I could only keep you!" he criedout, and threw his arms round her, as if their strong clasp would holdher back one step on the road along which the messengers of God had beenbeckoning her for many days past. 

"Hush!" Constance whispered; "you must be patient. Yet I like to thinkthat you will not forget me soon. Now listen--" and she held up herfinger with something of the "old imperial air. " "I have something toask of you. Will you not like to do it for my sake, even if it is hard?"

He did not answer; but she understood the pressure of his hand, and wenton. 

"I have been fearing so much that something terrible will happen betweenyou and Cyril. He is so passionate and willful, he will not listen tome, though he loves me dearly, and though I have tried every entreaty Icould think of. (She grew paler than ever, and shuddered visibly. ) Andyou are not patient, Guy, dear; but you would be this time, would younot? Only think how it would grieve me if--"

The deep hollow cough that she had tried hard to keep back _would_break in here. 

"You can not doubt me, " Guy replied, caressing her fondly: "I promisethat nothing he can say or do shall tempt me to defend myself by word ordeed. How could I, even if you had not asked this? Has he not bittercause? Ask me something harder, my own!"

Constance hesitated; then she spoke rapidly, as if afraid to pause whenshe had once made up her mind. The lovely color came and flickered for amoment on her cheek, and then went out again as suddenly. 

"I know it is easier for me to submit than for you, yet it is very hardto be obliged to leave you, Guy; it is harder still to leave you toFlora Bellasys. I hope my jealousy--I _am_ jealous--does not make meunjust; but I don't think she will make you better, or even happier inthe end. Now do forgive me; perhaps I ought not--"

Guy interrupted her here: he had not stopped her till she began toexcuse herself. 

"I must see her once again (the knitting of his black brows omened illfor the peace of that interview); afterward, on my honor and faith, Iwill never speak to her one word, or willingly look upon her face. "

O true heart! that had suffered so long, and hitherto unavailingly, tillyour life-blood was drained in the struggle, be content, for the victoryis won at last. Never did loyalty and right triumph more absolutelysince those who stood fast by their King in the _dies iræ_ of the greatbattle saw the rebel angels cast headlong down. 

If, in the intense joy that thrilled through every fibre of Constance'sframe, there mingled an element of gratified pride, who shall blame her?Not I, for fear of being less indulgent than I believe was her EternalJudge when, not many days later, she stood before him. 

She needed no further protest or explanation; she never thought that, because her lover had once been entangled, there was danger of hisfalling into the net again; she never doubted for an instant--and shewas right. The gaze of the spirit is far-seeing and rarely fallible whenso near its translation as was hers. 

As she leaned her head against his shoulder, murmuring, "You have mademe so very, very happy!" there were pleasant tears in the beautiful eyesthat had known so many bitter ones, and had not lost their brightnessyet. 

There was silence for some minutes; then Constance spoke again, lookingwistfully, and more sadly than she had yet done, on her companion:

"Do you know, Guy, I have been thinking that yours will not be a verylong life? You are so strong that it seems foolish in me, but I can nothelp it. "

The faintest glimmer of satisfaction, like the ghost of a smile, cameupon Livingstone's miserable, haggard face: there had been nothing likeit there for many hours; there was nothing like it again for many days. 

"You may be right, " he said, very calmly. "I trust in God you are. "

"Yes, " Constance went on; "but I was thinking more than that. I washoping that perhaps, for my sake, if not for your own, you would try togrow better every day. Only think what it would be if, throughout allages, we were never to meet after to-day. " She drew him closer to her, and her voice almost failed her. "I don't believe you ever could be whatis called a very religious character. I am so weak--strong-minded as youthought me--that I fear I have found an attraction in this fault ofyours; but you could keep from great sins, I am sure. Try and be gentlerto others first, and with every act of unselfish kindness you will havegained something. Any good clergyman will tell you the rest better thanI. Remember how happy you will make me. I believe I shall see and knowit all. It may be hard for you, dear, but it may not be for long. "

The same strange, wistful look came into her eyes again, as if shadowsof the dim future were passing before them. 

Poor child! Pure as she was in principle and firm in truth, she wouldhave made but a weak controversial theologian; but her simple words wentstraight to her hearer's heart, with a stronger power of conversion thancould have been found in the discourses of all the surpliced Chrysostomsthat ever anathematized a sinner or anatomized a creed. 

Yet Guy did not answer so soon this time. When he did, he spoke firmlyand resolutely: "Indeed, indeed, I will try. "

Constance nestled down on his broad chest, wearily, but with along-drawn breath of intense relief. 

"I have said all my say, " she whispered; "I have not tired you? Now Iwill rest, and you shall pet me and talk to me as you used to do. "

What broken sentences--what pauses of silence yet more eloquent--whatlavish, tender caresses passed between those two, over whom the shadowof desolation was closing fast, I have never guessed, nor, if I could, would I write them in these pages. I hold that there are partingsbitterer to bear than a father's from his child, and sorrows worthier ofthe veil than those of Agamemnon. 

Though Guy repressed now all outward signs of painful emotion, hesuffered, I believe, far the most of the two. It is always so with thosewhom death is about to divide. The agony is unequally distributed, falling heaviest on the one that remains behind. If the separation werefor years, and both were healthy and hopeful, very often the positionswould be reversed; but--whether it be that bodily weakness blunts thesharp sense of anticipated sorrow, or that, to eyes bent forward on theglories and terrors of the unknown world, earthly relations lessen bycomparison--you will find that with most, however impetuous it may havebeen in mid-channel, the river of life flows calmly and evenly justbefore its junction with the great ocean stream. Besides, the dying girlhad suffered so much of late that the present change left no room forother feelings than those of unalloyed happiness, and the words of lovemurmured into her ear brought with them a deeper delight than when sheheard them for the first time from the same lips. 

Both were so engaged with their own thoughts and with each other thatthey never noted how the narrow space of time allotted to them wasvanishing, rapidly as the last dry islet of sand when the spring-tide isflowing. They never heard the footsteps, more impatient at every turn, sounding from the room beneath, where Cyril Brandon paced to and fro. Constance had cut off one of her long sunny braids, and was twining it, in and out, in fetter-locks round Guy's fingers as she lay nestling inthe clasp of his other arm: it was only their eyes that were speakingthen. They started as the door opened suddenly, and Mrs. Vavasour camein, her face white, and her eyes wild with terror. She was toofrightened to be gentle or considerate. 

"You must go this instant!" she cried out, catching Livingstone's arm. "Constance, make him go; he has staid too long already. You know youpromised. "

"I did promise, " Constance answered, calmly, almost proudly "and he willkeep it. "

Then she turned to Guy, who was kneeling by her, and hid her face in hisneck, locking her arms round him. Her aunt caught the words--"Notforget!" Beyond these her farewell was a secret known only to her loverand the angels. 

But the parting, which had come so suddenly, drained the last weakremnant of strength already taxed too hardly. Guy felt the lips thatwere murmuring in his car grow still at first, and then cold; the tenderarms unknit themselves, and his imploring eyes could draw no answer fromhers that were closed. 

"She has only fainted, " Mrs. Vavasour said, answering his look: "I willrecover her. But pray, pray go!"

He laid the light burden that scarcely weighed upon his arm down on thepillows, very softly and gently, smoothing them mechanically with hishand. Then he stooped and pressed one kiss more on the pale lips; theynever felt it, though the passion of that lengthened caress might almosthave waked the dead. And so those two parted, to meet again--upon earthnever any more. 

The next time woman's lips touched Guy Livingstone's they were hismother's, and he had been a corpse an hour. 

He went, without looking back; his step was slow and unsteady, verydifferent from the firm, even tread of three hours ago. The power ofvolition and self-direction was very nearly gone. Through a half opendoor on the lower story he caught a glimpse of a haggard face lighted upby wolfish eyes, and heard a savage, growling voice. He felt that botheyes and voice cursed him as he passed; and afterward, recalling thesethings vaguely, as one does the incidents of a hideous dream, he knewthat, for the second time, he had seen Cyril Brandon. Guy could hardlytell how he reached London that night, for the brain fever was coming onthat the next morning held him in its clutches fast. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

 "Quanto minus est cum reliquis versari, quam tui meminisse. "

The tidings of her son's illness reached Lady Catharine quickly atKerton Manor. I did not hear of it till a day later, and when I arrivedI found her nearly exhausted by sleeplessness and anxiety, though shehad not been Guy's nurse for more than thirty-six hours. 

The sick-bed of delirium taxes the energies of the watcher verydifferently from any other. There is a sort of fascination in the rollof the restless head, tossing from side to side, as if trying to escapefrom the pressure of a heavy hot hand; in the glare of the eager eyes, that follow you every where, with a question in them that they neverwait to have answered; in the incoherent words, just trembling on theverge of a revelation, but always leaving the tale half told, thatcreates a perpetual strain on the attention, enough to wear out a strongman. 

There have been men, they say, who, sensible of the approach ofdelirium, chose the one person who should attend them, and ordered theirdoors to be closed against all others, preferring to die almost alone tothe risk of what their ravings might betray; but I have heard, also, that there are secrets--secrets shared, too, by many confederates--towhich neither fever or intoxication ever gave a clew. The hot blood grewchill for an instant, and the babbling tongue was tied when the dreamercame near the frontier ground, where the oath reared itself distinct andthreatening as ever, while all else was fantastic and vague. 

There was something of this in Guy's case. We could hear distinctly manyof his broken sentences, relating sometimes to the hunting-field, sometimes to the orgies of wine or play. There were names, too, occurring now and then, which to his mother were meaningless, but to mehad an evil significance. Once or twice--not oftener--he was talking toFlora Bellasys. But when the name of Constance Brandon came, the harshloud voice sank into a whisper so low that if you had laid your ear tohis lips you would not have caught one syllable. Very, very often I hadoccasion to remark this, and to wonder how the heart could guard itstreasure so rigidly when the brain was driving on, aimless as a shipbefore the hurricane with her rudder gone. 

On the fifth day after Guy's illness began, an angel might haveinterceded for him in the stead of a pure true-hearted woman, forConstance was dead. 

I saw Lady Catharine tremble, and bend her head down low when she heardthe news, as if herself crushed by the blow which would fall so heavilyon her son. She had known but very little of Constance; that little hadmade her love her dearly--who could help doing that? Yet it was notConstance she was regretting then. I could see the same thought was inher mind as in mine--who will tell Guy this if he recovers? I did all Icould to spare her; but the anxiety she felt when out of the sick-roomtried her almost more than the bodily fatigue. It was best to let herhave her way. I never guessed, till then, the extent of a weak woman'sendurance. 

It was a close struggle, indeed, between life and death. The fire of thefever died out when there was little left for it to feed on. The armwhich, a month ago, was fatal as old Front-de-Boeuf's, had notstrength enough in its loosened sinews to lift itself three inches fromthe coverlet. 

Guy had fallen at last into a heavy sleep. The doctors said it was theturning-point. If he woke quite calm and sane, the immense power of hisconstitution would probably enable him to rally; if not, the worst thatcould be feared was certain. 

He woke after many hours. There was such a stillness in the room as heunclosed his eyes that you might have heard his mother's heart beat asshe sat motionless by his bedside. They recognized her at once--heavyand dim as they were--for he tried to turn his head to kiss her handthat lay on the pillow beside him. Then we knew that he was saved; and Isaw, for the first time, tears stream down Lady Catharine's worn cheeks. She could check the evidence of her grief better than that of her joy. 

He saw me, too, as I came forward out of the shadow. "Is that you, Frank?" he said, faintly. "How very good of you to come. " We would notlet him speak any more. 

On the third day after the change for the better, I was alone with theinvalid. He turned to me suddenly, and spoke in a low voice, but sosteady that it surprised me. "Frank, what have you heard of Constance?"

Had I been arming myself to meet that question--disciplining my voiceand countenance for days, only to fail so miserably at last? I feltunspeakably angry and self-reproachful when I saw that my face had toldhim all. 

"When did she die?" He went on in the same measured tone, without takinghis eyes off me. I think he had nerved himself just enough for theeffort, and was afraid of breaking down if he paused. 

I could speak now, and told him. I was going on to tell him, too, howcalmly and happily her life had ended (her aunt had written all this toLady Catharine), when Guy stopped me--not coldly, but with a hopelesssadness in his accent very painful to hear. "Thank you; it is meantkindly, but I would rather not speak of this, even to you--at least forsome time. "

His self-command carried him through bravely, but it only just lastedout. Then he turned his head aside and threw his arm across it. As Idrew back to the window, I saw the quivering of the long, emaciatedfingers that veiled his face. I did not look again till Guy's voicecalled to me, quite composedly, for I did not dare to pry into or meddlewith the secrets of the strong heart that knew its own bitterness sowell. 

I told Lady Catharine what had passed. She was very much relieved tohear that it was all over. She never opened her lips on the subject toher son; indeed, though those two understood each other thoroughly, there were wonderfully few confidences between them. 

Guy's convalescence was slow--far slower than we had hoped for. Itseemed as if some spring was broken in his being not easily to bereplaced. He was moody and listless always, speaking very seldom; buthis words and manner, when he did talk, were gentler and more kindlythan I ever remembered them. 

One of his first visitors was Colonel Mohun. He had been incessant inhis inquiries, and had offered to share our watching, but Lady Catharinewould not hear of it. She had a sort of dread at the idea of that grimface lowering over the sick man's bed. 

No one was present at their first interview. Ralph was more moved thanhe cared to show at his old friend's altered looks and ways; but he gavehim the account of his search after the lost letter conscientiously, without sparing a single detail. "It must have gone hard with Guy, " heremarked to me, thoughtfully, as he came away. "He's very far from rightyet. When I told him what Willis had done, I made sure he would be veryangry. He only said, 'Poor wretch! He acted under orders, and did notknow what mischief he was doing. ' He wants rousing; but I am sure Idon't know what is to do it. "

Forgiveness and forgetfulness of injuries seemed to that hard oldheathen the most dangerous sign of bodily and mental debility. 

He came almost daily after that, and I think his rough ways, and sharp, sarcastic remarks acted on Livingstone as a sort of tonic--bitter, butstrengthening. 

A few days later Mrs. Vavasour called. She, too, saw Guy alone. Shesurely had a message to deliver, or she would not have ventured on aninterview which must have been so painful to both. It did not last long;but when she came down, her thick black veil was drawn closely over herface, and that evening Guy was denied to Ralph Mohun. 

One afternoon Livingstone was quite by himself. The colonel had goneinto Warwickshire for a few days' hunting; Lady Catharine had paid herusual visit and had gone back to her hotel, and I was out for an hour ortwo. We did not mind leaving him a good deal alone; indeed, he preferredit very often, and said so. 

His servant came in, looking rather puzzled, to say that a lady wishedto see him. She would not give her name, but said that she would notdetain him many minutes. 

Guy had not time to refuse admittance to the visitor, she followed soclose upon her message. Though she was closely-wrapped in her mantle, and her veil fell in triple folds, there was no mistaking the turn ofthe haughty head, the smooth, elastic step, and the lithe undulations ofa figure matchless between the four seas. No wonder that he drew hisbreath hard as he recognized Flora Bellasys. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

 Treu und fest. 

As the door closed, Flora advanced quickly. "Confess you are surprisedto see me, " she said, holding out her little gloved hand. The courtesytoward the sex, which was hereditary with the Livingstones, contrastingstrangely with their fierce, ungovernable tempers, made him not rejectit; but his lay passive and nerveless in her slender fingers, neveranswering their eager pressure; it had no longer the elastic quiver ofrepressed strength that she remembered and liked so well. 

"I am surprised to see you here, and so soon, " he answered, coldly; "butI knew we should meet before long. "

"The surprise does not seem too charming, " Miss Bellasys said, poutingher scarlet lip as she threw herself into a deep _bergère_ opposite tothe couch on which Livingstone had already sunk down again--he was veryweak and unsteady in his movements still. 

Was it by chance or calculation that a fold of her dress disarrangeddisplayed the slender foot, with its arched instep--set off by thedelicate _brodequin_, a labor of love to the Parisian Crispin--and thestraight, beautifully-turned ankle, cased in dead-white silk? Thelatter, I think; for Flora knew how to fall as well as Cæsar orPolyxena, and had studied her part to its minutest shade. It was by thesenses that she had always been most successful in attacking Guy, andshe knew that, in old days, no point of feminine perfection had agreater attraction for him. 

The temptation, if so it was intended, had about as much effect upon himnow as it might have had on weather-beaten St. Simeon Stylites when hispenances had lasted twenty years. 

After a minute's silence, during which Flora was gazing intently on hercompanion, leaning her chin upon her hand, she spoke again. 

"I fear you must have been very ill. How--how changed you are!"

Livingstone was, indeed, fearfully altered. The healthy brown of hiscomplexion had given place to a dull, opaque pallor; there were greathollows under the prominent cheek-bones, and his loose dressing-robe ofblack velvet hung straight down from the gaunt angles of the immensejoints and bones. His voice sounded deeper than ever as he replied, "Yes, I have been very ill, and I am utterly changed. But you must havehad something more important to say to me, or you would hardly haveventured on this step. "

She was getting very nervous--inexplicably so for her, who generallykept her head, while she made others lose theirs, "No. I only wished--" she hesitated, trying to force a smile, and thenbroke off suddenly--"Guy, do speak kindly to me. Don't look at me sostrangely. "

His answer came, brief and stern. 

"I will speak, then. Miss Bellasys, on what authority from me did youventure to interfere in my concerns so far as to intercept mycorrespondence?"

She tried denial still; it was her way; she always _would_ do it, evenwhen it could avail nothing--perhaps to gain time. 

"I don't know what you mean. I never--"

Livingstone interrupted her, with a curl of contempt on his lip. 

"Stop, I beg of you. It is useless to stoop lower than you have donealready. I have Willis's written confession here. Ah! I know yourtalents too well to accuse you without material proof. "

She raised her head, haughtily enough now. There was something Spartanabout that girl. She had such an utter recklessness of exposure--it wasin failure that she felt the shame. 

"At least _you_ ought not to reproach me. You might guess my motive--myonly one--without forcing me to confess it. Have I not gratified yourpride enough already?"

"You know that is not the question, " Guy answered, gravely. "Yet you arehalf right. I could not reproach you for any fair, honest move. In much, I own myself more guilty than you. But this is very different. MissBellasys, you must have distrusted greatly your own powers offascination before you stooped to such cruel treachery. "

"I did not know what I was doing, " she whispered; "I did not know shewas dying. Ah! Guy, have pity!"

"But you knew it might kill her to find her letter--such aletter--unanswered. You knew what she must have suffered before shewrote it. You did all this in cold blood, and now you say to me, 'Havepity!' If an accountable being--not a woman and her miserableinstrument--had wronged me so, I would have risked my soul to haverevenge; and, because that is impossible, you think that I feel lessbitterly? You might have known me better by this time. "

Instead of being softened by her appeal, his heart, features, and tonewere hardening more and more. 

The sting of defeat, imminent and unavoidable, that, ere this, hasdriven strong and wise men headlong into the thickest of the battle tohunt for death there, proved too much for a temper never well regulated. 

"You have decided, then?" she cried, passionately, her eyes flashing andher lip quivering. "After all I have risked and borne for you, I am tobe sacrificed to a shadow--a memory--the memory of that cold, palestatue of propriety?" She checked herself suddenly, only just in time. 

Guy had sprung to his feet, excitement bringing back for the moment allhis lost strength. If Ralph Mohun had seen him, he would not have fearedthat the wrathful devil was cast out. It was raging within him then, untamed and dangerous as ever. 

"Do you dare to insult her now that she is dead--and to me, not a monthafter I have lost her? It is not safe: take care, take care!"

The tempest of his passion made him forget, for the first time in hislife, the weakness of her who had roused it. 

Flora was only a woman after all, though haughty and bold of spirit asany that had breathed. Her own outbreak of anger vanished before thatterrible burst of wrath, just as the camp-fire, when the prairie isblazing, is swallowed up in the great roaring torrent of flame. Shebowed her head on her hands, trembling all over in pure physical fear. Guy felt ashamed when he saw the effect of his violence, and spoke moregently than he had done yet. 

"Forgive me. I was very wrong; but I have not learned to controlmyself--I never shall, I fear; but you ought not to say such words, evenif I could bear them better. Now it is time that we should part; youhave staid here too long already. You must not risk your reputation forme, who can not even be grateful for the venture. We shall never meetagain, if we can avoid it; it would be strange to do so as mereacquaintance, and in any other way--no, don't stop me--it is impossible. It will be long before I go much into society again, so I shall notcross your path. "

Flora knew it was hopeless then. She was quite broken down, and did notraise her head from her hand, through the fingers of which, half shadingher face, the tears trickled fast. Guy heard her murmur, very low andplaintively, "I have loved you so long--so dearly!"

Mistress as she was of every art that can deceive, I believe she onlyspoke the simple truth then. With all the energy of her strong andsensual nature, I believe she did worship Livingstone. To most men shewould have been far more dangerous thus, in the abandonment of hersorrow, than ever she had been in the insolence of her splendid beauty. 

There are some women, very few (Johnson's fair friend, SophyStreatfield, was one), whom weeping does not disfigure. Their eyelids donot get red or swollen; only the iris softens for a moment; and thedrops do not streak or blot the polished cheeks, but glitter there, singly, like dew on marble; their sobs are well regulated, and follow ina certain rhythm; and the heaving bosom sinks and swells, not toostormily. It is a rare accomplishment. Miss Bellasys had not practicedit often, being essentially Democritian--not to say Rabelaisian--in herphilosophy; but she did it very well. Like every other emotion, itbecame her. 

Guy hardly glanced at her, and never answered a word. 

She rose to go; then turned all at once to try one effort more. "Yes, wemust part, " she said. "I know it now. But give me a kind word to takewith me. I shall be so lonely, now that you are my enemy. Will you notsay you wish me well? Ah! Guy, remember all the hours that I have triedto make pleasant for you. Say 'Good-by, Flora, ' only those two littlewords, gently. " Her voice was broken and uncertain, but full of musicstill, like the wind wandering through an organ. 

Just at that moment I opened the door. (I had not an idea Livingstonewas not alone. ) I closed it before either had remarked my entrance, butnot before I had caught sight of a very striking picture. 

Guy was leaning one arm against the mantel-piece; the other was crossedover his chest: on that arm Flora was clinging, with both her handsclenched in the passion of her appeal. Her slight bonnet had fallenrather back, showing the masses of her glorious hair, and all herflushed cheeks, and her eyes that shone with a strange lustre, thoughthere were tears still on their long, trailing lashes. I saw theimpersonation of material life, exuberant and vigorous, yet delicatelylovely--the Lust of the Eye incarnate. 

He stood perfectly still, making no effort to cast her off. Had he doneso with violence, it would scarcely have evinced more repulsion than didthe expression of his face. There was no more of yielding or softeningin the set features and severe eyes than you would find in those of acorpse three hours old, whose spirit has passed in some great anger orpain. Can you guess what made him more than ever hard and unrelenting?He was thinking _who_ tried to win a kind farewell from him six monthsago, and utterly failed. Should her rival have this triumph, too, overthe dead?

As he answered deliberately, each slow word shut out another hope, likebolts shot, one by one, in the lock of a prison door. 

"I remember nothing of the past except your last act, for which I willnever, never forgive you. I form no wish for your welfare or for thereverse. There shall not stand the faintest shadow of a connecting linkthat I can break asunder. Between you and me there is the gulf of afresh-made grave, and no thought of mine shall ever cross it--so help meGod in Heaven!"

Flora's last arrow was shivered: if she had had another in her quiver, she would have had no courage to try it after hearing those terriblewords. She caught his hand, however, before he could guess herintention, and pressed her lips upon it till they left their printbehind, and then she was gone. Her light foot hardly sounded as itsprang down the stairs, but its faint echo was the last living soundconnected with Flora Bellasys that ever reached the ear of GuyLivingstone. 

When I heard more of the interview, I thought, and think still, that heerred on the side of harshness. He was so fixed and steady in hispurpose that he could have afforded to have compromised a little inexpressing it. But he did things in his own way, and fought with his ownweapons--effective, but hardly to be wielded by most men, like the axeof the King-maker or the bow of Odysseus. In carrying out his will, hewas apt to consider the softer feelings of others as little as he didhis own. It was just so with him when riding to hounds: he went asstraight as a line, and if he did not spare his horses, he certainly didnot himself. 

To each man alive, one particular precept of the Christian code isharder to realize and practice than all the rest put together. It wasthis, perhaps, which drove the anchorites on from one degree of penanceto another, and made them so savage in self-tormenting. When themacerated flesh had almost lost sensation, the thorn that had galled itsometimes in their hot youth rankled incessantly, more venomous thanever. That one injunction--"Forgive, as you would hope to beforgiven"--was ever a stumbling-block to Guy. 

Besides all this, he knew, better than any one, what sort of anadversary he was contending against; one with whom each step innegotiation or temporizing was a step toward discomfiture. It was likethe Spaniard with his _navaja_ against the sabre: your only chance iskeeping him steadily at the sword's-point, without breaking ground; ifhe once gets under your guard, not all the saints in the calendar cansave you. 

Perhaps, then, he was right, after all. Certainly Ralph Mohun thoughtso, as he listened to a sketch of the proceedings with a grimsatisfaction edifying to witness. 

As for me, before I went to bed that night, I read through thosechapters in the "Mort d'Arthur" that tell how the long, guilty loves ofLauncelot and Guenever ended. In the present case, there was certainlywonderfully little penitence on the lady's side, but yet there werepoints of resemblance which struck me. [I always think the queen musthave been the image of Flora. ] It is worth while wading through manychapters of exaggeration and obscurity to come out into the noble lightof the epilogue at last. 

Good King Arthur is gone. It bit deep, that blow which Mordred, thestrong traitor, struck when the spear stood out a fathom behind hisback; and Morgan la Fay came too late to heal the grievous wound thathad taken cold. The frank, kind, generous heart, that would not mistrusttill certainty left no space for suspicion, can never be wrung orbetrayed again. The bitter parting between the lovers is over too; andLauncelot is gone to his own place, without the farewell caress heprayed for when he besought the queen "to kiss him once and never more. "After a very few short months, the beautiful wild bird has beatenherself to death against her cage, and the vision comes by night, bidding Launcelot arise and fetch the corpse of Guenever home. Shewandered often and far in life, but where should her home be _now_ butby the side of her husband? Hardly and painfully in two days, he andthe faithful seven accomplish the thirty miles that lay between; soutterly is that unearthly strength, before which lance-shafts were asreeds, and iron bars as silken threads (remember the May night inMeliagraunce's castle), enfeebled and broken down. He stands in thenunnery-church at Almesbury; he hears from the queen's maidens of theprayer that was ever on her lips through those two days when she lay adying, how "she besought God that she might never have power to see SirLauncelot with her worldly eyes. " Then, says the chronicler, "he saw hervisage; yet he wept not greatly, but sighed. And so he did all theobservance of the service himself, both the dirge at night and the masson the morrow. " Not till every rite was performed, not till the earthhad closed over the marble coffin, did Launcelot swoon. 

I know nothing in fiction so piteous as the words that tell of hisdreary, mortal sorrow. "Then, Sir Launcelot never after ate but littlemeat, nor drank, but continually mourned until he was dead; and then hesickened more and more, and dried and dwined away; for the bishop nornone of his fellows might make him to eat, and little he drank; so thathe waxed shorter by a cubit than he was, and the people could not knowhim; for evermore day and night he prayed; but needfully as naturerequired, sometimes he slumbered a broken sleep; and always he was lyinggroveling on King Arthur's and Queen Guenever's tomb. And there was nocomfort that his fellows could make him; it availed nothing. "

We know it can not last long; we know that the morning is fastapproaching, when they will find him "stark dead, and lying as he hadsmiled;" when they will bear him forth, according to his vow, to hisresting-place in Joyous Guard; when there will be pronounced over himthat famous funeral oration--the truest, the simplest, the noblest, Ithink, that ever was spoken over the body of a sinful man. 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

 "I pray God pardon me, That I no more, without a pang, His choicest works can see. "

It was long before Livingstone's health recovered the check to itsimprovement given by that interview. However, as the spring advanced hebegan to regain strength rapidly, and toward the end of May he and Istarted in the _Petrel_, which he had just bought, for a cruise in theMediterranean. 

It would seem hard that any one, coasting for the first time along theshores of Italy, and penetrating ever and anon far into the interior, should not feel and display some interest in the succession of pictures, of living Nature and dead Art, that meet you at every step. I can notsay that I ever detected the faintest symptom of such in my companion. He strayed with me through the old Forum, and through Adrian's Villa, and lingered by the Alban Lake; but it was more to keep me incountenance than any thing else. I liked them better this second time ofseeing them than I did the first; I doubt if they left an impression onhis mind equal to the dimmest photograph that ever was the pride of anamateur and the puzzle of his friends. The brilliant landscapes made upof bold headlands, hanging woods, and sunny bays fared no better. Guydid not come on deck for two hours after we cast anchor off Mola diGaeta. 

Our _ciceroni_ were much pained and scandalized at an indifferencewhich exceeded all they had yet encountered in the matter-of-fact_Signori Inglesi_. I saw one of them look quite relieved when, afterquitting us, he had to listen to an excitable young Jewess endeavoringto express her raptures in the most execrable Italian. The physicaleffort it cost her was awful to witness, especially as she was winteringin Italy for her lungs. O, long-suffering stones of the Coliseum! whichreturned the most barbarous echo--the growls from the cells when theirtenants scented the Christian; the jargon of the Goth and the Hun; orthe _lingua Anglo-Romana in bocca Bloomsburiana_? The two first-namedclasses, at all events, confined themselves to their own dialect, andspoke it, doubtless, with perfect propriety. However, in the presentinstance, the _custode_ took the sentimental ebullition of the Maid ofJudah for an _amende honorable_, and rubbed his key complacently. 

I do not believe that our travels brought to Guy a single distraction tothe great sorrow that all the while held him fast. 

A German philosopher under similar circumstances would have writtenreams and spoken volumes (eating and drinking all the whilePantagruelically), theorizing and abstracting his emotions till theyvanished into cloud and vapor. A true disciple of Rousseau or Lamartinewould have analyzed his grief, dividing it into as many channels asAlexander did the Oxus, till the main stream was lost, and eachindividual rivulet might be crossed dry-shod. Both would have shed tearsperpetual and profuse. I read the other day of a Frenchman who, in themidst of a mixed assembly, remembering that on that day ten years he hadlost a dear friend, instantly went out and wept bitterly. He was socharmed with the happiness of the thought that, as he says, "I took theresolution henceforth to weep for all whom I have loved, each on theanniversary of their death. "

Can you conceive any thing more touching than the picture of theBereaved One consulting his almanac and then "going at it with a will?"It _was_ an athletic performance certainly; but remember what conditionhe must have been in from the constant training. 

From the episode of Niobe down to the best song in the "Princess, " howmany beautiful lines have been devoted to those outward and visiblesigns of sorrow?

Sadder elegiacs, more pathetic threnodies might have been written on thetears that were stifled at their source, either from pride or fromphysical inability to let them flow. Great regrets, like great schemes, are generally matured in the shade. If I had to choose the tombs wheremost hopes and affections are buried, I should turn, I think, not tothose with the long inscriptions of questionable poetry or blamelessLatinity, but to where just the initials and a cross are cut on thesingle stone. 

The philosophical and poetical mourners hardly suffered much more thanGuy did during those months, and for long after too, though he wasalways quite silent on the subject, and would speak cheerfully on othersnow and then, and though, from the day that he parted with Constance tothat of his own death, his eyes were as dry as the skies over the Delta. He used to lie for hours in that state of utter listlessness whichgives a reality to the sad old Eastern proverb, "Man is better sittingthan standing, lying down than sitting, dead than lying down. "

With all this, however, his health improved every day. After the wildlife he had led lately, the perfect rest and the clear pure airrefreshed him marvelously. It had the effect of coming out of a roomheated and laden with smoke into the cool summer morning. His strength, too, had returned almost completely. I found this out at Baiæ. 

The guardian of the _Cento Camerelle_, a big _lazzarone_, becameinordinately abusive. My impression is that he had received aboutfifteen times his due; but, seeing our yacht in the offing, he conceivedthe idea that we were princes in our own country, and ought to be robbedin his proportionally. Guy's eyes began to gleam at last, and he made astep toward the offender. I thought he was going to be heavily visited;but Livingstone only lifted him by the throat and held him suspendedagainst the wall, as you may see the children in those parts pin thelizards in a forked stick. Then he let him drop, unhurt, but green withterror. A year ago, a straightforward blow from the shoulder would havesettled the business in a shorter time, and worked a strange alterationin good Giuseppe's handsome sunburnt face. But the old hardness of heartwas wearing away. I had another proof of this some days later. 

We were dropping down out of the Bay of Naples. Though we weighed anchorin early morning, it was past noon before we cleared the Bocca di Capri, for there was hardly wind enough to give the _Petrel_ steerage-way. Thesmoke from our long Turkish pipes mounted almost straight upward, andlingered over our heads in thin blue curls; yet the sullen, discontentedheave and roll in the water were growing heavier every hour. The blacktufa cliffs crested with shattered masonry--the foundations of the stywhere the Boar of Capreæ wallowed--were just on our starboard quarter, when Riddell, the master, came up to Livingstone. "I think we'd bettermake all snug, sir, " he said. "There's dirty weather to windward, and wehaven't too much sea-room. " He was an old man-of-war's boatswain, andhad had a tussle, in his time, on every sea and ocean in the knownworld, with every wind that blows. He had rather a contempt for theMediterranean, esteeming it just one degree above the Cowes Roads, andattaching about as much importance to its vagaries as one might do tothe fractiousness of a spoiled child. If he had been caught in the mostterrible tempest that ever desolated the shores of the Great Lake, Idon't believe he would have called it any thing but "dirty weather. " Hewas too good a sailor, though, not to take all precautions, even if hehad been sailing on a piece of ornamental water; and he went quicklyforward to give the necessary orders, after getting a nod of assent fromGuy. 

The latter raised himself lazily on his arm, so as to see all round overthe low bulwarks. There was a blue-black bank of cloud rolling up fromthe southwest. Puffs of wind, with no coolness in them, but dry anduncertain as if stirred by some capricious artificial means, struck thesails without filling them, and drove the _Petrel_ through the water byfits and starts. 

"I really believe we are going to have a white squall, " Guy remarked, indifferently. "Well, we shall see how the boat behaves. Riddell onlyspoke just in time. "

Suddenly his tone changed, and he said, quickly and decidedly, "Hold onevery thing!"

The master turned his weatherwise eye toward the quarter where thedanger lay, and frowned. "We're none too soon with it, Mr. Livingstone. If there's a yard too much canvas spread when _that_ reaches us, I won'tanswer for the spars. "

Deeper and deeper the blackness came rushing down upon us, an angryridge of foam before it--the white squall showing its teeth. 

Guy took the old man by the arm, and pointed to an object to leewardthat none on board had remarked yet. It was a small _barca_ with fourmen in it. They were Capriotes, as we found afterward, the boldestboatmen in the Bay. Had they been pure-bred Neapolitans, they would havebeen down on their faces long ago, screaming out prayers to a longmuster-roll of saints. As it was, they stood manfully to their oars, straining every muscle to reach us; there was no other safety for themthen. "They will never get alongside in time, unless we bear down tomeet them, " Livingstone said, "and what chance will they have in tenminutes hence?"

Riddell was only half satisfied. His creed evidently was that a sailor'sfirst duty is to his own ship; but neither he nor any one else everargued with Guy. "As you like, sir, " he grumbled, somewhatdiscontentedly. "Keep her full, Saunders; we shall fetch them so. "

If a stitch of sail had been taken off our vessel she could never havereached the _barca_, though her crew strove hard to meet us. She forgeddown slowly enough as it was, but we were just in time to take them onboard. 

"Reef every thing now!" Riddell shouted, leaping himself first into therigging like a wild-cat. "Cheerily, men--with a will!" All his ill-humorwas gone when the peril became imminent. 

We were strong-handed, and the four Capriotes did us seaman's service;but it was "touch and go. " The last man had scarcely reached the deckwhen the line of foam was within half-cable's length. Then there came asound unlike any I had ever heard before in the elements, beginning witha whistling sort of scream and deepening into a roar as of many angryvoices, bestial and human, striving for the mastery; and then the_Petrel_ staggered and reeled over almost on her beam-ends, in the midstof a white boiling caldron of mad water. She recovered herself, however, quickly, quivering and trembling as a live creature might do aftersevere punishment; and we drove on, the strong arms at the wheel keepingher well before the blast. In a very few minutes, I suppose (though itseemed very long), I heard old Riddell say, "Sharp while it lasted, Mr. Livingstone; but they're right to call it a squall. They've nothing downhere-away like a good right down hard gale. "

I looked up, clearing my eyes, blinded with the hissing spray, just asGuy answered, coolly as ever. He had run his arm through a becket, anddid not seem to have moved otherwise, whereas I disgraced myself byfalling at full length as the squall struck us. 

"Ah! you've got difficult to please; it's always so when one sees somuch of life. Never mind, Riddell, the Mediterranean does its best, andperhaps we'll go and try your tornadoes some day. Where's the _barca_now?"

Where? The eyes that could have told you that must have looked a hundredfathoms deep. There was not the faintest vestige of such a thing to beseen--not even a shivered plank. The poor Capriotes' "bread-winner" hadgone the way of Antonio's argosies--another whet to the all-devouringappetite, for which nothing that swims is too large or too small. 

It was almost calm again when we landed the rescued men at Salerno; wewere glad to get rid of them, for their gratitude was overpowering, especially as all the salt water that had soaked them could not disguisethe savor of their favorite herb. 

You may break, you may ruin the clay if you will, but the scent of thegarlic will cling to it still. 

Guy gave them enough to buy two such boats as they had lost--about asmuch as one wins or loses in an evening's whist, with fair luck andhalf-crown points. 

This incident showed the change that was coming over my companion. Hisprinciple had always been that a man who could not help himself was notworth helping. He never asked for aid himself, and never gave it to hisown sex, as a rule. I believe his rescuing me at B---- was a solitarycase, and I took it as a great compliment. You will say this one wasonly an act of common humanity. If you had known the man, you would havethought, as I did, that the words of her, who was an angel then, werebearing fruit already. 

Nothing happened of the slightest interest as we ran down through theStraits of Messina, and up the eastern coast of Calabria. We did notstay to see Sicily then, for we had settled to be in Venice by a certainday, to meet the Forresters. 

If I were to be seduced into "word-painting, " the Queen of the Adriaticwould tempt me. I know no other scene so provocative of enthusiasm asthe square acre round St. Mark's. All things considered, the author ofthe "Stones of Venice" seems very sufficiently rational andcold-blooded. 

We can not all be romantic about landscapes. Nature has worshipersenough not to grudge a few to Art. For myself, admiring both when inperfection, I prefer hewn stones to rough rocks--the Canalazzo to _any_cascade. The glory of old days that clings round the Palace of the Dogesstands comparison, in my mind's eye, with the Iris of Terni. 

But why trench on a field already amply cultivated? I will neverdescribe any place till I find a virgin spot untouched by Murray, andthen I will send it to him, with my initials. Does such exist in Europe?"Faith, very hardly, sir. " _Nil intentatum reliquit. _ What obligationsdo we not owe to the accomplished compilers? Rarely rising into poetry(I except "Spain"--the field, and bar one), never jocose, they move on, severe in simplicity, straight to their solemn end of enlightening theBritish tourist. Upright as Rhadamanthus, they hold the scales thatweigh the merits of cathedrals, hotels, ruins, guides, pictures, andmountain passes, telling us what to eat, drink, and avoid. Let us reposeon them in blind but contented reliance. 

I heard of one man, clever but eccentric, who became so exasperated atseeing the volumes in every body's hand, and hearing them in everybody's mouth, that he conceived a sort of personal enmity to them, impiously dissenting from their conclusions and questioning theirpremises. The well-known red cover at last had the same effect on him asthe scarlet cloak on the bull in the _corrida_, making him stamp androar hideously. The angry gods had demented him. _Væ misero!_ How couldsuch sacrilege end but badly? Braving and deriding the solemn warning ofthe prophet, he attempted a certain pass in the Tyrol alone, and, losinghis way, caught a pleurisy which proved fatal. He died game, but, I amsorry to say, impenitent, speaking blasphemy against the book with hislast breath. _Discite justitiam, moniti, et non temnere--_

Such heresy, be it far from me! If I had my will, I protest I wouldfound a "Murray's Traveling Fellowship" in one or both of theUniversities. If I had the poetic vein, I would indite a pendant toByron's iambics to that enlightened bibliopole. He published "ChildeHarold, " and the Hand-book to Every Where. Could one man in one centurydo more for the Ideal and the Real?

CHAPTER XXXII. 

 "Sweetest lips that ever were kissed, Brightest eyes that ever have shone, May sigh and whisper, and _he_ not list, Or look away, and never be missed Long or ever a month be gone. "

It was a very curious _ménage_ that of the Forresters'. They werewonderfully happy, yet you could not call theirs _domestic_ felicity. They went out perpetually every where, and were scarcely ever alonetogether at home. Tho cold-water cure of matrimony had not been able tocool either down into the dignity and steadiness befitting thathonorable state. As far as I could see, Charley flirted as much as ever;the only difference was, that he stole upon his victims now with a sortof protecting and paternal air, merging gradually, as the interestdeepened, into the old confidential style. The whole effect was, if anything, more seductive than before. 

The fair Venetians admired him intensely. His bright, clear complexionand rich chestnut hair had the charm of novelty for them. Though withoutthe faintest respect for grammar or idiom, he spoke their language withperfect composure, confidence, and self-satisfaction, and his tones wereso well adapted to the slow, soft, languid tongue, that his blunderssounded better than other men's correctness of speech. _Mallemmehercule cum Platone errare_. When he said "_Si, Siora_, " it seemed asif he were calling the lady by a pet name. 

Isabel did a good deal of mischief too in her unassuming way, but Ithink she confined her depredations chiefly to her compatriots. 

The best of it was, that neither objected in the least to the other'sproceedings, appearing, indeed, to consider them rather creditable thanotherwise. Perhaps it would be as well if this principle of reciprocalfree agency were somewhat extended, though not quite to the latitude towhich they carried it. 

We can not send our wives about surrounded by a detachment of semivirito keep the peace; our climate is too uncertain, and influenza tooprevalent, for us to watch their windows ourselves, as they do at Cadiz. Fancy mounting guard in Eaton Square at 4 P. M. , shrouded in a yellowfog, on the chance of surprising a forbidden morning visitor!

Supposing that we could adopt either of those methods, why should theyprove more efficacious than they are said to be on their native soil? Ifthe British husband will allow nothing for the principles, charitablysupposed by others to be inherent in the wife of his bosom--nothing forthe Damoclean damages hanging over the imaginary plotter against hispeace--why should he depreciate his own merits and powers so completelyas to consider himself out of the lists altogether? If he would onlydesist from making himself consistently disagreeable, I believe, in mostcases, his substantial interest would be little endangered. 

That poor Hephæstus! The net was an ingenious device, and a prettypiece of workmanship, but--it didn't answer. 

In despite of Mrs. Ellis, there are women whose mission it is _not_ tobe good housewives; they can't be useful if they would, any more thanMay-flies can spin silk. Like them, they can attract fish (and sometimesget snapped up if they go too close), that's all. If you marry them, youmust accept them as they are, and take your chance. Be generous, then, and don't stop their waltzing. I believe there may be flirting withoutthe most distant idea of criminality--fencing with wooden foils, whereno blood is drawn. 

A lady was asked the other day "what she did when an admirer became toolover-like. " Her answer was, "I never had such a case. " I think shespoke the truth; yet she was a coquette renowned through a good part oftwo hemispheres. 

As for the doubts and fears of the other sex, the subject is too vastfor me. To the end of time there will be Deianiras (with imaginaryIoles), Zaras, and Mrs. Caudles. Tragedy and comedy have tried in vainto frighten or to laugh them out of the indulgence of the fatal passion, that wreaks itself indiscriminately on the beat and the worst, theyoungest and the oldest, the simplest and the most guileful of adultmales. Let us not attempt to argue, then, but, wrapping ourselves in ourvirtue, endure as best we may the groundless reproaches and accusationsof our ox-eyed Junos. 

We _did_ Venice very severely, with the exception of Forrester, who, after strolling once through the Palace of the Doges (a pilgrimageinterrupted by many halts and profuse lamentations), declined seeing anything more than what he could view from his gondola. I never saw anyone so completely at home in that most delicious of conveyances. HisVenetian friends encouraged and sympathized with him in his laziness, and pitied him with eyes and words, forever being teased about it. Indeed, he was generally left alone; but one day we were landing to seea church of great repute, and Miss Devereux made a strong appeal to himto follow her. She was a handsome, clever girl, a great favorite ofCharley's. I believe they used to quarrel and make it up again about sixtimes in every twenty-four hours. We saw that it was hopeless, but shewas obstinate enough to try and persuade him. 

"Now, Captain Forrester, you must come. I have set my heart upon it. "

He lifted his long eyelashes in a languid satisfaction. "Thank you verymuch; I like people to be interested about me; but you see it's simplyimpossible. Look at Rinaldo; there's a sensible example for you. Hedoesn't mean to stir till he is obliged to do so. " The handsomegondolier had already couched, to enjoy a bask in the sun, which wasblazing fiercely down on his brown face and magnificent black hair. 

"There is the most perfect Titian, " she persisted. 

"No use. I should not appreciate it, " he replied. "I have been through agallery _with you_ before. It's a delusion and a snare. I never lookedat a single picture. The canvas won't stand the comparison. "

"I did not think you would have refused me, " Miss Devereux went on, "particularly after last night, when you were so very--amusing. " Shehesitated out the last word with a blush. It evidently was not theadjective that ought to have closed the sentence. 

"Amusing!" replied Charley, plaintively. "You need not say any more. Iam crushed for the day. I meant to be especially touching and pathetic. Well, there's some good in every thing, though. I entertained an angelunawares. "

"I shall know how far to believe you another time, at all events, " sheretorted, getting rather provoked. 

"Don't be unjust, " said Forrester, profoundly regardless of the factthat his wife was within three paces of them. "I said I was ready to diefor you. So I am. You may fix the time, but I may choose the place. Ifyou insist upon it, I'll make an end of it now--here. " And he settledhimself deeper into the pile of cushions. 

We had no patience to listen to any more, but went off to perform ourduty. Long before he had exhausted his arguments against moving, we hadreturned. Margaret Devereux missed seeing the church and its Titian, butshe got a "great moral lesson. " She never wasted her pretty pleadings insuch a hopeless cause again. 

I remember, when we mounted the Campanile, the solemn way in which hewished us _buon viaggio_. When we reached the top, we made out hisfigure reclining on many chairs in front of "Florian's. "

He saw us, too, and lifted the glass before him to his lips with a waveof approval and encouragement, just as they do at Chamounix when thetelescopes make out a few black specks on the white crests of themountain. When we came down, he stopped us before we could say oneword. "Yes, I know--it was magnificent. Bella, I see you are going torave about the view. If you do, I'll shut you up for a week _enpenitence_, and feed you on nothing but 'Bradshaw' and water. "

We spent a very pleasant month in Venice. It did Guy good being with theForresters. He had always been very fond of his cousin, and she seemedto suit him better than any one else now. She would sit by him forhours, talking in her low, caressing tones, that soothed him like a coolsoft hand laid on a forehead fever-heated. Isabel was not afraid of himnow, but a great awe mingled with her pity. 

It is curious, and tells well perhaps for our human nature; neitherpride of birth, nor complete success, nor profound wisdom, surrounds aman with such reverence as the being possessed with a great sorrow. Atleast no one can envy him; and so those who were his enemies once--likethe gallant Frenchman when he saw his adversary's empty sleeve--bringtheir swords to the salute, and pass on. 

At last we started for Rome, our party nearly filling two carriages. There are only two ways of traveling: in your own carriage, with courierand fourgon, like Russian or transatlantic noble, or with vetturino. This last mode, which was ours, is scarcely less pleasant, if you arenot in a hurry. The charm of having, for a certain period, every care asto ways and means off your mind, compensates for the six-miles-an-hourpace. So we moved slowly southward through Verona, where one thinks moreof the Avon than the Adige--where, in tombs poised like Mohammed'scoffin, the mighty Scagliari sleep between earth and heaven, as if notquite fit for either--where are the cypresses in the trim old garden, soaring skyward till the eyes that follow grow dizzy, the trees thatwere green and luxuriant years before the world was redeemed. So throughMantua and Bologna down to Florence, where, I think, the spirits ofCatharine and Cosmo linger yet, the women and the men all so soft-toned, and silky, and sinful, and cruel. We did not stay long there, for we hadall visited it before once or twice, but kept on our way, by the upperroad, to Rome, till we reached our last halting-place--CivitaCastellana. 

We were gathered round the wood fire after dinner (for the Octoberevenings grew chilly as they closed in); I don't know how it was thatForrester began telling us about their flight. 

"You ought to have seen Bella's baggage, " he said, at last; "it was socompact. You can't fancy any thing so tiny as the _sac de nuit_. Acourier's moneybag would make two of it. Then a vast cloak, and that'sall. Quite in light marching order. "

"I wonder you are not ashamed to talk about baggage, " his wife retorted. "When we got to Dover, there was his servant with four immenseportmanteaus and a dressing-case nearly as large, waiting for us. Was itnot romantic?"

"Bah!" Charley said. "A man must have his comforts, even if he iseloping. I am sure I arranged every thing superbly. I don't know how Idid it--an undeveloped talent for intrigue, I suppose. "

"Was it not kind of him to take so much trouble?" Isabel asked, quiteinnocently, and in perfect good faith, I am sure; but her husbandpinched the little pink ear that was within his reach. 

"She means to be sarcastic, " he said. "You've spoiled her, Guy. If I hadhad time to deliberate, though, I don't think I should ever have come tothe post. I wonder how any one stands the training. "

"I'll tell you what would have suited you exactly, " Livingstoneremarked--"to have been one of those men in the Arabian Nights, who wakeand find themselves at a strange city's gate, 10, 000 leagues from home, to whom there comes up a venerable vizier, saying, 'My son, heaven hasblessed me with one daughter, a very pearl of beauty; many have soughther in marriage, but in vain. Your appearance pleases me, and I wouldhave you for my son-in-law. '"

"Exactly, " said Forrester. "I should not have minded turning outsomebody else's child eventually--(they all did that, didn't they?)--forsuch a piece of luck as to be taken in and done for off-hand, withoutthe trouble of thinking about it. "

Instead of looking vexed, Isabel laughed merrily, and her eyes glitteredas they rested on him, full of a proud, loving happiness. 

"The best of it was, " Charley went on, "she was in the most dreadfulstate of alarm and excitement all the way to Dover, looking out at everystation, under the impression that she should see the bridegroom there, 'dangling his bonnet and plume' (though how he was to have got ahead ofus, unless he came by electric telegraph, does not appear). What sportit would have been! I should have liked so to have seen the 'laggard inlove' once more. "

"He was not quite _that_, " Isabel interrupted, rather mischievously. 

"Ah! I dare say you kept him up to the traces, " her husband remarked, languidly. "You have a talent that way. What 'passages, ' as Varneycalled them, there must have been, eh! Guy? We won't hear yourconfession now, Puss. In pity to Mademoiselle Agläe's eyes (which arevery fine), if not to your own (which are very useful), I think you hadbetter go to bed. That ferocious vetturino will have us up at unholyhours, and is not to be mitigated. "

We sat talking for a little while after Isabel left us; then Forresterrose and strolled to the window. The flood of light that poured in whenhe drew the curtain was quite startling, making the three beaked oillamps look smoky and dim. 

"I shall smoke my last cigar _al fresco_, " Charley said; "I suppose it'sthe correct thing to do, with such a moon as that. Won't you come, Guy?I must not tempt you out into the night air, Hammond. "

"Not to-night, " Livingstone answered. "I am not in the humor foradmiring any thing. I should be rather in your way. "

One of his gloomy fits was coming over him, at which times he alwayschose to be alone. 

"Well, I shall go and consume the 'humble, but not wholly heart-brokenweed of every-day life, ' as Tyrrell used to say. (Don't you remember hisdouble-barreled adjectives?) If you hear any one singing _very_ sweetly, don't be alarmed; you'll know it is the harmless lunatic who nowaddresses you; the fit won't last more than an hour. We shall be in Rometo-morrow. The only thing on my mind now is whether I shall find anything there to carry me across the Campagna. K---- has a very fair pack, I understand, and no end of foxes. "

Have you ever watched the completion of a photograph, when the nitrateof silver (or whatever the last lotion may be) is applied? First onefeature comes out, that you may indulgently mistake for a tree, or agable-end, or a mountain top; then another, till the whole picturestands out in clear, brilliant relief. 

Just so when I recall that scene--little heed as I took at the time ofthem--every gesture, and look, and tone of Forrester's becomes asdistinct as if he stood in the body before me now. I can see himstanding in the shadow of the doorway, the red glare from the blazingwood with which he was lighting his cigar falling over his delicatefeatures and bright chestnut hair--I can hear his kind soft voice as hespeaks these last two words, "_Al rivederci_. "

Whether that wish will be accomplished hereafter, God alone can tell; ifso, it must be beyond the grave. In life we never saw him any more. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

 "But time at length makes all things even, And if we do but bide the hour, There never yet was human power That could evade, if unforgiven, The patient search and vigil long Of him who treasures up a wrong. "

Three quarters of an hour later, Guy was sitting in his room, gazing atthe embers on the hearth, in the attitude of moody thought that of latehe was apt to fall into. Suddenly there came a timid knock at his door. When he opened it, his cousin stood on the threshold--ghost-like, against the background of darkness, with her white dressing-gown, palecheeks, and long hair unbound. 

"Guy, don't be angry, " she said; "it's very foolish of me, I know; butCharley has not come in yet, and just now I am certain there was a shotquite near. Agläe heard nothing, but I did. You know he always carries apistol. I made him do so. It is nothing, I am sure; but I am sofrightened. If you would--"

She tried to smile, but that ghastly look of terror that he had seenonce before, long ago, in the library at Kerton Manor, again swept over, and possessed all her face like a white chill mist. 

"Don't be absurd, you silly child, " Guy said, kindly. "Of course I'll goout directly, and bring him in in five minutes, to laugh at you. Now goback to your room; there's nothing on earth to be alarmed about. "

But the instant she had gone, I heard his voice quick and stern: "Frank, come here. " There was a door of communication between our rooms, and, though it was closed, I had caught some words of this conversation, so Iwas ready nearly as soon as he. Guy only staid to take a shortlance-wood club, headed with a spiked steel head, which was his constanttraveling companion--a very simple weapon, but deadly in his hands asthe axe of Richard the King--and then we sallied out, taking ourservants and some other men that were below, with torches, in case themoon should fail us unexpectedly. 

Twice, three times, when we had gone a short distance, Livingstoneshouted Forrester's name. His powerful voice rang far through theravines, and struck against the rocks, rolling and reverberating intheir hollows like a blast fired in a deep mine; but no answer came. 

I looked at my companion very nervously. He never spoke, but I saw himgnaw his under lip till the blood ran down. 

We had gone a hundred paces or so farther along a narrow path outsidethe town. On our right the cliff fell almost abruptly toward the river. Guy was a few paces in front, when suddenly there broke from his lipssuch a sound as I have never heard from those of any mortal before orsince. 

It is impossible to describe it. It was utterly involuntary, as if somespirit had spoken within the man--a cry of horror and of unspeakablewrath, such as might have burst from the chest of one of the Old-Worldgiants, when the rock fell from heaven that crushed him like a worm. TheItalians, used to every tone that can express passion, shrunk andcowered back in terror. 

Our eyes all followed the direction of his, that were staring down upona flat open space, clear from brush-wood, down in the hollow on ourright. Our search was ended, and we knew it. The moon, that flickeredand quivered elsewhere through bough and brake, settled there steadilyon a single white spot. 

In all the world there is but one object on which she can cast soghastly a reflection--a dead man's face. 

Guy recovered himself first, and plunged recklessly down the cliff side. When we reached him, he was supporting on his knee the head of poorCharley Forrester, stone dead, and foully murdered. 

The first glance told how unavailing all human aid must be. One smalldeep wound just above the left temple must have been fatal instantly. Close by his side lay the instrument of the slaughter--a thin, triangular piece of granite--and, ten paces off, his pistol, one barreldischarged. His watch and (as we afterward found) his purse were gone, but an emerald ring of great value was still untouched on his finger. 

I staggered back, heart-sick and faint. When I recovered I saw dimly thegroup of men, awe-stricken and whispering, and Guy still gazing down atthe face that rested on his knee, as if it fascinated his eyes. I couldnot bear to look upon the piteous sight. All through the bright hair thedark blood had soaked, and a slow stream was stealing through it still;the fair features were all defaced and deformed with the wrath andagony of the last mortal struggle. Yet I do remember that, if any onedefinite expression still lingered there, it was bitter contempt andscorn. 

"In God's name, sir, what is to be done?" It was Hardy who spoke, poorForrester's own servant, the only Englishman among our attendants. Hewas choking, and could hardly gasp out the words. 

Livingstone rose slowly, first pillowing the mangled head on a soft tuftof moss, tenderly as if it were conscious still. His nature was suchthat no shock, or pain, or sorrow to which humanity is liable, couldbend or quell it, so as to deprive him, beyond a brief instant, ofself-possession and calmness. It was not insensibility now, and hardlystoicism, but an elasticity of resistance and strength of endurancethat, in my own knowledge, have never been matched. In history or inIndian life you might find many parallels. 

He answered quite steadily, though in a low tone, as if reverencing thepresence of the dead. 

"There is no hope. It is useless to send for a surgeon. Hardy, you willtake all the men whom you can collect and scour the country. Send to the_sbirri_ immediately; they will go with you. There must be traces of themurderer. Frank, will you see that--he--is brought carefully to thehouse? I will"--he stopped, and drew a long, hard breath--"I will go andbreak it to Isabel. " His hand, that happened to touch mine as he spoke, was damp and icy cold. 

In his life Guy Livingstone had done and dared more than most men, buthe never ventured on any thing so thoroughly brave, and valiant, andstrong-hearted as when he left me, without another word, on thaterrand. For myself, though weak both in body and nerve, I swear I wouldrather have gone up the breach at Badajoz with the forlorn hope, than upthat bank with the certainty before me of what awaited him. 

Trees overhanging, and high walls on either side, and the change fromthe bright moonlight, made it so dark just as you approached the innthat Guy scarcely saw a white figure crouching down a few paces from thedoor till he was close upon it. 

He threw his arm round Isabel Forrester's waist before she could passhim. Half his task was done; there was nothing to break to her now. Sheunderstood all when she saw him come back alone. 

For a few moments, there they stood in the dark, no word passing betweenthem; the only sound was her quick panting, as she struggled in hisgrasp, battling to get free. 

"Isabel, " he said, at last, gravely, "come in; I must speak to you. "

No answer still, but the same desperate struggle to get loose. There wasa savage, supernatural power in her writhings that taxed even hisgigantic strength to hold her; as it was, he yielded unconsciously toher impulse so as to recede some paces till they issued out into themoonlight. He could scarcely recognize her features; they were allworking and contorted, the lips especially horribly drawn back andtense. She bent her head down at last, and made her teeth meet in thearm that detained her. 

Guy never flinched nor stirred, but spoke again in the same slow, deliberate tone. 

"Isabel, come in. I swear that you shall see him when it is safe. Theyare bringing him back now. "

She ceased struggling and stood straight up, shaking all over, strainingher eyes forward to the turning in the path where the torches began togleam. 

"Is he not dead, then?" she said, in a strange, harsh voice, utterlyunlike her own. Her cousin did not try to delude her; all the sternoutline of his face softening in an intense pity told her enough. 

Such a scream--weird, long drawn out, and unearthly, such as we fancy theBanchee's--as that which pierced through my very marrow (though I stoodthree hundred yards away, as if it had been uttered close at my ear), Itrust I shall never hear again. 

Then followed the contrast of a great stillness; for, as the lastaccents died away on her lips, Isabel sank down, without a struggle, into a dead swoon. 

A sad satisfaction came into Guy's face. "It is best so, " he muttered;"I hope she won't wake for an hour, " and he carried her into the house. They were trying to revive her, unsuccessfully, when I reached it withthose who bore the corpse on a litter of pine branches. By Guy'sdirections, it was laid on his own bed; and there the Italian womenrendered the last offices to the dead man, weeping and wailing over himas though he had been a brother or dear friend--only for his rarebeauty--even as the Moorish girls mourned over that fair-faced Christianknight whom they found lying, rolled in blood, by the rock of Alpujarro. 

Soon they came to tell Guy that Isabel was recovering from her swoon. She was hardly conscious when he entered the room, and he heard hermoaning, "I am so cold, so cold, " shivering all over, though she waswarmly wrapped in cloaks and shawls. 

The village doctor, a mild, helpless-looking man, was sitting by herbedside. He tried to feel her pulse just then, I suppose to show that hecould be of some use; but she shrunk away from him, and beckoned to hercousin to come near. He motioned to the others to leave them alone, and, kneeling down by her, took her hand in his. 

"Guy, dear, " she said, "I know I have been so very wicked and ungratefulto you; but you must not be angry. I have no one left to take care of mebut you, now. I will try to be patient; indeed, indeed I will. " Hervoice was faint and exhausted, but as gentle as ever. 

He held her hand faster, and bent his forehead down upon it. 

"You are not wicked--only too weak to bear your sorrow. If I only knewwhat to do to comfort you! But I am so rough and harsh, even when I meanto be kind. I can say nothing, either. I suppose you ought to submit, but I can not tell you how; it is a lesson I have never been able tolearn. "

"You can do this, " she said. "Let me go to him. Ah! don't refuse. I willbe calm and good. Indeed I will. But I must go"--she sank her voice intoa lower whisper yet--"I have not kissed him to-night. "

There was something so unspeakably piteous in her tone and in herimploring eyes, that had grown quite soft again, though no tears hadmoistened them, that Guy could hardly answer her. 

"I did not mean to refuse you, dear, " he said, at last. "I won't evenask you to wait. If you are not strong enough to walk, I will carryyou. "

She rose slowly and painfully, as if her limbs were stiff with cold; butshe could stand, and walk with his arm round her; and so these two movedslowly along the deserted passages toward the room where the corpse lay. 

There was nothing shocking in its appearance now. All the traces ofmurder had been washed away, and they had arranged the silky chestnuthair till it concealed the wound, and fell in smooth waves over thewhite forehead. That sweet calm which will sometimes descend on the faceof the dead, even when their end has been violent--the sad _Alpen-gluth_that comes only when the sun has set--was there in all its beauty. Savethat the features were somewhat sharper than in life, there was nothingto mar their pure classical outline. It was well, indeed, that Guy heldher back two hours ago. If Isabel had looked on them then, I believe shewould have gone mad with terror, if not with sorrow. It matters much, the expression of a face, when it is sure to mingle in our dreams formany after years. 

Guy led her up to the bedside, and left the room as she sank down on herknees. He remained outside the closed door, for he thought she mightneed help if her strength failed suddenly; and I joined him there. 

For some time we heard only the quick, stormy sobs, and the kissesshowering down; then came the piteous, heart-broken wail that calledupon her husband's name; and then the great gush of tears that savedher. After that there was a murmur, often broken off but alwaysrenewed: we both bowed our heads reverently, for we knew the widow waspraying. 

She came forth at length, her head buried in her hands; but she couldwalk to her room unassisted, and allowed them to undress her there, without a word but thanks. Before long nature would have her way, andshe was sleeping quietly. 

While we were waiting the return of the men who had gone out in pursuit, Livingstone went alone into the death-chamber. He staid there someminutes. When he came out his face was paler than ever, and there was asort of horror in his eyes. 

He took my arm and led me into the room without speaking. "Do you seethat?" he asked, lifting the hair gently that fell over the left checkof the corpse. 

Distinctly and lividly marked on the waxen flesh were the five fingersof a man's _open hand_. 

"Do you think that was a brigand's work?" he went on, his gripetightening till I could scarcely bear the pain. "They always strike witha weapon or with the clenched fist. Shall I tell you whose mark that is?Bruce's. If he did not murder him himself, he struck him after he wasdead. "

"Impossible, " I said; "how could he? He has never--"

Livingstone cast my arm loose somewhat impatiently. "We shall know allsome day, " he growled, his whole face black with passion. "I amconvinced of it. If he's on earth I'll find him; and when I do, if Ishow him mercy or let him go--" The imprecation that followed was notless solemn and terrible because it was muttered to his own heart. 

"We must never let Isabel guess the truth, " he said, when he becamecalmer. "It would be worse than all. She would always think she hadcaused this, and she has enough to bear up against already. God helpher!"

Soon Agläe came to tell us that her mistress was asleep. TheFrenchwoman's first impulse had been to be hysterical and helpless; itwas only her terror of Guy prevailing over all others that made her, asshe was, very useful. 

He went to the door for an instant, and looked at Isabel. Dreamland waskinder and pleasanter to her than real life, poor child, for there was asmile on her lips that, when she was waking, would be long in visitingthem. How would ships or men ever last out if there were not someharbors of refuge to rest in before going out into the wild weatheragain? Truly she had won hers for the moment; it looked as if an angelhad come down to smooth, this time, instead of troubling the waters. 

The pursuers came back empty-handed; they had not come upon the faintesttrace, nor could they hear of any suspicious character having been seenin the neighborhood. 

Guy betrayed no impatience when he heard this; but he went out himselfwith some of the best men, and spent the rest of the night and all thefollowing morning on the quest. All to no purpose. He returned aboutnoon, with his companions quite fagged out; but fatigue andsleeplessness seemed to have no grasp upon his frame. 

Isabel was up, and had been asking for him several times. When he sawher, she offered no opposition to his wish to go on straight to Rome thenext day. Neither then nor at any future time did she ever ask for anyparticulars of her husband's death. 

Her old child-like dependence and trust in her cousin had come back, andall through the journey she was quite tranquil. It is true, we hardlyever saw her face, for her veil was closely drawn. Her grief was not theless painful to witness because it was so little demonstrative. Very oldand very young women, in the plenitude of their benevolence, are goodenough to sympathize with any tale of woe, however absurdly exaggerated;but men, I think, are most moved by the simple and quiet sorrows. Wesmile at the critical point of a spasmodic tragedy, complacently as theLucretian philosopher looking down from the cliff on the wild sea; weyawn over the wailings of Werter and Raphael, but we ponder gravely overthe last chapters of the _Heir of Redclyffe_, and feel a curioussensation in the throat--perhaps the slightest dimness of vision--whenwe read in _The Newcomes_ how that noble old soldier crowned thechivalry of a stainless life, dying in the Gray Brother's gown. 

There were many at Rome who had known Forrester and loved him well, andall these followed him to his grave. I do not think he had an enemy onearth except the man who slew him. 

What are the qualifications of a general favorite? Good looks, goodbirth, good-humor, and good assurance will do much; but the want of oneor more of these will not invalidate the election, nor the union of allfour insure it. It must be very pleasant to serve in the _compagnied'élite_. They have privileges to which the Line may not aspire. It doesnot much matter what they do. Their victories make them no enemies, andtheir defeats raise them up hosts of sympathizers and apologists. Whenthey err gravely, if you hint at the misdemeanor, a "true believer"looks at you indignantly, not to say contemptuously, and says, "Whatcould you expect? It's only poor--" Yes, it is a great gift--Amiability;and when the possessor dies, it is profoundly true that better men mightbe better spared. 

Very soon Raymond came to take his daughter back to England. That calmold calculating machine was more deranged and shocked by the catastrophethan I should have thought it possible he would have been by any earthlydisaster. He was getting older now, and more broken, it is true, and so, perhaps, was more accessible to the weakness of sympathy. At all events, nothing could be kinder and more considerate than his conduct to Isabel. 

Guy and I still lingered on in Rome. He was untiring in his researches, but quite unsuccessful. Yet it was not that the police were remiss, orthe country people inclined to shield the murderer. The best of themwould have sold his own father to the guillotine for half the rewardoffered by Livingstone, for he lavished as much gold in trying to clearup that crime as in old days the Cenci or Colonna did to smother theirs. At length we were forced to give it up, and returned home in the_Petrel_. I own I despaired of ever being more successful; but mycompanion evidently had not done so, for I heard him, more than once, mutter to himself, in the same low, determined tone, "If he is onearth, I'll find him. "

Immediately on our arrival, Guy went up to Bruce's home in Scotland. Heonly learned that the latter had not been there for a long time; butthat some months back, Allan Macbane, a sort of steward and olddependent of the family, had left suddenly, summoned, it was supposed, by his master. More the people could not or would not tell. 

At his banker's it was discovered that, immediately after theForresters' marriage, he had drawn out a very large sum--not in lettersof credit, but in bank-notes--and had not been heard of since. Aftermuch trouble, we did find out that one of the large notes had beenchanged at Florence about the time of the murder, but the description ofthe person did not answer in the least to that of Bruce or the man whowas supposed to be his attendant. All trace stopped there. So the monthsrolled away. I constantly saw Guy, and sometimes was with him both intown and at Kerton, where Isabel was staying with Lady Catharine. Hestill appeared to have no doubt of the ultimate result of the search, which, personally or by deputy, he never intermitted for a day. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

 "He threw His wrathful hand aloft, and cried 'Away! Earth could not hold us both, nor can one heaven Contain my deadliest enemy and me. '"

We were sitting in Livingstone's chambers one night in the followingMarch, and dinner was just over, when the detective was announced whofor months had been in Guy's pay and on Bruce's track. 

He was a stout, hale man, rather past middle age, with a rosy face, acheerful, moist eye, and full, sensual lips--just the proper person toreturn thanks for "The Successful Candidates" at an agriculturalmeeting. Originally of a kindly convivial nature, he had grown familiarwith crime till he despised it. The reward set upon the criminal'scapture was his only standard of guilt. He took a real pleasure in thechase, I imagine, but had no preference for any game in particular, andwas quite indifferent whether the cover he had to draw was a saloon or acellar. He would hunt a fraudulent bankrupt or a parricide with equalzeal, and, when he had caught him, be just as jocularly affable with theone as with the other. In a drama of life and death, the fierce passionsof the actors were only so many gleams of light showing him where theright path lay, for which assistance he thanked them heartily. Thefoulest mysteries of the sinful human heart touched and shocked him nomore than the evidences of disease do the dissecting surgeon: with bothit was a simple question of defective organization. The possession ofsecrets, far less weighty than some that he never told, have made menlook worn, and miserable, and gray; but he would pat his corpulentleather pocket-book with a self-sufficient satisfaction, scarcelyhinting that the publication of its contents would have caused moredevastation in some well-regulated families than the bursting of aten-inch shell in their front drawing-room. 

His lips and eyes wore a smile pleasantly significant as he entered, and, before he could speak, Guy leaped up, waving his hand high inirrepressible triumph. "I told you so, Frank. I knew we should find him. Come--come quickly. " He was more excited than I had seen him in the lastdozen years. 

I exulted too, but I confess a certain repugnance and nervousnessmingled with that feeling: it was a new thing to me to stand face toface with a murderer. 

Neither of us gave as much attention as it deserved to the narrativewith which the officer favored us _en route_, of how he had beengradually getting the clew to the fugitive's many doublings anddisguises till he came upon his retreat at last. "They mostly make forhome when they're dead beat, " he remarked, alluding to Bruce's havingselected London as his final hiding-place. 

We soon reached the spot--one of those dreary by-ways that trendwestward out of the Waterloo Road. As we drew up, the outline of afigure revealed itself out of the darkest nook of the dim street, and aman came forward and opened the door of the cab, interchanging a wordor two with our companion. 

As we got out, the detective laid his hand on Guy's arm. "Gently, sir, "he said. "You must be careful. We've not quite so much proof as I couldwish. It would be straining a point to arrest him as it stands. I'd doit though--_for you_. Get him to talk, and don't hurry him; he's safe tocommit himself; and we'll nail him at the first word. My comrade says hehas not left his bed since yesterday. Perhaps he's ill. All the better. We can frighten him if we get his man out of the way. "

Guy's hand was on the bell before the last words were said, and he rangit sharply. The two officers drew back into the shadow. 

In a few moments an old man opened the door, whom we guessed to beBruce's attendant. He had one of those stubborn, rough-hewn faces thateven white hair can not soften any more than hoar-frost can the outlineof a granite crag. 

"What's ye're wull?" he drawled out, in the rugged Aberdeen Doric. 

"I wish to see Mr. Bruce. "

"No sic a pairson here, " was the reply, accompanied by a vigorous effortto close the door. 

A heavy groan, proceeding from a room on the ground floor, gave him thelie as he spoke. Guy threw up his head like a hound breaking from scentto view, and thrust Macbane back violently. The old man staggered andfell; but he clung round Livingstone's knees, as he groveled, till hewas actually trampled down. There was a difficulty in the locksomewhere; but bolt and staple were torn away in an instant by thefurious hand that grasped the handle, and so at last we stood in thepresence of the man we had sought so long. 

Do you remember that hideous picture in Hogarth's "Two Apprentices, "where the sleeping robber is alarmed by the crash in the chimney? Thatwas exactly Bruce's attitude. He had started into a sitting posture, andwas braced up on his hands, his face thrust forward, half covered by thestraight unkempt hair. What a face it was! White and flecked withsweat-drops, marbled here and there with livid stains, the lipsquivering and working till they twisted themselves sometimes into aghastly mockery of a smile, the long teeth gleaming more wolfish thanever. The iris of the prominent eyes had grown yellowish, and the whiteswere bloodshot, so that the light seemed to flash from them _tawnily_. 

Bruce had always been very much afraid of Livingstone. His terror hadgone on increasing during months of relentless pursuit; it had reachedits climax now. Guy stood at the foot of the bed, contemplating theunhappy wretch with a cruel calmness that seemed to drive him wild. Hewrithed and cowered under the fixed gaze, as if it gave him physicalpain. 

"What are you here for?" he screamed out at last. 

In strong contrast to the shrill, strained voice, the answer came slowand stern. "To arrest Charles Forrester's murderer. "

Then Bruce seemed to lose his head all at once, and began to rave. It isimpossible to transcribe the string of protestations, prayers for mercy, and horrible blasphemies; but there was enough of self-betrayal tocomplete the proof we wanted ten times told. The detective chuckledmore complacently than ever as he insinuated the handcuffs roundMacbane's wrists. Over all Bruce's cries, I remember, the old man'sharsh voice made itself heard, "Whisht, whisht, I tell ye, and keep aquiet tongue; they canna harm ye. " The other did not seem to hear him, or to notice his removal by the officers, muttering, as he went, that"we had driven his master mad, and were killing him. "

Livingstone waited patiently till the outbreak had spent itself; then hesaid, "Get up, and come with us instantly. You shall finish your nightin Newgate. "

Tho sick man lay back for some moments with his eyes closed, panting andevidently quite exhausted. When he opened his eyes there was asteadiness in them which surprised us. He spoke, too, quite calmly. "Ido not mean to deny any thing, nor to resist, even if I could. I amtired of running away; it is as well over; but I was taken by surpriseat first. Guy Livingstone, do you choose to listen to me for fiveminutes? My head is clear now. I do not know how long it will last; butI do know that, after to-night, I will never speak about Forrester'sdeath one word. "

"Will you tell me how you killed him?" Livingstone asked, controllinghis voice wonderfully. 

"That is what I wish to do, " Bruce said. I believe he was glad of theopportunity of showing us how much we had misjudged him in thinking himharmless, for a curious sort of grin was hovering about his mouth. Guy, whose eyes were bent down at the moment, did not see it, or the talewould never have been told. 

"You know how you were all against me at Kerton, " he began. "She didnot care for me then, perhaps; but I would have been so patient andpersevering that she must have loved me at last--only you never gave mefair play. Ah! do you think, because I was ugly and awkward, I had nochance?"

"No; but because she knew you were a coward, " Guy said. 

There was something grand in the utter indifference with which Bruce metthe insult. 

"You are wrong, " he replied, coolly; "she did not know it. You all did, and reckoned on my being long-suffering and inoffensive. I saw, at last, what Forrester had done; yet I never guessed but that she would marryme. I trusted to her father and her own fears for keeping her straight. After marriage I would have tried still what great love and tendernesscould do. I meant--never mind what I meant--it's all over now. I wasnearly mad for a week after their flight. Then I became quite cool, andI said, 'I will kill him myself. ' And so I did. Mind, I swear, Allanknew nothing of it till all was done. I thought I should be brave enoughfor that. Fifty times during the months that I tracked them, alwayschanging my disguise, I nearly caught him alone; but each time I wasbalked. Wherever they went, I watched under their windows for the chanceof his coming out; but I only saw--"

He gnashed his teeth, and rolled over and over in a paroxysm of jealousrecollection. We guessed what he meant. Then he went on: "That night hesauntered backward and forward for some time. I thought he would not gofar enough away, and I called to the devil to help me. He did; for, verysoon, Forrester walked straight down the path. I crept after him tillhe had gone some hundred yards--my heart was beating so quickly that Icould hardly breathe--then I ran forward and stood before him. I hadtaken off the black wig and beard that I always wore, and he knew medirectly. 

"'Mr. Bruce, I believe?' he said, raising his hat, just as if he had metme by appointment. 

"'Yes, ' I said. 'I have got you at last, as I wished. ' I tried to speakas steadily as he had done; but, as the moment for action came near, myd----d cowardice made me stammer. 

"'I am not invisible, as a rule, ' he replied. 'You, or any friend ofyours, might have found me long ago. You have been some time making upyour mind. It's that unfortunate constitutional--caution, I suppose. Well, I'll meet you in Rome: it's more than you deserve. '

"'You'll fight me here--now, ' I said. 

"'I shall do nothing half so melodramatic, ' he answered. 'I'll give youa fair chance on the ground; but, if you do not move out of my path now, I'll shoot you as I would any other disagreeable ruffian, ' and he puthis hand into his breast, where, I knew, he carried a pistol. 

"I _was_ brave then. I sprang in upon him all at once. 'You may shootnow, if you like, ' I said. 'I swear I am quite unarmed. But show _that_to your wife when you go back, ' and I struck him with my open hand. "

(I remembered the mark on the corpse's cheek, and looked at Guy eagerly. I could not see his face, which was hidden by the curtain, but all hislower limbs were shaking and quivering. )

"I thought how it would be, " Bruce went on; "he drew his hand out withthe pistol in it, but he only flung it over the bank--one barrel wentoff in the fall--then we grappled. After wrestling for a minute or twoon the narrow path, we lost our footing and rolled down the rocks;neither quitted his hold, but I fell uppermost and kept him down. Hestruggled desperately at first; but when he found that I was much thestronger, he lay quite still, looking up into my face. I said, 'It's myturn at last. Do you think I'll let you off?'

"He did not answer at first. I believe he would not till he had quiterecovered his breath; then he said, coolly, 'No, I don't. Finish itquickly, if you can, that's all. ' I would have delayed a little, toenjoy my triumph, but I thought the pistol-shot might bring some one; soI tightened my gripe on his throat, and looked round for a weapon. Ifound none at first, and my purpose actually began to soften when I sawhim so helpless; but, as I relaxed my fingers, I heard him whisper tohimself, 'Poor Bella! we have been very happy: I wish we had moretime--' I got mad again directly. 'D--n you!' I cried out, 'I'll killyou now, and marry her some day. ' His old insolent smile came on hislip. 'No you won't, ' he said; 'you don't know how she hates you, and howwe have laughed--' He had no time to say more, for I found my weaponthen--a stone triangular and sharp-pointed like a dagger--and I struckhim over the temple with all my force. He gave one convulsive springthat threw me clear of him, and never stirred again. 

"I did not repent when it was done; I have never repented since; I donot now. I only thought how best to escape the consequences. I took hiswatch and purse, that brigands might be suspected, and threw them intothe river a mile off. I robbed him of one thing more--this!" All hishaggard face was transfigured with a ghastly triumph as he opened asmall leathern case that hung round his neck, and held up before us twolocks of hair. 

There they were--the love-gift and the death-spoil--the memorials ofdefeat and of victory, of foiled affection and of gratified hate--theone, beguiled from Isabel by Bruce himself, with many earnest pleadings, in the early days of their engagement; the other, torn from herhusband's temples before they were cold. The long light brown tress wasscarcely more soft and satin-smooth than the chestnut curl; but one endof the last was matted, and discolored by a dark rusty stain--the stainthat, the Greek poet said, all the rivers of earth flowing in onechannel could never wash away--the testimony, to our ears mute enoughnow, but which, perhaps, will make itself heard above the Babel of allother cries at the Day of Judgment. 

The two tokens were twined together lovingly, as if they were sensitiveand conscious still. Bruce plucked them asunder: "I never can keep themapart, " he said, querulously. Then he put them back into the caseseparately, and began to mutter to himself many words that I could notdistinguish. 

"Have you any thing more to say?" Livingstone asked. His lips were rigidand compressed like a steel-trap, opening and closing mechanically. Ashe spoke, he snatched the leathern bag from Bruce's hand and threw itinto the blazing fire. 

A sharp howl, like a flogged hound's, broke from the sick man as he sawhis treasure shrivel up in the flame. Then he began to whimper out allsorts of incoherent supplications, crying "that we did not know how muchhe had suffered before he killed Forrester, and since too; that he hadbeen cruelly used from the beginning; that he was very, very ill now;would not we let him die in peace?" The tears were streaming down hisface. It was a sight of abasement that sent a shiver through one'sveins. 

Guy laid his hand on the miserable creature's shoulder. Though hescarcely touched it, I saw the great muscles starting out on his armlike ropes from the intensity of his suppressed emotion; his lower liptrembled, but his tones did not in the least. I can give no idea oftheir pitiless, deliberate ferocity. 

"Listen!" he said. "I told you before to get up and come with us--thatis my answer now. If you have life enough left to be carried to thegallows-foot, you shall never cheat the hangman. "

Bruce looked up into the speaker's face for some moments. Gradually theagonized appeal in his wild eyes died away into vacancy; an expression, half cunning, half amused, stole over his face; and, leaning gentlyback, he began pulling threads out of the coverlet, laughing low. 

The blood gushed from Guy's clenched hand as he struck it furiouslyagainst the stone mantel. 

"By ----, " he said, with a fearful oath, "he has escaped me, after all. "

It was so. The mind, worn and strained by the terrors of the longpursuit, perhaps by remorse not acknowledged even to himself; and by thelast great effort at self-control, had given way at last--forever. Godhad recorded his verdict, and no earthly court could try the criminalagain. Bruce is living now (and I dare say will outlive most of us, forhis bodily health is perfect), vicious sometimes, but never conscious;hard to please, but easy to manage, so long as his attendant is a man, and a strong one; accessible only to the one emotion which drove himmad--physical fear. 

Livingstone called the officers; they came in with Macbane. The old manpretended to be very wroth when he saw his master's state, but I believehe rejoiced secretly. The credit of the family, with him, outweighed allconsiderations of personal attachment, and he would think publicdisgrace cheaply averted at any price. 

On our poor detective, perhaps, the blow fell heaviest; for, after sometime, Guy did come round to my idea, that no punishment we could havebrought about would have been so ample and terrible; but Mr. Fitchettcould not see it in that light at all. Not only was the termination ofthe affair dreadfully unprofessional, but the little triumph he hadanticipated at the trial was spoiled. If human weakness ever could touchthis great man, it was when he heard the judge pay a compliment to "thesagacity and zeal of that most efficient officer. " On such occasions, his bow of conscious merit abnegating praise was, I am told, wonderfulto see. After a few words of explanation, he glanced wistfully at Bruce, and shook his head, like a broken-hearted Lord Burleigh. Then heunloosed the handcuffs from Macbane's wrists, whistling all the whilesoftly a popular air, lively in itself, with a cadence so plaintive thatit might have been a penitential psalm. No romantic school-girl openingthe cage to her pet starling ever displayed more hesitation andreluctance than Mr. Fitchett setting that grim old bird free. 

In truth, there was no evidence to attach to the servant, so we left himand his master together. I could not have stood that room much longer. The ceaseless complacent chuckle of the idiot, and his fearful grimaceswhen he could not make the threads match, had the effect on my chest ofa nightmare. Very slowly and silently we walked home through thedarkness. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

 "Be the day weary or never so long, At length it ringeth to even song. "

There is little to chronicle in the events of the next few years. Livingstone resided almost entirely at Kerton. He rode as hard, anddistinguished himself in all other field-sports as much as ever. Buteven in these, his favorite pursuits, he had lost the intense faculty ofenjoyment which once seemed a part of his powerful organization. 

Do you remember that scene in the Nekuia, where the Eidolon of Achillescomes slowly through the twilight to meet his old brother in arms? Notonly are his form and features altered after so ghastly a fashion thateven the wanderer, wave-worn and travel-stained, looks brilliant bycomparison, but all his feelings are utterly and strangely changed. Listen! He asks after the father from whom he parted when quite a child;after the son, whom he never saw; but not one word of his fairfirst-love--not one of her who was the passion of his manhood, whom hebucklered once against ten thousand. He had rather hear of Peleus andNeoptolemus than of Deidamia or Briseis. Of Polyxena, be sure that heremembers nothing but that he was holding her hand when her brother slewhim. Will he ever forgive her that? Not if she could have made amends bythe sacrifice of ten lives instead of that one which she gave, willingly, on Sigæum. Has ambition any hold on him either? Only tobreathe the fresh clear air above instead of that murky, heavyatmosphere, he would resign the empire of the dead, and be a drudge tothe veriest boor. Yet once, if we remember right, he chafed fiercelyenough at a word of authority uttered by the King of Men. One of his oldtastes clings to him still--a very simple one. He has forgotten thesavor of Sciote and Chian wine; but--were it only for the sake of thecarouses they have had together--Odysseus will not grudge him anotherdraught out of the black trench. It is so long since be tasted blood!

Guy was no more like his former self than the shadow was like thesubstance of Pelides. He was not languid, but simply apathetic andindifferent, so that one could not help being constantly struck by thecontrast between his moral and physical state: the latter was still theperfection of muscular power. 

He was every thing that was kind to his mother, and to Isabel Forrestertoo, who spent much of her time at Kerton, and whose health was verydelicate. If Lady Catharine could only have seen him more cheerful, shewould have been _too_ happy. It was her great delight to try and spoilhim, as she used to do when he was a child--trying to suit his tastes tothe minutest shade. For instance, Guy was always finding in his ownrooms some new ornament or addition to their comfort. Indifferent as hewas to every thing, it was good in him that he never failed to remarkthese instantly. You would not have thought a cold, haughty face couldlight up so brilliantly as his mother's always did when he thanked her. Poor lady! Those last few years were her summer of St. Martin--not theless pleasant because winter was gathering already on the crests of thewhitening hills. 

There were a good many guests in the house at times, almost invariablymen, but none of the wild revels of the old days, very little harddrinking, and no play to speak of. 

One thing was remarkable--the great eagerness Guy displayed to keep theparty together at night. He would engage us in arguments, and employ allsorts of ingenious devices to prevent us from going to bed, so that itbecame very trying to a weak constitution. I observed this to him onenight when the rest had gone. 

The slight flush left by the excitement of conversation was vanishingrapidly from his cheeks, and a gray tinge was creeping over them likethat which we see on a sick man very near his end. 

"It is too bad to keep you up, and too selfish, " he said; "but I findthe nights so long!"

I left him without another word; but I lay long awake, haunted by thathaggard face and dreary eyes. I wish I did not see them so often stillin my dreams. 

There were changes in other houses besides Kerton Manor, and a vacancyin the most luxurious set of chambers in the Albany. 

Duns, and rheumatic gout, and satiety had proved too much at last forthe patience of Sir Henry Fallowfield; so one night he preached hisfarewell sermon in the smoking-room of the ----, in which he wasespecially severe and witty on the absurdity and bad taste of a mancondescending to suicide under any circumstances. The next morning theyfound him with--"that across his throat that you had scarcely cared tosee. " The hand whose tremor used to make him so savage when he waslifting a glass to his lips, had been strong and steady enough when itshattered the Golden Bowl and cut the Silver Cord asunder. 

Whether he was looking death in the face while he uttered those lastcynicisms, and calculated on heightening the stage effect of the morrow, or whether a paroxysm of pain drove him mad, as it had done better men, who can tell? I think and hope the latter was the case, but--I doubt. Though Sir Henry Fallowfield had never read Aristotle, he had studied, all his life, the principles of the peripeteia. 

Godfrey Parndon no longer ruled over the Pytchley. He had backed his ownopinions and other men's bills once or twice too often, and had retiredtemporarily into private life till he could get "his second wind. " Thenew M. F. H. Was his complete contrast--pale-faced, low-voiced, mild-eyed, and melancholy as a lotus-eater--one of the class of "weak-minded butgentlemanly young men" that Tom Cradock used to ask his friends torecommend to him as pupils. The farmers missed sadly Godfrey's bluffface and stalwart figure at the cover-side, while the "bruisers" fromLeamington, and the "railers" from town, hearing no longer his greatvoice, good-naturedly imperative, adjuring them to "hold hard, and notto spoil their own sport, " rode over the hounds rejoicing. 

Flora Bellasys was married. 

It was just the match I thought she would make. Sir MarmadukeDorrillon's possessions were vast enough to satisfy any ambition, andhis years put love out of the question. 

His friends had been as prophetic in their warnings as January's were, but even, they never guessed what he would have to endure at the handsof that cruel May. He tried very hard not to be jealous, but he couldnot help being sensitive; and so, day by day, she inflicted on him the_peine forte et dure_, "laying on him as much as he could bear, andmore. " It was sad to see how the kind old man withered and pined away;yet he never complained, and quarreled mortally with his best friend fordaring to compassionate him. 

He was so courteous, and gentle, and chivalrous; so conscious of his owndisadvantage in age; so generous in trusting her, and in hoping againsthope; so considerate in anticipating all her wishes and whims, that itmight have moved even Flora to pity. But her great disappointment hadstrangely altered and imbittered her character. She was _quite_merciless now, and never seemed really amused unless she was doing harmto some one. 

It was not that her manner had become harsh or repellent, or even moresarcastic; she wag to the full as fascinating as ever; but she was cooland calculating in her caprices. She took pains to make the momentarypleasure as exquisite as possible, that the after suffering might bemore terrible; just like that ingenious Borderer who fed his enemy withall pungent and highly-seasoned dishes, and then left him to die ofthirst. 

Yet all the while her own feelings must have been scarcely enviable. They say that great enchantresses, from Medea and Circe downward, havegenerally been unhappy in their loves. Either they could not raise thespirit, or it proved unmanageable; either their affection was notreturned, or its object was unfaithful at last. In the single case wherethey put their science and their philtres aside, and were womanly, andnatural, and sincere; where, to gain or to keep their treasure, theywould gladly have broken their wand, they failed utterly, and found theywere only half omnipotent. The justice was retributive, but it was verycomplete. Be sure, with those passionate natures, the honey of athousand triumphs never deadened the sting of the one discomfiture. Suitors flocking from every shore and island of the Ægean never madeSappho forget, for one hour, that stubborn impassible Phaon. No wondersuch are cruel and unjust to their subjects in after days. Poor innocentÆgeus very often has to do penance for the infidelity of Jason. 

I have little more to tell, and that is of the sort that is best toldbriefly. 

The hounds met one morning not far from Kerton. A three-days' frost hadbroken up; but it was not out of the ground yet, making the "take-off"slippery, and the north side of the fences dangerously hard. Livingstonerode the Axeine that day. The chestnut was still his favorite, and thecrack hunter of three counties, though he had never lost his habit ofpulling. 

It was a large, straggling cover that we drew, but the fox went awayvery soon. From the lower end of the wood a great pasture sloped down, at the bottom of which was a flight of post-and-rails--very high, new, and strong, with a deep cutting on the farther side. At one end of thiswas an open gate, through which the whole field passed. 

The hounds were just settling to the scent, when I happened to turn myhead, and saw Livingstone coming down at the rails. He had got a badstart, and saw that, by taking them straight in his line, he would gaingreatly on the pack, which was turning toward him. 

As the Axeine tore down the hill at furious speed, pulling double, itwas evident that neither he nor his rider had the remotest idea ofrefusing. 

It was the last fence that either of them ever charged. As the chestnutrose to the leap, his hind legs slipped; he chested the rail, whichwould not break, and turned quite over, crushing Guy beneath him. 

I had seen the latter fall a hundred times without feeling thepresentiment that seemed to _tighten_ round my heart as I galloped up tothe spot. Many others must have felt the same, for they let the houndsgo away without another glance, and some were before me there. 

The Axeine lay stone dead, with his neck broken, the huge carcasspressing on the legs of his rider. Guy was quite senseless; his face ofa dull, ghastly white; there was a deep cut on his forehead; but we allfelt we did not see the worst. With great trouble we drew him from underthe dead horse. Still we could discover no broken bones or furtherexternal injury. We dashed water over him. In a few minutes he openedhis eyes, and seemed to recognize every one directly, for he looked upinto the frightened face of the first whip, who was supporting him, andsaid, "You always told me I went too fast at timber, Jack. "

I was sure, then, he was desperately injured, his voice was so weak andchanged. 

"Where are you hurt, Guy?" some one asked. I could not speak myself. 

"I don't know, " he said, looking down in a strange, bewildered way. "Myhead and arm pain me; but I feel nothing _below the waist_. "

His lower limbs were not much twisted or distorted, but they bore ahorribly inert, dead appearance. There was not even a muscular quiver inthem. 

I saw the Squire of Brainswick turn his head away with a shudder and agroan (he loved Guy as his own son), and I heard him mutter, "The_spine_!"

It was so, and Livingstone soon knew it himself. He sighed once, drearily; but not a man there could have commanded his voice as he didwhen he said, "You must carry me home, heavy as I am. My walking days are ended. "

We made the best litter we could of poles and branches; and I remember, as we bore him past the carcass of the Axeine, he made us stop for aninstant, and dropping his hand on the stiff, distorted neck, stroked itsoftly, "Good-by, old horse, " he said. "It was no fault of yours. How well youalways carried me!" He never spoke again till we reached Kerton Manor. 

Isabel Forrester was fortunately out, but Lady Catharine met us on thehall steps. She did not shriek or faint when she saw the horror, whichhad haunted her for years, fulfilled there to the uttermost. She kneltby her son when we laid him down, and wiped off a spot or two of bloodfrom his forehead, and then kept his hand in hers, kissing it often. Wehad sent on before to warn the village doctor, and he visited Guy alonein his room. 

Powell had been a surgeon's mate in his youth, and was serving underCollingwood at Trafalgar when his ship stood first into action, and, like a sovereign of the old days, led the van of the battle. There wasno shape of shattered and maimed humanity with which he had not beenfamiliar, and my last hope died away when I saw him come forth, trembling all over, his rugged features convulsed with grief. 

"I saw him born, " the old man sobbed out. "I never thought to see himdie--and die _so_!"

Guy had received a mortal injury in the spine, though how long he mightlinger none could tell. 

There broke from Lady Catharine's white lips one terrible heart-brokencry--"If God would only take me first!" Then her self-control returned, and she went into her son's room, outwardly quite calm. 

I have never tried to fancy what passed at the meeting of those twostrong hearts, after the one had been brought suddenly, face to face, with an awful death, the other with a yet more awful sorrow. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

 "Ah! Sir Launcelot, there thou liest, that never wert matched of earthly hands. Thou wert the fairest person, and the goodliest of any that rode in the press of knights; thou wert the truest to thy sworn brother of any that buckled on the spur; and thou wert the faithfullest of any that have loved _paramours_: most courteous wert thou, and gentle of all that sat in hall among dames; and thou wert the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever laid spear in the rest. "

When Powell's self-command gave way so completely after he saw thenature of Guy's case, it was not because he knew it must end fatally, but because his skill told him what fearful agonies must precede therelease. All the surgeons who were called in could do nothing butconfirm these forebodings. The colossal strength and vital energy ofLivingstone's frame and constitution yielded but slowly to a blow whichwould have crushed a weaker man instantly. All the outworks were ruinedand carried, but Death had still to fight hard before he won thecitadel. I can not go through the details; I will only say that, sometimes, none of us could endure to look upon sufferings which neverdrew a complaint or a moan from him. 

Almost every pleasure has been discussed and dissected, but we knowcomparatively nothing of the physiology of pain. There is no standard bywhich to measure it, even if the courage and endurance of any mortal mancould enable him to analyze his own tortures philosophically. Was it notalways supposed that the guillotine is merciful, because quick inannihilation? Look at Wiertz's pictures at Brussels. If his idea (sharedtoo, now, by many clever surgeons) be true, you will see the amount of along life's suffering exceeded by what seems to us a minute's agony. Butit is like the Eastern king's gaining the experience of fifty years bydipping his head for a second in the magic water. For a soul in tormentthere is no horologe. 

Of one thing be sure; the strong temperaments who enjoy greatly, suffergreatly too--those who endure in silence, most of all. I think thewolf's death-pang is sharper than the hare's. 

But Guy was not only patient, he was actually more cheerful than I hadseen him since Constance died. He liked to see his old friends, and tohear accounts of their sport with hound and gun. To do these justice, there was not one who would not give up, gladly, the best meet of thePytchley, or the shooting of the best cover in the county, to sit forhalf a day in that sick-room. He talked, too, always pleasantly andkindly to his mother and his cousin. 

Poor Isabel Forrester was quite broken down by this second blow. Next toher dead husband, I believe, she loved Guy better than any one; notunnaturally, for he had petted and protected her all her life long. Shecould not help giving way, though she tried hard, for the sake ofothers. It was piteous to see her, sitting alone for hours, gazing outon the bleak winter landscape, while the tears welled slowly from underher heavy eyelids. 

Foster, who was still at Kerton, came often to visit Livingstone. Noone could do him so much good. The curate was just as confident anduncompromising in the discharge of his office as he was yielding anddiffident when only himself was in question. He was so honest, andstraightforward, and true--so free from rant or cant--so strong in hissimple theology, that Guy soon trusted him implicitly when he spoke ofthe past and of the future that was so near. The repentance that wasbegun by Constance's dying bed was completed, I am sure, on his own. 

"Frank, " Guy said, one morning, suddenly, "I have written to ask CyrilBrandon to come to me. He will be here to-day. It would make me veryhappy if I could hear him say he forgave me. "

"Do you think you will succeed?" I asked, sadly; for I felt a nervouscertainty that the pain the interview must cost him would be unavailing. 

"I can not tell, " he answered, firmly; "but Foster says, and I know, that it is my duty to try. You may be present, if you like, on onecondition--you must promise, whatever he may say or do, not to interfereby a look or a word. "

I did promise; but I looked forward with dread to Brandon's coming. Inan hour's time he was announced. 

It was the first time I had seen him; and I was much struck by themingled expression of suffering and ferocity that sat, like a mask, onhis worn dark face. I have seen its like but once--in a dangerousmaniac's. He walked straight up to Guy's couch without noticing me, andstood there silent, glaring down on the sick man with his fiery blackeyes. 

"It is very good of you to come, " Guy said; "I scarcely hoped youwould. I have wronged you, more deeply than any living man--so deeplythat I could never have dared to ask your forgiveness if I had not beenvery near my death. Can you give me your hand? Indeed, indeed, I haverepented sorely. "

Brandon's hoarse tones broke in:

"I came, because, years ago, to see this sight, to see you lying therelike a crushed worm, I would have sold my soul. Wronged me? Shall I tellyou what you have done? There was only one creature on earth I caredfor; that was my sister. All those years in India I had been fancyingour meeting. I came back, and found her dying; more than that, I foundher love turned away from me. You did _all_ this. I tell you, I nevercould get one of her old fond looks or words from her all the time shewas dying. She was only afraid of me. By hell! you stood between us tothe last. Do you know that she dragged herself across the room at myknees--mine, who never refused to indulge her in a whim before--first tobe allowed to see you, and then to make me swear not to attempt yourlife?"

He stopped, gnashing his teeth. 

All Guy's features, wan and worn by pain, were lighted up with atenderness and joy inexpressible as he heard what his dead love hadborne and done for him. He would have hidden his face had he guessed howits expression would exasperate Cyril's furious temper. 

"D--n you!" he howled out, like a madman, "do you dare to triumph?" and, tearing off his glove, he struck Livingstone on the cheek with it asharp blow. 

A great shudder swept through every fibre of the maimed giant's frame, in which sensation lingered still; the blood surged up to his foreheadand ebbed again instantly, leaving even the lips deathly white; heraised his hand quickly, but it was only to warn me back; for, mild andpeaceable as I am, I leaped up then, as savage as Cain. With that handhe caught Brandon's wrist. The latter stood with his eyes cast down, sullenly--already, I am sure, horror at the act of foul cowardice intowhich his passion had driven him was creeping over him--he did not tryto disengage himself. Had he done so, thrice his strength would not haveset him free. 

"I thank God, from my heart, " Guy said, very slowly and steadily, "that, if I meet your sister hereafter, I shall not shrink before her, for Ibelieve all I promised her has been kept. Listen! you would feel shameto your life's end thinking that you had struck a helpless, dyingcripple. It is not so. You don't know what you risked. You were withinarm's-length, and at close quarters I could be dangerous still. Look. "

He took up a small silver cup that lay near, and crushed it flat betweenhis fingers. 

There was silence then; only Brandon's breath was heard, drawn hard andirregularly, as if he was trying to throw off a weight from his chest. 

Guy looked up at him, and said very gently, holding out his hand, "Oncemore, forgive me. "

Cyril answered in a thick, smothered voice, "I will not take your hand. I will never forgive you. But I forgiveConstance; for--I understand her now. "

He turned on his heel, and left the room without another word, stillwith his head bent down, as if in thought. I gazed after him till thedoor shut softly. Then I looked round at Guy. His head had fallen back, and the features looked so drawn and changed that I cried out, thinkinghe was dead. It was only a long, long swoon. 

Just another scene, and my tale is told. 

I was reading in Guy's room one evening. He had not spoken for sometime, and I fancied he was asleep. Suddenly he called to me, "Frank, come here--nearer. I have several things to say to you, and Ifeel I must make haste. No, don't call any one. I said farewell to mymother yesterday, and we must spare her all we can. "

In the presence of that sublime self-command, I _dared_ not betray mygrief by any outward sign. I knelt down by his side silently. 

He went on in a voice that, though hollow and often interrupted byfailing breath, was perfectly measured and steady. 

"You can only be glad that the end has come at last, though it is well Ihave had time to prepare myself. Am I ready now? I can not tell. Fostersays I ought to hope. I trust it is not wicked to say I do not _fear_. Ihave sinned often and deeply; but He who will judge me created me, andHe knows, too, how much I have suffered. I do not mean from _this_ (hethrew his hand toward his crippled limbs with the old gesture ofdisdain), but from bitterness and loneliness of heart. More than all, Iam sure my darling has been pleading for me ever since she died. I willnot believe her prayers have been wasted. 

"I want to tell you what I have done. You know the direct line of myfamily ends with me. I am glad it does. The next in succession would bea cousin, who has taken to some trade in Edinburgh; a good man, Ibelieve--but he would not do here. So I have left Kerton to my motherfor her life, and then--to you. Hush! the time is too short forobjections or thanks, and death-bed gifts show little generosity. Besides, I would have left it to Isabel, only it would be more a troubleto her than any thing else. You will take care of every thing and everybody. Say farewell for me to my old friends, especially to Mohun. PoorRalph! he will be sorry--though he will not own it--when he comes backfrom Bohemia and finds me gone. "

He raised himself a little, so as to rest his hand on my shoulder as Iknelt, while his voice deepened in its solemn calm:

"Dear Frank, one other word for yourself, who have borne so patientlywith my perverse temper since we were boys together. I have been silent, but, indeed, not ungrateful. For all your kind, unselfish thoughts, andwords, and deeds--for all the good you would have counseled--for allyour efforts to stand between me and wrong-doing--tried friend, truecomrade! I thank you now, heartily, and I pray God to bless you always. "

It was only self-control, almost superhuman, that enabled him to speakthose words steadily, for the fierce death-throe was possessing himbefore he ended. Through the awful minutes that followed, not anothersound than the hissing breath escaped through his set lips; his face wasnot once distorted, though the hair and beard clung round it, matted anddank with the sweat of agony. The brave heart and iron nerve ruled thebody to the last imperially--supreme over the intensity of torture. 

When he opened his eyes, which had been closed all through theprotracted death-pang, there was a look of the ancient kindness in them, though they were glazing fast. He found my hand, and grasped it, till Ifelt the life ebbing back in his fingers. I saw his lips syllable"Good-by;" then, he leaned his head back gently, and, without a sigh ora shiver, the strong man's spirit went forth into The Night. 

A sense of utter desolation, as it were a horror of great darkness, gathered all around me as I leaned my forehead against the corpse'scheek, sobbing like a helpless child. 

You will not care to hear how we all mourned him. 

Will you care to hear that, often as his mother visits his grave, thereis _one_ woman who comes oftener still?

None of us have ever met her, for she comes always at late night orearly morning. But finding, in the depth of winter or in the bleakspring, the ground about strewed with the choicest of exoticflowers--not carefully arranged, but showered down by a reckless, desperate hand--we know that Flora Dorrillon has been there. 

Do not laugh at her too much for clinging to the one romance of herartificial existence. Remember, while he lived, there was nothing sorare and precious--ay, even to the sacrifice of her own body andsoul--that she would not have laid ungrudgingly at Guy Livingstone'sfeet. 

THE END.