THE THREE CLERKS

BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY W. TEIGNMOUTH SHORE

ANTHONY TROLLOPE

Born London, April 24, 1815Died London, December 6, 1882

INTRODUCTION

There is the proper mood and the just environment for the readingas well as for the writing of works of fiction, and there can beno better place for the enjoying of a novel by Anthony Trollopethan under a tree in Kensington Gardens of a summer day. Under atree in the avenue that reaches down from the Round Pond to theLong Water. There, perhaps more than anywhere else, lingers theearly Victorian atmosphere. As we sit beneath our tree, we see inthe distance the dun, red-brick walls of Kensington Palace, whereone night Princess Victoria was awakened to hear that she wasQueen; there in quaint, hideously ugly Victorian rooms are to beseen Victorian dolls and other playthings; the whole environmentis early Victorian. Here to the mind's eye how easy it is toconjure up ghosts of men in baggy trousers and long flowingwhiskers, of prim women in crinolines, in hats with long trailingfeathers and with ridiculous little parasols, or with Grecian-bends and chignons--church-parading to and fro beneath the treesor by the water's edge--perchance, even the fascinating LadyCrinoline and the elegant Mr. Macassar Jones, whose history hasbeen written by Clerk Charley in the pages we are introducing tothe 'gentle reader'. As a poetaster of an earlier date haswritten:--

 Where Kensington high o'er the neighbouring lands 'Midst green and sweets, a royal fabric, stands, And sees each spring, luxuriant in her bowers, A snow of blossoms, and a wild of flowers, The dames of Britain oft in crowds repair To gravel walks, and unpolluted air. Here, while the town in damps and darkness lies, They breathe in sunshine, and see azure skies; Each walk, with robes of various dyes bespread, Seems from afar a moving tulip bed, Where rich brocades and glossy damasks glow, And chintz, the rival of the showery bow. 

Indeed, the historian of social manners, when dealing with theVictorian period, will perforce have recourse to the earlyvolumes of Punch and to the novels of Thackeray, Dickens, andTrollope. 

There are certain authors of whom personally we know little, butof whose works we cannot ever know enough, such a one for exampleas Shakespeare; others of whose lives we know much, but for whoseworks we can have but scant affection: such is Doctor Johnson;others who are intimate friends in all their aspects, asGoldsmith and Charles Lamb; yet others, who do not quite comehome to our bosoms, whose writings we cannot entirely approve, but for whom and for whose works we find a soft place somewherein our hearts, and such a one is Anthony Trollope. His novels arenot for every-day reading, any more than are those of Marryat andBorrow--to take two curious examples. There are times and moodsand places in which it would be quite impossible to read _TheThree Clerks_; others in which this story is almost whollydelightful. With those who are fond of bed-reading Trollopeshould ever be a favourite, and it is no small compliment to saythis, for small is the noble army of authors who have given usbooks which can enchant in the witching hour between waking andslumber. It is probable that all lovers of letters have theirfavourite bed-books. Thackeray has charmingly told us of his. Ofthe few novels that can really be enjoyed when the reader issettling down for slumber almost all have been set forth bywriters who--consciously or unconsciously--have placed characterbefore plot; Thackeray himself, Miss Austen, Borrow, Marryat, Sterne, Dickens, Goldsmith and--Trollope. 

Books are very human in their way, as what else should they be, children of men and women as they are? Just as with human friendsso with book friends, first impressions are often misleading;good literary coin sometimes seems to ring untrue, but theuntruth is in the ear of the reader, not of the writer. Forinstance, Trollope has many odd and irritating tricks which areapt to scare off those who lack perseverance and who fail tounderstand that there must be something admirable in that whichwas once much admired by the judicious. He shares with Thackeraythe sinful habit of pulling up his readers with a wrench byreminding them that what is set before them is after all merefiction and that the characters in whose fates they are becominginterested are only marionettes. With Dickens and others heshares the custom, so irritating to us of to-day, of ticketinghis personages with clumsy, descriptive labels, such as, in_The Three Clerks_, Mr. Chaffanbrass, Sir Gregory Hardlines, Sir Warwick West End, Mr. Neverbend, Mr. Whip Vigil, Mr. Nogo andMr. Gitemthruet. He must plead guilty, also, to some bad wayspeculiarly his own, or which he made so by the thoroughness withwhich he indulged in them. He moralizes in his own person indeplorable manner: is not this terrible:--'Poor Katie!--dear, darling, bonnie Katie!--sweet, sweetest, dearest child! why, oh, why, has that mother of thine, that tender-hearted loving mother, put thee unguarded in the way of such perils as this? Has she notsworn to herself that over thee at least she would watch as a henover her young, so that no unfortunate love should quench thyyoung spirit, or blanch thy cheek's bloom?' Is this notsufficient to make the gentlest reader swear to himself?

Fortunately this and some other appalling passages occur afterthe story is in full swing and after the three Clerks and thosewith whom they come into contact have proved themselvesthoroughly interesting companions. Despite all his old-fashionedtricks Trollope does undoubtedly succeed in giving blood and lifeto most of his characters; they are not as a rule people of anygreat eccentricity or of profound emotions; but ordinary, every-day folk, such as all of us have met, and loved or endured. Trollope fills very adequately a space between Thackeray andDickens, of whom the former deals for the most part with theupper 'ten', the latter with the lower 'ten'; Trollope with thesuburban and country-town 'ten'; the three together giving us avery complete and detailed picture of the lives led by ourgrandmothers and grandfathers, whose hearts were in the sameplace as our own, but whose manners of speech, of behaviour andof dress have now entered into the vague region known as the'days of yore'. 

_The Three Clerks_ is an excellent example of Trollope'shandiwork. The development of the plot is sufficiently skilful tomaintain the reader's interest, and the major part of thecharacters is lifelike, always well observed and sometimesdepicted with singular skill and insight. Trollope himself likedthe work well:--

'The plot is not so good as that of _The Macdermots_; norare any characters in the book equal to those of Mrs. Proudie andthe Warden; but the work has a more continued interest, andcontains the first well-described love-scene that I ever wrote. The passage in which Kate Woodward, thinking she will die, triesto take leave of the lad she loves, still brings tears to my eyeswhen I read it. I had not the heart to kill her. I never could dothat. And I do not doubt that they are living happily together tothis day. 

'The lawyer Chaffanbrass made his first appearance in this novel, and I do not think that I have cause to be ashamed of him. Butthis novel now is chiefly noticeable to me from the fact that init I introduced a character under the name of Sir GregoryHardlines, by which I intended to lean very heavily on that muchloathed scheme of competitive examination, of which at that timeSir Charles Trevelyan was the great apostle. Sir GregoryHardlines was intended for Sir Charles Trevelyan--as any one atthe time would know who had taken an interest in the CivilService. 'We always call him Sir Gregory, ' Lady Trevelyan said tome afterwards when I came to know her husband. I never learned tolove competitive examination; but I became, and am, very fond ofSir Charles Trevelyan. Sir Stafford Northcote, who is nowChancellor of the Exchequer, was then leagued with his friend SirCharles, and he too appears in _The Three Clerks_ under thefeebly facetious name of Sir Warwick West End. But for all that_The Three Clerks_ was a good novel. '

Which excerpt from Trollope's _Autobiography_ serves tothrow light not only upon the novel in question, but also uponthe character of its author. 

Trollope served honestly and efficiently for many a long year inthe Post Office, achieving his entrance through a farce of anexamination:--

'The story of that examination', he says, 'is given accurately inthe opening chapters of a novel written by me, called _TheThree Clerks_. If any reader of this memoir would refer tothat chapter and see how Charley Tudor was supposed to have beenadmitted into the Internal Navigation Office, that reader willlearn how Anthony Trollope was actually admitted into theSecretary's office of the General Post Office in 1834. '

Poe's description of the manner in which he wrote _TheRaven_ is incredible, being probably one of his solemn andsombre jokes; equally incredible is Trollope's confession of hishumdrum, mechanical methods of work. Doubtless he believed he wastelling the whole truth, but only here and there in his_Autobiography_ does he permit to peep out touches of light, which complete the portrait of himself. It is impossible that forthe reader any character in fiction should live which has notbeen alive to its creator; so is it with Trollope, who, speakingof his characters, says, 'I have wandered alone among the rooks and woods, crying at theirgrief, laughing at their absurdities, and thoroughly enjoyingtheir joy. I have been impregnated with my own creations till ithas been my only excitement to sit with the pen in my hand, anddrive my team before me at as quick a pace as I could make themtravel. '

There is a plain matter-of-factness about Trollope's narrativeswhich is convincing, making it difficult for the reader to callhimself back to fact and to remember that he has been wanderingin a world of fiction. In _The Three Clerks_, the young menwho give the tale its title are all well drawn. To accomplishthis in the cases of Alaric and Charley Tudor was easy enough fora skilled writer, but to breathe life into Harry Norman wasdifficult. At first he appears to be a lay-figure, a priggishdummy of an immaculate hero, a failure in portraiture; but towardthe end of the book it is borne in on us that our dislike hadbeen aroused by the lifelike nature of the painting, disliketoward a real man, priggish indeed in many ways, but with a veryhuman strain of obstinacy and obdurateness, which few writerswould have permitted to have entered into the make-up of any oftheir heroes. Of the other men, Undy Scott may be named as amongthe very best pieces of portraiture in Victorian fiction; touchafter touch of detail is added to the picture with reallyadmirable skill, and Undy lives in the reader's memory as vividlyas he must have existed in the imagination of his creator. Thereare some strong and curious passages in Chapter XLIV, in whichthe novelist contrasts the lives and fates of Varney, Bill Sykesand Undy Scott; they stir the blood, proving uncontestibly thatUndy Scott was as real to Trollope as he is to us: 'The figure ofUndy swinging from a gibbet at the broad end of Lombard Streetwould have an effect. Ah, my fingers itch to be at the rope. '

Trollope possessed the rare and beautiful gift of painting thehearts and souls of young girls, and of this power he has givenan admirable example in Katie Woodward. It would be foolish andcruel to attempt to epitomize, or rather to draw in miniature, this portrait that Trollope has drawn at full length; were it notfor any other end, those that are fond of all that is gracefuland charming in young womanhood should read _The Three Clerks_, so becoming the friend, nay, the lover of Katie. Her sisters are notso attractive, simply because nature did not make them so; a veryfine, faithful woman, Gertrude; a dear thing, Linda. All three worthyof their mother, she who, as we are told in a delicious phrase, 'though adverse to a fool' 'could sympathize with folly '. 

These eight portraits are grouped in the foreground of this'conversation' piece, the background being filled with slighterbut always live figures. 

Particularly striking, as being somewhat unusual with Trollope, is the depiction of the public-house, 'The Pig and Whistle', inNorfolk Street, the landlady, Mrs. Davis, and the barmaid, NorahGeraghty. We can almost smell the gin, the effluvia of stalebeer, the bad tobacco, hear the simpers and see the sidlings ofNorah, feel sick with and at Charley:--he 'got up and took herhand; and as he did so, he saw that her nails were dirty. He puthis arms round her waist and kissed her; and as he caressed her, his olfactory nerves perceived that the pomatum in her hair wasnone of the best . .. And then he felt very sick'. But, oh, why'olfactory nerves'? Was it vulgar in early Victorian days to calla nose a nose?

How far different would have been Dickens's treatment of suchcharacters and such a scene; out of Mrs. Davis and Norah he wouldhave extracted fun, and it would never have entered into his mindto have brought such a man as Charley into contact with them in amanner that must hurt that young hero's susceptibilities. Thackeray would have followed a third way, judging by histreatment of the Fotheringay and Captain Costigan, partlyhumorous, partly satirical, partly serious. 

Trollope was not endowed with any spark of wit, his satire tendstowards the obvious, and his humour is mild, almost unconscious, as if he could depict for us what of the humorous came under hisobservation without himself seeing the fun in it. Where he setsforth with intent to be humorous he sometimes attains almost tothe tragic; there are few things so sad as a joke that missesfire or a jester without sense of humour. 

Of the genius of a writer of fiction there is scarce any othertest so sure as this of the reality of his characters. Few arethe authors that have created for us figures of fiction that aremore alive to us than the historic shadows of the past, whosedead bones historians do not seem to be able to clothe with fleshand blood. Trollope hovers on the border line between genius andgreat talent, or rather it would be more fair to say that withregard to him opinions may justly differ. For our own part wehold that his was not talent streaked with genius, but rather ajog-trot genius alloyed with mediocrity. He lacked the supremeunconsciousness of supreme genius, for of genius as of talentthere are degrees. There are characters in _The Three Clerks_that live; those who have read the tale must now and again whenpassing Norfolk Street, Strand, regret that it would be waste oftime to turn down that rebuilt thoroughfare in search of 'The Pigand Whistle', which was 'one of these small tranquil shrines ofBacchus in which the god is worshipped with as constant adevotion, though with less noisy demonstration of zeal than inhis larger and more public temples'. Alas; lovers of Victorian Londonmust lament that such shrines grow fewer day by day; the greatthoroughfares know them no more; they hide nervously in old-worldcorners, and in them you will meet old-world characters, who notseldom seem to have lost themselves on their way to the pagesof Charles Dickens. 

Despite the advent of electric tramways, Hampton would still berecognized by the three clerks, 'the little village of Hampton, with its old-fashioned country inn, and its bright, quiet, grassyriver. ' Hampton is now as it then was, the 'well-loved resort ofcockneydom'. 

So let us alight from the tramcar at Hampton, and look about onthe outskirts of the village for 'a small old-fashioned brickhouse, abutting on the road, but looking from its front windowson to a lawn and garden, which stretched down to the river'. Surbiton Cottage it is called. Let us peep in at that merry, happy family party; and laugh at Captain Cuttwater, waking fromhis placid sleep, rubbing his eyes in wonderment, and asking, 'What the devil is all the row about?' But it is only with ourmind's eye that we can see Surbiton Cottage--a cottage in the airit is, but more substantial to some of us than many a real jerry-built villa of red brick and stucco. 

Old-fashioned seem to us the folk who once dwelt there, old-fashioned in all save that their hearts were true and theiroutlook on life sane and clean; they live still, though theirclothes be of a quaint fashion and their talk be of yesterday. 

Who knows but that they will live long after we who love themshall be dead and turned to dust?

W. TEIGNMOUTH SHORE. 

CONTENTS

I. THE WEIGHTS AND MEASURESII. THE INTERNAL NAVIGATIONIII. THE WOODWARDSIV. CAPTAIN CUTTWATERV. BUSHEY PARKVI. SIR GREGORY HARDLINESVII. MR. FIDUS NEVERBENDVIII. THE HON. UNDECIMUS SCOTTIX. MR. MANYLODESX. WHEAL MARY JANEXI. THE THREE KINGSXII. CONSOLATIONXIII. A COMMUNICATION OF IMPORTANCEXIV. VERY SADXV. NORMAN RETURNS TO TOWNXVI. THE FIRST WEDDINGXVII. THE HONOURABLE MRS. VAL AND MISS GOLIGHTLYXVIII. A DAY WITH ONE OF THE NAVVIES. --MORNINGXIX. A DAY WITH ONE OF THE NAVVIES. --AFTERNOONXX. A DAY WITH ONE OF THE NAVVIES. --EVENINGXXI. HAMPTON COURT BRIDGEXXII. CRINOLINE AND MACASSAR; OR, MY AUNT'S WILLXXIII. SURBITON COLLOQUIESXXIV. MR. M'BUFFER ACCEPTS THE CHILTERN HUNDREDSXXV. CHISWICK GARDENSXXVI. KATIE'S FIRST BALLXXVII. EXCELSIORXXVIII. OUTERMAN _v_. TUDORXXIX. EASY IS THE SLOPE OF HELLXXX. MRS. WOODWARD'S REQUESTXXXI. HOW APOLLO SAVED THE NAVVYXXXII. THE PARLIAMENTARY COMMITTEEXXXIII. TO STAND, OR NOT TO STANDXXXIV. WESTMINSTER HALLXXXV. MRS. VAL'S NEW CARRIAGEXXXVI. TICKLISH STOCKXXXVII. TRIBULATIONXXXVIII. ALARIC TUDOR TAKES A WALKXXXIX. THE LAST BREAKFASTXL. MR. CHAFFANBRASSXLI. THE OLD BAILEYXLII. A PARTING INTERVIEWXLIII. MILLBANKXLIV. THE CRIMINAL POPULATION IS DISPOSED OFXLV. THE FATE OF THE NAVVIESXLVI. MR. NOGO'S LAST QUESTIONXLVII. CONCLUSION

CHAPTER I

THE WEIGHTS AND MEASURES

All the English world knows, or knows of, that branch of theCivil Service which is popularly called the Weights and Measures. Every inhabitant of London, and every casual visitor there, hasadmired the handsome edifice which generally goes by that name, and which stands so conspicuously confronting the TreasuryChambers. It must be owned that we have but a slip-slop way ofchristening our public buildings. When a man tells us that hecalled on a friend at the Horse Guards, or looked in at the NavyPay, or dropped a ticket at the Woods and Forests, we put up withthe accustomed sounds, though they are in themselves, perhaps, indefensible. The 'Board of Commissioners for Regulating Weightsand Measures', and the 'Office of the Board of Commissioners forRegulating Weights and Measures', are very long phrases; and as, in the course of this tale, frequent mention will be made of thepublic establishment in question, the reader's comfort will bebest consulted by maintaining its popular though improperdenomination. 

It is generally admitted that the Weights and Measures is a well-conducted public office; indeed, to such a degree of efficiencyhas it been brought by its present very excellent secretary, thetwo very worthy assistant-secretaries, and especially by its latemost respectable chief clerk, that it may be said to stand quitealone as a high model for all other public offices whatever. Itis exactly antipodistic of the Circumlocution Office, and as suchis always referred to in the House of Commons by the gentlemanrepresenting the Government when any attack on the Civil Service, generally, is being made. 

And when it is remembered how great are the interests entrustedto the care of this board, and of these secretaries and of thatchief clerk, it must be admitted that nothing short of superlativeexcellence ought to suffice the nation. All material intercoursebetween man and man must be regulated, either justly orunjustly, by weights and measures; and as we of all peopledepend most on such material intercourse, our weights andmeasures should to us be a source of never-ending concern. Andthen that question of the decimal coinage! is it not in thesedays of paramount importance? Are we not disgraced by the twelvepennies in our shilling, by the four farthings in our penny? Oneof the worthy assistant-secretaries, the worthier probably of thetwo, has already grown pale beneath the weight of this question. But he has sworn within himself, with all the heroism of aNelson, that he will either do or die. He will destroy theshilling or the shilling shall destroy him. In his more ardentmoods he thinks that he hears the noise of battle booming roundhim, and talks to his wife of Westminster Abbey or a peerage. Then what statistical work of the present age has shown half theerudition contained in that essay lately published by thesecretary on _The Market Price of Coined Metals_? What otherliving man could have compiled that chronological table which isappended to it, showing the comparative value of the metalliccurrency for the last three hundred years? Compile it indeed!What other secretary or assistant-secretary belonging to anypublic office of the present day, could even read it and live? Itcompletely silenced Mr. Muntz for a session, and even _TheTimes_ was afraid to review it. 

Such a state of official excellence has not, however, beenobtained without its drawbacks, at any rate in the eyes of theunambitious tyros and unfledged novitiates of the establishment. It is a very fine thing to be pointed out by envying fathers as apromising clerk in the Weights and Measures, and to receive civilspeeches from mammas with marriageable daughters. But a clerk inthe Weights and Measures is soon made to understand that it isnot for him to--

 Sport with Amaryllis in the shade. 

It behoves him that his life should be grave and his pursuitslaborious, if he intends to live up to the tone of those aroundhim. And as, sitting there at his early desk, his eyes alreadydim with figures, he sees a jaunty dandy saunter round theopposite corner to the Council Office at eleven o'clock, hecannot but yearn after the pleasures of idleness. 

 Were it not better done, as others use?

he says or sighs. But then comes Phoebus in the guise of thechief clerk, and touches his trembling ears--

 As he pronounces lastly on each deed, Of so much fame, in Downing Street--expect the meed. 

And so the high tone of the office is maintained. 

Such is the character of the Weights and Measures at this presentperiod of which we are now treating. The exoteric crowd of theCivil Service, that is, the great body of clerks attached toother offices, regard their brethren of the Weights as prigs andpedants, and look on them much as a master's favourite is apt tobe regarded by other boys at school. But this judgement is anunfair one. Prigs and pedants, and hypocrites too, there areamong them, no doubt--but there are also among them many stirredby an honourable ambition to do well for their country andthemselves, and to two such men the reader is now requested topermit himself to be introduced. 

Henry Norman, the senior of the two, is the second son of agentleman of small property in the north of England. He waseducated at a public school, and thence sent to Oxford; butbefore he had finished his first year at Brasenose his father wasobliged to withdraw him from it, finding himself unable to bearthe expense of a university education for his two sons. His elderson at Cambridge was extravagant; and as, at the critical momentwhen decision became necessary, a nomination in the Weights andMeasures was placed at his disposal, old Mr. Norman committed thenot uncommon injustice of preferring the interests of his elderbut faulty son to those of the younger with whom no fault hadbeen found, and deprived his child of the chance of combining theglories and happiness of a double first, a fellow, a collegetutor, and a don. 

Whether Harry Norman gained or lost most by the change we neednot now consider, but at the age of nineteen he left Oxford andentered on his new duties. It must not, however, be supposed thatthis was a step which he took without difficulty and withoutpause. It is true that the grand modern scheme for competitiveexaminations had not as yet been composed. Had this been done, and had it been carried out, how awful must have been thecramming necessary to get a lad into the Weights and Measures!But, even as things were then, it was no easy matter for a youngman to convince the chief clerk that he had all the acquirementsnecessary for the high position to which he aspired. 

Indeed, that chief clerk was insatiable, and generally succeededin making every candidate conceive the very lowest opinion ofhimself and his own capacities before the examination was over. Some, of course, were sent away at once with ignominy, asevidently incapable. Many retired in the middle of it with aconviction that they must seek their fortunes at the bar, or inmedical pursuits, or some other comparatively easy walk of life. Others were rejected on the fifth or sixth day as being deficientin conic sections, or ignorant of the exact principles ofhydraulic pressure. And even those who were retained were soretained, as it were, by an act of grace. The Weights andMeasures was, and indeed is, like heaven--no man can deserve it. No candidate can claim as his right to be admitted to thefruition of the appointment which has been given to him. HenryNorman, however, was found, at the close of his examination, tobe the least undeserving of the young men then under notice, andwas duly installed in his clerkship. 

It need hardly be explained, that to secure so high a level ofinformation as that required at the Weights and Measures, a scaleof salaries equally exalted has been found necessary. Young menconsequently enter at £100 a year. We are speaking, of course, ofthat more respectable branch of the establishment called theSecretary's Department. At none other of our public offices domen commence with more than £90--except, of course, at those inwhich political confidence is required. Political confidence isindeed as expensive as hydraulic pressure, though generally foundto be less difficult of attainment. 

Henry Norman, therefore, entered on his labours under goodauspices, having £10 per annum more for the business andpleasures of life in London than most of his young brethren ofthe Civil Service. Whether this would have sufficed of itself toenable him to live up to that tone of society to which he hadbeen accustomed cannot now be surmised, as very shortly after hisappointment an aunt died, from whom he inherited some £150 or£200 a year. He was, therefore, placed above all want, and soonbecame a shining light even in that bright gallery of spiritualizedstars which formed the corps of clerks in the Secretary's Officeat the Weights and Measures. 

Young Norman was a good-looking lad when he entered the publicservice, and in a few years he grew up to be a handsome man. Hewas tall and thin and dark, muscular in his proportions, andathletic in his habits. From the date of his first enjoyment ofhis aunt's legacy he had a wherry on the Thames, and was soonknown as a man whom it was hard for an amateur to beat. He had aracket in a racket-court at St. John's Wood Road, and as soon asfortune and merit increased his salary by another £100 a year, heusually had a nag for the season. This, however, was not attainedtill he was able to count five years' service in the Weights andMeasures. He was, as a boy, somewhat shy and reserved in hismanners, and as he became older he did not shake off the fault. He showed it, however, rather among men than with women, and, indeed, in spite of his love of exercise, he preferred thesociety of ladies to any of the bachelor gaieties of hisunmarried acquaintance. He was, nevertheless, frank and confidentin those he trusted, and true in his friendships, though, considering his age, too slow in making a friend. Such was HenryNorman at the time at which our tale begins. What were the faultsin his character it must be the business of the tale to show. 

The other young clerk in this office to whom we alluded is AlaricTudor. He is a year older than Henry Norman, though he began hisofficial career a year later, and therefore at the age of twenty-one. How it happened that he contrived to pass the scrutinizinginstinct and deep powers of examination possessed by the chiefclerk, was a great wonder to his friends, though apparently noneat all to himself. He took the whole proceeding very easily;while another youth alongside of him, who for a year had beenreading up for his promised nomination, was so awe-struck by theseverity of the proceedings as to lose his powers of memory andforget the very essence of the differential calculus. 

Of hydraulic pressure and the differential calculus young Tudorknew nothing, and pretended to know nothing. He told the chiefclerk that he was utterly ignorant of all such matters, that hisonly acquirements were a tolerably correct knowledge of English, French, and German, with a smattering of Latin and Greek, andsuch an intimacy with the ordinary rules of arithmetic and withthe first books of Euclid, as he had been able to pick up whileacting as a tutor, rather than a scholar, in a small Germanuniversity. 

The chief clerk raised his eyebrows and said he feared it wouldnot do. A clerk, however, was wanting. It was very clear that theyoung gentleman who had only showed that he had forgotten hisconic sections could not be supposed to have passed. Theausterity of the last few years had deterred more young men fromcoming forward than the extra £10 had induced to do so. Oneunfortunate, on the failure of all his hopes, had thrown himselfinto the Thames from the neighbouring boat-stairs; and though hehad been hooked out uninjured by the man who always attends therewith two wooden legs, the effect on his parents' minds had beendistressing. Shortly after this occurrence the chief clerk hadbeen invited to attend the Board, and the Chairman of theCommissioners, who, on the occasion, was of course prompted bythe Secretary, recommended Mr. Hardlines to be a _leetle_more lenient. In doing so the quantity of butter which he pouredover Mr. Hardlines' head and shoulders with the view ofalleviating the misery which such a communication would be sureto inflict, was very great. But, nevertheless, Mr. Hardlines cameout from the Board a crestfallen and unhappy man. 'The service, 'he said, 'would go to the dogs, and might do for anything hecared, and he did not mind how soon. If the Board chose to makethe Weights and Measures a hospital for idiots, it might do so. He had done what little lay in his power to make the officerespectable; and now, because mammas complained when their cubsof sons were not allowed to come in there and rob the public anddestroy the office books, he was to be thwarted and reprimanded!He had been, ' he said, 'eight-and-twenty years in office, and wasstill in his prime--but he should, ' he thought, 'take advantageof the advice of his medical friends, and retire. He would neverremain there to see the Weights and Measures become a hospitalfor incurables!'

It was thus that Mr. Hardlines, the chief clerk, expressedhimself. He did not, however, send in a medical certificate, norapply for a pension; and the first apparent effect of the littlelecture which he had received from the Chairman, was theadmission into the service of Alaric Tudor. Mr. Hardlines wassoon forced to admit that the appointment was not a bad one, asbefore his second year was over, young Tudor had produced a verysmart paper on the merits--or demerits--of the strike bushel. 

Alaric Tudor when he entered the office was by no means sohandsome a youth as Harry Norman; but yet there was that in hisface which was more expressive, and perhaps more attractive. Hewas a much slighter man, though equally tall. He could boast noadventitious capillary graces, whereas young Norman had a pair ofblack curling whiskers, which almost surrounded his face, and hadbeen the delight and wonder of the maidservants in his mother'shouse, when he returned home for his first official holiday. Tudor wore no whiskers, and his light-brown hair was usually cutso short as to give him something of the appearance of a cleanPuritan. But in manners he was no Puritan; nor yet in his mode oflife. He was fond of society, and at an early period of his agestrove hard to shine in it. He was ambitious; and lived with thesteady aim of making the most of such advantages as fate andfortune had put in his way. Tudor was perhaps not superior toNorman in point of intellect; but he was infinitely his superiorin having early acquired a knowledge how best to use suchintellect as he had. 

His education had been very miscellaneous, and disturbed by manycauses, but yet not ineffective or deficient. His father had beenan officer in a cavalry regiment, with a fair fortune, which hehad nearly squandered in early life. He had taken Alaric whenlittle more than an infant, and a daughter, his only other child, to reside in Brussels. Mrs. Tudor was then dead, and theremainder of the household had consisted of a French governess, a_bonne_, and a man-cook. Here Alaric remained till he hadperfectly acquired the French pronunciation, and very nearly asperfectly forgotten the English. He was then sent to a privateschool in England, where he remained till he was sixteen, returning home to Brussels but once during those years, when hewas invited to be present at his sister's marriage with a Belgianbanker. At the age of sixteen he lost his father, who, on dying, did not leave behind him enough of the world's wealth to pay forhis own burial. His half-pay of course died with him, and youngTudor was literally destitute. 

His brother-in-law, the banker, paid for his half-year'sschooling in England, and then removed him to a German academy, at which it was bargained that he should teach English withoutremuneration, and learn German without expense. Whether he taughtmuch English may be doubtful, but he did learn German thoroughly;and in that, as in most other transactions of his early life, certainly got the best of the bargain which had been made forhim. 

At the age of twenty he was taken to the Brussels bank as aclerk; but here he soon gave visible signs of disliking thedrudgery which was exacted from him. Not that he dislikedbanking. He would gladly have been a partner with ever so small ashare, and would have trusted to himself to increase his stake. But there is a limit to the good nature of brothers-in-law, evenin Belgium; and Alaric was quite aware that no such good luck asthis could befall him, at any rate until he had gone through manyyears of servile labour. His sister also, though sisterly enoughin her disposition to him, did not quite like having a brotheremployed as a clerk in her husband's office. They therefore puttheir heads together, and, as the Tudors had good familyconnexions in England, a nomination in the Weights and Measureswas procured. 

The nomination was procured; but when it was ascertained how veryshort a way this went towards the attainment of the desiredobject, and how much more difficult it was to obtain Mr. Hardlines' approval than the Board's favour, young Tudor'sfriends despaired, and recommended him to abandon the idea, as, should he throw himself into the Thames, he might perhaps fallbeyond the reach of the waterman's hook. Alaric himself, however, had no such fears. He could not bring himself to conceive that hecould fail in being fit for a clerkship in a public office, andthe result of his examination proved at any rate that he had beenright to try. 

The close of his first year's life in London found him living inlodgings with Henry Norman. At that time Norman's income wasnearly three times as good as his own. To say that Tudor selectedhis companion because of his income would be to ascribe unjustlyto him vile motives and a mean instinct. He had not done so. Thetwo young men had been thrown, together by circumstances. Theyworked at the same desk, liked each other's society, and eachbeing alone in the world, thereby not unnaturally came together. But it may probably be said that had Norman been as poor asTudor, Tudor might probably have shrunk from rowing in the sameboat with him. 

As it was they lived together and were fast allies; not the lessso that they did not agree as to many of their avocations. Tudor, at his friend's solicitation, had occasionally attempted to pullan oar from Searle's slip to Battersea bridge. But his failure inthis line was so complete, and he had to encounter so much ofNorman's raillery, which was endurable, and of his instruction, which was unendurable, that he very soon gave up the pursuit. Hewas not more successful with a racket; and keeping a horse was ofcourse out of the question. 

They had a bond of union in certain common friends whom they muchloved, and with whom they much associated. At least these friendssoon became common to them. The acquaintance originally belongedto Norman, and he had first cemented his friendship with Tudor byintroducing him at the house of Mrs. Woodward. Since he had doneso, the one young man was there nearly as much as the other. 

Who and what the Woodwards were shall be told in a subsequentchapter. As they have to play as important a part in the taleabout to be told as our two friends of the Weights and Measures, it would not be becoming to introduce them at the end of this. 

As regards Alaric Tudor it need only be further said, by way ofpreface, of him as of Harry Norman, that the faults of hischaracter must be made to declare themselves in the course of ournarrative. 

CHAPTER II

THE INTERNAL NAVIGATION

The London world, visitors as well as residents, are wellacquainted also with Somerset House; and it is moreover tolerablywell known that Somerset House is a nest of public offices, whichare held to be of less fashionable repute than those situated inthe neighbourhood of Downing Street, but are not so decidedlyplebeian as the Custom House, Excise, and Post Office. 

But there is one branch of the Civil Service located in SomersetHouse, which has little else to redeem it from the lowest depthsof official vulgarity than the ambiguous respectability of itsmaterial position. This is the office of the Commissioners ofInternal Navigation. The duties to be performed have reference tothe preservation of canal banks, the tolls to be levied at locks, and disputes with the Admiralty as to points connected with tidalrivers. The rooms are dull and dark, and saturated with the fogwhich rises from the river, and their only ornament is here andthere some dusty model of an improved barge. Bargees notunfrequently scuffle with hobnailed shoes through the passages, and go in and out, leaving behind them a smell of tobacco, towhich the denizens of the place are not unaccustomed. 

Indeed, the whole office is apparently infected with a leaven ofbargedom. Not a few of the men are employed from time to time inthe somewhat lethargic work of inspecting the banks and towing-paths of the canals which intersect the country. This theygenerally do seated on a load of hay, or perhaps of bricks, inone of those long, ugly, shapeless boats, which are to be seencongregating in the neighbourhood of Brentford. So seated, theyare carried along at the rate of a mile and a half an hour, andusually while away the time in gentle converse with the man atthe rudder, or in silent abstraction over a pipe. 

But the dullness of such a life as this is fully atoned for bythe excitement of that which follows it in London. The men of theInternal Navigation are known to be fast, nay, almost furious intheir pace of living; not that they are extravagant in any greatdegree, a fault which their scale of salaries very generallyforbids; but they are one and all addicted to Coal Holes andCider Cellars; they dive at midnight hours into Shades, and knowall the back parlours of all the public-houses in the neighbourhoodof the Strand. Here they leave messages for one another, and callthe girl at the bar by her Christian name. They are a set of menendowed with sallow complexions, and they wear loud clothing, and spend more money in gin-and-water than in gloves. 

The establishment is not unusually denominated the 'InfernalNavigation', and the gentlemen employed are not altogetherdispleased at having it so called. The 'Infernal Navvies', indeed, rather glory in the name. The navvies of Somerset Houseare known all over London, and there are those who believe thattheir business has some connexion with the rivers or railroads ofthat bourne from whence no traveller returns. Looking, however, from their office windows into the Thames, one might be temptedto imagine that the infernal navigation with which they areconnected is not situated so far distant from the place of theirlabours. 

The spirit who guards the entrance into this elysium is by nomeans so difficult to deal with as Mr. Hardlines. And it was wellthat it was so some few years since for young Charley Tudor, acousin of our friend Alaric; for Charley Tudor could never havepassed muster at the Weights and Measures. Charles Tudor, thethird of the three clerks alluded to in our title-page, is theson of a clergyman, who has a moderate living on the Welshborder, in Shropshire. Had he known to what sort of work he wassending his son, he might probably have hesitated before heaccepted for him a situation in the Internal Navigation Office. He was, however, too happy in getting it to make many inquiriesas to its nature. We none of us like to look a gift-horse in themouth. Old Mr. Tudor knew that a clerkship in the Civil Servicemeant, or should mean, a respectable maintenance for life, andhaving many young Tudors to maintain himself, he was only tooglad to find one of them provided for. 

Charley Tudor was some few years younger than his cousin Alaricwhen he came up to town, and Alaric had at that time some threeor four years' experience of London life. The examination at theInternal Navigation was certainly not to be so much dreaded asthat at the Weights and Measures; but still there was anexamination; and Charley, who had not been the most diligent ofschoolboys, approached it with great dread after a preparatoryevening passed with the assistance of his cousin and Mr. Norman. 

Exactly at ten in the morning he walked into the lobby of hisfuture workshop, and found no one yet there but two aged seedymessengers. He was shown into a waiting-room, and there heremained for a couple of hours, during which every clerk in theestablishment came to have a look at him. At last he was usheredinto the Secretary's room. 

'Ah!' said the Secretary, 'your name is Tudor, isn't it?'

Charley confessed to the fact. 

'Yea, ' said the Secretary, 'I have heard about you from SirGilbert de Salop. ' Now Sir Gilbert de Salop was the great familyfriend of this branch of the Tudors. But Charley, finding that noremark suggested itself to him at this moment concerning SirGilbert, merely said, 'Yes, sir. '

'And you wish to serve the Queen?' said the Secretary. 

Charley, not quite knowing whether this was a joke or not, saidthat he did. 

'Quite right--it is a very fair ambition, ' continued the greatofficial functionary--'quite right--but, mind you, Mr. Tudor, ifyou come to us you must come to work. I hope you like hard work;you should do so, if you intend to remain with us. '

Charley said that he thought he did rather like hard work. Hereupon a senior clerk standing by, though a man not given tomuch laughter, smiled slightly, probably in pity at the unceasinglabour to which the youth was about to devote himself. 

'The Internal Navigation requires great steadiness, good naturalabilities, considerable education, and--and--and no end ofapplication. Come, Mr. Tudor, let us see what you can do. ' And sosaying, Mr. Oldeschole, the Secretary, motioned him to sit downat an office table opposite to himself. 

Charley did as he was bid, and took from the hands of his futuremaster an old, much-worn quill pen, with which the great man hadbeen signing minutes. 

'Now, ' said the great man, 'just copy the few first sentences ofthat leading article--either one will do, ' and he pushed over tohim a huge newspaper. 

To tell the truth, Charley did not know what a leading articlewas, and so he sat abashed, staring at the paper. 

'Why don't you write?' asked the Secretary. 

'Where shall I begin, sir?' stammered poor Charley, lookingpiteously into the examiner's face. 

'God bless my soul! there; either of those leading articles, ' andleaning over the table, the Secretary pointed to a particularspot. 

Hereupon Charley began his task in a large, ugly, round hand, neither that of a man nor of a boy, and set himself to copy thecontents of the paper. 'The name of Pacifico stinks in thenostril of the British public. It is well known to all the worldhow sincerely we admire the vers_i_tility of Lord Palmerston'sgenius; how cordially we s_i_mpathize with his patriotic energies. But the admiration which even a Palmerston inspires must have abound, and our s_i_mpathy may be called on too far. When wefind ourselves asked to pay--'. By this time Charley had half coveredthe half-sheet of foolscap which had been put before him, andhere at the word 'pay' he unfortunately suffered a large blot of inkto fall on the paper. 

'That won't do, Mr. Tudor, that won't do--come, let us look, ' andstretching over again, the Secretary took up the copy. 

'Oh dear! oh dear! this is very bad; versatility with an 'i!'-sympathy with an 'i!' sympathize with an 'i!' Why, Mr. Tudor, youmust be very fond of 'i's' down in Shropshire. '

Charley looked sheepish, but of course said nothing. 

'And I never saw a viler hand in my life. Oh dear, oh dear, Imust send you back to Sir Gilbert. Look here, Snape, this willnever do--never do for the Internal Navigation, will it?'

Snape, the attendant senior clerk, said, as indeed he could nothelp saying, that the writing was very bad. 

'I never saw worse in my life, ' said the Secretary. 'And now, Mr. Tudor, what do you know of arithmetic?'

Charley said that he thought he knew arithmetic pretty well;--'atleast some of it, ' he modestly added. 

'Some of it!' said the Secretary, slightly laughing. 'Well, I'lltell you what--this won't do at all;' and he took the unfortunatemanuscript between his thumb and forefinger. 'You had better gohome and endeavour to write something a little better than this. Mind, if it is not very much better it won't do. And look here;take care that you do it yourself. If you bring me the writing ofany one else, I shall be sure to detect you. I have not any moretime now; as to arithmetic, we'll examine you in 'some of it' to-morrow. '

So Charley, with a faint heart, went back to his cousin'slodgings and waited till the two friends had arrived from theWeights and Measures. The men there made a point of staying up tofive o'clock, as is the case with all model officials, and it wastherefore late before he could get himself properly set to work. But when they did arrive, preparations for calligraphy were madeon a great scale; a volume of Gibbon was taken down, new quillpens, large and small, and steel pens by various makers wereprocured; cream-laid paper was provided, and ruled lines were putbeneath it. And when this was done, Charley was especiallycautioned to copy the spelling as well as the wording. 

He worked thus for an hour before dinner, and then for threehours in the evening, and produced a very legible copy of half achapter of the 'Decline and Fall. '

'I didn't think they examined at all at the Navigation, ' saidNorman. 

'Well, I believe it's quite a new thing, ' said Alaric Tudor. 'Theschoolmaster must be abroad with a vengeance, if he has got asfar as that. '

And then they carefully examined Charley's work, crossed his t's, dotted his i's, saw that his spelling was right, and went to bed. 

Again, punctually at ten o'clock, Charley presented himself atthe Internal Navigation; and again saw the two seedy oldmessengers warming themselves at the lobby fire. On this occasionhe was kept three hours in the waiting-room, and some of theyounger clerks ventured to come and speak to him. At length Mr. Snape appeared, and desired the acolyte to follow him. Charley, supposing that he was again going to the awful Secretary, did sowith a palpitating heart. But he was led in another directioninto a large room, carrying his manuscript neatly rolled in hishand. Here Mr. Snape introduced him to five other occupants ofthe chamber; he, Mr. Snape himself, having a separate desk there, being, in official parlance, the head of the room. Charley wastold to take a seat at a desk, and did so, still thinking thatthe dread hour of his examination was soon to come. Hisexamination, however, was begun and over. No one ever asked forhis calligraphic manuscript, and as to his arithmetic, it may bepresumed that his assurance that he knew 'some of it, ' was deemedto be adequate evidence of sufficient capacity. And in thismanner, Charley Tudor became one of the Infernal Navvies. 

He was a gay-hearted, thoughtless, rollicking young lad, when hecame up to town; and it may therefore be imagined that he easilyfell into the peculiar ways and habits of the office. A shortbargee's pilot-coat, and a pipe of tobacco, were soon familiar tohim; and he had not been six months in London before he had hishouse-of-call in a cross lane running between Essex Street andNorfolk Street. 'Mary, my dear, a screw of bird's-eye!' camequite habitually to his lips; and before his fist year was out, he had volunteered a song at the Buckingham Shades. 

The assurance made to him on his first visit to the office by Mr. Secretary Oldeschole, that the Internal Navigation was a place ofherculean labours, had long before this time become matter to himof delightful ridicule. He had found himself to be one of sixyoung men, who habitually spent about five hours a day togetherin the same room, and whose chief employment was to render thelife of the wretched Mr. Snape as unendurable as possible. Therewere copies to be written, and entries to be made, and books tobe indexed. But these things were generally done by some extrahand, as to the necessity of whose attendance for such purposeMr. Snape was forced to certify. But poor Snape knew that he hadno alternative. He rule six unruly young navvies! There was notone of them who did not well know how to make him tremble in hisshoes. 

Poor Mr. Snape had selected for his own peculiar walk in life acharacter for evangelical piety. Whether he was a hypocrite--asall the navvies averred--or a man sincere as far as one so weakcould accomplish sincerity, it is hardly necessary for us toinquire. He was not by nature an ill-natured man, but he hadbecome by education harsh to those below him, and timid andcringing with those above. In the former category must by nomeans be included the six young men who were nominally under hisguidance. They were all but acknowledged by him as his superiors. Ignorant as they were, they could hardly be more so than he. Useless as they were, they did as much for the public service ashe did. He sometimes complained of them; but it was only whentheir misconduct had been so loud as to make it no longerpossible that he should not do so. 

Mr. Snape being thus by character and predilection a religiousman, and having on various occasions in olden days professed muchhorror at having his ears wounded by conversation which waseither immoral or profane, it had of course become the habitualpractice of the navvies to give continual utterance to everydescription of ribaldry and blasphemy for his especial edification. Doubtless it may be concluded from the habits of the men, thateven without such provocation, their talk would have exceededthe yea, yea, and nay, nay, to which young men should confinethemselves. But they especially concerted schemes of blasphemyand dialogues of iniquity for Mr. Snape's particular advantage;and continued daily this disinterested amusement, till at last anidea got abroad among them that Mr. Snape liked it. Then theychanged their tactics and canted through their noses in themanner which they imagined to be peculiar to methodist preachers. So on the whole, Mr. Snape had an uneasy life of it at the InternalNavigation. 

Into all these malpractices Charley Tudor plunged headlong. Andhow should it have been otherwise? How can any youth of nineteenor twenty do other than consort himself with the daily companionsof his usual avocations? Once and again, in one case among tenthousand, a lad may be found formed of such stuff, that hereceives neither the good nor the bad impulses of those aroundhim. But such a one is a _lapsus naturae_. He has been bornwithout the proper attributes of youth, or at any rate, broughtup so as to have got rid of them. 

Such, a one, at any rate, Charley Tudor was not. He was a littleshocked at first by the language he heard; but that feeling soonwore off. His kind heart, also, in the first month of hisnovitiate, sympathized with the daily miseries of Mr. Snape; buthe also soon learnt to believe that Mr. Snape was a counterfeit, and after the first half year could torture him with as muchgusto as any of his brethren. Alas! no evil tendency communicatesitself among young men more quickly than cruelty. Those infernalnavvies were very cruel to Mr. Snape. 

And yet young Tudor was a lad of a kindly heart, of a free, honest, open disposition, deficient in no proportion of mindnecessary to make an estimable man. But he was easily malleable, and he took at once the full impression of the stamp to which hewas subjected. Had he gone into the Weights and Measures, ahypothesis which of course presumes a total prostration of theintellects and energy of Mr. Hardlines, he would have workedwithout a groan from ten till five, and have become as good amodel as the best of them. As it was, he can be hardly said tohave worked at all, soon became _facile princeps_ in the list ofhabitual idlers, and was usually threatened once a quarter withdismissal, even from that abode of idleness, in which the verynature of true work was unknown. 

Some tidings of Charley's doings in London, and non-doings at theInternal Navigation, of course found their way to the Shropshireparsonage. His dissipation was not of a very costly kind; but £90per annum will hardly suffice to afford an ample allowance ofgin-and-water and bird's-eye tobacco, over and above the otherwants of a man's life. Bills arrived there requiring payment; andworse than this, letters also came through Sir Gilbert de Salopfrom Mr. Oldeschole, the Secretary, saying that young Tudor wasdisgracing the office, and lowering the high character of theInternal Navigation; and that he must be removed, unless he couldbe induced to alter his line of life, &c. 

Urgent austere letters came from the father, and fond heart-rending appeals from the mother. Charley's heart was rent. Itwas, at any rate, a sign in him that he was not past hope ofgrace, that he never laughed at these monitions, that he nevershowed such letters to his companions, never quizzed his'governor's' lectures, or made merry over the grief of hismother. But if it be hard for a young man to keep in the rightpath when he has not as yet strayed out of it, how much harder isit to return to it when he has long since lost the track! It waswell for the father to write austere letters, well for the motherto make tender appeals, but Charley could not rid himself of hiscompanions, nor of his debts, nor yet even of his habits. Hecould not get up in the morning and say that he would at once beas his cousin Alaric, or as his cousin's friend, Mr. Norman. Itis not by our virtues or our vices that we are judged, even bythose who know us best; but by such credit for virtues or forvices as we may have acquired. Now young Tudor's credit forvirtue was very slight, and he did not know how to extend it. 

At last papa and mamma Tudor came up to town to make one lasteffort to save their son; and also to save, on his behalf, thevaluable official appointment which he held. He had now beenthree years in his office, and his salary had risen to £110 perannum. £110 per annum was worth saving if it could be saved. Theplan adopted by Mrs. Tudor was that of beseeching their cousinAlaric to take Charley under his especial wing. 

When Charley first arrived in town, the fact of Alaric and Normanliving together had given the former a good excuse for notoffering to share his lodgings with his cousin. Alaric, with theadvantage in age of three or four years--at that period of lifethe advantage lies in that direction--with his acquiredexperience of London life, and also with all the wondrous éclatof the Weights and Measures shining round him, had perhaps been alittle too unwilling to take by the hand a rustic cousin who wasabout to enter life under the questionable auspices of theInternal Navigation. He had helped Charley to transcribe thechapter of Gibbon, and had, it must be owned, lent him from timeto time a few odd pounds in his direst necessities. But theircourse in life had hitherto been apart. Of Norman, Charley hadseen less even than of his cousin. 

And now it became a difficult question with Alaric how he was toanswer the direct appeal made to him by Mrs. Tudor;--'Pray, praylet him live with you, if it be only for a year, Alaric, ' themother had said, with the tears running down her cheeks. 'You areso good, so discreet, so clever--you can save him. ' Alaricpromised, or was ready to promise, anything else, but hesitatedas to the joint lodgings. 'How could he manage it, ' said he, 'living, as he was, with another man? He feared that Mr. Normanwould not accede to such an arrangement. As for himself, he woulddo anything but leave his friend Norman. ' To tell the truth, Alaric thought much, perhaps too much, of the respectability ofthose with whom he consorted. He had already begun to indulgeambitious schemes, already had ideas stretching even beyond thelimits of the Weights and Measures, and fully intended to makethe very most of himself. 

Mrs. Tudor, in her deep grief, then betook herself to Mr. Norman, though with that gentleman she had not even the slightestacquaintance. With a sulking heart, with a consciousness of herunreasonableness, but with the eloquence of maternal sorrow, shemade her request. Mr. Norman heard her out with all the calmpropriety of the Weights and Measures, begged to have a day toconsider, and then acceded to the request. 

'I think we ought to do it, ' said he to Alaric. The mother'stears had touched his heart, and his sense of duty had prevailed. Alaric, of course, could now make no further objection, and thusCharley the Navvy became domesticated with his cousin Alaric andHarry Norman. 

The first great question to be settled, and it is a very greatquestion with a young man, was that of latch-key or no latch-key. Mrs. Richards, the landlady, when she made ready the thirdbedroom for the young gentleman, would, as was her wont in suchmatters, have put a latchkey on the toilet-table as a matter ofcourse, had she not had some little conversation with Mamma Tudorregarding her son. Mamma Tudor had implored and coaxed, andprobably bribed Mrs. Richards to do something more than 'take herson in and do for him'; and Mrs. Richards, as her firstcompliance with these requests, had kept the latch-key in her ownpocket. So matters went on for a week; but when Mrs. Richardsfound that her maidservant was never woken by Mr. Charley's rapsafter midnight, and that she herself was obliged to descend inher dressing-gown, she changed her mind, declared to herself thatit was useless to attempt to keep a grown gentleman in leading-strings, and put the key on the table on the second Mondaymorning. 

As none of the three men ever dined at home, Alaric and Normanhaving clubs which they frequented, and Charley eating his dinnerat some neighbouring dining-house, it may be imagined that thischange of residence did our poor navvy but little good. It had, however, a salutary effect on him, at any rate at first. Hebecame shamed into a quieter and perhaps cleaner mode of dressinghimself; he constrained himself to sit down to breakfast with hismonitors at half-past eight, and was at any rate so far regardfulof Mrs. Richards as not to smoke in his bedroom, and to come homesober enough to walk upstairs without assistance every night forthe first month. 

But perhaps the most salutary effect made by this change on youngTudor was this, that he was taken by his cousin one Sunday to theWoodwards. Poor Charley had had but small opportunity of learningwhat are the pleasures of decent society. He had gone headlongamong the infernal navvies too quickly to allow of that slow andgradual formation of decent alliances which is all in all to ayoung man entering life. A boy is turned loose into London, anddesired to choose the good and eschew the bad. Boy as he is, hemight probably do so if the opportunity came in his way. But nosuch chance is afforded him. To eschew the bad is certainlypossible for him; but as to the good, he must wait till he bechosen. This it is, that is too much for him. He cannot livewithout society, and so he falls. 

Society, an ample allowance of society, this is the firstrequisite which a mother should seek in sending her son to livealone in London; balls, routs, picnics, parties; women, pretty, well-dressed, witty, easy-mannered; good pictures, elegantdrawing rooms, well got-up books, Majolica and Dresden china--these are the truest guards to protect a youth from dissipationand immorality. 

 These are the books, the arts, the academes That show, contain, and nourish all the world, if only a youth could have them at his disposal. Some of thesethings, though by no means all, Charley Tudor encountered at theWoodwards. 

CHAPTER III

THE WOODWARDS

It is very difficult nowadays to say where the suburbs of Londoncome to an end, and where the country begins. The railways, instead of enabling Londoners to live in the country, have turnedthe country into a city. London will soon assume the shape of agreat starfish. The old town, extending from Poplar to Hammersmith, will be the nucleus, and the various railway lines will be the projectingrays. 

There are still, however, some few nooks within reach of themetropolis which have not been be-villaged and be-terraced out ofall look of rural charm, and the little village of Hampton, withits old-fashioned country inn, and its bright, quiet, grassyriver, is one of them, in spite of the triple metropolitanwaterworks on the one side, and the close vicinity on the otherof Hampton Court, that well-loved resort of cockneydom. 

It was here that the Woodwards lived. Just on the outskirts ofthe village, on the side of it farthest from town, they inhabitednot a villa, but a small old-fashioned brick house, abutting onto the road, but looking from its front windows on to a lawn andgarden, which stretched down to the river. 

The grounds were not extensive, being included, house and all, inan area of an acre and a half: but the most had been made of it;it sloped prettily to the river, and was absolutely secluded fromthe road. Thus Surbiton Cottage, as it was called, though it hadno pretension to the grandeur of a country-house, was a desirableresidence for a moderate family with a limited income. 

Mrs. Woodward's family, for there was no Mr. Woodward in thecase, consisted of herself and three daughters. There wasafterwards added to this an old gentleman, an uncle of Mrs. Woodward's, but he had not arrived at the time at which we wouldwish first to introduce our readers to Hampton. 

Mrs. Woodward was the widow of a clergyman who had held a livingin London, and had resided there. He had, however, died when twoof his children were very young, and while the third was still ababy. From that time Mrs. Woodward had lived at the cottage atHampton, and had there maintained a good repute, paying her wayfrom month to month as widows with limited incomes should do, anddevoting herself to the amusements and education of herdaughters. 

It was not, probably, from any want of opportunity to cast themaside, that Mrs. Woodward had remained true to her weeds; for atthe time of her husband's death she was a young and a very prettywoman; and an income of £400 a year, though moderate enough forall the wants of a gentleman's family, would no doubt have addedsufficiently to her charms to have procured her a secondalliance, had she been so minded. 

Twelve years, however, had now elapsed since Mr. Woodward hadbeen gathered to his fathers, and the neighbouring world ofHampton, who had all of them declared over and over again thatthe young widow would certainly marry again, were now becoming asunanimous in their expressed opinion that the old widow knew thevalue of her money too well to risk it in the keeping of the besthe that ever wore boots. 

At the date at which our story commences, she was a comely littlewoman, past forty, somewhat below the middle height, rather_embonpoint_, as widows of forty should be, with pretty fatfeet, and pretty fat hands; wearing just a _soupçon_ of awidow's cap on her head, with her hair, now slightly grey, partedin front, and brushed very smoothly, but not too carefully, in_bandeaux_ over her forehead. 

She was a quick little body, full of good-humour, slightly givento repartee, and perhaps rather too impatient of a fool. Butthough averse to a fool, she could sympathize with folly. A greatpoet has said that women are all rakes at heart; and there wassomething of the rake at heart about Mrs. Woodward. She nevercould be got to express adequate horror at fast young men, andwas apt to have her own sly little joke at women who pridedthemselves on being punctilious. She could, perhaps, the moresafely indulge in this, as scandal had never even whispered aword against herself. 

With her daughters she lived on terms almost of equality. The twoelder were now grown up; that is, they were respectively eighteenand seventeen years old. They were devotedly attached to theirmother, looked on her as the only perfect woman in existence, andwould willingly do nothing that could vex her; but they perhapswere not quite so systematically obedient to her as childrenshould be to their only surviving parent. Mrs. Woodward, however, found nothing amiss, and no one else therefore could well have aright to complain. 

They were both pretty--but Gertrude, the elder, was by far themore strikingly so. They were, nevertheless, much alike; theyboth had rich brown hair, which they, like their mother, woresimply parted over the forehead. They were both somewhat tallerthan her, and were nearly of a height. But in appearance, as indisposition, Gertrude carried by far the greater air of command. She was the handsomer of the two, and the cleverer. She couldwrite French and nearly speak it, while her sister could onlyread it. She could play difficult pieces from sight, which ittook her sister a morning's pains to practise. She could fill inand finish a drawing, while her sister was still struggling, andstruggling in vain, with the first principles of the art. 

But there was a softness about Linda, for such was the name ofthe second Miss Woodward, which in the eyes of many men made upboth for the superior beauty and superior talent of Gertrude. Gertrude was, perhaps, hardly so soft as so young a girl shouldbe. In her had been magnified that spirit of gentle raillerywhich made so attractive a part of her mother's character. Sheenjoyed and emulated her mother's quick sharp sayings, but shehardly did so with her mother's grace, and sometimes attempted itwith much more than her mother's severity. She also detestedfools; but in promulgating her opinion on this subject, she wastoo apt to declare who the fools were whom she detested. 

It may be thought that under such circumstances there could bebut little confidence between the sisters; but, nevertheless, intheir early days, they lived together as sisters should do. Gertrude, when she spoke of fools, never intended to includeLinda in the number; and Linda appreciated too truly, and admiredtoo thoroughly, her sister's beauty and talent to be jealous ofeither. 

Of the youngest girl, Katie, it is not necessary at present tosay much. At this time she was but thirteen years of age, and wasa happy, pretty, romping child. She gave fair promise to be atany rate equal to her sisters in beauty, and in mind was quickand intelligent. Her great taste was for boating, and the romanceof her life consisted in laying out ideal pleasure-grounds, andbuilding ideal castles in a little reedy island or ait which layout in the Thames, a few perches from the drawing-room windows. 

Such was the family of the Woodwards. Harry Norman's father andMr. Woodward had been first cousins, and hence it had been quitenatural that when Norman came up to reside in London he should bemade welcome to Surbiton Cottage. He had so been made welcome, and had thus got into a habit of spending his Saturday eveningsand Sundays at the home of his relatives. In summer he could rowup in his own wherry, and land himself and carpet-bag direct onthe Woodwards' lawn, and in the winter he came down by theHampton Court five p. M. Train--and in each case he returned onthe Monday morning. Thus, as regards that portion of his timewhich was most his own, he may be said almost to have lived atSurbiton Cottage, and if on any Sunday he omitted to make hisappearance, the omission was ascribed by the ladies of Hampton, in some half-serious sort of joke, to metropolitan allurementsand temptations which he ought to have withstood. 

When Tudor and Norman came to live together, it was naturalenough that Tudor also should be taken down to Surbiton Cottage. Norman could not leave him on every Saturday without telling himmuch of his friends whom he went to visit, and he could hardlysay much of them without offering to introduce his companion tothem. Tudor accordingly went there, and it soon came to pass thathe also very frequently spent his Sundays at Hampton. 

It must be remembered that at this time, the time, that is, ofNorman and Tudor's first entrance on their London life, the girlsat Surbiton Cottage were mere girls--that is, little more thanchildren; they had not, as it were, got their wings so as to beable to fly away when the provocation to do so might come; theywere, in short, Gertrude and Linda Woodward, and not the MissWoodwards: their drawers came down below their frocks, instead oftheir frocks below their drawers; and in lieu of studying theFrench language, as is done by grown-up ladies, they did Frenchlessons, as is the case with ladies who are not grown-up. Underthese circumstances there was no embarrassment as to what theyoung people should call each other, and they soon became veryintimate as Harry and Alaric, Gertrude and Linda. 

It is not, however, to be conceived that Alaric Tudor at oncetook the same footing in the house as Norman. This was far frombeing the case. In the first place he never slept there, seeingthat there was no bed for him; and the most confidentialintercourse in the household took place as they sat cosy over thelast embers of the drawing-room fire, chatting about everythingand nothing, as girls always can do, after Tudor had gone away tohis bed at the inn, on the opposite side of the way. And thenTudor did not come on every Saturday, and at first did not do sowithout express invitation; and although the girls soonhabituated themselves to the familiarity of their new friend'sChristian name, it was some time before Mrs. Woodward did so. 

Two--three years soon flew by, and Linda and Gertrude became theMiss Woodwards; their frocks were prolonged, their drawerscurtailed, and the lessons abandoned. But still Alaric Tudor andHarry Norman came to Hampton not less frequently than of yore, and the world resident on that portion of the left bank of theThames found out that Harry Norman and Gertrude Woodward were tobe man and wife, and that Alaric Tudor and Linda Woodward were togo through the same ceremony. They found this out, or said thatthey had done so. But, as usual, the world was wrong; at least inpart, for at the time of which we are speaking no word of love-making had passed, at any rate, between the last-named couple. 

And what was Mrs. Woodward about all this time? Was she match-making or match-marring; or was she negligently omitting theduties of a mother on so important an occasion? She was certainlyneither match-making nor match-marring; but it was from nonegligence that she was thus quiescent. She knew, or thought sheknew, that the two young men were fit to be husbands to herdaughters, and she felt that if the wish for such an allianceshould spring up between either pair, there was no reason why sheshould interfere to prevent it. But she felt also that she shouldnot interfere to bring any such matter to pass. These youngpeople had by chance been thrown together. Should there be love-passages among them, as it was natural to suppose there might be, it would be well. Should there be none such, it would be wellalso. She thoroughly trusted her own children, and did notdistrust her friends; and so as regards Mrs. Woodward the matterwas allowed to rest. 

We cannot say that on this matter we quite approve of herconduct, though we cannot but admire the feeling which engenderedit. Her daughters were very young; though they had made suchpositive advances as have been above described towards thediscretion of womanhood, they were of the age when they wouldhave been regarded as mere boys had they belonged to the othersex. The assertion made by Clara Van Artevelde, that women 'growupon the sunny side of the wall, ' is doubtless true; but youngladies, gifted as they are with such advantages, may perhaps bethought to require some counsel, some advice, in those firsttender years in which they so often have to make or mar theirfortunes. 

Not that Mrs. Woodward gave them no advice; not but that sheadvised them well and often--but she did so, perhaps, too much asan equal, too little as a parent. 

But, be that as it may--and I trust my readers will not beinclined so early in our story to lean heavily on Mrs. Woodward, whom I at once declare to be my own chief favourite in the tale--but, be that as it may, it so occurred that Gertrude, before shewas nineteen, had listened to vows of love from Harry Norman, which she neither accepted nor repudiated; and that Linda had, before she was eighteen, perhaps unfortunately, taught herself tothink it probable that she might have to listen to vows of lovefrom Alaric Tudor. 

There had been no concealment between the young men as to theirfeelings. Norman had told his friend scores of times that it wasthe first wish of his heart to marry Gertrude Woodward; and hadtold him, moreover, what were his grounds for hope, and what hisreasons for despair. 

'She is as proud as a queen, ' he had once said as he was rowingfrom Hampton to Searle's Wharf, and lay on his oars as thefalling tide carried his boat softly past the green banks ofRichmond--'she is as proud as a queen, and yet as timid as afawn. She lets me tell her that I love her, but she will not saya word to me in reply; as for touching her in the way of acaress, I should as soon think of putting my arm round agoddess. '

'And why not put your arms round a goddess?' said Alaric, who wasperhaps a little bolder than his friend, and a little lessromantic. To this Harry answered nothing, but, laying his back tohis work, swept on past the gardens of Kew, and shot among thewooden dangers of Putney Bridge. 

'I wish you could bring yourself to make up to Linda, ' said he, resting again from his labours; 'that would make the matter somuch easier. '

'Bring myself!' said Alaric; 'what you mean is, that you wish Icould bring Linda to consent to be made up to. '

'I don't think you would have much difficulty, ' said Harry, finding it much easier to answer for Linda than for her sister;'but perhaps you don't admire her?'

'I think her by far the prettier of the two, ' said Alaric. 

'That's nonsense, ' said Harry, getting rather red in the face, and feeling rather angry. 

'Indeed I do; and so, I am convinced, would most men. You neednot murder me, man. You want me to make up to Linda, and surelyit will be better that I should admire my own wife than yours. '

'Oh! you may admire whom you like; but to say that she isprettier than Gertrude--why, you know, it is nonsense. '

'Very well, my dear fellow; then to oblige you, I'll fall in lovewith Gertrude. '

'I know you won't do that, ' said Harry, 'for you are not so veryfond of each other; but, joking apart, I do wish so you wouldmake up to Linda. '

'Well, I will when _my_ aunt leaves _me_ £200 a year. '

There was no answering this; so the two men changed theconversation as they walked up together from the boat wharf tothe office of the Weights and Measures. 

It was just at this time that fortune and old Mr. Tudor, of theShropshire parsonage, brought Charley Tudor to reside with ourtwo heroes. For the first month, or six weeks, Charley wasruthlessly left by his companions to get through his Sundays asbest he could. It is to be hoped that he spent them in divineworship; but it may, we fear, be surmised with more probability, that he paid his devotions at the shrine of some very inferiorpublic-house deity in the neighbourhood of Somerset House. As amatter of course, both Norman and Tudor spoke much of their newcompanion to the ladies at Surbiton Cottage, and as by degreesthey reported somewhat favourably of his improved morals, Mrs. Woodward, with a woman's true kindness, begged that he might bebrought down to Hampton. 

'I am afraid you will find him very rough, ' said his cousinAlaric. 

'At any rate you will not find him a fool, ' said Norman, who wasalways the more charitable of the two. 

'Thank God for that!' said Mrs. Woodward, ' and if he will comenext Saturday, let him by all means do so. Pray give mycompliments to him, and tell him how glad I shall be to see him. '

And thus was this wild wolf to be led into the sheep-cote; thisinfernal navvy to be introduced among the angels of SurbitonCottage. Mrs. Woodward thought that she had a taste forreclaiming reprobates, and was determined to try her hand onCharley Tudor. 

Charley went, and his debut was perfectly successful. We havehitherto only looked on the worst side of his character; but badas his character was, it had a better side. He was good-naturedin the extreme, kind-hearted and affectionate; and, though tooapt to be noisy and even boisterous when much encouraged, was notwithout a certain innate genuine modesty, which the knowledge ofhis own iniquities had rather increased than blunted; and, asNorman had said of him, he was no fool. His education had notbeen good, and he had done nothing by subsequent reading to makeup for this deficiency; but he was well endowed with mother-wit, and owed none of his deficiencies to nature's churlishness. 

He came, and was well received. The girls thought he would surelyget drunk before he left the table, and Mrs. Wood ward feared theaustere precision of her parlourmaid might be offended by someunworthy familiarity; but no accident of either kind seemed tooccur. He came to the tea-table perfectly sober, and, as far asMrs. Woodward could tell, was unaware of the presence of theparlour-maiden. 

On the Sunday morning, Charley went to church, just like aChristian. Now Mrs. Woodward certainly had expected that he wouldhave spent those two hours in smoking and attacking the parlour-maid. He went to church, however, and seemed in no whit astraythere; stood up when others stood up, and sat down when otherssat down. After all, the infernal navvies, bad as they doubtlesswere, knew something of the recognized manners of civilized life. 

Thus Charley Tudor ingratiated himself at Surbiton Cottage, andwhen he left, received a kind intimation from its mistress thatshe would be glad to see him again. No day was fixed, and soCharley could not accompany his cousin and Harry Norman on thenext Saturday; but it was not long before he got another directinvitation, and so he also became intimate at Hampton. Therecould be no danger of any one falling in love with him, for Katiewas still a child. 

Things stood thus at Surbiton Cottage when Mrs. Woodward receiveda proposition from a relative of her own, which surprised themall not a little. This was from a certain Captain Cuttwater, whowas a maternal uncle to Mrs. Woodward, and consisted of nothingless than an offer to come and live with them for the remainingterm of his natural life. Now Mrs. Woodward's girls had seen verylittle of their grand-uncle, and what little they had seen hadonly taught them to laugh at him. When his name was mentioned inthe family conclave, he was always made the subject of somelittle feminine joke; and Mrs. Woodward, though she always tookher uncle's part, did so in a manner that made them feel that hewas fair game for their quizzing. 

When the proposal was first enunciated to the girls, they one andall, for Katie was one of the council, suggested that it shouldbe declined with many thanks. 

'He'll take us all for midshipmen, ' said Linda, 'and stop ourrations, and mast-head us whenever we displease him. '

'I am sure he is a cross old hunks, though mamma says he's not, 'said Katie, with all the impudence of spoilt fourteen. 

'He'll interfere with every one of our pursuits, ' said Gertrude, more thoughtfully, 'and be sure to quarrel with the young men. '

But Mrs. Woodward, though she had consulted her daughters, had arguments of her own in favour of Captain Cuttwater'sproposition, which she had not yet made known to them. Good-humoured and happy as she always was, she had her cares in theworld. Her income was only £400 a year, and that, now that theIncome Tax had settled down on it, was barely sufficient for hermodest wants. A moiety of this died with her, and the remainderwould be but a poor support for her three daughters, if at thetime of her death it should so chance that she should leave themin want of support. She had always regarded Captain Cuttwater asa probable source of future aid. He was childless and unmarried, and had not, as far as she was aware, another relative in theworld. It would, therefore, under any circumstances, be badpolicy to offend him. But the letter in which he had made hisoffer had been of a very peculiar kind. He had begun by sayingthat he was to be turned out of his present berth by a d--- WhigGovernment on account of his age, he being as young a man as everhe had been; that it behoved him to look out for a place ofresidence, in which he might live, and, if it should so pleaseGod, die also. He then said that he expected to pay £200 a yearfor his board and lodging, which he thought might as well go tohis niece as to some shark, who would probably starve him. Healso said that, poor as he was and always had been, he hadcontrived to scrape together a few hundred pounds; that he waswell aware that if he lived among strangers he should be done outof every shilling of it; but that if his niece would receive him, he hoped to be able to keep it together for the benefit of hisgrand-nieces, &c. 

Now Mrs. Woodward knew her uncle to be an honest-minded man; sheknew also, that, in spite of his protestation as to being a verypoor man, he had saved money enough to make him of someconsequence wherever he went; and she therefore conceived thatshe could not with prudence send him to seek a home among chancestrangers. She explained as much of this to the girls as shethought proper, and ended the matter by making them understandthat Captain Cuttwater was to be received. 

On the Saturday after this the three scions of the Civil Servicewere all at Surbiton Cottage, and it will show how far Charleyhad then made good his ground, to state that the coming of thecaptain was debated in his presence. 

'And when is the great man to be here?' said Norman. 

'At once, I believe, ' said Mrs. Woodward; 'that is, perhaps, before the end of this week, and certainly before the end ofnext. '

'And what is he like?' said Alaric. 

'Why, he has a tail hanging down behind, like a cat or a dog, 'said Katie. 

'Hold your tongue, miss, ' said Gertrude. 'As he is to come hemust be treated with respect; but it is a great bore. To me itwill destroy all the pleasures of life. '

'Nonsense, Gertrude, ' said Mrs. Woodward; 'it is almost wicked ofyou to say so. Destroy all the pleasure of life to have an oldgentleman live in the same house with you!--you ought to be moremoderate, my dear, in what you say. '

'That's all very well, mamma, ' said Gertrude, 'but you know youdon't like him yourself. '

'But is it true that Captain Cuttwater wears a pigtail?' askedNorman. 

'I don't care what he wears, ' said Gertrude; 'he may wear threeif he likes. '

'Oh! I wish he would, ' said Katie, laughing; 'that would be sodelicious. Oh, Linda, fancy Captain Cuttwater with three pigtails!'

'I am sorry to disappoint you, Katie, ' said Mrs. Woodward, 'butyour uncle does not wear even one; he once did, but he cut it offlong since. '

'I am so sorry, ' said Katie. 

'I suppose he'll want to dine early, and go to bed early?' saidLinda. 

'His going to bed early would be a great blessing, ' saidGertrude, mindful of their midnight conclaves on Saturdays andSundays. 

'But his getting up early won't be a blessing at all, ' saidLinda, who had a weakness on that subject. 

'Talking of bed, Harry, you'll have the worst of it, ' said Katie, 'for the captain is to have your room. '

'Yes, indeed, ' said Mrs. Woodward, sighing gently, 'we shall nolonger have a bed for you, Harry; that _is_ the worst of it. '

Harry of course assured her that if that was the worst of itthere was nothing very bad in it. He could have a bed at the innas well as Alaric and Charley. The amount of that evil would onlybe half-a-crown a night. 

And thus the advent of Captain Cuttwater was discussed. 

CHAPTER IV

CAPTAIN CUTTWATER

Captain Cuttwater had not seen much service afloat; that is, hehad not been personally concerned in many of those sea-engagements which in and about the time of Nelson gave so great ahalo of glory to the British Lion; nor had it even been permittedto him to take a prominent part in such minor affairs as havesince occurred; he had not the opportunity of distinguishinghimself either at the battle of Navarino or the bombarding ofAcre; and, unfortunately for his ambition, the period of hisretirement came before that great Baltic campaign, in which, hadhe been there, he would doubtless have distinguished himself asdid so many others. His earliest years were spent in cruisingamong the West Indies; he then came home and spent someconsiderable portion of his life in idleness--if that time can besaid to have been idly spent which he devoted to torturing theAdmiralty with applications, remonstrances, and appeals. Then hewas rated as third lieutenant on the books of some worm-eaten oldman-of-war at Portsmouth, and gave up his time to looking afterthe stowage of anchors, and counting fathoms of rope. At last hewas again sent afloat as senior lieutenant in a ten-gun brig, andcruised for some time off the coast of Africa, hunting forslavers; and returning after a while from this enterprisingemployment, he received a sort of amphibious appointment atDevonport. What his duties were here, the author, being in allpoints a landsman, is unable to describe. Those who were inclinedto ridicule Captain Cuttwater declared that the most important ofthem consisted in seeing that the midshipmen in and about thedockyard washed their faces, and put on clean linen not lessoften than three times a week. According to his own account, hehad many things of a higher nature to attend to; and, indeed, hardly a ship sank or swam in Hamoaze except by his specialpermission, for a space of twenty years, if his own view of hisown career may be accepted as correct. 

He had once declared to certain naval acquaintances, over histhird glass of grog, that he regarded it as his birthright to bean Admiral; but at the age of seventy-two he had not yet acquiredhis birthright, and the probability of his ever attaining it wasbecoming very small indeed. He was still bothering Lords andSecretaries of the Admiralty for further promotion, when he wasastounded by being informed by the Port-Admiral that he was tobe made happy by half-pay and a pension. The Admiral, incommunicating the intelligence, had pretended to think that hewas giving the captain information which could not be otherwisethan grateful to him, but he was not the less aware that the oldman would be furious at being so treated. What, pension him! puthim on half-pay--shelf him for life, while he was still anxiouslyexpecting that promotion, that call to higher duties which had solong been his due, and which, now that his powers were matured, could hardly be longer denied to him! And after all that he haddone for his country--his ungrateful, thankless, ignorantcountry--was he thus to be treated? Was he to be turned adriftwithout any mark of honour, any special guerdon, any sign of hisSovereign's favour to testify as to his faithful servitude ofsixty years' devotion? He, who had regarded it as his merestright to be an Admiral, and had long indulged the hope of beinggreeted in the streets of Devonport as Sir Bartholomew Cuttwater, K. C. B. , was he to be thus thrown aside in his prime, with noother acknowledgement than the bare income to which he wasentitled!

It is hardly too much to say, that no old officers who havelacked the means to distinguish themselves, retire from either ofour military services, free from the bitter disappointment andsour feelings of neglected worth, which Captain Cuttwater felt sokeenly. A clergyman, or a doctor, or a lawyer, feels himself nowhit disgraced if he reaches the end of his worldly labourswithout special note or honour. But to a soldier or a sailor, such indifference to his merit is wormwood. It is the bane of theprofessions. Nine men out of ten who go into it must livediscontented, and die disappointed. 

Captain Cuttwater had no idea that he was an old man. He hadlived for so many years among men of his own stamp, who had growngrey and bald, and rickety, and weak alongside of him, that hehad no opportunity of seeing that he was more grey or morerickety than his neighbours. No children had become men and womenat his feet; no new race had gone out into the world and foughttheir battles under his notice. One set of midshipmen hadsucceeded to another, but his old comrades in the news-rooms andlounging-places at Devonport had remained the same; and CaptainCuttwater had never learnt to think that he was not doing, andwas not able to do good service for his country. 

The very name of Captain Cuttwater was odious to every clerk atthe Admiralty. He, like all naval officers, hated the Admiralty, and thought, that of all Englishmen, those five who had beenselected to sit there in high places as joint lords were the mostincapable. He pestered them with continued and almost continuousapplications on subjects of all sorts. He was always asking forincreased allowances, advanced rank, more assistance, less work, higher privileges, immunities which could not be granted, andadvantages to which he had no claim. He never took answers, butmade every request the subject of a prolonged correspondence;till at last some energetic Assistant-Secretary declared that itshould no longer be borne, and Captain Cuttwater was dismissedwith pension and half-pay. During his service he had contrived tosave some four or five thousand pounds, and now he was about toretire with an assured income adequate to all his wants. Thepublic who had the paying of Captain Cuttwater may, perhaps, think that he was amply remunerated for what he had done; but thecaptain himself entertained a very different opinion. 

Such is the view which we are obliged to take of the professionalside of Captain Cuttwater's character. But the professional sidewas by far the worst. Counting fathoms of rope and looking afterunruly midshipmen on shore are not duties capable of bringing outin high relief the better traits of a main's character. UncleBat, as during the few last years of his life he was alwayscalled at Surbiton Cottage, was a gentleman and a man of honour, in spite of anything that might be said to the contrary at theAdmiralty. He was a man with a soft heart, though the end of hisnose was so large, so red, and so pimply; and rough as was hisusage to little midshipmen when his duty caused him to encounterthem in a body, he had befriended many a one singly with kindwords and an open hand. The young rogues would unmercifully quizOld Nosey, for so Captain Cuttwater was generally called inDevonport, whenever they could safely do so; but, nevertheless, in their young distresses they knew him for their friend, andwere not slow to come to him. 

In person Captain Cuttwater was a tall, heavy man, on whose ironconstitution hogsheads of Hollands and water seemed to have hadno very powerful effect. He was much given to profane oaths; butknowing that manners required that he should refrain beforeladies, and being unable to bring his tongue sufficiently undercommand to do so, he was in the habit of 'craving the ladies'pardon' after every slip. 

All that was really remarkable in Uncle Bat's appearance wasincluded in his nose. It had always been a generous, weighty, self-confident nose, inviting to itself more observation than anyof its brother features demanded. But in latter years it hadspread itself out in soft, porous, red excrescences, to such anextent as to make it really deserving of considerable attention. No stranger ever passed Captain Cuttwater in the streets ofDevonport without asking who he was, or, at any rate, speciallynoticing him. 

It must, of course, be admitted that a too strongly pronouncedpartiality for alcoholic drink had produced these defects inCaptain Cuttwater's nasal organ; and yet he was a most staunchfriend of temperance. No man alive or dead had ever seen CaptainCuttwater the worse for liquor; at least so boasted the captainhimself, and there were none, at any rate in Devonport, to givehim the lie. Woe betide the midshipman whom he should see elatedwith too much wine; and even to the common sailor who should betipsy at the wrong time, he would show no mercy. Most eloquentwere the discourses which he preached against drunkenness, andthey always ended with a reference to his own sobriety. The truthwas, that drink would hardly make Captain Cuttwater drunk. Itleft his brain untouched, but punished his nose. 

Mrs. Woodward had seen her uncle but once since she had become awidow. He had then come up to London to attack the Admiralty atclose quarters, and had sojourned for three or four days atSurbiton Cottage. This was now some ten years since, and thegirls had forgotten even what he was like. Great preparationswere made for him. Though the summer had nearly commenced, alarge fire was kept burning in his bedroom--his bed was newlyhung with new curtains; two feather beds were piled on eachother, and everything was done which five women could thinkdesirable to relieve the ailings of suffering age. The fact, however, was that Captain Cuttwater was accustomed to a smalltent bedstead in a room without a carpet, that he usually slepton a single mattress, and that he never had a fire in hisbedroom, even in the depth of winter. 

Travelling from Devonport to London is now an easy matter; andCaptain Cuttwater, old as he was, found himself able to getthrough to Hampton in one day. Mrs. Woodward went to meet him atHampton Court in a fly, and conveyed him to his new home, together with a carpet-bag, a cocked hat, a sword, and a verysmall portmanteau. When she inquired after the remainder of hisluggage, he asked her what more lumber she supposed he wanted. Nomore lumber at any rate made its appearance, then or afterwards;and the fly proceeded with an easy load to Surbiton Cottage. 

There was great anxiety on the part of the girls when the wheelswere heard to stop at the front door. Gertrude kept her placesteadily standing on the rug in the drawing-room; Linda ran tothe door and then back again; but Katie bolted out and ensconcedherself behind the parlour-maid, who stood at the open door, looking eagerly forth to get the first view of Uncle Bat. 

'So here you are, Bessie, as snug as ever, ' said the captain, ashe let himself ponderously down from the fly. Katie had neverbefore heard her mother called Bessie, and had never seenanything approaching in size or colour to such a nose, consequentlyshe ran away frightened. 

'That's Gertrude--is it?' said the captain. 

'Gertrude, uncle! Why Gertrude is a grown-up woman now. That'sKatie, whom you remember an infant. '

'God bless my soul!' said the captain, as though he thought thatgirls must grow twice quicker at Hampton than they did atDevonport or elsewhere, 'God bless my soul!'

He was then ushered into the drawing-room, and introduced in formto his grand-nieces. 'This is Gertrude, uncle, and this Linda;there is just enough difference for you to know them apart. Andthis Katie. Come here, Katie, and kiss your uncle. '

Katie came up, hesitated, looked horrified, but did manage to gether face somewhat close to the old man's without touching thetremendous nose, and then having gone through this peril sheretreated again behind the sofa. 

'Well; bless my stars, Bessie, you don't tell me those are yourchildren?'

'Indeed, uncle, I believe they are. It's a sad tale for me totell, is it not?' said the blooming mother with a laugh. 

'Why, they'll be looking out for husbands next, ' said Uncle Bat. 

'Oh! they're doing that already, every day, ' said Katie. 

'Ha, ha, ha!' laughed Uncle Bat; 'I suppose so, I suppose so;--ha, ha, ha!'

Gertrude turned away to the window, disgusted and angry, and madeup her mind to hate Uncle Bat for ever afterwards. Linda made alittle attempt to smile, and felt somewhat glad in her heart thather uncle was a man who could indulge in a joke. 

He was then taken upstairs to his bedroom, and here he greatlyfrightened Katie, and much scandalized the parlour-maid bydeclaring, immediately on his entering the room, that it was 'd-----hot, d---ation hot; craving your pardon, ladies!'

'We thought, uncle, you'd like a fire, ' began Mrs. Woodward, 'as----'

'A fire in June, when I can hardly carry my coat on my back!'

'It's the last day of May now, ' said Katie timidly, from behindthe bed-curtains. 

This, however, did not satisfy the captain, and orders wereforthwith given that the fire should be taken away, the curtainsstripped off, the feather beds removed, and everything reduced topretty much the same state in which it had usually been left forHarry Norman's accommodation. So much for all the feminine carewhich had been thrown away upon the consideration of Uncle Bat'sinfirmities. 

'God bless my soul!' said he, wiping his brow with a hugecoloured handkerchief as big as a mainsail, 'one night in such afurnace as that would have brought on the gout. '

He had dined in town, and by the time that his chamber had beenstripped of its appendages, he was nearly ready for bed. Beforehe did so, he was asked to take a glass of sherry. 

'Ah! sherry, ' said he, taking up the bottle and putting it downagain. 'Sherry, ah! yes; very good wine, I am sure. You haven't adrop of rum in the house, have you?'

Mrs. Woodward declared with sorrow that she had not. 

'Or Hollands?' said Uncle Bat. But the ladies of Surbiton Cottagewere unsupplied also with Hollands. 

'Gin?' suggested the captain, almost in despair. 

Mrs. Woodward had no gin, but she could send out and get it; andthe first evening of Captain Cuttwater's visit saw Mrs. Woodward'sown parlour-maid standing at the bar of the Green Dragon, whiletwo gills of spirits were being measured out for her. 

'Only for the respect she owed to Missus, ' as she afterwardsdeclared, 'she never would have so demeaned herself for all thecaptains in the Queen's battalions. '

The captain, however, got his grog; and having enlarged somewhatvehemently while he drank it on the iniquities of thosescoundrels at the Admiralty, took himself off to bed; and lefthis character and peculiarities to the tender mercies of hisnieces. 

The following day was Friday, and on the Saturday Norman andTudor were to come down as a matter of course. During the longdays, they usually made their appearance after dinner; but theyhad now been specially requested to appear in good orderly time, in honour of the captain. Their advent had been of course spokenof, and Mrs. Woodward had explained to Uncle Bat that her cousinHarry usually spent his Sundays at Hampton, and that he usuallyalso brought with him a friend of his, a Mr. Tudor. To all this, as a matter of course, Uncle Bat had as yet no objection to make. 

The young men came, and were introduced with due ceremony. Surbiton Cottage, however, during dinnertime, was very unlikewhat it had been before, in the opinion of all the party thereassembled. The girls felt themselves called upon, they hardlyknew why, to be somewhat less intimate in their manner with theyoung men than they customarily were; and Harry and Alaric, withquick instinct, reciprocated the feeling. Mrs. Woodward, even, assumed involuntarily somewhat of a company air; and Uncle Bat, who sat at the bottom of the table, in the place usually assignedto Norman, was awkward in doing the honours of the house toguests who were in fact much more at home there than himself. 

After dinner the young people strolled out into the garden, andKatie, as was her wont, insisted on Harry Norman rowing her overto her damp paradise in the middle of the river. He attempted, vainly, to induce Gertrude to accompany them. Gertrude was eithercoy with her lover, or indifferent; for very few were theoccasions on which she could be induced to gratify him with therapture of a _tête-à-tête_ encounter. So that, in fact, HarryNorman's Sunday visits were generally moments of expectedbliss of which the full fruition was but seldom attained. Sowhile Katie went off to the island, Alaric and the two girls satunder a spreading elm tree and watched the little boat as it shotacross the water. 'And what do you think of Uncle Bat?' saidGertrude. 

'Well, I am sure he's a good sort of fellow, and a very, gallantofficer, but--'

'But what?' said Linda. 

'It's a thousand pities he should have ever been removed fromDevonport, where I am sure he was both useful and ornamental. '

Both the girls laughed cheerily; and as the sound came across thewater to Norman's ears, he repented himself of his good nature toKatie, and determined that her sojourn in the favourite islandshould, on this occasion, be very short. 

'But he is to pay mamma a great deal of money, ' said Linda, 'andhis coming will be a great benefit to her in that way. '

'There ought to be something to compensate for the bore, ' saidGertrude. 

'We must only make the best of him, ' said Alaric. 'For my part, Iam rather fond of old gentlemen with long noses; but it seemed tome that he was not quite so fond of us. I thought he lookedrather shy at Harry and me. '

Both the girls protested against this, and declared that therecould be nothing in it. 

'Well, now, I'll tell you what, Gertrude, ' said Alaric, 'I amquite sure that he looks on me, especially, as an interloper; andyet I'll bet you a pair of gloves I am his favourite before amonth is over. '

'Oh, no; Linda is to be his favourite, ' said Gertrude. 

'Indeed I am not, ' said Linda. 'I liked him very well till hedrank three huge glasses of gin-and-water last night, but I nevercan fancy him after that. You can't conceive, Alaric, what thedrawing-room smelt like. I suppose he'll do the same everyevening. '

'Well, what can you expect?' said Gertrude; 'if mamma will havean old sailor to live with her, of course he'll drink grog. '

While this was going on in the garden, Mrs. Woodward satdutifully with her uncle while he sipped his obnoxious toddy, andanswered his questions about their two friends. 

'They were both in the Weights and Measures, by far the mostrespectable public office in London, ' as she told him, 'and bothdoing extremely well there. They were, indeed, young men sure todistinguish themselves and get on in the world. Had this not beenso, she might perhaps have hesitated to receive them sofrequently, and on such intimate terms, at Surbiton Cottage. 'This she said in a half-apologetic manner, and yet with a feelingof anger at herself that she should condescend to apologize toany one as to her own conduct in her own house. 

'They are very-nice young men, I am sure, ' said Uncle Bat. 

'Indeed they are, ' said Mrs. Woodward. 

'And very civil to the young ladies, ' said Uncle Bat. 

'They have known them since they were children, uncle; and ofcourse that makes them more intimate than young men generally arewith young ladies;' and again Mrs. Woodward was angry withherself for making any excuses on the subject. 

'Are they well off?' asked the prudent captain. 

'Harry Norman is very well off; he has a private fortune. Both ofthem have excellent situations. '

'To my way of thinking that other chap is the better fellow. Atany rate he seems to have more gumption about him. '

'Why, uncle, you don't mean to tell me that you think HarryNorman a fool?' said Mrs. Woodward. Harry Norman was Mrs. Woodward's special friend, and she fondly indulged the hope ofseeing him in time become the husband of her elder and favouritedaughter; if, indeed, she can be fairly said to have had afavourite child. 

Captain Cuttwater poured out another glass of rum, and droppedthe subject. 

Soon afterwards the whole party came in from the lawn. Katie wasall draggled and wet, for she had persisted in making her wayright across the island to look out for a site for anotherpalace. Norman was a little inclined to be sulky, for Katie hadgot the better of him; when she had got out of the boat, he couldnot get her into it again; and as he could not very well leaveher in the island, he had been obliged to remain paddling about, while he heard the happy voices of Alaric and the two girls fromthe lawn. Alaric was in high good-humour, and entered the roomintent on his threatened purpose of seducing Captain Cuttwater'saffections. The two girls were both blooming with happy glee, andGertrude was especially bright in spite of the somewhat sombredemeanour of her lover. 

Tea was brought in, whereupon Captain Cuttwater, having taken abit of toast and crammed it into his saucer, fell fast asleep inan arm-chair. 

'You'll have very little opportunity to-night, ' said Linda, almost in a whisper. 

'Opportunity for what?' asked Mrs. Woodward. 

'Hush, ' said Gertrude, 'we'll tell you by and by, mamma. You'llwake Uncle Bat if you talk now. '

'I am so thirsty, ' said Katie, bouncing into the room with dryshoes and stockings on. 'I am so thirsty. Oh, Linda, do give mesome tea. '

'Hush, ' said Alaric, pointing to the captain, who was thoroughlyenjoying himself, and uttering sonorous snores at regular fixedintervals. 

'Sit down, Katie, and don't make a noise, ' said Mrs. Woodward, gently. 

Katie slunk into a chair, opened wide her large bright eyes, applied herself diligently to her teacup, and then, after takingbreath, said, in a very audible whisper to her sister, 'Are notwe to talk at all, Linda? That will be very dull, I think. '

'Yes, my dear, you are to talk as much as you please, and asoften as you please, and as loud as you please; that is to say, if your mamma will let you, ' said Captain Cuttwater, without anyapparent waking effort, and in a moment the snoring was going onagain as regularly as before. 

Katie looked round, and again opened her eyes and laughed. Mrs. Woodward said, 'You are very good-natured, uncle. ' The girlsexchanged looks with Alaric, and Norman, who had not yetrecovered his good-humour, went on sipping his tea. 

As soon as the tea-things were gone, Uncle Bat yawned and shookhimself, and asked if it was not nearly time to go to bed. 

'Whenever you like, Uncle Bat, ' said Mrs. Woodward, who began tofind that she agreed with Gertrude, that early habits on the partof her uncle would be a family blessing. 'But perhaps you'll takesomething before you go?'

'Well, I don't mind if I do take a thimbleful of rum-and-water. 'So the odious spirit-bottle was again brought into the drawing-room. 

'Did you call at the Admiralty, sir, as you came through town?'said Alaric. 

'Call at the Admiralty, sir!' said the captain, turning sharplyround at the questioner; 'what the deuce should I call at theAdmiralty for? craving the ladies' pardon. '

'Well, indeed, I don't know, ' said Alaric, not a bit abashed. 'But sailors always do call there, for the pleasure, I suppose, of kicking their heels in the lords' waiting-room. '

'I have done with that game, ' said Captain Cuttwater, now wideawake; and in his energy he poured half a glass more rum into hisbeaker. 'I've done with that game, and I'll tell you what, Mr. Tudor, if I had a dozen sons to provide for to-morrow--'

'Oh, I do so wish you had, ' said Katie; 'it would be such fun. Fancy Uncle Bat having twelve sons, Gertrude. What would you callthem all, uncle?'

'Why, I tell you what, Miss Katie, I wouldn't call one of them asailor. I'd sooner make tailors of them. '

'Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, gentleman, apothecary, ploughboy, thief, ' said Katie. 'That would only be eight; whatshould the other four be, uncle?'

'You're quite right, Captain Cuttwater, ' said Alaric, 'at leastas far as the present moment goes; but the time is coming whenthings at the Admiralty will be managed very differently. '

'Then I'm d----- if that time can come too soon--craving theladies' pardon!' said Uncle Bat. 

'I don't know what you mean, Alaric, ' said Harry Norman, who wasjust at present somewhat disposed to contradict his friend, andnot ill-inclined to contradict the captain also; 'as far as I canjudge, the Admiralty is the very last office the Government willthink of touching. '

'The Government!' shouted Captain Cuttwater; 'oh! if we are towait for the Government, the navy may go to the deuce, sir. '

'It's the pressure from without that must do the work, ' saidAlaric. 

'Pressure from without!' said Norman, scornfully; 'I hate to hearsuch trash. '

'We'll see, young gentleman, we'll see, ' said the captain; 'itmay be trash, and it may be right that five fellows who never didthe Queen a day's service in their life, should get fifteenhundred or two thousand a year, and have the power of robbing anold sailor like me of the reward due to me for sixty years' hardwork. Reward! no; but the very wages that I have actually earned. Look at me now, d--- me, look at me! Here I am, CaptainCuttwater--with sixty years' service--and I've done more perhapsfor the Queen's navy than--than--'

'It's too true, Captain Cuttwater, ' said Alaric, speaking with asort of mock earnestness which completely took in the captain, but stealing a glance at the same time at the two girls, who satover their work at the drawing-room table, 'it's too true; andthere's no doubt the whole thing must be altered, and that soon. In the first place, we must have a sailor at the head of thenavy. '

'Yes, ' said the captain, 'and one that knows something about ittoo. '

'You'll never have a sailor sitting as first lord, ' said Norman, authoritatively; 'unless it be when some party man, high in rank, may happen to have been in the navy as a boy. '

'And why not?' said Captain Cuttwater quite angrily. 

'Because the first lord must sit in the Cabinet, and to do thathe must be a thorough politician. '

'D----- politicians! craving the ladies' pardon, ' said Uncle Bat. 

'Amen!' said Alaric. 

Uncle Bat, thinking that he had thoroughly carried his point, finished his grog, took up his candlestick, and toddled off tobed. 

'Well, I think I have done something towards carrying my point, 'said Alaric. 

'I didn't think you were half so cunning, ' said Linda, laughing. 

'I cannot think how you can condescend to advocate opinionsdiametrically opposed to your own convictions, ' said Norman, somewhat haughtily. 

'Fee, fo, fum!' said Alaric. 

'What is it all about?' said Mrs. Woodward. 

'Alaric wants to do all he can to ingratiate himself with UncleBat, ' said Gertrude; 'and I am sure he's going the right way towork, '

'It's very good-natured on his part, ' said Mrs. Woodward. 

'I don't know what you are talking about, ' said Katie, yawning, 'and I think you are all very stupid; so I'll go to bed. '

The rest soon followed her. They did not sit up so late chattingover the fire this evening, as was their wont on Saturdays, though none of them knew what cause prevented it. 

CHAPTER V

BUSHEY PARK

The next day being Sunday, the whole party very properly went tochurch; but during the sermon Captain Cuttwater very improperlywent to sleep, and snored ponderously the whole time. Katie wasso thoroughly shocked that she did not know which way to look;Norman, who had recovered his good-humour, and Alaric, could notrefrain from smiling as they caught the eyes of the two girls;and Mrs. Woodward made sundry little abortive efforts to wake heruncle with her foot. Altogether abortive they were not, for thecaptain would open his eyes and gaze at her for a moment in themost good-natured, lack-lustre manner conceivable; but then, in amoment, he would be again asleep and snoring, with all theregularity of a kitchen-clock. This was at first very dreadful tothe Woodwards; but after a month or two they got used to it, andso apparently did the pastor and the people of Hampton. 

After church there was a lunch of course; and then, according totheir wont, they went out to walk. These Sunday walks in generalwere matters of some difficulty. The beautiful neighbourhood ofHampton Court, with its palace-gardens and lovely park, is sopopular with Londoners that it is generally alive on that daywith a thronged multitude of men, women, and children, and thusbecomes not an eligible resort for lovers of privacy. CaptainCuttwater, however, on this occasion, insisted on seeing thechestnuts and the crowd, and consequently, they all went intoBushey Park. 

Uncle Bat, who professed himself to be a philanthropist, and whowas also a bit of a democrat, declared himself delighted with whathe saw. It was a great thing for the London citizens to come downthere with their wives and children, and eat their dinners in theopen air under the spreading trees; and both Harry and Alaricagreed with him. Mrs. Woodward, however, averred that it wouldbe much better if they would go to church first, and Gertrudeand Linda were of opinion that the Park was spoilt by the dirtybits of greasy paper which were left about on all sides. Katiethought it very hard that, as all the Londoners were allowed toeat their dinners in the Park, she might not have hers there also. To which Captain Cuttwater rejoined that he should give them apicnic at Richmond before the summer was over. 

All the world knows how such a party as that of our friends bydegrees separates itself into twos and threes, when saunteringabout in shady walks. It was seldom, indeed, that Norman couldinduce his Dulcinea to be so complaisant in his favour; buteither accident or kindness on her part favoured him on thisoccasion, and as Katie went on eliciting from Uncle Bat freshpromises as to the picnic, Harry and Gertrude found themselvestogether under one avenue of trees, while Alaric and Linda wereequally fortunate, or unfortunate, under another. 

'I did so wish to speak a few words to you, Gertrude, ' saidNorman; 'but it seems as though, now that this captain has comeamong us, all our old habits and ways are to be upset. '

'I don't see that _you_ need say that, ' said she. 'We may, perhaps, be put out a little--that is, mamma and Linda and I; butI do not see that you need suffer. '

'Suffer--no, not suffer--and yet it is suffering. '

'What is suffering?' said she. 

'Why, to be as we were last night--not able to speak to eachother. '

'Come, Harry, you should be a little reasonable, ' said she, laughing. 'If you did not talk last night whose fault was it?'

'I suppose you will say it was my own. Perhaps it was. But Icould not feel comfortable while he was drinking gin-and-water--'

'It was rum, ' said Gertrude, rather gravely. 

'Well, rum-and-water in your mother's drawing-room, and cursingand swearing before you and Linda, as though he were in thecockpit of a man-of-war. '

'Alaric you saw was able to make himself happy, and I am sure heis not more indifferent to us than you are. '

'Alaric seemed to me to be bent on making a fool of the old man;and, to tell the truth, I cannot approve of his doing so. '

'It seems to me, Harry, that you do not approve of what any of usare doing, ' said she; 'I fear we are all in your black books--Captain Cuttwater, and mamma, and Alaric, and I, and all of us. '

'Well now, Gertrude, do you mean to say you think it right thatKatie should sit by and hear a man talk as Captain Cuttwatertalked last night? Do you mean to say that the scene whichpassed, with the rum and the curses, and the absurd ridiculewhich was thrown on your mother's uncle, was such as should takeplace in your mother's drawing-room?'

'I mean to say, Harry, that my mother is the best and only judgeof what should, and what should not, take place there. '

Norman felt himself somewhat silenced by this, and walked on fora time without speaking. He was a little too apt to take uponhimself the character of Mentor; and, strange to say, he wasaware of his own fault in this particular. Thus, though thetemptation to preach was very powerful, he refrained himself fora while. His present desire was to say soft things rather thansharp words; and though lecturing was at this moment much easierto him than love-making, he bethought himself of his object, andcontrolled the spirit of morality which was strong within him. 

'But we were so happy before your uncle came, ' he said, speakingwith his sweetest voice, and looking at the beautiful girl besidehim with all the love he was able to throw into his handsomeface. 

'And we are happy now that he has come--or at any rate ought tobe, ' said Gertrude, doing a little in the Mentor line herself, now that the occasion came in her way. 

'Ah! Gertrude, you know very well there is only one thing canmake me happy, ' said Harry. 

'Why, you unreasonable man! just now you said you were perfectlyhappy before Captain Cuttwater came, I suppose the one thing nownecessary is to send him away again. '

'No, Gertrude, the thing necessary is to take you away. '

'What! out of the contamination of poor old Uncle Bat's bottle ofrum? But, Harry, you see it would be cowardly in me to leavemamma and Linda to suffer the calamity alone. '

'I wonder, Gertrude, whether, in your heart of hearts, you reallycare a straw about me, ' said Harry, who was now very sentimentaland somewhat lachrymose. 

'You know we all care very much about you, and it is very wrongin you to express such a doubt, ' said Gertrude, with a duplicitythat was almost wicked; as if she did not fully understand thatthe kind of 'caring' of which Norman spoke was of a verydifferent nature from the general 'caring' which she, on hisbehalf, shared with the rest of her family. 

'All of you--yes, but I am not speaking of all of you; I amspeaking of you, Gertrude--you in particular. Can you ever loveme well enough to be my wife?'

'Well, there is no knowing what I may be able to do in three orfour years' time; but even that must depend very much on how youbehave yourself in the mean time. If you get cross becauseCaptain Cuttwater has come here, and snub Alaric and Linda, asyou did last night, and scold at mamma because she chooses to lether own uncle live in her own house, why, to tell you the truth, I don't think I ever shall. '

All persons who have a propensity to lecture others have a strongconstitutional dislike to being lectured themselves. Such wasdecidedly the case with Harry Norman. In spite of his stronglove, and his anxious desire to make himself agreeable, his browbecame somewhat darkened, and his lips somewhat compressed. Hewould not probably have been annoyed had he not been found faultwith for snubbing his friend Tudor. Why should Gertrude, hisGertrude, put herself forward to defend his friend? Let her saywhat she chose for her mother, or even for her profane, dram-drinking, vulgar old uncle, but it was too much that she shouldtake up the cudgels for Alaric Tudor. 

'Well, ' said he, 'I was annoyed last night, and I must own it. Itgrieved me to hear Alaric turning your uncle into ridicule, andthat before your mother's face; and it grieved me to see you andLinda encourage him. In what Alaric said about the Admiralty hedid not speak truthfully. '

'Do you mean to say that Alaric said what was false?'

'Inasmuch as he was pretending to express his own opinion, he didsay what was false. '

'Then I must and will say that I never yet knew Alaric say a wordthat was not true; and, which is more, I am quite sure that hewould not accuse you of falsehood behind your back in a fit ofjealousy. '

'Jealousy!' said Norman, looking now as black as grim deathitself. 

'Yes, it is jealousy. It so turned out that Alaric got on betterlast night with Captain Cuttwater than you did, and that makesyou jealous. '

'Pish!' said Norman, somewhat relieved, but still sufficientlydisgusted that his lady-love should suppose that he could beotherwise than supremely indifferent to the opinion of CaptainCuttwater. 

The love-scene, however, was fatally interrupted; and the pairwere not long before they joined the captain, Mrs. Woodward, andKatie. 

And how fared it with the other pair under the other avenue ofchestnuts?

Alaric Tudor had certainly come out with no defined intention ofmaking love as Harry Norman had done; but with such a companionit was very difficult for him to avoid it. Linda was much moreopen to attacks of this nature than her sister. Not that she wasas a general rule willingly and wilfully inclined to give moreencouragement to lovers than Gertrude; but she had less power offence, less skill in protecting herself, and much less of thatnaughty self-esteem which makes some women fancy that all love-making to them is a liberty, and the want of which makes othersfeel that all love-making is to them a compliment. 

Alaric Tudor had no defined intention of making love; but he hada sort of suspicion that he might, if he pleased, do sosuccessfully; and he had no defined intention of letting italone. He was a far-seeing, prudent man; for his age perhaps tooprudent; but he was nevertheless fully susceptible of thepleasure of holding an affectionate, close intercourse with sosweet a girl as Linda Woodward; and though he knew that marriagewith a girl without a dowry would for him be a death-blow to allhis high hopes, he could hardly resist the temptation ofconjugating the verb to love. Had he been able to choose from thetwo sisters, he would probably have selected Gertrude in spite ofwhat he had said to Norman in the boat; but Gertrude wasbespoken; and it therefore seemed all but unnatural that thereshould not be some love passages between him and Linda. 

Ah! Mrs. Woodward, my friend, my friend, was it well that thoushouldst leave that sweet unguarded rosebud of thine to suchperils as these?

They, also, commenced their wooing by talking over CaptainCuttwater; but they did not quarrel over him. Linda was quitecontent to be told by her friend what she ought to do, and howshe ought to think about her uncle; and Alaric had a better wayof laying down the law than Norman. He could do so withoutoffending his hearer's pride, and consequently was generallybetter listened to than his friend, though his law was probablynot in effect so sound. 

But they had soon done with Captain Cuttwater, and Alaric had tochoose another subject. Gertrude and Norman were at some distancefrom them, but were in sight and somewhat in advance. 

'Look at Harry, ' said Alaric; 'I know from the motion of hisshoulder that he is at this moment saying something very tender. '

'It is ten times more likely that they are quarrelling, ' saidLinda. 

'Oh! the quarrels of lovers--we know all about that, don't we?'

'You must not call them lovers, Alaric; mamma would not like it, nor indeed would Gertrude, I am sure. '

'I would not for the world do anything that Mrs. Woodward wouldnot like; but between ourselves, Linda, are they not lovers?'

'No; that is, not that I know of. I don't believe that they are abit, ' said Linda, blushing at her own fib. 

'And why should they not be? How indeed is it possible that theyshould not be; that is--for I heartily beg Gertrude's pardon--howis it possible that Harry should not be in love with her?'

'Indeed, Gertrude is very, very beautiful, ' said Linda, with thefaintest possible sigh, occasioned by the remembrance of her owninferior charms. 

'Indeed she is, very, very beautiful, ' repeated Alaric, speakingwith an absent air as though his mind were fully engaged inthinking of the beauty of which he spoke. 

It was not in Linda's nature to be angry because her sister wasadmired, and because she was not. But yet there was something inAlaric's warm tone of admiration which gave her a feeling ofunhappiness which she would have been quite unable to define, even had she attempted it. She saw her sister and Harry Normanbefore her, and she knew in her heart that they were lovers, inspite of her little weak declaration to the contrary. She saw howearnestly her sister was loved, and she in her kindly lovingnature could not but envy her fancied happiness. Envy--no--itcertainly was not envy. She would not for worlds have robbed hersister of her admirer; but it was so natural for her to feel thatit must be delicious to be admired!

She did not begrudge Gertrude Norman's superior beauty, nor hisgreater wealth; she knew that Gertrude was entitled to more, muchmore, than herself. But seeing that Norman was Gertrude's lover, was it not natural that Alaric should be hers? And then, thoughHarry was the handsomer and the richer, she liked Alaric so muchthe better of the two. But now that Alaric was alone with her, the only subject he could think to talk of was Gertrude's beauty!

It must not be supposed that these thoughts in their plainly-developed form passed through Linda's mind. It was not that shethought all this, but that she felt it. Such feelings are quiteinvoluntary, whereas one's thoughts are more or less undercommand. Linda would not have allowed herself to think in thisway for worlds; but she could not control her feelings. 

They walked on side by side, perfectly silent for a minute ortwo, and an ill-natured tear was gathering itself in the cornerof Linda's eye: she was afraid even to raise her hand to brush itaway, for fear Alaric should see her, and thus it went ongathering till it was like to fall. 

'How singular it is, ' said Alaric--'how very singular, the way inwhich I find myself living with you all! such a perfect strangeras I am. '

'A perfect stranger!' said Linda, who, having remembered Alaricsince the days of her short frocks and lessons, looked on him asa very old friend indeed. 

'Yes, a perfect stranger, if you think of it. What do any of youknow about me? Your mother never saw my mother; your father knewnothing of my father; there is no kindred blood common to us. Harry Norman, there, is your near cousin; but what am I that Ishould be thus allowed to live with you, and walk with you, andhave a common interest in all your doings?'

'Why, you are a dear friend of mamma's, are you not?'

'A dear friend of mamma's! said he, 'well, indeed, I hope I am;for your mother is at any rate a dear friend to me. But, Linda, one cannot be so much without longing to be more. Look at Harry, how happy he is!'

'But, Alaric, surely you would not interfere with Harry, ' saidLinda, whose humble, innocent heart thought still of nothing butthe merits of her sister; and then, remembering that it wasnecessary that she should admit nothing on Gertrude's behalf, sheentered her little protest against the assumption that her sisteracknowledged Norman for her lover. 'That is, you would not do so, if there were anything in it. '

'I interfere with Harry!' said Alaric, switching the heads offthe bits of fern with the cane he carried. 'No, indeed. I have nowish at all to do that. It is not that of which I was thinking. Harry is welcome to all his happiness; that is, if Gertrude canbe brought to make him happy. '

Linda, made no answer now; but the tear came running down herface, and her eyes became dim, and her heart beat very quick, andshe didn't quite remember where she was. Up to this moment no manhad spoken a word of love to Linda Woodward, and to some girlsthe first word is very trying. 

'Interfere with Harry!' Alaric repeated again, and renewed hisattack on the ferns. 'Well, Linda, what an opinion you must haveof me!'

Linda was past answering; she could not protest--nor would ithave been expedient to do so--that her opinion of her companionwas not unfavourable. 

'Gertrude is beautiful, very beautiful, ' he continued, stillbeating about the bush as modest lovers do, and should do; 'butshe is not the only beautiful girl in Surbiton Cottage, nor to myeyes is she the most so. '

Linda was now quite beside herself. She knew that decorumrequired that she should say something stiff and stately torepress such language, but if all her future character forpropriety had depended on it, she could not bring herself to saya word. She knew that Gertrude, when so addressed, would havemaintained her dignity, and have concealed her secret, even ifshe allowed herself to have a secret to conceal. She knew that itbehoved her to be repellent and antagonistic to the first vows ofa first lover. But, alas! she had no power of antagonism, noenergy for repulse left in her. Her knees seemed to be weakbeneath her, and all she could do was to pluck to pieces the fewflowers that she carried at her waist. 

Alaric saw his advantage, but was too generous to push itclosely; nor indeed did he choose to commit himself to all theassured intentions of a positive declaration. He wished to raisean interest in Linda's heart, and having done so, to leave thematter to chance. Something, however, it was necessary that heshould say. He walked a while by her in silence, decapitating theferns, and then coming close to her, he said--

'Linda, dear Linda! you are not angry with me?' Linda, however, answered nothing. 'Linda, dearest Linda! speak one word to me. '

'Don't!' said Linda through her tears. 'Pray don't, Alaric; praydon't. '

'Well, Linda, I will not say another word to you now. Let us walkgently; we shall catch them up quite in time before they leavethe park. '

And so they sauntered on, exchanging no further words. Linda bydegrees recovered her calmness, and as she did so, she foundherself to be, oh! so happy. She had never, never envied Gertrudeher lover; but it was so sweet, so very sweet, to be able toshare her sister's happiness. And Alaric, was he also happy? Atthe moment he doubtless enjoyed the triumph of his success. Butstill he had a feeling of sad care at his heart. How was he tomarry a girl without a shilling? Were all his high hopes, was allhis soaring ambition, to be thrown over for a dream of love?

Ah! Mrs. Woodward, my friend, my friend, thou who wouldst havefed thy young ones, like the pelican, with blood from thine ownbreast, had such feeding been of avail; thou who art the kindestof mothers; has it been well for thee to subject to such perilsthis poor weak young dove of thine?

Uncle Bat had become tired with his walk, and crawled home soslowly that Alaric and Linda caught the party just as theyreached the small wicket which leads out of the park on the sidenearest to Hampton. Nothing was said or thought of their absence, and they all entered the house together. Four of them, however, were conscious that that Sunday's walk beneath the chestnuts ofBushey Park would long be remembered. 

Nothing else occurred to make the day memorable. In the evening, after dinner, Mrs. Woodward and her daughters went to church, leaving her younger guests to entertain the elder one. The elderone soon took the matter in his own hand by going to sleep; andHarry and Alaric being thus at liberty, sauntered out down theriver side. They both made a forced attempt at good-humour, eachspeaking cheerily to the other; but there was no confidencebetween them as there had been on that morning when Harry rowedhis friend up to London. Ah me! what had occurred between them tobreak the bonds of their mutual trust--to quench the ardour oftheir firm friendship? But so it was between them now. It wasfated that they never again should place full confidence in eachother. 

There was no such breach between the sisters, at least not asyet; but even between them there was no free and full interchangeof their hopes and fears. Gertrude and Linda shared the sameroom, and were accustomed--as what girls are not?--to talk halfthrough the night of all their wishes, thoughts, and feelings. And Gertrude was generally prone enough to talk of Harry Norman. Sometimes she would say she loved him a little, just a little; atothers she would declare that she loved him not at all--that is, not as heroines love in novels, not as she thought she couldlove, and would do, should it ever be her lot to be wooed by sucha lover as her young fancy pictured to her. Then she woulddescribe her beau idéal, and the description certainly gave nocounterpart of Harry Norman. To tell the truth, however, Gertrudewas as yet heart whole; and when she talked of love and HarryNorman, she did not know what love was. 

On this special Sunday evening she was disinclined to speak ofhim at all. Not that she loved him more than usual, but that shewas beginning to think that she could not ever really love him atall. She had taught herself to think that he might probably beher husband, and had hitherto felt no such repugnance to herdestiny as caused her to shun the subject. But now she wasbeginning to think of the matter seriously; and as she did so, she felt that life might have for her a lot more blessed thanthat of sharing the world with her cousin Harry. 

When, therefore, Linda began to question her about her lover, andto make little hints of her desire to tell what Alaric had saidof her and Norman, Gertrude gave her no encouragement. She wouldspeak of Captain Cuttwater, of Katie's lessons, of the new dressthey were to make for their mother, of Mr. Everscreech's longsermon, of anything in fact but of Harry Norman. 

Now this was very hard on poor Linda. Her heart was burstingwithin her to tell her sister that she also was beloved; but shecould not do so without some little encouragement. 

In all their conferences she took the cue of the conversationfrom her sister; and though she could have talked about Alaric bythe hour, if Gertrude would have consented to talk about Harry, she did not know how to start the subject of her own lover, whileGertrude was so cold and uncommunicative as to hers. Shestruggled very hard to obtain the privilege for which she soanxiously longed; but in doing so she only met with a sad andsore rebuff. 

'Gertrude, ' at last said Linda, when Gertrude thought that thesubject had been put to rest at any rate for that night, 'don'tyou think mamma would be pleased if she knew that you had engagedyourself to Harry Norman?'

'No, ' said Gertrude, evincing her strong mind by the tone inwhich she spoke; 'I do not. If mamma wished it, she would havetold me; for she never has any secrets. I should be as wrong toengage myself with Harry as you would be with Alaric. For thoughHarry has property of his own, while poor Alaric has none, he hasa very insufficient income for a married man, and I have nofortune with which to help him. If nothing else prevented it, Ishould consider it wicked in me to make myself a burden to a manwhile he is yet so young and comparatively so poor. '

Prudent, sensible, high-minded, well-disciplined Gertrude! Buthad her heart really felt a spark of love for the man of whom shespoke, how much would prudent, sensible, high-minded considerationshave weighed with her? Alas! not a feather. 

Having made her prudent, high-minded speech, she turned round andslept; and poor Linda also turned round and bedewed her pillow. She no longer panted to tell her sister of Alaric's love. 

On the next morning the two young men returned to town, and thecustomary dullness of the week began. 

CHAPTER VI

SIR GREGORY HARDLINES

Great changes had been going on at the Weights and Measures; orrather it might be more proper to say that great changes were nowin progress. From that moment in which it had been hinted to Mr. Hardlines that he must relax the rigour of his examinations, hehad pondered deeply over the matter. Hitherto he had confined hisefforts to his own office, and, so far from feeling personallyanxious for the amelioration of the Civil Service generally, hadderived no inconsiderable share of his happiness from theknowledge that there were such sinks of iniquity as the InternalNavigation. To be widely different from others was Mr. Hardlines'glory. He was, perhaps, something of a Civil Service Pharisee, and wore on his forehead a broad phylactery, stamped with themark of Crown property. He thanked God that he was not as thosepublicans at Somerset House, and took glory to himself in payingtithes of official cumin. 

But now he was driven to a wider range. Those higher Phariseeswho were above him in his own pharisaical establishment, hadinterfered with the austerity of his worship. He could not turnagainst them there, on their own ground. He, of all men, couldnot be disobedient to official orders. But if he could promote amovement beyond the walls of the Weights and Measures; if hecould make Pharisees of those benighted publicans in the Strand;if he could introduce conic sections into the Custom House, andpolitical economy into the Post Office; if, by any effort of his, the Foreign Office clerks could be forced to attend punctually atten; and that wretched saunterer, whom five days a week he sawlounging into the Council Office--if he could be made to mend hispace, what a wide field for his ambition would Mr. Hardlines thenhave found!

Great ideas opened themselves to his mind as he walked to andfrom his office daily. What if he could become the parent of atotally different order of things! What if the Civil Service, through his instrumentality, should become the nucleus of thebest intellectual diligence in the country, instead of being abyword for sloth and ignorance! Mr. Hardlines meditated deeply onthis, and, as he did so, it became observed on all sides that hewas an altered man as regarded his solicitude for the Weights andMeasures. One or two lads crept in, by no means conspicuous fortheir attainments in abstract science; young men, too, wereobserved to leave not much after four o'clock, without callingdown on themselves Mr. Hardlines' usual sarcasm. Some said he wasgrowing old, others that he was broken-hearted. But Mr. Hardlineswas not old, nor broken in heart or body. He was thinking ofhigher things than the Weights and Measures, and at last hepublished a pamphlet. 

Mr. Hardlines had many enemies, all in the Civil Service, one ofthe warmest of whom was Mr. Oldeschole, of the Navigation, and atfirst they rejoiced greatly that Job's wish had been accomplishedon their behalf, and that their enemy had written a book. Theywere down on Mr. Hardlines with reviews, counter pamphlets, official statements, and indignant contradiction; but Mr. Hardlines lived through this storm of missiles, and got his bookto be fêted and made much of by some Government pundits, who werevery bigwigs indeed. And at last he was invited over to thebuilding on the other side, to discuss the matter with aPresident, a Secretary of State, a Lord Commissioner, two jointSecretaries, and three Chairmen. 

And then, for a period of six months, the light of Mr. Hardlines'face ceased to shine on the children of the Weights and Measures, and they felt, one and all, that the glory had in a certainmeasure departed from their house. Now and again Mr. Hardlineswould look in, but he did so rather as an enemy than as a friend. There was always a gleam of antagonistic triumph in his eye, which showed that he had not forgotten the day when he was calledin question for his zeal. He was felt to be in opposition to hisown Board, rather than in co-operation with it. The Secretary andthe Assistant-Secretaries would say little caustic things abouthim to the senior clerks, and seemed somewhat to begrudge him hisnew honours. But for all this Mr. Hardlines cared little. ThePresident and the Secretary of State, the joint Secretaries andthe Chairmen, all allowed themselves to be led by him in thismatter. His ambition was about to be gratified. It was hisdestiny that he should remodel the Civil Service. What was it tohim whether or no one insignificant office would listen to hischarming? Let the Secretary at the Weights and Measures sneer ashe would; he would make that hero of the metallic currency knowthat he, Mr. Hardlines, was his master. 

At the end of six months his budding glory broke out intosplendid, full-blown, many-coloured flowers. He resigned hissituation at the Weights and Measures, and was appointed ChiefCommissioner of the Board of Civil Service Examination, with asalary of £2, 000 a year; he was made a K. C. B. , and shone forth tothe world as Sir Gregory Hardlines; and he received a present of£1, 000, that happy _ne plus ultra_ of Governmental liberality. Sir Gregory Hardlines was forced to acknowledge to himself that hewas born to a great destiny. 

When Sir Gregory, as we must now call him, was first invited togive his attendance at another office, he found it expedient totake with him one of the young men from the Weights and Measures, and he selected Alaric Tudor. Now this was surprising to many, for Tudor had been brought into the office not quite inaccordance with Sir Gregory's views. But during his four years ofservice Alaric had contrived to smooth down any acerbity whichhad existed on this score; either the paper on the strike-bushel, or his own general intelligence, or perhaps a certain amount offlattery which he threw into his daily intercourse with the chiefclerk, had been efficacious, and when Sir Gregory was called uponto select a man to take with him to his new temporary office, heselected Alaric Tudor. 

The main effect which such selection had upon our story risesfrom the circumstance that it led to an introduction betweenTudor and the Honourable Undecimus Scott, and that thisintroduction brought about a close alliance. 

We will postpone for a short while such description of thecharacter and position of this gentleman as it may be indispensableto give, and will in this place merely say that the HonourableUndecimus Scott had been chosen to act as secretary to thetemporary commission that was now making inquiry as to theproposed Civil Service examinations, and that in this capacity hewas necessarily thrown into communication with Tudor. He was aman who had known much of officialities, had filled manysituations, was acquainted with nearly all the secretaries, assistant-secretaries, and private secretaries in London, hadbeen in Parliament, and was still hand-and-glove with all youngmembers who supported Government. Tudor, therefore, thought it aprivilege to know him, and allowed himself to become, in acertain degree, subject to his influence. 

When it was declared to the world of Downing Street that SirGregory Hardlines was to be a great man, to have an office of hisown, and to reign over assistant-commissioners and subjectsecretaries, there was great commotion at the Weights andMeasures; and when his letter of resignation was absolutelythere, visible to the eyes of clerks, properly docketed and dulyminuted, routine business was, for a day, nearly suspended. Gentlemen walked in and out from each other's rooms, asking thismomentous question--Who was to fill the chair which had so longbeen honoured by the great Hardlines? Who was to be thoughtworthy to wear that divine mantle?

But even this was not the question of the greatest moment whichat that period disturbed the peace of the office. It was wellknown that the chief clerk must be chosen from one of the threesenior clerks, and that he would be so chosen by the voice of theCommissioners. There were only three men who were deeplyinterested in this question. But who would then be the new seniorclerk, and how would he be chosen? A strange rumour began to beafloat that the new scheme of competitive examination was aboutto be tried in filling up this vacancy, occasioned by thewithdrawal of Sir Gregory Hardlines. From hour to hour the rumourgained ground, and men's minds began to be much disturbed. 

It was no wonder that men's minds should be disturbed. Competitive examinations at eighteen, twenty, and twenty-two maybe very well, and give an interesting stimulus to young men atcollege. But it is a fearful thing for a married man with afamily, who has long looked forward to rise to a certain incomeby the worth of his general conduct and by the value of hisseniority--it is a fearful thing for such a one to learn that hehas again to go through his school tricks, and fill up examinationpapers, with all his juniors round him using their stoutest efforts totake his promised bread from out of his mouth. _Detur digno_ is amaxim which will make men do their best to merit rewards; everyman can find courage within his heart to be worthy; but _detur digniori_is a fearful law for such a profession as the Civil Service. Whatworth can make a man safe against the possible greater worthwhich will come treading on his heels? The spirit of the age raises, from year to year, to a higher level the standard of education. Theprodigy of 1857, who is now destroying all the hopes of the manwho was well enough in 1855, will be a dunce to the tyro of 1860. 

There were three or four in the Weights and Measures who felt allthis with the keenest anxiety. The fact of their being there, andof their having passed the scrutiny of Mr. Hardlines, was proofenough that they were men of high attainments; but then thequestion arose to them and others whether they were men exactlyof those attainments which were _now_ most required. Who isto say what shall constitute the merits of the _dignior_? Itmay one day be conic sections, another Greek iambics, and a thirdGerman philosophy. Rumour began to say that foreign languageswere now very desirable. The three excellent married gentlemenwho stood first in succession for the coveted promotion weregreat only in their vernacular. 

Within a week from the secession of Sir Gregory, his immediatesuccessor had been chosen, and it had been officially declaredthat the vacant situation in the senior class was to be thrownopen as a prize for the best man in the office. Here was abrilliant chance for young merit! The place was worth £600 a-year, and might be gained by any one who now received no morethan £100. Each person desirous of competing was to send in hisname to the Secretary, on or before that day fortnight; and onthat day month, the candidates were to present themselves beforeSir Gregory Hardlines and his board of Commissioners. 

And yet the joy of the office was by no means great. The seniorof those who might become competitors, was of course a miserable, disgusted man. He went about fruitlessly endeavouring toinstigate rebellion against Sir Gregory, that very Sir Gregorywhom he had for many years all but worshipped. Poor Jones was, totell the truth, in a piteous case. He told the Secretary flatlythat he would not compete with a lot of boys fresh from school, and his friends began to think of removing his razors. Nor wereBrown and Robinson in much better plight. They both, it is true, hated Jones ruthlessly, and desired nothing better than anopportunity of supplanting him. They were, moreover, fast friendsthemselves; but not the less on that account had Brown a mortalfear of Robinson, as also had Robinson a mortal fear of Brown. 

Then came the bachelors. First there was Uppinall, who, when heentered the office, was supposed to know everything which a youngman had ever known. Those who looked most to dead knowledge wereinclined to back him as first favourite. It had, however, beenremarked, that his utility as a clerk had not been equal to theprofundity of his acquirements. Of all the candidates he was themost self-confident. 

The next to him was Mr. A. Minusex, a wondrous arithmetician. Hewas one who could do as many sums without pen and paper as alearned pig; who was so given to figures that he knew the numberof stairs in every flight he had gone up and down in themetropolis; one who, whatever the subject before him might be, never thought but always counted. Many who knew the peculiarpropensities of Sir Gregory's earlier days thought that Mr. Minusex was not an unlikely candidate. 

The sixth in order was our friend Norman. The Secretary and thetwo Assistant-Secretaries, when they first put their headstogether on the matter, declared that he was the most useful manin the office. 

There was a seventh, named Alphabet Precis. Mr. Precis' peculiarforte was a singular happiness in official phraseology. Much thathe wrote would doubtless have been considered in the purlieus ofPaternoster Row as ungrammatical, if not unintelligible; butaccording to the syntax of Downing Street, it was equal toMacaulay, and superior to Gibbon. He had frequently said to hisintimate friends, that in official writing, style was everything;and of his writing it certainly did form a very prominent part. He knew well, none perhaps so well, when to beg leave to laybefore the Board--and when simply to submit to the Commissioners. He understood exactly to whom it behoved the secretary 'to havethe honour of being a very humble servant, ' and to whom the moresimple 'I am, sir, ' was a sufficiently civil declaration. Theseare qualifications great in official life, but were not quite somuch esteemed at the time of which we are speaking as they hadbeen some few years previously. 

There was but one other named as likely to stand with anyprobability of success, and he was Alaric Tudor. Among the veryjuniors of the office he was regarded as the great star of theoffice. There was a dash about him and a quick readiness for anywork that came to hand in which, perhaps, he was not equalled byany of his compeers. Then, too, he was the special friend of SirGregory. 

But no one had yet heard Tudor say that he intended to competewith his seven seniors--none yet knew whether he would puthimself forward as an adversary to his own especial friend, Norman. That Norman would be a candidate had been prominentlystated. For some few days not a word was spoken, even between thefriends themselves, as to Tudor's intention. 

On the Sunday they were as usual at Hampton, and then the subjectwas mooted by no less a person than Captain Cuttwater. 

So you young gentlemen up in London are all going to be examined, are you?' said he; 'what is it to be about? Who's to be firstlieutenant of the ship, is that it?'

'Oh no, ' said Alaric, 'nothing half so high as that. Boatswain'smate would be nearer the mark. '

'And who is to be the successful man?'

'Oh, Harry Norman, here. He was far the first favourite inyesterday's betting. '

And how do you stand yourself?' said Uncle Bat. 

'Oh! I'm only an outsider, ' said Alaric. 'They put my name downjust to swell the number, but I shall be scratched before therunning begins. '

'Indeed he won't, ' said Harry. 'He'll run and distance us all. There is no one who has a chance with him. Why, he is SirGregory's own pet. '

There was nothing more said on the subject at Surbiton Cottage. The ladies seemed instinctively to perceive that it was a matterwhich they had better leave alone. Not only were the two youngmen to be pitted against each other, but Gertrude and Linda wereas divided in their wishes on the subject as the two candidatescould be themselves. 

On the following morning, however, Norman introduced the subject. 'I suppose you were only jesting yesterday, ' said he, 'when youtold the captain that you were not going to be a candidate?'

'Indeed I can hardly say that I was in jest or in earnest, ' saidAlaric. 'I simply meant to decline to discuss the subject withUncle Bat. '

'But of course you do mean to stand?' said Harry. Alaric made noanswer. 

'Perhaps you would rather decline to discuss the matter with mealso?' said Harry. 

'Not at all; I would much prefer discussing it openly andhonestly. My own impression is, that I had better leave italone. '

'And why so?' said Harry. 

'Why so?' repeated Alaric. 'Well, there are so many reasons. Inthe first place, there would be seven to one against me; and Imust confess that if I did stand I should not like to be beaten. '

'The same argument might keep us all back, ' said Norman. 

'That's true; but one man will be more sensitive, more cowardly, if you will, than another; and then I think no one should standwho does not believe himself to have a fair chance. His doing somight probably mar his future prospects. How can I put myself incompetition with such men as Uppinall and Minuses?'

Harry laughed slightly, for he knew it had been asked by many howsuch men as Uppinall and Minusex could think of puttingthemselves in competition with Alaric Tudor. 

'That is something like mock-modesty, is it not, Alaric?'

'No, by heaven, it is not! I know well what those men are madeof; and I know, or think I know, my own abilities. I will ownthat I rank myself as a human creature much higher than I rankthem. But they have that which I have not, and that which theyhave is that which these examiners will chiefly require. '

'If you have no other reason, ' said Norman, 'I would stronglyadvise you to send in your name. '

'Well, Harry, I have another reason; and, though last, it is byno means the least. You will be a candidate, and probably thesuccessful one. To tell you the truth, I have no inclination tostand against you. '

Norman turned very red, and then answered somewhat gravely: 'Iwould advise you to lay aside that objection. I fairly tell youthat I consider your chance better than my own. '

'And suppose it be so, which I am sure it is not--but suppose itbe so, what then?'

'Why, you will do right to take advantage of it. '

'Yes, and so gain a step and lose a friend!' said Alaric. 'No;there can be no heartburn to me in your being selected, forthough I am older than you, you are my senior in the office. Butwere I to be put over your head, it would in the course of naturemake a division between us; and if it were possible that youshould forgive it, it would be quite impossible that Gertrudeshould do so. I value your friendship and that of the Woodwardstoo highly to risk it. '

Norman instantly fired up with true generous energy. 'I should bewretched, ' said he, 'if I thought that such a considerationweighed with you; I would rather withdraw myself than allow sucha feeling to interfere with your prospects. Indeed, after whatyou have said, I shall not send in my own name unless you alsosend in yours. '

'I shall only be creating fuel for a feud, ' said Alaric. 'To putyou out of the question, no promotion could compensate to me forwhat I should lose at Hampton. '

'Nonsense, man; you would lose nothing. Faith, I don't knowwhether it is not I that should lose, if I were successful atyour expense. '

'How would Gertrude receive me?' said Alaric, pushing the matterfurther than he perhaps should have done. 

'We won't mind Gertrude, ' said Norman, with a little shade ofblack upon his brow. 'You are an older man than I, and thereforepromotion is to you of more importance than to me. You are also apoorer man. I have some means besides that drawn from my office, which, if I marry, I can settle on my wife; you have none such. Ishould consider myself to be worse than wicked if I allowed anyconsideration of such a nature to stand in the way of your bestinterests. Believe me, Alaric, that though I shall, as others, beanxious for success myself, I should, in failing, be muchconsoled by knowing that you had succeeded. ' And as he finishedspeaking he grasped his friend's hand warmly in token of thetruth of his assertion. 

Alaric brushed a tear from his eye, and ended by promising to beguided by his friend's advice. Harry Norman, as he walked intothe office, felt a glow of triumph as he reflected that he haddone his duty by his friend with true disinterested honesty. AndAlaric, he also felt a glow of triumph as he reflected that, comewhat might, there would be now no necessity for him to break withNorman or with the Woodwards. Norman must now always rememberthat it was at his own instigation that he, Alaric, had consentedto be a candidate. 

As regarded the real fact of the candidature, the prize was toogreat to allow of his throwing away such a chance. Alaric'spresent income was £200; that which he hoped to gain was £600!

CHAPTER VII

MR. FIDUS NEVERBEND

Immediately on entering the office, Tudor gave it to beunderstood that he intended to give in his name as a candidate;but he had hardly done so when his attention was called off fromthe coming examinations by another circumstance, which wasultimately of great importance to him. One of the Assistant-Secretaries sent for him, and told him that his services havingbeen required by Sir Gregory Hardlines for a week or so, he wasat once to go over to that gentleman's office; and Alaric couldperceive that, as Sir Gregory's name was mentioned, theAssistant-Secretary smiled on him with no aspect of benignsolicitude. 

He went over accordingly, and found that Sir Gregory, having beendesired to select a man for a special service in the country, hadnamed him. He was to go down to Tavistock with another gentlemanfrom the Woods and Forests, for the purpose of settling somedisputed point as to the boundaries and privileges of certainmines situated there on Crown property. 

'You know nothing about mining, I presume?' said Sir Gregory. 

'Nothing whatever, ' said Alaric. 

'I thought not; that was one reason why I selected you. What iswanted is a man of sharp intelligence and plain common sense, andone also who can write English; for it will fall to your lot todraw up the report on the matter. Mr. Neverbend, who is to beyour colleague, cannot put two words together. '

'Mr. Neverbend!' said Alaric. 

'Yes, Fidus Neverbend, of the Woods and Forests; a very excellentpublic servant, and one in whom the fullest confidence can beplaced. But between you and me, he will never set the Thames onfire. '

'Does he understand mining?' asked Alaric. 

'He understands Government properties, and will take care thatthe Crown be not wronged; but, Tudor, the Government will look toyou to get the true common-sense view of the case. I trust--Imean that I really do trust, that you will not disgrace mychoice. '

Alaric of course promised that he would do his best, expressedthe deepest gratitude to his patron, and went off to put himselfinto communication with Mr. Neverbend at the Woods and Forests, having received an assurance that the examination in his ownoffice should not take place till after his return fromTavistock. He was not slow to perceive that if he could manage tocome back with all the _éclat_ of a successful mission, theprestige of such a journey would go far to assist him on hiscoming trial. 

Mr. Fidus Neverbend was an absolute dragon of honesty. Hisintegrity was of such an all-pervading nature, that he bristledwith it as a porcupine does with its quills. He had theories andaxioms as to a man's conduct, and the conduct especially of a manin the Queen's Civil Service, up to which no man but himselfcould live. Consequently no one but himself appeared to himselfto be true and just in all his dealings. 

A quarter of an hour spent over a newspaper was in his eyes adownright robbery. If he saw a man so employed, he would divideout the total of salary into hourly portions, and tell him to afraction of how much he was defrauding the public. If he ate abiscuit in the middle of the day, he did so with his eyes firmlyfixed on some document, and he had never been known to be absentfrom his office after ten or before four. 

When Sir Gregory Hardlines declared that Mr. Fidus Neverbendwould never set the Thames on fire, he meant to express hisopinion that that gentleman was a fool; and that those personswho were responsible for sending Mr. Neverbend on the mission nowabout to be undertaken, were little better than fools themselvesfor so sending him. But Mr. Neverbend was no fool. He was not adisciple of Sir Gregory's school. He had never sat in thatphilosopher's porch, or listened to the high doctrines prevalentat the Weights and Measures. He could not write with all Mr. Precis' conventional correctness, or dispose of any subject at amoment's notice as would Mr. Uppinall; but, nevertheless, he wasno fool. Sir Gregory, like many other wise men, thought thatthere were no swans but of his own hatching, and would ask, withall the pompous conceit of Pharisees in another age, whether goodcould come out of the Woods and Forests?

Sir Gregory, however, perfectly succeeded in his object ofimbuing Tudor with a very indifferent opinion of his newcolleague's abilities. It was his object that Tudor shouldaltogether take the upper hand in the piece of work which was tobe done between them, and that it should be clearly proved howvery incapable the Woods and Forests were of doing their ownbusiness. 

Mr. Fidus Neverbend, however, whatever others in the outer worldmight think of him, had a high character in his own office, anddid not under-estimate himself. He, when he was told that a youngclerk named Tudor was to accompany him, conceived that he mightlook on his companion rather in the light of a temporary privatesecretary than an equal partner, and imagined that new glory wasadded to him by his being so treated. The two men therefore meteach other with very different views. 

But though Mr. Neverbend was no fool, he was not an equal eitherin tact or ability to Alaric Tudor. Alaric had his interview withhim, and was not slow to perceive the sort of man with whom hehad to act. Of course, on this occasion, little more thangrimaces and civility passed between them; but Mr. Neverbend, even in his grimaces and civility, managed to show that heregarded himself as decidedly No. 1 upon the occasion. 

'Well, Mr. Tudor, ' said he, 'I think of starting on Tuesday. Tuesday will not, I suppose, be inconvenient to you?'

'Sir Gregory has already told me that we are expected to be atTavistock on Tuesday evening. '

'Ah! I don't know about that, ' said Neverbend; 'that may be allvery well for Sir Gregory, but I rather think I shall stay thenight at Plymouth. '

'It will be the same to me, ' said Tudor; 'I haven't looked at thepapers yet, so I can hardly say what may be necessary. '

'No, no; of course not. As to the papers, I don't know that thereis much with which you need trouble yourself. I believe I ampretty well up in the case. But, Mr. Tudor, there will be a gooddeal of writing to do when we are there. '

'We are both used to that, I fancy, ' said Tudor, 'so it won'tkill us. '

'No, of course not. I understand that there will be a good manypeople for me to see, a great many conflicting interests for meto reconcile; and probably I may find myself obliged to go downtwo or three of these mines. '

'Well, that will be good fun, ' said Alaric. 

Neverbend drew himself up. The idea of having fun at the cost ofGovernment was painful to him; however, he spared the strangerhis reproaches, and merely remarked that the work he surmisedwould be heavy enough both for the man who went below ground, andfor the one who remained above. 

The only point settled between them was that of their starting byan early train on the Tuesday named; and then Alaric returned toSir Gregory's office, there to read through and digest an immensebulk of papers all bearing on the question at issue. There had, it appeared, been lately opened between the Tamar and the Tavy anew mine, which had become exceedingly prosperous--outrageouslyprosperous, as shareholders and directors of neighbouring minestaught themselves to believe. Some question had arisen as to thelimits to which the happy possessors of this new tin El Doradowere entitled to go; squabbles, of course, had been the result, and miners and masters had fought and bled, each side in defenceof its own rights. As a portion of these mines were on Crownproperty it became necessary that the matter should be looked to, and as the local inspector was accused of having been bribed andbought, and of being, in fact, an absolute official Judas, itbecame necessary to send some one to inspect the inspector. Hencehad come Alaric's mission. The name of the mine in question wasWheal Mary Jane, and Alaric had read the denomination half ascore of times before he learnt that there was no real female inthe case. 

The Sunday before he went was of course passed at Hampton, andthere he received the full glory of his special appointment. Hereceived glory, and Norman in an equal degree fell into thebackground. Mrs. Woodward stuck kindly to Harry, and endeavoured, in her gentle way, to quiz the projected trip to Devonshire. Butthe other party was too strong, and her raillery failed to havethe intended effect. Gertrude especially expressed her opinionthat it was a great thing for so young a man to have beenselected for such employment by such a person; and Linda, thoughshe said less, could not prevent her tell-tale face from sayingmore. Katie predicted that Alaric would certainly marry Mary JaneWheal, and bring her to Surbiton Cottage, and Captain Cuttwateroffered to the hero introductions to all the old naval officersat Devonport. 

'By jingo! I should like to go with you, ' said the captain. 

'I fear the pleasure would not repay the trouble, ' said Alaric, laughing. 

'Upon my word I think I'll do it, ' said the captain. 'It would beof the greatest possible service to you as an officer of theCrown. It would give you so much weight there. I could make youknown, you know----'

'I could not hear of such a thing, ' said Alaric, trembling at theidea which Uncle Bat had conjured up. 

'There is Admiral Starbod, and Captain Focassel, and oldHardaport, and Sir Jib Boom--why, d--n me, they would all doanything for me--craving the ladies' pardon. '

Alaric, in his own defence, was obliged to declare that the rulesof the service especially required that he should hold nofriendly communication with any one during the time that he wasemployed on this special service. Poor Captain Cuttwater, grievedto have his good nature checked, was obliged to put up with thisexcuse, and consoled himself with abusing the Government whichcould condescend to give so absurd an order. 

This was on the Saturday. On the Sunday, going to church, thecaptain suggested that Alaric might, at any rate, just call uponSir Jib on the sly. 'It would be a great thing for you, ' saidUncle Bat. 'I'll write a note to-night, and you can take it withyou. Sir Jib is a rising man, and you'll regret it for ever ifyou miss the opportunity. ' Now Sir Jib Boom was between seventyand eighty, and he and Captain Cuttwater had met each othernearly every day for the last twenty years, and had never metwithout a squabble. 

After church they had their usual walk, and Linda's heartpalpitated as she thought that she might have to undergo another_tête-à-tête_ with her lover. But it palpitated in vain. Itso turned out that Alaric either avoided, or, at any rate, didnot use the privilege, and Linda returned home with an undefinedfeeling of gentle disappointment. She had fully made up her mindto be very staid, very discreet, and very collected; to take aleaf out of her sister's book, and give him no encouragementwhatever; she would not absolutely swear to him that she did notnow, and never could, return his passion; but she would point outhow very imprudent any engagement between two young persons, situated as they were, must be--how foolish it would be for themto bind themselves, for any number of years, to a marriage whichmust be postponed; she would tell Alaric all this, and make himunderstand that he was not to regard himself as affianced to her;but she with a woman's faith would nevertheless remain true tohim. This was Linda's great resolve, and the strong hope, that ina very few weeks, Alaric would be promoted to a marrying incomeof £600 per annum, made the prospect of the task not so painfulas it might otherwise have been. Fate, however, robbed her of thepleasure, if it would have been a pleasure, of sacrificing herlove to her duty; and 'dear Linda, dearest Linda, ' was not againwhispered into her ear. 

'And what on earth is it that you are to do down in the mines?'asked Mrs. Woodward as they sat together in the evening. 

'Nothing on the earth, Mrs. Woodward--it is to be all below thesurface, forty fathom deep, ' said Alaric. 

'Take care that you ever come up again, ' said she. 

'They say the mine is exceedingly rich--perhaps I may be temptedto stay down there. '

'Then you'll be like the gloomy gnome, that lives in dark, coldmines, ' said Katie. 

'Isn't it very dangerous, going down into those places?' askedLinda. 

'Men go down and come up again every day of their lives, and whatother men can do, I can, I suppose. '

'That doesn't follow at all, ' said Captain Cuttwater, 'What sortof a figure would you make on a yard-arm, reefing a sail in agale of wind?'

'Pray do take care of yourself, ' said Gertrude. 

Norman's brow grew black. 'I thought that it was settled that Mr. Neverbend was to go down, and that you were to stay aboveground, ' said he. 

'So Mr. Neverbend settled it; but that arrangement may, perhaps, be unsettled again, ' said Alaric, with a certain feeling ofconfidence in his own strong will. 

'I don't at all doubt, ' said Mrs. Woodward, 'that if we were toget a sly peep at you, we should find you both sitting comfortablyat your inn all the time, and that neither of you will go a foot belowthe ground. '

'Very likely. All I mean to say is, that if Neverbend goes downI'll go too. '

'But mind, you gloomy gnome, mind you bring up a bit of gold forme, ' said Katie. 

On the Monday morning he started with the often-expressed goodwishes of all the party, and with a note for Sir Jib Boom, whichthe captain made him promise that he would deliver, and whichAlaric fully determined to lose long before he got to Plymouth. 

That evening he and Norman passed together. As soon as theiroffice hours were over, they went into the London Exhibition, which was then open; and there, walking up and down the longcentre aisle, they talked with something like mutual confidenceof their future prospects. This was a favourite resort withNorman, who had schooled himself to feel an interest in works ofart. Alaric's mind was of a different cast; he panted rather forthe great than the beautiful; and was inclined to ridicule thegrowing taste of the day for torsos, Palissy ware, and Assyrianmonsters. 

There was then some mutual confidence between the two young men. Norman, who was apt to examine himself and his own motives morestrictly than Alaric ever did, had felt that something likesuspicion as to his friend had crept over him; and he had feltalso that there was no ground for such suspicion. He haddetermined to throw it off, and to be again cordial with hiscompanion. He had resolved so to do before his last visit atHampton; but it was at Hampton that the suspicion had beenengendered, and there he found himself unable to be genial, kindly, and contented. Surbiton Cottage was becoming to himanything but the abode of happiness that it had once been. A yearago he had been the hero of the Hampton Sundays; he could not butnow feel that Alaric had, as it were, supplanted him with his ownfriends. The arrival even of so insignificant a person as CaptainCuttwater--and Captain Cuttwater was very insignificant inNorman's mind--had done much to produce this state of things. Hehad been turned out of his bedroom at the cottage, and hadtherefore lost those last, loving, lingering words, sometimesprotracted to so late an hour, which had been customary afterAlaric's departure to his inn--those last lingering words whichhad been so sweet because their sweetness had not been sharedwith his friend. 

He could not be genial and happy at Surbiton Cottage; but he wasby no means satisfied with himself that he should not have beenso. When he found that he had been surly with Alaric, he was muchmore angry with himself than Alaric was with him. Alaric, indeed, was indifferent about it. He had no wish to triumph over Harry, but he had an object to pursue, and he was not the man to allowhimself to be diverted from it by any one's caprice. 

'This trip is a great thing for you, ' said Harry. 

'Well, I really don't know. Of course I could not decline it; buton the whole I should be just as well pleased to have beenspared. If I get through it well, why it will be well. But eventhat cannot help me at this examination. '

'I don't know that. '

'Why--a week passed in the slush of a Cornish mine won't teach aman algebra. '

'It will give you _prestige_. '

'Then you mean to say the examiners won't examine fairly; well, perhaps so. But what will be the effect on me if I fail? I knownothing of mines. I have a colleague with me of whom I can onlylearn that he is not weak enough to be led, or wise enough tolead; who is so self-opinionated that he thinks he is to do thewhole work himself, and yet so jealous that he fears I shall takethe very bread out of his mouth. What am I to do with such aman?'

'You must manage him, ' said Harry. 

'That is much easier said than done, ' replied Alaric. 'I wish youhad the task instead of me. '

'So do not I. Sir Gregory, when he chose you, knew what he wasabout. '

'Upon my word, Harry, you are full of compliments to-day. Ireally ought to take my hat off. '

'No, I am not; I am in no mood for compliments. I know very wellwhat stuff you are made of. I know your superiority to myself. Iknow you will be selected to go up over all our heads. I feel allthis; and Alaric, you must not be surprised that, to a certaindegree, it is painful to me to feel it. But, by God's help I willget over it; and if you succeed it shall go hard with me, but Iwill teach myself to rejoice at it. Look at that fawn there, 'said he, turning away his face to hide the tear in his eye, 'didyou ever see more perfect motion?'

Alaric was touched; but there was more triumph than sympathy inhis heart. It was sweet, much too sweet, to him to hear hissuperiority thus acknowledged. He was superior to the men whoworked round him in his office. He was made of a more plasticclay than they, and despite the inferiority of his education, heknew himself to be fit for higher work than they could do. As theacknowledgement was made to him by the man whom, of those aroundhim, he certainly ranked second to himself, he could not but feelthat his heart's blood ran warm within him, he could not buttread with an elastic step. 

But it behoved him to answer Harry, and to answer him in otherspirit than this. 

'Oh, Harry, ' said he, 'you have some plot to ruin me by my ownconceit; to make me blow myself out and destroy myself, poor frogthat I am, in trying to loom as largely as that great cow, FidusNeverbend. You know I am fully conscious how much inferior myeducation has been to yours. '

'Education is nothing, ' said Harry. 

Education is nothing! Alaric triumphantly re-echoed the words inhis heart--'Education is nothing--mind, mind is everything; mindand the will. ' So he expressed himself to his own inner self; butout loud he spoke much more courteously. 

'It is the innate modesty of your own heart, Harry, that makesyou think so highly of me and so meanly of yourself. But theproof of what we each can do is yet to be seen. Years alone candecide that. That your career will be honourable and happy, ofthat I feel fully sure! I wish I were as confident of mine. '

'But, Alaric, ' said Norman, going on rather with the thread ofhis own thoughts, than answering or intending to answer what theother said, 'in following up your high ambition--and I know youhave a high ambition--do not allow yourself to believe that theend justifies the means, because you see that men around you actas though they believed so. '

'Do I do so--do I seem to do so?' said Alaric, turning sharplyround. 

'Don't be angry with me, Alaric; don't think that I want topreach; but sometimes I fancy, not that you do so, but that yourmind is turning that way; that in your eager desire forhonourable success you won't scrutinize the steps you will haveto take. '

'That I would get to the top of the hill, in short, even thoughthe hillside be miry. Well, I own I wish to get to the top of thehill. '

'But not to defile yourself in doing so. '

'When a man comes home from a successful chase, with his bag wellstuffed with game, the women do not quarrel with him becausethere is mud on his gaiters. '

'Alaric, that which is evil is evil. Lies are evil--'

'And am I a liar?'

'Heaven forbid that I should say so: heaven forbid that I shouldhave to think so! but it is by such doctrines as that that menbecome liars. '

'What! by having muddy gaiters?'

'By disregarding the means in looking to the end. '

'And I will tell you how men become mere vegetables, by fillingtheir minds with useless--needless scruples--by straining atgnats--'

'Well, finish your quotation, ' said Harry. 

'I have finished it; in speaking to you I would not for the worldgo on, and seem to insinuate that you would swallow a camel. Noinsinuation could be more base or unjust. But, nevertheless, Ithink you may be too over-scrupulous. What great man ever rose togreatness, ' continued Alaric, after they had walked nearly thelength of the building in silence, 'who thought it necessary topick his steps in the manner you have described?'

'Then I would not be great, ' said Harry. 

'But, surely, God intends that there shall be great men on theearth?'

'He certainly wishes that there should be good men, ' said Harry. 

'And cannot a man be good and great?'

'That is the problem for a man to solve. Do you try that. Goodyou certainly can be, if you look to Him for assistance. Let thatcome first; and then the greatness, if that be possible. '

'It is all a quibble about a word, ' said Alaric. 'What is good?David was a man after God's own heart, and a great man too, andyet he did things which, were I to do, I should be too base tolive. Look at Jacob--how did he achieve the tremendous rights ofpatriarchal primogeniture? But, come, the policemen are trying toget rid of us; it is time for us to go, ' and so they left thebuilding, and passed the remainder of the evening in concordtogether--in concord so soon to be dissolved, and, ah! perhapsnever to be renewed. 

On the next morning Alaric and his new companion met each otherat an early hour at the Paddington station. Neverbend was ratherfussy with his dispatch-box, and a large official packet, whichan office messenger, dashing up in, a cab, brought to him at themoment of his departure. Neverbend's enemies were wont to declarethat a messenger, a cab, and a big packet always rushed up at themoment of his starting on any of his official trips. Then he hadhis ticket to get and his _Times_ to buy, and he really hadnot leisure to do more than nod at Alaric till he had folded hisrug around him, tried that the cushion was soft enough, andcompleted his arrangements for the journey. 

'Well, Mr. Tudor, ' at last he said, as soon as the train was inmotion, 'and how are you this morning--ready for work, I hope?'

'Well, not exactly at this moment, ' said Alaric. 'One has to getup so early for these morning trains. '

'Early, Mr. Tudor! my idea is that no hour should be consideredeither early or late when the Crown requires our services. '

'Just at present the Crown requires nothing else of us, Isuppose, but that we should go along at the rate of forty milesan hour. '

'There is nothing like saving time, ' said Neverbend. 'I know youhave, as yet, had no experience in these sort of cases, so I havebrought you the papers which refer to a somewhat similar matterthat occurred in the Forest of Dean. I was sent down there, andthat is the report which I then wrote. I propose to take it forthe model of that which we shall have to draw up when we returnfrom Tavistock;' and as he spoke he produced a voluminousdocument, or treatise, in which he had contrived to render moreobscure some matter that he had been sent to clear up, on theCrown property in the Forest of Dean. 

Now Alaric had been told of this very report, and was aware thathe was going to Tavistock in order that the joint result of hisand Mr. Neverbend's labours might be communicated to the Crownofficers in intelligible language. 

The monster report before him contained twenty-six pages of closefolio writing, and he felt that he really could not oblige Mr. Neverbend by reading it. 

'Forest of Dean! ah, that's coal, is it not?' said Alaric. 'MaryJane seems to be exclusively in the tin line. I fear there willbe no analogy. '

'The cases are in many respects similar, ' said Neverbend, 'andthe method of treating them----'

'Then I really cannot concur with you as to the propriety of myreading it. I should feel myself absolutely wrong to read a wordof such a report, for fear I might be prejudiced by your view ofthe case. It would, in my mind, be positively dishonest in me toencourage any bias in my own feelings either on one side or theother. '

'But really, Mr. Tudor----'

'I need not say how much personal advantage it would be to me tohave the benefit of your experience, but my conscience tells methat I should not do it--so I think I'll go to sleep. '

Mr. Neverbend did not know what to make of his companion; whetherto admire the high tone of his official honesty, or to reprobatehis idleness in refusing to make himself master of the report. While he was settling the question in his own mind, Tudor went tosleep, and did not wake till he was invited to partake of tenminutes' refreshment at Swindon. 

'I rather think, ' said Mr. Neverbend, 'that I shall go on toTavistock to-night. '

'Oh! of course, ' said Alaric. 'I never for a moment thought ofstopping short of it;' and, taking out a book, he showed himselfdisinclined for further conversation. 

'Of course, it's open to me to do as I please in such a matter, 'said Neverbend, continuing his subject as soon as they reachedthe Bristol station, 'but on the whole I rather think we hadbetter go on to Tavistock to-night. '

'No, I will not stop at Plymouth, ' he said, as he passed byTaunton; and on reaching Exeter he declared that he had fullymade up his mind on the subject. 

'We'll get a chaise at Plymouth, ' said Alaric. 

'I think there will be a public conveyance, ' said Neverbend. 

'But a chaise will be the quickest, ' said the one. 

'And much the dearest, ' said the other. 

'That won't signify much to us, ' said Alaric; 'we shan't pay thebill. '

'It will signify a great deal to me, ' said Neverbend, with a lookof ferocious honesty; and so they reached Plymouth. 

On getting out of the railway carriage, Alaric at once hired acarriage with a pair of horses; the luggage was strapped on, andMr. Neverbend, before his time for expostulation had fairly come, found himself posting down the road to Tavistock, followed at arespectful distance by two coaches and an omnibus. 

They were soon drinking tea together at the Bedford Hotel, and Ibeg to assure any travelling readers that they might have drunktea in a much worse place. Mr. Neverbend, though he made a greatstruggle to protect his dignity, and maintain the superiority ofhis higher rank, felt the ground sinking from beneath his feetfrom hour to hour. He could not at all understand how it was, buteven the servants at the hotel seemed to pay more deference toTudor than to him; and before the evening was over he absolutelyfound himself drinking port wine negus, because his colleague hadordered it for him. 

'And now, ' said Neverbend, who was tired with his long journey, 'I think I'll go to bed. '

'Do, ' said Alaric, who was not at all tired, 'and I'll go throughthis infernal mass of papers. I have hardly looked at them yet. Now that I am in the neighbourhood I shall better understand thestrange names. '

So Alaric went to work, and studied the dry subject that wasbefore him. It will luckily not be necessary for us to do soalso. It will be sufficient for us to know that Wheal Mary Janewas at that moment the richest of all the rich mines that hadthen been opened in that district; that the, or its, or hershares (which is the proper way of speaking of them I amshamefully ignorant) were at an enormous premium; that these twoCommissioners would have to see and talk to some scores of loudand angry men, deeply interested in their success or failure, andthat that success or failure might probably in part depend on theview which these two Commissioners might take. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE HON. UNDECIMUS SCOTT

The Hon. Undecimus Scott was the eleventh son of the LordGaberlunzie. Lord Gaberlunzie was the representative of a veryold and very noble race, more conspicuous, however, at thepresent time for its age and nobility than for its wealth. TheHon. Undecimus, therefore, learnt, on arriving at manhood, thathe was heir only to the common lot of mortality, and that he hadto earn his own bread. This, however, could not have surprisedhim much, as nine of his brethren had previously found themselvesin the same condition. 

Lord Gaberlunzie certainly was not one of those wealthy peers whoare able to make two or three elder sons, and after that toestablish any others that may come with comfortable youngerchildren's portions. The family was somewhat accustomed to the_res angusta domi_; but they were fully alive to the fact, that a noble brood, such as their own, ought always to be able toachieve comfort and splendour in the world's broad field, by dueuse of those privileges which spring from a noble name. CauldkailCastle, in Aberdeenshire, was the family residence; but few ofthe eleven young Scotts were ever to be found there afterarriving at that age at which they had been able to fly from thepaternal hall. 

It is a terrible task, that of having to provide for eleven sons. With two or three a man may hope, with some reasonable chance ofseeing his hope fulfilled, that things will go well with him, andthat he may descend to his grave without that worst of wretchedness, that gnawing grief which comes from bad children. But who can hopethat eleven sons will all walk in the narrow path?

Had Lord Gaberlunzie, however, been himself a patriarch, andruled the pastoral plains of Palestine, instead of the bleakmountains which surround Cauldkail Castle, he could not have beenmore indifferent as to the number of his sons. They flew away, each as his time came, with the early confidence of young birds, and as seldom returned to disturb the family nest. 

They were a cannie, comely, sensible brood. Their father andmother, if they gave them nothing else, gave them strong bodiesand sharp brains. They were very like each other, though alwayswith a difference. Red hair, bright as burnished gold; high, butnot very high, cheek bones; and small, sharp, twinkling eyes, were the Gaberlunzie personal characteristics. There were threein the army, two in the navy, and one at a foreign embassy; onewas at the diggings, another was chairman of a railway company, and our own more particular friend, Undecimus, was picking upcrumbs about the world in a manner that satisfied the paternalmind that he was quite able to fly alone. 

There is a privilege common to the sons of all noble lords, thefull value of which the young Scotts learnt very early in life--that of making any woman with a tocher an honourable lady. 'Yemaun be a puir chiel, gin ye'll be worth less than ten thoosandpound in the market o' marriage; and ten thoosand pound is agawcey grand heritage!' Such had been the fatherly precept whichLord Gaberlunzie had striven to instil into each of his noblesons; and it had not been thrown away upon them. One after theother they had gone forth into the market-place alluded to, andhad sold themselves with great ease and admirable discretion. There had been but one Moses in the lot: the Hon. Gordon HamiltonScott had certainly brought home a bundle of shagreen spectaclecases in the guise of a widow with an exceedingly doubtfuljointure; doubtful indeed at first, but very soon found to admitof no doubt whatever. He was the one who, with true Scotchenterprise, was prosecuting his fortunes at the Bendigo diggings, while his wife consoled herself at home with her title. 

Undecimus, with filial piety, had taken his father exactly at hisword, and swapped himself for £10, 000. He had, however, foundhimself imbued with much too high an ambition to rest contentwith the income arising from his matrimonial speculation. He hadfirst contrived to turn his real £10, 000 into a fabulous £50, 000, and had got himself returned to Parliament for the Tillietudlemdistrict burghs on the credit of his great wealth; he then sethimself studiously to work to make a second market by placing hisvote at the disposal of the Government. 

Nor had he failed of success in his attempt, though he hadhitherto been able to acquire no high or permanent post. He hadsoon been appointed private secretary to the First Lord of theStannaries, and he found that his duty in this capacity requiredhim to assist the Government whip in making and keeping houses. This occupation was congenial to his spirit, and he worked hardand well at it; but the greatest of men are open to the taintingbreath of suspicion, and the Honourable Undecimus Scott, or UndyScott, as he was generally now called, did not escape. Ill-natured persons whispered that he was not on all occasions trueto his party; and once when his master, the whip-in-chief, overborne with too much work, had been tempted to put himself tobed comfortably in his own house, instead of on his usualuneasy couch behind the Speaker's chair, Undy had greatly failed. The leader of a party whose struggles for the religion of hiscountry had hitherto met but small success, saw at a glance theopportunity which fortune had placed in his way; he spied witheagle eye the nakedness of that land of promise which iscompressed in the district round the Treasury benches; the barrenfield before him was all his own, and he put and carried hismotion for closing the parks on Sundays. 

He became a hero; but Undy was all but undone. The highest hopeof the Sabbatarian had been to address an almost empty house foran hour and a half on this his favourite subject. But the chancewas too good to be lost; he sacrificed his oratorical longings onthe altar of party purpose, and limited his speech to a merestatement of his motion. Off flew on the wings of Hansom ayouthful member, more trusty than the trusted Undy, to the abodeof the now couchant Treasury Argus. Morpheus had claimed him allfor his own. He was lying in true enjoyment, with his tired limbsstretched between the unaccustomed sheets, and snoring with freeand sonorous nose, restrained by the contiguity of no Speaker'selbow. But even in his deepest slumber the quick wheels of thebounding cab struck upon the tympanum of his anxious ear. Heroused himself as does a noble watch-dog when the 'suspicioustread of theft' approaches. The hurry of the jaded horse, thesudden stop, the maddened furious knock, all told a tale whichhis well-trained ear only knew too well. He sat up for a moment, listening in his bed, stretched himself with one involuntaryyawn, and then stood upright on the floor. It should not at anyrate be boasted by any one that he had been found in bed. 

With elastic step, three stairs at a time, up rushed that youngand eager member. It was well for the nerves of Mrs. Whip Vigilthat the calls of society still held her bound in some distantbrilliant throng; for no consideration would have stopped thepatriotic energy of that sucking statesman. Mr. Vigil had alreadyperformed the most important act of a speedy toilet, when hisdoor was opened, and as his young friend appeared was alreadybuttoning his first brace. 

'Pumpkin is up!' said the eager juvenile, ' and we have only fivemen in the house. '

'And where the devil is Undy Scott?' said the Right Hon. Mr. Vigil. 

'The devil only knows, ' said the other. 

'I deserve it for trusting him, ' said the conscience-stricken butworthy public servant. By this time he had on his neckcloth andboots; in his eager haste to serve his country he had forgottenhis stockings. 'I deserve it for trusting him--and how many menhave they?'

'Forty-one when I left. '

'Then they'll divide, of course?'

'Of course they will, ' said the promising young dove of theTreasury. 

And now Mr. Whip Vigil had buttoned on that well-made frock withwhich the Parliamentary world is so conversant, and as hedescended the stairs, arranged with pocket-comb his now grizzlinglocks. His well-brushed hat stood ready to his touch below, andwhen he entered the cab he was apparently as well dressed agentleman as when about three hours after noon he may be seenwith slow and easy step entering the halls of the Treasurychambers. 

But ah! alas, he was all too late. He came but to see the ruinwhich Undy's defection had brought about. He might have taken hisrest, and had a quiet mind till the next morning's _Times_revealed to him the fact of Mr. Pumpkin's grand success. When hearrived, the numbers were being taken, and he, even he, Mr. WhipVigil, he the great arch-numberer, was excluded from the numberof the counted. When the doors were again open the Commons ofEngland had decided by a majority of forty-one to seven that theparks of London should, one and all, be closed on Sundays; andMr. Pumpkin had achieved among his own set a week's immortality. 

'We mustn't have this again, Vigil, ' said a very great man thenext morning, with a good-humoured smile on his face, however, ashe uttered the reprimand. 'It will take us a whole night, and Godknows how much talking, to undo what those fools did yesterday. '

Mr. Vigil resolved to leave nothing again to the unassistedindustry or honesty of Undy Scott, and consequently thatgentleman's claims on his party did not stand so highly as theymight have done but for this accident. Parliament was soonafterwards dissolved, and either through the lukewarm support ofhis Government friends, or else in consequence of his greatfortune having been found to be ambiguous, the independentelectors of the Tillietudlem burghs took it into their heads tounseat Mr. Scott. Unseated for Tillietudlem, he had no means ofputting himself forward elsewhere, and he had to repent, in thesackcloth and ashes of private life, the fault which had cost himthe friendship of Mr. Vigil. 

His life, however, was not strictly private. He had used theHonourable before his name, and the M. P. Which for a time hadfollowed after it, to acquire for himself a seat as director at abank board. He was a Vice-President of the Caledonian, English, Irish, and General European and American Fire and Life AssuranceSociety; such, at least, had been the name of the joint-stockcompany in question when he joined it; but he had obtained muchcredit by adding the word 'Oriental, ' and inserting it after theallusion to Europe; he had tried hard to include the fourthquarter of the globe; but, as he explained to some of hisfriends, it would have made the name too cumbrous for theadvertisements. He was a director also of one or two minorrailways, dabbled in mining shares, and, altogether, did a gooddeal of business in the private stock-jobbing line. 

In spite of his former delinquencies, his political friends didnot altogether throw him over. In the first place, the time mightcome when he would be again useful, and then he had managed toacquire that air and tact which make one official man agreeableto another. He was always good-humoured; when in earnest, therewas a dash of drollery about him; in his most comic moods he everhad some serious purpose in view; he thoroughly understood theesoteric and exoteric bearings of modern politics, and knew wellthat though he should be a model of purity before the public, itdid not behove him to be very strait-laced with his own party. Hetook everything in good part, was not over-talkative, over-pushing, or presumptuous; he felt no strong bias of his own; hadat his fingers' ends the cant phraseology of ministerialsubordinates, and knew how to make himself useful. He knew also--a knowledge much more difficult to acquire--how to live amongmen so as never to make himself disagreeable. 

But then he could not be trusted! True. But how many men in hiswalk of life can be trusted? And those who can--at how terriblyhigh a price do they rate their own fidelity! How often must aminister be forced to confess to himself that he cannot afford toemploy good faith! Undy Scott, therefore, from time to time, received some ministerial bone, some Civil Service scrap ofvictuals thrown to him from the Government table, which, if itdid not suffice to maintain him in all the comforts of a Treasurycareer, still preserved for him a connexion with the Elysium ofpublic life; gave him, as it were, a link by which he could hangon round the outer corners of the State's temple, and there watchwith advantage till the doors of Paradise should be re-opened tohim. He was no Lucifer, who, having wilfully rebelled against thehigh majesty of Heaven, was doomed to suffer for ever inunavailing, but still proud misery, the penalties of his assertedindependence; but a poor Peri, who had made a lapse and thusforfeited, for a while, celestial joys, and was now seeking forsome welcome offering, striving to perform some useful service, by which he might regain his lost glory. 

The last of the good things thus tendered to him was not yet allconsumed. When Mr. Hardlines, now Sir Gregory, was summoned toassist at, or rather preside over, the deliberations of thecommittee which was to organize a system of examination for theCivil Service, the Hon. U. Scott had been appointed secretary tothat committee. This, to be sure, afforded but a fleeting momentof halcyon bliss; but a man like Mr. Scott knew how to prolongsuch a moment to its uttermost stretch. The committee had ceasedto sit, and the fruits of their labour were already apparent inthe establishment of a new public office, presided over by SirGregory; but still the clever Undy continued to draw his salary. 

Undy was one of those men who, though married and the fathers offamilies, are always seen and known '_en garçon_'. No onehad a larger circle of acquaintance than Undy Scott; no one, apparently, a smaller circle than Mrs. Undy Scott. So small, indeed, was it, that its _locale_ was utterly unknown in thefashionable world. At the time of which we are now speaking Undywas the happy possessor of a bedroom in Waterloo Place, andrejoiced in all the comforts of a first-rate club. But the sacredspot, in which at few and happy intervals he received thecaresses of the wife of his bosom and the children of his loins, is unknown to the author. 

In age, Mr. Scott, at the time of the Tavistock mining inquiry, was about thirty-five. Having sat in Parliament for five years, he had now been out for four, and was anxiously looking for theday when the universal scramble of a general election might givehim another chance. In person he was, as we have said, stalwartand comely, hirsute with copious red locks, not only over hishead, but under his chin and round his mouth. He was well made, six feet high, neither fat nor thin, and he looked like agentleman. He was careful in his dress, but not so as to betraythe care that he took; he was imperturbable in temper, thoughrestless in spirit; and the one strong passion of his life wasthe desire of a good income at the cost of the public. 

He had an easy way of getting intimate with young men when itsuited him, and as easy a way of dropping them afterwardswhen that suited him. He had no idea of wasting his time oropportunities in friendships. Not that he was indifferent as tohis companions, or did not appreciate the pleasure of living withpleasant men; but that life was too short, and with him the racetoo much up hill, to allow of his indulging in such luxuries. Helooked on friendship as one of those costly delights with whichnone but the rich should presume to gratify themselves. He couldnot afford to associate with his fellow-men on any other termsthan those of making capital of them. It was not for him to walkand talk and eat and drink with a man because he liked him. Howcould the eleventh son of a needy Scotch peer, who had tomaintain his rank and position by the force of his own wit, howcould such a one live, if he did not turn to some profit even theconvivialities of existence?

Acting in accordance with his fixed and conscientious rule inthis respect, Undy Scott had struck up an acquaintance withAlaric Tudor. He saw that Alaric was no ordinary clerk, that SirGregory was likely to have the Civil Service under his thumb, andthat Alaric was a great favourite with the great man. It wouldbut little have availed Undy to have striven to be intimate withSir Gregory himself. The Knight Commander of the Bath would havebeen deaf to his blandishments; but it seemed probable that theears of Alaric might be tickled. 

And thus Alaric and Undy Scott had become fast friends; that is, as fast as such friends generally are. Alaric was no more blindto his own interest than was his new ally. But there was thisdifference between them; Undy lived altogether in the utilitarianworld which he had formed around himself, whereas Alaric lived intwo worlds. When with Undy his pursuits and motives were muchsuch as those of Undy himself; but at Surbiton Cottage, and withHarry Norman, he was still susceptible of a higher feeling. Hehad been very cool to poor Linda on his last visit to Hampton;but it was not that his heart was too hard for love. He had begunto discern that Gertrude would never attach herself to Norman;and if Gertrude were free, why should she not be his?

Poor Linda!

Scott had early heard--and of what official event did he notobtain early intelligence?--that Neverbend was to go down toTavistock about the Mary Jane tin mine, and that a smartcolleague was required for him. He would fain, for reasons of hisown, have been that smart colleague himself; but that he knew wasimpossible. He and Neverbend were the Alpha and Omega of officialvirtues and vices. But he took an opportunity of mentioningbefore Sir Gregory, in a passing unpremeditated way, howexcellently adapted Tudor was for the work. It so turned out thathis effort was successful, and that Tudor was sent. 

The whole of their first day at Tavistock was passed by Neverbendand Alaric in hearing interminable statements from the variousmining combatants, and when at seven o'clock Alaric shut up forthe evening he was heartily sick of the job. The next morningbefore breakfast he sauntered out to air himself in front of thehotel, and who should come whistling up the street, with a cigarin his mouth, but his new friend Undy Scott. 

CHAPTER IX

MR. MANYLODES

Alaric Tudor was very much surprised. Had he seen Sir Gregoryhimself, or Captain Cuttwater, walking up the street ofTavistock, he could not have been more startled. It firstoccurred to him that Scott must have been sent down as a thirdCommissioner to assist at the investigation; and he would havebeen right glad to have known that this was the case, for hefound that the management of Mr. Neverbend was no pastime. But hesoon learnt that such relief was not at hand for him. 

'Well, Tudor, my boy, ' said he, 'and how do you like the clottedcream and the thick ankles of the stout Devonshire lasses?'

'I have neither tasted the one, nor seen the other, ' said Alaric. 'As yet I have encountered nothing but the not very civiltongues, and not very clear brains of Cornish roughs. '

'A Boeotian crew! but, nevertheless, they know on which sidetheir bread is buttered--and in general it goes hard with thembut they butter it on both sides. And how does the faithfulNeverbend conduct himself? Talk of Boeotians, if any man ever wasborn in a foggy air, it must have been my friend Fidus. '

Alaric merely shrugged his shoulders, and laughed slightly. 'Butwhat on earth brings you down to Tavistock?' said he. 

'Oh! I am a denizen of the place, naturalized, and all butsettled; have vast interests here, and a future constituency. Letthe Russells look well to themselves. The time is quickly comingwhen you will address me in the House with bitter sarcasm as thehonourable but inconsistent member for Tavistock; egad, who knowsbut you may have to say Right Honourable?'

'Oh! I did not know the wind blew in that quarter, ' said Alaric, not ill-pleased at the suggestion that he also, on some futureday, might have a seat among the faithful Commons. 

'The wind blows from all quarters with me, ' said Undy; 'but inthe meantime I am looking out for shares. '

'Will you come in and breakfast?' asked the other. 

'What, with friend Fidus? no, thank'ee; I am not, by manydegrees, honest enough to suit his book. He would be down on somelittle public peccadillo of mine before I had swallowed my firstegg. Besides, I would not for worlds break the pleasure of your_tête-à-tête_. '

'Will you come down after dinner?'

'No; neither after dinner, nor before breakfast; not all thecoffee, nor all the claret of the Bedford shall tempt me. Remember, my friend, you are paid for it; I am not. '

'Well, then, good morning, ' said Alaric. 'I must go in and facemy fate, like a Briton. '

Undy went on for a few steps, and then returned, as though asudden thought had struck him. 'But, Tudor, I have bowels ofcompassion within me, though no pluck. I am willing to rescueyou from your misery, though I will not partake it. Come up tome this evening, and I will give you a glass of brandy-punch. Your true miners never drink less generous tipple. '

'How on earth am I to shake off this incubus of the Woods andWorks?'

'Shake him off? Why, make him drunk and put him to bed; or tellhim at once that the natural iniquity of your disposition makesit necessary that you should spend a few hours of the day in thecompany of a sinner like myself. Tell him that his virtue is tooheavy for the digestive organs of your unpractised stomach. Tellhim what you will, but come. I myself am getting sick of thosemining Vandals, though I am so used to dealing with them. '

Alaric promised that he would come, and then went in tobreakfast. Undy also returned to his breakfast, well pleased withthis first success in the little scheme which at present occupiedhis mind. The innocent young Commissioner little dreamt that theHonourable Mr. Scott had come all the way to Tavistock on purposeto ask him to drink brandy-punch at the Blue Dragon!

Another day went wearily and slowly on with Alaric and Mr. Neverbend. Tedious, never-ending statements had to be taken downin writing; the same things were repeated over and over again, and were as often contradicted; men who might have said in fivewords all that they had to say, would not be constrained to sayit in less than five thousand, and each one seemed to think, orpretended to seem to think, that all the outer world and theGovernment were leagued together to defraud the interest to whichhe himself was specially attached. But this was not the worst ofit. There were points which were as clear as daylight; but Tudorcould not declare them to be so, as by doing so he was sure toelicit a different opinion from Mr. Neverbend. 

'I am not quite so clear on that point, Mr. Tudor, ' he would say. 

Alaric, till experience made him wise, would attempt to argue it. 

'That is all very well, but I am not quite so sure of it. We willreserve the point, if you please, ' and so affairs went on darkly, no ray of light being permitted to shine in on the matter indispute. 

It was settled, however, before dinner, that they should both godown the Wheal Mary Jane on the following day. Neverbend had donewhat he could to keep this crowning honour of the inquiryaltogether in his own hands, but he had found that in thisrespect Tudor was much too much for him. 

Immediately after dinner Alaric announced that he was going tospend the evening with a friend. 

'A friend!' said Neverbend, somewhat startled; 'I did not knowthat you had any friends in Tavistock. '

'Not a great many; but it so happened that I did meet a man Iknow, this morning, and promised to go to him in the evening. Ihope you'll excuse my leaving you?'

'Oh! I don't mind for myself, ' said Neverbend, 'though, when menare together, it's as well for them to keep together. But, Mr. Tudor----'

'Well?' said Alaric, who felt growing within him a determinationto put down at once anything like interference with his privatehours. 

'Perhaps I ought not to mention it, ' said Neverbend, 'but I dohope you'll not get among mining people. Only think what ourposition here is. '

'What on earth do you mean?' said Alaric. 'Do you think I shallbe bribed over by either side because I choose to drink a glassof wine with a friend at another hotel?'

'Bribed! No, I don't think you'll be bribed; but I think weshould both keep ourselves absolutely free from all chance ofbeing talked to on the subject, except before each other andbefore witnesses. I would not drink brandy-and-water at the BlueDragon, before this report be written, even if my brother werethere. '

'Well, Mr. Neverbend, I am not so much afraid of myself. Butwherever there are two men, there will be two opinions. So goodnight, if it so chance that you are in bed before my return. '

So Tudor went out, and Neverbend prepared himself to sit up forhim. He would sooner have remained up all night than have gone tobed before his colleague came back. 

Three days Alaric Tudor had now passed with Mr. Neverbend, andnot only three days but three evenings also! A man may endure tobe bored in the course of business through the day, but itbecomes dreadful when the infliction is extended to post-prandialhours. It does not often occur that one is doomed to bear thesame bore both by day and night; any change gives some ease; butpoor Alaric for three days had had no change. He felt like aliberated convict as he stepped freely forth into the sweetevening air, and made his way through the town to the oppositioninn. 

Here he found Undy on the door-steps with a cigar in his mouth. 'Here I am, waiting for you, ' said he. 'You are fagged to death, I know, and we'll get a mouthful of fresh air before we goupstairs, '--and so saying he put his arm through Alaric's, andthey strolled off through the suburbs of the town. 

'You don't smoke, ' said Undy, with his cigar-case in his hand. 'Well--I believe you are right--cigars cost a great deal ofmoney, and can't well do a man any real good. God Almighty couldnever have intended us to make chimneys of our mouths and noses. Does Fidus ever indulge in a weed?'

'He never indulges in anything, ' said Alaric. 

'Except honesty, ' said the other, 'and in that he is a beastlyglutton. He gorges himself with it till all his faculties areoverpowered and his mind becomes torpid. It's twice worse thandrinking. I wonder whether he'll do a bit of speculation beforehe goes back to town. '

'Who, Neverbend?--he never speculates!'

'Why not? Ah, my fine fellow, you don't know the world yet. Thosesort of men, dull drones like Neverbend, are just the fellows whogo the deepest. I'll be bound he will not return without a fewMary Janes in his pocket-book. He'll be a fool if he does, Iknow. '

'Why, that's the very mine we are down here about. '

'And that's the very reason why he'll purchase Mary Janes. He hasan opportunity of knowing their value. Oh, let Neverbend alone. He is not so young as you are, my dear fellow. '

'Young or old, I think you mistake his character. '

'Why, Tudor, what would you think now if he not only bought forhimself, but was commissioned to buy by the very men who sent himdown here?'

'It would be hard to make me believe it. '

'Ah! faith is a beautiful thing; what a pity that it neversurvives the thirtieth year;--except with women and fools. '

'And have you no faith, Scott?'

'Yes--much in myself--some little in Lord Palmerston, that is, inhis luck; and a good deal in a bank-note. But I have none at allin Fidus Neverbend. What! have faith in a man merely because hetells me to have it! His method of obtaining it is far too easy. '

'I trust neither his wit nor his judgement; but I don't believehim to be a thief. '

'Thief! I said nothing of thieves. He may, for aught I know, bejust as good as the rest of the world; all I say is, that Ibelieve him to be no better. But come, we must go back to theinn; there is an ally of mine coming to me; a perfect specimen ofa sharp Cornish mining stockjobber--as vulgar a fellow as youever met, and as shrewd. He won't stay very long, so you need notbe afraid of him. '

Alaric began to feel uneasy, and to think that there might bypossibility be something in what Neverbend had said to him. Hedid not like the idea of meeting a Cornish stock-jobber in afamiliar way over his brandy-punch, while engaged, as henow was, on the part of Government; he felt that there might beimpropriety in it, and he would have been glad to get off if hecould. But he felt ashamed to break his engagement, and thusfollowed Undy into the hotel. 

'Has Mr. Manylodes been here?' said Scott, as he walked upstairs. 

'He's in the bar now, sir, ' said the waiter. 

'Beg him to come up, then. In the bar! why, that man must have abar within himself--the alcohol he consumes every day would be atidy sale for a small public-house. '

Up they went, and Mr. Manylodes was not long in following them. He was a small man, more like an American in appearance than anEnglishman. He had on a common black hat, a black coat, blackwaistcoat, and black trousers, thick boots, a coloured shirt, andvery dirty hands. Though every article he wore was good, and mostof them such as gentlemen wear, no man alive could have mistakenhim for a gentleman. No man, conversant with the species to whichhe belonged, could have taken him for anything but what he was. As he entered the room, a faint, sickly, second-hand smell ofalcohol pervaded the atmosphere. 

'Well, Manylodes, ' said Scott, 'I'm glad to see you again. Thisis my friend, Mr. Tudor. '

'Your servant, sir, ' said Manylodes, just touching his hat, without moving it from his head. 'And how are you, Mr. Scott? Iam glad to see you again in these parts, sir. '

'And how's trade? Come, Tudor, what will you drink? Manylodes, Iknow, takes brandy; their sherry is vile, and their claret worse;maybe they may have a fairish glass of port. And how is trade, Manylodes?'

'We're all as brisk as bees at present. I never knew thingssharper. If you've brought a little money with you, now's yourtime. But I tell you this, you'll find it sharp work for theeyesight. '

'Quick's the word, I suppose. '

'Lord love you! Quick! Why, a fellow must shave himself before hegoes to bed if he wants to be up in time these days. '

'I suppose so. '

'Lord love you! why there was old Sam Weazle; never caughtnapping yet--why at Truro, last Monday, he bought up to 450 NewFriendships, and before he was a-bed they weren't worth, not thisbottle of brandy. Well, old Sam was just bit by those Cambournelads. '

'And how did that happen?'

'Why, the New Friendships certainly was very good while theylasted; just for three months they was the thing certainly. Why, it came up, sir, as if there weren't no end of it, and just asclean as that half-crown--but I know'd there was an end coming. '

'Water, I suppose, ' said Undy, sipping his toddy. 

'Them clean takes, Mr. Scott, they never lasts. There was water, but that weren't the worst. Old Weazle knew of that; hecalculated he'd back the metal agin the water, and so he boughtall up he could lay his finger on. But the stuff was run out. Them Cambourne boys--what did they do? Why, they let the water inon purpose. By Monday night old Weazle knew it all, and then youmay say it was as good as a play. '

'And how did you do in the matter?'

'Oh, I sold. I did very well--bought at £7 2s. 3d. And sold at £619s. 10 1/2d. , and got my seven per cent, for the four months. But, Lord love you, them clean takes never lasts. I worn't goingto hang on. Here's your health, Mr. Scott. Yours, Mr. ---, Ididn't just catch the gen'leman's name;' and without waiting forfurther information on the point, he finished his brandy-and-water. 

'So it's all up with the New Friendships, is it?' said Undy. 

'Up and down, Mr. Scott; every dog has his day; these Mary Janeswill be going the same way some of them days. We're all mortal;'and with this moral comparison between the uncertainty of humanlife and the vicissitudes of the shares in which he trafficked, Mr. Manylodes proceeded to put some more sugar and brandy intohis tumbler. 

'True, true--we are all mortal--Manylodes and Mary Janes; oldfriendships and New Friendships: while they last we must make themost we can of them; buy them cheap and sell them dear; and aboveall things get a good percentage, '

'That's the game, Mr. Scott; and I will say no man understands itbetter than yourself--keep the ball a-running--that's your maxim. Are you going it deep in Mary Jane, Mr. Scott?'

'Who? I! O no--she's a cut above me now, I fear. The shares areworth any money now, I suppose. '

'Worth any money! I think they are, Mr. Scott, but I believe----'and then bringing his chair close up to that of his aristocraticfriend, resting his hands, one on Mr. Scott's knee, and the otheron his elbow, and breathing brandy into his ear, he whispered tohim words of great significance. 

'I'll leave you, Scott, ' said Alaric, who did not enjoy thesociety of Mr. Manylodes, and to whom the nature of theconversation was, in his present position, extremely irksome; 'Imust be back at the Bedford early. '

'Early--why early? surely our honest friend can get himself tobed without your interference. Come, you don't like the brandytoddy, nor I either. We'll see what sort of a hand they are atmaking a bowl of bishop. '

'Not for me, Scott. '

'Yes, for you, man; surely you are not tied to that fellow'sapron-strings, ' he said, removing himself from the closecontiguity of Mr. Manylodes, and speaking under his voice; 'takemy advice; if you once let that man think you fear him, you'llnever get the better of him. '

Alaric allowed himself to be persuaded and stayed. 

'I have just ten words of business to say to this fellow, 'continued Scott, 'and then we will be alone. '

It was a lovely autumn evening, early in September, and Alaricsat himself at an open window, looking out from the back of thehotel on to the Brentor, with its singular parish church, builton its highest apex, while Undy held deep council with his friendof the mines. But from time to time, some word of moment foundits way to Alaric's ears, and made him also unconsciously fix hismind on the _irritamenta malorum_, which are dug from thebowels of the earth in those western regions. 

'Minting money, sir; it's just minting money. There's been nochance like it in my days. £4 12s. 6d. Paid up; and they'll be at£25 in Truro before sun sets on Saturday, Lord love you, Mr. Scott, now's your time. If, as I hear, they--' and then there wasa very low whisper, and Alaric, who could not keep his eyealtogether from Mr. Manylodes' countenance, saw plainly that thatworthy gentleman was talking of himself; and in spite of hisbetter instincts, a desire came over him to know more of whatthey were discussing, and he could not keep from thinking thatshares bought at £4 12s. 6d. , and realizing £25, must be very niceproperty. 

'Well, I'll manage it, ' said Scott, still in a sort of whisper, but audibly enough for Alaric to hear. 'Forty, you say? I'll takethem at £5 1s. 1d. --very well;' and he took out his pocket-bookand made a memorandum. 'Come, Tudor, here's the bishop. We havedone our business, so now we'll enjoy ourselves. What, Manylodes, are you off?'

'Lord love you, Mr. Scott, I've a deal to do before I get to mydowny; and I don't like those doctored tipples. Good night, Mr. Scott. I wishes you good night, sir;' and making another slightreference to his hat, which had not been removed from his headduring the whole interview, Mr. Manylodes took himself off. 

'There, now, is a specimen of a species of the _genus homo_, class Englishman, which is, I believe, known nowhere but inCornwall. '

'Cornwall and Devonshire, I suppose, ' said Alaric. 

'No; he is out of his true element here. If you want to see himin all the glory of his native county you should go west ofTruro. From Truro to Hayle is the land of the Manylodes. And asingular species it is. But, Tudor, you'll be surprised, Isuppose, if I tell you that I have made a purchase for you. '

'A purchase for me!'

'Yes; I could not very well consult you before that fellow, andyet as the chance came in my way, I did not like to lose it. Come, the bishop ain't so bad, is it, though it is doctoredtipple?' and he refilled Alaric's glass. 

'But what have you purchased for me, Scott?'

'Forty shares in the Mary Jane. '

'Then you may undo the bargain again, for I don't want them, andshall not take them. '

'You need not be a bit uneasy, my dear fellow. I've bought themat a little over £5, and they'll be saleable to-morrow at doublethe money--or at any rate to-morrow week. But what's yourobjection to them?'

'In the first place, I've got no money to buy shares. '

'That's just the reason why you should buy them; having no money, you can't but want some; and here's your way to make it. You canhave no difficulty in raising £200. '

'And in the next place, I should not think of buying miningshares, and more especially these, while I am engaged as I nowam. '

'Fal de ral, de ral, de ral! That's all very fine, Mr. Commissioner; only you mistake your man; you think you aretalking to Mr. Neverbend. '

'Well, Scott, I shan't have them. '

'Just as you please, my dear fellow; there's no compulsion. Onlymark this; the ball is at your foot now, but it won't remainthere. 'There is a tide in the affairs of men'--you know therest; and you know also that 'tide and time wait for no man. ' Ifyou are contented with your two or three hundred a year in theWeights and Measures, God forbid that I should tempt you tohigher thoughts--only in that case I have mistaken my man. '

'I must be contented with it, if I can get nothing better, ' saidTudor, weakly. 

'Exactly; you must be contented--or rather you must put up withit--if you can get nothing better. That's the meaning ofcontentment all the world over. You argue in a circle. You mustbe a mere clerk if you cannot do better than other mere clerks. But the fact of your having such an offer as that I now make you, is proof that you can do better than others; proves, in fact, that you need not be a mere clerk, unless you choose to remainso. '

'Buying these shares might lose me all that I have got, and couldnot do more than put a hundred pounds or so in my pocket. '

'Gammon--'

'Could I go back and tell Sir Gregory openly that I had boughtthem?'

'Why, Tudor, you are the youngest fish I ever met, sent out toswim alone in this wicked world of ours. Who the deuce talksopenly of his speculations? Will Sir Gregory tell you what shareshe buys? Is not every member of the House, every man in theGovernment, every barrister, parson, and doctor, that can collecta hundred pounds, are not all of them at the work? And do theytalk openly of the matter? Does the bishop put it into hischarge, or the parson into his sermon?'

'But they would not be ashamed to tell their friends. '

'Would not they? Oh! the Rev. Mr. Pickabit, of St. Judas Without, would not be ashamed to tell his bishop! But the long and theshort of the thing is this; most men circumstanced as you arehave no chance of doing anything good till they are forty orfifty, and then their energies are worn out. You have had tactenough to push yourself up early, and yet it seems you have notpluck enough to take the goods the gods provide you. '

'The gods!--you mean the devils rather, ' said Alaric, who satlistening and drinking, almost unconsciously, his doctoredtipple. 

'Call them what you will for me. Fortune has generally beenesteemed a goddess, but misfortune a very devil. But, Tudor, youdon't know the world. Here is a chance in your way. Of coursethat keg of brandy who went out just now understands very wellwho you are. He wants to be civil to me, and he thinks it wise tobe civil to you also. He has a hat full of these shares, and hetells me that, knowing my weakness, and presuming that you havethe same, he bought a few extra this morning, thinking we mightlike them. Now, I have no hesitation in saying there is not asingle man whom the Government could send down here, from SirGregory downwards, who could refuse the chance. '

'I am quite sure that Neverbend----'

'Oh! for Heaven's sake don't choke me with Neverbend; the foolsare fools, and will be so; they are used for their folly. I speakof men with brains. How do you think that such men as Hardlines, Vigil, and Mr. Estimate have got up in the world? Would they bewhere they are now, had they been contented with their salaries?'

'They had private fortunes. '

'Very private they must have been--I never heard of them. No;what fortunes they have they made. Two of them are in Parliament, and the other has a Government situation of £2, 000 a year, withlittle or nothing to do. But they began life early, and neverlost a chance. '

'It is quite clear that that blackguard who was here just nowthinks that he can influence my opinion by inducing me to have aninterest in the matter. '

'He had no such idea--nor have I. Do you think I would persuadeyou to such villany? Do you think I do not know you too well? Ofcourse the possession of these shares can have no possible effecton your report, and is not expected to have any. But when menlike you and me become of any note in the world, others, such asManylodes, like to know that we are embarked in the samespeculation with themselves. Why are members of Parliament askedto be directors, and vice-governors, and presidents, andguardians, of all the joint-stock societies that are now setagoing? Not because of their capital, for they generally havenone; not for their votes, because one vote can be but of littleuse in any emergency. It is because the names of men of note areworth money. Men of note understand this, and enjoy the fat ofthe land accordingly. I want to see you among the number. '

'Twas thus the devil pleaded for the soul of Alaric Tudor; and, alas! he did not plead in vain. Let him but have a fair hearing, and he seldom does. 'Tis in this way that the truth of that awfulmystery, the fall of man, comes home to us; that we cannot hearthe devil plead, and resist the charm of his eloquence. To listenis to be lost. 'Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us fromevil!' Let that petition come forth from a man's heart, a trueand earnest prayer, and he will be so led that he shall not hearthe charmer, let him charm ever so wisely. 

'Twas but a thin veil that the Hon. Undecimus Scott threw overthe bait with which he fished for the honesty of Alaric Tudor, and yet it sufficed. One would say that a young man, fortifiedwith such aspirations as those which glowed in Alaric's breast, should have stood a longer siege; should have been able to lookwith clearer eyesight on the landmarks which divide honour fromdishonour, integrity from fraud, and truth from falsehood. But hehad never prayed to be delivered from evil. His desire had ratherbeen that he might be led into temptation. 

He had never so prayed--yet had he daily said his prayers atfitting intervals. On every returning Sunday had he gone through, with all the fitting forms, the ordinary worship of a Christian. Nor had he done this as a hypocrite. With due attention and afull belief he had weekly knelt at God's temple, and given, ifnot his mind, at least his heart, to the service of his church. But the inner truth of the prayer which he repeated so often hadnot come home to him. Alas! how many of us from week to week callourselves worms and dust and miserable sinners, describeourselves as chaff for the winds, grass for the burning, stubblefor the plough, as dirt and filth fit only to be trodden underfoot, and yet in all our doings before the world cannot bringhome to ourselves the conviction that we require other guidancethan our own!

Alaric Tudor had sighed for permission to go forth amongworldlings and there fight the world's battle. Power, station, rank, wealth, all the good things which men earn by tact, diligence, and fortune combined, and which were so far from himat his outset in life, became daily more dear to his heart. Andnow his honourable friend twitted him with being a mere clerk!No, he was not, never had been, never would be such. Had he notalready, in five or six short years, distanced his competitors, and made himself the favourite and friend of men infinitely abovehim in station? Was he not now here in Tavistock on a missionwhich proved that he was no mere clerk? Was not the fact of hisdrinking bishop in the familiar society of a lord's son, and anex-M. P. , a proof of it?

It would be calumny on him to say that he had allowed Scott tomake him tipsy on this occasion. He was far from being tipsy; butyet the mixture which he had been drinking had told upon hisbrain. 

'But, Undy, ' said he--he had never before called his honourablefriend by his Christian name--'but, Undy, if I take these shares, where am I to get the money to pay for them?

'The chances are you may part with them before you leaveTavistock. If so, you will not have to pay for them. You willonly have to pocket the difference. '

'Or pay the loss. '

'Or pay the loss. But there's no chance of that. I'll guaranteeyou against that. '

'But I shan't like to sell them. I shan't choose to betrafficking in shares. Buying a few as an investment may, perhaps, be a different thing. '

'Oh, Alaric, Alaric, to what a pass had your conscience come, when it could be so silenced!'

'Well, I suppose you can raise a couple of hundred--£205 willcover the whole thing, commission and all; but, mind, I don'tadvise you to keep them long--I shall take two months' dividends, and then sell. '

'Two hundred and five pounds, ' said Tudor, to whom the sum seemedanything but trifling; 'and when must it be paid?'

'Well, I can give Manylodes a cheque for the whole, dated thisday week. You'll be back in town before that. We must allow him£5 for the accommodation. I suppose you can pay the money in atmy banker's by that day?'

Alaric had some portion of the amount himself, and he knew thatNorman had money by him; he felt also a half-drunken convictionthat if Norman failed him, Captain Cuttwater would not let himwant such a sum; and so he said that he could, and the bargainwas completed. 

As he went downstairs whistling with an affected ease, and agaiety which, he by no means felt, Undy Scott leant back in hischair, and began to speculate whether his new purchase was worththe purchase-money. 'He's a sharp fellow; certainly, in somethings, and may do well yet; but he's uncommonly green. That, however, will wear off. I should not be surprised if he toldNeverbend the whole transaction before this time to-morrow. ' Andthen Mr. Scott finished his cigar and went to bed. 

When Alaric entered the sitting-room at the Bedford, he foundNeverbend still seated at a table covered with official books andhuge bundles of official papers. An enormous report was openbefore him, from which he was culling the latent sweets, andextracting them with a pencil. He glowered at Alaric with asevere suspicious eye, which seemed to accuse him at once of thedeed which he had done. 

'You are very late, ' said Neverbend, 'but I have not been sorryto be alone. I believe I have been able to embody in a roughdraft the various points which we have hitherto discussed. I havejust been five hours and a half at it;' and Fidus looked at hiswatch; 'five hours and forty minutes. To-morrow, perhaps, thatis, if you are not going to your friend again, you'll not objectto make a fair copy----'

'Copy!' shouted Alaric, in whose brain the open air had notdiminished the effect of the bishop, and who remembered, with allthe energy of pot valour, that he was not a mere clerk; 'copy--bother; I'm going to bed, old fellow; and I advise you to do thesame. '

And then, taking up a candlestick and stumbling somewhatawkwardly against a chair, Tudor went off to his room, waiting nofurther reply from his colleague. 

Mr. Neverbend slowly put up his papers and followed him. 'He isdecidedly the worse for drink--decidedly so, ' said he to himself, as he pulled off his clothes. 'What a disgrace to the Woods andWorks--what a disgrace!'

And he resolved in his mind that he would be very early at thepit's mouth. He would not be kept from his duty while adissipated colleague collected his senses by the aid of soda-water. 

CHAPTER X

WHEAL MARY JANE

Mr. Manylodes was, at any rate, right in this, that thatbeverage, which men call bishop, is a doctored tipple; and AlaricTudor, when he woke in the morning, owned the truth. It had beenarranged that certain denizens of the mine should meet the twoCommissioners at the pit-mouth at eight o'clock, and it had beensettled at dinner-time that breakfast should be on the table atseven, sharp. Half an hour's quick driving would take them to thespot. 

At seven Mr. Fidus Neverbend, who had never yet been known to beuntrue to an appointment by the fraction of a second, wasstanding over the breakfast-table alone. He was alone, but not onthat account unhappy. He could hardly disguise the pleasure withwhich he asked the waiter whether Mr. Tudor was yet dressed, orthe triumph which he felt when he heard that his colleague wasnot _quite ready_. 

'Bring the tea and the eggs at once, ' said Neverbend, verybriskly. 

'Won't you wait for Mr. Tudor?' asked the waiter, with an air ofsurprise. Now the landlord, waiter, boots, and chambermaid, thechambermaid especially, had all, in Mr. Neverbend's estimation, paid Tudor by far too much consideration; and he was determinedto show that he himself was first fiddle. 

'Wait! no; quite out of the question--bring the hot waterimmediately--and tell the ostler to have the fly at the door athalf-past seven exact. '

'Yes, sir, ' said the man, and disappeared. 

Neverbend waited five minutes, and then rang the bellimpetuously. 'If you don't bring me my tea immediately, I shallsend for Mr. Boteldale. ' Now Mr. Boteldale was the landlord. 

'Mr. Tudor will be down in ten minutes, ' was the waiter's falsereply; for up to that moment poor Alaric had not yet succeeded inlifting his throbbing head from his pillow. The boots was nowwith him administering soda-water and brandy, and he waspondering in his sickened mind whether, by a manful effort, hecould rise and dress himself; or whether he would not throwhimself backwards on his coveted bed, and allow Neverbend thetriumph of descending alone to the nether world. 

Neverbend nearly threw the loaf at the waiter's head. Wait tenminutes longer! what right had that vile Devonshire napkin-twirler to make to him so base a proposition? 'Bring me mybreakfast, sir, ' shouted Neverbend, in a voice that made theunfortunate sinner jump out of the room, as though he had beenmoved by a galvanic battery. 

In five minutes, tea made with lukewarm water, and eggs that werenot half boiled were brought to the impatient Commissioner. As arule Mr. Neverbend, when travelling on the public service, made apractice of enjoying his meals. It was the only solace which heallowed himself; the only distraction from the cares of officewhich he permitted either to his body or his mind. But on thisgreat occasion his country required that he should forget hiscomforts; and he drank his tasteless tea, and ate his uncookedeggs, threatening the waiter as he did so with sundry pains andpenalties, in the form of sixpences withheld. 

'Is the fly there?' said he, as he bolted a last morsel of coldroast beef. 

'Coming, sir, ' said the waiter, as he disappeared round a corner. 

In the meantime Alaric sat lackadaisical on his bedside, allundressed, leaning his head upon his hand, and feeling that hisstruggle to dress himself was all but useless. The sympatheticboots stood by with a cup of tea--well-drawn comfortable tea--inhis hand, and a small bit of dry toast lay near on an adjacentplate. 

'Try a bit o' toast, sir, ' said boots. 

'Ugh!' ejaculated poor Alaric. 

'Have a leetle drop o' rum in the tea, sir, and it'll set you allto rights in two minutes. '

The proposal made Alaric very sick, and nearly completed thecatastrophe. 'Ugh!' he said. 

'There's the trap, sir, for Mr. Neverbend, ' said the boots, whoseears caught the well-known sound. 

'The devil it is!' said Alaric, who was now stirred up to instantaction. 'Take my compliments to Mr. Neverbend, and tell him I'llthank him to wait ten minutes. '

Boots, descending with the message, found Mr. Neverbend readycoated and gloved, standing at the hotel door. The fly was there, and the lame ostler holding the horse; but the provoking driverhad gone back for his coat. 

'Please, sir, Mr. Tudor says as how you're not to go just atpresent, but to wait ten minutes till he be ready. '

Neverbend looked at the man, but he would not trust himself tospeak. Wait ten minutes, and it now wanted five-and-twentyminutes to eight!--no--not for all the Tudors that ever sat uponthe throne of England. 

There he stood with his watch in his hand as the returning Jehuhurried round from the stable yard. 'You are now seven minuteslate, ' said he, 'and if you are not at the place by eighto'clock, I shall not give you one farthing!'

'All right, ' said Jehu. 'We'll be at Mary Jane in less than notime;' and off they went, not at the quickest pace. ButNeverbend's heart beat high with triumph, as he reflected that hehad carried the point on which he had been so intent. 

Alaric, when he heard the wheels roll off, shook from him hislethargy. It was not only that Neverbend would boast that healone had gone through the perils of their subterranean duty, butthat doubtless he would explain in London how his colleague hadbeen deterred from following him. It was a grievous task, that ofdressing himself, as youthful sinners know but too well. Everynow and then a qualm would come over him, and make the work seemall but impossible. Boots, however, stuck to him like a man, poured cold water over his head, renewed his tea-cup, comfortedhim with assurances of the bracing air, and put a paper full ofsandwiches in his pocket. 

'For heaven's sake put them away, ' said Alaric, to whom the veryidea of food was repulsive. 

'You'll want 'em, sir, afore you are half way to Mary Jane; andit a'n't no joke going down and up again. I know what's what, sir. '

The boots stuck to him like a man. He did not only get himsandwiches, but he procured for him also Mr. Boteldale's ownfast-trotting pony, and just as Neverbend was rolling up to thepit's mouth fifteen minutes after his time, greatly resolving inhis own mind to button his breeches pocket firmly against therecreant driver, Alaric started on the chase after him. 

Mr. Neverbend had a presentiment that, sick as his friend mightbe, nauseous as doubtless were the qualms arising from yesterday'sintemperance, he would make an attempt to recover his lostground. He of the Woods and Works had begun to recognize theenergy of him of the Weights and Measures, and felt that therewas in it a force that would not easily be overcome, even by thefumes of bishop. But yet it would be a great thing for the Woodsand Works if he, Neverbend, could descend in this perilousjourney to the deep bowels of the earth, leaving the Weights andMeasures stranded in the upper air. This descent among the hiddenriches of a lower world, this visit to the provocations of evilsnot yet dug out from their durable confinement, was the keystone, as it were, of the whole mission. Let Neverbend descend alone, alone inspect the wonders of that dirty deep, and Tudor mightthen talk and write as he pleased. In such case all the world ofthe two public offices in Question, and of some others cognate tothem, would adjudge that he, Neverbend, had made himself masterof the situation. 

Actuated by these correct calculations, Mr. Neverbend was ratherfussy to begin an immediate descent when he found himself on thespot. Two native gentlemen, who were to accompany the Commissioners, or the Commissioner, as appeared likely to be the case, were alreadythere, as were also the men who were to attend upon them. 

It was an ugly uninviting place to look at, with but few visiblesigns of wealth. The earth, which had been burrowed out by thesehuman rabbits in their search after tin, lay around in hugeungainly heaps; the overground buildings of the establishmentconsisted of a few ill-arranged sheds, already apparently in astate of decadence; dirt and slush, and pods of water confined bymuddy dams, abounded on every side; muddy men, with muddy cartsand muddy horses, slowly crawled hither and thither, apparentlywith no object, and evidently indifferent as to whom they mightoverset in their course. The inferior men seemed to show norespect to those above them, and the superiors to exercise noauthority over those below them. There was, a sullen equalityamong them all. On the ground around was no vegetation; nothinggreen met the eye, some few stunted bushes appeared here andthere, nearly smothered by heaped-up mud, but they had about themnone of the attractiveness of foliage. The whole scene, thoughconsisting of earth alone, was unearthly, and looked as thoughthe devil had walked over the place with hot hoofs, and thenraked it with a huge rake. 

'I am afraid I am very late, ' said Neverbend, getting out of hisfly in all the haste he could muster, and looking at his watchthe moment his foot touched the ground, 'very late indeed, gentlemen; I really must apologize, but it was the driver; I waspunctual to the minute, I was indeed. But come, gentlemen, wewon't lose another moment, ' and Mr. Neverbend stepped out asthough he were ready at an instant's notice to plunge headforemost down the deepest shaft in all that region of mines. 

'Oh, sir, there a'n't no cause of hurry whatsomever, ' said one ofthe mining authorities; 'the day is long enough. '

'Oh, but there is cause of hurry, Mr. Undershot, ' said Neverbendangrily 'great cause of hurry; we must do this work verythoroughly; and I positively have not time to get through allthat I have before me. 

'But-a'n't the other gen'leman a-coming?' asked Mr. Undershot. 

'Surely Mr. Tooder isn't a going to cry off?' said the other. 'Why, he was so hot about it yesterday. '

'Mr. Tudor is not very well this morning, ' said Mr. Neverbend. 'As his going down is not necessary for the inquiry, and ismerely a matter of taste on his part, he has not joined me thismorning. Come, gentlemen, are we ready?'

It was then for the first time explained to Mr. Neverbend that hehad to go through a rather complicated adjustment of his toiletbefore he would be considered fit to meet, the infernal gods. Hemust, he was informed, envelop himself from head to foot inminer's habiliments, if he wished to save every stitch he had onhim from dirt and destruction. He must also cover up his headwith a linen cap, so constituted as to carry a lump of mud with acandle stuck in it, if he wished to save either his head fromfilth or his feet from falling. Now Mr. Neverbend, like mostclerks in public offices, was somewhat particular about hiswardrobe; it behoved him, as a gentleman frequenting the WestEnd, to dress well, and it also behoved him to dress cheaply; hewas, moreover, careful both as to his head and feet; he couldnot, therefore, reject the recommended precautions, but yet thetime!--the time thus lost might destroy all. 

He hurried into the shed where his toilet was to be made, andsuffered himself to be prepared in the usual way. He took off hisown great coat, and put on a muddy course linen jacket thatcovered the upper portion of his body completely; he then draggedon a pair of equally muddy overalls; and lastly submitted to amost uninviting cap, which came down over his ears, and nearlyover his eyes, and on the brow of which a lump of mud was thenaffixed, bearing a short tallow candle. 

But though dressed thus in miner's garb, Mr. Neverbend could notbe said to look the part he filled. He was a stout, reddish-facedgentleman, with round shoulders and huge whiskers, he was nearlybald, and wore spectacles, and in the costume in which he nowappeared he did not seem to be at his ease. Indeed, all his airof command, all his personal dignity and dictatorial tone, lefthim as soon as he found himself metamorphosed into a fat pseudo-miner. He was like a cock whose feathers had been trailed throughthe mud, and who could no longer crow aloud, or claim thedunghill as his own. His appearance was somewhat that of a dirtydissipated cook who, having been turned out of one of the clubsfor drunkenness, had been wandering about the streets all night. He began to wish that he was once more in the well-knownneighbourhood of Charing Cross. 

The adventure, however, must now be carried through. There wasstill enough of manhood in his heart to make him feel that hecould not return to his colleague at Tavistock without visitingthe wonders which he had come so far to see. When he reached thehead of the shaft, however, the affair did appear to him to bemore terrible than he had before conceived. He was invited to getinto a rough square bucket, in which there was just room forhimself and another to stand; he was specially cautioned to keephis head straight, and his hands and elbows from protruding, andthen the windlass began to turn, and the upper world, thesunlight, and all humanity receded from his view. 

The world receded from his view, but hardly soon enough;for as the windlass turned and the bucket descended, his lastterrestrial glance, looking out among the heaps of mud, descriedAlaric Tudor galloping on Mr. Boteldale's pony up to the verymouth of the mine. 

'_Facilis descensus Averni_. ' The bucket went down easyenough, and all too quick. The manner in which it grounded itselfon the first landing grated discordantly on Mr. Neverbend's finerperceptibilities. But when he learnt, after the interchange ofvarious hoarse and to him unintelligible bellowings, that he wasto wait in that narrow damp lobby for the coming of his fellow-Commissioner, the grating on his feelings was even morediscordant. He had not pluck enough left to grumble: but hegrunted his displeasure. He grunted, however, in vain; for inabout a quarter of an hour Alaric was close to him, shoulder toshoulder. He also wore a white jacket, &c. , with a nightcap ofmud and candle on his head; but somehow he looked as though hehad worn them all his life. The fast gallop, and the excitementof the masquerade, which for him had charms the sterner Neverbendcould not feel, had dissipated his sickness; and he was once moreall himself. 

'So I've caught you at the first stage, ' said he, good-humouredly;for though he knew how badly he had been treated, he was muchtoo wise to show his knowledge. 'It shall go hard but I'll distanceyou before we have done, ' he said to himself. Poor Neverbendonly grunted. 

And then they all went down a second stage in another bucket; andthen a third in a third bucket; and then the business commenced. As far as this point passive courage alone had been required; tostand upright in a wooden tub and go down, and down, and down, was in itself easy enough, so long as the heart did not utterlyfaint. Mr. Neverbend's heart had grown faintish, but still he hadpersevered, and now stood on a third lobby, listening with dull, unintelligent ears to eager questions asked, by his colleague, and to the rapid answers of their mining guides. Tudor wasabsolutely at work with paper and pencil, taking down notes inthat wretched Pandemonium. 

'There now, sir, ' said the guide; 'no more of them ugly buckets, Mr. Neverbend; we can trust to our own arms and legs for the restof it, and so saying, he pointed out to Mr. Neverbend's horror-stricken eyes a perpendicular iron ladder fixed firmly againstthe upright side of a shaft, and leading--for aught Mr. Neverbendcould see--direct to hell itself. 

'Down here, is it?' said Alaric peeping over. 

'I'll go first, ' said the guide; and down he went, down, down, down, till Neverbend looking over, could barely see the glimmerof his disappearing head light. Was it absolutely intended thathe should disappear in the same way? Had he bound himself to godown that fiendish upright ladder? And were he to go down it, what then? Would it be possible that a man of his weight shouldever come up again?

'Shall it be you or I next?' said Alaric very civilly. Neverbendcould only pant and grunt, and Alaric, with a courteous nod, placed himself on the ladder, and went down, down, down, till ofhim also nothing was left but the faintest glimmer. Mr. Neverbendremained above with one of the mining authorities; one attendantminer also remained with them. 

'Now, Sir, ' said the authority, 'if you are ready, the ladder isquite free. '

Free! What would not Neverbend have given to be free alsohimself! He looked down the free ladder, and the very look madehim sink. It seemed to him as though nothing but a spider couldcreep down that perpendicular abyss. And then a sound, slow, sharp, and continuous, as of drops falling through infinite spaceon to deep water, came upon his ear; and he saw that the sides ofthe abyss were covered with slime; and the damp air made himcough, and the cap had got over his spectacles and nearly blindedhim; and he was perspiring with a cold, clammy sweat. 

'Well, sir, shall we be going on?' said the authority. 'Mr. Tooder'll be at the foot of the next set before this. '

Mr. Neverbend wished that Mr. Tudor's journey might still bedown, and down, and down, till he reached the globe's centre, inwhich conflicting attractions might keep him for ever fixed. Inhis despair he essayed to put one foot upon the ladder, and thenlooked piteously up to the guide's face. Even in that dark, dingyatmosphere the light of the farthing candle on his head revealedthe agony of his heart. His companions, though they were miners, were still men. They saw his misery, and relented. 

'Maybe thee be afeared?' said the working miner, 'and if so bethee bee'st, thee'd better bide. '

'I am sure I should never come up again, ' said Neverbend, with avoice pleading for mercy, but with all the submission of oneprepared to suffer without resistance if mercy should not beforthcoming. 

'Thee bee'st for sartan too thick and weazy like for themstairs, ' said the miner. 

'I am, I am, ' said Neverbend, turning on the man a look of thewarmest affection, and shoving the horrid, heavy, encumbered capfrom off his spectacles; 'yes, I am too fat. ' How would he haveanswered, with what aspect would he have annihilated the sinner, had such a man dared to call him weazy up above, on _terrafirma_, under the canopy of heaven?

His troubles, however, or at any rate his dangers, were broughtto an end. As soon as it became plainly manifest that his zeal inthe public service would carry him no lower, and would hardlysuffice to keep life throbbing in his bosom much longer, even inhis present level, preparations were made for his ascent. A bellwas rung; hoarse voices were again heard speaking and answeringin sounds quite unintelligible to a Cockney's ears; chainsrattled, the windlass whirled, and the huge bucket came tumblingdown, nearly on their heads. Poor Neverbend was all but liftedinto it. Where now was all the pride of the morn that had seenhim go forth the great dictator of the mines? Where was thattowering spirit with which he had ordered his tea and toast, andrebuked the slowness of his charioteer? Where the ambition thathad soared so high over the pet of the Weights and Measures?Alas, alas! how few of us there are who have within us thecourage to be great in adversity. _'Aequam memento'_--&c. , &c. !--if thou couldst but have thought of it, O Neverbend, whoneed'st must some day die. 

But Neverbend did not think of it. How few of us do remember suchlessons at those moments in which they ought to be of use to us!He was all but lifted into the tub, and then out of it, and thenagain into another, till he reached the upper world, a sightpiteous to behold. His spectacles had gone from him, his capcovered his eyes, his lamp had reversed itself, and soft globulesof grease had fallen on his nose, he was bathed in perspiration, and was nevertheless chilled through to his very bones, hiswhiskers were fringed with mud, and his black cravat had beenpulled from his neck and lost in some infernal struggle. Nevertheless, the moment in which he seated himself on a hardstool in that rough shed was perhaps the happiest in his life;some Christian brought him beer; had it been nectar from thebrewery of the gods, he could not have drunk it with greateravidity. 

By slow degrees he made such toilet as circumstances allowed, andthen had himself driven back to Tavistock, being no more willingto wait for Tudor now than he had been in the early morning. ButJehu found him much more reasonable on his return; and as thatrespectable functionary pocketed his half-crown, he fullyunderstood the spirit in which it was given. Poor Neverbend hadnot now enough pluck left in him to combat the hostility of apostboy. 

Alaric, who of course contrived to see all that was to be seen, and learn all that was to be learnt, in the dark passages of thetin mine, was careful on his return to use his triumph with thegreatest moderation. His conscience was, alas, burdened with theguilty knowledge of Undy's shares. When he came to think of thetransaction as he rode leisurely back to Tavistock, he knew howwrong he had been, and yet he felt a kind of triumph at the spoilwhich he held; for he had heard among the miners that the sharesof Mary Jane were already going up to some incredible standard ofvalue. In this manner, so said he to himself, had all the greatminds of the present day made their money, and kept themselvesafloat. 'Twas thus he tried to comfort himself; but not as yetsuccessfully. 

There were no more squabbles between Mr. Neverbend and Mr. Tudor;each knew that of himself, which made him bear and forbear; andso the two Commissioners returned to town on good terms with eachother, and Alaric wrote a report, which delighted the heart ofSir Gregory Hardlines, ruined the opponents of the great tinmine, and sent the Mary Jane shares up, and up, and up, tillspeculating men thought that they could not give too high a priceto secure them. 

Alaric returned to town on Friday. It had been arranged that he, and Charley, and Norman, should all go down to Hampton on theSaturday; and then, on the following week, the competitiveexamination was to take place. But Alaric's first anxiety afterhis return was to procure the £206, which he had to pay for theshares which he held in his pocket-book. He all but regretted, ashe journeyed up to town, with the now tame Fidus seated oppositeto him, that he had not disposed of them at Tavistock even athalf their present value, so that he might have saved himself thenecessity of being a borrower, and have wiped his hands of thewhole affair. 

He and Norman dined together at their club in Waterloo Place, thePythagorean, a much humbler establishment than that patronized byScott, and one that was dignified by no politics. After dinner, as they sat over their pint of sherry, Alaric made his request. 

'Harry, ' said he, suddenly, 'you are always full of money--I wantyou to lend me £150. '

Norman was much less quick in his mode of speaking than hisfriend, and at the present moment was inclined to be somewhatslower than usual. This affair of the examination pressed uponhis spirits, and made him dull and unhappy. During the whole ofdinner he had said little or nothing, and had since been sittinglistlessly gazing at vacancy, and balancing himself on the hind-legs of his chair. 

'O yes--certainly, ' said he; but he said it without the eagernesswith which Alaric thought that he should have answered hisrequest. 

'If it's inconvenient, or if you don't like it, ' said Alaric, theblood mounting to his forehead, 'it does not signify. I can dowithout it. '

'I can lend it you without any inconvenience, ' said Harry. 'Whendo you want it--not to-night, I suppose?'

'No--not to-night--I should like to have it early to-morrowmorning; but I see you don't like it, so I'll manage it someother way. '

'I don't know what you mean by not liking it. I have not theslightest objection to lending you any money I can spare. I don'tthink you'll find any other of your friends who will like itbetter. You can have it by eleven o'clock to-morrow. '

Intimate as the two men were, there had hitherto been very littleborrowing or lending between them; and now Alaric felt as thoughhe owed it to his intimacy with his friend to explain to him whyhe wanted so large a sum in so short a time. He felt, moreover, that he would not himself be so much ashamed of what he had doneif he could confess it to some one else. He could then solacehimself with the reflection that he had done nothing secret. Norman, he supposed, would be displeased; but then Norman'sdispleasure could not injure him, and with Norman there would beno danger that the affair would go any further. 

'You must think it very strange, ' said he, 'that I should wantsuch a sum; but the truth is I have bought some shares. '

'Railway shares?' said Norman, in a tone that certainly did notsignify approval. He disliked speculation altogether, and had anold-fashioned idea that men who do speculate, should have moneywherewith to do it. 

'No--not railway shares exactly. '

'Canal?' suggested Norman. 

'No--not canal. '

'Gas?'

'Mines, ' said Alaric, bringing out the dread truth at last. 

Harry Norman's brow grew very black. 'Not that mine that you'vebeen down about, I hope, ' said he. 

'Yes--that very identical Mary Jane that I went down, and downabout, ' said Alaric, trying to joke on the subject. 'Don't lookso very black, my dear fellow. I know all that you have to sayupon the matter. I did what was very foolish, I dare say; but theidea never occurred to me till it was too late, that I might besuspected of making a false report on the subject, because I hadembarked a hundred pounds in it. '

'Alaric, if it were known--'

'Then it mustn't be known, ' said Tudor. 'I am sorry for it; but, as I told you, the idea didn't occur to me till it was too late. The shares are bought now, and must be paid for to-morrow. Ishall sell them the moment I can, and you shall have the money inthree or four days. '

'I don't care one straw about the money, ' said Norman, now quickenough, but still in great displeasure; 'I would give double theamount that you had not done this. '

'Don't be so suspicious, Harry, ' said the other--'don't try tothink the worst of your friend. By others, by Sir GregoryHardlines, Neverbend, and such men, I might expect to be judgedharshly in such a matter. But I have a right to expect that youwill believe me. I tell you that I did this inadvertently, and amsorry for it; surely that ought to be sufficient. '

Norman said nothing more; but he felt that Tudor had done thatwhich, if known, would disgrace him for ever. It might, however, very probably never be known; and it might also be that Tudorwould never act so dishonestly again. On the following morningthe money was paid; and in the course of the next week the shareswere resold, and the money repaid, and Alaric Tudor, for thefirst time in his life, found himself to be the possessor of overthree hundred pounds. 

Such was the price which Scott, Manylodes, & Co. , had found itworth their while to pay him for his good report on Mary Jane. 

CHAPTER XI

THE THREE KINGS

And now came the all-important week. On the Saturday the threeyoung men went down to Hampton. Charley had lately been leading avery mixed sort of life. One week he would consort mainly withthe houri of the Norfolk Street beer-shop, and the next he wouldbe on his good behaviour, and live as respectably as circumstancespermitted him to do. His scope in this respect was not large. Thegreatest respectability which his unassisted efforts could possiblyachieve was to dine at a cheap eating-house, and spend hisevenings, at a cigar divan. He belonged to no club, and his circleof friends, except in the houri and navvy line, was very limited. Whocould expect that a young man from the Internal Navigation wouldsit for hours and hours alone in a dull London lodging, over his bookand tea-cup? Who should expect that any young man will do so?And yet mothers, and aunts, and anxious friends, do expect it--verymuch in vain. 

During Alaric's absence at Tavistock, Norman had taken Charley bythe hand and been with him a good deal. He had therefore spent anuncommonly respectable week, and the Norfolk Street houri wouldhave been _au désespoir_, but that she had other Charleys toher bow. When he found himself getting into a first-classcarriage at the Waterloo-bridge station with his two comrades, hebegan to appreciate the comfort of decency, and almost wishedthat he also had been brought up among the stern morals and hardwork of the Weights and Measures. 

Nothing special occurred at Surbiton Cottage. It might have beenevident to a watchful bystander that Alaric was growing in favourwith all the party, excepting Mrs. Woodward, and that, as he didso, Harry was more and more cherished by her. 

This was specially shown in one little scene. Alaric had broughtdown with him to Hampton the documents necessary to enable him todraw out his report on Mary Jane. Indeed, it was all butnecessary that he should do so, as his coming examination wouldleave him but little time for other business during the week. OnSaturday night he sat up at his inn over the papers, and onSunday morning, when Mrs. Woodward and the girls came down, readybonneted, for church, he signified his intention of remaining athis work. 

'I certainly think he might have gone to church, ' said Mrs. Woodward, when the hall-door closed behind the party, as theystarted to their place of worship. 

'Oh! mamma, think how much he has to do, ' said Gertrude. 

'Nonsense, ' said Mrs. Woodward; 'it's all affectation, and heought to go to church. Government clerks are not worked so hardas all that; are they, Harry?'

'Alaric is certainly very busy, but I think he should go tochurch all the same, ' said Harry, who himself never omitteddivine worship. 

'But surely this is a work of necessity?' said Linda. 

'Fiddle-de-de, ' said Mrs. Woodward; 'I hate affectation, my dear. It's very grand, I dare say, for a young man's services to be insuch request that he cannot find time to say his prayers. He'llfind plenty of time for gossiping by and by, I don't doubt. '

Linda could say nothing further, for an unbidden tear moistenedher eyelid as she heard her mother speak so harshly of her lover. Gertrude, however, took up the cudgels for him, and so didCaptain Cuttwater. 

'I think you are a little hard upon him, mamma, ' said Gertrude, 'particularly when you know that, as a rule, he always goes tochurch. I have heard you say yourself what an excellent churchmanhe is. '

'Young men change sometimes, ' said Mrs. Woodward. 

'Upon my word, Bessie, I think you are very uncharitable this fineSunday morning, ' said the captain. 'I wonder how you'll feel ifwe have that chapter about the beam and the mote. '

Mrs. Woodward did not quite like being scolded by her unclebefore her daughters, but she said nothing further. Katie, however, looked daggers at the old man from out her big brighteyes. What right had any man, were he ever so old, ever so muchan uncle, to scold her mamma? Katie was inclined to join hermother and take Harry Norman's side, for it was Harry Norman whoowned the boat. 

They were now at the church door, and they entered without sayinganything further. Let us hope that charity, which surpasseth allother virtues, guided their prayers while they were there, andfilled their hearts. In the meantime Alaric, unconscious how hehad been attacked and how defended, worked hard at his Tavistocknotes. 

Mrs. Woodward was quite right in this, that the Commissioner ofthe Mines, though he was unable to find time to go to church, didfind time to saunter about with the girls before dinner. Was itto be expected that he should not do so? for what other purposewas he there at Hampton?

They were all very serious this Sunday afternoon, and Katie couldmake nothing of them. She and Charley, indeed, went off bythemselves to a desert island, or a place that would have been adesert island had the water run round it, and there builtstupendous palaces and laid out glorious gardens. Charley was themost good-natured of men, and could he have only brought a boatwith him, as Harry so often did, he would soon have been firstfavourite with Katie. 

'It shan't be at all like Hampton Court, ' said Katie, speaking ofthe new abode which Charley was to build for her. 

'Not at all, ' said Charley. 

'Nor yet Buckingham Palace. '

'No, ' said Charley, 'I think we'll have it Gothic. '

'Gothic!' said Katie, looking up at him with all her eyes. 'WillGothic be most grand? What's Gothic?'

Charley began to consider. 'Westminster Abbey, ' said he at last. 

'Oh--but Charley, I don't want a church. Is the Alhambra Gothic?'

Charley was not quite sure, but thought it probably was. Theydecided, therefore, that the new palace should be built after themodel of the Alhambra. 

The afternoon was but dull and lugubrious to the remainder of theparty. The girls seemed to feel that there was something solemnabout the coming competition between two such dear friends, whichprevented and should prevent them all from being merry. Harryperfectly sympathized in the feeling; and even Alaric, thoughdepressed himself by no melancholy forebodings, was at any rateconscious that he should refrain from any apparent anticipationof a triumph. They all went to church in the evening; but eventhis amendment in Alaric's conduct hardly reconciled him to Mrs. Woodward. 

'I suppose we shall all be very clever before long, ' said she, after tea; 'but really I don't know that we shall be any thebetter for it. Now in this office of yours, by the end of nextweek, there will be three or four men with broken hearts, andthere will be one triumphant jackanapes, so conceited and proud, that he'll never bring himself to do another good ordinary day'swork as long as he lives. Nothing will persuade me but that it isnot only very bad, but very unjust also. '

'The jackanapes must learn to put up with ordinary work, ' saidAlaric, 'or he'll soon find himself reduced to his formerinsignificance. '

'And the men with the broken hearts; they, I suppose, must put upwith their wretchedness too, ' said Mrs. Woodward; 'and theirwives, also, and children, who have been looking forward foryears to this vacancy as the period of their lives at which theyare to begin to be comfortable. I hate such heartlessness. I hatethe very name of Sir Gregory Hardlines. '

'But, mamma, won't the general effect be to produce a much higherclass of education among the men?' said Gertrude. 

'In the army and navy the best men get on the best, ' said Linda. 

'Do they, by jingo!' said Uncle Bat. 'It's very little you knowabout the navy, Miss Linda. '

'Well, then, at any rate they ought, ' said Linda. 

'I would have a competitive examination in every service, ' saidGertrude. 'It would make young men ambitious. They would not beso idle and empty as they now are, if they had to contend in thisway for every step upwards in the world. '

'The world, ' said Mrs. Woodward, 'will soon be like a fishpond, very full of fish, but with very little food for them. Every oneis scrambling for the others' prey, and they will end at last byeating one another. If Harry gets this situation, will not thatunfortunate Jones, who for years has been waiting for it, alwaysregard him as a robber?'

'My maxim is this, ' said Uncle Bat; 'if a youngster goes into anyservice, say the navy, and does his duty by his country like aman, why, he shouldn't be passed over. Now look at me; I wason the books of the _Catamaran_, one of the old seventy-fours, in '96; I did my duty then and always; was never in the blackbook or laid up sick; was always rough and ready for any workthat came to hand; and when I went into the _Mudlark_ as lieutenantin year '9, little Bobby Howard had just joined the old _Cat. _ as ayoung middy. And where am I now? and where is Bobby Howard?Why, d----e, I'm on the shelf, craving the ladies' pardon; and he'sa Lord of the Admiralty, if you please, and a Member of Parliament. Now I say Cuttwater's as good a name as Howard for going to seawith any day; and if there'd been a competitive examination forAdmiralty Lords five years ago, Bobby Howard would never havebeen where he is now, and somebody else who knows moreabout his profession than all the Howards put together, mightperhaps have been in his place. And so, my lads, here's to you, and I hope the best man will win. '

Whether Uncle Bat agreed with his niece or with his grandnieceswas not very apparent from the line of his argument; but they alllaughed at his eagerness, and nothing more was said that eveningabout the matter. 

Alaric, Harry, and Charley, of course returned to town on thefollowing day. Breakfast on Monday morning at Surbiton Cottagewas an early affair when the young men were there; so early, thatCaptain Cuttwater did not make his appearance. Since his arrivalat the cottage, Mrs. Woodward had found an excuse for a laterbreakfast in the necessity of taking it with her uncle; so thatthe young people were generally left alone. Linda was the familytea-maker, and was, therefore, earliest down; and Alaric beingthe first on this morning to leave the hotel, found her alone inthe dining-room. 

He had never renewed the disclosure of his passion; but Linda hadthought that whenever he shook hands with her since thatmemorable walk, she had always felt a more than ordinarypressure. This she had been careful not to return, but she hadnot the heart to rebuke it. Now, when he bade her good morning, he certainly held her hand in his longer than he need have done. He looked at her too, as though his looks meant something morethan ordinary looking; at least so Linda thought; but yet he saidnothing, and so Linda, slightly trembling, went on with theadjustment of her tea-tray. 

'It will be all over, Linda, when we meet again, ' said Alaric. His mind she found was intent on his examination, not on hislove. But this was natural, was as it should be. If--and she wascertain in her heart that it would be so--if he should besuccessful, then he might speak of love without having to speakin the same breath of poverty as well. 'It will be all over whenwe meet again, ' he said. 

'I suppose it will, ' said Linda. 

'I don't at all like it; it seems so unnatural having to contendagainst one's friend. And yet one cannot help it; one cannotallow one's self to go to the wall'

'I'm sure Harry doesn't mind it, ' said Linda. 

'I'm sure I do, ' said he. 'If I fail I shall be unhappy, and if Isucceed I shall be equally so. I shall set all the world againstme. I know what your mother meant when she talked of a jackanapesyesterday. If I get the promotion I may wish good-bye to SurbitonCottage. '

'Oh, Alaric!'

'Harry would forgive me; but Harry's friends would never do so. '

'How can you say so? I am sure mamma has no such feeling, nor yeteven Gertrude; I mean that none of us have. '

'It is very natural all of you should, for he is your cousin. '

'You are just the same as our cousin. I am sure we think quite asmuch of you as of Harry. Even Gertrude said she hoped that youwould get it. '

'Dear Gertrude!'

'Because, you know, Harry does not want it so much as you do. Iam sure I wish you success with all my heart. Perhaps it's wickedto wish for either of you over the other; but you can't both getit at once, you know. '

At this moment Katie came in, and soon afterwards Gertrude andthe two other young men, and so nothing further was said on thesubject. 

Charley parted with the competitors at the corner of WaterlooBridge. He turned into Somerset House, being there regarded onthese Monday mornings as a prodigy of punctuality; and Alaric andHarry walked back along the Strand, arm-in-arm, toward their ownoffice. 

'Well, lads, I hope you'll both win, ' said Charley. 'Andwhichever wins most, why of course he'll stand an uncommon gooddinner. '

'Oh! that's of course, ' said Alaric. 'We'll have it at theTrafalgar. '

And so the two walked on together, arm-in-arm, to the Weights andMeasures. 

The ceremony which was now about to take place at the Weights andMeasures was ordained to be the first of those examinationswhich, under the auspices of Sir Gregory Hardlines, were destinedto revivify, clarify, and render perfect the Civil Service of thecountry. It was a great triumph to Sir Gregory to see the darlingobject of his heart thus commencing its existence in the verycradle in which he, as an infant Hercules, had made his firstexertions in the cause. It was to be his future fortune tosuperintend these intellectual contests, in a stately office ofhis own, duly set apart and appointed for the purpose. But thethrone on which he was to sit had not yet been prepared for him, and he was at present constrained to content himself withexercising his power, now here and now there, according as hisservices might be required, carrying the appurtenances of hisroyalty about with him. 

But Sir Gregory was not a solitary monarch. In days long gone bythere were, as we all know, three kings at Cologne, and againthree kings at Brentford. So also were there three kings at theCivil Service Examination Board. But of these three Sir Gregorywas by far the greatest king. He sat in the middle, had twothousand jewels to his crown, whereas the others had only twelvehundred each, and his name ran first in all the royal warrants. Nevertheless, Sir Gregory, could he have had it so, would, likemost other kings, have preferred an undivided sceptre. 

Of his co-mates on the throne the elder in rank was a westcountry baronet, who, not content with fatting beeves andbrewing beer like his sires, aspired to do something for his country. Sir Warwick Westend was an excellent man, full of the bestintentions, and not more than decently anxious to get the goodthings of Government into his hand. He was, perhaps, rather toomuch inclined to think that he could see further through amillstone than another, and had a way of looking as though hewere always making the attempt. He was a man born to grace, ifnot his country, at any rate his county; and his conduct wasuniformly such as to afford the liveliest satisfaction to hisuncles, aunts, and relations in general. If as a king he had afault, it was this, that he allowed that other king, Sir Gregory, to carry him in his pocket. 

But Sir Gregory could not at all get the third king into hispocket. This gentleman was a worthy clergyman from Cambridge, oneMr. Jobbles by name. Mr. Jobbles had for many years beenexamining undergraduates for little goes and great goes, and hadpassed his life in putting posing questions, in detectingignorance by viva voce scrutiny, and eliciting learning byprinted papers. He, by a stupendous effort of his mathematicalmind, had divided the adult British male world into classes andsub-classes, and could tell at a moment's notice how long itwould take him to examine them all. His soul panted for the work. Every man should, he thought, be made to pass through some 'go. 'The greengrocer's boy should not carry out cabbages unless hisfitness for cabbage-carrying had been ascertained, and till ithad also been ascertained that no other boy, ambitious of thepreferment, would carry them better. Difficulty! There was nodifficulty. Could not he, Jobbles, get through 5, 000 viva vocesin every five hours--that is, with due assistance? and would not55, 000 printed papers, containing 555, 000 questions, be gettingthemselves answered at the same time, with more or lessprecision?

So now Mr. Jobbles was about to try his huge plan by a smallcommencement. 

On the present occasion the examination was actually to becarried on by two of the kings in person. Sir Gregory haddeclared that as so large a portion of his heart and affectionswas bound up with the gentlemen of the Weights and Measures, hecould not bring himself actually to ask questions of them, andthen to listen to or read their answers. Should any of his lovedones make some fatal _faux pas_, his tears, like those ofthe recording angel, would blot out the error. His eyes wouldrefuse to see faults, if there should be faults, in those whom hehimself had nurtured. Therefore, though he came with hiscolleagues to the Weights and Measures, he did not himself takepart in the examination. 

At eleven o'clock the Board-room was opened, and the candidateswalked in and seated themselves. Fear of Sir Gregory, and othercauses, had thinned the number. Poor Jones, who by right ofseniority should have had the prize, declined to put himself incompetition with his juniors, and in lieu thereof sent up to theLords of the Treasury an awful memorial spread over fifteen foliopages--very uselessly. The Lords of the Treasury referred it to thethree kings, whose secretary put a minute upon it. Sir Gregorysigned the minute, and some gentleman at the Treasury wrote a shortletter to Mr. Jones, apprising that unhappy gentleman that my Lordshad taken the matter into their fullest consideration, and thatnothing could be done to help him. Had Jones been consulted by anyother disappointed Civil Service Werter as to the expediency ofcomplaining to the Treasury Lords, Jones would have told himexactly what would be the result. The disappointed one, however, always thinks that all the Treasury Lords will give all theirears to him, though they are deafer than Icarus to the worldbeside. 

Robinson stood his ground like a man; but Brown found out, a dayor two before the struggle came, that he could not bring himselfto stand against his friend. Jones, he said, he knew wasincompetent, but Robinson ought to get it; so he, for one, wouldnot stand in Robinson's way. 

Uppinall was there, as confident as a bantam cock; and so wasAlphabet Precis, who had declared to all his friends that if thepure well of official English undefiled was to count foranything, he ought to be pretty safe. But poor Minusex was ill, and sent a certificate. He had so crammed himself with unknownquantities, that his mind--like a gourmand's stomach--had brokendown under the effort, and he was now sobbing out algebraicpositions under his counterpane. 

Norman and Alaric made up the five who still had health, strength, and pluck to face the stern justice of the new kings;and they accordingly took their seats on five chairs, equallydistant, placing themselves in due order of seniority. 

And then, first of all, Sir Gregory made a little speech, standing up at the head of the Board-room table, with anattendant king on either hand, and the Secretary, and twoAssistant-Secretaries, standing near him. Was not this a proudmoment for Sir Gregory?

'It had now become his duty, ' he said, 'to take his position inthat room, that well-known, well-loved room, under circumstancesof which he had little dreamt when he first entered it with awe-struck steps, in the days of his early youth. But, nevertheless, even then ambition had warmed him. That ambition had been todevote every energy of his mind, every muscle of his body, everyhour of his life, to the Civil Service of his country. It was notmuch, perhaps, that he had been able to do; he could not boast ofthose acute powers of mind, of that gigantic grasp of intellect, of which they saw in those days so wonderful an example in a highplace. ' Sir Gregory here gratefully alluded to that statesman whohad given him his present appointment. 'But still he had devotedall his mind, such as it was, and every hour of his life, to theservice; and now he had his reward. If he might be allowed togive advice to the gentlemen before him, gentlemen of whose, admirable qualifications for the Civil Service of the country hehimself was so well aware, his advice should be this--That theyshould look on none of their energies as applicable to privatepurposes, regard none of their hours as their own. They weredevoted in a peculiar way to the Civil Service, and they shouldfeel that such was their lot in life. They should know that theirintellects were a sacred pledge intrusted to them for the good ofthat service, and should use them accordingly. This should betheir highest ambition. And what higher ambition, ' asked SirGregory, 'could they have? They all, alas! knew that the servicehad been disgraced in other quarters by idleness, incompetency, and, he feared he must say, dishonesty; till incompetency anddishonesty had become, not the exception, but the rule. It wastoo notorious that the Civil Service was filled by the familyfools of the aristocracy and middle classes, and that any familywho had no fool to send, sent in lieu thereof some invalid pasthope. Thus the service had become a hospital for incurables andidiots. It was, ' said Sir Gregory, 'for him and them to cure allthat. He would not, ' he said, 'at that moment, say anything withreference to salaries. It was, as they were all aware, a verydifficult subject, and did not seem to be necessarily connectedwith the few remarks which the present opportunity had seemed tohim to call for. ' He then told them they were all his belovedchildren; that they were a credit to the establishment; that hehanded them over without a blush to his excellent colleagues, SirWarwick Westend and Mr. Jobbles, and that he wished in his heartthat each of them could be successful. And having so spoken, SirGregory went his way. 

It was beautiful then to see how Mr. Jobbles swam down the longroom and handed out his examination papers to the differentcandidates as he passed them. 'Twas a pity there should have beenbut five; the man did it so well, so quickly, with such a gusto!He should have been allowed to try his hand upon five hundredinstead of five. His step was so rapid and his hand and arm movedso dexterously, that no conceivable number would have been toomany for him. But, even with five, he showed at once that theright man was in the right place. Mr. Jobbles was created for theconducting of examinations. 

And then the five candidates, who had hitherto been all ears, ofa sudden became all eyes, and devoted themselves in a mannerwhich would have been delightful to Sir Gregory, to the papersbefore them. Sir Warwick, in the meantime, was seated in hischair, hard at work looking through his millstone. 

It is a dreadful task that of answering examination papers--onlyto be exceeded in dreadfulness by the horrors of Mr. Jobbles'viva voce torments. A man has before him a string of questions, and he looks painfully down them, from question to question, searching for some allusion to that special knowledge which hehas within him. He too often finds that no such allusion is made. It appears that the Jobbles of the occasion has exactly known theblank spots of his mind and fitted them all. He has perhapscrammed himself with the winds and tides, and there is no morereference to those stormy subjects than if Luna were extinct; buthe has, unfortunately, been loose about his botany, and questionafter question would appear to him to have been dictated by SirJoseph Paxton or the head-gardener at Kew. And then to his ownblank face and puzzled look is opposed the fast scribbling ofsome botanic candidate, fast as though reams of folio couldhardly contain all the knowledge which he is able to pour forth. 

And so, with a mixture of fast-scribbling pens and blank faces, our five friends went to work. The examination lasted for fourdays, and it was arranged that on each of the four days each ofthe five candidates should be called up to undergo a certainquantum of Mr. Jobbles' viva voce. This part of his duty Mr. Jobbles performed with a mildness of manner that was beyond allpraise. A mother training her first-born to say 'papa, ' could notdo so with a softer voice, or more affectionate demeanour. 

'The planet Jupiter, ' said he to Mr. Precis; 'I have no doubt youknow accurately the computed distance of that planet from thesun, and also that of our own planet. Could you tell me now, howwould you calculate the distance in inches, say from LondonBridge to the nearest portion of Jupiter's disc, at twelveo'clock on the first of April?' Mr. Jobbles, as he put his littlequestion, smiled the sweetest of smiles, and spoke in a toneconciliating and gentle, as though he were asking Mr. Precis todine with him and take part of a bottle of claret at half-pastsix. 

But, nevertheless, Mr. Precis looked very blank. 

'I am not asking the distance, you know, ' said Mr. Jobbles, smiling sweeter than ever; 'I am only asking how you wouldcompute it. '

But still Mr. Precis looked exceedingly blank. 

'Never mind, ' said Mr. Jobbles, with all the encouragement whichhis voice could give, 'never mind. Now, suppose that _a_ bea milestone; _b_ a turnpike-gate--, ' and so on. 

But Mr. Jobbles, in spite of his smiles, so awed the hearts ofsome of his candidates, that two of them retired at the end ofthe second day. Poor Robinson, thinking, and not withoutsufficient ground, that he had not a ghost of a chance, determined to save himself from further annoyance; and thenNorman, put utterly out of conceit with himself by what he deemedthe insufficiency of his answers, did the same. He had become lowin spirits, unhappy in temperament, and self-diffident to apainful degree. Alaric, to give him his due, did everything inhis power to persuade him to see the task out to the last. Butthe assurance and composure of Alaric's manner did more thananything else to provoke and increase Norman's discomfiture. Hehad been schooling himself to bear a beating with a good grace, and he began to find that he could only bear it as a disgrace. Onthe morning of the third day, instead of taking his place in theBoard-room, he sent in a note to Mr. Jobbles, declaring that hewithdrew from the trial. Mr. Jobbles read the note, and smiledwith satisfaction as he put it into his pocket. It was anacknowledgement of his own unrivalled powers as an Examiner. 

Mr. Precis, still trusting to his pure well, went on to the end, and at the end declared that so ignorant was Mr. Jobbles of hisduty that he had given them no opportunity of showing what theycould do in English composition. Why had he not put before themthe papers in some memorable official case, and desired them tomake an abstract; those, for instance, on the much-vexed questionof penny versus pound, as touching the new standard for thedecimal coinage? Mr. Jobbles an Examiner indeed! And so Mr. Precis bethought himself that he also, if unsuccessful, would goto the Lords of the Treasury. 

And Mr. Uppinall and Alaric Tudor also went on. Those who knewanything of the matter, when they saw how the running horses werereduced in number, and what horses were left on the course--whenthey observed also how each steed came to the post on eachsucceeding morning, had no doubt whatever of the result. So thatwhen Alaric was declared on the Saturday morning to have gainedthe prize, there was very little astonishment either felt orexpressed at the Weights and Measures. 

Alaric's juniors wished him joy with some show of reality intheir manner; but the congratulations of his seniors, includingthe Secretary and Assistant-Secretaries, the new Chief Clerk andthe men in the class to which he was now promoted, were very coldindeed. But to this he was indifferent. It was the nature ofTudor's disposition, that he never for a moment rested satisfiedwith the round of the ladder on which he had contrived to placehimself. He had no sooner gained a step than he looked upwards tosee how the next step was to be achieved. His motto might wellhave been 'Excelsior!' if only he could have taught himself tolook to heights that were really high. When he found that theaugust Secretary received him on his promotion without much_empressement_, he comforted himself by calculating how longit would be before he should fill that Secretary's chair--ifindeed it should ever be worth his while to fill it. 

The Secretary at the Weights and Measures had, after all, but adull time of it, and was precluded by the routine of his officefrom parliamentary ambition and the joys of government. Alaricwas already beginning to think that this Weights and Measuresshould only be a stepping-stone to him; and that when SirGregory, with his stern dogma of devotion to the service, hadbeen of sufficient use to him, he also might with advantage bethrown over. In the meantime an income of £600 a year broughtwith it to the young bachelor some very comfortable influence. But the warmest and the pleasantest of all the congratulationswhich he received was from his dear friend Undy Scott. 

'Ah, my boy, ' said Undy, pressing his hand, 'you'll soon be oneof us. By the by, I want to put you up for the Downing; youshould leave that Pythagorean: there's nothing to be got by it. '

Now, the Downing was a political club, in which, however, politics had latterly become a good deal mixed. But theGovernment of the day generally found there a liberal support, and recognized and acknowledged its claim to consideration. 

CHAPTER XII

CONSOLATION

On the following Sunday neither Tudor nor Norman was at Hampton. They had both felt that they could not comfortably meet eachother there, and each had declined to go. They had promised towrite; and now that the matter was decided, how were they oreither of them to keep the promise?

It may be thought that the bitterness of the moment was over withNorman as soon as he gave up; but such was not the case. Let himstruggle as he would with himself he could not rally, nor bringhimself to feel happy on what had occurred. He would have beenbetter satisfied if Alaric would have triumphed; but Alaricseemed to take it all as a matter of course, and never spoke ofhis own promotion unless he did so in answer to some remark ofhis companion; then he could speak easily enough; otherwise hewas willing to let the matter go by as one settled and at rest. He had consulted Norman about the purchase of a horse, but hehitherto had shown no other sign that he was a richer man thanformerly. 

It was a very bitter time for Norman. He could not divest hismind of the subject. What was he to do? Where was he to go? Howwas he to get away, even for a time, from Alaric Tudor? And then, was he right in wishing to get away from him? Had he not toldhimself, over and over again, that it behoved him as a man and afriend and a Christian to conquer the bitter feeling of envywhich preyed on his spirits? Had he not himself counselled Alaricto stand this examination? and had he not promised that his doingso should make no difference in their friendship? Had he notpledged himself to rejoice in the success of his friend? and nowwas he to break his word both to that friend and to himself?

Schooling himself, or trying to school himself in this way, hemade no attempt at escaping from his unhappiness. They passed theWednesday, Thursday, and Friday evenings together. It was nownearly the end of September, and London was empty; that is, emptyas regards those friends and acquaintances with whom Norman mighthave found some resource. On the Saturday they left their officeearly; for all office routine had, during this week, been brokenthrough by the immense importance of the ceremony which was goingon; and then it became necessary to write to Mrs. Woodward. 

'Will you write to Hampton or shall I?' said Alaric, as theywalked arm-in-arm under the windows of Whitehall. 

'Oh! you, of course, ' said Norman; 'you have much to tell them; Ihave nothing. '

'Just as you please, ' said the other. 'That is, of course, I willif you like it. But I think it would come better from you. Youare nearer to them than I am; and it will have less a look oftriumph on my part, and less also of disappointment on yours, ifyou write. If you tell them that you literally threw away yourchance, you will only tell them the truth. '

Norman assented, but he said nothing further. What business hadAlaric to utter such words as triumph and disappointment? Hecould not keep his arm, on which Alaric was leaning, fromspasmodically shrinking from the touch. He had been beaten by aman, nay worse, had yielded to a man, who had not the commonhonesty to refuse a bribe; and yet he was bound to love this man. He could not help asking himself the question which he would do. Would he love him or hate him?

But while he was so questioning himself, he got home, and had tosit down and write his letter--this he did at once, but notwithout difficulty. It ran as follows:--

'My dear Mrs. Woodward, --

'I write a line to tell you of my discomfiture and Alaric'ssuccess. I gave up at the end of the second day. Of course I willtell you all about it when we meet. No one seemed to doubt thatAlaric would get it, as a matter of course. I shall be with youon next Saturday. Alaric says he will not go down till theSaturday after, when I shall be at Normansgrove. My best love tothe girls. Tell Katie I shan't drown either myself or the boat, 'Yours ever affectionately, 'H. N. 

'Saturday, September, 185-. 

'Pray write me a kind letter to comfort me. '

Mrs. Woodward did write him a very kind letter, and it didcomfort him. And she wrote also, as she was bound to do, a letterof congratulation to Alaric. This letter, though it expressed inthe usual terms the satisfaction which one friend has inanother's welfare, was not written in the same warm affectionatetone as that to Norman. Alaric perceived instantly that it wasnot cordial. He loved Mrs. Woodward dearly, and greatly desiredher love and sympathy. But what then? He could not haveeverything. He determined, therefore, not to trouble his mind. IfMrs. Woodward did not sympathize with him, others of the familywould do so; and success would ultimately bring her round. Whatwoman ever yet refused to sympathize with successful ambition?

Alaric also received a letter from Captain Cuttwater, in whichthat gallant veteran expressed his great joy at the result of theexamination--'Let the best man win all the world over, ' said he, 'whatever his name is. And they'll have to make the same rule atthe Admiralty too. The days of the Howards are gone by; that is, unless they can prove themselves able seamen, which very few ofthem ever did yet. Let the best man win; that's what I say; andlet every man get his fair share of promotion. ' Alaric did notdespise the sympathy of Captain Cuttwater. It might turn out thateven Captain Cuttwater could be made of use. 

Mrs. Woodward's letter to Harry was full of the tenderestaffection. It was a flattering, soothing, loving letter, such asno man ever could have written. It was like oil poured into hiswounds, and made him feel that the world was not all harsh tohim. He had determined not to go to Hampton that Saturday; butMrs. Woodward's letter almost made him rush there at once that hemight throw himself into her arms--into her arms, and at herdaughter's feet. The time had now come to him when he wanted tobe comforted by the knowledge that his love was returned. Heresolved that during his next visit he would formally propose toGertrude. 

The determination to do this, and a strong hope that he might doit successfully, kept him up during the interval. On thefollowing week he was to go to his father's place to shoot, having obtained leave of absence for a month; and he felt that hecould still enjoy himself if he could take with him theconviction that all was right at Surbiton Cottage. Mrs. Woodward, in her letter, though she had spoken much of the girls, had saidnothing special about Gertrude. Nevertheless, Norman gatheredfrom it that she intended that he should go thither to look forcomfort, and that he would find there the comfort that herequired. 

And Mrs. Woodward had intended that such should be the effect ofher letter. It was at present the dearest wish of her heart tosee Norman and Gertrude married. That Norman had often declaredhis love to her eldest daughter she knew very well, and she knewalso that Gertrude had never rejected him. Having perfectconfidence in her child, she had purposely abstained from sayinganything that could bias her opinion. She had determined to leavethe matter in the hands of the young people themselves, judgingthat it might be best arranged as a true love-match between them, without interference from her; she had therefore said nothing toGertrude on the subject. 

Mrs. Woodward, however, discovered that she was in error, when itwas too late for her to retrieve her mistake; and, indeed, hadshe discovered it before that letter was written, what could shehave done? She could not have forbidden Harry to come to herhouse--she could not have warned him not to throw himself at herdaughter's feet. The cup was prepared for his lips, and it wasnecessary that he should drink of it. There was nothing for whichshe could blame him; nothing for which she could blame herself;nothing for which she did blame her daughter. It was sorrowful, pitiful, to be lamented, wept for, aye, and groaned for; manyinward groans it cost her; but it was at any rate well that shecould attribute her sorrow to the spite of circumstances ratherthan to the ill-conduct of those she loved. 

Nor would it have been fair to blame Gertrude in the matter. While she was yet a child, this friend of her mother's had beenthrown with her, and when she was little more than a child, shefound that this friend had become a lover. She liked him, in onesense loved him, and was accustomed to regard him as one whom itwould be almost wrong in her not to like and love. What wonderthen that when he first spoke to her warm words of adoration, shehad not been able at once to know her own heart, and tell himthat his hopes would be in vain?

She perceived by instinct, rather than by spoken words, that hermother was favourable to this young lover, that if she acceptedhim she would please her mother, that the course of true lovemight in their case run smooth. What wonder then that she shouldhave hesitated before she found it necessary to say that shecould not, would not, be Harry Norman's wife?

On the Saturday morning, the morning of that night which was, ashe hoped, to see him go to bed a happy lover, so happy in hislove as to be able to forget his other sorrows, she was sittingalone with her mother. It was natural that their conversationshould turn to Alaric and Harry. Alaric, with his happyprospects, was soon dismissed; but Mrs. Woodward continued tosing the praises of him who, had she been potent with the magi ofthe Civil Service, would now be the lion of the Weights andMeasures. 

'I must say I think it was weak of him to retire, ' said Gertrude. 'Alaric says in his letter to Uncle Bat, that had he perseveredhe would in all probability have been successful. '

'I should rather say that it was generous, ' said her mother. 

'Well, I don't know, mamma; that of course depends on hismotives; but wouldn't generosity of that sort between two youngmen in such a position be absurd?'

'You mean that such regard for his friend would be Quixotic. '

'Yes, mamma. '

'Perhaps it would. All true generosity, all noble feeling, is nowcalled Quixotic. But surely, Gertrude, you and I should notquarrel with Harry on that account. '

'I think he got frightened, mamma, and had not nerve to gothrough with it. '

Mrs. Woodward looked vexed; but she made no immediate reply, andfor some time the mother and daughter went on working withoutfurther conversation. At last Gertrude said:--

'I think every man is bound to do the best he can for himself--that is, honestly; there is something spoony in one man allowinganother to get before him, as long as he can manage to be firsthimself. '

Mrs. Woodward did not like the tone in which her daughter spoke. She felt that it boded ill for Harry's welfare; and she tried, but tried in vain, to elicit from her daughter the expression ofa kinder feeling. 

'Well, my dear, I must say I think you are hard on him. But, probably, just at present you have the spirit of contradiction inyou. If I were to begin to abuse him, perhaps I should get you topraise him. '

'Oh, mamma, I did not abuse him. '

'Something like it, my dear, when you said he was spoony. '

'Oh, mamma, I would not abuse him for worlds--I know how good heis, I know how you love him, but, but---' and Gertrude, thoughvery little given to sobbing moods, burst into tears. 

'Come here, Gertrude; come here, my child, ' said Mrs. Woodward, now moved more for her daughter than for her favourite; 'what isit? what makes you cry? I did not really mean that you abusedpoor Harry. '

Gertrude got up from her chair, knelt at her mother's feet, andhid her face in her mother's lap. 'Oh, mamma, ' she said, with ahalf-smothered voice, 'I know what you mean; I know what youwish; but--but--but, oh, mamma, you must not--must not, must notthink of it any more. '

'Then may God help him!' said Mrs. Woodward, gently caressing herdaughter, who was still sobbing with her face buried in hermother's lap. 'May God Almighty lighten the blow to him! But oh, Gertrude, I had hoped, I had so hoped----'

'Oh, mamma, don't, pray don't, ' and Gertrude sobbed as though shewere going into hysterics. 

'No, my child, I will not say another word. Dear as he is to me, you are and must be ten times dearer. There, Gertrude, it is overnow; over at least between us. We know each other's hearts now. It is my fault that we did not do so sooner. ' They did understandeach other at last, and the mother made no further attempt toengage her daughter's love for the man she would have chosen asher daughter's husband. 

But still the worst was to come, as Mrs. Woodward well knew--andas Gertrude knew also; to come, too, on this very day. Mrs. Woodward, with a woman's keen perception, felt assured that HarryNorman, when he found himself at the Cottage, freed from thepresence of the successful candidate, surrounded by theaffectionate faces of all her circle, would melt at once and lookto his love for consolation. She understood the feelings of hisheart as well as though she had read them in a book; and yet shecould do nothing to save him from his fresh sorrows. The cup wasprepared for him, and it was necessary that he should drink it. She could not tell him, could not tell even him, that herdaughter had rejected him, when as yet he had made no offer. 

And so Harry Norman hurried down to his fate. When he reached theCottage, Mrs. Woodward and Linda and Katie were in the drawing-room. 

'Harry, my dear Harry, ' said Mrs. Woodward, rushing to him, throwing her arms round him, and kissing him; 'we know it all, weunderstand it all--my fine, dear, good Harry. '

Harry was melted in a moment, and in the softness of his moodkissed Katie too, and Linda also. Katie he had often kissed, butnever Linda, cousins though they were. Linda merely laughed, butNorman blushed; for he remembered that had it so chanced thatGertrude had been there, he would not have dared to kiss her. 

'Oh, Harry, ' said Katie, 'we are so sorry--that is, not sorryabout Alaric, but sorry about you. Why were there not twoprizes?'

'It's all right as it is, Katie, ' said he; 'we need none of us besorry at all. Alaric is a clever fellow; everybody gave himcredit for it before, and now he has proved that everybody isright. '

'He is older than you, you know, and therefore he ought to becleverer, ' said Katie, trying to make things pleasant. 

And then they went out into the garden. But where was Gertrudeall this time? She had been in the drawing-room a moment beforehis arrival. They walked out into the lawn, but nothing was saidabout her absence. Norman could not bring himself to ask for her, and Mrs. Woodward could not trust herself to talk of her. 

'Where is the captain?' said Harry. 

'He's at Hampton Court, ' said Linda; 'he has found another navycaptain there, and he goes over every day to play backgammon. ' Asthey were speaking, however, the captain walked through the houseon to the lawn. 

'Well, Norman, how are you, how are you? sorry you couldn't allwin. But you're a man of fortune, you know, so it doesn'tsignify. '

'Not a great deal of fortune, ' said Harry, looking sheepish. 

'Well, I only hope the best man got it. Now, at the Admiralty theworst man gets it always. '

'The worst man didn't get it here, ' said Harry. 

'No, no, ' said Uncle Bat, 'I'm sure he did not; nor he won't longat the Admiralty either, I can tell them that. But where'sGertrude?'

'She's in her bedroom, dressing for dinner, ' said Katie. 

'Hoity toity, ' said Uncle Bat, 'she's going to make herself verygrand to-day. That's all for you, Master Norman. Well, I supposewe may all go in and get ready; but mind, I have got nosweetheart, and so I shan't make myself grand at all;' and sothey all went in to dress for dinner. 

When Norman came down, Gertrude was in the drawing-room alone. But he knew that they would be alone but for a minute, and that aminute would not serve for his purpose. She said one soft gentleword of condolence to him, some little sentence that she had beenstudying to pronounce. All her study was thrown away; for Norman, in his confusion, did not understand a word that she spoke. Hertone, however, was kind and affectionate; and she shook handswith him apparently with cordiality. He, however, ventured nokiss with her. He did not even press her hand, when for a momenthe held it within his own. 

Dinner was soon over, and the autumn evening still admitted oftheir going out. Norman was not sorry to urge the fact that theladies had done so, as an excuse to Captain Cuttwater for notsitting with him over his wine. He heard their voices in thegarden, and went out to join them, prepared to ascertain his fateif fortune would give him an opportunity of doing so. He foundthe party to consist of Mrs. Woodward, Linda, and Katie; Gertrudewas not there. 

'I think the evenings get warmer as the winter gets nearer, ' saidHarry. 

'Yes, ' said Mrs. Woodward, 'but they are so dangerous. The nightcomes on all at once, and then the air is so damp and cold. '

And so they went on talking about the weather. 

'Your boat is up in London, I know, Harry, ' said Katie, with avoice of reproach, but at the same time with a look of entreaty. 

'Yes, it's at Searle's, ' said Norman. 

'But the punt is here, ' said Katie. 

'Not this evening, Katie, ' said he. 

'Katie, how can you be such a tease?' said Mrs. Woodward; 'you'llmake Harry hate the island, and you too. I wonder you can be soselfish. '

Poor Katie's eyes became suffused with tears. 

'My dear Katie, it's very bad of me, isn't it?' said Norman, 'and the fine weather so nearly over too; I ought to take you, oughtn't I? come, we will go. '

'No, we won't, ' said Katie, taking his big hand in both herlittle ones, 'indeed we won't. It was very wrong of me to botheryou; and you with--with--with so much to think of. Dear Harry, Idon't want to go at all, indeed I don't, ' and she turned awayfrom the little path which led to the place where the punt wasmoored. 

They sauntered on for a while together, and then Norman leftthem. He said nothing, but merely stole away from the lawntowards the drawing-room window. Mrs. Woodward well knew withwhat object he went, and would have spared him from his immediatesorrow by following him; but she judged that it would be betterboth for him and for her daughter that he should learn the truth. 

He went in through the open drawing-room window, and foundGertrude alone. She was on the sofa with a book in her hand; andhad he been able to watch her closely he would have seen that thebook trembled as he entered the room. But he was unable to watchanything closely. His own heart beat so fast, his own confusionwas so great, that he could hardly see the girl whom he now hopedto gain as his wife. Had Alaric been coming to his wooing, hewould have had every faculty at his call. But then Alaric couldnot have loved as Norman loved. 

And so we will leave them. In about half an hour, when the shorttwilight was becoming dusk, Mrs. Woodward returned, and foundNorman standing alone on the hearthrug before the fireplace. Gertrude was away, and he was leaning against the mantelpiece, with his hands behind his back, staring at vacancy; but oh! withsuch an aspect of dull, speechless agony in his face. 

Mrs. Woodward looked up at him, and would have burst into tears, had she not remembered that they would not be long alone; shetherefore restrained herself, but gave one involuntary sigh; andthen, taking off her bonnet, placed herself where she might sitwithout staring at him in his sorrow. 

Katie came in next. 'Oh! Harry, it's so lucky we didn't start inthe punt, ' said she, 'for it's going to pour, and we never shouldhave been back from the island in that slow thing. '

Norman looked at her and tried to smile, but the attempt was aghastly failure. Katie, gazing up into his face, saw that he wasunhappy, and slunk away, without further speech, to her distantchair. There, from time to time, she would look up at him, andher little heart melted with ruth to see the depth of his misery. 'Why, oh why, ' thought she, 'should that greedy Alaric have takenaway the only prize?'

And then Linda came running in with her bonnet ribbons all moistwith the big raindrops. 'You are a nice squire of dames, ' saidshe, 'to leave us all out to get wet through by ourselves;' andthen she also, looking up, saw that jesting was at present ill-timed, and so sat herself down quietly at the tea-table. 

But Norman never moved. He saw them come in one after another. Hesaw the pity expressed in Mrs. Woodward's face; he heard thelight-hearted voices of the two girls, and observed how, whenthey saw him, their light-heartedness was abashed; but still heneither spoke nor moved. He had been stricken with a fearfulstroke, and for a while was powerless. 

Captain Cuttwater, having shaken off his dining-room nap, camefor his tea; and then, at last, Gertrude also, descending fromher own chamber, glided quietly into the room. When she did so, Norman, with a struggle, roused himself, and took a chair next toMrs. Woodward, and opposite to her eldest daughter. 

Who could describe the intense discomfiture of that tea-party, orpaint in fitting colours the different misery of each one thereassembled? Even Captain Cuttwater at once knew that something waswrong, and munched his bread-and-butter and drank his tea insilence. Linda surmised what had taken place; though she wassurprised, she was left without any doubt. Poor Katie was stillin the dark, but she also knew that there was cause for sorrow, and crept more and more into her little self. Mrs. Woodward satwith averted face, and ever and anon she put her handkerchief toher eyes. Gertrude was very pale, and all but motionless, but shehad schooled herself, and managed to drink her tea with moreapparent indifference than any of the others. Norman sat as hehad before been standing, with that dreadful look of agony uponhis brow. 

Immediately after tea Mrs. Woodward got up and went to herdressing-room. Her dressing-room, though perhaps not improperlyso called, was not an exclusive closet devoted to combs, petticoats, and soap and water. It was a comfortable snug room, nicely furnished, with sofa and easy chairs, and often open toothers besides her handmaidens. Thither she betook herself, thatshe might weep unseen; but in about twenty minutes her tears weredisturbed by a gentle knock at the door. 

Very soon after she went, Gertrude also left the room, and thenKatie crept off. 

'I have got a headache to-night, ' said Norman, after theremaining three had sat silent for a minute or two; 'I think I'llgo across and go to bed. '

'A headache!' said Linda. 'Oh, I am so sorry that you have got togo to that horrid inn. '

'Oh! I shall do very well there, ' said Norman, trying to smile. 

'Will you have my room?' said the captain good-naturedly; 'anysofa does for me. '

Norman assured them as well as he could that his present headachewas of such a nature that a bed at the inn would be the bestthing for him; and then, shaking hands with them, he moved to thedoor. 

'Stop a moment, Harry, ' said Linda, 'and let me tell mamma. She'll give you something for your head. ' He made a sign to her, however, to let him pass, and then, creeping gently upstairs, heknocked at Mrs. Woodward's door. 

'Come in, ' said Mrs. Woodward, and Harry Norman, with all hissorrows still written on his face, stood before her. 

'Oh! Harry, ' said she, 'come in; I am so glad that you have cometo me. Oh! Harry, dear Harry, what shall I say to comfort you?What can I say--what can I do?'

Norman, forgetting his manhood, burst into tears, and throwinghimself on a sofa, buried his face on the arm and sobbed like ayoung girl. But the tears of a man bring with them no comfort asdo those of the softer sex. He was a strong tall man, and it wasdreadful to see him thus convulsed. 

Mrs. Woodward stood by him, and put her hand caressingly on hisshoulder. She saw he had striven to speak, and had found himselfunable to do so. 'I know how it is, ' said she, 'you need not tellme; I know it all. Would that she could have seen you with myeyes; would that she could have judged you with my mind!'

'Oh, Mrs. Woodward!'

'To me, Harry, you should have been the dearest, the most welcomeson. But you are so still. No son could be dearer. Oh, that shecould have seen you as I see you!'

'There is no hope, ' said he. He did not put it as a question; butMrs. Woodward saw that it was intended that she should take it assuch if she pleased. What could she say to him? She knew thatthere was no hope. Had it been Linda, Linda might have beenmoulded to her will. But with Gertrude there could now be nohope. What could she say? She knelt down and kissed his brow, andmingled her tears with his. 

'Oh, Harry--oh, Harry! my dearest, dearest son!'

'Oh, Mrs. Woodward, I have loved her so truly. '

What could Mrs. Woodward do but cry also? what but that, andthrow such blame as she could upon her own shoulders? She wasbound to defend her daughter. 

'It has been my fault, Harry, ' she said; 'it is I whom you mustblame, not poor Gertrude. '

'I blame no one, ' said he. 

'I know you do not; but it is I whom you should blame. I shouldhave learnt how her heart stood, and have prevented this--but Ithought, I thought it would have been otherwise. '

Norman looked up at her, and took her hand, and pressed it. 'Iwill go now, ' he said, 'and don't expect me here to-morrow. Icould not come in. Say that I thought it best to go to townbecause I am unwell. Good-bye, Mrs. Woodward; pray write to me. Ican't come to the Cottage now for a while, but pray write to me:do not you forget me, Mrs. Woodward. '

Mrs. Woodward fell upon his breast and wept, and bade God blesshim, and called him her son and her dearest friend, and sobbedtill her heart was nigh to break. 'What, ' she thought, 'whatcould her daughter wish for, when she repulsed from her feet sucha suitor as Harry Norman?'

He then went quietly down the stairs, quietly out of the house, and having packed up his bag at the inn, started off through thepouring rain, and walked away through the dark stormy night, through the dirt and mud and wet, to his London lodgings; nor washe again seen at Surbiton Cottage for some months after thisadventure. 

CHAPTER XIII

A COMMUNICATION OF IMPORTANCE

Norman's dark wet walk did him physically no harm, and morallysome good. He started on it in that frame of mind which induces aman to look with indifference on all coming evils under theimpression that the evils already come are too heavy to admit ofany increase. But by the time that he was thoroughly wet through, well splashed with mud, and considerably fatigued by his firstfive or six miles' walk, he began to reflect that life was notover with him, and that he must think of future things as well asthose that were past. 

He got home about two o'clock, and having knocked up hislandlady, Mrs. Richards, betook himself to bed. Alaric had beenin his room for the last two hours, but of Charley and his latch-key Mrs. Richards knew nothing. She stated her belief, however, that two a. M. Seldom saw that erratic gentleman in his bed. 

On the following morning, Alaric, when he got his hot water, heard that Norman returned during the night from Hampton, and heimmediately guessed what had brought him back. He knew thatnothing short of some great trouble would have induced Harry toleave the Cottage so abruptly, and that that trouble must havebeen of such a nature as to make his remaining with the Woodwardsan aggravation of it. No such trouble could have come on him butthe one. 

As Charley seldom made his appearance at the breakfast table onSunday mornings, Alaric foresaw that he must undergo a _tête-à-tête_ which would not be agreeable to himself, and which mustbe much more disagreeable to his companion; but for this therewas no help. Harry had, however, prepared himself for what he hadto go through, and immediately that the two were alone, he toldhis tale in a very few words. 

'Alaric, ' said he, 'I proposed to Gertrude last night, and sherefused me. '

Alaric Tudor was deeply grieved for his friend. There wassomething in the rejected suitor's countenance--something in thetone of voice, which would have touched any heart softer thanstone; and Alaric's heart had not as yet been so hardened by theworld as to render him callous to the sight of such grief asthis. 

'Take my word for it, Harry, she'll think better of it in a monthor two, ' he said. 

'Never-never; I am sure of it. Not only from her own manner, butfrom her mother's, ' said Harry. And yet, during half his walkhome, he had been trying to console himself with the reflectionthat most young ladies reject their husbands once or twice beforethey accept them. 

There is no offering a man comfort in such a sorrow as this;unless, indeed, he be one to whom the worship of Bacchus may bemade a fitting substitute for that of the Paphian goddess. 

There is a sort of disgrace often felt, if never acknowledged, which attaches itself to a man for having put himself intoNorman's present position, and this generally prevents him fromconfessing his defeat in such matters. The misfortune in questionis one which doubtless occurs not unfrequently to mankind; but asmankind generally bear their special disappointments in silence, and as the vanity of women is generally exceeded by their good-nature, the secret, we believe, in most cases remains a secret. 

 Shall I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman's fair? If she be not fair for me, What care I how fair she be?

This was the upshot of the consideration which Withers, the poet, gave to the matter, and Withers was doubtless right. 'Tis thusthat rejected lovers should think, thus that they should demeanthemselves; but they seldom come to this philosophy till a fewdays have passed by, and talking of their grievance does notassist them in doing so. 

When, therefore, Harry had declared what had happened to him, andhad declared also that he had no further hope, he did not atfirst find himself much the better for what he had confessed. Hewas lackadaisical and piteous, and Alaric, though he hadendeavoured to be friendly, soon found that he had no power ofimparting any comfort. Early in the day they parted, and did notsee each other again till the following morning. 

'I was going down to Normansgrove on Thursday, ' said Harry. 

'Yes, I know, ' said Alaric. 

'I think I shall ask leave to go to-day. It can't make muchdifference, and the sooner I get away the better. '

And so it was settled. Norman left town the same afternoon, andAlaric, with his blushing honours thick upon him, was left alone. 

London was now very empty, and he was constrained to enjoy hisglory very much by himself. He had never associated much with theMinusexes and Uppinalls, nor yet with the Joneses and Robinsonsof his own office, and it could not be expected that there shouldbe any specially confidential intercourse between them just atthe present moment. Undy was of course out of town with the restof the fashionable world, and Alaric, during the next week, wasleft very much on his own hands. 

'And so, ' said he to himself, as he walked solitary along thelone paths of Rotten Row, and across the huge desert to theMarble Arch, 'and so poor Harry's hopes have been all in vain; hehas lost his promotion, and now he has lost his bride--poorHarry!'--and then it occurred to him that as he had acquired thepromotion it might be his destiny to win the bride also. He hadnever told himself that he loved Gertrude; he had looked on heras Norman's own, and he, at any rate, was not the man to sigh indespair after anything that was out of his reach. But now, nowthat Harry's chance was over, and that no bond of friendshipcould interfere with such a passion, why should he not tellhimself that he loved Gertrude? 'If, as Harry had himself said, there was no longer any hope for him, why, ' said Alaric tohimself, 'why should not I try my chance?' Of Linda, of 'dear, dearest Linda, ' at this moment he thought very little, or, perhaps, not at all. Of what Mrs. Woodward might say, of that hedid think a good deal. 

The week was melancholy and dull, and it passed very slowly atHampton. On the Sunday morning it became known to them all thatNorman was gone, but the subject, by tacit consent, was allowedto pass all but unnoticed. Even Katie, even Uncle Bat, were awarethat something had occurred which ought to prevent them frominquiring too particularly why Harry had started back to town inso sudden a manner; and so they said nothing. To Linda, Gertrudehad told what had happened; and Linda, as she heard it, askedherself whether she was prepared to be equally obdurate with herlover. He had now the means of supporting a wife, and why shouldshe be obdurate?

Nothing was said on the subject between Gertrude and her mother. What more could Mrs. Woodward say? It would have been totallyopposed to the whole principle of her life to endeavour, by anymeans, to persuade her daughter to the match, or to have used hermaternal influence in Norman's favour. And she was well awarethat it would have been impossible to do so successfully. Gertrude was not a girl to be talked into a marriage by anyparent, and certainly not by such a parent as her mother. Therewas, therefore, nothing further to be said about it. 

On. Saturday Alaric went down, but his arrival hardly made thingsmore pleasant. Mrs. Woodward could not bring herself to becordial with him, and the girls were restrained by a certainfeeling that it would not be right to show too much outward joyat Alaric's success. Linda said one little word of affectionateencouragement, but it produced no apparent return from Alaric. His immediate object was to recover Mrs. Woodward's good graces;and he thought before he went that he had reason to hope that hemight do so. 

Of all the household, Captain Cuttwater was the most emphatic inhis congratulations. 'He had no doubt, ' he said, 'that the bestman had won. He had always hoped that the best man might win. Hehad not had the same luck when he was young, but he was very gladto see such an excellent rule brought into the service. It wouldsoon work great changes, he was quite sure, at the Board ofAdmiralty. '

On the Sunday afternoon Captain Cuttwater asked him into his ownbedroom, and told him with a solemn, serious manner that he had acommunication of importance to make to him. Alaric followed thecaptain into the well-known room in which Norman used to sleep, wondering what could be the nature of Uncle Bat's importantcommunication. It might, probably, be some tidings of Sir JibBoom. 

'Mr. Alaric, ' said the old man, as soon as they were both seatedon opposite sides of a little Pembroke table that stood in themiddle of the room, 'I was heartily glad to hear of your successat the Weights and Measures; not that I ever doubted it if theymade a fair sailing match of it. '

'I am sure I am much obliged to you, Captain Cuttwater. '

'That is as may be, by and by. But the fact is, I have taken afancy to you. I like fellows that know how to push themselves. '

Alaric had nothing for it but to repeat again that he felthimself grateful for Captain Cuttwater's good opinion. 

'Not that I have anything to say against Mr. Norman--a very niceyoung man, indeed, he is, very nice, though perhaps not quite socheerful in his manners as he might be. '

Alaric began to take his friend's part, and declared what a veryworthy fellow Harry was. 

'I am sure of it--I am sure of it, ' said Uncle Bat; 'buteverybody can't be A1; and a man can't make everybody his heir. '

Alaric pricked up his ears. So after all Captain Cuttwater wasright in calling his communication important. But what businesshad Captain Cuttwater to talk of making new heirs?--had he notdeclared that the Woodwards were his heirs?

'I have got a little money, Mr. Alaric, ' he went on saying in alow modest tone, very different from that he ordinarily used; 'Ihave got a little money--not much--and it will of course go to myniece here. '

'Of course, ' said Alaric. 

'That is to say--it will go to her children, which is all thesame thing. '

'Quite the same thing, ' said Alaric. 

'But my idea is this: if a man has saved a few pounds himself, Ithink he has a right to give it to those he loves best. Now Ihave no children of my own. '

Alaric declared himself aware of the fact. 

'And I suppose I shan't have any now. '

'Not if you don't marry, ' said Alaric, who felt rather at a lossfor a proper answer. He could not, however, have made a betterone. 

'No; that's what I mean; but I don't think I shall marry. I amvery well contented here, and I like Surbiton Cottage amazingly. '

'It's a charming place, ' said Alaric. 

'No, I don't suppose I shall ever have any children of my own, '--and then Uncle Bat sighed gently--'and so I have been consideringwhom I should like to adopt. '

'Quite right, Captain Cuttwater. '

'Whom I should like to adopt. I should like to have one whom Icould call in a special manner my own. Now, Mr. Alaric, I havemade up my mind, and who do you think it is?'

'Oh! Captain Cuttwater, I couldn't guess on such a matter. Ishouldn't like to guess wrong. '

'Perhaps not--no; that's right;--well then, I'll tell you; it'sGertrude. '

Alaric was well aware that it was Gertrude before her name hadbeen pronounced. 

'Yes, it's Gertrude; of course I couldn't go out of Bessie'sfamily--of course it must be either Gertrude, or Linda, or Katie. Now Linda and Katie are very well, but they haven't half thegumption that Gertrude has. '

'No, they have not, ' said Alaric. 

'I like gumption, ' said Captain Cuttwater. 'You've a great dealof gumption--that's why I like you. '

Alaric laughed, and muttered something. 

'Now I have been thinking of something;' and Uncle Bat lookedstrangely mysterious--'I wonder what you think of Gertrude?'

'Who--I?' said Alaric. 

'I can see through a millstone as well as another, ' said thecaptain; 'and I used to think that Norman and Gertrude meant tohit it off together. '

Alaric said nothing. He did not feel inclined to tell Norman'ssecret, and yet he could not belie Gertrude by contradicting thejustice of Captain Cuttwater's opinion. 

'I used to think so--but now I find there's nothing in it. I amsure Gertrude wouldn't have him, and I think she's right. Hehasn't gumption enough. '

'Harry Norman is no fool. '

'I dare say not, ' said the captain; 'but take my word, she'llnever have him--Lord bless you, Norman knows that as well as Ido. '

Alaric knew it very well himself also; but he did not say so. 

'Now, the long and the short of it is this--why don't you make upto her? If you'll make up to her and carry the day, all I can sayis, I will do all I can to keep the pot a-boiling; and if youthink it will help you, you may tell Gertrude that I say so. '

This was certainly an important communication, and one to whichAlaric found it very difficult to give any immediate answer. Hesaid a great deal about his affection for Mrs. Woodward, of hisadmiration for Miss Woodward, of his strong sense of CaptainCuttwater's kindness, and of his own unworthiness; but he leftthe captain with an impression that he was not prepared at thepresent moment to put himself forward as a candidate forGertrude's hand. 

'I don't know what the deuce he would have, ' said the captain tohimself. 'She's as fine a girl as he's likely to find; and two orthree thousand pounds isn't so easily got every day by a fellowthat hasn't a shilling of his own. '

When Alaric took his departure the next morning, he thought heperceived, from Mrs. Woodward's manner, that there was less thanher usual cordiality in the tone in which she said that of coursehe would return at the end of the week. 

'I will if possible, ' he said, 'and I need not say that I hope todo so; but I fear I may be kept in town--at any rate I'll write. 'When the end of the week came he wrote to say that unfortunatelyhe was kept in town. He thoroughly understood that people aremost valued when they make themselves scarce. He got in reply anote from Gertrude, saying that her mother begged that on thefollowing Saturday he would come and bring Charley with him. 

On his return to town, Alaric, by appointment, called on SirGregory. He had not seen his patron yet since his great report onWheal Mary Jane had been sent in. That report had been writtenexclusively by himself, and poor Neverbend had been obliged tocontent himself with putting all his voluminous notes intoTudor's hands. He afterwards obediently signed the report, andreceived his reward for doing so. Alaric never divulged toofficial ears how Neverbend had halted in the course of hisdescent to the infernal gods. 

'I thoroughly congratulate you, ' said Sir Gregory. 'You havejustified my choice, and done your duty with credit to yourselfand benefit to the public. I hope you may go on and prosper. Aslong as you remember that your own interests should always bekept in subservience to those of the public service, you will notfail to receive the praise which such conduct deserves. '

Alaric thanked Sir Gregory for his good opinion, and as he didso, he thought of his new banker's account, and of the £300 whichwas lying there. After all, which of them was right, Sir GregoryHardlines or Undy Scott? Or was it that Sir Gregory's opinionswere such as should control the outward conduct, and Undy's thosewhich should rule the inner man?

CHAPTER XIV

VERY SAD

Norman prolonged his visit to his father considerably beyond themonth. At first he applied for and received permission to stayaway another fortnight, and at the end of that fortnight he sentup a medical certificate in which the doctor alleged that hewould be unable to attend to business for some considerableadditional period. It was not till after Christmas Day that hereappeared at the Weights and Measures. 

Alaric kept his appointment at Hampton, and took Charley withhim. And on the two following Saturdays he also went there, andon both occasions Charley accompanied him. During these visits, he devoted himself, as closely as he could, to Mrs. Woodward. Hetalked to her of Norman, and of Norman's prospects in the office;he told her how he had intended to abstain from offering himselfas a competitor, till he had, as it were, been forced by Normanto do so; he declared over and over again that Norman would havebeen victorious had he stood his ground to the end, and assuredher that such was the general opinion through the wholeestablishment. And this he did without talking much abouthimself, or praising himself in any way when he did so. Hisspeech was wholly of his friend, and of the sorrow that he feltthat his friend should have been disappointed in his hopes. 

All this had its effects. Of Norman's rejected love they neitherof them spoke. Each knew that the other must be aware of it, butthe subject was far too tender to be touched, at any rate as yet. And so matters went on, and Alaric regained the footing of favourwhich he had for a while lost with the mistress of the house. 

But there was one inmate of Surbiton Cottage who saw that thoughAlaric spent so much of his tune with Mrs. Woodward, he foundopportunity also for other private conversation; and this wasLinda. Why was it that in the moments before they dressed fordinner Alaric was whispering with Gertrude, and not with her? Whywas it that Alaric had felt it necessary to stay from church thatSunday evening when Gertrude also had been prevented from goingby a headache? He had remained, he said, in order that CaptainCuttwater might have company; but Linda was not slow to learnthat Uncle Bat had been left to doze away the time by himself. Why, on the following Monday, had Gertrude been down so early, and why had Alaric been over from the inn full half an hourbefore his usual time? Linda saw and knew all this, and wasdisgusted. But even then she did not, could not think that Alariccould be untrue to her; that her own sister would rob her of herlover. It could not be that there should be such baseness inhuman nature!

Poor Linda!

And yet, though she did not believe that such falseness couldexist in this world of hers at Surbiton Cottage, she could notrestrain herself from complaining rather petulantly to hersister, as they were going to bed on that Sunday evening. 

'I hope your headache is better, ' she said, in a tone of voice asnear to irony as her soft nature could produce. 

'Yes, it is quite well now, ' said Gertrude, disdaining to noticethe irony. 

'I dare say Alaric had a headache too. I suppose one was about asbad as the other. '

'Linda, ' said Gertrude, answering rather with dignity than withanger, 'you ought to know by this time that it is not likely thatI should plead false excuses. Alaric never said he had aheadache. '

'He said he stayed from church to be with Uncle Bat; but when wecame back we found him with you. '

'Uncle Bat went to sleep, and then he came into the drawing-room. '

The two girls said nothing more about it. Linda should haveremembered that she had never breathed a word to her sister ofAlaric's passion for herself. Gertrude's solemn propriety haddeterred her, just as she was about to do so. How very little ofthat passion had Alaric breathed himself! and yet, alas! enoughto fill the fond girl's heart with dreams of love, which occupiedall her waking, all her sleeping thoughts. Oh! ye ruthlessswains, from whose unhallowed lips fall words full of poisonedhoney, do ye never think of the bitter agony of many months, ofthe dull misery of many years, of the cold monotony of anuncheered life, which follow so often as the consequence of yourshort hour of pastime?

On the Monday morning, as soon as Alaric and Charley had startedfor town--it was the morning on which Linda had been provoked tofind that both Gertrude and Alaric had been up half an hourbefore they should have been--Gertrude followed her mother to herdressing-room, and with palpitating heart closed the door behindher. 

Linda remained downstairs, putting away her tea and sugar, not inthe best of humours; but Katie, according to her wont, ran upafter her mother. 

'Katie, ' said Gertrude, as Katie bounced into the room, 'dearestKatie, I want to speak a word to mamma--alone. Will you mindgoing down just for a few minutes?' and she put her arm round hersister, and kissed her with almost unwonted tenderness. 

'Go, Katie, dear, ' said Mrs. Woodward; and Katie, speechless, retired. 

'Gertrude has got something particular to tell mamma; somethingthat I may not hear. I wonder what it is about, ' said Katie toher second sister. 

Linda's heart sank within her. 'Could it be? No, it could not, could not be, that the sweet voice which had whispered in herears those well-remembered words, could have again whispered thesame into other ears--that the very Gertrude who had warned hernot to listen to such words from such lips, should have listenedto them herself, and have adopted them and made them her own! Itcould not, could not be!' and yet Linda's heart sank low withinher. 

 * * * * *

'If you really love him, ' said the mother, again caressing hereldest daughter as she acknowledged her love, but hardly withsuch tenderness as when that daughter had repudiated that otherlove--'if you really love him, dearest, of course I do not, ofcourse I cannot, object. '

'I do, mamma; I do. '

'Well, then, Gertrude, so be it. I have not a word to say againstyour choice. Had I not believed him to be an excellent young man, I should not have allowed him to be here with you so much as hehas been. We cannot all see with the same eyes, dearest, can we?'

'No, mamma; but pray don't think I dislike poor Harry; and, oh!mamma, pray don't set him against Alaric because of this----'

'Set him against Alaric! No, Gertrude. I certainly shall not dothat. But whether I can reconcile Harry to it, that is anotherthing. '

'At any rate he has no right to be angry at it, ' said Gertrude, assuming her air of dignity. 

'Certainly not with you, Gertrude. '

'No, nor with Alaric, ' said she, almost with indignation. 

'That depends on what has passed between them. It is very hard tosay how men so situated regard each other. '

'I know everything that has passed between them, ' said Gertrude. 'I never gave Harry any encouragement. As soon as I understood myown feelings I endeavoured to make him understand them also. '

'But, my dearest, no one is blaming you. '

'But you are blaming Alaric. '

'Indeed I am not, Gertrude. '

'No man could have behaved more honourably to his friend, ' saidGertrude; 'no man more nobly; and if Harry does not feel it so, he has not the good heart for which I always gave him credit. '

'Poor fellow! his friendship for Alaric will be greatly tried. '

'And, mamma, has not Alaric's friendship been tried? and has itnot borne the trial nobly? Harry told him of--of--of hisintentions; Harry told him long, long, long ago----'

'Ah me!--poor Harry!' sighed Mrs. Woodward. 

'But you think nothing of Alaric!'

'Alaric is successful, my dear, and can----' Think sufficientlyof himself, Mrs. Woodward was going to say, but she stoppedherself. 

'Harry told him all, ' continued Gertrude, 'and Alaric--Alaricsaid nothing of his own feelings. Alaric never said a word to methat he might not have said before his friend--till--till--Youmust own, mamma, that no one can have behaved more nobly thanAlaric has done. '

Mrs. Woodward, nevertheless, had her own sentiments on thematter, which were not quite in unison with those of herdaughter. But then she was not in love with Alaric, and herdaughter was. She thought that Alaric's love was a passion thathad but lately come to the birth, and that had he been true tohis friend--nobly true as Gertrude had described him--it wouldnever have been born at all, or at any rate not till Harry hadhad a more prolonged chance of being successful with his suit. Mrs. Woodward understood human nature better than her daughter, or, at least, flattered herself that she did so, and she feltwell assured that Alaric had not been dying for love during theperiod of Harry's unsuccessful courtship. He might, she thought, have waited a little longer before he chose for his wife the girlwhom his friend had loved, seeing that he had been made theconfidant of that love. 

Such were the feelings which Mrs. Woodward felt herself unable torepress; but she could not refuse her consent to the marriage. After all, she had some slight twinge of conscience, some inwardconviction that she was prejudiced in Harry's favour, as herdaughter was in Alaric's. Then she had lost all right to objectto Alaric, by allowing him to be so constantly at the Cottage;and then again, there was nothing to which in reason she couldobject. In point of immediate income, Alaric was now the bettermatch of the two. She kissed her daughter, therefore, andpromised that she would do her best to take Alaric to her heartas her son-in-law. 

'You will tell Uncle Bat, mamma?' said Gertrude. 

'O yes--certainly, my dear; of course he'll be told. But Isuppose it does not make much matter, immediately?'

'I think he should be told, mamma; I should not like him to thinkthat he was treated with anything like disrespect. '

'Very well, my dear, I'll tell him, ' said Mrs. Woodward, who wassomewhat surprised at her daughter's punctilious feelings aboutUncle Bat. However, it was all very proper; and she was glad tothink that her children were inclined to treat their grand-unclewith respect, in spite of his long nose. 

And then Gertrude was preparing to leave the room, but her motherstopped her. 'Gertrude, dear, ' said she. 

'Yes, mamma. '

'Come here, dearest; shut the door. Gertrude, have you told Lindayet?'

'No, mamma, not yet. '

As Mrs. Woodward asked the question, there was an indescribablelook of painful emotion on her brow. It did not escape Gertrude'seye, and was not to her perfectly unintelligible. She hadconceived an idea--why, she did not know--that these recenttidings of hers would not be altogether agreeable to her sister. 

'No, mamma, I have not told her; of course I told you first. Butnow I shall do so immediately. '

'Let me tell her, ' said Mrs. Woodward, 'will you, Gertrude?'

'Oh! certainly, mamma, if you wish it. '

Things were going wrong with Mrs. Woodward. She had perceived, with a mother's anxious eye, that her second daughter was notindifferent to Alaric Tudor. While she yet thought that Normanand Gertrude would have suited each other, this had caused her nodisquietude. She herself had entertained none of those grandideas to which Gertrude had given utterance with so muchsententiousness, when she silenced Linda's tale of love beforethe telling of it had been commenced. Mrs. Woodward had alwaysfelt sufficiently confident that Alaric would push himself in theworld, and she would have made no objection to him as a son-in-law had he been contented to take the second instead of the firstof her flock. 

She had never spoken to Linda on the matter, and Linda hadoffered to her no confidence; but she felt all but sure that hersecond child would not have entertained the affection which shehad been unable altogether to conceal, had no lover's plea beenpoured into her ears. Mrs. Woodward questioned her daughters butlittle, but she understood well the nature of each, and couldnearly read their thoughts. Linda's thoughts it was not difficultto read. 

'Linda, pet, ' she said, as soon as she could get Linda into herroom without absolutely sending for her, 'you have not yet heardGertrude's news?'

'No, ' said Linda, turning very pale, and feeling that her heartwas like to burst. 

'I would let no one tell you but myself, Linda. Come here, dearest; don't stand there away from me. Can you guess what itis?'

Linda, for a moment, could not speak. 'No, mamma, ' she said atlast, 'I don't know what it is. '

Mrs. Woodward twined her arm round her daughter's waist, as theysat on the sofa close to each other. Linda tried to composeherself, but she felt that she was trembling in her mother'sarms. She would have given anything to be calm; anything to hideher secret. She little guessed then how well her mother knew it. Her eyes were turned down, and she found that she could not raisethem to her mother's face. 

'No, mamma, ' she said. 'I don't know--what is it?'

'Gertrude is to be married, Linda. She is engaged. '

'I thought she refused Harry, ' said Linda, through whose mind afaint idea was passing of the cruelty of nature's arrangements, which gave all the lovers to her sister. 

'Yes, dearest, she did; and now another has made an offer--shehas accepted him. ' Mrs. Woodward could hardly bring herself tospeak out that which she had to say, and yet she felt that shewas only prolonging the torture for which she was so anxious tofind a remedy. 

'Has she?' said Linda, on whom the full certainty of her miseryhad now all but come. 

'She has accepted our dear Alaric. '

Our dear Alaric! what words for Linda's ears! They did reach herears, but they did not dwell there--her soft gentle nature sankbeneath the sound. Her mother, when she looked to her for areply, found that she was sinking through her arms. Linda hadfainted. 

Mrs. Woodward neither screamed, nor rang for assistance, noremptied the water-jug over her daughter, nor did anything elsewhich would have the effect of revealing to the whole householdthe fact that Linda had fainted. She had seen girls faint before, and was not frightened. But how, when Linda recovered, was she tobe comforted?

Mrs. Woodward laid her gently on the sofa, undid her dress, loosened her stays, and then sat by her chafing her hands, andmoistening her lips and temples, till gradually the poor girl'seyes reopened. The recovery from a fainting fit, a real faintingfit I beg young ladies to understand, brings with it a mostunpleasant sensation, and for some minutes Linda's sorrow wasquelled by her sufferings; but as she recovered her strength sheremembered where she was and what had happened, and sobbingviolently she burst into an hysterical storm of tears. 

Her most poignant feeling now was one of fear lest her mothershould have guessed her secret; and this Mrs. Woodward wellunderstood. She could do nothing towards comforting her childtill there was perfect confidence between them. It was easy toarrive at this with Linda, nor would it afterwards be difficultto persuade her as to the course she ought to take. The two girlswere so essentially different; the one so eager to stand aloneand guide herself, the other so prone to lean on the nearestsupport that came to her hand. 

It was not long before Linda had told her mother everything. Either by words, or tears, or little signs of mute confession, she made her mother understand, with all but exactness, what hadpassed between Alaric and herself, and quite exactly what hadbeen the state of her own heart. She sobbed, and wept, and lookedup to her mother for forgiveness as though she had been guilty ofa great sin; and when her mother caressed her with all a mother'stenderness, and told her that she was absolved from all fault, free of all blame, she was to a certain degree comforted. Whatever might now happen, her mother would be on her side. ButMrs. Woodward, when she looked into the matter, found that it wasshe that should have demanded pardon of her daughter, not herdaughter of her! Why had this tender lamb been allowed to wanderout of the fold, while a wolf in sheep's clothing was invitedinto the pasture-ground?

Gertrude, with her talent, her beauty, and dignity of demeanour, had hitherto been, perhaps, the closest to the mother's heart--had been, if not the most cherished, yet the most valued;Gertrude had been the apple of her eye. This should be alterednow. If a mother's love could atone for a mother's negligence, Mrs. Woodward would atone to her child for this hour of misery!And Katie--her sweet bonny Katie--she, at least, should beprotected from the wolves. Those were the thoughts that passedthrough Mrs. Woodward's heart as she sat there caressing Linda. But how were things to be managed now at the present moment? Itwas quite clear that the wolf in sheep's clothing must beadmitted into the pastoral family; either that, or the fairestlamb of the flock must be turned out altogether, to take uponherself lupine nature, and roam the woods a beast of prey. Asmatters stood it behoved them to make such a sheep of Alaric asmight be found practicable. 

And so Mrs. Woodward set to work to teach her daughter how bestshe might conduct herself in her present state of wretchedness. She had to bear with her sister's success, to listen to hersister's joy, to enter into all her future plans, to assist ather toilet, to prepare her wedding garments, to hear thecongratulations of friends, and take a sister's share in asister's triumph, and to do this without once giving vent to areproach. And she had worse than this to do; she had to encounterAlaric, and to wish him joy of his bride; she had to protect herfemale pride from the disgrace which a hopeless but acknowledgedlove would throw on it; she had to live in the house with Alaricas though he were her brother, and as though she had neverthought to live with him in any nearer tie. She would have tostand at the altar as her sister's bridesmaid, and see themmarried, and she would have to smile and be cheerful as she didso. 

This was the lesson which Mrs. Woodward had now to teachher daughter; and she so taught it that Linda did all thatcircumstances and her mother required of her. Late on thatafternoon she went to Gertrude, and, kissing her, wished her joy. At that moment Gertrude was the more embarrassed of the two. 

'Linda, dear Linda, ' she said, embracing her sister convulsively. 

'I hope you will be happy, Gertrude, with all my heart, ' saidLinda; and so she relinquished her lover. 

We talk about the weakness of women--and Linda Woodward was, inmany a way, weak enough--but what man, what giant, has strengthequal to this? It was not that her love was feeble. Her heart wascapable of truest love, and she had loved Alaric truly. But shehad that within her which enabled her to overcome herself, andput her own heart, and hopes, and happiness--all but her maidenpride--into the background, when the hopes and happiness ofanother required it. 

She still shared the same room with her sister; and those whoknow how completely absorbed a girl is by her first acknowledgedlove, may imagine how many questions she had to answer, to howmany propositions she was called to assent, for how many schemesshe had to vouchsafe a sister's interest, while her heart wastelling her that she should have been the questioner, she shouldhave been the proposer, that the schemes should all have been herown. 

But she bore it bravely. When Alaric first came down, which hedid in the middle of the week, she was, as she told her mother, too weak to stand in his presence. Her mother strongly advisedher not to absent herself; so she sat gently by, while he kissedMrs. Woodward and Katie. She sat and trembled, for her turn sheknew must come. It did come; Alaric, with an assurance which toldmore for his courage than for his heart, came up to her, and witha smiling face offered her his hand. She rose up and mutteredsome words which she had prepared for the occasion, and he, stillholding her by the hand, stooped down and kissed her cheek. Mrs. Woodward looked on with an angry flush on her brow, and hated himfor his cold-hearted propriety of demeanour. 

Linda went up to her mother's room, and, sitting on her mother'sbed, sobbed herself into tranquillity. 

It was very grievous to Mrs. Woodward to have to welcome Alaricto her house. For Alaric's own sake she would no longer havetroubled herself to do so; but Gertrude was still her daughter, her dear child. Gertrude had done nothing to disentitle her to achild's part, and a child's protection; and even had she done so, Mrs. Woodward was not a woman to be unforgiving to her child. ForGertrude's sake she had to make Alaric welcome; she forcedherself to smile on him and call him her son; to make him more athome in her house even than Harry had ever been; to give himprivileges which he, wolf as he was, had so little deserved. 

But Captain Cuttwater made up by the warmth of hiscongratulations for any involuntary coolness which Alaric mighthave detected in those of Mrs. Woodward. It had become a strongwish of the old man's heart that he might make Alaric, at anyrate in part, his heir, without doing an injustice to his nieceor her family. He had soon seen and appreciated what he hadcalled the 'gumption' both of Gertrude and Alaric. Had Harrymarried Gertrude, and Alaric Linda, he would have regarded eitherof those matches with disfavour. But now he was quite satisfied--now he could look on Alaric as his son and Gertrude as hisdaughter, and use his money according to his fancy, withoutincurring the reproaches of his conscience. 

'Quite right, my boy, 'he said to Alaric, slapping him on theback at the same time with pretty nearly all his power--'quiteright. Didn't I know you were the winning horse?--didn't I tellyou how it would be? Do you think I don't know what gumptionmeans? If I had not had my own weather-eye open, aye, and d---wide open, the most of my time, I shouldn't have two or threethousand pounds to give away now to any young fellow that I takea fancy to. '

Alaric was, of course, all smiles and good humour, and Gertrudenot less so. The day after he heard of the engagement Uncle Batwent to town, and, on his return, he gave Gertrude £100 to buyher wedding-clothes, and half that sum to her mother, in orderthat the thing might go off, as he expressed himself, 'slip-slap, and no mistake. ' To Linda he gave nothing, but promised her thathe would not forget her when her time came. 

All this time Norman was at Normansgrove; but there were three ofthe party who felt that it behoved them to let him know what wasgoing on. Mrs. Woodward wrote first, and on the following dayboth Gertrude and Alaric wrote to him, the former from Hampton, and the latter from his office in London. 

All these letters were much laboured, but, with all this labour, not one of them contained within it a grain of comfort. That fromMrs. Woodward came first and told the tale. Strange to say, though Harry had studiously rejected from his mind all idea ofhope as regarded Gertrude, nevertheless the first tidings of herbetrothal with Alaric struck him as though he had still fanciedhimself a favoured lover. He felt as though, in his absence, hehad been robbed of a prize which was all his own, as though achattel had been taken from him to which he had a full right; asthough all the Hampton party, Mrs. Woodward included, were in aconspiracy to defraud him the moment his back was turned. 

The blow was so severe that it laid him prostrate at once. Hecould not sob away his sorrow on his mother's bosom; no one couldteach him how to bear his grief with meek resignation. He hadnever spoken of his love to his friends at Normansgrove. They hadall been witnesses to his deep disappointment, but that had beenattributed to his failure at his office. He was not a man to seekfor sympathy in the sorrows of his heart. He had told Alaric ofhis rejection, because he had already told him of his love, buthe had whispered no word of it to anyone besides. On the day onwhich he received Mrs. Woodward's letter, he appeared at dinnerghastly pale, and evidently so ill as to be all but unable to sitat table; but he would say nothing to anybody; he sat broodingover his grief till he was unable to sit any longer. 

And yet Mrs. Woodward had written with all her skill, with allher heart striving to pluck the sting away from the tidings whichshe had to communicate. She had felt, however, that she owed asmuch, at least, to her daughter as she did to him, and she failedto call Alaric perjured, false, dishonoured, unjust, disgraced, and treacherous. Nothing short of her doing so would have beendeemed by Norman fitting mention of Tudor's sin; nothing elsewould have satisfied the fury of his wrath. 

On the next morning he received Gertrude's letter and Alaric's. The latter he never read--he opened it, saw that it began asusual, 'My dear Harry, ' and then crammed it into his pocket. Byreturn of post it went back under a blank cover, addressed toAlaric at the Weights and Measures. The days of duelling weregone by--unfortunately, as Norman now thought, but nothing, hedetermined, should ever induce him again to hold friendlyintercourse with the traitor. He abstained from making any suchoath as to the Woodwards; but determined that his conduct in thatrespect should be governed by the manner in which Alaric wasreceived by them. 

But Gertrude's letter he read over and over again, and each timehe did so he indulged in a fresh burst of hatred against the manwho had deceived him. 'A dishonest villain!' he said to himselfover and over again; 'what right had I to suppose he would betrue to me when I found that he had been so false to others?'

'Dearest Harry, ' the letter began. Dearest Harry!--Why should shebegin with a lie? He was not dearest! 'You must not, must not, must not be angry with Alaric, ' she went on to say, as soon asshe had told her tale. Oh, must he not? Not be angry with Alaric!Not angry with the man who had forgotten every law of honour, every principle of honesty, every tie of friendship! Not angrywith the man whom he had trusted with the key of his treasure, and who had then robbed him; who had stolen from him all hiscontentment, all his joy, his very heart's blood; not angry withhim!

'Our happiness will never be perfect unless you will consent toshare it. ' Thus simply, in the affection of her heart, hadGertrude concluded the letter by which she intended to pour balminto the wounds of her rejected lover, and pave the way for thesmoothing of such difficulties as might still lie in the way ofher love. 

'Their happiness would not be perfect unless he would consent toshare it. ' Every word in the sentence was gall to him. It musthave been written with the object of lacerating his wounds, andtorturing his spirit; so at least said Norman to himself. He readthe letter over and over again. At one time he resolved to keepit till he could thrust it back into her hand, and prove to herof what cruelty she had been guilty. Then he thought of sendingit to Mrs. Woodward, and asking her how, after that, could shethink that he should ever again enter her doors at Hampton. Finally he tore it into a thousand bits, and threw them behindthe fire. 

'Share their happiness!' and as he repeated the words he gave thelast tear to the fragments of paper which he still held in hishand. Could he at that moment as easily have torn to shreds allhope of earthly joys for those two lovers, he would then havedone it, and cast the ruins to the flames. 

Oh! what a lesson he might have learnt from Linda! And yet whatwere his injuries to hers? He in fact had not been injured, atleast not by him against whom the strength of his wrath mostfiercely raged. The two men had both admired Gertrude, but Normanhad started on the race first. Before Alaric had had time to knowhis own mind, he had learnt that Norman claimed the beauty as hisown. He had acknowledged to himself that Norman had a right to doso, and had scrupulously abstained from interfering with him. Whyshould Norman, like a dog in the manger, begrudge to his friendthe fodder which he himself could not enjoy? To him, at any rate, Alaric had in this been no traitor. 'Twas thus at least thatGertrude argued in her heart, and 'twas thus that Mrs. Woodwardtried to argue also. 

But who could excuse Alaric's falseness to Linda? And yet Lindahad forgiven him. 

CHAPTER XV

NORMAN RETURNS TO TOWN

Harry Norman made no answer to either of his three letters beyondthat of sending Alaric's back unread; but this, without otherreply, was sufficient to let them all guess, nearly withaccuracy, what was the state of his mind. Alaric told Gertrudehow his missive had been treated, and Gertrude, of course, toldher mother. 

There was very little of that joy at Surbiton Cottage whichshould have been the forerunner of a wedding. None of theWoodward circle were content thus to lose their friend. And thentheir unhappiness on this score was augmented by hearing thatHarry had sent up a medical certificate, instead of returning tohis duties when his prolonged leave of absence was expired. 

To Alaric this, at the moment, was a relief. He had dreaded thereturn of Norman to London. There were so many things to causeinfinite pain to them both. All Norman's things, his books andclothes, his desks and papers and pictures, his whips and sticks, and all those sundry belongings which even a bachelor collectsaround him--were strewing the rooms in which Alaric still lived. He had of course felt that it was impossible that they shouldever again reside together. Not only must they quarrel, but allthe men at their office must know that they had quarrelled. Andyet some intercourse must be maintained between them; they mustdaily meet in the rooms at the Weights and Measures; and it wouldnow in their altered position become necessary that in somethings Norman should receive instructions from Alaric as hissuperior officer. But if Alaric thought of this often, so didNorman; and before the last fortnight had expired, the thinkingof it had made him so ill that his immediate return to London wasout of the question. 

Mrs. Woodward's heart melted within her when she heard that Harrywas really ill. She had gone on waiting day after day for ananswer to her letter, but no answer came. No answer came, but inlieu thereof she heard that Harry was laid up at Normansgrove. She heard it, and Gertrude heard it, and in spite of the comingwedding there was very little joy at Surbiton Cottage. 

And then Mrs. Woodward wrote again; and a man must have had aheart of stone not to be moved by such a letter. She had 'heard, 'she said, 'that he was ill, and the tidings had made herwretched--the more so inasmuch as he had sent no answer to herlast letter. Was he very ill? was he dangerously ill? She hoped, she would fain hope, that his illness had not arisen from anymental grief. If he did not reply to this, or get some of hisfamily to do so, there would be nothing for her but to go, herself, to Normansgrove. She could not remain quiet while shewas left in such painful doubt about her dearest, well-lovedHarry Norman. ' How to speak of Gertrude, or how not to speak ofher, Mrs. Woodward knew not--at last she added: 'The three girlssend their kindest love; they are all as wretchedly anxious as Iam. I know you are too good to wish that poor Gertrude shouldsuffer, but, if you did, you might have your wish. The tidings ofyour illness, together with your silence, have robbed her of allher happiness;' and it ended thus:--'Dearest Harry! do not becruel to us; our hearts are all with you. '

This was too much for Norman's sternness; and he relented, atleast as far as Mrs. Woodward was concerned. He wrote to say thatthough he was still weak, he was not dangerously ill; and that heintended, if nothing occurred amiss, to be in town about the endof the year. He hoped he might then see her to thank her for allher kindness. She would understand that he could not go down toSurbiton Cottage; but as she would doubtless have some occasionfor coming up to town, they might thus contrive to meet. He thensent his love to Linda and Katie, and ended by saying that he hadwritten to Charley Tudor to take lodgings for him. Not theslightest allusion was made either to Gertrude or Alaric, exceptthat which might seem to be conveyed in the intimation that hecould make no more visits to Hampton. 

This letter was very cold. It just permitted Mrs. Woodward toknow that Norman did not regard them all as strangers; and thatwas all. Linda said it was very sad; and Gertrude said, not toher mother but to Alaric, that it was heartless. CaptainCuttwater predicted that he would soon come round, and be assound as a roach again in six months' time. Alaric said nothing;but he went on with his wooing, and this he did so successfully, as to make Gertrude painfully alive to what would have been, inher eyes, the inferiority of her lot, had she unfortunatelyallowed herself to become the victim of Norman's love. 

Alaric went on with his wooing, and he also went on with hisshare-buying. Undy Scott had returned to town for a week or twoto wind up the affairs of his expiring secretaryship, and he madeAlaric understand that a nice thing might yet be done in MaryJanes. Alaric had been very foolish to sell so quickly; so atleast said Undy. To this Alaric replied that he had bought theshares thoughtlessly, and had felt a desire to get rid of them asquickly as he could. Those were scruples at which Undy laughedpleasantly, and Alaric soon laughed with him. 

'At any rate, ' said Undy, 'your report is written, and off yourhands now: so you may do what you please in the matter, like afree man, with a safe conscience. '

Alaric supposed that he might. 

'I am as fond of the Civil Service as any man, ' said Undy; 'justas fond of it as Sir Gregory himself. I have been in it, and maybe in it again. If I do, I shall do my duty. But I have no ideaof having my hands tied. My purse is my own, to do what I likewith it. Whether I buy beef or mutton, or shares in Cornwall, isnothing to anyone. I give the Crown what it pays for, my five orsix hours a day, and nothing more. When I was appointed privatesecretary to the First Lord of the Stannaries, I told my friendWhip Vigil that those were the terms on which I accepted office;and Vigil agreed with me. ' Alaric, pupil as he was to the greatSir Gregory, declared that he also agreed with him. 'That is notSir Gregory's doctrine, but it's mine, ' said Undy; 'and thoughit's my own, I think it by far the honester doctrine of the two. '

Alaric did not sift the matter very deeply, nor did he ask Undy, or himself either, whether in using the contents of his purse inthe purchase of shares he would be justified in turning to hisown purpose any information which he might obtain in his officialcareer. Nor did he again offer to put that broad test to himselfwhich he had before proposed, and ask himself whether he woulddare to talk of what he was doing in the face of day, in his ownoffice, before Sir Gregory, or before the Neverbends of theService. He had already learnt the absurdity of such tests. Didother men talk of such doings? Was it not notorious that theworld speculated, and that the world was generally silent in thematter? Why should he attempt to be wiser than those around him?Was it not sufficient for him to be wise in his generation? Whatman had ever become great, who allowed himself to be impeded bysmall scruples? If the sportsman returned from the field ladenwith game, who would scrutinize the mud on his gaiters?'Excelsior!' said Alaric to himself with a proud ambition; and sohe attempted to rise by the purchase and sale of mining shares. 

When he was fairly engaged in the sport, his style of play sofascinated Undy that they embarked in a sort of partnership, _pro hoc vice_, good to the last during the ups and downs ofWheal Mary Jane. Mary Jane, no doubt, would soon run dry, or elsebe drowned, as had happened to New Friendship. But in themeantime something might be done. 

'Of course you'll be consulted about those other papers, ' saidUndy. 'It might be as well they should be kept back for a week ortwo. '

'Well, I'll see, ' said Alaric; and as he said it, he felt thathis face was tinged with a blush of shame. But what then? Whowould look at the dirt on his gaiters, if he filled his bag withgame?

Mrs. Woodward was no whit angered by the coldness of Norman'sletter. She wished that he could have brought himself to write ina different style, but she remembered his grief, and knew that astime should work its cure upon it, he would come round and againbe gentle and affectionate, at any rate with her. 

She misdoubted Charley's judgement in the choice of lodgings, andtherefore she talked over the matter with Alaric. It was at lastdecided that he, Alaric, should move instead of driving Normanaway. His final movement would soon take place; that movementwhich would rob him of the freedom of lodginghood, and invest himwith all the ponderous responsibility and close restraint of ahouseholder. He and Gertrude were to be married in February, andafter spending a cold honeymoon in Paris and Brussels, were tobegin their married life amidst the sharp winds of a LondonMarch. But love, gratified love, will, we believe, keep out evenan English east wind. If so, it is certainly the only thing thatwill. 

Charley, therefore, wrote to Norman, telling him that he couldremain in his old home, and humbly asking permission to remainthere with him. To this request he received a kind rejoinder inthe affirmative. Though Charley was related to Alaric, there hadalways apparently been a closer friendship between him and Normanthan between the two cousins; and now, in his fierce unbridledquarrel with Alaric, and in his present coolness with theWoodwards, he seemed to turn to Charley with more than ordinaryaffection. 

Norman made his appearance at the office on the first Monday ofthe new year. He had hitherto sat at the same desk with Alaric, each of them occupying one side of it; on his return he foundhimself opposite to a stranger. Alaric had, of course, beenpromoted to a room of his own. 

The Weights and Measures had never been a noisy office; but nowit became more silent than ever. Men there talked but little atany time, and now they seemed to cease from talking altogether. It was known to all that the Damon and Pythias of the establishmentwere Damon and Pythias no longer; that war waged between them, and that if all accounts were true, they were ready to fly each atthe other's throat. Some attributed this to the competitive examination;others said it was love; others declared that it was money, the rootof evil; and one rash young gentleman stated his positive knowledgethat it was all three. At any rate something dreadful was expected;and men sat anxious at their desks, fearing the coming evil. 

On the Monday the two men did not meet, nor on the Tuesday. Onthe next morning, Alaric, having acknowledged to himself thenecessity of breaking the ice, walked into the room where Normansat with three or four others. It was absolutely necessary thathe should make some arrangement with him as to a certain branchof office-work; and though it was competent for him, as thesuperior, to have sent for Norman as the inferior, he thought itbest to abstain from doing so, even though he were therebyobliged to face his enemy, for the first time, in the presence ofothers. 

'Well, Mr. Embryo, ' said he, speaking to the new junior, andstanding with his back to the fire in an easy way, as thoughthere was nothing wrong under the sun, or at least nothing at theWeights and Measures, 'well, Mr. Embryo, how do you get on withthose calculations?'

'Pretty well, I believe, sir; I think I begin to understand themnow, ' said the tyro, producing for Alaric's gratification five orsix folio sheets covered with intricate masses of figures. 

'Ah! yes; that will do very well, ' said Alaric, taking up one ofthe sheets, and looking at it with an assumed air of greatinterest. Though he acted his part pretty well, his mind was veryfar removed from Mr. Embryo's efforts. 

Norman sat at his desk, as black as a thunder-cloud, with hiseyes turned intently at the paper before him; but so agitatedthat he could not even pretend to write. 

'By the by, Norman, ' said Alaric, 'when will it suit you to lookthrough those Scotch papers with me?'

'My name, sir, is Mr. Norman, ' said Harry, getting up andstanding by his chair with all the firmness of a Paladin of old. 

'With all my heart, ' said Alaric. 'In speaking to you I can havebut one wish, and that is to do so in any way that may bestplease you. '

'Any instructions you may have to give I will attend to, as faras my duty goes, ' said Norman. 

And then Alaric, pushing Mr. Embryo from his chair without muchceremony, sat down opposite to his former friend, and said anddid what he had to say and do with an easy unaffected air, inwhich there was, at any rate, none of the usual superciliousnessof a neophyte's authority. Norman was too agitated to speakreasonably, or to listen calmly, but Alaric knew that though hemight not do so to-day, he would to-morrow, or if not to-morrow, then the next day; and so from day to day he came into Norman'sroom and transacted his business. Mr. Embryo got accustomed tolooking through the window at the Council Office for the tenminutes that he remained there, and Norman also became reconciledto the custom. And thus, though they never met in any other way, they daily had a kind of intercourse with each other, which, atlast, contrived to get itself arranged into a certain amount ofcivility on both sides. 

Immediately that Norman's arrival was heard of at SurbitonCottage, Mrs. Woodward hastened up to town to see him. She wroteto him to say that she would be at his lodgings at a certainhour, and begged him to come thither to her. Of course he did notrefuse, and so they met. Mrs. Woodward had much doubted whetheror no she would take Linda or Katie with her, but at last sheresolved to go alone. Harry, she thought, would be more willingto speak freely to her, to open his heart to her, if there werenobody by but herself. 

Their meeting was very touching, and characteristic of the twopersons. Mrs. Woodward was sad enough, but her sadness wasaccompanied by a strength of affection that carried before itevery obstacle. Norman was also sad; but he was at first sternand cold, and would have remained so to the last, had not hismanly anger been overpowered by her feminine tenderness. 

It was singular, but not the less true, that at this periodNorman appeared to have forgotten altogether that he had everproposed to Gertrude, and been rejected by her. All that he saidand all that he thought was exactly what he might have said andthought had Alaric taken from him his affianced bride. No suitorhad ever felt his suit to be more hopeless than he had done; andyet he now regarded himself as one whose high hopes of happy lovehad all been destroyed by the treachery of a friend and thefickleness of a woman. 

This made the task of appeasing him very difficult to Mrs. Woodward. She could not in plain language remind him that he hadbeen plainly rejected; nor could she, on the other hand, permither daughter to be branded with a fault of which she had neverbeen guilty. 

Mrs. Woodward had wished, though she had hardly hoped, so tomollify Norman as to induce him to promise to be at the wedding;but she soon found that this was out of the question. There wasno mitigating his anger against Alaric. 

'Mrs. Woodward, ' said he, standing very upright, and looking verystiff, 'I will never again willingly put myself in any positionwhere I must meet him. '

'Oh! Harry, don't say so--think of your close friendship, thinkof your long friendship. '

'Why did he not think of it?'

'But, Harry--if not for his sake, if not for your own, at anyrate do so for ours; for my sake, for Katie's and Linda's, forGertrude's sake. '

'I had rather not speak of Gertrude, Mrs. Woodward. '

'Ah! Harry, Gertrude has done you no injury; why should you thusturn your heart against her? You should not blame her; if youhave anyone to blame, it is me. '

'No; you have been true to me. '

'And has she been false? Oh! Harry, think how we have loved you!You should be more just to us. '

'Tush!' he said. 'I do not believe in justice; there is nojustice left. I would have given everything I had for him. Iwould have made any sacrifice. His happiness was as much mythought as my own. And now--and yet you talk to me of justice. '

'And if he had injured you, Harry, would you not forgive him? Doyou repeat your prayers without thinking of them? Do you not wishto forgive them that trespass against you?' Norman groanedinwardly in the spirit. 'Do you not think of this when you kneelevery night before your God?'

'There are injuries which a man cannot forgive, is not expectedto forgive. '

'Are there, Harry? Oh! that is a dangerous doctrine. In that wayevery man might nurse his own wrath till anger would make devilsof us all. Our Saviour has made no exceptions. '

'In one sense, I do forgive him, Mrs. Woodward. I wish him noevil. But it is impossible that I should call a man who has soinjured me my friend. I look upon him as disgraced for ever. '

She then endeavoured to persuade him to see Gertrude, or at anyrate to send his love to her. But in this also he was obdurate. 'It could, ' he said, 'do no good. ' He could not answer forhimself that his feelings would not betray him. A message wouldbe of no use; if true, it would not be gracious; if false, it hadbetter be avoided. He was quite sure Gertrude would be indifferentas to any message from him. The best thing for them both wouldbe that they should forget each other. 

He promised, however, that he would go down to Hamptonimmediately after the marriage, and he sent his kindest love toLinda and Katie. 'And, dear Mrs. Woodward, ' said he, 'I know youthink me very harsh, I know you think me vindictive--but pray, pray believe that I understand all your love, and acknowledge allyour goodness. The time will, perhaps, come when we shall be ashappy together as we once were. '

Mrs. Woodward, trying to smile through her tears, could only saythat she would pray that that time might soon come; and so, bidding God bless him, as a mother might bless her child, sheleft him and returned to Hampton, not with a light heart. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE FIRST WEDDING

In spite, however, of Norman and his anger, on a cold snowymorning in the month of February, Gertrude stood at the altar inHampton Church, a happy trusting bride, and Linda stood smilingbehind her, the lovely leader of the nuptial train. Nor wereLinda's smiles false or forced, much less treacherous. She hadtaught herself to look on Alaric as her sister's husband, andthough in doing so she had suffered, and did still suffer, shenow thought of her own lost lover in no other guise. 

A housemaid, not long since, who was known in the family in whichshe lived to be affianced to a neighbouring gardener, cameweeping to her mistress. 

'Oh, ma'am!'

'Why, Susan, what ails you?'

'Oh, ma'am!'

'Well, Susan--what is it?--why are you crying?'

'Oh, ma'am--John!'

'Well--what of John? I hope he is not misbehaving. '

'Indeed, ma'am, he is then; the worst of misbehaviour; for he'sgone and got hisself married. ' And poor Susan gave vent to aflood of tears. 

Her mistress tried to comfort her, and not in vain. She told herthat probably she might be better as she was; that John, seeingwhat he had done, must be a false creature, who would undoubtedlyhave used her ill; and she ended her good counsel by trying tomake Susan understand that there were still as good fish in thesea as had ever yet been caught out of it. 

'And that's true too, ma'am, ' said Susan, with her apron to hereyes. 

'Then you should not be downhearted, you know. '

'Nor I han't down'arted, ma'am, for thank God I could love anyman, but it's the looks on it, ma'am; it's that I mind. '

How many of us are there, women and men too, who think most ofthe 'looks of it' under such circumstances; and who, were we ashonest as poor Susan, ought to thank God, as she did, that we canlove anyone; anyone, that is, of the other sex. We are not all ofus susceptible of being torn to tatters by an unhappy passion;not even all those of us who may be susceptible of a true andhonest love. And it is well that it is so. It is one of God'smercies; and if we were as wise as Susan, we should thank God forit. 

Linda was, perhaps, one of those. She was good, affectionate, tender, and true. But she was made of that stuff which can bendto the north wind. The world was not all over with her because aman had been untrue to her. She had had her grief, and had beentold to meet it like a Christian; she had been obedient to thetelling, and now felt the good result. So when Gertrude wasmarried she stood smiling behind her; and when her new brother-in-law kissed her in the vestry-room she smiled again, andhonestly wished them happiness. 

And Katie was there, very pretty and bonny, still childish, withher short dress and long trousers, but looking as though she, too, would soon feel the strength of her own wings, and be ableto fly away from her mother's nest. Dear Katie! Her story has yetto be told. To her belongs neither the soft easiness of hersister Linda nor the sterner dignity of Gertrude. But she has acharacter of her own, which contains, perhaps, higher qualitiesthan those given to either of her sisters. 

And there were other bridesmaids there; how many it boots not nowto say. We must have the spaces round our altars greatly widenedif this passion for bevies of attendant nymphs be allowed to goon increasing--and if crinolines increase also. If every bride isto have twelve maidens, and each maiden to stand on no less thana twelve-yard circle, what modest temple will ever suffice for asacrifice to Hymen?

And Mrs. Woodward was there, of course; as pretty to my thinkingas either of her daughters, or any of the bridesmaids. She wasvery pretty and smiling and quiet. But when Gertrude said 'Iwill, ' she was thinking of Harry Norman, and grieving that he wasnot there. 

And Captain Cuttwater was there, radiant in a new blue coat, madespecially for the occasion, and elastic with true joy. He hadbeen very generous. He had given £1, 000 to Alaric, and settled£150 a year on Gertrude, payable, of course, after his death. This, indeed, was the bulk of what he had to give, and Mrs. Woodward had seen with regret his exuberant munificence to one ofher children. But Gertrude was her child, and of course she couldnot complain. 

And Charley was there, acting as best man. It was just the placeand just the work for Charley. He forgot all his difficulties, all his duns, and also all his town delights. Without a sigh heleft his lady in Norfolk Street to mix gin-sling for otheradmirers, and felt no regret though four brother navvies weregoing to make a stunning night of it at the 'Salon de Sevilledansant, ' at the bottom of Holborn Hill. However, he had hishopes that he might be back in time for some of that fun. 

And Undy Scott was there. He and Alaric had fraternized sogreatly of late that the latter had, as a matter of course, askedhim to his wedding, and Mrs. Woodward had of course expressedher delight at receiving Alaric's friend. Undy also was a pleasantfellow for a wedding party; he was full of talk, fond of ladies, being no whit abashed in his attendance on them by the remembranceof his bosom's mistress, whom he had left, let us hope, happy inher far domestic retirement. Undy Scott was a good man at awedding, and made himself specially agreeable on this occasion. 

But the great glory of the day was the presence of Sir GregoryHardlines. It was a high honour, considering all that rested onSir Gregory's shoulders, for so great a man to come all the waydown to Hampton to see a clerk in the Weights and Measuresmarried. 

 Cum tot sustineas, et tanta negotia solus, --for we may call it 'solus, ' Sir Warwick and Mr. Jobbles beingsources of more plague than profit in carrying out your nobleschemes--while so many things are on your shoulders, Sir Gregory;while you are defending the Civil Service by your pen[?], adorning it by your conduct, perfecting it by new rules, howcould any man have had the face to ask you to a wedding?

Nevertheless Sir Gregory was there, and did not lose theexcellent opportunity which a speech at the breakfast-tableafforded him for expressing his opinion on the Civil Service ofhis country. 

And so Gertrude Woodward became Gertrude Tudor, and she andAlaric were whirled away by a post-chaise and post-boy, done outwith white bows, to the Hampton Court station; from thence theywhisked up to London, and then down to Dover; and there we willleave them. 

They were whisked away, having first duly gone through the amountof badgering which the bride and bridegroom have to suffer at thewedding breakfast-table. They drank their own health inchampagne. Alaric made a speech, in which he said he was quiteunworthy of his present happiness, and Gertrude picked up all thebijoux, gold pencil-cases, and silver cream-jugs, which werethrown at her from all sides. All the men made speeches, and allthe women laughed, but the speech of the day was that celebratedone made by Sir Gregory, in which he gave a sketch of AlaricTudor as the beau idéal of a clerk in the Civil Service. 'Hisheart, ' said he, energetically, 'is at the Weights and Measures;'but Gertrude looked at him as though she did not believe a wordof it. 

And so Alaric and Gertrude were whisked away, and the weddingguests were left to look sheepish at each other, and takethemselves off as best they might. Sir Gregory, of course, hadimportant public business which precluded him from having thegratification of prolonging his stay at Hampton. Charley got awayin perfect time to enjoy whatever there might be to be enjoyed atthe dancing saloon of Seville, and Undy Scott returned to hisclub. 

Then all was again quiet at Surbiton Cottage. Captain Cuttwater, who had perhaps drunk the bride's health once too often, went tosleep; Katie, having taken off her fine clothes, roamed about thehouse disconsolate, and Mrs. Woodward and Linda betook themselvesto their needles. 

The Tudors went to Brussels, and were made welcome by the Belgianbanker, whose counters he had deserted so much to his ownbenefit, and from thence to Paris, and, having been there longenough to buy a French bonnet and wonder at the enormity ofFrench prices, they returned to a small but comfortable housethey had prepared for themselves in the neighbourhood ofWestbourne Terrace. 

Previous to this Norman had been once, and but once, at Hampton, and, when there, he had failed in being comfortable himself, orin making the Woodwards so; he could not revert to his oldhabits, or sit, or move, or walk, as though nothing special hadhappened since he had been last there. He could not talk aboutGertrude, and he could not help talking of her. By some closerpacking among the ladies a room had now been prepared for him inthe house; even this upset him, and brought to his mind all thoseunpleasant thoughts which he should have endeavoured to avoid. 

He did not repeat his visit before the Tudors returned; and thenfor some time he was prevented from doing so by the movements ofthe Woodwards themselves. Mrs. Woodward paid a visit to hermarried daughter, and, when she returned, Linda did the same. Andso for a while Norman was, as it were, divided from his oldfriends, whereas Tudor, as a matter of course, was one ofthemselves. 

It was only natural that Mrs. Woodward should forgive Alaric andreceive him to her bosom, now that he was her son-in-law. Afterall, such ties as these avail more than any predilections, morethan any effort of judgement in the choice of the objects of ouraffections. We associate with those with whom the tenor of lifehas thrown us, and from habit we learn to love those with whom weare brought to associate. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE HONOURABLE MRS. VAL AND MISS GOLIGHTLY

The first eighteen months of Gertrude's married life were notunhappy, though, like all persons entering on the realities ofthe world, she found much to disappoint her. At first herhusband's society was sufficient for her; and to give him hisdue, he was not at first an inattentive husband. Then came thebaby, bringing with him, as first babies always should do, a sortof second honeymoon of love, and a renewal of those serviceswhich women so delight to receive from their bosoms' lord. 

She had of course made acquaintances since she had settledherself in London, and had, in her modest way, done her littlepart in adding to the gaiety of the great metropolis. In thisrespect indeed Alaric's commencement of life had somewhatfrightened Mrs. Woodward, and the more prudent of his friends. Grand as his official promotion had been, his official income atthe time of his marriage did not exceed £600 a year, and thoughthis was to be augmented occasionally till it reached £800, yeteven with this advantage it could hardly suffice for a man andhis wife and a coming family to live in an expensive part ofLondon, and enable him to 'see his friends' occasionally, as theact of feeding one's acquaintance is now generally called. 

Gertrude, like most English girls of her age, was at first soignorant about money that she hardly knew whether £600 was or wasnot a sufficient income to justify their present mode of living;but she soon found reason to suspect that her husband at any rateendeavoured to increase it by other means. We say to suspect, because he never spoke to her on the subject; he never told herof Mary Janes and New Friendships; or hinted that he hadextensive money dealings in connexion with Undy Scott. 

But it can be taken for granted that no husband can carry on suchdealings long without some sort of cognizance on his wife's partas to what he is doing; a woman who is not trusted by her lordmay choose to remain in apparent darkness, may abstain fromquestions, and may consider it either her duty or her interest toassume an ignorance as to her husband's affairs; but the partnerof one's bed and board, the minister who soothes one's headaches, and makes one's tea, and looks after one's linen, can't but havethe means of guessing the thoughts which occupy her companion'smind and occasionally darken his brow. 

Much of Gertrude's society had consisted of that into whichAlaric was thrown by his friendship with Undy Scott. There was abrother of Undy's living in town, one Valentine Scott--a captainin a cavalry regiment, and whose wife was by no means of thatdelightfully retiring disposition evinced by Undy's better half. The Hon. Mrs. Valentine, or Mrs. Val Scott as she was commonlycalled, was a very pushing woman, and pushed herself into aprominent place among Gertrude's friends. She had been the widowof Jonathan Golightly, Esq. , umquhile sheriff of the city ofLondon, and stockbroker, and when she gave herself and herjointure up to Captain Val, she also brought with her, to enliventhe house, a daughter Clementina, the only remaining pledge ofher love for the stockbroker. 

When Val Scott entered the world, his father's precepts as to thepurposes of matrimony were deeply graven on his heart. He was thebest looking of the family, and, except Undy, the youngest. Hehad not Undy's sharpness, his talent for public matters, or hisaptitude for the higher branches of the Civil Service; but he hadwit to wear his sash and epaulets with an easy grace, and tocaptivate the heart, person, and some portion of the purse, ofthe Widow Golightly. The lady was ten years older than thegentleman; but then she had a thousand a year, and, to makematters more pleasant, the beauteous Clementina had a fortune ofher own. 

Under these circumstances the marriage had been contractedwithout any deceit, or attempt at deceit, by either party. Valwanted an income, and the sheriff's widow wanted the utmostamount of social consideration which her not very extensive meanswould purchase for her. On the whole, the two parties to thetransaction were contented with their bargain. Mrs. Val, it istrue, kept her income very much in her own hands; but still sheconsented to pay Val's tailors' bills, and it is something for aman to have bed and board found him for nothing. It is true, again, the lady did not find that the noble blood of her husbandgave her an immediate right of entry into the best houses inLondon; but it did bring her into some sort of contact with somefew people of rank and fame; and being a sensible woman, she hadnot been unreasonable in her expectations. 

When she had got what she could from her husband in thisparticular, she did not trouble him much further. He delighted inthe Rag, and there spent the most of his time; happily, shedelighted in what she called the charms of society, and associety expanded itself before her, she was also, we mustsuppose, happy. She soon perceived that more in her immediateline was to be obtained from Undy than from her own member of theGaberlunzie family, and hence had sprung up her intimacy withMrs. Tudor. 

It cannot be said that Gertrude was very fond of the HonourableMrs. Val, nor even of her daughter, Clementina Golightly, who wasmore of her own age. These people had become her friends from theforce of circumstances, and not from predilection. To tell thetruth, Mrs. Val, who had in her day encountered, with muchpatience, a good deal of snubbing, and who had had to be thankfulwhen she was patronized, now felt that her day for being a greatlady had come, and that it behoved her to patronize others. Shetried her hand upon Gertrude, and found the practice so congenialto her spirits, so pleasantly stimulating, so well adapted toafford a gratifying compensation for her former humility, thatshe continued to give up a good deal of her time to No. 5, AlbanyRow, Westbourne Terrace, at which house the Tudors resided. 

The young bride was not exactly the woman to submit quietly topatronage from any Mrs. Val, however honourable she might be; butfor a while Gertrude hardly knew what it meant; and at her firstoutset the natural modesty of youth, and her inexperience in hernew position, made her unwilling to take offence and unequal torebellion. By degrees, however, this feeling of humility woreoff; she began to be aware of the assumed superiority of Mrs. Val's friendship, and by the time that their mutual affection wasof a year's standing, Gertrude had determined, in a quiet way, without saying anything to anybody, to put herself on a footingof more perfect equality with the Honourable Mrs. Val. 

Clementina Golightly was, in the common parlance of a largeportion of mankind, a 'doosed fine gal. ' She stood five feet six, and stood very well, on very good legs, but with rather largefeet. She was as straight as a grenadier, and had it been herfate to carry a milk-pail, she would have carried it toperfection. Instead of this, however, she was permitted to expendan equal amount of energy in every variation of waltz and polkathat the ingenuity of the dancing professors of the age has beenable to produce. Waltzes and polkas suited her admirably; for shewas gifted with excellent lungs and perfect powers of breathing, and she had not much delight in prolonged conversation. Herfault, if she had one, was a predilection for flirting; but shedid her flirtations in a silent sort of way, much as we maysuppose the fishes do theirs, whose amours we may presume toconsist in swimming through their cool element in closecontiguity with each other. 'A feast of reason and a flow ofsoul' were not the charms by which Clementina Golightly essayedto keep her admirers spell-bound at her feet. To whirl rapidlyround a room at the rate of ten miles an hour, with her righthand outstretched in the grasp of her partner's, and to know thatshe was tightly buoyed up, like a horse by a bearing-rein, by hisother hand behind her back, was for her sufficient. To do this, as she did do it, without ever crying for mercy, with noslackness of breath, and apparently without distress, must havetaken as much training as a horse gets for a race. But thetraining had in nowise injured her; and now, having gone throughher gallops and run all her heats for three successive seasons, she was still sound of wind and limb, and fit to run at anymoment when called upon. 

We have said nothing about the face of the beauteous Clementina, and indeed nothing can be said about it. There was no feature init with which a man could have any right to find fault; that shewas a 'doosed fine girl' was a fact generally admitted; butnevertheless you might look at her for four hours consecutivelyon a Monday evening, and yet on Tuesday you would not know her. She had hair which was brownish and sufficiently silky--and whichshe wore, as all other such girls do, propped out on each side ofher face by thick round velvet pads, which, when the waltzingpace became exhilarating, occasionally showed themselves, lookinggreasy. She had a pair of eyes set straight in her head, faultless in form, and perfectly inexpressive. She had a noseequally straight, but perhaps a little too coarse in dimensions. She had a mouth not over large, with two thin lips and smallwhitish teeth; and she had a chin equal in contour to the rest ofher face, but on which Venus had not deigned to set a dimple. Nature might have defied a French passport officer to give adescription of her, by which even her own mother or a detectivepoliceman might have recognized her. 

When to the above list of attractions it is added that ClementinaGolightly had £20, 000 of her own, and a reversionary interest inher mother's jointure, it may be imagined that she did not wantfor good-winded cavaliers to bear her up behind, and whirl aroundwith her with outstretched hands. 

'I am not going to stay a moment, my dear, ' said Mrs. Val, seating herself on Gertrude's sofa, having rushed up almostunannounced into the drawing-room, followed by Clementina;'indeed, Lady Howlaway is waiting for me this moment; but I mustsettle with you about the June flower-show. '

'Oh! thank you, Mrs. Scott, don't trouble yourself about me, 'said Gertrude; 'I don't think I shall go. '

'Oh! nonsense, my dear; of course you'll go; it's the show of theyear, and the Grand duke is to be there--baby is all right now, you know; I must not hear of your not going. '

'All the same--I fear I must decline, ' said Gertrude; 'I think Ishall be at Hampton. '

'Oh! nonsense, my dear; of course you must show yourself. Peoplewill say all manner of things else. Clementina has promised tomeet Victoire Jaquêtanápes there and a party of French people, people of the very highest ton. You'll be delighted, my dear. '

'M. Jaquêtanápes is the most delicious polkist you ever met, 'said Clementina. 'He has got a new back step that will quiteamaze you. ' As Gertrude in her present condition was not muchgiven to polkas, this temptation did not have great effect. 

'Oh, you must come, of course, my dear--and pray let me recommendyou to go to Madame Bosconi for your bonnet; she has such darlinglittle ducks, and as cheap as dirt. But I want you to arrangeabout the carriage; you can do that with Mr. Tudor, and I cansettle with you afterwards. Captain Scott won't go, of course;but I have no doubt Undecimus and Mr. Tudor will come later andbring us home; we can manage very well with the one carriage. '

In spite of her thousand a year the Honourable Mrs. Val was notashamed to look after the pounds, shillings, and pence. Andso, having made her arrangements, Mrs. Val took herself off, hurrying to appease the anger of Lady Howlaway, and followed byClementina, who since her little outburst as to the new back stepof M. Jaquêtanápes had not taken much part in the conversation. 

Flower-shows are a great resource for the Mrs. Scotts of Londonlife. They are open to ladies who cannot quite penetrate theinner sancta of fashionable life, and yet they are frequented bythose to whom those sancta are everyday household walks. There atleast the Mrs. Scotts of the outer world can show themselves inclose contiguity, and on equal terms, with the Mrs. Scotts of theinner world. And then, who is to know the difference? If also oneis an Honourable Mrs. Scott, and can contrive to appear as suchin the next day's _Morning Post_, may not one fairly boastthat the ends of society have been attained? Where is thecitadel? How is one to know when one has taken it?

Gertrude could not be quite so defiant with her friends as shewould have wished to have been, as they were borne with andencouraged by her husband. Of Undy's wife Alaric saw nothing andheard little, but it suited Undy to make use of his sister-in-law's house, and it suited Alaric to be intimate with Undy'ssister-in-law. Moreover, had not Clementina Golightly £20, 000, and was she not a 'doosed fine girl?' This was nothing to Alaricnow, and might not be considered to be much to Undy. But thatfar-seeing, acute financier knew that there were other means ofhandling a lady's money than that of marrying her. He could notat present acquire a second fortune in that way; but he mightperhaps acquire the management of this £20, 000 if he couldprovide the lady with a husband of the proper temperament. UndyScott did not want to appropriate Miss Golightly's fortune, heonly wanted to have the management of it. 

Looking round among his acquaintance for a fitting _parti_for the sweet Clementina, his mind, after much consideration, settled upon Charley Tudor. There were many young men much nearerand dearer to Undy than Charley, who might be equally desirous ofso great a prize; but he could think of none over whom he mightprobably exercise so direct a control. Charley was a handsome gayfellow, and waltzed _au ravir_; he might, therefore, withoutdifficulty, make his way with the fair Clementina. He wasdistressingly poor, and would therefore certainly jump at anheiress--he was delightfully thoughtless and easy of leading, andtherefore the money, when in his hands, might probably bemanageable. He was also Alaric's cousin, and therefore acceptable. 

Undy did not exactly open his mind to Alaric Tudor in thismatter. Alaric's education was going on rapidly; but his mind hadnot yet received with sufficient tenacity those principles ofphilosophy which would enable him to look at this scheme in itsproper light. He had already learnt the great utility, one mayalmost say the necessity, of having a command of money; he wasbeginning also to perceive that money was a thing not to bejudged of by the ordinary rules which govern a man's conduct. Inother matters it behoves a gentleman to be open, above-board, liberal, and true; good-natured, generous, confiding, self-denying, doing unto others as he would wish that others should dounto him; but in the acquirement and use of money--that is, itsuse with the object of acquiring more, its use in the usurer'ssense--his practice should be exactly the reverse; he should beclose, secret, exacting, given to concealment, not over troubledby scruples; suspicious, without sympathies, self-devoted, andalways doing unto others exactly that which he is on his guard toprevent others from doing unto him--viz. , making money by them. So much Alaric had learnt, and had been no inapt scholar. But hehad not yet appreciated the full value of the latitude allowed bythe genius of the present age to men who deal successfully inmoney. He had, as we have seen, acknowledged to himself that asportsman may return from the field with his legs and feet alittle muddy; but he did not yet know how deep a man may wallowin the mire, how thoroughly he may besmear himself from head tofoot in the blackest, foulest mud, and yet be received anhonoured guest by ladies gay and noble lords, if only his bag besufficiently full. 

 Rem. .. , quocunque modo rem!

The remainder of the passage was doubtless applicable to formertimes, but now is hardly worth repeating. 

As Alaric's stomach was not yet quite suited for strong food, Undy fitted this matter to his friend's still juvenile capacities. There was an heiress, a 'doosed fine girl' as Undy insisted, laying peculiar strength on the word of emphasis, with £20, 000, and there was Charley Tudor, a devilish decent fellow, withouta rap. Why not bring them together? This would only be amark of true friendship on the part of Undy; and on Alaric'spart, it would be no more than one cousin would be bound to dofor another. Looking at it in this light, Alaric saw nothing inthe matter which could interfere with his quiet conscience. 

'I'll do what I can, ' said Undy. 'Mrs. Val is inclined to have away of her own in most things; but if anybody can lead her, Ican. Charley must take care that Val himself doesn't take hispart, that's all. If he interferes, it would be all up with us. '

And thus Alaric, intent mainly on the interest of his cousin, andactuated perhaps a little by the feeling that a rich cousin wouldbe more serviceable than a poor one, set himself to work, inconnexion with Undy Scott, to make prey of Clementina Golightly's£20, 000. 

But if Undy had no difficulty in securing the co-operation ofAlaric in this matter, Alaric by no means found it equally easyto secure the co-operation of Charley. Charley Tudor had not yetlearnt to look upon himself as a marketable animal, worth acertain sum of money, in consequence of such property in goodappearance, address, &c. , as God had been good enough to endowhim withal. 

He daily felt the depth and disagreeable results of his ownpoverty, and not unfrequently, when specially short of theQueen's medium, sighed for some of those thousands and tens ofthousands with which men's mouths are so glibly full. He hadoften tried to calculate what would be his feelings if someeccentric, good-natured old stranger should leave him, say, fivethousand a year; he had often walked about the street, with hishands in his empty pockets, building delicious castles in theair, and doing the most munificent actions imaginable with hisnewly-acquired wealth, as all men in such circumstances do;relieving distress, rewarding virtue, and making handsomepresents to all his friends, and especially to Mrs. Woodward. Sofar Charley was not guiltless of coveting wealth; but he hadnever for a moment thought of realizing his dreams by means ofhis personal attractions. It had never occurred to him that anygirl having money could think it worth her while to marry him. He, navvy as he was, with his infernal friends and pot-houselove, with his debts and idleness and low associations, with hissaloons of Seville, his Elysium in Fleet Street, and his Paradisenear the Surrey Gardens, had hitherto thought little enough ofhis own attractions. No kind father had taught him that he wasworth £10, 000 in any market in the world. When he had dreamt ofmoney, he had never dreamt of it as accruing to him in return forany value or worth which he had inherent in himself. Even in hislighter moments he had no such conceit; and at those periods, fewand far between, in which he did think seriously Of the world atlarge, this special method of escaping from his difficulties--never once presented itself to his mind. 

When, therefore, Alaric first spoke to him of marrying £20, 000and Clementina Golightly, his surprise was unbounded. 

'£20, 000!' said Alaric, 'and a doosed fine girl, you know;' andhe also laid great stress on the latter part of the offer, knowing how inflammable was Charley's heart, and at the same timehow little mercenary was his mind. 

But Charley was not only surprised at the proposed arrangement, but apparently also unwilling to enter into, it. He argued thatin the first place no girl in her senses would accept him. Tothis Alaric replied that as Clementina had not much sense tospeak of, that objection might fall to the ground. Then Charleyexpressed an idea that Miss Golightly's friends might probablyobject when they learnt what were the exact pecuniary resourcesof the expectant husband; to which Alaric argued that thecircumstances of the case were very lucky, inasmuch as some ofClementina's natural friends were already prepossessed in favourof such an arrangement. 

Driven thus from two of his strongholds, Charley, in the mostmodest of voices, in a voice one may say quite shamefaced andconscious of its master's weakness--suggested that he was notquite sure that at the present moment he was very much in lovewith the lady in question. 

Alaric had married for love, and was not two years married, yethad his education so far progressed in that short period as toenable him to laugh at such an objection. 

'Then, my dear fellow, what the deuce do you mean to do withyourself? You'll certainly go to the dogs. 

Charley had an idea that he certainly should; and also had anidea that Miss Clementina and her £20, 000 might not improbably goin the same direction, if he had anything to do with them. 

'And as for loving her, ' continued Alaric, 'that's all my eye. Love is a luxury which none but the rich or the poor can afford. We middle-class paupers, who are born with good coats on ourbacks, but empty purses, can have nothing to do with it. '

'But you married for love, Alaric?'

'My marriage was not a very prudent one, and should not be takenas an example. And then I did get some fortune with my wife; andwhat is more, I was not so fearfully in want of it as you are. '

Charley acknowledged the truth of this, said that he would thinkof the matrimonial project, and promised, at any rate, to call onClementina on an early occasion. He had already made heracquaintance, had already danced with her, and certainly couldnot take upon himself to deny that she was a 'doosed fine girl. '

But Charley had reasons of his own, reasons which he could notmake known to Alaric, for not thinking much of, or trusting muchto, Miss Golightly's fortune. In the first place, he regardedmarriage on such a grand scale as that now suggested, as aceremony which must take a long time to adjust; the wooing of alady with so many charms could not be carried on as might be thewooing of a chambermaid or a farmer's daughter. It must takemonths at least to conciliate the friends of so rich an heiress, and months at the end of them to prepare the wedding gala. ButCharley could not wait for months; before one month was over hewould probably be laid up in some vile limbo, an unfortunate poorprisoner at the suit of an iron-hearted tailor. 

At this very moment of Alaric's proposition, at this instant whenhe found himself talking with so much coolness of the expedienceor inexpedience of appropriating to his own purpose a slighttrifle of £20, 000, he was in dire strait as to money difficulties. 

He had lately, that is, within the last twelve months, madeacquaintance with an interesting gentleman named Jabesh M'Ruen. Mr. Jabesh M'Ruen was in the habit of relieving the distresses ofsuch impoverished young gentlemen as Charley Tudor; and though hedid this with every assurance of philanthropic regard, though indoing so he only made one stipulation, 'Pray be punctual, Mr. Tudor, now pray do be punctual, sir, and you may always count onme, ' nevertheless, in spite of all his goodness, Mr. M'Ruen'syoung friends seldom continued to hold their heads well up overthe world's waters. 

On the morning after this conversation with Alaric, Charleyintended to call on his esteemed old friend. Many were themorning calls he did make; many were the weary, useless, aimlesswalks which he took to that little street at the back ofMecklenburg Square, with the fond hope of getting some relieffrom Mr. M'Ruen; and many also were the calls, the return visits, as it were, which Mr. M'Ruen made at the Internal Navigation, andnumerous were the whispers which he would there whisper into theears of the young clerk, Mr. Snape the while sitting by, with asweet unconscious look, as though he firmly believed Mr. M'Ruento be Charley's maternal uncle. 

And then, too, Charley had other difficulties, which in his mindpresented great obstacles to the Golightly scheme, though Alaricwould have thought little of them, and Undy nothing. What was heto do with his Norfolk Street lady, his barmaid houri, his NorahGeraghty, to whom he had sworn all manner of undying love, andfor whom in some sort of fashion he really had an affection? AndNorah was not a light-of-love whom it was as easy to lay down asto pick up. Charley had sworn to love her, and she had sworn tolove Charley; and to give her her due, she had kept her word tohim. Though her life rendered necessary a sort of daily or rathernightly flirtation with various male comers--as indeed, for thematter of that, did also the life of Miss Clementina Golightly--yet she had in her way been true to her lover. She had been trueto him, and Charley did not doubt her, and in a sort of low wayrespected her; though it was but a dissipated and debauchedrespect. There had even been talk between them of marriage, andwho can say what in his softer moments, when his brain had beentoo weak or the toddy too strong, Charley may not have promised?

And there was yet another objection to Miss Golightly; one evenmore difficult of mention, one on which Charley felt himself moreabsolutely constrained to silence than even either of the othertwo. He was sufficiently disinclined to speak to his cousinAlaric as to the merits either of Mr. Jabesh M'Ruen or of MissGeraghty, but he could have been eloquent on either rather thanwhisper a word as to the third person who stood between him andthe £20, 000. 

The school in which Charley now lived, that of the infernalnavvies, had taught him to laugh at romance; but it had not beenso successful in quelling the early feelings of his youth, indrying up the fountains of poetry within him, as had been thecase with his cousin, in that other school in which he had been ascholar. Charley was a dissipated, dissolute rake, and in somesense had degraded himself; but he had still this chance ofsafety on his side, that he himself reprobated his own sins. Hedreamt of other things and a better life. He made visions tohimself of a sweet home, and a sweeter, sweetest, lovely wife; alove whose hair should not be redolent of smoke, nor her handsreeking with gin, nor her services at the demand of everylibertine who wanted a screw of tobacco, or a glass of 'coldwithout. '

He had made such a vision to himself, and the angel with which hehad filled it was not a creature of his imagination. She who wasto reign in this ethereal paradise, this happy home, far as thepoles away from Norfolk Street, was a living being in thesublunar globe, present sometimes to Charley's eyes, and now sooften present to his thoughts; and yet she was but a child, andas ignorant that she had ever touched a lover's heart by herchildish charms as though she had been a baby. 

After all, even on Charley's part, it was but a vision. He neverreally thought that his young inamorata would or could be to hima real true heart's companion, returning his love with the doublelove of a woman, watching his health, curing his vices, andmaking the sweet things of the world a living reality around him. This love of his was but a vision, but not the less on thataccount did it interfere with his cousin Alaric's proposition, inreference to Miss Clementina Golightly. 

That other love also, that squalid love of his, was in truth novision--was a stern, palpable reality, very difficult to get ridof, and one which he often thought to himself would very probablyswallow up that other love, and drive his sweet dream far awayinto utter darkness and dim chaotic space. 

But at any rate it was clear that there was no room in his heartfor the beauteous Clementina, 'doosed fine girl' as sheundoubtedly was, and serviceable as the £20, 000 most certainlywould have been. 

CHAPTER XVIII

A DAY WITH ONE OF THE NAVVIES. --MORNING

On the morning after this conversation with Alaric, Charley lefthis lodgings with a heavy heart, and wended his way towardsMecklenburg Square. At the corner of Davies Street he got anomnibus, which for fourpence took him to one of the little alleysnear Gray's Inn, and there he got down, and threading the well-known locality, through Bedford Place and across Theobald's Road, soon found himself at the door of his generous patron. Oh! how hehated the house; how he hated the blear-eyed, cross-grained, dirty, impudent fish-fag of an old woman who opened the door forhim; how he hated Mr. Jabesh M'Ruen, to whom he now came asupplicant for assistance, and how, above all, he hated himselffor being there. 

He was shown into Mr. M'Ruen's little front parlour, where he hadto wait for fifteen minutes, while his patron made such abreakfast as generally falls to the lot of such men. We canimagine the rancid butter, the stale befingered bread, theha'porth of sky-blue milk, the tea innocent of China's wrongs, and the soiled cloth. Mr. M'Ruen always did keep Charley waitingfifteen minutes, and so he was no whit surprised; the doing sowas a part of the tremendous interest which the wretched oldusurer received for his driblets of money. 

There was not a bit of furniture in the room on which Charley hadnot speculated till speculation could go no further; the oldescritoire or secrétaire which Mr. M'Ruen always opened the momenthe came into the room; the rickety Pembroke table, covered withdirty papers which stood in the middle of it; the horsehair-bottomed chairs, on which Charley declined to sit down, unless hehad on his thickest winter trousers, so perpendicular had becomesome atoms on the surface, which, when new, had no doubt beenhorizontal; the ornaments (!) on the chimney, broken bits offilthy crockery, full of wisps of paper, with a china duckwithout a tail, and a dog to correspond without a head; thepictures against the wall, with their tarnished dingy frames andcracked glasses, representing three of the Seasons; how thefourth had gone before its time to its final bourne by an unhappychance, Mr. M'Ruen had once explained to Charley, whileendeavouring to make his young customer take the other three as agood value for £7 10s. In arranging a little transaction, thetotal amount of which did not exceed £15. 

In that instance, however, Charley, who had already dabbledsomewhat deeply in dressing-cases, utterly refused to trade inthe articles produced. 

Charley stood with his back to the dog and duck, facing Winter, with Spring on his right and Autumn on his left; it was well thatSummer was gone, no summer could have shed light on thatmiserable chamber. He knew that he would have to wait, and wasnot therefore impatient, and at the end of fifteen minutes Mr. M'Ruen shuffled into the room in his slippers. 

He was a little man, with thin grey hair, which stood uprightfrom his narrow head--what his age might have been it wasimpossible to guess; he was wizened, and dry, and grey, but stillactive enough on his legs when he had exchanged his slippers forhis shoes; and as keen in all his senses as though years couldnever tell upon him. 

He always wore round his neck a stiff-starched deep whitehandkerchief, not fastened with a bow in front, the ends beingtucked in so as to be invisible. This cravat not only covered histhroat but his chin also, so that his head seemed to grow forthfrom it without the aid of any neck; and he had a trick ofturning his face round within it, an inch or two to the right orto the left, in a manner which seemed to indicate that hiscranium was loose and might be removed at pleasure. 

He shuffled into the room where Charley was standing with littleshort quick steps, and putting out his hand, just touched that ofhis customer, by way of going through the usual process ofgreeting. 

Some short statement must be made of Charley's money dealingswith Mr. M'Ruen up to this period. About two years back a tailorhad an over-due bill of his for £20, of which he was unable toobtain payment, and being unwilling to go to law, or perhapsbeing himself in Mr. M'Ruen's power, he passed this bill to thatworthy gentleman--what amount of consideration he got for it, itmatters not now to inquire; Mr. M'Ruen very shortly afterwardspresented himself at the Internal Navigation, and introducedhimself to our hero. He did this with none of the overbearingharshness of the ordinary dun, or the short caustic decision of acreditor determined to resort to the utmost severity of the law. He turned his head about and smiled, and just showed the end ofthe bill peeping out from among a parcel of others, begged Mr. Tudor to be punctual, he would only ask him to be punctual, andwould in such case do anything for him, and ended his visit bymaking an appointment to meet Charley in the little street behindMecklenburg Square. Charley kept his appointment, and came awayfrom Mr. M'Ruen's with a well-contented mind. He had, it is true, left £5 behind him, and had also left the bill, still entire; buthe had obtained a promise of unlimited assistance from the good-natured gentleman, and had also received instructions how he wasto get a brother clerk to draw a bill, how he was to accept ithimself, and how his patron was to discount it for him, payinghim real gold out of the Bank of England in exchange for hisworthless signature. 

Charley stepped lighter on the ground as he left Mr. M'Ruen'shouse on that eventful morning than he had done for many a day. There was something delightful in the feeling that he could makemoney of his name in this way, as great bankers do of theirs, byputting it at the bottom of a scrap of paper. He experienced asort of pride too in having achieved so respectable a position inthe race of ruin which he was running, as to have dealings with abill-discounter. He felt that he was putting himself on a parwith great men, and rising above the low level of the infernalnavvies. Mr. M'Ruen had pulled the bill out of a heap of billswhich he always carried in his huge pocket-book, and showed toCharley the name of an impoverished Irish peer on the back of it;and the sight of that name had made Charley quite in love withrum. He already felt that he was almost hand-and-glove with LordMount-Coffeehouse; for it was a descendant of the nobleman socelebrated in song. 'Only be punctual, Mr. Tudor; only bepunctual, and I will do anything for you, ' Mr. M'Ruen had said, as Charley left the house. Charley, however, never had beenpunctual, and yet his dealings with Mr. M'Ruen had gone on fromthat day to this. What absolute money he had ever received intohis hand he could not now have said, but it was very little, probably not amounting in all to £50. Yet he had already paidduring the two years more than double that sum to this sharp-clawed vulture, and still owed him the amounts of more bills thanhe could number. Indeed he had kept no account of these double-fanged little documents; he had signed them whenever told to doso, and had even been so preposterously foolish as to sign themin blank. All he knew was that at the beginning of every quarterMr. M'Ruen got nearly the half of his little modicum of salary, and that towards the middle of it he usually contrived to obtainan advance of some small, some very small sum, and that whendoing so he always put his hand to a fresh bit of paper. 

He was beginning to be heartily sick of the bill-discounter. Hisintimacy with the lord had not yet commenced, nor had heexperienced any of the delights which he had expected to accrueto him from the higher tone of extravagance in which he enteredwhen he made Mr. M'Ruen's acquaintance. And then the horrid fatalwaste of time which he incurred in pursuit of the few poundswhich he occasionally obtained, filled even his heart with a sortof despair. Morning after morning he would wait in that hatedroom; and then day after day, at two o'clock, he would attend theusurer's city haunt--and generally all in vain. The patience ofMr. Snape was giving way, and the discipline even of the InternalNavigation felt itself outraged. 

And now Charley stood once more in that dingy little frontparlour in which he had never yet seen a fire, and once more Mr. Jabesh M'Ruen shuffled into the room in his big cravat and dirtyloose slippers. 

'How d'ye do, Mr. Tudor, how d'ye do? I hope you have brought alittle of this with you;' and Jabesh opened out his left hand, and tapped the palm of it with the middle finger of his right, byway of showing that he expected some money: not that he didexpect any, cormorant that he was; this was not the period of thequarter in which he ever got money from his customer. 

'Indeed I have not, Mr. M'Ruen; but I positively must get some. '

'Oh--oh--oh--oh--Mr. Tudor--Mr. Tudor! How can we go on if youare so unpunctual? Now I would do anything for you if you wouldonly be punctual. '

'Oh! bother about that--you know your own game well enough. '

'Be punctual, Mr. Tudor, only be punctual, and we shall be allright--and so you have not got any of this?' and Jabesh wentthrough the tapping again. 

'Not a doit, ' said Charley; 'but I shall be up the spoutaltogether if you don't do something to help me. '

'But you are so unpunctual, Mr. Tudor. '

'Oh, d--- it; you'll make me sick if you say that again. Whatelse do you live by but that? But I positively must have somemoney from you to-day. If not I am done for. '

'I don't think I can, Mr. Tudor; not to-day, Mr. Tudor--someother day, say this day month; that is, if you'll be punctual. '

'This day month! no, but this very day, Mr. M'Ruen--why, you got£18 from me when I received my last salary, and I have not had ashilling back since. '

'But you are so unpunctual, Mr. Tudor, ' and Jabesh twisted hishead backwards and forwards within his cravat, rubbing his chinwith the interior starch. 

'Well, then, I'll tell you what it is, ' said Charley, 'I'll beshot if you get a shilling from me on the 1st of October, and youmay sell me up as quick as you please. If I don't give a historyof your business that will surprise some people, my name isn'tTudor. '

'Ha, ha, ha!' laughed Mr. M'Ruen, with a soft quiet laugh. 

'Well, really, Mr. Tudor, I would do more for you than any otheryoung man that I know, if you were only a little more punctual. How much is it you want now?'

'£15--or £10--£10 will do. '

'Ten pounds!' said Jabesh, as though Charley had asked for tenthousand--'ten pounds!--if two or three would do--'

'But two or three won't do. '

'And whose name will you bring?'

'Whose name! why Scatterall's, to be sure. ' Now Scatterall wasone of the navvies; and from him Mr. M'Ruen had not yet succeededin extracting one farthing, though he had his name on a volume ofCharley's bills. 

'Scatterall--I don't like Mr. Scatterall, ' said Jabesh; 'he isvery dissipated, and the most unpunctual young man I ever met--you really must get some one else, Mr. Tudor; you really must. '

'Oh, that's nonsense--Scatterall is as good as anybody--Icouldn't ask any of the other fellows--they are such a low set. '

'But Mr. Scatterall is so unpunctual. There's your cousin, Mr. Alaric Tudor. '

'My cousin Alaric! Oh, nonsense! you don't suppose I'd ask him todo such a thing? You might as well tell me to go to my father. '

'Or that other gentleman you live with; Mr. Norman. He is a mostpunctual gentleman. Bring me his name, and I'll let you have £10or £8--I'll let you have £8 at once. '

'I dare say you will, Mr. M'Ruen, or £80; and be only too happyto give it me. But you know that is out of the question. Now Iwon't wait any longer; just give me an answer to this: if I cometo you in the city will you let me have some money to-day? If youwon't, why I must go elsewhere--that's all. '

The interview ended by an appointment being made for anothermeeting to come off at two p. M. That day, at the 'Banks ofJordan, ' a public-house in Sweeting's Alley, as well known toCharley as the little front parlour of Mr. M'Ruen's house. 'Bringthe bill-stamp with you, Mr. Tudor, ' said Jabesh, by way of alast parting word of counsel; 'and let Mr. Scatterall sign it--that is, if it must be Mr. Scatterall; but I wish you would bringyour cousin's name. '

'Nonsense!'

'Well, then, bring it signed--but I'll fill it; you young fellowsunderstand nothing of filling in a bill properly. '

And then taking his leave the infernal navvy hurried off, andreached his office in Somerset House at a quarter past eleveno'clock. As he walked along he bought the bit of stamped paper onwhich his friend Scatterall was to write his name. 

When he reached the office he found that a great commotion wasgoing on. Mr. Snape was standing up at his desk, and the firstword which greeted Charley's ears was an intimation from thatgentleman that Mr. Oldeschole had desired that Mr. Tudor, when hearrived, should be instructed to attend in the board-room. 

'Very well, ' said Charley, in a tone of great indifference, 'withall my heart; I rather like seeing Oldeschole now and then. Buthe mustn't keep me long, for I have to meet my grandmother atIslington at two o'clock;' and Charley, having hung up his hat, prepared to walk off to the Secretary's room. 

'You'll be good enough to wait a few minutes, Mr. Tudor, ' saidSnape. 'Another gentleman is with Mr. Oldeschole at present. Youwill be good enough to sit down and go on with the Kennett andAvon lock entries, till Mr. Oldeschole is ready to see you. '

Charley sat down at his desk opposite to his friend Scatterall. 'I hope, Mr. Snape, you had a pleasant meeting at evening prayersyesterday, ' said he, with a tone of extreme interest. 

'You had better mind the lock entries at present, Mr. Tudor; theyare greatly in arrear. '

'And the evening meetings are docketed up as close as wax, Isuppose. What the deuce is in the wind, Dick?' Mr. Scatterall'sChristian name was Richard. 'Where's Corkscrew?' Mr. Corkscrewwas also a navvy, and was one of those to whom Charley hadspecially alluded when he spoke of the low set. 

'Oh, here's a regular go, ' said Scatterall. 'It's all up withCorkscrew, I believe. '

'Why, what's the cheese now?'

'Oh! it's all about some pork chops, which Screwy had for supperlast night. ' Screwy was a name of love which among his brothernavvies was given to Mr. Corkscrew. 'Mr. Snape seems to thinkthey did not agree with him. '

'Pork chops in July!' exclaimed Charley. 

'Poor Screwy forgot the time of year, ' said another navvy; 'heought to have called it lamb and grass. '

And then the story was told. On the preceding afternoon, Mr. Corkscrew had been subjected to the dire temptation of a boatingparty to the Eel-pie Island for the following day, and a dinnerthereon. There were to be at the feast no less than four-and-twenty jolly souls, and it was intimated to Mr. Corkscrew that asno soul was esteemed to be more jolly than his own, the partywould be considered as very imperfect unless he could join it. Asking for a day's leave Mr. Corkscrew knew to be out of thequestion; he had already taken too many without asking. He wastherefore driven to take another in the same way, and had to lookabout for some excuse which might support him in his difficulty. An excuse it must be, not only new, but very valid; one so strongthat it could not be overset; one so well avouched that it couldnot be doubted. Accordingly, after mature consideration, he satdown after leaving his office, and wrote the following letter, before he started on an evening cruising expedition with someothers of the party to prepare for the next day's festivities. 

'Thursday morning, --July, 185-. 

'MY DEAR SIR, 'I write from my bed where I am suffering a most tremendousindiggestion, last night I eat a stunning supper off pork choppsand never remembered that pork chopps always does disagree withme, but I was very indiscrete and am now teetotally unable torise my throbing head from off my pillar, I have took four blupills and some salts and sena, plenty of that, and shall be thething to-morrow morning no doubt, just at present I feel just asif I had a mill stone inside my stomac--Pray be so kind as tomake it all right with Mr. Oldeschole and believe me to remain, 'Your faithful and obedient servant, 'VERAX CORKSCREW. 

'Thomas Snape, Esq. , &c. , 'Internal Navigation Office, Somerset House. '

Having composed this letter of excuse, and not intending toreturn to his lodgings that evening, he had to make provision forits safely reaching the hands of Mr. Snape in due time on thefollowing morning. This he did, by giving it to the boy who cameto clean the lodging-house boots, with sundry injunctions that ifhe did not deliver it at the office by ten o'clock on thefollowing morning, the sixpence accruing to him would never bepaid. Mr. Corkscrew, however, said nothing as to the letter notbeing delivered before ten the next morning, and as otherbusiness took the boy along the Strand the same evening, he sawno reason why he should not then execute his commission. Heaccordingly did so, and duly delivered the letter into the handsof a servant girl, who was cleaning the passages of the office. 

Fortune on this occasion was blind to the merits of Mr. Corkscrew, and threw him over most unmercifully. It so happenedthat Mr. Snape had been summoned to an evening conference withMr. Oldeschole and the other pundits of the office, to discusswith them, or rather to hear discussed, some measure which theybegan to think it necessary to introduce, for amending thediscipline of the department. 

'We are getting a bad name, whether we deserve it or not, ' saidMr. Oldeschole. 'That fellow Hardlines has put us into his blue-book, and now there's an article in the _Times_!'

Just at this moment, a messenger brought in to Mr. Snape theunfortunate letter of which we have given a copy. 

'What's that?' said Mr. Oldeschole. 

'A note from Mr. Corkscrew, sir, ' said Snape. 

'He's the worst of the whole lot, ' said Mr. Oldeschole. 

'He is very bad, ' said Snape; 'but I rather think that perhaps, sir, Mr. Tudor is the worst of all. '

'Well, I don't know, ' said the Secretary, muttering _sottovoce_ to the Under-Secretary, while Mr. Snape read the letter--'Tudor, at any rate, is a gentleman. '

Mr. Snape read the letter, and his face grew very long. There wasa sort of sneaking civility about Corkscrew, not prevalent indeedat all times, but which chiefly showed itself when he and Mr. Snape were alone together, which somewhat endeared him to theelder clerk. He would have screened the sinner had he had eitherthe necessary presence of mind or the necessary pluck. But he hadneither. He did not know how to account for the letter but by thetruth, and he feared to conceal so flagrant a breach ofdiscipline at the moment of the present discussion. 

Things at any rate so turned out that Mr. Corkscrew's letter wasread in full conclave in the board-room of the office, just as hewas describing the excellence of his manoeuvre with great glee tofour or five other jolly souls at the 'Magpie and Stump. '

At first it was impossible to prevent a fit of laughter, in whicheven Mr. Snape joined; but very shortly the laughter gave way tothe serious considerations to which such an epistle was sure togive rise at such a moment. What if Sir Gregory Hardlines shouldget hold of it and put it into his blue-book! What if the_Times_ should print it and send it over the whole world, accompanied by a few of its most venomous touches, to the eternaldisgrace of the Internal Navigation, and probably utterannihilation of Mr. Oldeschole's official career! An example mustbe made!

Yes, an example must be made. Messengers were sent off scouringthe town for Mr. Corkscrew, and about midnight he was found, still true to the 'Magpie and Stump, ' but hardly in condition tounderstand the misfortune which had befallen him. So much asthis, however, did make itself manifest to him, that he must byno means join his jolly-souled brethren at the Eel-pie Island, and that he must be at his office punctually at ten o'clock thenext morning if he had any intention of saving himself fromdismissal. When Charley arrived at his office, Mr. Corkscrew wasstill with the authorities, and Charley's turn was to come next. 

Charley was rather a favourite with Mr. Oldeschole, having beenappointed by himself at the instance of Mr. Oldeschole's greatfriend, Sir Gilbert de Salop; and he was, moreover, the best-looking of the whole lot of navvies; but he was no favourite withMr. Snape. 

'Poor Screwy--it will be all up with him, ' said Charley. 'Hemight just as well have gone on with his party and had his funout. '

'It will, I imagine, be necessary to make more than one example, Mr. Tudor, ' said Mr. Snape, with a voice of utmost severity. 

'A-a-a-men, ' said Charley. 'If everything else fails, I thinkI'll go into the green line. You couldn't give me a helping hand, could you, Mr. Snape?' There was a rumour afloat in the officethat Mr. Snape's wife held some little interest in a smallgreengrocer's establishment. 

'Mr. Tudor to attend in the board-room, immediately, ' said a fatmessenger, who opened the door wide with a start, and then stoodwith it in his hand while he delivered the message. 

'All right, ' said Charley; 'I'll tumble up and be with them inten seconds;' and then collecting together a large bundle of thearrears of the Kennett and Avon lock entries, being just as muchas he could carry, he took the disordered papers and placed themon Mr. Snape's desk, exactly over the paper on which he waswriting, and immediately under his nose. 

'Mr. Tudor--Mr. Tudor!' said Snape. 

'As I am to tear myself away from you, Mr. Snape, it is betterthat I should hand over these valuable documents to your safekeeping. There they are, Mr. Snape; pray see that you have gotthem all;' and so saying, he left the room to attend to the highbehests of Mr. Oldeschole. 

As he went along the passages he met Verax Corkscrew returningfrom his interview. 'Well, Screwy, ' said he, 'and how fares itwith you? Pork chops are bad things in summer, ain't they?'

'It's all U-P, ' said Corkscrew, almost crying. 'I'm to go down tothe bottom, and I'm to stay at the office till seven o'clockevery day for a month; and old Foolscap says he'll ship me thenext time I'm absent half-an-hour without leave. '

'Oh! is that all?' said Charley. 'If that's all you get for porkchops and senna, I'm all right. I shouldn't wonder if I did notget promoted;' and so he went in to his interview. 

What was the nature of the advice given him, what amount ofcaution he was called on to endure, need not here be exactlyspecified. We all know with how light a rod a father chastisesthe son he loves, let Solomon have given what counsel he may tothe contrary. Charley, in spite of his manifold sins, was afavourite, and he came forth from the board-room an unscathedman. In fact, he had been promoted as he had surmised, seeingthat Corkscrew who had been his senior was now his junior. Hecame forth unscathed, and walking with an easy air into his room, put his hat on his head and told his brother clerks that heshould be there to-morrow morning at ten, or at any rate soonafter. 

'And where are you going now, Mr. Tudor?' said Snape. 

'To meet my grandmother at Islington, if you please, sir, ' saidCharley. 'I have permission from Mr. Oldeschole to attend uponher for the rest of the day--perhaps you would like to ask him. 'And so saying he went off to his appointment with Mr. M'Ruen atthe 'Banks of Jordan. '

CHAPTER XIX

A DAY WITH ONE OF THE NAVVIES. --AFTERNOON

The 'Banks of Jordan' was a public-house in the city, which fromits appearance did not seem to do a very thriving trade; but asit was carried on from year to year in the same dull, monotonous, dead-alive sort of fashion, it must be surmised that some onefound an interest in keeping it open. 

Charley, when he entered the door punctually at two o'clock, sawthat it was as usual nearly deserted. One long, lanky, middle-aged man, seedy as to his outward vestments, and melancholy incountenance, sat at one of the tables. But he was doing verylittle good for the establishment: he had no refreshment of anykind before him, and was intent only on a dingy pocket-book inwhich he was making entries with a pencil. 

You enter the 'Banks of Jordan' by two folding doors in a cornerof a very narrow alley behind the Exchange. As you go in, youobserve on your left a little glass partition, something like alarge cage, inside which, in a bar, are four or five untempting-looking bottles; and also inside the cage, on a chair, is to beseen a quiet-looking female, who is invariably engaged in themanufacture of some white article of inward clothing. Anythingless like the flashy-dressed bar-maidens of the western ginpalaces it would be difficult to imagine. To this encagedsempstress no one ever speaks unless it be to give a rare orderfor a mutton chop or pint of stout. And even for this she hardlystays her sewing for a moment, but touches a small bell, and theancient waiter, who never shows himself but when called for, andwho is the only other inhabitant of the place ever visible, receives the order from her through an open pane in the cage asquietly as she received it from her customer. 

The floor of the single square room of the establishment issanded, and the tables are ranged round the walls, each tablebeing fixed to the floor, and placed within wooden partitions, bywhich the occupier is screened from any inquiring eyes on eitherside. 

Such was Mr. Jabesh M'Ruen's house-of-call in the city, and ofmany a mutton chop and many a pint of stout had Charley partakenthere while waiting for the man of money. To him it seemed to beinexcusable to sit down in a public inn and call for nothing; heperceived, however, that the large majority of the frequenters ofthe 'Banks of Jordan' so conducted themselves. 

He was sufficiently accustomed to the place to know how to givehis orders without troubling that diligent barmaid, and had doneso about ten minutes when Jabesh, more punctual than usual, entered the place. This Charley regarded as a promising sign offorthcoming cash. It very frequently happened that he waitedthere an hour, and that after all Jabesh would not come; and thenthe morning visit to Mecklenburg Square had to be made again; andso poor Charley's time, or rather the time of his poor office, was cut up, wasted, and destroyed. 

'A mutton chop!' said Mr. M'Ruen, looking at Charley's banquet. 'A very nice thing indeed in the middle of the day. I don't mindif I have one myself, ' and so Charley had to order another chopand more stout. 

'They have very nice sherry here, excellent sherry, ' said M'Ruen. 'The best, I think, in the city--that's why I come here. '

'Upon my honour, Mr. M'Ruen, I shan't have money to pay for ituntil I get some from you, ' said Charley, as he called for a pintof sherry. 

'Never mind, John, never mind the sherry to-day, ' said M'Ruen. 'Mr. Tudor is very kind, but I'll take beer;' and the little mangave a laugh and twisted his head, and ate his chop and drank hisstout, as though he found that both were very good indeed. Whenhe had finished, Charley paid the bill and discovered that he wasleft with ninepence in his pocket. 

And then he produced the bill stamp. 'Waiter, ' said he, 'pen andink, ' and the waiter brought pen and ink. 

'Not to-day, ' said Jabesh, wiping his mouth with the table-cloth. 'Not to-day, Mr. Tudor--I really haven't time to go into it to-day--and I haven't brought the other bills with me; I quiteforgot to bring the other bills with me, and I can do nothingwithout them, ' and Mr. M'Ruen got up to go. 

But this was too much for Charley. He had often before boughtbill stamps in vain, and in vain had paid for mutton chops andbeer for Mr. M'Ruen's dinner; but he had never before, when doingso, been so hard pushed for money as he was now. He wasdetermined to make a great attempt to gain his object. 

'Nonsense, ' said he, getting up and standing so as to preventM'Ruen from leaving the box; 'that's d--- nonsense. '

'Oh! don't swear, ' said M'Ruen--'pray don't take God's name invain; I don't like it. '

'I shall swear, and to some purpose too, if that's your game. Nowlook here----'

'Let me get up, and we'll talk of it as we go to the bank--youare so unpunctual, you know. '

'D--- your punctuality. '

'Oh! don't swear, Mr. Tudor. '

'Look here--if you don't let me have this money to-day, by allthat is holy I will never pay you a farthing again--not onefarthing; I'll go into the court, and you may get your money asyou can. '

'But, Mr. Tudor, let me get up, and we'll talk about it in thestreet, as we go along. '

'There's the stamp, ' said Charley. 'Fill it up, and then I'll gowith you to the bank. '

M'Ruen took the bit of paper, and twisted it over and over againin his hand, considering the while whether he had yet squeezedout of the young man all that could be squeezed with safety, orwhether by an additional turn, by giving him another smalladvancement, he might yet get something more. He knew that Tudorwas in a very bad state, that he was tottering on the outsideedge of the precipice; but he also knew that he had friends. Would his friends when they came forward to assist their youngPickle out of the mire, would they pay such bills as these orwould they leave poor Jabesh to get his remedy at law? That wasthe question which Mr. M'Ruen had to ask and to answer. He wasnot one of those noble vultures who fly at large game, and whoare willing to run considerable risk in pursuit of their prey. Mr. M'Ruen avoided courts of law as much as he could, andpreferred a small safe trade; one in which the fall of a singlecustomer could never be ruinous to him; in which he need run norisk of being transported for forgery, incarcerated for perjury, or even, if possibly it might be avoided, gibbeted by some lawyeror judge for his malpractices. 

'But you are so unpunctual, ' he said, having at last made up hismind that he had made a very good thing of Charley, and thatprobably he might go a _little_ further without much danger. 'I wish to oblige you, Mr. Tudor; but pray do be punctual;' andso saying he slowly spread the little document before him, acrosswhich Scatterall had already scrawled his name, and slowly beganto write in the date. Slowly, with his head low down over thetable, and continually twisting it inside his cravat, he filledup the paper, and then looking at it with the air of a connoisseurin such matters, he gave it to Charley to sign. 

'But you haven't put in the amount, ' said Charley. 

Mr. M'Ruen twisted his head and laughed. He delighted in playingwith his game as a fisherman does with a salmon. 'Well--no--Ihaven't put in the amount yet. Do you sign it, and I'll do thatat once. '

'I'll do it, ' said Charley; 'I'll say £15, and you'll give me £10on that. '

'No, no, no!' said Jabesh, covering the paper over with hishands; 'you young men know nothing of filling bills; just signit, Mr. Tudor, and I'll do the rest. ' And so Charley signed it, and then M'Ruen, again taking the pen, wrote in 'fifteen pounds'as the recognized amount of the value of the document. He alsotook out his pocket-book and filled a cheque, but he was verycareful that Charley should not see the amount there written. 'And now, ' said he, 'we will go to the bank. '

As they made their way to the house in Lombard Street which Mr. M'Ruen honoured by his account, Charley insisted on knowing howmuch he was to have for the bill. Jabesh suggested £3 10s. ;Charley swore he would take nothing less than £8; but by the timethey had arrived at the bank, it had been settled that £5 was tobe paid in cash, and that Charley was to have the three Seasonsfor the balance whenever he chose to send for them. When Charley, as he did at first, positively refused to accede to these terms, Mr. M'Ruen tendered him back the bill, and reminded him with aplaintive voice that he was so unpunctual, so extremelyunpunctual. 

Having reached the bank, which the money-lender insisted onCharley entering with him, Mr. M'Ruen gave the cheque across thecounter, and wrote on the back of it the form in which he wouldtake the money, whereupon a note and five sovereigns were handedto him. The cheque was for £15, and was payable to C. Tudor, Esq. , so that proof might be forthcoming at a future time, ifnecessary, that he had given to his customer full value for thebill. Then in the outer hall of the bank, unseen by the clerks, he put, one after another, slowly and unwillingly, foursovereigns into Charley's hand. 

'The other--where's the other?' said Charley. 

Jabesh smiled sweetly and twisted his head. 

'Come, give me the other, ' said Charley roughly. 

'Four is quite enough, quite enough for what you want; andremember my time, Mr. Tudor; you should remember my time. '

'Give me the other sovereign, ' said Charley, taking hold of thefront of his coat. 

'Well, well, you shall have ten shillings; but I want the restfor a purpose. '

'Give me the sovereign, ' said Charley, 'or I'll drag you inbefore them all in the bank and expose you; give me the othersovereign, I say. '

'Ha, ha, ha!' laughed Mr. M'Ruen; 'I thought you liked a joke, Mr. Tudor. Well, here it is. And now do be punctual, pray do bepunctual, and I'll do anything I can for you. '

And then they parted, Charley going westward towards his ownhaunts, and M'Ruen following his daily pursuits in the city. 

Charley had engaged to pull up to Avis's at Putney with HarryNorman, to dine there, take a country walk, and row back in thecool of the evening; and he had promised to call at the Weightsand Measures with that object punctually at five. 

'You can get away in time for that, I suppose, ' said Harry. 

'Well, I'll try and manage it, ' said Charley, laughing. 

Nothing could be kinder, nay, more affectionate, than Norman hadbeen to his fellow-lodger during the last year and a half. Itseemed as though he had transferred to Alaric's cousin all thefriendship which he had once felt for Alaric; and the deeper wereCharley's sins of idleness and extravagance, the wider grewNorman's forgiveness, and the more sincere his efforts tobefriend him. As one result of this, Charley was already deep inhis debt. Not that Norman had lent him money, or even paid billsfor him; but the lodgings in which they lived had been taken byNorman, and when the end of the quarter came he punctually paidhis landlady. 

Charley had once, a few weeks before the period of which we arenow writing, told Norman that he had no money to pay his longarrear, and that he would leave the lodgings and shift forhimself as best he could. He had said the same thing to Mrs. Richards, the landlady, and had gone so far as to pack up all hisclothes; but his back was no sooner turned than Mrs. Richards, under Norman's orders, unpacked them all, and hid away theportmanteau. It was well for him that this was done. He hadbespoken for himself a bedroom at the public-house in NorfolkStreet, and had he once taken up his residence there he wouldhave been ruined for ever. 

He was still living with Norman, and ever increasing his debt. Inhis misery at this state of affairs, he had talked over withHarry all manner of schemes for increasing his income, but he hadnever told him a word about Mr. M'Ruen. Why his salary, which wasnow £150 per annum, should not be able to support him, Normannever asked. Charley the while was very miserable, and the moremiserable he was, the less he found himself able to rescuehimself from his dissipation. What moments of ease he had werenearly all spent in Norfolk Street; and such being the case howcould he abstain from going there?

'Well, Charley, and how do 'Crinoline and Macassar' go on?' saidNorman, as they sauntered away together up the towing-path abovePutney. Now there were those who had found out that CharleyTudor, in spite of his wretched, idle, vagabond mode of life, wasno fool; indeed, that there was that talent within him which, ifturned to good account, might perhaps redeem him from ruin andset him on his legs again; at least so thought some of hisfriends, among whom Mrs. Woodward was the most prominent. Sheinsisted that if he would make use of his genius he might employhis spare time to great profit by writing for magazines orperiodicals; and, inspirited by so flattering a proposition, Charley had got himself introduced to the editor of a newly-projected publication. At his instance he was to write a tale forapproval, and 'Crinoline and Macassar' was the name selected forhis first attempt. 

The affair had been fully talked over at Hampton, and it had beenarranged that the young author should submit his story, whencompleted, to the friendly criticism of the party assembled atSurbiton Cottage, before he sent it to the editor. He hadundertaken to have 'Crinoline and Macassar' ready for perusal onthe next Saturday, and in spite of Mr. M'Ruen and Norah Geraghty, he had really been at work. 

'Will it be finished by Saturday, Charley?' said Norman. 

'Yes--at least I hope so; but if that's not done, I have anotherall complete. '

'Another! and what is that called?'

'Oh, that's a very short one, ' said Charley, modestly. 

'But, short as it is, it must have a name, I suppose. What's thename of the short one?'

'Why, the name is long enough; it's the longest part about it. The editor gave me the name, you know, and then I had to writethe story. It's to be called "Sir Anthony Allan-a-dale and theBaron of Ballyporeen. "'

'Oh! two rival knights in love with the same lady, of course, 'and Harry gave a gentle sigh as he thought of his own stillunhealed grief. 'The scene is laid in Ireland, I presume?'

'No, not in Ireland; at least not exactly. I don't think thescene is laid anywhere in particular; it's up in a mountain, neara castle. There isn't any lady in it--at least, not alive. '

'Heavens, Charley! I hope you are not dealing with dead women. '

'No--that is, I have to bring them to life again. I'll tell youhow it is. In the first paragraph, Sir Anthony Allan-a-dale islying dead, and the Baron of Ballyporeen is standing over himwith a bloody sword. You must always begin with an incident now, and then hark back for your explanation and description; that'swhat the editor says is the great secret of the present day, andwhere we beat all the old fellows that wrote twenty years ago. '

'Oh!--yes--I see. They used to begin at the beginning; that wasvery humdrum. '

'A devilish bore, you know, for a fellow who takes up a novelbecause he's dull. Of course he wants his fun at once. If youbegin with a long history of who's who and all that, why he won'tread three pages; but if you touch him up with a startlingincident or two at the first go off, then give him a chapter ofhorrors, then another of fun, then a little love or a littleslang, or something of that sort, why, you know, about the end ofthe first volume, you may describe as much as you like, and telleverything about everybody's father and mother for just as manypages as you want to fill. At least that's what the editor says. '

'_Meleager ab ovo_ may be introduced with safety when youget as far as that, ' suggested Norman. 

'Yes, you may bring him in too, if you like, ' said Charley, whowas somewhat oblivious of his classicalities. 'Well, Sir Anthonyis lying dead and the Baron is standing over him, when out comeSir Anthony's retainers----'

'Out--out of what?'

'Out of the castle: that's all explained afterwards. Out come theretainers, and pitch into the Baron till they make mincemeat ofhim. '

'They don't kill him, too?'

'Don't they though? I rather think they do, and no mistake. '

'And so both your heroes are dead in the first chapter. '

'First chapter! why that's only the second paragraph. I'm only tobe allowed ten paragraphs for each number, and I am expected tohave an incident for every other paragraph for the first fourdays. '

'That's twenty incidents. '

'Yes--it's a great bother finding so many. --I'm obliged to makethe retainers come by all manner of accidents; and I should neverhave finished the job if I hadn't thought of setting the castleon fire. 'And now forked tongues of liquid fire, and greedylambent flames burst forth from every window of the devotededifice. The devouring element----. ' That's the best passage inthe whole affair. '

'This is for the _Daily Delight_, isn't it?'

'Yes, for the _Daily Delight_. It is to begin on the 1st ofSeptember with the partridges. We expect a most tremendous sale. It will be the first halfpenny publication in the market, and asthe retailers will get them for sixpence a score--twenty-four tothe score--they'll go off like wildfire. '

'Well, Charley, and what do you do with the dead bodies of yourtwo heroes?'

'Of course I needn't tell you that it was not the Baron whokilled Sir Anthony at all. '

'Oh! wasn't it? O dear--that was a dreadful mistake on the partof the retainers. '

'But as natural as life. You see these two grandees were next-door neighbours, and there had been a feud between the familiesfor seven centuries--a sort of Capulet and Montague affair. OneAdelgitha, the daughter of the Thane of Allan-a-dale--there wereThanes in those days, you know--was betrothed to the eldest sonof Sir Waldemar de Ballyporeen. This gives me an opportunity ofbringing in a succinct little account of the Conquest, which willbe beneficial to the lower classes. The editor peremptorilyinsists upon that kind of thing. '

'_Omne tulit punctum_, ' said Norman. 

'Yes, I dare say, ' said Charley, who was now too intent on hisown new profession to attend much to his friend's quotation. 'Well, where was I?--Oh! the eldest son of Sir Waldemar went offwith another lady and so the feud began. There is a very prettyscene between Adelgitha and her lady's-maid. '

'What, seven centuries before the story begins?'

'Why not? The editor says that the unities are altogether thrownover now, and that they are regular bosh--our game is to stick ina good bit whenever we can get it--I got to be so fond ofAdelgitha that I rather think she's the heroine. '

'But doesn't that take off the interest from your dead grandees?'

'Not a bit; I take it chapter and chapter about. Well, you see, the retainers had no sooner made mincemeat of the Baron--a veryelegant young man was the Baron, just returned from theContinent, where he had learnt to throw aside all prejudicesabout family feuds and everything eke, and he had just come overin a friendly way, to say as much to Sir Anthony, when, as hecrossed the drawbridge, he stumbled over the corpse of hisancient enemy--well, the retainers had no sooner made mincemeatof him, than they perceived that Sir Anthony was lying with anopen bottle in his hand, and that he had taken poison. '

'Having committed suicide?' asked Norman. 

'No, not at all. The editor says that we must always have a slapat some of the iniquities of the times. He gave me three or fourto choose from; there was the adulteration of food, and the wantof education for the poor, and street music, and the miscellaneoussale of poisons. '

'And so you chose poisons and killed the knight?'

'Exactly; at least I didn't kill him, for he comes all rightagain after a bit. He had gone out to get something to do himgood after a hard night, a Seidlitz powder, or something of thatsort, and an apothecary's apprentice had given him prussic acidin mistake. '

'And how is it possible he should have come to life after takingprussic acid?'

'Why, there I have a double rap at the trade. The prussic acid isso bad of its kind, that it only puts him into a kind of torporfor a week. Then we have the trial of the apothecary's boy; thatis an excellent episode, and gives me a grand hit at theabsurdity of our criminal code. '

'Why, Charley, it seems to me that you are hitting ateverything. '

'Oh! ah! right and left, that's the game for us authors. Thepress is the only _censor morum_ going now--and who so fit?Set a thief to catch a thief, you know. Well, I have my hit atthe criminal code, and then Sir Anthony comes out of his torpor. '

'But how did it come to pass that the Baron's sword was allbloody?'

'Ah, there was the difficulty; I saw that at once. It wasnecessary to bring in something to be killed, you know. I thoughtof a stray tiger out of Wombwell's menagerie; but the editor saysthat we must not trespass against the probabilities; so I haveintroduced a big dog. The Baron had come across a big dog, andseeing that the brute had a wooden log tied to his throat, thought he must be mad, and so he killed him. '

'And what's the end of it, Charley?'

'Why, the end is rather melancholy. Sir Anthony reforms, leavesoff drinking, and takes to going to church everyday. He becomes aPuseyite, puts up a memorial window to the Baron, and reads theTracts. At last he goes over to the Pope, walks about in nastydirty clothes all full of vermin, and gives over his estate toCardinal Wiseman. Then there are the retainers; they all come togrief, some one way and some another. I do that for the sake ofthe Nemesis. '

'I would not have condescended to notice them, I think, ' saidNorman. 

'Oh! I must; there must be a Nemesis. The editor speciallyinsists on a Nemesis. '

The conclusion of Charley's novel brought them back to the boat. Norman, when he started, had intended to employ the evening ingiving good counsel to his friend, and in endeavouring to arrangesome scheme by which he might rescue the brand from the burning;but he had not the heart to be severe and sententious whileCharley was full of his fun. It was so much pleasanter to talk tohim on the easy terms of equal friendship than turn Mentor andpreach a sermon. 

'Well, Charley, ' said he, as they were walking up from the boatwharf--Norman to his club, and Charley towards his lodgings--fromwhich route, however, he meant to deviate as soon as ever hemight be left alone--'well, Charley, I wish you success with allmy heart; I wish you could do something--I won't say to keep youout of mischief. '

'I wish I could, Harry, ' said Charley, thoroughly abashed; 'Iwish I could--indeed I wish I could--but it is so hard to goright when one has begun to go wrong. '

'It is hard; I know it is. '

'But you never can know how hard, Harry, for you have nevertried, ' and then they went on walking for a while in silence, side by side. 

'You don't know the sort of place that office of mine is, 'continued Charley. 'You don't know the sort of fellows the menare. I hate the place; I hate the men I live with. It is all sodirty, so disreputable, so false. I cannot conceive that anyfellow put in there as young as I was should ever do wellafterwards. '

'But at any rate you might try your best, Charley. '

'Yes, I might do that still; and I know I don't; and where shouldI have been now, if it hadn't been for you?'

'Never mind about that; I sometimes think we might have done morefor each other if we had been more together. But remember themotto you said you'd choose, Charley--Excelsior! We can none ofus mount the hill without hard labour. Remember that word, Charley--Excelsior! Remember it now--now, to-night; remember howyou dream of higher things, and begin to think of them in yourwaking moments also;' and so they parted. 

CHAPTER XX

A DAY WITH ONE OF THE NAVVIES. --EVENING

 'Excelsior!' said Charley to himself, as he walked on a fewsteps towards his lodgings, having left Norman at the door of hisclub. 'Remember it now--now, to-night. '

Yes--now is the time to remember it, if it is ever to beremembered to any advantage. He went on with stoic resolution tothe end of the street, determined to press home and put the lasttouch to 'Crinoline and Macassar;' but as he went he thought ofhis interview with Mr. M'Ruen and of the five sovereigns still inhis pocket, and altered his course. 

Charley had not been so resolute with the usurer, so determinedto get £5 from him on this special day, without a special objectin view. His credit was at stake in a more than ordinary manner;he had about a week since borrowed money from the woman who keptthe public-house in Norfolk Street, and having borrowed it for aweek only, felt that this was a debt of honour which it wasincumbent on him to pay. Therefore, when he had walked the lengthof one street on his road towards his lodgings, he retraced hissteps and made his way back to his old haunts. 

The house which he frequented was hardly more like a modernLondon gin-palace than was that other house in the city which Mr. M'Ruen honoured with his custom. It was one of those smalltranquil shrines of Bacchus in which the god is worshippedperhaps with as constant a devotion, though with less noisydemonstrations of zeal than in his larger and more publictemples. None absolutely of the lower orders were encouraged tocome thither for oblivion. It had about it nothing inviting tothe general eye. No gas illuminations proclaimed its midnightgrandeur. No huge folding doors, one set here and another there, gave ingress and egress to a wretched crowd of poverty-strickenmidnight revellers. No reiterated assertions in gaudy letters, each a foot long, as to the peculiar merits of the old tom orHodge's cream of the valley, seduced the thirsty traveller. Thepanelling over the window bore the simple announcement, in modestletters, of the name of the landlady, Mrs. Davis; and the samename appeared with equal modesty on the one gas lamp opposite thedoor. 

Mrs. Davis was a widow, and her customers were chiefly people whoknew her and frequented her house regularly. Lawyers' clerks, whowere either unmarried, or whose married homes were perhaps not socomfortable as the widow's front parlour; tradesmen, not of thebest sort, glad to get away from the noise of their children;young men who had begun the cares of life in ambiguous positions, just on the confines of respectability, and who, findingthemselves too weak in flesh to cling on to the round of theladder above them, were sinking from year to year to lower steps, and depths even below the level of Mrs. Davis's public-house. Tothese might be added some few of a somewhat higher rank in life, though perhaps of a lower rank of respectability; young men who, like Charley Tudor and his comrades, liked their ease and self-indulgence, and were too indifferent as to the class ofcompanions against whom they might rub their shoulders whileseeking it. 

The 'Cat and Whistle, ' for such was the name of Mrs. Davis'sestablishment, had been a house of call for the young men of theInternal Navigation long before Charley's time. What first gaverise to the connexion it is not now easy to say; but Charley hadfound it, and had fostered it into a close alliance, whichgreatly exceeded any amount of intimacy which existed previouslyto his day. 

It must not be presumed that he, in an ordinary way, took hisplace among the lawyers' clerks, and general run of customers inthe front parlour; occasionally he condescended to preside thereover the quiet revels, to sing a song for the guests, which wassure to be applauded to the echo, and to engage in a littleskirmish of politics with a retired lamp-maker and a silversmith'sforeman from the Strand, who always called him 'Sir, ' and receivedwhat he said with the greatest respect; but, as a rule, he quaffedhis Falernian in a little secluded parlour behind the bar, in whichsat the widow Davis, auditing her accounts in the morning, andgiving out orders in the evening to Norah Geraghty, her barmaid, and to an attendant sylph, who ministered to the front parlour, taking in goes of gin and screws of tobacco, and bringing outthe price thereof with praiseworthy punctuality. 

Latterly, indeed, Charley had utterly deserted the front parlour;for there had come there a pestilent fellow, highly connectedwith the Press, as the lamp-maker declared, but employed as anassistant shorthand-writer somewhere about the Houses ofParliament, according to the silversmith, who greatly interferedwith our navvy's authority. He would not at all allow that whatCharley said was law, entertained fearfully democratic principlesof his own, and was not at all the gentleman. So Charley drewhimself up, declined to converse any further on politics with aman who seemed to know more about them than himself, and confinedhimself exclusively to the inner room. 

On arriving at this elysium, on the night in question, he foundMrs. Davis usefully engaged in darning a stocking, whileScatterall sat opposite with a cigar in his mouth, his hat overhis nose, and a glass of gin and water before him. 

'I began to think you weren't coming, ' said Scatterall, 'and Iwas getting so deuced dull that I was positively thinking ofgoing home. '

'That's very civil of you, Mr. Scatterall, ' said the widow. 

'Well, you've been sitting there for the last half-hour withoutsaying a word to me; and it is dull. Looking at a woman mendingstockings is dull, ain't it, Charley?'

'That depends, ' said Charley, 'partly on whom the woman may be, and partly on whom the man may be. Where's Norah, Mrs. Davis?'

'She's not very well to-night; she has got a headache; thereain't many of them here to-night, so she's lying down. '

'A little seedy, I suppose, ' said Scatterall. 

Charley felt rather angry with his friend for applying such anepithet to his lady-love; however, he did not resent it, butsitting down, lighted his pipe and sipped his gin and water. 

And so they sat for the next quarter of an hour, saying verylittle to each other. What was the nature of the attraction whichinduced two such men as Charley Tudor and Dick Scatterall to giveMrs. Davis the benefit of their society, while she was mendingher stockings, it might be difficult to explain. They could havesmoked in their own rooms as well, and have drunk gin and waterthere, if they had any real predilection for that mixture. Mrs. Davis was neither young nor beautiful, nor more than ordinarilywitty. Charley, it is true, had an allurement to entice himthither, but this could not be said of Scatterall, to whom thelovely Norah was never more than decently civil. Had they beendesired, in their own paternal halls, to sit and see theirmother's housekeeper darn the family stockings, they would, probably, both of them have rebelled, even though the supply oftobacco and gin and water should be gratuitous and unlimited. 

It must be presumed that the only charm of the pursuit was in itsacknowledged impropriety. They both understood that there wassomething fast in frequenting Mrs. Davis's inner parlour, something slow in remaining at home; and so they both sat there, and Mrs. Davis went on with her darning-needle, nothing abashed. 

'Well, I think I shall go, ' said Scatterall, shaking off the lastash from the end of his third cigar. 

'Do, ' said Charley; 'you should be careful, you know; late hourswill hurt your complexion. '

'It's so deuced dull, ' said Scatterall. 

'Why don't you go into the parlour, and have a chat with thegentlemen?' suggested Mrs. Davis; 'there's Mr. Peppermint therenow, lecturing about the war; upon my word he talks very well. '

'He's so deuced low, ' said Scatterall. 

'He's a bumptious noisy blackguard too, ' said Charley; 'hedoesn't know how to speak to a gentleman, when he meets one. '

Scatterall gave a great yawn. 'I suppose you're not going, Charley?' said he. 

'Oh yes, I am, ' said Charley, 'in about two hours. '

'Two hours! well, good night, old fellow, for I'm off. Threecigars, Mrs. Davis, and two goes of gin and water, the lastcold. ' Then, having made this little commercial communication tothe landlady, he gave another yawn, and took himself away. Mrs. Davis opened her little book, jotted down the items, and then, having folded up her stockings, and put them into a basket, prepared herself for conversation. 

But, though Mrs. Davis prepared herself for conversation, she didnot immediately commence it. Having something special to say, sheprobably thought that she might improve her opportunity of sayingit by allowing Charley to begin. She got up and pottered aboutthe room, went to a cupboard, and wiped a couple of glasses, andthen out into the bar and arranged the jugs and pots. This done, she returned to the little room, and again sat herself down inher chair. 

'Here's your five pounds, Mrs. Davis, ' said Charley; 'I wish youknew the trouble I have had to get it for you. '

To give Mrs. Davis her due, this was not the subject on which shewas anxious to speak. She would have been at present wellinclined that Charley should remain her debtor. 'Indeed, Mr. Tudor, I am very sorry you should have taken any trouble on sucha trifle. If you're short of money, it will do for me just aswell in October. '

Charley looked at the sovereigns, and bethought himself how veryshort of cash he was. Then he thought of the fight he had had toget them, in order that he might pay the money which he had feltso ashamed of having borrowed, and he determined to resist thetemptation. 

'Did you ever know me flush of cash? You had better take themwhile you can get them, ' and as he pushed them across the tablewith his stick, he remembered that all he had left was ninepence. 

'I don't want the money at present, Mr. Tudor, ' said the widow. 'We're such old friends that there ought not to be a word betweenus about such a trifle--now don't leave yourself bare; take whatyou want and settle with me at quarter-day. '

'Well, I'll take a sovereign, ' said he, 'for to tell you thetruth, I have only the ghost of a shilling in my pocket. ' And soit was settled; Mrs. Davis reluctantly pocketed four of Mr. M'Ruen's sovereigns, and Charley kept in his own possession thefifth, as to which he had had so hard a combat in the lobby ofthe bank. 

He then sat silent for a while and smoked, and Mrs. Davis againwaited for him to begin the subject on which she wished to speak. 'And what's the matter with Norah all this time?' he said atlast. 

'What's the matter with her?' repeated Mrs. Davis. 'Well, I thinkyou might know what's the matter with her. You don't supposeshe's made of stone, do you?'

Charley saw that he was in for it. It was in vain that Norman'slast word was still ringing in his ears. 'Excelsior!' What had heto do with 'Excelsior?' What miserable reptile on God's earth wasmore prone to crawl downwards than he had shown himself to be?And then again a vision floated across his mind's eye of a youngsweet angel face with large bright eyes, with soft delicate skin, and all the exquisite charms of gentle birth and gentle nurture. A single soft touch seemed to press his arm, a touch that he hadso often felt, and had never felt without acknowledging tohimself that there was something in it almost divine. All thispassed rapidly through his mind, as he was preparing to answerMrs. Davis's question touching Norah Geraghty. 

'You don't think she's made of stone, do you?' said the widow, repeating her words. 

'Indeed I don't think she's made of anything but what's suitableto a very nice young woman, ' said Charley. 

'A nice young woman! Is that all you can say for her? I call hera very fine girl. ' Miss Golightly's friends could not sayanything more, even for that young lady. 'I don't know whereyou'll pick up a handsomer, or a better-conducted one either, forthe matter of that. '

'Indeed she is, ' said Charley. 

'Oh! for the matter of that, no one knows it better thanyourself, Mr. Tudor; and she's as well able to keep a man's houseover his head as some others that take a deal of pride inthemselves. '

'I'm quite sure of it, ' said Charley. 

'Well, the long and the short of it is this, Mr. Tudor. ' And asshe spoke the widow got a little red in the face: she had, asCharley thought, an unpleasant look of resolution about her--aroundness about her mouth, and a sort of fierceness in her eyes. 'The long and the short of it is this, Mr. Tudor, what do youmean to do about the girl?'

'Do about her?' said Charley, almost bewildered in his misery. 

'Yes, do about her. Do you mean to make her your wife? That'splain English. Because I'll tell you what: I'll not see her putupon any longer. It must be one thing or the other; and that atonce. And if you've a grain of honour in you, Mr. Tudor--and Ithink you are honourable--you won't back from your word with thegirl now. '

'Back from my word?' said Charley. 

'Yes, back from your word, ' said Mrs. Davis, the flood-gates ofwhose eloquence were now fairly opened. 'I'm sure you're too muchof the gentleman to deny your own words, and them repeated morethan once in my presence--Cheroots--yes, are there none there, child?--Oh, they are in the cupboard. ' These last words were notpart of her address to Charley, but were given in reply to arequisition from the attendant nymph outside. 'You're too much ofa gentleman to do that, I know. And so, as I'm her naturalfriend--and indeed she's my cousin, not that far off--I thinkit's right that we should all understand one another. '

'Oh, quite right, ' said Charley. 

'You can't expect that she should go and sacrifice herself foryou, you know, ' said Mrs. Davis, who now that she had begunhardly knew how to stop herself. 'A girl's time is her money. She's at her best now, and a girl like her must make her haywhile the sun shines. She can't go on fal-lalling with you, andthen nothing to come of it. You mustn't suppose she's to lose hermarket that way. '

'God knows I should be sorry to injure her, Mrs. Davis. '

'I believe you would, because I take you for an honourablegentleman as will be as good as your word. Now, there'sPeppermint there. '

'What! that fellow in the parlour?'

'And an honourable gentleman he is. Not that I mean to comparehim to you, Mr. Tudor, nor yet doesn't Norah; not by no means. But there he is. Well, he comes with the most honourablestproposals, and will make her Mrs. Peppermint to-morrow, if so bethat she'll have it. '

'You don't mean to say that there has been anything betweenthem?' said Charley, who in spite of the intense desire which hehad felt a few minutes since to get the lovely Norah altogetheroff his hands, now felt an acute pang of jealousy. ' You don'tmean to say that there has been anything between them?'

'Nothing as you have any right to object to, Mr. Tudor. You maybe sure I wouldn't allow of that, nor yet wouldn't Norah demeanherself to it. '

'Then how did she get talking to him?'

'She didn't get talking to him. But he has eyes in his head, andyou don't suppose but what he can see with them. If a girl is inthe public line, of course any man is free to speak to her. Ifyou don't like it, it is for you to take her out of it. Not butwhat, for a girl that is in the public line, Norah Geraghty keepsherself to herself as much as any girl you ever set eyes on. '

'What the d--- has she to do with this fellow then?'

'Why, he's a widower, and has three young children; and he'slooking out for a mother for them; and he thinks Norah will suit. There, now you have the truth, and the whole truth. '

'D--- his impudence!' said Charley. 

'Well, I don't see that there's any impudence. He has a house ofhis own and the means to keep it. Now I'll tell you what it is. Norah can't abide him--'

Charley looked a little better satisfied when he heard thisdeclaration. 

'Norah can't abide the sight of him; nor won't of any man as longas you are hanging after her. She's as true as steel, and proudyou ought to be of her. ' Proud, thought Charley, as he againmuttered to himself, 'Excelsior!'--'But, Mr. Tudor, I won't seeher put upon; that's the long and the short of it. If you like totake her, there she is. I don't say she's just your equal as tobreeding, though she's come of decent people too; but she's goodas gold. She'll make a shilling go as far as any young woman Iknow; and if £100 or £150 are wanting for furniture or the likeof that, why, I've that regard for her, that that shan't stand inthe way. Now, Mr. Tudor, I've spoke honest; and if you're thegentleman as I takes you to be, you'll do the same. '

To do Mrs. Davis justice, it must be acknowledged that in her wayshe had spoken honestly. Of course she knew that such a marriagewould be a dreadful misalliance for young Tudor; of course sheknew that all his friends would be heart-broken when they heardof it. But what had she to do with his friends? Her sympathies, her good wishes, were for her friend. Had Norah fallen a victimto Charley's admiration, and then been cast off to eat thebitterest bread to which any human being is ever doomed, whatthen would Charley's friends have cared for her? There was a fairfight between them. If Norah Geraghty, as a reward for herprudence, could get a husband in a rank of life above her, instead of falling into utter destruction as might so easily havebeen the case, who could do other than praise her--praise her andher clever friend who had so assisted her in her struggle?

 Dolus an virtus--

Had Mrs. Davis ever studied the classics she would have thusexpressed herself. 

Poor Charley was altogether thrown on his beam-ends. He hadaltogether played Mrs. Davis's game in evincing jealousy at Mr. Peppermint's attentions. He knew this, and yet for the life ofhim he could not help being jealous. He wanted to get rid of MissGeraghty, and yet he could not endure that anyone else should layclaim to her favour. He was very weak. He knew how much dependedon the way in which he might answer this woman at the presentmoment; he knew that he ought now to make it plain to her, thathowever foolish he might have been, however false he might havebeen, it was quite out of the question that he should marry herbarmaid. But he did not do so. He was worse than weak. It was notonly the disinclination to give pain, or even the dread of thestorm that would ensue, which deterred him; but an absurd disliketo think that Mr. Peppermint should be graciously received thereas the barmaid's acknowledged admirer. 

'Is she really ill now?' said he. 

'She's not so ill but what she shall make herself well enough towelcome you, if you'll say the word that you ought to say. Themost that ails her is fretting at the long delay. --Bolt the door, child, and go to bed; there will be no one else here now. Go up, and tell Miss Geraghty to come down; she hasn't got her clothesoff yet, I know. '

Mrs. Davis was too good a general to press Charley for anabsolute, immediate, fixed answer to her question. She knew thatshe had already gained much, by talking thus of the proposedmarriage, by setting it thus plainly before Charley, withoutrebuke or denial from him. He had not objected to receiving avisit from Norah, on the implied understanding that she was tocome down to him as his affianced bride. He had not agreed tothis in words; but silence gives consent, and Mrs. Davis feltthat should it ever hereafter become necessary to prove anything, what had passed would enable her to prove a good deal. 

Charley puffed at his cigar and sipped his gin and water. It wasnow twelve o'clock, and he thoroughly wished himself at home andin bed. The longer he thought of it the more impossible itappeared that he should get out of the house without the scenewhich he dreaded. The girl had bolted the door, put away her cupsand mugs, and her step upstairs had struck heavily on his ears. The house was not large or high, and he fancied that he heardmutterings on the landing-place. Indeed he did not doubt but thatMiss Geraghty had listened to most of the conversation which hadtaken place. 

'Excuse me a minute, Mr. Tudor, ' said Mrs. Davis, who was nowsmiling and civil enough; 'I will go upstairs myself; the sillygirl is shamefaced, and does not like to come down'; and up wentMrs. Davis to see that her barmaid's curls and dress were niceand jaunty. It would not do now, at this moment, for Norah tooffend her lover by any untidiness. Charley for a moment thoughtof the front door. The enemy had allowed him an opportunity forretreating. He might slip out before either of the women camedown, and then never more be heard of in Norfolk Street again. Hehad his hand in his waistcoat pocket, with the intent of leavingthe sovereign on the table; but when the moment came he feltashamed of the pusillanimity of such an escape, and thereforestood, or rather sat his ground, with a courage worthy of abetter purpose. 

Down the two women came, and Charley felt his heart beatingagainst his ribs. As the steps came nearer the door, he began towish that Mr. Peppermint had been successful. The widow enteredthe room first, and at her heels the expectant beauty. We canhardly say that she was blushing; but she did look rathershamefaced, and hung back a little at the door, as though shestill had half a mind to think better of it, and go off to herbed. 

'Come in, you little fool, ' said Mrs. Davis. 'You needn't beashamed of coming down to see him; you have done that oftenenough before now. '

Norah simpered and sidled. 'Well, I'm sure now!' said she. 'Here's a start, Mr. Tudor; to be brought downstairs at this timeof night; and I'm sure I don't know what it's about'; and thenshe shook her curls, and twitched her dress, and made as thoughshe were going to pass through the room to her accustomed placeat the bar. 

Norah Geraghty was a fine girl. Putting her in comparison withMiss Golightly, we are inclined to say that she was the finergirl of the two; and that, barring position, money, and fashion, she was qualified to make the better wife. In point of education, that is, the effects of education, there was not perhaps much tochoose between them. Norah could make an excellent pudding, andwas willing enough to exercise her industry and art in doing so;Miss Golightly could copy music, but she did not like thetrouble; and could play a waltz badly. Neither of them had everread anything beyond a few novels. In this respect, as to theamount of labour done, Miss Golightly had certainly far surpassedher rival competitor for Charley's affections. 

Charley got up and took her hand; and as he did so, he saw thather nails were dirty. He put his arms round her waist and kissedher; and as he caressed her, his olfactory nerves perceived thatthe pomatum in her hair was none of the best. He thought of thoseyoung lustrous eyes that would look up so wondrously into hisface; he thought of the gentle touch, which would send a thrillthrough all his nerves; and then he felt very sick. 

'Well, upon my word, Mr. Tudor, ' said Miss Geraghty, 'you'remaking very free to-night. ' She did not, however, refuse to sitdown on his knee, though while sitting there she struggled andtossed herself, and shook her long ringlets in Charley's face, till he wished her--safe at home in Mr. Peppermint's nursery. 

'And is that what you brought me down for, Mrs. Davis?' saidNorah. 'Well, upon my word, I hope the door's locked; we shallhave all the world in here else. '

'If you hadn't come down to him, he'd have come up to you, ' saidMrs. Davis. 

'Would he though?' said Norah; 'I think he knows a trick worthtwo of that;' and she looked as though she knew well how todefend herself, if any over-zeal on the part of her lover shouldever induce him to violate the sanctum of her feminine retirement. 

There was no over-zeal now about Charley. He ought to have beenhappy enough, for he had his charmer in his arms; but he showedvery little of the ecstatic joy of a favoured lover. There he satwith Norah in his arms, and as we have said, Norah was a handsomegirl; but he would much sooner have been copying the Kennett andAvon canal lock entries in Mr. Snape's room at the InternalNavigation. 

'Lawks, Mr. Tudor, you needn't hold me so tight, ' said Norah. 

'He means to hold you tight enough now, ' said Mrs. Davis. 'He'svery angry because I mentioned another gentleman's name. '

'Well, now you didn't?' said Norah, pretending to look veryangry. 

'Well, I just did; and if you'd only seen him! You must be verycareful what you say to that gentleman, or there'll be a row inthe house. '

'I!' said Norah. 'What I say to him! It's very little I have tosay to the man. But I shall tell him this; he'd better takehimself somewhere else, if he's going to make himself troublesome. '

All this time Charley had said nothing, but was sitting with hishat on his head, and his cigar in his mouth. The latter appendagehe had laid down for a moment when he saluted Miss Geraghty; buthe had resumed it, having at the moment no intention of repeatingthe compliment. 

'And so you were jealous, were you?' said she, turning round andlooking at him. 'Well now, some people might have more respectfor other people than to mix up their names that way, with thenames of any men that choose to put themselves forward. Whatwould you say if I was to talk to you about Miss----'

Charley stopped her mouth. It was not to be borne that she shouldbe allowed to pronounce the name that was about to fall from herlips. 

'So you were jealous, were you?' said she, when she was againable to speak. 'Well, my!'

'Mrs. Davis told me flatly that you were going to marry the man, 'said Charley; 'so what was I to think?'

'It doesn't matter what you think now, ' said Mrs. Davis; 'for youmust be off from this. Do you know what o'clock it is? Do youwant the house to get a bad name? Come, you two understand eachother now, so you may as well give over billing and cooing forthis time. It's all settled now, isn't it, Mr. Tudor?'

'Oh yes, I suppose so, ' said Charley. 

'Well, and what do you say, Norah?'

'Oh, I'm sure I'm agreeable if he is. Ha! ha! ha! I only hope hewon't think me too forward--he! he! he!'

And then with another kiss, and very few more words of any sort, Charley took himself off. 

'I'll have nothing more to do with him, ' said Norah, burstinginto tears, as soon as the door was well bolted after Charley'sexit. 'I'm only losing myself with him. He don't mean anything, and I said he didn't all along. He'd have pitched me to OldScratch, while I was sitting there on his knee, if he'd have hadhis own way--so he would;' and poor Norah cried heartily, as shewent to her work in her usual way among the bottles and taps. 

'Why, you fool you, what do you expect? You don't think he's tojump down your throat, do you? You can but try it on; and then ifit don't do, why there's the other one to fall back on; only, ifI had the choice, I'd rather have young Tudor, too. '

'So would I, ' said Norah; 'I can't abide that other fellow. '

'Well, there, that's how it is, you know--beggars can't bechoosers. But come, make us a drop of something hot; a littledrop will do yourself good; but it's better not to take it beforehim, unless when he presses you. '

So the two ladies sat down to console themselves, as best theymight, for the reverses which trade and love so often bring withthem. 

Charley walked off a miserable man. He was thoroughly ashamed ofhimself, thoroughly acknowledged his own weakness; and yet as hewent out from the 'Cat and Whistle, ' he felt sure that he shouldreturn there again to renew the degradation from which he hadsuffered this night. Indeed, what else could he do now? He had, as it were, solemnly plighted his troth to the girl before athird person who had brought them together, with the acknowledgedpurpose of witnessing that ceremony. He had, before Mrs. Davis, and before the girl herself, heard her spoken of as his wife, andhad agreed to the understanding that such an arrangement was asettled thing. What else had he to do now but to return andcomplete his part of the bargain? What else but that, and be awretched, miserable, degraded man for the rest of his days;lower, viler, more contemptible, infinitely lower, even than hisbrother clerics at the office, whom in his pride he had so muchdespised?

He walked from Norfolk Street into the Strand, and there theworld was still alive, though it was now nearly one o'clock. Thedebauched misery, the wretched outdoor midnight revelry of theworld was there, streaming in and out from gin-palaces, andbawling itself hoarse with horrid, discordant, screech-owl slang. But he went his way unheeding and uncontaminated. Now, now thatit was useless, he was thinking of the better things of theworld; nothing now seemed worth his grasp, nothing now seemedpleasurable, nothing capable of giving joy, but what was decent, good, reputable, cleanly, and polished. How he hated nowthat lower world with which he had for the last three yearscondescended to pass so much of his time! how he hated himselffor his own vileness! He thought of what Alaric was, of whatNorman was, of what he himself might have been--he that waspraised by Mrs. Woodward for his talent, he that was encouragedto place himself among the authors of the day! He thought of allthis, and then he thought of what he was--the affianced husbandof Norah Geraghty!

He went along the Strand, over the crossing under the statue ofCharles on horseback, and up Pall Mall East till he came to theopening into the park under the Duke of York's column. The Londonnight world was all alive as he made his way. From the OperaColonnade shrill voices shrieked out at him as he passed, anddrunken men coming down from the night supper-houses in theHaymarket saluted him with affectionate cordiality. The hoarsewaterman from the cabstand, whose voice had perished in the nightair, croaked out at him the offer of a vehicle; and one of thenight beggar-women who cling like burrs to those who roam thestreet a these unhallowed hours still stuck to him, as she haddone ever since he had entered the Strand. 

'Get away with you, ' said Charley, turning at the wretchedcreature in his fierce anger; 'get away, or I'll give you incharge. '

'That you may never know what it is to be in misery yourself!'said the miserable Irishwoman. 

'If you follow me a step farther I'll have you locked up, ' saidCharley. 

'Oh, then, it's you that have the hard heart, ' said she; 'andit's you that will suffer yet. '

Charley looked round, threw her the odd halfpence which he had inhis pocket, and then turned down towards the column. The womanpicked up her prize, and, with a speedy blessing, took herselfoff in search of other prey. 

His way home would have taken him up Waterloo Place, but thespace round the column was now deserted and quiet, and saunteringthere, without thinking of what he did, he paced up and downbetween the Clubs and the steps leading into the park. There, walking to and fro slowly, he thought of his past career, of allthe circumstances of his life since his life had been left to hisown control, and of the absence of all hope for the future. 

What was he to do? He was deeply, inextricably in debt. Thatwretch, M'Ruen, had his name on bills which it was impossiblethat he should ever pay. Tradesmen held other bills of his whichwere either now over-due, or would very shortly become so. He wasthreatened with numerous writs, any one of which would suffice toput him into gaol. From his poor father, burdened as he was withother children, he knew that he had no right to expect furtherassistance. He was in debt to Norman, his best, he would havesaid his only friend, had it not been that in all his misery hecould not help still thinking of Mrs. Woodward as his friend. 

And yet how could his venture to think longer of her, contaminated as he now was with the horrid degradation of hisacknowledged love at the 'Cat and Whistle!' No; he must think nomore of the Woodwards; he must dream no more of those angel eyeswhich in his waking moments had so often peered at him out ofheaven, teaching him to think of higher things, giving him higherhopes than those which had come to him from the working of hisown unaided spirit. Ah! lessons taught in vain! vain hopes!lessons that had come all too late! hopes that had been cherishedonly to be deceived! It was all over now! He had made his bed, and he must lie on it; he had sown his seed, and he must reap hisproduce; there was now no 'Excelsior' left for him within thebounds of human probability. 

He had promised to go to Hampton with Harry Norman on Saturday, and he would go there for the last time. He would go there andtell Mrs. Woodward so much of the truth as he could bring himselfto utter; he would say farewell to that blest abode; he wouldtake Linda's soft hand in his for the last time; for the lasttime he would hear the young, silver-ringing, happy voice of hisdarling Katie; for the last time look into her bright face; forthe last time play with her as with a child of heaven--and thenhe would return to the 'Cat and Whistle. '

And having made this resolve he went home to his lodgings. It wassingular that in all his misery the idea hardly once occurred tohim of setting himself right in the world by accepting hiscousin's offer of Miss Golightly's hand and fortune. 

CHAPTER XXI

HAMPTON COURT BRIDGE

Before the following Saturday afternoon Charley's spirits hadsomewhat recovered their natural tone. Not that he was in a happyframe of mind; the united energies of Mr. M'Ruen and Mrs. Davishad been too powerful to allow of that; not that he had givenover his projected plan of saying a long farewell to Mrs. Woodward, or at any rate of telling her something of hisposition; he still felt that he could not continue to live onterms of close intimacy both with her daughters and with NorahGeraghty. But the spirits of youth are ever buoyant, and thespirits of no one could be endowed, with more natural buoyancythan those of the young navvy. Charley, therefore, in spite ofhis misfortunes, was ready with his manuscript when Saturdayafternoon arrived, and, according to agreement, met Norman at therailway station. 

Only one evening had intervened since the night in which he hadratified his matrimonial engagement, and in spite of the delicatenature of his position he had for that evening allowed Mr. Peppermint to exercise his eloquence on the heart of the fairNorah without interruption. He the while had been engaged incompleting the memoirs of 'Crinoline and Macassar. '

'Well, Charley, ' they asked, one and all, as soon as he reachedthe Cottage, 'have you got the story? Have you brought themanuscript? Is it all finished and ready for that dreadfuleditor?'

Charley produced a roll, and Linda and Katie instantly pouncedupon it. 

'Oh! it begins with poetry, ' said Linda. 

'I am so glad, ' said Katie. 'Is there much poetry in it, Charley?I do so hope there is. '

'Not a word of it, ' said Charley; 'that which Linda sees is asong that the heroine is singing, and it isn't supposed to bewritten by the author at all. '

'I'm so sorry that there's no poetry, ' said Katie. 'Can't youwrite poetry, Charley?'

'At any rate there's lots of love in it, ' said Linda, who wasturning over the pages. 

'Is there?' said Katie. 'Well, that's next best; but they shouldgo together. You should have put all your love into verse, Charley, and then your prose would have done for the funnyparts. '

'Perhaps it's all fun, ' said Mrs. Woodward. 'But come, girls, this is not fair; I won't let you look at the story till it'sread in full committee. ' And so saying, Mrs. Woodward took thepapers from her daughters, and tying them up, deposited them safein custody. 'We'll have it out when the tea-things are gone. '

But before the tea-things had come, an accident happened, whichhad been like to dismiss 'Crinoline and Macassar' altogether fromthe minds of the whole of the Woodward family. The young men had, as usual, dined in town, and therefore they were all able tospend the long summer evening out of doors. Norman's boat wasdown at Hampton, and it was therefore determined that they shouldrow down as far as Hampton Court Park and back. Charley andNorman were to row; and Mrs. Woodward agreed to accompany herdaughters. Uncle Bat was left at home, to his nap and rum andwater. 

Norman was so expert a Thames waterman, that he was quite able tomanage the boat without a steersman, and Charley was nearly hisequal. But there is some amusement in steering, and Katie wasallowed to sit between the tiller-ropes. 

'I can steer very well, mamma: can't I, Harry? I always steerwhen we go to the island, and we run the boat straight into thelittle creek, only just broad enough to hold it. ' Katie's visitsto the island, however, were not so frequent as they hadheretofore been, for she was approaching to sixteen years of age, and wet feet and draggled petticoats had lost some of theircharms. Mrs. Woodward, trusting more to the experience of her twoknights than to the skill of the lady at the helm, took her seat, and they went off merrily down the stream. 

All the world knows that it is but a very little distance fromHampton Church to Hampton Court Bridge, especially when one hasthe stream with one. They were very soon near to the bridge, andas they approached it, they had to pass a huge barge, that waslazily making its way down to Brentford. 

'There's lots of tune for the big arch, ' said Charley. 

'Pull away then, ' said Harry. 

They both pulled hard, and shot alongside and past the barge. Butthe stream was strong, and the great ugly mass of black timbermoved behind them quicker than it seemed to do. 

'It will be safer to take the one to the left, ' said Harry. 

'Oh! there's lots of tune, ' said Charley. 

'No, ' said Harry, ' do as I tell you and go to the left. --Pullyour left hand a little, Katie. '

Charley did as he was bid, and Katie intended to do the same; butunfortunately she pulled the wrong hand. They were now very nearthe bridge, and the barge was so close to them as to show thatthere might have been danger in attempting to get through thesame arch with her. 

'Your left hand, Katie, your left, ' shouted Norman; 'your leftstring. ' Katie was confused, and gave first a pull with herright, and then a pull with her left, and then a strong pull withher right. The two men backed water as hard as they could, butthe effect of Katie's steering was to drive the nose of the boatright into one of the wooden piers of the bridge. 

The barge went on its way, and luckily made its entry under thearch before the little craft had swung round into the streambefore it; as it was, the boat, still clinging by its nose, cameround with its stern against the side of the barge, and as thelatter went on, the timbers of Norman's wherry cracked andcrumpled in the rude encounter. 

The ladies should all have kept their seats. Mrs. Woodward did doso. Linda jumped up, and being next to the barge, was pulled upinto it by one of the men. Katie stood bolt upright, with thetiller-ropes still in her hand, awe-struck at the misfortune shehad caused; but while she was so standing, the stern of the boatwas lifted nearly out of the water by the weight of the barge, and Katie was pitched, behind her mother's back, head foremostinto the water. 

Norman, at the moment, was endeavouring to steady the boat, andshove it off from the barge, and had also lent a hand to assistLinda in her escape. Charley was on the other side, standing upand holding on by the piers of the bridge, keeping his eyes onthe ladies, so as to be of assistance to them when assistancemight be needed. 

And now assistance was sorely needed, and luckily had not to belong waited for. Charley, with a light and quick step, passedover the thwarts, and, disregarding Mrs. Woodward's scream, lethimself down, over the gun-wale behind her seat into the water. Katie can hardly be said to have sunk at all. She had, at least, never been so much under the water as to be out of sight. Herclothes kept up her light body; and when Charley got close toher, she had been carried up to the piers of the bridge, and waspanting with her head above water, and beating the stream withher little hands. 

She was soon again in comparative safety. Charley had her by onearm as he held on with the other to the boat, and kept himselfafloat with his legs. Mrs. Woodward leaned over and caught herdaughter's clothes; while Linda, who had seen what had happened, stood shrieking on the barge, as it made its way on, heedless ofthe ruin it left behind. 

Another boat soon came to their assistance from the shore, andMrs. Woodward and Katie were got safely into it. Charley returnedto the battered wherry, and assisted Norman in extricating itfrom its position; and a third boat went to Linda's rescue, whowould otherwise have found herself in rather an uncomfortableposition the next morning at Brentford. 

The hugging and kissing to which Katie was subjected when she wascarried up to the inn, near the boat-slip on the Surrey side ofthe river, may be imagined; as may also the faces she made at thewineglassful of stiff brandy and water which she was desired todrink. She was carried home in a fly, and by the time she arrivedthere, had so completely recovered her life and spirits as to puta vehement negative on her mother's proposition that she shouldat once go to bed. 

'And not hear dear Charley's story?' said she, with tears in hereyes. 'And, mamma, I can't and won't go to bed without seeingCharley. I didn't say one word yet to thank him for jumping intothe water after me. '

It was in vain that her mother told her that Charley's storywould amuse her twice as much when she should read it printed; itwas in vain that Mrs. Woodward assured her that Charley shouldcome up to her room door; and hear her thanks as he stood in thepassage, with the door ajar. Katie was determined to hear thestory read. It must be read, if read at all, that Saturday night, as it was to be sent to the editor in the course of the week; andreading 'Crinoline and Macassar' out loud on a Sunday was not tobe thought of at Surbiton Cottage. Katie was determined to hearthe story read, and to sit very near the author too during thereading; to sit near him, and to give him such praise as even inher young mind she felt that an author would like to hear. Charley had pulled her out of the river, and no one, as far asher efforts could prevent it, should be allowed to throw coldwater on him. 

Norman and Charley, wet as the latter was, contrived to bring theshattered boat back to Hampton. When they reached the lawn atSurbiton Cottage they were both in high spirits. An accident, ifit does no material harm, is always an inspiriting thing, unlessone feels that it has been attributable to one's own fault. Neither of them could in this instance attach any blame tohimself, and each felt that he had done what in him lay toprevent the possible ill effect of the mischance. As for theboat, Harry was too happy to think that none of his friends werehurt to care much about that. 

As they walked across the lawn Mrs. Woodward ran out to them. 'Mydear, dear Charley, ' she said, 'what am I to say to thank you?'It was the first time Mrs. Woodward had ever called him by hisChristian name. It had hitherto made him in a certain degreeunhappy that she never did so, and now the sound was verypleasant to him. 

'Oh, Mrs. Woodward, ' said he, laughing, 'you mustn't touch me, for I'm all mud. '

'My dear, dear Charley, what can I say to you? and dear Harry, Ifear we've spoilt your beautiful new boat. '

'I fear we've spoilt Katie's beautiful new hat, ' said Norman. 

Mrs. Woodward had taken and pressed a hand of each of them, inspite of Charley's protestations about the mud. 

'Oh! you're in a dreadful state, ' said she; 'you had better takesomething at once; you'll catch your death of cold. '

'I'd better take myself off to the inn, ' said Charley, 'and getsome clean clothes; that's all I want. But how is Katie--and howis Linda?'

And so, after a multitude of such inquiries on both sides, and ofall manner of affectionate greetings, Charley went off to makehimself dry, preparatory to the reading of the manuscript. 

During his absence, Linda and Katie came down to the drawing-room. Linda was full of fun as to her journey with the bargeman;but Katie was a little paler than usual, and somewhat moreserious and quiet than she was wont to be. 

Norman was the first in the drawing-room, and received the thanksof the ladies for his prowess in assisting them; and Charley wasnot slow to follow him, for he was never very long at his toilet. He came in with a jaunty laughing air, as though nothingparticular had happened, and as if he had not a care in theworld. And yet while he had been dressing he had been thinkingalmost more than ever of Norah Geraghty. O that she, and Mrs. Davis with her, and Jabesh M'Ruen with both of them, could beburied ten fathom deep out of his sight, and out of his mind!

When he entered the room, Katie felt her heart beat so stronglythat she hardly knew how to thank him for saving her life. A yearago she would have got up and kissed him innocently; but a yearmakes a great difference. She could not do that now, so she gavehim her little hand, and held his till he came and sat down athis place at the table. 

'Oh, Charley, I don't know what to say to you, ' said she; and hecould see and feel that her whole body was shaking with emotion. 

'Then I'll tell you what to say: 'Charley, here is your tea, andsome bread, and some butter, and some jam, and some muffin, ' forI'll tell you what, my evening bath has made me as hungry as ahunter. I hope it has done the same to you. '

Katie, still holding his hand, looked up into his face, and hesaw that her eyes were suffused with tears. She then left hisside, and, running round the room, filled a plate with all thethings he had asked for, and, bringing them to him, again tookher place beside him. 'I wish I knew how to do more than that, 'said she. 

'I suppose, Charley, you'll have to make an entry about thatbarge on Monday morning, won't you?' said Linda. 'Mind you put init how beautiful I looked sailing through the arch. '

 'Yes, and how very gallant the bargeman was, ' said Norman. 

'Yes, and how much you enjoyed the idea of going down the riverwith him, while, we came back to the Cottage, ' said Charley. 'We'll put it all down at the Navigation, and old Snape shallmake a special minute about it. '

Katie drank her tea in silence, and tried to eat, though withoutmuch success. When chatting voices and jokes were to be heard atthe Cottage, the sound of her voice was usually the foremost; butnow she sat demure and quiet. She was realizing the danger fromwhich she had escaped, and, as is so often the case, wasbeginning to fear it now that it was over. 

'Ah, Katie, my bonny bird, ' said her mother, seeing that she wasnot herself, and knowing that the excitement and overpoweringfeelings of gratitude were too much for her-come here; you shouldbe in bed, my foolish little puss, should you not?'

'Indeed, she should, ' said Uncle Bat, who was somewhat hard-hearted about the affair of the accident, and had been cruelenough, after hearing an account of it, to declare that it wasall Katie's fault. 

'Indeed, she should; and if she had gone to bed a little earlierin the evening it would have been all the better for MasterNorman's boat. '

'Oh! mamma, don't send me to bed, ' said she, with tears in hereyes. 'Pray don't send me to bed now; I'm quite well, only Ican't talk because I'm thinking of what Charley did for me;' andso saying she got up, and, hiding her face on her mother'sshoulder, burst into tears. 

'My dearest child, ' said Mrs. Woodward, 'I'm afraid you'll makeyourself ill. We'll put off the reading, won't we, Charley? Wehave done enough for one evening. '

'Of course we will, ' said he. 'Reading a stupid story will bevery slow work after all we've gone through today. '

'No, no, no, ' said Katie; 'it shan't be put off; there won't beany other time for hearing it. And, mamma it must be read; and Iknow it won't be stupid. Oh; mamma, dear mamma, do let us hear itread; I'm quite well now. '

Mrs. Woodward found herself obliged to give way. She had not theheart to bid her daughter go away to bed, nor, had she done so, would it have been of any avail. Katie would only have lain andsobbed in her own room, and very probably have gone intohysterics. The best thing for her was to try to turn the currentof her thoughts, and thus by degrees tame down her excitedfeelings. 

'Well, darling, then we will have the story, if Charley will letus. Go and fetch it, dearest. ' Katie raised herself from hermother's bosom, and, going across the room, fetched the roll ofpapers to Charley. As he prepared to take it she took his hand inhers, and, bending her head over it, tenderly kissed it. 'Youmustn't think, ' said she, 'that because I say nothing, I don'tknow what it is that you've done for me; but I don't know how tosay it. '

Charley was at any rate as ignorant what he ought to say as Katiewas. He felt the pressure of her warm lips on his hand, andhardly knew where he was. He felt that he blushed and lookedabashed, and dreaded, fearfully dreaded, lest Mrs. Woodwardshould surmise that he estimated at other than its intendedworth, her daughter's show of affection for him. 

'I shouldn't mind doing it every night, ' said he, 'in suchweather as this. I think it rather good fun going into the waterwith my clothes on. ' Katie looked up at him through her tears, asthough she would say that she well understood what that meant. 

Mrs. Woodward saw that if the story was to be read, the soonerthey began it the better. 

'Come, Charley, ' said she, 'now for the romance. Katie, come andsit by me. ' But Katie had already taken her seat, a little behindCharley, quite in the shade, and she was not to be moved. 

'But I won't read it myself, ' said Charley; 'you must read it, Mrs. Woodward. '

'O yes, Mrs. Woodward, you are to read it, ' said Norman. 

'O yes, do read it, manna, ' said Linda. 

Katie said nothing, but she would have preferred that Charleyshould have read it himself. 

'Well, if I can, ' said Mrs. Woodward. 

'Snape says I write the worst hand in all Somerset House, ' saidCharley; 'but still I think you'll be able to manage it. '

'I hate that Mr. Snape, ' said Katie, _sotto voce_. And thenMrs. Woodward unrolled the manuscript and began her task. 

CHAPTER XXII

CRINOLINE AND MACASSAR; OR, MY AUNT'S WILL

'Well, Linda was right, ' said Mrs. Woodward, 'it does begin withpoetry. '

'It's only a song, ' said Charley, apologetically--'and after allthere is only one verse of that'--and then Mrs. Woodward began

"CRINOLINE AND MACASSAR. "

'Ladies and gentlemen, that is the name of Mr. Charles Tudor'snew novel. '

'Crinoline and Macassar!' said Uncle Bat. 'Are they intended forhuman beings' names?'

'They are the heroine and the hero, as I take it, ' said Mrs. Woodward, 'and I presume them to be human, unless they turn outto be celestial. '

'I never heard such names in my life, ' said the captain. 

'At any rate, uncle, they are as good as Sir Jib Boom and CaptainHardaport, ' said Katie, pertly. 

'We won't mind about that, ' said Mrs. Woodward; 'I'm going tobegin, and I beg I may not be interrupted. '

"CRINOLINE AND MACASSAR. "

"The lovely Crinoline was sitting alone at a lattice window on asummer morning, and as she sat she sang with melancholy cadencethe first part of the now celebrated song which had then latelyappeared, from the distinguished pen of Sir G-- H--, "

'Who is Sir G-- H--, Charley?'

'Oh, it wouldn't do for me to tell that, ' said Charley. 'Thatmust be left to the tact and intelligence of my readers. '

'Oh, very well, ' said Mrs. Woodward, 'we will abstain from allimpertinent questions'--'from the distinguished pen of Sir G-- H--. The ditty which she sang ran as follows:--

 My heart's at my office, my heart is always there-- My heart's at my office, docketing with care; Docketing the papers, and copying all day, My heart's at my office, though I be far away. 

"'Ah me!' said the Lady Crinoline--"

'What--is she a peer's daughter?' said Uncle Bat. 

'Not exactly, ' said Charley, 'it's only a sort of semi-poetic wayone has of speaking of one's heroine. '

"'Ah me!' said the Lady Crinoline--' his heart! his heart!--Iwonder whether he has got a heart;' and then she sang again inlow plaintive voice the first line of the song, suiting thecadence to her own case:--

 His heart is at his office, his heart is _always_ there. 

"'It was evident that the Lady Crinoline did not repeat the wordsin the feeling of their great author, who when he wrote them hadintended to excite to high deeds of exalted merit that portion ofthe British youth which is employed in the Civil Service of thecountry. 

"Crinoline laid down her lute--it was in fact an accordion--andgazing listlessly over the rails of the balcony, looked out atthe green foliage which adorned the enclosure of the squarebelow. 

"It was Tavistock Square. The winds of March and the showers ofApril had been successful in producing the buds of May. "

'Ah, Charley, that's taken from the old song, ' said Katie, 'onlyyou've put buds instead of flowers. '

'That's quite allowable, ' said Mrs. Woodward--"successful inproducing the buds of May. The sparrows chirped sweetly on thehouse-top, and the coming summer gladdened the hearts of all--ofall except poor Crinoline. 

"'I wonder whether he has a heart, said she; 'and if he has, Iwonder whether it is at his office. '

"As she thus soliloquized, the door was opened by a youthfulpage, on whose well-formed breast, buttons seemed to grow likemushrooms in the meadows in August. 

"'Mr. Macassar Jones, ' said the page; and having so said, hediscreetly disappeared. He was in his line of life a valuablemember of society. He had brought from his last place atwelvemonth's character that was creditable alike to his head andheart; he was now found to be a trustworthy assistant in thehousehold of the Lady Crinoline's mother, and was the delight ofhis aged parents, to whom he regularly remitted no inconsiderableportion of his wages. Let it always be remembered that the lifeeven of a page may be glorious. All honour to the true andbrave!"

'Goodness, Charley--how very moral you are!' said Linda. 

'Yes, ' said he; 'that's indispensable. It's the intention of the_Daily Delight_ always to hold up a career of virtue to thelower orders as the thing that pays. Honesty, high wages, and hotdinners. Those are our principles. '

'You'll have a deal to do before you'll bring the lower orders toagree with you, ' said Uncle Bat. 

'We have a deal to do, ' said Charley, 'and we'll do it. The powerof the cheap press is unbounded. '

"As the page closed the door, a light, low, melancholy step washeard to make its way across the drawing-room. Crinoline's hearthad given one start when she had heard the announcement of thewell-known name. She had once glanced with eager inquiring eyetowards the door. But not in vain to her had an excellent mothertaught the proprieties of elegant life. Long before MacassarJones was present in the chamber she had snatched up the tambour-frame that lay beside her, and when he entered she was zealouslyengaged on the fox's head that was to ornament the toe of a left-foot slipper. Who shall dare to say that those slippers wereintended to grace the feet of Macassar Jones?"

'But I suppose they were, ' said Katie. 

'You must wait and see, ' said her mother; 'for my part I am notat all so sure of that. '

'Oh, but I know they must be; for she's in love with him, ' saidKatie. 

"'Oh, Mr. Macassar, ' said the Lady Crinoline, when he had drawnnigh to her, 'and how are you to-day?' This mention of hisChristian name betrayed no undue familiarity, as the two familieswere intimate, and Macassar had four elder brothers. 'I am sosorry mamma is not at home; she will regret not seeing youamazingly. '

"Macassar had his hat in his hand, and he stood a while gazing atthe fox in the pattern. 'Won't you sit down?' said Crinoline. 

"'Is it very dusty in the street to-day?' asked Crinoline; and asshe spoke she turned upon him a face wreathed in the sweetestsmiles, radiant with elegant courtesy, and altogether expressiveof extreme gentility, unsullied propriety, and a very high toneof female education. 'Is it very dusty in the street to-day?'

"Charmed by the involuntary grace of her action, Macassar essayedto turn his head towards her as he replied; he could not turn itmuch, for he wore an all-rounder; but still he was enabled by aside glance to see more of that finished elegance than wasperhaps good for his peace of mind. 

"'Yes, ' said he, 'it is dusty;--it certainly is dusty, rather;--but not very--and then in most streets they've got the water-carts. '

"'Ah, I love those water-carts!' said Crinoline; 'the dust, youknow, is so trying. '

"'To the complexion?' suggested Macassar, again looking round asbest he might over the bulwark of his collar. 

"Crinoline laughed slightly; it was perhaps hardly more than asimper, and turning her lovely eyes from her work, she said, 'Well, to the complexion, if you will. What would you gentlemensay if we ladies were to be careless of our complexions?'

"Macassar merely sighed gently--perhaps he had no fitting answer;perhaps his heart was too full for him to answer. He sat with hiseye fixed on his hat, which still dangled in his hand; but hismind's eye was far away. 

"'Is it in his office?' thought Crinoline to herself; 'or is ithere? Is it anywhere?'

"'Have you learnt the song I sent you? said he at last, waking, as it were, from a trance. 

"'Not yet, ' said she--'that is, not quite; that is, I could notsing it before strangers yet. '

"'Strangers!' said Macassar; and he looked at her again with anenergy that produced results not beneficial either to his neck orhis collar. 

"Crinoline was delighted at this expression of feeling. 'At anyrate it is somewhere, ' said she to herself; 'and it can hardly beall at his office. '

"'Well, I will not say strangers, ' she said out loud; 'it sounds--it sounds--I don't know how it sounds. But what I mean is, thatas yet I've only sung it before mamma!'"

'I declare I don't know which is the biggest fool of the two, 'said Uncle Bat, very rudely. ' As for him, if I had him on theforecastle of a man-of-war for a day or two, I'd soon teach himto speak out. '

'You forget, sir, ' said Charley, ' he's not a sailor, he's onlyin the Civil Service; we're all very bashful in the CivilService. '

'I think he is rather spooney, I must say, ' said Katie; whereuponMrs. Woodward went on reading. 

"'It's a sweet thing, isn't it?' said Macassar. 

"'Oh, very!' said Crinoline, with a rapturous expression whichpervaded her whole head and shoulders as well as her face andbust--'very sweet, and so new. '

"'It quite comes home to me, ' said Macassar, and he sigheddeeply. 

"'Then it is at his office, ' said Crinoline to herself; and shesighed also. 

"They both sat silent for a while, looking into the square--Crinoline was at one window, and Macassar at the other: 'I mustgo now, ' said he: 'I promised to be back at three. '

"'Back where?' said she. 

"'At my office, ' said he. 

"Crinoline sighed. After all, it was at his office; it was tooevident that it was there, and nowhere else. Well, and why shouldit not be there? why should not Macassar Jones be true to hisduty and to his country? What had she to do with his heart? Whyshould she wish it elsewhere? 'Twas thus she tried to consoleherself, but in vain. Had she had an office of her own it mightperhaps have been different; but Crinoline was only a woman; andoften she sighed over the degradation of her lot. 

"'Good morning, Miss Crinoline, ' said he. 

"'Good morning, Mr. Macassar, ' said she; 'mamma will so regretthat she has lost the pleasure of seeing you. '

"And then she rung the bell. Macassar went downstairs perhapssomewhat slower, with perhaps more of melancholy than when heentered. The page opened the hall-door with alacrity, and shut itbehind him with a slam. 

"All honour to the true and brave!

"Crinoline again took up the note of her sorrow, and with herlute in her hand, she warbled forth the line which stuck like athorn in her sweet bosom:--

His heart is in his office--his heart IS ALWAYS _there_. "

'There, ' said Mrs. Woodward, 'that's the end of the firstchapter. '

'Well, I like the page the best, ' said Linda, 'because he seemsto know what he is about. '

'Oh, so does the lady, ' said Charley; 'but it wouldn't at all doif we made the hero and heroine go about their work like humdrumpeople. You'll see that the Lady Crinoline knows very well what'swhat. '

'Oh, Charley, pray don't tell us, ' said Katie; 'I do so like Mr. Macassar, he is so spooney; pray go on, mamma. '

'I'm ready, ' said Mrs. Woodward, again taking up the manuscript. 

"CHAPTER II

"The lovely Crinoline was the only daughter of fond parents; andthough they were not what might be called extremely wealthy, considering the vast incomes of some residents in the metropolis, and were not perhaps wont to mix in the highest circles of theBelgravian aristocracy, yet she was enabled to dress in all theelegance of fashion, and contrived to see a good deal of thatsociety which moves in the highly respectable neighbourhood ofRussell Square and Gower Street. 

"Her dresses were made at the distinguished establishment ofMadame Mantalini, in Hanover Square; at least she was in thehabit of getting one dress there every other season, and this wasquite sufficient among her friends to give her a reputation fordealing in the proper quarter. Once she had got a bonnet directfrom Paris, which gave her ample opportunity of expressing afrequent opinion not favourable to the fabricators of a Britisharticle. She always took care that her shoes had within them thename of a French cordonnier; and her gloves were made to order inthe Rue Du Bac, though usually bought and paid for in TottenhamCourt Road. "

'What a false creature!' said Linda. 

'False!' said Charley; 'and how is a girl to get along if she benot false? What girl could live for a moment before the world ifshe were to tell the whole truth about the get-up of herwardrobe--the patchings and make-believes, the chipped ribbonsand turned silks, the little bills here, and the little billsthere? How else is an allowance of £20 a year to be madecompatible with an appearance of unlimited income? How else areyoung men to be taught to think that in an affair of dress moneyis a matter of no moment whatsoever?'

'Oh, Charley, Charley, don't be slanderous, ' said Mrs. Woodward. 

'I only repeat what the editor says to me--I know nothing aboutit myself. Only we are requested 'to hold the mirror up tonature, '--and to art too, I believe. We are to set these thingsright, you know. '

'We--who are we?' said Katie. 

'Why, the _Daily Delight_, ' said Charley. 

'But I hope there's nothing false in patching and turning, ' saidMrs. Woodward; 'for if there be, I'm the falsest woman alive. 

 To gar the auld claes look amaist as weel's the new

is, I thought, one of the most legitimate objects of a woman'sdiligence. '

'It all depends on the spirit of the stitches, ' said Charley thecensor. 

'Well, I must say I don't like mending up old clothes a bitbetter than Charley does, ' said Katie; 'but pray go on, mamma;'so Mrs. Woodward continued to read. 

"On the day of Macassar's visit in Tavistock Square, Crinolinewas dressed in a most elegant morning costume. It was a verylight barege muslin, extremely full; and which, as she hadassured her friend, Miss Manasseh, of Keppel Street, had beensent home from the establishment in Hanover Square only the daybefore. I am aware that Miss Manasseh instantly propagated anill-natured report that she had seen the identical dress in amilliner's room up two pairs back in Store Street; but then MissManasseh was known to be envious; and had moreover seen twelveseasons out in those localities, whereas the fair Crinoline, young thing, had graced Tavistock Square only for two years; andher mother was ready to swear that she had never passed thenursery door till she came there. The ground of the dress was alight pea-green, and the pattern was ivy wreaths entwined withpansies and tulips--each flounce showed a separate wreath--andthere were nine flounces, the highest of which fairy circles wasabout three inches below the smallest waist that ever was tightlygirded in steel and whalebone. 

"Macassar had once declared, in a moment of ecstatic energy, thata small waist was the chiefest grace in woman. How often had theLady Crinoline's maid, when in the extreme agony of her labour, put a malediction on his name on account of this speech!

"It is unnecessary to speak of the drapery of the arms, whichshowed the elaborate lace of the sleeve beneath, and sometimesalso the pearly whiteness of that rounded arm. This was a sightwhich would almost drive Macassar to distraction. At such momentsas that the hopes of the patriotic poet for the good of the CivilService were not strictly fulfilled in the heart of MacassarJones. Oh, if the Lady Crinoline could but have known!

"It is unnecessary also to describe the strange and hiddenmechanism of that mysterious petticoat which gave such fulldimensions, such ample sweeping proportions to the _toutensemble_ of the lady's appearance. It is unnecessary, andwould perhaps be improper, and as far as I am concerned, iscertainly impossible. "

Here Charley blushed, as Mrs. Woodward looked at him from overthe top of the paper. 

"Let it suffice to say that she could envelop a sofa without theslightest effort, throw her draperies a yard and a half from heron either side without any appearance of stretching, completelyfill a carriage; or, which was more frequently her fate, entangleherself all but inextricably in a cab. 

"A word, however, must be said of those little feet that peepedout now and again so beautifully from beneath the artisticconstructions above alluded to-of the feet, or perhaps rather ofthe shoes. But yet, what can be said of them successfully? ThatFrench name so correctly spelt, so elaborately accented, sobeautifully finished in gold letters, which from their form, however, one would say that the _cordonnier_ must have importedfrom England, was only visible to those favoured knights who wereoccasionally permitted to carry the shoes home in their pockets. 

"But a word must be said about the hair dressed _àl'imperatrice_, redolent of the sweetest patchouli, disclosingall the glories of that ingenuous, but perhaps too open brow. Aword must be said; but, alas! how inefficacious to do justice tothe ingenuity so wonderfully displayed! The hair of the LadyCrinoline was perhaps more lovely than abundant: to produce thatglorious effect, that effect which has now symbolized amongEnglish lasses the head-dress _à l'imperatrice_ as the oneidea of feminine beauty, every hair was called on to give itsseparate aid. As is the case with so many of us who are anxiousto put our best foot foremost, everything was abstracted from therear in order to create a show in the front. Then to complete thegarniture of the head, to make all perfect, to leave no point ofescape for the susceptible admirer of modern beauty, some dorsalappendage was necessary of mornings as well as in the more fullybedizened period of evening society. 

"Everything about the sweet Crinoline was wont to be green. It isthe sweetest and most innocent of colours; but, alas! a colourdangerous for the heart's ease of youthful beauty. Hanging fromthe back of her head were to be seen moss and fennel, and variousgrasses--rye grass and timothy, trefoil and cinquefoil, vetches, and clover, and here and there young fern. A story was told, butdoubtless false, as it was traced to the mouth of Miss Manasseh, that once while Crinoline was reclining in a paddock at Richmond, having escaped with the young Macassar from the heat of aneighbouring drawing-room, a cow had attempted to feed from herhead. "

'Oh, Charley, a cow!' said Katie. 

'Well, but you see I don't give it as true, ' said Charley. 

'I shall never get it done if Katie won't hold her tongue, ' saidMrs. Woodward. 

"But perhaps it was when at the seaside in September, atBroadstairs, Herne Bay, or Dover, Crinoline and her mammainvigorated themselves with the sea-breezes of the ocean--perhapsit was there that she was enabled to assume that covering for herhead in which her soul most delighted. It was a Tom and Jerry hatturned up at the sides, with a short but knowing feather, velvettrimmings, and a steel buckle blinking brightly in the noondaysun. Had Macassar seen her in this he would have yielded himselfher captive at once, quarter or no quarter. It was the mostmarked, and perhaps the most attractive peculiarity of the LadyCrinoline's face, that the end of her nose was a little turnedup. This charm, in unison with the upturned edges of her cruel-hearted hat, was found by many men to be invincible. 

"We all know how dreadful is the spectacle of a Saracen's head, as it appears, or did appear, painted on a huge board at the topof Snow Hill. From that we are left to surmise with whattremendous audacity of countenance, with what terror-strikingpreparations of the outward man, an Eastern army is led tobattle. Can any men so fearfully bold in appearance ever turntheir backs and fly? They look as though they could destroy bythe glance of their ferocious eyes. Who could withstand thehirsute horrors of those fiery faces?

"There is just such audacity, a courage of a similar description, perhaps we may say an equal invincibility, in the charms of thoseTom and Jerry hats when duly put on, over a face of the properdescription--over such a face as that of the Lady Crinoline. Theygive to the wearer an appearance of concentration of pluck. Butas the Eastern array does quail before the quiet valour ofEurope, so, we may perhaps say, does the open, quick audacity ofthe Tom and Jerry tend to less powerful results than the modestenduring patience of the bonnet. "

'So ends the second chapter--bravo, Charley, ' said Mrs. Woodward. 'In the name of the British female public, I beg to thank you foryour exertions. '

'The editor said I was to write down turned-up hats, ' saidCharley. 'I rather like them myself. '

'I hope my new slouch is not an audacious Saracen's head, ' saidLinda. 

'Or mine, ' said Katie. 'But you may say what you like about themnow; for mine is drowned. '

'Come, girls, there are four more chapters, I see. Let me finishit, and then we can discuss it afterwards. '

"CHAPTER III

"Having thus described the Lady Crinoline----"

'You haven't described her at all, ' said Linda; 'you haven't gotbeyond her clothes yet. '

'There is nothing beyond them, ' said Charley. 

'You haven't even described her face, ' said Katie; 'you have onlysaid that she had a turned-up nose. '

'There is nothing further that one can say about it, ' saidCharley. 

"Having thus described the Lady Crinoline, ' continued Mrs. Woodward, 'it now becomes our duty, as impartial historians, togive some account of Mr. Macassar Jones. 

"We are not prepared to give the exact name of the artist by whomMr. Macassar Jones was turned out to the world so perfectlydressed a man. Were we to do so, the signal service done to oneestablishment by such an advertisement would draw down on us theanger of the trade at large, and the tailors of London would bein league against the _Daily Delight_. It is sufficient toremark that the artist's offices are not a hundred miles fromPall Mall. Nor need we expressly name the bootmaker to whom isconfided the task of making those feet 'small by degrees andbeautifully less. ' The process, we understand, has been painful, but the effect is no doubt remunerative. 

"In three especial walks of dress has Macassar Jones been morethan ordinarily careful to create a sensation; and we believe wemay assert that he has been successful in all. We have alreadyalluded to his feet. Ascending from them, and ascending not far, we come to his coat. It is needless to say that it is a frock;needless to say that it is a long frock--long as those usuallyworn by younger infants, and apparently made so for the samepurpose. But look at the exquisitely small proportions of thecollar; look at the grace of the long sleeves, the length ofback, the propriety, the innate respectability, the perfectdecorum--we had almost said the high moral worth--of the whole. Who would not willingly sacrifice any individual existence thathe might become the exponent of such a coat? Macassar Jones wasproud to do so. 

"But he had bestowed perhaps the greatest amount of personalattention on his collar. It was a matter more within his owngrasp than those great and important articles to which attentionhas been already drawn; but one, nevertheless, on which he wasable to expend the whole amount of his energy and genius. Somepeople may think that an all-rounder is an all-rounder, and thatif one is careful to get an all-rounder one has done all that isnecessary. But so thought not Macassar Jones. Some men wearcollars of two plies of linen, some men of three; but MacassarJones wore collars of four plies. Some men--some sensual, self-indulgent men--appear to think that the collar should be made forthe neck; but Macassar Jones knew better. He, who never sparedhim self when the cause was good, he knew that the neck had beenmade for the collar--it was at any rate evident that such was thecase with his own. Little can be said of his head, except that itwas small, narrow, and genteel; but his hat might be spoken of, and perhaps with advantage. Of the loose but studied tie of hisinch-wide cravat a paragraph might be made; but we would fain notbe tedious. 

"We will only further remark that he always carried with him awonderful representation of himself, like to him to a miracle, only smaller in its dimensions, like as a duodecimo is to afolio--a babe, as it were, of his own begetting--a little_alter ego_ in which he took much delight. It was his umbrella. Look at the delicate finish of its lower extremity; look at the long, narrow, and well-made coat in which it is enveloped from its neckdownwards, without speck, or blemish, or wrinkle; look at the littlewooden head, nicely polished, with the effigy of a human face onone side of it--little eyes it has, and a sort of nose; look closer at it, and you will perceive a mouth, not expressive indeed, but still it isthere--a mouth and chin; and is it, or is it not, an attempt at a pairof whiskers? It certainly has a moustache. 

"Such were Mr. Macassar Jones and his umbrella. He was anexcellent clerk, and did great credit to the important office towhich he was attached--namely, that of the Episcopal Audit Board. He was much beloved by the other gentlemen who were closelyconnected with him in that establishment; and may be said, forthe first year or two of his service, to have been, not exactlythe life and soul, but, we may perhaps say with more propriety, the pervading genius of the room in which he sat. 

"But, alas! at length a cloud came over his brow. At first it wasbut a changing shadow; but it settled into a dark veil of sorrowwhich obscured all his virtues, and made the worthy senior of hisroom shake his thin grey locks once and again. He shook them morein sorrow than in anger; for he knew that Macassar was in love, and he remembered the days of his youth. Yes; Macassar was inlove. He had seen the lovely Crinoline. To see was to admire; toadmire was to love; to love--that is, to love her, to loveCrinoline, the exalted, the sought-after, the one so much indemand, as he had once expressed himself to one of his bosomfriends--to love her was to despair. He did despair; anddespairing sighed, and sighing was idle. 

"But he was not all idle. The genius of the man had that withinit which did not permit itself to evaporate in mere sighs. Sighs, with the high-minded, force themselves into the guise of poetry, and so it had been with him. He got leave of absence for a week, and shut himself up alone in his lodgings; for a week in hislodgings, during the long evenings of winter, did he remainunseen and unheard of. His landlady thought that he was in debt, and his friends whispered abroad that he had caught scarlatina. But at the end of the seven days he came forth, pale indeed, butwith his countenance lighted up by ecstatic fire, and as hestarted for his office, he carefully folded and put into hispocket the elegantly written poem on which he had been sointently engaged. "

'I'm so glad we are to have more poetry, ' said Katie. 'Is itanother song?'

'You'll see, ' said Mrs. Woodward. 

"Macassar had many bosom friends at his office, to all of whom, one by one, he had confided the tale of his love. For a while hedoubted to which of them he should confide the secret of hisinspiration; but genius will not hide its head under a bushel;and thus, before long, did Macassar's song become the commonproperty of the Episcopal Audit Board. Even the Bishops sang it, so Macassar was assured by one of his brother clerks who was madeof a coarser clay than his colleague--even the Bishops sang itwhen they met in council together on their own peculiar bench. 

"It would be useless to give the whole of it here; for itcontained ten verses. The last two were those which Macassar waswont to sing to himself, as he wandered lonely under the elms ofKensington Gardens. 

 "'Oh, how she walks, And how she talks, And sings like a bird serene; But of this be sure While the world shall endure, The loveliest lady that'll ever be seen Will still be the Lady Crinoline, The lovely Lady Crinoline. 

With her hair done all _à l'impératrice_, Sweetly done with the best of grease, She looks like a Goddess or Queen, -- And so I declare, And solemnly swear, That the loveliest lady that ever was seen Is still the Lady Crinoline, The lovely Lady Crinoline. '"

'And so ends the third chapter, ' said Mrs. Woodward. 

Both Katie and Linda were beginning to criticize, but Mrs. Woodward repressed them sternly, and went on with

"CHAPTER IV

"'It was a lovely day towards the end of May that Macassar Jones, presenting himself before the desk of the senior clerk at oneo'clock, begged for permission to be absent for two hours. Therequest was preferred with meek and hesitating voice, and withdowncast eyes. 

"The senior clerk shook his grey locks sadly! sadly he shook histhin grey locks, for he grieved at the sight which he saw. 'Twassad to see the energies of this young man thus sapped in hisearly youth by the all-absorbing strength of a hopeless passion. Crinoline was now, as it were, a household word at the EpiscopalAudit Board. The senior clerk believed her to be cruel, and as heknew for what object these two hours of idleness were requested, he shook his thin grey locks in sorrow. 

"'I'll be back at three, sir, punctual, ' said Macassar. 

"'But, Mr. Jones, you are absent nearly every day for the sameperiod. '

"'To-day shall be the last; to-day shall end it all, ' saidMacassar, with a look of wretched desperation. 

"'What--what would Sir Gregory say?' said the senior clerk. 

"Macassar Jones sighed deeply. Nature had not made the seniorclerk a cruel man; but yet this allusion _was_ cruel. Theyoung Macassar had drunk deeply of the waters that welled fromthe fountain of Sir Gregory's philosophy. He had been proud tosit humbly at the feet of such a Gamaliel; and now it rent hisyoung heart to be thus twitted with the displeasure of the greatmaster whom he so loved and so admired. 

"'Well, go, Mr. Jones, ' said the senior clerk, 'go, but as yougo, resolve that to-morrow you will remain at your desk. Now go, and may prosperity attend you!'

"'All shall be decided to-day, ' said Macassar, and as he spoke anunusual spark gleamed in his eye. He went, and as he went thesenior clerk shook his thin grey hairs. He was a bachelor, and hedistrusted the charms of the sex. 

"Macassar, returning to his desk, took up his hat and hisumbrella, and went forth. His indeed was a plight at which thatold senior clerk might well shake his thin grey hairs in sorrow, for Macassar was the victim of mysterious circumstances, which, from his youth upwards, had marked him out for a fate of noordinary nature. The tale must now be told. "

'O dear!' said Linda; 'is it something horrid?'

'I hope it is, ' said Katie; 'perhaps he's already married to someold hag or witch. '

'You don't say who his father and mother are; but I suppose he'llturn out to be somebody else's son, ' said Linda. 

'He's a very nice young man for a small tea-party, at any rate, 'said Uncle Bat. 

"The tale must now be told, " continued Mrs. Woodward. "In hisearly years Macassar Jones had had a maiden aunt. This lady died--"

'Oh, mamma, if you read it in that way I shall certainly cry, 'said Katie. 

'Well, my dear, if your heart is so susceptible you had betterindulge it. ' "This lady died and left behind her----"

'What?' said Linda. 

'A diamond ring?' said Katie. 

'A sealed manuscript, which was found in a secret drawer?'suggested Linda. 

'Perhaps a baby, ' said Uncle Bat. 

"And left behind her a will----"

'Did she leave anything else?' asked Norman. 

'Ladies and gentlemen, if I am to be interrupted in this way, Ireally must resign my task, ' said Mrs. Woodward; 'we shall neverget to bed. '

'I won't say another word, ' said Katie. 

"In his early years Macassar had had a maiden aunt. This ladydied and left behind her a will, in which, with many expressionsof the warmest affection and fullest confidence, she left £3, 000in the three per cents----"

'What are the three per cents?' said Katie. 

'The three per cents is a way in which people get some of theirmoney to spend regularly, when they have got a large sum lockedup somewhere, ' said Linda. 

'Oh!' said Katie. 

'Will you hold your tongue, miss?' said Mrs. Woodward. 

"Left £3, 000 in the three per cents to her nephew. But she leftit on these conditions, that he should be married before he wastwenty-five, and that he should have a child lawfully born in thebonds of wedlock before he was twenty-six. And then the will wenton to state that the interest of the money should accumulate tillMacassar had attained the latter age; and that in the event ofhis having failed to comply with the conditions and stipulationsabove named, the whole money, principal and interest, should beset aside, and by no means given up to the said Macassar, butapplied to the uses, purposes, and convenience of that excellentcharitable institution, denominated the Princess Charlotte'sLying-in Hospital. 

"Now the nature of this will had been told in confidence byMacassar to some of his brother clerks, and was consequently wellknown at the Episcopal Audit Board. It had given rise there to aspirit of speculation against which the senior clerk hadprotested in vain. Bets were made, some in favour of Macassar, and some in that of the hospital; but of late the odds were goingmuch against our hero. It was well known that in three shortmonths he would attain that disastrous age, which, if it foundhim a bachelor, would find him also denuded of his legacy. Andthen how short a margin remained for the second event! The oddswere daily rising against Macassar, and as he heard the betsoffered and taken at the surrounding desks, his heart quailedwithin him. 

"And the lovely Crinoline, she also had heard of this eccentricwill; she and her mother. £3, 000 with interest arising for somehalf score of years would make a settlement by no meansdespicable in Tavistock Square, and would enable Macassar tomaintain a house over which even Crinoline need not be ashamed topreside. But what if the legacy should be lost! She also knew toa day what was the age of her swain; she knew how close upon herwas that day, which, if she passed it unwedded, would see herresolved to be deaf for ever to the vows of Macassar. Still, ifshe managed well, there might be time--at any rate for themarriage. 

"But, alas! Macassar made no vows; none at least which the mostattentive ear could consider to be audible. Crinoline's ear wasattentive, but hitherto in vain. He would come there daily toTavistock Square; daily would that true and valiant page lay openthe path to his mistress's feet; daily would Macassar sit therefor a while and sigh. But the envious hour would pass away, whilethe wished-for word was still unsaid; and he would hurry back, and complete with figures, too often erroneous, the audit of somediocesan balance. 

"'You must help him, my dear, ' said Crinoline's mamma. 

"'But he says nothing, mamma, ' said Crinoline in tears. 

"'You must encourage him to speak, my dear. '

"'I do encourage him; but by that time it is always threeo'clock, and then he has to go away. '

"'You should be quicker, my dear. You should encourage him moreat once. Now try to-day; if you can't do anything to-day I reallymust get your papa to interfere. '

"Crinoline had ever been an obedient child, and now, as ever, shedetermined to obey. But it was a hard task for her. In threemonths he would be twenty-five--in fifteen months twenty-six. She, however, would do her best; and then, if her efforts wereunavailing, she could only trust to Providence and her papa. 

"With sad and anxious heart did Macassar that day take up his newsilk hat, take up also his darling umbrella, and descend thesombre steps of the Episcopal Audit Office. 'Seven to one on theLying-in, ' were the last words which reached his ears as the doorof his room closed behind him. His was a dreadful position. Whatif that sweet girl, that angel whom he so worshipped, what ifshe, melted by his tale of sorrow--that is, if he could prevailon himself to tell it--should take pity, and consent to behurried prematurely to the altar of Hymen; and then if, afterall, the legacy should be forfeited! Poverty for himself he couldendure; at least he thought so; but poverty for her! could hebear that? What if he should live to see her deprived of thatgreen headdress, robbed of those copious draperies, reduced toEnglish shoes, compelled to desert that shrine in Hanover Square, and all through him! His brain reeled round, his head swam, histemples throbbed, his knees knocked against each other, his bloodstagnated, his heart collapsed, a cold clammy perspirationcovered him from head to foot; he could hardly reach thecourtyard, and there obtain the support of a pillar. Dreadfulthoughts filled his mind; the Thames, the friendly Thames, wasrunning close to him; should he not put a speedy end to all hismisery? Those horrid words, that 'seven to one on the Lying-in, 'still rang in his ears; were the chances really seven to oneagainst his getting his legacy? 'Oh!' said he, 'my aunt, my aunt, my aunt, my aunt, my aunt!'

"But at last he roused the spirit of the man within him. 'Faintheart never won fair lady, ' seemed to be whispered to him fromevery stone in Somerset House. The cool air blowing through thepassages revived him, and he walked forth through the wideportals, resolving that he would return a happy, thriving lover, or that he would return no more--that night. What would he carefor Sir Gregory, what for the thin locks of the senior clerk, ifCrinoline should reject him?

"It was his custom, as he walked towards Tavistock Square, tostop at a friendly pastry-cook's in Covent Garden, and revive hisspirits for the coming interview with Banbury tarts and cherry-brandy. In the moments of his misery something about the pastry-cook's girl, something that reminded him of Crinoline, it wasprobably her nose, had tempted him to confide to her his love. Hehad told her everything; the kind young creature pitied him, andas she ministered to his wants, was wont to ask sweetly as to hispassion. 

"'And how was the lovely Lady Crinoline yesterday?' asked she. Hehad entrusted to her a copy of his poem. 

"'More beauteous than ever, ' he said, but somewhat indistinctly, for his mouth was clogged with the Banbury tart. 

"'And good-natured, I hope. Indeed, I don't know how she canresist, ' said the girl; 'I'm sure you'll make it all right to-day, for I see you've got your winning way with you. '

"Winning way, with seven to one against him! Macassar sighed, andspilt some of his cherry-brandy over his shirt front. The kind-hearted girl came and wiped it for him. 'I think I'll haveanother glass, ' said he, with a deep voice. He did take anotherglass--and also ate another tart. 

"'He'll pop to-day as sure as eggs, now he's taken them twoglasses of popping powder, ' said the girl, as he went out of theshop. 'Well, it's astonishing to me what the men find to beafraid of. '

"And so Macassar hastened towards Tavistock Square, all tooquickly; for, as he made his way across Great Russell Street, hefound that he was very hot. He leant against the rail, and, taking off his hat and gloves, began to cool himself, and wipeaway the dust with his pocket-handkerchief. 'I wouldn't haveminded the expense of a cab, ' said he to himself, 'only thechances are so much against me: seven to one!'

"But he had no time to lose. He had had but two precious hours athis disposal, and thirty minutes were already gone. He hurried onto Tavistock Square, and soon found that well-known door openbefore him. 

"'The Lady Crinoline sits upstairs alone, ' said the page, 'and isa-thinking of you. ' Then he added in a whisper, 'Do you go at herstraight, Mr. Macassar; slip-slap, and no mistake. '

"All honour to the true and brave!

"CHAPTER V

"As Macassar walked across the drawing-room, Crinoline failed toperceive his presence, although his boots did creak ratherloudly. Such at least must be presumed to have been the case, forshe made no immediate sign of having noticed him. She was sittingat the open window, with her lute in hand, gazing into thevacancy of the square below; and as Macassar walked across theroom, a deep sigh escaped from her bosom. The page closed thedoor, and at the same moment Crinoline touched her lute, orrather pulled it at the top and bottom, and threw one wild witchnote to the wind. As she did so, a line of a song escaped fromher lips with a low, melancholy, but still rapturous cadence--

 'His heart is at his office, his heart is _always_ there. '

"'Oh, Mr. Macassar, is that you?' she exclaimed. She struggled torise, but, finding herself unequal to the effort, she sank backagain on a chair, dropped her lute on a soft footstool, and thenburied her face in her hands. It was dreadful for Macassar towitness such agony. 

"'Is anything the matter?' said he. 

"'The matter!' said she. 'Ah! ah!'

"'I hope you are not sick?' said he. 

"'Sick!' said she. 'Well, I fear I am very sick. '

"'What is it?' said he. 'Perhaps only bilious, ' he suggested. 

"'Oh! oh! oh!' said she. 

"'I see I'm in the way; and I think I had better go, ' and so heprepared to depart. 'No! no! no!' said she, jumping up from herchair. 'Oh! Mr. Macassar, don't be so cruel. Do you wish to seeme sink on the carpet before your feet?'

"Macassar denied the existence of any such wish; and said that hehumbly begged her pardon if he gave any offence. 

"'Offence!' said she, smiling sweetly on him; sweetly, but yetsadly. 'Offence! no--no offence. Indeed, I don't know how youcould--but never mind--I am such a silly thing. One's feelingswill sometimes get the better of one; don't you often find itso?'

"'O yes! quite so, ' said Macassar. 'I think it's the heat. '

"'He's a downright noodle, ' said Crinoline's mamma to her sister-in-law, who lived with them. The two were standing behind a chinkin the door, which separated the drawing-room from a chamberbehind it. 

"'Won't you sit down, Mr. Macassar?' Macassar sat down. 'Mammawill be so sorry to miss you again. She's calling somewhere inGrosvenor Square, I believe. She wanted me to go with her; but Icould not bring myself to go with her to-day. It's useless forthe body to go out, when the heart still remains at home. Don'tyou find it so?'

"'Oh, quite so, ' said Macassar. The cherry-brandy had alreadyevaporated before the blaze of all that beauty, and he wasbethinking himself how he might best take himself off. Let thehospital have the filthy lucre! He would let the money go, andwould show the world that he loved for the sake of love alone! Helooked at his watch, and found that it was already past two. 

"Crinoline, when she saw that watch, knew that something must bedone at once. She appreciated more fully than her lover didthe value of this world's goods; and much as she doubtlesssympathized with the wants of the hospital in question, she feltthat charity should begin at home. So she fairly burst out into aflood of tears. 

"Macassar was quite beside himself. He had seen her weep before, but never with such frightful violence. She rushed up from herchair, and passing so close to him as nearly to upset him by thewaft of her petticoats, threw herself on to an ottoman, andhiding her face on the stump in the middle of it, sobbed andscreeched, till Macassar feared that the buttons behind her dresswould crack and fly off. 

"'Oh! oh! oh!' sobbed Crinoline. 

"'It must be the heat, ' said Macassar, knocking down a flower-potin his attempt to open the window a little wider. 'O dear, whathave I done?' said he. 'I think I'd better go. '

"'Never mind the flower-pot, ' said Crinoline, looking up throughher tears. 'Oh! oh! oh! oh! me. Oh! my heart. '

"Macassar looked at his watch. He had only forty-five minutesleft for everything. The expense of a cab would, to be sure, benothing if he were successful; but then, what chance was there ofthat?

"'Can I do anything for you in the Strand?' said he. 'I must beat my office at three. '

"'In the Strand!' she screeched. 'What could he do for me in theStrand? Heartless--heartless--heartless! Well, go--go--go to youroffice, Mr. Macassar; your heart is there, I know. It is alwaysthere. Go--don't let me stand between you and your duties--between you and Sir Gregory. Oh! how I hate that man! Go! whyshould I wish to prevent you? Of course I have no such wish. Tome it is quite indifferent; only, mamma will be so sorry to missyou. You don't know how mamma loves you. She loves you almost asa son. But go--go; pray go!'

"And then Crinoline looked at him. Oh! how she looked at him! Itwas as though all the goddesses of heaven were inviting him tocome and eat ambrosia with them on a rosy-tinted cloud. All thegoddesses, did we say? No, but one goddess, the most beautiful ofthem all. His heart beat violently against his ribs, and he feltthat he was almost man enough for anything. Instinctively hishand went again to his waistcoat pocket. 

"'You shan't look at your watch so often, ' said she, putting upher delicate hand and stopping his. 'There, I'll look at it foryou. It's only just two, and you needn't go to your office forthis hour;' and as she squeezed it back into his pocket, he felther fingers pressing against his heart, and felt her hair--doneall _à l'impératrice_--in sweet contact with his cheek. 'There, I shall hold it there, ' said she, 'so that you shan't look at it again. '

"'Will you stay till I bid you go?' said Crinoline. 

"Macassar declared that he did not care a straw for the seniorclerk, or for Sir Gregory either. He would stay there for ever, he said. 

"'What! for ever in mamma's drawing-room?' said Crinoline, opening wide her lovely eyes with surprise. 

"'For ever near to you, ' said Macassar. 

"'Oh, Mr. Macassar, ' said Crinoline, dropping her hand from hiswaistcoat, and looking bashfully towards the ground, 'what canyou mean?'

"Down went Macassar on his knees, and down went Crinoline intoher chair. There was perhaps rather too much distance betweenthem, but that did not much matter now. There he was on bothknees, with his hands clasped together as they were wont to bewhen he said his prayers, with his umbrella beside him on oneside, and his hat on the other, making his declaration in fulland unmistakable terms. A yard or two of floor, more or less, between them, was neither here nor there. At first the bashfulCrinoline could not bring herself to utter a distinct consent, and Macassar was very nearly up and away, in a returning fit ofdespair. But her good-nature came to his aid; and as she quicklysaid, 'I will, I will, I will, ' he returned to his posture insomewhat nearer quarters, and was transported into the seventhheaven by the bliss of kissing her hand. 

"'Oh, Macassar!' said she. 

"'Oh, Crinoline!' said he. 

"'You must come and tell papa to-morrow, ' said she. 

"He readily promised to do so. 

"'You had better come to breakfast; before he goes into thecity, ' said she. 

"And so the matter was arranged, and the lovely Lady Crinolinebecame the affianced bride of the happy Macassar. 

"It was past three when he left the house, but what did he carefor that? He was so mad with joy that he did not even knowwhither he was going. He went on straight ahead, and came to nocheck, till he found himself waving his hat over his head in theNew Road. He then began to conceive that his conduct must havebeen rather wild, for he was brought to a stand-still in acrossing by four or five cabmen, who were rival candidates forhis custom. 

"'Somerset House, old brick!' he shouted out, as he jumped into ahansom, and as he did so he poked one of the other cabbiesplayfully in the ribs with his umbrella. 

"'Is mamma don't know as 'ow 'e's hout, I shouldn't vonder, ' saidthe cabman--and away went Macassar, singing at the top of hisvoice as he sat in the cab--

 'The loveliest lady that ever was seen Is the lovely Lady Crinoline. '

"The cab passed through Covent Garden on its way. 'Stop at thepastry-cook's at the corner, ' said Macassar up through the littletrap-door. The cab drew up suddenly. 'She's mine, she's mine!'shouted Macassar, rushing into the shop, and disregarding in theecstasy of the moment the various customers who were quietlyeating their ices. 'She's mine, she's mine!

 With her hair done all _á l'impératrice_, Sweetly done with the best of grease. 

And now for Somerset House. '

"Arrived at those ancient portals, he recklessly threweighteenpence to the cabman, and ran up the stone stairs whichled to his office. As he did so the clock, with iron tongue, tolled four. But what recked he what it tolled? He rushed intohis room, where his colleagues were now locking their desks, andwaving abroad his hat and his umbrella, repeated the chorus ofhis song. 'She's mine, she's mine--

 The loveliest lady that ever was seen Is the lovely Lady Crinoline;

and she's mine, she's mine!'

"Exhausted nature could no more. He sank into a chair, and hisbrother clerks stood in a circle around him. Soon a spirit oftriumph seemed to actuate them all; they joined hands in thatfriendly circle, and dancing with joyful glee, took up with onevoice the burden of the song--

 'Oh how she walks, And how she talks, And sings like a bird serene, But of this be sure, While the world shall endure, The loveliest lady that ever was seen Is still the Lady Crinoline-- The lovely Lady Crinoline. '

"And that old senior clerk with the thin grey hair--was he angryat this general ebullition of joy? O no! The just severity of hisdiscipline was always tempered with genial mercy. Not a word didhe say of that broken promise, not a word of the uncheckeddiocesan balance, not a word of Sir Gregory's anger. He shook histhin grey locks; but he shook them neither in sorrow nor inanger. 'God bless you, Macassar Jones, ', said he, 'God blessyou!'

"He too had once been young, had once loved, had once hoped andfeared, and hoped again, and had once knelt at the feet ofbeauty. But alas! he had knelt in vain. 

"'May God be with you, Macassar Jones, ' said he, as he walked outof the office door with his coloured bandana pressed to his eyes. 'May God be with you, and make your bed fruitful!'

 "'For the loveliest lady that ever was seen Is the lovely Lady Crinoline, '

shouted the junior clerks, still dancing in mad glee round thehappy lover. 

"We have said that they all joined in this kindly congratulationto their young friend. But no. There was one spirit there whomenvy had soured, one whom the happiness of another had mademiserable, one whose heart beat in no unison with these jocundsounds. As Macassar's joy was at its height, in the proud momentof his triumph, a hated voice struck his ears, and filled hissoul with dismay once more. 

"'There's two to one still on the Lying-in, ' said this hatefulLucifer. 

"And so Macassar was not all happy even yet, as he walked home tohis lodgings. 

"CHAPTER VI

"We have but one other scene to record, but one short scene, andthen our tale will be told and our task will be done. And thislast scene shall not, after the usual manner of novelists, bethat of the wedding, but rather one which in our eyes is of amuch more enduring interest. Crinoline and Macassar were dulymarried in Bloomsbury Church. The dresses are said to have comefrom the house in Hanover Square. Crinoline behaved herself withperfect propriety, and Macassar went through his work like a man. When we have said that, we have said all that need be said onthat subject. 

"But we must beg our readers to pass over the space of the nexttwelve months, and to be present with us in that front sitting-room of the elegant private lodgings, which the married couplenow prudently occupied in Alfred Place. Lodgings! yes, they wereonly lodgings; for not as yet did they know what might be theextent of their income. 

"In this room during the whole of a long autumn day sat Macassarin a frame of mind not altogether to be envied. During thegreater portion of it he was alone; but ever and anon somebustling woman would enter and depart without even deigning tonotice the questions which he asked. And then after a while hefound himself in company with a very respectable gentleman inblack, who belonged to the medical profession. 'Is it coming?'asked Macassar. 'Is it, is it coming?'

"'Well, we hope so--we hope so, ' said the medical gentleman. 'Ifnot to-day, it will be to-morrow. If I should happen to beabsent, Mrs. Gamp is all that you could desire. If not to-day, itwill certainly be to-morrow, '--and so the medical gentleman wenthis way. 

"Now the coming morrow would be Macassar's birthday. On thatmorrow he would be twenty-six. 

"All alone he sat there till the autumn sun gave way to theshades of evening. Some one brought him a mutton chop, but it wasraw and he could not eat; he went to the sideboard and preparedto make himself a glass of negus, but the water was all cold. Hiswater at least was cold, though Mrs. Gamp's was hot enough. Itwas a sad and mournful evening. He thought he would go out, forhe found that he was not wanted; but a low drizzling rainprevented him. Had he got wet he could not have changed hisclothes, for they were all in the wardrobe in his wife's room. All alone he sat till the shades of evening were hidden by theveil of night. 

"But what sudden noise is that he hears within the house? Why dothose heavy steps press so rapidly against the stairs? What feetare they which are so busy in the room above him? He opens thesitting-room door, but he can see nothing. He has been left therewithout a candle. He peers up the stairs, but a faint glimmer oflight shining through the keyhole of his wife's door is all thatmeets his eye. 'Oh, my aunt! my aunt!' he says as he leansagainst the banisters. 'My aunt, my aunt, my aunt!'

"What a birthday will this be for him on the morrow! He alreadyhears the sound of the hospital bells as they ring with joy atthe acquisition of their new wealth; he must dash from his lips, tear from his heart, banish for ever from his eyes, that visionof a sweet little cottage at Brompton, with a charming dressing-room for himself, and gas laid on all over the house. 

"'Lodgings! I hate, I detest lodgings!' he said to himself. 'Connubial bliss and furnished lodgings are not compatible. Myaunt, my aunt, for what misery hast thou not to answer! Oh, Mrs. Gamp, could you be so obliging as to tell me what o'clock it is?'The last question was asked as Mrs. Gamp suddenly entered theroom with a candle. Macassar's watch had been required for theuse of one of the servants. 

"'It's just half-past heleven, this wery moment as is, ' said Mrs. Gamp; 'and the finest boy babby as my heyes, which has seen amany, has ever sat upon. '

"Up, up to the ceiling went the horsehair cushion of the lodging-house sofa--up went the footstool after it, and its four woodenlegs in falling made a terrible clatter on the mahogany loo-table. Macassar in his joy got hold of Mrs. Gamp, and kissed herheartily, forgetful of the fumes of gin. 'Hurrah!' shouted he, 'hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! Oh, Mrs. Gamp, I feel so--so--so--Ireally don't know how I feel. '

"He danced round the room with noisy joy, till Mrs. Gamp made himunderstand how very unsuited were such riotous ebullitions to theweak state of his lady-love upstairs. He then gave over, not thedancing but the noise, and went on capering round the room withsuppressed steps, ever and anon singing to himself in a whisper, 'The loveliest lady that ever was seen Is still the Lady Crinoline. '

"A few minutes afterwards a knock at the door was heard, and themonthly nurse entered. She held something in her embrace; but hecould not see what. He looked down pryingly into her arms, and atthe first glance thought that it was his umbrella. But then heheard a little pipe, and he knew that it was his child. 

"We will not intrude further on the first interview betweenMacassar and his heir. "

 * * * * *

'And so ends the romantic history of "Crinoline and Macassar", 'said Mrs. Woodward; 'and I am sure, Charley, we are all very muchobliged to you for the excellent moral lessons you have givenus. '

'I'm so delighted with it, ' said Katie; 'I do so like thatMacassar. '

'So do I, ' said Linda, yawning; 'and the old man with the thingrey hair. '

'Come, girls, it's nearly one o'clock, and we'll go to bed, ' saidthe mother. 'Uncle Bat has been asleep these two hours. '

And so they went off to their respective chambers. 

CHAPTER XXIII

SURBITON COLLOQUIES

All further conversation in the drawing-room was forbidden forthat night. Mrs. Woodward would have willingly postponed thereading of Charley's story so as to enable Katie to go to bedafter the accident, had she been able to do so. But she was notable to do so without an exercise of a species of authority whichwas distasteful to her, and which was very seldom heard, seen, orfelt within the limits of Surbiton Cottage. It would moreoverhave been very ungracious to snub Charley's manuscript, just whenCharley had made himself such a hero; and she had, therefore, been obliged to read it. But now that it was done, she hurriedKatie off to bed, not without many admonitions. 

'Good night, ' she said to Charley; 'and God bless you, and makeyou always as happy as we are now. What a household we shouldhave had to-night, had it not been for you!'

Charley rubbed his eyes with his hand, and muttered somethingabout there not having been the slightest danger in the world. 

'And remember, Charley, ' she said, paying no attention to hismutterings, 'we always liked you--liked you very much; but likingand loving are very different things. Now you are a dear, dearfriend--one of the dearest. '

In answer to this, Charley was not even able to mutter; so hewent his way to the inn, and lay awake half the night thinkinghow Katie had kissed his hand: during the other half he dreamt, first that Katie was drowned, and then that Norah was his bride. 

Linda and Katie had been so hurried off, that they had only beenjust able to shake hands with Harry and Charley. There is, however, an old proverb, that though one man may lead a horse towater, a thousand cannot make him drink. It was easy to sendKatie to bed, but very difficult to prevent her talking when shewas there. 

'Oh, Linda, ' she said, 'what can I do for him?'

'Do for him?' said Linda; 'I don't know that you can do anythingfor him. I don't suppose he wants you to do anything. ' Lindastill looked on her sister as a child; but Katie was beginning toput away childish things. 

'Couldn't I make something for him, Linda--something for him tokeep as a present, you know? I would work so hard to get itdone. '

'Work a pair of slippers, as Crinoline did, ' said Linda. 

Katie was brushing her hair at the moment, and then she sat stillwith the brush in her hand, thinking. 'No, ' said she, after awhile, 'not a pair of slippers--I shouldn't like a pair ofslippers. '

'Why not?' said Linda. 

'Oh--I don't know--but I shouldn't. ' Katie had said thatCrinoline was working slippers for Macassar because she was inlove with him; and having said so, she could not now workslippers for Charley. Poor Katie! she was no longer a child whenshe thought thus. 

'Then make him a purse, ' said Linda. 

'A purse is such a little thing. '

'Then work him the cover for a sofa, like what mamma and I aredoing for Gertrude. '

'But he hasn't got a house, ' said Katie. 

'He'll have a house by the time you've done the sofa, and a wifeto sit on it too. '

'Oh, Linda, you are so ill-natured. '

'Why, child, what do you want me to say? If you were to give himone of those grand long tobacco pipes they have in the shopwindows, that's what he'd like the best; or something of thatsort. I don't think he cares much for girls' presents, such aspurses and slippers. '

'Doesn't he?' said Katie, mournfully. 

'No; not a bit. You know he's such a rake. '

'Oh! Linda; I don't think he's so very bad, indeed I don't; andmamma doesn't think so; and you know Harry said on Easter Sundaythat he was much better than he used to be. '

'I know Harry is very good-natured to him. '

'And isn't Charley just as good-natured to Harry? I am quite surehe is. Harry has only to ask the least thing, and Charley alwaysdoes it. Do you remember how Charley went up to town for him theSunday before last?'

'And so he ought, ' said Linda. 'He ought to do whatever Harrytells him. '

'Well, Linda, I don't know why he ought, ' said Katie. 'They arenot brothers, you know, nor yet even cousins. '

'But Harry is very--so very--so very superior, you know, ' saidLinda. 

'I don't know any such thing, ' said Katie. 

'Oh! Katie, don't you know that Charley is such a rake?'

'But rakes are just the people who don't do whatever they aretold; so that's no reason. And I am quite sure that Charley ismuch the cleverer. '

'And I am quite sure he is not--nor half so clever; nor nearly sowell educated. Why, don't you know the navvies are the mostignorant young men in London? Charley says so himself. '

'That's his fun, ' said Katie: 'besides, he always makes little ofhimself. I am quite sure Harry could never have made all thatabout Macassar and Crinoline out of his own head. '

'No! because he doesn't think of such nonsensical things. Ideclare, Miss Katie, I think you are in love with MasterCharley. '

Katie, who was still sitting at the dressing-table, blushed up toher forehead; and at the same time her eyes were suffused withtears. But there was no one to see either of those tell-talesymptoms, for Linda was in bed. 

'I know he saved my life, ' said Katie, as soon as she could trustherself to speak without betraying her emotion--'I know hejumped into the river after me, and very, very nearly drownedhimself; and I don't think any other man in the world would havedone so much for me besides him. '

'Oh, Katie! Harry would in a moment. '

'Not for me; perhaps he might for you--though I'm not quite surethat he would. ' It was thus that Katie took her revenge on hersister. 

'I'm quite sure he would for anybody, even for Sally. ' Sally wasan assistant in the back kitchen. 'But I don't mean to say, Katie, that you shouldn't feel grateful to Charley; of course youshould. '

'And so I do, ' said Katie, now bursting out into tears, overdoneby her emotion and fatigue; 'and so I do--and I do love him, andwill love him, if he's ever so much a rake! But you know, Linda, that is very different from being in love; and it was very ill-natured of you to say so, very. '

Linda was out of bed in a trice, and sitting with her arm roundher sister's neck. 

'Why, you darling little foolish child, you! I was onlyquizzing, ' said she. 'Don't you know that I love Charley too?'

'But you shouldn't quiz about such a thing as that. If you'dfallen into the river, and Harry had pulled you out, then you'dknow what I mean; but I'm not at all sure that he could have doneit. '

Katie's perverse wickedness on this point was very nearly givingrise to another contest between the sisters. Linda's commonsense, however, prevailed, and giving up the point of Harry'sprowess, she succeeded at last in getting Katie into bed. 'Youknow mamma will be so angry if she hears us, ' said Linda, 'and Iam sure you will be ill to-morrow. '

'I don't care a bit about being ill to-tomorrow; and yet I dotoo, ' she added, after a pause, 'for it's Sunday. It would be sostupid not to be able to go out to-morrow. '

'Well, then, try to go to sleep at once'--and Linda carefullytucked the clothes around her sister. 

'I think it shall be a purse, ' said Katie. 

'A purse will certainly be the best; that is, if you don't likethe slippers, ' and Linda rolled herself up comfortably in thebed. 

'No--I don't like the slippers at all. It shall be a purse. I cando that the quickest, you know. It's so stupid to give a thingwhen everything about it is forgotten, isn't it?'

'Very stupid, ' said Linda, nearly asleep. 

'And when it's worn out I can make another, can't I?'

'H'm'm'm, ' said Linda, quite asleep. 

And then Katie went asleep also, in her sister's arms. 

Early in the morning--that is to say, not very early, perhapsbetween seven and eight--Mrs. Woodward came into their room, andhaving inspected her charges, desired that Katie should not getup for morning church, but lie in bed till the middle of the day. 

'Oh, mamma, it will be so stupid not going to church aftertumbling into the river; people will say that all my clothes arewet. '

'People will about tell the truth as to some of them, ' said Mrs. Woodward; 'but don't you mind about people, but lie still and goto sleep if you can. Linda, do you come and dress in my room. '

'And is Charley to lie in bed too?' said Katie. 'He was in theriver longer than I was. '

'It's too late to keep Charley in bed, ' said Linda, 'for I seehim coming along the road now with a towel; he's been bathing. '

'Oh, I do so wish I could go and bathe, ' said Katie. 

Poor Katie was kept in bed till the afternoon. Charley and Harry, however, were allowed to come up to her bedroom door, and hearher pronounce herself quite well. 

'How d'ye do, Mr. Macassar?' said she. 

'And how d'ye do, my Lady Crinoline?' said Harry. After thatKatie never called Charley Mr. Macassar again. 

They all went to church, and Katie was left to sleep or read, orthink of the new purse that she was to make, as best she might. 

And then they dined, and then they walked out; but still withoutKatie. She was to get up and dress while they were out, so as toreceive them in state in the drawing-room on their return. Fourof them walked together; for Uncle Bat now usually took himselfoff to his friend at Hampton Court on Sunday afternoon. Mrs. Woodward walked with Charley, and Harry and Linda pairedtogether. 

'Now, ' said Charley to himself, 'now would have been the time tohave told Mrs. Woodward everything, but for that accident ofyesterday. Now I can tell her nothing; to do so now would be todemand her sympathy and to ask for assistance;' and so hedetermined to tell her nothing. 

But the very cause which made Charley dumb on the subject of hisown distresses made Mrs. Woodward inquisitive about them. Sheknew that his life was not like that of Harry--steady, sober, anddiscreet; but she felt that she did not like him, or even lovehim the less on this account. Nay, it was not clear to her thatthese failings of his did not give him additional claims on hersympathies. What could she do for him? how could she relieve him?how could she bring him back to the right way? She spoke to himof his London life, praised his talents, encouraged him toexertion, besought him to have some solicitude, and, above all, some respect for himself. And then, with that delicacy which sucha woman, and none but such a woman, can use in such a matter, sheasked him whether he was still in debt. 

Charley, with shame we must own it, had on this subject beenfalse to all his friends. He had been false to his father and hismother, and had never owned to them the half of what he owed; hehad been false to Alaric, and false to Harry; but now, now, atsuch a moment as this, he would not allow himself to be false toMrs. Woodward. 

'Yes, ' he said, 'he was in debt--rather. '

Mrs. Woodward pressed him to say whether his debts were heavy--whether he owed much. 

'It's no use thinking of it, Mrs. Woodward, ' said he; 'not theleast. I know I ought not to come down here; and I don't think Iwill any more. '

'Not come down here!' said Mrs. Woodward. 'Why not? There's verylittle expense in that. I dare say you'd spend quite as much inLondon. '

'Oh--of course--three times as much, perhaps; that is, if I hadit--but I don't mean that. '

'What do you mean?' said she. 

Charley walked on in silence, with melancholy look, verycrestfallen, his thumbs stuck into his waistcoat pockets. 

'Upon my word I don't know what you mean, ' said Mrs. Woodward. 'Ishould have thought coming to Hampton might perhaps--perhaps havekept you--I don't exactly mean out of mischief. ' That, however, in spite of her denial, was exactly what Mrs. Woodward did mean. 

'So it does--but--' said Charley, now thoroughly ashamed ofhimself. 

'But what?' said she. 

'I am not fit to be here, ' said Charley; and as he spoke hismanly self-control all gave way, and big tears rolled down hischeeks. 

Mrs. Woodward, in her woman's heart, resolved, that if it mightin any way be possible, she would make him fit, fit not only tobe there, but to hold his head up with the best in any company inwhich he might find himself. 

She questioned him no further then. Her wish now was not totorment him further, but to comfort him. She determined that shewould consult with Harry and with her uncle, and take counselfrom them as to what steps might be taken to save the brand fromthe burning. She talked to him as a mother might have done, leaning on his arm, as she returned; leaning on him as a womannever leans on a man whom she deems unfit for her society. Allthis Charley's heart and instinct fully understood, and he wasnot ungrateful. 

But yet he had but little to comfort him. He must return to townon Monday; return to Mr. Snape and the lock entries, to Mr. M'Ruen and the three Seasons--to Mrs. Davis, Norah Geraghty, andthat horrid Mr. Peppermint. He never once thought of ClementinaGolightly, to whom at that moment he was being married by thejoint energies of Undy Scott and his cousin Alaric. 

And what had Linda and Norman been doing all this time? Had theybeen placing mutual confidence in each other? No; they had notcome to that yet. Linda still remembered the pang with which shehad first heard of Gertrude's engagement, and Harry Norman hadnot yet been able to open his seared heart to a second love. 

In the course of the evening a letter was brought to CaptainCuttwater, which did not seem to raise his spirits. 

'Whom is your letter from, uncle?' said Mrs. Woodward. 

'From Alaric, ' said he, gruffly, crumpling it up and putting itinto his pocket. And then he turned to his rum and water in amanner that showed his determination to say nothing more on thematter. 

In the morning Harry and Charley returned to town. CaptainCuttwater went up with them; and all was again quiet at SurbitonCottage. 

CHAPTER XXIV

MR. M'BUFFER ACCEPTS THE CHILTERN HUNDREDS

It was an anxious hour for the Honourable Undecimus Scott when hefirst learnt that Mr. M'Buffer had accepted the Stewardship ofthe Chiltern Hundreds. The Stewardship of the Chiltern Hundreds!Does it never occur to anyone how many persons are appointed tothat valuable situation? Or does anyone ever reflect why a Memberof Parliament, when he wishes to resign his post of honour, should not be simply gazetted in the newspapers as having doneso, instead of being named as the new Steward of the ChilternHundreds? No one ever does think of it; resigning and becoming asteward are one and the same thing, with this difference, however, that one of the grand bulwarks of the British constitutionis thus preserved. 

Well, Mr. M'Buffer, who, having been elected by the independentelectors of the Tillietudlem burghs to serve them in Parliament, could not, in accordance with the laws of the constitution, havegot himself out of that honourable but difficult position by anyscheme of his own, found himself on a sudden a free man, theQueen having selected him to be her steward for the district inquestion. We have no doubt but that the deed of appointment setforth that her Majesty had been moved to this step by the firmtrust she had in the skill and fidelity of the said Mr. M'Buffer;but if so her Majesty's trust would seem to have been somewhatmisplaced, as Mr. M'Buffer, having been a managing director of abankrupt swindle, from which he had contrived to pillage somethirty or forty thousand pounds, was now unable to show his faceat Tillietudlem, or in the House of Commons; and in thusretreating from his membership had no object but to savehimself from the expulsion which he feared. It was, however, aconsolation for him to think that in what he had done thebulwarks of the British constitution had been preserved. 

It was an anxious moment for Undy. The existing Parliament hadstill a year and a half, or possibly two years and a half, torun. He had already been withdrawn from the public eye longerthan he thought was suitable to the success of his career. Heparticularly disliked obscurity for he had found that in his caseobscurity had meant comparative poverty. An obscure man, as heobserved early in life, had nothing to sell. Now, Undy had oncehad something to sell, and a very good market he had made of it. He was of course anxious that those halcyon days should return. Fond of him as the electors of Tillietudlem no doubt were, devoted as they might be in a general way to his interests still, still it was possible that they might forget him, if he remainedtoo long away from their embraces. 'Out of sight out of mind' isa proverb which opens to us the worst side of human nature. Buteven at Tillietudlem nature's worst side might sometimes showitself. 

Actuated by such feelings as these, Undy heard with joy thetidings of M'Buffer's stewardship, and determined to rush to thebattle at once. Battle he knew there must be. To be brought infor the district of Tillietudlem was a prize which had never yetfallen to any man's lot without a contest. Tillietudlem was nopoor pocket borough to be disposed of, this way or that way, according to the caprice or venal call of some aristocrat. Themen of Tillietudlem knew the value of their votes, and would onlygive them according to their consciences. The way to win theseconsciences, to overcome the sensitive doubts of a free andindependent Tillietudlem elector, Undy knew to his cost. 

It was almost a question, as he once told Alaric, whether allthat he could sell was worth all that he was compelled to buy. But having put his neck to the collar in this line of life, hewas not now going to withdraw. Tillietudlem was once more vacant, and Undy determined to try it again, undaunted by former outlays. To make an outlay, however, at any rate, in electioneeringmatters, it is necessary that a man should have in hand someready cash; at the present moment Undy had very little, andtherefore the news of Mr. M'Buffer's retirement to the Germanbaths for his health was not heard with unalloyed delight. 

He first went into the city, as men always do when they wantmoney; though in what portion of the city they find it, has nevercome to the author's knowledge. Charley Tudor, to be sure, didget £5 by going to the 'Banks of Jordan;' but the supply likelyto be derived from such a fountain as that would hardly besufficient for Undy's wants. Having done what he could in thecity, he came to Alaric, and prayed for the assistance of all hisfriend's energies in the matter. Alaric would not have been, andwas not unwilling to assist him to the extent of his ownimmediate means; but his own immediate means were limited, andUndy's desire for ready cash was almost unlimited. 

There was a certain railway or proposed railway in Ireland, inwhich Undy had ventured very deeply, more so indeed than he haddeemed it quite prudent to divulge to his friend; and in order togain certain ends he had induced Alaric to become a director ofthis line. The line in question was the Great West Cork, whichwas to run from Skibbereen to Bantry, and the momentous questionnow hotly debated before the Railway Board was on the moot pointof a branch to Ballydehob. If Undy could carry the West Cork andBallydehob branch entire, he would make a pretty thing of it; butif, as there was too much reason to fear, his Irish foes shouldprevail, and leave--as Undy had once said in an eloquent speechat a very influential meeting of shareholders--and leave theunfortunate agricultural and commercial interest of Ballydehobsteeped in Cimmerian darkness, the chances were that poor Undywould be well nigh ruined. 

Such being the case, he had striven, not unsuccessfully, to drawAlaric into the concern. Alaric had bought very cheaply a goodmany shares, which many people said were worth nothing, and had, by dint of Undy's machinations, been chosen a director on theboard. Undy himself meanwhile lay by, hoping that fortune mightrestore him to Parliament, and haply put him on that committeewhich must finally adjudicate as to the great question of theBallydehob branch. 

Such were the circumstances under which he came to Alaric withthe view of raising such a sum of money as might enable him toovercome the scruples of the Tillietudlem electors, and placehimself in the shoes lately vacated by Mr. M'Buffer. 

They were sitting together after dinner when he commenced thesubject. He and Mrs. Val and Clementina had done the Tudors thehonour of dining with them; and the ladies had now gone up intothe drawing-room, and were busy talking over the Chiswick affair, which was to come off in the next week, and after which Mrs. Valintended to give a small evening party to the most _élite_of her acquaintance. 

'We won't have all the world, my dear, ' she had said to Gertrude, 'but just a few of our own set that are really nice. Clementinais dying to try that new back step with M. Jaquêtanàpe, so wewon't crowd the room. ' Such were the immediate arrangements ofthe Tudor and Scott party. 

'So M'Buffer is off at last, ' said Scott, as he seated himselfand filled his glass, after closing the dining-room door. 'Hebrought his pigs to a bad market after all. '

'He was an infernal rogue, ' said Alaric. 

'Well, I suppose he was, ' said Undy; 'and a fool into the bargainto be found out. '

'He was a downright swindler, ' said Alaric. 

'After all, ' said the other, not paying much attention toAlaric's indignation, 'he did not do so very badly. Why, M'Bufferhas been at it now for thirteen years. He began with nothing; hehad neither blood nor money; and God knows he had no socialmerits to recommend him. He is as vulgar as a hog, as awkward asan elephant, and as ugly as an ape. I believe he never had afriend, and was known at his club to be the greatest bore thatever came out of Scotland; and yet for thirteen years he haslived on the fat of the land; for five years he has been inParliament, his wife has gone about in her carriage, and everyman in the city has been willing to shake hands with him. '

'And what has it all come to?' said Alaric, whom the question ofM'Buffer's temporary prosperity made rather thoughtful. 

'Well, not so bad either; he has had his fling for thirteenyears, and that's something. Thirteen good years out of a man'slife is more than falls to the lot of every one. And then, Isuppose, he has saved something. '

'And he is spoken of everywhere as a monster for whom hanging istoo good. '

'Pshaw! that won't hang him. Yesterday he was a god; to-day he isa devil; to-morrow he'll be a man again; that's all. '

'But you don't mean to tell me, Undy, that the consciousness ofsuch crimes as those which M'Buffer has committed must not make aman wretched in this world, and probably in the next also?'

'Judge not, and ye shall not be judged, ' said Undy, quotingScripture as the devil did before him; 'and as for consciousnessof crime, I suppose M'Buffer has none at all. I have no doubt hethinks himself quite as honest as the rest of the world. Hefirmly believes that all of us are playing the same game, andusing the same means, and has no idea whatever that dishonesty isobjectionable. '

'And you, what do you think about it yourself?'

'I think the greatest rogues are they who talk most of theirhonesty; and, therefore, as I wish to be thought honest myself, Inever talk of my own. '

They both sat silent for a while, Undy bethinking himself whatarguments would be most efficacious towards inducing Alaric tostrip himself of every available shilling that he had; and Alaricdebating in his own mind that great question which he so oftendebated, as to whether men, men of the world, the great and bestmen whom he saw around him, really endeavoured to be honest, orendeavoured only to seem so. Honesty was preached to him on everyside; but did he, in his intercourse with the world, find men tobe honest? Or did it behove him, a practical man like him, a manso determined to battle with the world as he had determined, didit behove such a one as he to be more honest than his neighbours?

He also encouraged himself by that mystic word, 'Excelsior!' Tohim it was a watchword of battle, repeated morning, noon, andnight. It was the prevailing idea of his life. 'Excelsior'! Yes;how great, how grand, how all-absorbing is the idea! But what ifa man may be going down, down to Tophet, and yet think the whilethat he is scaling the walls of heaven?

'But you wish to think yourself honest, ' he said, disturbing Undyjust as that hero had determined on the way in which he wouldplay his present hand of cards. 

'I have not the slightest difficulty about that, ' said Undy; 'andI dare say you have none either. But as to M'Buffer, his goingwill be a great thing for us, if, as I don't doubt, I can get hisseat. '

'It will be a great thing for you, ' said Alaric, who, as well asUndy, had his Parliamentary ambition. 

'And for you too, my boy. We should carry the Ballydehob branchto a dead certainty; and even if we did not do that, we'd bringit so near it that the expectation of it would send the shares uplike mercury in fine weather. They are at £2 12s. 6d. Now, and, if I am in the House next Session, they'll be up to £7 10s. Before Easter; and what's more, my dear fellow, if we can't helpourselves in that way, they'll be worth nothing in a very fewmonths. '

Alaric looked rather blank; for he had invested deeply in thisline, of which he was now a director, of a week's standing, orperhaps we should say sitting. He had sold out all his goldenhopes in the Wheal Mary Jane for the sake of embarking his moneyand becoming a director in this Irish Railway, and in one otherspeculation nearer home, of which Undy had a great opinion, viz. :the Limehouse Thames Bridge Company. Such being the case, he didnot like to hear the West Cork with the Ballydehob branch spokenof so slightingly. 

'The fact is, a man can do anything if he is in the House, and hecan do nothing if he is not, ' said Undy. 'You know our oldAberdeen saying, 'You scratch me and I'll scratch you. ' It is notonly what a man may do himself for himself, but it is what otherswill do for him when he is in a position to help them. Now, thereare those fellows; I am hand-and-glove with all of them; butthere is not one of them would lift a finger to help me as I amnow; but let me get my seat again, and they'll do for me justanything I ask them. Vigil moves the new writ to-night; I got aline from him asking me whether I was ready. There was no good tobe got by waiting, so I told him to fire away. '

'I suppose you'll go down at once?' said Alaric. 

'Well, that as may be--at least, yes; that's my intention. Butthere's one thing needful--and that is the needful. '

'Money?' suggested Alaric. 

'Yes, money--cash--rhino--tin--ready--or by what other name thegoddess would be pleased to have herself worshipped; money, sir;there's the difficulty, now as ever. Even at Tillietudlem moneywill have its weight. '

'Can't your father assist you?' said Alaric. 

'My father! I wonder how he'd look if he got a letter from measking for money. You might as well expect a goose to feed heryoung with blood out of her own breast, like a pelican, as expectthat a Scotch lord should give money to his younger sons like anEnglish duke. What would my father get by my being member forTillietudlem? No; I must look nearer home than my father. Whatcan you do for me?'

'I?'

'Yes, you, ' said Undy; 'I am sure you don't mean to say you'llrefuse to lend me a helping hand if you can. I must realize bythe Ballydehobs, if I am once in the House; and then you'd haveyour money back at once. '

'It is not that, ' said Alaric; 'but I haven't got it. '

'I am sure you could let me have a thousand or so, ' said Undy. 'Ithink a couple of thousand would carry it, and I could make outthe other myself. '

'Every shilling I have, ' said Alaric, 'is either in theBallydehobs or in the Limehouse Bridge. Why don't you sellyourself?'

'So I have, ' said Undy; 'everything that I can without utterruin. The Ballydehobs are not saleable, as you know. '

'What can I do for you, then?'

Undy set himself again to think. 'I have no doubt I could get athousand on our joint names. That blackguard, M'Ruen, would doit. '

'Who is M'Ruen?' asked Alaric. 

'A low blackguard of a discounting Jew Christian. He would do it;but then, heaven knows what he would charge, and he'd make somany difficulties that I shouldn't have the money for the nextfortnight. '

'I wouldn't have my name on a bill in such a man's hands on anyaccount, ' said Alaric. 

'Well, I don't like it myself, ' said Undy; 'but what the deuce amI to do? I might as well go to Tillietudlem without my head aswithout money. '

'I thought you'd kept a lot of the Mary Janes, ' said Alaric. 

'So I had, but they're gone now. I tell you I've managed £1, 000myself. It would murder me now if the seat were to go into otherhands. I'd get the Committee on the Limehouse Bridge, and weshould treble our money. Vigil told me he would not refuse theCommittee, though of course the Government won't consent to agrant if they can help it. '

'Well, Undy, I can let you have £250, and that is every shillingI have at my banker's. '

'They would not let you overdraw a few hundreds?' suggestedUndy. 

'I certainly shall not try them, ' said Alaric. 

'You are so full of scruple, so green, so young, ' said Undy, almost in an enthusiasm of remonstrance. 'What can be the harm oftrying them?'

'My credit. '

'Fal lal. What's the meaning of credit? How are you to knowwhether you have got any credit if you don't try? Come, I'll tellyou how you can do it. Old Cuttwater would lend it you for theasking. '

To this proposition Alaric at first turned a deaf ear; but bydegrees he allowed Undy to talk him over. Undy showed him that ifhe lost the Tillietudlem burghs on this occasion it would beuseless for him to attempt to stand for them again. In such case, he would have no alternative at the next general election but tostand for the borough of Strathbogy in Aberdeenshire; whereas, ifhe could secure Tillietudlem as a seat for himself, all theGaberlunzie interest in the borough of Strathbogy, which wassupposed to be by no means small, should be transferred to Alarichimself. Indeed, Sandie Scott, the eldest hope of the Gaberlunziefamily, would, in such case, himself propose Alaric to theelectors. Ca'stalk Cottage, in which the Hon. Sandie lived, andwhich was on the outskirts of the Gaberlunzie property, wasabsolutely within the boundary of the borough. 

Overcome by these and other arguments, Alaric at last consentedto ask from Captain Cuttwater the loan of £700. That sum Undy hadagreed to accept as a sufficient contribution to that desirablepublic object, the re-seating himself for the Tillietudlemborough, and as Alaric on reflection thought that it would beuncomfortable to be left penniless himself, and as it was just aslikely that Uncle Bat would lend him £700 as £500, he determinedto ask for a loan of the entire sum. He accordingly did so, andthe letter, as we have seen, reached the captain while Harry andCharley were at Surbiton Cottage. The old gentleman was anythingbut pleased. In the first place he liked his money, though notwith any overweening affection; in the next place, he had done agreat deal for Alaric, and did not like being asked to do more;and lastly, he feared that there must be some evil cause for thenecessity of such a loan so soon after Alaric's marriage. 

Alaric in making his application had not done so actually withoutmaking any explanation on the subject. He wrote a long letter, worded very cleverly, which only served to mystify the captain, as Alaric had intended that it should do. Captain Cuttwater wasmost anxious that Alaric, whom he looked on as his adopted son, should rise in the world; he would have been delighted to thinkthat he might possibly live to see him in Parliament; wouldprobably have made considerable pecuniary sacrifice for such anobject. With the design, therefore, of softening CaptainCuttwater's heart, Alaric in his letter had spoken about greatchanges that were coming, of the necessity that there was of hisstirring himself, of the great pecuniary results to be expectedfrom a small present expenditure; and ended by declaring that themoney was to be used in forwarding the election of his friendScott for the Tillietudlem district burghs. 

Now, the fact was, that Uncle Bat, though he cared a great dealfor Alaric, did not care a rope's end for Undy Scott, and couldenjoy his rum-punch just as keenly if Mr. Scott was in obscurityas he could possibly hope to do even if that gentleman should bepromoted to be a Lord of the Treasury. He was not at all pleasedto think that his hard-earned moidores should run down thegullies of the Tillietudlem boroughs in the shape of muddy ale orvitriolic whisky; and yet this was the first request that Alarichad ever made to him, and he did not like to refuse Alaric'sfirst request. So he came up to town himself on the followingmorning with Harry and Charley, determined to reconcile all thesedifficulties by the light of his own wisdom. 

In the evening he returned to Surbiton Cottage, having been intothe city, sold out stock for £700, and handed over the money toAlaric Tudor. 

On the following morning Undy Scott set out for Scotland, properly freighted, Mr. Whip Vigil having in due course moved fora new writ for the Tillietudlem borough in the place of Mr. M'Buffer, who had accepted the situation of Steward of theChiltern Hundreds. 

CHAPTER XXV

CHISWICK GARDENS

The following Thursday was as fine as a Chiswick flower-show-dayought to be, and so very seldom is. The party who had agreed tocongregate there--the party, that is, whom we are to meet--wasvery select. Linda and Katie had come up to spend a few days withtheir sister. Mrs. Val, Clementina, Gertrude, and Linda were togo in a carriage, for which Alaric was destined to pay, and whichMrs. Val had hired, having selected it regardless of expense, asone which, by its decent exterior and polished outward graces, conferred on its temporary occupiers an agreeable appearance ofproprietorship. The two Miss Neverbends, sisters of Fidus, werealso to be with them, and they with Katie followed humbly, asbecame their station, in a cab, which was not only hired, butwhich very vulgarly told the fact to all the world. 

Slight as had been the intimacy between Fidus Neverbend andAlaric at Tavistock, nevertheless a sort of friendship had sincegrown up between them. Alaric had ascertained that Fidus might ina certain degree be useful to him, that the good word of theAristides of the Works and Buildings might be serviceable, andthat, in short, Neverbend was worth cultivating. Neverbend, onthe other hand, when he perceived that Tudor was likely to becomea Civil Service hero, a man to be named with glowing eulogy atall the Government Boards in London, felt unconsciously a desireto pay him some of that reverence which a mortal always feels fora god. And thus there was formed between them a sort of alliance, which included also the ladies of the family. 

Not that Mrs. Val, or even Mrs. A. Tudor, encountered Lactimeland Ugolina Neverbend on equal terms. There is a distressinghabitual humility in many unmarried ladies of an uncertain age, which at the first blush tells the tale against them which theyare so painfully anxious to leave untold. In order to maintaintheir places but yet a little longer in that delicious world oflove, sighs, and dancing partners, from which it must be so hardfor a maiden, with all her youthful tastes about her, to tearherself for ever away, they smile and say pretty things, put upwith the caprices of married women, and play second fiddle, though the doing so in no whit assists them in their task. Nay, the doing so does but stamp them the more plainly with thathorrid name from which they would so fain escape. Their plea isfor mercy--'Have pity on me, have pity on me; put up with me butfor one other short twelve months; and then, if then I shallstill have failed, I will be content to vanish from the world forever. ' When did such plea for pity from one woman ever find realentrance into the heart of another?

On such terms, however, the Misses Neverbend were content tofollow Mrs. Val to the Chiswick flower-show, and to feed on thecrumbs which might chance to fall from the rich table of MissGolightly; to partake of broken meat in the shape of cast-offadorers, and regale themselves with lukewarm civility from theoutsiders in the throng which followed that adorable heiress. 

And yet the Misses Neverbend were quite as estimable as thedivine Clementina, and had once been, perhaps, as attractive asshe is now. They had never waltzed, it is true, as Miss Golightlywaltzes. It may be doubted, indeed, whether any lady ever did. Inthe pursuit of that amusement Ugolina was apt to be stiff andungainly, and to turn herself, or allow herself to be turned, asthough she were made of wood; she was somewhat flat in herfigure, looking as though she had been uncomfortably pressed intoan unbecoming thinness of substance, and a corresponding breadthof surface, and this conformation did not assist her in acquiringa graceful flowing style of motion. The elder sister, Lactimel, was of a different form, but yet hardly more fit to shine in themazes of the dance than her sister. She had her charms, nevertheless, which consisted of a somewhat stumpy dumpycomeliness. She was altogether short in stature, and very shortbelow the knee. She had fair hair and a fair skin, small bonesand copious soft flesh. She had a trick of sighing gently in theevolutions of the waltz, which young men attributed to hersoftness of heart, and old ladies to her shortness of breath. They both loved dancing dearly, and were content to enjoy itwhenever the chance might be given to them by the aid of MissGolightly's crumbs. 

The two sisters were as unlike in their inward lights as in theiroutward appearance. Lactimel walked ever on the earth, butUgolina never deserted the clouds. Lactimel talked prose andprofessed to read it; Ugolina read poetry and professed to writeit. Lactimel was utilitarian. _Cui bono_?--though probablyin less classic phrase--was the question she asked as toeverything. Ugolina was transcendental, and denied that therecould be real good in anything. Lactimel would have clothedand fed the hungry and naked, so that all mankind might becomfortable. Ugolina would have brought mankind back to theiroriginal nakedness, and have taught them to feed on the grassesof the field, so that the claims of the body, which so vitallyoppose those of the mind, might remain unheeded and despised. They were both a little nebulous in their doctrines, and apt tobe somewhat unintelligible in their discourse, when indulged inthe delights of unrestrained conversation. Lactimel had a theorythat every poor brother might eat of the fat and drink of thesweet, might lie softly, and wear fine linen, if only some bodyor bodies could be induced to do their duties; and Ugolina wasequally strong in a belief that if the mind were properly lookedto, all appreciation of human ill would cease. But they delightedin generalizing rather than in detailed propositions; and had notprobably, even in their own minds, realized any exact idea as tothe means by which the results they desired were to be broughtabout. 

They toadied Mrs. Val--poor young women, how little should theybe blamed for this fault, which came so naturally to them intheir forlorn position!--they toadied Mrs. Val, and thereforeMrs. Val bore with them; they bored Gertrude, and Gertrude, forher husband's sake, bore with them also; they were confidentialwith Clementina, and Clementina, of course, snubbed them. Theycalled Clementina 'the sweetest creature. ' Lactimel declared thatshe was born to grace the position of a wife and mother, andUgolina swore that her face was perfect poetry. WhereuponClementina laughed aloud, and elegantly made a grimace with hernose and mouth, as she turned the 'perfect poetry' to her mother. Such were the ladies of the party who went to the Chiswickflower-show, and who afterwards were to figure at Mrs. Val'slittle evening 'the dansant, ' at which nobody was to be admittedwho was not nice. 

They were met at the gate of the Gardens by a party of young men, of whom Victoire Jaquêtanàpe was foremost. Alaric and Charleywere to come down there when their office work was done. Undy wasby this time on his road to Tillietudlem; and Captain Val wasplaying billiards at his club. The latter had given a promisethat he would make his appearance--a promise, however, which noone expected, or wished him to keep. 

The happy Victoire was dressed up to his eyes. That, perhaps, isnot saying much, for he was only a few feet high; but what hewanted in quantity he fully made up in quality. He was a well-made, shining, jaunty little Frenchman, who seemed to beperfectly at ease with himself and all the world. He had thesmallest little pair of moustaches imaginable, the smallestlittle imperial, the smallest possible pair of boots, and thesmallest possible pair of gloves. Nothing on earth could benicer, or sweeter, or finer, than he was. But he did not carryhis finery like a hog in armour, as an Englishman so often doeswhen an Englishman stoops to be fine. It sat as naturally onVictoire as though he had been born in it. He jumped about in hisbest patent leather boots, apparently quite heedless whether hespoilt them or not; and when he picked up Miss Golightly'sparasol from the gravel, he seemed to suffer no anxiety about hisgloves. 

He handed out the ladies one after another, as though his lifehad been passed in handing out ladies, as, indeed, it probablyhad--in handing them out and handing them in; and when Mrs. Val's'private' carriage passed on, he was just as courteous to theMisses Neverbend and Katie in their cab, as he had been to thegreater ladies who had descended from the more ambitious vehicle. As Katie said afterwards to Linda, when she found the free use ofher voice in their own bedroom, 'he was a darling little duck ofa man, only he smelt so strongly of tobacco. '

But when they were once in the garden, Victoire had no time foranyone but Mrs. Val and Clementina. He had done his duty by theMisses Neverbend and those other two insipid young English girls, and now he had his own affairs to look after. He also knew thatMiss Golightly had £20, 000 of her own!

He was one of those butterfly beings who seem to have beencreated that they may flutter about from flower to flower in thesummer hours of such gala times as those now going on atChiswick, just as other butterflies do. What the butterflies werelast winter, or what will become of them next winter, no one butthe naturalist thinks of inquiring. How they may feed themselveson flower-juice, or on insects small enough to be their prey, ismatter of no moment to the general world. It is sufficient thatthey flit about in the sunbeams, and add bright glancing spanglesto the beauty of the summer day. 

And so it was with Victoire Jaquêtanàpe. He did no work. He madeno honey. He appeared to no one in the more serious moments oflife. He was the reverse of Shylock; he would neither buy withyou nor sell with you, but he would eat with you and drink withyou; as for praying, he did little of that either with or withoutcompany. He was clothed in purple and fine linen, as butterfliesshould be clothed, and fared sumptuously everyday; but whencecame his gay colours, or why people fed him with pate andchampagne, nobody knew and nobody asked. 

Like most Frenchmen of his class, he never talked about himself. He understood life, and the art of pleasing, and the necessitythat he should please, too well to do so. All that his companionsknew of him was that he came from France, and that when thegloomy months came on in England, the months so unfitted for aFrench butterfly, he packed up his azure wings and sought somemore genial climate, certain to return and be seen again when theworld of London became habitable. 

If he had means of living no one knew it; if he was in debt noone ever heard of it; if he had a care in the world he concealedit. He abounded in acquaintances who were always glad to see him, and would have regarded it as quite de trop to have a friend. Nevertheless time was flying on with him as with others; and, butterfly as he was, the idea of Miss Golightly's £20, 000 struckhim with delightful amazement--500, 000 francs! 500, 000 francs!and so he resolved to dance his very best, warm as the weatherundoubtedly was at the present moment. 

'Ah, he was charmed to see madame and mademoiselle look socharmingly, ' he said, walking between mother and daughter, butpaying apparently much the greater share of attention to theelder lady. In this respect we Englishmen might certainly learnmuch from the manners of our dear allies. We know well enough howto behave ourselves to our fair young countrywomen; we can becivil enough to young women--nature teaches us that; but it is soseldom that we are sufficiently complaisant to be civil to oldwomen. And yet that, after all, is the soul of gallantry. It isto the sex that we profess to do homage. Our theory is, thatfeminine weakness shall receive from man's strength humble andrespectful service. But where is the chivalry, where thegallantry, if we only do service in expectation of receiving suchguerdon as rosy cheeks and laughing eyes can bestow?

It may be said that Victoire had an object in being civil to Mrs. Val. But the truth is, all French Victoires are courteous to oldladies. An Englishman may probably be as forward as a Frenchmanin rushing into a flaming building to save an old woman's life;but then it so rarely happens that occasion offers itself forgallantry such as that. A man, however, may with ease be civil toa dozen old women in one day. 

And so they went on, walking through parterres and glass-houses, talking of theatres, balls, dinner-parties, picnics, concerts, operas, of ladies married and single, of single gentlemen whoshould be married, and of married gentlemen who should be single, of everything, indeed, except the flowers, of which neitherVictoire nor his companions took the slightest notice. 

'And madame really has a dance to-night in her own house?'

'O yes, ' said Mrs. Val; 'that is, just a few quadrilles andwaltzes for Clementina. I really hardly know whether the peoplewill take the carpet up or no. ' The people, consisting of thecook and housemaid--for the page had, of course, come with thecarriage--were at this moment hard at work wrenching up thenails, as Mrs. Val was very well aware. 

'It will be delightful, charming, ' said Victoire. 

'Just a few people of our own set, you know, ' said Mrs. Val: 'nocrowd, or fuss, or anything of that sort; just a few people thatwe know are nice, in a quiet homely way. '

'Ah, that is so pleasing, ' said M. Victoire: 'that is just what Ilike; and is mademoiselle engaged for--?'

No. Mademoiselle was not engaged either for--or for--or for--&c. , &c. , &c. ; and then out came the little tablets, under thedome of a huge greenhouse filled with the most costly exotics, and Clementina and her fellow-labourer in the cause of Terpsichorewent to work to make their arrangements for the evening. 

And the rest of the party followed them. Gertrude was accompaniedby an Englishman just as idle and quite as useless as M. Victoire, of the butterfly tribe also, but not so graceful, andwithout colour. 

And then came the Misses Neverbend walking together, and withthem, one on each side, two tall Frenchmen, whose faces had beenremodelled in that mould into which so large a proportion ofParisians of the present day force their heads, in order thatthey may come out with some look of the Emperor about them. Werethere not some such machine as this in operation, it would beimpossible that so many Frenchmen should appear with elongated, angular, hard faces, all as like each other as though they werebrothers! The cut of the beard, the long prickly-ended, clottedmoustache, which looks as though it were being continually rolledup in saliva, the sallow, half-bronzed, apparently unwashedcolour--these may all, perhaps, be assumed by any man after acertain amount of labour and culture. But how it has come to passthat every Parisian has been able to obtain for himself a pair ofthe Emperor's long, hard, bony, cruel-looking cheeks, noEnglishman has yet been able to guess. That having the power theyshould have the wish to wear this mask is almost equallyremarkable. Can it be that a political phase, when stamped on apeople with an iron hand of sufficient power of pressure, willleave its impress on the outward body as well as on the inwardsoul? If so, a Frenchman may, perhaps, be thought to have gainedin the apparent stubborn wilfulness of his countenance somerecompense for his compelled loss of all political wilfulnesswhatever. 

Be this as it may, the two Misses Neverbend walked on, each witha stubborn long-faced Frenchman at her side, looking altogethernot ill pleased at this instance of the excellence of Frenchmanners. After them came Linda, talking to some acquaintance ofher own, and then poor dear little Katie with another Frenchman, sterner, more stubborn-looking, more long-faced, more like thepattern after whom he and they had been remodelled, than any ofthem. 

Poor little Katie! This was her first day in public. With manyimploring caresses, with many half-formed tears in her brighteyes, with many assurances of her perfect health, she had inducedher mother to allow her to come to the flower-show; to allow heralso to go to Mrs. Val's dance, at which there were to be nonebut such very nice people. Katie was to commence her life, toopen her ball with this flower-show. In her imagination it wasall to be one long bright flower-show, in which, however, thesweet sorrowing of the sensitive plant would ever and anon inviteher to pity and tears. When she entered that narrow portal sheentered the world, and there she found herself walking on thewell-mown grass with this huge, stern, bearded Frenchman by herside! As to talking to him, that was quite out of the question. At the gate some slight ceremony of introduction had been gonethrough, which had consisted in all the Frenchmen taking offtheir hats and bowing to the two married ladies, and in theEnglishmen standing behind and poking the gravel with theircanes. But in this no special notice had of course been taken ofKatie; and she had a kind of idea, whence derived she knew not, that it would be improper for her to talk to this man, unless shewere actually and _bona fide_ introduced to him. And then, again, poor Katie was not very confident in her French, and thenher companion was not very intelligible in his English; so whenthe gentleman asked, 'Is it that mademoiselle lofe de fleurs?'poor little Katie felt herself tremble, and tried in vain tomutter something; and when, again essaying to do his duty, hesuggested that 'all de beauté of Londres did delight to valkitself at Chisveek, ' she was equally dumb, merely turning on himher large eyes for one moment, to show that she knew that headdressed her. After that he walked on as silent as herself, still keeping close to her side; and other ladies, who had notthe good fortune to have male companions, envied her happiness inbeing so attended. 

But Alaric and Charley were coming, she knew; Alaric was herbrother-in-law now, and therefore she would be delighted to meethim; and Charley, dear Charley! she had not seen him since hewent away that morning, now four days since; and four days was along time, considering that he had saved her life. Her busylittle fingers had been hard at work the while, and now she hadin her pocket the purse which she had been so eager to make, andwhich she was almost afraid to bestow. 

'Oh, Linda, ' she had said, 'I don't think I will, after all; itis such a little thing. '

'Nonsense, child, you wouldn't give him a worked counterpane;little things are best for presents. '

'But it isn't good enough, ' she said, looking at her handiwork indespair. But, nevertheless, she persevered, working in the goldenbeads with constant diligence, so that she might be able to giveit to Charley among the Chiswick flowers. Oh! what a place it wasin which to bestow a present, with all the eyes of all the worldupon her!

And then this dance to which she was going! The thought of whatshe would do there troubled her. Would anyone ask her to dance?Would Charley think of her when he had so many grown-up girls, girls quite grown up, all around him? It would be very sad if atthis London party it should be her fate to sit down the wholeevening and see others dance. It would suffice for her, shethought, if she could stand up with Linda, but she had an ideathat this would not be allowed at a London party; and then Linda, perhaps, might not like it. Altogether she had much upon hermind, and was beginning to think that, perhaps, she might havebeen happier to have stayed at home with her mamma. She had notquite recovered from the effect of her toss into the water, orthe consequent excitement, and a very little misery would upsether. And so she walked on with her Napoleonic companion, fromwhom she did not know how to free herself, through one glass-house after another, across lawns and along paths, attemptingevery now and then to get a word with Linda, and not at all sohappy as she had hoped to have been. 

At last Gertrude came to her rescue. They were all congregatedfor a while in one great flower-house, and Gertrude, findingherself near her sister, asked her how she liked it all. 

'Oh! it is very beautiful, ' said Katie, 'only--'

'Only what, dear?'

'Would you let me come with you a little while! Look here'--andshe crept softly around to the other side of her sister, sidlingwith little steps away from the Frenchman, at whom, however, shekept furtively looking, as though she feared that he would detecther in the act. 'Look here, Gertrude, ' she said, twitching hersister's arm; 'that gentleman there--you see him, don't you? he'sa Frenchman, and I don't know how to get away from him. '

'How to get away from him?' said Gertrude. 'That's M. Delabarbede l'Empereur, a great friend of Mrs. Val's, and a very quietsort of man, I believe; he won't eat you. '

'No, he won't eat me, I know; but I can't look at anything, because he will walk so close to me! Mayn't I come with you?'

Gertrude told her she might, and so Katie made good her escape, hiding herself from her enemy as well as she could behind hersister's petticoats. He, poor man, was perhaps as rejoiced at thearrangement as Katie herself; at any rate he made no attempt toregain his prey, but went on by himself, looking as placidlystern as ever, till he was absorbed by Mrs. Val's more immediateparty, and then he devoted himself to her, while M. Jaquêtanàpesettled with Clementina the properest arrangement for the waltzesof the evening. 

Katie was beginning to be tranquilly happy, and was listening tothe enthusiasm of Ugolina Neverbend, who declared that flowerswere the female poet's fitting food--it may be doubted whethershe had ever tried it--when her heart leaped within her onhearing a sharp, clear, well-known voice, almost close behindher. It was Charley Tudor. After her silent promenade with M. Delabarbe de l'Empereur, Katie had been well pleased to put upwith the obscure but yet endurable volubility of Ugolina; but nowshe felt almost as anxious to get quit of Ugolina as she hadbefore been to shake off the Frenchman. 

'Flowers are Nature's chef-d'oeuvre, ' said Ugolina; 'they conveyto me the purest and most direct essence of that heavenly powerof production which is the sweetest evidence which Jehovah givesus of His presence. '

'Do they?' said Katie, looking over her shoulder to watch whatCharley was doing, and to see whether he was coming to noticeher. 

'They are the bright stars of His immediate handiwork, ' saidUgolina; 'and if our dim eyes could read them aright, they wouldwhisper to us the secret of His love. '

'Yes, I dare say they would, ' said Katie, who felt, perhaps, alittle disappointed because Charley lingered a while shakinghands with Mrs. Val and Clementina Golightly. 

It was, however, but for a moment. There was much shaking ofhands to be done, and a considerable taking off of hats to begone through; and as Alaric and Charley encountered the head ofthe column first, it was only natural that they should work theirway through it gradually. Katie, however, never guessed--howcould she?--that Charley had calculated that by reaching her lasthe would be able to remain with her. 

She was still listening to Ugolina, who was mounting higher andhigher up to heaven, when she found her hand in Charley's. Ugolina might now mount up, and get down again as best she could, for Katie could no longer listen to her. 

Alaric had not seen her yet since her ducking. She had to listento and to answer his congratulations, Charley standing by andmaking his comments. 

'Charley says you took to the water quite naturally, and swamlike a duck, ' said Alaric. 

'Only she went in head foremost, ' said Charley. 

'All bathers ought to do that, ' said Alaric; 'and tell me, Katie, did you feel comfortable when you were in the water?'

'Indeed I don't recollect anything about it, ' said she, 'onlythat I saw Charley coming to me, just when I was going to sinkfor the last time. '

'Sink! Why, I'm told that you floated like a deal board. '

'The big hat and the crinoline kept her up, ' said Charley; 'shehad no idea of sinking. '

'Oh! Charley, you know I was under the water for a long time; andthat if you had not come, just at that very moment, I shouldnever have come up again. '

And then Alaric went on, and Charley and Katie were lefttogether. 

How was she to give him the purse? It was burning a hole in herpocket till she could do so; and yet how was she to get it out ofher possession into his, and make her little speech, here in thepublic garden? She could have done it easily enough at home inthe drawing-room at Surbiton Cottage. 

'And how do you like the gardens?' asked Charley. 

'Oh! they are beautiful; but I have hardly been able to seeanything yet. I have been going about with a great big Frenchman--there, that man there--he has such a queer name. '

'Did his name prevent your seeing?'

'No, not his name; I didn't know his name then. 

But it seemed so odd to be walking about with such a man as that. But I want to go back, and look at the black and yellow roses inthat house, there. Would you go with me? that is, if we may. Iwonder whether we may!'

Charley was clearly of opinion that they might, and should, andwould; and so away they sallied back to the roses, and Katiebegan to enjoy the first instalment of the happiness which shehad anticipated. In the temple of the roses the crowd at firstwas great, and she could not get the purse out of her pocket, normake her speech; but after a while the people passed on, andthere was a lull before others filled their places, and Katiefound herself opposite to a beautiful black rose, with no oneclose to her but Charley. 

'I have got something for you, ' she said; and as she spoke shefelt herself to be almost hot with blushing. 

'Something for me!' said Charley; and he also felt himselfabashed, he did not know why. 

'It's only a very little thing, ' said Katie, feeling in herpocket, 'and I am almost ashamed to ask you to take it. But Imade it all myself; no one else put a stitch in it, ' and sosaying, and looking round to see that she was not observed, shehanded her gift to Charley. 

'Oh! Katie, dearest Katie, ' said he, 'I am so much obliged toyou--I'll keep it till I die. '

'I didn't know what to make that was better, ' said she. 

'Nothing on earth could possibly be better, ' said he. 

'A plate of bread and butter and a purse are a very poor returnfor saving one's life, ' said she, half laughing, half crying. 

He looked at her with his eyes full of love; and as he looked, heswore within himself that come what might, he would never seeNorah Geraghty again, but would devote his life to an endeavourto make himself worthy of the angel that was now with him. Katiethe while was looking up anxiously into his face. She wasthinking of no other love than that which it became her to feelfor the man who had saved her life. She was thinking of no otherlove; but her young heart was opening itself to a very differentfeeling. She was sinking deep, deep in waters which were to gonear to drown her warm heart; much nearer than those other waterswhich she fancied had all but closed for ever over her life. 

She looked into his face and saw that he was pleased; and that, for the present, was enough for her. She was at any rate happynow. So they passed on through the roses, and then lostthemselves among the geraniums, and wondered at the giganticrhododendrons, and beautiful azaleas, and so went on from houseto house, and from flower-bed to flower-bed, Katie talking andCharley listening, till she began to wonder at her formersupineness, and to say both to herself and out loud to hercompanion, how very, very, very glad she was that her mother hadlet her come. 

Poor Katie!--dear, darling, bonny Katie!--sweet sweetest, dearestchild! why, oh why, has that mother of thine, that tender-heartedloving mother, put thee unguarded in the way of such peril asthis? Has she not sworn to herself that over thee at least shewould watch as a hen does over her young, so that no unfortunatelove should quench thy young spirit, or blanch thy cheek's bloom?Has she not trembled at the thought of what would have befallenthee, had thy fate been such as Linda's? Has she not often--oh, how often!--on her knees thanked the Almighty God that Linda'sspirit was not as thine; that this evil had happened to the lambwhose temper had been fitted by Him to endure it? And yet--herethou art--all unguarded, all unaided, left by thyself to drink ofthe cup of sweet poison, and none near to warn thee that thedraught is deadly. 

Alas!--'twould be useless to warn thee now. The false god hasbeen placed upon the altar, the temple all shining with gems andgold has been built around him, the incense-cup is alreadyswinging; nothing will now turn the idolater from her worship, nothing short of a miracle. 

Our Katie's childish days are now all gone. A woman's passionglows within her breast, though as yet she has not scanned itwith a woman's intelligence. Her mother, listening to a child'sentreaty, had suffered her darling to go forth for a child'samusement. It was doomed that the child should return no more;but in lieu of her, a fair, heart-laden maiden, whose everyfondest thought must henceforth be of a stranger's welfare and astranger's fate. 

But it must not be thought that Charley abused the friendship ofMrs. Woodward, and made love to Katie, as love is usually made--with warm words, assurances of affection, with squeezing of thehand, with sighs, and all a lover's ordinary catalogue ofresources. Though we have said that he was a false god, yet hewas hardly to be blamed for the temple, and gems, and gold, withwhich he was endowed; not more so, perhaps, than the unconsciousbud which is made so sacred on the banks of the Egyptian river. He loved too, perhaps as warmly, though not so fatally as Katiedid; but he spoke no word of his love. He walked among theflowers with her, laughing and listening to her in his usuallight-hearted, easy manner; every now and again his arm wouldthrill with pleasure, as he felt on it the touch of her littlefingers, and his heart would leap within him as he gazed on thespeaking beauty of her face; but he was too honest-hearted totalk to the young girl, to Mrs. Woodward's child, of love. Hetalked to her as to a child--but she listened to him and lovedhim as a woman. 

And so they rambled on till the hour appointed for quitting thisElysium had arrived. Every now and again they had a glimpse ofsome one of their party, which had satisfied Katie that they werenot lost. At first Clementina was seen tracing with her parasolon the turf the plan of a new dance. Then Ugolina passed by themdescribing the poetry of the motion of the spheres in a full flowof impassioned eloquence to M. Delabarbe de l'Empereur: '_C'esttoujours vrai; ce que mademoiselle dit est toujours vrai_, 'was the Frenchman's answer, which they heard thrice repeated. Andthen Lactimel and Captain Val were seen together, the latterhaving disappointed the prophecies which had been made respectinghim. Lactimel had an idea that as the Scotts were great people, they were all in Parliament, and she was endeavouring to persuadeCaptain Val that something ought to be done for the poor. 

'Think, ' said she, 'only think, Captain Scott, of all the moneythat this _fête_ must cost. '

'A doosed sight, ' said the captain, hardly articulating fromunder his thick, sandy-coloured moustache, which, growingdownwards from his nose, looked like a heavy thatch put on toprotect his mouth from the inclemency of the clouds above. 'Adoosed sight, ' said the captain. 

'Now suppose, Captain Scott, that all this money could becollected. The tickets, you know, and the dresses, and----'

'I wish I knew how to do it, ' said the captain. 

Lactimel went on with her little scheme for expending the cost ofthe flower-show in bread and bacon for the poor Irish of SaffronHill; but Charley and Katie heard no more, for the mildphilosopher passed out of hearing and out of sight. 

At last Katie got a poke in her back from a parasol, just asCharley had expended half a crown, one of Mr. M'Ruen's last, inpurchasing for her one simple beautiful flower, to put into herhair that night. 

'You naughty puss!' said Gertrude, 'we have been looking for youall over the gardens. Mrs. Val and the Miss Neverbends have beenwaiting this half-hour. ' Katie looked terribly frightened. 'Comealong, and don't keep them waiting any longer. They are all inthe passage. This was your fault, Master Charley. '

'O no, it was not, ' said Katie; 'but we thought----'

'Never mind thinking, ' said Gertrude, 'but come along. ' And sothey hurried on, and were soon replaced in their respectivevehicles, and then went back to town. 

'Well, I do think the Chiswick Gardens is the nicest place in allthe world, ' said Katie, leaning back in the cab, and meditatingon her past enjoyment. 

'They are very pretty--very, ' said Lactimel Neverbend. 'I onlywish every cottar had such a garden behind his cottage. I am surewe might manage it, if we set about it in the right way. '

'What! as big as Chiswick?' said Katie. 

'No; not so big, ' said Lactimel; 'but quite as nicely kept. '

'I think the pigs would get in, ' said Katie. 

'It would be much easier, and more important too, to keep theirminds nicely, ' said Ugolina; and there the pigs could never getin. '

'No; I suppose not, ' said Katie. 

'I don't know that, ' said Lactimel. 

CHAPTER XXVI

KATIE'S FIRST BALL

In spite of Mrs. Val's oft-repeated assurance that they wouldhave none but nice people, she had done her best to fill herrooms, and not unsuccessfully. She had, it is true, eschewed theGolightly party, who resided some north of Oxford Street, in thepurlieus of Fitzroy Square, and some even to the east ofTottenham Court Road. She had eschewed the Golightlys, andconfined herself to the Scott connexion; but so great had beenher success in life, that, even under these circumstances, shehad found herself able to fill her rooms respectably. If, indeed, there was no absolute crowding, if some space was left in thefront drawing-room sufficient for the operations of dancers, shecould still attribute this apparent want of fashionablepopularity to the selections of the few nice people whom she hadasked. The Hon. Mrs. Val was no ordinary woman, and understoodwell how to make the most of the goods with which the godsprovided her. 

The Miss Neverbends were to dine with the Tudors, and go withthem to the dance in the evening, and their brother Fidus was tomeet them there. Charley was, of course, one of the party atdinner; and as there was no other gentleman there, Alaric had anexcellent opportunity, when the ladies went up to their toilets, to impress on his cousin the expediency of his losing no time insecuring to himself Miss Golightly's twenty thousand pounds. Theconversation, as will be seen, at last became rather animated. 

'Well, Charley, what do you think of the beautiful Clementina?'said Alaric, pushing over the bottle to his cousin, as soon asthey found themselves alone. 'A 'doosed' fine girl, as CaptainVal says, isn't she?'

'A 'doosed' fine girl, of course, ' said Charley, laughing. 'Shehas too much go in her for me, I'm afraid. '

'Marriage and children will soon pull that down. She'd make anexcellent wife for such a man as you; and to tell you the truth, Charley, if you'll take my advice, you'll lose no time in makingup to her. She has got that d---- French fellow at her heels, andthough I don't suppose she cares one straw about him, it may bewell to make sure. '

'But you don't mean in earnest that you think that Miss Golightlywould have me?'

'Indeed I do--you are just the man to get on with girls; and, asfar as I can see, you are just the man that will never get on inany other way under the sun. '

Charley sighed as he thought of his many debts, his poorprospects, and his passionate love. There seemed, indeed, to belittle chance that he ever would get on at all in the ordinarysense of the word. 'I'm sure she'd refuse me, ' said he, stillwishing to back out of the difficulty. 'I'm sure she would--I'venot got a penny in the world, you know. '

'That's just the reason--she has got lots of money, and you havegot none. '

'Just the reason why she should refuse me, you should say. '

'Well--what if she does? There's no harm done. 'Faint heart neverwon fair lady. ' You've everything to back you--Mrs. Val is led byUndy Scott, and Undy is all on your side. '

'But she has got guardians, hasn't she?'

'Yes--her father's first cousin, old Sam Golightly. He is dying;or dead probably by this time; only Mrs. Val won't have the newsbrought to her, because of this party. He had a fit of apoplexyyesterday. Then there's her father's brother-in-law, Figgs; he'sbedridden. When old Golightly is off the hooks altogether, another will be chosen, and Undy talks of putting in my name asthat of a family friend; so you'll have everything to assistyou. '

Charley looked very grave. He had not been in the habit ofdiscussing such matters, but it seemed to him, that if Alaric wasabout to become in any legal manner the guardian of MissGolightly's fortune, that that in itself was reason enough whyhe, Alaric, should not propose such a match as this. Needy men, to be sure, did often marry rich ladies, and the world looked onand regarded it only as a matter of course; but surely it wouldbe the duty of a guardian to protect his ward from such a fate, if it were in his power to do so. 

Alaric, who saw something of what was going on in his cousin'smind, essayed to remove the impression which was thus made. 'Besides, you know, Clementina is no chicken. Her fortune is ather own disposal. All the guardians on earth cannot prevent hermarrying you if she makes up her mind to do so. '

Charley gulped down his glass of wine, and then sat staring atthe fire, saying nothing further. It was true enough that he wasvery poor--true enough that Miss Golightly's fortune would sethim on his legs, and make a man of him--true enough, perhaps, that no other expedient of which he could think would do so. Butthen there were so many arguments that were 'strong against thedeed. ' In the first place, he thought it impossible that heshould be successful in such a suit, and then again it wouldhardly be honest to obtain such success, if it were possible;then, thirdly, he had no sort of affection whatsoever for MissGolightly; and fourthly, lastly, and chiefly, he loved so dearly, tenderly, loved poor Katie Woodward. 

As he thought of this, he felt horror-stricken with himself atallowing the idea of his becoming a suitor to another to dwellfor an instant on his mind, and looking up with all theresolution which he was able to summon, he said--'It'simpossible, Alaric, quite impossible! I couldn't do it. '

'Then what do you mean to do?' said Alaric, who was angry athaving his scheme thus thwarted; 'do you mean to be a beggar?--orif not, how do you intend to get out of your difficulties?'

'I trust not a beggar, ' said Charley, sadly. 

'What other hope have you? what rational hope of setting yourselfright?'

'Perhaps I may do something by writing, ' said Charley, verybashfully. 

'By writing! ha, ha, ha, ' and Alaric laughed somewhat cruelly atthe poor navvy--' do something by writing! what will you do bywriting? will you make £20, 000--or 20, 000 pence? Of all tradesgoing, that, I should say, is likely to be the poorest for a poorman--the poorest and the most heart-breaking. What have you madealready to encourage you?'

'The editor says that 'Crinoline and Macassar' will come to £410s. '

'And when will you get it?'

'The editor says that the rule is to pay six months after thedate of publication. The _Daily Delight_ is only a new thing, you know. The editor says that, if the sale comes up to his expectations, he will increase the scale of pay. '

'A prospect of £4 10s. For a fortnight's hard work! That's a badlook-out, my boy; you had better take the heiress. '

'It may be a bad look-out, ' said Charley, whose spirit was raisedby his cousin's sneers--'but at any rate it's honest. And I'lltell you what, Alaric, I'd sooner earn £50 by writing for thepress, than get £1, 000 in any other way you can think of. It maybe a poor trade in one way; and authors, I believe, are poor; butI am sure it has its consolations. '

'Well, Charley, I hope with all my heart that you may find them. For my own part, seeing what a place the world is, seeing whatare the general aspirations of other men, seeing what, as itappears to me, the Creator has intended for the goal of ourlabours, I look for advancement, prosperity, and such rank andstation as I may be able to win for myself. The labourer isworthy of his hire, and I do not mean to refuse such wages as maycome in my way. '

'Yes, ' said Charley, who, now that his spirit was roused, determined to fight his battle manfully, 'yes, the labourer isworthy of his hire; but were I to get Miss Golightly's fortune Ishould be taking the hire without labour. '

'Bah!' said Alaric. 

'It would be dishonest in every way, for I do not love her, andshould not love her at the moment that I married her. '

'Honesty!' said Alaric, still sneering; 'there is no sign of thedishonesty of the age so strong as the continual talk which onehears about honesty!' It was quite manifest that Alaric had notsat at the feet of Undy Scott without profiting by the lessonswhich he had heard. 

'With what face, ' continued he, 'can you pretend to be morehonest than your neighbours?'

'I know that it is wrong, and unmanly too, to hunt a girl downmerely for what she has got. '

'There are a great many wrong and unmanly men about, then, ' saidAlaric. 'Look through the Houses of Parliament, and see how manymen there have married for money; aye, and made excellenthusbands afterwards. I'll tell you what it is, Charley, it is allhumbug in you to pretend to be better than others; you are not abit better;--mind, I do not say you are worse. We have none of ustoo much of this honesty of which we are so fond of prating. Where was your honesty when you ordered the coat for which youknow you cannot pay? or when you swore to the bootmaker that heshould have the amount of his little bill after next quarter-day, knowing in your heart at the time that he wouldn't get a farthingof it? If you are so honest, why did you waste your money to-dayin going to Chiswick, instead of paying some portion of yourdebts? Honest! you are, I dare say, indifferently honest as theworld goes, like the rest of us. But I think you might put theburden of Clementina's fortune on your conscience without feelingmuch the worse for it after what you have already gone through. '

Charley became very red in the face as he sat silent, listeningto Alaric's address--nor did he speak at once at the first pause, so Alaric went on. 'The truth, I take it, is, that at the presentmoment you have no personal fancy for this girl. '

'No, I have not, ' said Charley. 

'And you are so incredibly careless as to all prudentialconsiderations as to prefer your immediate personal fancies tothe future welfare of your whole life. I can say no more. If youwill think well of my proposition, I will do all I can to assistyou. I have no doubt you would make a good husband to MissGolightly, and that she would be very happy with you. If youthink otherwise there is an end of it; but pray do not talk somuch about your honesty--your tailor would arrest you to-morrowif he heard you. '

'There are two kinds of honesty, I take it, ' said Charley, speaking with suppressed anger and sorrow visible in his face, 'that which the world sees and that which it does not see. Formyself, I have nothing to say in my own defence. I have made mybed badly, and must lie on it as it is. I certainly will not mendit by marrying a girl that I can never love. And as for you, Alaric, all who know you and love you watch your career with thegreatest hope. We know your ambition, and all look to see yourise in the world. But in rising, as you will do, you shouldremember this--that nothing that is wrong can become rightbecause other people do it. '

'Well, Charley, ' said the other, 'thank you for the lecture. Idid not certainly expect it from you; but it is not on thataccount the less welcome. And now, suppose we go upstairs anddress for Mrs. Val;' and so they went upstairs. 

Katie's heart beat high as she got out of the carriage--Mrs. Val's private carriage had been kept on for the occasion--and sawbefore and above her on the stairs a crowd of muslin crushing itsway on towards the room prepared for dancing. Katie had neverbeen to a ball before. We hope that the word ball may not bringdown on us the adverse criticism of the _Morning Post_. Itwas probably not a ball in the strictly fashionable sense of theword, but it was so to Katie to all intents and purposes. Herdancing had hitherto been done either at children's parties, oras a sort of supplemental amusement to the evening tea-gatheringsat Hampton or Hampton Court. She had never yet seen the museworshipped with the premeditated ceremony of banished carpets, chalked floors, and hired musicians. Her heart consequently beathigh as she made her way upstairs, linked arm-in-arm with UgolinaNeverbend. 

'Shall you dance much?' said Ugolina. 

'Oh, I hope so, ' said Katie. 

'I shall not. It is an amusement of which I am peculiarly fond, and for which my active habits suit me. ' This was probably saidwith some allusion to her sister, who was apt to be short ofbreath. 'But in the dances of the present day conversation isimpossible, and I look upon any pursuit as barbaric which stopsthe "feast of reason and the flow of soul. "'

Katie did not quite understand this, but she thought in her heartthat she would not at all mind giving up talking for the wholeevening if she could only get dancing enough. But on this matterher heart misgave her. To be sure, she was engaged to Charley forthe first quadrille and second waltz; but there her engagementsstopped, whereas Clementina, as she was aware, had a whole bookfull of them. What if she should get no more dancing whenCharley's good nature should have been expended? She had an ideathat no one would care to dance with her when older partners wereto be had. Ah, Katie, you do not yet know the extent of yourriches, or half the wealth of your own attractions!

And then they all heard another little speech from Mrs. Val. 'Shewas really quite ashamed--she really was--to see so many people;she could not wish any of her guests away, that would beimpossible--though perhaps one or two might be spared, ' she saidin a confidential whisper to Gertrude. Who the one or two mightbe it would be difficult to decide, as she had made the samewhisper to every one; 'but she really was ashamed; there wasalmost a crowd, and she had quite intended that the house shouldbe nearly empty. The fact was, everybody asked had come, and asshe could not, of course, have counted on that, why, she had got, you see, twice as many people as she had expected. ' And then shewent on, and made the same speech to the next arrival. 

Katie, who wanted to begin the play at the beginning, kept hereye anxiously on Charley, who was still standing with LactimelNeverbend on his arm. 'Oh, now, ' said she to herself, 'if heshould forget me and begin dancing with Miss Neverbend!' But thenshe remembered how he had jumped into the water, and determinedthat, even with such provocation as that, she must not be angrywith him. 

But there was no danger of Charley's forgetting. 'Come, ' said he, 'we must not lose any more time, if we mean to dance the firstset. Alaric will be our _vis-à-vis_--he is going to dancewith Miss Neverbend, ' and so they stood up. Katie tightened hergloves, gave her dress a little shake, looked at her shoes, andthen the work of the evening began. 

'I shouldn't have liked to have sat down for the first dance, 'she said confidentially to Charley, ' because it's my first ball. '

'Sit down! I don't suppose you'll be let to sit down the wholeevening. You'll be crying out for mercy about three or fouro'clock in the morning. '

'It's you to go on now, ' said Katie, whose eyes were intent onthe figure, and who would not have gone wrong herself, or allowedher partner to do so, on any consideration. And so the dance wenton right merrily. 

'I've got to dance the first polka with Miss Golightly, ' saidCharley. 

'And the next with me, ' said Katie. 

'You may be sure I shan't forget that. '

'You lucky man to get Miss Golightly for a partner. I am told sheis the most beautiful dancer in the world. '

'O no--Mademoiselle. .. .. .. Is much better, ' said Charley, namingthe principal stage performer of the day. 'If one is to go thewhole hog, one had better do it thoroughly. '

Katie did not quite understand then what he meant, and merelyreplied that she would look at the performance. In this, however, she was destined to be disappointed, for Charley had hardly lefther before Miss Golightly brought up to her the identical M. Delabarbe de l'Empereur who had so terribly put her out in thegardens. This was done so suddenly, that Katie's presence of mindwas quite insufficient to provide her with any means of escape. The Frenchman bowed very low and said nothing. Katie made alittle curtsy, and was equally silent. Then she felt her own armgathered up and put within his, and she stood up to take hershare in the awful performance. She felt herself to be in such anervous fright that she would willingly have been home again atHampton if she could; but as this was utterly impossible, she hadonly to bethink herself of her steps, and get through the work asbest she might. 

Away went Charley and Clementina leading the throng; away went M. Jaquêtanàpe and Linda; away went another Frenchman, clasping inhis arms the happy Ugolina. Away went Lactimel with a youngWeights and Measures--and then came Katie's turn. She pressedher lips together, shut her eyes, and felt the tall Frenchman'sarms behind her back, and made a start. 'Twas like plunging intocold water on the first bathing day of the season--'_ce n'estque le premier pas que coute. _' When once off Katie did notfind it so bad. The Frenchman danced well, and Katie herself wasa wicked little adept. At home, at Surbiton, dancing with anothergirl, she had with great triumph tired out the fingers both ofher mother and sister, and forced them to own that it wasimpossible to put her down. M. De l'Empereur, therefore, had hiswork before him, and he did it like a man--as long as he could. 

Katie, who had not yet assumed the airs or will of a grown-upyoung lady, thought that she was bound to go on as long as hergrand partner chose to go with her. He, on the other hand, accustomed in his gallantry to obey all ladies' wishes, considered himself bound to leave it to her to stop when shepleased. And so they went on with apparently interminablegyrations. Charley and the heiress had twice been in motion, andhad twice stopped, and still they were going on; Ugolina hadrefreshed herself with many delicious observations, and Lactimelhad thrice paused to advocate dancing for the million, and stillthey went on; the circle was gradually left to themselves, andstill they went on; people stood round, some admiring and otherspitying; and still they went on. Katie, thinking of her steps andher business, did not perceive that she and her partner werealone; and ever and anon, others of course joined in--and so theywent on--and on--and on. 

M. Delabarbe de l'Empereur was a strong and active man, but hebegan to perceive that the lady was too much for him. He wasalready melting away with his exertions, while his partner was ascool as a cucumber. She, with her active young legs, her lightlyfilled veins, and small agile frame, could have gone on almostfor ever; but M. De l'Empereur was more encumbered. Gallantry wasat last beat by nature, his overtasked muscles would do no morefor him, and he was fain to stop, dropping his partner into achair, and throwing himself in a state of utter exhaustionagainst the wall. 

Katie was hardly out of breath as she received thecongratulations of her friends; but at the moment she could notunderstand why they were quizzing her. In after times, however, she was often reproached with having danced a Frenchman to deathin the evening, in revenge for his having bored her in themorning. It was observed that M. Delabarbe de l'Empereur dancedno more that evening. Indeed, he very soon left the house. 

Katie had not been able to see Miss Golightly's performance, butit had been well worth seeing. She was certainly no ordinaryperformer, and if she did not quite come up to the remarkablemovements which one sees on the stage under the name of dancing, the fault was neither in her will nor her ability, but only inher education. Charley also was peculiarly well suited to giveher 'ample verge and room enough' to show off all her perfections. Her most peculiar merit consisted, perhaps, in her power of stoppingherself suddenly, while going on at the rate of a hunt one way, andwithout any pause or apparent difficulty going just as fast the otherway. This was done by a jerk which must, one would be inclined tothink, have dislocated all her bones and entirely upset her internalarrangements. But no; it was done without injury, or any disagreeableresult either to her brain or elsewhere. We all know how a steameris manoeuvred when she has to change her course, how we stopher and ease her and back her; but Miss Golightly stopped andeased and backed all at once, and that without collision withany other craft. It was truly very wonderful, and Katie ought tohave looked at her. 

Katie soon found occasion to cast off her fear that her evening'shappiness would be destroyed by a dearth of partners. Hertroubles began to be of an exactly opposite description. She hadalmost envied Miss Golightly her little book full of engagements, and now she found herself dreadfully bewildered by a book of herown. Some one had given her a card and a pencil, and every momentshe could get to herself was taken up in endeavouring to guardherself from perfidy on her own part. All down the card, atintervals which were not very far apart, there were great C's, which stood for Charley, and her firmest feeling was that noearthly consideration should be allowed to interfere with thoselandmarks. And then there were all manner of hieroglyphics--sometimes, unfortunately, illegible to Katie herself--Frenchnames and English names mixed together in a manner mostvexatious; and to make matters worse, she found that she had putdown both Victoire Jaquêtanàpe and Mr. Johnson of the Weights, bya great I, and she could not remember with whom she was bound todance the lancers, and to which she had promised the last polkabefore supper. One thing, however, was quite fixed: when suppershould arrive she was to go downstairs with Charley. 

'What dreadful news, Linda!' said Charley; 'did you hear it?'Linda was standing up with Mr. Neverbend for a sober quadrille, and Katie also was close by with her partner. 'Dreadful newsindeed!'

'What is it?' said Linda. 

'A man can die but once, to be sure; but to be killed in such amanner as that, is certainly very sad. '

'Killed! who has been killed?' said Neverbend. 

'Well, perhaps I shouldn't say killed. He only died in the cab ashe went home. '

'Died in a cab! how dreadful!' said Neverbend. 'Who? who was it, Mr. Tudor?'

'Didn't you hear? How very odd! Why M. De l'Empereur, to be sure. I wonder what the coroner will bring it in. '

'How can you talk such nonsense, Charley?' said Linda. 

'Very well, Master Charley, ' said Katie. 'All that comes of beinga writer of romances. I suppose that's to be the next contributionto the _Daily Delight_. '

Neverbend went off on his quadrille not at all pleased with thejoke. Indeed, he was never pleased with a joke, and in thisinstance he ventured to suggest to his partner that the idea of agentleman expiring in a cab was much too horrid to be laughed at. 

'Oh, we never mind Charley Tudor, ' said Linda; 'he always goes onin that way. We all like him so much. '

Mr. Neverbend, who, though not very young, still had asusceptible heart within his bosom, had been much taken byLinda's charms. He already began to entertain an idea that as aMrs. Neverbend would be a desirable adjunct to his establishmentat some future period, he could not do better than offer himselfand his worldly goods to the acceptance of Miss Woodward; hetherefore said nothing further in disparagement of the familyfriend; but he resolved that no such alliance should ever inducehim to make Mr. Charles Tudor welcome at his house. But whatcould he have expected? The Internal Navigation had ever been alow place, and he was surprised that the Hon. Mrs. Val shouldhave admitted one of the navvies inside her drawing-room. 

And so the ball went on. Mr. Johnson came duly for the lancers, and M. Jaquêtanàpe for the polka. Johnson was great at thelancers, knowing every turn and vagary in that most intricate andexclusive of dances; and it need hardly be said that the polkawith M. Jaquêtanàpe was successful. The last honour, however, wasnot without evil results, for it excited the envy of Ugolina, who, proud of her own performance, had longed, but hitherto invain, to be whirled round the room by that wondrously expertforeigner. 

'Well, my dear, ' said Ugolina, with an air that plainly said thatKatie was to be treated as a child, 'I hope you have had dancingenough. '

'Oh, indeed I have not, ' said Katie, fully appreciating thepurport and cause of her companion's remark; 'not near enough. '

'Ah--but, my dear--you should remember, ' said Ugolina; 'yourmamma will be displeased if you fatigue yourself. '

'My mamma is never displeased because we amuse ourselves, and Iam not a bit fatigued;' and so saying Katie walked off, and tookrefuge with her sister Gertrude. What business had any UgolinaNeverbend to interfere between her and her mamma?

Then came the supper. There was a great rush to get downstairs, but Charley was so clever that even this did not put him out. Ofcourse there was no sitting down; which means that the bashful, retiring, and obedient guests were to stand on their legs; whilethose who were forward, and impudent, and disobedient, foundseats for themselves wherever they could. Charley was certainlyamong the latter class, and he did not rest therefore till he hadgot Katie into an old arm-chair in one corner of the room, insuch a position as to enable himself to eat his own supperleaning against the chimney-piece. 

'I say, Johnson, ' said he, 'do bring me some ham and chicken--it's for a lady--I'm wedged up here and can't get out--and, Johnson, some sherry. '

The good-natured young Weights obeyed, and brought the desiredprovisions. 

'And Johnson--upon my word I'm sorry to be so troublesome--butone more plateful if you please--for another lady--a good deal, if you please, for this lady, for she's very hungry; and somemore sherry. '

Johnson again obeyed--the Weights are always obedient--andCharley of course appropriated the second portion to his ownpurposes. 

'Oh, Charley, that was a fib--now wasn't it? You shouldn't havesaid it was for a lady. '

'But then I shouldn't have got it. '

'Oh, but that's no reason; according to that everybody might tella fib whenever they wanted anything. '

'Well, everybody does--everybody except you, Katie. '

'O no, ' said Katie--'no they don't--mamma, and Linda, andGertrude never do; nor Harry Norman, he never does, nor Alaric. '

'No, Harry Norman never does, ' said Charley, with something likevexation in his tone. He made no exception to Katie's list oftruth-tellers, but he was thinking within himself whether Alarichad a juster right to be in the catalogue than himself. 'HarryNorman never does, certainly. You must not compare me with them, Katie. They are patterns of excellence. I am all the other way, as everybody knows. ' He was half laughing as he spoke, butKatie's sharp ear knew that he was more than half in earnest, andshe felt she had pained him by what she had said. 

'Oh, Charley, I didn't mean that; indeed I did not. I know thatin all serious things you are as truthful as they are--and quiteas good--that is, in many ways. ' Poor Katie! she wanted toconsole him, she wanted to be kind, and yet she could not bedishonest. 

'Quite as good! no, you know I am not. '

'You are as good-hearted, if not better; and you will be assteady, won't you, Charley? I am sure you will; and I know youare more clever, really more clever than either of them. '

'Oh! Katie. '

'I am quite sure you are. I have always said so; don't be angrywith me for what I said. '

'Angry with you! I couldn't be angry with you. '

'I wouldn't, for the world, say anything to vex you. I like youbetter than either of them, though Alaric is my brother-in-law. Of course I do; how could I help it, when you saved my life?'

'Saved your life! Pooh! I didn't save your life. Any boy couldhave done the same, or any waterman about the place. When youfell in, the person who was nearest you pulled you out, that wasall. '

There was something almost approaching to ferocity in his voiceas he said this; and yet when Katie timidly looked up she sawthat he had turned his back to the room, and that his eyes werefull of tears. He had felt that he was loved by this child, butthat he was loved from a feeling of uncalled-for gratitude. Hecould not stop to analyse this, to separate the sweet from thebitter; but he knew that the latter prevailed. It is so littleflattering to be loved when such love is the offspring ofgratitude. And then when that gratitude is unnecessary, when ithas been given in mistake for supposed favours, the acceptance ofsuch love is little better than a cheat!

'That was not all, ' said Katie, very decidedly. 'It never shallbe all in my mind. If you had not been with us I should now havebeen drowned, and cold, and dead; and mamma! where would she havebeen? Oh! Charley, I shall think myself so wicked if I have saidanything to vex you. '

Charley did not analyse his feelings, nor did Katie analyse hers. It would have been impossible for her to do so. But could shehave done it, and had she done it, she would have found that hergratitude was but the excuse which she made to herself for apassionate love which she could not have excused, even toherself, in any other way. 

He said everything he could to reassure her and make her happy, and she soon smiled and laughed again. 

'Now, that's what my editor would call a Nemesis, ' said Charley. 

'Oh, that's a Nemesis, is it?'

'Johnson was cheated into doing my work, and getting me mysupper; and then you scolded me, and took away my appetite, sothat I couldn't eat it; that's a Nemesis. Johnson is avenged, only, unluckily, he doesn't know it, and wickedness is punished. '

'Well, mind you put it into the _Daily Delight_. But all thegirls are going upstairs; pray let me get out, ' and so Katie wentupstairs again. 

It was then past one. About two hours afterwards, Gertrude, looking for her sister that she might take her home, found herseated on a bench, with her feet tucked under her dress. She wasvery much fatigued, and she looked to be so; but there was stilla bright laughing sparkle in her eye, which showed that herspirits were not even yet weary. 

'Well, Katie, have you had enough dancing?'

'Nearly, ' said Katie, yawning. 

'You look as if you couldn't stand. '

'Yes, I am too tired to stand; but still I think I could dance alittle more, only--'

'Only what?'

'Whisper, ' said Katie; and Gertrude put down her ear near to hersister's lips. 'Both my shoes are quite worn out, and my toes areall out on the floor. '

It was clearly time for them to go home, so away they all went. 

CHAPTER XXVII

EXCELSIOR

The last words that Katie spoke as she walked down Mrs. Val'shall, leaning on Charley's arm, as he led her to the carriage, were these--

'You will be steady, Charley, won't you? you will try to besteady, won't you, dear Charley?' and as she spoke she almostimperceptibly squeezed the arm on which she was leaning. Charleypressed her little hand as he parted from her, but he saidnothing. What could he say, in that moment of time, in answer tosuch a request? Had he made the reply which would have come mostreadily to his lips, it would have been this: 'It is too late, Katie--too late for me to profit by a caution, even from you--nosteadiness now will save me. ' Katie, however, wanted no otheranswer than the warm pressure which she felt on her hand. 

And then, leaning back in the carriage, and shutting her eyes, she tried to think quietly over the events of the night. But itwas, alas! a dream, and yet so like reality that she could notdivest herself of the feeling that the ball was still going on. She still seemed to see the lights and hear the music, to feelherself whirled round the room, and to see others whirling, whirling, whirling on every side of her. She thought over all thenames on her card, and the little contests that had taken placefor her hand, and all Charley's jokes, and M. De l'Empereur'sgreat disaster; and then as she remembered how long she had goneon twisting round with the poor unfortunate ill-used Frenchman, she involuntarily burst out into a fit of laughter. 

'Good gracious, Katie, what is the matter? I thought you wereasleep, ' said Gertrude. 

'So did I, ' said Linda. 'What on earth can you be laughing atnow?'

'I was laughing at myself, ' said Katie, still going on with herhalf-suppressed chuckle, 'and thinking what a fool I was to go ondancing so long with that M. De l'Empereur. Oh dear, Gertrude, Iam so tired: shall we be home soon?' and then she burst outcrying. 

The excitement and fatigue of the day had been too much for her, and she was now completely overcome. Ugolina Neverbend's advice, though not quite given in the kindest way, had in itself beengood. Mrs. Woodward would, in truth, have been unhappy could shehave seen her child at this moment. Katie made an attempt tolaugh off her tears, but she failed, and her sobs then becamehysterical, and she lay with her head on her married sister'sshoulder, almost choking herself in her attempts to repress them. 

'Dear Katie, don't sob so, ' said Linda--'don't cry, pray don'tcry, dear Katie. '

'She had better let it have its way, ' said Gertrude; 'she will bebetter directly, won't you, Katie?'

In a little time she was better, and then she burst out laughingagain. 'I wonder why the man went on when he was so tired. What astupid man he must be!'

Gertrude and Linda both laughed in order to comfort her and bringher round. 

'Do you know, I think it was because he didn't know how to say'stop' in English;' and then she burst out laughing again, andthat led to another fit of hysterical tears. 

When they reached home Gertrude and Linda soon got her into bed. Linda was to sleep with her, and she also was not very long inlaying her head on her pillow. But before she did so Katie wasfast asleep, and twice in her sleep she cried out, 'Oh, Charley!Oh, Charley!' Then Linda guessed how it was with her sister, andin the depths of her loving heart she sorrowed for the cominggrief which she foresaw. 

When the morning came Katie was feverish, and had a headache. Itwas thought better that she should remain in town, and Alarictook Linda down to Hampton. The next day Mrs. Woodward came up, and as the invalid was better she took her home. But still shewas an invalid. The doctor declared that she had never quiterecovered from her fall into the river, and prescribed quiet andcod-liver oil. All the truth about the Chiswick fête and the fivehours' dancing, and the worn-out shoes, was not told to him, orhe might, perhaps, have acquitted the water-gods of the injury. Nor was it all, perhaps, told to Mrs. Woodward. 

'I'm afraid she tired herself at the ball, ' said Mrs. Woodward. 

'I think she did a little, ' said Linda. 

'Did she dance much?' said Mrs. Woodward, looking anxiously. 

'She did dance a good deal, ' said Linda. 

Mrs. Woodward was too wise to ask any further questions. 

As it was a fine night Alaric had declared his intention ofwalking home from Mrs. Val's party, and he and Charley startedtogether. They soon parted on their roads, but not before Alarichad had time to notice Charley's perverse stupidity as to MissGolightly. 

'So you wouldn't take my advice about Clementina?' said he. 

'It was quite impossible, Alaric, ' said Charley, in an apologeticvoice. 'I couldn't do it, and, what is more, I am sure I nevershall. '

'No, not now; you certainly can't do it now. If I am not verymuch mistaken, the chance is gone. I think you'll find sheengaged herself to that Frenchman tonight. '

'Very likely, ' said Charley. 

'Well--I did the best I could for you. Good night, old fellow. '

'I'm sure I'm much obliged to you. Good night, ' said Charley. 

Alaric's suggestion with reference to the heiress was quitecorrect: M. Jaquêtanàpe had that night proposed, and been dulyaccepted. He was to present himself to his loved one's honourablemother on the following morning as her future son-in-law, comforted and supported in his task of doing so by an assurancefrom the lady that if her mother would not give her consent themarriage should go on all the same without it. How delightful tohave such a dancer for her lover! thought Clementina. That washer 'Excelsior. '

Charley walked home with a sad heart. He had that day given apledge that he would on the morrow go to the 'Cat and Whistle, 'and visit his lady-love. Since the night when he sat there withNorah Geraghty on his knee, now nearly a fortnight since, he hadspent but little of his time there. He had, indeed, gone thereonce or twice with his friend Scatterall, but had contrived toavoid any confidential intercourse with either the landlady orthe barmaid, alleging, as an excuse for his extra-ordinaryabsence, that his time was wholly occupied by the demands made onit by the editor of the _Daily Delight_. Mrs. Davis, however, was much too sharp, and so also we may say was Miss Geraghty, to be deceived. They well knew that such a young man asCharley would go wherever his inclination led him. Till lately ithad been all but impossible to get him out of the little backparlour at the 'Cat and Whistle'; now it was nearly as difficultto get him into it. They both understood what this meant. 

'You'd better take up with Peppermint and have done with it, 'said the widow. 'What's the good of your shilly-shallying tillyou're as thin as a whipping-post? If you don't mind what you'reafter he'll be off too. '

'And the d---- go along with him, ' said Miss Geraghty, who hadstill about her a twang of the County Clare, from whence shecame. 

'With all my heart, ' said Mrs. Davis; 'I shall save my hundredpounds: but if you'll be led by me you'll not throw Peppermintover till you're sure of the other; and, take my word for it, you're----'

'I hate Peppermint. '

'Nonsense; he's an honest good sort of man, and a deal morelikely to keep you out of want than the other. '

Hereupon Norah began to cry, and to wipe her beautiful eyes withthe glass-cloth. Hers, indeed, was a cruel position. Her face washer fortune, and her fortune she knew was deteriorating from dayto day. She could not afford to lose the lover that she loved, and also the lover that she did not love. Matrimony with her wasextremely desirable, and she was driven to confess that it mightvery probably be either now or never. Much as she hatedPeppermint, she was quite aware that she would take him if shecould not do better. But then, was it absolutely certain that shemust lose the lover that so completely suited her taste? Mrs. Davis said it was. Norah herself, confiding, as it is so naturalthat ladies should do, a little too much in her own beauty, thought that she couldn't but have a chance left. She also hadher high aspirations; she desired to rise in the world, to leavegoes of gin and screws of tobacco behind her, and to reach someposition more worthy of the tastes of a woman. 'Excelsior, 'translated doubtless into excellent Irish, was her motto also. Itwould be so great a thing to be the wife of Charles Tudor, Esq. , of the Civil Service, and more especially as she dearly and trulyloved the same Charles Tudor in her heart of hearts. 

She knew, however, that it was not for her to indulge in theluxury of a heart, if circumstances absolutely forbade it. To eatand drink and clothe herself, and, if possible, to provide eatingand drinking and clothes for her future years, this was thebusiness of life, this was the only real necessity. She hadnothing to say in opposition to Mrs. Davis, and therefore shewent on crying, and again wiped her eyes with the glass-cloth. 

Mrs. Davis, however, was no stern monitor, unindulgent to theweakness of human nature. When she saw how Norah took to hearther sad fate, she resolved to make one more effort in her favour. She consequently dressed herself very nicely, put on her bestbonnet, and took the unprecedented step of going off to theInternal Navigation, and calling on Charley in the middle of hisoffice. 

Charley was poking over the Kennett and Avon lock entries, withhis usual official energy, when the office messenger came up andinformed him that a lady was waiting to see him. 

'A lady!' said Charley: 'what lady?' and he immediately beganthinking of the Woodwards, whom he was to meet that afternoon atChiswick. 

'I'm sure I can't say, sir: all that she said was that she was alady, ' answered the messenger, falsely, for he well knew that thewoman was Mrs. Davis, of the 'Cat and Whistle. '

Now the clerks at the Internal Navigation were badly off for awaiting-room; and in no respect can the different ranks ofdifferent public offices be more plainly seen than in thepresence or absence of such little items of accommodation asthis. At the Weights and Measures there was an elegant littlechamber, carpeted, furnished with leathern-bottomed chairs, and aclock, supplied with cream-laid note-paper, new pens, and the_Times_ newspaper, quite a little Elysium, in which to passhalf an hour, while the Secretary, whom one had called to see, was completing his last calculation on the matter of the decimalcoinage. But there were no such comforts at the InternalNavigation. There was, indeed, a little room at the top of thestairs, in which visitors were requested to sit down; but evenhere two men were always at work--at work, or else at play. 

Into this room Mrs. Davis was shown, and there Charley found her. Long and intimately as the young navvy had been acquainted withthe landlady of the 'Cat and Whistle, ' he had never before seenher arrayed for the outer world. It may be doubted whether SirJohn Falstaff would, at the first glance, have known even DameQuickly in her bonnet, that is, if Dame Quickly in those days hadhad a bonnet. At any rate Charley was at fault for a moment, andwas shaking hands with the landlady before he quite recognizedwho she was. 

The men in the room, however, had recognized her, and Charleywell knew that they had done so. 

'Mr. Tudor, ' she began, not a bit abashed, 'I want to know whatit is you are a-going to do?'

Though she was not abashed, Charley was, and very much so. However, he contrived to get her out of the room, so that hemight speak to her somewhat more privately in the passage. Thegentlemen at the Internal Navigation were well accustomed to thismode of colloquy, as their tradesmen not unfrequently called, with the view of having a little conversation, which could notconveniently be held in the public room. 

'And, Mr. Tudor, what are you a-going to do about that poor girlthere?' said Mrs. Davis, as soon as she found herself in thepassage, and saw that Charley was comfortably settled with hisback against the wall. 

'She may go to Hong-Kong for me. ' That is what Charley shouldhave said. But he did not say it. He had neither the sternness ofheart nor the moral courage to enable him to do so. He was veryanxious, it is true, to get altogether quit of Norah Geraghty;but his present immediate care was confined to a desire ofgetting Mrs. Davis out of the office. 

'Do!' said Charley. 'Oh, I don't know; I'll come and settlesomething some of these days; let me see when--say next Tuesday. '

'Settle something, ' said Mrs. Davis. 'If you are an honest man, as I take you, there is only one thing to settle; when do youmean to marry her?'

'Hush!' said Charley; for, as she was speaking, Mr. Snape camedown the passage leading from Mr. Oldeschole's room. 'Hush!' Mr. Snape as he passed walked very slowly, and looked curiously roundinto the widow's face. 'I'll be even with you, old fellow, forthat, ' said Charley to himself; and it may be taken for grantedthat he kept his word before long. 

'Oh! it is no good hushing any more, ' said Mrs. Davis, hardlywaiting till Mr. Snape's erect ears were out of hearing. 'Hushingwon't do no good; there's that girl a-dying, and her grave'll bea-top of your head, Mr. Tudor; mind I tell you that fairly; sonow I want to know what it to you're a-going to do. ' And thenMrs. Davis lifted up the lid of a market basket which hung on herleft arm, took out her pocket-handkerchief, and began to wipe hereyes. 

Unfortunate Charley! An idea occurred to him that he might boltand leave her. But then the chances were that she would make herway into his very room, and tell her story there, out before themall. He well knew that this woman was capable of many things ifher temper were fairly roused. And yet what could he say to herto induce her to go out from that building, and leave him aloneto his lesser misfortunes?

'She's a-dying, I tell you, Mr. Tudor, ' continued the landlady, 'and if she do die, be sure of this, I won't be slow to tell thetruth about it. I'm the only friend she's got, and I'm not goingto see her put upon. So just tell me this in two words--what isit you're a-going to do?' And then Mrs. Davis replaced herkerchief in the basket, stood boldly erect in the middle of thepassage, waiting for Charley's answer. 

Just at this moment Mr. Snape again appeared in the passage, going towards Mr. Oldeschole's room. The pernicious old man! Hehated Charley Tudor; and, to tell the truth, there was no lovelost between them. Charley, afflicted and out of spirits as hewas at the moment, could not resist the opportunity of beingimpertinent to his old foe: 'I'm afraid you'll make yourself verytired, Mr. Snape, if you walk about so much, ' said he. Mr. Snapemerely looked at him, and then hard at Mrs. Davis, and passed onto Mr. Oldeschole's room. 

'Well, Mr. Tudor, will you be so good as to tell me what it isyou're going to do about this poor girl?'

'My goodness, Mrs. Davis, you know how I am situated--how can youexpect me to give an answer to such a question in such a place asthis? I'll come to the 'Cat and Whistle' on Tuesday. '

'Gammon!' said the eloquent lady. 'You know you means gammon. '

Charley, perhaps, did mean gammon; but he protested that he hadnever been more truthfully in earnest in his life. Mr. Oldeschole'sdoor opened, and Mrs. Davis perceiving it, whipped out herhandkerchief in haste, and again began wiping her eyes, notwithout audible sobs. 'Confound the woman!' said Charley tohimself; 'what on earth shall I do with her?'

Mr. Oldeschole's door opened, and out of it came Mr. Oldeschole, and Mr. Snape following him. What means the clerk had used tobring forth the Secretary need not now be inquired. Forth theyboth came, and passed along the passage, brushing close byCharley and Mrs. Davis; Mr. Oldeschole, when he saw that one ofthe clerks was talking to a woman who apparently was crying, looked very intently on the ground, and passed by with a quickstep; Mr. Snape looked as intently at the woman, and passed veryslowly. Each acted according to his lights. 

'I don't mean gammon at all, Mrs. Davis--indeed, I don't--I'll bethere on Tuesday night certainly, if not sooner--I will indeed--Ishall be in a desperate scrape if they see me here talking to youany longer; there is a rule against women being in the office atall. '

'And there's a rule against the clerks marrying, I suppose, ' saidMrs. Davis. 

The colloquy ended in Charley promising to spend the Saturdayevening at the 'Cat and Whistle, ' with the view of then and theresettling what he meant to do about 'that there girl'; nothingshort of such an undertaking on his part would induce Mrs. Davisto budge. Had she known her advantage she might have made evenbetter terms. He would almost rather have given her a writtenpromise to marry her barmaid, than have suffered her to remainthere till Mr. Oldeschole should return and see her there again. So Mrs. Davis, with her basket and pocket-handkerchief, went herway about her marketing, and Charley, as he returned to his room, gave the strictest injunctions to the messenger that not, on anyground or excuse whatever, was any woman to be again allowed tosee him at the office. 

When, therefore, on the fine summer morning, with the earlydaylight all bright around him, Charley walked home from Mrs. Val's party, he naturally felt sad enough. He had one sixpenceleft in his pocket; he was engaged to spend the evening of thefollowing day with the delightful Norah at the 'Cat and Whistle, 'then and there to plight her his troth, in whatever formal andmost irretrievable manner Mrs. Davis might choose to devise; andas he thought of these things he had ringing in his ears the lastsounds of that angel voice, 'You will be steady, Charley, won'tyou? I know you will, dear Charley--won't you now?'

Steady! Would not the best thing for him be to step down toWaterloo Bridge and throw himself over? He still had money enoughleft to pay the toll--though not enough to hire a pistol. And sohe went home and got into bed. 

On that same day, the day that was to witness Charley's betrothalto Miss Geraghty, and that of M. Jaquêtanàpe with Miss Golightly, Alaric Tudor had an appointment with Sir Gregory Hardlines at thenew office of the Civil Service Examination Board. Alaric hadbeen invited to wait upon the great man, in terms which made himperfectly understand that the communication to be made was onewhich would not be unpleasing or uncomplimentary to himself. Indeed, he pretty well guessed what was to be said to him. Sincehis promotion at the Weights and Measures he had gone on risingin estimation as a man of value to the Civil Service at large. Nearly two years had now passed since that date, and in thesepages nothing has been said of his official career during thetime. It had, however, been everything that he or his friendscould have wished it to be. He had so put himself forward asabsolutely to have satisfied the actual chief clerk of hisoffice, and was even felt by some of the secretaries to betreading very closely on their heels. 

And yet a great portion of his time had been spent, not at theWeights and Measures, but in giving some sort of specialassistance to Sir Gregory's Board. The authorities at the Weightsand Measures did not miss him; they would have been well contentthat he should have remained for ever with Sir Gregory. 

He had also become somewhat known to the official world, evenbeyond the confines of the Weights and Measures, or theExamination Board, He had changed his club, and now belonged tothe Downing. He had there been introduced by his friend Undy tomany men, whom to know should be the very breath in the nostrilsof a rising official aspirant. Mr. Whip Vigil, of the Treasury, had more than once taken him by the hand, and even the Chancellorof the Exchequer usually nodded to him whenever that o'ertaskedfunctionary found a moment to look in at the official club. 

Things had not been going quite smoothly at the ExaminationBoard. Tidings had got about that Mr. Jobbles was interferingwith Sir Gregory, and that Sir Gregory didn't like it. To besure, when this had been indiscreetly alluded to in the House byone of those gentlemen who pass their leisure hours in lookingout for raws in the hide of the Government carcass, some othergentleman, some gentleman from the Treasury bench, had been ableto give a very satisfactory reply. For why, indeed, should anygentleman sit on the Treasury bench if he be not able, when soquestioned, to give very satisfactory replies? Giving satisfactoryreplies to ill-natured questions is, one may say, the constitutionalwork of such gentlemen, who have generally well learned howto do so, and earned their present places by asking the selfsamequestions themselves, when seated as younger men in otherparts of the House. 

But though the answer given in this instance was so eminentlysatisfactory as to draw down quite a chorus of triumphantacclamations from the official supporters of Government, nevertheless things had not gone on at the Board quite assmoothly as might have been desirable. Mr. Jobbles was enthusiasticallyintent on examining the whole adult male population of Great Britain, and had gone so far as to hint that female competitors might, atsome future time, be made subject to his all-measuring rule andcompass. Sir Gregory, however, who, having passed his earlydays in an office, may, perhaps, be supposed to have had someslight prejudice remaining in favour of ancient customs, was notinclined to travel so quickly. Moreover, he preferred following hisown lead, to taking any other lead whatever that Mr. Jobbles mightpoint out as preferable. 

Mr. Jobbles wanted to crush all patronage at a blow; any systemof patronage would lamentably limit the number of candidatesamong whom his examination papers would be distributed. He longedto behold, crowding around him, an attendance as copious as Mr. Spurgeon's, and to see every head bowed over the posing questionswhich he should have dictated. No legion could be too many forhim. He longed to be at this great work; but his energies werecrushed by the opposition of his colleagues. Sir Gregory thought--and Sir Warwick, though he hardly gave a firm support to SirGregory, would not lend his countenance to Mr. Jobbles--SirGregory thought that enough would be done for the present, ifthey merely provided that every one admitted into the Serviceshould be educated in such a manner as to be fit for anyprofession or calling under the sun; and that, with this slightproviso, the question of patronage might for the present remainuntouched. 'Do you, ' he would have said to the great officers ofGovernment, 'appoint whom you like. In this respect remain quiteunfettered. I, however, I am the St. Peter to whom are confidedthe keys of the Elysium. Do you send whatever candidates youplease: it is for me merely to say whether or not they shallenter. ' But Mr. Jobbles would have gone much farther. He wouldhave had all mankind for candidates, and have selected from thewhole mass those most worthy of the high reward. And so there wasa split at the Examination Board, which was not to be healed evenby the very satisfactory reply given by the Treasury gentleman inthe House of Commons. 

Neither Sir Gregory nor his rival were men likely to give way, and it soon appeared manifest to the powers that be, thatsomething must be done. It therefore came to light that Mr. Jobbles had found that his clerical position was hardlycompatible with a seat at a lay board, and he retired to the morecongenial duties of a comfortable prebendal stall at Westminster. 'So that by his close vicinity, ' as was observed by a newspaperthat usually supported the Government, 'he might be able to be ofmaterial use, whenever his advice should be required by the Boardof Commissioners. ' Sir Gregory in the meantime was instructed tosuggest the name of another colleague; and, therefore, he sentfor Alaric Tudor. 

Alaric, of course, knew well what had been going on at the Board. He had been Sir Gregory's confidential man all through; hadworked out cases for him, furnished him with arguments, backedhis views, and had assisted him, whenever such a course had beennecessary, in holding Mr. Jobbles' head under the pump. Alaricknew well on which side his bread was buttered, and could seewith a glance which star was in the ascendant; he perfectlyunderstood the points and merits of the winning horse. He went into win upon Sir Gregory, and he won. When Mr. Jobbles made hislast little speech at the Board, and retired to his house in theDean's yard, Alaric felt tolerably certain that he himself wouldbe invited to fill the vacant place. 

And he was so invited. 'That is £1, 200 a year, at any rate, ' saidhe to himself, as with many words of submissive gratitude hethanked his patron for the nomination. 'That is £1, 200 a year. Sofar, so good. And now what must be the next step? Excelsior! Itis very nice to be a Commissioner, and sit at a Board at SirGregory's right hand: much nicer than being a junior clerk at theWeights and Measures, like Harry Norman. But there are nicerthings even than that; there are greater men even than SirGregory; richer figures than even £1, 200 a year!'

So he went to his old office, wrote his resignation, and walkedhome meditating to what next step above he should now aspire torise. 'Excelsior!' he still said to himself, 'Excelsior!'

At the same moment Charley was leaving the Internal Navigation, and as he moved with unusual slowness down the steps, hebethought himself how he might escape from the fangs of hisNorah; how, if such might still be possible, he might fit himselffor the love of Katie Woodward. Excelsior! such also was thethought of his mind; but he did not dare to bring the word toutterance. It was destined that his thoughts should be interruptedby no very friendly hand. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

OUTERMAN _v_ TUDOR

Charley sat at his office on the Saturday afternoon, verymeditative and unlike himself. What was he to do when his officehours were over? In the first place he had not a shilling in theworld to get his dinner. His habit was to breakfast at home athis lodgings with Harry, and then to dine, as best he might, atsome tavern, if he had not the good fortune to be dining out. Hehad a little dinner bill at a house which he frequented in theStrand; but the bill he knew had reached its culminating point. It would, he was aware, be necessary that it should be decreased, not augmented, at the next commercial transaction which mighttake place between him and the tavern-keeper. 

This was not the first time by many in which he had been in asimilar plight--but his resource in such case had been to tellthe truth gallantly to his friend Mrs. Davis; and some sort ofviands, not at all unprepossessing to him in his hunger, wouldalways be forthcoming for him at the 'Cat and Whistle. ' Thissupply was now closed to him. Were he, under his presentcircumstances, to seek for his dinner from the fair hands ofNorah Geraghty, it would be tantamount to giving himself up aslost for ever. 

This want of a dinner, however, was a small misfortune incomparison with others which afflicted him. Should or should henot keep his promise to Mrs. Davis, and go to the 'Cat andWhistle' that evening? That was the question which disturbed hisequanimity, and hindered him from teasing Mr. Snape in his usualvivacious manner. 

And here let it not be said that Charley must be altogetherdespicable in being so weak; that he is not only a vulgar rake inhis present habits, but a fool also, and altogether spiritless, and of a low disposition. Persons who may so argue of him, who soargue of those whom they meet in the real living world, areignorant of the twists and turns, and rapid changes in characterwhich are brought about by outward circumstances. Many a youth, abandoned by his friends to perdition on account of his folly, might have yet prospered, had his character not been set down asgone, before, in truth, it was well formed. It is not one calfonly that should be killed for the returning prodigal. Oh, fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts, guardians, and elderly friendsin general, kill seven fatted calves if seven should unfortunatelybe necessary!

And then there was a third calamity. Charley had, at this moment, in his pocket a certain document, which in civil but stillsomewhat peremptory language invited him to meet a verycelebrated learned pundit, being no less than one of HerMajesty's puisne judges, at some court in Westminster, to explainwhy he declined to pay to one Nathaniel Outerman, a tailor, thesum of &c. , &c. , &c. ; and the document then went on to say, thatany hesitation on Charley's part to accept this invitation wouldbe regarded as great contempt shown to the said learned pundit, and would be treated accordingly. Now Charley had not paid theslightest attention to this requisition from the judge. It would, he conceived, have been merely putting his head into the lion'smouth to do so. But yet he knew that such documents meantsomething; that the day of grace was gone by, and that Mr. Nathaniel Outerman would very speedily have him locked up. 

So Charley sat meditative over his lock entries, and allowed evenhis proposed vengeance on Mr. Snape to be delayed. 

'I say, Charley, ' said Scatterall, coming over and whispering tohim, 'you couldn't lend me half a crown, could you?'

Charley said nothing, but looked on his brother navvy in a mannerthat made any other kind of reply quite unnecessary. 

'I was afraid it was so, ' said Scatterall, in a melancholy voice. And then, as if by the brilliance of his thought he had suddenlyrecovered his spirits, he made a little proposition. 

'I'll tell you what you might do, Charley. I put my watch up thespout last week. It's a silver turnip, so I only got fifteenshillings; yours is a Cox and Savary, and it's gold. I'm sureyou'd get £3 for it easily--perhaps £3 3s. Now, if you'll dothat, and take my turnip down, I'll let you have the turnip towear, if you'll let me have ten shillings of the money. You see, you'd get clear--let me see how much. ' And Scatterall went towork with a sheet of foolscap paper, endeavouring to make someestimate of what amount of ready cash Charley might have in hispocket on completion of this delicate little arrangement. 

'You be d--, ' said Charley. 

'You'll not do it, then?' said Dick. 

Charley merely repeated with a little more emphasis the speechwhich he had just before made. 

'Oh, very well, ' said Scatterall; 'there couldn't have been afairer bargain; at least it was all on your side; for you wouldhave had the watch to wear, and nearly all the money too. '

Charley still repeated the same little speech. This was uncivil;for it had evidently been looked on by Scatterall as unsatisfactory. 

'Oh, very well, ' said that gentleman, now in a state of mildanger--' only I saw that you had a fine new purse, and I thoughtyou'd wish to have something to put in it. '

Charley again repeated his offensive mandate; but he did it in aspirit of bravado, in order to maintain his reputation. Theallusion to the purse made him sadder than ever. He put his handinto his breast-pocket, and felt that it was near his heart: andthen he fancied that he again heard her words--'You will besteady; won't you, dear Charley?'

At four o'clock, he was by no means in his usual hurry to goaway, and he sat there drawing patterns on his blotting-paper, and chopping up a stick of sealing-wax with his penknife, in avery disconsolate way. Scatterall went. Corkscrew went. Mr. Snape, having carefully brushed his hat and taken down from itsaccustomed peg the old cotton umbrella, also took his departure;and the fourth navvy, who inhabited the same room, went also. Theiron-fingered hand of time struck a quarter past four on theSomerset House clock, and still Charley Tudor lingered at hisoffice. The maid who came to sweep the room was thoroughlyamazed, and knew that something must be wrong. 

Just as he was about to move, Mr. Oldeschole came bustling intothe room. 'Where is Corkscrew?' said he. 'Gone, ' said Charley. 'And Scatterall?' asked Oldeschole. 'Gone, sir, ' said Charley. 'And Mr. Snape?' said the Secretary. 'Oh, he is gone, of course, 'said Charley, taking his revenge at last. 

'Then, Mr. Tudor, I must trouble you to copy these papers for meat once. They are wanted immediately for Sir Gregory Hardlines. 'It was quite clear that Mr. Oldeschole was very much in earnestabout the job, and that he was rejoiced to find that he still hadone clerk to aid him. 

Charley sat down and did the required work. On any other day hewould greatly have disliked such a summons, but now he did notcare much about it. He made the copies, however, as quickly as hecould, and then took them in to Mr. Oldeschole. 

The worthy Secretary rewarded him by a lecture; a lecture, however, which, as Charley well understood, was intended all inkindness. He told him how Mr. Snape complained of him, how theoffice books told against him, how the clerks talked, and allSomerset House made stories of his grotesque iniquities. Withpenitential air Charley listened and promised. Mr. Oldescholepromised also that bygones should be bygones. 'I wonder whetherthe old cock would lend me a five-pound note! I dare say hewould, ' said Charley to himself, as he left the office. Heabstained, however, from asking for it. 

Returning to his room, he took his hat and went downstairs. As hewas sauntering forth through the archway into the Strand, a manwith a decent coat but a very bad hat came up to him. 

'I'm afraid I must trouble you to go with me, Mr. Tudor, ' said the man. 

'All right, ' said Charley; 'Outerman, I suppose; isn't it?'

'All right, ' said the bailiff. 

And away the two walked together to a sponging-house in CursitorStreet. 

Charley had been arrested at the suit of Mr. Outerman, thetailor. He perfectly understood the fact, and made no specialobjection to following the bailiff. One case was at any rate offhis mind; he could not now, be his will to do so ever so good, keep his appointment with Norah Geraghty. Perhaps it was quite aswell for him to be arrested just at this moment, as be left atliberty. It must have come sooner or later. So he walked on withthe bailiff not without some feeling of consolation. 

The man had suggested to him a cab; but Charley had told him, without the slightest _mauvaise honte_, that he had not abouthim the means of paying for a cab. The man again suggested thatperhaps he had better go home and get some money, as he wouldfind it in Cursitor Street very desirable to have some. To this Charleyreplied that neither had he any money at home. 

'That's blue, ' said the man. 

'It is rather blue, ' said Charley; and on they went very amicablyarm-in-arm. 

We need not give any detailed description of Charley's prison-house. He was luckily not detained there so long as to make itnecessary that we should become acquainted with his fellow-captives, or even have much intercourse with his jailers. He wastaken to the sponging-house, and it was there imparted to himthat he had better send for two things--first of all for money, which was by far the more desirable of the two; and secondly, forbail, which even if forthcoming was represented as being at bestbut a dubious advantage. 

'There's Mrs. Davis, she'd bail you, of course, and willing, 'said the bailiff. 

'Mrs. Davis!' said Charley, surprised that the man should knowaught of his personal acquaintances. 

'Yes, Mrs. Davis of the 'Cat and Whistle. ' She'd do it in course, along of Miss Geraghty. '

Charley perceived with a shudder that his matrimonialarrangements were known and talked of even in the distant worldof Cursitor Street. He declined, however, the assistance of thelandlady, which no doubt would have been willingly forthcoming, and was divided between his three friends, Alaric, Harry, and Mr. M'Ruen. Alaric was his cousin and his natural resource in such aposition, but he had lately rejected Alaric's advice, and nowfelt a disinclination to call upon him in his difficulty. Harryhe knew would assist him, would at once pay Mr. Outerman's bill, and relieve him from all immediate danger; but the sense of whathe already owed to Norman made him unwilling to incur furtherobligations;--so he decided on sending for Mr. M'Ruen. In spiteof his being so poorly supplied with immediate cash, it wassurmised from his appearance, clothes, and known rank, that anylittle outlay made in his behalf would be probably repaid, and hewas therefore furnished with a messenger on credit. This man wasfirst to call at Mr. M'Ruen's with a note, and then to go toCharley's lodgings and get his brushes, razors, &c. , these beingthe first necessaries of life for which a man naturally lookswhen once overtaken by such a misfortune as that with whichCharley was now afflicted. 

In the process of time the brushes and razors came, and so didMr. M'Ruen. 

'This is very kind of you, ' said Charley, in rather a dolefulvoice, for he was already becoming tired of Cursitor Street. 

Mr. M'Ruen twisted his head round inside his cravat, and put outthree fingers by way of shaking hands with the prisoner. 

'You seem pretty comfortable here, ' said M'Ruen. Charleydissented to this, and said that he was extremely uncomfortable. 

'And what is it that I can do for you, Mr. Tudor?' said M'Ruen. 

'Do for me! Why, bail me, to be sure; they won't let me outunless somebody bails me. You know I shan't run away. '

'Bail you!' said M'Ruen. 

'Yes, bail me, ' said Charley. 'You don't mean to say that youhave any objection?'

Mr. M'Ruen looked very sharply at his young client from head tofoot. 'I don't know about bail, ' he said: 'it's very dangerous, very; why didn't you send for Mr. Norman or your cousin?'

'Because I didn't choose, ' said Charley--'because I preferredsending to some one I could pay for the trouble. '

'Ha--ha--ha, ' laughed M'Ruen; 'but that's just it--can you pay?You owe me a great deal of money, Mr. Tudor. You are sounpunctual, you know. '

'There are two ways of telling that story, ' said Charley; 'butcome, I don't want to quarrel with you about that now--you gobail for me now, and you'll find your advantage in it. You knowthat well enough. '

'Ha--ha--ha, ' laughed the good-humoured usurer; 'ha--ha--ha--well, upon my word I don't know. You owe me a great deal ofmoney, Mr. Tudor. Now, what o'clock is it by you, I wonder?'

Charley took out his watch--the Cox and Savary, before alludedto--and said that it was past seven. 

'Aye; you've a very nice watch, I see. Come, Mr. Tudor, you oweme a great deal of money, and you are the most unpunctual youngman I know; but yet I don't like to see you distressed. I'll tellyou what, now--do you hand over your watch to me, just as atemporary loan--you can't want it here, you know; and I'll comedown and bail you out to-morrow. '

Charley declined dealing on these terms; and then Mr. M'Ruen atlast went away, leaving Charley to his fate, and lamenting quitepathetically that he was such an unpunctual young man, so veryunpunctual that it was impossible to do anything to assist him. Charley, however, manfully resisted the second attack upon hisdevoted watch. 

'That's very blue, very blue indeed, ' said the master of thehouse, as Mr. M'Ruen took his departure--'ha'n't you got nohuncles nor hants, nor nothin' of that sort?'

Charley declared that he had lots of uncles and aunts, grandfathers and grandmothers, and a perfect wealth of cousins, and that he would send for some of the leading members of hisfamily to-morrow. Satisfied with this, the man supplied him withbread and cheese, gin and water, and plenty of tobacco; and, fortified with these comforts, Charley betook himself at lastvery lugubriously, to a filthy, uninviting bed. , He had, we have seen, sent for his brushes, and hence cameescape; but in a manner that he had little recked of, and ofwhich, had he been asked, he would as little have approved. Mrs. Richards, his landlady, was not slow in learning from themessenger how it came to pass that Charley wanted the articles ofhis toilet so suddenly demanded. 'Why, you see, he's just beenquodded, ' said the boy. 

Mrs. Richards was quite enough up to the world, and had dealtwith young men long enough, to know what this meant; nor indeedwas she much surprised. She had practical knowledge that Charleyhad no strong propensity to pay his debts, and she herself wasnot unaccustomed to answer the emissaries of Mr. Outerman andother greedy tradesmen who were similarly situated. To Mrs. Richards herself Charley was not in debt, and she had thereforenothing to embitter her own feelings against him. Indeed, she hadall that fondness for him which a lodging-house keeper generallyhas for a handsome, dissipated, easy-tempered young man; and whenshe heard that he had been 'quodded, ' immediately made up hermind that steps must be taken for his release. 

But what was she to do? Norman, who she was aware would 'unquod'him immediately, if he were in the way, was down at Hampton, andwas not expected to be at his lodgings for two or three days. After some cogitation, Mrs. Richards resolved that there wasnothing for it but to go down to Hampton herself, and break thenews to his friends. Charley would not have been a bit obliged toher had he known it, but Mrs. Richards acted for the best. Therewas a train down to Hampton Court that night, and a return trainto bring her home again--so off she started. 

Mrs. Woodward had on that same afternoon taken down Katie, whowas still an invalid;--Norman had gone down with them, and was toremain there for some few days--going up and down every morningand evening. Mrs. Woodward was sitting in the drawing-room; Lindaand Katie were with her, the latter lying in state on her sofa asinvalid young ladies should do; Captain Cuttwater was at HamptonCourt, and Norman was on the water; when a fly from the railwaymade its way up to the door of the Cottage. 

'Mrs. Richards, ma'am, ' said the demure parlour-maid, ushering inthe lodging-house keeper, who in her church-going best made avery decent appearance. 

'Oh, Mrs. Richards, how are you?' said Mrs. Woodward, who knewthe woman very well--'pray sit down--are there any news fromLondon?'

'Oh, ma'am, such news--such bad news--Mister Charley--. ' Upjumped Katie from her sofa and stood erect upon the floor. Shestood there, with her mouth slightly open, with her eyes intentlyfixed on Mrs. Richards, with her little hands each firmlyclenched, drawing her breath with hard, short, palpitatingefforts. There she stood, but said nothing. 

'Oh, Mrs. Richards--what is it?' said Mrs. Woodward; 'forHeaven's sake what is the matter?'

'Oh, ma'am; he's been took, ' said Mrs. Richards. 

'Took!' repeated Mrs. Woodward. 'Katie, dear Katie--sit down, mychild--sit down. '

'Oh, mamma! oh, mamma!' said she, apparently unable to move, andcertainly all but unable to stand. 

'Tell us, Mrs. Richards, what is it--what has happened to Mr. Tudor?' and as she spoke Mrs. Woodward got up and passed her armaround her younger daughter's waist--Linda also got up andjoined the group. 

'Why, ma'am, ' said Mrs. Richards, 'he's been took by thebailiffs, and now he's in prison. '

Katie did not faint. She never had fainted, and probably did notknow the way; but she clenched her hands still tighter, breathedharder than before, and repeated her appeal to her mother in avoice of agony. 'Oh, mamma! oh, mamma!'

Katie had no very accurate conception of what an arrest for debtmeant. She knew that next to death imprisonment was the severestpunishment inflicted on erring mortals, and she now heard thatCharley was in prison. She did not stop to think whether it wasfor his life, or for some more limited period. It was enough forher to know, that this terrible misfortune had come upon him, tohim who, to her young fancy, was so bright, so good, so clever, so excellent, upon him who had saved her life--upon him whom sheso dearly loved. 

'Oh, mamma! oh, mamma!' she said, and then in agony she shut hereyes and shuddered violently. 

Mrs. Woodward was greatly afflicted. She was indeed sorry to hearsuch tidings of Charley Tudor; but her grief was now deeper eventhan that. She could not be longer blind to the sort of feelingwhich her child evinced for this young man; she could not thinkthat these passionate bursts of overpowering sorrow were theresult of mere childish friendship; she could not but see thather Katie's bosom now held a woman's heart, and that that heartwas no longer her own. 

And then Mrs. Woodward reflected of what nature, of what sort, was this man whom she had allowed to associate with her darling, almost as a brother does with his sister; whom she had warmed inher bosom till he had found an opportunity of inflicting thisdeadly wound. With terrible bitterness she upbraided herself asshe sat down and bade Mrs. Richards go on with her tale. She knewthat nothing which could now be said would add to Katie'sanguish. 

Mrs. Richards' story was soon told. It simply amounted to this--that 'Mister Charley, ' as she always called him, had beenarrested for debt at the suit of a tailor, and that she hadlearnt the circumstances from the fact of the prisoner havingsent for his brushes. 

'And so I thought the best thing was to come and tell Mr. Norman, ' said Mrs. Richards, concluding her speech. 

Nothing could be done till Norman came in. Linda went out withMrs. Richards to get some refreshment in the dining-room, andMrs. Woodward sat with her arm round Katie's neck on the sofa, comforting her with kisses and little caressing touches, butsaying nothing. Katie, still unconscious of her passion, gave wayto spasmodic utterance of her own grief. 

'Oh, mamma!' she said--' what can be done? What can we do? Youwill do something, mamma, won't you? Poor Charley! Dear Charley!Harry will do something--won't he? Won't Harry go to London, anddo something?'

Mrs. Woodward did what she could to quiet her. Something shouldbe done, she said. They must wait till Harry came in, and thensettle what was best. Nothing could be done till Harry came in. 'You must be patient, Katie, or else you will make yourselfreally ill. '

Katie became afraid that she would be sent off to bed on thescore of her illness before Harry had come, and thus lose theadvantage of hearing what was the step decided on. So she satsilent in the corner of her sofa feigning to be asleep, butpondering in her mind what sort of penalties were the penaltiesof imprisonment, how dreadful, how endurable, or how unendurable. Would they put chains on him? would they starve him? would theycut off his beautiful brown hair?

Mrs. Woodward sat silent waiting for Harry's return. When firstshe had watched Katie's extreme misery, and guessed the secret ofher child's heart, she had felt something like hard, bitter angeragainst Charley. But by degrees this feeling softened down. Itwas by no means natural to her, nor akin to her usual tenderness. After all, the fault hitherto was probably more her own than his. 

Mrs. Richards was sent back to town. She was thanked for thetrouble she had taken, and told that Mr. Norman would do in thematter all that was necessary to be done. So she took herdeparture, and Linda returned to the drawing-room. 

Unfortunately Captain Cuttwater came in first. They none of themmentioned Charley's misfortune to him. Charley was no favouritewith Uncle Bat, and his remarks would not have been of the mostcheering tendency. 

At last Norman came also. He came, as was his wont, through thedrawing-room window, and, throwing himself into a chair, began totell the girls how much they had lost by not joining him on theriver. 

'Harry, ' said Mrs. Woodward, 'step into the dining-room with mefor a moment. '

Harry got up to follow her. Katie and Linda also instantly jumpedfrom their seats to do the same. Mrs. Woodward looked round, andmotioned to them to stay with their uncle. Linda obediently, though reluctantly, remained; but Katie's impulse was too strongfor her. She gave one imploring look at her mother, a look whichMrs. Woodward well understood, and then taking silence forconsent, crept into the dining-room. 

'Harry, ' said Mrs. Woodward, as soon as the dining-room door wasclosed, 'Charley has been arrested;' and then she told him howMrs. Richards had been at the Cottage, and what was the nature ofthe tidings she had brought. 

Norman was not much surprised, nor did he feign to be so. He tookthe news so coolly that Katie almost hated him. 'Did she say whohad arrested him, or what was the amount?' he asked. 

Mrs. Woodward replied that she knew no more than what she hadalready told. Katie stood in the shade with her eyes fixed uponher cousin, but as yet she said nothing. How cruel, how stony-hearted must he be to hear such dreadful tidings and remain thusundisturbed! Had Charley heard that Norman was arrested, he wouldhave been half way to London by this time. So, at least, thoughtKatie. 

'Something can be done for him, Harry, can there not? We mustcontrive to do something--eh, Harry?' said Mrs. Woodward. 

'I fear it is too late to do anything to-night, ' said Harry, looking at his watch. 'The last train is gone, and I could notpossibly find him out before twelve. '

'And to-morrow is Sunday, ' said Mrs. Woodward. 

'Oh, Harry, pray do something!' said Katie, 'pray, pray, pray, do! Oh, Harry, think of Charley being in prison! Oh, Harry, hewould do anything for you!' and then she burst into tears, andcaught hold of Harry's arm and the front of his coat to add forceto her entreaty. 

'Katie, ' said her mother, 'don't be so foolish. Harry will, ofcourse, do whatever is best. '

'But, mamma, he says he will do nothing; why does he not go atonce?'

'I will go at once, dear Katie, ' said he; 'I will go nowdirectly. I don't know whether we can set him free to-night, oreven to-morrow, as to-morrow is Sunday; but it certainly shall bedone on Monday, you may be sure of that at any rate. Whatever canbe done shall be done;' and, without further talk upon thesubject, he took his hat and went his way. 

'May God Almighty bless him!' said Mrs. Woodward. 'How infinitelygreater are truth and honesty than any talent, however brilliant!'She spoke only to herself and no one even guessed what wasthe nature of the comparison which she thus made. 

As soon as Norman was gone, Katie went to bed: and in the morningshe was pronounced to be too unwell to get up. And, indeed, shewas far from well. During the night she only slept by shortstarts, and in her sleep she was restless and uneasy; then, whenshe woke, she would burst out into fits of tears, and lie sobbinghysterically till she slept again. In the morning, Mrs. Woodwardsaid something about Charley's misconduct, and this threw herinto a wretched state of misery, from which nothing would rouseher till her mother promised that the prodigal should not bethrown over and abandoned. 

Poor Mrs. Woodward was in a dreadful state of doubt as to what itnow behoved her to do. She felt that, however anxious she mightbe to assist Charley for his own sake, it was her bounden duty toseparate him from her child. Whatever merits he might have--andin her eyes he had many--at any rate he had not those which amother would desire to see in the future husband of her daughter. He was profligate, extravagant, careless, and idle; his prospectsin life were in every respect bad; he had no self-respect, noself-reliance, no moral strength. Was it not absolutely necessarythat she should put a stop to any love that might have sprung upbetween such a man as this and her own young bright-eyed darling?

Put a stop to it! Yes, indeed, most expedient; nay, absolutelynecessary--if it were only possible. Now, when it was too late, she began to perceive that she had not known of what material herown child was formed. At sixteen, Gertrude and Linda had inreality been little more than children. In manner, Katie had beenmore childish even than them, and yet--Mrs. Woodward, as shethought of these things, felt her heart faint within her. 

She was resolved that, cost what it might, Charley must bebanished from the Cottage. But at the first word of assumeddispleasure that she uttered, Katie fell into such an agony ofgrief that her soft heart gave way, and she found herself obligedto promise that the sinner should be forgiven. Katie the whilewas entirely unconscious of the state of her own feelings. Hadshe thought that she loved him as women love, had any thought ofsuch love and of him together even entered her mind, she couldnot have talked of him as she now talked. Had he been herbrother, she could not have been less guarded in her protestationsof affection, or more open in her appeals to her mother that hemight be forgiven. Such was her present state; but it was doomedthat her eyes should soon be opened, and that she should knowher own sorrow. 

On the Sunday afternoon, Norman returned to Hampton with thetidings that Charley was once more a free man. The key of goldwhich he had taken with him had been found potent enough to openall barriers, even those with which the sanctity of Sunday hadsurrounded the prisoner. Mr. Outerman, and the bailiff, and themessenger, had all been paid their full claims, and Charley, withhis combs and brushes, had returned to the more benign custody ofMrs. Richards. 

'And why didn't he come down with you?' said Katie to Norman, whohad gone up to her bedroom to give her the good tidings. 

Norman looked at Mrs. Woodward, but made no reply. 

'He would probably prefer remaining in town at present, ' saidMrs. Woodward. 'It will be more comfortable for him to do so. '

And then Katie was left alone to meditate why Charley should bemore comfortable after his arrest in London than at Hampton; andafter a while she thought that she had surmised the truth. 'PoorCharley! perhaps he is ashamed. He need not be ashamed to come atany rate to me. '

CHAPTER XXIX

EASY IS THE SLOPE OF HELL

The electors for the Tillietudlem district burghs, disgusted bythe roguery of Mr. M'Buffer, and anxiously on the alert toreplace him by a strictly honest man, returned our friend Undy bya glorious majority. He had no less than 312 votes, as opposed to297, and though threatened with the pains and penalties of apetition, he was not a little elated by his success. A petitionwith regard to the Tillietudlem burghs was almost as much amatter of course as a contest; at any rate the threat of apetition was so. Undy, however, had lived through this before, and did not fear but that he might do so again. Threatened folkslive long; parliamentary petitions are very costly, and Undy'sadversaries were, if possible, even in more need of money thanhimself. 

He communicated his good fortune to his friend Alaric in thefollowing letter:--

'Bellenden Arms, Tillietudlem, July, 185-. 

'My DEAR DIRECTOR, 'Here I am once more a constituent part of the legislative wisdomof the United Kingdom, thanks to the patriotic discretion of thepot-wallopers, burgage-tenants, and ten-pound freeholders ofthese loyal towns. The situation is a proud one; I could onlywish that it had been less expensive. I am plucked as clean asever was pigeon; and over and above the loss of every feather Icarried, old M'Cleury, my agent here, will have a bill against methat will hardly be settled before the next election. I do notcomplain, however; a man cannot have luxuries without paying forthem; and this special luxury of serving one's country inParliament is one for which a man has so often to pay, withoutthe subsequent fruition of the thing paid for, that a successfulcandidate should never grumble, however much he may have beenmulcted. They talk of a petition; but, thank God, there are stillsuch things as recognizances; and, moreover, to give M'Cleury hisdue, I do not think he has left a hole open for them to work at. He is a thorough rascal, but no man does better work. 

'I find there is already a slight rise in the West Corks. Keepyour eye open. If you find you can realize £4 4s. Or even £4, sell, and let the West of Cork and Ballydehob go straight to thedevil. We should then be able to do better with our money. But Idoubt of such a sale with so large a stock as we hold. I got aletter yesterday from that Cork attorney, and I find that he isquite prepared to give way about the branch. He wants his price, of course; and he must have it. When once we have carried thatpoint, then it will be plain sailing; our only regret then willbe that we didn't go further into it. The calls, of course, mustbe met; I shall be able to do something in October, but shall nothave a shilling sooner--unless I sell, which I will not do under80s. 

'I was delighted to hear of your promotion; not that you'llremain in the shop long, but it gives you a better name and abetter claim. Old Golightly was buried yesterday, as of courseyou have heard. Mrs. Val quite agrees with me that your name hadbetter be put in as that of Clem's trustee. She's going to marrythat d---- Frenchman. What an unmitigated ass that cousin ofyours must be! I can't say I admire her taste; but neverthelessshe is welcome for me. It would, however, be most scandalous ifwe were to allow him to get possession of her money. He would, asa matter of course, make ducks and drakes of it in no time. Speculate probably in some Russian railway, or Polish mine, andlose every shilling. You will of course see it tied up tight inthe hands of the trustees, and merely pay him, or if possibleher, the interest of it. Now that I am once more in, I hope weshall be able to do something to protect the fortunes of marriedwomen. 

'You will be quite safe in laying out Clem's money, or a portionof it, in the West Corks. Indeed, I don't know how you could welldo better with it. You will find Figgs a mere shadow. I think wecan pull through in this manner. If not we must get--to take ourjoint bill. He would sooner do that than have the works stopped. But then we should have to pay a tremendous price for it. 

'So we were well out of the Mary Janes at last. The take lastmonth was next to nothing, and now she's full of water. Manylodeshung on till just the last, and yet got out on his feet afterall. That fellow will make a mint of money yet. What a pity thathe should be such a rogue! If he were honest, honest enough Imean to be trusted, he might do anything. 

'I shall leave this on Wednesday night, take the oaths onThursday, and will see you in the evening. M'Carthy Desmond willat once move that I be put on the West Cork Committee, in placeof Nogo, who won't act. My shares are all at present registeredin Val's name. It will be well, however, to have them alltransferred to you. 

'Yours ever, 'U. S. 

'M'Cleury has pledged himself to put me in again without furtherexpense, if I have to stand before the next general election, inconsequence of taking place under Government. I earnestly hopehis sincerity may be tried. '

During the month of July, Alaric was busy enough. He had to dothe work of his new office, to attend to his somewhat criticalduties as director of the West Cork Railway, to look after theinterests of Miss Golightly, whose marriage was to take place inAugust, and to watch the Parliamentary career of his friend Undy, with whose pecuniary affairs he was now bound up in a mannerwhich he could not avoid feeling to be very perilous. 

July passed by, and was now over, and members were looking to berelieved from their sultry labours, and to be allowed to seek airand exercise on the mountains. The Ballydehob branch line hadreceived the sanction of Parliament through the means which thecrafty Undy had so well understood how to use; but from somecause hitherto not sufficiently fathomed, the shares hadcontinued to be depressed in value in spite of that desirableevent. It was necessary, however, that calls should be paid up tothe amount of £5 a share, and as Undy and Alaric held nearly athousand shares between them, a large amount of money wasrequired. This, however, was made to be forthcoming from MissGolightly's fortune. 

On the first of August that interesting young lady was married tothe man--shall we say of her heart or of her feet? The marriagewent off very nicely, but as we have already had one wedding, andas others may perhaps be before us, we cannot spare much time ormany pages to describe how Miss Golightly became MadameJaquêtanàpe. The lady seemed well pleased with everything thatwas done, and had even in secret but one care in the world. Therewas to be a dance after she and her Victoire were gone, and shecould not join in it!

We, however, are in the position, as regards Clementina, in whichneedy gentlemen not unfrequently place themselves with referenceto rich heiresses. We have more concern with her money thanherself. She was married, and M. Jaquêtanàpe became the happypossessor of an income of £800 a year. Everybody conceived him tobehave well on the occasion. He acknowledged that he had verylittle means of his own--about 4, 000 francs a year, from rents inParis. He expressed himself willing to agree to any settlement, thinking, perhaps with wisdom, that he might in this way bestmake sure of his wife's income, and was quite content wheninformed that he would receive his quarterly payments from sorespectable a source as one of Her Majesty's Commissioners forthe regulation of the Civil Service. The Bank of France could nothave offered better security. 

Thus Alaric obtained full control of Miss Golightly's fortune:for Figgs, his co-trustee, was, as has been said, a shadow. Heobtained the full control of £20, 000, and out of it he paid thecalls due upon the West Cork shares, held both by himself andUndy Scott. But he put a salve upon his conscience, and among hisprivate memoranda, appertaining to that lady's money affairs hemade an entry, intelligible to any who might read it, that he hadso invested this money on her behalf. The entry was in itself alie--a foolish, palpable lie--and yet he found in it something toquiet remorse and stupefy his conscience. 

Undy Scott had become tyrannical in his logic as soon as he hadpersuaded Alaric to make use of a portion of Madame Jaquêtanàpe'smarriage portion. 'You have taken part of the girl's money, ' wasUndy's argument; 'you have already converted to your own purposesso much of her fortune; it is absurd for you now to talk ofconscience and honesty, of your high duties as a trustee, of theinviolable distinction between meum and tuum. You have alreadyshown that the distinction is not inviolable; let us have no moresuch nonsense; there are still left £15, 000 on which we cantrade; open the till, and let us go on swimmingly with thebusiness. '

Alaric was not addressed absolutely in these words; he would notprobably have allowed the veil with which he still shrouded hisdishonesty to be withdrawn with so rough a hand; but that whichwas said was in effect the same. In September he left town for afew weeks and went down to Scotland, still with Undy Scott. Hehad at first much liked this man's society, for Scott was gay, lively, clever, and a good companion at all points. But latterlyhe had become weary of him. He now put up with him as men inbusiness have to put up with partners whom they may not like; or, perhaps, to speak the truth openly, he bore with him as a roguebears with his confederate, though he absolutely hates hisbrother rogue on account of his very roguery. Alaric Tudor wasnow a rogue; despite his high office, his grand ideas, hisexalted ambition; despite his talent, zeal, and well-directedofficial labours, he was a rogue; a thief, a villain who hadstolen the money of the orphan, who had undertaken a trust merelythat he might break it; a robber, doubly disgraced by being arobber with an education, a Bill Sykes without any of thoseexcuses which a philanthropist cannot but make for wretchesbrought up in infamy. 

Alas, alas! how is it that in these days such men become rogues?How is it that we see in such frightful instances the impotencyof educated men to withstand the allurements of wealth? Men arenot now more keen after the pleasures which wealth can buy thanwere their forefathers. One would rather say that they are lessso. The rich labour now, and work with an assiduity that oftenputs to shame the sweat in which the poor man earns his bread. The rich rogue, or the rogue that would be rich, is always alaborious man. He allows himself but little recreation, fordishonest labour admits of no cessation. His wheel is one whichcannot rest without disclosing the nature of the works which moveit. It is not for pleasure that men

 Put rancours in the vessel of their peace;

nor yet primarily for ambition. Men do not wish to rise bytreachery, or to become great through dishonesty. The object, theultimate object, which a man sets before himself, is generally agood one. But he sets it up in so enviable a point of view, hisimagination makes it so richly desirable, by being gazed at itbecomes so necessary to existence, that its attainment isimperative. The object is good, but the means of attaining it-thepath to the object-ah! there is the slip. Expediency is thedangerous wind by which so many of us have wrecked our littleboats. 

And we do so more now than ever, because great ships, swimming indeepest waters, have unluckily come safe to haven though waftedthere by the same pernicious wind. Every great man, who gains agreat end by dishonest means, does more to deteriorate hiscountry and lower the standard of his countrymen than legions ofvulgar thieves, or nameless unaspiring rogues. Who has injured usso much in this way as he whose name still stands highest amongmodern politicians? Who has given so great a blow to politicalhonesty, has done so much to banish from men's minds the idea ofa life-ruling principle, as Sir Robert Peel?

It would shock many were we to attribute to him the roguery ofthe Sadleirs and Camerons, of the Robsons and Redpaths of thepresent day; but could we analyse causes and effects, we mightperhaps do so with no injustice. He has taught us as a greatlesson, that a man who has before him a mighty object maydispense with those old-fashioned rules of truth to hisneighbours and honesty to his own principles, which should guideus in ordinary life. At what point ordinary life ends, at whatcrisis objects may be considered great enough to justify the useof a dispensing power, that he has not taught us; that no SirRobert Peel can teach us; that must unfortunately be left to thejudgement of the individual. How prone we are, each of us, tolook on our own object as great, how ready to make excuses forreceiving such a lesson for our guide; how willing to think thatwe may be allowed to use this dispensing power ourselves--thisexperience teaches us in very plain language. 

Thrice in his political life did Sir Robert Peel change hispolitical creed, and carry, or assist to carry, with more or lessof self-gratulation, the measures of his adversaries. Thrice bydoing so he kept to himself that political power which he hadfairly forfeited by previous opposition to the requirements ofhis country. Such an apposition of circumstances is at any ratesuspicious. But let us give him credit for the expression of atrue belief; of a belief at first that the corn-laws should bemaintained, and then of a belief that they should not; let us, with a forced confidence in his personal honesty, declare so muchof him; nevertheless, he should surely have felt, had he beenpolitically as well as personally honest, that he was not the manto repeal them. '

But it was necessary, his apologist will say, that the corn-lawsshould be repealed; he saw the necessity, and yielded to it. Itcertainly was necessary, very necessary, very unavoidable;absolutely necessary one may say; a fact, which the unitedefforts of all the Peels of the day could in nowise longer delay, having already delayed it to the utmost extent of their power. Itwas essential that the corn-laws should be repealed; but by nomeans essential that this should be done by Sir Robert Peel. 

It was a matter of indifference to us Englishmen who did thedeed. But to Sir Robert Peel it was a matter of great moment thathe should do it. He did it, and posterity will point at him as apolitician without policy, as a statesman without a principle, asa worshipper at the altar of expediency, to whom neither vowssworn to friends, nor declarations made to his country, were inany way binding. Had Sir Robert Peel lived, and did the peoplenow resolutely desire that the Church of England should beabandoned, that Lords and Commons should bow the neck, that theCrown should fall, who can believe that Sir Robert Peel would notbe ready to carry out their views? Readers, it may be that to yousuch deeds as those are horrible even to be thought of orexpressed; to me I own that they are so. So also to Sir RobertPeel was Catholic Emancipation horrible, so was Reform ofParliament, so was the Corn Law Repeal. They were horrible tohim, horrible to be thought of, horrible to be expressed. But thepeople required these measures, and therefore he carried them, arguing on their behalf with all the astuteness of a practisedstatesman. 

That Sir Robert Peel should be a worshipper of expediency mightbe matter of small moment to any but his biographer, were it notthat we are so prone to copy the example of those whose names areever in our mouths. It has now become the doctrine of a largeclass of politicians that political honesty is unnecessary, slow, subversive of a man's interests, and incompatible with quickonward movement. Such a doctrine in politics is to be deplored;but alas! who can confine it to politics? It creeps with gradual, but still with sure and quick motion, into all the doings of ourdaily life. How shall the man who has taught himself that he maybe false in the House of Commons, how shall he be true in theTreasury chambers? or if false there, how true on the Exchange?and if false there, how shall he longer have any truth withinhim?

And thus Alaric Tudor had become a rogue, and was obliged, as itwere in his own defence, to consort with a rogue. He went down toScotland with Undy, leaving his wife and child at home, notbecause he could thus best amuse his few leisure days, butbecause this new work of his, this laborious trade of roguery, allowed him no leisure days. When can villany have either daysor hours of leisure?

Among other things to be done in the north, Alaric was to makeacquaintance with the constituents of the little borough ofStrathbogy, which it was his ambition to represent in the nextParliament. Strathbogy was on the confines of the Gaberlunzieproperty; and indeed the lord's eldest son, who was the presentmember, lived almost within the municipal boundary. Ca'stocksCottage, as his residence was called, was but a humble house fora peer's eldest son; but Mr. Scott was not ashamed to live there, and there for a while he entertained his brother Undy and AlaricTudor. Mr. Scott intended, when the present session was over, toretire from the labours of parliamentary life. It may be that hethought that he had done enough for his country; it may be thatthe men of Strathbogy thought that he had not done enough forthem; it may be that there was some family understanding betweenhim and his brother. This, however, was clear, that he did notintend to stand again himself, and that he professed himselfready to put forward Alaric Tudor as a worthy successor, and togive him the full benefit and weight of the Gaberlunzie interest. 

But not for nothing was Alaric to receive such importantassistance. 

'There are but 312 electors altogether, ' said Undy one morning asthey went out shooting, 'and out of these we can command ahundred and twenty. It must be odd if you cannot get enoughoutsiders to turn them into a majority. Indeed you may look on itas a certain seat. No man in England or Scotland could give youone more certain. '

This was not the first occasion on which Undy had spoken of allthat he was doing for his friend, and Alaric therefore, somewhatdisgusted with the subject, made no reply. 

'I never had things made so easy for me when I wasn't in, 'continued Undy; 'nor have I ever found them so easy since. Idon't suppose it will cost you above £500, or at most £600, altogether. '

'Well, that will be a comfort, ' said Alaric. 

'A comfort! why I should say it would. What with the election andpetition together, Tillietudlem never cost me less than £2, 000. It cost me just as much, too, when I was thrown out. '

'That was a bore for you, ' said Alaric. 

'Upon my word you take it rather coolly, ' said Undy; 'another manwould thank a fellow for putting such a nice thing in his way. '

'If the obligation be so deep, ' said Alaric, becoming very red inthe face, 'I would rather not accept it. It is not too late foryou to take the cheaper seat to yourself, if you prefer it; and Iwill look elsewhere. '

'Oh, of course; perhaps at Tillietudlem; but for Heaven's sake, my dear fellow, don't let us quarrel about it. You are perfectlywelcome to whatever assistance we can give you at Strathbogy. Ionly meant to say that I hope it will be efficacious. And on thescore of expense I'll tell you what we'll do--that is, if youthink that fair; we'll put the cost of the two electionstogether, and share and share alike. '

'Considering that the election will not take place for at leastmore than twelve months, there will be time enough to settlethat, ' said Alaric. 

'Well, that's true, too, ' said Undy; and then they went on, andfor some time separated on the mountain, complaining, when theymet again, of the game being scarce and the dogs wild, as menalways do. But as they walked home, Undy, who regretted the lossof good time, again began about money matters. 

'How many of those bridge shares will you take?' said he. Thiswas a projected bridge from Poplar to Rotherhithe, which had beengot up by some city gentlemen, and as to which Undy Scott was, orpretended to be, very sanguine. 

'None, ' said Alaric. 'Unless I can get rid of those confoundedWest Cork and Ballydehobs, I can buy nothing more of anything. '

'Believe me, my dear fellow, the Ballydehobs are no suchconfounded things at all. If you are ever a rich man it will bethrough the Ballydehobs. But what you say about the bridge sharesis nonsense. You have a large command of capital, and you cannotapply it better. '

Alaric winced, and wished in his heart that ClementinaJaquêtanàpe, _née_ Golightly, with all her money, was burieddeep in the bogs of Ballydehob. Though he was a rogue, he couldnot yet bear his roguery with comfort to himself. It sat, however, as easy on Undy as though he had been to the mannerborn. 

'I have no capital now at my disposal, ' said he; 'and I doubtwhether I should be doing right to lay out a ward's money in sucha manner. '

A slight smile came over Undy's gay unconcerned features; it wasvery slight, but nevertheless it was very eloquent and veryoffensive also. Alaric understood it well; it made him hate theowner of it, but it made him hate himself still more. 

'It is as well to be hung for a sheep as for a lamb, ' said Undy'ssmile; 'and, moreover, ' continued the smile, 'is it notridiculous enough for you, Alaric Tudor, rogue as you are, toprofess to me, Undy Scott, rogue as I am, any solicitude as toyour ward's welfare, seeing that you have already taken toyourself, for your own dishonest purposes, a considerable sliceof the fortune that has been trusted to your keeping? You havedone this, and yet you talk to me of not having capital at yourdisposal! You have capital, and you will dispose of that capitalfor your own purposes, as long as a shilling remains uninvestedof your ward's money. We are both rogues. God knows it, and youand I know it; but I am not such a hypocritical rogue as to makemock boasts of my honesty to my brother rogue. '

This was certainly a long speech to have been made by a smilewhich crossed Mr. Scott's face but for a moment, but every wordof it was there expressed, and every word of it was there read. Alaric did not at all like being addressed so uncivilly. Itseemed to tend but little to that 'Excelsior' for which his soulpanted; but what could he do? how could he help himself? Was itnot all true? could he contradict the smile? Alas! it was true;it was useless for him now to attempt even to combat such smiles. 'Excelsior, ' indeed! his future course might now probably becalled by some very different designation. Easy, very easy, isthe slope of hell. 

Before they had returned to Ca'stocks Cottage, Undy had succeededin persuading his friend that the game must be played on--on andon, and out. If a man intends to make a fortune in the share-market he will never do it by being bold one day and timid thenext. No turf betting-book can be made up safely except onconsistent principles. Half-measures are always ruinous. Inmatters of speculation one attempt is made safe by another. Noman, it is true, can calculate accurately what may be the upshotof a single venture; but a sharp fellow may calculate with a fairaverage of exactness what will be the aggregate upshot of manyventures. All mercantile fortunes have been made by the knowledgeand understanding of this rule. If a man speculates but once andagain, now and then, as it were, he must of course be a loser. Hewill be playing a game which he does not understand, and playingit against men who do understand it. Men who so play always lose. But he who speculates daily puts himself exactly in the reversedposition. He plays a game which experience teaches him to playwell, and he plays generally against men who have no suchadvantage. Of course he wins. 

All these valuable lessons did Undy Scott teach to Alaric Tudor, and the result was that Alaric agreed to order--for self andpartner--a considerable number of shares in the Limehouse BridgeCompany. Easy, very easy, is the slope of hell. 

And then in the evening, on this evening and other evenings, onall evenings, they talked over the prospects of the West Cork andBallydehob branch, and of the Limehouse Bridge, which accordingto Undy's theory is destined to work quite a revolution in theEast-end circles of the metropolis. Undy had noble ideas aboutthis bridge. The shares at the present moment were greatly at adiscount--so much the better, for they could be bought at acheaper rate; and they were sure to rise to some very respectablefigure as soon as Undy should have played out with reference tothem the parliamentary game which he had in view. 

And so from morning to morning, and from night to night, theytalked over their unholy trade till the price of shares and thesounds of sums of money entered into Alaric's soul. And this, perhaps, is one of the greatest penalties to which men who embarkin such trade are doomed, that they can never shake off theremembrance of their calculations; they can never drop the shop;they have no leisure, no ease; they can never throw themselveswith loose limbs and vacant mind at large upon the world's greensward, and call children to come and play with them. At theWeights and Measures Alaric's hours of business had been from tento five. In Undy's office they continued from one noon till thenext, incessantly; even in his dreams he was working in the sharemarket. 

On his return to town Alaric found a letter from CaptainCuttwater, pressing very urgently for the repayment of his money. It had been lent on the express understanding that it was to berepaid when Parliament broke up. It was now the end of October, and Uncle Bat was becoming uneasy. 

Alaric, when he received the letter, crushed it in his hand, andcursed the strictness of the man who had done so much for him. Onthe next day another slice was taken from the fortune of MadameJaquêtanàpe; and his money, with the interest, was remitted toCaptain Cuttwater. 

CHAPTER XXX

MRS. WOODWARD'S REQUEST

We will now go back for a while to Hampton. The author, for one, does so with pleasure. Though those who dwell there be notangels, yet it is better to live with the Woodwards and HarryNorman, with Uncle Bat, or even with the unfortunate Charley, than with such as Alaric and Undy Scott. The man who is everlooking after money is fitting company only for the devils, ofwhom, indeed, he is already one. 

But Charley cannot any longer be called one of the Cottagecircle. It was now the end of October, and since the day of hisarrest, he had not yet been there. He had not been asked; norwould he go uninvited, as after what had passed at Hampton CourtBridge he surely might have done. 

And consequently they were all unhappy. No one was more so thanCharley. When the prospect of the happy evening with Norah hadbeen so violently interrupted by his arrest, he had, among hisother messages, sent word to the 'Cat and Whistle, ' excusing hisabsence by a statement of the true cause. From that day to thisof which we are now speaking he had seen neither Mrs. Davis norher fair protégée. 

Nor were they better contented at the Cottage. Mrs. Woodward washarassed by different feelings and different fears, whichtogether made her very unhappy. Her Katie was still ill; not illindeed so that she was forced to keep her bed and receive dailyvisits from pernicious doctors, but, nevertheless, so ill as tomake a mother very anxious. 

She had never been quite strong, quite herself, from the night ofMrs. Val's dance. The doctor who had attended her declared thather ducking in the river had given her cold: and that this, nothaving been duly checked, still hung about her. Then she had beentaken to a physician in London, who poked her on the back andtapped her on the breast, listened to her lungs through a woodenpipe--such was the account which Katie gave herself when shereturned home--and prescribed rum and milk and cod-liver oil, declaring, with an authoritative nod, that there was no organicdisease--as yet. 

'And what shall we do with her, doctor?' asked Mrs. Woodward. 

'Go on with the rum and milk and cod-liver oil, you can't dobetter. '

'And the cough, doctor?'

'Why, if that doesn't go before the cold weather begins, you mayas well take her to Torquay for the winter. '

Oh! consumption, thou scourge of England's beauty! how manymothers, gasping with ill-suppressed fears, have listened to suchwords as these--have listened and then hoped; listened again andhoped again with fainter hopes; have listened again, and thenhoped no more!

But there was much on Mrs. Woodward's mind which she could notbring herself to tell to any doctor, but which still left in herbreast an impression that she was perhaps keeping back the truecause of Katie's illness. Charley had not been at Hampton sincehis arrest, and it was manifest to all that Katie was thereforewretched. 

'But why do you not ask him, mamma?' she had urged when hermother suggested that he stayed away because he did not like toshow himself after what had occurred. 'What will he think of us?he that saved my life, mamma! Oh, mamma! you promised to forgivehim. Do ask him. You know he will come if you ask him. '

Mrs. Woodward could not explain to her--could not explain to anyone--why she did not invite him. Norman guessed it all, and Mrs. Woodward saw that he had done so; but still she could not talk tohim of Katie's feelings, could not tell him that she feared herchild was heart-laden with so sad a love. So Mrs. Woodward had noconfidant in her sorrow, no counsel which she could seek to aidher own wavering judgement. It was prudent, she thought, thatKatie and Charley should be kept apart. Prudent! was it not evenimperative on her to save her child from such a fate? But then, when she saw the rosy cheek grow pale by degrees, as she watchedthe plump little arms grow gradually thin and wan, as those highspirits fell, and that voice which had ever been so frequent inthe house and so clear, --when the sound of it became low andrare, then her heart would misgive her, and she would all butresolve to take the only step which she knew would bring a brightgleam on her child's face, and give a happy tone to her darling'svoice. 

During the earlier portion of these days, Katie had with eagerconstancy reiterated her request that Charley should be asked toHampton; but of a sudden her prayers ceased. She spoke no more ofCharley, asked no longer after his coming, ceased even to inquirefrequently of his welfare. But yet, when his name was mentioned, she would open wide her bright eyes, would listen with all herears, and show only too plainly to one who watched her as amother only can watch, what were the thoughts which filled herheart. 

'Linda, ' she had said one night, as they sat in their room, preparing themselves for bed, 'Linda, why does not mamma inviteCharley to come down to Hampton?'

'Oh! I don't know, ' said Linda; who, however, if she did notknow, was not far wrong in the guess she made. 'I suppose shethinks he'd be ashamed to show himself after having been inprison. '

'Ashamed! Why should he be ashamed after so long? Didn't you hearHarry say that the same thing often happens to young men? Is henever to come here again? Dear Linda, I know you know; do tellme. '

'Well, I'm sure I do not know, if that's not the reason. '

'Oh! Linda, dear Linda, yes, you do, ' said Katie, throwingherself on her knees, resting her arms on her sister's lap, andlooking up wistfully into her sister's face. Her long hair wasstreaming down her back; her white, naked feet peeped out frombeneath her bedroom dress, and large tears glistened in her eyes. Who could have resisted the prayers of such a suppliant?Certainly not Linda, the soft-hearted Linda. 

'Do tell me, ' continued Katie, 'do tell me--I am sure you know;and, Linda, if it is wrong to ask mamma about it, I'll never, never ask her again. I know mamma is unhappy about it. If myasking is wrong, I'll not make her unhappy any more in that way. '

Linda, for a while, did not know what to answer. Her hesitatingmanner immediately revealed to Katie that there was a secret, andthat her sister could tell it if she would. 

'Oh! Linda, do tell me, do tell me, dear Linda; you ought to tellme for mamma's sake. '

At last, with much hesitation, Linda told her the whole tale. 

'Perhaps mamma thinks that you are too fond of Charley. '

An instant light flashed across Katie's heart--across her heart, and brain, and senses. Not another word was necessary to explainto her the whole mystery, to tell the whole tale, to reveal toher the secret of her own love, of her mother's fears, and of hisassumed unwillingness. She got up slowly from her knees, kissedher sister's cheek and neck, smiled at her so sweetly, so sadly, and then sitting on her old seat, began playing with her longhair, and gazing at vacancy. 

'It is only what I guess, you know, Katie--you would make me tellyou, but I am sure there is nothing in it. '

'Dear Linda, ' said she, 'you are so good; I am so much obliged toyou. '

After that Katie spoke no further of Charley. But it was evidentto them all, that though she said nothing, she had not ceased tothink of him. Nor did her cheek again become rosy, nor her armsround, nor her voice happy. She got weaker than ever, and poorMrs. Woodward was overcome with sorrow. 

Nor was this the only cause of grief at Surbiton Cottage. Duringthe last few weeks a bitter estrangement had taken place betweenthe Woodwards and the Tudors, Alaric Tudor, that is, andGertrude. Two years had now passed since Norman had chosen toquarrel with Alaric, and during all that period the two had neverspoken amicably together, though they had met on business veryfrequently; on all such occasions Alaric had been unperturbed andindifferent, whereas Norman had been gloomy, and had carried ahostile brow and angry eye. At their period of life, two yearsgenerally does much to quiet feelings of ill-will and pacifyanimosity; but Norman's feelings had by no means been quieted, nor his animosity pacified. He had loved Alaric with a close andmanly love; now he hated him with a close and, I fear I may say, a manly hatred. Alaric had, as he thought, answered his love bytreachery; and there was that in Norman's heart which would notallow him to forgive one who had been a traitor to him. He hadthat kind of selfishness so common to us, but of which we are sounconscious, which will not allow us to pardon a sin against ourown _amour propre_. Alaric might have been forgiven, thoughhe had taken his friend's money, distanced him in his office, though he had committed against him all offences which one friendcan commit against another, all but this. Norman had been proudof his love, and yet ashamed of it--proud of loving such a girlas Gertrude, and ashamed of being known to be in love at all. Hehad confided his love to Alaric, and Alaric had robbed him of hislove, and wounded both his pride and his shame. 

Norman lacked the charity which should have been capable offorgiving even this. He now looked at all Alaric's doings througha different glass from that which he had used when Alaric hadbeen dear to him. He saw, or thought that he saw, that hissuccessful rival was false, ambitious, treacherous, anddishonest; he made no excuses for him, gave him no credit for hisindustry, accorded no admiration to his talent. He never spokeill of Alaric Tudor, to others; but he fed his own heart withspeaking and thinking ill of him to himself. 

Of Gertrude he thought very differently. He had taught himself todisconnect her from the treachery of her husband--or rather hermemory; for, from the day on which he had learnt that she wasengaged to Alaric, he had never seen her. He still loved theremembrance of her. In his solitary walks with Mrs. Woodward hewould still speak of her as he might of one in some distantclime, for whose welfare he was deeply interested. He had seenand caressed her baby at Hampton. She was still dear to him. HadAlaric been called to his long account, it would have been hisdearest wish to have become at some future tune the husband ofhis widow. 

To all these feelings on Norman's part Alaric was veryindifferent; but their existence operated as a drawback on hiswife's comfort, and, to a certain degree, on his own. Mrs. Woodward would not banish Norman from the Cottage, even for herdaughter's sake, and it came by degrees to be understood that theTudors, man and wife, should not go there unless they were awarethat Norman was absent. Norman, on the other hand, did absenthimself when it was understood that Alaric and Gertrude werecoming; and thus the Woodwards kept up their intercourse withboth. 

But this was a bore. Alaric thought it most probable that Normanwould marry one of the younger sisters, and he knew that familyquarrels are uncomfortable and injudicious. When therefore hebecame a Civil Service Commissioner, and was thus removed frombusiness intercourse with Norman, he conceived that it would bewise to arrange a reconciliation. He discussed the matter withGertrude, and she, fully agreeing with him, undertook the task ofmaking the proposal through her mother. This she did with all thekindness and delicacy of a woman. She desired her mother to tellHarry how much she had valued his friendship, how greatly sheregretted the loss of it, how anxious her husband was to renew, if possible, their former terms of affection. Mrs. Woodward, byno means sanguine, undertook the commission. She undertook it, and utterly failed; and when Gertrude, in her disappointment, spoke bitterly of Norman's bitterness, both mother and sister, both Mrs. Woodward and Linda, took Norman's part. 

'I wish it could be otherwise, ' said Mrs. Woodward, 'I wish itfor all our sakes; but he is a man not easily to be turned, and Icannot blame him. He has suffered very much. '

Gertrude became very red. Her mother's words contained a reproachagainst herself, tacit and unintended indeed, but not the lesskeenly felt. 

'I am not aware that Mr. Norman has any cause of just complaint, 'she said, 'against any one, unless it be himself. For the sake ofcharity and old associations we have wished that all ideas ofinjury should be forgiven and forgotten. If he chooses still toindulge his rancour, he must do so. I had taken him to be abetter Christian. '

More words had sprung from these. Mrs. Woodward, who, in truth, loved Norman the better for the continuance of his sorrow, wouldnot give up his part; and so the mother and child parted, and thetwo sisters parted, not quarrelling indeed, not absolutely withangry words, but in a tone of mind towards each other widelydiffering from that of former years. Mrs. Woodward had lost noneof the love of the parent; but Gertrude had forgotten somewhat ofthe reverence of the child. 

All this had added much to the grief created by Katie's illness. 

And then of a sudden Katie became silent, as well as sad and ill--silent and sad, but so soft, so loving in her manner. Her gentlelittle caresses, the tender love ever lying in her eye, theconstant pressure of her thin small hand, would all but break hermother's heart. Katie would sit beside her on the sofa in thedrawing-room for hours; a book, taken up as an excuse, would bein her lap, and she would sit there gazing listlessly into thevacant daylight till the evening would come; and then, when theroom was shaded and sombre, when the light of the fire merelyserved to make the objects indistinct, she would lean gently andby degrees upon her mother's bosom, would coax her mother's armround her neck, and would thus creep as it were into her mother'sheart of hearts. And then slow tears would trickle down hercheeks, very slow, one by one, till they would fall as telltaleson her mother's hand. 

'Katie, my darling Katie, ' the mother would say. 

'I'm only tired, mamma, ' would be her answer. 'Don't move, mamma;pray don't move. I am so comfortable. '

And then at night she would put herself to rest close circled inLinda's arms. She would twist up her little feet, and lie soquiet there, that Linda would remain motionless that she mightnot disturb her Katie's sleep; but soon warm tears would berunning on her bosom, and she would know that Katie was stillthinking of her love. 

Linda, among all her virtues, had not that of reticence, and hermother had soon learnt from her what had been said that night intheir bedroom about Charley. But this violation of confidence, ifit was a violation, was hardly necessary to make Mrs. Woodwardaware of what was passing in her daughter's bosom. When Katieceased to ask that Charley might be sent for, when she ceased toplead for his pardon and to praise his virtues, Mrs. Woodwardknew well the cause of her silence. It was not that otherssuspected her love, but that she had learned to suspect itherself. It was not that she was ashamed of loving Charley, butthat she felt at once that such love would distress her mother'sheart. 

As she sat there that night fingering her silken hair, she hadasked herself whether in truth this man was master of her heart;she had probed her young bosom, which now, by a sudden growth, became quick with a woman's impulse, and she had owned to herselfthat she did love him. He was dearer to her, she found, than allin the world beside. Fondly as she loved her sister, sweet to heras were her mother's caresses, their love was not as precious toher as his might be. And then she remembered what he was, whatwas the manner of his life, what his character; how different hewas from Alaric or Harry Norman; she remembered this, and knewthat her love was an unhappy passion. Herself she would havesacrificed: prisoner as he had been, debtor as he was, drunkard, penniless, and a spendthrift, she would not have hesitated totake him for her guide through life, and have done what a womanmight to guide him in return. But she would not sacrifice hermother. She saw now why Charley was not asked, and silentlyacquiesced in his banishment. 

She was not yet quite seventeen. Not yet seventeen! the readerwill say. She was still such a child, and yet arguing to herselfabout spendthrift debtors and self-sacrifice! All this bombast atsixteen and a half. No, my ungentle reader, not all this bombastat sixteen and a half. The bombast is mine. It is my fault if Icannot put into fitting language the thoughts which God put intoher young heart. In her mind's soliloquy, Charley's vices wereprobably all summed up in the one word, unsteady. Why is he sounsteady? Why does he like these wicked things?' And then asregarded Mrs. Woodward, she did but make a resolve that not evenfor her love would she add to the unhappiness of that loving, tenderest mother. There was no bombast in Katie, either expressedor unexpressed. 

After much consideration on the matter, Mrs. Woodward determinedthat she should ask Charley down to the Cottage. In the firstplace, she felt bitterly her apparent ingratitude to him. Whenlast they had been together, the day after Katie's escape at thebridge, when his tale had just been read, she had told him, withthe warmth of somewhat more than friendly affection, thathenceforth they must be more than common friends. She hadpromised him her love, she had almost promised him the affectionand care of a mother; and now how was she keeping her promise? Hehad fallen into misfortune, and she had immediately deserted him. Over and over again she said to herself that her first duty wasto her own child; but even with this reflection, she could hardlyreconcile herself to her neglect of him. 

And then, moreover, she felt that it was impossible that alltheir friendship, all their mutual regard, should die awaysuddenly without any explanation. An attempt to bring about thiswould not cure Katie's love. If this were done, would not Katiealways think of Charley's wrong?

And, lastly, it was quite clear that Katie had put a check on herown heart. A meeting now might be the reverse of dangerous. Itwould be well that Katie should use herself to be with him nowagain; well, at any rate, that she should see him once beforetheir proposed journey to Torquay; for, alas, the journey toTorquay was now insisted on by the London physician--insisted on, although he opined with a nod, somewhat less authoritative thanhis former nod, that the young lady was touched by no organicdisease. 

'And then, ' said Mrs. Woodward to herself, 'his heart is good, and I will speak openly to him. ' And so Charley was again invitedto the cottage. After some demurring between him and Norman, heaccepted the invitation. 

Mrs. Val's dance had taken place in June, and it was now late inOctober. Four months had intervened, and during that periodCharley had seen none of the Woodwards. He had over and overagain tried to convince himself that this was his own fault, andthat he had no right to accuse Mrs. Woodward of ingratitude. Buthe was hardly successful. He did feel, in spite of himself, thathe had been dropped because of the disgrace attaching to hisarrest; that Mrs. Woodward had put him aside as being too bad toassociate with her and her daughters; and that it was intendedthat henceforth they should be strangers. 

He still had Katie's purse, and he made a sort of resolve that aslong as he kept that in his possession, as long as he had thatnear his heart, he would not go near Norah Geraghty. Thisresolution he had kept; but though he did not go to the 'Cat andWhistle, ' he frequented other places which were as discreditable, or more so. He paid many very fruitless visits to Mr. M'Ruen;contrived to run up a score with the proprietor of the dancingsaloon in Holborn; and was as negligent as ever in the matter ofthe lock entries. 

'It is no use now, ' he would say to himself, when someaspirations for higher things came across his heart; 'it is toolate now to go back. Those who once cared for me have thrown meover. ' And then he would again think of Waterloo Bridge, and theMonument, and of what might be done for threepence or fourpencein a pistol gallery. 

And then at last came the invitation to Hampton. He was once moreto talk to Mrs. Woodward, and associate with Linda--to see Katieonce more. When he had last left the house he had almost been asmuch at home as any one of the family; and now he was to returnto it as a perfect stranger. As he travelled down with Norman bythe railway, he could not help feeling that the journey waspassing over too quickly. He was like a prisoner going to hisdoom. As he crossed the bridge, and remembered how Katie hadlooked when she lay struggling in the water, how he had beenfeted and caressed after pulling her out, he made a bittercontrast between his present position and that which he thenenjoyed. Were it not for very shame, he would have found it inhis heart to return to London. 

And then in a moment they were at the Cottage door. The road hadnever been so short. Norman, who had not fathomed Charley'sfeelings, was happy and light-hearted--more so than was usualwith him, for he was unaffectedly glad to witness Charley'sreturn to Hampton. He rang sharply at the door, and when it wasopened, walked with happy confidence into the drawing-room. Charley was bound to follow him, and there he found himself againin the presence of Mrs. Woodward and her daughters. Katie wouldfain have absented herself, but Mrs. Woodward knew that the firstmeeting could take place in no more favourable manner. 

Mrs. Woodward bade him welcome with a collected voice, andassured, if not easy manner. She shook hands with him cordially, and said a few words as to her pleasure of seeing him again. Thenhe next took Linda's hand, and she too made a little speech, moreawkwardly than her mother, saying something mal à propos aboutthe very long time he had been away; and then she laughed with alittle titter, trying to recover herself. And at last he came toKatie. There was no getting over it. She also stretched out hernow thin hand, and Charley, as he touched it, perceived howaltered she was. Katie looked up into his face, and tried tospeak, but she could not articulate a word. She looked into hisface, and then at Mrs. Woodward, as though imploring her mother'said to tell her how to act or what to say; and then finding herpower of utterance impeded by rising sobs, she dropped back againon her seat, and hid her face upon the arm of the sofa. 

'Our Katie is not so well as when you last saw her--is she, Charley?' said Mrs. Woodward. 'She is very weak just now; butthank God she has, we believe, no dangerous symptoms about her. You have heard, perhaps, that we are going to Torquay for thewinter?'

And so they went on talking. The ice was broken and the worst wasover. They did not talk, it is true, as in former days; there wasno confidence between them now, and each of them felt that therewas none; but they nevertheless fell into a way of unembarrassedconversation, and were all tolerably at their ease. 

And then they went to dinner, and Charley was called on todiscuss Admiralty matters with Uncle Bat; and then he and Normansat after dinner a little longer than usual; and then they had ashort walk, during which Katie remained at home; but short as itwas, it was quite long enough, for it was very dull; and thenthere was tea; and then more constrained conversation, in whichKatie took no part whatever; and then Mrs. Woodward and the girlstook their candles, and Charley went over to the inn on the otherside of the road. Oh! how different was this from the formerevenings at Surbiton Cottage. 

Charley had made no plan for any special interview with Katie;had, indeed, not specially thought about it at all; but he couldnot but feel an intense desire to say one word to her in private, and learn whether all her solicitude for him was over. 'DearCharley, you will be steady; won't you?' Those had been her lastwords to him. Nothing could have been sweeter; although theybrought before his mind the remembrance of his own unworthycareer, they had been inexpressibly sweet, as testifying theinterest she felt in him. And was that all over now? Had it allbeen talked away by Mrs. Woodward's cautious wisdom, because hehad lain for one night in a sponging-house?

But the next day came, and as it passed, it appeared to him thatno opportunity of speaking one word to her was to be allowed tohim. 

She did not, however, shun him. She was not up at breakfast, butshe sat next to him at lunch, and answered him when he spoke toher. 

In the evening they again went out to walk, and then Charleyfound that Linda and Norman went one way, and that he was alonewith Mrs. Woodward. It was manifest to him that this arrangementhad been made on purpose, and he felt that he was to undergo someprivate conversation, the nature of which he dreaded. He dreadedit very much; when he heard it, it made him very wretched; but itwas not the less full of womanly affection and regard for him. 

'I cannot let you go from us, Charley, ' began Mrs. Woodward, 'without telling you how deep a sorrow it has been to me to be solong without seeing you. I know you have thought me veryungrateful. '

'Ungrateful, Mrs. Woodward! 'O no! I have done nothing to makegratitude necessary. '

'Yes, Charley, you have--you have done much, too much. You havesaved my child's life. '

'O no, I did not, ' said he; 'besides, I hate gratitude. I don'twant any one to be grateful to me. Gratitude is almost asoffensive as pity. Of course I pulled Kate out of the water whenshe fell in; and I would have done as much for your favouritecat. ' He said this with something of bitterness in his tone; itwas not much, for though he felt bitterly he did not intend toshow it; but Mrs. Woodward's ear did not fail to catch it. 

'Don't be angry with us, Charley; don't make us more unhappy thanwe already are. '

'Unhappy!' said he, as though he thought that all the unhappinessin the world was at the present moment reserved for his ownshoulders. 

'Yes, we are not so happy now as we were when you were last withus. Poor Katie is very ill. '

'But you don't think there is any danger, Mrs. Woodward?'

There are many tones in which such a question may be asked--andis asked from day to day--all differing widely from each other, and giving evidence of various shades of feeling in the speaker. Charley involuntarily put his whole heart into it. Mrs. Woodwardcould not but love him for feeling for her child, though shewould have given so much that the two might have been indifferentto each other. 

'I do not know, ' she said. 'We hope not. But I should not be sentwith her to Torquay if she were not very ill. She is very ill, and it is absolutely essential that nothing should be allowed toexcite her painfully. I tell you this, Charley, to excuse ourapparent unkindness in not having you here sooner. '

Charley walked by her in silence. Why should his coming exciteher more than Norman's? What could there be painful to her inseeing him? Did the fact of his having been arrested attach tohis visit any peculiar probability of excitement?

'Do not suppose that we have not thought of you, ' continued Mrs. Woodward. ' We have all done so daily. Nay, I have done so myselfall but hourly. Ah, Charley, you will never know how truly I loveyou. '

Charley's heart was as soft as it was inflammable. He was utterlyunable to resist such tenderness as Mrs. Woodward showed to him. He had made a little resolution to be stiff and stern, to ask forno favour and to receive none, not to palliate his own conduct, or to allow Mrs. Woodward to condemn it. He had felt that as theWoodwards had given him up, they had no longer any right tocriticize him. To them at least, one and all, to Mrs. Woodwardand her daughters, his conduct had been _sans reproche_. Theyhad no cause to upbraid him on their own account; and they hadnow abandoned the right to do so on his own. With such assumedsternness he began his walk; but now it had all melted before thewarmth of one tender word from a woman's mouth. 

'I know I am not worth thinking about, ' said he. 

'Do not say so; pray do not say so. Do not think that we say soto ourselves. I grieve for your faults. Charley; I know they aregrievous and wicked; but I know how much there is of good in you. I know how clever you are, how excellent your heart is, how sweetyour disposition. I trust, I trust in God, you may reform, and bethe pride of your friends. I trust that I yet may be proud ofknowing you----'

'No one will ever be proud of me, ' said Charley. 

'We shall all be proud of you, if you will resolve to turn awayfrom childish things now that you are no longer a child--yourfaults are faults which as yet may be so easily relinquished. But, oh, Charley----' and then Mrs. Woodward paused and lookedwistfully into his face. She had now come to the point at whichshe had to make her prayer to him. She had resolved to tell himthe cause of her fears, and to trust to his honour to free herfrom them. Now was the moment for her to speak out; but now thatthe moment was come, the words were wanting. 

She looked wistfully into his face, but he did not even guesswhat was her meaning. He knew the secret of his own love; but hedid not know that Katie also had her secret. He had never dreamtthat his faults, among all their ill effects, had paled hercheek, made wan her arm, silenced her voice, and dimmed her eye. When he had heard Katie cough, he had in nowise connected thehated sound with his own arrest. He had thought only of his ownlove. 

'Oh! Charley--I know I can trust you, ' said Mrs. Woodward. 'Iknow you are gentle and good. You will be gentle and good to us, will you not? you will not make us all wretched?'

Charley declared that he would not willingly do anything to causepain to any of them. 

'No--I am sure you will not. And therefore, Charley, you must notsee Katie any more. '

At this time they had turned off the road into a shady lane, inwhich the leaves of autumn were beginning to fall. A path ledover a stile away from the lane into the fields, and Mrs. Woodward had turned towards it, as though intending to continuetheir walk in that direction. But when she had reached the stile, she had sat down upon the steps of it, and Charley had beenlistening to her, standing by, leaning on the top rail. 

'And therefore, Charley, you must not see Katie any more. ' Somuch she said, and then she looked into his face with imploringeyes. 

It was impossible that he should answer her at once. He had torealize so much that had hitherto not been expressed betweenthem, before he could fully understand what she meant; and thenhe was called on to give up so much that he now learnt for thefirst time was within his reach! Before he could answer her hehad to assure himself that Katie loved him; he had to understandthat her love for one so abandoned was regarded as fatal; and hehad to reply to a mother's prayer that he would remove himselffrom the reach of a passion which to him was worth all the worldbeside. 

He turned his face away from her, but still stood leaning on thestile, with his arms folded on it. She watched him for a while insilence, and at last she saw big tears drop from his face on tothe dust of the path on the farther side. There they came rollingdown, large globules of sorrow. Nothing is so painful to a womanas a man in tears, and Mrs. Woodward's heart was wrung to itsvery core. Why was he not like Alaric or Norman, so that shemight make him welcome to her daughter's heart?

She leant towards him and put her hand caressingly on his arm. 'It shall be so, shall it not, Charley?'

'Oh, of course, if you say so. '

'I have your word, then? If I have your word, that will be aperfect bond. I have your word, have I not, Charley?'

'What!--never see her in my life?' said he, turning almostfiercely on Mrs. Woodward. 

'That, you know, is more than you can promise, ' said she, verygently. 'It is not to the letter of the promise that I would bindyou, but to its spirit. You understand well what I mean; you knowwhat I wish, and why I wish it. Say that you will obey my wish, and I will leave the mode of doing it to your own honour. Have Iyour promise?'

He shook her hand off his arm almost roughly, thoughunintentionally, and turning sharply round leant with his backagainst the stile. The traces of tears were still on his cheeks, but he was no longer crying; there was, however, a look on hisface of heart-rending sorrow which Mrs. Woodward could hardlyendure. 

'I do understand you, ' said he, 'and since you demand it, I willpromise;' and then they walked home side by side, withoutinterchanging a single word. 

When they reached the house, Mrs. Woodward went to her room, andCharley found himself alone with Katie. 

'I hope you find yourself better this evening, ' said he. 

'Oh, I am quite well, ' she answered, with her sweetest, kindestvoice; 'I am quite well, only sometimes I am a little weak. '

He walked up to the window as though to pass on to the lawn; butthe season was too far advanced for that, and the window waslocked. He retraced his steps, therefore, and passing out of thedrawing-room into the hall, stood at the open front door till heheard Mrs. Woodward come down. Then he followed her into theroom. 

'Good-bye, ' he said to her suddenly; 'I shall start by the earlytrain to-morrow, and shall not see you. ' She pressed his hand, but he in nowise returned the pressure. 'Good-bye, Linda; good-bye, Katie; good night, Captain Cuttwater. ' And so he went hisway, as Adam did when he was driven out of Paradise. 

Early on the following morning, the cook, while engaged in hermost matutinal duties, was disturbed by a ring at the front door. She, and she only of the household, was up, and as she had notcompleted her toilet with much minuteness, she was ratherembarrassed when, on opening the door, she saw Mr. Charles Tudor. 

'I beg your pardon, cook, for troubling you so early; but I haveleft something in the drawing-room. I can find it myself;' and, so saying, he hurried into the room, so as to prevent the servantfrom following him. 

Katie had a well-worn, well-known little workbox, which, in yearsnow long past; had been given to her either by Alaric or Harry. Doubtless she had now work-boxes grander both in appearance andsize; but, nevertheless, whether from habit or from choice, hercustom was, in her daily needlework, to use this old friend. Often and often had Charley played with it many wicked pranks. Once, while Katie had as yet no pretension to be grown up, he hadput a snail into it, and had incurred her severe displeasure. Hehad stuffed it full of acorns, and been rewarded by being peltedwith them round the lawn; and had filled it with nuts, for whichhe had not found it so difficult to obtain pardon. He knew everyhole and corner in it! he was intimate with all her littlefeminine nicknacks--her silver thimble, her scissors, her bit ofwax, and the yard-measure, which twisted itself in and out of anivory cottage--he knew them all, as well as though they were hisown; and he knew also where the workbox stood. 

He closed the door behind him, and then, with his quickestmotion, raised the lid and put within the box, just under the bitof work on which she was employed, a light small paper parcel. Itcontained the purse which she had worked for him, and had givento him with such sweet affection at the Chiswick flower-show. 

CHAPTER XXXI

HOW APOLLO SAVED THE NAVVY

About the middle of November, the Woodwards went to Torquay, andremained there till the following May. Norman went with them tosee them properly settled in their new lodgings, and visited themat Christmas, and once again during their stay there. He thenwent down to fetch them home, and when they all returned, informed Charley, with whom he was still living, that he wasengaged to Linda. It was arranged, he said, that they were to bemarried in August. 

On the whole, the journey to Torquay was considered to have beensuccessful. Katie's health had been the only object in goingthere, and the main consideration while they remained. Shereturned, if not well, at any rate not worse. She had got throughthe winter, and her lungs were still pronounced to be free fromthose dreadful signs of decay, the name of which has broken somany mothers' hearts, and sent dismay into the breasts of so manyfathers. During her sojourn at Torquay she had grown much, and, as is often the case with those who grow quickly, she had becomeweak and thin. People at Torquay are always weak and thin, andMrs. Woodward had not, therefore, been greatly frightened atthis. Her spirits, though by no means such as they had been informer days, had improved, she had occupied herself more than shehad done during the last two months at Hampton, and had, at leastso Mrs. Woodward fondly flattered herself, ceased to be alwaysthinking of Charley Tudor. It was quite clear that she had firmlymade up her mind to some certain line of conduct with referenceto him; she never mentioned his name, nor was it mentioned in herhearing by either her mother or sister during their stay atTorquay. When Norman came down, she always found some opportunityof inquiring from him as to Charley's health and welfare; but shedid this in a manner which showed that she had succeeded inplacing her feelings wonderfully under control. 

On that Monday morning, on which Charley had returned to townafter his early visit to her workbox, she had not failed to findthe purse. Linda was with her when she did so, but she hadcontrived so to conceal her emotion, that nothing was seen andnothing suspected. She felt at once that it was intended that allintercourse should be broken off between them. She knewinstinctively that this was the effect of some precaution on hermother's part, and with a sad bosom and a broken heart, sheacquiesced in it. She said nothing, even to herself, of the truthand constancy of her love; she made no mental resolution againstany other passion; she did not even think whether or not shemight ever be tempted to love another; but she felt a dumb achingnumbness about her heart; and, looking round about her, sheseemed to feel that all was dark and dismal. 

And so they sojourned through the winter at Torquay. The effortwhich Katie made was undoubtedly salutary to her. She took againto her work and her lessons--studies we should probably now callthem--and before she left Torquay, she had again learned how tosmile; but not to laugh with that gay ringing silver laughter, ringing, but yet not loud, which to Charley's ear had been assweet as heavenly music. During this time Uncle Bat remained atHampton, keeping bachelor's house by himself. 

And then while they were at Torquay, Linda and Norman becameengaged to each other. Their loves were honest, true, and happy;but not of a nature to give much scope to a novelist of aromantic turn. Linda knew she was not Norman's first love, andrequited Norman, of course, by telling him something, not much, of Alaric's falseness to her. Norman made but one ungenerousstipulation. It was this: that in marrying him Linda must give upall acquaintance with her brother-in-law. He would never, hesaid, be the means of separating two sisters; she and Gertrudemight have such intercourse together as their circumstances mightrender possible; but it was quite out of the question that eitherhe, Harry Norman, or his wife, should ever again associate withAlaric Tudor. 

In such matters Linda had always been guided by others; so shesighed and promised, and the engagement was duly ratified by allthe parties concerned. 

We must now return to Charley. When he got back to town, he feltthat he had lost his amulet; his charm had gone from him, and hehad nothing now left whereby to save himself from ruin anddestruction. He was utterly flung over by the Woodwards; that nowwas to him an undoubted fact. When Mrs. Woodward told him that hewas never again to see Katie, that was, of course, tantamount toturning him out of the Cottage. It might be all very well to talkto him of affection and friendship; but it was manifest that nofurther signs of either were to be shown to him. He had provedhimself to be unworthy, and was no more to be considered as oneof the circle which made the drawing-room at Surbiton Cottage itscentre. He could not quite explain all this to Norman, as hecould not tell him what had passed between him and Mrs. Woodward;but he said enough to make his friend know that he intended to goto Hampton no more. 

It would be wrong, perhaps, to describe Charley as being angrywith Mrs. Woodward. He knew that she was only doing her duty byher child; he knew that she was actuated by the purest and bestof motives; he was not able to say a word against her even tohimself; but, nevertheless, he desired to be revenged on her--notby injuring her, not by injuring Katie--but by injuring himself. He would make Mrs. Woodward feel what she had done, by rushing, himself, on his own ruin. He would return to the 'Cat andWhistle'--he would keep his promise and marry Norah Geraghty--hewould go utterly to destruction, and then Mrs. Woodward wouldknow and feel what she had done in banishing him from herdaughter's presence!

Having arrived at this magnanimous resolution after a fortnight'sdoubt and misery, he proceeded to put his purpose into execution. It was now some considerable time since he had been at the 'Catand Whistle;' he had had no further visit from Mrs. Davis, but hehad received one or two notes both from her and Norah, to which, as long as he had Katie's purse, he was resolute in not replying;messages also had reached him from the landlady through DickScatterall, in the last of which he was reminded that there was atrifle due at the bar, and another trifle for money lent. 

One night, having lashed himself up to a fit state of wretcheddesperation, he found himself at the well-known corner of thestreet leading out of the Strand. On his journey thither he hadbeen trying to realize to himself what it would be to be thehusband of Norah Geraghty; what would be the joy of returning toa small house in some dingy suburb and finding her to receivehim. Could he really love her when she would be bone of his boneand flesh of his flesh, the wife of his bosom and the mother ofhis children? In such a case would he ever be able to forget thathe had known Katie Woodward? Would those words of hers ever ringin his ears, then as now--'You will be steady, dear Charley;won't you?'

There are those who boast that a gentleman must always be agentleman; that a man, let him marry whom he will, raises ordegrades his wife to the level of his own condition, and thatKing Cophetua could share his throne with a beggar-woman withoutsullying its splendour or diminishing its glory. How a king mayfare in such a condition, the author, knowing little of kings, will not pretend to say; nor yet will he offer an opinion whethera lowly match be fatally injurious to a marquess, duke, or earl;but this he will be bold to affirm, that a man from the ordinaryranks of the upper classes, who has had the nurture of agentleman, prepares for himself a hell on earth in taking a wifefrom any rank much below his own--a hell on earth, and, alas! toooften another hell elsewhere also. He must either leave her orloathe her. She may be endowed with all those moral virtues whichshould adorn all women, and which, thank God, are common to womenin this country; but he will have to endure habits, manners, andideas, which the close contiguity of married life will force uponhis disgusted palate, and which must banish all love. Man byinstinct desires in his wife something softer, sweeter, morerefined than himself; and though in failing to obtain this, thefault may be all his own, he will not on that account the moreeasily reconcile himself to the want. 

Charley knew that he was preparing such misery for himself. As hewent along, determined to commit a moral suicide by allyinghimself to the barmaid, he constrained himself to look with hismind's eye 'upon this picture and on that. '

He had felt of what nature was the sort of love with which KatieWoodward had inspired his heart; and he felt also what was thatother sort of love to which the charms of Norah Geraghty hadgiven birth. 

Norah was a fine girl, smart enough in her outward apparel, butapt occasionally to disclose uncomfortable secrets, if from anyaccident more than her outward apparel might momentarily becomevisible. When dressed up for a Sunday excursion she had herattractions, and even on ordinary evenings, a young man such asCharley, after imbibing two or three glasses of spirits andwater, and smoking two or three cigars, might find her to be whatsome of her friends would have called 'very good company. ' As toher mind, had Charley been asked about it, he would probably havesaid that he was ignorant whether she had any; but this he didknow, that she was sharp and quick, alert in counting change, andgifted with a peculiar power of detecting bad coin by the touch. Such was Norah Geraghty, whom Charley was to marry. 

And then that other portrait was limned with equal accuracybefore his eyes. Katie, with all her juvenile spirit, wasdelightfully feminine; every motion of hers was easy, and everyform into which she could twist her young limbs was graceful. Shehad all the nice ideas and ways which a girl acquires when shegrows from childhood to woman's stature, under the eye of amother who is a lady. Katie could be untidy on occasions; but hervery untidiness was inviting. All her belongings were nice; shehad no hidden secrets, the chance revealing of which woulddisgrace her. She might come in from her island palaces in aguise which would call down some would-be-censorious exclamationfrom her mother; but all others but her mother would declare thatKatie in such moments was more lovely than ever. And Katie'sbeauty pleased more than the eye--it came home to the mind andheart of those who saw her. It spoke at once to the intelligence, and required, for its full appreciation, an exercise of themental faculties, as well as animal senses. If the owner of thatoutward form were bad or vile, one would be inclined to say thatNature must have lied when she endowed her with so fair an index. Such was Katie Woodward, whom Charley was not to marry. 

As he turned down Norfolk Street, he thought of all this, as thegambler, sitting with his razor before him with which he intendsto cut his throat, may be supposed to think of the stakes whichhe has failed to win, and the fortune he has failed to make. Norah Geraghty was Charley's razor, and he plunged boldly intothe 'Cat and Whistle, ' determined to draw it at once across hisweasand, and sever himself for ever from all that is valuable inthe world. 

It was now about eleven o'clock, at which hour the 'Cat andWhistle' generally does its most stirring trade. This Charleyknew; but he also knew that the little back parlour, even ifthere should be an inmate in it at the time of his going in, would soon be made private for his purposes. 

When he went in, Mrs. Davis was standing behind the counter, dressed in a cap of wonderful grandeur, and a red tabinet gown, which rustled among the pots and jars, sticking out from her to atremendous width, inflated by its own magnificence and asubstratum of crinoline. Charley had never before seen herarrayed in such royal robes. Her accustomed maid was waiting asusual on the guests, and another girl also was assisting; butNorah did not appear to Charley's first impatient glance. 

He at once saw that something wonderful was going on. The frontparlour was quite full, and the ministering angel was going inand out quickly, with more generous supplies of the gifts ofBacchus than were usual at the 'Cat and Whistle. ' Gin and waterwas the ordinary tipple in the front parlour; and any one of itsdenizens inclined to cut a dash above his neighbours generallydid so with a bottom of brandy. But now Mrs. Davis was mixingport-wine negus as fast as her hands could make it. 

And then there were standing round the counter four or fivecustomers, faces well known to Charley, all of whom seemed to bedressed with a splendour second only to that of the landlady. Oneman had on an almost new brown frock coat with a black velvetcollar, and white trousers. Two had blue swallow-tailed coatswith brass buttons; and a fourth, a dashing young lawyer's clerkfrom Clement's Inn, was absolutely stirring a mixture, which hecalled a mint julep, with a yellow kid glove dangling out of hishand. 

They all stood back when Charley entered; they had beenaccustomed to make way for him in former days, and though he hadlatterly ceased to rule at the 'Cat and Whistle' as he once did, they were too generous to trample on fallen greatness. He gavehis hand to Mrs. Davis across the counter, and asked her in themost unconcerned voice which he could assume what was in thewind. She tittered and laughed, told him he had come too late forthe fun, and then retreated into the little back parlour, whitherhe followed her. She was at any rate in a good humour, and seemedquite inclined to forgive his rather uncivil treatment of hernotes and messages. 

In the back parlour Charley found more people drinking, and amongthem three ladies of Mrs. Davis's acquaintance. They were allvery fine in their apparel, and very comfortable as to theirimmediate employment, for each had before her a glass of hottipple. One of them, a florid-faced dame about fifty, Charley hadseen before, and knew to be the wife of a pork butcher andsausage maker in the neighbourhood. Directly he entered the room, Mrs. Davis formally introduced him to them all. 'A veryparticular friend of mine, Mrs. Allchops; and of Norah's too, Ican assure you, ' said Mrs. Davis. 

'Ah, Mr. Tudor, and how be you? A sight of you is good for soreeyes, ' said she of the sausages, rising with some difficulty fromher chair, and grasping Charley's hand with all the pleasantcordiality of old friendship. 

'The gen'leman seems to be a little too late for the fair, ' saida severe lodging-house keeper from Cecil Street. 

 'Them as wills not, when they may, When they wills they shall have nay, '

said a sarcastic rival barmaid from a neighbouring public, towhom all Norah's wrongs and all Mr. Tudor's false promises werefully known. 

Charley was not the fellow to allow himself to be put down, evenby feminine raillery; so he plucked up his spirit, sad as he wasat heart, and replied to them all _en masse_. 

'Well, ladies, what's in the wind now? You seem to be very cosyhere, all of you; suppose you allow me to join you. '

'With a 'eart and a 'alf, ' said Mrs. Allchops, squeezing hercorpulence up to the end of the horsehair sofa, so as to makeroom for him between herself and the poetic barmaid. 'I'd soonerhave a gentleman next to me nor a lady hany day of the week; socome and sit down, my birdie. '

But Charley, as he was about to accept the invitation of hisfriend Mrs. Allchops, caught Mrs. Davis's eye, and followed herout of the room into the passage. 'Step up to the landing, Mr. Tudor, ' said she; and Charley stepped up. 'Come in here, Mr. Tudor--you won't mind my bedroom for once. ' And Charley followedher in, not minding her bedroom. 

'Of course you know what has happened, Mr. Tudor?' said she. 

'Devil a bit, ' said Charley. 

'Laws, now--don't you indeed? Well, that is odd. '

'How the deuce should I know? Where's Norah?'

'Why--she's at Gravesend. '

'At Gravesend--you don't mean to say she's----'

'I just do then; she's just gone and got herself spliced toPeppermint this morning. They had the banns said these last threeSundays; and this morning they was at St. Martin's at eighto'clock, and has been here junketing ever since, and now they'reaway to Gravesend. '

'Gravesend!' said Charley, struck by the suddenness of hisrescue, as the gambler would have been had some stranger seizedthe razor at the moment when it was lifted to his throat. 

'Yes, Gravesend, ' said Mrs. Davis; 'and they'll come up home tohis own house by the first boat to-morrow. '

'So Norah's married!' said Charley, with a slight access ofsentimental softness in his voice. 

'She's been and done it now, Mr. Tudor, and no mistake; and it'sbetter so, ain't it? Why, Lord love you, she'd never have donefor you, you know; and she's the very article for such a man asPeppermint. '

There was something good-natured in this, and so Charley felt it. As long as Mrs. Davis could do anything to assist her cousin'sviews, by endeavouring to seduce or persuade her favourite loverinto a marriage, she left no stone unturned, working on hercousin's behalf. But now, now that all those hopes were over, nowthat Norah had consented to sacrifice love to prudence, whyshould Mrs. Davis quarrel with an old friend any longer?--whyshould not things be made pleasant to him as to the others?

'And now, Mr. Tudor, come down, and drink a glass to theirhealths, and wish 'em both well, and don't mind what them womensays to you. You're well out of a mess; and now it's all over, I'm glad it is as it is. '

Charley went down and took his glass and drank 'prosperity to thebride and bridegroom. ' The sarcastic rival barmaid said littlesnappish things to him, offered him a bit of green ribbon, andtold him that if he 'minded hisself, ' somebody might, perhaps, take him yet. But Charley was proof against this. 

He sat there about half an hour, and then went his way, shakinghands with all the ladies and bowing to the gentlemen. On thefollowing day, as soon as he left his office, he called at the'Cat and Whistle, ' and paid his little bill there, and said hislast farewell to Mrs. Davis. He never visited the house again. Now that Norah was gone the attractions were not powerful. Reader, you and I will at the same time say our farewells to Mrs. Davis, to Mr. Peppermint also, and to his bride. If thou art anelegant reader, unaccustomed to the contamination of pipes andglasses, I owe thee an apology in that thou hast been caused tolinger a while among things so unsavoury. But if thou art one whoof thine own will hast taken thine ease in thine inn, hastenjoyed the freedom of a sanded parlour, hast known 'that gingeris hot in the mouth, ' and made thyself light-hearted with a yardof clay, then thou wilt confess there are worse establishmentsthan the 'Cat and Whistle, ' less generous landladies than Mrs. Davis. 

When all this happened the Woodwards had not been long atTorquay. Mr. Peppermint was made a happy man before Christmas;and therefore Charley was left to drift before the wind withoutthe ballast of any lady's love to keep him in sailing trim. Poorfellow! he had had wealth on one side, beauty and love onanother, and on the third all those useful qualities which MissGeraghty has been described as possessing. He had been thussurrounded by feminine attractions, and had lost them all. Two ofthose, from whom he had to choose, had married others, and he wasbanished from the presence of the third. Under such circumstanceswhat could he do but drift about the gulfs and straits of theLondon ocean without compass or rudder, and bruise his timbersagainst all the sunken rocks that might come in his way?

And then Norman told him of his coming marriage, and Charley wasmore sad than ever. And thus matters went on with him till theperiod at which our story will be resumed at the return of theWoodwards to Hampton. 

In the meantime another winter and another spring had passed overAlaric's head, and now the full tide of the London season foundhim still rising, and receiving every day more of the world'shomage. Sir Gregory Hardlines had had every reason to praise hisown judgement in selecting Mr. Tudor for the vacant seat amongthe Magi. 

From that moment all had gone smooth with Sir Gregory; there wasno one to interfere with his hobby, or run counter to hisopinion. Alaric was all that was conciliatory and amiable in acolleague. He was not submissive and cringing; and had he beenso, Sir Gregory, to do him justice, would have been disgusted;but neither was he self-opinionated nor obstinate like Mr. Jobbles. He insisted on introducing no crotchets of his own, andallowed Sir Gregory all the credit of the Commission. 

This all went on delightfully for a while; but on one morning, early in May, Alaric somewhat disturbed the equanimity of hischief by communicating to him his intention of becoming acandidate for the representation of the borough of Strathbogy, atthe next general election, which was to take place very shortlyafter the close of the session. Sir Gregory was dumbfounded, andexpressed himself as incapable of believing that Tudor reallymeant to throw up £1, 200 a year on the mere speculation of itsbeing possible that he should get into Parliament. Men ingeneral, as Sir Gregory endeavoured to explain with mucheloquence, go into Parliament for the sake of getting places of£1, 200 a year. For what earthly reason should Alaric again begoing to the bottom of the ladder, seeing that he had alreadyattained a rung of such very respectable altitude? Alaric said tohimself, 'Excelsior!' To Sir Gregory he suggested that it mightbe possible that he should get into Parliament without giving uphis seat at the Board. Earth and heaven, it might be hoped, wouldnot come together, even though so great a violence as this shouldbe done to the time-honoured practices of the Government. SirGregory suggested that it was contrary to the constitution. Alaric replied that the constitution had been put upon to asgreat an extent before this, and had survived. Sir Gregoryregarded it as all but impossible, and declared it to be quiteunusual. Alaric rejoined that something of the same kind had beendone at the Poor Law Board. To this Sir Gregory replied, gentlypluming his feathers with conscious greatness, that at the PoorLaw Board the chief of the Commission was the Parliamentaryofficer. Alaric declared that he was perfectly willing to giveway if Sir Gregory would go into the House himself. To this SirGregory demurred; not feeling himself called on to change thesphere of his utility. And so the matter was debated betweenthem, till at last Sir Gregory promised to consult his friend theChancellor of the Exchequer. The ice was thus broken, and Alaricwas quite contented with the part which he had taken in theconversation. 

With his own official prospects, in spite of the hazardous stepwhich he now meditated, he was quite contented. He had an ideathat in the public service of the Government, as well as in allother services, men who were known to be worth their wages wouldfind employment. He was worth his wages. Men who could servetheir country well, who could adapt themselves to work, who werepractical, easy in harness, able to drive and patient to bedriven, were not, unfortunately, as plentiful as blackberries. Hebegan to perceive that a really useful man could not be foundmiscellaneously under every hat in Pall Mall. He knew his ownvalue, and did not fear but that he should find a price for it insome of the world's markets. He would not, therefore, allowhimself to be deterred from further progress by any fear that indoing so he risked the security of his daily bread; no, notthough the risk extended to his wife; she had taken him forbetter or worse; if the better came she should share it; if theworse, why let her share that also, with such consolation as hisaffection might be able to offer. 

There was something noble in this courage, in this lack ofprudence. It may be a question whether men, in marrying, do notbecome too prudent. A single man may risk anything, says theworld; but a man with a wife should be sure of his means. Why so?A man and a woman are but two units. A man and a woman with tenchildren are but twelve units. It is sad to see a man starving--sad to see a woman starving--very sad to see children starving. But how often does it come to pass that the man who will work isseen begging his bread? we may almost say never--unless, indeed, he be a clergyman. Let the idle man be sure of his wife's breadbefore he marries her; but the working man, one would say, maygenerally trust to God's goodness without fear. 

With his official career Alaric was, as we have said, wellcontented; in his stock-jobbing line of business he also had hadmoments of great exaltation, and some moments of considerabledepression. The West Corks had vacillated. Both he and Undy hadsold and bought and sold again; and on the whole their stake inthat stupendous national line of accommodation was not so all-absorbing as it had once been. But if money had been withdrawnfrom this, it had been invested elsewhere, and the great sumborrowed from Madame Jaquêtanàpe's fortune had been in no partreplaced--one full moiety of it had been taken--may one not saystolen?--to enable Alaric and Undy to continue their speculations. 

The undertaking to which they were now both wedded was theLimehouse and Rotherhithe Bridge. Of this Undy was chairman, andAlaric was a director, and at the present moment they looked forample fortune, or what would nearly be ample ruin, to thedecision of a committee of the House of Commons which was aboutto sit with the view of making inquiry as to the necessity of thebridge in question. 

Mr. Nogo, the member for Mile End, was the parent of thiscommittee. He asserted that the matter was one of such vitalimportance not only to the whole metropolis, but to the countryat large, that the Government were bound in the first place togive a large subsidy towards building the bridge, and afterwardsto pay a heavy annual sum towards the amount which it would benecessary to raise by tolls. Mr. Whip Vigil, on the other hand, declared on the part of Government that the bridge was whollyunnecessary; that if it were built it ought to be pulled downagain; and that not a stiver could be given out of the publicpurse with such an object. 

On this they joined issue. Mr. Nogo prayed for a committee, andMr. Vigil, having duly consulted his higher brethren in theGovernment, conceded this point. It may easily be conceived howhigh were now the hopes both of Undy Scott and Alaric Tudor. Itwas not at all necessary for them that the bridge should ever bebuilt; that, probably, was out of the question; that, verylikely, neither of them regarded as a possibility. But if acommittee of the House of Commons could be got to say that itought to be built, they might safely calculate on selling out ata large profit. 

But who were to sit on the committee? That was now the all-momentous question. 

CHAPTER XXXII

THE PARLIAMENTARY COMMITTEE

There is a sport prevalent among the downs in Hampshire to which, though not of a high degree, much interest is attached. Men andboys, with social glee and happy boyish shouts, congregatetogether on a hill-side, at the mouth of a narrow hole, andproceed, with the aid of a well-trained bull-dog, to draw abadger. If the badger be at all commendable in his class this isby no means an easy thing to do. He is a sturdy animal, and wellfortified with sharp and practised teeth; his hide is of thetoughest; his paws of the strongest, and his dead power ofresistance so great as to give him more than an equal chance withthe bull-dog. The delighted sportsmen stand round listening tothe growls and snarls, the tearings, gnawings, and bloodystruggles of the combatants within. --'Well done, badger!--Welldone, bull-dog!--Draw him, bulldog!--Bite him, badger!' Each hashis friends, and the interest of the moment is intense. Thebadger, it is true, has done no harm. He has been doing as it wasappointed for him to do, poor badger, in that hole of his. Butthen, why were badgers created but to be drawn? Why, indeed, butto be drawn, or not to be drawn, as the case may be? See! thebull-dog returns minus an ear, with an eye hanging loose, hisnether lip torn off, and one paw bitten through and through. Limping, dejected, beaten, glaring fearfully from his oneremaining eye, the dog comes out; and the badger within rollshimself up with affected ease, hiding his bloody wounds from thepublic eye. 

So it is that the sport is played in Hampshire; and so also atWestminster--with a difference, however. In Hampshire the twobrutes retain ever their appointed natures. The badger is alwaysa badger, and the bull-dog never other than a bull-dog. AtWestminster there is a juster reciprocity of position. The badgerwhen drawn has to take his place outside the hole, and fightagain for the home of his love; while the victorious bull-dogassumes a state of badgerdom, dons the skin of his enemy, and, inhis turn, submits to be baited. 

The pursuit is certainly full of interest, but it is somewhatdeficient in dignity. 

The parliamentary committee, which was to sit with reference tothe Limehouse and Rotherhithe Bridge, had been one of the effectsof a baiting-match such as that above described. In this contestthe enemies of the proud occupier of the den on the mountain-sidehad not been contented to attempt to expel him with a singlebull-dog. A whole pack had been let loose at his devoted throat. Bull-dogs had been at him, and terriers, mastiffs, blood-hounds, lurchers, and curs; but so accustomed was he to the contest, soknowing in his fence, so ready with all the weapons given to himby nature, that, in spite of the numbers and venom of hisenemies, he had contrived to hold his own. Some leading houndshad fallen to rise no more; others had retreated, yelping totheir kennels, to lie quiet for a while, till time might givethem courage for a new attack. The country round was filled withthe noise of their plaints, and the yowling and howling of caninedefeat. The grey old badger meanwhile sat proud in his hole, withall his badger kin around him, and laughed his well-known badgerlaugh at his disconsolate foes. Such a brock had not for yearsbeen seen in the country-side; so cool, so resolute, so knowingin his badger ways, so impregnable in his badger hole, and sogood-humoured withal. He could bite full sore with those oldteeth of his, and yet he never condescended to show them. Abadger indeed of whom the country might well be proud!

But in the scramble of the fight some little curs had beenpermitted to run away with some little bones; and, in this way, Mr. Nogo, the member for Mile End, had been allowed to carry hismotion for a committee to inquire as to the expediency of theGovernment's advancing a quarter of a million towards thecompletion of that momentous national undertaking, the buildingof a bridge from Limehouse to Rotherhithe. 

Very much had been said about this bridge, till men living out ofthe light of parliamentary life, nine hundred and ninety-ninemen, that is, out of every thousand in the Queen's dominions, hadbegun to think that it was the great want of the age. Men livingin the light, the supporters of the bridge as well as itsenemies, knew very well that such an erection was quite unneeded, and would in all probability never be made. But then the firm ofBlocks, Piles, and Cofferdam, who held a vast quantity of thebridge shares, and who were to be the contractors for buildingit, had an all-powerful influence in the borough of Limehouse. Where would Mr. Nogo be if he did not cultivate the friendship ofsuch men as Blocks, Piles, and Cofferdam?

And so Mr. Nogo, and those who acted with Mr. Nogo--men, thatis, who had little jobs of their own to do, and in the doing ofwhich Mr. Nogo occasionally assisted, Undy Scott, for instance, and such-like--these men, I say, had talked much about thebridge; and gentlemen on the Treasury bench, who could haveafforded to show up the folly of the scheme, and to put Mr. Nogodown at once, had he been alone, felt themselves under thenecessity of temporizing. As to giving a penny of the publicmoney for such a purpose, that they knew was out of the question;that Mr. Nogo never expected; that they all knew Mr. Nogo neverexpected. But as Mr. Nogo's numbers were so respectable, it wasnecessary to oppose him in a respectable parliamentary steadymanner. He had fifteen with him! Had he been quite alone, Mr. Vigil would have sneered him off; had he had but four to backhim, the old badger would have laughed them out of face with abrace of grins. But fifteen--! Mr. Whip Vigil thought that thecommittee would be the most safe. So would the outer world bebrought to confess that the interests of Limehouse and Poplar, Rotherhithe and Deptford, had not been overlooked by a carefulGovernment. 

But of whom was the committee to be made up? That was now thequestion which to Mr. Nogo, in his hour of temporary greatness, was truly momentous. He of course was to be the chairman, and tohim appertained the duty of naming the other members; of namingthem indeed--so much he could undoubtedly do by the strength ofhis own privilege. But of what use to name a string of men towhom Mr. Vigil would not consent? Mr. Nogo, did he do so, wouldhave to divide on every name, and be beaten at every division. There would be no triumph in that. No; Mr. Nogo fully understoodthat his triumph must be achieved--if he were destined to atriumph--by an astute skill in his selection, not by an openchoice of friends. He must obtain a balance on his side, but onein which the scale would lean so slightly to his side that Mr. Vigil's eyes might be deceived. Those who knew Mr. Vigil bestwere inclined to surmise that such an arrangement was somewhatbeyond Mr. Nogo's political capacity. There is a proverb whichgoes to show that a certain little lively animal may be shaved ifhe be caught napping; but then the difficulty of so catching himis extreme. 

Mr. Nogo, at the head of the list, put Mr. Vigil himself. This, of course, was a necessity to him--would that he could havedispensed with it! Then he named sundry supporters of theGovernment, sundry members also of the opposition; and he filledup the list with certain others who could not be regarded as suresupporters of one side or the other, but with whom, for certainreasons, he thought he might in this particular case be safe. Undy Scott was of course not among the number, as Mr. Nogo wouldonly have damaged his cause by naming a man known to have apecuniary interest in the concern. 

The member for Mile End was doubtless sharp, but Mr. Vigil wassharper. His object was, in fact, merely to do his duty to thecountry by preventing a profuse and useless expenditure of money. His anxiety was a perfectly honest one--to save the Exchequernamely. But the circumstances of the case required that he shouldfight the battle according to the tactics of the House, and hewell understood how to do so. 

When the list was read he objected to two or three names--only totwo or three. They were not those of staunch enemies of theGovernment; nor did he propose in their places the names ofstaunch supporters. He suggested certain gentlemen who, fromtheir acquaintance with bridges, tolls, rivers, &c. , would, as hesaid, be probably of use. He, also, was sure of his men, and ashe succeeded with two of them, he was also pretty sure of hiscommittee. 

And then the committee met, and a lot of witnesses were inattendance. The chairman opened his case, and proceeded to prove, by the evidence of sundry most respectable men connected withLimehouse, and with the portions of Surrey and Kent lyingimmediately opposite to it, that the most intense desire forfriendly and commercial intercourse was felt; but that, thoughabsolutely close to each other, the districts were so divided byadverse circumstances, circumstances which were monstrousconsidering the advance of science in the nineteenth century, that the dearest friends were constrained to perpetual banishmentfrom each other; and that the men of Kent were utterly unable todo any trade at Limehouse, and the Limehousians equally unable tocarry on traffic in Surrey. 

It was wonderful that the narrow river should be so effective forinjury. One gentleman from Poplar proved that, having given hisdaughter in marriage to a man of Deptford two years since, he hadnot yet been able to see her since that day. Her house, by thecrow's flight, was but seven furlongs from his own; but, as hekept no horse, he could not get to her residence without a fourhours' walk, for which he felt himself to be too old. He was, however, able to visit his married daughter at Reading, and beback to tea. The witness declared that his life was mademiserable by his being thus debarred from his child, and he wipedhis eyes with his pocket-handkerchief piteously, sitting there infront of the committee. In answer to Mr. Vigil he admitted thatthere might be a ferry, but stated that he did not know. Havinghad, from childhood, an aversion to the water, he had notinquired. He was aware that some rash people had gone through theTunnel, but for himself he did not think the Tunnel a safe modeof transit. 

Another gentleman belonging to Rotherhithe, who was obliged to bealmost daily at Blackwall, maintained two horses for the expresspurpose of going backwards and forwards, round by London Bridge. They cost him £70 per annum each. Such a bridge as that nowproposed, and which the gentleman declared that he regarded as anembryo monument of national glory, would save him £140 per annum. He then proceeded to make a little speech about the spirit of theage, and the influence of routine, which he described as a gloomygnome. But his oratory was cruelly cut short by Mr. Vigil, whodemanded of him whether he ever used the river steamers. Thewitness shuddered fearfully as he assured the committee that henever did, and referred to the _Cricket_, whose boilers burstin the year 1842; besides, he had, he said, his things to carrywith him. 

Another witness told how unsafe was the transit of heavy goods bybarge from one side of the river to another. He had had a cargoof marine stores which would go to sea before their time. Thestrong ebb of the tide, joined to the river current, hadpositively carried the barge away, and its course had not beenstopped till it had drifted on shore at Purfleet. He acknowledgedthat something had transpired of the bargemen being drunk, but hehad no knowledge himself that such had been the case. No othercargoes of his own had been carried away, but he had heard thatsuch was often the case. He thought that the bridge wasimperatively demanded. Would the tolls pay? He felt sure thatthey would. Why, then, should not the bridge be built as acommercial speculation, without Government aid? He thought thatin such cases a fostering Government was bound to come forwardand show the way. He had a few shares in the bridge himself. Hehad paid up £1 a share. They were now worth 2s. 6d. Each. Theyhad been worth nothing before the committee had been ordered tosit. He declined to give any opinion as to what the shares wouldbe worth if the money were granted. 

Ladies at Limehouse proved that if there were a bridge they couldsave 30s. A year each, by buying their tea and sugar atRotherhithe; and so singular are the usages of trade, that theladies of Rotherhithe would benefit their husbands equally, andreturn the compliment, by consuming the bread of Limehouse. Theshores of Kent were pining for the beef of the opposite bank, andonly too anxious to give in return the surplus stock of their ownpoultry. 

'Let but a bridge be opened, ' as was asserted by one animatedvendor of rope, 'and Poplar would soon rival Pimlico. Perhapsthat might not be desirable in the eyes of men who lived in thepurlieus of the Court, and who were desirous to build no newbridge, except that over the ornamental water in St. James'sPark. ' Upon uttering which the rope-vendor looked at Mr. Vigil asthough he expected him to sink at once under the table. 

Mr. Blocks, of the great firm of Blocks, Piles, and Cofferdam, then came forward. He declared that a large sum of money wasnecessary before this great national undertaking could be begunin a spirit worthy of the nineteenth century. It was intended tocommence the approaches on each side of the river a quarter of amile from the first abutment of the bridge, in order to acquirethe necessary altitude without a steep ascent. He then describedwhat a glorious bridge this bridge would be; how it would eclipseall bridges that had ever been built; how the fleets of allnations would ride under it; how many hundred thousand squarefeet of wrought iron would be consumed in its construction; howmany tons of Portland stone in the abutments, parapets, andsupporting walls; how much timber would be buried twenty fathomsdeep in the mud of the river; how many miles of paving-stonewould be laid down. Mr. Blocks went on with his astonishingfigures till the committee were bewildered, and even Mr. Vigil, though well used to calculations, could hardly raise his mind tothe dimensions of the proposed undertaking. 

The engineer followed, and showed how easily this great workcould be accomplished. There was no difficulty, literally none. The patronage of the Crown was all that was required. Theengineer was asked whether by the word patronage he meant money, and after a little laughing and a few counter questions, headmitted that, in his estimation, patronage and money did meanthe same thing. 

Such was the case made out by the promoters of the bridge, andthe chairman and his party were very sanguine of success. Theyconceived that Mr. Blocks' figures had completely cowed theirantagonists. 

Mr. Vigil then took his case in hand, and brought forward hiswitnesses. It now appeared that the intercourse between thepeople living on each side of the river was immense, and ever onthe increase. Limehouse, it would seem, had nothing to do but togo to Deptford, and that Deptford consumed all its time inreturning the visit. Little children were sent across continuallyon the most trifling errands, going and coming for one halfpenny. An immense income was made by the owners of the ferry. No twoadjacent streets in London had more to do with each other thanhad the lanes of Rotherhithe and the lanes of Limehouse. Westminster and Lambeth were further apart, and less connected byfriendly intercourse. The frequenters of the ferry were found tooutnumber the passengers over Waterloo Bridge by ten to one. 

Indeed, so lamentable a proposition as this of building a bridgeacross the river had never before been mooted by the public. Menconversant with such matters gave it as their opinion that noamount of tolls that could reasonably be expected would pay oneper cent on the money which it was proposed to expend; that sum, however, they stated, would not more than half cover the fullcost of the bridge. Traffic would be prohibited by the heavycharges which would be necessary, and the probability would bethat the ferry would still continue to be the ordinary mode ofcrossing the river. 

A gentleman, accustomed to use strong figures of speech, declaredthat if such a bridge were built, the wisest course would be tosow the surface with grass, and let it out for grazing. Thiswitness was taken specially in hand by Mr. Nogo, and targed verytightly. Mr. Vigil had contrived to prove, out of the mouths ofinimical witnesses, the very reverse of that which they had beensummoned thither to assert. The secret of the ferry had beenfirst brought to the light by the gentleman who could not visithis daughter at Deptford, and so on. These triumphs had evidentlybeen very pleasant to Mr. Vigil, and Mr. Nogo thought that hemight judiciously take a leaf out of the Treasury book. Actuatedby this ambition, he, with the assistance of his friend, theM'Carthy Desmond, put no less than 2, 250 questions to thegentleman who suggested the grazing, in order to induce him tosay, that if there were a bridge, men would probably walk overit. But they could not bring him to own to a single passenger, unless they would abandon the tolls. The most that they could getfrom him was, that perhaps an old woman, with more money thanwit, might go over it on a Sunday afternoon, if--which he did notbelieve--any old woman existed, _in that part of the world_, who had more money than wit. 

This witness was kept in the chair for three days, during whichMr. Vigil was nearly driven wild by the loss of his valuabletime. But he did not complain. Nor would he have complained, though he might have absented himself, had the witness been keptin the chair three weeks instead of three days. The expense ofthe committee, including witnesses, shorthand-writers, andprinting, was about £60 a day, but it never occurred to any oneof the number to get up and declare with indignation, that such awaste of money and time on so palpably absurd a scheme wasdegrading, and to demand an immediate close of their labours. Itall went smoothly to the end, and Mr. Nogo walked off from histask with the approving conscience of a patriotic legislator. 

At the close the members met to prepare their report. It was thenthe first week in August, and they were naturally in a hurry tofinish their work. It was now their duty to decide on the meritsof what they had heard, to form a judgement as to the veracity ofthe witnesses, and declare, on behalf of the country which theyrepresented, whether or no this bridge should be built at theexpense of the nation. 

With his decision each was ready enough; but not one of themdreamed of being influenced by anything which had been saidbefore them. All the world--that is, all that were in any wayconcerned in the matter--knew that the witnesses for the bridgewere anxious to have it built, and that the witnesses against thebridge were anxious to prevent the building. It would be theworst of ignorance, ignorance of the usage of the world we livein, to suppose that any member of Parliament could be influencedby such manoeuvres. Besides, was not the mind of each man fullyknown before the committee met?

Various propositions were made by the members among themselves, and various amendments moved. The balance of the differentparties had been nearly preserved. A decided victory was not tobe expected on either side. At last the resolution to which thecommittee came was this: 'That this committee is not prepared, under existing circumstances, to recommend a grant of publicmoney for the purpose of erecting a bridge at Limehouse; but thatthe committee consider that the matter is still open toconsideration should further evidence be adduced. '

Mr. Vigil was perfectly satisfied. He did not wish to acerbatethe member for Mile End, and was quite willing to give him a lifttowards keeping his seat for the borough, if able to do sowithout cost to the public exchequer. At Limehouse the report ofthe committee was declared by certain persons to be as good as adecision in their favour; it was only postponing the matter foranother session. But Mr. Vigil knew that he had carried hispoint, and the world soon agreed with him. He at least did hiswork successfully, and, considering the circumstances of hisposition, he did it with credit to himself. 

A huge blue volume was then published, containing, among otherthings, all Mr. Nogo's 2, 250 questions and their answers; and sothe Limehouse and Rotherhithe bridge dropped into oblivion andwas forgotten. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

TO STAND, OR NOT TO STAND

Sir Gregory Hardlines had been somewhat startled by Alaric'sannouncement of his parliamentary intentions. It not unnaturallyoccurred to that great man that should Mr. Tudor succeed atStrathbogy, and should he also succeed in being allowed to holdhis office and seat together, he, Tudor, would very soon becomefirst fiddle at the Civil Service Examination Board. This was aview of the matter which was by no means agreeable to SirGregory. Not for this had he devoted his time, his energy, andthe best powers of his mind to the office of which he was atpresent the chief; not for this had he taken by the hand a youngclerk, and brought him forward, and pushed him up, and seated himin high places. To have kept Mr. Jobbles would have been betterthan this; he, at any rate, would not have aspired to parliamentaryhonours. 

And when Sir Gregory came to look into it, he hardly knew whetherthose bugbears with which he had tried to frighten Tudor weregood serviceable bugbears, such as would stand the strain of sucha man's logic and reason. Was there really any reason why one ofthe commissioners should not sit in Parliament? Would his doingso be subversive of the constitution? Or would the ministers ofthe day object to an additional certain vote? This last point ofview was one in which it did not at all delight Sir Gregory tolook at the subject in question. He determined that he would notspeak on the matter to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, or to anyof the Government wigs who might be considered to be bigger wigsthan himself. 

And Alaric thought over the matter coolly also. He looked at ittill the bugbears shrank into utter insignificance; till theybecame no more than forms of shreds and patches put up tofrighten birds out of cherry-orchards. 

Why should the constitution be wounded by the presence of onemore commissioner in Parliament? Why should not he do his publicduty and hold his seat at the same time, as was done by so manyothers? But he would have to go out if the ministry went out. That was another difficulty, another bugbear, more substantialperhaps than the others; but he was prepared to meet even that. He was a poor man; his profession was that of the Civil Service;his ambition was to sit in Parliament. He would see whether hecould not combine his poverty with his profession, and with hisambition also. Sir Gregory resolved in his fear that he would notspeak to the Chancellor of the Exchequer on the matter; Alaric, on the other hand, in his audacity, resolved that he would do so. 

It was thus that Sir Gregory regarded the matter. 'See all that Ihave done for this man, ' said he to himself; 'see how I havewarmed him in my bosom, how I have lifted him to fortune andrenown, how I have heaped benefits on his head! If gratitude inthis world be possible, that man should be grateful to me; if oneman can ever have another's interest at heart, that man shouldhave a heartfelt anxiety as to my interest. And yet how is it? Ihave placed him in the chair next to my own, and now he isdesirous of sitting above me!'

'Twas thus Sir Gregory communed with himself. But Alaric'ssoliloquy was very different. A listener who could have overheardboth would hardly have thought that the same question was beingdiscussed by the two. 'I have got so high, ' said Alaric, 'by myown labour, by my own skill and tact; and why should I stop here?I have left my earliest colleagues far behind me; have distancedthose who were my competitors in the walk of life; why should Inot still go on and distance others also? why stop when I am onlysecond or third? It is very natural that Sir Gregory should wishto keep me out of Parliament; I cannot in the least blame him;let us all fight as best each may for himself. He does not wish ahigher career; I do. Sir Gregory will now do all that he can toimpede my views, because they are antagonistic to his own; verywell; I must only work the harder to overcome his objections. 'There was no word in all this of gratitude; there was no thoughtin Alaric's mind that it behoved him to be grateful to SirGregory. It was for his own sake, not for his pupil's, that SirGregory had brought this pupil forward. Grateful, indeed! Inpublic life when is there time for gratitude? Who ever thinks ofother interest than his own?

Such was Alaric's theory of life. But not the less would he haveexpected gratitude from those whom he might serve. Such also veryprobably was Sir Gregory's theory when he thought of those whohad helped him, instead of those whom he himself had helped. 

And so they met, and discussed Alaric's little proposition. 

'Since I saw you yesterday, ' said Sir Gregory, 'I have beenthinking much of what you were saying to me of your wish to gointo Parliament. '

'I am very much obliged to you, ' said Alaric. 

'I need hardly tell you, Tudor, how anxious I am to further youradvancement. I greatly value your ability and diligence, and haveshown that I am anxious to make them serviceable to the public. '

'I am fully aware that I owe you a great deal, Sir Gregory. '

'Oh, I don't mean that; that's nothing; I am not thinking ofmyself. I only want you to understand that I am truly anxious tosee you take that line in public matters which may make yourservices most valuable to the public, and which may redound themost to your own advantage. I have thought of what you said to mewith the most mature deliberation, and I am persuaded that Ishall best do my duty to you, and to the service, by recommendingyou to abandon altogether your idea of going into Parliament. '

Sir Gregory said this in his weightiest manner. He endeavoured toassume some of that authority with which he had erst cowed theyoung Tudor at the Weights and Measures, and as he finished hisspeech he assumed a profound look which ought to have been veryconvincing. 

But the time was gone by with Alaric when such tricks oflegerdemain were convincing to him. A grave brow, compressedlips, and fixed eyes, had no longer much effect upon him. He hada point to gain, and he was thinking of that, and not of SirGregory's grimaces. 

'Then you will not see the Chancellor of the Exchequer on thesubject?'

'No, ' said Sir Gregory; 'it would be useless for me to do so. Icould not advocate such a scheme, feeling certain that it would beinjurious both to yourself and to the service; and I would notdesire to see the Chancellor with the view of opposing your wishes. '

'I am much obliged to you for that, at any rate, ' said Alaric. 

'But I do hope that you will not carry your plan any farther. When I tell you, as I do with the utmost sincerity, that I feelcertain that an attempt to seat yourself in Parliament can onlylead to the ruin of your prospects as a Civil servant--prospectswhich are brighter now than those of any other young man in theservice--I cannot but think that you must hesitate before youtake any step which will, in my opinion, render your resignationnecessary. '

'I shall be sorry to resign, Sir Gregory, as I have such truepleasure in serving with you. '

'And, I presume, a salary of £1, 200 a year is not unacceptable?'said Sir Gregory, with the very faintest of smiles. 

'By no means, ' said Alaric; 'I am a poor man, dependingaltogether on my own exertions for an income. I cannot afford tothrow away a chance. '

'Then take my word for it, you should give up all idea ofParliament, ' said Sir Gregory, who thought that he had carriedhis point. 

'But I call a seat in Parliament a chance, ' said Alaric; 'thebest chance that a man, circumstanced as I am, can possibly have. I have the offer of a seat, Sir Gregory, and I can't afford tothrow it away. '

'Then it is my duty to tell you, as the head of your office, thatit will be your duty to resign before you offer yourself as acandidate. '

'That you mean is your present opinion, Sir Gregory?'

'Yes, Mr. Tudor, that is my opinion--an opinion which I shall beforced to express to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, if youpersist in this infatuation. '

Alaric looked very grave, but not a whit angry. 'I am sorry forit, Sir Gregory, very sorry; I had hoped to have had yourcountenance. '

'I would give it you, Mr. Tudor, if I could consistently with myduty as a public servant; but as I cannot, I am sure you will notask for it. ' How Fidus Neverbend would have admired the chiefcommissioner could he have seen and heard him at this moment!'But, ' he continued, relaxing for a while the muscles of hisface, 'I hope, I do hope, you will think better of this. What areyou to gain? Come, Tudor, think of it that way. What are you togain? You, with a wife and young family coming up about yourheels, what are you to gain by going into Parliament? That iswhat I ask you. What are you to gain?' It was delightful to seehow pleasantly practical Sir Gregory could become when he choseto dismount from his high horse. 

'It is considered a high position in this country, that of amember of Parliament, ' said Alaric. 'A man in gaining that isgenerally supposed to have gained something. '

'True, quite true. It is a desirable position for a rich man, ora rich man's eldest son, or even for a poor man, if by gettinginto Parliament he can put himself in the way of improving hisincome. But, my dear Tudor, you are in none of these positions. Abandon the idea, my dear Tudor--pray abandon it. If not for yourown sake, at any rate do so for that of your wife and child. '

Sir Gregory might as well have whistled. Not a word that he saidhad the slightest effect on Alaric. How was it possible that hiswords should have any effect, seeing that Alaric was convincedthat Sir Gregory was pleading for his own advantage, and not forthat of his listener? Alaric did listen. He received all that SirGregory said with the most profound attention; schooled his faceinto a look of the most polite deference; and then, with his mostcruel tone, informed Sir Gregory that his mind was quite made up, and that he did intend to submit himself to the electors ofStrathbogy. 

'And as to what you say about my seat at the board, Sir Gregory, you may probably be right. Perhaps it will be as well that Ishould see the Chancellor of the Exchequer myself. '

'"Who will to Cupar maun to Cupar, "' said Sir Gregory; 'I canonly say, Mr. Tudor, that I am very sorry for you, and very sorryfor your wife--very sorry, very sorry indeed. '

'And who will to Strathbogy maun to Strathbogy, ' said Alaric, laughing; 'there is certainly an air of truth about the proverbas applied to myself just at present. But the fact is, whetherfor good or for bad, I maun to Strathbogy. That is my presentdestiny. The fact that I have a wife and a child does make thestep a most momentous one. But, Sir Gregory, I should neverforgive myself were I to throw away such an opportunity. '

'Then I have nothing more to say, Mr. Tudor. '

'Of course I shall try to save my place, ' continued Alaric. 

'I look upon that as quite impossible, ' said Sir Gregory. 

'It can do me no harm at any rate to see the Chancellor of theExchequer. If he tells me that a seat in Parliament and a seat atthe board are incompatible, and that as one of the Civil ServiceCommissioners I am not free to stand for the borough, I will inthat case, Sir Gregory, put my resignation in your hands before Ipublish my address. '

And so they parted, each determined to do all that in him lay tothwart the wishes of the other. Alaric was not in the leastinfluenced by anything that Sir Gregory had said to him; he hadmade up his mind, and was determined to be turned from it by noarguments that his colleague could use; but nevertheless he couldnot but be meditative, as, walking home across the Parks, hethought of his wife and child. It is true that he had a secondtrade; he was a stock-jobber as well as a Civil ServiceCommissioner; but he already perceived how very difficult it wasto realize an income to which he could trust from that secondprecarious pursuit. He had also lived in a style considerablybeyond that which his official income would have enabled him toassume. He had on the whole, he thought, done very well; but yetit would be a dreadful thing to have to trust to so precarious alivelihood. He had realized nothing; he had not yet been able topay back the money which he had so fraudulently taken, and toacquit himself of a debt which now lay daily heavier and heavieron his soul. He felt that he must repay not only that but Undy'sshare also, before he could again pass a happy day or a quietnight. This plan of throwing up £1, 200 a year would badly assisthim in getting rid of this incubus. 

But still that watchword of his goaded him on--'Excelsior!' hestill said to himself; 'Excelsior!' If he halted now, now whenthe ball was at his foot, he might never have another chance. Very early in life before a beard was on his chin, before hecould style himself a man according to the laws of his country, he had determined within himself that a seat in Parliament wasthe only fitting ambition for an Englishman. That was now withinhis reach. Would he be such a dastard as to draw back his hand, and be deterred from taking it, by old women's tales of prudence, and the self-interested lectures of Sir Gregory Hardlines?

'Excelsior!' There was not much that could be so styled in thatdebt of his to M. And Madame Jaquêtanàpe. If he could only paythat off he felt that he could brave the world without a fear. Come what come might he would sell out and do so. The bridgecommittee was sitting, and his shares were already worth morethan he had paid for them. Mr. Blocks had just given hisevidence, and the commercial world was willing enough to investin the Limehouse bridge. He would sell out and put his conscienceat rest. 

But then to do so successfully, he must induce Undy to do so too;and that he knew would not at present be an easy task. Who hadever been successful in getting back money from Undy Scott? Hehad paid the last half-year's interest with most commendablepunctuality, and was not that a great deal from Undy Scott?

But what if this appropriation of another's money, what if thisfraud should be detected and exposed before he had succeeded inpaying back the £10, 000. What if he should wake some morning andfind himself in the grip of some Newgate myrmidon? A terrible newlaw had just been passed for the protection of trust property; alaw in which he had not felt the slightest interest when he hadfirst seen in the daily newspapers some tedious account of thepassing of the various clauses, but which was now terrible to hisinnermost thoughts. 

His walk across the Parks was not made happy by much self-triumph. In spite of his commissionership and coming parliamentaryhonours, his solitary moments were seldom very happy. It was athis club, when living with Undy and Undy's peers, that he wasbest able to throw off his cares and enjoy himself. But even then, high as he was mounted on his fast-trotting horse, black Carewould sit behind him, ever mounted on the same steed. 

And bitterly did poor Gertrude feel the misery of these eveningswhich her husband passed at his club; but she never reviled himor complained; she never spoke of her sorrow even to her motheror sister. She did not even blame him in her own heart. She knewthat he had other business than that of his office, higher hopesthan those attached to his board; and she taught herself tobelieve that his career required him to be among public men. 

He had endeavoured to induce her to associate constantly withMrs. Val, so that her evenings might not be passed alone; butGertrude, after trying Mrs. Val for a time, had quietlyrepudiated the closeness of this alliance. Mrs. Val had her ideasof 'Excelsior, ' her ambition to rule, and these ideas and thisambition did not at all suit Gertrude's temper. Not even for herhusband's sake could she bring herself to be patronized by Mrs. Val. They were still very dear friends, of course; but they didnot live in each other's arms as Alaric had intended they shoulddo. 

He returned home after his interview with Sir Gregory, and foundhis wife in the drawing-room with her child. He usually went downfrom his office to his club, and she was therefore the more readyto welcome him for having broken through his habit on the presentoccasion. 

She left her infant sprawling on the floor, and came up to greethim with a kiss. 

'Ger, '--said he, putting his arm round her and embracing her--'Ihave come home to consult you on business;' and then he seatedhimself on the sofa, taking her with him, and still in his arms. There was but little doubt that she would consent to anythingwhich he could propose to her after such a fashion, in such aguise as this; that he knew full well. 

'Well, love, ' said she, 'and what is the business about? You knowthat I always think that to be best which you think to be best. '

'Yes, Ger; but this is a very important matter;' and then helooked grave, but managed at the same time to look happy andcontented. 'This is a matter of vital importance to you, and Iwill do nothing in it without your consent. '

'What is best for you must be best for me, ' said Gertrude, kissing his forehead. 

Then he explained to her what had passed between himself and SirGregory, and what his own ideas were as regarded the borough ofStrathbogy. 'Sir Gregory, ' said he, 'is determined that I shallnot remain at the board and sit in Parliament at the same time;but I do not see why Sir Gregory is to have his own way ineverything. If you are not afraid of the risk, I will make up mymind to stand it at all events, and to resign if the Ministermakes it imperative. If, however, you fear the result, I will letthe matter drop, and tell the Scotts to find another candidate. Iam anxious to go into Parliament, I confess; but I will never doso at the expense of your peace of mind. '

The way in which he put upon her the whole weight of the decisionwas not generous. Nor was the mode he adopted of inducing her toback his own wishes. If there were risk to her--and in truththere was fearful risk--it was his duty to guard her from thechance, not hers to say whether such danger should be encounteredor no. The nature of her answer may be easily surmised. She wasgenerous, though he was not. She would never retard his advance, or be felt as a millstone round his neck. She encouraged him withall her enthusiasm, and bade him throw prudence to the winds. Ifhe rose, must she not rise also? Whatever step in life was goodfor him, must it not be good for her as well? And so that matterwas settled between them--pleasantly enough. 

He endured a fortnight of considerable excitement, during whichhe and Sir Gregory did not smile at each other, and then he sawthe Chancellor of the Exchequer. That gentleman promised to speakto the Prime Minister, feeling himself unable to answer thequestion put to him, definitely out of his own head; and thenanother fortnight passed on. At the end of that time theChancellor of the Exchequer sent for Alaric, and they had asecond interview. 

'Well, Mr. Tudor, ' said the great man, 'this is a matter of veryconsiderable importance, and one on which I am not even yetprepared to give you a positive answer. '

This was very good news for Alaric. Sir Gregory had spoken of thematter as one on which there could be no possible doubt. He hadasserted that the British lion would no longer sleep peaceably inhis lair, if such a violence were put on the constitution as thatmeditated by the young commissioner. It was quite clear that theChancellor of the Exchequer, and the Prime Minister also, lookedat it in a very different light. They doubted, and Alaric waswell aware that their doubt was as good as certainty to him. 

The truth was that the Prime Minister had said to the Chancellorof the Exchequer, in a half-serious, half-jocular way, that hedidn't see why he should reject a vote when offered to him by amember of the Civil Service. The man must of course do his work--and should it be found that his office work and his seat inParliament interfered with each other, why, he must take theconsequences. And if--or--or--made a row about it in the Houseand complained, why in that case also Mr. Tudor must take theconsequences. And then, enough having been said on that matter, the conversation dropped. 

'I am not prepared to give a positive answer, ' said theChancellor of the Exchequer, who of course did not choose tocommit himself. 

Alaric assured the great man that he was not so unreasonable asto expect a positive answer. Positive answers, as he well knew, were not often forthcoming among official men; official men, ashe had already learnt, prefer to do their business by answerswhich are not positive. He himself had become adverse to positiveanswers since he had become a commissioner, and was quiteprepared to dispense with them in the parliamentary career whichhe hoped that he was now about to commence. This much, however, was quite clear, that he might offer himself as a candidate tothe electors of Strathbogy without resigning; and that SirGregory's hostile remonstrance on the subject, should he chooseto make one, would not be received as absolute law by the greaterpowers. 

Accordingly as Alaric was elated, Sir Gregory was depressed. Hehad risen high, but now this young tyro whom he had fostered wasabout to climb above his head. O the ingratitude of men!

Alaric, however, showed no triumph. He was more submissive, moregracious than ever to his chief. It was only to himself that hemuttered 'Excelsior!

CHAPTER XXXIV

WESTMINSTER HALL

The parliamentary committee pursued their animated inquiriesrespecting the Limehouse bridge all through the sultry month ofJuly. How Mr. Vigil must have hated Mr. Nogo, and the M'CarthyDesmond! how sick he must have been of that eternal witness who, with imperturbable effrontery, answered the 2, 250 questions putto him without admitting anything! To Mr. Vigil it was all merenonsense, sheer waste of time. Had he been condemned to sit foreight days in close contiguity to the clappers of a small mill, he would have learnt as much as he did from the witnesses beforethe committee. Nevertheless he went through it and did not losehis temper. He smiled sweetly on Mr. Nogo every morning, andgreeted the titled Irishman with his easy familiar nod, as thoughthe continued sitting of this very committee was of all things tohim the most desirable. Such is Mr. Vigil's peculiar tact, suchhis special talent; these are the gifts--gifts by no meansordinary--which have made him Right Honourable, and recommendedhim to the confidence of successive badgers. 

But though the committee was uninteresting to Mr. Vigil, it wasnot so to the speculative inhabitants of Limehouse, or to thecredulous shopkeepers of Rotherhithe. On the evening of the dayon which Mr. Blocks was examined, the shares went up 20 per cent;and when his evidence was published _in extenso_ the nextSaturday morning by the _Capel Court Share-buyer_, a periodicalwhich served for Bible and Prayer-book, as well as a Compendiumof the Whole Duty of Man, to Undy Scott and his friends, a further risein the price of this now valuable property was the immediateconsequence. 

Now, then, was the time for Alaric to sell and get out of hisdifficulties if ever he could do so. Shares which he bought for30s. Were now worth nearly £2 10s. He was strongly of opinionthat they would fall again, and that the final result of thecommittee would leave them of a less value than their originalpurchase-money, and probably altogether valueless. He could not, however, act in the matter without consulting Undy, so closelylinked were they in the speculation; and even at the presentprice his own shares would not enable him to pay back the fullamount of what he had taken. 

The joint property of the two was, however, at its present marketprice, worth £12, 000--£10, 000 would make him a free man. He wasperfectly willing to let Undy have the full use of the differencein amount; nay, he was ready enough to give it to him altogether, if by so doing he could place the whole of his ward's money oncemore in safety. With the power of offering such a douceur to hisfriend's rapacity, he flattered himself that he might have achance of being successful. He was thus prepared to discuss thematter with his partner. 

It so happened that at the same moment Undy was desirous ofdiscussing the same subject, their joint interest, namely, in theLimehouse bridge; there was no difficulty therefore in theircoming together. They met at the door of the committee-room whenMr. Nogo had just put his 999th question to the adverse witness;and as the summons to prayers prevented the 1, 000th beingproceeded with at that moment, Undy and Alaric sauntered backalong the passages, and then walking up and down the immensespace of Westminster Hall, said each to the other what he had tosay on the matter mooted between them. 

Undy was in great glee, and seemed to look on his fortune asalready made. They had at first confined their remarks to thespecial evidence of the witness who had last been in the chair;and Undy, with the volubility which was common to him when he wasin high spirits, had been denouncing him as an ass who wasinjuring his own cause by his over obstinacy. 

'Nothing that he can say, ' said Undy, 'will tell upon the share-market. The stock is rising from hour to hour; and Piles himselftold me that he knew from sure intelligence that the Chancellorof the Exchequer is prepared to give way, whatever Vigil may sayto the contrary. Their firm, Piles says, is buying every sharethey can lay their hands on. '

'Then in God's name let them buy ours, ' said Alaric. 

'Buy ours!' said Undy. 'You don't mean to tell me that you wishto sell now? You don't mean to say that you want to back out, nowthat the game is all going our own way?'

'Indeed I do, and I intend to do so; just listen to me, Undy----'

'I tell you fairly, Tudor, I will not sell a share; what you maychoose to do with your own I cannot say. But if you will beguided by me you will keep every share you have got. Instead ofselling we should both add to our stock. I at any rate amresolved to do so. '

'Listen to me, Undy, ' said Alaric. 

'The truth is, ' said Undy--who at the present moment preferredtalking to listening--'the truth is, you do not understand buyingand selling shares. We should both be ruined very quickly were Ito allow myself to be led by you; you are too timid, too muchafraid of risking your money; your speculative pluck hardly riseshigher than the Three per cents, and never soars above a first-class mortgage on land. '

'I could be as sanguine as you are, and as bold, ' said Alaric, 'were I venturing with my own money. '

'In the name of goodness get that bugbear out of your head, ' saidUndy. 'Whatever good it might have done you to think of that sometime ago, it can do you no good now. ' There was a bitter truth inthis which made Alaric's heart sink low within his breast. 'Wherever the money came from, whose property it may have been orbe, it has been used; and now your only safety is in making thebest use of it. A little daring, a little audacity--it is thatwhich ruins men. When you sit down to play brag, you must brag itout, or lose your money. '

'But, my dear fellow, there is no question here of losing money. If we sell now we shall realize about £2, 000. '

'And will that, or the half of that, satisfy you? Is that youridea of a good thing? Will that be sufficient to pay for thedozen of bad things which a fellow is always putting his footinto? It won't satisfy me. I can tell you that, at any rate. '

Alaric felt very desirous of keeping Undy in a good humour. Hewished, if possible, to persuade him rather than to drive him; tocoax him into repaying this money, and not absolutely to demandthe repayment. 'Come, ' said he, 'what do you call a good thingyourself?'

'I call cent per cent a good thing, and I'll not sell a sharetill they come up to that. '

'They'll never do that, Undy. '

'That's your opinion. I think differently. And I'm sure you willown I have had more experience of the share-market than you have. When I see such men as Blocks and Piles buying fast, I know verywell which way the wind blows. A man may be fishing a long time, Tudor, in these waters, before he gets such a haul as this; buthe must be a great fool to let go his net when he does get it. '

They both then remained silent for a time, for each was doubtfulhow best to put forward the view which he himself wished to urge. Their projects were diametrically different, and yet neithercould carry his own without the assistance of the other. 

'I tell you what I propose, ' said Undy. 

'Wait a moment, Undy, ' said Alaric; 'listen to me for one moment. I can hear nothing till you do so, and then I will hearanything. '

'Well, what is it?'

We have each of us put something near to £5, 000 into thisventure. '

'I have put more, ' said Scott. 

'Very well. But we have each of us withdrawn a sum equal to thatI have named from my ward's fortune for this purpose. '

'I deny that, ' said Undy. 'I have taken nothing from your ward'sfortune. I have had no power to do so. You have done as youpleased with that fortune. But I am ready to admit that I haveborrowed £5, 000--not from your ward, but from you. '

Alaric was nearly beside himself; but he still felt that heshould have no chance of carrying his point if he lost histemper. 

'That is ungenerous of you, Scott, to say the least of it; butwe'll let that pass. To enable me to lend you the £5, 000, and toenable me to join you in this speculation, £10, 000 has beenwithdrawn from Clementina's fortune. '

'I know nothing about that, ' said Scott. 

'Know nothing about it!' said Alaric, looking at him withwithering scorn. But Undy was not made of withering material, anddid not care a straw for his friend's scorn. 

'Nothing whatever, ' said he. 

'Well, so be it, ' said Alaric; 'but the fact is, the money hasbeen withdrawn. '

'I don't doubt that in the least, ' said Undy. 'I am not now goingto argue whether the fault has been most mine or yours, 'continued Alaric. 

'Well, that is kind of you, ' said Undy, 'considering that you arethe girl's trustee, and that I have no more to do with it thanthat fellow in the wig there. '

'I wish at any rate you would let me explain myself, ' saidAlaric, who felt that his patience was fast going, and who couldhardly resist the temptation of seizing his companion by thethroat, and punishing him on the spot for his iniquity. 

'I don't prevent you, my dear fellow--only remember this: I willnot permit you to assert, without contradicting you, that I amresponsible for Clem's fortune. Now, go on, and explain away ashard as you like. '

Alaric, under these circumstances, found it not very easy to putwhat he had to say into any words that his companion would admit. He fully intended at some future day to thrust Scott's innocencedown his throat, and tell him that he was not only a thief, but amean, lying, beggarly thief. But the present was not the time. Too much depended on his inducing Undy to act with him. 

'Ten thousand pounds has at any rate been taken. '

'That I won't deny. '

'And half that sum has been lent to you. '

'I acknowledge a debt of £5, 000. '

'It is imperative that £10, 000 should at once be repaid. '

'I have no objection in life. '

'I can sell my shares in the Limehouse bridge, ' continued Alaric, 'for £6, 000, and I am prepared to do so. '

'The more fool you, ' said Undy, ' if you do it; especially as£6, 000 won't pay £10, 000, and as the same property, if overheldanother month or two, in all probability will do so. '

'I am ready to sacrifice that and more than that, ' said Alaric. 'If you will sell out £4, 000, and let me at once have thatamount, so as to make up the full sum I owe, I will make you afree present of the remainder of the debt. Come, Undy, you cannotbut call that a good thing. You will have pocketed two thousandpounds, according to the present market value of the shares, andthat without the slightest risk. '

Undy for a while seemed staggered by the offer. Whether it wasAlaric's extreme simplicity in making it, or his own good luck inreceiving it, or whether by any possible chance some all butdormant remnant of feeling within his heart was touched, we willnot pretend to say. But for a while he walked on silent, asthough wavering in his resolution, and looking as if he wished tobe somewhat more civil, somewhat less of the bully, than he hadbeen. 

There was no one else to whom Alaric could dare to open his hearton this subject of his ward's fortune; there was none other butthis ally of his to whom he could confide, whom he could consult. Unpromising, therefore, though Undy was as a confederate, Alaric, when he thought he saw this change in his manner, poured forth atonce the full tide of his feelings. 

'Undy, ' said he, 'pray bear with me a while. The truth is, Icannot endure this misery any longer. I do not now want to blameanyone but myself. The thing has been done, and it is useless nowto talk of blame. The thing has been done, and all that nowremains for me is to undo it; to put this girl's money backagain, and get this horrid weight from off my breast. '

'Upon my word, my dear fellow, I did not think that you took itin such a light as that, ' said Undy. 

'I am miserable about it, ' said Alaric. 'It keeps me awake allnight, and destroys all my energy during the day. '

'Oh, that's all bile, ' said Undy. 'You should give up fish for afew days, and take a blue pill at night. '

'Scott, this money must be paid back at once, or I shall lose mysenses. Fortune has so far favoured me as to enable me to put myhand at once on the larger portion of it. You must let me havethe remainder. In God's name say that you will do so. '

Undy Scott unfortunately had not the power to do as he was asked. Whether he would have done so, had he had the power, may bedoubtful. He was somewhat gravelled for an answer to Alaric'searnest supplication, and therefore made none till the requestwas repeated. 

'In God's name let me have this money, ' repeated Alaric. 'Youwill then have made two thousand pounds by the transaction. '

'My dear Tudor, ' said he, 'your stomach is out of order, I cansee it as well as possible from the way you talk. '

Here was an answer for a man to get to the most earnest appealwhich he could make! Here was comfort for a wretch suffering fromfear, remorse, and shame, as Alaric was suffering. He had spokenof his feelings and his heart, but these were regions quite outof Undy Scott's cognizance. 'Take a blue pill, ' said he, 'andyou'll be as right as a trivet in a couple of days. '

What was Alaric to say? What could he say to a man who at such acrisis could talk to him of blue pills? For a while he saidnothing; but the form of his face changed, a darkness came overhis brow which Scott had never before seen there, the colour flewfrom his face, his eyes sparkled, and a strange appearance ofresolute defiance showed itself round his mouth. Scott began toperceive that his medical advice would not be taken in good part. 

'Scott, ' said he, stopping short in his walk and taking hold ofthe collar of his companion's coat, not loosely by the button, but with a firm grip which Undy felt that it would be difficultto shake off--'Scott, you will find that I am not to be trifledwith. You have made a villain of me. I can see no way to escapefrom my ruin without your aid; but by the living God, if I fall, you shall fall with me. Tell me now; will you let me have the sumI demand? If you do not, I will go to your brother's wife andtell her what has become of her daughter's money. '

'You may go to the devil's wife if you like it, ' said Undy, 'andtell her whatever you please. '

'You refuse, then?' said Alaric, still keeping hold of Undy'scoat. 

'Come, take your hand off, ' said Undy. 'You will make me thinkyour head is wrong as well as your stomach, if you go on likethis. Take your hand off and listen to me. I will then explain toyou why I cannot do what you would have me. Take your hand away, I say; do you not see that people are looking at us. '

They were now standing at the upper end of the hall--close underthe steps which lead to the Houses of Parliament; and, as Undysaid, the place was too public for a display of physicalresentment. Alaric took his hand away. 'Well, ' said he, 'now tellme what is to hinder you from letting me have the money you oweme?'

'Only this, ' said Undy, 'that every share I have in the concernis made over by way of security to old M'Cleury, and he now holdsthem. Till I have redeemed them, I have no power of selling. '

Alaric, when he heard these words, could hardly prevent himselffrom falling in the middle of the hall. All his hopes were thenover; he had no chance of shaking this intolerable burden fromhis shoulders; he had taken the woman's money, this money whichhad been entrusted to his honour and safe-keeping, and thrown itinto a bottomless gulf. 

'And now listen to me, ' said Undy, looking at his watch. 'I mustbe in the House in ten or fifteen minutes, for this bill aboutmarried women is on, and I am interested in it: listen to me nowfor five minutes. All this that you have been saying is sheernonsense. '

'I think you'll find that it is not all nonsense, ' said Alaric. 

'Oh, I am not in the least afraid of your doing anything rash. You'll be cautious enough I know when you come to be cool;especially if you take a little physic. What I want to say isthis--Clem's money is safe enough. I tell you these bridge shareswill go on rising till the beginning of next session. Instead ofselling, what we should do is to buy up six or seven thousandpounds more. '

'What, with Clementina's money?'

'It's as well to be hung for a sheep as a lamb. Besides, yourdoing so is your only safety. My brother Val insists upon having250 shares. '

'Your brother Val!' said Alaric. 

'Yes, Val; and why shouldn't he? I would give them to him if Icould, but I can't. M'Cleury, as I tell you, has every share ofmine in his possession. '

'Your brother Val wants 250 shares! And does he expect me to givethem to him?'

'Well--I rather think he does. That is, not to give them, ofcourse; you don't suppose he wants you to make him a present ofmoney. But he wants you to accommodate him with the price ofthem. You can either do that, or let him have so many of yourown; it will be as broad as it is long; and he'll give you hisnote of hand for the amount. '

Now it was well known among the acquaintance of the Scott family, that the note of hand of the Honourable Captain Val was not worththe paper on which it was written. 

Alaric was so astonished at this monstrous request, coming as itdid after such a conversation, that he did not well know how totake it. 

Was Undy mad, or was he in joke? What man in his senses wouldthink of lending six or seven hundred pounds to Val Scott! 'Isuppose you are in jest, ' said he, somewhat bitterly. 

'I never was more in earnest in my life, ' said Undy. 'I'll justexplain how the matter is; and as you are sharp enough, you'llsee at once that you had better oblige him. Val, you know, isalways hard up; he can't touch a shilling of that woman's money, and just at present he has none of his own. So he came to me thismorning to raise the wind. '

'And you are kind enough to pass him on to me. '

'Listen a moment. I did not do anything of the kind. I never lendmoney to Val. It's a principle with me not to do so, and he knowsit. '

'Then just tell him that my principles in this respect areidentical with your own. '

'That's all very well; and you may tell him so yourself, if youlike it; but hear first of all what his arguments are. Of courseI told him I could do nothing for him. 'But, ' said he, 'you canget Tudor to do it. ' I told him, of course, that I could donothing of the kind. 'Oh!' said Val, 'I know the game you areboth playing. I know all about Clem's money. ' Val, you know, never says much. He was playing pool at the time, at the club;but he came back after his stroke, and whispered to me--'You andTudor must let me have 250 of those shares, and then it'll be allright. ' Now Val, you know, is a most determined fellow. 

Alaric, when he heard this, looked up into his companion's faceto see whether he was talking to the Evil One himself. Oh, what anet of ruin was closing round him!--how inextricable were thetoils into which he had fallen!

'After all, ' continued Undy, ' what he asks is not much, and Ireally think you should do it for him. He is quite willing togive you his assistance at Strathbogy, and he is entitled to someaccommodation. '

'Some accommodation!' repeated Alaric, almost lost in theconsideration of his own misery. 

'Yes; I really think he is. And, Tudor, you may be sure of this, you know; you will be quite safe with him. Val is the very soulof honour. Do this for him, and you'll hear no more about it. Youmay be quite sure he'll ask for nothing further, and that he'llnever say a word to annoy you. He's devilish honourable is Val;no man can be more so; though, perhaps, you wouldn't think it. '

'Devilish honourable!' said Alaric. 'Only he would like to have abribe. '

'A bribe!' said Scott. 'Come, my dear fellow, don't you make anass of yourself. Val is like the rest of us; when money is going, he likes to have a share of it. If you come to that, every manwho is paid either for talking or for not talking is bribed. '

'I don't know that I ever heard of a much clearer case of a bribethan this which you now demand for your brother. '

'Bribe or no bribe, ' said Undy, looking at his watch, 'I stronglyadvise you to do for him what he asks; it will be better for allof us. And let me give you another piece of advice: never usehard words among friends. Do you remember the Mary Janes whichManylodes brought for you in his pocket to the hotel atTavistock?' Here Alaric turned as pale as a spectre. 'Don't talkof bribes, my dear fellow. We are all of us giving and takingbribes from our cradles to our graves; but men of the worldgenerally call them by some prettier names. Now, if you are notdesirous to throw your cards up altogether, get these shares forVal, and let him or me have them to-morrow morning. ' And sosaying Undy disappeared into the House, through the side door outof the hall, which is appropriated to the use of honourablemembers. 

And then Alaric was left alone. He had never hitherto realizedthe true facts of the position in which he had placed himself;but now he did so. He was in the hands of these men, thesemiscreants, these devils; he was completely at their mercy, andhe already felt that they were as devoid of mercy as they were ofjustice. A cold sweat broke out all over him, and he continuedwalking up and down the hall, ignorant as to where he was andwhat he was doing, almost thoughtless, stunned, as it were, byhis misery and the conviction that he was a ruined man. He hadremained there an hour after Undy had left him, before he rousedhimself sufficiently to leave the hall and think of returninghome. It was then seven o'clock, and he remembered that he hadasked his cousin to dine with him. He got into a cab, therefore, and desired to be driven home. 

What was he to do? On one point he instantly made up his mind. Hewould not give one shilling to Captain Val; he would not advanceanother shilling to Undy; and he would at once sell out his ownshares, and make such immediate restitution as might now be inhis power. The mention of Manylodes and the mining shares hadcome home to him with frightful reality, and nearly stunned him. What right, indeed, had he to talk of bribes with scorn--he whoso early in his own life had allowed himself to be bought? Howcould he condemn the itching palm of such a one as Val Scott--hewho had been so ready to open his own when he had been tempted byno want, by no poverty?

He would give nothing to Captain Val to bribe him to silence. Heknew that if he did so, he would be a slave for ever. Theappetite of such a shark as that, when once he has tasted blood, is unappeasable. There is nothing so ruinous as buying thesilence of a rogue who has a secret. 

What you buy you never possess; and the price that is once paidmust be repaid again and again, as often as the rogue may demandit. Any alternative must be better than this. 

And yet what other alternative was there? He did not doubt thatVal, when disappointed of his prey, would reveal whatever hemight know to his wife, or to his stepson. Then there would benothing for Alaric but confession and ruin. And how could hebelieve what Undy Scott had told him? Who else could have giveninformation against him but Undy himself? Who else could have putup so heavily stupid a man as Captain Scott to make such ademand? Was it not clear that his own colleague, his own partner, his own intimate associate, Undy Scott himself, was positivelyworking out his ruin? Where were now his high hopes, where nowhis seat in Parliament, his authority at the board, his proudname, his soaring ambition, his constant watchword? 'Excelsior'--ah me--no! no longer 'Excelsior'; but he thought of the cells ofNewgate, of convict prisons, and then of his young wife and ofhis baby. 

He made an effort to assume his ordinary demeanour, and partiallysucceeded. He went at once up to his drawing-room, and there hefound Charley and Gertrude waiting dinner for him; luckily he hadno other guests. 

'Are you ill, Alaric?' said Gertrude, directly she saw him. 

'Ill! No, ' said he; 'only fagged, dearest; fagged and worried, and badgered and bored; but, thank God, not ill;' and heendeavoured to put on his usual face, and speak in his usualtone. 'I have kept you waiting most unmercifully for your dinner, Charley; but then I know you navvies always lunch on muttonchops. '

'Oh, I am not particularly in a hurry, ' said Charley; 'but I denythe lunch. This has been a bad season for mutton chops in theneighbourhood of Somerset House; somehow they have not grown thisyear. '

Alaric ran up to prepare for dinner, and his wife followed him. 

'Oh! Alaric, ' said she, 'you are so pale: what is the matter? Dotell me, ' and she put her arm through his, took hold of his hand, and looked up into his face. 

'The matter! Nothing is the matter--a man can't always begrinning;' and he gently shook her off, and walked through theirbedroom to his own dressing-room. Having entered it he shut thedoor, and then, sitting down, bowed his head upon a small tableand buried it in his hands. All the world seemed to go round andround with him; he was giddy, and he felt that he could notstand. 

Gertrude paused a moment in the bedroom to consider, and thenfollowed him. 'What is it you want?' said he, as soon as he heardthe handle turn, 'do leave me alone for one moment. I am faggedwith the heat, and I want one minute's rest. '

'Oh, Alaric, I see you are ill, ' said she. 'For God's sake do notsend me from you, ' and coming into the room she knelt down besidehis chair. 'I know you are suffering, Alaric; do let me dosomething for you. '

He longed to tell her everything. He panted to share his sorrowswith one other bosom; to have one near him to whom he could speakopenly of everything, to have one counsellor in his trouble. Inthat moment he all but resolved to disclose everything to her, but at last he found that he could not do it. Charley was therewaiting for his dinner; and were he now to tell his secret to hiswife, neither of them, neither he nor she, would be able to actthe host or hostess. If done at all, it could not at any rate bedone at the present moment. 

'I am better now, ' said he, giving a long and deep sigh; and thenhe threw his arms round his wife and passionately embraced her. 'My own angel, my best, best love, how much too good or much toonoble you are for such a husband as I am!'

'I wish I could be good enough for you, ' she replied, as shebegan to arrange his things for dressing. 'You are so tired, dearest; wash your hands and come down--don't trouble yourself todress this evening; unless, indeed, you are going out again. '

'Gertrude, ' said he, 'if there be a soul on earth that has not init a spark of what is good or generous, it is the soul of UndyScott;' and so saying he began the operations of his toilet. 

Now Gertrude had never liked Undy Scott; she had attributed tohim whatever faults her husband might have as a husband; and atthe present moment she was not inclined to fight for any of theScott family. 

'He is a very worldly man, I think, ' said she. 

'Worldly!--no--but hellish, ' said Alaric; 'hellish, and damnable, and fiendish. '

'Oh, Alaric, what has he done?'

'Never mind; I cannot tell you; he has done nothing. It is notthat he has done anything, or can do anything to me--but hisheart--but never mind--I wish--I wish I had never seen him. '

'Alaric, if it be about money tell me the worst, and I'll bear itwithout a murmur. As long as you are well I care for nothingelse--have you given up your place?'

'No, dearest, no; I can keep my place. It is nothing about that. I have lost no money; I have rather made money. It is theingratitude of that man which almost kills me. But come, dearest, we will go down to Charley. And Gertrude, mind this, be quitecivil to Mrs. Val at present. We will break from the whole setbefore long; but in the meantime I would have you be very civilto Mrs. Val. '

And so they went down to dinner, and Alaric, after taking a glassof wine, played his part almost as though he had no weight uponhis soul. After dinner he drank freely, and as he drank hiscourage rose. 'Why should I tell her?' he said to himself as hewent to bed. 'The chances are that all will yet go well. '

CHAPTER XXXV

MRS. VAL'S NEW CARRIAGE

On the next morning Alaric went to his office without speakingfurther as to the trouble on his mind, and endeavoured to comforthimself as best he might as he walked down to his office. Then hehad also to decide whether it would better suit his purpose tosell out at once and pay up every shilling that he could, orwhether he would hold on, and hope that Undy's predictions wouldbe fulfilled, and that the bridge shares would go on rising tillthey would sell for all that was required of him. 

Unfortunate man! what would he have given now to change hisposition for Norman's single clerkship, or even for Charley'scomparative poverty!

Gertrude stayed within all day; but not all day in solitude. About four in the afternoon the Hon. Mrs. Val called, and withher came her daughter Clem, now Madame Jaquêtanàpe, and the twoMisses Neverbend. M. Jaquêtanàpe had since his marriage madehimself very agreeable to his honourable mother-in-law, so muchso that he now occupied the place in her good graces which Undyhad formerly filled, and which after Undy's reign had fallen toAlaric's lot. Mrs. Val liked to have about her some confidentialgentleman; and as she never thought of placing her confidence inher husband, she was prone to select first one man and thenanother as her taste and interest dictated. Immediately aftertheir marriage, Victoire and Clem had consented to joinhousekeeping with their parent. Nothing could be more pleasantthan this; their income was unembarrassed, and Mrs. Val, for thefirst time in her life, was able to set up her carriage. Amongthe effects arising from this cause, the female Neverbends, whohad lately been worshippers of Gertrude, veered round in theiridolatry, and paid their vows before Mrs. Val's new yellowpanels. In this new carriage now came the four ladies to pay amorning visit to Mrs. Tudor. It was wonderful to see into howsmall dimensions the Misses Neverbend had contrived to pack, notthemselves, but their crinoline. 

As has before been hinted, Gertrude did not love Mrs. Val; nordid she love Clem the danseuse; nor did she specially love theMisses Neverbend. They were all of a class essentially differentfrom that in which she had been brought up; and, moreover, Mrs. Val was not content to allow Gertrude into her set without rulingover her, or at any rate patronizing her. Gertrude had borne withthem all for her husband's sake; and was contented to do so yetfor a while longer, but she thought in her heart that she wouldbe able to draw some consolation from her husband's misfortune ifit should be the means of freeing her from Mrs. Val. 

'Oh, my dear, ' said Mrs. Val, throwing herself down into a sofaas though she were exhausted--'what a dreadful journey it is toyou up here! How those poor horses will stand it this weather Idon't know, but it nearly kills me; it does indeed. ' The Tudors, as has been said, lived in one of the quiet streets of Westbournia, not exactly looking into Hyde Park, but very near to it; Mrs. Val, on the other hand, lived in Ebury Street, Pimlico; her house wasmuch inferior to that of the Tudors; it was small, ill built, andafflicted with all the evils which bad drainage and bad ventilationcan produce; but then it was reckoned to be within the precinctsof Belgravia, and was only five minutes' walk from BuckinghamPalace. Mrs. Val, therefore, had fair ground for twitting her dearfriend with living so far away from the limits of fashion. 'You reallymust come down somewhat nearer to the world; indeed you must, my dear, ' said the Hon. Mrs. Val. 

'We are thinking of moving; but then we are talking of going toSt. John's Wood, or Islington, ' said Gertrude, wickedly. 

'Islington!' said the Honourable Mrs. Val, nearly fainting. 

'Is not Islington and St. Giles' the same place?' asked theinnocent Clem, with some malice, however, to counterbalance herinnocence. 

'O no!' said Lactimel. 'St Giles' is where the poor wretchedstarving Irish dwell. Their utter misery in the middle of thisrich metropolis is a crying disgrace to the Prime Minister. ' PoorBadger, how much he has to bear! 'Only think, ' continuedLactimel, with a soft pathetic drawl, 'they have none to feedthem, none to clothe them, none to do for them!'

'It is a great question, ' said Ugolina, 'whether promiscuouscharity is a blessing or a curse. It is probably the greatestquestion of the age. I myself am inclined to think--'

'But, ma, ' said Madame Jaquêtanàpe, 'Mrs. Tudor doesn't reallymean that she is going to live at St. Giles', does she?'

'I said Islington, ' said Gertrude. 'We may go to St. Giles' next, perhaps. ' Had she known all, how dreadful would such jokes havebeen to her!

Mrs. Val saw that she was being quizzed, and, not liking it, changed the conversation. 'Ugolina, ' said she, 'might I troubleyou to look out of the front window? I hope those stupid men ofmine are not letting the horses stand still. They were so warmcoming here, that they will be sure to catch cold. ' The stupidmen, however, were round the corner at the public-house, andUgolina could only report that as she did not see them shesupposed the horses were walking about. 

'And so, ' said Mrs. Val, 'Mr. Tudor is thinking of resigning hisplace at the Civil Service Board, and standing for that boroughof Lord Gaberlunzie's, in Aberdeenshire?'

'I really cannot say, ' said Gertrude; 'but I believe he has someidea of going into Parliament. I rather believe he will continueto hold his place. '

'Oh, that I know to be impossible! I was told that by a gentlemanwho has been much longer in the service than Mr. Tudor, and whounderstands all its bearings. ' She here alluded to FidusNeverbend. 

'I cannot say, ' said Gertrude. 'I do not think Mr. Tudor hasquite made up his mind yet. '

'Well, my dear, I'll tell you fairly what I think about it. Youknow the regard I have for you and Mr. Tudor. He, too, isClementina's trustee; that is to say, her fortune is partlyconsigned to his care; so I cannot but have a very great interestabout him, and be very anxious that he should do well. Now, mydear, I'll tell you fairly what I think, and what all the worldis saying. He ought not to think of Parliament. He ought not, indeed, my dear. I speak for your sake, and your child's. He isnot a man of fortune, and he ought not to think of Parliament. Hehas a very fine situation, and he really should be contented. '

This was intolerable to Gertrude. She felt that she must put Mrs. Val down, and yet she hardly knew how to do it without beingabsolutely rude; whereas her husband had specially begged her tobe civil to this woman at present. 'Oh, ' said she, with a slightsmile, 'Mr. Tudor will be able to take care of himself; you willfind, I hope, that there is no cause for uneasiness. '

'Well, I hope not, I am sure I hope not, ' said Mrs. Val, lookingvery grave. 'But I tell you fairly that the confidence which weall have in your husband will be much shaken if he does anythingrash. He should think of this, you know. He has no privatefortune to back him; we must remember that. '

Gertrude became very red in the face; but she would not trustherself to answer Mrs. Val at the spur of the moment. 

'It makes such a difference, when one has got no privatefortune, ' said Madame Jaquêtanàpe, the heiress. 'Does it not, Lactimel?'

'Oh, indeed it does, ' said Lactimel. 'I wish every one had aprivate fortune; it would be so nice, wouldn't it?'

'There would be very little poetry in the world if you were tobanish poverty, ' said Ugolina. 'Poverty may be called the parentof poetry. Look at Milton, how poor he was; and Homer, he beggedhis bread. '

'But Lord Byron was not a beggar, ' said Clem, contemptuously. 

'I do hope Mr. Tudor will think of what he is doing, ' continuedMrs. Val. 'It is certainly most good-natured and most disinterestedof my dear father-in-law, Lord Gaberlunzie, to place his boroughat Mr. Tudor's disposal. It is just like him, dear good old nobleman. But, my dear, it will be a thousand pities if Mr. Tudor should beled on by his lordship's kindness to bring about his own ruin. '

Mrs. Val had once in her life seen his good-natured lordship. Soon after her marriage she had insisted on Captain Val takingher down to the family mansion. She stayed there one night, andthen left it, and since that had shown no further desire to visitCauldkail Castle. She did not the less delight to talk about herdear good father-in-law, the lord. Why should she give his sonVal board and lodging, but that she might be enabled to do so?She was not the woman to buy an article, and not make of it allthe use of which it might be capable. 

'Pray do not concern yourself, ' said Gertrude. 'I can assure youMr. Tudor will manage very well for himself--but should anymisfortune happen to him he will not, you may be certain, attribute it to Lord Gaberlunzie. '

'I am told that Sir Gregory is most opposed to it, ' continuedMrs. Val. 'I heard that from Mr. Neverbend, who is altogether inSir Gregory's confidence--did not you, my dears?' and she turnedround to the sisters of Fidus for confirmation. 

'I heard my brother say that as Mr. Tudor's office is notparliamentary but permanent, and as he has to attend from tentill four----'

'Alaric has not to attend from ten till four, ' said Gertrude, whocould not endure the idea that her husband should be ranked withcommon clerks, like Fidus Neverbend. 

'Oh, I didn't know, ' said Lactimel, meekly. 'Perhaps Fidus onlymeant that as it is one of those offices where the people havesomething to do, the commissioners couldn't be in their officesand in Parliament at the same time. '

'I did understand, ' said Ugolina, 'that Sir Gregory Hardlines hadput his veto upon it; but I must confess that it is a subjectwhich I have not sufficiently studied to enable me----'

'It's £1, 200 a year, isn't it?' asked the bride. 

'Twelve hundred pounds a year, ' said her mother--'a very seriousconsideration when there is no private fortune to back it, oneither side. Now if it were Victoire----'

'He couldn't sit in Parliament, ma, because he's an alien--onlyfor that I shouldn't think of his doing anything else. '

'Perhaps that may be altered before long, ' said Lactimel, graciously. 

'If Jews are to be admitted, ' said Ugolina, 'who certainly belongto an alien nation; a nation expressly set apart and separatedfrom all people--a peculiar nation distinct from all others, Ifor one cannot discern----'

What Ugolina could or could not discern about the Jews wascommunicated perhaps to Madame Jaquêtanàpe or to Lactimel, butnot to Gertrude or to Mrs. Val; for the latter, taking Gertrudeapart into a corner as it were of the sofa, began confidentiallyto repeat to her her fears about her husband. 

'I see, my dear, ' said she, 'that you don't like my speakingabout it. '

'Upon my word, ' said Gertrude, 'I am very indifferent about it. But would it not be better if you said what you have to say to myhusband?'

'I intend to do so. I intend to do that also. But I know that awife ought to have influence over her husband, and I believe thatyou have influence over yours. '

'Not the least, ' said Gertrude, who was determined to contradictMrs. Val in everything. 

'I am sorry to hear it, ' said Mrs. Val, who among all herexcellent acquirements, did not possess that specially excellentone of understanding repartee. 'I am very sorry to hear it, and Ishall certainly speak to him the more seriously on that account. I think I have some influence over him; at any rate I ought tohave. '

'I dare say you have, ' said Gertrude; 'Alaric always says that noexperience is worth anything that is not obtained by years. '

Mrs. Val at least understood this, and continued her lecture withsome additional severity. 'Well, my dear, I am glad he has somuch wisdom. But what I was going to say is this: you know howmuch we have at stake with Mr. Tudor--what a very large sum ofClementina's money lies in his hands. Now I really should nothave consented to the arrangement had I thought it possible thatMr. Tudor would have given up his income with the idea of goinginto Parliament. It wouldn't have been right or prudent of me todo so. I have the greatest opinion of your husband's talents andjudgement, or I should not of course have entrusted him with themanagement of Clementina's fortune; but I really shall think itright to make some change if this project of his goes on. '

'Why, what is it you suspect?' said Gertrude. 'Do you think thatMr. Tudor intends to use your daughter's income if he loses aportion of his own? I never heard such a thing in my life. '

'Hush! my dear--gently--I would not for worlds let Clementinahear a word of this; it might disturb her young happiness. She isso charmed with her husband; her married life is so fortunate;Victoire is so--so--so everything that we all wish, that I wouldnot for the world breathe in her hearing a shadow of a suspicion. '

'Good gracious! Mrs. Scott, what do you mean? Suspicion!--whatsuspicion? Do you suspect my husband of robbing you?' Oh, Gertrude; poor Gertrude! she was doomed to know it all beforelong. 

'Oh dear, no, ' said Mrs. Val; 'nothing of the kind, I assure you. Of course we suspect nothing of the sort. But one does like tohave one's money in safe hands. Of course Mr. Tudor wouldn't havebeen chosen as trustee if he hadn't had a good income of his own;and look here, my dear, '--and Mrs. Val whispered very confidentially, --'Mr. Tudor we all know is greatly concerned in this bridge thatthe committee is sitting about; and he and my brother-in-law, Undecimus, are always dealing in shares. Gentlemen do, I know;and therefore I don't say that there is anything against it. Butconsidering all, I hope Mr. Tudor won't take it ill if we propose tochange our trustee. '

'I am very certain he will not, ' said Gertrude. 'It is alaborious business, and he will be glad enough to be rid of it. When he was asked to accept it, he thought it would be ill-natured to refuse; I am certain, however, he will be very glad togive up the work to any other person who may be appointed. I willbe sure to tell him this evening what you have said. '

'You need not trouble yourself to do that, ' said Mrs. Val. 'Ishall see him myself before long. '

'It will be no trouble, ' said Gertrude, very indignantly, for shewas very angry, and had, as she thought, great cause for anger. 'I shall certainly think it my duty to do so after what haspassed. Of course you will now take steps to relieve him as soonas possible. '

'You have taken me up a great deal too quick, my dear, ' said Mrs. Val. 'I did not intend----'

'Oh--one can't be too quick on such a matter as this, ' saidGertrude. 'When confidence is once lost between two persons it isbetter that the connexion which has grown out of confidenceshould be put an end to as soon as possible. '

'Lost confidence! I said nothing about lost confidence!'

'Alaric will so understand it, I am quite sure; at any rate Iwill tell him what you have said. Suspicion indeed! who has daredto suspect him of anything not honest or upright?'

Gertrude's eyes flashed with anger as she vindicated her absentlord. Mrs. Val had been speaking with bated breath, so that noone had heard her but she to whom she was speaking; but Gertrudehad been unable so to confine her answers, and as she made herlast reply Madame Jaquêtanàpe and the Misses Neverbend were allears. 

'Ha, ha, ha!' laughed Mrs. Val. 'Upon my word, my dear, it isamusing to hear you take it up. However, I assure you I meantnothing but what was kind and friendly. Come, Clementina, we havebeen sitting here a most unconscionable time. Will you allow me, my dear, to ring for my carriage?'

'Mamma, ' said Clem, 'have you asked Mrs. Tudor to our littledance?'

'No, my dear; I have left that for you to do. It's your party, you know--but I sincerely hope Mrs. Tudor will come. '

'Oh yes, ' said Clementina, the tongue of whose eloquence was nowloosened. 'You must come, Mrs. Tudor; indeed you must. It will beso charming; just a few nice people, you know, and nothing more. '

'Thank you, ' said Gertrude; 'but I never dance now. ' She hadinwardly resolved that nothing should ever induce her again toenter Mrs. Val's house. 

'Oh, but you must come, ' said Clementina. 'It will be socharming. We only mean to dance one kind of dance--that new thingthey have just brought over from Spain--the Contrabandista. It isa polka step, only very quick, and you take every other turn byyourself; so you have to take your partner up and let him go asquick as possible. You don't know how charming it is, and it willbe all the rage. We are to have the music out in the street, justas they have in Spain. '

'It would be much too difficult for me, ' said Gertrude. 

'It is difficult, ' said the enthusiastic Clem; 'but Victoiregives us lessons in it everyday from twelve to two--doesn't he, Ugolina?'

'I'm afraid I shouldn't have time to go to school, ' saidGertrude. 

'Oh, it doesn't take much time--six or seven or eight lessonswill do it pretty well. I have almost learnt it already, andUgolina is coming on very fast. Lactimel is not quite so perfect. She has learnt the step, but she cannot bring herself to letVictoire go quick enough. Do come, and bring Mr. Tudor with you. '

'As he has not to attend from ten till four, he could come andtake lessons too, ' said Lactimel, who, now that she was no longera hanger-on of Gertrude's, could afford to have her littlerevenge. 

'That would be delightful, ' said Clem. 'Mr. Charles Tudor doescome in sometimes at twelve o'clock, and I think he does italmost as well as Victoire. '

Gertrude, however, would go neither to the rehearsals nor to thefinished performance; and as Mrs. Val's men had by this time beeninduced to leave the beershop, the whole party went away, leavingGertrude to her meditations. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

TICKLISH STOCK

Alaric returned from his office worn and almost as wretched as hehad been on the day before. He had spent a miserable day. In themorning Sir Gregory had asked him whether he had finally made uphis mind to address the electors of Strathbogy. 'No, notfinally, ' said Alaric, 'but I think I shall do so. '

'Then I must tell you, Tudor, ' said Sir Gregory, speaking more insorrow than in anger, 'that you will not have my countenance. Icannot but think also that you are behaving with ingratitude. 'Alaric prepared to make some petulant answer, but Sir Gregory, inthe meantime, left the room. 

Every one was falling away from him. He felt inclined to rushafter Sir Gregory, and promise to be guided in this matter solelyby him, but his pride prevented him: though he was no longersanguine and confident as he had been a week ago, still hisambition was high. 'Those who play brag must brag it out, or theywill lose their money. ' This had been said by Undy; but it wasnot the less true on that account. Alaric felt that he wasplaying brag, and that his only game was to brag it out. 

He walked home slowly through the Parks. His office and housewere so circumstanced that, though they were some two milesdistant, he could walk from one to the other almost withouttaking his feet off the grass. This had been the cause of greatenjoyment to him; but now he sauntered on with his hands behindhis back, staring straight before him, with fixed eyes, going byhis accustomed route, but never thinking for a moment where hewas. The tune was gone when he could watch the gambols ofchildren, smile at the courtships of nursery-maids, watch thechanges in the dark foliage of the trees, and bend from hisdirect path hither and thither to catch the effects of distantbuildings, and make for his eye half-rural landscapes in themiddle of the metropolis. No landscapes had beauty for him now;the gambols even of his own baby were unattractive to him; leavesmight bud forth and nourish and fall without his notice. How wentthe share-market? that was the only question that had an interestfor him. The dallyings of Capel Court were the only courtshipsthat he now cared to watch. 

And with what a terribly eager eye had he now to watch them! Ifhis shares went up quickly, at once, with an unprecedentedsuccess, he might possibly be saved. That was all. But if theydid not--! Such was the phase of life under which at the presentmoment it behoved him to exist. 

And then, when he reached his home, how was he welcomed? With allthe fond love which a loving wife can show; so much at least washis; but before he had felt the sweetness of her caresses, beforehe had acknowledged how great was the treasure that he possessed, forth from her eager lips had come the whole tale of Mrs. Val'simpertinence. 

'I will never see her again, Alaric! never; she talked of herdaughter's money, and said something of suspicion!' Suspicion!Gertrude's eye again flashed fire with anger; and she all butstamped with her little foot upon the ground. Suspicion! suspecthim, her husband, the choice of her heart, her Alaric, the humangod whom she worshipped! suspect him of robbery! her lord, herheart, her soul, the strong staff on which she leaned sosecurely, with such true feminine confidence! Suspect him ofcommon vile dishonesty!--'You will never ask me to see her again--will you, Alaric?'

What was he to say to her? how was he to bear this? His heartyearned to tell her all; he longed for the luxury of having onebosom to whom he could entrust his misery, his slight remaininghope. But how could he himself, at one blow, by one word, destroythe high and polished shaft on which she whom he loved had placedhim? He could not do it. He would suffer by himself; hope byhimself, cease to hope by himself, and endure all, till eitherhis sufferings or his hopes should be over. 

He had to pretend that he was indignant at Mrs. Val'sinterference; he had to counterfeit the feelings of outragedhonour, which was so natural to Gertrude. This he failed to dowell. Had he been truly honest--had that woman's suspicion reallydone him injustice--he would have received his wife's tidingswith grave displeasure, and have simply resolved to acquithimself as soon as possible of the disagreeable trust which hadbeen reposed in him. But such was not now his conduct. Hecontented himself by calling Mrs. Val names, and pretended tolaugh at her displeasure. 

'But you will give up this trust, won't you?' said Gertrude. 

'I will think about it, ' said he. 'Before I do anything I mustconsult old Figgs. Things of that kind can't be put out of theircourse by the spleen of an old woman like Mrs. Val. '

'Oh, Alaric, I do so wish you had had nothing to do with theseScotts!'

'So do I, ' said he, bitterly; 'I hate them--but, Gertrude, don'ttalk about them now; my head aches, and I am tired. '

He sat at home the whole evening; and though he was by no meansgay, and hardly affectionate in his demeanour to her, yet shecould not but feel that some good effect had sprung from hisrecent dislike to the Scotts, since it kept him at home with her. Lately he had generally spent his evenings at his club. Shelonged to speak to him of his future career, of his proposed seatin Parliament, of his office-work; but he gave her no encouragementto speak of such things, and, as he pleaded that he was ill, she lefthim in quiet on the sofa. 

On the next morning he again went to his office, and in thecourse of the morning a note was brought to him from Undy. It ranas follows:--

'MY DEAR TUDOR, 'Is Val to have the shares? Let me have a line by the bearer. 

'Yours ever, 'U. S. '

To this he replied by making an appointment to meet Undy beforedinner at his own office. 

At the time fixed Undy came, and was shown by the sole remainingmessenger into Alaric's private room. The two shook handstogether in their accustomed way. Undy smiled good-humouredly, ashe always did; and Alaric maintained his usual composed anduncommunicative look. 

'Well, ' said Undy, sitting down, 'how about those shares?'

'I am glad you have come, ' said Alaric, 'because I want to speakto you with some earnestness. '

'I am quite in earnest myself, ' said Undy; 'and so, by G--, isVal. I never saw a fellow more in earnest--nor yet apparentlymore hard up. I hope you have the shares ready, or else a chequefor the amount. '

'Look here, Undy; if my doing this were the only means of savingboth you and me from rotting in gaol, by the Creator that made meI would not do it!'

'I don't know that it will have much effect upon me, one way orthe other, ' said Undy, coolly; 'but it seems to me to be the onlyway that can save yourself from some such fate. Shall I tell youwhat the clauses are of this new bill about trust property?'

'I know the clauses well enough; I know my own position; and Iknow yours also. '

'D--- your impudence!' said Undy; 'how do you dare to league mewith your villany? Have I been the girl's trustee? have I drawn, or could I have drawn, a shilling of her money? I tell you, Tudor, you are in the wrong box. You have one way of escape, andone only. I don't want to ruin you; I'll save you if I can; Ithink you have treated the girl in a most shameful way, nevertheless I'll save you if I can; but mark this, if this moneybe not at once produced I cannot save you. '

Alaric felt that he was covered with cold perspiration. Hiscourage did not fail him; he would willingly have taken Undy bythe throat, could his doing so have done himself or his cause anygood; but he felt that he was nearly overset by the cool deepvillany of his companion. 

'I have treated the girl badly--very badly, ' he said, after apause; 'whether or no you have done so too I leave to your ownconscience, if you have a conscience. I do not now mean to accuseyou; but you may know this for certain--my present anxiety is torestore to her that which I have taken from her; and for noearthly consideration--not to save my own wife--will I increasethe deficiency. '

'Why, man, what nonsense you talk--as if I did not know all thetime that you have your pocket full of these shares. '

'Whatever I have, I hold for her. If I could succeed in gettingout of your hands enough to make up the full sum that I owe her--'

'You will succeed in getting nothing from me. When I borrowed£5, 000 from you, it was not understood that I was to be calledupon for the money in three or four months' time. '

'Now look here, Scott; you have threatened me with ruin and aprison, and I will not say but your threats may possibly provetrue. It may be that I am ruined; but, if I fall, you shall sharemy fall. '

'That's false, ' said Undy. 'I am free to hold my head before theworld, which you are not. I have done nothing to bring me toshame. '

'Nothing to bring you to shame, and yet you would now have megive you a further portion of this girl's money!'

'Nothing! I care nothing about the girl's money. I have nottouched it, nor do I want to touch it. I bring you a message frommy brother; you have ample means of your own to comply with hisrequest. '

'Then tell your brother, ' said Alaric, now losing all controlover his temper--'tell your brother, if indeed he have any partin this villany--tell your brother that if it were to save mefrom the gallows, he should not have a shilling. I have done verybadly in this matter; I have acted shamefully, and I am ashamed, but----'

'Oh, I want to hear none of your rhapsodies, ' said Undy. 'If youwill not now do what I ask you, I may as well go, and you maytake the consequences;' and he lifted his hat as though preparingto take his leave. 

'But you shall hear me, ' said Alaric, rising quickly from hisseat, and standing between Undy and the door. Undy very coollywalked to the bell and rang it. 'I have much to answer for, 'continued Alaric, 'but I would not have your sin on my soul, Iwould not be as black as you are, though, by being so, I couldsave myself with certainty from all earthly punishment. '

As he finished, the messenger opened the door. 'Show Mr. Scottout, ' said Alaric. 

'By, by, ' said Undy. 'You will probably hear from Mrs. Val andher daughter to-morrow, ' and so saying he walked jauntily alongthe passage, and went jauntily to his dinner at his club. It waspart of his philosophy that nothing should disturb the even tenorof his way, or interfere with his animal comforts. He was at thepresent moment over head and ears in debt; he was playing a gamewhich, in all human probability, would end in his ruin; theground was sinking beneath his feet on every side; and yet hethoroughly enjoyed his dinner. Alaric could not make such use ofhis philosophy. Undy Scott might be the worse man of the two, buthe was the better philosopher. 

Not on the next day, or on the next, did Alaric hear from Mrs. Val, but on the following Monday he got a note from her begginghim to call in Ebury Street. She underscored every line of itonce or twice, and added, in a postscript, that he would, she wassure, at once acknowledge the NECESSITY of her request, as shewished to communicate with him on the subject of her DAUGHTER'SFORTUNE. 

Alaric immediately sent an answer to her by a messenger. 'My dearMrs. Scott, ' said he, 'I am very sorry that an engagementprevents my going to you this evening; but, as I judge by yourletter, and by what I have heard from Gertrude, that you areanxious about this trust arrangement, I will call at ten to-morrow morning on my way to the office. '

Having written and dispatched this, he sat for an hour leaningwith his elbows on the table and his hands clasped, looking withapparent earnestness at the rows of books which stood invertedbefore him, trying to make up his mind as to what step he shouldnow take. 

Not that he sat an hour undisturbed. Every five minutes some onewould come knocking at the door; the name of some aspirant to theCivil Service would be brought to him, or the card of someinfluential gentleman desirous of having a little job perpetratedin favour of his own peculiarly interesting, but perhaps not veryhighly-educated, young candidate. But on this morning Alaricwould see no one; to every such intruder he sent a reply that hewas too deeply engaged at the present moment to see any one. After one he would be at liberty, &c. , &c. 

And so he sat and looked at the books; but he could in nowisemake up his mind. He could in nowise bring himself even to try tomake up his mind--that is, to make any true effort towards doingso. His thoughts would run off from him, not into the happyouter world, but into a multitude of noisy, unpleasant paths, allintimately connected with his present misery, but none of whichled him at all towards the conclusions at which he would fainarrive. He kept on reflecting what Sir Gregory would think whenhe heard of it; what all those clerks would say at the Weightsand Measures, among whom he had held his head so high; whatshouts there would be among the navvies and other low pariahs ofthe service; how Harry Norman would exult--(but he did not yetknow Harry Norman);--how the Woodwards would weep; how Gertrude--and then as he thought of that he bowed his head, for he could nolonger endure the open light of day. At one o'clock he was nonearer to any decision than he had been when he reached hisoffice. 

At three he put himself into a cab, and was taken to the city. Oh, the city, the weary city, where men go daily to look formoney, but find none; where every heart is eaten up by anaccursed famishing after gold; where dark, gloomy banks comethick on each other, like the black, ugly apertures to the realmsbelow in a mining district, each of them a separate little pit-mouth into hell. Alaric went into the city, and found that theshares were still rising. That imperturbable witness was still inthe chair at the committee, and men said that he was disgustingthe members by the impregnable endurance of his hostility. A manwho could answer 2, 250 questions without admitting anything mustbe a liar! Such a one could convince no one! And so the shareswent on rising, rising, and rising, and Messrs. Blocks, Piles, and Cofferdam were buying up every share; either doing thatopenly--or else selling on the sly. 

Alaric found that he could at once realize £7, 600. Were he to dothis, there would be at any rate seven-eighths of his ward'sfortune secure. 

Might he not, in such a case, calculate that even Mrs. Val'sheart would be softened, and that time would be allowed him tomake up the small remainder? Oh, but in such case he must tellMrs. Val; and could he calculate on her forbearance? Might he notcalculate with much more certainty on her love of triumphing?Would he not be her slave if she had the keeping of his secret?And why should he run so terrible a risk of destroying himself?Why should he confide in Mrs. Val, and deprive himself of thepower of ever holding up his head again, when, possibly, he mightstill run out his course with full sails, and bring his vesselinto port, giving no knowledge to the world of the perilous statein which she had been thus ploughing the deep? He need not, atany rate, tell everything to Mrs. Val at his coming visit on themorrow. 

He consulted his broker with his easiest air of common concern asto his money; and the broker gave him a dubious opinion. 'Theymay go a little higher, sir; indeed I think they will. But theyare ticklish stock, sir--uncommon ticklish. I should not like tohold many myself, sir. ' Alaric knew that the man was right; theywere ticklish stock: but nevertheless he made up his mind to holdon a little longer. 

He then got into another cab and went back to his office; and ashe went he began to bethink himself to whom of all his friends hemight apply for such a loan as would enable him to make up thissum of money, if he sold his shares on the morrow. CaptainCuttwater was good for £1, 000, but he knew that he could not getmore from him. It would be bad borrowing, he thought, from SirGregory. Intimate as he had been with that great man, he knewnothing of his money concerns; but he had always heard that SirGregory was a close man. Sir Warwick, his other colleague, was ineasy circumstances; but then he had never been intimate with SirWarwick. Norman--ah, if he had known Norman now, Norman wouldhave pulled him through; but hope in that quarter there was, ofcourse, none. Norman was gone, and Norman's place had been filledby Undy Scott! What could be done with Undy Scott he had alreadytried. Fidus Neverbend! he had a little money saved; but Fiduswas not the man to do anything without security. He, he, AlaricTudor, he, whose credit had stood, did stand, so high, did notknow where to borrow, how to raise a thousand pounds; and yet hefelt that had he not wanted it so sorely, he could have gotten iteasily. 

He was in a bad state for work when he got back to the office onthat day. He was flurried, ill at ease, wretched, all butdistracted; nevertheless he went rigidly to it, and remainedthere till late in the evening. He was a man generally blessedwith excellent health; but now he suddenly found himself ill, andall but unable to accomplish the task which he had prescribed tohimself. His head was heavy and his eyes weak, and he could notbring himself to think of the papers which lay before him. 

Then at last he went home, and had another sad and solitary walkacross the Parks, during which he vainly tried to rally himselfagain, and collect his energies for the work which he had to do. It was in such emergencies as this that he knew that it mostbehoved a man to fall back upon what manliness there might bewithin him; now was the time for him to be true to himself; hehad often felt proud of his own energy of purpose; and now wasthe opportunity for him to use such energy, if his pride in thisrespect had not been all in vain. 

Such were the lessons with which he endeavoured to strengthenhimself, but it was in vain; he could not feel courageous--hecould not feel hopeful--he could not do other than despair. Whenhe got home, he again prostrated himself, again declared himselfill, again buried his face in his hands, and answered theaffection of his wife by saying that a man could not always becheerful, could not always laugh. Gertrude, though she was veryfar indeed from guessing the truth, felt that somethingextraordinary was the matter, and knew that her husband'suneasiness was connected with the Scotts. 

He came down to dinner, and though he ate but little, he drankglass after glass of sherry. He thus gave himself courage to goout in the evening and face the world at his club. He found Undythere as he expected, but he had no conversation with him, thoughthey did not absolutely cut each other. Alaric fancied that menstared at him, and sat apart by himself, afraid to stand up amongtalking circles, or to put himself forward as it was his wont todo. He himself avoided other men, and then felt that others wereavoiding him. He took up one evening paper after another, pretending to read them, but hardly noticing a word that camebeneath his eye: at last, however, a name struck him whichriveted his attention, and he read the following paragraph, whichwas among many others, containing information as to the comingelections. 

'STRATHBOGY. --We hear that Lord Gaberlunzie's eldest son willretire from this borough, and that his place will be filled byhis brother, the Honourable Captain Valentine Scott. The familyhave been so long connected with Strathbogy by ties of friendshipand near neighbourhood, and the mutual alliance has been so muchto the taste of both parties, that no severance need beanticipated. '

Alaric's first emotion was one of anger at the whole Scott tribe, and his first resolve was to go down to Strathbogy and beat thatinanimate fool, Captain Val, on his own ground; but he was notlong in reflecting that, under his present circumstances, itwould be madness in him to bring his name prominently forward inany quarrel with the Scott family. This disappointment he mightat any rate bear; it would be well for him if this were all. Heput the paper down with an affected air of easy composure, andwalked home through the glaring gas-lights, still trying tothink--still trying, but in vain, to come to some definiteresolve. 

And then on the following morning he went off to call on Mrs. Val. He had as yet told Gertrude nothing. When she asked him whatmade him start so early, he merely replied that he had businessto do on his road. As lie went, he had considerable doubt whetheror no it would be better for him to break his word to Mrs. Val, and not go near her at all. In such event he might be sure thatshe would at once go to work and do her worst; but, nevertheless, he would gain a day, or probably two, and one or two days mightdo all that he required; whereas he could not see Mrs. Valwithout giving her some explanation, which if false would bediscovered to be false, and if true would be self-condemnatory. He again, however, failed to decide, and at last knocked at Mrs. Val's door merely because he found himself there. 

He was shown up into the drawing-room, and found, of course, Mrs. Val seated on a sofa; and he also found, which was not at all ofcourse, Captain Val, on a chair on one side of the table, and M. Victoire Jaquêtanàpe on the other. Mrs. Val shook hands with himmuch in her usual way, but still with an air of importance in herface; the Frenchman was delighted to see M. Tudere, and theHonourable Val got up from his chair, said 'How do?' and then satdown again. 

'I requested you to call, Mr. Tudor, ' said Mrs. Val, opening hertale in a most ceremonious manner, 'because we all think itnecessary to know somewhat more than has yet been told to us ofthe manner in which my daughter's money has been invested. '

Captain Val wiped his moustache with the middle finger of hisright hand, by way of saying that he quite assented to his wife'sproposition; and Victoire remarked that 'Madame was a leetleanxious, just a leetle anxious; not that anything could be wrongwith M. Tudere, but because she was one excellent mamma. '

'I thought you knew, Mrs. Scott, ' said Alaric, 'that yourdaughter's money is in the funds. '

'Then I may understand clearly that none of the amount soinvested has been sold out or otherwise appropriated by you. 'said Mrs. Val. 

'Will you allow me to inquire what has given rise to thesequestions just at the present moment?' asked Alaric. 

'Yes, certainly, ' said Mrs. Val; 'rumours have reached myhusband--rumours which, I am happy to say, I do not believe--thatmy daughter's money has been used for purposes of speculation. 'Whereupon Captain Val again wiped his upper lip, but did not findit necessary to speak. 

'May I venture to ask Captain Scott from what source such rumourshave reached him!'

'Ah-ha-what source? d---- lies, very likely; d---- lies, I daresay; but people do talk--eh--you know, ' so much the eloquentembryo member for Strathbogy vouchsafed. 

 'And therefore, Mr. Tudor, you mustn't be surprised that weshould ask you this question. '

'It is one simple, simple question, ' said Victoire, 'and if M. Tudere will say that it is all right, I, for myself, will besatisfied. ' The amiable Victoire, to tell the truth, was stillquite satisfied to leave his wife's income in Alaric's hands, andwould not have been at all satisfied to remove it to the hands ofhis respected step-papa-in-law, or even his admired mamma-in-law. 

'When I undertook this trust, ' said Alaric, 'which I did withconsiderable hesitation, I certainly did not expect to besubjected to any such cross-examination as this. I consider suchquestions as insults, and therefore I shall refuse to answerthem. You, Mrs. Scott, have of course a right to look after yourdaughter's interests, as has M. Jaquêtanàpe to look after thoseof his wife; but I will not acknowledge that Captain Scott hasany such right whatsoever, nor can I think that his conduct inthis matter is disinterested;' and as he spoke he looked atCaptain Val, but he might just as well have looked at the door;Captain Val only wiped his moustache with his finger once more. 'My answer to your inquiries, Mrs. Scott, is this--I shall notcondescend to go into any details as to Madame Jaquêtanàpe 'sfortune with anyone but my co-trustee. I shall, however, onSaturday next, be ready to give up my trust to any other personwho may be legally appointed to receive it, and will then produceall the property that has been entrusted to my keeping:' and sosaying, Alaric got up and took his hat as though to depart. 

'And do you mean to say, Mr. Tudor, that you will not answer myquestion?' said Mrs. Scott. 

'I mean to say, most positively, that I will answer noquestions, ' said Alaric. 

'Oh, confound, not do at all; d----, ' said the captain. 'Thegirl's money all gone, and you won't answer questions!'

'No!' shouted Alaric, walking across the room till he closelyconfronted the captain. 'No--no--I will answer no questions thatmay be asked in your hearing. But that your wife's presenceprotects you, I would kick you down your own stairs before me. '

Captain Val retreated a step--he could retreat no more--and wipedhis moustache with both hands at once. Mrs. Val screamed. Victoire took hold of the back of a chair, as though he thoughtit well that he should be armed in the general battle that was toensue; and Alaric, without further speech, walked out of theroom, and went away to his office. 

'So you have given up Strathbogy?' said Sir Gregory to him, inthe course of the day. 

'I think I have, ' said Alaric; 'considering all things, I believeit will be the best for me to do so. '

'Not a doubt of it, ' said Sir Gregory--'not a doubt of it, mydear fellow;' and then Sir Gregory began to evince, by thecordiality of his official confidence, that he had fully takenAlaric back into his good graces. It was nothing to him thatStrathbogy had given up Alaric instead of Alaric giving upStrathbogy. He was sufficiently pleased at knowing that thedanger of his being supplanted by his own junior was over. 

And then Alaric again went into the weary city, again madeinquiries about his shares, and again returned to his office, andthence to his home. 

But on his return to his office, he found lying on his table anote in Undy's handwriting, but not signed, in which he wasinformed that things would yet be well, if the required sharesshould be forthcoming on the following day. 

He crumpled the note tight in his hand, and was about to fling itamong the waste paper, but in a moment he thought better of it, and smoothing the paper straight, he folded it, and laid itcarefully on his desk. 

That day, on his visit into the city, he had found that thebridge shares had fallen to less than the value of their originalpurchase-money; and that evening he told Gertrude everything. Theauthor does not dare to describe the telling. 

CHAPTER XXXVII

TRIBULATION

We must now return for a short while to Surbiton Cottage. It wasnot so gay a place as it once had been; merry laughter was not sooften heard among the shrubbery walks, nor was a boat to be seenso often glancing in and out between the lawn and the adjacentisland. The Cottage had become a demure, staid abode, of whichCaptain Cuttwater was in general the most vivacious inmate; andyet there was soon to be marrying, and giving in marriage. 

Linda's wedding-day had twice been fixed. That first-named hadbeen postponed in consequence of the serious illness of Norman'selder brother. The life of that brother had been very differentin its course from Harry's; it had been dissipated at college inriotous living, and had since been stained with debauchery duringthe career of his early manhood in London. The consequence hadbeen that his health had been broken down, and he was nowtottering to an early grave. 

Cuthbert Norman was found to be so ill when the day first namedfor Linda's marriage approached, that it had been thoughtabsolutely necessary to postpone the ceremony. What amount ofconsolation Mrs. Woodward might have received from the knowledgethat her daughter, by this young man's decease, would become Mrs. Norman of Normansgrove, we need not inquire; but such consolation, if it existed at all, did not tend to dispel the feeling of sombredisappointment which such delay was sure to produce. The heir, however, rallied, and another day, early in August, was fixed. 

Katie, the while, was still an invalid; and, as such, puzzled allthe experience of that very experienced medical gentleman, whohas the best aristocratic practice in the neighbourhood ofHampton Court. He, and the London physician, agreed that herlungs were not affected; but yet she would not get well. Thecolour would not come to her cheeks, the flesh would not returnto her arms, nor the spirit of olden days shine forth in hereyes. She did not keep her bed, or confine herself to her room, but she went about the house with a slow, noiseless, gentletread, so unlike the step of that Katie whom we once knew. 

But that which was a mystery to the experienced medicalgentleman, was no mystery to her mother. Mrs. Woodward well knewwhy her child was no longer rosy, plump, and _débonnaire_. As she watched her Katie move about so softly, as she saw herconstant attempt to smile whenever her mother's eye was on her, that mother's heart almost gave way; she almost brought herselfto own that she would rather see her darling the wife of an idle, ruined spendthrift, than watch her thus drifting away to an earlygrave. These days were by no means happy days for Mrs. Woodward. 

When that July day was fixed for Linda's marriage, certaininvitations were sent out to bid the family friends to thewedding. These calls were not so numerous as they had been whenGertrude became a bride. No Sir Gregory was to come down fromtown, no gallant speech-makers from London clubs were to begathered there, to wake the echoes of the opposite shore withmatrimonial wit. Mrs. Woodward could not bear that her daughtershould be married altogether, as it were, in the dark; but formany considerations the guests were to be restricted in numbers, and the mirth was to be restrained and quiet. 

When the list was made out, Katie saw it, and saw that Charley'sname was not there. 

'Mamma, ' she said, touching her mother's arm in her sweet winningway, 'may not Charley come to Linda's wedding? You know how fondHarry is of him: would not Harry wish that he should be here?'

Mrs. Woodward's eyes immediately filled with tears, and shelooked at her daughter, not knowing how to answer her. She hadnever spoken to Katie of her love; no word had ever passedbetween them on the subject which was now always nearest to thehearts of them both. Mrs. Woodward had much in her character, asa mother, that was excellent, nay, all but perfect; but she couldnot bring herself to question her own children as to the inwardsecrets of their bosoms. She knew not at once how to answerKatie's question; and so she looked up at her with wistful eyes, laden with tears. 

'You may do so, mamma, ' said Katie. Katie was already a braverwoman than her mother. 'I think Harry would like it, and poorCharley will feel hurt at being left out; you may do it, mamma, if you like; it will not do any harm. '

Mrs. Woodward quite understood the nature of the promise conveyedin her daughter's assurance, and replied that Charley should beasked. He was asked, and promised, of course, to come. But whenthe wedding was postponed, when the other guests were put off, healso was informed that his attendance at Hampton was notimmediately required; and so he still remained a stranger to theCottage. 

And then after a while another day was named, the guests, andCharley with them, were again invited, and Norman was againassured that he should be made happy. But, alas! his hopes wereagain delusive. News arrived at Surbiton Cottage which made itindispensable that the marriage should be again postponed, newsworse than any which had ever yet been received there, news whichstunned them all, and made it clear to them that this year was notime for marrying. Alaric had been arrested. Alaric, their ownGertrude's own husband, their son-in-law and brother-in-law, theproud, the high, the successful, the towering man of the world, Alaric had been arrested, and was to be tried for embezzling themoney of his ward. 

These fatal tidings were brought to Hampton by Harry Normanhimself; how they were received we must now endeavour to tell. 

But that it would be tedious we might describe the amazement withwhich that news was received at the Weights and Measures. Thoughthe great men at the Weights were jealous of Alaric, they werenot the less proud of him. They had watched him rise with acertain amount of displeasure, and yet they had no inconsiderablegratification in boasting that two of the Magi, the two workingMagi of the Civil Service, had been produced by their ownestablishment. When therefore tidings reached them that Tudor hadbeen summoned in a friendly way to Bow Street, that he had therepassed a whole morning, and that the inquiry had ended in histemporary suspension from his official duties, and in his havingto provide two bailsmen, each for £1, 000, as security that hewould on a certain day be forthcoming to stand his trial at theOld Bailey for defrauding his ward--when, I say, these tidingswere carried from room to room at the Weights and Measures, thefeelings of surprise were equalled by those of shame anddisappointment. 

No one knew who brought this news to the Weights and Measures. Noone ever does know how such tidings fly; one of the junior clerkshad heard it from a messenger, to whom it had been tolddownstairs; then another messenger, who had been across to theTreasury Chambers with an immediate report as to a projectedchange in the size of the authorized butter-firkin, heard thesame thing, and so the news by degrees was confirmed. 

But all this was not sufficient for Norman. As soon as the rumourreached him, he went off to Bow Street, and there learnt theactual truth as it has been above stated. Alaric was then there, and the magistrates had decided on requiring bail; he had, infact, been committed. 

It would be dreadful that the Woodwards should first hear allthis from the lips of a stranger, and this reflection inducedNorman at once to go to Hampton; but it was dreadful, also, tofind himself burdened with the task of first telling suchtidings. When he found himself knocking at the Cottage door hewas still doubtful how he might best go through the work he hadbefore him. 

He found that he had a partial reprieve; but then it was sopartial that it would have been much better for him to have hadno such reprieve at all. Mrs. Woodward was at Sunbury with Linda, and no one was at home but Katie. What was he to do? was he totell Katie? or was he to pretend that all was right, that nospecial business had brought him unexpectedly to Hampton?

'Oh, Harry, Linda will be so unhappy, ' said Katie as soon as shesaw him. 'They have gone to dine at Sunbury, and they won't behome till ten or eleven. Uncle Bat dined early with me, and hehas gone to Hampton Court. Linda will be so unhappy. But, goodgracious, Harry, is there anything the matter?'

'Mrs. Woodward has not heard from Gertrude to-day, has she?'

'No--not a word--Gertrude is not ill, is she? Oh, do tell me, 'said Katie, who now knew that there was some misfortune to betold. 

'No; Gertrude is not ill. '

'Is Alaric ill, then? Is there anything the matter with Alaric?'

'He is not ill, ' said Norman, ' but he is in some trouble. I camedown as I thought your mother should be told. '

So much he said, but would say no more. In this he probably tookthe most unwise course that was open to him. He might have heldhis tongue altogether, and let Katie believe that love alone hadbrought him down, as it had done so often before; or he mighthave told her all, feeling sure that all must be told her beforelong. But he did neither; he left her in suspense, and theconsequence was that before her mother's return she was very ill. 

It was past eleven before the fly was heard in which Linda andher mother returned home. Katie had then gone upstairs, but notto bed. She had seated herself in the armchair in her mother'sdressing-room, and sitting there waited till she should be toldby her mother what had occurred. When the sound of the wheelscaught her ears, she came to the door of the room and held it inher hand that she might learn what passed. She heard Linda'ssudden and affectionate greeting; she heard Mrs. Woodward'sexpression of gratified surprise; and then she heard alsoNorman's solemn tone, by which, as was too clear, all joy, allgratification, was at once suppressed. Then she heard the dining-room door close, and she knew that he was telling his tale toLinda and her mother. 

O the misery of that next hour! For an hour they remained theretalking, and Katie knew nothing of what they were talking; sheknew only that Norman had brought unhappiness to them all. Adozen different ideas passed across her mind. First she thoughtthat Alaric was dismissed, then that he was dead; was it notpossible that Harry had named Alaric's name to deceive her? mightnot this misfortune, whatever it was, be with Charley? might nothe be dead? Oh! better so than the other. She knew, and said asmuch to herself over and over again; but she did not the lessfeel that his death must involve her own also. 

At last the dining-room door opened, and she heard her mother'sstep on the stairs. Her heart beat so that she could hardlysupport herself. She did not get up, but sat quite quiet, waitingfor the tidings which she knew that she should now hear. Hermother's face, when she entered the room, nearly drove her todespair; Mrs. Woodward had been crying, bitterly, violently, convulsively crying; and when one has reached the age of forty, the traces of such tears are not easily effaced even from awoman's cheek. 

'Mamma, mamma, what is it? pray, pray tell me; oh! mamma, what isit?' said Katie, jumping up and rushing into her mother's arms. 

'Oh! Katie, ' said Mrs. Woodward, 'why are you not in bed? Oh! mydarling, I wish you were in bed; I do so wish you were in bed--mychild, my child!' and, seating herself in the nearest chair, Mrs. Woodward again gave herself up to uncontrolled weeping. 

Then Linda came up with the copious tears still streaming downher face. She made no effort to control them; at her age tearsare the easiest resource in time of grief. Norman had kept herback a moment to whisper one word of love, and she then followedher mother into the room. 

Katie was now kneeling at her mother's feet. 'Linda, ' she said, with more quietness than either of the others was able to assume, 'what has happened? what makes mamma so unhappy? Has anythinghappened to Alaric?' But Linda was in no state to tell anything. 

'Do tell me, mamma, ' said Katie; 'do tell me all at once. Hasanything--anything happened to--to Charley?'

'Oh, it is worse than that, a thousand times worse than that!'said Mrs. Woodward, who, in the agony of her own grief, becamefor the instant ungenerous. 

Katie's blood rushed back to her heart, and for a moment her ownhand relaxed the hold which she had on that of her mother. Shehad never spoken of her love; for her mother's sake she had beensilent; for her mother's sake she had determined to suffer and besilent--now, and ever! Well; she would bear this also. It was butfor a moment she relaxed her hold; and then again she tightenedher fingers round her mother's hand, and held it in a firmergrasp. 'It is Alaric, then?' she said. 

'God forgive me, ' said Mrs. Woodward, speaking through her sobs--'God forgive me! I am a brokenhearted woman, and say I know notwhat. My Katie, my darling, my best of darlings--will you forgiveme?'

'Oh, mamma, ' said Katie, kissing her mother's hands, and herarms, and the very hem of her garment, 'oh, mamma, do not speakso. But I wish I knew what this sorrow is, so that I might shareit with you; may I not be told, mamma? is it about Alaric?'

'Yes, Katie. Alaric is in trouble. '

'What trouble--is he ill?'

'No--he is not ill. It is about money. '

'Has he been arrested?' asked Katie, thinking of Charley'smisfortune. 'Could not Harry get him out? Harry is so good; hewould do anything, even for Alaric, when he is in trouble. '

'He will do everything for him that he can, ' said Linda, throughher tears. 

'He has not been arrested, ' said Mrs. Woodward; 'he is still athome; but he is in trouble about Miss Golightly's money--and--andhe is to be tried. '

'Tried, ' said Katie; 'tried like a criminal!'

Katie might well express herself as horrified. Yes, he had to betried like a criminal; tried as pickpockets, housebreakers, andshoplifters are tried, and for a somewhat similar offence; withthis difference, however, that pickpockets, housebreakers, andshoplifters, are seldom educated men, and are in general led onto crime by want. He was to be tried for the offence of makingaway with some of Miss Golightly's money for his own purposes. This was explained to Katie, with more or less perspicuity; andthen Gertrude's mother and sisters lifted up their voicestogether and wept. 

He might, it is true, be acquitted; they would none of thembelieve him to be guilty, though they all agreed that he hadprobably been imprudent; but then the public shame of the trial!the disgrace which must follow such an accusation! What adownfall was here! 'Oh, Gertrude! oh, Gertrude!' sobbed Mrs. Woodward; and indeed, at that time, it did not fare well withGertrude. 

It was very late before Mrs. Woodward and her daughters went tobed that night; and then Katie, though she did not speciallycomplain, was very ill. She had lately received more than onewound, which was still unhealed; and now this additional blow, though she apparently bore it better than the others, altogetherupset her. When the morning came, she complained of headache, andit was many days after that before she left her bed. 

But Mrs. Woodward was up early. Indeed, she could hardly be saidto have been in bed at all; for though she had lain down for anhour or two, she had not slept. Early in the morning she knockedat Harry's door, and begged him to come out to her. He was notlong in obeying her summons, and soon joined her in the littlebreakfast parlour. 

'Harry, said she, 'you must go and see Alaric. '

Harry's brow grew black. On the previous evening he had spoken ofAlaric without bitterness, nay, almost with affection; ofGertrude he had spoken with the truest brotherly love; he hadassured Mrs. Woodward that he would do all that was in his powerfor them; that he would spare neither his exertions nor hispurse. He had a truer idea than she had of what might probably bethe facts of the case, and was prepared, by all the means at hisdisposal, to help his sister-in-law, if such aid would help her. But he had not thought of seeing Alaric. 

'I do not think it would do any good, ' said he. 

'Yes, Harry, it will; it will do the greatest good; whom else canI get to see him? who else can find out and let us know whatreally is required of us, what we ought to do? I would do itmyself, but I could not understand it; and he would never trustus sufficiently to tell me all the truth. '

'We will make Charley go to him. He will tell everything toCharley, if he will to anyone. '

'We cannot trust Charley; he is so thoughtless, so imprudent. Besides, Harry, I cannot tell everything to Charley as I can toyou. If there be any deficiency in this woman's fortune, ofcourse it must be made good; and in that case I must raise themoney. I could not arrange all this with Charley. '

'There cannot, I think, be very much wanting, ' said Norman, whohad hardly yet realized the idea that Alaric had actually usedhis ward's money for his own purposes. 'He has probably made somebad investment, or trusted persons that he should not havetrusted. My small property is in the funds, and I can get theamount at a moment's notice. I do not think there will be anynecessity to raise more money than that. At any rate, whateverhappens, you must not touch your own income; think of Katie. '

'But, Harry--dear, good, generous Harry--you are so good, sogenerous! But, Harry, we need not talk of that now. You will seehim, though, won't you?'

'It will do no good, ' said Harry; 'we have no mutual trust ineach other. '

'Do not be unforgiving, Harry, now that he requires forgiveness. '

'If he does require forgiveness, Mrs. Woodward, if it shall turnout that he has been guilty, God knows that I will forgive him. Itrust this may not be the case; and it would be useless for me tothrust myself upon him now, when a few days may replace us againin our present relations to each other. '

'I don't understand you, Harry; why should there always be aquarrel between two brothers, between the husbands of twosisters? I know you mean to be kind, I know you are most kind, most generous; but why should you be so stern?'

'What I mean is this--if I find him in adversity, I shall beready to offer him my hand; it will then be for him to saywhether he will take it. But if the storm blow over, in such caseI would rather that we should remain as we are. '

Norman talked of forgiveness, and accused himself of no want ofcharity in this respect. He had no idea that his own heart wasstill hard as the nether millstone against Alaric Tudor. But yetsuch was the truth. His money he could give; he could give alsohis time and mind, he could lend his best abilities to rescue hisformer friend and his own former love from misfortune. He coulddo this, and he thought therefore that he was forgiving; butthere was no forgiveness in such assistance. There was generosityin it, for he was ready to part with his money; there waskindness of heart, for he was anxious to do good to his fellow-creature; but there were with these both pride and revenge. Alaric had out-topped him in everything, and it was sweet toNorman's pride that his hand should be the one to raise from hissudden fall the man who had soared so high above him. Alaric hadinjured him, and what revenge is so perfect as to repay grossinjuries by great benefits? Is it not thus that we heap coals offire on our enemies' heads? Not that Norman indulged in thoughtssuch as these; not that he resolved thus to gratify his pride, thus to indulge his revenge. He was unconscious of his own sin, but he was not the less a sinner. 

'No, ' said he, 'I will not see him myself; it will do no good. '

Mrs. Woodward found that it was useless to try to bend him. That, indeed, she knew from a long experience. It was then settled thatshe should go up to Gertrude that morning, travelling up to towntogether with Norman, and that when she had learned from herdaughter, or from Alaric--if Alaric would talk to her about hisconcerns--what was really the truth of the matter, she shouldcome to Norman's office, and tell him what it would be necessaryfor him to do. 

And then the marriage was again put off. This, in itself, was agreat misery, as young ladies who have just been married, or whomay now be about to be married, will surely own. The words 'putoff' are easily written, the necessity of such a 'put off' iseasily arranged in the pages of a novel; an enforced delay of amonth or two in an affair which so many folk willingly delay forso many years, sounds like a slight thing; but, nevertheless, amatrimonial 'put off' is, under any circumstances, a great grief. To have to counter-write those halcyon notes which have givenglad promise of the coming event; to pack up and put out ofsight, and, if possible, out of mind, the now odious finery withwhich the house has for the last weeks been strewed; to give thenecessary information to the pastry-cook, from whose counter thesad tidings will be disseminated through all the neighbourhood;to annul the orders which have probably been given for rooms andhorses for the happy pair; to live, during the coming interval, amark for Pity's unpitying finger; to feel, and know, and hourlycalculate, how many slips there may be between the disappointedlip and the still distant cup; all these things in themselvesmake up a great grief, which is hardly lightened by the knowledgethat they have been caused by a still greater grief. 

These things had Linda now to do, and the poor girl had none tohelp her in the doing of them. A few hurried words were spoken onthat morning between her and Norman, and for the second time sheset to work to put off her wedding. Katie, the meantime, lay sickin bed, and Mrs. Woodward had gone to London to learn the worstand to do the best in this dire affliction that had come uponthem. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII

ALARIC TUDOR TAKES A WALK

There is, undoubtedly, a propensity in human love to attachitself to excellence; but it has also, as undoubtedly, apropensity directly antagonistic to this, and which teaches it toput forth its strongest efforts in favour of inferiority. Watchany fair flock of children in which there may be one blightedbud, and you will see that that blighted one is the mother'sdarling. What filial affection is ever so strong as that evincedby a child for a parent in misfortune? Even among the rough, sympathies of schoolboys, the cripple, the sickly one, or theorphan without a home, will find the warmest friendship and astretch of kindness. Love, that must bow and do reverence tosuperiority, can protect and foster inferiority; and what is sosweet as to be able to protect?

Gertrude's love for her husband had never been so strong as whenshe learnt that that love must now stand in the place of allother sympathies, of all other tenderness. Alaric told her of hiscrime, and in his bitterness he owned that he was no longerworthy of her love. She answered by opening her arms to him withmore warmth than ever, and bidding him rest his weary head uponher breast. Had they not taken each other for better or forworse? had not their bargain been that they would be happytogether if such should be their lot, or sad together if Godshould so will it?--and would she be the first to cry off fromsuch a bargain?

It seldom happens that a woman's love is quenched by a man'scrime. Women in this respect are more enduring than men; theyhave softer sympathies, and less acute, less selfish, appreciationof the misery of being joined to that which has been shamed. Itwas not many hours since Gertrude had boasted to herself of thehonour and honesty of her lord, and tossed her head with defiantscorn when a breath of suspicion had been muttered against hisname. Then she heard from his own lips the whole truth, learntthat that odious woman had only muttered what she soon wouldhave a right to speak out openly, knew that fame and honour, high position and pride of life, were all gone; and then in that bitterhour she felt that she had never loved him as she did then. 

He had done wrong, he had sinned grievously; but no sooner didshe acknowledge so much than she acknowledged also that a man maysin and yet not be all sinful; that glory may be tarnished, andyet not utterly destroyed; that pride may get a fall, and yetlive to rise again. He had sinned, and had repented; and now toher eyes he was again as pure as snow. Others would now doubthim, that must needs be the case; but she would never doubt him;no, not a whit the more in that he had once fallen. He shouldstill be the cynosure of her eyes, the pride of her heart, thecentre of her hopes. Marina said of her lord, when he came to hershattered in limb, from the hands of the torturer--

 'I would not change My exiled, mangled, persecuted husband, Alive or dead, for prince or paladin, In story or in fable, with a world To back his suit. '

Gertrude spoke to herself in the same language. She would nothave changed her Alaric, branded with infamy as he now was, orsoon would be, for the proudest he that carried his head highamong the proud ones of the earth. Such is woman's love; such isthe love of which a man's heart is never capable!

Alaric's committal had taken place very much in the manner inwhich it was told at the Weights and Measures. He had received anote from one of the Bow Street magistrates, begging hisattendance in the private room at the police-office. There he hadpassed nearly the whole of one day; and he was also obliged topass nearly the whole of another in the same office. On thissecond day the proceedings were not private, and he wasaccompanied by his own solicitor. 

It would be needless to describe how a plain case was, as usual, made obscure by the lawyers, how Acts of Parliament wereconsulted, how the magistrate doubted, how indignant Alaric'sattorney became when it was suggested that some insignificantpiece of evidence should be admitted, which, whether admitted orrejected, could have no real bearing on the case. In theserespects this important examination was like other importantexaminations of the same kind, such as one sees in the newspaperswhenever a man above the ordinary felon's rank becomes amenableto the outraged laws. It ended, however, in Alaric beingcommitted, and giving bail to stand his trial in about afortnight's time; and in his being assured by his attorney thathe would most certainly be acquitted. That bit of paper on whichhe had made an entry that certain shares bought by him had beenbought on behalf of his ward, would save him; so said theattorney: to which, however, Alaric answered not much. Could anyacutest lawyer, let him be made of never so fine an assortment offorensic indignation, now whitewash his name and set him againright before the world? He, of course, communicated with SirGregory, and agreed to be suspended from his commissionershiptill the trial should be over. His two colleagues then becamebail for him. 

So much having been settled, he got into a cab with his attorney, and having dropped that gentleman on the road, he returned home. The excitement of the examination and the necessity for actionhad sustained him? but now--what was to sustain him now? How washe to get through the intervening fortnight, banished as he wasfrom his office, from his club, and from all haunts of men? Hisattorney, who had other rogues to attend to besides him, madecertain set appointments with him--and for the rest, he might sitat home and console himself as best he might with his ownthoughts. 'Excelsior!' This was the pass to which 'Excelsior' hadbrought _Sic itur ad astro!_--Alas, his road had taken himhitherto in quite a different direction. 

He sent for Charley, and when Charley came he made Gertrudeexplain to him what had happened. He had confessed his own faultonce, to his own wife, and he could not bring himself to do itagain. Charley was thunderstruck at the greatness of the ruin, but he offered what assistance he could give. Anything that hecould do, he would. Alaric had sent for him for a purpose, andthat purpose at any rate Charley could fulfil. He went into thecity to ascertain what was now the price of the Limehouse bridgeshares, and returned with the news that they were falling, falling, falling. 

No one else called at Alaric's door that day. Mrs. Val, thoughshe did not come there, by no means allowed her horses to beidle; she went about sedulously among her acquaintance, droppingtidings of her daughter's losses. 'They will have enough left tolive upon, thank God, ' said she; 'but did you ever hear of sobarefaced, so iniquitous a robbery? Well, I am not cruel; but myown opinion is that he should certainly be hanged. '

To this Ugolina assented fully, adding, that she had been soshocked by the suddenness and horror of the news, as to havebecome perfectly incapacitated ever since for any high order ofthought. 

Lactimel, whose soft bosom could not endure the idea of puttingan end to the life of a fellow-creature, suggested perpetualbanishment to the penal colonies; perhaps Norfolk Island. 'Andwhat will she do?' said Lactimel. 

'Indeed I cannot guess, ' said Ugolina; 'her education has beensadly deficient. '

None but Charley called on Alaric that day, and he found himselfshut up alone with his wife and child. His own house seemed tohim a prison. He did not dare to leave it; he did not dare towalk out and face the public as long as daylight continued; hewas ashamed to show himself, and so he sat alone in his dining-room thinking, thinking, thinking. Do what he would, he could notget those shares out of his mind; they had entered like iron intohis soul, as poison into his blood; they might still rise, theymight yet become of vast value, might pay all his debts, andenable him to begin again. And then this had been a committeeday; he had had no means of knowing how things had gone there, oflearning the opinions of the members, of whispering to Mr. Piles, or hearing the law on the matter laid down by the heavy deepvoice of the great Mr. Blocks. And so he went on thinking, thinking, thinking, but ever as though he had a clock-weightfixed to his heart and pulling at its strings. For, after all, what were the shares or the committee to him? Let the shares riseto ever so fabulous a value, let the Chancellor of the Exchequerbe ever so complaisant in giving away his money, what avail wouldit be to him? what avail now? He must stand his trial for thecrime of which he had been guilty. 

With the utmost patience Gertrude endeavoured to soothe him, andto bring his mind into some temper in which it could employitself. She brought him their baby, thinking that he would playwith his child, but all that he said was--'My poor boy! I haveruined him already;' and then turning away from the infant, hethrust his hands deep into his trousers-pockets, and went oncalculating about the shares. 

When the sun had well set, and the daylight had, at last, dwindled out, he took up his hat and wandered out among the newstreets and rows of houses which lay between his own house andthe Western Railway. He got into a district in which he had neverbeen before, and as he walked about here, he thought of the fateof other such swindlers as himself;--yes, though he did not speakthe word, he pronounced it as plainly, and as often, in theutterance of his mind, as though it was being rung out to himfrom every steeple in London; he thought of the fate of suchswindlers as himself; how one had been found dead in the streets, poisoned by himself; how another, after facing the cleverestlawyers in the land, was now dying in a felon's prison; how athird had vainly endeavoured to fly from justice by aid of wigs, false whiskers, painted furrows, and other disguises. Should hetry to escape also, and avoid the ignominy of a trial? He knew itwould be in vain; he knew that, at this moment, he was dogged atthe distance of some thirty yards by an amiable policeman inmufti, placed to watch his motions by his two kind bailsmen, whopreferred this small expense to the risk of losing a thousandpounds a-piece. 

As he turned short round a corner, into the main road leadingfrom the railway station to Bayswater, he came close upon a manwho was walking quickly in the opposite direction, and foundhimself face to face with Undy Scott. How on earth should UndyScott have come out there to Bayswater, at that hour of thenight, he, the constant denizen of clubs, the well-knownfrequenter of Pall Mall, the member for the Tillietudlem burghs, whose every hour was occupied in the looking after thingspolitical, or things commercial? Who could have expected him in aback road at Bayswater? There, however, he was, and Alaric, before he knew of his presence, had almost stumbled against him. 

'Scott!' said Alaric, starting back. 

'Hallo, Tudor, what the deuce brings you here? but I supposeyou'll ask me the same question?' said Undy. 

Alaric Tudor could not restrain himself. 'You scoundrel, ' saidhe, seizing Undy by the collar; 'you utterly unmitigatedscoundrel! You premeditated, wilful villain!' and he held Undy asthough he intended to choke him. 

But Undy Scott was not a man to be thus roughly handled withimpunity; and in completing the education which he had received, the use of his fists had not been overlooked. He let out with hisright hand, and struck Alaric twice with considerable force onthe side of his jaw, so that the teeth rattled in his mouth. 

But Alaric, at the moment, hardly felt it. 'You have brought meand mine to ruin, ' said he; 'you have done it purposely, like afiend. But, low as I have fallen, I would not change places withyou for all that the earth holds. I have been a villain; but suchvillany as yours--ugh--' and so saying, he flung his enemy fromhim, and Undy, tottering back, saved himself against the wall. 

In a continued personal contest between the two men, Undy wouldprobably have had the best of it, for he would certainly havebeen the cooler of the two, and was also the more skilful in suchwarfare; but he felt in a moment that he could gain nothing bythrashing Tudor, whereas he might damage himself materially byhaving his name brought forward at the present moment inconnexion with that of his old friend. 

'You reprobate!' said he, preparing to pass on; 'it has been mymisfortune to know you, and one cannot touch pitch and not bedefiled. But, thank God, you'll come by your deserts now. If youwill take my advice you'll hang yourself;' and so they parted. 

The amiable policeman in mufti remained at a convenient distanceduring this little interview, having no special mission to keepthe peace, pending his present employment; but, as he passed by, he peered into Undy's face, and recognized the honourable memberfor the Tillietudlem burghs. A really sharp policeman knows everyone of any note in London. It might, perhaps, be useful thatevidence should be given at the forthcoming trial of the littlecontest which we have described. If so, our friend in mufti wasprepared to give it. 

On the following morning, at about eleven, a cab drove up to thedoor, and Alaric, standing at the dining-room window, saw Mrs. Woodward get out of it. 

'There's your mother, ' said Alaric to his wife. 'I will not seeher--let her go up to the drawing-room. '

'Oh! Alaric, will you not see mamma?'

'How can I, with my face swollen as it is now? Besides, whatwould be the good? What can I say to her? I know well enough whatshe has to say to me, without listening to it. '

'Dear Alaric, mamma will say nothing to you that is not kind; dosee her, for my sake, Alaric. '

But misery had not made him docile. He merely turned from her, and shook his head impatiently. Gertrude then ran out to welcomeher mother, who was in the hall. 

And what a welcoming it was! 'Come upstairs, mamma, come into thedrawing-room, ' said Gertrude, who would not stop even to kiss hermother till they found themselves secured from the servants'eyes. She knew that one word of tenderness would bring her to theground. 

'Mamma, mamma!' she almost shrieked, and throwing herself intoher mother's arms wept convulsively. Mrs. Woodward wanted no morewords to tell her that Alaric had been guilty. 

'But, Gertrude, how much is it?' whispered the mother, as, aftera few moments of passionate grief, they sat holding each other'shands on the sofa. 'How much money is wanting? Can we not make itup? If it be all paid before the day of trial, will not that do?will not that prevent it?'

Gertrude could not say. She knew that £10, 000 had beenabstracted. Mrs. Woodward groaned as she heard the sum named. Butthen there were those shares, which had not long since been worthmuch more than half that sum, which must still be worth a largepart of it. 

'But we must know, dearest, before Harry can do anything, ' saidMrs. Woodward. 

Gertrude blushed crimson when Harry Norman's name was mentioned. And had it come to that--that they must look to him for aid?

'Can you not ask him, love?' said Mrs. Woodward. 'I saw him inthe dining-room; go and ask him; when he knows that we are doingour best for him, surely he will help us. '

Gertrude, with a heavy heart, went down on her message, and didnot return for fifteen or twenty minutes. It may easily beconceived that Norman's name was not mentioned between her andher husband, but she made him understand that an effort would bemade for him if only the truth could be ascertained. 

'It will be of no use, ' said he. 

'Don't say so, Alaric; we cannot tell what may be of use. But atany rate it will be weight off your heart to know that this moneyhas been paid. It is that which overpowers you now, and not yourown misfortune. '

At last he suffered her to lead him, and she put down on papersuch figures as he dictated to her. It was, however, impossibleto say what was the actual deficiency; that must depend upon thepresent value of the shares; these he said he was prepared togive over to his own attorney, if it was thought that by so doinghe should be taking the best steps towards repairing the evil hehad done; and then he began calculating how much the shares mightpossibly be worth, and pointing out under what circumstances theyshould be sold, and under what again they should be overheld tillthe market had improved. All this was worse than Greek toGertrude; but she collected what facts she could, and thenreturned to her mother. 

And they discussed the matter with all the wit and all thevolubility which women have on such occasions. Paper was broughtforth, and accounts were made out between them, not such as wouldplease the eyes of a Civil Service Examiner, but yet accurate intheir way. How they worked and racked their brains, and strainedtheir women's nerves in planning how justice might be defeated, and the dishonesty of the loved one covered from shame! Uncle Batwas ready with his share. He had received such explanation asMrs. Woodward had been able to give, and though when he firstheard the news he had spoken severely of Alaric, still his moneyshould be forthcoming for the service of the family. He couldproduce some fifteen hundred pounds; and would if needs be thathe should do so. Then Harry--but the pen fell from Gertrude'sfingers as she essayed to write down Harry Norman's contributionto the relief of her husband's misery. 

'Remember, Gertrude, love, in how short a time he will be yourbrother. '

'But when will it be, mamma? Is it to be on Thursday, as we hadplanned? Of course, mamma, I cannot be there. '

And then there was a break in their accounts, and Mrs. Woodwardexplained to Gertrude that they had all thought it better topostpone Linda's marriage till after the trial; and this, ofcourse was the source of fresh grief. When men such as AlaricTudor stoop to dishonesty, the penalties of detection are notconfined to their own hearthstone. The higher are the branches ofthe tree and the wider, the greater will be the extent of earthwhich its fall will disturb. 

Gertrude's pen, however, again went to work. The shares were putdown at £5, 000. 'If they can only be sold for so much, I think wemay manage it, ' said Mrs. Woodward; 'I am sure that Harry can getthe remainder--indeed he said he could have more than that. '

'And what will Linda do?'

'Linda will never want it, love; and if she did, what of that?would she not give all she has for you?'

And then Mrs. Woodward went her way to Norman's office, withouthaving spoken to Alaric. 'You will come again soon, mamma, ' saidGertrude. Mrs. Woodward promised that she would. 

'And, mamma, ' and she whispered close into her mother's ear, asshe made her next request; 'and, mamma, you will be with me onthat day?'

We need not follow Norman in his efforts to have her full fortunerestored to Madame Jaquêtanàpe. He was daily in connexion withAlaric's lawyer, and returned sometimes with hope and sometimeswithout it. Mrs. Val's lawyer would receive no overtures towardsa withdrawal of the charge, or even towards any mitigation intheir proceedings, unless the agent coming forward on behalf ofthe lady's late trustee, did so with the full sum of £20, 000 inhis hands. 

We need not follow Charley, who was everyday with Alaric, and whowas, unknown to Alaric, an agent between him and Norman. 'Well, Charley, what are they doing to-day?' was Alaric's constantquestion to him, even up to the very eve of his trial. 

If any spirit ever walks it must be that of the stockjobber, forhow can such a one rest in its grave without knowing what sharesare doing?

CHAPTER XXXIX

THE LAST BREAKFAST

And that day was not long in coming; indeed, it came withterrible alacrity; much too quickly for Gertrude, much tooquickly for Norman; and much too quickly for Alaric's lawyer. ToAlaric only did the time pass slowly, for he found himselfutterly without employment. 

Norman and Uncle Bat between them had raised something about£6, 000; but when the day came on which they were prepared todispose of the shares, the Limehouse bridge was found to be worthnothing. They were, as the broker had said, ticklish stock; soticklish that no one would have them at any price. When Undy, together with his agent from Tillietudlem, went into the marketabout the same time to dispose of theirs, they were equallyunsuccessful. How the agent looked and spoke and felt may beimagined; for the agent had made large advances, and had no othersecurity; but Undy had borne such looks and speeches before, andmerely said that it was very odd--extremely odd; he had beengreatly deceived by Mr. Piles. Mr. Piles also said it was veryodd; but he did not appear to be nearly so much annoyed as theagent from Tillietudlem; and it was whispered that, queer asthings now looked, Messrs. Blocks, Piles, and Cofferdam, had notmade a bad thing of the bridge. 

Overture after overture was made to the lawyer employed by Mrs. Val's party. Norman first offered the £6, 000 and the shares; thenwhen the shares were utterly rejected by the share-buying world, he offered to make himself personally responsible for theremainder of the debt, and to bind himself by bond to pay itwithin six months. At first these propositions were listened to, and Alaric's friends were led to believe that the matter would behandled in such a way that the prosecution would fall to theground. But at last all composition was refused. The adverseattorney declared, first, that he was not able to accept anymoney payment short of the full amount with interest, and then heaverred, that as criminal proceedings had been taken they couldnot now be stayed. Whether or no Alaric's night attack hadanything to do with this, whether Undy had been the means ofinstigating this rigid adherence to justice, we are not preparedto say. 

That day for which Gertrude had prayed her mother's assistancecame all too soon. They had become at last aware that the trialmust go on. Charley was with them on the last evening, andcompleted their despair by telling them that their attorney hadresolved to make no further efforts at a compromise. 

Perhaps the most painful feeling to Gertrude through the whole ofthe last fortnight had been the total prostration of herhusband's energy, and almost of his intellect; he seemed to havelost the power of judging for himself, and of thinking anddeciding what conduct would be best for him in his presentcondition. He who had been so energetic, so full of life, soready for all emergencies, so clever at devices, so able tomanage not only for himself but for his friends, he was, as itwere, paralysed and unmanned. He sat from morning to nightlooking at the empty fire-grate, and hardly ventured to speak ofthe ordeal that he had to undergo. 

His lawyer was to call for him on the morning of the trial, andMrs. Woodward was to be at the house soon after he had left it. He had not yet seen her since the inquiry had commenced, and itwas very plain that he did not wish to do so. Mrs. Woodward wasto be there and to remain till his fate had been decided, andthen--Not a word had yet been said as to the chance of his notreturning; but Mrs. Woodward was aware that he would probably beunable to do so, and felt, that if such should be the case, shecould not leave her daughter alone. 

And so Alaric and his wife sat down to breakfast on that lastmorning. She had brought their boy down; but as she perceivedthat the child's presence did not please his father, he had beensent back to the nursery, and they were alone. She poured out histea for him, put bread upon his plate, and then sat down closebeside him, endeavouring to persuade him to eat. She had neveryet found fault with him, she had never even ventured to give himcounsel, but now she longed to entreat him to collect himself andtake a man's part in the coming trial. He sat in the seatprepared for him, but, instead of eating, he thrust his handsafter his accustomed manner into his pockets and sat glowering atthe teacups. 

'Come, Alaric, won't you eat your breakfast?' said she. 

'No; breakfast! no-how can I eat now? how can you think that Icould eat at such a time as this? Do you take yours; never mindme. '

'But, dearest, you will be faint if you do not eat; think whatyou have to go through; remember how many eyes will be on you to-day. '

He shuddered violently as she spoke, and motioned to her with hishand not to go on with what she was saying. 

'I know, I know, ' said she passionately, 'dearest, dearest love--I know how dreadful it is; would that I could bear it for you!would that I could!'

He turned away his head, for a tear was in his eye. It was thefirst that had come to his assistance since this sorrow had comeupon him. 

'Don't turn from me, dearest Alaric; do not turn from me now atour last moments. To me at least you are the same noble Alaricthat you ever were. '

'Noble!' said he, with all the self-scorn which he so truly felt. 

'To me you are, now as ever; but, Alaric, I do so fear that youwill want strength, physical strength, you know, to go throughall this. I would have you bear yourself like a man before themall. '

'It will be but little matter, ' said he. 

'It will be matter. It will be matter to me. My darling, darlinghusband, rouse yourself, ' and she knelt before his knees andprayed to him; 'for my sake do it; eat and drink that you mayhave the power of a man when all the world is looking at you. IfGod forgives us our sins, surely we should so carry ourselvesthat men may not be ashamed to do so. '

He did not answer her, but he turned to the table and broke thebread, and put his lips to the cup. And then she gave him food asshe would give it to a child, and he with a child's obedience ateand drank what was put before him. As he did so, every now andagain a single tear forced itself beneath his eyelid and trickleddown his face, and in some degree Gertrude was comforted. 

He had hardly finished his enforced breakfast when the cab andthe lawyer came to the door. The learned gentleman had the goodtaste not to come in, and so the servant told them that Mr. Gitemthruet was there. 

'Say that your master will be with him in a minute, ' saidGertrude, quite coolly; and then the room door was again closed, and the husband and wife had now to say adieu. 

Alaric rose from his chair and made a faint attempt to smile. 'Well, Gertrude, ' said he, 'it has come at last. '

She rushed into his embrace, and throwing her arms around him, buried her face upon his breast. 'Alaric, Alaric, my husband! mylove, my best, my own, my only love!'

'I cannot say much now, Gertrude, but I know how good you are;you will come and see me, if they will let you, won't you?'

'See you!' said she, starting back, but still holding him andlooking up earnestly into his face. 'See you!' and then shepoured out her love with all the passion of a Ruth: '"Whitherthou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. .. . Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried; theLord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee andme. " See you, Alaric; oh, it cannot be that they will hinder thewife from being with her husband. But, Alaric, ' she went on, 'donot droop now, love--will you?'

'I cannot brazen it out, ' said he. 'I know too well what it isthat I have done. '

'No, not that, Alaric; I would not have that. But remember, allis not over, whatever they may do. Ah, how little will really beover, whatever they can do! You have repented, have you not, Alaric?'

'I think so, I hope so, ' said Alaric, with his eyes upon theground. 

'You have repented, and are right before God; do not fear thenwhat man can do to you. I would not have you brazen, Alaric; butbe manly, be collected, be your own self, the man that I haveloved, the man that I do now love so well, better, better thanever;' and she threw herself on him and kissed him and clung tohim, and stroked his hair and put her hand upon his face, andthen holding him from her, looked up to him as though he were ahero whom she all but worshipped. 

'Gertrude, Gertrude--that I should have brought you to this!'

'Never mind, ' said she; 'we will win through it yet--we will yetbe happy together, far, far away from here--remember that--letthat support you through all. And now, Alaric, you will come upfor one moment and kiss him before you go. '

'The man will be impatient. '

'Never mind; let him be impatient-you shall not go away withoutblessing your boy; come up, Alaric. ' And she took him by the handand led him like a child into the nursery. 

'Where is the nurse? bring him here--papa is going away--Alley, boy, give papa a big kiss. '

Alaric, for the first time for the fortnight, took the littlefellow into his arms and kissed him. 'God bless you, my bairn, 'said he, 'and grant that all this may never be visited againstyou, here or hereafter!'

'And now go, ' said Gertrude, as they descended the stairstogether, 'and may God in His mercy watch over and protect youand give you back to me! And, Alaric, wherever you are I will beclose to you, remember that. I will be quite, quite close to you. Now, one kiss--oh, dearest, dearest Alaric--there--there--nowgo. ' And so he went, and Gertrude shutting herself into her roomthrew herself on to the bed, and wept aloud. 

CHAPTER XL

MR. CHAFFANBRASS

We must now follow Alaric to his trial. He was, of course, muchtoo soon at court. All people always are, who are brought to thecourt perforce, criminals for instance, and witnesses, and othersuch-like unfortunate wretches; whereas many of those who only gothere to earn their bread are very often as much too late. He wasto be tried at the Old Bailey. As I have never seen the place, and as so many others have seen it, I will not attempt todescribe it. Here Mr. Gitemthruet was quite at home; he hustledand jostled, elbowed and ordered, as though he were the secondgreat man of the place, and the client whom he was to defend wasthe first. In this latter opinion he was certainly right. Alaricwas the hero of the day, and people made way for him as though hehad won a victory in India, and was going to receive the freedomof the city in a box. As he passed by, a gleam of light fell onhim from a window, and at the instant three different artists hadhim photographed, daguerreotyped, and bedevilled; four graphicmembers of the public press took down the details of his hat, whiskers, coat, trousers, and boots; and the sub-editor of the_Daily Delight_ observed that 'there was a slight tremor inthe first footstep which he took within the precincts of theprison, but in every other respect his demeanour was dignifiedand his presence manly; he had light-brown gloves, one of whichwas on his left hand, but the other was allowed to swing from hisfingers. The court was extremely crowded, and some fair ladiesappeared there to grace its customarily ungracious walls. On thebench we observed Lord Killtime, Sir Gregory Hardlines, and Mr. Whip Vigil. Mr. Undecimus Scott, who had been summoned as awitness by the prisoner, was also accommodated by the sheriffswith a seat. ' Such was the opening paragraph of the seven columnswhich were devoted by the _Daily Delight_ to the all-absorbingsubject. 

But Mr. Gitemthruet made his way through artists, reporters, andthe agitated crowd with that happy air of command which can soeasily be assumed by men at a moment's notice, when they feelthemselves to be for that moment of importance. 'Come this way, Mr. Tudor; follow me and we will get on without any trouble; justfollow me close, ' said Mr. Gitemthruet to his client, in awhisper which was audible to not a few. Tudor, who was essaying, and not altogether unsuccessfully, to bear the public gazeundismayed, did as he was bid, and followed Mr. Gitemthruet. 

'Now, ' said the attorney, 'we'll sit here--Mr. Chaffanbrass willbe close to us, there; so that I can touch him up as we go along;of course, you know, you can make any suggestion, only you mustdo it through me. Here's his lordship; uncommon well he looks, don't he? You'd hardly believe him to be seventy-seven, but he'snot a day less, if he isn't any more; and he has as much work inhim yet as you or I, pretty nearly. If you want to insure a man'slife, Mr. Tudor, put him on the bench; then he'll never die. Welawyers are not like bishops, who are always for giving up, andgoing out on a pension. '

But Alaric was not at the moment inclined to meditate much on thelong years of judges. He was thinking, or perhaps trying tothink, whether it would not be better for him to save this crowdthat was now gathered together all further trouble, and pleadguilty at once. He knew he was guilty, he could not understandthat it was possible that any juryman should have a doubt aboutit; he had taken the money that did not belong to him; that wouldbe made quite clear; he had taken it, and had not repaid it;there was the absolute _corpus delicti_ in court, in the shapeof a deficiency of some thousands of pounds. What possibledoubt would there be in the breast of anyone as to his guilt? Whyshould he vex his own soul by making himself for a livelong daythe gazing-stock for the multitude? Why should he trouble allthose wigged counsellors, when one word from him would set all atrest?

'Mr. Gitemthruet, I think I'll plead guilty, ' said he. 

'Plead what!' said Mr. Gitemthruet, turning round upon his clientwith a sharp, angry look. It was the first time that his attorneyhad shown any sign of disgust, displeasure, or even disapprobationsince he had taken Alaric's matter in hand. 'Plead what! Ah, you'rejoking, I know; upon my soul you gave me a start. '

Alaric endeavoured to explain to him that he was not joking, norin a mood to joke; but that he really thought the least vexatiouscourse would be for him to plead guilty. 

'Then I tell you it would be the most vexatious proceeding ever Iheard of in all my practice. But you are in my hands, Mr. Tudor, and you can't do it. You have done me the honour to come to me, and now you must be ruled by me. Plead guilty! Why, with such acase as you have got, you would disgrace yourself for ever if youdid so. Think of your friends, Mr. Tudor, if you won't think ofme or of yourself. '

His lawyer's eloquence converted him, and he resolved that hewould run his chance. During this time all manner of little legalpreliminaries had been going on; and now the court was ready forbusiness; the jury were in their box, the court-keeper criedsilence, and Mr. Gitemthruet was busy among his papers withfrantic energy. But nothing was yet seen of the great Mr. Chaffanbrass. 

'I believe we may go on with the trial for breach of trust, ' saidthe judge. 'I do not know why we are waiting. '

Then up and spoke Mr. Younglad, who was Alaric's junior counsel. Mr. Younglad was a promising common-law barrister, now commencinghis career, of whom his friends were beginning to hope that hemight, if he kept his shoulders well to the collar, at somedistant period make a living out of his profession. He wasbetween forty and forty-five years of age, and had alreadyovercome the natural diffidence of youth in addressing a learnedbench and a crowded court. 

'My lud, ' said Younglad, 'my learned friend, Mr. Chaffanbrass, who leads for the prisoner, is not yet in court. Perhaps, my lud, on behalf of my client, I may ask for a few moments' delay. '

'And if Mr. Chaffanbrass has undertaken to lead for the prisoner, why is he not in court?' said the judge, looking as though he haduttered a poser which must altogether settle Mr. Younglad'sbusiness. 

But Mr. Younglad had not been sitting, and walking and listening, let alone talking occasionally, in criminal courts, for the lasttwenty years, to be settled so easily. 

'My lud, if your ludship will indulge me with five minutes'delay--we will not ask more than five minutes--your ludshipknows, no one better, the very onerous duties--'

'When I was at the bar I took no briefs to which I could notattend, ' said the judge. 

'I am sure you did not, my lud; and my learned friend, should heever sit in your ludship's seat, will be able to say as much forhimself, when at some future time he may be--; but, my lud, Mr. Chaffanbrass is now in court. ' And as he spoke, Mr. Chaffanbrass, carrying in his hand a huge old blue bag, which, as he entered, he took from his clerk's hands, and bearing on the top of hishead a wig that apparently had not been dressed for the last tenyears, made his way in among the barristers, caring little onwhose toes he trod, whose papers he upset, or whom he elbowed onhis road. Mr. Chaffanbrass was the cock of this dunghill, andwell he knew how to make his crowing heard there. 

'And now, pray, let us lose no more time, ' said the judge. 

'My lord, if time has been lost through me, I am very sorry; butif your lordship's horse had fallen down in the street as minedid just now----'

'My horse never falls down in the street, Mr. Chaffanbrass. '

'Some beasts, my lord, can always keep their legs under them, andothers can't; and men are pretty much in the same condition. Ihope the former may be the case with your lordship and yourlordship's cob for many years. ' The judge, knowing of old thatnothing could prevent Mr. Chaffanbrass from having the last word, now held his peace, and the trial began. 

There are not now too many pages left to us for the completion ofour tale; but, nevertheless, we must say a few words about Mr. Chaffanbrass. He was one of an order of barristers by no meansyet extinct, but of whom it may be said that their peculiaritiesare somewhat less often seen than they were when Mr. Chaffanbrasswas in his prime. He confined his practice almost entirely to oneclass of work, the defence, namely, of culprits arraigned forheavy crimes, and in this he was, if not unrivalled, at leastunequalled. Rivals he had, who, thick as the skins of such menmay be presumed to be, not unfrequently writhed beneath thelashes which his tongue could inflict. To such a perfection hadhe carried his skill and power of fence, so certain was he inattack, so invulnerable when attacked, that few men cared to comewithin the reach of his forensic flail. To the old stagers whowere generally opposed to him, the gentlemen who conductedprosecutions on the part of the Crown, and customarily spenttheir time and skill in trying to hang those marauders on thepublic safety whom it was the special business of Mr. Chaffanbrassto preserve unhung, to these he was, if not civil, at least forbearing;but when any barrister, who was comparatively a stranger to him, ventured to oppose him, there was no measure to his impudentsarcasm and offensive sneers. 

Those, however, who most dreaded Mr. Chaffanbrass, and who hadmost occasion to do so, were the witnesses. A rival lawyer couldfind a protection on the bench when his powers of endurance weretried too far; but a witness in a court of law has no protection. He comes there unfeed, without hope of guerdon, to give suchassistance to the State in repressing crime and assisting justiceas his knowledge in this particular case may enable him toafford; and justice, in order to ascertain whether his testimonybe true, finds it necessary to subject him to torture. One wouldnaturally imagine that an undisturbed thread of clear evidencewould be best obtained from a man whose position was made easyand whose mind was not harassed; but this is not the fact: toturn a witness to good account, he must be badgered this way andthat till he is nearly mad; he must be made a laughingstock forthe court; his very truths must be turned into falsehoods, sothat he may be falsely shamed; he must be accused of all mannerof villany, threatened with all manner of punishment; he must bemade to feel that he has no friend near him, that the world isall against him; he must be confounded till he forget his righthand from his left, till his mind be turned into chaos, and hisheart into water; and then let him give his evidence. What willfall from his lips when in this wretched collapse must be ofspecial value, for the best talents of practised forensic heroesare daily used to bring it about; and no member of the HumaneSociety interferes to protect the wretch. Some sorts of tortureare, as it were, tacitly allowed even among humane people. Eelsare skinned alive, and witnesses are sacrificed, and no one'sblood curdles at the sight, no soft heart is sickened at thecruelty. 

To apply the thumbscrew, the boot, and the rack to the victimbefore him was the work of Mr. Chaffanbrass's life. And it may besaid of him that the labour he delighted in physicked pain. Hewas as little averse to this toil as the cat is to that ofcatching mice. And, indeed, he was not unlike a cat in his methodof proceeding; for he would, as it were, hold his prey for awhile between his paws, and pat him with gentle taps before hetore him. He would ask a few civil little questions in hissoftest voice, glaring out of his wicked old eye as he did so atthose around him, and then, when he had his mouse well in hand, out would come his envenomed claw, and the wretched animal wouldfeel the fatal wound in his tenderest part. 

Mankind in general take pleasure in cruelty, though those who arecivilized abstain from it on principle. On the whole Mr. Chaffanbrass is popular at the Old Bailey. Men congregate to hearhim turn a witness inside out, and chuckle with an inwardpleasure at the success of his cruelty. This Mr. Chaffanbrassknows, and, like an actor who is kept up to his high mark by thenecessity of maintaining his character, he never allows himselfto grow dull over his work. Therefore Mr. Chaffanbrass bullieswhen it is quite unnecessary that he should bully; it is a labourof love; and though he is now old, and stiff in his joints, though ease would be dear to him, though like a gladiatorsatiated with blood, he would as regards himself be so pleased tosheathe his sword, yet he never spares himself. He never spareshimself, and he never spares his victim. 

As a lawyer, in the broad and high sense of the word, it may bepresumed that Mr. Chaffanbrass knows little or nothing. He has, indeed, no occasion for such knowledge. His business is toperplex a witness and bamboozle a jury, and in doing that he isgenerally successful. He seldom cares for carrying the judge withhim: such tactics, indeed, as his are not likely to tell upon ajudge. That which he loves is, that a judge should charge againsthim, and a jury give a verdict in his favour. When he achievesthat he feels that he has earned his money. Let others, the younglads and spooneys of his profession, undertake the milk-and-waterwork of defending injured innocence; it is all but an insult tohis practised ingenuity to invite his assistance to suchtasteless business. Give him a case in which he has all the worldagainst him; Justice with her sword raised high to strike; Truthwith open mouth and speaking eyes to tell the bloody tale;outraged humanity shrieking for punishment; a case from whichMercy herself, with averted eyes, has loathing turned and badeher sterner sister do her work; give him such a case as this, andthen you will see Mr. Chaffanbrass in his glory. Let him, by theuse of his high art, rescue from the gallows and turn loose uponthe world the wretch whose hands are reeking with the blood offather, mother, wife, and brother, and you may see Mr. Chaffanbrass, elated with conscious worth, rub his happy hands with infinitecomplacency. Then will his ambition be satisfied, and he will feelthat in the verdict of the jury he has received the honour due tohis genius. He will have succeeded in turning black into white, in washing the blackamoor, in dressing in the fair robe of innocencethe foulest, filthiest wretch of his day; and as he returns to his home, he will be proudly conscious that he is no little man. 

In person, however, Mr. Chaffanbrass is a little man, and a verydirty little man. He has all manner of nasty tricks about him, which make him a disagreeable neighbour to barristers sittingnear to him. He is profuse with snuff, and very generous with hishandkerchief. He is always at work upon his teeth, which do notdo much credit to his industry. His wig is never at ease upon hishead, but is poked about by him, sometimes over one ear, sometimes over the other, now on the back of his head, and thenon his nose; and it is impossible to say in which guise he looksmost cruel, most sharp, and most intolerable. His linen is neverclean, his hands never washed, and his clothes apparently nevernew. He is about five feet six in height, and even with thatstoops greatly. His custom is to lean forward, resting with bothhands on the sort of desk before him, and then to fix his smallbrown basilisk eye on the victim in the box before him. In thisposition he will remain unmoved by the hour together, unless theelevation and fall of his thick eyebrows and the partial closingof his wicked eyes can be called motion. But his tongue! thatmoves; there is the weapon which he knows how to use!

Such is Mr. Chaffanbrass in public life; and those who only knowhim in public life can hardly believe that at home he is one ofthe most easy, good-tempered, amiable old gentlemen that ever waspooh-poohed by his grown-up daughters, and occasionally told tokeep himself quiet in a corner. Such, however, is his privatecharacter. Not that he is a fool in his own house; Mr. Chaffanbrasscan never be a fool; but he is so essentially good-natured, sodevoid of any feeling of domestic tyranny, so placid in hisdomesticities, that he chooses to be ruled by his own children. But in his own way he is fond of hospitality; he delights in a cosyglass of old port with an old friend in whose company he maybe allowed to sit in his old coat and old slippers. He delightsalso in his books, in his daughters' music, and in three or fourlive pet dogs, and birds, and squirrels, whom morning and nighthe feeds with his own hands. He is charitable, too, and subscribeslargely to hospitals founded for the relief of the suffering poor. 

Such was Mr. Chaffanbrass, who had been selected by the astuteMr. Gitemthruet to act as leading counsel on behalf of Alaric. Ifany human wisdom could effect the escape of a client in suchjeopardy, the wisdom of Mr. Chaffanbrass would be likely to doit; but, in truth, the evidence was so strong against him, thateven this Newgate hero almost feared the result. 

I will not try the patience of anyone by stating in detail allthe circumstances of the trial. In doing so I should only copy, or, at any rate, might copy, the proceedings at some of thosemodern _causes célèbres_ with which all those who love suchsubjects are familiar. And why should I force such matters onthose who do not love them? The usual opening speech was made bythe chief man on the prosecuting side, who, in the usual manner, declared 'that his only object was justice; that his heart bledwithin him to see a man of such acknowledged public utility asMr. Tudor in such a position; that he sincerely hoped that thejury might find it possible to acquit him, but that--' And thenwent into his 'but' with so much venom that it was clearlydiscernible to all, that in spite of his protestations, his heartwas set upon a conviction. 

When he had finished, the witnesses for the prosecution werecalled--the poor wretches whose fate it was to be impaled alivethat day by Mr. Chaffanbrass. They gave their evidence, and indue course were impaled. Mr. Chaffanbrass had never been greater. The day was hot, and he thrust his wig back till it stuck ratheron the top of his coat-collar than on his head; his foreheadseemed to come out like the head of a dog from his kennel, and hegrinned with his black teeth, and his savage eyes twinkled, tillthe witnesses sank almost out of sight as they gazed at him. 

And yet they had very little to prove, and nothing that he coulddisprove. They had to speak merely to certain banking transactions, to say that certain moneys had been so paid in and so drawn out, in stating which they had their office books to depend on. Butnot the less on this account were they made victims. To oneclerk it was suggested that he might now and then, once in threemonths or so, make an error in a figure; and, having acknowledgedthis, he was driven about until he admitted that it was very possiblethat every entry he made in the bank books in the course of theyear was false. 'And you, such as you, ' said Mr. Chaffanbrass, 'doyou dare to come forward to give evidence on commercial affairs?Go down, sir, and hide your ignominy. ' The wretch, convinced thathe was ruined for ever, slunk out of court, and was ashamed toshow himself at his place of business for the next three days. 

There were ten or twelve witnesses, all much of the same sort, who proved among them that this sum of twenty thousand pounds hadbeen placed at Alaric's disposal, and that now, alas! the twentythousand pounds were not forthcoming. It seemed to be a verysimple case; and, to Alaric's own understanding, it seemedimpossible that his counsel should do anything for him. But aseach impaled victim shrank with agonized terror from the torture, Mr. Gitemthruet would turn round to Alaric and assure him thatthey were going on well, quite as well as he had expected. Mr. Chaffanbrass was really exerting himself; and when Mr. Chaffanbrassdid really exert himself he rarely failed. 

And so the long day faded itself away in the hot swelteringcourt, and his lordship, at about seven o'clock, declared hisintention of adjourning. Of course a _cause célèbre_ such asthis was not going to decide itself in one day. Alaric's guiltwas clear as daylight to all concerned; but a man who had risento be a Civil Service Commissioner, and to be entrusted with theguardianship of twenty thousand pounds, was not to be treatedlike a butcher who had merely smothered his wife in an ordinaryway, or a housebreaker who had followed his professional careerto its natural end; more than that was due to the rank andstation of the man, and to the very respectable retaining feewith which Mr. Gitemthruet had found himself enabled to securethe venom of Mr. Chaffanbrass. So the jury retired to regalethemselves _en masse_ at a neighbouring coffee-house; Alaricwas again permitted to be at large on bail (the amiable policemanin mufti still attending him at a distance); and Mr. Chaffanbrassand his lordship retired to prepare themselves by rest for themorrow's labours. 

But what was Alaric to do? He soon found himself under theguardianship of the constant Gitemthruet in a neighbouringtavern, and his cousin Charley was with him. Charley had been incourt the whole day, except that he had twice posted down to theWest End in a cab to let Gertrude and Mrs. Woodward know howthings were going on. He had posted down and posted back again, and, crowded as the court had been, he had contrived to make hisway in, using that air of authority to which the strongest-mindedpoliceman will always bow; till at last the very policemenassisted him, as though he were in some way connected with thetrial. 

On his last visit at Gertrude's house he had told her that it wasvery improbable that the trial should be finished that day. Shehad then said nothing as to Alaric's return to his own house; ithad indeed not occurred to her that he would be at liberty to doso: Charley at once caught at this, and strongly recommended hiscousin to remain where he was. 'You will gain nothing by goinghome, ' said he; 'Gertrude does not expect you; Mrs. Woodward isthere; and it will be better for all parties that you shouldremain. ' Mr. Gitemthruet strongly backed his advice, and Alaric, so counselled, resolved to remain where he was. Charley promisedto stay with him, and the policeman in mufti, without making anypromise at all, silently acquiesced in the arrangement. Charleymade one more visit to the West, saw Norman at his lodgings, andMrs. Woodward and Gertrude in Albany Place, and then returned tomake a night of it with Alaric. We need hardly say that Charleymade a night of it in a very different manner from that to whichhe and his brother navvies were so well accustomed. 

CHAPTER XLI

THE OLD BAILEY

The next morning, at ten o'clock, the court was again crowded. The judge was again on his bench, prepared for patient endurance;and Lord Killtime and Sir Gregory Hardlines were alongside ofhim. The jury were again in their box, ready with pen and paperto give their brightest attention--a brightness which will be dimenough before the long day be over; the counsel for theprosecution were rummaging among their papers; the witnesses forthe defence were sitting there among the attorneys, with theexception of the Honourable Undecimus Scott, who was accommodatedwith a seat near the sheriff, and whose heart, to tell the truth, was sinking somewhat low within his breast, in spite of the glassof brandy with which he had fortified himself. Alaric was againpresent under the wings of Mr. Gitemthruet; and the great Mr. Chaffanbrass was in his place. He was leaning over a slip ofpaper which he held in his hand, and with compressed lips wasmeditating his attack upon his enemies; on this occasion his wigwas well over his eyes, and as he peered up from under it to thejudge's face, he cocked his nose with an air of superciliouscontempt for all those who were immediately around him. 

It was for him to begin the day's sport by making a speech, notso much in defence of his client as in accusation of theprosecutors. 'It had never, ' he said, 'been his fate, he mightsay his misfortune, to hear a case against a man in a respectableposition, opened by the Crown with such an amount of envenomedvirulence. ' He was then reminded that the prosecution was notcarried on by the Crown. 'Then, ' said he, 'we may attribute thisvirulence to private malice; that it is not to be attributed toany fear that this English bride should lose her fortune, or thather French husband should be deprived of any portion of hisspoil, I shall be able to prove to a certainty. Did I allowmyself that audacity of denunciation which my learned friend hasnot considered incompatible with the dignity of his new silkgown? Could I permit myself such latitude of invective as he hasadopted?'--a slight laugh was here heard in the court, and aninvoluntary smile played across the judge's face--'yes, 'continued Mr. Chaffanbrass, 'I boldly aver that I have neverforgotten myself, and what is due to humanity, as my learnedfriend did in his address to the jury. Gentlemen of the jury, youwill not confound the natural indignation which counsel must feelwhen defending innocence from the false attacks, with theuncalled-for, the unprofessional acerbity which has now been usedin promoting such an accusation as this. I may at times be angry, when I see mean falsehood before me in vain assuming the garb oftruth--for with such juries as I meet here it generally is invain--I may at times forget myself in anger; but, if we talk ofvenom, virulence, and eager hostility, I yield the palm, withouta contest, to my learned friend in the new silk gown. '

He then went on to dispose of the witnesses whom they had heardon the previous day, and expressed a regret that an _exposé_should have been made so disgraceful to the commercial establishmentsof this great commercial city. It only showed what was the effecton such establishments of that undue parsimony which was nowone of the crying evils of the times. Having thus shortly disposedof them, he came to what all men knew was the real interest ofthe day's doings. 'But, ' said he, 'the evidence in this case, towhich your attention will be chiefly directed, will be, not that forthe accusation, but that for the defence. It will be my businessto show to you, not only that my client is guiltless, but to whattemptations to be guilty he has been purposely and wickedlysubjected. I shall put into that bar an honourable member of theHouse of Commons, who will make some revelations as to his ownlife, who will give us an insight into the ways and means of a legislator, which will probably surprise us all, not excluding his lordship onthe bench. He will be able to explain to us--and I trust I may beable to induce him to do so, for it is possible that he may be a littlecoy--he will be able to explain to us why my client, who is in noway connected either with the Scotts, or the Golightlys, or theFiggs, or the Jaquêtanàpes, why he was made the lady's trustee;and he will also, perhaps, tell us, after some slight, gentle persuasion, whether he has himself handled, or attempted to handle, any ofthis lady's money. '

Mr. Chaffanbrass then went on to state that, as the forms of thecourt would not give him the power of addressing the jury again, he must now explain to them what he conceived to be the facts ofthe case. He then admitted that his client, in his anxiety to dothe best he could with the fortune entrusted to him, had investedit badly. The present fate of these unfortunate bridge shares, asto which the commercial world had lately held so many differentopinions, proved that: but it had nevertheless been a _bonafide_ investment, made in conjunction with, and by the adviceof, Mr. Scott, the lady's uncle, who thus, for his own purposes, got possession of money which was in truth confided to him forother purposes. His client, Mr. Chaffanbrass acknowledged, hadbehaved with great indiscretion; but the moment he found that theinvestment would be an injurious one to the lady whose welfarewas in his hands, he at once resolved to make good the wholeamount from his own pocket. That he had done so, or, at any rate, would have done so, but for this trial, would be proved to them. Nobler conduct than this it was impossible to imagine. Whereas, the lady's uncle, the honourable member of Parliament, thegentleman who had made a stalking-horse of his, Mr. Chaffanbrass's, client, refused to refund a penny of the spoil, and was now theinstigator of this most unjust proceeding. 

As Mr. Chaffanbrass thus finished his oration, Undy Scott triedto smile complacently on those around him. But why did the bigdrops of sweat stand on his brow as his eye involuntarily caughtthose of Mr. Chaffanbrass? Why did he shuffle his feet, anduneasily move his hands and feet hither and thither, as a mandoes when he tries in vain to be unconcerned? Why did he pull hisgloves on and off, and throw himself back with that affected airwhich is so unusual to him? All the court was looking at him, andevery one knew that he was wretched. Wretched! aye, indeed hewas; for the assurance even of an Undy Scott, the hardened man ofthe clubs, the thrice elected and twice rejected of Tillietudlem, fell prostrate before the well-known hot pincers of Chaffanbrass, the torturer!

The first witness called was Henry Norman. Alaric looked up for amoment with surprise, and then averted his eyes. Mr. Gitemthruethad concealed from him the fact that Norman was to be called. Hemerely proved this, that having heard from Mrs. Woodward, who wasthe prisoner's mother-in-law, and would soon be his own mother-in-law, that a deficiency had been alleged to exist in thefortune of Madame Jaquêtanàpe, he had, on the part of Mrs. Woodward, produced what he believed would cover this deficiency, and that when he had been informed that more money was wanting, he had offered to give security that the whole should be paid insix months. Of course, on him Mr. Chaffanbrass exercised none ofhis terrible skill, and as the lawyers on the other side declinedto cross-examine him, he was soon able to leave the court. Thishe did speedily, for he had no desire to witness Alaric's misery. 

And then the Honourable Undecimus Scott was put into the witness-box. It was suggested, on his behalf, that he might give hisevidence from the seat which he then occupied, but this Mr. Chaffanbrass would by no means allow. His intercourse with Mr. Scott, he said, must be of a nearer, closer, and more confidentialnature than such an arrangement as that would admit. A witness, to his way of thinking, was never an efficient witness till he hadhis arm on the rail of a witness-box. He must trouble Mr. Scott todescend from the grandeur of his present position; he might returnto his seat after he had been examined--if he then should havea mind to do so. Our friend Undy found that he had to obey, andhe was soon confronted with Mr. Chaffanbrass in the humblermanner which that gentleman thought so desirable. 

'You are a member of the House of Commons, I believe, Mr. Scott?'began Mr. Chaffanbrass. 

Undy acknowledged that he was so. 

'And you are the son of a peer, I believe?'

'A Scotch peer, ' said Undy. 

'Oh, a Scotch peer, ' said Mr. Chaffanbrass, bringing his wigforward over his left eye in a manner that was almost irresistible--'a Scotch peer--a member of Parliament, and son of a Scotchpeer; and you have been a member of the Government, I believe, Mr. Scott?'

Undy confessed that he had been in office for a short time. 

'A member of Parliament, a son of a peer, and one of theGovernment of this great and free country. You ought to be aproud and a happy man. You are a man of fortune, too, I believe, Mr. Scott?'

'That is a matter of opinion, ' said Undy; 'different people havedifferent ideas. I don't know what you call fortune. '

'Why I call £20, 000 a fortune--this sum that the lady had whomarried the Frenchman. Have you £20, 000?'

'I shall not answer that question. '

'Have you £10, 000? You surely must have as much as that, as Iknow you married a fortune yourself, --unless, indeed, a false-hearted trustee has got hold of your money also. Come, have yougot £10, 000?'

'I shall not answer you. '

'Have you got any income at all? Now, I demand an answer to thaton your oath, sir. '

'My lord, must I answer such questions?' said Undy. 

'Yes, sir; you must answer them, and many more like them, ' saidMr. Chaffanbrass. 'My lord, it is essential to my client that Ishould prove to the jury whether this witness is or is not apenniless adventurer; if he be a respectable member of society, he can have no objection to let me know whether he has the meansof living. '

'Perhaps, Mr. Scott, ' said the judge, 'you will not object tostate whether or no you possess any fixed income. '

'Have you, or have you not, got an income on which you live?'demanded Mr. Chaffanbrass. 

'I have an income, ' said Undy, not, however, in a voice thatbetokened much self-confidence in the strength of his own answer. 

'You have an income, have you? And now, Mr. Scott, will you tellus what profession you follow at this moment with the object ofincreasing your income? I think we may surmise, by the tone ofyour voice, that your income is not very abundant. '

'I have no profession, ' said Undy. 

'On your oath, you are in no profession?'

'Not at present. '

'On your oath, you are not a stock-jobber?'

Undy hesitated for a moment. 

'By the virtue of your oath, sir, are you a stock-jobber, or areyou not?'

'No, I am not. At least, I believe not. '

'You believe not!' said Mr. Chaffanbrass--and it would benecessary to hear the tone in which this was said to understandthe derision which was implied. 'You believe you are not a stock-jobber! Are you, or are you not, constantly buying shares andselling shares--railway shares--bridge shares--mining shares--andsuch-like?'

'I sometimes buy shares. '

'And sometimes sell them?'

'Yes--and sometimes sell them. '

Where Mr. Chaffanbrass had got his exact information, we cannotsay; but very exact information he had acquired respecting Undy'slittle transactions. He questioned him about the Mary Janes andOld Friendships, about the West Corks and the Ballydehob Branch, about sundry other railways and canals, and finally about theLimehouse bridge; and then again he asked his former question. 'And now, ' said he, 'will you tell the jury whether you are astock-jobber or no?'

'It is all a matter of opinion, ' said Undy. 'Perhaps I may be, inyour sense of the word. '

'My sense of the word!' said Mr. Chaffanbrass. 'You are as much astock-jobber, sir, as that man is a policeman, or his lordship isa judge. And now, Mr. Scott, I am sorry that I must go back toyour private affairs, respecting which you are so unwilling tospeak. I fear I must trouble you to tell me this--How did youraise the money with which you bought that latter batch--thelarge lump of the bridge shares--of which we were speaking?'

'I borrowed it from Mr. Tudor, ' said Undy, who had preparedhimself to answer this question glibly. 

'You borrowed it from Mr. Alaric Tudor--that is, from thegentleman now upon his trial. You borrowed it, I believe, just atthe time that he became the lady's trustee?'

'Yes, ' said Undy; 'I did so. '

'You have not repaid him as yet?'

'No--not yet, ' said Undy. 

'I thought not. Can you at all say when Mr. Tudor may probablyget his money?'

'I am not at present prepared to name a day. When the money waslent it was not intended that it should be repaid at an earlyday. '

'Oh! Mr. Tudor did not want his money at an early day--didn't he?But, nevertheless, he has, I believe, asked for it since, andthat very pressingly?'

'He has never asked for it, ' said Undy. 

'Allow me to remind you, Mr. Scott, that I have the power ofputting my client into that witness-box, although he is on histrial; and, having so reminded you, let me again beg you to saywhether he has not asked you for repayment of this large sum ofmoney very pressingly. '

'No; he has never done so. '

'By the value of your oath, sir--if it has any value--did not myclient beseech you to allow these shares to be sold while theywere yet saleable, in order that your niece's trust money mightbe replaced in the English funds?'

'He said something as to the expediency of selling them, and Idiffered from him. '

'You thought it would be better for the lady's interest that theyshould remain unsold?'

'I made no question of the lady's interest. I was not hertrustee. '

'But the shares were bought with the lady's money. '

'What shares?' asked Undy. 

'What shares, sir? Those shares which you had professed to holdon the lady's behalf, and which afterwards you did not scruple tocall your own. Those shares of yours--since you have thedeliberate dishonesty so to call them--those shares of yours, were they not bought with the lady's money?'

'They were bought with the money which I borrowed from Mr. Tudor. '

'And where did Mr. Tudor get that money?'

'That is a question you must ask himself, ' said Undy. 

'It is a question, sir, that just at present I prefer to ask you. Now, sir, be good enough to tell the jury, whence Mr. Tudor gotthat money; or tell them, if you dare do so, that you do notknow. '

Undy for a minute remained silent, and Mr. Chaffanbrass remainedsilent also. But if the fury of his tongue for a moment was atrest, that of his eyes was as active as ever. He kept his gazesteadily fixed upon the witness, and stood there with compressedlips, still resting on his two hands, as though he were quitesatisfied thus to watch the prey that was in his power. For aninstant he glanced up to the jury, and then allowed his eyes toresettle on the face of the witness, as though he might havesaid, 'There, gentlemen, there he is--the son of a peer, a memberof Parliament; what do you think of him?'

The silence of that minute was horrible to Undy, and yet he couldhardly bring himself to break it. The judge looked at him witheyes which seemed to read his inmost soul; the jury looked athim, condemning him one and all; Alaric looked at him withfierce, glaring eyes of hatred, the same eyes that had glared athim that night when he had been collared in the street; the wholecrowd looked at him derisively; but the eyes of them all were asnothing to the eyes of Mr. Chaffanbrass. 

'I never saw him so great; I never did, ' said Mr. Gitemthruet, whispering to his client; and Alaric, even he, felt someconsolation in the terrible discomfiture of his enemy. 

'I don't know where he got it, ' said Undy, at last breaking theterrible silence, and wiping the perspiration from his brow. 

'Oh, you don't!' said Mr. Chaffanbrass, knocking his wig back, and coming well out of his kennel. 'After waiting for a quarterof an hour or so, you are able to tell the jury at last that youdon't know anything about it. He took the small trifle of changeout of his pocket, I suppose?'

'I don't know where he took it from. '

'And you didn't ask?'

'No. '

'You got the money; that was all you know. But this was just atthe time that Mr. Tudor became the lady's trustee; I think youhave admitted that. '

'It may have been about the time. '

'Yes; it may have been about the time, as you justly observe, Mr. Scott. Luckily, you know, we have the dates of the two transactions. But it never occurred to your innocent mind that the money whichyou got into your hands was a part of the lady's fortune; thatnever occurred to your innocent mind--eh, Mr. Scott?'

'I don't know that my mind is a more innocent mind than yourown, ' said Undy. 

'I dare say not. Well, did the idea ever occur to your guiltymind?'

'Perhaps my mind is not more guilty than your own, either. '

'Then may God help me, ' said Mr. Chaffanbrass, 'for I must be ata bad pass. You told us just now, Mr. Scott, that some time sinceMr. Tudor advised you to sell these shares--what made him giveyou this advice?'

'He meant, he said, to sell his own. '

'And he pressed you to sell yours?'

'Yes. '

'He urged you to do so more than once?'

'Yes; I believe he did. '

'And now, Mr. Scott, can you explain to the jury why he was sosolicitous that you should dispose of your property?'

'I do not know why he should have done so, unless he wanted backhis money. '

'Then he did ask for his own money?'

'No; he never asked for it. But if I had sold the shares perhapshe might have asked for it. '

'Oh!' said Mr. Chaffanbrass; and as he uttered the monosyllablehe looked up at the jury, and gently shook his head, and gentlyshook his hands. Mr. Chaffanbrass was famous for these littlesilent addresses to the jury-box. 

But not even yet had he done with this suspicious loan. We cannotfollow him through the whole of his examination; for he kept ourold friend under the harrow for no less than seven hours. Thoughhe himself made no further statement to the jury, he made itperfectly plain, by Undy's own extracted admissions, or by thehesitation of his denials, that he had knowingly received thismoney out of his niece's fortune, and that he had refused to sellthe shares bought with this money, when pressed to do so byTudor, in order that the trust-money might be again made up. 

There were those who blamed Mr. Chaffanbrass for thus admittingthat his client had made away with his ward's money by lending itto Undy; but that acute gentleman saw clearly that he could notcontend against the fact of the property having been fraudulentlyused; but he saw that he might induce the jury to attach so muchguilt to Undy, that Tudor would, as it were, be whitened by theblackness of the other's villany. The judge, he well knew, wouldblow aside all this froth; but then the judge could not find theverdict. 

Towards the end of the day, when Undy was thoroughly worn out--atwhich time, however, Mr. Chaffanbrass was as brisk as ever, fornothing ever wore him out when he was pursuing his game--when theinterest of those who had been sweltering in the hot court allthe day was observed to flag, Mr. Chaffanbrass began twistinground his finger a bit of paper, of which those who were bestacquainted with his manner knew that he would soon make use. 

'Mr. Scott, ' said he, suddenly dropping the derisive sarcasm ofhis former tone, and addressing him with all imaginable courtesy, 'could you oblige me by telling me whose handwriting that is?'and he handed to him the scrap of paper. Undy took it, and sawthat the writing was his own; his eyes were somewhat dim, and hecan hardly be said to have read it. It was a very shortmemorandum, and it ran as follows: 'All will yet be well, ifthose shares be ready to-morrow morning. '

'Well, Mr. Scott, ' said the lawyer, 'do you recognize thehandwriting?'

Undy looked at it, and endeavoured to examine it closely, but hecould not; his eyes swam, and his head was giddy, and he feltsick. Could he have satisfied himself that the writing was notclearly and manifestly his own, he would have denied the documentaltogether; but he feared to do this; the handwriting might beproved to be his own. 

'It is something like my own, ' said he. 

'Something like your own, is it?' said Mr. Chaffanbrass, asthough he were much surprised. 'Like your own! Well, will youhave the goodness to read it?'

Undy turned it in his hand as though the proposed task weresingularly disagreeable to him. Why, thought he to himself, should he be thus browbeaten by a dirty old Newgate lawyer? Whynot pluck up his courage, and, at any rate, show that he was aman? 'No, ' said he, 'I will not read it. '

'Then I will. Gentlemen of the jury, have the goodness to listento me. ' Of course there was a contest then between him and thelawyers on the other side whether the document might or might notbe read; but equally of course the contest ended in the judge'sdecision that it should be read. And Mr. Chaffanbrass did read itin a voice audible to all men. 'All will yet be well, if thoseshares be ready to-morrow morning. ' We may take it as admitted, Isuppose, that this is in your handwriting, Mr. Scott?'

'It probably may be, though I will not say that it is. '

'Do you not know, sir, with positive certainty that it is yourwriting?'

To this Undy made no direct answer. 'What is your opinion, Mr. Scott?' said the judge; 'you can probably give an opinion bywhich the jury would be much guided. '

'I think it is, my lord, ' said Undy. 

'He thinks it is, said Mr. Chaffanbrass, addressing the jury. 'Well, for once I agree with you. I think it is also--and howwill you have the goodness to explain it. To whom was itaddressed?'

'I cannot say. '

'When was it written?'

'I do not know. '

'What does it mean?'

'I cannot remember. '

'Was it addressed to Mr. Tudor?'

'I should think not. '

'Now, Mr. Scott, have the goodness to look at the jury, and tospeak a little louder. You are in the habit of addressing alarger audience than this, and cannot, therefore, be shamefaced. You mean to tell the jury that you think that that note was notintended by you for Mr. Tudor?'

'I think not, ' said Undy. 

'But you can't say who it was intended for?'

'No. '

'And by the virtue of your oath, you have told us all that youknow about it?' Undy remained silent, but Mr. Chaffanbrass didnot press him for an answer. 'You have a brother, namedValentine, I think. ' Now Captain Val had been summoned also, andwas at this moment in court. Mr. Chaffanbrass requested that hemight be desired to leave it, and, consequently, he was orderedout in charge of a policeman. 

'And now, Mr. Scott--was that note written by you to Mr. Tudor, with reference to certain shares, which you proposed that Mr. Tudor should place in your brother's hands? Now, sir, I ask you, as a member of Parliament, as a member of the Government, as theson of a peer, to give a true answer to that question. ' And thenagain Undy was silent; and again Mr. Chaffanbrass leant on thedesk and glared at him. 'And remember, sir, member of Parliamentand nobleman as you are, you shall be indicted for perjury, ifyou are guilty of perjury. '

'My lord, ' said Undy, writhing in torment, 'am I to submit tothis?'

'Mr. Chaffanbrass, ' said the judge, 'you should not threaten yourwitness. Mr. Scott--surely you can answer the question. '

Mr. Chaffanbrass seemed not to have even heard what the judgesaid, so intently were his eyes fixed on poor Undy. 'Well, Mr. Scott, ' he said at last, very softly, 'is it convenient for youto answer me? Did that note refer to a certain number of bridgeshares, which you required Mr. Tudor to hand over to thestepfather of this lady?'

Undy had no trust in his brother. He felt all but sure that, under the fire of Mr. Chaffanbrass, he would confess everything. It would be terrible to own the truth, but it would be moreterrible to be indicted for perjury. So he sat silent. 

'My lord, perhaps you will ask him, ' said Mr. Chaffanbrass. 

'Mr. Scott, you understand the question--why do you not answerit?' asked the judge. But Undy still remained silent. 

'You may go now, ' said Mr. Chaffanbrass. 'Your eloquence is ofthe silent sort; but, nevertheless, it is very impressive. Youmay go now, and sit on that bench again, if, after what haspassed, the sheriff thinks proper to permit it. '

Undy, however, did not try that officer's complaisance. Heretired from the witness-box, and was not again seen during thetrial in any conspicuous place in the court. 

It was then past seven o'clock; but Mr. Chaffanbrass insisted ongoing on with the examination of Captain Val. It did not lastlong. Captain Val, also, was in that disagreeable position, thathe did not know what Undy had confessed, and what denied. So he, also, refused to answer the questions of Mr. Chaffanbrass, sayingthat he might possibly damage himself should he do so. This wasenough for Mr. Chaffanbrass, and then his work was done. 

At eight o'clock the court again adjourned; again Charley postedoff--for the third time that day--to let Gertrude know that, evenas yet, all was not over; and again he and Alaric spent amelancholy evening at the neighbouring tavern; and then, again, on the third morning, all were re-assembled at the Old Bailey. 

Or rather they were not all re-assembled. But few came now, andthey were those who were obliged to come. The crack piece of thetrial, that portion to which, among the connoisseurs, theinterest was attached, that was all over. Mr. Chaffanbrass haddone his work. Undy Scott, the member of Parliament, had beengibbeted, and the rest was, in comparison, stale, flat, andunprofitable. The judge and jury, however, were there, so werethe prosecuting counsel, so were Mr. Chaffanbrass and Mr. Younglad, and so was poor Alaric. The work of the day wascommenced by the judge's charge, and then Alaric, to his infinitedismay, found how all the sophistry and laboured arguments of hisvery talented advocate were blown to the winds, and shown to beworthless. 'Gentlemen, ' said the judge to the jurors, after hehad gone through all the evidence, and told them what wasadmissible, and what was not--'gentlemen, I must especiallyremind you, that in coming to a verdict in the matter, no amountof guilt on the part of any other person can render guiltless himwhom you are now trying, or palliate his guilt if he be guilty. An endeavour has been made to affix a deep stigma on one of thewitnesses who has been examined before you; and to induce you tofeel, rather than to think, that Mr. Tudor is, at any rate, comparatively innocent--innocent as compared with that gentleman. That is not the issue which you are called on to decide; notwhether Mr. Scott, for purposes of his own, led Mr. Tudor on toguilt, and then turned against him; but whether Mr. Tudor himselfhas, or has not, been guilty under this Act of Parliament thathas been explained to you. 

'As regards the evidence of Mr. Scott, I am justified in tellingyou, that if the prisoner's guilt depended in any way on thatevidence, it would be your duty to receive it with the mostextreme caution, and to reject it altogether if not corroborated. That evidence was not trustworthy, and in a great measurejustified the treatment which the witness encountered from thelearned barrister who examined him. But Mr. Scott was a witnessfor the defence, not for the prosecution. The case for theprosecution in no way hangs on his evidence. 

'If it be your opinion that Mr. Tudor is guilty, and that he wasunwarily enticed into guilt by Mr. Scott; that the wholearrangement of this trust was brought about by Mr. Scott orothers, to enable him or them to make a cat's-paw of this newtrustee, and thus use the lady's money for their own purposes, such an opinion on your part may justify you in recommending theprisoner to the merciful consideration of the bench; but itcannot justify you in finding a verdict of not guilty. '

As Alaric heard this, and much more to the same effect, hishopes, which certainly had been high during the examination ofUndy Scott, again sank to zero, and left him in despair. He hadalmost begun to doubt the fact of his own guilt, so wondrouslyhad his conduct been glossed over by Mr. Chaffanbrass, sostrikingly had any good attempt on his part been brought to thelight, so black had Scott been made to appear. Ideas floatedacross his brain that he might go forth, not only free of thelaw, but whitewashed also in men's opinions, that he might againsit on his throne at the Civil Service Board, again cry tohimself 'Excelsior, ' and indulge the old dreams of his ambition. 

But, alas! the deliberate and well-poised wisdom of the judgeseemed to shower down cold truth upon the jury from his veryeyes. His words were low in their tone, though very clear, impassive, delivered without gesticulation or artifice, such asthat so powerfully used by Mr. Chaffanbrass; but Alaric himselffelt that it was impossible to doubt the truth of such a man;impossible to suppose that any juryman should do so. Ah me! whyhad he brought himself thus to quail beneath the gaze of an oldman seated on a bench? with what object had he forced himself tobend his once proud neck? He had been before in courts such asthis, and had mocked within his own spirit the paraphernalia ofthe horsehair wigs, the judges' faded finery, and the red cloth;he had laughed at the musty, stale solemnity by which miscreantswere awed, and policemen enchanted; now, these things told onhimself heavily enough; he felt now their weight and import. 

And then the jury retired from the court to consider theirverdict, and Mr. Gitemthruet predicted that they would be hungryenough before they sat down to their next meal. 'His lordship wasdead against us, ' said Mr. Gitemthruet; 'but that was a matter ofcourse; we must look to the jury, and the city juries are veryfond of Mr. Chaffanbrass; I am not quite sure, however, that Mr. Chaffanbrass was right: I would not have admitted so much myself;but then no one knows a city jury so well as Mr. Chaffanbrass. '

Other causes came on, and still the jury did not return to court. Mr. Chaffanbrass seemed to have forgotten the very existence ofAlaric Tudor, and was deeply engaged in vindicating a citybutcher from an imputation of having vended a dead ass by way ofveal. All his indignation was now forgotten, and he was full ofboisterous fun, filling the court with peals of laughter. Oneo'clock came, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and still noverdict. At the latter hour, when the court was about to beadjourned, the foreman came in, and assured the judge that therewas no probability that they could agree; eleven of them thoughtone way, while the twelfth was opposed to them. 'You must reasonwith the gentleman, ' said the judge. 'I have, my lord, ' said theforeman, 'but it's all thrown away upon him. ' 'Reason with himagain, ' said the judge, rising from his bench and preparing to goto his dinner. 

And then one of the great fundamental supports of the Britishconstitution was brought into play. Reason was thrown away uponthis tough juryman, and, therefore, it was necessary to ascertainwhat effect starvation might have upon him. A verdict, that is, aunanimous decision from these twelve men as to Alaric's guilt, was necessary; it might be that three would think him innocent, and nine guilty, or that any other division of opinion might takeplace; but such divisions among a jury are opposed to the spiritof the British constitution. Twelve men must think alike; or, ifthey will not, they must be made to do so. 'Reason with himagain, ' said the judge, as he went to his own dinner. Had thejudge bade them remind him how hungry he would soon be if heremained obstinate, his lordship would probably have expressedthe thought which was passing through his mind. 'There is one ofus, my lord, ' said the foreman, 'who will I know be very illbefore long; he is already so bad that he can't sit upright. '

There are many ludicrous points in our blessed constitution, butperhaps nothing so ludicrous as a juryman praying to a judge formercy. He has been caught, shut up in a box, perhaps, for five orsix days together, badgered with half a dozen lawyers till he isnearly deaf with their continual talking, and then he is lockedup until he shall die or find a verdict. Such at least is theintention of the constitution. The death, however, of three orfour jurymen from starvation would not suit the humanity of thepresent age, and therefore, when extremities are nigh at hand, the dying jurymen, with medical certificates, are allowed to becarried off. It is devoutly to be wished that one juryman mightbe starved to death while thus serving the constitution; theabsurdity then would cure itself, and a verdict of a majoritywould be taken. 

But in Alaric's case, reason or hunger did prevail at the lastmoment, and as the judge was leaving the court, he was calledback to receive the verdict. Alaric, also, was brought back, still under Mr. Gitemthruet's wing, and with him came Charley. Afew officers of the court were there, a jailer and a policeman ortwo, those whose attendance was absolutely necessary, but withthese exceptions the place was empty. Not long since men werecrowding for seats, and the policemen were hardly able torestrain the pressure of those who pushed forward; but now therewas no pushing; the dingy, dirty benches, a few inches of whichhad lately been so desirable, were not at all in request, andwere anything but inviting in appearance; Alaric sat himself downon the very spot which had lately been sacred to Mr. Chaffanbrass, and Mr. Gitemthruet, seated above him, might also fancy himselfa barrister. There they sat for five minutes in perfect silence; thesuspense of the moment cowed even the attorney, and Charley, who sat on the other side of Alaric, was so affected that he couldhardly have spoken had he wished to do so. 

And then the judge, who had been obliged to re-array himselfbefore he returned to the bench, again took his seat, and anofficer of the court inquired of the foreman of the jury, in hisusual official language, what their finding was. 

'Guilty on the third count, ' said the foreman. 'Not guilty on thefour others. We beg, however, most strongly to recommend theprisoner to your lordship's merciful consideration, believingthat he has been led into this crime by one who has been muchmore guilty than himself. '

'I knew Mr. Chaffanbrass was wrong, ' said Mr. Gitemthruet. 'Iknew he was wrong when he acknowledged so much. God bless mysoul! in a court of law one should never acknowledge anything!what's the use?'

And then came the sentence. He was to be confined at thePenitentiary at Millbank for six months. 'The offence, ' said thejudge, 'of which you have been found guilty, and of which youmost certainly have been guilty, is one most prejudicial to theinterests of the community. That trust which the weaker ofmankind should place in the stronger, that reliance which widowsand orphans should feel in their nearest and dearest friends, would be destroyed, if such crimes as these were allowed to passunpunished. But in your case there are circumstances which dodoubtless palliate the crime of which you have been guilty; themoney which you took will, I believe, be restored; the trustwhich you were courted to undertake should not have been imposedon you; and in the tale of villany which has been laid beforeus, you have by no means been the worst offender. I have, therefore, inflicted on you the slightest penalty which the lawallows me. Mr. Tudor, I know what has been your career, how greatyour services to your country, how unexceptionable your conductas a public servant; I trust, I do trust, I most earnestly, mosthopefully trust, that your career of utility is not over. Yourabilities are great, and you are blessed with the power ofthinking; I do beseech you to consider, while you undergo thatconfinement which you needs must suffer, how little any wealth isworth an uneasy conscience. '

And so the trial was over. Alaric was taken off in custody; thepoliceman in mufti was released from his attendance; and Charley, with a heavy heart, carried the news to Gertrude and Mrs. Woodward. 

'And as for me, ' said Gertrude, when she had so far recoveredfrom the first shock as to be able to talk to her mother--'as forme, I will have lodgings at Millbank. '

CHAPTER XLII

A PARTING INTERVIEW

Mrs. Woodward remained with her eldest daughter for two daysafter the trial, and then she was forced to return to Hampton. She had earnestly entreated Gertrude to accompany her, with herchild; but Mrs. Tudor was inflexible. She had, she said, verymuch to do; so much, that she could not possibly leave London;the house and furniture were on her hands, and must be disposedof; their future plans must be arranged; and then nothing, shesaid, should induce her to sleep out of sight of her husband'sprison, or to omit any opportunity of seeing him which the prisonrules would allow her. 

Mrs. Woodward would not have left one child in such extremity, had not the state of another child made her presence at theCottage indispensable. Katie's anxiety about the trial had ofcourse been intense, so intense as to give her a false strength, and somewhat to deceive Linda as to her real state. Tidings ofcourse passed daily between London and the Cottage, but for threedays they told nothing. On the morning of the fourth day, however, Norman brought the heavy news, and Katie sank completelyunder it. When she first heard the result of the trial sheswooned away, and remained for some time nearly unconscious. Butreturning consciousness brought with it no relief, and she laysobbing on her pillow, till she became so weak, that Linda in herfright wrote up to her mother begging her to return at once. Then, wretched as it made her to leave Gertrude in her trouble, Mrs. Woodward did return. 

For a fortnight after this there was an unhappy household atSurbiton Cottage. Linda's marriage was put off till the period ofAlaric's sentence should be over, and till something should besettled as to his and Gertrude's future career. It was nowAugust, and they spoke of the event as one which perhaps mightoccur in the course of the following spring. At this time, also, they were deprived for a while of the comfort of Norman's visitsby his enforced absence at Normansgrove. Harry's eldest brotherwas again ill, and at last the news of his death was received atHampton. Under other circumstances such tidings as those might, to a certain extent, have brought their own consolation withthem. Harry would now be Mr. Norman of Normansgrove, and Lindawould become Mrs. Norman of Normansgrove; Harry's mother had longbeen dead, and his father was an infirm old man, who would be tooglad to give up to his son the full management of the estate, nowthat the eldest son was a man to whom that estate could betrusted. All those circumstances had, of course, been talked overbetween Harry and Linda, and it was understood that Harry was nowto resign his situation at the Weights and Measures. But Alaric'scondition, Gertrude's misery, and Katie's illness, threw all suchmatters into the background. Katie became no better; but then thedoctors said that she did not become any worse, and gave it astheir opinion that she ought to recover. She had youth, theysaid, on her side; and then her lungs were not affected. This wasthe great question which they were all asking of each othercontinually. The poor girl lived beneath a stethoscope, and boreall their pokings and tappings with exquisite patience. Sheherself believed that she was dying, and so she repeatedly toldher mother. Mrs. Woodward could only say that all was in God'shands, but that the physicians still encouraged them to hope thebest. 

One day Mrs. Woodward was sitting with a book in her usual placeat the side of Katie's bed; she looked every now and again at herpatient, and thought that she was slumbering; and at last sherose from her chair to creep away, so sure was she that she mightbe spared for a moment. But just as she was silently rising, athin, slight, pale hand crept out from beneath the clothes, andlaid itself on her arm. 

'I thought you were asleep, love, ' said she. 

'No, mamma, I was not asleep. I was thinking of something. Don'tgo away, mamma, just now. I want to ask you something. '

Mrs. Woodward again sat down, and taking her daughter's hand inher own, caressed it. 

'I want to ask a favour of you, mamma, ' said Katie. 

'A favour, my darling! what is it? you know I will do anything inmy power that you ask me. '

'Ah, mamma, I do not know whether you will do this. '

'What is it, Katie? I will do anything that is for your good. Iam sure you know that, Katie. '

'Mamma, I know I am going to die. Oh, mamma, don't say anythingnow, don't cry now--dear, dear mamma; I don't say it to make youunhappy; but you know when I am so ill I ought to think about it, ought I not, mamma?'

'But, Katie, the doctor says that he thinks you are not sodangerously ill; you should not, therefore, despond; it willincrease your illness, and hinder your chance of getting well. That would be wrong, wouldn't it, love?'

'Mamma, I feel that I shall never again be well, and therefore--'It was useless telling Mrs. Woodward not to cry; what else couldshe do? 'Dear mamma, I am so sorry to make you unhappy, but youare my own mamma, and therefore I must tell you. I can be happystill, mamma, if you will let me talk to you about it. '

'You shall talk, dearest; I will hear what you say; but oh, Katie, I cannot bear to hear you talk of dying. I do not thinkyou are dying. If I did think so, my child, my trust in yourgoodness is so strong that I should tell you. '

'You know, mamma, it might have been much worse; suppose I hadbeen drowned, when he, when Charley, you know, saved me;' and asshe mentioned his name a tear for the first time ran down eachcheek; 'how much worse that would have been! think, mamma, whatit would be to be drowned without a moment for one's prayers. '

'It is quite right we should prepare ourselves for death. Whetherwe live, or whether we die, we shall be better for doing that. '

Katie still held her mother's hand in hers, and lay back againstthe pillows which had been placed behind her back. 'And now, mamma, ' she said at last, 'I am going to ask you this favour--Iwant to see Charley once more. '

Mrs. Woodward was so much astonished at the request that at firstshe knew not what answer to make. 'To see Charley!' she said atlast. 

'Yes, mamma; I want to see Charley once more; there need be nosecrets between us now, mamma. '

'There have never been any secrets between us, ' said Mrs. Woodward, embracing her. 'You have never had any secrets fromme?'

'Not intentionally, mamma; I have never meant to keep anythingsecret from you. And I know you have known what I felt aboutCharley. '

'I know that you have behaved like an angel, my child; I knowyour want of selfishness, your devotion to others, has been suchas to shame me; I know your conduct has been perfect: oh, myKatie, I have understood it, and I have so loved you, so admiredyou. '

Katie smiled through her tears as she returned her mother'sembrace. 'Well, mamma, ' she said, 'at any rate you know that Ilove him. Oh, mamma, I do love him so dearly. It is not now likeGertrude's love, or Linda's. I know that I can never be his wife. I did know before, that for many reasons I ought not to wish tobe so; but now I know I never, never can be. '

Mrs. Woodward was past the power of speaking, and so Katie wenton. 

'But I do not love him the less for that reason; I think I lovehim the more. I never, never, could have loved anyone else, mamma; never, never; and that is one reason why I do not so muchmind being ill now. '

Mrs. Woodward bowed forward, and hid her face in the counterpane, but she still kept hold of her daughter's hand. 

'And, mamma, ' she continued, 'as I do love him so dearly, I feelthat I should try to do something for him. I ought to do so; and, mamma, I could not be happy without seeing him. He is not justlike a brother or a brother-in-law, such as Harry and Alaric; weare not bound to each other as relations are; but yet I feel thatsomething does bind me to him. I know he doesn't love me as Ilove him; but yet I think he loves me dearly; and if I speak tohim now, mamma, now that I am--that I am so ill, perhaps he willmind me. Mamma, it will be as though one came unto him from thedead. '

Mrs. Woodward did not know how to refuse any request that Katiemight now make to her, and felt herself altogether unequal to thetask of refusing this request. For many reasons she would havedone so, had she been able; in the first place she did not thinkthat all chance of Katie's recovery was gone; and then at thepresent moment she felt no inclination to draw closer to her anyof the Tudor family. She could not but feel that Alaric had beenthe means of disgracing and degrading one child; and truly, deeply, warmly, as she sympathized with the other, she could notbring herself to feel the same sympathy for the object of herlove. It was a sore day for her and hers, that on which theTudors had first entered her house. 

Nevertheless she assented to Katie's proposal, and undertook thetask of asking Charley down to Hampton. 

Since Alaric's conviction Charley led a busy life; and as men whohave really something to do have seldom time to get into muchmischief, he had been peculiarly moral and respectable. It is notsurprising that at such a moment Gertrude found that Alaric'snewer friends fell off from him. Of course they did; nor is it asign of ingratitude or heartlessness in the world that at such aperiod of great distress new friends should fall off. Newfriends, like one's best coat and polished patent-leather dressboots, are only intended for holiday wear. At other times theyare neither serviceable nor comfortable; they do not answer therequired purposes, and are ill adapted to give us the ease weseek. A new coat, however, has this advantage, that it will intime become old and comfortable; so much can by no means bepredicted with certainty of a new friend. Woe to those men who gothrough the world with none but new coats on their backs, with noboots but those of polished leather, with none but new friends tocomfort them in adversity. 

But not the less, when misfortune does come, are we inclined togrumble at finding ourselves deserted. Gertrude, though shecertainly wished to see no Mrs. Val and no Miss Neverbends, didfeel lonely enough when her mother left her, and wretched enough. But she was not altogether deserted. At this time Charley wastrue to her, and did for her all those thousand nameless thingswhich a woman cannot do for herself. He came to her everydayafter leaving his office, and on one excuse or another remainedwith her till late every evening. 

He was not a little surprised one morning on receiving Mrs. Woodward's invitation to Hampton. Mrs. Woodward in writing hadhad some difficulty in wording her request. She hardly likedasking Charley to come because Katie was ill; nor did she like toask him without mentioning Katie's illness. 'I need not explainto you, ' she said in her note, 'that we are all in greatdistress; poor Katie is very ill, and you will understand what wemust feel about Alaric and Gertrude. Harry is still at Normansgrove. We shall all be glad to see you, and Katie, who never forgetswhat you did for her, insists on my asking you at once. I am sureyou will not refuse her, so I shall expect you to-morrow. ' Charleywould not have refused her anything, and it need hardly be saidthat he accepted the invitation. 

Mrs. Woodward was at a loss how to receive him, or what to say tohim. Though Katie was so positive that her own illness would befatal--a symptom which might have confirmed those who watched herin their opinion that her disease was not consumption--her motherwas by no means so desponding. She still thought it notimpossible that her child might recover, and so thinking couldnot but be adverse to any declaration on Katie's part of her ownfeelings. She had endeavoured to explain this to her daughter;but Katie was so carried away by her enthusiasm, was at thepresent moment so devoted, and, as it were, exalted above herpresent life, that all that her mother said was thrown away uponher. Mrs. Woodward might have refused her daughter's request, andhave run the risk of breaking her heart by the refusal; but nowthat the petition had been granted, it was useless to endeavourto teach her to repress her feelings. 

'Charley, ' said Mrs. Woodward, when he had been some little timein the house, 'our dear Katie wants to see you; she is very ill, you know. '

Charley said he knew she was ill. 

'You remember our walk together, Charley. '

'Yes, ' said Charley, 'I remember it well. I made you a promisethen, and I have kept it. I have now come here only because youhave sent for me. ' This he said in the tone which a man uses whenhe feels himself to have been injured. 

'I know it, Charley; you have kept your promise; I knew youwould, and I know you will. I have the fullest trust in you; andnow you shall come and see her. '

Charley was to return to town that night, and they had nottherefore much time to lose; they went upstairs at once, andfound Linda and Uncle Bat in the patient's room. It was a lovelyAugust evening, and the bedroom window opening upon the river wasunclosed. Katie, as she sat propped up against the pillows, couldlook out upon the water and see the reedy island, on which inhappy former days she had so delighted to let her imaginationrevel. 

'It is very good of you to come and see me, Charley, ' said she, as he made his way up to her bedside. 

He took her wasted hand in his own and pressed it, and, as he didso, a tear forced itself into each corner of his eyes. She smiledas though to cheer him, and said that now she saw him she couldbe quite happy, only for poor Alaric and Gertrude. She hoped shemight live to see Alaric again; but if not, Charley was to givehim her best-best love. 

'Live to see him! of course you will, ' said Uncle Bat. 

'What's to hinder you?' Uncle Bat, like the rest of them, triedto cheer her, and make her think that she might yet live. 

After a while Uncle Bat went out of the room, and Linda followedhim. Mrs. Woodward would fain have remained, but she perfectlyunderstood that it was part of the intended arrangement withKatie, that Charley should be alone with her. 'I will come backin a quarter of an hour, ' she said, rising to follow the others. 'You must not let her talk too much, Charley: you see how weakshe is. '

'Mamma, when you come, knock at the door, will you?' said Katie. Mrs. Woodward, who found herself obliged to act in completeobedience to her daughter, promised that she would; and then theywere left alone. 

'Sit down, Charley, ' said she; he was still standing by herbedside, and now at her bidding he sat in the chair which CaptainCuttwater had occupied. 'Come here nearer to me, ' said she; 'thisis where mamma always sits, and Linda when mamma is not here. 'Charley did as he was bid, and, changing his seat, came and satdown close to her bed-head. 

'Charley, do you remember how you went into the water for me?'said she, again smiling, and pulling her hand out and resting iton his arm which lay on the bed beside her. 

'Indeed I do, Katie--I remember the day very well. '

'That was a very happy day in spite of the tumble, was it not, Charley? And do you remember the flower-show, and the dance atMrs. Val's?'

Charley did remember them all well. Ah me! how often had hethought of them!

'I think of those days so often--too often, ' continued Katie. 'But, dear Charley, I cannot remember too often that you saved mylife. '

Charley once more tried to explain to her that there was nothingworthy of notice in his exploit of that day. 

'Well, Charley, I may think as I like, you know, ' she said, withsomething of the obstinacy of old days. 'I think you did save mylife, and all the people in the world won't make me thinkanything else; but, Charley, I have something now to tell you. '

He sat and listened. It seemed to him as though he were onlythere to listen; as though, were he to make his own voiceaudible, he would violate the sanctity of the place. His thoughtswere serious enough, but he could not pitch his voice so as tosuit the tone in which she addressed him. 

'We were always friends, were we not?' said she; 'we were alwaysgood friends, Charley. Do you remember how you were to build apalace for me in the dear old island out there? You were alwaysso kind, so good to me. '

Charley said he remembered it all--they were happy days; thehappiest days, he said, that he had ever known. 

'And you used to love me, Charley?'

'Used!' said he, 'do you think I do not love you now?'

'I am sure you do. And, Charley, I love you also. That it is thatI want to tell you. I love you so well that I cannot go away fromthis world in peace without wishing you farewell. Charley, if youlove me, you will think of me when I am gone; and then for mysake you will be steady. '

Here were all her old words over again--'You will be steady, won't you, Charley? I know you will be steady, now. ' How muchmust she have thought of him! How often must his career havecaused her misery and pain! How laden must that innocent bosomhave been with anxiety on his account! He had promised her thenthat he would reform; but he had broken his promise. He nowpromised her again, but how could he hope that she would believehim?

'You know how ill I am, don't you? You know that I am dying, Charley?'

Charley of course declared that he still hoped that she wouldrecover. 

'If I thought so, ' said she, 'I should not say what I am nowsaying; but I feel that I may tell the truth. Dear Charley, dearest Charley, I love you with all my heart--I do not know howit came so; I believe I have always loved you since I first knewyou; I used to think it was because you saved my life; but I knowit was not that. I was so glad it was you that came to me in thewater, and not Harry; so that I know I loved you before that. '

'Dear Katie, you have not loved me, or thought of me, more than Ihave loved and thought of you. '

'Ah, Charley, ' she said, smiling in her sad sweet way--'I don'tthink you know how a girl can love; you have so many things tothink of, so much to amuse you up in London; you don't know whatit is to think of one person for days and days, and nights andnights together. That is the way I have thought of you, I don'tthink there can be any harm, ' she continued, 'in loving a personas I have loved you. Indeed, how could I help it? I did not loveyou on purpose. But I think I should be wrong to die withouttelling you. When I am dead, Charley, will you think of this, andtry--try to give up your bad ways? When I tell you that I loveyou so dearly, and ask you on my deathbed, I think you will dothis. '

Charley went down on his knees, and bowing his head before herand before his God, he made the promise. He made it, and we mayso far anticipate the approaching end of our story as to declarethat the promise he then made was faithfully kept. 

'Katie, Katie, my own Katie, my own, own, own Katie--oh, Katie, you must not die, you must not leave me! Oh, Katie, I have sodearly loved you! Oh, Katie, I do so dearly love you! If you knewall, if you could know all, you would believe me. '

At this moment Mrs. Woodward knocked at the door, and Charleyrose from his knees. 'Not quite yet, mamma, ' said Katie, as Mrs. Woodward opened the door. 'Not quite yet; in five minutes, mamma, you may come. ' Mrs. Woodward, not knowing how to refuse, againwent away. 

'Charley, I never gave you anything but once, and you returned itto me, did you not?'

'Yes, ' said he, 'the purse--I put it in your box, because----'

And then he remembered that he could not say why he had returnedit without breaking in a manner that confidence which Mrs. Woodward had put in him. 

'I understand it all. You must not think I am angry with you. Iknow how good you were about it. But Charley, you may have itback now; here it is;' and putting her hand under the pillow, shetook it out, carefully folded up in new tissue paper. 'There, Charley, you must never part with it again as long as there aretwo threads of it together; but I know you never will; andCharley, you must never talk of it to anybody but to your wife;and you must tell her all about it. '

He took the purse, and put it to his lips, and then pressed it tohis heart. 'No, ' said he, 'I will never part with it again. Ithink I can promise that. ' 'And now, dearest, good-bye, ' saidshe; 'dearest, dearest Charley, good-bye; perhaps we shall knoweach other in heaven. Kiss me, Charley, before you go, ' So hestooped down over her, and pressed his lips to hers. 

Charley, leaving the room, found Mrs. Woodward at the other endof the passage, standing at the door of her own dressing-room. 'You are to go to her now, ' he said. 'Good-bye, ' and withoutfurther speech to any of them he hurried out of the house. 

None but Mrs. Woodward had seen him; but she saw that the tearswere streaming down his cheeks as he passed her, and sheexpressed no surprise that he had left the Cottage without goingthrough the formality of making his adieux. 

And then he walked up to town, as Norman once had done after aparting interview with her whom he had loved. It might bedifficult to say which at the moment suffered the bitterestgrief. 

CHAPTER XLIII

MILLBANK

The immediate neighbourhood of Millbank Penitentiary is not onewhich we should, for its own sake, choose for our residence, either on account of its natural beauty, or the excellence of itshabitations. That it is a salubrious locality must be presumedfrom the fact that it has been selected for the site of theinstitution in question; but salubrity, though doubtless a greatrecommendation, would hardly reconcile us to the extremely dull, and one might almost say, ugly aspect which this district bears. 

To this district, however, ugly as it is, we must ask our readersto accompany us, while we pay a short visit to poor Gertrude. Itwas certainly a sad change from her comfortable nursery andelegant drawing-room near Hyde Park. Gertrude had hitherto neverlived in an ugly house. Surbiton Cottage and Albany Place werethe only two homes that she remembered, and neither of them wassuch as to give her much fitting preparation for the melancholyshelter which she found at No. 5, Paradise Row, Millbank. 

But Gertrude did not think much of this when she changed herresidence. Early one morning, leaning on Charley's arm, she hadtrudged down across the Park, through Westminster, and on to theclose vicinity of the prison; and here they sought for andobtained such accommodation as she thought fitting to her presentsituation. Charley had begged her to get into a cab, and when sherefused that, had implored her to indulge in the luxury of anomnibus; but Gertrude's mind was now set upon economy; she wouldcome back, she said, in an omnibus when the day would be hotter, and she would be alone, but she was very well able to walk thedistance once. 

She procured, for seven shillings a week, a sitting-room andbedroom, from whence she could see the gloomy prison walls, andalso a truckle-bed for the young girl whom she was to bring withher as her maid. This was a little Hampton maiden, whom she hadbrought from the country to act as fag and deputy to her grandnurse; but the grand nurse was now gone, and the fag was promotedto the various offices of nurse, lady's-maid, and parlourservant. The rest of the household in Albany Place had alreadydispersed with the discreet view of bettering their situations. 

Everything in the house was given up to pay what Alaric owed. Independently of his dreadful liability to Madame Jaquêtanàpe, hecould not have been said to be in debt; but still, like mostother men who live as he had done, when his career was thusbrought to a sudden close, it was found that there were manypeople looking for money. There were little bills, as the ownerssaid of them, which had been forgotten, of course, on account oftheir insignificance, but which being so very little might now bepaid, equally of course, without any trouble. It is astonishinghow easy it is to accumulate three or four hundred pounds' worthof little bills, when one lives before the world in a good houseand in visible possession of a good income. 

At the moment of Alaric's conviction, there was but a slenderstock of money forthcoming for these little bills. The necessaryexpense of his trial, --and it had been by no means trifling, --hehad, of course, been obliged to pay. His salary had beensuspended, and all the money that he could lay his hands on hadbeen given up towards making restitution towards the dreadful sumof £20, 000 that had been his ruin. The bills, however, did notcome in till after his trial, and then there was but little leftbut the furniture. 

As the new trustees employed on behalf of Madame Jaquêtanàpe andMr. Figgs were well aware that they had much more to expect fromthe generosity of Tudor's friends than from any legal seizure ofhis property, they did not interfere in the disposal of thechairs and tables. But not on that account did Gertrude conceiveherself entitled to make any use on her own behalf of such moneyas might come into her hands. The bills should be paid, and thenevery farthing that could be collected should be given towardslessening the deficiency. Six thousand pounds had already beenmade up by the joint efforts of Norman and Captain Cuttwater. Undy Scott's acknowledgement for the other four thousand had beenoffered, but the new trustees declined to accept it as of anyvalue whatsoever. They were equally incredulous as to the bridgeshares, which from that day to this have never held up theirheads, even to the modest height of half a crown a share. 

Gertrude's efforts to make the most of everything had beenunceasing. When her husband was sentenced, she had in herpossession a new dress and some finery for her baby, which werenot yet paid for; these she took back with her own hand, offeringto the milliners her own trinkets by way of compensation fortheir loss. When the day for removal came, she took with hernothing that she imagined could be sold. She would have left thegrander part of her own wardrobe, if the auctioneers would haveundertaken to sell it. Some few things, books and triflinghousehold articles, which she thought were dear to Alaric, shepacked up; and such were sent to Hampton. On the day of herdeparture she dressed herself in a plain dark gown, one that wasalmost mourning, and then, with her baby in her lap, and heryoung maid beside her, and Charley fronting her in the cab, shestarted for her new home. 

I had almost said that her pride had left her. Such an assertionwould be a gross libel on her. No; she was perhaps prouder thanever, as she left her old home. There was a humility in her cheapdress, in her large straw bonnet coming far over her face, in herdark gloves and little simple collar; nay, there was a humilityin her altered voice, and somewhat chastened mien; but the spiritof the woman was wholly unbroken. She had even a pride in hervery position, in her close and dear tie with the convictedprisoner. She was his for better and for worse; she would nowshow him what was her idea of the vow she had made. To the menwho came to ticket and number the furniture, to the tradesmen'smessengers who called for money, to the various workmen with whomthe house was then invaded, she was humble enough; but had Mrs. Val come across her with pity, or the Miss Neverbends with theirsententious twaddlings, she would have been prouder than ever. Fallen indeed! She had had no fall; nor had he; he was still aman, with a greater aggregate of good in him than falls to theaverage lot of mortals. Who would dare to tell her that he hadfallen? 'Twas thus that her pride was still strong within her;and as it supported her through this misery, who can blame herfor it?

She was allowed into the prison twice a week; on Tuesdays andFridays she was permitted to spend one hour with her husband, andto take her child with her. It is hardly necessary to say thatshe was punctual to the appointed times. This, however, occupiedbut a short period, even of those looked-for days; and in spiteof her pride, and her constant needle, the weary six months wentfrom her all too slowly. 

Nor did they pass with swifter foot within the prison. Alaric wasallowed the use of books and pens and paper, but even with thesehe found a day in prison to be almost an unendurable eternity. This was the real punishment of his guilt; it was not that hecould not eat well, and lie soft, or enjoy the comforts which hadalways surrounded him; but that the day would not pass away. Theslowness of the lagging hours nearly drove him mad. He made athousand resolutions as to reading, writing, and employment forhis mind. He attempted to learn whole pages by rote, and tofatigue himself to rest by exercise of his memory. But his memorywould not work; his mind would continue idle; he was impotentover his own faculties. Oh, if he could only sleep while thesehorrid weeks were passing over him!

All hope of regaining his situation had of course passed fromhim, all hope of employment in England. Emigration must now behis lot; and hers also, and the lot of that young one that wasalready born to them, and of that other one who was, alas! nowcoming to the world, whose fate it would be first to see thelight under the walls of its father's prison. --Yes, they mustemigrate. --But there was nothing so very terrible in that. Alaricfelt that even his utter poverty would be no misfortune if onlyhis captivity were over. Poverty!--how could any man be poor whohad liberty to roam the world?

We all of us acknowledge that the educated man who breaks thelaws is justly liable to a heavier punishment than he who hasbeen born in ignorance, and bred, as it were, in the lap of sin;but we hardly realize how much greater is the punishment which, when he be punished, the educated man is forced to undergo. Confinement to the man whose mind has never been lifted abovevacancy is simply remission from labour. Confinement, withlabour, is simply the enforcement of that which has hitherto beenhis daily lot. But what must a prison be to him whose intellecthas received the polish of the world's poetry, who has known whatit is to feed more than the belly, to require other aliment thanbread and meat?

And then, what does the poor criminal lose? His all, it will besaid; and the rich can lose no more. But this is not so. No manloses his all by any sentence which a human judge can inflict. Noman so loses anything approaching to his all, however much he mayhave lost before. But the one man has too often had no self-respect to risk; the other has stood high in his own esteem, hasheld his head proudly before the world, has aspired to walk insome way after the fashion of a god. Alaric had so aspired, andhow must he have felt during those prison days! Of what naturemust his thoughts have been when they turned to Gertrude and hischild! His sin had indeed been heavy, and heavy was the penaltywhich he suffered. When they had been thus living for about threemonths, Gertrude's second child was born. Mrs. Woodward was withher at the time, and she had suffered but little except that forthree weeks she was unable to see her husband; then, in the teethof all counsel, and in opposition to all medical warning, shecould resist no longer, and carried the newborn stranger to hisfather. 

'Poor little wretch!' said Alaric, as he stooped to kiss him. 

'Wretch!' said Gertrude, looking up to him with a smile upon herface--'he is no wretch. He is a sturdy little man, that shall yetlive to make your heart dance with joy. '

Mrs. Woodward came often to see her. She did not stay, for therewas no bed in which she could have slept; but the train put herdown at Vauxhall, and she had but to pass the bridge, and she wasclose to Gertrude's lodgings. And now the six months had nearlygone by, when, by appointment, she brought Norman with her. Atthis time he had given up his clerkship at the Weights andMeasures, and was about to go to Normansgrove for the remainderof the winter. Both Alaric and Norman had shown a great distasteto meet each other. But Harry's heart softened towards Gertrude. Her conduct during her husband's troubles had been so excellent, that he could not but forgive her the injuries which he fanciedhe owed to her. 

Everything was now prepared for their departure. They were tosail on the very day after Alaric's liberation, so as to save himfrom the misery of meeting those who might know him. And nowHarry came with Mrs. Woodward to bid farewell, probably for everon this side the grave, to her whom he had once looked on as hisown. How different were their lots now! Harry was Mr. Norman ofNormansgrove, immediately about to take his place as the squireof his parish, to sit among brother magistrates, to decide aboutroads and poachers, parish rates and other all-absorbing topics, to be a rural magistrate, and fill a place among perhaps the mostfortunate of the world's inhabitants. Gertrude was the wife of aconvicted felon, who was about to come forth from his prison inutter poverty, a man who, in such a catalogue as the world makesof its inhabitants, would be ranked among the very lowest. 

And did Gertrude even now regret her choice? No, not for amoment! She still felt certain in her heart of hearts that shehad loved the one who was the most worthy of a woman's love. Wecannot, probably, all agree in her opinion; but we will agree inthis, at least, that she was now right to hold such opinion. HadNormansgrove stretched from one boundary of the county to theother, it would have weighed as nothing. Had Harry's virtues beenas bright as burnished gold--and indeed they had been bright--they would have weighed as nothing. A nobler stamp of manhood wason her husband--so at least Gertrude felt;--and manhood is theone virtue which in a woman's breast outweighs all others. 

They had not met since the evening on which Gertrude had declaredto him that she never could love him; and Norman, as he got outof the cab with Mrs. Woodward, at No. 5, Paradise Row, Millbank, felt his heart beat within him almost as strongly as he had donewhen he was about to propose to her. He followed Mrs. Woodwardinto the dingy little house, and immediately found himself inGertrude's presence. 

I should exaggerate the fact were I to say that he would not haveknown her; but had he met her elsewhere, met her where he did notexpect to meet her, he would have looked at her more than oncebefore he felt assured that he was looking at Gertrude Woodward. It was not that she had grown pale, or worn, or haggard; though, indeed, her face had on it that weighty look of endurance whichcare will always give; it was not that she had lost her beauty, and become unattractive in his eyes; but that the whole nature ofher mien and form, the very trick of her gait was changed. Hereye was as bright as ever, but it was steady, composed, andresolved; her lips were set and compressed, and there was noplayfulness round her mouth. Her hair was still smooth andbright, but it was more brushed off from her temples than it hadbeen of yore, and was partly covered by a bit of black lace, which we presume we must call a cap; here and there, too, throughit, Norman's quick eye detected a few grey hairs. She was stoutertoo than she had been, or else she seemed to be so from thechanges in her dress. Her step fell heavier on the floor than itused to do, and her voice was quicker and more decisive in itstones. When she spoke to her mother, she did so as one sistermight do to another; and, indeed, Mrs. Woodward seemed toexercise over her very little of the authority of a parent. Thetruth was that Gertrude had altogether ceased to be a girl, hadaltogether become a woman. Linda, with whom Norman at oncecompared her, though but one year younger, was still a child incomparison with her elder sister. Happy, happy Linda!

Gertrude had certainly proved herself to be an excellent wife;but perhaps she might have made herself more pleasing to othersif she had not so entirely thrown off from herself all traces ofjuvenility. Could she, in this respect, have taken a lesson fromher mother, she would have been a wiser woman. We have said thatshe consorted with Mrs. Woodward as though they had been sisters;but one might have said that Gertrude took on herself the mannersof the elder sister. It is true that she had hard duties toperform, a stern world to overcome, an uphill fight before herwith poverty, distress, and almost, nay, absolutely, withdegradation. It was well for her and Alaric that she could faceit all with the true courage of an honest woman. But yet thosewho had known her in her radiant early beauty could not butregret that the young freshness of early years should all havebeen laid aside so soon. 

'Linda, at any rate, far exceeds her in beauty, ' was Norman'sfirst thought, as he stood for a moment to look at her--'and thenLinda too is so much more feminine. ' 'Twas thus that Harry Normanconsoled himself in the first moment of his first interview withAlaric's wife. And he was right in his thoughts. The world wouldnow have called Linda the more lovely of the two, and certainlythe more feminine in the ladylike sense of the word. If, however, devotion be feminine, and truth to one selected life's companion, if motherly care be so, and an indomitable sense of the dutiesdue to one's own household, then Gertrude was not deficient infeminine character. 

'You find me greatly altered, Harry, do you not?' said she, taking his hand frankly, and perceiving immediately the effectwhich she had made upon him. 'I am a steady old matron, am Inot?--with a bairn on each side of me, ' and she pointed to herbaby in the cradle, and to her other boy sitting on hisgrandmother's knee. 

Harry said he did find her altered. It was her dress, he said, and the cap on her head. 

'Yes, Harry; and some care and trouble too. To you, you know, toa friend such as you are, I must own that care and trouble dotell upon one. Not, thank God, that I have more than I can bear;not that I have not blessings for which I cannot but be toothankful. '

'And so these are your boys, Gertrude?'

'Yes, ' said she, cheerfully; 'these are the little men, that inthe good times coming will be managing vast kingdoms, and givingorders to this worn-out old island of yours. Alley, my boy, singyour new song about the 'good and happy land. ' But Alley, whohad got hold of his grandmother's watch, and was staring with allhis eyes at the stranger, did not seem much inclined to bemusical at the present moment. 

'And this is Charley's godson, ' continued Gertrude, taking up thebaby. 'Dear Charley! he has been such a comfort to me. '

'I have heard all about you daily from him, ' said Harry. 

'I know you have--and he is daily talking of you, Harry. And sohe should do; so we all should do. What a glorious change this isfor him! is it not, Harry?'

Charley by this time had torn himself away from Mr. Snape and thenavvies, and transferred the whole of his official zeal andenergies to the Weights and Measures. The manner and reason ofthis must, however, be explained in a subsequent chapter. 

'Yes, ' said Harry, 'he has certainly got into a better office. '

'And he will do well there?'

'I am sure he will. It was impossible he should do well at thatother place. No man could do so. He is quite an altered man now. The only fault I find with him is that he is so full of hisheroes and heroines. '

'So he is, Harry; he is always asking me what he is to do withsome forlorn lady or gentleman, 'Oh, smother her!' I said theother day. 'Well, ' said he, with a melancholy gravity, 'I'll tryit; but I fear it won't answer. ' Poor Charley! what a friend youhave been to him, Harry!'

'A friend!' said Mrs. Woodward, who was still true to heradoration of Norman. 'Indeed he has been a friend--a friend to usall. Who is there like him?'

Gertrude could have found it in her heart to go back to thesubject of old days, and tell her mother that there was somebodymuch better even than Harry Norman. But the present was hardly atime for such an assertion of her own peculiar opinion. 

'Yes, Harry, ' she said, 'we have all much, too much, to thank youfor. I have to thank you on his account. '

'Oh no, ' said he, ungraciously; 'there is nothing to thank mefor, --not on his account. Your mother and Captain Cuttwater----'and then he stopped himself. What he meant was that he hadsacrificed his little fortune--for at the time his elder brotherhad still been living--not to rescue, or in attempting torescue, his old friend from misfortune--not, at least, becausethat man had been his friend; but because he was the husband ofGertrude Woodward, and of Mrs. Woodward's daughter. Could he havelaid bare his heart, he would have declared that Alaric Tudorowed him nothing; that he had never forgiven, never couldforgive, the wrongs he had received from him; but that he hadforgiven Alaric's wife; and that having done so in the tendernessof his heart, he had been ready to give up all that he possessedfor her protection. He would have spared Gertrude what pain hecould; but he would not lie, and speak of Alaric Tudor withaffection. 

'But there is, Harry; there is, ' said Gertrude; 'much--too much--greatly too much. It is that now weighs me down more thananything. Oh! Harry, how are we to pay to you all this money?'

'It is with Mrs. Woodward, ' said he coldly, 'and CaptainCuttwater, not with me, that you should speak of that. Mr. Tudorowes me nothing. '

'Oh, Harry, Harry, ' said she, 'do not call him Mr. Tudor--pray, pray; now that we are going--now that we shall never wound yoursight again! do not call him Mr. Tudor. 

He has done wrong; I do not deny it; but which of us is therethat has not?'

'It was not on that account, ' said he; 'I could forgive allthat. '

Gertrude understood him, and her cheeks and brow became tingedwith red. It was not from shame, nor yet wholly from a sense ofanger, but mingled feelings filled her heart; feelings which shecould in nowise explain. 'If you have forgiven him that'--shewould have said, had she thought it right to speak out her mind--'if you have forgiven him that, then there is nothing left forfurther forgiveness. '

Gertrude had twice a better knowledge of the world than he had, twice a quicker perception of how things were going, and shouldbe made to go. She saw that it was useless to refer further toher husband. Norman had come there at her request to say adieu toher; that she and he, who had been friends since she was a child, might see each other before they were separated for ever by halfa world, and that they might part in love and charity. She wouldbe his sister-in-law, he would be son to her mother, husband toher Linda; he had been, though he now denied it, her husband'sstaunchest friend in his extremity; and it would have addedgreatly to the bitterness of her departure had she been forced togo without speaking to him one kindly word. The opportunity wasgiven to her, and she would not utterly mar its sweetness byinsisting on his injustice to her husband. 

They all remained silent for a while, during which Gertrudefondled her baby, and Norman produced before the elder boy somepresent that he had brought for him. 

'Now, Alley, ' said Mrs. Woodward, 'you're a made man; won't thatdo beautifully to play with on board the big ship?'

'And so, Harry, you have given up official life altogether, ' saidGertrude. 

'Yes, ' said he--'the last day of the last year saw my finale atthe Weights and Measures. I did not live long--officially--toenjoy my promotion. I almost wish myself back again. '

'You'll go in on melting days, like the retired tallow-chandler, 'said Gertrude; 'but, joking apart, I wish you joy on your freedomfrom thraldom; a government office in England is thraldom. If aman were to give his work only, it would be well. All men whohave to live by labour must do that; but a man has to give himselfas well as his work; to sacrifice his individuality; to become bodyand soul a part of a lumbering old machine. '

This hardly came well from Gertrude, seeing that Alaric at anyrate had never been required to sacrifice any of his individuality. But she was determined to hate all the antecedents of his life, as though those antecedents, and not the laxity of his ownprinciples, had brought about his ruin. She was preparedto live entirely for the future, and to look back on her Londonlife as bad, tasteless, and demoralizing. England to her was nolonger a glorious country; for England's laws had made a felon ofher husband. She would go to a new land, new hopes, new ideas, new freedom, new work, new life, and new ambition. 'Excelsior!'there was no longer an excelsior left for talent and perseverancein this effete country. She and hers would soon find room fortheir energies in a younger land; and as she went she could notbut pity those whom she left behind. Her reasoning was hardlylogical, but, perhaps, it was not unfortunate. 

'For myself, ' said Norman, not quite following all this--'Ialways liked the Civil Service, and now I leave it with a sort ofregret. I am quite glad that Charley has my old desk; it willkeep up a sort of tie between me and the place. '

'What does Linda say about it, mamma?'

'Linda and I are both of Harry's way of thinking, ' said Mrs. Woodward, 'because Normansgrove is such a distance. '

'Distance!' repeated Gertrude, with something of sorrow, but moreof scorn in her tone. 'Distance, mamma! why you can get to herbetween breakfast and dinner. Think where Melbourne is, mamma!'

'It has nearly broken my heart to think of it, ' said Mrs. Woodward. 

'And you will still have Linda, mamma, and our darling Katie, andHarry, and dear Charley. If the idea of distance should frightenanyone it is me. But nothing shall frighten me while I have myhusband and children. Harry, you must not let mamma be too oftenalone when some other knight shall have come and taken awayKatie. '

'We will take her to Normansgrove for good and all, if she willlet us, ' said Harry. 

And now the time came for them to part. Harry was to say good-byeto her, and then to see her no more. Early on the followingmorning Gertrude was to go to Hampton and see Katie for the lasttime; to see Katie for the last time, and the Cottage, and theshining river, and all the well-known objects among which she hadpassed her life. To Mrs. Woodward, to Linda, and Katie, all thiswas subject of inexpressible melancholy; but with Gertrude everyfeeling of romance seemed to have been absorbed by the realitiesof life. She would, of course, go to Katie and give her afarewell embrace, since Katie was still too weak to come to her;she would say farewell to Uncle Bat, to whom she and Alaric owedso much; she would doubtless shed a tear or two, and feel someemotion at parting, even from the inanimate associations of heryouth; but all this would now impress no lasting sorrow on her. 

She was eager to be off, eager for her new career, eager that heshould stand on a soil where he could once more face his fellow-creatures without shame. She panted to put thousands of leaguesof ocean between him and his disgrace. 

On the following morning Gertrude was to go to Hampton for twohours, and then to return to Millbank, with her mother andsister, for whose accommodation a bed had been hired in theneighbourhood. On that evening Alaric would be released from hisprison; and then before daybreak on the following day they wereto take their way to the far-off docks, and place themselves onboard the vessel which was to carry them to their distant home. 

'God bless you, Gertrude, ' said Norman, whose eyes were not dry. 

'God Almighty bless you, Harry, you and Linda--and make youhappy. If Linda does not write constantly very constantly, youmust do it for her. We have delayed the happiness of yourmarriage, Harry--you must forgive us that, as well as all ourother trespasses. I fear Linda will never forgive that. '

'You won't find her unmerciful on that score, ' said he. 'DearGertrude, good-bye. '

She put up her face to him, and he kissed her, for the first timein his life. 'He bade me give you his love, ' said she, in herlast whisper; 'I must, you know, do his bidding. '

Norman's heart palpitated so that he could hardly compose hisvoice for his last answer; but even then he would not be untrueto his inexorable obstinacy; he could not send his love to a manhe did not love. 'Tell him, ' said he, 'that he has my sincerestwishes for success wherever he may be; and Gertrude, I needhardly say----' but he could get no further. 

And so they parted. 

CHAPTER XLIV

THE CRIMINAL POPULATION IS DISPOSED OF

Before we put Alaric on board the ship which is to take him awayfrom the land in which he might have run so exalted a career, wemust say one word as to the fate and fortunes of his old friendUndy Scott. This gentleman has not been represented in our pagesas an amiable or high-minded person. He has indeed been the badspirit of the tale, the Siva of our mythology, the devil that hasled our hero into temptation, the incarnation of evil, which itis always necessary that the novelist should have personified inone of his characters to enable him to bring about his misfortunes, his tragedies, and various requisite catastrophes. Scott had hisVarney and such-like; Dickens his Bill Sykes and such-like; allof whom are properly disposed of before the end of thosevolumes in which are described their respective careers. 

I have ventured to introduce to my readers, as my devil, Mr. UndyScott, M. P. For the Tillietudlem district burghs; and I also feelmyself bound to dispose of him, though of him I regret I cannotmake so decent an end as was done with Sir Richard Varney andBill Sykes. 

He deserves, however, as severe a fate as either of those heroes. With the former we will not attempt to compare him, as the vicesand devilry of the days of Queen Elizabeth are in no way similarto those in which we indulge; but with Bill Sykes we may contrasthim, as they flourished in the same era, and had their points ofsimilitude, as well as their points of difference. 

They were both apparently born to prey on their own species; theyboth resolutely adhered to a fixed rule that they would in nowiseearn their bread, and to a rule equally fixed that, though theywould earn no bread, they would consume much. They were both ofthem blessed with a total absence of sensibility and an utterdisregard to the pain of others, and had no other use for a heartthan that of a machine for maintaining the circulation of theblood. It is but little to say that neither of them ever acted onprinciple, on a knowledge, that is, of right and wrong, and aselection of the right; in their studies of the science of evilthey had progressed much further than this, and had taughtthemselves to believe that that which other men called virtuewas, on its own account, to be regarded as mawkish, insipid, anduseless for such purposes as the acquisition of money orpleasure; whereas vice was, on its own account, to be preferred, as offering the only road to those things which they weredesirous of possessing. 

So far there was a great resemblance between Bill Sykes and Mr. Scott; but then came the points of difference, which must give tothe latter a great pre-eminence in the eyes of that master whomthey had both so worthily served. Bill could not boast the meritof selecting the course which he had run; he had served theDevil, having had, as it were, no choice in the matter; he wasborn and bred and educated an evil-doer, and could hardly havedeserted from the colours of his great Captain, without somespiritual interposition to enable him to do so. To Undy a warmerreward must surely be due: he had been placed fairly on theworld's surface, with power to choose between good and bad, andhad deliberately taken the latter; to him had, at any rate, beenexplained the theory of _meum_ and _tuum_, and he had resolvedthat he liked _tuum_ better than _meum_; he had learnt thatthere is a God ruling over us, and a Devil hankering after us, andhad made up his mind that he would belong to the latter. Breadand water would have come to him naturally without any villanyon his part, aye, and meat and milk, and wine and oil, the fatthings of the world; but he elected to be a villain; he liked to dothe Devil's bidding. --Surely he was the better servant; surely heshall have the richer reward. 

And yet poor Bill Sykes, for whom here I would willingly say aword or two, could I, by so saying, mitigate the wrath againsthim, is always held as the more detestable scoundrel. Lady, younow know them both. Is it not the fact, that, knowing him as youdo, you could spend a pleasant hour enough with Mr. Scott, sitting next to him at dinner; whereas your blood would creepwithin you, your hair would stand on end, your voice would stickin your throat, if you were suddenly told that Bill Sykes was inyour presence?

Poor Bill! I have a sort of love for him, as he walks aboutwretched with that dog of his, though I know that it is necessaryto hang him. Yes, Bill; I, your friend, cannot gainsay that, mustacknowledge that. Hard as the case may be, you must be hung; hungout of the way of further mischief; my spoons, my wife's throat, my children's brains, demand that. You, Bill, and polecats, andsuch-like, must be squelched when we can come across you, seeingthat you make yourself so universally disagreeable. It is yourordained nature to be disagreeable; you plead silently. I knowit; I admit the hardship of your case; but still, my Bill, self-preservation is the first law of nature. You must be hung. But, while hanging you, I admit that you are more sinned against thansinning. There is another, Bill, another, who will surely takeaccount of this in some way, though it is not for me to tell youhow. 

Yes, I hang Bill Sykes with soft regret; but with what a savagejoy, with what exultation of heart, with what alacrity of eagersoul, with what aptitude of mind to the deed, would I hang myfriend, Undy Scott, the member of Parliament for the Tillietudlemburghs, if I could but get at his throat for such a purpose! Hanghim! aye, as high as Haman! In this there would be no regret, novacillation of purpose, no doubt as to the propriety of thesacrifice, no feeling that I was so treating him, not for his owndesert, but for my advantage. 

We hang men, I believe, with this object only, that we shoulddeter others from crime; but in hanging Bill we shall hardlydeter his brother. Bill Sykes must look to crime for his bread, seeing that he has been so educated, seeing that we have not yettaught him another trade. 

But if I could hang Undy Scott, I think I should deter someothers. The figure of Undy swinging from a gibbet at the broadend of Lombard Street would have an effect. Ah! my fingers itchto be at the rope. 

Fate, however, and the laws are averse. To gibbet him, in onesense, would have been my privilege, had I drunk deeper from thatCastalian rill whose dark waters are tinged with the gall ofpoetic indignation; but as in other sense I may not hang him, Iwill tell how he was driven from his club, and how he ceased tonumber himself among the legislators of his country. 

Undy Scott, among his other good qualities, possessed an enormousquantity of that which schoolboys in these days call 'cheek. ' Hewas not easily browbeaten, and was generally prepared to browbeatothers. Mr. Chaffanbrass certainly did get the better of him; butthen Mr. Chaffanbrass was on his own dunghill. Could Undy Scotthave had Mr. Chaffanbrass down at the clubs, there would havebeen, perhaps, another tale to tell. 

Give me the cock that can crow in any yard; such cocks, however, we know are scarce. Undy Scott, as he left the Old Bailey, wasaware that he had cut a sorry figure, and felt that he mustimmediately do something to put himself right again, at any ratebefore his portion of the world. He must perform some exploituncommonly cheeky in order to cover his late discomfiture. To getthe better of Mr. Chaffanbrass at the Old Bailey had been beyondhim; but he might yet do something at the clubs to set aside theunanimous verdict which had been given against him in the city. Nay, he must do something, unless he was prepared to go to thewall utterly, and at once. 

Going to the wall with Undy would mean absolute ruin; he livedbut on the cheekiness of his gait and habits; he had becomemember of Parliament, Government official, railway director, andclub aristocrat, merely by dint of cheek. He had now received agreat blow; he had stood before a crowd, and been annihilated bythe better cheek of Mr. Chaffanbrass, and, therefore, it behovedhim at once to do something. When the perfume of the rose growsstale, the flower is at once thrown aside, and carried off asfoul refuse. It behoved Undy to see that his perfume wasmaintained in its purity, or he, too, would be carried off. 

The club to which Undy more especially belonged was called theDowning; and of this Alaric was also a member, having beenintroduced into it by his friend. Here had Alaric spent by fartoo many of the hours of his married life, and had become wellknown and popular. At the time of his conviction, the summer wasfar advanced; it was then August; but Parliament was stillsitting, and there were sufficient club men remaining in Londonto create a daily gathering at the Downing. 

On the day following that on which the verdict was found, Undyconvened a special committee of the club, in order that he mightsubmit to it a proposition which he thought it indispensableshould come from him; so, at least, he declared. The committeedid assemble, and when Undy met it, he saw among the faces beforehim not a few with whom he would willingly have dispensed. However, he had come there to exercise his cheek; no one thereshould cow him; the wig of Mr. Chaffanbrass was, at any rate, absent. 

And so he submitted his proposition. I need not trouble myreaders with the neat little speech in which it was made. Undywas true to himself, and the speech was neat. The proposition wasthis: that as he had unfortunately been the means of introducingMr. Alaric Tudor to the club, he considered it to be his duty tosuggest that the name of that gentleman should be struck off thebooks. He then expressed his unmitigated disgust at the crime ofwhich Tudor had been found guilty, uttered some nice littleplatitudes in the cause of virtue, and expressed a hope 'that hemight so far refer to a personal matter as to say that hisfather's family would take care that the lady, whose fortune hadbeen the subject of the trial, should not lose one penny throughthe dishonesty of her trustee. '

Oh, Undy, as high as Haman, if I could! as high as Haman! and ifnot in Lombard Street, then on that open ground where WaterlooPlace bisects Pall Mall, so that all the clubs might see thee!

'He would advert, ' he said, 'to one other matter, though, perhaps, his doing so was unnecessary. It was probably known tothem all that he had been a witness at the late trial; aniniquitous attempt had been made by the prisoner's counsel toconnect his name with the prisoner's guilt. They all too wellknew the latitude allowed to lawyers in the criminal courts, topay much attention to this. Had he' (Undy Scott) 'in any wayinfringed the laws of his country, he was there to answer for it. But he would go further than this, and declare that if any memberof that club doubted his probity in the matter, he was perfectlywilling to submit to such member documents which would, ' &c. , &c. 

He finished his speech, and an awful silence reigned around him. No enthusiastic ardour welcomed the well-loved Undy back to hisclub, and comforted him after the rough usage of the unpolishedChaffanbrass. No ten or twenty combined voices expressed, bytheir clamorous negation of the last-proposed process, that theirUndy was above reproach. The eyes around looked into him with nofriendly alacrity. Undy, Undy, more cheek still, still morecheek, or you are surely lost. 

'If, ' said he, in a well-assumed indignant tone of injuredinnocence, 'there be any in the club who do suspect me ofanything unbecoming a gentleman in this affair, I am willing toretire from it till the matter shall have been investigated; butin such case I demand that the investigation be immediate. '

Oh, Undy, Undy, the supply of cheek is not bad; it is all butunlimited; but yet it suffices thee not. 'Can there be positionsin this modern West End world of mine, ' thought Undy to himself, 'in which cheek, unbounded cheek, will not suffice?' Oh, Undy, they are rare; but still there are such, and this, unfortunatelyfor thee, seemeth to be one of them. 

And then got up a discreet old baronet, one who moveth not oftenin the affairs around him, but who, when he moveth, stirreth manywaters; a man of broad acres, and a quiet, well-assured famewhich has grown to him without his seeking it, as barnacles growto the stout keel when it has been long a-swimming; him, of allmen, would Undy have wished to see unconcerned with thesematters. 

Not in many words, nor eloquent did Sir Thomas speak. 'He felt ithis duty, ' he said, 'to second the proposal made by Mr. Scott forremoving Mr. Tudor from amongst them. He had watched this trialwith some care, and he pitied Mr. Tudor from the bottom of hisheart. He would not have thought that he could have felt sostrong a sympathy for a man convicted of dishonesty. But, Mr. Tudor had been convicted, and he must incur the penalties of hisfault. One of these penalties must, undoubtedly, be hisbanishment from this club. He therefore seconded Mr. Scott'sproposal. '

He then stood silent for a moment, having finished that task; butyet he did not sit down. Why, oh, why does he not sit down? why, O Undy, does he thus stand, looking at the surface of the tableon which he is leaning?

'And now, ' he said, 'he had another proposition to make; and thatwas that Mr. Undecimus Scott should also be expelled from theclub, ' and having so spoken, in a voice of unusual energy, hethen sat down. 

And now, Undy, you may as well pack up, and be off, withoutfurther fuss, to Boulogne, Ostend, or some such idle Elysium, with such money-scrapings as you may be able to collect together. No importunity will avail thee anything against the judges andjurymen who are now trying thee. One word from that silent oldbaronet was worse to thee than all that Mr. Chaffanbrass couldsay. Come! pack up; and begone. 

But he was still a Member of Parliament. The Parliament, however, was about to be dissolved, and, of course, it would be uselessfor him to stand again; he, like Mr. M'Buffer had had his spellof it, and he recognized the necessity of vanishing. He at firstthought that his life as a legislator might be allowed to come toa natural end, that he might die as it were in his bed, withoutsuffering the acute pain of applying for the Chiltern Hundreds. In this, however, he found himself wrong. The injured honour ofall the Tillietudlemites rose against him with one indignantshout; and a rumour, a horrid rumour, of a severer fate met hisears. He applied at once for the now coveted sinecure, --and wasrefused. Her Majesty could not consent to entrust to him theduties of the situation in question--; and in lieu thereof theHouse expelled him by its unanimous voice. 

And now, indeed, it was time for him to pack and begone. He wasnow liable to the vulgarest persecution from the vulgar herd; hisvery tailor and bootmaker would beleaguer him, and coarseunwashed bailiffs take him by the collar. Yes, now indeed, it wastime to be off. 

And off he was. He paid one fleeting visit to my Lord atCauldkail Castle, collecting what little he might; another to hishonourable wife, adding some slender increase to his littlebudget, and then he was off. Whither, it is needless to say--toHamburg perhaps, or to Ems, or the richer tables of Homburg. Howhe flourished for a while with ambiguous success; how he talkedto the young English tourists of what he had done when inParliament, especially for the rights of married women; how hepoked his 'Honourable' card in every one's way, and lugged LordGaberlunzie into all conversations; how his face became pimplyand his wardrobe seedy; and how at last his wretched life willooze out from him in some dark corner, like the filthy juice of adecayed fungus which makes hideous the hidden wall on which itbursts, all this is unnecessary more particularly to describe. Heis probably still living, and those who desire his acquaintancewill find him creeping round some gambling table, and trying tolook as though he had in his pocket ample means to secure thosehoards of money which men are so listlessly raking about. Fromour view he has now vanished. 

It was a bitter February morning, when two cabs stood packingthemselves at No. 5, Paradise Row, Millbank. It was hardly yetsix o'clock, and Paradise Row was dark as Erebus; that solitarygas-light sticking out from the wall of the prison only madedarkness visible; the tallow candles which were brought in andout with every article that was stuffed under a seat, or into acorner, would get themselves blown out; and the sleet which wasfalling fast made the wicks wet, so that they could withdifficulty be relighted. 

But at last the cabs were packed with luggage, and into one gotGertrude with her husband, her baby, and her mother; and into theother Charley handed Linda, then Alley, and lastly, the youthfulmaiden, who humbly begged his pardon as she stepped up to thevehicle; and then, having given due directions to the driver, henot without difficulty squeezed himself into the remaining space. 

Such journeys as these are always made at a slow pace. Cabmenknow very well who must go fast, and who may go slow. Women withchildren going on board an emigrant vessel at six o'clock on aFebruary morning may be taken very slowly. And very slowlyGertrude and her party were taken. Time had been--nay, it was butthe other day--when Alaric's impatient soul would have spurned atsuch a pace as this. But now he sat tranquil enough. His wifeheld one of his hands, and the other he pressed against his eyes, as though shading them from the light. Light there was none, buthe had not yet learnt to face Mrs. Woodward even in the darkness. 

He had come out of the prison on the day before, and had spent anevening with her. It is needless to say that no one had upbraidedhim, that no one had hinted that his backslidings had caused allthis present misery, had brought them all to that wretched cabin, and would on the morrow separate, perhaps for ever, a mother anda child who loved each other so dearly. No one spoke to him ofthis; perhaps no one thought of it; he, however, did so think ofit that he could not hold his head up before them. 

'He was ill, ' Gertrude said; 'his long confinement had prostratedhim; but the sea air would revive him in a day or two. ' And thenshe made herself busy, and got the tea for them, and strove, notwholly in vain, ' to drive dull care away!'

But slowly as the cabs went in spite of Charley's vocalexecrations, they did get to the docks in time. Who, indeed, wasever too late at the docks? Who, that ever went there, had not tolinger, linger, linger, till every shred of patience was cleanworn out? They got to the docks in time, and got on board thatfast-sailing, clipper-built, never-beaten, always-healthy ship, the _Flash of Lightning_, 5, 600 tons, A 1. Why, we have oftenwondered, are ships designated as A 1, seeing that all ships are ofthat class? Where is the excellence, seeing that all share it? Ofcourse the _Flash of Lightning_ was A 1. The author has foryears been looking out, and has not yet found a ship advertised asA 2, or even as B 1. What is this catalogue of comparativeexcellence, of which there is but one visible number?

The world, we think, makes a great mistake on the subject ofsaying, or acting, farewell. The word or deed should partake ofthe suddenness of electricity; but we all drawl through it at asnail's pace. We are supposed to tear ourselves from our friends;but tearing is a process which should be done quickly. What is sowretched as lingering over a last kiss, giving the hand for thethird time, saying over and over again, 'Good-bye, John, Godbless you; and mind you write!' Who has not seen his dearestfriends standing round the window of a railway carriage, whilethe train would not start, and has not longed to say to them, 'Stand not upon the order of your going, but go at once!' And ofall such farewells, the ship's farewell is the longest and themost dreary. One sits on a damp bench, snuffing up the odour ofoil and ropes, cudgelling one's brains to think what further wordof increased tenderness can be spoken. No tenderer word can bespoken. One returns again and again to the weather, to coats andcloaks, perhaps even to sandwiches and the sherry flask. Alleffect is thus destroyed, and a trespass is made even on thedomain of feeling. 

I remember a line of poetry, learnt in my earliest youth, andwhich I believe to have emanated from a sentimental Frenchman, aman of genius, with whom my parents were acquainted. It is asfollows:--

 Are you go?--Is you gone?--And I left?--Vera vell!

Now the whole business of a farewell is contained in that line. When the moment comes, let that be said; let that be said andfelt, and then let the dear ones depart. 

Mrs. Woodward and Gertrude--God bless them!--had never studiedthe subject. They knew no better than to sit in the nasty cabin, surrounded by boxes, stewards, porters, children, and abominationsof every kind, holding each other's hands, and pressing damphandkerchiefs to their eyes. The delay, the lingering, upset evenGertrude, and brought her for a moment down to the usual levelof leave-taking womanhood. Alaric, the meanwhile, stood leaningover the taffrail with Charley, as mute as the fishes beneath him. 

'Write to us the moment you get there, ' said Charley. How oftenhad the injunction been given! 'And now we had better get off--you'll be better when we are gone, Alaric, '--Charley had somesense of the truth about him--'and, Alaric, take my word for it, I'll come and set the Melbourne Weights and Measures to rightsbefore long--I'll come and weigh your gold for you. '

'We had better be going now, ' said Charley, looking down into thecabin; 'they may let loose and be off any moment now. '

'Oh, Charley, not yet, not yet, ' said Linda, clinging to hersister. 

'You'll have to go down to the Nore, if you stay; that's all, 'said Charley. 

And then again began the kissing and the crying. Yes, ye dearones--it is hard to part--it is hard for the mother to see thechild of her bosom torn from her for ever; it is cruel thatsisters should be severed: it is a harsh sentence for the worldto give, that of such a separation as this. These, O ye lovinghearts, are the penalties of love! Those that are content to lovemust always be content to pay them. 

'Go, mamma, go, ' said Gertrude; 'dearest, best, sweetest mother--my own, own mother; go, Linda, darling Linda. Give my kindestlove to Harry--Charley, you and Harry will be good to mamma, Iknow you will. And mamma'--and then she whispered to her motherone last prayer in Charley's favour--'she may love him now, indeed she may. '

Alaric came to them at the last moment--'Mrs. Woodward, ' said he, 'say that you forgive me. '

'I do, ' said she, embracing him--'God knows that I do;--but, Alaric, remember what a treasure you possess. '

And so they parted. May God speed the wanderers!

CHAPTER XLV

THE FATE OF THE NAVVIES

And now, having dispatched Alaric and his wife and bairns ontheir long journey, we must go back for a while and tell howCharley had been transformed from an impudent, idle young Navvyinto a well-conducted, zealous young Weights. 

When Alaric was convicted, Charley had, as we all know, belongedto the Internal Navigation; when the six months' sentence hadexpired, Charley was in full blow at the decorous office inWhitehall; and during the same period Norman had resigned andtaken on himself the new duties of a country squire. The changewhich had been made had affected others than Charley. It had beenproduced by one of those far-stretching, world-moving commotionswhich now and then occur, sometimes twice or thrice in ageneration, and, perhaps, not again for half a century, causingtimid men to whisper in corners, and the brave and high-spiritedto struggle with the struggling waves, so that when the stormsubsides they may be found floating on the surface. A moralearthquake had been endured by a portion of the Civil Service ofthe country. 

The Internal Navigation had--No, my prognostic reader, it had notbeen reformed; no new blood had been infused into it; no attempthad been made to produce a better discipline by the appointmentof a younger secretary; there had been no carting away of decayedwood in the shape of Mr. Snape, or gathering of rank weeds in theform of Mr. Corkscrew; nothing of the kind had been attempted. No--the disease had gone too far either for phlebotomy, purging, or cautery. The Internal Navigation had ceased to exist! Itsdemise had been in this wise. --It may be remembered that sometime since Mr. Oldeschole had mentioned in the hearing of Mr. Snape that things were going wrong. Sir Gregory Hardlines hadexpressed an adverse opinion as to the Internal Navigation, andworse, ten times worse than that, there had been an article inthe _Times_. Now, we all know that if anything is ever donein any way towards improvement in these days, the public pressdoes it. And we all know, also, of what the public pressconsists. Mr. Oldeschole knew this well, and even Mr. Snape had aglimmering idea of the truth. When he read that article, Mr. Oldeschole felt that his days were numbered, and Mr. Snape, whenhe heard of it, began to calculate for the hundredth time to whathighest amount of pension he might be adjudged to be entitled bya liberal-minded Treasury minute. 

Mr. Oldeschole began to set his house in order, hopelessly; forany such effort the time was gone by. It was too late for theoffice to be so done by, and too late for Mr. Oldeschole to doit. He had no aptitude for new styles and modern improvements; hecould not understand Sir Gregory's code of rules, and wasdumbfounded by the Civil Service requisitions that were made uponhim from time to time. Then came frequent calls for him to attendat Sir Gregory's office. There a new broom had been brought in, in the place of our poor friend Alaric, a broom which seemeddetermined to sweep all before it with an unmitigable energy. Mr. Oldeschole found that he could not stand at all before this youngHercules, seeing that his special stall was considered to be thefoulest in the whole range of the Augean stables. He soon sawthat the river was to be turned in on him, and that he was to beofficially obliterated in the flood. 

The civility of those wonder-doing demigods--those Magi of theCivil Service office--was most oppressive to him. When he got tothe board, he was always treated with a deference which he knewwas but a prelude to barbaric tortures. They would ask him to sitdown in a beautiful new leathern arm-chair, as though he werereally some great man, and then examine him as they would acandidate for the Custom House, smiling always, but looking athim as though they were determined to see through him. 

They asked him all manner of questions; but there was onequestion which they put to him, day after day, for four days, that nearly drove him mad. It was always put by that horrid younglynx-eyed new commissioner, who sat there with his hair brushedhigh from off his forehead, peering out of his capacious, excellently-washed shirt-collars, a personification of consciousofficial zeal. 

'And now, Mr. Oldeschole, if you have had leisure to consider thequestion more fully, perhaps you can define to us what is the--hum--hm--the use--hm--hm--the exact use of the InternalNavigation Office?'

And then Sir Warwick would go on looking through his millstone asthough now he really had a hope of seeing something, and SirGregory would lean back in his chair, and rubbing his handsslowly over each other, like a great Akinetos as he was, waitleisurely for Mr. Oldeschole's answer, or rather for his noanswer. 

What a question was this to ask of a man who had spent all hislife in the Internal Navigation Office! O reader! should itchance that thou art a clergyman, imagine what it would be tothee, wert thou asked what is the exact use of the Church ofEngland; and that, too, by some stubborn catechist whom thou wertbound to answer; or, if a lady, happy in a husband and family, say, what would be thy feelings if demanded to define the exactuse of matrimony? Use! Is it not all in all to thee?

Mr. Oldeschole felt a hearty inward conviction that his officehad been of very great use. In the first place, had he not drawnfrom it a thousand a year for the last five-and-twenty years? hadit not given maintenance and employment to many worthy men whomight perhaps have found it difficult to obtain maintenanceelsewhere? had it not always been an office, a public office ofnote and reputation, with proper work assigned to it? The use ofit--the exact use of it? Mr. Oldeschole at last declared, withsome indignation in his tone, that he had been there for fortyyears and knew well that the office was very useful; but that hewould not undertake to define its exact use. 'Thank you, thankyou, Mr. Oldeschole--that will do, I think, ' said the veryspruce-looking new gentleman out of his shirt-collars. 

In these days there was a kind of prescience at the InternalNavigation that something special was going to be done with them. Mr. Oldeschole said nothing openly; but it may be presumed thathe did whisper somewhat to those of the seniors around him inwhom he most confided. And then, his frequent visits to Whitehallwere spoken of even by the most thoughtless of the navvies, andthe threatenings of the coming storm revealed themselves withmore or less distinctness to every mind. 

At last the thundercloud broke and the bolt fell. Mr. Oldescholewas informed that the Lords of the Treasury had resolved onbreaking up the establishment and providing for the duties inanother way. As the word duties passed Sir Gregory's lips aslight smile was seen to hover round the mouth of the newcommissioner. Mr. Oldeschole would, he was informed, receive anofficial notification to this effect on the following morning;and on the following morning accordingly a dispatch arrived, ofgreat length, containing the resolution of my Lords, and puttingan absolute extinguisher on the life of every navvy. 

How Mr. Oldeschole, with tears streaming down his cheeks, communicated the tidings to the elder brethren; and how the elderbrethren, with palpitating hearts and quivering voices, repeatedthe tale to the listening juniors, I cannot now describe. Theboldest spirits were then cowed, the loudest miscreants were thensilenced, there were but few gibes, but little jeering at theInternal Navigation on that day; though Charley, who had alreadyother hopes, contrived to keep up his spirits. The men stoodabout talking in clusters, and old animosities were at an end. The lamb sat down with the wolf, and Mr. Snape and DickScatterall became quite confidential. 

'I knew it was going to happen, ' said Mr. Snape to him. 'Indeed, Mr. Oldeschole has been consulting us about it for some time; butI must own I did not think it would be so sudden; I must ownthat. '

'If you knew it was coming, ' said Corkscrew, 'why didn't you tella chap?'

'I was not at liberty, ' said Mr. Snape, looking very wise. 

'We shall all have liberty enough now, ' said Scatterall; 'Iwonder what they'll do with us; eh, Charley?'

'I believe they will send the worst of us to Spike Island orDartmoor prison, ' said Charley; 'but Mr. Snape, no doubt, hasheard and can tell us. '

'Oh, come, Charley! It don't do to chaff now, ' said a youngnavvy, who was especially down in the mouth. 'I wonder will theydo anything for a fellow?'

'I heard my uncle, in Parliament Street, say, that when a chaphas got any _infested_ interest in a thing, they can't turnhim out, ' said Corkscrew; 'and my uncle is a parliamentaryagent. '

'Can't they though!' said Scatterall. 'It seems to me that theymean to, at any rate; there wasn't a word about pensions oranything of that sort, was there, Mr. Snape?'

'Not a word, ' said Snape. 'But those who are entitled to pensionscan't be affected injuriously. As far as I can see they must giveme my whole salary. I don't think they can do less. '

'You're all serene then, Mr. Snape, ' said Charley; 'you're in theright box. Looking at matters in that light, Mr. Snape, I thinkyou ought to stand something handsome in the shape of lunch. Come, what do you say to chops and stout all round? Dick will goover and order it in a minute. '

'I wish you wouldn't, Charley, ' said the navvy who seemed to bemost affected, and who, in his present humour, could not endure ajoke, As Mr. Snape did not seem to accede to Charley's views, theliberal proposition fell to the ground. 

'Care killed a cat, ' said Scatterall. 'I shan't break my heartabout it. I never liked the shop--did you, Charley?'

'Well, I must say I think we have been very comfortable here, under Mr. Snape, ' said Charley. But if Mr. Snape is to go, whythe office certainly would be deuced dull without him. '

'Charley!' said the broken-hearted young navvy, in a tone ofreproach. 

Sorrow, however, did not take away their appetite, and as Mr. Snape did not see fitting occasion for providing a banquet, theyclubbed together, and among them managed to get a spread ofbeefsteaks and porter. Scatterall, as requested, went across theStrand to order it at the cookshop, while Corkscrew and Charleyprepared the tables. 'And now mind it's the thing, ' said Dick, who, with intimate familiarity, had penetrated into the eating-house kitchen; 'not dry, you know, or too much done; and lots offat. '

And then, as the generous viands renewed their strength, and asthe potent stout warmed their blood, happier ideas came to them, and they began to hope that the world was not all over. 'Well, Ishall try for the Customs, ' said the unhappy one, after a deeppull at the pewter. 'I shall try for the Customs; one does getsuch stunning feeds for tenpence at that place in Thames Street. 'Poor youth! his ideas of earning his bread did not in theirwildest flight spread beyond the public offices of the CivilService. 

For a few days longer they hung about the old office, doingnothing--how could men so circumstanced do anything?--andwaiting for their fate. At last their fate was announced. Mr. Oldeschole retired with his full salary. Secretaries and such-like always retire with full pay, as it is necessary that dignityshould be supported. Mr. Snape and the other seniors werepensioned, with a careful respect to their years of service; withwhich arrangement they all of them expressed themselves highlyindignant, and loudly threatened to bring the cruelty of theirtreatment before Parliament, by the aid of sundry members, whowere supposed to be on the look out for such work; but as nothingfurther was ever heard of them, it may be presumed that themembers in question did not regard the case as one on which theGovernment of the day was sufficiently vulnerable to make itworth their while to trouble themselves. Of the younger clerks, two or three, including the unhappy one, were drafted into otheroffices; some others received one or more years' pay, and thentore themselves away from the fascinations of London life; amongthose was Mr. R. Scatterall, who, in after years, will doubtlessbecome a lawgiver in Hong-Kong; for to that colony has he betakenhimself. Some few others, more unfortunate than the rest, amongwhom poor Screwy was the most conspicuous, were treated with amore absolute rigour, and were sent upon the world portionless. Screwy had been constant in his devotion to pork chops, and hadpersisted in spelling blue without the final 'e. ' He wastherefore, declared unworthy of any further public confidencewhatever. He is now in his uncle's office in Parliament Street;and it is to be hoped that his peculiar talents may there befound useful. 

And so the Internal Navigation Office came to an end, and thedull, dingy rooms were vacant. Ruthless men shovelled off aswaste paper all the lock entries of which Charley had once beenso proud; and the ponderous ledgers, which Mr. Snape haddelighted to haul about, were sent away into Cimmerian darkness, and probably to utter destruction. And then the InternalNavigation was no more. 

Among those who were drafted into other offices was Charley, whompropitious fate took to the Weights and Measures. But it must notbe imagined that chance took him there. The Weights and Measureswas an Elysium, the door of which was never casually open. 

Charley at this time was a much-altered man; not that he hadbecome a good clerk at his old office--such a change one may saywas impossible; there were no good clerks at the InternalNavigation, and Charley had so long been among navvies the mostknavish or navviest, that any such transformation would have metwith no credence--but out of his office he had become a much-altered man. As Katie had said, it was as though some one hadcome to him from the dead. He could not go back to his oldhaunts, he could not return like a dog to his vomit, as long ashe had that purse so near his heart, as long as that voicesounded in his ear, while the memory of that kiss lingered in hisheart. 

He now told everything to Gertrude, all his debts, all his love, and all his despair. There is no relief for sorrow like thesympathy of a friend, if one can only find it. But then thesympathy must be real; mock sympathy always tells the truthagainst itself, always fails to deceive. He told everything toGertrude, and by her counsel he told much to Norman. He could notspeak to him, true friend as he was, of Katie and her love. Therewas that about the subject which made it too sacred for man'sears, too full of tenderness to be spoken of without femininetears. It was only in the little parlour at Paradise Row, whenthe evening had grown dark, and Gertrude was sitting with herbaby in her arms, that the boisterous young navvy could bringhimself to speak of his love. 

During these months Katie's health had greatly improved, and asshe herself had gained in strength, she had gradually begun tothink that it was yet possible for her to live. Little was nowsaid by her about Charley, and not much was said of him in herhearing; but still she did learn how he had changed his office, and with his office his mode of life; she did hear of hisliterary efforts, and of his kindness to Gertrude, and it wouldseem as though it were ordained that his moral life and herphysical life were to gain strength together. 

CHAPTER XLVI

MR. NOGO'S LAST QUESTION

But at this time Charley was not idle. The fate of 'Crinoline andMacassar' has not yet been told; nor has that of the two rivalchieftains, the 'Baron of Ballyporeen and Sir Anthony Allan-a-dale. ' These heartrending tales appeared in due course, bit bybit, in the pages of the _Daily Delight_. On every morningof the week, Sundays excepted, a page and a half of Charley'snarrative was given to the expectant public; and though I am notprepared to say that the public received the offering with anyviolent acclamations of applause, that his name became suddenlythat of a great unknown, that literary cliques talked about himto the exclusion of other topics, or that he rose famous onemorning as Byron did after the publication of the 'Corsair, 'nevertheless something was said in his praise. The _DailyDelight_, on the whole, was rather belittled by its granderbrethren of the press; but a word or two was said here and thereto exempt Charley's fictions from the general pooh-poohing withwhich the remainder of the publication was treated. 

Success, such as this even, is dear to the mind of a youngauthor, and Charley began to feel that he had done something. Theeditor was proportionably civil to him, and he was encouraged tocommence a third historiette. 

'We have polished off poison and petticoats pretty well, ' saidthe editor; 'what do you say to something political?'

Charley had no objection in life. 

'This Divorce Bill, now--we could have half a dozen marriedcouples all separating, getting rid of their ribs and bucklingagain, helter-skelter, every man to somebody else's wife; and theparish parson refusing to do the work; just to show theimmorality of the thing. '

Charley said he'd think about it. 

'Or the Danubian Principalities and the French Alliance--couldyou manage now to lay your scene in Constantinople?'

Charley doubted whether he could. 

'Or perhaps India is the thing? The Cawnpore massacre would workup into any lengths you pleased. You could get a file of the_Times_, you know, for your facts. '

But while the editor was giving these various valuable hints asto the author's future subjects, the author himself, with basemind, was thinking how much he should be paid for his pastlabours. At last he ventured, in the mildest manner, to allude tothe subject. 

'Payment!' said the editor. 

Charley said that he had understood that there was to be somefixed scale of pay; so much per sheet, or something of that sort. 

'Undoubtedly there will, ' said the editor; 'and those who willhave the courage and perseverance to work through with us, tillthe publication has obtained that wide popularity which it issure to achieve, will doubtless be paid, --be paid as no writersfor any periodical in this metropolis have ever yet been paid. But at present, Mr. Tudor, you really must be aware that it isquite out of the question. '

Charley had not the courage and perseverance to work through withthe _Daily Delight_ till it had achieved its promised popularity, and consequently left its ranks like a dastard. He consulted bothGertrude and Norman on the subject, and on their advice sethimself to work on his own bottom. 'You may perhaps manage tofly alone, ' said Gertrude; 'but you will find it very difficult to fly ifyou tie the whole weight of the _Daily Delight_ under your wings. 'So Charley prepared himself for solitary soaring. 

While he was thus working, the time arrived at which Norman wasto leave his office, and it occurred to him that it might bepossible that he should bequeath his vacancy to Charley. He wenthimself to Sir Gregory, and explained, not only his owncircumstances, and his former friendship with Alaric Tudor, butalso the relationship between Alaric and Charley. He then learnt, in the strictest confidence of course, that the doom of theInternal Navigation had just been settled, and that it would benecessary to place in other offices those young men who could inany way be regarded as worth their salt, and, after considerablemanoeuvring, had it so arranged that the ne'er-do-well youngnavvy should recommence his official life under better auspices. 

Nor did Charley come in at the bottom of his office, but wasallowed, by some inscrutable order of the great men who arrangedthose things, to take a position in the Weights and Measuresequal in seniority and standing to that which he had held at theNavigation, and much higher, of course, in pay. There is an oldsaying, which the unenlightened credit, and which declares thatthat which is sauce for the goose is sauce also for the gander. Nothing put into a proverb since the days of Solomon was evermore untrue. That which is sauce for the goose is not sauce forthe gander, and especially is not so in official life. PoorScrewy was the goose, and certainly got the sauce best suited tohim when he was turned adrift out of the Civil Service. Charleywas the gander, and fond as I am of him for his many excellentqualities, I am fain to own that justice might fairly havedemanded that he should be cooked after the same receipt. But itsuited certain potent personages to make a swan of him; andtherefore, though it had long been an assured fact through thewhole service that no man was ever known to enter the Weights andMeasures without the strictest examination, though the characterof aspirants for that high office was always subjected to a rigidscrutiny, though knowledge, accomplishments, industry, morality, outward decency, inward zeal, and all the cardinal virtues wereabsolutely requisite, still Charley was admitted, without anyexamination or scrutiny whatever, during the commotion consequentupon the earthquake above described. 

Charley went to the Weights some time during the recess. In theprocess of the next session Mr. Nogo gave notice that he meant toask the Government a question as to a gross act of injusticewhich had been perpetrated--so at least the matter had beenrepresented to him--on the suppression of the Internal NavigationOffice. 

Mr. Nogo did not at first find it very easy to get a fittingopportunity for asking his question. He had to give notice, andinquiries had to be made, and the responsible people were away, and various customary accidents happened, so that it was late inJune before the question was put. Mr. Nogo, however, perseveredruthlessly, and after six months' labour, did deliver himself ofan indignant, and, as his friends declared to him, a very tellingspeech. 

It was reported at the time by the opposition newspapers, andneed not therefore be given here. But the upshot was this: twomen bearing equal character--Mr. Nogo would not say whether thecharacters of the gentlemen were good or bad; he would only sayequal characters--sat in the same room at this now defunctoffice; one was Mr. Corkscrew and the other Mr. Tudor. One had nofriends in the Civil Service, but the other was more fortunate. Mr. Corkscrew had been sent upon the world a ruined, blightedman, without any compensation, without any regard for hisinterests, without any consideration for his past services orfuture prospects. They would be told that the Government had nofurther need of his labours, and that they could not dare tosaddle the country with a pension for so young a man. But whathad been done in the case of the other gentleman? Why, he hadbeen put into a valuable situation, in the best Government officein London, had been placed over the heads of a dozen others, whohad been there before him, &c. , &c. , &c. And then Mr. Nogo endedwith so vehement an attack on Sir Gregory, and the Government asconnected with him, that the dogs began to whet their teeth andprepare for a tug at the great badger. 

But circumstances were mischancy with Mr. Nogo, and all he saidredounded only to the credit of our friend Charley. His blackundoubtedly was black; the merits of Charley and Mr. Corkscrew, as public servants, had been about equal; but Mr. Whip Vigilturned the black into white in three minutes. 

As he got upon his legs, smiling after the manner of his greatexemplar, he held in his hand a small note and a newspaper. 'Acomparison, ' he said, 'had been instituted between the merits oftwo gentlemen formerly in the employment of the Crown, one ofthem had been selected for further employment, and the otherrejected. The honourable member for Mile End had, he regretted tosay, instituted this comparison. They all knew what was theproverbial character of a comparison. It was, however, ready madeto his hands, and there was nothing left for him, Mr. Whip Vigil, but to go on with it. This, however, he would do in as light amanner as possible. It had been thought that the one gentlemanwould not suit the public service, and that the other would doso. It was for him merely to defend this opinion. He now held inhis hand a letter written by the protégé of the honourable memberfor Limehouse; he would not read it--' (cries of 'Read, read!')'no, he would not read it, but the honourable member might if hewould--and could. He himself was prepared to say that a gentlemanwho chose to express himself in such a style in his privatenotes--this note, however, was not private in the usual sense--could hardly be expected to command a proper supply of wholesomeEnglish, such as the service of the Crown demanded!' Then Mr. Vigil handed across to Mr. Nogo poor Screwy's unfortunate letterabout the pork chops. 'As to the other gentleman, whose name wasnow respectably known in the lighter walks of literature, hewould, if permitted, read the opinion expressed as to his styleof language by a literary publication of the day; and then theHouse would see whether or no the produce of the Civil Servicefield had not been properly winnowed; whether the wheat had notbeen garnered, and the chaff neglected. ' And then the righthonourable gentleman read some half-dozen lines, highlyeulogistic of Charley's first solitary flight. 

Poor Mr. Nogo remained in silence, feeling that his black hadbecome white to all intents and purposes; and the big badger satby and grinned, not deigning to notice the dogs around him. Thusit may be seen that that which is sauce for the goose is notsauce for the gander. 

Early in the spring Norman was married; and then, as had beenbefore arranged, Charley once more went to Surbiton Cottage. Themarriage was a very quiet affair. The feeling of disgrace whichhad fallen upon them all since the days of Alaric's trial had byno means worn itself away. There were none of them yet--no, notone of the Cottage circle, from Uncle Bat down to the parlour-maid--who felt that they had a right to hold up their facesbefore the light of day as they had formerly done. There was acloud over their house, visible perhaps with more or lessdistinctness to all eyes, but which to themselves appeared blackas night. That evil which Alaric had done to them was not to beundone in a few moons. We are all of us responsible for ourfriends, fathers-in-law for their sons-in-law, brothers for theirsisters, husbands for their wives, parents for their children, and children even for their parents. We cannot wipe off from us, as with a wet cloth, the stains left by the fault of those whoare near to us. The ink-spot will cling. Oh! Alaric, Alaric, thatthou, thou who knewest all this, that thou shouldest have donethis thing! They had forgiven his offence against them, but theycould not forget their own involuntary participation in hisdisgrace. It was not for them now to shine forth to the worldwith fine gala doings, and gay gaudy colours, as they had donewhen Gertrude had been married. 

But still there was happiness--quiet, staid happiness--at theCottage. Mrs. Woodward could not but be happy to see Lindamarried to Harry Norman, her own favourite, him whom she hadselected in her heart for her son-in-law from out of all theworld. And now, too, she was beginning to be conscious that Harryand Linda were better suited for each other than he and Gertrudewould have been. What would have been Linda's fate, howunendurable, had she been Alaric's wife, when Alaric fell? Howwould she have borne such a fall? What could she have done, poorlamb, towards mending the broken thread or binding the bruisedlimbs? What balm could she have poured into such wounds as thosewhich fate had inflicted on Gertrude and her household? But atNormansgrove, with a steady old housekeeper at her back, and herhusband always by to give her courage, Linda would find the veryplace for which she was suited. 

And then Mrs. Woodward had another source of joy, of liveliestjoy, in Katie's mending looks. She was at the wedding, thoughhardly with her mother's approval. 

As she got better her old spirit returned to her, and it becamedifficult to refuse her anything. It was in vain that her mothertalked of the cold church, and easterly winds, and the necessarylightness of a bridesmaid's attire. Katie argued that the churchwas only two hundred yards off, that she never suffered from thecold, and that though dressed in light colours, as became abridesmaid, she would, if allowed to go, wear over her whitefrock any amount of cloaks which her mother chose to impose onher. Of course she went, and we will not say how beautiful shelooked, when she clung to Linda in the vestry-room, and all hermother's wrappings fell in disorder from her shoulders. 

So Linda was married and carried off to Normansgrove, and Katieremained with her mother and Uncle Bat. 

'Mamma, we will never part--will we, mamma?' said she, as theycomforted each other that evening after the Normans were gone, and when Charley also had returned to London. 

'When you go, Katie, I think you must take me with you, ' said hermother, smiling through her tears. 'But what will poor Uncle Batdo? I fear you can't take him also. '

'I will never go from you, mamma. '

Her mother knew what she meant. Charley had been there, Charleyto whom she had declared her love when lying, as she thought, onher bed of death--Charley had been there again, and had stoodclose to her, and touched her hand, and looked--oh, how muchhandsomer he was than Harry, how much brighter than Alaric!--hehad touched her hand, and spoken to her one word of joy at herrecovered health. But that had been all. There was a sort ofcompact, Katie knew, that there should be no other Tudormarriage. Charley was not now the scamp he had been, but still--it was understood that her love was not to win its object. 

'I will never go from you, mamma. '

But Mrs. Woodward's heart was not hard as the nether millstone. She drew her daughter to her, and as she pressed her to herbosom, she whispered into her ears that she now hoped they mightall be happy. 

CHAPTER XLVII

CONCLUSION

Our tale and toils have now drawn nigh to an end; our loves andour sorrows are over; and we are soon to part company with thethree clerks and their three wives. Their three wives? Why, yes. It need hardly be told in so many words to an habitual novel-reader that Charley did get his bride at last. 

Nevertheless, Katie kept her promise to Mrs. Woodward. Whatpromise did she ever make and not keep? She kept her promise, anddid not go from her mother. She married Mr. Charles Tudor, of theWeights and Measures, that distinguished master of modernfiction, as the _Literary Censor_ very civilly called himthe other day; and Mr. Charles Tudor became master of SurbitonCottage. 

Reader! take one last leap with me, and presume that two yearshave flown from us since the end of the last chapter; or rathersomewhat more than two years, for we would have it high midsummerwhen we take our last farewell of Surbiton Cottage. 

But sundry changes had taken place at the Cottage, and of such anature, that were it not for the old name's sake, we should nowfind ourselves bound to call the place Surbiton Villa, orSurbiton Hall, or Surbiton House. It certainly had no longer anyright to the title of a cottage; for Charley, in anticipation ofwhat Lucina might do for him, had added on sundry rooms, achildren's room on the ground floor, and a nursery above, and acouple of additional bedrooms on the other side, so that thehouse was now a comfortable abode for an increasing family. 

At the time of which we are now speaking Lucina had not as yetdone much; for, in truth, Charley had been married but littleover twelve months; but there appeared every reason to believethat the goddess would be propitious. There was already onelittle rocking shrine, up in that cosy temple opening out ofKatie's bedroom--we beg her pardon, we should have said Mrs. Charles Tudor's bedroom--one precious tabernacle in which waslaid a little man-deity, a young Charley, to whom was daily paida multitude of very sincere devotions. 

How precious are all the belongings of a first baby; how dear arethe cradle, the lace-caps, the first coral, all the little dudswhich are made with such punctilious care and anxious efforts ofnicest needlework to encircle that small lump of pink humanity!What care is taken that all shall be in order! See that basketlined with crimson silk, prepared to hold his various garments, while the mother, jealous of her nurse, insists on tying everystring with her own fingers. And then how soon the change comes;how different it is when there are ten of them, and the tenth isallowed to inherit the well-worn wealth which the ninth, a yearago, had received from the eighth. There is no crimson silkbasket then, I trow. 

'Jane, Jane, where are my boots?' 'Mary, I've lost my trousers!'Such sounds are heard, shouted through the house from powerfullungs. 

'Why, Charley, ' says the mother, as her eldest hope rushes in tobreakfast with dishevelled hair and dirty hands, 'you've got nohandkerchief on your neck--what have you done with yourhandkerchief?'

'No, mamma; it came off in the hay-loft, and I can't find it. '

'Papa, ' says the lady wife, turning to her lord, who is readinghis newspaper over his coffee--'papa, you really must speak toCharley; he will not mind me. He was dressed quite nicely an hourago, and do see what a figure he has made himself. '

'Charley, ' says papa, not quite relishing this disturbance in themidst of a very interesting badger-baiting--'Charley, my boy, ifyou don't mind your P's and Q's, you and I shall fall out; mindthat;' and he again goes on with his sport; and mamma goes onwith her teapot, looking not exactly like Patience on a monument. 

Such are the joys which await you, Mr. Charles Tudor; but not tosuch have you as yet arrived. As yet there is but the one littlepink deity in the rocking shrine above; but one, at least, ofyour own. At the moment of which we are now speaking there werevisitors at Surbiton Cottage, and the new nursery was broughtinto full use. Mr. And Mrs. Norman of Normansgrove were therewith their two children and two maids, and grandmamma Woodwardhad her hands quite full in the family nursery line. 

It was a beautiful summer evening, and the two young mothers weresitting with Mrs. Woodward and Uncle Bat in the drawing-room, waiting for their lords' return from London. As usual, when theystayed late, the two men were to dine at their club and come downto tea. The nursemaids were walking on the lawn before the windowwith their charges, and the three ladies were busily employedwith some fairly-written manuscript pages, which they werecutting carefully into shape, and arranging in particular form. 

'Now, mamma, ' said Katie, 'if you laugh once while you arereading it, you'll spoil it all. '

'I'll do the best I can, my dear, but I'm sure I shall breakdown; you have made it so very abusive, ' said Mrs. Woodward. 

'Mamma, I think I'll take out that about official priggism--hadn't I better, Linda?'

'Indeed, I think you had; I'm sure mamma would break down there, 'said Linda. 'Mamma, I'm sure you would never get over theofficial priggism. '

'I don't think I should, my dear, ' said Mrs. Woodward. 

'What is it you are all concocting?' said Captain Cuttwater;'some infernal mischief, I know, craving your pardons. '

'If you tell, Uncle Bat, I'll never forgive you, ' said Katie. 

'Oh, you may trust me; I never spoil sport, if I can't make any;but the fun ought to be very good, for you've been a mortal longtime about it. '

And then the two younger ladies again went on clipping andarranging their papers, while Mrs. Woodward renewed her protestthat she would do her best as to reading their production. Whilethey were thus employed the postman's knock was heard, and aletter was brought in from the far-away Australian exiles. Theperiod at which these monthly missives arrived were moments ofintense anxiety, and the letter was seized upon with eageravidity. It was from Gertrude to her mother, as all these letterswere; but in such a production they had a joint property, and itwas hardly possible to say who first mastered its contents. 

It will only be necessary here to give some extracts from theletter, which was by no means a short one. So much must be donein order that our readers may know something of the fate of thosewho perhaps may be called the hero and heroine of the tale. Theauthor does not so call them; he professes to do his work withoutany such appendages to his story--heroism there may be, and hehopes there is--more or less of it there should be in a truepicture of most characters; but heroes and heroines, as socalled, are not commonly met with in our daily walks of life. 

Before Gertrude's letter had been disposed of, Norman and Charleycame in, and it was therefore discussed in full conclave. Alaric's path in the land of his banishment had not been overroses. The upward struggle of men, who have fallen from a highplace once gained, that second mounting of the ladder of life, seldom is an easy path. He, and with him Gertrude and hischildren, had been called on to pay the full price of hisbacksliding. His history had gone with him to the Antipodes; and, though the knowledge of what he had done was not there soabsolute a clog upon his efforts, so overpowering a burden, as itwould have been in London, still it was a burden and a heavy one. 

It had been well for Gertrude that she had prepared herself togive up all her luxuries by her six months' residence in thatMillbank Paradise of luxuries: for some time she had littleenough in the 'good and happy land, ' to which she had taughtherself and her children to look forward. That land of promisehad not flowed with milk and honey when first she put her footupon its soil; its produce for her had been gall and bitter herbsfor many a weary month after she first landed. But her heart hadnever sunk within her. She had never forgotten that he, if hewere to work well, should have at least one cheerful companion byhis side. She had been true to him, then as ever. And yet it isso hard to be true to high principles in little things. Theheroism of the Roman, who, for his country's sake, leapt hishorse into a bottomless gulf, was as nothing to that of a womanwho can keep her temper through poverty, and be cheerful inadversity. 

Through poverty, scorn, and bad repute, under the privations of ahard life, separated from so many that she had loved, and fromeverything that she had liked, Gertrude had still been true toher ideas of her marriage vow; true, also, to her pure and singlelove. She had entwined herself with him in sunny weather; andwhen the storm came she did her best to shelter the battered stemto which she had trusted herself. 

By degrees things mended with them; and in this letter, which isnow passing from eager hand to hand in Katie's drawing-room, Gertrude spoke with better hope of their future prospects. 

'Thank God, we are once more all well, ' she said; 'and Alaric'sspirits are higher than they were. He has, indeed, had much totry them. They think, I believe, in England, that any kind ofwork here is sure to command a high price; of this I am quitesure, that in no employment in England are people so tasked asthey are here. Alaric was four months in these men's counting-house, and I am sure another four months would have seen him inhis grave. Though I knew not then what other provision might bemade for us, I implored him, almost on my knees, to give up that. He was expected to be there for ten, sometimes twelve, hours aday; and they thought he should always be kept going like asteam-engine. You know Alaric never was afraid of work; but thatwould have killed him. And what was it for? What did they givehim for that--for all his talent, all his experience, all hisskill? And he did give them all. His salary was two pounds ten aweek! And then, when he told them of all he was doing for them, they had the baseness to remind him of----. Dearest mother, isnot the world hard? It was that that made me insist that heshould leave them. '

Alaric's present path was by no means over roses. This certainlywas a change from those days on which he had sat, one of a mightytrio, at the Civil Service Examination Board, striking terrorinto candidates by a scratch of his pen, and making happy thedesponding heart by his approving nod. His ambition now was notto sit among the magnates of Great Britain, and make his voicethunder through the columns of the _Times_; it ranged somewhatlower at this period, and was confined for the present to a strongdesire to see his wife and bairns sufficiently fed, and not leftabsolutely without clothing. He inquired little as to the feeling ofthe electors of Strathbogy. 

And had he utterly forgotten the stirring motto of his earlydays? Did he ever mutter 'Excelsior' to himself, as, with wearysteps, he dragged himself home from that hated counting-house?Ah! he had fatally mistaken the meaning of the word which he hadso often used. There had been the error of his life. 'Excelsior!'When he took such a watchword for his use, he should surely havetaught himself the meaning of it. 

He had now learnt that lesson in a school somewhat of thesternest; but, as time wore kindly over him, he did teach himselfto accept the lesson with humility. His spirit had been wellnighbroken as he was carried from that court-house in the Old Baileyto his prison on the river-side; and a broken spirit, like abroken goblet, can never again become whole. But Nature was akind mother to him, and did not permit him to be wholly crushed. She still left within the plant the germ of life, which enabledit again to spring up and vivify, though sorely bruised by theheels of those who had ridden over it. He still repeated tohimself the old watchword, though now in humbler tone and morebated breath; and it may be presumed that he had now a clearermeaning of its import. 

'But his present place, ' continued Gertrude, 'is much--very muchmore suited to him. He is corresponding clerk in the first bankhere, and though his pay is nearly double what it was at theother place, his hours of work are not so oppressive. He goes atnine and gets away at five--that is, except on the arrival ordispatch of the English mails. ' Here was a place of bliss for aman who had been a commissioner, attending at the office at suchhours as best suited himself, and having clerks at his beck to doall that he listed. And yet, as Gertrude said, this was a placeof bliss to him. It was a heaven as compared with that otherhell. 

'Alley is such a noble boy, ' said Gertrude, becoming almostjoyous as she spoke of her own immediate cares. 'He is most likeKatie, I think, of us all; and yet he is very like his papa. Hegoes to a day-school now, with his books slung over his back in abag. You never saw such a proud little fellow as he is, and somanly. Charley is just like you--oh! so like. It makes me sohappy that he is. He did not talk so early as Alley, but, nevertheless, he is more forward than the other children I seehere. The little monkeys! they are neither of them the least likeme. But one can always see oneself, and it don't matter if onedoes not. '

'If ever there was a brick, Gertrude is one, ' said Norman. 

'A brick!' said Charley--'why you might cut her to pieces, andbuild another Kensington palace out of the slices. I believe sheis a brick. '

'I wonder whether I shall ever see her again?' said Mrs. Woodward, not with dry eyes. 

'Oh yes, mamma, ' said Katie. 'She shall come home to us some day, and we will endeavour to reward her for it all. '

Dear Katie, who will not love you for such endeavour? But, indeed, the reward for heroism cometh not here. 

There was much more in the letter, but enough has been given forour purpose. It will be seen that hope yet remained both forAlaric and his wife; and hope not without a reasonable base. Badas he had been, it had not been with him as with Undy Scott. Thedevil had not contrived to put his whole claw upon him. He hadnot divested himself of human affections and celestial hopes. Hehad not reduced himself to the present level of a beast, with thedisadvantages of a soul and of an eternity, as the other man haddone. He had not put himself beyond the pale of true brotherhoodwith his fellow-men. We would have hanged Undy had the lawpermitted us; but now we will say farewell to the other, hopingthat he may yet achieve exaltation of another kind. 

And to thee, Gertrude--how shall we say farewell to thee, excluded as thou art from that dear home, where those who lovethee so well are now so happy? Their only care remaining is nowthy absence. Adversity has tried thee in its crucible, and thouart found to be of virgin gold, unalloyed; hadst thou still beenlapped in prosperity, the true ring of thy sterling metal wouldnever have been heard. Farewell to thee, and may those youngbudding flowerets of thine break forth into golden fruit togladden thy heart in coming days!

The reading of Gertrude's letter, and the consequent discussion, somewhat put off the execution of the little scheme which hadbeen devised for that evening's amusement; but, nevertheless, itwas still broad daylight when Mrs. Woodward consigned theprecious document to her desk; the drawing-room windows werestill open, and the bairns were still being fondled in the room. It was the first week in July, when the night almost loses herdominion, and when those hours which she generally claims as herown, become the pleasantest of the day. 

'Oh, Charley, ' said Katie, at last, 'we have great news for you, too. Here is another review on "The World's Last Wonder. "'

Now 'The World's Last Wonder' was Charley's third novel; but hewas still sensitive enough on the subject of reviews to lookwith much anxiety for what was said of him. These notices werehabitually sent down to him at Hampton, and his custom was tomake his wife or her mother read them, while he sat by in lordlyease in his arm-chair, receiving homage when homage came to him, and criticizing the critics when they were uncivil. 

'Have you?' said Charley. 'What is it? Why did you not show it mebefore?'

'Why, we were talking of dear Gertrude, ' said Katie; 'and it isnot so pleasant but that it will keep. What paper do you think itis?'

'What paper? how on earth can I tell?--show it me. '

'No; but do guess, Charley; and then mamma will read it--prayguess now. '

'Oh, bother, I can't guess. _The Literary Censor_, Isuppose--I know they have turned against me. '

'No, it's not that, ' said Linda; 'guess again. '

'_The Guardian Angel_, ' said Charley. 

'No--that angel has not taken you under his wings as yet, ' saidKatie. 

'I know it's not the _Times_, ' said Charley, 'for I haveseen that. '

'O no, ' said Katie, seriously; 'if it was anything of that sort, we would not keep you in suspense. '

'Well, I'll be shot if I guess any more--there are such thousandsof them. '

'But there is only one _Daily Delight_, ' said Mrs. Woodward. 

'Nonsense!' said Charley. 'You don't mean to tell me that my dearold friend and foster-father has fallen foul of me--my oldteacher and master, if not spiritual pastor; well--well--well!The ingratitude of the age! I gave him my two beautiful stories, the first-fruits of my vine, all for love; to think that heshould now lay his treacherous axe to the root of the young tree--well, give it here. '

'No--mamma will read it--we want Harry to hear it. '

'O yes--let Mrs. Woodward read it, ' said Harry. 'I trust it issevere. I know no man who wants a dragging over the coals moreperemptorily than you do. '

'Thankee, sir. Well, grandmamma, go on; but if there be anythingvery bad, give me a little notice, for I am nervous. '

And then Mrs. Woodward began to read, Linda sitting with Katie'sbaby in her arms, and Katie performing a similar office for hersister. 

"'The World's Last Wonder, ' by Charles Tudor, Esq. "

'He begins with a lie, ' said Charley, 'for I never called myselfEsquire. '

'Oh, that was a mistake, ' said Katie, forgetting herself. 

'Men of that kind shouldn't make such mistakes, ' said Charley. 'When one fellow attempts to cut up another fellow, he ought totake special care that he does it fairly. '

"By the author of 'Bathos. '"

'I didn't put that in, ' said Charley, 'that was the publisher. Ionly put Charles Tudor. '

'Don't be so touchy, Charley, and let me go on, ' said Mrs. Woodward. 

'Well, fire away--it's good fun to you, I dare say, as the flysaid to the spider. '

'Well, Charley, at any rate we are not the spiders, ' said Linda. Katie said nothing, but she could not help feeling that she mustlook rather spiderish. 

'Mr. Tudor has acquired some little reputation as a humorist, butas is so often the case with those who make us laugh, his verysuccess will prove his ruin. '

'Then upon my word the _Daily Delight_ is safe, ' saidCharley. 'It will never be ruined in that way. '

'There is an elaborate jocosity about him, a determined eternityof most industrious fun, which gives us the idea of a boy who isbeing rewarded for having duly learnt by rote his daily lessonout of Joe Miller. '

'Now, I'll bet ten to one he has never read the book at all--well, never mind--go on. '

"'The World's Last Wonder' is the description of a woman who kepta secret under certain temptations to reveal it, which, as Mr. Tudor supposes, might have moved any daughter of Eve to break herfaith. "

'I haven't supposed anything of the kind, ' said Charley. 

'This secret, which we shall not disclose, as we would not wishto be thought less trustworthy than Mr. Tudor's wonderful woman--'

'We shall find that he does disclose it, of course; that is theway with all of them. '

--'Is presumed to permeate the whole three volumes. '

'It is told at full length in the middle of the second, ' saidCharley. 

'And the effect upon the reader of course is, that he has ceasedto interest himself about it, long before it is disclosed to him!

'The lady in question is engaged to be married to a gentleman, acircumstance which in the pages of a novel is not calculated toattract much special attention. She is engaged to be married, butthe gentleman who has the honour of being her intended sposo----'

'Intended sposo!' said Charley, expressing by his upturned lip awithering amount of scorn--'how well I know the fellow's lowattempts at wit! That's the editor himself--that's my literarypapa. I know him as well as though I had seen him at it. '

Katie and Mrs. Woodward exchanged furtive glances, but neither ofthem moved a muscle of her face. 

'But the gentleman who has the honour of being her intendedsposo, ' continued Mrs. Woodward. 

'What the devil's a sposo?' said Uncle Bat, who was sitting in anarm-chair with a handkerchief over his head. 

'Why, you're not a sposo, Uncle Bat, ' said Linda; 'but Harry is, and so is Charley. '

'Oh, I see, ' said the captain; 'it's a bird with his wingsclipped. '

'But the gentleman who has the honour of being her intendedsposo----' again read Mrs. Woodward. 

'Now I'm sure I'm speaking by the card, ' said Charley, 'when Isay that there is not another man in London who could havewritten that line, and who would have used so detestable a word. I think I remember his using it in one of his lectures to me;indeed I'm sure I do. Sposo! I should like to tweak his nose oh!'

'Are you going to let me go on?' said Mrs. Woodward--'herintended sposo'--Charley gave a kick with his foot and satisfiedhimself with that--'is determined to have nothing to say to herin the matrimonial line till she has revealed to him this secretwhich he thinks concerns his own honour. '

'There, I knew he'd tell it. '

'He has not told it yet, ' said Norman. 

'The lady, however, is obdurate, wonderfully so, of course, seeing that she is the world's last wonder, and so the match isbroken off. But the secret is of such a nature that the lady'sinvincible objection to revealing it is bound up with the fact ofher being a promised bride. '

'I wonder he didn't say sposa, ' said Charley. 

'I never thought of that, ' said Katie. 

Mrs. Woodward and Linda looked at her, but Charley did not, andher blunder passed by unnoticed. 

'Now that she is free from her matrimonial bonds, she is freealso to tell the secret; and indeed the welfare both of thegentleman and of the lady imperiously demands that it should betold. Should he marry her, he is destined to learn it after hismarriage; should he not marry her, he may hear it at any time. She sends for him and tells him, not the first of these facts, bydoing which all difficulty would have at once been put an end to--'

'It is quite clear he has never read the story, quite clear, 'said Charley. 

'She tells him only the last, viz. , that as they are nowstrangers he may know the secret; but that when once known itwill raise a barrier between them that no years, no penance, nosorrow on his part, no tenderness on hers, can ever break down. She then asks him--will he hear the secret?'

'She does not ask any such thing, ' said Charley; 'the letter thatcontains it has been already sent to him. She merely gives him anopportunity of returning it unopened. '

'The gentleman, who is not without a grain of obstinacy in hisown composition and many grains of curiosity, declares it to beimpossible that he can go to the altar in ignorance of factswhich he is bound to know, and the lady, who seems to be of anaffectionate disposition, falls in tenderness at his feet. She isindeed in a very winning mood, and quite inclined to use everymeans allowable to a lady for retaining her lover; every meansthat is short of that specially feminine one of telling hersecret. 

'We will give an extract from this love scene, partly for thesake of its grotesque absurdity--'

Charley kicked out another foot, as though he thought that theeditor of the _Daily Delight_ might perhaps be within reach. 

'--And partly because it gives a fair example of the manner inwhich Mr. Tudor endeavours to be droll even in the midst of hismost tender passages. 

'Leonora was at this time seated--'

'Oh, skip the extract, ' said Charley; 'I suppose there are threeor four pages of it?'

'It goes down to where Leonora says that his fate and her own arein his hands. '

'Yes, about three columns, ' said Charley; 'that's an easy way ofmaking an article--eh, Harry?'

'_Aliter non fit, amice, liber_, ' said the classical Norman. 

'Well, skip the extract, grandmamma. '

'Now, did anyone ever before read such a mixture of the bombasticand the burlesque? We are called upon to cry over every joke, and, for the life of us, we cannot hold our sides when thecatastrophes occur. It is a salad in which the pungency of thevinegar has been wholly subdued by the oil, and the fatness ofthe oil destroyed by the tartness of the vinegar. '

'His old simile, ' said Charley; 'he was always talking aboutliterary salads. '

'The gentleman, of course, gives way at the last minute, 'continued Mrs. Woodward. 'The scene in which he sits with theunopened letter lying on his table before him has some merit; butthis probably arises from the fact that the letter is dumb, andthe gentleman equally so. '

'D--nation!' said Charley, whose patience could not stand suchimpudence at this. 

'The gentleman, who, as we should have before said, is the eldestson of a man of large reputed fortune----'

'There--I knew he'd tell it. '

'Oh, but he hasn't told it, ' said Norman. 

'Doesn't the word 'reputed' tell it?'

'--The eldest son of a man of large reputed fortune, does at lastmarry the heroine; and then he discovers--But what he discovers, those who feel any interest in the matter may learn from the bookitself; we must profess that we felt none. 

'We will not say there is nothing in the work indicative oftalent. The hero's valet, Jacob Brush, and the heroine's lady's-maid, Jacintha Pintail, are both humorous and good in their way. Why it should be so, we do not pretend to say; but it certainlydoes appear to us that Mr. Tudor is more at home in the servants'hall than in the lady's boudoir. '

'Abominable scoundrel!' said Charley. 

'But what we must chiefly notice, ' continued the article, 'in thefurtherance of those views by which we profess that we aregoverned--'

'Now, I know, we are to have something very grandiloquent andvery false, ' said Charley. 

'--Is this: that no moral purpose can be served by the volumesbefore us. The hero acts wrongly throughout, but nevertheless heis rewarded at last. There is no Nemesis--'

'No what?' said Charley, jumping up from his chair and lookingover the table. 

'No Nemesis, ' said Mrs. Woodward, speaking with only half-sustained voice, and covering with her arms the document whichshe had been reading. 

Charley looked sharply at his wife, then at Linda, then at Mrs. Woodward. Not one of them could keep her face. He made a snatchat the patched-up manuscript, and as he did so, Katie almostthrew out of her arms the baby she was holding. 

'Take him, Harry, take him, ' said she, handing over the child tohis father. And then gliding quick as thought through thefurniture of the drawing-room, she darted out upon the lawn, tosave herself from the coming storm. 

Charley was quickly after her; but as he made his exit, one chairfell to the right of him, and another to the left. Mrs. Woodwardfollowed them, and so did Harry and Linda, each with a baby. 

And then Captain Cuttwater, waking from his placid nap, rubbedhis eyes in wondering amazement. 

'What the devil is all the row about?' said he. But there wasnobody to answer him.