A PERILOUS SECRET

 BY CHARLES READE

AUTHOR OF "HARD CASH" "PUT YOURSELF IN HIS PLACE" "GRIFFITH GAUNT" "IT ISNEVER TOO LATE TO MEND" ETC. , ETC. 

 1884

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER I. THE POOR MAN'S CHILD

CHAPTER II. THE RICH MAN'S CHILD

CHAPTER III. THE TWO FATHERS

CHAPTER IV. AN OLD SERVANT

CHAPTER V. MARY'S PERIL

CHAPTER VI. SHARP PRACTICE

CHAPTER VII. THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE

CHAPTER VIII. THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE

CHAPTER IX. LOVERS PARTED

CHAPTER X. THE GORDIAN KNOT

CHAPTER XI. THE KNOT CUT. --ANOTHER TIED

CHAPTER XII. THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE

CHAPTER XIII. THE SERPENT LET LOOSE

CHAPTER XIV. THE SERPENT

CHAPTER XV. THE SECRET IN DANGER

CHAPTER XVI. REMINISCENCES. --THE FALSE ACCUSER. --THE SECRET EXPLODED

CHAPTER XVII. LOVERS' QUARRELS

CHAPTER XVIII. APOLOGIES

CHAPTER XIX. A WOMAN OUTWITS TWO MEN

CHAPTER XX. CALAMITY

CHAPTER XXI. BURIED ALIVE

CHAPTER XXII. REMORSE

CHAPTER XXIII. BURIED ALIVE. --THE THREE DEADLY PERILS

CHAPTER XXIV. STRANGE COMPLICATIONS

CHAPTER XXV. RETRIBUTION

CHAPTER XXVI. STRANGE TURNS

CHAPTER XXVII. CURTAIN

A PERILOUS SECRET. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE POOR MAN'S CHILD. 

Two worn travellers, a young man and a fair girl about four years old, sat on the towing-path by the side of the Trent. 

The young man had his coat off, by which you might infer it was very hot;but no, it was a keen October day, and an east wind sweeping down theriver. The coat was wrapped tightly round the little girl, so that onlyher fair face with blue eyes and golden hair peeped out; and the youngfather sat in his shirt sleeves, looking down on her with a loving butanxious look. Her mother, his wife, had died of consumption, and he wasin mortal terror lest biting winds and scanty food should wither thissweet flower too, his one remaining joy. 

William Hope was a man full of talent; self-educated, and wonderfullyquick at learning anything: he was a linguist, a mechanic, amineralogist, a draughtsman, an inventor. Item, a bit of a farrier, andhalf a surgeon; could play the fiddle and the guitar; could draw andpaint and drive a four-in-hand. Almost the only thing he could not do wasto make money and keep it. 

Versatility seldom pays. But, to tell the truth, luck was against him;and although in a long life every deserving man seems to get a chance, yet Fortune does baffle some meritorious men for a limited time. Generally, we think, good fortune and ill fortune succeed each otherrapidly, like red cards and black; but to some ill luck comes in greatlong slices; and if they don't drink or despair, by-and-by good luckcomes continuously, and everything turns to gold with him who has waitedand deserved. 

Well, for years Fortune was hard on William Hope. It never let him gethis head above-water. If he got a good place, the employer died or soldhis business. If he patented an invention, and exhausted his savings topay the fees, no capitalist would work it, or some other inventorproved he had invented something so like it that there was no basis fora monopoly. 

At last there fell on him the heaviest blow of all. He had accumulated£50 as a merchant's clerk, and was in negotiation for a small independentbusiness, when his wife, whom he loved tenderly, sickened. 

For eight months he was distracted with hopes and fears. These gave wayto dismal certainty. She died, and left him broken-hearted and poor, impoverished by the doctors, and pauperized by the undertaker. Then hiscrushed heart had but one desire--to fly from the home that had lost itssunshine, and the very country which had been calamitous to him. 

He had one stanch friend, who had lately returned rich from New Zealand, and had offered to send him out as his agent, and to lend him money inthe colony. Hope had declined, and his friend had taken the huff, andhad not written to him since. But Hope knew he was settled in Hull, andtoo good-hearted at bottom to go from his word in his friend's presentsad condition. So William Hope paid every debt he owed in Liverpool, tookhis child to her mother's tombstone, and prayed by it, and started tocross the island, and then leave it for many a long day. 

He had a bundle with one brush, one comb, a piece of yellow soap, and twochanges of linen, one for himself, and one for his little Grace--item, his fiddle, and a reaping hook; for it was a late harvest in the north, and he foresaw he should have to work his way and play his way, or elsebeg, and he was too much of a man for that. His child's face won her manya ride in a wagon, and many a cup of milk from humble women standing attheir cottage doors. 

Now and then he got a day's work in the fields, and the farmer's wifetook care of little Grace, and washed her linen, and gave them both cleanstraw in the barn to lie on, and a blanket to cover them. Once he fell inwith a harvest-home, and his fiddle earned him ten shillings, all insixpences. But on unlucky days he had to take his fiddle under his arm, and carry his girl on his back: these unlucky days came so often thatstill as he travelled his small pittance dwindled. Yet half-way on thisjourney fortune smiled on him suddenly. It was in Derbyshire. He went alittle out of his way to visit his native place--he had left it at tenyears old. Here an old maid, his first cousin, received Grace withrapture, and Hope pottered about all day, reviving his boyishrecollections of people and places. He had left the village ignorant; hereturned full of various knowledge; and so it was that in a certaindespised field, all thistles and docks and every known weed, which fieldthe tenant had condemned as a sour clay unfit for cultivation, WilliamHope found certain strata and other signs which, thanks to hismineralogical studies and practical knowledge, sent a sudden thrill allthrough his frame. "Here's luck at last!" said he. "My child! my child!our fortune is made. "

The proprietor of this land, and indeed of the whole parish, was aretired warrior, Colonel Clifford. Hope knew that very well, and hurriedto Clifford Hall, all on fire with his discovery. 

He obtained an interview without any difficulty. Colonel Clifford, thoughproud as Lucifer, was accessible and stiffly civil to humble folk. He wasgracious enough to Hope; but, when the poor fellow let him know he hadfound signs of coal on his land, he froze directly; told him that twogentlemen in that neighborhood had wasted their money groping the bowelsof the earth for coal, because of delusive indications on the surface ofthe soil; and that for his part, even if he was sure of success, he wouldnot dirty his fingers with coal. "I believe, " said he, "the northernnobility descend to this sort of thing; but then they have not smelledpowder, and seen glory, and served her Majesty. _I have_. "

Hope tried to reason with him, tried to get round him. But he wasunassailable as Gibraltar, and soon cut the whole thing short bysaying: "There, that's enough. I am much obliged to you, sir, forbringing me information you think valuable. You are travelling--onfoot--short of funds perhaps. Please accept this trifle, and--and--good-morning. " He retreated at marching pace, and the hotblood burned his visitor's face. An alms!

But on second thoughts he said: "Well, I have offered him a fortune, andhe gives me ten shillings. One good turn deserves another. " So hepocketed the half-sovereign, and bought his little Grace aneck-handkerchief, blue with white spots; and so this unlucky man and hischild fought their way from west to east, till they reached that placewhere we introduced them to the reader. 

That was an era in their painful journey, because until then Hope's onlyanxiety was to find food and some little comfort for his child. But thismorning little Grace had begun to cough, a little dry cough that struckon the father's heart like a knell. Her mother had died of consumption:were the seeds of that fatal malady in her child? If so, hardship, fatigue, cold, and privation would develop them rapidly, and she wouldwither away into the grave before his eyes. So he looked down on her inan agony of foreboding, and shivered in his shirt sleeves, not at thecold, but at the future. She, poor girl, was, like the animals, blessedwith ignorance of everything beyond the hour; and soon she woke herfather from his dire reverie with a cry of delight. 

"Oh, what's they?" said she, and beamed with pleasure. Hope followed thedirection of her blue eyes, open to their full extent; and lo! there wasa little fleet of swans coming round a bend of the river. Hope told herall about the royal birds, and that they belonged to sovereigns in onedistrict, to cities in another. Meantime the fair birds sailed on, andpassed stately, arching their snowy necks. Grace gloated on them, and fora day or two her discourse was of swans. 

At last, when very near the goal, misfortunes multiplied. They came intoa town on a tidal river, whence they could hope to drift down to theirdestination for a shilling or two; but here Hope spent his last farthingon Grace's supper at an eating-house, and had not wherewithal to pay forbed or breakfast at the humble inn. Here, too, he took up the localpaper, praying Heaven there might be some employment advertised, howevermean, that so he might feed his girl, and not let the fiend Consumptiontake her at a gift. 

No, there was nothing in the advertising column, but in the body of thepaper he found a paragraph to the effect that Mr. Samuelson, of Hull, had built a gigantic steam vessel in that port, and was going out to NewZealand in her on her trial trip, to sail that morning at high tide, 6. 45A. M. , and it was now nine. 

How a sentence in a newspaper can blast a man! Bereavement, Despair, LostLove--they come like lightning in a single line. Hope turned sick atthese few words, and down went his head and his hands, and he sat all ofa heap, cold at heart. Then he began to disbelieve in everything, especially in honesty. For why? If he had only left Liverpool in debt andtaken the rail, he would have reached Hull in ample time, and would havegone out to New Zealand in the new ship with money in both pockets. 

But it was no use fretting. Starvation and disease impended over hischild. He must work, or steal, or something. In truth he was gettingdesperate. He picked himself up and went about, offering his manyaccomplishments to humble shop-keepers. They all declined him, somecivilly. At last he came to a superior place of business. There werelarge offices and a handsome house connected with it in the rear. At theside of the offices were pulleys, cranes, and all the appliances forloading vessels, and a yard with horses and vans, so that the wholefrontage of the premises was very considerable. A brass plate said, "R. Bartley, ship-broker and commission agent"; but the man was evidently aship-owner and a carrier besides; so this miscellaneous shop roused hopesin our versatile hero. He rapidly surveyed the outside, and then casthungry glances through the window of the man's office. It was abow-window of unusual size, through which the proprietor or his employeescould see a long way up and down the river. Through this window Hopepeered. Repulses had made him timid. He wanted to see the face he had toapply to before he ventured. 

But Mr. Bartley was not there. The large office was at present occupiedby his clerks; one of these was Leonard Monckton, a pale young man withdark hair, a nose like a hawk, and thin lips. The other was quite a youngfellow, with brown hair, hazel eyes, and an open countenance. "Many ahard rub puts a point on a man. " So Hope resolved at once to say nothingto that pale clerk so like a kite, but to interest the open countenancein him and his hungry child. 

There were two approaches to the large office. One, to Hope's right, through a door and a lobby. This was seldom used except by the habituésof the place. The other was to Hope's left, through a very small office, generally occupied by an inferior clerk, who kept an eye upon the workoutside. However, this office had also a small window looking inward;this opened like a door when the man had anything to say to Mr. Bartleyor the clerks in the large office. 

William Hope entered this outer office, and found it empty. The clerkhappened to be in the yard. Then he opened the inner door and looked inon the two clerks, pale and haggard, and apprehensive of a repulse. Headdressed himself to the one nearest him; it was the one whose face hadattracted him. 

"Sir, can I see Mr. Bartley?"

The young fellow glanced over the visitor's worn garments and dustyshoes, and said, dryly, "Hum! if it is for charity, this is thewrong shop. "

"I want no charity, " said Hope, with a sigh; "I want employment. But I dowant it very badly; my poor little girl and I are starving. "

"Then that is a shame, " said the young fellow, warmly. "Why, you are agentleman, aren't you?"

"I don't know for that, " said Hope. "But I am an educated man, and Icould do the whole business of this place. But you see I am down inthe world. "

"You look like it, " said the clerk, bluntly. "But don't you be so greenas to tell old Bartley that, or you are done for. No, no; I'll show youhow to get in here. Wait till half past one. He lunches at one, and heisn't quite such a brute after luncheon. Then you come in like JuliusCaesar, and brag like blazes, and offer him twenty pounds' worth ofindustry and ability, and above all arithmetic, and he will say he has noopening (and that is a lie), and offer you fifteen shillings, perhaps. "

"If he does, I'll jump at it, " said Hope, eagerly. "But whether I succeedwith him or not, take my child's blessing and my own. "

His voice faltered, and Bolton, with a young man's uneasiness undersentiment, stopped him. "Oh, come, old fellow, bother all that! Why, weare all stumped in turn. " Then he began to chase a solitary coin into acorner of his waistcoat pocket. "Look here, I'll lend you ashilling--pay me next week--it will buy the kid a breakfast. I wish Ihad more, but I want the other for luncheon. I haven't drawn my screwyet. It is due at twelve. "

"I'll take it for my girl, " said Hope, blushing, "and because it isoffered me by a gentleman and like a gentleman. "

"Granted, for the sake of argument, " said this sprightly youth; and sothey parted for the time, little dreaming, either of them, what a chainthey were weaving round their two hearts, and this little business thefirst link. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE RICH MAN'S CHILD. 

The world is very big, and contains hundreds of millions who arestrangers to each other. Yet every now and then this big world seems toturn small; so many people whose acquaintance we make turn out to beacquaintances of our acquaintances. This concatenation of acquaintancesis really one of the marvels of social life, if one considers thechances against it, owing to the size and population of the country. Asan example of this phenomenon, which we have all observed, William Hopewas born in Derbyshire, in a small parish which belonged, nearly all ofit, to Colonel Clifford; yet in that battle for food which is, alas! theprosaic but true history of men and nations, he entered an office inYorkshire, and there made friends with Colonel Clifford's son, Walter, who was secretly dabbling in trade and matrimony under the name ofBolton; and this same Hope was to come back, and to apply for a place toMr. Bartley; Mr. Bartley was brother-in-law to that same ColonelClifford, though they were at daggers drawn, the pair. 

Miss Clifford, aged thirty-two, had married Bartley, aged thirty-seven. Each had got fixed habits, and they soon disagreed. In two years theyparted, with plenty of bitterness, but no scandal. Bartley stood on hisrights, and kept their one child, little Mary. He was very fond of her, and as the mother saw her whenever she liked, his love for his childrather tended to propitiate Mrs. Bartley, though nothing on earth wouldhave induced her to live with him again. 

Little Mary was two months younger than Grace Hope, and, like her, hadblue eyes and golden hair. But what a difference in her condition! Shehad two nurses and every luxury. Dressed like a princess, and even whenin bed smothered in lace; some woman's eye always upon her, a hand alwaysready to keep her from the smallest accident. 

Yet all this care could not keep out sickness. The very day that GraceHope began to cough and alarm her father, Mary Bartley flushed and paled, and showed some signs of feverishness. 

The older nurse, a vigilant person, told Mr. Bartley directly; and thedoctor was sent for post-haste. He felt her pulse, and said there wassome little fever, but no cause for anxiety. He administered syrup ofpoppies, and little Mary passed a tranquil night. 

Next day, about one in the afternoon, she became very restless, and wasrepeatedly sick. The doctor was sent for, and combated the symptoms; butdid not inquire closely into the cause. Sickness proceeds immediatelyfrom the stomach; so he soothed the stomach with alkaline mucilages, andthe sickness abated. But next day alarming symptoms accumulated, shortbreathing, inability to eat, flushed face, wild eyes. Bartley telegraphedto a first-rate London physician. He came, and immediately examinedthe girl's throat, and shook his head; then he uttered a fatalword--Diphtheria. 

They had wasted four days squirting petty remedies at symptoms, insteadof finding the cause and attacking it, and now he told them plainly hefeared it was too late--the fatal membrane was forming, and, indeed, hadhalf closed the air-passages. 

Bartley in his rage and despair would have driven the local doctor out ofthe house, but this the London doctor would not allow. He even consultedhim on the situation, now it was declared, and, as often happens, theywent in for heroic remedies since it was too late. 

But neither powerful stimulants nor biting draughts nor causticapplications could hinder the deadly parchment from growing and growing. 

The breath reduced to a thread, no nourishment possible except by bathsof beef tea, and similar enemas. Exhaustion inevitable. Death certain. 

Such was the hopeless condition of the rich man's child, surrounded bynurses and physicians, when the father of the poor man's child applied tothe clerk Bolton for that employment which meant bread for his child, andperhaps life for _her_. 

William Hope returned to his little Grace with a loaf of bread hebought on the road with Bolton's shilling, and fresh milk in asoda-water bottle. 

He found her crying. She had contrived, after the manner of children, tohave an accident. The room was almost bare of furniture, but my lady hadfound a wooden stool that _could_ be mounted upon and tumbled off, andshe had done both, her parent being away. She had bruised and sprainedher little wrist, and was in the depths of despair. 

"Ah, " said poor Hope, "I was afraid something or other would happen if Ileft you. "

He took her to the window, and set her on his knee, and comforted her. Hecut a narrow slip off his pocket handkerchief, wetted it, and bound itlightly and deftly round her wrist, and poured consolation into her ear. But soon she interrupted that, and flung sorrow to the winds; she utteredthree screams of delight, and pointed eagerly through the window. 

"Here they be again, the white swans!"

Hope looked, and there were two vessels, a brig and a bark, creepingdown the river toward the sea, with white sails bellying to a gentlebreeze astern. 

It is experience that teaches proportion. The eye of childhood iswonderfully misled in that matter. Promise a little child the moon, andshow him the ladder to be used, he sees nothing inadequate in the means;so Grace Hope was delighted with her swans. 

But Hope, who made it his business to instruct her, and not deceive heras some thoughtless parents do, out of fun, the wretches, told her, gently, they were not swans, but ships. 

She was a little disappointed at that, but inquired what they were doing. 

"Darling, " said he, "they are going to some other land, where honest, hard-working people can not starve, and, mark my words, darling, " saidhe--she pricked her little ears at that--"you and I shall have to gowith them, for we are poor. "

"Oh, " said little Grace, impressed by his manner as well as his words, and nodded her pretty head with apparent wisdom, and seemed greatlyimpressed. 

Then her father fed her with bread and milk, and afterward laid her onthe bed, and asked her whether she loved him. 

"Dearly, dearly, " said she. 

"Then if you do, " said he, "you will go to sleep like a good girl, andnot stir off that bed till I come back. "

"No more I will, " said she. 

However, he waited until she was in an excellent condition for keepingher promise, being fast as a church. 

Then he looked long at her beautiful face, wax-like and even-tinted, butfull of life after her meal, and prayed to Him who loved little children, and went with a beating heart to Mr. Bartley's office. 

But in the short time, little more than an hour and a half, which elapsedbetween Hope's first and second visit, some most unexpected andremarkable events took place. 

Bartley came in from his child's dying bed distracted with grief; butbusiness to him was the air he breathed, and he went to work as usual, only in a hurried and bitter way unusual to him. He sent out his clerkBolton with some bills, and told him sharply not to return without themoney; and whilst Bolton, so-called, was making his toilette in thelobby, his eye fell on his other clerk, Monckton. 

Monckton was poring over the ledger with his head down, the very pictureof a faithful servant absorbed in his master's work. 

But appearances are deceitful. He had a small book of his own nestledbetween the ledger and his stomach. It was filled with hieroglyphics, andwas his own betting book. As for his brown-study, that was caused by hisowing £100 in the ring, and not knowing how to get it. To be sure, hecould rob Mr. Bartley. He had done it again and again by false accounts, and even by abstraction of coin, for he had false keys to his employer'ssafe, cash-box, drawers, and desk. But in his opinion he had played thisgame often enough, and was afraid to venture it again so soon and on solarge a scale. 

He was so absorbed in these thoughts that he did not hear Mr. Bartleycome to him; to be sure, he came softly, because of the other clerk, whowas washing his hands and brushing his hair in the lobby. 

So Bartley's hand, fell gently, but all in a moment, on Monckton'sshoulder, and they say the shoulder is a sensitive part in consciousrogues. Anyway, Monckton started violently, and turned from pale towhite, and instinctively clapped both hands over his betting book. 

"Monckton, " said his employer, gravely, "I have made a very uglydiscovery. "

Monckton began to shiver. 

"Periodical errors in the balances, and the errors always against me. "

Monckton began to perspire. Not knowing what to say, he faltered, and atlast stammered out, "Are you sure, sir?"

"Quite sure. I have long seen reason to suspect it, so last night I wentthrough all the books, and now I am sure. Whoever the villain is, I willsend him to prison if I can only catch him. "

Monckton winced and turned his head away, debating in his mind whether heshould affect indignation and sympathy, and pretend to court inquiry, orshould wait till lunch-time, and then empty the cash-box and bolt. 

Whilst thus debating, these words fell unexpectedly on his ear:

"And you must help me. "

Then Monckton's eyes turned this way and that in a manner that is commonamong thieves, and a sardonic smile curled his pale thin lip. 

"It is my duty, " said the sly rogue, demurely. Then, after a pause, "But how?"

Then Mr. Bartley glanced at Bolton in the lobby, and not satisfied withspeaking under his breath, drew this ill-chosen confidant to the otherend of the office. 

"Why, suspect everybody, and watch them. Now there's this clerk Bolton: Iknow nothing about him; I was taken by his looks. Have your eye on_him_. "

"I will, sir, " said Monckton, eagerly. He drew a long breath ofrelief. For all that, he was glad when a voice in the little officeannounced a visitor. 

It was a clear, peremptory voice, short, sharp, incisive, and decisive. The clerk called Bolton heard it in the lobby, and scuttled into thestreet with a rapidity that contrasted drolly enough with the composureand slowness with which he had been brushing his hair and titivating hisnascent whiskers. 

A tall, stiff military figure literally marched into the middle of theoffice, and there stood like a sentinel. 

Mr. Bartley could hardly believe his senses. 

"Colonel Clifford!" said he, roughly. 

"You are surprised to see me here?"

"Of course I am. May I ask what brings you?"

"That which composes all quarrels and squares all accounts--Death. "

Colonel Clifford said this solemnly, and with less asperity. He added, with a glance at Monckton, "This is a very private matter. "

Bartley took the hint, and asked Monckton to retire into the inneroffice. 

As soon as he and Colonel Clifford were alone, that warrior, stillstanding straight as a dart, delivered himself of certain shortsentences, each of which seemed to be propelled, or indeed jerked out ofhim, by some foreign power seated in his breast. 

"My sister, your injured wife, is no more. "

"Dead! This is very sudden. I am very, very sorry. I--"

Colonel Clifford looked the word "Humbug, " and continued to expel shortsentences. 

"On her death-bed she made me promise to give you my hand. There it is. "

His hand was propelled out, caught flying by Bartley, released, and drawnback again, all by machinery it seemed. 

"She leaves you £20, 000 in trust for the benefit of her child andyours--Mary Bartley. "

"Poor, dear Eliza. "

The Colonel looked as less high-bred people do when they say "Gammon, "but proceeded civilly though brusquely. 

"In dealing with the funds you have a large discretion. Should the girldie before you, or unmarried, the money lapses to your nephew, my son, Walter Clifford. He is a scapegrace, and has run away from me; but I mustprotect his just interests. So as a mere matter of form I will ask youwhether Mary Bartley is alive. "

Bartley bowed his head. 

Colonel Clifford had not heard she was ill, so he continued: "In thatcase"--and then, interrupting himself for a moment, turned away toBartley's private table, and there emptied his pockets of certaindocuments, one of which he wanted to select. 

His back was not turned more than half a minute, yet a most expressivepantomime took place in that short interval. 

The nurse opened a door of communication, and stood with a rush at thethreshold: indeed, she would have rushed in but for the stranger. She wasvery pale, and threw up her hands to Bartley. Her face and her gesturewere more expressive than words. 

Then Bartley, clinging by mere desperate instinct to money he could nothope to keep, flew to her, drove her out by a frenzied movement of bothhands, though he did not touch her, and spread-eagled himself before thedoor, with his face and dilating eyes turned toward Colonel Clifford. 

The Colonel turned and stepped toward him with the document he hadselected at the table. Bartley went to meet him. 

The Colonel gave it to him, and said it was a copy of the will. 

Bartley took it, and Colonel Clifford expelled his last sentences. 

"We have shaken hands. Let us forget our past quarrels, and respect thewishes of the dead. "

With that he turned sharply on both heels, and faced the door of thelittle office before he moved; then marched out in about seven steps, ashe had marched in, and never looked behind him for two hundred miles. 

The moment he was out of sight, Bartley, with his wife's will in his handand ice at his heart, went to his child's room. The nurse met him, crying, and said, "A change"--mild but fatal words that from a nurse'slips end hope. 

He came to the bedside just in time to see the breath hovering on hischild's lips, and then move them as the summer air stirs a leaf. 

Soon all was still, and the rich man's child was clay. 

The unhappy father burst into a passion of grief, short but violent. Thenhe ordered the nurse to watch there, and let no one enter the room; thenhe staggered back to his office, and flung himself down at his table andburied his head. To do him justice, he was all parental grief at first, for his child was his idol. 

The arms were stretched out across the table; the head rested on it; theman was utterly crushed. 

Whilst he was so, the little office door opened softly, and a pale, worn, haggard face looked in. It was the father of the poor man's child inmortal danger from privation and hereditary consumption. That haggardface was come to ask the favor of employment, and bread for his girl, from the rich man whose child was clay. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE TWO FATHERS. 

Hope looked wistfully at that crushed figure, and hesitated; it seemedneither kind nor politic to intrude business upon grief. 

But if the child was Bartley's idol, money was his god, and soon in hisstrange mind defeated avarice began to vie with nobler sorrow. His childdead! his poor little flower withered, and her death robbed him of£20, 000, and indeed of ten times that sum, for he had now boughtexperience in trade and speculation, and had learned to make money out ofmoney, a heap out of a handful. Stung by this vulgar torment in its turn, he started suddenly up, and dashed his wife's will down upon the floor ina fury, and paced the room excitedly. Hope still stood aghast, andhesitated to risk his application. 

But presently Bartley caught sight of him, and stared at him, butsaid nothing. 

Then the poor fellow saw it was no use waiting for a better opportunity, so he came forward and carried out Bolton's instructions; he put on atolerably jaunty air, and said, cheerfully, "I beg your pardon, sir; canI claim your attention for a moment?"

"What do you want?" asked Bartley, but like a man whose mind waselsewhere. 

"Only employment for my talent, sir. I hear you have a vacancy fora manager. "

"Nothing of the sort. _I_ am manager. "

Hope drew back despondent, and his haggard countenance fell at suchprompt repulse. But he summoned courage, and, once more acting genialconfidence, returned to the attack. 

"But you don't know, sir, in how many ways I can be useful to you. Agrand and complicated business like yours needs various acquirementsin those who have the honor to serve you. For instance, I saw a smallengine at work in your yard; now I am a mechanic, and I can doublethe power of that engine by merely introducing an extra band and acouple of cogs. "

"It will do as it is, " said Bartley, languidly, "and I can do withouta manager. "

Bartley's manner was not irritated but absorbed. He seemed in all hisreplies to Hope to be brushing away a fly mechanically and languidly. Thepoor fly felt sick at heart, and crept away disconsolate. But at the verydoor he turned, and for his child's sake made another attempt. 

"Have you an opening for a clerk? I can write business letters in French, German, and Dutch; and keep books by double entry. "

"No vacancy for a clerk, " was the weary reply. 

"Well, then, a foreman in the yard. I have studied the economy ofindustry, and will undertake to get you the greatest amount of labor outof the smallest number of men. "

"I have a foreman already, " said Bartley, turning his back on himpeevishly, for the first time, and pacing the room, absorbed in his owndisappointment. 

Hope was in despair, and put on his hat to go. But he turned at thewindow and said: "You have vans and carts. I understand horsesthoroughly. I am a veterinary surgeon, and I can drive four-in-hand. Ioffer myself as carman, or even hostler. "

"I do not want a hostler, and I have a carman. "

Bartley, when he had said this, sat down like a man who had finallydisposed of the application. 

Hope went to the very door, and leaned against it. His jaw dropped. Helooked ten years older. Then, with a piteous attempt at cheerfulness, hecame nearer, and said: "A messenger, then. I'm young and very active, and never waste my employer's time. "

Even this humble proposal was declined, though Hope's cheeks burnedwith shame as he made it. He groaned aloud, and his head dropped onhis breast. 

His eye fell on the will lying on the ground; he went and picked it up, and handed it respectfully to Bartley. 

Bartley stared, took it, and bowed his head an inch or two inacknowledgment of the civility. This gave the poor daunted father courageagain. Now that Bartley's face was turned to him by this movement, hetook advantage of it, and said, persuasively:

"Give me some kind of employment, sir. You will never repent it. " Then hebegan to warm with conscious power. "I've intelligence, practicability, knowledge; and in this age of science knowledge is wealth. Example: I sawa swell march out of this place that owns all the parish I was born in. Iknew him in a moment--Colonel Clifford. Well, that old soldier draws hisrents when he can get them, and never looks deeper than the roots of thegrass his cattle crop. But _I_ tell _you_ he never takes a walk about hisgrounds but he marches upon millions--coal! sir, coal! and near thesurface. I know the signs. But I am impotent: only fools possess the goldthat wise men can coin into miracles. Try me, sir; honor me with yoursympathy. You are a father--you have a sweet little girl, Ihear. "--Bartley winced at that. --"Well, so have I, and the hole mypoverty makes me pig in is not good for her, sir. She needs the sea air, the scent of flowers, and, bless her little heart, she does enjoy themso! Give them to her, and I will give you zeal, energy, brains, and amillion of money. "

This, for the first time in the interview, arrested Mr. Bartley'sattention. 

"I see you are a superior man, " said he, "but I have no way to utilizeyour services. "

"You can give me no hope, sir?" asked the poor fellow, still lingering. 

"None--and I am sorry for it. "

This one gracious speech affected poor Hope so that he could not speakfor a moment. Then he fought for manly dignity, and said, with alamentable mixture of sham sprightliness and real anguish, "Thank you, sir; I only trust that you will always find servants as devoted to yourinterest as my gratitude would have made me. Good-morning, sir. " Heclapped his hat on with a sprightly, ghastly air, and marched offresolutely. 

But ere he reached the door, Nature overpowered the father's heart;way went Bolton's instructions; away went fictitious deportment andfeigned cheerfulness. The poor wretch uttered a cry, indeed a scream, ofanguish, that would have thrilled ten thousand hearts had they heard it;he dashed his hat on the ground, and rushed toward Bartley, with bothhands out--"FOR GOD'S SAKE DON'T SEND ME AWAY--MY CHILD IS STARVING!"

Even Bartley was moved. "Your child!" said he, with some little feeling. This slight encouragement was enough for a father. His love gushed forth. "A little golden-haired, blue-eyed angel, who is all the world to me. Wehave walked here from Liverpool, where I had just buried her mother. Godhelp me! God help us both! Many a weary mile, sir, and never sure ofsupper or bed. The birds of the air have nests, the beasts of the field ashelter, the fox a hole, but my beautiful and fragile girl, only fouryears old, sir, is houseless and homeless. Her mother died ofconsumption, sir, and I live in mortal fear; for now she is beginning tocough, and I can not give her proper nourishment. Often on this fataljourney I have felt her shiver, and then I have taken off my coat andwrapped it round her, and her beautiful eyes have looked up in mine, andseemed to plead for the warmth and food I'd sell my soul to give her. "

"Poor fellow, " said Bartley; "I suppose I ought to pity you. But how canI? Man--man--your child is alive, and while there is life there is hope;but mine is dead--dead!" he almost shrieked. 

"Dead!" said Hope, horrified. 

"Dead, " cried Bartley. "Cut off at four years old, the very age of yours. There--go and judge for yourself. You are a father. I can't look upon myblasted hopes, and my withered flower. Go and see _my_ blue-eyed, fair-haired darling--clay, hastening to the tomb; and you will trouble meno more with your imaginary griefs. " He flung himself down with his headon his desk. 

Hope, following the direction of his hand, opened the door of the house, and went softly forward till he met the nurse. He told her Mr. Bartleywished him to see the deceased. The nurse hesitated, but looked at him. His sad face inspired confidence, and she ushered him into the chamber ofmourning. There, laid out in state, was a little figure that, seen in thedim light, drew a cry of dismay from Hope. He had left his own girlsleeping, and looking like tinted wax. Here lay a little face the veryimage of hers, only this was pale wax. 

Had he looked more closely, the chin was unlike his own girl's, and therewere other differences. But the first glance revealed a thrillingresemblance. Hope hurried away from the room, and entered the office paleand disturbed. "Oh, sir! the very image of my own. It fills me withforebodings. I pity you, sir, with all my heart. That sad sightreconciles me to my lot. God help you!" and he was going away; for now hefelt an unreasoning terror lest his own child should have turned fromcolored wax to pale. 

Mr. Bartley stopped him. "Are they so very like?" said he. 

"Wonderfully like. " And again he was going, but Bartley, who had receivedhim so coldly, seemed now unwilling to part with him. 

"Stay, " said he, "and let me think. " The truth is, a daring idea hadjust flashed through that brain of his; and he wanted to think it out. He walked to and fro in silent agitation, and his face was as a book inwhich you may read strange matter. At last he made up his mind, butthe matter was one he did not dare to approach too bluntly, so he wentabout a little. 

"Stay--you don't know all my misfortunes. I am ambitious--like you. Ibelieve in science and knowledge--like you. And, if my child hadlived, you should have been my adviser and my right hand: I want sucha man as you. "

Hope threw up his hands. "My usual luck!" said he: "always a day toolate. " Bartley resumed:

"But my child's death robs me of the money to work with, and I can't helpyou nor help myself. "

Hope groaned. 

Bartley hesitated. But after a moment he said, timidly, "Unless--" andthen stopped. 

"Unless what?" asked Hope, eagerly. "I am not likely to raise objectionsmy child's life is at stake. "

"Well, then, unless you are really the superior man you seem to be: a manof ability and--courage. "

"Courage!" thought Hope, and began to be puzzled. However, he said, modestly, that he thought he could find courage in a good cause. 

"Then you and I are made men, " said Bartley. These were stout words; butthey were not spoken firmly; on the contrary, Mr. Bartley's voicetrembled, and his brow began to perspire visibly. 

His agitation communicated itself to Hope, and the latter said, in alow, impressive voice, "This is something very grave, Mr. Bartley. Sir, what is it?"

Mr. Bartley looked uneasily all round the room, and came close to Hope. "The very walls must not hear what I now say to you. " Then, in athrilling whisper, "My daughter must not die. "

Hope looked puzzled. 

"Your daughter must take her place. "

Now just before this, two quick ears began to try and catch theconversation. Monckton had heard all that Colonel Clifford said, thatwarrior's tones were so incisive; but, as the matter only concerned Mr. Bartley, he merely grinned at the disappointment likely to fall on hisemployer, for he knew Mary Bartley was at death's door. He said as muchto himself, and went out for a sandwich, for it was his lunch-time. Butwhen he returned with stealthy foot, for all his movements were cat-like, he caught sight of Bartley and Hope in earnest conversation, and feltvery curious. 

There was something so mysterious in Bartley's tones that Monckton drewup against the little window, pushed it back an inch, and listened hard. 

But he could hear nothing at all until Hope's answer came toBartley's proposal. 

Then the indignant father burst out, so that it was easy enough to hearevery word. "I part with my girl! Not for the world's wealth. What! Youcall yourself a father, and would tempt me to sell my own flesh andblood? No! Poverty, beggary, anything, sooner than that. My darling, wewill thrive together or starve together; we will live together or dietogether!"

He snatched up his hat to leave. But Bartley found a word to make himhesitate. He never moved, but folded his arms and said, "So, then, yourlove for your child is selfish. "

"Selfish!" cried Hope; "so selfish that I would die for her any hour ofthe day. " For all that, the taunt brought him down a step, and Bartley, still standing like a rock, attacked him again. "If it is not selfish, itis blind. " Then he took two strides, and attacked him with sudden power. "Who will suffer most if you stand in her light? Your daughter: why, shemay die. " Hope groaned. "Who will profit most if you are wise, andreally love her, not like a jealous lover, but like a father? Why, yourdaughter: she will be taken out of poverty and want, and carried tosea-breezes and scented meadows; her health and her comfort will be mycare; she will fill the gap in my house and in my heart, and will be myheiress when I die. "

"But she will be lost to me, " sighed poor Hope. 

"Not so. You will be my right hand; you will be always about us; you cansee her, talk to her, make her love you, do anything but tell her you areher father. Do this one thing for me, and I will do great things for youand for her. To refuse me will be to cut your own throat and hers--aswell as mine. "

Hope faltered a little. "Am I selfish?" said he. 

"Of course not, " was the soothing reply. "No true father is--give himtime to think. "

Hope clinched his hands in agony, and pressed them against his brow. "Itis selfish to stand in her light; but part with her--I can't; I can't. "

"Of course not: who asks you? She will never be out of your sight; only, instead of seeing her sicken, linger, and die, you will see hersurrounded by every comfort, nursed and tended like a princess, andgrowing every day in health, wealth, and happiness. "

"Health, wealth, and happiness?"

"Health, wealth, and happiness!"

These words made a great impression on the still hesitating father; hebegan to make conditions. They were all granted heartily. 

"If ever you are unkind to her, the compact is broken, and I claim myown again. "

"So be it. But why suppose anything so monstrous; men do not ill-treatchildren. It is only women, who adore them, that kill them and ill-usethem accordingly. She will be my little benefactress, God bless her! Imay love her more than I ought, being yours, for my home is desolatewithout her; but that is the only fault you shall ever find with me. There is my hand on it. "

Hope at the last was taken off his guard, and took the proffered hand. That is a binding action, and somehow he could no longer go back. 

Then Bartley told him he should live in the house at first, to break theparting. "And from this hour, " said he, "you are no clerk nor manager, but my associate in business, and on your own terms. "

"Thank you, " said Hope, with a sigh. 

"Now lose no time; get her into the house at once while the clerks areaway, and meantime I must deal with the nurse, and overcome the manydifficulties. Stay, here is a five-pound note. Buy yourself a new suit, and give the child a good meal. But pray bring her here in half an hourif you can. "

Then Bartley took him to the lobby, and let him out in the street, whilsthe went into the house to buy the nurse, and make her his confidante. 

He had a good deal of difficulty with her; she was shocked at theproposal, and, being a woman, it was the details that horrified her. Shecried a good deal. She stipulated that her darling should have Christianburial, and cried again at the doubt. But as Bartley conceded everything, and offered to settle a hundred pounds a year on her, so long as shelived in his house and kept his secret, he prevailed at last, and foundher an invaluable ally. 

To dispose of this character for the present we must inform the readerthat she proved a woman can keep a secret, and that in a very short timeshe was as fond of Grace Hope as she had been of Mary Bartley. 

We have said that Colonel Clifford's talk penetrated Monckton's ear, butproduced no great impression at the time. Not so, however, when he hadlistened to Bartley's proposal, Hope's answer, and all that followed. Then he put this and Colonel Clifford's communication together, and sawthe terrible importance of the two things combined. Thus, as acongenital worm grew with Jonah's gourd, and was sure to destroy it, Bartley's bold and elaborate scheme was furnished from the outset with amost dangerous enemy. 

Leonard Monckton was by nature a schemer and by habit a villain, and hewas sure to put this discovery to profit. He came out of the littleoffice and sat down at his desk, and fell into a brown-study. 

He was not a little puzzled, and here lay his difficulty. Two attractivevillainies presented themselves to his ingenious mind, and he naturallyhesitated between them. One was to levy black-mail on Bartley; the other, to sell the secret to the Cliffords. 

But there was a special reason why he should incline toward theCliffords, and, whilst he is in his brown-study, we will let the readerinto his secret. 

This artful person had immediately won the confidence of young Clifford, calling himself Bolton, and had prepared a very heartless trap for him. He introduced to him a most beautiful young woman--tall, dark, with ovalface and glorious black eyes and eyebrows, a slight foreign accent, andingratiating manners. He called this beauty his sister, and instructedher to win Walter Clifford in that character, and to marry him. As shewas twenty-two, and Master Clifford nineteen, he had no chance with her, and they were to be married this very day at the Register Office. 

Manoeuvring Monckton then inclined to let Bartley's fraud go on andripen, but eventually expose it for the benefit of young Walter and hiswife, who adored this Monckton, because, when a beautiful woman loves anugly blackguard, she never does it by halves. 

But he had no sooner thought out this conclusion than there came anobstacle. Lucy Muller's heart failed her at the last moment, and shecame into the office with a rush to tell her master so. She uttered a cryof joy at sight of him, and came at him panting and full of love. "Oh, Leonard, I am so glad you are alone! Leonard, dear Leonard, pray do notinsist on my marrying that young man. Now it comes to the time, my heartfails me. " The tears stood in her glorious eyes, and an honest man wouldhave pitied her, and even respected her a little for her compunction, though somewhat tardy. 

But her master just fixed his eyes coldly on his slave, and said, brutally, "Never mind your heart; think of your interest. "

The weak woman allowed herself to be diverted into this topic. "Why, heis no such great catch, I am sure. "

"I tell you he is, more than ever: I have just discovered another £20, 000he is heir to, and not got to wait for that any longer than I choose. "

Lucy stamped her foot. "I don't care for his money. Till he came withhis money you loved me. "

"I love you as much as ever, " said Monckton, coldly. 

Lucy began to sob. "No, you don't, or you wouldn't give me up to thatyoung fool. "

The villain made a cynical reply, that not every Newgate thief couldhave matched. "You fool, " said he, "can't you marry him, and go onloving me? you won't be the first. It is done every day, to thesatisfaction of all parties. "

"And to their unutterable shame, " said a clear, stern voice at theirback. Walter Clifford, coming rapidly in, had heard but little, but heardenough; and there he stood, grim and pale, a boy no longer. These twoskunks had made a man of him in one moment. They recoiled in dismay, andthe woman hid her face. 

He turned upon the man first, you may be sure. "So you have palmed thislady off on me as your sister, and trapped me, and would have destroyedme. " His lip quivered; for they had passed the iron through his heart. But he manned himself, and carried it off like a soldier's son:

"But if I was fool enough to leave my father, I am not fool enough topresent to the world your cast-off mistress as my wife. " (Lucy hid herface in her hands. ) "Here, Miss Lucy Monckton--or whatever your name maybe--here is the marriage license. Take that and my contempt, and do whatyou like with them. "

With these words he dashed into Bartley's private room, and there brokedown. It was a bitter cup, the first in his young life. 

The baffled schemers drank wormwood too; but they bore it differently. The woman cried, and took her punishment meekly; the man raged andthreatened vengeance. 

"No, no, " said Lucy; "it serves us right. I wish I had never seen thefellow: then you would have kept your word, and married me. "

"I will marry you now, if you can obey me. "

"Obey you, Leonard? You have been my ruin; but only marry me, and I willbe your slave in everything--your willing, devoted, happy slave. "

"That is a bargain, " said Monckton, coolly. "I'll be even with him; Iwill marry you in his name and in his place. "

This puzzled Lucy. 

"Why in his name?" said she. 

He did not answer. 

"Well, never mind the name, " said she, "so that it is the right man--andthat is you. "

Then Monckton's fertile brain, teeming with villainies, fell to hatchinga new plot more felonious than the last. He would rob the safe, and getClifford convicted for the theft; convicted as Bolton, Clifford wouldnever tell his real name, and Lucy should enter the Cliffords' house witha certificate of his death and a certificate of his marriage, bothobtained by substitution, and so collar his share of the £20, 000, andoff with the real husband to fresh pastures. 

Lucy looked puzzled. Hers was not a brain to disentangle such amonstrous web. 

Monckton reflected a moment. "What is the first thing? Let me see. Humph!I think the first thing is to get married. "

"Yes, " said Lucy, with an eagerness that contrasted strangely with hiscynical composure, "that is the first thing, and the mostunderstandable. " And she went dancing off with him as gay as a lark, andleaning on him at an angle of forty-five; whilst he went erect and cold, like a stone figure marching. 

Walter Clifford came out in time to see them pass the great window. Hewatched them down the street, and cursed them--not loud but deep. 

"Mooning, as usual, " said a hostile voice behind him. He turned round, and there was Mr. Bartley seated at his own table. Young Clifford walkedsmartly to the other side of the table, determined this should be hislast day in that shop. 

"There are the payments, " said he. 

Bartley inspected them. 

"About one in five, " said he, dryly. 

"Thereabouts, " was the reply. (Consummate indifference. )

"You can't have pressed them much. "

"Well, I am not good at dunning. "

"What _are_ you good at?"

"Should be puzzled to say. "

"You are not fit for trade. "

"That is the highest compliment was ever paid me. "

"Oh, you are impertinent as well as incompetent, are you? Then take aweek's warning, Mr. Bolton. "

"Five minutes would suit me better, Mr. Bartley. "

"Oh! indeed! Say one hour. "

"All right, sir; just time for a city clerk's luncheon--glass of bitter, sandwich, peep at _Punch_, cigarette, and a chat with the bar-maid. "

Mr. Walter Clifford was a gentleman, but we must do him the justice tosay that in this interview with his employer he was a very impertinentone, not only in words, but in the delivery thereof. Bartley, however, thought this impertinence was put on, and that he had grave reasons forbeing in a hurry. He took down the numbers of the notes Clifford hadgiven him, and looked very grave and suspicious all the time. 

Then he locked up the notes in the safe, and just then Hope opened thedoor of the little office and looked in. 

"At last, " said Bartley. 

"Well, sir, " said Hope, "I have only been half an hour, and I havechanged my clothes and stood witness to a marriage. She begged me sohard: I was at the door. Such a beautiful girl! I could not take myeyes off her. "

"The child?" said Bartley, with natural impatience. 

"I have hidden her in the yard. "

"Bring her this moment, while the clerks are out. "

Hope hurried out, and soon returned with his child, wrapped up in a nicewarm shawl he had bought her with Bartley's money. 

Bartley took the child from him, looked at her face, and said, "Littledarling, I shall love her as my own;" then he begged Hope to sit down inthe lobby till he should call him and introduce him to his clerks. "Oneof them is a thief, I'm afraid. "

He took the child inside, and gave her to his confederate, the nurse. 

"Dear me, " thought Hope, "only two clerks, and one of them dishonest. Ihope it is not that good-natured boy. Oh no! impossible. "

And now Bartley returned, and at the same time Monckton came briskly inthrough the little office. 

At sight of him Bartley said, "Oh, Monckton, I gave that fellow Bolton aweek's notice. But he insists on going directly, " Monckton replied, slyly, that he was sorry to hear that. 

"Suspicious? Eh?" said Bartley. 

"So suspicious that if I were you--Indeed, Mr. Bartley, I think, injustice to _me_, the matter ought to be cleared to the bottom. "

"You are right, " said Bartley: "I'll have him searched before he goes. Fetch me a detective at once. "

Bartley then wrote a line upon his card, and handed it to Monckton, directing him to lose no time. He then rushed out of the house with anair of virtuous indignation, and went to make some delicate arrangementsto carry out a fraud, which, begging his pardon, was as felonious, thoughnot so prosaic, as the one he suspected his young clerk of. Monckton wasat first a little taken aback by the suddenness of all this; but he wastoo clear-headed to be long at fault. The matter was brought to a point. Well, he must shoot flying. 

In a moment he was at the safe, whipped out a bunch of false keys, openedthe safe, took out the cash-box, and swept all the gold it contained intohis own pockets, and took possession of the notes. Then he locked up thecash-box again, restored it to the safe, locked that, and sat down atBartley's table. He ran over the notes with feverish fingers, and thentook the precaution to examine Bartley's day-book. His caution wasrewarded--he found that the notes Bolton had brought in were _numbered_. He instantly made two parcels--clapped the unnumbered notes into hispocket. The numbered ones he took in his hand into the lobby. Now thislobby must be shortly described. First there was a door with a glasswindow, but the window had dark blue gauze fixed to it, so that nobodycould see into the lobby from the office; but a person in the lobby, byputting his eye close to the gauze, could see into the office in a filmysort of way. This door opened on a lavatory, and there were also pegs onwhich the clerks hung their overcoats. Then there was a swing-doorleading direct to the street, and sideways into a small roomindispensable to every office. 

Monckton entered this lobby, and inserted the numbered notes into youngClifford's coat, and the false keys into his bag. Then he whipped backhastily into the office, with his craven face full of fiendish triumph. 

He started for the detective. But it was bitter cold, and he returned tothe lobby for his own overcoat. As he opened the lobby door theswing-door moved, or he thought so; he darted to it and opened it, butsaw nobody, Hope having whipped behind the open door of the little room. Monckton then put on his overcoat, and went for the detective. 

He met Clifford at the door, and wore an insolent grin of defiance, forwhich, if they had not passed each other rapidly, he would very likelyhave been knocked down. As it was, Walter Clifford entered the officeflushed with wrath, and eager to leave behind him the mortifications andhumiliations he had endured. 

He went to his own little desk and tore up Lucy Mailer's letters, and hisheart turned toward home. He went into the lobby, and, feeling hot, whichwas no wonder, bundled his office overcoat and his brush and comb intohis bag. He returned to the office for his penknife, and was going outall in a hurry, when Mr. Bartley met him. 

Bartley looked rather stern, and said, "A word with you, sir. "

"Certainly, sir, " said the young man, stiffly. 

Mr. Bartley sat down at his table and fixed his eyes upon the young manwith a very peculiar look. 

"You seem in a very great hurry to go. "

"Well, I _am_. "

"You have not even demanded your salary up to date. "

"Excuse the oversight; I was not made for business, you know. "

"There is something more to settle besides your salary. "

"Premium for good conduct?"

"No, sir. Mr. Bolton, you will find this no jesting matter. There aredefalcations in the accounts, sir. "

The young man turned serious at once. "I am sorry to hear that, sir, "said he, with proper feeling. 

Bartley eyed him still more severely. "And even cash abstracted. "

"Good heavens!" said the young man, answering his eyes rather than hiswords. "Why, surely you can't suspect me?"

Bartley answered, sternly, "I know I have been robbed, and so I suspecteverybody whose conduct is suspicious. "

This was too much for a Clifford to bear. He turned on him like a lion. "Your suspicions disgrace the trader who entertains them, not thegentleman they wrong. You are too old for me to give you a thrashing, soI won't stay here any longer to be insulted. "

He snatched up his bag and was marching off, when the door opened, andMonckton with a detective confronted him. 

"No, " roared Bartley, furious in turn; "but you will stay to beexamined. "

"Examined!"

"Searched, then, if you like it better. "

"No, don't do that, " said the young fellow. "Spare me such ahumiliation. "

Bartley, who was avaricious, but not cruel, hesitated. 

"Well, " said he, "I will examine the safe before I go further. "

Mr. Bartley opened the safe and took out the cash-box. It was empty. Heuttered a loud exclamation. "Why, it's a clean sweep! A wholesalerobbery! Notes and gold all gone! No wonder you were in such a hurry toleave! Luckily some of the notes were numbered. Search him. "

"No, no. Don't treat me like a thief!" cried the poor boy, almostsobbing. 

"If you are innocent, why object?" said Monckton, satirically. 

"You villain, " cried Clifford, "this is your doing! I am sure of it!"

Monckton only grinned triumphantly; but Bartley fired up. "If there is avillain here, it is you. _He_ is a faithful servant, who warned hisemployer. " He then pointed sternly at young Bolton, and the detectivestepped up to him and said, curtly, "Now, sir, if I _must_. "

He then proceeded to search his waistcoat pockets. The young man hung hishead, and looked guilty. He had heard of money being put into an innocentman's pockets, and he feared that game had been played with him. 

The detective examined his waistcoat pockets and found--nothing. Hisother pockets--nothing. 

The detective patted his breast and examined his stockings--nothing. 

"Try the bag, " said Monckton. 

Then the poor fellow trembled again. 

The detective searched the bag--nothing. 

He took the overcoat and turned the pockets out--nothing. 

Bartley looked surprised. Monckton still more so. Meantime Hope had goneround from the lobby, and now entered by the small office, and stoodwatching a part of this business, viz. , the search of the bag and theovercoat, with a bitter look of irony. 

"But my safe must have been opened with false keys, " cried Bartley. "Where are they?"

"And the numbered notes, " said Monckton, "where are they?"

"Gentlemen, " said Hope, "may I offer my advice?"

"Who the devil are you?" said Monckton. 

"He is my new partner, my associate in business, " said the politicBartley. Then deferentially to Hope, "What do you advise?"

"You have two clerks. I would examine them both. "

"Examine me?" cried Monckton. "Mr. Bartley, will you allow such anaffront to be put on your old and faithful servant?"

"If you are innocent, why object?" said young Clifford, spitefully, before Bartley could answer. 

The remark struck Bartley, and he acted on it. 

"Well, it is only fair to Mr. Bolton, " said he. "Come, come, Monckton, itis only a form. "

Then he gave the detective a signal, and he stepped up to Monckton, andemptied his waistcoat pockets of eighty-five sovereigns. 

"There!" cried Walter Clifford, "There! there!"

"My own money, won at the Derby, " said Monckton, coolly; "and only a partof it, I am happy to say. You will find the remainder in banknotes. "

The detective found several notes. 

Bartley examined the book and the notes. The Derby! He was beginning todoubt this clerk, who attended that meeting on the sly. However, he wasjust, though no longer confiding. 

"I am bound to say that not one of the numbered notes is here. "

The detective was now examining Monckton's overcoat. He produced a smallbunch of keys. 

"How did they come there?" cried Monckton, in amazement. 

It was an incautious remark. Bartley took it up directly, and pounced onthe keys. He tried them on the safe. One opened the safe, another openedthe cash-box. 

Meantime the detective found some notes in the pocket of the overcoat, and produced them. 

"Great heavens!" cried Monckton, "how did they come there?"

"Oh, I dare say you know, " said the detective. 

Bartley examined them eagerly. They were the numbered notes. 

"You scoundrel, " he roared, "these show me where your gold and yourother notes came from. The whole contents of my safe--in thatvillain's pockets!"

"No, no, " cried Monckton, in agony. "It's all a delusion. Some rogue hasplanted them there to ruin me. "

"Keep that for the beak, " said the policeman; "he is sure to believe it. Come, my bloke. I knew who was my bird the moment I clapped eyes on thetwo. 'Tain't his first job, gents, you take my word. We shall find hisphoto in some jail or other in time for the assizes. "

"Away with him!" cried Bartley, furiously. 

As the policeman took him off, the baffled villain's eye fell on Hope, who stood with folded arms, and looked down on him with lowering brow andthe deep indignation of the just, and yet with haughty triumph. 

That eloquent look was a revelation to Monckton. 

"Ah, " he cried, "it was _you_. "

Hope's only reply was this: "You double felon, false accuser and thief, you are caught in your own trap. "

And this he thundered at him with such sudden power that the thief wentcringing out, and even those who remained were awed. But Hope never toldanybody except Walter Clifford that he had undone Monckton's work in thelobby; and then the poor boy fell upon his neck, and kissed his hand. 

To run forward a little: Monckton was tried, and made no defense. Hedared not call Hope as his witness, for it was clear Hope must have seenhim commit the theft and attempt the other villainy. But the falseaccusation leaked out as well as the theft. A previous conviction wasproved, and the indignant judge gave him fourteen years. 

Thus was Bartley's fatal secret in mortal peril on the day it firstexisted; yet on that very day it was saved from exposure, and buried deepin a jail. 

Bartley set Hope over his business, and was never heard of for months. Then he turned up in Sussex with a little girl, who had been saved fromdiphtheria by tracheotomy, and some unknown quack. 

There was a scar to prove it. The tender parent pointed it outtriumphantly, and railed at the regular practitioners of medicine. 

CHAPTER IV. 

AN OLD SERVANT. 

Walter Clifford returned home pretty well weaned from trade, and anxiousto propitiate his father, but well aware that on his way toreconciliation he must pass through jobation. 

He slipped into Clifford Hall at night, and commenced his approaches bygoing to the butler's pantry. Here he was safe, and knew it; a faithfulold butler of the antique and provincial breed is apt to be moreunreasonably paternal than Pater himself. 

To this worthy, then, Walter owed a good bed, a good supper, and goodadvice: "Better not tackle him till I have had a word with him first. "

Next morning this worthy butler, who for seven years had been a very goodservant, and for the next seven years rather a bad one, and would nowhave been a hard master if the Colonel had not been too great a Tartar tostand it, appeared before his superior with an air slightly respectful, slightly aggressive, and very dogged. 

"There is a young gentleman would be glad to speak to you, if youwill let him. "

"Who is he?" asked the Colonel, though by old John's manner he divined. 

"Can't ye guess?"

"Don't know why I should. It is your business to announce my visitors. "

"Oh, I'll announce him, when I am made safe that he will be welcome. "

"What! isn't he sure of a welcome--good, dutiful son like him?"

"Well, sir, he deserves a welcome. Why, he is the returning prodigal. "

"We are not told that _he_ deserved a welcome. "

"What signifies?--he got one, and Scripture is the rule of life for menof our age, _now we are out of the army_. "

"I think you had better let him plead his own cause, John; and if hetakes the tone you do, he will get turned out of the house pretty quick;as you will some of these days, Mr. Baker. "

"We sha'n't go, neither of us, " said Mr. Baker, but with a sudden tone ofaffectionate respect, which disarmed the words of their true meaning. Headded, hanging his head for the first time, "Poor young gentleman! afraidto face his own father!"

"What's he afraid of?" asked the Colonel, roughly. 

"Of you cursing and swearing at him, " said John. 

"Cursing and swearing!" cried the Colonel--"a thing I never do now. Cursing and swearing, indeed! You be ----!"

"There you go, " said old John. "Come, Colonel, be a father. What has thepoor boy done?"

"He has deserted--a thing I have seen a fellow shot for, and he has leftme a prey to parental anxieties. "

"And so he has me, for that matter. But I forgive him. Anyway, I shouldlike to hear his story before I condemn him. Why, he's only nineteen andfour months, come Martinmas. Besides, how do we know?--he may have hadsome very good reason for going. "

"His age makes that probable, doesn't it?"

"I dare say it was after some girl, sir. "

"Call that a good reason?"

"I call it a strong one. Haven't you never found it?" (the Colonel wasbetrayed into winking). "From sixteen to sixty a woman will draw a manwhere a horse can't. "

"Since that is _so_, " said the Colonel, dryly, "you can tell him to cometo breakfast. "

"Am I to say that from you?"

"No; you can take that much upon yourself. I have known you presume agood deal more than that, John. "

"Well, sir, " said John, hanging his head for a moment, "old servants arelike old friends--they do presume a bit; but then" (raising his headproudly) "they care for their masters, young and old. New servants, sir--why, this lot that we've got now, they would not shed a tear for youif you was to be hanged. "

"Why should they?" said the Colonel. "A man is not hanged for buildingchurches. Come, beat a retreat. I've had enough of you. See there's agood breakfast. "

"Oh, " said John, "I've took care of that. "

When the Colonel came down he found his son leaning against themantel-piece; but he left it directly and stood erect, for the Colonelhad drilled him with his own hands. 

"Ugh!" said the Colonel, giving a snort peculiar to himself, but hethought, "How handsome the dog is!" and was proud of him secretly, onlyhe would not show it. "Good-morning, sir, " said the young man, withcivil respect. 

"Your most obedient, sir, " said the old man, stiffly. 

After that neither spoke for some time, and the old butler glided aboutlike a cat, helping both of them, especially the young one, to variousdelicacies from the side table. When he had stuffed them pretty well, heretired softly and listened at the door. Neither of the gentlemen was ina hurry to break the ice; each waited for the other. 

Walter made the first remark--"What delicious tea!"

"As good as where you come from?" inquired Colonel Clifford, insidiously. 

"A deal better, " said Walter. 

"By-the-bye, " said the Colonel, "where _do_ you come from?"

Walter mentioned the town. 

"You astonish me, " said the Colonel. "I made sure you had been enjoyingthe pleasures of the capital. "

"My purse wouldn't have stood that, sir. "

"Very few purses can, " said Colonel Clifford. Then, in an off-hand way, "Have you brought her along with you?"

"Certainly not, " said Walter, off his guard. "Her? Who?"

"Why, the girl that decoyed you from your father's roof. "

"No girl decoyed me from here, sir, upon my honor. "

"Whom are we talking about, then? Who is _her_?"

"Her? Why, Lucy Monckton. "

"And who is Lucy Monckton?"

"Why, the girl I fell in love with, and she deceived me nicely; but Ifound her out in time. "

"And so you came home to snivel?"

"No, sir, I didn't; I'm not such a muff. I'm too much your son to loveany woman long when I have learned to despise her. I came home toapologize, and to place myself under your orders, if you will forgive me, and find something useful for me to do. "

"So I will, my boy; there's my hand. Now out with it. What did you goaway for, since it wasn't a petticoat?"

"Well, sir, I am afraid I shall offend you. "

"Not a bit of it, after I've given you my hand. Come, now, what was it?"

Walter pondered and hesitated, but at last hit upon a way to explain. 

"Sir, " said he, "until I was six years old they used to give me peachesfrom Oddington House; but one fine day the supply stopped, and I uttereda small howl to my nurse. Old John heard me, and told me Oddington wassold, house, garden, estate, and all. "

Colonel Clifford snorted. 

Walter resumed, modestly but firmly:

"I was thirteen; I used to fish in a brook that ran near Drayton Park. One day I was fishing there, when a brown velveteen chap stopped me, andtold me I was trespassing. 'Trespassing?' said I. 'I have fished here allmy life; I am Walter Clifford, and this belongs to my father. ' 'Well, 'said the man, 'I've heerd it did belong to Colonel Clifford onst, but nowit belongs to Muster Mills; so you must fish in your own water, younggentleman, and leave ourn to us as owns it. ' Till I was eighteen I usedto shoot snipes in a rushy bottom near Calverley Church. One day a fellowin black velveteen, and gaiters up to his middle, warned me out of thatin the name of Muster Cannon. "

Colonel Clifford, who had been drumming on the table all this time, looked uneasy, and muttered, with some little air of compunction: "Theyhave plucked my feathers deucedly, that's a fact. Hang that fellowStevens, persuading me to keep race-horses; it's all his fault. Well, sir, proceed with your observations. "

"Well, I inquired who could afford to buy what we were too poor to keep, and I found these wealthy purchasers were all in _trade_, not one of thema gentleman. "

"You might have guessed that, " said Colonel Clifford: "it is as much as agentleman can do to live out of jail nowadays. "

"Yes, sir, " said Walter. "Cotton had bought one of these estates, tallowanother, and lucifer-matches the other. "

"Plague take them all three!" roared the Colonel. 

"Well, then, sir, " said Walter, "I could not help thinking there must besome magic in trade, and I had better go into it. I didn't think youwould consent to that. I wasn't game to defy you; so I did a meanishthing, and slipped away into a merchant's office. "

"And made your fortune in three months?" inquired the Colonel. 

"No, I didn't; and don't think trade is the thing for _me_. I saw a dealof avarice and meanness, and a thief of a clerk got his master to suspectme of dishonesty; so I snapped my fingers at them all, and here I am. But, " said the poor young fellow, "I do wish, father, you would put meinto something where I can make a little money, so that when _this_estate comes to be sold, I may be the purchaser. "

Colonel Clifford started up in great emotion. 

"Sell Clifford Hall, where I was born, and you were born, and everybodywas born! Those estates I sold were only outlying properties. "

"They were beautiful ones, " said Walter. "I never see such peaches now. "

"As you did when you were six years old, " suggested the Colonel. "No, noryou never will. I've been six myself. Lord knows when it was, though!"

"But, sir, I don't see any such trout, and no such haunts for snipe. "

"Do you mean to insult me?" cried the Colonel, rather suddenly. "This iswhat we are come to now. Here's a brat of six begins taking notes againsthis own father; and he improves on the Scotch poet--he doesn't print 'em. No, he accumulates them cannily until he is twenty, but never says aword. He loads his gun up to the muzzle, and waits, as the years roll on, with his linstock in his hand, and one fine day _at breakfast_ he fireshis treble charge of grape-shot at his own father. "

This was delivered so loudly that John feared a quarrel, and to interruptit, put in his head, and said, mighty innocently:

"Did you call, sir? Can I do anything for you, sir?"

"Yes: go to the devil!"

John went, but not down-stairs, as suggested--a mere lateral movementthat ended at the keyhole. 

"Well, but, sir, " said Walter, half-reproachfully, "it was you elicitedmy views. "

"Confound your views, sir, and--your impudence! You're in the right, and I am in the wrong" (this admission with a more ill-used tone thanever). "It's the race-horses. Ring the bell. What sawneys you youngfellows are! it used not to take six minutes to ring a bell when I wasyour age. "

Walter, thus stimulated, sprang to the bell-rope, and pulled it all downto the ground with a single gesture. 

The Colonel burst out laughing, and that did him good; and Mr. Bakeranswered the bell like lightning; he quite forgot that the bell must haverung fifty yards from the spot where he was enjoying the dialogue. 

"Send me the steward, John; I saw him pass the window. "

Meantime the Colonel marched up and down with considerable agitation. Walter, who had a filial heart, felt very uneasy, and said, timidly, "Iam truly sorry, father, that I answered your questions so bluntly. "

"I'm not, then, " said the Colonel. "I hold him to be less than a man whoflies from the truth, whether it comes from young lips or old. I havefaced cavalry, sir, and I can face the truth. "

At this moment the steward entered. "Jackson, " said the Colonel, in thevery same tone he was speaking in, "put up my race-horses to auction bypublic advertisement. "

"But, sir, Jenny has got to run at Derby, and the brown colt atNottingham, and the six-year-old gelding at a handicap at Chester, andthe chestnut is entered for the Syllinger next year. "

"Sell them with their engagements. "

"And the trainer, sir?"

"Give him his warning. "

"And the jockey?"

"Discharge him on the spot, and take him by the ear out of the premisesbefore he poisons the lot. Keep one of the stable-boys, and let my groomdo the rest. "

"But who is to take them to the place of auction, sir?"

"Nobody. I'll have the auction here, and sell them where they stand. Submit all your books of account to this young gentleman. "

The steward looked a little blue, and Walter remonstrated gently. "Tome, father?"

"Why, you can cipher, can't ye?"

"Rather; it is the best thing I do. "

"And you have been in trade, haven't ye?"

"Why, yes. "

"Then you will detect plenty of swindles, if you find out one in ten. Above all, cut down my expenditure to my income. A gentleman of thenineteenth century, sharpened by trade, can easily do that. Sell CliffordHall? I'd rather live on the rabbits and the pigeons and the blackbirds, and the carp in the pond, and drive to church in the wheelbarrow. "

So for a time Walter administered his father's estate, and it was veryinstructive. Oh! the petty frauds--the swindles of agency--a term which, to be sure, is derived from the Latin word "agere, " _to do_--the cobwebof petty commissions--the flat bribes--the smooth hush-money!

Walter soon cut the expenses down to the income, which was ample, andeven paid off the one mortgage that encumbered this noble estate at fiveper cent. , only four per cent. Of which was really fingered by themortgagee; the balance went to a go-between, though no go-between wasever wanted, for any solicitor in the country would have found the moneyin a week at four per cent. 

The old gentleman was delighted, and engaged his own son as steward at aliberal salary; and so Walter Clifford found employment and a fair incomewithout going away from home again. 

CHAPTER V. 

MARY'S PERIL. 

Whilst Mr. Bartley's business was improving under Hope's management, Hopehimself was groaning under his entire separation from his daughter. Bartley had promised him this should not be; but among Hope's goodqualities was a singular fidelity to his employers, and he was also a manwho never broke his word. So when Bartley showed him that the trueparentage of Grace Hope--now called Mary Bartley--could never bedisguised unless her memory of him was interrupted and puzzled before shegrew older, and that she as well as the world must be made to believeBartley was her father, he assented, and it was two years before heventured to come near his own daughter. 

But he demanded to see her at a distance, himself unseen, and this wasarranged. He provided himself with a powerful binocular of the kind thatis now used at sea, instead of the unwieldy old telescope, and the littlegirl was paraded by the nurse, who was in the secret. She played about inthe sight of this strange spy. She was plump, she was rosy, she was fullof life and spirit. Joy filled the father's heart; but then came a bitterpang to think that he had faded out of her joyous life; by-and-by hecould see her no longer, for a mist came from his heart to his eyes; hebowed his head and went back to his business, his prosperity, and hissolitude. These experiments were repeated at times. Moreover, Bartley hadthe tact never to write to him on business without telling him somethingabout his girl, her clever sayings, her pretty ways, her quickness atlearning from all her teachers, and so on. When she was eight years old aforeign agent was required in Bartley's business, and Hope agreed tostart this agency and keep it going till some more ordinary person couldbe intrusted to work it. 

But he refused to leave England without seeing his daughter with hisown eyes and hearing her voice. However, still faithful to his pledge, he prepared a disguise; he actually grew a mustache and beard for thistender motive only, and changed his whole style of dress; he wore acrimson neck-tie and dark green gloves with a plaid suit, whichcombination he abhorred as a painter, and our respected readersabominate, for surely it was some such perverse combination that made aFrench dressmaker lift her hands to heaven and say, "_Quelleimmoralité_!" So then Bartley himself took his little girl for a walk, and met Mr. Hope in an appointed spot not far from his own house. PoorHope saw them coming, and his heart beat high. "Ah!" said Bartley, feigning surprise; "why, it's Mr. Hope. How do you do, Hope? This is mylittle girl. Mary, my dear, this is an old friend of mine. Give himyour hand. "

The girl looked in Hope's face, and gave him her hand, and did notrecognize him. 

"Fine girl for her years, isn't she?" said Bartley. "Healthy and strong, and quick at her lessons; and, what's better still, she is a good girl, avery good girl. "

"Papa!" said the child, blushing, and hid her face behind Bartley'selbow, all but one eye, with which she watched the effect of theseeulogies upon the strange gentleman. 

"She is all a father could wish, " said Hope, tenderly. 

Instantly the girl started from her position, and stood wrapt in thought;her beautiful eyes wore a strange look of dreamy intelligence, and bothmen could see she was searching the past for that voice. 

Bartley drew back, that the girl might not see him, and held up hisfinger. Hope gave a slight nod of acquiescence, and spoke no more. Bartley invited him to take an early dinner, and talk business. Before heleft he saw his child more than once; indeed, Bartley paraded heraccomplishments. She played the piano to Hope; she rode her littleShetland pony for Hope; she danced a minuet with singular grace for soyoung a girl; she conversed with her governess in French, or somethingvery like it, and she worked a little sewing-machine, all to please thestrange gentleman; and whatever she was asked to do she did with awinning smile, and without a particle of false modesty, or the realegotism which is at the bottom of false modesty. 

Anybody who knew William Hope intimately might almost recognize hisdaughter in this versatile little mind with its faculty of learning somany dissimilar things. 

Hope left for the Continent with a proud heart, a joyful heart, and asore heart. She was lovely, she was healthy, she was happy, she wasaccomplished, but she was his no longer, not even in name; her love wasbeing gained by a stranger, and there was a barrier of iron, as well asthe English Channel, between William Hope and his own Mary Bartley. 

It would weary the reader were we to detail the small events bearing onthe part of the story which took place during the next five years. Theymight be summed up thus: That William Hope got a peep at his daughter nowand then; and, making a series of subtle experiments by varying his voiceas much as possible, confused and nullified her memory of that voice toall appearance. In due course, however, father and daughter were broughtinto natural contact by the last thing that seemed likely to do it, viz. , by Bartley's avarice. Bartley's legitimate business at home and abroadcould now run alone. So he invited Hope to England to guide him in whathe loved better than steady business, viz. , speculation. The truth is, Bartley could execute, but had few original ideas. Hope had plenty, andsound ones, though not common ones. Hope directed the purchase ofconvertible securities on this principle: Select good ones; avoid timebargains, which introduce a distinct element of risk; and buy largely atevery panic not founded on a permanent reason or out of proportion. Example: A great district bank broke. The shares of a great districtrailway went down thirty per cent. Hope bade his employer and pupilobserve that this was rank delusion, the dividends of the railway werenot lowered one per cent. By the failure of that bank, nor could they be:the shareholders of the bank had shares in the railway, and werecompelled to force them on the market; hence the fall in the shares. "But, " said Hope, "those depreciated shares are now in the hands of menwho can hold them, and will, too, until they return from this ridiculous85 to their normal value, which is from 105 to 115. Invest every shillingyou have got; I shall. " Bartley invested £30, 000, and cleared twenty percent. In three months. 

Example 2: There was a terrible accident on another railway, and part ofthe line broken up. Vast repairs needed. Shares fell twenty per cent. 

"Out of proportion, " said Hope. "The sum for repairs will not deductfrom the dividends one-tenth of the annual sum represented by the fall, and, in three months, fear of another such disaster will not keep asingle man, woman, child, bullock, pig, or coal truck off that line. Putthe pot on. "

Bartley put the pot on, and made fifteen per cent. 

Hope said to Bartley:

"When an English speculator sends his money abroad at all, he goes wildaltogether. He rushes at obscure transactions, and lends to Peru, orGuatemala, or Tierra del Fuego, or some shaky place he knows nothingabout. The insular maniac overlooks the continent of Europe, instead ofstudying it, and seeking what countries there are safe and others risky. Now, why overlook Prussia? It is a country much better governed thanEngland, especially as regards great public enterprises and monopolies. For instance, the directors of a Prussian railway can not swindle theshareholders by false accounts, and passing off loans for dividends. Against the frauds of directors, the English shareholder has only a shamsecurity. He is invited to leave his home, and come two hundred miles tothe directors' home, and vote in person. He doesn't do it. Why should he?In Prussia the Government protects the shareholder, and inspects theaccounts severely. So much for the superior system of that country. Now, take a map. Here is Hamburg, the great port of the Continent, and Berlin, the great Continental centre; and there is one railway only between thetwo. What English railway can compare with this? The shares are at 150. But they must go to 300 in time unless the Prussian Government allowsanother railway, and that is not likely, and, if so, you will have twoyears to back out. This is the best permanent investment of its classthat offers on the face of the globe. "

Bartley invested timidly, but held for years, and the shares went up over300 before he sold. 

"Do not let your mind live in an island if your body does, " was afavorite saying of William Hope; and we recommend it impartially toBritons and Bornese. 

On one of Hope's visits Bartley complained he had nothing to do. "I cansit here and speculate. I want to be in something myself; I think I willtake a farm just to occupy me and amuse me. "

"It will not amuse you unless you make money by it, " suggested Hope. 

"And nobody can do that nowadays. Farms don't pay. "

"Ploughing and sowing don't pay, but brains and money pay wherever foundtogether. "

"What, on a farm?"

"Why not, sir? You have only to go with the times. Observe the conditionof produce: grain too cheap for a farmer because continents can exportgrain with little loss; fruit dear; meat dear, because cattle can not bedriven and sailed without risk of life and loss of weight; agriculturallabor rising, and in winter unproductive, because to farm means to ploughand sow, and reap and mow, and lose money. But meet those conditions. Breed cattle, sheep, and horses, and make the farm their feeding-ground. Give fifty acres to fruit; have a little factory on the land for winteruse, and so utilize all your farm hands and the village women, who arecheaper laborers than town brats, and I think you will make a littlemoney in the form of money, besides what you make in gratuitous eggs, poultry, fruit, horses to ride, and cart things for the house--itemswhich seldom figure in a farmer's books as money, but we stricteraccountants know they are. "

"I'll do it, " said Bartley, "if you'll be my neighbor, and work it withme, and watch the share market at home and abroad. "

Hope acquiesced joyfully to be near his daughter; and they found a farmin Sussex, with hills for the sheep, short grass for colts, plenty ofwater, enough arable land and artificial grasses for their purpose, and agrand sunny slope for their fruit trees, fruit bushes, and strawberries, with which last alone they paid the rent. 

"Then, " said Hope, "farm laborers drink an ocean of beer. Now look at theretail price of beer: eighty per cent. Over its cost, and yetdeleterious, which tells against your labor. As an employer of labor, themain expense of a farm, you want beer to be slightly nourishing, and veryinspiriting, not somniferous. "

So they set up a malt-house and a brew-house, and supplied all their ownhands with genuine liquor on the truck system at a moderate butremunerative price, and the grains helped to feed their pigs. Hope'sprinciple was this: Sell no produce in its primitive form; if you changeits form you make two profits. Do you grow barley? Malt it, and infuseit, and sell the liquor for two small profits, one on the grain, and oneon the infusion. Do you grow grass? Turn it into flesh, and sell for twosmall profits, one on the herb, and one on the animal. 

And really, when backed by money, the results seemed to justify hisprinciple. 

Hope lived by himself, but not far from his child, and often, when shewent abroad, his loving eyes watched her every movement through hisbinocular, which might be described as an opera-glass ten inches long, with a small field, but telescopic power. 

Grace Hope, whom we will now call Mary Bartley, since everybody but herfather, who generally avoided _her name_, called her so, was a well-growngirl of thirteen, healthy, happy, beautiful, and accomplished. She wasthe germ of a woman, and could detect who loved her. She saw in Hope anaffection she thought extraordinary, but instinct told her it was notlike a young man's love, and she accepted it with complacency, andreturned it quietly, with now and then a gush, for she could gush, andwhy not? "Far from us and from our friends be the frigid philosophy"--ofa girl who can't gush. 

Hope himself was loyal and guarded, and kept his affection within bounds;and a sore struggle it was. He never allowed himself to kiss her, thoughhe was sore tempted one day, when he bought her a cream-colored pony, andshe flung her arms round his neck before Mr. Bartley and kissed himeagerly; but he was so bashful that the girl laughed at him, and said, half pertly, "Excuse the liberty, but if you will be such a duck, why, you must take the consequences. "

Said Bartley, pompously, "You must not expect middle-aged men to be asdemonstrative as very young ladies; but he has as much real affectionfor you as you have for him. "

"Then he has a good deal, papa, " said she, sweetly. Both the menwere silent, and Mary looked to one and the other, and seemed alittle puzzled. 

The great analysts that have dealt microscopically with commonplacesituations would revel in this one, and give you a curious volume ofsmall incidents like the above, and vivisect the father's heart withpatient skill. But we poor dramatists, taught by impatient audiences tomove on, and taught by those great professors of verbosity, our femalenovelists and nine-tenths of our male, that it is just possible for"masterly inactivity, " _alias_ sluggish narrative, creeping through sorryflags and rushes with one lily in ten pages, to become a bore, are drivenon to salient facts, and must trust a little to our reader's intelligenceto ponder on the singular situation of Mary Bartley and her two fathers. 

One morning Mary Bartley and her governess walked to a neighboring townand enjoyed the sacred delight of shopping. They came back by ashort-cut, which made it necessary to cross a certain brook, or rivulet, called the Lyn. This was a rapid stream, and in places pretty deep; butin one particular part it was shallow, and crossed by largestepping-stones, two-thirds of which were generally above-water. Thevillage girls, including Mary Bartley, used all to trip over thesestones, and think nothing of it, though the brook went past at a finerate, and gradually widened and deepened as it flowed, till it reached adownright fall; after that, running no longer down a decline, it becamerather a languid stream. 

Mary and her governess came to this ford and found it swollen by recentrains, and foaming and curling round the stepping-stones, and their topsonly were out of the water now. 

The governess objected to pass this current. 

"Well, but, " said Mary, "the other way is a mile round, and papa expectsus to be punctual at meals, and I am, oh, so hungry! Dear Miss Everett, Ihave crossed it a hundred times. "

"But the water is so deep. "

"It is deeper than usual; but see, it is only up to my knee. I couldcross it without the stones. You go round, dear, and I'll explain againstyou come home. "

"Not until I've seen you safe over. "

"That you will soon see, " said the girl, and, fearing a moreauthoritative interference, she gathered up her skirts and planted onedainty foot on the first stepping-stone, another on the next, and so onto the fourth; and if she had been a boy she would have cleared them all. But holding her skirts instead of keeping her arms to balance herself, and wearing idiotic shoes, her heels slipped on the fifth stone, whichwas rather slimy, and she fell into the middle of the current with alittle scream. 

To her amazement she found that the stream, though shallow, carried heroff her feet, and though she recovered them, she could not keep them, butwas alternately up and down, and driven along, all the time floundering. Oh, then she screamed with terror, and the poor governess ran screamingtoo, and making idle clutches from the bank, but powerless to aid. 

Then, as the current deepened, the poor girl lost her feet altogether, and was carried on toward the deep water, flinging her arms high andscreaming, but powerless. At first she was buoyed up by her clothes, andparticularly by a petticoat of some material that did not drink water. But as her other clothes became soaked and heavy, she sank to her chin, and death stared her in the face. 

She lost hope, and being no common spirit, she gained resignation; sheleft screaming, and said to Everett, "Pray for me. "

But the next moment hope revived, and fear with it--this is a law ofnature--for a man, bare-headed and his hair flying, came galloping on abare-backed pony, shouting and screaming with terror louder than both thewomen. He urged the pony furiously to the stream; then the beast plantedhis feet together, and with the impulse thus given Hope threw himselfover the pony's head into the water, and had his arm round his child in amoment. He lashed out with the other hand across the stream. But it wasso powerful now as it neared the lasher that they made far more wayonward to destruction than they did across the stream; still they didnear the bank a little. But the lasher roared nearer and nearer, and thestream pulled them to it with iron force. They were close to it now. Thena willow bough gave them one chance. Hope grasped it, and pulled withiron strength. From the bough he got to a branch, and finally clutchedthe stem of the tree, just as his feet were lifted up by the rushingwater, and both lives hung upon that willow-tree. The girl was on hisleft arm, and his right arm round the willow. 

"Grace, " said he, feigning calmness. "Put your arm around my neck, Mary. "

"Yes, dear, " said she, firmly. 

"Now don't hurry yourself--_there's no danger_; move slowly across me, and hold my right arm very tight. "

She did so. 

"Now take hold of the bank with your left hand; but don't let go of me. "

"Yes, dear, " said the little heroine, whose fear was gone now she hadHope to take care of her. 

Then Hope clutched the tree with his left hand, pushed Mary on shore withhis right, and very soon had her in his arms on _terra firma_. 

But now came a change that confounded Mary Bartley, to whom a man was avery superior being; only not always intelligible. 

The brave man fell to shaking like an aspen leaf; the strong manto sobbing and gasping, and kissing the girl wildly. "Oh, my child!my child!"

Then Mary, of course, must gulp and cry a little for sympathy; but herquick-changing spirit soon shook it off, and she patted his cheek andkissed him, and then began to comfort him, if you please. "Good, dear, kind Mr. Hope, " said she. "La! don't go on like that. You were so bravein the water, and now the danger is over. I've had a ducking, that isall. Ha! ha! ha!" and the little wretch began to laugh. 

Hope looked amazed; neither his heart nor his sex would let him changehis mood so swiftly. 

"Oh, my child, " said he, "how can you laugh? You have been near eternity, and if you had been lost, what should I--O God!"

Mary turned very grave. "Yes, " said she, "I have been near eternity. Itwould not have mattered to you--you are such a good man--but I shouldhave caught it for disobedience. But, dear Mr. Hope, let me tell you thatthe moment you put your arm round me I felt just as safe in the water ason dry land; so you see I have had longer to get over it than you have;that accounts for my laughing. No, it doesn't; I am a giddy, gigglinggirl, with _no depth of character_, and not worthy of all this affection. Why does everybody love _me_? They ought to be ashamed of themselves. "

Hope told her she was a little angel, and everybody was right to loveher; indeed, they deserved to be hanged if they did not. 

Mary fixed on the word angel. "If I was an angel, " she said, "I shouldn'tbe hungry, and I am, awfully. Oh, please come home; papa is so punctual. Mr. Hope, are you going to tell papa? Because if you _are_, just you takeme and throw me in again. I'd rather be drowned than scolded. " (This witha defiant attitude and flashing eyes. )

"No, no, " said Hope. "I will not tell him, to vex him, and getyou scolded. "

"Then let us run home. "

She took his hand, and he ran with her like a playmate, and oh! thefather's heart leaped and glowed at this sweet companionship after dangerand terror. 

When they got near the house Mary Bartley began to walk and think. Shehad a very thinking countenance at times, and Hope watched her, andwondered what were her thoughts. She was very grave, so probably she wasthinking how very near she had been to the other world. 

Standing on the door-step, whilst he stood on the gravel, she let himknow her thoughts. All her life, and even at this tender age, she hadvery searching eyes; they were gray now, though they had been blue. She put her hands to her waist, and bent those searching eyes onWilliam Hope. 

"Mr. Hope, " said she, in a resolute sort of way. 

"My dear, " said he, eagerly. 

"YOU LOVE ME BETTER THAN PAPA DOES, THAT'S ALL. "

And having administered this information as a dry fact that might beworth looking into at leisure, she passed thoughtfully into the house. 

CHAPTER VI. 

SHARP PRACTICE. 

Hope paid a visit to his native place in Derbyshire, and his poorrelations shared his prosperity, and blessed him, and Mr. Bartley uponhis report; for Hope was one of those choice spirits who praise thebridge that carries them safe over the stream of adversity. 

He returned to Sussex with all the news, and, amongst the rest, thatColonel Clifford had a farm coming vacant. Walter Clifford hadinsisted on a higher rent at the conclusion of the term, but thetenant had demurred. 

Bartley paid little attention at the time; but by-and-by he said, "Didyou not see signs of coal on Colonel Clifford's property?"

"That I did, and on this very farm, and told him so. But he is behind theage. I have no patience with him. Take one of those old iron ramrods thatused to load the old musket, and cover that ramrod with prejudices a footand a half deep, and there you have Colonel Clifford. "

"Well, but a tenant would not be bound by his prejudices. "

"A tenant! A tenant takes no right to mine, under a farm lease; he wouldhave to propose a special contract, or to ask leave, and Colonel Cliffordwould never grant it. "

There the conversation dropped. But the matter rankled in Bartley's mind. Without saying any more to Hope, he consulted a sharp attorney. 

The result was that he took Mary Bartley with him into Derbyshire. 

He put up at a little inn, and called at Clifford Hall. 

He found Colonel Clifford at home, and was received stiffly, butgraciously. He gave Colonel Clifford to understand that he hadleft business. 

"All the better, " said Colonel Clifford, sharply. 

"And taken to farming. "

"Ugh!" said the other, with his favorite snort. 

At this moment, who should walk into the room but Walter Clifford. 

Bartley started and stared. Walter started and stared. 

"Mr. Bolton, " said Bartley, scarcely above a whisper. 

But Colonel Clifford heard it, and said, brusquely: "Bolton! No. Why, this is Walter Clifford, my son, and my man of business. --Walter, this isMr. Bartley. "

"Proud to make your acquaintance, sir, " said the astute Bartley, ignoring the past. 

Walter was glad he took this line before Colonel Clifford: not that heforgave Mr. Bartley that old affront the reader knows of. 

The judicious Bartley read his face, and, as a first step towardpropitiation, introduced him to his daughter. Walter was amazed at herbeauty and grace, coming from such a stock. He welcomed her courteously, but shyly. She replied with rare affability, and that entire absence ofmock-modesty which was already a feature in her character. To be sure, she was little more than fifteen, though she was full grown, and lookednearer twenty. 

Bartley began to feel his way with Colonel Clifford about the farm. Hetold him he was pretty successful in agriculture, thanks to theassistance of an experienced friend, and then he said, half carelessly, "By-the-bye, they tell me you have one to let. Is that so?"

"Walter, " said Colonel Clifford, "have you a farm to let?"

"Not at present, sir; but one will be vacant in a month, unless thepresent tenant consents to pay thirty per cent. More than he has done. "

"Might I see that farm, Mr. Walter?" asked Bartley. 

"Certainly, " said Walter; "I shall be happy to show you over it. " Then heturned to Mary. "I am afraid it would be no compliment to you. Ladies arenot interested in farms. "

"Oh, but _I_ am, since papa is, and Mr. Hope: and then on _our_ farmthere are so many dear little young things: little calves, little lambs, and little pigs. Little pigs are ducks--_very_ little ones, I mean; andthere is nearly always a young colt about, that eats out of my hand. Notlike a farm? The idea!"

"Then I will show you all over ours, you and your papa, " said Walter, warmly. He then asked Mr. Bartley where he was to be found; and whenBartley told him at the "Dun Cow, " he looked at Mary and said, "Oh!"

Mary understood in a moment, and laughed and said: "We are verycomfortable, I assure you. We have the parlor all to ourselves, andthere are samplers hung up, and oh! such funny pictures, and the landladyis beginning to spoil me already. "

"Nobody can spoil you, Mary, " said Mr. Bartley. 

"You ought to know, papa, for you have been trying a good many years. "

"Not very many, Miss Bartley, " said Colonel Clifford, graciously. Then hegave half a start and said: "Here am I calling her miss when she is myown niece, and, now I think of it, she can't be half as old as she looks. I remember the very day she was born. My dear, you are an impostor. "

Bartley changed color at this chance shaft. But Colonel Cliffordexplained:

"You pass for twenty, and you can't be more than--Let me see. "

"I am fifteen and four months, " said Mary, "and I do take peoplein--_cruelly_. "

"Well, " said Colonel Clifford, "you see you can't take me in. I know yourdate. So come and give your old ruffian of an uncle a kiss. "

"That I will, " cried Mary, and flew at Colonel Clifford, and flung botharms round his neck and kissed him. "Oh, papa, " said she, "I have got anuncle now. A hero, too; and me that is so fond of heroes! Only this is myfirst--out of books. "

"Mary, my dear, " said Bartley, "you are too impetuous. Please excuse her, Colonel Clifford. Now, my dear, shake hands with your cousin, for we mustbe going. "

Mary complied; but not at all impetuously. She lowered her long lashes, and put out her hand timidly, and said, "Good-by, Cousin Walter. "

He held her hand a moment, and that made her color directly. "You willcome over the farm. Can you ride? Have you your habit?"

"No, cousin; but never mind that. I can put on a long skirt. "

"A skirt! But, after all, it does not matter a straw what _you_ wear. "

Mary was such a novice that she did not catch the meaning of this on thespot, but half-way to the inn, and in the middle of a conversation, hercheeks were suddenly suffused with blushes. A young man had admired herand _said_ so. Very likely that was the way with young men. _No_ doubtthey were bolder than young women; but somehow it was not so veryobjectionable _in them_. 

That short interview was a little era in Mary's young life. Walter hadfixed his eyes on her with delight, had held her hand some seconds, andadmired her to her face. She began to wonder a little, and flutter alittle, and to put off childhood. 

Next day, punctual to the minute, Walter drove up to the door in an opencarriage drawn by two fast steppers. He found Mr. Bartley alone, and why?because, at sight of Walter, Mary, for the first time in her life, hadflown upstairs to look at herself in the glass before facing the visitor, and to smooth her hair, and retouch a bow, etc. , underrating, as usual, the power of beauty, and overrating nullities. Bartley took thisopportunity, and said to young Clifford:

"I owe you an apology, and a most earnest one. Can you ever forgive me?"

Walter changed color. Even this humble allusion to so great an insult waswormwood to him. He bit his lip, and said:

"No man can do more than say he is sorry. I will try to forget it, sir. "

"That is as much as I can expect, " said Bartley, humbly. "But if you onlyknew the art, the cunning, the apparent evidence, with which that villainMonckton deluded me--"

"That I can believe. "

"And permit me one observation before we drop this unhappy subjectforever. If you had done me the honor to come to me as Walter Clifford, why, then, strong and misleading as the evidence was, I should have said, 'Appearances are deceitful, but no Clifford was ever disloyal. '"

This artful speech conquered Walter Clifford. He blushed, and bowed alittle haughtily at the compliment to the Cliffords. But his sense ofjustice was aroused. 

"You are right, " said he. "I must try and see both sides. If a mansails under false colors, he mustn't howl if he is mistaken for apirate. Let us dismiss the subject forever. I am Walter Cliffordnow--at your service. "

At that moment Mary Bartley came in, beaming with youth and beauty, andillumined the room. The cousins shook hands, and Walter's eyes glowedwith admiration. 

After a few words of greeting he handed Mary into the drag. Her fatherfollowed, and he was about to drive off, when Mary cried out, "Oh, Iforgot my skirt, if I am to ride. "

The skirt was brought down, and the horses, that were beginning to fret, dashed off. A smart little groom rode behind, and on reaching the farmthey found another with two saddle-horses, one of them, a small, gentleArab gelding, had a side-saddle. They rode all over the farm, andinspected the buildings, which were in excellent repair, thanks toWalter's supervision. Bartley inquired the number of acres and the rentdemanded. Walter told him. Bartley said it seemed to him a fair rent;still, he should like to know why the present tenant declined. 

"Perhaps you had better ask him, " said Walter. "I should wish you to hearboth sides. "

"That is like you, " said Bartley; "but where does the shoe pinch, inyour opinion?"

"Well, he tells me, in sober earnest, that he loses money by it as it is;but when he is drunk he tells his boon companions he has made seventhousand pounds here. He has one or two grass fields that want draining, but I offer him the pipes; he has only got to lay them and cut thedrains. My opinion is that he is the slave of habit; he is so used tomake an unfair profit out of these acres that he can not break himself ofit and be content with a fair one. "

"I dare say you have hit it, " said Bartley. "Well, I am fond of farming;but I don't live by it, and a moderate profit would content me. "

Walter said nothing. The truth is, he did not want to let the farmto Bartley. 

Bartley saw this, and drew Mary aside. 

"Should not you like to come here, my child?"

"Yes, papa, if you wish it; and you know it's dear Mr. Hope'sbirth-place. "

"Well, then, tell this young fellow so. I will give you an opportunity. "

That was easily managed, and then Mary said, timidly, "Cousin Walter, weshould all three be so glad if we might have the farm. "

"Three?" said he. "Who is the third?"

"Oh, somebody that everybody likes and I love. It is Mr. Hope. Such aduck! I am sure you would like him. "

"Hope! Is his name William?"

"Yes, it is. Do you know him?" asked Mary, eagerly. 

"I have reason to know him: he did me a good turn once, and I shall neverforget it. "

"Just like him!" cried Mary. "He is always doing people good turns. Heis the best, the truest, the cleverest, the dearest darling dear thatever stepped, and a second father to me; and, cousin, this village is hisbirth-place, and he didn't say much, but it was he who told us of thisfarm, and he would be so pleased if I could write and say, 'We are tohave the farm--Cousin Walter says so. '"

She turned her lovely eyes, brimming with tenderness, toward her cousinWalter, and he was done for. 

"Of course you shall have it, " he said, warmly. "Only you will not beangry with me if I insist on the increased rent. You know, cousin, Ihave a father, too, and I must be just to him. "

"To be sure, you must, dear, " said Mary, incautiously; and the wordpenetrated Walter's heart as if a woman of twenty-five had said it all ofa sudden and for the first time. 

When they got home, Mary told Mr. Bartley he was to have the farm if hewould pay the increased rent. 

"That is all right, " said Bartley. "Then to-morrow we can go home. "

"So soon!" said Mary, sorrowfully. 

"Yes, " said Bartley, firmly; "the rest had better be done in writing. Why, Mary, what is the use of staying on now? We are going to live herein a month or two. "

"I forgot that, " said Mary, with a little sigh. It seemed so ungraciousto get what they wanted, and then turn their backs directly. She hintedas much, very timidly. 

But Bartley was inexorable, and they reached home next day. 

Mary would have liked to write to Walter, and announce their safearrival, but nature withheld her. She was a child no longer. 

Bartley went to the sharp solicitor, and had a long interview with him. The result was that in about ten days he sent Walter Clifford a letterand the draft of a lease, very favorable to the landlord on the whole, but cannily inserting one unusual clause that looked inoffensive. 

It came by post, and Walter read the letter, and told his father whomit was from. 

"What does the fellow say?" grunted Colonel Clifford. 

"He says: 'We are doing very well here, but Hope says a bailiff can nowcarry out our system; and he is evidently sweet on his native place, andthinks the proposed rent is fair, and even moderate. As for me, my lifeused to be so bustling that I require a change now and then; so I will beyour tenant. Hope says I am to pay the expense of the lease, so I haverequested Arrowsmith & Cox to draw it. I have no experience in leases. They have drawn hundreds. I told them to make it fair. If they have not, send it back with objections. '"

"Oh! oh!" said Colonel Clifford. "He draws the lease, does he? Then lookat it with a microscope. "

Walter laughed. 

"I should not like to encounter him on his own ground. But here he is afish out of water; he must be. However, I will pass my eye over it. Where the farmer generally over-reaches us, if he draws the lease, is inthe clauses that protect him on leaving. He gets part possession formonths without paying rent, and he hampers and fleeces the incomingtenant, so that you lose a year's rent or have to buy him out. Now, letme see, that will be at the end of the document--No; it is exceedinglyfair, this one. "

"Show it to our man of business, and let him study every line. Set anattorney to catch an attorney. "

"Of course I shall submit it to our solicitor, " said Walter. 

This was done, and the experienced practitioner read it very carefully. He pronounced it unusually equitable for a farmer's lease. 

"However, " said he, "we might suggest that he does _all_ the repairs anddraining, and that you find the materials; and also that he insures allthe farm buildings. But you can hardly stand out for the insurance if heobjects. There's no harm trying. Stay! here is one clause that isunusual: the tenant is to have the right to bore for water, or topenetrate the surface of the soil, and take out gravel or chalk orminerals, if any. I don't like that clause. He might quarry, and cut thefarm in pieces. Ah, there's a proviso, that any damage to the surface orthe agricultural value shall be fully compensated, the amount of suchinjury to be settled by the landlord's valuer or surveyor. Oh, come, ifyou can charge your own price, that can't kill you. "

In short, the draft was approved, subject to certain corrections. Thesewere accepted. The lease was engrossed in duplicate, and in due coursesigned and delivered. The old tenant left, abusing the Cliffords, andsaying it was unfair to bring in a stranger, for _he_ would have givenall the money. 

Bartley took possession. 

Walter welcomed Hope very warmly, and often came to see him. He took agreat interest in Hope's theories of farming, and often came to the farmfor lessons. But that interest was very much increased by theopportunities it gave him of seeing and talking to sweet Mary Bartley. Not that he was forward or indiscreet. She was not yet sixteen, and hetried to remember she was a child. 

Unfortunately for that theory she looked a ripe woman, and this veryWalter made her more and more womanly. Whenever Walter was near she hadnew timidity, new blushes, fewer gushes, less impetuosity, more reserve. Sweet innocent! She was set by Nature to catch the man by the surest way, though she had no such design. 

Oh, it was a pretty, subtle piece of nature, and each sex played itspart. Bold advances of the man, with internal fear to offend, mockretreats of the girl, with internal throbs of complacency, and lifeinvested with a new and growing charm to both. Leaving this pretty littlepastime to glide along the flowery path that beautifies young lives toits inevitable climax, we go to a matter more prosaic, yet one thatproved a source of strange and stormy events. 

Hope had hardly started the farm when Bartley sent him off to Belgium--TOSTUDY COAL MINES. 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 

Mr. Hope left his powerful opera-glass with Mary Bartley. One day thatWalter called she was looking through it at the landscape, and handed itto him. He admired its power. Mary told him it had saved her life once. 

"Oh, " said he, "how could that be?"

Then she told him how Hope had seen her drowning, a mile off, with it, and ridden a bare-backed steed to her rescue. 

"God bless him!" cried Walter. "He is our best friend. Might I borrowthis famous glass?"

"Oh, " said Mary, "I am not going into any more streams; I am not so bravenow as I used to be. "

"Please lend it me, for all that. "

"Of course I will, if you wish it. "

Strange to say, after this, whether Mary walked out or rode out, she veryoften met Mr. Walter Clifford. He was always delighted and surprised. Shewas surprised three times, and said so, and after that she came to lowerher lashes and blush, but not to start. Each meeting was a pure accident, no doubt, only she foresaw the inevitable occurrence. 

They talked about everything in the world except what was most on theirminds. Their soft tones and expressive eyes supplied that littledeficiency. 

One day he caught her riding on her little Arab. The groom fellbehind directly. After they had ridden some distance in silence, Walter broke out:

"How beautifully you ride!"

"Me!" cried Mary. "Why, I never had a lesson in my life. "

"That accounts for it. Let a lady alone, and she does everything moregracefully than a man; but let some cad undertake to teach her, shedistrusts herself and imitates the snob. If you could only see the womenin Hyde Park who have been taught to ride, and compare them withyourself!"

"I should learn humility. "

"No; it would make you vain, if anything could. "

"You seem inclined to do me that good turn. Come, pray, what do thesepoor ladies do to offend you so?"

"I'll tell you. They square their shoulders vulgarly; they hold the reinsin their hands as if they were driving, and they draw the reins to theirwaists in a coarse, absurd way. They tighten both these reins equally, and saw the poor devil's mouth with the curb and the snaffle at one time. Now you know, Mary, the snaffle is a mild bit, and the curb is a sharpone; so where is the sense of pulling away at the snaffle when you aretugging at the curb? Why, it is like the fellow that made two holes atthe bottom of the door--a big one for the cat to come through and alittle one for the kitten. But the worst of all is they show the caddessso plainly. "

"Caddess! What is that; goddess you mean, I suppose?"

"No; I mean a cad of the feminine gender. They seem bursting withaffectation and elated consciousness that they are on horseback. Thatshows they have only just made the acquaintance of that animal, and in aLondon riding-school. Now you hold both reins lightly in the left hand, the curb loose, since it is seldom wanted, the snaffle just feeling theanimal's mouth, and you look right and left at the people you are talkingto, and don't seem to invite one to observe that you are on a horse: thatis because you are a lady, and a horse is a matter of course to you, justas the ground is when you walk upon it. "

The sensible girl blushed at his praise, but she said, dryly, "Howmeritorious! Cousin Walter, I have heard that flattery is poison. I won'tstay here to be poisoned--so. " She finished the sentence in action; andwith a movement of her body she started her Arab steed, and turned herchallenging eye back on Walter, and gave him a hand-gallop of a mile onthe turf by the road-side. And when she drew bridle her cheeks glowed soand her eyes glistened, that Walter was dazzled by her bright beauty, and could do nothing but gaze at her for ever so long. 

If Hope had been at home, Mary would have been looked after moresharply. But if she was punctual at meals, that went a long way withRobert Bartley. 

However, the accidental and frequent meetings of Walter and Mary, andtheir delightful rides and walks, were interfered with just as they beganto grow into a habit. There arrived at Clifford Hall a formidableperson--in female eyes, especially--a beautiful heiress. Julia Clifford, great-niece and ward of Colonel Clifford; very tall, graceful, with darkgray eyes, and black eyebrows the size of a leech, that narrowed to apoint and met in finer lines upon the bridge of a nose that was gentlyaquiline, but not too large, as such noses are apt to be. A large, expressive mouth, with wonderful rows of ivory, and the prettiest littleblack down, fine as a hair, on her upper lip, and a skin rather dark butclear, and glowing with the warm blood beneath it, completed this noblegirl. She was nineteen years of age. 

Colonel Clifford received her with warm affection and old-fashionedcourtesy; but as he was disabled by a violent fit of gout, he deputedWalter to attend to her on foot and horseback. 

Miss Clifford, accustomed to homage, laid Walter under contribution everyday. She was very active, and he had to take her a walk in the morning, and a ride in the afternoon. He winced a little under this at first; itkept him so much from Mary. But there was some compensation. JuliaClifford was a lady-like rider, and also a bold and skillful one. 

The first time he rode with her he asked her beforehand what sort of ahorse she would like. 

"Oh, anything, " said she, "that is not vicious nor slow. "

"A hack or a hunter?"

"Oh, a hunter, if I _may_. "

"Perhaps you will do me the honor to look at them and select. "

"You are very kind, and I will. "

He took her to the stables, and she selected a beautiful black mare, witha coat like satin. 

"There, " said Walter, despondingly. "I was afraid you would fix on _her_. She is impossible, I can't ride her myself. "

"Vicious?"

"Not in the least. "

"Well, then--"

Here an old groom touched his hat, and said, curtly, "Too hot andfidgety, miss. I'd as lieve ride of a boiling kettle. "

Walter explained: "The poor thing is the victim of nervousness. "

"Which I call them as rides her the victims, " suggested theancient groom. 

"Be quiet, George. She would go sweetly in a steeple-chase, if she didn'tbreak her heart with impatience before the start. But on the road she isimpossible. If you make her walk, she is all over lather in five minutes, and she'd spoil that sweet habit with flecks of foam. My lady has a wayof tossing her head, and covering you all over with white streaks. "

"She wants soothing, " suggested Miss Clifford. 

"Nay, miss. She wants bleeding o' Sundays, and sweating over the fallowstill she drops o' week-days. But if she was mine I'd put her to work acoal-cart for six months; that would larn her. "

"I will ride her, " said Miss Clifford, calmly; "her or none. "

"Saddle her, George, " said Walter, resignedly. "I'll ride Goliah. BlackBess sha'n't plead a bad example. Goliah is as meek as Moses, MissClifford. He is a gigantic mouse. "

"I'd as lieve ride of a dead man, " said the old groom. 

"Mr. George, " said the young lady, "you seem hard to please. May I askwhat sort of animal you do like to ride?"

"Well, miss, summat between them two. When I rides I likes to be atpeace. If I wants work, there's plenty in the yard. If I wants frettingand fuming, I can go home: I'm a married man, ye know. But when I crossesa horse I looks for a smart trot and a short stepper, or an easy canteron a bit of turf, and not to be set to hard labor a-sticking my heelsinto Goliah, nor getting a bloody nose every now and then from Black Bessa-throwing back her uneasy head when I do but lean forward in the saddle. I be an old man, miss, and I looks for peace on horseback if I can't getit nowhere else. "

All this was delivered whilst saddling Black Bess. When she was ready, Miss Clifford asked leave to hold the bridle, and walk her out of thepremises. As she walked her she patted and caressed her, and talked toher all the time--told her they all misunderstood her because she wasa female; but now she was not to be tormented and teased, but to haveher own way. 

Then she asked George to hold the mare's head as gently as he could, andWalter to put her up. She was in the saddle in a moment. The marefidgeted and pranced, but did not rear. Julia slackened the reins, andpatted and praised her, and let her go. She made a run, but was checkedby degrees with the snaffle. She had a beautiful mouth, and it was ingood hands at last. 

When they had ridden a few miles they came to a very open country, andJulia asked, demurely, if she might be allowed to try her off the road. "All right, " said Walter; and Miss Julia, with a smart decision thatcontrasted greatly with the meekness of her proposal, put her straight atthe bank, and cleared it like a bird. They had a famous gallop, but thisjudicious rider neither urged the mare nor greatly checked her. Shemoderated her. Black Bess came home that day sweating properly, but witha marked diminution of lather and foam. Miss Clifford asked leave to rideher into the stable-yard, and after dismounting talked to her, and pattedher, and praised her. An hour later the pertinacious beauty asked for acarrot from the garden, and fed Black Bess with it in the stable. 

By these arts, a very light hand, and tact in riding, she soothed BlackBess's nerves, so that at last the very touch of her habit skirt, or herhand, or the sound of her voice, seemed to soothe the poor nervouscreature; and at last one day in the stable Bess protruded her great lipsand kissed her fair rider on the shoulder after her manner. 

All this interested and amused Walter Clifford, but still he wasbeginning to chafe at being kept from Miss Bartley, when one morning herservant rode over with a note. 

"DEAR COUSIN WALTER, --Will you kindly send me back my opera glass?I want to see what is going on at Clifford Hall. 

"Yours affectionately, "MARY BARTLEY. "

Walter wrote back directly that he would bring it himself, and tell herwhat was going on at Clifford Hall. 

So he rode over and told her of Julia Clifford's arrival, and how hisfather had deputed him to attend on her, and she took up all his time. Itwas beginning to be a bore. 

"On the contrary, " said Mary, "I dare say she is very handsome. "

"That she is, " said Walter. 

"Please describe her. "

"A very tall, dark girl, with wonderful eyebrows; and she has broken inBlack Bess, that some of us men could not ride in comfort. "

Mary changed color. She murmured, "No wonder the Hall is more attractivethan the farm!" and the tears shone in her eyes. 

"Oh, Mary, " said Walter, reproachfully, "how can you say that? What isJulia Clifford to me?"

"I can't tell, " said Mary, dryly. "I never saw you together _through myglasses, you know_. "

Walter laughed at this innuendo. 

"You shall see us together to-morrow, if you will bless one of us withyour company. "

"I might be in the way. "

"That is not very likely. Will you ride to Hammond Church to-morrow atabout ten, and finish your sketch of the tower? I will bring MissClifford there, and introduce you to each other. "

This was settled, and Mary was apparently quite intent on her sketch whenWalter and Julia rode up, and Walter said:

"That is my cousin, Mary Bartley. May I introduce her to you?"

"Of course. What a sweet face!"

So the ladies were introduced, and Julia praised Mary's sketch, and Maryasked leave to add her to it, hanging, with pensive figure, over atombstone. Julia took an admirable pose, and Mary, with her quick andfacile fingers, had her on the paper in no time. Walter asked her, in awhisper, what she thought of her model. 

"I like her, " said Mary. "She is rather pretty. "

"Rather pretty! Why, she is an acknowledged beauty. "

"A beauty? The idea! Long black thing!"

Then they rode all together to the farm. There Mary was all innocenthospitality, and the obnoxious Julia kissed her at parting, and beggedher to come and see her at the Hall. 

Mary did call, and found her with a young gentleman of short stature, whowas devouring her with his eyes, but did not overflow in discourse, having a slight impediment in his speech. This was Mr. Percy Fitzroy. Julia introduced him. 

"And where are you staying, Percy?" inquired she. 

"At the D--D--Dun Cow. "

"What is that?"

Walter explained that it was a small hostelry, but one that wasoccasionally honored by distinguished visitors. Miss Bartley staid therethree days. 

"I h--hope to st--ay more than that, " said little Percy, with an amorousglance at Julia. 

Miss Clifford took Mary to her room, and soon asked her what she thoughtof him; then, anticipating criticism, she said there was not much of him, but he was such a duck. 

"He dresses beautifully, " was Mary's guarded remark. 

However, when Walter rode home with her, being now relieved of hisattendance on Julia, she was more communicative. Said she: "I never knewbefore that a man could look like fresh cambric. Dear me! his head andhis face and his little whiskers, his white scarf, his white waistcoat, and all his clothes, and himself, seem just washed and ironed andstarched. _I looked round for the bandbox_. "

"Never mind, " said Walter. "He is a great addition. My duties devolve onhim. And I shall be free to--How her eyes shone and her voice mellowedwhen she spoke to him! Confess, now, love is a beautiful thing. "

"I can not say. Not experienced in beautiful things. " And Mary lookedmighty demure. 

"Of course not. What am I thinking of? You are only a child. "

"A little more than that, _please_. "

"At all events, love beautified _her_. "

"I saw no difference. She was always a lovely girl. "

"Why, you said she was 'a long black thing. '"

"Oh, that was before--she looked engaged. "

After this young Fitzroy was generally Miss Clifford's companion in hermany walks, and Walter Clifford had a delightful time with Mary Bartley. 

Her nurse discovered how matters were going. But she said nothing. Fromsomething Bartley let fall years ago she divined that Bartley was robbingWalter Clifford by substituting Hope's child for his own, and she thoughtthe mischief could be repaired and the sin atoned for if he and Marybecame man and wife. So she held her tongue and watched. 

The servants at the Hall watched the whole game, and saw how the youngpeople were pairing, and talked them over very freely. 

The only person in the dark was Colonel Clifford. He was nearly alwaysconfined to his room. However, one day he came down, and found Julia andPercy together. She introduced Percy to him. The Colonel was curt, butgrumpy, and Percy soon beat a retreat. 

The Colonel sent for Walter to his room. He did not come for some time, because he was wooing Mary Bartley. 

Colonel Clifford's first word was, "Who was that little stuttering dandyI caught spooning _your_ Julia?"

"Only Percy Fitzroy. "

"Only Percy Fitzroy! Never despise your rivals, sir. Always remember thatyoung women are full of vanity, and expect to be courted all day long. Iwill thank you not to leave the field open a single day till you havesecured the prize. "

"What prize, sir?"

"What prize, you ninny? Why, the beautiful girl that can buy backOddington and Drayton, peaches and fruit and all. They are both to besold at this moment. What prize? Why, the wife I have secured for you, ifyou don't go and play the fool and neglect her. "

Walter Clifford looked aghast. 

"Julia Clifford!" said he. "Pray don't ask me to marry _her_. "

"Not ask you?--but I do ask you; and what is more, I command you. Wouldyou revolt again against your father, who has forgiven you, and break myheart, now I am enfeebled by disease? Julia Clifford is your wife, or youare my son no more. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 

The next time Walter Clifford met Mary Bartley he was gloomy atintervals. The observant girl saw he had something on his mind. She taxedhim with it, and asked him tenderly what it was. 

"Oh, nothing, " said he. 

"Don't tell me!" said she. "Mind, nothing escapes my eye. Come, tell me, or we are not friends. "

"Oh, come, Mary. That is hard. "

"Not in the least. I take an interest in you. "

"Bless you for saying so!"

"And so, if you keep your troubles from me, we are not friends, nor cousins. "

"Mary!"

"Nor anything else. "

"Well, dear Mary, sooner than not be anything else to you I will tellyou, and yet I don't like. Well, then, if I must, it is that dear oldwrong-headed father of mine. He wants me to marry Julia Clifford. "

Mary turned pale directly. "I guessed as much, " said she. "Well, she isyoung and beautiful and rich, and it is your duty to obey your father. "

"But I can't. "

"Oh yes, you can, if you try. "

"But I can't try. "

"Why not?"

"Can't you guess?"

"No. "

"Well, then, I love another girl. As opposite to her as light is todarkness. "

Mary blushed and looked down. "Complimentary to Julia, " she said. "I pityher opposite, for Julia is a fine, high-minded girl. "

"Ah, Mary, you are too clever for me; of course I mean the opposite inappearance. "

"As ugly as she is pretty?"

"No; but she is a dark girl, and I don't like dark girls. It was a darkgirl that deceived me so heartlessly years ago. "

"Ah!"

"And made me hate the whole sex. "

"Or only the brunettes?"

"The whole lot. "

"Cousin Walter, I thank you in the name of that small company. "

"Until I saw you, and you converted me in one day. "

"Only to the blondes?"

"Only to one of them. My sweet Mary, the situation is serious. You, whoseeye nothing escapes--you must have seen long ago how I love you. "

"Never mind what I have seen, Walter, " said Mary, whose bosom wasbeginning to heave. 

"Very well, " said Walter; "then I will tell you as if you didn't know it. I admired you at first sight; every time I was with you I admired you, and loved you more and more. It is my heaven to see you and to hear youspeak. Whether you are grave or gay, saucy or tender, it is all onecharm, one witchcraft. I want you for my wife, and my child, and myfriend. Mary, my love, my darling, how could I marry any woman but you?and you, could you marry any man but me, to break the heart that beatsonly for you?"

This and the voice of love, now ardent, now broken with emotion, weremore than sweet, saucy Mary could trifle with; her head drooped slowlyupon his shoulder, and her arm went round his neck, and the tremor of heryielding frame and the tears of tenderness that flowed slowly from herfair eyes told Walter Clifford without a word that she was won. 

He had the sense not to ask her for words. What words could be soeloquent as this? He just held her to his manly bosom, and trembled withlove and joy and triumph. 

She knew, too, that she had replied, and treated her own attitude like asentence in rather a droll way. "But _for all that_, " said she, "I don'tmean to be a wicked girl if I can help. This is an age of wicked youngladies. I soon found that out in the newspapers; that and science are thetwo features. And I have made a solemn vow not to be one ofthem"--(query, a science or a naughty girl)--"making mischief betweenfather and son. "

"No more you shall, dear, " said Walter. "Leave it to me. We must bepatient, and all will come right. "

"Oh, I'll be true to you, dear, if that is all, " said Mary. 

"And if you would not mind just temporizing a little, for my sake, wholove you?"

"Temporize!" said Mary, eagerly. "With all my heart. I'll temporize tillwe are all dead and buried. "

"Oh, that will be too long for me, " said Walter. 

"Oh, never do things by halves, " said the ready girl. 

If his tongue had been as prompt as hers, he might have said that"temporizing" was doing things by halves; but he let her have thelast word. And perhaps he lost nothing, for she would have had thatwhether or no. 

So this day was another era in their love. Girls after a time are notcontent to see they are beloved; they must hear it too; and now Walterhad spoken out like a man, and Mary had replied like a woman. They werehappy, and walked hand in hand purring to one another, instead ofsparring any more. 

On his return home Walter found Julia marching swiftly and haughtily upand down upon the terrace of Clifford Hall, and he could not helpadmiring the haughty magnificence of her walk. The reason soon appeared. She was in a passion. She was always tall, but now she seemed lofty, andto combine the supple panther with the erect peacock in her ireful march. Such a fine woman as Julia really awes a man with her carriage at such atime. The poor soul thinks he sees before him the indignation of thejust; when very likely it is only what in a man would be calledPetulance. 

"Anything the matter, Miss Clifford?" said he, obsequiously. 

"No, sir" (very stiffly). 

"Can I be of any service?"

"No, you can not. " And then, swifter than any weather-cock ever turned:"You are a good creature: why should I be rude to you? I ought to beashamed of myself. It is that little wretch. "

"Not our friend Fitzroy?"

"Why, what other little wretch is there about? We are all Grenadiers andMay-poles in this house except him. Well, let him go. I dare say somebodyelse--hum--and Uncle Clifford has told me more than once I ought to lookhigher. I couldn't well look lower than five feet nothing. Ha! ha! ha! Itold him so. "

"That was cruel. "

"Don't scold _me_. I won't be lectured by any of you. Of course it was, _dear_. Poor little Percy. Oh! oh! oh!"

And after all this thunder there was a little rain, by a law that governsAtmosphere and Woman impartially. 

Seeing her softened, and having his own reasons for wishing to keepFitzroy to his duty, Walter begged leave to mediate, if possible, andasked if she would do him the honor to confide the grievance to him. 

"Of course I will, " said Julia. "He is angry with Colonel Clifford fornot wishing him to stay here, and he is angry with me for not makingUncle Clifford invite him. As if I _could_! I should be ashamed topropose such a thing. The truth is, he is a luxurious little fellow, andmy society out-of-doors does not compensate him for the cookery at theDun Cow. There! let him go. "

"But I want him to stay. "

"Then that is very kind of you. "

"Isn't it?" said Walter, slyly. "And I must make him stay somehow. Nowtell me, isn't he a little jealous?"

"A little jealous! Why, he is eaten up with it; he is _pétrie dejalousie_. "

"Then, " said Walter, timidly, and hesitating at every word, "you can't beangry if I work on him a little. Would there be any great harm if I wereto say that nobody can see you without admiring you; that I have alwaysrespected his rights, but that if he abandons them--"

Julia caught it in a moment. She blushed, and laughed heartily. "Oh, yougood, sly Thing!" said she; "and it is the truth, for I am as proud as heis vain; and if he leaves me I will turn round that moment and make youin love with me. "

Walter looked queer. This was a turn he had not counted on. 

"Do you think I couldn't, sir?" said she, sharply. 

"It is not for me to limit the power of beauty, " said Walter, meekly. 

"Say the power of flattery. I could cajole any man in the world--ifI chose. "

"Then you are a dangerous creature, and I will make Fitzroy my shield. I'm off to the Dun Cow. "

"You are a duck, " said this impetuous beauty. "So there!" She took himround the neck with both hands, and gave him a most delicious kiss. 

"Why, he must be mad, " replied the recipient, bluntly. She laughed atthat, and he went straight to the Dun Cow. He found young Fitzroy sittingrather disconsolate, and opened his errand at once by asking him if itwas true that they were to lose him. 

Percy replied stiffly that it was true. 

"What a pity!" said Walter. 

"I d--don't think I shall be m--much m--missed, " said Percy, rather sullenly. 

"I know two people who will miss you. "

"I d--don't know one. "

"Two, I assure you--Miss Clifford and myself. Come, Mr. Fitzroy, I willnot beat about the bush. I am afraid you are mortified, and I must say, justly mortified, at the coolness my father has shown to you. But Iassure you that it is not from any disrespect to you personally. "

"Oh, indeed!" said Percy, ironically. 

"No; quite the reverse--he is afraid of you. "

"That is a g--g--good joke. "

"No; let me explain. Fathers are curious people. If they are ever sodisinterested in their general conduct, they are sure to be a littlemercenary for their children. Now you know Miss Clifford is a beauty whowould adorn Clifford Hall, and an heiress whose money would purchasecertain properties that join ours. You understand?"

"Yes, " said the little man, starting up in great wrath. "I understand, and it's a--bom--inable. I th--thought you were my friend, and a m--manof h--honor. "

"So I am, and that is why I warn you in time. If you quarrel with MissClifford, and leave this place in a pet, just see what risks we both run, you and I. My father will be always at me, and I shall not be able toinsist on your prior claim; he will say you have abandoned it. Julia willtake the huff, and you know beautiful women will do strange things--madthings--when once pique enters their hearts. She might turn round andmarry me. "

"You forget, sir, you are a man of honor. "

"But not a man of stone. Now, my dear Fitzroy, be reasonable. Supposethat peerless creature went in for female revenge; why, the first thingshe would do would be to _make_ me love her, whether I chose or no. Shewouldn't give _me_ a voice in the matter. She would flatter me; she wouldcajole me; she would transfix my too susceptible heart with glances offire and bewitching languor from those glorious eyes. "

"D--d----! Ahem!" cried Percy, turning green. 

Walter had no mercy. "I heard her say once she could make any man loveher if she chose. "

"So she could, " said Percy, ruefully. "She made me. I had an awfulp--p--prejudice against her, but there was no resisting. "

"Then don't subject _me_ to such a trial. Stick to her like a man. "

"So I will; b--but it is a m--m--mortifying position. I'm a man offamily. We came in with the C--Conquest, and are respected in ourc--county; and here I have to meet her on the sly, and live at theD--Dun Cow. "

"Where the _cuisine_ is wretched. "

"A--b--b--bominable!"

Having thus impregnated his mind with that soothing sentiment, jealousy, Walter told him he had a house to let on the estate--quite a gentleman'shouse, only a little dilapidated, with a fine lawn and garden, onlyneglected into a wilderness. "But all the better for you, " said he. "Youhave plenty of money, and no occupation. Perhaps that is what leads tothese little quarrels. It will amuse you to repair the crib and restorethe lawn. Why, there is a brook runs through it--it isn't every lawn hasthat--and there used to be water-lilies floating, and peonies noddingdown at them from the bank: a paradise. She adores flowers, you know. Whynot rent that house from me? You will have constant occupation andamusement. You will become a rival potentate to my governor. You willtake the shine out of him directly; you have only to give a ball, andthen all the girls will worship you, Julia Clifford especially, for shecould dance the devil to a stand-still. "

Percy's eyes flashed. "When can I have the place?" said he, eagerly. 

"In half an hour. I'll draw you a three months' agreement. Got anypaper? Of course not. Julia is so near. What are those? Playing-cards. What do you play? 'Patience, ' all by yourself. No wonder you arequarrelsome! Nothing else to bestow your energy on. "

Percy denied this imputation. The cards were for pistol practice. He shotdaily at the pips in the yard. 

"It is the fiend _Ennui_ that loads your pistols, and your temper too. Didn't I tell you so?"

Walter then demanded the ace of diamonds, and on its face let him thehouse and premises on a repairing lease for three years, rent £5 a year:which was a good bargain for both parties, since Percy was sure to layout a thousand pounds or two on the property, and to bind Julia moreclosely to him, who was worth her weight in gold ten times over. 

Walter had brought the keys with him, so he drove Percy over at once andgave him possession, and, to do the little fellow justice, the moistureof gratitude stood in his eyes when they parted. 

Walter told Julia about it the same night, and her eyes wereeloquent too. 

The next day he had a walk with Mary Bartley, and told her all about it. She hung upon him, and gazed admiringly into his eyes all the time, andthey parted happy lovers. 

Mr. Bartley met her at the gate, "Mary, " said he, gravely, "who was thatI saw with you just now?"

"Cousin Walter. "

"I feared so. You are too much with him. "

Mary turned red and white by turns, but said nothing. 

Bartley went on: "You are a good child, and I have always trusted you. Iam sure you mean no harm. But you must be more discreet. I have justheard that you and that young man are looked upon as engaged lovers. Theysay it is all over the village. Of course a father is the last to hearthese things. Does Mrs. Easton know of this?"

"Oh yes, papa, and approves it. "

"Stupid old woman! She ought to be ashamed of herself. "

"Oh, papa!" said Mary, in deep distress; "why, what objection can therebe to Cousin Walter?"

"None whatever as a cousin, but every objection to intimacy. Does hecourt you?"

"I don't know, papa. I suppose he does. "

"Does he seek your love?"

"He does not say so exactly. "

"Come, Mary, you have never deceived me. Does he love you?"

"I am afraid he does; and if you reject him he will be very unhappy. Andso shall I. "

"I am truly sorry to hear it, Mary, for there are reasons why I can notconsent to an engagement between him and you. "

"What reasons, papa?"

"It would not be proper to disclose my reasons; but I hope, Mary, that itwill be enough to say that Colonel Clifford has other views for his son, and I have other views for my daughter. Do you think a blessing willattend you or him if you defy both fathers?"

"No, no, " said poor Mary. "We have been hasty and very foolish. But, oh, papa, have you not seen from the first? Oh, why did you not warn me intime? Then I could have obeyed you easily. Now it will cost me thehappiness of my life. We are very unfortunate. Poor Walter! He left me sofull of hope. What shall I do? what shall I do?"

It was Mary Bartley's first grief. She thought all chance of happinesswas gone forever, and she wept bitterly for Walter and herself. 

Bartley was not unmoved, but he could not change his nature. The sum hehad obtained by a crime was dearer to him than all his more honest gains. He was kind on the surface, but hard as marble. 

"Go to your room, my child, " said he, "and try and compose yourself. Iam not angry with you. I ought to have watched you. But you are so young, and I trusted to that woman. "

Mary retired, sobbing, and he sent for Mrs. Easton. 

"Mrs. Easton, " said he, "for the first time in all these years I have afault to find with you. "

"What is that, sir, if you please?"

"Young Clifford has been courting that child, and you haveencouraged it. "

"Nay, sir, " said the woman, "I have not done that. She never spoke to me, nor I to her. "

"Well, then, you never interfered. "

"No, sir; no more than you did. "

"Because I never observed it till to-day. "

"How could I know that, sir? Everybody else observed it. Mr. Hope wouldhave been the first to see it, if he had been in your place. " This suddenthrust made Bartley wince, and showed him he had a tougher customer todeal with than poor Mary. 

"You can't bear to be found fault with, Easton, " said he, craftily, "andI don't wonder at it, after fourteen years' fidelity to me. "

"I take no credit for that, " said the woman, doggedly. "I have beenpaid for it. "

"No doubt. But I don't always get the thing I pay for. Then let by-gonesbe by-gones; but just assist me now to cure the girl of this folly. "

"Sir, " said the woman, firmly, "it is not folly; it is wisest and bestfor all; and I can't make up my mind to lift a finger against it. "

"Do you mean to defy me, then?"

"No, sir. I don't want to go against you, nor yet against my ownconscience, what's left on't. I have seen a pretty while it must come tothis, and I have written to my sister Sally. She keeps a small hotel atthe lakes. She is ready to have me, and I'm not too old to be useful toher. I'm worth my board. I'll go there this very day, if you please. I'mas true to you as I can be, sir. For I see by Miss Mary crying so youhave spoken to her, and so now she is safe to come to me for comfort; andif she does, I shall take her part, you may be sure, for I love her likemy own child. " Here the dogged voice began to tremble; but she recoveredherself, and told him she would go at once to her sister Gilbert, thatlived only ten miles off, and next day she would go to the little hotelat the lakes, and leave him to part two true lovers if he could and breakboth their hearts; she should wash her hands of it. 

Bartley asked a moment to consider. 

"Shall we be friends still if you leave me like that? Surely, after allthese years, you will not tell your sister? You will not betray me?"

"Never, sir, " said she. "What for? To bring those two together? Why, itwould part them forever. I wonder at you, a gentleman, and in businessall your life, yet you don't seem to see through the muddy water as I dothat is only a plain woman. "

She then told him her clothes were nearly all packed, and she could startin an hour. 

"You shall have the break and the horses, " said he, with great alacrity. 

Everything transpires quickly in a small house, and just as she hadfinished packing, in came Mary in violent distress. "What, is it true?Are you going to leave me, now my heart is broken? Oh, nurse! nurse!"

This was too much even for stout-hearted Nancy Easton. 

"Oh, my child! my child!" she cried, and sat down on her box sobbingviolently, Mary infolded in her arms, and then they sat crying androcking together. 

"Papa does not love me as I do him, " sobbed Mary, turning bitter for thefirst time. "He breaks my heart, and sends you away the same day, forfear you should comfort me. "

"No, my dear, " said Mrs. Easton; "you are wrong. He does not send meaway; I go by my own wish. "

"Oh, nurse, you desert me! then you don't know what has happened. "

"Oh yes, I do; I know all about it; and I'm leaving because I can't dowhat he wishes. You see it is this way, Miss Mary--your father has beenvery good to me, and I am his debtor. I must not stay here and help youto thwart him--that would be ungrateful--and yet I can't take his sideagainst you. Master has got reasons why you should not marry WalterClifford, and--"

"He told me so himself, " said Mary. 

"Ah, but he didn't tell you his reasons. "

"No. "

"No more must I. But, Miss Mary, I'll tell you this. I know his reasonswell; his reasons why you should not marry Walter Clifford are my reasonswhy you should marry no other man. "

"Oh, nurse! oh, you dear, good angel!"

"So when friends differ like black and white, 'tis best to part. I'mgoing to my sister Gilbert this afternoon, and to-morrow to my sisterSally, at her hotel. "

"Oh, nurse, must you? must you? I shall have not a friend to advise orconsole me till Mr. Hope comes back. Oh, I hope that won't be long now. "

Mrs. Easton dropped her hands upon her knees and looked at Mary Bartley. 

"What, Miss Mary, would you go to Mr. Hope in such a matter as this?Surely you would not have the face?"

"Not take my breaking heart to Mr. Hope!" cried Mary, with a suddenflood of tears. "You might as well tell me not to lay my trouble beforemy God. Dear, dear Mr. Hope, who saved my life in those deep waters, andthen cried over me, darling dear! I think more of that than of hiscourage. Do you think I am blind? He loves me better than my own fatherdoes; and it is not a young man's love; it is an angel's. Not cry to_him_ when I am in the deep waters of affliction? I could not write ofsuch a thing to him for blushing, but the moment he returns I shallfind some way to let him know how happy I have been, how broken-heartedI am, and that papa has reasons against _him_, and they are your reasonsfor him, and that you are both afraid to let _me_ know these _curious_reasons--me, the poor girl whose heart is being made a foot-ball of inthis house. Oh! oh! oh!"

"Don't cry, Miss Mary, " said Nurse Easton, tenderly; "and pray don'texcite yourself so. Why, I never saw you like this before. "

"Had I ever the same reason? You have only known the happy, thoughtlesschild. They have made a woman of me now, and my peace is gone. I _must_not defy my father, and I _will_ not break poor Walter's heart--thetruest heart that ever beat. Not tell dear Mr. Hope? I'll tell himeverything, if I'm cut in pieces for it. " And her beautiful eyes flashedlightning through her tears. 

"Hum!" said Mrs. Easton, under her breath, and looking down at her ownfeet. 

"And pray what does 'hum' mean?" asked Mary, fixing her eyes withprodigious keenness on the woman's face. 

"Well, I don't suppose 'hum' means anything, " said Mrs. Easton, stilllooking down. 

"Doesn't it?" said Mary. "With such a face as _that_ it means a volume. And I'll make it my business to read that volume. "

"Hum!"

"And Mr. Hope shall help me. "

CHAPTER IX. 

LOVERS PARTED. 

Walter, little dreaming the blow his own love had received, made Percywrite Julia an apology, and an invitation to visit his new house if hewas forgiven. Julia said she could not forgive him, and would not go. Walter said, "Put on your bonnet, and take a little drive with me. "

"Oh, with pleasure, " said Julia, slyly. 

So then Walter drove her to the new house, without a word of remonstranceon her part, and Fitzroy met her radiant, and Walter slipped away round acorner, and when he came back the quarrel had dissolved. He had brought ahamper with all the necessaries of life--table-cloth, napkins, knives, forks, spoons, cold pie, salad, and champagne. They lunched beside thebrook on the lawn. The lovers drank his health, and Julia appointed himsolemnly to the post of "peace-maker, " "for, " said she, "you have showngreat talent that way, and I foresee we shall want one, for we shall bealways quarrelling; sha'n't we, Percy?"

"N--o; n--never again. "

"Then you mustn't be jealous. "

"I'm not. I d--despise j--jealousy. I'm above it. "

"Oh, indeed, " said Julia, dryly. 

"Come, don't begin again, you two, " said Walter, "or--no champagne. "

"Now what a horrid threat!" said Julia. "I'll be good, for one. "

In short they had a merry time, and Walter drove Julia home. Both were inhigh spirits. 

In the hall Walter found a short note from Mary Bartley:

"DEAR, DEAR WALTER, --I write with a bleeding heart to tell you that papahas only just discovered our attachment, and I am grieved to say hedisapproves of it, and has forbidden me to encourage your love, that isdearer to me than all the world. It is very hard. It seems so cruel. ButI must obey. Do not make obedience too difficult, dear Walter. And pray, pray do not be as unhappy as I am. He says he has reasons, but he has nottold me what they are, except that your father has other views for you;but, indeed, with both parents against us what can we do? Forgive me thepain this will give you. Ask yourself whether it gives me any less. Youwere all the world to me. Now everything is dull and distasteful. What achange in one little day! We are very unfortunate. But it can not beforever. And if you will be constant to me, you know I shall to you. I_could not_ change. Ah, Walter, I little thought when I said I wouldtemporize, how soon I should be called on to do it. I can't write anymore for crying. I do nothing but cry ever since papa was so cruel; but Imust obey. Your loving, sorrowful

"MARY. "

This letter was a chilling blow to poor Walter. He took it into his ownroom and read it again and again. It brought the tears into his own eyes, and discouraged him deeply for a time. But, of course, he was not sodisposed to succumb to authority as the weaker vessel was. He wrote back:

"My own Love, --Don't grieve for me. I don't care for anything so long asyou love me. I shall resist, of course. As for my father, I am going tomarry Julia to Percy Fitzroy, and so end my governor's nonsense. As foryour father, I do not despair of softening him. It is only a check; it isnot a defeat. Who on earth can part us if we are true to each other? Godbless you, dearest! I did not think you loved me so much. Your lettergives me comfort forever, and only disappointment for a time. Don't fret, sweet love. It will be all right in the end. 

"Your grateful, hopeful love, till death, WALTER. "

Mary opened this letter with a beating heart. She read it with tears andsmiles and utter amazement. She knew so little about the male characterthat this way of receiving a knockdown blow astonished and charmed her. She thought to herself, no wonder women look up to men. They _will_ havetheir own way; they resist, _of course_. How sensible! We give in, rightor wrong. What a comfort I have got a man to back me, and not a poorsorrowing, despairing, obeying thing like myself!

So she was comforted for the minute, and settled in her own mind that shewould be good and obedient, and Walter should do all the fighting. Butletters soon cease to satisfy the yearning hearts of lovers unnaturallyseparated. Walter and Mary lived so near each other, yet now they nevermet. Bartley took care of that. He told Mary she must not walk outwithout a maid or ride without a servant; and he gave them both specialorders. He even obliged her with his own company, though that ratherbored him. 

Under this severe restraint Mary's health and spirits suffered, and shelost some of her beautiful color. 

Walter's spirits were kept up only by anger. Julia Clifford saw he was introuble, and asked him what was the matter. 

"Oh, nothing that would interest you, " said he, rather sullenly. 

"Excuse me, " said she. "I am always interested in the troubles of myfriends, and you have been a good friend to me. "

"It is very good of you to think so. Well, then, yes, I am unhappy. I amcrossed in love. "

"Is it that fair girl you introduced me to when out riding?"

"Yes. "

"She is lovely. "

"Miss Clifford, she is an angel. "

"Ha! ha! We are all angels till we are found out. Who is the man?"

"What man?"

"That she prefers to my good Walter. She deserves a good whipping, your angel. "

"Much obliged to you, Miss Clifford; but she prefers no man to your goodWalter, though I am not worthy to tie her shoes. Why, we are devoted toeach other. "

"Well, you needn't fly out at _me_. I am your friend, as you will see. Make me your confidante. Explain, please. How can you be crossed in loveif there's no other man?"

"It's her father. He has discovered our love, and forbids her tospeak to me. "

"Her father!" said Julia, contemptuously. "Is that all? _That_ for herfather! You shall have her in spite of fifty fathers. If it had been alover, now. "

"I should have talked to him, not to you, " said Walter, with hiseyes flashing. 

"Be quiet, Walter; as it is not a lover, nor even a mother, you shallhave the girl; and a very sweet girl she is. Will you accept me foryour ally? Women are wiser than men in these things, and understandone another. "

"Oh, Miss Clifford, " said Walter, "this is good of you! Of course it willbe a great blessing to us both to have your sympathy and assistance. "

"Well, then, " said Julia, "begin by telling me--have you spoken toher father?"

"No. "

"Then that is the very first thing to be done. Come, order our horses. Wewill ride over directly. I will call on _Miss_ Bartley, and you on_Mister_. Now mind, you must ignore all that has passed, and just ask hispermission to court his daughter. Whilst you are closeted with him, theyoung lady and I will learn each other's minds with a celerity you poorslow things have no idea of. "

"I see one thing, " said Walter, "that I am a child in such matterscompared with you. What decision! what promptitude!"

"Then imitate it, young man. Order the horses directly;" and she stampedher foot impatiently. 

Walter turned to the stables without another word, and Julia flewupstairs to put on her riding-habit. 

 * * * * *

Bartley was in his study with a map of the farm before him, and tworespectable but rather rough men in close conference over it. These werepractical men from the county of Durham, whom he had ferreted out bymeans of an agent, men who knew a great deal about coal. They had alreadysurveyed the farm, and confirmed Hope's opinion that coal lay below thesurface of certain barren fields, and the question now was as to theexact spot where it would be advisable to sink the first shaft. 

Bartley was heart and soul in this, and elevated by love of gain farabove such puny considerations as the happiness of Mary Bartley and herlover. She, poor girl, sat forlorn in her little drawing-room, and triedto draw a bit, and tried to read a bit, and tried to reconcile a newGerman symphony to her ear as well as to her judgment, which told her itwas too learned not to be harmonious, though it sounded very discordant. But all these efforts ended in a sigh of despondency, and in brooding oninnocent delights forbidden, and a prospect which, to her youth andinexperience, seemed a wilderness robbed of the sun. 

Whilst she sat thus pensive and sad there came a sudden rush and clatterof hoofs, and Miss Clifford and Walter Clifford reined up their horsesunder the very window. 

Mary started up delighted at the bare sight of Walter, but amazed andpuzzled. The next moment her quick intelligence told her this was somedaring manoeuvre or other, and her heart beat high. 

Walter opened the door and stood beside it, affecting a cold ceremony. 

"Miss Bartley, I have brought Miss Clifford to call on you at herrequest. My own visit is to your father. Where shall I find him?"

"In his study, " murmured Miss Bartley. 

Walter returned, and the two ladies looked at each other steadily for onemoment, and took stock of one another's dress, looks, character, andsouls with supernatural rapidity. Then Mary smiled, and motioned hervisitor to a seat, and waited. 

Miss Clifford made her approaches obliquely at first. 

"I ought to apologize to you for not returning your call before this. Atany rate, here I am at last. "

"You are most welcome, Miss Clifford, " said Mary, warmly. 

"Now the ice is broken, I want you to call me Julia. "

"May I?"

"You may, and you must, if I call you Mary. Why, you know we are cousins;at least I suppose so. We are both cousins of Walter Clifford, so we mustbe cousins to each other. "

And she fixed her eyes on her fair hostess in a very peculiar way. 

Mary returned this fixed look with such keen intelligence that her grayeyes actually scintillated. 

"Mary, I seldom waste much time before I come to the point. WalterClifford is a good fellow; he has behaved well to me. I had a quarrelwith mine, and Walter played the peace-maker, and brought us togetheragain without wounding my pride. By-and-by I found out Walter himself wasin grief about you. It was my turn, wasn't it? I made him tell me all. Hewasn't very willing, but I would know. I see his love is making himmiserable, and so is yours, dear. "

"Oh yes. "

"So I took it on me to advise him. I have made him call on your father. Fathers sometimes pooh-pooh their daughters' affections; but when the sonof Colonel Clifford comes with a formal proposal of marriage, Mr. Bartleycan not pooh-pooh _him_. "

Mary clasped her hands, but said nothing. 

Julia flowed on:

"And the next thing is to comfort you. You seem to want a goodcry, dear. "

"Yes, I d--do. "

"Then come here and take it. "

No sooner said than done. Mary's head on Julia's shoulder, and Julia'sarm round Mary's waist. 

"Are you better, dear?"

"Oh, so much. "

"It is a comfort, isn't it? Well, now, listen to me. Fathers sometimesdelay a girl's happiness; but they don't often destroy it; they don't goand break her heart as some mothers do. A mother that is resolved to haveher own way brings another man forward; fathers are too simple to seethat is the only way. And then a designing mother cajoles the poor girland deceives her, and does a number of things a man would callvillainies. Don't you fret your heart out for so small a thing as afather's opposition. You are sure to tire him out if he loves you, and ifhe doesn't love you, or loves money better, why, then, he is not a worthyrival to my cousin Walter, for that man really loves you, and would marryyou if you had not a penny. So would Percy Fitzroy marry me. And that iswhy I prefer him to the grenadiers and plungers with silky mustaches, andhalf an eye on me and an eye and a half on my money. "

Many other things passed between these two, but what we have endeavoredto repeat was the cream of Julia's discourse, and both her advice andher sympathy were for the time a wonderful comfort to the love-sick, solitary girl. 

But our business is with Walter Clifford. As soon as he was announced, Mr. Bartley dismissed his rugged visitors, and received Walter affably, though a little stiffly. 

Walter opened his business at once, and told him he had come to ask hispermission to court his daughter. He said he had admired her from thefirst moment, and now his happiness depended on her, and he felt sure hecould make her happy; not, of course, by his money, but by his devotion. Then as to making a proper provision for her--

Here Bartley stopped him. 

"My young friend, " said he, "there can be no objection either to yourperson or your position. But there are difficulties, and at present theyare serious ones. Your father has other views. "

"But, Mr. Bartley, " said Walter, eagerly, "he must abandon them. The ladyis engaged. "

"Well, then, " said Bartley, "it will be time to come to me when he hasabandoned those views, and also overcome his prejudices against me andmine. But there is another difficulty. My daughter is not old enough tomarry, and I object to long engagements. Everything, therefore, points todelay, and on this I must insist. "

Bartley having taken this moderate ground, remained immovable. Hepromised to encourage no other suitor; but in return he said he had aright to demand that Walter would not disturb his daughter's peace ofmind until the prospect was clearer. In short, instead of being taken bysurprise, the result showed Bartley quite prepared for this interview, and he baffled the young man without offending him. He was cautious notto do that, because he was going to mine for coal, and fearedremonstrances, and wanted Walter to take his part, or at least to beneutral, knowing his love for Mary. So they parted good friends; but whenhe retailed the result to Julia Clifford she shook her head, and said theold fox had outwitted him. Soon after, knitting her brows in thought forsome time, she said, "She is very young, much younger than she looks. Iam afraid you will have to wait a little, and watch. "

"But, " said Walter, in dismay, "am I not to see her or speak to her allthe time I am waiting?"

"I'd see both fathers hanged first, if I was a man, " said Julia. 

In short, under the courageous advice of Julia Clifford, Walter began tothrow himself in Mary's way, and look disconsolate; that set Mary piningdirectly, and Julia found her pale, and grieving for Walter, andpersuaded her to write him two or three lines of comfort; she did, andthat drew pages from him. Unfortunately he did not restrain himself, butflung his whole heart upon paper, and raised a tumult in the innocentheart of her who read his passionate longings. 

She was so worked upon that at last one day she confided to Julia thather old nurse was going to visit her sister, Mrs. Gilbert, who lived onlyten miles off, and she thought she should ride and see her. 

"When?" asked Julia, carelessly. 

"Oh, any day next week, " said Mary, carelessly. "Wednesday, if it isfine. She will not be there till Monday. "

"Does she know?" asked Julia. 

"Oh yes; and left because she could not agree with papa about it; and, dear, she said a strange thing--a very strange thing: she knew papa'sreasons against him, and they were her reasons for him. "

"Fancy that!" said Julia. "Your father told you what the reasons were?"

"No; he wouldn't. They both treat me like a child. "

"You mean they pretend to, " she added. 

"I see one thing; there is some mystery behind this. I wonder what itis?"

"Ten to one, it is money. I am only twenty, but already I have found outthat money governs the world. Let me see--your mother was a Clifford. Shemust have had money. Did she settle any on you?"

"I am sure I don't know. "

"Ten to one she did, and your father is your trustee; and when youmarry, he must show his accounts and cash up. There, that is where theshoe pinches. "

Mary was distressed. 

"Oh, don't say so, dear. I can't bear to think that of papa. You make mevery unhappy. "

"Forgive me, dear, " said Julia. "I am too bitter and suspicious. Someday I will tell you things in my own life that have soured me. Money--Ihate the very word, " she said, clinching her teeth. 

She urged her view no more, but in her own heart she felt sure that shehad read Mr. Bartley aright. Why, he was a trader, into the bargain. 

As for Mary, when she came to think over this conversation, her ownsubtle instinct told her that stronger pressure than ever would now bebrought on her. Her timidity, her maiden modesty, and her desire to doright set her on her defense. She determined to have loving but impartialadvice, and so she overcame her shyness, and wrote to Mr. Hope. Even thenshe was in no hurry to enter on such a subject by letter, so she mustcommence by telling him that her father had set a great many people, mostof them strangers, to dig for coal. That cross old thing, ColonelClifford, had been heard to sneer at her dear father, and say unkind anddisrespectful things--that the love of money led to loss of money, andthat papa might just as well dig a well and throw his money into that. She herself was sorry he had not waited for Mr. Hope's return beforeundertaking so serious a speculation. Warmed by this preliminary, sheventured into the delicate subject, and told him the substance of what wehave told the reader, only in a far more timid and suggestive way, andimplored him to advise her by return of post if possible--or why notcome home? Papa had said only yesterday, "I wish Hope was here. " She gotan answer by return of post. It disappointed her, on the whole. Mr. Hoperealized the whole situation, though she had sketched it faintly insteadof painting it boldly. He was all sympathy, and he saw at once that hecould not himself imagine a better match for her than Walter Clifford. But then he observed that Mr. Bartley himself offered no personalobjection, but wished the matter to be in abeyance until she was older, and Colonel Clifford's objection to the connection should be removed orsoftened. That might really be hoped for should Miss Clifford marry Mr. Fitzroy; and really in the mean time he (Hope) could hardly take on himto encourage her in impatience and disobedience. He should prefer to talkto Bartley first. With him he should take a less hesitating line, and sether happiness above everything. In short, he wrote cautiously. Heinwardly resolved to be on the spot very soon, whether Bartley wanted himor not; but he did not tell Mary this. 

Mary was disappointed. "How kind and wise he is!" she said toJulia--"too wise. "

Next Wednesday morning Mary Bartley rode to Mrs. Gilbert, and wasreceived by her with courtesy, but with a warm embrace by Mrs. Easton. After a while the latter invited her into the parlor, sayingthere is somebody there; but no one knows. This, however, thoughhardly unexpected, set Mary's heart beating, and when the parlordoor was opened, Mrs. Easton stepped back, and Mary was alone withWalter Clifford. 

Then might those who oppose an honest and tender affection have learned alesson. It was no longer affection only. It was passion. Walter was pale, agitated, eager; he kissed her hands impetuously, and drew her to hisbosom. She sobbed there; he poured inarticulate words over her, and stillheld her, panting, to his beating heart. Even when the first gush of lovesubsided a little he could not be so reasonable as he used to be. He waswild against his own father, hers, and every obstacle, and implored herto marry him at once by special license, and leave the old people tountie the knot if they could. 

Then Mary was astonished and hurt. 

"A clandestine marriage, Mr. Clifford!" said she. "I thought you hadmore respect for me than to mention such a thing. "

Then he had to beg her pardon, and say the separation had driven him mad. 

Then she forgave him. 

Then he took advantage of her clemency, and proceeded calmly to show herit was their only chance. 

Then Mary forgot how severely she had checked him, and merely said thatwas the last thing she would consent to, and bound him on his honor neverto mention to Julia Clifford that he had proposed such a thing. Walterpromised that readily enough, but stuck to his point; and as Mary's pridewas wounded, and she was a girl of great spirit though love-sick, shefroze to him, and soon after said she was very sorry, but she must notstay too long or papa would be angry. She then begged him not to come outof the parlor, or the servant would see him. 

"That is a trifle, " said Walter. "I am going to obey you in greaterthings than that. Ah! Mary, Mary, you don't love me as I love you!"

"No, Walter, " said Mary, "I do not love you as you love me, for I respectyou. " Then her lip trembled, and her eyes filled with tears. 

Walter fell on his knees, and kissed her skirt several times; then endedwith her hand. "Oh, don't harbor such a thought as that!" said he. 

She sobbed, but made no reply. 

They parted good friends, but chilled. 

That made them both unhappy to think of. 

It was only two, or at the most three, days after this that, as Mary waswalking in the garden, a nosegay fell at her feet. She picked it up, andimmediately found a note half secreted in it. The next moment it wasentirely secreted in her bosom. She sauntered in-doors, and scuddedupstairs to her room to read it. 

The writer told her in a few agitated words that their fathers had met, and he must speak to her directly. Would she meet him for a moment at thegarden gate at nine o'clock that evening?

"No, no, no!" cried Mary, as if he was there. She was frightened. Supposethey should be caught. The shame--the disgrace. But oh, the temptation!Well, then, how wrong of him to tempt her! She must not go. There was notime to write and refuse; but she must not go. She would not go. And inthis resolution she persisted. Nine o'clock struck, and she never moved. Then she began to picture Walter's face of disappointment and hisunhappiness. At ten minutes past nine she tied a handkerchief round herhead and went. 

There he was at the gate, pale and agitated. He did not give her time toscold him. 

"Pray forgive me, " he said; "but I saw no other way. It is all over, Mary, unless you love me as I love you. "

"Don't begin by doubting me, " she said. "Tell me, dear. "

"It is soon told. Our fathers have met at that wretched pit, and theforeman has told me what passed between them. My father complained thatmining for coal was not husbandry, and it was very unfair to do it, andto smoke him out of house and home. (Unfortunately the wind was west, andblew the smoke of the steam-engine over his lawn. ) Your father said hetook the farm under that express stipulation. Colonel Clifford said, 'No;the condition was smuggled in. ' 'Then smuggle it out, ' said Mr. Bartley. "

"Oh!"

"If it had only ended there, Mary. But they were both in a passion, andmust empty their hearts. Colonel Clifford said he had every respect foryou, but had other views for his son. Mr. Bartley said he was thankful tohear it, for he looked higher for his daughter. 'Higher in trade, Isuppose, ' said my father; 'the Lord Mayor's nephew. ' 'Well, ' said Mr. Bartley, 'I would rather marry her to money than to mortgages. ' And theend of it was they parted enemies for life. "

"No, no; not for life!"

"For life, Mary. It is an old grudge revived. Indeed, the first quarrelwas only skinned over. Don't deceive yourself. We have nothing to do butdisobey them or part. "

"And you can say that, Walter? Oh, have a little patience!"

"So I would, " said Walter, "if there was any hope. But there is none. There is nothing to wait for but the death of our parents, and by thattime I shall be an elderly man, and you will have lost your bloom andwasted your youth--for what? No; I feel sometimes this will drive me mad, or make me a villain. I am beginning to hate my own father, and everybodyelse that thwarts my love. How can they earn my hate more surely? No, Mary; I see the future as plainly as I see your dear face, so pale andshocked. I can't help it. If you will marry me, and so make sure, I willkeep it secret as long as you like; I shall have got you, whatever theymay say or do; but if you won't, I'll leave the country at once, and getpeace if I can't get love. "

"Leave the country?" said Mary, faintly. "What good would that do?"

"I don't know. Perhaps bring my father to his senses for one thing;and--who knows?--perhaps you will listen to reason when you see I can'twait for the consent of two egotists--for that is what they bothare--that have no real love or pity for you or me. "

"Ah, " said Mary, with a deep sigh, "I see even men have their faults, andI admired them so. They are impatient, selfish. "

"Yes, if it is selfish to defend one's self against brutal selfishness, Iam selfish; and that is better than to be a slave to egotists, and liedown to be trodden on as you would do. Come, Mary, for pity's sake, decide which you love best--your father, who does not care much for you, or me, who adore you, and will give you a life of gratitude as well aslove, if you will only see things as they are and always will be, andtrust yourself to me as my dear, dear, blessed, adored wife!"

"I love you best, " said Mary, "and I hope it is not wicked. But I lovehim too, though he does say 'wait. ' And I respect _myself_, and I darenot defy my parent, and I will not marry secretly; that is degrading. And, oh, Walter, think how young I am and inexperienced, and you that areso much older, and I hoped would be my guide and make me better; is ityou who tempt me to clandestine meetings that I blush for, and aclandestine marriage for which I should despise myself?"

Walter turned suddenly calm, for these words pricked his conscience. 

"You are right, " said he. "I am a blackguard, and you are an angel ofpurity and goodness. Forgive me, I will never tempt nor torment youagain. For pity's sake forgive me. You don't know what men's passionsare. Forgive me!"

"With all my heart, dear, " said Mary, crying gently. 

He put both arms suddenly round her neck and kissed her wet eyes with asigh of despair. Then he seemed to tear himself away by a great effort, and she leaned limp and powerless on the gate, and heard his footstepsdie away into the night. They struck chill upon her foreboding heart, forshe felt that they were parted. 

CHAPTER X. 

THE GORDIAN KNOT. 

Walter, however, would not despair until he had laid the alternativebefore his father. He did so, firmly but coolly. 

His father, irritated by the scene with Bartley, treated Walter'sproposal with indignant scorn. 

Walter continued to keep his temper, and with some reluctance asked himwhether he owed nothing, not even a sacrifice of his prejudices, to a sonwho had never disobeyed him, and had improved his circumstances. 

"Come, sir, " said he; "when the happiness of my life is at stake Iventure to lay aside delicacy, and ask you whether I have not been a goodson, and a serviceable one to you?"

"Yes, Walter, " said the Colonel, "with this exception. "

"Then now or never give me my reward. "

"I'll try, " said the grim Colonel; "but I see it will be hard work. However, I'll try and save you from a _mésalliance_. "

"A _mésalliance_, sir? Why, she is a Clifford. "

"The deuce she is!"

"As much a Clifford as I am. "

"That is news to me. "

"Why, one of her parents was a Clifford, and your own sister. And one ofmine was an Irish woman. "

"Yes; an O'Ryan; not a trader; not a small-coal man. "

"Like the Marquis of Londonderry, sir, and the Earl of Durham. Come, father, don't sacrifice your son, and his happiness and his love foryou, to notions the world has outlived. Commerce does not lower agentleman, nor speculation either, in these days. The nobility and theleading gentry of these islands are most of them in business. They areall shareholders, and often directors of railways, and just as muchtraders as the old coach proprietors were. They let their land, and so doyou, to the highest bidder, not for honor or any romantic sentiment, butfor money, and that is trade. Mr. Bartley is his own farmer; well, so wasMr. Coke, of Norfolk, and the Queen made him a peer for it--what asensible sovereign! Are Rothschild and Montefiore shunned for theirspeculations by the nobility? Whom do their daughters marry? Trade rulesthe world, and keeps it from stagnation. Genius writes, or paints, orplays Hamlet--for money; and is respected in exact proportion to theamount of money it gets. Charity holds bazars, and sells at one hundredper cent. Profit, and nearly every new church is a trade speculation. Ismy happiness and hers to be sacrificed to the chimeras and crotchets thateverybody in England but you has outlived?"

"All this, " replied the unflinching sire, "I have read in the papers, andmy son shall not marry the daughter of a trader and cad who has insultedme grossly; but that, I presume, you don't object to. "

This stung Walter so that he feared to continue the discussion. 

"I will not reply, " said he. "You drive me to despair. I leave you toreflect. Perhaps you will prize me when you see me no more. "

With this he left the room, packed up his clothes, went to the nearestrailway, off to London, collected his funds, crossed the water, and didnot write one word to Clifford Hall, except a line to Julia. "LeftEngland heart-broken, the victim of two egotists and my sweet Mary's weakconscientiousness. God forgive me, I am angry even with her, but I don'tdoubt her love. "

This missive and the general consternation at Clifford Hall brought Juliafull gallop to Mary Bartley. 

They read the letter together, and Julia was furious against ColonelClifford. But Mary interposed. 

"I am afraid, " said she, "that I am the person who was most to blame. "

"Why, what have you done?"

"He said our case was desperate, and waiting would not alter it; and heshould leave the country unless--"

"Unless what? How can I advise you if you have any concealments from me?"

"Well, then, it was unless I would consent to a clandestine marriage. "

"And you refused--very properly. "

"And I refused--very properly one would think--and what is theconsequence? I have driven the man I love away from his friends, as wellas from me, and now I begin to be very sorry for my properness. "

"But you don't blush for it as you would for the other. The idea! To bemarried on the sly and to have to hide it from everybody, and to be foundout at last, or else be suspected of worse things. "

"What worse things?"

"Never you mind, child; your womanly instinct is better than knowledge orexperience, and it has guided you straight. If you had consented, Ishould have lost my respect for you. "

And then, as the small view of a thing is apt to enter the female headalong with the big view, she went on, with great animation:

"And then for a young lady to sneak into a church without her friends, with no carriages, no favors, no wedding cake, no bishop, no properdress, not even a bridal veil fit to be seen! Why, it ought to be thegreat show of a girl's life, and she ought to be a public queen, at allevents for that one day, for ten to one she will be a slave all the restof her life if she loves the fellow. "

She paused for breath one moment. 

"And it isn't as if you were low people. Why, it reminds me of a thing Iread in some novel: a city clerk, or some such person, took a walk withhis sweetheart into the country, and all of a sudden he said, 'Why, thereis something hard in my pocket. What is it, I wonder? A plain gold ring. Does it fit you? Try it on, Polly. Why, it fits you, I declare; then keepit till further orders. ' Then they walked a little further. 'Why, what isthis? Two pairs of white gloves. Try the little pair on, and I will trythe big ones. Stop! I declare here's a church, and the bells beginningto ring. Why, who told them that I've got a special license in my pocket?Hallo! there are two fellows hanging about; best men, witnesses, or somesuch persons, I should not wonder. I think I know one of them; and hereis a parson coming over a stile! What an opportunity for us now just torun in and get married! Come on, old girl, lend me that wedding ring aminute, I'll give it you back again in the church. ' No, thank you, Mr. Walter; we love you very dearly, but we are ladies, and we respectourselves. "

In short, Julia confirmed Mary Bartley in her resolution, but she couldnot console her under the consequences. Walter did not write a lineeven to her; she couldn't but fear that he was really in despair, andwould cure himself of his affection if he could. She began to pine; theroses faded gradually out of her cheeks, and Mr. Bartley himself beganat last to pity her, for though he did not love her, he liked her, andwas proud of her affection. Another thing, Hope might come home now anyday, and if he found the girl sick and pining, he might say this is abreach of contract. 

He asked Mary one day whether she wouldn't like a change. "I could takeyou to the sea-side, " said he, but not very cordially. 

"No, papa, " said Mary; "why should you leave your mine when everything isgoing so prosperously? I think I should like to go to the lakes, and paymy old nurse a visit. "

"And she would talk to you of Walter Clifford?"

"Yes, papa, " said Mary, firmly, "she would; and that's the only thingthat can do me any good. "

"Well, Mary, " said Bartley, "if she could be content with praising him, and regretting the insuperable obstacles, and if she would encourage youto be patient--There, let me think of it. "

Things went hard with Colonel Clifford. He felt his son's desertion verybitterly, though he was too proud to show it; he now found out thatuniversally as he was _respected_, it was Walter who was the most belovedboth in the house and in the neighborhood. 

One day he heard a multitude shouting, and soon learned the reason. Bartley had struck a rich vein of coal, and tons were coming up to thesurface. Colonel Clifford would not go near the place, but he sent oldBaker to inquire, and Baker from that day used to bring him back a numberof details, some of them especially galling to him. By degrees, and rapidones, Bartley was becoming a rival magnate; the poor came to him for theslack, or very small coal, and took it away gratis; they flattered him, and to please him, spoke slightingly of Colonel Clifford, which they hadnever ventured to do before. But soon a circumstance occurred whichmortified the old soldier more than all. He was sole proprietor of thevillage, and every house in it, with the exception of a certainbeer-house, flanked by an acre and a half of ground. This beer-house wasa great eye-sore to him; he tried to buy this small freeholder out; butthe man saw his advantage, and demanded £1500--nearly treble the realvalue. Walter, however, by negotiating in a more friendly spirit, hadobtained a reduction, and was about to complete the purchase for £1150. But when Walter left the country the proprietor never dreamed of goingagain to the haughty Colonel. He went to Bartley, and Bartley bought theproperty in five minutes for £1200, and paid a deposit to clinch thecontract. He completed the purchase with unheard-of rapidity, and set anarmy of workmen to raise a pit village, or street of eighty houses. Theywere ten times better built than the Colonel's cottages; not one of themcould ever be vacant, they were too great a boon to the miners; nor couldthe rent be in arrears, with so sharp a hand as the mine-owner; thebeer-house was to be perpetuated, and a nucleus of custom secured fromthe miners, partly by the truck system, and partly by the superiority ofthe liquor, for Bartley announced at once that he should brew the beer. 

All these things were too much for a man with gout in his system; ColonelClifford had a worse attack of that complaint than ever; it rose from hisfeet to other parts of his frame, and he took to his bed. 

In that condition a physician and surgeon visited him daily, and hislawyer also was sent for, and was closeted with him for a long time onmore than one occasion. 

All this caused a deal of speculation in the village, and as a systemof fetch and carry was now established by which the rival magnates alsoreceived plenty of information, though not always accurate, about eachother, Mr. Bartley heard what was going on, and put his ownconstruction upon it. 

 * * * * *

Just when Mr. Hope was expected to return came a letter to Mary to saythat he should be detained a day or two longer, as he had a sore throatand fever, but nothing alarming. Three or four days later came a letteronly signed by him, to say he had a slight attack of typhoid fever, andwas under medical care. 

Mary implored Mr. Bartley to let her go to him. He refused, and gave hisreasons, which were really sufficient, and now he became more unwillingthan ever to let her visit Mrs. Easton. 

This was the condition of affairs when one day an old man with whitehair, dressed in black, and looking almost a gentleman, was driven up tothe farm by Colonel Clifford's groom, and asked, in an agitated voice, ifhe might see Miss Mary Bartley. 

Her visitors were so few that she was never refused on speculation, soJohn Baker was shown at once into her drawing-room. He was too muchagitated to waste time. 

"Oh, Miss Bartley, " said he, "we are in great distress at the Hall. Mr. Walter has gone, and not left his address, and my poor master is dying!"

Mary uttered an unfeigned exclamation of horror. 

"Ah, miss, " said the old man, "God bless you; you feel for us, I'm not onthe old man's side, miss; I'm on Mr. Walter's side in this as I was inthe other business, but now I see my poor old master lying pale andstill, not long for this world, I do begin to blame myself. I neverthought that he would have taken it all to heart like this. But, there, the only thing now is to bring them together before he goes. We don'tknow his address, miss; we don't know what country he is in. He sent aline to Miss Clifford a month ago from Dover, but that is all; but, incourse, he writes to you--_that_ stands to reason; you'll give me hisaddress, miss, won't you? and we shall all bless you. "

Mary turned pale, and the tears streamed down her eyes. "Oh, sir, " saidshe, "I'd give the world if I could tell you. I know who you are; my poorWalter has often spoken of you to me, Mr. Baker. One word from you wouldhave been enough; I would have done anything for you that I could. But hehas never written to me at all. I am as much deserted as any of you, andI have felt it as deeply as any father can, but never have I felt it asnow. What! The father to die, and his son's hand not in his; no looks oflove and forgiveness to pass between them as the poor old man leaves thisworld, its ambitions and its quarrels, and perhaps sees for the firsttime how small they all are compared with the love of those that love us, and the peace of God!" Then this ardent girl stretched out both herhands. "O God, if my frivolous life has been innocent, don't let me bethe cause of this horrible thing; don't let the father die withoutcomfort, nor the son without forgiveness, for a miserable girl who hascome between them and meant no harm!"

This eloquent burst quite overpowered poor old John Baker. He droppedinto a chair, his white head sunk upon his bosom, he sobbed and trembled, and for the first time showed his age. 

"What on earth is the matter?" said Mr. Bartley's voice, as cold as anicicle, at the door. Mary sprang toward him impetuously. "Oh, papa!" shecried, "Colonel Clifford is dying, and we don't know where Walter is; wecan't know. "

"Wait a little, " said Bartley, in some agitation. "My letters have justcome in, and I thought I saw a foreign postmark. " He slipped back intothe hall, brought in several letters, selected one, and gave it to Mary, "This is for you, from Marseilles. "

He then retired to his study, and without the least agitation or theleast loss of time returned with a book of telegraph forms. 

Meanwhile Mary tore the letter open, and read it eagerly to John Baker. 

"GRAND HÔTEL, NOAILLES, MARSEILLES, _May_ 16. 

"MY OWN DEAR LOVE, --I have vowed that I will not write again to tempt youto anything you think wrong; but it looks like quarrelling to hide myaddress from you. Only I do beg of you, as the only kindness you can dome now, never to let it be known by any living creature at Clifford Hall. 

"Yours till death, WALTER. "

Mr. Bartley entered with the telegraph forms, and said to Mary, sharply, "Where is he?" Mary told him. "Well, write him a telegram. It shall be atthe railway in half an hour, at Marseilles theoretically in one hour, practically in four. "

Mary sat down and wrote her telegram: "Pray come to Clifford Hall. Yourfather is dangerously ill. "

"Show it to me, " said Bartley. And on perusing it: "A woman's telegram. Don't frighten him too much; leave him the option to come or stay. "

He tore it up, and said, "Now write a business telegram, and make sure ofthe thing you want. "

"Come home directly--your father is dying. "

Old Baker started up. "God bless you, sir, " says he, "and God bless you, miss, and make you happy one day. I'll take it myself, as my trap is atthe door. " He bustled out, and his carriage drove away at a great rate. 

Mr. Bartley went quietly to his study to business without another word, and Mary leaned back a little exhausted by the scene, but a smile almostof happiness came and tarried on her sweet face for the first time thesemany days; as for old John Baker, he told his tale triumphantly at theHall, and not without vanity, for he was proud of his good judgment ingoing to Mary Bartley. 

To the old housekeeper, a most superior woman of his own age, and almosta lady, he said something rather remarkable which he was careful not tobestow on the young wags in the servants' hall: "Mrs. Milton, " says he, "I am an old man, and have knocked about at home and abroad, and seen adeal of life, but I've seen something to-day that I never saw before. "

"Ay, John, surely; and what ever was that?"

"I've seen an angel pray to God, and I have seen God answer her. "

From that day Mary had two stout partisans in Clifford Hall. 

 * * * * *

Mr. Bartley's views about Mary now began to waver. It occurred to himthat should Colonel Clifford die and Walter inherit his estates, he couldeasily come to terms with the young man so passionately devoted to hisdaughter. He had only to say: "I can make no allowance at present, butI'll settle my whole fortune upon Mary and her children after my death, if you'll make a moderate settlement at present, " and Walter wouldcertainly fall into this, and not demand accounts from Mary's trustee. Sonow he would have positively encouraged Mary in her attachment, but onething held him back a little: he had learned by accident that the lastentail of Clifford Hall and the dependent estates dated two generationsback, so that the entail expired with Colonel Clifford, and this hadenabled the Colonel to sell some of the estates, and clearly gave himpower now to leave Clifford Hall away from his son. Now the people whohad begun to fetch and carry tales between the two magnates told him ofthe lawyer's recent visits to Clifford Hall, and he had some misgivingsthat the Colonel had sent for the lawyer to alter his will anddisinherit, in whole or in part, his absent and rebellious son. All thistaken together made Mr. Bartley resolve to be kinder to Mary in her loveaffair than he ever had been, but still to be guarded and cautious. 

"Mary, my dear, " said he, "I am sure you'll be on thorns till this youngman comes home; perhaps now would be a good time to pay your visit toMrs. Easton. "

"Oh, papa, how good of you! but it's twenty miles, I believe, to whereshe is staying at the lakes. "

"No, no, " said Mr. Bartley; "she's staying with her sister Gilbert; quitewithin a drive. "

"Are you sure, papa?"

"Quite sure, my dear; she wrote to me yesterday about her little pension;the quarter is just due. "

"What! do you allow her a pension?"

"Certainly, my dear, or rather I pay her little stipend as before: howsurprised you look, Mary! Why, I'm not like that old Colonel, intolerantof other people's views, when they advance them civilly. That womanhelped me to save your life in a very great danger, and for many yearsshe has been as careful as a mother, and we are not, so to say, atdaggers drawn about Walter Clifford. Why, I only demand a littleprudence and patience both from you and from her. Now tell me. Is thereproper accommodation for you in Mrs. Gilbert's house?"

"Oh yes, papa; it is a farm-house now, but it was a grand place. There'sa beautiful spare room with an oriel-window. "

"Well, then, you secure that, and write to-day to have a blazing fire, and the bed properly aired as well as the sheets, and you shall goto-morrow in the four-wheel; and you can take her her little stipend ina letter. "

This sudden kindness and provision for her health and happiness filledMary's heart to overflowing, and her gratitude gushed forth upon Mr. Bartley's neck. The old fox blandly absorbed it, and took the opportunityto say, "Of course it is understood that matters are to go no furtherbetween you and Walter Clifford. Oh, I don't mean that you're to make himunhappy, or drive him to despair; only insist upon his being patient likeyourself. Everything comes sooner or later to those that can wait. "

"Oh, papa, " cried Mary, "you've said more to comfort me than Mrs. Eastonor anybody can; but I feel the change will do me good. I am, oh, sograteful!"

So Mary wrote her letter, and went to Mrs. Easton next day. After theusual embraces, she gave Mrs. Easton the letter, and was duly installedin the state bedroom. She wrote to Julia Clifford to say where she was, and that was her way of letting Walter Clifford know. 

Walter himself arrived at Clifford Hall next day, worn, anxious, andremorseful, and was shown at once to his father's bedside. The Colonelgave him a wasted hand, and said:

"Dear boy, I thought you'd come. We've had our last quarrel, Walter. "

Walter burst into tears over his father's hand, and nothing was saidbetween them about their temporary estrangement. 

The first thing Walter did was to get two professional nurses fromDerby, and secure his father constant attention night and day, and, aboveall, nourishment at all hours of the night when the patient would takeit. On the afternoon after his arrival the Colonel fell into a soundsleep. Then Walter ordered his horse, and in less than an hour was atMrs. Gilbert's place. 

CHAPTER XI. 

THE KNOT CUT. --ANOTHER TIED. 

The farm-house the Gilberts occupied had been a family mansion of greatantiquity with a moat around it. It was held during the civil war by astout royalist, who armed and garrisoned it after a fashion with his ownservants. This had a different effect to what he intended. It drew theattention of one of Cromwell's generals, and he dispatched a party withcannon and petards to reduce the place, whilst he marched on to joinCromwell in enterprises of more importance. The detachment of Roundheadssummoned the place. The royalist, to show his respect for theirauthority, made his kitchen wench squeak a defiance from an upperwindow, from which she bolted with great rapidity as soon as she hadthus represented the valor of the establishment, and when next seen itwas in the cellar, wedged in between two barrels of beer. The men wentat it hammer and tongs, and in twenty-four hours a good manycannon-balls traversed the building, a great many stuck in the wallslike plums in a Christmas pudding, the doors were blown in with petards, and the principal defenders, with a few wounded Roundheads, were carriedoff to Cromwell himself; whilst the house itself was fired, and blazedaway merrily. 

Cromwell threatened the royalist gentleman with death for defending anuntenable place. 

"I didn't know it was untenable, " said the gentleman. "How could I tillI had tried?"

"You had the fate of fortified places to instruct you, " said Cromwell, and he promised faithfully to hang him on his own ruins. 

The gentleman turned pale and his lips quivered, but he said, "Well, Mr. Cromwell, I've fought for my royal master according to my lights, and Ican die for him. "

"You shall, sir, " said Mr. Cromwell. 

About next morning Mr. Cromwell, who had often a cool fit after a hotone, and was a very big man, take him altogether, gave a different order. "The fool thought he was doing his duty; turn him loose. "

The fool in question was so proud of his battered house that he left itstanding there, bullets and all, and built him a house elsewhere. 

King Charles the Second had not landed a month before he made him abaronet, and one tenant after another occupied a portion of the oldmansion. Two state-rooms were roofed and furnished with the relics of theentire mansion, and these two rooms the present baronet's surveyoroccupied at rare intervals when he was inspecting the large propertiesconnected with the baronet's estate. 

Mary Bartley now occupied these two rooms, connected by folding-doors, and she sat pensive in the oriel-window of her bedroom. Young ladiescling to their bedrooms, especially when they are pretty and airy. Suddenly she heard a scurry and patter of a horse's hoof, reined up atthe side of the house. She darted from the window and stood panting inthe middle of the room. The next minute Mrs. Easton entered thesitting-room all in a flutter, and beckoned her. Mary flew to her. 

"He is here. "

"I thought he would be. "

"Will you meet him down-stairs?"

"No, here. "

Mrs. Easton acquiesced, rapidly closed the folding-doors, and went out, saying, "Try and calm yourself, Miss Mary. "

Miss Mary tried to obey her, but Walter rushed in impetuously, pale, worn, agitated, yet enraptured at the first sight of her, and Mary threwherself round his neck in a moment, and he clasped her fluttering bosomto his beating heart, and this was the natural result of the restraintthey had put upon a passionate affection: for what says the dramatistDestouches, improving upon Horace, so that in England his immortal lineis given to Molière. "_Chassez le naturel, il revient au galop_. "

The next thing was, they held each other at arm's-length, and mournedover each other. 

"Oh, my poor Mary, how ill you look!"

"Oh, my poor Walter, how pale and worn!"

"It's all my fault, " said Mary. 

"No; it's all mine, " said Walter. 

And so they blamed themselves, and grieved over each other, and vowedthat come what might they would never part again. But, lo and behold!Walter went on from that to say:

"And that we may never part again let us marry at once, and put ourhappiness out of the reach of accidents. "

"What!" said Mary. "Defy your father upon his dying bed. "

"Oh no, " said Walter, "that I could not do. I mean marry secretly, andannounce it after his decease, if I am to lose him. "

"And why not wait till after his decease?" said Mary. 

"Because, then, the laws of society would compel us to wait six months, and in that six months some infernal obstacle or other would be sure tooccur, and another would be sure to follow. I am a great deal older thanyou, and I see that whoever procrastinates happiness, risks it; andwhoever shilly-shallies with it deserves to lose it, and generally does. "

Where young ladies are concerned, logic does not carry all before it, and so Mary opposed all manner of feminine sentiments, and ended bysaying she could not do such a thing. 

Then Walter began to be mortified and angry; then she cunningly shiftedthe responsibility, and said she would consult Mrs. Easton. 

"Then consult her in my presence, " said Walter. 

Mary had not bargained for that; she had intended to secure Mrs. Eastonon her side, and then take her opinion. However, as Walter's proposal wasfair, she called Mrs. Easton, and they put the case to her, and asked herto give her candid opinion. 

Mrs. Easton, however, took alarm at the gravity of the proposal, and toldthem both she knew things that were unknown to both of them, and it wasnot so easy for her to advise. 

"Well, but, " said Walter, "if you know more than we do, you are the veryperson that can advise. All I know is that if we are not married now, Ishall have to wait six months at least, and if I stay here Mr. Bartleyand I shall quarrel, and he will refuse me Mary; and if I go abroad againI shall get knocked on the head, or else Mary will pine away again, andBartley will send her to Madeira, and we shall lose our happiness, as allshilly-shallying fools do. "

Mrs. Easton made no reply to this, though she listened attentively to it. She walked to the window and thought quietly to herself; then she cameback again and sat down, and after a pause she said, very gravely, "Knowing all I know, and seeing all I see, I advise you two to marry atonce by special license, and keep it secret from every one who knowsyou--but myself--till a proper time comes to reveal it; and it's borne inupon me that that time will come before long, even if Colonel Cliffordshould not die this bout, which everybody says he will. "

"Oh, nurse, " said Mary, faintly, "I little thought that you'd beagainst me. "

"Against you, Miss Mary!" said Mrs. Eastern, with much feeling. "I admireMr. Walter very much, as any woman must with eyes in her head, and I lovehim for loving of you so truly, and like a man, for it does not become aman to shilly-shally, but I never saw him till he _was_ a man, but youare the child I nursed, and prayed over, and trembled for in sickness, and rejoiced over in health, and left a good master because I saw he didnot love you so well as I did. "

These words went to Mary's heart, and she flew to her nurse, and hungweeping round her neck. Her tears made the manly but tender-heartedWalter give a sort of gulp. Mary heard it, and put her white hand out tohim. He threw himself upon his knees, and kissed it devotedly, and thecoy girl was won. 

From this hour Walter gave her no breathing-time; he easily talked overold Baker, and got him to excuse his short absence; he turned his huntersinto roadsters, and rode them very hard; he got the special license; hesquared a clergyman at the head of the lake, who was an old friend of hisand fond of fees, and in three days after her consent, Mary and Mrs. Easton drove a four-wheeled carriage Walter had lent them to the littlehotel at the lakes. Walter had galloped over at eleven o'clock, and theyall three took a little walk together. Walter Clifford and Mary Bartleyreturned from that walk MAN AND WIFE. 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE CLANDESTINE MARRIAGE. 

Walter Clifford and Mary sat at a late breakfast in a little inn thatlooked upon a lake, which appeared to them more lovely than the lake ofThun or of Lucerne. He beamed steadily at her with triumphant rapture;she stole looks at him of wonder, admiration, and the deepest love. 

As they had nothing now to argue about, they only spoke a few words at atime, but these were all musical with love. 

To them, as we dramatists say, entered Mrs. Easton, with signs of hurry. 

"Miss Mary--" said she. 

"Mrs. Mary, " suggested Walter, meekly. 

Mrs. Mary blew him a kiss. 

"Ay, ay, " said Mrs. Easton, smiling. "Of course you will both hate me, but I have come to take you home, Mistress Mary. "

"Home!" said Mary; "why, this feels like home. "

"No doubt, " said Mrs. Easton, "but, for all that, in half an hour wemust start. "

The married couple remonstrated with one accord, but Mrs. Easton wasfirm. "I dreamed, " said she, "that we were all found out--and that's awarning. Mr. Walter, you know that you'll be missed at Clifford Hall, anddidn't ought to leave your father another day. And you, Miss Mary, do butthink what a weight I have taken upon my shoulders, and don't put offcoming home, for I am almost shaking with anxiety, and for sure andcertain my dream it was a warning, and there's something in the wind. "

They were both so indebted to this good woman that they looked at eachother piteously, but agreed. Walter rang the bell, and ordered thefour-wheeler and his own nag. 

"Mary, one little walk in that sweet garden. "

"Yes, dear, " said Mary, and in another moment they were walking in thegarden, intertwined like the ivy and the oak, and purring over theirpresent delights and glowing prospects. 

In the mean time Mrs. Easton packed up their things: Walter's wereenrolled in a light rug with straps, which went upon his saddle. Theyleft the little inn, Mary driving. When they had gone about two milesthey came to cross-roads. 

"Please pull up, " said Mrs. Easton; then turning to Walter, who wasriding ridiculously close to Mary's whip hand, "Isn't that the way toClifford Hall?"

"It's one way, " said he; "but I don't mean to go that way. How can I?It's only three miles more round by your house. "

"Nurse, " said Mary, appealingly. 

"Ay, ay, poor things, " said Mrs. Easton. "Well, well, don't loiter, anyway. I shall not be my own woman again till we're safe at the farm. "

So they drove briskly on, and in about an hour more they got to a longhill, whence they could see the Gilberts' farm. 

"There, nurse, " said Mary, pouting a little, "now I hope you're content, for we have got safe home, and he and I shall not have a happy daytogether again. "

"Oh yes, you will, and many happy years, " said Mrs. Easton. "Well, yes, Idon't feel so fidgety now. "

"Oh!" cried Mary, all of a sudden. "Why, there's our gray mare comingdown the hill with the dog-cart! Who's that driving her? It's not papa. Ideclare it's Mr. Hope, come home safe and sound. Dear Mr. Hope! Oh, nowmy happiness is perfect!"

"Mr. Hope!" screamed Mrs. Easton. "Drive faster, for Heaven's sake! Turnyour horse, sir, and gallop away from us as hard as you can!"

"Well, but, Mrs. Easton--" objected Walter. 

Mrs. Easton stood up in the carriage. "Man alive!" she screamed, "youknow nothing, and I know a deal; begone, or you are no friend of mine:you'll make me curse the hour that I interfered. "

"Go, darling, " said Mary, kindly, and so decidedly that he turned hishorse directly, gave her one look of love and disappointment, andgalloped away. 

Mary looked pale and angry, and drove on in sullen silence. 

Mrs. Easton was too agitated to mind her angry looks. She kept wipingthe perspiration from her brow with her handkerchief, and speaking inbroken sentences: "If we could only get there first--fool not to teachmy sister her lesson before we went, she's such a simpleton!--can't youdrive faster?"

"Why, nurse, " said Mary, "don't be so afraid of Mr. Hope. It's not himI'm afraid of; it's papa. "

"Yon don't know what you're talking about, child. Mr. Bartley is easilyblinded; I won't tell you why. It isn't so with Mr. Hope. Oh, if I couldonly get in to have one word with my simple sister before he turns herinside out!"

This question was soon decided. Hope drove up to the door whilst Mary andMrs. Eastern were still some distance off and hidden by a turn in theroad. When they emerged again into sight of the farm they just caughtsight of Hope's back, and Mrs. Gilbert curtseying to him and ushering himinto the house. 

"Drive into the stable-yard, " said Mrs. Easton, faintly. "He mustn't seeyour travelling basket, anyway. "

She told the servant to put the horse into the stable immediately, andthe basket into the brew-house. Then she hurried Mary up the backstairs to her room, and went with a beating heart to find Mr. Hope andher sister. 

Mrs. Gilbert, though a simple and unguarded woman, could read faces likethe rest, and she saw at once that her sister was very much put out bythis visit of Mr. Hope, and wanted to know what had passed between herand him. This set the poor woman all in a flutter for fear she shouldhave said something injudicious, and there-upon she prepared to find out, if possible, what she ought to have said. 

"What! Mr. Hope!" said Mrs. Easton. "Well, Mary will be glad. And haveyou been long home, sir?"

"Came last night, " said Hope. "She hasn't been well, I hear. What is thematter?" And he looked very anxious. 

"Well, sir, " said Mrs. Easton, very guardedly, "she certainly gave me afright when she came here. She looked quite pale; but whether it wasthat she wanted a change--but whatever it was, it couldn't be veryserious. You shall judge for yourself. Sister, go to Miss Mary's room, and tell her. "

Mrs. Easton, in giving this instruction, frowned at her sister as much asto say, "Now don't speak, but go. "

When she was gone, the next thing was to find out if the woman had madeany foolish admission to Mr. Hope; so she waited for him. 

She had not long to wait. 

Hope said: "I hardly expected to see you; your sister said you werefrom home. "

"Well, sir, " said Mrs. Easton, "we were not so far off, but we did comehome a little sooner than we intended, and I am rare glad we did, forMiss Mary wouldn't have missed you for all the _views_ in the county. "

With that she made an excuse, and left him. She found her sister inMary's room: they were comparing notes. 

"Now, " said she to Mrs. Gilbert, "you tell me every word you said to Mr. Hope about Miss Mary and me. "

"Well, I said you were not at home, and that is every word; he didn'tgive me time to say any more for questioning of me about her health. "

"That's lucky, " said Mrs. Easton, dryly. "Thank Heaven, there's no harmdone; he sha'n't see the carriage. "

"Dear me, nurse, " said Mary, "all this time I'm longing to see him. "

"Well, you shall see him, if you won't own to having been a nightfrom home. "

Mary promised, and went eagerly to Mr. Hope. It did not come natural toher to be afraid of him, and she was impatient for the day to come whenshe might tell him the whole story. The reception he gave her was not ofa nature to discourage this feeling; his pale face--for he had been veryill--flushed at sight of her, his eyes poured affection upon her, and heheld out both hands to her. "This the pale girl they frightened meabout!" said he. "Why, you're like the roses in July. "

"That's partly with seeing of you, sir, " said Mrs. Easton, quietlyfollowing, "but we do take some credit to ourselves too; for Miss Mary_was_ rather pale when she came here a week ago; but la, young folks wanta change now and then. "

"Nurse, " said Mary, "I really was not well, and you have done wonders forme, and I hope you won't think me ungrateful, but I _must_ go home withMr. Hope. "

Hope's countenance flushed with delight, and Mrs. Easton saw in a momentthat Mary's affection was co-operating with her prudence. "I thought thatwould be her first word, sir, " said she. "Why, of course you will, miss. There, don't you take any trouble; we'll pack up your things and put themin the dog-cart; but you must eat a morsel both of you before you go. There's a beautiful piece of beef in the pot, not oversalted, and somemealy potatoes and suet dumplings. You sit down and have your chat, whilst Polly and I get everything ready for you. "

Then Mary asked Mr. Hope so many questions with such eager affection thathe had no time to ask her any, and then she volunteered the home news, especially of Colonel Clifford's condition, and then she blushed andasked him if he had said anything to her father about Walter Clifford. 

"Not much, " said Mr. Hope. "You are very young, Mary, and it's not for meto interfere, and I won't interfere. But if you want my opinion, why, Iadmire the young man extremely. I always liked him; he is astraightforward, upright, manly, good-hearted chap, and has lots ofplain good sense--Heaven knows where he got it!"

This eulogy was interrupted by Mary putting a white hand and a perfectnose upon Hope's shoulder, and kissing the cloth thereon. 

"What, " said Hope, tenderly, and yet half sadly--for he knew that allmiddle-aged men must now be second--"have I found the way to your heart?"

"You always knew that, Mr. Hope, " said Mary, softly; "especially since myescapade in that horrid brook. "

Their affectionate chat was interrupted by a stout servant laying a snowycloth, and after her sailed in Mrs. Gilbert, with a red face, and prideunconcealed and justifiable, carrying a grand dish of smoking hot boiledbeef, set in a very flower bed, so to speak, of carrots, turnips, andsuet dumplings; the servant followed with a brown basin, almost as big asa ewer, filled with mealy potatoes, whose jackets hung by a thread. Around this feast the whole party soon collected, and none of them sighedfor Russian soups or French ragouts; for the fact is that under the titleof boiled beef there exist two things, one of which, without any greatimpropriety, might be called junk; but this was the powdered beef of ourancestors, a huge piece just slightly salted in the house itself, so thatthe generous juice remained in it, but the piquant slices, with the mealypotatoes, made a delightful combination. The glasses were filled withhome-brewed ale, sparkling and clear and golden as the finest Madeira. They all ate manfully, stimulated by the genial hostess. Even Maryoutshone all her former efforts, and although she couldn't satisfy Mrs. Gilbert, she declared she had never eaten so much in all her life. Thisset good Mrs. Gilbert's cheeks all aglow with simple, honestsatisfaction. 

Hope drove Mary home in the dog-cart. He was a happy man, but she couldhardly be called a happy woman. She was warm and cold by turns. She hadgot her friend back, and that was a comfort, but she was not treating himwith confidence; indeed, she was passively deceiving him, and thatchilled her; but then it would not be for long, and that comforted her, and yet even when the day should come for the great doors of CliffordHall to fly open to her, would not a sad, reproachful look from dear Mr. Hope somewhat imbitter her cup of happiness? Deceit, and even reticence, did not come so natural to her as they do to many women: she was notweak, and she was frank, though very modest. 

Mr. Bartley met them at the door, and, owing to Hope's presence, was moredemonstrative than usual. He seemed much pleased at Mary's return, anddelighted at her appearance. 

"Well, " said he, "I am glad I sent you away for a week. We have allmissed you, my dear, but the change has set you up again, I never saw youlook better. Now you are well, we must try and keep you well. "

 * * * * *

We must leave the reader to imagine the mixed feelings with which Mrs. Walter Clifford laid her head upon the pillow that night, and weundertake to say that the female readers, at all events, will supply thisblank in our narrative much better than we could, though we were to filla chapter with that subject alone. 

 * * * * *

Passion is a terrible enemy to mere affection. Walter Clifford loved hisfather dearly, yet for twenty-four hours he had almost forgotten him. But the moment he turned his horse's head toward Clifford Hall, uneasiness and something very like remorse began to seize him. Supposehis father had asked for him, and wondered where he was, and felthimself deserted and abandoned in his dying moments. He spurred hishorse to a gallop, and soon reached Clifford Hall. As he was afraid togo straight to his father's room, he went at once to old Baker, andsaid, in an agitated voice, "One word, John--is he alive?"

"Yes, sir, he is, " said John, gravely, and rather sternly. 

"Has he asked for me?"

"More than once or twice, sir. "

Walter sank into a chair, and covered his face with his hands. Thissoftened the old servant, whose manner till then had been sullenand grim. 

"You need not fret, Mr. Walter, " said he; "it's all right. In course Iknow where you have been. "

Walter looked up alarmed. 

"I mean in a general way, " said the old man. "You have been a-courting ofan angel. I know her, sir, and I hope to be her servant some day; and ifyou was to marry any but her, I'd leave service altogether, and so wouldRhoda Milton; but, Mr. Walter, sir, there's a time for everything: I hopeyou'll forgive me for saying so. However you are here now, and I waswide-awake, and I have made it all right, sir. "

"That's impossible, " said Walter. "How could you make it right with mypoor dear father, if in his last moments he felt himself neglected?"

"But he didn't feel himself neglected. "

"I don't understand you, " said Walter. 

"Well, sir, " said old Baker, "I'm an old servant, and I have done my dutyto father and son according to my lights: I told him a lie. "

"A lie, John!" said Walter. 

"A thundering lie, " said John, rather aggressively. "I don't know as Iever told a greater lie in all my life. I told him you was gone up toLondon to fetch a doctor. "

Walter grasped John Baker's hand. "God bless you, old man, " said he, "fortaking that on your conscience! Well, you sha'n't have yourself toreproach for my fault. I know a first-class gout doctor in London; he hascured it more than once. I'll wire him down this minute; you'll dispatchthe message, and I'll go to my father. "

The message was sent, and when the Colonel awoke from an uneasy slumberhe saw his son at the foot of the bed, gazing piteously at him. 

"My dear boy, " said he, faintly, and held out a wasted hand. Walter waspricked to the heart at this greeting: not a word of remonstrance athis absence. 

"I fear you missed me, father, " said he, sadly. 

"That I have, " said the old man; "but I dare say you didn't forget me, though you weren't by my side. "

The high-minded old soldier said no more, and put no questions, butconfided in his son's affection, and awaited the result of it. From thathour Walter Clifford nursed his father day and night. Dr. Garner arrivednext day. He examined the patient, and put a great many questions as tothe history and progress of the disorder up to that date, and inquiredin particular what was the length of time the fits generally endured. Here he found them all rather hazy. "Ah, " said he, "patients are seldomable to assist their medical adviser with precise information on thispoint, yet it's very important. Well, can you tell me how long thisattack has lasted?"

They told him that within a day or two. 

"Then now, " said he, "the most important question of all: What day didthe pain leave his extremities?"

The patient and John Baker had to compare notes to answer this question, and they made it out to be about twenty days. 

"Then he ought to be as dead as a herring, " whispered the doctor. 

After this he began to walk the room and meditate, with his handsbehind him. 

"Open those top windows, " said he. "Now draw the screen, and give hislungs a chance; no draughts must blow upon him, you know. " Then he drewWalter aside. "Do you want to know the truth? Well, then, his life hangson a thread. The gout is creeping upward, and will inevitably kill himif we can't get it down. Nothing but heroic remedies will do that, andit's three to five against them. What do you say?"

"I dare not--I dare not. Pray put the question to _him_. "

"I will, " said the doctor; and accordingly he did put it to him with agood deal of feeling and gentleness, and the answer rather surprised him. 

Weak as he was, Colonel Clifford's dull eye flashed, and he half raisedhimself on his elbow. "What a question to put to a soldier!" said he. "Why, let us fight, to be sure. I thought it was twenty to one--five tothree? I have often won the rubber with five to three against me. "

"Ah!" said Dr. Garner, "these are the patients that give the doctor achance. " Then he turned to Baker. "Have you any good champagne in thehouse--not sweet, and not too dry, and full of fire?"

"Irroy's Carte d'Or, " suggested the patient, entering into the businesswith a certain feeble alacrity that showed his gout had not always beenunconnected with imprudence in diet. 

Baker was sent for the champagne. It was brought and opened, and thepatient drank some of it fizzing. When he had drank what he could, hiseyes twinkled, and he said, "That's a hair of a dog that has often bitten me. "

The wine soon got into his weakened head, and he dropped asleep. 

"Another draught when he wakes, " said the doctor, "but from afresh bottle. "

"We'll finish this one to your health in the servants' hall, " said honestJohn Baker. 

Dr. Garner staid there all night, keeping up the patient's strength witheggs and brandy, and everything, in short, except medicine; and he alsoadministered champagne, but at much longer intervals. 

At one o'clock next day the patient gave a dismal groan; Walter and theothers started up in alarm. 

"Good!" said the doctor, calmly; "now I'll go to bed. Call me if there'sany fresh symptom. "

At six o'clock old Baker burst in the room: "Sir, sir, he have swore atme twice. The Lord be praised!"

"Excellent!" said the doctor. "Now tell me what disagrees with him mostafter champagne?"

"Why, Green Chartreuse, to be sure, " said old Baker. 

"Then give him a table-spoonful, " said the doctor. "Get me somehot water. "

"Which first?" inquired Baker. 

"The patient, to be sure, " said Dr. Garner. 

Soon after this the doctor stood by his patient's side, and found himwrithing, and, to tell the truth, he was using bad language occasionally, though he evidently tried not to. 

Dr. Garner looked at his watch. "I think there's time to catch theevening train. "

"Why, " said Walter, "surely you would not desert us; this is the crisis, is it not?"

"It's something more than that, " said the doctor; "the disease knows itsold place; it has gone back to the foot like a shot; and if you can keepit there, the patient will live; he's not the sort of patient thatstrikes his colors while there's a bastion left to defend. "

These words pleased the old Colonel so that he waved a feeble hand abovehis head, then groaned most dismally, and ground his teeth to avoidprofanity. 

The doctor, with exquisite gentleness, drew the clothes off his feet, andsent for a lot of fleecy cotton or wool, and warned them all not to touchthe bed, nor even to approach the lower part of it, and then he once moreproposed to leave, and gave his reasons. 

"Now, look here, you know, I have done my part, and if I give specialinstructions to the nurses, they can do the rest. I'm rather dear, andwhy should you waste your money?"

"Dear!" said Walter, warmly; "you're as cheap as dirt, and as good asgold, and the very sight of you is a comfort to us. There's a fast trainat ten; I'll drive you to the station after breakfast myself. Yourfees--they are nothing to us. We love him, and we are the happiest housein Christendom; we, that were the saddest. "

"Well, " said the doctor, "you north countrymen are hearty people. I'llstay till to-morrow morning--indeed, I'll stay till the afternoon, for myLondon day will be lost anyway. "

He staid accordingly till three o'clock, left his patient out of allpresent danger, and advised Walter especially against allowing colchicumto be administered to him until his strength had recovered. 

"There is no medicinal cure for gout, " said he; "pain is a mere symptom, and colchicum soothes that pain, not by affecting the disease, but bystilling the action of the heart. Well, if you still the action of thatheart there, you'll kill him as surely as if you stilled it with a pistolbullet. Knock off his champagne in three or four days, and wheel him intothe sun as soon as you can with safety, fill his lungs with oxygen, andkeep all worry and disputes and mental anxiety from him, if you can. Don't contradict him for a month to come. "

The Colonel had a terrible bout of it so far as pain was concerned, butafter about a fortnight the paroxysms intermitted, the appetiteincreased. Everybody was his nurse; everybody, including Julia Clifford, humored him; Percy Fitzroy was never mentioned, and the name of Bartleyreligiously avoided. The Colonel had got a fright, and was more prudentin his diet, and always in the open air. 

Walter left him only at odd times, when he could hope to get a hasty wordwith Mary, and tell her how things were going, and do all that man coulddo to keep her heart up, and reconcile her to the present situation. 

Returning from his wife one day, and leaving her depressed by theirgalling situation, though she was never peevish, but very sad andthoughtful, he found his father and Julia Clifford in the library. Julia had been writing letters for him; she gave Walter a deprecatorylook, as much as to say, "What I am doing is by compulsion, and youwon't like it. " Colonel Clifford didn't leave the young man in anydoubt about the matter. He said: "Walter, you heard me speak of Bell, the counsel who leads this circuit. I was once so fortunate as to dohim a good turn, and he has not forgotten it; he will sleep here theday after to-morrow, and he will go over that black-guard's lease: hehas been in plenty of mining cases. I have got a sort of half opinionout of him already; he thinks it contrary to the equity of contractsthat minerals should pass under a farm lease where the surface of thesoil is a just equivalent to the yearly payment; but the old fox won'tspeak positively till he has read every syllable of the lease. However, it stands to reason that it's a fraud; it comes from a man who is allfraud; but thank God I am myself again. "

He started up erect as a dart. "I'll have him off my lands; I'll drag himout of the bowels of the earth, him and all his clan. "

With this and other threats of the same character he marched out of theroom, striking the floor hard with his stick as he went, and left JuliaClifford amazed, and Walter Clifford aghast, at his vindictive fury. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE SERPENT LET LOOSE. 

Walter Clifford was so distressed at this outburst, and the prospect ofactual litigation between his father and his sweetheart's father, thatJulia Clifford pitied him, and, after thinking a little, said she wouldstop it for the present. She then sat down, and in five minutes thedocile pen of a female letter-writer produced an ingratiating compositionimpossible to resist. She apologized for her apparent insincerity, butwould be candid, and confide the whole truth to Mr. Bell. Then she toldhim that Colonel Clifford "had only just been saved from death by amiracle, and a relapse was expected in case of any great excitement orirritation, such as a doubtful lawsuit with a gentleman he disliked wouldcertainly cause. The proposed litigation was, _for various reasons_, mostdistressing to his son and successor, Walter Clifford, and would Mr. Bellbe so very kind as to put the question off as long as possible by anymeans he thought proper?"

Walter was grateful, and said, "What a comfort to have a lady onone's side!"

"I would rather have a gentleman on mine, " said Julia, laughing. 

Mr. Bell wrote a discreet reply. He would wait till the Assizes--sixweeks' delay--and then write to the Colonel, postponing his visit. Thishe did, and promised to look up cases meantime. 

But these two allies not only baffled their irascible chief; they alsohumored him to the full. They never mentioned the name of Bartley, andthey kept Percy Fitzroy out of sight in spite of his remonstrances, and, in a word, they made the Colonel's life so smooth that he thought he wasgoing to have his own way in everything, and he improved in health andspirits; for you know it is an old saying, "Always get your own way, andyou'll never die in a pet. "

And then what was still a tottering situation was kept on its legs by thesweet character and gentle temper of Mary Bartley. 

We have already mentioned that she was superior to most women in thehabit of close attention to whatever she undertook. This was the real keyto her facility in languages, history, music, drawing, and calisthenics, as her professor called female gymnastics. The flexible creature's limbswere in secret steel. She could go thirty feet up a slack rope hand overhand with wonderful ease and grace, and hang by one hand for ten minutesto kiss the other to her friends. So the very day she was surprised intoconsenting to marry Walter secretly she sat down to the Marriage Serviceand learned it all by heart directly, and understood most of it. 

By this means she realized that now she had another man to obey as wellas her father. So now, when Walter pressed her for secret meetings, shesaid, submissively, "Oh yes, if you insist. " She even remarked that sheconcluded clandestine meetings were the natural consequence of aclandestine marriage. 

She used to meet her husband in the day when she could, and often forfive minutes under the moon. And she even promised to spend two or threedays with him at the lakes if a safe opportunity should occur. But forthat she stipulated that Mr. Hope must be absent. 

Walter asked her why she was more afraid of Mr. Hope than of her father. 

Her eyes seemed to look inward dimly, and at first she said shedidn't know. But after pondering the matter a little she said, "Because he watches me more closely than papa, and that isbecause--You won't tell anybody?"

"No. "

"Not a soul, upon your honor?"

"Not a soul, dearest, upon my honor. "

"Well, then, because he loves me more. "

"Oh, come!" said Walter, incredulously. 

But Mary would neither resign her opinion nor pursue a subject whichpuzzled and grieved her. 

We have now indicated the peaceful tenor of things in Derbyshire for aperiod of some months. We shall have to show by-and-by that elements ofdiscord were accumulating under the surface; but at present we must leaveDerbyshire, and deal very briefly with another tissue of events, beginning years ago, and running to a date three months, at least, aheadof Colonel Clifford's recovery. The reader will have no reason to regretthis apparent interruption. Our tale hitherto has been rather sluggish;but it is in narrative as it is in nature, when two streams unite theirforces the current becomes broader and stronger. 

Leonard Monckton was sent to Pentonville, and after some yearstransferred to Portland. In both places he played the game of an oldhand; always kept his temper and carnied everybody, especially thechaplain and the turnkeys. These last he treated as his only masters; andif they gave him short weight in bread or meat, catch him making mattersworse by appealing to the governor! Toward the end of his time atPentonville he had some thought of suicide, but his spirits revived atPortland, where he was cheered by the conversation of other villains. Their name was legion; but as he never met one of them again, except BenBurnley, all those miscreants are happily irrelevant. And the reader neednot fear an introduction to them, unless he should find himself garrotedin some dark street or suburb, or his home rifled some dark and windynight. As for Ben Burnley, he was from the North country, imprisoned forconspiracy and manslaughter in an attack upon non-union miners. Towardthe end of his time he made an attack upon a warder, and got five yearsmore. Then Monckton showed him he was a fool, and explained to him hisown plan of conduct, and bade him observe how popular he was with thewarders, and reaped all the favor they dared to show him. 

"He treated me like a dog, " said the man, sullenly. 

"I saw it, " said Leonard. "And if I had been you I would have saidnothing, but waited till my time was out, and then watched for him tillhe got his day out, and settled his hash. That is the way for your sort. As for me, killing is a poor revenge; it is too soon over. Do you think Idon't mean to be revenged on that skunk Bartley, and, above all, on thatscoundrel Hope, who planted the swag in my pockets, and let me into thishole for fourteen years?" Then, with all his self-command, he burst intoa torrent of curses, and his pale face was ghastly with hate, and hiseyes glared with demoniac fire, for hell raged in his heart. 

Just then a warder approached, and to Burnley's surprise, who did not seehim coming, Monckton said, gently, "And therefore, my poor fellow, dojust consider that you have broken the law, and the warders are onlydoing their duty and earning their bread, and if you were a warderto-morrow, you'd have to do just what they do. "

"Ay, " said the warder, in passing, "you may lecture the bloke, but youwill not make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. "

That was true, but nevertheless the smooth villain Monckton obtained agreat ascendency over this rough, shock-headed ruffian Burnley, and hegot into no more scrapes. He finished his two sentences, and left beforeMonckton. This precious pair revealed to each other certain passages intheir beautiful lives. Monckton's were only half-confidences, but Burnleytold Monckton he had been concerned with others in a burglary atStockton, and also in the death of an overseer in a mine in Wales, andgave the particulars with a sort of quaking gusto, and washing his handsnervously in the tainted air all the time. To be sure the overseer hadearned his fate; he had himself been guilty of a crime--he had been trueto his employer. 

The grateful Burnley left Portland at last, and promised faithfully tosend word to a certain friend of Monckton's, in London, where he was, and what he was doing. Meantime he begged his way northward fromPortland, for the southern provinces were a dead letter to him. 

Monckton's wife wrote to him as often as the rules of the jail permitted, and her letters were full of affection, and of hope that their separationwould be shortened. She went into all the details of her life, and it wasnow a creditable one. Young women are educated practically in Germany;and Lucy was not only a good scholar, and almost a linguist, butexcellent at all needlework, and, better still, could cut dresses andother garments in the best possible style. After one or two inferiorplaces, she got a situation with an English countess; and from that timeshe was passed as a treasure from one member of the aristocracy toanother, and received high stipends, and presents of at least equalvalue. Being a German, she put by money, and let her husband know it. Butin the seventh year of her enforced widowhood her letters began toundergo subtle changes, one after another. 

First there were little exhibitions of impatience. Then there were signsof languor and a diminution of gush. 

Then there were stronger protestations of affection than ever. 

Then there were mixed with these protestations queries whether thetruest affection was not that which provided for the interests of thebeloved person. 

Then in the eighth year of Monckton's imprisonment she added to remarksof the above kind certain confessions that she was worn out withanxieties, and felt her lonely condition; that youth and beauty did notlast forever; that she had let slip opportunities of doing herselfsubstantial service, and him too, if he could look at things as coollynow as he used to; and she began to think she had done wrong. 

This line once adopted was never given up, though it was accompaniedonce or twice with passionate expressions of regret at the vanity oflong-cherished hopes. Then came a letter, or two more in which the fairwriter described herself as torn this way and that way, and not knowingwhat to do for the best, and inveighed against Fate. 

Then came a long silence. 

Then came a short letter imploring him, if he loved her as she loved him, to try and forget her, except as one who would always watch over hisinterests, and weep for him in secret. 

"Crocodile!" said Monckton, with a cold sneer. 

All this showed him it was his interest not to lose his hold on her. Sohe always wrote to her in a beautiful strain of faith, affection, andconstancy. 

But this part of the comedy was cut short by the lady discontinuing thecorrespondence and concealing her address for years. 

"Ah!" said Monckton, "she wants to cure me. That cock won't fight, mybeauty. A month before he was let loose upon society came a surprise--aletter from his wife, directing him to call at the office of a certainsolicitor in Serjeant's Inn, Fleet Street, when he would receive £50 uponhis personal receipt, and a similar sum from time to time, provided hemade no attempt to discover her, or in any way disturb her life. 'Oh, Leonard, ' said she, 'you ruined me once. Pray do not destroy me again. You may be sure I am not happy; but I am in peace and comfort, and I amold enough to know their value. Dear Leonard, I offer them both to you. Pray, pray do not despise them, and, whatever you do, do not offendagainst the law again. You see how strong it is. '"

Monckton read this with calm indifference. He did not expect a woman togive him a pension unconditionally, or without some little twaddle by wayof drawback. He called on the lawyer, and sent in his name. He wasreceived by the lawyer in person, and eyed very keenly. "I am directedto call here for £50, sir, " said he. 

"Yes, Mr. Monckton. I believe the payment is conditional. "

"No, sir; not the first £50. It is the future payments that are to dependupon my conniving at my wife's infidelity;" and with that he handed himthe letter. 

The lawyer perused it, and said: "You are right, sir. The £50 shall bepaid to you immediately; but we must request you to consider that ourclient is your friend, and acts by our advice, and that it will not beeither graceful or delicate to interpret her conduct to her discredit. "

"My good sir, " said Monckton, with one of his cynical sneers, "every timeyour client pays me £50, put on the receipt that black is white inmatters of conjugal morality, and I'll sign the whole acknowledgment. "

Finding he had such a serpent to deal with, the lawyer cut the dialogueshort, and paid the money. However, as Monckton was leaving, he said:"You can write to us when you want any more, and would it be discreet ofme to ask where we can address you?"

"Why not?" said Monckton. "I have nothing to conceal. However, all I cantell you at present is that I am going to Hull to try and find a coupleof rogues. "

To Hull he went, breathing avarice and vengeance. This dangerous villainwas quite master of Bartley's secret, and Hope's. To be sure, when Hopefirst discovered him in Bartley's office, he was puzzled at the suddeninterference of that stranger. He had only seen Hope's back until this, and, moreover, Hope had been shabbily dressed in black cloth hard worn, whereas he was in a new suit of tweed when he exposed Monckton'svillainy. But this was explained at the trial, and Monckton instructedhis attorney to cross-examine Hope about his own great fraud; but counselrefused to do so, either because he disbelieved his client, or thoughtsuch a cross-examination would be stopped, or set the court still moreagainst his client. 

Monckton raged at this, and, of course, said he had been bought by theother side. But now he was delighted that his enemies' secret had neverbeen inquired into, and that he could fall on them both like athunder-bolt. 

He was at Hull next day, and rambled about the old shop, and looked in atthe windows. All new faces, and on the door-plate, "Atkinson & Co. "

Then he went in, and asked for Mr. Bartley. 

Name not known. 

"Why, he used to be here. I was in his employ. "

No; nobody knew Mr. Bartley. 

Could he see Mr. Atkinson?

Certainly. Mr. Atkinson would be there at two o'clock. 

Monckton, after some preamble, asked whether he had not succeeded in thisbusiness to Mr. Robert Bartley. 

No. He had bought the business from Mrs. Duplex, a widow residing in thistown, and he happened to know that her husband had taken it fromWhitaker, a merchant at Boston. 

"Is he alive, sir?"

"I believe so, and very well known. "

Monckton went off to Whitaker, and learned from him that he had boughtthe business from Bartley, but it was many years ago, and he had neverheard of the purchaser since that day. 

Monckton returned to London baffled. What was he to do? Go to asecret-inquiry office? Advertise that if Mr. Robert Bartley, late ofHull, would write to a certain agent, he would hear of something to hisadvantage? He did not much fancy either of these plans. He wanted topounce on Bartley, or Hope, or both. 

Then he argued thus: "Bartley has got lots of money now, or he would nothave given up business. Ten to one he lives in London, or visits it. Iwill try the Park. "

Well, he did try the Park, both at the riding hour and the driving hour. He saw no Bartley at either time. 

But one day in the Lady's Mile, as he listlessly watched the carriagesdefile slowly past him, with every now and then a jam, there crawledpast him a smart victoria, and in it a beautiful woman with gloriousdark eyes, and a lovely little boy, the very image of her. It was hiswife and her son. 

Monckton started, but the lady gave no sign of recognition. She bowed, but it was to a gentleman at Monckton's side, who had raised his hat toher with marked respect. 

"What a beautiful crechaar!" said a little swell to the gentleman inquestion. "You know her?"

"Very slightly. "

"Who is she? A duchess?"

"No; a stock-broker's wife, Mrs. Braham. Why, she is a known beauty. "

That was enough for Monckton. He hung back a little, and followed thecarriage. He calculated that if it left the Park at Hyde Park corner, orthe Marble Arch, he could take a hansom and follow it. 

When the victoria got clear of the crowd at the corner, Mrs. Brahamleaned forward a moment and whispered a word to her coachman. Instantlythe carriage dashed at the Chesterfield Gate and into Mayfair at such aswift trot that there was no time to get a cab and keep it in sight. 

Monckton lighted a cigarette. "Clever girl!" said he, satirically. "Sheknew me, and never winked. "

The next day he went to the lawyer and said, "I have a little favor toask you, sir. "

The lawyer was on his guard directly, but said nothing. 

"An interview--in this office--with Mrs. Braham. "

The lawyer winced, but went on his guard again directly. 

"Client of ours?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Braham? Braham?" said the lawyer, affecting to search the caverns ofprofessional memory. 

"Stock-broker's wife. "

"Where do they live?"

"What! don't you know? Place of _business_--Threadneedle Street. Place of_bigamy_--Portman Square. "

"I have no authority to grant a personal interview with any such person. "

"But you have no power to hinder one, and it is her interest the meetingshould take place here, and the stock-broker be out of it. "

The lawyer reflected. 

"Will you promise me it shall be a friendly interview? You will never goto her husband?"

"Her stock-broker, you mean. Not I. If she comes to me here when Iwant her. "

"Will that be often?"

"I think not. I have a better card to play than Mrs. Braham. I only wanther to help me to find certain people. Shall we say twelve o'clockto-morrow?"

The lawyer called on Mrs. Braham, and after an agitated and tearfulinterview, persuaded her to keep the appointment. 

"Consider, " said he, "what you gain by making our office the place ofmeeting. Establish that at once. It's a point of defense. "

The meeting took place in the lawyer's private room, and Mrs. Braham wasso overcome that she nearly fainted. Then she was hysterical, and finallytears relieved her. 

When she came to this point, Monckton, who had looked upon the wholeexhibition as a mere preliminary form observed by females, said, "Come, Lucy, don't be silly. I am not here to spoil your little game, butto play my own. The question is, will you help me to make my fortune?"

"Oh, that I will, if you will not break up my home. "

"Not such a fool, my dear. Catch me killing a milk-cow! You give me apercentage on your profits, and I'm dumb. "

"Then all you want is more money?"

"That is all; and I shall not want that in a month's time. "

"I have brought £100, Leonard, " she said, timidly. 

"Sensible girl. Hand it over. "

Two white hands trembled at the strings of a little bag, and took out tencrisp notes. 

Leonard took them with satisfaction. 

"There, " said he. "This will last me till I have found Bartley and Hope, and made my fortune. "

"Hope!" said Mrs. Braham. "Oh, pray keep clear of him! Pray don't attack_him_ again. He is such an able man!"

"I will not attack him again to be defeated. Forewarned, forearmed. Indeed, if I am to bleed Bartley, I don't know how I can be revenged onHope. _That is the cruel thing_. But don't you trouble about my business, Lucy, unless, " said he, with a sneer, "you can tell me where to findthem, and so save me a lot of money. "

"Well, Leonard, " said Lucy, "it can't be so very hard to find Hope. Youknow where that young man lives that you--that I--"

"Oh, Walter Clifford! Yes, of course I know where _he_ lives. At CliffordHall, in Derbyshire. "

"Well, Leonard, Hope saved him from prison, and ruined you. That youngman had a good heart. He would not forget such a kindness. He may notknow where Mr. Bartley lives, but surely he will know where Hope is. "

"Lucy, " said Leonard, "you are not such a fool as you were. It is achance, at all events. I'll go down to that neighborhood directly. I'llhave a first-rate disguise, and spy about, and pick up all I can. "

"And you will never say anything or do anything to--Oh, Leonard, I'ma bad wife. I never can be a good one now to anybody. But I'm a goodmother; and I thought God had forgiven me, when he sent me my littleangel. You will never ruin his poor mother, and make her darlingblush for her!"

"Curse me if I do!" said Leonard, betrayed into a moment's warmth. But hewas soon himself again. "There, " said he, "I'll leave the little bloke myinheritance. Perhaps you don't know I'm heir to a large estate inWestmoreland; no end of land, and half a lake, _and only eleven livesbetween the estate and me_. I will leave my 'great expectations' to thatyoung bloke. What's his Christian name?"

"Augustus. "

"And what's his father's name?"

"Jonathan. "

Leonard then left all his property, real and personal, and all thatshould ever accrue to him, to Augustus Braham, son of Jonathan Braham, and left Lucy Braham sole executrix and trustee. 

Then he hurried into the outer office, signed this document, and got itwitnessed. The clerks proposed to engross it. 

"What for?" said he. "This is the strongest form. All in the samehandwriting as the signature; forgery made easy are your engrossedwills. "

He took it in to Mrs. Braham, and read it to her, and gave it her. Hemeant it all as a joke; he read it with a sneer. But the mother's heartover-flowed. She put it in her bosom, and kissed his hand. 

"Oh, Leonard, " said she, "God bless you! Now I see you mean no ill to meand mine. _You don't love me enough to be angry with me_. But it allcomes back to _me_. A woman can't forget her first. Now promise me onething; don't give way to revenge or avarice. You are so wise when you arecool, but no man can give way to his passions and be wise. Why run anymore risks? He is liberal to me, and I'm not extravagant. I can allow youmore than I said, and wrong nobody. "

Monckton interrupted her, thus: "There, old girl, you are a good sort;you always were. But not bleed that skunk Bartley, and not be revenged onthat villain Hope? I'd rather die where I stand, for they have turned myblood to gall, and lighted hell in my heart this many a year of misery. "

He held out his hand to her; it was cold. She grasped it in her warm, soft palm, and gave him one strange, searching look with her gloriouseyes; and so they parted. 

Next day, at dusk, there arrived at the Dun Cow an elderly man with alarge carpet-bag and a strapped bundle of patterns--tweed, kersey, velveteen, and corduroys. He had a short gray mustache and beard, veryneat; and appeared to be a commercial traveller. 

In the evening he asked for brandy, old rum, lemons, powdered sugar, akettle, and a punch-bowl. A huge one, relic of a past age, was produced. He mixed delicious punch, and begged the landlady to sit down and tasteit. She complied, and pronounced it first-rate. He enticed her intoconversation. 

She was a rattling gossip, and told him first her own grievances. Herewas the village enlarging, and yet no more custom coming to her becauseof the beer-house. The very mention of this obnoxious institution movedher bile directly. "A pretty gentleman, " said she, "to brew his own beerand undersell a poor widow that have been here all her days and herfather before her! But the Colonel won't let me be driven out altogether, no more will Mr. Walter: he do manage for the old gentleman now. "

Monckton sipped and waited for the name of Hope, but it did not come. The good lady deluged him with the things that interested her. She wasto have a bit of a farm added on to the Dun Cow. It was to be grassland, and not much labor wanted. She couldn't undertake that; was itlikely? But for milking of cows and making butter or cheese, that shewas as good at as here and there one; and if she could have the customof the miners for her milk. "But, la, sir, " said she, "I'll go bail asthat there Bartley will take and set up a dairy against me, as he have abeer shop. "

"Bartley?" said Monckton, inquiringly. 

"Ay, sir; him as owns the mine, and the beer shop, and all, worseluck for me. "

"Bartley? Who is he?"

"Oh, one of those chaps that rise from nothing nowadays. Came here tofarm; but that was a blind, the Colonel says. Sunk a mine, he did, andbuilt a pit village, and turns everything into brass [money]. But there, you are a stranger, sir; what is all this to you?"

"Why, it is very interesting, " said Monckton. "Mistress, I always like tohear the whole history of every place I stop at, especially from asensible woman like you, that sees to the bottom of things. Do haveanother glass. Why, I should be as dull as ditch-water, now, if I had notyour company. "

"La, sir, I'm sure you are welcome to my company in a civil way; and forthe matter of that you are right; life is life, and there's plenty to belearned in a public--do but open your eyes and ears. "

"Have another glass with me. I am praised for my punch. "

"You deserve it, sir. Better was never brewed. "

She sipped and sipped, and smacked her lips, till it was all gone. 

This glass colored her cheeks, brightened her eyes, and even loosened hertongue, though that was pretty well oiled by nature. 

"Well, sir, " said she, "you are a bird of passage, here to-day and goneto-morrow, and it don't matter much what I tell you, so long as I don'ttell no lies. _There will be a row in this village_. "

Having delivered this formidable prophecy, the coy dame pushed her glassto her companion for more, and leaning back cozily in the old-fashionedhigh-backed chair, observed the effect of her thunder-bolt. 

Monckton rubbed his hands. "I'm glad of it, " said he, genially; "that isto say, provided my good hostess does not suffer by it. "

"I'm much beholden to you, sir, " said the lady. "You are thecivilest-spoken gentleman I have entertained this many a day. Here's yourhealth, and wishing you luck in your business, and many happy days wellspent. My service to you, sir. "

"The same to you, ma'am. "

"Well, sir, in regard to a row between the gentlefolks--not that I callthat there Bartley one--judge for yourself. You are a man of the worldand a man of business, and an elderly man apparently. "

"At all events, I am older than you, madam. "

"That is as may be, " said Mrs. Dawson, dryly. "We hain't got the parishregister here, and all the better for me. So once more I say, judge foryourself. "

"Well, madam, " said Monckton, "I will try, if you will oblige me withthe facts. "

"That is reasonable, " said Mrs. Dawson, loftily, but after some littleconsideration. "The facts I will declare, and not a lie among 'em. "

"That will be a novelty, " thought her cynical hearer, but he held histongue, and looked respectfully attentive. 

"Colonel Clifford, " said Mrs. Dawson, "hates Bartley like poison, andBartley him. The Colonel vows he will have him off the land and outof the bowels of the earth, and he have sent him a lawyer's letter;for everything leaks out in this village, along of the servants'chattering. Bartley he don't value a lawyer's letter no more thanthat. He defies the Colonel, and they'll go at it hammer and tongs atthe 'Sizes, and spend a mint of money in law. That's one side of thequestion. But there's another. Master Walter is deep in love withMiss Mary. "

"Who is she?"

"Who is she? Why, Bartley's daughter, to be sure; not as I'd believe itif I hadn't known her mother, for she is no more like him in her looks orher ways than a tulip is to a dandelion. She is the loveliest girl in thecounty, and better than she's bonny. You don't catch _her_ drawing bridleat her papa's beer-house, and she never passes my picture. It's 'Oh, Mrs. Dawson, I _am_ so thirsty, a glass of your good cider, please, and alittle hay and water for Deersfoot. ' That's her way, bless your sillyheart! _She_ ain't dry; and Deersfoot, he's full of beans, and his coat'slike satin; but that's Miss Mary's way of letting me know that she's mycustomer, and nobody else's in the town. God bless her, and send her manyhappy days with the man of her heart, and that is Walter Clifford, forshe is just as fond of him as he is of her. I seen it all from the firstday. 'Twas love at first sight, and still a-growing to this day. Them oldfogies may tear each other to pieces, but they won't part such lovers asthose. There's not a girl in the village that doesn't run to look atthem, and admire them, and wish them joy. Ay, and you mark my words, theyare young, but they have got a spirit, both of them. Miss Mary, she looksyou in the face like a lion and a dove all in one. They may lead her, butthey won't drive her. And Walter, he's a Clifford from top to toe. Nothing but death will part them two. Them's the facts, sir, without alie, which now I'm a-waiting for judgment. "

"Mrs. Dawson, " said Monckton, solemnly, "since you do me the honor to askmy opinion, I say that out of these facts a row will certainly arise, anda deadly one. "

"It must, sir; and Will Hope will have to take a side. 'Tis no use histrying to be everybody's friend this time, though that's his naturalcharacter, poor chap. "

Monckton's eyes flashed fire, but he suppressed all appearance ofexcitement, and asked who Mr. Hope was. 

Mrs. Dawson brightened at the very name of her favorite, and said, "Whois Will Hope? Why, the cleverest man in Derbyshire, for one thing; but heis that Bartley's right-hand man, worse luck. He is inspector of the mineand factotum. He is the handiest man in England. He invents machines, andmakes fiddles and plays 'em, and mends all their clocks and watches andwheel-barrows, and charges 'em naught. He makes hisself too common. Ioften tell him so. Says I, 'Why dost let 'em all put on thee so? Servethee right if I was to send thee my pots and pans to mend. ' 'And so do, 'says he, directly. 'There's no art in it, if you can make the sawder, andI can do that, by the Dick and Harry!' And one day I said to him, 'Dotake a look at this fine new cow of mine as cost me twenty-five goodshillings and a quart of ale. What ever is the matter with her? She lookslike the skin of a cow flattened against the board. ' So says he, 'Nay, she's better drawn than nine in ten; but she wants light and shade. Sendher to my workshop. ' 'Ay, ay, ' says I; 'thy workshop is like thechurch-yard; we be all bound to go there one day or t'other. ' Well, sir, if you believe me, when they brought her home and hung her again shealmost knocked my eye out. There was three or four more women looking on, and I mind all on us skreeked a bit, and our hands went up in the air asif one string had pulled the lot; and says Bet Morgan, the carter's wife, 'Lord sake, gie me a bucket somebody, and let me milk her!' 'Nay, butthou shalt milk me, ' said I, and a pint of fourpenny I gave her, then andthere, for complimenting of my cow. Will Hope, he's everybody's friend. He made the Colonel a crutch with his own hands, which the Colonel canuse no other now. Walter swears by him. Miss Mary dotes on him: he savedher life in the river when she was a girl. The very miners give him agood word, though he is very strict with them; and as for Bartley, it'smy belief he owes all his good luck to Will Hope. And to think he wasborn in this village, and left it a poor lad; ay, and he came back hereone day as poor as Job, seems but t'other day, with his bundle on hisback and his poor little girl in his hand. I dare say I fed them bothwith whatever was going, poor bodies. "

"What was she like?"

"A poor little wizened thing. She had beautiful golden hair, though. "

"Like Miss Bartley's?"

"Something, but lighter. "

"Have you ever seen her since?"

"No; and I never shall. "

"Who knows?"

"Nay, sir. I asked him after her one day when he came home for good. Henever answered me, and he turned away as if I had stung him. She hasfollowed her mother, no doubt. And so now she is gone he's well-to-do;and that is the way of it, sir. God sends mouths where there is no meat, and meat where there's no mouths. But He knows best, and sees both worldsat once. We can only see this one--that's full of trouble. "

Monckton now began to yawn, for he wanted to be alone and think over theschemes that floated before him now. 

"You are sleepy, sir, " said Mrs. Dawson. "I'll go and see your bed isall right. "

He thanked her and filled her glass. She tossed it off like a man thistime, and left him to doze in his chair. 

Doze, indeed! Never did a man's eyes move to and fro more restlessly. Every faculty was strung to the utmost. 

At first as all the _dramatis personae_ he was in search of came out oneafter another from that gossip's tongue, he was amazed and delighted tofind that instead of having to search for one of them in one part ofEngland, and another in another, he had got them all ready to his hand. But soon he began to see that they were too near each other, and some ofthem interwoven, and all the more dangerous to attack. 

He saw one thing at a glance. That it would be quite a mistake to settlea plan of action. That is sometimes a great advantage in dealing with theunguarded. But it creates a stiffness. Here all must be supple and fittedwith watchful tact to the situation as it rose. Everything would have tobe shot flying. 

Then as to the immediate situation, Reader, did ever you see a carefulsetter run suddenly into the middle of a covey who were not on their feetnor close together, but a little dispersed and reposing in high cover inthe middle of the day? No human face is ever so intense or human formmore rigid. He knows that one bird is three yards from his nose, anotherthe same distance from either ear, and, in short, that they are all abouthim, and to frighten one is to frighten all. 

His tail quivers, and then turns to steel, like his limbs. His eyesglare; his tongue fears to pant; it slips out at one side of his teethand they close on it. Then slowly, slowly, he goes down, noiseless as acat, and crouches on the long covert, whether turnips, rape, or clover. 

Even so did this designing cur crouch in the Dun Cow. 

The loyal quadruped is waiting for his master, and his anxiety isdisinterested. The biped cur was waiting for the first streak of dawn toslip away to some more distant and safe hiding-place and sally-port thanthe Dun Cow, kept by a woman who was devoted to Hope, to Walter, and toMary, and had all her wits about her--mother-wit included. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE SERPENT. 

Monckton slipped away at the dawn, and was off to Derby to preparefirst-rate disguises. 

At Derby, going through the local papers, he found lodgings offered at afarm-house to invalids, fresh milk and eggs, home-made bread, etc. Theplace was within a few miles of Clifford Hall. Monckton thought thiswould suit him much better than being too near. When his disguises wereready, he hired a horse and dog-cart by the month, and paid a deposit, and drove to the place in question. He put some shadow under his eyes tolook more like an invalid. He had got used to his own cadaverous tint, sothat seemed insufficient. 

The farmer's wife looked at him, and hesitated. 

"Well, sir, " said she, with a blush, "we takes 'em in to cure, not to--"

"Not to bury, " said Monckton. "Don't you be alarmed. I have got no timeto die; I'm too busy. Why, I have been much worse than this. I amconvalescent now. "

"Ye don't say so, sir!" said she. "Well, I see your heart is good" (thefirst time he had ever been told that), "and so I've a mind to risk it. "

Then she quickly clapped on ten shillings a week more for color, and hewas installed. He washed his face, and then the woman conceived hopes ofhim, and expressed them in rustic fashion. "Well, " said she, "dirt is adisguise. Now I look at you, you have got more mischief to do in theworld yet, I do believe. "

"A deal more, I hope, " said he. 

It now occurred to him, all of a sudden, that really he was not in goodhealth, and that he had difficulties before him which required calmnerves, and that nerves are affected by the stomach. So, not to throw achance away, he had the sense and the resolution to devote a few days tohealth and unwholesome meditation. 

This is a discordant world: even vices will not always pull the sameway. Here was a sinister villain distracted between avarice and revenge, and sore puzzled which way to turn. Of course he could expose the realparentage of Mary Bartley, and put both Bartley and Hope to shame, andthen the Cliffords would make Bartley disgorge the £20, 000. But he, Monckton, would not make a shilling by that, and it would be a weakrevenge on Bartley, who could now spare £20, 000, and no revenge at all onHope, for Hope was now well-to-do, and would most likely be glad to gethis daughter back. Then, on the other hand, he could easily frightenBartley into giving him £5000 to keep dark, but in that case he mustforego his vengeance on Hope. 

This difficulty had tormented Monckton all along; but now Mrs. Dawson hadrevealed another obstacle. Young Clifford and Mary in love with eachother. What Mrs. Easton saw as a friend, with her good mother-wit, thisman saw in a moment as an enemy, viz. , that this new combination dwarfedthe £20, 000 altogether. Monckton had no idea that his unknown antagonistNurse Easton had married the pair, but the very attachment, as thechatter-box of the Dun Cow described it, was a bitter pill to him. "Whocould have foreseen this?" said he. "It's devilish. " We did not ourselvesintend our readers to feel it so, or we would not have spent so much timeover it. But as regards that one adjective, Mr. Monckton is a betterauthority than we are. He had a document with him that, skillfully used, might make mischief for a time between these lovers. But he foresaw therecould be no permanent result without the personal assistance of Mrs. Braham. That he could have commanded fourteen years ago, but now he felthow difficult it would be. He would have to threaten and torment heralmost to madness before she would come down to Derbyshire and declarethat this Walter Clifford was the Walter Clifford of the certificate, andthat she was his discarded wife. But Monckton was none the less resolvedshe should come if necessary. Leaving him _varius distractum vitiis_, andweighing every scheme, with its pros and cons, and, like a panthercrouching and watching before he would make his first spring, we will nowbring our other characters up to the same point, and that will not takeus long, for during the months we have skipped there were not manyevents, and Mrs. Dawson has told the readers some of them, and the restwere only detached incidents. 

The most important in our opinion were:

1. That Colonel Clifford resumed his determination to marry JuliaClifford to Walter, and pooh-poohed Fitzroy entirely, declaring him to befive feet nothing, and therefore far below the military standard. 

2. That Hope rented a cottage of Walter about three hundred yardsfrom the mine, and not upon the land that was leased to Bartley; thatthere was a long detached building hard by, which Walter divided forhim, and turned into an office with a large window close to theground, and a workshop with a doorway and an aperture for a window, but no window nor door. 

3. That Hope got more and more uneasy about the £20, 000, and observed toBartley that they must be robbing _somebody_ of it without the excusethey once had. He, for his part, would work to disgorge his share. Bartley replied that the money would have gone to a convent if he had notsaved it from so vile a fate. This said the astute Bartley because oneday Hope, who had his opinions on everything, inveighed against aconvent, and said no private prisons ought to exist in a free country. SoBartley's ingenious statement stunned Hope for a minute, but did notsatisfy his conscience. 

4. Hope went to London for a week, and Mary spent four days with herhusband at a hotel near the lake; but not the one held by Mrs. Easton'ssister. This change was by advice of Mrs. Easton. On this occasion Maryplayed the woman. She requested Walter to get her some orange blossoms, and she borrowed a diamond bracelet of Julia, and sat down to dinner withher husband in evening dress, and dazzled him with her lovely arms andbust, and her diamond bracelet and eyes that outshone it. She seemed everso much larger as well as lovelier, and Walter gazed at her with a sortof loving awe, and she smiled archly at him, and it was the first timeshe had really enjoyed her own beauty, or even troubled her head muchabout it. They condensed a honey-moon into these four days, and came homecompensated for their patience, and more devoted than ever. But whilstthey were away Colonel Clifford fired his attorney at Mr. Bartley, andwhen Mary came home, Bartley, who had lately connived at the love affair, told Mary this, and forbade her strictly to hold any more intercoursewith Walter Clifford. 

This was the state of things when "the hare with many friends, " and onlyone enemy, returned to his cottage late in the afternoon. But beforenight everybody knew he had come home, and next morning they were all athim in due order. No sooner was he seated in his workshop, studying thelines of a new machine he was trying to invent, than he was startled fromintense thought into the attitude of Hogarth's enraged musician by criesof "Mr. Hope! Mr. Hope! Mr. Hope!" and there was a little lot of eagerapplicants. First a gypsy boy with long black curls and continuousgenuflections, and a fiddle, and doleful complaints that he could notplay it, and that it was the fiddle's fault. 

"Well, it is for once, " said Hope. "Why, you little duffer, don't you seethe bridge is too low?"

He slackened the string, removed the bridge, fitted on a higher one, tuned it, and handed it over. 

"There, " said he, "play us one of the tunes of Egypt. 'The Rogue'sMarch, ' eh? and mizzle. "

The supple Oriental grinned and made obeisances, pretended not to know"The Rogue's March" (to the hen-house), and went off playing "JohnnyComes Marching Home. " (Bridewell to wit. )

Then did Miss Clifford's French maid trip forward smirking with a parasolto mend: _Désolée de vous déranger, Monsieur Hope, mais notre demoiselleest au désespoir: oh, ces parasols Anglais_!

"_Connu_, " said Hope, "_voyons çà_;" and in a minute repaired thearticle, and the girl spread it, and went off wriggling and mincing withit, so that there was a pronounced horse-laugh at her minauderies. 

Then advanced a rough young English nurse out of a farm-house with achild that could just toddle. She had left an enormous doll with Hope forrepairs, and the child had given her no peace for the last week. Luckilythe doll was repaired, and handed over. The mite, in whose little bosommaternal feelings had been excited, insisted on carrying her child. Theconsequence was that at about the third step they rolled over oneanother, and to spectators at a little distance it was hard to say whichwas the parent and which the offspring. Them the strapping lass in chargeseized roughly, and at the risk of dislocating their little limbs, tossedinto the air and caught, one on each of her own robust arms, and carriedthem off stupidly irritated--for want of a grain of humor--at thegood-natured laugh this caused, and looking as if she would like to knocktheir little heads together. 

Under cover of this an old man in a broad hat, and seemingly infirm, crept slowly by and looked keenly at Hope, but made no application. Onlywhile taking stock of Hope his eyes flashed wickedly, and much toobrightly for so old a man as he appeared. He did not go far; he gotbehind a tree, and watched the premises. Then a genuine old man andfeeble came and brought Hope his clock to mend. Hope wound it up, and itwent to perfection. The old man had been a stout fellow when Hope was aboy, but now he was weak, especially in the upper story. Hope saw atonce that the young folk had sent him there for a joke, and he did notapprove it. 

"Gaffer, " said he, "this will want repairing every eight days; but don'tyou come here any more; I'll call on you every week, and repair it forauld lang syne. "

Whilst he toddled away, and Hope retired behind his lathe to study hismodel in peace, Monckton raged at the sight of him and his popularity. 

"Ay, " said he, "you are a genius. You can model a steam-engine or mend adoll, and you outwitted me, and gave me fourteen years. But you will findme as ingenious as you at one thing, and that's revenge. "

And now a higher class of visitors began to find their way to the generalfavorite. The first was a fair young lady of surpassing beauty. Shestrolled pensively down the green turf, cast a hasty glance in at theworkshop, and not seeing Hope, concluded he was a little tired after hisjourney, and had not yet arrived. She strolled slowly down then, andseated herself in a large garden chair, stuffed, that Hope had made, andplaced there for Colonel Clifford. That worthy frequented the spotbecause he had done so for years, and because it was a sweet turfy slope;and there was a wonderful beech-tree his father had made him plant whenhe was five years old. It had a gigantic silvery stem, and those giantbranches which die crippled in a beech wood but really belong to theisolated tree, as one Virgil discovered before we were born. Mary Bartleythen lowered her parasol, and settled into the Colonel's chair under theshade _patulae fagi_--of the wide-spreading beech-tree. 

She sat down and sighed. Monckton eyed her from his lurking-place, andmade a shrewd guess who she was, but resolved to know. 

Presently Hope caught a glimpse of her, and came forward and leaned outof the window to enjoy the sight of her. He could do that unobserved, forhe was a long way behind her at a sharp angle. 

He was still a widower and this his only child, and lovely as an angel;and he had seen her grow into ripe loveliness from a sick girl. He hadsinned for her and saved her; he had saved her again from a more terribledeath. He doted on her, and it was always a special joy to him when hecould gloat on her unseen. Then he had no need to make up an artificialface and hide his adoration from her. 

But soon a cloud came over his face and his paternal heart. He knew shehad a lover; and she looked like a girl who was waiting pensively forhim. She had not come there for him whom she knew only as her devotedfriend. At this thought the poor father sighed. 

Mary's quick senses caught that, and she turned her head, and her sweetface beamed. 

"You _are_ there, after all, Mr. Hope. "

Hope was delighted. Why, it was him she had come to see, after all. Hecame down to her directly, radiant, and then put on a stiff manner heoften had to wear, out of fidelity to Bartley, who did not deserve it. 

"This is early for you to be out, Miss Bartley. "

"Of course it is, " said she. "But I know it is the time of day when youare kind to anybody that comes, and mend all their rubbish for them, andI could kill them for their impudence in wasting your time so. And I amas bad as the rest. For here I am wasting your time in my turn. Yes, dearMr. Hope, you are so kind to everybody and mend their things, I want youto be kind to me and mend--my prospects for me. "

Hope's impulse was to gather into his arms and devour with kisses thissweet specimen of womanly tenderness, frank inconsistency, naïveté, and archness. 

As he could not do that, he made himself extra stiff. 

"Your prospects. Miss Bartley! Why, they are brilliant. Heiress to allthe growing wealth and power around you. "

"Wealth and power!" said the girl. "What is the use of them, if ourhearts are to be broken? Oh, Mr. Hope, papa is so unkind. He hasforbidden me to speak to him. " Then, gravely, "That command comestoo late. "

"I fear it does, " said Hope. "I have long suspected something. "

"Suspected?" said Mary, turning pale. "What?"

"That you and Walter Clifford--"

"Yes, " said Mary, trembling inwardly, but commanding her face. 

"Are--engaged. "

Mary drew a long breath. "What makes you think so?" said she, looking down. 

"Well, there is a certain familiarity--no, that is too strong a word; butthere is more ease between you than there was. Ever since I came backfrom Belgium I have seen that the preliminaries of courtship were over, and you two looked on yourselves as one. "

"Mr. Hope, " said this good, arch girl, and left off panting, "you area terrible man. Papa is eyes and no eyes. You frighten me; but notvery much, for you would not watch me so closely if you did not loveme--a little. "

"Not a little, Miss Bartley. "

"Mary, please. "

"Mary. I have seen you a sickly child; I have been anxious--who wouldnot? I have seen you grow in health and strength, and every virtue. "

"And seen me tumble into the water and frighten you out of your senses, and there's nothing one loves like a downright pest, especially if sheloves us; and I do love you, Mr. Hope, dearly, dearly, and I promise tobe a pest to you all your days. Ah, here he comes at last. " She made twoeager steps to meet him, then she said, "Oh! I forgot, " and came backagain and looked prodigiously demure and innocent. 

Walter came on with his usual rush, crying, "Mary, how good of you!"

Mary put her fingers in her ears. "No, no, no; we are forbidden tocommunicate. " Then, imitating a stiff man of business--for she was acapital mimic when she chose--"any communication you may wish to honor mewith must be addressed to this gentleman, Mr. Hope; he will convey it tome, and it shall meet with all the attention it deserves. "

Walter laughed, and said, "That's ingenious. "

"Of course it is ingenuous, " said Mary, subtly. "That's my characterto a fault. "

"Well, young people, " said Hope, "I am not sure that I have time torepeat verbal communications to keen ears that heard them. And I think Ican make myself more useful to you. Walter, your father has set hislawyer on to Mr. Bartley, and what is the consequence? Mr. Bartleyforbids Mary to speak to you, and the next thing will be a summons, lawsuit, and a great defeat, and loss to your father and you. Mr. Bartleysent me the lawyer's letter. He hopes to get out of a clear contract bypleading a surprise. Now you must go to the lawyer--it is no use arguingwith your father in his present heat--and you must assure him there hasbeen no surprise. Why, I called on Colonel Clifford years ago, and toldhim there was coal on that farm; and I almost went on my knees to him toprofit by it. "

"You don't say that, Mr. Hope?"

"I do say it, and I shall have to swear it. You may be sure Mr. Bartleywill subpoena me, if this wretched squabble gets into court. "

"But what did my father say to you?"

"He was kind and courteous to me. I was poor as a rat, and dusty withtravel--on foot; and he was a fine gentleman, as he always is, when he isnot in too great a passion. He told me more than one land-owner hadwasted money in this county groping for coal. He would not waste hismoney nor dirty his fingers. But he thanked me for my friendly zeal, andrewarded me with ten shillings. "

"Oh!" cried Walter, and hid his face in his hands. As for Mary, she puther hand gently but quietly on Hope's shoulder, as if to protect him fromsuch insults. 

"Why, children, " said Hope, pleased at their sympathy, but too manly tohunt for it, "it was more than he thought the information worth, and Iassure you it was a blessed boon to me. I had spent my last shilling, andthere I was trapesing across the island on a wild-goose chase with myreaping-hook and my fiddle; and my poor little Grace, that I--that I--"

Mary's hand went a moment to his other shoulder, and she murmured throughher tears, "You have got _me_. "

Then Hope was happy again, and indeed the simplest woman can find in amoment the very word that is balm of Gilead to a sorrowful man. 

However, Hope turned it off and continued his theme. The jury, he said, would pounce on that ten shillings as the Colonel's true estimate of hiscoal, and he would figure in the case as a dog in the manger who grudgedBartley the profits of a risky investment he had merely sneered at andnot opposed, until it turned out well; and also disregarded the interestsof the little community to whom the mine was a boon. "No, " said Hope;"tell your lawyer that I am Bartley's servant, but love equity. I haveproposed to Bartley to follow a wonderful seam of coal under ColonelClifford's park. We have no business there. So if the belligerents willhear reason I will make Bartley pay a royalty on every ton that comes tothe surface from any part of the mine; and that will be £1200 a year tothe Cliffords. Take this to the lawyer and tell him to unfix that hero'sbayonet, or he will charge at the double and be the death of his ownmoney--and yours. "

Walter threw up his hands with amazement and admiration. "What ahead!" said he. 

"Fiddledee!" said Mary; "what a heart!"

"In a word, a phoenix, " said Hope, dryly. "Praise is sweet, especiallybehind one's back. So pray go on, unless you have something better tosay to each other;" and Hope retired briskly into his office. But whenthe lovers took him at his word, and began to strut up and down hand inhand, and murmur love's music into each other's ears, he could not takehis eyes off them, and his thoughts were sad. She had only known thatyoung fellow a few months, yet she loved him passionately, and he wouldtake her away from her father before she even knew all that father haddone and suffered for her. When the revelation did come she wouldperhaps be a wife and a mother, and then even that revelation would fallcomparatively flat. 

Besides his exceptional grief, he felt the natural pang of a father atthe prospect of resigning her to a husband. Hard is the lot of parents;and, above all, of a parent with one child whom he adores. Many othercreatures love their young tenderly, and their young leave them. But thenthe infancy and youth of those creatures are so short. In a few monthsthe young shift for themselves, forgetting and forgotten. But with ouryoung the helpless periods of infancy and youth are so long. Parentalanxiety goes through so many trials and so various, and they all strikeroots into the parent's heart. Yet after twenty years of love and hopeand fear comes a handsome young fellow, a charming highwayman to aparent's eye, and whisks her away after two months' courtship. Then, oh, ye young, curb for a moment your blind egotism, and feel a little for theparents who have felt so much for you! You rather like William Hope, solet him help you to pity your own parents. See his sad face as he looksat the love he is yet too unselfish to discourage. To save that tenderroot, a sickly child, he transplanted it from his own garden, and stilltended it with loving care for many a year. Another gathers the flower. He watched and tended and trembled over the tender nestling. The youngbird is trying her wings before his eyes; soon she will spread them, andfly away to a newer nest and a younger bosom. 

In this case, however, the young people had their troubles too, and theirpretty courtship was soon interrupted by an unwelcome and unexpectedvisitor, who, as a rule, avoided that part, for the very reason thatColonel Clifford frequented it. However, he came there to-day to speak toHope. Mr. Bartley, for he it was, would have caught the lovers if he hadcome silently; but he was talking to a pitman as he came, and Mary'squick ears heard his voice round the corner. 

"Papa!" cried she. "Oh, don't let him see us! Hide!"

"Where?"

"Anywhere--in here--quick!" and she flew into Hope's workshop, whichindeed offered great facilities for hiding. However, to make sure, theycrouched behind the lathe and a huge plank of beautiful mahogany Hope wasvery proud of. 

As soon as they were hidden, Mary began to complain in a whisper. "Thiscomes of our clandestine m--. Our very life is a falsehood; concealmentis torture--and degradation. "

"I don't feel it. I call this good fun. "

"Oh, Walter! Good fun! For shame! Hush!"

Bartley bustled on to the green, called Hope out, and sat down in ColonelClifford's chair. Hope came to him, and Bartley, who had in his hand somedrawings of the strata in the coal mine, handed the book to Hope, andsaid, "I quite agree with you. That is the seam to follow: there's afortune in it. "

"Then you are satisfied with me?"

"More than satisfied. "

"I have something to ask in return. "

"I am not likely to say no, my good friend, " was the cordial reply. 

"Thank you. Well, then, there is an attachment between Mary and youngClifford. "

Bartley was on his guard directly. 

"Her happiness is at stake. That gives me a right to interfere, and say, 'be kind to her. '"

"Am I not kind to her? Was any parent ever kinder? But I must be wise aswell as kind. Colonel Clifford can disinherit his son. "

At this point the young people ventured to peep and listen, takingadvantage of the circumstance that both Hope and Bartley were at somedistance, with their backs turned to the workshop. 

So they both heard Hope say, "Withdraw your personal opposition to the match, and the other difficultycan be got over. If you want to be kind to a young woman, it is no usefeeding her ambition and her avarice, for these are a man's idols. Awoman's is love. "

Mary wafted the speaker a furtive kiss. 

"To enrich that dear child after your death, thirty years hence, andbreak her heart in the flower of her youth, is to be unkind to her; andif you are unkind to her, our compact is broken. "

"Unkind to her, " said Bartley. "What male parent has ever been more kind, more vigilant? Sentimental weakness is another matter. My affection ismore solid. Can I oblige you in anything that is business?"

"Mr. Bartley, " said Hope, "you can not divert me from the more importantquestion: business is secondary to that dear girl's happiness. However, Ihave more than once asked you to tell me who is the loser of that largesum, which, as you and I have dealt with it, has enriched you and givenme a competence. "

"That's my business, " said Bartley, sharply, "for you never fingered ashilling of it. So if the pittance I pay you for conducting my businessburns your pocket, why, send it to Rothschild. "

And having made this little point, Bartley walked away to escape furthercomment, and Hope turned on his heel and walked into his office, and outat the back door directly, and proceeded to his duties in the mine; buthe was much displeased with Bartley, and his looks showed it. 

The coast lay clear. The lovers came cautiously out, and silently too, for what they had heard puzzled them not a little. 

Mary came out first, and wore a very meditative look. She did not say aword till they got to some little distance from the workshop. Then shehalf turned her head toward Walter, who was behind her, and said, "Isuppose you know we have done a contemptible thing--listening?"

"Well, " said Walter, "it wasn't good form; but, " added he, "we couldhardly help it. "

"Of course not, " said Mary. "We have been guilty of a concealment thatdrives us into holes and corners, and all manner of meannesses must beexpected to follow. Well, we _have_ listened, and I am very glad of it;for it is plain we are not the only people who have got secrets. Nowtell me, please, what does it all mean?"

"Well, Mary, " said Walter, "to tell the truth, it is all Greek tome, except about the money. I think I could give a guess where thatcame from. "

"There, now!" cried Mary; "that is so like you gentlemen. Money--money--money! Never mind the money part; leave that to take careof itself. Can you explain what Mr. Hope said to papa about _me_? Mr. Hope is a very superior man, and papa's adviser _in business_. But, afterall, he is in papa's employment. Papa _pays_ him. Then how comes he tocare more about my happiness than papa does--and say so?"

"Why, you begged him to intercede. "

"Yes, " said Mary, "but not to threaten papa; not to say, 'If you areunkind to Mary, our compact is broken. '"

Then she pondered awhile; then she turned to Walter, and said:

"What sort of compact is that? A compact between a father and anothergentleman that a father shall not be unkind to his own daughter? Did youever hear of such a thing?"

"I can't say I ever did. "

"Did you ever hear tell of such a thing?"

"Well, now you put it to me, I don't think I ever did. "

"And yet you could run off about money. What's money! This compact is agreat mystery. It's my business from this hour to fathom that mystery. Please let me think. "

Mary's face now began to show great power and intensity; her eyes seemedto veil themselves, and to turn down their glances inward. 

Walter was struck with the intensity of that fair brow, those remarkableeyes, and that beautiful face; they seemed now to be all strung up toconcert pitch. He kept silent and looked at his wife with a certainreverence, for to tell the truth she had something of the Pythianpriestess about her, when she concentrated her whole mind on any onething in this remarkable manner. At last the oracle spoke:

"Mr. Hope has been deceiving me with some good intention. He pretends tobe subservient to papa, but he is the master. How he comes to be master Idon't know, but so it is, Walter. If it came to a battle royal, Mr. Hopewould side, not with papa, but with me. "

"That's important, if true, " said Walter, dryly. 

"It's true, " said Mary, "and it's important. " Then she turned suddenlyround on him. "How did you feel when you ran into that workshop, and weboth crouched, and hid like criminals or slaves?"

"Well, " said Walter, hanging his head, "to tell the truth, I took a comicview of the business. "

"I can't do that, " said Mary. "I respect my husband, and can't bear himto hide from the face of any mortal man; and I am proud of my own love, and indignant to think that I have condescended to hide it. "

"It is a shame, " said Walter, "and I hope we sha'n't have to hide itmuch longer. Oh, bother, how unfortunate! here's my father. What arewe to do?"

"I'll tell you, " said Mary, resolutely. "You must speak to him at once, and win him over to our side. Tell him Julia is going to marry PercyFitzroy on the first of next month, then tell him all that Mr. Hope saidyou were to tell the lawyer, and then tell him what you have made mebelieve, that you love me better than your life, and that I love youbetter still; and that no power _can_ part us. If you can soften him, Mr. Hope shall soften papa. "

"But if he is too headstrong to be softened?" faltered Walter. 

"Then, " said Mary, "you must defy my papa, and I shall defy yours. "

After a moment's thought she said: "Walter, I shall stay here till hesees me and you together; then he won't be able to run off about hismines, and his lawsuits, and such rubbishy things. His attention will beattracted to our love, and so you will have it out with him, whilst Iretire a little way--not far--and meditate upon Mr. Hope's strange words, and ponder over many things that have happened within my recollection. "

True to this policy, the spirited girl waited till Colonel Clifford cameon the green, and then made Walter as perfect a courtesy as ever graced aminuet at the court of Louis le Grand. 

Walter took off his hat to her with chivalric grace and respect. ColonelClifford drew up in a stiff military attitude, which flavored rather ofthe parade or the field of battle than the court either of the greatmonarch or of little Cupid. 

CHAPTER XV. 

THE SECRET IN DANGER. 

"Hum!" said the Colonel, dryly; "a petticoat!"

"Et cetera, " suggested Walter, meekly; and we think he was right, for apetticoat has never in our day been the only garment worn by females, nor even the most characteristic: fishermen wear petticoats, and don'twear bonnets. 

"Who is she, sir?" asked the grim Colonel. 

"Your niece, father, " said Walter, mellifluously, "and the most beautifulgirl in Derbyshire. "

The Colonel snorted, but didn't condescend to go into the questionof beauty. 

"Why did my niece retire at sight of me?" was his insidious inquiry. 

"Well, " said Walter, meekly, "the truth is, some mischief-making fool hasbeen telling her that you have lost all natural affection for your deadsister's child. "

The stout Colonel staggered for a moment, snorted, and turned it off. "You and she are very often together, it seems. "

"All the better for me, " said Walter, stoutly. 

"And all the worse for me, " retorted the Colonel. And as men gravitatetoward their leading grievance, he went off at a tangent, "What do youthink my feelings must be, to see my son, my only son, spooning thedaughter of my only enemy; of a knave who got on my land on pretense offarming it, but instead of that he burrowed under the soil like a mole, sir; and now the place is defiled with coal dust, the roads are black, the sheep are black, the daisies and buttercups are turning black. There's a smut on your nose, Walter. I forbid you to spoon his daughter, upon pain of a father's curse. My real niece, Julia, is a lady and anheiress, and the beauty of the county. She is the girl for you. "

"And how about the seventh commandment?" inquired Walter, putting hishands in his pockets. 

"Oh, " said the Colonel, indifferently, "you must mind your eye, likeother husbands. But in our walk of life it's the man's fault if the womanfalls out of the ranks. "

"That's not what I mean, " said Walter. 

"What do you mean, then, if you mean anything at all?"

"I mean this, father. She marries Percy Fitzroy in three weeks; so if Ifix my affections on her up to the date of the wedding, shall I not betempted to continue, and will not a foolish attachment to another man'ssweetheart end in a vicious attachment to another man's wife?"

Once more was the Colonel staggered for a moment, and, oh--as the ladiessay--is it not gratifying to find that where honest reasons go fornothing, humbug can obtain a moment's hearing? The Colonel admitted therewas something in that; but even humbug could not divert him long fromhis mania. "The only thing to be done, " said he, "is to cut him outbetween this and then. Why, he stands five feet nothing. "

"That's the advantage he has over me, " suggested Walter; "she is fivefeet eight or thereabouts, so he is just the height of her heart. "

The Colonel burst out laughing. "You are no fool, " said he; "that's thesecond good thing you have said these three years. I forget what theother was, but I remember it startled me at the time. You are a wit, andyou will cut out that manikin or you are no son of mine. "

"Don't say that, father, " said Walter; "and cutting out, why, that's anaval operation, not military. I am not the son of an admiral. "

"No equivocation, sir; the forces assist one another at a pinch. "

"How can I cut him out?--there's no room, he is tied to her apronstrings. "

"Untie him, then. "

At this moment, whether because Hope attracted everybody in the course ofthe day, or because talking about people draws them to the place by somesubtle agency, who should appear in sight but Miss Julia Clifford, andlittle Fitzroy wooing her so closely that really he did seem tied to herapron strings. 

"There, " said Walter, "now use your eyes, father; look at this amorouspair. Do you really think it possible for a fellow to untie those two?"

"Quite possible, " said the Colonel. "Walter, " said he, sententiously, "there's a little word in the English language which is one of thebiggest. I will spell it to you, T--R--Y. Nobody knows what he can dotill he gives that word a fair trial. It was far more impossible to scalethe rock of Gibraltar; but our infantry did it; and there we are, withall Europe grinding their teeth at us. What's a woman compared withGibraltar? However, as you seem to be a bit of a muff, I'll standsentinel whilst you cut him out. "

The Colonel then retired into a sort of ambuscade--at least he mingledwith a small clump of three Scotch firs, and stood amongst them sorectilinear he might have passed for the fourth stump. Walter awaited thearrival of the foe, but in a spirit which has seldom conducted men toconquest and glory, for if the English infantry had deviated so far fromtheir insular habits as to admire the Spaniards, you may be sure thatGibraltar rock at this day would be a part of the Continent, and not adetached fragment of Great Britain. In a word, Walter, at sight of thelovers, was suddenly seized with sentimental sympathy; they both seemedto him so beautiful in their way. The man was small, but his heart wasnot; he stuck to the woman like a man, and poured hot love into her ears, and almost lost the impediment in his speech. The woman pretended to becooler, but she half turned her head toward him, and her half-closed eyesand heightened color showed she was drinking every word. Her very gayety, though it affected nonchalance, revealed happiness to such as can readbelow the surface of her sex. The Colonel's treacherous ally, aftergazing at them with marked approval, and saying, "I couldn't do it bettermyself, " which was surely a great admission for a lover to make, slippedquietly into Hope's workshop not to spoil sport--a juvenile idea which werecommend to older persons, and to such old maids as have turned sour. The great majority of old maids are match-makers, whatever cant may keepsaying and writing to the contrary. 

"No wonder at all, " said Percy, who was evidently in the middle of someamorous speech; "you are the goddess of my idolatry. "

"What ardent expressions you do use!" said Julia, smiling. 

"Of c-course I do; I'm over head and ears in love. "

Julia surveyed his proportions, and said, "That's not very deep. "

But Percy had got used to this kind of wit, and did not mind it now. He replied with dignity: "It's as deep--as the ocean, and asimp-per-t-t-tur-bable. Confound it! there's your cousin. "

"You are not jealous of him, Mr. Imperturbable, are you?" askedJulia, slyly. 

"Jealous?" said Percy, changing color rather suspiciously; "certainlynot. Hang him!"

Walter, finding he was discovered, and feeling himself in the way, cameout at the back behind them, and said, "Never mind me, you two; far be itfrom me to deprive the young of their innocent amusements. "

Whilst making this little speech he was going off on the points of histoes, intending to slip off to Clifford Hall, and tell his father thatboth cutting out and untying had proved impossible, but, to his horror, the Colonel emerged from his ambuscade and collared him. Then took placetwo short contemporaneous dialogues:

_Julia_. "I'd never marry a jealous man. "

_Percy_. "I never could be jealous. I'm above it. Impossible for a naturelike mine to be jealous. "

_Colonel Clifford. _ "Well, why don't you cut him out?"

_Walter_. "They seem so happy without it. "

_Colonel Clifford. _ "You are a muff. I'll do it for you. Forward!"

Colonel Clifford then marched down and seated himself in the chair Hopehad made for him. 

Julia saw him, and whispered Percy: "Ah! here's Uncle Clifford. He isgoing to marry me to Walter. Never mind--you are not jealous. "

Percy turned yellow. 

"Well, " said Colonel Clifford to all whom it might concern, "thiscertainly is the most comfortable chair in England. These fools ofupholsterers never make the bottom of the chair long enough, but Mr. Hope has made this to run under a gentleman's knees and support him. He'sa clever fellow. Julia, my dear, there's a garden chair for you; come andsit down by me. "

Julia gave a sly look at Percy, and went to Colonel Clifford. She kissedhim on the forehead to soften the coming negative, and said: "To tell youthe truth, dear uncle, I have promised to go down a coal mine. See! I'mdressed accordingly. "

"Go down a coal mine!" said the Colonel, contemptuously. "What fool putthat idea in your head?"

Fitzroy strutted forward like a bantam-cock. "I did, sir. Coal is a veryinteresting product. "

"Ay, to a cook. "

"To every English g-gentleman. "

"I disown that imputation for one. "

"Of being an English g-gentleman?"

There was a general titter at this sly hit. 

"No, sir, " said the Colonel, angrily--"of taking an interest in coal. "

"Well, but, " said Percy, with a few slight hesitations, "not to t-take aninterest in c-coal is not to take an interest in the n-nation, for thisn-nation is g-great, not by its p-powerful fleet, nor its little b-b-bitof an army--"

A snort from the Colonel. 

"--nor its raw m-militia, but by its m-m-manufactures; these depend onmachines that are driven by steam-power, and the steam-engines arecoal-fed, and were made in coal-fed furnaces; our machines do the work offive hundred million hands, and you see coal keeps them going. Themachinery will be imitated by other nations, but those nations can notcreate coal-fields. Should those ever be exhausted, our ingenuity will beimitated by larger nations, our territory will remain small, and we shallbe a second-rate power; so I say that every man who reads and thinksabout his own c--country ought to be able to say, 'I have beend--d--down a coal mine. '"

"Well, " said the Colonel, loftily, "and can't you say you have been downa coal mine? I could say that and sit here. Well, sir, you have beenreading the newspapers, and learning them off by heart as if they werethe Epistle and Gospel; of course _you_ must go down a coal mine; but ifyou do, have a little mercy on the fair, and go down by yourself. In themean while, Walter, you can take your cousin and give her a walk in thewoods, and show her the primroses. "

Now Julia was surprised and pleased at Percy's good sense, and she didnot care whether he got it from the newspapers or where he got it from;it was there; so she resisted, and said, coldly and firmly, "Thank you, uncle, but I don't want the primroses, and Walter does not want me. Come, Percy _dear_;" and so she marched off; but she had not gone many stepsbefore, having a great respect for old age, she ordered Percy, in awhisper, to make some apology to her uncle. 

Percy did not much like the commission. However, he went back, and said, very civilly, "This is a free country, but I am afraid I have been alittle too free in expressing my opinion; let me hope you are notannoyed with me. "

"I am never annoyed with a fool, " said the implacable Colonel. 

This was too much for any little man to stand. 

"That is why you are always on such good terms with yourself, " saidPercy, as red as a turkey-cock. 

The Colonel literally stared with amazement. Hitherto it had been for himto deliver bayonet thrusts, not to receive them. 

Julia pounced on her bantam-cock, and with her left hand literally pulledhim off the premises, and shook her right fist at him till she got himout of sight of the foe; then she kissed him on both cheeks, and burstout laughing; and, indeed, she was so tickled that she kept laughing atintervals, whether the immediate subject of the conversation was grave orgay. It is hard not to laugh when a very little fellow cheeks a very bigone. Even Walter, though he admired as well as loved his father, hung hishead, and his shoulders shook with suppressed risibility. ColonelClifford detected him in this posture, and in his wrath gave his chair awhack with his staff that brought Master Walter to the position of aprivate soldier when the drill-sergeant cries "ATTENTION!"

"Did you hear that, sir?" said he. 

"I did, " said Walter: "cheeky little beggar. But you know, father, youwere rather hard upon him before his sweetheart, and a little pot issoon hot. "

"There was nothing to be hot about, " said the Colonel, naively; "but thatis neither here nor there. You are ten times worse than he is. He is onlya prating, pedantic puppy, but you are a muff, sir, a most unmitigatedmuff, to stand there mum-chance and let such an article as that carry offthe prize. "

"Oh, father, " said Walter, "why will you not see that the prize is aliving woman, a woman with a will of her own, and not a French eagle, orthe figure-head of a ship? Now do listen to reason. "

"Not a word, " said the Colonel, marching off. 

"But excuse me, " said Walter, "I have another thing far more important tospeak to you about: this unhappy lawsuit. "

"That's no business of yours, and I don't want your opinion of it;there is no more fight in you than there is in a hen-sparrow. I declineyour company and your pacific twaddle; I have no patience with a muff;"and the Colonel marched off, leaving his son planted there, as theFrench say. 

Walter, however, was not long alone; the interview had been watchedfrom a distance by Mary. She now stole noiselessly on the scene, andlaid her white hand upon her husband's shoulder before he was aware ofher. The sight of her was heaven to him, but her first question cloudedhis happy face. 

"Well, dear, have you propitiated him?"

Walter hung his head sorrowfully, and said hardly anything. 

"He has been blustering at me all the time, and insists upon mycutting out Percy whether I can or not, and marrying Julia whether shechooses or not. "

"Then we must do what I said. Indeed there is no other course. We mustown the truth; concealment and deceit will not mend our folly. "

"Oh, hang it, Mary, don't call it folly. "

"Forgive me, dear, but it was the height of folly. Not that I mean tothrow the blame on you--that would be ungenerous; but the truth is youhad no business to marry me, and I had no business to marry you. Onlythink--me--Mary Bartley--a clandestine marriage, and then our going tothe lakes again, and spending our honey-moon together just like othercouples--the recklessness--the audacity! Oh, what happiness it was!"

Walter very naturally pounced upon this unguarded and naive conclusion ofMary's self-reproaches. "Yes, " said he, eagerly; "let us go there againnext week. "

"Not next week, not next month, not next year, nor ever again until wehave told all the world. "

"Well, Mary, " said Walter, "it's for you to command and me to obey. Isaid so before, and I say so now, if you are not ashamed of me, how can Ibe ashamed of you; you say the word, and I will tell my father atdinner-time, before Julia Clifford and John Baker, and request them totell everybody they know, that I am married to a woman I adore, and thereis nobody I care for on earth as I do for her, and nothing I valuecompared with her love and her esteem. "

Mary put her arm tenderly around her husband's neck; and now it waswith her as it is often with generous and tender-hearted women, whenall opposition to their wishes is withdrawn, they begin to see theother side. 

"My dearest, " said Mary, "I couldn't bear you to sacrifice yourprospects for me. "

"Why, Mary, " said Walter, "what would my love be worth if it shrank fromself-sacrifice? I really think I should feel more pleasure than pain if Igave up friends, kindred, hope, everything that is supposed to make lifepleasant for you. "

"And so would I for you, " said Mary; "and oh, Walter, women havepresentiments, and something tells me that fate has great trials in storefor you or for me, perhaps for both. Yes, you are right, the true measureof love must be self-sacrifice, and if there is to be self-sacrifice, oh, let the self-sacrifice fall on me; for I can not think any man can love awoman quite so deeply as I love you--my darling. "

He had only time to draw her sweet forehead to his bosom, whilst her armencircled his neck, when in came an ordinary love by way of contrast. 

Julia Clifford and Percy came in, walking three yards apart: Percy haduntied the apron strings without Walter's assistance. 

"Ah, " said she, "you two are not like us. I am ashamed to interrupt you;but they would not let us go down the mine without an order from Mr. Hope. Really, I think Mr. Hope is king of this country. Not that we havewasted our time, for he has been quarrelling with me all the way thereand back. "

"Oh, Mr. Fitzroy!" said Mary Bartley. 

"Miss Bartley, " said Percy, very civilly, "I never q-q-quarrel, I merelydis-distin-guished between right and wrong. I shall make you the judge. I gave her a di-dia-mond br-bracelet which came down from my ancestors;she did me the honor to accept it, and she said it should never leave herday nor night. "

"Oh, " cried Julia, "that I never did. I can not afford to stop mycirculation altogether; it's much too little. " Then she flew at himsuddenly. "Your ancestors were pigmies. "

Percy drew himself up to his full height, and defied the insinuation. "They were giants, in chain armor, " said he. 

"What, " said Julia, without a moment's hesitation, "the ladies? Or was itthe knights that wore bracelets?"

Some French writer says, "The tongue of a woman is her sword, " and PercyFitzroy found it so. He could no more answer this sudden thrust than hecould win the high leap at Lillie Bridge. He stood quivering as if apolished rapier had really been passed clean through him. 

Mary was too kind-hearted to laugh in his face, but she could not helpturning her head away and giggling a little. 

At last Percy recovered himself enough to say, "The truth is you have gone and given it to somebody else. "

"Oh, you wicked--bad-hearted--you that couldn't be jealous!"

By this time Percy was himself again, and said, with some reason, that"invectives were not arguments. Produce the bracelet. "

"And so I can, " said Julia, stoutly. "Give me time. "

"Oh, " said Percy, "if it's a mere question of time, there is no more tobe said. You'll find the bracelet in time, and in time I shall feel oncemore that confidence in you which induced me to confide to you as toanother self that precious family relic, which I value more than anyother material object in the world. " Then Percy, whose character seemedto have changed, retired with stiff dignity and an air of indomitableresolution. 

Neither Julia nor Mary had ever seen him like that before. Julia wasunaffectedly distressed. 

"Oh, Mary, why did I ever lend it to you?"

Now Mary knew very well where the bracelet was, but she was ashamed tosay; she stammered and said, "You know, dear, it is too small, much toosmall, and my arm is bigger than yours. "

"There!" said Julia; "you have broken the clasp!"

Mary colored up to the eyes at her own disingenuousness, and said, hastily, "But I'll have it mended directly; I'll return it to-morrow atthe latest. "

"I shall be wretched till you do, " said Julia, eagerly. "I suppose youknow what I want it for now?"

"Why, " said Mary, "of course I do: to soothe his wounded feelings. "

"Soothe _his_ feelings!" cried Julia, scornfully; "and how about mine?No; the only thing I want it for now is to fling it in his face. Hissoul is as small as his body: he's a little, mean, suspicious, jealousfellow, and I'm very glad to have lost him. " She flounced off all onfire, looking six feet high, and got quite out of sight before shebegan to cry. 

Then the truth came out. Mary, absorbed in conjugal bliss, had left it atthe hotel by the lakes. She told Walter. 

"Oh, hang it!" said Walter; "that's unlucky; you will never see itagain. "

"Oh yes, I shall, " said Mary; "they are very honest people at that inn;and I have written about it, and told them to keep it safe, unless theyhave an opportunity of sending it. "

Walter reflected a moment. "Take my advice, Mary, " said he. "Let megallop off this afternoon and get it. "

"Oh yes, Walter, " said Mary. "Thank you so much. That will be thebest way. "

At this moment loud and angry voices were heard coming round the corner, and Mary uttered a cry of dismay, for her discriminating ear recognizedboth those voices in a moment. She clutched Walter's shoulder. 

"Oh, Walter, it's your father and mine quarrelling. How unfortunate thatthey should have met! What shall we do?"

"Hide in Hope's office. The French window is open. "

"Quick, then!" cried Mary, and darted into the office in a moment. Walterdashed in after her. 

When she got safe into cover she began to complain. 

"This comes of concealment--we are always being driven into holesand corners. "

"I rather like them with you, " said the unabashed Walter. 

It matters little what had passed out of sight between Bartley andColonel Clifford, for what the young people heard now was quite enough tomake what Sir Lucius O'Trigger calls a very pretty quarrel. Bartley, hitherto known to Mary as a very oily speaker, shouted at the top of hisvoice in arrogant defiance, "You're not a child, are you? You are oldenough to read papers before you sign them. "

The Colonel shouted in reply, "I am old, sir, but I am old in honor. Idid not expect that any decent tradesman would slip a clause into a farmlease conveying the minerals below the surface to a farmer. It was afraud, sir; but there's law for fraud. My lawyer shall be down on youto-morrow. Your chimneys disgorge smoke all over my fields. You shalldisgorge your dishonest gains. I'll have you off my land, sir; I'll tearyou out of the bowels of the earth. You are a sharper and a knave. "

At this Bartley roared at him louder still, so that both the young peoplewinced as they crouched in the recess of the window. "You foul-mouthedslanderer, I'll indict you for defamation, and give you twelve months inone of her Majesty's jails. "

"No, you won't, " roared the Colonel; "I know the law. My comments onyour character are not written and signed like your knavish lease; it's aprivileged communication--VILLAIN! there are no witnesses--SHARPER! ByJupiter, there are, though!"

He had caught sight of a male figure just visible at the side ofthe window. 

"Who is it? MY SON!"

"My DAUGHTER!" cried Bartley, catching sight of Mary. 

"Come out, sir, " said the Colonel, no longer loudly, but tremblingwith emotion. 

"Come here, Mary, " said Bartley, sternly. 

At this moment who should open the back door of the office butWilliam Hope!

"Walter, " said the Colonel, with the quiet sternness more formidable thanall his bluster, "have not I forbidden you to court this man's daughter?"

Said Bartley to Mary: "Haven't I forbidden you to speak to thisruffian's son?"

Then, being a cad who had lost his temper, he took the girl by the wristand gave her a rough pull across him that sent her effectually away fromWalter. She sank into the Colonel's seat, and burst out crying withshame, pain, and fright. 

"Brute!" said the Colonel. But the thing was not to end there. Hopestrode in amongst them, with a pale cheek and a lowering brow as black asthunder; his first words were, "Do YOU CALL YOURSELF A FATHER?" Not oneof them had ever seen Hope like that, and they all stood amazed, andwondered what would come next. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

REMINISCENCES. --THE FALSE ACCUSER. --THE SECRET EXPLODED. 

The secret hung on a thread. Hope, after denouncing Bartley, as we havedescribed, was rushing across to Mary, and what he would have said ordone in the first impulse of his wrath, who can tell?

But the quick-witted Bartley took the alarm, and literally collared him. "My good friend, " said he, "you don't know the provocation. It is theaffront to her that has made me forget myself. Affronts to myself fromthe same quarter I have borne with patience. But now this insolent manhas forbidden his son to court her, and that to her face; as if we wantedhis son or him. Haven't I forbidden the connection?"

"We are agreed for once, " said the Colonel, and carried his son offbodily, sore against his will. 

"Yes, " shrieked Bartley after him; "only _I_ did it like a gentleman, anddid not insult the young man to his face for loving my daughter. "

"Let me hear what Mary says, " was Hope's reply. 

"Mr. Hope, " said Mary, "did you ever know papa to be hard on me before?He is vexed because he feels I am lowered. We have both been grosslyinsulted, and he may well be in a passion. But I am very unhappy. " Andshe began to cry again. 

"My poor child, " said Bartley, coaxingly, "talk it all over with Mr. Hope. He may be able to comfort you, and, indeed, to advise me. For whatcan I do when the man calls me a sharper, a villain, and a knave, beforehis son and my daughter?"

"Is it possible?" said Hope, beginning to relent a little. 

"It is true, " replied Mary. 

Bartley then drew Hope aside, and said, "See what confidence I place inyou. Now show me my trust is not misplaced. " Then he left them together. 

Hope came to Mary and said, tenderly, "What can I say or do tocomfort you?"

Mary shook her head. "I asked you to mend my prospects; but you can't dothat. They are desperate. You can do nothing for me now but comfort mewith your kind voice. And mend my poor wrist--ha! ha! ha! oh! oh!"(Hysterical. )

"What?" cried Hope, in sudden alarm; "is it hurt? Is it sprained?"

Mary recovered her composure. "Oh no, " said she; "only twisted a little. Papa was so rough. "

Hope went into a rage again. "Perdition!" cried he. "I'll go and end thisonce for all. "

"You will do nothing of the kind, " said the quick-witted girl. "Oh, Mr. Hope, would you break my heart altogether, quarrelling with papa? Bereasonable. I tell you he couldn't help it, that old monster insulted himso. It hurts, for all that, " said she, naively, and held him out a lovelywhite wrist with a red mark on it. 

Hope inspected it. "Poor little wrist, " said he. "I think I can cure it. "Then he went into his office for something to bind it with. 

But he had spoken those few words as one speaks to an afflicted child. There was a mellow softness and an undisguised paternity in histones--and what more natural, the girl being in pain?

But Mary's ear was so acute that these tones carried her out of thepresent situation, and seemed to stir the depths of memory. She fell intoa little reverie, and asked herself had she not heard a voice like thatmany years ago. 

She was puzzling herself a little over this when Hope returned with along thin band of white Indian cotton, steeped in water, and, taking herhand gently, began to bind her wrist with great lightness and delicacy. And as he bound it he said, "There, the pain will soon go. "

Mary looked at him full, and said, slowly, "I believe it will. " Then, very thoughtfully, "It did--before. "

These three simple words struck Hope as rather strange. 

"It did before?" said he, and stared at her. "Why, when was that?"

Mary said, in a hopeless sort of way, "I don't know when, but longbefore your time. "

"Before my time, Mary? What, are you older than me?" And he smiledsweetly on her. 

"One would think not. But let me ask you a question, Mr. Hope?"

"Yes, Mary. "

"Have you lived _two lives_?"

Said Hope, solemnly, "I have lived through great changes, but onlyone life. "

"Well, then, " said Mary, "I have lived two; or more likely it was onelife, only some of it in another world--my other world, I mean. "

Hope left off binding her wrist, and said, "I don't understand you. " Buthis heart began to pant. 

The words that passed between them were now so strange that both theirvoices sank into solemnity, and had an acute observer listened to them hewould have noticed that these two mellow voices had similar beauties, andwere pitched exactly in the same key, though there was, of course, anoctave between them. 

"Understand me? How should you? It is all so strange, so mysterious: Ihave never told a soul; but I will tell you. You won't laugh at me?"

"Laugh at you? Only fools laugh at what they don't understand. Why, Mary, I hang on every word you say with breathless interest. "

"Dear Mr. Hope! Well, then, I will tell you. Sometimes in the silentnight, when the present does not glare at one, the past comes back to medimly, and I seem to have lived two lives: one long, one short--tooshort. My long life in a comfortable house, with servants and carriagesand all that. My short life in different places; not comfortable places, but large places; all was free and open, and there was always a kindvoice in my ear--like yours; and a tender touch--like yours. "

Hope was restraining himself with difficulty, and here he could not helputtering a faint exclamation. 

To cover it he took her wrist again, and bending his head over it, hesaid, almost in a whisper, "And the face?"

Mary's eyes turned inward, and she seemed to scan the past. 

"The face?" said she--"the face I can not recall. But one thing I doremember clearly. This is not the first time my wrist--yes--and it was myright wrist too--has been bound up so tenderly. He did it for me in thatother world, just as you do in this one. "

Hope now thrilled all over at this most unexpected revelation. But thoughhe glowed with delight and curiosity, he put on a calm voice and manner, and begged her to tell him everything else she could remember that hadhappened in that other life. 

Finding him so serious, so sympathetic, and so interested, put thisremarkable girl on her mettle. She began to think very hard, and showthat intense power of attention she had always in reserve for greatoccasions. 

"Then you must not touch me nor speak to me, " said she. "The past issuch a mist. "

He obeyed, and left off binding her wrist; and now he literally hung uponher words. 

Then she took one step away from him; her bright eyes veiled themselves, and seemed to see nothing external, but looked into the recesses of thebrain. Her forehead, her hand, her very body, thought, and we must try, though it is almost hopeless, to convey some faint idea of her manner andher words. 

"Let--me--see. "

Then she paused. 

"I remember--WHITE SWANS. "

A pause. 

"Were they swans?"

"Or ships?"

"They floated down the river to the sea. "

She paused. 

"And the kind voice beside me said, 'Darling!' Papa never calls me'darling. '"

"Yes, yes, " whispered Hope, almost panting. 

"'Darling, we must go with them to some other land, for we are poor. '"She paused and thought hard. "Poor we must have been; very poor. I cansee that now that I am rich. " She paused and thought hard. "But all waspeace and love. There were two of us, yet we seemed one. "

Then in a moment Mary left the past, her eyes resigned the film ofthought, and shone with the lustre of her great heart, and she burst atonce into that simple eloquence which no hearer of hers from John Bakerto William Hope ever resisted. "Ah! sweet memories, treasures of thepast, why are you so dim and wavering, and this hard world so clear andglaring it seems cut out of stone? Oh, if I had a fairy's wand, I'd say, 'Vanish fine house and servants--vanish wealth and luxury and strife; andyou come back to me, sweet hours of peace--and poverty--and love. '"

Her arms were stretched out with a grace and ardor that could embellisheven eloquence, when a choking sob struck her ear. She turned her headswiftly, and there was William Hope, his hands working, his faceconvulsed, and the tears running down his cheeks like the very rain. 

It was no wonder. Think of it! The child he adored, yet had parted withto save her from dire poverty, remembered that sad condition to ask forit back again, because of his love that made it sweet to her after allthese years of comfort. And of late he had been jealous, and saw, orthought, he had no great place in her heart, and never should have. 

Ah, it is a rarity to shed tears of joy! The thing is familiarly spokenof, but the truth is that many pass through this world of tears and nevershed one such tear. The few who have shed them can congratulate WilliamHope for this blissful moment after all he had done and suffered. 

But the sweet girl who so surprised that manly heart, and drew thoseheavenly tears, had not the key. She was shocked, surprised, distressed. She burst out crying directly from blind womanly sympathy; and then shetook herself to task. "Oh, Mr. Hope! what have I done? Ah! I havetouched some chord of memory. Wicked, selfish girl, to distress you withmy dreams. "

"Distress me!" cried Hope. "These tears you have drawn from me are pearlsof memory and drops of balm to my sore, tried heart. I, too, have livedand struggled in a by-gone world. I had a lovely child; she made me richin my poverty, and happy in my homelessness. She left me--"

"Poor Mr. Hope!"

"Then I went abroad, drudged in foreign mines, came home and saw my childagain in you. I need no fairy's wand to revive the past; you are myfairy--your sweet words recall those by-gone scenes; and wealth, ambition, all I live for now, vanish into smoke. The years themselvesroll back, and all is once more peace--and poverty--and love. "

"Dear Mr. Hope!" said Mary, and put her forehead upon his shoulder. 

After a while she said, timidly, "Dear Mr. Hope, now I feel I can trustyou with anything. " Then she looked down in charming confusion. "Myreminiscences--they are certainly a great mystery. But I have anothersecret to confide to you, if I am permitted. "

"Is the consent of some other person necessary?"

"Not exactly necessary, Mr. Hope. "

"But advisable. "

Mary nodded her head. 

"Then take your time, " said Hope. He took out his watch, and said: "Iwant to go to the mine. My right-hand man reports that a ruffian has beencaught lighting his pipe in the most dangerous part after due warning. Imust stop that game at once, or we shall have a fatal accident. But Iwill be back in half an hour. You can rest in my office if you are herefirst. It is nice and cool. "

Hope hurried away on his errand, and Mary was still looking after him, when she heard horses' feet, and up came Walter Clifford, escaped fromhis father. He slipped off his horse directly at sight of Mary, and theycame together like steel and magnet. 

"Oh, Walter, " said Mary, "we are not so unfortunate as we were just now. We have a powerful friend. Where are you going in such hurry?"

"That is a good joke. Why, did you not order me to the lakes?"

"Oh yes, for Julia's bracelet. I forgot all about that. "

"Very likely; but it is not my business to forget your orders. "

"Dear Walter! But, dearest, things of more importance have happened sincethen. We have been insulted. Oh, how we have been insulted!"

"That we have, " said Walter. 

"And nobody knows the truth. "

"Not yet. "

"And our secret oppresses me--torments me--degrades me. "

"Pray don't say that. "

"Forgive me. I can't help saying it, I feel it so bitterly. Now, dear, Iwill walk a little way with you, and tell you what I want you to do thisvery day; and you will be a darling, as you always are, and consent. "

Then Mary told how Mr. Hope had just shown her singular affection; nextshe reminded him of the high tone Mr. Hope had taken with her father intheir hearing. "Why, " said she, "there is some mysterious compact aboutme between papa and him. I don't think I shall ever have the courage toask him about that compact, for then I must confess that I listened; butit is clear we can depend upon Mr. Hope, and trust him. So now, dear, Iwant you to indulge your little wife, and let me take Mr. Hope into ourconfidence. "

To Mary's surprise and disappointment, Walter's countenance fell. 

"I don't know, " said he, after a pause. "Unfortunately it's not Mr. Bartley only that's against us. "

"Well, but, dear, " said Mary, "the more people there are against us, themore we need one powerful friend and champion. Now you know Mr. Hope is aman that everybody loves and respects, even your father. "

Walter just said, gloomily, "I see objections, for all that; but do asyou please. "

Mary's tender heart and loving nature couldn't accept an unwillingassent. She turned her eyes on Walter a little reproachfully. "That's theway to make me do what you please. "

"I don't intend it so, " said Walter. "When a husband and wife love eachother as we do, they must give in to each other. "

"That's not what we said at the altar. "

"Oh, the marriage service is rather one-sided. I promised very differentthings to get you to marry me, and I mean to stand by them. If you areimpatient at all of this secrecy, tell Mr. Hope. "

"I can't now, " said Mary, a little bitterly. 

"Why not, since I consent?"

"An unwilling consent is no consent. "

"Mary, you are too tyrannical. How can I downright like a thing I don'tlike? I yield my will to yours; there's a certain satisfaction in that. Ireally can say no more. "

"Then say no more, " said Mary, almost severely. 

"At all events give me a kiss at parting. "

Mary gave him that directly, but it was not a warm one. 

He galloped away upon his errand, and as she paced slowly back toward Mr. Hope's office she was a good deal put out. What should she say to Mr. Hope now? She could not defy Walter's evident wishes, and make a cleanbreast of the matter. Then she asked herself what was Walter'sobjection; she couldn't conceive why he was afraid to trust Mr. Hope. Itwas a perfect puzzle to her. 

Indeed this was a most unfortunate dialogue between her and Walter, forit set her mind speculating and guessing at Walter's mind, and thinkingall manner of things just at the moment when an enemy, smooth as the oldserpent, was watching for an opportunity to make mischief and poison hermind. Leonard Monckton, who had long been hanging about, waiting to catchher alone, met her returning from Walter Clifford, and took off his hatvery respectfully to her, and said:

"Miss Bartley, I think. "

Mary lifted her eyes, and saw an elderly man with a pale face and darkeyebrows and a cast of countenance quite unlike that of any of herfriends. His face repelled her directly, and she said, very coldly:

"Yes, sir; but I have not the pleasure of knowing you. "

And she quietly passed on. 

Monckton affected not to see that she was declining to communicate withhim. He walked on quietly, and said:

"And I have not seen you since you were a child, but I had the honor ofknowing your mother. "

"You knew my mother, sir?"

"Knew her and respected her. "

"What was she like, sir?"

"She was tall and rather dark, not like you. "

"So I have heard, " said Mary. "Well, sir, " said she, for his voice wasingratiating, and had modified the effect of his criminal countenance, "as you knew my mother, you are welcome to me. "

The artist in deceit gave a little sigh, and said, "That's more than Idare hope. For I am here upon a most unpleasant commission; but for myrespect for your mother I would not have undertaken it, for really myacquaintance with the other lady is but slight. "

Mary looked a little surprised at this rigmarole, and said, "But thiscommission, what is it?"

"Miss Bartley, " said he, solemnly, yet gravely, "I have been requested towarn you against a gentleman who is deceiving you. "

"Who is that?" said Mary, on her guard directly. 

"It is a Mr. Walter Clifford. "

"Walter Clifford!" said Mary. "You are a slanderer; he is incapableof deceit. "

The rogue pretended to brighten up. 

"Well, I hope so, " said he, "and I told the lady as much; he comes from amost honorable stock. So then he has _told_ you about Lucy Monckton?"

"Lucy Monckton!" cried Mary. "No; who is she?"

"Miss Bartley, " said the villain, very gravely and solemnly, "she ishis wife. "

"His wife, sir?" cried Mary, contemptuously--"his wife? You must be mad. I'll hear no more against him behind his back. " Then, threatening hertormentor: "He will be home again this evening; he has only ridden to theLake Hotel; you shall repeat this to his face, if you dare. "

"It will be my painful duty, " said the serpent, meekly. 

"His wife!" said Mary, scornfully, but her lips trembled. 

"His wife, " replied Monckton, calmly; "a respectable woman whom, itseems, he has deserted these fourteen years. My acquaintance with her isslight, but she is in a good position, and, indeed, wealthy, and hasnever troubled him. However, she heard somehow he was courting you, andas I often visit Derby upon business, she requested me to come over hereand warn you in time. "

"And do you think, " said Mary, scornfully, "I shall believe this from astranger?"

"Hardly, " said Monckton, with every appearance of candor. "Mrs. WalterClifford directed me to show you his marriage certificate and hers. "

"The marriage certificate!" cried Mary, turning pale. 

"Yes, " said Monckton; "they were married at the Registry Office on the11th June, 1868, " and he put his hand in his breast pocket to search forthe certificate. He took this opportunity to say, "You must not fancythat there is any jealousy or ill feeling after fourteen years'desertion, but she felt it her duty as a woman--"

"The certificate!" said Mary--"the certificate!"

He showed her the certificate; she read the fatal words, "WalterClifford. " The rest swam before her eyes, and to her the world seemed atan end. She heard, as in a dream, the smooth voice of the false accuser, saying, with a world of fictitious sympathy, "I wish I had neverundertaken this business. Mrs. Walter Clifford doesn't want to distressyou; she only felt it her duty to save you. Don't give way. There is nogreat harm done, unless you were to be deluded into marrying him. "

"And what then?" inquired Mary, trembling. 

Monckton appeared to be agitated at this question. 

"Oh, don't speak of it, " said he. "You would be ruined for life, and hewould get seven years' penal servitude; and that is a sentence fewgentlemen survive in the present day when prisons are slaughter-houses. There, I have discharged the most disagreeable office I ever undertook inmy life; but at all events you are warned in time. "

Then he bowed most respectfully to her, and retired, exhaling his pent-upvenom in a diabolical grin. 

She, poor victim, stood there stupefied, pierced with a poisoned arrow, and almost in a state of collapse; then she lifted her hands and eyes forhelp, and saw Hope's study in front of her. Everything swam confusedlybefore her; she did not know for certain whether he was there or not;she cried to that true friend for help. 

"Mr. Hope--I am lost--I am in the deep waters of despair--save me _oncemore_, save me!" Thus speaking she tottered into the office, and sank alllimp and powerless into a chair, unable to move or speak, but still notinsensible, and soon her brow sank upon the table, and her hands spreadthemselves feebly out before her. 

It was all villainous spite on Monckton's part. He did not for a momentsuppose that his lie could long outlive Walter Clifford's return; but hewas getting desperate, and longing to stab them all. Unfortunately fatebefriended the villain's malice, and the husband and wife did not meetagain till that diabolical poison had done its work. 

Monckton retired, put off his old man's disguise behind the fir-trees, and went toward another of his hiding-places, an enormous oak-tree whichstood in the hedge of Hope's cottage garden. The subtle villain had madethis hollow tree an observatory, and a sort of sally-port, whence hecould play the fiend. 

The people at the hotel were, as Mary told Julia Clifford, veryhonest people. 

They showed Percy Fitzroy's bracelet to one or two persons, and found itwas of great value. This made them uneasy, lest something should happento it under their charge; so the woman sent her husband to theneighborhood of Clifford Hall to try and find out if there was a lady ofthat name who had left it. The husband was a simple fellow, very unfit todischarge so delicate a commission. He went at first, as a matter ofcourse, to the public-house; they directed him to the Hall, but he missedit, and encountered a gentleman, whose quick eye fell upon the bracelet, for the foolish man had shown it to so many people that now he wascarrying it in his hand, and it blazed in the meridian sun. Thisgentleman said, "What have you got there?"

"Well, sir, " said the man, "it was left at our hotel by a young couplefrom these parts. Handsome couple they were, sir, and spending theirhoney-moon. "

"Let me see it, " said Mr. Bartley, for he was the gentleman. He had comeback in some anxiety to see whether Hope had pacified Mary, or whetherhe must exert himself to make matters smooth with her again. Whilst hewas examining the bracelet, who should appear but Percy Fitzroy, theowner. Not that he came after the bracelet; on the contrary, thatimpetuous young gentleman had discovered during the last two hours thathe valued Miss Clifford's love a great deal more than all the braceletsin the world, for all that he was delighted at the unexpected sight ofhis property. 

"Why, that's mine, " said he. "It's an heirloom. I lent it to Miss JuliaClifford, and when I asked her for it to-day she could not produce it. "

"Oho!" said Mr. Bartley. "What, do the ladies of the house of Clifford goin for clandestine marriages?"

"Certainly not, sir, " said Fitzroy. "Don't you know the differencebetween a wedding ring and a bracelet?" Then he turned to the man, "Hereis a sovereign for your trouble, my man. Now give me my bracelet. "

To his surprise the hotel-keeper put it behind his back instead of givingit to him. 

"Nay, " said he, shaking his head knowingly, "you are not the gentlemanthat spent the honey-moon with the lady as owns it. My mistress said Iwas not to give it into no hands but hers. "

This staggered Percy dreadfully, and he looked from one to another toassist him in solving the mystery. 

Bartley came to the assistance of his understanding, but with no regardto the feelings of his heart. "It's clear enough what it means, sir; yoursweetheart is playing you false. "

That went through the true-lover's heart like a knife, and poor littlePercy leaned in despair against Hope's workshop window transfixed by thepoisoned arrow of jealousy. 

At this moment the voice of Colonel Clifford was heard, loud and ringingas usual. Julia Clifford had decoyed him there in hopes of falling inwith Percy and making it up; and to deceive the good Colonel as to herintentions she had been running him down all the way; so the Colonel washeard to say, in a voice for all the village to hear, "Jealous is he, andsuspicious? Then you take my advice and give him up at once. You willeasily find a better man and a bigger. " After delivering this, like theword of command upon parade, the Colonel was crossing the turf, a yard ortwo higher up than Hope's workshop, when the spirit of revenge movedBartley to retort upon his insulter. 

"Hy, Colonel Clifford!"

The Colonel instantly halted, and marched down with Julia on his arm, like a game-cock when another rooster crows defiance. 

"And what can you have to say to me, sir?" was his haughty inquiry. 

"To take you down a peg. You rode the high horse pretty hard to-day. Thespotless honor of the Cliffords, eh?"

Then it was fixed bayonets and no quarter. 

"Have the Cliffords ever dabbled in trade or trickery? Coal merchants, coal heavers, and coal whippers may defile our fields with coal dust andsmoke, but they can not defile our honor. "

"The men are brave as lions, and the women as chaste as snow?"sneered Bartley. 

"I don't know about lions and snow. I have often seen a lion turn tail, and the snow is black slush wherever you are. But the Cliffords, beinggentlemen, are brave, and being ladies, are chaste. "

"Oh, indeed!" hissed Bartley. "Then how comes it that your niecethere--whose name is _Miss_ Clifford, I believe--spent what this good mancalls a honey-moon, with a young gentleman, at this good man's inn?"

Here the good man in question made a faint endeavor to interpose, but thegentlefolks by their impetuosity completely suppressed him. 

"It's a falsehood!" cried Julia, haughtily. 

"You scurrilous cad!" roared the Colonel, and shook his staff at him, andseemed on the point of charging him. 

But Bartley was not to be put down this time. He snatched the braceletfrom the man, and held it up in triumph. 

"And left this bracelet there to prove it was no falsehood. "

Then Julia got frightened at the evidence and the terrible nature of theaccusation. "Oh!" cried she, in great distress, "can any one here believethat I am a creature so lost? I have not seen the bracelet these twomonths. I lent it--to--ah, here she is! Mary, save me from shame; youknow I am innocent. "

Mary, who was standing at the window in Hope's study, came slowlyforward, pale as death with her own trouble, to do an act of womanlyjustice. "Miss Clifford, " said she, languidly, as one to whom all humanevents were comparatively indifferent--"Miss Clifford lent the braceletto me, and I left it at that man's inn. " This she said right in themiddle of them all. 

The hotel-keeper took the bracelet from the unresisting hand of Bartley, touched his hat, and gave it to her. 

"There, mistress, " said he. "I could have told them you was the lady, butthey would not let a poor fellow get a word in edgeways. " He retired withan obeisance. 

Mary handed the bracelet to Julia, and then remained passive. 

A dead silence fell upon them all, and a sort of horror crept over MaryBartley at what must follow; but come what might, no power shouldinduce her to say the word that should send Walter Clifford to jail forseven years. 

Bartley came to her; she trembled, and her hands worked. 

"What are you saying, you fool?" he whispered. "The lady that left thebracelet was there with a gentleman. "

Mary winced. 

Then Bartley said, sternly, "Who was your companion?"

"I must not say. "

"You will say one thing, " said Bartley, "or I shall have no mercy on you. Are you secretly married?"

Then a single word flashed across Mary's almost distractedmind--SELF-SACRIFICE. She held her tongue. 

"Can't you speak? Are you a wife?" He now began to speak so loud in hisanger that everybody heard it. 

Mary crouched a little and worked her hands convulsively under thetorture, but she answered with such a doggedness that evidently she wouldhave let herself be cut to pieces sooner than said more. 

"I--don't--know. "

"You don't know?" roared Bartley. 

Mary paused, and then, with iron doggedness, "I--don't--know. "

This apparent insult to his common-sense drove Bartley almost mad. "Youhave given these cursed Cliffords a triumph over me, " he cried; "you havebrought shame to my door; but it shall never pass the threshold. " Herethe Colonel uttered a contemptuous snort. This drove Bartley wildaltogether; he rushed at the Colonel, and shook his fist in his face. "You stand there sneering at my humiliation; now see the example I canmake. " Then he was down upon Mary in a moment, and literally yelled ather in his fury. "Go to your paramour, girl; go where you will. You neverenter my door again. " And he turned his back furiously upon her. 

This terrible denunciation overpowered poor Mary's resolution; she clungto him in terror. "Oh, mercy, mercy, papa! I'll explain to _you_, havepity on your child!"

Bartley flung her so roughly from him that she nearly fell, "You are mychild no more. "

But at that moment in strode William Hope, looking seven feet high, andhis eyes blazing. "Liar and hypocrite, " he roared, "_she never was yourchild_!" Then, changing to a tone of exquisite love, and stretching outboth his hands to Mary, "SHE IS MINE!"

Mary, being now between the two men, turned swiftly first to one, then tothe other, and with woman's infallible eye knew her own flesh and bloodin that half-moment. She uttered a cry of love and rapture that wentthrough every heart that heard it; and she flung herself in a moment uponher father's bosom. 

He whirled her round like a feather on to his right arm, then faced bothher enemies, Clifford and Bartley, with haughty defiance, head thrownback, and eyes that flashed black lightning in defense of his child. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

LOVERS' QUARRELS. 

It was a living picture. The father protecting his child like an eagle;Bartley cooled in a moment, and hanging his head apart, gloomy andalarmed at the mad blunder rage had betrayed him into; Colonel Cliffordamazed and puzzled, and beginning to see the consequences of all this;Julia clasping her hands in rapture and thrilling interest at soromantic an incident; Fitzroy beaming with delight at his sweetheartbeing cleared; and, to complete the picture, the villainous face ofLeonard Monckton, disguised as an old man, showed itself for a momentsinister and gloomy; for now all hope of pecuniary advantage to him wasgone, and nothing but revenge was on the cards, and he could not see hisway clear to that. 

But Hope was no posture-maker; he turned the next moment and said a wordor two to all present. 

"Yes, this is Grace Hope, my daughter. We were very poor, and her lifewas in danger; I saw nothing else but that; my love was stronger than myconscience; I gave her to that man upon a condition which he has nowbroken. He saved her life and was kind to her. I thanked him; I thank himstill, and I did my best to repay him. But now he has trusted toappearances, and not to her; he has belied and outraged her publicly. ButI am as proud of her as ever, and don't believe appearances against hercharacter and her angel face and--"

"No more do I, " cried Julia Clifford, eagerly. "I know her. She's purityitself, and a better woman than I shall ever be. "

"Thank you, Miss Clifford, " said Hope, in a broken voice; "God bless you. Come, Grace, and share my humble home. At all events, it will shelter youfrom insult. "

And so the pair went lovingly away, Grace clinging to her father, comforted for the moment, but unable to speak, and entered Hope's littlecottage. It was but a stone's-throw from where they stood. 

This broke up the party. 

"And my house is yours, " said Colonel Clifford to Julia. "I did notbelieve appearances against a Clifford. " With these words he took twosteps toward his niece and held out his arm. She moved toward him. Percycame forward radiant to congratulate her. She drew up with a look offurious scorn that made him recoil, and she marched proudly away withher uncle. He bestowed one parting glance of contempt upon thediscomfited Bartley, and marched his niece proudly off, more determinedthan ever that she should be his daughter. But for once he was wiseenough not to press that topic: he let her indignation work alone. Moreover, though he was a little wrong-headed and not a littlepig-headed, he was a noble-minded man, and nothing noble passed himunobserved or unappreciated. 

"_That_ Bartley's daughter!" said he to Julia. "Ay, when roses springfrom dunghills, and eagles are born of sparrow-hawks. Bravegirl!--brave girl!"

"Oh, uncle, " said Julia, "I am so glad you appreciate her!"

"Appreciate her!" said the Colonel; "what should I be worth if I did not?Why, these are the women that win Waterloo in the persons of their sons. That girl could never breed a coward nor a cheat. " Then his incisivevoice mellowed suddenly. "Poor young thing, " said he, with manly emotion, "I saw her come out of that room pale as death to do another womanjustice. She's no fool, though that ruffian called her one. She knew whatshe was doing, yet for all her woman's heart she faced disgrace asunflinchingly as if it was, only death. It was a great action, a nobleaction, a just action, and a manly action, but done like a very woman. Where the two sexes meet like that in one brave deed it's grand. Ideclare it warms an old soldier's heart, and makes him thank God thereare a few creatures in the world that do humanity honor. "

As the Colonel was a man that stuck to a topic when he got upon it, thiswas the main of his talk all the way to Clifford Hall. He even remarkedto his niece that, so far as his observations of the sex extended, greatlove of justice was not the leading feature of the female mind; othervirtues he ventured to think were more prominent. 

"So everybody says, " was Julia's admission. 

"Everybody is right for once, " said the Colonel. 

They entered the house together, and Miss Clifford went up to her room;there she put on a new bonnet and a lovely shawl, recently imported fromParis. Who could this be for? She sauntered upon the lawn till she foundherself somehow near the outward boundary, where there was a gate leadinginto the Park. As she walked to and fro by this gate she observed, out ofthe tail of her eye of course, the figure of a devoted lover creepingtoward her. Whether this took her by surprise, or whether the lovelycreature was playing the part of a beautiful striped spider waiting forher fly, the reader must judge for himself. 

Percy came to the gate; she walked past him twice, coming and going withher eyes fixed upon vacancy. She passed him a third time. He murmured ina pleading voice, "Julia!"

She neither saw nor heard, so attractive had the distant horizon become. 

Percy opened the gate and came inside, and stood before her the next timeshe passed. She started with _surprise_. 

"What do you want here?" said she. 

"To speak to you. "

"How dare you speak to me after your vile suspicions?"

"Well, but, Julia--"

"How dare you call me Julia?"

"Well, Miss Clifford, won't you even hear me?"

"Not a word. It's through you poor dear Mary and I have both beeninsulted by that wretch of a father of hers. "

"Which father?"

"I said wretch. To whom does that term apply except to Mr. Bartley, and"(with sudden vigor) "to you. "

"Then you think I am as bad as old Bartley, " said Percy, firing up. 

"No, I don't. "

"Ah, " said Percy, glad to find there was a limit. 

But Julia explained: "I think you are a great deal worse. You pretend tolove me, and yet without the slightest reason you doubt me. "

"What did I doubt? I thought you had parted with my bracelet to anotherperson, and so you had. I never doubted your honor. "

"Oh yes, you did; I saw your face. "

"I am not r--r--responsible for my face. "

"Yes, you are; you had no business to look broken-hearted, and miserable, and distrustful, and abominable. It was your business, face and all, todistrust appearances, and not me. "

"Ap--pear--ances were so strong that not to look m--miserable would havebeen to seem indifferent; there is no love where there is no jealousy. "

"Oh, " said Julia, "he has let that out at last, after denying it ahundred times. Now I say there is no true love without respect andconfidence, and this doesn't exist where there is jealousy, and all abouta trumpery bracelet. "

"Anything but tr--ump--ump--umpery; it came down from my ancestors. "

"You never had any; your behavior shows that. "

"I tell you it is an heirloom. It was given to my mother by--"

"Oh, we know all about that, " said Julia. "'This bracelet did an Egyptianto my mother give. ' But you are not going to play Othello with me. "

"I shouldn't have a very gentle Desdemona. "

"No, you wouldn't, candidly. No man shall ever bully and insult me, andthen wake me out of my first sleep to smother me because my maid has lostone of his handkerchiefs at the wash. "

He burst out laughing at this, and tried to inveigle her into good-humor. 

"Say no more about it, " said he, "and I'll forgive you. "

"Forgive me, you little wretch!" cried Julia. "Why, haven't you thesense to see that it is serious this time, and my patience is exhausted, and that our engagement is broken off, and I never mean to see youagain--except when you come to my wedding?"

"Your wedding!" cried Percy, turning pale. "With whom?"

"That's my business; you leave that to me, sir. Hold out your hand--bothhands; here is the ancestral bracelet--it shall pinch me no longer, neither my wrist nor my heart; here's the brooch you gave me--I won't bepinned to it any longer, nor to you neither; and there is your bunch ofcharms; and there is your bundle of love-letters--stupid ones they are;"and she crammed all the aforesaid treasures into his hands one after theother. So this was what she went to her room for. 

Percy looked down on his handful ruefully. "My very letters! There was nojealousy in them; they were full of earnest love. "

"Fuller of bad spelling, " said the relentless girl. Then she went intodetails: "You spell abominable with two m's--and that's abominable; youspell ridiculous with a k--and that's ridicklous. So after this don't youpresume to speak to me, for I shall never speak to you again. "

"Very well, then, " said Percy. "I, too, will be silent forever. "

"Oh, I dare say, " said Julia; "a chatter-box like you. "

"Even chatter-boxes are silent in the grave, " suggested Percy; "and if weare to part like this forever to-day, to-morrow I shall be no more. "

"Well, you could not be much less, " said Julia, but with a certainshame-faced change of tone that perhaps, if Percy had been moreexperienced, might have given him a ray of hope. 

"Well, " said he, "I know one lady that would not treat these presentswith quite so much contempt. "

"Oh, I have seen her, " said Julia, spitefully. "She has been settingher cap at you for some time; it's Miss Susan Beckley--a fineconquest--great, fat, red-haired thing. "

"Auburn. "

"Yes, all-burn, scarlet, carrots, _flamme d'enfer_. Well, go and give hermy leavings, yourself and your ancestral--paste. "

"Well, " said Percy, gloomily, "I might do worse. You never really lovedme; you were always like an enemy looking out for faults. You keptpostponing our union for something to happen to break it off. But I won'tbe any woman's slave; I'll use one to drive out the other. None of youshall trample on me. " Then he burst forth into singing. Nobody stammerswhen he sings. 

"Shall I, wasting in despair, Sigh because a woman's fair?Shall my cheeks grow pale with careBecause another's rosy are?If she be not kind to me, What care I how fair she be?"

This resolute little gentleman passed through the gate as he concludedthe verse, waved his hand jauntily by way of everlasting adieu, andwent off whistling the refrain with great spirit, and both hands inhis pockets. 

"You impudent!" cried Julia, almost choking; then, authoritatively, "Percy--Mr. Fitzroy;" then, coaxingly, "Percy _dear_. "

Percy heard, and congratulated himself upon his spirit. "That's the wayto treat them, " said he to himself. 

"Well?" said he, with an air of indifference, and going slowly back tothe gate. "What is it now?" said he, a little arrogantly. 

She soon let him know. Directly he was quite within reach she gave him aslap in the face that sounded like one plank falling upon another, andmarched off with an air of royal dignity, as if she had done the mostgraceful and lady-like thing in all the world. 

How happy are those choice spirits who can always preserve their dignity!

Percy retired red as fire, and one of his cheeks retained that highcolor for the rest of the day. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

APOLOGIES. 

We must now describe the place to which Hope conducted his daughter, andplease do not skip our little description. It is true that some of ourgifted contemporaries paint Italian scenery at prodigious length _àpropos de bottes_, and others show in many pages that the rocks and thesea are picturesque objects, even when irrelevant. True that others gildthe evening clouds and the western horizon merely to please the horizonand the clouds. But we hold with Pope that

"The proper study of mankind is man, "

and that authors' pictures are bores, except as narrow frames to bigincidents. The true model, we think, for a writer is found in the openinglines of "Marmion, " where the castle at even-tide, its yellow lustre, itsdrooping banner, its mail-clad warders reflecting the western blaze, thetramp of the sentinel, and his low-hummed song, are flung on paper withthe broad and telling touch of Rubens, not from an irrelevant admirationof old castles and the setting sun, but because the human figures of thestory are riding up to that sun-gilt castle to make it a scene of greatwords and deeds. 

Even so, though on a much humbler scale, we describe Hope's cottage andgarden, merely because it was for a moment or two the scene of aremarkable incident never yet presented in history or fiction. 

This cottage, then, was in reality something between a villa and acottage; it resembled a villa in this, that the rooms were lofty, and thewindows were casements glazed with plate glass and very large. WalterClifford had built it for a curate, who proved a bird of passage, andthe said Walter had a horror of low rooms, for he said, "I always feel asif the ceiling was going to flatten me to the floor. " Owing to this thebedroom windows, which looked westward on the garden, were a great heightfrom the ground, and the building had a Gothic character. 

Still there was much to justify the term cottage. The door, which lookedsouthward on the road, was at the side of the building, and opened, notinto a hall, but into the one large sitting-room, which was thirty feetlong and twenty-five feet broad, and instead of a plaster ceiling therewere massive joists, which Hope had gilded and painted till they were asight to behold. Another cottage feature: the walls were literallyclothed with verdure and color; in front, huge creeping geraniums, jasmine, and Virginia creepers hid the brick-work; and the western walls, to use the words of a greater painter than ourselves, were

"Quite overcanopied with lush woodbine, With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine. "

In the next place, the building stood in a genuine cottage garden. It wasclose to the road. The southern boundary was plain oak paling, made ofupright pieces which Hope had varnished so that the color was now a fineamber; the rest of the boundary was a quick-set hedge, in the westerndivision of which stood an enormous oak-tree, hollow at the back. And thegarden was fair with humble flowers--pinks, sweet-williams, crimsonnasturtiums, double daisies, lilies, and tulips; but flower beds sharedthe garden with friendly cabbages, potatoes, onions, carrots, andasparagus. 

To this humble but pleasant abode Hope conducted his daughter, andinsisted upon her lying down on the sofa in the sitting-room. Then heordered the woman who kept the house for him to prepare the sparebedroom, which looked into the garden, and to cut some of thesweet-smelling flowers. He himself had much to say to his daughter, and, above all, to demand her explanation of the awkward circumstances thathad been just revealed. But she had received a great shock, and, likemost manly men, he had a great consideration for the weakness of women, and his paternal heart said, "Let her have an hour or two of absoluterepose before I subject her to any trial whatever. " So he opened thewindow to give her air, enjoining her most strictly not to move, and evento go to sleep if she could; and then he put on his shooting coat, withlarge inside pocket, to go and buy her a little wine--a thing he nevertouched himself--and what other humble delicacies the village afforded. He walked briskly away from his door without the least idea that all hismovements were watched from a hiding-place upon his own premises, noother than the great oak-tree, hollow and open at the back, in whichLeonard Monckton had bored two peep-holes, and was now ensconced therewatching him. 

Hope had not gone many yards from his own door when he was confrontedby one of those ruffians who, by their way of putting it, are theeternal butt of iniquitous people and iniquitous things, namely, honestmen, curse them! and the law, confound it! This was no other than thatBen Burnley, who, being a miner, had stuck half-way between Devonshireand Durham, and had been some months in Bartley's mine. He opened onHope in a loud voice, and dialect which we despair of conveying withabsolute accuracy. 

"Mr. Hope, sir, they won't let me go down t' mine. "

"No; you're discharged. "

"Who by?"

"By me. "

"What for?"

"For smoking in the mine, in spite of three warnings. "

"Me smoking in t' mine! Who telt you yon lie?"

"You were seen to pick the lock of your Davylamp, and that put the minein danger. Then you were seen to light your pipe at the bare light, andthat put it in worse peril. "

"That's a lie. What mak's yer believe my skin's nowt to me? It's all oneas it is to them liars that would rob me of my bread out of clean spite. "

"It's the truth, and proved by four honest witnesses. There are a hundredand fifty men and twenty ponies in that mine, and their lives must not besacrificed by one two-legged brute that won't hear reason. You aredischarged and paid; so be good enough to quit the premises and find workelsewhere; and Lord help your employer, whoever he is!"

Hope would waste no more time over this fellow. He turned his back, andwent off briskly on his more important errand. 

Burnley shook his fist at him, and discharged a volley of horrible cursesafter him. Whilst he was thus raging after the man that had done his dutyhe heard a satirical chuckle. He turned his head, and, behold! there wasthe sneering face of his fellow jail-bird Monckton. Burnley started. 

"Yes, mate, " said Monckton, "it is me. And what sort of a pal are you, that couldn't send me a word to Portland that you had dropped on to thisrascal Hope? You knew I was after him. You might have saved me thetrouble, you selfish brute. "

Burnley submitted at once to the ascendency of Monckton; he hung hishead, and muttered, "I am no scholard to write to folk. "

"You grudged a joey to a bloke to write for you. Now I suppose you expectme to be a good pal to you again, all the same?"

"Why not?" said Burnley. "He is poison to you as well as to me. Hegave you twelve years' penal; you told me so at Portland; let's berevenged on him. "

"What else do you think I am here for, you fool? But empty revenge, that's child's play. The question is, can you do what you are told?"

"Ay, if I see a chance of revenge. Why, I always did what you told me. "

"Very well, then; there's nothing ripe yet. "

"Yer don't mean I am to wait a year for my revenge. "

"You will have to wait an opportunity. Revenge is like other luxuries, there's a time for it. Do you think I am such a fool as to go in forblindfold revenge, and get lagged or stretched? Not for Joseph, nor foryou, either, Benjamin. I'll tell you what, though, I think this will be abusy day; it must be a busy day. That old fox Bartley has found out hisblunder before now, and he'll try something on; then the Cliffords, theywon't go to sleep on it. "

"I don't know what yer talking about, " says Burnley. 

"Remain in your ignorance, Ben. The best instrument is a blindinstrument; you shall have your revenge soon or late. "

"Let it be soon, then. "

"In the meantime, " said Monckton, "have you got any money?"

"Got my wages. "

"That will do for you to-day. Go to the public-house and get half-drunk. "

"Half-drunk?"

"Half-drunk! Don't I speak plain?"

"Miners, " said Burnley, candidly, "never get half-drunk in t' countyDurham; they are that the best part of their time. "

"Then you get half-drunk, neither more nor less, or I'll discharge you asHope has done, and that will be the worst discharge of the two for you. When you are half-drunk come here directly, and hang about this place. No; you had better be under that tree in the middle of the field there, and pretend to be sleeping off your liquor. Come, mizzle!"

When he had packed off Burnley, he got back into his hiding-place, andonly just in time, for Hope came back again upon the wings of love, andGrace, whose elastic nature had revived, saw him coming, and came out tomeet him. Hope scolded her urgently: why had she got off the sofa whenrepose was so necessary for her?

"You are mistaken, dear father, " said she. "I am wonderfully strong andhealthy; I never fainted away in my life, and my mind will not let merest at present--I have been longing so for my father. "

"Ah, precious word!" murmured Hope. "Keep saying that word to me, darling. Oh, the years that I have pined for it!"

"Dear father, we will make up for all those years. Oh, papa, let us notpart again, never, never, not even for a day. "

"My child, we never will. What am I saying? I shall have to give you backto one who has a stronger claim than I--to your husband. "

"My husband?" said Mary, turning pale. 

"Yes, " said Hope; "for you know you have a husband. Oh, I heard a fewwords there before I interfered; but it is not to me you'll say '_Idon't know_. ' That was good enough for Bartley and a lot of strangers. Come, Grace dear, take my arm; have no concealments from me. Trust to afather's infinite love, even if you have been imprudent or betrayed; butthat's a thing I shall never believe except from your lips. Take a turnwith me, my child, since you can not lie down and rest; a little air, and gentle movement on your father's arm, and close to your father'sheart, will be the next best thing for you. " Then they walked to and frolike lovers. 

"Why, Grace, my child, " said he, "of course I understand it all. Nodoubt you promised to keep your marriage secret, or had some powerfulreason for withholding it from strangers; and, indeed, why should youreveal such a secret to insolence or to mere curiosity. But you will tellthe truth to me, your father and your best friend; you will tell me youare a wife. "

"Father, " said Mary, trembling, and her eyes roved as if she was lookingout for the means of flight. 

Hope saw this look, and it made him sick at heart, for he had lived toolong, and observed too keenly, not to know that innocence and purity aredangers, and are more often protected by the safeguards of society thanby themselves. 

"Oh, my child, " said he, "anything is better than this suspense; whydo you not answer me? Why do you torture me? Are you WalterClifford's wife?"

Mary began to pant and sob. "Oh papa, have patience with me. You do notknow the danger. Wait till he comes back. I dare not; I can not. "

"Then, by Heaven, he shall!"

He dropped her arm, and his countenance became terrible. She clung tohim directly. 

"No, no; wait till I have seen him. He will be back this veryevening. Do not judge hastily; and oh, papa, as you love your child, do not act rashly. "

"I shall act firmly, " was Hope's firm reply. "You have come from a shamfather to a real one, and you will be protected as well as loved. Thislover has forbidden you to confide in your father (he did not know that Iwas your father, but that makes no difference); it looks very ugly, andif he has wronged you he shall do you justice, or I will have his life. "

"Oh, papa, " screamed Mary, "his life? Why, mine is bound up with it. "

"I fear so, " said Hope. "But what's our life to us without our honor, especially to a woman? He is the true Cain that destroys a pure virgin. "

Then he put both his hands on her shoulder, and said, "Look at me, Grace. " She looked at him full with eyes as brave as a lion's and asgentle as a gazelle's. 

In a moment his senses enlightened him beyond the power of circumstancesto deceive. "It's a lie, " said he; "men are always lying andcircumstances deceiving; there is no blush of shame upon these cheeks, nosin nor frailty in these pure eyes. You are his wife?"

"I am!" cried Grace, unable to resist any longer. 

"Thank God!" cried Hope, and father and daughter were locked that momentin a tender embrace. 

"Yes, papa, you shall know all, and then I shall have to fall on my kneesand ask you not to punish one I love--for--a fault committed years ago. You will have pity on us both. Walter and I were married at the altar, and I am his wife in the eyes of Heaven. But, oh, papa, I fear I am nothis lawful wife. "

"Not his lawful wife, child! Why, what nonsense!"

"I would to Heaven it was; but this morning I learned for the first timethat he had been married before. Oh, it was years ago; but she is alive. "

"Impossible! He could not be so base. "

"Papa, " said Mary, very gravely, "I have seen the certificate. "

"The certificate!" said Hope, in dismay. "What certificate?"

"Of the Registry Office. It was shown me by a gentleman she sentexpressly to warn me; she had no idea that Walter and I were married, butshe had heard somehow of our courtship. I try to thank her, and I tried, and always will, to save him from a prison and his family from disgrace. "

"And sacrifice yourself?" cried Hope, in agony. 

"I love him, " said Mary, "and you must spare him. "

"I will have justice for my child. "

Grace was in such terror lest her father should punish Walter that shebegged him to consider whether in sacrificing herself she really had notbeen unintentionally wise. What could she gain by publishing that she hadmarried another woman's husband "I have lost my husband, " said she "but Ihave found my father. Oh take me away and let me rest my broken heartupon yours far from all who know me. Every wound seems to be cured inthis world, and if time won't cure this my wound, even with my father'shelp, the grave _will_. "

"Oh, misery!" cried Hope; "do I hear such words as these from my childjust entering upon life and all its joys?"

"Hush, papa, " said Grace; "there is that man. "

That man was Mr. Bartley. He looked very much distressed, and proceededat once to express his penitence. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

A WOMAN OUTWITS TWO MEN. 

"Oh, Mary, what can I say? I was simply mad, stung into fury by thatfoul-mouthed ruffian. Mary, I am deeply sorry, and thoroughly ashamed ofmy violence and my cruelty, and I implore you to think of the very manyhappy years we have spent together without an angry word--not that youever deserved one. Let us silence all comments; return to me as the headof my house and the heiress of my fortune; you will bind Mr. Hope to mestill more strongly, he shall be my partner, and he will not be soselfish as to ruin your future. "

"Ay, " said Hope, "that's the same specious argument you tempted me withtwelve years ago. But she was a helpless child then; she is a woman now, and can decide for herself. As for me, I will not be your partner. I havea small royalty on your coal, and that is enough for me; but Grace shalldo as she pleases. My child, will you go to the brilliant future that hiswealth can secure you, or share my modest independence, which will needall my love to brighten it. Think before you answer; your own future lifedepends upon yourself. "

With this he turned his back and walked for some distance very stoutly, then leaned upon the palings with his back toward Grace; but even a backcan speak, and the young lady looked at him and her eyes filled; then sheturned them toward Bartley, and those clear eyes dried as if the fire inthe heart had scorched them. 

"In the first place, sir, " said she, with a cold and cutting voice, veryunusual to her, "my name is not Mary, it is Grace; and, be assured ofthis, if there was not another roof in all the world to shelter me, if Iwas helpless, friendless and fatherless, I would die in the nearest ditchrather than set my foot in the house from which I was thrust out withshame and insult such as no lady ever yet forgave. But, thank Heaven, Iam not at your mercy at all. He to whom nature has drawn me all theseyears is my father--Oh, papa, come to me; is it for _you_ to stand aloof?It is into your hands, with all the trust and love you have earned sowell from your poor Grace, I give my love, my veneration, and my heartand soul forever. " Then she flung herself panting on his bosom, and hecried over her. The next moment he led her to the house, where he madeher promise to repose now after this fresh trial; and, indeed, he wouldhave followed her, but Bartley implored him so piteously, for the sake ofold times, not to refuse him one word more, that he relented so far as tocome out to him, though he felt it was a waste of time. 

He said, "Mr. Bartley, it's no use; nothing can undo this morning'swork: our paths lie apart. From something Walter Clifford let fall oneday, I suspect he is the person you robbed, and induced me to rob, of alarge fortune. "

"Well, what is he to you? Have pity upon me; be silent, and name yourown price. "

"Wrong Walter Clifford with my eyes open? He is the last man in theworld that I would wrong in money matters. I have got a stern accountagainst him, and I will begin it by speaking the truth and giving himback his own. "

Here the interview was interrupted by an honest miner, one Jim Perkins. He came in hurriedly, and, like people of that class, thrust everybodyelse's business out of his way. "You are wanted at the mine, Mr. Hope. The shoring of the old works is giving way, and there's a deal of watercollecting in another part. "

"I'll come at once, " said Hope; "the men's lives must not be endangered. Have the cage ready. " Jim walked away. 

Hope turned to Bartley. 

"Pray understand, Mr. Bartley, that this is my last visit to your mine. "

"One moment, Hope, " cried Bartley in despair; "we have been friends solong, surely you owe me something. "

"I do. "

"Well, then, I'll make you rich for life if you will but let Mary returnto me and only just be silent; speak neither for me nor against me;surely that is not much for an old friend to ask. What is your answer?"

"That I will speak the truth, and keep my conscience and my child. "

This answer literally crushed Bartley. His very knees knocked together;he leaned against the palings sick at heart. He saw that Colonel Cliffordwould extort not only Walter's legacy, but what the lawyers call themesne profits, that is to say, the interest and the various proceedsfrom the fraud during fourteen years. 

Whilst he was in this condition of bodily collapse and mental horror acold, cynical voice dropped icicles, so to speak, into his ear. 

"In a fix, governor, eh? The girl won't come back, and Hope won't holdhis tongue. "

Bartley looked round in amazement, and saw the cadaverous face anddiabolical sneer of Leonard Monckton. Fourteen years and evil passionshad furrowed that bloodless cheek; but there was no mistaking the man. Itwas a surprise to Bartley to see him there and be spoken to by a knavewho had tried to rob him; but he was too full of his immediate trouble tothink much of minor things. 

"What do you know about it?" said he, roughly. 

"I'll tell you, " said Monckton, coolly. 

He then walked in a most leisurely way to the gate that led into themeadow whose eastern boundary was Hope's quick-set hedge, and he came inthe same leisurely way up to Mr. Bartley, and leaned his back, with hishands behind him, with perfect effrontery, against the palings. 

"I know all, " said he. "I overheard you in your office fourteen yearsago, when you changed children with Hope. "

Bartley uttered an exclamation of dismay. 

"And I've been hovering about here all day, and watched the little game, and now I am fly, and no mistake. "

Bartley threw up his hands in dismay. "Then it's all over; I am doublyruined. I can not hope to silence you both. "

"Don't speak so loud, governor. "

"Why not?" said Bartley, "others will, if I don't. " He lowered his voicefor all that, and wondered what was coming. 

"Listen to me, " said Monckton, exchanging his cynical manner for a quietand weighty one. 

Bartley began to wonder, and look at him with a sort of awe. The wordsnow dropped out of Monckton's thin lips as if they were chips of granite, so full of meaning was every syllable, and Bartley felt it. 

"It's not so bad as it looks. There are only two men that know youare a felon. "

Bartley winced visibly. 

"Now one of those men is to be bought"--Bartley lifted his head with afaint gleam of hope at that--"and the other--has gone--down a coal-mine. "

"What good will that do me?"

The villain paused, and looked Bartley in the face. 

"That depends. Suppose you were to offer me what you offered Hope, andsuppose Hope--was never--to come up--again?"

"No such luck, " said Bartley, shaking his head sorrowfully. 

"Luck, " said Monckton, contemptuously; "we make our own luck. Do you seethat vagabond lying under the tree, that's Ben Burnley. "

"Ah!" said Bartley, "the ruffian Hope discharged. "

"The same, and a man that is burning to be revenged on him: _he's_ yourluck, Mr. Bartley; I know the man, and what he has done in a minebefore to-day. "

Then he drew near to Bartley's ear, and hissed into it thesefearful words:

"Send him down the mine, promise him five hundred pounds--if WilliamHope--never comes up again--and William Hope never will. "

Bartley drew back aghast. "Assassination!" he cried, and by a generousimpulse of horror he half fled from the tempter; but Monckton followedhim up and laid his hand upon his shoulder. 

"Hush, " said he, "you are getting too near that window; and it is open. Let me see there's nobody inside. "

He looked in. There was nobody. Grace was upstairs, but it did so happenthat she came into the room soon after. 

"Nothing of the kind. Accident. Accidents will happen in mines, andtalking of luck, this mine was declared dangerous this very day. "

"No, no, " groaned Bartley, trembling in every limb, "it's a horriblecrime; I dare not risk it. "

"It is but a risk. The alternative is certain. You will be indicted forfraud by the Cliffords. "

Bartley groaned. 

"They'll live in your home, they'll revel in your money, while you wear acropped head--and a convict dress--in a stone cell at Portland. "

"No, never!" screamed Bartley. "Man, man; you are tempting me to myperdition!"

"I am saving you. Just consider--where is the risk? It is only anaccident, and who will suspect you? Men don't ruin their own mines. Here, just let me call him. "

Bartley made a faint gesture to forbid it, but Monckton pretended to takethat as an assent. 

"Hy, Ben, " he cried, "come here. "

"No, no, " cried Bartley, "I'll have nothing to do with him. "

"Well, " said Monckton, "then don't, but hear what he has got to say;he'll tell you how easily accidents happen in a mine. "

Then Burnley came in, but stood at some distance. Bartley turned his backupon them both, and edged away from them a little; but Monckton stoodbetween the two men, determined to bring them together. 

"Ben, " said he, "Mr. Bartley takes you on again at my request, no thanksto Mr. Hope. "

"No, curse him; I know that. "

"Talking of that, Ben, how was it that you got rid of that troublesomeoverseer in the Welsh colliery?"

Ben started, and looked aghast for a moment, but soon recovered himselfand told his tale of blood with a strange mixture of satisfaction andawe, washing his hands in the air nervously all the time. 

"Well, you see, sir, we put some gun-cotton in a small canister, with afuse cut to last fowr minutes, and hid it in one of the old workings themen had left; then they telt t' overseer they thowt t' water was comingin by quickly. He got there just in time; and what with t' explosion, fire-damp, and fallen coal, we never saw t' over-seer again. "

"Dear me, " said Monckton, "and Mr. Hope has gone down the mine expresslyto inspect old workings. Is it not a strange coincidence? Now if such anaccident was to befall Mr. Hope, it's my belief Mr. Bartley would giveyou five hundred pounds. "

Bartley made no reply, the perspiration was pouring down his face, and helooked a picture of abject guilt and terror. 

Monckton looked at him, and decided for him. He went softly, like a cat, to Ben Burnley and said, "If an accident does occur, and that man nevercomes up again, you are to have five hundred pounds. "

"Five hundred pounds!" shouted Ben. "I do t' job. Nay, _nay_, but, " saidhe, and his countenance fell, "they will not let me go down the mine. "

The diabolical agent went cat-like to Bartley. 

"Please give me a written order to let this man go to work again inthe mine. "

Bartley trembled and hesitated, but at last took out his pocket-book andwrote on a leaf, "Take Burnley on again. 

"R. BARTLEY. "

Whilst writing it his hand shook, and when it was written he would nottear it out. He panted and quivered and was as pale as ashes, and said, "No, no, it's a death-warrant; I can not;" and his trembling hand triedto convey the note-book back to his pocket, but it fell from his shakingfingers, and Monckton took it up and quietly tore the leaf out, and tookit across to Burnley, in spite of a feeble gesture the struggling wretchmade to detain him. He gave Ben the paper, and whispered, "Be off beforehe changes his mind. "

"You'll hear of an accident in the mine before the day is over, " saidBurnley, and he went off without a grain of remorse under the doublestimulus of revenge and lucre. 

"He'll do it, " cried Monckton, triumphantly, "and Hope will end his daysin the Bartley mine. "

 * * * * *

These words were hardly out of his lips when Grace Hope walked out of thehouse, pale, and with her eyes gleaming, and walked rapidly past them. She had nothing on her head but a white handkerchief that was tied underher chin. Her appearance and her manner struck the conspirators withterror. Bartley stood aghast; but the more resolute villain seized her asshe passed him. She was not a bit frightened at that, but utterly amazed. It was a public road. 

"How dare you touch me, you villain!" she cried. "Let me go. Ah, I shallknow you again, with your face like a corpse and your villainous eyes. Let me go, or I'll have you hung. "

"Where are you going?" said Bartley, trembling. 

"To my father. "

"He is not your father; it is a conspiracy. You must come home with me. "

"Never!" cried Mary, and by a sudden and violent effort she flungMonckton off. 

But Bartley, mad with terror, seized her that moment, and that gaveMonckton time to recover and seize her again by the arm. 

"You are not of age, " cried Bartley; "you are under my authority, and youshall come home with me. "

"No! no!" cried Mary. "Help! help! murder! help!"

She screamed, and struggled so violently that with all their effortsthey could hardly hold her. Then the devil Monckton began to cry louderstill, "She's mad! she's mad! help to secure a mad woman. " This terrifiedGrace Hope. She had read of the villainies that had been done under coverof that accusation, which indeed has too often prevented honest men frominterfering with deeds of lawless violence. But she had all her witsabout her, woman's wit included. She let them drag her past the cottagedoor. Then she cried out with delight, "Ah! here is my father. " Theyfollowed the direction of her eye, and relaxed their grasp. Instantly shedrew her hands vigorously downward, got clear of them, gave them each afurious push that sent them flying forward, then darted back through theopen door, closed it, and bolted it inside just as Monckton, recoveringhimself, quickly dashed furiously against it--in vain. 

The quick-witted villain saw the pressing danger in a moment. "To theback door or we are lost!" he yelled. Bartley dashed round to that doorwith a cry of dismay. 

But Grace was before him just half a minute. She ran through the house. 

Alas! the infernal door was secure. The woman had locked it when she wentout. Grace came flying back to the front, and drew the bolt softly. Butas she did so she heard a hammering, and found the door was fast. Unluckily, Hope's tool-basket was on the window-ledge, and Monckton drovea heavy nail obliquely through the bottom of the door, and it wasimmovable. Then Mary slipped with cat-like step to the window, and hadher hand on the sill to vault clean out into the road; she was perfectlycapable, it being one of her calisthenic exercises. But here again herwatchful enemy encountered her. He raised his hammer as if to strike herhand--though perhaps he might not have gone that length--but she was awoman, and drew back at that cruel gesture. Instantly he closed theoutside shutters; he didn't trouble about the window, but these outsideshutters he proceeded to nail up; and, as the trap was now complete, hetook his time, and by a natural reaction from his fears, he permittedhimself to exult a little. 

"Thank you, Mr. Hope, for the use of your tools. " (Rat-tat. )"There, my little bird, you're caged. " (Rat-tat-tat. ) "Did youreally think--(rat-tat)--two men--(rat-tat-tat)--were to be beatenby one woman?"

The prisoner thus secured, he drew aside with justifiable pride to admirehis work. This action enabled him to see the side of the cottage he hadsecured so cleverly in front and behind, and there was Grace Hope comingdown from her bedroom window; she had tied two crimson curtains togetherby a useful knot, which is called at sea a fisherman's bend, fastened oneend to the bed or something, and she was coming down this extemporizedrope, hand over hand alternately, with as much ease and grace as if shewere walking down marble steps. Monckton flung his arm and body wildlyover the paling and grabbed her with his finger ends, she gave a spangwith her heels against the wall, and took a bold leap away from him intoa tulip-bed ten feet distant at least: he yelled to Bartley, "To thegarden;" and not losing a moment, flung his leg over the paling to catchher, with Bartley's help, in this new trap. Mary dashed off without amoment's hesitation at the quick-set hedge; she did not run up to it andhesitate like a woman, for it was not to be wriggled through; she went atit with the momentum and impetus of a race-horse, and through it as if itwas made of blotting-paper, leaving a wonderfully small hole, but someshreds of her dress, and across the meadow at a pace that neitherBartley nor Monckton, men past their prime, could hope to rival even ifshe had not got the start. They gazed aghast at one another; at thepremises so suddenly emptied as if by magic; at the crimson curtainfloating like a banner, and glowing beautifully amongst the greencreepers; and at that flying figure, with her hair that glittered in thesun, and streamed horizontal in the wind with her velocity, flying to themine to save William Hope, and give these baffled conspirators a life ofpenal servitude. 

CHAPTER XX. 

CALAMITY. 

The baffled conspirators saw Grace Hope bound over a stile like a deerand dash up to the mine; then there was a hurried colloquy, and some menwere seen to start from the mine and run toward Hope's cottage. Whatactually took place was this: She arrived panting, and begged to be sentdown the mine at once; the deputy said, "You cannot, miss, without anorder from Mr. Hope. "

"I am his daughter, sir, " said she; "he has claimed me from Mr. Bartleythis day. "

At that word the man took off his hat to her. 

"Let me down this instant; there's a plot to fire the mine, and destroymy dear father. "

"A plot to fire the mine!" said the man, all aghast. "Why, who by? Hy!cage ready there!"

"One Burnley, but he's bribed by a stranger. Send me down to warn myfather; but you run and seize that villain; you can not mistake him. Hewears a light suit of tweed, all one color. He has very black eyebrows, and a face like a corpse, and a large gold ring on the little finger ofhis right hand. You will find him somewhere near my father's cottage. Neither you nor I have a moment to lose. "

Then the deputy called three more men, and made for Hope's cottage, whileGrace went down in the cage. 

Bartley fled in mortal terror to his own house, and began to pack up histhings to leave the country. Monckton withdrew to the clump of fir-trees, and from that thin shelter watched the mine, intending to levant as soonas he should see Hope come up safe and sound; but, when he saw three orfour men start from the mine and run across to him, he took the alarm andsought the thicker shelter of a copse hard by. It was a very thick cover, good for temporary concealment; but he soon found it was so narrow thathe couldn't emerge from it on either side without being seen at once, andhis quick wit told him that Grace had denounced him, and probablydescribed him accurately to the miners; he was in mortal terror, but notunprepared for this sort of danger. The first thing he did was to whipoff his entire tweed suit and turn it inside out; he had had it made onpurpose; it was a thin tweed, doubled with black kerseymere, so that thischange was a downright transformation. Then he substituted a black tiefor a colored one, whipped out a little mirror and his hare's-foot, etc. , browned and colored his cheek, put on an admirable gray wig, whiskers, mustache, and beard, and partly whitened his eyebrows, and hobbled feeblyout of the little wood an infirm old man. Presently he caught sight ofhis gold ring. "Ah!" said he, "she is a sharp girl; perhaps she noticedthat in the struggle?" He took it off and was going to put it in hispocket, but thought better of that, and chucked it into a ditch. Then hemade for the village. The pursuers hunted about the house and, of course, didn't find him; but presently one of them saw him crossing a meadow notfar off, so they ran toward him and hailed him. 

"Hy! mister!"

He went feebly on, and did not seem to hear; then they hailed him againand ran toward him; then he turned and stopped, and seeing men runningtoward him, took out a large pair of round spectacles, and put them on tolook at them. By this artifice that which in reality completed hisdisguise seemed but a natural movement in an old man to see better who itwas that wanted him. 

"What be you doing here?" said the man. 

"Well, my good man, " said Monckton, affecting surprise, "I have beenvisiting an old friend, and now I'm going home again. I hope I am nottrespassing. Is not this the way to the village? They told me it was. "

"That's right enough, " said the deputy, "but by the way you come you justhave seen him. "

"No, sir, " said Monckton, "I haven't seen anybody except one gentleman, that came through that wood there as I passed it. "

"What was he like, sir?"

"Well, I didn't take particular notice, and he passed me all in a hurry. "

"That would be the man, " said the deputy. "Had he a very pale face?"

"Not that I remarked; he seemed rather heated with running. "

"How was he dressed, sir?"

"Oh, like many of the young people, all of one pattern. "

"Light or dark?"

"Light, I think. "

"Was it a tweed suit?"

"I almost think it was. What had he been doing--anything wrong? He seemedto me to be rather scared-like. "

"Which way did he go, sir?"

"I think he made for that great house, sir. "

"Come on, " said the deputy, and he followed this treacherous indication, hot in pursuit. 

Monckton lost no time. He took off twenty years, and reached the Dun Cowas an old acquaintance. He hired the one vehicle the establishmentpossessed, and was off like a shot to Derby; thence he dispatched a noteto his lodgings to say he was suddenly called to town, but should be backin a week. Not that he ever intended to show his face in thatneighborhood again. 

Nevertheless events occasioned that stopped both his flight andBartley's, and yet broke up their unholy alliance. 

It was Hope's final inspection of the Bartley mine, and he took things inorder. Months ago a second shaft had been sunk by his wise instructions, and but for Bartley's parsimony would have been now completed. Hope nowascertained how many feet it was short, and noted this down for Bartley. 

Then, still inspecting, he went to the other extremity of the mine, andreached a sort of hall or amphitheatre much higher than the passages. This was a centre with diverging passages on one side, but closed on theother. Two of these passages led by oblique routes to those old works, the shoring of which had been reported unsafe. 

This amphitheatre was now a busy scene, empty trucks being pushed off, full trucks being pushed on, all the men carrying lighted lanterns, thatwavered and glinted like "wills of the wisp. " Presently a bell rung, anda portion of the men, to whom this was a signal, left off work and beganto put on their jackets and to await the descent of the cage to take themup in parties. At this moment Hope met, to his surprise, a figure thatlooked like Ben Burnley. He put up his lamp to see if he was right, andBen Burnley it was. The ruffian had the audacity to put up his lamp, asif to scrutinize the person who examined him. 

"Did I not discharge you?" said Hope. 

"Ay, lad, " said Ben; "but your master put me on again. " With that heshowed Bartley's order and signature. 

Hope bit his lips, but merely said, "He will rue it. " Burnley sidledaway; but Hope cried to one or two men who were about, "Keep a sharp lookout on him, my men, your lives are not safe whilst he'sin the mine. "

Burnley leaned insolently against a truck and gave the men nothing toobserve; the next minute in bustled the honest miner at whose instanceHope had come down the mine, and begged him to come and visit theshoring at once. 

Hope asked if there were any other men there; the miner replied inthe negative. 

"Very well, then, " said Hope, "I'll just take one look at the water here, and I'll be at the shoring in five minutes. "

Unfortunately this unwary statement let Burnley know exactly what to do;he had already concealed in the wood-work a canister of dynamite, and afuse to it to last about five minutes. He now wriggled away under coverof Hope's dialogue and lighted the fuse, then he came flying back to getsafe out of the mine, and leave Hope in his death-trap. 

But in the meantime Grace Hope came down in the cage, and caught sight ofher father and came screaming to him, "Father, father!"

"You here, my child!"

"There's a plot to murder you! A man called Burnley is to cause anexplosion at the old works just as you visit them. "

"An explosion!" cried Hope, "and fire-damp about. One explosion willcause fifty--ring the bell--here men! danger!"

Then there was a rush of men. 

"Ben Burnley is firing the mine. "

There was a yell of fury; but a distant explosion turned it to oneof dismay. Hope caught his daughter up in his arms and put herinto a cavity. 

"Fly, men, to the other part of the mine, " he cried. 

There was a louder explosion. In ran Burnley terrified at his own work, and flying to escape. Hope sprang out upon him. "No you don't--living ordead, you are the last to leave this mine. "

Burnley struggled furiously, but Hope dashed him down at his feet. Justas a far more awful explosion than all took place, one side of thatamphitheatre fell in and the very earth heaved. The corner part of theshaft fell in upon the cage and many poor miners who were hoping toescape by it; but those escaped for the present who obeyed Hope's orderand fled to another part of the mine, and when the stifling vaporsdrifted away there stood Hope pale as death, but strong as iron, with theassassin at his feet, and poor Grace crouching and quivering in herrecess. Their fate now awaited these three, a speedy death by choke-damp, or a slow death by starvation, or a rescue from the outside undercircumstances of unparalleled difficulty, since there was but one shaftcompleted, and that was now closed by a mountain of débris. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

BURIED ALIVE. 

The explosions so tremendously loud below were but muffled sounds at thepit's mouth; but, alas! these muffled sounds, and one flash of luridflame that shot up into the air, told the tale of horror to everyexperienced pitman and his wife, and the cry of a whole village went upto heaven. 

The calamity spread like wildfire. It soon found its way to CliffordHall, and the deputy ran himself with the news to Mr. Bartley. Bartleyreceived it at first with a stony glare, and trembled all over; then thedeputy, lowering his voice, said, "Sir, the worst of it is, there is foulplay in it. There is good authority to say that Ben Burnley fired themine to destroy his betters, and he has done it; for Mr. Hope and MissHope that is, Miss Bartley that was, are both there. " He added, in abroken voice, "And if they are not buried or stifled, it will be hardwork to save them. The mine is a ruin. "

Bartley delivered a wild scream, and dashed out of the house at once; hedid not even take his hat, but the deputy, more self-possessed, took oneout of the hall and followed him. 

Bartley hurried to the mine, and found that several stout fellows hadgone down with their pickaxes and other tools to clear the shaft, butthat it must be terribly slow work, so few men could work at a time inthat narrow space. Bartley telegraphed to Derby for a more powerfulsteam-engine and experienced engineers, and set another gang to open thenew shaft to the bottom, and see if any sufferers could be saved thatway. Whatever he did was wise, but his manner was frenzied. None of hispeople thought he had so much feeling, and more than one of the quakingwomen gave him a kind word; he made no reply, he did not even seem tohear. He wandered about the mine all night wringing his hands, and atlast he was taken home almost by force. 

Humanity overpowered prejudice, and Colonel Clifford came to the mine tosee if he could be of any use to the sufferers. He got hold of the deputyand learned from him what Bartley was doing. He said he thought that wasthe best course, as there would be division of labor; but, said he, "I aman old campaigner, and I know that men can not fight without food, andthis work will be a fight. How will you house the new-comers?"

"There are forty-seven men missing, and the new men can sleep in theircottages. "

"That's so, " said the Colonel, "but there are the wives and the children. I shall send sleeping tents and eating tents, and provisions enough tofeed a battalion. Forty-seven lives, " said he, pityingly. 

"Ay, sir, " said the deputy, "and such lives, some of them; for Mr. Hopeand Miss Mary Bartley--leastways that is not her name now, she's Mr. Hope's daughter. "

"Why, what has she to do with it?"

"I am sorry to say, sir, she is down the mine. "

"God forbid!" said the Colonel; "that noble girl dead, or inmortal danger. "

"She is, sir, " and, lowering his voice, "by foul play;" then seeing theColonel greatly shocked and moved, he said, "and I ought not to keep itfrom you. You are our nearest magistrate; the young lady told me at thepit mouth she is Mr. Hope's daughter. "

"And so she is. "

"And she said there was a plot to destroy her father in the mine byexploding the old workings he was going to visit. One Ben Burnley was todo it; a blackguard that has a spite against Mr. Hope for discharginghim. But there was money behind him and a villain that she described tous--black eyebrows, a face like a corpse, and dressed in a suit of tweedone color. We hoped that she might have been mistaken, or she might havewarned Mr. Hope in time; but now it is to be seen that there was nomistake, and she had not time to warn him. The deed is done; and a darkerdeed was never done, even in the dark. "

Colonel Clifford groaned: after a while he said, "Seize that Ben Burnleyat once, or he will soon leave this place behind him. "

"No, he won't, " said the deputy. "He is in the mine, that is one comfort;and if he comes out alive his life won't be worth much, with the law onone side of the blackguard and Judge Lynch on t'other. "

"The first thing, " said the Colonel, "is to save these precious lives. God help us and them. "

He then went to the Railway, and wired certain leading tradesmen inDerby for provisions, salt and fresh, on a large scale, and for newtents. He had some old ones stored away in his own house. He also securedabundance of knives, forks, plates, buckets, pitchers, and jugs, and, inshort, he opened a commissariat. He inquired for his son Walter, and whyhe was so late. He could learn nothing but that Walter had mounted ahunter and left word with Baker that he should not be home till eighto'clock. "John, " said the Colonel, solemnly, "I am in great trouble, andWalter is in worse, I fear. Let nobody speak to him about this accidentat the mine till he has seen me. "

 * * * * *

Walter Clifford rode to the Lake Hotel to inquire after the bracelet. Thelandlady told him she had sent her husband over with it that day. 

"Confound it, " said Walter; "why, he won't know who to take it to. "

"Oh, it's all right, sir, " said she. "My Sam won't give it to the wrongperson, you may be sure. "

"How do I know that?" said Walter; "and, pray, who did you tell him togive it to?"

"Why, to the lady as was here with you. "

"And how the deuce is he to find her? He does not know her name. It's agreat pity you could not keep it till I came. "

"Well, sir, you was so long a-coming. "

"That's true, " said Walter; "let us make the best of it. I shall feed myhorse, and get home as quickly as I can. "

However, he knew he would be late, and thought he had better go straighthome. He sent a telegram to Mary Bartley: "Landlord gone to you withbracelet;" and this he signed with the name of the landlady, but noaddress. He was afraid to say more, though he would have liked to put hiswife upon her guard; but he trusted to her natural shrewdness. He mountedhis horse and went straight home, but he was late for dinner, and thatvexed him a little, for it was a matter Colonel Clifford was particularabout. He dashed up to his bedroom and began to dress all in a hurry. 

John Baker came to him wearing a very extraordinary look, and aftersome hesitation said, "I would not change my clothes if I were you, Mr. Walter. "

"Oh, " said Walter, "I am too late, you know; in for a penny, infor a pound. "

"But, sir, " said old John, "the Colonel wants to speak to you in thedrawing-room. "

Now Walter was excited with the events of the day, irritated by theaffront his father had put upon him and Mary, strung up by hard riding, etc. He burst out, "Well, I shall not go to him; I have had enough ofthis--badgered and bullied, and my sweetheart affronted--and now Isuppose I am to be lectured again; you say I am not well, and bring mydinner up here. "

"No, Mr. Walter, " said the old man, gravely, "I must not do that. Sir, don't you think as you are to be scolded, or the angel you loveaffronted; all that is over forever. There has been many a strange thinghappened since you rode out of our stable last, but I wish you would goto the Colonel and let him tell you all; however, I suppose I may tellyou so much as this, that your sweetheart is not Mary Bartley at all; sheis Mr. Hope's daughter. "

"What!" cried Walter, in utter amazement. 

"There is no doubt about it, sir, " said the old man, "and I believe it isall out about you and her, but that would not matter, for the Colonel hetakes it quite different from what you might think. He swears by her now. I don't know really how that came about, sir, for I was not there, butwhen I was dressing the Colonel he said to me, 'John, she's the grandestgirl in England, and an honor to her sex, and there is not a drop ofBartley's blood in her. '"

"Oh, he has found that out, " said Walter. "Then I'll go to him like abird, dear old fellow. So that is what he wanted to tell me. "

"No, " said John Baker, gravely. 

"No, " said Walter; "what then?"

"It's trouble. "

"Trouble, " said Walter, puzzled. 

"Ay, my poor young master, " said Baker, tenderly--"sore trouble, suchtrouble as a father's heart won't let me, or any man break to you, whilehe lives to do it. I know my master. Ever since that fellow Bartley camehere we have seen the worst of him; now we shall see the best of him. Goto him, dear Master Walter. Don't waste time in talking to old JohnBaker. Go to your father and your friend. "

Walter Clifford cast a look of wonder and alarm on the old man, and wentdown at once to the drawing-room. His father was standing by the fire. Hecame forward to him with both hands, and said, "My son!"

"Father, " said Walter, in a whisper, "what is it?"

"Have you heard nothing?"

"Nothing but good news, father--that you approve my choice. "

"Ah, John told you that!"

"Yes, sir. "

"And did he tell you anything else?"

"No sir, only that some great misfortune is upon me, and that I have myfather's sympathy. "

"You have, " said the Colonel, "and would to God I had known the truthbefore. She is not Bartley's daughter at all; she is Hope's daughter. Hervirtue shines in her face; she is noble, she is self-denying, she isjust, she is brave; and no doubt she can account for her being at theLake Hotel in company with some man or other. Whatever that lady sayswill be the truth. That's not the trouble, Walter; all that has becomesmall by comparison. But shall we ever see her sweet face again or hearher voice?"

"Father, " said Walter, trembling, "you terrify me. This sudden change inyour voice that I never heard falter before; some great calamity musthave happened. Tell me the worst at once. "

"Walter, " said the old man, "stand firm; do not despair, for there ishope. "

"Thank God for that, father! now tell me all. "

"Walter, there has been an explosion in the mine--a fearful explosion;the shaft has fallen in; there is no getting access to the mine, and allthe poor souls confined there are in mortal peril. Those who are bestacquainted with the mine do not think that many of them have beendestroyed by the ruin, but they tell me these explosions let loosepoisonous gases, and so now those poor souls are all exposed to threedeadly perils--choke-damp, fire-damp, and starvation. "

"It's pitiable, " said Walter, "but surely this is a calamity to Bartley, and to the poor miners, but not to any one that I love, and that you havelearnt to respect. "

"My son, " said the Colonel, solemnly, "the mine was fired by foul play. "

"Is it possible?"

"It is believed that some rival owner, or else some personal enemy ofWilliam Hope, bribed a villain to fire some part of the mine that Hopewas inspecting. "

"Great heavens!" said Walter, "can such villains exist? Poor, poor Mr. Hope: who would think he had an enemy in the world?"

"Alas!" said the Colonel, "that is not all. His daughter, it seems, over-heard the villain bribing the ruffian to commit this foul andterrible act, and she flew to the mine directly. She dispatched someminers to seize that hellish villain, and she went down the mine to saveher father. "

"Ah!" said Walter, trembling all over. 

"She has never been seen since. "

The Colonel's head sank for a moment on his breast. 

Walter groaned and turned pale. 

"She came too late to save him; she came in time to share his fate. "

Walter sank into a chair, and a deadly pallor overspread his face, hisforehead, and his very lips. 

The Colonel rushed to the door and called for help, and in a moment JohnBaker and Mrs. Milton and Julia Clifford were round poor Walter's chairwith brandy and ether and salts, and every stimulant. He did not faintaway; strong men very seldom do at any mere mental shock. 

The color came slowly back to his cheeks and his pale lips, and his eyesbegan to fill with horror. The weeping women, and even the stout Colonel, viewed with anxiety his return to the full consciousness of his calamity. "Be brave, " cried Colonel Clifford; "be a soldier's son; don't despair;fight: nothing has been neglected. Even Bartley is playing the man; hehas got another engine coming up, and another body of workmen to open thenew shaft as well as the old one. "

"God bless him!" said Walter. 

"And I have an experienced engineer on the road, and the things civiliansalways forget--tents and provisions of all sorts. We will set an army towork sooner than your sweetheart, poor girl, shall lose her life by anyfault of ours. "

"My sweetheart, " cried Walter, starting suddenly from his chair. "There, don't cling to me, women. No man shall head that army but I. Mysweetheart! God help me--SHE'S MY WIFE. "

CHAPTER XXII. 

REMORSE. 

In a work of this kind not only the external incidents should be noticed, but also what may be called the mental events. We have seen a calamityproduce a great revulsion in the feelings of Colonel Clifford; but as forRobert Bartley his very character was shaken to the foundation by hiscrime and its terrible consequences. He was now like a man who had glideddown a soft sunny slope, and was suddenly arrested at the brink of afathomless precipice. Bartley was cunning, selfish, avaricious, unscrupulous in reality, so long as he could appear respectable, but hewas not violent, nor physically reckless, still less cruel. A deed ofblood shocked him as much as it would shock an honest man. Yet nowthrough following his natural bent too far, and yielding to the influenceof a remorseless villain, he found his own hands stained with blood--theblood of a man who, after all, had been his best friend, and had led himto fortune; and the blood of an innocent girl who had not only been hispecuniary benefactress for a time, but had warmed and lighted his housewith her beauty and affection. 

Busy men, whose views are all external, are even more apt than others tomiss the knowledge of their own minds. This man, to whom everything wasbusiness, had taken for granted he did not actually love Grace Hope. Why, she was another man's child. But now he had lost her forever, he found hehad mistaken his own feelings. He looked round his gloomy horizon andrealized too late that he did love her; it was not a great andpenetrating love like William Hope's; he was incapable of such asentiment; but what affection he had to bestow, he had given to thissweet creature. His house was dark without her; he was desolate andalone, and, horrible to think of, the instrument of her assassination. This thought drove him to frenzy, and his frenzy took two forms, furiousexcitement and gloomy despair; this was now his life by night and day, for sleep deserted him. At the mine his measures were all wise, but hismanner very wild; the very miners whispered amongst themselves that hewas going mad. At home, on the contrary, he was gloomy, with sullendespair. He was in this latter condition the evening after the explosion, when a visitor was announced. Thinking it was some one from the mine, hesaid, faintly, "Admit him, " and then his despondent head dropped on hisbreast; indeed, he was in a sort of lethargy, worn out with his labors, his remorse and his sleeplessness. 

In that condition his ear was suddenly jarred by a hard, metallic voice, whose tone was somehow opposed to all the voices with which goodness andhumanity have ever spoken. 

"Well, governor, here's a slice of luck. "

Bartley shivered. "Is that the devil speaking to me?" he muttered, without looking up. 

"No, " said Monckton, jauntily, "only one of his servants, and yourbest friend. "

"My friend, " said Bartley, turning his chair and looking at him with asort of dull wonder. 

"Ay, " said Monckton, "your friend; the man that found you brains andresolution, and took you out of the hole, and put Hope and hisdaughter in it instead; no, not his daughter, she did that for us, shewas so clever. "

"Yes, " said Bartley, wildly, "it was you who made me an assassin. But for you, I should only have been a knave; now I am amurderer--thanks to you. "

"Come, governor, " said Monckton, "no use looking at one side of thepicture. You tried other things first. You made him liberal offers, youknow; but he would have war to the knife, and he has got it. He is buriedat the bottom of that shaft. "

"God forbid!"

"And you are all right. "

"I am in hell, " shrieked Bartley. 

"Well, come out of it, " said Monckton, "and let's talk sense. I--I readthe news at Derby, just as I was starting for London. I have been as nearthe mine as I thought safe. They seem to be very busy clearing out bothshafts--two steam-engines, constant relays of workmen. Who has got thejob in hand?"

"I have, " said Bartley. 

"Well, that's clever of you to throw dust in their eyes, and put ourlittle game off your own shoulders. You want to save appearances? Youknow you can not save William Hope. "

"I can save him, and I will save him. God will have mercy on a penitentassassin, as he once had upon a penitent thief. "

Monckton stared at him and smiled. 

"Who has been talking to you--the parson?"

"My own conscience. I abhor myself as much as I do you, you blackvillain. "

"Ah!" said Monckton, with a wicked glance, "that's how a man pattersbefore he splits upon his pals, to save his own skin. Now, look here, oldman, before you split on me ask yourself who had the greatest interest inthis job. You silenced a dangerous enemy, but what have I gained? youought to square with me first, as you promised. If you split upon mebefore that, you will put yourself in the hole and leave me out of it. "

"Villain and fool!" said Bartley, "these trifles do not trouble me now. If Hope and my dear Mary are found dead in that mine, I'll tell how theycame by their death, and I'll die by my own hand. "

Monckton said nothing, but looked at him keenly, and began at last tofeel uneasy. 

"A shaft is but a narrow thing, " Bartley rejoined; "why should they beburied alive? let's get to them before they are starved to death. We maysave them yet. "

"Why, you fool, they'll denounce us!"

"What do I care? I would save them both to-night if I was to stand in thedock to-morrow. "

"And swing on the gallows next week, or end your days in a prison. "

"I'd take my chance, " said Bartley, desperately. "I'll undo my crime ifI can. No punishment can equal the agony I am in now, thanks to you, you villain. "

Then turning on him suddenly, and showing him the white of his eyes likea maniac, or a dangerous mastiff, he hissed out, "You think nothing ofthe lives of better men; perhaps you don't value your own?"

"Oh, I beg your pardon, " said Monckton. "That's a very different thing. "

"Oh, you do value your own foul life?"

"At any amount of money, " said Monckton. 

"Then why do you risk it?"

"Excuse me, governor, that's a thing I make a point of not doing. I riskmy instruments, not my head, Ben Burnley to wit. "

"You are risking it now, " said Bartley, looking still morestrangely at him. 

"How so, pray?" said Monckton, getting a little uneasy, for this was notthe Bartley he had known till then. 

Bartley took the poker in his hand and proceeded to poke the fire; butsomehow he did not look at the fire. He looked askant at Monckton, and heshowed the white of his eyes more and more. Monckton kept his eye uponhim and put his hand upon the handle of the door. 

"I'll tell you, " said Bartley--"by coming here to tempt, provoke, andinsult the wretch whose soul you destroyed, by forcing me to assassinatethe best man and the sweetest girl in England, when there were vipers andvillains about whom it's a good action to sweep off God's earth. Villain!I'll teach you to come like a fool and madden a madman. I was only arogue, you have made me a man of blood. All the worse for you. I havemurdered _them_, I'll execute _you_, " and with these words he bounded onhim like a panther. 

Monckton tore the doors open, and dashed out, but a furious blow fellbefore he was quite clear of the doorway. With such force was itdelivered that the blunt metal cut into the edge of the door like asword; the jamb was smashed, and even Monckton, who received butone-fourth of the blow, fell upon his hands and knees into the hall andwas stunned for a moment, but fearing worse, staggered out of the halldoor, which, luckily for him, was open, and darting into a little groveof shrubs, that was close by, grovelled there in silence, bleeding like apig, and waiting for his chance to escape entirely; but the quakingreptile ran no further risk. 

Bartley never followed him beyond his own room; he had been goaded into amaniacal impulse, and he returned to his gloomy sullenness. 

 * * * * *

Walter's declaration, made so suddenly before four persons, startledthem greatly for a moment--but only for a moment. Julia was thefirst to speak. 

"We might have known it, " she said, "Mary Bartley is a young ladyincapable of misconduct; she is prudence, virtue, delicacy, and purity inperson; the man she was with at that place was sure to be her husband, and who should that be but Walter, whom she loved?"

Then the servants looked anxiously at their master to see how he tookthis startling revelation. Well, the Colonel stood firm as if he was atthe head of a column in the field. He was not the man to retreat from anyposition, he said, "All we have to do is to save her; then my house andarms are open to my son's wife. "

"God bless you, father!" cried Walter, in a broken voice; "and Godbless you, dear cousin. Yes, it's no time for words. " And he was gonein a moment. 

"Now Milton, " said the Colonel, "he won't sleep here till the work isdone, and he won't sleep at all if we don't get a bed for him near themine. You order the break out, and go to the Dun Cow and do what youcan for him. "

"That I will, sir; I'll take his own sheets and bedding with me. I won'ttrust that woman--she talks too much; and, if you please, sir, I'll staythere a day or two myself, for maybe I shall coax him to eat a morsel ofmy cooking, and to lie down a bit, when he would not listen to astranger. "

"You're a faithful creature, " said the Colonel, rather aggressively, notchoosing to break down, "so are you, John; and it is at these moments wefind out our friends in the house; and, confound you, I forbid you bothto snivel, " said he, still louder. Then, more gravely, "How do we know?many a stormy day ends well; this calamity may bring happiness and peaceto a divided house. "

Colonel Clifford prophesied right. Walter took the lead of a working gangand worked night and day, resting two hours only in the twenty-four, andeven that with great reluctance. Outside the scene was one of bustle andanimation. Little white tents, for the strange workmen to sleep in, dotted the green, and two snowy refreshment tents were pitched outsidethe Dun Cow. That establishment had large brick ovens and boilers, andthe landlady, and the women she had got to help her, kept the tablesalways groaning under solid fare that never once flagged, being under thecharge of that old campaigner, Colonel Clifford. The landlady tried tolook sad at the occasion which called forth her energy and talents; butshe was a woman of business, and her complacency oozed through her. Ah, it was not so at the pit mouth; the poor wives whose husbands wereentombed below, alive or dead, hovered and fluttered about the two shaftswith their aprons to their eyes, and eager with their questions. Deadlywere their fears, their hopes fainter and fainter, as day after day wentby, and both gangs, working in so narrow a space, made little progress, compared with their own desires, and the prayers of those who trembledfor the result. It was a race and a struggle of two gallant parties, anda short description of it will be given; but as no new incidents happenedfor six days we shall preserve the chronological order of events, and nowrelate a daring project which was revived in that interval. 

Monckton and Bartley were now enemies. Sin had united, crime and remorsehad disunited them. Monckton registered a vow of future vengeance uponhis late associate, but in the meantime, taking a survey of the presentcircumstances, he fell back upon a dark project he had conceived yearsago on the very day when he was arrested for theft in Bartley's office. 

Perhaps our readers, their memory disturbed by such a number of variousmatters as we have since presented to them, may have forgotten thatproject, but what is about to follow will tend to revive theirrecollection. Monckton then wired to Mrs. Braham's lawyer demanding animmediate interview with that lady; he specified the hour. 

The lawyer went to her directly, the matter being delicate. He foundher in great distress, and before he could open his communication shetold him her trouble. She said that her husband, she feared, was goingout of his mind; he groaned all night and never slept, and in thedaytime never spoke. 

There had been just then some surprising falls and rises in foreignsecurities, and the shrewd lawyer divined at once that the stock-brokerhad been doing business on his own account, and got pinched; so he said, "My dear madam, I suspect it is business on the Exchange; he will getover that, but there is something that is immediately pressing, " and hethen gave her Monckton's message. 

Now her nerves were already excited, and this made matters worse. Shecried and trembled, and became hysterical, and vowed she would nevergo near Leonard Monckton again; he had never loved her, had never beena friend to her as Jonathan Braham had. "No, " said she; "if he wantsmoney, take and sell my jewels; but I shall stay with my husband inhis trouble. "

"He is not your husband, " said the lawyer, quietly; "and this man is yourhusband, and things have come to my knowledge lately which it would beimprudent at present to disclose either to him or you; but we are oldfriends. You can not doubt that I have your interest at heart. "

"No, I don't doubt that, " said Lucy, hastily, and held out herhand to him. 

"Well, then, " said he, "be persuaded and meet the man. "

"No, I will not do that, " said she. "I am not a good woman, I know; butit is not for want of the wish. I will not play double any more. " Andfrom that nothing he could say could move her. 

The lawyer returned to his place, and when Monckton called next day hetold him he was sorry to say Mr. Braham was ill and in trouble, and thelady couldn't meet him. She would make any reasonable sacrifice for hisconvenience except that. 

"And I, " said Monckton, "insist upon that, and nothing else. "

The lawyer endeavored to soften him, and hinted that he would advancemoney himself sooner than his client should be tormented. 

But Monckton was inflexible. He said, "It is about a matter that she cannot communicate to you, nor can I. However, I am obliged to you for yourinformation. She won't leave her stock-broker, eh? Well, then I knowwhere to find her;" and he took up his hat to go. 

"No, pray don't do that, " said Mr. Middleton, earnestly. "Let me try heragain. She has had time to sleep over it. "

"Try her, " said Monckton, sternly, "and if you are her friend, takeher husband's side in this one thing; it's the last time I shalltrouble her. "

"I am her friend, " said the lawyer. "And if you must know, I ratherwish her to meet you and get it over. Will you come here again atfive o'clock?"

"All right, " said Monckton. 

Monckton was struck with lawyer Middleton's manner, and went awaypuzzling over it. 

"What's _his_ little game, I wonder?" said he. 

The lawyer went post-haste to his client's house. He found her in tears. She handed him an open letter. 

Braham was utterly ruined, and besides that had done something or otherhe did not care to name; he was off to America, leaving her what moneyshe could find in the house and the furniture, which he advised her tosell at once before others claimed it; in short, the man was wild withfear, and at present thought but little of anybody but himself. 

Then the lawyer set himself to comfort her as well as he could, andrenewed his request that she would give Monckton a meeting. 

"Yes, " said she, wearily--"it is no use trying to resist _him_; he cancome here. "

The lawyer demurred to that. "No, " said he, "keep your own counsel, don'tlet him know you are deserted and ruined; make a favor of coming, but_come_: and a word in your ear--he can do more for you than Braham can, or will ever do again. So don't you thwart him if you can help. "

She was quick enough to see there was something weighty behind, and sheconsented. He took her back with him; only she was such a long timeremoving the traces of tears, and choosing the bonnet she thought sheshould look best in, that she made him twenty minutes late and rathercross. It is a way women have of souring that honeycomb, a man. 

When the trio met at the office the husband was pale, the wife dulland sullen. 

"It's the last time I shall trouble you, Lucy, " said Monckton. 

"As you please, Leonard. "

"And I want you to make my fortune. "

"You have only to tell me how. " (Quite incredulously. )

"You must accompany me to Derbyshire, or else meet me at Derby, whicheveryou please. Oh, don't be alarmed. I don't ask you to travel with me asman and wife. "

"It doesn't much matter, I suppose, " said Lucy, doggedly. 

"Well, you are accommodating; I'll be considerate. "

"No doubt you will, " said Lucy; then turning her glorious eyes fullupon him, "WHAT'S THE CRIME?"

"The crime!" said Monckton, looking all about the room to find it. "What crime?"

"The crime I'm wanted for; all your schemes are criminal, you know. "

"Well, you're complimentary. It's not a crime this time; it's only aconfession. "

"Ah! What am I to confess--bigamy?"

"The idea! No. You are to confess--in a distant part of England, what youcan deny in London next day--that on a certain day you married agentleman called Walter Clifford. "

"I'll say that on the eleventh day of June, 1868, I married a gentlemanwho was called Walter Clifford. "

This was Lucy's reply, and given very doggedly. 

"Bravo! and will you stand to it if the real Walter Clifford says itis a lie?"

Lucy reflected. "No, I will not. "

"Well, well, we shall have time to talk about that: when can you start?"

"Give me three days. "

"All right. "

"You won't keep me there long after I have done this wicked thing?"

"No, no. I will send you home with flying colors, and you shall have yourshare of the plunder. "

"I'd rather go into service again and work my fingers to the bone. "

"Since you have such a contempt for money, perhaps you'll standfifty pounds?"

"I have no money with me, but I'll ask Mr. Middleton to advance me some. "

She opened the door, and asked one of the clerks if she could see theprincipal for a moment. He came to her directly. She then said to him, "He wants fifty pounds; could you let me have it for him?"

"Oh, " said the lawyer, cheerfully, "I shall be happy to lend Mr. Moncktonfifty or a hundred pounds upon his own note of hand. "

They both stared at him a little; but a blank note of hand wasimmediately produced, drawn and signed at six months' date for £52 10s. , and the lawyer gave Monckton his check for £50. Husband and wife thenparted for a time. Monckton telegraphed to his lodgings to say that hissister would come down with him for country air, and would require goodaccommodation, but would pay liberally. 

In most mining accidents the shafts are clear, and the débris that has tobe picked through to get to the entombed miners is attacked with thisadvantage, that a great number of men have room to use their arms andpickaxes, and the stuff has not to be sent up to the surface. But in thishorrible accident both gangs of workers were confined to a small area andsmall cages, and the stuff had to be sent up to the surface. 

Bartley, who seemed to live only to rescue the sufferers by his ownfault, provided miles of rope, and had small cages knocked together, sothat the débris was continually coming up from both the shafts, and onegreat source of delay was averted. But the other fatal cause of delayremained, and so daylight came and went, and the stars appeared anddisappeared with incredible rapidity to poor Walter and the other gallantworkers, before they got within thirty feet of the pit: those who workedin the old shafts, having looser stuff to deal with, gained an advance ofabout seven feet upon the other working party, and this being reported toWalter he went down the other shaft to inspire the men by words andexample. He had not been down two hours when one of the miners cried, "Hold hard, they are working up to us, " and work was instantly suspendedfor a moment. Then sure enough the sounds of pickaxes working below werejust audible. 

There was a roar of exultation from the rescuing party, and a man wassent up with his feet in a bucket, and clinging to a rope, to spread thejoyful tidings; but the work was not intermitted for more than a moment, and in a few hours it became necessary to send the cage down and suspendthe work to avoid another accident. The thin remaining crust gave way, the way was clear, lamps were sent down, and the saving party were soonin the mine, with a sight before them never to be forgotten. 

The few men who stood erect with picks in their hands were men of rareendurance; and even they began to fall, exhausted with fatigue andhunger. Five times their number lay dotted about the mine, prostrated byprivation, and some others, alas! were dead. None of the poor fellowswere in a condition to give a rational answer, though Walter imploredthem to say where Hope was and his daughter. These poor pale wretches, the shadows of their former selves, were sent up in the cages with allexpedition, and received by Bartley, who seemed to forget nothing, for hehad refreshment tents ready at the pit mouth. 

Meantime, Walter and others, whose hearts were with him, ran wildlythrough the works, and groped on their knees with their lamps to findHope and his daughter, but they were not to be found, and nine minersbeside them were missing, including Ben Burnley. Then Walter came wildlyup to the surface, wringing his hands with agony, and crying, "they arelost! they are lost!"

"No, " cried Bartley, "they must not be lost; they shall not be lost. Oneman has come to himself. I gave him port-wine and brandy. " Then hedragged the young man into the tent. There was stout Jim Davies proppedup and held, but with a great tumbler of brandy and port in his hand. 

"Now, my man, " said, or rather screamed, Bartley, "tell him where Hopeis, and Mary--that I--Oh, God! oh, God!"

"Master, " said Jim, faintly, "I was in the hall with Mr. Hope and thelady when the first explosion came. Most of us ran past the old shaft andgot clear. A few was caught by the falling shaft, for I looked back andsaw it. But I never saw Master Hope among them. If he was, he is buriedunder the shaft; but I do really think that he was that taken up with hisgirl, and that darned villain that fired the mine, as he's like to be inthe hall either alive or dead. "

He could say no more, but fell into a sort of doze, the result of thepowerful stimulant on his enfeebled frame and empty stomach. ThenBartley, with trembling hands, brought out a map of the mine and showedWalter where the second party had got to. 

"See, " said he, "they are within twenty feet of the bottom, and the hallis twenty-three feet high. Hope measured it. Give up working downward, pick into the sides of that hall, for in that hall I see them at night;sometimes they are alive, sometimes they are dead, sometimes they aredying. I shall go mad, I shall go mad!"

With this he went raging about, giving the wildest orders, with the looksand tones of a madman. In a minute he had a cage ready for Walter, andtwenty fresh-lit lamps, and down went Walter with more men and pickaxes. As soon as he got out of the cage he cried, wildly, "Stop that, men, anddo as I do. "

He took a sweep with his pick, and delivered a horizontal blow at theclay on that side of the shaft Bartley had told him to attack. Hispickaxe stuck in it, and he extricated it with difficulty. 

"Nay, master, " cried a miner who had fallen in love with him, "drive thypick at t' coal. "

Walter then observed that above the clay there was a narrow seam of coal;he heaved his pick again, but instead of striking it half downward, as heought to have done, he delivered a tremendous horizontal blow that madethe coal ring like a church bell, and jarred his own stout arms soterribly that the pick fell out of his numbed hand. 

Then the man who had advised him saw that he was disabled for a time, andstepped into his place. 

But in that short interval an incident occurred so strange and thrillingthat the stout miners uttered treble cries, like women, and then onemighty "Hah!" burst like a diapason from their manly bosoms. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

BURIED ALIVE. --THE THREE DEADLY PERILS. 

Seven miners were buried under the ruins of the shaft; but althoughmasses of coal and clay fell into the hall from the side nearest tothe explosions, and blocked up some of the passages, nobody wascrushed to death there; only the smoke was so stifling that it seemedimpossible to live. 

That smoke was lighter than the air; its thick pall lifted by degrees andrevealed three figures. 

Grace Hope, by happy instinct, had sunk upon the ground to breathe inthat stifling smoke. Hope, who had collared Ben Burnley, had sunk to theground with him, but still clutched the assassin. These were the threeleft alive in the hall, and this was their first struggle for life. 

As soon as it was possible to speak Hope took up his lamp, which hadfallen, and holding it up high, he cried, "Grace, my child, where areyou?" She came to him directly; he took her in his arms and thanked Godfor this great preservation. 

Then he gave Burnley a kick, and ordered him to the right hand of thehall. "You'll keep to that side, " he said, "and think of what you havedone; your victims will keep this side, and comfort each other tillhonest men undo your work, you villain. "

Burnley crouched, and wriggled away like a whipped hound, and flunghimself down in bitter despair. 

"Oh, papa, " said Grace, "we have escaped a great danger, but shall weever see the light of day?"

"Of course we shall, child; be sure that great efforts will be made tosave us. Miners have their faults, but leaving other men to perish is notone of them; there are no greater heroes in the world than those roughfellows, with all their faults. What you and I must do at once is tosearch for provisions and lamps and tools; if there are no poisonousgases set free, it is a mere question of time. My poor child has a hardlife before her; but only live, and we shall be rescued. "

These brave words comforted Grace, as they were intended to do, and sheaccompanied her father down the one passage which was left open after theexplosion. Fortunately this led to a new working, and before he had gonemany yards Hope found a lamp that had been dropped by some miner who hadrushed into the hall as the first warning came. Hope extinguished thelight, and gave it to Grace. 

"That will be twenty-four hours' light to us, " said he; "but, oh, what Iwant to find is food. There must be some left behind. "

"Papa, " said Grace, "I think I saw a miner throw a bag into an emptytruck when the first alarm was given. "

"Back! back! my child!" cried Hope, "before that villain finds it!"

He did not wait for her but ran back, and he found Ben Burnley in theneighborhood of that very truck: but Burnley sneaked off at hisapproach. Hope, looking into the truck, found treasures--a dozen newsacks, a heavy hammer, a small bag of nails, a can of tea, and a bagwith a loaf in it, and several broken pieces of bread. He put his lampout directly, for he had lucifer-matches in his pocket, and he hid thebag of bread; then he lighted his lamp again and fastened it up by anail in the centre of the hall. 

"There, " said he to Burnley, "that's to light us both equally; when itgoes out you must hang up yours in its place. "

"That's fair, " said Burnley, humbly. 

There were two trucks on Hope's side of the hall--the empty one inquestion, and one that was full of coal. Both stood about two yards fromHope's side of the hall. Hope turned the empty truck and brought itparallel to the other; then he nailed two sacks together, and fastenedthem to the coal truck and the débris; then he laid sacks upon the groundfor Grace to lie on, and he kept two sacks for himself, and two inreserve, and he took two and threw them to Ben Burnley. 

"I give you two, and I keep two myself, " said he. "But my daughter shallhave a room to herself even here; and if you molest her I'll brain youwith this hammer. "

"I don't want to molest her, " said Burnley. "It ain't my faultshe's here. "

Then there was a gloomy silence, and well there might be. The one lamp, twinkling faintly against the wall, did but make darkness visible, andrevealed the horror of this dismal scene. The weary hours began to crawlaway, marked only by Hope's watch, for in this living tomb summer waswinter, and day was night. 

The horrors of entombment in a mine have, we think, been describedbetter than any other calamity which befalls living men. Inspired bythis subject novelists have gone beyond themselves, journalists havegone beyond themselves; and, without any affectation, we say we do notthink we could go through the dismal scene before us in its generaldetails without falling below many gifted contemporaries, and addingbulk without value to their descriptions. The true characteristicfeature of _this_ sad scene was not, we think, the alternations of hopeand despair, nor the gradual sinking of frames exhausted by hunger andthirst, but the circumstance that here an assassin and his victims wereinvolved in one terrible calamity; and as one day succeeded to another, and the hoped for rescue came not, the hatred of the assassin and hisvictims was sometimes at odds with the fellowship that sprang out of ajoint calamity. About twelve hours after the explosion Burnley detectedHope and his daughter eating, and moistening their lips with the tea anda spoonful of brandy that Hope had poured into it out of his flask tokeep it from turning sour. 

"What, haven't you a morsel for me?" said the ruffian, in apiteous voice. 

Hope gave a sort of snarl of contempt, but still he flung a crust to himas he would to a dog. 

Then, after some slight hesitation, Grace rose quietly and took thesmaller can, and tilled it with tea, and took it across to him. 

"There, " said she, "and may God forgive you. "

He took it and stared at her. 

"It ain't my fault that you are here, " said he; but she put up her handas much as to say, "No idle words. "

 * * * * *

Two whole days had now elapsed. The food, though economized, was allgone. Burnley's lamp was flickering, and utter darkness was about to beadded to the horrors which were now beginning to chill the hopes withwhich these poor souls had entered on their dire probation. Hope took thealarm, seized the expiring lamp, trimmed it, and carried it down the onepassage that was open. This time he did not confine his researches to thepart where he could stand upright, but went on his hands and knees downthe newest working. At the end of it he gave a shout of triumph, and in afew minutes returned to his daughter exhausted, and blackened all overwith coal; but the lamp was now burning brightly in his hand, and roundhis neck was tied a can of oil. 

"Oh, my poor father, " said Grace, "is that all you have discovered?"

"Thank God for it, " said Hope. "You little know what it would be to passtwo more days here without light, as well as without food. "

 * * * * *

The next day was terrible. The violent pangs of hunger began to gnaw likevultures, and the thirst was still more intolerable; the pangs of hungerintermitted for hours at a time, and then returned to intermit again:they exhausted but did not infuriate; but the rage of thirst becameincessant and maddening. Ben Burnley suffered the most from this, and thewretch came to Hope for consolation. 

"Where's the sense of biding here, " said he, "to be burned to deeth wi'drought? Let's flood the mine, and drink or be drooned. "

"How can I flood the mine?" said Hope. 

"Yow know best, maister, " said the man. "Why, how many tons of water didye draw from yon tank every day?"

"We conduct about five tons into a pit, and we send about five tons up tothe surface daily. "

"Then how much water will there be in the tank now?"

Hope looked at his watch and said, "There was a good deal of water inthe tank when you blew up the mine; there must be about thirty tonsin it now. "

"Well, then, " said Burnley, "you that knows everything, help me brust thewall o' tank; it's thin enow. "

Hope reflected. 

"If we let in the whole body of water, " said he, "it would shatter us topieces, and crush us against the wall of our prison and drown us beforeit ran away through the obstructed passages into the new workings. Fortunately, we have no pickaxe, and can not be tempted toself-slaughter. "

This silenced Burnley for the day, and he remained sullenly apart; stillthe idea never left his mind. The next day, toward evening, he asked Hopeto light his own lamp, and come and look at the wall of the tank. 

"Not without me, " whispered Grace. "I see him cast looks of hatred atyou. "

They went together, and Burnley bade Hope observe that the water wastrickling through in places, a drop at a time; it could not penetrate thecoaly veins, nor the streaks of clay, but it oozed through the porousstrata, certain strips of blackish earth in particular, and it trickleddown, a drop at a time. Hope looked at this feature with anxiety, for hewas a man of science, and knew by the fate of banked reservoirs, greatand small, the strange explosive power of a little water driven throughstrata by a great body pressing behind it. 

"You'll see, it will brust itsen, " said Burnley, exultantly, "and thesooner the better for me; for I'll never get alive out on t' mine; yowblowed me to the men, and they'll break every bone in my skin. "

Hope did not answer this directly. 

"There, don't go to meet trouble, my man, " said he. "Give me thecan, Grace. Now, Burnley, hold this can, and catch every drop tillit is full. "

"Why, it will take hauf a day to fill it, " objected Burnley, "and it willbe hauf mud when all is done. "

"I'll filter it, " said Hope. "You do as you are bid. "

He darted to a part of the mine where he had seen a piece of charredtimber; he dragged it in with him, and asked Grace for apocket-handkerchief; she gave him a clean cambric one. He took hispocket-knife and soon scraped off a little heap of charcoal; and then hesewed the handkerchief into a bag--for the handy man always carried aneedle and thread. 

Slowly, slowly the muddy water trickled into the little can, and then thebag being placed over the larger can, slowly, slowly the muddy watertrickled through Hope's filter, and dropped clear and drinkable into thelarger can. In that dead life of theirs, with no incidents but tormentsand terrors, the hours passed swiftly in this experiment. Hope sat upon agreat lump of coal, his daughter kneeled in front of him, gazing at himwith love, confidence, reverence; and Burnley kneeled in front of himtoo, but at a greater distance, with wolfish eyes full of thirst andnothing else. 

At last the little can was two-thirds full of clear water. Hope took thelarge iron spoon which he had found along with the tea, and gave a fullspoonful to his daughter. "My child, " said he, "let it trickle veryslowly over your tongue and down your throat; it is the throat and theadjacent organs which suffer most from thirst. " He then took a spoonfulhimself, not to drink after an assassin. He then gave a spoonful toBurnley with the same instructions, and rose from his seat and gave thecan to Grace, and said, "The rest of this pittance must not be touchedfor six hours at least. "

Burnley, instead of complying with the wise advice given him, tossed theliquid down his throat with a gesture, and then dashing down the spoon, said, "I'll have the rest on't if I die for it, " and made a furious rushat Grace Hope. 

She screamed faintly, and Hope met him full in that incautious rush, andfelled him like a log with a single blow. Burnley lay there with hisheels tapping the ground for a little while, then he got on his handsand knees, and crawled away to the farthest corner of his own place, andsat brooding. 

That night when Grace retired to rest Hope lay down at her feet, with hishammer in his hand, and when one slept the other watched, for they fearedan attack. Toward the morning of the next day Grace's quick senses hearda mysterious noise in Burnley's quarter; she woke her father. Directly hewent to the place, and he found Burnley at work on his knees tearing awaywith his hands and nails at the ruins of the shaft. Apparently furysupplied the place of strength, for he had raised quite a large heapbehind him, and he had laid bare the feet up to the knees of a deadminer. Hope reported this in a hushed voice to Grace, and said, solemnly, "Poor wretch, he's going mad, I fear. "

"Oh no, " said Grace, "that would be too horrible. Whatever should we do?"

"Keep him to his own side, that is all, " said Hope. 

"But, " objected Grace in dismay, "if he is mad, he won't listen, and hewill come here and attack me. "

"If he does, " said Hope, simply, "I must kill him, that's all. "

Burnley, however, in point of fact, kept more and more aloof for manyhours; he never left his work till he laid bare the whole body of thatminer, and found a pickaxe in his dead hand. This he hid, and reserved itfor deadly uses; he was not clear in his mind whether to brain Hope withit, and so be revenged on him for having shut him up in that mine, orwhether to peck a hole in the tank and destroy all three by a quickerdeath than thirst or starvation. The savage had another and more horriblereason for keeping out of sight; maddened by thirst he had recourse tothat last extremity better men have been driven to; he made a cut withhis clasp-knife in the breast of the dead miner, and tried to swallowjellied blood. 

This horrible relief never lasts long, and the penalty follows in a fewhours; but in the meantime the savage obtained relief, and even vigor, from this ghastly source, and seeing Hope and his daughter lyingcomparatively weak and exhausted, he came and sat down at a littledistance in front of them: that was partly done to divert Hope fromexamining his shambles and his unnatural work. 

"Maister, " said he, "how long have we been here?"

"Six days and more, " said Hope. 

"Six days, " said Grace, faintly, for her powers were now quiteexhausted--"and no signs of help, no hope of rescue. "

"Do not say so, Grace. Rescue in time is certain, and, therefore, whilewe live there is hope. "

"Ay, " said Burnley, "for you tew but not for me. Yow telt the men that Ifired t' mine, and if one of those men gets free they'll all tear me limbfrom jacket. Why should I leave one grave to walk into another? But foryow I should have been away six days agone. "

"Man, " said Hope, "can not you see that my hand was but the instrument?it was the hand of Heaven that kept you back. Cease to blame yourvictims, and begin to see things as they are and to repent. Even if youescape, could the white faces ever fade from your sight, or the dyingshrieks ever leave your ear, of the brave men you so foully murdered?Repent, monster, repent!"

Burnley was not touched, but he was scared by Hope's solemnity, and wentto his own corner muttering, and as he crouched there there came over hisdull brain what in due course follows the horrible meal he had made--afeverish frenzy. 

In the meantime Grace, who had been lying half insensible, raised herhead slowly and said, in a low voice, "Water, water!"

"Oh, my girl, " said Hope, in despair, "I'll go and get enough to moistenyour lips; but the last scrap of food has gone, the last drop of oil isburning away, and in an hour we shall be in darkness and despair. "

"No, no, father, " said Grace, "not while there is water there, beautiful water. "

"But you can not drink _that_ unfiltered; it is foul, it is poisonous. "

"Not that, papa, " said Grace, "far beyond that--look! See that clearriver sparkling in the sunlight; how bright and beautiful it shines! Lookat the waving trees upon the other side, the green meadows and the brightblue sky, and there--there--there--are the great white swans. No, no. Iforgot, they are not swans, they are ships sailing to the bright land youtold me of, where there is no suffering and no sorrow. "

Then Hope, to his horror, began to see that this must be the veryhallucination of which he had read, a sweet illusion of green fields andcrystal water, which often precedes actual death by thirst andstarvation. He trembled, he prayed secretly to God to spare her, and notto kill his new-found child, his darling, in his arms. 

By-and-by Grace spoke again, but this time her senses were clear; "Howdark it's grown!" she said. "Ah, we are back again in that awful mine. "Then, with the patient fortitude of a woman when once she thinks the willof the Almighty is declared, she laid her hand upon his shoulder, and shesaid, soothingly, "Dear father, bow to Heaven's will;" then she held upboth her feeble arms to him--"kiss me, father--FOR WE ARE TO DIE!"

With these firm and patient words, she laid her sweet head upon theground, and hoped and feared no more. 

But the man could not bow like the woman. He kissed her as she bade him, and laid her gently down; but after that he sprang wildly to his feet ina frenzy, and raged aloud, as his daughter could no longer hear him. "No, no, " he cried, "this thing can not be, they have had seven days toget to us. 

"Ah, but there are mountains and rocks of earth and coal piled up betweenus. We are buried alive in the bowels of the earth. 

"Well, and shouldn't I have blasted a hundred rocks, and picked throughmountains, to save a hundred lives, or to save one such life as this, nomatter whose child she was?

"Ah! you poor scum, you came to me whenever you wanted me, and you nevercame in vain. But now that I want you, you smoke your pipes, and walkcalmly over this living tomb I lie in. 

"Well, call yourselves men, and let your friends perish; I am a man, andI can die. "

Then he threw himself wildly on his knees over his insensible daughter. 

"But my child! Oh God! look down upon my child! Do, pray, see the horrorof it. The horror and the hellish injustice! She has but just found herfather. She is just beginning life; it's not her time to die! Why, youknow, she only came here to save her father. Heaven's blessing is theright of pious children; it's promised in God's Word. They are to livelong upon earth, not to be cut off like criminals. "

Then he rose wildly, and raged about the place, flinging his arms onhigh, so that even Burnley, though his own reason was shaken, coweredaway from the fury of a stronger mind. 

"Men and angels cry out against it!" he screamed, in madness and despair. "Can this thing be? Can Heaven and earth look calmly on and see thishorror? Are men all ingratitude? IS GOD ALL APATHY?"

A blow like a hammer striking a church bell tinkled outside the wall, andseemed to come from a great distance. 

To him who, like the rugged Elijah, had expostulated so boldly with hisMaker, and his Maker, who is not to be irritated, forgave him, that blowseemed at first to ring from heaven. He stood still, and trembled like aleaf; he listened; the sound was not repeated. 

"Ah, " said he, "it was an illusion like hers. "

 * * * * *

But for all that he seized his hammer, and darted to the back of thehall, and mounting on a huge fragment of coal struck the seam high abovehis head. He gave two blows at longish intervals, and then three blows inquick succession. 

Grace heard, and began to raise herself on her hands in wonder. 

Outside the wall came two leisurely blows that seemed a mile off, thoughthey were not ten feet, and then three blows in quick succession. 

"My signal echoed, " yelled Hope. "Do you hear, child, my signal answered?Thank God! thank God! thank God!"

He fell on his knees and cried like a child. The next minute, burningwith hope and joy, he was by Grace's side, with his arms round her. 

"You can't give way now. Fight on a few minutes more. Death, I defy you;I am a father; I tear my child from your clutches. " With this he raisedher in his arms with surprising vigor. It was Grace's turn to shake offall weakness, under the great excitement of the brain. 

"Yes, I'll live, " she cried, "I'll live for you. Oh, the gallant men!Hear, hear the pickaxes at work; an army is coming to our rescue, father;the God you doubted sends them, and some hero leads them. "

The words had scarcely left her lips when Hope set her down in freshalarm. An enemy's pickaxe was at work to destroy them; Burnley waspicking furiously at the weak part of the tank, shrieking, "They willtear me to pieces; there is no hope in this world nor the next for me. "

"Madman, " cried Hope--"he'll let the water in before they can save us. "He rushed at Burnley and seized him; but his frenzy was gone, andBurnley's was upon him; after a short struggle Burnley flung him off withprodigious power. Hope flew at him again, but incautiously, and thesavage lowering his head, drove it with such fury into Hope's chest thathe sent him to a distance, and laid him flat on his back utterlybreathless. Grace flew to him and raised him. 

He was not a man to lose his wits. "To the truck, " he gasped, "or weare lost. "

"I'll flood the mine! I'll flood the mine!" yelled Burnley. 

Hope made his daughter mount a large fragment of coal we have alreadymentioned, and from that she sprang to the truck, and with her excitementand with her athletic power she raised herself into the full truck, andeven helped her father in after her. But just as she got him on to thetruck, and while he was still only on his knees, that section of the wallwe have called the tank rent and gaped under Burnley's pickaxe, andpresently exploded about six feet from the ground, and a huge volume ofwater drove masses of earth and coal before it, and came roaring like asolid body straight at the coal truck, and drove it against the oppositewall, smashed the nearest side in, and would have thrown Grace off itlike a feather, but Hope, kneeling and clinging to the side, held herlike a vise. 

Grace screamed violently. Immediately there was a roar of exultationoutside from the hitherto silent workers; for that scream told that the_woman_ was alive, too: the wife of the brave fellow who had won alltheir hearts and melted away the icy barrier of class. 

Three gigantic waves struck the truck and made it quiver. 

The first came half-way up; the second came full two-thirds; the thirddashed the senseless body of Ben Burnley, with bleeding head and brokenbones, against the very edge of the truck, then surged back with him intoa whirling vortex. 

Grace screamed continuously; she gave herself up now for lost; and thelouder she screamed, the louder and the nearer the saving party shoutedand hurrahed. 

"No, do not fear, " cried Hope; "you shall not die. Love is strongerthan death. "

The words were scarce out of his mouth when the point of a steel pickcame clean through the stuff; another followed above it; then another, then another, and then another. Holes were made; then gaps, then largergaps, then a mass of coal fell in; furious picks--a portion of the mineknocked away--and there stood in a red blaze of lamps held up, thegallant band roaring, shouting, working, led by a stalwart giant withbare arms, begrimed and bleeding, face smoked, hair and eyebrows blackwith coal-dust, and eyes flaming like red coals. He sprang with onefearless bound down to the coal-truck, and caught up his wife in hisarms, and held her to his panting bosom. Ropes, ladder, everything--andthey were saved; while the corpse of the assassin whirled round and roundin the subsiding eddies of the black water, and as that water ran awayinto the mine, lay, coated with mud, at the feet of those who had savedhis innocent victims. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

STRANGE COMPLICATIONS. 

Exert all the powers of your mind, and conceive, if you can, what thatmother felt whose only son sickened, and, after racking her heart withhopes and fears, died before her eyes, and was placed in his coffin andcarried to his rest. Yet One in the likeness of a man bade the bearersstand still, then, with a touch, made the coffin open, the dead comeback, blooming with youth and health, and handed him to his mother. 

That picture no mortal mind can realize; but the effort will take youso far as this: you may imagine what Walter Clifford felt when, almostat the climax of despair, he received from that living tomb the goodand beautiful creature who was the light of his eyes and the darling ofhis heart. 

How he gloated on her! How he murmured words of comfort and joy over heras the cage carried her and Hope and him up again into the blessedsunshine! And there, what a burst of exultation and honest rapturereceived them!

Everybody was there. The news of Hope's signal had been wired to thesurface. An old original telegraph had been set up by Colonel Clifford, and its arms set flying to tell him. That old campaigner was there, withhis spring break and mattresses, and an able physician. Bartley wasthere, pale and old, and trembling, and crying. He fell on his kneesbefore Hope and Grace. She drew back from him with repulsion; but hecried out, "No matter! no matter! They are saved! they are saved!"

Walter carried her to his father, and left Bartley kneeling. Then hedashed back for Hope, who did not move, and found him on his kneesinsensible. A piece of coal, driven by one of the men's picks, had struckhim on the temple. The gallant fellow had tried to hide his hurt with hishandkerchief, but the handkerchief was soaked with blood, and the man, exhausted by hunger, violent emotions, and this last blow, felt neitherhis trouble nor his joy. He was lifted with tender pity into the break, and the blood stanched, and stimulants applied by the doctor. But Gracewould have his head on her bosom, and her hand in Walter's. Fortunately, the doctor was no other than that physician who had attended ColonelClifford in his dangerous attack of internal gout. We say fortunately, for patients who have endured extremities of hunger have to be treatedwith very great skill and caution. Gentle stimulants and mucilages mustprecede solid food, and but a little of anything be taken at a time. Doctor Garner began his treatment in the very break. The first spoonfulof egg and brandy told upon Grace Hope. Her deportment had been strange. She had seemed confused at times, and now and then she would cast a lookof infinite tenderness upon Walter, and then again she would knit herbrow and seem utterly puzzled. 

But now she gave Walter a look that brought him nearer to her, and shesaid, with a heavenly smile, "You love me best; better than the other. "Then she began to cry over her father. 

"Better than the other, " said Walter, aloud. "What other?"

"Be quiet, " said the doctor. "Do you really think her stomach can beempty for six days, and her head be none the worse? Come, my dear, another spoonful. Good girl! Now et me look at you, Mr. Walter. "

"Why, what is the matter with _him_?" said the Colonel. "I never saw himlook better in all my life. "

"Indeed! Red spots on his cheek-bones, ditto on his temples, and hiseyes glaring. "

"Excitement and happiness, " said Walter. 

The doctor took no notice of him. "He has been outraging nature, "said he, "and she will have her revenge. We are not out of the woodyet, Colonel Clifford, and you had better put them all three undermy command. "

"I do, my good friend; I do, " said Colonel Clifford, eagerly. "It is yourdepartment, and I don't believe in two commanders. "

They drew up at the great door of Clifford Hall. It seemed to open ofitself, and there were all the servants drawn up in two lines. 

They all showed eager sympathy, but only John Baker and Mrs. Miltonventured to express it. "God bless you all!" said Colonel Clifford. "Butit is our turn now. They are all in the doctor's hands. My wholehousehold obey him to the letter. It is my order. Doctor Garner, this isMrs. Milton, my housekeeper. You will find her a good lieutenant. "

"Mrs. Milton, " said the doctor, sharply, "warm baths in three rooms, andto bed with this lot. Carry Mr. Hope up; he is my first patient. Bring meeggs, milk, brandy, new port-wine. Cook!"

"Sir?"

"Hammer three chickens to pieces with your rolling-pin, then mince them;then chuck them into a big pot with cold water, stew them an hour, andthen boil them to a jelly, strain, and serve. Meantime, send up threeslices of mutton half raw; we will do a little chewing, not much. "

The patients submitted like lambs, only Walter grumbled a little, but atlast confessed to a headache and sudden weariness. 

Julia Clifford took special charge of Grace Hope, the doctor of WilliamHope, and Colonel Clifford sat by Walter, congratulating, soothing, andencouraging him, until he began to doze. 

 * * * * *

Doctor Garner's estimate of his patients proved correct. The next dayWalter was in a raging fever. 

Hope remained in a pitiable state of weakness, and Grace, who in theorywas the weaker vessel, began to assist Julia in nursing them both. To besure, she was all whip-cord and steel beneath her delicate skin, and hadalways been active and temperate. And then she was much the youngest, andthe constitutions of such women are anything but weak. Still, it was amost elastic recovery from a great shock. 

But the more her body recovered its strength, and her brain itsclearness, the more was her mind agitated and distressed. 

Her first horrible anxiety was for Walter's life. The doctor showed nofear, but that might be his way. 

It was a raging fever, with all the varieties that make fever terrible tobehold. He was never left without two attendants; and as Hope was in nodanger now, though pitiably weak and slowly convalescent, Grace was oftenone of Walter's nurses. So was Julia Clifford. He sometimes recognizedthem for a little while, and filled their loving hearts with hope. Butthe next moment he was off into the world of illusions, and sometimescould not see them. Often he asked for Grace most piteously when she waslooking at him through her tears, and trying hard to win him to her withher voice. On these occasions he always called her Mary. One unlucky daythat Grace and Julia were his only attendants he became very restless andwild, said he had committed a great crime, and the scaffold was beingprepared for him. "Hark!" said he; "don't you hear the workmen? Cursetheir hammers; their eternal tip-tapping goes through my brain. Thescaffold! What would the old man say? A Clifford hung! Never! I'll savehim and myself from that. "

Then he sprang out of bed and made a rush at the window. It was open, unluckily, and he had actually got his knee through when Grace darted tohim and seized him, screaming to Julia to help her. Julia did her best, especially in the way of screaming. Grace's muscle and resolution impededthe attempt no more; slowly, gradually, he got both knees upon thewindow-sill. But the delay was everything. In came a professional nurse. She flung her arms round Walter's waist and just hung back with all herweight. As she was heavy, though not corpulent, his more active strengthbecame quite valueless; weight and position defeated him hopelessly; andat last he sank exhausted into the nurse's arms, and she and Gracecarried him to bed like a child. 

Of course, when it was all over, half a dozen people came to the rescue. The woman told what had happened, the doctor administered a soothingdraught, the patient became very quiet, then perspired a little, thenwent to sleep, and the cheerful doctor declared that he would be all thebetter for what he called this little outbreak. But Grace sat therequivering for hours, and Colonel Clifford installed two new nurses thatvery evening. They were pensioners of his--soldiers who had beeninvalided from wounds, but had long recovered, and were neither of themmuch above forty. They had some experience, and proved admirablenurses--quiet, silent, vigilant as sentinels. 

That burst of delirium was the climax. Walter began to get betterafter that. But a long period of convalescence was before him; and thedoctor warned them that convalescence has its very serious dangers, and that they must be very careful, and, above all, not irritate noreven excite him. 

All this time torments of another kind had been overpowered but neversuppressed in poor Grace's mind; and these now became greater as Walter'sdanger grew less and less. 

What would be the end of all this? Here she was installed, to heramazement, in Clifford Hall, as Walter's wife, and treated, all of asudden, with marked affection and respect by Colonel Clifford, who hadhitherto seemed to abhor her. But it was all an illusion; the whole houseof cards must come tumbling down some day. 

Some days before the event last described Hope had said to her, "My child, this is no place for you and me. "

"No more it is, papa, " said Grace. "I know that too well. "

"Then why did you let them bring us here?"

"Papa, " said Grace, "I forgot all about _that_. "

"Forgot it!"

"It seems incredible, does it not? But what I saw and felt thrust what Ihad only heard out of my mind. Oh, papa! you were insensible, poor dear;but if you had only seen Walter Clifford when he saved us! I took him forsome giant miner. He seemed ever so much bigger than the gentleman Iloved--ay, and I shall love him to my dying day, whether or not hehas--But when he sprang to my side, and took me with his bare, bleedingarms to his heart, that panted so, I thought his heart would burst, andmine, too, could I feel another woman between us. All that might be true, but it was unreal. That he loved me, and had saved me, _that_ was real. And when we sat together in the carriage, your poor bleeding head upon mybosom, and his hand grasping mine, and his sweet eyes beaming with loveand joy, what could I realize except my father's danger and my husband'smighty love? I was all present anxiety and present bliss. His sin and myalarms seemed hundreds of miles off, and doubtful. And even since I havebeen here, see how greater and nearer things have overpowered me. Yourdeadly weakness--you, who were strong, poor dear--oh, let me kiss you, dear darling--till you had saved your child; Walter's terrible danger. Oh, my dear father, spare me. How can a poor, weak woman think of suchdifferent woes, and realize and suffer them all at once? Spare me, dearfather, spare me! Let me see you stronger; let me see _him_ safe, andthen let us think of that other cruel thing, and what we ought to say toColonel Clifford, and what we ought to do, and where we are to go. "

"My poor child, " said Hope, faintly, with tears in his eyes, "I say nomore. Take your own time. "

Grace did not abuse this respite. So soon as the doctor declared Walterout of immediate danger, and indeed safe, if cautiously treated, shereturned of her own accord to the miserable subject that had beenthrust aside. 

After some discussion, they both agreed that they must now confide theirgrief to Colonel Clifford, and must quit his home, and make him master ofthe situation, and sole depository of the terrible secret for a time. 

Hope wished to make the revelation, and spare his daughter that pain. Sheassented readily and thankfully. 

This was a woman's first impulse--to put a man forward. 

But by-and-by she had one of her fits of hard thinking, and saw thatsuch a revelation ought not to be made by one straightforward man toanother, but with all a woman's soothing ways. Besides, she had alreadydiscovered that the Colonel had a great esteem and growing affection forher; and, in short, she felt that if the blow could be softened byanybody, it was by her. 

Her father objected that she would encounter a terrible trial, fromwhich he could save her; but she entreated him, and he yielded to herentreaty, though against his judgment. 

When this was settled, nothing remained but to execute it. 

Then the woman came uppermost, and Grace procrastinated for oneinsufficient reason and another. 

However, at last she resolved that the very next day she would ask JohnBaker to get her a private interview with Colonel Clifford in his study. 

This resolution had not been long formed when that very John Baker tappedat Mr. Hope's door, and brought her a note from Colonel Clifford askingher if she could favor him with a visit in his study. 

Grace said, "Yes, Mr. Baker, I will come directly. "

As soon as Baker was gone she began to bemoan her weak procrastination, and begged her father's pardon for her presumption in taking the matterout of his hands. "You would not have put it off a day. Now, see what Ihave done by my cowardice. "

Hope did not see what she had done, and the quick-witted young ladyjumping at once at a conclusion, opened her eyes and said, "Why, don't you see? Some other person has told him what it was soimportant he should hear first from me. Ah! it is the same gentleman thatcame and warned me. He has heard that we are actually married, for it isthe talk of the place, and he told me she would punish him if heneglected her warning. Oh, what shall I do?"

"You go too fast, Grace, dear. Don't run before trouble like that. Come, go to Colonel Clifford, and you will find it is nothing of the kind. "

Grace shook her head grandly. Experience had given her faith in her owninstincts, as people call them--though they are subtle reasonings thesteps of which are not put forward--and she went down to the study. 

"Grace, my dear, " said the Colonel, "I think I shall have a fit ofthe gout. "

"Oh no, " said Grace. "We have trouble enough. "

"It gets less every day, my dear; that is one comfort. But what I meantwas that our poor invalids eclipse me entirely in your good graces. Thatis because you are a true woman, and an honor to your sex. But I shouldlike to see a little more of you. Well, all in good time. I didn't sendfor you to tell you that. Sit down, my girl; it is a matter of business. "

Grace sat down, keenly on her guard, though she did not show it in theleast. Colonel Clifford resumed, "You may be sure that nothing has been near my heart for some time butyour danger and my dear son's. Still, I owe something to other sufferers, and the poor widows whose husbands have perished in that mine have criedto me for vengeance on the person who bribed that Burnley. I am amagistrate, too, and duty must never be neglected. I have got detectivesabout, and I have offered five hundred guineas reward for the discoveryof the villain. One Jem Davies described him to me, and I put thedescription on the placard and in the papers. But now I learn thatDavies's description is all second-hand. He had it from you. Now, I musttell you that a description at second-hand always misses some part orother. As a magistrate, I never encourage Jack to tell me what Jill sayswhen I can get hold of Jill. You are Jill, my dear, so now please verifyJack's description or correct it. However, the best way will be to giveme your own description before I read you his. "

"I will, " said Grace, very much relieved. "Well, then, he was a man notover forty, thin, and with bony fingers; an enormous gold ring on thelittle finger of his right hand. He wore a suit of tweed, all one color, rather tight, and a vulgar neck-handkerchief, almost crimson. He had aface like a corpse, and very thin lips. But the most remarkable thingswere his eyes and his eyebrows. His eyes were never still, and his browswere very black, and not shaped like other people's; they were neitherstraight, like Julia Clifford's, for instance, nor arched like Walter's;that is to say, they were arched, but all on one side. Each brow beganquite high up on the temple, and then came down in a slanting drop to thebridge of the nose, and lower than the bridge. There, if you will give mea pencil I will draw you one of his eyebrows in a minute. "

She drew the eyebrow with masterly ease and rapidity. 

"Why, that is the eyebrow of Mephistopheles. "

"And so it is, " said Grace, naïvely. "No wonder it did not seemhuman to me. "

"I am sorry to say it is human. You can see it in every convict jail. But, " said he, "how came this villain to sit to you for his portrait?"

"He did not, sir. But when he was struggling with me to keep me fromrescuing my father--"

"What! did the ruffian lay hands on you?"

"That he did, and so did Mr. Bartley. But the villain was the leader ofit all; and while he was struggling with me--"

"You were taking stock of him? Well, they talk of a Jew's eye; give me awoman's. My dear, the second-hand description is not worth a button. Imust write fresh notices from yours, and, above all, instruct thedetectives. You have given me information that will lead to that man'scapture. As for the gold ring and the tweed suit, they disappeared intospace when my placard went up, you may be sure of that, and a felon canpaint his face. But his eyes and eyebrows will do him. They are the markof a jail-bird. I am a visiting justice, and have often noticed thepeculiarity. Draw me his eyebrows, and we will photograph them in Derby;and my detectives shall send copies to Scotland Yard and all the convictprisons. We'll have him. "

The Colonel paused suddenly in his triumphant prediction, and said, "Butwhat was that you let fall about Bartley? He was no party to this foulcrime. Why, he has worked night and day to save you and Hope. Indeed, youboth owe your lives to him. "

"Indeed!"

"Yes. He set the men on to save you within ten minutes of the explosion. He bought rope by the mile, and great iron buckets to carry up the débristhat was heaped up between you and the working party. He raved about thepit day and night lamenting his daughter and his friend; and why I say hesaved you, 'twas he who advised Walter. I had this from Walter himselfbefore his fever came on. He advised and implored him not to attempt toclear the whole shaft, but to pick sideways into the mine twenty feetfrom the ground. He told Walter that he never really slept at night, andin his dreams saw you in a part of the mine he calls the hall. Now, Walter says that but for this advice they would have been two days moregetting to you. "

"We should have been dead, " said Grace, gravely. Then she reflected. 

"Colonel Clifford, " said she, "I listened to that villain and Mr. Bartleyplanning my father's destruction. Certainly every word Mr. Bartley _said_was against it. He spoke of it with horror. Yet, somehow or other, thatwretched man obtained from him an order to send the man Burnley down themine, and what will you think when I tell you that he assisted thevillain to hinder me from going to the mine?" Then she told him the wholescene, and how they shut her up in the house, and she had to go down acurtain and burst through a quick-set hedge. But all the time she wasthinking of Walter's bigamy and how she was to reveal it; and sherelated her exploits in such a cold, languid manner that it was hardlypossible to believe them. 

Colonel Clifford could not help saying, "My dear, you have had a greatshock; and you have dreamt all this. Certainly you are a fine girl, andbroad-shouldered. I admire that in man or woman--but you are so delicate, so refined, so gentle. "

Grace blushed and said, languidly, "For all that, I am an athlete. "

"An athlete, child?"

"Yes, sir. Mr. Bartley took care of that. He would never let me wear acorset, and for years he made me do calisthenics under a master. "

"Calisthenics?"

"That is a fine word for gymnastics. " Then, with a double dose oflanguor, "I can go up a loose rope forty feet, so it was nothing to me tocome down one. The hedge was the worst thing; but my father was indanger, and my blood was up. " She turned suddenly on the Colonel with aflash of animation, "You used to keep race-horses, Walter told me. " TheColonel stared at this sudden turn. 

"That I did, " said he, "and a pretty penny they cost me. "

"Well, sir, is not a race-horse a poor mincing thing until her blood getsup galloping?"

"By Jove! you are right, " said he, "she steps like a cat upon hot bricks. But the comparison is not needed. Whatever statement Mrs. Walter Cliffordmakes to me seriously is gospel to me, who already know enough of her torespect her lightest word. Pray grant me this much, that Bartley is atrue penitent, for I have proof of it in this drawer. I'll show it you. "

"No, no, please not, " said Grace, in no little agitation. "Let me takeyour word for that, as you have taken mine. Oh, sir, he is nothing to mecompared with what I thought you wished to say to me. But it is I whomust find the courage to say things that will wound you and me stillmore. Colonel Clifford, pray do not be angry with me till you know all, but indeed your house is not the place for my father or for me. "

"Why not, madam, " said the Colonel, stiffly, "since you are mydaughter-in-law?"

She did not reply. 

"Ah!" said he, coloring high and rising from his chair. He began to walkthe room in some agitation. "You are right, " said he; "I once affrontedyou cruelly, unpardonably. Still, pray consider that you passed forBartley's daughter; that was my objection to you, and then I did not knowyour character. But when I saw you come out pale and resolved tosacrifice yourself to justice and another woman, that converted me atonce. Ask Julia what I said about you. "

"I must interrupt you, " said Grace. "I can not let such a man as youexcuse yourself to a girl of eighteen who has nothing but reverence foryou, and would love you if she dared. "

"Then all I can say is that you are very mysterious, my dear, and I wishyou would speak out. "

"I shall speak out soon enough, " said Grace, solemnly, "now I have begun. Colonel Clifford, you have nothing to reproach yourself with. No morehave I, for that matter. Yet we must both suffer. " She hesitated amoment, and then said, firmly, "You do me the honor to approve my conductin that dreadful situation. Did you hear all that passed? did you takenotice of all I said?"

"I did, " said Colonel Clifford. "I shall never forget that scene, nor thedistress, nor the fortitude of her I am proud to call my daughter. "

Grace put her hands before her face at these kind words, and he saw thetears trickle between her white fingers. He began to wonder, and to feeluneasy. But the brave girl shook off her tears, and manned herself, ifwe may use such an expression. 

"Then, sir, " said she, slowly and emphatically, though quietly, "didyou not think it strange that I should say to my father, 'I don'tknow?' He asked me before you all, 'Are you a wife?' Twice I said to myfather--to him I thought was my father--'I don't know. ' Can you accountfor that, sir?"

The Colonel replied, "I was so unable to account for it that I took JuliaClifford's opinion on it directly, as we were going home. "

"And what did she say?"

"Oh, she said it was plain enough. The fellow had forbidden you to ownthe marriage, and you were an obedient wife; and, like women in general, strong against other people, but weak against one. "

"So that is a woman's reading of a woman, " said Grace. "She willsacrifice her honor, and her father's respect, and court the world'scontempt, and sully herself for life, to suit the convenience of ahusband for a few hours. My love is great, but it is not slavish orsilly. Do you think, sir, that I doubted for one moment Walter Cliffordwould own me when he came home and heard what I had suffered? Did I thinkhim so unworthy of my love as to leave me under that stigma? Hardly. Thenwhy should I blacken Mrs. Walter Clifford for an afternoon, just to beunblackened at night?"

"This is good sense, " said the Colonel, "and the thing is a mystery. Canyou solve it?"

"You may be sure I can--and woe is me--I must. "

She hung her head, and her hands worked convulsively. 

"Sir, " said she, after a pause, "suppose I could not tell the truth toall those people without subjecting the man I loved--and I love him nowdearer than ever--to a terrible punishment for a mere folly done yearsago, which now has become something much worse than folly--but how?Through his unhappy love for me!"

"These are dark words, " said the Colonel. "How am I to understand them?"

"Dark as they are, " said Grace, "do they not explain my conduct in thatbitter trial better than Julia Clifford's guesses do, better thananything that has occurred since?"

"Mrs. Walter Clifford, " said the Colonel, with a certain awe, "I seethere is something very grave here, and that it affects my son. I beginto know you. You waited till he was out of danger; but now you do me thehonor to confide something to me which the world will not drag out ofyou. So be it; I am a man and a soldier. I have faced cavalry, and I canface the truth. What is it?"

"Colonel Clifford, " said Grace, trembling like a leaf, "the truth willcut you to the heart, and will most likely kill me. Now that I have goneso far, you may well say, 'Tell it me;' but the words once past my lipscan never be recalled. Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?"

The struggle overpowered her, and almost for the first time in her lifeshe turned half faint and yet hysterical; and such was her condition thatthe brave Colonel was downright alarmed, and rang hastily for his people. He committed her to the charge of Mrs. Milton. It seemed cruel to demandany further explanation from her just then; so brave a girl, who had goneso far with him, would be sure to tell him sooner or later. Meantime hesat sombre and agitated, oppressed by a strange sense of awe and mystery, and vague misgiving. While he brooded thus, a footman brought him in acard upon a salver: "The Reverend Alleyn Meredith. " "Do I know thisgentleman?" said the Colonel. 

"I think not, sir, " said the footman. 

"What is he like?"

"Like a beneficed clergyman, sir. "

Colonel Clifford was not in the humor for company; but it was not hishabit to say not at home when he was at home; and being a magistrate, henever knew when a stranger sent in his card, that it might not be hisduty to see him; so he told the footman to say, "that he was in point offact engaged, but was at this gentleman's service for a few minutes. "

The footman retired, and promptly ushered in a clergyman who seemed themodel of an archdeacon or a wealthy rector. Sleek and plump, withoutcorpulence, neat boots, clothes black and glossy, waistcoat up to thethroat, neat black gloves, a snowy tie, a face shaven like an egg, hairand eyebrows grizzled, cheeks rubicund, but not empurpled, as one whodrank only his pint of port, but drank it seven days in the week. 

Nevertheless, between you and us, this sleek, rosy personage, archdeaconor rural dean down to the ground was Leonard Monckton, padded to thenine, and tinted as artistically as any canvas in the world. 

 * * * * *

The first visit Monckton had paid to this neighborhood was to the mine. He knew that was a dangerous visit, so he came at night as a decrepit oldman. He very soon saw two things which discouraged farther visits. Onewas a placard describing his crime in a few words, and also his personand clothes, and offering 500 guineas reward. As his pallor wasspecified, he retired for a minute behind a tent, and emerged the colorof mahogany; he then pursued his observations, and in due course fell inwith the second warning. This was the body of a man lying upon the slackat the pit mouth; the slack not having been added to for many days wasglowing very hot, and fired the night. The body he recognizedimmediately, for the white face stared at him; it was Ben Burnleyundergoing cremation. To this the vindictive miners had condemned him;they had sat on his body and passed a resolution, and sworn he should nothave Christian burial, so they managed to hide his corpse till the slackgot low, and then they brought him up at night and chucked him like a dogon to the smouldering coal; one-half of him was charred away whenMonckton found him, but his face was yet untouched. Two sturdy minerswalked to and fro as sentinels, armed with hammers, and firmly resolvedthat neither law nor gospel should interfere with this horrible example. 

Even Monckton, the man of iron nerves, started back with a cry of dismayat the sight and the smell. 

One of the miners broke into a hoarse, uneasy laugh. "Yow needn't toskirl, old man. " he cried. "Yon's not a man; he's nobbut a murderer. He'sfired t' mine and made widows and orphans by t' score, " "Ay, " said theother, "but there's a worse villain behoind, that found t' brass for t'job and tempted this one. We'll catch him yet; ah, then we'll not troublejudge, nor jury, nor hangman neether. "

"The wretches!" said Monckton. "What! fire a mine! No punishment isenough for them. " With this sentiment he retired, and never went near themine again. He wired for a pal of his and established him at the Dun Cow. These two were in constant communication. Monckton's friend was a veryclever gossip, and knew how to question without seeming curious, and thegossiping landlady helped him. So, between them, Monckton heard thatWalter was down with a fever and not expected to live, and that Hope wasconfined to his bed and believed to be sinking. Encouraged by this stateof things, Monckton made many artful preparations, and resolved to levy acontribution upon Colonel Clifford. 

At this period of his manoeuvres fortune certainly befriended himwonderfully; he found Colonel Clifford alone, and likely to bealone; and, at the same time, prepared by Grace Clifford's halfrevelation, and violent agitation, to believe the artful tale thisvillain came to tell him. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

RETRIBUTION. 

Monckton, during his long imprisonment at Dartmoor, came under manychaplains, and he was popular with them all; because when they inquiredinto the state of his soul he represented it as humble, penitent, andpurified. Two of these gentlemen were High-Church, and he noticed theirpeculiarities: one was a certain half-musical monotony in speaking whichmight be called by a severe critic sing-song. Perhaps they thought theintoning of the service in a cathedral could be transferred withadvantage to conversation. 

So now, to be strictly in character, this personage not only dressedHigh-Church, but threw a sweet musical monotony into the communication hemade to Colonel Clifford. 

And if the reader will compare this his method of speaking with thematter of his discourse, he will be sensible of a singular contrast. 

After the first introduction, Monckton intoned very gently that he had acommunication to make on the part of a lady which was painful to him, andwould be painful to Colonel Clifford; but, at all events, it wasconfidential, and if the Colonel thought proper, would go no further. 

"I think, sir, you have a son whose name is Walter?"

"I have a son, and his name is Walter, " said the Colonel, stiffly. 

"I think, sir, " said musical Monckton, "that he left your house aboutfourteen years ago, and you lost sight of him for a time?"

"That is so, sir. "

"He entered the service of a Mr. Robert Bartley as a merchant's clerk. "

"I doubt that, sir. "

"I fear, sir, " sighed Monckton, musically, "that is not the onlything he did which has been withheld from you. He married a ladycalled Lucy Muller. "

"Who told you that?" cried the Colonel. "It's a lie!"

"I am afraid not, " said the meek and tuneful ecclesiastic. "I amacquainted with the lady, a most respectable person, and she has shown methe certificate of marriage. "

"The certificate of marriage!" cried the Colonel, all aghast. 

"Yes, sir, and this is not the first time I have given this informationin confidence. Mrs. Walter Clifford, who is a kind-hearted woman, and haslong ceased to suffer bitterly from her husband's desertion, requested meto warn a young lady, whose name was Miss Mary Bartley, of this fact. Idid so, and showed her the certificate. She was very much distressed, andno wonder, for she was reported to be engaged to Mr. Walter Clifford; butI explained to Miss Bartley that there was no jealousy, hostility, orbitterness in the matter; the only object was to save her from beingbetrayed into an illegal act, and one that would bring ruin upon herself, and a severe penalty upon Mr. Walter Clifford. "

Colonel Clifford turned very pale, but he merely said, in a hoarse voice, "Go on, sir. "

"Well, sir, " said Monckton, "I thought the matter was at an end, and, having discharged a commission which was very unpleasant to me, I had atall events saved an innocent girl from tempting Mr. Walter Clifford tohis destruction and ruining herself. I say, I thought and hoped so. Butit seems now that the young lady has defied the warning, and has marriedyour son after all. Mrs. Walter Clifford has heard of it in Derby, andshe is naturally surprised, and I am afraid she is now somewhatincensed. "

"Before we go any further, sir, " said Colonel Clifford, "I should liketo see the certificate you say you showed to Miss Bartley. "

"I did, sir, " said Monckton, "and here it is--that is to say, an attestedcopy; but of course sooner or later you will examine the original. "

Colonel Clifford took the paper with a firm hand, and examined itclosely. "Have you any objection to my taking a copy of this?" saidhe, keenly. 

"Of course not, " said Monckton; "indeed, I don't see why I should notleave this document with you; it will be in honorable hands. "

The Colonel bowed. Then he examined the document. 

"I see, sir, " said he, "the witness is William Hope. May I ask if youknow this William Hope?"

"I was not present at the wedding, sir, " said Monckton, "so I can saynothing about the matter from my own knowledge; but if you please, I willask the lady. "

"Why didn't she come herself instead of sending you?" asked the Colonel, distrustfully. 

"That's just what I asked her. And she said she had not the heart nor thecourage to come herself. I believe she thought as I was a clergyman, andnot directly interested, I might be more calm than she could be, and givea little less pain. "

"That's all stuff! If she is afraid to come herself, she knows it's anabominable falsehood. Bring her here with whatever evidence she has gotthat this Walter Clifford is my son, and then we will go into this matterseriously. "

Monckton was equal to the occasion. 

"You are quite right, sir, " said he. "And what business has she to put meforward as evidence of a transaction I never witnessed? I shall tell heryou expect to see her, and that it is her duty to clear up the affair inperson. Suppose it should be another Mr. Walter Clifford, after all? Whenshall I bring her, supposing I have sufficient influence?"

"Bring her to-morrow, as early as you can. "

"Well, you know ladies are not early risers: will twelve o'clock do?"

"Twelve o'clock to-morrow, sir, " said the Colonel. 

The sham parson took his leave, and drove away in a well-appointedcarriage and pair. For we must inform the reader that he had written toMr. Middleton for another £100, not much expecting to get it, and that ithad come down by return of post in a draft on a bank in Derby. 

 * * * * *

Stout Colonel Clifford was now a very unhappy man. The soul of honorhimself, he could not fully believe that his own son had been guilty ofperfidy and crime. But how could he escape _doubts_, and very gravedoubts too? The communication was made by a gentleman who did not seemreally to know more about it than he had been told, but then he was aclergyman, with no appearance of heat or partiality. He had been easilyconvinced that the lady herself ought to have come and said more aboutit, and had left an attested copy of the certificate in his (ColonelClifford's) hands with a sort of simplicity that looked like onegentleman dealing with another. One thing, however, puzzled him sore inthis certificate--the witness being William Hope. William Hope was not avery uncommon name, but still, somehow, that one and the same documentshould contain the names of Walter Clifford and William Hope, roused asuspicion in his mind that this witness was the William Hope lying in hisown house so weak and ill that he did not like to go to him, and enterupon such a terrible discussion as this. He sent for Mrs. Milton, andasked her if Mrs. Walter Clifford was quite recovered. 

Mrs. Milton reported she was quite well, and reading to her father. TheColonel went upstairs and beckoned her out. 

"My child, " said he, "I am sorry to renew an agitating subject, but youare a good girl, and a brave girl, and you mean to confide in me sooneror later. Can you pity the agitation and distress of a father who for thefirst time is compelled to doubt his son's honor?"

"I can, " said Grace. "Ah, something has happened since we parted;somebody has told you: that man with a certificate!"

"What, then, " said the Colonel, "is it really true? Did he really showyou that certificate?"

"He did. "

"And warned you not to marry Walter?"

"He did, and told me Walter would be put into prison if I did, and woulddie in prison, for a gentleman can not live there nowadays. Oh, sir, don't let anybody know but you and me and my father. He won't hurt himfor my sake; he has wronged me cruelly, but I'll be torn to pieces beforeI'll own my marriage, and throw him into a dungeon. "

"Come to my arms, you pearl of goodness and nobility and unselfish love!"cried Colonel Clifford. "How can I ever part with you now I know you?There, don't let us despair, let's fight to the last. I have one questionto submit to you. Of course you examined the certificate very carefully?"

"I saw enough to break my heart. I saw that on a certain day, many yearsago, one Lucy Muller had married Walter Clifford. "

"And who witnessed the marriage?" asked the Colonel, eyeing her keenly. 

"Oh, I don't know that, " said Grace. "When I came to Walter Clifford, everything swam before my eyes; it was all I could do to keep fromfainting away. I tottered into my father's study, and, as soon as I cameto myself, what had I to do? Why, to creep out again with my brokenheart, and face such insults--All! it is a wonder I did not fall dead attheir feet. "

"My poor girl!" said Colonel Clifford. Then he reflected a moment. "Haveyou the courage to read that document again, and to observe in particularwho witnessed it?"

"I have, " said she. 

He handed it to her. She took it and held it in both hands, thoughthey trembled. 

"Who is the witness?"

"The witness, " said Grace, "is William Hope. "

"Is that your father?"

"It's my father's name, " said Grace, beginning to turn her eyes inwardand think very hard. 

"But is it your father, do you think?"

"No, sir, it is not. "

"Was he in that part of the world at the time? Did he know Bartley? theclergyman who brought me this certificate--"

"The clergyman!"

"Yes, my dear, it was a clergyman, apparently a rector, and he told me--"

"Are you sure he was a clergyman?"

"Quite sure; he had a white tie, a broad-brimmed hat, a clergyman allover; don't go off on that. Did your father and my son know eachother in Hull?"

"That they did. You are right, " said Grace, "this witness was my father;see that, now. But if so--Don't speak to me; don't touch me; let methink--there is something hidden here;" and Mrs. Walter Clifford showedher father-in-law that which we have seen in her more than once, but itwas quite new and surprising to Colonel Clifford. There she stood, herarms folded, her eyes turned inward, her every feature, and even herbody, seemed to think. The result came out like lightning from a cloud. "It's all a falsehood, " said she. 

"A falsehood!" said Colonel Clifford. 

"Yes, a falsehood upon the face of it. My father witnessed thismarriage, and therefore if the bridegroom had been our Walter he wouldnever have allowed our Walter to court me, for he knew of our courtshipall along, and never once disapproved of it. "

"Then do you think it is a mistake?" said the Colonel, eagerly. 

"No, I do not, " said Grace. "I think it is an imposture. This man was nota clergyman when he brought me the certificate; he was a man of business, a plain tradesman, a man of the world; he had a colored necktie, and somerather tawdry chains. "

"Did he speak in a kind of sing-song?"

"Not at all; his voice was clear and cutting, only he softened it downonce or twice out of what I took for good feeling at the time. He's animpostor and a villain. Dear sir, don't agitate poor Walter or my dearfather with this vile thing (she handed him back the certificate). It hasbeen a knife to both our hearts; we have suffered together, you and I, and let us get to the bottom of it together. "

"We shall soon do that, " said the Colonel, "for he is coming hereto-morrow again. "

"All the better. "

"With the lady. "

"What lady?"

"The lady that calls herself Mrs. Walter Clifford. "

"Indeed!" said Grace, quite taken aback. "They must be very bold. "

"Oh, for that matter, " said the Colonel, "I insisted upon it; the manseemed to know nothing but from mere hearsay. He knew nothing aboutWilliam Hope, the witness, so I told him he must bring the woman; and, tobe just to the man, he seemed to think so too, and that she ought to doher own business. "

"She will not come, " said Grace, rather contemptuously. "He was obligedto say she would, just to put a face upon it. To-morrow he'll bring anexcuse instead of her. Then have your detectives about, for he is avillain; and, dear sir, please receive him in the drawing-room; then Iwill find some way to get a sight of him myself. "

"It shall be done, " said the Colonel. "I begin to think with you. At allevents, if the lady does not come, I shall hope it is all an imposture ora mistake. "

With this understanding they parted, and waited in anxiety for themorrow, but now their anxiety was checkered with hope. 

 * * * * *

To-morrow bade fair to be a busy day. Colonel Clifford, little dreamingthe condition to which his son and his guest would be reduced, hadinvited Jem Davies and the rescuing parties to feast in tents on his ownlawn and drink his home-brewed beer, and they were to bring with themsuch of the rescued miners as might be in a condition to feast and drinkcopiously. When he found that neither Hope nor his son could join thesefestivities, he was very sorry he had named so early a day; but he was sopunctilious and precise that he could not make up his mind to change oneday for another. So a great confectioner at Derby who sent out feasts wascharged with the affair, and the Colonel's own kitchen was at his servicetoo. That was not all. Bartley was coming to do business. This had beenpreceded by a letter which Colonel Clifford, it may be remembered, hadoffered to show Grace Clifford. The letter was thus worded:

"COLONEL CLIFFORD, --A penitent man begs humbly to approach you, and offerwhat compensation is in his power. I desire to pay immediately to WalterClifford the sum of £20, 000 I have so long robbed him of, with five percent, interest for the use of it. It has brought me far more than that inmoney, but money I now find is not happiness. 

"The mine in which my friend has so nearly been destroyed--and hisdaughter, who now, too late, I find is the only creature in the world Ilove--that mine is now odious to me. I desire by deed to hand it over toHope and yourself, upon condition that you follow the seams wherever theygo, and that you give me such a share of the profits during my lifetimeas you think I deserve for my enterprise. This for my life only, since Ishall leave all I have in the world to that dear child, who will now beyour daughter, and perhaps never deign again to look upon the erring manwho writes these lines. 

"I should like, if you please, to retain the farm, or at all events ahundred acres round about the house to turn into orchards and gardens, sothat I may have some employment, far from trade and its temptations, forthe remainder of my days. "

 * * * * *

In consequence of this letter a deed was drawn and engrossed, and Bartleyhad written to say he would come to Clifford Hall and sign it, and haveit witnessed and delivered. 

About nine o'clock in the evening one of the detectives called on ColonelClifford to make a private communication; his mate had spotted a swellmobsman, rather a famous character, with the usual number of aliases, butknown to the force as Mark Waddy; he was at the Dun Cow; and possessingthe gift of the gab in a superlative degree, had made himself extremelypopular. They had both watched him pretty closely, but he seemed not tobe there for a job, but only on the talking lay, probably solicitinginformation for some gang of thieves or other. He had been seen toexchange a hasty word with a clergyman; but as Mark Waddy's acquaintanceswere not amongst the clergy, that would certainly be some pal that was insomething or other with him. 

"What a shrewd girl that must be!" said the Colonel. 

"I beg your pardon, Colonel, " said the man, not seeing the relevancy ofthis observation. 

"Oh, nothing, " said the Colonel, "only _I_ expect a visit to-morrow attwelve o'clock from a doubtful clergyman; just hang about the lawn on thechance of my giving you a signal. "

Thus while Monckton was mounting his batteries, his victims werepreparing defenses in a sort of general way, though they did not seetheir way so clear as the enemy did. 

Colonel Clifford's drawing-room was a magnificent room, fifty feet longand thirty feet wide. A number of French windows opened on to a noblebalcony, with three short flights of stone steps leading down to thelawn. The central steps were broad, the side steps narrow. There werefour entrances to it: two by double doors, and two by heavily curtainedapertures leading to little subsidiary rooms. 

At twelve o'clock next day, what with the burst of color from thepotted flowers on the balcony, the white tents, and the flags andstreamers, and a clear sunshiny day gilding it all, the room looked a"palace of pleasure, " and no stranger peeping in could have dreamedthat it was the abode of care, and about to be visited by gloomyPenitence and incurable Fraud. 

The first to arrive was Bartley, with a witness. He was received kindlyby Colonel Clifford and ushered into a small room. 

He wanted another witness. So John Baker was sent for, and Bartley and hewere closeted together, reading the deed, etc. , when a footman brought ina card, "The Reverend Alleyn Meredith, " and written underneath with apencil, in a female hand, "Mrs. Walter Clifford. "

"Admit them, " said the Colonel, firmly. 

At this moment Grace, who had heard the carriage drive up to the door, peeped in through one of the heavy curtains we have mentioned. 

"Has she actually come?" said she. 

"She has, indeed, " said the Colonel, looking very grave. "Will you stayand receive her?"

"Oh no, " said Grace, horrified; "but I'll take a good look at her throughthis curtain. I have made a little hole on purpose. " Then she slippedinto the little room and drew the curtain. 

The servant opened the door, and the false rector walked in, supportingon his arm a dark woman, still very beautiful; very plainly dressed, butwell dressed, agitated, yet self-possessed. 

"Be seated, madam, " said the Colonel. After a reasonable pause he beganto question her. 

"You were married on the eleventh day of June, 1868, to a gentleman ofthe name of Walter Clifford?"

"I was, sir. "

"May I ask how long you lived with him?"

The lady buried her face in her hands. The question took her by surprise, and this was a woman's artifice to gain time and answer cleverly. 

But the ingenious Monckton gave it a happy turn. "Poor thing! Poorthing!" said he. 

"He left me the next day, " said Lucy, "and I have never seen him since. "

Here Monckton interposed; he fancied he had seen the curtain move. "Excuse me, " said he, "I think there is somebody listening!" and he wentswiftly and put his head through the curtain. But the room was empty; formeantime Grace was so surprised by the lady's arrival, by her beauty, which might well have tempted any man, and by her air of respectability, that she changed her tactics directly, and she was gone to her father foradvice and information in spite of her previous determination not toworry him in his present condition. What he said to her can be brieflytold elsewhere; what he ordered her to do was to return and watch theman and not the woman. 

During Lucy's hesitation, which was somewhat long, a clergyman came tothe window, looked in, and promptly retired, seeing the Colonel hadcompany. This, however, was only a modest curate, _alias_ a detective. Hesaw in half a moment that this must be Mark Waddy's pal; but as thepolice like to go their own way he would not watch the lawn himself, butasked Jem Davies, with whom he had made acquaintance, to keep an eye uponthat with his fellows, for there was a jail-bird in the house; then hewent round to the front door, by which he felt sure his bird would makehis exit. He had no earthly right to capture this ecclesiastic, but hewas prepared if the Colonel, who was a magistrate, gave him the order, and not without. 

But we are interrupting Colonel Clifford's interrogatories. 

"Madam, what makes you think this disloyal person was my son?"

"Indeed, sir, I don't know, " said the lady, and looking around the roomwith some signs of distress. "I begin to hope it was not your son. He wasa tall young man, almost as tall as yourself. He was very handsome, withbrown hair and brown eyes, and seemed incapable of deceit. "

"Have you any letters of his?" asked the Colonel. 

"I had a great many, sir, " said she, "but I have not kept them all. "

"Have you one?" said the Colonel, sternly. 

"Oh yes, sir, " said Lucy, "I think I must have nearer twenty; but whatgood will they be?" said she, affecting simplicity. 

"Why, my dear madam, " said Monckton, "Colonel Clifford is quite right;the handwriting may not tell _you_ anything, but surely his own fatherknows it. I think he is offering you a very fair test. I must tell youplainly that if you don't produce the letters you say you possess, Ishall regret having put myself forward in this matter at all. "

"Gently, sir, " said the Colonel; "she has not refused to produce them. "

Lucy put her hand in her pocket and drew out a packet of letters, but shehesitated, and looked timidly at Monckton, after his late severity. "Am Ibound to part with them?"

"Certainly not, " said Monckton, "but you can surely trust them for aminute to such a man as Colonel Clifford. I am of opinion, " said he, "that since you can not be confronted with this gentleman's son (thoughthat is no fault of yours), these letters (by-the-bye, it would have beenas well to show to me, ) ought now at once to be submitted to ColonelClifford, that he may examine both the contents and the handwriting; thenhe will know whether it is his son or not; and probably as you are fairwith him he will be fair with you and tell you the truth. "

Colonel Clifford took the letters and ran his eye hastily over two orthree; they were filled with the ardent protestations of youth, and alove that evidently looked toward matrimony, and they were written andsigned in a handwriting he knew as well as his own. 

He said, solemnly, "These letters are written and were sent to Miss LucyMuller by my son, Walter Clifford. " Then, almost for the first time inhis life, he broke down, and said, "God forgive him; God help him and me. The honor of the Cliffords is an empty sound. "

Lucy Monckton rose from her chair in genuine agitation. Her better angeltugged at her heartstrings. 

"Forgive me, sir, oh, forgive me!" she cried, bursting into tears. Thenshe caught a bitter, threatening glance of her bad angel fixed upon her, and she said to Monckton, "I can say no more, I can do no more. It wasfourteen years ago--I can't break people's hearts. Hush it up amongstyou. I have made a hero weep; his tears burn me. I don't care for theman; I'll go no further. You, sir, have taken a deal of trouble andexpense. I dare say Colonel Clifford will compensate you; I leave thematter with you. No power shall make me act in it any more. "

Monckton wrote hastily on his card, and said, quite calmly, "Well, Ireally think, madam, you are not fit to take part in such a conference asthis. Compose yourself and retire. I know your mind in the matter betterthan you do yourself at this moment, and I will act accordingly. "

She retired, and drove away to the Dun Cow, which was the place Moncktonhad appointed when he wrote upon the card. 

"Colonel Clifford, " said Monckton, "all that is a woman's way. When sheis out of sight of you, and thinks over her desertion and her unfortunatecondition--neither maid, wife, nor widow--she will be angry with me if Idon't obtain her some compensation. "

"She deserves compensation, " said the Colonel, gravely. 

"Especially if she holds her tongue, " said Monckton. 

"Whether she holds her tongue or not, " said the Colonel. "I don't seehow I can hold mine, and you have already told my daughter-in-law. Aseparation between her and my son is inevitable. The compensationmust be offered, and God help me, I'm a magistrate, if only tocompound the felony. "

"Surely, " said Monckton, "it can be put upon a wider footing than that;let me think, " and he turned away to the open window; but when he gotthere he saw a lot of miners clustering about. Now he had no fear oftheir recognizing him, since he had not left a vestige of the printeddescription. But the very sight of them, and the memory of what they haddone to his dead accomplice, made him shudder at them. Henceforth hekept away from the window, and turned his back to it. 

"I think with you, sir, " said he, mellifluously, "that she ought to havea few thousands by way of compensation. You know she could claim alimony, and be a very blister to you and yours. But on the other hand I do think, as an impartial person, that she ought to keep this sad secret mostfaithfully, and even take her maiden name again. "

Whilst Monckton was making this impartial proposal Bartley opened thedoor, and was coming forward with his deed, when he heard a voice herecognized; and partly by that, partly by the fellow's thin lips, herecognized him, and said, "Monckton! That villain here!"

"Monckton, " said Colonel Clifford, "that is not his name. It is Meredith. He is a clergyman. " Bartley examined him very suspiciously, and Monckton, during this examination, looked perfectly calm and innocent. Meantime anote was brought to Colonel Clifford from Grace: "Papa was the witness. He is quite sure the bridegroom was not our Walter. He thinks it musthave been the other clerk, Leonard Monckton, who robbed Mr. Bartley, andput some of the money into dear Walter's pockets to ruin him, but papasaved him. Don't let him escape. "

Colonel Clifford's eye flashed with triumph, but he controlled himself. 

"Say I will give it due attention, " said he; "I'm busy now. "

And the servant retired. 

"Now, sir, " said he, "is this a case of mistaken identity, or is yourname Leonard Monckton?"

"Colonel Clifford, " said the hypocrite, sadly, "I little thought that Ishould be made to suffer for the past, since I came here only on anerrand of mercy. Yes, sir, in my unregenerate days I was LeonardMonckton. I disgraced the name. But I repented, and when I adopted thesacred calling of a clergyman I parted with the past, name and all. Iwas that man's clerk; and so, " said he, spitefully, and forgetting hissing-song, "was your son Walter Clifford. Was that not so, Mr. Bartley?"

"Don't speak to me, sir, " said Bartley. "I shall say nothing to gratifyyou nor to affront Colonel Clifford. "

"Speak the truth, sir, " said Colonel Clifford; "never mind theconsequences. "

"Well, then, " said Bartley, very unwillingly, "they _were_ clerks in myoffice, and this one robbed me. "

"One thing at a time, " said Monckton. "Did I rob you of twenty thousandpounds, as you robbed Mr. Walter Clifford?"

His voice became still more incisive, and the curtain of the little roomopened a little and two eyes of fire looked in. 

"Do you remember one fine day your clerk, Walter Clifford, asking you forleave of absence--to be married?"

Bartley turned his back on him contemptuously. 

But Colonel Clifford insisted on his replying. 

"Yes, he did, " said Bartley, sullenly. 

"But, " said the Colonel, quietly, "he thought better of it, and so--youmarried her yourself. "

This bayonet thrust was so keen and sudden that the villain'sself-possession left him for once. His mouth opened in dismay, and hiseyes, roving to and fro, seemed to seek a door to escape. 

But there was worse in store for him. The curtains were drawn right andleft with power, and there stood Grace Clifford, beautiful, but pale andterrible. She marched toward him with eyes that rooted him to the spot, and then she stopped. 

"Now hear _me_; for he has tortured me, and tried to kill me. Look at hiswhite face turning ghastly beneath his paint at the sight of me; look athis thin lips, and his devilish eyebrows, and his restless eyes. THIS ISTHE MAN THAT BRIBED THAT WRETCH TO FIRE THE MINE!"

These last words, ringing from her lips like the trumpet of doom, wereanswered, as swiftly as gunpowder explodes at a lighted torch, by afurious yell, and in a moment the room seemed a forest of wild beasts. Ascore of raging miners came upon him from every side, dragging, tearing, beating, kicking, cursing, yelling. He was down in a moment, then soon upagain, then dragged out of the room, nails, fists, and heavy boots allgoing, stripped to the shirt, screaming like a woman. A dozen assailantsrolled down the steps, with him in the midst of them. He got clear for amoment, but twenty more rushed at him, and again he was torn and batteredand kicked. "Police! police!" he cried; and at last the detectives whocame to seize him rushed in, and Colonel Clifford, too, with the voice ofa stentor, cried, "The law! Respect the law, or you are ruined men. "

And so at last the law he had so dreaded raised what seemed a bag ofbones: nothing left on him but one boot and fragments of a shirt, ghastly, bleeding, covered with bruises, insensible, and to allappearance dead. 

After a short consultation, they carried him, by Colonel Clifford'sorder, to the Dun Cow, where Lucy, it may be remembered, was awaiting histriumphant return. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

STRANGE TURNS. 

And yet this catastrophe rose out of a mistake. When the detective askedJem Davies to watch the lawn, he never suspected that the clergyman wasthe villain who had been concerned in that explosion. But Davies, a manof few ideas and full of his own wrong, took for granted, as such mindswill, that the policeman would not have spoken to him if this had notbeen _his_ affair; so he and his fellows gathered about the steps andwatched the drawing-room. They caught a glimpse of Monckton, but thatonly puzzled them. His appearance was inconsistent with the onlydescription they had got--in fact opposed to it. It was Grace Clifford'sdenunciation, trumpet-tongued, that let loose savage justice on thevillain. Never was a woman's voice so fatal, or so swift to slay. Shewould have undone her work. She screamed, she implored; but it was all invain. The fury she had launched she could not recall. As for Bartley, words can hardly describe his abject terror. He crouched, he shivered, hemoaned, he almost swooned; and long after it was all over he was foundcrouched in a corner of the little room, and his very reason appeared tobe shaken. Judge Lynch had passed him, but too near. The freezing shadowof Retribution chilled him. 

Colonel Clifford looked at him with contemptuous pity, and sent him homewith John Baker in a close carriage. 

 * * * * *

Lucy Monckton was in the parlor of the Dun Cow waiting for her master. The detectives and some outdoor servants of Clifford Hall brought a shortladder and paillasses, and something covered with blankets, to the door. Lucy saw, but did not suspect the truth. 

They had a murmured consultation with the landlady. During this MarkWaddy came down, and there was some more whispering, and soon thebattered body was taken up to Mark Waddy's room and deposited on hisbed. The detectives retired to consult, and Waddy had to break thecalamity to Mrs. Monckton. He did this as well as he could; but itlittle matters how such blows are struck. Her agony was great, andgreater when she saw him, for she resisted entirely all attempts to keepher from him. She installed herself at once as his nurse, and MarkWaddy retired to a garret. 

A surgeon came by Colonel Clifford's order and examined Monckton'sbruised body, and shook his head. He reported that there were no bonesbroken, but there were probably grave internal injuries. These, however, he could not specify at present, since there was no sensibility in thebody; so pressure on the injured parts elicited no groans. He prescribedegg and brandy in small quantities, and showed Mrs. Monckton how toadminister it to a patient in that desperate condition. 

His last word was in private to Waddy. "If he ever speaks again, or evengroans aloud, send for me. Otherwise--" and he shrugged his shoulders. 

Some hours afterward Colonel Clifford called as a magistrate to seeif the sufferer had any deposition to make. But he was mute, and hiseyes fixed. 

As Colonel Clifford returned, one of the detectives accosted him andasked him for a warrant to arrest him. 

"Not in his present condition, " said Colonel Clifford, rathersuperciliously. "And pray, sir, why did not you interfere sooner andprevent this lawless act?"

"Well, sir, unfortunately we were on the other side of the house. "

"Exactly; you had orders to be in one place, so you must be in another. See the consequence. The honest men have put themselves in the wrong, andthis fellow in the right. He will die a sort of victim, with his guiltsuspected only, not proved. "

Having thus snubbed the Force, the old soldier turned his back on themand went home, where Grace met him, all anxiety, and received his report. She implored him not to proceed any further against the man, and declaredshe should fly the country rather than go into a court of law as witnessagainst him. 

"Humph!" said the Colonel; "but you are the only witness. "

"All the better for him, " said she; "then he will die in peace. My tonguehas killed the man once; it shall never kill him again. "

About six next morning Monckton beckoned Lucy. She came eagerly to him;he whispered to her, "Can you keep a secret?"

"You know I can, " said she. 

"Then never let any one know I have spoken. "

"No, dear, never. Why?"

"I dread the law more than death;" and he shuddered all over. "Save mefrom the law. "

"Leonard, I will, " said she. "Leave that to me. "

She wired for Mr. Middleton as soon as possible. 

The next day there was no change in the patient. He never spoke toanybody, except a word or two to Lucy, in a whisper, when they werequite alone. 

In the afternoon down came Lawyer Middleton. Lucy told him what he knew, but Monckton would not speak, even to him. He had to get hold of Waddybefore he understood the whole case. 

Waddy was in Monckton's secret, and, indeed, in everybody's. He knew itwas folly to deceive your lawyer, so he was frank. Mr. Middleton learnedhis client's guilt and danger, but also that his enemies had flaws intheir armor. 

The first shot he fired was to get warrants out against a dozen miners, Jem Davies included, for a murderous assault; but he made no arrests, heonly summoned. So one or two took fright and fled. Middleton had countedon that, and it made the case worse for those that remained. Then, bymeans of friends in Derby, he worked the Press. 

An article appeared headed, "Our Savages. " It related with righteousindignation how Mr. Bartley's miners had burned the dead body of a minersuspected of having fired the mine, and put his own life in jeopardy aswell as those of others; and then, not content with that monstrous act, had fallen upon and beaten to death a gentleman in whom they thought theydetected a resemblance to some person who had been, or was suspected ofbeing that miner's accomplice; "but so far from that, " said the writer, "we are now informed, on sure authority, that the gentleman in questionis a large and wealthy landed proprietor, quite beyond any temptation tocrime or dishonesty, and had actually visited this part of the world onlyin the character of a peace-maker, and to discharge a very delicatecommission, which it would not be our business to publish even if thedetails had been confided to us. "

The article concluded with a hope that these monsters "would be taughtthat even if they were below the standard of humanity they were notabove the law. "

Middleton attended the summonses, gave his name and address, and informedthe magistrate that his client was a large landed proprietor, and itlooked like a case of mistaken identity. His client was actually dying ofhis injuries, but his wife hoped for justice. 

But the detectives had taken care to be present, and so they put in theirword. They said that they were prepared to prove, at a proper time, thatthe wounded man was really the person who had been heard by Mrs. WalterClifford to bribe Ben Burnley to fire the mine. 

"We have nothing to do with that now, " said the magistrate. "One thing ata time, please. I can not let these people murder a convicted felon, farless a suspected criminal that has not been tried. The wounded manproceeds, according to law, through a respectable attorney. These men, whom you are virtually defending, have taken the law into their ownhands. Are your witnesses here, Mr. Middleton?"

"Not at present, sir; and when I was interrupted, I was about to askyour worship to grant me an adjournment for that purpose. It will not bea great hardship to the accused, since we proceed by summons. I fear Ihave been too lenient, for two or three of them have absconded since thesummons was served. "

"I am not surprised at that, " said the magistrate; "however, you knowyour own business. "

Then the police applied for a warrant of arrest against Monckton. 

"Oh!" cried Middleton, with the air of a man thoroughly shocked andscandalized. 

"Certainly not, " said the magistrate; "I shall not disturb the course ofjustice; there is not even an _exparte_ case against this gentleman atpresent. Such an application must be supported by a witness, and adisinterested one. " So all the parties retired crest-fallen except Mr. Middleton; as for him, he was imitating a small but ingenious specimen ofnature--the cuttle-fish. This little creature, when pursued by itsenemies, discharges an inky fluid which obscures the water all around, and then it starts off and escapes. 

One dark night, at two o'clock in the morning, there came to the door ofthe Dun Cow an invalid carriage, or rather omnibus, with a spring-bed andevery convenience. The wheels were covered thick with India-rubber;relays had been provided, and Monckton and his party rolled along day andnight to Liverpool. The detectives followed, six hours later, and tracedthem to Liverpool very cleverly, and, with the assistance of the police, raked the town for them, and got all the great steamers watched, especially those that were bound westward, ho! But their bird was at sea, in a Liverpool merchant's own steamboat, hired for a two months' trip. The pursuers found this out too, but a fortnight too late. 

"It's no go, Bill, " said one to the other. "There's a lawyer and a potof money against us. Let it sleep awhile. "

The steamboat coasted England in beautiful weather; the sick man began torevive, and to eat a little, and to talk a little, and to suffer a gooddeal at times. Before they had been long at sea Mr. Middleton had aconfidential conversation with Mrs. Monckton. He told her he had beenvery secret with her for her good. "I saw, " said he, "this Monckton hadno deep regard for you, and was capable of turning you adrift inprosperity; and I knew that if I told you everything you would let it outto him, and tempt him to play the villain. But the time is come that Imust speak, in justice to you both. That estate he left your son half injoke is virtually his. Fourteen years ago, when he last looked into thematter, there _were_ eleven lives between it and him; but, strange tosay, whilst he was at Portland the young lives went one after the other, and there were really only five left when he made that will. Now comesthe extraordinary part: a fortnight ago three of those lives perished ina single steamboat accident on the Clyde; that left a woman of eighty-twoand a man of ninety between your husband and the estate. The lady wasrelated to the persons who were drowned, and she has since died; she hadbeen long ailing, and it is believed that the shock was too much for her. The survivor is the actual proprietor, Old Carruthers; but I am theLondon agent to his solicitor, and he was reported to me to be _inextremis_ the very day before I left London to join you. We shall runinto a port near the place, and you will not land; but I shall, andobtain precise information. In the meantime, mind, your husband's name isCarruthers. Any communication from me will be to Mrs. Carruthers, and youwill tell that man as much, or as little, as you think proper; if youmake any disclosure, give yourself all the credit you can; say you shalltake him to his own house under a new name, and shield him against allpursuers. As for me, I tell you plainly, my great hope is that he willnot live long enough to turn you adrift and disinherit your boy. "

To cut short for the present this extraordinary part of our story, LewisCarruthers, _alias_ Leonard Monckton, entered a fine house and tookpossession of eleven thousand acres of hilly pasture, and the undividedmoiety of a lake brimful of fish. He accounted for his change of name bythe favors Carruthers, deceased, had shown him. Therein he did his bestto lie, but his present vein of luck turned it into the truth. OldCarruthers had become so peevish that all his relations disliked him, andhe disliked them. So he left his personal estate to his heir-at-lawsimply because he had never seen him. The personality was very large. Thehouse was full of pictures, and China, and cabinets, etc. There was alarge balance at the banker's, a heavy fall of timber not paid for, rentsdue, and as many as two thousand four hundred sheep upon that hill, whichthe old fellow had kept in his own hands. So, when the new proprietortook possession as Carruthers, nobody was surprised, though many werefurious. Lucy installed him in a grand suite of apartments as an invalid, and let nobody come near him. Waddy was dismissed with a munificentpresent, and could be trusted to hold his tongue. By the advice ofMiddleton, not a single servant was dismissed, and so no enemies weremade. The family lawyer and steward were also retained, and, in short, all conversation was avoided. In a month or two the new proprietor beganto improve in health, and drive about his own grounds, or be rowed on hislake, lying on soft beds. 

But in the fifth month of his residence local pains seized him, and hebegan to waste. For some time the precise nature of the disorder wasobscure; but at last a rising surgeon declared it to be an abscess in theintestines (caused, no doubt, by external violence). 

By degrees the patient became unable to take solid food, and the drainupon his system was too great for a mere mucilaginous diet to sustainhim. Wasted to the bone, and yellow as a guinea, he presented a pitiablespectacle, and would gladly have exchanged his fine house and pictures, his heathery hills dotted with sheep, and his glassy lake full of spottedtrout, for a ragged Irishman's bowl of potatoes and his mug ofbuttermilk--and his stomach. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

CURTAIN. 

Striking incidents will draw the writer; but we know that our readerswould rather hear about the characters they can respect. It seems, however, to be a rule in life, and in fiction, that interest flags whentrouble ceases. Now the troubles of our good people were pretty wellover, and we will put it to the reader whether they had not enough. 

Grace Clifford made an earnest request to Colonel Clifford and her fathernever to tell Walter he had been suspected of bigamy. "Let others saythat circumstances are always to be believed and character not to betrusted; but I, at least, had no right to believe certificates and thingsagainst my Walter's honor and his love. Hide my fault from him, not formy sake but for his; perhaps when we are both old people I may tell him. "

This was Grace Clifford's petition, and need we say she prevailed?

Walter Clifford recovered under his wife's care, and the house was solarge that Colonel Clifford easily persuaded his son and daughter-in-lawto make it their home. Hope had also two rooms in it, and came there whenhe chose; he was always welcome; but he was alone again, so to speak, and not quite forty years of age, and he was ambitious. He began to risein the world, whilst our younger characters, contented with theirhappiness and position, remained stationary. Master of a great mine, ablenow to carry out his invention, member of several scientificassociations, a writer for the scientific press, etc. , he soon became apublic and eminent man; he was consulted on great public works, and if helives will be one of the great lights of science in this island. He isgreat on electricity, especially on the application of natural forces tothe lighting of towns. He denounces all the cities that allow powerfulstreams to run past them and not work a single electric light. But hegoes further than that. He ridicules the idea that it is beyond theresources of science to utilize thousands of millions of tons of waterthat are raised twenty-one feet twice in every twenty-four hours by thetides. It is the skill to apply the force that is needed; not the forceitself, which exceeds that of all the steam-engines in the nation. And hesays that the great scientific foible of the day is the neglect ofnatural forces, which are cheap and inexhaustible, and the mania forsteam-engines and gas, which are expensive, and for coal, which is not tolast forever. He implores capital and science to work in this question. His various schemes for using the tides in the creation of motive powerwill doubtless come before the world in a more appropriate channel than awork of fiction. If he succeeds it will be a glorious, as it must be adifficult, achievement. 

His society is valued on social grounds; his well-stored mind, his powersof conversation, and his fine appearance, make him extremely welcome atall the tables in the county; he also accompanies his daughter with theviolin, and, as they play beauties together, not difficulties, theyravish the soul and interrupt the torture, whose instrument thepiano-forte generally is. 

Bartley is a man with beautiful silvery hair and beard; he cultivates, nurses, and tends fruit-trees and flowers with a love little short ofpaternal. This sentiment, and the contemplation of nature, have changedthe whole expression of his face; it is wonderfully benevolent and sweet, but with a touch of weakness about the lips. Some of the rough fellowsabout the place call him a "softy, " but that is much too strong a word;no doubt he is confused in his ideas, but he reads all the great Americanpublications about fruit and flowers, and executes their instructionswith tact and skill. Where he breaks down--and who would believethis?--is in the trade department. Let him succeed in growing apple-treesand pear-trees weighed down to the ground with choice fruit; let himproduce enormous cherries by grafting, and gigantic nectarines upon hissunny wall, and acres of strawberries too large for the mouth. After thatthey may all rot where they grow; he troubles his head no more. This ismore than his old friend Hope can stand; he interferes, and sends thefruit to market, and fills great casks with superlative cider and perry, and keeps the account square, with a little help from Mrs. Easton, whohas returned to her old master, and is a firm but kind mother to him. 

Grace Clifford for some time could not be got to visit him. Perhaps sheis one of those ladies who can not get over personal violence; he hadhandled her roughly, to keep her from going to her father's help. Afterall, there may have been other reasons; it is not so easy to penetrateall the recesses of the female heart. One thing is certain: she wouldnot go near him for months; but when she did go with her father--and hehad to use all his influence to take her there--the rapture and thetears of joy with which the poor old fellow received her disarmed herin a moment. 

She let him take her through hot-houses and show her his children--"theonly children I have now, " said he--and after that she never refused tovisit this erring man. His roof had sheltered her many years, and he hadfound out too late that he loved her, so far as his nature could love atthat time. 

 * * * * *

Percy Fitzroy had an elder sister. He appealed to her against JuliaClifford. She cross-questioned him, and told him he was very foolish todespair. She would hardly have slapped him if she was quite resolved topart forever. 

"Let me have a hand in reconciling you, " said she. 

"You shall have b-b-both hands in it, if you like, " said he; "for I am atmy w-w-wit's end. "

So these two conspired. Miss Fitzroy was invited to Percy's house, andplayed the mistress. She asked other young ladies, especially that fairgirl with auburn hair, whom Julia called a "fat thing. " That meant, underthe circumstances, a plump and rounded model, with small hands and feet;a perfect figure in a riding habit, and at night a satin bust andsculptured arms. 

The very first ride Walter took with Grace and Julia they met the brightcavalcade of Percy and his sister, and this red-haired Venus. 

Percy took off his hat with profound respect to Julia and Grace, but didnot presume to speak. 

"What a lovely girl!" said Grace. 

"Do you think so?" said Julia. 

"Yes, dear; and so do you. "

"What makes you fancy that?"

"Because you looked daggers at her. "

"Because she is setting her cap at that little fool. "

"She will not have him without your consent, dear. "

And this set Julia thinking. 

The next day Walter called on Percy, and played the traitor. 

"Give a ball, " said he. 

Miss Fitzroy and her brother gave a ball. Percy, duly instructed by hissister, wrote to Julia as meek as Moses, and said he was in a greatdifficulty. If he invited her, it would, of course, seem presumptuous, considering the poor opinion she had of him; if he passed her over, andinvited Walter Clifford and Mrs. Clifford, he should be unjust to his ownfeelings, and seem disrespectful. 

Julia's reply:

"DEAR MR. FITZROY, --I am not at all fond of jealousy, but I am very fondof dancing. I shall come. 

"Yours sincerely, "JULIA CLIFFORD. "

And she did come with a vengeance. She showed them what a dark beauty cando in a blaze of light with a red rose, and a few thousand pounds' worthof diamonds artfully placed. 

She danced with several partners, and took Percy in his turn. She wasgracious to him, but nothing more. 

Percy asked leave to call next day. 

She assented, rather coldly. 

His sister prepared Percy for the call. The first thing he did was tostammer intolerably. 

"Oh, " said Julia, "if you have nothing more to say than that, Ihave--Where is my bracelet?"

"It's here, " said Percy, producing it eagerly. Julia smiled. 

"My necklace?"

"Here!"

"My charms?"

"Here!"

"My specimens of your spelling? Love spells, eh?"

"Here--all here. "

"No, they are not, " said Julia, snatching them, "they are here. " And shestuffed both her pockets with them. 

"And the engaged ring, " said Percy, radiant now, and producing it, "d-d-don't forget that. "

Julia began to hesitate. "If I put that on, it will be for life. "

"Yes, it will, " said Percy. 

"Then give me a moment to think. "

After due consideration she said what she had made up her mind to saylong before. 

"Percy, you're a man of honor. I'll be yours upon one solemncondition--that from this hour till death parts us, you promise to giveyour faith where you give your love. "

"I'll give my faith where I give my love, " said Percy, solemnly. 

Next month they were married, and he gave his confidence where he gavehis love, and he never had reason to regret it. 

 * * * * *

"John Baker. "

"Sir. "

"You had better mind what you are about, or you'll get fonder of her thanof Walter himself. "

"Never, Colonel, never! And so will you. "

Then, after a moment's reflection, John Baker inquired how they were tohelp it. "Look here, Colonel, " said he, "a man's a man, but a woman's awoman. It isn't likely as Master Walter will always be putting his handround your neck and kissing of you when you're good, and pick a whitehair off your coat if he do but see one when you're going out, and shineupon you in-doors more than the sun does on you out-of-doors; and 'taintto be supposed as Mr. Walter will never meet me on the stairs withoutbreaking out into a smile to cheer an old fellow's heart, and showing£2000 worth of ivory all at one time; and if I've a cold or a bit of aheadache he won't send his lady's maid to see after me and tell me what Iam to do, and threaten to come and nurse me himself if I don't mend. "

"Well, " said the Colonel, "there's something in all this. "

"For all that, " said John Baker, candidly, "I shall make you myconfession, sir. I said to Mr. Walter myself, said I, 'Here's a prettybusiness, ' said I; 'I've known and loved you from a child, and Mrs. Walter has only been here six months, and now I'm afraid she'll make melove her more than I do you. '"

"Why, of course she will, " said Mr. Walter. "Why, _I_ love herbetter than I do myself, and you've got to follow suit, or else I'llmurder you. "

So that question was settled. 

 * * * * *

The five hundred guineas reward rankled in the minds of those detectives, and, after a few months, with the assistance of the ordinary police inall the northern towns, they got upon a cold scent, and then upon a warmscent, and at last they suspected their bird, under the _alias_ ofCarruthers. So they came to the house to get sight of him, and make surebefore applying for a warrant. They got there just in time for hisfuneral. Middleton was there and saw them, and asked them to attend it, and to speak to him after the reading of the will. 

"Proceedings are stayed, " said he; "but, perhaps, having actedagainst me, you might like to see whether it would not pay better toact with me. "

"And no mistake, " said one of them; so they were feasted with the rest, for it was a magnificent funeral, and after that Middleton squared themwith £50 apiece to hold their tongues--and more, to divert all suspicionfrom the house and the beautiful woman who now held it as only trusteefor her son. 

Remembering that he had left the estate to another man's child, Monckton, one fine day, bequeathed his personal estate on half a sheet ofnote-paper to Lucy. This and the large allowance Middleton obtained fromthe Court for her, as trustee and guardian to the heir, made her a richwoman. She was a German, sober, notable, and provident; she kept hersheep, and became a sort of squire. She wrote to her husband in theStates, and, by the advice of Middleton, told him the exact truth insteadof a pack of fibs, which she certainly would have done had she been leftto herself. Poverty had pinched Jonathan Braham by this time; and as hesaw by the tone of her letter she did not care one straw whether heaccepted the situation or not, he accepted it eagerly, and had to courther as a stranger, and to marry her, and wear the crown matrimonial; forMiddleton drew the settlements, and neither Braham nor his creditorscould touch a half-penny. And then came out the better part of thisindifferent woman. Braham had been a good friend to her in time of need, and she was a good and faithful friend to him now. She was generallyadmired and respected; kind to the poor; bountiful, but not lavish; anexcellent manager, but not stingy. 

In vain shall we endeavor, with our small insight into the bosoms of menand women, to divide them into the good and the bad. There are mediocreintellects; there are mediocre morals. This woman was always moreinclined to good than evil, yet at times temptation conquered. She wasvirtuous till she succumbed to a seducer whom she loved. Under hiscontrol she deceived Walter Clifford, and attempted an act of downrightvillainy; that control removed, she returned to virtuous and industrioushabits. After many years, solitude, weariness, and a gloomy futureunhinged her conscience again: comfort and affection offered themselves, and she committed bigamy. Deserted by Braham, and once more fascinated bythe only man she had ever greatly loved, she joined him in an abominablefraud, broke down in the middle of it by a sudden impulse of conscience, and soon after settled down into a faithful nurse. She is now a faithfulwife, a tender mother, a kind mistress, and nearly everything that isgood in a medium way; and so, in all human probability, will pass theremainder of her days, which, as she is healthy, and sober in eating anddrinking, will perhaps be the longer period of her little life. 

Well may we all pray against great temptations; only choice spiritsresist them, except when they are great temptations to somebody else, andsomehow not to the person tempted. 

It has lately been objected to the writers of fiction--especially tothose few who are dramatists as well as novelists--that they neglectwhat Shakespeare calls "the middle of humanity, " and deal in eccentriccharacters above or below the people one really meets. Let those whoare serious in this objection enjoy moral mediocrity in the person ofLucy Monckton. 

For our part we will never place Fiction, which was the parent ofHistory, below its child. Our hearts are with those superior men andwomen who, whether in History or Fiction, make life beautiful, andraise the standard of Humanity. Such characters exist even in thisplain tale, and it is these alone, and our kindly readers, we takeleave of with regret. 

THE END.